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mayquita · 5 years ago

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Call Me (27/?) - The Final Countdown

A/N I still can't believe that four years have passed since I started this adventure. But I’m not only celebrating the fourth anniversary but also that with this chapter the story has reached 200k words!!! As always, my apologies for the delay, but to compensate you for the wait I bring you a long chapter. It was supposed to be shorter, but as usual, I got carried away a little. And here’s the result. I prefer not to reveal anything else about the chapter, but there’s a note at the end of the chapter with some explanations.

I’d like to express my gratitude to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld for your advice and perpetual support and @chrissascorner for being my beta, thanks for helping me edit the whole thing. You three are the best. Thank you also to everyone else for your patience and for your support.

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma is the one answering the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14Chapter 15 Chapter 16Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

FF.net Ao3

Chapter 27 - The Final Countdown

I was born to love you With every single beat of my heart Yes, I was born to take care of you Every single day of my life

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Queen's song echoed in the kitchen while Killian prepared dinner, the lyrics and their meaning slipping inside his mind and spreading a warm sensation all over his body.

A thought crossed his mind as he hummed and wagged his hips to the rhythm of the music, causing a wide smile to bloom on his lips. There was no doubt that Queen has been part of the soundtrack of his life since he was just a child, accompanying him in his childhood, changing and adapting to the experiences he went through over the years.

The band and their songs had been his only companions on his darkest nights, first when Liam had been about to die and then after losing Milah, when he had entered that spiral where he wasn't able to do anything but drown his sorrows in sex and alcohol, get into fights —in an attempt to replace the heartache for the physical pain— and wallow in misery while listening to the saddest and most melancholy songs he could find.

It's a Hard Life, Too Much Love Will Kill You, Save Me, Somebody to Love... He had listened to these songs in a loop, locked in his bedroom, repeating the same routine day after day until Liam had taken the reins, as usual, coming to his rescue and offering him the possibility of a new beginning on the other side of the ocean.

Now, five years later, he kept marveling at how his life had changed and how that was also reflected in his particular life soundtrack. He felt blessed to have found Emma for many reasons, but the fact that they shared musical tastes added an incentive to their relationship.

The change had been subtle at first, but after confessing their feelings two weeks ago, they had begun to replace their old companions with songs full of feelings and positivity. Once again Queen put the background music to a stage of his life, and this time he expected this stage to last as much as possible, something like forever.

His smile widened when the first chords of the next song resonated in the room, causing him to continue humming, shaking his head to the rhythm of the music while cutting the fresh tomatoes that would serve to make sauce for the pasta they'd have for dinner.

I want it all, I want it all, I want it all And I want it now.

He wanted it all with Emma. He wanted to sleep every night with her in his arms and wake up every morning with her at his side. He wanted the whole package, the happily ever after. He wanted and wanted. He was aware that it was still too soon — they would celebrate three months together tomorrow —but after so many years surrounded by darkness he was eager to grab every little bit of happiness within his reach that would keep him in the light. And Emma was pure light, like a beacon that kept him on the right path.

He couldn't be prouder of her. After her meltdown two weeks ago when she fell injured, she had been able to overcome her own fears, to open up to him even more, to be vulnerable and express her feelings. She was more affectionate, her smiles were brighter, the spark of her gaze more intense, causing his love for her to grow more and more if that was even possible.

That subtle change in her had not only been reflected in her behavior towards him, but towards the people around her. Now she was more willing to spend time with her friends, was more communicative with her boss and even took the initiative when organizing plans with their friends' group.

It was as if after the accident, she had been injected with a renewed energy to the point that it was quite complicated to get her to be on sick leave for more than a couple of days. In the end, she had agreed to stay away from the office for a whole week and do desk work during the following week, but she would start working at full capacity next Monday, now that she seemed fully recovered.

The memory of her accident caused a chill to run through his spine, especially when he thought she would be exposed to those dangers again. He had no choice but to resign himself, though, and trust her and her abilities. At least she had understood that she now had someone always waiting for her at the end of the day, no matter what happened, so it seemed that she was more willing to stay out of unnecessary risks and return to him every day.

That was precisely what he was waiting, for Emma to come home. She had decided to accompany Belle and Mary Margaret to go shopping since, according to the ladies, they needed to renew their wardrobe with the arrival of autumn. It seemed obvious that she was having a great time since several hours later she hadn't yet returned. He had received a message a while ago, though, informing him that she would arrive in half an hour and that it was better for him to have some dinner ready because she was famished — Her words.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips when the next song began to sound. Somehow Emma had managed to include the bloody It's My Life on his playlist, alluding that, whether he liked it or not, that song was already part of the soundtrack of their relationship. She was right, of course, he admitted to himself as he shook his head.

He cast a sideways glance at the wall clock as he filled a saucepan with water to boil the pasta. The music and his thoughts had kept him so distracted that if he didn't hurry, Emma would arrive before dinner was ready.

Something caught his attention before he focused his eyes on the food preparation again. His gaze shifted slightly to the calendar near the clock. September 30th. A strange sensation settled in his stomach, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to figure out why suddenly that date seemed somehow significant.

The realization came so unexpectedly that he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach while all the air left his lungs. Tomorrow would be October 1st, which meant that in just one month he would be flying to Ireland. For five bloody months.

He shouldn't feel so shocked, not considering that his trip to Ireland was something that had been hovering over their heads from the start. Hell, even the origin of their relationship had occurred when he was there.

He even had a continuous reminder in his usual talks with his family through video calls, in many of which Emma was present. Whenever his niece asked him when he would return he responded in the same way. Soon, sweetheart, soon.

The problem was that that soon seemed so far away at first, so, with the excuse that there was still a lot of time to worry about it, they had chosen to ignore it, not to let his possible departure affect their incipient relationship.

The date on the calendar now marked the beginning of the countdown on his inexorable path that would lead him to separate from Emma.

Just when he left the pot full of water on the counter, the player was silent for an instant before the next song began. He almost expected to hear the first chords of The Final Countdown, as a sign that the universe was laughing at him. Although that didn't happen, the next song did nothing to improve his sudden change of mood, rather the opposite.

Spread your wings and fly away Fly away far away Spread your little wings and fly away Fly away far away

Yes, definitely the universe was laughing at him.

A heavy sigh escaped between his lips as he ran a hand through his hair and swallowed hard in an attempt to drag the bitter sensation that threatened to crawl up to his throat. Unable to concentrate on food preparation, he started pacing the kitchen area driven by the growing uneasiness that had taken hold of him.

Fate was definitely cruel, at least to him. It seemed that all the stars had decided to line up tracing a net that would prevent him from fully enjoying his stay in his hometown, no matter what happened.

Before Emma, the bittersweet sensation and the constant pressure on his chest had always accompanied him a sign that, although he was going to visit his family, the ghosts of his past would always be present, stalking him and making sure to remind him of everything he had gotten and in contrast, everything he had lost.

Now, however, even though he had already left behind — or at least was on his way to do it —his old demons, that bittersweet feeling would still be present, since he couldn't wait to reunite with his family, but the feeling of leaving Emma behind was hard to assimilate.

Killian pressed his lips together to avoid groaning in frustration wondering if his heart would ever be at peace, if he would get the full happiness he thought he deserved, because it didn't matter that he was coming back, he was fully aware that during his stay in Ireland his thoughts would be consumed by a single person, Emma Swan.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not realize at first that a new song began to play. The sounds of the chorus finally reached his ears, bringing him back to reality.

Well, come on and let me know Should I stay or should I go? Should I stay or should I go now? Should I stay or should I go now?

An almost unstoppable impulse to throw the phone against the nearest wall seized him. Instead, he just pressed the stop button, leaving the room silent, the music was no longer appealing to him.

He was being overdramatic, he was aware of it, but he seemed unable to stop the spiral of feelings swirling inside him, while the lyrics of the previous song repeated in his mind in a loop. Should I stay or should I go?

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe he was worrying about nothing. Maybe it was best to stay this year in Boston, in this very flat, with Emma by his side. Why then did he feel that this was not the best solution? The mere idea of not seeing his nephews and his niece caused a twinge in his heart. He hadn't even made the decision yet and he already felt a sense of regret in the pit of his stomach. He not only had responsibilities back in Ireland but he longed to see both his family and his friends there.

He squeezed his eyes closed while rubbing his forehead in an attempt to relieve an incipient headache while wondering how he had come to this situation in an interval of only a few minutes.

He alone was to blame for not having dealt with the subject previously, but there was no point complaining now, He had to make a decision. At least before, he just had to worry about himself, but now that he was in a relationship he should also consider Emma's feelings. If there was something that had become clear after her accident two weeks ago it was that, despite her efforts to be more open, Emma still harbored trust and abandonment issues. His heart clenched at the thought of becoming one more on the list of people who left her behind.

A familiar sound caught his attention, pulling him out of the maelstrom of thoughts that crowded together in his head. The clink of the keys in the lock announced Emma's arrival, as if she had been invoked. Despite his inner turmoil, a soft smile tugged at his lips. She was home, finally. The need to get lost in her, to forget everything for a while, seized him, so he hurried to the front door to welcome her as she deserved — or rather as he needed.

Emma still felt strange with the weight of the keys in her hand. Not in a bad way but rather in an unusual sense. This wasn't the first time she had used the spare keys since Killian gave them to her a week ago, but she still had a hard time getting used to the fact that her boyfriend trusted her enough to allow her free access to him, literally. Perhaps the fact that no one had ever had that deference with her had something to do with that strange feeling.

Details like this made her wonder once in a while if they wouldn't be running too fast. They would be celebrating tomorrow that they had been together for (only) three months and Emma not only had the keys to his apartment — and he had hers —but spent half of her time there — most of her time, actually.

Those thoughts faded quickly, though. She just needed to open that door for a sense of peace to settle in her heart. She would be welcomed by the warmth that emanated from the interior of the apartment, by the aroma coming from the kitchen, and by protective arms that would embrace her, giving the moment of an aura of normalcy, a sense of rightness.

What Emma did not expect was to be received with such intensity the moment she crossed the door. She barely had time to close the door behind her when she was approached by Killian, who wrapped her in his strong arms while pushing her gently against the wooden surface, pressing his body against hers, his lips looking for hers as if he was hungry.

After the initial shock at the unexpected reception, she responded in kind, dropping the keys and the bags she was holding to place her arms around his neck while she returned the kiss with the same fervor.

Emma kept feeling amazed at how her body reacted whenever Killian kissed her. It was as if all her senses stopped working properly, leaving her in a state of daze where everything around her seemed to fade away. Well, that was not entirely true, it wasn't as if her senses stopped working but rather intensified, directing their focus to the sensations that flowed from her body as his lips devoured her.

This occasion was not going to be different of course, but before she fell completely intoxicated and succumbed to the sensations, a glimmer of lucidity crossed her clouded mind. There was something urgent, almost desperate, in the way Killian held her or in the intensity of his kiss. Making a great effort, Emma pushed back a little, her hands cupping his face as she searched his gaze.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His eyes were clearly darkened by lust but Emma also detected a glimpse of something else crossing his gaze. When Killian blinked that subtle shadow disappeared, though. Emma was distracted by his words, her eyes drifting to his lips. "Sure, love. I just missed you." A small smile appeared on his face but she didn't have time to appreciate it since his lips were on hers again.

He lifted her up with barely any effort causing her legs to circle his waist as he held her and began to walk towards his bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers.

Deep down, she suspected that something was not quite right, that his reaction seemed too intense, caused, rather than by pure desire, by something deeper. Whatever it was, Killian seemed to wake up suddenly, since, when they were halfway, he slowed his advance, loosening his grip until she rested her feet on the floor. He pushed back gently, his eyes searching for hers.

This time she did take her time to inspect his features. His brow was slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen from their brief make-out session. The shadow of his gaze reappeared more clearly, but again, Killian's hoarse voice caught her attention. "My apologies, love. I got a little carried away... I'm... sorry." He reached out to scratch behind his ear, as he averted his eyes, the blush of his cheeks becoming more pronounced. "Do you want this right now? Or maybe you prefer to just have dinner?" He asked, his voice dripping with uncertainty as he gestured toward the kitchen area.

Something was definitely not right with Killian. Emma tilted her head and studied him again through her narrowed eyes. The desire was evident, radiating from him in waves that reached her, sending electric shocks all over her body, blood running hot in her veins. She, of course, wanted this but she was also aware that Killian intended to use sex as an excuse to avoid, for a while, whatever it was that was troubling him.

She reached out to brush his cheek gently, pressing a little to force him to look at her. "I want this, believe me, but I also need to know what's wrong, Killian."

"Nothing." His lips curled up in an attempt at a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's been a long day without you and I... I just need you." The intensity of his gaze caused a shiver to run through her body. Emma was aware that his words hid a deeper meaning. The glimpse of pleading in his gaze contributed to that belief, causing her heart to tighten in her chest. He was saying without needing to express it out loud that he needed her to forget for a while. She couldn't refuse his request, not when she felt her skin burning, craving his touch and her lips tingling waiting for new kisses. She could do nothing but succumb to desire and hope that when the time came he would trust her enough to confess what was going through his head.

"Take me to bed, Killian." She whispered before fusing her lips with his, letting herself be carried away by the sensations in her attempt to offer Killian what he needed and get what her body craved.

Once in the shelter of his bedroom, they gave free rein to their passion so intensely that there was a moment when Emma felt slightly overwhelmed. She had learned from the experience of recent months that Killian was a generous person in bed, always trying to offer her all the pleasure before getting his own. This time it was no different in that regard, but his actions acquired a somewhat more desperate touch as he explored every inch of her skin reverently, recreating himself in every freckle, every corner as if he wanted to etch them in his memory.

Her old ghosts from the past made their appearance in the form of a sense of panic emerging inside her. His longing gaze did nothing to mitigate her growing unease. What if ... But then he muttered "I love you, Emma," her name sounding like a prayer and causing any worry to leave her body and her thoughts. He loved her and she loved him. Nothing else mattered.

From there she dedicated herself to enjoying one of the best sex sessions shared with Killian. He looked like a man on a mission, determined to extract every drop of pleasure from her body, playing it perfectly as an instrument, and paralyzing any coherent thought, her mind focused only on him and the intensity of her feelings towards him.

Both seemed insatiable that night. They only needed a few minutes to recover and started the second round. This time they made love more slowly sharing soft caresses, loving glances, and searing kisses while their bodies danced in a quiet tune until they reached sweet release.

Killian seemed calmer after their amorous activities. He lay on one side facing her, his fingers tracing delicate patterns up and down her back. His lips drew the first genuine smile of the night while his gaze seemed clearer, more serene, no trace of his previous agitated expression.

Emma was tempted to interrogate him, but she didn't want to risk clouding his mood again. She felt so sated and relieved to see that Killian had managed to relax that she thought it would be better if she left the interrogation for the next day. Even so, she didn't resist addressing him subtly.

"You know I'm here, whenever you feel ready to talk, okay?" She whispered as she gently stroked his hair at the back of his neck.

"Aye Swan. I know." His lips brushed hers for a moment before looking back into her eyes with a significant expression. "Tomorrow. I promise."

"Good." She snuggled against him, feeling a protective arm wrapping her. "I love you." She muttered while resting her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her ear.

"I love you, too. More than anything."

The last thought that crossed her mind before succumbing to sleep was that those words hid an even deeper meaning than it seemed. Something told her that she would soon find it out.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

The sun had not yet risen when Emma woke up the next morning, finding the room covered by gloom and a warm body behind her. After letting out a yawn, she cracked an eye open to check the time on the bedside clock. Too early.

Emma snuggled into Killian, feeling his strong arm on her waist and his chest against her bare back, not an inch of space between the two bodies. Although she couldn't see his face in that position, his soft breathing indicated that he was still sound asleep.

She felt like she was in a protective cocoon, all around her inviting her to go back to sleep. Just when her eyelids become heavy, her body decided to betray her, bringing her back to the world of consciousness. Both her bladder and her stomach protested due to the excessive hours of inactivity, making it impossible for her to fall asleep again.

In spite of the fact that her mind was still partly cloudy, some flashes of the activities from the previous night began to appear, causing her cheeks to blush. Emma also vaguely remembered that she hadn't been able to eat any food, since they had started their coupling as soon as she arrived home, just as her stomach was reminding her with a very loud rumble.

It was the memory of what happened a few hours earlier that led her to turn around carefully so as not to wake him up, with the intention of observing his features once her sight had become accustomed to the semi-darkness that surrounded them. Her heart fluttered as she checked his serene expression, only a faint wrinkle between his brows as an indication of his previous agitation.

She had no choice but to attend to her physiological needs, but, since it was Sunday, she wouldn't wake Killian. Not yet. After placing a feather kiss on his forehead, she got up and went to the closet, to the section that had already been reserved for her, and grabbed a shirt and panties, then headed to the bathroom with stealthy steps, so as not to wake the sleeping handsome.

Her stomach did a little somersault when her eyes landed on the two toothbrushes resting together on the bathroom shelf. She still had a hard time getting used to seeing her belongings occupying a space in his apartment. In other circumstances, she would have felt a torrent of panic and an urge to run. Too fast, she would have thought. That hadn't happened with Killian, though. In fact, since the first time she was in his apartment, she felt that sense of belonging, that she was in the right place.

That feeling had increased to the point that she was comfortable enough to have her own section in his closet or even she had now taken over one of the bathroom shelves. It was a matter of practicality after all. If she spent several nights a week there, it was logical that she had at least her toothbrush and a comb. And her favorite conditioner. And a bathrobe. Even a dryer. A girl likes to have her allies around, right?

After relieving her bladder, and refreshing herself a little — she had ended up so exhausted after their passionate lovemaking session that she had not been able to bring herself to remove her makeup —she went to the kitchen, her stomach growls getting louder and louder.

As she crossed the living room Emma noticed the various bags scattered on the floor while the memory of Killian's reception yesterday came to her memory, causing her knees to weaken and a warm sensation running through her veins. What an intense night!

Once in the kitchen, she found a similar scenario. There was a pot full of water on the counter, and the ingredients of what appeared to be the beginnings of a tomato sauce forgotten on the cutting board. It was like watching a scene frozen in time, as if someone, Killian in this case, had felt the urge to suddenly stop what he was doing.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, a sense of apprehension settling low in her stomach as she wondered what could have happened. It wasn't like him, someone usually quite tidy, to leave the kitchen in that state. Could he have had one of his panic attacks? At least he had had the good sense to turn off the stove because otherwise, the apartment would have become fire fodder while they created another type of fire in the bedroom.

Emma shook her head to try to get rid of that disturbing feeling. Killian had promised to tell her what had happened, so she had no choice but to wait. After letting out a heavy sigh, she turned on the coffee maker and began to clean the kitchen, continuing with the mess of the living room.

A few minutes later, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee reached her nostrils, so after finishing cleaning everything, she went back into the kitchen, prepared a giant mug of coffee and looked for something to eat in the cabinet. Her lips drew a smile of satisfaction when she found the poptarts that Killian kept just for her.

The sunlight was already beginning to seep through the windows, but since it was still early, she needed to find some entertainment while waiting for Killian to wake up. If it wasn't because they were already in October and the temperatures had dropped considerably, she would have been tempted to go up to the rooftop, since it was one of her favorite places. Instead, she grabbed Killian's laptop, the poptarts, and the coffee mug and settled on the couch, ready to do some work.

In recent weeks, she had been feeling more and more involved in Killian's business, especially in the social media section. She could spend hours working on the laptop or with her phone, either managing the website of the business that had improved considerably thanks to her magic — Killian's words — or acting as a kind of community manager running all social media to try to attract more customers, especially now that the peak season was over, but several guided tours and excursions were still available.

Belle had pointed out, on more than one occasion, that Emma worked almost more than herself and that she should be rewarded by being turned into a proper employee with her consequent salary, something Killian agreed with, but she always rejected it. She did not consider what she was doing as a job but as a way to put her knowledge to good use, something that brought her full satisfaction, increasing her self-confidence.

She soon got down to work, losing track of time as usual. Just when she was focused, an unexpected sound coming from the laptop startled her to the point that she almost dropped the device. Liam was calling.

Her eyebrows furrowed while looking at the time on the clock. Wasn't it a bit early for a video call on Sunday? Maybe it was something important. Before answering though, she cleared her throat and straightened her back, placing the laptop on her lap. She didn't mind talking to Liam at all, but she couldn't help her stomach tightening into knots in anticipation before starting a call with Liam, especially if Killian wasn't present. After taking a deep breath, she pressed the answer button while forcing her lips to twist into a smile to mask her nervousness.

The slightly blurred image of Liam appeared immediately on the screen. It was fun, in a way, to watch as his expression transformed several times over the course of just a few seconds. He went from sporting a radiant smile, to changing his expression to one of confusion when he realized that it was she who was answering to finally turn into an expression of regret, probably realizing that it was Sunday, what meant that, obviously, Killian was still sleeping.

"Good morning, lass." The smile returned to his lips, but then his face again showed a worried expression. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

And just like that, all the nerves disappeared and Emma could relax. In these three months, she had been able to learn a lot about the Jones family and she already knew that Liam lived in a state of almost constant concern and had a tendency to overanalyze everything. It was a little exasperating, at first, hence her initial nerves before starting a conversation with him, but deep down she had taken a certain fondness for his behavior.

"Nope." She answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But your brother, you know, he's still navigating in the world of dreams."

He chuckled quietly and rubbed his eyes with one hand, as if he wanted to get rid of the accumulated fatigue, before addressing her again. "It's Sunday, I know. Forgive me, love, I have a lot on my mind lately."

"It's okay, I'd been awake for a while." She offered him a cordial smile before continuing. "How are all of you guys over there? How are the kids?"

"All good, but the beginning of the school year is driving me crazy. September has been a very long month." He certainly looked tired, even though it was barely lunchtime there. "Anyway, now it seems that we have all adapted back to the routine, so I hope everything will flow better from now on. But enough talk about me." He waved his hand in front of the screen, his lips drawing a soft smile. "How are you, lass? Is your shoulder fully recovered?"

"Everything's fine." She raised her arm and rolled her shoulder to prove her point. "I'm returning to work tomorrow at full capacity." Emma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes when Liam's brow frowned slightly, wearing the same expression as his brother when he tried not to show his concern. They were so alike that sometimes it became a bit overwhelming.

From there they held a lively talk on various topics, the kids, her new case or the end of the peak season. Despite those nerves of anticipation that always appeared when she started talking to Liam, a warm sensation seized her whenever they talked, as she felt increasingly comfortable and integrated with the Jones family, as if she was part of them too.

What Emma did not expect was that the conversation would take such an unexpected turn.

"Oh god, I almost forgot the real reason for my call." He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand as he shook his head. "See? These children of mine cause me to lose neurons by leaps and bounds." Emma couldn't help a laugh bubbling in her throat at Liam's overdramatic attitude, something he also shared with his brother. "Anyway... there it goes before I forget it again. Do you know if Killian has already bought the tickets?"

"Tickets? What tickets?" She asked tentatively. She honestly had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn't prevent a strange sensation from settling in the pit of her stomach, causing her body to go suddenly tense. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"The plane tickets to travel to Ireland, of course."

Her stomach dropped to her toes while her smile faltered the moment her brain processed Liam's words and their implications. "There's only one month left and if he doesn't hurry the tickets will cost him an arm and a leg. As always."

Her eyes drifted for a moment as she took a deep breath in an attempt to pull herself together. He's leaving. Emma shook away that thought and pressed her lips together forcing a neutral expression before responding. "No, he hasn't bought them yet. I'll tell him later." She managed to reply in a carefree enough tone, or so she expected.

Although Liam continued speaking, Emma felt unable to process what he said, her mind occupied with other concerns. One month left. How had time passed so fast? Emma shouldn't be surprised, though. She knew, even before they started dating, that that was his life, that he spent half the year here in Boston and the other half back in Ireland. She knew that, they were both aware, but they had decided to live their relationship in the present without worrying about what might happen in the future. Also, back in July, November seemed so far away.

"Emma, are you alright?"

Liam's words brought her back to reality. Emma swallowed hard hoping to drag her unease down as she curled her lips up. In no way was she going to put more worries on his shoulders. "Yeah. I got distracted for a moment, thinking there is only one month left and we still have to finish some projects for The Jolly Cruises."

Luckily Liam didn't seem to notice her inner turmoil, as he smiled back at her, his face showing an expression of affection that caused her heart to calm down for a while. "That brother of mine has managed to involve you in his business, hasn't he?" He rolled his eyes, as his smile widened before continuing speaking without waiting for an answer. "You're doing an amazing job, by the way."

His compliment had an immediate effect on her, causing her cheeks to blush, a shy smile pulling at her lips. "Thank you. I was working right now on it while Killian sleeps."

"Oh, sorry for the interruption, lass. I'll let you get back to it, then." The conversation did not end there, though, since suddenly Liam's eyebrows arched and his eyes widened as if he were remembering something. "By the way, when Killian decides to buy his tickets you could take the opportunity to buy yours too."

"Mine?" What was he talking about?

"Well, considering that Killian will spend Christmas here, we assumed that you would come too." A warm sensation began to run through her veins as her heart swelled in her chest when she heard him. Both the expression of affection that appeared on his face and the spark of hope in his gaze only increased that feeling especially when she processed the true meaning of Liam's words.

"Eh..." She trailed off while swallowing hard to try to drag down the lump in her throat. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times but she was unable to make any sound. It was like she was so busy trying to curb the intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm her that her brain seemed unable to form coherent words.

She had never been invited to Christmas celebrations. Ever. She had practically ignored these holidays by keeping busy or locked in her apartment so as not to witness the happiness of others. She hadn't even considered that possibility when she started dating Killian so she didn't know how to handle so many emotions dancing inside her.

"You have to come, Emma. We will all be here." Emma had been so distracted for a moment that she didn't realize that Elsa had appeared on the screen next to her husband. Her expression was gentle, as always, but her slightly maternal tone, as if he were addressing one of her children, had the desired effect, as Emma managed to get out of her trance. "Christmas at the Jones' house is always special. It has been some time since we brought someone new so I'm sure that with you here it will be even more special."

She was totally doing it. Damn it, she deserved for once a good thing to happen in her life. It seemed such good things had not stopped happening since she had lost her phone. Now that her life seemed to have taken the right path she wasn't willing to lose more opportunities to be happy. And if she had to cross the ocean for the first time in her life to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and his family, nothing and nobody could stop her.

"Okay." She breathed out. "I guess I can use a couple of weeks of vacation since I’ve never taken one." She continued in a more firm tone while the corners of her lips rose slightly drawing a timid smile.

"That's amazing, Emma!" Elsa almost yelled, her voice dripping with excitement. "I can't wait to see you in person and finally hug you."

"Wait for the children to hear the news." Liam added, the wide smile on his face matching his wife's and probably also her own.

They continued talking animatedly for the next few minutes. There was something in common in all the members of this family, no doubt, that was their ability to spread their genuine enthusiasm to others. They got her to forget for a while about the implications of Killian's departure by having her focus instead on her own journey.

Only when she finished the call after saying goodbye and promising them that she would talk to Killian to buy the tickets did she realize that the smile hadn't disappeared from her face since they had begun planning her visit.

Her inner calm did not last long, though. The moment the living room fell silent again, the image of Killian made an appearance, causing her smile to fade and a feeling of unease to wash over her.

He's leaving. He's leaving. He's leaving.

After letting out a deep exhalation she set the laptop on the coffee table and laid back onto the couch, with her head on the arm while she massaged her temples in an attempt to eliminate those thoughts.

He wasn't leaving. He would only travel for a few months and then he would come back to her. She was sure of it, but that didn't stop her selfish side from making an appearance. He could always choose to stay. They both could travel a couple of weeks during Christmas and come home together.

No. That was not an option. She may have lived the last years selfishly, looking only for herself because she had no one to lean on, no one to fight for. That stage of her life had been left behind, though. The love she felt for him was so intense that his happiness had become one of her goals in life, because if he was happy she would be too. And she was fully aware that she didn't have the exclusivity of Killian's happiness. She could not take him away from his other great source in that regard, his beloved family.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hall drew her attention, so Emma raised her head slightly, directing her gaze in that direction. Killian appeared at that moment in her sight, as if he had been invoked.

He was... he was many things, but at that moment she could only think that her boyfriend appeared gorgeous in his sleepy state. Emma sat up a little leaning on her elbows to delight in the glorious image in front of her. His eyes were still partially closed giving him an adorable drowsy expression and his hair was completely disheveled. He was shirtless, of course —she wasn't going to complain at all, his bare torso was certainly a vision.

His lips moved subtly up when his eyes fell on her. "Morning." He mumbled in an almost intelligible tone and then, without giving her time to react, he laid on her, pressing his body against hers and burying his face between her breasts.

Emma couldn't help smiling while her hand brushed his hair. If there was something she had learned since the very beginning, it was that Killian despised having to get up early on Sundays. Whenever he had to get up early that specific day he ended up dragging an aura of moodiness for the next few hours. Today was still early for his standards.

"If you wanted to continue sleeping you could simply have stayed in bed."

"Nonsense. This mattress is much more comfortable." He muttered without bothering to move his head, his low voice muffled by her own body sending electric waves all over her skin. "Not to mention the pillow, magnificent." He raised his head, his piercing blue eyes fixed on hers and a smirk blooming on his lips. He then returned to his original position while making a satisfying sound as he settled back against her chest.

So he wasn't in a bad mood today, that was good. They continued in that position for a while, he emitting soft moans as she massaged his scalp and she feeling his warm breath on her skin.

There was something special in these little moments, where everything seemed to be calm and they remained in their own bubble of bliss, both together, enjoying each other, with nothing that clouded their happiness. Emma closed her eyes as she tried to etch this scene in her mind. She decided right at that moment that she was going to treasure as many more moments like this as possible, since they would be her companions when Killian was away, as a reminder that what she had experienced wasn't a dream, and also as a promise of future. They would share these experiences together again.

"Who were you talking to before?" Killian's hoarse voice brought her back to reality.

"It was Liam. The poor guy is still a bit disoriented with the schedule after the start of school." She bit her lower lip, doubting whether it was a good idea to explain the true reason for his call or not. At some point they would have to address the issue. Why not right now? After taking a deep breath, she kept talking. "He wanted to know if you had already bought the plane tickets."

His body tensed above her, while she held her breath waiting for his next reaction. He remained in the same position for a few seconds while her heart pounded so hard that Emma was sure he would be feeling it.

After a moment that became eternal, he let out a heavy exhalation before pulling up and sitting next to her. Without looking at her, he dragged a hand down his face and rubbed at his scruff.

Emma also sat up, crossing her legs in front of her, while carefully watching all of his reactions. "About that..." His voice trailed off as if he was deciding what to say next. He nodded in an almost imperceptible movement that didn't go unnoticed by Emma and then he looked into her eyes, the ghost of a smile adorning his face. "I've been thinking that maybe this year is better if I stay here."

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she tried to process the meaning of his words. His gaze remained fixed on hers, those piercing blue eyes capable of reaching her very soul. He was choosing her. He had made a decision. He had chosen her over everything — or rather everyone —else.

"I mean. Maybe I can travel for Christmas, since I wouldn't like to miss the holidays there. Or maybe I can arrange a couple of trips in alternate months. I don't know..." He was rambling, his hand reaching to scratch behind his ear in that characteristic gesture of his, but then, his eyes bore into hers while his features turned into a solemn expression. "I just know that I don't want to be separated from you for five bloody months."

Everything made sense at that moment. She realized what he had gone through the night before, his struggle as he tried to decide what he should do. She also understood how after making love, he seemed much calmer, his expression more serene, as if that inner struggle had ended with a clear winner. He chose her. I love you, too. More than anything.

She felt a lump in her throat, a surge of emotions rising in her chest as the back of her eyes began to sting. She allowed herself a few more seconds to remain in that sensation as if she were floating. Then, she squeezed her eyes to stop the incipient tears as she lightly shook her head in an attempt to not let herself be seized by emotions and to act rationally.

For once in her life, someone had chosen her, regardless of anything or anyone. She already had that, she could already treasure it as something precious. But she couldn't allow him to make that decision, at least not without first expressing what she felt.

"No." The word came out of her mouth before she even had time to process it.

"No?" His voice dripped with confusion as his brows furrowed.

She felt the irresistible urge to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under her fingertips, to make that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappear. She did not resist the impulse this time, so without thinking twice, she got up and sat astride him, her hands cupping his face.

"I appreciate your choice. You don't have any idea of what it means to me." The smile that blossomed on his lips almost made her melt into a puddle. She had to blink a few times to break the spell and be able to continue. "But I'm also sure that I won't be the cause of you being separated from your family."

He made an attempt to reply, but she brought her index finger to his lips and tapped them lightly. In response, he pressed a gentle kiss on her finger and remained silent. This was a decisive moment in her life. She was aware that by making this decision, she was ignoring her selfish side, the one who had helped her survive all these years ago. She knew she was taking a leap of faith, but she was also sure that no matter what, Killian would always come to her. After taking a deep breath, she continued talking.

"You should go. Your family loves you, they're looking forward to your return. Your niece asks every day when you're going back home. Besides you also have responsibilities there. We... We will figure out what to do next year, with more time to organize."

Both remained silent for a few seconds, while she watched as endless emotions crossed his gaze, the blue in his eyes more intense than ever. She felt his hands placed on both sides of her waist while caressing her skin under her shirt in a rather distracting movement. It was Killian who broke the silence, his hands never leaving her body.

"Next year... I like how it sounds."

It sounds like a promise. Like a future.

“So…”

He tilted his head and she mirrored him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He then threw back his head and let out a deep sigh before his eyes fell on hers again. The intense flash of his gaze was a clear indication that he had finally made his decision. "Okay... I'll go with one condition."

This time it was she who looked at him in confusion. “What condition?”

"That you travel to spend Christmas with us."

She didn't even have time to explain, since Killian suddenly seemed extremely motivated, any inner struggle forgotten to focus on a new goal. "You can't turn it down, Swan. I'm sure Graham won't deny you a couple of weeks of vacation." The excitement radiating from his body was such that Emma did not dare to try to interrupt him again. "Think of it as a way to fulfill your dreams. You can finally travel to Europe and you can also live, even temporarily, near the sea. It's a perfect plan, love."

"Okay, I accept." She said simply while shrugging her shoulders in a nonchalant gesture. She pressed her lips together to stop the laughter that had begun to bubble in her throat.

"You do? Just like that, without objections?"

"I mean. You could have saved your speech. Very convincing, by the way. The truth is that I had already accepted before."

"Before?"

This time Emma couldn't help bursting out laughing. It was as if Killian was living in a state of permanent confusion since they had begun this conversation.

"What is so funny?" He asked in an amused voice.

"You keep asking with an expression of confusion like that." Emma made an attempt to imitate his expression with her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes narrowed, causing him to chuckle.

The liberating laugh subsided after a few seconds although Emma could still feel his vibrant body under her touch.

"That's because I can't figure you out today, Swan. You keep surprising me." The sound of his velvety voice and the tone full of devotion did something in her insides. "But you never answered my question, love."

"It was your brother." She admitted. "He and Elsa convinced me to travel and I accepted."

"So is it true? Are you going to travel to Ireland?" She watched his expression of disbelief, his eyes flickering quickly between hers, as if he still didn't believe it.

She nodded with a slight movement of her head, while her lips curled in what she hoped was a reassuring smile, her hand gently brushed his cheek.

The expression on his face became one of pure happiness, his sparkling gaze the last thing she saw before he pushed her against him and kissed her hard.

The last coherent thought that crossed her mind before getting lost in the incredible feeling of being kissed by Killian Jones, was the somewhat startling idea of flying for the first time over the ocean. She better get used to the idea of making the trip, because there would be nothing to stop her from flying to Killian and his family.

The countdown began. But instead of counting the days left for Killian to leave, she decided to focus on the days left to fulfill her dreams. She couldn’t wait to discover Europe, but what she was looking forward to the most was being able to enjoy the Christmas spirit for the first time, something that had been denied to her before but now, thanks to Killian, would finally come true.

Before you yell at me, Killian leaving to Ireland was something planned from the beginning, but hey, Emma is going to travel too and I have plans for them there. They will only be separated during one chapter, I promise (maybe I shouldn't, given my tendency to split chapters, but that's my plan anyway)

Thanks for reading :)

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya @thisonesatellite @lfh1962 @let-it-raines

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs au #call me #cs au ff #mayquita writes #my cs writings

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advancedpottery217x2 · 3 years ago

Text

Dai Gyakuten Saiban 2: Chronicles of the Wild Ride

Way back in the far off year of 2017, I decided to play Dai Gyakuten Saiban 1. Later that year, the second game would release (I applaud all the people that waited from 1′s release). I found myself posting in the Ace Attorney discord because I knew I needed a place to dump my thoughts while playing.

Now the year is 2021 and both games are getting an official release (in English nontheless!) and port, allowing many more people far and wide to experience Shu Takumi’s Wild Ride. For nostalgia’s sake, I decided to dig up the pastebins I posted to the Ace Attorney discord back then and post them here. Of course this is not the full extent of my thoughts but back then Discord didn’t have the spoiler feature which means there is a lot of ROT13 text I do not want to dig through.

There will be spoilers after the cut, but I will list the links and say which parts of the game they correspond to before posting the links for real. Names used are the common romanizations for the Japanese version of the names at the time.

All times are in US Eastern Time.

Date: August 3, 2017 Chapter: end of 2

Link: https://pastebin.com/5y1Ld5Ur

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: 3, investigation day 2

Link: https://pastebin.com/ukhTFYfd

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: end of 3, murder details

Link: https://pastebin.com/ChNDvwuX

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: end of 3, you know what this is

Link: https://pastebin.com/6Evy1UjV

Date: August 6, 2017 Chapter: 5

Link: https://pastebin.com/Jfz5fTSK

Date: August 6, 2017 Chapter: 5 ver.

Shu Takumi MURDERED Me in Cold Blood and He's Standing There Laughing at Me

Link: https://pastebin.com/dv5vuA8E

Posting the text for all of these below so spoiler warning for real!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Date: August 3, 2017 Chapter: end of 2

Link: https://pastebin.com/5y1Ld5Ur

so the criminal selden who used to live in souseki's room also stole a thousand pounds and hid it there. when he died in jail he handed a key which would be able to access that to petenshy. of course being broke af, petenshy wants to reclaim the treasure but the problem is duncan ross moved into the room.

when someone blows into a gas pipe the connected lamps/stoves in the building go out and cause a gas leakage (tbh I didn't pay too much attention to how the gas leakage occurs but what's important is that it happens). tepenshy tried to do this to scare duncan out of the room but whoops he killed him.

of course viridian is shocked and one day by chance hears souseki complaining about how he woke in the middle of the night to find his stove out and the air hard to breathe. she began to harbor suspicions and bought poison on the black market. she gets tepenshy to leave his room by telling him to meet at a certain pub on matters concerning duncan ross. when he's out, she goes into his room, smears poison on the edge of the pipe and takes the letter and the contents of the box that was found empty later by ryuu.

however, tepenshy couldn't get souseki out of the room in the coming days because of the stabbing incident and ended up poisoned days later, although not enough to kill. when all this is revealed in court petenshy demands proof that the stolen treasure is in the room as if it isn't he has no motive. it turns out the contents of the box was that very key, and viridian has it now. thanks to holmes's ~scientific investigation tools~ the treasure is found the next day: a studded dog collar with a crest with the letter B... and blood on the inside. holmes immediately reacts and makes gregson take custody of it. Iris wants to publish stories about viridian's incident and souseki's experiences in the haunted apartment but holmes tells her that she must not publish the latter...

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: 3, investigation day 2

Link: https://pastebin.com/ukhTFYfd

asougi: while his body was supposed to be sent off the ship (probably for burial), it's actually missing and the grave in japan has no body in related matters the masked man started working under barok three months ago and has no past memories. susato thinks masked man is asougi and calls out his name. he stops and slowly repeats the name to himself before leaving.

experiment: the machine is examined again and there seems to be a trap door like mechanism under where the cage would be. the cage itself also has some damage on the bottom. ryuu gets drebber's business card from dovinbow which has an oil stain on the back. However, this is special oil imported from france so gina uses toby (warning: extremely cute) to find drebber's workshop. I just got here but there's another copy of drebber's machine here without that door on the bottom

case 10 years ago: some guy that everyone calls Professor murdered five people of noble standing using a hunting dog to tear their throats out. drebber apparently saw him climb out of his own grave but the story was quickly wrote off. however in the wax exhibit displaying this scene, there's a piece of crystal tower glass in the professor's clothes and blood on the bellows of drebber's camera...

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: end of 3, murder details

Link: https://pastebin.com/ChNDvwuX

10 years ago, a man only known as Professor was convicted of serial murder and sentenced to death... only he didn't actually die and sithe forged the papers to make it look like he did. back then, drebber was a poor college student who occasionally dug up bodies to sell to hospitals. one day he was in the cemetery when he saw the professor climb out of his own grave, with a steel mask on to conceal his face. drebber gets the shit scared out of him and a gunshot from behind him is fired, killing the professor for good (I don't think it was made clear who it was).

drebber runs the fuck out and tries to tell his story to someone but only a tabloid paper will hear him out and that's how the story spread. btw the author of the article is meningen.

in the present, meningen goes to drebber to ask him to build dovinbow's contraption and this is where drebber gets His Idea and the whole murder shit starts. the large amount of smoke coming out of the machine was to hide meningen's cage falling through the trap door. the cage that fell into the crystal tower came from drebber's balloon etc.(ok this stuff is from day one) the body in that cage was the professor's wax statue stolen from the museum. of course this means that drebber needed a conspirator, sithe in this case. she had to cooperate or else the truth behind the professor's death 10 years ago would be exposed. since her team had exclusive rights to the crime scene switching things was easy enough.

BUT, when she went to stab the screwdriver in the body to frame dovinbow things got kind of weird. meningen actually didn't die from the 30 foot fall. he was trying to get out but then sithe stabbed him (the true cause of death). she had a motive as well, because when meningen was still a reporter he looked into the professor shit, found out about sithe, and was blackmailing her for money (this is needed in court so I'm including it I guess)

Date: August 4, 2017 Chapter: end of 3, you know what this is

Link: https://pastebin.com/6Evy1UjV

After the trial barok asks ryuu and susato to meet in the courtroom. so the whole gang is there (+ masked man). barok begins to talk about why he has a disdain for the japanese

...16 years ago 3 japanese exchange students came. one is susato's father. and the other...... barok walks toward the professor's wax status in the middle of the courtroom. the mask on his head is locked, but he got the key from rozaic. as you can probably guess from the flow of this conversation it's a japanese guy. The reason why his identity couldn't be revealed is because it would have caused a shitstorm between japan and britain's growing relationship

suddenly the masked man begins trembling...... and then screams very loudly. I could already tell by the voice but he then proceeds to remove his cape and mask to reveal that yes, he is asougi. he rushes toward the professor and .........recognizes him as his father, one of the exchange students. ryuu and susato of course are fucking SHOOK and the three exchange brief comments before ryuu hands asougi back his sword (what the fuck I nearly cried here). he then cuts the head off of the statue. then he says he must go and leaves the courtroom.

(susato later says her father once spoke of a fellow exchange student dying of disease in london.....)

Date: August 6, 2017 Chapter: 5

Link: https://pastebin.com/Jfz5fTSK

jigoku admits to killing gregson in his cabin on the ship, keeping his body in the ship freezer to obfuscate the time of death, carrying the body in his large suitcase, planting the body at the crime scene (the unidentified gun there is jigoku's), and setting the fireworks to go off at a certain time. he also admits to being the head of the japanese side of the "exchange murder". these murders were actually carried out to silence two (john watson and gregson) that knew about the professor's autopsy report (rumored to be fake).

at some point it's established that the english head could have only been the actual death bringer. vortex argues that this is barok because he was the prosecutor in charge of the professor case but then barok reminds everyone that he only became that after his brother was killed and all the evidence and stuff was handed to him from vortex. from this point forward it's pretty obvious that vortex is the Big Bad but of course he doesn't lend an ear to that but we know that barok didn't do it yay

BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE

of course now we gotta find out the truth from 10 years ago vortex kinda just forgot that mikotoba was at the autopsy of klimt so he testifies as well as goulloyne (in place of sithe who was there too). the "critical" piece of evidence is genshin's ring that was found in klimt's stomach. the general knowledge is that klimt swallowed it to incriminate genshin. but thanks to goulloyne who (illegally) brought the ring to court, we find out that the ring has sharp edges which would leave marks in the body if swallowed. but the autopsy made no mention of anything like that. it becomes clear that the ring was stolen from genshin and then miraculously "found" by watson (who actually performed the autopsy). mikotoba thought it was strange that there was no damage in the body from the ring but was told by watson to write that the ring was swallowed in the report.

but wait... THERE'S EVEN MORE

why would genshin not object to a guilty verdict if he knew the ring was planted? it seems there was an "exchange" where in place of genshin remaining silent at the verdict, he would be assured escape from jail... at this point barricade and mitermont begin to testify and this is where I am now

Date: August 6, 2017 Chapter: 5 ver.

Shu Takumi MURDERED Me in Cold Blood and He's Standing There Laughing at Me

Link: https://pastebin.com/dv5vuA8E

VORTEX WTF

kilmt got tired of nobles getting more leeway in terms of illegal things so he decided to take matters into his own hands by becoming the professor vortex found out klimt was killing people as the professor and blackmailed him by threatening to tell his family. through this, he was able to decide the next victims. btw he asked for the third victim (the former chief justice) to be killed because he wanted that position...

genshin held suspicions and went to vortex, but the latter refused to do anything due to lack of evidence. genshin went straight to klimt and offered him a duel that culminated in klimt being killed. but before this klimt wrote a confession, which told of his deeds and identified his blackmailer

vortex couldn't just let the public know that a noble was behind the killings so decided to pin everything on genshin. this included everything about the fake autopsy. however the "exchange" to break genshin out of prison for making him accept the verdict ddidn't exactly go as planned (btw vortex made him agree by promising to let him go back to japan to see kazuma ;_;). vortex and jigoku were waiting in the cemetery when suddenly drebber saw genshin climb out of the coffin. vortex convinced jigoku to shoot his friend by threatening him with what would happen if he didn't and jigoku reluctantly pulled the trigger. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

and yes the person behind the death bringer curse was vortex

in the present, these facts are coming to light and everyone rightly freaks the fuck out. vortex is smug as usual and goes "ok but do you really think you guys can get me lul" however before genshin was sentenced he wrote a "will". it's two pages and pretty will-like in which he writes he leaves everything to his son. until vortex lets it slip that there are actually three pages. barricade just happened to bring it with him (the real mvp) and it says that the sword [karuma] will clear the darkness surrounding the truth and to turn your "head" with the sword in hand... the "head" actually refers to a certain part of the sword (No. 6 here http://www.nfa.co.jp/ag/images/word/keyimage1.jpg) ryuu twists it to find klimt's confession in there which pretty much seals the deal for vortex

but wait... THERE'S MORE

vortex gets all haughty again: yeah you guys found the truth but can you really just tell the public this? this insane batshit conspiracy would make everyone lose their confidence in the law and the police. ryuu then remembers the holmes doll that acted as a radio/walkie talkie to the iris doll earlier. he pulls on the ears t activate it and then... a hologram of sherlock holmes appears. he explains that since voice can transmit, why not images? (idk how he pulled this off but he's holmes) well then where's holmes??

remember this is a two way transmission holmes is in the buckingham palace and has been showing the entire trial to the queen of england

I hope you enjoyed the game as well as me having my mind blown away playing this on release.

Remember, there is no escape from Shu Takumi’s Wild Ride.

#not 水増

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patience-hope-strength-courage · 3 years ago

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Where Does My Anxiety Stem From? - 17/07/2021

I’m trying to understand a bit better where some of my Anxiety might stem from, of course it’s impossible to know for sure but I figured maybe writing some things down might help me make more sense of it.

I lived with my Granny from a very young age, I think I was still a baby. My Mum was very ill and in and out of hospital. I remember living with my Granny as a good thing but maybe subconsciously I wondered when I'd see my parents? Or if I'd ever live with them? I didn’t question it knowingly at the time but it must have occurred to me. On paper my life seemed stable but perhaps it wasn’t inside my mind?

My parents separated when I was around 5 years old and my Mum moved into a flat. I didn’t know this was why at the time and was told she was moving there to get better. Do these kind of situations cause feeling of Anxiety?

My Dad got really poorly in 1998 when I was 6 and I remember my Granny being very honest and realistic that she thought he was going to die. Thankfully some how and maybe due to a miracle he recovered! I don’t know if this may have contributed to Anxiety?

In June 1998 my Mum collapsed at her flat and when she was found and taken to the hospital it was too late, they couldn’t get her back and she died. Realising things were out of control from such a young age may have affected my Anxiety?

I remember from quite a young age becoming almost obsessed with the idea of being “Good”. I was terrified of getting into trouble and doing things wrong. My family were very strict and on the rare occasions I behaved badly I was sure to know I had and made to feel incredibly ashamed. I vowed to try harder and not get into trouble. This attitude followed me all the way through Secondary School and I put so much pressure on myself to never get in trouble and was labelled by peers as a “Goody Two Shoes”. I relied on validation and praise from teachers a lot. Did this pressure add to my Anxiety?

In 2002 when I was 11 my Granny sadly died. Outwardly I coped with this really well considering she basically my Mum. She was my everything but I knew she wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad. So I got on with life as I knew she’d want me to, I needed to make her proud. Did this add to my Anxiety at all? Maybe I felt more alone after she died.

I always wanted people to like me at school. When I was about 6/7 I wasn’t a very nice child, I bullied one of my friends. Something to this day I am still so ashamed of even though she is still one of my closest friends and I love her dearly. I just feel so guilty for how I treated her all those years ago, I take full responsibility for it. My family made sure I felt this too when they found out. I am still reminded by some of how bossy I was as a child so I’ve always tried to actively be the opposite as felt this was seen as abad thing. As I got older I became paranoid with every upsetting anyone and would constantly apologise just in case I had done or said something wrong. It consumed me at times. I couldn’t deal with conflicts or confrontations. Maybe this has contributed to my Anxiety?

I often got picked on at school as a teenager, I don’t like to use the word bullied as that sounds fairly extreme. But I was called things like: “Emotional Train Wreck”, “Goody Two Shoes”, “Always talks about her dead relatives”, “Socially Rejected”, “Two Faced Malicious B****”, “Not Wanted”, “Two Sensitive”, “Weird”, “Not Normal”, “Loner”, among others. I am fully aware teenagers say things they don’t mean but it’s important to realise that words have an impact on how others feel. I am sure I am guilty of saying things and hurting people’s feelings when I was growing up and I hold my hands up and take responsibility for that and can only apologise. Do people being unkind cause Anxiety?

Leaving school was incredibly tough for me, even remembering this time causes me to feel anxious and actually makes me cry. I loved school, I was not ready. It was safe, it was stable, there was routine, I knew what was expected of me, people cared about me, people knew me. Sometimes I feel like nothings been the same since I left school 11 years ago now! How can I still not be over this? Looking back I believe I always had Anxiety at this point but hadn’t put the label on it.

Going to University made it worse, it was a dark time for me. I relapsed with Self-Harm after nearly 2 years. I developed OCD - centred around checking the oven, lights, locks. It’s an incredibly difficult time to remember. I did make a very good friend during this year which I'm always grateful for!

During this year at University my Dad then died very suddenly which sent me into a deep grief. I don’t remember all of this time as it was such a shock but I know my Anxiety got a lot worse after this time. The following year I did go to the doctors and I did start counselling a year or two after.

In 2014 I was finishing my Degree with The Open Unviersity, which. I had absolutely loved studying for. I was also preparing to start my PGCE year and move away from home. I was very anxious about this but I also had to leave my job of 3 years which was actually at the school where I had been a student. I got a job helping at lunchtimes and as a TA with Early Years and KS1. I knew this time I was really leaving. Getting this job after my Dad died helped me more than I can explain. Just being back there I feel saved me. I was still struggling and in a lot of emotional pain but I felt so accepted and supported. It upsets me to remember feeling that way because I’m not sure if I have since I left. The colleagues I worked with and being able to talk to some of my past teachers helped me so much. I left in 2014 and without sounding dramatic I feel like it broke my heart. I cannot put into words how it felt saying goodbye to people and driving away for the last time. I cried for days and just thinking about it makes me cry still all these years later. It really was such a significant place and helped me so much in many ways, particularly actually after I was no longer a student and after my Dad died. My gratitude is huge.

Starting my PGCE in the Autumn of 2014 was tough but I was excited too for the challenge but it was really hard at first. I felt really alone having moved away and living on my own. I wasn’t around people who had supported me for so long, I didn’t know who I could talk to, who I could trust. I tried speaking to my Tutor but soon realised it wasn’t the right person and soon stopped. I just got on with the year and made friends, one friendship in particular is now one of my closest friends and I'm very grateful. I look back on this year as a good one but it was challenging to manage my Anxiety and I felt alone a lot, I didn’t really have anyone to talk to as much anymore. By the end of my PGCE I had found a way to feel more confident, perhaps more in my work than in myself but still it helped. I felt like I was going to make a good teacher and received good feedback from my mentors.

In the Autumn I began my Teaching Job as an NQT, something that began as a really exciting opportunity soon turned out to be some of the most difficult months of my life. It’s long and complicated to go into but in the end I felt like I was useless at my job, not good enough, incapable, inferior. It’s so difficult to remember these times, I don’t even know if people knew what was going on or how someone made me feel because I tried my best to just get on with it and keep quiet. Maybe they never meant to make me feel that way but after my second year I had no confidence left in my teaching abilities and I felt broken compared to who I was when I had started. I cried when I left because I cared so much for the children in my class and had good relationships with the parents but also from relief I think that it was over. I was also grieving in a way because I believed this was going to be the start of a truly amazing career but I just came up short. Maybe I just wasn’t good enough.

I left in 2017 to work in a Nursery but this ended up making me feel even worse - I was shouted at, mocked, made to feel useless, incapable, stupid, slow and just not good enough. It was humiliating at times and after a year I couldn't take it anymore, I felt so low in my confidence. After this time I just felt like I wasn’t tough enough for this world, too sensitive and just maybe not quite good enough.

At the end of 2018 I found something out that would cause me to feel - I'm not even sure what the feeling are or were to be honest but it was incredibly difficult. I found out something about someone who had helped me for many years and I had so many conflicting emotions. I didn’t know what to do, I felt like I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. It hurt me so much, I looked up to him like a Dad and I realise that may have not been fair on him but he helped me more than I can explain especially with my Mental Health and after I lost my Dad. I’ll forever be grateful for the kindness he showed me despite what I found out. I guess this was kind of like grief maybe, like I was grieving for someone I knew but they were still alive.

My Anxiety got a lot worse in 2019 when I was pregnant with my daughter as it was all I'd hoped for and I couldn’t wait to be a Mum but because of that I was terrified of anything going wrong. I was consumed by Anxiety, I was scared to do much at all, slept so much just to pass the days, obsessed with monitoring her movements, so careful with what I ate and terrified of giving birth. I just wanted her here safe more than anything. It was supposed to be such a happy experience being pregnant but I was just too scared and didn’t want to let myself feel happy until I had delivered her safely.

For me the whole labour and birth was really traumatic and I still find it hard to talk about. On paper it probably wasn't that bad but for me it was terrifying in my mind, I was so scared of what would happen to her or me. I’m also terrified of hospitals anyway so that added to the fear. I’ve never been so grateful once I was able to hold her and she was okay.

I actually feel like I managed my Anxiety quite well in the first couple of months of becoming a Mum, I just put all my energy and focus into my Daughter and I honestly felt a happiness I never have before, she was all I wished for and I was so grateful because I knew how lucky I was and that it is a privilege to become a Mum. Unfortunately then the Pandemic hit.

Since then I've been terrified of getting the virus, my daughter getting ill, obsessing over making sure her things are clean, keeping her safe, making sure she's happy. Being the best Mum I can, planning activities for her in lockdown. It’s too long to put into this post about how The Pandemic has affected my Anxiety as there’s a lot but it’s been hard. I have actually made a lot of progress since the start of Lockdown last March in some ways but in other ways it’s got harder.

I’m making progress in doing more but struggling because I feel so much pressure and expectation to get back to doing things quicker and feeling judged at times for my Anxiety and how I've chosen to do things since the pandemic started and for how I am as a Mum. These have made my Anxiety worse and also my Self Esteem so it’s difficult to manage at the minute. Whilst my Anxiety is hard to cope with at the minute it then brings up lots of things from the past too that I've written here, it’s hard to explain but it reminds me of all the times I've struggled and that brings up difficult feelings.

I have no idea if any of this makes sense but for myself I wanted to try and write all the significant things that may have contributed to my Anxiety. Of course there’s been some amazing and wonderful times too but for this post I just wanted to focus on the times that have contributed to my Anxiety. I guess it’s complicated though.

#Mental Health #Mental Health Awareness #Mental Health Matters #Mental Health Understanding #Mental Illness #Mental Illness Awareness #Anxiety #Contributing Factors #Where Does My Anxiety Stem From #When My Anxiety Has Been Worse #Writing #Self Therapy #Self Awareness #Self Reflection #Working On Myself

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teeaah · 7 years ago

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Ramshackle, 21 October 2017 Notes

8 performers

5 women

3 men

4 Crews

3 women

1 man

Problems:

-One performer dropped out two weeks before the show. That’s fine, ya’ll, I overbooked, until...

-One performer dropped out two hours before the show--lol.

-Another person who was supposed to be the Ethics Police dropped out a week before.

-We went over capacity (UNPRECEDENTED BERABIS). BUT the show is meant for a small audience so if ya late, and ya complain, TRY NOT TO COME AN HOUR AFTER THE SHOW, ASSHOLES.

-ShaSha’s recording of El Domingo just not working that we had to pull Jeff in to do it live (YO, HOW TALENTED IS JEFF THO)

-Interns who wait for instructions (even though intructions were given)

All these dropping outs, I wonder if these people would have dropped out if this was the case with bigger shows/event they had done...?

Fav things:

Hariz’s first poem (what talent, much love, such amaze) and the reactions to it

“Tuan, which is your favourite performance” “Siiigh… mana satu yang nda banyak haramnya?”

Protecting Dzumira’s eyes i.e. the youngest person in the room (under 10 years old) from Izuana’s presentation that involves a sex related chat up line.

“Why go up when you can go down”-a story of eyeliner

“I was driving when the car suddenly…” “CRASHED!” “Uhm… we are here at the beggining of the story and there’s a whole page left of this…”

“I’ve never matched with anyone in this room, except… maybe a few” *knowing looks at the people she’s matched on Tinder

“YA ALLAH” “SUBHANALLAH!”-Hidayah in the audience

“ASTAGHFIRULLAH!” “You’re learning” *nods in approval*

“A DILDO”

“What is this? … Pore minimising primer… Uhm, NO THANKS.”

People swearing up to the skies and heavens

The Story of Ilham and Improv

The Ethics Police is a fucking silly idea we came up with during rehearsals when we noticed ShaSha’s performance had too much swearing. The idea started with a profanity bell, rung when someone swears.

We had an initial Ethics Police who dropped out the week before. We pulled Ilham in, because at 10pm—when the person told me he’s dropping out—Iman could only think of Ilham as a solution. Ilham is not a performer. We asked Ilham to come to rehearsals, told him of the role, in which he blatantly said he didn’t want to do it (“What is this show?!” he asked at the weirdness; i’m like, hashtag same.)

Despite saying no, he kept ringing an imaginary bell at the most opportune time during rehearsals—even though no profanity was happening but things considered sinful occurred on stage. We practically begged Ilham to do it because he did so well during rehearsals. He said yes with so much hesitancy. He did even better during the last rehearsals before the show that Nazmi said to me, “Where did you find him?!”

Ilham was such an integral part of the show especially in continuation of narrative throughout the two hours. He made Ramshackle into what it was this show—too many things happening at one go that a blink will make you miss something funny i.e. a different experience for everyone. Everything Ilham did was so funny—his ability to not laugh while in character, the movements he made when writing on the profanity counter, his sighs and snide comments. We made sure that Ilham starts off mild—which was why the performances were milder at the beginning—and goes haywire as we reach the end. You can see that with the increasing amount of aggressiveness in how the bell is rung during ShaSha’s performance.

The original Ethics Police was going to approach this character differently—sterner, and to be honest, more selfish towards getting laughs for himself to the point that he was planning to dictate where ShaSha’s performance would go. Ilham didn’t do that. He complimented my role on stage, making sure that he and I come out funny, interacting with the audience and making sure it was enjoyable for them too. He took up opportunities, such as with the presence of children in the audience and insisting the show should be rated G (in the profanity counter picture, he crossed out 18+ rating, which made me LOST IT). I am absolutely floored at how well he did, his improv skills, and how much fun he was having that it was absorbed by everyone in the room. I love Ilham so much, and everyone did too!

Let’s talk about me now: I tried writing my material four months ago when listening to a podcast about making pacts with satan (i hated the last Ramshackle so much that I prepared super early this time around). I abandoned the material, finding it difficult to write. Leading up to the show, so many things were going on in my life that I couldn’t write anything: I was in Taiwan for 2 weeks for work, I had to finish my PhD proposal and an interview that went with it. I had a massive exam last week that might change the course of my life of which I had only three weeks to prepare for so I was studying ALL THE FUCKING TIME. My brother got married last week too. And the problems didn’t stop when my brother’s wedding ended because of a family emergency that just DID NOT STOPPED. I only had lunch time and before work hours to do actual writing, so I went around asking for opinions from people about women hantus. With the busy schedule, I did managed to work things out, but I kind of had to cut a lot of things that I wanted to say in order to continuously make it enjoyable. I practised in my room nightly, occupied my thoughts with women hantus and Brunei culture to put jokes in. I decided to bring the pact with satan material in a week ago and decided on a fast pace approach (my comedic timing usually relies on slowly building things up) I was forced to make it punchier, relying on one liners. I also had to pull out old jokes from my pocket, INCLUDING the STD joke that went down SO WELL after being in my pocket for SIX FREAKING YEARS because it won’t work as a Tweet.

I hate rushing, I hate rushing, I hate rushing. And I also hate performers who do not tell me what they’re doing up to the last day because ffs, COOPERATE. IT DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU’RE GOOD, IF YOU DON’T FIT THE FEEL OF THE SHOW, YOU’RE OUT NO MATTER WHAT.

I always tell myself not to work on stuff last minute, but with more responsibilities under my belt and continuously being in charge of highly incompetent people, I’m finding it harder to write stuff well ahead of the deadline. My role in the show is crucial—other than organising everything, dealing with incompetent interns, and making sure everyone’s on the right track—I have to warm the audience up in order to provide the performers with the best audience they can get. It’s SO hard. I got SO sick the next day after the performance because is2g, this is the first time I’ve felt free in 5 months.

-----

After doing Songket Alliance for 4 years, I finally made my first dollar! That was the most amazing sensation I have ever felt. We also made enough money that I don’t have to worry about a month of writers payment for the website.

We also sold out the zine, of which we took 6 months to work on.

Big up to Manisha Dhalani all the way in Singapore, for pulling through an essential part of the show when people who were in the same room as us, whose job was to ensure we have everything we needed and find solutions when we want something else, did not.

#Songket Alliance's Ramshackle

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nicolesqueloquence · 7 years ago

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Recommended auditory pleasure:

As I lay on my back watching a random Youtube video on the refugee situation and a proposed solution, it suddenly hit me how much grounding I’m in need of. The sun, perpetually streaming through my bedroom window onto my catatonic body covered in the usual loose shirt and boxer shorts, is not enough to quell the thirst of my soul as a desire for the unknown, the stimulating possesses me to look up when the next Oneness meditation session will be held at the center down the street.

Not this week, but next. Not soon enough. But where could I go? I look at my face, still pale despite countless attempts at tanning in the 108-degree sun and barren from any make-up, and cringe at the thought of leaving my room. ‘As I get older…’ a thought begins and is interrupted by another, ‘Am I really getting older? I’m 25..��

The newfound relief at realizing how young that is going to sound later on in life, as many of my older counterparts at work have remarked to me upon learning my age, sets in and I am happy to be this young but I am just so restless. Almost as if I’m not enjoying it, I’m simply not active anymore. I want to get out there, see things, and taste things that my tongue has yet to be blessed with besides the cursed vitriol of strong liquor, medication, and Fiber with B-Vitamin gummies that I’ve elected to aid me in the process of reaching my annual goal weight that seems to be much of an afterthought when I crave chocolate and post-indulgent guilt.

It’s all a toxic process of seeking more from the mundane while simultaneously fearing mediocrity with a passion that rivals that of my hatred of standing still. On paper, my life doesn’t look too basic: school, work, gym schedule, some books here and there to escape the black and white frame of my daily life through the fictional mind of another’s. But it doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough.

Next to my fear of mediocrity is my phobia of complacency. That I will continue to feel the restless ache to constantly have something new and exciting happen to me in addition to every other endeavor I am on, and I will continue to wake up every year in the same bitter discontent. That I will get married and never fall in love. That I will have kids and it won’t satisfy this maternal urge to actualize my dreamed up image of Lili that I’ve had since I was 14.

The idealist in me still daydreams, still desires for more.. But when will it be enough? Will I ever find it?

Hurry up and wait, adulthood says. Wait to text him back. Wait for the next outing. Wait for next week to step on the scale to avoid any further disappointment. Wait for next semester to get further into my program. Wait for next year to feel more successful, more stable. Wait for my friends to have time for me and vice versa. Wait, wait, wait.

I’m terrible at waiting. If patience is a virtue, then I am simply immoral at best then.

I’ve always felt, even as a child, that I had this innate ability to perceive and even “feel” the atmosphere of other worlds. This strange feeling was further fulfilled by reading and diving through the portals of literature to explore these other worlds, see the novel happening in my mind’s eye as if it were a movie, and literally place myself so deeply into what was occurring that almost every single last past of every book I’ve read has been met with tears.

But here, in this life, I feel like I am in a bubble. I want to stretch out, abandon the protection of my mundane existence, and see what is truly out there for me. I want –

I want to see what’s out there for me. You’ve always gotten to date other people, and I haven’t.

Like a bullet, those words graze through my mind all over again. This was almost exactly three years ago.

And just like that my bubble becomes a prison. I’m a huge proponent of people fixing themselves if that is what they want, but they have to want that or it just won’t happen. But I’m also a huge hypocrite, because I have yet to do this for myself and reach out from this emotional jail cell that he kept me in for so long.

There’s more out there but I can’t keep saying that and not venturing out to find it. Of course there are obstacles like money, time, transportation- But if I hurry up and wait some more, I’ll have enough to finally go out and see some shit.

Because my life isn’t permanent. My time here is limited. I never once imagined when I was younger that I would make it to 26. I really didn’t want to, honestly. To me, it would have been blissful and better to die young. Even my own father voiced these words to me when I brought up all of the physical ailments I witness every single day by those who are either elderly or approaching old age.

The thing is, we take all of it for granted. The ability to walk, to talk, to sleep, to wake up and feel awake and alive for the most part. The ability to go to the bathroom without assistance, take a shower without someone to help, just basic functioning that we could never even imagine would be taken away from us by time.

And all at once, I felt ashamed of the years I tried to take all of this away from myself. But at the same time I felt an ambivalent gratitude because after all the damage I caused, none of it had lasting consequences, hence it took so long for me to learn to actually take care of myself and my body rather than constantly attempt to destroy it.

So many of us look in the mirror and think what we see isn’t good enough. And me, as I type a blogpost about complacency and the desire for moremoremore, I look around me and ask if this is really my life. Shouldn’t there be something more glamourous or exciting or spiritual for me? Aren’t there so many other places with that sleepy community feeling where chasing the US dollar and the American dream are not a 24/7 operation? There has to be people out there who ARE complacent, but they are comfortable and they are content living in a rural area with nothing more than an old radio and some dogs.

I don’t necessarily want the finer things in life, just because those places for me are something I want to taste. I want the diversity and the difference from this fish bowl of limited culture I’ve grown up in.

I can feel it from music. Especially the song I’ve linked for this post. I used to feel it the most in middle school and high school. This nostalgic, fuzzy feeling that there were so many more places linked to the one I was in. It’s transcendental really, and nothing that any amount of words would be adequate enough to describe.

So instead of keeping myself caged in this daily battle with anxiety over what may be happening or not in the confines of my PTSD-like mentality, it’s time to branch out. I’m going to try to make it a goal to see more things, go more places, and try something new for once. If my old lady preference of keeping everything the same can handle it, that is.

I wrote a poem yesterday to go with a selfie of mine in lieu of good lyrics because I am currently out of those:

She keeps her secrets close

Like the hidden thorns of a rose

The dark will always haunt her

But light will always find her

~Nicolesque, 6/24/2017

It’s honestly not my best, but it will do. And it is true, after all of the dark pathways in life I have taken, God had somehow always led me to the light that I could never foresee.

Trust is also not an easy thing for me to do.. But in His case, I think it’s essential. At this point in my life, if nothing else, the fact that I’m alive is more than enough evidence that His intervention has been more than enough. This is enough, I just have to know that and not question it so much while also making moves to explore other things around me.

Because nothing really is and everything really isn’t. Jhene Aiko lyrics that I live by.

There was a blog I was obsessed with in middle school, written by a young woman in Singapore called “infrarouge” and something like 1..2..3.. breathe. Or something like that. But the enormous amount of nostalgia I felt from reading her excerpts of traveling, drinking tea at 6 in the morning, and all of these things that seem super hipster now gave me this sense that I was traveling through her and into the experiences of another person.

That blog is now long gone but I saved most of the drawings she made and had uploaded. There are definitely not in good resolution as I believe I downloaded them from my Myspace but they inspired me to emulate it with my own style of SharpieArt.

I’m honestly unsure if these were the blogger’s drawings, but I’d like to think they were because I still have remnants of a world long forgotten in the vast dimensions of webpages that have vanished without explanation. I feel like so much of the world I had built for myself at that age is now missing in the pandemonium of speed of advancement surrounding the Internet and I’m grateful for absolutely everything I’ve digitally hoarded from then.

The only thing missing are my blogs from Freshman and Sophomore year of HS but part of me thinks it’s probably best that I didn’t save those because of the frazzled nature of my self-destructive spontaneity. Despite my blinding light of free spirited nature that lured so many innocent people into my web of catastrophe, I feel like my intentions back then were so pain-driven that they were practically nefarious at best.

This is different though. I’m a lot older now, I’m a lot more grounded in terms of sobriety and well-matured decisions, but I feel like I need even more. Something to bring me back to the ground from the irrational heights of my conditioned fear responses to imagined abandonment and anger towards me.

I know it will take time. I know it will take waiting, as much as I hate it. I want to be okay now. I always have been, for all of my life. I just wanted to be healed and after years of both studying and abusing medicine, there is just no quick fix to feeling this way. No amount of relationships or promises of young love will close the void either. It will take me and me alone to do so. And I like to think that is exactly what I am doing, even if it doesn’t feel like enough to keep me centered and focused sometimes.

My restless nature has always been prevalent, especially in my younger years when multiple teachers hypothesized and even attempted to diagnose me with ADHD. This was definitely not the case per my very skilled and competent pediatrician. “She is just bored,” he told my mother. “She is too intelligent to have nothing to do.”

Intelligence, creativity and bipolar disorder may share underlying genetics ~ The Guardian

This is also my mother’s consensus. When I asked her, as well as my father, if she thought a diagnosis of Bipolar II would fit most of my life’s treacherous and unstable periods, she replied no. She thinks I’m simply too smart to have idle hands, and couple that with what I’ve been through, they certainly make for a bad combination.

There is also cyclothymia, which is kind of a watered down Bipolar II with the same cycling between depression and euphoria. I’d be more akin to that simply because I’m a lot more functioning these days than ever before. But even now as I type this, the tears have already started and I couldn’t even tell you why. My appetite has suffered a bit, hardly existing except for when I wake up and when I take my medication.

She just wants to feel something, and I don’t think that’s asking for too much

~ The 1975 lyrics, “She Lays Down”

Because of my newfound professional aspirations and my educational path being much more clarified, I simply don’t have the urge to drown myself destructively right now. I’m able to have a good number of hard ciders and hard alka seltzers that just sit there and collect refrigerator dust unless I have one or two before losing interest in drinking alone in my bedroom. I consider it a social thing, especially when my social anxiety becomes an obstacle that I attempt to climb with excessive drinking. I haven’t done that in a while but in the last couple outings, I did really good in my opinion. It’s always good when it doesn’t result in some unwanted, negative encounter that I wake up regretting the next day.

So I would conclude things are simple. Things are stable. I just want a little more excitement, a little more exploring. And I fully intend on doing so, because my anxiety loves me too much when I’m laying around with nothing to do but suffer a panic attack or crying spell. The latter occurring in this present moment.

But everything is okay. I am okay. And I choose to stay.

When the soul thirsts for more, let yourself soar. Recommended auditory pleasure: As I lay on my back watching a random Youtube video on the refugee situation and a proposed solution, it suddenly hit me how much grounding I'm in need of.

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talkinganddrumsolos · 8 years ago

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I Went To New Orleans And All You Got Is This Lousy T-Shirt

Among the glib and oversimplified beliefs I find utility in repeating to others is this recommendation: all Americans ought to visit New Orleans. I mean something more specific, of course, something like: all Americans ought to visit New Orleans but only partly for bon-temps decadence and also to see the most eccentric but perfectly logical extension of what your country's economic system and institutional racism and general human ingenuity hath wrought. To see a place where the the problems of Everytown, USA are humidified into a crucible but also where young black men regularly earn social and financial capital from playing the tuba. To see a place that is doomed in the short-to-medium term to repeat its own mistakes and doomed in the long term to Poseidon, yet "still I rise" until the sea level counters again.

This also requires having a particular point of view — some desire to witness regional cultural experience, and some empathic consciousness toward the underprivileged whose communities often are the originators of said cultural experiences. These things manifest in basic questions that should occur to any witness, as in "why is there an elaborate parade today for no particular reason?“ or “who had the idea to immerse seafood in butter?“ or “how does this elegant baroque richesse coexist with such stark inequality and tropical decay?” Apparently even this half-woke perspective is harder to come by in America c. 2017 than it it ought to be, but when presented with such marvels it isn’t really a big ask. It doesn't really matter exactly what type of privilege or cultural experience you're curious about; in New Orleans, chase any thread far enough and the intersections of oppressions and creative pursuits both should get you to some form of the experience I have in mind.

OK wait. That all scans way too grim and medicinal, especially since my personal experiences in New Orleans have been, on the whole, really fucking fun. As a wee lad my immigrant parents convened a family vacation to Louisiana basically as an excuse to escape winter and imbibe seasoned crawdads; I was old enough to remember specific things being entertaining and delicious but not old enough to find any of it particularly enlightening. About six years ago I sent myself to the Jazz and Heritage Festival for work with a colleague who happened to be a New Orleans native, and Josh basically gave me the weeklong crash course in Crescent City Conspicuous Consumption 101. The pump had been primed by jazz music mythologies and some vague inference that the city in the news and other mass-cultural phenomena all the time was indeed exceptional living history, but that was the start of the love affair really.

Throughout this last trip I just completed, well-meaning people kept asking me why I was visiting, which struck me as superfluous. I just assumed they would just assume I was there for the same reason that any other out-of-place-looking dude was suddenly in the area code: tourism. Well, that and the convergence of a few boring personal motivations: trying to make the most of forcible unemployment; trying to be warm during an East Coast winter, trying to ride a bicycle somewhere warm during an East Coast winter, trying to use some frequent flyer miles (I paid $11.20 for the flight), trying to see what attracted some good friends from college to land there and stay there, trying to take a vacation from my own simmering existential crises. But also I went to try to better understand why the music and food I’d developed a taste for existed and perpetuated itself not just by reading about it, but by consuming more of it. Basically, tourism.

If I had to pick a centerpiece event of the week I was there, it was probably the 21-hour period in which I attended the first parade of the Mardi Gras/Carnival season — the profoundly politically-incorrect Krewe du Vieux, followed by the more broadly satirical krewedelusion — and the following day’s second line parade of the CTC Steppers (nothing to do with Mardi Gras), which crossed an industrial canal into the Lower Ninth Ward led by 6-7 floats blaring bounce and modern R&B ahead of the brass band. The mere regular existence of these traditions, where ordinary people build ornate floats to slowly walk around the city in costumes for no discernible purpose other than merriment, is an manmade wonder of the world in itself. They also form a handy contrast: the white-encoded Krewe du Vieux vs. a social aid and pleasure club thoroughly suffused in blackness, skewering others vs. prideful celebration of self, depictions of Donald Trump suffering sex acts vs. a fair amount of twerking, the most economically successful areas of the city vs. a poor area still very much recovering from post-Katrina flood damage, anarchy as aesthetic vs. actual barely reined-in anarchy. In some figurative respects, and a literal one, it was night and day.

(krewedelusion, a younger, more diverse and more female set of sub-krewes, took on some sharper and generally more clever targets. Among the many were anti-AirBnB protests, Guy Fawkes masks, an all-women sub-krewe, the Krewe du Jieux [say it out loud], and a group named after James Brown: the Krewe of King James Super Bad Sex Machine Strollers. Their “security” staff was members of New Orleans Ladies Arm Wrestling. It, like much of New Orleans, doesn’t quite fit as neatly into the duality I’m setting up.)

I didn’t quite eat as much shellfish or see as much live music as I had intended, though it was still quite a bit. I did do my fair share of “chill,” as did apparently most of the city. On aimless strolls or bike rides through neighborhoods, an awful lot of folks seemed to be porch-sitting or biding their time in coffee shops or otherwise not really up to much in the middle of the day. Obviously there are plenty of people invisibly doing the building and harvesting and oil drilling and construction and shrimp-boating and cooking, and plenty of tourists to skew the visible numbers, but it seems like an awful lot of folks are marginally employed, or self-employed, or underemployed, or employed in weird service-industry hours, or just not employed. Coming from DC, a place where work-life balance is both bad and boujee, a place where people have more time than money was welcomed if a bit confusing.

Maybe this, and many of my experiences this time around, were filtered through the truly fine folks I stayed with. My friend lives with her girlfriend and another gay couple and most of that household is students and freelancers. One dude also plays in a moderately well-known rock band. Counting their central social circles, the whole thing was a bit like the Dykes To Watch Out For anthology like the one on their bathroom shelf. Basically my whole experience of this Mardi Gras parade in the presence of queer folks and at a gay bar, which, it turns out, was a pretty awesome vantage point for the freak flags of Carnival time anyhow. New Orleans has always struck me as a sort of place where people can build their scenes with relative ease, and as a general statement I’m glad all my peoples down there have found their peoples.

You see things from one subaltern position and you begin to see them all, and not coincidentally my gracious hosts are involved with several social justice communities. One night we went to a panel discussion called “Black Liberation in the Time of Trump” (it was hosted by a white anti-racism group called European Dissent) which seemed apropos. Chalk it up to my artistic interests maybe, but I’ve always observed the predominant power dynamic around New Orleans to be why black communities define so much of its cultural life yet hold so little of its wealth, and are many times legally restricted unduly in the development of that culture.

(Sometimes this discussion too easily excludes underprivileged populations that don’t fit on it. A friend of a friend, an black EMT, is often asked to list the “race” of patients, and reports that there are only two categories on the form �� white and black — which is curious given the large Vietnamese and growing Hispanic communities in the city. Again, shades of grey here.)

I guess some well-meaning white folk see New Orleans as defined by its European cultural history, as in French Quarter architecture or Cajun or Italian food or erstwhile Catholicism, and there’s certainly a lot of that to go around. Here and elsewhere though, the United States of America’s popular cultural history has generally been defined by black people repurposing things for themselves, which is how you get to the neighborhoods where people actually live, and black Creole cooking, and Mardi Gras Indians, and Congo Square and jazz and R&B and traditional brass bands and modern brass bands and bounce and Cash Money Records, and a black majority population after white flight and Robert Moses freeway projects, and gentrification and/or tourism co-opting these things to sell back to moneyed mostly-white people. You can’t really enjoy yourself down there without noticing this.

One wonders whether many of the other relative post-Katrina newcomer folks participate in this cultural life of the city in any meaningful way — if it’s just another dangerous city with economic opportunity and terrible infrastructure (my God the roads), or whether the city’s exceptionalism is worthy of their deeper understanding and time investment as well. The city’s longer-term residents, I suspect, alternately welcome and revile these newcomers, depending in part on these newcomers’ engagement with local concerns. Turfing and perceived ownership in the cultural arena is a tricky topic; having “covered” transplanted white jazzmen based there and elsewhere, there are few clear rules. Yet sometimes even the best intentions for allyship or even active complicity needn’t qualify you for a hood pass, and it’s best to shut up and listen.

As is my unfortunate wont, I’ve made this whole reflection overlong and not particularly coherent. Maybe an incident from my last night in town would illuminate my general point insofar as I was trying to make one. I found myself at a wine and cheese and tapas joint with a huge outdoor patio and a monochromatically pale audience, whatevs, to see a cellist named Helen Gillet. She does a looping and improv thing across idiom, singing French chanson and American rock songs and original compositions and generally getting rad, somewhere between Andrew Bird and Tune-Yards and Yo-Yo Ma. Her last tune, fittingly, severed the hair on her bow. It was all a reminder that the New Orleans music tradition isn’t necessarily about tresillo patterns and trombones, but more generally about good and creative music.

Anyway, throughout the performance, we were frequently interrupted by two blacked-out military helicopters conducting drills above an adjacent abandoned Naval building. They would hover alarmingly low, as if to pick up a nonexistent passenger from a rooftop, then elevate away, occasionally leaving an enormous and unidentified explosion in their wakes. To put it lightly, it was very disruptive. But Helen kept at it despite the deafening roar of rotors, occasionally joking that they were listening. What else was she to do, right?

That creativity and revelry and uniquely resourceful art is valued in such quantity in New Orleans that it can support many musicians with a significant supplementary or working-to-middle-class income is, I think, no small wonder. But those military helicopters were a stark symbolic reminder that cellos are not actually ordnance; that these cultural pursuits are circumscribed by colonial and police-statist and capitalist and white supremacist systems that are more powerful, more insidious, more invisibly baked into the fabric of everyday life than we can at once describe. (This, too, was on the day we woke up and learned that Beyonce’s Southern-, Louisiana- and black-centric critically-lauded album had “lost” a Grammy award to a contrite Adele, which as many commentators pointed out, is a prime example of what systemic racism looks like in the music biz itself.) This oppression both gives rise to and then limns many of the things I love about New Orleans, and yet those things still happen, at least so far.

To a privileged observer it’s all beautiful and all damned and rarely quite so simple as one or the other. To a local, it must be hard to get on with your day unless you somewhat accept that it just is.

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mvalleefootball-blog · 7 years ago

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Patriots Bounce Back in the Bayou

By Michael Vallee

Sometimes it takes the results of a game to see the obvious. Or at least the results of the first quarter. Entering Sunday’s game in New Orleans, Patriots fans were predictably on edge. It was just 10 days ago that they watched their team get humiliated at home in front of a national television audience. It was the type of loss that triggers immediate concerns about everything from personnel and injuries to the inevitable mortality of their seemingly ageless quarterback. Compounding the problem was the wait. The long tedious wait that accompanies all the losing teams of any Thursday night game. Just enough time for Patriots fans to analyze, over-analyze and re-analyze what happened. Even worse, enough time to not only contemplate the next game, but start to formulate a half-decent argument that the New England Patriots might actually lose to the New Orleans Saints.

Then the game happens.

Faster than you could say “Tony Romo is sooooo much better than Phil Simms”, New England raced to a 20-3 lead, eventually coasting to an easy, and suddenly quite predictable, 36-20 victory. It was one of those results that instantly made you feel stupid. Did we actually entertain the possibility that Bill Belichick’s Patriots were going to fall to 0-2 and lose to a Saints team that is perpetually adrift in mediocrity? Shame on all of us for ever doubting.

This was your classic New England Patriot bounce back game. Belichick specializes in tearing his teams down by constantly reminding them that they’re not as good as they might think they are - a task made increasingly more difficult when your team accumulates more rings than Tiffanys. But give Belichick an ugly loss to work with, and it is all the ammunition he needs to knock his team down a few dozen pegs and get them refocused.

Since 2003, Brady and Belichick have lost 11 games by two touchdowns or more. In the games that immediately followed those losses the New England Patriots are 10-1, with the only defeat being a one-point loss to the Dolphins in 2009. Hell, Belichick even went 3-0 with Matt Cassel following losses of two touchdowns or more. But don’t be fooled by that last sentence, these bounce backs are just as much a Brady show as a Belichick show. The kale eating, night-shade hating, excessively pliable franchise quarterback has been nothing short of spectacular following blowout losses. In those 10 wins since ‘03, Brady has thrown 24 touchdowns and just three interceptions, posting a QB rating of 115.

I guess the TB12 method is just as effective with your back against the wall. Maybe even more so. Though I have a suspicion that Brady’s near-perfect performance Sunday, and in all these rebound games, is less about avoiding tomatoes and getting to bed early and more about a competitive fire that is nothing short of maniacal. Guys like Brady despise losing at things like checkers and *ping pong so you can only imagine how they feel about getting publicly humiliated at their chosen profession. It is only natural that such a loss triggers some kind of hyper-focus in the Bradys and Belichicks of the world.

It’s also worth noting the Patriots don’t just bounce back following big losses, they bounce back with a vengeance, winning by an average of just under 17 points. Sunday’s win over New Orleans was not the exception to the rule, it was the rule. The Patriots bounce back, and bounce back big time. It’s what they do.

We shouldn’t have needed the final score Sunday to know that.

Game Notes

-Brady was nothing short of masterful on Sunday:

Poised under pressure…

Active in the pocket…

Accurate…

Decisive…

Anticipating throws like the 53-yard TD to Gronk which was pure school yard stuff...

Brady’s first quarter was near perfect, completing 11 of 14 passes for 177 yards and three touchdowns. He did most of the damage without even utilizing his wideouts, completing his first nine passes to running backs and tight ends. Brady finished the game with a QB rating of 139.6. It was an absolute clinic.

-Baffling Stat of the Day: The 20 points scored in the first quarter was the most ever by a Brady led offense. That is mind-blowing. I would have thought he did that at least a dozen other times.

-Defenseless: To be fair this wasn’t much of a test for Brady. If you’ll recall this was the same defense that allowed Sam “noodle-arm” Bradford to complete 27 of 32 passes week 1. Brady would have faced more resistance if he played against Boston College. Things get a lot tougher going forward with Houston and Carolina on the horizon.

-M*A*S*H: And Brady could be without multiple weapons in the coming weeks as that mysterious blue medical tent had more bodies coming and going than a clown car. Julian Edelman, Malcolm Mitchell, and Danny Amendola might soon be joined on the injury report by Gronk, Burkhead, Hogan and Dorsett. Uh, what exactly is left after that? Is Welker available? Moss still looks like he’s in shape. Any chance Stallworth is done with his probation and free to travel the country? Now more than ever they have to give Dion Lewis a shot at slot receiver. The underrated RB has touched the ball a meager seven times the first two weeks. It’s time to find a way to get the ball in his hands.

-No Home Cooking: It’s still early, but it’s hard not to be down on Brandin Cooks. On Sunday he was facing his old team, in a dome and by game’s end was literally the only healthy receiver on the team yet managed a mere two catches against arguably the worst secondary in the NFL. Romo expressed his own doubt during the broadcast openly questioning how good Cooks could be if Brees and the Saints were willing to let him go. If he doesn’t pick it up soon this is going to start looking like one of the more costly mistakes of the Belichick era.

-Analyze This: As good as Brady was Sunday the quarterback that received the most positive reviews from the Patriots game was Tony Romo. Romo has been nothing short of a revelation. He’s enthusiastic, sharp, opinionated and might have as strong a working knowledge of the current NFL as any analyst. He has not only displayed an uncanny knack for anticipating what’s coming but on Sunday even went so far as to try and read Belichick’s mind.

Now let’s be honest, as good as he has been, Romo has been helped by the “Small Shoes Affect”, in other words, no human being anywhere on earth in any profession started a new job this year with smaller shoes to fill than Tony Romo. If Romo just sat there and stared at the wall he would have been an upgrade from the lazy, clueless and remarkably untalented Phil Simms. Someday the guy that replaces Marvin Lewis will know exactly what I’m talking about. For 15 years (holy sh*t was it that long) Simms sat next to Jim Nantz as the lead NFL analyst on CBS and brought nothing of value to the broadcast except unintentional comedy. The length of his tenure remains one of the great mysteries of our time, but it is clear that Romo is benefiting from that tenure and the collective disdain the football watching public had for Simms.

Romo isn’t perfect. Somebody has to tell him that he is not required to comment on everything that occurs during the game. His energy level is commendable but sometimes it’s OK to just let the game breathe. He also missed badly when comparing the 2017 Patriots offense to their 2001 counterparts simply because McDaniels ran a few plays with a fullback. On balance though he has had as strong a start to a broadcasting career as I can remember. Now we just need to pray that Dak Prescott doesn’t get hurt and Romo doesn’t get the itch to return to the field, otherwise we might again be stuck with Simms fumbling and flatulating his way through another broadcast.

-Master Class: How many coaches in the NFL would have their team prepared enough to run the field goal unit on the field, get set up and successfully execute a field goal without committing a penalty, in under 16 seconds? Moments like that are why Belichick has spent more on boat paint than anyone on Nantucket.

-Not quite the ‘85 Bears but…: I thought the defense had an underrated game on Sunday. If you throw out the garbage time touchdown, they held a Drew Brees led offense to 13 points in a dome. Not bad. When Brees did manage big plays it often required a perfect throw into tight coverage. Aside from Patrick Chung, who struggled in coverage, I thought the secondary was solid and the pass rush got a needed boost from rookie DE Deatrich Wise. They also got a sneaky good game out of undrafted corner Jonathan Jones, who broke up multiple passes. Could it be that Belichick has found the next Malcolm Butler?

-Beginning of the end?: Speaking of Butler, this bizarre cold war between him and Belichick continued Sunday when Butler was benched in favor of Eric Rowe. I’m lost. How exactly did Butler go from Super Bowl hero and rock solid starter to the Belichick doghouse in 6 months? This can’t all just be about a shaky game week 1. Did Butler cut Bill in the buffet line? During last year’s Super Bowl celebration was Bill’s favorite band, Bon Jovi, blaring on the radio only to be turned off by Butler, who then shouted, “That band sucks”? What? WHAT??? Maybe it is all about football but it feels more petty and personal. There was a time when I thought Butler was going to get a long-term deal, now I’m wondering if he gets dumped at the trade deadline, a la Jamie Collins.

-No TB12 diet here: If Butler is in the doghouse, Alan Branch is buried 6-feet under it. Branch not only didn’t start Sunday, he played a miniscule six snaps on defense. This decision was 100% a football decision. Branch was atrocious last week, a fact that had to particularly irritate Belichick considering he just gave Branch a new contract. Let me give you my highly sophisticated deep dive analysis on what is currently behind Branch’s struggles: he is a fat load. Branch looks like he has packed on several pounds in all the wrong places. Apparently he signed his new contract then immediately purchased an all-you-can-eat lifetime pass to KFC. Whether he has gained weight, or I’m just seeing things (large things), either way Branch’s play is a troubling early development.

-The definition of insanity…: When does New Orleans move on from the Drew Brees/Sean Payton era? Payton is like a band that had one really good album and has been cranking out garbage ever since. Yeah the post-Katrina Super Bowl title was special but it was also eight years ago. Since then the Saints have won just two playoff games, failed to make it past the division round and have posted four losing seasons. Their defense is perennially one of the worst in the NFL and currently sits at dead last. If this continues the Saints should cut the cord with Payton, trade Brees to a contender and shift full-speed into rebuild mode.

-Barely legal: Can the NFL once-and-for-all end the pick play. It’s hard enough for defenses to stop the modern NFL passing game without having receivers blocking defensive backs that are just trying to do their job. Chris Hogan scored Sunday on a legal pick play that was originally flagged as pass interference, until Tom Brady calmly explained to the officials that they were mistaken, and the flag was immediately picked up. Microphones on the field were able to pick up the conversation:

Referee: Tom we got you guys for pass interference

Brady: No way. I’m Tom Brady. I got five Super Bowl rings and four Super Bowl MVPs, plus look at me. And have you ever seen my wife? I’m the man. So, do you think you might want to reconsider that call?

Referee: There was no penalty on the play

-Brady’s cultish manifesto book the TB12 Method comes out Tuesday, giving everyone the opportunity to eat and train like him. All you need is a massive food budget, a private chef and a lifestyle that allows you to go to bed at 7:00pm. Thanks, but I’ll pass. I value bacon and whiskey more than I value pliability.

-Zero Dark Thirty: Common wisdom was that the Patriots broke the Falcons in last year’s Super Bowl…...like permanently broke the entire franchise. But Dan Quinn had other ideas, and he set out to fix his team from the mental devastation of blowing the biggest opportunity of their football lives in front of 100+ million people. One of those ideas was for the Falcons to train with the Navy Seals in the offseason which Matt Ryan recently credited in an interview for making the team mentally tougher. Fresh off a beatdown of the Green Bay Packers the Falcons are 2-0 and travel to Foxboro week 7.

-Celebrating diversity one bad sideline report at a time: I didn’t get a chance to address that Sergio Dipp thing that happened to the internet last week. What I find most fascinating is that I still have no idea what the hell that was. Did he choke? Lose a bet? Is he just a fool? I still have no idea. It was like somebody melded a sideline report with a hostage video. All his incoherent babble about diversity made it seem as if he was not a human, but rather a politically correct internet bot created by ESPN (would you put it past them) to spew safe, happy, and extremely awkward platitudes. Whatever happened it is clear Sergio was not “HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE”, last Monday. Unfortunately for Sergio he went from sympathetic underdog to annoying tool when he posted a response to all the internet fervor where he at one point invoked 9/11 - not the date, but the national tragedy that killed thousands of people and sent our nation to war. Alright Sergio, I think we’ve heard enough out of you, time to go back to ESPN Deportes and let the grownups handle the football stuff.

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#new england patriots #tom brady #bill belichick #nfl #new orleans saints #drew brees #navy seals #tony romo #tb12 #gronk #matt ryan #sergio dipp

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