#not sure if/how much they conversed when she wasn't loopy

[dutyworn]

                                            @parameddic    /    cont. from ↷

She stirs at something poking her in the back, quickly alert at at the painful strain of her arms. Her head, as well, is pounding.

‘Nancy?’

The voice sounds vaguely familiar, but Wren can’t place it. She’s lying down, hands tied behind her back (explains the strain  ⸺  the backs of her wrists against each other, someone knew what they were doing).    ❝ Sorry, ❞    she says, voice thick; she clears her throat.    ❝ Not Nancy. ❞    She doesn’t know who he’s referring to. Where does she know that voice from?

More urgently, where are they? Gauging herself in the dark, stuffy air, she assesses her body limb by limb  ⸺  head and torso hurt, the latter likely from the strain of being tied up, the former from having been knocked out, but her legs feel relatively normal, and are free. It’s  ⸺  the small space, the vibrations: they’re in a moving vehicle. How the hell did she end up here? She doesn’t remember being attacked  ⸺  whoever’s done this must’ve caught her sleeping, or been really good & managed to surprise her. Gods, she hates how much more vulnerable she is, in this version of Detroit. If she had her omni-tool, she could get them both out of this within minutes. If she had her gear, if she were working within an environment familiar to her, she wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. She’s more angry than she is frightened.

❝ My name is⸺ ❞    she catches herself, about to go with Shepard rather than her first name. Old habits die hard, and while her gut reaction isn’t to state her rank, anymore, she has to consciously lead with her first name, rather than her surname.    ❝ I’m Wren. I don’t remember  ⸺  are you hurt? Can you get free? Do you know what happened? ❞    Her questions are asked in the order of priority.

Her fingers bump into his as she twists in her restraints, pushing against pain. Whatever is going on, working on freeing her hands is essential: else she can’t help him or herself. Fucking zipties, really? The plastic digs into her wrists, drawing blood, as she tries to force against it enough to twist the position of her hands as to have more leverage with the insides of her wrists together, rather than the outsides.

She freezes when their surroundings lurch. There’s a moment of nauseating sway, the faint noise of metal creaking, creaking in a way she knows from when she... No, it’s not the sway that’s nauseating; it’s her body knowing what’s causing it, before her conscious thought.

She knows the noises a metallic vehicle makes, adjusting to water around it.

Oh, fuck...! OK, fine, she’s frightened, now.

❝ We’re in a vehicle of some kind, ❞    she states, tone calm, but body tense.    ❝ I think we’re in a body of water. Sinking. ❞    She twists her left hand violently enough to groan from the pain, working her own blood as a lubricant to slowly keep rotating it into a better position.

[cr4yolaas]

mezzo forte — pity party

track 6: workaholic methology | masterlist | track 8: non-confrontational

it's dark and a little louder than it should be, given the time. mattsun and makki man the kitchen counter, haphazardly pouring out drinks and serving food, while the mass of old classmates disperses among the living room.

hajime sits beside her on the couch, the stress and irritation from two nights prior still lingering. he doesn't realize it's the same for her -- that all her mind can think of is her unfinished work at home and her last conversation with hitoka and kiyoko. they bask in shared silence, both oblivious to the other's grievances.

kiyoomi's words haunt hajime. for a moment, he casts his gaze towards her. he knows there's an edge of truth to his roommate's words.

he swallows the lump in his throat. "how have you been? has the album been going well?" he asks, his voice nearly drowned out by the excess noise surrounding them.

she's startled, initially, until she remembers who she's speaking to. "i've been okay, just really, really busy. i'm trying to work on everything as soon as possible so i can take a break, but," heavy breaths escape her as she pauses to think. "it's hard. there's so much to do, and not enough time. it sucks."

"well," he hums. "just make sure you watch yourself. i know you have a tendency to overwork when it comes to deadlines."

all she can muster in response is a nod, and again, it's silent. she can't stop her fingers from drumming against her thigh, an anxious habit she developed in middle school.

"have you been eating well?" he can't stand the tension.

"i'm not sure if living off of take-out and leftovers is considered eating well." she smiles as she speaks. something about it messes with the hardwiring of his brain.

"that's not healthy, you know. you need balanced meals. otherwise, you can't-"

she cuts him off with a laugh, lighthearted and airy. the sound makes his ears turn red, although the color is barely visible in this setting. "i know, i know. you don't have to worry about me all the time, haji. i can hold up on my own."

his head feels fuzzy. he's anxious, so much so that his words escape him before he can think about them. "how can i not? you're like- you're kind of like a sister to me, you know?"

it's not what he wanted to say, at all. regret washes over him before he can fully register the consequences of his words. he can see it all happening -- the drop in her posture, the glaze in her eyes, her cheek getting caught between her teeth. he wants to claw his eyes out and rid himself of the sight.

she finds it instinctual to laugh it off. a half-hearted response spills out, something about how it's so sweet that he sees her like that, before she excuses herself under the guise of needing to use the bathroom. it's a half truth. but before she can reach the door, she finds tooru seated on the floor speaking with someone she doesn't quite remember, and instead of escaping into the promising quietude of the restroom, she sits beside him.

tooru's friend departs at her entrance, leaving them alone on the ground with their backs to the wall. he bears a bottle in one hand and a warm, loopy smile on his face, his inebriation evident. he greets her happily, and in his cheeriness she finds herself joining him, the bottle now reaching her own lips.

it's just them. he's overjoyed.

but after two sips too many, she starts to overflow. coherent jokes turn into disoriented rambles. she grabs onto his arm, and for a moment, he thinks that this is good. this is promising.

instead, hajime's name falls from her lips, the syllables slurred and sorrowful. she rambles on and on about how foolish she feels, how she can't fathom how she could write about him for years when it so clearly wasn't meant for her, how she so desperately wishes he'd see her as anything more than a friend just so the chase wouldn't feel so pointless.

tooru can hear his heart shattering in his chest. he listens all the same, like a good friend should, but with every second that goes on, he feels himself sobering up.

it's messy. white hot tears prick at his eyes, but he knows he can't cry when a familiar silhouette approaches.

"i need to bring her home," hajime whispers carefully, a furrow in his brow and a downturn to his lips, a painful look that tells tooru that he heard everything. "her uh- her roommates called. they want her to head home."

she's not conscious enough to tune into the conversation. all she can feel is his calloused hands on her shoulders and her feet stumbling towards the door, horribly unaware of how everything has shifted.

♪ super short chapter !

♪ makki actually had no idea what he was doing tbh he just started mixing together random drinks and calling it his speciality

♪ yn and iwa thought the party was just going to be their friend group from hs, not a huge group of random third years that they barely remember

♪ oikawa forgot about that part when he invited them :3

♪ a lot of this is really cheesy but i had this whole scene thought out and i just didn't want to go too deep into detail since in my head i feel like it all happens really fast. yn is probably too upset and drunk and sad to even think about what's happening so i felt like it was fitting to have everything be really quick and straightforward

♪ makki and mattsun didnt notice haji and yn leaving bc they may or may not have started a mini fire with their food. whoops !

♪ the gfs called haji and were begging him to bring her home bc they had a feeling something was wrong (and they missed her). they were right </3

taglist: @zumicho @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @yuminako @chemiru @sunnyskiezzzz @httpsivy @itsdragonius @theycallmenanamisgirl @wyrcan @19calicos @hunnies4bunnies @mawenskiblue @diorzs @loverlunaire @mfcherry @solaqes @myromanempiree @brithedemonspawn @corvid007 @lilchubbyyy

[whatsabriard]

I was asked last night what my top 10 of all time eps of Hart to Hart were. Let me tell you, friends, that one threw me for a loopy loop. I finally settled on the final ten, but I have to say that these are my personal favorites - the ones that bring me the most joy and the ones I've rewatched most often. It's possible that a venn diagram of good eps and my favorite episodes might have very little overlap. I like what I like. So, in no particular order, I present the Top Ten of All Time.

Pilot - In many ways this episode is a mess. It seems like they decided to retool some things from the pilot to the series. What they didn't change, however, was the chemistry that they introduced. This episode had THE BEST one-liners and they were back-to-back-to-back. "This is going to be your first time isn't it?" To be fair, not exactly. | "If I rolled over right now and tried to make love to you, would you call the police?" Only if I thought you needed help. | "Your feet are cold." Compared to whose, your fulsome friend? "She threw me out." No taste broad. | "Or, I could refuse to make love to you for the rest of the year." That sounds like you. | "Mind if I sit down?" Mind if I scream?" The whole thing makes me giddy every time.

Hart of Darkness - My affection for this one is two-fold. It was my late best friend's favorite episode. She did things like taped the show (ON VHS, from FX and then hallmark) and sent them to me, and whenever we would discuss it she always always ALWAYS talked about this episode (and when Jennifer is in France and Jonathan has been taken hostage). She liked the angst. One of my very first gif sets was for this episode. It's deliciously angsty, has some very mild friction caused mostly by Jonathan's insecurities, and also features Jennifer being a totally protective mate... I had to write a post-ep for it, because the episode is one I've watched absolutely the most.

Downhill to Death - to this day, I'm not sure I could actually recount the plot of this one. Something about cheating spouses and double crossing and murderous frosty the snowman. I am here for that hot tub scene and Jennifer's absolute inability to control her face journeys. In every scene with side pieces and what not, she looks like someone watching a live action soap opera. No chill at all. None. Also, when Kate asks her in the steam room about how everyone falls out of love or whatever and Jennifer just LETS THE WORDS HANG IN THE AIR. she couldn't even be bothered to be like "oh yeah, I totally know what you're talking about." She just let the crickets sing. Good job, Jennifer. You made it weird.

What Murder? - I have watched this episode no less than five times *since September*. Watching Jonathan fall in love with Jennifer all over again *CHEF KISS*. Watching Jonathan seduce Jennifer all over again *CHEF KISS*. Max being the one to help him start to regain his memories? (he gave jonathan away at the wedding jfc) *CHEF KISS* The ENTIRE conversation about whether or not she'd know if he had a woman on the side? *CHEF KISS* The moment Jennifer thinks Jonathan died in a car accident *CHEF KISS*

Hart of Diamonds - this has been previously discussed but Jennifer mentally overcoming serious hypnosis purely out of love for her husband? I'm in. RIP ME.

You Made Me Kill You - I love a good stalker episode. This is a good stalker episode. (Robin was too much. Too crazy. The cop guy didn't take the surveillance seriously. the creep factor on that one was set to 11.) Peggy was nutty and scary and yeah she totally tried to kill Jennifer and dragged her around by the hair in her slip (ok, saying it out loud maybe it is that bad). But it leaned into the camp of it and Peggy wasn't super great about killing people. She was a lil bit bad at it even. I think it's perfectly reasonable that someone a little bit unhinged would take Jonathan's kind demeanor and respect towards women as something more.

Two Harts are Better Than One - do I even have to explain this. no. origin stories are the shit, and this one was perfect. (made all the more perfect by Harts All AFlutter by @andallthatmishigas yes i am interrupting this post for a commercial read it ok)

On A Bed of Harts - Jonathan Hart bought a bed for Five Million Dollars because he wanted his wife to have their honeymoon bed. He bought a vineyard and a hotel too, but his intention was THAT BED. The whole chasing the bed through san francisco was a silly mess and the real estate developer and the french government but the episode ends with the Harts fucking in their bed while it was on display in Versailles. Velvet ropes at all. Start to finish, zany madcap romantic hijinks with people who have more money than sense. EXACTLY the formula for this show.

Blue and Broken-Harted - This one was just a rip-roaring good time. The Harts "fighting". Knowing they're being bugged and deciding they're just gonna turn the radio up real loud so whoever's listening doesn't know they're shagging. Jennifer going to a singles bar and ending up in jail overnight - in a FUR COAT. It also had some nice details about their wedding and Jonathan's ex girlfriend and Jennifer got to absolutely cut the woman pretending to be Irene into tiny little pieces with her words. I love episodes where the people around them are like "these two idiots are so fucking in love it's almost gross."

What Becomes a Murder Most - setting aside the entire epic intro photoshoot, the beginning and end of my love for this episode sets at the feet of Jonathan Hart. This episode makes me lean into the whole "made in the 80s" and fucking DIG the part where Jonathan is about to rip the world apart to save Jennifer. Similar energy to "The Lady is Murder" but this time he's letting his roots show a bit and he was going to intimidate everyone and if that didn't work he was just gonna beat the living shit out of them. Jennifer's name will never be associated with Whitefury. AYE AYE MAN. YOU GOT IT, YOURE SCARY. (aside: those were some midly spicy pictures that Jonathan would have loved to keep with him for business trips without her. but you know the murdery stuff ruined them so Jennifer made sure to get another set made for him. Spicier. that's my story.)

Now I would very much like to hear from my ducklings. When the stories are fresh and the episodes are new, they hit different . Indulge me. ;) @andallthatmishigas @blossom--of--snow @glittermermaid18

[halfway-happyyy]

Until We Meet Again

this is absolutely something that nobody asked for, but here it is. short ‘n sweet and full of fluff.

A grotesque concoction of alcohol- some variant of overpriced vodka and lemon liqueur if she had to guess, set the delicate lining of her throat ablaze and she winced as she set the empty coupe glass on the tray of passing waiter. She glanced down at the watch face on the underside of her wrist and frowned at it.

An hour late to the event, and an hour left to go.

Eliciting a dejected sigh, she gazed past the expansive tent above her and at the night sky beyond it that blanketed the fountains of the Pacific Design Center in West Hollywood in inky darkness. The cacophonous roar of hundreds of conversations and pulsating music was unbearably loud and she cursed herself for leaving her phone at home. She could picture it now, lying face down on the glass coffee table just inside her front entrance and in total darkness and for a fleeting moment she found herself inexplicably jealous of it. She had given up on trying to locate her friends fifteen minutes ago- though she thought she had just spotted Keane through throngs of expensive suits and dresses in a straight bee-line for the bar and thought that she ought to head there. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the crowd before her in search of him, but stumbled back awkwardly when the bottom of her gown caught on something and ripped.

“Oh my gosh, I just ripped your dress. I am so sorry.” She peered up at the man towered above her, at the glassy blue orbs that somehow still glittered lively under the minimal lighting from the chandeliers around them. Everything about him was immaculate. From the perfectly combed back sandy blonde hair, to the blonde mustache that grew above his pink upper lip, to the black silk bowtie that sat snug against the base of his throat.

She found his visage oddly familiar, but could not place where she might have known him from if her life depended on it. She found herself shrugging. “Honestly don't worry about it. It's one of the many reasons I try to shop thrift before big events.”

Though he offered her a shy smile, his glassy blue gaze remained unsure and it was obvious that he still wasn't convinced. “No really- is there any way it can be fixed? I can get someone over here right now to look at it for you...”

She glanced down at the sizable rip in the fabric and knew with a slight pang that the damage was irreparable. “No, please. It's really fine.”

He chewed at edge of his lip as he mulled something over and cocked his head to the side, his gaze narrowed. “At least allow me to pay for it?”

She had purchased it off the rack at one of her favourite thrift haunts on Melrose for thirty bucks, two weeks ago. She couldn't, in good faith, agree to that. “Listen- this dress has probably had a fantastic life, you know? She finished it this evening at an Emmy award after party. How many other dresses can say that? She's good. This is the end of the line for her.”

They stood in thoughtful silence for a moment, the only sign of his defeat came in the form of a resigned sigh. “Alright. But please know that I still feel slightly terrible about it.”

“I can live with slightly terrible,” She smiled knowingly at him. “Are you having a good night, then?”

He gazed at her, a funny expression coloured his features and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. “I am having a great night, actually.” He eventually confirmed. “Are you having a good night? That is- despite the gown crisis.”

She hugged her arms tight to her chest and glanced around in awe at the sheer sumptuousness of the tent in which she was currently in. Massive, golden lion statues guarded pillars around the room and gilded archways had been erected over ponds so that guests could traverse them at their leisure. No matter how many evenings she spent this way, she doubted that she would ever grow accustomed to it.

“I've never really been one for big parties, but it's been alright so far I suppose. Even despite the gown crisis.” She found that she enjoyed the way a subtle, rosy hue tinted the apples of his cheeks at her slightly teasing lilt. Her stomach gurgled warningly just then- a gentle reminder that she had not consumed an adequate amount of food and she eyed the lavish, twenty-foot replica of a dragon above her head with mild contempt. “God, I'd fight that dragon for a plate of fries right about now. Every year I tell myself I'm going to be on time for one of these events, and every year I let myself down.”

He dropped his head to his chest and elicited a hearty laugh. “You missed out this evening I'm afraid. It was Wolfgang Puck on the buffet.”

“Damn it,” She giggled under her breath. “Every single year.”

He gestured out at the mass of conversing industry people and raised his voice so that she could hear him. “You work for HBO?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Nah, I snuck in an hour ago under the guise of free food and booze.”

“Neither of which you have yet to receive…” He grinned.

“Not exactly,” She giggled. “I snuck a cocktail minutes before the old dress debacle. Tasted somewhat like what I would imagine lemon pine-sol tastes like.” Genuine laughter rose up from the base of his throat like a favourite song and she waited for it to subside with an unabashed smile on face. “I'm a freelance photographer.” She admitted, eventually.

He cleared his throat, poised to ask her another question when his gaze lit up and he cocked his head to the side in thought. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I think I've found a way to repay you for your dress.”

Her eyes widened in mild horror and she shook her head in protest. “Oh- no. Please don't…” But her objections were for naught as she watched his imposing figure vanish into the thickening swarm of people. She chewed anxiously at the soft flesh of her inner lip as she awaited his return and when ten minutes elapsed, she began to grow skeptical.

Too tall. Too Scandinavian. Too beautiful.

But then, and to her pleasant surprise, she spotted his face through the crowd and her heart thrummed in her chest as he approached her. There, in the flat of his palm and high above the heads of everyone else so as not to drop the dish- was a plate heaped high with piping-hot French fries. “This is akin to Christmas,” She sighed longingly once he had rejoined her. “But somehow a little bit better. Thank you very much.”

Wiping the proverbial sweat from his brow, he managed a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, they were exceedingly difficult to procure, but I was persistent.” He handed her the plate with a lux serviette underneath and a fork on the side. “Wolfgang and I uh… we go way back.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a vacant table a few yards away and decided to be brave. “You know… If he supplied you with a second fork, I'd be happy to share some of these with you.”

His gaze followed hers to the table and he smiled sadly. “Alas Wolfgang let me down and I was not offered a second fork, but I would be delighted to sit and chat with you for a few more minutes.”

Sinking into the refuge of the chair beneath her, she was suddenly aware that she had barely been offered a chance to do that all day long. She was content to listen to him speak while she tried not to inhale her entire plate of perfectly fried potatoes.

“I'm sure your date is probably wondering where you've wandered off to.” She offered, after a few moments of comfortable silence had lapsed.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m sure she’s used to it by now. Probably been wondering that very same thing for most of my life.”

She cocked her head to the side, and narrowed her gaze at him. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar.”

His expression dimmed and that same shy smile that he had given her half an hour earlier presented itself again, causing butterflies to take flight in the pit of her belly. 

“I don't believe so,” He gave his head a half-shake. “I would have remembered your face anywhere.”

Utterly grateful for the dim lighting around them, she opened her mouth to counter his last statement when a man she didn't recognize appeared at his side, in a hurry and out of breath. “Alex- you need to take this back now. I am sick of people congratulating me for it and I am entirely out of answers as to how it came to be in my possession.” Without another word, the man placed an Emmy award unceremoniously in front of Alex's amused figure and hurried away.

She nodded at the unsuspecting statuette of a woman laden with a golden atom and quirked an eyebrow in mild amusement. “You are having a very great night indeed, hm?” She simpered.

Sensing that her cue to leave had arrived, she rose from the table to bid Alex goodnight.

“Your company has been a pleasure this evening… I am sorry about your dress.”

She glanced down at the French fry plate, the few scattered crumbs the only indication that something had once been there. “Your penance was plenty.”

“Two questions before you go,” He murmured.

She peered up at him expectantly.

“A photographer without her camera?”

She shrugged and offered him a wry smile. “Everyone gets a night off every once in a blue moon. Next?”

His gaze travelled to the fabric napkin poking out from beneath the empty plate, then back to hers. “Thanks to Paul, you now know my name. What's yours?”

She tilted her head to the side, a half-smile tugged at her lips. “It's Grace.”

“Grace,” He repeated it in a whisper and she ignored the way that it caused goosebumps to bloom in patterns over her bare arms. “Goodnight Grace.” He rose from the table with his award at his side but faltered and turned back to her, remembering something. “Oh- and Grace? Maybe don't leave behind the serviette.”

Puzzled, she watched a hive of bodies swallow his frame, and when he was gone, she reached for the weighted crème fabric, smiling softly to herself. There, in loopy black script from a fountain pen was Alex's name and phone number and a short note that read,

“Until we meet again…”

[katsukisbeatingheart]

seeds

she grows flowers like memories.

ao3!

word count: 977

Momo planted peonies the day you met, humming a soft tune that reminded her of the sound of your voice.

It was spring now, and she looked to her window to see the petals holding their face to the sun. Her eyes held the same sort of something when they fell on you.

It was an early Saturday morning, and the smell of tea and homemade biscuits warmed the room. She had been up rather early, finding in her a great desire to do something thoughtful for her friends.

They had all been working hard; what was a driven life without time for sweets and good company?

She was humming again, only this time, it was to a conversation about the existence of black rain frogs you'd been excitedly discussing with Tsuyu—who mentioned that she had an uncle who's Quirk was quite similar to those.

The way your face lit up as you raved about how they were the best—besides the Tsuyu frog, you gushed, slinging an arm lovingly around her shoulder—made Momo appreciate the preciousness of the little things.

Her cheeks warmed at the thought of your little eye crinkles when you smiled, and the lively disposition you, as a new classmate, brought so easily to their lives.

She was so focused on dusting the treats in front of her with sugar, she didn't realize she wasn't alone anymore. As if recognizing the tune Momo sang, you gravitated toward her with a welcoming bounce in your step.

"Good morning, Yaomomo," you lilted sweetly. She nearly dropped her sifter and almost knocked over the bag of sugar.

"Oh," she stated simply, doing her best to remain calm as she placed a gentle hand over her heart. Momo was used to being called by that nickname, but for some reason whenever you did it, her chest thrummed even more.

You winced, concerned with making a bad impression already. The two of you had never spoken before, but you knew very well who she was.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you."

She flinched, collecting her thoughts and coming to. Momo squeaked, realizing she hadn't even said hello!

"No, no not at all! I-I mean, don't worry, it's quite alright. I was just concentrating," she tilted her head sheepishly.

"What is it that you're working on?"

You peered over her shoulder curiously, beaming excitedly when you saw what she was making.

"That looks wonderful, Momo!" Your enthusiasm and her first name made her feel near faint.

"Would you... like to help?"

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not," she smiled a little tentatively.

You took that as a cue to scoop up a pastry and grab at the filling.

"By the way, I'm—"

"I know who you are," Momo smiled at the countertop, glancing at you through her eyelashes.

"Right. Of course."

You started to work on showering each piece in sugar. Neither of you said anything when your hands kept bumping into each other.

. . .

She eyed the Irises on her sill. Momo planted those the first time you actually spent time together.

"It'll be so much fun, guys, can we please go?"

You stood in front of the TV, desperately waving a little flier with an ad for a local carnival moving in. Ojiro, Kyoka, Sero, and Momo stared at you curiously.

"It's just a local pop-up thing; they'll have more of those when it gets cooler out," Mashirao stated, swishing his tail onto his lap.

"Yeah, you're acting like you've never been to one of those before. It'll be—" his voice faltered upon the unusually hangdog expression on your face. "Don't tell me you've never been to a street fair before?"

Mina, who had been standing in the little kitchenette behind the couch, let out an unnecessarily distressed gasp—you amusedly waited for her to slap the back of her hand to her forehead and fall over.

Jirou's finger twisting her earphone—ear loopies, you'd called them once—froze as she stared with pitiful horror.

"Guys..."

Momo, who had been too shy to chip in, piped up with an encouraging optimism.

"Besides, there will be plenty of food, and lots of artisan crafts to go look at," she prompted. "Think of all of the music."

Ever the brilliant strategist, she had hit all of the right points, and suddenly your friends buzzed with anticipation, relenting, "It's been a while since we've been out together."

You clapped your hands together in absolute joy; "Thank you, thank you so much!"

You pointedly eyed Momo, softly mouthing a thank you just for her.

She knew it was worth it, especially because the next day, you were by her side the whole time.

. . .

Finally, the pink daisies and baby's breath—those were just saplings now, wiggling their way into life in little clay pots she'd made herself. Momo planted those last week, when...

A knock scraped at her door.

The door cracked open and out popped an excitedly beaming face.

"Hey! You ready to go?"

She smiled lovingly, hoisting a grocery bag of foods and snacks up for you to see.

"All set."

"Did you throw in those pastries we made?"

"Of course," she hummed.

Momo stepped out to meet you, closing the door behind her as gently as she could. It wasn't too early in the morning for everyone to be asleep, but she still worried about making any noise.

You grinned at her, silently slipping your hand into hers, and bending her arm to lightly kiss her knuckles. Yaoyorozu blushed a lovely shade of pink.

Which reminded you.

"Those flowers are coming along nicely."

If the sun could be held in one smile, it was for sure hers.

She glanced down at the delicate way you cradled her fingers, admiring the way they fit so perfectly together.

"I think so, too."

[diaryofsecrecy]

It has been the most exhausting year of my entire life and I will be surprised if I ever top it...

Brent was having a hard time adjusting to the altitude when we 1st came out here, (July 8th 2020) But as time went on he got better as expected. Then suddenly he got worse and worse, Eventually he lost the job that he got because he was calling out so often throwing up and experiencing extreme nausea.  Because of covid, the doctors were booked for weeks (new patient) so it was just kind of a waiting game until we finally decided to just go to the ER.  They did a full blood panel and decided that he needs to see a GI doctor because everything else is normal. So, That was booked 2 weeks out and he was sent home with nausea medication for one week...

Of course we were going to try to buy or rent so I was freaking out about money and working as much as I possibly could... But then I too had to go to the emergency Room because I had extreme abdominal pain resulting in an emergency appendectomy😖

The day after my surgery, I am home, when my dad comes in with my older sister.

To my knowledge, my older sister was diagnosed paranoid schizofrantic. She has been Homeless for the last 11 years,  And on drugs.  She recently was beaten so badly that she was left with several brain injuries on top of it all, And while she was healing at the hospital somehow they didn't notice her walk out.  We were just about to get her placed somewhere safe...And they lost her.

Anyhow dad walks in with my sister who I guess called him from a coffee shop when they told her that she couldn't sleep there anymore (after a month of being missing again) Dad had to go back to work so then it was me & her for the next 2 days, As you can imagine, not the rest I needed post surgery... then, I had to go back into the hospital because something wasn't right. I was there for 3 more days, 2 days alone because ben was so sick that it was worse with him being there than me sitting by myself in pain and nausea of my own.

Fast forward a few more months, tragic accidents led to 2 separate deaths of my parents dogs. Both events I happen to be present, so get blamed & am no longer welcome at mom & dads.

(Still healing from sugury, brent still very sick)

We get an apartment, and I start working as a nanny for my aunt twice a week while working at Massage Envy the other 5 days.

At this point, I am tired. I am horney, and lonely, and Absolutely. Fucking. Miserable.

I am begging ben to keep up with drs. but he has lost hope of getting better, and I have no way of helping him when I am already worn too thin.

After 9, Long, long months, he eventually, with my consistent pushing, nagging, most likely not always kind remarks, he finds out his hormones are completely off, which I knew would be the case, his dick hadnt worked for the last 3 years properly..

Anyway. He blames his addiction medication rather than continuing dr. Appointments... he gets on testosterone with an outside company(pay out of pocket kind of subscription company...rather than checking insurance, or figuring out what causes low testosterone and fixing that first). I was working and had no influence in any of those choices that effect us both as they have for at least 2 years. He hasnt touched me for so, so, long.

Month 3 of his medication that seems to be working (only reason I know is there was a ton of porn in my google history, he had declined all advances, except the rare, 3 times he allowed a blowjob then left immediately after for the gym or literally anything else rather than make it romantic at all.)

Month 4, he forgets to make a payment at all, so now we owe $250 rather than the normal $100. His meds get sent, then FedEx loses the package all together so, he is sick and I am house sitting in a dream home, alone for 2 weeks straight that originally was going to be our getaway to focus on Us.

At this point, brent and I havnt slept in the same bed for 2 months. At first cause he says I'm mean and he wants to not be near me, but now its cause hes "more comfortable out in the living room..."

A month ago when we last had a conversation about our relationship he said he wants space and a break from me all together. I'm too much.

I am the problem..?

When trying to understand what he means, he shuts down the connvo, saying he cant talk about it anymore. It's been 30 days since we have made any verbal progress. Our fighting has stopped though, and I'll tell you why...

Rewind 1 week before house sitting;

1 week after brent and I had an awful fight where he told me we should take a break, I stay at my parents & My mom offers for me to join them at a graduation party of a kid I used to babysit.

We were sitting in the back of the dining room, out of the way, when I saw someone i slightly recognized in the hallway. Not sure from where, but he was the kind of guy that you couldnt stop looking at. He was clearly into fitness, his shirt couldnt hide the muscular features he had been perfecting either, despite him dressing nothing out of the ordinary. He had beautiful ink crawling up his leg, an artform that would only mean something to someone who is more spiritually awake. But more noticable about anything was that smile.

God that smile. His face was scruffy, as if he had been away, but regardless, the smile he had influenced his entire ora. His eyes smiled, his walk... smiled. He had some kind of thing about him that was a physical draw I had never known for myself before. Dont get me wrong, i have been woo'd by many men so far in my life, from all stages in life, but This one was just, different. He was making his way around the room, & I could hear his voice over my mom who's talking beside me. I had literally been blocked out by my ever wondering thoughts of this random stranger whom felt familiar.

Then, he was there, at our table?

He was so easy to talk to, not even sure how we started now, but all I know is I was not nervous despite my very physical attraction to him.

He spoke of traveling, and adventures hes been on. This guy had a whole other life in the military at one point and now was traveling, working for a company that sends him around the US.

This guy had Hope's and dreams and somehow we got to talking about that kind of thing at a graduation party?

When I left that day, I thought about him. Not just him specifically, but men like him. Had I chosen Brent wrongfully? Does brent even like who I am anymore, what does he want going forward in his own life? How do I even fit into that? He understands my need for adventure but his actions say that he doesnt want to come along. My mind was loopy after that because for the first real time I questioned, what if there was someone who wanted to see the world,  Who liked my sad music, and my emotions being in everything I do? What if there was a women more interested in the simple home life, having a couple dogs and living a small, comfortable life? Are we doing one another a disservice by occupying oneanother's lives? How could I ever bring that up with Brent at all without making him feel so inadiquite after a year of terrible sickness and defeat?

Well, when I went to that big, gorgeous dream home the following week to house sit for 2 weeks... begging him to come see me, I grew weak from overthinking. I cried, I cried so much the first 3 days.

I cried from a place of such sadness, anger, bitterness, defeat, they were so strong. My mind was cloudy, drunk, stoned, tired.... I found myself writing a suicide letter.

My plan was to disappear, I knew I'd find a firearm in the home & allow someone to find my remains eventually in the hills where I'd walk far enough.

I prepared by cleaning the litterbox, laying out several bowls of water for the dog and cat, and watered all the plants heavily. I transfered brent all the money in my bank accounts, and as I waited for the sheets to come out of the dryer I balled my eyes out, reading the last conversations I had had with my family members. I thought to myself how the kids would take it, what different life choices they would make having been close with someone before their passing. At this point, I needed something, but I needed it from someone who doesnt know me in my life right now, but the me that was worth saving. The me I still recognized.

I called an old friend from 2nd grade. Hadnt talked to her in years and years, didnt known her life, her schedual, her name(which had been changed). But she talked me down. She saved my fucking life. It took a person who knew my soul years ago, to remind me I am not alone.

I dont blame my parents, or who I thought would be my future husband. I had talked with my aunt earlier that day and she couldnt see it either. I had become this fake shell of a person and it took considering an actual murder of myself to make me see that if I continued this path, I would die eventually and nobody in my life would ever see me preparing for it.

That night, I invited a complete stranger over and we fucked like rabbits. 4 times. He got to do things he'd never done before, and I begged him to. Sounds cold, sounds unapologetically disgusting that I'd do something like that, but quite frankly, I FUCKING needed it. I needed someone to see me, even if he didnt see my current life nor care about me as a person... he saw, touched, kissed, sucked and ate me up. For the first time in at least 2 years, i felt satisfaction when I walked him to the door and watched his car drive away.

It was like a sigh of relief, an inch I could not reach for the longest time, gone. Finally.

The following days, brent began putting in more effort. It has been 3 weeks and I'd say he has been kinder to me than he had in a while (probably the lack of testosterone) but also, I havnt seen much of him in general. From his point of view, it is all fine. Hes getting the space he needed, I'm being nicer since I quit massage Envy, and things are looking up....

But that is because he doesnt See Me.

My suisidal thoughts subsided after my long conversation with Scout. & that night I called my cousin as well, and learned he too had been in my shoes before. He said something that stuck with me.

If everyone has an expiration date on their life already, and we don't know when it is, you're to the point that you're life is so invaluable that youd kill yourself than flee your life and make one you want. Dont care about the people youd hurt, because suicide is just as careless as abandoning them all indefinitely.

He was so right, it put things into perspective, gave me a freedom I felt I was waiting to gain permission for.

Five days later, I noticed He had written me 5 before, on the day I had truly planned to end my current life..

He had written me at 12am, what would someone like him, a gorgeous, beefed out, big thinker, high energy, go getter be doing messaging me, a tired women who was 300lbs a year ago, (still working on getting to a normal size) and completely at a crossroads with existance.

I entertained the connvo a tad, and honestly forgot about it for a few days as I figured no way he could be serious.

He triple messaged me, and asked for my personal contact info to have real conversation?

Hesitantly, and wildly excited to even just flirt for a moment with someone who is literally everything I fantasize when I'm alone everynight....

Our conversation immediately took off. In directions I hadnt expected at all what so ever. He told me he had to admit he felt drawn to me, like he had known me in another life. That he doesnt expect me to get it, but I did. We talked about things that only my sister and I can relate to on a spirituality standard and it changed me in that instant. Suddenly i realize, I wasn't broken, I was just misunderstood. & that there are people in this world that See Me even when I am not trying. Not many, and it takes a specific Kind of person, but they do exist and when you meet them, you cant ignore it. It is as if they stain you with remembrance.

As the sexually hungry humans we are, not only did we find that morality, values, future goals coexist, but also our importance of intimacy. Not just lust and sex, well, yes that too, uff did those conversations get so, fucking, hot, but the interactions of intimacy and how they make a person whole.

I opened up to him about Brent, and where I am at in life, asking he please oversee my unfaithfulness, but that I am loyal at heart. He says with such pain in his voice how he too in a parallel position simultaneously, however, he married her 7 years ago.

Ugh.

So now I get to choose. Do I chose mortality, say no, brent and the other women deserve to understand the severity of sex, love and passion, and if they chose not to then we will leave before we act on our mutual attraction....? Or, do we say hell with it and give in to serendipity moments that our hearts crave so badly, take on the consequences and move forward. Sigh. If only there was a guideline for complicated.

Last night, as the 5 nights before, we talked for hours on the phone. His voice makes me smile every, damn, time. Perhaps because it's new and exciting, or maybe I just love to hear him go on his tangents of loving yourself despite the bad in life. I Want him. I want him when I wake, &when I go to sleep. I do not want a life without him& it saddens me to know our timing is incorrect. He asked her for a divorce a year ago, but has sat comfortably as I have despite the horror because weve both been too busy, too tired, too... afraid that life will always be lonely. Last night, he said to me, Elise, I love you. I avoided it several times but when he said it two more times, I couldnt keep it any longer to myself, Jackson, I really do Love you as well. It's scary, and faster than I'd ever say it to anyone. But I know it to be true because I Feel it. I want his love so badly. I want him to live life along side of me because with a person like him, I'd be a better me.

I am absolutely terrified. My life, my home, my family, dogs, my 5 year relationship, the unborn children brent and I have named, and the houses we'd have... all gone?

Running away with a man who says hes going to leave his wife is absolutely stupid. I'd be an idiot to think I am enough to get him through that fear of change, yet he gives me strength to want to try, so maybe I do, Him?

Ugh my brain being pulled in many ways. My heart having been in pieces so many times now doesnt know who to go to or why. I know for certain I love Brent, is this a self gratifying moment To push me back to him? Is this the devil bringing two lost people together to ruin four people at once?or is this Fate. Fate that has seen both of us individually loosing ourselves in a life we didnt want and has brought us together to lean on one another, temporarily not?

Suppose time will tell.

Last two days he has been working a ton, and told me that tomorrow he has something he needs to talk to me about.

I assume it isnt good. I assume it is the first put off of many, because, I know I want to do the same. Part of me says I should block him right now, because lust, and attraction, both mentally and physically like that couldnt make a women addicted and that's a no good addiction when he has a women in his house with his last name. 😔

[brielikethecheeese]

Tee Wasn't Here

"Ugh! That’s why I don’t like your kind!” She stormed out of my room, and slammed the door behind her. Stunned, but knowing that twenty-four shocked faces were watching to see my reaction, I struggled to keep my composure. It was the first week of my first teaching job in my first classroom, and I’d just had my first run-in with a student. “Great, my first write-up” I thought grimly to myself. All I had asked her to do was write a word that described her. One word. I’d been met with neck rolls, “I don’t like people telling me what to do”, and “I don’t feel like it.” She had her reasons for her mistrust.

Unfortunately, her history with women had not been a pleasant one. Her mother was in and out of her life for thirteen years, leaving her behind with a grandmother to manipulate teenage-hood. She’d been labeled with Oppositional Defiant Disorder; she was angry, defensive, and defiant, for lack of a better word. She went to great lengths to annoy others, and seemed to take pride in stirring the pot. She walked into my classroom for the first two weeks, unprepared and unmotivated. She’d roll her eyes to the ceiling--- remind me of how ridiculous my class was, how writing was dumb, and that I think I’m better than her. She was quite the challenge.

Kids are brutal sometimes. They say mean things, sometimes on purpose and sometimes on accident. Their emotions are all over the place. Some days they like you, some days they don’t. Still, I worked very hard to make sure that my class was an enjoyable experience, constantly creating unique lessons and activities in order to cater to 96 ever-changing, adolescent personalities. I took pleasure in watching them walk in, “too cool for school”, and accidentally enjoy my class. I sang, I danced, I connected real-life issues to mandatory standards and concepts, and I had fun with them. In turn, they respected our classroom and their teacher. Tee was a different story, though. She did not find my faraway tales of my past life funny, my singing voice annoyed her, she didn’t care that my weekends were spent traveling on the road with my rock band, and no “Parts of Speech “Whip and Nae Nae” song and dance would change her mind about me. We were nearing fall break, and I felt that I had connected with every student except her. It hurt my feelings to think that she’d leave my class for the holidays with nothing—and it really pained me to know that in years, I’d be a distant memory—of someone she despised. It annoyed me so much that I spent my entire break contemplating a different approach.

It was our first day back, and I was ready. I was exhausted from six class periods before, but it was time to perform. I saddled up, poured on my loveliest persona, and stood by my door, ready to greet my less-than-eager students. “Hey Ms. Boyce, why’d we have to come back?” One questioned, rhetorically. I smiled. “Your hair looks different.” Another examined me up and down. “I was absent the Friday before we got out for break, did I miss anything?” “What are we doing today?” I took it all in. Oh, how I had missed the questions. In walked Tee, slowly, dragging her feet—she took one look at my newest wig and smirked. “Good afternoon, Tee!” I flashed my brightest smile. Nothing. She waited for the last moment to step one foot in the classroom. The tardy bell rang. She defiantly made eye contact with me, daring me to send her to the office to retrieve a tardy slip. “Excuse me”, I said in my most Disney-esque voice. I gently nudged past her and closed the door. She raised an eyebrow in surprise, as her eyes scanned my face for any trace of sarcasm. I didn’t break. “Welcome back, guys!” I sang enthusiastically. Open your journals and begin writing. I started the timer, and my kids eagerly began recounting their days spent away. She yelled out, “I don’t have a pencil.” I happily placed a brand new pencil on her desk. “Keep it.” I said. “I left my journal in the band hall, and it’s closed for the day.” That’s okay, I have extras—just for you!” The children giggled at her failed attempts to get out of work. It came time to share, and we laughed at some of the ridiculous stories being told. “Tee, would you like to share?” “No, all I wrote was I hate this school, and didn’t want to come back.” I jumped at the opportunity to play devil’s advocate. “Well, we’re glad you’re here, right everyone!” “Yeah!” They played along marvelously. She growled and her brows furrowed. “Well, I hate everyone.” She trailed off meekly, the first time I’d ever heard her sound timid about anything. I smiled to myself.

The next few weeks, I dedicated my time to spreading positivity among my classroom. If Tee yelled out something meant to bruise my ego, I’d divert my attention to someone behaving correctly. Even her tiniest efforts received my praise. I asked for twenty-seven lines, she’d give me seven. Still, I found something wonderful to brag about. My students began to catch on, and pretty soon the energy was contagious. For one journal entry, they had to choose a classmate to write nice compliments about. Everyone was excited to spread joy. Tee wasn’t. “I don’t like any of these kids”, she complained. “Well, we love you in here, and I’m writing a letter to you!” Cami assured her. That day, three students wrote letters to Tee. I watched as she lifted her head off her desk, glanced at the folded pieces of paper, distinctly marked with colors and stickers, and slipped them in her jacket pocket. “Bye,” she mumbled as she walked out of the door. The first time she’d ever spoken a kind word to me. I nodded, “Have a great day.”

It was an unspoken alliance turned game between her classmates and myself to use every opportunity to make Tee’s day. It seemed as if we were breaking ground, but still, she stubbornly held on to her negativity. Where she went, a dark, solemn, sarcastic cloud followed. One Friday, I had taken a day off to attend a new teacher conference, and returned to my classroom to see that the students had turned the white board into an art project, marking their territory with loopy shorthand, hearts, and Instagram handles. “Baylei wuz hur”, M.N. loves E.J., Have a nice weekend, Tee wasn’t here. I paused, and squinted. Were my eyes deceiving me? Nope, there it was– tucked away in the left-hand corner. Written precisely with no scribbles, no extras, simply “Tee wasn’t here.” Well, okay, I thought. It was definitely the pessimistic approach to tagging herself, but it was a presence. A very small one, but a presence, nonetheless. I smiled to myself. I had broken through a tiny crack in the foundation of hostility, aggression, and mistrust that she’d brick and mortared her life with--- but it was enough. Her walls were crumbling, and our girl was showing her Achilles’ heel.

Her vulnerability reared its ugly head when she thought her world was ending. I had been struggling to get them interested in topics, so I decided to turn a journal entry into a text conversation. I presented them with a scenario: “You’re on a plane that has crashed. You have seven minutes of battery life before the plane will be fully submerged. Send a text message to family and friends.” (5-8 lines) Most students looked for loopholes in order to live—naturally. However, Tee accepted her fate, and began writing furiously, her pencil scratching into her composition book—head down, foot tapping, and furrowed brows that cast three wrinkles across her forehead. “Beep!” “Beep!” The timer went off. “I have news to share,” I began somberly. Eager eyes followed as I slowly walked around the classroom, pausing to look sadly into each face as I allowed the silence to fill the room. “The plane has gone down. Your phones are now water-damaged. I hope that you guys can stay afloat.” A few kids gasped at the solemnness of my tone, “..for a few seconds because…”

“No… no… no… “ I heard a soft voice growing louder and louder. “Help is on the way!” I yelled flinging my arms triumphantly. A cheer rang out through the room as students realized they’d be saved and their last letters were null and void. “DANGIT MS. BOYCE!” Tee slammed her fist on the desk. “I exposed myself!” A hush fell over the room, and she buried her head in her hands. “Why did you have to save me?” I walked over to her desk, and would have laughed out loud, but I was afraid of embarrassing her. Before me was a masterpiece. “Woe is me.” It began, followed by the predicament that she had been unfortunately placed in. She’d neatly and matter-of-factly listed each person that she loved and admired, telling in great detail why they would be missed. I couldn’t help myself. “Tee, this is beautiful,” I wiped a fake tear from my eyes, as her curious classmates chanted, “share, share, share!” The corners of her mouth peaked upwards, and for the first time I saw her teeth. We have a study hall every evening for the last thirty minutes of the day. That evening, Tee poked her head in my classroom. “Can I stay with you today? I think I have some work that I need to do for you.” I didn’t recall giving out any work, but I agreed. This continued every day for about two weeks.

I recently assigned a poetry project, and she approached me for my help. “I think I’m moving soon and I want to write a poem for my best friend, Emily.” “You’re moving?” “Yeah, I’m glad,” she shrugged. “I hate it here.” There goes that wall again—I had learned by now to refocus the conversation. I helped her with her poem that day, and thought nothing more of it. I have at least one child a day tell me they "hate the school" and are "moving".

Two days ago, Tee walked in my room during my third period class. Her face was red, and her fists were clenched. Given her history, I figured she must have gotten into a fight and needed a safe place so I met her in the back by my desk. She handed me papers—“I-I-I,” she could hardly get her words out through shaky sobs. “What is it?” I glanced at the yellow and white pages before me. Printed in black ink read the words, “Official Withdrawal Form” She crumpled in my arms, and I did my best to console her. After what seemed like hours, she pulled away from me. “Be good.” I said, “You know where to find me if you need me, and please be nice to people.” She laughed, and shook her head up and down. After I signed my name, she gave me one more hug, went and fished her journal out of her class period bin, and left me with my other students.

The rest of the day went by slowly, as tearful children greeted me with the same news. The air was heavy, and our journal entries seemed dull without Tee’s commentary. When I thought about her throughout the day, I said a little prayer, hoping that something resonated with her during her time in my class. Like she’d foreshadowed that Friday on the white board, “Tee wasn’t here”, and we all missed her. This afternoon, I was cleaning and walked past my bulletin board; my eyes caught sight of a new sheet of paper that had been hung with a tack. I recognized the handwriting—but to be sure, I turned it over to see her name written neatly. A few days prior, I had asked them to find a quote that represented their struggle. She had announced, “I hate people.” I remember saying, “Well, you need to find a quote to remind to love people.” Written precisely with no scribbles, and no extras, simply,”Not everyone thinks the way you think, knows the things you know, believes what you believes, nor acts the way you would act. Remember this, and you will go a long way in getting along with people.” –Arthur Forman. I laugh at the irony of Tee embracing me for the first time on the same that day she withdrew. I could be wrong, but I think that she took more away from my class than she let on, as evidenced in the quote she chose to proudly display. She nailed it… to a tee.

#compassion #kindness #love #blog #blogger #teacher #teacherblogger #anonymous #funny