#it’s 2 a.m I should’ve done at least one of those things by now

[myname-isnia]

If you’ve never wrestled with yourself for four hours straight practically begging yourself to go eat because yes, you don’t feel hungry now, but you haven’t eaten since breakfast so in the morning you’ll be completely miserable, then that is an experience I absolutely do not recommend

[itneverendshere]

I love pogue!reader and rafe sm. I’m so excited every time you post them ❤️ what if reader realizes she’s really falling for rafe and it’s getting serious so she’s tries to self sabotage and end it. She’s thinking he’s THE kook and she’s a pogue. It can’t last and she won’t survive that heartbreak. so rafe starts to panic but then realizes what’s she’s doing by ending it so he’s just like lol no nice try I’m not going anywhere

 i would follow you home - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) word count: 3.1k

hope you enjoy, i love them too 🩵

It was mid-afternoon, that quiet lull between lunch and dinner when the regulars started to trickle in. And like clockwork, you were wiping down the bar, mindlessly watching the condensation drip from a glass of iced tea when you saw Rafe strolling in.

He always had that cocky walk, shoulders rolled back like he owns the place, which, you guess, technically he kinda did, or at least his dad did. Cameron Development Group practically built the country club.

He spotted you and the corner of his mouth lifted in that way that made your stomach flip. God, you hated how it still got to you.

After months of this—him swinging by the bar at the end of his golf games, lounging against the counter like it was no big deal, driving you home, saving you from the storms, letting you kiss him—your heart should’ve calmed the hell down. But no, here you were, butterflies fluttering in your chest, fingers tightening around the rag you were using to clean.

You tossed it on the counter and busy yourself with stacking glasses.

“Hey, stranger.” His voice was all smooth like he knew exactly what effect it had on you. And he did. You were still a shitty liar and he learned that fast. 

You glanced up, trying to keep things cool, casual. “Hey yourself.”

He settled into one of the barstools, leaning forward, his blue eyes locking on yours. “You off soon?”

You shrugged. “Depends. Why?”

The truth was, you knew why. You knew exactly what he was asking.

He was wondering if you would have time after this—time to sneak off to that little spot by the docks where you'd been meeting up, where things between you had been getting more…a little complicated?

And that’s exactly why you needed to end this.

It’s not like you hadn’t seen it coming. You’d known for a while that whatever this thing was with Rafe, it was headed in a direction you couldn’t afford to follow. He was the poster child for Kook royalty. Born with a silver spoon and all that. Meanwhile, you were still just the bartender, a Pogue, barely scraping by. 

It started simple—quick conversations after work, long talks on the drive home, those random texts at 2 a.m. that turned into hours of you two confessing things you’d never say out loud to anyone else.

You din’t know when it shifted into this—this weird gray area where everything felt more intense. Maybe when you all but kissed him when he picked you up after the storm. That had to be it.

Because you knew how this story ended. You knew what happened when a girl like you fell for a guy like Rafe Cameron.

Heartbreak.

And you wouldn’t survive that.

“I’ve been thinking,” You blurted out, suddenly very aware of the way his eyes were still on you. Too aware. You reached for a clean glass, filling it with soda water to distract yourself. “Maybe we should… I dunno, cool it for a bit.”

His smirk faltered. “Cool it?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged again, trying to seem nonchalant, even though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I mean, this was fun and all, but let’s be real—”

“Be real?”

You nodded, not daring to look up from the glass you were holding.

“We’re not exactly from the same world, Rafe. It was bound to end sooner or later. Might as well rip the band-aid off now.”

Silence. For a beat, he doesn’t say anything, and for a second you wonder if you had done it—if you’d actually convinced him that this wasn’t worth it, that he should’ve just walked away and left you with at least a sliver of your heart intact.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t like a mocking laugh, but it was still a sound you weren’t expecting. Your eyes snapped up to his face, and you saw that damn smirk was back. Only this time, there was something softer in his eyes, something almost… amused?

“Oh, I see what this is.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking way too pleased with himself.

You frowned, instinctively grabbing a towel and wiping the counter again, trying to distract yourself from the way his eyes were making you feel seen. Too seen. 

“What?”

“You’re scared.”

Your stomach dropped. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupted, standing up and rounding the bar until he was way too close, until you could smell the cologne clinging to his skin and the fresh grass scent of the golf course. He caged you in with his body, one hand gripping the counter behind you, the other reaching up to tilt your chin so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You’re trying to push me away because you’re scared. But newsflash, sweetheart—nice try. I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, because damn it, he was right. He was completely, 100% right, and you hated it. You hated that he could see right through you like that, see all your fears, all the things you’d been trying so hard to bury.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

You didn’t know what to say because, deep down, you didn’t want to believe that it mattered to him. You wanted to believe that he saw you for more than just the girl behind the bar. But every time you let yourself get close, that voice in the back of your head reminded you that this wasn’t some fairytale.

“Rafe, you’ll get bored,” you mumbled, barely able to get the words out. “You’ll realize this was just… a phase. I mean, we’re friends, right? We can just… go back to that.”

“Go back to that?” He repeated your words slowly like he was testing them out. And then he laughed—this short, disbelieving sound that made your stomach twist, “You’re trying to run.”

“Am not.”

“You are.

“There’s nothing to run from,” You snapped, though even you didn’t believe that.

He was close enough now that you had to tilt your head almost all the way back to meet his eyes, and there was something so raw, so real in the way he was looking at you that you couldn’t breathe.

“Nothing, huh?”

“Nothing,” you managed to repeat, but the word came out more like a question than a statement. The self-doubt you’d been trying to ignore bubbled up, and you hated yourself for it. 

He leaned in closer, and you could feel his breath against your skin. “If you think there’s nothing between us, then why does it hurt so much to even think about letting it go?”

His words hit a particular soft spot, and you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, that you could walk away and be fine.

But the truth was, you weren’t fine. You weren’t even close to fine.

The whole time you’d been telling yourself this was just a fling, some wild phase that would burn out eventually—because that was what made sense. You weren’t supposed to fall for the guy who came from money and lived in a mansion on the hill, while you were still sharing a room with your sister in a run-down house, after yours got destroyed, on the wrong side of the island. 

This was never supposed to be real.

“You don’t get it. You’ve never had to worry about—about someone like me not fitting into your life. You don’t have people looking at you and thinking ‘what the hell is he doing with her?’”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and his thumb brushed a light circle against your waist, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Who cares what people think? I’m not with them. I’m with you.”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him, stepping back just enough to put some space between you.

"No. No, it’s not that simple. You don’t get it. You don’t get what it’s like to always be the one left behind. You’ll get bored, and then what? You just walk away and I’m the one left picking up the pieces."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you weren’t done.

"And don't say you won’t, because everyone does! I’ve seen this before. I’ve been through it. I don’t survive guys like you." Your voice cracked, and damn it, you hated how vulnerable you sounded, but it was too late. It was all spilling out now, all the fear you’d kept bottled up.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and instead of the cocky smirk you expected, there was something different in his eyes. Anger? No, frustration maybe. But not at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “You think I’m just some guy playing games, huh? That I’m gonna wake up one day and decide you’re not worth it?”

You crossed your arms, hugging yourself as if that would protect you from the way his words were hitting you too hard. “Isn’t that what happens?”

“No. Not with me.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do know that!” His voice rose, and you flinched a little, caught off guard by the intensity.

He noticed and apologized immediately, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours but stopping just short. "I’m here, with you. Because I want to be. Don’t you get that?"

You hated the way he was looking at you, the way his words hit with brutal honesty you weren’t used to—it made you pause. Your eyes fleeted away, focusing on the floor because looking at him was too much.

"Just let me go," you whispered, "It’ll hurt less now."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and before you could pull back, he stepped forward, closing the gap between you in one swift move.

His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes, and there was no escape from the intensity in them.

"No," he said, firm but quiet. "I’m not letting you go. You’re not pushing me away. I’m not leaving, no matter how hard you try to sabotage this."

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you shook your head, trying to argue, but then his lips were on yours, cutting off whatever weak protest you had left. The kiss wasn’t gentle or slow—it was harsh, like he was trying to make you understand something without words. 

 And damn it, you kissed him back. Because of course, you did.

Because despite everything you said, everything you feared, you wanted this. You wanted him. But the second you felt yourself giving in, you pushed him back, your hands pressed against his chest, trying to regain some control. 

"Stop doing that," you snapped, breathless.

"Doing what?" He sounded just as breathless, but he didn’t step away.

"Kissing me like you can fix this. Like—like I’m just gonna believe you."

He exhaled sharply, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close. "You don’t have to believe me now, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you, okay? Just stop trying to run every time it gets hard."

"I don’t know how to do this," you admitted quietly, your hands still resting against his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I’ll show you," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Just stop pushing me away."

For a moment, you let yourself just be there with him, your defenses crumbling piece by piece. You didn’t know how long it would last, or if you could even survive it, but maybe… just maybe, he was worth the risk.

But still, you couldn’t help but mutter, "You’re so stupid, you know that?"

His lips twitched into a smile. “And you’re still kissing me, again, so what does that say about you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your lips twitched with a smirk of your own.

 “Says I’m just as stupid as you,” you muttered under your breath, but the words lacked bite. Your hands stayed on his chest, fingers still gripping his polo like you were afraid to let go, like maybe if you held on tight enough, you wouldn’t fall apart, “Do you always go around kissing the saff?” You mumbled out.

Rafe’s hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you in closer. His forehead still rested against yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and steady, brushing against your skin. It was infuriating how easy it was to melt into him.

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with the start of a grin, “Only the ones who can’t seem to stay away from me.”

You groaned, shoving him in the chest with just enough force to make him stumble back a step. “God, you’re insufferable.”

He caught your wrists before you could pull away completely, his grip gentle, keeping you close enough that you could still feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes. “Yeah, well, you seem to like insufferable.”

“Do I though?” You quipped, trying to sound indifferent, but your heartbeat was giving you away. You could feel it hammering in your chest, “Because I feel like this whole thing is a bad idea. You know, like ‘kiss the rich guy, ruin your life’ kind of bad idea.”

Rafe’s expression softened, and the teasing glint in his eyes faded. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” You tried to play dumb.

“Talk like this doesn’t mean something. Like I don’t mean something to you.” His voice was low, but there was a seriousness in it that made your stomach flip. “We’ve been doing this dance for a while now, and every time it starts to get real, you act like it’s just… casual.”

Your throat tightened, and you tried to pull your wrists free, but he didn’t let go, making it clear he wasn’t letting you run again.

“Maybe it is casual,” you said, even though the words tasted like a lie. “Maybe we’re just two people having a good time, and that’s it.”

He shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way that made your chest ache. “Nah. You’re not fooling me anymore. You don’t kiss someone like you kissed me just for fun.”

You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “Rafe…”

“And you don’t look at me like that when I walk in unless there’s more to it.” His voice softened as his thumb traced light circles against your skin. “So stop pretending it’s nothing.”

“I should be working.”

But Rafe wasn’t letting you off that easy. “Yeah, you probably should,” he said, but his hands didn’t move, and neither did his eyes.

“So you’re gonna let me go?”

“Why’d you kiss me that day?” he asked, "I’ve been wondering.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the question. He was so close, and it was hard to think, let alone answer something that felt so…disarming like everything you’d been running from was waiting in his words.

"I don’t know," you groaned, suddenly feeling like a cornered animal. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

His fingers traced a slow line down your arm, sending shivers through you. "You sure about that?" His voice was quiet, like he already knew you were lying, knew you too well for you to hide behind that excuse. "Because it didn’t feel like just some random kiss."

You scoffed, trying to laugh it off, trying to keep your cool, but the sound came out shaky.

"It was— I don’t know, Rafe. It was just the heat of the moment, okay? The storm… everything." You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze because you knew he wasn’t buying it. "You saved me, and I guess I was—"

"Grateful?" he interrupted, his brow arching. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You winced. "I didn’t mean it like that."

“Yeah, well, it sure sounds like you’re trying to make it seem like it meant nothing. Like you didn’t feel anything when you kissed me.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it impossible to respond right away. He wasn’t wrong. That kiss had meant something—maybe more than you were ready to admit to yourself, let alone to him.

“You can’t keep acting like you don’t care, because I know you do. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t.”

The way he said it, so certain, so sure of himself—it made your heart race even faster. 

“Why do you care so much?” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Why does it matter?”

He frowned, like you had just asked the stupidest question in the world. “Because it matters to me.”

Your chest tightened at that, and you hated how much you wanted to believe him. "I don’t want to get hurt, Rafe."

"I’m not gonna hurt you." His voice was low, serious, like a promise, but you’d heard promises like that before. "I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. I’m asking for a chance, just one chance. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your chest tightened as you stared up at him. He was serious. Like, really serious. And you were scared out of your mind because you wanted to believe him so badly. But trusting someone, letting them in? That was terrifying.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, finally admitting it out loud.

“I know,” he murmured, his forehead resting gently against yours. “But I’m scared too, okay? I want to be with you. So, please, just… give us a shot.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, your mind racing a hundred miles per hour.

You could still feel his lips on yours, the way he made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could let your guard down for once. And the truth was, despite all the reasons you’d been telling yourself to walk away, your heart was telling you to stay.

 “Okay.”

His breath caught. “Okay?”

You opened your eyes, “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a chance. Don’t screw it up.”

Rafe’s lips curved into that stupid, cocky grin, “I won’t. I promise.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but instead, you found yourself smiling back. 

Maybe this was crazy, maybe you were setting yourself up for heartbreak or maybe you’d really found yourself a soulmate.

[grimbeak]

Pt 2/the aftermath of Mistakes. 

Tws for this drabble- attemped suicide (sort of. no one actually gets hurt), discussions of suicide/self-harm attempts (neither suicide or self-harm are directly mentioned, but it’s obvious that that’s what the characters are talking about.), and descriptions of a panic attack/mental breakdown.

let’s continue.

Mistakes- pt 2 

Jay had lost his friends the other ninja somewhere in Ninjago city, dissipating his dragon halfway through the chase and hiding in an alley for a few minutes. 

After he got out of the city, he had flown to Stix- didn’t take too long when you were flying, surprisingly. 

And now he stands in front of Ronin’s shop, wondering if it would be rude to simply phase through the door. 

He looks down at the water slapping against the poles below him.

He could just jump in. 

Jay knocks, eventually, and it takes a few seconds for Ronin to answer. When he does, he’s holding a sword. For some reason. “If you’ve come about the stolen gold, I swear, I didn’t do anyth-” his eyes land on Jay. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Hi.” Jay fidgets where he’s standing. “I’m assuming you already know about what happened on the island?”

Ronin nods, not setting down his sword, but lowering it. “Mhm. Few tribe members passed through here a couple weeks ago- I managed to drag the story out of ‘em.” 

“Great,” Jay says sarcastically, “so everyone knew what happened before I did.”

“Yeah, I guess- wait, knew?” Ronin narrows his eyes. “So you know.”

“That I went insane and tried to kill my fri- my team? Yes. Yes, I do. That they then killed me? I also know that.” 

“...Good for you,” Ronin says slowly, leaning his sword against a cabinet. The duo stand there in silence for a moment until Ronin sighs, stepping back inside and holding the door open. “It’s gonna rain soon,” he notes, glancing up at the thickening clouds. “You coming in or not?” 

Jay hesitates, looking up at the gray sky. 

It would be so easy to stay out here and just burn. 

The wind whips up around him as he finally steps into Ronin’s shop, the first few droplets of rain darkening the wood.

It’s... less messy than the last time Jay was here, but it’s still full of probably-stolen items. Ronin directs him towards a chair near his desk. “Here. Sit.” Jay obeys, plopping down onto the chair and drawing up his knees to his chest. Ronin wanders over to the door, locking it (probably so the police can’t get in.) before going back over to the counter, where he drags a chair out and sets it a few feet away from Jay’s. “So. What happened?” 

Jay takes a moment to look at an only mildly-broken clock hanging in the corner of Ronin’s shop. It took him about three hours to get here, considering he had to walk through most of Ninjago City. “I,” he starts, “overheard some... things. On purpose.” 

“Ah. Eavesdropping.” Ronin gives him an approving nod. “Well done.”  

Jay looks at him.

“Sorry. Go on.” 

So Jay tells him.

The Aeroblades are in the left corner of the room, around ten feet away from where he’s sitting. They’re lying on the second self from the floor. 

“Well,” Ronin says eventually, “that sucks.” He eyes Jay warily. “So why’d you come here, anyway? Seems kind of a weird place to run away to.” 

Jay shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea,” he lies. “They won’t... the others won’t think to look for me here. With all the water and all. I just need some time to think, anyway.”

Ronin eyes the singular window in his shop, looking at the rain pouring down onto the docks. “Well, you have plenty of that. And, if you want, I can just tell them you’re not if here if you come by.”

“You’d... you’d do that for me?”

“I mean I’m stuck with you until the rain lets, which, in this place, can take hours. Maybe even a day, if we’re lucky.” His tone is sarcastic, and Jay offers a weak smile. “‘course you can stay here, kid. Just don’t touch anything.” 

“...Thanks,” Jay whispers eventually, turning to stare out the window. 

Idly, he wonders if the rain would be so kind as to redirect itself through a hole in the roof and spray directly onto him.

The rain, being inanimate, doesn’t reply, and instead keeps doing what rain does best: falling. 

***

Ronin knows the kid didn’t just come out here to hide out. He could’ve done that anywhere- the mountains, someone’s house (he can turn invisible, right?), or even a crappy store somewhere in Ninjago City. 

But no.

He chose Stix. Specifically, Ronin’s shop in Stix.

And Ronin thinks he knows why. 

Jay is... definitely not in the right state of mind at the moment. And for a good reason- your friends indirectly telling you that they were forced to kill you in self-defense after you tried to kill them and raze your home has gotta mess you up. 

Ronin locked the door to his shop so Jay wouldn’t go outside to purposefully disintegrate himself (now that he thinks about it, the blue ghost can go through walls.... still, he tried). 

But Ronin has other items in his shop. Some of which, unfortunately, are used for taking out ghosts.

Which is why he’s not at all surprised to see Jay holding an Aeroblade as Ronin comes out from the back room. 

“Jay, put it down.” The blue ninja jumps, nearly dropping the weapon as it starts to phase through his fingers. He catches it, though, being careful not to touch the sharp bits. He turns, and Ronin can see his eyes.

Wide and wild.

Scared.

This isn’t going to be easy, is it.

“Jay, please put the Aeroblade down.” Ronin’s voice is calm, despite himself, and some part of him wonders why. 

“I don’t-” Jay’s voice is shaky and unstable, and Ronin mentally prepares himself for the worst in a few minutes. “I could just- I could-” His hands are shaking too, Ronin realizes. 

“You had a chance a few hours ago,” Ronin says slowly, “over the water. And even now it’s still raining. You can phase through walls, can’t you? So why this? Why now.”

“I- I’m-” Jay hesitates, for a second, breath still coming out in short, tiny little gasps. “It’s- I don’t- I don’t want to hurt them.” 

The other ninja. 

He’s scared that he’ll lose it again and try to hurt them.

“Well,” Ronin starts, “the first thing you did after finding out what you did was run here, right?” Jay nods, warily, and Ronin continues. “If you were going to hurt them, then wouldn’t you have done it back at the temple? You ran here to protect them from you. Or,” he adds after seeing Jay’s hesitate expression, “you came here to protect yourself from them.”  

“It was- I- it was both, I-I think,” Jay manages, breath calming slightly. His grip on the Aeroblade is still tight, though, and if his fingers weren’t a shade of green and see-through, Ronin thinks they would be white from squeezing the weapon so tightly. “I don’t- they killed me.” 

“I know,” Ronin whispers, stepping closer. Jay lets him, although he does pull the Aeroblade slightly closer to his chest- the spikes are pointing at various walls, though, not at the ghost boy, so that’s good for now. “I know they did, and they shouldn’t have, even if you tried to hurt them. They should’ve tried to contain you, not kill you.”

“I hurt them, too.” 

“It wasn’t your fault- you weren’t thinking straight.” Ronin hesitates, for a moment, thinking. “Didn’t the tribe pull some voodoo stuff on you? That would’ve messed anyone up, even me.”  

“Yeah,” Jay whispers, “messed up my head. But- but they had a lot to work with, I mean- the feelings that my team didn’t- doesn’t care about me, the feelings that I was abandoned by my parents, my real parents... I had those already. ‘s not like they put those thoughts in my head when they were messing with it.” 

“That’s still OK. Kid, from what I’ve seen, your friends treat you like crap. Even if they’ve been trying to make up for it, that still doesn’t excuse their actions. Doesn’t mean you didn’t do anything wrong, though. But you weren’t in control of yourself for most of it, and... ‘sides. Power corrupts even the best of people unless it’s handled carefully.” 

“Yeah.” Jay looks at the Aeroblade in his hands. “...Zane was being controlled in the Never-Realm, once. Evil staff. Evil henchperson. He froze a lot of people.”

“Ooookkkk.” Ronin’s gonna have to ask exactly why the heck these kids haven’t gotten therapy yet. “So, you and him have something in common, then. You’ve both been controlled by forces you couldn’t stop. Maybe you should try talking to him about it. When you’re ready, of course,” Ronin adds quickly. “I don’t think the rest of your guys have the brain cells to come looking here.” 

Jay doesn’t respond, but he does allow Ronin to step closer. Ronin reaches for the Aeroblade. Jay hesitates, drawing it worryingly closer to his chest, but eventually lets the other man take it, setting it down on a table beside him. 

Ronin takes a moment to look into the kid’s eyes, which are suddenly welling up with tears and oh there’s a child in his arms, isn’t that weird.

(He remembers why he was so calm, now. He’s done this before.

Maybe this time, the kid will live.) 

Jay’s arms are tight around him, and Ronin freezes before letting him bury himself in Ronin’s coat, muffled sobs cutting through the soft pitter-patter of rain outside. 

Do tears burn ghosts?

Maybe, but Ronin’s not entirely sure that Jay wants it to stop. 

Jay’s obviously not concentrating hard enough for Ronin to be able to touch him at the moment, so he settles for awkwardly patting the kid’s shoulder while trying to stop his hand from going through his body.

Maybe... maybe this time, things’ll be OK.

***

It’s nearly four A.M before the ninja come knocking on Ronin’s door.

Jay’s been asleep for almost six hours now, passed out on the couch in the back room. Ronin’s not sure how much longer he’ll sleep, but hey, at least he’s not having any nightmares.

Ronin, however, has been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, and he wants to gouge his eyes out. Even thieves need a good nights rest. 

(He doesn’t want to admit that he’s staying awake in case Jay has another breakdown. Ronin just can’t sleep because of the rain. The rain that’s been lightly sprinkling for about an hour now. The rain that no one can hear from inside. That rain.) 

The rest of the ninja, presumably, are standing outside the door, exhausted and soaking wet. 

Ronin opens the door.

The rest of the ninja are standing outside the door, exhausted and soaking wet. 

“Hello,” Ronin says.

Kai, who has apparently no idea what manners are, asks immediately, “Is Jay here?” 

Ronin narrows his eyes, pulling the door slightly closed. “And what are you going to do if he is?”

Kai opens his mouth and gets nudged by Zane, who gives him a stern look like ‘remember what we talked about’. Kai, re-opening his mouth after a moment, says awkwardly, “We’re just going to talk to him. About... how we should have told him what happened on the island. And we’re gonna apologize, for, uh, killing him.” 

Ronin considers this, and eventually the door open the rest of the way. “It might be a while before you can apologize,” he says, and adds upon seeing Kai’s confused face, “don’t wake him up.” 

He leads them into the back room, where Cole immediately, for no reason other than seeing Jay asleep on the couch, goes ‘awwwww’. He is instantly shushed by Zane. Nya, however, studies her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend? Ronin’s not invested in all these relationships.) before going; “Is he using your coat as a blanket?”

Ronin, clearly not wearing his coat, glares at her. “No.” 

Lloyd studies the sleeping ghost for a moment. Finally, he says, “How long has he been here?” 

Ronin bites his lip, beginning to herd the team out the doorway so Jay doesn’t wake up. “Around... half a day now. Since yesterday, at least.” 

Kai thinks about this for a moment, like he always does when he has to think about things that are ridiculously easy to understand. “And what was he doing here, exactly?”

They’re all back in the main shop area, now, and instead of answering directly, Ronin walks over to the table and the shelf and hands Kai the two Aeroblades that remain in the shop. “I think you should take these.” 

Kai takes one as Cole takes the other, the fire ninja looking up in confusion. “What, is Jay gonna hurt us- did you hurt him?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Then who-” Kai trails off as he thinks for a moment. His eyes widen. “Oh,” he whispers. “Did he- I mean, was he...”

“He tried to,” Ronin says simply. “He wanted to. I talked him out of it, though.”

“God,” Kai whispers, staring in horror at the weapon in his hand. “Thanks.” 

“There’s another thing I wanted you to talk about.” Ronin pulls out the chair Jay was sitting on earlier and sits down. The ninja have nowhere to sit. Ronin doesn’t care. “I have... a house. Up in the mountains.”

Cole narrows his eyes. “Is it your house or someone else’s house.”

“...You don’t need to know the answer to that right now. Anyway, even if Jay wants to talk to you guys, I doubt he’ll want to live with you for a while until he gets his head on straight. So, he can come to the mountains with me for a while- I need to stock up on some rare items only found up there, anyway. Plus, we’ll be away from all the... water.” 

“Isn’t snow made of water?”

Ronin looks at Cole. “Did snow affect you when you were a ghost?” Cole hesitates, then shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Wait,” Kai interrupts, “Jay has parents. Can’t he stay with them instead of some thief in the mountains for a few months?”

“Have you told them about his situation?”

Kai hesitates. “We told them he was dead.” He goes quiet. “We, uh, forgot to tell them he was back as a ghost. I think he just assumed we told them at some point.” 

...This kids are all idiots. “You’re all idiots. Jay can stay with them if he wants to, of course. Just a suggestion since you guys won’t know where we live and won’t come to bother us every two days.” 

“Oh.” Kai considers this. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Ronin stands up (and pretends not to notice Cole immediately stealing his seat), sighing. “You guys can either come back in a few hours or sleep on the floor, I don’t care.” And with that, he walks off to the back room where Jay’s still fast asleep.

(Later, after they come back, the ninja will find him asleep on the opposite side of the couch. He’s sitting up fast asleep, sword having fallen to the floor a while ago.

He looks peaceful.

And Jay does too.) 

[allthingsfangirl101]

Much Needed Interference–Zac Efron

Request by @joyfullyswimmingface​

Zac's POV

I walked in, exhausted after a long day of filming and re-filming. All I wanted to do was grab a beer, sit down, and watch a game.

"You're home."

I turned around to see Y/N smiling at me. I walked over and pressed a soft kiss on her lips.

"Hey, babe," I smiled down at her. I gave her another kiss before pulling away and heading to the fridge.

With a beer in hand, I turned around and saw Y/N leaning against the kitchen island, her arms crossed over her chest.

"What?" I asked as I opened it.

"Zac," she pointed at the beer and sighed. "We have dinner reservations in twenty minutes. You should go shower and change."

"Dinner reservations," I scoffed. "For what?"

The second I said those words, Y/N's face dropped. She opened and closed her mouth, hesitating to say something as her eyes filled with tears.

"Babe," I sighed as I put my beer on the counter and walked over to her. She instantly stepped away from me.

"You really don't remember why we have reservations tonight?" She asked, her voice soft.

"I don't know, babe," I sighed. "It's been a long week and I just. . ."

"It's our five-year anniversary dinner," she cut me off.

I felt my stomach drop as the tears started to stream down Y/N's face. I tried to take a step towards her, but she instantly took a step back.

"You forgot," she whispered, her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes looking anywhere but at me.

"Y/N," I whispered, her name weakly leaving my lips. "I didn't mean. . ."

"You never mean to," she sighed. "But you always do."

"I always what?" I stuttered. She finally looked at me, nothing but disappointment in her eyes.

"You always put your work first."

"So?" I scoffed. Even though I knew the words I was saying were wrong and too far, I said them anyway. "This is my job, Y/N. We both knew that this would be time-consuming and we would spend days apart but. . ."

"Days, Zac. Weeks. Maybe a few months. But in this past year, I can count on one hand how many times I've seen you. And even less of how many days you actually were here before you shipped off somewhere else. More often than not, without telling me where you were going."

"Why does it matter?" I asked, throwing my hands up in frustration. "You really need to know where I am all the time?"

"Not all the time," she stuttered. "It would just be nice to know. I mean, sometimes I go months without hearing from you. Do you know how hard that is for me? How scary it is? I have no idea where you are, what you're doing, or if you doing anything dangerous. All this not knowing is starting to get to me."

"Wait," I said, the anger leaving me. "It's starting to get to you? Y/N. . . What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Y/N sighed, her voice breaking. "I love you, Zac, but. . ." She shook her head as she took another step away from me.

"But what?"

When she looked up at me the tears were gone but something else was replacing them.

"I think you love your work more."

                       * * * * *

When Y/N left the apartment, I knew I should've gone after her but I didn't. Instead, I called my brother to see if he wanted to come over for a drink. The second he walked in, he asked the question I didn't really want to answer.

"Where's Y/N? She still at work?"

"No," I said, clearing my throat. Dylan looked at me skeptically before folding his arms across his chest.

"Zac," he said my name, disappointment dripping from his voice. "Isn't today your. . ."

"Yes," I interrupted him, angrily slamming my beer on the counter. "It's our five year anniversary. We were supposed to go to dinner, but I forgot. She got angry and left."

The look on his face made me stop talking. "I don't blame her, man," he sighed. "You say you love Y/N."

"I do," I stuttered, not sure where he was going with this.

"But you have kind of neglected her," he said slowly.

"What?" I scoffed, trying to act like it wasn't true. But deep down, I knew he was right.

"Over the last year, your career has taken off. Which is great, but because of that, Y/N has become a second thought."

"I didn't mean. . ." I stuttered.

"I know you didn't mean to push her aside," he sighed. "But you did. Y/N put up with it for a long time because you were always there for the important stuff."

"Until today," I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair. "Shit."

I looked up when I saw him holding my phone out for me.

"Call her."

I didn't hesitate to grab my phone. I walked into the other room as I clicked on her contact. I held my breath as I waited for her to pick up. The longer it took for her to answer, the lower my stomach dropped.

I tried to call her a few more times, but she let each call go to voicemail. I can't say I didn't get why she was ignoring me, but the more she didn't answer the phone, the more nervous I got.

"So?" Dylan asked when I walked back into the kitchen. His hopeful smile fell when he saw the defeated look on mine. "What happened?"

"She didn't answer."

Dylan sighed as he walked over to me. "I'm sorry. Maybe she went to a movie or something. Did you call her more than once?"

"Of course I called her more than once, Dylan," I sighed. "She doesn't want to talk to me."

"Well, you have to get her to answer or at least leave a message for her to see."

"How?" I scoffed at my overly positive brother.

"Text her, wait for her, call her until she answers. I don't know, man, but if you truly love her then you have to do something about it."

                       * * * * *

I spent the rest of the night, trying to get ahold of Y/N. I finally fell asleep around 2 a.m. after still no word from her. When I woke up the next morning, I felt worse than I did after Y/N left the apartment. I grudgingly got up and went to the kitchen to make me a cup of coffee. The apartment oddly feeling empty without her.

I went back into our room and grabbed my phone. My heart dropped when I saw that there were no messages, no missed calls, and no voicemails. Without hesitation, I instantly tried calling her again. I sat down defeated when it went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, Y/N," I said, my voice shaky. "It's umm. . . It's me, baby. Look, I understand why you aren't answering your phone. You don't have to talk to me, baby, but at least. . . Can you. . . Please just let me know you're okay. I've been losing my mind since you left the apartment and I. . ."

I took a shaky breath as the image of Y/N's heartbroken face appeared in my head–the same one that made it hard to sleep last night.

"Y/N," I said, my voice breaking. "I am so sorry, baby. I've been so focused on work that I let the most important thing in my life take second–you. I promise, if you come back home I will never make you feel like that again. Y/N, please. Come home or. . . Just let me know that you're okay."

I hesitated before adding, "I love you, Y/N. And I'm so sorry."

I hung up the phone, a single tear streaming down my cheek. I sighed when I saw the time.

I went throughout the rest of the day, nothing on my mind but Y/N. At lunch, Dylan showed up at my trailer.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks," I sighed. "I'm well aware of that."

"I'm guessing Y/N still hasn't called you back?"

"Believe me," I scoffed, "if she had, I wouldn't feel like a complete asshole. . . Well, not as much of one."

"I know where she is," he said quietly. I jumped up, my heart in my throat.

"Where?"

"After I left yesterday, I reached out to a few of Y/N's friends. It turns out that after your fight yesterday, Y/N went to Y/B/F/N's house."

"Of course," I said under my breath. "Of course she went to Y/B/F/N. Why didn't I think of that?"

I was about to leave my trailer when he stopped me. "Hold on. I called Y/B/F/N and she let me talk to Y/N." I held my breath as my brother hesitated. "She was really hurt, Zac. Apparently, she's been feeling like second-best for a few months now. She didn't say when it started, but Y/N felt like walking away from your fight was the best thing to do to avoid breaking up. She still loves you, Zac. But she doesn't deserve how you've been treating her."

"You're right," I said under my breath as I sat back down. I ran my fingers through my hair, my whole body shaking. "I have to do something. I have to fix this."

"Well then," he said, clearing his throat. "What do you want to do?"

"I will do anything to fix this."

                       * * * * *

Dylan and I came up with a plan. We reached out to Y/N's friends for help. They were gonna take Y/N out for a "Girl's Night Out". They were gonna get dressed up, get their hair and nails done, and then go to dinner. But when they get to the restaurant, I would be waiting for her.

"You do know this is kind of an intervention," Dylan laughed. "Forcing you two to talk it out in a room."

"I know," I sighed. "But there's nothing else I can do. She's been ignoring my calls and my texts for three days now. This is the only way I can get her to talk to me."

We both jumped when his phone dinged. I looked over and watched as he grabbed it and read the message.

"Y/B/F/N just texted me. They are five minutes away." He looked up at me and sent me a reassuring smile. "This is going to work, Zac. Once the two of you sit down and talk things through, everything will work itself out."

"I hope you're right," I sighed, a small chuckle leaving my lips.

"Good luck."

He sent me a wink before quickly leaving the restaurant. I nervously paced, my hands shaking as I waited for Y/N and her friends. My breath got caught in my throat when I heard their laughter.

Y/N froze when she walked into the backroom to see me standing there. She looked at her friends before looking back at me.

"Zac," she said my name under her breath. "What are you. . . What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"What's going on is we are forcing you to talk to him," Y/B/F/N said. Y/N sighed as her best friend continued. "Look, Y/N, you've been ignoring his calls since you left your apartment. We all know you still love him so talk to him. For you and for him."

With that, the girls turned on their heels and left the two of us. I held my breath as Y/N slowly turned back towards me.

"Hi," I smiled as I nervously scratched the back of my neck. She folded her arms across her chest as she looked around the room. I walked towards her, making her look at me when I was right in front of her.

I reached up and gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, my hand lingering on her cheek. My heart sank when she pulled away, walking past me.

"Y/N," I said, my voice getting caught in my throat. Y/N froze when I said her name. "I'm so sorry, baby. I let my career come between us. I made you feel like you weren't the most important thing in my life, but you are. You are, baby."

I walked over to her and gently turned her around. I grabbed her hands, instantly intertwining our fingers.

"I love you, Y/N. If you come home, I promise I'll never make you feel like this again. I'll never forget our anniversary or anything else important to you. I will never make you feel like my job is more important than you are to me, Y/N."

I took a shaky breath, my words getting caught in my throat. My voice was barely above a whisper as I let out one last plead. "Please, baby, come home."

Y/N had tears in her eyes as I begged her. She let go of my hands and reached up to cup my face. I felt my heart jump into my throat as she smiled. I held my breath as she let out a soft laugh.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she stood up and pressed her lips to mine. I instantly wrapped my arms tightly around her waist as our lips moved in sync.

We pulled apart and she leaned her forehead against mine. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I should've paid more attention to you. But if you come home with me, I promise I'll be better."

Y/N leaned back, tears streaming down her smiling face. "Please," I begged her. "I need you, Y/N. Please? Will you come home with me?"

I held my breath as I waited for her to answer. I felt my nerves relax a little when she smiled.

"Not yet," she said gently.

"Y/N," I stuttered.

She giggled, cutting me off. "Not until after we have diner."

I laughed as I pulled her back into my chest and instantly pressed my lips to hers.

"Well then," I smirked as I broke the kiss. "Let's order."

I grabbed her hand and led her over to the table I had the hostess set up for us. I pulled the chair out for Y/N, smiling as I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. I sat down across from her, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

She looked down, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. "What's wrong?" I asked gently.

She looked up at me, guilt in her eyes. "I'm sorry for leaving the other day," she sighed. "I was just. . . I didn't. . ."

I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. "It's okay," I whispered. "I don't blame you for leaving, babe. I promise I will never put you in a situation again where you feel you need to leave. I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Zac."

[thesearchforbluejello]

5 and 9 for the ship headcanon meme, Will/Frankie

Okay, so this ask is so old it probably has its driver's license by now, but the questions were 5) Who says "I love you" first, and 9) What's the most embarassing thing they've done in front of each other?

(credit goes to @tyrsenian for the fire alarm idea, and to listening to me complain about having no ideas.)

5. Hoo, I have a lot of thoughts about this one. It's Will, of course. At least, it's Will that says those three words first. But Frankie is really the one to say it first, just not in so many words. She says it when she makes him coffee the way he likes. She says it when she lets him sleep with his head on her shoulder on the plane. She says it when she lets him steal her granola bars and make her watch James Bond and stupid romcoms and critique her choices of wine. Her face says it loud whenever she looks at him, but it takes her a long time to say it clear.

There's a hundred ways it could've happened. Blood and smoke and fear that time is running short, but that wasn't how it went.

When Will says it for the first time, it's burning on the tip of his tongue like it has a few times before. It's a small moment; they've stopped at a gas station and when Frankie comes out, she's brought him M&Ms. He'd been telling Susan a few days before, just mindless chatter, that he hadn't had M&Ms in so long. He hadn't even known Frankie was listening. This time, Will doesn't hold the words back. "I love you," he says.

It comes with a caveat. "You don't need to say anything," he adds. "I just wanted to make sure you know."

Frankie doesn't smile, but some of the shock fades from her face and she nods. Then, when she's merged them back onto the highway, she takes his hand.

When Frankie says it for the first time, it's a quiet moment. They're watching a hockey game on TV that neither of them are particularly invested in. Will is laying between her legs with his calves over the arm of the couch, his head on her shoulder and her arms around him. He's running the tips of his fingers over her knuckles and the motion of it is threatening to put her to sleep.

"That was a cross check," Will mumbles drowsily.

"I love you," Frankie says.

Will jerks awake and turns over in her arms so he's propped on his elbows.

"Yeah?" he asks with that smile that twists her up inside.

"Yeah," she says.

She has to lean down so he can kiss her. It's awkward and it's perfect.

9. Pt. 1

"Hey, Frankie?"

"What," she grouses as she squeezes toothpaste from the tube.

"Why is Love, Actually on your recently watched list?" Will asks.

The blob of toothpaste falls off the bristles and into the sink. "It's not," she says quickly.

"Well, no one else on this team is named Frankie, so you're clearly logged in."

"No I'm not."

"I do know how to read, you know."

"Well, you're certainly old enough to have learned by now," she quips.

"Oh my god, and You've Got Mail?! You told me you didn't like it."

"I didn't. I hated it."

"Not according to your Netflix history."

"It's a mistake," she says around her toothbrush.

"I feel like someone should owe me money. Like I should've made a bet on this."

Frankie dries her hands and leans out the door. "Will, if you ever make a bet based on any of my personal habits, I'd just like to remind you that there is still paperwork filed with my agency granting me permission to kill you, free and clear."

Will looks up from the tablet, entirely unfazed. "So you admit it isn't a mistake."

"I didn't say that; it's totally a mistake." She kneels on the edge of the bed beside him and reaches for the tablet.

"Nope," he says, altogether too smug. He jerks the tablet away and wraps an arm around her shoulders, hooks a knee over her hip, and uses the leverage he has to roll her over him and deposit her on her back beside him. She just huffs. "It's definitely not a mistake," he says happily as he leans back against the pillows again.

"At least let me choose something," Frankie says, holding her hand out expectantly.

"Fine."

She takes the tablet, and a moment later hands it back. Will looks blankly at the sign-in screen.

"I thought you were choosing something?"

"Yeah," she says, "I'm choosing to not let you look at my Netflix history."

"You're embarrassed!"

"I'm not embarrassed," she says without looking at him.

"You definitely are."

She turns her head to look him in the eye. "Kill order, Will."

"Okay, okay. You're definitely not embarrassed by this at all, not even a little bit. Sure. But this means you've forfeited your right to pick tonight. And now I want to watch You've Got Mail."

"Will, no," she whines.

"Oh, yes. Now that I know you like it, we can watch it all the time."

"I hate you," she grouses as she moves a little closer to see the screen.

"I know," Will says with a smile.

9. Pt. 2

Frankie's hand on his knee is the only thing keeping him together. The sirens are off, at least, but the flashing lights on the trucks are just worsening his headache.

"It's okay, Will," Frankie insists beside him.

"It's not," he groans.

She's been all but pasted to his side since they ended up out here, her shoulder against his, her leg against his from hip to ankle. He appreciates the attempt at comfort, even if it does little to actually make him feel better.

"It's not like this kind of thing never happens," Frankie says.

"It hasn't since I lived here."

"Well you guys are lucky, then," she laughs.

"Not anymore," he mutters.

"Come on," Frankie protests. "It's not that big of a deal. Everything is fine. We're just going to have to, you know, clean."

"Everyone probably hates me."

Frankie looks around at the very unhappy group of residents milling about, casting irritated glances at their building and the fire trucks across the street. "I wouldn't necessarily say you're their favorite person right now," she says, "but that won't last long. It's, like, impossible to stay mad at you."

"Even for you?" he teases.

"Well, I have a lot of practice. But don't think I'm not going to use this to my advantage when convenient."

Will groans and leans his head on her shoulder.

"The building is clear; you can return to your apartments," one of the firefighters announces through a bullhorn.

The crowd of residents mutters a chorus of "thank god" and "finally" and begin filtering back inside.

"Will Chase," the firefighter with the bullhorn says as he motions for Will to cross the street

"Oh God," Will moans.

"It's okay," Frankie says. "It's fine."

"It's not," he moans again.

"Come on, I'll come with you."

"You don't have to."

"I'm your partner. I go with you into danger all the time."

"That doesn't make me feel better," Will says, but when Frankie smiles, he does feel a little better. "I think I just want to talk to him alone," he says.

"Okay. I'll be right back, then."

"Wait, where are you going?" he asks as she turns down the street.

"Don't worry about it," she says with a smile.

"At least take this," he says, shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it at her before she can decline the offer again.

"Fine," she huffs, pulling it over her sweatshirt.

The firefighter wastes no time when Will finally makes it across the street. "Your oven is a mess, but there's no lasting damage, luckily. What was it?"

"Frozen pizza."

"Frozen pizza doesn't do that."

Will frowns. "It does if you leave the cardboard under it, apparently."

"Yeah, that'd do it."

"I travel a lot, for work, and I'm just really jetlagged; I can't believe I did that."

"Well, don't do it again," the firefighter says, ignoring Will's embarrassment. "You wouldn't believe the stuff we see, though. This is nothing."

"Yeah," Will says, unconvinced.

"Go get some sleep," the firefighter laughs.

Will ends up trudging up the stairs after most of the other residents of his building have already gone back to bed. He's staring hopelessly at the charred mess in his oven when Frankie knocks on the door. The only thing he's managed to accomplish was standing the spent fire extinguisher back up.

"I forgot my keys," Frankie says when he opens the door.

"Where did you go?"

"To get dinner," she says. "Go sit down. I don't think I trust you to cook right now."

"Oh, you're hilarious."

"We can clean this up tomorrow."

"How are you not as tired as I am," he mutters as he moves to sit on the couch.

"Well, I was, but the fire alarm going off did a pretty good job of waking me up."

"Funny," Will says flatly.

"Not really."

Will wakes to his foot being nudged.

"Here." Frankie hands him a microwaved mac and cheese cup. "Cheers." She taps hers against his. "And this is for your headache," she says as she hands him a bottle of ibuprofen, "because I finished what you had in the bathroom when I was here last week and I wasn't sure if you'd had the chance to buy more."

"Thank you," Will says as she sits down.

"You're welcome. But it's almost three a.m. now and I'm not going home. And I'm also not sleeping on your couch after that flight, so you're sharing your bed."

Will laughs. "Okay."

[elliemarchetti]

Red Queen Soulmate AU (Mare and Cal)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Other Marecal fics:

A Wonderful Mistake (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

Holiday Inconveniences (part 2) (part 3)

The Scam (part 2)

The Epilogue

Words: 1771

Kilorn would find her wherever she hid, so she kept running, as if she could escape from what she had done to Gisa. The plan was thought out well, certainly risky but doable, if only her sister had adhered to what she had told her. But was she wrong, if she wanted to help save their friend too? After all, Mare hadn’t thought of anything else since Kilorn woke her up in the middle of the night to tell her his employer died and that they would send him to the front in two weeks. And now, for that stupid idea of ​​hers, it would’ve happened to Gisa too. Mare tried to get the thought out of her head, to tell herself that her sister still had time, that she would find her soulmate and that her hand would heal, but she couldn't convince herself, so she kept running, running away from the disappointment she had inflicted to her family, to the fact she has destroyed everything. Wasn't it always like this? Hadn’t she always destroyed everything she touched? Knowing it didn’t help to make her stop crying. When she finally slowed to catch her breath, she found herself a few miles from the village, on the infamous northern street. Behind the turn, among the trees, the lights of an inn seized with people could be glimpsed. There were many of them, scattered around the old streets, and in those area, during the summer, they were filled with domestic and seasonal workers at the royal family’s service, all people who didn’t live in the Stilts, who didn’t know her, easy prey to clean up. She did it every summer, usually with Kilorn, who smiled in front of his jug as he watched her at work. As a group of drunks came out, she told herself that she was doing it for that, to see his smile again, to make sure that everyone continued, even if tiredly, to smile. It didn't take long to fill her coat pockets. At short intervals, someone at least tipsy came out, she approached showing a big smile to divert their attention from her hands and then walked away, vanishing without anyone noticing, anyone caring, because nobody remembers the shadows and now she was just that and she continued to be until midnight, then until one a.m. When yet another customer came out of the inn, she didn't think about it too much: he kept his eyes focused on the firmament and she was sure he wouldn't notice her, so she reached out and hooked the ropes of the pouch with one finger, but indeed he noticed and grabbed her wrist firmly. Mare tried to resist, but his grip was too strong and his fiery eyes filled her with fear, the same she had felt that morning. Whatever punishment he intended to inflict on her, she would’ve deserved it all. Instead he merely noted that she was a thief and let her go, even throwing her a silver coin, a tetrarch, which was worth much more than any stolen change she had in her pockets.

"This should be enough for a long time." he commented, before she could say anything. In the light of the inn, his eyes sparkled with a golden red glow, a warm color. The years spent studying people didn’t betray her: his black hair was too shiny and his complexion too light for a servant but his body was that of a lumberjack, with broad shoulders and sturdy legs. He was quite young, not much older than her, but didn’t sport the typical confidence of guys in their twenties. However, it wasn’t important: whoever he was, she  should’ve kissed his feet for giving her such a gift but curiosity, as always, prevailed, and she asked him, in a cold and hard voice, why he had done it.

"You need it more than me." he replied, and although there was no trace of pity in his tone, Mare wanted to throw the coin in his face and tell him that she knew how to take care of herself, that this wasn’t how the world worked, that kind strangers wanted something in return most of the time and those who were really good at heart, like Gisa and Kilorn, were crushed, but she said nothing and grudgingly thanked him, snatching him a laugh. He was the strangest person she had ever met, and for a moment she hoped his name was Maven, that after so much pain fate or whatever controlled their lives had a joy in store for her.

"You live in the village, right?" he asked, as if with her faded hair, her dirty clothes and her dejected expression wasn’t obvious. But probably the question was rhetorical, because even before she could answer he asked her if she liked living there, as if someone could really answer affirmatively.

"Do you go home?" he asked after a long pause, during which he had seemed somewhat worried, even though she was beginning to think she was imagining things and that this meeting was all a dream or a hallucination.

"Why, are you afraid of the dark?" she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe she shouldn't have hoped he was her soulmate, maybe she should’ve been afraid of him; after all, he seemed to be strong and fast while she was there all alone. When he smiled, however, she felt destabilized again by the feeling of relief he conveyed to her.

"I just want to make sure you keep your hands for yourself for the rest of the night. I certainly can't let you take your half of the inn’s earnings, don't you think? My name is Cal, anyway." he concluded, holding out his hand, and Mare felt a small twinge of disappointment. It was perhaps her only chance to meet strangers before her time to go to the front and seeing how the First Fridays were going, she doubted that she would meet her soulmate before being recruited. Mare didn’t shook it, remembering his skin’s extreme warmth, and rather took the way home, with rapid and silent thief steps.

"Mare Barrow" she introduced herself, looking over her shoulder. For a moment the boy seemed to stiffen, but it had to be another one of her impressions to which her tired mind gave too much importance because, with his long legs, he didn't take him long to reach her and mock her for her unfriendly attitude. The cold metal of the coin she held in her hand helped her stay focused, reminding her why she had gone so far from the village, what she was and that, if she studied a good plan, she could’ve access to what was in the boy’s pockets, more money for Farley.

"Your master must pay you quite a lot." she said, in hope to casually study the situation.

"I have a good job." he explained, without giving it too much importance nor wasting time in details. He didn't even realize how lucky he was and how many would kill just to be in his place. Of course, if she had killed him there, in the middle of nowhere, Kilorn could’ve taken his place. If only he had told her where he worked and for whom... But then, would she really be able to kill him? It wasn’t against the luckier Reds they had to act but against the Silvers, while among the poor it was necessary to help each other and it was exactly was Cal was doing, probably even while investigating her lack of employment and how long she had before the call to arms.  

"That's why you steal." he said, and Mare couldn't tell if his was a question or a statement. Certainly he wasn’t judging her, though she was sure he had never been in her place, but she still felt compelled to justify herself, perhaps to remind herself that she wasn’t only good at hurting others but every contemptible act she had done was for the sake of her family.

"Were you at Summerton today?" he asked, but he already seemed to know the answer. Had he seen them? Did he know what had happened to Gisa? Or had he recognized only her? However, it didn't matter, because it was like digging a hole in a dam and in a moment the words came out of her mouth like a river in flood; even if she wanted to, and she didn’t, she couldn’t hold back. She made no reference to Farley, the Scarlet Guard or even Kilorn, but she told how her sister had made her sneak into the Grand Garden and helped her steal the money they needed to survive but that she had been discovered and that was why her hand had been broken and what it meant to them. Suddenly she caught a silver glow from the corner of her eye: another coin, another pitiful gesture.

"I'm really sorry, Mare. Things shouldn't be like this."

She couldn’t even find the strength to look at him, completely emptied by that confession and by the gratitude she couldn’t express: "There are people who have it much worse, don't worry about me."

  Arriving at the village gates, Cal greeted Mare and let her go on alone among the stilts. It had taken all his willpower to not give her everything he had in the bag but above all not to reveal to her what was on his right wrist. On the dimly lit street, he looked over and over at the black letters in sharp contrast to his fair skin. As much as he wanted to be able to change it, her name remained there, he could almost feel it physically burn, barely hidden by the bracelet that generated the spark that allowed him to use his skill. He should’ve burned that village, razed it to the ground and forgotten her, moved on and faced the Queenstrial with a clear mind. But how could he, how would he succeed, knowing that the proud spirit of his soulmate lay in the body of a Red? He had been told several times that when things like that happened, they were homonyms, that no Silver could have a Red soulmate, but now that he had seen her face, that he had seen her try to stubbornly save her family with the little she could do, he couldn’t believe it was true. The next day, he told himself, he would talk to his uncle. Julian Jacos was the only one able to give him the answers he needed.

[rigginsstreet]

Fredsythe and 50

50. writer’s preference (we doin 9. “Don’t you ever do that again!”)

he’s woken up by the sound of tapping at his window. 

at first he just thinks it’s a dream, and then maybe the wind, until it sounds like whatever is hitting the glass is getting bigger and is followed by whispered yelling.

“wake the fuck up, fred! do not make me come up there!”

it’s alice. fred could recognize that shrill anywhere.

he groans, rolling over to look at his bedside clock. it’s 2 a.m. and fred has no idea what the hell could be so important that alice smith needs to risk waking the entire block up just to annoy him.

throwing the covers back, he trudges out of bed and over to the window, lifting it up with what feels like more effort than usually needed with the way his arms feel like jelly from barely being awake. “what the hell, al? do you know what time it is?” he can’t even keep his eyes open. 

“it’s fp.” 

it’s like he’s just been doused with ice water. two words is all it takes to bring fred to full attention. even with a sleep-addled brain fred knows alice coming to his house in the middle of the night because of fp doesn’t mean anything good. 

“alright. hold on,” is all he says before looking around and grabbing the first pair of pants he sees on the floor along with his rhs hoodie. he climbs out the window, shuffles down the side of his house and jumps the last few feet before rushing over to alice. “what happened?” he sounds panicked even to his own ears. 

alice starts walking - jogging, practically - to where fred can see a motorcycle parked on the curb. “i dont know. gladys and i were hanging out at the wyrm and fp comes in. his face was all…” she lets the sentence trail off. fred can fill in the gaps. “next thing we know he’s stealing a bottle of bourbon from the bar so gladys and i follow him out, try to get him to talk. we end up at the school and now he’s on the roof and we can’t get him down.”

“he’s on the roof?!” fred practically screams, and alice has to clamp her hand over his mouth before the entire neighborhood actually does wake up. 

“gladys is keeping an eye on him.” she removes her hand and grabs the helmet that’s hanging off the bike’s handlebars before shoving it to fred’s chest. “but you know he’ll only listen to you. come on.”

they waste no more time, fred hopping on behind alice and holding on tight as she speeds off into the night.

–

the second they reach the school parking lot he’s off the bike and on his feet, tossing the helmet to the side and looking up at the now ominous building. the lighting is for shit, but fred can just make out the silhouette of someone stumbling along the roof’s edge and his heart sinks. 

“f…” he breathes, more to himself than anything. he knows enough not to yell out. doesn’t want to surprise his best friend lest he lose his footing.

he doesn’t wait any longer, dashing into the school and not stopping until he reaches the roof. alice must still be trailing somewhere behind him but he can’t focus on that. all he sees is fp in front of him, walking along the roof’s ledge like some tightrope routine, albeit clumsier. 

fp’s got a half empty bottle in one hand, taking occasional swigs from it while he dangles his foot off the side of the building like he’s tempting fate. all fred wants to do is run over and grab him, bring him back to safety, hold him close. but he can’t. no sudden movements. 

fred takes his eyes off fp for just a moment to notice gladys nearby, hands in her hair, visibly stressed, trying to talk fp down. it’s obviously not working. 

she lets out a breath and turns around, finally noticing fred, and her body deflates. “oh thank fucking christ.” they meet each other halfway, fred’s eyes never leaving fp. “you gotta do something, fred. he’s not listening.” she looks back at fp briefly before returning her attention to fred. 

“what am i supposed to do?” fred asks, sounding all too much like a scared child. it’s exactly what he feels like. powerless. 

“he listens to you, fred,” gladys tries to reassure. reaches out and squeezes fred’s arm. 

fred takes a deep breath, nods his head like he actually believes he has this situation under control. he doesn’t. he’s in way over his head here. if they were dealing with anyone else he would’ve told alice from the start to get the police, or at the very least an adult. but this is fp, and if there’s one thing fred knows it’s that either of those things would just spook fp. get him pissed. send him off running. or worse. it’s a sobering thought realizing he really is the only one who can talk fp down.

he braces himself for the unexpected, not knowing which version of his best friend he’s going to get with so much alcohol in his system. he approaches slowly, like he’s trying to tame a lion in a cage.

“f...” he starts, voice quiet.

fp looks over his shoulder. there’s something shining in the reflection of the moonlight on his face. something wet. fred’s stomach twists when he remembers what alice said to him earlier. “that you, freddie?”

“yeah. yeah, buddy. it’s me.”

fp scoffs, takes another drink. “buddy,” he mocks. “that what we are now?”

he’s trying to pick a fight, fred knows. “why don’t you just come down so we can talk, huh?”

but fp doesn’t move. just finishes off his bottle and holds it out in front him, watches as he lets it fall from his hand and all the way down to the ground below. waits for the faint sound of glass shattering before he speaks. “shit, if we’re just buddies you should’ve told my dad. could’ve spared me an ass beating.”

it’s hardly the first time fred’s been made aware of forsythe senior’s particular brand of punishment, the hell he likes to unleash on his son, but it never gets any easier to swallow. he had tried in the beginning to get fp to tell somebody, begged him, really, but he never would. too afraid of ending up lost in the system. too afraid of what his dad would do if shit didn’t pan out. fp’s entire life seemed to be ruled by fear.

“fp, please. just-”

“fuck off, fred!”

fp stumbles from the force of his yelling, too much booze in his system to keep him steady, and there’s a moment where fred thinks this is it. he can hear a gasp from the girls behind him as he’s lunging forward to grab fp. but fp rights himself on his own, and fred feels like he’s about to keel over from the heart attack he’s just almost had. 

but it lights a fire in him. “ok, you know what?” it’s reckless and stupid but he’s climbing up to stand next to fp. hears alice in the back yelling “are you fucking crazy?!” but ignores her. 

even fp’s eyes are blown wide as he turns his head to look at his new company. it’s the first time fred’s really able to get a look at the damage done. it’s bad. really bad. but he can’t focus on that right now. 

“the fuck are you doing?” fp asks.

fred shrugs his shoulders, trying to be as nonchalant as he can with his heart pounding in his chest. it’s not so much that he’s afraid of heights.... he’d just rather not be standing on the edge of a roof without a safety net below. “you jump, i jump.”

“jesus christ, fred. i wasn’t gonna jump.”

“you could’ve fooled me!”

“i wasn’t! i just... don’t care if i fall.”

“well i care!” fred feels like he’s on the verge of hysterics. maybe he’s already there. 

“well i didn’t ask you to!”

“that’s too damn bad!” he and fp have had their share of stupid fights in the past but this.... this has got to take the fucking cake. “one of these days you’re gonna have to face the fact that people actually care about you.”

fp doesn’t say anything, just keeps his jaw clenched as he looks at the ground below him. 

“i care about you,” fred emphasizes. “and i think i’d lose my mind if anything happened to you.”

fp finally turns his gaze to fred, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “i’m real fucked up, fred,” he whispers, voice breaking with raw emotion. “can’t even get my own dad to love me.”

fred’s heart breaks for him, and he wants nothing more than to run down to the south side and lay into senior; kicking and punching and wailing about how he could do this to his son. “screw your dad,” is what he settles on. he reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind fp’s ear, let’s his hand linger there. “i don’t know how to make things better for you, but i’m here. and i’ll always be here. for as long as you need me.”

fp sniffs, looks away. “that’s a helluva job to take on. you sure it’s worth it?”

“yes,” fred responds without missing a beat. 

fp’s head snaps up, his eyes searching fred’s for any sign of deception, like this is just a ploy to talk fp down and the words are meaningless. they’re not, he knows. doesn’t make it any easier to believe.

fred hops off the ledge then, back onto the roof, holds his hand out to fp like a beggar. “come on, f.” he doesn’t need to say please. it’s written all over his face. “let me take you home.”

“i’m not going back there.”

“you know what i meant.”

fp looks down over the ledge again, contemplating the fall, before look back to fred, to his outstretched hand, to his safety line. he takes it, hopping down onto the roof and as soon as his feet hit fred’s pulling him into his arms and holding him like he’s trying to crush fp’s bones. the dam breaks and fp can’t stop the tears, burying his face against fred’s shoulder, sure he’ll leave bloody stains behind on the fabric of his hoodie. 

but fred doesn’t seem to care. he keeps holding fp impossibly closer, pressing his lips to fp’s hair and saying “don’t you ever do that again! you hear me? fucking scared the shit out of me.”

fp cries harder. keeps repeating he’s sorry, he’s sorry over and over.

fred pulls back, gentle cradles fp’s face in his hands, careful not to upset his wounds. “i fucking love you, you know that?” he says it with such determination, like he needs fp to know.

fp nods his head. he can’t even see fred’s face properly through his tears but he doesn’t need to. the sincerity is loud and clear. there’s no mistaking it. “take me home, freddie.” he sounds so small, so childlike. so vulnerable. 

fred nods his head before pulling fp into another hug, lips right to his ear. “yeah, baby. let’s go.”

[piccolina-mina]

She's Like a Song

Fandom: Roswell, New Mexico 

Pairing: Michael/ Maria 

Words: 3900

Inspo: One day he decided maybe without even thinking about it that he was going to look out for Maria DeLuca, and he never stopped.

A/N: Borrowed a bit from you lovelies and expounded upon our chats. It's a freestyle, and I'm beyond rusty, but here's to you, you know who you are. :)

i.

He never told anyone before, but the Wild Pony was like his home. A teenager had no business in a bar, but Mimi DeLuca orchestrated a soup kitchen for the homeless, and while he had a pallet on the floor at his latest foster home, he may as well have been homeless.

They appreciated the paycheck, and he could put up with the less than ideal situation because it brought him home to Max and Isobel. Most days, his foster parents didn't pay him attention at all and being invisible was better than being a punching bag.

But Max and Isobel had a comfortable home with doting parents, and he was just the rabble-rousing kid from the wrong side of the tracks they weren't supposed to spend time around.

On his worse nights, he ventured to the Wild Pony. Mimi DeLuca once told him he had inexplicable energy, and it scared him shitless, but then she slid a sandwich across the counter and tousled his hair with a wink, and he felt comfortable there ever since.

She called him for maintenance help sometimes because she knew he was good with his hands, and on nights when his foster father drank too much, she put a cot up in the back room of the Pony, but more importantly, she never asked questions. She just knew. Maybe she was psychic after all.

He didn't mind this exchange between them until one day Maria DeLuca caught him in the back room. She was all long legs and smiles, and he admired how carefree she was, and how she followed the beat of her own drum.

He didn't see her often in school; she hung out with those Ortecho girls, and he always wondered how someone so filled with light could be friends with someone like Rosa who carried so much darkness, but Max and Isobel were his friends, so who was he to judge?

She didn't judge him. The surprise on her face when she caught him in that backroom sleeping on a dusty floor vanished quicker than it came, but unlike everyone else in his life, it wasn't replaced with pity.

Instead, she said, "If you're going to sleep on our floor, Guer, the least you can do is sweep it." She tossed him a broom he caught reflexively, and she barked out an order about grabbing the box of new product and skipped right back out the door no questions asked.

"When you're done, I need help with calculus, too." Of course, she knew he was a closet nerd, and she would be the type to use it to her advantage.

Maria DeLuca wasn't judgmental.

ii.

He shouldn't have been there.

Max said they should've stayed away, but Rosa was a scrub like him, and he felt a kinship with her.

He knew what it was like to be misunderstood. He didn't sleep much anymore. The images of the car burning danced across his eyelids every time he closed his eyes, and he knew the others struggled with what they did too, but his siblings refused to talk about it.

Isobel killed a girl. She killed multiple girls, and Rosa took the blame. It isn't right, and he knows that, but he didn't anticipate this.

Rosa's funeral was the day he saw a spark go out in DeLuca. She stood there, holding up a sobbing Arturo because no one was left to do it anymore.

Rosa was dead, and thanks to him and Isobel, Liz was gone. She took off, and Arturo couldn't make sense of losing two daughters at the same time, but Maria was still there.

Maria was always there. The angry shouts from the crowd Valenti held back grew louder while the priest said his prayer.

He couldn't believe the racist slurs being spewed by the people in their small town at a grieving father. Arturo crumbled under the weight of each indictment, but small but strong Maria held him up.

He watched as the tears spilled down her face, and her mother rubbed her back, and the guilt was too much. He never thought he'd see the day Maria lost some of her spark, and he played a role in that.

iii.

It was the least he could do.

Humans were pretty shitty, at least most of the ones he encountered. He flexed his hand at the thought, but the DeLucas were always kind to him.

When he saw Mimi wandering the streets not far from the junkyard, he thought she was just taking a walk, but something about her gait was off.

He smiled at her as she rambled about Will Smith and, was that Independence Day she was talking about?

At some point, within a few years since high school, Maria took over the bar, but he never knew why. It never made sense.

He knew he had a reputation for being an asshole, but he always paid attention. Maria DeLuca had plans. She dreamed of traveling the world and going on adventures. She wanted to hit the open road and book gigs and sing to her heart's content.

"It's a big ole world out there, and I want a piece of it," she said once at The Crashdown while giggling over a milkshake. She had an infectious laugh, the type that reeled you in and made you shut out any and every noise but the one she was making.

The world stopped when Maria laughed. She didn't laugh much anymore.

She did cry out when he and Mimi finally strolled back to the Wild Pony. Maria jogged up to them her forehead knit in concern, and he could hear the tears in the rasp of her voice.

"Mimi," she choked out before getting ahold of herself. "Mama, you scared me. "

"I just went for a walk, honey," Mimi cupped the side of Maria's face as the glow of the neon Wild Pony sign caught her eye, and she wandered into the bar.

Maria exhaled in disbelief. It took her a moment to bring her eyes to meet his, and she looked ... tired. Her eyes were red from the tears she was sniffing away and trying to suppress, and she hugged herself as if to keep herself together.

She opened her mouth to say something, but it was like a rush of emotion had overtaken her and rendered her speechless.

He gave her an out. "Sorry, we're late. We got a little carried away, I'm a hit with the Cougars, you know?"

She released a relieved chuckle, and for a moment, that missing spark was back and alive. "If you ever lump my mother with those floozies you take home again I'll have your balls."

"Is that a promise?" He teased. Her frown lines disappeared, and for a moment, she was the girl with the infectious laugh without a care in the world.

"Cute. I can assure you, Guerin, when I have 'em it's because they will no longer be attached to the likes of you.

She pats her back pocket where she sometimes kept her pocket knife, and he threw his hands up in surrender. He walked backward, their teasing drawing a half smirk and escapism he hadn't felt all day.

"You just called me cute though, DeLuca. I'm holding you to that." He turns to head home, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets as a chill settles in.

It's not chilly out, but suddenly the thought of going home alone makes him feel cold.

"Hey Guerin," her voice is quieter and more serious than he's used to. He turns to study her face. She looks haunted again, resigned, and so tired.

He doesn't know the particulars of what is going on with Mimi DeLuca, but he knows she's been declining for a while. Whatever it is, it has led to Maria taking over.

He can smell the wanderlust on her and see the longing for greater things that aren't this in her eyes. In many ways, she is stuck like he is. This town is too small for larger than life DeLuca, but her heart is too big for her to leave.

Rosa is gone, Liz left, and he's long since drowned his sorrows over Alex Manes heading to war. They left her alone, and now it seems Mimi is leaving her too.

"Thank you," she said quietly -- sincerely.

He nodded, tipping his hat and turned away.

Maria Deluca was alone, and so was he.

iv.

"Dammit!" She screamed, hitting the steering wheel repeatedly. She turned the key, and her car made ungodly noises.

"Whoa, whoa, you're going to flood it." He was groggy from passing out in the back of his truck behind the Wild Pony, but Maria destroying her car was enough to snap him out of his buzzed sleep.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this," he drawled. He was met with a classic Maria glare that could disintegrate his boxers if he were wearing any. "I was talking about the car."

"I thought I kicked you out hours ago when you refused to pay your tab?"

"Most people call the law when that happens."

"Your best friend is the law."

"I don't have a best friend," he bristled at the mention of Max. They hadn't been friends for years.

"Gee, this is my surprised face," she deadpanned. She went to turn the key again, and he placed his hand over hers to stop her. She sighed, frustrated but relented.

"Looks like all your other faces, DeLuca." He signaled for her to pop the hood, and he took a gander. He could haul the thing to work in the morning, but there was nothing he could do tonight.

"It's going to need some work, DeLuca."

"Shit," her head fell back onto the headrest, and she closed her eyes. It was only then he noticed how worn down she was.

When he thought about it, Maria had been putting in double shifts all week while looking for a couple of new staff members. She had been at the Pony since it open to close, and it had to be at least 2 A.M.

"I don't have the money," she said begrudgingly. He figured it was pure exhaustion that led her to that admission.

"Oh, but when I say that, I get kicked out of the bar," he teased. His voice went up a few notches as he mimicked her. "Cough it up or get the hell out, Guerin. Stopping bar fights isn't compensation, Guerin. I will send people after you next time, Guerin. Don't come back until your tab is paid off, Guerin."

He was pretty sure his life should've flashed before his eyes based on the killer look she gave him. "I'll fix your car if you clear my tab."

"I'm not one to turn away a sucker, but I'm pretty sure car repairs exceed your bar tab, if only by a few pennies."

He made a face like a child and earned a bemused snort.

"You say that like I won't be back to drink up my share tomorrow." He patted the car and tilted his head towards his own beater. "Let me take you home."

Shockingly, she didn't put up a fight, and she staggered towards his old piece of junk and slid into the passenger seat. "You're gonna fix my baby when yours looks like crap. Rich."

He was about to respond, but her soft snores stopped him dead in his tracks. Seconds felt like hours as he watched her sleep. It was the most relaxed she looked in some time.

He hopped in and cruised towards her part of town listening to her soft exhalations. He shoved her gently, or so he thought when they pulled up to her house. Her head tapped lightly against the window.

"Asshole," she grumbled as she hopped out the truck, slammed the door, and stalked towards her door.

"Fine. Fix my shit, and I'll clear your tab. And obviously, you're picking me up at 10 A.M. Bring coffee."

"Yes ma'am," he snarked, beaming when she flipped him the bird without bothering to look back at him.

He went to bed smelling like Maria's sweet scent, which faded away by the next morning. There was a sense of relief when he slid into his truck hours later and her sweet musk still clung to the seats.

There was something comforting about it. It reminded him of Maria, and Mimi and home cooked meals in the back of the Pony when he didn't want schoolmates to catch him breaking bread with the homeless.

It reminded him of what home should feel like.

v.

"It took you long enough," he huffed. He looked up from the magazine he was reading as Maria flounced towards him with the familiar clack of her red cowgirl boots as she headed towards his truck.

"Move over, loser." She raised a brow at him as she held the door open to his truck.

"I know they tend to look identical, but it's my car, DeLuca," even he couldn't sell that lie. For one, he managed to keep hers in better condition than his own, and the difference is noticeable, which is how he ended up carting her around town when her baby got a tune-up.

Maria DeLuca owned his ass. He didn't know how to describe the hold she had on him, but there definitely was one. It's been there since they were teens. She had a spirit he recognized whenever he looked in the mirror, and unlike most people in town, she saw him, like really saw him.

Maria DeLuca was a survivor through and through, and he respected that.

"My. Truck." He enunciated as if she didn't hear him. She glared at him, and he relented. He always did.

"Your hair looks nice," he said sincerely while flashing her his shit eating grin.

"It looks the same," she shot back as she slid into the driver seat.

"Yeah, nice." He said it for the sole purpose of watching the soft flush in her cheeks, and he was rewarded with it.

"I can give you some pointers then, Guer," she countered staring pointedly at his mop of curls he admittedly never bothered doing shit with, and she knew it. She teased him about it all the time.

He shook his head. "Still can't accept a compliment graciously, huh?"

"Nope," she said popping the 'p' as she started the engine.

The town whirled past them as they drove in silence. He reached for the radio knob, and she smacked his hand away.

"It's MY truck DeLuca," he whined not the least bit as put out as he sounded.

She slid her shades on and smirked. She fiddled with the knob before music blared. Without seconds to waste, she sang along.

Maria could sing along to any song on the radio. She was some freak of nature who knew them all, genre be damned, and she sang every last one. He secretly loved it.

She crooned some ballad, and his hands twitched. Some days his longing to strum strings between his fingers was too much to bear. He wished he could still play. They could make beautiful music together.

She shot him a sly look and threw her head back laughing that laugh that was its own harmony, and he smirked. Yeah, they would make beautiful music together.

vi.

He wiped his brow as he hauled the last of the boxes into the shed and glared at a relaxed, fresh and clean Maria as she bound down the stairs of her porch.

"You bailed halfway through for a shower and left me with the heavy stuff?" He collapsed on her porch and glared up at her.

"No, 'thanks, Guerin. You didn't have to stop what you were doing and help me with spring cleaning bullshit, Guerin. You're the best, Guerin." He bobbed his head along while he mimicked her.

"Well, I grabbed you these, but if you would prefer a verbal thanks, I can just keep 'em to myself." She knew she had him as she dangled a six pack of the coldest beer he had ever seen, or at least the coldest beer he had craved in the past four hours of hard labor.

He snagged two beers out before she could yank them away and popped the lid to one guzzling it to completion by the time she plopped down next to him.

She scoffed as locks of unruly curls fell into his eyes and obscured his vision.

"You know it only costs maybe 20 bucks tops for a haircut, right?"

He shrugged noncommittally not paying her mind when she disappeared into the house again. He stared into the desert finding comfort in the feel of the condensation from the beer cool against his fingers.

The door swung shut, and he smelled her and felt her before he could see her. He inhaled deep and long, and exhaled again, not saying anything when she came up close behind him.

"Move down," she ordered.

Maria liked to think she was unpredictable, but he knew her better than she thought. He caught the glint of the scissors as she set them next to her, and he scooted down a step until he was between her legs.

"Ah, my favorite position. I can show you why if you want." He flinched even though he knew the punch was coming and choked back a laugh.

His laughter stopped when she ran her hands through his curls carding her fingers through as a way of detangling it.

It was her time to laugh softly. She knew she shut him up for a good minute and relished it, but he was too relaxed to care. He was bone weary tired to the point of his limbs feeling like jello so he couldn't help himself from sinking into her. If she minded, she didn't say anything.

He wanted to make a wisecrack about her being anywhere near his head with scissors, but he was too comfortable with their silence.

He rested his head lightly on her lap, and she absentmindedly scratched his scalp as she snipped.

The sun was setting, and the desert sky was a sunburst of oranges and pinks, and he wondered if there were sunsets so beautiful at home.

Maria hummed quietly as snippets of hair fell around him, and the way she dragged her nails softly along his scalp made his eyes flutter closed, and he thought, he never had this before.

vii.

He paces next to her unconscious form, and part of him wants to join the fight and track who's responsible, but part of him can't bring himself to leave her side even if he wanted.

He leans in close to her face and notes her chest rises and falls, and it's the only thing putting him at ease.

Her stillness is unsettling. She's so full of life -- a force of nature that can't be tamed and one that gets under your skin and electrifies your cells. She's -- she's magic, and he's all nerves and boundless energy that can't be soothed.

Except ... he lifts her gently and hops on the table resting her head in his lap, and even unconscious Maria puts him at ease. She always does.

It took him years to realize that part of the gravitational pull he has towards her is due to her being a constant in his life. She's consistent and normal, and she makes him feel normal, and she helps him escape out of his head if only for their moments.

It's why he wouldn't allow Max to disparage her in such a way. His forearm still aches from shoving his brother against a wall, and he reflexively clenches his fists.

It had nothing to do with his night spent with Maria and more to do with his years spent with her. She was his constant, his sanctuary, his normalcy, his friend, and not even Max could take that away from him.

He knows her intimately and biblically, and they could take everything away from him, his home, his identity, his opportunity for family, but not the small, most consistent form of solace he has.

He brushes water against her lips and tries to keep her hydrated. He strokes her hair the way she does when she cuts his hair and breathes in that soft scent that's all Maria.

The silence between them isn't their comfortable kind. Sure, he hears the buzz from the gala, but he wants to fill the room with something suitable for them.

They banter. They barter. It's their thing, and sometimes, so is music. So he finds himself humming a little diddly she sang once while he strokes her hair.

When she stirs, he exhales a sigh of relief and a weight is lifted from him. He tries to comfort her and tells her to take it easy, and he doesn't miss the softness in his voice.

The truth is, he's scared of losing her. He didn't realize how much he relied on the Wild Pony or her to fill some void he has until she spent days avoiding him.

When he bumped into her at the Crashdown, he saw that familiar haunted look in her eyes, and it hurt him that he once again contributed to her carrying an unbearable load.

He likes to think over the years he did his part to relieve her of burdens, not contribute to them, so when he told her he was to blame and she was not, he meant every word.

Her eyes flutter open slowly, and he strokes her hair and asks her if she wants more water.

"You have to stop showing up like this for me, Guerin."

He knows she's still groggy from the drugs, and his jaw clenches thinking about how she was used.

He's absentmindedly scratching her scalp as he tries to say the right thing. He hesitates before he offers to get Liz and leave, but he doesn't really want to. He'll leave if it's what she wants though because Maria always gets her way with him.

"That's the problem," she says her voice but a whisper. "I never do."

And he feels like he was punched in the gut. Everything is messy now, and he's partly to blame for that.

He understands the sentiment well, though. And he knows what that admission cost her, and it's possible she won't remember she said it at all, and it's what he hopes if only to spare her any more pain.

There's something about Maria DeLuca that brings him back time and again. She never wants him to leave, and he always wants to stay.

He made peace with the fact that he stopped coming to the Wild Pony for the booze years ago. He came for the company.

Their relationship was easy and comforting, and he could disappear into Maria DeLuca the way he used to disappear into music because Maria was like a song that never ended.

A tear slips down her cheek at her admission, and it takes everything in him not to wipe it away, cup her face, press his lips in her hair and absorb her pain and hurt.

He's had decades of practice shouldering hurt and pain. He can handle it.

Somewhere along the way, he made it his personal mission to keep Maria's spark alive. He likes to think it was for her, but he knows it's purely selfish.

One day, he decided maybe without even thinking about it, that he was going to look out for Maria DeLuca, and he never stopped.

[lovelyirony]

Tony wasn’t part of the reconnaissance mission to get Barnes back. Steve said he didn’t want to add more work onto a growing list Tony had.

But Steve was also a shit liar, so there was that.

Tony wants to know why he’s not involved; he’s the one who has the tech, has the means to get to wherever the hell Barnes has decided to go in Europe. (And really, it’s Europe. If you want to go unnoticed, there are about seven cities you can go to without them looking at you oddly. Maybe even six depending on the day.)

Steve is hiding something from Tony, and he has the sneaking suspicion it has to do with exactly what Barnes has done. So with a sigh and a look upwards, Tony works with Jarvis to start research.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t consult at least Agent Romanov?” Jarvis asks.

“She’s the one who’s remaining tight-lipped about it and helping Steve get all his stamps on the passport,” Tony says. “Forgive me if I’m not a bit jealous, J. I’m not on that vacation.”

“Very well, Sir. Should I delve into the files?”

When all of that information landed on the internet, Tony knew people were fucked. So he got the best people possible, and they contained it. A lot of it was information Tony would rather not see. Hydra techniques, their little get-togethers to be assholes.

But...he needed to see this. Why he wasn’t involved, why Steve had those looks he gave Natasha, why she told Tony to stay out of it. People didn’t tell you to stay out of it unless they wanted to make sure that you never reacted to what they were doing.

He finds out at lunchtime, which is not a very good time to find out such things. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but more people than should’ve been there for a Thursday lunch. He had ordered a sandwich with a nice chipotle aioli, and that was pretty good. He’d had it once or twice, although he can’t remember the last time he’d had it. Maybe a year ago.

But hey. That didn’t particularly matter. Tony’s not very good with dates. Only remembers four: Happy’s birthday, Rhodey’s, Pepper’s, and his parents’ deaths. December 16th. He had almost gone to that, hoping to impress his father with initiative and networking. But then he remembered that no matter what he did, his father fucking hated him, so he stayed home and worked on coding Jarvis.

Not even the police had come to his house. No one like SHIELD. It had been flashing cameras and pretty newswomen saying they were sorry for his loss in that annoying news voice and he had to be confused.

He remembers the newswoman’s name who told him. Terri Lewis. She had froze, not smiling in that frozen way like most news people do.

“Tony...your parents. They’re dead.”

Well, that had been the icing on the fucking cake. Car accident. Tony can’t say he’s surprised--Howard wasn’t exactly known for his collection of sobriety chips. Mom never got her license, and hated driving in cars anyway. The car is wrecked, slammed into a tree.

Well. He’s in the restaurant, still eating the sandwich because apparently he doesn’t know how to act, and he finds out that that unfortunate accident?

Hydra must recruit drama students because that stage was perfectly set. And they used their star Winter Soldier--James Buchanan Barnes--to do it.

He doesn’t tell anyone about it. Has a long drink of scotch, and listens to Black Sabbath until he can’t hear lyrics, until he feels an iota of calm. He doesn’t blame Barnes, doesn’t really want to exact his pound of flesh or whatever. Or would it be metal? Well, that joke probably wouldn’t land, scrap that.

Tony falls asleep at some point. Wakes up to low voices arguing. He stays on the couch, slowly pulling the blanket over himself. Steve’s back, probably at Nat and Sam’s insistence.

“I saw him, Sam. I know we can get him.”

“I know you need a break,” Sam says. “You’re running yourself ragged, and I’m not going to pretend like you’re fine, Steve. We all know you’re not.”

“A judge and jury, hmm?” Steve retorts. He’s never liked discussing his mental health, Tony knows that. They’re two peas in that pod that reads “Fine” in bold, size 24, Comic Sans font. It’s not serious, but they’re pretending like it is.

Steve still wants to go. Tony doesn’t let him. Steve has dark circles, a wild look about him that has a tendency to never give up. Tony has learned over the years that sometimes, giving up is not that bad. It will not be the end of the world, and you will be okay.

“You’re not a part of this,” Steve hisses. “You don’t even know what’s going on.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Tony says. “I know you, Steve. I know that you’re running yourself ragged because Bucky is the only one who probably knows what it’s like to be warped into future, to be like you, and no one else will catch up. You need to stop. You need to relax.”

“You don’t know anything about him,” Steve says. “Quit acting like you know everything, like you know me.” And there is Steve’s problem, because people do know exactly what he’s like. He’s stubborn, he’s cold, and if he thinks you’re not saying the right thing? He doesn’t listen. Which is both admirable and frustrating. But Tony is tired people thinking that he doesn’t know things, like he doesn’t know them. He knows what people are like, he could probably have a fucking major in behavior analysis by the time he was thirteen.

So this? Icing on the fucking shit cake he’s baked over the past couple weeks.

“Let me tell you what I know,” Tony says, voice dangerously calm, “you’ve been backpacking on Europe, trying to find someone else instead of what normal people do and find themselves. In this process, you’ve kept me out of the loop, which usually wouldn’t be a bad thing, but you can’t lie at all. So then, you’ve gotten me curious. What the fuck are you up to? Why was I not invited when I so clearly could��ve probably found your friend in a month, tops?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Everything about you again, Stark?”

“In this case, yes,” Tony says. “Because you knew, you son of a bitch. You fucking knew about what he did, and you just....what? Were you gonna mention it when things got all better? Or not at all?”

Steve shuts up. Eyes are wide, because Tony shouldn’t know about that, should he?

“If you wanna keep a secret, Steve, you have to keep it on paper,” Tony says. “Or you tell me and you don’t piss me off.”

They don’t talk for a month. Steve doesn’t set foot in the tower, and Tony doesn’t blame him. Tony attends meetings, goes about as business.

He gets a text from Natasha. when r u and steve making up. i’m tired of angst

when were you going to tell me about the little incident?

not my place 2 say

oh because you always mind your business, romanov.

And then they don’t speak.

It really should terrify him, actually. but it doesn’t.

The Winter Soldier is in his kitchen, eating a banana, and blocking access to tea.

“Can you move? I need mint tea,” Tony says. “Also, Steve isn’t here.”

He relaxes a bit, which is odd. Also relatable on some level.

“I-I’m not here for Rogers,” Barnes says. “I’m here for an apology to be made. By me.” Tony waits. “I...remember it. Killing your parents. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tony doesn’t really know what to say. People don’t really apologize to him for big things, and Tony...his emotional skills are practically nonexistent.

“Do you wanna get a burger?” he blurts out. “I really want a burger with at least four pickle slices on it.”

“What?” Barnes asks. “But--”

“Yeah, I’m not good at emotions, and I really am hungry for a burger.”

They don’t say things for a while. Barnes just says to call him James, and also doesn’t like onions on burgers. Travesty, that. Tony orders the worst burger ever, and decides that if he dies of a heart attack, it probably won’t even matter. Not the worst thing to die of.

Could be a car accident.

They talk after Tony pays the bill.

“So, I know that you did that. And I know Steve would say that it wasn’t you, but I get the sneaking suspicion that you’re not Steve’s imagination.”

“You’re right,” James says. His voice is gravel. He’s tense, looking all around them. “I...I remember more than just being a puppet. I remember having thoughts. Winter Soldier is complex. Almost another person.”

“Cool,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, but I literally am not equipped to deal with this.”

“S’okay. I don’t even know if I can deal with it.”

Somehow, James ends up staying. Tony doesn’t know how, but he’s sleeping on the couch. He puts his backpack on a hook like he’s back from school or whatever, which is cheesy, but whatever.

Tony cooks. He does this more often than people think, because he knows how to do things, he just doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He thinks he cooked for the whole team once, and that was an ordeal he’d literally never do again.

So yeah. Makes eggs, sunny side-up. Drizzles a bit of seasoning over them, puts them on toast, and waits.

As it turns out, James regularly wakes up early, at like three a.m., so Tony could’ve made them two hours ago and been fine.

“So, what now?” James asks.

“Now, we start doing things,” Tony says. “And I’m not sure what things, but probably things that are good for your mental health and shit.”

“Sounds responsible.”

“God, I know.”

[thecomicsnexus]

True Stories

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #11. June, 1987. By Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird.

The issue opens with April having nightmares about being attacked by ninja monsters who look similar to the turtles and the Shredder. April wakes up screaming and then heads off to write in her diary. The diary becomes the framework for this issue.

Jan. 15, 1987 Yes, it's almost three A.M. again... My Night Mare alarm went off Big time tonight. It's been over two weeks now, with no relief... I was hoping to shake them before this... I think—The last time I closed my eyes and actually slept (and I believe exhaustion had a hand in that) was on the trip here... Even then my awakening was a shock... April recalls Casey startling her awake during the trip from New York City, wanting her to see downtown Northampton, Massachusetts. She is underwhelmed by the sight.

Considering my state of mind, my reaction was a few notches below "I couldn't care less." I guess I should've looked around a little; I hear that Northampton's nice... at least it might have afforded some kind of comfort for my next sight... From the road, Casey's late grandmother's house looked like a classic old New England farm house—big old barn, family-sized house, sheds, trees and rolling hills; you know, postcard material. That was from the road... Casey is full of nostalgia seeing the Jones Farm, but April is introduced to a dilapidated old building with broken windows and a front door falling off its hinges. April wants to start a warm fire and to get the still-injured Leo into the house. But she is fatigued, and falls asleep on a chair inside.

Jan. 25, 1987 Winter remains with us... snowed two days straight... Clear today. Leonardo's still pretty out of it. The battle tore him up terribly in both body and mind. Physically he has healed incredibly well, but mentally... I'm afraid has a lot of catching up. He's always put himself in front of the rest of the guys; taking charge, bearing the extra weight playing the Big Brother... When someone like that feels they've failed they fall hard! He's recently developed an intense obsession with the surrounding forests and spends all of his time there... I hope he finds what he's looking for and comes out of this depression soon... We all need him back. Leonardo, dressed in an improvised winter hunter's garb and armed with a yumi, stalks a stag through the forest without much success. The stag ambushes him, knocking him down. Leo pulls out of a knife and charges the stag head-on, but the powerful creature instead grabs the turtle with his antlers and throws him over and behind. Leo sits feeling defeated as the stag runs off.

I guess I could never know for sure how he feels inside. But I do know what losing your home—and everything that you own—feels like... Those things that you felt gave you a sense of being and strength in this world... Belongings that touched memory chords of loved ones. Father... I know he's hurting. Feb. 10, 1987 Everything is so strange... I feel like I've never looked at myself or the guys before; we're all so different now I try to identify the people I used to know with those that surround me now... and it's hard. Don isn't doing too badly, although he does work obsessively at the huge amount of repairs that need to be done here. The place has been vacant since Casey's Grandmother Left four years ago, it was pretty run down then. Besides a million little things, Don's rebuilt the windmill to pump water, devised a water wheel that creates enough current for lights and the fridge, and also installed a wood stove for better heating, all around. His most recent undertaking will—if it works—satisfy a craving we've all had lately... ...Hot running water! Feb. 15, 1987 Success! Showertime! Everybody's going nuts! Feb. 17, 1987 Feeling strangely depressed lately... I guess I expected Don to rest a bit after the last hard-won victory... No such luck. I heard him rummaging around in the attic early this morning... who knows what he's working on now. Feb. 17, 1987 Don's Writing Too! He must have found an old typewriter in the attic yesterday. I awoke to the tapping of busy keys around seven A.M. and he's been at it ever since! I wonder what he's writing about... is it a journal, like mine? I'd love to know... Donatello is shown in the attic room with the typewriter...and a trash can filled to overflowing with crumpled up pieces of paper.

Feb. 26, 1987 Michaelangelo worries me the most Mike, who could find a joke in just about any situation, doesn't laugh much anymore. Except for some half hearted goofing around with Casey and Raph, he's been almost painfully solitary lately it's so unlike him. But then all of us seem to have a need to be alone these days. Has what's happened made us unable to be close? I don't know... Mike's chosen a back section of the barn for his sanction... cleared a lot of junk out and created a little work-out space. The other day I happened in on one of his sessions. He was already on edge. Michelangelo is shown repeatedly kicking a punching bag until it breaks completely off its chain. He bashes and destroys a workbench with his arms. Unsatisfied, his takes his rage to the barn wall, ripping a hole out of the wood. He rests his arms on the new hole and groans.

We all feel so much pain and confusion— Each of us keeping his personal torment bottled up inside... Each seeking relief in his own way. The cure hangs plainly, clearly in front of our faces, but who will be the first to reach out? We Need Each Other! March 2, 1987 Raphael scares me. The rest of the guys I can feel for, worry for... but not Raph. Raph runs Hot and Cold... very unbalanced, unpredictable. I keep my distance. Lately I've noticed he doesn't sleep much. He's always always the first up and the last to bed. I think I've heard him Leaving the house late at night, too. I wonder what he's doing... standing guard? Late at night out in the cold on top of the barn, standing guard is exactly what Raphael is doing. He judges the front of the farm clear, then flips several times across the barn rooftop to the back, and judges the back of the farm also clear.

March 10, 1987 I've known some odd characters in my time, living in Brooklyn most of my life, But the likes of Casey Bernid Jones is beyond compare. I believe that in Casey's mind there's a petulant, mischievious ten year old waging constant war with a somewhat mature, Bright young man... unfortunately the ten year old wins far too often. Casey spends all of his time with Raphael, fighting, or "doin' projects, doin' projects!" as they say— usually more damage. What next? In the barn, Casey is trying to repair the engine of an old pickup truck while Raphael sits behind the steering wheel. As they work, they carry on a debate.

One day later in the month, April is out walking on the ice of a frozen lake. But the ice cracks under her weight, plunging her into the freezing water. Leo is hunting nearby and hears her shouts. At the edge of the lake, he takes off his hunting garb which unrolls into a long strip of cloth. He stakes one end of the cloth into the lakeside with his katana, and crawls out onto the ice holding the other end of the cloth, successfully pulls April to safety, and carries her back to the farmhouse.

Back inside, April is resting and recovering from hypothermia. Splinter, the turtles and Casey are gathered around her.

May 1, 1987 I can't believe it's been over a month since I fell through the ice... and even longer since I've picked up this journal. I almost didn't this time, either. it all seems to mean so little now. I started this book to rebuild all I had lost in the fire. I guess after my mid-winter swim (HA, HA) I realized how little my life long accumulation of possessions had. I thought I was all I had in this world. Not true. I've got me, and I've got memories. I also have friends, real friends that I care for and that care for me. I'll always be there for them and they for me; we have each other, we are a family... one. This will probably be my last entry. I guess I just wanted some kind of final word ...sort of wrap up all I had written so far. Life is Good... and Life Goes on. After a day of training, Splinter and his sons are gathered around a campfire.

April wakes up in her bedroom to the sound of creaking. Is this another nightmare? She is pleasantly surprised by the four turtles: One serves her breakfast in bed as another prepares to give her flowers and another opens the window blinds to let in the morning light.

From Turtlepedia

This title needed one of these stories to “catch up” with time. It is early in TMNT history and at this point, time kind of passes by just like in real life. In reality, they really didn’t need such a thing, but this interlude is the source of many stories, presenting a status quo for guest artists.

It seems to me like it is finally Splinter who can put them all together and working for the same goal, in a way this make sense, as he is the father. But he can also influence Casey and April.

I give the issue a score of 8.

[lightsandlostbells]

Skam France episode 9 (S1 finale) reaction

Thanks to everyone who reads these things! I’ve gotten a lot of nice messages and comments since I started blathering my thoughts on Skam remakes into the void, which I didn’t expect, and it makes my day. Even if you don’t agree with me on something, I appreciate hearing your thoughts. I love talking about sad teens and their drama and it has been a grand time talking about sad teens and their drama with others! 

Also thank you to everyone who translates or helps increase accessibility to any of the Skam shows, I am truly amazed by the kindness and generosity of everyone who donates their free time to it. 

Episode 9

Clip 1 - Daphne peed on the wrong stick

Nice job getting in that shot of the condoms and water bottle at the beginning as if to say “I fucking told you so.”

There were apparently several real time errors in this clip in that French students should not have been at school that day, and Daphne mentions having gum at 10 am when the clip dropped at 8 a.m.

This doctor does not quite have the same quality of being from another planet as Dr. Skrulle.

Alex screaming to the heavens about no baby is glorious, but on the other hand, GIRL, you might wanna lower the volume about your friend’s pregnancy scare as people are clearly hearing you.

I love Daphne and think she did a really great job here of being bitter and resigned. I think Vilde was also great in this moment, but I think she was approaching it more from an outwardly (phony) sense of self-assurance. You don’t know want what you’re talking about Noora, I do. And though Vilde is pretty stunned by the doctor’s visit (and tbh I think part of her wanted the baby to be real … but that’s another conversation) you can see her starting to laugh and smile with the other girls before Noora pulls her aside. Then it feels more like cheerful denial that there’s anything wrong with what she’s doing. Daphne seems straight up miserable and defeated.

Clip 2 - Charles creeping again

MY BELOVED THEATER KIDS RETURN. One day they will get their day in the sun. One day. 

TBH Charles has more sleazy charm than William and I can’t determine whether that’ll end up being a good thing or a bad thing.

This clip is WAY better placed than the original, actually! It always seemed off that Noora would be taken in by William telling her she’s beautiful when she still thinks he’s knocked up Vilde. Now that they’ve determined this isn’t the case, it makes slightly more sense. At least that consideration is out of the way.

The only drawback about having the doctor clip before this clip is that it occurs to me that Noora’s conversation with Vilde is likely what prompts Noora tell William to apologize, since Vilde has internalized his words so much to the point of repeating them, and I find it harder to believe that Manon would give a single shit about Charles’ flattery after she’s heard how bad his words made it for Daphne.

Lmao at fucking Charles being like “What are you doing here?” and Manon being like “I go to school here, dipshit”*

* (100% accurate translation)

Wait, this is the same song for the Emma/Yann scene. Is this going to be a Skam France love theme? Will French Even sing it to Lucas?

My favorite thing Emma has done all season was the ensuing text conversation after this clip where she just replies to everything Manon says with “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Clip 3-  Emma and Lucas on the steps

The setup of this scene satisfies one of my burning questions, in that I always wondered what the vibe was between Eva and Isak as they walked over the the bench (awkward) and here Lucas joins Emma on the steps so I don’t have to wonder about their weird small talk or painful silence.

This is the first time where I bought Lucas’ acting. He’s still not exactly wowing me, but I thought he was fine here. Maybe he just needs that very large scarf to hide in to make him seem all vulnerable.

“You smoked at the cabin?” Emma, didn’t you literally see them smoking??

Wait, Tom was supposed to be Ingrid‘s brother? That’s what it sounds like, because why else would Yann contact Ingrid if he couldn’t get through to Tom, if Tom is just some unrelated dude who has weed? I thought her brother was some other guy because Elias was not Norwegian Ingrid‘s brother.  Surely Emma would know Tom as a result of being Ingrid‘s best friend for years, but I don’t think either of them said anything about that, unless I missed it or can’t remember it. At the cabin I didn’t get the vibe they were anything more than acquaintances via Yann. And if Tom is Ingrid’s brother, then doesn’t it make more sense that Emma would hear Ingrid in the background on the phone, and it wouldn’t automatically be a cause for suspicion? It’s not weird for Yann to hang out with Tom.

I think Tom isn’t supposed to be Ingrid’s brother, but this line of dialogue is confusing, considering they changed it from Yann not being able to reach Ingrid’s brother to not being able to reach Tom. It doesn’t make sense to get Ingrid to get in touch with Tom; the chain should go Tom -> Ingrid’s brother (who also has weed) -> Ingrid.

They changed a bit from where Isak owned up to being shady when Eva asked him about hearing Ingrid‘s voice over the phone, he implied that he kind of suspected it wasn’t anything serious and figured it had to do with the drugs, and he acknowledges that he could’ve told Eva this, and he gave her bad advice to ask Ingrid about it. Lucas says he swears he didn’t know, which is kind of funny because IMO, Lucas seems way sneakier and more plotting in that scene than Isak did.

I do appreciate changes to the material but since they’re keeping most of it the same, I wish that they left in the line about karma being a bitch and Emma understanding how Ingrid would’ve felt, because I think that was a thematically relevant line. 

Aw, it was sweet to see how Yann smiled and seemed so happy when Emma called. It’s a shame I like him so much more away from this relationship. He seems so pumped for their meeting. I think Yann is a little needier than Jonas and it affects their relationship positive and negative ways, like I think maybe he’s a little more attentive than Jonas, but he also seems to get more threatened by potential obstacles to their the relationship.

Clip 4 - The Emma/Yann breakup

Yann is so sweet and charming here, like I get why Emma fell for him.

So the final bit of this clip worked pretty well for me! 

I said in another post that the three scenes they needed to nail were the skate park, Ingrid in the bathroom, and breakup scene, and while I didn’t think this was as powerful (mostly because the season-long buildup didn’t make it feel as earned) I still thought this was a strong scene, definitely the strongest of those three.  

I loved the sweet moment of Yann holding Emma on the steps and them smiling sweetly at each other, and that was an aesthetically appealing, tastefully done semi-sex scene, especially the shot with their hands. Although I did find myself wondering if they sat on the steps and then smiled at each other like “let’s go have breakup sex” or if they banged it out, put their clothes back on, and cuddled outside. TRUE TO THE ORIGINAL in that regard. 

More Seinabo Sey songs, love her.

Clip 5 - Ending party

The Emma/Yann hug is really sweet and makes me think the breakup is going to be less fraught, more amiable. which, IDK, it kinda feels like it should be more fraught considering these two are supposed to be very much in love? But it also makes me buy them airing season 2 so soon after S1’s finale, if Yann and Emma are going to be on more friendly terms.

Also the general atmosphere of the scene is more lighthearted. The music too, not as much of a serious tone.

Lucas was all right acting-wise in this scene, too. 

INGRID AND EMMA NEED TO HOOK UP. I can’t say I shipped it in OG Skam but here … they should get together.

Ingrid, Sara and Imane dancing together is great.

Also Ingrid is there when Daphne tells Imane and Alex about Charles, awwww.

I love Daphne. I know I’ve said that a million times but she’s the MVP of Skam France.

The shot of Lucas with Yann definitely did not have that immediate SO THAT’S WHY HE DID IT effect. Yo, Skam France, remember how some of us were like “You’re telegraphing Lucas’ crush on Yann too hard?” Well if ever there was a time to project that shit from an IMAX, THIS WAS THE MOMENT. 

Forreal, Lucas is paying about as much attention to Yann as to the other dude standing next to them. Where is that OTT longing gaze? 

You’re holding a drink, dude, you could give us a dose of innuendo by slurping on that straw while you make eyes at your bro.

But then again, I guess no moment can be as OTT as when you have “Gay Bar” as your musical accompaniment.

There is a major continuity error in the scene because the other guy that is in the scene with Lucas and Yann can be seen behind Manon immediately in the next shot, so either he has a twin who dresses exactly the same or he teleported.

As much as I love Isak’s love of BUTT as the final moment, closing the season on Manon and Charles is a perfectly logical choice for leading into S2. Although lol, the lyrics being like “I’m just waiting for my day to come” are very creepy, Charles. “Cause something inside has changed” is better, though.

General comments:

They should’ve ended this season with the girl squad’s party, dude. Doesn’t that seem like a fitting finale? If the object is to gain popularity at school, shouldn’t they do it as soon as possible so they gain some capital before the popular senior guys leave?

One benefit about airing the next season right after S1 instead of taking a few months is that I can at least buy that they could have the party at the end of season 2. The longer they draw it out, the less it makes sense.

Lucas was definitely panicking and trying to be overly nice in that text to Emma post-Camille’s party. Emma was keeping it cool and Lucas was like I HOPE ALL IS WELL AHAHA WE’RE SO FRIENDLY :D :D :D oh god don’t tell Yann

Right now, I don’t have many thoughts about the season as a whole that I haven’t said before. Emma’s character arc is somewhat muddled, certain plot developments and characterization don’t make sense, the show overuses music, the girl squad dynamic is one of the show’s better qualities, marry me Daphne, marry me Ingrid, etc etc.

My main takeaway is that, out of the three remakes that have aired so far, Skam France definitely has less of a personal identity than Druck or Skam Italia. Even with those shows being early into their first seasons, I can already tell they’re more distinct adaptations with more done to fit their respective cultures. That’s not to say either of those versions are perfect or that Skam France doesn’t have its own strengths, but I would very much like to see Skam France develop more of a unique personality. Not sure if they can do that until S3 since they’ve already filmed S2 and can’t incorporate viewer feedback. It depends on how much it is going to reflect original Skam’s S2; judging by the trailer, it feels like the answer is A Lot.

[themagicnut-blog]

Chapter 4: Baby Momma #3

*Unknown Caller Voicemail* Saturday, 1:18 a.m. Woman’s voice: I know it’s late, I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. Please call me or text me so that I know you got in safe.

What. The. Actual. F**k. You’ve got to be kidding me right now.

Now, in my mind….its all starting to click. - Sudden change of plans Friday evening. - “Fell asleep” by 8:00 p.m. that night - Acting weird Saturday…

So now were at Sunday morning, while I lay in bed, again, next to George…but instead of his phone ringing late at night, I’m finding deleted voicemails from THE SAME WOMAN.

I know, I know, I should’ve just called it quits then. Just like I should’ve called it quits after he put his hands on me the first time. I get it. “Love” makes you do stupid things though, right? And we all know that women love to think a man will change for them.

Fellas: this part is for you though. I know you’ve heard it before, but let me say it louder for the people in the back.

IF A WOMAN ASKS YOU A QUESTION, CHANCES ARE SHE ALREADY HAS THE ANSWER, SHE’S JUST GIVING YOU THE OPPROTUNITY TO BE UPFRONT AND HONEST. She may have the evidence, but she wants the confession. Women become CIA agents within a matter of minutes over this kinda shit, k? Get that through your head.

Anyway, so hearing this voicemail sets me off the deep end…as it should any person in a relationship. Male or female. Right? Right.

So what happens? I wake his happy ass up (figured I was safe since it was morning time and we hadn’t been drinking the night before.) And the only thing I do is play the voicemail for him.

“I don’t know who that is…”

“I’ve only talked to her a few times…”

“No I swear I haven’t been hanging out with her, and I’ve only called to talk about the baby because she was in the hospital.”

“Okay, I did go meet her at a bar Friday night. But only because I wanted to see for myself that she was actually pregnant.”

“No babe, I swear nothing happened with her.”

“Well, she did try to kiss me but I turned my head.”

“Well we’ve been fighting a lot and she’s easy to talk to.”

And just like that, it’s my fault…as usual. Go figure. See how that works? And that's not okay people. Couples argue, outside stressors take their toll on everyone and unfortunately it ends up being the significant other that gets the brunt of that. No, that doesn't mean its okay to take your shitty day out on the person who's just trying to help, and it doesn't mean you run to the first set of open arms to confide in.

We're adults. TALK ABOUT YOUR ISSUES WITH YOUR SPOUSE. Either resolve them, or walk away. But don't bring outside parties in. And I'm not talking about just general complaining to a best friend of the same sex or a family member when it's 2 hours past hangry and you're irritated with them for no reason. I'm talking about that guy at the office that flirts with you on occasion, or that adorable waitress that always gives you a big smile when you come in for lunch or whatever the case may be. Anyone who is clearly showing interest in you is the LAST person you should talk about relationship problems with. That's how people try to weasel their way in. Give an inch, they take a mile. Understand?

Moving on now...

Like I said, it all became my fault. Once again, I was the crazy one. I had no reason to believe he was lying or that he would do anything. I had nothing to worry about and I was overreacting.

And that lead to "if this shit doesn't stop I'm leaving."

"You know what? F*** this I'm done."

"You stupid bitch just forget I existed." 

You know, same ole same. We'd be off and on for a week or so. He'd be all dramatic about it and change his facebook relationship status to single. Delete me. Post a bunch of sad songs. Blow up my phone, and then ignore me. Lots of screaming, he was good for that. Whatever he felt like doing that time around to look like the victim.

I'd beg him to stay.

And then things would be fine again.

His story about that Friday night changed 3 or 4 times, too. That was the funny part. I mean, if you're going to lie...at least make sure you keep the same story. What actually happened all depended on present company and how much he'd had to drink.

The final story was that he never met up with her at a bar. That he had decided to go over to his bosses house to hangout and drink, and that they needed weed but his bosses usual dealer wasn't reachable or something along those lines...so they had called her and met her at a gas station to pick up the goods. He told me he was drunk, that SHE tried to kiss HIM, but he turned away from it.

And what did I do? I let it go and tried to move past it.

And things were fine for a little while...as usual...

[micebrandy29-blog]

I was in denial that I had Tuberculosis

I was in denial that I had Tuberculosis

Again, I’m sharing my experience with having active tuberculosis. Nothing I say should be construed as medical advice. Please speak with your doctor if you suspect that you have an infection. All of what I’m sharing is true to my own experience with TB so please do not take any of it as medical advice.

This is part 2, it turned out to be so long so I broke it into two parts. If you haven’t read part 1, yet, you should click or tap over to I had tuberculosis.

I will say, the entire stay at the hospital, I was in total denial. I didn’t believe that I had tuberculosis. I framed everything as in if I have it, if they know what my illness was. It was always an if.

I remember when they first came into that hospital room and told me, I said, “I need to call my pulmonologist.” I did call him before I left my first hospital room and begged his front office to put him on the phone because I was freaking out. He got on the phone and told me, “Well, I’m the one who called them. We sent samples from the bronchoscopy and the preliminary tests came back showing tuberculosis. I had to alert the hospital.”

My husband wanted to know more details and just wanted to figure out what we could do and what our next steps would be. He even tried calling to talk to my doctor, he had left a message but after a couple of hours of not hearing back, he actually drove over to his office.

I love my doctor because he’s hilarious without trying to be and his very matter of fact manner. He kept telling Curtis to calm down and that everything was going to be okay.

We were both so scared. In one way, it was reassuring to hear this and on the other hand, we didn’t feel like everything was going to be ok.

Side note: I had a routine visit scheduled this past December with my pulmonologist and he said you look good. You have come a long way. Before I left, he was standing next to me and gave me a side hug.

I texted Curtis afterwards and said my doctor hugged me! Gosh, I don’t know if they know how I appreciate him and his staff so much.

While in the hospital, I was treated by an infectious disease specialist. He was a doctor who specialized in infectious diseases and especially had experience with tuberculosis. He told us that had worked for the state for a time working on their TB protocol.

He had a great bedside manner and spent a bunch of time with us answering our questions. I’m really grateful to him because he explained how tuberculosis is treated and how the patient is treated.

He told me that I was going to have to deal with the health department, that they would actually come over to my house and watch me take my medication. If I refused to take my medication, that I would be arrested and admitted to a hospital, probably one in south Florida, where they would force me to take my medication.

He mentioned the names of the medications I would be taking and he told me that I would be taking them for at least six months. He told me I was lucky because in the past it was up to a year on those medications! I can’t even imagine that! Even looking back, I can’t imagine that.

He explained that it’s a disease that is pretty old and there are laws in the books that say the government can make you take the medication for it.

Side Note: When this doctor found out that I wrote about food and photographed food for a living, he told me I had to try this Thai place near his office. He would rave about this place. We went that summer when I started to feel a little bit better and we loved it. I just ate there again yesterday with friends!

Frustrating times in the hospital

During my stay at the hospital, a couple of situations occurred that were really frustrating.

One morning, I woke up and my fever was back in full force. I wasn’t hallucinating, but I was starting to feel really delirious, and it made me feel really scared that I wasn’t going to get any better, that I was getting worse.

I was shivering and shivering, but then also sweating and not feeling really great. I also wasn’t able to think straight. I remember one of the nurses came in and said, “I’m going to be back in five minutes with your medication,” and I remember looking at the clock and it was 7 A.M.

I fell asleep again because I was so delirious, and I woke up again at 10 A.M., and there was my nurse with the medication. She gave me my Tylenol and within a half an hour, my fever broke and I was feeling so much better. That’s when I started feeling really angry because I should’ve had my medication three hours before. It was so frustrating and it made me think of people who are much sicker than I am in hospitals all over.

What I learned: You have to be firm but nice. Even if you have to ask for something over and over again, do it. Be persistent. Keep track of your medications yourself and when your last dose was and when your next dose is supposed to be. Be your own advocate and if you can’t be (because you’re sick and it’s hard to be your own during that time), you need someone who you love and trust to be pushy for you.

The first night in the isolation room, they brought me the medication to treat tuberculosis. No explanation of the medications or what they were. They said, here take this. It was four different medications and a vitamin.

They were:

Rifampin Ethambutol Isoniazid Pyrazinamide Pyridoxine

A couple hours after my first dose, the nurse came back to check on me. I had just gone to the bathroom and I was freaking out because the toilet bowl was orange and I probably shouted, “Something’s wrong! I think I’m bleeding.”

I mean it was dark, so I couldn’t tell that it was orange, it looked red or purple to me. The nurse asked me, “Are you on your period?” and I looked at the nurse thinking, “Okay, I’m a grown woman. I think I’d know if I was on my period.” It was just laughable that she would ask me that.

The next day, one of the respiratory therapists told me I could request the names of the medications and the information sheets on them. So I did and when they brought the sheets in, the respiratory therapist reviewed them with me.

It turned out that Rifampin actually turns your bodily fluids orange. That was a fun experience especially since I had to take it for six months. (That’s sarcasm! LOL There needs to be an emoji for sarcasm…)

Every few hours, a nursing assistant checked my vitals and each day they drew blood to run tests and also listened to my chest. Some of the doctors and nurses could hear a crackling noise in my chest, some of them said they didn’t hear anything and that I sounded fine. LOL

I could hear a creepy creaking noise in my chest. Sometimes I would hold my breath to see if it would stop but it didn’t. I kid you not, it sounded like creaky stairs in my chest and someone was walking on those stairs making them creak.

I had friends visit me in the hospital. Everyone that entered the room had to wear a mask. I felt grateful they wanted to go to all that hassle to visit me in the hospital. And I couldn’t help but get emotional every time someone visited me.

I was still in denial it was TB. I felt vulnerable and tired. My family wanted to visit but my closest family lives over an hour away. I didn’t want to burden them with having them come to visit.

My Mom was sick with a cold (I think) at the time and I didn’t think it was a good time for her to visit. And I felt guilty and worried that I might have exposed any of my family and friends that I had been around during the last few months.

At a certain point, I began to feel better and asked to be taken off of the pain medication because it was an opioid. So that’s when they switched me back to Tylenol for my fever.

My attending physician mentioned to me that once I didn’t have a fever for 36-48 hours straight, I could go home. On Saturday afternoon (day 3), I was feeling much better. I had asked them to unplug me from the IV machine and cover my arm so that I could take a shower (which they had done every time I needed to shower).

When I got out of the shower I had decided that I was going to put on pajama pants and a t-shirt instead of the hospital gown. I was feeling much better, and I sat there for a few hours and no one came back to plug me back into the IV machine.

I wanted to go home

At that point, for a couple of days now, I had been taking oral antibiotics, so the only thing that was coming through the IV was saline water. I was talking to the respiratory therapist and I said, “I don’t really think I need this IV anymore,” and she said to me, “Well, you can ask them to take it out.” I said, “I can?” and she said, “Yeah, you can refuse it.”

That’s when I decided to call the nurse. When she arrived, I asked her to remove my IV. She was insistent that I shouldn’t do this and said, “We advise against this, we don’t really want you to take it out, we think you should keep it in in case something else happens.”

I could tell my respiratory therapist wasn’t looking at me, she didn’t want me to shout out to the nurse that she had told me I could refuse the IV. No way was I going to do that.

You don’t do that. I don’t know how many times I have said this but you don’t sell out someone who is helping you. (Of course, as long as they aren’t harming someone else or doing something illegal.)

I told the nurse, “Well, I refuse this and I want you to remove the IV.” The nurse came over and pretty much yanked it out of my arm (it really hurt when she did it) and told me to put my hand over it. Then, she left.

We were sitting there for a little while and she looked down at my arm and said, “You’re still bleeding. She didn’t bandage your arm?” I said no, “she had told me to place my fingers on my arm and never came back to bandage my arm.”

That’s when my respiratory therapist started looking at a first aid box (or was it a supply box?) that was in my hospital room and there were no bandages or gauze. She then left the room, having to go through the whole procedure and again once she returned with a bandage for my arm.

One night during my stay, I couldn’t sleep. Another patient down the hall wouldn’t stop yelling and screaming. When my nurse entered my room, I asked about the yelling. She told me they were ignoring him.

They won’t let me leave the hospital

At this point, I had started asking the nurses that came into my room if I could see a doctor to discharge me. The response, “Well, your doctor’s not here, your doctor’s off for the weekend.”

Being persistent, I kept calling the nurses’ station. At one point I said, “I’d like to speak to the head nurse,” and they responded with, “We’re trying to get your doctor to approve it.”

Then, at one point, the head nurse actually came into my room and said, “We can’t let you go. No one will discharge you, no one is here.” Basically, the answer I got was that they’re short-staffed on the weekends and they don’t really do discharges on the weekends.

They told me that the physician treating me wanted to confirm with the infectious disease specialist my prescriptions before discharging me.

It just boggled my mind, I was sitting there in my pajama pants, no IV in my arm, and watching T.V., and I felt like I was in a really overpriced hotel room at this point. I just was really frustrated and wanted to leave. I felt so stir crazy because I couldn’t leave that room.

Side note: I watched the Cinderella (live action) movie on tv in my hospital room, it was my first time watching that movie. I bawled when Cinderella’s mom told her to have courage and be kind. It sounds so cheesy but I felt like her character was speaking directly to me.

Curtis would come visit me and stay with me for the whole day but like I mentioned earlier he had to go home at night and take care of the pets. He would spend a lot of time looking out the window and say, “You have a really nice view.” I responded by saying, “I don’t care.”

To this day, I can’t even tell you what it looked like out there because I didn’t even want to look out the window. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room so I was frustrated.

The next morning (which was Sunday), I saw my doctor and he said, “I’m really sorry you couldn’t leave yesterday, we had to get your medications straight.” They gave me prescriptions for the five medications and I was able to go home.

That afternoon, on the way home, a dear friend of mine texted me asking how I was and if I had received the flowers she and a couple of other friends had sent me. She had paid for them to be delivered to my hospital room.

I told her that, “No, I didn’t get any flowers.” She responded by saying that she would reach out to the florist the next day (Monday).

She spoke to the florist and the florist even called me. The flowers were delivered by her husband on Saturday afternoon. They left it at the nurses’ station but I never received them. She sent him back to the hospital on Monday. The nurse that signed for them told him I don’t know what happened to them, I think they were delivered to the patient.

He then went outside and called his wife and she told him to march back in there and tell her she would need to pay for the flowers since they were never delivered to the patient. He suggested to his wife to put together a new bouquet so he could deliver it to me at home. She said no way, you need to go back in there.

He went back inside and told the nurse what his wife told him to say. They scurried around looking for the flowers and turns out it was in a linen closet. We all wondered how they got there. He delivered them to my house and I was so grateful.

Kindness and Thoughtfulness Matters

At first, I thought it best to not make a big stink about this…but then when you think about it, my dear friends had taken the time to send me beautiful flowers because they were thinking about me. They wanted me to know that I was loved and that they cared.

When someone has a serious illness, these tokens of love and thoughtfulness mean so much. They really do. Especially at a really vulnerable time and you’re not feeling your best.

It’s hard to not think that the flowers were purposefully not delivered to my room because I was being persistent about getting discharged.

While I was in the hospital, I did google tuberculosis on my phone. Most of the sites that popped up were about TB symptoms and treatment. I only found a couple of firsthand accounts. They were aid workers and got sick in faraway countries and came home to the U.S. to be treated. One of them had to be quarantined for months and she became depressed. The other case was so serious that she had to have parts of her lungs removed.

There were times in the hospital that I was really scared. I had moments where I wondered if I was going to die. So when my friends thought of me and ordered flowers and whoever at the hospital decided they weren’t going to take the time to deliver them to me, it just pissed me off.

But more than that, it upset me. If it could happen to me, it could happen to others.

Curtis took me home from the hospital when I was discharged and then went to the pharmacy to fill the prescriptions. The pharmacy only had 4 of the 5 medications. I later found out that a month (or two?) supply of these meds costs upwards of $2000.

We were lucky to have good insurance at the time and paid a total of $200 in copays for the meds they did have. I took the medications that night and Curtis went to a different location to pick up the fifth one.

The health department calls me

On Monday morning I received a phone call from a gentleman who works for my county’s health department. He told me that he had in front of him results from the state’s TB lab. He told me that I, in fact, had TB and that the hospital should have called the health department.

And that he would have seen me in the hospital. The entire time, he was just shocked that the hospital didn’t call him. Then, he told me that the health department would be handling the medications, they would be bringing the medications to me, and, just like the infectious disease specialist told me in the hospital, that they would deliver my medications and watch me take them.

He told me to throw away the $2,000 worth of medicine we had just bought the day before. He told me that I couldn’t use it as they are supposed to dispense the meds directly. I was so grateful that we had insurance and that we hadn’t just shelled out $2,000 for medicine you can’t return.

But $200 is still $200 and we wouldn’t have spent the money and wasted these medications if the hospital had called the health department like they were supposed to. I wouldn’t have received those prescriptions if they had called. And maybe I could have left the hospital a day earlier.

One of the things I learned on the call was I was to be quarantined for two weeks. I needed to stay home and stay away from people with compromised immune systems, children and babies. When I was in the hospital, they asked me over and over again if I had children. Now I knew why.

He told me I could take walks but that I should generally stay home. They understood that I would have follow-up appointments with doctors so during the quarantine period, I would need to wear a mask when I went to a doctor’s office. But the main thing was I should avoid areas or rooms that are not well-ventilated.

I remember framing everything again with an if. If I had tuberculosis, if the final tests come back as TB, were we sure that I had tuberculosis? I was told in the hospital that I would take eight weeks for a full culture to come back with a definitive result of positive for active tuberculosis.

That made me think, there’s a chance I don’t have it! But looking back, I know that didn’t make sense, my hoping it wasn’t TB. Which meant I was hoping they were wrong and didn’t know why I was sick. Because active tuberculosis is highly contagious, they don’t wait the 8 weeks to find out. If initial tests come back as a possible positive, they make you take all of the medications to treat you for TB.

I asked what percentage he was certain that I had tuberculosis. He told me 97%, that he was 97% sure that I had TB.

I had to do a series of tests. I had to give the health department regular sputum samples. I’m sorry if this sounds gross. I had to inhale deeply and try to cough from the bottom of my lungs and then spit into a cup.

Once I had a couple of consecutive negative tests, the quarantine would be lifted, which meant that I was no longer contagious.

Why health departments are tasked to watch TB patients to take their medicine

The reason health departments are on TB patients to take their medicine, they shared with me, because once they are not contagious and when they start to feel better, in the past, they would stop taking their medications. Which is bad news since you’re taking antibiotics. This would create a resistance to antibiotics.

During the time I was quarantined, I talked to my therapist over the phone and did our sessions that way. I’m grateful to her and having the ability to talk to a third party about what I was going through. It helped me process it which looking back was a saving grace.

Every day, except the weekends, they came over and gave me my medication. (On Fridays, they would give me enough medication for the weekends for me to take on my own.)

At first, I was taking 10 pills a day. But at the two week mark, I was allowed to opt into taking 21 pills twice a week instead of the 10 pills a day.

The nurses at the health department were always nice. When they came over, we would sit on my couch and chat while I was taking the medicine. They would ask me how my day was going, answer any of my questions and chat with me like they were my friends. But I know their sole purpose in coming over was to deliver my medications and watch me take them.

The medicine made me so sick. Actually, I get emotional thinking about that time because I could barely eat and I could barely do anything. It just made me feel overall ughhh. I spent a lot of time on my couch. When I could, I would watch Netflix. I rewatched every West Wing season (the best TV ever), I watched the Newsroom for the first time and I even watched all of the episodes of the OC.

I went to see both my primary care doctor and the infectious disease specialist as a follow up to the hospital stay. One of my doctors told me that basically, I was going through a chemotherapy treatment. It was four very strong antibiotics and a vitamin (because one of the antibiotics strips your body of vitamin B6).

I remember my primary physician telling me that I needed to let my body heal and I needed to be gentle with myself. I was getting so frustrated that I couldn’t work and I was getting frustrated with my body. Through it all, she was very nice and I remember that day I was bawling in her office, she gave me a hug.

I even had a nice chat with her after the whole chest x-ray fiasco before I ended up in the hospital. Something happened with my chart and it never made it to her desk to call me with the radiology report. She took full responsibility for it and even apologized.

She even gave me her cell phone number for whenever I needed it. I remember texting her the night I was in the ER…asking her what I should do. She did respond and told me that I should let the hospital admit me and figure out what was going on.

Back to the meds, they made me really sick. Since I was on twice weekly, the medications made me feel sick for a couple of days. When I would start to feel a little bit better, it would be time to take the next dose.

I opted for Mondays and Thursdays and pushed them to come as late as possible in the afternoons. Having them come in the afternoons left me with two mornings a week where I would feel a little bit better and I would try to get some work done.

One of the other milestones I was waiting for was to see if the strain of mycobacterium tuberculosis that I had was antibiotic resistant or not. They told me once that test came back as negative, I would be able to remove one of the medications.

In total, I was unable to work for four months that year. Early on after I came home from the hospital, I had an impending deadline for a client. This client was understanding and kept telling me that it was ok and I could take my time. I was really late turning in my work but they were accommodating. They have no idea how much it meant to me that they were flexible and understood that I was really, really sick.

One of the regular things I had to do besides taking the medications was to get regular bloodwork done. One of the medications can affect your liver and they wanted to track that.

I had to get an HIV test

When I first talked to the health department, they told me they needed to test me for HIV. If I was HIV+ then the treatment for TB would be different. I assumed I wasn’t HIV+ but the anticipation waiting for the test results was not fun.

A couple of weeks went by and they didn’t mention the HIV test results. I was in close contact with the health department, talking to them several times a week. So I finally asked about it and they told me that the lab complained they couldn’t run the test because there wasn’t enough blood in the vial.

It was frustrating dealing with the health department

So I returned and a different person from the health department took my blood sample. She asked me which arm she should use. I told her my left arm. One of the things I do when I have to take a blood test is I don’t look at the needle, I just make sure they’re wearing gloves and then I look away.

At one point, she mentioned that there was no blood coming out. And the vein had collapsed. I looked down and she had actually stuck the needle into the same vein as where my IV was from the hospital was placed, and that vein had not healed yet. That arm was looking really gross. I told her this and she said let’s try your other arm.

She had to stick me three times to actually draw blood. It was excruciating. I never had a problem with blood draws until that year probably because I had to have blood drawn so many times. It’s hard for me to get blood drawn today. I wiggle around and I try not to get anxious but it’s hard not to!

So of course, after that, I talked to my primary care doctor and she wrote me a standing order for all of the blood work that the health department needed and some extra tests. It was great, because then I can pick where to go to get my blood work done. I went to the place I usually go to, the lab I mentioned earlier. It doesn’t hurt when they do the blood draws.

Same thing with my x-rays and my CT scan when I had to get another one done. My pulmonologist did the order. I used my health insurance to help pay for these tests. I could have done it through the health department and it would have been covered by my county or my state but doing it through my insurance I could pick where I wanted to go and not have to deal with some of the ridiculousness.

Side note: During that time, I found out that I’m vitamin D deficient. Like dangerously deficient. I take a prescription supplement every other week now and it helps my energy level tremendously and I don’t get weird muscle cramps anymore!

Over time, I realized that I needed to stop questioning whether I had TB or not. Even if I didn’t fully believe in this diagnosis, I was starting to feel better. I was coughing less and less.

Not that I was trying to deceive them but I knew I needed them to know that I would be in compliance. I was taking my medicine and actually in the end, never missed a dose the entire six months I was being treated.

I was given another patient’s medications

I think it was May, a Monday or a Thursday, one of the nurses arrived from the health department to give me my medicine. After a month or two of getting meds from them in an orange bottle with my name handwritten on it, they started bringing my medication over in a little plastic bag that had my name, birth date and medications and dosing on it.

You tear it open and just take the medication. I know you have seen ads for this service on TV and on social media. I have!

I have a placemat on my coffee table and I always sat in the same spot on the couch when they came over. They always sat across from me and would have a casual conversation which was always disconcerting because I know they were watching me to make sure I took my medicine.

I always tore open the packet and would let the pills drop onto the placemat. Some of the pills were pretty big so I would take them one at a time. When I was taking 21 pills, it felt like it was going to take forever to finish them all. (Over time, when I would hit certain milestones or time periods and they would remove a medication or lessen the number of pills. Towards the end, I was taking 8 pills twice a week.)

I would always hold the little plastic packet with my name on it and play with it with my fingers, moving it up and down and twirling it. That was just a nervous tick I had.

At one point, it didn’t seem to register fast enough in my brain for me to spit it out. I had realized this wasn’t my pill packet. It had someone else’s name on it. And then it registered and I could blurt out, “These aren’t my pills!”

She said, “What?” I replied saying my name isn’t on there, there’s someone else’s name on this pill packet.

She had no idea how it happened and was flummoxed. She probably shouldn’t have told me but she mentioned that this other person was double my size and had more pills in his packets than I do.

She looked at the pills that were left on the table and calculated in her head the ones I had already taken. And she said with confidence (although I don’t know if I believed her) that I had only taken what was prescribed to me and what was left on the table were the pills I didn’t need or shouldn’t take.

I was pretty gobsmacked that I was given someone else’s medications. My level of frustration with dealing with the health department only grew. Again, they were very nice people but I was still frustrated.

In June, I kept asking them for the final culture results. I knew the 8-week mark was coming up. Every time I saw them or talked to them on the phone, I asked them for the results. It was probably annoying them because every chance I got, I asked them if they received the results yet.

I’m talking about that original sample that was taken out of my lungs by my pulmonologist. The state lab had cultured it and I was waiting for that final result.

Finally, I got the results, they handed me the paper that said Julie has TB. Not exactly that way but you know what I mean. This was weeks after the 8-week mark, by the way. The date on results was dated three weeks earlier. To say that I was mad was an understatement. But what could I do?

Towards the end of June, it was nearing the halfway point for my six months of treatment for TB. So I started asking, what is the date of my last dose? I wanted to know so I could put it in my google calendar! I love looking forward to a certain date. I get to count down, I guess you could say.

They kept giving me the runaround. They kept telling me it depends on different variables and what if I missed a dose? I told them, I haven’t missed a dose yet and I don’t plan on it. All of the nurses kept avoiding the question when I asked about the date of my last dose.

So finally, one afternoon, the nurse who had accidentally given me the wrong meds called to ask about what time she could come over with my medication. I told her that I have been asking for my end date. She started telling me the same thing that everyone else said.

I finally said, “You know, honestly, I’m not a child. I totally get that things could change, but I just kind of want the date and I’m really frustrated because I had asked for that final culture for weeks, and then I finally get it, and the date on the report says three weeks ago.

The other thing is, the other day you came over with someone else’s medication, I never told your boss about that. So, I just really want a date. Just give me an end date, I know it might change.”

She responded by saying, “Okay, let me see what I can do.” She gets off the phone and her boss calls me back ten minutes later. He says, “Okay, here’s the date, it might change,” and I said, “I know, I just want to put it down in my calendar.” When I counted how many doses, it wasn’t the exact date that I thought, but it felt good to me to have this final date. I thought to myself, okay, this is when I’m going to start feeling better.

June was a big month, I started traveling again. I went to Boston for a blogger retreat and it was so fun to be among friends and “co-workers” again. I started to feel like I was coming back to the land of the living.

Because I hadn’t missed a dose meaning I was compliant, the health department was able to give me a cell phone that had wireless service. The only thing you could do on the phone was take a video of yourself taking the medicine and upload it to a server that my health department had access to.

I had to take a selfie video showing them the pill packet with my name on it and showing them each pill in the camera as I took it. This was great because I didn’t have to meet them twice a week in my living room anymore. And I could take the medication as late as I could which meant I could actually eat dinner!

Side note: another reason why I love technology!

For a long while, I don’t remember exactly how long, I slept in the guest bedroom. I didn’t want to get Curtis sick. I felt a huge amount of guilt because the initial blood test showed Curtis had been exposed to TB. They ordered a chest x-ray and didn’t see any TB infection in his lungs via the x-ray so they gave him the all clear.

I was told that consistent and close contact with a person with active tuberculosis (who is contagious) is how someone else could “catch it”. My mom and a couple of siblings who live closest to me were tested and they all came back negative. But it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when Curtis tested positive for TB exposure.

He’s my spouse and we share a bed together so while I was contagious, he had close and consistent contact with me. Again, I’m so grateful that he never got sick.

I’m so glad he didn’t have to be quarantined and miss work for 2 weeks+. But because he was exposed, he had to take Rifampin for 4 months. I felt terrible because that’s the medication that turns stuff orange. I know. Ugh

Aside from the medications wearing me out, a lot of the time I felt too sick to eat. I had a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach for most the time I was on the medications. And one of the medications caused joint pain. The joint pain thankfully stopped a few months after I finished the medications.

I finished my tuberculosis treatment in October 2016. I had another chest x-ray ordered by my pulmonologist that December and it showed my lungs were healing.

I was told by the health department that I would probably have scarring in my lungs and if someone was trained to see it, they would be able to see the scarring in my lungs via x-ray.

I was diagnosed with an immune deficiency

In December 2016, my allergist (who is also an immunologist) diagnosed me with Mannose-binding lectin deficiency. Finally, I had an answer. All along, everyone said I didn’t fit the profile of someone who could have active tuberculosis. That it didn’t make sense. That something in my history had to account for why I was not able to fight off the dormant TB any longer in 2016.

I kept asking my doctors for answers on what my something was. What was that something? My doctor ran a battery of blood tests and discovered the deficiency. He told me that a lot of doctors don’t know about this deficiency so they wouldn’t be likely to run this test.

It just means that I have a deficiency of an immune system protein. I’m more susceptible to upper respiratory tract infections. I’m more susceptible to pneumonia and meningitis. Likely caused by a genetic mutation, I was told there’s nothing they can do about it.

There was something I could do though, I was advised to get both pneumonia vaccines as well as the one for meningitis. Over the last couple of years, I have gotten all three of those vaccines.

It took over two years for my body to heal after I completed the medications but even after being given the all clear from the health department, I had what seemed like an unshakable anxiety about getting sick. About being around sick people.

I could feel the anxiety materialize when I heard someone near me have a coughing fit. I was constantly worried that I would get sick.

Because when I get bronchitis, it always takes me longer to get better than anyone else around me. And I got it pretty much every year. So the immune deficiency diagnosis made so much sense. As a child, I was sick a lot.

Every few months, I would feel more of my energy level coming back. I would think I’m all better now. I’m ready for whatever comes next and then a few months later, I would feel even more energized.

I realized that my body had to heal and I had to give it the time and space to do so. But during that time, I wanted to rush it. I was tired of being sick and tired of being tired.

Where I’m at today

If you have stuck with me this long, thank you…I know these posts are so longgggg.

Today, I try really hard to listen to my body. Sometimes, I’m not very good at listening to it but I am better about it than I was 3+ years ago. I really try hard to rest and drink a lot of water. I don’t share food or drinks with anyone.

I try to do yoga regularly and I try to keep my stress level down.

A couple of the most important lessons I learned was that you quickly find out who your real friends are and what truly matters.

What matters most to me are my friends who care so deeply, friends who want what’s best for me and who support me. What matters to me is that I live authentically and only share with you the things that I love but at the same time, share with you what’s going on and being real.

It’s interesting how there were little things that used to bother me before my illness and I could give a crap about those things now. And there were things that I didn’t prioritize but I prioritize them now.

From the friends who had flowers delivered to the hospital and the ones who showed up in my hospital room and wore a mask and sat and chatted with me. Even though, I didn’t know what to say and couldn’t stop crying because I was so scared.

And the friends who sent us a gift card for groceries. And to the friends who sent us food, even though I couldn’t enjoy it in the moment, it mattered and I appreciate them for it.

I remember telling one of my sisters’ years ago, we have been through so much. We can get through this. I tried to channel that feeling and those words even in my darkest times during my illness. And there were dark times.

For a long time, I really wanted things to go back to the way they were. But I know now that it’s not possible.

Now I try to take time and pay attention to what I need first. Which means staying hydrated and getting enough sleep. And that means saying no more often than I did in the past. Saying no more means I will have energy for the things that are most important to me.

In November 2016, I talked to my doctor about this constant neck and back pain I was having. After an MRI showed I had a herniated disc in my neck and several bulging discs, I realized I have to work even harder on lessening my stress even more. Even not getting enough sleep, causes muscle spasms in my neck and back.

Everything has changed and I can’t go back. I learned so much from this experience, about myself and about others. And today, I can honestly say I wouldn’t change a thing.

Everything has changed and yet, I am more me than I’ve ever been. –Iain Thomas

The last lesson that I learned and wanted to share with you is to always ask for copies of test results, reports and imaging. Today, I always ask for ultrasounds, x-rays, scans on a disk so I can keep and if needed, I can take to another doctor. Sometimes, doctors and nurses are taken aback because they are not used to patients asking for copies of everything, even a negative test result. But I tell them, it’s a habit I have developed after having active tuberculosis.

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Source: https://www.thelittlekitchen.net/i-had-tuberculosis-part-2/

[theycallme-tunathot]

Road to Ruin [Chapter 6] Reader

Pairing: Jackson Wang x Reader Rating: Somewhere between R and NC-17 I suppose Synopsis: As the tension between the two best friends reaches an all-time high, Jackson concocts a plan to overcome it and move forward with his “fake girlfriend plan.” Cue a little test drive. Author’s Note: I banged this out really quick and I’m so proud. Wow. I got really inspired and plus, I’m about to house-sit for a few days and my best friend’s wifi is so shady. So I knew I had to do this while I had the reliable connection. Hope you guys enjoy! Don’t be shy to drop into my inbox and let me know! Gif credit goes here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

"Be honest with me: Was that the first time one of your friends said something about me?"

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Jackson and I should've never been best friends.  

With how polar opposite we were to each other, we should've never worked even as casual friends. But somehow that didn't matter. Somehow his natural friendliness and my way of keeping him from spending all his time in the clouds, worked.

I remember the exact moment I decided I wanted to be his friend. He already considered me a friend by that point and insisted we eat lunch together nearly every day. I knew he was foreign and came to Korea for training and he probably found me easiest to talk with because I could speak Cantonese, but I was still confused about his energy.  

Why did it have to be me?

My mind always asked me that question, but I never bothered to ask it aloud. It was in bad taste to do so wasn't it? And after all, who knows what kind of answer Jackson would give. Not to mention the very real fear I had about him answering that question.

If memory served me well, some questions were best left unasked. While Jackson proved to be a nice guy for the most part and someone who definitely found ways of getting along with everyone he came in contact with, I couldn't be sure what the real answer was. But I had an idea of what I feared it was.

"You don't talk much."

"Everybody thinks of me as a foreigner."

"You give me all the rice you won't eat."

Those were the answers I feared the most. They were examples of a guy who was just too new and still settling in. It meant he was friends with me because it was convenient. I didn't incessantly bug him about his life in China, I didn't always point out his grammatical mistakes when he spoke in Korean or look down on him for not understanding a cultural difference between China and Korea and I cut my rice intake down drastically after my last meeting with my nutritional coach. I was a safe choice. If I was the safe choice now, all these reasons turned into the most superficial of bonds between us and that meant he would drop me as soon as he found his social group around the training facility.

And somehow that seemed like the worst outcome. Jackson's constant presence and interaction made me understand just how lonely I was before. I hardly talked to anyone, I focused way too much on my training to the point of having little downtime and when I did speak to people, I somehow intimidated them.

But all of that flew out of the window during a co-ed sabre training session. After beating me mercilessly during our bout, we sat on the side watching two more co-ed pairs begin their bout. Jackson was talking to me about something, but I couldn't hear him. I was too far in my head trying to understand why he turned down going to Jinyoung's party to accompany me to my parents' house.

"I just think I need to work on strengthening my core a little mo--"

"Are you sure you don't want to go to Jinyoung's party?" I asked, still not facing him, still not looking either. "I mean, Jinyoung's house is awfully close to mine, you can literally walk from my house to his."

For a split second I could see Jackson's confusion at the abrupt interruption, but once he was calibrated to the new direction of our conversation, he didn't hesitate to answer.

"Of course I'm sure. I promised you I was going to your family dinner thing, so I'm going."

The ease that he said it with was so...unnerving.

I frowned, "Yeah but...it's not that big of a deal. You can go, I don't care."

"Y/N, it doesn't matter, it's a done deal."

"I mean, you can dip out after meeting my family. Nobody would be upset with that."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jackson shake his head. "I'm going and staying the entire time."

I rolled my eyes out of frustration. Why was he so stuck on being a nice guy and helping me survive dinner with my family? We'd only known each other for two months, yet he was treating this situation like we'd known each other forever. How dramatic did this guy have to be?

A deep sigh escaped my mouth before I sat my hands over my mask placed in my lap.

"Do you not want me to go?" He asked.

"I never said that."

"Yeah, but that seems like the place this conversation is naturally going."

"I'm just...Jinyoung's parties are legendary around these parts," I reasoned, feeling bile burn a whole through my esophagus as I complimented my enemy from birth. "It's a huge social event and I'm sure you'd thrive in that kind of crowd. You'll get to meet all kinds of people from here."

"So? It's not like those parties never happen except one weekend out of the decade," Jackson shot back, breathing out a soft laugh. "Honestly, it wouldn't hurt to miss one party."

His answer only seemed more peculiar to me. While I didn't have any close friends or even acquaintances that I could use as a reference point, I was positive this wasn't normal behavior for a friend. My frown only deepened at the thought as he shifted beside me to stretch his legs out.

"I think I got fat," Jackson mumbled morosely as he picked at the abdominal area of his jacket.

I blinked a couple of times, finally turning to look at him.

"Honestly, this feels tighter than before. And for fuck's sake, my legs," he lamented loudly, his voice traveling slightly to other pockets of pairs in the room. "It's like elephant legs but like, a miniature elephant's legs."

The snort that sounded forth from somewhere deep in my body couldn't be restrained. As I quickly covered my mouth, I felt a sharp jab at my ribs as I was nudged harshly. Tipping to the side before rocking back to an upright position, I shook my head in awe.

"I don't get it," I mumbled out silently. It wasn't really meant for anyone, but I should've known Jackson heard me. He somehow always did.

"Get what?"

Before my brain had enough time to work out the intricacies of what words held what weight in this situation and how to perfectly phrase the response or if I would even be honest about what I meant by the statement, my heart leapt into action.

"Why are we friends?"

The way he answered that question made me realize that maybe I was thinking about our interactions with an unfair bias toward Jackson.

Jackson was handsome. Jackson had the potential of being extremely popular because he was likable and handsome. Jackson was the antithetical embodiment of me. But Jackson never considered any of that when he took a seat next to me at lunch on his first day. So why did I continue to do that?

By the time I was able to completely pull out of that memory, I was in my dorm room. The backs of my heels were bleeding from how brand new the pair of heels were. My roommate swore she'd never even tried them on and the proof was now trickling down my achilles heel and no doubt leaving a stain on the inside of the shoe. Not to mention the leather was slightly scuffed.

I slowly gathered up everything I needed for a shower and pajamas. Thankfully my roommate already left for her weekend in Busan with her sister, leaving me with the choice of noise I wanted to make.

Walking into the connecting bathroom, I made sure to lock the second door that led to my suitemates' room before closing the door and turning the water on. As I waited for the water to heat up, I could feel my mind racing to distract myself from analyzing what happened in the car. On the long walk back to the dorms, I kept myself occupied by going over my meal plan and the detailed nutritional content my nutrition coach discussed with me. By the time I reached the facility's grounds, I kept my mind occupied by counting the steps it took to get from the exterior gate to the women's dorms.

But now, seated in the bathroom of my dorm, I was still desperate to push the event as far down and out of my subconscious as I could. So I began to go over my schedule from this second and onto the next day.  

I would take this shower.

I would wipe the makeup thoroughly off of my face.

I would text Jackson.

I would go to sleep.

I would wake up around 7 a.m. for breakfast and a run.

I would go to the weight room for strength training directly afterward.

I would go to the suit shop with Youngjae...again.

I would go back to my dorm room and watch tape of my practice bout from a few days ago.

And I repeated this schedule all the way through my shower, while scrubbing the copious amounts of cosmetics off my face and when I finally changed into a pair of blue running shorts and a gray hoodie.

By the time I was tucked into bed, plugging my nearly dead phone in to charge, I was brutally reminded that I still needed to text Jackson. There was a tiny piece of me that didn't want to text him. At least not tonight. With all the events of tonight still fresh in my mind, I didn't want to relive it one last time before I went to sleep.

Walking out of the car and refusing to take my best friend's offer for help was already bad enough. It would be worse for me to not text him that I arrived at the dorms safe and sound right?

Loudly, I groaned as I reached for my phone. Begrudgingly unlocking it and clicking on the messenger app, I paused a moment. My eyes scanned the series of threads I had going at any given time. Jackson was at the very top. After Jackson was Youngjae. Just below him my sabre coach. The next three were my parents and my sister. And then it was a whole lot of blank space. The amount of white that glared back at me taunted me mercilessly. It only reminded me of something Bambam said earlier.

"Jackson has to be her only friend huh?"

In some ways that was true. I didn't talk to Youngjae nearly as much as I talked to Jackson, mainly due to Youngjae never leaving his room during his down time and refusing to work out with me. Jackson really was the only person I spent time with and one of the few people on this planet I would do just about anything to help. But somehow hearing that aloud made me feel sick to my stomach and pathetic.

My finger put just enough pressure to open up my messages with Jackson as my eyes scanned the weird and colored bubbles of text before they finally settled on the blinking cursor. What did I text? Something normal, like Made it back to the dorms, night just seemed too bland. Well, maybe more than bland, it seemed like an invitation to start a conversation. With my mental state, I didn't want to start a conversation. I just wanted Jackson to know I made it back in one piece and that what happened tonight wasn't his fault.  

...And that he would hopefully have the sense not to bring this up tomorrow during strength training.

Hey! Guess who's aliv--

No. That was stupid.

Jackson, made it back. So you at 8.

I rolled my eyes and erased the text, starting again. I did that five more times, starting a message before deleting it seconds later, before my exhausted body begged my mind to let it go and send the fucking text.

Hey buddy, wound up in a ditch tonight, but luckily somebody brought my corpse back to my room and tucked me in. Night, I'll see you in the weight room.

I attached a picture of me with my eye closed and quickly hit the send button before my thumb decided to erase that message too.

Just as I pulled up the quick menu to put my phone on Night Mode, my whole screen flashed to a picture of Jackson. He was calling and it only made me inwardly groan. I didn't want to talk right now. But I also couldn't bring myself not to answer the phone. Closing my eyes in exasperation, I hit the green button and raised my phone to my ear.

"Hello."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not rotting yet, so I'll take that as okay."

"Seriously Y/N."

And that's when I noticed it. It took me two responses to notice how dead serious Jackson was at the moment. It was a tone that he took earlier when I was standing on the shoulder of the highway trying desperately not to cry. It was the same tone he gave me when he pled for me to get back in the car.

My eyes opened slowly as I took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Listen, I didn't mean to get you into such an awkward--"

"Jackson, it's really whatever."

I immediately face-palmed. What kind of response was that?

"What does that even mean?"

Awkward silence lingered until I finally had a rational thought that seemed coherent enough to speak aloud. "It's fine. I just want to sleep right now. It's like--" I paused to look at my alarm clock, "4 in the morning. I have to be up in three hours to get ready for strength training. As do you."

"Yeah, but I think we need to talk about--"

"Can we talk about it tomorrow when I'm not halfway asleep?"

Another silence dropped into the conversation, but I could hear Jackson literally fighting the idea of giving up on the conversation and ending the phone call. But he also probably felt a sense of guilt and didn't want to push me. That thought only made me feel worse.

He huffed out a frustrated but resigned breath. "Fine, but we're talking about this eventually."

"Okay. Goodnight!"

Once I heard his goodbye, I hung up. My cell phone made a loud clatter as I set it down on the night stand and turned over. I wasn't looking forward to tomorrow, but it wasn't like this moment was any better.

The next morning I woke up well before my alarm ever went off. It was annoying really. I got dressed much too early and got to the cafeteria well ebfore anyone else was up and ready to take on their day. I chocked it up to how late I went to sleep, but somehow that didn't make me feel any better about sitting in the cafeteria all alone.

Almost as soon as I finished my oatmeal and fruit cup I was rudely reminded of every little detail from the previous night.

If I was being honest with myself, I wasn't mad at Jackson. I knew from the moment I decided to be his best friend, we would always co-exist in some weird space but always live in separate worlds. While the training facility and the cafeteria were the places we could comfortably co-exist with one another. Outside of that, it was hard to merge our worlds to coexist and last night was just living proof of that.

But last night was maddening for a variety of reasons. To start with, I did a lot of prepwork to look the way I did and even bit back some of my own pride to willingly show up to Jinyoung's house. But for all that trouble, I had nothing to prove it was worth all the trouble I went through. Mark was no closer to knowing who I was and probably no closer to being interested in me than he was 24 hours ago.

To top off the night, I got to hear a very earnest account of someone else's perception of me. I didn't blame Bambam for anything he said. He was obviously drunk judging by the fresh scent of tequila wafting around him every time he opened his mouth. I also didn't hold anything against Jackson—at least he stood up for me.

Even though I didn't really place the blame for last night on any one person, I knew it all started with me. If I hadn't felt so determined to get a moment or two with Mark just to prove that I could fit into a group I clearly didn't belong to, everything that happened after that would've never happened.

"Y/N!"

Startled out of my thoughts, I jumped and looked behind me where the voice came from.

Jackson.

"You're up early," I pointed out casually.

"So are you."

"But that's not so odd to see. I always go for a morning run."

"I know that."

He gave me a look that screamed that he wasn't in the mood to dance around the topic and I nodded dejectedly, my eyes drifting away from him. "Of course you do."

Jackson walked around the end of the table before plopping down in the seat in front of me, loudly setting a tray of soup and rice down and his water bottle.

"How're you doing?"

"My legs are incredibly sore, my running shoes are literally scratching the new scabs at the back of my heels which feels fantastic and I maybe got four hours of sleep. I'm doing great."

"That's not what I mean."

I shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to look Jackson in the face. It wasn't worth it really. I knew the moment I looked up, my eyes would be met by the intense stare that would beg me to share my thoughts and feelings and I risked crying in the middle of the cafeteria.  

So instead, I gripped my own water bottle, unscrewing the top to take a swig.

"What am I supposed to say Jackson? It sucks. I feel shitty."

"That's exactly what you're supposed to say. Be honest!"

His whole face lit up at my response.

My face only seemed to tighten in a frown, "Jackson, I don't want to think about it."

"But it's something we should probably talk about."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do," he argued, tilting his head incredulously at me. "Why shouldn't we?"

"Because you're my best friend and I don't want to hurt your feelings."

It was immediately obvious from Jackson's face that I hit a raw nerve with him. He seemed to be clueless as to what I meant by that, but the words still held a great deal of weight. I wondered why for a moment, but the wonder immediately dissipated.  

I was his best friend.

"Why would you hurt my feelings?"

"Be honest with me: Was that the first time one of your friends said something about me?"

The milliseconds, which easily turned into seconds, ticked by agonizingly slow as Jackson seemed to be at a loss for an answer. Laughing humorlessly, I nodded my head.

Figures.

"Another question, and feel free to answer this time: Was that the first time you've had to defend me against stuff your friends have said about me?"

"No."

"Thanks for being honest," I said breathily. "I would've never forgiven you for lying considering you hang out with Jinyoung. And that guy makes his living shit talking about me."

Jackson nodded, unable to hide even a small smile at that statement.

"This is gonna be a problem."

"What is?"  

I gestured between the two of us, "This. I'm supposed to convincingly be your girlfriend, but your friends think I'm a hermit crab with zero fucks to give about my appearance. This won't work."

Panic flashed over my best friend's face and for a moment, he looked lost. His wide dark brown eyes darted over my entire face, perhaps begging me to come out with a punchline that would discredit my previous words. But when it never came, his usually bright and warm face darkened.

"So you want out then?"

I shrugged, "How would we convince your friends that I'm dateable? Bambam said it last night: I never leave training grounds."

"He didn't even count the times you go to the convenience store to buy protein shakes," Jackson chided.

From the outside, he looked genuinely upset that Bambam didn't consider this little fact. But as his best friend, I knew better.

And for the first time in twelve hours, I laughed. "But seriously, you and I as a couple just seems impossible. You have to admit that."

"I don't have to admit anything," he said, his face sobering up enough to let me know he was serious this time. "I've seen people who have everything in common and all the similarities and have zero compatibility. On the flipside, I've seen people with nearly nothing in common or so few similarities it's laughable how they even were put together, but they ooze chemistry."

The way he looked at me was strange. This would mark the second time Jackson attempted to convince me to go along with the plan. And maybe this was working.

"Doesn't that just scream us?" Jackson said with a slight grin. "I can make it work, trust me. Of course, it's up to you whether we go forward from here, but I'd like to have you in on this with me. You're my best friend after all."

I silently nodded because while I didn't have all the faith in the world that Jackson could figure out a way to pull this off, I didn't want to trample all over his pride, especially after the way he defended me against a friend of his.

The afternoon came all too soon. During strength training, Jackson hounded me about coming up with an "origin" story of when I first fell in love with him. I suggested I tell them it was when Hell had it's first hard freeze. He suggested I watch a few Korean dramas to figure it out.  

Youngjae and I were currently at formal suit shop in the heart of Seoul. It was our second time back after I told him none of the suits he picked out looked like it matched his sister's wedding. He disappeared in the back nearly fifteen minutes ago and left me to sit in this small mirrored area alone.  

I couldn’t pinpoint the last time I went shopping. I couldn't even really remember the last thing I bought that wasn't related to working out or fencing. So the level of discomfort was mounting the longer I sat here by myself.  

Unfortunately, having company wasn't such a good idea either.  

"Miss, is there something I can get you? Water perhaps or coffee? Tea?"  

I looked to my right to see a porcelain doll—no, just a woman. Her features were so soft and strange. She didn't seem real. Long brown hair, pale skin that matched her neck and a set of small pink lips. Her nose was long and the bridge was high.  

Nothing was out of place.  

Coughing, I shook my head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you though."  

"Are you sure?"  

"Yes."  

"You just seem nervous," she commented, a child-like laugh following her statement. "Most brides-to-be are pretty nervous. I just wanted to see if I could help."  

It didn't make sense as to how she connected the dots on that. How did she think I was a bride-to-be?    

Before I could correct her, Youngjae's head cautiously popped out from around a wall.  

"Y/N, don't laugh at me," he said self-consciously.  

Blinking a couple of times, I smiled. "I won't."  

"You're already starting!"  

"I'm just smiling."  

"You look like a crackhead trying to hold in your laughter."  

"I'm not laugh—look, just come out and let me see the suit," I said, motioning him to come out.  

At this point, I was up on my feet and leaning forward slightly. The woman beside me giggled again. When I turned to her, she seemed to perk up even more.  

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "You both have such great banter. It will make for such a beautiful marriage."  

"What?"  

Youngjae shouted before I could fully work out the question I had. "If it looks stupid, don't say anything."  

"Then why am I here Youngjae?" I asked, feeling my frustration building.    

"I was just saying if it's stupid, don't say it's stupid."  

"Well, with my limited vocabulary and my third grade education, I'm not sure how you expect me to do that."  

The woman laughed even harder, her delicate and tiny hand covering her mouth. And she was definitely another added stressor to this current situation. Her insistence on Youngjae and I being engaged was somehow making me feel like I was being called out for something I didn't do.  

Before the store associate could go into another compliment about Youngjae and me, my phone began to vibrate. My eyes squeezed shut as I read the name on the screen. Fucking hell.  

Telling Youngjae I needed to take the phone call, I headed outside to the storefront.  

"I thought we agreed you would give me 24 hours to come up with a story," I answered immediately after picking up the call.  

I heard him huff out a humorous laugh, "I'm probably going to need your story a little sooner than that."  

"Jackson!"  

"Sorry, but things are changing, rapidly. I want to take you out tonight."  

I furrowed my eyebrows as I watched a couple pass in front of me. Moving backward in the hopes to give them more room on the sidewalk, I sighed. "What do you mean?"  

"I'm taking you out tonight."  

"For what?"  

"A test drive."  

His voice was sure and unwavering and it gave me the impression that there was no real conversation to be had about this.  

"I'm not a sports car Jackson."  

"Never said you were," he replied. I could hear our coach in the background, assisting someone with their equipment from the sound of it. He must've been in practice right now.  

Part of me knew that eventually I would have to stop fighting this. I knew most of my aversion came from the mere idea that Jackson would now have to play the role of my boyfriend, a spot I didn't need him to fill while Mark was still alive. But he was my best friend and he needed the help, and what kind of best friend would I be if I didn't at least try to help? I also owed him one.  

Taking a few beats to gather what little strength I had, I felt myself nod despite Jackson not being able to see it.  

"What do you mean by test drive?"  

"It's a chance for us to test what couple us would look and act like around my friends," he said. "Think of it as a factory reset. This is the way you can start fresh with my group and we can start the groundwork on this thing."  

Another deep breath couldn't calm my frayed nerves enough. "You have a point."  

"Of course I do, I thought this through. Be ready by 5 tonight."  

"Tonight?" I exclaimed loudly. "I have to make up the training I'm missing right now since I'm helping Youngjae. I can't go tonight."  

Marching right along, not even bothering to acknowledge the statement I just made, Jackson rattled off instructions. "Be ready by 5 and meet me right in front of the dorms."  

"What are we doing?"  

"Don't worry about it."  

"Who all will be there?"  

"Don't worry about that either. Just wear something comfortable but cute."  

[celestivbys-blog]

Chapter 1: Forgotten?

A Picture when Pile, with her dogs, coincidentally meets Ucchi

As soon as Pile enters her home, she’s greeted by 2 toy poodles that were standing, jumping and softly barking.

“Aww you guys ♡, hihi”, says Pile as she lovingly hugs them.

Right after, she heads straight to her bedroom and decides to lay her bag on the bed.

                        She looks back and gazes upon the clock

 ‘It’s 9:15 p.m. already? Wow, I didn’t expect it to be that late...’ Pile has thought to herself,

 but then she blinks quickly in realization-

 “HOLD ON! That’s still, in fact, early for me! I have no bedtime!”

 As Pile sorts out her bag, unexpectedly, a light shines out of nowhere in the side pocket, causing her heart to skip a beat.

She places her right hand on her chest and lightly sighs as she realizes right away that it was her phone.

 “There’s A LOT of notifications. How’d it get to such amount? Have I not checked my phone?- Oh that’s right, I had set it on silent since I had a live today~ must have forgotten.”

 She sits down on the side of her bed and scrolls through all of her missed notifications.

 You can see how much happiness she’s filled with, as she laughs and smiles, reading through all of her birthday greetings.

 But when she looks up at the ceiling and sighs in a sign of disbelief, right there and there, the atmosphere has changed its mood.

 She looks back at her phone for about a minute without saying anything, nor having any facial expressions.

‘Everyone seemed to have greeted me, and the only ones who haven’t are those in-

  Her eyebrows furrow.

 ‘Mimori is the only one who has tweeted me a birthday greeting, but still....’

 ‘They couldn’t have forgotten, could they? Are they planning a surprise perhaps?...No, that can’t be the case since I have no plans with them, nor was I invited to anything.’

 “It’s 9:38 p.m. already....Last time we chat was 3 days ago....”, Pile’s voice shifts to a nervous tone in the latter, “and I don’t even want to remember what it was about (•~•) ....”

The birthday girl grips her phone with her left hand, while she rests her chin on the palm of her right. Her mind is piled up with so many questions, choices, and decisions, as she asks herself of what she must do.

  ‘Shall I remind them?’

Her eyes are now starting to shift to different places…

‘Or maybe at least give a clue about it?- ’  

 “No No No, that’s not you Eriko! That’s a bit selfish of you...Is it even a selfish act though??

Gah, I don’t even know anymore…Why am I so desperate?”

 The μ’s girls are very precious to her. Well, LoveLive! is the main reason as to why her career as a singer became successful.

Poor girl, her mind rambles on several ideas, options, and disagreements. And after the live she just had today, and with all these thinking, she just got her brain all worn out.

“Aaaagh”, she lays herself on the mattress, covering her eyes with the back of her right’s forearm.

Flashbacks then come to her mind of each of her Love Live! μ’s colleague’s birthday celebration. Last that has come in was Kussun’s, she felt a bit jealous as to how grand of a surprise it was. But even so, she lightly smiles as to remembering those moments.

 “They just can’t forget…I had a live show and the fact that Mimori tweeted me, how could they not be informed that it’s my 30th birthday…”

 The light brunette is now filled with negative emotions such as sadness and disappointment, but actually it is more on confusion and disbelief.

 She wants to cry them all out but decides to not to and tries to recall all the positive episodes that have happened today. It is her birthday after all, she does not want to end this special day with such negativity.

9:24 a.m.

 Pile opens her eyes halfway. She tries to recollect herself as she sits up, pulling her knees close to her. She hugs em and rests her chin on top.

 After about 3 mins, she notices that she did not change clothes from yesterday’s live and the fact that she did not take an evening shower, she rushes to the bathroom to freshen up.

 As Pile prepares her breakfast, she hears a familiar ringtone coming from the living room.

 ‘Who can be calling?’

 As she glances over her phone,

her eyes widen and immediately answers the call-

 “SU-CHAN!”

 “AH! Pai-chan, you seem hyper first thing in the morning....

By the way, that’s the 100th time you’ve screamed my name whenever you answer my calls.”

 “Really Suzuko? Out of all the numbers, it just had to be 100?”

 “Hehe....Yes. ANYWAYS, could you make me matcha green tea? I’ll be there in a few seconds-“

 “Wait, WHAT?”

 “Bye Pileeee”

 Mimori hungs up

 ‘Huuuh?! In seconds?! How close by is she???!’, Pile thinks out to herself as she prepares the necessities for the requested tea.

 Even with the certain amount of confusion going about in her head, Pile’s mood has certainly shifted to excitement.

Ding dong

And there she goes dashing down the entrance hallway. Her footsteps can be heard by her friend waiting outside; she too was also a member of Love Live! μ’s.

A Picture of Mimori and Chocolat-chan

“Eh? Do I look like a ghost to you?”

 “Why a ghost?”

 “Because your face said it all when you burst opened the door.”

 “Yes Suzuko- OF COURSE NOT. Since when was someone happy seeing a ghost?!”

 “Uhm...ghostbusters, hehehe”, Mimori grins to her answer as Pile’s face turns into someone annoyed or unamused. ( ＾∀＾)/（−＿−；）

  “Then maybe I am a ghostbuster, and that means to say that you DO look like a ghost.”, Pile says in a sarcastic tone.

 “Correction.... A beautiful ghost“, says Mimori in reply with her signature Mimo wink at the end.

 “Haha, funny-“

     The kettle begins to rustle, alerting Pile.

 “Oh! That’s for your tea!”, Pile runs back and asks Mimori to close the door for her instead.

  As Mimori rests herself on the couch, found in the living room, she unleashes Chocolat in order to play with Pile’s dogs.

 “Su-chan, why are you here anyways?”, Pile approaches with the tea Mimori asked for.

 “Well, I wanted to hang out with you in the mall. I decided to fetch you instead of meeting you up there.” Mimori takes a sip and places the tea on top of the wooden coffee table in front of them.

 Pile’s eyes starts to widen, because the first thing that comes into her mind is perhaps a birthday surprise.

 “But why inform me in matter of seconds before your arrival?”

 “Uhm...SURPRISE-“

 “Not buying that...”

 “Fineee...it was your birthday after all. You had a live show yesterday and I was pretty sure that you’d be busy and tired for the day. But really, I wanted to surprise ya of my visit. I want to celebrate your birthday, just you and me, like last year when we did with mine.”

 “You shouldn’t have informed me then, that way it would’ve been more of a surprise... Plus, after your call, you had me more confused than being surprise-“

 “No. You were mostly excited than being confused AND surprised.”, Mimori smirks. Embarrassed, Pile looks away from Mimori and acts like Maki by saying her famous line, “Nani sore, imi wakannai!”.

 Pile then thinks to herself,

 ‘Could the rest of the girls be waiting for us in the mall to surprise me? They must’ve tasked Mimori to fetch me.’

 “Are you really trying to act like Maki-chan? Hehe, can’t forget about μ’s?”, asks Mimori.

 “OF COURSE NOT!”, Pile abruptly shouts in a way that caused Mimori to flinch.

 “Woa, Pile...a-are you alright?”

 She then returns to her normal self when Mimori asked her the question.

 “Oh no. I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to...”

 “It’s fine, I just didn’t think that you would react that way.”, Mimori smiles in order for Pile to calm down.

 “Right...Well, imma dress up now.”, Pile stands up and heads straight to the staircase.

 “Don’t wear anything formal by the way, I am not treating you to a very grand restaurant or anything.”

 “Awww whatt...Yea yea I know, and besides- I had planned to wear my Nishikino Maki Animal Hoodie.”

 “Why not the jersey one like mine?”

 “I don’t want to be matchy-matchy with your Umi Jersey Jacket. I just want us to be wearing something similar in concept.”

 Mimori takes a sip off her tea.

 “Pfffft...matchy-matchy? Yours doesn’t even have the exact same design as mine. You’re just shy because we would look lik- HEY! WAS I TALKING TO NO ONE?!”

 ‘Hmph she left me, and now I feel embarrassed because it looked as if I was talking to MYSELF.....

 Although Pile,

Flashback

  that was the first time I’ve heard you reply in a very sharp and serious tone, and yet the topic was about μ’s….Did something happen...?‘

 “I’m done!”

 The lady that was left alone raises an eyebrow, “And you’re not sorry?”

 “Sorry for what?”

 “For leaving me while I was talking? Never mind then...hmph!”

 “Wait I did? All I heard was “pffft”, then I thought you were gonna pout and force me to follow what you want, so I left.”

 “Amazing Pile, simply amazing”, Mimori slowly claps.

“Don’t worry Su-chan, I know your style heh.”

 Pile winks back at Mimori and heads down to the entrance hall, where her shoe room can also be found. But then a loud scream is heard,

“AAH!”

 “Su-chan, what’s the matter?!”, Pile runs back.

 “Oh! Sorry, sorry...

 Chocolat-chan ran and bumped into the coffee table, and then the tea spilled onto your floor. I’m really sorry.”

 “Oh no, it’s okay, I’ll clean it up. This will also serve as my apology for leaving you.”

 “No no, I’ll also help clean….

  BUUUuuT, since you didn’t want to be “matchy-matchy”, at least let me be the one to choose your shoes.”

 “Uh- is that necessary?”

 “That will serve as your apology instead, hihi”

 “ I trust you for choosing my shoes, but I want to pick for myself.”

 “Aw c’mon, pretty pleeeeaaaseee?” Mimori does the puppy eyes since she knows it is irresistible, especially to Pile. And now Pile tries to look away, closing her own two eyes, but still opens one of them afterwards. Mimori is still doing it, and no matter what Pile does, she cannot find herself to say no.

Sweatdrop

“Mmmmmm...I should’ve seen this one coming...”, Pile lets out a sigh and smiles back at Mimori.

   “Fine, you go pick. Just make sure it’ll match the hoodie I’m wearing.”

 “Yey,  hehehehe.” Mimori claps with her fingers rapidly as she goes to the shoe room.

 “You really do act like a pre-schooler sometimes...well, most of the times.”

 Mimori replies while looking back, “We both do… everyone in μ’s in fact.”

  “Yea...”, the dark brunette looks at her dear friend with concern but shrugs it off before she notices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[uniquewastelandmiracle-blog]

It is 12: 46 a.m. March 2, 2017 I did not take the Nyquil. I still cannot stop crying. It’s 12: 49 now, and I am 21 crying and crying. My eyes ache. I’m hungry. I already felt terrible because I spent since 8 p.m. I spent trying to understand the simplest form of Music theory from Edinburg University. Coursera really is a gift that I’m too mentally incapable to use to its fullest potential. Aside from knowing the shaft and semitones are, and abbreviations used within like EGBDF and FACE, I’m dull beyond hope. I spent four hours trying to learn a skill I was truly passionate about, and still am for some reason, and did not make any progress. I spent four hours trying to jot down a melody on an online music software and I failed miserably. At one point I nearly felt embarrassed, like I was being watched by a group of people who were silently watching me, but I knew they were watching at how pathetic I was at making music, and trying to grasp how I was this challenged.

Remembering Max Martin say in his early twenties that he had no idea what the hell a producer was or what one did, that he spent day and night trying to figure it out does make me feel a little better, but not better enough. I promised I would never harm myself again. No more cuts. No more pills. No more attempts. I would really have stooped low, even for me, to start carving my skin in my twenties. That’s some shit I left behind in my teenage and elementary years. No more. But then there’s the news. It always breaks my heart to hear of those certain things that take place. I know no one will ever read this, and yet I’m still petrified to open up. I feel like I’ve been mocked for the way I feel about certain things so much that its not even worth talking about it anymore. It’s just something that lingers on in the back of my head till it pushes itself forward sooner or later and the next thing you know its 12:59 a.m. and I’m bawling my eyes out wishing I had an ounce of contentment in my life.  

I’m trying very hard not to let anyone make me feel silly for the way I feel. I’m crying out of empathy, hopelessness, and frustration. If only I could play god for one fucking day and wipe out every form of evil on this planet. Fucking sewer rats, all of them. I’m friendless, and crying all by myself in the middle of the night with snot constantly running down my top lip as I wipe it over and over and over and over again. It’s like being thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty all over again. I should just do it and get it over with. I’m scared of life. I’m also scared of death and I’m stuck in the middle of deciding which one will bring me more peace and calm me the fuck out. I do have a cool uncle and this cool cousin who I’d terribly miss. I don’t think I’d miss my mother at this point. The woman who claims to see me as her number one priority but leaves our most heartfelt talks to play Stepford wife to a husband that abused her daughter for years. The woman who can cook like a pro, and clean like a champion but never has given me the slightest interest in my own interests. The same virtuous woman who can draw, paint, design, speak four languages, do henna, dance, teach, knit, stitch, sculpt, bake, and maintain her physique like its second nature to her but must force herself to listen to my ‘problems’ and give me fifteen minutes of her time. Right in the middle of us talking, he calls to her and without a warning she’s gone out of my sight and won’t be available, my own mother, in my ‘my’ home for hours to come or even till tomorrow. At least in India my mother was actually my mother.

I feel worthless. I convinced my self over the past year that I was an alright gal with something decent to offer to the world but today that feeling is not there. I feel completely useless, unintelligent and hideous. I don’t feel like attempting to write another song, or listen to Edinburg’s music theory videos, or playing around with the Midi. I don’t feel attempting vocal warm ups or covers. In fact, there is only one thing I feel like attempting.

But there is not a single soul out there that would love the rodent as heavily as I do and have. The little cherub has never licked anyone else besides me anyway. Who would every caress him, cuddle with him and sleep beside him the way I do? Who would hold him so close that you can hear the life through the meat of his little body and feel your heartbeat and your favorite family member’s together? I can’t do anything that would hurt myself, because overall it will hurt him, and the little rabbit is turning only three on March 19. A gentle, over emotional, anxiety filled Pisces like me. I knew this little episode of self-hatred, anxiety mixed with depression and panic was coming. I started doing things that should’ve given me clues but even I can’t recognize my own indirect behavior. I stop brushing my hair and stopped eating healthy.  I have not done cardio for weeks now and I have no cleaned my drawers and organized my closet like I do. I started letting myself go in little ways. I started looking for my old contacts to help me self-destruct. But I’m fine as long as no one can tell right?

I am rambling on and on. I stopped crying but my heart still hurts. I’m just another, over emotional young girl that’s just being ungrateful yea? No. I don’t think so. For years I have felt extremely alone. I’m just some emotionally crippled bitch that pities herself a little too often to the world of men and a few women perhaps too yeah? My tears almost returned. I’m too alone. Too out of touch with my identity, if I even have one. Too away from home and the people who make me feel like I’m at home. I’m too far away from my passions and my ability to help oppressed people and creatures. I’m too far from anything I want to have, create, or give and no matter how good I claim my intentions to be, I can’t reach happiness. The top of my shirt is wet from my tears from before. My stomach is rumbling because I’m fucking starving. I’ve got no appetite. I don’t want chocolate or pizza. K actually maybe pizza.

And I’m not even mad at whatever celestial little fucker is out there because of what happens or doesn’t happen to ME. Nope. I know I am damn blessed, even when I’m sobbing so hard because I don’t understand why I can’t grasp basic music theory and how I’ll find a job to support myself. It’s what you’ve done to others. I’m not even talking about my family!  “God”, if you’re out there, I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done to the people of color in the past. You’ve made every single one of them suffer. You didn’t leave any one of us out! Fair play fucker, fair play indeed. Reading about the ‘contributions of men’, the colonization, the raping, stealing, plundering lands that belonged to the default peoples of the land, bombing the life out of them for sources you can exploit, the sex trafficking and tourism….Its illogical at this point to even believe that there is good out there, that there is someone out there that is ‘god’.

What god makes people kill in its name? What god allows all these crimes against women, against the children, against Africa? What god let’s Nazis in 2017 gain presidential power? A bad god. Fuck you god, I hope you fucking die. The people’s ignorance, evil, intolerance has made me almost as intolerant of them as they are in general. Religion is the fucking devil. All that rape, crime, oppression of women, texts written by fucking men, rituals that make no fucking sense, false sense of morality, I’m through all of it. I’ve decided from today on wards I will never step in another temple again. Going to temple made me realize how false religion is. The Indian Americans at my temple are nearly all wealthy, educated, well rounded but so disgusting. They all hate each other and talk about each other behind their backs, all of them. They all are judgmental, kiss ups, that are about materialism and prestige. It irks me to talk so bad about the people who are descendants of my own nationality, but these first and second generation immigrants are a disgrace to Mother India. They don’t act like the real Indians in India. Where there is genuine hospitality even in the street vendors and among rickshaw drivers. I have never been able to identify with the 2nd generation of Indian Americans that I’ve seen come and go in the temples I’ve been to. They are nothing like the Indians in India, I mean aside from their looks I suppose, almost nothing else is similar. Not the same amount of culture, nationalism, understanding and deep appreciation of our strengths and abilities- none of it. 

So what did I learn about myself after writing 1700 words? That I’m an atheist, piece of shit that rambles on so much, everyone must think I’m annoying and that’s why no one talks to me. And that when I want to fucking die like right now at 1:47 a.m., I can’t because I’ll feel bad for my cousin, her father who is my uncle, and my pet rabbit and yes I suppose my mother. Everyone else doesn’t mean shit to me anymore. I am going to go take a piss and then cry myself to sleep. Maybe I’ll get lucky and won’t wake up.