#just to keep myself immersed in this world a little longer...finished a few days ago i miss it
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#d20edit#dimension 20#a crown of candy#m:gif#m:d20#theyre cute#i dont actually mean for all my d20 gifsets to be emily based lmfao#i have some notes for more sets and its doubtful yall do but if any of yall have requests for seasons pre sophomore year#i'll (maybe) do them depending on how hard theyd be to gif#just to keep myself immersed in this world a little longer...finished a few days ago i miss it
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I would love love love to see something along the lines of a Tyka mer au?? Especially if Kai is the merman!! I do love them ever so. Any age rating/idea I am so down for, pretty please!! 🥺🙏❤
Keep up with the great Tyka content it makes my day!
I know who you are and you always give me the best fic inspiration! I read your Tyka mer comics and I am INSPIRED. This might be longer than expected! But here I gooooo
So now that I finished it, I’ll be putting it in a readmore since it’s VERY LONG!!
It’s very rare that I write in first person! But this story definitely called for it, and I AM COMPLETELY IN LOVE. You’re going to want to ask for more, I can already tell.
So here it is:
When I was young, I was saved by a merman.
I remember how the cold seeped into my veins. My head was pounding from the force of hitting the water.
I was too young to know how to swim.
I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.
My body was numb, I descended into the dark blue sea, I saw the light glimmer from the surface, and felt water invade my lungs.
That’s when I saw him.
A flash of blue and milky skin. I felt the smooth scales wrap around my body. I saw his face, clear as day. His purple eyes, silver hair, and blue face markings. His face looked panicked, bubbles erupted from his mouth forming inaudible words. His face turned blurry, and my vision grew dark.
I woke up on the beach. No one believed me when I told them. Just a child’s fantasy gone overboard.
I always wondered how I made it back to shore without knowing how to swim, or how I missed all the rocks.
Someone must have saved me.
The more I visited the beach and saw no sign of a blue finned merman my belief started to dwindle.
Growing up I drew pictures, I even based my imaginary friend off my hero.
In my teens, my best friend Max reminded me of him.
“Tyson! I was just telling my friend about that mer-boy that saved you when you were a kid!”
I laughed it off, “it was a fairytale, Max. Nothing more.”
Years before, Kenny and Hilary sat with me on the beach one day after training.
“Could he still be out there?”
I cleaned my surfboard, looking off into the mysterious ocean.
Hilary passed me a bottle of wax for my board, “you know, I read at least eighty percent of the ocean remains undiscovered.”
Kenny looked up from his laptop, “every mermaid sighting has been proved fake. I still think what you saw was due to a lack of oxygen.”
I gave him an angry look, I didn’t mean to.
“Uh… but miracles have happened.” Kenny tried to reassure me.
I knew the truth.
Mermaids and mermen weren’t real.
After my Mom died, and my Dad left with my brother to explore the world, I had two things, my Grandpa, and my imagination.
Thinking of that boy was my playground. I’d bring sandwiches to the beach, and pretend to talk to him.
I made friends. And became a surfing champion. With my success my imagination drifted away.
I guess I really wasn’t ready for what came next huh?
“Tyson!”
Hilary and Kenny made their way towards my desk, I slammed my textbook closed, I was done with studying anyways.
“There’s a carnival in town! It’s close to your house, you want to come with us tonight?” Her eyes were bright.
I felt a pat on my shoulder, I looked to my right, Max’s blonde hair caught my eye.
“Carnival? Count me in!”
“I’m going too…” Kenny mentioned awkwardly, “Tyson?”
I rolled my eyes, carnivals were for kids. Besides I was planning on catching some waves tonight, but the weather was supposed to be really calm. I guess I could spare the time.
“Alright, sounds like a plan.”
I was right. Carnivals were for kids.
Doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun though.
We rode ride after ride. Kenny had to sit on a bench after he got sick, Hilary rubbed his back.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, partner!” Max slapped my back, “let's get some more snacks!”
Max pulled me towards another booth. I love food, but after a dozen different snacks, and a dozen different rides, I had to admit, I wasn’t feeling too well.
Max handed me a candy apple, I took a bite and felt my stomach turn.
“Bluh,” my lip turned in disgust.
“Wanna take a break from the rides?”
I nodded.
We lost Kenny and Hilary ages ago. Walking through the parts of the carnival with fewer people, we came across a mirror maze.
“Tyson, let’s go in!”
“Sounds fun!”
It was no surprise when I lost Max right away.
I could hear his excited giggles and him shouting my name, I tried to go in his direction, but eventually his voice faded out, and I found my way to the exit.
“Max!” I shouted into the maze, but there was no reply back.
He might have gotten out already…
I walked through the carnival looking for my blonde haired friend. No luck. There was a fortune teller, I made a mental note, Hilary would have liked to go back there.
Then something caught my eye.
ANASTASIA’S HOUSE OF WONDERS
It looked like a cardboard standee, with dark tents behind it. It couldn’t have been that big. I saw some people leave out the exit. There was someone in front of it. They were dressed in a creepy joker costume.
“Hey man,” I got his attention.
“Do you dare enter the house of wonders!”
“Uh, maybe? Is it cool? Like… what’s in there?”
“Things that will make your blood boil—”
“Things?”
“And creatures unknown to this world!—”
“Creatures!?”
“And above all—”
“Oooo what else!?”
“Look kid.” The grey haired joker lowered his arms and sighed, “can you just let me finish my speech?”
“Oh, yeah sorry.”
“I’m Bryan the sharpshooting joker! For only a few bucks—find yourself immersed in a new world!—”
“Okay,” I raised my hand, “that’s enough.”
“Oh thank god” Bryan’s voice dropped a few octaves.
The guy seemed kinda chill, so I leveled with him.
“So dude, is it actually worth my time in there?”
Bryan nodded, “yeah, it’s actually really cool.”
“Alright, sign me up.” I handed him a couple bills.
“Enjoy.” He counted the money.
Before I left I looked under his costume hat, “wait, don’t I know you?”
“Maybe?” He grumbled, accidentally revealing his true persona.
“Yeah! You were in the last surfing championship! You’re that crazy intense guy Bryan! What the heck are you doing here?”
“Uh, sidegig.” He lowered his mask, “have fun in there, kid.”
“Okay…”
I brushed off the awkward encounter and turned to the entrance. It was covered in two extravagant curtains. I pushed the fabric to the side and walked into the darkness.
Wait, is this a haunted house? Damn I shouldn’t have gone without Max!
The first thing I noticed was there was a lack of… people. Tesla coils and odd gimmicks littered the floor of the first hallway. I rolled my eyes, remembering carnivals were for kids.
The next room was bigger than expected, it was a dome with a button in the middle. I pressed it, who could resist a big red button after all?
Suddenly a snow storm picked up. I covered my face, “ah!”
It stopped before I could figure it out, I stared at the sleeve of my red jacket, where snowflakes started melting.
“Alright, that was definitely real snow! I’ll admit I have no idea how you did that one!”
I shouted to no one, but it still helped my nerves.
I—couldn’t figure out where the exit was.
I walked to the edge of the dome, it looked like a carnival tent, I tapped the edge, it rang back with a metallic sound.
“Uh.” I grew worried, “an exit would be nice?!”
I heard a sound from the other side of the room, and some fabric fell from nowhere, revealing another dark room, “thank you!”
Cautiously I made my way to the dark room.
I wish I hadn’t.
Inside were weird animals in green jars.
“Oof, these can’t be real.”
I tapped one, the baby bird inside moved.
“I assure you, they are all real.”
I turned to the corner. A.. man? He had a raven masquerade mask, and when Tyson locked eyes with him, he screamed and revealed massive black wings from his back.
“What the!?—”
I fell backwards, falling on my rear.
The bird boy made his way towards me.
“What are you?!”
“I’m Ian, the birdman.” He sounded tired.
“And in there,” he pointed to the next room with a black talon, “you’ll find my wolf friend.”
“You’re what!?”
I sat up, “naw, I’m done with this place. Your costumes are a bit too real for me.”
He shrugged, “that’s what they all say.” he sat on a crate with a loud thud, “enjoy the rest of the tour.”
I went to the next room because that guy was freaking me out. I really wanted to head back the way I came, but I couldn’t seem to find it.
Also, that guy seemed kind of familiar.
The next room felt colder than the rest. My heart raced when I saw a cage.
“Uh, hello? This haunted house is getting a little weird…”
I heard the clanking of chains, and a flash of red. On the floor of the cage was a boy, a bit older than myself.
“Are you okay?” I asked knowing it was an actor.
I heard a deep growl, and he lifted himself off the floor. I gasped when I saw his face.
A white wolf with a red mane bared his teeth at me.
I took a step back.
I felt the room grow cold, as the wolf tensed and growled.
It lunged forward and snapped it’s jaw, it hit the bars of the cage with a strength that boy shouldn’t possess, I turned and ran.
I ran through a wall tearing down fabric sprinting through tents.
It was dark, I couldn't see anything and didn’t know where I was going.
“Ah!” My foot got caught on a stone and I fell forward.
“How is this place so big! It did not look like this from the outside!”
In front of me was a curtain, it just barely touched the floor, I could see light shining from under it.
If I can’t find my way out… I might as well head for the light.
I lifted the curtain up and shielded my eyes from the bright white light.
In front of me I could just make out the wheels of a traveling train car. The front of it wasn’t metal, it was glass. Bright fluorescent lights hung over it. There was a sign next to me, I rubbed my eyes and could just make out the writing.
Newest exhibit! A rarity of its kind! Stay back, he splashes.
“What?”
Then I saw it.
The flash of blue, silver, and purple.
A merman threw himself against the glass repeatedly, tossing his fists against it. His wrists were in chains, and his constant assault against the glass only amounted to hollow thumps echoing through the tent.
I felt my body freeze.
It was the merman from my childhood.
Is this real?
I slowly made my way to the sealed aquarium.
The boy must have seen me enter the ring of light, because he stopped, he started floating, and stared at me.
“Hello?”
The merman didn’t move, he simply floated in place, I could see his chest move up and down.
“Do you recognize me?”
I made my way to the glass, getting a good look at the boy for the first time.
I placed my hand on the glass. I saw how red his wrists were from the chains.
He put his hand against the glass, only a thin separation between us. I smiled, and looked into his purple eyes.
I think he smiled at me. He opened his mouth slightly and a few bubbles popped out. I chuckled, and he looked back at me.
I stared up at the top of the tank, the lid was thick glass. A massive padlock kept it down. He saw me look at it, and he shook his head frantically.
I nodded, and placed my head against the glass, “you’re not supposed to be here.”
I jumped and hit the lock with my hand gauging how tough it was.
The merman waved his hand and mouthed words shaking his head.
“I’m gonna get you out of here!”
I looked around the room for a tool to use to break the lock. The only thing I could find was the sign I had seen previously.
I grabbed it, and tossed it to the ground, ripping it off its base.
The merman kept throwing his fist against the tank to get my attention, I ignored him knowing I had to help him.
I climbed the edge of the train cart so I was standing on top of the glass looking down at the silver haired boy. He floated on his back and kept banging on the glass with both hands.
It seemed like he was mouthing the words ‘get out get out!’
I used the stick tool I had made and bashed the lock, making loud sounds through the room. I kept doing it, but it didn’t budge.
The merman was banging on the glass mouthing the same words.
“I’m trying!”
I jumped down, knowing I would have to find a different tool, but I bashed it again in frustration.
The merman was frantically pointing now.
“What? What is it?” I watched his lips.
‘Behind you!’
I felt someone grab my shoulder, before I could scream they grasped my shirt and yanked me to the floor, dragging me away.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to touch people in a haunted house!”
I kicked and screamed while watching my merman frantically swim in circles and hit the glass with his tail. He was trying to get to me, but I knew it wasn’t going to work.
The man threw me into another room. I couldn’t see anything in the dark, I was tossed on a chair and sat up. He turned on a light with a click, and an old fluorescent bulb hung from the ceiling. I blinked a few times trying to find my way in the new surroundings.
A silhouette of a man sat on the opposite end of a table.
“You think you can try to take one of my treasures?”
“He is not yours!”
“Months ago I captured him. He’s rightfully mine.”
“Who do you think you are?!” I screamed at him, knowing full well this full grown man could cause me serious harm.
“He’s a rarity, I won’t let him fall into the hands of some snot nosed teenager with a superiority complex.”
I spat, “do you own this crazy place?”
“I do.”
“Don’t think I didn’t recognize your workers. I surfed with most of them in last year's competition.”
The man simply laughed, I finally got to make out some of his facial features. He was an older man.
“And why does the world champion desire my merman?”
“I don’t desire him, he needs to be free!”
“Ha!” The man’s voice bellowed.
I frantically searched for answers, for a way out—for the both of us.
“I’ll buy him from you!”
“Like you could afford him.”
“If I win the next competition—”
“You won’t.”
I grinned smugly, “you don’t know that.”
“You won by luck, my team is far superior.”
“Your team of monsters? Isn’t that cheating?”
“And you think being a descendant of a storm dragon is fair?”
“I’m a—what?”
The man shook his head.
“I know who you are, Tyson.”
“You gonna tell me who you are?”
The man chuckled in response to my anger, making me even more furious.
“The name is Boris. I take care of these boys—”
“By imprisoning them? Leave my merman alone!”
“Excuse me? Yours? Did you not just meet this creature?”
“Let’s say I’m feeling friendly.” I crossed my arms.
“He seemed to react to your presence, what did you do?”
I panicked, “how long were you watching for!?”
“Long enough. I’ve had him here for a few months, yet I can’t seem to break him.”
“Break him?” I was in disbelief, my childhood hero was not some horse at a stable!
“Yes, perhaps you could help—”
“No.” I grimaced.
Boris tapped his fist on the table, “well, it seems we are at an impasse.”
“You’ll never have my help.”
“I think I can live without it.” He stood up, he was much taller than me. “Please leave my circus, and don’t come back.”
“I’m not leaving without the merman.” I stood my ground.
“That’s a shame.”
I felt something heavy hit my temple—
I woke up on a grassy hill. I rubbed my head.
When I managed to sit up I overlooked the carnival from across a field. The lights were all out. It had to have been late for it to be completely closed.
Boris…
Now that I knew my merman was real, and that he was captured by such an evil man I had to find a way to get him back.
I’ll steal him. I’ll figure something out…
You better watch your back Boris.
I stared in the direction I thought my blue finned saviour would be in.
Hold on, I’m coming for you.
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so I picked up a certain book from my shelf that I remember picking when I was 12 or 13 (almost 10 years ago) because I want to start reading for pleasure again and im realizing that this was the very first time something lgbt+ happened to me. keep in mind, I was 12/13 and the main characters were 13 y/o twins, Connor and Grace Tempest.
it was really refreshing thinking of such an innocent time, roaming a bookstore literally judging books by their covers and my core interests that weren't yet overly saturated by media reviews and other external opinions. Just pure, intrinsic motivation.
I also realized since I'm reading books for pleasure, I no longer believe in "reading for my age group" because frankly, I want at least some minute guarantee that some happiness/triumph will come of all the suffering that comes into the plot line of a book.
I finished Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker last night and was just left really sad and triggered. Don't read it if you're sensitive to mentions of SA, r##e, p#d0philia. I get that the point was to tell me how Greek women suffered whilst mainstream beliefs of the legends of Achilles was positive. I get that that was the point but I was really craving some whimsical Greek myth woman girlbossing or something (and not too close to the sun)
Anyway, that's how I ended up picking up Vampirates again bc hello, vampires? pirates? dystopian future where most of the world is ocean and there's a new age of piracy rising up in the world? yes. Also, one of the very few YA novels I saw as a kid that had an Asian main/side character, Wu Chen Li. We're not going to talk about how she's Chinese yet weilds double katanas which are Japanese (the author is from the UK) , I'm reading purely for nostalgia and to be immersed in a world that's entirely from the figment of my comfortable imagination.
Also since it's YA, I have some peace of mind that some triggering no-no stuff is less likely to show up. Also for my eyes which can't see stuff clearly 6 inches away from my face, it's nice to feel a thick book but it's because the words are 1.5-2.0 double-spaced
This has been a ramble but it's to prove to myself that I did not let my mini breakdown over a recurring mistake from earlier this day sink me into an episode of being non-verbal and non-reactive. I basically just saved myself from dissociating. It certainly helped that I immediately messaged 3-4 friends who I could be transparent with that I needed some help, to just talk about anything, feel normal, and I appreciate them for that ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
Thank you to the random blogs liking my little rambles about the little wins I do in the day, like just about successfully doing a calc problem, or cleaning my room. It feels like a virtual pat on the back, with the additional respect of boundaries because my physical space doesn't get infiltrated! ヾ( ͝° ͜ʖ͡°)ノ♪
Alright good night, take it easy~
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7 Days of ‘I Am the Creator’ Meditation
Guidelines:
- ‘I Am the Creator’ Meditation
- SATS
Why?
Why not? haha Nah, these days were a lot more relaxed than the previous challenge I did. The main goal here was to continue deepening my knowing of who I truly am (God) and I can say, I’ve had a helluva time.
Reflection:
This is gonna be a pretty long reflection. Compared to my last little challenge, this one ended up being extremely reflective. So, get cozy. You’re in for a ride.
Okay, so this was an interesting 7 days. I battled with anxiety, feeling like I am the exception to the law (read through a lot of my asks this week, EIYPO is no joke haha), and just overall wondering if there’s any point in continuing this journey. I’ll just be real honest with y’all about how I’ve felt. It’s been a little ugly.
But the is answer is... yes, it’s always worth it to be on this journey. Especially because I can stop consciously living by the law if I want to... but I will continue to live by the law regardless, with my subconscious mind. So there’s no point in stopping persisting. My issue tends to be, what am I persisting for? And well, I came to some hard to swallow pills of realization as well lots of good realizations too. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster. But I will say, despite it, I have been able to keep some bursts of feel good energy here and there. All is not lost... it’s just truly a journey. A real lifestyle change I’ll keep going at until I wake up from this dream world.
Now, reflecting back on the meditation specifically.. I absolutely adore it. And I will continue to do it when I feel like it, because I just really enjoyed the concept. When I meditate, I’ve been allowing myself to use the infinity timer so I can go for as long as I feel is natural to me. (I use the app Insight Timer if anyone is interested!) Anyway, I average between 10-20 minutes. That being said, whew, this meditation! On the longer days, I was able to use this meditation as a way to calm my anxiety. On other days, the meditation absolutely overwhelmed me! When I got to the step of allowing myself to really FEEL what I wanted to feel... I’d feel overwhelmed. Shortness of breath, the absolute need to move. It was interesting. Some of the sensations you get during meditation are weird sometimes. haha I appreciated this meditation regardless, because I love the practice of the outer world no longer existing and allowing myself to be consumed in my mind, where I am home, where I am safe. Where I AM the creator and can literally have anything I want without a reason, other than the fact I want it.
Best Manifestations:
Mainly lots of passive manifestations. These 7 days really showed me that um... everything you reap will be sowed. Neville didn’t lie.
For example, a coworker randomly brought me the gift of a state flag... Thing is, there’s a state I love and adore and I will be moving there when I’m done with the things I want to finish where I currently live. A few weeks ago, I was looking up little flags for that state but didn’t end up buying any. Then she randomly brings me one? She knows I love the state. But it’s not like I was walking around asking for flags hahaha so that was cool
Then, I’ve wanted to watch Casablanca for a while. But I haven’t watched it because it’s not on any streaming sites for free. Then, I bring it up at work and my coworker so happens to have it on DVD. She brings it within a couple days and I get to watch it and I loved it. Maybe not the most exciting thing ever, but for me it was just another confirmation that yep, I am always manifesting. I will always end up getting what I want.
People have been mirroring my thoughts a lot more. I posted about one incident here, but also, people bring up something I am thinking about within seconds. Sometimes, not going to lie, this pisses me off. Sometimes it’s cool, sometimes it’s like no... I wanted ACTION. Not for us to simply talk about it? But regardless, it still shows the world is mirroring me. So, in a way, it’s still a form of success. haha And of course, the only failure is thinking you have failed. I will persist. Oh, and I played around with the basics of EIYPO (people are always like, decide what someone will wear!) lol so I chose the shirts of both of my coworkers one day. One was specific down to the actual t-shirt, the other was a pattern (plaid). They both walked into working wearing what I wanted them to wear, haha.
Plus, the things I want to know/find always pop up. Like, a Neville story I once heard but can no longer find. Information that will help me better understand the law coming up a few days after I want it. I have full confidence now I will always find what I need.
Best Self-Concept Improvements:
Information downloads!!!!!!!!!!!!
While, yes, I was kind of not in the best place emotionally, it kind of lead to some deep shit I needed to acknowledge. Like, at one point I got upset because I realized, I really have been trying to apply the law. Meanwhile, I’ve been applying the law effortlessly since the day I was born. I can stop trying to apply the law and I’ll still be living by the law. All of this hit me and it just made me feel like, yo... what am I even doing? If I am God, no matter what, what am I even doing? If I am manifesting naturally, why in the world am I trying?
During one of my meditations, I decided I want to give myself freedom. That’s what I wanted in the little world of my mind and the response I got was, “there is freedom in I Am-ness.” It was like, wait. What. I am right! I AM RIGHT. (Of course I am... lol, being God jokes.) Anyway, that little information download changed the game for me. That little phrase suddenly was the key. Let me explain further.
I ended up going on an affirmation walk that really turned more into a walking meditation. All I could repeat was, “I AM I AM I AM I AM I AM I AM”... yeah, you get it. And like, it made sense. It actually made sense. “I am. And because I am, everything is.” This was the sentence that would come up during this meditation and it actually made sense.
Finally, the hardest pill the swallow:
Responsibility. Taking responsibility. How funny is it that this podcast was dropped on my last day of doing this challenge. During these 7 days, I definitely had some victim mentality thoughts I entertained a bit. Like the classic, I’ve been working so hard at this and it’s like nothing is changing. (Not even true, I literally posts my successes here and keep track of others one on my notes app.) Well, here’s the hardest pill. Did Neville not say, to see change you must first change yourself? How in the world can I say I have changed, if I am able to comfortably think the same victim thoughts that got me the old story? Ouch.
This is one thing I really had to look at and accept about myself. And EIYPO. I will be tackling this concept, because it’s time to. I have stayed away from it. I understand it intellectually, but I have barely allowed myself to go beyond that because honestly... it means taking ALL the responsibility for my life. Because, people have been my weakness. My old story includes lots of feeling like I could die and no one would attend my funeral. Literally. This is a thought that would loop in my mind damn near all of the time back when I was immersed in the old story. Need I say more? EIYPO is actually a more sensitive subject to me than I allowed myself to accept. And now, it’s time to take responsibility and face it head on. Sometimes, the concept feels suffocating. But I know as I persist, it’ll all lead to my freedom.
Conclusion:
My biggest question during these 7 days was, am I focusing on the right things? Is it even worth it to keep focusing on my specific manifestations at this point? I think I got my answer and of course, it’s hazy. The answer is, no. But also yes. I just want to shift my focus a bit.
To what, exactly? To me. I thought about my journey for the past 7 months that I’ve been on. And I can honestly say, I have failed to manifest for me. I will for a few hours. Then I find an excuse for why it’s okay to think about the other things I want because hey, I want them. It has to do with me. What’s the difference? Well, there is a difference. One keeps me using manifestation as a technique and the other allows me to step into who I really am, as God. Have I had successes? Yeah, tons. But there’s something in all those articles I have refused to listen to. The parts that constantly say, “IT IS YOU. IT IS ALL YOU. YOU MUST GO WITHIN.” Like I get it, and I thought just persisting in what I want would be enough. But when you are able to so easily slip back into the old story like it’s nothing, like I did this week, that shows the state you are truly operating from. And yeah, I’ve made tons of progress. I get things I want quicker now and I am able to get a lot of the things I want, but I want to take this to the next level. Not just so I am getting things here and there, but so my entire life is a constant stream of me getting what I want. Even on the off days.
On these 7 days, I came across a post someone made where they showed their affirmations. One of them that stuck out to me was:
“I am always chosen, because I always choose myself.” Something about it kind of stuck with me. Could I say this affirmation has been true for me? No. I’m good at choosing myself in the outer world. But in the inner world? Nah. And it’s time to change that.
How will I do that? By following Neville’s first principal.
Be still and know that I am God.
“There is nothing to change but our concept of self. As soon as we succeed in transforming self, our world will dissolve and reshape itself in harmony with that which our change affirms.” - Neville Goddard
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Alex Recommends: May and June Books
I must apologise for the late arrival of this post. It should have been up days ago but I’ve been struggling to read much for the last month or so. My head has been very foggy and dark with all of the confusion, anxiety and hate that has been filling my news feeds and I’ve been filled with a desire to combat it. Before this month, I’d have run in the opposite direction from any kind of confrontation but recent events have given me the kick up the butt to actively do better. I’ve been calling out bigotry when I come across it and I’ve noticed that some people, notably my older relatives, haven’t necessarily reacted favorably to the changed, more outspoken Alex. It has been pretty daunting and I’ve worked myself up into fits of rage and tears several times over the last couple of months.
A lot of things have changed for me since my last Alex Recommends post. I’m currently temporarily living in Staffordshire with my boyfriend because my depression got too bad for me to stay at home for much longer. I missed him unbelievably much and I knew that spending some prolonged time with him would help -and it has. Both him and I have spent 12 weeks religiously following all of the rules, so we’re both extremely low-risk for catching and spreading COVID-19 and being together was something that we simply really needed to do. Please don’t hate me for it! In other news, I have also started writing again, which feels amazing. I’m now a few thousand words into a queer Rapunzel retelling that I have lots of ideas for. Maybe I’ll even post an extract or two, when I feel it’s ready to show you.
In the centre of the renewed energy of Black Lives Matter and the undeniable exposure of the horrors that is police brutality, the book blogging and BookTube worlds vowed to uplift Black voices. I wrote a very long, in-depth blog post full of Black-written books and Black book influencers. Please check it out to diversify your TBR and educate yourself on Black issues, which is what every white person should be doing now and always.
June was Pride Month and I tried my best to compile a series of recommendation posts in honour of it. These included gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, ace, pansexual and intersex lists. I’ve had some great feedback on this, so I hope you find some fantastic new reads. It felt especially poignant to put them together the same year that one of my childhood heroes came out as an ignorant trans-exclusive feminist. As a lifelong Harry Potter superfan and someone who has repeatedly publicly supported Rowling in the past, I feel the need to clarify where I now stand. I do not support or agree with a single thing that she has said in recent times with regard to transgender people. I’ve never felt my own status as a cisgender female threatened by trans people wanting more rights or believed that children or women were at risk due to their existence.
I read her words more than once and struggled to find any semblance of the woman who wrote the books that have most defined my life. I’m hesitant to say that we can always successfully separate the art from the artist but I will say that it makes sense to me that the Rowling of 2020 is not the same Rowling that wrote Harry Potter. She was a destitute single mother when Philosopher’s Stone was published in 1997 and of course, she is now a million worlds away from that lifestyle. It breaks my heart but it makes sense to me that she has changed beyond belief because her life has changed beyond belief. I’m not and never would make any excuses for her recent behaviour and I have stopped supporting her personally but I will not be getting rid of my Harry Potter books and I will undoubtedly re-read them several more times. However, I am now hugely reluctant to buy any more merchandise or special editions of the books, which saddens me but at the moment, it feels right. There is no coming back for her from this and I will make a conscious effort to keep Harry Potter and Rowling away from my future content. It can be really tough to admit that the people you once really admired aren’t great humans but it’s something that we all have to acknowledge in this case, in order to move forward with our own quests to become our best selves.
It didn’t feel right to post my May recommendations last month as I didn’t feel comfortable promoting my own content in the midst of boosting Black voices. So today I’m bringing you a bumper edition of Alex Recommends. Here are 10 books that I’ve enjoyed since the start of May that I’d love to share with you. Enjoy! -Love, Alex x
FICTION: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng
Set in the affluent neighbourhood of Shaker Heights, Ohio in the 1990s, two families are brought together and pulled apart by the most intense, devastating circumstances. Dealing with issues of race, class, coming-of-age, motherhood and the dangers of perfection, Little Fires Everywhere is highly addictive and effecting. With characters who are so heartbreakingly real and a story that weaves its way to your very core, I couldn’t put it down and I’m still thinking about it over a month after finishing it.
FICTION: Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert
When coding nerd Chloe Brown almost dies, she makes a list of goals and vows to finally Get A Life. So she enlists tattooed redhead handyman and biker Red to teach her how. Cute, funny and ultimately life-affirming, this enemies-to-lovers rom-com was exactly the brand of light relief that I needed this month. The follow-up Take A Hint, Dani Brown focuses on a fake-dating situation with Chloe’s over-achieving academic sister and I can’t wait to get my hands on that.
FICTION: The Rearranged Life of Oona Lockhart by Margarita Montimore
Just before her 19th birthday at midnight on New Year’s Eve 1983, Oona Lockhart finds herself inexplicably in 2015 inside her 51-year-old body. She soon learns that every year on New Year’s Day, she will now find herself inside a random year of her life and she has no control over it. Seeing her through relationships, friendships and extreme wealth, this strange novel has echoes of Back To The Future and 13 Going On 30 with a final revelation that I certainly never saw coming.
NON-FICTION: The Five by Hallie Rubenhold
Atmospheric and engaging, The Five details the previously untold stories of Polly, Annie, Elisabeth, Kate and Mary-Jane -the women who lost their lives at the hands of Jack the Ripper. Full of fascinating research and heartbreaking accounts of what these women’s lives may have been like, Rubenhold paints a dark immersive portrait of Victorian London and gives voice to these tragic silenced lives. Although we can’t know for certain if these accounts are entirely accurate, they feel very plausible and in some ways, The Five exposes how little time has moved on, when it comes to the public portrayal of single, troubled women.
NON-FICTION: Unicorn by Amrou Al-Kadhi
From a childhood crush on Macaulay Culkin to how a teenage obsession with marine biology helped them realise their non-binary identity, Unicorn tells the story of how the obsessive perfectionist son of a strict Muslim Iraqi family became the gorgeous drag queen Glamrou. Packed full of humour, honesty and heart, this book will give you the strength and inspiration to harness what you were born with and be who you were always meant to be.
MIDDLE-GRADE: The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates by Jenny Pearson
When fact-obsessed Freddie’s grandmother dies, he discovers that the father he has never met may actually be alive and living in Wales. So he has no choice but to grab his best friends Ben and Charlie, leave his home in Andover and go to find his dad! I laughed so many times during this madcap adventure and I know the slapstick crazy humour will hit the middle-grade target audience just right. It’s also a wonderful depiction of small town Britain with a focus on the true meaning of family.
MIDDLE-GRADE: A Kind Of Spark by Elle McNicoll
When Addie learns about her hometown’s history of witch trials, she campaigns tirelessly to get a memorial for the women who lost their lives through it. This wonderfully beautiful novel gives a unique insight into the mind of an 11-year-old autistic girl with a huge heart. Busting myths about neurodiversity while tackling typical pre-teen drama, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry but most of all, you’ll close the book with a huge smile on your face.
HISTORICAL FICTION: Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell
In 16th century Warwickshire, Agnes is a woman with a unique gift whose relationship with a young Latin tutor produces three children and a legacy that lasts for centuries. This enchanting, all-consuming account of the tragic story of Shakespeare’s lost son, the effects that rippled through the family and the play that was born from their pain will send a bullet straight through your heart. Wonderfully researched and beautifully written, Hamnet is worth all of the hype.
HISTORICAL FICTION: The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave
When a vicious storm kills most of the men of Vardø, Norway, it’s up to the women to keep things going but a man with a murderous past is about to come down with an iron fist. At the heart of this dark tale of witch trials, grief and feminism, two women find something they’ve each been searching for within each other. Gorgeously written with a fantastically slow-burning queer romance, Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s first adult novel is an addictive, atmospheric read with a poignant, tearjerker of an ending.
SCI-FI: Q by Christina Dalcher
When one of Elena’s daughters manages to drop below the country’s desired Q number, she is sent away to one of the new state schools and Elena is about to find out something she’d really rather not know about the new system. Packed full of real social commentary and critique of life as we know it while painting a picture of how things could be even worse (yes, really!), this pulse-racing, horrifying sci-fi dystopian gripped me from the first page and refused to let me go.
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1,3,4,37,38,50 for the asks
1. Things that inspire you
Literally anything! The basic plot of an episode, seeing a book that goes through the library while I’m working, talking to my writer friends about things we wish would happen...I have an endless ability to be inspired, which also means I have far too many unfinished WIPs
3. Name three favorite writers
Only three? I don’t know if I can make myself do that!! How about three TYPES with three each?
Whumpy Authors: @tomminowrites, @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my, @flowing-river24
Great Mac and Jack moments: @impossiblepluto, @whumpwriterforlife @pandigirl19
Really big detailed stories I can read like a novel : @amandagaelic @altschmerzes and an author on FanFiction. net , Ridley C. James...
4. Name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why!
I grew up on Charles Dickens and I’m pretty sure that’s where my proclivity for exploring serious and sometimes dark themes of problems in society comes from. I once described my backstory for Mac in Wunderkind as sounding like the biography of a Dickens protagonist, and I think that’s a fairly accurate assessment of how I build my characters...If I really like them, I keep knocking them down and having them learn their lessons from a tough life that they eventually find a way to rise above. There’s something timeless about that kind of narrative.
The main reason I’m comfortable switching between character viewpoints is thanks to reading a book by Ken Follet, “The Pillars of the Earth”, that I dug into a few years ago mainly because I was going through a phase of being obsessed with the Middle Ages. Follet managed to write a bestseller that didn’t have one main character, but several whose stories intertwined, and still managed to write a book that had a single coherent storyline and tied all the plot threads and characters together at the end. That heavily impacted my style, and my willingness to write the viewpoint switches that are now a major trademark of a lot of my longer works.
Finally, I’d have to say Tolkien. What can I say, the man did world building like no one else. His was the first story world that I found fully immersive because of its rich histories and the way he created something that expanded far beyond the experiences of the characters he wrote. He left whole lands open to imagination and discovery, which was something that made me want to seep coming back to his books again and again. Inventing whole languages is a little beyond me, but I’ve definitely learned to make my larger stories set in a world that feels bigger than just my characters’ experiences of it.
37. Canon or AU?
AU all the way...I just love exploring all the ways that the world could be different, but the team will always still find each other. I have a fondness for writing Mac and Jack meeting under every conceivable set of circumstances possible, because they’ll always find each other, in any world...
38. Do you reread your own stories?
Absolutely. I reread Wunderkind (usually specific chapters) when I’m doing a repeat of a character or a callback to a previous episode, which I did a lot of this week since I’d already had Carlos show up a few times and wanted to make sure I had the details right. But I also reread for fun, I just finished rereading my X-men story that’s connected to Days of Future Past...
50. Open question (48 three spoilers for "Wind+Water)...
We’re going to get some foreshadowing for the season finale, vigilante Mac is not very smart when it comes to the area of medical care, and something unforeseen happened close to the end involving water...
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December 25th-December 31st, 2019 Reader Favorites Archive
The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from December 25th, 2019 to December 31st, 2019. The chat focused on the following question:
While being respectful, what’s a comic you think is objectively great but is just not to your subjective tastes?
carcarchu
the first one that comes to mind is purple hyacinth https://www.webtoons.com/en/drama/purple-hyacinth/list?title_no=1621&page=1 by all means i should love this series. i think the art and premise are great but for some intangible reason it just doesn't jive with me for some reason. i still recommend it to others and it's not like i don't read it but personally it just didn't make it feel anything
snuffysam
Honestly? Most of the comics I've read as part of #week_long_bookclub and #comment_storm fall under that umbrella. The vast majority of comics I've been introduced to through the CTP activities are really quite good (there's been exactly one in the book club that I couldn't stomach, and it was because of content/writing i personally found overly edgy & distasteful) - but for one reason or another, they're just not the type of comic I want to keep up with regularly. Too slice-of-life-y, too sad, i couldn't visually distinguish the characters that well, a super-sporadic update schedule/is on hiatus/is getting rebooted, the parts of the story I liked are clearly not things the author wants to focus on moving forward, a non-functional/poorly organized website, etc. All very good in their own right, but for one reason or another is not something I'd want to read one page at a time.
Eightfish
@snuffysam I feel similarly that most of the comics in the book club are not my cup of tea (haha). I wonder if it would be different if some of the comics there were reader suggested instead of author suggested?
keii4ii
I think CTP should remain author-submitted. Readers could suggest to the authors to submit their comic, though.
the majority of comics I encounter everywhere aren't my bag of tea, TBH. And that's probably a big part of the reason why I'm making my own. Gotta feed my inner reader's needs, one way or another
A lot of Western-written comedy, specifically, are lost on me for cultural reasons. Often they seem to be referencing something that I'm not aware of. Or they have to be read in a specific tone that's lost on me, and probably would make a bit more sense to me if voice-acted. Things like that.
Cronaj
For me it's usually art style. I'm pretty picky about art style, and I know for a fact that I'm missing out on a lot of good comics simply because the art styles are not to my tastes. Any style that's too cutesy, simplistic, or "generic" anime just doesn't call to me. There have been outliers that have managed to draw me in anyway, despite the art style, but not a lot. I also just tend to not like gag-a-day comics or slice-of-life. If there isn't a larger story, I get kind of bored. That being said, I also don't tend to enjoy most superhero/ strictly action comics, simply because I can recognize the tropes from a mile away. Not that they're bad, just... outdated? In fact, I LOVE superhero movies, but most superhero movies have adapted the tropes into a new form for the big screen. Here's an example of a comic that I've seen around, laughed at a few of the jokes, and then never felt the desire to consistently read it, just because it's not my style. Brutally Honest: (https://tapas.io/series/Brutally-Honest)
LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)
I find myself having the same problem with webcomics that I do with other media - I like to feel like I’m escaping reality. Stories set in our world are hard for me to sit through comfortably. That automatically makes general slice-of-life and romance stories hard for me to get into, unless there’s a strong fantasy/supernatural/sci-fi element to them. That already puts a lot of webcomics out of my range. Because there are SO MANY high school slice of life romance drama webcomics out there. Some of which I know are very highly rated and probably great. They’re just not what my brain craves
Tuyetnhi
strangely enough anything with western high fantasy elements I usually don't read as much compared to romance or slice of life comics lmao
kinda in the same spot to what keii said: a lot of western themes get lost for me and I feel like I need to put my own spin on things if that make sense
Nutty (Court of Roses)
To be fair and honest... I don't really have comics I don't enjoy, or I guess fall too far outside my tastes? Out of the ones I've read, anyways! My reasoning is that I just don't have TIME to read too many comics out there, so when I decide for myself that yes, I'm going to sit down and commit myself to this comic, I look for and find things to enjoy about it, even if it's not normally my cup of tea. The story, the art, the style, the jokes... I try to keep an open mind and enjoy whatever I have the chance to get into, because as an artist I think about the person behind the comic and what kind of story they're trying to tell. I just... really like comics ahahah I wish I had more time to read more!!!!(edited)
FeatherNotes
I agree with @LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) on the 'set in our world ' bit! I find it difficult as well to immerse myself im stories that are in our world with exceptions of an alternate reality or large enough twist that would really differ from what the setting is. Slice of life doesn't really appeal to me, mainly because many comics don't have very stand out designs/personalities for characters that i would gravitate to. To be more specific to the question however, there are certainly quite a few amazing looking comics that don't really float my boat simply bc of style or execution of story or whatnot! Ive been reading one recently that hasn't really stuck to me or left any impact character/story wise, but.....im still reading it! so there def must be something!
Octoflamingo
There are a lot of comics I like but I find myself not reading them after I get to where they last update. I just rarely check in afterwards and usually by the time I do I’ve forgot the plot. I feel that every time I go back to a comic I have to read it all over again to get back to where I was. That can be really time consuming the longer the series is. I also try not to pick up long story oriented series if they aren’t finished because I know I’ll never get to the end of them.
Bear
I say this as a person in the LGBT+ community: I’ve become very tired of comics that centre around a person coming out. Which sucks because they’re super important! But I’ve lived the struggle, everyone close to me has lived the struggle. It’s tiring. What I want is genre stories where the characters are LGBT+, but that’s not necessarily the focus. Luckily in webcomics that’s easier to find. I still have to dig through coming out stories to find them though.
Deo101
Gotta say, super agree with that one Bear.
Eightfish
Same. I like stories where characters are just casually LGBT. Even to the point where they won't even mention that they're gay or lesbian and instead just show up in a gay relationship or naturally bring up their attraction to the same sex. Steven Universe does this really well, I think.
Oh and speaking of suggesting authors to sign up their comics, I think I could have a lot to say about @LadyLazuli (Phantomarine) 's Phantomarine (: Maybe in a few months when the comic gets a little more ahead in the plot?
LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)
@Eightfish I may submit it after this chapter is done around the beginning of February! I do wish I were further ahead, but there will still be plenty to say after this one wraps up. Thank you for the encouragement!
RebelVampire
If I'm just speaking in general, usually comedy and slice-of-life comics will fall into this category for me even if they're fantastic. I am very, very particular about comedy and slice-of-life. Especially comedy, as I'm usually very specific about the sort of stuff that actually makes me laugh and entertains me. So honestly, a lot of comedy in comics is just not my jam. In a more specific comic sense, Kamikaze to name just one of many: https://kamikazeanimated.com/comic/ The art in the comic is fantastic, the characters really fleshed out and interesting, and even some of the comedy I like. Objectively, I think this is a fantastic comic with a ton of effort put behind it and one everyone should give a chance. That being said, for me personally, I just can't get into the pacing. It's a bit too slow for me even if I think objectively it works fine. So while it's a comic I might enjoy in bulk reads, as a page-by-page thing I just can't do it.
Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)
To be honest, I can’t really name any comics? I tend to like just about any comic that’s really well done. Obviously I have my preferred genres, but I simply don’t seek out comics that aren’t my thing. If I do read past the first few pages of an objectively well-made comic, chances are I’m going to stick around snd keep reading.
Eightfish
Maybe my own comic? Not that I think it's objectively great, but it is of course more completely to my own taste than any other comic out there. Yet if I try to read my own comic I can't glean any enjoyment out of it over the overwhelming feeling of hearing my own recorded voice played back to me. Anyone else?
keii4ii
That's an interesting answer! I can't say I feel 100% the same, but I can relate to perhaps a facet or two of it.
I don't really read my comic either, after all, even though it's an honest reflection of what I want to read.
Eightfish
Thing is I have another short comic from about 6 years ago that I am now far removed from enough to read objectively. And I notice things I think are well done that I didn't notice before and big flaws that I haven't considered 6 years ago. So I'm worried since I can't read my current comic objectively I don't know what I need to improve on
keii4ii
That's definitely a struggle for me as well. It's what constructive critiques are for, BUT it's not easy finding someone willing, able and well suited to critique your work.
I used to actively solicit concrit on my comic. While I appreciate that every critic spent their time and effort genuinely trying to be helpful, the actual critiques weren't always helpful. You have to be a good critic (it takes skills), and you have to be the right critic for that specific story.
🌈ERROR404 🌈
I totally agree on that keii, a lot of people see concrit as the solution for every issue, but that's just bound for trouble. There are a lot more bad and mediocre critiques than well stated and usable ones
keii4ii
Yeah. There's a reason why the services of a good editor are so highly valued!
Cronaj
I think the problem is that most people who offer critiques are trying to shape the story in a way that they themselves would enjoy more, and not necessarily an objective improvement to the existing story. Offering a critique that also preserves the essence and heart of a story is extremely difficult.(edited)
Eightfish
Also when critique is contradictory- " I love how your comic gets right into the interesting part" vs. " I was really confused by the intro " But I don't know what side I would be on if I was a reader because as the author I would never be confused by my own story.(edited)
keii4ii
Yeah, and even when you get two crits on the same "side" it's possible that it's just skewed data due to small sample size. Like, maybe both of the critics are simply not your target audience. I've found that it helps a LOT if you ask specific questions, instead of just asking for a concrit. Coming up with good questions can be very difficult, though! One I've asked in the past is "did you lose interest while reading the comic? If so, at what point(s)?" and I got helpful answers from that, even from people who weren't the target audience.
Kelsey (Kurio)
I admit, I’m not the best at critiquing, like trying to bring to mind things other than “art looks nice” or “I like that joke” or whatnot
Though I guess it gets easier the more I read and mull over something
🌈ERROR404 🌈
it's sometimes hard to find something good and worthwhile to critique LOL
Kelsey (Kurio)
And of course, how does one define “objective improvement” with works of art/media? Outside of things like improving grammar, but what about in cases where it’s like that on purpose? It’s real hard to be totally objective with criticism when you think about it, even when you try to be objective
keii4ii
This might be getting off topic for the channel, but I think it's better to think of it as "effective for the goals of this work" rather than "objective." If you do X in your work on purpose, but X is not appealing to your target demographic, that's not effective. You need to either not do X, or re-define your target demographic. (Not necessarily the only options in that situation, but you get the point.)
Cronaj
I definitely think that "effective" is a better word for what I meant. It's all about intent. For example, most people generally agree that art style should be consistent in a comic, BUT in some cases (especially in comedy) switching up the art style for a scene or a panel to emphasize a point or subvert expectations (thus making the scene potentially funnier) is a very "effective" inconsistency. Basically, if something is effective for telling the story or instilling a mood, the objective view basically becomes null.
DanitheCarutor
I can get into almost anything, there are very few stories I have trouble with, even if it's a genre I wouldn't normally like. Although there are a couple that I'm really picky with, and that's gag-a-day comics or general comedy. The only ones I can think I've actively read off the top of my head are Oglaf, Perry Bible Fellowship and more recently, Woman World. Other than those few the genres never catch my interest, I'm more for story/character driven comics, with plot and stuff like that. Sometimes a comic doesn't click regardless of genre, for example: Homestuck I tried sooo hard to read this one to see what the hype was about, but the farthest I've ever gotten was maybe 50 pages after several attempts, and that's not because it's bad! The comic just didn't click, and regardless of my taste I probably would recommend it to someone who likes those types of comics.
#ctparchive#comics#webcomics#indie comics#comic chat#comic discussion#comic tea party#ctp#reader favorites
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BODY AND SOUL Part 8 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)
BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST
Author’s Note: Whew, okay y’all, Duncan and Kenzie are dragging me along at a breakneck pace, trying to tell me everything at once and I’m trying to get them to slow down so I can organize everything, but I can’t stop writing this fic. I’ve been forgetting to eat I’ve been so wrapped up in it. I keep trying to take a break for a day but I don’t feel like doing anything else half as much as I feel like writing. That’s an amazing feeling I haven’t had in...a really fucking long time, years and years. I have to thank some of you again for your love and attention to me and this story: @nat-de-lioncourt, @impiorumrequies, @carousallie (thanks for your tips about cool DC places, darling!), @ladywriter94 (who had a fucking dream about Duckenzie, oh my god, a dream I’ve vowed to make into a scene at some point), @ghostwithangeleyes (who made this edit a few days ago!), @icouldrun, @hi-ilovedamien (who made this which I fucking love and is writing an amazing Millory fic of their own that you should definitely read, Dichotomy), @killcort and @amanda-d0000, Thank you. There’s a lot of stressful stuff coming up for Duckenzie regarding outward pressures; the good news is, they have each other. Here’s Billie Holiday’s BODY AND SOUL, which is a song I had never heard before until a few days ago, though now I feel like it’s as integral a part of this story as any other song I’ve listened to or included as inspiration (and her name is Billie too; how amazing is that). I based Madeline’s little china dolls on the work of an existing artist, but I looked for her to link to it and couldn’t find it again; if anyone knows of an artist who modifies china dolls so they’re little grotesqueries, let me know, because it’s probably the artist I was thinking of. Like Annette, I found Madeline (who is based on Carrie Fisher) challenging but ultimately rewarding to write; she sees the world very differently than Annette, and it was important for me to communicate the differences in Duncan and Mackenzie’s upbringings with their mostly-single mothers. I listened to Rihanna’s KISS IT BETTER a lot for the sex. As ever, if you’re reading and enjoying, your comments and reblogs are everything to me.
Kenzie pulled at the latch handle on her mother’s hardwood front door, stepping inside warily, practically tip-toeing. She was immediately enveloped by the warm, wonderfully inviting, deeply nostalgic smell of her mother’s homemade spaghetti sauce; a smell she seemed to be able to pinpoint in her dreams sometimes (smells in dreams, always weird, she thought). It juxtaposed sharply with the sinking feeling now nestling deep into her guts, the foreboding feeling of being a disappointment to her mother, who she couldn’t help but idolize in her own secret way; couldn’t help but want to impress, make proud, bring contentment.
She moved slowly through the doorway, setting her satchel down by the door, slipping her kitten heels off and checking with a soft tap of her hand that her phone was still tucked into the large pocket of Duncan’s cardigan, then moved past the staircase and into the living room, with its large oak-framed fireplace and soft, squishy, jump-in-there mulberry-colored couch, gazing at the odds and ends of her mother’s house, the tchotchkes that defined so much of her mother’s energy in her head. Her mother loved weird paintings in particular; things that looked like other things; on the mantel was her growing collection of delicate china girls that had been reconfigured to feature odd anomalies; one girl had tentacles growing out of her arms, another was holding her own disembodied heart with a hole in her chest, one had a gaping hole in her side, her arm on the little porcelain patch of grass at her feet, and a dazed, zombie-like expression, her mouth a mess of blood and gaping teeth. Kenzie had bought a couple for Madeline one Christmas while she was still in college, seeing them in an online shop by an independent artist; their defiant monstrous femininity was Madeline always in Mackenzie’s eyes, and they’d made her think of her mother right away. Over time, Madeline had acquired more, and now they formed a small monstrous army there. On the wall over the fireplace, her eyes dusted over the large gold coin that was her mother’s Pulitzer prize; a prize Madeline had earned at an absurdly young age for a now-legendary editorial on her struggles with bipolar disorder. Kenzie scrutinized it with a mixture of pride and longing; she was already 24, older than her mother had been when Madeline had been awarded the prize. She wondered if she’d ever win something so prestigious for her writing; couldn’t stave away her doubt that she wouldn’t. Who cares, make art anyway, because it’s for survival, it’s for your own heart and soul, the memory of her mother’s advices past pushing between her ears. Momby, who was in the kitchen, banging pots and pans with pointed slamming and slapping; Momby, who was mad at her.
Kenzie slipped her hand into her pocket, her little fingers closing around the familiar smooth rectangle of her iPhone in its gold case, thumbing the moon sticker; thinking of you, Duncan, her memory flashing back to his lips under her ear (leaving an invisible gold tattoo) before she slipped away from him into the car outside Le Diplomate, the moment now frozen in time by a stranger’s camera, her heart ramming into her ribcage, her body immersed in liquid fire. I have to make Momby understand.
She entered the kitchen where to the right she saw Madeline at the sink, past the fridge, staring at the water falling from the faucet into the stainless steel pasta pot she held steady under it. Her lips were pursed together, her expression neutral, far away. She glanced over her shoulder at Kenzie, who stood in the doorway in her knee-socks, making her hands into fists and then relaxing them, hesitant. Glanced, looked back at the pasta pot, glanced back again, silent, on the edge of her anger, but unable to find words for it.
“Momby,” Kenzie started.
“Mackenzie, how could you be so fucking naive?”
The words stung her like a slap in the face.
“Men like that--” Madeline began, and Kenzie walked past her, tears already stinging at the corners of her eyes (oh god, Kenz, not already), trying to hide her face from her mother, trying to find footing in her slowly disintegrating composure. She cried so easily with her mother; maybe it’s because she usually felt so safe to. But not right now. Right now she wanted to hide in a hole until Madeline decided she forgave her daughter. Right now, Kenzie wanted to fast-forward to everything being okay, because it had to be. She couldn’t bear the idea of not being with him now. A sharp, imaginary spear of pain jabbed into her chest as Madeline finished her words. “Men like that will take everything away from you, they will try to control you and make you their slave and they will try to crush your spirit, Mackenzie.”
Kenzie jerked one of the squat wooden chairs from the round kitchen table in the corner and sat, setting her fingers against the edge of the table, gripping that edge for dear life, eye fixed on the brick wall behind it, refusing to look her mother in the eye. Kenzie, do not cry, do not fucking cry, don’t do it, you stupid crybaby bitch, don’t fucking cry--
But it was too late and she could feel the tears coming, pushing themselves out of her lower eyelids like a tide coming in to shore; she was powerless to stop them, just as the shore was powerless to stop that tide, that ocean wave. She felt the first of them course down her cheeks, and her lip trembled.
“Momby,” she whispered. “I love him.”
She looked over at her mother then, more tears falling down her cheeks now; Madeline stood with her back to the sink now, the faucet still running, her arms crossed, her expression full of fury. She saw her daughter’s tears, and her face crumpled a little; enough that Kenzie could see her falter internally, double-back on her anger, try to go forward with it again, and become stuck in an in-between of emotions.
“Mackenzie. My dearest. You don’t know him yet.”
“Momby, I will get to know him. Please listen to me.”
“Annette Shepherd has tried to ruin my career, destroy my credibility and my livelihood, she has tried to smear my personal life, tried to discredit my work, Annette Shepherd is an evil bitch--”
“Momby, this is not about you!”
Kenzie shocked herself with the shrillness of her scream; her voice rising until it seemed to shake her entire body as it came out, rocking her back from the edge of the table into the seat, and she turned her body to her mother, her own anger now finally having risen, the tears still stinging their way down her face. Her mother’s face went white with shock, and she fell into a stunned silence. For a few minutes, the only sound was the water running over the edge of the now-full pasta pot, and the tick of the little classic black Kitty-Kat clock against the wall leading to the dining room.
“Momby,” Kenzie said again, and her voice cracked a little--she hated to fight with her mother so much. She hated it, it punched a hole through her heart, it fractured her spirit and filled her with abject sadness. “Momby. Please. Let me make my own mistakes. You have to let me. You made mistakes too. Don’t I get to make any? Can’t I--” Her face collapsed, unable to stave off the sob building in her lungs any longer, and she gasped as it burst out of her. “Can’t I figure out myself if this is a mistake or not?”
Her mother’s face softened, her arms unfolded, and she turned, shutting off the faucet, moving to where Kenzie sat with her body now shuddering as she cried.
“Kenzie Lou,” her mother said, and she reached out to grasp Kenzie’s hand. Kenzie immediately felt enveloped in the warmth of her mother’s now-wrinkly touch. She gasped out a little sigh of tear-clogged air, forced herself to speak between her hitching breaths.
“Duncan isn’t his mother, Momby. Please, believe me. Why can’t you trust me?”
“Oh, sweet pea.” Her mother pressed her other hand over Kenzie’s, so both grasped her fingers. “I do trust you. But sometimes you feel blinded by something--by someone. Sometimes you can’t see what’s going on because you’re looking at one tree in a forest.”
“Momby, that’s not what this is.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel it. In my heart. In my spirit. He loves me and I love him and we want to be together and I love you so much, but I’m going to be with him whether or not you like it, Momby, and I’m an adult and you need to let me do this.”
Madeline let go of her, standing again, moving back to the sink, dumping the overflow water out of the pot, bringing it over to the stove, lighting it, grabbing the salt off the rack beside the stovetop, her expression exasperated again. Kenzie wiped at her teary face with the sleeves of Duncan’s cardigan, sniffling, feeling pitiable and tired.
“I’m not stupid, Momby, and I need you to trust me. I need that from you.”
Madeline shook salt into the water, still not saying anything, still pressing her lips together, her eyes unreadable behind her squarish black glasses, shoving the container back onto the rack; grabbed the glass bottle of olive oil beside the rack, shaking it hastily into the water next. She was thinking. She was listening; at least, I think she is, Kenzie hoped. I think she’s listening to me now.
“I know in my heart that this is what I want.”
“And what if he betrays you, my sweet Kenzie?” She could hear the edge in her mother’s voice; the edge of tears. Her own tears sprang back into her eyes, threatening at the corners. Oh Momby, she thought, don’t cry.
“You experienced pain, you were betrayed, and you came out the other side, you survived,” Kenzie replied, and her hand slipped down into her pocket again, clutched her phone in her wet fingers. Duncan, please, be true to me. Please, promise me I’m not doing this in vain. “If that’s what my path is, I have to see it through. Momby, you know, I was with Tyler for three years. I never once felt this way about him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Like my eyes are finally open. Like I finally understand.”
“Like you understand what?”
Kenzie stared evenly at her mother, who was now facing her again, hands resting against the back of her hips. She saw the moisture behind her mother’s glasses, could see the searching expression in her mother’s eyes behind the shield; knew that Madeline was as prone to tears around her daughter as her daughter was to her. And Kenzie knew that her mother was listening. Kenzie stood up, padding over to her mother on soft, earnest feet; she reached her arms around Madeline’s stiff body, burying her face in the crook of Madeline’s neck, pressing into her. She felt her mother soften in her embrace; felt Madeline’s own arms come around her little frame, hand coming up to stroke her hair.
“What it means to love someone,” Kenzie said into her mother’s skin, and her tears came back again, falling along the shoulder of Madeline’s indigo sweater, like little pearls of rainwater.
They stood that way for a little while; Kenzie could hear the soft hiss of the gas stovetop under the spaghetti sauce (simmering for hours now, filling the house with its rich, spicy smell) and the pasta pot, the soft ticking of the cat clock’s tail, back and forth, and the rustling of the trees outside in a drifting wind. A car passed by on the street, its rumble indistinct. And she could hear her mother breathing softly against her; feel the weight of her mother’s warm hand in her hair. And she knew: eventually, this would be okay. She knew with a startling certainty that sometime, someday, her mother would accept Duncan, and it filled her with emotion again, silent, still, and overwhelming.
-----
Madeline had driven Kenzie back to the train station after dinner; over her mother’s wonderfully spicy garlic meatballs and long handmade pasta, her mother had insisted on meeting Duncan this week; if it were up to Madeline, Kenzie thought, she would drive to his penthouse now, an accusatory finger in his face as soon as he opened the door, provided she could get up there without a doorman hurriedly chasing after her. She couldn’t erase the worried tone of voice her mother used for the rest of the meal; couldn’t erase the apprehensive gaze hovering on her mother’s face. This will take some time, she told herself, trying to reassure her frayed nerves. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was any lasting relationship. She wondered at her appetite, expecting it to have dissolved entirely over the stress between them, but she found she was starving; I guess I only ate half my lunch, she reminded herself, and no breakfast, didn’t have time for Duncan to make me eggs and toast again, and she felt wistful, wanting to go back to that first morning they spent together, the memory crystallizing in her psyche now; set to last forever. There will be so many days for us to have breakfast together, she told herself. God, I could die of happiness, I can’t believe it still.
She glanced at her mother, who was quietly staring out at the road, not speaking, lost in her own thoughts. Kenzie pulled out her phone and sent Duncan a quick text; she was disappointed to see he hadn’t yet replied to the last one that had included the link to the gossip website. Mom isn’t happy, but I think I made her understand, at least a little. At least for now. She wants to meet you soon; I thought maybe on Friday? She put the phone back in her pocket, determined not to stare at it in hope for a reply. He’s at dinner with Annette, she told herself. He’ll reply when he can. Her mother pulled into the station’s parking lot, the waxing half-moon scattering its light down on the platform.
“Kenzie Lou, promise me you will keep your wits sharp.” Her mother had grasped her hand before she got out of the Jeep, tightly, insistently. “Promise me you will keep your head. Words are just that; words. It’s action alone that proves affection. And I don’t mean just the bedroom kind.”
“I promise, Momby,” Kenzie said, squeezing her mother’s hand, unable to suppress the smile that spread over her face at that last part. “I promise I will.”
My heart is already lost in him, Momby, she thought. And in his bed. But my wits are always my own.
Kenzie waved a little as the beat-up Jeep Cherokee drove away, and her mother laid a light tap-tap on the horn (the way she always did) as the headlights turned to the street and the car accelerated behind Kenzie, drifting away into the waxing moonlight. She turned toward the station platform, seeing the glowing lights of the approaching train, still a quarter of a mile down the track; she held the strap of her satchel in one hand against her leg, and the other hand she used to pull her phone out of the big pocket of Duncan’s cardigan again. She’d noticed her mother looking at her clothing several times over dinner, and though Madeline hadn’t said anything; Kenzie could tell her mother knew the cardigan was too big for her; that Madeline knew it was his. But fuck it, she thought. I told her. It was awful. But now she knows. She pressed the home button of the iPhone, heart in her mouth, hoping Duncan had replied by now; but to her dismay there were no new text messages on her phone. She lowered her arm, thumb absently stroking the phone screen, her heart sinking. She realized in a wave how tired she felt; not a physical tiredness as much as an emotional ache. Her soul felt tired with all that had happened; her heart wasn’t used to being tossed back and forth this way, and now her body ached; ached with the hug she’d shared with her mother, ached with the come-down of adrenaline, and most of all, ached because of Duncan--the ardent touch of his hands and mouth and cock, but also the ardent immediacy of his desire and his soul, and they way they had touched her, touched her in the deepest part of her being. She felt lost in the depth of feeling that had surrounded her for the past few days; the thought of sleeping in her bed alone tonight made her want to burst into tears again, as if nothing at all had happened, as if she was now supposed to go back to things as usual, supposed to sleep somehow, supposed to bring herself down from the highest peak of heaven, back to earth, unbothered.
As the train pulled up, rustling Kenzie’s hair into her eyes and against her cheeks, she felt the swell of an incomprehensible emotion fall into her, one that felt like a door opening, or a book falling open, or the rush of air that comes before a storm. She felt lost in the feeling for a moment; a feeling that had no definition, no name, and no intention of explaining itself to her. She slipped her earbuds on, and, too exhausted to choose, hit the shuffle button in her iTunes library; as she eased into one of the long, flat seats along the side of the train, she heard the sweet voice of Billie Holiday slip into the buzzing space of her mind, calming her, sweet and understanding, full of that emotion she had felt, unable to name. My days have grown so lonely, for you I cry, for you dear, only...why haven’t you seen it, I’m all for you, body and soul...Kenzie closed her eyes, letting Billie’s voice wash over her, the train pulling her along, back to her empty little apartment, through the waxing moonlight.
What lies before me, a future that’s stormy, or winter that’s gray and cold...unless there’s magic, the end will be tragic, and echo a tale that’s been told, so often...my life revolves about you, what earthly good am I without you?...I tell you, I mean it, I’m all for you...body and soul...
-------
Kenzie made it to the door of her little studio apartment, its familiar gold moon swinging back and forth as she pushed it open with her elbow, and uncaringly dropped her satchel on the floor; it teetered and fell over, spilling her Macbook to the side, a pen, a tube of chapstick, a packet of tampons and the little bottle of Tylenol she always carried scattering out. Who fucking cares, Kenzie thought, and she walked over to her bed, sat on the edge, kicked off her shoes, pressed her fingers into her eyes, and felt the involuntary shake of a sob escape between her lips. The silence settled around her, enveloping, like a thick blanket; she suddenly felt unable to breathe, felt more tears coursing in an unstoppable stream from her eyes, pressing her fingers in harder, relishing the cold feeling of her fingertips against the hot tears. She wondered with a sudden, horrible, shaking fear if Duncan was going to leave her, if his mother had managed to somehow sway him to drop her, dump her unceremoniously; wondered if Annette had convinced him somehow that she wasn’t worth anything after all, that his reputation was more important than dating some two-bit mediocre journalist, that he, the wildly beautiful and wildly rich and wildly perfect Duncan Shepherd, didn’t need her, didn’t love her, and didn’t want to see her again.
Oh no, she thought, as she felt the despair of her wildly derailing thoughts pressing into her throat and her lungs and her ribs. Oh no, oh no. And Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; she started to cry, cry so hard she thought she might break into a hundred pieces, cry so hard, tears falling like tiny crystals through her fingers, that she thought she might never stop. She imagined that her long, fraught argument with her mother tonight had all been for nothing; that that pain and the ache of her mother’s disapproval had been for naught, and the feeling that had washed over her that everything would be okay in the end was a fraudulent one; that the feeling had been a lie. She thought of his passionate kisses and his beautiful hands and wondered if they, too, had been a lie; if somehow she was as stupid and as naive as her mother had worried she was...and as Kenzie cried, she heard the trumpet of her phone ring out in her pocket.
She pulled it out, eyes wet and blurry with her tears, her mind aching. Duncan.
Baby, I’m so sorry it took so long to text you back. It took a long time to get my Mom to a place where she wasn’t being irrational. Thank you for sending me that link; everything’s okay, my Mom has seen it already, we’ll make it through this, I promise. She wants to meet you on Friday as well; can we see your Mom on a different day? I can make time on Wednesday or Thursday, I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to have dinner with both of them at the same time yet. I feel like we’re going to have to ease them both into this, and I want everything to work out okay. I want them to accept this (accept us, accept you, accept me) because it means more to me than anything else. You do.
I miss you terribly right now.
Kenzie’s breath hitched; the sob there stopped abruptly as the wave of aching relief washed over her. It means more to me than anything else. You do. I miss you terribly right now.
For a few heartbeats, she read the text again; one more time after that. Then, she typed.
Baby, can you come to my apartment? Please come.
For a moment her breath shuddered through her body from the comedown of her tears; and she stared at her phone, her mind blank of everything but her hope.
Duncan: Coming to you, baby.
Her heart slammed into her ribs the instant she read it, against the edge of the bottom of her throat. Whoever is listening, she thought. Thank you. Oh god, goddess, Fate, thank you.
------
It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes later when Kenzie heard the buzzer for the front door ring; it resonated in its shrill little voice through her apartment. She had been in the bathroom, trying to dry the worst of the tears and dab the worst of the redness from her cheeks and her nose; she turned, achingly, resigned to her tear-stained face, and practically ran to the button by her front door that unlocked the buzzer; she waited there, not moving at all, as if frozen, listening; she heard the front door snap open with a jerk, heard the sound of his pointed gait, the click of his boots in the hall, and then the insistent knock on her door, once, twice, three times.
“Baby,” she heard his low voice murmur, and she yanked it open, feeling her face crumple again, to her deep dismay; she couldn’t stop the feeling of relief that washed over her in more tears as she looked up into his face, flushed with what seemed to be the aftermath of him running up the sidewalk from the car, into her building; a curl of his caramel-chocolate-dark hair had fallen over his brow and his eyes were clouded with concern as they gazed at her tear-stained face, his expression one of desperate longing.
“Duncan--” she murmured, but that was all she had a chance to say; he had enveloped her in his arms with an entirety that stole all the breath from her body, pushing her back with aching gentleness, kicking her door shut behind him with one of his black boots, his mouth reaching down hungrily to hers in a burning kiss, the fingers of his left hand falling down to cradle her waist, the fingers of his right coming up to her neck, under the base of her skull, holding her face to him with aching softness that made her body vibrate with an immediate burst of feeling that sent waves of heat into the sensitive folds of her sex.
:”Oh, baby,” he whispered into her. “Oh, Kenzie, don’t cry, please don’t cry…” His voice made her tears threaten to flow again, though, despite his words; they were full of ardency, achingly gentle, and blasted with the tenderness of his own sadness and longing. He was afraid too, she realized, lost in his mouth and the warmth and pressure of his hands. He was scared, too.
“I thought maybe your mother--” she started to speak against him but he shushed her, with that aching tenderness, that insistent need to soothe her. “No, baby, no,” he said. “Nobody will ever come between us. Not her. Not anyone. I swear.” His hand came up from behind her head, his thumb trailing over the incline of her jaw, over her lips, over the tenderness of her sore cheek. “We’re together now. Me and you. Only me and you.”
She nodded, unable to speak, her hands clutching at the thick smoothness of his leather jacket, leaning her face into his hand, full of such relief and warmth and sweetness suddenly that she felt faint with it; faint with the immediacy of him, where before her apartment had been cold and empty and void of him, faint with his realness, faint in the weight of his embrace. But then her head cleared; her sense sharpened, as if someone had turned a light on inside her; had turned up the volume of her spirit, had pressed a shot of adrenaline into her heart, and she pulled his face down to her, demanding, hungry; he came to her eagerly, a little moan escaping into her from his mouth, and she felt his aching need press against her belly; she pulled him over to her bed with its blanket covered in constellations, and she pushed him down insistently, needy and unselfconscious in this moment; she wanted him to know that he was hers now, she felt it acutely; there was a sort of possessive rawness growing behind her thoughts; she didn’t want to share Duncan with anyone anymore tonight, she wanted him to be hers now, and hers alone.
Duncan had leaned up a little on one elbow to look at her, gazing up at her from where he lay on her coverlet with hunger shining out of his gray-blue eyes; hunger, and that same look of wonder, of reverence, that had so thrilled and frightened her before. That hair still fell over his forehead; his beauty filled her with a demanding ache that she wanted sated, and she was going to make him give her what she wanted, and she felt, without any doubt, that he would give her whatever she wanted, with devotion.
“Baby, I want your tongue inside me.” Kenzie stared into Duncan (her boyfriend, her lover)’s eyes as she said it. She moved her hands down beneath the hem of her dress as his eyes followed, pulling the waistband of her black panties down; her nerves thrilled at the soft groan that came out of him towards her as she stepped out of them.
“Yes, baby, please,” he whispered, trying to reach for her.
“Not yet. Lay back.”
He looked at her, a thrill of gold light flickering through his gaze. Then he lay back as she had instructed, his eyes never leaving her face. She could see the rise of his erection under his tailored slacks; she could see his neediness, and it thrilled her.
She pulled the turtleneck dress over her head, throwing it onto the floor, her hair cascading around her bare shoulders now; she unhooked the clasp of her cream-colored bralette, letting it fall to the ground as well, her eyes never leaving his. His expression was divine; entranced. He was so beautiful; she wondered if she’d ever be able to look at him without feeling as though her body was simmering under a fire; his beauty pierced into her, causing her bare skin to burst into goosebumps as she stood there in soft light and shadow falling from the bathroom doorway, naked but for the thigh-high socks she’d been wearing all day; she pushed them from her knees, keeping her eyes locked on his.
“I want you to fuck me with your mouth, baby.”
“Yes, Kenzie. Please.”
She smiled at that; please. She liked that.
“Ask me again.”
“Please, Kenzie. Please let me fuck you with my mouth.” His expression was achingly sincere; he was truly begging her, and she loved it so much. She laughed a little, delighted. God, I love this, she thought. Him asking for it like this. This fucking Prince, begging to eat me.
She climbed on top of him; his hands came around her, but she pushed them gently down and he followed her lead, lowering them, gazing at her in desirous wonder. She moved up carefully, slipping over him so her knees came to rest on the coverlet on either side of his head, the softness of her ass sitting on his chest, right over his breastbone. He let a soft moan fall from his lips again; “Oh, baby--”
“Shhhh,” she insisted. He quieted. She slipped her hands around his wrists, bringing his hands up so they rested against her lower back, just at the incline of her ass. Then she lifted her hips, feeling the lips of her labia stretch, wet with her arousal, gazing down at him, expectantly.
“What do you want, Duncan?” she whispered, smiling, hovering there.
“I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he replied, eyes gazing into hers; she saw the wild, rough abandon buried in them; an abandon that was for her, and her alone.
At that she pressed down onto his mouth (that beautiful mouth, holding the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen captive), feeling the edge of his teeth graze against her clit, the warmth and wetness of his tongue press into her, slide up into the sweetness between her folds; she felt his hands move down to cradle her ass, clutching at her tightly as he buried himself between her legs, and it made her body shudder with a violent knowledge; he was going to make her come and he was going to make her come hard. He moved his head so she fell up and down onto him, each insistent lick of his tongue into her core rocking her body back in a haze of sunbursts behind her eyelids, fireworks, rolling thunder breaking into shocks of lightning.
“Ahhh, Duncan, baby, fu-uuuuuuuck---” and her words bled into a groan of wordless, overcome sensation; he was working himself into her so utterly that she felt like she was a spool of thread unraveling into warm water; the heat building down at her sex where his mouth sucked at her with insistence was causing her mind to hum with warning, hum with the threat of an onslaught of sensation she wasn’t sure she could prepare herself for. The press of his large hands clutching at her ass, the weight of his tongue pressed into that overwhelmingly sensitive bundle of nerves, moving down again to probe into her swollen pussy, licking up again, hard and soft, rough and then achingly gentle, and she shuddered; she felt her release coming from behind a corner, rushing up. His eyes came up to stare into her again, as if he could feel her climax approaching, she looked down into their blue depth, and that was what sent her over the edge, tumbling into the abyss of them: she screamed and her body rocked back with an involuntary spasm that stretched into a prolonged convulsion, clutching his skull, pulling his hair back, pressing her core down into his mouth with so much force she worried for a moment that she’d suffocate him; and he moaned under her, sucking the wetness that dripped out of her down his throat, eagerly, keeping his mouth there as her orgasm eked out of her in waves; she gasped as he continued to lick at her overly-sensitive, now-swollen clit, as if he was loathe to leave it.
Kenzie collapsed down into the crook of Duncan’s shoulder; she continued to moan, her orgasm still hovering around the corners of her eyes, her body dissolving into a post-coital daze; tears pricked at her eyelids again, and she felt them course down her cheeks; will my tears ever end tonight? she thought, overwhelmed in her release. Her body continued to shudder under his gentle hands as he moved them, softly, up and down her skin; caressing her breasts, her waist, the bumps of her ribs, the incline of her hip bone, the soft skin of her upper arm, the indentation of her throat, and all over again, starting at the beginning.They gazed at each other, blinking slowly, not speaking; Duncan’s mouth was wet with her release, and she pulled him down to her; he kissed her deeply, the taste of her mingling between them again (like that first night), and clutching her hand in his larger one, tracing his fingers through hers, slowly.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Fuck me now.”
“Are you sure?” He asked, hesitant, delicate. She nodded; said “yes”; she sat up, pulling him with her, pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders (he yanked it off, lips connecting with hers again) and she pulled his soft long-sleeved black shirt over his head; he unbuttoned his pants and pushed them and and briefs off together in a fluid motion, kicking his shoes off, pulling his cashmere socks off his feet; he turned to her, grabbing harshly onto her legs at the back of her thighs, yanking her down the bed to press against him, his naked cock shuddering between his legs against her skin, and stood at the edge of her bed, holding her legs together and her knees up so the back of her thighs were resting against his the front of his, her feet brushing against his shoulder. He lifted her a little; and then he buried his length in her sensitive cunt, groaning, and held her legs up as he pounded into her, his knees bumping into the edge of her mattress with every thrust, burying his entire length deep into her again and again; she gazed up at him, her mouth open, unable to look away; Kenzie felt like an invisible thread had extended between them, tying them into each other indistinguishably, souls threaded through one another.
Duncan gasped, pausing for a moment, gripping her tightly, staring into her, his chest heaving, still buried inside her; “fuck me from behind, baby,” Kenzie said, and he smiled (baby that smile that smile, eat me up) and pulled out of her, soothing her body down, and using his strong hands he flipped her over; she moved so she came up on her knees, hands pressed into her coverlet so she was on all fours; she moved her ass up just a little, so it was higher, against head of his cock, expectant.
He grasped her around the neck (“oh god baby,” she gasped) and right under the space beneath her left breast, and he buried himself inside her cunt, his mouth finding the small space under her ear. “Fuck baby, this feels so fucking good,” he moaned into her. “Fuck, you’re so lovely, baby, fuck, I love you--” and she gasped against the weight of his hand which he tightened a little, tightened and made little stars come out under her eyes, “Fuck baby, I love you too,” she cried, “fuck, keep your hand on my neck that way, fuck that feels so good--” and he steadied his grip so his fingers splayed out and covered the front of her throat, possessively.
Duncan’s cock was wildly hard; Kenzie could feel the way it was stretching the lips of her labia, stretching her to the edge, burying itself so deeply into her she felt him bumping against her cervix with little dazzles of vague pain--he thrust into her again and again, hand steady on her neck, the other reaching down to her clit again; he pulled her up so she was pressed flush against him, her little body prostrate to him, his fingers working between her legs, lips still on her neck, hand still at her throat, and as he shuddered into her, coming deep inside her (“Kenzie, angel, I’m fucking coming--” and a longer “Fuu-uu-ck, fuck me, fuck” into the skin of her neck) she felt a second wave wash over her; an orgasm of smaller power than her first, like short tides bursting over a rocky shore one after the other, and she whimpered into his hand around her windpipe, shaking.
This time they both collapsed back onto the bed, hands coming around each other with need, holding each other between trying to catch their breath; “are you okay, baby?” Duncan whispered against her forehead, where a sweet film of sweat gathered along the hair at her temples; she could see sweat glistening on his forehead, too, and along the incline of his jaw.
“I feel so fucking good, baby,” she replied, hazy, quieting. “Do you feel good?”
“God, so fucking good,” he laughed, his lips falling on her shoulder blades, his hands trailing along her arms. Then his expression shifted, became serious.
“Kenzie, I’m so sorry I made you worry. I’m so sorry for not texting you sooner; today was terrible, neverending, but that’s not an excuse. I promise I will never ignore your messages or disregard them. It kills me that you thought the worst; that you were sad because of my lack of perception.”
“Duncan, it’s okay. I was just...blowing it out of proportion...today was just, so long--”
“Baby, no.” Duncan shook his head, hands falling down the wave of her hair, twisting his fingers through it. “No, I’m sorry. I should have texted you before I went to dinner and I didn’t. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Kenzie nodded against his hand, closing her eyes, sighing. How are you real, she thought towards him again; how are you mine.
“I need to text Samuel to tell him to come back in the morning--” Duncan sat up a little, his eyes questioning, asking her. Kenzie felt a thrill course through her--he’s going to stay here with me tonight.
“Okay,” she said, smiling at him, hand trailing down his arm. “Yes. Please sleep with me here tonight.” And he nodded, leaning down to kiss her, and she felt like she was dissolving into the waning moon that hung in the window, dissolving into him, and both of them melting into the stars on her bed.
#millory#millory au#duncan shepherd au#duncan shepherd#cody fern#billie lourd#collie#cody x billie#duncan x mackenzie#duckenzie#duncan shepherd x mallory#duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone#house of cards au#ahs apocalypse#michael x mallory
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{A/N} Waiting on the Sun to Rise.
Oh how I wish that ol’ sun would rise~♫
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I wrote a bit. {Points down.} It’s nothing special, 2nd POV just ‘cause idk what’s going on with anything again and it feels weird to try and write dedicated pieces when stuff’s off. {Waves a hand in a circle.} Said it before, but this time I’m trying not to let it keep me from writing. Used to use that as an excuse to not write or do anything but I keep saying if I keep that up I’ll literally never do anything and I’m in my 30′s, now.
I’m ready to do stuff. And so I’m gonna do stuff.
I’ve been reading “The Writer’s Process” by Anne Janzer, which was recommended to authors who want to know how to prep for writing seriously, sort of like a “how to get started writing novels” 101 book. It had really good reviews on Amazon and I’m on Chapter Five right now. It’s only about 200 pages long, if that, but it’s honestly really useful. It’s got good tips on balancing work/personal life with trying to write (like you have to actually dedicate time to write, can’t just expect to write a novel on wishful thinking) or how to help stimulate creativity. It includes tidbits and tips from psychologists who have done studies on the best way to tackle creative processes like writing so you can get the most out of your writing; it’s really been a helpful tool. The chapter I’m on right now talks about tackling procrastination, lmao, and how to self-discipline--which I have said is one of my biggest problems. I make excuses, I find reasons to not write, I let myself get distracted, but I’ve been saying all year I’m tired of looking back on the year before and spying all the wasted time and just sighing @ myself.
There’s no excuse other than me being lazy and/or making excuses. The older I get, the less forgiving I get with myself about it.
My 20′s I am now realizing was really not a good time for me to try and get published, I’m sort of allowing myself a pass because now that I’m out of that decade, I realize I was working through a lot of shit. I was still dealing with abuse into my late 20′s and while no one’s life is perfect I recognize that I wasn’t in a good enough headspace to dig deep and write well. My emotions are 97% of my writing and they weren’t right. Now that I’m in a better place in all aspects (still working on the living situation, but got less than a year to go, there) I can shelve the self-reflective work and start trying to make something of this talent and imagination I’ve got.
I don’t really know where this aggressive, “I am going to write.” mojo has come from. I mean I’ve always, always known I wanted to be an author but it was sort of a hobby more than a career. I wasn’t taking it seriously and there’s probably lots of reasons for that--
1. Was dealing with depression and teetering on finding any self-worth enough to try to make something of myself.
2. Been told from a young age that I was not good enough and to give up/not bother trying because I won’t make it.
3. Afraid of failure and the resulting, “I told you so”‘s.
So yeah. I just hid behind fanfiction and sprinkling my OC’s and plotlines through fandom work, which allowed me to express what I wanted to express without fear of failure or putting myself out there. But that’s not enough, at least...I don’t know. I’ll always have a heavy preference for writing for FL and Monica and stuff, but I treat that like...hm. Almost like a treat? It’s a treat for me. To give something of myself to someone I love very much. Her reactions will always be my favorite.
Stepping outside of that, though, fanfiction stopped being enough for me a number of years ago. It was too confining, I had so many ideas and characters and themes and stuff I wanted to put out there that I didn’t want to work in a confined space anymore. Y’know that saying, “Of course you’re uncomfortable and unhappy where you are--you’ve grown, you’ve changed, you are no longer that person. It’s time to move on.”
I feel that.
It was like wearing a pair of shoes that were too small. Yes, I could wear them and get somewhere, but not the distance I needed, and wanted to go. My hopes of being published haven’t gone away. I’m scared to try still, lol, I know my writing’s good, it’s the one thing I know I’m good at, but the way I want to do it is different than the norm. In a way, selfishly, I feel like Christine. She was one of the only people writing paranormal romance when she started, and she’s said how she had to push and push to get her publisher to take a chance on her work, that she knew she had something good and she didn’t give up on it. And now, we have the Carpathians. ♥ I’m somewhat in the same boat with wanting to write 2nd POV. I’m totally capable of making a heroine and giving her a name and backstory but I know what I like to read when I read fanfiction. 2nd POV. It’s more personal, it resonates, and tbh it helped me through some really difficult parts of my life. I want to return that to my readers. To give them that personal immersion that 2nd POV provides. But those aren’t the books that are published.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t have a novel finished or anything, lmao. I just, it’s one of my fears. That I’ll write this novel in 2nd POV and not be able to get it published...but I suppose I should cross the first part of that particular problem before anything else. Can’t fret about being published if there ain’t shit TO publish, DOT.
I’ve got a few novel ideas. Milano hasn’t gone away, lol. He still lurks about, like he’s just waiting for me to get my ass in gear and actually write his book properly.
...I really did sort of just use Yu Yu Hakusho to sort of write my own practice novel of Milano’s, lmao, if I’m being honest. I mean I did also want to go the hipster route and write for Yusuke because he was so under-loved in the community and I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t subjugating favoritism but truthfully I wanted to let Milano loose. I was proud of him, proud of the story and world I’d created around him, and I needed an outlet for it and was too young to know what to do with what I had. Was fucking 18 years old, fresh out of high school, and in way over my head honestly. Now that I’m matured, older, and my ADHD isn’t kicking my brain around like a pinball machine, I think I can do him proper justice.
So yes, Milano, I will still be writing your novel. Just uh, don’t ask me when. Baby steps.
I also have Bram’s story that I wrote 20 some odd pages of outline and prep work on, that I fully intended to novelize. And I still think I have something there, so hold onto your obsession, Bram. You’re up on the board, too.
The most recent idea I had was for a series of novels, called Help Wanted. It actually started from the most recent story I wrote for Monica, where she delivered those specialized herbs to Milano. I essentially work in a service industry and it got me thinking about how I like to take care of people, that you don’t typically see that in romance novels. Usually the heroine is the one being taken care of and while I won’t object to that, I also like to do the taking care of. And it’s not an itch I get to scratch a lot, when I read. So I have been tossing around this series of novels where the heroine of each book is a caregiver of some sorts, taking care of the love interest in some way, shape, or form.
For example, the idea I came up with today was for a human nanny (the reader) who gets hired by a vampire to take care of his child after his wife was staked/murdered. The vampire is hopeless as a father and needs all the help he can get, and his child needs a proper caregiver. The nanny comes highly recommended and to make matters worse, when shown a list of potential caregivers the child picks her out of all the other candidates. The vampire is wary of allowing a human in his home but he’s rewarded when his little one flourishes under the love and attention the new nanny brings. Can the vampire come to trust and love one of the very same who killed his late wife?
Another idea I had was for a bubbly housekeeper/caregiver who comes to care for a depressed zombie/undead. The undead can barely take care of themselves and the caregiver was hired by a Wellness Committee, who keep tabs on supernaturals (think like child or elder protective services). The undead wants nothing to do with life but can’t die--but maybe, just maybe, with a little bit of TLC from their caregiver they can learn to live again. Happily, with the one who truly saved their soul.
Obviously don’t judge me too harshly, I’m literally like two days into this idea, lmao. It’s rough around the edges, like super rough, but it’s something that speaks to me. It’d be sort of like the Carpathians as in like, a shared universe, with all sorts of different love interests per novel--it’d be paranormal so there’d be monsters and demons and ghosts, weres and mers and just--maybe even superheroes! Or that could be a spin-off series or just--
See it’s just a lot and it’s all brand new and I’m still working all this out.
BUT! What’s exciting to me is that I have ideas, still. I still want to write, I’m still living in this creative, imaginary headspace and I’m still wanting to share that world. I think I’ll just always be this person, and that’s not a complaint. I’m glad. Imaginary places got me through my childhood and tbh it’s what’s getting me through this hectic shit we call adulthood.
I’ve been saying, all year, that I’m going to keep going and I’ll probably keep saying it. I’m still working a lot of stuff out, still figuring out my writing process and I need to get back to writing every day (I did it for the first three months of the year so I know I can do it) so that when the time comes for me to sit down and write for Milano, for Bram, for Help Wanted--
That I’ll still be ready to go. 💕
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Imma Be Me
I have a mighty powerful mind.
Many years ago, on the eve before I started a new school, in a new city, with a new family dynamic, I made a decision. We had fled the wreckage of a divorce, my mother and young siblings. Miraculously found a new home, next door to my grandparents; a better home base couldn’t have been constructed by heaven’s architects. The air felt full of potential, which is probably what prompted me, twelve years old and already endlessly introspective, to ask my aunt as she tucked me in before my first day of school.
“Do you think you can just decide to be a different person?”
I asked because in addition to dusty gravel driveways and angry words, we’d left behind a school where I had become the target of bullying. Heavy, constant, violent, sometimes sexual bullying. Even in past schools, if I wasn’t bullied, I was the doormat, the kid’s birthday everyone went to so they had an alibi for sneaking out.
I didn’t want to be that anymore. I wanted to change it. Right in that moment, looking at my aunt’s loving face as she tried to respond, I did change. I wouldn’t be that person anymore. I would wake up, and it would be different.
No surprise, the first year at my new school wasn’t wildly different - from the outside. I was still shy, I still watched people laugh and joke with a silent, small frown, trying to crack the code on how people managed to live life so effortlessly. But - I definitely felt different. The few times I was targeted for a mean joke, I lashed out with a fury and wit I didn’t know I had. It was quickly established I wasn’t worth bothering, because I would eviscerate my antagonist, usually in front of all our peers.
In the years following, I threw myself into seeking out genuine friends. Good people. Funny, loving, loyal people. I eschewed social clout and looked for people that would mirror the love I was so ready to beam, Care Bear style.
Looking back now at my teenage years, my friends and classmates would probably not recognize the twelve year old girl who was willing herself not to be a loser. It was a gradual change, but it all started with that night, that decision, that harnessing of my own mind and will, and knowing that I am the captain of my ship. Things might go off course from time to time, but no one else is going to steer me from the rocks. That’s all on me.
This last year has been miserable in so many ways. I’ve learned harsh truths about myself, my mother, my family, things I wasn’t ready to see. I’ve finished a bottle of wine and yelled at the stars, yelled at my mama, dared her to respond. I’ve cocooned myself in distraction, turned off social media, my phone, any form of communication, and totally immersed myself in reading, movies, anything to stay numb. I’ve had heartbreaking conversations with my siblings. I’ve been battered by so many things that my brows are perpetually pinched, I’m always bracing for impact, determined not to flinch this time. Be strong.
I’ve been strong for a year, and it was breaking me. Too measured with my grief, too aware of how my feelings affect others, I rarely had a moment to just be. This would build up until it erupted out, and a song would come on while I was sitting at my desk, in the middle of my workday, and then I would sob.
I wanted to die. Life felt colorless, it felt like I was just a burden to my friends who tried so hard to lift me up, my voice was just adding to the cacophony of confusion with our family squabbles, I no longer wanted to write stories or kiss someone or laugh loudly or breathe air. I just felt so tired.
That’s where I’ve been for the last few months.
Then came Mexico.
I booked this trip last summer, knowing that I would want somewhere private to grieve for the one year anniversary of Mama’s death, which is also her birthday. I wanted to be able to cry when I felt like it, to dance if the mood struck me, to write or not write, to be disconnected from my phone, my job, my friends, my expectations of who I’m supposed to be in this world without my mama.
Soon after my host gave me the grand tour and left me in my new haven, I laid flat on the warm brick floor and cried. I cried, and cried, and I was loud, and I didn’t worry for a second that my upstairs neighbor could hear me. I didn’t worry that my stepdad might be calling me soon with a question. I didn’t budget my time so I’d have enough time in the evening to cook, clean, work, and all the other shit. I just cried until I didn’t need to anymore.
I went out and had sad dinner under a grass hut on the beach, and I didn’t care that my waiter knew I was sad. I went out for a food tour in the city, and I wasn’t self-conscious about how easy it was to laugh and joke with the group. I quietly noted how effortlessly I made new friends, and accepted it instead of telling myself I’m too shy, too this, too that.
Because my mind is a powerful tool, y’all. I can have a pocketful of phone numbers, and somehow convince myself that each guy didn’t really mean it when he earnestly pressed the number into my hand, asking me to call. That’s how you walk around feeling no self worth. I can empty myself of love, showering it on my friends and family, and still feel like a garbage person if I keep telling myself I have no value. I can spend a year of my life in stasis, without any direction, if I tell myself that my mother was my center and I am utterly groundless without her. The mind, man.
But that’s not the truth, and Mama would be the first to point that out. We fought. We didn’t always talk. I found reserves of strength in me all on my own, not always leaning on her for it.
Giving myself the space to just be, I feel so much more in touch with who I really am, instead of the bullshit I’ve been telling myself. I have ferocious love for my family, and my mama was an incredible source of love and strength for me - but I am more than just her daughter. I am more than my grief. I discovered down here that it probably wasn’t my grief, it was my attempts to control it, control my feelings, my reactions - this has been the poison slowly eating away at me. Free of any narrative, I was able to laugh, cry, dance, flirt, sulk, and sleep, free to slip through these emotions as swiftly as the ocean breeze changes direction.
“You’re so brave, so independent,” one of my new friends told me over drinks one night. I waved off the comment at first, the old habit of dismissing anything that sounds like praise. “I can see you doing something adventurous, like moving down here to just live on the beach and write.”
I assured my friend that the market for screenwriting in tiny fishing villages wasn’t booming, but I remembered her words later, as I texted one of my best friends. I was working through the idea that I had far too many negative mantras that I repeat to myself regularly, and perhaps I should stop demanding that I be this incredibly independent person. “But you are a super independent person,” he countered.
I stared at that text for the rest of the night, thinking of my twelve year old self. I think I’ve been telling myself all the wrong things, for far, far too long.
I am brave.
I am strong.
I am vulnerable.
I am a wicked loving partner and friend.
I will always miss my mama, but it will not define my life.
I am putting my hands back on the steering wheel, and slowly, gradually, I am going to become the next version of myself. Hopefully someone a little lighter, a little easier to laugh. More willing to accept my faults without letting it consume me. More generous in accepting the faults of those I love.
Bending space and time, I give the answer - a reassuring voice in my twelve year old mind, just before sleep comes. “Yes, you can become someone different. Now go be her.”
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Yin & Yang (Soulmate au)
→ Jimin
Genre: angst/flufffffffy end
Summary: Jimin thinks he has found the love of her life, when fate tears them apart. Luna comes into his life but Jimin hates soulmates...
Or
Jimin doesn´t want to be with Luna because he doesn´t believe in soulmates.
Number of words: 5217
This is a world of soulmates. You either meet your soulmate and live happily ever after, or you settle for whoever you could find that at least made you feel special.
People didn't really judge you if you 'settled' because finding your one and only was extremely hard, being that they could be anywhere in the world and of any gender.
Everyone loved the idea of soulmates. The romantic factor of finding the one that was made for you was engraved in everyone's minds. Me, on the other hand, hated the soulmates thing.
If I have to be honest, I didn't really care about soulmates that much until I met Haeun. I felt like the world had stopped, like everyone was silent, expecting us to meet. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever laid my eyes on, with gorgeous brown eyes and thin lips. Her figure was very slim and she was the shortest little bean.
I thought that was it. I thought I had met her, but when I excitedly looked at my wrist, I saw no mark. Frowning, I had looked at her again and walked towards her, introducing myself.
-Hi- I said and she stopped talking with Taehyung to turn to look at me
She smiled and shook my hand saying hi back. As creepy as it sounds, I held her hand a little longer to see if her wrist had anything on it. Although we didn't have the same mark, I was relieved that she didn't have a mark at all, meaning she hadn't found her soulmate yet.
-I'm Taehyung's best friend- I clarified and she opened her mouth in understanding
-You must be Jimin, then- she said and I felt my heart stop for a second at the sound of her voice saying my name- I'm Haeun, Tae's cousin- she introduced herself
All the while, Tae was looking at us with a cheeky smile but a bit of concern.
When we finished talking and Haeun left, Tae turned to me.
-Jimin, I know that look and I don't think it's a great idea- he said and I frowned
-What look?- I asked
-You clearly like her a lot but she's not your soulmate- he said as if I didn't know
-I don't care- I said nonchalantly while sipping my coffee, but I did care
-You're gonna get hurt- he said but I dismissed him with a wave of my hand
-Don't worry about it- I finished the conversation
Although I had told him not to worry about it, I was worrying about it myself. I had become her best friend, the one she could rely on. And as the years went by, my crush for her grew until it became love.
One confident night, I had told her about my feelings and she reciprocated them. We had agreed to be together but if any of us found our soulmate, we could break up.
Honestly, I didn't want to find my soulmate. I was so in love with Haeun, I couldn't even think about loving someone more than a I loved her.
Despite my worries, I was so happy I had found someone. So happy I had broken the system because there was no way, there was no way I could love my soulmate more than I loved her. And I was sure she would never love someone as much as she loved me.
That was until, of course, she found him.
-Jimin, I want you to meet my soulmate- she smiled
I frowned and tried to keep my composure. When she had told me she had something important to tell me, this was certainly not what had come to my mind.
-Hi, nice to meet you- he smiled an award-winning smile and raised his hand to shake mine
I looked at his hand and looked at her and the finally took it.
He was tall, muscular, handsome. Everything I wasn't.
I could see it. I could see them as a couple, how they just matched even thought I didn't know the man's personality at all.
-Nice to meet you too- I smiled the fakest smile I had ever made but none of them noticed
They were too immersed in each other. All the love that I saw in Haeun's eyes everytime she saw me wasn't there anymore. Now, she looked at me with friendliness and looked at him as if he were her world. She looked at him like I looked at her.
She had never looked at me with such adoration.
I was hurt. This hurt like a bitch.
I saw her kiss him before whispering something to him. He nodded and waved at us with a smile before leaving.
-Chim- she called me and I looked at her- I know this may come as a surprise but I met him a week ago and I haven't been able to think about anything else- she smiled starstruck- I hope everything is okay with us?- she asked with a hopeful look on her face
I tightened my smile and nodded.
-We agreed whenever one of us found our soulmate, we could break this off- I said as if everything was okay in the world
It wasn't. At least not in my world. Mine was crumbling into tiny little pieces.
-Thank god- she sighed in relief and hugged me
I closed my eyes and held her close to me for as long as I could. She eventually stopped hugging me and said goodbye before going back to him.
A few weeks and a lot of tears later, Tae gets a new roommate...
-Do you even know what this movie is about?- I asked while chewing chips and laying on his sofa
-I'm not gonna lie to you, not really- he nodded while squinting his eyes at the screen
-Who even chose this?- I frowned while watching a man eat hot dogs on a competition- is this even a movie?- I scrunched my nose when he threw up
-That's up for debate- he said and changed the channel
-Anyway, so how's your new roommate?- I asked
-Her name is Luna. She's great. She's sooo pretty and so funny and so kind- he said excitedly
-May I remind you, you have already found your soulmate?- I said as I saw his eyes sparkle
-I don't like her that way, she's like a little sister- he laughed and grabbed the bag of chips from my hand
-So you said she's Latin?- I asked
-Yeah, she came all the way from Colombia- he said
-That's far. Why Korea?- I asked again
-Her mother is Korean so she learned the language. Then she decided to move here to go to university- he answered just as we heard keys opening the door
-She's here?- I asked and he nodded
-I thought she wouldn't come back till eight. That's cool with you, right?- he asked
-Yeah- I said not really interested
Honestly, since Haeun had left my life, I hadn't been able to concentrate on anyone. Even less girls.
The door opened and I looked at her just for curiosity. The minute I laid my eyes on her I panicked. My heart started beating faster than ever and a sharp pain appeared on my wrist.
-Tae, I'm home- she said once she finished putting her stuff down
She looked up and her gaze froze on mine. She squinted in pain and looked at her wrist before realizing what was going on.
I slowly looked at my wrist and there it was. A little yin and yang symbol was engraved on my wrist and instead of feeling the happiest man alive, my body was filled with rage.
I stood up and walked towards her, stopping right in front of her to really see her. She was beautiful, I couldn't lie. But so different to Haeun. She was almost as tall as me, curves pn her body, green eyes, black hair and olive skin. An exotic beauty that my mind didn't want.
Despite having my heart run a thousand miles and my hands itching to touch her, I couldn't help but hate the situation.
I could see the shine in her eyes, the happiness they held, but I couldn't reciprocate the feeling. I looked down and grabbed her hand to look at her wrist for confirmation. There it was, the same symbol I had was printed on her wrist.
I looked at her again and saw her smiling, ready to almost throw herself in my arms and never let me go. My soul and heart were so ready to get to have her, but my mind was stronger.
-I don't want you- I said as cold as ever and her smile immediately deflated.
She wanted to talk but her words got stuck in her throat. I saw her eyes getting wet and I took that as my que to leave. So, I turned my gaze to Tae's who was looking at us with confusion and made my way to the door to finally leave.
Once in the elevator I leaned my back on the mirrored wall and sighed. With eyes closed, I let my body fall to the floor and my hands grab my head.
-What the hell is wrong with you?- was the first thing I heard when I finally picked up Tae's call
-Stop calling me- I answered, disinterested in the conversation
-No! You know how much she cried when you left yesterday?- he asked and I could hear the anger in his voice
I closed my eyes trying to dissipate the unwelcomed pain that overcame my chest when I herd about her crying and sighed when it started to fade away. I didn't know her and I didn't want her, there was no reason for me to feel pain.
-That's not my problem- I said and I heard him huff
-Are you kidding me? She's your soulmate, who else could it concern more than you?!- he said, furious at this point
-Don't call her that- I gritted my teeth when my heart jumped on my chest at the mention of her being my soulmate
I was so pissed. So mad at Tae for insisting, so mad at Haeun for having left me, so mad at myself for feeling what I was feeling towards a girl I didn't even know.
-Call her what? Your soulmate?- he said it again and I almost exploded in anger- well guess what, she is. So fucking get over it and fix this before I kick your ass- he said and ended the call
I huffed in anger and threw my phone on my bed, fighting the tears threatening to fall down my eyes, but failing. I choked on the tears and covered my face with my hands, gritting my teeth and trying to decipher my feelings.
A few months went by and my mind was still fogy with thoughts. Two days after Tae's and I's fight, he had called and apologized but told me he still didn't like my way of handling things. He had offered me to go to his house and fix things and despite my better judgement, I went.
Things didn't go well. I ended up getting so mad at them wanting me to forget Haeun that I left before the tears could fall from her eyes. Time after time, I went back to visit Tae but it would always end in her pleading for an explanation and me burning with rage.
One day, she told me she loved me...
-Jimin stop it, please- she cried while crunching my shirt with her tiny fists
-Just get over it, Luna! I don't want you, stop trying!- I yelled and grabbed her hands to pull her off me but she tightened her hold
-I'm not Haeun, I will never hurt you- she cried but I saw red
-How dare you talk about her like that!- I screamed and she cried harder
I finally managed to get her hands from me and started walking towards the door
-I love you!- she said and I stopped dead on my tracks
I could feel my heart flutter so much I thought it would burst right out of my chest. But I couldn't do this to Haeun...I couldn't...
-Baby- she sniffed and that hurt even more, made me feel so much pain
I loved the words that were coming out of her mouth. It's a pity I was so stubborn.
Without another word, I opened the door and left.
After that incident, I tried being as cautious as possible, but there were some days where we would see each other. Some days she wouldn't even spare me a glance, which honestly hurt a lot. I knew I was being a hypocrite, but I needed her to see me.
Some other days, however, she would look at me, get as close as she could without invading my space. Everytime I saw the pain and confusion in her eyes. She was slowly giving up on me, and despite my better judgement, I hated that.
Some days Tae would leave for the toilet and she would appear from her bedroom, looking as cute as she could and with puffy eyes, leading me to believe that whenever I came here, she cried. On those days, she would sit next to me on the couch, and tell me she loved me...
When Tae announced that he would go to the toilet, all I could do was wait and see if she would come out of her bedroom. She did, and I held my breath. I straightened, waiting for her next move.
She looked at me, looked at the toilet, looked at the kitchen and started walking towards it. Just when I thought she would ignore me, she turned abruptly and walked towards me, finally sitting down on the couch.
-I love you- she said and I physically had to hold my chest to prevent my heart from falling
I tried to say something, but my mouth wouldn't let me. I honestly didn't know why I was doing this, why I prevented her from coming closer to me, why I wasn't pulling her to me right now to hold her in my arms.
All I knew was that the thought of Haeun was still lingering in my mind, and my hatred towards the system taking away my love was still engraved on me.
-I just thought you needed to hear it- she whispered and stood up, going back to her room and never coming back again
I did need to hear it. I had had a fight with my mom earlier that day and her words were just what I needed to finally relax. How she knew I didn't know, because I hadn't even told Tae about it, but I was glad she sensed it.
More weeks went by, until one day, she kissed me...
I rang the bell of Tae's and Luna's apartment and after a few minutes, the door opened, showing Luna's beautiful face. Despite the jumps my heart did, I rolled my eyes and lightly pushed her away.
-Is Tae here?- I asked while getting in
-No...he went grocery shopping- she said and stood against the door
She was wearing leggings, fuzzy socks and an oversized hoodie that looked to big to be hers.
-Is that yours?- I asked while pointing at her hoodie
-It's Tae's- she answered and I swore I saw red
-What?- I asked while walking towards her and towering over her when I reached her
-Is...is that a problem?- she asked, a little intimidated by me
I wanted to say that yes, it was. That she couldn't wear other's guy's clothes. That she was my soulmate, not anyone else's.
I couldn't understand my own feelings. Sometimes I would want her as far away as possible and some other times, times like these, I would only want her in my arms, wearing my hoodie.
-Take it off- I demanded and she frowned
-Why?- she asked but I wasn't about to tell her the reason why
-It looks ridiculous on you- I lied and turned around to walk away from her
I heard her huff and follow me, stopping right when I did.
-Are you jealous?- she asked and my immediate reaction was to laugh (despite her being right), so I did
-Don't flatter yourself- I chuckled
She grunted and brought her hands to her face, rubbing the skin before bringing them to her hair to ruffle it. She looked at me again but this time the anger was gone to be replaced with sadness.
-Jimin, I don't know what to do anymore- she started, her eyes getting wet
-What to do about what?- I asked, already knowing what she was talking about
-About you! About this, us- she said while motioning between us- You're driving me insane, you need to tell me what's going on- she bit her lip to prevent her from crying
I couldn't stand seeing her cry again. Not again. Not after seeing her suffer so much just because of me. So I decided it would be best to stop her suffering.
-This is what's going on; I'm leaving- I said and took a step towards the door before she grabbed my arm
-Jimin, please- she pleaded and I almost melted at the sound of her voice, at how she said my name, at how she was looking at me with such pain in her eyes
-Luna, let go of me- I said as cold as possible but she tightened her grip
-Please, why don't you want me?- she stepped closer to me and looked into my eyes with tears in hers
I avoided her gaze and ignored the pain in my heart. It was screaming at me to tell her that I did want her but my mind was telling me to do the exact opposite.
-I know I'm not Haeun, but I'm your soulmate- she cried but at the mention of her name I grew angry
-I know you're not her. She was my first love. My one and only love- I clarified and she whimpered, but it wasn't out of fear. It was out of sadness
-Jimin- she choked and grabbed my cheeks with her hands
I closed my eyes for a second, enjoying the feeling of her soft hands, melting my whole being. I sighed when I felt her forehead lean on mine and her breath mingling with mine.
-Please, please let me in, baby- she whispered and I bit my lip to contain my tears
-No- I said but my tone was weak
-I love you- she said and she knew she got me when she said those words
No matter how angry or annoyed I was with her, whenever she said those three words, I always relaxed.
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and before I knew it, she was kissing me.
My mind didn't even get enough time to acknowledge what was going on, when my body was already reacting. My arms wrapped as tight as possible around her waist and my mouth immediately opened to deepen the kiss as fast as possible. My body and heart just wanted to make up for the lost time as fast as it could.
She whimpered against my lips and tightened her hold around my neck, tilting her head and deepening the kiss even more. Her fingers were on my hair, her mouth was on mine, her heart was close to mine. She was everywhere and my heart was fluttering with happiness.
Finally, my mind took a little hold of the situation and made me separate my lips from hers.
-Wait, wait- I said but she whined in protest, joining her lips with mines again
-Don't fight this- she said between soft kisses- please let me be close to you- she breathed against my mouth and dived in again, kissing my with as much passion as before
However, my mind was starting to really understand what was going on, so soon, it took control.
-Luna- I said but she shut me up with her kisses- Luna, wait, wait!- I said when she finally let her lips part from mine- Stop it!- I yelled and grabbed he arms to peel them away from me
-Jimin, no- she said, knowing my hard self was back
-Why won't you understand?! I don't love you, I don't need you in my life!- I yelled and I could see something in her eyes break
Despite not saying the words back, I had never told her I didn't love her, because deep down I knew it wasn't true. So as I said the words and immediately regretted them, I saw the last ray of hope leave her eyes.
I was desperate. I wanted that shimmer to come back so bad, to tell her that I didn't mean it but words wouldn't leave my mouth.
-Jimin...- she said but I couldn't look at her right now
-I have to go- I said and didn't spare her a glance before sprinting out the door
So, here I was. In my room, crying my eyes out, knowing that I had lost the love of my life forever. Hating myself because my stubbornness wouldn't let me be happy for once. I had finally found the one I was destined to be with, the one that loved me unconditionally, but I had to ruin it. Like I always do.
Two days went by and I called Tae. I was desperate to know how she was doing.
-What- he spitted as soon as he answered
-Please tell me how she is- I pleaded and he huffed
-Come and see for yourself, asshole- he said and I closed my eyes
-Is she sad?- I tried again and bit my lip
-Are you kidding me?- he chuckled- I have never seen anyone in as much pain as she is in right now- he said and my heart broke
-Tae...I love her- I said and I knew he thought I was the most stupid human being in the world
I thought so to, honestly.
-Then fucking come here and tell her that! You told her you didn't love her right after she kissed you and then you left. Do you even have an idea of how painful that must be? I imagine Yoongi doing that to me and I swear I would break apart- he said, his voice strained by now due to his anger
-I...I'm scared. I was scared then and I'm scared now. What if she doesn't want me anymore?- I said with silent tears
-She does, you stupid- he sighed- she cries for you all day, she only wants you to come back and tell her it was all a lie- he said
We were both silent for a couple of seconds before he sighed.
-Please come talk to her. I can arrange something with Yoongi and leave the apartment for you two...just...please come fix this- he said and I could tell he was also hurting from this
-Okay- I said as soon as he finished talking
I knocked on the door with my heart on my throat and waited, fidgeting in my spot. I let out a deep breath and repeated in my head over and over again the speech I had planned for when I saw her.
However when she opened the door and gasped, my words got lost in my mouth.
-Hi- i said trying not to choke
-Hi- she said trying to sound cold but failing
She wasn't a mean person, even if she was hurt she couldn't be mean to anyone. I loved that about her.
I loved everything about her.
-Can I come in?- I said with my fingers closed together
Without saying anything, she opened the door wider and moved to let me in.
I walked in and stood in the middle of her living room. I let my thoughts fly and remembered the kiss we had shared a few days ago just in the spot I was standing.
I raised my head and looked at her, her eyes trained on the spot I was standing. I saw the melancholy on them but soon it vanished into nothing.
She cleared her throat and walked towards a window, leaning on it and looking at the night sky.
-Why are you here?- she asked, her voice small and her shoulders closing in in her to make herself appear smaller
She was protecting herself from my words. Words that she thought would hurt her and I hated myself for making her feel like that.
I took slow steps until I was next to her, leaning on the other side of the window.
-The night is beautiful- I started, not really knowing how to say what I wanted to say
-Like you- she answered, but as soon as she realised what she had said, she looked down
I opened my mouth slightly and looked at her, wanting to tell her that she too was beautiful. The most beautiful girl i had ever laid my eyes on.
But my words were stuck.
-You know...- I said waiting for her to look at me but she kept her eyes on the city
I lowered my head but kept talking.
-That soulmates thing...it really sucks- I said but I knew it came out wrong the minute she closed her eyes
When she opened them again, I could see the amount of pain I was causing her.
-Why are you here, Jimin- she said once again, turning to look at me
I bit my lip and stepped towards her, standing right in front of her and making her eyes widen. They looked up to mine and the surprise was evident.
My hand went to her cheek and I let my thumb caress her skin, feeling it get warmer under my touch.
-Jimin?- she asked, but I was lost in her beauty. Lost in her rosy cheeks dusted by the moonlight, in her big wide shimmery eyes, in her parted red lips. I was hypnotized by how she pulled me without having to do anything.
-You are beautiful- I said without even thinking about what my mouth was letting out
Her eyes opened even wider and a gasp left her lips. She raised her hands and fisted them on my jacket looking for support.
-What?- she whispered
-You are beautiful, baby- I repeated, the "baby" falling naturally from my lips
-Jimin- she gasped and tightened her hold on my jacket
-So gorgeous- I said, running my thumb on her cheek before tangling my fingers through her hair to bring her face closer to mine
Another gasp left her lips and her hands fell flat on my chest, letting her feel my fast heart beat.
-Luna- I said, closing my eyes and laying my forehead on hers- I'm sorry-
I felt her relax on my embrace, her breathing going back to normal.
I opened my eyes and saw hers closed.
-For what?- she asked, her eyes still closed
My other arm went around her and pulled her even closer, our chests against the other completely. Her hands went to my arms and held onto them tightly.
-I'm sorry I hurt you...I'm sorry I was such an asshole- I said, remembering all the fucked up things I had said to her just because I hated the system. Just because I wanted to love someone other than my soulmate and prove myself right.
It wasn't worth it.
-Someone as perfect as you doesn't deserve that- I sighed and rubbed my nose with hers
She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes, looking straight into mine.
-I love you- she said, making my heart almost fall out of my chest just like every other time she said it- do you love me, back?- she asked, hopefulness in her eyes and I couldn't let her down again. I didn't want to let her down again.
All I wanted was her in my arms, like this, forever.
-I'm in love with you, Luna- I said and I sweared her eyes sparkled just as bright as the stars above us
She smiled shyly and I bit my lip to try to stop my fond smile, but I couldn't. I was too happy.
-Are you sure?- she asked and I giggled, making her smile wider
-Yes, I'm sure, baby- I smiled and she bit her lip, trying to take in everything that was happening
-If I kiss you now, will you push me away?- she asked, actual concern on her tone
I licked my lips and looked down at hers. So beautifully shaped, so perfect to fit mine.
I kissed her without a second thought, my lips colliding with hers in the most desperate, sweetest way.
Her lips opened to let our mouths lock together and we stayed like that for a while, basking in the other's presence. I pulled away to give her a few pecks while bringing both of my hands to her waist and pulling her impossibly closer.
She smiled against my lips and I pushed my mouth closer to hers, not wanting to miss a single touch from them.
-Hold me- I almost wined, expressing how needy I was for her. How much I wanted her to hold me and never let me go. How much I yearned for her touch that I had been deprived of.
How much I wanted for her to claim me as hers and only hers.
She smiled and separated from my lips, wrapping her arms completely around my neck and bringing our faces close enough for our noses to touch.
-I forgive you, baby- she whispered and I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders
I whimpered at the nickname, not being able to control my need for her.
Her fingers went to my hair and brushed it, making me pliant in her arms.
-I'm already yours. Are you willing to be mine?- I asekd, feeling the most vulnerable I had ever felt
She smiled and brought the other hand that wasn't running through my hair, to my face. The tips of her fingers brushed through the skin of my cheek and traced the bridge of my nose.
She touched me and watched me with such adoration, I felt like I could never leave. Ever.
-I've always been yours, Jimin- she murmured and I could've cried- you just had to let me in- she said and brought her fingers to my lips
Out if instinct, I kissed the tips of them, feeling the soft skin over my lips.
She rested her fingers on my chest, feeling my strong heart beat and smiled.
She brought her lips back to mine for a soft kiss and I felt myself follow her once she pulled away.
-I'm all yours- she said against my lips
I opened my eyes and saw the sincerity in hers, her happiness in the sparkles in them.
-All mine?- I asked, just because I wanted to hear it again
-All yours- she nodded
I smiled and kissed her cheek, rubbing my nose against it afterwards.
-All mine. Only mine. My soulmate-
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ONE suitcase, FOUR months
It does not feel real that in two days I’m going to board a plane for Sweden, where I will be living for the next four months. I’ve spent so much time thinking and talking about my future plans to study abroad but have not taken the time to let it sink in that these plans are no longer for the distant future. Everyone I know that’s studied abroad has told me to go in with an open mind and try to leave all expectations behind. I’ve tried to take this advice, but have discovered that “having no expectations” is just about impossible.
Already, before I’ve even left home, my experience is different than I expected. Subconsciously, I thought that by the time I was packing to leave, I would in some way feel ready to go. I don’t feel prepared to go at all. And not just in the physical sense of packing my bags. My main sense of lacking preparedness is emotional. I think it's going to take a while before I truly comprehend that I am going to be living in Sweden for the semester and not returning to Villanova’s campus to be with all my friends. Once I’ve been in Sweden for a few weeks, I’ll surely realize that I’m not just on vacation, but immersed in a new chapter of my life, thousands of miles away from my beloved family, friends and campus. I just looked it up, I’m going to be 4,004 miles away from Villanova.
I’m sure I’ll have amazing experiences abroad, but right now, I can’t help but feel like a freshman all over again. Packing up and moving away from the life and place I know, to go somewhere far away from home. I don’t know the local customs and I’m convinced I’ll stick out as different. I wonder if I’m going to be accepted and liked by the people around me. I’ve never had a problem making friends, and if studying abroad is anything like my freshman year, I am in for the time of my life. But, despite everything in the past having worked out, I still feel nervous and a bit anxious. Maybe this is why I haven’t felt ready to go. Until now, I haven’t taken the time to sit down and really absorb the fact that I’m leaving very soon because I’m trying to put off feeling anxious. Like any good psychology student, I know avoiding thinking about a situation that makes me feel nervous isn’t the best coping mechanism, but I’d really rather just pretend I’m not nervous until I’m there and my only choice is to embrace the new experience and all of its surprises and obstacles...right?
So far this post has been fairly morbid, but I promise I’m usually really upbeat and positive. In fact, my core course while studying abroad is Positive Psychology. Since reading the syllabus for this class, I’ve been super excited to get started. Wow that sounded so nerdy. But seriously, I frequently recent so many cheesy cliches such as “look on the bright side,” “every cloud has a silver lining” and my personal favorite, “a positive attitude is everything.” I cannot wait to dive head first into learning about research regarding positivity! Speaking of expectations, I hope mine aren’t too high in thinking this class is going to be life changing!
Now that I’ve done a bit of ranting about how I feel, I’d like to give this post some semblance of structure and talk a bit about my preparations for leaving for Sweden and how I made the decision to study abroad in Stockholm through DIS….
On Packing: Packing is a pain in the butt! At least if you’re like me and very unorganized, both mentally and in terms of your belongings being scattered all over the house. I’ve spent the past few days rearranging miscellaneous clothes into piles of must-brings, maybes and leave-at-homes. Unfortunately, the more I go through the piles, the more maybes I move into the must-bring pile.
Arriving in Sweden mid-January will surely require warm clothes: boots, wool socks, sweaters, thermals, etc. I also have to consider my core course week in Athens Greece(!!!), which I imagine will be warm (or, at least, warmer). I keep telling myself I’m going to pack “light,” but as a classic over-packer about to embark on my experience living outside of the US, I am starting to get worried about whether or not I’ll be able to zip my overstuffed suitcase shut. As I add the four pairs of shoes I’ve determined to be essential, I’m envisioning my little sister sitting on my suitcase as I try to zip it up.
I find myself trying to pack for any possible scenario that could arise, but am starting to realize it may be impossible to fit all necessary outfits for “any possible scenario” into one suitcase. Logically, I know it is unlikely that I’ll need both my Villanova National Championship T-shirt from 2016 and my Villanova National Championship T-shirt from 2018, but I caught myself deeming both as “must-brings.”
As much as I feel unorganized in my packing, in reality, I imagine I’m using this time feeling indecisive over T-shirts as a way to try to collect my thoughts and wrap my brain around the idea that in 48 short hours I will be kissing my family goodbye, or rather hej då (I’d better get used to integrating some Swedish phrases into my vocabulary) and boarding a flight to Stockholm. Today I packed a “trial” suitcase with the pile of clothes I’d deemed essentials, just to make sure everything would fit. And to my surprise, and delight, it did! I’m sure there are a few last minute things I will think of to add to my suitcase, but for now I am feeling quite accomplished and just a little bit more ready for the journey ahead of me.
WHY I chose DIS Stockholm for my Study Abroad Experience: I’ve spent the past few years of college assuming I’d be studying abroad in Spain, as I was an aspiring Spanish major, but after some soul searching, I decided this summer to reduce my Spanish major to a minor and focus on studying Psychology. With Spain no longer my only option for studying abroad, I was initially overwhelmed with the task of deciding where in the world to study.
One of my self-described greatest strengths, my open mindedness, consequently can have another side to it. I am incredibly indecisive. The idea of choosing one country in which to have the amazing experience of studying abroad, out of the hundreds of beautiful options seemed impossible, so I set up a meeting with my study abroad advisor. To my surprise, the first piece of advise my advisor gave me was to forget about what country I’d be studying abroad in and to think about my expectations for my study abroad experience. This felt much more manageable to me. I prepared a list for our next meeting:
Homestay option
Speak either English (preferred) or Spanish (I could get by but I’m self-conscious about my ability to conjugate verbs)
Warm weather!
In Europe -- I want to do some country hopping!
Psychology classes Villanova does not offer
My advisor referred me to a few different programs he has had experience sending students to in the past that he felt were good options for me, located in various cities (Vienna, Stockholm, Amsterdam, Salamanca and Copenhagen). He sent me off with the task of researching these programs and coming back to him to discuss these options the following week.
When I returned to his office a week later, I was firmly leaning towards Stockholm because the program seemed to fulfill all of my requirements sans the warm weather. Most importantly, the DIS website was plentiful with information and, as someone inexperienced in travelling and nervous about what to expect, the easy access information on the DIS website eased some of my anxieties and offered a realistic preview of what to expect in their program. The inclusion of some of the less than desirable aspects of the study abroad experience, like to expect culture shock and a commute time of up to an hour, in the info provided by DIS made their website feel more reliable than the websites of other study abroad companies that I felt were holding info back and had the vibes of a sales pitch.
About two weeks ago, I felt reassured that I’d made the right decision about where to study abroad when I got my first email from my Swedish host family introducing themselves to me and sharing their excitement about having me come to live with them. I am sure my decision to live in a homestay will come with its share of challenges, but I was thrilled to find out that I will have 3 younger sibling in my host home and will only have to travel 35 mins to get from their home to DIS. I am sure I will reflect on my homestay experience quite a bit in my upcoming posts. I cannot wait to get there and meet them, but I am also starting to question my ability to finish packing ONE suitcase for the next FOUR months.
That being said, I really should get back to packing!
Until next time,
Shaynan
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be opened
remembering the why
I’ve been in Oaxaca for about two and a half weeks now. It has been a whirlwind of adventure... excursions to intriguing archeological sites, walking around the historical district, discovering delicious local eats, perusing mercados filled with artisan creations, gazing in wonder at the cathedrals...
...but it’s also included feeling nervous every time I open my mouth to speak at the fear of sounding unintelligent, having very little free time and feeling stretched thin, dealing with stomach discomfort, missing home and family and friends and my boyfriend, experiencing anxiety and loneliness and disconnection.
The last few days I’ve had a couple moments of sadness, which are completely normal, or so I’ve heard, during the transition period. I didn’t feel God’s nearness and that freaked me out.
On Sunday, as I was walking to the school for our excursion, I listened to a meditative podcast (it’s called pray-as-you-go - highly-recommend) that follows the liturgical calendar, sharing a story from the Bible and asking reflective questions. This one happened to be about Jesus healing the deaf and mute man, in Mark 7:31-37. He used the phrase, “Ephphatha” which means, “be opened.”
The podcast brought up the question, “Are there any areas in your life that you need Jesus to come and open?” I don’t want to make light of actual deafness or muteness, because those are very real conditions that people face. However, this particular podcast spoke to me at a time I felt like I was having trouble hearing God... and a time that I felt like I was having trouble communicating to Him - and to those around me, as I am still struggling in everyday conversations as I improve my Spanish. When the man was healed, the people were amazed and said, “He has done everything well.” The podcast ends asking the question “What has Jesus done well in your life?”
So. Much. There are so many things Jesus has done well in my life. The key is remembering them. Just because I may not feel His nearness at every waking moment does not mean He isn’t here with me now. My lack of hearing does not negate all the times He has spoken to me. He has proven Himself to be faithful, time and time and time again.
Yesterday, I was hit with difficult news that Serve Seattle is being shut down. It’s a long and complicated story, and there have been some issues going on with it over the last year, so I can’t say I am shocked by the news. Regardless, it provided a space for immense growth and transformation in my life... and it’s hard to come to terms with the fact it will no longer to be that space for other people. I am so incredibly thankful for the people it led me to meet. My heart swells with gratitude for the love I felt there and for the lessons learned there. For all the times I tasted and saw God’s faithfulness. For all the times my world was turned upside down and my way of viewing things was challenged and shattered and put back together differently. For the gritty and the uncomfortable and the hard conversations and tears. For the celebrations and the small victories and the times my cynicism began to turn back into hope.
Today, at dinner, a man walked up to our table. He was clearly exhausted, speaking with desperation in his voice, asking for a few pesos to buy a tortilla. He was hungry. And wounded. He had a relatively large open wound on his arm. I asked him if tacos sounded okay and ordered him some. My group turned to face him and we told him he could eat with us.
Sharing a meal together is a symbol of trust. He needed that food, but perhaps he needed someone to listen to him more.
As earlier acknowledged, my Spanish is still at a lower level so I couldn’t understand everything he said. But I sat and I listened and I looked into his eyes. And thankfully some folks in my group know more Spanish than I do.
We learned he is only in his early twenties, he’s been here for two days, and he came here by train from Guatemala (a very fast moving train, not meant for people). I listened as he told me with tears in his eyes about the recent death of his parents and the unfortunate loss of all of his land. He is on his way to a nearby state where he plans to stay with a friend and work. He also recounted how he got his injury, but the details are a little fuzzy. It’s safe to say he was experiencing deep physical and emotional pain.
One of my friends ran to the nearby pharmacy to get first aid supplies and a few others purchased snacks he could take with him. My brave friend Ian remained calm, put on some sterile gloves, and began sterilizing and tending to this man’s arm. This guy possesses an immense amount of strength. We could tell how much pain he was in, but he handled it like a champ as the antiseptic did its work on the re-opened wound.
Everything happened so fast that by the time we were halfway done tending to his wound, I thought about the restaurant owners and hoped they didn’t mind we had set up a makeshift first aid station at one of their tables. (We talked to them after and they were not upset at all and were very understanding. Not sure this would have flown with US Health Codes, though).
When we finished helping him out, I remembered I had a rain poncho in my backpack that I bought at the store last weekend! (My raincoat had stopped working and I was in search of a new one but all they had was ponchos. My friend ended up having an extra to let me borrow throughout the remainder of the trip, though, so I didn’t end up needing it). Who knew it could come in handy? Hopefully it will help him keep his wound dry for the meantime.
He doesn’t have shelter for tonight, so I am praying he stays safe and is able to make it to his final destination with little trouble.
As I was walking home from the encounter, I remembered why I decided to come here. A year and a half ago, during my time with Serve Seattle, I met some folks who mainly spoke Spanish, and because I stopped taking classes I was unable to listen to their story and connect with them. At that moment, I felt convicted to start learning Spanish again in college. As a social work major, I feel it is important to know a language that so many people speak in my own country so I can better serve them. I applied to go to Oaxaca three days before the deadline. I felt like I was supposed to go. If I wanted to know Spanish, immersing myself in it and living in a different culture would be a good way to do that. Tonight, I was able to connect with this man. Tonight, I remembered the why.
“Be opened.”
That’s what learning another language does. It opens you up.
God, thank you for speaking. May you continue giving me ears to hear.
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Love Story (Vday)
Word Count : 2162
Summary : Romeo reconnects with the first person he ever loved
Warnings : None!
Author’s Note : This is easily my favorite thing I’ve written in a long time. @sickeningly-sweet-honey here you are love!
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We were both young when I first saw you. I close my eyes and the flashback starts. I’m standing there, on the balcony in summer air.
It was years and years ago that you met Romeo. You could almost remember the day if you closed your eyes and thought hard enough. It was a warm summer day. Your room in your childhood apartment had a balcony that stuck out over an alleyway. Coincidentally, the room in the building across the alley did too. You had been out there reading when a boy spoke from the other balcony.
See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns. See you make your way through the crowd and say hello. Little did I know.
“Hello! What are you reading?” The 12 year old had asked.
“Harry Potter.” You answered with a smile. You had been so immersed in the magical world and their Yule Ball. Visions of lights and ball gowns and crowds of wizards and witches danced through your imagination. But a sweet neighbor had busted through the crowd and brought you out of the fantasy world.
“I’ve never read that one!”
“It’s my favorite. You can borrow it sometime if you’d like.” And that was the start of it all.
That you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles, and my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet." And I was crying on the staircase, begging you. Please don't go.
You sat outside almost every day to read to your best friend. Romeo was his name. You started back at book one and read a couple chapters to him a day. Most kids went outside to play with their friend. You sat on a balcony and read. It eventually got to a point where your parents’ decided it wasn’t healthy. You needed to be going out and making real friends or focusing on school. Not dropping homework to go sit outside, or ignoring invitations to go over to see “real” friends.
A memory that stuck so vividly in your head was one of your father standing on the balcony, telling Romeo that it was time for a break and that you wouldn’t be seeing each other for a while. You stood behind his tall frame in tears. You cried and begged your father not to do it. To let you stay friends. He wouldn’t hear any of it. You didn’t need to be associating yourself with a boy that wouldn’t be sticking around long.
And I said Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone. I’ll be waiting all you have to do is run. You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess. It’s a love story baby just say yes.
“Let’s go away somewhere.” You pleaded with your friend when you were given time to say goodbye. “Let’s go somewhere we can be alone and read and get lost in our own world. I’ll be here waiting. We can be like Ron and Hermione. We can go away and be best friends somewhere else. Please. Don’t leave me.”
“I’m sorry (Y/N). Your father said no. We have to respect that.” You shut the door on him after he said that and cried in bed until you fell asleep.
So I sneak out to the garden to see you. We keep quiet 'cause we're dead if they knew, so close your eyes. Escape this town for a little while. Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter, and my daddy said "Stay away from Juliet.”
You understood 4 and a half years later what your father had meant by a boy who wouldn’t be sticking around. As you got older, the two of you got better about sneaking around. 1am was your time together. You discovered when you were 15 that your father was asleep every night by 12:30am. So four nights a week, at 1am, you would sit out together and read. You had acquired ninja like skills during that time. You would be dead if your father ever heard you and uncovered your secret. It was exciting to have a secret life to hide from everyone.
It was another warm summer night when you found a 17 year old Romeo standing on his balcony instead of sitting with a blanket like he usually did. This wasn’t good. It looked like he was going to leave. He couldn’t leave.
“I’m sorry (Y/N).” It sounded the same way it had a few years ago when he said it the first time. “I’ve gotten too old to be apart of the system. I thought this family I have been with these past years were going to adopt me. And I just found out they can’t. I’m almost 18. I have to leave.” The tears hit before he finished explaining.
And I said Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone. I’ll be waiting all you have to do is run. You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess. It’s a love story baby just say yes.
“Take me. I can go with you. Wherever you go, I’ll go.” You were serious. He felt more like a home than your family did. Spending time with him felt right. You had never touched him. Never held his hand, hugged him, kissed him, anything. Yet you knew you loved him just from all the late night talks you had had. “We’ll find our Narnia. We can be like Susan and Caspian. Romeo, I almost lost you once. I can’t do it again.”
“If I could, (Y/N), I would bring you without a second of hesitation. But you still have 8 months until you’re 18. I have 8 weeks. I can’t legally take you. I’m sorry.” For the second time in your life, you closed the door on him and cried in bed until your head hurt and no more tears would come out.
Romeo save me, they're trying to tell me how to feel. This love is difficult, but it's real. Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess. It's a love story, baby just say yes.
The day Romeo left, he stood out on the balcony to say goodbye. He tossed small pebbles at your window to get your attention. You couldn’t bring yourself to say goodbye though. Saying it to his face was too hard. You wanted to remember him, wrapped in a dark green blanket, listening to you read about the worlds of wizards and magical wardrobes.
He drove away from your apartments, trying to imagine a life without you in it. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it though. It made his want to scream in frustration. And anger. And sadness. He lost the person he never had.
He moved into his new apartment upstate two weeks later. Everything was inside and ready to get unpacked. He stared at the pile of boxes hoping that one would jump out at him as a good place to start. And one did. A smaller cardboard box with a lion and a lightning bolt drawn on the side. How hadn’t he seen it before??? Romeo’s hands shook slightly as he pulled the box into his lap and opened it. Inside sat all 7 Harry Potter books and all 7 Narnia books. A piece of paper folded over itself hid under the pile of books. “No one would believe me when I said I loved you. This is my way of proving if nothing else to myself that I do. Loving someone far away isn’t easy. But you’re worth it. We’ll make it through this. I’ll see you soon. You have my heart until then.”
Romeo drove back to his old home that night. Left every box packed up in the middle of his floor and drove. He didn’t care if you were an adult yet. He didn’t need to have you living with him to be able to prove that he loved you too. His heart sank when he arrived at your old apartment and discovered you had moved a few days ago. He had lost you when you were little. But you two made it through that. He had lost you when he moved, and he had believed the two of you could make it through then. But he just lost you for a third time. And this time was permanent.
I got tired of waiting, wondering if you were ever coming around. My faith in you was fading when I met you on the outskirts of town.
Flash forward two years later. You had thought of your first love almost every single day. You were an adult now and were able to do what you wanted. So you spent a month tracking him down. Going from the family to the foster system, you left no stone unturned. It took time, but you eventually ended up with a phone number. A phone number led to a phone call. A phone call lead to a meeting.
You made it to your meeting place just outside of his new town and waited. It was cold outside. Cold and snowy. It was Valentine’s day after all. Mother Nature didn’t care about you though as you waited to meet your old lover. You waited in the cold for longer than you thought you were going to have to. It came to a point when you almost thought he wouldn’t be coming. Just as you were about to give up, a black Jeep came rolling up with a familiar face in the driver’s seat.
And I said, Romeo save me, I've been feeling so alone. I keep waiting for you but you never come. Is this in my head? I don't know what to think-
“Did we finally get this right?” You asked in a whisper. The boy you had grown up with and fallen in love with was only a few inches in front of you. “I’ve been alone without you. I have missed you so much more than you know. I kept waiting for the right time to come around to find you and it seemed like Valentine’s day was the only day that would do us justice.” Romeo didn’t say a word. He just stood and stared at you. Uh oh. No no. You weren’t sure you could handle losing him again. “Please tell me you still feel the same. It can’t be all in my head. I know how I feel. I love you. And I-”
He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring and said, marry me, Juliet, you'll never have to be alone. I love you and that's all I really know. I talked to your dad, you'll pick out a white dress, it's a love story, baby just say yes.
“Marry me.” Romeo interrupted you. WHAT?! He bent down and pressed one knee to the freezing ground. A velvet box was pulled out of his jacket pocket and opened up to reveal a stunning ring inside. “I know we are young. I know this is insane. I know I’ve never even touched you. But (Y/N) I don’t need to touch you to know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You touched my soul all those years ago, and that is all that matters. It was all those nights together on the balconies. Reading, and talking, and sharing everything. Our life stories and hopes and dreams and fears. I fell so deeply in love with you, and I refuse to lose you again. Once I got your call about meeting, I was able to get in contact with you father and ask for his blessing. He said that anyone who remains faithful after all we have been through is worthy of your hand. So please. Before my knee freezes over. Please. Marry me. Just say yes.”
“Yes!” You exclaimed. Of course. I will definitely marry you.” Romeo grinned as he stood up. You pulled your glove off, and for the first time ever, his hand found yours. His touch sent a warm feeling up your arm. The ring was slipped on your finger. The glove was put on. The your FIANCE’S lips were on yours. Despite the frigid air, you had never felt warmer than standing in his arms and kissing him.
The two of you drove back to his apartment, where you found all 14 books you had sent with him sitting between two bookends on his dresser. The note you had sent with them was stuck up in the corner of his mirror. He had put the books and note out where he could see them every day…..
“Oh. You know how you said your heart was mine until we saw each other again?” You nodded, eyeing the paper where you had once written that promise. “Here we are, seeing each other again. But I’m keeping your heart.” You kissed him again, and you had no reason to stop.
#newsies#newsies broadway#newsies live#newsies imagine#newsies oneshot#romeo#romeo newsies#romeo x reader#brooklynanonwrites
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Been A While
Oh, hi there, Tumblr. It’s been a while. At least since...
*checks last post*
Oh wow. My birthday. That was...months ago.
Welp. Ha. I guess I’m here now so what the hey.
Hope everyone has been well.
I’m keeping up okay. Still writing, gaming and all that.
Some days are good. Some days are bad. Most days blend together, most weeks feel exactly like the last one.
Honestly, not a lot has changed since I last wrote in December. Physically, I’m dealing with a bit of a low point, but I’m trying to come out of it. Emotionally, I’d say I’m tired but bullish. I can see the season turning, the grass returning and the air warming up and I want to be a part of that.
I’ve had some folks asking what I’ve been up to lately for games and anime. So here’s a quick once-over.
For video games-
-Miraculously obtained both a Series X and a PS5. If Sony’s exclusives, a new UI and a fancy new controller appeal to you- get the PS5. If you’d rather have a mass of games immediately accessible to you, enjoy gamepass, and don’t mind a console that essentially feels like an immediate expansion of the previous (the controller is essentially the same, the UI has zero changes, etc) then go with the Series X. Both will continue to find new reasons to appeal to their base, both are outstanding machines in their own right, but at this point, both also offer a very different opening experience from each other- experiences that are equally valuable and compelling, but different nonetheless. Follow your heart- or just grab the one that you can actually locate.
-On the subject of gaming kits- upgraded to a Samsung Q series UHD tv with HDR and retired my yamaha 5.1 for a Bose 700 series soundbar. Can safely say that the jump to HDR is worth it if you can make it happen, even if the uses for the tech are still limited. Sound receivers are likely not going to catch up for at least another year, so a soundbar might be your best option if you want to do HDR AND have quality sound during the experience.
-I’ve barely touched my Oculus Quest 2. There just isn’t that much to do on it. Sales have allegedly been strong for the plucky new headset, but that hasn’t followed within the VR world itself. The store still feels small and experiences like virtual events are heavily reliant on a strong internet connection to work seamlessly. For example, I attended a basketball game in Venues and gave up after the 1st quarter, the visual fidelity being so shaky that it felt like attending the game without my glasses. Hooking up the system for remote desktop or linkplay (essentially making your Quest into a Rift-equivalent device) makes for an uneven experience at best, with lag and connection issues being a constant concern. Until more people I know pick up the device, or more versatile social apps/immersive games release, the Quest 2 will feel more like a novelty in my gaming collection than a full-fledged device.
-Finished Cyberpunk 2077 on Series X. It was fine. Maybe I’ll write more on it at a later date. My thoughts DURING the playthrough felt more complex than my thoughts after it.
-Finished the main game of Super Mario 3D World on Switch. That game is still absolutely outstanding and a masterpiece.
-Started Dragon Quest XI on Switch. It is refreshingly chill and simple.
-Finished Hitman 2 (PS4) and started Hitman 3 (PS5). It continues to be one of my all-time favorite franchises in gaming.
-Started Demon’s Souls (PS5). It’s hard!
-Dabbled in King of Fighters 2002 Unlimited Match (Switch), No Man’s Sky (Series X), Sims 4 (PC), AC: Valhalla (Series X), Earth Defense Force 5 (PS4), Dead Rising 2: Off the Record (PS4) and touched many, many more games that I’m sure I’m forgetting to list here.
-Played the demo for Project Triangle and immediately put it at the top of my most anticipated games list.
-Completed a new playthrough of Civilization 6. It was satisfying, even if the expansion continues to fall short of adding things like basic AI and Diplomacy upgrades that make other games like Endless Space 2 more rewarding.
-I played Overwatch socially for the first time in months and had a blast. I still can only stomach 6v6 classic, so I’m grateful that my friends were willing to humor me. As Overwatch 2 gets closer maybe I’ll write a longer retrospective on my relationship with Overwatch- from newcomer to heavily invested comp player to distanced/disillusioned outsider to my current resting place as a casual/non-competitive wellwisher. It’s been a weird, at times tumultuous journey. But I continue to be grateful that Overwatch can exist in a way I can enjoy- especially with my friends.
For anime-
-On a weekly basis I still follow Jujutsu Kaisen and Dr. Stone. Both still absolutely rule.
-Dropped off of The Promised Neverland. the story took a turn I just couldn’t follow. I’ll need some time before I go back to it. I’m told it skips an important arc. It shows.
-Finally broke through an incredibly dull arc in Katekyo Hitman Reborn! We’re in the Choice arc now, and it’s back to doing what Reborn does best- exciting shonen battles featuring strange powers and demonstrations of character growth through conflict.
-I’ve finished my first 50 episodes of Dragon Ball (watching it in English). I like it! It’s deeply weird- sometimes in good ways, sometimes in bad ways, but mostly it’s just fun.
-Completed a rewatch of Mobile Suit Gundam Wing with my brother (again, in English). This is the third time I’ve rewatched the series. My thoughts haven’t changed much- it gets a bad rap for its occasionally silly dub and deeply serious overtones, but deserves points for approaching the topics of war of violence with a gravity absent in other anime.
-Slowly working through Fist of the North Star, which is ridiculously cool and a ton of fun to watch- even if it is also terrifically dark.
Other hobbies-
-Almost finished with the Barracuda Bay pirate lego set. Only took me like...5 months? Thereabouts? I plan to do the haunted house next, and also want to start incorporating Light My Bricks into the sets to add some life to them.
-Still working out 5 days a week when possible. Going through a rough patch, physically, right now, but I’m trying to power through.
-Therapy was reduced to bi-weekly. I guess that means I’m making progress? It’s been a weird journey, ‘cuz I don’t feel different or transformed or anything like that. If anything, I feel more anxious than before? But I guess the point is that my awareness is supposed to be higher now and my ability to exercise restraint is supposed to be stronger. Here’s hoping!
-Still dialed back on alcohol, caffeine, sodium...you know, all the stuff that makes life worth waking up for. Unfortunately, it’s a bit out of my control. it’s made for a lot of sleep and some moody af days. And also my body compensating by getting really hot for sugar in any form. I drank a coke yesterday for the first time in months. It was wild.
-My screenplay continues to hover at 200 pages. I got things shifted into episodic format. My partner and I continue to work through how the release will look and a lot of retrospect changes have happened to account for the turns the story takes later. Alice and the Pale Horse will release- sooner than later, hopefully- but it’s going to take some more work. However, I am excited to admit out loud that I am basically writing an anime at this point.
-I’m running two DND campaigns- The Ghosts of Saltmarsh and The Lost Shrine of Tamoachan. I’m really diving into it after spending recent months avoiding it. I’m trying to focus on learning stories and working with my party. I think I was approaching burnout the past few months, but as odd as it sounds- taking on a second campaign helped me avert it. It feels less like a monthly event I have to start my engine anew for every time and more like a routine hobby I’m constantly a little immersed in.
- I haven’t done much reading. Since my job put the ax to my reading on the clock it’s been hard to make much progress. I’m hoping that as the weather warms up I can go back to my nightly reads on the stoop. I have Berserk, Sailor Moon in my queue, as well as no shortage of mystery novels to knock out.
-Baseball is coming! I want to be excited. I’m trying to be. I just have so many hobbies and baseball feels like the least urgent. It’s hard when I don’t have much of a social world built around it (or sports in general) beyond my dad and one close friend. I’ll do my best to try and tune in at least once or twice a week to keep current. There’s just so much baseball. It’s hard to get invested without a cost to other hobbies I admittedly enjoy more.
-I still hang on Spriteclub a lot. It’s been seven months now. It feels like I’m starting to become a part of the community. There are people I look forward to talkking to every day and I continue to run custom matches and participate in tournaments. It continues to be one of the most important social outlets of my life during the pandemic.
And that’s pretty much it! Like I tell my parents- if I’m not updating folks on what’s going on in life, it’s cuz nothing is happening. It seems hilarious to say that, because obviously, based on the above report, a lot is happening! I’m up in my hobbies daily and clearly continue to struggle, grow and develop in tangible ways.
I’ll try and be more current here as the seasons turn. I have a draft regarding 2077 in the works, though I struggle with what I have a right to comment on as a consumer (I don’t consider myself much of a critic). And as the anime season wraps up I’ll have some reports to offer on my favorites. I have also had a few requests for comparing the Series X with the PS5, so that might warrant a post too.
In the meantime, keep up with me on Twitter, and as always- tell me about the anime you’re watching, the games you’re playing and the experiences that are speaking to you. I had a friend who messaged me the other day to tell me they gave an anime a shot based on a retrospective I wrote- it was a title they otherwise would not have watched- and they ended up loving it. Those are the kinds of messages that literally make my week.
So if you see something I happened to write about- even if you hate it- let me know! I always enjoy hearing about people’s experiences on a personal level.
Stay safe out there everyone. Until next time ~
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2017 Re-Cap!
When I was a child I thought that writing was filling a notebook with words and walking to the next editorial to get it published. I could fill a notebook, but I didn't have any place to walk into or ask for a ride to the publishing world.
When I wrote my first novel I thought to myself I would always write for an empty audience, so it was okay not to try. I didn't know anyone who was a writer, and everyone I used to know was long gone away. I wasn't thinking about having readers at all.
(Note to reader;
Sorry, I lied. When I wrote my first novel I was thirteen, I took the notebook with me for a travel, wrote the last sentence in a cabin by the sea. I was sitting at the table, in front of an open door/window and the sea was truly blue, and the sand was truly white.
Of course, I was thirteen and you can't take anything from that age to be serious. It was a horrible draft and it had around fifty written pages, with drawings in the middle.
I told my parents I just finished the first draft and they didn't say anything more than ‘Well, okay'.
So, that one doesn't count. Let's continue.)
When I had my first couple of (truly) bad horror stories, writing about rats the most, I started thinking for a name for my blog, and that made my head fly because I never thought I would be the kind of person so extrovert to promote myself into a bunch of strangers. For me, it was like getting naked in front of a crowd.
By the way, the name for lorenwrites is taken by a blogger dad of two girls.
That's how the internet works. You do get naked in front of a crowd, but everyone is naked too, and everyone, include you, is wearing a mask. The first time is weird, by the third time you are used to it. The beauty stands that you don't care about the mask anymore, and at the end, your mask reflects more of you than your face ever will.
So I started doing things that the person without a mask wouldn't do. Taking photos is one.
At first, I took photographs of what I found interesting. I made some photo-shoots in my garden; I worked out some portraits to hand in my social media. I posted it all, all together because I didn't know better.
Later I would start taking photos of whatever I found on hand that it was old enough to be reconsidered. I didn't write anything, I wasn't sure what to say that genuinely could catch your attention.
‘Is anyone reading this?'
Those are the kind of questions that don't get the writing done.
I traveled far away, to Japan to be specific, which got one of my dreams come true.
There I started talking about my photos. I wrote everything on the cell phone, directly on the Instagram app. Whatever I put below each photograph, it was, for sure, horribly written. I ran out of stamina quite soon, as I ventured deeper and longer inside the country. When I came back home, I felt a little bit broken.
It's been months, and still each morning I wake up wanting to come back.
I've been having ideas for coming back there. Like applying for an internship. Seriously wondering how much one of those one-room-apartments would cost. I never work on those plans. If I go I would have to leave many people behind and I don't know if I can.
I guess that's the double face of being in a place so soul changing.
When I came back I started working every day, and in the mornings I immersed myself into a, what I thought, a horror story called The Yurei. When I reached page fifty I realized that I wanted to go back to the beginning to better it. It wasn't a story anymore, but I wasn't ready for that novel.
On July I had a crisis. By the end of the month, I had left everything.
When August started I came back to some old notes I had for a novel I was planning to write as soon as I could. It took me some more time to realize that if I really was planning on writing and publish that new novel, I needed to get in touch with my audience. I opened the Instagram app again and realized I still had a certain amount of followers. So, I grabbed an old notebook and made a To-Do-List.
It had been months since the last time I published something on my blog.
While working on it I started writing about the photographs I was taking. Cell phone grew short on me and I started working on the computer. I grabbed mom's camera.
(Another note;
The same camera from when my mother took a year-long course of professional photography. I never saw any of her photographs. The camera, at the moment a fairly expensive Olympus, was always empty.
Now the Olympus is still a good camera, but not a new professional one. It's so old that I couldn't find a new memory card for it. It's still the camera I would worry if it broke. It works, perfectly).
A couple of months ago I opened my Tumblr to post my daily stories.
I don't know why I wanted to write about me. You know, I still live with my parents. I barely leave the house. Everything I have done, I have done it from my room. The other day I bumped into a table while cleaning the floor and I blurted ‘sorry' to it.
My friends left me as their careers became more difficult and even though recess has already started, they never called me back.
Why would someone be interested in my life?
Those are the kind of questions that don't get the writing done.
Because, at the end, the twenty thousand characters Instagram allows were few to me. I wanted to keep on writing, but it was like a plant inside a crystal cage, pressing the glass, looking for air. The characters were fighting to break the page.
It surprised me the most how easy it was to find the right people to be with. The incredible quantity of good, positive messages you could find on the site. I learned things that I wouldn't have learned otherwise because there are a lot of themes that are not talked about here. This is because of ignorance, or indifference, against many kinds of people, and I don't want to be ignorant, either indifferent, anymore.
When December came I got somehow anxious.
It’s the time when everyone is seeing back on the year and counted how much they had achieved. I had to lives to weight, separately: My life as a freelance artist and my life as a writer.
I wanted to see back, but I’m having a hard time seeing my professional evolution. I lost some months due to depression and worked on dead-end projects. I filled drawers and drawers of pages, not to ever be published. I got a deal, a small one. I haven't been paid a cent yet, on my first working alone year.
I was afraid of some big eye looking at me and telling me I have failed at everything, and how everyone (younger, more talented, more worthy than me) was doing better.
But on the writer part of my life, I have ever reached so far. I never knew I could. So, I guess, I didn't lose this year, or at least, not all of it.
Keep on working hard.
#writer#writer's diary#diary#writer's life#writer's blog#writer's network#writing community#writing#i am writing#writings#writing blog#writing diary#2017#2017 re cap#author#author's blog#less hashtags this time#i'm done
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