The Cannonball Report

The Five Factor Personality Test

2009-08-21T08:57:54Z

You are Extroverted, Conscientious, Agreeable, Neurotic and Open

Extroversion:

You have high extroversion.
You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends.
You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation.
Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go"!

Conscientiousness:

You have high conscientiousness.
Intelligent and reliable, you tend to succeed in life.
Most things in your life are organized and planned well.
But you borderline on being a total perfectionist.

Agreeableness:

You have medium agreeableness.
You're generally a friendly and trusting person.
But you also have a healthy dose of cynicism.
You get along well with others, as long as they play fair.

Neuroticism:

You have medium neuroticism.
You're generally cool and collected, but sometimes you do panic.
Little worries or problems can consume you, draining your energy.
Your life is pretty smooth, but there's a few emotional bumps you'd like to get rid of.

Openness to experience:

Your openness to new experiences is high.
In life, you tend to be an early adopter of all new things and ideas.
You'll try almost anything interesting, and you're constantly pushing your own limits.
A great admirer of art and beauty, you can find the positive side of almost anything.

Pretty accurate, huh. :)

Writer's Block: On the Airwaves

2009-08-21T08:25:35Z

If you had your own radio or television station, what would it be called and what kind of programming would it play?

View 514 Answers

Haha. My mom and I talked about this in the early days, when my college life wasn't that hectic.

I'd call my TV and radio stations "The Hub". Haha. My mom and I were talking kasi about having our own building before, since some relative on my dad's side used to have a building of his own. As in yeah, may Braga Building pala dati. Anyway, my mom told me a story about her officemate, whose mom used her and her husband's last names to name their own building. So my mom thought na if she'd have a building built on our land, she'd call it The HuB, for Hubilla and Braga. Haha.

Siyempre, I liked the name, so I'm gonna use it for my TV and radio stations. Plus, it sounds hip and modern. Haha.

My TV station would be tipong Velvet-Lifestyle Network-HBO (haha)-Star World, because that's my format, and my radio station would either be something like Home Radio, 99.5RT or RJ 100. Haha.

MEME.

2009-08-12T18:52:44Z

Grabbed from Rix.

RULES:
1.Put your iPod (or MP3 player, iTunes, etc.) on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag friends who might enjoy doing the note as well as the person you got the note from.

If someone says "is this okay" you say?
Oh I’m never speaking up again

Starting now

My Stupid Mouth—John Mayer

So apparently, it’s not okay.

What would best describe your personality?
Besides which you see I have confidence in me

I Have Confidence In Me—Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music)

I like this! Yeah, of course, I’m confident!

What do you like in a guy/girl?
There’s a magic I can’t hold, your smile of honey gold

And that you never seem to be in short supply of

Seven Days in Sunny June—Jamiroquai

I like someone who smiles a lot daw. Haha. Well, I like people who smile a lot. Brightens up my day. Or maybe I can make the one I like smile?

What is your life's purpose?
And you can try to stop my dancing feet

But I just cannot stand still

You Can’t Stop the Beat—Hairspray

My purpose in life is to dance/perform? PWEDE! :D

What is your motto?
Unforgettable, that’s what you are

Unforgettable, near or far.

Unforgettable—Nat King Cole

I should always be unforgettable. Haha. Alright, I’m egotistical that way.

What do your friends think of you?
I’m not the sort of person

Who falls in and quickly out of love

The Weakness In Me—Joan Armatrading

Can I just say, this is sakto! HAHA. Yeah, my friends know I’m not that kind of person. When I fall for someone, it’s for a long time. Kahit crush lang. Haha.

What do you think about very often?
’Cause I heard all the people sayin’

Get down on it

Get Down On It—Kool and the Gang

In short, don’t cram your work! HAHA.

What is 2+2?
It’s the most genuine thing I’ve ever seen.

Carry This Picture for Luck—Dashboard Confessional

Ang profound lang nun. Haha.

What do you think of your best friend?
Nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.

All You Need is Love—The Beatles

So perfect, it's cool. Yeah, we’re close like that.

What do you think of the person you like?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me

When I’m 64?

When I’m 64—The Beatles

So long term relationship ang habol ko sa kanya? HAHA.

What is your life story?
The more you give

The more you get

That’s being alive

The Money Song—Avenue Q

I love giving and getting pala. Haha.

What do you think when you see the person you like?

‘Cause we shared the laughter and the pain

And even shared the tears
You’re the only one who really knew me at all.

But to wait for you is all I can do

And that’s what I’ve got to face

Against All Odds—Westlife

Makahulugan. That’s all I have to say. Haha.

What do your parents think of you?
Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snow

Lies the seed that with the sun’s love

In the spring, becomes the rose.

The Rose—Westlife

I’m the rose they’re taking care of. Siyempre! Only girl eh.

What will you dance to at your wedding?
I can hear the sound of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now.

Sway—Michael Buble

OH YES! I’d love to dance to this at my wedding. :)

What will they play at your funeral?
Purpose

It’s that little flame

That lights a fire under your ass.

Ha!

Purpose

It keeps you going strong

Like a car with a full tank of gas.

Purpose—Avenue Q

Applicable, actually! Can I just say, win ang taong kakanta nito. HAHA.

What is your hobby/interest?
I’m lying alone with my head on the phone

Thinking of you till it hurts

All Out of Love—Westlife (with Delta Goodrem)

I don’t have the time to just keep thinking about that person, ‘no. Haha. Obsession naman yun.

What is your biggest secret?

I happened to notice a girl in a light shade of blue

I happened to see her, the sight of her leaves me confused
She may not be you

But she looks just like you.

Maxine—John Legend

Hindi ko gets. I’m mistaking someone for another person, ganun? What about it is secretive? Why am I taking this seriously? Why am I still asking questions? HAHA.

What do you think of your friends?
Now I can see that we’re falling apart

From the way that it used to be, yeah

I Want It That Way—Backstreet Boys

This happened a long time ago. That's over. :)

What's the worst thing that could happen?
They call you lady luck
But there is room for doubt
At times you have a very un-lady-like way
Of running out

Luck Be A Lady—Frank Sinatra

Yes, the worst thing that could happen is luck running out. Especially sa prod. :)

How will you die?

Ya got me looking so crazy right now

Your love’s got me looking so crazy right now

Crazy In Love—Beyonce feat. Jay-Z

HAHA. :)

What is the one thing you regret?
I’ve had a few little love affairs

They didn’t last very long and they were pretty scarce

Lay All Your Love on Me—Dominic Cooper and Amanda Seyfried

So player ako? Haha.

What makes you laugh?
But don’t forget who’s taking you home

And in whose arms you’re gonna be

So darling, save the last dance for me

Save the Last Dance for Me—Michael Buble

Huh?

What makes you cry?
What if I

Had a thing on the side

Made ya cry

Would the rules change up or would they still apply

If I played you like a toy

Ciara—Like a Boy

Not being loyal to me makes me cry. HAHA. Heartbreak in general, I guess.

Will you ever get married?
We’ve put our hearts together

Now we are one, I’m not afraid

I’m in the Mood for Love—Jamiroquai and Jools Holland

It will happen. Someday. :)

What scares you the most?
I’m searching for the love that I knew

Have you seen her

Where did she go

Feels like I just lost my only friend

Where Did My Baby Go—John Legend

Two things. I’m scared of heartbreak, and I’m scared of losing my friends. Well.

Does anyone like you?
I’m your biggest fan

I’ll follow you until you love me.

Paparazzi—Lady Gaga

I have a stalker?! CRAZY! :)

If you could go back in time, what would you change?
Had a few beers, gettin’ high

Sittin’, watchin’ the time go by

Kiss Me Deadly—Lita Ford

I wouldn’t cram, that’s what I’d change.

What hurts right now?
Come away where they can’t tempt us with their lies

Come Away With Me—Norah Jones

Ano ‘to? Bakit may lies? Haha.

What will you post this as?
It’s all about our love

So shall it be forever

All About Our Love—Sade

I like it! BC 101 final prod referencing lang naman. :D

Most Sakto Question of The Week.

2009-08-12T08:56:51Z

So, I was left all alone downstairs after my TV prod, since busy nga kaming lahat at marami pang gagawin. Anyway, sa sobrang tagal ko, Ma'am Justiniani and Kuya Louie went downstairs na to turn off the lights.

More kabagalan from me ensues.

Sa sobrang tagal ko, since ang dami kong dala, feeling ko medyo nakokonsensiya na si Ma'am.

She asked, "Eunice, wala bang nagmamahal sa 'yo?"

(Context: Kasi daw kung may nagmamahal sa 'kin, tinulungan daw nila ako. Actually, if yun yung basehan, meron naman. Ang dami ko lang talagang gamit.)

Seriously, out of all the questions I've been asked in my entire life, yun lang ang katangi-tanging nag-on ng emo button ko.

I'm a little fragile because of the stress in my life! Wala namang ganyang tanong! HAHA.

This day started out in the worst way possible, but it ended well enough.

the things you find on the Internet.

2009-08-09T22:26:37Z

Apparently, there's this thing called "The Museum of Broken Relationships."

I stumbled across the entire thing while reading some fan fic, and it's actually quite an interesting concept.

Basically, it's a cathartic process: you send stuff from a past relationship to the traveling exhibition, in the hopes of claiming your life back and letting go of that person who broke your heart. Items on the exhibit include a Nokia phone, handcuffs (I don't wanna know what happened to them, honestly, and it'd be cliched if the person who had them was tied down in his/her last relationship.), a perfectly decent white dress, and an axe. Seriously.

Story behind the axe? Guy and Girl broke up. Guy buys axe, chops down girl's furniture at his flat. Girl comes back for furniture, now just pieces of wood. Guy turns axe into "a therapy instrument."

See it all here: http://www.brokenships.com/

What's next? The Museum of Disappointment?

It really makes you wonder what makes up art now. Although to be fair, art is partly supposed to be therapeutic. It's just a little too personal for me. I love the site, though, and would be interested to see how the exhibit would look like if it was brought to the Philippines.

Makes me wonder what my friends would add to the exhibit.

If you're my friend, and you've broken up with anybody at any point of your life, what would you add to the exhibit?

Fair warning: Comment at your own risk.

super random thought.

2009-08-09T17:57:43Z

What we have to do is make sure that people take care of themselves first, so that they can have the grace and the strength to take care of others as well.

Not only random, quite possibly political. Good day, world. :)

Yes, I have not been on an airplane.

2009-08-09T08:19:25Z

EDIT: Grabbed from someone, whom I forgot. I was on FB, Plurk, Multiply, and LJ at the same time, so details are hazy and the identity of the person shall forever remain unknown.

UPDATE: There is apparently a huge possibility that it might be from Rix, though. But I don't know how I got this meme from her exactly, if I did get it from her. My Sunday afternoon was one big blur.

The Letter A
Are you available?: yeah!
What is your age?: 18
What annoys you?: smoking, dirty restrooms, and bad grammar. and that's just off the top of my head.

The Letter B
Do you live in a big house?: not really. it's enough for four cool, food-loving people.
When is your birthday?: March 12
Who is your best friend?: At home, Mom. Between friends, Celine.

The Letter C
What's your favorite candy?: It's a tie between Polo and gummy worms. If we're talking chocolate it's Meiji or Hershey's dark chocolate.
Who's your crush?: HAH. Please don't ask me that question.
When was the last time you cried?: I can't remember.

The Letter D
Do you daydream?: Yeah.
What's your favorite kind of dog?: Lab. My chocolate colored Lab, Arnold, died, so I miss him.
What day of the week is it?: Sunday.

The Letter E
How do you like your eggs?: Sunny side up, browned on the sides, with pepper on top.
Have you ever been in the emergency room?: Yeah. I was brought there because I was allergic to higad, and I was injected something which made me sleep for a long time.
What's the easiest thing ever to do?: Eat. :)

The Letter F
Have you ever flown in a plane?: No. I haven't been on one since I was 1. I don't even remember that plane ride.
Do you use fly swatters?: Before. Now at the dorm I don't need to.
Have you ever used a foghorn?: No. Does Spongebob's foghorn count?

The Letter G
Do you chew gum?: I used to, but my mom hates gum, so I stopped. I'd chew gum if you offered me gum, though.
Are you a giver or a taker?: I'm both, but I think I give more than I take.
Do you like gummy candies?: Yeah! Gummy worms and gummy cola rock!

The Letter H
How are you?: Stressed, harassed, but when thinking of a particular person, happy.
What color is your hair?: black.

The Letter I
What's your favorite ice cream?: Cookies and cream, chocolate, mint, and hazelnut brownie.
Have you ever ice skated?: Nooo.
Do you play an instrument?: Yeah. 4. I can play the piano, the recorder, the violin, and the harmonica. Do I play well? HAHA.

The Letter J
What's your favorite jelly bean brand?: Jelly Belly. Hey, it exists! :))
Do you wear jewelry?: Only on special occasions.

The Letter K
Who do you want to kill?: HMMM.
Do you want kids?: Yeah.
Where did you go for kindergarten?: Benedictine Abbey School/St. Benedict College/ NOW San Beda College Alabang

The Letter L
Are you laid back?: No. One can argue that I have very intense emotions.
Do you lie?: No. HAHA.

The Letter M
What's your favorite movie?: It's like asking U2 if they had a favorite song. HAHA. Off the top of my head, The Devil Wears Prada.
Do you still watch Disney movies?: Yes.
Do you like mangoes?: Yeah! Especially when they're really cold and practically melt in your mouth.

The Letter N
Do you have a nickname?: Eunice
What is your real name?: Eunice Beatrice H. Braga
Whats your favorite number?: 12
Do you prefer night over day?: Yes. I'm an owl that way.

The Letter O
What's your one wish?: To change the world for the better.
Are you an only child?: No. And honestly, I'm glad I have a brother.

The Letter P
What one fear are you most paranoid about?: Being in an accident.
What are your pet peeves?: Smoking, bad grammar, dirty restrooms.
What's a personality trait you look for in people?: Loyalty, honesty, and a great sense of humor.

The Letter Q
What's your favorite quote?: "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." --William Ernest Henley, Invictus
Are you quick to judge people?: I'd love not to, but yes. I'm suplada that way.

The Letter R
Do you think you're always right?: Sometimes.
Are you the one to cry?: OH YEAH.

The Letter S
Do you prefer sun or rain?: SUN. I love it when the sun's out and it's windy. It's the perfect kind of day.
Do you like snow?: The idea of it, yeah. I've never actually experienced it.
What's your favorite season?: Summer.

The Letter T
What time is it?: 4:16 PM
What time did you wake up?: 1:17 PM. I friggin' overslept.
When was the last time you slept in a tent?: in 4th year, for the CAT bivouac. it was hot and stuffy, but it was all mine and I loved it.

The Letter U
Are you wearing underwear?: Yeah.
Underwear or boxers?: I didn't get the memo that boxers weren't underwear. underwear, definitely.

The Letter V
What's the worst veggie?: ampalaya, i guess.
Where do you want to go on vacation?: Paris, New York, Amanpulo, El Nido, or Davao.

The Letter W
What's your worst habit?: Cursing.
Where do you live?: My dorm's in Katipunan and our house is in Laguna.
What's your worst fear?: Being the victim of a crime or a really bad accident.

The Letter X
Have you ever had an x-ray?: Yeah, so many times.
Have you seen the x-games?: On TV. It looks really fun. :) I'd love to see it live.
Do you own a xylophone?: No.

The Letter Y
Do you like the color yellow?: Yeah.
What's one thing you yearn for? An Oscar for Best Screenplay? HAHA. Why not. To be more realistic, maybe a lovelife? HAHA.

The Letter Z
Whats your zodiac sign?: Pisces.
Do you believe in the zodiac?: Not really, but some items are so swak talaga eh. :)

Secret Santa fic for morgan4510! (3/3)

2009-01-05T02:53:44Z

Notes are on the first part.

Oh, and congratulations, you've reached the last part! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed making it, and hope your holidays rocked like an earthquake. Comments are love, and will be gobbled up faster than Cookie Monster gobbles up his cookies.

“Merry Christmas, Mommy,” A young boy says, hugging her tightly, before she could say a word. She kneels down to receive him properly, and his arms wrap around her neck.

Miranda looks around and feels that the townhouse has changed. She looks at the table in the hallway and sees picture frames along with the flowers. She looks down at the boy embracing her. He has dark hair, round pools of sapphire for eyes, and a familiar pale complexion. The little boy seems to be six and beams up at her as though she were Santa Claus. Immediately she knows that this little boy is her son—her son with Andrea. She smiles.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Miranda says, kissing the boy’s forehead.

“My name is Andrew Caddaric,” The young boy says, introducing himself. “I’m six.”

“When were you born, Andrew?” Miranda asks, already anticipating his birth.

“Mama says that I tell everyone that I was born after she won her Pulicher.”

“You mean Pulitzer,” Miranda corrects the kid, and he nods at the familiar sound.

“Yeah,” Andrew agrees. “Do you want to go up to your room, Mommy?”

“Why?”

“I’m your Christmas Yet to Come,” Andrew says, pronouncing each word slowly, as though it was some piece of china that could break under his little hands. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Is all Miranda says, and the two of them stand up and walk to the staircase, hand in hand. After a few moments of trying to resist ruffling her son’s hair, Miranda doesn’t resist and ruffles the boy’s hair. It’s as soft as Andrea’s, just as she thought. The boy grins goofily at her, tickled by the gesture, and starts swaying their joined hands. Miranda only laughs softly.

“What’s in my room?” Miranda asks, as they climb the stairs to the third floor.

“You’ll see.” Andrew replies cryptically.

“I hope so, and soon,” Miranda says, feeling impatient and wistful at once. Her little dream is about to end, and she wants to get started on Christmas Present and Yet to Come, but she also doesn’t want her little mind travel to end. “Mommy’s really excited, darling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Miranda confirms, and Andrew’s lips break into a wide smile.

She watches his little feet as it climbs with the stairs alongside her own, and she marvels at the kid holding her hand. This little boy is a gift to last her lifetime, and already she loves him. She wonders when she and Andrea started talking about adding more children to their family. She wonders when she and Andrea started talking about family, even in general. She wonders how Andrea’s parents would react to the news when they found out. She wonders about how he was born, how he looked like, how much he weighed. If he cried when he came out. If Andrea cried when he came out. If she cut his umbilical cord. She wonders how they did the insemination. She wonders why her son’s eyes are blue, if Andrea gave birth to him. She has so many questions, but she doesn’t know if this little boy could answer even some of them.

“Why are you quiet, Mommy?” Andrew asks softly.

“I’m just thinking, sweetheart,” Miranda says, and she wonders when she started using pet names as often as she is now. “Mommy has a few things in her mind. So many questions.”

“’Kay,” Andrew asks, shrugging. The two of them walk down a hallway and stop at a door. He then beams up at her again and he gestures to the door. “Here’s your room, Mommy.”

“Aren’t you coming in with me?”

“I can?” Andrew asks back.

“Why, did anybody tell you not to?” Miranda asks, curious.

“Caroline and Cassidy tell me that you and Mama have private time.” Andrew explains. He then looks at Miranda quizzically. “What’s private time, Mommy? Do I have that too?”

“Of course you do,” Miranda says, ruffling his hair. She thinks she’s going to make that a habit, ruffling his hair, until he becomes a teenager and manages to gain the necessary speed to evade her hand. She smiles at the thought. “Private time is what your Mama and I have together. We spend time with each other, and just each other. That’s what private time is.”

“Do you have private time with me?” Andrew asks, cautiously.

“Of course we do.” Miranda answers, and Andrew smiles in reply.

Andrew opens the doorknob with minimal difficulty and ushers Miranda in, to her surprise. “After you, Mommy,” He says, like a gentleman Miranda once knew, and they go in.

She is surprised by the amount of light in the room, and sees the curtains drawn back. Andrea is holding her, spooning her in fact, and for anyone with a good eye, they could easily see that they’re naked. Miranda looks at the vision in wonder. She’s never known that they look that good together. She knows that they fit, that they’re good for each other in every way that counts to her, but she never knew that they could be aesthetically pleasing. Obviously she’s underestimated their love for each other, and how it manifests itself in different ways.

She takes a deep breath. She has never seen anything that moves her as much as what she sees right now. The duvet looks as comfortable as it is, and nearly everything is ivory white. She watches as Andrea moves, stirring, slowly waking up, while her older self remains asleep. Silently, Miranda curses her old age for not waking up instantly, but that complaint fades away when Andrea begins kissing her. Her lover kisses her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her ears, and to Miranda’s never-ending personal embarrassment, her imperfect nose. She blushes when Andrea stars kissing her shoulder, slowly moving up to her neck, as her older self starts to wake up as well, stirring slowly and waking up to the onslaught of kisses Andrea bestows upon her.

“Andrew,” Miranda calls out, trusting her older, future self not to be any less free in the bedroom as she is in the present. “I think Mommy can handle seeing this by herself.”

“Sure?” Andrew asks, searching Miranda’s face for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” Miranda answers a little more firmly, hearing her voice sound a little rough. How Andrea manages to move her even in her dreams, she doesn’t know, but she has a feeling that she might just find out. She then turns to the little boy holding her hand and kisses his forehead.

“Mom, Andy, Andrew, wake up!” Caroline and Cassidy yell, from their rooms downstairs. “It’s Christmas!” Miranda and Andrew look at each other, and hear two sets of footsteps rushing downstairs. “We’re going to go open our gifts with or without you, okay?”

Andrew gasps forcefully and runs downstairs, opening and closing the door on the room’s occupants. Miranda hears his footsteps rush downstairs, and she rolls her eyes. At the same note, her older self groans and burrows her head into her pillow, as Andrea laughs.

“Good morning, Miranda,” She says in that cheery tone Miranda has never forgotten ever since she first heard it. Andy kisses her hair, and then nudges her slightly. “It’s Christmas.”

A barely coherent mumble comes from Miranda. “Coffee.”

“Sure,” Andrea replies, and she reaches for a tray on the bedside table. True enough, there’s a tray waiting for her. In fact, there’s a small water heater boiling on the table, and Miranda is nearly aghast at the damage it must have already done to her old bedside table, before she shakes herself of her thoughts. Andrea pours her a cup of coffee, and Miranda accepts the cup, draining it quickly, and sighing in contentment once she finishes her first cup.

“That was wonderful, thank you,” Miranda says, and kisses Andrea’s lips. Andrea smiles, and the kiss prolongs for a few more minutes. When they break off, Miranda sees her older self feeling infinitely more cheerful and obviously warmer. “Hello, darling. Merry Christmas.”

The two of them share a delighted chuckle, and Miranda feels her good fortune.

When Miranda Priestly wakes up, it is eleven in the morning. Her feet feel tired, her mind remembers everything that she’s seen, and she could swear that she smells cigarette smoke in her bedroom. She turns, and she hears a groan. She freezes. For a moment she thinks that something unfortunate has happened to her. She has been duped. There must be a man sleeping next to her. She’ll be on Page Six the next day, if she hasn’t already been there this morning. She thinks about her girls. She thinks about work. She thinks about the Christmases she might have ruined with just one mistake. She could still hear the chuckle she would be sharing with Andrea a few Christmases from now, when she hears a low groan from the person next to her.

She closes her eyes, hopes for the best, and looks at the person sleeping next to her.

Andrea Sachs. Her lover of two years, who obviously came in at three in the morning.

Miranda instantly sighs in relief, and she sits up, leaning against the headrest. She tries to calm herself, and wonders why on earth she’s been so jumpy. She reaches for her glasses on her side of the bed, and sees a familiar figure. Bette Davis looks at her and smiles politely.

“Hello, Miranda,” She says, and Miranda barely keeps herself from squeaking.

“What are you doing here?” Miranda hisses, surprised at the woman’s reappearance.

“I’m just looking in on you,” Bette says, looking at her and Andy. She smiles at Andy’s sleeping form before looking back at her. “You two look good together. I guess your maudlin thoughts are very much warranted, if you ask me. She looks like a fairy tale princess.”

“You’re invading my privacy, thank you very much.” Miranda remarks, irritated.

“Alright, alright,” Bette replies, blowing a puff of smoke. “I apologize. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Miranda assures. “Now get out of here before she thinks I’m a lunatic.”

Bette Davis instantly vanishes, and Miranda nods in gratitude. At least she listens.

Andrea Sachs slowly wakes up, stirring at the bright light in the room. She stretches her limbs and sits up, smiling at Miranda. She kisses Miranda’s lips and the two of them engage in a brief kissing session before they break off, and Miranda turns to regard Andrea, smiling.

“I have a feeling New York’s going to be snowed in,” Miranda proclaims, confident.

“You think?” Andy asks, slightly curious, but agreeing with Miranda on her point.

“I know,” Miranda assures her, and she smiles warmly. “Good morning, Andrea.”

Secret Santa fic for morgan4510! (2/3)

2009-01-05T02:49:22Z

The second part is right here, people.

Have you made your guesses?

Notes are on the first part. Comments are love.

She sits in her chair, which has turned into the one she has at work. The rest of her office, in fact, turns into the way it is today. She busies herself by doodling human figures using a fountain pen on a pad of paper with her initials at the top and bottom, and actually manages to sketch a few dresses when she feels the air change slightly in temperature and footsteps inside the office. She looks up and her eyes widen at the person who stands in her doorframe.

“This place smells like an ashtray, who’s smoking?” Her visitor asks, frowning slightly.

“Nigel?” Miranda asks, shocked to see her old friend. “What are you doing here?”

Nigel looks at her, as though he himself is surprised, and he looks from her, to the rest of her office, to his clothing. Nigel is wearing dark blue pajamas. Silk pajamas, in fact.

“Am I at work?” Nigel asks, aghast. “You let me come to work wearing this?”

Miranda’s lips curve up into a mischievous smile. “I didn’t know you wore silk pajamas, Nigel.” She plays with her fountain pen and raises her eyebrows in a fit of amusement.

“They’re menswear, Miranda.” Nigel replies. “Evening wear for men.”

“Ahem,” Miranda says, exaggeratedly, as she raises her eyebrows. “You know I trust your good judgment.” She laughs, and Nigel blushes, but she pretends to have coughed instead.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Nigel asks, scowling.

“I may remember it when I do see you at work.” Miranda answers, getting an idea.

“Well, you’re a vision, as usual.” Nigel comments dryly, gesturing to Miranda.

When she looks down at her clothes, she doesn’t see the silk pajamas she knew she was wearing when she was with Bette Davis; instead she sees clothes she wears to work. She lifts a foot questioningly and sees a Prada heel. She then smirks, and shakes her head slightly.

“As usual,” Miranda echoes. “Why are you in my bizarre dream?”

“Your weird dream?” Nigel asks back, shaking his head. His lips then break out into a wide grin, as if he finally remembers what he was invading Miranda’s space for. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that,” Miranda recognizes, nodding. “You know, Bette Davis was just here.”

“Really?” Nigel adds, looking pleased. “So did you bond over ballbusting techniques? Did you share war stories about single-handedly bringing powerful men to their knees?”

“What are you talking about?” Miranda asks back, genuinely puzzled. Nigel hides a wide grin. “She was the one who was smoking earlier,” Miranda adds. “She brought me here.”

“Shit,” Nigel curses, without apology. “That’d be really hard to beat. You know how I’m probably the only person who knows that Margo Channing has a portrait at your townhouse.”

“Depends,” Miranda says, teasing Nigel again. She’s always enjoyed their little back and forth jabs at each other. Nigel teasing her that he’ll move to Vogue, while she’d tease him that he could be easily replaced. This is another round, she thinks. “If you’re Christmas Present.”

Nigel preens, and he wipes his nails on his pajama top’s collar. “The one and only.”

Miranda looks up, and she imagines she could see Jacob Clarke the Third right now. She ignores Nigel for a minute and raises an eyebrow at the ceiling. “You know, Jacob, I could have used additional Elias-Clarke stocks instead.” She shakes her head, and turns to her friend.

“Shall we, Miranda?” Nigel asks, with an enthusiastic smile on his face.

“By all means, Mr. Kipling,” Miranda replies, and she puts her arm in his.

The two of them walk down the hallway, to the elevator, and once the elevator hits the ground floor, they walk through the lobby and out into the open pavement, where a chauffeur is waiting for them. Miranda finds the actions so ordinary that for one moment, she wonders if she isn’t actually dreaming, and if she is, in fact, getting into a car with Nigel and waiting for some driver to take her to an unknown destination. But then she thinks about seeing her younger selves, and shaking hands with her favorite actress, who she never met, and she’s confident that this is all a dream. The chauffeur—who isn’t Roy, thank goodness—enters the car and drives.

“Where are we going?”

“Relax, Miranda,” Nigel says, handing her a glass of champagne. “I’m not kidnapping you.” He then leans back and regards her, before drinking his serving of champagne. Even with their years of friendship, she still feels like a bug under a microscope, and tries not to fidget. He then smiles after a few seconds, and she tries not to sigh in relief. “You look well.”

“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” Miranda asks, before taking a healthy sip.

“Andrea Sachs does you well,” Nigel explains, pleased. “In both senses of the word.”

“Careful,” Miranda warns him, sending a pointed stare. “I can drop you off right here, and believe me, I don’t care what happens to you and Christmas Yet to Come.”

“I feel like last year’s shoes.” Nigel then says, putting a hand over his heart.

They look at each other and share a delighted chuckle.

“It’s always good to ride with you in the car, Nigel.” Miranda says, patting Nigel’s arm.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” Nigel says, licking his lips and smiling widely.

The chauffeur drops both of them off at Central Park. Miranda is curious as to why, but if she’s sharing a dream with Nigel, at least they can talk about it. Or not. As she gets out of the car, she also wonders if everyone in New York is being visited by ghosts of Christmas. It would be odd, she thinks to herself, to have these mature, slightly jaded folks being visited by ghosts. It would also be nice not to be the only person who felt that way, though. She looks at Nigel.

“What are we doing here?”

“We used to walk here, remember? On weekends, when we were broke and couldn’t afford to go out and party?” Nigel asks, and Miranda sees him as she did when they first met—balding but in denial. This look works best for him. “We both were starting out, and we’re the only ones that survived. The only ones that stayed, in fact. Do you ever think about that?”

“Not really,” Miranda admits, and the two of them watch the leaves fall down. It was like any other ordinary day. It was definitely autumn, and the sun was shining brightly, although it wasn’t as hot as it looked. “Most days I think about surviving the present. Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Nigel says, and he looks at Miranda and chuckles.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Nigel replies, smiling. “You’re certainly the last person I’d think about having this discussion with. Sharing your innermost thoughts and bringing up the past.”

“I feel that way about most people.”

“Thankfully, I’m not most people.” Nigel comments.

“Exactly.”

The two of them walk further, taking in the sights. Miranda finds the silence a comfort. She doesn’t want to know what Nigel has in store for her, but she does want to clarify one thing. “You aren’t dead, are you?” Miranda asks, nudging his shoulder. “Bette Davis is dead.”

“No,” Nigel says loudly, before turning to her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“This isn’t the Divine Comedy, Miranda.” Nigel reminds her. “Specifically, this isn’t Inferno. I don’t have to be dead to talk to you, you know. This is A Christmas Carol.”

“The girls like the Muppet version.” Miranda says, out of the blue.

“I’m sure you do, too.” Nigel says, and he stops. Miranda stops too. “Ah, here we are.” Miranda looks up and is surprised once more. They’re right in front of her townhouse. She looks up at the steps and her door, and taking Nigel’s proffered hand, the two of them walk up and go inside. “The townhouse?” Miranda asks. “We’re not anywhere else?”

“Apparently, you aren’t.” Nigel says, eyes widening at the sight. “I thought we’d be going somewhere warm and exotic as well.” He then hums, before adding, “This is interesting.” He turns to Miranda, who appears surprised to be spending Christmas at home. He takes a wild stab and guesses that she made reservations in advance. “You really didn’t make reservations?”

“I did. I had Monique make them four months in advance.” Miranda then pauses, as if realizing something. “If they end up lost, I’ll fire her tomorrow morning. What an idiot.”

Nigel chuckles and shakes his head. “Another one bites the dust,” He sings briefly, and he follows Miranda to the living room, where they both peek in the room cautiously.

Miranda is there, so are her twins, and he’s pleased to see that Andy is spending Christmas with them. He smiles even wider when he sees that all four of them are on the floor, with wrapping paper, ribbons, and greeting cards surrounding them as they open their gifts. It really is a universal thing to have families sprawled on the floor for Christmas, Nigel thinks, as he watches them open the gifts. Beside him, Miranda watches the scene with a smile on her lips.

“Open your gifts,” Andy cajoles the twins, and the two girls take the boxes marked especially for them and open it. Caroline’s box contains a framed poster of her favorite Broadway play, Wicked, signed by the current cast. Another box, smaller but just as important, contains a bracelet. There are different charms hanging on the bracelet. There is a violin and its bow, a tennis racket, and a small street sign saying ‘Broadway’. Caroline beams at Andy.

“This is great, thanks!” Caroline says, instantly reaching for a hug.

“You’re welcome,” Andy says, and Miranda’s eyes mist over with the happiness she sees in them. She looks at herself and sees the exact same thing happening to her.

Cassidy tears through hers and finds a complete art set. There are two canvas boards, an apron, different sized paintbrushes, a paint mixer, and three boxes of acrylic paint. She then finds the smaller box, and opens it to find a bracelet with assorted charms. In her bracelet, she finds a pair of ballet shoes, a grand piano, and a paintbrush touching canvas. Cassidy grins.

“Thanks, Andy!” She exclaims, going for a hug as well.

“Sure, anytime.” Andy replies, and she hands a box to Miranda. “For you.”

Miranda opens the box, and in it there is something she is supposed to see, but doesn’t.

“What?” Nigel asks, as he slowly pulls Miranda out of the room. “You want to spoil your Christmas present? The one she’s probably saved half a year’s salary to get for you?”

“I can always look surprised,” Miranda replies, already walking back to the room, even as Nigel holds on to her. “It’s not like she’ll know that I’ve already seen it before.”

“Hold it, hold it,” Nigel says, holding her back. “You’re not going back.”

He then looks over her shoulder and sees Miranda kissing Andrea, to the delight of the two girls. At this moment, he spins Miranda around and she sees herself kissing Andrea, and then her girls on their foreheads. As she looks at them, Nigel watches her shoulders relax. He can’t help but grin goofily; after all, this was the stuff that all fairy tales were made of.

“She really saved half a year’s salary to get my gift?” Miranda asks Nigel.

“I don’t think you want to know the answer.” Nigel replies cryptically. He then looks at her knowingly. “You won’t weasel it out of me, but I think you can weasel it out of her.”

“She’s beautiful,” Miranda says, wistfully. “Pure as snow.”

“You’re going soft.” Nigel warns, smiling. “She really is something, though.”

The two of them then begin to hear the first few words of Muppet Christmas Carol, and look into the living room to confirm the fact. Miranda and Nigel watch as the twins snuggle into Miranda and Andy, and as Miranda and Andy’s fingers find their way into each other’s.

“Awww, that’s sweet,” Nigel says, feeling all warm and fuzzy. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Miranda breathes out, her heart warming up at the sight. She then turns to Nigel. “Why show me this? Why not let be me surprised on the day itself?”

“So you can ask me why you’re at home instead of someplace else.” Nigel answers.

“That’s the purpose of your visit?” Miranda asks, incredulous. Aren’t visits like this supposed to be for some higher purpose, some moral or lesson that needed to be learned before it was too late? She shakes her head slightly and looks at Nigel again. That was all he was here for?

“Miranda, saving Runway, and by extension, Elias-Clarke, is my job,” Nigel explains, tenderly, as if reading to a child. He then smirks a little. “I’ll be saving the minions from a round of post-holiday firing, and you’re spared from close encounters with the travel agency kind.” He then looks at the TV, and then at Miranda. “Oh, by the way, New York will be snowed in.”

“What?” Miranda asks, and Nigel only nods.

“See you at the office, boss,” Nigel says, and he gives her a salute before he vanishes.

Secret Santa fic for morgan4510! (1/3)

2009-01-05T02:45:41Z

Title: A Prada Christmas Carol

Author: cannonball_312

Rating: PG, for mild swearing, use of nicotine, and a possible mind-burning use of silk, depending on how you look at it. C, for holiday cheesiness in general.

Word Count: 6,540

Pairing: Miranda/Andy

Summary: A Christmas Carol—Andy or Miranda gets visited by the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and yet to come. (prompt courtesy of morgan4510)

Giftee: morgan4510

Author’s Note morgan4510, this is for you! Hope your holidays rocked like an earthquake. I’ve missed this comm so much, and your prompt really got me writing, so thanks! Anyway, I’ve been lurking and reading the stories, and I hope to get inspired and write again soon. Special thanks to grdnofevrythng for organizing this Secret Santa fic exchange and to the rest of the writers and artists who have been showering us with gifts. Happy New Year everyone!

Miranda Priestly is a legend in many circles. To the general public, she is a symbol of class, fame, power, wealth, and is considered to be a rare, unnatural beauty that defies almost everything. In the fashion and publishing industries, she is known for her talent, her brand of aesthetics, and her judgment, as well as the occasional necessary ballbusting against the powers that be over at Elias-Clarke. In high society, she is known for her colorful assortment of friends, acquaintances, and enemies, as well as the dashing gentlemen who she introduces to her circle as the latest Mr. Priestly. In Elias-Clarke, she is simply Runway’s boss, and that’s all there is to it.

If she ever feels a pang of regret, a twinge of loneliness, or a stab of pain, she clamps down on her feeling with the same speed reserved for light and sound, hence the moniker ‘Ice Queen’. But the most admirable thing about Miranda Priestly is not her wealth, which can be easily matched, nor her influence, which is often underestimated, or even her beauty, which can be replicated. No, sir. The best thing about Miranda Priestly, to paraphrase a famous poem, is this: ‘her head is bloody, but unbowed’. Her determination, ambition, and strength elevate her into a class where true legends belong. To any decent human being, these are the qualities that make the editor a formidable and admirable woman. They also happen to make her an excellent target for otherworldly, unbelievable appearances from people she knows.

Miranda Priestly goes to bed at ten-thirty in the evening, three days before Christmas, after a thoroughly performed routine of bathing, using various beauty products, and allotting five minutes of silence for herself. Downstairs, in separate bedrooms, Caroline and Cassidy Priestly are pretending to be sleeping soundly as they individually read and chat with their friends. Miranda looks at her bedside clock and sighs. Her lover would not be home tonight. This lover, Andrea Sachs, who is half her age and was once her second assistant, is at her office at the New York Mirror, and will most likely be home in the morning. Miranda sleeps with this knowledge.

Exactly one hour and thirty minutes after she sleeps, a figure hovers near her bed. She is something out of a black and white movie, out of many black and white movies, actually, and she wears a long fur overcoat over a flowing navy blue dress accessorized by diamonds. On her head is a hat, and in her hands, she holds a long cigarette holder and an antique gold lighter. Her face has a few wrinkles and she is only a few days older than her forty five years of age. She blows a puff of cigarette smoke and stands confidently near the bed, waiting for its occupant.

Miranda stirs, slowly waking up to the scent of… is that cigarette smoke? Her eyebrows knit in confusion while the back of her head tries to think in fear. Has a burglar gotten in? Where are her daughters? She unashamedly puts on her glasses and turns on her lamp, and when she sits up, there she is—in full color and to Miranda’s forceful gasp of surprise—Bette Davis.

“Hello, Miranda,” Bette greets her, her lips quirking in a smirk, as though they’ve known each other forever. She blows another puff of cigarette smoke. “How are you, darling?”

Miranda rubs her eyes, once, twice, thrice—but Bette Davis is still there, her hands folded even as the cigarette in her holder is pushing ashes over its edge. Embarrassed by her surprise in her own home, she immediately stands up, level to the other woman, silk pajamas to old Hollywood couture, and raises an eyebrow at the guest. “You have one minute to tell me what you’re doing here or I’ll call the police on some dutifully created Bette Davis impostor.”

Bette’s smirk widens into a smile and her eyes sparkle in amusement. “Oh dear. Here is the treatise, then. Apparently, Miranda Priestly, I’m your ghost of Christmas Past.”

“You expect me to believe that you’re the real Bette Davis?” Miranda asks.

Bette harrumphs, feeling offended, and raises an eyebrow at Miranda. Their faces instantly mirror each other, and Miranda feels a little intimidated by the woman. “What do I have to do to convince you? Call for Joan Crawford and piss on her? Or would you prefer a Warner?”

Miranda then tries for a calm expression and manages to succeed. “I need proof.”

“You’re currently in a relationship with a woman half your age,” Bette says, examining her fingers on one hand, as though the information was commonplace. “She was once your second assistant. She has dark hair, even darker eyes, ruby red lips, and when she smiles, you forget how old you are. And I believe her name is Andrea Sachs. A journalist, hmmm?”

Miranda draws in a breath and smiles. Oh, she has this ‘ghost’s’ number, all right. “We’re not exactly in hiding, Bette,” Miranda remarks sarcastically. “We’re already out.”

“Damn it,” Bette Davis mutters on her breath. “A big damned thank you, Jack.”

“I’ll give you five seconds to leave.” Miranda says, with the air of an executioner.

Bette cocks her hips to one side, undettered. “How about this?” She says, and Miranda rolls her eyes. “You left your home after high school, when you were seventeen, because you discovered that your violent, alcoholic father was carrying a long-standing affair with one of your mother’s old friends. All you had was an old U.S. Army duffel bag and a hundred dollars.”

The duffel bag had been burned two years after she first brought it to New York, and the hundred dollars was long gone, but that didn’t make the fact any less true. Miranda’s eyes widened for the second time, and Bette Davis’ lips quirked slightly in a gesture of victory.

“Just to make sure,” Bette adds, nodding slightly at Miranda, “Your parents’ names were Charles and Margaret Princhek, and you have two younger brothers named John and David.”

Correct again.

Miranda nodded mutely and slowly realized, as she looked at Bette Davis, that all of this had to be a dream, and that it was as real as it was surreal. The woman in front of her was long dead, and it couldn’t be otherwise. She blinked twice. She was sane before she slept.

With a firm belief in this fact, Miranda regarded the woman again, and a little of her Old Hollywood-affectionate side came out. “It is you.” Miranda said, with a tinge of wonder. Her voice took a slightly disbelieving quality when it said, “You’re my Ghost of Christmas Past?”

“Cast, first choice, immediately after Jacob Clarke the Third found out about his great production.” Bette Davis replied, with that air that Miranda had grown to admire ever since she was a little girl. “I’ll say it once: Jacob Clarke the Third makes a better Mankiewicz than the man himself.” Noticing Miranda’s surprised and intrigued expression, she asks. “Do you remember?”

“Who?”

“Jacob Clarke the Third, the man who hired you?”

When he snatched me up from that flailing fashion column and made me second assistant, Miranda asks herself, and remembers. It was a rainy Wednesday in New York, and the editor-in-chief of the newspaper where she was writing a fashion column told her that she’d have to get cut off because they could no longer afford her a salary. She was walking in a pair of red secondhand heels, and a Ford stopped next to her. Jacob Clarke recognized her from an after-party she’d deftly snuck into, and the next day she was working for Beatrice Clermont.

“Beatrice Clermont says hello, by the way,” Bette Davis says, matter-of-factly, as if Miranda hadn’t already been thinking of Runway’s former editor-in-chief, her mentor.

“What are you doing here?” Miranda asks for a second time.

“As I said, I’m the ghost of Christmas Past, you know this role goes,” Bette answers, gesturing with her cigarette holder to the rest of the room. “Shall we go, darling?”

“Why do I have this?” Miranda asks. She’s no Ebenezer Scrooge. Far from it. She can be cruel and callous and insensitive, but she isn’t stingy. “I’m not Scrooge, you know.”

“Dear Lord, you’re stubborn,” Bette Davis says, the air crackling with every syllable. “I think I’m going to have a grand time forcing you to go back to your parents’ house.”

Miranda’s lips part to voice out an objection, but Bette Davis blows out another puff of cigarette smoke, and she is instantly transported to Iowa, at her parent’s old farmhouse. She turns to Miranda with a victorious smile, and the two of them watch as a twelve year-old Miriam Princhek wakes up and walks up to her window. Miranda feels herself move, and soon she and Bette Davis see what she had seen once when she was a young girl. Her father steps out of a car, and he kisses another woman’s cheek, before giving her a wide grin and bidding her goodbye. A few hours before, he left the house to go on a drinking spree with friends. It was Christmas Eve.

The rest of the house is asleep, and the two women watch young Miriam hurry back to her bed and go back to sleep. Miranda exhales sharply and shakes her head slightly.

“Tomorrow morning, that little girl will ask her father where he’d been, am I correct?”

“You don’t need to see this,” Miranda answers, her words sharp and bitter to the taste. “He’ll say that he was out with his friends and she’ll believe that that woman was just a friend.”

“Your father died alone.” Bette Davis says, inhaling cigarette smoke.

A complete non-sequitur, Miranda knows, but she’s grateful for it. “So I’ve heard.” Miranda replies, still looking at her younger self. Young Miriam now sleeps soundly on her bed.

“You haven’t visited his grave.”

“No.” Miranda answers callously.

“Why not?”

“This isn’t Five People You Meet In Heaven, and that,” Miranda says, gesturing to her younger self, “Is a young girl who is trying to believe that her father is not part of a betrayal.”

“You should be grateful,” Bette says thoughtfully. “He made you what you are.”

“In the worst possible way.” Miranda retorts, impatient. “Was there anything else?”

“Of course there is,” Bette answers, with a comforting tone. She rubs Miranda’s forearm slightly and tilts her head to the left to regard her. “I’m sorry for what happened with… him.”

“It’s not something I want to remember during Christmas,” Miranda says sadly.

“I’m sure,” Bette says, and she gives Miranda a smile like one she had on whenever she was genuinely pleased. “But I’m more certain that you’ll love whatever you’ll see next.”

“I live in hope,” Miranda replies, dreading the next memory like last decade’s E.coli.

Miranda and Bette Davis walk outside of the house, and on the pebble-ridden road, and after a few steps, Miranda doesn’t see another farmhouse, or even New York’s comforting concrete, instead, she sees the marble flooring of her own office, and her younger self—blonde, with designer clothes and a patented hairstyle. Miranda’s hand goes to her own hair instinctively. She looks around and sees her office, the way it was two decades ago when she first began working as Runway’s editor-in-chief. The way it is today, with a few minor changes.

The phone on her desk rings. The younger Miranda picks it up.

“This is Miranda Priestly,” The blonde says, with a confidence and firmness that Miranda admires instantly. Her younger self uses the same tone she uses now. The younger Miranda waits for whoever it is on the other end before she says, “Hello, darling,” with a smile on her face.

“First husband?” Bette asks her, as they sit on an ivory sofa.

“A longtime boyfriend.” Miranda only supplies.

“You didn’t marry him?”

“He left New York for England, for his master’s degree,” Miranda says, remembering Edward Schramm. He was a young Londoner who she met on Fashion Week. Dark hair, emerald eyes, light demeanor. Sensitive and smart and admirable. He’d moved to New York after an offer at a prestigious bank, and moved back to take up his master’s degree. When he returned, she was already married to her first husband, Charles. They’d had a brief talk at a café, once, and for some time she had wondered what would have happened if she divorced Charles immediately and married Edward shortly afterward. She could have been happy, she thought at the time, even though she loved Charles as well. Bette Davis looked at her thoughtfully and exhaled.

“I’m really making it difficult for you, aren’t I?” Bette asks her, and Miranda turns to her.

“What do you mean?”

“Bringing up all these memories,” Bette replies, crossing her legs. “What happened?”

Miranda knows the answer to that. “I never saw him again, and I divorced Charles three years later. I thought he would hear about it and come back for me, but he never did.”

“I was never really for marriage, myself,” Bette only answers, and smiles ruefully.

“There probably wasn’t a man good enough to handle you,” Miranda tells her.

“It would have been nice, though,” Bette says, looking at her. “To find true love.”

Miranda’s eyes light up at the thought of Andrea. From the moment their relationship began, she’d had the feeling that it would last. That feeling made everything lighter. It made the sun shine more brightly and the flowers bloom with more color. It’d made her take breaks at work and walks during the weekend. It allowed for vacations abroad and happier memories. A selected number of people had only seen this change in her, and they were convinced. And so she was convinced, by the way Andrea loved her, that maybe this would last a lifetime.

“I’m thinking maudlin thoughts,” Miranda says, sharply, and chuckles lightly. “Not the kind of thoughts I thought I’d have if I ever get the chance to spend some time with you.”

Bette Davis only shrugs, much like Miranda’s daughters would.

“I blame you, Bette Davis,” Miranda adds, like a curse, although a smirk grazes her lips.

“By all means, feel free. ‘Tis the season to be jolly’, and all that.” Bette Davis says before she stands up, and Miranda looks at the woman. She’s admired her for so long. There was always something about her, something that told you that no matter what you do, she won’t break.

Miranda looks at her, and then at her younger self. She could feel the same thing starting to happen to her, if it hasn’t already happened. She stands up and wonders where they’ll go next.

“I’d love to go through your past, but I’m afraid I have limited screen time,” Bette Davis says, her lips blowing out cigarette smoke before they curve up in a smile. “Ciao, Miranda.”

“Ciao,” Miranda replies, and they shake hands. “You’re a formidable woman, Davis.”

“As are you, Priestly,” Bette Davis replies, and she vanishes, leaving Miranda in her office. The younger Miranda vanishes as well, after which she smells cigarette smoke in the air.

Holiday fic exchange gift for bizzaro_bluth, part 2

2009-01-01T13:08:48Z

Without further ado, I give you part 2. Notes are on the first part. Thank you for reading, that will be all, and wherever you are, have a good day!

3. First day of filming, Gossip Girl.

For better or for worse, Leighton manages to forget the tall, young blonde that she once went to daycare and elementary school with, although she still carries the picture everywhere she goes. So does Blake, and everything seems to go well for them in other areas, but then life throws a giant wrench, and soon the two of them audition, and are cast for CW’s Gossip Girl as the Serena van der Woodsen and Blair Waldorf. At the first day of shooting, Blake and Leighton are assigned to one trailer, and the moment Leighton sees her, she feels at home with the blonde.

Blake, on the other hand, feels exactly the same. There’s something about those warm, brown eyes, and that shy smile that makes her feel welcome and uninvited at the same time. When she looks at Leighton, there’s this guarded demeanor that makes her want to get to know the brunette more. And then there’s the familiarity that she can’t shake off. She knows it’d be pointless to ask if they’ve met before, because chances are, they haven’t, but when she looks at Leighton, she just doesn’t know how to explain it, but she feels like she knows her, personally.

“It’s just chemistry,” Ed explains to her, once they break from filming and she sits at a table with him and Chace, who she’s already friends with. “Besides, you’re supposed to be best friends. Just because you feel like you know a person doesn’t mean that you actually do.”

Chace drains his bottled water before speaking. “Or maybe you do know her, but you’ve forgotten. Maybe you’ve seen her somewhere before, that’s why she looks familiar to you.”

“I guess,” Blake only says, and she plays with her spoon. Chace looked oddly familiar as well, when they first met each other. But then again, they were also going to be paired up, so maybe Ed’s right? Blake finds herself confused, and she frowns slightly. Penn Badgley then walks over with a big smile on his face, and the three of them greet him warmly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Penn says, patting Blake on the shoulder. “I heard Leighton brought a batch of spaghetti with meatballs.” He then lowers his voice. “Between you and me, I’ve worked with Leighton before, and her cooking beats craft services anytime. She told me to tell you guys that if you’re not up for the food, you can drop by her trailer and have a plate.”

“I’ll pass,” Chace then says, smiling affably. “Ed and I just ate.”

“What about you, Blake?” Penn asks, and his face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Wait, aren’t you sharing a trailer with Leighton? Didn’t she tell you?”

Blake snaps out of her thoughts and shrugs. “I must’ve forgotten.”

“You up for it? She’s only brought one tray, but she says there’s only one plate left.”

“Yeah,” Blake says, her mood lifting. She smiles at them. “I’ll go back to my trailer. Anyway, you guys, thanks for the company. I guess I’ll go sample Leighton’s cooking now.”

“If it’s good, tell her to bring another batch!” Chace hollers as she walks away. Penn only smiles knowingly while Ed has this interested, discerning expression on his face. Blake then runs to the trailer and finds her co-star reading a novel. The cover says ‘All Families are Psychotic’ and ‘Douglas Coupland’ and for the first time, she sees Leighton wearing glasses. She smiles at the vision of her co-star. She looks adorable and Blake wants to hug her and pinch her cheeks at the same time. Instead, she smiles and walks over to Leighton’s side of the trailer, smiling.

“Hey,” Blake says, smiling widely. “Penn says you had a standing offer for pasta.”

Leighton looks up from her book and sits up. She’d told Blake that she brought some food, to welcome everyone on the first day of shooting, but both she and the blonde had been worked to the ground so much that even she forgot that she extended the offer to her.

“Oh yeah,” Leighton says, smiling. She then takes a plate out of the refrigerator, the plate still warm from reheating. Leighton feels eerie as she gives the plate to Blake, as though somehow it was meant for her all along. Whatever. She shakes it off and hands Blake a fork, as well as a shaker with parmesan cheese. “I made this myself. It was my grandmom’s recipe.”

“It looks good.” Blake says, and the words make Leighton’s heart beat triple time.

“It is,” Leighton only says confidently, and she abandons her book for a glass of Pellegrino, wondering how Blake would react to her cooking. So far, everyone’s loved the pasta, but just like in showbiz, she has to have a critic. “I hope you like it.”

Blake takes a few bites, and she smiles widely, even hums in satisfaction. “Wow.”

Leighton wants to jump around in response. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Blake assures her. “This is amazing! How long have you been cooking?”

Leighton only smiles. “A while, I guess. I can’t remember when I first started.”

“Have you ever thought about taking formal classes?” Blake asks her, as she twirls the pasta with her fork. She then takes another bite and chews the pasta. “If you keep this up, you can open your own restaurant, you know?” She smiles at Leighton, who blushes slightly.

“I’ve never really thought about that,” Leighton says, finding her feet more interesting. “It could be great.” She then looks up and smiles at Blake. “Maybe I can take some classes.”

“You should,” Blake says, leaning on her chair. “It’ll be a little hard to find the time, though. With the way they’ve been working us, you’d think we’re candidates for slave labor.”

Leighton laughs out loud and Blake is mesmerized by the sound of it, the look of it. Her heart starts beating triple time and she only smiles through it, eating pasta as Leighton calms down. They spend the rest of their break talking to each other, opening up about where they grew up, where they studied, their likes and dislikes, and even their former crushes. Blake finds out that Leighton loves to sing, as well as cook, and she instantly presses the smaller girl to sing.

“Come on, please,” Blake begs, puppy eyes and pout in place. “Just one song.”

Leighton feels more than a little shy and she puts tucks her feet near her. Blake looks so cute with her puppy eyes and her pout. She looks like a little kid in a candy store and Leighton smiles at the vision. “Blake, stop doing that,” Leighton scolds, even as a smile grazes her lips.

“Seriously, I’m gonna do anything,” Blake says, making big hand gestures. “Just sing, please? One song. I’m not gonna ask for anything more, okay? Just one song, please?”

Leighton looks into her eyes and sees the sincerity in them. That Blake will do whatever she wants just to get her to sing. She then smiles and gives in to the request.

“Hey, it’s been really nice meeting you,” Blake says, and she leans forward to give her a hug. Leighton finds herself hugging back and smiling. They’re going to be really good friends, she can tell, and she can’t wait to get to know Blake better. “See you tomorrow, Leighton.”

“See you too, Blake.”

The two of them close the trailer doors and Blake walks off, leaving Leighton to watch her, but Blake stops and turns around, making Leighton wonder what could have made her do so. Blake runs up to her like a puppy, smiling, and she stops right in front of her. Blake scratches the back of her neck, which endears her to Leighton more, and makes her wonder what she needs.

“Um, can I get your number?” Blake asks, like a teenage boy.

Leighton gives her number, and after a fit of shyness, manages to ask for Blake’s as well.

4. The Yale visit episode airs, late 2008, at Leighton’s apartment.

There is a boatload of tension in Leighton’s apartment. Less to do with the Gossip Girl episode being aired tonight, and more to do with Blake coming for dinner. While she’s learned to accept her feelings for the tall blonde, her ongoing offscreen PR performance with Penn still breaks her heart once in a while. But she’s comforted by these little assaults on her privacy, these sleepovers that she and Blake have when they have the time. She’s also comforted by how close they are—friends feeding each other aren’t so common, anyway, and she and Blake could be mistaken for sisters with the way they hug and snuggle into each other all the time.

As she stirs pepper, basil, and thyme into a pot, she remembers the conversation she had with Ed, Chace, and Jessica during break. She’d been worried, because Ed has been teasing her about being too obvious about her feelings, and both Chace and Jessica have been pushing her to tell Blake. According to them, whatever happens, at least she could get over it already.

“Look,” Ed says, as he drains his beer. The four of them are hanging out at the Ed, Chace, and Penn’s trailer. “You need to know. You obviously can’t stand the what ifs and the not knowing, so get it over with. You need to tell Blake how you feel for her.”

“Besides, it’s not like it isn’t obvious.” Jessica adds. “Anyone with one working eye can see it.” Chace only nods at the statements as he drinks his beer, while Leighton rolls her eyes.

“If this ends badly, it’s going to affect the way we work.”

“Not like it isn’t affecting it right now,” Ed remarks. “Get it over with, Leighton.”

She closes her eyes at the memory. She then checks everything twice before she calms herself down and stirs the corn chowder. She’ll be fine. Blake will be fine. Everything’s going to be fine. She then paces in front of the stove, left then right, then left again. She doesn’t get why they can’t get it. If she tells Blake, and Blake feels awkward or doesn’t like her that way, it’ll be bad for their chemistry as best friends. It’ll be harder to repair. It’ll drive them all up the wall because they’ll have to do multiple takes on scenes, they’ll have to pretend to be close even if they don’t want to be near each other, and they’ll have to do things that they wouldn’t be as comfortable doing as they were before. She then returns to the pot and stirs it vigorously.

The door opens. “Lei?” Blake calls out from the door, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“Kitchen,” Leighton calls out and she hears Blake’s footsteps getting closer to the kitchen. She looks up from the pot and is surprised by the bouquet of flowers.

“For the vase,” Blake gestures to the vase on the dining table. “Hi.”

Leighton smiles back.

“I have something to tell you.” The two of them say at the same time.

Leighton turns off the stove, taking this as a sign, and following Ed Westwick’s advice, the two of them take a seat at the dining table and talk the whole night long.

5. The super secret Christmas party at Leighton’s apartment, three days before Christmas

Leighton fidgets. The rest of the gang has left and she’s only left with Blake and Kirsten Bell, who Chace invited on a whim. How he got her number, she wasn’t even sure, but she hung out with them like any member of the gang, and they’d had fun having her around.

During the party, she discovered that Kirsten was very much like her. She also loved playing (and winning at) Monopoly, and she hated being late. Blake also enjoyed having her around, as they went five rounds on Guitar Hero without a definite winner. She was definitely on next year’s guestlist. She then looked at her presents from Chace, Ed, Jessica, Taylor and Blake and she smiled. She’s going to be better off throwing more parties like this one.

Blake brings her and Kirsten a cup of coffee as they wait for Kirsten’s driver to pick her up. It’s almost midnight and Leighton feels like scratching herself to get rid of the itch she’d managed to pick up ever since she and Blake started dating. Blake looks even worse. She touches her collar every once in a while, and her feet are tapping the floor every chance they get.

“Thanks, stud.” Leighton teases, making Blake smile. Blake sits next to her and wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. Kirsten smirks at the two of them as she sips her coffee.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Kirsten then says. “It’s been fun hanging out with you.”

“I know!” Blake says, enthusiastically. “Hey, I know this gaming club where you can play in Guitar Hero tournaments. If you’re not busy, maybe we can team up?”

“Sure!” Kirsten replies. She then swaps numbers with Blake. “We can practice.”

“Yeah,” Blake says, nodding. “I’ll just call you if a tournament comes up.”

“Ed and his band have a gig at the West Village on New Year’s eve,” Leighton offers, as she walks to the kitchen to prepare the tray of pasta she plans to send home with Kirsten. She then wraps a tray in foil and prepares a note for her. “We’d love it if you could come.”

“I’d love to come,” Kristen replies. She then turns to Blake. “Maybe you can text me when it happens. I’d love to watch Ed and his band play. Are they a rock band?”

“Yeah, they are,” Blake answers, sipping her coffee. “They’re really good.”

“Cool,” Kirsten just says. “I’m up for watching them, then.”

“Great!” Blake then says. “I’ll text them and let them know you’re coming.”

A few minutes later, Leighton comes back from the kitchen just as a car horn is heard outside. Blake and Kirsten share a groan at the car outside Leighton’s apartment, and then the two blondes smile at each other with the kind of easiness one only sees in longtime friends. While Leighton carries the tray of pasta, Blake gets three coats from the coat rack, and helps Leighton and Kirsten put theirs on before she puts her own on herself. Kirsten smiles at the gesture. There really is something between them, Kirsten thinks, as she watches Blake help Leighton put on her coat. She looks away when Blake leans down for a brief Eskimo kiss.

“I think I just realized why Leighton and the others call you a stud,” Kirsten says, and Leighton smiles as she closes the door behind them. Blake only shrugs off the comment as they walk down the steps. “Anyway, it’s been great hanging out with you two. Thanks.”

“Right back atcha,” Blake says, grinning widely.

“I’d love to stay and sleep over with you guys,” Kirsten then says, as the chauffeur opens the door to the car. “But I have to attend the cast party for the Heroes cast tomorrow.”

“It’s okay,” Leighton assures her. “You’re definitely on our guest list next year. Maybe we can have a big sleepover with the other girls. We’d love to see at next year’s party.”

“Oh I hope so,” Kirsten says, smiling. She then extends her hand to Leighton, who shakes it firmly. “I look forward to beating you again in Monopoly, Leighton.” She then looks at Blake and holds out her hand. “And you’re an amazing Guitar Hero player, Blake. See you soon!”

The three of them share a brief group hug, and then the chauffeur clears his throat.

She then enters the car as Leighton and Blake look after her. The car starts and backs out of the apartment, and Leighton is about to pull Blake into the room when Kirsten rolls down her window and waves at them for one last time. “See you soon, you guys!” She says, grinning.

“Bye!” Leighton and Blake chorus, and the car speeds off.

Leighton walks up to the steps to her apartment and she and Blake are about to head back when Blake notices a foreign object lying on the pavement. “Is that… mistletoe?”

Leighton looks down on the snow covered pavement and true enough, there’s mistletoe on the pavement, along with a little note, scrawled in a foreign handwriting.

Blake and Leighton,

Thanks for inviting me. I had a lot of fun, and you guys are amazing. Please thank Ed for the bottle of Bailey’s, and Leighton, your pasta rocks! Anyway, hope you have some jingle bell rock! (Yes, that was totally a double entendre.) Looking forward to see you next year.

xoxo, Kirsten.

Blake grins goofily, and against her will, Leighton finds herself grinning as well.

“So I guess that means we failed Subtlety 101, then?” Blake says innocently.

“Come here and kiss me, you big stud,” Leighton says, pulling the taller blonde to her as Blake takes the mistletoe and hangs it above them. They share a thorough kiss in the middle of the pavement, knowing that the neighbors are either abroad, or asleep. She smiles against Blake’s lips and the taller blonde steals a kiss before they break off. “Merry Christmas, Blake.”

“Merry Christmas, babe.” Blake replies, grinning again.

The two of them then walk back to Leighton’s apartment, Blake embracing Leighton all the way through. Leighton then sneaks a impish, naughty glance at the rest of the world before she locks the door and proceeds to teach Blake another way to celebrate Christmas. As the two of them kiss languidly in her bedroom, she sneaks a glance at her desk. The old Polaroid is resting against the box of the McDonald’s Play-Doh set Blake got her on their first monthsary. She looks down at the lithe body underneath her, looks at those warm sapphire eyes that look at her with love and passion, and for the first time since she was a kid, she believes in Santa Claus.

Holiday fic exchange gift for bizzaro_bluth (bleighton_squee members, viewers and lurkers only!)

2009-01-01T13:03:43Z

Title: Five Times Leighton Meester Cooks for Blake Lively

Author: cannonball_312

Rating: PG for kid violence and C for holiday cheesiness. :-)

Word Count: 4, 736

Summary: Blake and Leighton have been cooking… they just don’t know it.

Prompt: cast gathering, Kirsten Bell interacts with Bleighton

Giftee: bizzaro_bluth

Author’s Notes: Sorry I posted this on the deadline! I got stuck in a rural, not-Internet connected place during most of the holidays, and so I kind of cheated on the prompt. Sorry. Haha. bizzaro_bluth, I hope you’ve had a great Christmas and an awesome New Year—this is for you! Also, I hope you appreciate the Friday Five format. It’s one of my favorites. Anyway, readers, this story is pure fiction. Anything coincidental is just that. Comments will be gobbled up the way Cookie Monster gobbles up his cookies, so read on and comment below. Thanks!

Oh, and this is Part 1.

1. Five years, three months, and fifteen days.

Blake Lively is an unusually tall blonde little girl born into a family of actors. In a few years, she will also act and star in a successful TV show based on a book series, and before that she will get her break in a movie based on a book. But way, way before that, she is only a giggly little girl playing in a sandbox with kids her age, most of who think she’s older than four. Today, her parents have decided to drop her on the daycare center while they tend to the usual grocery shopping for the household. Blake doesn’t mind. She loves being in daycare and she loves getting to know the other kids. It gives her a sense of freedom that only her parents can see at this point. For Blake, as long as she has her crayons and coloring book, she’ll be fine.

At the same daycare center is Leighton Meester, a petite, bespectacled blonde who the other kids find so serious that they usually leave her alone or tease her about her glasses. She doesn’t care about them, anyway. In a few years, she will also act and star in a successful TV show based on a book series, which just happens to be the same series Blake will star in. For now, her grandmother left her in the daycare center to run a few errands and pay their bills. But Leighton doesn’t mind. She’ll find something to do, or if she’s lucky, a kid to play with.

Five year old Blake then walks over to five year old Leighton, bringing a handful of toys to her table and pulling herself a chair next to the smaller blonde, who’s coloring a picture of Elmo. Blake has always been fascinated by the girl who keeps to herself. She likes her glasses even more, but she’s never played with her, and maybe today she’ll get to have a new friend.

“Hi!” Blake greets, and sticks out her hand. “I’m Blake.”

Leighton stops coloring and looks at her. Blake is grinning widely as she holds out her hand, like her mother taught her to, and something in her eyes invites Leighton in. They’re warm and friendly, and for the first time in daycare, she smiles widely at someone. “I’m Leighton.”

The two of them shake hands and Leighton looks at the bigger girl next to her. Surely, she can’t be as old as she is, right? “How old are you?” Leighton asks, coloring Elmo’s nose.

Blake holds up five fingers and grins again. “Five.”

“You’re too big to be five.” Leighton protests, coloring Elmo’s nose more vigorously.

“But I’m five,” Blake answers back, weakly.

When nothing else comes from the brunette, she only slumps in her chair and opens her Sesame Street coloring book and works on Big Bird. In the middle of coloring, she steals a couple of glances at Leighton, who’s now on another page. Undeterred, she tries again, this time putting a couple of containers of Play-Doh in front of them and the rest of the McDonalds Play-Doh set she got in the toy box. Leighton stops coloring and looks at the Play-Doh curiously.

“Do you want to play?” Blake asks. Leighton nods. She’s never played with Play-Doh before, because the other girls won’t share. The little girl next to her looks a little shy, different from how she was when she stuck out her hand and introduced herself. Immediately, Leighton knows that there’s something wrong. She then inches closer to the blonde and gets some clay.

Blake smiles widely, and all is right in the world.

“Wow!” Blake exclaims, as Leighton makes clay spaghetti from the Play-Doh, putting the strands of clay on Blake’s plastic plate. She then giggles and Leighton giggles as well. Blake eyes the young brunette and smiles widely, proudly, as she claps. “Oooh… cool.”

“Thank you.” Leighton mumbles, feeling warm and fuzzy in the company of the blonde.

Blake then presses down on a lever, and a clay burger patty appears. A few moments later, a haphazardly made sandwich is born and Blake gives this one to Leighton. “Yours.”

Leighton accepts the burger and pretends to take a bite. “Mmmm… yum yum!”

Blake only giggles more, which leads to Leighton giggling more. A daycare center attendant passes them by and looks at them curiously, especially at Leighton. The little girl hasn’t said more than a few words to anyone, and she’d have to mention that to Leighton’s grandmother, as well as Blake’s parents. She then smiles at the two girls playing and moves on.

Blake and Leighton manage to make a whole meal out of three containers of Play-Doh and the rest of the set. After they finish eating their pretend meal, they move on to playing with big dolls. Blake hands one over to Leighton and Leighton accepts, making her doll sing. She hums a couple of children’s songs that her grandmother used to sing to her. Blake smiles while watching her, as she makes her doll walk around the table as if it were a runway for a show. The two of them play with their dolls silently, until their play is interrupted by a five year old named Chace Crawford, who happens to be in California for a visit to his relatives. His parents dropped him at the daycare center a couple of hours before, to get some alone time, and Blake played cars and trains with him before abandoning him for the less stressful pursuit of coloring Muppets.

Five year old Chace zooms by their table with a couple of other boys, and takes Leighton’s glasses from her eyes, running with it and instantly making the little blonde cry. Blake loves Leighton’s glasses, and she runs towards Chace and his little gang of boys, with a big doll in hand. “Hey!” Blake calls out, as the boys look at her. “Give them back!”

“No!” Chace answers, his fingers playing with Leighton’s glasses.

“You bad boy!” Blake accuses, as the other boys ignore her and go back to playing with their toy cars and robots. Chace moves closer to her and pretends to drop Leighton’s glasses.

“Nah nah nah nah nah nah!” Chace only says, teasing Blake, and he sticks his tongue out.

Blake then whacks him with her doll and a small scuffle for Leighton’s glasses begins.

Blake’s parents arrive when they are called, and they are shocked at what they see. Blake’s hair is disheveled and her clothes have sand on them, but they’re even more surprised when they see a little boy holding his nose, blood oozing from them like a flowing river. There will be a punishment later, but Ernie Lively feels proud that his little girl can stand up for herself. As Leighton looks on from the door, the daycare center attendant explains everything to both sets of parents, and Blake keeps on glancing back at her, grinning and holding two thumbs up.

Later, Blake introduces her to her Mommy and Daddy, and Ernie Lively takes Polaroids, one for each of them. Leighton hangs on to hers, and starts to carry it everywhere she goes.

2. Eight years, six months, and three days.

While Leighton has kept her Polaroid, Blake has left hers at home, tucked inside a drawer with a couple of hair clips, bracelets, and other assorted accessories. Give or take a couple of years, she’d either remember the episode or block it out of her mind. Luck strikes once again, and the two of them go to the same elementary school, although they are in different classes. Blake spots a vaguely familiar girl during lunch, and walks up to Leighton, who’s just opening up her lunch box. She then puts her tray next to the smaller blonde’s, and sits next to her.

“Hey,” Blake greets, smiling. Leighton looks at her, and is surprised at the familiar face. She never thought she’d see Blake again and she smiles as takes out the corn chowder and sandwich that her grandmother helped her make for lunch. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“Yeah, we have,” Leighton replies, smiling shyly. It’s one thing to talk to a former playmate, and it’s another thing to talk to the most popular girl in school. She takes a chance and tells Blake the story of how they met. “We went to the same daycare a couple of years ago. I don’t know if you remember, but you whacked that kid who ran off with my glasses.”

Blake then spots Leighton’s glasses, bigger but still the same style, perching nicely on her nose, and she remembers. “Oh yeah,” She then says, snapping her fingers. “Leighton, right?”

Leighton almost beams at the recognition. “Yeah.”

Blake then catches a whiff of the corn chowder and hums appreciatively, sending a warm gust of air into Leighton’s cheeks, and making her blush. “Wow, that smells good.”

“Thanks,” Leighton says, as the two of them start on their lunch. “My grandmom helped me make it.” She then gestures to Blake’s tray, which is filled with cafeteria food. “Chili?”

“It’s today’s special.” Blake only says. “Yours looks like it came from a restaurant.”

“I can bring you an extra sandwich, next time.” Leighton is quick to offer.

“Sure!” Blake says, bouncing on her seat excitedly. “That’d be great!”

Next week, at the exact same time, Leighton sits on the same bench, bringing two sandwiches instead of one. Blake waves at her and she smiles back, and she starts to walk towards Leighton, but the girls from the cheerleading team mistakes the wave and begins steering Blake into the table. The last thing she sees before she’s pulled into their seat is Leighton’s mouth, closed and accepting. Her eyes tell a different story, and Blake will never forget the look in those eyes for the weeks to come. A few months later, Leighton Meester is nowhere near her campus. According to school gossip, she has moved to another state, and no one knows if it’s New York, Nebraska, or Connecticut for sure. Blake feels guilty, but life goes on, and in a matter of years, she manages to forget who the young petite blonde was.

just a quick update

2008-08-20T08:28:18Z

I'm still plugging away at my TDWP/Mamma Mia! crossover, and it looks like it's going to take me quite sometime (weeks to a month) before it gets finished, but just to keep you excited, here's a fraction of the songs I'm going to use for my fic/musical. Everything else might be subject to change, but not these ones. :)

Rent (The Movie)--Take Me or Leave Me
Dirty Vegas (acoustic version)--Days Go By
Hairspray--Mama, I'm A Big Girl Now
Jimmy James--Fashionista
Wicked--What Is This Feeling?
Sunset Boulevard--As If We've Never Said Goodbye
Michael Buble--Save the Last Dance for Me

If you can guess who sings what, or in what kind of scene this might fit in, I'll give you an online cookie! lol.

peace.

Writer's Block: Warning:

2007-12-10T12:47:32Z

If you came with a warning label, what would it say?

View 502 Answers

Contents are highly reactive.

watching the simpsons has never been this good.

2007-12-10T08:43:35Z

since I became a Meryl Streep fan, I've looked at her IMDB page so many times, and I'm always surprised at her guesting as Jessica Lovejoy in season 6 of the Simpsons. (psst... episode 7, my friends.)

she was so great in the part... and you wouldn't know it's her because she masks her voice really well.

i just finished watching it... so funny!

cannonball_312 @ 2007-12-06T14:49:00

2007-12-09T06:39:39Z

nothing.

just thought my LJ needed a boost.

posting a story to the TDWP community around next week. =)

Finally... some news from the "other" world!

2005-06-02T12:07:52Z

Sometimes, the unexpected comes when it's... well.... unexpected.

After weeks of (two weeks, actually) not receiving any news whatsoever from any classmate of mine... I got a message. (Never mind what it is.)

Yay!

Shocking American Idol Moment!

2005-04-30T11:19:18Z

Since I have nothing much to do this summer and that I have taken some hours to watch TV (and the fact that I have waited for summer so that I coudl watch American Idol)got me glued on the square box.

But lo and behold, entertainment has its box of surprises.

One of my favorite contestants got voted out of Idol...

I mean like he was one, if not, the best on the show. How could people NOT vote for him? Hello?!
Constantine Maroulis got the boot! I couldn't believe it when I saw it via satellite at 4 pm. I had to stay up late, watch the re-run at around 12 midnight and watch the re-run AGAIN at sometime the next morning.

I told myself that I will absolutely not talk to any friend of mine who is a huge fan of Constantine.

My mom can't even believe it, she was a fan of Constantine..

During the elimination, I didn't even know which guy to side on, since the two guys who were my favorites were in the bottom 3. Anthony Fedorov and Constantine Maroulis. I like them equally, but now that Constantine's gone , I going for Anthony. I absolutely have no idea whose side to take.

I just had to watch the elimination episode three times just to tattoo in my mind that he's gone.
Eliminated.

I can't believe it.

How could someone so good get the boot?

I thought I was going to see two rockers (Constantine and Bo) in the finals.

I won't see Constantine.

Man I hope there's a wildcard special or something.

He doesn't deserve to get cut.

Really.

Oh well, if there isn't going to be a wildcard special, I'm rooting for Anthony.

Got to go. =)

1st Month Annivesary!!

2005-04-27T10:43:14Z

I must really be crazy.

Totally out of my mind.

I mean, what was I thinking?

This is unbelievable!

I am now celebrating a month of having this online journal.... yeah, right.

I'm really a weird person but I'm not the type that would go out and cuss people for no reason or do something like that. I rarely say bad words and now I don't get angry as fast as I used to...

So.... happy 1st monthsary to my online journal!!!!!!!!

Tales From ATC... hehe

2005-04-21T08:41:41Z

And so here I am in a mall and that I'm with my brother and my cousin.

Sometimes one really has to squeeze in work with relaxation.

I haven't been to the mall in almost a week now.

This is a lucky day.

But this mall makes me remember somethings that I did with my friends recently.

We went here and just hanged out.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a boring type of person. What makes it special is that it was the first time we hanged out together, the estrogen side of our "barkada" (the guys didn't come). We had loads of fun, actually.

There was this friend of ours we had to fetch from National Bookstore. We didn't fetch her because she loved books so much. We actually had to fetch her or else she might get a little lost. She told us she hadn't been here for quite sometime now. And I being the annoying person I could be sometimes, teased her a little. Just a little, okay.... Unless you think I'm that mean. I couldn't tell you what her name is, she might just kill me.... hehe... peace! =)

It was actually a celebration of being able to survive the final exams (believe me, survive is the word. those exams were tough). But it was the last hurrah before we go and be separated by the career tracking system in our school.

And I just happened to leave early. I didn't know what happened to those gusy afterwards. You see, I made a deal with two of my friends that if they finish the game they were playing at Timezone, we'd all go out for some drinks at Starbucks. They did finish the game, but I left.

Major bummer if you ask me.

How many times do I get to hang out with friends at the mall anyway?

Oh well...

Maybe sometime next year.

Gotta go. =)

Thinking... just thinking...

2005-04-13T10:44:05Z

I've been relieved of the "mental torture" that I've given to myself for the past few days when I got my report card. Not that I would die if I didn't get it, but after the grueling final exams a month ago, I didn't know whether I'd survive AND pass with flying colors. hehe.

And so I survived AND passed with flying colors, and found out about it last Monday. YAY! I survived my sophomore year!

And so I woke up at my usual hour this morning, which is 10 o clock. =)

All day long I have been thinking of stuff, usually connected to my friends... like how are they doing... stuff like that.... and what to write and about what should I write this time... My mind has been drifting to faraway lands like the clouds in the sky.

Nothing to say anymore.... gotta go. =)

There's a first time for everything. (no matter how old you are)

2005-04-09T10:36:29Z

Yesterday, I got a chance of a lifetime.

No, not some contract. (I'm not exactly made up to be a star. hehe.)

I went to beach with a couple of people from the yearbook and the school paper. It took us three hours to get there. We passed through Tagaytay (which is one of the best places in the world)and reached the resort at 10 when we left the school at 7.

I was SUPPOSED to swim.... but then I got an invitation to ride aboat with some folks. I did ride the boat and they told us that to get to another island would take like 30 mins. I was a little scared, since it was my first time to go, and I was unsupervised by my parents. One of my friends joked and asked us if we already had a last will in testament. I laughed, but the thought made me cringe a little. Just a little. The adventurous part of me took over, thank goodness.

thirty minutes became an hour and a half.

And I was like "Where are we?" and "Are we there yet?"

We got there, and it had white sand, not really white, but nonetheless it reminded me of Boracay (Bora for short). I had my aura checked by a friend and she said it was orange. Perfect for a sunny day, isn't it?

When we got back, I realized we had six hours of traveling, on a van, and then on some cool boat, but judging by the open sea; getting splashed by the "waves", collecting some rocks, corals and shells on the island and the boat's motor conking three times on the way back... hmmm.... (PLUS almost falling asleep while going back to the resort)

I'll take the boat anytime.

We stopped at Tagaytay in the afternoon when we were on our way back to the school. Turns out, they wanted to go to Starbucks. So I tagged along, not exactly wanting to spend a few bucks on a drink, but the hot chocolate was too tempting to resist. I wanted to see the sun set there, but we had to head home...

When I got home, I ranted about the trip forever. To my family, at least.

Yeah. What a trip.

FLasHBacK.

2005-03-28T11:07:37Z

I attended my younger bro's baccalaureate mass today. It was fun, with a video footage and all, and I got to see my former elementary teachers. =)
I remembered my own baccalaureate mass, what I wearing and how excited I was, and I found myself relating to these incoming freshies. I think I received an award for something then, I don't know.

I'm going to be an upperclassman this coming school year... if you consider juniors (3rd year high school!) as upperclassmen already... Third years at my school have electives, which means having extension classes. I'm kinda excited to see how this year turns out, and I know it's going to be great.

This is my 16th day as a fourteen year old... yeah, I know, most people aren't really enthusiastic about how many days it's been since you had your birthday and turned a year older.... We all are more interested in thinking about what we'll be years from now...

Hmmm.... now that I think about it...

yeah... I'll be a doctor.

well...

2005-03-22T10:22:48Z

I really have a lot to think about today, but I started things off by updating what I've been putting in my story. For a lot weeks now, I've been writing an adventure story and it's been great. It hasn't reached the most exciting part, though, so I guess that this one's the longest one that I've written. I've also been thinking about my grades for the last quarter and about the next school year. For a little background, here goes: Well, our school has this career tracking thing that I'll have to start next school year (since I'll be a high school junior then), and I'm a bit excited as to where I'll go. I've been thinking about it and though I know I'll still see my friends during next school year, and that we'll still be with each other during lunch, I can't help but think about the whole scenario, only a few people could relate with what I'm saying, stuff like that, though we've never run out of stuff to talk about. Well so much thinking for one day. I just know that this summer's going to be great and that everything will be okay. =)