#my mood until april is about to be determined by what classes i had to go to on any given day.

[zeta-male]

social media is good because sometimes people i met in completely different circumstances and times follow and reblog from each other. and i like that. ^_^.

#my mood until april is about to be determined by what classes i had to go to on any given day. #analytical ii and comp chem i love you. env sci you bring me closer to abusing substances. <3

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 3) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,500-ish

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› This chapter This chapter kicked my butt. But the fact that it's written and posted and I did not disappear for a year (which has been known to happen when I can't seem to get a chapter right) is a victory.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net

Word of the Thom Spiro Incident--what Wren had finally agreed to call the small display of justice at lunch--spread quickly throughout the castle. While this was somewhat worrisome, it was not an entirely unexpected consequence. Besides, for the most part, the student body seemed focused on the fact that Thom had rather abruptly turned completely violet and not so much on the hows, whos, and whys of the situation.

Although Wren was fairly certain that it was only a matter of time before those questions would ripple through the castle, she was proved wrong on her way to Divination. As she was passing by a gaggle of third year girls, she overheard their whispers: apparently, during the fourth to fifth block class change, Professor Snape had been seen arguing with Professor Sprout about her standards for admission to her NEWT level class. This news quickly passed from student to student, bringing new life to the buzz surrounding the Incident and easing Wren's anxiety a bit.

While a purple student and quarreling professors would be enough to keep the student body talking for at least a week, right before dinner the drama came to a head when loud shouts were heard coming from the Hospital Wing. According to Lee, three girls had been dragged out by Hagrid and Madam Hooch, kicking and screaming at each other. From what he could gather, each of them had been to visit Thom only to discover he was dating all three of them.

This of course had inspired Fred Weasley to give a small toast in Wren's honor, despite her protests that he "Sit down!" and "Shh!". Afterwards, the Twilight Protectorate--the name Alicia saw fit to bestow upon them--spent the rest of dinner sharing the various speculations they'd heard throughout the day about "the purple Ravenclaw."

But much in the same way the purple slowly faded from Thom's skin, so did the excitement surrounding the incident. Life moved on. Thom's Herbology station was moved closer to Professor Sprout, the Weasley twins stopped making a show of watching Wren's every move, and normal life at Hogwarts resumed.

For the most part.

There seemed to be a lingering closeness between Wren and her dorm mates. Alicia had taken to insisting that Wren come to the library with her and Angelina and Katie or join their game of Exploding Snap or come and lay out on the lawn with them.

This was exactly where the girls found themselves stretched out now, Angelina halfheartedly working on her muggle studies homework, the rest having long given up on their own parchments and books scattered between them.

“Reckon we don’t have too many days left like this,” Katie mused, tucking her arms under her head as she lifted her face to the sun.

“I’m surprised we even got this one,” Angelina remarked, scratching out an answer and rewriting a new one.

It was unusually pleasant even for early October. The girls' jumpers were plenty to keep them warm against the cool breeze that swept across the lawn every now and then, rustling their parchments and flipping pages in their books.

"It'd be nice if it stayed like this for your birthday," Katie said. "We could do something on the lawn then."

Angelina shook her head as she continued to scan through the book in front of her for a bit of information. "We don't need to do anything for my birthday."

"You're turning 17," Alicia pushed, as if the fact that Angelina would finally be of age was lost on her. "You'll officially be able to do magic whenever you want."

"And drink whatever you want," Wren put in, lifting her head up from her folded arms and propping her chin up in her hand.

"I want to see Angelina do shots of Firewhiskey," Katie smiled, turning onto her stomach to stare at Angelina. Angelina, for her part, simply rolled her eyes.

"Not going to happen," she said, with a firm shake of her head, quill scratching lightly against the parchment. "The only thing that's really going to be any different over the next eight months is that I can enter the Tournament."

Alicia gasped excitedly, jerking up into a seated position. "You're going to do it?"

"Do what?"

Wren jumped as there was a flurry of robes next to her and Lee Jordan settled himself next to her, stretching out his feet and leaning back on his arms.

"Angelina's going to enter the Tournament!" Alicia responded as Fred and George dropped themselves into the spaces between Katie and Alicia, and Wren and Angelina.

"Excellent," Fred said, nudging books out of the way with his foot. "We'll be putting our names in as well."

"But your birthdays aren't until April," Katie's brow furrowed as she stacked the book Fred moved on top of another one.

"That's right," George nodded.

"You have to be 17 to enter," Katie pressed.

A smile quirked at the corner of Fred's lips. "And when has something as trivial as a rule ever stopped us?"

Alicia snorted, and Angelina heaved a sigh, closing her book and rolling up her parchment.

"The way we see it, all we have to do is fool the judge. And if he--"

"It," Wren corrected, twirling a blade of grass between her fingers. The eyes of the group fell on her as Fred's sentence was abandoned.

"It?" George repeated.

Wren looked up, glancing around the circle. "Well, the judge can't be a person."

"Do go on," Fred extended a hand as if to prompt her. Angelina smacked at his shoulder and he withdrew his hand, scowling at her.

Wren flushed, and shook her head, but George nudged her with his shoulder. "C'mon, all theories are worth hearing."

"Well, it can't possibly be a professor from any of the three schools; they're not impartial. And it's unlikely it'll be a Ministry person either since a victory for Hogwarts is a victory for Britain. And I doubt they'd get some international ministry member to come in and decide. For one, they're much too busy, and for two, they'd be easily swayed by international politics. Which means that it's probably some sort of object like the sorting hat, or maybe a creature."

There was a brief silence after her observation followed by a small "Huh." out of Fred.

"That does make what Dumbledore said about personally ensuring no underage student hoodwinks the judge," Alicia nodded. "It's unlikely a judge able to determine the best the school has to offer would be easily tricked."

Fred looked thoughtfully over Wren's shoulder, his eyes distant and brow furrowed slightly. Beside her George was also stiller than normal, only drumming his thumb lightly against his leg.

"Reckon you'll put your name in, if we figure out a way around the judge?" Lee asked Alicia who shook her head.

"I'm happy being a spectator for once," she said, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I just hope one of you gets it. It'll be nice to have a Gryffindor champion to cheer for."

"Trust me," Fred said, his eyes landing on Wren. "There'll be a Gryffindor champion."

Wren sank into a spot at the Gryffindor table with just twenty minutes to spare before she had to head off to Charms. It was not the first time she'd woken up with a start followed immediately by a sinking sensation at the sight of her empty dorm. It wasn't even the first time this year. She'd cut it even closer just two weeks back. Still, any morning that entailed sprinting down seven staircases all while praying that Peeves didn't notice her never instilled a feeling of victory or relief or even gratitude when she turned into the Great Hall and there was still food on the tables.

All that to say, she was not in the best of moods when the Weasley twins sat themselves across the breakfast table from her with identical mischievous smiles on their faces.

"How would you like to make magical history?" Fred asked.

Wren blinked twice, her heart still racing from her run, as she stared between the two of them. "Morning to you as well. I'm fine enough, thank you for asking. And no, I wasn't about to use that jam, please help yourself," she said bitterly, gesturing to where George was topping a bit of toast with raspberry jam that Wren had just been about to use before it slipped from under her fingers.

"Excellent, now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, what do you say?" Fred gestured for her to answer. Wren continued to glare at George until he handed the jar back over to her so she could continue fixing her breakfast.

"What do you mean magical history?" she asked. Despite the fact that her attention was on her plate, she could practically feel the grins grow on the twins faces. It was rather annoying.

"Knew she'd be curious," Fred shot to George.

"Never doubted it," George shot back.

Wren placed the knife down, shaking her head. "I take it back. If I know you two, this isn't going to be anything good. I don't want any part of it."

"Look at this, Fred, she's got us all figured out."

"Well, George, we have had three conversations together. I'd say that's enough to infer motives."

Wren ignored the bickering and leveled them with a look. "I know you two well enough to know that you're Fred," she said pointing to the twin claiming to be George, "And you're George."

Their eyes brightened with delight. "Well spotted, Collings," Fred complimented. "What gave us away?'

Before Wren had a chance to make up some sort of answer--there was no way she was going to give away the tricks Angelina had taught her--George cut in. "You're forgetting, Fred, that Wren and I are close personal friends," he remarked with a significant look, punctuating the statement with a bite of his toast.

Wren's eyes widened and she felt the heat rush into her cheeks. "We don't need to speak about that. Ever."

Fred laughed. "That bad was it?"

"Hang on now, you hardly gave me any warning," George argued, defensively.

Wren glowered at them some more and resolved herself to never be late to breakfast ever again.  "Get back to your original point or I'm leaving."

"Fine, fine," Fred agreed, squaring his shoulders to face her. "How would you like to be the first witch to brew a potion that stumps Albus Dumbledore?"

"Be serious then," Wren shook her head, expecting the twins to come clean about asking for help with a prank or some other sort of mischief. But instead, they simply peered intently at her with expectant looks on their faces. "You're joking. No. "

"You're in NEWT level potions," George said.

"As a Gryffindor no less," Fred added.

"Angelina says you have top marks too." George casually bit into his toast again.

Wren's stomach let out a grumble and she paused the conversation long enough to take a bite of her scone. She chewed it slowly, eyeing the twins as if expecting them to break and admit they were teasing her. Instead they looked at her with eyebrows raised and hands folded in front of them as if at a business meeting. She swallowed, shaking her head.  "That just means I'm good at paying attention and following instructions."

George gave a meaningful look to Fred. "Modest, this one."

"Incredibly," Fred nodded back at his brother. Wren huffed and returned to her breakfast, multitasking by giving the two a rude hand gesture.

They didn't seem to get the point.

"It's admirable, really."

"A shining example to all of wizardkind."

"Stop it, you two," Wren snapped.

Fred shook his head, reaching over to Wren's plate and stealing a piece of bacon, despite the fact that there was a perfectly good platter of it sitting slightly to his right.

"You've got a gift Wren Collings," George appealed. "This could be your time to show it off."

"Not only that, but you're clever and more devious than you appear,"  Fred said, waving the bacon at her. "Far more devious than a prefect's girlfriend should be."

Wren shot him a dirty look, but before she could properly chew him out, George jumped in. "We need your help."

She looked down at her plate and picked up the remaining piece of bacon before either of the twins could reach for it. "What potion do you want me to brew?"

This mischievous grins were back on their faces, and this truly was a horrible idea.

"Just a simple ageing potion." Fred shrugged.

"Oh yes, very simple; all I have to do is brew a potion that instantaneously ages every cell in your body the exact same amount."

"That about explains it," George nodded, and Wren shook her head.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you need an ageing potion?"

"Thought it'd be obvious," Fred said, reaching over to her plate to grab a scone, and she slapped his hand away. "It's for the Tournament of course. Just in case there's some sort of measure to make sure we're 17."

Wren laughed again, this one slightly more disbelieving than full on incredulous. "There's no way I'll be able to make a potion good enough  to get you into the Tournament--get your own bloody scone, Fred." Wren snapped, batting away his hand once more. He raised his eyebrows but finally started to pick at the surrounding serving plates rather than take from hers.

"Don't be so self-defeating Wren," George broke in. "You brewed one well enough on the NEWTs to get an O. Besides, we're not asking you to get us picked--just to help us submit our names."

Wren shook her head. "Do you have a plan for gathering the ingredients? Or figuring out how to haul a cauldron to some unseen location so I can brew a potion without anyone in Hogwarts noticing?"

Fred paused from preparing his own scone to look at Wren disbelievingly. "It's like you don't even know us at all."

"And here we were thinking that you got us."

Wren rolled her eyes, but she couldn't ignore that small question that had wriggled its way out of the back of her mind: could she create a potion that stumped Dumbledore's magic? No, the thought was absolutely ludicrous. He'd been practising magic for 100 years more than her. But could she create a potion that slid through a crack in Dumbledore's thinking? She didn't need to overcome his magic; she just needed to outwit it. And who was better at outwitting brilliant thinkers than the two boys sitting in front of her.

"I'll consider it," Wren said, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

The energy buzzing around the two boys was almost electric. "They're going to read about you in History of Magic," George declared.

"Or at least fall asleep on your page."

Wren broke off a bit of her scone and tossed it at Fred who allowed it to bounce off of him before popping it into his   mouth.

"Might want to pack up the rest," George said, gesturing at Wren's plate. "Breakfast is over in--" The serving dishes around them vanished, and Wren just managed to grab a half of her scone before her plate and its contents disappeared as well.

She really had to wake up earlier in the morning.

"Here," George said, offering a piece of toast he had snatched up. Wren didn't even bother to fake a protest at the kindness, and instead took it from him with a small thanks. After all, he was part of the reason she hadn't been able to eat her full breakfast. A small part, but a part.

Wren rose from the table, the twins getting up as well and moving to her side. "Shouldn't take much to get the ingredients. Quick OWL to the Apothecary should get us what we need." Fred thought aloud.

"Might have to go closer to home than that," George said with a meaningful look to Fred. Fred nodded, thinking about it before his eyes turned to Wren.

"I suppose we do know someone taking NEWT level potions who does have access to--"

"No," Wren said, clearly. "I'm not stealing from Snape."

"We wouldn't call it stealing," George protested.

"It's simply a reallocation of supplies," Fred shrugged. "Still for an education."

"A hands on, useful education."

Wren rolled her eyes and continued on. "You're in charge of the cauldron and ingredients. If I agree to do anything it's just to make the potion."

"Oh, you'll agree," Fred said, trailing behind her slightly with George.

"You're sure, are you?" Wren asked, turning around in the hall.

Fred's eyes sparkled. "Dead certain."

Wren rolled her eyes and spun back around, polishing off the remainder of her scone and brushing her hand against her side. Behind her the boys continued their conversation about ingredients and she worked her way to the Charms classroom.

"Hey Collings, my mate thinks you're tidy!" a voice shouted out to her, and she stopped, spinning around to see  Simon strolling up with Hector and Edmund. Simon rolled his eyes as Hector laughed, and Wren smiled, allowing him to catch up to her. Fred and George also stopped, and she could feel both pairs of eyes on her.

"Good morning, love," Simon said, coming up to her and letting Hector and Edmund pass by snickering and casting a glance back at Simon.

"It's morning, not sure how good it is though," Wren pouted, falling into step with him.

Simon smiled. "You shouldn't be so grumpy in the mornings. It doesn't suit you," he said, rubbing the crease in her brow with his finger. "Besides, isn't it a good morning when you get a rare sighting of your boyfriend?"

"A fair point," Wren agreed, allowing herself a smile as he threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Is that toast?" he asked, looking down at her hand, and Wren nodded. Simon reached over plucking it from her grip and taking a bite. "You mind? I'm still famished."

"Go ahead," Wren nodded.

"Where are you off to then?" Simon asked, taking another bite of toast.

"Charms."

The word didn't come from Wren. Instead, Fred appeared suddenly by her side, George next to him. Wren could see the subtle shift in Simon's face. The confusion and small question there as he looked down at her. "Is that so?"

Wren rolled her eyes, ignoring the way her heart seemed to skip over a beat. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Fred asked, putting a hand over his own heart. "I'm wounded Wren, I thought we were friends."

Wren snorted and shook her head.

"You're friends?" Simon asked, looking down at her again before casting a glance and Fred and George. "That's news to me."

"Keep a catalogue of her friends do you?" Fred asked. Wren turned to face him, an eyebrow raised. His words seemed sharper than his usual teases. Her heart beat a bit quicker.

"Smart. Must come in handy when this one goes on about her day," George nodded. "Or at parties, I'd imagine."

Wren laughed, the sound higher than normal. She cleared her throat and reached up, threading her fingers through Simon's so that both hands rested on her shoulder.  "Our campsites were next to each other at the World Cup and we got on," she explained, looking up at Simon as he absently bit from the toast, eyes still on the twins. "Now they bother me whenever they have the chance."

"You know us. Botherers." George said, and Simon shook his head at it all. He might have said something else if the Hallway didn't split, one leading to the greenhouses, and the other off to Charms.

"Well, so long as they don't bother you too much," he said, pulling Wren in closer to him. He leaned down and kissed her hard, his lips pressing against hers so forcefully, she felt the blood and heat rush to her face as she attempted to pull the kiss back into a normal hallway peck. She was rather unsuccessful and stayed locked in his embrace until eventually he let go, and with a nod of goodbye at Fred and George, turned off down the hall.

"Change your mind about how good the morning is Collings?" George nodded appraisingly, as a slightly stunned Wren turned back towards them.

"Oh, shove it," Wren snapped lightly before following them off to class and enduring more teasing than she possibly should have to for it being before nine in the morning.

She intended to tell them no.

It wasn't as if she had any moral qualms with breaking the rules, but it seemed to be a lot of wasted time and energy and for what--so they could attempt to enter a tournament they weren't even prepared for? There was no guarantee they'd even be picked. And what if it came back on her and she got in trouble for breaking the rules.

No. She'd have to tell them no.

Even though Simon was right and the school year had smoothed out some in terms of workload, she was too busy to willingly waste her time on a pipe dream.

But the spare bits of time that were already wasted once she was finished taking notes in class and waiting for everyone else to catch up? That wasn't too much time to devote to the idea.

Wren bent over her parchment, scanning over her list of prospective ingredients. There was the set list needed, and then several others she'd included on a whim: dandelion root, tadpole legs, a little more fluxweed. She considered the list for a second before scrawling at the bottom: boomslang skin?

"What are you working on?" Cedric whispered, lowly. Wren's head snapped towards him, an arm reflexively coming around her parchment as if to shield it from view.

He let out an amused exhale and raised his eyebrows as if to say Really? "An illicit project then?"

"No," Wren returned defensively. She paused, taking a moment to fully consider it.  "Maybe."

Cedric smiled, and she lifted up her pitiful shield arm, putting her head  in her hand instead to shield his face from view as she slid the parchment over to him.

"An ageing potion?" Cedric asked, a tinge of disappointment coloring his voice. "What's so--" he seemed to catch on then. "For the Tournament?"

Wren nodded and dropped her hand. "It's not for me, though."

"Of course not," he dismissed, eyes returning to the list of ingredients with her additions and ideas about ways to modify the brewing process.

"It's not," Wren protested a bit too loudly, casting her glance around and finding Snape staring at her. She picked up her quill and bent her head down, pretending to be copying more notes.

"I don't blame you for wanting to enter, I'm planning on it," Cedric noted, dropping his own voice lower as well. "What's with all of the extra ingredients?"

Wren chanced another look up at Snape, whose head was bent over a stack of parchments on his desk. She looked over Cedric's shoulder at her notes. "If I want to make a potion that gets around Dumbledore's precautions, it can't be a simple ageing potion. It needs to address any potential...failsafes."

Cedric turned to look at her. "You're a bit of a genius, aren't you?"

Wren flushed. "I haven't even decided if I'm going to make it yet."

"I don't see why not," Cedric said, pushing the parchment back over to Wren. "If you're able to make this, you'd deserve more of a shot at being Champion than me. I'm just putting my name in. I do have a question though," he said, and Wren nodded, looking down at her scribblings.

"Have you considered adding lovage?"

She shook her head.

"If you crushed it right, the effects would be harmless to the drinker, but it would sweat through…"

"And create an air of confusion around them," Wren finished, eyes widening. The aura might make it more likely for the seller to miss the fact that the twins were aged up. "That's brilliant," she complimented, adding the ingredient to her list.

"Happy to have helped," Cedric nodded at her, his eyes catching on something up front before bending over his work. "Snape's coming," he hissed.

Wren shuffled the notes between other bits of parchment under her books, pulling out her finished Potions notes and feeling a little less than certain in her impending refusal of the twins' request.

No good deed went unpunished.

That was the only possible explanation for Fred Weasley to be dropping his books next to hers right now. She was being punished for turning Thom Spiro purple. Despite the fact it was two weeks later. It seemed that karma took time.

"Don't look so excited," Fred chastised. "I've recently learned that Herbology is serious business, so I can't be helping you with your mischief."

Wren glowered, and in return, he winked at her.

“This is part of your plan isn’t it?” Wren asked, narrowing her eyes at Fred. “All that on Tuesday was so you’d get reassigned to be my partner?”

She was referencing, of course, the awful prank he had played on Anthony Hooper. Throughout the entire class Fred had continuously baited the Poulpeplant into wrapping one of its vines around Anthony’s foot so that any time he moved, it yanked him back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

It hadn't been until the end of class that Anthony caught Fred dropping bits of bait into his pants' cuff.

The class had had a laugh and ended before Professor Sprout had been able to fully lecture Fred about the dangers of messing around in Herbology.

She still had plenty of time to take away 25 points from Gryffindor, though.

“Now why would I want to be your partner? You poisoned your last one.”

“I did not!” Wren hissed. “He wasn’t my partner, and it was a light poisoning at most.” She paused, pieces clicking together. "You're here to get me to help you steal ingredients. Aren't you?"

"First off, I believe I already clarified that we aren't stealing--we're reallocating. And second, you made it very clear that obtaining ingredients wasn't part of the deal."

"It's not."

"Could be though."

"But it's not."

"You have been known to be light-fingered."

Wren glared and Fred smiled. “We have another plan for the ingredients. Getting reassigned to be your partner is but a happy accident.”

She did not believe him. "I'm not helping you get ingredients. I haven't even decided if I'll help you," Wren said.

Fred gave her a very disbelieving look and then reached over, and tugged her copy of Advanced Potions Making from her stack of books. Wren let out a noise of protest, but before she could further yell at him, he cut her off. "You don't have Potions today."

Wren reached over to grab the book back as her clear objection was ignored. "You know my schedule?"

"Of course I do. It's part of the planning," he dismissed, pulling it out of her grasp and holding it up. "Which begs the question why are you carrying this around?"

It was then that he seemed to catch sight of the parchment sticking out and slipped it out from the book.

Wren reached forward only to have Fred shove the book back in her hands. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this looks like the makings of an age potion."

There was no point in arguing that it was for Potions. Fred was frustrating, grandstanding, and overeager, but sadly, he was not stupid.

"I wanted to see if it could even be done before I agreed to it."

"You were curious," Fred grinned, looking rather like the niffler that caught the galleon.

"I was being practical," Wren defended.

Fred shook his head. "You already knew you could make an age potion. You wanted to see if you could make the best age potion." Fred bent over the parchment. "So what's with these ingredients?"

Wren summoned the parchment back to her and it flew through Fred's fingers, rolling itself up so she could tuck it in her bag.  "I was brainstorming different ways to make the potion foolproof. Or fool sure. Adding an aura of conversion, binding it more strongly with your DNA, making the effects more permanent--"

"More permanent?" Fred asked. "Eager as I am to enter the Tournament, it's not worth losing six months of life over."

"Not permanent permanent," she corrected. "Just until your birthday."

Fred seemed less uneasy and more curious now. "Why?"

"Because Dumbledore knows we all brewed aging potions for the NEWTS."

"Honestly, I'm flattered by how intelligent you think I am, but I'm going to need you to explain more," Fred prompted.

Wren opened her mouth to explain right as Professor Sprout called the class to order. Wren shut her mouth turning to the front, listening as the professor began to explain their fertilization experiment for the day. Beside her, she could still feel Fred's eyes intensely on her, and she knew he wouldn't drop the conversation.

"What if whatever Dumbledore does to protect the judge can sense if your age changes faster than it naturally should? If the age potion were to wear off on your birthday, the change of age would seem natural. Right?" Wren whispered.

"You're a bloody genius," Fred murmured back, and Wren shook her head, her cheeks heating up. "A natural inventor."

"I'm not inventing anything. Just using theory to adapt a potion that should otherwise already work," Wren argued lightly.

"In the history books, Wren. You're gonna be in history books."

Wren shook her head and decided to give Professor Sprout her full attention.

...

Despite what Wren might have supposed, Fred had quite a knack for Herbology. Between the two of them, had managed to distract and add new fertilizer to three of the five Poulpeplants in the time it took most students in the class to get just one. Wren changed it up to Fred being both extremely distracting by nature and surprisingly nimble. Although frankly that shouldn't have been much of a surprise what with all of the pranks he pulled around the castle. Still, Wren couldn't help but admire his focus and skill.

"We make a natural team," Fred said with a grin, nudging Wren's shoulder. She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips turned up.

"We're just both good at Herbology," Wren dismissed.

Fred heaved a great sigh. "Oh come on, Wren. You want to help us. I can see it in you. You've practically done half of the work already."

Wren shook her head, taking up the defensive stance in front of the plant. Fred stood behind the plant, his eyes fixated on her as if he were proficient at Occlumency. Maybe it was the fear that he was that drove her to finally say, "Oh, alright, then."

A bright look of triumph flashed across Fred's face as he beamed. "Excellent. We'll negotiate the details later, but right now, you might want to hold your nose."

Wren's brow furrowed. "What?"

And then she smelled it. A putrid smell clawed up Wren's throat, choking her and turning her stomach. Quickly she backed away from the plant, flinging an arm over her nose as Fred's hand shot up. "Professor! Is the fertilizer supposed to smell like this?" his voice came out nasally due to his nose being pinched between his two fingers. Professor Sprout hurried towards them as Fred cast Wren a wink.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she looked under the table. A dung bomb.

"Everyone out of the greenhouse," Professor Sprout ordered, as the students made for the door, coughing and gagging. It took all of four minutes for the class to fully escape into the fresh air, fanning out on the lawn. Wren pulled in lungful after lungful of the crisp air, but the memory of the smell seemed set on her clothes.

Beside her, Fred was receiving an excellent telling off from Professor Sprout, ending with him earning himself a detention fertilizing all of the greenhouses for a week. He looked appropriately remorseful throughout the ordeal, but as Professor Sprout turned and headed towards the greenhouse to clear it out, he cast a look out of the corner of his eye to Wren.

He was a genius. A mad genius. But a genius all the same.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley imagine #harry potter fic #harry potter imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasleyfred weasley ficfred weasley fanfictionfred weasley x ocfred weasley x f!ocweasley twinsweasley twins ficharry potter fanfiction #fred weasley x f!oc #weasley twins #weasley twins fic #the fool #oc: wren collings #fred weasley x wren collings #harry potter book 4 #harry potter and the goblet of fire #series: the fool

[mateoweston]

A First Punishment → PARA

who: mateo weston, rory flanagan ( @rory-flanagan​ )

when: april 4th

where: mateo’s room

warnings: n/a

Mateo Weston

There was a little bit of worry tugging at the center of Mat's chest as he finally arrived at Rory's door. Not unreasonably so, but he suspected that the uncertainty of midterms was what might be at least part of the cause for Rory's bad mood and he wanted to make sure he wasn't sitting in that by himself. Letting himself into the room, he walked straight through to Rory's room and knocked only briefly to announce his presence before pushing in. "Hey," he greeted once Rory was in view, beelining over to press a quick kiss to his lips before his arms wrapped around him.

Rory Flanagan

Sometimes it was difficult to gauge why exactly Rory was in a bad mood. It could have been his bipolar disorder, his addiction issues, lack of sleep from his annoyance at his manager at The Wave. It could have even been the knowledge that there was some creepy Dominant hanging around making weird moves on his mates. But the news of these midterms, and randomised pairings is really what did him in. But he acted out with Mat, and he was just grateful that his boyfriend knew him better than to start getting shouty, coming over instead. "Hey," Rory said, smiling at him, allowing Mat to envelope him, kissing back slightly harder, needing to feel something solid and real for a second.

Mateo Weston

Mat's hands stroked broadly and firmly over his back, feeling the tense muscles as he went along. It had been a whirlwind of a month, really, between them getting together, the lapse in administration and now midterms and honestly, it was no shock some of that was hard to keep up with. "We'll figure it all out," he assured again, voice gentle and a bit muffled where he'd pressed his face into Rory's hair. He wasn't sure how much time had passed by the time he pulled back enough to look at Rory again but he knew they had a few things to do before they could curl up for good. Bringing one hand up, he carded through Rory's hair, almost beginning to scratch his scalp -- but he stopped himself in time, not wanting to distract him too much. "Go sit at your desk and get a piece of paper and pen out. And then I want that list we talked about. At least five reasons, more if you can think of them. Either way, you'll fill the page up by repeating them, okay?"

Rory Flanagan

Though his spine seemed to shift in protest at Mat rubbing it down at first, he soon found himself relaxing, wanting to stay in this way forever, but knowing that wasn't what the Dominant was here for. But he could pretend, pretend Mat's face was in his hair, his muffled words ticklish against Rory's scalp, his hands wrapped round him tight, forever. It could have been, for all Rory knew, until Mat spoke and broke the silence. "Yeah..." He murmured, not in the mood to back-talk today, "Yeah, Sir," He repeated, definitely not wanting to add anymore difficulty to the situation. He walked over to his desk, getting his seldom-used notebook out and a pen, staring at his wall for the reasons to come to him. Nothing but snide remarks and sarcastic comments so far. But one weak reason came, and he wrote that down because it was a better start than a blank page. 1. by talking, you both are on the same page about a situation which is better than leaving them guessing.

Mateo Weston

Mat let Rory go and set up shop and stayed in the background. While he did want Rory to know he was there, he didn't want to pressure him by hovering and give him the time and space to get through his task without interruption. So he made himself comfortable on Rory's bed, watching him brood over his page for a bit before he got out his phone to absently keep busy with while keeping an eye on his boyfriend. Only when a good amount of time had passed did he finally speak up again, sure he wasn't interrupting him too soon now. "How're you doing, sweet boy?"

Rory Flanagan

It got easier the longer he went on, though he only had 3 in total when Mat spoke up. Rory blinked, glancing up from where he had been staring at his paper, face relaxing from where he had been frowning. "Um, okay, Sir," He said, glancing back down at the two additional reasons. 2. communicating will help find answers to solve the problem at hand, as two heads are better than one. 3. talking is a better, healthier emotional release than keeping it all bottled up, "I only need to think of two more...it's harder than I thought it was going to be," He admitted.

Mateo Weston

Rising from where he'd been reclining on the bed, Mat crossed over to his boyfriend, hands settling on his shoulders from behind. Glancing over the points he had jotted down already, he hummed approvingly. Those were real promising already and Mat couldn't help the pride that once again swelled inside of him at Rory being so incredibly good for him. Ducking his head down, he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You're doing great, sweet boy. You can find two more. I'll be right over there in the meantime." With another gentle squeeze to Rory's shoulders, Mat withdrew again, settling back down but keeping more of an eye on Rory for the time being.

Rory Flanagan

The Irish lad let out a little hum of disappointment, half expecting Mat to give him the answers. He did smile at the kiss on his forehead though, and the encouragement, staring back at the page with new confidence and determination. When two more points came into his head, he let a smile form on his face, scribbling them down. 4. Communicating with others helps you easily get your point across and therefore allows others understand you and your needs better. 5. Communicating helps with your skills in socialising, helping you handle feedback and criticism in a healthy way, promoting self growth. "I think I'm done, Sir," He announced, feeling accomplished, "Do you think these points make sense and stuff?"

Mateo Weston

At the mention of Rory being done, Mat stood again and crossed over to him, one hand on his shoulder while he read. He knew Rory liked to pretend he had but one braincell, liked to joke about his supposed lack of smarts. But it was moments like this that proved him wrong and made Mat admire his intellect even more than on any given day. "Those are great," he assured, squeezing at his boyfriend's shoulder. "Now you're just gonna repeat those until the page is full and then we're all done with this."

Rory Flanagan

He felt lighter when Mat approved the points, because he really did try to think of serious notes, instead of falling back to the safety of his jokes. “Thank you, Sir,” He said in response to his Dominant’s assurance, turning back to write the lines, trying not to let his handwriting turn too sloppy, until he reached the last line, barely squeezing the few words onto it, each point engraved in his head clearly. “All done,” He announced, putting the pen down, hoping Mat wouldn’t just scrumple it up, becoming rather fond of the scribbled page in front of him.

Mateo Weston

Mat watched quietly as Rory finished up, keeping in the background once more as to not make him feel too hovered over. Once Rory announced he was done, Mat was back behind him, glancing the paper over before he nodded. "You did very well. Good boy. We're gonna keep that so we can look it over again if we ever want or need to," he decided, then reached his hand out for Rory to take. Pulling him up from his chair, he lead him over to the bed and settled down against the headboard with him, arms wrapping around his boyfriend with ease. "I know talking isn't always easy -- lord know I'm not always the best at it either. But I want us to make an effort - for all the reasons you've just written down. I want us to be able to solve problems together, to understand when something's wrong and for you to not have to deal with them alone. You know?"

Rory Flanagan

Relief washed over him when Mat informed him they would keep it, leaving the paper on the desk, brief musings in his mind about laminating it forgotten when Mat held out his hand. Rory took it gratefully, letting him get led to the bed, still feeling a little sub-spacey, but it only added to the comfort of cuddling with his boyfriend. "Yeah," He agreed, nodding, "I just...sometimes it's hard to explain in words, but I'll try and get better, and even if it sounds like utter nonsense, you'll know I'm trying my best right?" He asked, looking at him for assurance.

Mateo Weston

"I will. And you don't need to have a perfectly planned speech prepared. Sometimes it'll be enough just to tell me you feel weird or overwhelmed or just bad. Then at least I'll know to be there for you and we can work out the details later," he assured, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then slipped his hand up to gently scratch at Rory's scalp. "You've got me to lean on, no matter what."

Rory Flanagan

Rory was so grateful to have someone like Mat in his corner. Logical, rational, firm and fair. It was the complete opposite to what Rory was used to, normally surrounding himself with people who encouraged his impulsive nature, who tended to fly off the handle themselves. "No matter what," He murmured, laying into Mat's chest, eyes fluttering shut. "Thank you, Sir." Upon entering Devereux, if someone told Rory he'd be thanking a Dominant for giving him a punishment, he'd have laughed and told them to go fuck themselves, but it seemed the right thing to do now. "I love you."

Mateo Weston

As Rory leaned back into him, one of Mat's hands moved to the back of his head, idly playing with a few strands of hair there. This was one of the many reasons he considered punishments important and had taken a whole class on them -- the utter peace and relaxation afterwards, when whatever issue had come up was totally forgiven and done with. "You're welcome, sweet boy," he returned, pressing a kiss into Rory's hair and then deciding that it was the perfect place to simply let his own head rest -- nestled into his boyfriend. "I love you too."

#para #rory

[randomoranges]

Home is Where the Heart Is

hey hi hello do you like soft canon with hurt?

  the saga continues of étienne’s adventures in edmonton. had this idea since this summer. lol.

end october/beginning november 2020

Edward scans the crowd and tries to keep his nerves under control. He makes sure he isn’t too close to others, while still maintaining contact with the arrivals doors. Étienne should be arriving any moment now. In fact, his plane has landed, therefore, with every new batch of people who walk through the doors; Étienne could be one of them.

 He checks his phone for what is surely the fiftieth time in the past three minutes, but he finds no new messages other than the one from his boyfriend letting him know that “the bird has landed.” Edward fixes his mask and follows a person who walks out, thinking it might be Étienne, but it’s not.

 The reason he’s here started towards the beginning of the month of September. He’d been enjoying his video call with Étienne, something they did once every two days or so after he’d gone back home, when Étienne had grown quiet.

 “Were you serious?” He’d asked and Edward had wondered what exactly Étienne was alluding to, “When you said I could come over whenever �� were you serious?” He’d reiterated.

 “Of course. Whenever you want. Hell, you could even be on the way to the airport at the moment. You could even already be in Edmonton.” He’d wondered if Étienne was concocting some trip and had dared to hope that he’d be seeing his boyfriend sooner rather than later.

 He’d meant it. Étienne could surprise him on his doorstep with little to no warning and he’d be happy to have him over.

 Summer had been – kind to Étienne, but not in its usual ways. It was a good thing it had been a hot summer, at least Étienne had been able to enjoy the outdoors, but – Edward had seen the toll of the pandemic on his boyfriend’s face. Had seen the dark circles that had made a comeback and had listened to the change in Étienne’s song from determined and hopeful to pessimistic and downtrodden.

 And of course, now things seemed to be getting worse again.

 Étienne was at wits ends.

 Étienne is at wits ends.

 “I don’t know what to do anymore, Ed,” He’d said. “Every time I go out – there’s a new place that’s closed down. How are the others going to make it? What’s going to be left of the city once this is all over? What’s going to be left of me? It’s like no one cares! Everything we did for naught! And then there’s those who say it’s a joke or a hoax. Yet I can’t even have my fucking sister over anymore – again. I can’t. I go grocery shopping and I fucking panic thinking maybe I’m going to infect someone, because what if it’s on me and I just don’t know because I can’t even fucking die properly.”

 He looked manic. Wild and scared and desperate.

 Edward had been – worried.

 Edward always worried. He always worries. He still worries. He worried by nature, but – he worried for Étienne in a different way.

 He knows of Étienne’s troubles – knows how his mood dips and changes and peeks and crests and falls straight through and he knows how personally he takes every single problem that afflicts the city, as though he’s responsible for the decision of millions.

 Edward had feared this – had feared that Étienne would spiral back out to how he’d been in April, but now he thinks he’d prefer the manic busy version of Étienne to this more lethargic and angry one.

 Edward had tried to be reassuring. Said that he’d be fine – he’d managed. It would be tough, yes, but – Étienne was like a phoenix, somehow found ways to rise again from the ashes. He’d reinvent himself if he needed to, but – Étienne hadn’t been so sure, still felt as though he hadn’t fully recovered from the original reinvention.

 Edward had fallen quiet to that.

 “D’you think I can come over again? For a bit. Maybe through to the New Year – I don’t know. I just – the weather’s gonna change for the worst again and – I don’t – I know how I am – in the winter – on a good year. I don’t think – I don’t trust myself going through winter alone during a pandemic.” He’d looked away from the screen after that admission. Had chewed on his bottom lip and had fisted his hands into Mercury’s fur.

 Edward’s heart had broken hearing those words. He’d wished he could find a way to enter Étienne’s head and right it once and for all. Fix whatever it was that made him feel this way day in and day out. No one deserved this, least of all Étienne.

 He consoled himself with the fact that Étienne was reaching out – that he was asking for help – that he wasn’t shutting himself further into his dark mood and dealing with it “on his own.” He’d seen how that ended up far too many times to want to live through it again.

 “Of course – like I said, you can come here whenever you want. I want you here.” Edward felt it was best to repeat these words as often as he could, in the hopes that Étienne would stop second-guessing himself over them.

 “I have work though. I have online classes, grading, and assignments to look over.” He’d said as though he was giving Edward reasons to tell him not to come and stay home in his infected hell hole.

 “That’s okay. I have work as well. We’ll make a schedule and work around it. I’ll clear out a desk for you that you can use. You can have the guestroom as your own study.”

 It was the logical thing to say. Whatever it was Étienne needed. It wasn’t complicated.

 “Are you sure?” Étienne had finally asked.

 “Of course, sweetheart. I’m always sure when it comes to you.”

 It was a little sappy, but – it was all very true.

 Étienne nodded at that, as if he couldn’t find the words to go with the action.

 “You realise though that it’ll be cold. It gets cold here earlier than it does at yours. And I mean negative weather and snow before Halloween.”

 Étienne had grimaced at that and Edward had laughed. The last thing he wanted was for Étienne to arrive in a windbreaker and then have an even worst time with the weather.

 “I don’t care. Summer’s over. It’s already getting cold. I just – I need to – I need to be around people – someone. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t.”

 Edward had read the panic in those green-brown eyes, had read the fear and the loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole and – Edward had needed a moment to still his own nerves. He hadn’t seen that look on Étienne’s face in far too long and it was one he’d hoped he’d never see again.

 “That’s fine. When will you be arriving?”

 “I don’t know – I’m still figuring out when I’ll leave. There’s still a few things I need to do here.”

 “Keep me posted?” Part of him feared Étienne would do something stupid between now and then, but he consoled and reminded himself that despite everything, Étienne was in a better place now and was being treated for this. This wasn’t like before.

 “Yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

 That had been that and now here he is, summer officially done and over, waiting for Étienne to arrive. They’d spoken late last night and Edward hadn’t liked the way his boyfriend had sounded. Out of it, was one way of describing it, but – it almost felt as though – as if Étienne was giving up. As if he’d lost his last shred of hope.

 He can’t let that happen.

 Étienne is too important for that.

 Therefore, Edward takes a deep breath, counts to ten and then twenty and finally fifty and focuses on the task at hand.  With Calvin now back in Calgary as well, he figures this will give him a proper chance to do some real damage control on Étienne.

 Despite everything, he still smiles and feels extremely excited when he finally spots both Étienne and Mercury making their way towards him. He sees Étienne pause and give a careful look around, but even with the masks, he can still tell that Étienne smiles when he sees him as well.

 Étienne picks up his pace and walks over to him and Edward meets him half way, opening his arms up so that Étienne can step into them.

 “Hi you,” He says and holds Étienne close to him. Étienne looks a little worse for wear, but if anything, his visit in April had prepared Edward for this and so the shock isn’t as big, even if the pang in his heart is just the same. He feels Mercury excitedly jump up on his leg and he marvels at how big she’s gotten since she’d last been here. He’ll greet her properly in a bit, but for now he holds onto Étienne and presses a masked kiss to the side of his face.

 “Eddy,” Étienne breathes into the crook of his neck and it feels as though Étienne’s just discharged some of the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders since he’d gone back home. As if now that he’s here, he can let go a bit and give the reigns over to Edward to help him look after himself.

 It takes Edward a moment to realise that Étienne is shaking in his arms and he holds him closer still and rubs his back. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He holds him for a moment longer, holds him until Étienne stops shaking and gets a hold of himself, holds him until Étienne straightens himself out and steps out of the embrace.

 “Missed you,” Étienne says as he picks the handle of his suitcase. Edward takes the moment to greet Mercury and she seems quite happy to see him as well. She still has growing to do, but she’s no longer the tiny puppy that had made the first trip out west at the start of spring.

 “Missed you more. Ready to go home?”

 Étienne nods and Edward laces their hands together as they make their way towards the truck.

 It’s a mostly silent walk and Étienne makes one comment about the weather, which makes Edward laugh. Étienne already looks like he’s dressed for winter and by the looks of the two suitcases he brought along, his entire winter wardrobe seems to be here with him as well.

 Edward takes the long walk to the truck, if only to give Mercury a chance to stretch her legs. They take off their masks after realising that they’d both kept them on out of habit and once they’re at the truck, Edward pulls Étienne for a much sought after kiss.

 “Missed you,” Edward reiterates as he caresses the sides of Étienne’s face. His boyfriend offers him a kind, if tired smile and Edward still thinks he’s one of the most beautiful people he’s ever met.

 “Missed you more,” Étienne parrots back, before he hugs him again. “Thanks again for – everything.”

 Edward gives his hand a squeeze and then opens the door for him.

  There’s hand-sanitizer in the truck they both use and Edward tries to keep the conversation going as he drives back home, but Étienne ends up falling asleep once more halfway through. He lets him, knowing Étienne never seems to get around the right amount of sleep and he lets Élyse know he’ll take good care of Étienne once they’re home.

 Mercury trots off to re-explore his house and so Edward helps Étienne with his luggage, helps him to the door and helps undress him afterwards, unpeeling each layer as they make their way towards Edward’s bedroom and they reacquaint themselves with one another with kisses and touches that make Étienne feel just a little bit more alive. It’s heady and messy and needy, but the end result is the same and Edward holds Étienne close as he cards his fingers through his hair with one hand, and traces lazy patterns on his arm with the other.

 Étienne seems a little more peaceful as he snuggles close and presses the occasional kiss to Edward’s chest. It’s as if – he feels safe here, in Edward’s arms and Edward hopes and wishes that he can always provide this solace for him.

 “Your hair’s gotten long,” He remarks as he holds up a perfect curl. He twines it around his finger before releasing it and watches with wonder as it springs back to its original form. Étienne’s hair had already been getting long during his last visit, but now that he could see his hair in person, Edward could really tell. It keeps flirting with Étienne’s shoulder and Edward thinks it’s a good look on him.

 “Yeah... never got around to booking a haircut when they reopened and then I kinda – I kinda like it actually. Thought I’d let it grow some and see what it looks like....” He’s careful with his answer, Edward can tell from the way he looks at him and then away. Étienne tucks a strand behind his ear out of reflex and Edward smiles softly.

 “It looks good. It suits you.”

 It really does. In all the years Edward has known him, he’s never seen Étienne with super long hair. Étienne had even been – sensitive about it and after Edward had found out why, he understood. This is a nice change, despite the reason behind it, and Edward hopes it means that if anything, Étienne is slowly making peace with that.

 “Yeah, you think so?”

 Edward nods. “Yeah, I really like it.”

 Étienne grins, a little quiet thing as he resettles against him, “I haven’t had it super long in – over forty years. Forgot how good it looked,” He says, normal like anything and Edward silently thrills.

 “It looks very good. I’m all for you experimenting with it and letting it grow.”

 Étienne offers him a smile for his compliment and Edward stores it for the days where it’ll be hard to get a smile out of his boyfriend. He’d like to think there won’t be any, but with the way things are going and with winter coming up, he knows better.

 “Hey, I have a surprise for you,” He says instead before they can get too comfortable. Étienne gives him a curious look and protests when Edward jostles him so that he can get out of bed and put his boxers back on. “Come on, you’ll like this.”

 “Preferred the view I had moments before.” Étienne says as he slowly makes a grab for his own clothes and underwear. Edward rolls his eyes, fond, amused, and ever so endeared, and then walks his boyfriend to the guestroom.

 “Jeez, Édouard, if you were already done with me, you could’ve just said and I woulda made my own exile back to the guestroom.” Étienne teases as Edward pushes the door to the guestroom until it’s fully open.

 “Humour me, Curly,” Edward says and leads him further into the room. “I set everything up for you; desk, chair, light. I cleared it off so you can put your laptop on it. I moved the printer here, in case you have things to print – and, this,” He moves to the side and that’s when Étienne notices the very large and suddenly very noticeable wooden easel that had not been previously there this past spring, “Is a little something I thought you would appreciate.”

 Étienne blinks and blinks again. There’s an easel – a beautiful wooden thing that he’d never ever seen before just standing there as if waiting to be used. He walks up to it, as if in a trance and dares to touch it to make sure it’s real.

 “I know you like to make your own canvases and stretchers, so if you need any materials or whatever, I’ll drive you to the store.”

 Étienne turns back to Edward, walks back to him and lunges into his awaiting arms, as if his boyfriend had been expecting such a reaction.

 “You didn’t have to,” Étienne says as he fights back the tears that threaten to fall. It’s all too much. He doesn’t deserve all of this – doesn’t deserve Edward’s kindness and yet Edward still offers it to him as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

 “I wanted to.” Edward tells him and figures he can let him know he’d made it himself later, before Étienne has an apoplexy over it. “I want you to feel comfortable here. You’re not just a passing houseguest – you’re my boyfriend. This is the very least I can do for you.”

 Étienne pulls him in for a kiss before Edward can say anything else that might make his heart jump out of his ribcage. “I love you,” He blurts out when they pull away for air. It’s the least he can do and say and he knows Edward likes hearing it. (He does too, really, but right now if Edward tells him he might just cry over everything.) (He’s still getting used to this – to having someone show him love and kindness so openly.) (There are still days when he wonders if this isn’t all some massive fever drug induced dream.) (He’s honestly glad it isn’t.)

 “My dearest Étienne, I love you too, never doubt it,” Edward tells him, cups his face in his nice warm hands, and offers him the kindest of smiles. Looks at him as though he’s something precious and worthwhile and there’s something inside of Étienne – some old shriveled thing that lives where his heart once was that dares to beat again.

 And Edward holds Étienne close, holds him again and then gently leads him back towards his bedroom so that they can lie together. He lets Étienne slowly come apart in his arms, rubs his back and twines their legs together and makes the silent promise that he’ll watch over Étienne and do his best so that Étienne doesn’t fall off the deep end again. He hopes and dares that despite everything, that winter will be kind to the both of them, but Edward knows that if anything, at least, they’ll be together.

 FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #mercury the dog #projocanondoko #fic

[imperfekti]

Tenipuri Party: Fuji Shuusuke profile translation

TN:

In the absence of an official English version, this translation is intended to help those who can’t read the material in the original language. Please support Tenipuri by getting your own copy of this book - it is worth it! There are various ways of purchasing it even for those not living in or visiting Japan.

The pictures I have included in this post do not show full pages.

On the translation: I’m aiming for a more direct, “Japanese-sounding” translation to share the mood of the content more as it is. This will probably cause some sentences to appear weird in English.

On Fuji’s style of speech: he uses a lot of little additions that soften the tone, and most of them are pretty hard to include in English. In general his style of speech is a balance of casual but polite.

I’m still working on Japanese, so there might be mistakes. Please let me know if you spot any translation errors so I can fix them here!

Fuji Shuusuke

U-17 Japan representative player, middle schooler Seishun Gakuen Middle-school player

Towards the distant sky, reflected in the mind’s eye --  A noble youth, soaring like a refreshing breeze

Message

“This kind of wonderful placement… it’s rare to get to taste it. Everyone, thank you so much. I’ll have to meet those expectations. (*1) Following the guidepost that I have made myself… I swear I’ll advance to greater heights. I’ll definitely show a new scenery to you too.”

Extra prize: a surprise box decorated with memorable photos “There are even balloons attached to it. An exciting, heart-warming gift. The music box’s tune was to my liking, too.”

Profile

[DATA] Middle-school 3rd year / February 29 (Pisces) / Blood type B / 167 cm / 53 kg / Right-handed

Special techniques: Tsubame gaeshi, Higuma otoshi, Hakugei, Kagerou tsutsumi, Houou gaeshi, Kirin otoshi, Hakuryuu, Hecatoncheires no monban, Hoshi hanabi, Closed eye (*2),  Aoi fubuki, Hikari kaze 

Play style: Counter puncher

Family: Father, mother, older sister, younger brother

Father’s occupation: company employee (foreign company)

Hobbies: Collecting cacti, photography

Favourite saying: What is important is invisible to the eye 

Favourite color: Beige

Favourite foods: All spicy foods, 100% apple juice

Favourite book: Travel journals, travel photo books

Favourite music: Celtic music

Preferred type of person: A person who smells like flowers

Preferred date spot: An observatory where you can see stars clearly

Most wanted thing right now: Stimulus (*3)

Weakness: Sour things

Elementary school: Seishun Dai Daisan Elementary School

Committee: Graduation album committee

Strong subjects: Classics

Weak subjects: Science

Often-visited place in school: Photography room

Uses allowance on: Taking care of cacti

Skills beyond tennis: Winter sports, recognising constellations

His routines during tournaments: Drinking coffee from all over the world, contacting his brother

Favourite anniversary: Birthday of the person he likes

Preferred travel destination: Salar de Uyuni on a night with shooting stars

Present for a special person: A ring made of flowers

Scenes

For Fuji-senshu, who had specialised in counter tennis, a certain incident at the U-17 camp became an impetus for an awakening. (*4) Making the Critical wind ‘Aoi fubuki’ his new weapon, he changed his style greatly into offensive tennis.

(Quotes on pictures:) “Tensai Fuji Shuusuke.” “Now, shall we go one more time…” “Was there this kind of an tensai sleeping in Seigaku?” “This team reaching the nationals championship, that’s my wish!” “Game and set… won by Fuji Shuusuke…” “Critical wind ‘Aoi fubuki’” “One of the Critical winds, ‘Hikari kaze’” “I’ve already stopped playing just defensive tennis.”

Sparked by a certain oath, I began to aim for my own guidepost

Currently, both among fans and people involved, Fuji-senshu’s change to offensive tennis has become a topic of discussion. Was there some impetus for this?

An impetus? Well… I exchanged private oaths with a certain person - is all I think I’ll say here. Fufu.

An oath...? Please give us at least a hint!

Well, just a little, then… Before, I used to draw out the opponent’s strongest skills, felt the thrill of defeating them with a counter, and enjoyed myself like that. But in the end, that depended on the opponent. The guideposts you need to traverse on mountains, you have to find by yourself - that is what I understood.

About Fuji-senshu’s new technique, “Hikari kaze”. How are you able to react like that?

By ascertaining the opponent’s muscle movements and breathing, the moment that information is intracerebrally linked as an image, it’s as if time stops and all noises and the scenery of your surroundings disappear - only the trajectory of the shot the opponent has hit emerges as an signpost of light. So, from now on too, I will follow the guidepost I’ve found by myself, and am aiming to go beyond my limits.

Then, to finish, your objective from here on out is… eh, you already talked about that just now, didn't you?

Yes. I determined the next question before it was asked, and responded to it.

As expected of the prodigy Fuji. You got me there.

Message for Fuji Shuusuke

I thought you seem like you’d be popular with the girls. Alles gute! (Bismarck)

Congratulatiooons! By the way, show me your homework for the report next week ☆ (Kikumaru)

I made a lot of wasabi sushi as congratulations, so please eat them. (Kawamura)

I need to update my data. Congratulations. (Inui)

As expected, Fuji. Next time, let’s play until we are satisfied. (Tezuka)

It’s not something anyone can do. My respects. (Kaidou)

Congratulations Fuji-senpai! I won’t lose next time! (Momoshiro)

Not bad. But, please be prepared that I’ll snatch that from you one of these days. (Echizen)

Hooray! Should we take a memorial photo with everyone! (Ooishi)

I’m amazed. I feel like I’ve caught a glimpse of your hidden inner strength. (Duke)

Congratulations, you are the pride of Japan. (Noa)

Party talk

Q: What was your family’s reaction to the placement this time? A: I think my sister said ‘as expected of my little brother’. Yuuta… He was here, so I’ll ask right now. Hey, Yuuta --!

Q: Th-that bright red food…? A: I wanted to taste even more wonderful, stimulating foods. What about you?

Q: The singing performance just now was lovely! A: Being the first to go on the stage… it was thrilling and fun. (*5)

Q: Who have you talked with, and what was the topic? A: Member of staff, Oliver-san taught me about places near the tournament venue where you can see the starry sky well.

Q: During the sideshow, you took a picture of the audience, didn’t you. A: Because it’s rare to see Tezuka making that kind of an expression.

Q: Is there anything that has piqued your interest in the venue? A: That flower stand with cacti, I wonder which country it’s from… Tube?

History

Age 0 February 29 Birth

Age 4 After napping with Yuuta, is frightened by Yuuta who saw a bad dream and tears up

Age 8 Goes out sea bathing with Yuuta and Saeki

Age 9 Gets a camera from grandfather, starts taking pictures Is deeply impressed by the form of a swallow (tsubame) found in an aquarium

Age 12 March Graduates from Seishun Dai Daisan Elementary School

April Enters Seishun Gakuen Middle School Division Plays against Tezuka, is not satisfied

August Goes to Kawamura's house for the first time, wasabi sushi is made for him

December After Yuuta ran away from home, searches for him all through the night in the snow

Age 13 March The extremely spicy food he makes at gratitude-party is unpopular

April Proceeds to second year in middle school

June During the athletic festival cavalry battle, has a showdown against Tezuka (unsettled)

July Is scouted at his older sister's commemorative publication autograph signing party

February Succeeds(?) in a triple spin jump at the neighbourhood skating rink

Age 14 April Proceeds to third year in middle school Kikumaru, now in the same class, comes over to play for one consecutive week

May Start of the Tokyo Prefectural District Preliminaries Plays against Gyokurin in the quarterfinals, wins against Nakano in S1 Advances to the Semi-Finals November Plays against Mizunofuchi in the semifinals, wins against Egawa, Yamanishi pair in D2 Plays against Fudomine in the finals, defeated by Ishida-Sakurai pair in D2 by forfeit Wins the Tokyo Prefectural District Preliminaries championship, has a celebration at "Kawamura Sushi"

June Start of the Tokyo Prefectural Tournament Plays against Kamata in the Third Round, wins against Ishizaki in S3 Plays against Akiyama Third in the Fourth Round, wins against Morishima-Nishikawa pair in D2 Plays against St. Rudolph in the quarterfinals, wins against Mizuki in S2 Plays games with Yuuta who came to stay at home, loses Plays against Yamabuki in the Finals, defeated by Nitobe-Kita pair in D2 Wins the Tokyo Prefectural Tournament championship

July Start of the Kantou Tournament Plays against Hyoutei in the first round, wins against Akutagawa in S2 Bowling tournament with the Regulars Plays against Rokkaku in the semifinals, wins against Saeki-Itsuki pair in D1

July 27 Plays against Rikkai in the finals, wins against Kirihara in S2 Wins the Kantou Tournament championship Beach volleyball tournament during the joint training camp with Rokkaku

August 11 During a practice match with Tachibana, his Triple Counters are broken

August 17 Start of the National Tournament Plays against Higa in the second round, wins against Hirakoba-Chinen pair in D2

August 19 Plays against Shitenhouji in the semifinals, defeated by Shiraishi in S3 Participates in the yakiniku battle, drinks Aozu and drops out

August 23 Plays against Rikkai in the finals, wins against Niou in S2 Wins the National Tournament championship Is inspired when visiting a hollyhock gallery with Kawamura

October Is invited to an amusement park by a student whom he saved from groping, but declines

November Participates in the U-17 training camp Wins against Yuuta in the “friendly fire” matches The restaurant’s tabasco runs out, a restriction for use is put in place Plays against Tezuka who is leaving Japan, swears three things

December On the overseas training camp right before the U-17 world cup, faints from eating Akuto meshi at the pick-up tournament In Australia, enjoys coffees from all countries with Jackal U-17 pre-world cup begins Plays against Germany in the first match, wins against Bismarck-Siegfried pair U-17 world cup begins Plays against Australia on the second round of the qualifying league, wins against Mac-Milky pair in D1 Japan is qualified to play in the championship tournament

What I most want to photograph now is Australia’s starry night sky

During the camp and on off days, what do you do for a change of pace?

I guess the main one would be taking pictures. Especially on an overseas trip like this, taking a lot of pictures of sights I don’t usually see arouses my creativity.

Since coming to Australia, what kind of pictures have you taken?

When you go a bit outwards, there’s a desert, so I’ve taken a lot of pictures of cacti. But though you may say “cacti” in one word, there are tall ones, types that have a form that is round like a tennis ball, and so on - there are many different kinds. Besides that, I took pictures of koalas. Tanegashima-san recommended a good place to me… I could even hold them in my arms, so I had fun. What I’m thinking I most want to photograph next is the starry sky. Since it’s the Southern hemisphere, the scenery of the night sky totally differs from the sky in Japan. The Southern Cross, or capturing the Milky Way - I’d really like to take such pictures.

Do you show the pictures you take to someone?

I often send them to family and friends. I sent a lot of pictures of the koalas to my brother Yuuta, fufufu. It seems my sister likes cacti of weird shapes.

I think the fans also really want to see Fuji-san’s pictures.

I brought many with me today, so sure. I’d be happy if people would like them.

Photo

In Australia When I find the time within the U-17 tournament, I take pictures little by little. Don’t you think this koala looks like Yuuta?

Cacti We often go for walks together. Even if it’s a familiar scenery, it becomes fun when cacti are around. 

Family trip A camera is a magical tool that can cut out a scene that will not happen again. I can’t miss doing that when I’m traveling.

Fashion

Fuji really likes knits! Are you wearing the hat with ears that I gave you? (Kikumaru)

I’m not that interested, but protection against cold is important. It’s good to warm your body properly with a stole. (Ochi)

“I guess I wear a lot of clothes in white or beige. Especially in winter, I choose clothes that don’t clash with the snowy scenery.”

“After all, the feel when wearing something is important. Clothes with natural, smooth feeling materials are to my liking.”

Before, he used to wear things like shorts a lot, but it seems that’s not the case anymore. (Saeki)

Room

I’m aiming for a room with a Nordic taste Since around autumn, when I’ve had the time I’ve been changing the design little by little. I found an antique lamp, and I think I want to establish unity by using Nordic furniture. Next to my cacti, plants I got from Yukimura and Shiraishi have joined the group.

TN:

*1 Or “respond to those feelings.”

*2 Furigana says “closed eye”, but the kanji is actually for “kokoro no hitomi”, mind’s eye.

*3 "Shigeki": stimulus, impetus, incentive, encouragement, motivation, provocation, excitement, thrill.

*4 Literally enlightenment, spiritual awakening, opening one’s eyes to the truth.

*5 It’s not clear whether he is talking about himself, and I haven’t read the overall story yet, so this is my assumption.

#my translation #fuji shuusuke #prince of tennis #new prince of tennis #tenipuri party #tezuka kunimitsu #fuji yuuta #saeki kojirou #otp #tezufuji

[yourspacedk]

Italian speaking psychologist in Denmark

Do you have days where nothing can cause you to happy? you're not alone. I ignored my depressive thoughts about life for years. Unfortunately I didn't do anything to repair my situation until they became so dehabilitating that I had no choice.   Italian speaking psychologist in Denmark

Mental disorders are common within the us and internationally. during a given year, an estimated 22.1% of usa citizens aged 18 and older (about 1 in 5 adults) suffer from a diagnosable mental disturbance . consistent with the 1998 us Census population estimate, this figure translates to 44.3 million people! additionally , 4 of the ten leading causes of disability within the U.S. and other developed countries are mental disorders, with major depression being the leading explanation for disability.

It is estimated that depression alone will occur in approximately 18.8 million American adults, or about 9.5% of the us population aged 18 or above. If you're a lady , you're twice as likely than a person (12% vs. 6.6%) to be suffering from depression annually .

My symptoms of depression started with an occasional case of the blahs. i used to be ready to deal with them for an extended time. i assumed that since this happens to tons of individuals , that it might pass and that i didn't got to worry. I didn't believe checking out why it had been happening. Besides, after a couple of drinks I always felt far better . I later learned that depressive disorders commonly occur with drug abuse ...

So what's the explanation for all of this sadness in our society? Speaking from experience, I wasn't proud of my life and therefore the direction it had been taking me. i might reminisce at a past week and not be ready to recall one thing that I enjoyed. it had been a blur. Nor would I anticipate to the approaching weeks ahead. All I saw were potential stresses that were getting to present themselves. But I didn't do anything about it. I accepted that this was life. Looking back i do not skills I could have ever believed this.

When we are affected by depression, it seems that we lose our objectivity. Does thinking that we've nothing to ascertain m forward to sound rational to you? Where did my enjoyment in life disappear to? it had been my perception of the planet that had slowly changed and that i was unable to see it due to the control that my depression had over me.

Read more

In the fast pace of today's world we frequently don't allow ourselves time to guage our lives and set goals to understand our ambitions. Whether you are doing or don't have depression, you're reading this text because you think that something could be wrong together with your life. have you ever tried to spot the items you're unhappy with? the primary step on behalf of me was to teach myself and determine what it had been that i used to be handling . I started reading books. I consulted a psychologist to urge some unbiased insight about myself.

In February 2004 a 16-year-old girl in Connecticut visited a party with some friends. She took a powdered sort of the favored drug referred to as ecstasy together with her friends, went into seizures and later died. In April 2004, a 14-year-old girl in California took ecstasy at a sleepover with two friends and died subsequent day from an overdose.

These stories aren't rare-in fact, 2.6 million teens report having experimented with ecstasy in 2003 and many teens have died taking such drugs, consistent with the drug abuse and psychological state Services Administration (SAMHSA). Ecstasy is employed by kids within the ir early to late teens and early 20s because it promotes a euphoric feeling by releasing a chemical in the brain called serotonin (the same chemical that, when lacking, is linked to depression).

This drug, chemical name 3-4 methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or MDMA, is different from other illegal drugs therein many kids mistakenly believe it's safe. Common among white, middle- and upper-class kids, ecstasy-also called the Adam , beans, Adam, XTC and therefore the love drug-is thought of as a secure thanks to get an intensely pleasant, high feeling.

Ecstasy pills are often brightly colored and sometimes contain cartoon characters and fun logos that appeal to kids.

                  Italian speaking psychologist in Denmark

It combines both stimulant and hallucinogenic properties that allow kids to remain awake and filled with energy, which is why it is a popular drug at raves (all-night dance parties) and dance clubs. The aspirin-sized pills are geared toward kids and even contain cartoon logos and shapes like crowns and hearts.

It does appear that youngsters and fogeys are awakening to the important dangers of this drug, because the 2003 National Survey on Drug Use and Health found that among youths aged 12 to 17, 41 percent fewer said that they had used ecstasy within the past month. However, many kids are still experimenting:

* 3.3 percent of youngsters 12-17 have tried it

* 15 percent of these aged 18-25 have tried it

* One in nine teenagers has tried it

Despite these high numbers, on the brink of half parents (41 percent) haven't talked to their kids about ecstasy, consistent with SAMHSA, but 90 percent believe it's a particularly risky drug to use.

Ecstasy's Damaging Effects

Beware if Your Child Suddenly Starts Carrying these things related to Ecstasy

The following paraphernalia are often carried by ecstasy users, either to stimulate senses, hide pills or relieve jaw clenching:

* Pacifiers

* Lollipops

* Candy necklaces

* Glow sticks and/or glowing jewelry

* A child-like backpack

* Mentholated rub

* Surgical-type masks

Many kids are drawn to the short-term "good feelings" that ecstasy creates, but here may be a sample of the lasting damage even one ecstasy pill can cause:

* Severe dehydration

* Seizures

* Strokes

* Dramatic increases in blood heat (death by overheating isn't unusual)

* Muscle breakdown

* renal failure

* Liver and coronary failure

* Damage to hormornal systems

* Potential brain damage with repeated use

Would you recognize if Your Child Were Using Ecstasy?

Here are 17 warning signs that your child might be using ecstasy:

* Dehydration

* Clenching of the jaw and/or grinding teeth

* A sore jaw

* Unusual displays of affection

* Pronounced mood swings

* Loss of inhibitions

* Transfixion on sights and sounds

* Chills or sweating

* Muscle tension

* Nausea

* Confusion

* Difficulty concentrating;

* Tremors

* Sleep problems

* Severe anxiety

* Panic attacks

* Depression

Related Topics:

Italian psychologist in Denmark Book a session with enrico cappelletto

If you think that your child could also be using this drug, see the box at right for 17 warning signs, it is vital to speak to him immediately. If your child is young and tried a drug just one occasion , you'll be ready to affect the drug use on your own, however, if your child is older otherwise you suspect he's a daily user, there are professional social workers, nurses, drug counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists who can help.

Ask your child's school, your family physician or a community clinic for a referral of where to urge help. SAMHSA, of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, also has a web drug abuse treatment facility locator at http://dasis3.samhsa.gov/ also as many other online resources to assist keep your kids drug-free: http://www.health.org.

Of course, speaking openly together with your children about the risks of drug use well before they reach their teenage years is one among the simplest preventive measures you'll take.

Ecstasy's Future Looks Dim

There is hope on the horizon for limiting the harm this "trendy" drug inflicts. In March 2004, the alleged leader of a world Ecstasy ring that supplied 15 percent of the U.S. ecstasy market was arrested along side quite 130 defendants in 16 cities across the us . The investigation, dubbed Operation Candy Box, was geared toward removing this dangerous drug from the U.S. market.

Karen P. Tandy, U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) administrator said, "For the primary time altogether enforcement , DEA has measured the impact of this operation, revealing that Operation Candy Box decimated the U.S. MDMA market-dramatically reducing MDMA availability, slashing its purity, and raising its price."

Related Post:

Italian speaking psychologist in Denmark Italian psychologist in Denmark Book a session with enrico cappelletto Italian psychologist in Denmark psychologist in Denmark enrico cappelletto

#Italian speaking psychologist in Denmark

[bluewatsons]

Jennifer Schaffer, The Wife Glitch, 51 The Baffler (April 2020)

Household tech makes women’s work profitable—for men

© Evangeline Gallagher

Five summers ago, I was invited to visit an eccentric acquaintance on a picturesque island off the East Coast. The island was divided into two parts: the shingled, sea-beaten summer homes of the inherited wealthy, and the year-round homes of the working people who serviced the island’s various amenities—the old-timey movie theater, the upscale restaurants, the twelve-dollars-a-beer bars.

The acquaintance and I had become friendly years prior in San Francisco, where I had been a student and he was, by his account, a high school drop-out tech millionaire. Let’s call him Matt. I’d found him funny, kind, and more down-to-earth than the archetype would suggest. Like many Silicon Valley guys, Matt’s small talk ran five sizes too large, from the purpose of fidelity in modern society to various bodily functions he was attempting to outsmart. But he always seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say in response. Our conversations often took on the appearance of a mutual interview: Matt, interviewing me as though for a job, unsubtly trying to determine how intelligent I was; me, interviewing him as though for a profile, shamelessly provoking and storing up his most memorable lines.

It didn’t seem out of character, then, when years later Matt reached out to ask me for help on a potential moonshot philanthropic venture related to artificial intelligence and education. I happily agreed, and a few weeks later, Matt invited me to join him at his summer house, graciously encouraging me to bring along my then-boyfriend. We booked tickets later that night.

When we arrived on the island, we rented exorbitantly expensive bikes and used Google Maps to find our way to Matt’s house. The weather seemed almost self-congratulatory with temperance: sunshine diffused through fast, bright clouds; heat offset by a steady sea breeze. The house itself was beautiful, stuck in time. It had belonged to Matt’s family for generations and was littered with trinkets that went back as far as the Civil War. The floor was made of long, splintered wooden planks, and the dusty windows looked out onto a semi-wild expanse of tall, bleached grass. The Atlantic was somewhere beyond the grass; you could hear it, but you couldn’t see it.

We stayed on the island for just a few days. Matt was almost constantly busy, glued to his laptop and his phone, occasionally running mysterious errands. It wasn’t until the last full day of our trip that he decided it was time to discuss the project. Hearing him talk about the potential of artificial intelligence was like reading the script to an action movie: the possibilities were exhilarating and the vision ambitious, but it was hard to believe it’d all get made. Still, I offered my perspective in earnest, and Matt listened closely before suggesting we go for a walk on the beach. We set out, climbing a set of steep, sandy paths before arriving in front of a calm sea. Waves broke, metronomic, between two panels of rich blue. Matt began to tell me, with flat-line sincerity, about how he felt it was reasonable to assume that we were living in a simulation.

I had heard this idea before, always from men for whom life looked pretty great: wealthy men, white men, intelligent men, respected men. Here was yet another. What was it about the idea that this all might be a game, someone else’s game, that struck such a chord among those who were by all accounts winning?

I thought back to another conversation we’d had in the kitchen, two nights prior. Matt had been describing his approach to dating—a topic which he’d clearly given a great deal of thought, studying the criteria that the various four-letter billionaire tech moguls (Elon, Mark, Jeff, Bill) had used when selecting a “mate.”

“I don’t want to be with someone who has my skill set,” Matt began, “I want to be with someone who has strengths in another area, who can fill in my blind spots.” He went on to describe a woman he was seeing, who he was flying out first-class the day we left. He liked, for instance, that she was good at reading people, that she was perceptive and sensitive to things like art and literature, that she was knowledgeable about cooking and food culture, that she understood his world but was not exactly of it and so could objectively add something to his field of vision. I found this odd but charming: better than the engineers I knew in college who thought it was “dating down” to be with a humanities major. Unlike them, Matt spoke eloquently about how selecting a partner was among the most pivotal choices a person made in life.

“So if we’re in a simulation,” I said, snapping back to the moment, the beach, Matt’s expectant look. “How would partnerships work?”

Matt grinned. “That would depend.”

“On what?”

“On who controlled the simulation.”

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Look: he wanted a wife. Don’t we all? Someone to think ahead about our needs; someone to make our homes and our lives orderly; someone to tend to our emotions when they’re raw and sore. Someone to track and manage the infinite details of living; someone to be responsible for our moods; someone to balance the books. We all want someone who knows us so intimately they can predict what we’ll want; someone who picks up our loose ends without complaint; someone who fills in our weaknesses with her strength; someone who does what it takes to help us succeed. Someone who attends to our desires eagerly, with a smile. Someone who means it.

But, you know, we’re progressive. We want a wife, but we want her to be happy. More than happy, we want her to be fulfilled. We want a true wife, a born wife, a wife who would feel imprisoned by any other role, so that to be our wife is in its own way a golden opportunity, a liberation. We want a wife who wears her responsibilities like a privilege.

And who could blame us! Regardless of gender expression or sexual orientation—everyone needs a wife. There isn’t enough time in the day to fulfill the demands placed on a modern human: to be available to work throughout all our waking hours; to show determination and ambition so that we are not made redundant; to service debts and taxes and run a cost-effective household; to source and consume healthful meals three times a day; to exercise our bodies the recommended amount; to maintain mental well-being amidst chaos; to care for dependents (aging parents, young children); to be present and attentive to those we interact with; to find, build, maintain, and perpetually assess the longevity of meaningful and fulfilling partnerships; to get eight hours of quality sleep. Literally: how does one do it?

For most of Western history, the answer was: the wife. Now what?

An App of One’s Own

The new answer, for those with a little disposable income, may seem obvious. Food, laundry, health, money management, well-being? There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey! Seamless your dinner, Cleanly your laundry, Babylon your doctor’s visits, Wealthfront your savings, Headspace your sleep. Such services are either entirely automated or rely on poorly compensated human workers as a stopgap. The end goal is the same: to take work which, for most of history, has been uncompensated and drive the price of it up as high as possible to the benefit of a minute number of venture capitalists, company directors, and shareholders.

There’s an app for that, honey. By which we mean: there’s underpaid labor, and a massive tech conglomerate ready to profit off that, honey!

Of course, those with more substantial disposable income can still cut out the digital middle man and hire underpaid labor directly into their home, or proceed directly to what I like to call “artisanal wife” mode: choosing a partner with a wide set of skills who will focus their energies on servicing your various needs, without the economic imperative to pursue paid labor themselves. And then there is the highest echelon of earning power: the bunker-deep pockets of the billionaire class that reaps the profits of the underpaid workers, holding the entire sick, inverted pyramid of wealth on their shoulders like a packed delivery cooler. For those at the top, it’s always been the “lady of the manor” approach: a wife who manages an entire fleet of, you guessed it, underpaid labor. Judging by the number of extraordinarily ambitious and competent women in my graduating class whose aspirations have been funneled into marriages to hedge fund scions, the “ladies of the manor” remain in high demand.

For those without any disposable income at all—a rapidly-growing demographic made perpetually larger by tech-accelerated inequality, because irony isn’t part of Silicon Valley’s vocabulary— there are virtually no options. Most working-class women have no choice but to work one job or several—often in the precise, underpaid sectors being automated by technology—alongside providing caregiving labor at home. The direct and knock-on consequences of this second (or third, or fourth) shift labor are borne out in the growing chasm between the life expectancy of the rich and the poor. Meanwhile, the privileged middle remains perpetually marketed to by apps and products designed to give the illusion of technology-supported self-sufficiency, masking the interdependent web of individuals and stakeholders which make up any given household service.

Picture it: a bearded dad stands alone in the kitchen making a stir-fry. “Eloise?” he calls up to the ceiling, “Dinner in five.” His voice is loud but calm, pleasant. The kitchen is lit with clean blue LED lights. Four bright yellow lemons sit in a clear glass bowl, next to a full, meticulously balanced ceramic fruit platter. The only sign that there is cooking taking place is the cutting board in front of him, topped with a mound of chopped neon bell peppers. An open bottle of craft beer is placed on the center of the kitchen island; Dad wears a casual chambray button-down shirt. This is all very relaxed, the tableau suggests, but also pristine; homely, but perfect. Dad is easy-going, dinner is effortless. Eloise arrives promptly and slides into a seat at the kitchen island, where Dad serves up a nutritionally void but photogenic bowl of stir-fried cabbage. “Enjoying that?” He asks, self-satisfied, as he watches her eat. Eloise raises her eyebrows and nods. “Mum will be pleased!” Dad exclaims, and gently asks Alexa—the female voice that lives inside a smart speaker on the kitchen counter—to add stir-fry vegetables to his shopping list. She does so dutifully. Dad and Eloise retire to the sofa, where they eat ice cream together and Alexa plays a Philip Pullman audiobook.

Mum will be pleased! Or, as the identical German ad, in which the bearded British dad is simply swapped out for a slightly younger-looking bearded German dad, puts it, Mama wird sich freuen! The subtext is clear: Mother isn’t here, Mother is “leaning in.” But we—a progressive, modern family, assisted by an unobtrusive yet highly skilled and patently stylish, artificially intelligent smart speaker—are thriving.

Who Cares?

We are fast approaching the social breaking point of a historical movement in capitalism that has simultaneously brought our waged life into our private life (what’s a private life?) and the tasks of the domestic into the commodified world. In the nineteenth century, as industrial capitalism boomed, the state shunned responsibility for care work, cementing it firmly in the private sphere—giving rise to a particular kind of Victorian, feminine responsibility in the home. The twentieth century saw the rise of a “family wage” for the working class; families were expected to survive on the husband’s work alone, further ensnaring women in unpaid care roles. Pre-sexual revolution, the labor of the twentieth- century wife served as a critical support structure for the male worker. Though he was waged and she was not, the family finances depended on their combined work in clear and distinct gender roles.

During the manufacturing decline of the 1970s, as wages began to plummet for working-class men, capitalism Trojan-horsed its way into feminist liberation, warping a necessary social cause—freeing women to pursue aims outside of housework—to suit capital: freedom means working for capitalists! The result has been the normalization and subsequent necessitation of the two-wage household. Across the industrialized world, the cost of living has soared while wages have stagnated, to the point where what could once be afforded on one salary can barely be afforded on two. At the same time, right-wing commentariats lambast the low birth-rate and the death of family values, framing feminism as the root of all evil, carefully eschewing the reality that liberal and conservative governments alike have chosen the enrichment of a few over the social reproduction of the many.

Without federal assistance in the form of publicly funded childcare for all, wage protections for workers, or a universal basic income—to name but a few of the creative opportunities at hand—the individual becomes increasingly reliant on her employer. It is no coincidence that technology companies, particularly keen to co-opt and commodify historically feminized care work, offer the most pointed range of reproduction-related benefits for their employees: egg freezing and paid parental leave abound, though often not childcare.

The end result is that we now all have at least three jobs, three modes of survival to tend to: our financial survival, the survival of our communities, and the survival of our family units. The state has long shirked its responsibilities in each sphere; now, the wide, slobbering maw of the tech industry waits, ready to commodify whatever it can.

Rage Against the Machines

Perhaps you can sense the despair in my tone. Certainly, when I have broached this topic with men, the most common response has been: But come on, isn’t that better than before?

“Before” being the presumption of a wife’s place in the home as “natural” and “right,” unpaid and largely unseen? The electroshock therapy that presumption necessitated when housework drove a generation of wives clinically mad? Legal rape? Or should we go a touch further back to “wife as property”?

Is today a better state than those “befores”? Yes, of course it is, though a lobotomy might be too.

To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

What troubles me, what keeps me turning the matter over and over in my head, is this: for centuries, women asked for recognition of the value of “women’s work”—which is to say, the practical labor that makes the world go round and has historically been placed on the shoulders of wives and mothers and daughters without question. Many simply asked that the work be recognized as just that: work—not a calling, not a natural state, not a pure act of love. Others asked that men take on their share of domestic labor, and in so doing, free women to pursue other, potentially more fulfilling or stimulating forms of work—and leisure. And through the Wages for Housework movement led by Silvia Federici, women even asked that that value of their work be recognized in capital’s primary currency: a wage. This demand was more radical provocation than concrete policy proposal, one which attempted to speak the language of capitalism in order to undermine it. To pay wages for housework would require a wholesale transformation of the economy, revealing at the core of capitalism a fundamental reliance on the unpaid labor of women.

How strange and predictable it is, then, that wages for housework have, at last, become widespread—but in the form of our subscription to digital services and gig economy labor. This work has become concretely valuable at the precise moment its value can be effectively captured by a small cadre of men sitting at the top of the tech industry.

This didn’t happen overnight, and it didn’t happen by accident. It is no coincidence that the first artificial intelligence boom began around the same time as the sexual revolution; no coincidence that the history of women in computing has been roundly overwritten by the myth of male coding genius; no coincidence that the voice coming out of your smart device is almost always a woman’s. Stemming from a fundamental arrogance on the part of men—the idea that work historically performed by women is so straightforward, so mindless even, that it can be effectively programmed— the latter part of the twentieth century saw a rise in technologies aimed at making traditional women’s work faster, simpler, or redundant.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor. When small-minded men are terrified of losing something, they belittle it; they puff their chests out and stomp their feet and declare they do not need it at all, that they have something better at hand anyway. And the rise of personified technologies in particular is a mass response from a male-dominated industry to the revelations of the twentieth century: the sexual revolution and women’s movement that upended traditional gender roles, and the economic pressures requiring women to seek employment outside of the home. The first wave of at-home artificial intelligence—embodied by Amazon’s Alexa, Microsoft’s Cortana, and the nameless personality living inside the Google Home—was designed to replace or supplement roles historically filled by women: mothers, wives, mistresses, secretaries, nannies, even sex workers.

Robot mistresses, digital nurses, smartphone secretaries, algorithmic wives, and app-based mommies: huge swathes of the modern tech boom are a reaction against women’s partial liberation from housework and our increasing resistance to performing unpaid and undervalued emotional and sexual labor.

Of course, in addition to being historically female, these roles are almost always underpaid or undervalued. As philosopher Helen Hester notes, the same tasks Alexa and Cortana perform for a premium are not just ill-remunerated but often resented and mocked when performed by human women. A smart device’s insistence on helping is clever and valuable; a wife’s insistence on helping is taken for granted or viewed as frivolous nagging. It’s no surprise many women no longer want to take on the roles they’ve been programmed to perform, or that still more of us simply cannot afford to, regardless of what we desire. The system is malfunctioning; we’ve gone off script. Tech, looking for a fix to the glitch, has found it at the intersection of cheap labor, algorithms, and automation, which in concert perform thankless female labor (with no bitching or aging) for an upfront cost, to the enormous financial benefit of the overwhelmingly male industry leaders and stockholders.

Much of the writing about the sexism latent in the tech industry, and the development of artificial intelligence in particular, has focused in on three concerning realities: the dramatic underrepresentation of women at virtually every level of the industry (and the self-perpetuating, demi-god-in-a-sweat-drenched-hoodie culture that serves as both the primary cause and effect of this lack of gender diversity); the gender bias being coded into tomorrow’s (and today’s and yesterday’s) algorithms by virtue of this lack of diversity; and the portrayal of many personified tech products as servile and female, chief among them Amazon’s Alexa and the Google Home which, if not real AI, still stand as most Americans’ first experience with something even remotely close.

What concerns me as much as these developments is the broader picture of which they form only a part: a world in which the exact forms of labor women have fought to have recognized and remunerated—chief among them caretaking labor, tedious household labor, buoying-the-male-ego labor, service-with-a-smile labor—are being co-opted, monetized, and sold back to us as shiny, premium, cutting-edge tech, the intermediary step of individual households outsourcing such tasks to workers primarily from the Global South having been insufficiently profitable for the Silicon Valley brain trust. As automation rises, technology will increasingly undercut the wages of these workers; the human workers who depend on these precarious gigs are viewed by the tech industry and the broader economy as a temporary inefficiency.

This is the dark ethos of the twenty-first century: most of us are performing labor that can and will be at least partially automated. We work, and as we work, we audition for the right to continue working. There is no room at the negotiation table; any unpaid work will remain unpaid until, in due course, we will pay to have that work done for us by automation. And like that, the mainstays of human life become premium services we pay for. Like that, the value only flows up.

The Future is Fembots

Pop culture and advertising have reacted in lockstep with the rise of household technologies. Disney’s Smart House, released in 1999, showed an overworked female computer scientist developing the perfect AI “smart home” to liberate women from housework, only for the “smart home” to become increasingly unwieldy and possessive—hormonal even—after a motherless teenage boy tinkers with the code to make the artificial intelligence behave more maternally. The happy ending comes when the scientist reprograms the smart home and settles down with a nice man.

More recently, Her and Ex Machina played into the heterosexual male’s neuroses that feminine affection is, in a sense, always a ruse and as replicable as code. The British television series Humans shows male and female bots—designed to perform care labor in family households and the homes of the elderly—driven to rebellion over a desire for recognition. Many early advertising campaigns for Google Home and Alexa, like the one described above, portrayed modern men aptly assisted by gentle, obedient, disembodied women. Such visions of techno-capitalist feminism abound: women empowered by technologies that free them from the unsavory realities of pregnancy or household labor or sex; men taking on new, progressive roles as a result of their obedient female-voiced assistants.

It has been quite some time since we’ve seen a direct cultural portrayal of feminized tech that has any real teeth. But if we look back to a time before Lean In feminism, there have been more honest attempts. Much of Bryan Forbes’s 1975 horror film The Stepford Wives feels oddly familiar, even millennial in its sensibility, from its pared-back interior design, its fetishization of upstate domestic life, and its portrayal of a certain type of liberal man who—while paying lip service to progressive ideas—yearns for a wife who will let him call the shots. Based on the 1972 novel by Ira Levin, the film follows Joanna Eberhart as she moves from New York City to Stepford, Connecticut, with her husband Walter and their two children. Walter quickly joins the local Men’s Association, where former technology and entertainment moguls relax with scotch and cigars. The women of Stepford, meanwhile, are uniformly beautiful and obedient, spending their days ironing sheets, watching children, and preparing casseroles: a hybrid of tradwives, Instagram influencers, and spam bots. Their husbands adore them.

Joanna, an aspiring photographer, felt coerced into moving to Stepford, but she tries to put on a game face. Hoping that her new suburban lifestyle will offer her the chance to focus more on her art, she is understandably creeped out by the passivity of the Stepford wives and her husband’s secretive involvement in the Men’s Association. She soon forms an alliance with the two other women in town not yet obsessed with housework: Bobby, an outspoken New York feminist, and Charmaine, a tennis-playing trophy wife. Together, they attempt to start a women’s group. But when they gather the women of Stepford together, the wives fall into discussing a litany of household tips: advice on starching their husbands’ collars, brand name suggestions, and vague musings on their domestic contentedness.

In the end, it becomes apparent that these beloved wives are robots, modeled on the human wives of Men’s Association members, who are summarily murdered once their robot replacements are ready. (The seventies were not known for their subtlety.) Unlike in the camp, feel-good 2004 remake, love and corporate feminism do not save the day. On the advice of a psychiatrist, Joanna tries to escape, but ends up strangled to death by her robot replacement.

The messaging is a little too obvious to be worth digging into at length: housework deadens a part of a woman, and men are desperate for control. What really stuck with me about The Stepford Wives is the way the men watch the women, both the human Joanna and their robot wives. In one scene, a Men’s Association member draws Joanna with incredible skill, making sketches of her face and her eyes. In another, a man records her voice, allegedly for a hobby project; preying on her kindness, he claims that his childhood stutter has made him fascinated with language and accents. The men look at Joanna with admiration and desire: she is beautiful, spirited, and kind. There’s lust, but it’s not quite sexual. It’s as though they genuinely want to understand the way she works, if only so that they can reconstruct her according to their own desires and ideals. It’s the same way they look at their own wives, always with a knowing confidence in their eyes.

I wonder, sometimes, if this is what it all comes down to. Perhaps our moment is just catering to a particular kind of man, the kind who longs to look at those who serve him, without ever feeling the unsettling tug of need. Who desires nothing more than to look at a woman—real or simulated, no matter—and think: I made you.

#technology #women #feminism #objectification #women's work #housework #interpersonal relationships #the stepford wives #analogy #tech industry #automatization #commodification #women's labor #labor

[s-3-xp-3-st]

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word count: 3,899         started: april 30th, 2019         finished: august 17th, 2019

   Walking through the bakery, the smell of dough and sugar-filled his nostrils and he wasn’t sure how much he appreciated it. A girl -- his girl, or though he’d hoped -- was standing at the counter, her shorts short and red with pretty stitchings of sunflowers all over. He grinned ever so slightly, practically internal, at the way she tried but failed to conceal her excitement while ordering the doughnuts.    She’d been craving doughnuts from this particular place since October; it was June. She’d been waiting for him to come around again and for the weather to be nice. She planned this elaborate picnic in her head where they’d sit by the river on the grass with a red and white blanket like in the movies and she’d watch as he took a bite from a creme-filled or jelly-filled pastry: he’d be taken aback by the taste, of how savory and sweet it was, of how great it felt against his taste buds and how smooth it went going down his throat after chewing it. She could picture them splitting half a dozen and then laying on their backs, staring at the clouds and listening to each other’s breathing as the sweetness stirred in their stomachs for a while. And when the sun hit high noon they’d stretch out, stand up and walk back to the car. It was a dream she was intrigued to emulate into reality.    She held the white box close to her chest as they walked back to the car in the parking lot, and kept it that way until they’d gotten to the park. She faltered a little when she tried getting the things from the trunk, and when he offered to hold the box, she just shook her head and moved to the side, silently asking him to pick up them up for her.    He found himself carrying the majority of the load--as he often did--while she continued along the overgrown path, with that damned white box full of sweetness tucked cautiously under her arm. It was obvious she was lost in her own world: wanderlusting she’d called it. She’d apologized profusely for it every time she felt it coming on, saying, “I’m pre-lusting,” or “I’m gonna wander so hard in about a minute”. It always made him chuckle.    This was his third time visiting her town. Each time, they’d get close enough to catch him off guard, to make him believe that maybe they were something more than just two friends “hanging out”. But then the trip would end and he’d have to go back to his campus without getting a chance to officiate things: to kiss her.    She was hard to read. They’d talked about living together, marriage, even kids months before, but now he was questioning her devotion. Was she seeing someone else? Was she slowly letting him go? How much longer would these trips last? (They were already so few and far between).    She stopped at the edge of the lake, where the trees provided minimal shade. She stared at the water for a minute, mesmerized, before turning around. Seemingly on queue, he dropped the picnic supplies on the grass and started to set up.    She stood back, feeling helpless as what to do or how to help, but she finally decided to just set down the box, snug in the grass. She wasn’t sure if she was being rude when she turned back toward the water, leaving him to do all the work on his own, but she was too captivated to care much. The sun was glistening on the surface of the water and the greenery was in full bloom. The birds sang, their voices being carried away with the soft breeze that fluttered her hair and kissed her nose. She breathed in, the scent of nature tickling her nostrils. After exhaling, she paused, then sneezed.    “Bless you.”    She turned back around, sniffling.    He was sitting on the blanket, the boxes of doughnuts in the shade at his side. He looked like art in the sunlight; his skin gold-toned and his eyes shimmering like melted chocolate, though there was an intense glare from his glasses. She could stare at him for hours, she thought as she sat down on the other side of him, basking herself in the sun. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying hard to keep himself busy but simultaneously exploiting his awkwardness. Perhaps there was a tension between them--or maybe he was just intimidated by the romantic aura of the setting--but either way, it was making him grow anxious and quiet.    He stayed sitting up while she lay back, her eyes closed and her lips curved in a subconscious smile. She was breathing deeply; her heart was beating in time with the melodic birds, keeping them in rhythm; she was happy. She loved being around this boy, and though her actions had been more friendly than girlfriendly, it didn’t make the statement any less true.    She loved him endlessly, from the bottom of her heart and then some. She hoped that this date (she avoided the word to keep it as casual as possible as not to freak him out) would be the date that they finalized their relationship and sealed it with a kiss. There were so many times she had wanted him to kiss her, where she wanted to kiss him, but they’d both been too afraid; he wouldn’t make the first move and she wasn’t sure if he was ready for her to either. Once they’d been lying in bed together, both sun-kissed and fatigued from a day at the pool and it would’ve been so easy; no effort at all to just tilt their heads slightly and connect their lips with calculated naivety. But even the idea let loose butterflies in her stomach. She could only imagine the anxiety he felt in those recurring moments: how fast his heart was probably beating and how quick his thoughts were racing around in his brain.    “I’m too shy,” he’d said months earlier. “If I want to kiss, chances are I won’t because I’ll be quietly losing my mind.” She’d laughed, cooing at him and calling him adorable, then reassuring him that their first kiss would be conducted as a ‘team effort’.    This had been before the trips back and forth between his college and her hometown before the expectations were dropped; not because they weren’t in love but because they hadn’t taken into account the truth of their situation: they were both just too afraid.    It scared her to think that he was falling out of love with her. The conversation about his conservatism had happened many a time. It was not the lack of physical admiration that fed her paranoia, yet it would still creep in and make her second guess if he was genuinely trying to keep her.    She’d be driving home after dropping him off and she’d think about the other girls in his classes, the other girls on campus, other girls walking down the sidewalk or passing his dorm room. She’d think about girls who had more interesting things to say, things that were coherent and made sense and how he’d realize that he’d never understood anyone as much as he’d understood her.  She’d think about the eventual decline in trips, then calls, texts, and how eventually he would disappear altogether.    She reached out her hand, feeling the softness of the blanket against her palm. She slid her hand toward where she expected him to be sitting, only to feel nothing but fabric. She sat up abruptly, thinking about him leaving without any goodbyes or plans of returning.  A heavy pain rose in her chest, aching terribly.    “Hey,” he was sitting at the edge of the lake, a stick in his hand, playing with the water. “What’s up?”    After exhaling the breath she’d been holding in attempts to calm herself down, she made her way over to him, sat down and hugged his arm. “I didn’t know you moved. Thought you might’ve left me for good.” she sounded lighthearted, trying her best to laugh it off, but her heart still hadn’t retreated to its normal pace.    He put down the stick and caressed her hair, smiling before kissing her forehead. “I would never leave you like that. I just thought all the excitement got to you and you crashed.”    Leave you like that, she repeated in her head. It was just a normal remark, but it still made her uneasy, almost nauseous.    She straightened up beside him, his arm still draped over her shoulders. “You hungry?” he asked. She responded simply with a hum, afraid of saying too much. They walked those few steps back to the blanket holding hands; he could feel that something was off, and knowing that sometimes the girl he loved wandered around in her head a little bit too much, he understood it took a lot more than words to get her to come out again.    That was one of the many things that pulled him to her. She couldn’t just watch a movie; she needed to feel the blanket on her skin, the taste of popcorn on her tongue, the smell of his cologne as he sat next to her, the volume turned up loud to immerse herself fully into the film. A sensory reaction could determine an entire mood for her while another could completely flip it on its head. It gave him this fierce sense of intrigue that constantly needed to be fulfilled, and she was the only one who knew how.    He grabbed the white box when they sat down and handed it to her, prompting her to open the cardboard flaps and reveal the plump pastries. Her mouth started to water at the potential ones she’d devour, different flavors each testing themselves on her taste buds. Her stomach reacted to the vivid imagery with a small grumble.    “You pick first,” she said, holding out the box to him. He scanned the two rows, face unchanging. He reached for one with white cream swirled in a spiral in the middle. “That has chocolate frosting in it.” she grinned. He cradled it awkwardly in the palm of his hand.    She copied his choosing method, though she already knew which one she wanted. Easily and almost expertly, she picked up a powdered one, knowing full well it was injected with tangy lemon jelly. Holding the doughnut in one hand, she steadily set the box down next to her and flipped the lid again, the white blinding against the mid-morning sun.    They sat with the pastries sticking to their fingers, the excitement building so much it started to boost her heart rate.    “You okay?” he asked, but she talked over him.    “You go first.” she was trying hard not to beam at him like a freak.    “Okay..” he raised his brow in mock suspicion. He looked down at the treat and hesitated before biting into it graciously. The taste of soft dough and buttercream chocolate frosting was overwhelming, and the sugar pummeled his taste buds. He felt his teeth start to rot from the outside in. He fought to swallow it. She was looking at him with childish eyes, all wide and expectant of positive review. It hurt him to disappoint her, but he couldn’t hide the grimace on his face.    She tried to keep her features from falling when she noticed his frown. He cleared his throat, his hands resting on his knees, the frosting in the doughnut warming in the sun. He cleared his throat again when she continued her silence.    Awkwardly he said, “We should've brought some water.”    “Why? Do you not like it?” She asked quickly.    “No,” he shook his head, “it’s just hot.”    She nodded, hiding her uncertainty. She chewed the inside of her lip covertly, a nervous habit well known to him.    “Do you not like it?” she hadn’t realized she’d repeated herself; the words had fallen out of her mouth carelessly. He looked down at the pastry for a moment, not saying anything, his mind going over all of the possible responses and consequences: none of them seemed like the right answer. But once he looked her in the eyes -- those beautiful, honey-swirled, baby cow eyes -- he knew he had to tell the truth.    “I don’t, to be honest,” he tried gently. “I’m sorry.”    Her teeth were gritted not out of anger but as a means of protection; she was unaware of what her muscles would do if she allowed them to relax. Her mouth could stay in a permanent smile, her eyes unblinking and her mind racing, or she could break down in the ugliest manner: heavy sobs, ragged breathing, big fat tears, the whole shebang. So instead, she sat rigidly, her jaw tight and her eyes vacant, staring at the corners of his glasses.    He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to reach out his hand, touch her face carefully, and say something so romantic and heartfelt it’d maybe make her cry or, then they’d finally kiss. But he didn’t.    She blinked and looked into his eyes. Damn, they were gorgeous. “It’s okay. Don’t sweat it,” she looked back down at the doughnut in his hand. The box, which looked a little dimmer than before, sat in the direct path of the sun, the four remaining pastries dwelling in the heat. “I guess I’ll just take these home with me. Someone will eat ‘em, y’know?”    “Mhm,” pause. “What should I do with the rest of this?”    Something stung in her chest, and she didn’t know why it was happening. It wasn’t his fault that it was too sweet, even she’d admit it was an acquired taste. But now, the fantasy was gone, never fulfilled and tragically still warm. She did that a lot: conjuring up radical ideas in her head, her standards increasing each time she thought deeply about it, and then being let down by the outcome whenever it missed the mark -- and it did, quite frequently, do just that.  She tried not to let out the sigh building in her chest, but she couldn’t help it.    “I’ll eat it.” she tried to sound cheerful.    He saw right through it.    “I’ll just put it back in the box,” and he did, making sure the open end was facing toward the cardboard so it wouldn’t contaminate the rest. She reached over him quickly, placing hers back in the vacant space. “Why’d you do that?”    She now stared disconnectedly at her hands in her lap, and without looking up she said, simply, “Not really that hungry.”    “That’s a lie. You just said you were starving.”    She said nothing, just stared at the blanket, tracing the patterns with her forefinger. He continued, hoping it would help.    “Please eat something, babe. Even just half of one?”    She cleared her throat gently, and couldn’t conceal the smirk pulling at the corners of her lips when he called her “babe”. She stopped fiddling her thumbs and tucked some hair behind her ear; he loved when she did that, it drove him insane and thrust him deeper in love.    She nodded, almost to herself. “I’ll eat one later. Just not right now. I promise.”    “Kya hua bubba? Tell me, na.”    “It’s stupid.” she hugged her knees but looked at him this time.    “You know it’s never stupid. Ever.”    She sighed heavily, and squished her cheeks between her knees, making her words come out all muffled.    “It’s just,” she paused, nervously biting her bottom lip. He was looking at her with a slight pout on his lips, copying her expression. She couldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to worry him or make him feel sad. She wanted him happy because that’s the type of boy he was: a happy one. With her eccentric mood swings and emotions unpredictable even to herself, his normalcy came as a welcomed commodity, an easy comfort. “It’s just… I had this vision, y'know? I thought that we’d get those doughnuts, come to this park and chill and talk about random shit, maybe laugh or something. Then you’d fall in love with these as soon as you taste them, and you’d eat one half and I’d eat the other, and you’d rave about them constantly as we ate. We’d laugh some more probably, then head back to the car, drive around a little, then maybe park somewhere with ice cream, watch the sunset or the stars and then-” she stopped herself. She looked at him again, sitting up straight before continuing. “And then maybe we’d kiss.”    Instantly he started blushing, his eyes darting toward the ground and his cheeks turning a beautiful sunset pink. They both laughed airly and withdrew from the conversation, suddenly becoming shy acquaintances. She thought about kissing him then, like all the other times their quiet flirtations blossomed from teasing to a type of challenge: one that neither he nor she wanted to address or initiate. She wanted to kiss him, softly at first, then deeply, with tongue and spit and everything, hands wandering bodies and breath becoming shallow. It was a private, cherishable moment, but she wanted it now; she had been wanting since the day they met.    And he wanted the same. He wanted to feel her soft skin, feel her lips on his; to be connected so deeply it felt as if they were inseparable. They’d been together for a long time, but it hadn’t felt as if they were truly intertwined yet like he thought they’d be by then. They’d always talked about it when the mood shifted to a soft and vulnerable place, similar to that of pillow talk or early morning confessions: never leaving each other’s side; being tangled in the sheets after long nights of treacherous fucking and holding each other tight; walking down the street hand in hand. He wanted her and her only, every night and day, but he couldn’t get his damned thoughts in order, to tell her.    Their nervousness subsided enough for the laughing to cease, and the only sounds left were the rustling leaves and chirpy birds around them.     “So.” she started.    “So,” he replied, “I’m sorry that I ruined your-”    She playfully brushed it off with a wave of her hand, “Please, it’s okay. I can’t make you like stuff.”    “Still. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”    She placed her hand on his arm, adoringly tilting her head to look him directly in the eyes. Butterflies, birds, caterpillars, the whole goddamn garden erupted in the pit of his stomach; he’d stared into her eyes many times before but for some reason this moment seemed more intense, like the world was off-kiltered, and the only way for it to rebalance on its proper axises was for their lips to connect, for their saliva to exchange and their tongues to dance around as if the organs themselves were intoxicated.    “Don’t worry about it. Please.” She blinked so innocently it made him want to weep. He placed his hand over hers, glanced at her lips, and before he could muster the courage to kiss her, she was leaning in.    Their lips collided with such supple tenderness it was almost supernatural. His hand cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb gently against her cheek. They sat there for a good minute, making out slowly. It was magical. He relished in every second of it.    She’d been waiting for him to make the first move. She didn’t want to intimidate him or scare him off, but she needed it to happen. She’d been waiting.    It was the right thing for her to do, to lean in and kiss him first. As soon as she did he took control and guided them, deepening the kiss and making her insides burst like bubbles in orange soda. She felt bubbly for the first time in a long time and she knew it wasn’t going away.    She rested her cheek in his hand and let hers travel up his arm and wrap around the base of his neck. They pulled each other closer, barely easing up. In her head, she was humming and swaying in the grass, shoes off; a dream had come true. It was bliss.    His mind, however, was blank. He focused on his senses; the sun on his back, the whoosh of the distant cars passing by, their tongues intertwining, the bumps of acne dotting her cheek, the curls in her hair gliding against his knuckles, the sweetness of the doughnuts as the frosting started to heat up. He would memorize each of these sensations and each time he experienced it after today he’d remember. He’d be transported right back to this morning on this picnic blanket next to the sticky, melting doughnuts and be reminded of everything: from the way she woke him up that morning, all jittery and anxious from the anticipation at 7am, to the car ride filled with sing-a-longs and a coffee shop (for him only), to the intense fragrance of the bakery as if the sweetness had stuck to the little hairs in his nostrils and clung on for years.    They broke away at the sound of a horn, fearing it was directed toward them. It wasn’t, though their faces blushed anyway. They were giggling again, and it felt as if they were releasing the creatures from within their guts, their irrational fears escaping with them.    “You should eat,” he repeated, his cheeks still warm.    “Mhm, I will,” he flipped open the lid and started to reach for the lemon one, when she interrupted, “can I have the chocolate one with sprinkles this time?”    “Yes, you may.” He replied as he handed her the pastry she asked for. As soon as she held it between her thumb and forefinger her mouth began to water, and the first bite sent endorphins rushing through her brain. She closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of chocolate melting on her tongue, the soft dough filling her stomach while parts of the rainbow sprinkles stuck in her molars. He couldn’t contain his laughter.    “You’re adorable,” he practically cooed. “Truly.”    “Shhh.”    She took more bites, each one more satisfying than the last. The sun was hitting her perfectly, and her hair was framing her face in the most attractive way. While taking a mental picture to pair with the scented memories, he noticed some frosting in the corner of her lip.    “You have a little something…” he leaned in, his thumb and his forefinger resting on her chin. She leaned in too, her eyes gleaming and her lids lowered; her brain was fuzzy from the rush of their passion and her stomach full from the sugary treat.    He smiled crookedly, and kissed her, the eagerness between them growing more vehement the longer their lips connected. He enjoyed the chocolate taste as their tongues danced around each other, and couldn’t help his laughter from interrupting the intimacy.    “What?” she pouted, pulling away from the kiss.    “I kinda like the filling now. It’s growing on me, actually.”    She laughed, almost too loudly, and hit him playfully on his arm. “Shush,” she settled down and looked back at him with those narrowed eyes that enticed him beyond belief. “Kiss me again, please.”

#this is my first published piece plz dont bully me! #i say published like i actually- yknow what nvm #if u want u can give me suggestions for the title! #writeblr #writing #nano #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2019 #love story #short story #writers on tumblr #currently untitled #story: untitled #love! #finished #cottagecore #softcore #swampcore #positivity #uwu

[ofgeneration]

━ ✧ ( nico mirallegro, 26, he/him ) did you hear about generation’s new record ? it’s totally bitchin’ ! isaac carberry was killing it as lead vocalist. people who have interviewed him say they’re really quixotic & convivial, but they can be sort of impish & ungovernable if you catch him at a bad time. a mischievous grin, northern grit, your ex-record label’s offices looking like a jackson pollock after getting your revenge in the form of vandalism.

hello, my loves! — i’m jess, i’m 22 and over in rainy england. i’m recently done with university which gives me a lot of downtime until i find a job so hopefully i can dedicate a lot of that downtime to this fuckin’ rp because it’s gonna be lit i just know it. i’m a huge stone roses fan and 80s/90s-music-obsessed in general so getting to play this character is super exciting for me, so without further ado, meet my trash son: mr isaac carberry. PLEASE HMU FOR PLOTS!

BACKGROUND

born 14th april 1960 in manchester, england to a normal working-class family, isaac was the first born child of james & rose carberry, with a younger sister coming along a few years later. the little family of four lived fairly happily, but struggled financially just as many people did in northern england at the time. 

when isaac was five, his father lost his job as a result of coalmine closures, and times were tough. however, the family kept their spirits high by keeping close-knit, as well as listening to a whole lotta’ music. music was key in the carberry household. it was all around you at all times.

when times would get particularly bleak, his dad would pick up an guitar and play to the kids. he wasn’t very good but watching someone play an instrument and have fun with it sparked something in the eyes of isaac carberry.

tw violence, corporal punishment — during his teenage years, he was a problem child. he was the kid that always got pulled out of class by the headmaster to receive the cane in his office. he could never sit still, was always cracking jokes when he should’ve been doing his schoolwork, etc. it wasn’t talked about at the time, so it went unnoticed, but what isaac was probably dealing with was undiagnosed ADHD. despite this, though, he was a clever child. he had a way with words and looked forward to english class every week, where he would take great pleasure in writing exercises, especially poetry. 

writing was a dreamy, escapist haven for isaac, and this extended to his life outside of school, too. the works he was producing were mostly tongue-in-cheek, light-hearted stories and poems with a recurring “stop taking life so seriously” theme. when he turned 16, however, these poems began to turn into songs. this started to take up a lot of his time especially when he finished secondary school at 16 and went onto sixth form college, where he took music alongside english.

isaac desperately wanted to learn to play guitar, so that he could form some structural melodies to these songs, but struggled with honing the skill of learning an instrument. luckily, when he was 18, he made three friends who could do just that. the four kids would bounce ideas off of each other and hold jam sessions in the tiny little basement of isaac’s family home, but things never went much further than that (at least not yet, anyway.)

isaac decided against going to university, mostly since his family lacked the funds, and instead picked up a full-time job in a grocery store to help out his household’s shared income. 

in 1979, margaret thatcher came into power as the UK’s prime minister, and times got even bleaker. money was even tighter and the working-class situation became an even harder one to be in. the carberry family started sending isaac out on the street after work to sing some of his songs for tips. 

in 1983, aged 23, isaac was in a dark place. no opportunity, no degree, no wealth in the family to fall back on. he ‘rallied up the troops’ so to speak and practically begged his friends to start a band with him. he had plenty of material, after all.

to his relief, they said yes, and were determined to make it work. they were hungry for attention and throwing themselves at any gig opportunities they could get, to get them a bit of money into their pockets. that was it, GENERATION was truly alive and kicking.

at a show supporting another band, generation were noticed by a fellow musician, who took a shine to the band and booked them to support his upcoming uk tour. thus, the band were rising to prominence. fast forward a year and before isaac even had the chance to process it, generation were shaping up to be the biggest band in the uk. isaac could finally give his family everything they needed to better their situation and was having the most amazing time ever doing what he loved.

after independently releasing their own singles, the band got themselves a record deal in early 1985 and released their first full record, a self-titled album. their management wanted to introduce them to US audiences, and thus — that’s how we find ourselves here. 

PERSONALITY

ok sorry for that LONG ass background here’s the nice lil fun part where we can just dick around lmao hey meet my baby boy chaotic aries who is a lovable mess and i will protect him at all costs

literally so much of his personality is inspired by myself lmao we love an aries legend with ADHD but also i owe some of his characterization to the stone roses’ ian brown so if you ever want a look into isaac, watch some interviews or smth because Big Isaac Mood. the last aesthetic in his app references this video

nice, but a fuckin firecracker of a man. intense boi!! he’s a Lot

on first impressions he’s cool and collected and laidback but when you get to know him he can be very exhausting to be around, talks a lot, never tires of energy, etc

has that lopsided, wonky grin that you can’t help but love

lowkey isn’t really overwhelmed by the fame at all, he’s kind of narcissistic in the fact that he??? just feels like it’s really deserved? he knows hes talented jfjhgfjkghf

lowkey maybe highkey a sweetheart

a favourite with the ladies but not good w commitment

has slept around a lot. ladies, fellas, you name it. probably has it in him to settle down someday since he likes the idea of falling in love, but just hasn’t found it as of yet 

charisma literally oozes from him

tw drugs & alcohol / dOeSnT LiKe To sHoW eMoTioNs but then will literally cry w u and pour his heart out if you’re close enough to him or if he’s hella drunk or high on ecstasy 

Reyt fokin’ northern accent, yeh get meh?

man i dont even know can i just post this dumb shit already because this is getting LONG

WANTED CONNECTIONS

ex-girlfriend / groupie — i have this as a wc on the main

best friends will prob be taken by his bandmates but at the time of writing this only one other spot is taken so maybe ill branch out

give me some ppl who just DONT fucking like him

hookups / ex-hookups

someone he can be a bad influence on

someone who is a bad influence on him

someone he’s had beef w in the industry, maybe they said some shit about his band in an interview or something

a slow burn love interest plot................. listen.... gimme the one person he’s falling for and would consider being tied down for. i’d be so soft for that

gimme anything and everything my babies

#1986.intro #FINALLY #i'm so sorry #me: wants interactions earlier bc im in the uk #also me: isnt ready to post my intro til 40 mins before it was originally supposed to open for ints #im a mess #also this is long sorry #forgive the graphics #they look low qual on the dash but i had to make them 350px bc of my theme! #HMU FOR THOSE PLOTS

[romireads]

Another book haul you ask? Yes, another book haul. I’m still keeping to my book buying ban though – these books are all ARC’s and I didn’t *buy* them, so it doesn’t count right? 😏 Without jokes, thank you so much to the authors of these books for sending them my way! I’m really looking forward to reading them! Now, let’s shove my bookhoarding problem to the side and get on with my book haul.

Ebooks

Michael James by Lisa Andrew The Queen is a successful CEO married to one of the most powerful men in the country. Not only is she a sexual assault survivor, she’s battling individual men, general accepted misogyny, and corporate business matters on a day to day basis. She’s successful, powerful, corrupt, and manipulative – everything you need to be a class A bitch. Fighting for her right to a woman’s place in the corporate business world, it’s just another day for her at the office and she’s used to it. But while her successful renowned husband decides to admit one of his deepest secrets, her world begins to change forcing her to step up her game with the push and pull of control. Michael James is one of the world’s most successful business owners. As a household name, you rely heavily on the companies he owns, runs and invests in for services and items. He’s seen in the news on a regular basis but keeps his personal life surprisingly hidden. He controls everything and everyone around him, no matter what the price or what it takes. So when his darkest secret is revealed, it forces him to control more than ever before. Determined to get his life back in order, to protect his reputation and public identity, and to ensure his wife’s life, how far will he go?

The celebrity life is exquisite and filled with the absolute finest of all items. But hidden from the world may be a dark sex life you could never imagine. So when one of the world’s most famous couples attempts to deal with a detrimental secret in private, deceit begins to entangle their relationship. From the bestselling erotica writer Lisa Andrew, comes this sexy psychological thriller that will keep you guessing until the very end. (Goodreads)

Ten Dares by Emily James Can 10 Dares help Melinda loosen up, conquer stress and find love? Or might they push her over the edge…. Melinda Spencer had everything but now her life has fallen apart. Her two best friends, Mikey and Joanie are worried. Melinda’s been acting even more highly strung than usual. They decide to stage an intervention. Something to help her lighten up and take her mind off things: 10 crazy dares. After all, they say laughter is the best medicine… Never one to squelch on a dare, Melinda accepts her challenge. The dares look simple enough: knock on a door and run away, tend her lady garden, flash a stranger… and if it gets Joanie and Mikey off her back about loosening up, it’ll be worth it. But with a sexy vet, a troublesome ex, and a village full of nutters hot on her trail, has Melinda finally bitten off more than she can chew? Ten Dares is a hilarious romp about a strung-out single mum trying to hold everything together when life is throwing her lemons as curve balls. (Goodreads)

Ten Lies by Emily James Katie Perkins lives a simple life. She takes care of her son, works hard, and tries not to worry about the man shaped hole in her life. That is until she wins a fantastic luxury holiday. Throwing caution to the wind, Katie let’s down her hair and the holiday mood takes over.

Enter Jackson Quinn, a handsome doctor who is no stranger to the good life.

Katie has no experience of riches, and with only her bus fare home in her pocket she decides there’s no harm in a few white lies… Filthy rich? Check. Size ten? Check. Olympic Gymnast who can complete a Rubik’s Cube in under thirty seconds? Check. After all, it’s not like she’s ever going to see Doctor Quinn again…

Follow Katie’s hilarious journey as she learns that sometimes those little white lies really can come back and bite you on the butt. (Goodreads)

April 2019 book haul #2 Another book haul you ask? Yes, another book haul. I'm still keeping to my book buying ban though - these books are all ARC's and I didn't *buy* them, so it doesn't count right?

#10 dares #10 dates #10 lies #april book haul #book buying ban #book haul #Haul #lisa andrew #michael james #power of ten #power of ten book series #power of ten emily james

[ziamfanfiction]

this week’s ziam ao3 feed

Hey y’all! welcome to the ao3 feed, this week we had some good updated works and new fics so go read them and remember to leave kudos and comments! Stay tune for next sunday for a new edition of the ao3 feed! :*

fics updated/posted from April 16th to the 22nd

A Growing Dysfunctional Family by the_less_i_know (wip)

I don't really know how to summarize this... but at its most basic the story is set in a world where humans and supernatural beings exist, except that humans of course are unaware of the supernatural world. It's a messy story where Liam and Zayn fall in love, but it's not solely focused on their relationship. This means that if you're just expecting to read about ziam only, then this story probably isn't for you. This story is not just about romantic love, but about friendship and family love too. It starts out with Normani, Zayn, and Louis, who kind of set the tone of the story and it all develops from there. Dinah is 27, Louis is 26, Zayn is 25, and Normani is 20. Liam and Niall are 23. Ally, Harry, and Lauren don't have any concrete ages so yeah.

Beauty Of Life by Larry_tattoos (wip)

"Look who we have here, the nerd of the school", I didn't need to turn around to see the face of the person mocking me cause i already knew him by just hearing his voice.

I wasn't even a nerd, the fact that i top my math class doesn't make me a nerd, I don't wear glasses, i don't wear funny looking shoes, i don't wear braces, i don't wear acne with pants up to my waist but in Zayn Malik's eyes i'm one.

I pretend to arrange my books in my satchel just not to have an eye contact with him, the truth was he terrified me. I could not imagine a day that i would not shiver just hearing his name.

"Wha- what do you wa- nt?", Him and his arrogant friends saw me struggle to form the words and i could hear them giggle.

Or

Being bullied by the love of his life is not the worst pain for Liam, the worst pain is he has no way of erasing the love he feels.

So he let's destiny take his course until its gets too much and he is caught between letting the love go or holding onto it.

But what happens when the love of his life aka his bully starts to care?

Twelve Fic Outtakes/Deleted Scenes by watyonameisgurl (wip)

Pretty much exactly what the title says and what I've hinted at in numerous end notes of the main fic for like forever - a collection of outtakes/deleted scenes (and possibly even some eventual alternate scenarios if I feel up to exploring that) from the Twelve fic verse

[DO NOT READ if you haven't finished the first fic in the verse yet]

Part 3 of Twelve Verse

Intoxicate Me, Mesmerize Me, Obliterate Me by eternallyunleashed (wip)

There was a certain heat obtained from rebellion that even the actual throes of heat never sparked. Keeping up an image of perfection; being the good kid, the perfect son to the Mayor and Chief of Police, the city of Lincoln’s sweetheart omega, it was all taxing to Zayn. Walking the thin line of danger was exhilarating. Was it coincidental that this danger happened to be an attraction to a certain alpha who was none other than the leader of the South Side Vipers gang, who seemed to despise him and the part of town he came from? Probably not. But when had anything ever stopped Zayn?

Within You Without You by PersephoneJones (wip)

Liam started to swipe up to unlock his phone, and then paused, thumb hovering over the screen. He’d been angry at Zayn for a very long time. Probably still was, to be honest. It wasn’t even about him leaving the band. It was that Zayn hadn’t just walked away from his job. He’d walked away from their friendship. Five years of togetherness and camaraderie, and what Liam (and just about everyone else) had thought was a special bond.

Or, the one where Zayn dipped out, sank the Ziam ship, and didn't even bother to call. Can Liam forgive him? Does he want to? And just why have the two of them always been so cuddly with each other, anyway?

dRuNk/Like I Would/Let Me/Dusk Till Dawn by watyonameisgurl

“Happy birthday, I guess,” Zayn says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice at the fact that this is his third call and Liam still hasn’t answered. At the fact that he’s with her. At a party that Zayn wasn’t invited to...

Or: A series of drabbles based on the themes of the aforementioned songs…basically my headcanons for the moments that inspired these songs (these aren’t songfics though)

Two Point 0 by watyonameisgurl (wip)

“Because healing is messy and ugly and slow and doesn’t just happen in a progressive line. Sometimes...sometimes it’s gonna feel like you’re going backwards or sideways or every direction but forward, and you might not ever feel the same as you were, you might always be different from the person you used to be, but sometimes that’s okay...”

Zayn looks out at the sea of faces staring back at him, fights down the anxiety still threatening to overwhelm him even though he’s almost through now. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but there’s so many of them, looking to him. And seeing all of them here, now, in front him—even if it still isn’t all of them—is a bit overwhelming. As he looks around though he catches sight of Liam in the sea of faces, smiling proudly, and that’s all it takes. He can already feel himself relaxing, powering through the last of what he wants and needs to say. Counting down the moments until he’s back by Liam’s side again, safe and sound and that’s what gets him through.

[Or: Zayn keeps healing, Liam does too. But it’s not easy when there are so many forces still so determined not to let them. And fighting them alone is one thing. But the problem is it’s not just Zayn's fight anymore.]

Part 2 of Twelve Verse

All the different kinds of flowers by Androgyne, ZoeRavenclaw28 (wip)

When Liam, the future Tsars right-hand man, meets Zayn, the son of an Emir, his world turns upside-down.

A story about late-night chess games, scents, herbs, and so so many flowers.

Part 2 of All The Different Kinds Of Flowers

Baby I'll Never Leave You (If You Keep Holding Me This Way) by CrazyMofos (wip)

It was 2015 I am Liam

The King Of Queens by LHSHIP (wip)

Zayn was just like every other fangirl, except he was a boy. To be exact, the only boy in a girls’ only world, the Liam Payne fandom. His internet friends - all girls of course - thought he should be referred to as "The King Of Queens" apparently being the only boy who openly drooled over singer Liam Payne. And he liked it, not only because it was his dad’s favorite TV show but also because he'd always called all of his girls “queens” to make them feel special.

So yes, he was one of those totally obsessed fans who basically spent all of their time on Twitter because of a super famous and successful celebrity who didn’t even know about their existence. And sometimes Zayn had to deal with his real life and real problems such as the upcoming class reunion and a missing date.

And maybe he was a just a tiny little bit of in love with Liam Payne...

Half Of The Stories by CamelotHarris (wip)

'Half Of The Stories'from Louis' Just Like You. These stories are about after Zayn left One Direction, five boys' life and what will they think of something about themselves . In the story there are part of the content is real. And will repeat some events about them . Now they are going through a lot of things, so I don't know when to end it.

iT's YoU by SpookyFaces (wip)

Popular, handsome and athletic Liam Payne has nothing in common with Zayn Malik, the bad-boy of the school, who wears leather jackets, combat boots and spends his lunch breaks with a cigarette and a sketchbook in his hands. There is something mysterious, something strange about him. Rumors say the half of his family has tragically died a few years ago. And there is something tragic about him. The way he walks alone in the hallways, the way he barely talks to anyone, except his stupid, curly friend.

Liam hates him. He hates his honey-colored eyes, his stupidly long eyelashes, his unbelievably long fingers, his raven-black hair and mesmerizing lips.

Yeah, he obviously hates him.

"Obviously" - Louis agrees, wiggling his eyebrows.

I remember every look upon your face by cpiklor (wip)

Zayn thought his summer break was going to be his most boring one yet - his new job was working him to levels he'd never experienced prior, which meant he rarely had free time away from the greasy deli kitchen to mentally prepare himself for his upcoming second year in college.

Until the deli got a new employee. Liam.

Liam was one of the hardest-working employees in the grocery store, Zayn could tell already. He listened intently to every instruction he was given, and nearly perfected everything - whether it be breading chicken, slicing cheese, or just chatting up the customers during lulls.

Liam was beautiful in every sense of the word - golden-brown hair with deep brown eyes, tall, slim, and fuck, he was toned. His biceps were noticeable even through their chunky cloth work shirts. He was ridiculously kind and hilarious, too. Everything made him laugh, and Zayn had yet to witness him in a bad mood.

The complete opposite of Liam, Zayn was broody and shy, with black hair, olive and a love for quiet spaces. He had a killer bitch face, which made him less approachable, and no wonder Liam wasn't sure about him. He could do better than someone like Zayn.

Zayn was fucked.

Beyond Words by StoryAnonGuy33 (wip)

"Some things are beyond words" Liam added lightly, Zayn laying back down on Liam's chest. "They are, aren't they?" He commented back, Liam smiling and kissing the top of his head. "You bet babe"

Or when Liam and Zayn attend the same college and with budding and cemented feelings between the two, will things turn out the way they want?

#lau speaks #ziam #ziam fanfiction #weekly ao3 feed

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Mahou Shoujo Ore 5 | Yotsuiro Biyori 4 | Lupin III Pt 5 5 | Hinamatsuri 5 | BnHA 43 | Boueibu HK 5

Mahou Shoujo Ore 5

Hey hey hey, this is the second show I’ve seen ape Osomatsu-san this year. Seriously, no show is safe in a parody as a target for humour’s sake…Note Osomatsu-san is also by Pierrot, though, so they’re attacking themselves to some extent.

Now that they’ve pointed the Osomatsu-san reference though, I can’t believe I didn’t see the scarf colours last time! But…this is episode 5…

Oh, I kind of noticed it, but I’m probably too used to it since I watched the first season of Osomatsu-san – the blue lines are part of that show’s signature style.

Muscovado is apparently a substitute for sugar. It literally translates to “black sugar” though…

Sagami is…a former place in Japan…?

Tama River. I’m terrible at Japanese geography, so I don’t think you should be asking me about this…

Dang, apparently Pierrot is based in Mitaka, Tokyo so whatever joke I was chasing there fell flat.

Wow, they got really self-referential this episode…yikes.

So this is the rumoured Chiba-san? Uhh…

Oh my…I do not see the word “Japanimation” get much mileage at all these days, but I cringe every time I see it.

It’s Pokémon Go! Wow, that’s another level of meta for sure. My hopes for resolving all the stray plot threads while maintaining that wacky sense of humour (or however I phrased it) definitely went out the window…Notice the footage is dated April 24th 20X8, which is about a week before the episode went to air if the X actually hides “2018”.

Suginami. Apparently, Bones, Sunrise and other studios are stationed there…but Pierrot isn’t.

If there’s one thing I didn’t expect in MSO, it’s the fact this show became Shirobako in a sense. I still need to get around to Shirobako, by the way…

Ey, wait a second! Astral, you got your wish! We get to see…Fujimoto’s face!

Whoa! They went all out on the CGI fire effects! What is this show, Golden Kamuy?! (LOL)

Comichiya’s probably Comiket. The katakana (chi -> tsu, to -> ya) look kinda similar if mangled.

Dangit! I missed my mark on the guesswork again! Tokyo Big Sight isn’t in Suginami.

Basically, this is just a long road to admitting they couldn’t do a recap episode, but they don’t have enough content to pad this ep either. Ah, sweet revelations (sarcastic).

Is it just me, or does the bottom of Fujimoto (1)’s face look kind of like…Mohiro??? Wagh??? Update: No, the hair colour’s off.

The “on the train” technically says “on the NEXT train” (emphasis mine).

Wow, they namedropped Ishikawa (probably Kaito)! Ishikawa voices male!Saki, so it makes sense.

Oh my gosh, Mahoutsukai Watashi! What a bold move this show’s taken – it’s telling its own meta-narrative. Which means when I cover it for the collab post…it’ll be meta of meta…that’ll put my head in a spin for sure.

You can see Fujimoto and Sakuyo character designs if you pause for one scene (the one with “staff working from home”).

You can see the name Masayuki Ito (伊藤雅之) on that list with the downward arrows, but I don’t know what significance that name has unless they’re an animator or something...

Mensore is explained here.Basically it’s youkoso in Okinawan.

Jimami Tofu…isn’t tofu, as weird as that sounds. It’s an Okinawan-sponsored drama.

Well, at least this time I got a big epic battle (no matter how short it is). Nothing better than that!

They got Akira Ishida, Tomokazu Seki, Koichi Yamadera and some other guys to voice the Fujimotos this time. Notice there’s no crossover between the Osomatsu-san voices and the Fujimotos, which was probably intentional.

I thought there’d be a real Shinzo Chiba, but there doesn’t seem to be one…

There was a shot of Fujimoto (before the manager)! Wah! Was that there in previous episodes???

Every time people promise wardrobe malfunctions, they tend to…uh, deliver on that…

The Monokubo illustration this time is creepy…I like it!

Yotsuiro Biyori 4

Is this a zombie movie (LOL)?

Wow, Sui really loves cats, doesn’t…he…? (LOL)

Oh, so that weird zombie movie in medias res opening was actually one of those fakeouts…DN Angel’s anime did that, I remember…

Wow, they make Tokitaka so epic in this scene! A determined man is more handsome than one in an ordinary state, don’tcha think?

You can even see rice flying! Amazing! Tokitaka’s got such skill.

I am so spoilt for smol boys this season, between this and Boueibu HK…

Ooh! My eyes have been blessed with the hotness of Tokitaka!

There’s more chicken than usual this ep, eh?

Shiratama anmitsu.

I never thought we’d need a backstory for the resident cat, but okay. It was hilarious and fun while it lasted and now it’s almost over…huh.

Denzou? Eh? (I kinda get why the name’s badass with the kanji involved, but it’s hard to explain to a non-Japanese speaker…)

Agedama.

The next ep title translates to roughly “A Loving Hand for the Lost Lamb”…as in, to extend a hand to it.

Lupin 3 Pt 5 5

Okay, part 5 episode 5 is confusing when it’s just “5 5”, isn’t it?

I think the guy in the green jacket will be important later…? He’s in a key visual for this show, at least.

“This pasta called soba’s pretty good!” – LOL, soba ain’t pasta, y’know…

I’ve learnt about the stack before. Here you go.

IP camera. Hey, I’ve done something on IP cameras before, but normally Detective Conan (and most other mystery shows of the modern day) seem to be reliant on CCTV…

Chicken game…? Sounds tasty!...Not.

Ami doesn’t seem too pleased about all the shooting, LOL.

Even Ami knows bowing is a sign of Japanese respect. Just like how dragons understand the meaning of “Hatori Chise” involves birds…(i.e. I’m kind of skeptical that a real French girl would learn to bow to her Japanese friends when her life is always on the line, a la Ami.)

Episode…1? Y’mean, there’s more adventures, but no Ami? Aw, I was enjoying having her in the fray.

Hinamatsuri 5

A TV? $30??? Wow, I would fight a psychic girl for that! That’s friggin’ cheap!

“Toshibu” (sic), LOL.

Bikkuri means “surprise”, LOL.

“A teacher and a student walk into a bar…” – it sounds like a joke. Not that that could be conveyed accurately in Japanese, though. The fact it even works as an English joke must be a coincidence…

Hitomi’s such a terrible liar! Wahaha!

Nitta’s just like “I’ve given up on this girl”. Either that, or he has a hangover…(LOL)

Sayo looks kind of like Hina. If it weren’t for the hair colours I would’ve mistaken the two.

BnHA 43

Carrying a gun to a fistfight…yep, bad. Plain bad, Mustard, ol’ boy.

Sorry, there was a lot of fighting this ep and nothing much to say!

Boueibu HK 5

LOL, the bald bodyguard…he looks kinda grumpy.

Notice Kyotaro goes “ore kyoumi nai” (I have no interest in it), but the subs missed the subject of the sentence! CR, you weirdoes!

Echire butter…exists!

“You know about genetic testing?” - Irina! I think this is your department!

Ryoma’s the end of the evolutionary line!

Hmm…if there was no Ice Age in Honyara Land…might there have been something else that caused the Furanui/Karurusu conflict? There’s only animosity from one side, after all.

Bunbuku Chagama. Magozaemon was fat, so he would make a perfect teapot/tanuki…

Wait, if Maasa = Ichiro in the age department (roughly 16), that would add up. He went abroad for 4 years and held off on carbs the entire time…yikes.

“The people of this world envy those who represent the opposite of what they fear for themselves, so they criticise and attack them.” – Ooh, Ata makes a lot of sense here…! It’s a quote for the collection.

Asobukoto = It’s not really “fun” per se, but “playing” or “hanging out”. That is, if you translate rather literally.

They’re all underage (roughly 16 – 18), of course they wouldn’t drink! Of course, this is coming from a person who doesn’t drink…the only samples of alcohol I’ve had are few and far in between…

Hey, I studied this stuff in the past, you don’t have to regurgitate this info (about needing food to better absorb alcohol). Lemmee tell you, alcohol ads are weird…

They didn’t make the “glasses fogging up” a weird plot hole. Phew.

Wow, to think I’d be getting a science lesson of things I already know in my Boueibu…I never thought I’d see the day where that happened.

According to this page, one of the things the ramen shop serves is gomoku soba. Wait…that’s right! Ramen’s appeared in this show before! In the Chri-pa episode! Sorry Astral, I gotta spoil s2 for you!

Wow, this chicken carcass is even less of a threat than anything else so far! Wow-hee.

Taishi only seems vaguely fazed about the fact he’s being made to fight monsters. Interesting. I never think about the perspective of the non-red boys regarding fighting monsters until they’re pointed out, really.

So wait, the magic knight of space…makes bubbles? Uh, Astral, you might wanna learn from this…?

Hey hey, I found a page on tonkotsu ramens (sic from the Hakata anime) and paitan ramen.

Kyotaro on stairs = basically my mood when I want to imitate the “draw me like one of yor French girls” meme. (Very badly.)

So…when I said I missed individualised attacks, I never saw this coming. Sorry about that, people. (Even if that was only Ichiro’s bubble attack.)

Kyotaro makes a lot of sense here. But seriously, I think I need Astral’s easy button right now. That was easy.

Notice Karurusu is acting as a pelt…weren’t otters hunted for their pelts?

Oh, Sujikawa’s a first year, huh?

*Sujikawa picks up the boulder* - *round of applause from me* Wow!

Both Maasa and Dougo have such supportive friends, it almost makes me jealous.

The English! It’s…correct! (thinks back to a magazine article with “Difence” (sic) written on it in pink letters)

I, for one, am happy they’re tackling relationships aside from “brothers” this time. Finally, here’s something that stacks up against its competition in regards to deeper themes, even if it is a comedy!

Dougo and Maasa (Magozaemon) were in class 2, if you pause at the right time. Notably, the members of class 2 were all boys, LOL. Even with the boy to the left of Magozaemon, I think that name might be pronounced “Ai” (due to this page), but it’s in manly kanji.

#simulcast commentary #Happy Kiss anime #mahou shoujo ore #lupin iii part 5 #boku no hero academia #Hinamatsuri #rokuhoudou yotsuiro biyori #binan koukou chikyuu boueibu happy kiss! #binan koukou chikyuu boueibu happy kiss #boueibu #boueibu hk #magical girl ore #Chesarka watches MSO #Chesarka watches Hinamatsuri #Chesarka watches BnHA #Chesarka watches Yotsuiro Biyori #Chesarka watches the Lupin series Pt 5

[mischievoushearty]

We are not like them Chapter 1: Seishin Academy

Overall fanfic summary: At the young age of four, Midoriya Izuku had to learn that people are not created equally. Finally on his way to become a hero, his short assignment at Seishin Academy, the elite school for the quirkless, went far beyond control. One thing led to another and a mysterious text later he found himself in the ashes of a city, face to face with a villain named Dragon. He didn’t have to remember the man's face to know who he was. It may have shattered his world, but he wasn’t alone. Someone understood.

“We are not like them. We never will be.”

Overall tags: hurt/comfort, action/adventure, mystery, canon divergence, school life, slice of life, hero life, growing friendships, very slow burn , Izuku POV, OC POV, some other POVs, Midoriya Hisashi is a villain (obviously), Midoriya Izuku had a qurik

Overall warnings:  depression, panic attacks, mention of abuse, blood

Chapters: 52/62

Pairings: if you read long enough you might spot the Izuku/OC and hinted Kamijirou

ao3 , ff.net

(The original chapter was posted in December 2017, started rewriting/cleaning up the first few chapters in April 2020)

*~*~*

The man pressed himself deeper into the corner of the dark room. Shallow gasps escaped his thin lips, there was nothing left but the sound of his own pumping heart. He squeezed his aching head with as much strength ash he could muster, begging for his skull to break so the pain would go away. He took another shallow breath. The panic was gone at once, only a dull ache remained.

At last he dared to open his eyes. The only thing illuminating his surroundings was the cold white light from his computer screen. The man pushed himself up. His knees were weak, his hands shaking, his palms sweaty. He staggered across the office, but his body wouldn’t fully obey his commands yet. He reached his chair and let himself fall on the worn-out cushion. His toes connected with something. A smacking sound accompanied by a dull clatter came from the floor and the man was relieved his office was in the old part of the building where the carpets still absorbed most of the sounds.

He watched the unusual clump roll another few centimeters until it came to a halt. Its surface shone dully in a ghostly white, decorated with foreign, intricate patterns. Another victim of his… His… Ability. Luckily, it had only been a cup this time.

He wondered if he would ever be able to fulfill his mission, or if he had to live with this curse for the rest of his life.

~~~

Midoriya Izuku stared at the big, shiny letters hanging from the iron gate embedded in the thick concrete walls. A cobbled path, lined by neatly groomed lawns, lay beyond the entrance, leading up to the infamous school for quirkless known as Seishin Academy.

He found out about it shortly after being labeled quirkless, and its name had become omnipresent about a year ago, when everyone told him to give up on U.A. and come here instead. He was a smart kid. Surely, if he worked hard enough, they would accept him to this elite school, his old middle school teacher had told him. An unpleasant feeling grew in his stomach.

A beacon of hope for all those not blessed with a quirk, that what the media called this place. One more reason why even his mother suggested it to him more than once. Graduates were promised a bright future – if they were to pass the horrendous exam, that was.

Izuku shook his head. No need to dwell on the past. He was a U.A. student now, working towards his dream. As a hero in training, he couldn’t let those thoughts distract him from their mission. He ignored the spreading unease and turned to his left, where his 1-A classmate, Yaoyorozu Momo, stood. Judging by her expression, she felt just as uncomfortable as him.

“Welcome! I’m sorry for the delay, there’s a lot of stuff to tackle when you’re the only hero on grounds.”

Too focused on his inner struggle, he hadn’t noticed the pro hero appearing in front of the gate. Long, thorn like spikes grew on the back of his head, growing smaller and thinner towards the face. His name was Succult. Aside from the already mentioned spikes that he could shoot and regrow at will, we as able to save fluids in his body for several weeks. At least that was what Izuku had found out since the hero wasn’t too well known.

The U.A. students greeted their superior and followed him onto the campus. Aside from a few chirping birds the dawn was quiet. Except for a lone jogger no one crossed their path, leaving Izuku enough freedom to take everything in, because it wars sure a lot. Seishin Academy wasn’t as bis as U.A. but not any less impressive. Everything was neat and in order, almost too clean. Were people even living here?

“Down that way are the dorms,” Succult pointed at two buildings behind a small plaza at their left, “up in front is the school. There’s an old building being renovated at the moment, but there are only a few offices left there, so that shouldn’t concern you. The big, coppery red building is where most classes take place, the gym and everything else is behind.”

Izuku and Yaoyorozu nodded, both trying to absorb as much information as they could. They both wore everyday clothing, not allowed to have anything on them that could point to their allegiance to U.A. or any other kind of hero business. It was strange to see his classmate with her hair down and the strand usually hanging into her face being held back by some kind of hair accessory. She also wore glasses that strangely suited her. Izuku himself was lucky to look plain enough that they didn’t make him wear any kind of disguise.

“You’ll get used to it,” the pro ripped him from his thoughts, “and it’s just for two weeks. I’m confident your assignment will go as planned. If there’s any trouble, don’t hesitate to come to me or my colleagues, we’re not very hard to spot!” It was clearly meant as a joke to lift the mood, but Izuku couldn’t help but grimace at the implication.

Succult took a sharp turn and halted. He turned to the new “exchange students” going through a two-week trial period and held up an almost threatening index finger.

“Whatever happens, regardless the situation, do not make use of your quirks. If anyone finds out, it’s game over. But I guess I don’t need to remind you.”

“No, Sir!” They both agreed, incredibly tense. They had a mission, and they would not fail. Izuku collected himself, slowly feeling his determination return. At his side, Yaoyorozu rose her hand. Succult chuckled, “No need to be so formal.”

“I have a question,” the girl began, “if this school is so strictly quirkless, why are you, a pro hero, here on duty?”

“Ah,” the pro wavered the tiniest bit, “that question. Individuals with quirks may be strictly prohibited from applying as students, teachers or for any other work on the campus, but they can’t completely ignore the outside world. It’s easy to assume that the people here are more vulnerable to attacks since they don’t have any special abilities, so the government pressured them into placing at least a few heroes on guard duty. Sadly, the students and teachers don’t agree, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see any of them interacting with me or the other heroes.”

Yaoyorozu’s hand dropped. She nodded, a deep frown on her face. Those were going to be two rough weeks.

“Now, let’s get inside and get your uniforms. There’s still some time left until classes begin.”

~

“So, what do you think, Midoriya-san?” Yaoyorozu asked on their way to the dorms. They were both carrying heavy boxes with their respective uniforms and textbooks. Izuku offered to carry both, but the girl quickly convinced him that it would look too suspicious for him to be that strong. He quickly agreed.

After another deep breath, Izuku mused, “I’m… Not sure? I mean, I understand that they want to get to the bottom of this, but… Why send us? Sure, we’re the right age, but couldn’t they have hired like private detectives or something? I don’t know if I’m made for this kind of thing, I never expected having to do an undercover mission, and that in our first year-” He stopped immediately after realizing he had started mumbling, a blush creeping up his face. Yaoyorozu smiled softly, apparently glad to experience some normalcy around here, which didn’t make exactly make him feel any less flustered.

“I understand. But they must have a reason. I feel honored they think I’m ready for this kind of thing. Don’t you think so?”

Maybe she was right. Or maybe they just chose him because he was plain – enough with the depressing thoughts. His previous quirklessness and his personal history had nothing to do with this assignment. Get yourself together, Izuku, he scolded himself. Just as he shook the thoughts from his head, Yaoyorozu set out again, “You know… I’m ashamed to admit this, but… I haven’t really met any quirkless people. There just aren’t any in my social environment. And now I’m not really sure how to act around them.”

If only she knew. Having been born quirkless, it never occurred to Izuku that he should treat quirkless people any different. He knew other people did, he had experienced that in the most painful way. And Yaoyorozu… Coming from such an important and wealthy family, she probably only knew people from the upper class. And quirkless people didn’t get into the upper class. It was hard trying to see things from her perspective.

“Just, uhm… Be yourself. Act natural. They’re just people, like us. Maybe don’t mention quirks, you could hit a nerve.” He didn’t even know what other advice to give her.

After pondering for a while, the girl finally made up her mind. “You’re right, Midoriya-san. We got this. They’re just people.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “just people.”

~

“Alright class, let’s welcome your new classmate. He will be attending classes for the next two weeks, whether he’s going to be accepted will be decided after that.”

Two weeks. They had two weeks to complete their mission. Izuku raised his chin, eyes scanning the room. Before him sat the most plain looking class he could imagine. No unusual body parts, no special hair, eye or skin color, no random objects levitating. Nothing but plain, bored looking faces. Yep, he would fit right in.

“Please introduce yourself,” the teacher, wearing his stubble proudly, ordered. Izuku bowed low before finding his voice, “G-good morning! M-my name Midoriya I-Izuku! I’m from a h-high school in the Shizuoka prefecture. It’s, uhm, nice to meet you…?” He hated standing in front of a crowd, especially one as unenthusiastic as this one. At U.A., his friends used to give him a thumbs up here and there during his presentations. Here, he was met with nothing but a yawn from a boy in the front row.

“Your desk is back there. Your class president Endo will show you everything.” With these words the teacher urged him to the only free seat. On his way, he passed a boy with raven hair – the one who yawned before – who gave him a two-finger salute. Izuku guessed he was the so-called class president Endo. Hoping that Yaoyorozu was having a better time than him, Izuku settled into his new seat for the next two weeks. Little did he know that his work would begin sooner than he could have hoped for. They barely made it through half the lesson, when the ground started shaking, ending as abruptly as it came with an ear shattering crash. A scream echoed through the hallway.

first chapter | last chapter | next chapter

#wanlt #wanlt fanfic #we are not like them #fanfic #fanfiction #we are not like them fanfiction #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #midoriya izuku x oc #oc #original character #midoriya izuku #yaoyorozu momo #seishin academy #bnha oc #mha oc

[foreversillythings]

An Ocean Between Us Chapter 5

An Ocean Between Us

Monday, April 15, 1912 A Kiss of Ice

“Madge, wake up. You have to wake up. Madge!”

Madge blinked awake in confusion. Her parents were leaning over her, faces worried with coats and life jackets on over their nightclothes.

“What…what’s going on?” she asked, head still foggy with sleep. Her mother bit her lip.

“The Stewards came by; they say we’ve hit something.”

“But don’t worry,” her father hurriedly interjected as Madge’s mouth fell open; “they say there’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Yes,” her mother agreed, “they want us up on the boat deck, but only as a precaution. Everything’ll be fine.”

Madge wasn’t sure she believed them, blood chilling as she imagined the ship plunging into the inky black of the ocean.

God help us

“Please remain calm; there is nothing to be concerned about. Everything is well under control; this is all merely a precaution.”

The Steward’s voice droned out over the crowd in the hallway and Madge forced herself to believe him. We’re going to be fine; this ship is unsinkable, right?

“Now, if you could all please make your way up to the boat deck in an orderly fashion. Yes madam, I know it’s cold. Indeed sir, it is quite late, but this is standard procedure. The quicker this is done, the quicker it’ll all be over. Thank you.”

The grumbling crowd began to move but Madge looked around anxiously. Where are the Cartwrights? People continued to push around her, eager to get this done but Madge was rooted to the spot, unable to move without knowing where Delly was.

“Sweetheart?” her father asked and then,

“Have you seen Delly? We can’t find her anywhere.”

Madge turned to her left to see the Cartwrights, their eyes wild and worried.

“She wasn’t in your quarters?” her mother asked in shock and Mrs Cartwright shook her head.

“No. I don’t know where she could be.”

What on Earth? Where could you be, Delly? Where would you go so late at night?

Oh.

“I know where she is,” Madge said and everyone turned to look at her.

“What? Where?” Mr Cartwright asked but Madge shook her head, already starting to move.

“I’ll get her, it’s alright.”

“No, wait. Madge!” her father called but Madge kept going.

“Don’t worry; I’ll bring her up to the boat deck. You go on, we’ll be there soon.”

“Madge!” her parents shouted but she was already squeezing through the crowd, eyes focused on the staircase.

I should have seen it before; I can’t believe I missed it. Your brother never snores; he can’t have kept you up all night. And you hate taking naps, you’d never have gone for one in the middle of the day, and certainly not when there was the whole Titanic to explore.

You were in such a good mood and you advocated so strongly for me to be with Gale, “We’ve left behind our old life and the new one doesn’t start until we reach New York. The days we have here, this is when we should be doing things we never would normally-”

There’s a boy, isn’t there? Oh Delly, how did I miss it?

She reached the stairs and began pushing past everyone, fighting her way down while everyone else was fighting their way up. I’m coming Delly, I’m coming. She struggled through the crowded hallways, searching desperately for any sign of her. You have to be here, you have to!

“Madge?”

She turned at the sound of her name and felt her heart lurch. It was Gale, a little girl that had to be his sister clutched tight in his arms. He started fighting through the crowd towards her, his eyes wide and panicked and Madge moved towards him too. She could see people following in his wake, clearly all those family members he’d told her about.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded as they met, both of them reaching for the other.

“I have to find Delly; I think she’s down here with a boy.”

Gale opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, eyes going even wider.

“Fuck,” he swore and she blinked in surprise.

“What’s going on?” a woman who could’ve been his mother or his aunt asked, his family finally catching up to him.

“Gale?” Madge asked, squeezing his waist and he swore again.

“Shit. She’s second class, right? A little shorter than you, blonde, blue eyes?”

Madge nodded and he tilted his head back, inhaling angrily.

“Damn it, Thom. Okay, go all the way to the end of this corridor, then down to the next floor and take a left. Go as far as you can, there’s an empty room right at the end of the hall. That’s where Thom’s been taking this girl he-”

“Delly,” Madge breathed and what were the odds? Then again, she did say he was cute when she saw him and Gale…

“Okay, thank you!” she told him and spun around. I’m coming Delly, I’m coming!

“Madge, wait!” Gale said, his voice constricted as he grabbed her arm. She turned back to face him, her chest squeezed tight.

“It’s okay, just go. I’ll be alright,” she assured him with a smile and then, without really thinking about it, she lurched forward and kissed him. It was quick, hard and she felt the bizarre urge to cry. His eyes were closed when she pulled away and she tried to smile as she gently removed his hand from her arm. She squeezed his fingers and backed away, determined to keep him in her sights for as long as possible.

I’ll be alright.

We all will.

We have to be.

(Gale knew he couldn’t go after her, knew he had to make sure his family got to safety.

But I’ll be back for you, he promised as she ran away, I swear to God I’ll be back)

Madge could feel herself speeding up as she moved further into the ship, the floor starting to slant beneath her feet.

We really are sinking.

Tears started to build in her eyes, fear tugging at her legs but she had to keep moving. Delly was back here somewhere and Madge had to find her, had to make sure she made it out safe. I’m coming Delly, hold on. The ground tilted even further, Madge started to lose balance and Oh God, this is all my fault. If only I’d told Delly about Gale, she’d have told me about Thom. I wouldn’t have had to waste time searching; I’d have known exactly where to find her. Why didn’t I tell her?

And that’s when she hit the water.

Madge had been running without really looking, so caught up in her guilt that it took her entirely by surprise when her feet splashed into something wet. She looked down and there was water everywhere, getting deeper and deeper the farther she looked down the hall. Oh my God. She stared, unable to look away and felt like her heart was shriveling up in her chest, tightening up into a tiny, terrified ball.

Come on, it’s just water. I can do this.

Madge steeled herself and took a careful step forward, the water sloshing over her shoe. The water was like ice, like a thousand jagged knives cutting into her skin. She yelped in surprise and drew back, nearly stumbling over in her haste. Her foot ached, throbbed and Madge breathed heavily, the water inching insidiously closer. She wanted to run, wanted to get out of this death trap and away to safety but she couldn’t.

Delly needs me.

Madge clenched her hands, gritted her teeth and moved in again, tears burning under her eyelids. It was so cold, unbelievably cold, beyond even comprehension. She moved as fast as she could, deeper and deeper, and she could barely think as the water creeped up her calves but she pushed on, her mind focused on one single thing.

I have to find Delly.

I have to.

“Madge! Madge!”

She’d just turned a corner and there was Delly, the water swirling around her knees.

“Delly!” Madge shouted back and she struggled forward, the two of them meeting in a hug. Madge closed her eyes for a moment in relief, couldn’t even feel the cold. I found you, oh thank God, I found you.

“We need to go.”

Madge opened her eyes and looked up. A boy that had to be Thom was standing just behind Delly, face tense. Madge vaguely recognized him, could just remember seeing him standing and talking with Gale. She let go of Delly and wiped her eyes.

“You’re right, let’s go.”

She grabbed Delly’s hand and meant to go back the way she’d come, but Thom shook his head.

“The main stairs are going to be packed with people. We’re better off going up another way.”

Delly nodded.

“I usually use one of the smaller staircases to come down here, that might work.”

“Okay,” Madge agreed and Delly squeezed her hand before taking hold of Thom and leading them both down the corridor. Madge’s legs throbbed with the cold, her heart beat painfully in her chest and please, let us make it out of this.

(They’re safe, my family’s safe.

Now I just have to find the others)

(and it’s a blessing, really, that he still has Madge and Thom, and even Delly, to worry about. Otherwise, he’d have to start worrying about himself)

(women and children only)

“Where the fuck is this staircase?” Thom asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

“It’s…it’s…there!” Delly shouted in relief and there it was. Madge almost swooned. Thank God. The water was creeping up her thighs and she was so cold, her brain feeling slow and sluggish. Thom seemed reinvigorated by the sight and charged forward, tugging Delly after him. Delly pulled Madge along too and they were so close, so close. Almost there.

BAM

Delly shrieked in surprise as a door to their right burst open, a great torrent of water gushing out towards them.

“Shit!” Thom swore and surged forward, grasping onto the railing with one hand. Madge seized onto Delly with both of hers and then the water slammed into them, crashing over their heads. She could feel her grip on Delly slipping and she couldn’t breathe, her lungs frozen and filling rapidly with water. She struggled furiously, the water trying to throw her around and finally her head broke the surface. Madge coughed and spluttered and desperately tried to breathe. The flood was moving down the hallway, still tugging furiously even as it lowered around them.

“Hold on,” Thom begged Delly and Madge could see the strain on his face as he tried to drag them both over to the stairs. The current continued to heave around them and then there was another horrible, splintering crash as a further door erupted outwards, a new deluge headed towards them.  

“Look out!” Delly shrieked, just as Thom shouted “Hold on!” and Madge couldn’t even think, her whole body paralyzed with fear. Oh God, oh God oh God oh God-

The water hit her like a solid wall and then it ripped her hands away from Delly, tossing her violently down the hall. She spun and turned and tried with all her might to fight back, to kick and paddle up or forward, but she couldn’t tell which direction was up or forward, her head spinning and stinging with the cold.

“Madge!” Delly screamed and Thom clenched his teeth, fighting the tide to keep his hold on her. Madge herself just managed to find the surface and desperately sucked down air when the force of the water slammed her body into a wall. The pain was intense but worse was the shock, knocking all the breath from her lungs. She gasped and the water poured down her throat, her lungs feeling like they were filled up with needles. Thom grunted loudly in effort and yanked with all his strength, finally managing to pull Delly all the way to the stairs.

“Get up, get up!” he shouted, shoving her upwards and out of the water.

“Madge! Madge!” she yelled and Madge felt herself slipping under, too dazed to keep herself afloat. The world started to go dark and her chest ached, the water slopping up over her head.

Is this how it ends?

“Madge! Oh God, Madge!” Delly was screaming and Thom turned away from her and felt his stomach drop.

Madge was gone.

There was no sign of her and Delly was heading back down the stairs, clearly determined to jump in after her. Shit, shit, shit! Thom couldn’t let her do it, couldn’t bear it and he closed his eyes, stomped down the desperate, terrified part of him that just wanted to grab Delly and run, and took a deep breath. He let go of the rail, his mouth pooling with acid, and allowed the current to shove him towards where Madge had been, Delly shouting fearfully after him.

“Thom!”

The current was slowing somewhat but it was trapped against a pair of doors further down the hall, ready to break them down and suck everything and everyone nearby into the flooded bowels of the ship.

If those burst…

Thom kicked with his legs and swam as hard as he could, needed to find Madge as quickly as possible.

“Can you see her?” Delly called and Thom looked about wildly, his anxiety growing with every groan of those wooden doors.

Of all the nights not to be in my room. Of all the nights to be too far from everyone, so the only way we know we’re sinking is when water creeps under the door and the floor starts to tilt.

God, if only I hadn’t asked Delly to come tonight. If they die, it’ll be my fault. They could both be safe already, probably already on lifeboats.

Damn it, damn it!

He sucked in a breath and dived under. Adrenaline surged through his body, mixed with a potent fear and a hint of despair. Where are you? You have to be here somewhere. It was dark, his eyes stung from the cold and the salt and Fuck! Where are you?

His fingers grazed something made of fabric and he felt it like an electric jolt straight to his heart.  Yes! he wanted to shout but he had to go back up for air before he could grab hold. Shit! He breathed deeply, the water rising and went back under, determined to come back up with Madge. Please God, please. He found her again with his hands and kicked himself closer, the water cutting into him like a million burning knives. Come on, come on…I’ve got you! Thom grabbed her around the waist and drove upwards, kicking as hard as he could. He surfaced and greedily drank in air, all the while pulling Madge up with him. He got her head above the water but she lolled against his shoulder, skin maybe slightly blue.

“Madge! Is she okay?” Delly asked and Thom felt panicky and frozen.

“I don’t think she’s breathing!” he shouted back, entirely unsure what to do. I have to get her to the stairs, he thought but the current was pulling him in the opposite direction. Worse, with Madge’s dead weight to support, he was tiring quickly. We’re not gunna make it. Oh God, we’re not gunna make it.

He looked up at the stairs but Delly was gone and strangely, Thom didn’t feel any panic or fear at that. At least Delly’ll make it out, at least she’ll be safe. The doors behind him creaked and groaned ominously and Oh God, this really is it, isn’t it?

“Thom! Here!”

He blinked and Delly was charging back down the stairs, a fire hose in her arms. She stopped just before the water level and swung the heavy end around with one hand before releasing it. It launched forward and landed with a splash just ahead of him. Thom stared at it as it sunk, a frigid sort of exhaustion seeping into his bones.

“Come on, Thom! Grab it!” Delly yelled, shaking the hose at him and he looked at her, dripping wet, terrified, but furious too.

“Come on!” she shouted and he shook his head, dug deep for his remaining strength and kicked with all his might. Come on, come on! He reached forward, numb fingertips glancing off the slippery metal of the spout and gritted his teeth. Come on! He stretched his arm as far as it would go and just managed to grasp the hose right above the spout. Delly tightened her grip and began to pull, face screwed up as she reeled them in.

And that’s when the doors gave out.

#gadge #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #fanfiction #Titanic AU #Hunger Games #historical au

[tackyink]

I shouldn’t be writing. I have a pair of pants to sew and a hat to accessorize, but these fricking cosplays haven’t let me write for weeks, and I needed to. I’ve gone from the aftermath of the terror attack, to protests on the streets, to the uncertainty of this political unstability, and right when I was settling down the only convention I go to every year is coming up. I just want to write in peace!

This was written a few months ago, but I’ve added things, changed a few others and edited a bit, badly, because my eyes hurt and I’m medicated and falling asleep.

Fourth installment of the terrible YYH self-insert.

There I go again Pretending to be you Make-believing That I have a soul beneath the surface

When my father asked what I wanted for Christmas, I knew right away what to reply. It might sound weird putting it like this, but if it was 1984, there was something I was in time to do for the first and last time.

I had known from the moment I saw it announced in a music magazine, just a week ago. The Yu Yu Hakusho world may have differed from my own, but some things remained the same, and one of them was the existence of my favorite band.

Queen was going to play its last concerts in Japan in 1985, and I had to go see them. I could not miss my last opportunity to see Freddie Mercury and John Deacon live, no matter how out of character it may have been for Satori.

But the request didn’t surprise my father. In fact, he said he had thought I’d ask for something like that.

That day I learned that the vinyl records and the CDs next to the music player in the living room were Satori’s, not her parents’. I had found out the one thing she and I seemed to have in common: a love of classic rock.

If you had asked me at that moment in time if travelling through dimensions thirty-three years in time and getting stuck in the body of a teenager in order to see Queen in their prime had been worth it, I would have said yes, logic be damned.

But before that could happen, a lot more had to be done.

For months, I had been stuck studying at home with tutors helping in my recovery, so for all effects and purposes, my job from September to April was to cram in my brain all the knowledge I had supposedly lost, and while subjects like math and science only warranted a quick refresher (and it was a good thing that Satori wasn’t in high school yet, because I hadn’t done any real math in close to twelve years), Japanese and history were another matter altogether. Luckily for me, I suppose, both were things I’d been interested in in my previous life and I couldn’t have found a more immersive way to learn the language if I tried, so catching up didn’t feel as frustrating as it would have otherwise, and I had always been good at studying.

The biggest hurdle came from elsewhere.

While I had determined that I wouldn’t go back to the tennis club once I returned to school, nothing could save me from the small piano at home.

Don’t get me wrong. At first, I thought it was amazing to have one. Learning how to play one had been a lifelong wish back when I wasn’t Satori. Then I had been asked if I remembered how to play it, and my deer in the headlights face had said it all.

About two months after the accident, my piano teacher came home, and though the news that I’d forgotten everything had been broken to her, I don’t think anybody realized the extent of the drama until I said I couldn’t read a score. If I had wished a thousand times in my previous life that my parents had signed me up for music lessons as a kid, I wished it even harder now. The extent of my musical ability was singing decently and having learned to play Greensleeves by ear on a toy keyboard. That was it. I had to start from scratch at thirteen-slash-twenty-eight years old.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as disastrous as I had expected. As if Satori’s own body had grown frustrated with my uselessness, the hands seemed to move over the keys more easily than they should have. I realized it was muscle memory, moving my fingers to the keys without knowing what they were and pushing the pedals at the appropriate time.

But it sounded horrible, anyway. Muscle memory could only take me so far, and it didn’t matter much when it came to learning more pieces, but it was a small consolation that my new body was cooperating. My lack of coordination in my past life had been nothing short of sad, and this was a welcome change.

It wasn’t the first time I had thought so. Satori’s body was, nearsightedness notwithstanding, an upgrade from mine. She was more agile and in better shape than my paper-pusher butt used to be, but the most remarkable change was her brain. I don’t know what the physiological differences between hers and mine were, because I still felt very much like myself, but thinking with her brain was like coming into a sunlit clearing after wading through fog for years. Her attention span, her quick thinking, the way she absorbed information like a sponge was something I hadn’t felt for well over ten years. I didn’t get startled as easily, I wasn’t in an alert state 24/7, I didn’t feel anxiety creeping up on me at every little setback. My new brain was working with me instead of being bent on self-sabotage.

Thanks to that, I was able to make good progress with my studies before I went reenrolled at school. I still sucked at piano, but time and practice would take care of that, I hoped.

I remember the day at the end of February, nearly half a year after my accident, that my parents sat me down and told me with as much tact as they could that the school had decided to hold me back a year. This was a rare occurrence in Japan, from what I’d gathered, usually reserved for students who had missed too many school days.

My parents thought that Satori would think this was the end of the world. Fortunately, I wasn’t her, and since I didn’t know anybody at school save for one girl that had come visit me once while I was home, I didn’t care in which class I was put. If anything, I was worried about going back to school, in general.

All in all, I thought my parents took the grade repetition harder than me. There was probably some social stigma I wasn’t aware of associated to it.

I asked Yu about it when they weren’t around, but he shrugged off my concerns, instead asking me, “Do you mind being held back a year?”

“No.”

“Then however they think it reflects on you is their problem, not yours.”

This kid had just turned eleven and already had more aplomb than most adults I knew.

This kid also would, in five years’ time, if my assumptions were correct, have the guts to purposefully piss off Kurama in a room full of plants. I tried not to think about that.

“So you don’t care, either? Won’t the other kids laugh at you because your sister is dumb?” I joked, though in truth I was a little worried about it.

He looked at me like I had just demonstrated how dumb I really was. Kid could stare down a giant if he wanted. “I don’t care about their opinion. But I do care that you’re repeating a year.”

“Oh?”

“Next year we’ll go to school together.”

He was on his last year of elementary school. Normally, the gap of three years between us would have meant we’d always go to separate schools, but now we would be in the same place in middle and high school while I was a third-year and he a freshman. I would have an ally at school, however briefly! But then, the implications of that dawned on me right away.

If I was going to be at the same school as Yu, it meant that I was going to share a school with Kurama, as well.

I tried to smile sincerely at Yu’s comment, because it had been cute as heck, but the sudden realization had killed my enthusiasm swiftly.

“Yeah,” I said, hoping that he didn’t notice my mood change. “That will be cool.”

For five months, I’d managed to keep myself from thinking about it. For five blissful months of denial, I had concentrated on family life, on studies, and thought as little as I could about what the future held.

Because I had a good inkling of what my brother would get involved in in a few years, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to stay out of it myself. I didn’t think I wanted to, even, but then again, it’s easy to be brave when you’re looking at problems from a distance. I couldn’t tell how I’d react when the time came.

I had gone through many possibilities in the time I’d spent at home since I realized in which reality I was, but one that hadn’t crossed my mind until Yu pointed it out was that we were going to share a school, and that, in time, that would probably translate into going to Meiou with him. The perspective made me both excited and nervous.

Saying that Kurama was my favorite Yu Yu Hakusho character would have been the understatement of the two centuries I’d lived in. Saying that I’d been crushing on him since I was a teen would have only taken second place to the former assertion.

And I still hadn’t come to terms with him being a real person that I had a more than fair chance of meeting him in this reality.

And, because I had to be a worrywart, instead of being happy about it, I grew increasingly anxious about it as time passed. I didn’t want to be within ten miles of the guy lest I risk blubbering something silly and giving myself away.

But that would happen in time, I thought.

Maybe inspired by this turn of events, and since I’ve always had a bit of a masochistic streak, along with a liking of cacti and all manner of spiky flora, and four prickly children of my own at the time of my accident, when the school year started, I dropped tennis to go for gardening.

This caused some confusion among the staff and Satori’s teammates. Apparently nobody switched clubs once enrolled in one, but people were willing to overlook it because of my rather odd circumstances. There were still a lot of whispers behind my back – way to start off at school on the right foot.

Yu thought it was funny and more constructive that I had chosen to spend the next two years learning how not to kill a potted plant than hitting a ball, because it turns out that Satori had a notoriously black thumb.

I did, too. I once managed to kill a succulent in one month. And I’d felt horribly guilty even as I repeated to myself that it had been ill by the time I’d received it.

…Anyway.

I joined the gardening club because my other options were a sports team, which would mean I’d have no excuse to not go back to tennis, brass band, with was a definite no because I had enough embarrassing myself home with a piano in private, and calligraphy, which looked really cool but, call me weird if you may, I thought that before trying to draw kanji skillfully I should learn to read them.

So gardening it was. And being a non-sports, non-musical club, it only met three days a week, so it left me plenty of time to study.

Because that’s how I spent my first two years in the Yu Yu Hakusho world: learning nonstop all the things I should already know, and learning what I should have been learning at the time so I could enroll to a good high school.

Something I noticed as the months went by is that my parents seemed to be fascinated by the change in disposition in her daughter. I never got the impression from them or Satori’s own diaries that she had been a bad student, but I suppose she hadn’t shown so much drive to absorb knowledge as I did. Though, of course, I was doing it out of necessity, not just for the sake of knowing.

They were proud. And the prouder they were of their daughter, the guiltier I felt for not being her.

Yu didn’t have many friends at school.

I’d had the impression that smart kids were treated better here than they were back in my country, and that was true, with conditions: Yu was admired for his brains, but was worse, much worse with social niceties than I’d been at my prime.

For the record, I had been an absolute and complete disaster at getting along with most kids in my class, and that was taking into account that I saw them every school day for ten whooping years.

On the other hand, Satori’s classmates had moved onto high school, and the only friendships I retained were those of the people in the tennis club, who I didn’t know, and, frankly, did not care to. I more than doubled their age, and it was evident that they felt awkward talking to someone who didn’t remember who they were.

That gave me the perfect excuse to spend most of my free time with Yu, who made everything better with that thinly-veiled disdain for humanity of his and made him look like a pompous prick in the eyes of his peers. I, in turn, found it incredibly funny coming from someone his age.

Despite that, I told him to cut the back on the attitude because I was supposed to give him good advice, but he wouldn’t budge. He was at a difficult age, in an isolating position, and he had time to change.

I would lie if I said I didn’t worry about what he would do when I graduated, but while it lasted, we took comfort in each other’s company, a much needed familiarity for two introverts who’d been dropped in a foreign place.

During my first semester at school, I went with my father to see Queen at Yoyogi National Stadium.

I cried like the little girl I was supposed to be, and the next day I had no voice from singing along at the top of my lungs. I also had a lot of tears to spare when thinking about the band’s future, and it was hard to keep them at bay while I wasn’t alone.

On the way out, we bought tour shirts and a badge with the group’s logo that I proudly hung from my schoolbag.

Nobody took more than passing notice of it in class, except for a boy in my grade that I found staring really hard at the badge one afternoon, while I spoke to a club companion. He seemed to freeze for a second when he noticed that I’d caught him staring, but then he came closer. My clubmate observed the exchange quietly.

“Do you like Queen?” He asked.

He was a bit shorter than me, with stark black hair and piercing violet eyes, and he had spoken so seriously that I wondered if he would try to maim me if the answer wasn’t satisfactory.

“Of course I do,” I replied. “I wouldn’t carry this otherwise.”

His stony expression didn’t change, but his eyes sparkled. “I like them too. Who’s your favorite?”

“Um, I like them all, but Brian and Freddie—”

His expression lit up, but even then he didn’t smile. He sounded excited when he spoke next. “Did you know Brian May made his guitar himself?”

A smile escaped me before I could notice it. “Yeah! With an old fireplace and mother-of-pearl buttons—”

“I heard he spent years on it!”

“Can you imagine building your own guitar so young and so well that you can go pro with it?”

“He’s a genius.”

“Dang right he—”

Someone cleared their throat behind me. “Um, Kaito…”

My clubmate looked very much out of place when I looked at her.

“O-oh,” I said embarrassedly. “Yes, we should get going.” I turned to the boy. “Sorry, I should go. I didn’t catch your name…?”

“Kaname Hagiri.”

This world was rife with school kids trying to surprise kill me, I swear. I stared owlishly at him for a second before I remembered my manners. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Everybody at school knows who you are. You’re the girl who lost her memory.”

I didn’t like the tone he used. “I have a name.”

I was surprised at how much it bothered me. Reducing Satori’s existence to her accident felt… wrong. And in turn I felt like a hypocrite, because what was Satori to me but another body? Yu’s sister? The girl who played tennis and piano and that had had a lot of friends that I’d managed to alienate in just a few weeks of school?

Satori’s existence, even to me, wasn’t an entity in itself. I always thought about her in relation to something, someone else. It wasn’t fair.

Hagiri was taken aback by my brusque reply, but he turned around and left anyway without saying anything else.

I thought that had been the end of it, and I was wrong.

He caught me by surprise one day after lunch, just as I’d left Yu to go back to class.

“Kaito,” he called solemnly, and his face wore the same immutable and slightly threatening expression from last time. His words didn’t match. “Do you listen to Deep Purple?”

As a matter of fact, I did.

I wondered if that was his way of apologizing for his rudeness, though I had been rude right back, so he had no reason to do it.

But what mattered was that, from then on, we stopped to talk to each other on the corridor, and that occasionally I’d have company when I wanted to pick up something from the music store.

This only lasted until the end of the school year, when we went on our separate ways to different schools. I wondered if I’d meet him again. I wondered if it would happen during the Sensui saga, and I wondered if I should, could have done something to prevent him from getting recruited. That nagging feeling wouldn’t leave me for months after I graduated, but only time would tell.

It was precisely during this year that the training wheels came off. The high school access exams were closing in, and my parents, who years ago had hoped to send Satori to one where she could focus better on developing her tennis skills, had to let go of the idea and find another place for me. I needed to compensate my lack of physical skills with raw brainpower, and given how tough school in this country was, I wasn’t sure I’d be up to par.

That insecurity kept on building up as the months passed, and by the time March was approaching I was a bundle of nerves. I took the Step Eiken, the exams to get an English certification, and took tests for public and private schools. My parents weren’t sure I’d be able to get into Meiou, since that school could afford to be picky with its students and my middle school hadn’t given me a recommendation thanks to me spending the last year and a half just trying to catch up. But if there’s something that drives me to do things is people telling me I can’t pull them off, so I studied like I’d never studied in my life. Harder than when I first woke up and had to learn all the grammar and vocabulary I didn’t know just to communicate with my family.

Having an obsessive personality has its perks, every now and then.

Yu supported me in this endeavor, even if he didn’t outright say it. On occasion, he made flashcards and diagrams with the excuse that they were meant for him, but I could use them too if I wanted. I knew him enough by then to realize that he knew the material better than the teachers. I think he was actually proud that his sister had turned bookish, that we had something else to bond over, and wanted to help.

In two months’ time, the exam results came, and with them the resolution of this weird phase of my life. First arrived the letters for public high schools, then for private ones.

I opened that last one with my parents breathing down my neck.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to read its contents.

But now, clear as day, I was able to see that I’d made it into Meiou.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding it as my mother announced that we were going out for sushi that night, and my father clapped me on the shoulder with a satisfied smile and told me to think if I wanted anything as a present.

I considered the admission a present in and of itself, but that didn’t stop me from asking if I could have a Discman.

#yyh crappy indulgent si

[scriptaed]

Pt1) I'm hopping on the band wagon with these heart break stories. Buckle your seatbelt cuz it will be a long ride. This happened to me recently, in 8th grade, yeah I know "too young" but hear me out he was the first crush that I genuinely liked. I know him since 6th grade, we don't talk much friend until 8th grade. Me and him started talking and he was very nice, the first guy so far that treated me with respect and mature enough for boys his age.

Pt2) he wasn't the most good looking guy out there I must say, he wasn't cute either. But I was attracted to him probably because of his intelligence. He smart enough to match my wit, at time even smarter then me If I'm being honest, this say a lot since I'm quite prideful even if I know I'm not all that great, he doesn't make fun of me for my way of thinking, at least not then. We start to talk more as the year roll by, and being in the same class an all I started to fall of him.

Pt3) I was pretty nervous when I did it but I did it because I was so tired of guessing game, do he like me?? Do he like me not??? I was tired and I need my full attention of final testing that will determine my class in high school. I confessed to get it over with and to get an answer. I confessed to him on April 21. I never told him this but my two best friends was there in another call when I confess to him for moral support. He rejected me.

Pt4) I was so scared the next day that I was mad at him but I really wasn't, I mean yeah it sting a lil cuz rejection man. But I wasn't I love with him or anything so... Plus it's his feeling I can't control that. He said that we're still friends and nothing change, I believed him, and that prove to be a lie.

Pt5) for the rest of the year he was still nice to me like normal, our conversation got shorter and everything got more awkward...... At first I didn't mind it cuz it was given, but then he start to flirt with this girl in my class, and everything I confront him he would say she's just a friend, but you see just friend don't sit in each other laps in class, or straight up flirting with each other in class, or HAVE SEXUAL TENSION IN CLASS, and ya know what's the worse part is??

Pt6?) I was there next to them, hearing everything they said to each other, witnessing everything, and that probably hurt the most. It was painful but I don't want to seem weak so I kept it to myself. I want the year to be over, to get out of that hell hole, I don't have to deal with them any longer. And I got what I want, summer roll around and I escaped. But not for long, he started to message me and lead me on, I wasn't hoping for anything really I just want to be his friends, just friends.

Pt7) for a while I thought I was his friend. But he now no longer what he was, no longer nice or kind. He started to insults my friends, I don't care cuz i believe friends of one person don't necessary need to like each other, so I let it go, but he slowly because mean and crueller, I was trying my hardest and damn best just to BE HIS FRIEND but he obviously doesn't want me to.... So I leave. I want peace, if he speak to me I'll reply but nothing more. I don't want to try anymore, I'm too tired.

I'm so sorry that was so long, but after readin every fail love story it kids just set me in the mood. Again I apologized that I just dumped it on you. You can just deleted them all if you want. It feel nice to finally tell someone what I actually feel.

awwww love!! who am it say if you’re “too young” or it’s “not a real crush” or whatever? feelings are feelings, and sure, maybe it might not seem as “serious” to people who are older, but your feelings are real and valid! i feel like we tend to be more emotional when we’re younger, especially when we’re in middle school (ah, i remember those days LMAO) but i get why you would be so upset over something like that. i don’t really think it’s his fault for flirting with his crush, although i do think it is a bit rude if he did it right after you had confessed to him. he might be a generally kind person, but let me tell you,,, from what i’ve experienced and observed (and heard from fellow guy friends), guys kind of base their egos off of how many girls they can win over. he might’ve been leading you on, but he also might’ve genuinely wanted to be friends again. but judging by how he knew about your feelings and how much he has changed, i doubt he has good intentions. 

it’s good that you cut yourself off from such toxic people. know you deserve better and value yourself enough to prioritize your well being first. you’re still young! you’ll face better, genuine guys (and prob even worse guys), but you’ll learn and you’ll grow! just see this as a learning experience :) i’m glad you were able to vent to me and get it off your chest. sending nothing but love

#viooletmooon #ask