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namjoonchronicles · 4 years

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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heretherebedork · 2 years

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You know that I've watch the MBM finale a few too many times when I start making connections with Tossara.

They are not actually similar in anyway, okay? Don't take this as that.

But the way Kiyoi said "I kissed you first, I said I liked you, don't you ever think about my feelings?" just slammed me right back to Bar stalking up to the stage and saying basically the exact same thing to Gun.

Both Gun and Hira are (or were) unpopular young men who struggled to make friends. And while Gun changed himself entirely into a popular boy as well to meet the man of his dreams, Hira took the more realistic route of slowly finding himself and looking inwards.

Bar and Kiyoi are popular tsundere ukes who were, eventually, chased by the one they found themselves growing to like. They both made first moves to try and encourage their pursuer to step up but eventually had to just say it outloud because their semes were oblivious idiots.

... I mean, honestly, these are not the two shows I thought I'd be writing connections between but HERE I AM.

Gun and Bar are the healthy vision of Hira and Kiyoi while Hira and Kiyoi are the damaged reflection of Gun and Bar.

It's fascinating.

#my beautiful man #en of love tossara #weird comparisons #i don't think most of you have watched both #or like both #but if you do #hey look at my parallels!

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thishintoflove · 3 years

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For the bobadin prompts; maybe something angsty with a little fluff?

I feel like a lot of fics don’t do enough exploration into the ‘caring Boba’ side - the one that decided ‘I’m just gonna help this random stranger save their child because why not?’ - and it always warms my heart when I find a fic that does.

Oh I feel the same way, anon! Don’t get me wrong, I love rough!Boba fics but I also truly believe that the man has a deep, caring side too.

Here’s some soft!Boba helping Din during an anxiety attack, shortly after losing Grogu on Tython.

Boba Fett decided that he needed more information.

The Slave I was on autopilot, headed to Nevarro at the request of the silver Mandalorian. Fennec was off somewhere in the ship, probably polishing her weapons, and Boba decided to go track down Mando. They’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences, but here he was, piloting his ship at the direction of some Mandalorian he’d just met all because he’d willingly given Boba his armor back.

Bounty hunters lived in a world of exchanges: everything came with a price and Boba always paid his debts. The feeling of pure relief he felt at putting his father’s armor on again was so strong that the least he could do was help this fellow bounty hunter out.

He shook his head as he quietly made his way through the passageways of his ship. No, it was more than that. If he was being honest with himself, he felt some deep, innate need to help the silver Mando due to his unique situation. He was a father and his child had been stolen. Instinct took over when Boba realized the situation, and he’d immediately offered his services to help the guy out because the mere thought of walking away knowing that he did nothing would have driven him mad with guilt. How could he purposely leave a child in the same situation that he himself had been left in? Boba Fett was not a man to leave a child fatherless when there was something he could do to help the situation. Apparently that meant he’d offer his ship and his services without thinking twice, all because the thought of separating a father and son made his stomach churn with unaddressed feelings.

And now here he was, serving as a taxi service and a hired hand to a Mandalorian he didn’t really know or trust yet. So he needed more information. Surely Mando would be able to explain the whole situation, and then Boba could feel better about what he was doing instead of just feeling like a bit of a sucker.

Boba climbed down the ladder into the cargo hold and immediately picked up on the sound of heavy, modulated breathing. He quietly moved toward the sound and peered among the crates to see Mando doubled over, his hand gripping at the beskar chest plate as he tried to control his rapid breaths.

What was going on? Was Mando injured? He hadn’t seen any blood as they’d boarded the ship. Boba quickly ran through every single possibility that might have brought on this clear anguish that Mando was experiencing, and he quickly came to the obvious conclusion: the man was having a panic attack.

Slowly, Boba approached the hyperventilating man and cautiously called out so that he wouldn’t frighten him,

“Mando? It’s Fett. Are you alright?”

It didn’t work and the man jumped anyway. He quickly whipped around and stared at Boba through his visor, one hand immediately going to the blaster on his hip. But the movement seemed to be too much for him and he wavered, gripping the edge of the crate to hold himself up. Boba quickly stepped forward and grabbed Mando’s shoulder, squeezing it in his strong grip as he helped the man sit down on the edge of the box. The gesture was meant to ground the other man, and he hoped he could convey a sense of calmness through the touch rather than frighten the man even more. A visible shudder rippled along Mando’s arms, down his chest, and through his entire body. After a few seconds, he was finally capable of taking a full breath.

“That’s right. Try to take deep breaths, my friend. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Boba coaxed, hoping his presence was helping Mando and not adding to his stress.

He knew what it was like to feel small and desperately alone. Being a bounty hunter was a solo profession- there was no room for long-term relationships or building bonds with others. After all his years traversing the galaxy alone, Boba was self-aware enough to know that he didn’t react to kindness and touch in the same way that most people did. He assumed Mando was the same way. The armor they both wore put out a menacing image to others, but it didn’t change the feelings of the person inside it. They were both human, and sometimes humans needed to feel like they weren’t alone in the world.

“It’s alright, you’re safe here,” Boba continued, speaking softly as he tried to think of what he’d like to hear if he was in this situation. He’d learned the steps necessary to regain control of his mind and body under the worst of situations and he hoped his methods would work on Mando too. “You’re safe. Take all the time you need.”

Still sitting down, Mando’s hand landed on top of Boba’s that was settled on his shoulder. He kept his head tucked down toward his chest, still concentrating on his breathing, but his hand squeezed Boba’s in recognition and gratitude. They stayed in the same position for what seemed like an eternity before Mando finally drew his head up and turned to look at Boba through his helmet.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice so small and tight that Boba could practically hear the tears in his eyes, even if he couldn’t see them.

Mando’s other hand found its place on Boba’s forearm. While holding on tightly, the younger man emanated the gratefulness he felt at Boba’s touch. Honestly, Boba was surprised that it seemed to work so well. He wasn’t exactly known for his emotional intuition, but he was pleased he was capable of calming and resetting Mando. It confirmed his suspicion that they were more alike than he originally thought.

“How are you feeling? Are you alright?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even but a hint of worry floated beneath it.

Mando swallowed hard before answering, “I am now. Whatever you did or are doing... it’s helping.”

He took another deep breath, still trying to regain complete control. Boba slowly ran his hand down from Mando’s shoulder toward his lower arm, preparing to pull away, but as Mando felt him withdraw he rushed to grab his hand back, ensuring they maintained contact. Boba was surprised- expecting that Mando would want the physical contact to end as soon as possible. But maybe the man was finally being honest with himself and his own needs. It’d certainly taken Boba a long time to do the same thing, and he knew this probably wasn’t easy for Mando. If the man was asking for comfort via touch, Boba was not about to deny him.

Mando grabbed onto his retreating hand, while the other hand gripped Boba’s forearm even tighter. Boba merely nodded and squeezed back, hoping to reassure the fragile man.

“Please… don’t leave yet,” Mando said quietly. His voice was almost pleading, surprising Boba once again. He was pleased that Mando seemed to recognize that he would not judge, ridicule or shame him for his current weakened state. There was a new feeling in the pit of his stomach too- a gratifying, contented sensation that seemed to bloom when Mando admitted he needed him.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, slowly reaching up to rub the back of the other man’s neck, “I’ll stay.”

Mando hummed and let his head fall forward again, and Boba imagined his eyes falling shut in relief. Boba massaged Mando’s neck, trying to stay focused on comforting the younger man while ignoring the new feelings growing in his own chest. He realized he wanted to take care of him. He’d never felt such an immediate desire to protect someone before. Now was certainly not the time to dwell too deeply on that, but later Boba would reflect on the satisfaction he felt at being needed.

He watched Mando’s hands clench and unclench, and finally the man tried to speak again, “I’m not usually… I never…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Boba replied, “Especially not now. I know you’re hurting.”

Mando nodded, but he glanced up at the ceiling of the ship and spoke anyway, “I had one job. One mission: to protect him. And I failed.”

His body began to shiver again, and Boba moved to sit beside him, wrapping one strong arm around the other man’s shoulders as he continued. “I failed him, and now he could be hurt or… or worse…”

“You haven’t failed him,” Boba said sternly, “A terrible accident occurred today, but you haven’t failed him and you won’t fail him.”

“But the Moff-”

“Do you want to get him back?” Boba asked, knowing the answer but wanting Mando to say it outloud.

“More than anything,” Mando replied without hesitation.

“Then we will. We will find him and we will get him back to you.”

Hearing the conviction in his voice must have helped, because Mando finally slumped against him, practically collapsing into Boba’s side. It was more physical contact than Boba had received in months, and he was surprised at how normal it felt-- as if it were the most natural thing in the world for this random Mandalorian to slot into his side like a puzzle piece.

“Today, you’ve done enough,” Boba told him, hoping to keep the tension from creeping back into the other man, “There’s nothing else we can do until we reach Nevarro.”

Mando was silent, so Boba continued, “Say it with me. You’ve done enough.”

“I’ve done enough.”

Boba let out a pleased hum when Mando obeyed him. He even managed to sound sure of himself, which was definitely a step in the right direction. Boba reached down and patted the man’s knee with the hand that wasn’t still wrapped around his shoulders. He heard Mando sigh, just the softest of sounds, and Boba wished he knew what the man looked like so that he could properly imagine the way his lips parted at the sound.

“I don’t know how to repay you. For taking me to Nevarro and for… this.” Mando said, sounding a bit more like his normal self.

“You do not need to repay me,” Boba told him, meaning every word. For once in his long life, he truly didn’t want anything in return. All he wanted was to make this strange yet familiar Mandolorian happy again. Maybe it was because he saw himself reflected in the younger man or maybe it was something more, but all that mattered was that Boba Fett was now dedicated to helping him find the foundling.

”I will stay as long as you need me.”

#bobadin #I love being a Din multi shipper #boba x din #the mandalorian #boba fett #din djarin #tw: anxiety attack #my fanfic #ask #fanfiction tag #din djarin x boba fett

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hyper-fixate · 4 years

Text

you wouldn’t believe the dream I just had about you and me

[The other night, during a 3 am feed, I saw a post about soulmate prompts (I found it!) and saw this one (paraphrased):

20. They recognize their soulmate because they’ve heard their laughter in their dreams.

And today, those immortal husbands wouldn’t let me leave it be. Title from Some Nights by Fun.]

updated with AO3 version.

------- Yusuf remembered when his older brother, Hamza, had gotten married to a shy dress maker from the village over. She looked beautiful. She had hand stitched a beautiful pattern across the skirt of her simple tunic, with looping branches and leaves. A tree, the joining of two families to make one. Yusuf had been intrigued by it, choosing to sit by his new sister’s knee and gently traced his fingers along it. Something in the soft blue-green thread intrigued him. He knew he would sketch it in the hearth this evening, as he lay watching the fire dwindle to embers. His mother tried to shoo him away, admonishing him for touching the precious dress with his sticky fingers but Karima gently placed her hand on the nape of his neck and smiled at him beneath her veil.

‘Are you happy to be married to my brother?’ Yusuf asked breathlessly. Only seven, but already his mind was filled with the glory of love. The romance he still saw in his parents eyes as they brushed gentle fingers against each other’s cheeks and arms. He knew his parent’s love story and it warmed him to know that they were blessed with so many long, happy years together. He fell asleep with the same fervent prayer on his lips: let me have a soulmate too.

‘Yes, little brother.’ Karima glanced at Hamza in a way that was so tender and loving, Yusuf blushed as though he had intruded on something intimate. ‘From the moment I heard his laugh, it was as if a great weight was lifted from me.’

‘Then I heard hers, and she snorts. Like a boar.’ Hamza had come over to them, grasping one of Karima’s hands in his and drawing it to his lips. She swatted at him with her free hand, but she did laugh. And it did end in a small snort, a joyous noise that seemed to escape her against her will.

‘How did you know, then,’ Yusuf considered his words carefully, ‘that it was dreams of your soulmate and not a boar?’

That drew a great laugh from Hamza. He laughed with his whole body, throwing his head back and even Karima giggled lightly.

‘Little brother, your mind is a treasure.’ Hamza gently ran his thumb over Karima’s knuckles and they exchanged that look again. ‘I must continue to check on our guests? Do you need anything?’

‘No, our little brother is taking good care of me.’ Karima said and Yusuf felt the tops of his ears heat at the easy nature in which she accepted him. Hamza kissed her hand again and, with a whispered endearment, left them. Karima looked down into Yusuf’s shining eyes.

‘Do you wish to know a secret?’ She looked at him conspiratorially, and he nodded. ‘You must not say anything.’ Yusuf held his finger over his lips, to mime his silence. ‘But a part of me was so glad that my soul was bound to one so handsome and I was instantly ashamed. To be gifted a soulmate so close and so easy to find and to be concerned with his looks?’ She sighed, leaning back into her chair. ‘But what has been the greatest blessing is getting to hear your brother’s laugh at all hours of the day, not just in my dreams.’

She had a hazy smile on her lips, one Yusuf knew well from watching his parents. He had tried to capture that smile in drawings. Tried to imagine it on his own face when he caught his reflection in still water. To imagine the contentment of knowing you had found the other half of your soul, that you were finally on the path you had been destined to tread. He swallowed painfully.

For Yusuf had a secret. A dark, terrible secret, that felt so heavy in his young heart.

Yusuf was not certain he had a soulmate.

He knew how it worked. That when your soulmate laughed, you would hear it that night in your dreams. His father, Ibrahim, had spoken of the joy he had, growing up and hearing his mother’s light laugh every night. How happy he’d been, knowing his future partner was so carefree and easy to laugh. How he’d felt his heart would explode when he’d heard that laugh, outloud, that fateful day in the market. How it had speared him through his heart. And Yusuf had sighed at the romanticism of it.

But Yusuf didn’t hear laughter in his dreams. Not really. Sometimes he thought he heard small huffs, little sighs of sound. But never laughter. Not the type that seemed to ring in his family home at all times of the day. When Ibrahim caught Mariam in his arms and swung her. When Hamza told stories of the men at the docks, trying to haggle for the wares. When Karima brought him sweets from the market.

When Hamza and Karima announced that there would be even more laughter to look forward to, their intertwined hands splayed over her flat stomach.

He was nearly thirteen when Yusuf woke suddenly, spilling the papers he had been sketching on before he’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew what had woken him. A deep noise that sounded warm and joyful, but still so restrained. As he chased the dream, the noise seemed to slip through his memory and he couldn’t hold it. But a small giggle bubbled from his own lips.

It had been a laugh.

He had a soulmate.

A more painful thought occurred to him, then. His soulmate had had so very little opportunity to laugh that it had taken nearly thirteen years to hear it properly. He did not think discovering he had a soulmate would have made his heart heavier. But the ache in his chest when he realised that there was someone out there for him, but that this person did not have the joy Yusuf had? That cut him deeply. He scrambled out of bed and folded his body into the familiar shape of prayer. He swore, as solemnly as he could, to bring such joy to his partner that he would know that dreamy contentment Karima had shared with him all those years ago, on her wedding day. I will hear your laugh at all hours of the day, to make up for years worth of missed dreams.

Yusuf, like any good romantic, was also predisposed to fits of melancholy. He was not sure what he had done to upset Allah. He had had a good childhood, his silent existential crisis about not having a soulmate not withstanding. He had enjoyed his work with his father and brother, travelling by land and sea to trade their goods. Some part of him kept his feet moving. He seemed to know, deep down, that his quiet, solemn soulmate would not be found in the next village over. So he had travelled happily, easily charming those he met with a sharp wit and an easy wink. At every new market, new town, new inn, he wondered if this would be the moment he heard it. Heard the laugh that would begin his life anew.

Then that damned Frankish pope had called his holy war and everything had changed.

There was no laughter anywhere, not anymore. Not when Yusuf’s days were spent trudging through endless sands with this damned man. He’s not sure what made him offer his hand in peace after the last time they woke up. Honestly, it was more fatigue than any sort of mercy. He was covered in sand, his own blood, the Frank’s (Nicolo, his mind unhelpfully supplied) blood. There was bone and gore in his hair, caked under his nails and in his mouth. Surely anything would be better than this. Even walking with his once enemy who was trapped in this living hell with him.

It took many weeks for them to realise they shared a common language. It took them months to accept that whatever curse they both suffered had held and that perhaps, they should stop trying to kill one another and at least be civil.

Nicolo’s Greek was slow and halting, half remembered from when he was a boy and before he had been promised to the church. Yusuf’s years of travelling made languages easier for him and between Greek and exaggerated hand movements, he had begun to pick up bits and pieces of Nicolo’s mother tongue. Nicolo still tripped over Arabic hopelessly, but was a dedicated student. He asked constantly for the names of things and spent hours repeating them to himself, to try and imprint them on his tongue.

Yusuf watched his hopeless companion and decided that perhaps he had not angered Allah that badly. Though their meeting had been so violent, he had seen a kindness under the layers of doctrine and faith, an eagerness to learn and experience this new world. Nicolo was distractedly oiling his long sword whilst clumsily rolling the strange Arabic consonants and vowels around his tongue. He misprounounced every word.

His companion was amusing if nothing else. And a fairly good cook.

And that’s why you don’t tempt fate. Yusuf thought a moment later, as his musings were cut short by the sharp pain in his neck and he barely had time to see Nicolo jump to his feet as his world tilted sideways and went dark.

Yusuf awoke with a violent gasp. He sat up, his hands scrambling to his neck. His fingers found nothing but tacky blood. Nicolo was watching him, his eyes oddly bright in the dying light.

‘What happened?’ Yusuf asked, his voice rasping. He put his hands on his thighs, trying to ground himself. Nicolo moved back slowly, sitting down in front of Yusuf.

‘Bandits.’ Nicolo jutted his chin towards his right. Yusuf saw two bodies laying in pools of dark blood. ‘They shot you with an arrow.’ A small movement out of the corner of his eye drew Yusuf’s gaze back to Nicolo. He was holding an arrow bolt in his hand. ‘You did not wake up.’ Nicolo said, swallowing hard. ‘Not until I pulled out the arrow. I had thought-’ There was a half strangled sound from the Genoan. ‘I was wondering if your stubborn refusal to die was just at my hand.’ Nicolo said it so quietly, Yusuf’s tired brain took a moment to make sense of it.

It was easier to understand Nicolo’s tone in zeneize, his mother tongue. But Yusuf could hear fear in this man’s voice in any language. Anger and fear had been their first shared language, after all. Yusuf tore his eyes from the arrow, the arrow Nicolo had to tear from his neck, and back at his companion and saw the other man’s tunic was covered in blood.

‘Are you well?’ Yusuf reached out, his hand poised in the air between him. Nicolo didn’t move away, but stared at Yusuf’s hand as one would a snake about to strike. ‘Did they hurt you?’ Yusuf tried to make the return of his hand seem casual and not stilted, but the tension still hung in the air.

‘This is mostly yours.’ Nicolo said, waving to his chest. ‘It sprouted out of you like a fountain when I pulled this out.’ He rubbed a hand across his cheek, smearing more blood. He grimaced when his hands came away tacky. ‘How bad is it?’

‘For you? It’s an improvement.’ Yusuf said in perfect zeneize and in such a deadpan manner that it startled a laugh out of his companion.

Yusuf froze.

For a full moment, he wondered distantly if his heart had actually stopped and he was in the liminal space between their deaths and their gasping rebirth.

Nicolo laughed. Nicolo laughed.

And Yusuf knew that laugh.

He moved almost as a blur, reaching for Nicolo before the other man could react. Yusuf’s hands caught Nicolo’s face and the force of his movement knocked the paler man back, wedged uncomfortably, half on his knees and half on his pack. Nicolo squawked indignantly, trying to move away, his hands searching for a weapon on instinct. But it was too far away and the manner in which Yusuf had pinned him made it impossible to lever himself off his feet. Yusuf shushed him, softly, gently. Trying to convey that he meant no harm as one hand slid Nicolo’s hair away from his face and Yusuf searched those damned beautiful eyes for something.

‘What are you doing?’ Nicolo, extremely confused and uncomfortable, stumbled out in slightly mispronounced Arabic, following it with a small huff at the manic look on Yusuf’s face. And it speared Yusuf right through the heart.

He knew that sound too. And his heart flew and broke and started thumping in his chest as if it wished to escape his flesh. Something had to escape, so Yusuf threw his head back and laughed. Nicolo went still under him, his eyes blown wide.

‘Mio Dio.’ Nicolo gasped under him and Yusuf couldn’t help himself.

He laughed again.

(Prologue, of sorts)

‘And I kept my promise, I have tried every day to make him laugh. If only I’d known as a boy, so unsure of my dreams, how those small noises of joy would make my heart soar. How drawing a full bodied laugh from this quiet, thoughtful priest would make my blood boil in a very different way then when we met-’ Joe says

‘Yes, yes. We get it. You’re still disgustingly sweet.’ Andy sits down, her hands curled around a vodka bottle and offers it to Nile. Nile shakes her head. Andy takes a swig straight from the top.

‘Wait, so you didn’t laugh around each other for months?’ Nile looks slightly dazed.

Nicky shrugs. ‘We were too busy trying to kill each other.’

Joe laughs.

Nicolo’s point of view here.

#Joe x nicky #the old guard #immortal husbands #kaysanova #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #soulmate au #fanfic #I just can't stop thinking of all of joe's great big laughs and nicky's little small ones #I may have also changed the word fringe to hair #10 years in the uk and I still couldn't do it #but bangs just sounds silly #beans writes fanfic

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bearsfakedthemoonlanding · 3 years

Text

I yearn for a coming out experience that didn't leave me mourning my parents' daughter.

They raised a little girl, and she was precious and pretty and good. She wore pigtail braids and let her mama put her in mary janes and plaid jumpers. She played with dolls and jumped rope and climbed up trees.

So much of my childhood reflects boyhood as much as girlhood, because gender is words that we put onto things, not ways that a child knows how to be.

But because we place these words on things, and because my parents are the same as everyone else's, I was raised a little girl. My papa taught me to shoot and change a tire, said I'd be smarter than all the boys out there, the kind of girl who could take care of herself. He let me paint his nails and he endured the princess movies.

My parents made me feel safe and loved enough to survive the other family trauma around us. They made me feel safe and loved enough that I started voicing gender concerns outloud by ten, telling my dad that I had no intention of growing up to be any sort of lady. He didn't know what that meant anymore than I did. Safe and loved enough to cry when my first boyfriend tried to push past kissing and how the way he treated me soft and delicate made me feel unnatural and itchy. They didn't know why I felt like that anymore than I did.

My parents raised a child who had constant stomach aches and headaches and meltdowns, who was too sensitive and too scared and cried too easy.

They raised a little girl who clung to the movie Mulan with her whole heart and soul, imprinted it on the inside of their chest in a way that ached.

My parents know the child they raised. They were good parents, attentive parents, kind, caring parents. They really really tried.

But when their little girl grew up and started finding words for the things none of us had understood before, they got scared, because these words sounded serious. In their generation and in our hometown these words were harmful.

They look at me and see that little girl and they want her to be happy and healthy and normal. They think the things I call myself are what makes me unsafe-- afterall, they know what happens to dykes and trannies and faggots and, God-forbid, liberals. They know that those things are dangerous. They know that people don't like those things, but they see them as pathologies and diagnoses and problems.

They see those things as choices you make, but I started learning young that those were words people saw printed on your forehead, and that people would weaponize them against you whether you chose to wear them or not.

I also learned that those words could bring immense comfort. Could bring strength, liberation, community, sense of being-- all of those things only liberals ever talk about, according to them.

I was a child that everyone thought was a little girl, but grew up to be a man. My inner child is always napping in a tree or splashing through a shallow stream in the woods, and I wonder what their inner children are doing.

I wish they didn't see my growing into myself as a choice against my better well-being. I wish I could talk to them as if nothing had changed, as if I were not a monumental problem. I am comfortable with who and what I am, I just wish I could be both their son and their daughter at the same time. I wish they could trust me and grow at my side.

I guess I wish I wasn't too complicated for them to handle, but I understand the words are scary.

Transgender. Queer. Anxiety. Therapist.

It's too much for them, and based off of what my father hears on Fox News every morning, those words are describing a living nightmare.

#trans guy #trans man #ftm #parent trauma #parents #lgbt #queer #self reflection #journal #transitioning #transmasc

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anaabaalistic · 2 years

Text

Cont.

January 4th , 2022

2:34am

I don’t want to open those doors anymore I spent my entire highschool life trying to heal from so many things and even when me and amber use to drink I’d throw it in her face that it was her fault that I fucked up so much , that she’s the reason I got kicked out of school and ended up drinking and etc , but it wasn’t her fault at all I chose that path and it made me who I am today and I am not a bad person I know that , maybe in relationships yes I am because I have been a piece of shit to so many people that had every intention to love me for me but I ruined them , I broke them to make myself feel better to make myself feel like I had a sense of control In atleast once aspect of my life but once I finished breaking these people I had no choice but to reflect and see all the broken pieces I left behind . I excuse my self for so many things , I have a victim mentality and I didn’t see that till now , I am a narcissist and a masochist, I expect people to love me and stick around after I’ve done everything possible to hurt and deceive them , I put up a front of being amazing , of being patient and understanding when all I’m doing is giving them the idea of their ideal person , it’s like I study them and the way they speak to me and I tell them what they want to hear because I don’t like when people don’t like me , I want to be loved but I don’t wanna reciprocate the same energy , as I write this I am realizing things about myself I never noticed ; things I’ve never said outloud because again I hate to reflect I hate to see this ugly version of myself , I hate to think I am not as put together as I make myself seem . I always apologize for having hurt so many but I’ve never apologized to myself for burying all this hurt I hold , all this anger I have within me and it stems from being told that I was always too much , I was always too much yet not enough at the same time , but how was the possible how could I be just enough without being overbearing or a burden to anyone , how could I not be an asshole to people that love me when I don’t know what it is to love myself . I have a tendency to make list , I make list of all the good things , in my life X my career , the people I date , everything it makes me feel centered it makes me feel like I’m a good person but never have I made a list of the bad , the negative parts of myself , I’ve never said how much of a liar I can be , or how petty and toxic I can be , how I expect to be loved by everyone I come across , how I shut down , how I run from my problems , how I project on people and expect them to take the hurt I am causing them , I beg people to stay with no intention of ever changing , I am worse than my father or mother ever were , I am a coward for hurting people the way I do , it’s not physical because I’ve never put my hands on anyone but it’s mental and emotional it’s the worst form of abuse. I was raised in such a toxic Household and even now at 25 it boils my blood to hear my mom and dad talk on the phone once a week , that they still catch up as if he didn’t leave is like we were nothing , as if he doesn’t know exactly what to say to keep you around and you like a fool believe it and are puddy in his hands but I guess I learned from the best and everyone I date is in a sense like my mother , they are cold , distant , detached and only show affection when they know they’ve fucked up . There’s so many things I’m realizing now and it’s not helping the way I’m feeling right now at all .

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some-cookie-crumbz · 4 years

Note

Flower confession with Ochako and Bakugo?

The second I read this I knew exactly what I was going to write! Have Bakugo doing some serious Tsunning up in here! Also, light OchaBowl, kinda? IDK just mentioning it since it could be read that way if you so choose.

It started on a Monday morning as they all filed in. As Uraraka headed for her seat, walking backwards to continue animatedly chatting with Midoriya, Iida and Todoroki, she bumped right into someone else. "Oop, sorry, Tsu-Chan!" she squeaked as she turned around, a shy smile on her lips.

"Ochako-Chan, congratulations, kero!" the other girl said with an excited giggle. The brunette blinked once and tilted her head as she realized all the other girls and Aoyama crowded around her desk, eagerly bouncing.

"Huh?" she trailed.

"Oh, she hasn't seen yet!" Tooru gasped before pushing at Mina's back lightly. "Scoot, ladies and esteemed lad!"

When the small sea parted, she was greeted to the sight of a small bundle of flowers settled on the center of her desk. There were three or four of red flowers all tied together with a shimmery silver ribbon. She let out a small squeak as she tentatively reached out to pick it up. "O-Oh," she said quietly, gently stroking the petals with one finger.

A hand gently settled on her hand and squeezed. "Um, Uraraka, you're floating," Midoriya said with a little chuckle.

"Ah, sorry!" she yelped, taking a deep breath to calm herself back down. After that she looked back at the flowers and then upbat the other girls. "So, um, who left these?"

"No idea," Jirou shrugged.

"Yeah, me and Tooru were the first two here and they were already there!" Mina chirped eagerly. Then, grin turning impish, she hopped closer to lean into her friend's personal bubble. "So that means you've! Got! A secret admirer!"

Yaomomo giggled and cupped one of her cheeks with a wistful expression. "I must admit I'm a little jealous! They picked a flower with such a lovely meaning, too!" she gushed.

Uraraka tilted her head. "Wait, flowers have different meanings?" she asked in slight surprise.

"Uh, duh! Cha-Cha, my girl, have you never heard of the language of flowers? Or read a good Hanahaki Disease fanfic?" Mina prompted, placing one hand on her hip.

"Oh, come now Mina, mon chérie! No need to be so judgy!" Aoyama tutted before turning to Uraraka with a grandiose turn of his head. He held a hand out to indicate the flowers in her hands. "These, my pet, are red peonies and they are said to represent honor and respect! Whoever it is that is interested in you, they think most highly of you." he giggled happily.

She stared at him for a moment before glancing back down at the flowers thoughtfully. “Aoyama, you know the flower language?” Momo gasped quietly.

“Oui! My mother runs a flower shop, you see, and I always loved helping with it,” he chuckled as Aizawa-Sensei walked in, ushering them all to return to their seats. The blonde paused on his way to lean over into Uraraka’s personal space, his smile encouraging. “And, if I may be so bold, I don’t think this will be last we see of the flowers. I must applaud whoever gave them for a rather charming first choice. I will be more than happy to help decode their messages going forward.” He whispered before sauntering off to the front of their row.

A part of her wanted to wave it off, but there was a sense of curiosity. Over lunch, they discussed it, picking out individuals who it could or couldn’t be. Obviously it wasn’t any of the other girls, Aoyama, or any of Uraraka’s boys. Midoriya, Iida and Todoroki had been with her from the moment they left the dorms that morning. Aside from that, she knew that Midoriya and Todoroki both had interest in other people, and that Iida was currently focused on self-improvement and didn’t feel he was ready for a relationship. She didn’t think that it would be Kouda or Shouji, since her conversations with the pair of them was incredibly limited. She didn’t say it outloud, but she knew it was Tokoyami or Kaminari either, since they had their eyes on Tsu-Chan and Jirou-Chan respectively.

So, that left them with Sato, Kirishima, Ojirou and Sero. Mineta was a non-option since that implied he had a bone in his body to dedicate to actually wooing a woman, and the idea of Bakugo giving anyone flowers felt weird. She wouldn’t admit how disappointing that realization was, but she swallowed it down like a bitter pill to swallow. In their time following the sports festival, a begrudging sort of respect had blossomed between them. While she was open to sparring with any of her peers, Ochako tended to seek Bakugo out the most, since she knew he wouldn’t pull his punches or sugarcoat his criticism.

From the list they had, the most likely suspects were ruled to be Kirishima or Sero. She and Kirishima worked out together regularly, with him being her second most frequent sparring partner. She and Sero had started tutoring one another in their down time as well, since he was better with English and she was better at mathematics. It had given her some time to get to know the two of them a lot better. She stole a glance at the two in question, sitting across the room and heckling Bakugo as they ate, and determined that one of them was the only logical answer.

The next morning, she was greeted to another small bouquet on her desk. The flowers this time were a lovely little white one called a gardenia. What was particularly interesting about the ones in the bouquet, according to Aoyama, was the coloration of them. The base of the flowers was yellow, which he said changed the meaning entirely to mean purity as well as secret love.

“So, then, someone who has been hiding how they actually feel up until this point?” she asked. He nodded and she sighed. “That doesn’t really help clear things up, though. I mean, obviously they’ve been hiding their feelings! I didn’t think there was anyone with a crush on me until the flowers showed up on my desk!” she lamented, slumping over on her desk. She did make sure to carefully move the flowers first, though, so as to not damage them.

Mina giggled and peered around, grinning wider when she saw that neither of the prime suspects were present yet. “Yeah, but that’s part of the fun! Ah, I wonder who it is? I mean, Kiri and Sero haven’t let me in on anything, and they know how great I am at romance!” she pointed out.

“Which is probably exactly why they haven’t let you in on anything,” Jirou mumbled quietly.

The other girl huffed. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that I have a phenomenal history as a matchmaker! My success to fail ratio is nothing to sneeze at!” she protested. While the other girls continued debating over what constituted as romance or not, she carefully placed the flowers in her bag.

They were interrupted by Bakugo shouting at them to shut up a few minutes later, their enthusiastic chatter clearly getting on his last nerve.

The next day, she was greeted by yet another bouquet. The flowers this time were yellow tulips, but came with a message separate from just romance; they bore the message of love, passion, but also jealousy. So had whoever given her the flowers overheard their discussion, and gotten jealous that there was still a question of who? It was all incredibly confusing but they did learn a new piece of information that day. Kirishima was allergic to the pollen of tulips, and spent most of the day in a sneezing fit when he stopped by her desk to verify their next workout meetup. So, that left Sero as the only logical conclusion, right? Well, yes, until Midoriya pointed out that there was always the chance it was someone in Class 1-B, since she had been getting along well with Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and even Monoma from there.

She loved Deku, really she did, but sometimes his analytical nature just made her life so much harder.

On Thursday and Friday, she received two more bouquets. Thursday’s flower of choice had been pink hydrangeas and meant heartfelt emotion. Clearly they were trying to affirm the certainty and conviction of their feelings. On Friday, they were followed up with blue- green dahlia flowers and the message that seemed to carry the most weight; fresh starts and big changes. “Big changes like a relationship status getting upgraded!” Tooru and Mina had squealed in unison. The others had all been thrilled for her and, while Uraraka tried her best to keep on a brave face, a part of her felt anxious.

Whoever her secret admirer was, they weren’t the person she was interested in. And if it really was someone she was friends with, rejecting them could ruin their entire friendship.

She dragged her feet to class on Saturday, grateful that it would only be a half session, but was baffled when there were no flowers this time around. The other had also seemed disappointed by the turn of events. Had the person just not had the time to bring them by? Had they gotten cold feet? Or, perhaps, had the flowers been some kind of approach to get over a hopeless romance?

After class, she got her answer.

“Hey, cheeks!” Bakugo snapped, stomping his way over. She lifted her head, preparing to ask him what he needed, only to be smacked in the face with something. She let out a little squeak, reaching up to grab the offending object, when she picked up on floral aromas. She glanced down and stared with wide eyes at the elaborate bouquet in her grasp, composed of all the flowers that had been on her desk prior as well as a few red and orange roses. She lifted her head to ask the blonde what this was about, but he was already making his way to the door, his ears as red as his eyes. “Can’t believe you thought Tape Arms or Shitty Hair would have the sense to get a girl flowers!” he shouted as he stormed out, either unaware or actively ignoring the gawks from their classmates.

She looked at the bouquet, fully decked out with reflective pastel paper and a golden bow, but noted a small card attached. In Bakugo’s neat scrawl, read the words “If you want a date, meet me in the front room of the dorms Sunday at noon. And don’t bother fucking showing if you’re even a minute late.”

She giggled and shook her head, leaning down to take a small sniff of the bouquet. Yup, that was the Bakugo she was used to.

#crumbles grumbles #KacChako #my fics #But for reals #I love Bakugo just Tsun-Tsun Dere-Dere-ing up the place #Boi wants to show love but doesn't know how without going Full Extra TM #Bakugo voice: It's not like I fucking like you or some shit b-baka!

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covid-school · 3 years

Text

The Student COVID Experience

I followed a YES Prep Southside GIANT for an entire day to see life through the eyes of a student.

At this point in the year, we’ve tried to normalize certain practices and routines, but truth is it’s just not the same. School during C*VID is...weird. I know the teacher and leader side of COVID school and its experience, but I decided to (and kind of had to) engage in a student shadowing activity to see what a student experiences and what first hand thoughts I’d experience. Below is a re-cap and reflection.

A Day in the Life of Angel, an in-person eleventh grade student at YES Prep Southside:

Approximately 8:00 a.m., Angel and I arrive to school. In the car drop-off line, Angel and I both are required to have our temperatures taken.

After we arrive, we stand outside (6 feet a part of course), and wait until 8:30.

The school doors officially open, and we start heading towards the side door where we enter the building. We head towards our classroom where we will spend the rest of our day.

Once in the classroom, Angel and I both sit behind a 4-way plexiglass divider at the long table, she opens her computer to complete her daily health check, which asks her to agree that she hasn’t felt any COVID symptoms or been around a close contact, and she is cleared to stay on campus for the day.

8:30: transition from “Homeroom” time to the first period class. We have physics first, and Mr. Branna is an in-person teacher, so he walks in and we begin to get set up for the day.

Approximately 8:45: we log into Microsoft Teams, and wait for the class call to start. Mr. Branna goes on to teach the lesson for the day. The synchronous part of class goes from 8:45-9:30, and from 9:30-10:10, we have asynchronous time where we are given practice assignments to complete on our own.

The weird thing about COVID-school is “group work is all virtual.” What I noticed is that students prefer to communicate via chat versus outloud or in-person.

Approximately 10:15: We transition to World History. For this class, Ms. Walker is a hybrid teacher, and she teaches in person and remote students in the same Teams Call. We luckily have the luxury of having her in our physical classroom so if we need something, she can show us without sharing her screen. Sync time in this class is from 10:15-11 am. Async time is from 11-11:45.

11:45: We have Advisory until 12:10 and here, we get school and grade level updates. Angel and I had previously scheduled a virtual college tour that we attended starting at 12:00 p.m.

Noon: With the permission of Ms. Moss, our AP English teacher, we stay in the virtual college tour until 12:45. At 12:45, we join Ms, Moss’ Teams call, and engage in the lesson until 1:30, when async time starts and goes until 2:10. Ms. Moss spends async time checking in with students about grades and whatever else is going on in students’ lives. [Ms. Moss was a teacher at Southside for the first two founding years for this same class of students; she transitioned to a different school for two years and decided to come back for the founding class’s last two years. The classroom culture is very comfortable despite COVID restrictions.]

2:15: We transition to our last class, Pre-Calculus, where we stay until 3:45. In this class, we work through async time with Mr. Granger because the equations were challenging, and like Ms. Walker, he is a hybrid teacher and has over 45 students to tend to.

3:40: we start to sanitize our work stations with cleaning and sanitizing wipes, and sanitize our hands. We wait behind our seats to be dismissed. At 3:45 when they dismiss the walkers, we head to the gym where we must have our temperatures taken again. After that, Angel completes an additional health check that clears her for volleyball practice.

At this point, I end my shadowing and reflect on my day as a student of the founding class at Southside. These were the realities...

1. COVID school is LONG.

Students are used to days that are packed with about 6 classes that they physically move to and from. During COVID school, even moving from seat to seat is strictly prohibited. Around lunch, I could see them starting to lose steam. I found this interesting as I also tend to feel more tired in my last two classes. Because of this, it was easier to empathize with them.

2. COVID school is something we STILL have to get used to.

Students still need reminders of routines and procedures such as staying behind their own plexiglass, not sharing food or any materials, not entering other classrooms that are not assigned to their specific cohorts, etc. Although we have been living in this COVID world for over a year, students are transitioning in and out of physical classrooms every day and it causes the sense of normalcy to be almost non-existent.

3. Students need more opportunities to interact!

I noticed that one of the only times students were given the opportunity to interact with each other is when they were having lunch or in some async portions of class. Because of that, engagement was low and during “group” work, students weren’t comfortable interacting with students who they have been in classes with since they were in 6th grade!

When I think of ways I would try and combat these issues as a school leader, first I thought about why the issues are pressing. The main thing that stuck out to me is how crucial character development is for these students! Being eleventh graders means students have one year until they enter post-secondary classrooms or the work force and there are some skills that are mandatory to be successful in those places. One of those skills is social interaction that doesn’t come from a screen. This generation already focuses so heavily on technology and being behind their phones, that I would implement group work at individual work tables. Your table would become your “working group,” and you would verbally collaborate on assignments, discussions, projects and classwork. This not only ensures the growth in development, but gives students a real taste of what the workforce and classrooms will be for them in the near future.

Second, I would make sure my staff understood the importance of empathy and expressing that to students. I asked Angel at the end of our day together how she felt about school and she said she was very tired and drained from the day’s activities every day. I told her even though I’m teaching all day, I feel the same way because its exhausting to watch students struggle and become tired behind their screens in class after class. When I said I feel the same way, I could see Angel’s smile through her mask and she said “wow JW, I didn’t think teachers got tired because at least you guys get to move around from room to room. And while that could be true, overall, this experience has been tiresome for ALL and students need to know they are not alone.

The last thing I would do as a leader, and plan to do before the year is over just as a temperature check is create an assessment that analyzes what realistic suggestions students have for “COVID school.” For example, maybe students could have the opportunity to move seats and sit with friends in their cohort classrooms during lunch as long as they sanitize them upon moving. Small changes like this could help increase energy levels which will lead to higher engagement and participation.

Overall, I was inspired by the tenacity Angel shows by showing up to COVID school every day. While she did express some of her concerns, she also pushes through and helped me realize some pivots I can suggest for my campus in order for us to finish these last six weeks strongly. Thanks Angel :)

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jejublr · 6 years

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Congratulations on hitting 900 followers!!! Since I am British my title for you is 'Roaming the streets of London' with Jeonghan please! Thank you lovely 💖💕✨

“Roaming the Streets of London” & Jeonghan

thank you so much! thanks for requesting and I hope you like it!

A crowd murmured among themselves on what had happened as paramedics scuffled around as they moved a frail-looking middle-aged woman onto a stretcher. An officer had informed them the lady had experienced a sudden asthma attack. Unsurprising for someone her age. What he didn’t know was that in the middle of the swarming crowd stood two figures, looking warily over their shoulders. They both watched as the elderly lady was wheeled into an ambulance, the doors closing with a heavy thud. The car drove away with a speed that suggested an urgency, its blaring lights flashing and reflecting on the cobblestones and window panes.

“Will she be okay?” Jeonghan wondered aloud, eyes never taking off from the corner of the street in which the ambulance had disappeared to.

“I think you took the prank a little too far but I think she’ll be fine.” Or at least I hope so, you thought. The crowd slowly but surely dispersed, ebbing back into the busy streets of London, back to their own lives and business. Jeonghan and you walked leisurely side by side, not seeing the point of rushing as you both doesn’t really have anywhere to go today. Or ever.

‘I didn’t know she has asthma.” Jeonghan muttered. Silence filled the air and you glanced to your side to see the brunette with a faraway look in his eyes as he picked on his fingers. You nudged him. “If you’re wondering, what you’re feeling now is regret.”

“Ragret.”

“Stop.” Jeonghan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Am I a bad person?”

“Nah, you’re cool,” you shrugged as you weaved your way through the crowds. “But a person? That’s a little bit of a stretch there, Han. You’re like, half a person.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Being a ghost doesn’t make you less of a person.”

“Jeonghan, you’re literally dead,” you deadpanned, nonchalantly phasing through a man in a suit. You didn’t have to look back to know that he had temporarily stopped in his track from a sudden wave of dizziness and breathlessness. That’s what happens to you when a ghost goes right through you.

A bit of context here: you both had died during the infamous 1854 Broad Street cholera outbreak. You weren’t too mad about it. You figured that you’d probably die pretty young anyways, probably due to a child birth or something trivial. People don’t get to live very long back then.

But Jeonghan was as bitter as a ghost can be. Dying young sucks when you were royal, you guess. Imagine holding a grudge over the fact you died drinking dirty sewer water. There must be a lot of sodium in that water because Jeonghan’s still salty about it.

But now you’re stuck with him, roaming the streets of London, picking on humans and playing pranks on them as you both try to fill the void of living while simultaneously knowing that you do not exist.

Soon enough, you found yourselves walking over the Westminster bridge, overlooking the river Thames. People bustled obliviously past you and Jeonghan found himself starring at each one of them as you walked further down the bridge, wondering what kind of life each person leads. “Sometimes I just forget what it feels like to be human, you know? To grow old. To have dreams. To feel. I miss being the way we used to be.”

“Well, how about I remind you how it feels like, hmm?” You smirked as you turned to him, inching closer, watching as Jeonghan took backwards steps until his back hits the concrete railing overlooking the waterfront.

Jeonghan’s eyebrows rose, momentarily stunned by the sudden change of mood but the way his teeth caught his bottom lip suggested he didn’t mind at all. “Hmm, I would like that very much.”

Jeonghan didn’t expect what was coming for him in the next second.

The breath was caught in his lungs when he felt a sudden force on his chest before he found himself falling backwards into the frigid waters of Thames. The cold shocked him to the core, momentarily overwhelming him before his feet instinctively pushed up upwards towards the surface. He wiped the water off his face, catching a look of concern flash in your face before it was replaced by a blinding grin when you spotted him meters bellow.

“Do you feel alive now?” you yelled at him.

“I hate you!” he spluttered as he spitted.

“I love you, too!” you replied as you threw your head backwards in laughter. Your laughter was as cacophonic as it was infectious and soon enough, he found himself laughing along with you in the water.

Being a ghost on itself might suck but he didn’t mind much if he gets to spend it with you.

#drabble game #seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen #jeonghan #is this weird omg #hope you liked it tho!!!

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myshatteredme-blog · 6 years

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I’m a senior in college... and I’m having an identity crisis.

I know what you’re thinking. College seniors don’t have identity crises. We’re about to graduate. We’re supposed to have our lives together by knowing exactly what we want to do in the next five years with a career, significant other, and names of the next three currently non-existent children lined up in a crisply wrapped box with a shiny red bow. And yet, here I am, about to enter my senior year without a single clue what I want to do afterwards because what I thought I wanted turned out to be shattered cookie crumbs at the bottom of the Chips Ahoy box I'd hoped to consume as my daily nutritious breakfast. Hey, I’m a stressed college student and Chips Ahoy is delicious.

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked.

When I applied to colleges during my senior year of high school, there was only one thing I wanted in my four year university: a good dance program. I started taking ballet lessons when I was five years old and continued to try different styles throughout elementary and middle school. Some years I did lyrical, or tap. Others I went back to the basics of ballet. But I never stopped or took a year off. I never even switched dance studios. I loved it way too much to ever put it behind me, and I still love it with the same amount of passion, if not more.

However, things got a little more complicated in high school. Ever since I was eight years old, I’d struggled with my body image. Around that time, my pediatrician informed my parents that I was “overweight” and needed to go on a strict diet. My mom, who trusted doctors, as people should be able to do, just wanted the best for me and therefore became obsessed with the food pyramid which was still widely accepted as healthy and legitimate. Her efforts kind of backfired though. I remember the strict restrictions she put on my food intake only made me want sugar and potato chips and candy more than ever. One time I snuck downstairs to our kitchen and snatched a bag of Lays from the top of the refrigerator where she thought I couldn’t reach them. My plan was to run upstairs and consume the whole bag, but unfortunately I was caught. Instead of taking them away from me, my mom decided to play the guilt card.

“What would Dr. (insert name here) say?” she said as she stood over me with her hands on her hips. Now, my mom is a short woman who has always had a difficult time saying no, especially to her kids. Luckily for her, I’ve always been a people pleaser so it didn’t matter much. Not this time though. I ignored her, ran upstairs, and ate the whole bag while watching Disney Channel on my parents’ TV. I was the poster child for couch potato, or at least that’s how I felt.

That memory ingrained itself in my brain for years.

If only I’d just lost weight then like I was supposed to, I wouldn’t be so fat and ugly now.

I lived in constant guilt and shame until I was 15 and decided to do something about it, thus marking the beginning of my six year battle with various eating disorders, anxiety disorders, and depression. It was also around that time I decided I wanted to be a professional dancer and joined my studio’s competitive team.

I could go into all the details about how difficult that time was, but I think you get the point and that’s not really what this story is about, even though it is a very important component. I will say that there is something incredibly disheartening and heartbreaking about the one thing in the entire world you want seemingly requiring a very specific body type and not being able to achieve it even through extreme, life threatening measures. Additionally, being constantly evaluated and having your body scrutinously examined in class everyday can very easily break you. It broke me.

I asked for help before coming to college, but I didn’t really start to get better until the end of my sophomore year, and I still struggle a lot today to the point where I often skip class simply because I can’t handle being seen in public. It’s a lot better though, and my mental and physical health have both improved immensely. Which I guess brings me to the present day and my ongoing identity crisis.

Part of me wonders if I only loved dance because my eating disorder made me addicted to exercise and I couldn’t imagine a career where I didn’t push my body way past its limits everyday. Another part of me knows that those thoughts are just my eating disorder (I call him? Her? It? Ed) trying to take away something that matters dearly to me. Ed is a jerk like that.

What I do know is that I am in love with dancing, but going to class everyday and facing my reflection in the mirror while being constantly judged by teachers and peers is one of the hardest and emotionally draining things I’ve ever done. I do it because I refuse to give in, or give up. I want to show the world, and myself, that any body is capable of being a talented dancer.

But I do wonder what the point is if I have way more difficult classes than joyful ones. It’s cliche to say, but life is way too goddamn short, and I’m not sure if I want to spend it doing something that doesn’t make me irrevocably happy, at least most of the time.

I actually had a counseling session with my therapist yesterday where I brought all this stuff up. I was a little reluctant to do so because saying it outloud made the doubts and possibility of change real, and I’m not a huge fan of change or decision making. Thank you, anxiety. It actually ended up being a really good conversation though. She said something that really resonated with me and that was that I didn’t have to quit dancing if I decided not to major in it. She told me that it seemed as if it wasn’t the dancing itself that was triggering to me, but the fact that grades and constant evaluation were taking the joy out of it. I thought about it for a while, and realized she was probably right. I’d stop saying “I get to go to dance class” and started saying “I have to go to dance class or I’ll get an F.” I started thinking “I have to be good at this so I can pay off my student loans” instead of “I hope I get to do big performances someday because it sounds really fun.”

For a long time I defined myself as a Dance and Creative Writing double major, and I was proud of that identity, but I think I’m coming to the realization that maybe I can still be a dancer without studying it in school and that’s okay. During the school year, I’m a Resident Adviser, and I tell my residents and friends all the time that almost everyone changes their major at some point at least once. I never thought that person would be me considering I had my whole life planned out before even arriving at college, but maybe I should start taking my own advice and accept that things change and people change and that’s okay.

I don’t plan on ever quitting dance, even when I’m 80 years old and can barely walk. In fact, I actually looked into different dance companies, studios, and programs in the area so that I could still take classes even if I stopped taking them with my university. The prospect actually made me really excited because the studios I looked into offered a variety of styles from hip-hop and tap, to salsa, swing, ballet, and contemporary. Something I’ve never liked about my university’s Dance Program is their lack of variety that branches off from contemporary and ballet, and I think I would actually be a lot happier taking classes in a plethora of styles.

A couple weeks ago, a friend confessed to me their struggle with bulimia because they knew I’d had an eating disorder and wanted a bit of advice for how to tell their parents. I’ve always enjoyed supporting other people and learning about their diverse experiences, especially when they connect with my own because I can help them feel less alone. It’s probably the main reason I love to read. I’ve also always defined myself as a good friend. I try to keep my phone volume on at night so my friends know they can reach me at any hour (despite the fact that it makes my roommates hate me a tiny bit) because I know that sometimes our darkest moments happen in the middle of the night when we are alone.

Helping my friend through the terrifying decision to ask her parents for help was incredibly fulfilling for me. I’d been going through a bit of a relapse with my eating disorder and talking to her reminded me of all the self-care tools I’d learned throughout my years. It sounds awful, but it also gave both of us a good laugh to be reminded that some of the things we think, while totally valid, are also sort of ridiculous. In addition to being a jerk, Ed is also ridiculous.

It got me thinking about what kinds of things make me happy. Reading makes me happy because it allows me to connect with others and learn about experiences different from my own. Writing makes me happy because I feel as if I can share my values and experiences in hopes that they support other people and let them know they aren’t alone. Dancing makes me happy because it grounds me to myself while expressing myself artistically and telling stories with music and movement. I enjoy spending time with nature and taking pictures to appreciate the little things in the world around us. I’m also very passionate about my work as a Resident Adviser because I know I make a difference in the lives of my residents.

Basically the biggest defining factor, the core memory at the center of my islands as they’d say on Inside Out, my absolute favorite movie of all time, is a fascination with the amazing miracle that is humanity, and how we can use stories to spread kindness and awareness into the world.

I’d always had a slight inclination toward psychology. I took a 101 class in high school and another in college. I really enjoyed both and wanted to take more classes in the subject, but wasn’t particularly motivated to go to grad school, which is unfortunately almost necessary if you want to do anything with psychology.

But now I’m starting to wonder if I’d missed my calling.

What if I’m a college senior and I missed my calling?

Ah, there’s the anxiety. We were getting a little too serious and insightful up in here.

But yeah so here I am so close to the finish line wondering if I need to start over. I still want to continue my studies in Creative Writing because it is something I am deeply passionate about. I also want to continue dancing, even if it’s not in a college program. I have this slight dream of maybe opening a body positive studio someday and encouraging dance as a practice for anyone, not just really thin ballerinas. So that’s definitely a possibility for my future. I already have enough credits to change my major to a minor without any repercussions so I’m looking into maybe doing that. I’m also looking into potentially adding a psychology minor to my academic studies.

Somewhat unrelated, but it’s important, I promise. I’m a huge fan of the vlogbrothers, a YouTube channel with John Green (the author) and Hank Green (the science geek and soon to be author). My favorite thing about their channel and their lives is that they do things that make them happy for a living. Hank is a science major of some kind or another but now he’s writing young adult fiction and singing songs about Harry Potter both on stage and on the internet. John started his education and career as a minister in hospitals, and now he writes books about teenagers and makes videos on YouTube about his garden (among many other hilarious and educational topics). I’ve always admired their ability to tackle new projects and pursue things that matter to them while also raising families of their own.

Basically what I’m getting at is, maybe I don’t know exactly where my life is headed but I think this change might be for the better in regards to my personal growth, mental health, and engagement in well-rounded studies that I’m passionate about. Maybe I’ll go to grad school. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll make it big on So You Think You Can Dance. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll become a bestselling author, or counselor, or mom. Maybe I’ll become all of those things or something entirely different. For now I’m content pursuing my options and trying to participate in the activities and studies that make me happy. (In addition to working with Academic Advising and Career Services so I don’t end up broke, homeless, and alone).

So yeah, I guess there’s me, or at least what I understand to be me.

For now.

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ikari-cat · 6 years

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What are some of your personal tips in staying positive?

Hhhmmmmmmmm I’m not sure if this is regarding to something specific or just in life in general so I’ll try both!

One of the first things I do is step off online for a while, and that’s mainly due to my interests being online mostly. I then have ‘sober’ days, where I usually stay in bed and reflect on things. It’s a lot better if you have someone to talk too, I usually end up talking to myself outloud (with 'someone’ in my head) or to Azure (I’ve also noticed that a cat in my life now has really improved my positivity) but the most improvement is with my partner; just talking about anything makes me feel better.

The main issue obviously would be the environment you’re in, or work/school you’re dealing with. It’s definitely best to go out, I’ve felt much better just walking around, the best is always finding someplace new to explore (I went to a ice cream palor recently and it was the highlight during my midterms) So far this year I’ve been thinking of moving out a lot, and that’s mainly due to money issues rn, but of course I don’t have much to start off so still hoping to get a real job soon! It’s little steps, a lot to endure especially, but it’s a process! I know personally family is something I want to keep close, and while they are the reason I plan on leaving, in the end making compromises is the best solution. But of course, every family is different, so unless you’re like me who has only one person to talk to personally, then best to manage yourself! It’s very pathetic I know, but you have to put yourself first.

In terms of school/work, there’s been many times I would ask why to bother go, but since it’s the way to go by it’s just getting myself motivated enough. I know with school it’s the concept of learning something I can use (I’m a psych major so THAT’S definitely helping me) and with being a temp it was just gaining something; the most I spend on is food! So, food is definitely something looking forward too! 🍳🍗🍕🍧🍭

I will say this year for me so far has been bad, I had well something life changing for me that I still feel disappointing thinking about. It was 2 months spanning, and I definitely was grateful being on winter break or else I would of failed my midterms. There is also the case of my brother, I’ve mention him before and he’s really facing the worst now, and as the oldest I pretty much have responsibility over him. He’s admitted that I pretty much give him hope for moving on (I’m already tearing up lmao) so it’s really having someone care about you (especially if those you knew have stopped) and keeping up with you.

But if not those then the most I do is watch tv, I watch the news everyday and late night shows I’ve watched before; movies are always the best. White noise for me at times so I end up either playing games (slow I am yes) or attempt to draw; the slowest process. Obviously the worst would be being in bed all day, and just listening to music; I joke about it being emo but it is what I feel (im emo) so definetly take a slow process (getting up to wash up even!)

This is a mess of words god, but overall I would say just taking a breather really. Avoiding everything by just having a simple stroll, it really does wonders. Oh, something small I do is checking out some positive things here; cute things for me really do it!

So sorry if this doesn’t help 😭😭😭🙏💞

#cat's random rambles #anon #ask away #hope this helped!#<333

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oddity-writes · 7 years

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Grounded Ch.1 Pt.2

Decided to post this on Ao3 as well. (Mainly cause tumblr's character limit) I will continue posting to both tumblr and Ao3. If you guys want the link to it on Ao3 let me know.

Edit: Someone on Ao3 let me know that I accidentally kept switching around Virgil's username, so I fixed it! It's Blackwings, not Darkwings. (Not really sure how I even made the mistake in the first place. My mind must have wandered.)

Tag list: @nerd-in-space @thebaagelboy

The first month of staying in the apartment and paying for everything was terrible. Even with the paychecks just about every week, Virgil still had to work himself to the bone to pay for the rent, food, clothing, and any other daily nessesities. After the first rough patch, though, he had a stable life. He was even able to put aside some money to buy a crappy computer and a cheap drawing tablet.

Using these, he would draw when ever he had free time.

"Wow," Virgil stared at his computer screen, "people like my drawings that much?"

He was honestly suprised. He's been drawing for a long time, so he decided to post some of his works online. That was just a few months ago. Now he has some devoted fans that love his works. Some even asked if he would open up commissions.

'They want to commission me? Really?' His mind had trouble proccessing the info it received. He had nothing to lose. Not only would he be drawing for people that love his art, but he would be paid for it. Opening up his blog, he let his fans know that he would, in fact, be opening up commissions. Many instantly replied to his post saying to link them to the commission page when he's ready. His fans where always so supportive. Hes not really sure why they are, but their support has helped him make it though tough times.

Once Virgil was done setting everything up, he instantly got two commissions. 'Well, I'm free today, might as well work on these now.' He sat at his desk prepared to start when he realised that the first commissioner is his first fan. Not only that, but they gave him a lot more money then he asked for. "Oh, my god. They gave me 50$!?" He almost yelled.

His first fan is a user that goes by the username "TheRoyalPrince". They are the first person to find and support to this day the drawings that Virgil posts. They are also the first fan to suggest to open up comissions. 'Why did Prince give me 50$?'

His comissions info only went up to 20$ as the highest amount. TheRoyalPrince gave him 50$. Virgil, after snapping out of his shock, read the TheRoyalPrince's commission info.

Commission 50$ made by TheRoyalPrince:

'Hello, Blackwings! I would like to commission a royal kingdom. Make sure this kingdom has a handsome prince, but other then that I would like to see your take on a royal kindom. Also, I have been a fan of your works since the day you first posted. The extra 30$ is to help you live better and to continue making more art in the future! :)'

Virgil sat there, dumbfounded. 'Prince really likes my art.' Starting to tear up, he grabbed the tablet pen sitting a little to the left and opened up a blank page. After pondering for a moment, he got to work. This isn't the first time Virgil has talked with Prince. Awhile ago, he asked his fans for ideas, since he was having trouble drawing. Prince, was somehow the first one to give him an idea. So he knows a few things that Prince likes.

Vibrant reds and golden yellows started to streak across the blank page. Virgil's hand moves gracefully across the tablet, leaving different colors in its wake. By the time he was done it was pretty late in the day. He started around 9 in the morning, so it was suprising to see that it was 1 almost 2 p.m. He got up and stetched. 'That...was really fun to draw. It even looks good. I hope Prince likes it.' Virgil was genuinely happy with the result of the commission. It was a vibrant white and red kingdom with a bit of a golden yellow. The viewpoint of the drawing is on a hill looking down at the large kingdom. A little bit off to the left of the hill, is a majestic looking prince on a white horse with a mane that has a tinge of yellow. The prince looks like he is ready to defend the kingdom from what ever dares to attack.

Clicking on the submit button, the drawing got sent to Prince.

"Okay, before I start on the next one I really need a shower." He hadn't taken a shower for a little while, so he could save on the water bill.

Walking over to the bathroom, he started to get undressed. Taking off his shirt he sees his reflection in the mirror that's just above the sink. 'My marks.' He sees his soulwing marks almost everyday. He doesn't go out much other than to do his part time jobs, so he doesn't really have any friends. His marks are his only comfort. They prove that there is at least one person on this world that won't hate him or call him a freak.

He finishes getting undressed and jumps in the shower. Quickly getting in and out to save as much on the water bill as possible. After drying himself and getting clothes on, he finishes the other comission by night time. 'Okay, i've got work to do tomorrow, so if I want food, I better go to bed.' Although, it's pretty late, he doesn't have to go to work very early, so he should be fine. Not only that, but he's used to getting little to no sleep, if the bags under his eyes are any indication. He lays down in his bed thinking back to Prince. 'I hope Prince liked the drawing.' Virgil mulls over the bright red and white kingdom as he doses off.

The next day he wakes up late, but, he really doesn't have work early so he had about an hour before he had to leave to another job. Rising from his bed like he was zombie, he got up and made a simple breakfast of an omelet. He is not a master chef, but living on your own forces you to learn how to cook. He has decent skills, when he is not dead tired and actually feels like cooking instead of just making ramen. Grabbing the hot omelet and flipping it onto a plate, he sits down at his desk and checks his phone. He has a notification from his art blog. Tapping on it showed that Prince had responded to the commission. 'Prince? Did he not like it?' Slightly scared that he disappointed his first and longest time fan he opened up the response.

TheRoyalPrince replies:

'Blackwings!! Amazing! I could not have asked for anything better! I love it! It's the perfect thing for my room. I just gotta print it onto some poster paper, and voilá! It will fit on the wall as if it has always been there.'

'What?'

Virgil opened up his account 'Blackwings' and started to reply to Prince.

Blackwings: 'I'm glad you liked it. I spent a lot more time then expected to on it.'

He didnt expect Prince to reply right away, so he started to set his phone down, when it buzzed.

TheRoyalPrince: 'Oh, but of course I'll love it! Just about anything you post is magnificent!'

Seeing the reply, had him start to tear up, again. He felt like he was wanted for once. His family always treated him like he didn't even deserve to live, but Prince even though they don't even really know each other, seems to actually want him or at least the things he can create.

Blackwings: 'l...thank you. You and my other fans support has helped me through...some hard times. So, thank you.'

Blackwings: 'Also, I'm not accepting the extra 30$. I will send it back. I don't deserve it. I completed your commission that was for 20$. I don't deserve the get anything extra.'

Virgil was not going to argue with Prince about the extra money. He really doesn't deserve the it. The 20$ was enough.

TheRoyalPrince: 'I'm glad my support has helped you through tough times! It's the least I can do. However, I am not going to take back the 30$. I gave you 50$ for a reason. I remember, in the past, you posted something about not being able to afford food, so you had to go on hiatus. Back then I wanted to help you, after all it is what a prince should do, but you didn't have anything open. Now that you do, I'll give you all the money I want to give you. And I am not taking no as an answer.'

He could tell he didn't have a choice. Even though he really did want to give the money back, he could tell, feel, that Prince would just send it back. If Prince doesn't want the money back, Virgil can't give it back. After all Prince has to accept the transaction.

Blackwings: 'Fine, I won't take the money back, but is there something else I could do? Like maybe, another commission? I want to at least earn the 30$.'

TheRoyalPrince: 'Something else you can do?'

...

Virgil waited for a response.

TheRoyalPrince: 'Actually there is something you can do.'

Blackwings: 'Really? What is it?'

TheRoyalPrince: 'Be my friend!'

'What?' "What?" He was so dumbfounded that he voiced his confusion outloud.

Blackwings: 'You want to be...friends?'

TheRoyalPrince: 'Of course! I actually wanted to talk to you for awhile now, but didn't know how to start.'

Reading this, Virgil didnt know what to do. He hesitated for a moment before replying.

Blackwings: 'I'm not worth 30$. Trust me. But if that's really what you want, then okay.'

He truly believed, at this point, that he wasn't worth anything. Although he is happy, because he would get a friend, or at least someone to talk to. He's scared. What if after talking for awhile, Prince finally realises that he isn't worth it. He doesn't deserve Prince's friendship.

TheRoyalPrince: 'You're not worth...? Well of course you aren't worth 30$! You are worth so much more. Everyone shouldn't have a price tag attached to their life.'

TheRoyalPrince: 'It seems as though you have convinced yourself that you are not worth much. I will change that!'

TheRoyalPrince: 'Here's my phone number: 727-371-XXXX. Just text me and let me know that it's you.'

TheRoyalPrince: 'and don't talk about yourself that way. I may not know much about you, but I'm sure you don't deserve to be hated by yourself.'

At this point, it's almost time to leave. Virgil finishes up his omelet, picks out neat looking clothes, and fixes his hair. Just before he leaves his apartment, he sends a text message to Prince.

'It's Blackwings. I'm heading of to one of my jobs. I'll let you know when I'm free.'

He assumes this text should be good enough, so he opens up the front door, ignoring the slight happiness, that Prince's last reply, left in his heart.

#virgil sanders #sanders sides #grounded #im getting alot more support than i expected #roman sanders #its obvious #that theroyalprince #is roman #only he would choose a username like that #oddity's oddities

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tomoyanosekai · 4 years

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Towards Something New ~夢に向かって飛べ!~(Yume ni Mukatte Tobe: Leap Towards Your Dreams!)

If I were to be extremely blunt, this year has sort of been the worst. I think if we objectively look at 2020 and everything that’s happened so far, it’s been an extremely tough year for the world, and the idea of normalcy won’t be coming back anytime soon. I don’t usually open up about the creative process that goes on in my mind as I write these monthly posts, but I usually don’t like or want to be repetitive. With every month, I’d prefer presenting something new to the table as I continue living and discovering more about life. Instead, I’ve noticed that I’ve sort of been continually prattling on about the importance of friendship and personal growth or the idea of perseverance during hard times, all while looking back and reflecting on better moments and times in my life. Even though those things are all important and not exactly bad, the repetitive nature has been bothering me for a while. I’m aware that most of my recent posts have been a bit repetitive, but they present a continuous narrative of my life. Unfortunately that’s just the nature of 2020 so far since I can’t really look forward and make thorough plans for my future, and the only thing I can really do is either look back to the past or live day to day; the latter of which has been hard. This month’s entry might just be the same. Though, as I lived through this past month, I’ve been noticing more and more that the life I’m currently living is basically a mundane adult life.

“Adulthood.”

There was a day where I drove around alone during the middle of the afternoon before going into work. At some point, I stopped by a nearby cafe, bought myself a pastry, sat down in a shaded area and ate my bread. Without much thinking or reflecting, it occurred to me that it had been five years since I started my college journey. Five years later, I wouldn’t have thought that I’d be sitting in a public area eating a pastry during the middle of a quarantine. With my collegiate career basically finished, it occurred to me that this was what adulthood basically felt like: a mundane sense of freedom. Reality is a strange thing, and although it’s a weird thing to say outloud and notice, that’s simply the reality of life I’ve been living. There was no more school for me and there’s nothing really for me to look forward to in the short term future. It’s been five years since I graduated and left behind a life of public schooling, where I saw the same people every day in high school for the past 14 years of life. Likewise, around this time five years ago specifically, my previous dog Coda passed away and I said my goodbyes to a lot of people as I prepared myself for a new life at Biola alone. Five years passed and even though I failed a lot and even postponed my graduation for a year, I met so many amazing people, forged a bunch of irreplaceable friendships and even went out and lived an important childhood dream of mine.

“But now that everything’s pretty much over, what’s next?”

Looking at everything in the present time, something that comes with adulthood and trying to see friends is the idea of time management accompanied by busy schedules. However, when everything is able to line up, it only makes the moments spent with friends that much better. Spread out through July and August, I’ve been spending time with friends from different places of my life and seeing how their lives are all continuing on. When I talk to each and every one of them, even though the year’s also been hard for them, they’re all making strides towards their dreams. Many of them have gotten engaged or married, my best friend wants to go into a full time Missionary position, another one of my close friends went off to law school in the East Coast, another close friend wants to teach English in Japan and also pursue voice acting on the side, someone else wants to go off to grad school and eventually become a professor, and one of them is already inspiring others through their stories, and they’re shaping their field of work and also affecting a lot of people with their passion and desires. When I see and hear of all their passions and their desires to go forward with their dreams, only one phrase comes to mind:

「夢に向かって飛べ ! 」

(Yume ni Mukatte Tobe!)

“Leap Towards Your Dream!”

- Soreo Hiden, Kamen Rider Ichi-Gata (From Kamen Rider Zero One)

In many previous posts, I’ve written about how much I love and admire heroes, especially those from Kamen Rider. Throughout this past year, I have been watching the latest Kamen Rider season that just recently ended, Kamen Rider Zero One. Within this latest installment from the Kamen Rider series, the main character named Aruto Hiden is a young man who inherits an Artificial Intelligence company from his grandfather known as Hiden Intelligence due to circumstances and becomes the company’s president. As the season goes on, Aruto learns what it means to be a Company President while fighting as the hero of justice; the titular Kamen Rider Zero One. However, in the middle of the season, Hiden Intelligence gets bought out by another company, which forces him to resign as President. But even as his company gets bought out, he still finds a way to restart after everything’s been taken away and continues fighting in order to protect the lives of all the A.I. and human lives alike, all while being pushed forward by the words of his deceased father seen above.

Through the various meet-ups I have with everyone, I can see they’re all discovering their passions and want to see how they can go forward and make their own impacts in the world. I think that’s equally exciting and amazing to see. Although everyone’s been focusing on how they’re going to continue going forward with their passions and working towards their dreams, deep down, I felt frustrated that I haven’t been doing much. Exercising hasn’t been working well due to extreme levels of heat in Los Angeles and my hours working for the restaurant have been flippant. Although many people have told me that focusing on myself and growing on the inside is good and justified, I’ve felt a lot of frustration and doubt despite that being said. I know it’s a good thing as well, but this only felt more like an excuse to sit around and be emotional in a corner, rather than say that I’m being productive by both facing myself and figuring myself out while maybe applying for other jobs or something else. In short: I feel like I haven’t grown much and I haven’t actually been productive.

However, as I sit down and listen to everyone take off and leap towards their dreams, I’ve also been continually reminded of who I am, and some of my own strengths. As I listened to all sorts of people, whether that be my friends and their futures or the problems of the homeless people that approached the restaurant while I’m at work; I’ve been told and have also noticed that I tend to listen intently to others with empathy. According to close friends, I apparently shine brightest when I’m able to be passionate about what I’m interested in. Although that can be said about my giant love and passion for Japanese heroes, I’m not sure if the same can be said about listening to people and giving my two cents. Recently, some of my friends posed me with these questions:

“If you could grow in any way without limits, how would you want to grow? Or, if you know you could leave an impact on the world, how would you want to do it?”

and

“If you strip away everything, even a heart for Japan and the experiences that came with it, who is Chad at the end of the day? How has God created you?”

To answer these questions, I think it was best said back in March 2019 at Biola’s Missions Conference:

“My recommendation for students who don’t know what they want to do with their future: you should look to your past. You should re-engage with your past, and you’ll probably find that your future may be deeply rooted with your past.”

With all of my friends who talk about their visions for the future and the things they want to pursue, I’m finding this to quote to be more true than anything. If I were to answer their questions, I think I would need to do the same; specifically from August 2016, May and November 2018, and my whole summer in Japan from 2019. Back in August 2016, I wrote about how I felt while working for two different children’s camps during that summer. Back then, I wrote about how I liked the concept of being a hero for others, especially being able to be a strong role model for the young children I was looking after.

“...In theory, a hero doesn’t need to be someone who does something amazing, but my vision of a hero is someone who can be strong for others, as well as be kind and loving, and willing to reach a hand out towards others. During this time, I was able to become my own hero for the young children.”

Walking, Rising Up, and Exceeding Limits ~The Hike known as Life~ (August 2016)

Looking back at these words, I think that sentiment hasn’t changed at all. Sure the methodology and presentation of doing so has changed, but the sentiment hasn’t. In May of 2018, there was a day where I was able to meet a tour group consisting Japanese students touring around Biola, where I was able to introduce myself back then as one of Hope Rising’s Leaders. But I think looking back at a moment like that couldn’t show me how real my desire was back until November 2018, where I had a literal breakdown while trying to help plan Hope Rising’s VOICE event.

“What, was all the shit I went through a waste of time?! I could’ve been contributing more so I could help make this thing a success! But no, I had to go sit down in a corner and try and figure myself out! What, was everything we’ve done for nothing?! My emotional struggles and everyone’s efforts, was it all for nothing?! Y’know, I’ve had struggles on why I’m still here as an officer, and what I could do, since I’ve never been to Japan. But y’know, last year, in April, I know God spoke to me, since I was able to have that run-in with that large group of students touring Biola from Japan. And y’know I still know why my heart still beats and bleeds for Japan! My heart beats for Japan because I care about the children! I want them to know they have a future waiting for them, and that there are other options other than selling themselves sacrificially! I don’t want them to go through what I went through!”

Tear Filled Cry~素直な気持と本当の友情~ (Sunao na Kimochi to Hontou no Yuujou: Honest Feelings and True Friendship) (November 2018)

The visceral and raw emotions that I cried out back then only show me how real my emotions and desires are to help other people now; whether that be towards the people in front of me or even those overseas. I didn’t know until much later that I would get that chance to go to Japan for two months and continue allowing my life to shine bright as a testament to God’s glory for those people who didn’t know. When you take Japan and all the experiences that came with it last summer and everything with Hope Rising, there’s a deeply rooted desire lying under that.

Finally answering these questions, if I could grow in any way without limits, I’d want to grow within my kindness and strength and be able to share that with other people. If I could leave an impact on the world in any way, I’d want to leave an impact on others by letting them know their stories and problems were heard, and were helped to the best of my ability, God willing. When Japan and everything related to those experiences is taken out of the equation, beyond all the current frustration and looking at who I am in the present, there’s only someone who’s been deeply hurt. But even though I’ve been hurt, there’s someone who’s trying their best to heal and it’s someone who became deeply empathetic for other people at the end of the day. That is who God created.

Coming to the present, I never said that I didn’t know how I wanted to continue moving forward in the long term; I’m figuring out what I want to do as well. I want to be the person who wasn’t there for me when I was hurting. I still have the desire to help people by giving them a space where I can listen to and help them. I’ve always listened to people and I’ve been reminded of that a lot recently; I want to help other people by listening to them with empathy and helping them, all while continuing to be my idealized vision of a hero in that way. Japan or not, that’s what I want to do. Going forward, I want to take a year to grow by teaching English in Japan, and then eventually come back to the United States, go to Grad School, and become a therapist or social worker of some kind.

“It looks like we’re starting from Zero, and this is step number One!”

Aruto Hiden, Kamen Rider Zero One (from Kamen Rider Zero One)

Although the quarantine and everything else regarding that isn’t ending for a while yet, I know this is how I want to move forward. Everyone else has their own way of leaping towards their dreams and moving forward. I know that I’m not able to really do that immediately right now, but if I need to start from zero again, I’ll eventually find step number one. As Paul the Apostle writes in Romans 8:28,

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

I want to run forward. Not for anyone else’s sake this time, but for my own. I’ll get there eventually in God’s timing.

Time to start from zero, find step one and then get to a new stage.

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lizacstuff · 7 years

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Anons 7x06

Lots of anons in my inbox, a few under the cut. The tone of most asks is not complimentary towards the season or episode, you have been warned.

Anonymous said:Seems like there must not be a lot of Regina fans out there, despite the ER making a lot of noise. Demos held steady.

I wouldn’t count those numbers before they’re hatched. Sound like the show was preempted in certain markets (Boston, a huge DMA, for one) so the numbers should be adjusted for that when the nationals come out on Monday. Right now OUAT is getting credit for whatever replacement programming the affiliate put in it’s place.

Anonymous said:I'm seeing that for some areas the episode got pushed back till early Saturday morning. Do they take into account when figuring out the ratings? I'm already seeing ERs complaining about it and saying if the ratings are bad that's the only reason why. 😒

See above. The overnights (today's ratings) include viewership for whatever aired in OUAT’s place. Monday they should adjust to reflect more accurately how many people watched the actual episode. They are right, though, in it negatively impacting the live numbers. However, it shouldn't really impact the L+3 or L+7 numbers.

Anonymous said:Is it bad that I laughed outloud when I saw that Regina gave everything Ivy she needed to cast her curse? Just like the time Regina pushed Lily too far and she turned into a dragon and endanger the town? Or the time she told Zelena to go after Hades and change him and refused to listen to anyone's concerns and everyone almost ended up trapped in Hell? I'm surprised the writer's still don't see the pattern like fans do.

Even without malicious intentions, she’s a disaster who ruins everyone’s lives. It’s bizarre that the writers continually follow the pattern, but never have Regina question her own judgement when she’s doing it. Whatever else happens, Regina makes emotional, unilateral decisions that usually end up biting other people in the ass.

Anonymous said:Why would Regina stop henry for having a tlk with jacinda to break the curse? they don't have chemistry but they have been written as tl, at least make them kiss to destroy this stupid season one for all

Because Ivy did something, that Regina remembers, that will put the people that Regina “loves” in jeopardy if the curse is broken. We don’t know who is in jeopardy or how.

Anonymous said:So the reboot it's all Regina's fault? Why am I not surprised? Having Henry all for her and without snowing and captain swan, obviously a villain like her was behind this

Regina isn’t being purposefully villainous, but her stupid choices have landed them in this position.

Anonymous said:So regina thought she never adopted a child and its now forced to live with him not knowing her and can't break the curse?? Also her soulmate still dead and she is away from sb and her "family"&"friends"? Hahahahahaha karma is a beautiful thing!!! So she is alone and miserable and childless? Jefferson, snowing of the early seasons and the whole ef1 is laughing and partying

I suppose she is getting a little bit of karmic retribution, but I wouldn’t consider her knowing Henry is her adult son, and still being close to him even though he doesn't know, as quite the same thing as orphaning Emma and Snowing missing out on raising her or knowing her for 28 years.

Anonymous said:Its weird since I thought Shoe Believer had an okay start in the beginning. It wasn't anywhere near CS or Snowing but they were still okay. With every episode they just feel more and more dull and forced.

I always thought it was forced, particularly in the pilot, but I thought it might grow as the season progressed. I’m not feeling it. They are telling us it’s true love, not showing us. Unlike CS, Snowing or RB where we saw those relationships develop over time, this feels completely unearned, and a TLK would be like Zades or Red Warrior where it feels like complete out-of-nowhere nonsense. CS had to go through multiple seasons of trials and tribulations, both proving they would go to the end of the world or time for one another, before the show would even whisper True Love at them. The writers have lost their mojo when it comes to writing a love story.

Anonymous said:After this weeks episode I'm more thankful than ever that Regina is far away from Captain Swan and everyone in storybrooke. They don't need to suffer the consequences of someone who has failed as a queen and a mayor.

Honestly, it being canon that Regina and Rumple are out of Storybrooke, is the silver lining to S7.

Anonymous said:I’m kind of confused , since 7x02 I’ve been trying to keep up with show . But I haven’t been paying that much attention ( I usually just put it on the tv while I’m on my computer or something, so it’s really just background noise ) but I do have a question, who is that hag in lady tremaine’s basement thing ? And also ..... can you list the people who are aware that there was a curse / who’s now awake . Cuz I can’t keep up

That’s the witch. Right now I think the only characters awake are Ivy, Regina, and sometimes Alice when she isn’t on medication. I could be wrong though, because my ability to stay focused during this show has not been great.

Anonymous said:I stopped watching s7 after 7x02 but as someone who still watches it/keeps tabs on it do you know if the timeline is explained like now that Lucy is born and is 10 years old does that mean captain swan's child is around that age or is Emma still pregnant cause time moves differently?

They haven’t really answered that question yet as far as I know. My gut is that very little time has passed in Storybrooke and as we speak Captain Swan is preparing for their baby. But that’s my gut, not fact.

Anonymous said:I'm so mad - this was the last drop for me with this show. I have been watching S7 for Colin (I'm a Nielsen family and my viewing does count for the ratings) but what they had Henry say last night was the last straw. Swan Believer and their amazing dynamic in season 1 was what kept me watching the show (until CS came along ) and to have to see the writers IGNORE what was once the backbone of the original show (Emma/Henry) to prop an abusive mother/son relationship is absolute bullshit.

cont - previous ask about Swan Believer. I feel sorry for Colin and for the cast and crew, but from now on I will not be watching the show anymore. Nothing about it excites me/makes me happy. It feels like a chore. And these writers do NOT deserve to get renewed nor to get anymore chances to ruin their own canon of what was once a beautiful show.

Describing it as a chore is pretty spot on. I understand you wanting to watch for Colin (especially as a Nielsen household) but you gotta do what’s right for you. That line seemed completely unnecessary. There were a lot of ways they could have had a nice mother/son moment without going there.

Anonymous said:I just saw a gifset of Regina waking up from the curse. So that's really the reaction she chose to go with? She really hasn't seemed to grasp the subtleties of acting, has she?

No, she has not. However, I have to say that Lana’s acting as Roni in Hyperion Heights this episode was the least of the episode’s problems.

Anonymous said:Did you see any of Lana's answers to her fans on Twitter? Besides laughing at the idea of her wanting to do a remake of Silence of the Lambs and play Clarice, when she was asked what she's learned from Bex she said that red heads have more fun than blondes. I imagine in this situation you answer these questions quickly and don't contemplate on your answers, but wow did that seem like a dig. And if you look through the comments all of her rabid fans seemed to think so too and were loving it.

I thought a more accurate tweet would have been “Red heads kiss my ass better than blondes." ‘Cause Bex has had her lips permanently affixed to her ass for years now, just the way Lana likes it.

Anonymous said:I'm indifferent about Wish Hook, and I wouldn't mind if his daughter was Alice and they got a storyline together, but they got nowhere in this episode? And going by the promo, the mess of the wish realm strikes again as Wish Hook was realm-traveling apparently. How did a non-wish Rapunzel from a separate realm come across someone who didn't exist until present-day 6x10? This is unexplainable.

Do we know that Rapunzel is from a separate realm and not from the Wish Realm? It would be unbelievable to think that WishHook left the WISHAU before it was created with EQ’s “wish” in 6x10. I think looking for any sort of logic or even in-universe fairy tale logic to make sense of anything to do with the WishRealm, including WishHook, is an exercise in futility.

It simply doesn’t make sense, and each episodes they change the rules to accommodate anything they want to do. Of course I think it’s nonsense, but I’d still rather this and have CS safely tucked away from this ridiculous season, than have them using the real Hook this season. Because honestly I don’t care about the integrity of the storytelling in S7, I only care about CS. (though that doesn’t stop me from poking fun at it.)

Anonymous said:I honestly was not one bit surprised when Colin said he was still under contract this season, but at the same time I do believe he enjoys playing this character and I'm sure he feels loyal to the show, it has been his big break. But I have to believe with the storylines and the material he's given, if not already, then by the end of filming he'll probably be in the same mind frame as Bobby. 100% only there for a paycheck. I just hope his agent is actively seeking better opportunities for him.

We really don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling, but low ratings have got to affect things on set in some way, so it sucks if he’s in any kind of stressful environment. Even if it’s just them getting pressured to send out scripted PR tweets for each episode. On the upside, other than 7x02, he’s been in these eps so rarely, that I’d guess he’s not working more than 1-2 days per episode, which probably means a lot of time that he can be home with his family and newborn. It might be a blessing for them right now. As I said we can’t know, but I just wish the best for him and his future career.

Anonymous said:Was there something wrong with the Rogers' scenes? I thought they were pretty decent, especially his interactions with Alice.

To all my anons wanting to know about Rogers scenes, you’ll have to come off anon if you want to chat about it.

#ouat negativity #ouat 7x06 #anti lana #anti regina #asklizac #anonymous

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rosalindmosis · 7 years

Text

Jane Foster Week - Day 2 - Associated Quote

Okay, this is technically song lyrics, but it reminds me of Jane so much....

‘ They look down At the ground Missing But I never go in nowI'm looking at the big sky I'm looking at the big sky now I'm looking at the big sky You never really understood me You never really tried.’

The Big Sky, Kate Bush

(Content warning- cancer, death, suicidal thoughts- but there is a happy ending!)

As Dr Bastrop was talking, Jane wondered how many times he’d had to deliver death sentences. Did he speak to his therapist about it? Did he get drunk? Did he cry? Probably not cry, otherwise he’d never stop. Would her reaction, or lack thereof, stick out in his memory at all? She was probably younger than most he delivered this news too, but maybe not the youngest. She wished she could ask him, but… it didn’t seem like the right time.

‘Do you… understand Dr Foster?’

It was nice he actually used her title, even if he had just informed her that she had maybe eight months at best. It was the little things.

‘Yes,’ she managed, distantly.

‘I can go through anything if you wish…’

‘No no…I’m… alright, hah, or not.’

He managed the merest trace of a smile, indicating to her that he’d heard his fair share of gallows humour in the past.

‘Is there anyone you wish to speak to?’ He asked, quietly ‘Or for me to contact?’

There was one, to start with.

‘My lawyer,’ she told him, looking at her phone ‘I need to speak to her straight away.’

Ms Jennifer Walters was someone Jane had known for years. They were at Culver, albeit in different departments, and she had a reputation for being quiet but determined. Her outwardly mouse like exterior hid something that won her cases and Jane admired her for that. She also admired the way that Jen had brought in the most delicious, artisan coffee she could find for their meeting.

‘I’m so sorry Jane,’ she told her, indicating a seat before drawing her into a hug first. Jane returned it gratefully.

‘Thanks,’ she whispered back ‘um, yeah, could we… get down to it?’

Jen nodded ‘Of course! Sure!’

She went behind her desk and retrieved a file from a drawer. Jane recognised it.

‘Most forward thinking thing I’ve ever done,’ she said, mostly to herself.

‘Is… is there anything you want to change about it?’ Jen asked.

‘No… well, how much would it be if I recorded a video message as well?’

Jen frowned ‘Nothing.’

‘C’mon Jen-’ Jane began.

‘Nothing whatsoever,’ Jen repeated, firmly ‘I’m serious.’

Jane sighed ‘Okay, fine… but that’s the only thing I want to do. Nothing has changed. Same people. Same stuff.’

‘Same plan?’

Jane nodded ‘Same plan.’

Jen said nothing for a moment, before pressing a button on her intercom ‘Hey, Dean? Could you bring in the paperwork for a video will? And set up the studio?’

A young male voice replied from the other end.

‘Sure thing Ms Walters.’

Jen sat back in her chair and nodded to Jane’s coffee ‘Drink up. That’s the best stuff I have.’

Jane nodded and drank deep- it was perfect. Probably the best coffee she’d ever drank. God the smell was heavenly, with a proper creamer, not some diner garbage and a nice ceramic mug instead of a paper cup.

‘You need a tissue?’ Jennifer asked, her voice seeming to come from a long way off.

‘Yup. I really do.’

‘That good?’

‘Hmmph,’ she sniffed.

Well, I already look pretty bad, Jane reflected, blowing her nose before finishing her coffee so I might as well cry.

Eventually, she collected herself enough to be led into Jen’s will-studio, complete with dull murky backdrop and school-photographer set up. She passed her own reflection and saw that she had endured a year of chemo. No hair, pale skin, skeletal appearance… man. Red eyes did nothing to improve the fact she looked half dead already.

She sat on a reclaimed bar stool, whilst Jen’s cute assistant, Dean, asked if she wanted cushions or some water which she declined. Jen handed her the will she’d made the week she had been diagnosed. She glanced at it. She hadn’t had much hope back then, but she promised herself this was for peace of mind. She didn’t really think she was doomed, it was just… a precaution.

Jen coughed ‘We’ll start rolling and… you just read whenever you’re ready.’

Jane nodded and took a breath ‘Okay… I’m good to go.’

‘My name is Doctor Jane Foster, this is my last will and testament- the full legal document is kept by my lawyer; Ms Jennifer Walters, but I wanted to make a video so that… so that it felt more… I dunno, personal? I guess? And um… yeah… I just… If I am making this, it’s because I’ve decided to take the cancer with me… rather than let the cancer take me, if that makes sense? I’ve made arrangements. You probably will not find a body if all goes well.’

She slowed her breathing and started again.

‘I um… I am sorry to everyone. I know some of you are probably going to be mad that I didn’t say goodbye in person but… um… yeah, pretty selfish of me I guess, but there’s something I’ve always wanted to do and… this is my last chance. I don’t know if it will work but… what the hell. I’m dying anyway.’

That was the first time she’d said it outloud. God.

‘Um, I’ve filed several patents, the numbers are listed in my will and all the proceeds from them go to a Miss Darcy Lewis… who I owe big time. I can never pay her back for her time or emotional labour, but I can compensate her financially… if my last experiment works, then the equipment listed is eventually going to make her very well off indeed. Just in case it doesn’t work, I have savings of about $7,000 which I am leaving to her as well… and, if I may get super unprofessional for a moment… Love you Darcy. I’m sorry for this.’

She’d sold her Mom’s London apartment after she’d died. She couldn’t bare to be there any more. The place was worth a surprising amount, but she’d spent a lot of it on her treatment and… a few other things.

‘All of my equipment, notebooks and backup drives currently in my apartment are to go to the University of Culver, Virginia. Again, a full list is available in my will. To Erik Selvig, there’s a list of data drives and a server in storage at a facility in Norway. The address is in the will- I am leaving it to him. All of it. I hope… I hope he can make good use of it… and I’m sorry I’m the second Foster he’s had to watch get sick, but I’m damned if I’m going to be the second Foster he watches die so… sorry Erik.’

She blinked and continued.

‘Anything further is detailed in my will…. Um… there is one more thing.’

She looked dead into the camera.

‘If Thor comes back somehow and… and sees this, tell him… I mean if you’re watching this Thor… Oh god… I’m also sorry. Sorry that I had to… Had to end it this way um… I didn’t want to end it this way, but I also didn’t want you to know about this...that I was sick. I thought you were way better off not knowing about me...that the universe needed you more than I did. I hope you can forgive me. I wanted to protect you from the dangers of my world.’

She coughed as she recovered from the impression. Dropping her voice to that octave hurt at the best of times. Jen and Dead laughed. She took some grim satisfaction.

‘Okay, that’s all. That’s all I have. I… I love you guys. I am sorry. I hope… I hope I either die in the name of science or… finally get to go to space on my own and… die out there. Also in the name of science.’

She waved to the camera and Jen clicked it off.

‘That was a pretty great Thor by the way,’ she told her as Dean offered her help off the stool she was sitting on.

‘Eh, had plenty of practise,’ she shrugged ‘thanks.’

‘So… what’re you going to do now?’

Jane bit her lip, before turning off her phone and handing it to Jen.

‘First… get a van.’

There wasn’t much left of Puerto Antigua. No one decided it was worth rebuilding. It was regrettable, but it worked for her. After finding the site of the old garage where she had first found Thor and the Einstein Rosen Bridge- god had it really been eight years? No, closer to nine now. She glanced up and down what remained on the main street. The whole place was a ghost town now. She looked little more than a ghost herself.

Perfect.

Even now, probably as it had done for thousands of years, there were readings. All she had to do was… open it up.

Dealing on the black market had not been the best option, but it was the only way she could find the power sources she needed. The Chitauri army had not been able to open the portal without a massive boost, but there was enough for one person… in theory. Aiming was another problem- but she had a rough… idea of where she was going. Thor had taken her to the libraries of Asgard once, long enough for her to cross-reference a place- the Alfheim system. She was certain a group of astrophysicists in Hawaii had found it and they were happy to share the data with her. If they were wrong- well she’d end up floating in space and would mostly likely die quickly. Or in the middle of a star. Or something… worse. Well, she had a contingency plan, provided she could move her arms and legs.

The black market was a good place for cyanide capsules as it turns out.

The platform was a crude octagon of spires that tapped into the weak spot left by continuous Rainbow Bridge use. It was faint, but present. The power source were some crystals, circuits and the engine of one of the floating hover boards linked to a remote controlled unit. It had taken her years of work and, she wasn’t wholly confident. She had been doing it since the convergence. She hadn’t told Thor… for some reason. She meant to. Really. Perhaps he’d worry about her safety. Perhaps he’d try and stop her. She wasn’t sure, but she hadn’t said anything. She’d simply disappeared into a converted shipping container she’d rented and hoped no one would find it. Darcy knew, but she’d assumed she’d abandoned it after she’d got her Nobel and focused on Astronomy instead. She had for a while… but the cancer had put her right back in there.

Screw it, she had thought, at five am in a cold static shipping container in the middle of Staten Island, I might be dying anyway.

There was only one certainty in her future now. The only question was when and where. So she wasn’t all that different from everyone else really. That was a good way to think about it.

She checked her watch. An hour. Time for a final once over. She tested the signal, applied more duct tape, checked the wind resistance… a lot of it felt more out of nervousness than anything else. Her hands shook, but they shook all the time lately. She was cold, but it was the desert at about 10pm, so that wasn’t surprisingly either.

But yeah, she was scared. Uncertainty had never sat right with her. She needed to know, but right now, that wasn’t going to be possible. She could only hope she didn’t end up dying in a stupid way. Just in an awesome way.

She checked her watch again- now it was twenty five minutes. God. Too much time, yet not enough… She rechecked her backpack- food, supplies, a water purifier, warm clothes, ancient mp3 player, old digital camera (as if anyone would ever see what she recorded) changes of underwear, painkillers… and the way out. The cyanide were in an otherwise innocuous little pill bottle that she placed on the inside of her jacket. Just in case she… over shot? Undershot? This would be interesting, if nothing else.

Ten minutes.

She had ten minutes of time on Earth. That’s all. What the hell could she do in ten minutes? Pretty much nothing. Especially not out here.

Oh god. What if… hah. What if what? She died? That was happening anyway.

‘I’m looking at the Big Sky…’

Her Dad said-sung that when he was high on morphine, as he faded away. He was, as a nerdy British man who was in college in the seventies, a huge Kate Bush fan. He adored her. He had her records on in the car. One of her earliest memories was listening to Hounds of Love on the way to pre-school. The song that she loved the most?

The Big Sky.

They look down

At the ground

Missing

But I never go in now

I'm looking at the big sky

I'm looking at the big sky now

I'm looking at the big sky

You never really understood me

You never really tried

She wasn’t the best singer ever. But… if there was an appropriate song to go out to, then this was it. She pulled out the mp3 player and put the headphones in, finding the song quickly. Her voice was lost in the desert night, echoing into nothing as the equipment began to hum into life. She checked her watch.

One minute.

That cloud, that cloud

Looks like Ireland

C'mon and blow it a kiss now

But quick

'Cause it’s changing in the big sky

It’s changing in the big sky now

We’re looking at the big sky

You never understood me

You never really tried

She was aware of the equipment warming the air around her. The buzz and hum as they began to open the way around her. She took a breath as the pressure made her ears pop painfully, but she had no time to check if she was okay before-

-she was thrown.

Well, she wasn’t thrown exactly, but it sure as hell felt like it. She’d realised early on that she could die on impact if she tried to recreate the Bifrost exactly. She aimed for more of a tunnel type thing that would allow her to walk out. It still felt like she was pulled by a gust of wind. Her eyes watered as she saw blackness speed past her, feeling as though she were being buffeted. She wondered if it would ever end, as nausea and pain began to creep up her throat. Oh god…. Oh god what’s-

This cloud, this cloud

Says Noah

C'mon and build me an ark

And if you're coming, jump

'Cause we’re leaving with the big sky

We’re leaving with the big sky

She opened her eyes. The sky was blue, pure, clear blue, with soft clouds that would indicate a sunny day. She winced and got up, feeling stiff and sore but, apparently in one piece. She glanced around, trying to take everything in. Either she was hallucinating, or there was a lot of grass here. Like, it was a field of tall grass that flowed and waved in the breeze. She gazed to the west of her and saw what looked like a settlement of some kind- a town? It was so far away…

She hefted her bag onto her shoulders and stood up straight.

Either I am dead and this is heaven or… or I made it to somewhere in the Alfheim system. Or… somewhere else.

She patted her pockets- her mp3 player was there, still in her pocket, but the headphones had been lost. She had packed another set, given her past experience with camping trips, and set herself up with some more Kate Bush.

The sky above her was bright and big, there were people up ahead and here she was… ready to head out. She’d done it. She’d left.

She’d made it. Holy…

‘Holy shit!’ She giggled ‘Holy shit!’

The thought that perhaps no one would know where she was or what she had done… hurt, but only briefly. The mortal world with her friends, her work, her legacy… it was still there. They’d have to sift through the pieces. Maybe… maybe they’d find something.

Hopefully.

But that wasn’t her concern any more. She had left.

She set off.

#jane foster week 2017 #janefoster #jane foster #jane foster week

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