#because boy is it difficult to struggle alone without a support system

[renah]

I can't believe my dentist showed me more empathy and was more understanding than my own family

[ollylotl]

I WANT TO HEAR YOUR DAKOTA N VYNCENT THOUGHTS SO BAD please tell me about them.....

oooh dakota and vyncent…, where do i start. i warn you i don't normally do like. character analysis writing type posts? so please excuse if it's bad.

they have perhaps the most strained relationship out of the prime defenders. but that's not necessarily a bad thing. it's really compelling. they're very similar but also very different at the same time. and maybe this is why they can sort of grate against each other sometimes, but is also why they are such good friends who can rely on each other.

vyncent grew up living a life that, while not necessarily comfortable, he was familiar with. he was happy and he had a support system in the greats and his parents. that got ripped away from him very suddenly and he got dropped in the deep end of a world entirely unfamiliar. meanwhile dakota (from after his parents death onwards) had a very difficult childhood. he spent many years without a support system - his parents gone, his aunt struggling herself and not able to care for him as he needs. but he's had time to learn to deal with that. rockfall/new haven is where he's grown up, and he knows it like the back of his hand. so they're both struggling but like in opposite ways? where vyncent has been okay for most of his life but now he hasn't had a chance to adjust, while dakota's been going through it for longer but that means he's been able to adjust and is familiar with the rules of this world.

they also have opposite ways of coping with bad things / tackling their problems. dakota shuts down. vyncent lashes out. dakota is determined to never take a life. vyncent comes from a world where fighting to the death is normal. dakota not only trusts, but idolises heroes. vyncent has been nothing but let down by them and doesn't trust them at all.

i think about that scene in season 1 so much where they're at mark's house, and tide has been taken, and dakota's just shut down. vyncent starts yelling at him because he's lost everything he had in this world and can't afford to just stop like that. it's just the perfect example of how their opposite experiences and coping mechanisms cause them to clash.

more extremely, when william gets killed. dakota completely breaks down, while vyncent starts attacking even more furiously. then vyncent is like. almost pleading (? you could say? not sure if thats the word) with dakota to just get up and fight because he can't do this alone. he can't do this without dakota. he couldn't have done any of this without dakota.

but in perhaps the more simple ways, they're quite alike. they're the epitome of dumb teenage boys. i mean, they'll just break into a duet on the train. they goof off together - the shopping cart race, that one scene in the gym in season one.

so. like. they lean on each other. they both don't have much to rely on. but they have each other. i think vyncent was probably, even if its a large part subconsicous, feeling betrayed when dakota left over the s1-2 timeskip. likewise how dakota felt betrayed over the bino and mark thing / mal amulet / belltech, etc. etc. but they stick together. no matter what they go through they get out of it, and they get out of it together.

so. okay apologies for taking so long to say so little. essentially what i like most about dakota and vyncent's friendship is that duality of relying on each other both out of necessity and because they're the only ones who really get each other, and also having the energy of like. "hey bro how many slices of pizza can i fit in my mouth at once. hey bro bet you cant backflip off of this building. hey bro let's do a karaoke duet of breaking free from high school musical"

as vyncent himself said in late season 2. they're brothers. (falls over and sobs)

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

Guys, come on. You have to try to understand. Eddie being 'the angry guy' in Buck's dream wasn't bad writing, an injustice to Eddie's character, or racist.

Hear me out.

If Eddie never met Buck, Eddie never met Carla. Which means he's struggling to be a firefighter, raise Christopher, trying to make it work with Shannon, and also probably trying to put up a good front for Abuela and Pepa because it's quite likely that whatever they know will get back to his parents. That's fucking hard for anyone, never mind someone with as much repressed PTSD as Eddie.

If there was no Buck, then, as the episode very clearly states, there would be no Bobby. Buck and Bobby are the first two people Eddie starts to trust in the firehouse. He forms a relationship with them before he gets closer to Hen or Chim. If there's no Buck and there's no Bobby, he probably isn't able to get close to Hen and Chim so easily. And that too is if he even ended up in the 118. We know from 2x01 that Bobby fought to have Eddie from the academy. All of this is to say that not only does he not have Buck, he doesn't have the entire support system that being in the 118 gave to him.

And maybe, even without Buck and the firefam, he would have eventually found someone to take care of Christopher, but that's a very difficult task, and certainly even more so when you've only moved to a new place a only few months ago. He's completely alone out here.

When Shannon died, Eddie's grief turned to anger. Remember fight club? Yeah, he's a war veteran, he's been trained to channel all his emotions into anger, to hit something. So it's not too far fetched to think that her dying and him being burnt out from all of his responsibilities and not having any real friends would turn him angrier. Maybe after joining fight club, he would have kept going. No Bobby to calm him down or coax him into therapy he doesn't want, no Buck to be annoyed at for suing departments, no Chim for Eddie to give sage romantic advice to, no Hen to bond over playdates with their kids.

Pepa and Abuela are probably seeing their nephew and grandson struggling, and while I'm sure they'd want to be on his side, maybe they decide that it's for his own good that they ask Eddie's parents to intervene.

So they come, they fight, and Eddie hasn't yet tried to mend his relationship with them, so they genuinely believe they're better for Chris than whatever Eddie can offer, and when he refuses to give Chris up, they take him to court.

Eddie loses his son. He never gets to meet his found family. He never gets to mend his relationship with his biological family. He doesn't go to therapy, because at least initially, Christopher was his only motivation to go to therapy.

Hence, he's 'the angry guy'.

I get why someone might not immediately get it, because all of this was distilled into one line in the show, but that doesn't mean it isn't true.

Also, it truly isn't a case of the white guy being the brown guy's saviour, god no. Eddie saved Buck as much as Buck saved Eddie. Imagine if Eddie never came to LA. What then? What would Buck do in season 2, when he's lonely and grieving the loss of his first adult relationship? In season 3, when he's recovering in his loft all alone, because there's no Eddie dropping Christopher off every day? He had a best friend, and he sued the department anyway. What if, because Eddie wasn't there to say “Do you know how much Chris misses you?”, Buck never dropped the charges? What if that completely ruined his relationship with the firefam? What if he completely regressed?

Those are very real things that could have happened if Buck never met Eddie. So truly, it is not a case of the nice white boy saving the angry brown man. It is a case of ‘what if this very pivotal character was removed from the equation, how would it affect the lives of the people who love them?’

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[ji-yaaan]

I feel like ordering something hot for this cold weather, hi, hi, is it okay if I ask for a lemon tea? Extra hot, please, I'm freezing. Leona, Octavinelle x MC, first french kiss because french kisses are good, and perhaps some hands involved, no one can resist french kisses' effects 🤭 Thank youuuuuuuu.

°•°•°•𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼•°•°•°

HC's with: Jade, Floyd, Azul, and Leona

WARNING!!!!!! Suggestive content, French kissing, mild spice ;)

Note: I'm late to requests what's new?😔 I am dying as I write this and the adrenaline in my system is ✨thriving✨ Go and live the horni dream as you read this crappy hc I guess? eHeM sElF iNseRt tiMe- hope you enjoy this hotass tea.😔✨

[ 𝙻𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚊: 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ]

°•°•°•𝓙𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱 •°•°•°

A kiss with jade was always short and sweet. A peck on the cheek, a peck on the lips..... How delicious...

But those "little kisses" weren't really enough to feed this eel for long. (・////・)

As time passes by, the sweet temptation from a lick of your lips sets his mind to a frenzy. He'd want to pull you for a deep long kiss, but he promised that he'd take it slow... Goodness you were such a tease...

Normally he'd just settle with kissing the back of your hand before a goodbye, or an occasional kiss on the lips when you tug on his blazer... But today, it seems as if this desires has took a hold of himself...

Sitting by the tables at the Mostro Lounge, you tugged on the end of his coat before you said your goodbyes...

Expecting for a sweet peck on the lips, Jade leans down your sitting figure instead... Ohoಠ ͜ʖ ಠ

His tall figure looming over yours with an intensive gaze as if he's ready to devour you any moment.

Let's be real here, You're probably frozen on the spot and you don't know what to do or what to say, thus you just go blushy blushy under Jade's gaze... Same tho ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ

With the awkward silence as the two of you were alone in the lounge, the scarlet tint of your flushed cheeks just fuels Jade's desire more and more... My now, don't you just know how to push his buttons quite well?

In a flash of a second, everything goes black as Jade's lips collides with yours, unlike the usual comforting kisses... This one was... Hot...

Jade's tongue will gladly explore the deep depths of you. The kiss would definitely be long leaving you breathless. Take it or leave it( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

This being your first very very intimate moment, breathing through the messy kisses was difficult... But this eel just has a sadistic side to him enjoying your little squirms and embarrassment under his hold.

After the kiss, he loves admiring your flushed face with trails of saliva running down the corners of your mouth.

"Y/n my love, swallow it."

Maybe it was the dim lights and the slow music that played on the background, but a glint of lust sparkled in Jade's eyes with your reflection...( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

"Let me see... Good girl~"

Just like that with his usual foxy smile, don't be surprised if your knees were to give up later ಠ﹏ಠ

°•°•°•𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔂𝓭 𝓛𝓮𝓮𝓬𝓱•°•°•°

Oh Floyd... Ok, I'll make life easier for you and give you a summary of his Hc: "Pls pin me down and dominate me. Thanks"

Floyd's kisses were always unexpected; A pleasant surprise if you will.

Floyd's mood swings can sometimes go higher than a rollercoaster, or lower than my grades, but by the end of the day, he comes in refuge in your arms asking for all of your love and attention.(´ω｀)

But sometimes, his affection for you maybe goes a little bit too much. From a cute sweet kiss, it quickly escalates to something more...lustful...◕‿◕

From a warm hug and sweet kiss, now you're pinned down on the couch as Floyd attacks your neck with multiple kisses leaving a trail of bruises and saliva.

Now comes the fun part. Floyd being Floyd, his hands may get touchy. Like, a whole lot.

Be it with his hands sliding past your shirt or pants, or him constantly removing parts of your clothes one by one. ಠ‿ಠ

He's the type to hold up your wrists together so you can't move, and watch your pretty little face squirming and struggling until you beg for more kisses.

Down from your neck, moving his way up to your lips, a sudden entrance in your mouth will caught you by surprise as Floyd devours you on the spot. (✿^‿^)

His kisses were deep and long, his tongue explores every inch of your mouth.

You have to admit. Floyd's tongue is quite skilled, in fact very skilled.

With Floyd's deep and long kisses, It surely does get hard to breathe with drools dripping from the corners of you mouth.

But the moment he pulls back, the image of you all messed up and all the darkened hickeys on your neck fills him up with excitement! ಡ ͜ ʖ ಡ

The drools staining your chin as you breathe heavily under his hold does a lot to him.

Both you will definitely be a mess after this.

"Ahh~ Koebi-chan, look what you've done to me~"

Yeah... I'll leave that sentence to your imagination( ╹▽╹ )

•°•𝓐𝔃𝓾𝓵 𝓐𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓸 •°•

oH yEs I'vE bEeN wAiTiNg lOnG fOr oCtObOy- ehem( ͡°ᴥ ͡° )

Azul is not the sweetest person to ask for a kiss, but when he's jealous however... That's a different story... ಠωಠ

He might ask you to sit on his lap while he works, of course who are you to decline the sweet offer of cuddling up to Azul? But it seems as if a cuddle is not something he's asking for...

While his pen glides on the papers at the desk, his face will make it's way in the crook of your neck.

Please remove his glasses for him and stare deeply in his eyes, he finds that very sweet! (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

Azul loves to savor your sweet scent that gets him excited everytime. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Azul definitely finds a vocal partner a turn on, hearing your beautiful whimpers are music to his ears after all. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)♡

Trailing butterfly kisses in the nape of your neck, making his way to kissing your jawline.

After all of that hot stuff, he'll carry you to the sofa and sit you on top of him. Oho it's getting fun ಠ ͜ʖ ಠ

One hand supporting your waist, while the other hold unto your cheek. Azul diving for a hungry kiss with you.

Azul will try his best to take the lead and control the situation. He did his research afterall.

A deep kiss closing the gap between you was the best reassurance he has that you're his and his alone.

Please hold unto his shoulders for support and pull on his hair!!! Octoboi finds it hot heh-

With the kiss being deep and long, it will get hard to breathe. So after pulling away from the kiss, the hot breaths and saliva mixed together was quite the hot mess.

You can imagine Azul out of breath as he licks his lips staring directly at you.(•///•)

"Y/N... You're mine."

Eye contact... It's all about the eye contact that melts your insides when you look at Azul... AZUL WITHOUT GLASSES!

If you blush at his remarks, you get bonus points because Azul lovessss seeing you embarrassed~ ಠ﹏ಠ

Say "I love you" and you have Azul as putty under your hold~

Oh! and when you say I love you, Azul will definitely get flushed red to his ears and neck so... Teasing time hehe~ bully the octopie with love!

OCTOSQUID IN MAFIA SUIT I LOVE YOU SM I CAN'T EVEN- ok I'll shut up I'm sorry about that

•°•𝓛𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓪 𝓚𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓻 •°•

First of all, I can guarantee that the first french kiss with Leona will happen after a fight...ಠωಠ

After a fight of pride with Leona, sexual tension is through the roof! Glaring at each other, no signs of giving up as both of you are on each other's neck... Leona finds that hot ಠ‿ಠ

Leona won't admit to it, but having a fiesty partner that challenges him and puts him on edge was hot... In fact, very very hot...

Of course it's annoying at first, but seeing your furrowed eyebrows as you push your hair back in frustration does something to him (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

Leona finds attraction in high sexual tension, So let's say you're about to flip and your face goes a little bit too close to his... He'd take that as an open invitation to shut you up.

My, don't be surprised if a pair if lips started to kiss yours desperately. Pulling unto your waist as his other hands hold your chin up to face him, the kisses were messy, but it was exciting.

Ngl Leona's tongue can win a talent show with his top notch skills.

He'll gladly explore every inch of your mouth with pleasure ಡ ͜ ʖ ಡ

Oh, kissing with Leona gets pretty touchy too! His hands will wander under your shirt unto your back, maybe even lower if he feels extra curious today-ಠ◡ಠ

Please pull unto his hair, he finds that really hot too.

Expect low growls to bless your ears here and there... ಠ ͜ʖ ಠ

Oh! Sometimes Leona may get a little too touchy, so I guess you have to have the control to stop him if you don't like that. I doubt it tho( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

But if you're into those freaky stuff, Leona will gladly go on an adventure with you down there( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

After the kiss, don't be surprised if you find love bites here and there, better cover up since it's a lot...

Oh, but it's no use to cover up since this cat boy happens to be an exhibit artist that loves to show off his work staining your neck purple.

What a way to come back with something like this amirite? Heh🤠

ALSO, AZUL BRAIN ROT IS REAL- MALLEUS' SPOT IS THREATENED AS MY LOVE FOR OCTOPIE GROW- send help😭😭😭😭😭

Azul I want your kneecaps🤭

[whitherliliesbloom]

heartbeat concerto

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #03 - scale ]

[ alphinaud/wol ]  ★ [ 2,605 words ]  ★ [ nodame cantabile au ]

scale: an arrangement of the notes in any system of music in ascending or descending order of pitch

Illya prays to the heavens that the man beside her does not hear the fortissimo that was her pounding heart. 

“Rachmaninoff?” Her voice was equal parts confused as it was alarmed, hiking in pitch that sounded like an ear piercing squeak, almost grimace worthy. Trepidation rings loud in her chest, like shrieking white noise that deafens her. “I’ve never played a concerto in front of somebody before.” 

She had hoped that admittance would allow him to grant her some fraction of mercy. After all... for as gracious and supportive a tutor as he was a diligently observant audience for her playing, he surely wouldn’t throw her into the deep end after she’d just barely able to make some progress, right?

The boy merely smiles, navy blue eyes softening in its gaze as he waves the music sheets in his hands before placing them delicately upon the piano stand. He exudes an aura of gentle reassurance, but knows that his resolve to push her past her comfortable limits is implacable. 

“Now would be a good time for a first then, wouldn’t you agree?”

Illya heart sinks, lips pressed into a thin, paling line as she glances at the score that awaited her - notes upon lines that were rapidly blurring into nothing but squiggles and incomprehensible doodles in her vision... as if taunting her, daring her to butcher one of the most iconic piano concertos to have ever been composed - by one of the greatest virtuoso pianists to have ever lived no less? 

Sonatas were one thing - it took Illya a good amount of time to be able to even bring herself to play the first movement of Sonata Facile to completion in front of him without breaking down into a mess of cold sweat and trembling fingers. 

But concertos... by the twelve, even saying the word brings her chills down her spine. 

She was nowhere near good enough for pieces that demanded such high amounts of skill, precision and talent... nowhere even close to being able to perform alone on stage for a crowd to behold... let alone in front of an entire orchestra. 

When she had met the violin prodigy that had been her new neighbor and he’d offered to help her overcome the performance anxiety that had crippled her ability to play the piano in front of others for years, she hadn’t expected for him to have such sky high expectations for her - expectations that she was certain she’d never in a million years be able to meet.

Alphinaud is a confident, assured young man. Performing was only natural to him, came as naturally as music does flow through his very veins - he had even stated so on the very day that they’d met. Music is for ears to hear, for the world to enjoy. What point was there to keeping music hidden behind four walls? To hide away the sound of their instruments is an affront to the very reason those instruments were made in the first place. 

He moved into this apartment complex for a very different reason than she did - and she understood that he too, in his own ways that she could not yet fully understand, had his own troubles which kept him from reaching the heights in which he, and his family had aspired him to be. 

But the notoriety behind the difficulty of the pieces he plays has never once made his bow once falter, nor has it ever put him off the idea of even trying. Certainly, there were aspects of his playing to critique... but his determination and confidence alone makes him more of a capable musician than she is - something she both deeply envied and admired. 

Would that she could even possess half the amount of talent as he- she’d constantly tell herself, and it was a thought that possessed her even as she hung her head in defeat, trudging to the piano that sat in the middle of the living room before sitting herself down on the cushioned bench, the dent in the corner of the wood still visible from their first meeting when she’d knocked it over onto its side from panic. 

Violet eyes glance down at the black and white keys with a gulp - her greatest friend in her darkest times of sorrow... yet also the cause of many of her biggest regrets and worries in life. 

She stalls for a moment to pick her train of hair up from the floor and let it unravel gently behind her on the bench, her cotton slippers kicked aside to place her feet upon the pedals that were propped up by a well used extender - a necessity due to her short stature. 

With stiff, slightly shaky fingers that now laid delicately upon the surface of the piano keys, Illya sharply inhales, and forces herself to quiet the raging thoughts of potential failure and humiliation as she presses down to play the first notes. 

Alphinaud stands behind her by the window, quiet so as to not disturb the girl... but even with his considerate silence, Illya could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes staring holes into the back of her head. She could only begin to imagine what he was thinking - and while she’s befriended him long enough to know he was a man who was above ridicule, she still hated to disappoint - especially the first person who has heard her play the piano for the first time in years. 

A symphony fills the apartment, bright as the rays of sunlight that shone through the window, making Illya’s starspun hair appear to glow like a halo. Like little bells, the piano sings out a melody that is as light as the air. It sounds easy on the ears, gentle and kind as the timid pianist who was weaving this piece into being with her fingers. 

And that was the problem.

Rachmaninoff composed Piano Concerto No 2 during some of the darkest moments of his life - the piece that would go on to save his career as a floundering, helpless musician had been written from the very pits of his own despair - a song of tragedy and sorrow that tells of a struggling pianist and composer who feared to lose the very thing that gave his life meaning; something many other aspiring musicians would surely understand... something Illya herself knew all too well.

And yet when Alphinaud listened to the piece being played, it conveyed none of that sadness, none of the essence of what made Concerto No 2 become such an iconic classical piece in history. 

Illya played without fault - that much he is certain. She’s taking great care to play the right notes, attentive to her own pace that would be fitting were a choir of violins and cellos playing after her tune. But he can tell, even without looking upon the tense, rigid scowl upon her face that she was focusing too much on the technicalities that she’s lost all of what made him so captivated with her playing before - a mistake that he himself has been criticized for countless times. 

Father has chided him for that before - praised him for being a genius and young violin paragon both while at the same time admonishing his lack of improvement even after three years of performing professionally - three years of the same critique that would come back to haunt him over and over again.

Music was more than playing perfectly - it was about the inflections, the subtleties in the way one moves their finger across the piano keys, or the way one draws a violin bow... The emotions that would stir one’s heart in a way only music would be able to convey and can never be properly emulated with computerized digital sound. 

When Alphinaud closed his eyes, he did not hear the disquiet of a child’s heart as he heard the echoes of church bells ringing on a Sunday morning... but, just as it is - a nervous pianist who was pressing keys because she was told to, because she is doubting herself. 

“Illya.” he calls her name, softly so as to not startle... but more importantly, to convey that he wasn’t mad, disappointed or upset with her - as she is wont to often assume. 

The piano stops abruptly, and the girl turns to look at him, her piercing stardust hued eyes shimmering with a glossy layer of worry - it suits her less than the rare blossoms of joy that sprouted in her eyes whenever she seemed to genuinely be enjoying his company.

“Y-Yes?” 

The young man pauses for a moment to casually stroll up beside her, before gesturing for the lady to move. Though confused, she scoots over to her right to allow him space on the bench, questioning expression apparent on her face about his intent.

When he sits, the close proximity between them brings him warmth, and he feels the corners of his lips instinctively pull into a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, you must have been caught off guard with such an unreasonable request from me.” He apologizes before quickly holding up his hand when he sees the young lady’s lips part in an impulsive need to protest.. but it is quickly lowered when she draws back into herself and swallows her retort. “Maybe... a little warm up would be better before we move on to such a challenging piece.”

His slender fingers stretch, the pad of his index finger resting gently upon a D key, but not pressing down. 

Alphinaud has only the basic understanding of how a piano is played... and he has in the past tried to expand his musical repertoire to cover the undisputedly most popular classical instrument of all time, but he regrettably never quite got the time or chance to. But he is aware of a routine piano players would use to practice, not too dissimilar to the way violinists would warm up as well.

“May we perhaps practice scales? Just for a little while?”

The humility in his tone with his request compared to before doesn’t escape Illya’s notice, but she refrains from commenting on it as her eyes widen up at him.

“Um... s-sure.”

The hesitation in her response is only natural - after all he’d just challenged her to play a difficult piece of piano concerto only to reduce their practice down to repetitive scales - something even the most amateur of players could easily do. 

Perhaps he’d felt a tad sorry for his earlier forwardness and the not so subtle way he’d intimidated her into playing something she was clearly not completely comfortable performing for him.. and the only way he knew how to make amends was to correct the damage of his own transgression’s doing. 

Getting Illya to relax was important - not just for her music but for the sake of herself as well. If her Rapunzel length hair, lack of fresh foods in her pantry and well worn and weathered pink camise was any indication, the girl wasn’t the best at taking care of her own wellbeing in her pursuit for musical perfection. 

Illya’s shoulder is still relatively stiff as she begins to play, though not nearly as much as they were before while she was playing the concerto. Her fingers effortlessly glide across the keyboard to play an ascension of notes before moving back down. 

By the third repeat, she’s begun relaxing considerably and picking up speed, and her hands were moving with a practiced, ethereal fluidity that was akin to waves of the ocean... as were the sound of the notes being played - reminding Alphinaud of the push and pull of the tides upon a sandy shoreline. 

She transitions from C major to C minor, weaving in the scales of D-flat major and minor before the scales moves further and further up in pitch, so seamlessly that anyone who isn’t familiar with notes in the slightest would have trouble even realizing the switch in scales until she’s reached F major. 

In the face of something that comes naturally to Illya, she is at ease... and the piano is once more harmonizing in tune with her love for the instrument. 

It’s a not so subtle way of giving her a confidence boost, but Alphinaud claps as she finishes the B minor scale with a flick of her arms - and though her confusion is still apparent, he can tell just from the adorable tilt of her head that she’s relaxed now.

“Wonderful, Illya... It’s clear as crystal with the way you played how seasoned you are. I’d dare say you’re quite a prodigy yourself.”

Having a lofty title thrust onto her so suddenly without warning burns her cheeks a bright shade of red, and the girl is quick to shake her head.

“I-I... I appreciate it, Alphinaud... But I know you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Be that as it may...” He retorts before leaning forward to close the distance between them, his blue eyes swirling with a sincerity that begins to mirror in Illya’s bejeweled ones. “My praises are always truthful and well deserved. You’re a wonderful pianist, Illya.”

Something compels Alphinaud to continue speaking. Perhaps it was the twinkling of Illya’s eyes that held the radiantly clear reflection of himself within... or the dust of pink speckled upon her cheeks and across the width of her little button nose and pointed ears... or maybe it was the soft sound of air being inhaled through her barely parted lips - glossy, pink and befittingly cute for a woman of such beauty. But he deigns to open up his heart and speak his mind freely- he finds himself being able to do so more easily towards her than any other person for some reason.

“Besides... It was because of my own selfish desire to be able to hear you play that I offered to be your tutor. Being able to be by your side here like this and watch you play alone is an honor I would always treasure. So you needn’t be so afraid of playing how you wish to with me.”

When Alphinaud leans back, he finds the delightful cherry pink shade upon Illya’s face to have darkened, and her flustered quivering of her lips as him self-reflecting upon his own statement which causes him to dart his head to the side in an attempt to hide his own blooming blush.

Not that it’d be noticed by Illya in the first place, as she tilts her head down to hide her thoroughly embarrassed expression beneath the shadows of her white bangs. 

“I-I’m sorry. Maybe I said too much.” 

Illya doesn’t respond, and the young man is almost thankful she doesn’t... because he’s determined to force himself to recover and continue on with their practice.

Clearing his throat unabashedly, his head turns slowly back to look at the girl beside him.

“Well. Shall we continue? I could pick out an easier piece for you to try, this time.”

She nods, as halfheartedly as she did earlier when he’d asked her to perform  Rachmaninoff’s piece for him. And though her playing of Mozart was even more shaky, off-pace and lacking in original intent as it did with Piano Concerto No 2 before... Alphinaud could only acknowledge her efforts with an apologetic and bashful smile on his part... for the deep red flush upon Illya’s face never once dissipates during her performance. 

Nor does the trembling of her fingers - which, if nothing else, conveys the pounding of her racing heart more than clearly and loudly for him to hear. 

[jae-canikeepyou]

| odd hour | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: fluff again cuz why not

a/n: written without proof reading because i had other writings to deal with :p hehehe! anyway i hope you enjoy reading, my dears! ~j.  

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your chest tightened at the loud sound blasting from your phone. eventually your hands pulled the remains of your blanket to muffle out the ringtone. that’s great! it stopped ringing for a moment before the vibration went ahead of the tone. heck, it rang again. you kicked the covers in frustration, little whimpers escaping your lips that it was another night you couldn’t have a peaceful trip to your slumber.

the bright light kept blinking in the dark and forcing you to open your eyes. anger was written all over your sleepy body as you turned lazily to the table beside the bed. who could be calling you at this hour when you already started to enjoy the dream projected in your brain? screw whoever cut it short. as if you had the screen memorised, your fingers slid across to answer the call.

“hello?” you greeted groggily with a long, and somewhat disrespectful yawn. no harm in letting them know how irritated you were, right?

“y/n! i called you twice and you answer at the second call? you usually pick up after the first ‘prrrring’!” mingyu, your best friend slightly yelled a bit louder in attempt to overpower the booming sound system in the background. probably in the club again, you thought.

“mingyu?” you sat up just so you wouldn’t fall asleep. “tsk. ever thought of that i might be sleeping at this hour? it’s 3 a.m for crying out loud!”

by the sound of his voice in the other line, it was obvious his phone was taken away. you could hear him scolding someone, actually, when did he never scold anyone, that included you as well. “yah! jaehyun!”

you quickly stood up in your disheveled pj’s; heart hammering non-stop at the mention of this handsome, human being that have always caught you off guard whenever mingyu would hang with you. he’d tag along too and each time that happened, you tried not to smile or blush in front of the dimpled heartthrob.

and most of the time you end up failing when the rest of the boys shoot you with teasing daggers of grins.

the call was still on hold, and it appeared that mingyu tried to snap the boy back to reality. he kept on raising his tone and uneven breaths were heard, trying to chase jaehyun. you were walking back and forth— feeling nervous, in which by the way, was unnecessary. but what were you supposed to feel?

it was jeong jaehyun.

the guy you fell hard for, literally; when you tripped over due to the desktop chair’s legs that you didn’t see. embarrassing as it was, he was indeed a gentleman to have helped you stand up on your toes. your eyes never left his until he bowed to take his leave.

“y/n! do you have time?” mingyu finally went back to giving the attention you waited for. “i got hold of jaehyun.”

“and?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in question and held in your breath, the useless excitement of yours started growing— so were your eyes when he said the next words,

and also that had you blushing hard.

“pick your man up!” mingyu laughed with a husky and hiccupy kind.

you became flustered and panicked and your lips couldn’t utter a response. he started to burst out laughing, only to stop when jaehyun took the phone from him. “ʸ/ⁿ! ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ? ʰᵉˡˡᵒ!” he sounded drunk and totally different from what you had imagined. he was already cute, but the jaehyun now was cuter.

“y/n, please come here and get him?” mingyu begged. poor guy, his 97-line friends partied the night away and if there was anyone who would drive, that’d be him. “i can’t fit an extra person in my seven-seater van.” he whined and you could already picture out his pouty lips. “i’ve got chan, seokmin, jungkook, bam, minghao and eunwoo. jae’s a big guy so-”

grabbing your jacket and slipped on some comfy sweatpants, you headed for the door but stopped mid-way when you realised what you were doing. crap i got carried away. “wait hold up.” you sighed, putting down your car keys. “an extra person wouldn’t be a problem right? put someone at the compartment area or on the floor or something.”

mingyu faked a laugh. “i’ve never seen jae drunk before. i don’t want him puking.” he claimed.

“so you’d rather want him to throw up in my car-”

“ah consider this a favor, my sweet sis.” cutting you off and leaving you stunned in your tracks. “we, your brothers know your crush towards him. so if you don’t want us to tell him about your jeelings when he’s sober, better get here soon~”

j-jeelings??

you tried to enter his blabbermouth reasons even if you knew you didn’t stand a chance against this giant puppy. “wait, ‘gyu! i don’t know his apartme-” and he ended the call.

great, what were you going to do now?

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the road was identical with those seen in an apocalyptic world described in movies. there were less people, flickering lampposts and garbage/debris spinning in circles with the wind’s currents. you flinched at the touch from jaehyun’s arms, which were attached to yours. he mumbled words in ways you couldn’t understand. it appeared more of a gibberish language; if not, then he was a total baby.

with combined smell of his perfume and alcohol, you thought you were about to pass out. he was too close and wondered how he was able to cling onto you in the most uncomfortable way possible. you sighed as you finally pulled over at his apartment block.

“jaehyun. we’re home.” you said, unbuckling the seatbelt and you had to do it for him since he was busy giggling at the buzzing fly trying to escape the window.

“we’re homeee?” he turned to you, face flushed than ever where you blinked non-stop at his stupid, adorable smile. “is it possible that you’re my wife? *hiccup* hahahaaa! wait i’m not even married yet!”

w-wife?..

you got off the car and went to his side, opening the door then found him struggling to stand up. “are you my wife?” he giggled.

“jaehyun you’re not married and i’m not your w-wife.” you said sternly, biting back from saying your actual, honest thoughts aloud.

he slung his arms around you thinking that you would support his weight. once you arrived at his doorstep, he pulled and led you into his apartment. apparently with the little furnitures he owned and no roommates found, it was clear that he lived alone. “stay here. i’ll give you water.” he offered and headed to the kitchen with wobbly steps. funny how he could make out his way there.

the place he calls home had pretty basic things; a keyboard, a complete set of tech-stuff you had no knowledge of and a vinyl turntable with several records. you snapped out of admiration when he handed you a glass of water and gummy smile glued to his face. getting up, you decided it was best for the both of you to get some rest. “thanks jae. now that you’re here, i’m gonna head back ho-”

a light thump on the wooden floor had you turning to him, but you covered your eyes at his action.

“tsk, it’s hot.” he removed his hoodie and underneath it revealed his tank top and toned arms. he was about to remove his top when you stopped him just in time.

“w-what’re you doing?!” you squealed and hopped, panicky and unsure what to do next. one palm covered your eyes and the other brought forth to reach him.

“taking my clothes off- hey! that tickles!” he whined, then laughing at the tugs you pulled at the ends of this hoodie, preventing him from further actions.

you fanned yourself at the exerted strength you’ve given, resting your arm by your waist. “gosh you’re such a handful!” you sighed. it was alright to blush since he wasn’t sober to see your expressions. thank heavens.

jaehyun crossed his arms and looked at you from head to toe. feeling the sleep signals hitting your body, you yawned at the odd hour you were suddenly dragged into. you thought bringing him home was hard, but getting him to stay at one place was harder.

his smiley face and waving body headed to the kitchen again, you slowly followed him around the apartment. “are you really not my wife?” his sudden turn to face you, causing flinch at his touch on your arm.

“jaehyun, for the last time, i’m not.” heh i wish. you rubbed his fluffy hair and grabbed your keys to get home. “wash up now and good night jae.”

he lightly slammed the wall behind you, not letting you leave. his eyes stared into yours, luring you into his world, an imperfect perfection. the weight of his forehead suddenly leaned on your shoulder, as if he was towering over you and yet he lowered himself to pull you close to him. “i won’t let you.”

the stillness of your body followed his words, like obeying a general’s command and no matter how sleepy you were, that went away once you returned his hug, not wanting to let go and take in the moment. this was rare, although it seemed like you took advantage of his drunkenness, even on normal days it was difficult to hold a conversation with jaehyun because he seemed so far-fetched.

a soft air of whispers tickled your ears, sending goosebumps at the touch of them. “did i surprise you?” he asked, followed by again a drunken giggle.

was he serious? “and if i said no?” you lied, trying to appear unaffected when you actually were. what’s wrong with you y/n?

“‘no?’ then if i do this, will you be surprised?” he asked with a challenging tone and had to leaned in closer than before where you both of your knees were touching.

“what exactly are you going to do nghf-” your fingers curled and eyes flutter when a sudden warmth met your lips. you knew you were going to faint right then and there,

but in fact it was the opposite.

jaehyun’s weight lifted off of you, collapsing afterwards when darkness consumed his sight to meet his sleep. he mumbled words that you didn’t notice, still utterly shocked with what he did. you managed to catch him and supported him to his bed.

your fingers touched the slightly swollen lips he planted upon as you were out of his door. then it immediately got you thinking that there was no way you would be able to look at him in the eye the next time you both meet.

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the drumming of your heart continued for the next days since that night. yugyeom noticed how fidgety you were whenever jaehyun would sit with the group at the library or at the caféteria. you’d immediately leave and think of lame excuses so you wouldn’t see jaehyun. at first they didn’t mind, you were a busy person after all. however this time, yugyeom managed to grab your wrists and plop you back to the chair. you mentally cursed at him and he didn’t seem to care like smiling it off would let him off the hook.

you annoyingly and purposely tilted your body so you wouldn’t face jaehyun entirely. “i don’t know what’s up with you but you gotta spill why you’re behaving this way.” yugyeom whispered and you rolled your eyes because yeah, you were busted.

“am i too obvious?” your surrendering voice softened his eyes, more so when you covered your face.

he raised his eyebrows and little did you know mingyu witnessed this as well. “obvious when you’re trying to hide your feelings for jaehyun or obvious that you’re trying ditch us again because of jaehyun?”

“both.” you sighed.

“did something happen that night?” mingyu cupped his lips, soon joining the so called ‘secret and quiet’ conversation you and yugyeom were having.

he didn’t get any verbal responses from you because you gave them a smile of uncertainty where your palms brushed your lips briefly. he covered his mouth as if he was really shocked, more of he really was. “something did, yeah?” he whispered and was convinced from your actions.

your phone alarmed, reminding you of your next class. quickly you packed your stuff and shoved them inside the bag, not caring whether they were neat or not. the rushed actions made jaehyun and the others look your way, and you tried your best to not meet his eye. “i gotta go.”

the faint smell of your perfume stayed in jaehyun’s nostrils whilst you didn’t bother to say goodbye. he turned his torso around, following your figure until it was getting further off the horizon of the caféteria. his friends became awkwardly silent, and he expected them to at least say something if there was a reason of your unusual behavior. instead, he got nothing, that they continued to eat even if they knew he had questions.

“is y/n okay?” he tilted his head in confusion, and saw how his buds bend theirs.

no one dared to speak because in this table, jaehyun was the oblivious one. he wasn’t aware of your feelings for him and the others have kept silent knowing the consequences if they told him; you were quite an angry bear, ‘a cute kind’, they said. “why are you all suddenly quiet?” he asked, the sips and slurps of the cups soon to be emptied.

“oh well y’know..” mingyu chuckled with his fangs peeking out. “just tired?”

“‘cause we’re eating?” jungkook pointed his food.

“uh we have a choice to be?” chan giggled with seokmin who was unable to keep silent.

jaehyun raised a brow, totally not convinced at the excuses and sat back with arms crossed. “you know i could tell if something’s up. who answers with a question anyway?” his straightforwardness wasn’t doing enough to keep them talking. “i’m gonna follow y/n.”

yugyeom stood to stop jaehyun from doing his thing without thinking straight. “wait!” he called out to him and the boy turned around.

the rest of the circle had given daggers to youngest who kept telling him to keep his words to himself. they really didn’t want to make you angry, but what yugyeom was doing would risk their friendship with you. to be exact, risk your friendship with jaehyun’s because of term called ‘crush’. their eyes pleaded and begging him to not spill anything.

“what?” jaehyun flattened his lips that the corners curved inwards, a more confused look seen on him. yugyeom cupped his mouth to whisper, the dimpled man’s eyes grew and scurried off the campus.

chan propped his elbows as the man sat back on his seat. “‘gyeom, what did you tell him?”

“y/n gave a hint before she left, i doubted it first. but it made so much sense as to why she kept ditching our meet-ups-”

“get to the point!” the rest of them pressured him.

the blond haired boy only sighed. “i told jae that he might've drunk-kissed y/n.”

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the sun met its sleep and the night began with patches of rain sprinkling your window. cool rushes of wind entered the thin gaps which sent shivers down to your spine, you wrapped yourself more into the cardigan. you hated it when the weather changes. 

pacing back and forth of your apartment, you’ve had battles in your head that maybe it was best to tell jaehyun or maybe it was better to keep things this way before you had the confidence to do so. you yelled into the pillow to let all of your feelings out. it was too much for your heart to carry or continue. even if you did decide to tell him, how would you approach him? how would you begin the conversation?

you held your phone much tighter than before yugyeom sent a message that gotten your brows raising in millions of questions.

[19:03] yuggie: the boys and i will treat you lunch or any of your cravings! we promise! 🙏🏼

“cool. i won’t be touching my savings for a while!” you cheered, knuckles and fists closed at the good news. unbeknownst to you, the reason for their actions probably would be revealed at a later time.

whilst you waited for dinner to be delivered, you turned on netflix to binge some series you haven’t watched before. however, you paused the means of leisure because you felt lonely. your roommate was out of town, leaving you to care for the apartment for a couple of weeks. and you couldn’t call the rest of the boys because some had work while others were busy with gaming. you could join them, but the motion picture of the game just doesn’t work together with your sight. the weather was already making you sick and nauseous. might feel worse if you played. 

so you uninterestedly switched on the tv again, spent nth minutes into choosing but never really decided on one. 

the memory and experience from that night came flashing in your head. you remembered the touch of his plump lips, the mixed smell of perfume and alcohol, his large hands wrapping your arm and the universe in his twinkling eyes. indeed you liked him a lot, and were thankful that your friends kept it a secret. if the truth came out, you wouldn’t know what else to do.

ding dong!

you stood fumbling with your purse, assured that maybe the pizza guy could wait a little, except it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. the door revealed jaehyun, soaked with an embarrassed smile. “hi?” he greeted, the rain drenched his clothes to the skin and his hair laid flat on his porcelain forehead. “i was about to call but-”

he was pulled in immediately, your hands on his wrists as the water bead droplets wet the wooden floor. “what are you doing in rain?!” you hissed, grabbing new towels for him to dry.

“i didn’t bring an umbrella and the sky just-”

“i thought i was reckless to leave the window open but you’re actually more reckless-”

“i have something to tell you.” he let the towel hung around his neck. there was something in his eyes that you somehow.. knew what he meant by that, so you decided to deal with yugyeom later. “i-”

“pizza delivery!” the guy said, making you and jaehyun turn to the still opened door.

you sighed heavily, why is there always one interrupting the other?

once everything was settled, he walked further into your home and removed his shirt that revealed a rather toned and refined abs. he took a new tee from a laundry basket fresh out from the wash that was exclusive for the boys in case of emergencies. you took care of actual babies.

you were now with him seated around the coffee table, unpacking the side dishes and drinks. “join me for dinner. i don’t think i can finish all this in one go.” you took extra ketchup from the cupboard. 

“wasn’t why i came here for but thanks y/n.” he smiled widely at the food laid out in front of him. 

that statement alone made you stop what you were doing. “why did you come here?” your eyes looked everywhere but him. unconsciously you bit your lip not because the guy you like was here, but because the kiss flashed in your mind again. 

jaehyun saw your action and scooted closer, the centimeters between you both lessening. “it can’t be a mistake, can it?” his voice was soft, with a hint of regret and worry at every uttered word. he eyed you from yours to your now wavering lips. “did i.. perhaps steal your first kiss?”

no words were needed to be said as to jaehyun, your actions and silence already said enough. you wanted to scream as the awkward air and your speechlessness was very unintentional. you wanted to talk, yet you couldn’t for who knew the reasons why. 

“i’ll take that as a yes.” he chuckled, stopping quickly afterwards at your fidgety state. “did i look that drunk?”

now it was you who let out an awkward chuckle. “so you don’t remember what happened that night?”

a warm tone of his hums prolonged the more the thought deeper. “not that i know of.. all i remember was being in the club with the dudes.” 

the rain poured heavier and it was uncertain when it would stop. thunderstorms were heard along with the patters of the droplets. jaehyun felt lucky enough that he came right before the weather turn worse. he let out a sigh of relief, but the relief of doing something unimaginable to you hasn’t lifted off of his chest. in fact, he didn’t know exactly why he felt more nervous than before when he shouldn’t be because it was just you.

yet, it was nervous because it was you.

the girl who managed to make his heart flutter at random times with your big laughs you weren’t ashamed of; the girl who rather hangs out with guys since you said there just too much drama with the ladies. but has a handful gems in her circle. and most of all, you were the girl he somehow wanted a girlfriend to be.

“stay tonight.” your words jolted him out from his thoughts while you moved the curtain aside to observe the rain. “it’s not gonna stop.”

“oh.” he muttered, internally cursing himself for interpreting you wrongly. “sorry for the bother.”

you handed him a slice of pizza, already devouring yours. “that was my first kiss.” he heard you began the topic he thought was long forgotten. “but i’m somehow glad it was you.”

“why?” he munched on his slice, anticipation was leading him on the more he waited for an answer. stupid stupid heart, he told himself.

should i say it or should i not? you thought. the thing was, he was here. the opportunity was already given and if you chose to confess later, it would be more awkward. screw it, i’m confessing. 

with uncertainty and slight fear, you exhaled. “because i like you a lot.” you said, now turning away due to heat spreading your cheeks. “a lot more than i like captain america- i mean chris evans.”

he dropped his food onto his plate, lips forming a pressed smile but he remained his composure knowing that he would probably lose control any second. jaehyun tapped on your shoulders, making you turn to him. “is that so? then i’m glad i didn’t remember the kiss.” his voice low and lovely. 

you tilted your head without seeing his red ears. “what do you mean?”

jaehyun, without hesitations, leaned forward and cupped your jaw. the warmth of his lips onto yours was warmer than the food in your hand. he let go of you, planting boop on your nose.

“‘cause i wanna remember kissing you when i’m sober. i like you a lot too.”

[nothorses]

Hi! I came out to a friend and it went ok but it made me think about how there's been like 1 time after a coming out that I was totally fine. Probably partly bc it's a big emotional thing for me and it's stressing and tiring, but people can't help being weird about it: from saying they respect my "choice" to be trans which I accept and don't comment on bc the bar is so low, to sending me (this is a true story) a screenshot of an anime (?) with very petite boys in frilly magical girl costumes and telling me I can choose my outfit?!?! Like what?!?!? I just confided to you that I get horrible dysphoria when I feel too feminine and you ask me "which of these very feminine (nothing bad with that, but as I said before, I'm fucking dysphoric when I think of myself like that) dresses worn by very feminine, small and hairless boys, that for some reason made me think of you, do you prefer? Uwu". I don't get it

I'm sorry this turned into a rant, people are just so weird to me when I come out to them. Is it a common experience? My father is being weird about it as well going on about strong men and how I need to park correctly bc apparently that's Male™, but I know he's just doing his best to show me he sees me as a man and he loves me even if I don't live up to those expectations

Don't feel forced to respond to this, I'm just feeling weird and there's nobody I can talk to about this. It's already hard figuring out who I am and what I want and where I fit and people have ideas and expectations of me that feel invasive and alien. I'm happy I can't see myself from some people's eyes

God, thats uncomfortable. I’ve had similarly weird experiences with people being “supportive” in ways that mostly just feel... bad.

It’s one thing if you’ve told someone you like to dress and think of yourself that way- and that can be really validating for some folks, too!- but it’s incredibly gross to do that to someone without any prompting. There’s so much baggage with it, too: trans men are infantilized, pressured into femininity, and fetishized as “feminine boys” to serve the systems that oppress us.

Enforcing binary gender roles with trans people also really isn’t helpful, even if it’s meant to “validate” us. Those expectations are placed on us as part of medical gatekeeping as well, and they feed into the systems that oppress trans people, too. Enforcing existing binary gender roles is harmful to trans people, even if you “allow” us to move from one to another.

Folks may be well-meaning, and I know that a lot of us are more or less comfortable with one side than the other. I know I have to keep myself in check sometimes because of that, and I have to remind myself, too, of the difference between being included and being pressured.

And you’re absolutely not alone in feeling those expectations are alien and uncomfortable. Being trans often comes with a lot of identity struggles, and knowing who you are is difficult when you’ve spent most of your life pretending to be someone you aren’t. Figuring that out can be a vulnerable and delicate process, and I often felt intruded on, and even violated when people tried to make assumptions about me while I was going through it.

A lot of us spend our lives letting other people tell us who we are. As you figure things out, though, I think it gets easier to assert who you are instead. You get to know yourself, and trust that you’re right about who you are, and it doesn’t feel quite so much like you’re in danger of losing yourself in someone else’s expectations.

This was kind of a ramble, but I hope something in here resonates a little! Either way, I’m sorry you’re dealing with this, and I hope it gets easier soon.

[footballxwrites]

After a hard pregnancy, full of struggles and tears while home alone and having to deal with Eric's crazy schedule, you tried to be as supportive as you could and be his support system but it was hard and because of all the hormones you were constantly angry. During the last months, you two fought a lot, shouting over everything. When your baby was born you felt relief, but also lonelier and tired, it was a lot to deal with, you didn't have your mum or anyone to help. After a match, Eric finds you holding your baby and crying, he's surprised and worried.

After your tears dry and you're calm, he puts the baby to sleep and you have a heart to heart conversation.

The pregnancy struggles were real, your strange hormones driving you up the walls with all the different emotions you went through in the space of five mins, the constant back pains meaning you could bearly make it to the kitchen some days without getting majorly out of breath, the morning sickness which felt like it went on for months, oh and not to mention the fact that nothing but baggy joggers and jumpers fit you now, your loped sided bump making it difficult to style any good outfits. Even with all the aches and pains, unbelievably, that wasn’t the worst thing that had you feeling down during the whole of your pregnancy, it was the loneliness and the juggling of your boyfriend’s bloody busy schedule instead. It just seemed like he never had a minute for the both of you to spend together as a couple, always blaming it on “training” or “matches”, and don’t get me wrong, you understood that was his job and all but you couldn’t help wonder if you were a problem or burden to him and that he didn’t actually want to be around you, which hurt even more seeing as yous were both about to bring a child into the world. For the first weeks after the birth of your baby boy, everything seemed a dream, spending quality time just the three of you, Eric having all the time in the world seeing as it was the season end, all the days out together, the memories yous were makingand overall just being a proper family, well that was until the season kicked off and yous were back to square one. All the arguing, the constant kicking off at one another, the fighting for the smallest of reasons, it had all started again, this time being a hundred times worse having a newborn. When he was at home, yous would be biting each other heads off and at each other’s throats over the stupidest of things, like just simply asking him to watch your son whilst you caught up on sleep was apparently to much to ask for, oh and when he wasn’t there, you were left alone to care for your two month old baby. It was exhausting, having to do all the feeds, changes, baths, alone, you just wanted someone, anyone, there to help you deal with the stress and the fact that you couldn’t put your son down without him crying or whinging was beyond a joke. As you were no longer in contact with most your family, which you hadn’t been for years, you were so fucking thankful when Eric’s mam came over some days, or when one of your friends popped round to give you a hand, they were literal lifesavers. One night you had a complete breakdown, sick of crying yourself to sleep every night or wondering why you weren’t good enough for your boyfriend of four years anymore or thinking about how you were basically a single parent these days, everything was just too much and it needed sorted. Something inside you said “go see him now, go to the match” and you did just that, turning up just as the final whistle went, stood on the sidelines, not caring if you had a crowd staring, as you looked at him and he met your gaze, seeing your suffering, your eyes puffy with tears, bags under them making you look twice your age whilst you held your baby boy who was peacefully sleeping, for once, rocking him back and forth not moving from your position. He walked over and wrapped his arms around you, not saying anything, letting you pour your heart out into his chest, listing the reasons off the back of your hand, telling him to step up and actually be a dad, his heartbreaking hearing this, knowing he’s messed up big time. By the time you got home that night, you sat down and talked it all out wanting to sort this once and for all, no shouting, no throwing insults, no arguing, just spilling your feelings towards one another, eventually getting the answer you needed to hear of “I’m sorry”. ❤️

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part two ~ a residual humming ~

(part one) (part two)

A/N: I wanted to write this second part and get it out as soon as possible. I hope you like it! I have messages/asks open for comments or questions. Be safe!

Summary: George bullies Alex about him mooning over Y/N. Sammy is a bit abrasive, but he gets along with the lads. 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Some Language. More of My Writing. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Upon entering his apartment, Alex was met with the smell of burning. He turned into the kitchen to see George's back as he stood over the hob with a grim-looking cheese toastie set in a pan.

George did not move when Alex walked in, nor did he indicate he was aware Alex was watching him. His eyes were glued on the sandwich as he poked at it with a wooden spoon, nudging it to be better. But it was too far gone to turn out any better than just edible.

At Alex clearing his throat, George asked, "Where've you been?"

"I grabbed some lunch at Five Guys." He pulled at the collar of his shirt, fanning himself. Taking a bar seat, he continued, "I would've offered to bring something back for you if I'd thought about it."

"Don't worry; no one expects you to think, Alex." George flipped the hob off and turned around to grab a plate set out on the counter. He used the wooden spoon to scrape the toastie from the pan as the burnt cheese clung on.

Neither spoke as George performed this careful and intricate extraction.

Though it was just so entertaining to watch his flatmate work around his terrible cooking skills, Alex found his thoughts wandering off. It was subconscious thinking. Or can thinking be subconscious versus conscious? Alex was not sure. All he knew was he was not thinking about what to think. Nor were his thoughts connecting along with one another. It was random.

Sparks of this feeling and that. Questions neither answered nor fully asked before another came along. Mostly, it was him reviewing everything he said earlier to Sammy and Y/N.

“Why go by Red?” Why did I ask that? Stupid.

While a small voice shouted, it worked out! There was too much of a ruckus elsewhere in his mind to give that small voice a chance.

Plate in hand, George started in the direction of his bedroom perhaps in hopes he could eat in peace while hunched over his keyboard like a gremlin.

"You know quiche?" Alex piped up.

"It's like egg-casserole, innit?"

"Right. It's a breakfast food, wouldn't you think?"

"Eggs normally are, yes." George stopped, and it was there in his eyes, the realization that he would not be escaping a conversation. He turned to take a bar seat and began eating in small quick bites. Like a mouse.

"I invited someone round to watch football with us later."

"Who? You don't have friends besides Will and them lot."

"I met him this afternoon. His name's Sam, but he goes by Sammy."

"How did you manage to shut up long enough to catch his name?" George coughed on his food – tasting the evident lack of love cooked into it. "And why does he sound like a golden retriever?"

"He is blond like a retriever. He and Y/N are moving-in right above us."

"Is this Y/N coming too?" George waggled his eyebrow.

The knowledge that George had a girlfriend and more so the identity of said girlfriend was on a need to know basis. As were most aspects of George's life: surname, physical appearance, etc. He knew just as well as anyone that Alex was alone – not a sad kind of alone but a neutral kind.

A girlfriend (or boyfriend) could be fantastic for views. But he did not need one. He was a functioning adult. Independent financially and physically. With an exceptional support system of friends. Alex was full and complete by himself.

And he believed that because it was true.

However, it did not stop him from yearning. It did not stop him from feeling like he might sleep better if he had someone's chest to cuddle; it did not stop him from imagining it was someone else's fingers running through his hair in moments of grief.

"Y/N is Sammy's girlfriend, and she wasn't into me—it rather. She wasn't into it."

"It's his girlfriend, mate. Of course, she isn't into you."

"Not like that. Y/N didn't even look at me, like me being there was making her ill."

"What did you expect? To go-" George, in his mocking, pitched his voice higher, "Hello, I'm internet sensation imallexx, and she falls to her knees to start sucking you off?"

Alex made a face, letting his features relax into a deadpan expression.

George continued unbothered, "Why do you care if the girlfriend likes you?"

"It wasn't dislike; it was discomfort. I'm not someone who makes people uncomfortable, am I? That doesn't make sense, not with all those imallexx is baby edits and uwu soft boi collages."

"Uwu soft boi?"

"Piss off. You know what I mean."

Giggling to himself, George finished eating and stood up. He took his plate, dropping it into the sink, he caught Alex's expression – still somber.

Seriousness was not something either flatmate expressed on the regular, or if it was, it would not be for long. There might be some argument to be made there. That neither man felt comfortable in serious situations because their insecurities about being shorter than average (or about having generous natures) made it difficult for them to see themselves as worth being taken seriously.

Or maybe that argument would be off base and a load of shit—who knows.

"Everyone I've seen you meet in person liked you – just got one of those likable faces, I guess. Plus, you're entertaining and that. I've never known you to make people uncomfortable." George paused. "You'd have to be a real dick to go after another bloke's girl. But I'm sure she'd like talking to you again...if that's what you wanted."

"I don't know what I want to happen, George."

"Well, figure it out. And if Sam does opt into a few rounds of FIFA, I'm not letting him beat me."

"It's Sammy."

"Ok." George walked in the direction of his bedroom. "Sammy. Sammy. I can remember that."

~LATER~

It was adrenaline-fueled cheers, heated debates over pizza toppings, clever and scathing remarks, all in addition to an absurd amount of drinking. And the aftermath was a residual humming of endorphins.

Newcastle lost: no surprise there.

Electronic noises sounded from the television at full volume but, having to travel through the thick wave of inebriation and exhaustion in the room, it all registered as dull pings. Will and George were the two holding controllers and involved in the head-to-head battle unfolding on-screen.

Sitting next to one another on the sofa highlighted the stark differences in their composure and dedication. George sat leaning forward enough to be considered doubled over with an iron grip on his controller. Will leaned back with one hand on the controller and the other taking the occasional swig from the beer he otherwise held between his legs.

Throwing back drink after drink, Sammy occupied the third sofa cushion. He admitted earlier in the night that he never played FIFA before; he watched the television with interest and set focus. Blush and all, he looked alert and strong even after winning the shot contest between himself and James.

James – on the other hand – was flat on his back on the floor in front of the coffee table with his eyes closed. He had not spoken up in a while, but Alex was sure he was still awake – like 60% sure.

"—in the frame for half a second. If that!" Alex struggled to control the volume of his voice as he spoke with excitement, "And not twelve hours later, I see a screenshot of them on a fetish instagram account."

"What the fuck?" Sammy laughed through the question.

"That's what I said!"

Will, confident he could win against George without paying much attention, spoke up, "I tried to go legit with selling feet pics once for a video."

Sammy's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"Swear on my life." Will crossed his heart with his hand.

"It was with socks on." Alex stood up from the armchair and stumbled to the kitchen to pour himself another shot. Deciding on a clear liquor, he poured and downed it before finishing his thought, "Having socks on—that's not the same. Not at all."

"Nice dress-socks! I had production value, I did. Unlike you with those hobbit feet."

Alex held himself steady against the kitchen counter. With ears lit up red like traffic lights, he stared into the air with a blank expression for half a minute before shaking his head as if coming up from some dark, treacherous waters. Gaining some composure, he shuffled back to the armchair and collapsed onto it. He said his peace on the issue, "Don't be an ass."

"The only fun way to be," Will muttered as he knocked back a bit of his beer.

Despite watching Alex cross the room with particular concern, Sammy reentered the conversation in a casual tone and manner. "Wait. Your feet are just out there in the open for weird foot fetish guys to jack off to?"

"Guys jack off to Alex all the time," said George. He did not remove his eyes from the television as the electronic sounds coming from the game took a discordant turn. "He's an LGBT icon."

Alex gritted his teeth at the comment. "Stop."

"Oh?" From the sofa, Sammy raised his head, shifting his posture and pulling himself up into a proper seated position. "You're gay?"

George started, "Well, he's b—"

"Yes." Alex cut him off. Sometimes it was easier to just be “gay” than to get specific with someone who might not understand or even accept further explanation.

It went quiet, save the electronic noises of George getting his ass kicked at FIFA. George, too focused on losing and being offended from getting cut-off, and James having been down for the count for the last hour, were unaware of the turn the conversation had taken and were spared from the rising uneasiness.

Will and Alex were in the thick of it. Alex shot worried glances in Will's direction. Will set his jaw and nodded with reassurance back to Alex.

Sammy breathed out an, "Oh."

"Is that an issue?" Alex asked.

"God, no. It's a relief!" Sammy slouched into the back of the sofa. "Don't have to be worried about you trying to chat up Red."

Will looked agitated (maybe at the choice of words or the hesitation). His forehead scrunched-up, and his posture tensed with rigid shoulders and arms. He asked with a forced ‘normal-sounding’ tone, "Who's Red?"

"My girlfriend – she's a fucking bitch, but like my bitch, you know?"

Alex was not sure which part of the whole thing he was most uncomfortable with...until he decided. It was the bitch comment. 

It was the bitch comment by far.

No one in that room – as far as he knew – had ever straight-out name called their girlfriend like that. Not George about [REDACTED]. Not Will about Mia. Not James about Aria. And certainly not Alex about his past partners.

To be fair there were a handful of times, he or his friends had considered how their partner was acting as being bitchy. Still at the heart of all their relationships was a respect for the other person and the courtesy to not leave for the evening (to watch football or whatever) without at least attempting to work things out – smooth things over even the tiniest amount.

"I thought her name was Y/N," said George.

Sammy hurled an expression that asked how would you know and all but dared George to ask him another question. "It is. But when we met, I called her Red, and now she goes by Red."

"Why?"

Sammy ignored that George had spoken at all. Luckily, it was just a few awkward seconds between Sammy clamming up and someone else speaking.

"Mac 'n cheese! Fuck!" James shouted as his eyes shot open, and he sat up from the floor. "Doesn't mac 'n cheese sound good right now?" He turned his attention to Alex and snapped finger guns at him. "You have any mac 'n cheese?"

"No, James," Alex growled; he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes with too much pressure.

Sammy interjected with cheerfulness in his voice, "I like mac 'n cheese with some marshmallow fluff."

"Fuck yes!" James whipped around to face Sammy (whom he probably did not recognize at that moment nor remember meeting just hours before) and somehow got louder. "We gotta get some!"

"Let's go." Sammy did not move to stand.

"You're so chill," mumbled James. As unexpected as it was for him to pop-up, James hit the ground again, closing his eyes. He was out.

"Anyone willing to be talked at by Alex for an entire evening has got to be," remarked George with a humorless laugh.

"Reel it back a bit," Will warned before Alex might have come back with something worse.

"Yeah," Sammy teased, "how much you down now, George? £200 last I checked."

"Will's cheating."

Will took a swig from his beer. "Mate, I'm too pissed to be cheating."

"Whatever."

"Check it." Will shifted in his seat as on-screen, he scored the final goal of the game. Triumphant electronic noises blasted from the television as he raised his long arms up in the air, pumping his fist once. twice. three times.

He got up to high-five Alex and Sammy, who wore over-excited smiles across their flushed faces. And just like that, the evening was over.

[makaylajadewrites]

Origin

Summary: Bria Monique was an entity created from lonely nights, complex textbooks, and an abnormal fascination for makeup. She creeped out of the mind of a boy suffering from an identity crisis at the young age of sixteen, but said boy was in a division all his own anyway.

Potential tws: N/A

-

Bria Monique was an entity created from lonely nights, complex textbooks, and an abnormal fascination for makeup. She creeped out of the mind of a boy suffering from an identity crisis at the young age of sixteen, but said boy was in a division all his own anyway. Still recognized as a child yet more intelligent than most adults, he was living on the cusp of childhood and adulthood, and he didn’t know who he was. He had stumbled upon drag by mistake, really. The LGBT alliance at Caltech had been messing around in one of the theaters, and while sitting somewhere in the empty rows, waiting on a lecture that wasn’t due for another few hours, Spencer was entranced by the performance, even if it wasn’t meant for his eyes to see.

“Work it, honey!” A voice called, filled with positivity and encouragement, as an individual in a rather extravagant getup strutted across the stage and posed for the nonexistent audience, a smile spread across their painted lips. Young Spencer didn’t know what to think, because his mind quickly supplied that the individual was in fact a man but with every aspect of femininity taking over his existence. He was gorgeous, whatever he chose to identity as, and Spencer briefly wondered if he could look like that too. The individual was powerful in their own way, and the sheer confidence they expressed in the simplest of movements was enough to make Spencer somewhat fascinated. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, but it had his attention, and he settled in then and there - he wanted to try. Spencer ducked down slightly to avoid being seen as the individual crossed the front of the stage, and fortunately he wasn’t, but as soon as he got home that evening from riding the bus, he walked to the nearest drugstore, compelled by his own curiosity to test out what he had saw; an experiment of sorts.

He picked out a small tube of peach lipgloss, a pink and green mascara, and a shimmery pink powder - he didn’t know what it was for, but it was eye-catching, so he wanted to try it and see if he could be that confident in himself too. When he made it home, Spencer discovered that Mom was having one of her episodes. He got her to bed with a bit of stubbornness on her part, and once he was sure she was asleep for the night, he found himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and just pursing his lips slightly, quick to point out many of his own flaws. His nose was too small, his cheeks were too gaunt, his forehead was too big, his lips were too feminine, his brows were too bushy… Everything was just wrong and he found himself avoiding his appearance quite often.

He glanced down to the three articles of makeup on the marble counter, swallowing nervously and reaching for the mascara first. Luckily, he had seen Mom apply it before, so he knew vaguely how to put it on without gouging an eye out. He pulled the wand out of the tube with a little pop and stared at the black cosmetic with a tension in his jaw before setting it down again and sighing heavily, his head falling.

Was he really about to do this? Was he really this low?

Yes, yes he was.

Spencer looked up again with a newfound sense of determination, and slowly and carefully, he swiped the mascara on his top and bottom lashes, realizing that they were a lot longer than he originally thought. He batted them several times, and he realized he already looked a bit different from his usual state. He then picked up the powder, overlooking it critically before swiping his index finger over it and patting it across his cheekbones. He turned his head from side to side, seeing how the light reflected over the applied powder. It was somewhat subtle, but definitely noticeable, and it seemed to accentuate the structure of his face. He did the math in his head of symmetry, and since most symmetry enjoyed a center point, he dabbed a bit of the powder on the tip of his nose too.

But he wasn’t done just yet. He was really liking the makeup so far, as sparse as it was, but the lipgloss was what did him in. He swiped the fruity-tasting gloss over his cupid’s bow and across his full bottom lip, and the person he saw in the mirror was no longer Spencer Reid. He didn’t know he could look like this, and when he saw his reflection smiling back at him, he actually felt pretty. He cupped his cheek in one hand, overlooking every fine detail and realizing that makeup could do so much for him. His fascination spiraled from there.

When he was eighteen, he entered into his first drag show. He was fresh meat, but he had two years of experimentation under the belt that definitely helped him when it came to makeup and wardrobe choice. But he didn’t have a name like most queens - that was the most difficult part for him.

One day walking across campus, to and from class, he saw a poster taped to the wall that said Be Unique and he knew then and there, that it had to be close to that. Bria Monique was the result, and although it wasn’t exact, it was close, and it held meaning to Spencer. That was all that mattered, after all. Some drag names were funny, clever, and others were normal. Spencer didn’t need his name to be something extravagant. It was important to him and the very birth of his drag persona - that was crucial.

His first show hadn’t been easy by any means. He had never performed before, and he was new, but fortunately the other queens held his hand through it and gave him a whole new support system that he hadn’t known existed before. So, when he came off of the stage with tears in his eyes, believing he had made a fool of himself, they were there to tell him that he did good, and that this was just a stepping stone for him and his development as not only a drag queen, but a person. He was empowered, more than he had ever been, and it quickly became an important piece of his life.

It was never something he broadcasted, but he didn’t necessarily keep it a secret. Drag queens didn’t often come up in conversations between FBI agents, so he never really had to disclose it to anyone. It wasn’t relevant in his work life, and he never thought it would be until he had gone and practically revealed himself to others. The first mistake of forgotten nail polish all the way to fixing Penelope’s makeup — they were both slip-ups, but they happened and it was too late to take it back now. Besides, his team supported him regardless, and even though they most likely saw him in a new light, he was not judged or treated any differently. The brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who happened to enjoy the extravagant hobby of drag, was not viewed any differently than he was before. His input was still just as valuable and his work was still credited to him and him alone.

He was the same person, just with an alternate persona he used for performing, and his team’s acceptance was probably the greatest form of support he could ever hope for. He had struggled through many hardships in his life, and he was just happy to know that the revelation of himself to his peers was not one of them.

Derek’s support alone was enough. He had told that man just about everything there was to know about him, from the emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his father and schoolmates to taking care of his mother from the age of ten to eighteen. Their relationship didn’t sway because of Spencer’s origin; the hardest part of all was accepting that he found someone who loved him for him, and he didn’t think he would ever get over that.

<-Part 6: The Performance | Part 8: What a Woman->

[inumaqi]

top ten tagged by @linkspooky 🍊 explanations under the cut! sorry for rambling xo → rules: name your top ten favourite characters from ten different fandoms, and then tag ten people - @osomanga @kara-suno @anonimarevolts @zeninmaki @wildbishonen @shysheeperz @tkmewthyou @kaldurlenn @joxterism @marshmallowdonutsprinkles

snufkin okay so he’s the only one not from an anime or manga but i had to put him on bc he’s the most important fictional character to me, ever. i grew up watching the moomin cartoons in the 90s and thinking about it instantly calms me down - they used to air the episodes early in the morning when it would still be dark outside: the landscapes were moody and cosy, the characters were so softly spoken and articulate... it’s just peak nostalgia. anyway, snufkin is moomin’s best friend; he returns to moominvalley every year to be with his friends during the spring and says his goodbyes to go adventure again come winter. it upsets moomin when he leaves but snufkin is adamant that quiet and solitude are important and healthy, and it’s not fair to expect him to compromise on his independence - that made a really big impact on me as a kid, especially as someone who never really had their ‘own’ space (twinsies). relationships aren’t weakened by physical distance or time, they’re about communication and understanding. that was important too. i don’t think i realised just how influential it had been until i was an adult but snufkin is an anarchist. he first shows up in the comics when moomin and sniff are talking about opening a bank - he tells them they should plant fruit trees instead. he destroys private property and rescues orphans, he refuses to participate in things that don’t bring him joy. when he’s asked where home is, he replies, “nowhere. or everywhere! it depends how you look at it” - the whole world belongs to him, and the whole world belongs to everyone else too.

yomo renji in general, i like characters that trudge along in the background and do the nitty-gritty work that supports the main story. i like people like that irl too. more than anything else, yomo is desperate to form human connections, even though he’s shackled by self-doubt and self-loathing. he just wants to positively contribute to a community, thinking he’s most useful keeping a quiet eye on people who might need protection/guidance (while still giving them space to grow and act themselves) or foraging for human corpses so that others aren’t in danger or moral anguish doing it for themselves.

bird boy is a total weapon - “the perfect ghoul” - and you’re reminded over and over again but a lot of his growth is about rejecting violence and repurposing his power as something productive that he can use to help the people around him instead of hurting people (the yang to uta’s yin). in the first few chapters, he says he kills humans (he’s a ghoul, humans are food, it’s natural) and yet he’s consistently framed as a scavenger who seeks out ‘roadkill’ [suicide victims] for sustenance, even before coming to anteiku, and implements a system so other people can do the same.

suguru getou i was originally gonna say meg bc i love him but, having just finished The Flashback Arc, i can’t stop thinking about getou and i’m beyond impressed with how akutami has managed to ground him so well, so sympathetically. getou is the sick, warped darkness to the hopeful light that gojou commands but... in an uncomfortable twist, the reverse is true, kind of.

actually, gojou is arrogant and confrontational and hyper individualistic. he’s a dissident. getou is obedient, compassionate, self-aware... he has a sense of social responsibility and passionately believes that his skills should be used to protect those who can’t protect themselves - non-jujutsu sorcerers - and all of the suffering he endures as a result is worth that. idk if others are reading his downfall differently but, from where i’m standing, that overwhelming responsibility never goes away, he doesn’t give up on it - he just starts to view the social landscape differently and begins to see how jujutsu sorcerers are vilified and mistreated in spite of all the good that they do. the ‘weak’ aren’t really weak when they’re able to organise and assert collective power over a minority, and so his sympathies shift.

the nail in the coffin for getou is learning that the hurt and pain could be eradicted from the world by cutting the head of the proverbial snake: non-jujutsu users generate cursed energy, so get rid of non-jujutsu users and cursed energy won’t be generated. it’s all horribly, weirdly rooted in good intentions that weigh him down and misdirect him.  shinazugawa genya i feel like the bond that slowly starts to develop betwen tanjirou, and zenitsu and inosuke (in particular) is nicely foiled by genya’s lonely journey towards becoming a pillar. after losing almost all of his family and having sanemi walk away, genya is angry, antisocial, rude, violent, evasive...

he’s characterised as competitive, as if he hates his peers and wants to leave them in the dust as an act of self-satisfaction, a power fantasy or whenever, but this is a deliberate misdirection to cover for the fact that he’s scrambling to be a pillar so that he can reconnect with his brother and prove to him that he can protect himself; that sanemi doesn’t need to shoulder everything alone like he used to. his entire goal is an act of apology.

and in a story where so many characters are able to hone these exceptional skills, genya is uniquely disadvantaged as the only one who can’t master breathing techniques. rather than having a hero moment and powering up, his need to reconnect with sanemi is so strong that he essentially decides to compromise his humanity and become a kind of monster by ingesting the demons he’s pledged to annihilate. amajiki tamaki i wish i had a a longer explanation for this one but it’s actually super simple: tamaki is a really, really, really good portrayal of a person burdened with severe anxiety. the way he physically carries himself, the way he hides his face, his manner of speaking, his dependency on his mirio, how he interprets compliments as trickery, how he needs to be pushed and pushed and pushed before he’s finally able to release his potential... every single scene with tamaki felt deeply personal when i was reading bnha and i knew exactly what he was supposed to be feeling. shinmon benimaru sometimes good, nice people don’t fit a little friendly mould and i like that benimaru is hostile and rough and antisocial, even with people he cares about. he doesn’t expect anything of people, he doesn’t want them interfering with him, and he wants to help and support them all the same because he believes in community. he’s completely oppositional to the special fire force because he thinks it’s a tool to pursue an ideology rather than to protect people, which is why it’s so important when the eighth are finally able to win his approval - they become the only company the seventh consider allies, and it’s proof that their objectives are righteous. despite his reputation as... kind of a nuisance, his skill is acknowledged by everyone and he’s universally regarded as the strongest fire soldier there is. in spite of his antisocial attitude, he agrees that it’s important to share that with younger fire soldiers - he’s incredibly patient and understanding with them, helps them to individually adapt. the way he (and others in company seven) operate in contrast to the other companies when fighting infernals is really cool to me for two reasons: (1) it provides a commentary on how cultures and traditions often struggle to survive when they’re systematically (forcefully) replaced through power and wealth - although the subtext is a little troubling because it’s unclear whether ōkubo is conflating multiculturalism with globalisation which, uh, big nope; and (2) philosophically speaking, the approach to death is interesting. where the other companies essentially perform last rites and offer absolution to the deceased, benimaru personally takes responsibility - at the request of the people in his district - for sending them off in huge public display, kind of like a festival intending to celebrate their life. i think it speaks to how profoundly he values life. akihiko kaji i liked akihiko from the beginning because he’s stoic and introspective and also excitable and dumb. he’s a people watcher and waits for opportunities to softly guide uenoyama and mafuyu when they’re quietly crying out for help but doesn’t interfere any more than he thinks is necessary because he knows they can make their own way to where they need to go. i liked akihiko even more when he got really fucking messy. his relationship with ugetsu is sweet and it’s incredibly ugly and unhealthy because they both fail utterly to communicate with one another - they’re both to blame for avoiding and hurting each other, and i think that’s a really normal issue that people find difficult to overcome. i’m super interested (and really nervous) to see how his relationship with haruki develops. he’s done some horrible things to haruki and i want him to be accountable for those things and have them affect their relationship in a realistic way.

tanigaki genjirou one thing i really, really love about golden kamuy is the way noda satoru incorporates the importance of minority cultures into the story, and tanigaki’s apparent abandonment of his matagi heritage is really beautifully written. matagi hunting traditions shaped his life as a young man, it’s how he was able to really assimilate to the people around him and form relationships and - without getting too spoilery - he divorces himself from it all when he’s overcome by grief and hatches a plan for revenge against the person responsible. so, by allowing himself to surrender to negative feelings and thoughts instead of seeking support and learning to heal from what happened, he becomes a total shadow of himself. 

makimura takeshi i know i’ve gushed about it before but i can’t properly explain just how incredible it felt seeing an asexual character in manga dialogue about being asexual, and devils’ line does it twice. the reason i’m so attached to makimura in particular is because he doesn’t seem to have fully figured it out - and he’s kinda... comfortable with that. he wants to be with someone and he wants to be monogamous but he can’t understand why he doesn’t feel sexual desire towards her; he knows his feelings aren’t platonic but doesn’t know whether they can really be called romantic either.

not to go dark mode but i very vividly remember just how lonely and horrifying it was battling with those uncertainties when i was a teenager, thinking i was broken because i didn’t have Normal Human Feelings and needed to be fixed. i was so worried about it that i thought about all the boys i knew, picked the one i thought was the nicest and actively tried to develop a crush on him. it was dumb as fuck but, ten years later, i realise it was really desperate and sad too. i forced myself to have ~my first kiss~ (it was horrible) because i felt like i was getting left behind and i think i would’ve put myself in worse situations as i got older if i hadn’t suffered with such bad social anxiety.

i hadn’t really thought too much about a lot of this stuff for yeaaars but it all came flooding back when i was reading devils’ line. it was bittersweet bc i was remembering all of those shitty feelings but also watching this character grapple with those same questions and go: i don’t know yet and that’s not weird, let’s just grow with it. i still don’t totally know whether i’m ace or aro or bi, or whatever, but i’m trying to be okay with just... not knowing.

misora shuuji anyway, devils’ line isn’t actually a manga with a specific focus on sexuality and gender but shimanami tasogare is and all of the characters are written beautifully. if you haven’t read it yet... then why haven’t you read it yet? misora is only about twelve years old and watching them battle with their growing pains is really compelling - they’re closeted but, through the lounge, they have somewhere to explore their gender and all the questions they have about it. they’re amab and present as traditionally feminine wrt clothes, wigs, makeup, etc. but can’t quite tell if they see themselves as a girl, a boy or non-binary.

with the onset of puberty and anxieties about physical changes to their body, misora’s story puts a lot of emphasis on the pressure they face to just ‘make up their mind’ about something that’s actually incredibly complex and doesn’t have any easy answers. they snap and shout and get upset, especially when tasuku (the protag) tries to push them into a corner because he wants a concrete label or identity he can attach to misora, even though space is exactly what misora needs.

[teacherintransition]

Go it Alone?

During this transition of life from teacher to seeker of dreams, it is very much a solitary trek fraught with missteps and rethinking.

If you’re just heading for the rocker, your choice, easy... if you are making a life change, the supportive partner from the old life is a valuable treasure.

The day in Nacogdoches is magnificent; 73 degrees, brilliant sunshine, bright blue sky, a gentle ten mph breeze making the leaves engage in a graceful dance ... it is an almost perfect day. Unlike the two previous days of gray, gloomy rain which did nothing to motivate the writer in me to put pen to paper; that phrase is antiquated, but sounds so much more lofty in tone than, “putting keyboard to screen.”

My thoughts these last two days have been occupied with what I would usually be doing as a teacher for the previous 30 years. The closing down process of a school year is almost instinctual at this point, except I’m not doing it this time. I feel very out of place missing the emotional state and process that is so memorable to a teacher. No, not the obligatory jamming of Alice Cooper’s, “School’s Out for Summer” out of every school PA system nationwide, which is pretty damn cool. It is one of the reaffirming times that a teacher loves, the visible achievement of making it through the year, seeing kids meet goals and surpass them, the establishing of bonds with young people that will last a lifetime, the camaraderie with colleagues, the farewell to those moving on or retiring ... retiring ... the transition. Truly feeling out of place and time. Despite the braggadocio of so many who proclaim, “I ain’t ever lookin back” ... go forth I suppose, but if you were in education for the “right” reasons you can’t help but look back and wonder. If you don’t ... even just a little, why did you become a teacher in the first place? Ah, I digress... onward and forward with ye vaunted transition.

Many wonder, I did, what makes the transition easier? I’ve discussed ad infinitum the need for a plan, activity, a purpose... of being able to rest (a little bit) on your laurels and find yourself. As a means of a cooperative, communal working through being a dedicated educator to a retired seeker of self actualization; I feel that all aspects are up for examination. I cautiously broach this topic because it somewhat treads upon the grounds of relationship advice. I’m happily married and it was NOT an easy road without potholes and obstacles. Painful, difficult, heartbreaking, frustrating at times yes; but any successful point is only achieved through such struggle. Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Brent and Kim Rich... you’ve overcome raising three boys, a mortgage, being overdrawn, personal struggles and you’ve reached your 34th anniversary... smooth sailing here on out. Except the arduous process of getting “mature,” empty nesting and the sad passing of family from the previous generation.... AND ... Brent is retiring! Instant gut check. All I have is personal experience, anecdotal observations and arbitrary wisdom that may or may not apply to you the reader.... it also falls under the umbrella of “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

The relationship with your partner is a vital consideration; in for a penny...in for a pound. If your marriage(s) have made it this far, the “R word”... retirement is a joint venture, and, for that matter, a venture that your kids will have input regarding. You might be thinking, “I ANSWER TO NO ONE,” or “I’VE EARNED THIS ... I DESERVE THIS!” Silly rabbit... to quote Clint Eastwood (I love doing that), “deserves got nuthin to do with it,” as you’ll find out.* As I write this, there are three friends whose retirement plans have just become victims of a monkey wrench. I’d be foolish as would my wife if we didn’t know that destiny turns on a dime. “No man is an island entirely of itself. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind,” brilliantly stated by John Donne. ** Now that the intangibles have been addressed, let’s delve into more concrete realities.

You and your spouse, partner, soul mate, fellow traveler must be somewhat on the same page and hopefully have been for a number of years leading up to this decision. If you are uncompromising... then expect fallout from spouses, children, friends and family... not total or irrevocable or permanent... but maybe. Being uncompromising with the intangibles is pointless... being uncompromising with the others in your life; expect a price to be paid. We are all in this together and friends and family are often by choice. On the other side of the coin, friends and family should be somewhat accommodating to your dreams... fate and destiny may not give a whit ... but you’re loved ones should as you should to them.

Let’s move away from unpleasant, confrontational possibilities to those built on a partnership that didn’t grow apart but grew together. Long before you hit your 50’s, this path of common goals should have always been the objective. Raising a family and navigating careers should be an enriching experience, but all too often it can be the reason a couple grows apart. Hisham Matar’s book, A Month in Siena, continues to be a treasure trove of wisdom. He offers this warning for couples and people in general who allow themselves to grow apart:

Growing apart has a consequence which will surely follow. What lies beyond are longings in nostalgia and this needs to be accounted for what it is.... if, what the people thinking here is a true hell is not; the true hell is realizing you are not being recognized by those closest to you.***

If you intentionally keep the commonality of each other’s goals, dreams and objectives in mind, you shouldn’t discover a stranger when retirement decisions come around. The relationships with family and friends and relating to oneself introspectively are to be visited often. You can become a stranger to yourself as well as those close to you perhaps even shutting to yourself off to everyone. Again from Matar:

We met at a place they like appearing to be standing there with the optimism of successful people. An unexpected turn in the conversation began to confess such inconsolable disappointments regarding their lives and careers; veiled sentiments that seemed to conceal powerful criticisms of one another. Each listed with the head of blame and quiet violence that some couples are capable of, all the missed opportunities, the roads not taken and now uncorrectable regrets****

That bleak outcome can be turned inward all too easily. Be open ... to those in your life, many heartaches can be avoided.

So, let’s say that the work has been put into relationships and an understanding and respect of one’s goals have become shared goals or visions; you’ve not only avoided conflict, but obtained support and encouragement for what can be a risky set of plans. My wife has been able to read me sometimes better than I can read myself... with the shared effort given. Without trying, we started to share common dreams; we didn’t plan on that 20 years ago (truth be told 20-25 years ago was a rough patch)... we started sharing what we hoped to achieve, helped each other on the difficult steps we were then experiencing and talked ... who’d have thought? This is our path and is not a guarantee that both sides will depart at point A and arrive at the same point B; but the odds improve even though neither can anticipate those rascally intangibles. You chose each other for a reason, you raised a family together for that reason... don’t hide what you want from each other or from your friends for that matter. Do Kim and I share a common general outlook? Absolutely. Does that outlook appear identical to each of our visions? No... c’mon nothing worthwhile will come that easy. Are we facing compromise? Sure, and is it worth it? To have someone to share dreams, to encourage you when roadblocks appear, to validate your vision... it absolutely is worth it. Go it alone? Not the most desired outcome... we are social creatures, we need each other ... as long as “give and take” is understood, it will be ok in the final picture.

But, I will live in Italy ... you’ll see you will all see ...(end with maniacal laughter)

*Eastwood, Clint; The Unforgiven

**Donne, John; No Man is an Island

***Matar, Hisham; A Month in Siena

****Matar, Hisham; A Month in Siena

http://labibliotecacoffee.com/

[newstfionline]

Sunday, April 18, 2021

Biden’s Afghanistan plan a plus to some vets (AP) Patrick Proctor Brown says the war in Afghanistan was lost within a year of its start. The suburban Milwaukee lawyer, who was an infantry captain in Iraq, said the trillions of dollars spent and the thousands of lives lost, including a lieutenant he trained with, make it “a tragedy.” “And the Taliban will be back in power in a year,” said Brown, 35, who also studied diplomacy at Norwich, a military university in Vermont. “It’s insane.” Brown supports President Joe Biden’s decision to withdraw all troops from Afghanistan by Sept. 11, and by voting for the Democrat, he represents a subtle but potent shift in the voting behavior of some in the military. Voters who served in the military have long leaned toward Republicans. But there are signs that Biden may have cut into that advantage. “This president has got to end these wars,” said Jon Soltz, a former Army tank captain who formed the Democratic-leaning VoteVets.org in 2006. “He’s got to fulfill some of these promises. There’s a war-weariness in the military.”

Riot declared after windows smashed in Portland protests (AP) Police in Portland, Oregon, declared a riot Friday night after authorities said protesters smashed windows and burglarized businesses during demonstrations that started earlier in the day after police fatally shot a man while responding to reports of a person with a gun. The vandalism downtown came after the Friday morning police shooting but also was part of vigils and demonstrations already planned for the night in the name of people killed in other police shootings nationwide. They include 13-year-old Adam Toledo of Chicago and Daunte Wright, a Black man in a Minneapolis suburb. Deputy Police Chief Chris Davis told reporters earlier in the day that a white man in his 30s was shot and killed by police, who opened fire with a gun and weapons that fire non-lethal projectiles. A witness who spoke to reporters at the scene said the man, who had removed his shirt and was blocking an intersection, appeared to be in a mental health crisis.

Castro era in Cuba to end as Raul confirms he’s retiring (Reuters) Raul Castro confirmed he was handing over the leadership of the Cuban Communist Party to a younger generation at its congress that kicked off on Friday, ending six decades of rule by himself and older brother Fidel. In a speech opening the four-day event, Castro, 89, said the new leadership would be party loyalists with decades of experience working their way up the ranks and were “full of passion and anti-imperialist spirit.” The new generation of leaders, which did not forge itself through rebellion, has no easy task. The transition comes as Cuba faces the worst economic crisis since the collapse of former benefactor the Soviet Union, while there are signs of growing frustration, especially among younger Cubans. A tightening of the decades-old U.S. trade embargo and the coronavirus pandemic have exacerbated a liquidity crisis in Cuba’s ailing centrally planned economy. Shortages of even basic goods mean Cubans spend hours lining up to buy groceries.

Argentina closes schools, imposes curfew in Buenos Aires as COVID-19 cases spike (Reuters) Argentina’s government will tighten pandemic restrictions in and around the capital Buenos Aires to rein in a sharp spike in COVID-19 cases, including shutting schools and imposing a curfew from 8pm to limit social activity. President Alberto Fernández, 62, given his all-clear earlier in the day after he was infected with the virus, said the South American country needed to “gain time” in the fight against COVID-19 after daily cases hit a record this week. The measures will see schools closed in Greater Buenos Aires from Monday, and the suspension of indoor sports, recreational, religious and cultural activities until April 30.

The queen says goodbye to Philip, continues her reign alone (AP) Sitting by herself at the funeral of Prince Philip on Saturday, Queen Elizabeth cut a regal, but solitary figure: still the monarch, but now alone. The queen sat apart from family members at the simple but somber ceremony in accordance with strict social distancing rules during the coronavirus pandemic. But if the ceremony had been for anyone else, at her side would have been her husband of 73 years, who gave a lifetime of service to the crown. The monarch’s four children and eight grandchildren sat in small groups nearby, during a stripped-back service at Windsor Castle that made their loss somehow more personal for people who often live their lives in public. The service was quiet and without excessive pageantry. Philip was deeply involved in planning the ceremony. At his request, there was no sermon. There were also no eulogies or readings, in keeping with royal tradition. Former Bishop of London Richard Chartres, who knew Philip well, said the 50-minute service reflected the preferences of the prince, who was a man of faith but liked things to be succinct. “He was at home with broad church, high church and low church, but what he really liked was short church,” Chartres told the BBC.

Philip’s legacy lives in chef who traded prison for kitchen LONDON (AP)—Jon Watts was 18 years old when he woke up in a prison cell and decided he had to change. He enrolled in every course he could find, from mathematics to business. But he says it was a program founded by Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, that gave him a “passion for food” and a career as a chef when he got out of prison 3 1/2 years later. “I was a young boy in prison,” Watts, now 32, told The Associated Press. “It helped mold me to be what I like to think is a good person, and it set me up to believe in myself, to believe that I can achieve things.” After Philip’s death last week at age 99, politicians and world leaders rushed to eulogize his lifetime of service to his wife, Queen Elizabeth II, and to the British nation. For many people across the country, though, his greatest contribution was the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, a program which seeks to give young people the skills and confidence they need to succeed. Participants in the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award must complete volunteer work, improve their physical fitness, learn new skills, and go on expeditions to earn each of three progressively more difficult levels of achievement—bronze, silver and gold. More than 6.7 million people between the ages of 14 and 24 have taken part in the U.K., and the program has expanded to 130 countries since Philip founded it in 1956.

A Bitter Family Feud Dominates the Race to Replace Merkel (NYT) With less than six months to go before Germans cast their ballots for a new chancellor, the political vacuum Angela Merkel leaves behind after 16 years of consensus-oriented leadership is coming more sharply into focus. A rare and rancorous power struggle has gripped Germany’s conservatives this week as two rivals vie to replace her, threatening to further hobble her Christian Democratic Union, which is already sliding in the polls. Normally, Armin Laschet, 60, who was elected in January to lead the party, would almost assuredly be the heir apparent to Ms. Merkel. Instead, he finds himself unexpectedly pitted against his biggest rival, Markus Söder, the more popular head of a smaller, Bavaria-only party, the Christian Social Union, in a kind of conservative family feud. Experts and party members alike are calling for the dispute to be resolved within the coming days, as it risks damaging the reputation of the two conservative parties, jointly referred to as the Union. Because the two parties operate as one on the national stage, they must choose one candidate for chancellor.

Russia to expel 10 US diplomats in response to Biden actions (AP) On Thursday, the Biden administration announced sanctions on Russia for interfering in the 2020 U.S. presidential election and involvement in the SolarWind hack of federal agencies—activities Moscow has denied. The U.S. ordered 10 Russian diplomats expelled, targeted dozens of companies and people, and imposed new curbs on Russia’s ability to borrow money. Russia responded by saying it would expel 10 U.S. diplomats and take other retaliatory moves in a tense showdown with Washington. Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov also said Moscow will move to shut down those U.S. nongovernment organizations that remain in Russia to end what he described as their meddling in Russia’s politics. The top Russian diplomat said the Kremlin suggested that U.S. Ambassador John Sullivan follow the example of his Russian counterpart and head home for consultations. Russia will also deny the U.S. Embassy the possibility of hiring personnel from Russia and third countries as support staff, limit visits by U.S. diplomats serving short-term stints at the embassy, and tighten requirements for U.S. diplomats’ travel in the country.

Russia’s surveillance state (Washington Post) Russian authorities are ramping up the use of facial recognition technology to track opposition protesters to their homes and arrest them—a powerful new Kremlin tool to crush opposition. But when state security agents are suspected of murders or attacks on journalists and opposition activists, surveillance cameras have at times been switched off or “malfunction.” And the system is so leaky that surveillance data on individuals can be bought for a small sum on Russia’s notorious black market in data, along with all kinds of other personal information. There is even a name for the clandestine cyber-bazaar: probiv. China leads the world in rolling out a vast network of facial recognition technology, including a system to track and repress its Uyghur minority. But Putin’s Russia is racing to catch up. Russian firms such as NtechLab produce some of the world’s most sophisticated facial recognition software as authorities grapple with counterpunches by the opposition, including using social media to expose Russia’s kleptocracy such as extravagances by Russian President Vladimir Putin’s political allies. Moscow Mayor Sergei Sobyanin said the facial recognition system—rolled out in Moscow en masse in January 2020 and expanded to at least 10 other Russian cities—is now used in 70 percent of crime investigations. Moscow has more than 189,000 cameras with facial recognition capabilities, as well as more than 12,300 on subway cars in Moscow’s Metro.

Health care: The medical cost crisis will outlast COVID (The Week) Few would disagree that “much-reviled Big Pharma pulled off one of the great achievements in medical history,” said Geoff Colvin at Fortune—quickly developing multiple effective COVID-19 vaccines. Hospital workers, too, “have been heroes in the truest sense” in the fight against the pandemic. These are not groups America “wants to punish” right now. But something has to give. A system of “perverse incentives,” from drug distribution to insurance rebates, has made health-care costs “maddeningly untamable.” In the six years since the Affordable Care Act was passed, health-care spending per capita has increased faster than it did in the six years prior. Three-quarters of Americans say that the quality of the health care they get isn’t worth what they are paying for it. Big Hospitals and Big Pharma are “at each other’s throats” over who is to blame, but the trend in costs “isn’t about to reverse.” Poorer hospitals have “limped through the year,” straining under the costs of COVID, said Jordan Rau and Christine Spolar at Kaiser Health News, but many wealthier ones have done just fine. The U.S. has budgeted $178 billion in aid for health-care providers, and even profitable hospitals have gotten help. After receiving $454 million in federal aid, Baylor, the biggest nonprofit hospital system in Texas, “accumulated an $815 million surplus, $20 million more than it had in 2019.” Despite this, hospitals have devised ways to pass on costs, said Sarah Kliff at The New York Times. Lenox Hill, one of the oldest and best-known hospitals in New York City, has “repeatedly billed patients more than $3,000 for the routine nasal swab test” for COVID, “about 30 times the test’s typical cost.” The hospital “advertised its COVID-19 testing on a large blue-and-white banner,” then charged each visit as an emergency room procedure. Federal legislation mandated that coronavirus testing be free for patients. “But eventually, American patients bear the costs in the form of higher insurance premiums.”

[minsyal]

Mutual Feelings Pt. 10, [Revali x Reader]

Summary: Read it yourself, lazy

The sun was unbearable. It had been a minute since you last visited Gerudo and the desert was even hotter than you last remembered. The City was cooler, but when you couldn’t bear to be within the City walls knowing you would have to sneak out at night, it was off limits. There was no way you were going to have the guards stopping you as you left only for Urbosa or one of the others to find out what you were doing. They’d think you were insane. To risk your life in the Yiga and monster-infested desert, especially at night, for a mythical flower would be idiotic.

Kara Kara was as lively as you recalled. With tired travelers lining the oasis, horny boys looking to sneak into Gerudo City, and hustlers insisting you purchase their goods it made for quite the atmosphere. Urbosa and Daruk greeted everyone with open arms as you pulled a small container from your satchel and handed it to Mipha. She cocked her head to the side, eyeing the thick liquid quizzically.

“It’s for your skin. It’ll protect against the sand and heat. Plus, you’ll be able to safely travel in the desert if needed without worry of dehydration.”

She nodded, securing it to her side, before turning her attention to the princess who was laying out the game plan. Zelda spoke quietly, wanting the conversation to remain as inconspicuous as the group could possibly be. There was no way to ensure clan members weren’t around and listening.

“I think we should split into two groups. One led by Urbosa, one by Revali.” Revali agreed with the princess, the suggestion inflating his ego. “Urbosa knows the desert better than anyone and Revali can easily navigate the skies if you get lost.”

“Sounds good t’ me!” Daruk pounded his hand on his chest.

“I’ll be traveling with Urbosa and Link… Mipha, would you mind joining us?” Mipha opportunely agreed to her request. “That leaves Revali with Daruk and [Name].”

“A good choice in pairing.” Urbosa noted, a knowing smirk on her face as she eyed you. “We should leave as soon as possible. The desert gets cold at night. I suggest we meet at the Outpost before sunset to report what we find.”

Traveling with Daruk and Revali proved to be difficult. Daruk could easily work his way through the sand but threw up large clouds in his wake. It was just your luck that you happened to be behind him. No matter the direction you stood, you struggled with the bits of dust and dirt that were attracted to your burning tear ducts. Revali flew from above, remaining suspended in the air just out of the sand’s gritty grasp.

Your shoes weren’t crafted for desert travel. They sunk down with each step and pulled a pound of sand up with them. At some point in the day, you became separated from the two. You could see Daruk’s cloud appear and disappear as he rolled through the desert. He stopped a few times near what looked like shrines. They shifted and waved in the excruciating heat. Revali vanished in the sky too, dipping down every now and again as he likely did what Daruk was doing.

You were perfectly fine being alone at this time. You had a different mission, a different undisclosed mission. Sand had not yet permeated the pages of your journal. By the end of the day, you imagined you would be brushing the thing out. You can only imagine how long you’ll be finding the stuff crushed and stuck down in the page’s crevices.

According to the book Sopho gave you, the flower should bloom in or near an oasis. It should be uplifted from the ground, on a plateau for example. This is to provide it with the best possible protection against those who wish to harvest its power. You squinted, brushing the line of sweat that dripped from your brow as you studied the pages. It was almost impossible to read your handwriting in the blinding daylight.

“Studying on the job, eh?” Revali appeared out of nowhere, taking his wing to block the sunlight from your eyes as you pivoted to see him. He wore his typical smirk. “You should be searching for shrines.”

“It’s hard to when your whole team leaves you in the dust,” you rubbed your eye, “literally.”

“I am surprised Urbosa assigned you to join Daruk and I, considering we’re the fastest travelers of the bunch. And you, well,” he put his other arm on his hip, “you’re a bit slow.”

“My bad Hylian’s don’t have a fast travel system. Some of us can’t fly or roll really fast.” The hand at your eyes continued rubbing.

“Stop doing that.” Revali scolded, moving to hold on your arm. “You’ll scratch your eye.” Still seizing your arm, he rustled through his own bag to pull a small canteen of water. “Look up at me, keep your eyes open.”

Doing as he said, you focused your gaze on him as he worked diligently to remove the cap and grasp lightly under your chin. He steadied your head, eyes flickering from yours elsewhere. When the chilled water poured from the cap, you flinched.

“Hold still, or I’ll leave you with sand in your eyes.” He instructed, grip tightening on your chin. “I imagine the walk back would be difficult when you go blind.” His hold lessened as he washed the dust from your eyes, and finally let go when he was pleased with his work. He stood back, moving to return to his former position of sun-blocker. Blinking the remaining water away, you wiped your face and dried your eyes with the loose fabric of your shirt.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“Revali?” You started, waiting for an acknowledging hum in response. “What did you want to say a few days ago at the castle?”

His head rose, chin lifting to aim his gaze upward. He took a deep breath as if thinking over the events of that night, before deciding against it and exhaling loudly. “Nothing you need to worry about. Some things go better unsaid.”

“It’s not good to keep secrets.”

“Interesting that you’re the one lecturing me on that. It’s not a secret, just,” he stopped, biting the inside of his mouth, “an observation. Anyway,” he motioned to the vast desert ahead of you. “Shall we?”

Traveling with Revali while he was on foot was strange. He walked slower to match your pace strutting about with his arms behind his back. The majority of his time was spent with closed eyes, not even attempting to locate anything. Maybe he actually enjoyed the heat. Daruk was nowhere to be seen, and likely wouldn’t be rejoining the group. He had told the two of you he may go rogue but be assured he’d find his way back. If not, Revali could find him with ease.

“Why aren’t you searching for shrines?” You asked, folding your book closed before tucking it back into your satchel.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’m trying, but like I said… it’s kind of hard.”

“You and I both know,” he stopped walking, “we’ve identified all the shrines in this desert.” He continued on toward a rock in the distance. “So why are we all out here today? Simply to waste time? Or mayhaps to appease the princess’s desire for adventure?”

“I’d say the latter.”

“Well, at least we’ll be returning with some information.” He pulled out his own notebook and tossed it in your direction. You scrambled to catch it, becoming annoyed to a chuckle that escaped his lips. “We’ll turn this in and call it a day. The princess can barely comprehend my calligraphy anyway.”

“Is it because it looks like you coated your talons with ink and stomped on the page?” You twisted and turned the pages this way and that, trying to read what on earth he wrote. It looked like chicken scratches. “Is this really the best you can do?”

“No, but it’s the most work I’ll put in on something we’ve already done.”

“Thank Hylia, I’m not receiving letters from you.” You handed it back to him. “I would never figure out what you remotely wanted to say.”

“Like you wouldn’t want letters from me?”

“I’d want legible letters.”

“So, you admit that you would enjoy receiving a letter from me.” He hummed to himself, pleased with his ability to talk circles around you. “I’ll have to drop one in the post when I return to the Village.”

“I don’t,” you defeatedly sighed, “shut up.”

The sun moved slowly through the crystal blue sky, hiding behind clouds every now and again before peeking back out to warm the land. Walking with Revali was becoming unusually relaxing. He spoke every now and again, bringing up the few oases that littered the dry sandy Sahara. You took mental notes of their locations, deciding that the Southern Oasis matched the description of where the flower would bloom. It was only 6 hours until your window of opportunity would open. You wouldn’t miss it.

“I’m calling it a day.” Revali said as he spied Kara Kara in the near distance.

“I don’t feel like we accomplished anything.”

“I could leave you out here if you truly wish to continue this hike.”

The rest of the Champions waited at the Outpost. Gathered outside, they were enjoying a platter of refreshing fruit purchased from a delighted hustler back in Kara Kara. Zelda and Mipha both looked exhausted, lying on their backs next to one another, shielding their eyes from the now-setting sun. Daruk was content, chattering away with Link about how “the food is good, but not nearly as good as what Goron City has.” Urbosa sat quietly, satisfied with the sounds of the palm tree leaves rustling against one another as the nightly breeze set in.

“You two enjoy yourselves?” She asked, the same smug smirk on her lips. “You took quite the walk out there.”

“We gathered what information we could.” Revali handed Zelda his notebook, appeased when she interestedly started ruffling through the pages.  “I, for one, would greatly appreciate turning in for the night.”

“I second that!” Mipha laughed, sitting up and resting her arms on the ground to support her. “The desert is so different from the Domain.”

“Well, it’s made of sand, dear.” Revali noted, bringing a hearty laugh from Daruk who slapped Link on the back, prompting him to politely join in.

Zelda, Urbosa, and Mipha all retired to the safety of the City after a small feast was brought out to the Outpost for everyone. Daruk and Link wanted to sleep outside near the door, resting on the large rock that served as a foundation for the Outpost. Revali opted to claim the tower as his, cozying up at the top. That left you with the one bed inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us inside?” Mipha asked, pulling the loose wool blanket closer to her body as she, Zelda, and Urbosa started for Gerudo. “It will be much colder out here. You should join us.” Zelda added.

“I want to go over my notes once more tonight. I’ll be less of a distraction out here. I don’t want my candle-light keeping you awake, especially after today.”

The girls nodded understandingly and left, but not before Urbosa could add her take. “Try not to spend too much time up on the tower, tonight. You’ll catch a cold.”

You pressed your hand to your blazing cheek, your hands cooling the skin to the touch. Why did she always have to make comments like that? She took enjoyment in making you blush.

Quietly, you closed the door to the Outpost, ensuring you hadn’t woken the two sleeping nearby. You watched as your footprints disappeared behind you as the harsh winds filled them with sand. Tugging the strap of the backpack up, you trudged forward. The Southern Oasis wasn’t too far away, maybe an hour’s walk at leisure, thirty minutes at a fast pace.

During the day, no group had reported on any sightings of the Yiga Clan or other dangerous monsters lurking in the desert. Night proved to be no different as you made your way peacefully to the oasis with no threats but the blowing wind and icy winds. It was different, the desert, at night. The moon illuminated each and every shadowy hill that you had to cross. There were no heat-caused waves or illusions of waterholes. There was only sand and sky.

The Oasis was difficult to climb, but you made it up after a few struggling minutes. There were glowing flowers all over the grassy plain. A small trickling stream cut through the middle of the plateau that hot-footed frogs took to with their chirping croaks melding together in the lively area. Crickets hopped from bushes into trees, hiding in the deep green brush.

The plateau was small, small enough to take off the carrying case for the flower and have no worries of losing it. You placed it down at your feet, twisting it into rest supported by the little sand that was up here. Opening it, you began examining each flower. The first had no gold speckling, as did the second, the third, the fourth, and fifth. The sixth was yet another silent princess, and the seventh was no different.

You sighed, having worked up a slight sweat. At this rate, you’d never find it. It had to be here. All signs pointed to this being its location: the oasis, the plateau, hell… even the desert.  After an hour of carefully inspecting the flowers, your eye was caught by the slight gold glitter of something in the corner of your eye. It shone and sparkled like a diamond, the moonlight bounced off its petals, reflecting like a thousand mirrors on the palm leaves. There was something almost ethereal about it. The way it gave off light where there was none was magnificent. That had to be it.

Carefully, you scooped your fingers into the dirt, unbothered as it dug beneath your nails. Carrying it slowly, you lowered it into the case and gathered water from the oasis to pour into the bottom compartment. The walk back would feel longer than that out there. You had no more drive now that the mythical flower was in your possession. You felt like you could finally relax. She would be okay.

Your feet hit the ground below the plateau, indenting in the sand. Each step back seemed longer and longer as you slogged back with a considerably heavier pack attached to your back. When the ground rumbled, you shrugged it off as exhaustion finally getting to you. When it rumbled for the second time, you assumed it to be a small earthquake. They weren’t uncommon in Hyrule. A guttural growl alerted you to it being more than a natural occurrence. The large lump that slunk below the sand, causing you to rise as it swam below, confirmed it wasn’t natural.

There were no monsters lurking in the desert, at least there were no monsters you knew of other than lizalfos and the occasional bokoblin that lost its way. A monster than used sand like water was new to you. You watched as it swam away, only to turn in your direction and charge at full speed.

You ran faster than you ever had before. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as your legs threatened to lock beneath you. Your knees ached from the trek you made at day, and your ankles burned to high hell. It felt as if your shoes had been set on fire. Your arms weighed down on you, quickly turning to ten-pound weights that threatened to topple you over. The Outpost was still a mile away. You could vaguely make out the outline of Daruk peeking out from the front corner.

The strap to the case harboring the flower loosened, prompting you to swing it to the front of your body. You hugged it tightly to your chest.

You continued running.

Your knees locked.

You fell.

The monster approached fast, the sound of sand falling like water was the only thing you could hear.

You closed your eyes.

A horrific, excruciating sound of agony howled through the desert. The sound echoed off the mountain walls in the distance, bouncing around in the canyon. The ground shook once more before all was still. Opening your eyes, you pulled the case closer as if to hide behind it. There stood Revali, breathing heavily as he lowered his bow. His back facing you.

“What on earth were you thinking?” He asked calmly, not daring to look in your direction. His voice slowly rose becoming furious. “Are you brain dead? Sneaking out at night like some foolish teenager. Leaving the safety of the Champions. For what?” You could see the rage in his eyes when he finally found the courage to face you. “If nothing, this proves you aren’t meant to travel among us. This type of recklessness will not be tolerated any longer after your last incident. What is so important it means dying?”

You opened your mouth to speak but was met with him cutting you off.

“No, I don’t want you to speak.” He huffed. “You’re an idiot.” He pursed his lips, eyes tearing away from your fallen figure. “Come on.” He began walking back to the Outpost. “Come on or I’ll leave you here for the next thing to kill.”

Silently, you pushed yourself from the ground, not bothering to brush the dust from your clothes. Revali walked ten steps ahead, turning briefly now and again to make sure you were still following. He was fuming. You were tired. The eventful night only accelerated your exhaustion, making every movement feel like the last.

“I’m going to save you.” You reminded her as she beamed brightly at you.

“I know you will!”

“Oh yeah? How are you so confident?”

“Because you’re a Champion. Champion’s don’t let people down.”

The Outpost was quiet, unbothered by the shaking ground or loud sound that settled over the desert. Slinking inside behind Revali, you held your head low.

“Go to bed.” He instructed, folding his arms over his chest after he threw the blanket back. “Did you not hear me? I said,” he stopped.

Water streamed from your eyes, soaking the hem of your shirt as you focused on the still-glowing flower. Tears fell in big drops, leaving slick trails as they raced down your face. Everything came collapsing in as the mental barrier you had set up months ago fell. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry no matter how difficult things became. The emotions, everything, you felt from the fear to the joy and the sadness that was pooling in your chest finally burst. The dam that contained this calamity of passion was crumbling. It felt good.

“Why are you crying?” Revali said in a hushed, more calming, tone. He crossed the room, taking the case from your quivering hands and placing it gently on the desk. You crashed to the floor, your knees giving out.

“She’s going to be okay.” You got out between sobs.

“She?” He contemplated before it all snapped into place. The puzzle pieces finally matched up. “Keumi.”

“She’s so sick, Revali.” Wiping at your eyes was futile, but you continued to do so. “She’s so sick, and that flower is going to save her. It’s going to cure all her hurt and pain… She can finally just be a kid.”

Without another word, he understood. Hesitantly, he took you in his arms, pulling your shaking figure close as he rested his head atop yours.  At some point, you moved to the twin-sized bed in the corner of the room. You relaxed into his chest, finding solace in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Why are you always so hard on yourself?” He wondered to himself, his voice coming out at no louder than the squeak of a mouse. He must have assumed you to be asleep. “I care about you, a lot.” A breath of air passed his lips as his heartbeat rose. “Of all people.” He tsked himself. “It had to be you.”

The two of you fell asleep, a calm peaceful sleep with no jittering kicks or unnerved grunts. It was quiet. It was nice.

“Have you seen [Name]?” Urbosa hollered from outside the Outpost to a groggy Daruk who shook his head and looked to Link who did the same. “Revali isn’t up on the tower, and I just worry that something…” She opened the wooden door to find a predictable scene, at least predictable to her. Rays trickled in from the window shades, the subtle glow giving the room enough light for her to make out the silhouettes of yours and Revali’s figures lying in the bed. The soft snores emitting from your direction made her smile.

“Find them?” Daruk rubbed his eye as Link rolled back over.

“No, but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

[sluttyprincessinarizona]

Holy shit, alright.

So, first off, hi. I’ve been having a tough few days because of various reasons that I may or may not get into in this post. I’ve been bottling up all of my feelings for too long and writing things down has always been easier for me than talking about them. Basically, this is me spilling a lot of my secrets so I can get them out of my head. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you expected or wanted from me, please skip this if you’re not okay with a post like this. 

TW//: Talk of anxiety and depression, mental and emotion manipulation(?), mentions of death and suicide, and just dark shit in general. Proceed with a lot of caution.

Hello. My name is Malachi. That’s not my birth name but it is the name I choose to go by. I am a non-binary African American person that is trying their absolute best in the life I was given. Admittedly, I’m not fairing very well but I continue to try everyday.

I come from a fairly large family. 8 siblings in total, 1 on my moms side and 7 on my dads. My mom and dad never married, they broke up when I was five years old, and when my dad moved out, I stayed living with my mom. My mom is bipolar and manic depressant and my older sister, my moms daughter, was a spoiled brat until I was born. From very early on, my sister would constantly tell me that I ruined her life, that she wished I was never born, that she hated me, etc. Unfortunately for me, my mom wanted me and my sister to get along so I was always around her. She would read books to me and have me around all the time. Because of this, I’m pretty sure anyway, I grew up to be very gifted. I entered kindergarten a year early, and all of my school life felt easy. I was never challenged. Even the gifted classes I was out in were hardly anything to me. Now, I know this sounds like I’m bragging, but I take no pride in these words or my talents. I’ll tell you why later.

Growing up was surprisingly difficult for me. My mom was struggling to support both of us so we moved house a lot. We moved into our grandma’s house at one point. That was when it was the worst. My sister would constantly tell on me, but when I turned the tables on her, she’d beg me not to. She’d promise that she’d ever tell on me again, and then turned around and threw away said promise as soon as I let it go. I was the “problematic” child. My sister berated me constantly, telling me that I was bad at dancing and singing, which is still one of my passions to this day. It stuck with me. Everything does.

Fastforward to middle school. I had spent the last few years of my life with a less than agreeable sister and a difficult to approach mother. I’ll get into my father’s deal in a little bit. Elementary school hadn't been good either. I was at a higher level than lost of people, so I would occupy my free time with books. PE and outside activities never intrigued me as much as most kids, and so I was then deemed the class outcast all the way until about 7th grade. Up until 5th, I trusted others way too easily. Someone could walk up to me, tell me their name and say they wanted to be friends and within a week I'd be telling them all my secrets and family troubles. It was stupid really, but no one taught me any different. I was betrayed a lot, and everyone in our grade knew things about me that I'm embarrassed to admit. It was heartbreaking to 5th grade me. Why was everyone so mean?

I was always more of a tomboy, even as a child. The girls were too "girly" for me and the boys didn't converse with girls so I was, again, alone.

By the time I got to 6th grade, I had already adapted a system. Go to school, do well, read in your free time, go home. No friends, no acquaintances, nothing. It was how I kept my heart safe. And it worked for a while. Luckily, I moved schools when I came up with the system, so no one was too keen on approaching me in the first place. Then, 7th grade came around. And holy god, was it horrible. For some reason, I made a friend. Now, she was nice. Very nice. We bonded over Undertale, she was great. We're still friends to this day. But I kept her at arms length, cause I had just broken the system. That wasn't apart of the plan. Even worse, I made two more friends. And worse than that, I developed my first ever crush on someone. All of my plans were failing, my walls were crumbling. But when these walls fell, my heart grew weaker still, cause having friends isn't as great as it should be. Especially in middle school.

Our small group was riddled with mental illnesses, and we'd joke about wanting to die at least twice a day. It was how we coped, even though none of us made any effort to get better. It wasn't the best, but 8th grade was somehow worse.

Our group split right down the middle. Half of the group wanted nothing to do with the other half. And I was stuck in the middle. I liked everyone, they were all my friends. How could I possibly choose between them?

And then, as if things couldn't get worse, one of my closest friends in that group called me out. Apparently, I had become so dependent on them, on her, that I was becoming "too outgoing" and annoying, and she stopped responding to me. I had let her inside my walls and she still hurt me deeper than anyone else. I apologized profusely. I had gotten so used to not being a bother that losing her trust was one of my worst fears. It scarred me. I spent days sulking, just wanting to properly apologize to her. I wanted to hear from her, I needed to. Eventually she forgave me, but the damage had been done. That was when I had come up with a new idea. Another system. I didn't execute it, but the idea sprouted in the back of my mind.

8th grade was the year of my first panic attack. It was dumb, really. I woke up, got ready for school, and realized there was an assignment I forgot to do that was due later that day. I had had a perfect record. My homework was never late, and it terrified me to no end to think that my streak would end like that. I sat against the wall of my bedroom, covering my mouth and hoping that I was crying quietly, so I wouldn't wake my dad. No one to help me, no one to ground me. I was spiraling for too long. The only thing that snapped me out of it was myself. I had to go to school or I'd be late, that was how I got myself out of that darkness. Pathetic, I know.

High school was a different battle field in and of itself. Sophomore, Junior and Senior year were pretty good, so I'll only talk about Freshman year.

I was very scared of high school. All the middle school teachers said high school teachers were ruthless, mean and impatient. They kicked people out of class, out of the whole school. School had been easy but high school was different. The mere mention of it made me nervous. Oh yeah, I haven't mentioned it before, but I have pretty bad anxiety. It's primarily social anxiety, but it gets bad at the worst possible times. I think I might have depression but I'm too scared to bring it up with my therapist, so that'll probably stay unsolved.

Freshman year wasn't very bad. It wasn't worse than 8th grade at least. What really got me was the workload. Self discipline, time management, all the mature people things that I had to learn. It made my anxiety skyrocket. I would be finishing assignments during lunch, mere hours before they were due. I was a rightful mess, on all accounts.

I had a big fallout with my dad, and that just made all of my problems worse. I'll get into that another time, seeing as this post is already too long.

Finishing high school was a breeze compared to earlier years. I made a small group of friends, many of which are onto bigger adventures in life. I haven't started college yet, but I haven't talked about what it is that I really wanted to talk about. The thing that's really been on my mind.

I'm nobody. I'm not just a nobody. I'm nobody. I honestly don't know who I am. My entire life, I had forfeited finding myself in favor of catering to others. I relinquished my personal freedom to make others life easier. I listened to everything my parents told me to do. No question, no complaints. I bend and broke myself to make my sister happy. I gave her so much of myself that I didn't have any left for me, yet she's still not happy with me. My friends don't know who I am. My mind is constantly thinking, I'm constantly drowning in dark thoughts and harmful words but they don't know. I hide it from them, I hid everything from them. I told them not to worry about it. And eventually, they did. It hurt. It stung. But it was my fault entirely.

My dad called me a robot once. I followed orders with feeling or hesitance. He was right. My constant thought process is all of my responsibilities. All of the things I need to do for someone else. Taking a break is impossible. Mt family needs me to function properly so they can live freely and without regret. I can't do that.

I can't eat what I want without making my mom angry in some way. I can't say or do or buy or receive anything without getting into an argument with my sister about how I'm somehow the spoiled one. Hell, I take a nap for too long and my mom gets upset at me. My dad is another ball game all on his own, so I won't talk about him right now.

What I'm trying to say it that my life isn't mine. My life is spent caring for others. Listening to other people over myself.

I'm horrible at taking compliments. I brush them off, deny them, pretty much anything other than saying thank you. It's not that I'm not grateful. I'm just tired of them. I've been showered with praise all my life, but it's bittersweet when you're taken advantage of every day. Taken for granted endlessly. They start to fade together.

Generic, everyday praise infuriates me to the highest level. Don't you dare say that cookie cutter bullshit to me. You think I haven't heard "oh you're so smart" before?? You think I haven't heard "you're beautiful" before??? I understand that you're just trying to be nice, but fuck off with that run of the mill fuckery.

Compliment me

How about you say, thank you for trying so hard for us?

Or, I see you helping out. I appreciate it.

Or, god forbid, you cab relax for once, I can take care of it.

Because god knows that I need a fucking break sometimes!

Oh, take a day off? Unless you want to come over here and handle my 101 responsibilities for this day alone, I suggest you shut that shit up right now.

Telling to take it easy doesn't fix the fucking problem.

One thing I know I do have are some major anger issues. That's not easily solved. None of my problems are.

At this point, I feel like I am my problems. Without my anxiety and my anger, who am I?

Who would I be?

Would I be better? Worse? Who would I have become?

I don't want help because help would change me. Help would get rid of me.

Whoever that me may be.

[thecarmillacurator]

Dear Future Wife: The Plumbin’s Broke

Dear Future Wife,

I’m really frustrated tonight.

The sump pump died today and backed up all the plumbing in the house.  So I had to get the flooding under control.  Which let me tell you, took a while, AND I was naked for it because I have a really bad cold and I happened to be in the bathtub trying to get warm at the time and the wastewater was so terrible I couldn’t get around to get to my room for clothes and they would have just been ruined immediately anyway.

So after that I had to start trouble shooting.

Which meant going under the house into the crawl space in shorts (that have long sense become too large for me and were constantly falling down) and flip flops (because I couldn’t get to my shoes or pants without dragging water through the house), and it was full of mud and spiders down there like normal.  And then I traced the drain pipes and saw where water was back-flowing out of the pipes.

And then I tried Drano, and using the snake on any drains that might have been responsible (which I already knew was probably futile because of how I had mapped the drain system under the house). That of course didn’t work (didn’t have high hopes anyway) so while I was waiting for the Drano I tried to call the plumbers.  No one was available, unless I wanted to pay $176 an hour for overtime.  (Please remember I walked away from a career that was destroying me last year so I could be a writer instead, so now that I’ve burned through my little retirement account, I’m in growing debt.)  But, even if I want them to come out, they can’t yet, “Oh, so sorry.”

So then I’m finally able to get fully dressed in real clothes, and go outside around the back to check the external overflow pipe to see if I can snake out the main drain pipe leading to the pump tank. I can’t get it open because my dad moved in with me, claimed all my tools as his and promptly made it so that neither of us can find any of them, so I didn’t have the right wrench to open the pipe cap. 

I was furious, for some reason, at you, while I was tromping in and out of the garage, and thinking, “You know, it doesn’t matter that it appears I might not have actually met you yet.  You should be here to help me with this, or at least be moral support (and maybe to wiggle your eyebrows and call me a stud), because I am TIRED of always having to be the responsible one for crises like these, feeling alone.  It’s been going on for way too many years of my life.  For once, I’d like to have someone help take care of me in these situations, and not the other way around. Or, you know, at least coo over me a bit. That might sound like I’m being a cry baby, but Baby, today I am so tired and overwhelmed and alone, I NEED to cry.”

But no, you haven’t bothered to show up yet.   So you know what I decided?  I don’t think I’m normally the kind of gal to cut a babe off because I’m mad, but I decided you’re not getting any this week. And, moreover, just for that I’m also not wearing any of my Victoria’s Secret this week.  Especially not the lace bodysuit I like to have on when I wear jeans and a flannel shirt. (That’s right, I’m half-Montana, half-Alaska, that makes me a bonafide lumbersexual.) So there.

And so after some thinking, since I was on my own, I MacGyver’d a solution to opening the pipe using (very cleverly, I might add) a long-shafted woodworking clamp.  And wow, that was exciting, because the water immediately flowed up and out carrying things with it that most people would scream about. But no, I did not freak out.  I did more trouble shooting.  I snaked the pipe.  Thought maybe I had it fixed.  Tried running the toilets and sinks.  But no, still backed up.

So then, what is left but to open the ejector pump casing?  Because by then my troubleshooting says that is definitely where the problem is.  Engage very strong muscles (thanks to the swimming and mountain hiking I do now on a regular basis), and off comes the insanely too heavy black PVC cover.  (Seriously, it’s like a quarter of the size of a Volkswagen Beetle and weighs half as much as one.)  Oh, underneath that there’s also a sewer cover that requires use of the ratchets which my father has also misplaced?  No problem! Of course!  I’ll just find a really too-big box-end wrench lying around, and then find just the right sized rock to wedge in between the hex bolts and the wrench and, presto, I get it off.  (I guess in that sense it’s going to get more action from me than you tonight, honey.)

Wow, lovely! Six feet of really gross water greets me.  I have to empty out about thirty gallons (by hand) before I can find the reason the sewer alarm didn’t go off… the alarm float was stuck.   Keep bucketing!  And then I find the pump float.  Cue fishing out nasty upon nasty, and then trying to clean off the float and pump mechanisms. Play around with the breaker system. No go.  Cue devising a chained water-pitcher with stick assembly that is narrow enough that I can keep bucketing out another additional fifteen or twenty gallons.  Now I can see the bottom, sort of.  (Boy, does it smell!) 

And guess where you are for this?

NO WHERE TO BE FOUND.

You are NOT gettin’ lovin’ tonight. Period.  I am very mad now.

Cue pulling up the entire float assembly and cleaning it in case the trigger is just blocked. (TOTALLY GROSS!)

No go.

Finally, after four hours, being terribly sick with a cold, and being surrounded with nastiness, I have no choice but to wait it out overnight for the “trained professionals” to come tomorrow, charge me too much money to come out and tell me I need a new pump, and then charge me too much to come out again at a later point to replace said pump.

Did I mention I’m in debt and am struggling to be a writer?  And you’re not even here to encourage me in that.  Seriously, can’t you spare me a few measly words of encouragement? A little peck on the cheek? Fingers through my hair? Sweet nothings and a tug on the earlobe with your teeth? I’m your future wife for cryin’ out loud, coddle me!

So, yes, I am disappointed in you, Future Wife.  Because more than my friends, or my family (who tried to help, but let’s face it, they all abdicated and I’ve largely been forced into being the man of the house since I was a young woman), or anyone else I want to gripe to or get help from or get a pat on the head from for having ALMOST fixed it myself, I wanted YOU to curl up with me tonight and say, “Sorry babe, but boy you sure gave it a good go and I’m so proud of you.”  A back rub. A little loving affection. Warm hands and a soft chest to pillow up on. I need affirmation so badly, and it’s so *expected* that I’ll just get things done, no one thinks to give it.  You know, I’m dirty, and I’m hungry, and no one is here to put warm food in my tired belly.  I’d like you to say, “You know what, since the plumbin’s broke tonight, we’ll go out for pizza, share a pitcher of beer and I’m gonna make you dance to the jukebox even though you hate it.  And THEN so I don’t have to see my bae relegated to peeing in a bucket tonight (I’ll know it’s really just that *you* don’t want to pee in a buck though, but I’ll let that slide), we’re going to check into a hotel where you can have a working toilet and get a hot shower before joining me for a cuddle in bed.”

But no, you’re absent.  Nowhere to be found. 

So, screw you.

No, wait, I forgot I said I was cutting you off this week. 

Which might actually have been a difficult conviction for me to adhere to, if it weren’t for the fact that you apparently don’t exist yet.

Next time, do better? Pretty please?

Sincerely, 

Your Future Wife