summary: Stylist and aspiring designer, Naomi Castello de Navarro-Achol is relocated to Seoul for a 3 month exchange when the agency she works for undergoes a major multi-company merger. Her plans are quickly interrupted when the undiscriminating hand of fate drops seven gorgeous soulmates in their lap. Balancing culture shock and language barriers, marriage and friendship, and the impending threat of a world-wide pandemic, Naomi must find a way to rework her carefully planned out life or simply fall apart trying.
warnings/tags: autistic oc, queer relationships, nonbinary and gender-nonconforming characters, child rearing, polyamory, polygamy, friends to lovers, explicit sexual content, mental and physical health, disability, racism, culture shock, chapter specific warnings to be added
anti-immigrant riots in Northern Ireland NOT aimed at the British. brother, you have bigger problems. hurts my heart to know there was some guy in Belfast looking in the mirror in the morning thinking “What should I set fire to cars and throw bricks at the police about? 800 years of British tyranny or a single Sudanese man who seems to be having a psychotic break stabbing a guy?” white supremacy is always embarrassing but it is extra embarrassing if you are a white person occupied by another European nation. white supremacist but not the supreme kind of white in your own country
i know folks are gonna call me a pedo for this one, but i grew up seeing my mom and grandma naked. they had health issues and at times needed care and help showering. and i truly think more kids need to be shown the nonsexual reality of naked women at a young age. there is nothing sexual about my grandmothers breasts, they were simply body parts. more women die of heart attacks because people are too afraid of breasts to do real chest compressions, because they are scared to touch their breasts. the sexualization of our bodies literally kills us. i need people to be more normal about naked bodies and i'm 100% serious.
you can reblog this btw. make cis people feel uncomfortable about assuming they are "normal" and we are "other". make straight people feel uncomfortable assuming they are "regular" and we are "deviant".
always icked me out how people always go "awww is he your boyfriend?" when like a 6 year old girl mentions a boy from class or telling a boy to "stop being a girl" when he so much as looks at a [not approved toy for boys]. theyre really just throwing that stuff at kids constantly without any reflection that their kid hates it
I think leftists need to refer to the United States as a slave state more often. It has one of the highest prison populations per capita of any nation, slavery is legal as punishment for a crime, and Black people are disproportionately imprisoned and given longer sentences. The prison industrial complex is modern-day slavery
one genre of fanfiction that seems to have mostly disappeared since i became an adult is shenanigans-type fics. like not exactly crack but just "the gang goes to 7-11" type, extremely low-stakes plot stories. the beach episodes of fanfiction. i just feel like i don't see those around so much anymore. whered they go. i miss them :(
Imagine your husband is gay and your best friend, so you have children with a man you love to keep his secret and secure your holding to your throne. But both of you have white hair, and your husband is black, and all your children are dark haired and white. Everyone knows/assumes you're children are bastards, but you and your husband maintaines that they are his children so no one can say anything. Then your husband "dies", when in actuality you help him escape with his lover to be his true self, away from royal/noble politics. You keep his secret, and your own, even when people hurl accusation about your involvement in his death, and in your infidelity. You are your fathers eldest child, named heir to his throne, even though you are a woman. People question and challenge you legitimacy your entire life, even more so when your best friend marries your father and produces for him a male heir. Your father maintains you are his heir, that you will be queen. A man you once loved runs around spitting on your name because you couldn't run away with him, because you had a duty to the crown and he is a little bitch. Then your father dies, you ex-bestfriend usurps your throne to give to her eldest son, your younger brother. You go to war and your youngest brother kills your son. Your uncle-husband sends men to kill your brother, but instead they kill a toddler and now, everyone thinks you are a child killer.
summary: Stylist and aspiring designer, Naomi Castello de Navarro-Achol is relocated to Seoul for a 3 month exchange when the agency she works for undergoes a major multi-company merger. Her plans are quickly interrupted when the undiscriminating hand of fate drops seven gorgeous soulmates in their lap. Balancing culture shock and language barriers, marriage and friendship, and the impending threat of a world-wide pandemic, Naomi must find a way to rework her carefully planned out life or simply fall apart trying.
warnings/tags: autistic oc, queer relationships, nonbinary and gender-nonconforming characters, child rearing, polyamory, polygamy, friends to lovers, explicit sexual content, mental and physical health, disability, racism, culture shock, brief descriptions of a meltdown, chapter specific warnings to be added
word count: 6,072
1ST PERSON
Nov 19, 2019
NAOMI
It was still dark outside, the skies a cloudy blue-gray. I laid on my back, looking up at the ceiling, watching the lights from the city light up the night; tiny glowing speckles casting wide glares like false suns, creating strange and unidentifiable shapes on the ceiling as the hours passed and the position of the lights shifted. They gave the apartment a faint blue glow, like the setting of a hazy dream, both beautiful in its illuminations and annoying in the specific setting. Occasionally, the high beams from a passing car would dance across the walls, and I'd shield my sensitive eyes from the assault by burying my head in Jo's hair.
They would stir beside me, snaking their hand up under my shirt, their leg pinning me to the mattress. They were so warm, and soft, and their breaths came out as heavy sighs of air across my neck. I'd curl up against them and close my eyes, unable to fall asleep no matter how incredibly comfortable and bone achingly tired I was, but desperate to try. And when that wouldn't work, I'd just go back to looking at the ceiling.
This continued for hours, tossing and turning, too tired to get out of the bed, to awake to lay still and sleep. A quick glance at the digital clock on the nightstand told me it was 5:57am, and with three minutes till my first alarm went off, I burrowed myself into the blankets, into my spouses iron-grip, away from the cold that was certain to greet me the second I slid out of bed. I clung to those three minutes like they might finally give me what I wanted, even as I felt the seconds ticking away and time slipping from my grasp.
Coming to terms with all these new developments in my life had taken all night. Hours, upon hours of reflection, in depth conversations about my feelings, and multiple reassurances that whatever happened, none of this was going to affect my and Josie's relationship. We talked about my fears; of attachment, abandonment, all the drama this would stir with my mother. We discussed what exactly it was I wanted out of a soulmate, how we'd fold that into our lives, and how I'd bring this all up with Taehyung. Joséphina tried to help me sketch out how my new plan would go, what a world in which I had a soulmate looked like—a soulmate, mind you, that didn't even live in the same country as me, let alone the same hemisphere—but it quickly became clear that was a conversation I needed to have with him before I could go making concrete corrections.
It was 3:46 by the time we'd gotten everything hashed out. I'd have to wake up in a little more than 2 hours, face the music, but while Jo easily slipped off into the realms of sleep, I found the same premise rejecting me.
My general anxieties had been covered; I no long had a giant pit sitting cozy at the base of my stomach, threatening to make me cough up my insides and devolve into another exhausting meltdown, but something new had taken its place, not excitement, per say, maybe nervousness, with a slight hint of enthusiasm? Eagerness for a new day, a new adventure, exploration into things previously unknown.
For all my bellyaching about all things new and unfamiliar, I did enjoy experiencing new things—I just hated when I had no control over them.
That feeling had kept me up all night. I'd stare up at the ceiling, draw out all these hopes and plans for the future, occasionally coming across something that made that previously settled anxiety spike. I was more awake then I had been in months; I felt like I was high off caffeine, and no matter how truly exhausted I was underneath it all, I could not get myself to fall asleep.
The alarm cut through my musings like a death sentence, and despite how much it felt like I was forcing myself through a bog—how sore my eyes were, tired my limbs, the throbbing of my skull—I forced myself out of Joséphina's grip and out of the bed. The departure was immediately met by a drastic change in temperature from the arms of my furnace like wife, into the clutches of an apartment with floor to ceiling windows in the midst of fall.
I dragged myself into the bathroom—electing to turn on the lamp on the counter, rather than the overhead lights—stripping out of my pajamas, shivering against the cold as I waited for the shower to warm up. We had a speaker in the shower that I turned on real low, loud enough I could hear it over the water, but quiet enough not to disturb Jo—not that it would, they could, and have, slept through earthquakes—setting the scene with the masterful musicality of Chopin. I stuck my hand under the shower head to test the temperature, adjusting it ever so slightly before slipping into the cubicle.
The warm spray of water falling over my head, the smell of my body wash, the gentle pull of strings and grazing of keys—the true extent of my tiredness began to set in, my eyes falling close, gravity pulling me down onto the tiles of the shower, leaning my head against the wall as I used the time to try and recharge what little of my battery I could. I dragged the sponge over my skin at a lazy pace, savoring the feeling of cleanliness but loathing the effort. It wasn't long lived, my respite in the shower, the next alarm on my phone forcing my eyelids open and urging me out of the warm downpour. I turned the water off and grabbed my towel, dragging the clothe over my naked skin as I shuffled over to the counter.
Mine and Jo's sides of the sink were drastically different; theirs what they referred to as "organized chaos"—abused hair creams and body lotions laying on their sides, bobby pins scattered over the stone top—while mine looked more overtly organized and "militant". Everything had a place, all lined up in easily accessible rows, laid out in order of use and grouped together by function. I reached for my leave in conditioner, lathering my hands in the rosemary smelling moisturizer, working it into my still wet hair before washing the remaining product from my hands and moving on to my facial moisturizers and serums.
Going through the motions of my morning routine was meditative, dissociative, I moved through the process with little conscious thought. My mind, instead, wandered to work, and Taehyung and everything Josie and I had spent the night talking about in preparation for when I'd run into him next. I rehearsed what I wanted to talk to him about, tried to imagine what his responses would be, but with what little I actually knew of the man, that proved nearly impossible. I tried to imagine what my life would look like now that he was in it, how he'd mesh with it all, what kind of relationship we'd have to each other. It wasn't anything I hadn't already gone over a million times, in my head—and with Josie—but the uncertainty of it all was still a little upsetting.
I was rubbing lotion into my calves when an alert sounded from my phone. The text tone cut through the music still playing from the speaker and the screen on my phone light up. I wiped my hands on my towel and grabbed the phone, tapping in my password to pull up the incoming message.
Kim Taehyung (6: 42am)
-Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?
I stared at the message like it had personally offended me, because it it had. It shouldn't have, there was nothing wrong with the message itself. It was polite, and I should have been expecting it—it's not his fault my brain was all screwy; how was he supposed to know those nine simple words could possibly be seen as a declaration of war. Any other person would have just seen a dinner invitation, but all I could see was him flaunting how well adjusted and totally normal he was. 'Ooh, look at me, I'm Kim Taehyung, I don't need four to five business days to acclimate myself to unsolicited change.' He obviously hadn't intended for his message to be read that way—at least, I hope he hadn't—but that just served to piss me off more.
Dinner hadn't been part of the plan, I hadn't worked extracurricular meetings into the system yet. Our conversations were meant to remain confined to the workplace for the time being, until I was ready to ACTUALLY fold him into my life. And I wasn't; ready. Several hours of long drawn out planning for the future doesn't prepared for the future make. So, I elected to ignore the message, just for now, just till I could weigh out my options and come to a solid, well informed decision.
My music resumed, as did my getting ready. When my next alarm went off I padded back into the bedroom, turning on one of the many lamps so that I had enough light to look for clothes. Joséphina remained soundly asleep, unperturbed by my ruffling through the closet and the clothing racks, and my scavenging through the drawers. I dressed myself in quiet contemplation; slipping into fresh underwear as I mulled over the implications of dinner; pulling on trousers as I considered polite conversations; buttoning up my blouse as I entertained a world in which I said yes to this evening.
My reflection was stone faced and sullen, every curious little emotion hidden away in my head, none daring to push outward to my face. I layered my accessories and donned my makeup, all while I played out every pro and con to the invitation my cruel and imaginative mind could conjure up: Pro—I could get most of my questions out of the way in one fell sweep. Con—I didn't have an easy out for when things took a bad turn. Pro—I could make my decision about him after a single meeting, instead of drawing it out for weeks, or even months. Con—It would have to be a very long meeting, seeing as neither of us spoke each others language. And so on, so forth.
Ultimately, a verdict was arrived upon when Joséphina slinked out of bed and into the bathroom, where my still open phone lay in wait. They were only in there a few minutes before I heard the sleep laden sound of my partners voice calling out to me.
Minyuk was quickly proving himself to be an exemplary boss.
He could very easily slip from playful banter to competent managing. His subordination respected him, his supervisors trusted him, and never once did he take his role as a department manager so serious as to make anyone feel beneath him. Even as he was forced to undertake a substantial amount of extra work overseeing me—acting as my guide to all things South Korean fashion—he managed to handle everything with a level of enthusiasm and composure I wouldn't dare dream of. Only the first few hours of my first, official, day on the job, and I was so busy, I didn't have time to think—which, given my track record, was probably a good thing.
I was instructed to shadow Minyuk, acting as both assistant and mentee as he underwent his usual tasks. This included handing out everyone's assignments for the day, approving concepts, liaising with other departments, drawing up concepts, meetings with other stylists, coordinating with venues, photographers, models, etc, and all of this before I even did any of my own assignments. And one of the may things that truly cemented in my mind the goodness of Mr. Hui was his refusal to pawn off all his work on to me.
I'm sure being followed around all day, having to translate everything you do and everything you know to some dead eyed American was infuriating, especially when you could have gotten your work done in half the amount of time it had taken you, but not once did he let that show. Minyuk was patient, detailed, did his best to answer my questions and was willing to drop whatever he was doing whenever I was in need of his assistance. And better yet, he was like that with all his staff. He was kind, and understanding, and even in moments were we struggled to communicate, he remained cool and took the time to make sure we were both comprehending each other.
We spent most of the day cooped up in Mr. Hui's office. It wasn't large by any means, with a desk set furthest in the room, two chairs in front of it, one behind, a large bookshelf taking up the back wall, full of binders, books, diplomas, a small photo of him and his wife, and a large plastic plant to tie it all together. Most of the walls, like much of building, were glass, and could peer out into the floor where the rest of the worked department. On the floor there was one large table in the center of the room, occupied by several personnel, each with several dozen notebooks, folders, laptops and binders of their own spilled out across the table. There were a few isolated desk scattered about the room were a few people sat, typing away, but for the most part, no one really sat, they just hovered around, constantly moving from place to place.
Clothing racks were a near constant feature of the floor, several people putting together their concepts, looking over material sent to them. Clothes themselves were draped over chairs and desks, a group of people standing over them, analyzing the texture, the color, the cut. Cork boards covered in pinned photos of models and aesthetics would block paths and serve as tripping hazards to anyone not paying close enough attention. The department was a constantly moving machine, each cog running around, doing its part, helping one another when it was called for, and disappearing into their work when it wasn't. It wasn't any different than what I'd left behind Lemiuex—except, maybe a lot less yelling—and it was comforting to know at least somethings hadn't changed.
"Now, we go eat," Minyuk voiced, pulling my attention up from the concept proposal I was currently reviewing. It had been suggested I look at a few, just to see what things might be different between here and back home. "I emailed your work to you. After eat, you go by yourself." He dropped the proposal he was working on the desk with enthusiasm, pushing his chair out from behind his desk and making for the door.
"After lunch, I work on my solo assignments?" I asked, still holding the proposal, hoping to finish going over it. I stood up after Mr. Hui, tossing my jacket over my arm and scooping my bag up from behind the chair.
"Yes."
"Can I finish this proposal over lunch?
"Yes."
The two of us exited his office to join a slowly forming line of hungry employees, all making for the elevators. The line was slow moving, as were the lifts as people all across the building rushed to get food. I pressed myself as close to the walls as I could, so not to be trampled in the stampede of hungry stylists, hugging my belongings to my chest as to make myself as small as possible. Up ahead, the elevators dinged and rattled open, allowing floods of people to slip into the already very densely packed containers. The thought of being crammed into a metal box with so many people was genuinely nauseating, so when the time came that I was able to break free from the herd, I headed for the stairs as quickly as I could.
I wasn't the only one with this idea, of course, the stair ways proving to be only slightly less crowded than the lifts. I made my slow and easy descent down six floors, overly cautious due to the very high, very thin heels I'd chosen to wear that day—a decision I always regretted after the fact. I was maybe half way to the third floor when my phone buzzed in my pocket, the tell-tale sign of an incoming message. I continued down to the platform for the third level, sequestering myself to a corner as I pulled out my phone to receive the text message.
It was from Yoon Mira, asking if I wanted to join her for lunch at the cafeteria. I agreed, as it saved me the devastatingly awkward task of finding a place to sit on the first day, and then continued down the levels. She'd sent me another message, detailing where it was she was seated and expressing her excitement on getting to hear about my first day, I responded with a simple thumbs up and that was it.
Remembering my way around the building was easy once I made it to the first floor. When I got to the cafeteria, the lines were surprisingly shorter than I though they would be, most people electing to eat off campus, and the tables were even less occupied. It was easy to make Mira out from the crowd, seated with a small group of three other people, deeply engrossed in conversation.
The cafeteria was set up more like a small food court, with three main restaurants—McDonald's, Lotteria, and Kyochon chicken—as well as an in house kitchen that didn't have a set menu and had different options each day. I slid into the line for the kitchen, going over the menu items as I made my way through. The kitchen provided four entrees, 6 side dishes, and a pretty extensive drinks menu. I wasn't entirely sure what a few of the items were, but a quick search on google proved quite helpful in selecting my lunch. When it was my turn to order, I did so with a very stilted mix of English and Korean. The cashier handed me a beeper and I tapped my card before moving out of the way for the next person in line.
Mira was still very preoccupied with her conversation when I walked up to the table. Two of her friends were the first to see me, casting confused glances in my direction, which in turn caught her attention and caused Mira to turn around towards me.
"Naomi!" She cheered, getting up from her seat to throw her arms around me in a bone crushing hug. "Hi, hi, sit!"
I obliged, taking an empty seat beside her and freeing my hands of all the various items I carried with me. I slid my credit card back into my bag, setting the purse and my coat on the bench beside me, tossing the beeper and my concept proposal on the table.
"Everyone, this is Naomi, she's one of the international designers sent for the merger," Mira introduced me, of which I was able to understand a decent amount. "This is Li Minseo," she began, pointing to the person sitting directly opposite me, "Oh Suho," then she lent back to point out the person on the other side of her, "and Park Sungjae. Minseo and Suho are makeup artist and Sungjae works in management."
Minseo had a very serious face, her eyebrows hung low on her face and her lips kept very straight. She had the softest features, a round face and plump lips, long light brown hair that fell around her face in delicate wispy strands. Her makeup was very simple—not unlike how I found most Koreans to do theirs—with pink lip stain and nude eye-shadow and she wore a cropped knit sweater over a black t-shirt with two silver necklaces layered over top. Suho was very pale, with dark hair and dark clothes. He had a face that looked both really young and middle aged at the same time, very tired eyes and a sharp nose that made him look avian. He kept his hair short, like most of the men I've come across, and middle parted, he had a dark brown eye-shadow just over the edges of his eyes and very red lips. His black leather jacket was shiny and unmarred, his black shirt clung to him like a second skin, and his chain glittered against his collarbones.
From where I was sitting, I couldn't get a good look at Sungjae. I could see she had short dark hair and dressed the most corporate of the group, but besides the quick flash I caught when Mira ducked out of the way, I didn't have a very good look at what she actually looked like.
"Nice to meet you all."
"Where are you from, Naomi?" Asked Suho, tearing apart a fry in his hand as he addressed me.
"The United States. New York."
"I went to New York once, for work," Minseo started, "Very loud city."
Mira nodded along, turning away from Minseo to me. "She said she's been to New York and that it is very loud."
I hummed in agreement. "It is. You get used to it when you've lived there long enough."
Mira quickly translated my response before posing her own question. "How's your day been so far? Not as exciting as yesterday I bet." She laughed, but I grimaced.
"Definitely, but I prefer it this way. Yesterday was a lot."
"Oh, come on! You met your soulmate!" She exclaimed, gripping my arm and shaking me in excitement.
"I did," I nodded, leaning away from her touch, "but it's not that big a deal. People meet their soulmates everyday." I shrugged and picked up my report, tapping the pages against the table top until they were all aligned, tracing my index finger and thumb over the edge in slow, repetitive motions.
She laughed. "Maybe, if your soulmate isn't the Kim Taehyung. I mean, you are literally destined for one of the most desired men in all of Korea. That's a seriously big deal!"
I quirked a brow at her and scoffed. "Seriously?"
"Seriously!" She exclaimed, earning us a both a few wayward glares from the nearby tables of people. She ducked her head in apology and lowered her voice, leaning into me as she did so. "Kim Taehyung is the most sought after model, not just in this company, but in the country. I'm surprised you haven't come across one of his billboards yet—they're everywhere." She leaned back to shovel food into her mouth, something that she managed to make look attractive, even as she practically unhinged her jaw to fit it all in her mouth.
Mira was incredibly endearing; very loud, very excited, and so much more talkative than I was—in that way, she was a lot like Joséphina. She didn't hold back from inquiry, she wasn't afraid to ask the 'impolite' questions, and she was equally as unabashed in relenting her own information. I had a feeling she had a tendency to get herself in trouble with that flippant nature, but cared very little about the consequences. Most models I knew were very reserved in public, absolutely nuts in public, but Mira either didn't care or was too in her own world to understand the need for the distinction between public and private personas. Whatever the reason, I appreciated her forwardness, it was familiar, and I knew exactly what I was getting at face value.
"Not to mention his other soulmates. Those men are so fine," she sighed.
"Really?" I encouraged.
While, normally, I would have liked to been able to discover this information for myself—or directly from Taehyung—I was heading into enemy territory tonight, and I could use all the information I could get. Did I feel a little icky egging her own and fishing for information about my soulmate and his other partners? Yes. Did she give this information willingly and, mostly, unprompted? Also yes. So I was going to take what I could get.
"Oh, yeah!" Mira pushed her tray aside, turning almost completely toward me giving me these really big, excited eyes. "A few of his other soulmates are also famous. One's a celebrity chef, another is a streamer, slash, YouTuber, and one's a writer. The streamer, Jeon Jungkook, is super big in the gaming community, but he also does a lot of vlogging content, which are good, but I think most people just subscribe to see all those gorgeous, gorgeous men. I mean, he had this video where they had all gone to the beach together; I think it's the most watched video on his page. All wet and barely clothed, wresting in the water, playing volleyball in the sand," she rolled her eyes back and made a noise that couldn't be interpreted as anything other than a moan.
I laughed and gently pushed her. "We are at work, you know. Maybe keep the fantasizing to your own home."
"Oh my god!" She squealed, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment. "I'm talking about your soulmate right now. I'm so sorry."
"While I appreciate your shame, you have nothing to worry about. It's okay. I, too, have eyes, and if his other soulmates look anything like Taehyung, I can't exactly blame you for your reaction." I said the last part quieter, more so to reassure her than anything else, but I stood by my words.
Mira giggled and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, trust me, they are. Have you not met any of them yet?"
"No," I shook my head, "but I literally met Taehyung yesterday." I briefly hesitated, fidgeting with my proposal again before decide to relent more information. "I am having dinner at his house, tonight, so I'll probably meet them then."
"Exciting! You have to tell me how that goes. I bet they're all even more attractive in person. God! I'm kind of jealous of you."
The laugh that escaped me was neither polite, nor particularly attractive. I fixed Mira with a incredulous stare, my brows lifted and my lips tilted slightly upwards.
Lunch continued without incident. Mira switched between a million topics at random, I ate my food, the other people at the table occasionally joined in on our conversations, but for the most part just talked to each other. I managed to finish going over my report towards the end of the meal, and when the lunch hour was over, I went back up stairs to get started on my assignments.
I looked over the email Minyuk sent, detailing what was expected of me for the week, expecting to be buried with work, but finding my schedule to be relatively lax. I returned the borrowed report to Minyuk's office and had him help with some clarification before getting started on my responsibilities, setting up at one of the solo desks while I reviewed my assigned project and started adding tasks to my calendar. I'd been added to an upcoming shoot as a stylist, and my main job was to review the proposed concept, report to the main stylist, and when the time came, attend the shoot and help with the models. For the rest of the day I just studied the concept, emailing back and forth with the rest of the team with any questions I had, and attempting to meet with the main stylist who was in and out of the department all day, always busy and unable to make time for me.
At five, I made my way to the fifth floor where the international staff would meet for our Korean lessons. I was one of the first ones to arrive this time, beat only by Àyìndé, the designer from Lagos, who had was discussing something with one of the teachers when I came in. They both greeted me briefly, but otherwise ignored me as they continued their conversation. I set up towards the back of the room, dumping my belongings on the table and pulling out my materials; a textbook we all received yesterday, at the first lesson, a notebook I'd assigned to Korean, a pen, and my laptop. As we waited for everyone else to arrive, I busied myself with reviewing the material we went over yesterday—little as it was.
Over the next 20 minutes, the rest of the team filed into the room, taking their seats, and getting ready for the lesson to begin. The teachers—there were two—began by quizzing us over what we covered yesterday before introducing more information. It was all foundational stuff—ganada sun, pronunciation, batchim—and most of us were already familiar basics, but the review was appreciated. Except by Amelie, who had multiple complaints to file about the pacing of the course, being as she felt this was redundant for a 3 month tenure.
The lesson continued to 6:30, at which point we were all free to go home and put an end to the day. I texted Joséphina I was one my way home and asked that they pick me out an outfit for dinner, to which they responded they already had, and sent me a photo of their choice; red tights, black close-toed kitten heels, and a short, black, seventies style dress with large white diamond shapes. And then, without prompting, they sent of photo of themselves, already dressed in a colorful, sleeveless plaid turtle neck, red pleather pants, a blue newsboys cap, and green pointed toe boots. They'd paired their outfit with yellow gold bamboo earrings and arms full of bracelets and watches, stacked their fingers with several fun, kitschy rings, and held their pants up with a centipede belt they'd recently bought and could not stopped wearing. I replied with a heart and made my way out into the cold street.
The walk from work to my apartment was only about 15 minutes, but my aching feet and heavy hitting exhaustion made it feel longer. Walking home was the first time since this morning I had time to think about dinner, really think about it, and that familiar anxiety began to creep its way into my brain. When I got to our building I wanted to collapse on the side walk and never get up again, pushing past the feeling to drag myself into the elevator and up to the second floor. I was immediately greeted by Jo sprawled out on the couch inside the apartment, their phone held above their head as they entertained themselves with what I imagined was a funny video compilation. They peered up over at me and greeted me with a smile.
"Hi, honey, how was work?"
"Good," hung my purse and coat up on the already full hooks by the door, kicking my shoes off and slipping into a pair of awaiting slippers. I audibly sighed, rocking back and forth on the heels and balls of my feet. "I had lunch with my coworker, she told me a million thins about my soulmate and his soulmates, though most of it wasn't very useful, and I did a lot of busy work. How about you," I asked, walking over to kiss them on my way up to change, "how was your day?"
Josie reached up to hold my waist as we kissed. "It was good. I made a pesto panini for lunch, went grocery shopping for tonight, got a few bottles of wine and I made cheesecakes."
I pressed a final peck to their lips, disappearing up to the loft to get changed. "Oooh. What kind of cheesecakes?" I hurriedly stripped out of my work clothes, tossing my trousers and my tops into the clothing hamper, throwing my jewelry on the bed, and hopping around as I pulled on the tights. As anxious as this dinner made me, being late to it made me ever more so.
"Strawberry and chocolate. I wasn't sure what all everyone was into, so I figured those would be a pretty safe bet," they called up from the first floor.
Though I doubted they could hear me, I hummed my agreement, shimmying into the dress and searching through our jewelry for the perfect pieces. I checked my makeup, switching my brown lipstick for a red and adding a little bit of red mascara to my bottom lashes. It hadn't taken me very long to get dressed, ten minutes max, and when I came back downstairs, Joséphina had taken the cakes and the drinks out from the fridge and packed them in insulated bags for the trip. I slipped into my shoes, passed Jo their coat and grabbed our bags and the keys while they carried the food.
"Before we go," I checked, standing in the doorway, "are you forgetting anything?"
Jo stopped to count off all the things they needed to take with them. "Phone, wallet in my bag, you have the keys, I have the dessert and the wine. Shoes on, coat on." They shook their head. "Nope, I got everything."
"Alright. Let's go."
I tried to keep my voice even, but I was buzzing. We slid into the car, purses and wine at Josie's feet, desserts on their lap, our coats tossed in the back seat. I kept myself focused on the small details, the generally irrelevant things, as I tried to distract myself from the funny feelings twisting in my gut and the incomplete thoughts rattling around my skull. I was antsy to get there and sick to my stomach at the thought; me, in the car, on my way to the house of a man fate or biology or both had decided my soul was intrinsically tied to.
Joséphina connected their phone to the Bluetooth and put on their nineties rap playlist, tossing their phone into the cup holder and reaching behind me to rub at the back of my neck. They didn't say anything, neither of us did, but everything unsaid was perfectly clear. I took a deep breath, adjusted my seat, adjusted the mirrors, pulled my seat belt across my body. Josie dropped their hand from my neck to my thigh, tapping along to the music filling the car while I typed our destination into the GPS and let the little map on the panel lead me out the garage and onto the main road. The music helped to keep me focused less on my internal dialogue and more on the several thousand pound vehicle under my control; Josie would occasionally interrupt with a quip or a question, or they'd join in on the part of the songs they knew, screaming along to Tupac's Hit 'Em Up.
The drive helped a little, too, watching the metropolitan landscape blur past, too busy making sure I didn't miss my turns to worry about what lay at the end of the road. The streets around us turned from business districts to residential zones, the bright, busy lights faded away into the background, and the commercial buildings were replaced by family homes. The further along we went, the bigger and more separated the houses got; single story bungalows became several story micro-mansions, neighbors went from shouting distance to a short walk away. When the GPS declared we'd arrived at out destination I parked on the street, the house to my right, partial obscured by the stone wall around the property.
I took a second to compose myself, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, taking in as deep a breath as my lungs allowed. The car still ran, so the music still played, and Jo kept their hand firmly on my leg. They gave me a reassuring squeeze, pulling my attention from the looming house to their sweetly smiling face. Again, no words left their lips, but everything I needed to hear rand clear as I bell. I released the air I'd been holding in my lungs, and with a final look at the house, I knew I was as ready as I was going to be.
note: my life has been so hectic. I had finals the week of the 11th, I didn't get any writing down the week before and of, and then I moved this week, so I only had the time between then a now to write, but was so exhausted that I basically slept for two weeks straight. Anyway, here's chapter three.
Also, I only noticed while I was writing this chapter that I totally forgot to put in Naomi changing into her pajamas at the end of chapter 2, so it seems likes she just went to bed in the clothes she went to work in, which she did when she fell asleep on the couch, but not when she actually went to be. Oops.
I was really confused at first why bloodymary had become a ship, as I am with most cross media ships/cross media content in general. I thought they were just both movies where a man was sent on a one way mission and fans had seen that and thought, "but what if they had each other," kind of in the same way they'd made parallels between Simon and Laika—they had nothing to do with one another but there were shared similarities. And I didn't think too much into it, just cause all the content was cute and made me feel a bit happier about how everything went down for Simon.
For the most part, I don't interact with cross media content cause my little lizard brain can't comprehend it—like yeah, a world in which the Winchesters met the Cullens would be compelling, but the way those two universe operate, they don't have any real cross-compatibility. But I understand that fandom doesn't operate that way for everyone, and the lack of compatibility wouldn't drive people absolutely insane the same way it did me.
And then I watched Project Hail Mary, and I saw that the compatibility of these two universes was not impossible, that they both literally revolve around the stars dying, but Iron Lung could just be in a much more distant future, or even an alternative timeline where any number of things prevents Ryland's findings from being discovered and then used (or, even, a universe where it is found, by the astrophage evolves and is no longer predated by the amoeba).
Either way, loved those movies, love this ship, and I need to see Markiplier wrapped up in Ryan Goslings arm.
Post Script-any good Bloodymary fanfiction recommendations would be greatly appreciated.
