i love you literal meanings i love you imperfect translations i love you figures of speech i love you language differences

The critic

Sometimes restaurant owners are aware there is a critic among them, but they don’t know his identity. Sometimes they are unaware they are being visited at all. This is for @edeniz001

Meet Alain Ego. A youthful young man admitted to Ms Bustier’s class as an exchange student from Provence.

Here’s what you need to know about Alain. He is smart, responsible, but he’s dull. He is a wallflower. His appearance is unremarkable, his voice is softer than Nathaniel’s. And his social life is generally shy. His hobby is writing stories and taking photographs.

His deskmate is Ivan.

Predictably, after class was let out for lunch, Alain was surrounded by his class. Well, most of them.

Chloe and by extension Sabrina; could not be bothered to waste her time with a wallflower.

Marinette and Alya introduced themselves as the class president and Vice President. They warmly asked him to come to them if he needed help.

Nathaniel invited him to meet Marc since they both seemed to love writing.

Lila had never been to the French countryside but was inclined to boast about the Tuscan landscape. She seemed annoyed that Alain did not ask her for more details and that the rest of the class were paying more attention to the new student than to her.

Thankfully Alain would only be here for one semester. That was enough time for like...what, 25 akumas to show up?

Hope the new kid was fast. Dupont tends to be an akuma hotspot.

And was it ever...

The majority of the akumas were from Caline’s class. And that was remarkable considering how they had already been akumas. What is up with that?

Are they an emotional class?

Why is Hawkmoth out for them?

Granted some akumatizations happen outside school. But Alain happens to be there thanks to being invited to class activities.

Part of the blame belongs to Chloe.

A real bully that one. Alain can understand why the principal would be cowed by a corrupt mayor. For a so-called hero, he was a coward.

But Alain has noticed some students standing up to Chloe.

Namely the class president and her Vice President.

And yet for some strange reason, instead of telling Chloe off for being rude and mean, they just brush her off and redirect everyone’s attention.

Alain shyly asked Marinette why she lets Chloe get away with that.

Marinette: Because Ms Bustier told us to be good examples and forgive Chloe.

Alya: it’s why Chloe likes her so much. She lets Chloe get away with everything and tries to get her to be nice.

Alain’s eyes were wide at such a scandal.

When Alain’s witnessed his first akuma, he was at art class, making a photo collage of the students.

Let’s just say Chloe didn’t take criticism well at her first attempt at fashion design. Let’s also just say there’s a reason she stole Marinette’s design instead of relying on her mother’s genes.

Point is, Fashion Critic could make her harsh criticism a reality.

During that time, Alain had run for cover.

Unsurprisingly, Alya had run in the opposite direction.

Frightened, Alain asked for help as to where to run to.

Alya: There is no safe house or bunker. Akumas usually blow those up. Here in Paris, just run for cover.

Alain: any ideas?

Alya: not really. I don’t hide.

Alain: ....

Nino: don’t worry, dude. I know where the guys like to hide. Follow me. I’ll take him, Alya.

As they were running, Alain pointed out it should have been Alya leading him to safety.

Nino: she would have delegated it to me anyway. That girl loves to get her scoop.

Alain frowned in disapproval but said nothing. But perhaps he could try to talk to Alya later.

He did, and even Marinette took his side, when they both said she should stop running after akumas.

Alya: the public needs to know!

Alain: can’t you just post the location and powers and physical description? Why do you need to record the whole thing?

Alya; how else will my blog be popular?

Marinette: it’s still not safe, Alya.

Alya: oh relax, it’s not like the Teachers are complaining.

Ok, so Ms Bustier not only lets bullies run rampant without correcting their behavior, she also does not stop dangerous habits.

Curious about the students, Alain decides to be nosy. He visits the bakery and tries their delicious breads. He talks about animals with Mr Cesaire. He explored Juleka’s boathouse. He even babysitted Chris.

One day, Alain just so happens to visit the embassy building where Mrs Rossi works, at a time when she would be leaving for home.

Alain: Hello, excuse me, are you Mrs Rossi?

Mrs Rossi: Yes. And you are?

Alain: I’m Alain. Lila’s classmate. I thought I recognised you from her photos.

Mrs Rossi: oh. How nice to meet one of Lila’s friends. But I’ve been so busy with work, I barely have the time to spare.

Alain: I understand. But it’s nice to see you include Lila in your work.

Mrs Rossi: excuse me?

Alain: you know...you brought her to Achu last year to help out Prince Ali.

Mrs Rossi: I never went to Achu.

Alain: um...Lila was gone for months and FaceTimed us from there.

Mrs Rossi: when did this happen exactly?

Alain nervously tells her.

Mrs Rossi: Lila has been lying to all of us, it seems. She told me the school was shut down because of akuma attacks.

Alain: what? Akumas last only a day. The school has been disrupted by them, yes. But everything goes back to normal the next day. Didn’t you try calling the principal?

Mrs Rossi is stiff and she thanks Alain. She needs time to think. More than that, she wants another person’s opinion and confirmation about akumas before she decides on what else to do.

The next morning, Lila is at school. She makes no reference to Alain meeting her Mother. In fact she prefers to avoid him because he is so annoying. He rarely asks about her adventures and the questions are obviously and disinterestedly polite. What teenager isn’t excited by Jagged Stone?

In the middle of class, Lila is asked to the principal’s office. She returns fuming, with Mrs Rossi and the principal by her side.

Mrs Rossi ordered her Daughter. “Tell them the truth Lila.”

Lila is forced to confess her lies. In addition, for forging her mother’s signature and truancy, she is hereby expelled.

An akuma arrived to target her. As Caline rushed Lila away from the akuma, Marinette actually ran out and used her purse as a makeshift butterfly net. Since she wasn’t feeling negative (actually she felt pretty good about Lila getting exposed), the akuma was just fluttering around in her purse until Tikki threw a macaroon on it and proceeded to sit on it.

Alya is already posting on her blog about it, hopeful Ladybug will arrive to cleanse the akuma.

Marinette rushes out to the roof to wait for her there.

In the aftermath of Lila’s exposure, the class is certainly feeling wounded and guilty.

Caline is trying to advise them to forgive Lila who probably felt shy of their accomplishments.

Alain: Um, she asked me to carry her school bag because her arm was supposed to be sore from planting trees.

His words were a spark.

Kim: I bought her lunch.

Alya: I posted false information on my blog. Ok, technically I didn’t fact check. But Lila was not innocent!

Rose: I donated my summer job cash on her fake donation! (She proceeds to sob)

Caline: but she has already been punished, shouldn’t we extend our friendship to her now that she is alone?

Alain: She didn’t look all that repentant if you ask me. Didn’t you see her smiling at the akuma?

Adrien: Lila wouldn’t have hesitated to hurt us.

Alix: what a psycho.

Caline: that is enough. I want you all to forgive Lila and try to reach out a hand in friendship.

Ivan: But she’s dangerous

Max: and clearly not well if she keeps on lying that she can call Ladybug right after admitting she lied about knowing her.

Alain mutters to Ivan, “Wanna bet that Ms Bustier becomes Lila’s puppet if she actually does this?”

The next morning, Caline actually tries to order the class to say one nice thing about Lila and to write her a nice letter. Never mind that she clearly heard Alya report that Lila was exiled from Paris after Chat Noir admitted she had been working with Oniichan to endanger Ladybug. Apparently he had somehow heard how Lila was smiling at the akuma and suspected she was in league with the terrorist.

Alain so couldn’t wait for the term to end.

When it finally did, he gladly reported to the school board his investigation on the akuma class.

He blames Caline mostly for her redundant perspective that people need to forgive bullies and liars instead of educating them and correcting their behavior. Like seriously, how else would the victims get justice? She also lacks a sense of responsibility in that she refuses to correct Alya’s lack of self-preservation.

His advice: fire her or suspend her indefinitely, send her to get proper training. Get the class a strict and just teacher with a sense of fairness.

Once his job was done, Alain sighed and emptied his bag of textbooks. He could really go for some wine.

Do you got anymore about flint knapping?? That’s some interesting stuff

I HAVE A LOT ON KNAPPING YES YES YES

OK SO STONE TOOLS

here are some of my favorite fun facts about knapped stones :

- you can tell in which order the tool was knapped because the hit’s wave leaves mark in the stone. So some prehistorians are specialized in taking all the small shards stone left by the worker, and try to put them back together. The placement and order of the hits can give a lot of information, as it’s theorized that every knapper had their favored technique

- a teacher once told us that a flint nuclei (the last bit of flint left when you’re shaping some blades) had some ocre on it and they couldn’t understand why, until they put it back together and!! it was probably bc an adult was putting ocre marks on it to show a child how to knap! one day an adult sat with a child on that very spot and patiently shaped a big bit of flint, let the kid destroy it, then reshaped it, drew some marks with ocre to show where the kid should hit, the kid destroyed their work again, and again, they reshaped it, until there was nothing left to be done with that rock and they dropped it there, only to be found by these archeologists so many years later. (I don’t remember the time period but it was levallois blades judging by the description)

- flint isn’t the only stone that was knapped! I don’t know the names of the stones in english so I’ll just type them in french with an english spelling and hope for the best!jadeite is a very very pretty green stone that’s used mostly in polished stone work, obsidian was v popular in later periods bc it’s sharp as fuck and very resistant (and also very pretty)

- quartzites SUCK ASS but they’re very common stones so they make a good replacement and they can be pretty I guess. I have a personal grudge against quartzites bc sometimes, you dig and find a big tool made of quartz and you’re happy! bc it’s pretty! and it’s big! and oh boy, it’s in one piece!! and then you yell for the people making the maps of the artifacts found “I have a quartzite tool, in one piece!” and they go “ok!” and they take the measurements and you try to take it in your hands and then you have to go “uh guys actually it’s 7 pieces” and the whole dig laughs team at you while you cry in shame and anger against quartzites

- knaped and polished stones both have their pro and cons, so both were used at the same time in some places/time periods

- at some point it was fashionable to make the biggest blades of stone you could manage, only to break them into smaller pieces. We have no idea why they did that, but the theory is that it was literally fashionable, because it shows that you’re a great knapper if you can do huge blades, but huge blades are kind of useless, so you have to break the end result to get smth to use. There might be another explanation, or other theories, but this one is the only one I ever heard and it’s so fucking human to go “haha look how big my blades are I’m the best at knapping”

- the prettiest tools according to me are called “laurels leaves” or smth like that, again I don’t have the real words in english bc I did my studies in french and french researchers still nowadays REFUSE to work in english, anyway, these little artifacts are almost transparent they’re so so so so flat and symetrical I adore them

- last but not least : you don’t get knapped tools by just smashing two rocks together, there’s a lot of tools involved in the process, and a lot of steps before you get a decent knapped stone tool. Deer antlers were used, bones, or yeah ok, other stones. The technique we used to try recreate these 500 000BP/400 000BP tools we were digging involved a big flat-ish hard stone for support that’s called anvil, some flint for the tool you’re shaping, a hard stone placed on the flint that’s kind of serving as a chisel, and then a fourth, different type of stone to come hit on the third one like a hammer.

also at some point I found a very neat big stone just the seize of a seat in my little square I was digging and I thought it was a cave-in stone or that it had been brought by the sea since we were on a cliff.

and that’s the story of how I spent almost a week sitting on a 450 000BP “chisel”! (it’s fine, it was granite and the seize of an ostrich egg) (chisel probably isn’t the right word but it’s 11pm and I’m too lazy to look it up. maybe I make another post about tools tomorrow)

The Forfeit [Teacher!AU]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Language in different languages (eheh), a teensy bit of alcohol?

A/N: I’m literally in love with the idea of cool language teachers Bucky and Y/N that all the students love and - surprise! - they love each other too. I don’t even know why I just love it. Anyway, this is for @bucky-at-bedtime‘s 1.5k writing challenge, congrats lovely! I had a lot of fun writing this so thank you for letting me be a part of it <3

Prompt: We’re both teachers and at the end of the year we compare how many gifts we’ve received from students and you’ve won for the past three years AU

MASTERLIST

You wrestled with the folders in your arms, propping them on your hip for a second to get a better grasp on them before continuing along the corridor. You received a few smiles from kids passing you and you just about managed to return them despite your concentration on not dropping your marking. There were even a few sweethearts who offered to help you but you’d never been one to rely on others so you simply shook your head kindly before hurrying off, heels clicking loudly against the wooden floors.

It was the last week of term which meant there were masses of tests to mark, particularly rowdy students to control and grumpy teachers to be dealt with. You had tried your best not to fall into the same trap they had of getting excited for the holidays too early and letting yourself fall into misery for the last week, so, at that moment, you seemed to be one of the only enthusiastic teachers at the entire school.

You finally made it to the languages office, dropping the folders down on the desk with a loud thump before dropping yourself into your chair. You checked your watch - 50 minutes until your next class to finish marking these essays. Opening up the first folder and skimming over the first few lines you groaned audibly, leaning your head back against the chair and closing your eyes. There was no way you had time to correct these.

It was only when you opened your eyes again then that you saw the bright yellow post it note stuck to the ceiling.

“Don’t stress, Y/N, 2 days to go!”

Bloody Mr Barnes.

You couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on your lips at the gesture. He knew you far too well if he knew you looked upwards everytime you were anxious or frustrated. But being the only two language teachers in the school and being forced to work together in a tiny shared office constantly did tend to form a pretty strong bond.

And that bond came in handy at moments like this as, spurred on by his encouragement, you knuckled down and began marking the essays. 50 minutes later and you hadn’t finished, it was an impossible task you’d set for yourself after all, but you got much further through than you normally would.

“Working hard?” a knock and a voice came from behind you just before the bell was due to ring for next period and you swiveled your chair round to face the intruder, a soft smile of greeting already on your face just from his voice alone.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve just finished,” you answered, pushing yourself up and beginning to gather your folders together, “How were the Year 7s?”

“A handful,” he grimaced playfully but it quickly morphed into a fond smile, “A wonderful handful though. Anyway, I know you have french now but I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

He leaned back outside the doorway to grab something from the hallway before holding it out in front of him.

“Surprise!”

It was a large plastic box, clearly meant to be used for storage. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, waiting for the explanation. Instead of explaining however, he shot you a grin that made your heart flutter involuntarily before striding over to you and, holding the box in one hand, took the folders out of your hand and dumped them into the box, holding it out to you again. It clicked.

“No way…” you breathed as you took the box from him and stared at him for just a moment longer than necessary. You just did not deserve this guy in your life. He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Hey, it’s hardly revolutionary, just thought it might stop you from nearly dropping your shit every two seconds.”

“Thank you, Bucky,” you grinned, snapping out of your dazed gaze and his eyes sparkled at your use of his name since you hardly ever used each other’s first names, preferring the game of using your ‘teacher names’.

“It’s nothing,” he replied sincerely, nodding to you as he turned to leave for his next class before he remembered something and turned back to face you, “Oh, and don’t even think about counting this as one of your gifts for the bet tomorrow.”

He winked and your breath hitched but then he sauntered out of the office and you didn’t have the chance to say another word.

You’d forgotten about the bet. The stupid, godforsaken, why-on-earth-did-we-start-this-shit bet. In your first year at the school, Bucky had introduced the bet as some sort of icebreaker between the two of you and it had been a thorn in your side ever since.

Every year, you’d both see how many gifts you’d get from students before the summer holidays and on that last Friday after school, you’d crack open a bottle of champagne, celebrate the ending of the year and open gifts together, counting how many each person got. Whoever got the most had the other do a forfeit.

And the stupid bastard had won for the past three years. Three. Years.

The first time, you’d had to come into school on the first day the next year wearing a costume of his choice. Mr Fury, the headteacher, found the whole bet so hilarious that he gave his permission more than happily and so you walked in to your new Year 7 class on the first day to a sea of confused faces dressed as Chewbacca. If they hadn’t been scared before, they certainly were then.

The second time he’d won, he’d gotten you to send an email to the entire school, teachers and students alike, and make it look as if you’d only meant to send it to the school matron:

Good morning Matron,

Sorry to bother you but is there any chance you’re free to have a look at something for me this lunchtime? I’ve just got this...rash that I can’t be bothered to go to the doctor about. It’s probably nothing but due to its placement on my body I wanted to get it checked out.

Best Wishes,

Y/N Y/L/N

Joint-Head of Languages

It was by far the most embarrassing thing you’d ever experienced, walking through the halls for a couple of weeks with all the giggles from students and judging looks from teachers. In the end, you’d made Bucky send an apology email with an explanation since you couldn’t deal with it any longer. He’d reluctantly agreed.

But last year was the worst. He’d made you set your Year 8 spanish class a few spanish swear words and act as if it would be cool for them to say them around school and no one would know they were swearing. At first, you refused that one but you couldn’t really say no when you’d lost the bet fair and square and had agreed to the terms long ago. The email you’d gotten from the Cuban maths teacher was interesting to say the least.

You were downright terrified as to what he might come up with this time.

But your train of thought was cut short by the bell ringing. You shoved the rest of your folders into the box before picking it up with ease and making your way to your french class, a wistful smile on your face the entire way.

***

“Were you going to start without me?” you asked playfully, sticking your head around the door to your shared office and you were met with Bucky stacking all his presents on top of his desk.

“No, just putting all my gifts in their rightful place,” he teased and you scoffed. Walking into the room, you placed your box down on your own desk before making sure to shut and lock the door behind you. You weren’t exactly supposed to have alcohol on school property, even if school was out but it wasn’t as if you drank more than one glass each.

“Ah, then I suppose I should start getting all of mine out of my box?”

“I suppose you should.”

You both stole glances at both each other and each other’s respective piles of presents, that both seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. Clearly, there were far more gifts on both sides than last year, it was surprising that this bet could inspire you both to try to become better teachers. Perhaps that was why Fury had no issue with it?

Once you’d both finished, you got the champagne bottle out of your handbag, laughing when Bucky asked you if you’d been day drinking and poured you both a glass, each of you rolling your desk chairs into the centre of the room to sit opposite each other.

“To our fourth year running this shitshow of a department. May it the next one be just as ridiculously exhausting, Miss Y/L/N,” Bucky raised his glass and you clinked yours against his own.

“I’ll definitely drink to that.”

Eventually you adopted your usual position on these evenings, each sat on one side of your chair with your feet up on the other side of the opposite chair, just in reach of your pile of presents. As you started opening them, laughing and reminiscing on the year that was now behind you, it became obvious that this year was going to be close.

“Another ‘World’s Best Teacher’ mug, how sweet! And this is from…” you trailed off to read the label and smirked when you did, “Peter Parker, you have him as well don’t you? I must be his favourite.”

“Afraid not,” he chuckled, holding up an identical mug with the exact same message on a gift card. You laughed.

“Does he not think we’d notice?”

“I don’t know, Miss Y/L/N, I think that boy has a lot on his mind at any one time, it’s a miracle he remembered to get us gifts.”

You hummed in agreement, continuing to sift through the pile.

“How many are you on?”

“As if I’m telling you!”

Variations of those two lines were said throughout the evening but still neither of you was prepared to tell the other how many you’d got. You were quietly confident this year, hoping beyond hope that you’d finally be able to give him a forfeit instead. You were totally going to make him jump in the school swimming pool in just his boxers.

Just for his own embarrassment of course. Not because you wanted to see that. You didn’t want to see that. Who would want to see that? Certainly not you.

Your internal monologue did nothing to help you to believe what you were trying to tell yourself, unfortunately. In fact, you’d been extremely transparent about your...view on Mr Barnes since you joined the school, so much so that many students and even parents had commented on it. At this point, it seemed it was only the man himself who hadn’t noticed your goofy grins and longing looks.

Thank god.

“Right, I’m finished,” Bucky announced, leaning back in his chair and locking his hands behind his head with a satisfied sigh. You frowned.

“I don’t know why you’re so pleased with yourself, surely if you’re finished before me, you’ve lost?” you argued but he simply shrugged, still leaning back and you huffed.

Eventually, you’d opened your last present and placed it carefully with the others, turning to your colleague with a smug smile painted on your lips.

“Go on then,” you urged.

“Ladies first.”

“Exactly, go on.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Just tell me you dumb dork.”

A pause.

“44.”

You went silent the smirk slipping from your face and sliding onto his. This was not happening again. This could not be happening again.

“T’es un salaud!” you shouted, not caring if anyone heard you and making sure to curse him out in french so he would know you weren’t being too serious. But still, you pointed at him accusatorily and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Firstly, wash your mouth out,” he deadpanned and then the smirk returned, “Secondly, I’m guessing I won then?”

“I got 40,” you whined, slumping down into your chair, “How do you manage to do this every year?”

“By being the better teacher?”

If looks could kill, James Buchanan Barnes would have been stone cold dead.

“Can’t we skip the whole forfeit part of the bet this year? I can’t embarrass myself again this year,” you muttered the last part and you could have sworn Bucky was stifling a laugh so you snapped, “What’s so funny, Buckle?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just, jesus doll, you’re a terrible loser,” he shook his head fondly, “And no we cannot ‘skip the whole forfeit part’. That’s the only part!”

You grumbled but sat in silence awaiting your punishment, a pout prevalent on your features. Your gaze was cast on the floor but after waiting for him to speak for just a few seconds too long, you looked up at him only to see he’d shuffled his chair far closer to yours. You gulped.

“Y/N,” he began, looking right into your eyes and your own were locked onto his too, unable to look away despite desperately wanting to, “This year’s forfeit is probably the worst yet. I mean nothing could ever be as embarrassing as this. Nothing. It may just be the worst thing you’ll ever-”

“I swear, Barnes, if you don’t say what it is right this-”

“You have to go on a date with me.”

You sat completely still, far too close to Bucky for comfort but finding yourself frozen in place. You weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly. You shook your head once. Blinked.

“I’m sorry?” you asked, your tone far harsher than you’d intended making Bucky’s eyes widen as he reeled back a little.

“That came out wrong, I didn’t mean you have to, this isn’t one of those forfeits you have to do because obviously I would never force anyone to go on a date with me but if you’re...happy to then...I-”

He trailed off slowly when you began to shuffle forward in your chair until you were closer to him than you’d been since you fell asleep together on the staffroom couch and all the teachers had taken about a million pictures. It would never be close enough.

“How-” you started, closing your eyes and placing a hand on his chest and bunching up in the fabric as a giggle escaped your lips, “-could you ever think that would be a forfeit?”

You opened your eyes to look at his and another giggle escaped when you saw the shock registering within them.

“I...I don’t-”

“...And not a reward?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed, Mr Barnes,” you grinned, your face now inches from his and he finally cottoned on, a genuine, joyful grin adorning his entire face, his entire being. He was glowing as he finally closed the gap and rested his forehead against yours, both of you shivering at the contact.

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for so long, Miss Y/L/N,” he whispered, “Actually, I’ve wanted to ask you out for four years.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” you scolded, but it was playful and it was promising and it was perfect.

“Scared,” he murmured against your lips, and you began to laugh but were cut off by his lips on your own. You couldn’t help the small whimper you let out at the contact and that only seemed to spur him on as he growled deep in his chest before suddenly his hands were on your waist and you were lifted onto his lap with a muffled squeal.

His hands travelled up and down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the fabric in between you and your other hand joined the one already on his chest, pulling him ever closer. You stayed like this for as long as you possibly could before your lungs began screaming at you and you had to pull away, panting heavily.

Bucky’s lips instantly attached themselves to your jaw and you closed your eyes momentarily at the sensation.

“Can I tell you a secret?” his voice hummed against your skin and you just nodded your head in response, unable to formulate the words, “I told my classes about the bet, that I was going to ask you on a date if I won and to buy me presents because of it. I’m so glad they did.”

Now that woke you from your haze.

“You cheated?” you asked indignantly, pulling away from him properly, letting his shirt go and opting instead to put your hands on your hips. His lips parted in surprise at your sudden movements away from him, and he tried to pull you back by the waist.

“Well...yes, but for a good reason,” he argued, frown deepening when you refused to let him pull you close, “I thought you’d find it cute, I cheated for you! For us!”

“You still cheated!” you were off his lap now and desperately trying to keep from laughing, but this was just too good and he deserved it anyway.

“But, doll-”

“It’s Miss Y/L/N.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and marched out of the office, leaving Bucky staring after you in total shock, lips swollen and mouth wide open. You waited outside for a couple of seconds, just long enough for him to think you’d actually left, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter.

When you were sure he would be suitably terrified, you opened the door again, rushing inside and twisting the key in the lock behind you with a flick of your wrist. You hurried over to him, pushing your own chair out of your way and straddling his thighs once again, cupping his face in your hands.

“On second thought, never call me anything but doll again,” you announced, just moments away from his lips, his breath ghosting across your face and you tried to suppress your shiver. He looked like he was about to reprimand you for your teasing but clearly thought better of it.

“Whatever you say, doll.”

He surged forward, capturing your lips once again and you were pleased to learn that each kiss was as spine-tingling as the last.

if crossed out, i couldn’t tag you for some reason - sorry! tag lists are open so please just drop me an ask ^-^

permanent tags: @mightyhemsworthy @aheadfullofsherlock @ign-is @buckysboobear @sooooo-thats-a-thing @thefridgeismybestie @avengersbabe13 @mixedupsammy @memyselfandmaddox @ginger-rxchxo @emergenciesstory @mehfuture @stephie-senpai @hottrashformarvel @queenoftrash97 @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @yknott81 @mell-bell @dolphinpink310 @sgtjbuccky @dreamerinfinity @selenasoftly @spiderlingss @slightlycatdependent @shamelessbookaddict @vintagepigeon @bodhi-black @realgreglestrade @demoncrypt1066 @skeltn @bucky-at-bedtime @hanscait @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @milkywaybarnes @scurtscurt2021 @jitterbuck @slowly-but-shurley @jaamesbbarnes @yesdruidess @dixonsbugaboo @lortise @residentdemonhunter

Okay, so we know Viktor is a bookworm. This has been established, right? Well, what about young Vitya who, when going around the world for competitions, buys books regardless of the language. And he orders dictionaries online, and translates them personally. (Because being at the top of the world can be kind of lonely.)

I FEEL REALLY SORRY FOR NOT GETTING TO THIS EARLIER BUT!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!

Victor’s relationship with books dated back to a long time. Yakov’s first memory of him included a book snuggly held against Victor’s chest. 

It made for a funny picture—the small, wide-eyed child holding a big book like it was a teddy bear, refusing to let go of it even though he would have no time to sit and read. Yakov remembers being able to peek at the title—it was The Hobbit, a colorful and illustrated version—and at his curiosity, Vitya’s mother chuckled and shook her head.

“He won’t leave home without bringing a book along,” she explained.

Little Vitya was a stubborn one. It was a trait he carried on into his adult life.

“Mommy,” Vitya tugged at her sleeve, eyes following the skaters on the rink, “can I skate yet?”

“I don’t know. How about you ask your new coach?” She replied, encouraging him to step forward and talk to Yakov. 

Vitya, back then a five-year-old, already knew how to be polite and charming, raising his chin up to look at Yakov with his big blue eyes and swiping his hair back.

“Coach Yakov, may I use the rink, please?“ 

Yakov would be heartless if he refused.

“Of course. But you can’t take your book with you.”

He almost expected Vitya to widen his eyes and clutch at his book, perhaps insist on taking it to the ice with him by the way he had been carrying it all morning or turn to his mother and say something along the lines of “I don’t like this new coach”. Instead, little Vitya frowned, offering Yakov his book with a seriousness of a real adult who confided something of great importance.

“Then… can you keep it for me?”

It had started like that. Vitya would always bring a book along, and handing Yakov his book for safe-keeping before lacing up and stepping on the ice became a part of their routine. It happened before classes, it happened before competitions. Sometimes he would curl up in a corner of the rink and read his book while waiting for some free time to skate.

Victor’s passion for books became even more evident as he grew up. He always had one in his bag, but also always brought one from home. Yakov couldn’t tell which one he was reading—or if he was reading both—but he would never question it. 

“The bookstore had a sale and I couldn’t resist,” twelve-year-old Vitya would explain when he arrived late for practice, and Lilia would only shake her head and look at Yakov.

Sometimes it was a bit of a problem. Just like he would refuse to do his warm-ups before finishing a chapter, he always backed one too many books for his trips.

“Why are you bringing so many books for?” Yakov asked as he loaded the taxi with Victor’s luggage. “Do you think you’ll be able to slack off just because you won gold in the last competition?”

Teenager Victor chuckled, glancing at his struggling coach as he scratched Makkachin behind her ears. 

“I don’t know. I might get tired of waiting for my turn and read a dozen books before I step on the ice,” he teased.

It was a known fact Victor was a fast reader, but the reason why he brought a bunch of books wasn’t because of it. It was something Yakov didn’t entirely understand, and something he wasn’t exactly interested in encouraging. 

Victor traded them with other competitors—sometimes giving up on his beautiful, limited edition cover books in favor of getting a ratty, old book in a language he couldn’t understand. Most of the times they weren’t even the same books—giving up on his treasured, flawless Anna Karenina for a coffee-stained, decade-old single volume Narnia in Italian? 

Yakov didn’t understand. But Victor—he was always elated to trade books with people, no matter what it was, and would start reading it as soon as possible,  running to the nearest shop in search of a dictionary that could help him understand the book.

When Victor turned fifteen he moved to Yakov and Lilia’s apartment to focus on his training, aiming for Junior’s gold in the following season. One condition, though—he could bring no more than ten books. 

He protested. Being rightfully furious about the proposal, Victor refused to agree with Yakov’s terms—even though he understood the reasoning behind such imposal—and was only after a lot of negotiation from Lilia’s part that he finally decided to agree.

“How?” Yakov asked as Lilia brought him the good news.

“He won’t be bringing any books. I’ve offered him my library instead.”

“Your books are all in French.”

Lilia smirked, offering Yakov the famous you fool eyes that were affectionate and mocking all the same.

“You know that is not a problem for him.”

Reading a lot was never exactly a problem or a harm to his growth as a skater. Victor was a promising athlete with incredible potential, excited to win and passionate about his sport. 

The real problem was that kids his age weren’t that passionate about reading. They had other interests—like games, movies, dating, and books just didn’t seem to be a popular top priority like it was for Victor. 

Victor had always been charming, talkative and approachable, and when Yakov asked him to interact with other skaters at banquets, he would quickly gather a small group around him and would talk passionately about the latest story he read, exchanging impressions about characters and other things. 

But after a couple of hours, Victor was nowhere to be seen. He would usually head back to his room, grab his book and find a peaceful place to read. More often than not, Yakov heard other people commenting about how focused he was on his book and lamenting not wanting to interrupt his reading.

As enjoyable as they were, books made for a lonely hobby.

When Victor got his own apartment a magazine made a photoshoot there, and they could not hide their surprise as they learned that Victor had read all the books on the shelves of his living room, save for a small pile that was kept next to the sofa where he would curl up after practice and read. They made sure to include that information when the interview was released, and Yakov remembered clearly the reaction it had gotten from the public. 

Between practicing and reading, Victor Nikiforov did little else. People made a huge deal out of it—providing lengthy blog posts about how those hundred of books spoke of solitude and a somewhat intrusive trend of asking Victor personal questions about his mental health. 

Victor dismissed those rumors saying something about being too immersed in stories to think about being lonely. To his inner circle, it was easy to notice otherwise.

However, Yakov noticed a change when Victor moved to Japan. It was growth. It was selflessness. First, he had taken only around ten books on his trip, which meant a significant effort from his part of getting to know someone, and being unsure about his future and the path he had taken. Bitter, he didn’t want to think too much about it, dismissing those things as Victor’s aloofness as he packed in a hurry.  

For once, Yakov enjoyed being proved wrong. Wrong about Victor being selfish. Wrong about Victor not being able to coach. Wrong about Victor not knowing what he wants. 

Being a teacher, after all, was about watching your pupils overcome and surprise you. And even though Yakov was still a bit bitter about it, he admired Victor for his growth. 

“I’ll keep it for you,” he heard Victor say from the sideline, picking the book from Yuuri’s hand with care. 

They stood a couple of steps away, Yuuri removing the guards from his blades while Victor’s help, his coat thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as he assumed the role of coach after his train was over. 

“Can you mark the page for me?” Yuuri asked. “I forgot the bookmarker in the dressing room.”

“Of course. What did you think of the chapter?”

Wide-eyed, Yuuri turned around with a big smile on his face, nearly jumping over the boards in excitement while trying to not make a scene. It was funny. It reminded Yakov of young Vitya. 

“I wasn’t expecting the plot twist to be that big? It was difficult to put the book down! I nearly skipped training just so I could finish it.”

“I know! I was sure you’d like it!” Victor smiled excitedly, holding the book close to his chest. “You won’t believe what happens in the next chapter. It gets so much better, you have no idea!”

“Vitya!! You promised not to tease!” Yuuri laughed, pushing Victor playfully.

“Yuuri, get to work!” Yakov called out, only then noticing how he was watching the scene with a shy smile. 

“Oh—Sorry, Yakov!” Victor smiled apologetically, leaning over the board to give Yuuri a kiss before watching him glide on the ice. 

Victor had always had a weak spot for cheesy romance novels. Yakov wanted to laugh when he remembered Victor is living one of them. 

“Go on. Join him,” he said, nudging Victor’s shoulder. “Yuuri skates more passionately when you’re there with him.”

Victor looked at Yakov with his eyebrows raised and lips parted in surprise. He didn’t say a word, and yet his coach was able to read the emotions flowing in his eyes. 

“Alright,” Victor smiled, offering him the book. “Can you keep this for me?”

What Black History Month means to me - guest post by Pauline Mayers

So it’s October,  and as usual I’m having a lot of thoughts about Black History Month. In advance of my conversation with the wonderful Pauline Mayers tonight for Real Talk, we got talking on the subject. When she told me about this piece she had written, I wanted to read it. And then when I read it, I wanted to pos it. So thank you Pauline for the gift of your words and experience. I will post the rest verbatim from her text here. 

----

What Black History Month Means To Me by Pauline Mayers

Originally written 1st March 2019

The furore over the apparent rebranding of Black History Month (BHM) to Diversity Month by some London boroughs last year (2018) is of no surprise to me.

I remember when the idea and subsequent rolling out of BHM across the UK began in 1987. The following year, I began my dance training at the internationally known dance conservatoire, the Rambert School of Ballet and Contemporary Dance. Being a young Hackney girl and just turning 18 at the end of the 1980’s this was a big deal for me. I decided to specifically audition for the school as I had watched the associated Rambert Dance company and noticed there were no dancers in the company that looked like me. Without really thinking about it, my audition and subsequent training at the school was a challenge to the status quo. Much like BHM in its very beginnings. 

BHM was a challenge to the UK perception that black people were muggers, thieves and rioters, not to trusted and certainly not to be tolerated. Not that I noticed any of this at the time. My awareness of BHM was consigned to a footnote accentuated by seeing Diane Abbott and Bernie Grant every so often on the news. My attention was very firmly placed on becoming a dancer.

In hindsight, my training was the real beginning of being othered. At the school, I wasn’t seen as a pioneer from Hackney, the first cockney girl (to my knowledge) to attend the school. I was viewed by some of the staff as simply a ‘black body’ who was attempting the impossible. ‘Black People don’t do ballet or dance’ was a mantra that was very definitely felt by me. It’s a mantra that Cassa Pancho MBE, creative director of British ballet company, Ballet Black has spoken of recently. And one that still exists today despite the presence of the extraordinary Dance Theatre of Harlem who were a company of twenty years standing at the point I was in training. This was a fact that school staff at the time seemed to have ignored. For teachers who in theory were experts in the ballet world, this omission is rather startling. Indeed, thirty years after I had begun my training, Ballet Black working with Freed of London have launched ballet shoes for darker skin tones. Which tells me by the omission happened.

Given I had begun my training at a local youth centre and went on to train at the Weekend Arts College I had up until this point always been around people who looked and sounded like me. Being a British black girl at a world renowned ballet school was not the ‘Fame’ experience I was expecting.

I never imagined for a second, the colour of my skin would have such a impact on my every day experience at the school. Born and raised in Hackney, it never occurred to me that being British and black would become a serious bone of contention. A couple of teachers seemed to take some sort of exception to my presence at the school. It certainly wasn’t ALL of the teachers... sounds familiar...

There were however, two teachers who made a massive difference to my experience at the school. With staff that had no POC representation, and students predominantly white European, with some students as far afield as Japan, Canada and the US, seeing examples of black excellence in dance was challenging. I needed to see people who looked like me succeed in the arena I had chosen to live my life, to keep going, to be inspired, so that I didn’t falter. Thankfully the director of the school had cottoned on to how I was feeling and gave me a gift, one I have treasured to this day. The biography of African American performer, activist and French resistance agent Josephine Baker called Jazz Cleopatra. It was about how she who took Europe by storm at a point when the idea of a famous black woman seemed impossible. I read the book until it fell apart. And then bought it several times more.

In much the same way, BHM was a way of celebrating Britain’s black community and its contributions to the U.K., which is a home from home. The reach of what was once the British Empire has morphed into the Commonwealth countries, extending to the Caribbean, where the British had ruled for centuries, leaving it’s mark through the Privy Council which various parts of the Caribbean still adhere to today. West Indian citizens had been told through their educational, legal, and political systems for 400 years that they were British. A fact seemingly denied upon independence from and entry into the U.K. during the 1960’s. The British decided that being black and from the Caribbean meant you were not of Britain but something else entirely, “no Blacks, no Irish, no dogs”. And this way of thinking remains to this day as we have seen with last year’s breaking of the Windrush Scandal. Make no mistake, the illegal deporting of Black British citizens had been going on for decades before The Guardian newspaper shed a light on it.

BHM came after the race riots of the beginning of the 1980’s when the black community railed against the overuse by the police of the SUS laws on young black men around the country. In my recollection BHM was a way to build bridges that had been burnt by shining a positive light on the contributions of the UK black community. The recent return of such rudimentary and abusive laws now come in the form of stop and search which has shown, yet again, to disproportionally target the black community… sounds familiar?

My awareness of BHM really came into being as my dance career took off. Cool Britannia was in, as was Suede, the Gallagher Brothers, etc. Soul to Soul, the Young Disciples and Mark Morrison were showing the world that black music didn’t only come from America it was a part of British culture, the MOBO’s were in its infancy and the U.K. perceived itself to be multi-cultural. Everyone was welcome and could be whoever they wanted to be. Britain was in effect was open to all.

My first offers of working on BHM projects came in 2001 at a point of unemployment. Theatres and venues I didn’t know somehow managed to find my details, making enquiries about my availability for October with a view to making collaborations with Black History as a focus. The only downside was there was very little preparation time (enquiries began in August) and not much money. However, I believed it was worth it, considering the opportunity to work with such established organisation could foster new lucrative relationships. I felt at the time the opportunity to work during BHM was a chance for organisations to see the way I worked and witness the success of my projects. They were opportunities that couldn’t be passed up…. or so I thought.

After three years of repeated promises to work in a more sustainable way across the year instead of the one month lead up to BHM and then working across the month for very little money, I decided this particular avenue was like a parasite. BHM was feeding off my very presence. It began to signal to me Whiteness’ attempt to validate its existence by delivering BHM as a means to an end. The idea to working longer term with me would literally disappear into the shadows for the following 10 months without even so much as a thank you for some of the frankly Herculean efforts I was making for such low wages. I know I’m not the only one, this was and is being replicated across the country. At the time, BHM seemed to be nothing more than a way to service the system and give the illusion of a non-existent cohesion. Besides, I was growing tired of the slave narrative that seemed to dominate BHM.

It’s the same slave narrative that keeps being brought up as ‘black history’. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not. It’s history. British history to be exact. 

The slave trade is the history of colonial white European domination inflicted on the world. It’s the story of how the British along with the French, Dutch, Spanish, Portuguese amongst many others fed and gorged themselves until bloated with gout upon the profits made from enforced “free’ labour entwined with the horrors of enslaving millions of africans for centuries, and how the accrued wealth turned turned Britain into a super power, gifting it an empire which ruled over 23% of the world’s population at it’s height. It’s the continuing narrative of how Britain’s educational, legal, political, financial and social systems were aided by the profits of the slave trade, indeed the rise of the industrial revolution could not have happened without the slave trade. None of this is ‘black history’.

The black history I want to understand speaks of kings and queens, education and empire on the African continent, a time before the europeans enslaved Africans on a mass scale. The black history I’ve come to understand speaks of Bussa, Nanny Maroon, the Haitian Revolution, as well as many other uprisings by the enslaved which continued throughout the entire period of the slave trade against the colonisers who refused to see human beings. It speaks of the British Civil Rights movement (not American) with events like the Bristol Bus Boycott, and hear the stories of activists like Olive Morris. This is the black history I want to see. Others agree with me, indeed Jeremy Corbyn’s announcement for Labour’s proposals to change the way Black history is taught in the U.K. shows there is indeed some sort of a will to do things differently. I want to see such history embedded in the British education system. But this I believe will never happen in my lifetime, not least because it disproves the notion of black people being knife-wielding, uneducated, service providers who should be grateful for being here in the UK. And if a black person doesn’t like how they are being treated then they, and I quote “have the means to leave the country’ as Piers Morgan told Dr. Kehinde Andrews. This insipid ‘othering’ is the thing whiteness always does to protect itself. And too many people racialised as white fall into this diatribe with wild abandonment when faced with accusations of racism. I say this with a vague hope that I’ll be proved wrong… although I doubt it.

But, I digress. 

As a black woman, I am constantly called to justify my presence in the U.K. to white people who literally don’t know the history of how the black community came to be in the U.K. Every single day, I’m faced with a continual barrage of micro aggressions, pictures and articles from a media hell bent on demonising people who look like me and constantly triggering of racial trauma. In order to navigate my daily existence, as well as having artistic expertise which is frankly outstanding (you can’t say that as a black woman… yeah, I can) I’ve had to become part historian, psychologist and social scientist simply so I can defend myself against the daily assaults of whiteness. Funny how I feel I have no choice but to become a sort of collector of facts whilst all whiteness needs to question my valid criticisms of the U.K.’s continuous attacks on blackness and the on-going racial injustice in general is a ferocity of opinion. I think it’s fair to say that in the thirty years since BHM came into being, the U.K.’s relationship with the black community has at this point fallen to an all time low. BHM has been become a silo, a mouthpiece to keep black people placated. And given the contexts I’ve given, my thinking is being born out by the facts.

The current and blatant attempts to rebrand BHM to Diversity Month seeks to both service whiteness’ wish to erase black people from the British historical canon and maintain the negative perception of the U.K. black community whilst at the same time, promoting through the back door a heightened sense of whiteness’ diversity as proof that we are ‘all in this together’. From the notion of White Jesus right up to the lack of acknowledgement by the U.K. of the West Indies effort in fighting in the armed forces in both World Wars on behalf of Britain, whiteness merely seeks to maintain itself as top of the food chain. White supremacy has been going on for at least three centuries.

My criticism of BHM is not about denigrating the efforts of the many in the black community who year in, year out are called upon to deliver a programme of work, and depending on where you are in the country, for not much money. Working BHM is a thankless task which is not seen as a very necessary and integral way to celebrating a community whose efforts over the centuries have directly contributed not only to the development of the U.K., but to the world. My criticism is about the response whiteness has to BHM. A response which I feel will always typify how the dominate white culture in the U.K will always see the black community. The systems in place demands there is no alternative to the fake narrative.

BHM to me has become a series of wasted opportunities for discussions around how UK society wishes to view itself in the 21st Century. In my experience, it’s a severely under-resourced month of a string of broken promises. And it serves as yet a further reminder that the system of whiteness will do anything it can to protect itself. U.K. Prime Minister Theresa May’s statement October 2018 about the importance of BHM to U.K. does nothing more than give lip service in a vain attempt to deflect criticism. 

My feeling is it’s time to do away with this farce. In the face of Brexit, Britain needs to face up to and confront it’s colonial past with honesty and bravery. 

I won’t be holding my breath.

Something Familiar (Something New Epilouge) - Julie

AN: This is some sort of epilouge which I wrote for my fic Something New. You’ll have to read it first, otherwise this probably won’t make sense.

I thought I was done with this story but some people (2) asked for more set in this universe and I just had a rush of inspiration. This is set three years after Something New and it’s kinda centered around Katya crying?

Come say Hi to me over at my blog @Trixyaas

Thanks for reading! - Julie

(also i included the couch for that one anon)

Brian had seen Katya cry a lot in the past three years.

She cried when it all got too much. More than once had he found her sitting in the shower, clutching her legs to her chest, letting her tears mix with the water. He had freaked out the first time it happened, not knowing what to do. He had stepped in the shower, still fully clothed, and just held her, rocking her gently back and forth. He had learned what to do in these situations, when it all got too much for Katya.

He had learned that it was best to turn off the water, wrap a towel around her shoulders and to make her a cup of tea. Tea with two sugars and some milk. Not too much milk, though. Only a bit so you could just see the beverage taking on a lighter color.

He had learned that she didn’t want to talk in these moments, but she did need someone to sit by her side. She didn’t want to be touched then, so Brian often sat on the floor while she was curled up on the sofa. Katya had told him that in these moments, she felt disgusted by her body. That she couldn’t stand the way she was born, that she just wanted it to be over and that she couldn’t bare being touched.

Brian’s biggest fear had always been something happening to Keira but Katya being alone in these situations soon became his second greatest.

Katya cried when she got her implants too. She had saved every spare cent she could, she had taken up more work, now also teaching gymnastics to kids besides the French courses she regularly taught. She had moved in with Brian and Keira a year after they started dating officially and Brian would have been okay to pay the rent completely but Katya had insisted that she’d pay half of it. Still, it was only half of the rent that she had paid living on her own, and that money made a big difference for her.

Pat and Brian had waited in the small waiting room in the surgeon’s office, neither of hem saying a word. Pat had turned the pages of all magazines the waiting room provided but she hadn’t really looked down to read anything.

Brian had tapped his foot and checked the clock every five minutes to see when Katya’s surgery was finished. He also checked his watch just in case the clock wasn’t ticking right.

It wasn’t a risky operation, Katya had gone to many appointments previously to make sure everything was going according to plan. Nothing could go wrong, really. But Brian was still nervous.

He hadn’t told Katya this because he didn’t want her to worry, but he had had his doubts.

What if he wouldn’t find her attractive with bigger breasts? Breasts that looked real, breasts that he couldn’t ignore. Katya was going for a C-cup, and Brian knew that this was fairly big. He googled it. He had stared at naked women on various porn sites, always concentrating on the breasts, never feeling anything.

But when he saw Katya for the first time after the surgery all his doubts where gone. She was still a bit confused and tired from the anesthesia, but she was beaming with happiness. On their way home she kept touching her new boobs that still felt sore and Brian could see the tears forming in her eyes. He had pulled over and Katya had begun to fully sob.

“I have breasts”, she had whimpered, “I have actual breasts.”

Brian had cupped her face and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“You’re so beautiful”, he had whispered, “you’re the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

When Keira saw them for the first time she had announced that she wanted breasts too and that she wanted them now. She had stuffed socks under her shirt and Katya had laughed.

“That’s how I started too”, she grinned.

Violet had insisted to throw her a boob-themed party. They had somehow gotten balloons shaped like breasts and Kim had organized a cake that looked like a giant breast.

It was ridiculous and silly but Katya had loved it. She had let Violet and Kim and anyone that wanted to feel her brand new boobs touch them and Brian had felt jealous but at the same time he had been incredibly proud of his girlfriend.

When they first had sex after Katya’s surgery he came to find that he didn’t mind the breasts at all. Quite the opposite, actually. He loved the new moans and noises Katya made when he cupped them or when he flicked his tongue over her nipples. He loved the way Katya whimpered when he squeezed them and he loved the way he could turn her on, simply by focusing on her breasts.

Katya loved to touch her own breasts as well and it drove Brian crazy. The way she ran her hands down her breasts to her stomach could make Brian grow hard immediately.

Katya cried when her mother had gone to hospital. She suffered from a stroke and Katya called Brian sobbing. He immediately left work to drive her to see her. He was now the store manager as Kim had become quite successful with posting her makeup pictures on Instagram. Companies now paid him to talk about their products and Kim had given several interviews already. Brian was very happy and incredibly proud of his best friend and he was also glad that he was now managing the store. He got paid more and in situations like this it was easier to leave.

Katya sat next to him in silence as he drove to the hospital. Her tears had left trails in her foundation and her eyeliner and mascara were smudged. She had pulled herself together before she entered her mother’s hospital room but she broke down again once they had left.

Pat was fine, thankfully. She stayed in hospital for two weeks and they had come to visit her as often as possible, sometimes taking Keira with them. She had been heartbroken when she heard, Pat had become like a grandmother to her, seeing as Brian’s parents still refused to talk to him.

They sent cards and presents on Christmas and Keira’s birthday but they never called. All Christmas cards were addressed to Keira, and only Keira, as if they were trying to forget Brian existed.

Katya cried when Donald Trump became president. She was afraid that her rights, the rights of her friends and the rights of people she’s never met were going to be taken away.

“This can’t be right”, she whispered as they were sat in front of the TV, watching the results, “This has to be a mistake, Brian, they’ve made a mistake. This can’t happen, Brian, tell me this isn’t happening!”, her voice became loud and she was shrieking. Brian was just as shocked as she was and Katya’s tear came from a place of anger. Anger and disappointment.

When millions of women, and other people had gone out to take part in the Women’s Marches all over the world, just days after Trump’s inauguration, Katya had cried as well.

When Keira called her “Mom” for the first time, Katya came into their now shared bedroom shaking.

“She called me Mom”, she said, “your daughter called me Mom.”

Brian had been surprised. And then was surprised by the fact that he had been surprised.

It made so much sense, Keira had been asking about her mother since she was three and Katya was a strong female presence in her life. She looked up to her and asked her for advice. Sometimes the two of them did yoga together in the mornings while Brian was making breakfast. They would roll out their yoga mats and Katya would show her different, simple poses. She was very patient and praised Keira whenever she managed to do a particularly hard pose.

Katya sometimes helped her with her homework too, especially when she had to do creative writing. Brian still didn’t quite understand how her mind worked but he was sure that it was different than other people’s. Keira wrote stories about dinosaurs falling in love or princesses saving dragons from knights. Katya encouraged her even when Keira’s teacher asked her to write stories that were more tame.

Brian had given up entirely to get Keira to dress appropriately after Katya had moved in. Sometimes the two of them would put on the most ridiculous outfits and put on a runway show for Brian. He loved those evenings.

Katya and Keira had just been to the fabric store when Keira called her ‘Mom’.

The summer holidays were almost over and Katya had decided to teach Keira how to make her own clothes. She brought out her old sewing machine and took her shopping. They had come home with three of the ugliest fabrics Brian had ever seen but he knew better than to complain. He just groaned when he saw them come into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna do some work”, he said and pecked Katya on the lips. He still had to do the finances for the store and he knew that he wouldn’t get any work done when Katya and Keira occupied the kitchen, which was why he moved to their bedroom. He ruffled through Keira’s short hair on his way there.

Just twenty minutes later Katya came in.

“She said 'Mom can you pass me the scissors?'”, she told him, wiping away a tear.

“Does it bother you?”, Brian asked.

“Does it bother you?”, she repeated his words and Brian shook his head.

“There is no one that I’d rather have as Keira’s mom”, he admitted.

“Brian..”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll talk to her, I-”

“Brian shut up”, Katya interrupted, “I just. I never expected to be called 'Mom’, you know? It’s just something that has never even occurred to me! I mean, why would it?”, Katya looked him in the eyes.

“I think I could get used to it”, she whispered and Brian pulled her into a tight hug. He knew that she was uncertain, maybe even scared. But he could feel her smile against his shoulder and he couldn’t help but smile too.

Keira started to call her 'Mom’ more often. It was unintentional at first, something that just slipped out when she wasn’t thinking.

But then one morning before school Keira had put down her spoon and looked at Katya, with her head slightly crooked.

“Katya”, she started, “are you my mommy?”.

Brian could see her swallow and he squeezed her hand under the table.

“Do you want me to be?”, Katya asked carefully and Keira nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay then”, Katya laughed and Brian knew that she was trying to hide her nervousness. He was nervous too. But most of all he was happy.

“Mom, are you going to take me to school today?”, she asked and Brian could see that Katya’s hand was shaking.

“Sure. Whatever you want, honey.”

Brian asked her about seven months after that breakfast.

He had talked about it with Kim. He had called him one day, when Katya was at yoga.

“You never call”, Kim had said instead of a greeting and Brian explained his situation to him.

He had talked about it with Keira, of course. He knew that she would be excited, ecstatic even. His only worry was, that Keira might accidentally say something to Katya.

He wanted to ask her herself, when they were alone. He knew that Keira’s presence would put too much pressure on Katya, that she would be compelled to say yes, even if it was too much for her. He wanted nothing less than to make her uncomfortable. Plus he wanted to wait for the right time.

He couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly that made the situation feel so right.

In hindsight it was just another normal Saturday evening, nothing special. Keira was in bed, hopefully fast asleep. As usual Katya had gone to her late night yoga class. When she got home, she curled up with Brian on the sofa, still wearing her workout clothes. She was a bit sweaty, and she didn’t particularly smell good. She often joked that she was the sweatiest woman in her yoga class but Brian didn’t mind at all. He liked it, even.

Her painting was still hanging above the couch, now joined by tow other pink ones that she had gifted Brian on his birthday. A painting by Keira was hanging on the wall as well. Katya had allowed her to use her colors and one of her canvases. She claimed that Keira had a great talent, but frankly Brian couldn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t have an eye for art, maybe Katya was exaggerating or maybe he still needed to work on being a supportive father. He hung it up, though, even if it didn’t fit the rest of the interior design at all. It brought a bit of the mismatched charm that Katya’s old flat had had. Maybe that was why she liked it so much.

Katya’s head was laying in Brian’s lap and he lazily brushed his hand through her hair, gently untangling the knots that had formed. The TV was on, some cooking show was playing, but neither of them really watched. Brian could tell from Katya’s breathing that she was about to fall asleep, he could practically see her eyelids getting heavier.

He watched his fingers as he let strand of Katya’s hair run between them. His nail polish was chipped, but it was okay. Sunday was nail day, when He, Katya and Keira would all paint each others nails. It had become some sort of a tradition between the three of them.

Maybe the whole moment just felt familiar.

“Will you adopt Keira?”

There was silence for several moments. Brian thought, maybe she had fallen asleep but then she shifted and got up from his lap to face him.

“What?”

“Would you like to adopt Keira? You’re like a mom to her and she loves you with all her heart. You don’t have to, though! If you don’t that’s fine, I can understand, I just-”, Brian could feel himself starting to ramble, but then Katya put her hands on his bicep.

“Brian”, she said to stop his talking, “I would love to. God, I would love to!”, her cheeks were glowing and sweat was glistering on her forehead.

“I would love to”, she said in a whisper this time. Brian pulled her into a kiss.

“I’m so happy you said yes”, he mumbled against her mouth, “Keira will be so happy.”

He could feel her salty tears under his lips.

“I’m happy too”, Katya said, “you two make me so happy. So unbelievably happy.”

They had stayed up longer than usual that night. They talked about becoming a family, a real one, as Katya put it.

“I think we’ve always been a family”, Brian said carefully and Katya scuffed.

“A fucked up family”, she said.

“Maybe so”, Brian admitted, “but I like our little fucked up family.”

“We should get a dog”, Katya suddenly sat up. Her head almost bumped into Brian’s chin and he had to move his head quickly.

“Absolutely not”, he answered and pushed her head back into his lap where he continued to stroke her hair until she fell asleep.

He carried her to bed that night and couldn’t quite believe that she was going to become the legal mother of his child soon.

They went out for ice cream, when Katya signed the adoption papers five months later.

It was only a small celebration, nothing big. But it felt appropriate.

“Nothing is really going to change”, Brian had explained to Keira when he tucked her into bed the night before, “it’s just going to say on paper that Katya is your mom.”

“I know”, Keira said, already half asleep, “I can’t wait!”

“Neither can we”, Brian whispered.

Katya loved referring to Keira as her daughter.

The first time Brian has heard her say it, she was on the phone to cancel a gymnastics class she was meant to teach.

“I’m sorry but I can’t make it tomorrow”, she said, “my daughter’s got an appointment at the dentist.”

Brian had to sit down for a moment, he was so overwhelmed with emotions. He felt happy for all of them.

He knew that Katya loved kids and he knew that she never thought that she was going to have children of her own someday. That she never thought that she was going to be a mother who had to take her daughter to the dentist, who carpooled, who called in sick because her child wasn’t feeling well. He knew that Katya had struggled in the five months they had to wait before she could finally sign the papers. She thought that she couldn’t do it, that she wasn’t meant to be a mother.

Because she was trans and because she battled with addiction. But Brian had reassured her that, if at all, those things only meant that she was definitely strong enough. He couldn’t imagine a better role model for his daughter and when he told Katya that, she had started to cry once more.

He knew that Katya often doubted herself and that hearing things like this meant a lot to her.

He was happy for Keira as well. Ever since she was three she had been asking about her mom and now she finally had one.

Keira insisted that she had 'the coolest mom of all the kids’ in her class, because Katya let her wear what she wanted, because she sometimes let her stay up til midnight in the weekends to throw midnight parties, because she taught her how to sew and because she knew how to do the splits.

Katya had always laughed it off, when Keira had said it but Brian agreed.

He would have loved to have a mother who supported him, who let him live his life like he wanted.

He had texted his mom two months after the adoption to let her know that Keira now officially had a mother who loved her and who cared about her.

He never got a reply.

Brian had seen Katya cry a lot in the past three years but it hadn’t always been from sadness, anger or happiness. He had seen her cry from laughter too.

Her laugh was still one of his favorite things about her, the way she started wheezing and screaming. Often she held on to something, like the edge of a table, her knees or his arm. She slapped his arm when he said something funny and she threw her head back and Brian loved her for it.

Which is why their monthly dinners with Kim and Violet had made some of Brian’s happiest memories. Keira usually stayed with Pat on those nights, who insisted that Keira would call her grandma and she happily obliged.

On those nights they often stayed up until three and someone usually managed to make Katya cry with laughter. Brian felt a sense of pride when it was him, in these situations it was like he had been put on earth only to make her feel happy.

But he also didn’t mind when it was Violet or Kim and he could just watch Katya flailing her arms while she shrieked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Lot’s of things had made Katya cry these past three years but not all of them were bad.

A lot had changed and yet it all felt familiar and right.

They had officially become their own little fucked up family and Brian wouldn’t have had it any other way.  

[NF] VICARIOUS INTERLOPER

"An interloper, you say?," questioned my therapist, Dr. K, whose sudden change in tone gave away that he understood little of what I had just proclaimed. I had been visiting Dr. K for a while now, but he always seemed to find my declarations so peculiar, if not nonsensical. "Yes, Doc. An interloper in every place, an intruder in every situation. I just can't seem to find my spot in life. Even when I'm showered with praise I still see myself as being out of place..." The quadragenarian started rummaging through the papers he had placed on his desk at the beginning of the session. He didn't seem very preoccupied. I heard him murmuring. "Hmm, could be… imposter syndrome… but… that can't be all…" He looked back at me. "When did you start feeling what you just described?" I flashed back several years. I saw myself back in 2011. Sunny Monday, entering my classroom. All the other children were getting seated. The instructor had just begun taking attendance. I heard the names of everyone in the room, almost each one my friend. "Ryan Makhoul!" exclaimed our French teacher. "Present!" I shouted back, as I took my seat. "Good news today, students! Most of you did well on the writing test you sat for last week!" Her smile grew even larger before she spoke again. "And please, everyone, let's all applaud Ryan for his excellent work! The text he wrote is an absolute pleasure to read!" Everyone complied. The classroom was filled with the claps of my young colleagues. It wasn't the first time this happened. Everyone was used to praising the top students. I wasn't the only one to get praised but I did have that honor many times. I collected my paper. 19.5/20. I was baffled. This is where I felt the strangest I had ever felt. I always think fast, but the thoughts in my head were too overwhelming to consciously process. "That's not me." "That can't be me". "I must have cheated." I was so deep in thought I almost didn't hear the tutor asking me if she could keep the paper to show other students. As I accepted, and went back to my seat, came the congratulations from my classmates and friends, which as always filled me with joy. "That was in 2011, true? Yes, I saw your grades and teacher's remarks from that year. Unanimously recognized as a brilliant student and model for his co-learners." The psychologist's voice brought me back to reality. "But Ryan, a simple, treatable obsession like this can't be what pushed you to seek help in the fall of 2013, am I correct? What else did you experience during or before that period?" I was about to complain that he always asked me the same question, before coming back to reason. While it was true I always told him that most of my problems started after 2012, we had never really analyzed what could have caused this sudden change of behavior on my part. So I tried to make sense of it all. I was 19 today, much more able to understand what was done wrong by me or external parties. But the many years since those times fogged my memories. "I had a happy childhood Doc. Even before I started school. My family used to live in the North, Akkar, where my father was born, but then we moved to Naccache and I got accepted in my former school in Achrafieh. I never saw war, famine, death. My friends were amazing people. So I cannot conclude but one thing: all that happened is my fault, even if I never wanted it." "What did you do wrong, Ryan? I've seen you for less than a year, we never went this far back. Every time you come see me you blame someone old or new for insulting or cutting you out of their life. You say everyone hates you but that only happened recently!" "Low confidence and zero self esteem will do that to you Doc, and my levels of both have been really low for quite some time. Probably 8 years now, I haven't felt worthy of being loved by anyone. Not even my own family…" "Let me tell you what I felt the school year of 2013. I mostly still had many loyal friends and people who cared about me, but by the end of the year I found myself alone. I fell into a deep depression which lasts to this day. It didn't let me think clearly. All I could think of was that I was being abandoned by everyone. But it turned out to be the other way around. I developed severe social anxiety and just couldn't even dare to talk to anyone. Quickly my reputation changed from "Popular fun guy" to "Silent nerdy guy who never makes eye contact". I slowly started being avoided. People probably thought I was annoyed by social interaction and left me space, but the truth was I never liked anything more than having friends." "And that's when you sought help," stated Dr. K. matter-of-factly. "Yes, but I never truly had much hope of getting better. I visited so many psychologists before coming here. None of them helped. Most rejected me. One insulted me in front of her whole waiting room; calling me stupid, and probably autistic." "I hated my time with most of those charlatans. They addressed everything but the real problem. One told me to stop playing video games, as if that even mattered." "Even you, Dr. K, give me no hope. I am simply here today because I have nothing more productive to do." K. seemed to ignore me. He wrote something on his paper. Then he exclaimed: "That's all for today. I'll see you tomorrow in the morning. Sleep well!" He left the room. I was alone again in this tiny hospital room. White bland walls, a white bed, and a brown chair. I started remembering the year I had spent eight continuous months in this very same cramped room. Back then my social anxiety was at an extreme. I simply refused visitors. One friend from school came ro surprise me, and as he finished his visit I asked for a "No Visitors" sign to be posted on my door. Eight months. I missed so much of school. I don't know where my classmates thought I had disappeared to, and everytime I tried to think about it, the same thoughts went through my head: "Good riddance…" "I hope he doesn't come back…" So I tried to forget everyone and everything. I wasn't hospitalized on the grounds of insanity or something else. I was taking antidepressants before and they seemed to have no effect on me, which prompted a hospital stay that permitted doctors to monitor me around the clock. Unfortunately nothing worked. I spent 8 months in a tiny bed doing nothing. What should have been good for me ended up worsening both my mental health and social life. Some time before the stay was supposed to end, I was forced (forced!) to undergo about 30 sessions of ECT. For the uninitiated, ECT is basically electric shocks to the brain. You see it prominently in movies about mental asylums. As I was put to sleep beforehand, these sessions were painless. But I would have preferred to feel pain rather than ECT's major side effect: memory loss. I forgot so many people, animals and objects dear to my heart. I was reassured it would all come back, but to this day nothing did. I forgot the year I spent with the class one year younger than mine. I would feel so ashamed of myself when one of them would say "Hi" to me but I couldn't remember their name. Some had come to my birthday, and I had forgotten even that. Only the pictures seemed to help. I don't remember why I was discharged after those 8 months. The most probable thing to have happened is that the doctors noticed I was getting better, but I was probably acting. I absolutely could not stay a day longer. However, if I had truly gotten better, why did I get readmitted only a short while later? By force, too. I still remember. It traumatized me. Getting grabbed by multiple older and bulkier men. "We're doing this to save you", they said. I felt cornered like an animal in a slaughterhouse. My self-defence instinct kicked in, and my rage was insufferable. An unwinnable, one-sided brawl started. Many, including me, bleeded, but my adrenaline dulled the agony. The fight only halted when I heard a crack. The pain I felt when the security guards broke one of my ribs was insurmountable. I kneeled, then fell over. That was their opportunity to inject me with a tranquilizer which left me defenseless. I could only watch as I was transported to my room, and accepted the fact I would still be prisoner for a long while, not only in this infernal place, but also staring at my own miserable perception of life.

submitted by /u/RyanMakhoul [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/30kYKwi

It's finally 2020.

I am officially 30, and it's finally 1st January 2020.

And how about a summary of a whole decade? 2009-2019? From when I was 20 to 30?

2009 : Age 20

I was still studying. I kept shit to myself. Played stupid games on computers. Studied English major which was also stupid. Didn't socialize with anyone and didn't talk to my housemates. I don't even know their names. Had a small group of friends. 5 people. More like there were 3 of us initially but another 2 started being close with us after a group project.

Dated i think. Went on blind dates. Horrible.

2010 : Age 21

Still in University. Nothing changed. I think this was when I was involved with theaters called the Pearl. Only did props but I think I barely contributed shit.

I think this was also when I actively went for a driving license test near my university and training after failing for 2 times (after spending so much money!) at my hometown. I fucking passed, and I remember being so fucking happy and relieved! I barely passed tho, I think the officer liked me because I asked him about his sunglasses.

Oh and.... I remember I was heavily involved with Kim from my dark times, by being a person called chipsmore. Eduardo. Let's not talk about that.

2011 : Age 22

Went for my internship as an English teacher at a vocational high school. Was also a warden for the boys dormitory there. Had memories in checking everyone's attendance, and do spot-check and found them hiding their radios and cellphones. So much memories. From students punching each other in my class, students not respecting me, me crying in class and after class because I was so fucking angry, and losing my voice (YES I LOST MY FULL VOICE) because I yelled too often, because the students were too noisy and not listening to me. Was also involved with English day, training kids with other teachers to present choir. I remembered our lecturer who was in charge of me and my colleagues for the internship is this military guy. Good looking but stern.

I also drove my dad's car during the internship and was the only person among my colleagues who has a car, which made me the target for the rest of my colleagues to use for grocery shopping and going out to eat. I remember feeling super fucking nervous because I just got a license and I don't have experience in driving yet so it was nerve racking to be forced to drive everywhere by my colleagues.

Was also involved in a fight between two other interns, one of it was my colleague and the other was an intern from another school. They talk shit about each other and somehow both of them trusted me to keep their secrets.

I had a crush with this other intern as well from another school because she looked like my ex. My colleagues found out and pushed me to talk to her. One day, my roommate (the intern from another school, and friends with my crush) left his phone while in the shower. I snuck in the texts and read them and I saw the texts from my crush scolding him not to associate her with me anymore because she doesn't like me. Man. Was crushed. But I brush it off.

Finished my fucking thesis too!! I was ridiculed and criticised so much when presenting my data and thesis to my lecturer while doing the internship and I was so fed up, I just need to get it over with. When the lecturer finally accepted my thesis, I got out of the office and yelled and danced happily!! You know that feeling when you're pumped with adrenaline, just feeling super pumped.

This was also the year where I got my first job as an English mentor for kids. God. What a fucking nightmare dealing with kids. I remembered having a serious headache from all the stress and shock on my first day. I hated the job. I hated kids. I fucking hated how they monitor classes with a camera. And I hated my colleagues too. There was an incident where they played secret santa and I left my gift in a drawer for this other guy. Which apparently was a big deal and they keep saying out loud enough so I can hear it, wondering 'who' was it who was rude enough to go inside someone's office and open people's drawers. The fuck. I didn't even steal anything. All I did was leaving the gift in the drawer as a surprise.

I also dragged Kim, yes the guy from my dark times, (he doesn't know I was also Eduardo) as my housemate back then. It was fine at first, but I got super mad when I found out he brought back a girl home and fuck her on the first date, on the bed I let him borrow. I scolded him like HELL. He stopped talking with me afterwards. We had a cold war.

I remember feeling super stressed in that house too. Homesick constantly that I cried alone in my room. I always don't have enough money to support myself, pay rent and my dad's car. I always have to borrow money from my mom. I tried asking my boss at the time if there's possibility of salary increase in the future but unfortunately not. I resigned and gave 1 months notice. But the stupid hoe kick me out right then and there, told me my last day was that day itself and I need to pack up. It was horrible.

2012 : Age 23

With the help of my uncle, I got a job as a project secretary. He had his own computer supplier company and I was involved in this project where the company supplies computers to the national post offices through the entire country. The project was terrible. I witnessed how dark the corporate world is, where people lobby, bribe, pay money to win projects from the government. Pay prostitutes. Alcohols. Night clubs, just to satisfy the client so that they could win that project. I remember the client was a super fat fuck too, and my project manager was a bitch. She forced me and another colleague to fake our signatures on papers, to indicate that 'as in' the post office has received the computers we supplied, when the fact is it's all fake documents. I told my family about this and my dad was furious because it could get me to jail, because these documents will be audited. He went to my office to meet my workaholic bitch boss personally. After that, everyone alienated me and stopped talking to me. I decided to quit only after a month working there.

Then comes my dark ages. I was jobless from February - October, I think. 9 fucking months of doing nothing. I didn't wanna do anything except eat and sleep and play games. I think I was depressed. Felt like a loser. My family didn't interrupt. They let me be. But this was also when I started going back to my, let's call it, dark times. I met someone online again. And I fell head over heels over this person. I never obsessively loved anyone in my entire life, drunk with love, than with this person. But too much love was destructive. The person withdrew from me from being suffocated and it ended there.

In November, I don't know what happened but I started picking up the pace and looked for jobs again. I found a job and nailed the interview because I told them my experience of quitting my job when I found out the company faked documents for a project. They loved my honesty and they're looking for an honest person to manage their distributor center since there's cash involved. A lovely couple.

But! This was also a weird experience. I didnt realize it at first. The husband kept doing all this motivational talks and I helped of course with the operation. He kept talking about getting rich and being part of his organization and having dreams. He sells this product to people and ask them to join his organization as a member and buy more products. I never liked how the operation was. It was too cheesy and how you gain success and money is to force people to sign up and buy your products monthly and recruit more and more members. Don't get me wrong, the couple were sweet and honest. But I didn't like what they were doing.

2013 : Age 24

Shit just got worse for the job. Well not like BAD bad. But before that, I'll fill you on something else.

I started opening up and dating again. Can't remember how we met, I think it was online. First of all I dated this girl who worked at a hotel. I was super impressed with her success because she told me she manages 2 hotels and she's aggressive when it comes to career. But she was an asshole. Seriously. I didn't see it back then because I was blinded by love but she never loved me. When I pick her up, she asked me to pick her up at someplace further away from the restaurant she was at, because she was too embarrassed to have her friends there see her with me. Then she kept a guys photo, I started to think she lied to me about being single and that she actually has another boyfriend. She called me honey but one day she accidentally called me by a different name. She even use a photo of her with another guy as a profile picture, and she said it was her ex. Other than that, she was the first human that forced me into physical sex. And I did it because I loved her. What an idiot. She forced me to do anal. And forced me to satisfy her. But she never satisfied me. Even forced me to lick her pussy till she cums. Felt used tho.

After that, I dated this other girl. A childish one. Said she was single. But never once did she use her money to treat me when dating. She was a slobbery person when kissing, she drools A LOT. I remember feeling icky whenever we french kissed because of how much drool she had in my mouth. She was also the one who forced me into having sex too. More like oral. But instead of satisfying her, she was the one who gave me blowjobs and made me cum a few times, at least that was nice. But then drama happened. Her ex bf came looking for me and asked to meet. Then begged me to leave her because he still loves her. I found out from the ex bf that she was abusive and using him for money, and it didn't help that he was an orphan with no money. I kept telling him to ditch this girl, but he refused. I broke up with her after that and found out that the two got back together. And even married now! Like what an idiot.

Okay so back to my job. So later on, the couple told me that they have to shut down the center in July, which means I won't have a job. The problem was that their competitor bought so many products by bulk and them sell it off to supermarkets at a cheap price that it hurts their business, because people stop buying their products and joining their organization because they could get a cheaper price at a supermarket. So the couple decide to quit and join a competitor market instead. A market they have been telling people NOT to buy all these time. I was fine with it. But then only I realised that... Well.. IT WAS ACTUALLY AN MLM COMPANY I HAVE BEEN WORKING FOR ALL ALONG.

I was... An absolute idiot. So naive.

So after that, I was jobless again for 3 months. In October, I nailed an interview to become a call center agent for an international bank just because I told the interviewer that my hobby is to sew things. She was impressed because I could sew things and I have a unique hobby.

I remember thinking, hey I'll just work there for a while and it would be so cool because I get access to all these customer data for banking and ther s security cameras everywhere that I have to watch for.

But it was good. This job is the first job that got me a really stable finance and good career prospect.

2014 : Age 25

Still worked as a call center agent. But I was promoted to premier executive, helping VIP customers instead. It was challenging, dealing with heck of a lot of money, helping them with time deposits, their loans, credit cards. My English got better here, despite hating the job that needs me to talk constantly.

Here is where I know this loudmouth guy who was seriously two faced. He was an extrovert and basically forced me into a friendship with him at first we were close. But the sooner I get to know him, the more I don't like him. He could be so nice and friendly to you and talk the ugliest shit about you behind your back the second you turn your back on him. So ugly. He also dates like tons of girls behind his steady girlfriends back. Even had oral sex and shit with these girls. Bragged to me about how rich these girls are and how all of them are crazy over him. He was also dating this one girl from our department this one time, while cheating on his gf of course, and I drove them to a park and fell asleep at night in the car while the two of them were at the back. After we got home, he told me he had a blowjob from her at the back seat of my car while I was asleep. What??

Then this guy started moving to sales team, and I stopped talking with him afterwards. I think he got the point too and stop talking to me. I never had anymore friends after that because I was more comfortable being alone.

2015 : Age 26

This was the year when I bought my first car that still use to this day, thanks to Liam for forcing me. My blue car I call Zeff. I didn't think a car was a good idea because it would hurt my finance and I didn't need a car because I travel by bus to work. But he forced me, telling me that I need this because when else do I have a car then? Said that I'm getting older and I need like... A car? But I fell for it because the car colour was nice.

Work wise, not much happened. I remember stepping out of my comfort zone and woke a Pikachu hoodie, feeling extremely anxious that people will look at me funny. Turns out that they all liked it and started calling me Pikachu because of it. Was even known in the office because of the Pikachu hoodie.

And then yes, dark times. I started gotten involved again with another guy, again, because he was depressed and I tried to help. ended up him falling hard for me. He was an orphan and went through so much shit. I even helped him get a job at my office. He didn't know I was a guy. I told him I work there but I don't wanna meet him. But I keep leaving gifts and stuff for him in his locker as a surprise. Sigh.

This was also the year I started dating my last ex. An asshole too. Long story short this girl just abandoned my needs. I don't even feel like we were a couple. It felt more like friends. We never even touch or kissed because she said she fucked her ex last time and she felt horrible and she doesn't want to do it again. She was only a part time lecturer, had not much money. No car. But loved the hell out of computers. I tried to show interest in computers and learn from her but I just couldn't. Because it's notu thing. Always have to travel to her constantly and she lives super far away, like in a different state. Not much memorable things with her apart from feeling that I hated how 'casual' this all feels with her.

Also, she once showed me that she kept a box filled with lovey dovey memories between her and her ex. I remembered crying like crazy in the car in front of her because I was so angry and upset to find out that she did INDEED had this 'soft' side of her which I believe wanted so badly. She still had no mercy. She was cold and told me that unfortunately she has grown cold since then. Fuck off with that bitch.

2016 : Age 27

This was the year when I joined night shift and LOVED it. Night shift for a call center was heaven. Not much falls. We could even sleep sometimes. Not busy like in the morning. I ended up finishing so many novels and books because I had so much free time at work to read than do my job. I remembered reading TONS of books during night shift.

Was also dating the bitch still. Yes was also dating the 'guy' still too.

This was also when I resigned. I resigned in November and my night shift colleagues were so nice to me. I joined another company because my extroverted 'ex-friend' reached out to me about this opportunity to become a recruiter. I thought it was an interesting job prospect. Went for the interview and didn't even do my best. I did what I could. Ended up getting the job

Which led me to make another big change in my life.

The work is in the city, and I start the new job in December. So end of November, me and my brother scouted around for a rent house and we found one. We went through the moving process and shit. All the way in the city.

December, I started the new job. Fuck I was super surprised how this new job ended up like. I became a recruiter, contacting candidates from USA for job opportunities. My first team handled a giant chemical company as a client. It was super hard and there wasn't that much training. The training and introduction was fucked up and bad. Not to mention that the whole fucking operation were like sales. It's all based on numbers. How many candidates you contacted? How many resumes reviewed? How many people applied for the job? If your number is low, you get scolded. Just like in sales. You know how much I HATE talking to people. I fucking hate talking, and now I have to sell jobs? It's a sales job! And my ex friend was not honest with me about what the whole job was like. All he wanted was the referral money once he got me in. I remember crying every single day in my first and second month because I was super stressed, feeling incapable of shit and promised myself I'm gonna quit and find another job.

Also, in December, I remember that it was my birthday and I bought a ticket for a midnight show, only to find out that it was actually for 12pm the next day, not 12am. I felt so bad because it means she had to stay a night in the city. I asked her to sleep in my house and sleep on the couch but she refused and insisted she stayed at a cyber cafe. Then she asked me if we can kiss. That was weird. So I did. But I tried french kissing which she didn't appreciate. But nonetheless she was happy af that she got a kiss from me. But me? I didn't think it was a big deal. I didn't even love her. She wanted one so I gave one. That's all.

2017 : Age 28

In January, I got my bitch ex recruited in my company because I pitied her that she lost her job. She finally got that job and started in january. But shit went down. I thought when we are working in the same company, it means we will be closer. But no. Turns out she felt suffocated that I need to see her and go out with her every single day to the point that she stop talking with me and ignored me the entire week. In February, Valentine's day, I went and find her at her flat house. I was surprised to find that she had a guy as housemates when she refused to sleep in my house a month back with an excuse that it's not proper for a guy and girl to sleep in one house. I confronted her with this and I gave her the option whether we fix this or break up, because I don't wanna waste my time if she keep acting this way. She proceed with break up. Then I told her "you know what? I never loved you anyway".

Oooooh apparently that fucked her up SOOO bad.

Because she kept grudges with me untill now, because apparently she had genuinely loved me? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

for that entire fucking year, she was still working with the company I was in and I had to bear living the rest of my year ignoring the fucker.

Okay there's that. That's the last ex.

Work? Actually I got better at my job for some reason. I joined another team who makes phone interviews for candidates for a call center job. It was literally DOZENS Of them and I worked so fucking hard calling and calling, it felt like a call center job again. But on a positive note, my teammate was this one girl who just got out of a break up. She was mentally unstable and told me her story. And I had to cover most of her work because of her long break recovering from her tooth surgery as well as breaking down in the toilet, crying because of the break up.

She appreciated me so much and felt like she could never repay me for sticking my neck out for her, covering her ass for the client and team that she even contacted me to this day, thinking of me as a good friend.

2018 : Age 29

Hallelujah! In January, my fucking ex resigned. Lol. Joined another company.

I don't think I have much happening this year apart from going to work and back home. My work gets better. This year is when I join a new team, managing a client who recruits aviation engineers. It was great. Great team mates too.

However I started applying other jobs too I think by this year. And someone from an IT company found me. My new boss/colleague now. Best person I've ever known. Called me for an interview and believe it or not, he was the first person I've seen who actually looked through my certificates in my files during the interview. At first the job was for a recruiter position. IT recruitment. I don't have experience in IT at all but I gave it a shot anyways. To my surprise, he told me that actually he has another job for me. An HR admin. He was worried that I wouldn't like it. But WHAT THE FUCK NO I LOVE THAT JOB!

I have been searching for YEARS for a job that doesn't require me to talk to people AND pay good money. All admin jobs paid like shit. And you need experience for those too. I didn't have jack shit.

And this guy, he offered me the job of my dreams, which pays a higher salary. OF COURSE I WOULD TAKE IT! plus it's right next to the train station which was super fucking convenient. I quit my recruiter job in December and joined the new company next year.

I was later told by him that the reason he chose me was not because of my experience, but I spoke good English and my certificate shows that I'm not the kind who would take medical leaves often lol.

Oh

I still date the depressed guy. As a new 'person'. I fucking hate myself I can't get out of this habit.

2019 : Age 30

Okay so here is what happened in 2019. A good fucking year I tell you.

Got a new job in January, a dream job where I no longer need to speak to people. But deal with HR admin stuff.

Didn't date anyone. Single as fuck.

Moved out of my rent house. Bought my first home with the help of my dad and Liam.

Discovered my love in RDR2 and got back into video games. Bought PS4 and PS3.

Got involved in a financial investment.

More financially stable.

By end of 2019, my house is finally fully furnished. Liam said he likes how I decorate my house as it looks modern style. Thanks bro.

My role changed in July, an even better role where I manage HR operating system. Still needs to work on it and have more training but I'm getting there, and getting the hang of it.

No friends. Didn't make any. Fine with being alone.

Gained more weight tho.

I don't think I travelled anywhere this year. Too much money spent on the house and maintenance.

My brother moved in with me again and agreed to pay 300 per month maintenance for the house.

Started experimenting with different looks when going out.

Changed my perception in religion.