Absolute Disco - Alle Tiders Stoerste Disco Hits (CD 2)
Natalie Cole - This Will Be (An Everlasting Love)
The very song that skyrocketed Natalie Cole to fame, though she was already well known as Nat King Cole’s daughter. This song came out in 1975 and became one of her biggest hits, reaching number one as an R&B single.
Mitch had stopped sleeping the day away on the third day and at the end of the week was awake for most of the day even though he wasn’t active at all yet. Being stuck in bed was starting to drive him nuts but he knew he had to remain there. David made everything easier, from being taken care of, to figuring out what to watch. The Netflix was getting well used. Mitch had not tried to get up on his own even when David was not around to tend to the store.
Mitch fell asleep thinking about roses and the man that had given them. The moment he had been more than shocking for Mitch because like a lot of things David was the first one to give him flowers. He had been dreaming but it was a good one and he was not moving in the bed. Waking at three a.m. however he had not expected.
Mitch was a sweat bathed mess and he looked at David who was not the same way. He needed to move as he had twisted himself around to be closer to David, the dizziness was too much and he laid back down.
“David…” Mitch’s voice was pained but there was something else in it that didn’t fit, weakness.
on seventeen diet day and seventeen's control over my body
It wasn’t about the hunger. There were moments of hunger, mostly after I finished a meal when I realized that all I had until the next one was dried fruit. But I wasn’t hungry for most of the day.
The worst part of yesterday was thinking about food. I thought about wanting food so much I felt as if I was back in 7th grade.
Back then I remember deciding that my stomach was too round, not flat and beautiful. I decided I would eat three meals a day, with one small snack in between. I would get home at the end of the day and pour myself a bowl of goldfish. While I did my homework I carefully ate each one, and then stared at the empty bowl, longing for just one more cracker.
Nowadays, I usually get home a little after five and have a big snack.
Yesterday as I sat down at my desk and unpacked my homework all I could think about was food. At school I thought about food a lot, but had distractions. Now I was in my own home and downstairs was just a place with food I wasn’t supposed to eat.
It isn’t normal or healthy for so many of your thoughts during the day to center around wanting food or convincing yourself to wait just a little bit longer to eat. I did this diet for one day, as part of a week long focus on health and fitness. YingYing and I will discuss this further as our challenge comes to a close, but during the day I was grateful that I didn’t have to follow this diet and do complex braids, sneaky workouts and flirty texting.
Today I did some of the sneaky workouts that Seventeen suggested. There was adding weight to your backpack (unnecessary, mine is already super heavy), tightening your abs in class for 30 seconds (which is difficult to do while paying attention to what your teacher is saying), and the “isometric arm curls” which are so ridiculous that you’ll have to try them yourself. Next week, I challenge ya’ll to try this in a public setting.
Remembering to do these “no workout workouts” was the hardest part. What it requires is constantly thinking about working out, about toning arms, flattening the belly and shaping the butt. Doing this requires giving a major part of your daily thought to workouts and portions. I want teenage girls to dedicate big parts of their thoughts to activities they’re passionate about. I want this brain space to go to fun, to enjoying being a kid, to being ferociously curious.
There is a workout for every part of the day. I gave my body to Seventeen magazine and it feels awful. I’m not hungry or sore. I feel as if they’re looking me in the eye saying, “you have no excuse not to have a perfect body! If you don’t have flat abs it’s because you lay on the couch and relaxed while watching your favorite show. You could have been doing jumping jacks during the commercial breaks!”
Seventeen magazine feels toxic in my hands. Last week it felt a ridiculous, “how can you expect me to go out in public with my hair saturated, dripping with gel.” Now I feel its power to destroy.
It takes a long time, but slowly I begin to sing again. The bittersweet melodies I sing become clearer as the days pass and I slowly regain my voice, harsh and grating from weeks of minimal use.
I’m hesitant about it at first. Singing is painful for me. It brings back too many memories of a better time, one where I had nothing more than whether or not my father would bring me to the woods after school that day, or whether or not my mother would let me make our tea for our small family. Later memories of post-war tragedies surface. And such memories plague me, draw me into their depths and cause me to rage needlessly at the unfairness of the world.
Singing has saved me twice before, though. It kept me alive after I killed Coin, even if at the time I wanted the exact opposite. But deprived of human contact and feeling, I found myself searching for my voice again, if only to hear something else besides the dull sound of pills in their container made and the clink of the silver spoon against my plate.
Singing gave me Peeta. And in that, I’m most graceful to the gift for music that I inherited from my father.
Even now, it keeps his memory alive. That particular memory, one of a whole and healthy Peeta, is one I wouldn’t mind surfacing a little more often, blotting out the image of the deranged man he was before he was given a second chance at life.
Unfortunately, that chance didn’t include me or his - our - children, or any of the people he once held close to his heart.
For months I wanted to regret my decision. Living without Peeta almost killed me, and I found myself wondering why I ever thought I could manage alone. For all intents and purposes, I couldn’t. Haymitch was over almost every day, spoon feeding me warm broth and making sure Celia and Rye went to school.
Thirty-six weeks after I left the Capitol, a letter came in the mail. I had forgotten it was scheduled to come, but as soon as I opened the envelope and saw the hospital seal on the paper inside, I remembered what it was for. I threw the letter away, but I kept the picture that came with it.
In it, Peeta leans against a tree, smiling. He’s perfect and looks as wonderful as he did a year ago - ten years ago. In his hand is a scrap of paper, embossed with a gold symbol at the top. Even though I couldn’t see what was written on it, I knew immediately where it had come from. I could picture the word in my mind, colored a dark blue.
“He would live,” Dr. Aurelius said.
Granted, it’s another life, and the smile in the picture isn’t for me. But he lives.
His memory is enough for me.
Always. Hotel Paper by Kattomas
“So yeah, this fic completely killed me. I don’t think I’ve shed as many tears from reading a fic as I did reading this one. It’s beautifully written, heart-wrenching, and one that I will never forget.” - pookieh
we had a great week last week with over 40 different participants making excellent creations! this week, we’re focusing on castiel in all his angelic glory. interpretation of the theme is totally up to you! if you plan on participating this week:
please reblog this post to spread the word
make sure to post your creation by june 14th
remember that you are free to post any kind of creation you want: graphic, gif, edit, fanart, fic, etc.
put a link to spn hiatus creations in the caption of your post (if it’s an image post), along with this week’s theme (if you’re posting a fic/ficlet, please put the link and theme at either the beginning or end of your post)
make sure to tag your post with #spnhiatuscreations so we can reblog it to the main blog
if you have any questions, feel free to ask. we’re looking forward to seeing everyone’s creations for this week!
The sound of Portia clearing her throat brings me back to the present, and I blink a few times before I turn to face her.
She stands between my body and the mirror, much like she had five months ago when I’d gone on a tirade of how no one was more protective of Peeta than me. I’ll admit, I haven’t taken the time that I probably should have to get to know her during the tour. Still, the gentle smile that’s on her face as she surveys her work lets me know that she harbors no ill feelings toward me. At least, I hope that’s what it means.
She takes a step back and allows me to see myself for the first time since the long, drawn out process of getting me ready began. I take an involuntary step forward, in shock over what I see.
I’m more than happy to discover that despite what had seemed like layer upon layer of makeup being slathered on my face, I still look remarkably like myself. Even the freckles lightly dusted across my nose and cheeks from hours spent in the woods show through, and I find myself smiling at them. My eyes have been given a smoky effect, but it’s not overwhelming. My hair is pulled back into an intricate braid that resembles the way my mother has always fixed it for the reapings.
My eyes are drawn down to the dress. The bodice is form-fitting, with a lower cut neckline than I would normally feel comfortable in, but the ivory-colored lace that lines the deep, wide-set v provides just the right amount of coverage to satisfy my modesty. Tiny, cap sleeves cover my shoulders, with the ivory lace lining them as well. The skirt flares out at the hips, and comes to an end a few inches below my knees. When I turn to see the back, I note that the soft, warm orange color seems to glow as the skirt flutters around my legs. I don’t get to focus on this fact for very long, however. Whereas the front of the dress is rather plain, the back is virtually non-existent. In fact, almost my entire back is bare, and I wonder at her choice, given that there’s still snow on the ground outside.
I do not question her, though. She places a hand on my arm and I turn to face her.
“That’s for Peeta,” she smiles, and I still don’t understand. “You’ll be wearing a wrap for the ceremonies, of course.”
I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod and turn back to the mirror.
“It’s his favorite color,” I murmur as I swish the skirt back and forth around my knees.
“He really does love you, you know.”
Her words stop me mid-swish and I smooth out the skirt without looking up at her. Surely she’s not been let in our ruse. She must just be trying to set the mood for the proposal later. I swallow hard and look back at the mirror, but her eyes are trained on mine.
“I know.” I smile, but it looks nervous, even to me. “I love him, too.”
“I mean it, Katniss. Peeta is in love with you. Please… Just remember that tonight.”
And with that, she is back to business. I’m confused and tongue-tied as she takes out a cosmetic puff of some sort and quickly blots at my collar bone with a light, shimmery substance. Even if I knew what to say in response to her words, the set of her jaw as she works lets me know that she doesn’t want to hear it. She holds a wrap that I had failed to noticed until now out to me, and we head outside to enter the car that waits to take us to the square.
From Maybe It’s Just Me by bleedtoloveher. This was one of the first Everlark fics that I read after finishing the books and it set the bar very high, for good reason. The plot, the world building, and the descriptions were flawless and I ate up every chapter that had been published in one sitting and anxiously waited for more. I consider this story to be my introduction to the world of Everlark fanfiction, so this story will always have a special place in my heart. - ashyblondwaves