bubblebear79: (Default)
I just sent someone I've liked for YEARS an e-mail admitting that I'm attracted to him. I even asked him out. I'm still in a bit of shock that I did it, but I did. Now my only fear is that I've just ruined our friendship. We went to university together, chatted, texted, e-mailed each other back and forth, and I never told him how I felt.

Well, now I've told him how I feel, and I don't know what to think.
bubblebear79: (Default)
[Error: unknown template qotd]
I think I would go back and apologize to myself as a child so that I wouldn't carry around such a boatload of self esteem issues stemming from being abused. I would tell myself that it wasn't my fault, the people who hurt me were sick, and that I was a good kid, and that it would eventually be all right.

bubblebear79: (Default)

Dawn is breaking in my soul

Disclaimer: I don’t own Torchwood, it belongs to who it belongs to, but it sure isn’t me.

Author’s Note: I just watched the best episode of “Army Wives” and was inspired by the song at the end, I think it’s called “Dawn is breaking in my soul” or “Morning Stars are Rising,” anyway it was beautiful , raw, and painful, and sparked something in my brain.

Beta: cookielaura, you are amazing, and I’ve moved so something nice will be on it’s way to you soon. J

 

Dawn is breaking in my soul.... )

 

bubblebear79: (Default)

Disclaimer: Oh for goodness sakes, I don’t own any of it all right? I’m just trying to have a little bit of fun.

Spoilers: Everything, just everything.

Beta: Cookielaura for the win!

Rating: Oh up to “R” just to be safe.

Summary: It’s an alphabet, and drabbles, a random bad joke, and a random bad haiku.

 

 

A Doctor Who and Torchwood Alphabet

 

A to Z, yippee! )

 

               

               

 

 

bubblebear79: (Default)
Does anyone know if you can e-mail people songs? I lost all my John Barrowman music when I got my new computer because in resyncing my iPod, it took all of my JB songs, a Celtic flutes CD mix that I made, a few DW episodes, TW series 3 episodes 2, 3, 4, 5, basically it yanked and erased everything that I didn't purchase through iTunes. And the stupid US version of iTunes doesn't have anything of John Barrowman after the "Swings Cole Porter" CD.

If you can e-mail songs to people, I'm wondering (well, really begging) if a few people could e-mail me a few JB songs? Just a few...pretty pretty please? :) I'd be willing to exchange them for cookies (real cookies) shipped to you at my cost...and I make really good chocolate chip cookies....:)

Thanks much everyone!
bubblebear79: (Default)
[Error: unknown template qotd]
Simply put, "Thank you for showing me exactly what NOT to do in the classroom. Now I know what kind of teacher I should be, because it will be the opposite of everything you've done this quarter."
bubblebear79: (Default)
I'm writing a series of drabbles from A to Z about TW/DW, and am a bit stuck. I was thinking "Bad Wolf" for B, but since that's really Rose, I'm kinda stuck.

Anyone got any suggestions for different letters? Cause I'm at E, and I have no blasted, flipping, blooming idea what to write for E.

Thanks!
bubblebear79: (Default)
[Error: unknown template qotd]
Oh that's easy, chocolate, all kinds of chocolate, spicy, bacon wrapped, various other foods dipped in chocolate, just chocolate, a constant supply of chocolate.
bubblebear79: (Default)

Disclaimer: I don’t own it at all, but I sure wish I did. Everyone who is supposed to own Torchwood and DW does, just not me darn it!

A/N: This ridiculous piece of fluffy crack was inspired by watching my students being silly one day, okay really EVERY day. But that’s what teachers do, chase around cheeky little children.

A/N 2: It’s kind of a take off on “Asylum” and the universal remote control.

Summary: Jack presses buttons, Jack becomes a toddler, ‘nuff said.

Betas: Zazajb and Cookielaura for the win! Thank you for both proof-reading, and Brit-picking for me. Hopefully I’ve started spelling things correctly, aside from most of this story.

Dedicated to badly_knitted because everyone needs a good laugh at something silly every now and then, and happy belated birthday!

 

Tiny Immortal Terror

         

Here's part one of the silliness... )

 

Link to Part Two here:  Here's the "stirring" conclusion...
bubblebear79: (Default)

*********************************************************************************
20 Minutes Later

  *********************************************************************************

        

Part two of the insanity.... )

 

bubblebear79: (Default)
So, my students are learning about different art museums. Basic stuff since they're only five years old, but interesting nonetheless. I picked The Louvre for the first museum for them to learn about, talked a bit about how it started as a fortress, and then a palace, etc.

Then I showed them some examples of artwork in the museum, including one of my favorite Van Gogh (see where I'm goin'?) pieces, "Sunflowers."

And then I really really really had to restrain myself from saying, "This beautiful painting was painted by Vincent Van Gogh, and dedicated to Amy Pond." But I did have to restrain myself because my students think I'm weird enough as it is. :)
bubblebear79: (Default)

Disclaimer: Yes, yes I know I don’t own them, I just like to let them out to play every now and then. Standard people own the standard things, although I must say, they don’t treat them very well so maybe they ought to sell them, TO ME!

Author’s Note: This is a bit of therapy for me, so be warned, it be angsty.

Spoilers: It’s canon-compliant now, but once season 4 of Torchwood, and 5 of Doctor Who start, it sure won’t be…I think.

Beta: cookielaura for the win! Hope you feel better!

Rating: PG-15 for the violence, but other than that, it’s quite G rated.

Here's a link to part one, part two is linked at the bottom of the entry.

bubblebear79: (Default)

Five months and nine days later

        

This way for the conclusion... )

 

bubblebear79: (Default)
Two conversations with two of my five year old students:

Story #1:

Student: I like the color green, it's pretty.

Me: Yes, green is a nice color.

Other student: Eww, green! I don't like green. I like red. Red is my favorite color 'cause it's the first one in the rainbow.

Me: Well, all colors are pretty. But you're saying that red is your favorite color, so would you say it was YOUR color?

Other student: Yes, red is my color.

Me: Laughing hysterically for a reason not apparent to my five year old students.


Story #2:

Me: So what is everyone going to dress up as for Halloween?

One child: A pink poodle
Another child: A pwincess
Another child: A dinosaur
Another child: Spiderman

Another child: Captain Jack!

Me: Wait what? You're too young to be watching that show! It's not a good show for a five year old to watch. I think I should have a chat with your mommy tonight.

Other child: Um, Ms. Jolene I meant Captain Jack Sparrow, you know, the pirate?

Me: Oh, oops. Just ignore me now. I patted him on the shoulder and walked over to the window in order to control my laughter.

And in the other reasons catalog: the TARDIS on my classroom wall, my paper cutout of K-9, yep, it's nothing short of an obsession for me. But it's a good obsession no?
bubblebear79: (Default)
Anyone know where the plot bunnies are hiding? Or the prompt bunnies are hiding? My dark story is being proof read, Brit picked, and in general, fixed up - and now I can't think of anything to write. Does anyone have a good prompt they want to share, or just have a challenge for me? I'd sure love it, 'cause my brain is drained.....

Thanks!
bubblebear79: (Default)

Disclaimer: Please, if I owned them, I’d let them out to play and have much MUCH more fun than they are allowed to right now. Standard people own the standard things, RTD, Moffat, and the mighty *snort* BBC.

Author’s Note: Spoilers for “Waters of Mars” and “Children of Earth.”

Thanks to cookielaura for beta-ing this little story really well, right after beta-ing another story really well too. You're fab! :)

 

Voice mail

“Doctor? Doctor, are you there? It’s Martha, where are you? I saw something weird while I was on holiday and I called UNIT, they said it’s these aliens, they’re called the 456; they’ve come to take the children. They made them stop moving, speak in unison, and now they want to take them. The government, Doctor, the government and UNIT aren’t fighting, they’re negotiating! Doctor where are you? We need you!” Her voice, edged with panic, floats out of the mobile’s tiny speaker. He sighs and shakes his head, only able to listen as the message grows more intense, finally ending with a resounding click as she hangs up.

 “Is this the Doctor? I’m Ianto Jones, I work with Jack. Doctor, we need your help. The government has destroyed Torchwood, they planted a bomb in Jack and blew up him and the Hub. I think they did it because of what’s happening with the children, children everywhere are stopping, and talking in unison. I think this has happened before and I think it involved Jack, that’s why they tried to kill him. Doctor, we have no idea how to fight this.”

          So calm, he thinks as he listens to the message. He sounds so calm, even though the world is crashing down around him. This one, oh this one, he really broke Jack.

“I’m so sorry, old friend,” he sighs and rubs his jaw, listening to the message end.
 
The Next Day:   

 “Doctor, are you there? Doctor, you need to come back. The 456, I know you’ve heard of them, they’re back on Earth. They’ve come before, last time they wanted children or they would release a virus, so the government gave them children. Now they want more, MORE children Doctor. Whitehall tried to silence me because they knew I wouldn’t let them do it this time; they knew I wouldn’t help them again. Doctor, where are you? We need you.” Jack sounds tired as he pauses to breathe, “Please help us.”

 Ironic really, two fixed points in time and space, one talking about the other. No Jack, I can’t help you, and I’m so sorry for that. I tried the “just this once, everyone is going to live” routine, and it didn’t work. She saw to that, Adelaide understood what I couldn’t: time doesn’t like to be controlled, especially if you’re a Time Lord. Look at what good my interfering did: Brooke dead, and for me, “Your song is ending,” stated ever so plainly by Ood Sigma. No, I can’t help you, and for that I am truly sorry. 

          “Doctor, why aren’t you answering?” Martha’s voice is little more than a whisper, full of pain and disappointment. 

The Doctor shakes his head, hearing the message end with a faint sob before it switches to the last one on the phone. I know what this one is going to say. I know who it is, and I can’t hear it yet. I’m not ready.  With a click he snaps the mobile shut and turns to open the door of the TARDIS.

 Two Days Later:

        His hands shake as he opens the phone again, presses the buttons, and accesses the voice mail.

          “Doctor, it’s over. I ended it. Where were you? Why didn’t you help us? Why? I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have had to lose him. I shouldn’t have had to lose Alice or my grandson. Why did I have to lose everything?” he says. The Doctor hears a brief pause as Jack’s voice breaks and he says quietly, “You abandoned me.” 

          Again, the Doctor thinks sadly.

bubblebear79: (Default)
Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I sure don’t own Torchwood, all I’m doing is having some fun. The usual suspects own it, including RTD and the mighty *snort* BBC.

Thank you to zazajb and cookielaura for beta-ing this and finding my many MANY errors and fixing them all. :) You ladies are awesome!

 

The Coat

 

Then: Blue.

Wool.

Stripes. “Note the stripes,” he mutters. It wasn’t that long ago that he spoke those words, but time is relative in his life.

Polished buttons do well with keeping out the cold, and keeping him dry from the rain. Really though, these buttons help keep people out, because his letting people in is when life seems to get messy. And he has had just about all the mess he can handle for a while. Some hero he is.

The belt is cinched tight, tight enough to help him hold himself together. He never used to do it up, but then again, this life had never broken him so badly before.

Now: Blue.

          Wool.

          Stripes. Note the stripes, he thinks, but that life is long gone; now it’s nothing more than an echo in his memory.

          The polished buttons on his coat are still good at keeping out the cold, and the rain. Those same buttons reflect her surprise at seeing him again, reflect the anger that is quickly replacing her surprise, but do nothing to deflect her impressive right hook as it cracks his jaw.

The belt, now loosened, does not mean he can keep himself together without help yet, but rather that he is a man defeated. His wish now is to do penance. He does not want absolution, but simply a chance to put things right.

His coat used to mark him as the big, bold, dashing hero who would swoop in to save the day. It marked him as the leader whom they’d all looked to because he’d been there the longest, because surely, Jack would have a plan to fix everything as the world collapsed around them. Now though, his coat is nothing more than dented armour, and the hero beneath it does not deserve praise; not yet, and in his own mind, he won’t deserve it for a long time.

I can’t do this, he thinks.

“Jack? Meet Rex. He needs our help.”

 

 

 

Therapy

Feb. 10th, 2011 11:17 pm
bubblebear79: (Default)
So, I have a really really really dark story that I'm working on, and I have to wonder....

Is a fan fic good therapy? 'Cause if not, I'm screwed.

But what a way to go.
bubblebear79: (Default)
So, um, yea, I think I must have pulled on the wrong shoes this morning, because I've been positively riddled with angst today.

It started when the (help me my British friends, is he a "toss pot" "tosser" "wanker" "git" or a "right pain in the arse") okay, so we'll go with guy for now, who has been bugging me to pay him for breaking the mirror on his car tried to chase me down the parking lot, and then yelled at me.

And now for a little background information:

Alright, yes, I broke the man's car mirror, but he was parked almost completely in my parking spot and I, well, I was having a really BAD morning. PMS, poor parking, and being bloated will make you do CRAAAAAAZY things, especially when you have to suck in your gut to get between your car and the person parked next to you because they're IN YOUR SPOT AND THEIR SPOT!

But then, this "guy" decides that instead of asking me, "Hey did you break my mirror? And why? And could you pay for it please?" he'd rather point blank accuse me, jump in front of my car, (he's fond of that) and use the excuse that because MY mirror was broken, he KNEW that I broke his. Well, that didn't endear him to me at all so I told him where I lived and he could come and find me later, then we'd talk.

So TWO weeks later, he sees me coming home from work early because I was sick, and decides to then accuse me again of breaking his mirror and ask for my insurance. Well, golly I was sure gonna drop everything and help him right? NO F-ING way, not with my hands full of school things, and my throat almost completely swollen. I explained politely that I was ill, and that he needed to come and find me when I wasn't ill, especially since his wife had just delivered their first baby. He said okay, and then as an after thought, decided to tell me that the mechanic had to fix his power window and his mirror, and that he had to pay 300 dollars, and since I broke the mirror that then broke the window, it was my fault and I now owed him 300 dollars instead of just 78 for the mirror. Erm, NO! I told him, again, politely, that he needed to get me proof because my momma, as difficult as she is, didn't raise no fool. He said okay.

Again, two week later (what is it with this guy) I'm pulling into the parking lot late after a staff meeting. He pulls in next to me, it's dark, it's late, I'm alone, and he decides to stand outside my car and wait for me to get out so he can talk to me. Creepy right? Then he says, "Oh, the mechanic said it wasn't the mirror that broke the window (DUH) so all you owe me is 78 dollars." Fine I say, but my identity has been stolen, and I have no checks, you're going to have to wait.

So that leads me to TODAY, again, two weeks or so later. He proceeds to tell me, "Well, it's been months, where's my money?"  I told him, you know, I don't have it, but if you'd have come and talked to me, I could have explained the situation. And he says, "Well I went to your apartment once, but you weren't there!" Okay, help me out here, was I supposed to wait for you at my home, every minute of the day? I'm confused.

He then tells me his apartment number, and agrees to wait 2 more weeks until I get my tax refund and then bring him the money. I will do it, finally, because I'll be able to pay him. But I'm wondering, do I pay him in rolls of coins? 80,000 pennies perhaps? 8 rolls of dimes? Or a pureed mishmash of 80 one dollar bills chopped in my food processor and painted onto a piece of poster paper that reads, "Learn how to park your car!"

A - NYway, this leads me to the rest of my day and feeling like death warmed over, apparently it's given me a story idea, an angsty story, a really really angsty story.

End of rant, thanks for listening. :)

P.S. Who knew the angst plot bunny howled when it wanted attention? I would've never seen that coming.

P.P.S. It's good to get the angst out on the day before the Kindergarten Open House so I can be nice and cheerful and happy.