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liyuesbian · 3 years

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✧ pygmalion!au [ningguang]

notes: btw idk how commissions from museums work i just made the process up LMAO and this one's kinda angsty? i mean, it is the pygmalion greek myth so iykyk. also, i describe this figurine of ningguang here but w/o the colour... i've linked it in case any1 needs the reference. (btw, this is not set in ancient greece specifically)

only yesterday had you been commissioned by an art gallery in the capital to create a piece for their up-and-coming collection titled desire, love and identity. yet here you are, slaving away to make the perfect image you had in your head come into fruition. your vision is exquisite once sketched on paper—you can't find any faults in it so you take the risk.

as soon as your chisel meets the marble, a feeling so invigorating dominates your body. no further references are necessary as you place your trust entirely on your hands, coarse from the labour. you find such mindless toil addicting and you work day and night, only stopping for a half-baked meal and the odd collapse into bed.

for months, love streams out of the tips of your fingers and through your sculpting tools to arrive at the stone figure. you sincerely hope the intimate emotion has been reached.

when you finish, you wipe the bead of sweat running down your forehead, rest the other palm on your hip and take slow steps backwards all while maintaining eye contact with the statue. a wave of sweet relief hits you and you fall to the floor, uncontrollably sobbing into tired hands that still grip the hammer and chisel.

it's beautiful.

you stagger, struggling to get up with your bruised knees while clumsily wiping the tears off your stained cheeks. setting the instruments aside, you lift your head to admire your handiwork up close. a woman made of stone sits elegantly atop an oriental chair, crossing her smooth, white legs over each other. her left elbow is propped on the arm of the chair while on the other side, a long smoking pipe is balanced between gloved fingers. around her lies an assortment of objects: a vase containing scrolls, a floor lamp, and a charmingly decorated folding screen.

you see, you had already thought it all out. you'd imagined ningguang's preferences for a life of luxury, her affinity for constructing and sprucing up interiors. she would be a master of the trades and a woman who likes to keep an air of mystery around her. and like how you increasingly project her to be more of a person than she ever will be, there is a creeping concern in the corner of your mind that you will lose your rationality just as quickly.

the sculpture's body is clad in a qipao with a slit that reveals alabaster skin below the waist. the dress—embellished with patterns and neat linings—hugs her figure and shows off a lean build. the extensive train and sleeves of the fabric are shaped curvaceously to mirror the flow of a waterfall. and her face. the section you strived so hard to refine. she stares at you with an imperious expression and a hint of a smirk. her gaze, so piercing, makes you avert your eyes in shyness but you find yourself gravitating back to her profile.

you muster up the courage to draw closer to your creation and unconsciously stroke her cheek with your thumb, captivated. if she were an empress, you'd be a common peasant—undeserving of setting your sights on such a goddess. you can feel your soul being sucked into eyes devoid of emotion—of anything, actually. after all, the woman sitting before you is not a person but an inanimate object.

the weeks following the completion of ningguang—which is the name you've picked up the habit of calling her—are spent in said lady's company. every minute of every day, you surround yourself with her presence as if she is your closest friend. you eat with her, tell her your troubles, even going so far as to decorate her with various types of jewellery and bringing her gifts you think she'd like.

"thank you," you whisper. "for always listening to me." in truth, you're always so immersed in your work that you forgot what conversations could feel like. though, you fear your art would never be on par with something so transcendent ever again.

you become curious, wondering what she would be like if the nymph in front of you were not just a figment of your imagination.

you perch yourself on top of ningguang's stone-cold lap and trace the contours of her visage. you inspect each crease on her lips and the minuscule crinkles in her eyes, applauding yourself for the well-crafted details. you don't know what possesses you but you close your eyes and press your lips against hers, hoping that once you open them, a living being would erupt from underneath the marble. but, of course, as soon as the light hits your retinas, ningguang is as unmoving as ever.

realising what you've just done, you drop off of her thighs and laugh anxiously. however, you could've sworn that you had felt warmth in the lips of your beloved muse.

"i've finally gone mad!" you cry aloud.

hell, you say to yourself, is it even possible to fall in love with such an... an artefact? you dismiss your glaringly obvious infatuation.

"nonsense," you mutter under your breath, sensing your heart breaking slightly. how can something so painfully humanlike also not be human at the same time? you must've caused a tremendous atrocity in your past life to have made the gods harbour a grudge against you. of all things, you'd never have guessed that a lifeless piece of art would be the object of your desire.

you can't bear to look at the handcrafted lady any longer and with an anguished face, cover her with a large cotton cloth. the plan was to wait until you could hand the statue over to the curators and try to ignore its existence until then.

for a few days, you act according to the plan, going about your daily routine but eventually, your stoic demeanour crumbles. you lock yourself in your room refusing to eat or believe that your affection would never be returned.

during the hours of sunlight, you weep under your sheets, drowning in self-inflicted sorrow. and at night, you do the same, lamenting over the loss of what could've been your true love. she would've been so perfect in your eyes, your other half, and the only one who could calm this growing turmoil!

the reality pains you. hence, you do the only thing you can do: you pray. you pray to the gods for a miracle, that the light of your life would stride into your room and pull you from the depths of despair... but she never does.

your last day "cohabitating" with the sculpture has arrived and for the first time in—what felt like—an eternity, you open the doors to your workshop. taking a deep breath, you unveil the stationary maiden.

it's still as beautiful as you remember.

you give it a sad smile, wanting to get its departure over and done with. you manoeuvre about the room to prepare the things for the movers who're due to come in a couple of hours. while you go down your little list of errands to be done, you cough and bat away the smoke—wait, the smoke? frantic, you spin around, eyes darting everywhere in search of its origin until they land on the smoking pipe you so intricately moulded for the commissioned piece.

it's strange, you don't recall colouring the statue. and how on earth is smoke coming out of the pipe? suspicious, you approach the motionless entity and almost stumble when you spot its chest rising.

oh lord! — i really must be descending into madness! you clutch your head, clawing at your hair in hysteria.

"stop, please don't hurt yourself." the sound of a low, worried voice penetrates your ears. you shut your eyes tight.

"no, the gods have cursed me! i mustn't listen to your poisonous words!" you exclaim. your state of agitation is alleviated when the woman caresses your tensed arm.

"what has happened to you? i haven't seen you lately either." the tone is more soft and more tender than you had imagined. you release your grip.

"is it really you, ningguang?" your voice cracks at the end, and the woman you sought after witnesses your features twist into an expression of longing and hope.

"yes, my darling. i dare not go anywhere else."

helplessly, you rush to cup her face to check for heat, for the blood traversing under her skin—anything that would prove that your sweetheart is truly alive and breathing. and when you do get the confirmation, you beam, trying to withhold tears born from elation.

you bend down to kiss ningguang, who is still seated on the chair, once, twice, and three times to rid your scepticism. oh, deities! she's real.

"i love you," you declare.

"i know." you watch as the same creases you'd etched on the corners of her eyes spread into a loving half-moon shape and you kiss her again.

you reach a conclusion: you couldn't give away your lover—let alone a live person—to be displayed as part of a museum exhibition so when the workers arrive, you hide your muse away in another room. you apologise profusely and spin a lie, rambling on about how you had nothing to relinquish for the piece you had prepared had been oh-so-viciously stolen by a mob of trespassers!

the movers share with you their sympathies and ask what the work of art looks like and maybe they could sort something out with the authorities. nodding, you recount—so ardently—the details of your divine maiden. you feel heat rush to your face, chuckling when you realise that you'd run your mouth for too long.

in response to this, the two labourers exchange dubious looks as they peer at the static sculpture standing in the middle of the studio—its appearance unmistakably matching your elaborate description.

#ningguang #ningguang au #ningguang angst #ningguang x reader #ningguang headcanons #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin headcanons #genshin au #pygmalion au #ningguang imagines #genshin imagines

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supernaturalwritingbunker · 3 years

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Published Before Editing-Dean Winchester-Chapter 1

Summary: (Proposal AU) Dean Winchester, aspiring author and assistant to one of the best Editor-in-Chiefs in the country, knew it wouldn’t be an easy job when he applied. But here he is, years later, tasked with one job from his boss that wasn’t listed anywhere in the initial job description. His morals, family relationships and his career are all out to be tested. Will he pass? Will he fail? What will the oldest Winchester son do?

Warnings: Language, AU, John and Mary are Alive. Mary’s Mom, Deanna, is Alive. No Hunting. Boss/Employee Relationship.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Emily Morgan (OC)

Words: 3,844

Tag List: @elskinner45 @you-a-southpaw-doll @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @jai-lynne-unknown @akshi8278

A/N: Here is our first series on this blog. If you like it, please leave some feedback so we know if we should continue it or not. I know there has been a lot of AU’s for Dean with this movie but we wanted to do our own. Change it up.

To Be Tagged: Comment, Message, Submit an Ask

Third Person POV

You know when you wake up in the morning you sometimes get a gut feeling of how the day would go? Well, this morning, no one had the feeling that today would be unlike any other. 37 year old Canadian-American , Emily Morgan is doing her normal routine of getting up at 5 AM and immediately exercising.

Today, she’s on her exercise bike in the middle of her New York apartment, reading a long manuscript she was given the other day. Flipping the pages of the manuscript, she reads through it, and pedals on the stationary bike, part of her imagining she’s on a leisurely bike ride through Paris.

***

On the complete opposite side of town, Dean Winchester, however, is curled in his blankets, not wanting to get out of the warm comfort he was in. He opens his eyes and looks around for a brief moment, glancing around.

Flipping over to lay on his stomach with his blanket out and on top of the covers, he closes his eyes once again before he can wake up fully. Relaxing against his mattress with his pillow bunched up under between his arm and his head, he lets out a soft noise of content.

His alarm isn’t blaring in his ear as it usually would at this hour in the morning so he tries to get some more sleep. Right away, his eyes snap back open when he realizes the sunlight is hitting him in the face.

He glances at the clock on his night stand to find the red numbers of 12:00 blinking at him. He grabs his watch to check the actual time.

“Shit!” He says, throwing his watch back onto the stand.

The time is 6:16 AM and he has to be at the office at 7 AM or his boss, Emily, will probably fire him, despite working as her assistant for years. He jumps up from his bed and runs to his closet, hoping he still has a suit clean.

***

Emily finished her exercises not too long ago and she just got out of a nice hot shower. She doesn’t have a care in the world. Being the Executive Editor-in-Chief for Singer Publishing, she shows up when she wants to. And that time is always 7 AM. Not a minute before. Not a minute after.

***

Dean rushes out of his apartment building in his suit, which he’s thankful that it’s 100% clean, and practically runs into on-coming traffic. Cars honking are heard behind him but he doesn’t pay any mind to the sounds. He has to get her, his boss, coffee for the morning, otherwise, she will not be a happy camper.

***

Emily is in her nicely stocked kitchen, eating a small bowl of oatmeal. She’s dressed in a nice, light blouse, and dark blazer, with a skirt to match. You can tell she had it dry cleaned and pressed. On the counter in front of her lies the manuscript she was reading while exercising earlier in the morning.

She takes the last bite of her breakfast before putting it in the sink, deciding to clean it when she gets home. That’s a problem for her afternoon self to worry about.

***

Dean runs into the Starbucks closest to the publishing building. Each and every single week, Monday through Friday, and a few weekends, he’s here getting coffee for Emily so much that the baristas know him by now. He gets the same exact thing and never misses a day...except today where he is a little late.

Groaning to himself, he dares to sneak a glance at his watch after finding a long line ahead of him.

“Dean!” He hears from the front of the coffee shop. “Hey.”

His eyes snap up to see Jo, the barista that always takes his order. She’s holding up a small drink carrier with two coffees inside. He gently pushes past everyone in line and lays down a few dollars on the counter before taking the cups.

“Literally saved my life. Thank you.” He says, softly, before rushing toward the door. “Thank you!”

Jo smiles to herself and bites her lip, checking out the handsome man in the dark blue suit. Dean runs from the shop down the sidewalk, trying to make it to the building in time. The sign for Singer Publishing enters his eyesight and he runs into traffic again, causing car owners to lay on their horns.

He ignores them completely as he runs around another man to get in the front door. Trying to use all his speed but keep the coffees in his hand, he rushes down the hallway toward the elevator. One starts closing causing him to hit the door on the way in, almost slamming into other employees.

He lets out a deep breath before speaking.

“Everyone okay?”

“Yeah.” One answers, looking up at him.

“Me too.” He nods and takes another breath.

***

Emily, with her purse and cell phone, is walking down the street at her normal pace. Her phone starts ringing and she smiles slightly before answering it.

“Hello, Ash? How’s my favorite writer?” She pauses to listen to him as she glances around the street. “Of course you’ve been thinking about our talk because you know I’m right.” She says, crossing the road safely. “People in this country are busy, broke and hate to read. They need someone to say, ‘Hey! Don’t watch Dr. Sexy MD tonight. Read a book! Read Ash’s book!’ And that person is Oprah.”

***

Dean makes it to his floor with only about 5 minutes to spare. He puts Emily’s coffee in his right hand with his in the other to make sure he doesn’t spill it. The elevator doors open and he rushes to the right side of the hall.

“Cutting it close.” Amelia says, seeing him rush in while she’s on the phone.

Never stopping his steps, he speaks.

“One of those mornings.” He glances over his shoulder at her. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

Before he can stop, the mail carrier backs up into Dean’s tracks causing the assistant to slam into his back, crushing Emily’s extremely hot coffee against his own chest. ‘Ooohhhh….’ is heard around the office at the sight.

“Sweet...” Dean calls out, angrily. “Jesus!”

“Sorry.” The mail carrier mumbles as he pulls his cart away.

“Rub some dirt on it, brother.” Someone calls out to him.

He takes in a deep breath and rushes down the aisle. This day is already shaping up to be one helluva rough one. That’s for sure. And, as a Winchester, he knows rough days like the back of his hands.

***

Emily has made it to the building, still on the phone with Ash.

“Ash, the truth is all A-plus novelists do publicity.” She says, walking to the elevator and waits. “Roth, McCourt, Russo and..”

Ash cuts her off in the middle of her sentence.

“Ash! Can I tell you what else they have in common? A Pulitzer.” She cuts back in, still talking into her phone as she stares at the elevator doors.

***

Dean, having already taken off his suit jacket, searches for his friend among the sea of co-workers and cubicles. When he finally finds the person he’s looking for, he quickens his steps.

“I need the shirt off your back. Literally.” He looks down at Garth.

“You’re kidding, right?” He says, looking up at Dean, noticing the large coffee stain on his white button-up.

“Yankees, Boston, this Tuesday, two company seats for your shirt.” Dean proposes. “You have five seconds to decide. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

Garth stares at him for a moment, not knowing if he is 100% serious.

***

Amelia’s laughing with a co-worker when she hears the familiar sounds of heels against the floor. Her head snaps up and her eyes widen.

“Shit.” She whispers before leaning down to her computer.

She opens up the chatroom that contains everyone in the office, besides Emily.

‘It’s Here.’ she sends, warning all her colleagues.

Emily walks further into the offices and everyone, one by one, looks up. As she walks by their desks, she hears a small bubble pop as their message comes up. She doesn’t think anything of it. The sound is normal for her office, even if she doesn’t know why. Or that she’s, literally, the elephant in the room.

She glances around and hears people talking on the phone or filling out paperwork. This, right here, is exactly what she wants to see early in the morning. People actually doing their damn jobs. She opens up her office door to see her assistant, Dean, standing on the other side of the room, holding her coffee cup.

“Hello, Boss.” He says, holding out the cup. “You have a conference call in 30 minutes.”

Without stopping her footsteps, she takes the cup and walks to her desk.

“Yes. About the marketing of the spring books. I know.” She sits down in her chair.

“Staff meeting at 9:00.” Dean continues as he walks closer to her desk.

Emily turns her chair around so she’s facing her desk. “Did you call...What’s his name? With...with the weird scar on his arm.”

“Cain.” He informs her.

“Yes, Cain.” She nods, putting her cup down on her desk.

“Yes. I did. I told him that if he doesn’t get his manuscript in on time you won’t give him a release date.” He nods, passing her some books that she needs. “Also your immigration lawyer called. He said it’s imperative…”

She cuts him off as she looks at her sticky notes. “Cancel the call, push the meeting to tomorrow, keep the lawyer on the sheets. Get a hold of PR, have them start drafting a press release. Ash is doing Oprah.”

“Wow.” Dean raises his eyebrows slightly. “Nicely done.”

“If I want your praise, I will ask for it.” She bites out, grabbing her coffee.

Dean ignores her comment and begins walking to the door. Emily turns in her seat toward her computer before glancing at her cup. She raises an eyebrow and turns back toward her desk.

“Who is...Who is Jo? And why does she want me to call her?” She asks, looking at her assistant.

Dean stops in his tracks and looks at her with slight shock written all over his face. She turns the cup so he can read the writing on the side.

“Well, that was originally my cup.” He states.

“And I’m drinking your coffee, why?” She asks, biting her lip slightly, trying to stop a smile.

“Because your coffee spilled.” He admits.

She nods as she looks at the cup and takes a drink. Taking a hesitant sip, she reads the side of the cup, realizing it’s her exact drink as well.

“So you drink caramel light soy lattes?” She raises an eyebrow.

“I do. It’s like Christmas in a cup.” He says.

“Is that a coincidence?” She leans back in her seat slightly.

“Incredibly, it is.” He says as the phone rings. He walks over to it as he continues to speak. “I wouldn’t drink the same coffee that you drink just in case yours spilled. That would be pathetic.”

He picks up the phone. “Morning, Miss Morgan’s office. Hey, Dick.”

Dean looks up at his boss to see her gesture to Dick’s office before turning in her seat toward her computer.

“Actually, we’re headed to your office right now.” Dean says before hanging up. “Why are we headed to Dick’s office?”

Emily just turns in her seat and kisses her teeth with a smirk. Dean does the same before rolling his eyes and walking out of her office. As soon as he exits her eyeline, he runs over to his desk and types in the group chat.

‘THE WITCH IS ON HER BROOM.’

The sound of bubble’s popping is heard throughout the office once again. People start rushing to act like they are working as Emily walks out of her office with her coffee cup.

Dean jogs over to her and begins walking her speed.

“Have you finished the manuscript I gave you?” He asks, softly.

“I read a few pages. I wasn’t that impressed.” She says, not caring.

“Can I say something?” He glances at her.

“No.” She states.

He starts talking anyway. “I’ve read thousands of manuscripts. This is the only one I’ve given you. There’s an incredible novel in there. The kind of novel you publish.”

She glances to her left to see Garth stop in the aisle near them with a large coffee stain on his shirt. Either Dean spilled his office on him or...he switched shirts, and Emily is going with the latter.

“Wrong. And I do think you order the same coffee as I do just in case you spill, which is, in fact, pathetic.” She says, looking forward again.

“Or impressive.” Dean tries.

“I’d be impressed if you didn’t spill it in the first place.” She stops walking as she gets to Dick’s office. “Remember, you’re a prop.”

“Won’t say a word.” Dean mumbles before walking to the office before her.

He opens the door and walks in, making sure to keep it open for her. Dick looks up from his laptop with a slight smirk as he watches Emily walk in. She nods toward him with a small smile as she tips her coffee cup to him.

“Our fearless leader and her liege. Please, do come in.” He says, looking back down at his computer.

Emily glances around the office before noticing something new in the office.

“Beautiful breakfront. Is it new?” She asks, knowing damn well it is.

She walks over and gently runs her hand against it.

“It is English Regency Eqyptian Revival, built in the 1800s…” Dick gloats. “...but, yes, it is new to my office.”

Emily leans against the breakfront and sighs.

“Witty.” She whispers. “Dick, I’m letting you go.”

Dean and Dick both turn their heads to look at her.

“Pardon?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I asked you over a dozen times to get Ash to do Oprah and you didn’t do it.” She looks up at him. “You’re fired.”

Dean turns toward the office door and closes it, not wanting anyone to hear what is going on.

“I have told you that is impossible!” Dick tries to say. “Ash hasn’t done an interview in 20 years!”

“That is interesting, because I just got off the phone with him and he is in.” She smirks slightly.

“Excuse me?” He says, shocked.

“You didn’t even call him, did you?” She questions.

“But…”

“I know, I know...Ash can be a little scary to deal with...For you.” She says, walking toward his desk. “Now, I will give you two months to find another job. And then we can tell everyone you resigned, okay?”

She doesn’t let him answer. Her question being one of the rhetorical style, and more of a demand disguised as a question. She takes a manuscript off his desk and hands it to Dean before walking out the door.

“What’s his twenty?” Emily whispers to Dean as they exit the office.

Dean glances over his shoulder, watching Dick pace for a moment before answering.

“He’s moving.” He continues walking as he speaks. “He has crazy eyes.”

“Don’t do it, Dick. Don’t do it.” She mumbles so only Dean can hear.

Dick runs out of his office and yells to her.

“You poisonous bitch!”

This causes Emily to stop in her tracks and sigh. Everyone in the office snaps their heads up toward the commotion.

“You can’t fire me!” Dick continues as Emily turns around and Dean leans against someone’s desk to watch. “You don’t think I see what you’re doing here? Sandbagging me on this Oprah thing so that you can look good to the board? Because you are threatened by me! And you are a monster!”

Emily shakes her head, not really caring about what he is saying about her. “Dick, stop…”

“Just because you have no semblance of life outside of this office, you think you can treat all of us like your own personal slaves.” He continues, loving the attention now. “You know what? I feel sorry for you. Because you know what you’re gonna have on your deathbed? Nothing and no one!”

Emily steps toward him and takes in a deep breath.

“Listen carefully, Dick. I didn’t fire you because I feel threatened. No. I fired you because you’re lazy, entitled, imcompetent and you spend more time cheating on your wife than you do in your office. And if you say another word, Dean here is gonna have you thrown out, okay?” She asks, causing Dean’s eyebrows to raise slightly. “Another word and you’re going out of here with an armed escort. Dean will film it with his camera phone and he’ll put it on that Internet site. What was it?”

She looks at him, wanting to actually know the site’s name.

“Youtube?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Exactly. Is that what you want?” She asks, but he doesn’t answer. “Didn’t think so. I have work to do.”

She turns around and starts walking down toward her office, Dean trailing closely behind her.

“Have security take his breakfront and put it in my conference room.” She looks straight ahead.

“Will do.” Dean nods.

“I need you this weekend to help review his files and his manuscript.” She states, not letting him say otherwise.

“This weekend?” He asks, stopping outside her office.

She stops in front of him and raises an eyebrow. “You have a problem with that?”

“No. I...just my grandmother’s 90th birthday so I was gonna go home and…” She rolls her eyes and walks into her office. “It’s fine. I’ll cancel it. You’re saving me from a weekend of misery, so it’s...Good talk, yeah…”

He sighs and walks to his desk. He sits down and immediately calls his mother. He informs her of the news that was just dropped on him and he sighs.

“I know, I know. Okay, tell Gammy I’m sorry. What…” His mother cuts him off. “Mom. What do you want me to tell you? She’s making me work the weekend. No, I’m not...No...I’ve worked too hard for this promotion to throw it all away.”

Emily walks out of her office toward his desk.

“I’m sure that Dad is pissed but we take all of our submissions around here seriously.” He continues talking to his mother. “We’ll get back to you as soon as we can.”

He hangs up the phone after quickly coming up with a lie. He looks up at her to see her staring down at him with her hand on her hip.

“Was that your family?” She asks.

“Yes.” He nods slightly.

“They tell you to quit?” She asks again.

“Every single day.” He says, grabbing the phone as it rings. “Miss Morgan’s office. Yeah. Okay. Alright.” He hangs up and looks up at her. “Singer and Harvelle want to see you upstairs immediately.”

She growls slightly and sighs.

“Okay. Come get me in ten minutes. We’ve got a lot to do.” She says, before walking toward the elevators.

Dean glares at her back before picking up the ringing phone once again.

Emily walks into the lobby of the offices upstairs and toward the big boss’ doors.

“Good morning, Miss Morgan.” The receptionist says happily, but she just ignores her.

She opens up the door and walks in with a smile on her face.

“Bobby, Ellen.”

“Congratulations on the Oprah thing.” Bobby nods toward her.

“Thank you, thank you.” She nods, standing beside the chairs in front of his desk. “This isn’t about my second raise, is it? Just kidding.”

“Emily, do you remember when we agreed you wouldn’t go to the Frankfurt Book Fair because you weren’t allowed out of the country while your visa application was being processed?” Bobby asks, laying down a paper in his hand.

“Yes. I do.” She nods.

“And...You went to Frankfurt.” He states.

“Yes. We were going to lose DeLillo to Hellhound. So...really didn’t have a choice, did I?” She giggles slightly.

“Seems the United States Government doesn’t care who published Don DeLillo.” Bobby leans forward on his desk.

“We just spoke to your immigration attorney.” Ellen speaks up for the first time.

“Great. So, we’re all good?” Emily smiles slightly. “Everything good?”

“Emily, your visa application has been denied.” Bobby says, reading the paper.

Emily’s eyes widen. “What?”

“And you are being deported.” Bobby continues.

“Deported?!”

“And there was also some paperwork you didn’t fill out in time.” He finishes.

“Come on. Come on!” Emily scoffs. “It’s not like I’m even an immigrant! I’m from Canada, for Christ’s sake. There’s gotta be...something we can do.”

“We can reapply, but unfortunately you have to leave the country for at least a year.” Ellen reveals to the woman.

“Okay...Okay well, that’s not ideal, but I can…” She thinks. “I can manage everything from Toronto.” She gestures to the computer.

“No.” Ellen shakes her head.

“With videoconferencing. Internet.” Emily continues anyway.

“Unfortunately, if you’re deported you can’t work for an American Company.” Ellen informs her.

“Untill this is resolved, I’m going to turn operations over to Dick Roman.” Bobby says.

“Dick Roman? The guy I just fired?” She asks, pointing over her shoulder.

“We need an Editor-in- Chief. He is the only person in the building who has enough experience.” Bobby states.

“You cannot be serious.” Emily sighs. “I beg of you.”

“Emily. We are desperate to have you stay. If there was any way, any way at all we could make this work, we’d be doing it…”

“There is no way...I am begging you.” Emily puts her hands together.

“No.” Bobby looks up as the door opens. “Excuse me, we’re in a meeting.”

Emily glances over her shoulder to see Dean poking his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“What?” Emily practically snaps.

“Mary from Ms. Winfrey’s office called. She’s on the line.” Dean lies.

“I know.” She sighs and nods.

“She’s on hold. She needs to speak with you. I told her you were otherwise engaged.” Dean says. “She insisted...so.”

Emily opens her mouth to tell him to leave when one of the words he says plays through her mind.

‘Come here.’ She mouths causing Dean to raise an eyebrow. ‘Come here!’

He takes the few steps in before closing the door behind himself. He walks in before standing in the middle of the room, confused. She smirks to herself slightly before looking at Bobby and Ellen.

“Gentleman, Ma’am, I understand. I understand the predicament that we are in…” She starts before backing up to stand beside her assistant. “I think there’s something that you should know. We’re getting married.”

“Who is getting married?” Dean whispers as he looks at her then at Bobby.

“You and I.” She smiles up at him.

He stares at the big boss’ with slight shock, not knowing what to say. Dean Winchester...Is marrying his boss?!

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester love story #dean winchester imagines #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x original character #dean winchester x original female character #Proposal AU #the proposal

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thedeeperlayer · 3 years

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I was fourteen when I first tasted the sweet, aromatic blend of tobacco, sugars, and ammonia compounds. It was 1998. The year of Clinton and Lewinsky. The year the guy from Die Hard was saving the Aerosmith-adjacent Earth from a Michael Bay Meteorite.

I was fourteen. Instead of navigating the intolerable 3D world of Hyrule in Ocarina of Time, I was out making an imprudent moron out of myself with an RCA Solid State Image Sensor VHS Camcorder. My idiotic entourage and myself thought we were the uproarious epitome of cool. In actuality, we were ridiculous, annoying fuckwits. I was an absolute pain in the ass.

I'm not going to cock and bull with excuses. I started smoking because I thought I was fucking cool. I had older friends that did it and I dated girls that did it. When my mum found out I was flicking the Bic on the cancer stick, she was both disappointed and somewhat content. Her contentment for my lung corruption behavior was only because it meant she now had a smoking mate.

Mum and Pops didn't always have a harmonious relationship. They would cross swords and oppose each other's views a lot. Mum would complain about Pops never being home. Pops would bewail mum's smoking habit. It was always constant repetition down the same path. Dad never knew I smoked. He would of berated mum and blamed her if he ever found out.

Because of our shared toxic pastime, my mum and I became very close. We discussed all things life. Everything from grace and elegance to the septic shithole bottom. We talked about atrocious dislikes and stupefying satisfactions. We told mindless jokes and gave deep-thought opinions.

For the sake of storytelling length, let's just say we always had each other's back.

Unfortunately, the clock ticks, and the hours pass. In a blink of an eye, things are different. I grew up. I got married. I moved. Mum was downhearted and sad. I was the first of her children to leave from beneath her roof.

I've worked lousey, shit jobs just to make ends. It is indeed accordance with fact, smoking does alleviate stress. I didn't think it was cool to smoke anymore, instead I smoked because my shitty job was an emotional mindfuck. Pounding the coffin nails down my throat made me feel better.

I didn't want to poison my saclike respiratory organs anymore. I tried quitting. I tried the gum that supposedly calms cravings. I tried the rubber band wrist snap when I had the desire. I tried the ridiculous electronic substitutes. Nothing worked. I thought, fuck it. I didn't want to grow old and become one of the dust bags that retire in Florida anyway.

It was October, 2015. I was just finishing a much needed break from my mediocre job. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was mum calling. I contentedly answered it.

She said she had a mass on her lungs. She told me not to be worried, it could be pneumonia. She said she would let me know more tomorrow.

I instantly broke down and wailed. I could feel that something was extraordinarily wrong. My heart was in excruciating pain. It was exceedingly difficult to finish my shift that night. Every time I was alone, my eyes would swell. It was a long, tedious night.

The following day, I anxiously waited for mum to call.

Haplessly, she called right before I had to go to work. She said it was stage 4 lung cancer. She told me not to worry. She said she was going to get help. I knew stage 4 was the inevitable. It's treatable, but not curable.

I was so heartsick.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

My family was devastated. Mum is the support beam that holds my lunatic family's structure together. My brother and sister were in severe shock. Pops was completely shattered.

The following week, my wife and I picked mum up from the hospital. She was being fitted for a radiotherapy mask. Mum was spiritless. She lacked vigor and enthusiasm. She looked defeated. This was the one time I convulsively, and uncontrollably sobbed in front of her. If you knew mum, she was always resilient and enduring. She was wholehearted, and a matriarch to many. It was challenging to see her in that frail condition.

I lit cigarette after cigarette.

Mum had sort of a short fringe hairstyle with spiky bangs. She would ornament it with a decorative headband. Often she would dye it golden or honey blonde to hide the off-putting grays.

The days passed. Weeks. My wife and I made frequent visits. Mum was sitting in her recently purchased stationary style comfy chair. She was wearing a sun-style flat brim cap. Mum never wore hats. “I'm losing my hair,” she said. She lifted a grocery sac where she was accumulating a large cache of her hair.

Eventually Pops shaved her head.

My wife and I purchased her a collection of hats.

The holidays came. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Mum always took pride in cooking the meals. She couldn't anymore. She was too weak. She could hardly walk. It was now Pop's responsibility to prepare the brown sugar glazed ham. She shouted out the recipe to him in the kitchen. “Heat the honey and sugar until it dissolves!” Pops would earnestly urge her not to yell. She was always short-winded and depended on oxygen gas to breathe.

Christmas morning was grim. Mum kept saying she wanted to have a nice Christmas. “This might be my last Christmas. I want it to be nice,” she despairingly would say.

We wore smiles but they were fraudulent. Inside we were somber. Cheerless. Gift exchange was dispiriting. We were appreciative, but it was hard to express it. The only audio in the room was the pulling and shredding of novelty wrapping paper. We played unintellectual board games while Mum sat in the living room and stared at the TV. The Hallmark holiday collection was on but Mum wasn't interested. She was disconnected, absent of response.

My wife and I went home. I lit cigarette after cigarette.

January came and went. February came. Mum had gotten worse. We went to visit her on my birthday. She was without emotion. Unresponsive. Pops struggled to make her recognize my company. She was comatose-like. Pops was in a panic. We rushed her to the ICU. She now had malignant brain tumors. Her recent actions were symptoms. The drowsiness. The constant agitation.

She was given enough treatment to restore her moral senses. She asked to see me and my wife. Mum was stretched out on a hospital cot. She was buried beneath intravenous lines and hoses. She saw us and smiled. “Watch this,” she gently said. She proceeded with plucking the pulse oximeter from her finger to mortify the doctors. She still had her sense of humor.

Later, Nurse Ratched impertinently pulled my family away from Mum. She disrespectfully spoke of Mum's unavoidable fate. Ratched told us that Mum will die. She told us to make sure we make the correct decision when the time comes.

No one in my family wanted to hear that.

The hospital discharged Mum.

My wife and I went home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag, hardly inhaling. I breathed in a few more.

I delve into searches about the great demise on Google. I’m not one who appreciates surprises, so I wanted to be hauntingly prepared.

As the end approaches, your role is to be present, provide passionate comfort, and remove doubts from your loved one with soothing words and loving actions that help maintain their mental ease and dignity.

The entire evening I fixedly scrutinized my phone screen. It made me overwhelmed with grief. It put me in an unsettling place. It was that night that I accepted that my Mum was actually going to be gone.

Her condition continued to worsen.

It was difficult for her to digest food. She no longer could intake any solids. Pops couldn’t accept the harshness of the situation. He was in rack and ruin. Blatantly, he would hurry to the nearest fast-food establishment and order her a strawberry milkshake. In double time he would speed home to give her the malted treat. She would fiercely vacuum in the strawberry drink through a straw. Clearly she was hungry, but her gasping, pain and abnormal breathing patterns made it difficult for her to swallow.

Pops told me, the prior evening, he strenuously got Mum into the loo. He proceeded to aid her, however she immediately denied his assistance. “Let me help you,” he despairingly said. “But you're a boy and I'm a girl,” she woefully baffled.

Delirium. One of the common symptoms observed near death.

Pops was hysterical. This unforeseen responsibility was so unfamiliar to him. He was terrified. He was frightened to lose the one person he spent his entire life with.

Again he rushed her to intensive care.

My wife and I were at home. I lit a cigarette. I took a drag and quickly put it out.

Mum was denied anymore treatment. She was recommended hospice care and medically necessary equipment for at-home use.

Pops thought hospice may not only be valuable to Mum, but also beneficial to him because the workers could assist him through the inexperience and unexpected. We all knew what misery and despair would come next, but Pops was in a idiosyncratic denial.

Hospice was fucking useless, but more on that a little later.

My wife and I visited her everyday.

Each day she worsened and disintegrating.

She was often confused. She would appear asleep, but her breathing would be noisy, congested. She would appear peaceful and at rest, and within seconds she would begin screaming. She would holler agonizing cries. Dad would have to pump her with morphine to tranquilise her treacherous pain.

Day after day, her conditioned intensified. Her skin's pigment distorted to a grayish tone. Her face had depressed and sunken below her eyes. Her lips dried up and shriveled.

The drainage bag connected to the catheter began to fill with a rust color.

She had abnormal growths swell in unusual parts of her body.

Day after day we visited. She no longer would move. The congested breathing was the remaining sign of life. We attentively watched over her like this for days. She didn't want to go. She dearly loved her family. The Oncologist asked her, “what do you live for?” Her response was so straightforward and emotionally rewarding. She said, “my family”. Mum was uncomplicated. She lived to be a loving mum and caring wife. She always put her family first. That's who she was.

She died on August 22, 2016. She battled cancer for seven months. She spent nearly four weeks in hospice care. Only four short instances was Hospice workers available for aid, one of the times being immediately after death. The available nurse plucked an orange Marigold from the neighbors’ garden and lied it in my Mum's cold hands. She called the Funeral Home to coordinate arrangements for pickup and hastily left.

It was a horrifying experience for my family. Not only for us observing every nightmarish minute, but for Mum too. I can't imagine how afraid she was and how she felt. I just hope it wasn't guilt that resonated with her in her final days. She was the reason my family was so profound and passionate about things. The reason we were all there, again and again, expressing our sorrow and love together.

I haven't smoked a cigarette since her later days in hospice care.

She was a beautiful, loving person, and we watched her severely weaken and diminish largely because of a lifelong bad habit. I never want to put anyone I love through that, ever again.

#smoking #quit smoking #real life #cigarettes #death #life and death #quit #bad habits #writting #write #truth #its the truth

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diabloindigo · 6 years

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Japan Travel Log (6/13-6/23/2018)

Tokyo Drift

We landed in Narita and met up with our guide Norio. I almost had to act as second-in-command since one of our kids was sent to a doctor. and our tour sponsor went with the ill student She had had a seizure in flight and the airlines arranged for a doctor to meet us at the airport. The kid was OK...the doctor said the seizure more than likely stemmed from the fact that she was menstruating, dehydrated, a lack of sleep, and staring at her phone and TV screen for a long time.

We were taken to Akihabara for shopping time before dinner. It’s a nerd’s paradise with shops selling anime merchandise, cosplay items, etc. This tour was more fast-paced than the 2015 excursion. I saw a lot of those little vending machines with plastic bubbles, but never got a chance to get one of the prizes. Last time it was a goose with yellow diarrhea. This year the theme was animals with Quagmire jaws.

We went to the Asakusa Kannon Temple and Meiji Shinto Shrine. Then there was a lecture from an ex-sumo wrestler that was quite interesting. I learned that some of those guys have 20% body fat despite their size.

Norio took us to a major shopping mall/arcade. I ended up by myself and was a bit anxious about getting lost. I found a Disney Store, bought some BH6 and Zootopia things before going into a noodle house and ordering bukkake noodles. I was more relaxed after lunch and found a Snoopy store but it was too late to really see much.

Later on, after touring the city some more (Tokyo City Hall) we ate a sumo supper:

The next day we went to a fisherman’s market and met up with some college students as part of an exchange program. Our sponsor presented the boys with Mexican candies. Only one of the students seemed to like the marzipan. Our student guide took us to Don Quijote for a brief shopping stint (I stocked up on plum kit-kat bars and Hachiko-themed fruit drops. My GoRuck pack was heavy toting ten cans of those candies. I was a little bummed about bypassing Hachiko’s statue, but it was packed with people who seemed amused that a cat was sleeping between the dog’s paws.

That Saturday was a bit brutal on our feet. With the heavy traffic, the guide had us travel by metro and foot. We ventured into Harajuku. I kept to the stationary stores and a t-shirt shop where the clerk was more than happy to assist me in buying a few shirts for gifts (and take my yen). I would have liked to have gone into Burberry but I’d have spent an arm and a leg in there. It was crowded, balls packed with tourists. Even getting drinks at a Seven-Eleven was crazy. All aisles were full of people. I’m also thankful for my teacher bladder because there was only stop at the public restroom from Harajuku to the history museum. By the evening, I stopped at a McDonald’s just to sit for a while and get off of my feet.

On Top of the World

We spent the night in Hakone.

This was from the Kamakura Shrine. A Japanese wedding procession even went by, reminding me of the Samurai Jack series finale.

Norio was full of surprises, one of them being a surprise mini-hike to Mt. Fuji.

That was fun. Granted I’m out of shape and couldn’t keep up with the group. I lingered near some sheds trying to get a selfie with the mountain behind me, urging the other students who stayed behind to start descending to the bus stop when it was time to leave. Stick to the edge of the trails. One, the center is for the gods and spirits only and two, there’s tiny fish aquarium-like granules in the center and more firm ground on the edge of the trail.

Then there was the hotel. I think this was my favorite day in the entire trip. Our guide was very considerate about letting participate in Japanese customs and culture. You read a lot of books, watch TV shows about Japan, etc., but the real reason to go on these tours...live it.

Norio gave us the rundown on the onsen. Our hotel overlooking the Pacific Ocean had a rooftop hot pool and he told us how to soak Japanese style (wear a yukata, and get in the water naked). I grabbed a yukata from the front desk and went to soak with Mel, an art teacher from Oregon. They arranged timetables so there would be an adults only time and a students only time. We got first soak before dinner. I’ve been to hot spring pools in Truth or Consequences, NM so the nudity thing didn’t weird me out much. Some of the NM pools have private pools where you either soak naked or with a swimsuit, and depending on my company, it can go wither way. But the public pools don’t allow nudity. So Mel and I soaked. Then I found a door leading outside and ventured out of the pool area finding a secret pool outside on the rooftop overlooking the Pacific Ocean. At that point, I felt like that guy from Titanic. It was invigorating standing up naked on the roof of a Japanese hotel, letting a light breeze graze over me as I watched the ocean.

That was dinner. The guide even procured sake for the adults.

Kyoto Stray

The next day we concluded our Hakone tour before boarding a Shinkansen to Kyoto. We didn’t know about the Kyoto earthquake until Norio received a call from the tour company asking if things were all right. I was a bit worried when Norio said our train was delayed due to the quake. I was already envisioning the group camping out in the station overnight waiting for a train. But our guide came through and got us on a late train, though most if us sat in the smoking car. Our guide was stressed out. He might not have shown it in his facial features or gestures, but I saw him sit with a guide from another group, both men drinking beers and lighting up as we rode out of Hakone. You do what you have to do, right?

On the second day, things weren’t going too well. I had dropped an ice cream cone seconds after buying it (and I wanted something cold and sweet). I couldn’t really meditate on the Path of Contemplation because I was wondering if I was going the right way.

The real kicker was getting separated from the group near dinnertime. We had stopped in a shopping arcade and I was not sure how to ask for a custom seal (stamp) in a shop so I dawdled a bit. The stamp would take twenty minutes to carve...plus I bought a weird stamp with a guy poking his head from underneath his ass for a co worker of mine, and a case for my own seal.

I met up with some students from our group and one girl was having trouble buying a shiba inu doll from an inu cafe storefront. I loaned her some money, but in that time, our group was leaving for dinner. I told our sponsor to wait so i could pick up my stamps, but when I left the shop, the group was gone. And I didn't have cell phone service so I couldn’t get texts on where to go.

I went to Starbucks for help, and the clerk pulled out a map suggesting that I go to the metro to get back to the hotel by Kyoto Tower. But I couldn't make heads or tails on which train to board or even how to buy a ticket for that matter. I walked along the underground for a couple of hours, studying the metro maps on the wall, but none had directions on getting to Kyoto Tower. I decided to return to the streets and get a cab. I felt like that guy from Shanghai Calling. (The part where Daniel Henney’s character hails a cab to his office and the cabbie tries to tell him it’s nearby, but at Henney’s persistence, ends up driving five feet away before showing him the office). With my luck, the hotel would be two minutes away.

It was a fifteen minute drive. I paid the cabbie thanking him profusely. I’ve never been stranded like that without cell service to use Apple or Google maps, and I was afraid of missing my ride to Hiroshima in the morning. I was already envisioning myself walking all over Kyoto until daybreak. The stress killed my appetite; I went into a Lawson’s store but ended up replacing my food on the shelves and returned to the hotel to soak for half an hour in the tub before crawling under the comforter. I didn’t want to leave the room. I was also dreading getting a tongue lashing from Norio about time management and keeping up with the tour. If he was upset, he didn't show it. I never got chewed out.

It’s late. I’ll continue with Hiroshima later.

#travel #rambles #Japan 2018

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animalexpert · 5 years

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Wlrs; X

One of my biggest gripes with this whole situation I’ve worked myself into is that it’s so hard to talk about it to people, and with who? These are serious feelings I’m dealing with, and I know they’re hurtful as well, like I could go on Omegle or something and talk to strangers about it like I used to do, but truthfully I don’t think I ever got any good advice from there, just someone who would listen without bias. Actually I don’t think I could do that now, I’m pretty sure Omegle is like a pseudo porn site now, not that it wasn’t kinda like that before but I’m rather certain the company embraces it now. I have a little dream these past few months, I was thinking one day about the impact I’ll have on this world, and as you get a little older you come realize that you likely won’t be able to make the huge ground breaking mark on this world that some people have made. Don’t get me wrong I know I have plenty of capability and I was blessed with a complex brain, but my legacy will be nothing like that of Newton’s, Galileo's, or even someone like Elon Musk, if things keep going prosperously for him I could see his name being in history books. I don’t think I’d care for recognition like that. My dream is more simple, I want to bring beauty to the world around me, I want to plant flowers. While distraught about my life and impact, I thought of the line “Plant flowers everywhere you go, and beauty will find a way to follow you.” And it might be cheesy, it may somehow already exist, but it made me think. Whenever I travel around the country, I’m always in awe of how beautiful all the sides of the roads are in different states. When I drove to Wisconsin, the variety of wild flowers lining up each and every highway left me stunned, no one planted these? This is just how it is? Why doesn’t my state have a mass of wild flowers everywhere I go. When I drove through Georgia recently and the separating grass of the highway was full brim to brim with a bright orange daisy style flower, all unmowed, just left to grow, I wondered if maybe our highways WOULD grow flowers if they weren’t so readily cut by the state? Idk. But if I was so perceptive of their beauty, others had to be as well? I wanted to plant more, I wanted to go to every state and plant flowers as I go, native flowers that will set in and come back year after year. Wild flowers that will die as soon as the chill comes, hell I wouldn’t even be against planting some bulbs and setting up random gardens across the country. But I know I want to leave this place. I don’t like it that much here, not just because of flowers, although I’m seeing that other states are way better for them, but because people are just, in too much of a rush around here. I feel like they’re even more lost than I am, but in a different direction. I’m lost trying to figure out meaning and what my own personal happiness is, I think they’re lost in a capitalistic race for pride and recognition, and I feel often times they lose themselves entirely to it. I don’t want to get lost in that, I’m already likely a third of the way through my life unless I stay healthy, maybe even about half way through if some major health issue comes up in my life. To waste that time not having the life that brings me the blessings and joy I want, that’s so unfair to myself, and I don’t really believe in fairness. I think it’s one of the reasons I’m so caught up on her... The joys and feelings and passion she’s been able to bring me, to think about letting those go and not being able to have her friendship again before I pass on from this world.... It makes me question everything. I can do things that I think are healthy for myself, but when I see myself bringing someone on a journey like the one I talked about, it would be her. When I imagine myself waking up making a little breakfast by the fire before I went onto a day of bringing beauty and life to this world, she’s the person I imagine yawning, stretching her arms up and smacking her lips a couple times as she asks me what we’re eating. I still see her so vividly, I wonder if I will ever stop seeing her in my dreams. I want just drop things and go, I want to go to Oregon and down to the corner tip of Nevada, stop at Niagara, the grand canyon, the geysers of Wyoming, where the rocky mountains take up half of Montana, to the forests where the trees have been here longer than my Norwegian ancestors. And I want to bring a trunk full of seeds, bulbs, bonemeal and shovels. Every place I see that would benefit from me planting there, whether the dirt needed roots to stop erosion, the view needs some color, or the air could use just a lil bump of oxygen production. I’ll plant there. And I’ve also ALWAYS wanted to cruise down a very long smooth scenic road in the middle of gorgeous Buttfuck, NW with a blunt chiefing and my best friend right beside me. Damn I can’t wait until I have a dream for seeing the whole world because I actually love thinking about this flower journey, can you get to Alaska without a passport driving I’m pretty sure it’s blocked off by Canada. I would have to get specific flowers for planting up in Alaska also though. I want to get a passport anyway actually.

You know it’s a little daunting to know whenever I’m busy into my life and things are going smoothly I can easily avoid thinking about this stuff cause I’m so focused, but whenever I have time to myself, or lots of silence to think, or any good thinking time really, it shoots into my conscious, filling me with questions. What if it’s always like that, what if whenever I give me the time to reflect on myself and being I’ll hold onto this, I could see myself down a lot of different paths but regretful mid aged dude is not one of them for fucking real. I’m not alright right now, I don’t know how I keep telling myself I am or will be. Change coming is a scary feeling but it’s exciting lol, I’m like bubbling a little in my chair, nervously lmao... Love being able to smile at journal you’re writing though. Back to the people being way more rushed and generally testy around the DMV area as compared to other parts of the country. I wonder how people in the rest of the world really are, like I know that some countries seem pretty bad but I feel like a lot of countries have a better general sense of happiness and well being because they aren’t under the strict stress of intense capitalism. My friend Allan who I’ve been gaming a lot with recently is from a country named the Faroe Islands, between the Uk and Denmark. I asked him about life there and he said that the economy is based heavily off fish and they have so much water to themselves that they don’t have to worry about a lack of fish. So from like age 17-18 they are making the equivalent of $1200 a week from fishing, and can pick and choose which weeks and months they go off fishing and stay home. And can live easily off this, IF they want to. Because fishing is such a wide spread job there, the demand for workers of almost all other types is available, so if you want to get into anything you very likely can. And just thinking about that I can see how people are just SO much more happy there, that’s like such soft sweet capitalism lol. Sounds so nice, and to go to tertiary school is FREE, can you fuckin imagine just being able to actually learn about something without paying as much as you make an hour working to learn an hour????? The Faroe Islands sound fuckin awesome. Now he’s obviously just a guy a little younger than me with his view on it, there may be more workings to it that I’m unaware of. I’m sure taxes are pretty damn high but such accessible wages would allow for it. Still promotes such a more positive, not rushed, no time to enjoy your youth environment like we have here. I think I wanna visit there lol, because he sent me pictures as well and it’s seriously one of the prettiest coasts I’ve ever seen, Maine had nothing on it, maybe Oregon/Alaska coasts could trump it in this country but I haven’t seen them, definitely will though :). It’s quite a contrast how I’ve been pondering the fact I don’t want to have such easily avoidable regrets when I’m aging and dying, yet I so manically feel as though I want to kill myself and end this misery young. God life is weird. Puppet has been getting to me recently even more than it did the first listen, just want to talk, to knock, take the hour drive, walk into the night and talk. Nick was playing AWSF? last night in the car while we were going to get my car from the Aldi lot, I don’t even listen to that song because I know how it’s going to make me feel, have you ever hidden from an album because it makes you feel THAT much??? Wild to me, but v cool how powerful music can truly be. Even the interlude taps at my brain. Damn I’ve been writing for like an hour and a half, maybe I should transfer back to letter form depending on how I’m feeling, it is quicker and there’s something about hand written shit I just love. I should get stationary lol. I also just feel bad writing letters now SIGH fuck all this though.

#me fuckin feels m8

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