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coraxaviary · 3 years

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An Essay on POC and Fics

[ORIGINALLY A WRITER ASK GAME]: Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

(AKA me explaining in long-form why June is white, complete with some drama and a lot of rambling. Do not feel obligated to read).

I’ve never talked about this extensively, but I want to discuss ethnic minority OFCs in fics. Specifically, SiA. I originally was going to make June partially nonwhite. And I ran into problems.

I really found myself worrying about relatability. If a character is POC, I thought it would ruin immersion for people who are looking for an OFC fic to lose themselves in. It’s no secret that I’m Asian-American, and I was originally all for making the character part Asian. It’s ironic that I was worried about immersion when outside of fic spaces, I argue unendingly for Asians to be cast as leads and stereotype-defying roles. Because any POC is also just a person who can be as “relatable” as any white character, theoretically. I feel a little hypocritical, but at the same time it’s true.

When I watched The Walking Dead, Glenn was my absolute favorite. Because he was Korean-American. And for the first time, I watched a major (Asian!) character in a show become hailed as a man defined not by his race, but for his achievements and his personality. If Glenn was white, he still would’ve been one of my favorites. But seeing Asians portrayed as... normal people shouldn’t be this rare. However, it is, at least in mainstream America.

The issue with creating POC characters is racism. That’s always the issue, isn’t it? Racism has been ingrained into every system and cultural dynamic, globally. The remnants of colonialism are alive and well, and the treatment of POC people, generally, is far from sterling.

Thus it became almost impossible for me to justify creating an Asian-American (or, for that matter, any other POC) OFC. They would be defined by race, because back in the 40s, any American ethnic minority had no choice but to be characterized by their appearance. It still happens today. And I wanted the focus to be on humanity, war, bonds, and gender. Not race, because race is unpleasant to talk about. It wouldn’t be fun for me to be researching 1940s race discrimination to create a character who must overcome that too. I’m not looking to undergo an identity crisis in the pursuit of a fic aimed at social justice. I just want to write something fun.

Fic is created, many times, by minority groups, including POC. However, like any institution, it’s white-centric. And I don’t fault it for that. Most media in the mainstream is white-centric and thus it makes perfect sense for the works created based on the material to be also that way. But I felt like I was betraying myself by writing fic and not taking a chance to diversify the narrative.

Because if a significant part of my irl advocacy is attempting to champion race diversity, and I don’t take that chance in the fandom space, am I a hypocrite?

The fault of this culture, and this struggle, is not with me. It’s with the centuries and ages of oppression and typecasting and discrimination in the pages of world history. It’s unavoidable.

However, to be kind of frank, it sucks to have to consider these things when all I wanna do is write a self-indulgent narrative about WWII boyfriends. I want to just be myself and imagine a fun time with my favorite characters. But I know, deep down, that anyone who is not white would not have been accepted into the group. I decided to just circumvent all these problems by writing a white character.

And it’s not true to the narrative if I wrote a POC OFC and then bent all the other characters OOC and forced them to be non-problematic. Because I know, regrettably, that the norm back then (and still in some areas) is casual racism. It was only 1948 when the American Army officially desegregated. You can watch The Pacific for yourself and find out what the Americans called Japanese people. The racial slurs, I’ll admit, made me uncomfortable despite how much I love the series. Army culture in the 40s towards a woman who is also a racial minority would have been egregious. And that’s not fun to write about in a fic.

I can’t not think about race -- not forever, at least. I don’t have that luxury. I do acknowledge that I, as an Asian-Amerian, benefit from a white-centric culture that has designated us (condescendingly) as a “model minority” and as an exception race. Systemic racism is less impactful towards Asians. This is, however, not to discount the terrible history of Asian-American discrimination that is not immediately apparent (I have been told that not everyone is educated of the existence of the Japanese-American internment or other examples of irrefutable discrimination). There is history in my family of experiencing both ends of the Asian-American experience: as a “model” and also discriminated against as a perceived threat (or a scapegoat, if you will, for the Vietnam war and other matters).

I went through a phase (as many American POC do) of wanting to be white when I was very young. I don’t know exactly why. Is it because the American identity is so deeply rooted in the striking visual of the white settler, despite the deep history of the continent in indigenous people? Is it because diversity is (or was) not common in the mainstream -- when we didn’t have people like Glenn at the forefront of media representation but instead had stereotyped caricatures like Mr. Yunioshi? I didn’t know what it meant to be beautiful back then unless the portrait was of caucasian features. I have a distinct memory of complaining to my mother when I was about five or six years old that I didn’t like my black hair, and I think my way of thinking unconsciously had to do more with my Asian heritage than the actual color. I cannot tell you honestly what specifically caused this type of thinking, but it’s more widespread than you’d think among POC children.

So this is why I am a POC and yet I choose to write a white protagonist. Historical fiction always contains complexities: decisions that must be made with the wisest discernment that I don’t feel like I can always make. History is a burden upon us all. The present will never be free of the past, and it’s our job as writers to navigate the gray patches between interpretation and accurate portrayal. Sometimes it seems like an insurmountable task, and sometimes it’s as if I can forget about my POC-ness altogether and lose myself in my OFC without thinking about heritage or discrimination.

But here we are, writing fanfiction of WWII heroes who come from a different time and a different era.

It had to have felt different back then, don’t you think? When I think of the forties, I think of patriotism and B-24s and victory; I think of a feeling of hope tinged with despair. I think of radios and dance halls and tragic heroes and the glory of soldiers dropping from the sky, backlit like angels and tasked with democracy and hope and things that are right and true. I think of a time where Americans united for good.

But this is a glamorized version of history. It’s the enjoyable version, we all know. And it genuinely consisted partially of these snippets of greatness, but there was a larger part that lay, vast, underneath the golden panorama that sometimes we forget about. And I think the WWII fic-writing community is keenly conscious of this aspect. I see it in the writing that we all so lovingly produce: a lot of us understand, at least on a surface level, that war is not glamorous and that the times were still as turbulent as they are today.

It’s something we all must grapple with.

And this, in a slightly dramatic fashion, is my personal conflict of being a person of color, and choosing to write a white character for the sake of joy and fun.

Thank you for reading if you got to the end! I love you all :)

(Partially inspired by this post by @rhovanian, but mostly my own ruminations based on the brief time I have existed on this earth).

#not writing #SiA #literally an essay idk

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hooklineandpodcast · 4 years

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Podcatch of the Week

[A radio floating in various debris in space including a tooth brush, spoon,, can, and plant, behind the radio is a star, presumably Wolf 359]

Wolf 359 - By Gabriel Urbina, Produced by Gabriel Urbina and Zack Valenti

The Hook:

Life's not easy for Doug Eiffel, the communications officer for the U.S.S. Hephaestus Research Station, currently on Day 448 of its orbit around red dwarf star Wolf 359. He's stuck on a scientific survey mission of indeterminate length, 7.8 light years from Earth. His only company on board the station are stern mission chief Minkowski, insane science officer Hilbert, and Hephaestus Station's sentient, often malfunctioning operating system HERA. He doesn't have much to do for his job other than monitoring static and intercepting the occasional decades-old radio broadcast from Earth, so he spends most of his time creating extensive audio logs about the ordinary, day-to-day happenings within the station. But the Hephaestus is an odd place, and life in extremely isolated, zero gravity conditions has a way of doing funny things to people's minds. Even the simplest of tasks can turn into a gargantuan struggle, and the most ordinary-seeming things have a way of turning into anything but that. Wolf 359 is a radio drama in the tradition of Golden Age of Radio shows like Escape! and Suspense. Take one part space adventure, add one part character drama, mix in one part absurdist sitcom, and you get Wolf 359. - Their Website

Favourite Line:

MINKOWSKI: Eiffel, I know your relationship with the English language is strictly casual, but you... I... Allow me to tell you what's NOT FINE: Every piece of machinery being in pieces, large sections of the floor, walls, and ceiling being detached, and, oh yes, tiny detail, both of you being naked. Honestly, I hope that something has gone horribly wrong, because the alternative that presents itself is too horrifying to consider. - Episode 20, Paranoia Game

Thoughts: I feel like Wolf 359 should go down as a THE classic of modern sci-fi podcasts. The story grows with more and more stakes each season. The plot and mystery of why they’re out there and what’s going on develops well, and the characters really have gigantic growth, even the antagonists. It starts out as a comedy podcast, but it grows and it will break your heart in the best possible way while making you laugh. It’s complete and extremely bingeable. For me it was a big eye opener of what modern podcasts are like.

Patreon: Yes, but as the production is finished it’s not active.

LGBTQA+ Characters: Yes, in later seasons.

Transcript Available: Yes, they have recording scripts and there are also fan transcripts available as well.

If you liked: The Adventure Zone Balance, the Magnus Archives, The Strange Case of the Starship Iris, Stella Firma, The Orphans, or Archives 81 you might like Wolf 359.

Podcast Info: Their website is wolf359.fm

Enjoying Wolf 359? Please reblog and spread the word. Podcasts are usually passion projects and need the support of their listeners to get the word out. Catch you next week!

#wolf 359 #podcatch of the week #podcasts #podcast rec #transcripts available #lgbtqa character #sci-fi podcast

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auroraayyye · 4 years

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SKAM: An analysis

Part 3

Tonight i’m analysing one of my personal favourites, a beauty among the remakes. It is none other than...

SKAM Italia (The one that rose from the dead)

Likes:

This is probably the most basic thing but italian is such a beautiful language. Sometimes i forget to put on subtitles to understand what they’re actually saying.

I like Eva’s red hair

All the curly curlssss

Norwegian and Italian culture is very different. So it was fun to see which major changes had to be made to make the series Italian in a cultural way.

I personally find Martino’s season to be one of the most interesting interpretations of the «Isak-season».

Many international viewers did react to the lack of parents in the original series. Which is true! In Norway youth tend to become independent from an early age and often move away from their parents as early as 15. That doesn’t mean that parents are not a part of their life at all, but ofcourse less than if the youth was living at home. Therefore it was very nice to see how SKAM Italia changed that and the role especially Martinos mother played in his season, which was not as physically present in the original.

I also liked that they switched out the bus with a radio station! This is not something that’s regular in my country, so it added this foreign, interesting background that mixed up the story slightly.

I think this remake is very beautiful. The cinematogrophy really gives me an «italian vibe» and a certain beauty to scenes i haven’t necessarily paid as much attention to in other versions.

The boys in this remake are supreme. They’re all really funny and supportive, and they’re probably one of my favourite remakes of the boys.

I think Eva og Martino’s friendship is very well displayed in this one, including the drama from Eva’s season. I really think putting those seasons right after eachother, not with a season between, really helped that storyline. I think Eva, Isak, Noora, Sana, is a much more natural progression that the original one.

The struggle of homophobia and discrimination based on that was a much clearer and concrete topic in this version. Which Martino also speaks about in the «speach» at the end of his season.

I like the Filippo/Elia thing that the fandom really pushed on with. It was fun and sweet. Generally a very nice fandom.

The scenes with the boys at the cabin in season 2. They’re all great, honestly the best part of the season.

Based on the subtitles i could find many of the dialogues are very good and actually discuss the topic. Some remakes are guilty of just never talking about the shit that happens, but Italia isn’t one of them!

First off I am not Italian myself, but through my experiences and research about Italian culture I think i can say that some of the topics from the series are definitely even more taboo than they were in Norway. I appreciate that courage to make a series about topics such as homosexuality and Islam, in a culture where it isn’t as easy as in my own. I hope that doesn’t sound arrogant and that you understand what I mean. OG SKAM was a brave show, although in a very liberal country.

Dislikes:

The inavailability. Some versions have geoblock and some don’t. I respect both solutions. But when TIMvision was asking people to pay for that content alone, it got a bit frustrating. The SKAM concept has a very large international audience, and to shut not only them but also the national ones out was a bad move. I understand that the budget was low but I still don’t think that was the way to go. One did not «stumble upon» SKAM Italia, you searched for it, badly.

The cancellation and The Netflix take over. Don’t get me wrong, i LOVE netflix for taking on SKAM Italia (which was very much thanks to engaged fans!!!) and giving it it’s fourth and final season, and making sure that the important Sana season was made. But there was a big gap between the third and fourth, which for me harmed the continuity. Also season four didn’t follow the original SKAM posting pattern, just dropping the entire season at once. All of this i really think cost them a lot of viewers, as it became less exciting to follow.

I’m gonna admit right now I have not seen the last season. It was just recently uploaded to Italian Netflix and there are much fewer accounts that are posting it online. For me Martino’s season stands out as the golden star of the show. Eva’s season was okay, and I feel Elounora’s season (although the rainscene was beautiful) was very predictable and less exciting. Might be an unpopular opinion, but that’s what I think.

You know I love Italian, but compared to my own language, my oh my are your words and sentences long. They’ll be talking for ages, and the english subtitles will consist of five words. Sounds beautiful though, it’s not really a complaint.

Favourite characters:

Martino Rametta. If you read through all of this it probably doesn’t come as a shock. It’s a very well written character and Federico Cesari performed it beautifully. I think it really portrays the loneliness, anger and frustration within the Isak-character, at the same time as Martino made it his own. Because it also shows all the love and will within the Isak-character, which are two different emotional weights that can be hard to balance, so kudos to the writers and actor. Building the character so well made sure that the «Martinico»-storyline didn’t take over the entire season. Additionally i also enjoyed his relationship with his mother, the boys and Eva.

Giovanni Garau. If Gio isn’t one of your favourite characters, did you even watch the series? He’s such a nice and trustworthy guy, and such a good friend. The coming out scene is almost better than the original. Although I love the fact that Jonas simply does not give a single frick is great and also a bit funny, it was nice to see a reinvention of the scene. It still wasn’t a «big deal» but you can still see that it meant something, in a greater deal than other remakes. You can tell that Gio finally understands and that he’s also relieved that Martino told him. And you can also tell how much it meant to Martino. Idk man, i just think that scene is beautiful. Gio was a good friend before that, and follows that up after that scene as well. There’s a reason that multiple remakes’ tumblrtags have at some point contained posts like «Fly in Gio Garau».

Filippo Sava. Fun twist to make him Elounora’s brother! Defintely played an important part in multiple seasons. He was a great Eskil, and I like him for many of the same reasons that I liked the original character. He’s caring, serious and funny, with slightly better timing than the norwegian one. He’s more of a natural part of the gang, and I like him. And the last episode of Martino’s season when he sees Niccolò, and just gives this thumbs up and «not bad» face to Martino, priceless.

Okay so that’s it for SKAM Italia, hopefully I will get to watching the fourth season sometime soon. If I were to give this one an award I would say it is the most beautiful remake and I think it is slightly more poetic and artistic than the rest. Let me know if you agree or disagree! Which one should I do next?

#skamverse #skam italia #skam it #skam #skamily #skam italy #martino rametta #martinico #trying not to crosstag too much #skam rekames #skam remakes #auroras skam analysis

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honeymoonjin · 5 years

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*now honeymoonjin

Chapter Two

genre: survival, angst, zombie outbreak!AU || word count: 1.7k || warnings: brief descriptions of explicit violence

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Nine excruciating hours. The sun begins to slip low over the horizon, though it's barely six pm. Yoongi had managed to fall asleep after a while, his body and mind exhausted from the stress of the panic attack and everything that had followed. You listen to him, the familiarity of his deep breaths keeping you grounded as you stare outside the window.

Things aren't so peaceful out there.

The large window overlooked the carpark, and from above you had seen everyone quickly grab their cars when those sirens were gong off. After a bit of a chaotic bottle-necking at the entrance, they soon were all gone, bar a few. Including Yoongi's car, which was on the far row, closest to the exit.

Over time, it had started with a distant wisp of smoke here and a scuffle there, but you counted the minutes and watched as it become overrun with people, feral and thrashing.

You made sure Yoongi didn't come close to the windows while he was still awake; the last thing you needed was another panic attack. And now, as he slept, you held sentry over the chaos outside.

There was one word that came to mind as you watched these rabid people, but you didn't let yourself think it. It sat on the tip of your tongue, a sickening term that made you wonder if you'd ever get out of here.

Around four-thirty, an old lady had slipped out of a tearoom across the road, locking up behind her. The same way everyone knew everyone in this town, you recognized Mrs. Moon, the deaf owner of the store. She had let you and your friends bundle up in front of the fire every winter after school when you were younger, even after closing. With a building dread, you covered your mouth and watched in a stunned silence as she turned and hobbled down the street, eyes locked into the depths of her purse as she fished around for her car keys. Around her, people you technically recognized surrounded her on all sides. Their clothes were torn, and most of them had dark stains around their mouths. You felt bile rise in your throat as the group of about eight to ten individuals fell in and pushed her to the ground, writhing in unison like one hive minded parasite.

After a few excruciating moments, they parted around her and pushed themselves up again. Mrs. Moon stood up too, though her body had been mauled, and her mouth was foaming. Like clockwork, she fell into step with the others, head rolling limply on her neck, eyes unseeing as they made their way slowly through the otherwise-empty street.

That hadn't been the last time you had seen someone fall victim to those hordes of animalistic people. You didn't want to think about the others.

Now, though, you were forced to acknowledge the gravity of your situation. Violent, murderous, sick humans were roaming the streets, and you and your fiancé were stuck in a room that wasn't even heated. You couldn't get out, and at this point you didn't even really want to. You just wanted to wake up from this nightmare.

"Mm, honey?'

You tear your gaze from the evening gloom outside, from the smears of blood on the parking lot that looked blue-black under the glow of the moon. "You awake?"

Yoongi grimaces and holds a hand to his temple. "God, I feel like my head's been in a blender." He pushes himself up in the armchair with a groan, grabbing at your jacket, which you had earlier thrown over him as a blanket. "Is there… Has anyone else called in on the radio?"

You shake your head silently.

He groans again, then gets up to join you. Before he can make it closer to the window, you dart over to pull him back to the armchair. "That's fine," he muses reluctantly, "I'm sure the authorities are just busy sorting out the situation. We might just have to hole up in here for the night and then tomorrow morning when the manager comes back in, he can let us out and we can go back home. He better get here early; I'm pretty sure I left the oven on."

You laugh before you can help it, though the jerking of your shoulders quickly becomes frantic as you start to sob. In an instant, Yoongi's arms are around you, tightly holding you to his chest. "I don't think we're getting out of here, Yoonie," you hiccup, "it's bad out there."

"Sh, sh, it's alright, okay? Maybe it's not looking so good outside, but we're safe in here. And we're together. That's the important thi-"

You jump in Yoongi's grasp with a shriek as a loud bang gets your attention. Yoongi's grip on you falters, then comes back with a vengeance. You unwrap his arms from you so that you can push him gently down onto the armchair and stand protectively in front of him, watching dark shadows move behind the frosted glass of the office door. "Hey!" you yell out, seeing the humanoid shapes freeze. "Who are you? Are you coming to get us out of here?" Yoongi's fingers curl around your wrist. You can feel them trembling.

You hear muffled murmuring before one calls out, "yeah!"

You wait expectantly, but no further explanation comes. "Uh, okay, thank you? Can you open the door? We're locked in."

Yoongi's hand tightens and you feel the pressure of his head pressing into the small of your back. "Y/n," he mumbles shakily. "I don't like this."

You turn on your side so that his face can press into your stomach instead, and you hold him close. From outside the door, there's more conferring amongst the two shapes. "Okay!" one cheerily replies. "We have a swipey-swipey! You guys promise you're not zombies?"

Yoongi shudders, and you honestly can't blame him. That word. It makes it seem like you're in a horror movie, that this situation is far more dire that you would ever imagine it could be. "We aren't sick, I promise! We've been locked in here since before it even started."

"…okay," a different voice says, this one calmer and lower-pitched than the other. "We're going to open it for you, alright? We're not sick either."

Their words do a little to comfort you, but your heart is still thumping frantically in your chest as you hear a beep, and watch the handle of the door turn to reveal two tall men, both looking younger than you and Yoongi.

The first one to enter has golden brown hair and tanned skin. He calmly steps inside, hands in the air, checking behind him as the other follows. Although his companion is taller and seems more athletically-built, his long black locks cover a baby-ish face, alight with excitement.

Yoongi goes lax, head lifting up and arms slipping away from you. "You two?"

A cheer in unison. "Yoongi-hyung!"

"Man, what are the chances?" Jungkook asks rhetorically as he practically skips down the stairs. "Stuck in a mall during a zombie apocalypse with my best friend and our hot babysitter. All we need are some freeze-frames and an ending song and we could win best k-drama!"

Taehyung brings up the rear, and you get a strange feeling of authority from him although he's younger than both you and your fiancé. "Don't stress," he reassures Yoongi, who's been skittishly glancing around every corner and jumping at every noise, "we've cleared out the area. There aren't any of those infected people inside."

"Come on, hyungie," Jungkook begs, not even turning to face him as he leads the pack, "call them zombies! At this rate, if I went ahead and sucked your blood, you wouldn't even call me a vampire, you'd just call me 'thirsty and confused'."

You and Yoongi walk between the two friends hand-in-hand, the banter between the two easing some of the anxiety in your heart. At least the two of you weren't alone anymore.

"Vampires aren't real, Koo-koo, don't be silly."

"Who knows what other secrets the government are keeping from us? Until this morning, you thought zombies weren't real."

"Wait," Yoongi intervenes, voice still trembling though his face isn't as pale as it was before, "you said there aren't any sick people in here. Did you two manage to secure the entire mall yourselves? How can you be sure-"

"Chillax, Yoongi-hyung," Jungkook jokes, throwing a cheeky grin over his shoulder, "we never said we did it by ourselves. A bunch of us have set up camp upstairs in the food court. Hyungie and I were just finishing up scouting the perimeter like total action heroes."

A thought strikes you. "Hey, Yoonie, they mentioned 'babysitter'. Were these the Terrible Two you told me about ages ago?"

Yoongi laughs, and it gives you a spike of happiness to see a smile on his face again, albeit briefly. "Yeah, this is them. I'm surprised Jungkook's mom ever let me look after them again once they convinced me to take them to a nightclub that one time."

"My mom totally had the hots for you, that's why," Jungkook explains, turning onto a frozen escalator and walking up it. "I'm pretty sure almost everyone had a crush on you back then."

You turn to Yoongi and grin at him. "Hot babysitter, huh? But you did look pretty different when you were younger."

Taehyung's voice is soft as it comes from behind you. "You look good, hyung… Are you two together? Sorry, we haven't been properly introduced."

Yoongi doesn't catch the sullen flicker in Taehyung's eyes as he holds up your intertwined hands, showing off the engagement ring, but you do. "This is my beautiful fiancé, Y/n."

Jungkook laughs and wolf whistles, while Taehyung gives his congratulations. Once you make it to the top of the unmoving escalator, you see two men sitting silently at a large round table. Their body language is startlingly different. While one hunches over, jiggling his foot nervously and drumming his fingers on the table, the other sits perfectly still, leaned back in his chair with his legs spread wide in a casual stance.

They both glance up when you arrive. You recognize the face of one of them.

Jungkook's bouncy energy seems to dissipate as the four of you approach. "Guys, this is Yoongi and Y/n, Yoongi and Y/n, this is Namjoon from the record store and, uh, Jimin? Jimin."

---

TAGLIST

send me a message or an ask to me added to my taglist!

unable to tag a couple, please make sure you’re visible by search in your settings, I think it affects my ability to tag you.

@singulari-taes @futuremrsmin @imshielamultifandom @goldengguky @fit-likexaxdaydream

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #bts x reader au #yoongi x reader fanfic #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #namjoon #outbreak

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porrimalovesstories · 4 years

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A Love Story

dedicated to: @taylorswift, @taylors-flutterby @cruelafterglow and @swiftonic13

I hope you like the stories.

I know the birthday is tomorrow. But hey, it is nice to have it ready, isn’t it?

Beta readers: @maybeillride and @taylors-flutterby

His songs: @taylorwift “So It Goes”, “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” “Enchanted” and the Beatles, “Old Brown Shoes”

PART I: HIS STORY

He was simply standing there, watching her. Had he been able to, he would not have breathed. He was afraid that she would notice his presence, and disturb her process of thinking. She could have been writing a masterpiece, a record breaking song and because of him, she could never finish it. He would never forgive himself if that ever happened.

He had seen the similar image two months ago. Only at that time, she had been standing in front of a a display case contained with something blue; if he recalled correctly, it was a glass flask with a shape of a mouse and a snake.

Now, she was sitting at the piano. Instead of blue, the light that hit her face was pale yellow, coming from the lamp table on her left side. She did not wear any make up and her no longer bleached hair was tied to the back.

Her face had been haunting him since that night, coming to his dreams uninvited, making him unable to think straight every time he heard her name.

Had she not been the one who conquered music charts for ages, it would have been easier.

But how to forget somebody, whose face, voice and name is the talk of the town? Everywhere you go, she is there. At the cinemas, in the radio, television, newspaper.... even internet.

He scoffed. Especially the internet. He stopped reading the comments after he had read somebody call her a liar for the tenth time. This is not the way to get to know her, he thought at that time. If he ever had a chance to get to know her. If he actually did, he wanted to start with a clean slate.

A fool's dream, he told himself many times. A dream that had been shattered by images of her and her new boyfriend, which were plastered all over the place.

Suddenly she turned around. She must have heard his scoffing. “Oh, sorry. I didn't wake you up, did I?”

He cleared his throat. That pale face gave him a smile. He wished she had not done that. That smile was forced. It made her face look eerie. “No, you didn't. I have to wake up early. My flight to London is in about... oh,” he checked his watch. “Four hours.” Which he hoped it was not.

“Oh. I will be the only one that stays, then.”

“Yeah, I wish I could stay longer,” he sighed. He really did. “But I have nothing else to do here. And I kinda miss my dog.”

“You're a dog person.”

Why does it sound like it is a crime, he wondered. “Yeah....”

“I am more like a cat person.”

“My father made a documentary about Bastet once....”

“No way!” her eyes widened.

“Not exactly about Bastet, it was more about The Cult of Ra....,”

“Oh, I think I saw that movie. Isn't it the one with that Oxford Egyptology Professor … what was his name again? Oh, I would love to meet him and talk about Bastet.”

And just like that, she started telling him what she liked about the movie (he told her, she made someone at home very happy; he also made a mental note to ask his father the name of the professor) and then about the habit of her cats. One of them in particular, liked to sit in her favorite jeans – the one she normally used for traveling because it was comfortable – as if her cat had known that she would leave. “You know, I think cats are the most independent creatures. They never listen to you. They always do whatever they like.”

“Maybe because they are the descendants of the Goddess of Lion, the protector of Ra, the God of sun?”

“I've been saying that! Thank you,” those blue eyes got brightened, but then, she sighed. “I sound like an old cat lady, don't I?”

“Yeah, a bit,” he winked. “Are you sure you only have two cats? You know, just checking...”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips were smiling. Oh, those lips... he turned his face away. He really should have not thought about her. Her lips or any part of her body.

“Hey, you want some coffee?” she got up. “I could make a mean coffee.”

“I prefer tea, actually.”

“Georgia must have some tea somewhere. What do you like?”

“Peppermint tea, but I prefer hibiscus tea, if we have them.”

Her face was twisted. “Is that even a tea? Ugh. Stay away from me if you drink that colored water, otherwise I'll lock myself up in the attic.”

He laughed. Ah, this woman.... even in the days where everybody seemed to have found bad things about her, she still managed to joke around and brought laughter. “You are so overly dramatic, you know that?”

She looked at him. And for the first time, he saw something in her face that he could not really explain. It was as if the light had just brightened her face and the cloudy look in her eyes was disappeared. Perhaps that is how an angel looks like, because nobody can look that beautiful and breathtaking.

“When do you have to leave?” her question saved him from continuing glaring. One more second, perhaps his jaws would have been found on the floor.

“The flight is in four hours, but I prefer to leave a bit early. So perhaps I have two hours?”

“Then we should have our breakfast.”

Before he knew it, he was sitting at the table, eating some pancakes that she had made. Perfect round golden pancakes. They smelt so wonderful he drooled. “This is so good,” several times he commented it while shoving the pancake into his mouth. “So good. Maybe you should thinking about opening some cafe,” he teased her. “God, this is so good.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, I might. You know I love baking, right? I am very good in making cookies. My fans love it.”

“You sell cookies to your fans?” soon after, he felt goddamn stupid asking that question. Of course she didn't, you idiot. That look of shock on her face.... god, even if the earth had swallowed him, it would not have been able to save him from this embarrassment. He felt his cheeks hot. They must have been burning red by now.

“I make them some cookies when they come to my house and sometimes cake.”

To avoid any further embarrassment, he preferred not to ask any question.

“You must have known it, it is all over the media,” she continued, still in disbelief.

“I don't read that kinda stuff,” he swallowed the last piece of the pancake. A big chunk. He would rather not be able to speak than to say the wrong words.

“'That kinda stuff'” she quoted the words, “is actually part of my life.”

Those words hit him hard. He realized now how strong the blows that she had received lately. Even as an outsider, he was unable to stomach reading the comments toward her under any article, video, or post on twitter or Instagram. Imagining on her position: treated as less than a mere object, that was analyzed from every possible angle, accused, dragged, and spat on without any consideration or whatsoever... god, that had got to be hard.

Honestly, had he been her, he would not have known how to survive it, let alone, standing here in the kitchen, fixing some breakfast for a stranger. He would have spent days drinking, or using her words, locking himself up somewhere in the attic...

“I know, people think that I used my fans for marketing purposes only. But they are wrong. Fans are very important to me, you know, to develop and to enrich my music, to grow in it. I love having them in my house and talking to them. Listen to them, exchanging ideas, sharing experiences.”

He cleared the rest of the pancake with his green tea. “You are not afraid that they are being obsessed, and thinking of you as more than an idol? I mean, some might think that you are their girlfriend, or imaginary married to you?”

“Yeah, of course. I am not stupid. I take precaution against that. Learning a bit about martial art, and carry around some first aid kit.”

“Any planning to make a new album? When you have a plan to invite your fans to your house, give me a call; I'll drop my schedule and fly to you.”

She looked at him. Those blue eyes flickered.

And he felt stupider than before. That was the worst pick up line he could come up with. Was it too obvious?

“It is not easy to be seen with me,” she turned her face away. Now, those eyes were again covered with soft misty cloud. He hated it. That look made her impenetrable. It took her away from him, blocked his view with thick walls, and made her even more unreachable than before.

“Your new boyfriend apparently doesn't think so,” he growled. He realized, he sounded like a jealous ex, but he did not care.

“So you did read that kinda stuff.”

Yeah, he had. And it had almost killed him (now who was being overly dramatic, he wondered). Seeing them together, walking on the beach, on the street, at the cafe... some thought it had been a publicity stunt... yeah, he wished, somebody had told his heart that. Because every time he saw them together, he felt as if something had stabbed his chest with a flaming knife. It was hot and painful.

“Yes, I did; but I stop reading things about you after awhile.”

“Why?”

“Why I read, or why I stop reading them?”

She shrugged. “Both, I guess.”

What to say? How to say it? He wondered. Honesty? Lie? “I saw you at the MET, and I was curious,” he decided to be honest. Not entirely. Because how to say to a girl, that you are interested in her, because she reminds you to morning sky, to the time where you can be yourself and see things clearly? “All I could find is accusation, insults, name-calling – to put it lightly – so I stop. I just think it is not a way to get to know you or anybody else in general.

“I know, we are in a business, which image and reputation are very important. We can't afford to make any wrong step. We always have to fit in the image that either we create or others create for ourselves. But how far will we go? What are we willing to do to keep that image?

“My mother gave me a book, when I told her that I wanted to enroll in the drama school. It's a play from Tennessee Williams, Sweet Bird of Youth...”

“Oh, I love that movie, you know, with Paul Newman?”

“I am not sure I watched it,” he tried to remember it... The Sting, check. Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid, check. Exodus, check. The Young Philadelphians, check. The Hustler, check...nope, not Sweet Bird of Youth. He made a mental note to get that movie somehow.

“What I want to say is, I suppose, my mother wants to remind me not to lose myself, just like Chase Wayne in the play, not to sacrifice everything in the sake of fame and reputation. Or perhaps like the Princess, not to lose our self-confidence and understanding, only because we care too much about what people might say about our arts.

“Especially in the time in which we are living. We are given the tools and opportunity to have a direct contact with our public. To hear what they have to say: either it's criticism or praise. But the question is how far are we letting them form us; how far are we letting them validating our arts, or even our existences?

“How do we tell the difference between criticism and insults? Between praise and ass-kissing? Are we going to dance to their music, or are we going to dance to our own, even with the risk, that nobody will want us anymore?”

“And? Did you find the answers of all those questions?”

He shook his head. “That's why I take the book wherever I go. You know, as a reminder.”

She sighed.

Don't do that. He begged in his mind. It was hard already to talk to her, trying the best he could not to sound starstruck, let alone to hear her sighing like that. He drank his tea hastily with a hope that it would calm down his heartbeat.

He forced himself to focus by looking at his watch. One hour to go.

“Have you been in Vesterbro before? Because if you can stay a bit longer, I can show you around....if you haven't...”

Her question almost made him jump. No! Yes! He meant, no, he had never been in Vertebro before. Doing some hours of shooting and interview were not the same with being in a place. And yes, of course he would stay longer. “When will you fly to New York?”

“Oh, I don't know if I return to New York. I might fly back home to my parents. In a week or two.”

“Let me check my schedule,” he took out his phone, checked his calendar, “Hmh, I will have to be in New York in ten days. Probably, my agent will call me Tuesday for the confirmation. So, yeah, I can stay. I rather feel uncomfortable to leave you alone, actually.”

“Mr. Allen is here and I can call my brother to come.”

Mr. Allen was her head of security. A six feet two man, all muscles, short hair cut with eyes like an eagle's. He did not say much, and always in alert. But when he talked, his voice was warm and the way he laughed, he-he-he, it changed him somehow into an adorable bear.

And her brother... he never met him. But surely he shared the same features with his sister. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall and slender, full lips, and skin like porcelain... he wondered, if her skin was as smooth as the porcelain... and he wondered how she smelt. Because now, the kitchen smelt mix of melted butter, vanilla, sugar and flour... good, and made his mouth watery... and she smelt of all of those, but certainly she would not use that combination as perfume. On second thought, he did not mind it at all.

Their eyes met.

He wanted to apologize for staring at her, but a shy little smile at the corner of her lips changed his mind. Obviously, she liked him staring at her like a starstruck boy. Otherwise, why would she invited him to stay longer? “I'll contact the airline. You have any idea what to do later?”

“Nope,” she sipped her coffee. “No coffee, no idea.”

He chuckled. Did she have to be funny as well?

That day they spent most of the time at the house, planning what to do and where to go. She talked about parts of Vesterbro they should visit, like Riccos kaffebar (the best coffee shop ever, she said.), or Blomsten, a cafe she always visited when she was in town.

“I can call the owner; they can close down the cafe just for us.”

“Where's the fun in that?” he asked.

“I can't go out without causing any spectacle, it is like the circus comes to town, and for the moment, I am the biggest circus there is.”

“Hmh,” he looked at her up and down, “as long as you are the snake lady, I am fine with it. All fierce and sexy....” he bit his lower lip. Shit, that was too fast. Her eyes were wide open. Shit, shit, shit. Now, she would get angry, and this spontaneous holiday would get ruined. He might as well prepare to call the airline again for a changed schedule and get his ticket back. He flew to London after all.

“You know what,” some extra lines appeared on her forehead. “I think you are more Jack London than Tennessee Williams. I mean, T.W was more flamboyant, but actually struggling, inert, and swallowed his angers and frustration and turned it into masterpiece. But you, you are more like that church-goer-son-in-law kinda type, but wild and hunger of adventure, just like Jack London.”

“Is that so? What are you, then? The 21st Tennessee Williams, who changes her struggles, angers and frustrations into masterpieces?” He smiled.

Her face looked thoughtful.

It was difficult for him not to sigh. How can she even look more beautiful? As if, there was a soft layer of air that covered that face. He could not tell, whether it was remorse or sadness, but the image he was witnessing right now, reminded him to the face of the woman in Monet painting, holding umbrella, under the bright blue sky, but clearly fighting against the wind.

Graceful. That would be the word. Neither remorse nor sadness, but graceful, just like Lady from Orpheus Descending: a woman who tried to live bravely and honestly, even when the world around her was crumbling down. And who was he? Val? A wanderer, a vagabond, who tried to make a place of his own in that crumbling world?

He smiled. “You are,” he braved himself, “Tennessee to me.”

She smiled. Those eyes turned into two small lines, and her nose cringed.

He felt his heart miss a beat. Was that her genuine smile? Had he really made her smile?

“Don't be too serious, London. My songs are good, I admit; but not so good that can be compared to Tennessee Williams'.”

“Did you just call me 'London'? As London with his Big Ben or ….”

“Ha!” she choked. Obviously, her coffee had entered the wrong throat. “Jack London, silly boy. Jack London, not London with his big....” she stopped her sentence. Now, her face was bright red, realizing what she was about to say.

“Tsk,” he winked. A pity, but, “I can accept that. It is an honor to be compared with Jack London. But don't call me 'boy',” he pointed at himself, “Twenty five years old... two three years younger than you, give or take?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

Yeah what? That he was younger than her or that she would not call him 'boy'?

Before he could ask, her phone rang. She gave him a sign not to say anything. Then she got up, and left him. Whoever on the phone was, it must have been a very special person, because he did not see her anymore until dinner time. After dinner, she excused herself to go back to her room; he could not do anything else, except saying, “Of course.”

The empty room looked even bigger now that nobody was there, and the traces of the party had been cleaned up. The books, the furniture were back to where they had been before. At the corner, beside the fireplace was a painting of a huge black and red snake: a copy of a famous Danish contemporary artist's work. Georgia went ballistic when she saw it. It was not because of the painting itself, but it was whom that painting was given to. Whoever bought that painting was no longer a friend of hers. And they would better be careful to say or do, because Georgia would make sure that they would go to hell and back.

Georgia's reaction had made him relieved. She had friends. Real friends who stood by her no matter what happened.

“Something interesting about the painting?” her voice made him turnaround. She stood at the end of the stairs that led to the sleeping rooms above. In her right hand was a big glass of red wine, and in her left hand was a green guitar. He wondered, how many guitars did she own or bring with her? Because two days ago, at the party, she had played with a pink guitar.

“I was thinking about Georgia's reaction.”

“Yeah, she is very protective sometimes,” she sat down and put the wine glass on the table. “It's nice to have a friend like Georgia.”

He nodded. “But you were also cool. I would kick whoever gave that present out of my life.”

She shrugged. “What's the point? I can't do anything right these days anyway. What are you reading?”

“Oh, a script my agent sent me a week ago. An English tradition, a story about the kings and queens.”

“Interesting?”

“Very. Only, I am not sure if I can play the character, which was once played by Fiennes. The shoes are too big to fill in.”

“Ralph or Joseph?”

“Does it matter?”

“But that's the challenge, isn't it? To make a character as your own, for better or worse.”

He wanted to ask, how did she know, when a thought came to him. She had made it in her own world; she had started from the scratch. Of course she knows the meaning of struggles in the world, that is dominated by big money and people who are not exactly kind to beginners and women.

“It's like when I sing a cover version of a song, I have to make sure that the song stays true to the original and at the same time add my own interpretation to it. Quite tricky, to be honest. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Do you sing?”

He snorted. “Only under the shower.”

She started picking her guitar's strings. “Like this song, “I am so lonesome I could cry” from Hank Williams. It was Hank's, but played by Elvis, it became Elvis's. The emotions Elvis put in that song... God, I wish I had an ounce of it.”

“And it will be yours, when you play it?”

“Oh, their shoes are definitely too big for me, and I will not even dare to try it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Sometimes we just have to know where our borderline is. And this is absolutely mine. Never touch Hank Williams or Elvis Presley,” those eyes suddenly became blurry. “I used to think, you know, if I expanded my borderline to widen my horizon, to include everybody, every wishes, everything would be fine. Now, I don't know anymore,” she smiled, clearly forced. And he hate it. “So, what are your most favorite songs?”

“Old Brown Shoes, The Beatles,” he answered without thinking.

“Good choice,” she started playing the tune.

Soon enough, they sang the song. As they looked into each other eyes, the lyrics felt more like mantras than lyrics. Declaring their loves, promising to each other that nothing would be the same anymore for any of them.

Or at least in his part. Each lyric was true. He was in love with her. She had stolen his heart since the first moment he saw her and he hoped, that he would not be too late, or that she would not be too late to realize how he felt about her. And he made a promise to himself, he would help her escape the zoo called social media and the press.

He found himself sitting beside her when the song ended. Their faces were so close their noses almost touched each other.

“That was a good song,” she whispered. Her warm breath touched his face.

He wanted to kiss her, desperately. Those red cherry lips were very inviting, and his blood was boiling. From the look in her eyes, she wanted it too. But he knew. She had a boyfriend. The last thing he wanted was to give her a feeling of committing a cheat...unless she made the first move. Till then, he would wait.

Slowly he withdrew himself. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, George Harrison, my favourite.” He stood up. He would better go now. He was not sure if he could control himself, if he stayed beside her any moment longer.

She caught his hand. “You were right. We should go out and have some fun tomorrow. I'll talk to Mr. Allen how to do it.”

Her finger tips were rough. The scars from guitar's strings obviously.

“Yeah, we shall do that,” he touched her finger tips with his. Smiling, he said, “Let's have some fun.”

After breakfast, Mr. Allen gave them tips and tricks to avoid being recognized in public. No credit card, no fancy clothes. Plain jeans and t-shirt would help a lot. Hats and sunglasses could help, but not necessary. People did not always wear them. And tourists attractions were recipes for disaster. It would take only one person to recognize her, and soon enough Vesterbro would be infested by hordes of paparazzi and god knows what else.

Mr. Allen would contact some people who knew some people to make sure that no journalist caught wind about her present on the street of Vesterbro.

He felt silly, realizing he only had some pound and Euros; she had only American dollars. No danish crown.

But Mr. Allen did not become her head of security for nothing. He was prepared. He always is.

Then for the next days they explored the town. It took some time to get her relaxed and not to look over her shoulder every time somebody came to them. Especially on the first day. When she walked with her shoulder slouched, her head down, and she refused to have any eye contact. At first, he thought about having a conversation about the history of Vesterbro or Denmark in general, when he realized, he did not know much about it. Besides, she might have interest in Egyptology due to the fact that she had cats. Who could tell that she had interests in history?

The thought had somehow waken him up. He knew nothing about her apart from the 'news' he read about her in the media. A mere image, that was created to serve one thing: business. Now that the image had been tarnished, what would she do? Would she hold on dearly to it, create something new or try to find the truth in her?

He hoped, she would choose the last one. And he would be there. Whether as a friend or more.

As the time went by, she was more relaxed. Nobody had approached her for signature or selfies. That was a good sign. Whether nobody recognized her, they did not care, or the Danes were simply too polite, he was not sure. Whatever it was, he hoped that it would last.

Because he loved seeing how she changed. Just like early dawn, when the sun slowly rises up on the East, her eyes started lightening up anything she gazed upon. The blushes on her cheeks were as rosy as the sky touched by the soft red shimmering light of the sun. He could not stop smiling as he saw her laughing.

How to describe the way she laughed...hmh, it was loud and high pitched. She threw her head backwards, and her slender body shook. Then, the longer she laughed, that high-pitched noise got higher and he could not hear the sound anymore. But the thing that took him the most was her eyes. Her eyes got smaller, but the light that shone from them was like the eyes of a child at the Christmas morning, sitting beside the Christmas tree, opening her present.

Oh, he would give anything to keep her laughing like that.

He would also give anything to spend the evening with her just like what they did after the long day of sight-seeing. Sitting on the sofa, with legs stretched, either – they talked about the beauty of Det Ny Theatre building, the books they saw at a second hand book store, called, Ingmars Hjørne named after Ingmar Bergman, according to the owner. He did not want to imagine what kind of books they sold, but she spent quite some time, talking to the owner, ordering some books) – or vigorously trying to find the recipe of kanelsnegle (which was a cinnamon roll) they ate during coffee break, or the hvedebrød (something he did not even bother to ask. He could not pronounce it, let alone had the idea to make it). He also loved being together in silence. He read his script, meanwhile she would be at the piano or having guitar on her lap and started strumming. Either singing some songs and writing some new songs, it did not matter.

What mattered was he was there with her. Alone. She, one of the biggest pop stars that is, the most wanted – both in the positive and negative meaning – was alone with him, in a rented house, somewhere in the center of the capital city of young tourists such as themselves. It was almost a dream comes true moment. Maybe it was.

Tomorrow, he would have to leave to London. She would probably stay. He did not know when they would have moments like this again. If they would have, that might be the more precise words. She would return to her boyfriend, and he... oh, it would sound pathetic, but he would probably focus on scripts and books that either he chose or his agent sent to him.

“You are quiet,” her voice startled him.

“I am not sure what you mean. I am always quiet when you play.”

“Yes, but your head thinks, so loud, even Mr. Allen can hear it.”

“Oh, Mr. Allen can hear even the drop of a needle at the square market, if that needle is aimed at you.”

“That's true,” she put her guitar aside. “So tell me, what were you thinking about?”

He closed his book. “Our time together and how fast it went by,” he put his head on the back of the sofa. He would miss it, that was for sure. “I know, Mr Allen has done a very good job, and I am sure I have nothing to worry about....”

The end of his sentence hanged on the air. They looked at each other. He realized he did not need to finish it. The look in her eyes told him she had the same thought. Neither he nor she wanted the days to be over.

He wished he could tell her the only thing she had to do was to ask him to stay, and he would have done it. It would be a lie, and both of them knew it. He had some schedules in London waiting, and she had schedules of her own and a boyfriend....

The thoughts made his chest hot.

“You call me if you come to New York?” her question was almost like a whisper. Obviously, they had been on the same page.

He nodded. “Hey...,” he put down his book and came to her as he saw tears roll down her cheek. “Hey...,” but before he reached her, she already ran into his arms. He held her tight. He wanted to tell her a lot of things. The promise that he would visit her in New York or any place she had her concert, or that he would call her day and night until she got bored hearing his ring tone, how much he was going to miss their days together, how much he missed her... but all those words sounded empty in his ears.

Her warm body rubbed his like flint and steel being rubbed against each other and sparked fire. He closed his eyes as he felt his heart beat faster and his lower body part got hardened. For a moment he wanted to apologize, but as she seemed not to have been bothered by it, he tightened his embrace.

Slowly she raised her face. Tears were still rolling, but she smiled. “Thank you for being here. I had such a good time.”

“We should do it again some time.”

“If you come to New York...,”

“Or you come to London....”

“You know what they say, I might write some songs about you.”

“Cool. Nobody writes any song about me before.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

“Fair enough. I have been warned,” he wiped off the tears on her cheek. “I take that as a challenge.”

They spent the evening by sitting side by side; he read and she strummed her guitar. When he said goodnight, she continued sitting.

On his bed, he laid wide awake, listening to the sound of piano she played. So haunting, as if she was questioning herself about many things. How he wished to go down and sit beside her, trying to convince her that she could rely on him on many things. Everything.

But he knew, by doing so, it would look as if he questioned her ability to deal with the problems herself. She is a woman. She knew her own strengths and her weaknesses. She did not need a man to babysit her. When she needed any help, she knew how to get it. And when the time came, he would be there. He would make sure that she knew she could count on him.

Until then, he would wait. He smiled. Yes, he would wait.

Her face was as pale as the morning moon as she bid him farewell. She had not slept, she said. She had written some new ideas for some songs. Teasingly she told him, they were about him. He smiled and said, he felt honored already.

She gave him a goodbye present wrapped in green paper. “Open it when you are in the car or in plane,” she said as she handed it to him. “Go,” as he was about to say thank you. “You can thank me later, but only if you like it.”

Her figure was getting smaller as the car drove by. Her blond hair shimmered under the soft light of the sun. Wrapped in pale pink cardigan, she looked frail. But as she walked inside, he saw her walking with straightened body and head upheld high.

He smiled. As frail as she might seem, he would not dare to cross her. She was different from the woman he had seen a week ago. If that figure was only a small part of her, a woman who had been fighting for her whole professional life to be on the top, he could not imagine how she would look like when her fighting spirit returned.

Slowly he opened the present. A card with a picture of cats (his smile widened, of course, what else?), and a hard cover edition of The Iron Heel from Jack London. On the card it was written, “This is my favorite book. Let's talk about it when we see each other again. Call me.”

On the book's first page, she wrote, Don't let me be a Meredith of any story, spoiling every chance of joy. Tennessee (TNS).

He closed the book and turned around. He could not see the house anymore. But he knew, she would be waiting. Or if he was lucky enough, she would come to him. And when she did, he would be ready.

#love story #taylor swift #call it what you want #the beatles #old brown shoes #enchanted #dancing with our hands tied

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surveysonfleek · 5 years

Text

1443.

I’m really cold right now. I cleaned my room earlier today. My favorite cereal is Apple Jacks. I can see out the window from where I’m sitting. I’m a senior in high school. I hate fast food burgers. I take my showers at night. The last color I dyed my hair was black. I still sleep with a stuffed animal. I have a piece of jewelry that means a lot to me. I changed the calendar to February today. I woke up before 12:00 noon today. I’m on a laptop right now. The walls in my living room are white. I’m more afraid of snakes than spiders.

I take a vitamin every day. Ice cream is my favorite dessert. I have a bad habit of biting my nails. I have my hair in a ponytail the majority of the time. I like to read mystery books. There’s nothing playing on the TV right now. But I am listening to music. My favorite animal is something domestic. I have broken a bone before. I am a fairly decent cook. I can’t cook, but I love to bake. Sometimes I get jealous of my best friend. The website I’m on most often is Facebook. I took a picture of myself today. I have taken part in a Walk For Hunger. I used to be a girl scout. I am wearing something red right now. I usually go to bed sometime after midnight. I wish I could stay my current age forever. I have never had a boyfriend. I have been a member of my school’s marching band. I play the flute. I enjoy being under the water more than on top of it in a swimming pool. I really want to buy a new cell phone. I have read at least one Stephen King book. I sing in the shower if/when other people are home. I do not like skinny jeans. My favorite fruit is strawberries. I finished a book this week. I like musicals. I have naturally curly hair. My nails are painted purple. I’ve seen the movie Blades of Glory. I love to play video games. I play solitaire on my computer when I get bored. I don’t live in the United States. I have a picture of my boyfriend in my room. My walls are covered with posters. I’d rather listen to CDs in the car than the radio. I have a bunch of woods in my backyard. I am afraid of heights. The Faculty is my favorite alien movie. I’ve been to Florida. I’ve written a love poem before. I had a swing set in my yard when I was little. My parents are both republicans. I love the movie Finding Nemo. (Love is a strong word for a fish movie) I love Simon & Garfunkel. I have similar musical taste as my parents. I saw Avatar in 3D. I wish that I could move to the city. I’m going to a Super Bowl party next weekend. I own a pair of oversized sunglasses. I love guys that have brown eyes. My family gets cable from Comcast. Google is probably my most visited website. Country is my favorite type of music. I no longer go to high school. I’ve read the book 1984. I love oreo cookies. The Notebook made me cry. I’m going to eat dinner soon. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. I never get sleep anymore. I have a couple papers that I have to write. I hate pimples by my nose. (Literally who likes pimples) Cats are so cute. My arms having been falling asleep a lot today. I think I’m getting sick. I have a song stuck in my head right now. It’s by a band that a lot of people don’t know about. My pet’s fur is EVERWHERE. I seem to feel hungry all the time. I seem to always feel tired. I really like art. I hope to be successful in my future career. I love white grape juice. I tend to dance and sing obnoxiously in the car. I like to freak people out. I actually like watching the Olympics (both Summer and Winter). I’d rather take the stairs than the elevator. Unless I have to go up to like the 15th floor. I don’t charge my phone every day. I’m moving within the next few months or so. ^I’ll be around the same area though. The Golden Girls ALWAYS makes me laugh. Reese’s Eggs taste better than regular Reese’s. I hate touching public doors, bathrooms, etc. I’m older than 20. I feel old compared to all my friends. I could spend a whole day in a bookstore. I am going to the movies tomorrow. I’m waiting for a band’s CD to come out. I’ve never broken a bone. I’m not embarrassed about ANY music in my iTunes. I don’t have a boyfriend, and honestly, couldn’t care less about having one. I’d rather watch TV on DVD than repeats. (What) I don’t really have any friends anymore. I get migraines all the time. It sucks. I would NEVER want to be a doctor. But I like the medical dramas. I really want to lose at least 20 lbs. I love walking in the woods. My pet goes nuts a lot. I’m bored over 90% of the time. The Beatles take up most of my iTunes. I love listening to music I listened to growing up. It seems like no one ever listens to me the first time I say something. I hate when I get an eyelash (or whatever) in my eye. I wear glasses. I have more than 2000 Tweets on Twitter. There is a certain genre(s) that I cannot stand. I hate most of the bands/artists played on the radio. I have Sirius/XM Radio in my car. I plan on buying a new release DVD this week. I never go to bed as early as I should.

#survey #surveys #quiz #bored #questions

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coffeebooksorme · 7 years

Text

85 Questions

Thank you so much to @the-bookler for tagging me in this! I think I’ll tag @the-forest-library @solaceinprose @lizziethereader @bookclub aaaaaand @sleepybookowl

the last 1. drink: Water with crystal light in it!

2. phone call: The fiance; I was at the grocery store and had a question.

3. text message: The fiance again!

4. song you listened to: God, I dunno, it was something on the radio. Probably Despacito because the stations here have been playing that like crazy!

5. time you cried: Umm...last week, I think?

6. dated someone twice: Never!

7. kissed someone and regretted it: I regret my first kiss, tbh. I was 20 or 21 and griping about how I hadn’t been kissed yet, blah, blah, blah, and one of my guy friends at the time kissed me just to make me shut up about it.

8. been cheated on: Never, that I know of.

9. lost someone special: Um...not for a good long while.

10. been depressed: Every damn month! I hate being that person that self diagnoses (it irritates my #nurblr soul), but I swear to god that I have PMDD so some months I get overemotional and really, really down in the dumps.

11. gotten drunk and thrown up: A few years ago on New Years Eve. I have definitely learned my lesson and don’t drink to excess like that anymore.

3 favourite colours 12. Red 13. Blue 14: Black

in the last year have you 15. made new friends: Definitely!

16. fallen out of love: Nope!

17. laughed until you cried: OH YES! @solaceinprose and I are hysterical when we get together!

18. found out someone was talking about you: I work in a predominantly female profession where drama and gossip is more rampant than drug abuse, so yes.

19. met someone who changed you: Yep!

20. found out who your friends are: Yep!

21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: The fiance!

General: 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: All of them but the few celebrities/bands that I follow. I don’t add anyone on my Facebook unless I know them.

23. do you have any pets: My rental agreement doesn’t allow them so no. :\

24. do you want to change your name: Naw, I like my name, but I’m changing my last name when I get married. It’s gonna be a doosey. Needless to say, it’s a food and people are already teasing me about it lol

25. what did you do for your last birthday: @solaceinprose came over with her boyfriend, the fiance grilled some food, and we ate an awesome minion cake that had ‘Happy 2nd Birthday, Ayden’ on it. It was pretty awesome.

26. what time did you wake up: 0930

27. what were you doing at midnight last night: I think I was already in bed at that time.

28. name something you can’t wait for: THE SPEAKER BY TRACI CHEE!

29. when was the last time you saw your mom: Two years ago in September. She lives in Michigan.

30 has vanished? OOoooOOoooOoOooOooOo

31. what are you listening to right now: The Golden Girls

32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: I’m sure I’ve had a patient named Tom before.

33. something that is getting on your nerves: The damn humidity in Florida. As soon as I walk outside, my glasses fog up, and I swear to god it’s like I’ve walked into a wall of heat!

34. most visited website: Tumblr

35. hair colour: Brown

36. long or short hair: Right now it’s halfway down my back. Normally I keep it around my shoulders, but I figured I’d grow it out for the wedding because I need as much of it as I can since my hair is so damn thin!

37. do you have a crush on someone: JASON MOMOA! Oh my god, I would climb that man like a tree!

38. what do you like about yourself: I think my humor is pretty awesome.

39. piercings: Just my ears.

40. blood type: No clue! We did blood typing during A&P in nursing school, but the kit I had was defective and we didn’t have time to do it again.

41. nickname: Whit, Sam, PR (but no one’s called me that in years)

42. relationship status: Engaged

43. zodiac: Pisces

44. pronouns: She/Her

45. favourite tv show: I can’t pick just one!

46. tattoos: Technically, three, but it only looks like two!

47. right or left handed: Right

48. surgery: None yet, knock on wood!

50. favorite sport: To play, baseball. To watch, hockey.

51. favorite vacation: I’ve only ever been on vacation to Orlando so I guess there.

52. favorite pair of trainers: I only have one pair, the Nikes I wear to work, so I guess those.

MORE GENERAL

53. eating: I just ate a Totino’s pizza. I’m tempted to grab my Americone Dream ice cream from the freezer.

54. drinking: Water with crystal light!

55. I’m about to: Start a new book

56. waiting for: The dryer to stop

57. want: I’m good right now, thanks.

58. get married: Yep!

59. career: Bookshop owner, author, professional napper, librarian, coffee taste tester.

WHICH IS BETTER:

60. hugs or kisses: Both, especially if it’s from the right person!

61. lips or eyes: Eyes

62. shorter or taller: Taller. I’m 6′ and I always swore that I wouldn’t date anyone shorter than me. Mmhm, my fiance is 5′10 and I’ve only ever ‘dated’ someone taller than me once.

63. older or younger: Older

64. nice arms or nice stomach: Arms!

65. hookup or relationship: Relationship! I’m a serial monogamist and I honestly cannot do random hookups.

66. troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant troublemaker! I don’t like to get into trouble (I’m a goody two shoes with an overbearing mother who likes control) but my mouth tends to get me into trouble and I haven’t learned how to keep it shut yet!

HAVE YOU EVER:

67. kissed a stranger: Yep! A bunch of friends and I went to a club in Canada (heeeeey drinking age at 19) and I totally made out with some random dude on the dance floor. I was so drunk.

68. drank hard liquor: Yuuuuuuuuuup!

69. lost glasses/contact lenses: Not lost, per say, but I’ve knocked my glasses off my nightstand before and considering I’m practically blind, they were lost from me for a few minutes.

70. turned someone down: Oh yeah, OKCupid was super fun to navigate with all the fuck boys, neck bears, and ‘nice guys’.

71. sex on the first date: Nope!

73. had your heart broken: Sorta

74. been arrested: Nope!

75. cried when someone died: Yep!

76. fallen for a friend: Ohhhhhhh yeah. I crushed hard on my friend James when I was in my early twenties and he basically told me that he would date me if I wasn’t fat.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN

77. yourself: Most of the time!

78. miracles: Absolutely!

79. love at first sight: Yeah

80. santa claus: Nope

81. kiss on the first date: Oh yeah!

82. angels: Nope

OTHER:

84. eye colour: Brown 85. favourite movie: Oh god, there’s too many to choose!

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