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[bella-rose29]

Golden Boy

Nikolai Lantsov x f!reader

They meet at the University of Ketterdam and sparks fly, but he becomes Sturmhond and she stays behind.

Word count: 5.3k (there's a part two as well send help)

Warnings: swearing, angst, i cried when i wrote this and if it was on paper it would be covered in my tears

Tag list: @bubybubsters, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @karensirkobabes, @kentucky-criedfricken, @notoakay, @naushtheaspiringauthor, @el-de-phi, @simbaaas-stuff

Please let me know here if you want to be added or removed from my general Nikolai tag list my lovelies <3

(not my image although i think that's probably obvious)

Y/n was early for her class, which confused her. Normally she was running late, turning up a minimum of five minutes after whatever the event was had started, no matter what, so to be early for once was making her worried. She checked her timetable again, looking at the room number on her paper and the room number on the door, then at the time and date on the paper and the time and date on the huge clock in front of her, all the details matching, and decided she didn't like being early. She also didn't like being late, to be clear; there wasn't much that was more embarrassing than walking in to a room full of people mid-lesson, and having everyone stare at you as you walked to the only available seat that was as far away from the door as humanly possible (which totally wasn't an experience the girl had had before).

Sitting down on one of the chairs outside the classroom, she sighed, hoping the professor would turn up soon. Footsteps started echoing through the corridor immediately after she had the thought, and she was starting to get worried at how lucky she was today.

Maybe I'll go place a bet on something later, she thought. Looking up, however, she saw not the professor but another student, clothes neat and not crumpled at all (the ones she had on were the only clean items she could find on the floor of her room that morning), blond hair perfectly styled (her hair looked like a bird had recently finished nesting in it), and bag slung effortlessly over one shoulder (hers was dumped on the floor, the strap unable to bear more than the weight of a single book most days).

She immediately didn't like him.

When he smiled at her, teeth blindingly white, her dislike grew at this obviously rich posh kid who had never had to ask for a thing in his life, and tried not to physically move away from him when he sat in the seat next to her.

"Are you in 'Languages of the World' too?" he asked.

"No, I just thought I'd sit outside the classroom and wait for the professor of a class I don't attend." His smile faltered slightly, and she felt a little bad. She knew it was harsh, but she had no time for rich kids, and he was obviously one of them. Having grown up on the streets of Ketterdam, working three jobs to pay for her family to stay in a single hotel room, she knew how to suss a person out within five seconds. It wasn't bias, she'd learned how to read body language and facial expressions when she was 9, and it was extremely handy for knowing who to approach and who to avoid in the streets.

"That was sarcasm," she said, even though her voice had been dripping with it just now and there was no way that he had missed it.

"Right..." he trailed off, and thankfully at that moment some other students turned up, giving her an excuse to not talk to him. The professor turned up just as the bell sounded, and Y/n leapt up, desperate to be as far away from Golden Boy as physically possible.

Once inside the classroom, the professor announced a seating plan, and Y/n internally groaned.

Please let me be sat next to someone who has some sort of a grasp on languages, she thought.

In her first week at University while on the hunt for friends, she'd discovered that of all the people in this class, barely anyone spoke something of all the languages taught. Learning other languages had been another skill she'd picked up as a child, since a lot of tourists came to Kerch (although having grown up here, she had no idea why, it was a complete shit hole in her opinion). It had allowed her to get a third job as a translator for some offices, and it paid so well that after only six months working there she was able to drop one of her other jobs.

Finding her name on the sheet of paper the professor had pinned to the board, she went and sat in her seat, taking her books out of her bag. Just as she placed her bag on the floor, she felt someone sit down on her left, and mentally prepared herself for the greeting.

Nothing prepared her for the fact that Golden Boy was her table partner, however, and she choked on her spit. He frowned, concern flashing across his features. "Are you alright? Saints, here, have some water." She took the bottle that he presented, taking a large swig before handing the bottle back to him. Embarrassing that he'd seen that happen, but she had noticed his use of the word 'Saints'. So he was Ravkan. She wasn't sure how she'd missed the slight accent before, but now she knew where he was from, it was obvious.

"I'm alright now, sorry."

"Let me know if you need any more, yeah?" Ghezen's Hand, he even spoke like he'd been raised on caviar and silver platters, despite speaking Kerch.

"I'll be fine, thank you."

Not long after, the register was called, and the professor went round the tables individually. When he got to their table, checking they were there, Y/n almost choked on air again.

"Y/n L/n?"

"Here, sir."

"Nikolai Lantsov?"

What? The professor had made some kind of mistake, surely. There was no way that-

"Here, sir."

What?!

Why the fuck was the second heir to the Ravkan throne in her 'Languages of the World' class? And why was he sat next to her? Although, actually he didn't have much choice in sitting next to her, because of the seating plan, but she chose to ignore that piece of information for the time being. The whole class was tittering, whispers rising as they recognised the name.

"Settle down, students, settle down. Let's get started, shall we?" The professor called, moving to stand behind his desk.

"What. The. Fuck?" she muttered under her breath, although apparently not quietly enough.

"I didn't think he'd do it like that, to be fair. I was hoping I could be a little more incognito, but yes, 'what the fuck' perfectly sums this up I'd say," he whispered, leaning in slightly so that he didn't have to speak so loudly. Y/n refused to turn to look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on the professor at the front of the room and starting to make notes on what he was saying.

The rest of the class passed without too much stress, and luckily Y/n barely had to speak to the prince. No wonder he'd sounded so posh, though. And he probably had been raised on caviar and silver platters. By the time the lesson was over, two hours after it had begun, Y/n couldn't wait to leave. She'd enjoyed learning, but having to sit next to literal royalty wasn't doing wonders for her self-esteem, and her ass hurt from having to sit still on the chair for so long. Packing up her things, she turned to leave, but apparently His Royal Highness Prince Nikolai Lantsov had other ideas.

"I know I haven't made the best impression on you - don't look at me like that, I know I haven't - but did you want to do the homework together? My Fjerdan isn't brilliant, but you seem to be amazing at it, so I was just wondering if you would help?" He looked nervous, hands fidgeting at his sides, pulling at the bottom of his coat. She sighed deeply.

"Fine. Just... try not to be posh or anything. I can't stand it."

"How do I do that?"

"I don't know, do I? If I think you're getting too posh, I'll glare at you and start to leave, alright? Then you know what not to do." She walked off, hoping he'd follow. Sure enough, he did, footsteps echoing as they had earlier. Looking down at his feet she realised that it was because he had fancy shoes on, the kind that she could buy for the price of her house, and scoffed out loud.

"What now? Have I done something posh?"

"No, sorry. It's just that even your shoes are posh."

"Wait," he said, stopping abruptly. She stopped too, half turning back to face him, and frowning when he stuck his hand out. "Hello, I'm Nikolai, but just Nik is fine," he said with a smile, and Y/n's frown turned to an expression of incredulity.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, we got off on the wrong foot, and you don't like me too much, so I figured I should introduce myself the way I should have done before class."

"For the record, this," she waved her hands in his general direction, "is too posh. But fine. I'm Y/n, and don't shorten it, because we're not friends." She took his hand, annoyed when she felt a butterfly take flight in her stomach at how their hands seemed to fit together.

"Yet."

"What?" She pulled her hand back. Enough physical contact for today.

"We're not friends yet. I'm very persistent when I want to be. And I would like to be friends with you."

Y/n snorted. "What for? I've insulted you to your face multiple times the entire time we've known each other, despite the fact that's completely inappropriate."

"That's exactly why I want to be friends with you, because you're not pretending to like me. I could already see everyone else in that class eyeing me up, seeing how they could try and get close to me in a stupid attempt to be able to say that they're friends with royalty. You just ignored me, and to be honest? It felt great."

"Um... you do realise how weird you sound, right?"

"Yeah, I... as soon as I said that I realised. But I mean it, Y/n," he replied, following after her as she started walking again. "It's nice to have to try and make a friend. Wait, that was posh, wasn't it?" At her slow nod he winced, and she felt a pang of sympathy. She supposed that having no idea who your real friends were was something they had in common, and decided she could try being a little nicer to him.

"Look, I'm sorry for being rude and stuff, I just really don't like rich people. I grew up on the streets while I worked 20 hours a day to keep my family in a shitty hotel room and fed and warm and all the rest of it, and when rich people heard about my situation they'd just say 'stop being poor, that'll solve your problems'." He was staring at her, unreadable expression on his face, and it was making her slightly uncomfortable. She'd never not been able to read someone before. "But... I know what it's like to be alone, and honestly Ketterdam is one of the last places you wanna be alone, so if having a real friend is gonna help, then I guess I can let you tag along to my study sessions. This does not mean that we are friends, to be clear. You've still gotta work for that. But I'm giving you extra opportunities, alright?" He nodded, so fast she was worried his head would go flying off, and the smile on his face was so wide and genuine she couldn't help but let a small smile onto her own face.

"You have every right to not like me, especially with a life like that. I'm sorry that that happened, too. But I promise I'll try and convince you to be my friend, and then be the absolute best friend you could ever have asked for."

She rolled her eyes at his words, pushing open the door to the University library. "You are very full of yourself, you know that?"

"I have been told that, yes. Most often by Dominik, actually. But then he's always calling me names, so I feel the need to defend myself by making myself feel important and unstoppable."

Snorting at him she asked "Who's Dominik?", and finding a table in the back of the library and sitting down, she pulled out the homework.

"My best friend, lives in Ravka. He's in the army now, down in the front lines. We grew up together."

"Is he posh like you?"

"Nope. His family lives on a farm. They're better off than they were when we were growing up; I've managed to siphon funds from a noble I don't like to his family so that they don't have to worry too much. The harvest can be rough where they are, so I didn't want them to starve. They always managed to put food on the table when I came over, so this is my way of saying thank you, I guess."

Y/n couldn't help but stare in shock at the prince (who was blissfully unaware as he unpacked his own bag). "Wait. Your best friend is a commoner?"

"Yeah. You'd probably get on, actually. Bond over teasing the shit out of me or something."

"And you're helping his family?"

He paused in his movements, looking at her properly. Seeing the confusion on her face, his own expression softened. "You think it's impossible for a rich person to help someone."

It wasn't a question, but she still nodded. Having grown up expecting the least from everybody, she was used to people with money doing nothing, leaving the poor on the streets. Never, in her life, had she met a rich person that had actively done something useful to help someone else, so to hear Nikolai Lantsov, prince of the Ravkan throne, talk about how he was helping a poor family made her want to hug him.

"You know, usually when people say 'impossible' they actually mean 'improbable'," he said, and she smiled a little.

"That's stupid."

He shrugged. "It's true though. Think about it. You thought it was impossible for a rich person to help someone, but I've just proved to you that it's only improbable, because out of all the ones you've come across, I'm the only rich person you've met that has."

She couldn't deny his logic. "Still stupid. Come on, I heard your Fjerdan earlier, this is gonna take all week."

They spent hours in the library, occasionally getting up and walking around the table to stretch their legs or collect a book, and by the time they were kicked out by the librarian due to closing, Y/n had found herself having fun. He was funny, and actually quite nice, and yes, his Fjerdan was horrific, but he was a fast learner, and by the time they left for the night he had improved significantly.

"How long until I'm fluent, then?"

"Not sure. How long are you here for?"

"Three years, apparently. I might die of boredom before then, there doesn't appear to be much else to do, and my parents want me to do a politics course next year."

"You might die of boredom? What are you, a puppy in need of constant entertainment?"

"Ironically my nickname in court is 'Sobachka', so sort of." Y/n reached her door, pausing outside.

"This is me. This is also not an invitation to be outside my door every opportunity you get, alright?" He nodded. "Good. Night, Nik." She opened her door, stepping inside and closing it again before he had a chance to reply.

~~~

He took every opportunity to be outside her door.

It was infuriating at first, how persistent he was, but after a week of him trailing her heels she figured she should just get used to it.

They spent most evenings in either her or his room (his was significantly more neat and tidy than hers), studying, doing homework, or trying to get Nikolai better at speaking Fjerdan (it really was atrocious, which she couldn't understand since he'd pretty much mastered all the other languages). The rest of the time was spent in lessons, or for Y/n working shifts whenever she had some spare time. Nikolai had offered to help out financially, but Y/n, despite her constant pleadings that rich people would give away more of their money to the people that needed it, refused to take his. It felt too much like she was using him, and given how excited he'd been to have a real friend, she just felt bad thinking about it.

One night they were in her room, Nikolai sprawled on her bed and Y/n picking various things up off the floor and other surfaces in an attempt to tidy. He had an arm flung over his forehead, and a leg dangled off the side of the bed, making him look like one of those ladies in a painting that had fainted onto a fancy sofa.

"You could help me, you know."

"You wouldn't let me. As soon as I touched something you'd tell me not to break it, or that I'm putting it in the wrong place." She groaned at his words, knowing frustratingly that he was right. It was annoying how quickly he'd worked out how to understand her, but then he was a fast learner. That thought made her pause.

"If you're such a fast learner, how come you're shit at speaking Fjerdan?"

"What do you mean?" He removed his arm from his head, opening an eye to squint up at her. "I'm not that bad."

"Uh, yeah you are. I had to teach you the word for 'goodbye' yesterday because you'd forgotten it. Seriously, who is that bad at Fjerdan? I know it's not an easy language to learn, but you've mastered the others." He blushed a light pink, pushing himself up on his elbows.

"I uh, I haven't been entirely honest with you, and when I tell you I need you to not hate me" he started, looking like he was bracing himself for a physical attack.

"What." Her eyes narrowed.

"I'm actually fluent in Fjerdan, I just pretended I couldn't understand it so that we had a legitimate reason to spend time together," he replied, in perfect, unaccented Fjerdan. She froze where she stood, eyes wide, then chucked the decorative pillow she was holding at his head. "Ow!" he cried as it made contact, falling backwards against the covers.

"Well you deserve it, you bastard! You've been lying to me for a week because you were desperate for a friend?! I would have been your friend anyway, you dipshit!"

"You... you would?"

"Yes!" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. Her breath came rapidly, chest heaving from shouting.

"Oh..." he paused, looking bashful. "I just... normally I'm good at making friends, I just figured you wouldn't want to spend time with a rich kid unless you had a reason to. And I really wanted to be friends with you, Y/n."

"Well how did you become friends with Dominik? Pretend you were shit at Zemeni?"

"It was a lot more complicated than that, and no I did not. You know that my Zemeni is flawless," he held a hand to his chest in mock hurt, a pout forming on his face.

"Oh, forgive me for not remembering that when you lied to my face about your Fjerdan!"

"You aren't too mad at me, are you?" he questioned, pushing himself up into a sitting position, worry filling his expression.

"No, I'm not. I just... am frustrated that you didn't tell me sooner."

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you!"

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"No, I will," he said, leaping up from the bed to stand in front of her and hold her arms. "I will. Are you free tomorrow evening? Actually, don't answer that, I know you are. I'll pick you up at six bells, alright?"

"Pick me up? Nik, what do you mean?"

"I'll feed you, all you have to do is look pretty and bring your appetite, which shouldn't be too difficult for you given how gorgeous you are anyway, because I'm paying and that's that."

Y/n felt her face warm at his words, and the pesky butterflies that had slowly been waking up the last week fluttered in her stomach.

"I don't have anything nice to wear though, so you'll just have to deal with what I've got and not take me anywhere fancy. Seriously, a street vendor would be fine. And don't spend too much, becau-"

"Saints, please stop talking! I will take you where I want to take you and if you don't have anything to wear then tell me, because I refuse to be seen in public with somebody who's naked, alright?" She hit him (gently), and he jumped back, laughing. "I mean it! Imagine how ruinous that could be for my reputation!" She hit him again, smiling along with him as he picked up a pillow to defend himself. Y/n lifted a pillow of her own, and before long they were having an all-out pillow fight on the floor of her bedroom.

~~~

Y/n was panicking.

It wouldn't be long until six bells, and where she was always late, Nikolai was extremely punctual, and she knew for a fact that he would be knocking on her door as soon as the first bell sounded, and here she was, stood in the middle of her room, surrounded by clothes yet not wearing any of them. She was yet to pick an outfit, and although she'd said to Nikolai yesterday that he'd have to deal with whatever she picked out, and she'd never been one for caring what other people thought of her clothes, but for some reason, nothing seemed good enough.

"Ugh, this is ridiculous!"

It was ridiculous, how much time she had spent on finding the perfect outfit. But for some reason she wanted to look nice for their date- wait, what? Since when had she been thinking of this as a date?!

A knock sounded at her door, three sharp raps, and she knew immediately that it was Nikolai.

"Shit!" she whispered, the word leaving her mouth like a hiss. "Uh, one minute!" She heard muffled laughter (the bastard), and hopped around the room, picking up random items and pulling them on as quickly as she could. Running over to the door, she yanked it open, revealing her Golden Boy, hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly handsome in his simple white shirt and black slacks.

"Are you sure you want to wear that? I know I said I wouldn't judge you, but this outfit is really quite something." He was trying to hide his smirk incredibly unsuccessfully, and she slapped him on the arm, sending him a glare.

"Look, I'm struggling, okay? You haven't told me anything about where we're going, and I have no idea what I should wear!"

"Just... okay." He walked around the small room, rummaging through the various piles of clothes, discarding most and throwing them to the side. "Aha! Here, put these on." He shoved the articles he'd gathered into her hands, then pushed her behind the screen she'd put up in the corner of the room. Changing quickly, and definitely not almost falling over multiple times, she emerged five minutes later, dressed in the blouse and long skirt he'd picked out for her.

"Alright, fine. Can we go now?"

"Hmm?" He turned around, then froze, staring at her.

"What? You were the one that chose this outfit, if there's a problem it's your fault!"

"No! No, it's not that, you just... you look... good," he finished quietly, blushing.

"Oh," she replied, her own blush heating up her cheeks. "Well, um... let me just put my shoes on, and then we can go." He nodded, and watched as she laced up her boots. Opening the door for her when she was done, Nikolai offered his other arm up to Y/n, and she took it gladly (partly to be closer to him and partly to stop herself falling over from how nervous she was). "Actually, where are we going?"

"A tiny restaurant I found on my first day here; the food is incredible."

The walk was short, and it startled Y/n to realise that Nikolai's guards had come with them, trailing behind at a distance. When she'd asked him about it, he just said that they'd always been there, just out of sight. She wondered how many of their conversations they'd overheard, or if they'd picked up on how much she liked her Golden Boy now. She didn't have much time to ponder, however, as Nikolai pulled her around a corner into a hidden courtyard that, in her entire life living in Ketterdam, she had never noticed before.

"What? Don't you like it? We can go somewhere else, if you want? I just thought tha-"

"You're rambling, Nik. And I do like it, I'm just annoyed that you found this place before I did and you didn't even grow up here!"

"Oh! Well that's alright then. Come on!" He seemed to ignore everything she'd said past 'like it', dragging her along by the arm to a table out the front of the restaurant. They were greeted a few moments later, presented with menus and the specials, then left to decide what they wanted. Y/n made her mind up quickly (a habit she'd picked up from not liking being rushed), then took the time to look around.

The courtyard was small, boxed in by tiny apartments on all sides, some with little balconies overlooking the square. The walls were lined with plants, flowers blooming despite it being late in the year, and small lights littered the spaces in between the leaves. It was gorgeous, and she wondered how often Nikolai had come here. Speaking of Nikolai, she turned back to study him. He seemed to be taking extra time to decide what he wanted, brow furrowed as he browsed the menu, biting a nail as he did so. A strand of his hair had come away from his perfectly styled locks (seriously, who had time for that?), and before she knew what she was doing, Y/n was reaching over and smoothing it back.

Nikolai had looked up as she moved, and was now sat staring at her, eyes wide, as her hand brushed his forehead.

"What," he cleared his throat, "What are you doing?" His voice was shaky, and filled with nerves, and Y/n thought he was adorable like this.

"You had a hair out of place, and it was annoying me," she shrugged, leaning back in her seat. "Have you chosen yet?" He nodded, still looking at her, a dazed expression on his face.

"Yeah, I have," he replied, voice quiet, and Y/n got the distinct feeling that he wasn't talking about the food.

~~~

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, filled with laughter and talking, and never a dull moment. There were silences, yes, but they were comfortable, and the longer the night went on, the more Y/n found herself thinking of it as a date.

He might not be thinking it's a date, though. I don't want to get my hopes up.

When they came to leave, Nikolai paid just like he said he would (much to Y/n's annoyance, because she could have paid for her own meal), and they left the courtyard arm in arm.

They were almost back to the University when Nikolai spoke.

"I had a nice time tonight, Y/n." She'd been looking up at the stars, barely visible through the clouds and making her neck sore, but now she turned her head to face him.

"Me too." They were quiet again for a bit, but then Nikolai started huffing, apparently wanting to say something but not finding the words or the courage. "Spit it out, Lantsov."

"Was this a date?"

His words shocked her, and her mind went blank for a moment. At her lack of answer he grew worried, concern that he'd messed things up crossing his features, and she quickly went to rectify it.

"I'd like it to be. You know, if you would. Obviously if you don't then no, but if you do then that's-"

"I'd like it to be a date, Y/n/n."

"Oh. Good. Okay then." Y/n was quiet for a minute. "Good." She winced at herself, cringing at how awkward she was making it, but luckily they pulled to a stop outside her door, giving her an escape. He was smiling at her, a soft smile reserved for her, not one of the blinding ones he used to win people over, and her heart fluttered.

"Night then. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Nik." She went to open her door, pausing for a moment as she made a decision. Reaching up, she planted her lips on his cheek, then hurried inside and slammed the door, leaving him standing in the hallway.

~~~

Three weeks later, Y/n was sat at a table in one of the coffee shops littered around the campus, usually filled with students dead on their feet needing the caffeine to get through a class without falling asleep. She had her notes out in front of her, working her way through an essay she had to write, when a book slammed on the table, making her jump. She looked up, immediately finding the perpetrator.

"What the fuck, Nik? Why would you- oh shit. No. Not that face. That's your 'I have an idea that you won't approve of' face, and we both know what happened last time."

He'd fallen off a wall trying to climb it, saying he could sneak into the principal's office from there. He'd ended up concussed.

"That is not a face I have, and anyway, you've only known me for like, a month, Y/n/n, how do you know what my faces are already?"

"I'm good at reading people," she shrugged. "Go on, spit it out."

"Hear me out," he said, excitement creeping into his voice. He lifted the book in front of him.

"Privateering for dummies? Nik, seriously, what are you gonna do?" He frowned, turning the book to read the title.

"Shit, I picked up the wrong one. I know the basics already, just wanted to learn some history really. Must have left in such a hurry I didn't get the right book."

"What do you mean, you know the basics? You're going round attacking enemy ships in your spare time? Wait, is that why you bailed on me the other day?"

"I didn't bail on you, I forgot, and was busy with something else, so can we please move on from that. And no, I'm not a privateer yet, I just..." he sighed, finally sitting down. "I can't stay here, Y/n/n. I'm bored as fuck and while you are amazing, and learning languages with you is great, I need to be doing more. You know what I'm like, always fidgeting. I think this will be good for me."

"One, you need to actually tell me what you were doing to bail on me, and then we can move on. Two, I know I'm amazing, but thank you for the extra validation. Three, why privateering? Why not become a mechanic or something? And four - don't look at me like that! You can't come in here, dump that information on me and then expect me to just smile and go along with it! Four, what about your obligations? Won't people notice that the second prince of Ravka has disappeared, and then not long later a privateer that looks remarkably like Nikolai Lantsov turns up?"

"All valid points. If you must know, I completely forgot we had plans, and I feel really bad about it, but at the same time I was reading this incredible book that I couldn't put down, and then there was a really hot sex scene, and I-""

"Okay! I don't need the details, thank you!"

"Fine, fine," he said, dodging the straw she threw at him. "Privateering because when I was travelling over here, and this is going to sound really cheesy, but I just felt... at home. I felt more like me than I had for a long time, and when you've spent your life cooped up in a palace, although not cooped up, 'cause it's a big space, but you know what I mean," he paused, frowning as he tried to remember his train of thought. "It felt so free out there, nothing but water as far as the eye can see, and I don't know, maybe I could do more for Ravka out there than I ever could as the spare. As for your fourth point, I'll get tailored, change what I look like, keep a low profile for a little while so the timings don't quite match up."

Y/n was silent for a while, contemplating everything he'd said. "When would you leave?"

"We would leave next week, I've already made arrangements for a couple of things, but pretty much everything else will have to be done on the night, because I can't get everything past my guards. What? What's that face for?"

"'We'?" she asked quietly. "What do you mean 'we'?"

"Aren't... you're not coming with me?" He looked confused, and gods bless him he wore his heart on his sleeve, because his expression was so genuine and so lost that she immediately felt bad for what she was about to say.

"No, Nik," she started gently. "I can't go with you, not when I've worked my ass off my whole life to get here. I need this degree to get a proper job, so that I can support my family, and being with you won't help that." She saw hurt flash across his face, which quickly morphed into a neutral expression, attempted boredom covering up any real feelings.

"Being with me?"

"You know, going and being a privateer with you. Obviously I don't mean literally being with you, or we wouldn't be together, but abandoning all of this? I'm sorry, Nik, but I can't do it, not even for you." He nodded, still no sign of any emotion on his face, and even when she tried hard to read him, Y/n got nothing. She felt horrible, knowing that she was the one that had made her sweet Golden Boy look numb inside, but she couldn't take back her words. She'd worked too hard for this life, and no matter what she felt for the man sitting opposite her, she couldn't just give it up. He stood, taking Privateering for Dummies with him, and left the coffee shop without looking back.

~~~

The next few days were excruciating, having to spend all of her classes with him trying to make conversation while he tried to ignore her, or when he had no choice but to speak to her, answering in short sentences. The professor had noticed, and one lesson asked if Y/n wanted to move, but she'd said no, not wanting to give up just yet. She'd be damned if Nikolai left while they were still on bad terms.

After one particularly painful lesson where he'd spent the entire time pretending he couldn't hear her because his ears were blocked from the bath he took that morning (a blatant lie, she was sure), Y/n approached his dorm door, knocking firmly. It swung open not long after, revealing Nikolai, hair mussed and bags under his eyes. Upon realising who was stood at his door, he went to close it, but Y/n snuck in under his arm, moving to stand in the middle of the room. It was a mess, clothes everywhere, bed unmade, books and papers scattered on every surface. Normally he was the picture of tidiness, and seeing his room so chaotic made her heart hurt. "Nik," she began.

"Just go, please." His voice was tired, assumedly from his lack of sleep, and she started walking towards the door. He opened it back up for her, but Y/n threw her arms around him instead, bringing him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Nik. I'm so so sorry. Why didn't you tell me you were like this?"

"I didn't want you to worry, darling." He was sniffling against her neck as he wrapped his own arms around her. The pet name made her heart skip a beat, and she didn't understand why he wouldn't tell his girlfriend that he'd been in such a state.

"I'll always worry about you, Nik, you're my best friend," she replied. "And also my partner, which makes the worry doubled."

"Please, just go. I'm leaving tonight anyway, and I'd rather I didn't get caught and drag you down with me." He pulled away from her, wiping his eyes and going to pack more things away. Now that she understood that tonight was the night, she realised that his room was a mess because he was leaving.

"I don't want you to go on bad terms, Nik. What if something happens to you before we see each other again and we don't get a chance to work things out?" Desperation had crept into her voice now, but Y/n didn't care. Not when tomorrow she would be alone again. "Please, just talk to me, we'll figure this out."

He shook his head, shoving more things into the bag on his bed. He pulled on a thick jumper, ears popping out as it came over his head and hair somehow more tousled than it had been before. "There isn't anything to figure out. I want to go, and you want to stay. I was just doing damage control so that when I left it hurt less."

"This is hurting more, Nik, can't you see that? I've spent the last however many days thinking that you hate me because you won't even talk to me, let alone look at me! You might think that what you did was better, but it's not, not in the slightest. Because now I'm scared that you'll just keep pushing me away, instead of helping fix this, and I don't want you to push me away!" He flinched as her voice rose, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not when she now had tears streaming down her cheeks and a lump in her throat at the idea that maybe he was just like all the other rich people, and she was just a charity case to him. She'd been stupid to trust him, to think that he was different, and when he didn't say anything, she huffed, suspicions confirmed. "Fine. Fine. But don't come running back to me the next time you're in Ketterdam because you want someone to be your friend, because I won't be there." She pulled her necklace out, chucking it on the bed. "Keep it, so that you can remember how badly you fucked this up every day you're out on the True Sea."

She was being bitter again, just like when they'd first met, but now she had good reason. She wanted him to have a reminder of her, and her necklace would be perfect. Nikolai was still silent, stood by his bed and staring blankly at the object she'd thrown his way, and when she closed the door behind her, the silver of it was glinting cruelly in the light of his lamp.

Part 2

[izzielizzie]

Chapter Six

Weekend runs are bliss. Early morning air fills my lungs and all the worries from the week: Vanessa hijacking the soccer team, TJ showing up everywhere I don’t want him to be, and Bronwyn’s murder investigation, evaporate until the only thing filling my mind is the sound of my music and the ponding of my sneakers on the sidewalk. When I reach the steep hill I use as a marker to end my three miles, I feel motivated enough to keep running, and I can hardly breathe when I reach the top. I’m about the double over and catch my breath when I hear my name being called. I sigh when I recognize the voice. It’s Vanessa. I wonder if it’s too late to pretend I didn’t hear her, but I look up and meet her blue eyes and I have no choice but to walk over to her, where she’s sitting with Cooper, Addy, Luis, and - ugh - TJ. “Maeve! Hi! Fancy seeing you here!” “Vanessa you do realize I live in Bayview right?” Every time Vanessa sees me she acts like I live in Kentucky or something. “I know, I know. I just enjoy seeing you! Do you enjoy seeing me?” I look at Vanessa properly and I realize now why she’s called me over. She’s wearing her soccer uniform. And it has my number from last year. “Sure,” I say. I’m still out of breath and I have no desire to be nice. “Well, I’m so glad I ran into you! Or that you ran into us I guess.” She laughs at her own joke. “I actually wanted your opinion on something. TJ and I are going on a date this weekend and I wanted your advice on where to go.” I’m distracted trying to figure out if bending over to catch my breath would make me look weak, so when I finally register her question all I can do is stare at her. I look between TJ who’s staring at the ground, and Vanessa, who’s smirking at me. Oh this bitch knows exactly what she’s doing. Vanessa continues talking. “Addy was telling us that the beach is great this time of year.” No. No, I can’t do this. I’m gonna faint. Or be sick. Or both. “Vanessa stop,” Luis says, his voice hard. “What? I’m just saying, Maeve knows all about beach dates. She could even-” I don’t hear the rest of her sentence because I’ve turned and started running down the hill again. I can’t see where I’m going through the tears, and I’m so upset that when I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders I panic. I twist and kick out, using the self defense tricks my father taught me ages ago. My foot doesn’t connect with anything though, and it throws me off. “Maeve, Maeve. Stop.” I recognize the voice and I freeze. “Luis?” “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I can’t see his face through my tears, but his voice is laced with genuine concern and I fall into him, sobbing like my life depends on it. He rubs his hand up and down my back like my mom did when I was a kid, and it’s so relaxing that I can’t even try to imagine how weird we must look: me crying into his chest in the middle of the sidewalk, but I can’t move. I pull away when I’m out of tears, and he gently swipes his thumbs over my cheeks to dry them. “I’m not okay,” I tell him. I know it’s such an obvious thing to say, but as I look into his deep brown eyes that are filled with so much kindness, I feel myself relax for what might be the first time in years. He nods at me. “I know.” “TJ cheated,” I say. I don’t know why I’m telling him, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to lately. Luis’s hand is still on my back, and he’s rubbing small circles on it, almost absentmindedly. It’s nice. He raises his eyebrows at me, telling me to keep talking. “He was at the beach over the summer and he hooked up with Addy and Vanessa found out.” “Dios,” Luis mutters, and I finally realize who I’m talking to. Every time Vanessa subtly attacks me, Luis has been there, and he’s never lifted a finger to stop her. And from what I can tell, he’s suddenly best friends with TJ. I pull away from him. “Not that you’d care,” I mutter. Luis’s face drops and he squeezes my hand the way he did when we were kids. “Maevey, come on.” Maevey. No one has called me that in years. “You stopped talking to me. You stopped caring about me.” Luis and I were best friends when we were kids. Like Nate and Bronwyn. Like Cooper and Addy. All six of us were thick as thieves before my parents sent me to Connecticut to live with my grandparents. When I came back, no one was speaking to each other. When did unconditional love turn into pure hatred? When did we start tearing each other down? Why do we rip each other apart and set fire to the corpse just to watch it burn? Why don’t we patch each other together anymore? I have so many questions for all of them: why did Nate stop laughing? Why can’t Bronwyn relax? Why doesn’t Addy speak her mind? Why is Cooper so hesitant, so perfect? And why doesn’t Luis love me anymore? I guess they have some for me too: why am I so bitter? I’m scared I don’t have the answer. “Maeve,” Luis’s voice jolts me back to myself. “I never stopped caring about you. You left, what was I supposed to do?” “IT WASN’T MY CHOICE.” I tear out of his grasp. I can’t stand being near him. “Maeve, let me drive you home. You’re not thinking straight.” As if. I can’t be in a car with him. “No!” He reaches for me. His hands grip my upper arms and before I can think, I rear back and slap him as hard as I can. “I said no!” I turn and start running before I can even understand what I just did.

Nearly ten hours later, I’m in the ballroom of the grand Bayview hotel that my parents rented out for their charity event. For tonight, we’re a normal family. We stand together, my father in his suit, my mother, sister, and I in our ball gowns. My hair is up, twisted in a knot, and the back of my floor length dress is open. I feel cold, exposed and incredibly raw after this morning. And I also feel so, so, so bad about how I treated Luis. I turned my own anger and fear out on him. He just wanted to make sure I was okay. I can’t be here, talking to the mayor and his wife like I give a damn. I tug on my mother’s sleeve. “Mom, I’m gonna get a drink,” I mutter to her. She nods at me. Normally, she’d insist that I stay with the rest of the family, but everyone’s been walking on eggshells around me since TJ and I broke up. Normally, I’d hate being treated like that, but tonight I’m reveling in the newfound independence. I make my way to the drink table, but before I can even reach it, a tray with a steaming mug of… something materializes in front of me. “Cinnamon hot chocolate? “Wha-” “It’s still your favorite right?” Of course it is. Cinnamon hot chocolate has always been my one true love, but I’m not confused about that. “What are you doing here?” “My father is catering this rather fancy event, and he asked me to help. I could use the money.” How could I forget that his dad owns a café? I used to go there all the time. He pauses and shoots me a wicked grin. “And girls love men in a uniform.” He is wearing a uniform: black slacks, white button down shirt, and a black vest. Pretty standard for waiters. “Girls like men who shut up,” I say as I take the mug from the tray. Luis smiles. “There you are Rojas. You’re sass failed to make an appearance this morning.” I look down at the ground and cup my hands around my steaming mug. When I look up, Luis is looking at me with a look I can’t decipher, but it makes me feel as warm and cozy as the drink in my hands. I shift my mug to one hand and reach up to touch his face with another. “That looks painful,” I say. “You don’t know your own strength.” I laugh a little. “I’m sorry for what I did. It was wrong of me.” “It was,” Luis agrees. I glare at him and he grins. “But I accept your apology.” I return his grin. “What can I do to make it up to you?” Luis’s face takes on an exaggeratedly thoughtful look. “You could serve tables seven and eight for me.” I put my hand on my hip. “I’m being serious here, Santos.” “As am I Rojas,” he says, mimicking my pose. I start laughing at him, and his grin is bright enough to light up a room. I missed that. I missed us. “We could go to the roof. The utility closet is always unlocked. No one would even miss us.” I’m not surprised that he knows this. Luis was always the best person to concoct an escape route. I shift on my uncomfortable heels as I consider his offer and sip my coca. We used to spend ages on the flat part of my garage roof, which was accessible through my window. I’ve missed that too. “Okay,” I finally say. I follow him through the ballroom and into the hallway, where he disposes of his tray and my mug in the hall in front of the kitchen. “You’re so slow,” he says as I trail behind him to the elevator. “My heels are killing me.” “So take them off.” He says this with an easy shrug and a quick grin, like this is the easiest thing in the world. “I’m not walking barefoot,” I say. Luis smiles at me, and before I can understand what is happening, he scoops me up in his arms. “Luis,” I laugh as I link my arms around his neck. I’d tell him to put me down, but I’ve missed this camaraderie with him. “Can’t let you hurt your feet, Maevey.” I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. Luis Santos had always been home to me. For five years I’d been lost without his strong arms and deep brown eyes. I stay in his arms as we push through the doors and step into the twilight. The slanted doors are perfect for laying on, and we stay there for nearly an hour, my head on his shoulder and his arms around me. I wish we could stay here all night, in this world where I never had cancer and was sent to Connecticut because my parents couldn’t deal with the constant pity from everyone. In a world where we were still MaeveandLuis and LuisandMaeve.

[shannonparis29]

Miss USofA Diva Nationals 2017

             March 5-7 2017, Miss USofA Diva Nationals

Nationals is a big deal, and the fact that I qualified was amazing. There were 24 that qualified and 23 showed up to compete for the National title. I left on March 2nd and we arrived there early March 4th (the day before the pageant and the day of the “sash” party). Our plan was to be on time and we were early. Arriving in Dayton, Ohio, it was snowing. It wasn’t heavily snowing, but it was the only the fourth time I’d seen snow. Twice in Corpus, once in San Marcos, and once in Ohio. Jackie, Levi and I all went to eat at Bob Evans, since it was literally in front of the hotel and we had to wait a little bit for our room to be “ready.”

After “breakfast” and checking in, I rested all day, I found myself rested after an eventful trip. After resting, I dressed for the Sash Party. The sash party is an event (usually before the pageant) where everyone meets and mingles. Most of the time, this is where meet our fellow competitors for the first time-unless you’ve met them previously. (i.e. at a prelim or the year before). That day we had pizza and drinks and it was our treat. It was great and even my friend Sara from Kentucky came by. She used to live in Corpus, but she moved to Kentucky with her boyfriend. She drove to Dayton and hung out with us afterwards in the hotel room. At the dinner, I received my 2nd alternate sash for Iowa there, and I was happy, a memento of my USofA Journey for the 2016-2017 season.

Then, it was time to rest for Nationals. Nationals is three days. The first two nights are what they call “prelim” nights and the last night is the “final” night, where they announce the top 12, the top 12 compete in evening wear and talent one more time, to determine the winner. But if you choose to, you may swap your evening wear/talent for a different or better one. Most top competitors have a “prelim” evening wear/talent and a final night one, just in case they make finals. However, if you feel like your talent is strong enough to win, you are not “required” to change it. But most do. Pageants are not cheap (trust me I know) and I’ve seen people change their evening wear/talent for final night and win and some do not. However, most people’s strategy these days is to be “clean” prelim night (to make top 12) then go big for final night. However, sometimes it is better to go “all out” both nights, because truthfully you only get once chance to impress at Nationals. For, what if you do not make finals? It truthfully depends on the person.  Nothing is guaranteed or truthfully you never know who is going to bring on that day. Some people use the same talents from prelims, some do not. It is really on the person and what the judges see.

Registration was noon on the 5th of March. We would check in, draw our numbers and the promoters of Nationals-Devin and Gage would give a speech about being at Nationals. (Levi told me that part) But sure enough, he was right about that. The “best in the country” and “honored that so many were able to make the journey” The journey was 22 hours by driving but it also took me three prelims, thousands of miles across the country to be there.

The way preliminary nights work is that divide us into groups. This year, there are four groups. Day 1 group 1 and 3 do interview and evening wear, and groups 2 and 4, compete in prelim talent. On Day 2, it is the reverse, group 2 and 4 compete in interview and evening wear, and group 1 and 3 compete for talent. I drew contestant number 13, group 3. So, on day one, I would knock out two of my categories.

Once I knew my position, it was time for me to head back to the hotel, and Sara De La Hoya, my makeup artist, did my natural makeup and my hair in a bun. I wore my black and red suit, tights, and heels. It looked very professional, and some of the other girls were dressed similarly. I went into interview, and I still had nerves. I remember talking about my journey (doing three prelims, trying to feature myself, and so on). I also was asked questions about the USofA system-how the scoring works, etc. I felt like that was one question that I knew well. After my interview, I had to rest a bit and then prepare for evening wear that night. My evening wear was purple iridescent gown, that my drag sister Jackie and I stoned fully. I mean, it was a lot of work to stone that gown. And as expected, it looked stunning on stage. In fact, I even had the matching jewelry and shoes. I stoned the shoes and Jackie and I did the gown. It was stoned with ab crystal stones and I was so glad that I decided to do that. I ended up wearing that gown and even though it was not “creative” it was so gorgeous, and it fit me well, minus a few things that could have been altered, but we ran out of time to do so. My evening gown music was “Halo” by Beyoncé. I ended up being cinched to the Gods. I modeled the gown, walked the runway and did one last model before finishing my gown category.

After gown, I changed in my walkaround dress and I could enjoy the rest of the pageant, the remaining entertainment as well as group 2 and 4’s talents.

After the pageant, we were finished by midnight, and ended up going to Steak and Shake for a late-night dinner. It was delicious and after that we were exhausted and ready to head back to the hotel, for tomorrow would be yet another busy day.

Day 2

Day 2 started off with talent soundcheck, as I had talent on Day 2.  I witnessed so many wonderful talents during the rehearsal. I marked my talent, to save my energy for that night’s show. I will say that Nationals is exhausting. A few tips: If you’re a

Diva/Mi or any pageant contest, please make sure you eat a good meal, get a good night’s sleep and DRINK LOTS OF WATER. You will sweat a lot, especially backstage. I hardly ate on Day 2 and but I was able to eat a couple sandwiches after going back to the hotel room. Then, it was time to be painted for prelim night two for talent. Sara did my makeup for talent, and I had plenty of time to “enjoy the show” while I waited for my turn. After evening wear and several talents, it was my turn.  My talent was the same, as before, the SNL skit, and it went well, at least in my opinion. A few of my press-on nails flew off during my number. I mean, even with super glue, it can happen. Nothing is truly fool-proof. After everything was finished, night two was over. And it was time for another night of rest, before final night.

Final Night

Final night day, they had a luncheon and announced prelim night awards. I unfortunately did not receive any awards in my group. But having group or category awards prelim night does not guarantee you a place in the top 12. So, for all of you are wondering how scoring works as far as final night and prelim nights go. Prelim nights are cumulative Each judge can give 1-12 points in evening wear/talent and the most one can receive total is sixty points (a perfect score) . In talent each judge can give 2 to 24 points. The max you can receive total is 120 pts (which is a perfect score). It’s based on everything the judges look for in each category. The highest and lowest scores are dropped as well.On final night, however, you are judged against your competitors. Final night is comparative. So, for example, if a judge has you 1st in talent, you will receive 24 pts from that judge. Sometimes they agree, sometimes they do not. It truthfully depends on the judges.  

Comparative  Scores

Talent  (2-24 from each judge)

Evening  Wear (1-12)

 1st  24 pts

1ST  12 pts

 2nd  22 pts

2nd  11 pts

 3rd  20pts

3rd  10pts

 4th  18 pts

4th  9 pts

 5th  16 pts

5th  8 pts

 6th  14pts

6th  7 pts

 7th  12 pts

7th  6 pts

 8th  10 pts

8th  5 pts

 9th  8 pts

9th  4 pts

 10th  6 pts

10th  3pts

 11th  4 pts

11th  2pts

 12th  2 pts

12th  1pt

Of course, your final score is based overall, from all judges. It doesn’t mean you’re “bad” because you get 12th at Nationals. It just means on that day, someone was better but you made the top 12. However, there are some exceptions, in classic, where pageants are “one night only” they end up using the comparative-as they are competing one night. If there are 14 contestants then it’d be 1-14, 2-28, I think.  And for Diva 2020 Nationals, there would be only one night, but we shall get to that later.

On Final night, during the day, we have a quick presentation rehearsal, then we get two minutes to mark the stage in case, we make finals. We were instructed to come in our presentations and leave our “final night” package in the car, if we make finals.

Turns out, I did not make top 12 at Nationals. Was I upset? Disappointed? Could I have done better? Yes, yes, and yes. However, this year, truly was a trying year, as I reached my goal-I went to Nationals and represented well. I would watch the top 12 battle it out and in the end Seduction Dickerson won, with Ruby Scott (from Texas, yay) 1st alternate and 2nd alternate went to Jamison St. James.

I knew I would take any critiques and apply to my next season. It was back to the drawing board and back to competing again for next season. One critique that I received from Tommie Ross was that I wasn’t “being myself” in my interview. I should’ve worn a dress, similar to what I wore in my talent. I wore a suit because that is what most people wear to interviews. But maybe that was a wrong approach. I’d soon learn that I need to be myself. Easier said than done. I looked professional, yes, and truthfully, none of my critiques in interview have been about wardrobe. That ended up being something I worked for next season-but again that ended my 2016-2017 season.

[yourtransgendersocialworker]

12.31.2019, On an Inside Scoop of a Mental Health Crisis

I’ve been thinking, lately, about how a person who is in the middle of a mental health crisis may have a very different perspective than those watching. I wonder what it may look like when those who experience a crisis together debrief the sequence of events. I tried to piece together my memories of my last mental health deterioration and verbalize how I felt and what I remember.  I experienced the entire thing. 

Before the night, I had been bad off for a couple weeks. I had a few triggering events which led me down a shame spiral. Over the course of about two weeks, I started to lose touch with reality. I felt very confused and embarrassed. I was struggling to pay attention and I couldn’t remember anything. Bad thoughts ran rampant. The voice inside my head was loud, non-stop and confident with suicidal ideation. 

It started when I posted a Facebook status. It was cryptic and vague, something like, “I don’t belong here anymore.” I don’t remember much about that night anymore, but I can imagine what it might have looked like. I posted that status and then I paced around the house in a panicky daze. Pacing around the house in a dissociate state was becoming a nightly routine*. My mind was on fire, so loud and certain with bad thoughts. I was in so much pain. 

People reached out on Facebook, asking if I was okay, but I didn’t respond. It was comforting to see the love and support but it was too overwhelming to engage with it all. Ryan called me and I didn’t answer his call. Theo’s mom texted me after I was asleep asking if I was awake. I didn’t see that until the morning so I did not answer. When I woke up, my friend texted me asking if I was okay, saying they didn’t want to have to come over if I didn’t answer. I texted back saying I was okay and they got mad that I posted that status online. 

Later I wrote a blog journal about how bad I was feeling and I reflected on my poor decision to post that Facebook status. I wrote about how it felt to be told to not post shit like that, about how it hurt and about how I shouldn’t worry people. I quoted what the friend had told me but I didn’t say her name. I wrote that I agreed and I talked about the right and wrong ways to ask for help and how scary it is to ask for help. 

Meanwhile, I am still in the middle of a mental health crisis. 

I go to the therapist’s office on a Friday. I tell him how bad I am feeling and I tell him how I would want to die. He tells me I can’t leave his office until I make safety plans with him. I texted my friend asking if I could stay the night at their house, or if they or their boyfriend would come stay the night with me because I was in my therapists office and he wouldn’t let me leave. My friend stopped texting back when I asked that. I made plans with Ryan to meet halfway between us, in Lexington, Kentucky. We both drove around 5 hours and stayed in a hotel for the weekend. We played Bible golf. I told him my thoughts about mental illness as a terminal illness and he spent the weekend trying to convince me to stay alive. I was so sure of myself and referred to myself in the past tense. Ryan said he felt like he was already grieving my death. I was happy we could do that together. 

I saw that my friend deleted me from Facebook. My other friend texted me the next day saying they were glad I was able to make a different plan. My family here was suddenly gone. I just continued to spiral. I left Lexington still determined to kill myself. I made it about a week.  I went to work but I couldn’t work and people were taking me on walks and I talked openly to my coworkers about my suicidal thoughts. Words would pour out of my mouth before I processed them, startling the both of us. The coworkers started talking to each other. Gwen and I hid in my office for a couple hours while she gently warmed me to the idea of seeking help. I was determined to kill myself. I couldn’t think straight but I knew things were bad. I eventually agreed to go. We went to my house and prepared a bag and prepared me for what was next. Gwen took me to the crisis center and we joked about the decorations on the wall and she came back for the assessment and reminded me to tell them my theory on terminal mental illness. 

I got sent to the same hospital I went to the first time. Staff remembered me and I remembered them. I spent 32 days in the hospital watching people come and go, 32 very lonely days without many visitors. I recognized the hospital kinships as structured and contained. I tried my hardest to understand what exactly had happened up until this point. I couldn’t wrap my head around losing my friend family and I began to question everything. Was I toxic, causing more pain than pleasure in my relationships? Was I worthless, worth leaving when I needed help the most? The only relief from self-interrogation was the anxious peace of my impending death. I realized I was living my last days and that was comforting. I did 16 rounds of shock treatment and didn’t feel any different. 

I came back home and tried to piece my life together. Nothing had changed. I couldn't trust myself or anyone else. I still had no idea what was real and what wasn't real. I still didn’t understand what warranted the abrupt abandonment of my support network. I read a lot of books and prepared myself for death. I stopped telling people my plans. I did research. I cried hysterically to the Nurse Practitioner and she hugged me and referred me to an outpatient program.

I started intensive outpatient treatment and I told them about my terminal mental illness and they cried and increased my time to partial hospitalization. I made a couple friends and got along well with the staff. I made connections and I made granola and I made a mask. It felt good but I knew it wasn’t the real world. I talked a lot about suicide and the therapist tried to respect my thoughts while also trying to convince me to stay alive. I thanked the therapist for trying so hard and I told them how I was going to kill myself. People reminded me that a couple weeks ago I said I was doing okay but I couldn’t remember that. 

I started back at work. I didn’t arrange any more therapy. I have done enough and I know another person isn’t going to change my life. I am here now. I am tired. I sleep most of the day. I don’t move very much at all. I worry that my friends feel obligated to reach out to me. I want to be a kind friend but I don’t want to spread my dark energy. I am more calm than usual. I'm moving a lot less so there is less about my reality to question. I still feel the same. I'm not talking about it as much because there is no point.

————

Since writing that last paragraph, I was in a bad car accident. The morning after, I called the numbers I had memorized, my mom, Ryan and Theo, to ask for help getting a ride home from the Emergency Room. I was covered in blood and positioned casually in the waiting room for someone to come claim me. My supervisor picked me up and I vomited in her car and dribbled blood onto the passenger door. Friends showed me they cared for me. Kiley drove from Illinois and stayed with me over Christmas. Her presence in the midst of my hardest time reaffirmed my ability to connect and share loving-kindness. The news of a suicide brought reflection and pain. The lens shifted. 

2019 was incredibly hard. It’s right up there with 2009 as the hardest times so far. I’ve learned a lot about family- the word, the concept, the reality. I’ve learned about true friendship and true love. I’ve learned I’m not always to blame. I’ve learned that despite all of the dark, I am still filled with love. I’ve learned that growth isn’t a synonym for progress. You can grow into an ugly thing. I know one thing to be true- I have not turned ugly.

This decade tried its hardest to destroy me and towards the end, I eagerly chipped in. I’m not one to hold weight to the date changing, but it feels like the right time for me to try again. 

_____

*Try to explain the spiral of depression and dissociation. 

It usually starts with feeling ashamed or embarrassed about something.

You come home from work and you start to panic. You think to yourself, “Be gentle with yourself. If you’re tired, just sit on the couch.” You sit on the couch and feel like a waste for not being productive. Your mind is on fire and you can’t think about anything. You are overwhelmed with static noise. Your legs shake and you scroll through your phone so much that it tells you there is nothing left to look at. You start to think about dying. You get up but you don’t know what to do so you smoke a cigarette and look at your unfinished projects. You wash your hands and stumble back to the couch, the cigarette being just enough of a distraction to trick you into thinking you actually did something. You zone out. You watch the house dirty around you, let things pile up. You start to move through space differently. The air feels thick and your body moves in slow-motion. You start to feel like you are looking at a “Magic Eye.” Your eyes are out of focus all the time and they blur and shift throughout the day. You cry often and uncontrollably. It does not feel like a release, but like you are made of clay and you are cracking. You realize you’re not paying attention to anything anymore. You think about killing yourself every free second you have. You think about the act of killing yourself, you think about your funeral, you think about your dog, you think about your family and your friends. You think about everything you’ve done in the world. You think about everyone you love. You think about the idea of a good future. You know what you’ve got to do. You think things through and come to the same conclusion after each hypothesis you try out. You can’t hear your friends speaking to you anymore because you are thinking through everything. People are talking to you but you are wild inside and trying to hide it as best as you can but you can't hide your suicidal ideations when you are telling everyone goodbye. You surprise yourself with the things you let pour out of your lips. You aren’t answering messages anymore. That's too much. You feel a sense of peace and determination. You know you need to be brave and you are worried about that. And that is where it whisks off.

[insatiabletc]

This is Papi Edwards, a 20 year old person from Indianapolis, Indiana. Since their murder, it has been unclear whether Papi identified as a man or woman at the time of their death and there has been confusion on what their pronouns are. To cover all bases, Papi will be referred to in this piece with they/them pronouns. Additionally, you may be wondering why we chose this specific image of Papi to draw. While there is another image of Papi on the internet showing them with long hair and makeup it is a mugshot. Because the police in this case have been so dismissive of Papi and their gender, we wanted to select an image that Papi had control over. This is the only image we could find that Papi took themselves.  

It has been hard to find information about who Papi really was – their likes, dislikes, personality, dreams, and hopes. Outside of this one chaotic and tragic event, Papi seems currently unknown to the internet. We can say for certain, though, that Papi had friends, a family, and people who miss them. They were a human being.

Whether or not Papi identified as a man or a woman, their gender queerness did play a role in the events surrounding their murder. While the timeline of events is confusing, the transphobia of the Louisville Kentucky police force bleats out amid the noise. Even if Henry Gleaves didn’t expressly say “your gender identity is why I am going to kill you,” it likely did impact the police investigation. Please remember as you read the following details that Papi was a complex individual, just like you.

According to an article in Yes! Magazine, “The Human Rights Campaign has estimated that trans women are 4.3 times more likely to become homicide victims than all women, and the vast majority of the victims are Black”* Since 2016, the number of trans women of color who have been murdered has increased.

The Facts of the Case

On January 9th, 2015, Papi Edwards and several friends stopped in at a hotel in Louisville Kentucky, to earn some money before completing their journey back to Indianapolis, Indiana. Papi posted an ad on a website advertising sex services and Henry Gleaves responded, and the two arranged to meet up at the hotel. In the ad, Edwards suggested they were a woman.

Gleaves told his family that he was headed to the hotel to apply for a job. Once at the hotel, Gleaves and Edwards, accompanied by Edwards’ friends, went into a hotel room and Gleaves gave Edwards $50 for a blowjob. Shortly after, Edwards’ friends left the room. Once the blowjob commenced, Gleaves “found out” that Edwards was trans. Gleaves became upset and Edwards’ friends came back into the hotel room.

The defense says that Edwards and their friends attacked and mocked Gleaves, hit him with a sock full of heavy cans, and robbed him of his car keys and his cash.

The prosecution says there is no evidence of a robbery or assault.

Gleaves left the hotel room and went to his car to grab a gun. He then returned to the front desk to continue filling out his job application. It is unclear where Edwards or their friends were at this point. After a bit of time, Gleaves saw Edwards and friends go through the lobby and into the parking lot.

The defense says Gleaves wanted to take down their license plate number to give to authorities.

The prosecution and witnesses say that Gleaves was waiting in the lobby to ambush them.

Gleaves yelled at the group, and seeing Gleaves, Edwards tossed car keys (it is not specified if these are Gleaves’ keys) to a friend and turned back with a sock full of cans to face Gleaves and began to enter the lobby. Gleaves shot Edwards multiple times and fled the scene.

Four days after the shooting, Gleaves was found hiding in his girlfriend’s closet. After his initial arrest, Gleaves called his girlfriend and asked her to destroy evidence on his phone. How do the police know this? Because it was a call from jail the conversation was recorded.

In 2016, Gleaves was found guilty of manslaughter, as the jury felt his shooting of Edwards was done in some sort of self-defense.

Self Defense

We always feel a little icky questioning self-defense, as we are aware of how complicated self-defense can be. However, there are so many lingering questions about this case, and we wish we could have seen the trial transcript for ourselves. Unfortunately, documents are not available to the public as far as we can tell.

So, here are our big questions:

·       The defense painted Edwards’ sock of cans as a menacing tool for robbery. Another interpretation is that Edwards used this as self-defense when meeting with unknown clients. Based on how dangerous sex work can be, we find that to be plausible. Why is Gleaves’ gun only interpreted as a method of self-defense and not a menacing tool for murder?

·       If Gleaves followed the group out to the parking lot to “get their license plate number” to report them to authorities…why didn’t he call 911 immediately? Sources do not say how long he spent filling out that application and getting his gun from his car, but it seems like enough time would have passed for him to call the authorities. We understand that calling the police is not always a safe option for people of color, but he was planning on calling them anyway! Was he thinking that he would report the crime anonymously later? We think that actually could make sense, as maybe Gleaves was worried about being prosecuted for engaging in prostitution.

·       Why didn’t he report the robbery to the front desk? Were there people at the front desk? Did he have to request the job application from a human? Maybe he really did want a job at the hotel and thought the whole event would taint his chances at being hired. Though, Gleaves did tell authorities that he just filled out the application to keep up appearances for his family.

It appears that there are a couple of points in the timeline where Gleaves was ramping up the conflict. If he wanted to get the group’s license plate number to later report the robbery, why did he yell? He could have quietly watched what car they got into and jotted down the number. It seems like Gleaves was instigating a response from Edwards.

 The Investigation & Dwight Mitchell

Dwight Mitchell was (and is) the spokesperson for the Louisville Kentucky police force. Here are some quotes from Mitchell on Papi Edwards:

“As far as I am concerned, that was a man that was shot. It was always a man…It’s obviously a man, right? He doesn’t have a female name. I am not going to get into a debate about if he was transgender or not.”

Mitchell also referred to being trans as a “condition.” **

Why does Mitchell’s opinion on Edwards’ gender matter?

If you are someone who feels well represented and respected by your local authorities, imagine if that local authority’s spokesperson denied and mocked your existence. Imagine asking for help from an organization that says your identity is a “condition.” Imagine how alienating that would be. This is a message, intentional or not, to trans people that they are not seen. That their reality is denied and denigrated. This matters because Papi was a sex worker, and sex workers are already operating with the assumption that the police are not there to help them. When members of society feel that they cannot trust its institutions, they become more vulnerable to those that society does accept. Our words and how we use them matter, especially when speaking as the voice for many.

When Edwards’ murder was first being investigated, a witness told authorities point-blank that Edwards was murdered because they were trans. The witness said Edwards was shot directly after saying “I’m a tranny.”*** Despite this information, Louisville police not only refused to say it was a hate crime (we’ll explore that in a second) but also refused to say Edwards was trans and that gender was a factor in their murder. Even though they had a witness telling them that was the motive. In fact, video was leaked to the media of a witness explaining this clearly to an officer and the officer verbally affirming that he understood the witness to be saying that Edwards’ gender was key in the murder. This video was taken before Mitchell uttered the above quotes.

Why wouldn’t the police bureau admit gender was a factor in the crime? In a Buzzfeed article about the case, it was mentioned that Kentucky lacks a hate crime law that covers gender. Maybe officers were trying to paint a specific picture of the crime for better prosecution? What doesn’t make sense though, is that a hate crime does not need to occur for a murder to be prosecuted. So why shy away from and deny the gender aspect of the murder?

We are dismayed that Mitchell is still acting as a spokesperson for the Louisville police department and we were unable to ascertain whether his views of gender have changed. For the good of the Louisville community, we hope so.

*taken from this article: https://www.yesmagazine.org/social-justice/2019/11/12/black-trans-women-pay/

**Quotes taken from this article:  https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/dominicholden/evidence-contradicts-police-account-of-possible-anti-transge#.wcNq26PaR 

***Why didn’t we include this information in the timeline? Well, this witness later changed their story about the events once the case got to trial. It is included here, however, as the authorities did not know the timeline at the start of the investigation.

 Want to Learn More about Missing and Murdered Trans Women of Color? Here are some great sources that we have come across:

·        The Trans Obituaries Project: Honoring the Trans Women of Color Lost in 2019 (USA - obituaries written by Raquel Willis, illustrations done by Jacob Stead): https://www.out.com/print/2019/11/20/trans-obituaries-project-honoring-trans-women-color-lost-2019#media-gallery-media-1

·        The Human Rights Campaign: https://www.hrc.org/blog/topic/transgender

[rapunzel-withthegoodhair]

City & Ghost

pairing: shawn mendes x ofc (narrated second person, reader) summary: maybe he shouldn’t call you. but maybe you shouldn’t pick up.  playlist: listen while reading rating: pg-13 (alcohol abuse, swearing, infidelity, older female/younger male, etc)  word count: 5639 status: complete / one-shot

author’s notes: just for clarification, my ofc is 27 in this story to shawn’s 20. not an impossibly crazy difference but enough to throw some hurdles in (especially since she’s married). click the ofc link for more info about Holland :) 

I look in the mirror past the buildings, The sky’s getting light Another piece of my innocence Is the admission I paid there tonight Though it makes me sick, and I imagine her saying “You’re better than this…”

                                                        ///

Nine minutes after midnight and your phone nearly vibrates right off the kitchen counter.

He’s got his own ringtone so you know when it’s safe to answer. The rational part of your brain says, ‘Damn girl just block his number. Have some mercy on the boy. Let him move on. Force him to move on.’ Only one problem with that…you’re weak for him too.

It doesn’t matter tonight though. Alec is in San Diego and the only person you’re cleaning up after is yourself.

“Hey…” It’s all you can think of to say. Maybe you should applaud him for the whole month he took this time in between calls. Maybe you would, if it hadn’t been excruciating. If your stomach wasn’t doing swimmer’s backflips over having him reach out for you again.

“I miss you.” You know immediately that he’s wasted out of his mind. ‘Isn’t he always?’ Your mind echos back. It’s an unfair statement, because he’s only 20 and he’s on tour and why would he call you sober. But lately it’s a little too true.

“I miss you too, baby boy…” God, you wish the words were a lie, dripping from your lips only for his sake. But they’re not. There’s a rusty metal ache in your skin that’s almost too much at times. Like a hangover no pill will fix. “Yeah?” Doubt is strung up in his voice like christmas lights. It’s been so long, he doesn’t believe you. Not anymore. It’s like a knife slashed across your ribs to hear him hurt, knowing you’re the reason why. “What do you miss?”

Your teeth tug at your lip. You should not be having this conversation. You should not be lighting that flame in his heart again. But fuck, it’s such a relief to confess the words to someone. Anyone. Even if it’s just him.

“I miss…waking up at four am to you playing piano.” That morning comes back to you with stunning clarity. He’d tried so hard to be quiet, but his inspiration had been a hungry mistress,  sinking her teeth too deeply into that beautiful skin to be ignored. You’d never been able to find any anger or annoyance in your heart over it though, despite the sleep lost.

                                                       ///

You thought Alec’s snoring was annoying. But apparently, Shawn just doesn’t sleep at all.

It’s a little worrisome. Friday night, the non-profit you work for had hosted a charity Gala. Not only had Shawn played at the event, but the next day he’d shown up at the high-profile, private meet and greet that had been offered as an incentive for ‘diamond tier’ donors, (so they could bring their rich little brats to ooh and ahh over him as well). And later that evening he’s scheduled to play Allstate Stadium. He needs to rest. But for the second night in a row, you’re waking up to piano notes being plucked from the stars while Chicago still sleeps.

You barely know him. Only met him at the Gala. But you don’t know how to cut him loose and your husband is in Houston; won’t be home until Monday night.

You’re madly in love with Alec. Never would’ve married him if it weren’t true (not that the money hurts…). Loyalty has never been a question in the past. Just the thought of another man touching you has always turned your stomach. But…Shawn needs you. And maybe you need him too. Not because anything has been missing. But because your light refuses to turn away from his. It’s instinctual. Something beyond choice or reason.

Leaning in the corridor entryway, you watch his body shift along to the music he’s creating. His strong shoulders beat out a rhythm in lieu of drums. He’s singing so softly and you can tell it’s tearing him apart just a little. To try and keep the beast of raw creativity that beats inside him on a leash.

And I won’t be a product of my genre My mind will always be stronger than my songs are Never believe the bullshit that fake guys feed to ya Always read the stories that you hear on Wikipedia And musically I’m demonstrating When I perform live, feels like I am meditating

Wandering across the living room, you can’t help the smile tugging at your mouth. He’s so fucking beautiful. And it’s not his pale, milky skin. Or his adorable curls. Or even those sexy brown eyes. It’s not his tight abs or his thick arms or his strong back. It’s the light that pours out of him, like a cup running over. The passion for music and life rattling through him like a wooden-track roller coaster. The raw, unbroken way he still looks at the world and smiles. Still feels hope. Still wants more. You’re not sure when you lost that light…but at twenty-six years old, you’re already terrified it might never come back. Maybe it’s that fear that makes it feel as if…walking away from him would be the end of you. Because this is the most alive you’ve felt in years.

You watch him and you wonder, ‘is this how Hades felt when he first saw Persephone…?’

Arms sliding over his shoulders and around his neck, you lean to kiss along his jaw and cheek. Grin when you feel his own smile, almost too wide for his pretty face, matching yours. Despite his happiness at your touch, you feel his muscles tense. He’s so used to being told who to be. Where to stand. What words to say. Which camera to smile into. He’s already bracing himself for the inevitable. Already waiting for you to tell him to keep it down. To go back to sleep.

“Sing it louder, baby.” You whisper into his ear, still smiling hard as your arm stays draped across his chest. “We own the whole floor. Ain’t nobody gunna hear you but me.” You rarely let anyone hear your Kentucky accent. No one is supposed to know your tragic backstory. Not here in the city. Least of all, what’s sure to be a weekend fling with some teen heartthrob superstar you’ll never see again. But you can’t seem to help it. Around him, the refined lady you’ve worked so hard to become slides instinctively back into the Harlan County wildflower you grew up as.

His smile grows until his eyes nearly disappear and the boy leans to steal a soft kiss.

“You sure? S’four in the morning.” His chuckle is low in his chest as he nuzzles at your soft skin. Like a puppy reassuring himself is pack is still there. “Don’t wanna annoy you ‘n get kicked out.”

Shaking your head slowly, your hands gently tip his head back. Dust a kiss to his nose, then in between his eyes. Something about the way he relaxes so completely in your arms, his features euphorically neutral as if he’s just spent a day at the spa, making you feel as if you hung the damn sun in the sky.

“Wanna hear you fuck that shit up.” You flash him a wide smile that he returns without hesitation. Scritching at his hair playfully, you head to the kitchen. He’s been in your line of vision for nearly 48 hours and you’ve hardly seen him eat a thing. But not here, not on your watch. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

I’m still the same as a year ago But more people hear me though According to the myspace and youtube videos I’m always doing shows, if I’m not I’m in the studio Truly broke, never growing up call me Ruffio Melody music maker Reading all the papers They say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator ‘Cause you need me, man, I don’t need you

The Ed Sheeran song sounds good like this. Slowed down and smokey wrapped up in his tired voice. The lyrics are cocky but his passion is too damn infectious, his talent too explosive, for it to come off as anything other than fun (besides, you think to yourself, what’s wrong with a little confidence if you can walk your talk?). Brewing a strong pot of coffee to share, you’d made a whole pan of  scrambled eggs with bacon. Watched him play until the sun was peeking out over Chicago’s skyline to greet you. Then cuddled on the couch as you fed him. Until his fatigue finally started winning rounds. He’d fallen asleep on top of you, his ribs on your stomach as your hand caressed up and down along his spine. Humming softly in his ear, your eyes drifted back to the piano.  

You’d never cared about that stupid grand, had been annoyed at Alec just for buying the overpriced centerpiece to your penthouse living room when neither of knew how to play. It had sat there, doing nothing but collecting dust and looking pretentious. Until it came to life under Shawn’s fingers. Just like you…                                                       ///

“Hmm…wrote a good song on that beauty.” You can’t help but smile at the sound of his own smirk. Every atom in your body had screamed at you not to listen when his new album had dropped. But you had anyway. And your heart had slammed into your chest when you’d heard the chords he’d composed hidden behind your walls first.

“Yeah, you did… proud’a you, you know.”

A long pause follows and you think you hear him swallow. Maybe he doesn’t know…

“Say it again?”

Eyes falling closed, a quiver shakes your bottom lip as you fight the tears. God, he sounds so broken. Over the past year, you’ve spent…maybe nineteen or twenty days together in total. Every time you tell yourself it’s the last time. But then he calls… and you love Alec so fucking much… but…

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby. I mean it. There’s too much damn talent burnin’ through you. Watching you perform is like… watching a meteor shower.”

Quiet again. But this time the background clinking of glass on glass seems to suggest he’s doing his best to fight off the creeping edges of sobriety. You can just picture him in the dark of his hotel suite, curtains drawn so he can see the city lights. Still wearing whatever he went out in after his show. Hands shaking as he pours himself another round from the mini bar.    

“If you went out onto the roof right now…could you see the stars?” Lord, he’s so drunk. He grew up near enough to a city. He should remember damn well you can’t see the stars uptown.

Leaning over a bit to scratch your leg, you chew at your lip. You know where he’s going with this. You’re still pathetic enough to want to fall down the rabbit hole.

“Probably not. City’s the same as it ever was…”  

“Oh…yeah.” Disappointment drags his voice down into the gutter. “Would you go out anyway? We could just… be under the same sky?”

You’re not sure that’s how it works. According to the pictures on Instagram, he’s in Miami. You’re in the Midwest. Technically, you’d be staring out at two different expanses of space. But you’d do anything for him. And the lie sounds so sweet.

“Course, baby. Always.” Standing, you move to grab a sweater and some shoes. Then cross the room to the penthouse elevator that leads to the roof. That’s yours as well and you’d been in charge of its renovation when Alec bought the place. A small garden sits up there, along with a modest pool and stone fire pit. The accent features play host to the ghosts you try not to look in the eye. But walking outside invites them in like a séance.

                                                      ///

Your hand is in his dragging him up the stairs. Sure you could take the penthouse elevator, but racing down the hall and then up the maintenance stairwell is more fun. The door bursts open and the wind blows you around a bit, your own inertia sending you both spinning until you nearly fall over.

“And this! Is my pride ‘n joy. I designed all this. The garden ‘n the pool. Firepit.” He stands behind you, arms around your shoulders, kissing your cheek as you point out each feature. In the distance, Lake Michigan glints under a breathlessly breezy summer day.

You had planned out the roof carefully. Each feature exists in its own space and yet in harmony with the others. You enjoy showing the place off. All your friends have sexy, sleek uptown apartments. None of them have anything this unique. This tangible and sensory driven. Every new set of eyes laid on the place always mindlessly ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s over the space. If they’re feeling extra obnoxious, they might throw out a few technical design terms they picked up from HGTV. You expect Shawn to do the same.

But somehow, he sees the puzzle. Puts the pieces together quicker than anyone else.

“Earth, water, fire… I guess Lake Michigan takes care of the wind.”

“Clever boy.”  Impressed, you match his smile and slowly nod. Absently, your fingers toy with his much longer ones and your head rests back against his chest as both of you take in the city. “I guess those things have always felt the most real to me. The five elements.”

“Five?”

“Mm,” You tug on your lip, trying to remember how elegantly your grandmother had explained it. “Element of spirit. None of it means anything if it’s not alive. It’s the energy we borrow from the universe that allows any of the elements to connect. To borrow from one another. Feed one another. Find one another. Love one another.”

“So…up here….you’re the spirit element?”

Your head quirks and you turn in his arms. Quiet surprise hangs in the air between you for a long string of moments…before your arms finally curl around him. Tilting your head back, you scritch your nails lightly, affectionately across his back. A smile slowly pulls at your lips.

“How’d you figure that out, pretty boy?” It’s overwhelming enough that he’s so beautiful. So full of life. Bursting at the seams with talent and passion. Confusingly good. And so disarmingly vulnerable. The fact that he also understands you effortlessly is near impossible to wrap your head around.

A shrug falls from his broad shoulders and he nuzzles at your nose. He has the best view in Chicago to feast on, but his focus is locked on you. Fingertips brushing down your cheek, they slide up into your hair. In an attempt to curb the game of twister Chicago’s wind is playing with it, his fingers curl around the long strands gently, then fist just enough to clasp it all in place. You’re forced to stand closer to him as a side effect, but you’ve suffered far worse.

“That’s so beautiful. That you refuse to let the city take that away from you.” It’s the first time anyone has seen through your ‘perfectly manicured uptown midwestern wife’ charade. The first time anyone’s suspected that maybe there’s still some part of you bucking against the saddle. Alec has always taken care of you. But Shawn is in your blood, undressing your soul instead of just your body.

Reaching up to grip his neck, you pull him down into a warm, deep kiss. Push open his hoodie and rest your body against his. How the hell he’d sorted the secret language of you was still a mystery. But that was the moment you knew you loved him.

                                                      ///

“You know I’m gunna be in Chicago next week…” “Are you?” The sirens go off in your brain as you lean against the cement edge of your rooftop. ‘Absolutely not. You need to leave him alone.’ This isn’t even about staying loyal to Alec. Shawn deserves everything you can’t give him. Deserves a girl his own age. Someone who is available to anoint him in love every minute of every day like it’s holy oil and she’s his priestess. Keeping him stitched into your bone marrow is thievery. You’re stealing time he should be spending happy, with some pretty young thing as full to bursting with energy as he is.

“You still in the city?” “Yes, love. I’m right here, hmm? Same place you left me.” You feel like an undergrad at Northwestern all over again, listening to your drunk friends ramble in nonsensical circles as they stumble back towards sobriety.

“Didn’t leave you…” He’s pouting like a puppy, but your voice stays even and gentle. Patient as ever. Maybe the one advantage your age gives you with him is maturity. What might stir up a fight with a hormonal teenager, is just another chance to soothe him for you.

“You know that’s not what I meant, sweet boy. I know you’d never leave me. Not… not really.” What the fuck is wrong with you? How long is it going to be until this story shows up in the headlines. Before everyone else sees just how sick and cruel and pathetic you really are.

“I wanna see you. Tell me I can see you.” You hear a sliding glass door open and wind hits the receiver in small gusts. He’s always been a sucker for a balcony. You’re fairly certain he can’t see the stars either, but you’re almost certain you hear ocean waves in the distance. 

“Baby…” One little word. You don’t mean for it to sound so loaded.

“You don’t want to? …Say it out loud then. Tell me you don’t want to see me and I’ll leave you alone.” There goes that pride again, trying to eat him whole from the inside out. He’s the sweetest boy in the world. But every now and then, when he’s stressed and lonely and drunk, his insecurities swim in his blood like piranhas.

Slowly, you drag in a breath. He can’t possibly understand all the ways this is wrong. On fire with his own youth, he knows nothing but chasing desire. Burning regret to the ground as if feeling alive is his only religion.

“S’nothing to do with want, baby. Always want you.”

It takes a few moments of silence but he finally circles back. The edge has left his voice (he’s never known how to be an asshole for more than 10 seconds at a time) but he’s still stubborn as always.

“I know it’s not Alec. I know you don’t love him more.”

“But I do love him.”

“Not enough to quit me.”

His words are a slap to the face and sting just the same. Swallowing, you fight all the instincts you learned from your mother. Lashing out (Oh, grow up and make your own mind up then. You’re twenty not five). Deflecting (you’re the one who called me). Jabbing at weak spots he was vulnerable enough only with you to show (aren’t there a million other girls who’d come clean you up right now? Or boys?). As guilty as the age difference makes you feel… you’re thankful you didn’t meet him when you were twenty. What a disgustingly toxic mess that would’ve been.

Dragging in a deep breath, you rub at your temple. Remind yourself he doesn’t mean it as harsh as it sounds. That he’s just hurt and wasted and trying to prove a point.

“You gunna hold it against me that I’m weak for you too?” You hope he can hear the slight pout in your sad, soft voice. He must, because you can feel the sobriety sweep over him for a moment. Like heavy rain sweeping down into a valley.

“Then what the hell is it Holland?” The sigh falls off his lips more tired, more defeated than angry.

Sometimes, if you drink a little too much wine and think about it a little too long, this shit with him still breaks you down into tears. Sometimes you don’t know why. Your own husband has a whole decade on you. So why is Shawn’s seven years younger always giving you so much grief?

“I have no right to love you…”

“…I don’t understand what that means. Please don’t be self-righteous right now. You don’t… you don’t understand how hard this is without you. You have no idea how fucking… messed up I feel all the time.”

But you do. It’s how you two met.

                                                      ///

Each long evening gown that walks into the charity gala sparkles like a disco ball. The kitchen is buzzing with the refilling of trays and the fizzing of champagne. The donations are pouring in so fast, the attendants can hardly keep up with receipts. And, as usual, you are the spinning wheel of fortunes at the center keeping it all perfectly on track. St. Christopher’s is the largest non-profit foundation in the Midwest. Over the past six years, you’ve diligently worked your way up from undergrad intern to the Publicity Chair’s Executive Assistant. It doesn’t sound exciting but in the heart of a city as busy as yours, you’re essentially party planning for the elite. And honestly…it’s everything you ever wanted. Hell, this whole pop star performing at the Gala thing was your idea. Browsing the Allstate Arena’s schedule last year had led you to Shawn Mendes. Not for any particular reason other than the dates matched up nicely. He’d be in town for a show anyway and likely had the star power to generate enough interest. So you reached out.

Well, not to Shawn personally. Just his PR manager. But still, he’d agreed happily to stop by and you couldn’t be happier with how well he was working the crowd now. Taking pictures, signing autographs, navigating overpersonal questions with an impressively charming diplomacy. If he wasn’t already wildly successful at music, you’d have offered him a job on your team.

Dinner is served right on time, but neither you nor the night’s golden boy get to sit down or eat. You’re checking that dessert is being plated up in the kitchen and that trash is being rotated out fast enough. He’s up on stage, performing a few of his latest hits with his band. You’ve never heard his music before. Pop kind of isn’t your thing. The bluesy rock/folk you listen to is perhaps one of the last remaining hints that could give away your true roots as the granddaughter of a Kentucky coal miner.   

Aren’t you shocked when you march out of the kitchen, only to find him spilling his guts up on stage. A guitar crying in his hands, a microphone his voice is all but making love to. No pop in sight. Your steps slow to a dead stop. The guitar in his hands bleeds out a euphoric set of chords that break open your ribs and pool in your chest.

Nothing physically has changed. He’s still the same, tall dark and handsome kid that walked in two hours ago. No, the change is all you. You’ve woken up. You can see his cracks and all the light pouring out of them. As if he’s holding a nursery of stars inside his chest and their fire is barely contained.  

The powerhouse performance disarms your heart, shatters it into a million little pieces. But looking around, you can see… it’s not going over quite so well on the rich upper class of Chicago. This just isn’t their style. Most of them really only came for the signed photos they plan on giving to their spoiled ass children. And he’s used to working a crowd of teenage girls who hang on his every word. You can see his confidence faltering a bit. Hear his voice backing off from attempting to hit the harder notes. By the time the two-song set ends, he barely gets out a slightly shaky ‘thank you’ to respectful applause before he’s nearly bolted off the stage.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea to walk backstage right now. To check the kitchen and then the green room and then the men’s bathroom. You’re not meant to chase the deer once it runs from the headlights. And this isn’t just a party. You’re at work.

The excuses go on and on in your head. Rationalizing. Criticizing. But your steps continue down the hotel hallway once they’ve cleared the grand ballroom. There’s only so many rooms he could’ve ducked into and most of them are locked, with signs reading ‘employees only’. Your golden, satin ballgown billows behind you as you chase his trail. You couldn’t possibly have lost him. What’d he do? Book a room upstairs and check-in before you’d even gone searching?

Finally, you reach the entrance to the hotel pool. The gym. He’s not in any of those and this is where the hallway ends…What the hell? Head foggy with confusion and stomach turning with worry, you slowly circle back. You checked every single open door, didn’t you?

Suddenly, your adrenaline sharpened focus snags on a door you hadn’t noticed before. The family bathroom closer to the lobby. It’s nearly 10pm. No one will need to use this right now. You gotta hand it to him. Kid’s a genius.   

You find him sitting on the floor, shaking and sweating. Flushed and barely breathing. The sight of you seems to only make it worse and for a moment he tries hard to scramble up on his feet.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll…I’ll be right…right out…” God, he must think you’re here to drag him back. Seeing how unsteady his long legs are, you reach out and grip his arms.

“Hey…” Voice soft, you fight hard to regain your balance in your heels as his weight leans into you. Left without a choice, you slowly help him back to the floor. But this time, you ensure he’s sitting against the wall.

You suffered terrible bouts of anxiety before Alec. Therapy had never worked. The pills made you feel like a walking corpse. Your husband is the only thing that had truly gotten you through. It’s one of the things any marine learns. How to deal with stress at the most inconvenient times. How to pull someone out of their own head in seconds flat. Watching Shawn break down like this, it’s like holding yourself seven years ago and all you can think is that you want to be his Alec. Biting back tears, you fight to be strong for him as you pull one shaking, pale hand up to face your own.

“Can you name your fingers as I touch them?” His eyes fall from yours, the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He doesn’t know you. Not really. And you can see it in his eyes. The same doubt there was any hope you could truly handle this that you’d always felt. He’s honestly just hoping you’ll hurry up and get frustrated sooner rather than later. To just leave already so he can pick up these pieces on his own and not under the watchful eye of an older woman whose job is counting on him getting his shit back together. Very gently tipping his chin up so his eyes are forced back to yours, you touch your thumb to his own. “You know that, hmm? What’s the name of that finger?”

Your voice stays soft. Even and cool. Encouraging. The same river-bed voice your grandmother had used to comfort you before she’d died. Before you’d been left to fend for yourself against a manic-depressive, Oxy dependent mother. In all honesty, you’re a bit surprised. It’s been so long since your grandmother died and you had no idea you’d picked up the ability before now.

Slowly getting the breath back in his lungs, Shawn’s eyes find your hand and his. Seems to realize for the first time that he’s touching you.

“…Thumb…”  

A smile tugs at your mouth and you cup his cheek.

“Good. That’s so good.” Your pointer fingertip touches his own. “And this one?”

“P-pointer…” You nod and he follows each careful touch with a soft murmur. “Ring …index …p-pinky.”

Finding yourself proud of the boy, you flash him a smile. Lean to brush a kiss to his sweating temple. You can’t help but notice that his pupils, blown out a moment earlier, seem to be shrinking again. A good sign that he’s calming.

“That’s really good, love.” Shifting to sit down properly, you twine your fingers through his, hoping to give him an anchor.  “Can you tell me the color of my dress?”

He glances over. Swallows again. This one takes a little longer as his eyes trace the lines of the dress. He’s not stuck on the color. You can tell. He’s just trying to swim through a head flooded with adrenaline.

“Gold?”

“Mmhmm.” Squeezing his hand, you nod. “Close your eyes, sweetheart. Count three things you can hear.”

Resting his head back against the cool tile, he does as he’s told. Squeezes your hand after a moment to make sure you’re still there. Then finally focuses.

“H-hum of the AC…running water in the next bathroom…Phil Collins.” You both laugh softly at that. He’s not wrong. The hotel’s lobby loudspeaker system seems to reach even in here and you notice the song too now he’s said it.

Resting your own head back against the tile as well, you sing along softly under your breath. It’s not long before he’s doing the same, the distraction seeming to help.

You can tell from the lines on her face You can see that she’s been there Probably been moved on from every place Cause she didn’t fit in there Oh, think twice, 'cause another day For you and me in paradise

Turning to glance at him, you realize then there’s no getting him back into that ballroom. And honestly, you wouldn’t even want to. A switch in you has flipped. Work can wait. The influential elite of the city you’re trying to conquer can go fuck themselves. Nothing matters more to you right now than looking after him. You couldn’t explain where the all-consuming black hole came from. Or how it suddenly ripped open inside of you. It’s just there, undeniable and inescapable.

“Do you have anywhere you need to be, love?”

He shakes his head. Yawns and scoots closer. Suddenly, you wish he wasn’t so much bigger than yourself. Wish he was just the scared four-year old he looks like right now and you could scoop him up and wrap him in a blanket.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” You realize how it sounds the moment it jumps out of your lips. You’re sure a hundred girls must proposition him every day. Scared to freak him out further, you squeeze his hand and slowly help tug him up. “Just…you know, some food. A guest bed. Maybe just a few hours away from being ‘Shawn Mendes’?”

He gets through an eager nod and you help him over to the sink.   

“Mmk, why don’t you wash some cold water over your face, love? I’ll grab my things ‘n meet you in the back lot.”

It’s only as you’re turning to go that he works up any words.

“Holland? I…Thank you…” Leaning against the sink, his sweaty curls fall into his eyes. Slowly, he’s starting to look less like a lost child and more like himself again.

“You’re welcome, honey.” Your smile is soft, but full of warmth. You know exactly what he just went through. And to know you helped him pull out of that collapsing star makes you feel like the hero in a fairytale. The storybook princess who just saved the prince. “I’ll be right back for you.”

“I’ll be waiting.”   

///

“I know, baby…I know that…” Swallowing, you push away from the cement barrier of the rooftop. Rub at your forehead a bit as your manicured feet pace tiredly across the cement floor. “I’m sorry. I never meant to be vague or cryptic. I just meant…I can’t leave him for you. I can’t be what you need. I’m not good for you.”

“That’s not up to you.” He insists stubbornly.

“But it is. I’m seven years older than you, Shawn. It’s on me to make that call.”

“That is such bullshit, and you know it. I’ve been fucking…forced to grow up way faster than anyone else I know from the moment I stepped into Hollywood. I’ve been making more money than my parents since I was sixteen. I’ve been on tour since I was seventeen. And I haven’t stopped. I always fucking show up. Even when I feel like I’m walking around in a fucking corpse. I always do what has to be done. I always will. Do not tell me I don’t understand what I’m saying. My body is twenty years old. I’m not.”

Silence follows as his words sink like stones in the river of your bloodstream. You can’t argue with him there. It’s not fair for him to be forced into the responsibilities of an adult, only then to be treated like a child.

And the truth is… either way, you haven’t quite figured out how to truly deny him anyway.

“Text me the details of where you’ll be staying when you get here, yeah? I’ll…sort an excuse.”

“Well, you better pack a pretty big bag. ‘Cause once I have you, I’m not letting you go again.”

Shaking your head a how drunk he is, you laugh softly.

“Baby, please get some sleep, hmm? For me?”

“Mm mm. Stay on the phooone.”

God damnit. That pouty little baby voice is always so unfair. Sighing heavily, you consider threatening him playfully. Teasing that you’ll fly with Alec to New York next week if he doesn’t take care of himself. But that means you’d actually have to hang up.

“If I stay on the phone, you have to drink some water. And lay down. Promise?”

“…You’re really gunna let me see you next week?”

“Course, honey. Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Yawning deeply, you can all but hear him nod as his voice finally gives in to his body’s exhaustion. The wind interference clears as he heads back into his suite. A sigh of relief loosens from your chest. You’re never crazy about him being outside and up that high when he’s so drunk. 

“Mmk…water ‘n down.”

“Good, baby. That’s good… I love you, hmm?” Switching on your rooftop firepit, you slouch down into the armchair that gives you the best view of Lake Michigan in the moonlight. You’ll stay up as long he needs you to. Even if that’s sunrise. 

“I love you too, Holls… only you.”

[corruptedspacecore]

My Titanic Conference 2018 Experience and the Adventures Before and Afterwards: A Detailed Summary

Please Note: This is a long post with a red more break. Please click “keep reading” to see the whole thing, or you’ll miss a lot of stuff.

After 8 days of trains, cars, hotels, and conference sessions, my long trip to and from the Titanic Conference in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee is over. Before the trip, this was the general travel plan:

Red marks the Amtrak route, blue the car route. I would take Amtrak to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where I would meet up with colleagues of the Titanic: Honor and Glory project. I would then ride in a car with Tom Lynskey, Matt DeWinkeleer, and Tom’s fiancee Emma to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, where a 3-day Titanic conference was being held. Afterward, we’d all drive up to Chicago, where Matt would fly home and I, Tom, and Emma would take an extra day for Chicago for work related to the Eastland Disaster. After that, they would leave me and drive home to Pennsylvania again. The actual trip deviated slightly in a couple parts, however. There were many sights along the way, many new places for me, and a great Titanic experience.

Now, this will be extremely long, with many photos, so I’m confining most of this post to the read more section. Please click “keep reading” to see the rest. Now, here’s what happened...

On the afternoon of August 14th, I took the South Shore train from Northwest Indiana to Chicago, where I would then board Amtrak’s 50 Cardinal for Washington, D.C.

I decided to go in my new suit, partly because I wanted to look good, but mostly because I had no room in my bags for it. That was probably a mistake, though, as I would learn as I trudged through downtown Chicago on a hot day while trying to find an iPod charger at Staples and Target.

The South Shore itself offered a few nice views, ranging from greenery and suburbs to the gritty and small downtown of Gary, Indiana to the skyscrapers of Chicago, Illinois.

After hunting down a new iPod charger at a Target (because I forgot my tablet charger at home and didn’t realize it until I was on the train), I continued making my way through downtown to Union Station. I made a quick stop at Federal Plaza, with the famous Flamingo sculpture by Alexander Calder. In 2011, I was accosted by a guard, cop, or agent (not sure which) while I was taking photos of the sculpture. Supposedly the government frowns upon photography around Federal Buildings. Now, in 2018, I decided to try taking some more photos, plus a selfie. Nobody stopped me this time.

I then made my way past Willis Tower, its base surrounded by construction activity as they prepare to build a new mall at street level. The Chicago  River offered up a nice view with its historic bridges and green water.

The first thing I did when I got to Union Station was find food.

Chicago’s Union Station is a historic, old structure, and so it has lovely architecture, common among many old U.S. train stations.

Because I had a business class ticket on Amtrak, I was able to access Amtrak’s Metropolitan Lounge with a wave and a mark of the ticket. It’s newly redesigned and was a great, quiet place to relax until my train boarded.

The upper level of the lounge was especially impressive and relaxing.

Once on board the train, I could finally relax for the next 24 hours until D.C.

I ended up with a seat near the center service area, whose lights were always on and curtains always open, but that was remedied at sleep time with a hat, eye mask, and blanket over my face. After leaving Chicago, I attended dinner in the dining car, sharing a table with a couple of nice older people from different places. I got to talking about Titanic with them and it was quite a conversation.

Before trying to sleep, I had the run of the onboard lounge.

When you ride trains in America, you’ll come across many different scenes and cities. The first major city was Indianapolis, Indiana (above), which we got to right before I passed out.

The next major city we stopped in was Cincinnati, Ohio, which I happened to see after briefly waking up an hour into my sleep. While I slept, we also went through a couple towns in Kentucky, as well as Liberty, Indiana, once mentioned in an episode of Sherlock.

When I finally woke up early the morning of the 15th, I was greeted by the sight of Huntington, West Virginia (above).

As we made our way up the line, we also stopped and passed by Charleston, West Virginia, a nice little riverside city. Larger American cities are impressive, but there are many smaller ones that have their own lovely characteristics.

At one point, we stopped in the tiny town of White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia. Near the station was the entrance to the nearby Greenbrier golf resort, famous for being the site of the first golf course in America and the location of a formerly secret bunker designed to protect members of Congress and the government in the event of a nuclear attack.

As we made our way through West Virginia and then Virginia, the scenery outside was simply stunning. Rolling green hills and low mountains, the tracks sometimes cutting right through the rock with short tunnels.

Eventually, I sat down for breakfast; French toast and a breakfast biscuit. It was delicious, and there’s something to be said for eating breakfast while beautiful scenery goes by outside. I also tweeted the above photo of my breakfast, which was then retweeted by Amtrak’s official main account, so my breakfast became a little famous.

On our way through Virginia, we stopped at Charlottesville. I need not recount the events that occurred there nearly a year to the day (off by 2 days) in that city, but it was otherwise uneventful, I didn’t see any Tiki Nazis anywhere, and the city itself otherwise looked nice.

On our approach to Washington, D.C., we made a stop in Alexandria, Virginia. Pictured above is the George Washington Masonic National Memorial.

Our train then crossed the Potomac into Washington, D.C., offering a breathtaking view of the bridges and monuments.

Having arrived less late than expected, I decided to take a quick walk a couple blocks down to the U.S. Capitol Building. Before leaving, I had to admire Union Station...

Outside the station, I was blasted by hot, humid air. Still in my suit with a heavy backpack on my back and a rolling suitcase and camera bag to haul with me, I knew this wouldn’t be fun, but I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

You see the Capitol Building everywhere in media, in photos, on TV, in films, but you don’t appreciate the size of it, and its beauty, until you’re standing in front of it. It’s absolutely massive, and it’s a doozy to even walk half-way around. You also gain a greater appreciation for the history in this location. In the spot pictured above, a strange and debatable event occurred on January 21st, 1017. It’s also where our Presidential Inaugurations are held, the last one being on January 21st, 2013.

What’s a visit to D.C. without the obligatory tourist selfies?

I was also fortunate to be in D.C. at the perfect time of day. The sun was going down, casting a lovely warm glow on the white stone of the Capitol and other buildings, while giving the Washington Monument a dark silhouette and a sunset backdrop.

Hot, tired, sore, sweaty, and running low on time, I decided to go back to the station and find my next train. The train had other plans and was ultimately 1 hour and 30 minutes late. Once I boarded, though, the last leg of the Amtrak trip went by fast.

After going through Baltimore, Maryland in total darkness, the last city I saw before my arrivial in Philadelphia was Wilmington, Delaware. It was fitting as I would eventually learn that a major and important Titanic convention was held there some years back.

I arrived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania right at midnight, and took a few minutes to admire 30th Street Station while Matt searched for me and the others waited outside. I only had an iPod Touch for a mobile device and WiFi was impossible to come by here, so it made finding me a little difficult.

After picking me up and getting some food, we stopped off at a Red Roof Inn for the night, getting only a little sleep before an early start the next day.

Early morning, August 16th, we departed in a Jeep SUV thing for Pigeon Forge, a drive that would ultimately take 13 hours.

After leaving Pennsylvania and passing quickly through Maryland and West Virginia, making only quick stops, we found ourselves in Virginia, a state of both great beauty and endless driving. We decided to stop off at an antique store which turned out to be part-junkyard. It wasn’t a total bust, though; I picked up a lovely sparkling purple amethyst stone and a tube full of a variety of geologic samples. After that, we promised ourselves no more antique stores. They’re too tempting and will take all your money if you’re not careful...

After a short debate, we decided to break our own promise and get off the highway once more for the Rolling Hills Antique Mall in Harrisonburg, Virginia. We gave ourselves just 30 minutes (or was it 20?) to browse. Matt and Tom looked through several boxes of postcards they had, specifically looking for ships. They found some. I spent most of that time just wandering and looking around. While doing so, I spied a black and white cat meandering towards the front desk. His name was Tux and he was the resident cat and mouse hunter of the antique mall, popular with all who come in, oft-photographed, and cute and friendly as heck. Tux wasn’t the only surprise, however...

As time was running out and we were about to leave, I decided to look through the postcards myself after the other finished up with them. I found a few of ships I wanted, as well as a particularly nice one of the RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued Titanic’s survivors (and which my great-grandfather sailed to America on). And then I found it, a postcard of the RMS Olympic, One of Titanic’s sister ships, the first of the White Star Liners, on her maiden voyage arrival in New York. The writing on the back described it as such, and its postmark appears to say “1911″ for the year. Nobody I’ve talked to yet in the Titanic community has seen the photo before, which is a real photographic print. While it’s possible and likely that other copies may exist out there, it would seem this card and image is somewhat rare. I await further feedback to find out whether or not it really is anything special.

We left the antique mall and continued on, stopping for gas later on. Tom tried pranking me, making me think they had left without me (taking my postcards with them), but it didn’t work and I found where they parked right away. (Tom would later try the same prank again in Indiana, to no avail.)

Finally, we arrived in Tennessee and eventually Pigeon Forge. The Titanic Museum Attraction greeted us on our way to our hotel, the Spirit of the Smokies Lodge, where the conference was also being held in their conference room.

Matt and I shared a room on the 5th floor, the top floor, while Tom had trouble with his room. The room I was in had a great view of Pigeon Forge and the mountains beyond. After getting settled in, we headed down to a greeting session in the conference room where we met some people and gathered our conference materials, including badges and schedules. We then turned in for the night, ready to get an early start the next day, the first day of the convention, August 17th.

Sadly I was late getting ready and missed the first session about the Goldsmith Family. Others did, too, so I wasn’t alone. Once I got there, though, there were interesting things to be heard. A woman named Shelley Binder gave a talk about how a relative of hers was saved from the Titanic. Another named Julie Hedgepeth Williams gave a talk about the fantastic journey her relatives took before, during, and after surviving the Titanic sinking. I later got several books and items by them and signed by them. I missed part of another session (and would miss more later) due to some obligations to one of the guests we were there to also meet and talk to and my being the designated helper, but otherwise the first day went well. Between the earlier talks, we had lunch and hung out a bit.

Above, left to right: Myself, Matt DeWinkeleer, Matt Howell (a THG fan and one of three Matts), and Tom Lynskey.

After the main sessions were done, we started preparing for the roubtables; designated times where people have displays at tables and can share what they have with and talk with others at the conference. Ours primarily involved displays of prints we’re selling and a couple PCs with a big non-VR demo and a VR demo with Vive set up for people to try. It took a while to get our stuff set up and the big demo going, so Bill Willard, the host of the concerence, graciously offered to open up the room later that night so we could present our content.

The displays all set, everybody at the conference got dressed up and ready for a special dinner in the “secret dining room” at the Pigeon Forge Titanic Museum Attraction. It began with a presentation by the attraction’s co-owner, Mary Kellogg, a veteran executive of several major networks including Disney. Her 30 years of executive experience showed; the presentation about how the attraction came to be had a very corporate, business-y bent. Once that was done, we had dinner, which consisted of salad, chicken, and cheesecake, with a selection of wines, teas, and water. Not really my kind of meal, to be honest, but I did enjoy some of the cheesecake. Just to be there, though, was really nice.

After the dinner, we attended a musical performance by Shelley Binder in the music room, and then we all lined up on their Grand Staircase recreation for a group photo. (I’m in the blue suit with green tie.)

On our way out, I turned back for a quick shot of the attraction at night. The windows don’t appear to be lit, but it looked nice regardless.

Back at the hotel, quite a few people turned up for our late-night impromptu Titanic: Honor and Glory presentation. Above is one of those who stuck around, a woman named Cathy, along with myself (left), Tom, and Matt.

During the presentation, I showed off a special demo for the conference while Matt helped people try out the VR and Tom did some talking and filming. One thing he filmed was a video about an old type of stereo viewing device, a sort of black and white, static precursor to VR. Historian Bill Sauder talked on the subject, and I got to try it out, too. Several people tried out the VR itself, including Shelley Binder. It was a heartwarming experience for her, seeing, in virtuality reality, more or less what her relative on the Titanic would have seen.

We went very late, with people trickling out slowly as the night went on. It wasn’t until about 1 AM when we finally started shutting stuff down for the night and retiring to our rooms for some much-needed sleep. We were a hit.

The next morning, August 18th, we all gathered back at the Titanic Attraction for a group photo by the bow, and then headed inside with 2-day passes we received and toured the museum.

Photos weren’t allowed inside most of the museum, but they were in the last gallery, that of the famous Lego Titanic created by Brynjar Karl, an Icelandic kid with autism. I’ll be honest, the extent to which the autism element has been played up by both the media and the museum itself is at a cringe-worthy level, I imagine worst of all for anybody who has autism, but otherwise, the exhibit was really nice. I had seen the Lego Titanic before, watched the videos of it, but I had no idea just how massive it is. The photos do it no justice at all. I want to faint at the mere thought of the cost of all those Lego bricks.

After concluding our first tour of the museum attraction, we came away mostly of the opinion that, by the by, it’s actually not that bad. The guides who work there, I suppose like many Titanic museums and exhibits, and while they are restricted in what they can say by scripts and what management wants them to say, do have a passion for the Titanic that occasionally shines through.

Before leaving the attraction again, a bunch of us stopped for a group photo. From left to right: Matt Hughes (a THG fan), myself, Matt Howell, Matt DeWinkeleer, Tom Lynskey, and Emma.

At dinner later in the day, a bunch of us went to a huge buffet restaurant. From left to right around the table: Alan St. George (founder of Mascot company Facemakers and, first and foremost for us, a sculptor who creates stunningly lovely and accurate recreations of various Titanic decor elements, some of which are sold in the Titanic Museum Attraction), Shelley Binder (professor and descendant of Leah Aks, a Titanic survivor), Matt Hughes, Matt DeWinkeleer, Matt Howell, Bill Sauder (historian and draftsman), Jebediah (a young fan of the game and budding Titanic historian), a fella whose name escapes me honestly, myself, Tom Lysnkey, and Emma.

In the afternoon of the 18th, myself, Tom, and Matt gave a presentation about T:HG, showing some footage, previewing an improved sinking animation, and talking about our work, all of which was live streamed on Youtube. There were a couple more sessions after us, but we unfortunately missed them due to prior business obligations with someone at the conference. We went to that dinner once the talk was over.

Not content with depriving others and ourselves of sleep for just one night, we went late on the 18th, too. Like the night before, we presented the interior demo and had more people try the VR while Tom talked extensively about this and that.

In a particularly powerful moment that took all of us by surprise, one woman, upon glancing down at a railing in VR and seeing the wood grain on it, broke down into tears. The experience of seeing Titanic like that shook her so much, she had to leave for a while before coming back later to urge others to experience the VR for themselves. We were all left a little humbled and shaken after that. Still, the night went on.

Bill Sauder, one of our main consultants, also gave a short presentation on something he's working on. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you. Not those who were at the presentation, they’re fine.

The morning of the 19th, the conference had its last day. There was one last session, a remembrance, and closing statements. We all wore shirts honoring a group of people who all came from a small Irish town and were on the Titanic, and gathered for one last group photo at the end of the conference.

As people departed, I gathered a few signatures and talked more with Shelly. I ended up giving her a couple postcards I found, as one of them was far more special to her than it ever could have been to me. As more people left, we talked with the few who remained, including Alan St. George. Alan is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met and was a pleasure to talk to during the conference. He has a story that has its share of tragedy but is also full of love. He’s a fairly wealthy man, owning a successful company and an entire 60+ room castle in Illinois (which he has open to the public for tours), but he’s one of the most down to earth people you’ll meet, and we received some incredible gifts from him upon the end of the conference.

After leaving the conference, myself, Tom, Emma, Matt, and the two other Matts went for lunch, and after one of the Matts left, the rest of us took one more tour of the Titanic attraction before it closed for the day.

Inside, one of the tour guides had what could only be described as a fangirl moment. He’s a huge fan of Titanic: Honor and Glory, and watched all of our content, and was familiar with us from our videos. We spent a good while across a couple exhibits talking with him about various aspects of the Titanic and its history. Sadly he had to say bye and run off after a senior employee spied him talking to us and management appeared to chastise him for spending too much time with us. He was extremely nice and a truly enthusiastic individual for Titanic history, and I hope he didn’t get into too much trouble.

Speaking of trouble, I snuck a selfie in the mirror hallway, because that’s what everyone does, right?

After that, we left the museum, parted ways with the last of the conference guests and fans, had a little dinner, headed back to the hotel, and turned in for the night, preparing for a long drive the next day.

Early the 20th, we packed up and deserted our rooms. Despite quite a number of issues with the hotel - broken AC in the conference room, hot, slow elevators, creaky carts, shower and toilet pressure that was non-existent, dated and peeling decor, and more, it was sad to leave. It was my home away from home for a few days and I was getting used to the view from the glass elevator. But be that as it may, it was time to drive to Chicago so Matt could make his plane home.

As we drove out of Pigeon Forge, I managed to grab one last quick photo of Titanic.

As we drove up through Tennessee and then Kentucky, we saw more beautiful scenery. We saw a radio tower so high that it disappeared into the clouds. We saw endless rolling hills and mountains. And we got briefly trapped in the University of the Cumberlands parking lot when it teased us via GPS with an unreachable Chick-Fil-A. We also made a stop at one more antique mall near Knoxville that was going out of business, but it was a bust.

Soon we got into Indiana and drove a couple more hours, eventually going through Indianapolis. Not my first time going through at that point, but it was nice seeing it during the day.

As we made our way north of Indianapolis, we began driving through a seemingly endless forest of wind turbines. They can be kind of a scary sight on regular days, but that day storm clouds were approaching all over and rain was coming in. I thought of past instances of turbines spinning out of control and wondered if that ever happened around here. Still, they seemed safe enough, and they stood out against the stormy backdrop.

And then the rain came. It rained so hard, we had to pull over on the highway until it settled down. As we waited, the combination of partial sunlight, slightly clearing sheets of rain, puffy clouds, and wind turbines, with trucks passing by and throwing up water and mist, made for a rather surreal sight.

When the rain was over (at least for the time being), there was a double rainbow over the turbines.

The rain didn’t stay gone. We got into northwest Indiana, stopped by Tom and Emma’s hotel, then by my house so I could drop stuff off and change, then headed out again for Chicago Midway airport. It got darker as we drove, and the rain came again, this time with copious lighting over the Chicago skyline.

While I’ve been to Chicago many times (mainly in my younger years), I’ve never seen it quite like this. There was so much lightning, we were recording the skyline on the off chance that lighting might strike Willis Tower. Or Sears Tower for you sticklers.

We made it to the airport and left Matt to his own devices. Luckily the storm didn’t delay his plane long (if at all), and he made it home safely later that night.

As we left Chicago, we played “The Night Chicago Died” on the car stereo. A fun time was had by all as the skyline of Chicago receded.

The next morning, the 21st, we all got a late start, partly on my count. We first decided to visit several antique stores in and around my town. One was closed, the rest were busts in one way or another, though we did find a couple tiny unimportant things, including a few books for myself and some Pennsylvania Railroad silverware. One antique shop full of glassware was literally a bust when I lost my footing in one of its extremely cluttered aisles and knocked over a $95 glass dish, breaking it. Luckily the old man running the place didn’t seem interested in seeking $95 for it, so we escaped with most of our money intact.

After the shops and a jaunt to Wendy’s, we headed to the beach in my town. The waves of Lake Michigan were quite high and rough, drenched the breakwaters. The wind was coming in hard, with some people taking advantage by surfing. After Tom and Emma decided to go out on the breakwater and get drenched, we left the beach.

Our original plan was to possibly head up through Chicago, film for a short time some content for a future shipwreck video, then head up to Wisconson or possibly maybe even Iowa. As it turned out, our start was too late and we spent too much time doing other things, so that simply wasn’t going to happen. Instead, we went to Michigan City, Indiana, a location relevent to the aforementioned shipwreck.

At the beach there, we filmed some footage of Tom talking, got some B-roll, then left.

Since it was only a short drive away, we decided to visit one more place: New Buffalo, Michigan. We got in when it was just getting totally dark and everything was closed, so we only walked around a bit, then we started on our way back to my house. I collected the last of my things, check the car, then we said our goodbyes, until whatever or whenever the next time may be.

With that, they drove off, staying one more night near my town before driving home on the 22nd. And now, on the 23rd, I’ve finished going through all these photos and compiling this little account.

Despite a few fairly minor issues and other events and how some things played out, not to mention the venue, Titanic Conference 2018, and my journey to and from it, was truly a one-of-a-kind experience, especially with the things I found or received and the people I met along the way. The people were really nice, the southern accents were so charming that I damn near started taking on an accent myself, the scenery was stunningly beautiful, the Amtrak ride was a real experience, and there was hardly a dull moment. I’m glad to be home so I can get as much sleep as I need and relax, but I do wish I was back on that train, watching the scenery go by, or in Philadelphia, taking in its history, or Virginia, taking in the fresh air and green, rolling terrain, or even Pigeon Forge or southern Indiana. I do have to make my way back to Chicago for a bit of unfinished business regarding that wreck, so I suppose that’ll have to do...

[madlitparanormal]

You wouldn’t know just by looking at the above picture, that this man murdered thirty three people. If you hadn’t seen him before, you may just think that he was a normal member of society. In fact, he was a well known, well liked, successful citizen to most.

Childhood:

John Wayne Gacy Jr. was born on March 17, 1942 in Chicago, Illinois to father John Stanley Gacy, a mechanist and a WWI veteran (June 20, 1900-December 25, 1969 —Merry Christmas) and mother Marion Elaine Robinson, a stay at home mom (May 4, 1908-December 6, 1989).

Gacy Jr. had a good and stable relationship with his mother and his two sisters, one older and one younger, but his relationship with his father was strenuous. John Stanley Gacy was an alcoholic and mentally and physically abusive towards his wife and all three of his children.

One of Gacy Jr.’s earliest memories is of his father beating him with a leather belt. The reason? John had accidentally disassembled a group of car engine parts that his father had previously put together. A second memory he had was of his father hitting him over the head with a broom stick so hard that he was rendered unconscious. Gacy Sr. Consistently belittled him and often told him he’d never be anything, leaving John to feel that he was never good enough.

In 1949 John W. Gacy was caught fondling a young girl. His father whipped him with a razor strop as punishment. Shortly after this incident, at seven years old, John was sexually assaulted by a friend of the family. The man would often take Gacy Jr. for rides in his truck where he would violate the boy. He would never disclose this information to his father, afraid that he would blame him for the occurances.

Among other problems, John Wayne Gacy suffered a congenital heart defect and was not able to keep up with other children. He spent a year being hospitalized after fainting one afternoon. His father assumed that he was trying to gain attention and sympathy from others and saw his son as a complete failure.

John Wayne Gacy, also known as the infamous Killer clown, was a seemingly upstanding citizen of Waterloo, Iowa where he and his first wife had moved shortly after Gacy graduated and gained a degree in business. He was someone the town looked up to, someone who was charming and charitable. John dressed as a clown to attend fundraising events, parades, and was even hired to perform at children’s birthday parties. At one point in his life he was a a member of the Democratic Party and even a candidate running for and gaining the title of precinct captain. He was a highly liked member of a charity group called the Jaycees, the honored man of they year as well as Vice President of his charity group. Gacy held secretive meetings to induct new members of Jaycee. He would rent out hotel rooms, hire prostitues, and host orgies to convince people to join.

In 1966 he managed three KFC properties making the equivalent to today of $115,000 per year, plus a share of earned profits from the restaurants. His wife, Marlynn, maiden name Meyers, gave birth to two children, their son Michael in 1966 and their daughter Christine in 1967. One of his sisters told reporters that he was an amazing father and that he truly loved his children and she knew that because growing up in their household, love and affection was not a learned behavior. John once described this portion of his life as perfect. Even his father said he had been wrong about his son, that he did turn out to be something.

His marriage was secretly rampant with taboo fetishes. He and his wife engaged in swinger activity. They would often go out together and go home with someone else. These sexual acts were consensual among him, his wife, and their numerous partners.

Gacy and one of his sisters:

In 1967 John W. Was convicted of sodomy with a 15 year old boy named Donald Voorhees. Donald was the son of a fellow member of the Jaycee group that John had been socially accepted in. Gacy paid the boy fifty dollars to keep quiet but his silence didn’t last long. Gacy was charged and convicted of only sodomy after claiming the interaction was consensual even though he was twenty five years old. He was hit with a maximum sentence of ten years. Shortly after his sentencing his wife Marlynn divorced him.

In prison he took to working in the kitchen. Surprisingly, one thing he really was accomplished in was cooking. His knowledge of kitchen work could have come from not only helping his mother but working at KFC.

Due to his fathers death in 1969, Gacy changed. He began acting out while serving time yet out of the ten year sentence, John only served a year and six months. He was released for good behavior. He felt that his fathers death was his fault, that his father had died of shame.

When he was released he immediately moved to Chicago to start over. There he met another woman named Carole Hoff. Carole was recently divorced with two young girls. John had opened up to her about his jail time and his sexuality and while hesitant, she decided she could move past it. In 1972 the couple married, Carole’s two girls called Gacy “daddy” and loved him. However, in 1976 Hoff divorced Gacy after learning of one of his victims, John Butkovich.

On December 21st of 1978 John Wayne Gacy went into a pharmacy to discuss a possible renovation project on his home. He found a teenager, Robert Piest, and asked him about a summer job doing some construction work. The teenager told his mother and went to Gacy’s house to further discuss the job he had in store. When the boy didn’t return home his mother filed a missing persons report. Because he was seen at the store at the time of the boys disappearance, the police went to Gacy to find Robert. What they uncovered when they conducted their search led to Gacy’s arrest.

At the age of thirty six, Gacy confessed that between the years of 1972 and 1978, between the ages of thirty and thirty six, he abducted, sexually assaulted, tortured, and murdered at least thirty three young men and buried most of their bodies in a shallow grave in the crawl space beneath his house where he lived with his wife and two children (for the first four years of his killing spree until Carole divorced him). His most common method for killing the young men was a tourniquet, used for suffocation and asphyxiation. A few of his victims were stabbed to death. His first murder of Timothy McCoy in 1972 was unexpected and unplanned. After engaging in sexual acts with the boy, Gacy grabbed a knife and stabbed Timothy in the chest. From then on, Gacy continued his killing spree. He had opened up a door of emotional, physical, and mental release that he had never felt before.

After killing them, Gacy would embalm his victims which he learned how to do while working temporarily in a mortuary in Las Vegas, Nevada when he ran away from home to escape his father earlier in life. He would then systematically cover the shallow graves in quicklime to accelerate the decomposition process. Of those victims that weren’t buried in the crawl space, five were dumped in the Des Plaines River. One body was also discovered in his garage.

He was arrested and began his trial 1980. The prosecution question his sanity and Gacy played along, telling them that the murders were committed by an alternate personality.

At thirty six years old, he was sentenced to twelve death sentences as well as twenty one natural life sentences. This meant that John Wayne Gacy was sentenced to death twelve times even though you can generally only die once (of course other circumstances can come into play) and with a general life expectancy of seventy years old in the year 1980 for men, Gacy would serve no less than at least 1,470 years in prison outside of the death sentence. Naturally, no one could live to that age so the basic mentality was that he would never be released from prison and he would be executed by the state.

Gacy spent fourteen years on death row until he was executed by the state of Illinois. During his time in prison he did a lot of painting and created a lot of visual art pieces, and some were even sold at an auction.

Identified Victims:

Timothy McCoy

John Butkovitch

Darrell Sampson

Randall Reffett

Samuel Stapleton

Michael Bonnin

William Carroll

James Haakenson

Rick Johnston

Kenneth Parker

Michael Marino

William Bundy

Gregory Godzik

John Szyc

Jon Prestidge

Matthew Bowman

Robert Gilroy

Russell Nelson

Robert Winch

Tommy Boling

Jon Mowery

William Kindered

David Talsma

Timothy O’Rourke

Frank Landingin

James Mazzara

Robert Piest

Unidentified Victims:

Male aged 14-18

Male aged 23-30

Male aged 18-22

Male aged 15-24

Male aged 22-32

Male aged 17-22

Execution: Stateville Correction Center, Crest Hill, Illinois

On May 9, 1994 Gacy was allowed a private picnic with his family. I have not yet found which family members he spent time with but my assumption would be his sister(s) after two cases of divorce.

For his last meal he ordered a bucket of Kentucky fried chicken, fried shrimp, French fries, strawberries, and Diet Coke.

That evening he visited with a Catholic priest, one of the few people allowed to visit on your execution day, before being escorted to the Stateville execution chamber.

His form of execution was Lethal Injection. A clog in the IV delayed the execution for a short period of time but was quickly put back on track.

John Wayne Gacy’s final statement to his lawyer before his execution stated that killing him would not compensate for the murders he committed and that the state was in turn, murdering him. He even attempted to recant his confession before his death.

John Wayne Gacy was a diagnosed psychopath. He had no remorse, no empathy, and no regards for human life. He even went as far as saying he never committed any murders and he blamed others for his “unfortunate” circumstances.

It took Gacy Jr. 18 minutes to die after lethal Injection. He was prounounced dead at 12:58 AM on May 10, 1994. He was fifty two years old.

His final words: “Kiss My Ass!”

[mainsjt]

Cincinnati comic expo panels

There will be panels, autograph sessions, and photo ops to give you a chance to interact with your favorite creators and celebrities. The 11th annual Cincinnati Comic Expo takes place September 17-19 at the Duke Energy Center.Īttendees are encouraged to come dressed as their favorite character and meet stars from Arrow, GI Joe, Star Wars, The Mandalorian, Doctor Who, Pokemon, Power Rangers, Dragonball Z, and more. (CINCINNATI) – Cincinnati’s largest comic and pop culture expo is returning this September. Single- and double-capacity rooms for our Expo can be reserved now at an exhibitor average rate of $99 per night for 11 days.Interact with your favorite creators and celebrities. The historic, unique, full-service hotel is either a short jaunt on the covered Skywalk or quick ride to hundreds of attractions, restaurants and shops. Our Hilton Netherland Plaza partner is one block from the Duke Energy Convention Center at 35 W. Hilton Netherland Plaza returns as Cincinnati Auto Expo lodging partner The evaluation process also included a survey of event planners, show organizers, and exhibit managers who have recently hosted (or exhibited at) events within each facility, as well as a review of entrants’ event spaces, selling points, and innovations, conducted by a panel of corporate exhibit managers. The myriad criteria considered were categorized into five primary areas: Small, medium, and large convention centers were evaluated using an objective algorithm weighted to reflect how EXHIBITOR magazine readers value a variety of variables. Our Auto Expo partners at Duke Energy Convention Center have been recognized as one of EXHIBITOR Magazine’s 30 best North American convention centers for trade shows and events. The program verifies that Duke Energy Convention Center implements best practices to prepare for, respond to and recover from outbreaks and pandemics.ĬLICK HERE for more about GBAC STAR CERTIFICATIONĬLICK HERE for the DUKE ENERGY CONVENTION CENTER REOPENING PLANĭuke Energy Convention Center honored as one of EXHIBITOR Magazine’s 30 2021 Centers of Excellence Under the guidance of GBAC, a Division of ISSA, the worldwide cleaning industry association, the venue has implemented the most stringent protocols for cleaning, disinfection and infectious disease prevention in its facility.Īs the cleaning industry’s only outbreak prevention, response and recovery accreditation, GBAC STAR™ helps organizations establish protocols and procedures, offers expert-led training and assesses a facility’s readiness for biorisk situations. Learn more about how the qualified buying audience our Auto Expo delivers as well as the many benefits of interacting with motivated consumers during America’s auto shows.ĬLICK HERE to LEARN MORE ABOUT OUR EXPO AUDIENCE AND REGIONĬLICK HERE to LEARN ABOUT THE VALUE OF EXHIBITING DURING AUTO SHOWSĭuke Energy Convention Center earns GBAC STAR™ Accreditationĭuke Energy Convention Center became the first Ohio facility to achieve Global Biorisk Advisory Council (GBAC) STAR™ Accreditation Aug. We look forward to welcoming you to our Cincinnati Auto Expo and a four-day celebration of our industry March 30 through April 2!Įxhibitors wishing to join our Cincinnati Auto Expo can find our application and services information by clicking the buttons below. Our Auto Expo brings exhibitors annual opportunities to impact more than 2.23 million consumers in our state’s largest metropolitan area that is the 36th-ranked national DMA that encompasses eight Ohio, 10 Kentucky and six Indiana counties.

[loverobertdowney]

How To Plan Your Perfect Trip To Lexington, KY

Have you always wanted to visit Lexington, KY? Lexington, KY has a lot to offer, and planning your perfect trip can be daunting if you aren’t familiar with the area or the local attractions. Whether you have or haven’t, a travel calendar Lexington KY will help you plan your perfect trip! By making sure you know about the best places to eat, shop, and stay in Lexington, your trip will go smoothly and you’ll have time to discover all the hidden gems this city has to offer. Whether you’re interested in an action-packed weekend full of adventure or just some relaxation at the spa, there’s plenty to do in Lexington!

Here are our tips on how to plan your perfect trip to Lexington, KY.

Know Where To Stay

While it’s often best to stay outside of downtown in order to get more space and a bit more peace and quiet, there are also many great options if you prefer something more central. Many hotels are located on major streets like Vine Street and New Street as well as smaller side streets like East Sixth Street or East Second Street. Nearby bed-and-breakfasts can also be quite charming. Be sure to ask about parking when booking a room; because cars drive on the left side of most roads in Kentucky, finding parking can take some getting used to for first-time visitors. Also be aware that parking garages downtown charge an arm and a leg for their services. Some hotels offer discounted passes so drivers aren’t surprised at checkout time.

Know What To Do During The Day

Walking tours can be arranged through a number of local tour companies. However, you choose to spend your time in town, remember that Lexington is also known as Horse Capital of the World, so you're sure to encounter several equestrian events during your visit. If you prefer gambling instead of horse-racing, head downtown for a few hands at Jack Casino. Be sure to check out Hard Rock Café's beautiful Lexington outpost (located at 114 South Mill Street) before dinner—and their delicious hors d'oeuvres! Foodies will want to make reservations for dinner at Tupelo Honey and Willard’s Restaurant & Bar; both have been voted some of America’s top restaurants by Forbes Travel Guide and Esquire magazine.

Know What Time Of Year Should You Visit

It’s important to know that each season on the calendar Lexington KY in Lexington offers something special. Whether you prefer outdoor activities or tours of historical sites, there’s an option for everyone. For those who want a little bit of everything, it’s best to visit during fall and spring. During summer months temperatures get high and rainfall increases. While it's still possible to have fun during these seasons in Kentucky, you may have a hard time exploring certain attractions if bad weather sets in. On average, fall lasts from September 20th through November 30th while spring covers March 20th through June 10th. These are also busy times due to white Christmas chances occurring at these times of year - prepare accordingly with lodging ahead of time!

Map Out Your Day Trip

When traveling anywhere new, it’s easy to make an itinerary and then get surprised by changes in travel conditions (especially if you’re driving). Keep track of things like traffic reports and construction on your map as you go. Mark out time that you know is set in stone—like reservations or meetings—and keep it up-to-date as you head into unknown territory.

[shirtlesssammy]

13x13: Devil’s Bargain

Welcome to a Very Buckleming Episode! Our intent is to keep things humorous but even going in with low expectations, this episode was a wild ride.

Then:

Here is a picture of Badass Cas to ease you into tonight’s recap

Now:

We open with a montage/flashback of Cas in a forest, weakened and with blood pouring from his mouth, remembering his fight with Lucifer. How did Cas get to the forest? Why is he coughing up blood? Why is he so weakened that he’s unconscious for hours? We just don’t know. Two boys come along to see the dead body one found earlier, and they poke it.

Cas awakens with a start, and the boys scatter to the wind.

Cas - who had been banished by Lucifer? - walks back to the insane asylum, but no Lucifer.

We’re suddenly in a Lifetime movie! A woman, in a tan trench-like coat, is rollerblading down the street and trips, falling literally and figuratively for a man, with close cropped light brown hair (and slightly elfin ears), who catches her. The elaborate wedding cake he was carrying is destroyed in the process. A creepy dude watches approvingly, when Lucifer surprises him and reveals he’s actually an overdressed Cupid! He steals his grace and then kills him.

Cas is now in the bunker and giving the brothers the lowdown on all that’s been going on this season. Poor Sam has to learn that Lucifer is Earth 1 side. Dean has to learn that he hasn’t been talking to Cas this whole time.

The boys also learn that Mary is alive (which Jack showed them already?)

Lucifer hams up the almost-human bit. He’s cold and hungry. (I don’t rewatch 9x03 because it’s hard to watch Cas in this position. This is just annoying. Will Lucifer burn out his vessel on borrowed grace? Fingers crossed.)

Asmodeus and Ketch meet to discuss recent events. What was Asmodeus’s “important errand”? In any event, it’s pointed out by Ketch how monumentally stupid Asmodeus is. Ha. I mean, he really fails at a lot.  

Asmodeus tasks Ketch with killing the devil. Ketch seems less than impressed with the idea.

Luci tries emulating another homeless man, but fails. The other man offers to get Lucifer some food, and while they’re dumpster diving, he tells Lucifer about Sister Jo, a faith healer. Luci has his next meal lined up!

At the bunker, Dean and Cas finally have a couple minutes alone before Interrupting Moose interrupts.

Dean apologizes for not knowing Cas was captured. Cas deflects the unnecessary sentiment. He also deflects Dean’s question on whether he’s fine. CAS.

Sam arrives at the bunker and he has Donatello with him! He’s here because they have a plan. Use the demon tablet to open a door to the AU, throw Lucifer into that world, get their mom and Jack back, and escape before Michael follows them. Why use Donatello to translate the demon tablet if it’s only a maybe that the spell is on it? As many people have pointed out, why not use Kevin’s Elamite translations? (Boris: I watch 9x06 more than is allowed and wondered this right away!) (Natasha: at first I assumed they were going to unwrap Kevin’s translations and give Donatello a head start.) Ahem, rolling with the plot. Cas hears on Angel Radio that an angel was killed.

Cut to Sister Jo and her miraculous healing abilities, and Lucifer watching.

Team Free Will investigates the angel murder. They put it together that Lucifer is feeding on grace, trying to restore his power. Dean flirts with Cas. Cas flirts back. Sam looks distressed.

Lucifer introduces himself to Sister Jo, who is not impressed or intimidated. She’s really Anael, a rogue angel that Hannah and Cas didn’t find back in season 10. She’s a savy businesswoman who knows what she wants and how to play the game of humaning, so I’ll handwave that away. She talks Lucifer into using her grace a bit at a time. Apparently angel grace can recharge?! Gah, I’ve read theories (but can’t find them now!) that Cas’s grace didn’t recharge because of his depression. I’ll take all the positive head canons for this episode that I can find.

Meanwhile, the guys start asking questions about the death of the cupid. Sam interviews the homeless man that helped Lucifer. “Actually we had a lovely chat.” Sam’s eyebrows couldn’t get much higher. Oh, Sam. The man leads the guys to Sister Jo.

Ok, Stop.

I am 1000% creeped out by the whole new way to extract angel grace. So. Fucking. Unnecessary. And. Gross.

Ok, Go.

That night, we find Lucifer feeding on Anael’s grace. He admits to killing the last angel, and Anael gets worried. Who knows who will come to her place next?

Team Free Will, that’s who.

They enter Jo’s meeting hall, to find...Ketch.

Ketch greets them like old pals. He tells them he’s in the area to kill Lucifer. Sam wants to know who he’s working for and Ketch dodges the question by suggesting a teamup. 

Cas is...not swayed by this argument. They stuff the unconscious Ketch in the trunk of the Impala and Dean suggests that they head back to the bunker, “find out what he knows and put a bullet in him. Burn his bones, and flush his ashes.” Cas in ON BOARD. Sam distracts them from their revenge fantasies to show them video of Sister Jo, who Cas immediately recognizes as fellow angel Anael. They head off to search for her body. Sam put a tracer on her credit card and when it’s used, they’ve got a clue on where to find her...or Lucifer.

Meanwhile, Sister Jo’s credit card is getting busy at a motel and so are...Sister Jo and Lucifer. Lucifer slowly sucks her grace in a sexualized manner and I just...

Basically, to me this approach to angel grace extraction with Sister Jo uses non-consensual (or at the very least, dubiously consensual) sexual overtones as a lazy shorthand to an imbalance of power between a man and woman. Of course, we’re overly sensitive to this because it’s essentially on a bingo card for these writers. We’ve seen the use of non-con or dub-con before by these writers in the past couple of seasons. (For example: in 12x2, 12x13, 13x02, and 13x13) When it appears, we throw up our hands and rant, regardless of how fair that is, because we’re steeling ourselves for it. On the other hand, maybe I’m still just pissed about what Toni Bevell did to Sam and how that was just brushed aside.

ANYWAY, afterward Anael and Lucifer collapse onto the bed breathlessly and talk about how less grace makes you feel more human emotions. Emotions are a wild ride that majorly weirds out angels. “When I’m in that place I can see how there’d be pain but there’s also hope. Love even.” Anael keeps it positive and then she reflects on the lot of angels. She was an unhappy cog in the machine in Heaven and falling to Earth was a blessing. It freed her.

Down in Kentucky Fried Hell, Asmodeus is catching up on his reading when a demon minion interrupts to tell him they’ve located the prophet. Donatello, meanwhile, is purchasing copious amounts of fried chicken wings. 

Cas appears and asks how his work with the Winchesters is going. Donatello blithely spills ALL the beans. His work with the demon tablet is going great and soon he’ll unravel how to open a door to another world (facepalm). Oh Donatello. “The ingredients are very, very complicated,” Donatello frets, talking about the spell to open a rift and NOT for example seven secret herbs and spices. Casmodeus then slips into his southern accent, freezes Donatello, and compels him to become his spy. Casmodeus sniffs at the fried chicken in a nod to fandom’s nickname for him.

The next morning TFW rolls up to the motel where Anael is staying. They draw her out by pretending to be motel management checking on her credit card. When she sees them and they ask about Lucifer she asks them for help. 

Sam and Dean greet Lucifer in the hotel room. “Morning sunshine,” Dean says and we both growl protectively over that phrase which should NOT BE SULLIED by being applied to Lucifer. Lucifer’s awkward while Anael quietly clues Lucifer in to the fact that TFW thinks he’s still depowered. Thanks, Anael. “Trapped” by TFW Lucifer engages in small talk, makes a crack about Sam’s hair (fuck you Lucifer), and asks about their plans for him.

Suddenly Anael and Lucifer team up to hurl TFW across the room with their rather powered up angel mojo. Lucifer does the patented heart-clench with his fists and Sam, Dean, and Cas writhe in pain on the floor. Suddenly Ketch appears and chucks a spell at the ground.

Lucifer and Anael flap out of there and wind up in the woods somewhere. “I help you and you help me,” Anael tells him. Lucifer accepts this at face value and asks her for further direction. I can see she’s manipulating him but we both fear that this is going to lead to a sudden death for her at some point towards the end of the season. We both hoping we get to see her written with a little more depth later on in the season, and not just some fleeting medium-bad adjunct.

Back in the hotel, Ketch thanks TFW for their rampant gratitude. He then suggests that they pool their resources and go after Lucifer together. He confesses to working for Asmodeus. “How is that supposed to make us feel better?” Dean demands. Ketch says he’ll pass intel on to TFW. Apparently Ketch draws the line at letting Lucifer prance around the planet.

For Science:

Back to Lucifer, he’s chatting with a few of the angel host out by the Heavenly sandbox. Threats are traded between them but Lucifer promises to make more angels if they raise him up as ruler of Heaven. Duma laughs at this offer at first but Lucifer offers to give them back their wings. Ooooo now we’re talking.

Speaking of wings, Donatello adds more bones to his ridiculous pile of consumed chicken. Donatello’s...on edge. He’s enjoying the tablet translation headache that Kevin always suffered from. (Kevin! I weep) He promises that he’s working out all the necessary ingredients.

As TFW gets closer to opening a rift to rescue Mary and Jack, Lucifer assumes his throne in Heaven with Anael just chillin’ by his side.

Some time later Ketch chats with Asmodeus and they bond over liquor. Ketch worries that he can’t defeat the devil at full power. Kentucky Fried Demon pulls out a prized acquisition: an archangel blade.

It can only be wielded by an archangel which seems to make things tricky. However, Asmodeus has one more secret in his pocket. He leads Ketch to a cell with a mysterious figure in it. The figure looks up and….IT’S GABRIEL! (Asmodeus is using Gabe’s powers headcanon)

In summary, holy shit.

Southern Fried Quotes:

That money’s going into the ol’ leg fund.

Most of what we do are long shots. You get used to it.

All that time you were with Asmodeus, I..I, we should have known it wasn’t you.

The usual, bewildered.

“We’re boned.” “Epically.”

I’m the lesser of at least three evils.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[atthevogue]

“Stop Making Sense” (1984)

The basics: Wiki | IMDb | TVTropes

Opened: Jonathan Demme and David Byrne’s Talking Heads concert film opened the second week of March 1985. It ran for a few weeks, and by early June was showing at Village 8, the local second-run theater. It was revived at The Vogue in July, and ran a few times a month through 1986 and 1987, usually as the second-to-last or last show of the day. 

Also on the bill: Opening weekend, it shared a very unlikely bill with the slow-burning 1975 Australian film Picnic at Hanging Rock. It also shared some more tonally appropriate bills with Buckaroo Banzai, Amadeus, Fellini Satyricon and another Australian cult favorite, Bliss. A few times, of course, it was inevitably programmed before the monthly midnight screening of Rocky Horror. 

What did the paper say? Given its status in years since as the great rock concert movie of that (and any) era, there wasn’t much coverage at the time. The Courier-Journal’s regular film and theater critic from the late 1940s through the early 1990s, William Mootz, didn’t appear to see it. Janet Maslin’s glowing New York Times review was run instead, as was common practice for smaller movies. Vince Staten, the vaguely curmudgeonly but always insightful TV critic of the 1980s, wrote a few years later when it came out on VHS that "quite a few people, myself included, thought it was the best rock-concert movie ever made.” In 1987, towards the end of its run at The Vogue, a weekend roundup in the paper’s Saturday edition highlighted it, calling it "a cult in the making" that was “building a faithful following in its repeated engagements at the Vogue Theatre.” The headline was “’Stop Making Sense’ is making lots of cents.”

What was I doing? I was between six and eight years old. It was unrated, so I certainly could have seen it, though neither of my parents were Talking Heads fans, and I don’t think it would have occurred to them to take me -- this is the kind of thing my cool aunt would have considered taking me to see. Maybe I am giving myself more credit than I deserve, but I think I would have liked parts of it quite a lot.

In a mid-sized town like Louisville in the 1980s, I imagine fringe culture tended to consolidate itself into small, overlapping groups. Bookstores, bars, music venues, video stores, coffee shops and art galleries serving the same audiences all overlapped in their programming to some extent.

The Vogue, in addition to showing the movies we’re talking about here, was also an occasional music venue. Its musical programming served a roughly parallel function to its cinematic programming: it was an outlet what used to be called “alternative” culture. A number of Louisville’ earliest punk and new wave shows, in the late 1970s and early ‘80s, happened there. 

In fact, on that note, I have an eBay alert set up for “vogue louisville” so I can grab any Vogue-related memorabilia that comes through. Almost nothing does, though recently there’s been someone trying to unload a ticket stub for an Iggy Pop show presented there in partnership with the Kentucky Center for the Arts in 1990. The sort of person who might go see Iggy would also likely be there for the showings that week, which included Pump Up the Volume and Pink Floyd The Wall. Neither of those were exactly countercultural circa 1990, but were certainly adjacent. (Incidentally, I’m a little tempted to buy that Iggy ticket, but it doesn’t even have the name of the Vogue printed on it, so it doesn’t seem like it’s really worth it for my purposes. Still, there it is below.)

Jonathan Demme’s Stop Making Sense played the Vogue for about two years. Though that was a lot longer than most rock movies, it was far less than, for example, Led Zeppelin’s The Song Remains the Same, which played for ten years, or the aforementioned Pink Floyd The Wall, which showed regularly for almost fifteen, right up until a year before it closed. This tells us that while the Vogue catered regularly to a new wave crowd, their economic bread and butter was either aging boomers or stoned college kids who remained in an oblivious dope haze throughout the events of the 1980s (or possibly both).

But a few times a month for two years indicates there was a healthy interest in Stop Making Sense among a fairly sizable portion of Louisville’s young cultural elite. There were a lot of weirdo bands in Louisville in the mid-1980s, loosely aligned with punk but a little artier, and I wonder how of them were in attendance. Once again, this is one of the big problems with this experiment: watching a lot of these movies on a streaming service on a TV all by myself is so unlike seeing it projected on film in a communal setting with a roomful of people that it barely qualifies as the same experience. It’s like trying to write about having a dinner at the French Laundry by eating a Trader Joe’s frozen quiche lorraine over the sink in your kitchen. Koyaanisqatsi loses a lot in this format, and Stop Making Sense may lose even more.

Koyaanisqatsi, which was also on the midnight movie circuit about the same time, is a fully immersive experience, like Stop Making Sense. Demme’s movie, though, goes a step beyond immersion by inviting active participation. It’s shot from the perspective of the audience, with no reaction shots or backstage interviews, and since the audio was recorded digitally, it was crystal-clear, or as crystal-clear as the P.A. allowed at the Vogue. Probably the sound and sights were, in some way, superior to those you might have seen at that Iggy Pop show live in person. Most of the reports from the time -- not in Louisville specifically, but in many places -- make note of people dancing in the aisles. I can imagine it must have been a similar scene at the Vogue.

As a director, I didn’t give any thought Jonathan Demme up until a few years ago. I’d seen Silence of the Lambs, and liked it OK, and although I adored Swimming to Cambodia, I thought that had more to do with Spalding Gray than Jonathan Demme. In a stirring reminder, though, that the internet can still cough up truly remarkable documents that change the way you see the world, I stumbled across this Jacob T. Swinney supercut from 2015. I remember opening it, and scoffing to myself, “oh, so Jonathan Demme is like an auteur now?” 

Obviously I was way, way off-base. Three-and-a-half minutes later, the video had made a total convert of me. The way those faces looked at you -- clearly there was something here. I rented all of them over the course of a few weeks, through his early and middle period, from Melvin and Howard through Married to the Mob. I came away with the sensation of falling in love, partially with way of making movies but also with a whole worldview. Demme’s movies find a way to be incredible stylish assemblages of the best parts of North American culture (all accompanied by incredible soundtracks), and also turns its attention to oddballs, misfits and outcasts with a loving gaze that manages to be both amused and compassionate.

Stop Making Sense does all of these things. David Byrne is not warm, exactly, but his arch sense of humor is endearing, and of course he’s one of the great eccentrics of late 20th century American culture. And he’s surrounded by a gang of musicians that seem like they’re right of out of a Demme movie, like the house party at the end of Swing Shift or the Miami hotel pool in Married to the Mob: Chris Frantz in funny-dad mode with a very un-rock-star polo shirt, Bernie Worrell mugging at the camera, Tina Weymouth looking cool in a succession of power suits, Lynn Mabry and Ednah Holt providing synchronized commentary throughout.

It’s only at the end that Demme, as if he’s been teasing you by withholding them, allows some audience shots to sneak in. They look like the sorts of sweet, goony people you’d hope to meet at a Talking Heads show. After every Demme movie, there’s a sense that you, too, could be part of a global community of weirdos who take care of one another. 

I can tell you from experience that being weird in a place like Louisville, a town that can be both rigidly conservative and indulgent of eccentricity, could be sort of a lonely experience. It was also the sort of place where there were enough of you out there that you usually found each other somehow. I hope a few of the members of that Demmian-Byrnian community, all out at the Vogue on a Saturday night dancing in the aisles, caught a glimpse of one another when the lights came on.

[anisanews]

A Tour Through The 2021 Kips Bay Decorator Show House Palm Beach

The living room by Kentucky-based Benjamin Deaton is full of color and p[attern

Nickolas Sargent

The fourth annual Kips Bay Decorator Show House in Palm Beach is all about color, pattern, whimsey, drama and personality. If we follow the lead of the 20 designers whose work is showcased in the 4,400 square foot Mediterranean villa located at 7417 South Flagler Drive, we will reach for saturated color, big patterns, wallpaper and fabrics that are scalloped, fringed and tasseled. Lighting fixtures will be the dramatic jewels to a room’s décor; floors and ceilings will be fifth and sixth walls, to be decorated with as much abandon as the four walls enclosing a room.

The Show House is open to the public April 8- May 9, 2021. Due to the Corona virus, this year’s Show House is a hybrid event, offering both first-hand and virtual experiences. For those visiting in person, the Show House is implementing precautions to protect participating designers and guests, including limiting the number of attendees. Admission tickets will be sold for specific dates and times to ensure that guest count allows for ample social distancing. In addition, all guests and employees of the house will be required to wear masks and health screenings will be conducted for all staff, as well as increased cleaning and sanitation throughout the house. 

Entering by way of Palm Beach-based Fernando Wong’s Hollywood-inspired front motor court and pool terrace, we step into a two-story foyer, staircase and hallway designed to evoke a Colonial hothouse by Casa Gusto of West Palm Beach. Vines wreathe along the walls between ceramics, and colorful mosaics frame antique botanicals.

The living room by Kentucky’s Benjamin Deaton has azure walls, a chocolate lacquered fireplace mantel and an inviting bar. Lorna Gross, a DC-based designer, made the dining room lush with a décor based on a gorgeous silk rug populated by whimsical, colorful critters. A step to the rear courtyard and garden is hardly a step down: SMI Landscape Architecture, a local firm, pays homage to the historic Palm Beach slat house of the Hotel Royal Poinciana with teal vine-patterned lattice, a pebble mosaic koi pond, a limestone and gravel checkerboard floor, potted maho trees and, hung on the walls, masses of yellow orchids.

The primary bedroom nods to the Palm Beach location

Nickolas Sargent

The kitchen designed by Atlanta-based Mark Williams is the only neutral room in the house. With traditional tiled walls, white oak cabinets and marble-hued Consentino countertops, the room has a horizontal orientation that makes for a sense of luxurious calm and ease.

A dramatic, botanicals-inspired bedroom

Nickolas Sargent

Laundry meets luxury in the utility room, reached via a pair of custom walnut and brass barn doors. HW Interiors installed a dramatic onyx floor backlit with LED bulbs, an extravagant counterpoint to the very practical dog shower. Another small space with huge impact is the powder room designed by Atlanta-based Forbes+Masters, where gray marble-like tiles tinged with pink and cream line the walls.

New York City’s Mikel Walsh created a primitive, modern family room furnished with his own Cradle Chairs and crowned with a tasseled chandelier. Next door, the vestibule leading from the public family room to the private bedroom is called “Flock Hall” by designer Harry Heissmann, also of NYC. 

Afro-chic glam in a closet by Nicole White

Nickolas Sargent

The primary bedroom, by Courtney Giles of Atlanta, is all about the Palm Beach location with palm tree wallpaper and a beachy vibe. The primary bathroom was designed by Miami-based Nicole White with dark, moody colors; the adjoining closet showcases Afro-chic glam with dramatic art and lighting. 

A tropical bathroom in blue

Nickolas Sargent

The guest bedroom by local design firm Kemble Interiors is a stunner with larger-than-life hand-painted flora and fauna on the walls and a metal bed that mimics a bougainvillea vine. No less colorful and dramatic, the adjoining guest bath and closet by Ontario-based Alexandra Naranjo is a symphony of blues and tropical vegetation. Another guest room evokes a modern European sensibility as interpreted by Houston designer Nina Magon. A guest suite by Amy Morris of Atlanta has a bed placed in a corner and a pale blue painted floor. Westchester-based Brittany Bromley treated another guest room to hand painted scenic wallpaper and classic French elements. The adjoining bathroom is drama itself, mirrored with Mercury glass.

Mally Skok’s cheerful upstairs sitting room

Nickolas Sargent

A second-floor seating area is lively and sunny, yet serene. Massachusetts designer Mally Skok, who is also a fabric and wallpaper designer, lined the walls with her latest botanically-based wall covering, while the ceiling and trim wear a sunny shade of terra cotta. 

The house is blessed with a number of outdoor spaces, including a loggia off the guest bedrooms designed by Atlanta-based Anna Braund and featuring a custom banquette, as well as an awning-covered balcony designed to evoke Caribbean chickee huts by Ellen Kavanaugh of Palm Beach.

Tickets for the Kips Bay Decorator Show House Palm Beach must be purchased on line at www.kipsbaydecoratorshowhouse.org/palmbeach. General admission hours are Monday through Sunday,10a.m.-4p.m. All proceeds will benefit Kips Bay Boys & Girls Club in the Bronx, New York and Boys & Girls Clubs of Palm Beach County, who together serve 20,000 youth, ages six through 18.

from Anisa News https://ift.tt/3s4mrVU

[sweetnestor]

On Days Like This | Chapter 1

teamiplier + oc, romantic/angst/platonic

PREVIOUS FICS (if you’re new here then I suggest reading these first)

Leave it to me, Bella fucking Santiago to get sick the day we leave for tour. I mean, I saw it coming. I’ve had anxiety/travel sickness before. Unlike the rest of the group, this was my first time being on the road for an extended amount of time. Of course I was nervous. Of course I was panicking and even throwing up over the thought of sharing a confined space with a bunch of people, half of which were strangers.

Since I had missed the shows in June due to mental health issues, it was important that I went to this one. I had a big part in writing the script (AKA, the bits and pieces that weren’t improv) and I needed to be there. Not only that, I had been helping Mark with his singing and guitar playing since he started practicing earlier in the year, and he wanted me to sing with him onstage.

I wasn’t used to being so busy. I liked it, though. It distracted me from the oncoming anxiety attacks. Well, I usually had those at the end of the day, and it’s not like I had a choice over when I would get these attacks, but I preferred it that way. At least I wasn’t acting up in the middle of a meeting or rehearsal. Ethan was always there to calm me down too, so I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t suffering in silence anymore, and I was still getting used to that.

Anyway, I had been dreading the tour thing and sharing a bus overall, but the actual nausea didn’t start until we had flown to Kentucky. Literally, the moment we landed (oh yeah - I went on my fifth plane ride this year) my stomach got all grumbly and gross. I threw up in one of the airport bathrooms. Twice.

Mark and I practiced our singing nonetheless, just like we had been rehearsing at home. We were actually going to sing together on stage. Of course, each of us got our own solos, but for most of the set, we were going to duet. I was crippled with anxiety over that too, so I had to make a beeline to the nearest toilet or trash can every so often. Thankfully, it didn’t disturb my singing ability too badly, but it was still a bit concerning to the people around me.

“Think you’ll be okay before our first show?” Mark asked me when we were in my hotel room. We had been busy with other tour stuff, so we took whatever chance we had to rehearse our set.

“I’m drowning myself in chamomile and Pepto,” I replied, pointing to my cup of tea that was on the coffee table.

“Tour starts in two days, though. And you’re already…” he trailed off.

“A mess,” I finished for him. “I know. But I don’t think it’s a big deal if I end up having to miss the set. The audience is there for you, anyway.”

“Yeah, but I need you there,” he told me.

So I kept going. For the next two days, I was either singing or sleeping. Me being me, I also got a visit from the red dragon the night before the very first show. That was the same night we all had to get on the bus and sleep on the ride to the venue.

The bunks on the bus were practically coffins. Thank god I wasn’t claustrophobic. I couldn’t properly crawl into a ball the way I normally would when the time of the month hit me. All I could do was sleep facing the wall (Ethan claimed the only bunk with a window) and hope that the cramps would be gone in the morning.

Well…

I woke up to more overwhelming nausea. Maybe that was due to taking painkillers late at night on an empty stomach. I was lucky enough that I didn’t actually blow chunks until we were off the bus. The second I stepped off, I ran around near the fence and coughed up my insides. Ethan quickly followed my trail to help me, but he was noticed by fans. That kinda sucked.

Vomiting and bleeding didn’t indicate that something was horribly wrong. I blamed it on stress, anxiety, and menstruation. Sure, the cramps got a little more intense and even spread to my lower back after I puked in one of the venue’s bathrooms, but I was fine overall. It was nothing I couldn’t handle. I even managed to hold down some pieces of toast and two more painkillers by the time I had to rehearse with Mark.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me as he tuned out his guitar. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You said you needed me,” I reminded him.

“I spew out a lot of bullshit,” he said, waving it off. “If you’re really not okay, you can sit this one out.”

“I agree,” said Ethan from the doorway. I didn’t even realize he had been listening. “You really don’t have to do this.”

Honestly, it would be an absolute miracle if I sang my heart out on stage without throwing up. But I didn’t want it to stop me. I had come all this way, mentally preparing for this plethora of events, only to be stopped by some tummy grumbles? No. Not in this lifetime.

“It’s just the nerves,” I justified with a shrug. “After I get the first performance done, the nausea will go away.” Of course, I could feel what little food I had consumed threaten to come back up just as I said that.

Ethan approached me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. I love you. But you don’t look well.”

I placed my hand over his. “I love you too. And I’m fine.”

“Can you do your warm ups without vomiting?”

He knew me too well.

“No, yeah, let’s do that,” Mark said. “If you can get through our warms ups, then you can perform tonight.”

What am I, fifteen? Incapable of making decisions for myself? Okay, yes, I threw up into the trash can after three scales, but at least I took the initiative to haul my sick ass back onto the bus for some peace and quiet. I decided to stay there for the rest of the morning, and it wasn’t just because the pain in my lower abdomen was getting more intense. So intense, in fact that I groaned in agony once I was alone on the bus. I wasn’t even sure the sleeping bus driver heard me.

I hunched over slightly as I stumbled through the vehicle. The nausea was now overpowered by the pain in my pelvis. At least I wasn’t throwing up anymore…

Being in my bunk didn’t help at all. It was too small and cramped, but I had nothing else. Plus, I was experiencing quite the heavy flow, and the sofas in the ‘lounge area’ didn’t deserve that. I just dealt with rolling around in the tight space, hoping to sleep off whatever this was.

Knowing me and my luck, I figured out what it could possibly be. The pain got worse the longer I stayed curled up in my bunk, and it only confirmed my thoughts even more. At one point, I was rapidly tossing and turning, hitting the back wall with my fist in order to cope with it. I was breathing so hard, I couldn’t tell if it was due to the pain or a panic attack. The room spun every time I opened my eyes, so I couldn’t grab my phone to text Ethan that I was getting worse. I had a scary idea of what was going on, I just had to tell someone.

“Help…” I croaked out, but then I felt another sharp, shooting pain in my lower abdomen. “Ahh!”

My fingers scraped against the wooden edge of my bunk. I kicked the bottom of my feet against the end of the small space. I cried out some more as it got more and more excruciating. When I finally heard footsteps, I stuck my hand outside the tiny cubicle, hoping to flag the person down. I was relieved to see that it was Kathryn.

She squatted down so she was peering into my bunk. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “I think…” I groaned. “Miscarriage…”

________

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