#Please try to minimize using their services as well

[mrwhozeet]

A reminder that there's a small petition you can sign to try to convince Google's CEO and Google Cloud's CEO to end Project Nimbus. They're getting rather close to their signature goal too! Please take the time to throw your name on the list if you can.

[porcelana-r0ta]

JOYRIDE

Fandoms: Batman, Danny Phantom

Relationship: Dan Phantom/Jason Todd

Word Count: 3,823

Ao3 Link: Available only to registered users

Summary:

Dan doesn't want to join his Habitudes group for their dumb community service project, which is why he lets two idiot goons kidnap him off the streets. When said goons turn out to work for The Joker, Dan decides to do something about him, maniac to maniac.

Or: The Joker tries to live stream a ransom, but ends up live streaming his own execution.

xxXxx

When Dan Nightingale is grabbed off the streets of Gotham, he makes a half-hearted struggle, just so he can seem human. The kiddie hero business and the indiscriminate genocidal tendencies no longer call to him like they used to, and while he’s still an impatient person who is intolerant of disruptive bullshit, he needs a little excitement in his life. 

Plus, he wants an excuse to get out of his Habitudes community service project. His pretentious trust fund baby groupmates chose to volunteer at some fucking coffee shop instead of something normal, like a hospital or an animal shelter. (Dan didn’t even know a coffee shop was an option, but anything goes for wealthy elites who want to roleplay as an impoverished barista, apparently.) Well, Jay Peters wasn’t so bad, and he was just as irritated as Dan was about the others’ choice. Plus, the chill that settles into Dan’s unused lungs when the other student is around shows that he’s at least Death-touched like him, even if they’ve never acknowledged that to each other. 

So, yeah. He lets himself be kidnapped by two goons, even if he could easily break free and make their insides their outsides. It could be interesting! Enrichment in his pandimensional parole! Everyone’s got to have fun sometimes! It’s like a little joyride, as a treat! But he isn’t the one committing the crime! How quaint!

Dan is a very polite captive. He lets himself be pulled into a creeper van with minimal resistance. He lets the goons zip tie his hands. He lets them put a black bag over his head, even though it smells of weed. He doesn’t count the number of turns they take, nor does he try to talk them into letting him go. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. When they eventually park, he allows the men to pull him out of the creeper van and into some building—likely a warehouse, judging by the echo of their footsteps on the floor. And finally, he lets the goons cut off the zip ties around his wrists and then tie them to the metal arms of a chair. 

He’s a great captive. And he’s so going to be excused from that stupid Habitudes community service project!

He’s content to sit and wait. The Bats of Gotham City usually have a good response time for villain bullshit, and if they don’t, then it’s not like any Fear gas or sex pollen will affect him. Dan’s not really human anymore, even if he is capable of looking so. 

Dan does not have to wait long. The footsteps increase and then stop altogether, and then a cackle fills the air. “Camera man ready? Mics? Charges?” The voice is familiar, yet grating. Where has he heard it before? In his past future, maybe?

“Yes, sir,” comes the reply from several different people. 

A pleased cackle, “Then let’s get started!”

“We are live in three… two…” 

At the silent one, the cackle echoes through the room once again. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Gotham City and beyond! I’m your favorite Joker, LIVE! With one of your favorite Wayne children!” 

Dan, who has been relatively chill this whole time, tenses. The Joker. That’s why he recognizes that cackle and voice. He had killed the clown before in his original timeline. Ugh, clowns. He fucking hates clowns. Hates their stupid pale makeup and their stupid dumb wigs and their exaggerated eyes and he fucking hates how they make him feel like he’s not in control. 

And what was that about a Wayne? 

Dan doesn’t think killing someone like The Joker in his original timeline should be held against him. Honestly, the guy is a megalomaniacal terrorist who abuses the guise of mental illness to get away with crimes against humanity. Dan had at least owned up to his own sanity, and never tried to hide from the law or anything like that. He just kind of… killed the law. 

….ACAB? 

A hand suddenly grips at the bag on his head, grabbing hair with fabric. “That’s right, folks! Here’s Gotham’s beloved Dick Grayson!” The bag is yanked off his head, revealing Dan in all his scowling glory. And Dan is a lot of things, but an exact Dick Grayson copy he is not, so while the goons may have mistaken him as Grayson, The Joker does not. 

He pauses, studying Dan’s face. Dan raises a mocking eyebrow, then looks around the warehouse. 

It’s empty and dimly lit, but it’s not a problem for his superior vision. The metal walls are an ugly beige and the floor is a gray cement, its color only broken by mysterious brown stains, and now the discarded black bag. Dan is up against a wall, surrounded by filming equipment. The camera in question is just a fucking iPhone 12 attached to a ring light. There’s one goon behind the camera, moderating the live stream. There is another goon holding a boom mic above Dan and The Joker, and there are four others behind the camera. All of the goons who are not handling equipment are holding toy musket guns. It is probably safe to assume that there are similarly armed goons guarding the doors that Dan cannot see from his position tied to a chair. Likely two goons per exit. In a warehouse of this size, there have to be at least six more goons that Dan isn’t seeing. 

The Joker grits his teeth. “Who brought the Grayson kid here.” It’s not a question so much as it is a demand. 

“We did, boss,” two goons pipe up proudly from behind the camera. 

“Why don’t you two come up on camera so I can congratulate you for good work?” The Joker grins beseechingly. 

One of the two goons, the blond, shuffles nervously at this, whereas the other puffs out his chest. So only one has any brain cells. 

The prideful one grabs his comrade by the arm and drags him up to the camera with Dan and The Joker. They stand in front of Dan, blocking him from the camera’s view.

“I always reward good work, you see,” he says to his henchmen. “Now, you think this is good work?” 

“Yes, sir,” says Pride, while Blond frowns. 

“Take a good look at his face.” The villain gestures angrily to Dan’s unimpressed face. “What do you see?” 

“Dick Grayson, sir,” 

Blond shuffles, “He looks like he isn’t scared.” 

“No! Wrong! This isn’t Dick Grayson! This– This is some—” The Joker takes another glance at Dan, noting the black Gotham U hoodie that hides his muscles. “This is some fucking college twink!”

“Twink?” Dan mutters to himself, disgruntled. Sure, the hoodie is baggy and he’s seated instead of standing, but do those two things add up to him looking like a twink? 

The color has drained out of even Pride’s face at The Joker’s words. “Sir, please—”

But The Joker is already pulling out a comically large toy gun that probably has real bullets, and Dan sighs. It would probably be bad for his parole if he let a bunch of humans die in front of him. 

He phases out of the ropes binding him, safe from view with the two idiots in front of him. Then, he kicks The Joker down to the floor, sending the toy gun scattering across the cement floor of the warehouse. He stands and knocks Pride and Blond’s heads together, knocking them out as The Joker screeches with rage. 

The goons behind the camera aim their guns, but Dan is already moving behind the camera. He snags the guns out of their hands, snapping them in half with strength he doesn’t even have to think about. He moves so fast that at first they don’t even realize what’s happened. By the time they connect their missing firearms to the broken bits of metal on the floor, Dan has already clobbered them over the head, knocking them unconscious. 

He takes out the cameraman, too, and the goon holding the boom mic. Then, in mere seconds, he takes out all the goons at each exit, and he’s back at the filming station by the time The Joker has staggered to his feet. His original estimate had been off by two—there were eight other goons in total. 

Dan checks the iPhone—still live streaming. On TikTok, of all the goddamn apps. The comments are going wild on what’s going on: where’s the college student, how did he kick The Joker like that, do you guys think that those two goons have brain damage now, what was that metal scraping sound, where is The Joker? 

“Hey, brat!” snarls The Joker, clutching at his ribs. “That was not part of the script.”

Dan hates clowns, and he especially hates The Joker. Sure, Dan wiped out nearly all of humanity. Who doesn’t have a bad decade of villainous activity? But he did it quickly, and he didn’t do it under the guise of insanity. He owned up to it. And if Dan’s being honest, he’s… disgusted by it all now, even if it hurts himself to admit. 

If Dan isn’t human, then neither is The Joker. 

Still off camera, Dan moves so fast he basically teleports in front of The Joker. The other man stumbles back, but Dan reaches out and grabs him by the throat. He chokes and claws at Dan, but Dan isn’t human anymore, and so his nails catch on nothing but the cloth of his hoodie. He doesn’t even feel it.

He drags The Joker to the chair in front of the still live camera and shoves him into it. While he recovers from being choked, gasping and shuddering and so fucking human , Dan forces his hands behind him and uses the ropes he’d phased out of to tie The Joker up. When he ties the last knot, Dan stands tall, staring into the camera. 

“Hello, friends and family,” he greets the audience. He gives a small smile, and he makes sure that he is perfectly, utterly human with normal blue eyes and normal black hair and normal human skin. “As you can see, things have turned around for The Joker here. Now, I’m sure his original intent was to ransom out the Wayne kid, and it would be a shame to see that hard work and planning go to waste on a mistake, wouldn’t it? So why don’t we hold a… reverse ransom? Only, I don’t need funds. I’ll accept donations. My venmo is vladsucks03. My cashapp is dannight07.”

Dan’s smile grows into a wide grin. “Feel free to donate if you like. But even not a single person donates, The Joker dies today.” 

The Joker spits out a gasping laugh, “Ha! You think you can kill me? I gotta admit, that’s a good joke. But Batman—”

“Batman what?” Dan asks, stepping off camera to grab the black bag on the floor. He shoves it halfway into his pocket. He walks to The Joker’s toy gun, the only one he hadn’t broken, and he picks it up. 

“Batman is already on his way here,” The Joker says. “He always is by this point.”

“And Batman will save you?” Dan snorts. He moves to check the live stream, comments coming in so fast that the only reason he can read them is because he’s not human anymore. 

Is this for real

fuck yeah kill that guy

💥🔫🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

extremely common gotham uni W

im donating 50$ rn

Can we vote on how joker dies

Lol does he fr think that batman would help him

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Does anyone else find this incredibly attractive or is it just me 😳

guys my joker/batman fic update is gonna slap after this

Joker’s cooked

bro is about to have ao3 level donations

Hey what’s his cashapp again

Omg i think that guy is in my bio class

I’ll donate when hes acc dead

doin god's work 🥹👍

If bro doesnt do it he’s cooked

This guy is gonna have infinite rizz if he pulls this off

The Joker scoffs, “Of course he will. He’s done it before.”

Dan yanks his gaze from the comments to The Joker’s face, “What?”

The Joker nods his head up arrogantly. “Batsy can’t live without me. He saved me after fickle-ickle Nightwing killed me.” 

“Huh.” Dan blinks consideringly, switching his gaze back to the comments. They’re all freaking out about this new information. He steps back into the camera frame, pulling the hammer back on the toy gun. “Then I’ll just have to make sure it sticks.” 

He points the gun at The Joker’s face and fires. As expected, rainbow confetti is the only thing that flies out, dusting over The Joker in celebration of what is to come. 

The Joker laughs. 

“Cute,” says Dan. He walks around The Joker to stand behind him, directly in front of the camera. He removes the black bag from his pocket and puts it over The Joker’s face. 

He shoves the muzzle of the gun into the back of The Joker’s skull. Pulling back the hammer, he asks, “Any last words?” 

He pulls the trigger before The Joker can say anything. It’s funny. As expected, the second gunshot is a real bullet. The Joker’s head and body jerks forward. Blood splatters on Dan’s face, but it’s mostly on the floor and the unconscious Blond and Pride and on The Joker himself. 

For a moment, Dan can only stare. The Joker’s body is crumbled in on itself, held up only by the bindings on his arms to a chair nailed to the ground. 

He feels big. He feels good. 

He feels… dirty.

He clears his throat. He drops the gun. He lifts up the soaking black bag up just enough to check for a pulse. After thirty seconds of nothing, he says, “Well, that’s the end of The Joker.” 

He looks up, staring into the camera lens, and he chuckles. “I missed my community service project because of this bozo. You guys think my professor will accept this as community service?”

You guys think this will affect my ghost parole? he doesn’t ask. 

He bends down to check the pockets of Blond. He finds his phone and uses Blond’s thumbprint to bypass the password. His stomach curdles at the home screen—a picture of Blond and a little girl with his eyes and his nose. His eyes burn and he calls 911, trying not to blink.

“911 dispatch. What is your emergency?”

“Yeah, uh, I killed The Joker. But he kidnapped me first, so. Turnabout.” 

“You— sorry, you what?”

“I killed The Joker. He’s dead. I checked his pulse and everything.”

“O-oh.” The woman on dispatch sounds strangled. There are muffled sounds, frantic, that the receiver only barely picks up. Dan wonders what she’s doing, Asking for verification? Trying to triangulate his location? Celebrating the fucking good news? “Do you know where you are, sir?”

“Some warehouse, I guess. Probably at the docks. Do you want me to check?”

“No, sir, please stay where you are if there are no immediate threats.”

“Got it.” He clicks his tongue. 

“Can you tell me your name, sir? Are you injured somewhere?”

“I’m Dan. Uh, Dan Nightingale. I guess he thought I was the Grayson kid. Um. Dick Grayson, I mean. And no, I’m fine. His henchmen are injured and unconscious, though.” 

“Right. Okay. Hi, Dan. I’m Claire. First responders and patrol units are on their way to your location now.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess.” He almost wants to ask if she thinks that he’ll end up in Arkham for this, but he’s pretty sure that there’s no jury on Earth that would convict him. Well, maybe not. He did ask for donations for murdering The Joker, after all. That might put a damper on his defense. 

“Dan?” asks Claire. 

“Yeah?”

“Is– is he really dead?”

Dan looks at the body and kicks a limp leg, avoiding looking at the gory black bag. Nothing. “Yep. As a doornail.” And he knows death intimately. 

She breathes a shaky, staticky sigh into the receiver. “Thank you, Dan.”  

He blinks, “Can you get fired for saying that?”

She laughs, “Honey, everyone not on break right now is listening to this. My boss just broke a bottle of tequila out from his desk.” 

He barks out his own laugh. “Oh?”

“You’re about to be very popular, Dan.”

“Well, I—” 

And seventeen minutes late to the party, the windows at the top of the warehouse shatter open. In cascades of broken glass and grappling cables, the Bats drop down to the floor. 

“Away from the body,” commands Batman as soon as his feet hit the ground. His little birdies, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and the newest Robin fall in line with him. Robin makes quick work of rounding up the unconscious goons and binding them. 

Dan obligingly puts the hand that isn’t holding the phone up in the air, but before moving away from the camera’s view, he says, “Just a reminder guys, my venmo is vladsucks03 and my cashapp is dannight07. Please remember that I might need a lawyer soon.”

“Okay, funny guy,” Nightwing says, entering into frame and pulling Dan away by the shoulder while Red Robin shuts down the live stream.

“It was self-defense and defense of another. A whole population, if you will,” Dan says. 

Red Hood snickers, “Only crime here was the kidnapping.” 

“Dan, are you okay?”

“Bats are here, Claire,” Dan tells her. He watches Batman lift the black bag off The Joker’s face, revealing the viscera and gray matter beneath. He’s not smiling anymore. Dan hasn’t seen that kind of gore in years. He’s the cause of it once more and he doesn’t regret that. It feels invigorating. It feels devastating. “I guess I’ll hang up now. If The Joker is mysteriously alive after this, it’s because Batman couldn’t handle not being the hero.” 

“Dan—” He hangs up as Batman’s shoulders go minutely tense at his words. The man stands fully, turning his head slightly to narrow his cowled eyes at Dan. 

“Problem, sir?” 

“You killed The Joker.” 

“I saved myself and his two idiots.” He shrugs. 

“You had him restrained.” 

He rests an offended hand against his chest. “I was frightened that he would escape, sir, just as he escapes from the very place you put him every eight to ten months.” The Bat doesn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. Fine. Whatever, he gets it. Dan hadn’t wanted to be that, neither as hero nor villain. He’d wanted to save, he wanted to be saved, and then he wanted everyone to feel like he did. But he’s not so prideful now to know that he wouldn’t have stopped then, not unless someone handled the job permanently. 

The Joker needed permanence. 

The Bat can play fucking judge all he wants. But he’d be just as villainous if he tried enforcing his own moral code on other people.

“You asked for donations,” Red Robin says dryly. “You were basically putting a hit out on him.”

“My art in life textbook is $300. How much do you think a lawyer is going to cost?”

“Hn.” 

“Stop giving the man a hard time for doing a public service, Batman.” Red Hood shoulder checked Nightwing away and held out a gloved hand for Dan to shake. He takes the other’s hand and firmly shakes it. The contact, while not to skin, gives Dan goosebumps and chills his lungs. 

Jay?

“Let’s hope my Habitudes professor agrees with you.”

“She will. Everyone with three brain cells to rub together will.” The man cuts a glare at Batman. 

Dan didn't say what pronouns his professor uses. 

The rumble in Red Hood’s voice is enticing. He looks at the other man, really looks, and notices his broad shoulders, how tall he is (though Dan towers over him even  disguised as a human), and his muscled arms. Arms that Dan’s pretty sure are normally hidden beneath a Gotham U hoodie, just like his own. 

He smirks as sirens sound in the distance. “Let’s hope the cops agree with you.”

“They will,” Hood says. It sounds like a promise for something entirely different. 

“Gag me,” Red Robin mutters.

Robin says, “For once I agree with you.”

Without looking away from Dan, Red Hood flips the two off, and yeah, maybe redemption can be more promising than he initially thought. 

xxXxx

A week later, Dan finally goes back to his regular schedule. His ghost parole is intact—he’d even been thanked by some Gothamite ghosts, and Danny begrudgingly told him that there were ghosts who said they’d riot if Dan was given any punishment. As for the mortal side of things, Vlad Masters had graciously sent his team of attorneys to Dan’s aid. While Dan still hates him, he has no issue about using a free team of lawyers to defend him. He’s guaranteed to walk.

Jazz had called him. It made his core unsettled and stony. She wasn’t disappointed, and he doesn’t know how that makes him feel. He doesn’t regret it—The Joker would never change. But what does that say about him and his progress? 

Jazz in general makes him uneasy now. She used to be his big sister, and now she’s younger than him, and he tried to kill her, and— she’s different from his Jazz, is all. But if she’d always known like she said, then his Jazz did, too, right? Could she still be his Jazz, a Jazz who got to grow up? Still be his sister? It would be stupid to hope so, right?

He feels bitter.

She said she’s considering Gotham University as her college of choice as she nears high school graduation. Apparently, their psych department is amazing. 

So maybe hope isn’t so bad. 

Dan sits down at his 10:00 am Habitudes class. Everyone already in the room stares at him. Before they can offer any congrats or thanks or swarm him, Jay sits down next to him. 

Dan looks at Jay’s mostly black hair and his tuft of white at his front bangs. He’s wearing his usual Gotham U hoodie, a hoodie that likely hides muscled arms. A chill builds in his lungs like it did when speaking with Red Hood, like it has every other time he’s talked with Jay Peters. 

…Hm. A hoodie that definitely hides muscled arms. 

“Hey,” says Jay with a grin. “Crazy week, I hear?”

“You’re a Gothamite. I’m sure you’re aware of exactly how crazy it’s been.” 

“You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure. After class? We can grab an early lunch. Make it a date, maybe.”

Jay smiles, cute and small. His eyes flash green—a baby Death-touched soul, still can’t control his spooky abilities, how adorable—and he says, “That sounds perfect.”

[apute11as]

Everything happens for a reason part 2 - Alexia putellas x pregnant!reader

Author note: Hey as requested this is part 2 to my alexia x reader pregnancy fic! Sorry if it’s not great but I’ve got ideas for further chapters that I’ll work on soon! Also please send ficlet requests if you’d like more consistent posts as they take significantly less time :)

Warnings⚠️: mentions of vomit, tiny bit of suggestive content, angst

Part 1- https://www.tumblr.com/apute11as/733631966220582912/everything-happens-for-a-reason-alexia-putellas

~~~~~~

As you strolled through security, your mind flickered back to the conversation you’d had with the mother in the plane. Unease overtook your body as you couldn’t help but wonder if she were right, but she couldn’t be, surely? Yes you and Alexia had been trying but you’d taken a test after the last round of IVF and that test read a strong negative.

Casting the thoughts out of your mind, you decided to shift your focus to the important upcoming tournament. Getting though baggage control was yet again, a thankfully unproblematic task and you’d found your driver with minimal effort. These were further signs that you’d simply been overthinking the spontaneous sickness from this morning which was mostly likely due to fatigue or anxiety.

Having had help from your driver with hauling your luggage into the back of the black car, you finally sat down in the back of vehicle and allowed yourself a breath of relief as the most difficult part of your journey had been achieved. This moment of peace finally allowed you to check your phone, where of course you were met with a text from Alexia that read:

“I hope you had a safe flight bebita, I left you a suprise in the top pocket of your bag, te quiero mucho amor ❤️xx”

Smiling down at your phone, you clicked her icon to reply with a simple

“just got in the cab, can’t wait to see it te quiero más bebé xx”

The journey from the airport to St George’s Park was relatively short and you’d surprisingly managed to occupy yourself well enough that not once did your mind shift to your impending potential pregnancy. Upon arrival, you thanked your driver, giving him a generous tip for his good service and further help in hauling your heavy bags from out of the car. Thinking, you had another moment of peace, you reached down to look at a message which was a short lived attempt as you felt yourself being almost plowed down by a body being thrown at you.

“HOLA CHICA” bellowed none other than Mary Earps, the English goalkeeper wrapping you into a tight hug.

“Hiya Mary” you sighed after getting over the initial shock of her entrance, recovering from the near dropping of your phone onto the concrete floor below.

“How’ve you been, we’ve missed you at home, how’s Spain treating you?” she exclaimed, bombarding you with questions.

“Let the girl breathe Mary” rung the voice of Millie bright, the defender taking a much more gentle approach to you welcome.

“hey Mill, I’ve missed you all so much it feels like ages since I’ve seen you all” you replied.

“Clearly you’ve found some superior company though” stated Leah Williamson who now entered the scene, greeting you with a hug.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, confused.

“well if the marks on your neck are anything to go by then I’m sure you’ve been just fine with Putellas” Leah jeered teasingly.

“oh shit I totally forgot, it’s been such a hectic morning I didn’t even realise” you stuttered although thinking back, your wife would surely have noticed your failure to cover up the less than subtle marks that littered your neck. Although, knowing Alexia she would have watched you walk out with pride, knowing that everyone would know you were hers just by taking one look at you. Typical la Reina.

“don’t get all stressed now, some of us a just single and miserable” the Chelsea defender gestured to Leah.

“haha very funny bright” retorted the younger blonde, and with that the pair of defenders wandered off inside.

“you said this morning has been hectic but I thought travel was smooth?” questioned Mary with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah yeah travel was perfect, it’s just other things.” you said with your expression visibly faltered.

“If your ever need to talk babes I’m here, it’s nothing to do with Putellas is it? Because i swear if that woman hurt you…”

“No no” you insisted, cutting her off. “Alexia has been perfect, just got a lot on my mind right now.” You assured the older woman.

“Alright hun, just don’t hesitate to reach out” she said with a smile.

“Thanks Mary I appreciate that so much” you replied.

After a further wave of reintroductions and also a couple of greetings towards the new players, you found yourself in a room with Sarina, the team and the assistant coaches.

“Right as usual of course, your rooms are to be assigned” stated the coach

“Leah and Keira”

“Georgia and Ella”

the list went on in a typical fashion.

and “Y/N and Alessia”

You let a small smile slip at the revelation, knowing that the blonde forward was easy to talk to and respected your quiet time, something you felt as though you needed more than ever, given your current stresses.

You were presented with a key card each and then made your way upstairs, having to haul your several bags into the elevator, a task that left you unusually out of breath. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Alessia as you hunched over, clutching your stomach.

“Are you ok Y/N?” the younger girl questioned.

“yeah thanks, I’m ok. I think it’s just a little discomfort from travel.” you replied with a weak expression.

Finally, the two of you reached the comfort of your shared room and unlocked the door swiftly. You offered Alessia the window bed as you knew that she much preferred it and felt slightly claustrophobic otherwise.

You both began unpacking your vast array of bags and unloading stuff into the wardrobes, when your mind shifted back to the text your wife had sent you earlier. You reached for your carry on bag and unzipped the pocket, to be met with the sight of your favourite Spanish chocolates with a small note that read:

“Para mi princesa. Un regalo casi tan dulce como tú. Te amo mucho mi corazon.”

You smiled softly, your wife had always expressed her love so beautifully through words, the terms of endearment making you tear up slightly.

“What’s that?” Alessia asked with curiosity.

“Just something Alexia got me to remind me of her.” you replied, wiping your eyes simultaneously. “They’re spanish chocolates” you continue “she knows they’re my favourite from our local chocolatería.”

“that’s so sweet” the younger girl replied with a smile.

“Yes it really is” you said, beginning to open the sweet treats but before you got a chance to offer some to Alessia, the smell hit your nostrils. Normally that would elicit a mouth watering response but this time you felt your stomach lurch in discomfort, similarly to the way it did this morning. You the found yourself bounding to the bathroom to throw up the small sandwich you’d eaten on your flight.

“Oh my god Y/N” exclaimed Alessia, worry evident in her tone. “I knew you looked pale earlier, you are sick!” she said holding your hair back and grimacing as another round of nausea had you further emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet bowel.

“Sorry Alessia you don’t have to stay for this.” you managed in between the dry heaving that had replaced your sickness.

“No god I don’t mind, should I go get a staff member though?” She questioned.

“No, no definitely not I think I know what it is it’s fine.” You assured her.

Though Alessia wasn’t convinced and made a mental note to ask you again after team bonding, which you insisted you were well enough to attend.

“I thought you said those were your favourite chocolates, why did they make you feel sick?” The blonde questioned curiously.

“I’m not sure maybe they’d gone off” you offered weakly.

The two of you finally made it downstairs to the team, albeit 10 minutes late as you changed and freshened up after your spell of sickness.

“Look what the cat dragged in” shouted Beth as she attempted to rugby tackle you to the floor but before she was successful, she was stopped forcefully by Alessia.

“Careful Beth she’s not feeling great” explained Alessia.

“It’s alright Less, I’m alright now” you assured the girl.

“Anyways now that you two have finally arrived, we can start the fifa play offs!” cheered Georgia

As the night progressed, your stomach settled but your anxiety levels only heightened as the reality of your situation truly began to settle in. You were shocked out of your thoughts by a soft hand on your shoulder, that belonged to your captain- Leah.

“Woah there jumpy” she said as you flinched at her touch. “I was just checking if you wanted a hot chocolate but is everything all right?” she questioned.

That did it, the tears that had been threatening to flow came free now. You ran off hurriedly to the bathroom, Leah watching in awe as to what had actually just happened.

“It’s alright I’ve got her.” Alessia assured a couple of the team members who had gathered at the commotion.

You were now balling your eyes out in the bathroom, as the thoughts of what the pregnancy would mean dawned upon you. Ordinarily when you’d planned the pregnancy, you wouldn’t be attending the World Cup, opting to sacrifice it for your wife who’d just come back from an injury and was 4 years older than you anyways. However, now here you were, ready to go to the tournament and were potentially pregnant. You heard the door swing open and were soon met with the concerned face of your roommate, knowing you now definitely had to share your concerns with her.

“What’s up Y/N, no “I’m fine” or any nonsense, you’re struggling with something let me help you.” said the blonde, sympathetically.

“I-I think I’m pregnant” you said for the first time out loud since you began questioning.

“That’s good surely? Wait you’d have to do ivf for that, unless it’s not Alexia’s baby oh my god, oh my god is it somebody else’s, that’d explain the tears…”

“No Alessia” you urged, cutting off her rambling. “It would be Alexia’s it’s just not quite gone to plan” you continued as Alessia stared at you with a confused face.

You the preceded to explain your conversation with the woman on the plane, the negative pregnancy test from earlier this month and yours and Alexia’s plans to start a family. Alessia listening intently and comforting you as you spoke.

“Maybe the best idea would be to get a test” Alessia stated “because for all you know you’re getting stressed over nothing.” She reasoned.

“Yeah yeah that’s true, I just didn’t have much time to get one between the airport.

“We can get one tomorrow at lunch, it’s late now anyways maybe you should call alexia and tell her what’s going on?”

“No no no I can’t call Alexia she can’t know” you urged.

“why not she might be able to help you see clearly” said Alessia

“No she’ll be on a flight over here to make sure I don’t play, I really want to play Alessia” you pleaded

“Ok then let’s tell the girls you don’t feel well so we’re going to bed early how’s that?” Asked the blonde

“Yeah that sounds good thank you Less it means so much that you care.” you thanked her

“Of course Y/N anytime” she smiled.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

this is a slight detour from your usual subject matter but i'm very curious about your experience renting a high-quality camera lens? how did you go about doing that and have you been pleased with how it worked out? (the changing of hands i mean, it's clear you're happy with the lens!)

i didn't know this was a Thing before and now i'm wondering if i might be able to try that myself!

Oh yeah, it's absolutely the best thing if you can't afford fancy lenses / want to try out new gear / just need something for a special occasion.

There are places you can rent online that will ship you gear, and depending on where you live you can often also rent from local camera stores. I've done both!

Right now my main practice is renting lenses from LensRentals, which is an online company that ships out of Tennessee. They've got pretty reasonable rental prices, and they don't charge a deposit - but you do sign a thing saying if you damage or lose it, they can charge you. You can also pay for insurance on the rentals against damage or loss which would mitigate a lot of that cost if something went wrong. I've heard a range of opinions about them, but I've pretty much always had a good experience with them and gotten stuff on time that worked correctly, and their customer service has been really responsive for me when we had some snafus with shipping stuff back lately. One thing they do that I really like is their system is set up with an option to ship directly to FedEx stores for you to pick up, which means I don't have to worry about a package containing pricey gear getting stolen or rained on.

LensRentals also is willing to let you buy their rental gear, which is what I'm hoping to do before I send the really nice huge telephoto lens I've been using back tomorrow. They'll take some of the price of your rental off the purchase cost - it isn't a ton, but it generally covers sales tax and maybe a little more. I like it as a way to purchase used gear because I can see the condition before I commit, and I've had it in my hands and gotten to use it a bunch. That's how I bought my first real digital camera like a decade ago, and where I got my current camera and starter lenses.

If you've got a local rental store, I absolutely encourage going through them! I've done that when traveling - there have been some times I wanted a specific piece of gear to test on a habitat - and it's worked out really well. Plus, supporting local businesses is always the right choice. They'll often all operate a little differently, but it's nice to know people IRL who can help you decide what gear to use or just nerd out with you. Sometimes local places will ask for some type of deposit to make sure you bring the gear back, and TBH if that's within your budget it's perfectly reasonable.

Unfortunately, the local rental place in my area charges a deposit to your credit card for the entire worth your rental until you bring it home, and my credit limit isn't high enough that I can float a hold for that (e.g. upwards of four thousand dollars for the two lenses I'm using lately) and still be able to, y'know, use my card, so I go with online rentals. It drives me up a wall! I'd really like to support local businesses and minimize shipping costs / carbon emissions.

If you think you'd like to rent some gear to try out, I recommend it! Just make sure you know what's compatible with your camera, you've got a safe way to transport and store the rental when you're not using it, and that you know the terms up front. It's been such a fun way to play around and see what I like and what works well for me.

[myketheartista]

Hi everyone!

It’s commission time! I’ve been unable to do commissions for a few years due to college, but I’m trying my hand at them again with some updated prices and information since I’ve graduated :3c

There are 3 slots available. When these fill up, a waiting list will be created and you will be notified of your position until you move into a slot. The average completion time for each commission will be 2-3 weeks! Please DM or email me at myketheartista@gmail.com if you’re interested!!

I will be offering two primary options: Flat colored work and rendered work. Both options have backgrounds/scenes available upon request for an extra cost determined by the complexity. Examples such as the collage of characters on the flats section can be requested for a separate estimated price—I’m willing to work with you if you’ve got a fun idea in mind! Please feel free to run an idea by me if you’re unsure if it fits into my comfort zone. I’m still feeling the waters out myself!

The third option I am offering are chibis! These are minimally rendered little guys that are best paired with a prop and some fancy accessories, all included in the price listed! These characters will be delivered as a transparent file and on a plain background, typically grey since that is what I work on, but a different color can be requested before or after the commission is finished. Very simple, graphic backgrounds can be requested as well for free! This would include single-colored, non-detailed floral elements, shapes and patterns, and any symbols that may compliment the character(s).

*For four chibis or more, I will offer a discounted price :D

Terms of Service:

I have the right to decline any commission.

I accept payment in USD with Venmo, Square, and Cashapp.

Payment is upfront for commissions $50 and lower. Anything higher can be split, half upfront and half before the final product is sent.

Updates will be sent throughout the process. Edits to the sketch are free. When the product is completed, two free edits are allowed. After that, each edit will cost $10.

Visual references are a must.

Commissions will take 2-3 weeks. Please inform me if there is a deadline.

The product is for personal use only. Do not use my art for AI, NFTs, or commercial use. Do not resell, copy, or trace my work.

I do not offer refunds unless I am unable to complete the commission.

WILL DRAW: Fanart, OCs, Mild violence, Ships, Anthro/Feral, and Stylized work upon request.

WON’T DRAW: NSFW/Fetish/Gore, Mecha, Realism, Complex Backgrounds, Problematic Content. 

Thank you for reading, and please spread the word! I appreciate any and all support <3

[writingsfromhome]

If you Love Something II

A/N: okayy I’m finally going to stop overthinking and just post this one. Please note the tw in part 1. Thank you all SO much for the comments and love on the original…hope this one meets ur expectations. It’s definitely more focused on the lost daughter relationship rather than you and Harry so p dense but...here it is 🫣

——————————————

Age 36:

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Harry informs me over the phone. “I went with chicken noodle soup.”

“Mmm,” I close my eyes. “I could use something hot and hearty right now. I’m freezing my ass off.”

“I didn’t need to make dinner for that.”

“So come here, warm me up,” I crane my neck to the left again. “Stupid delays.”

“I can come get you."

I’d mapped it out before calling Harry, it would take him too long to get here. “That’s alright. Doesn’t make a difference.”

The screen on the platform showed 6 minutes…for the past 15 minutes.

“I’ve either been living in the longest minute of my fucking life,” I mutter. “Or this line is taking the piss out of all of us.”

Two dozen of us had gotten off the last train when it announced it was out of service. Now the number on the platform had tripled waiting for the next one.

“Patience,” Harry says. “Is a virtue.”

“Easy for you to say in the warm flat with the chicken noodle soup.”

“It’ll be yours soon.”

Soon. I sigh and try to release the anxious energy with it. “Thank you for taking care of dinner.”

“Of course.” He replies. Like it was that simple. But being with Harry was like that nowadays.

Despite all the catching up we had to do with the 17 years we had lived separate lives, emotionally it’s like we picked up where we last left off.

I’d be lying if I said it was smooth sailing the whole year we’d been together. There had been a hard few first months where both of us felt unnerved by the peacefulness of the relationship. We weren’t used to such an easy quiet.

I’d tried to self-sabotage first by going awol and working longer hours than I needed to. I think I was scared Harry would wake up one day and realize too much time had passed and he didn’t like who I’d become so I minimized our time together. Until Harry called me out for it.

But then he went off the rails, and for a few weeks I’d been an even bigger ball of anxiety. Ultimately I had to give him the hard truth even though the last thing I ever wanted was to convince someone to stay with an ultimatum. But I’d told him, he had to at least attempt sobriety if he wanted us to work.

There were a few sleepless nights, I didn’t know if we were going to make it. But one morning he asked me to go to an aa meeting with him.

Going together, being in the same boat as a group of people gathered in the back room of a dusty church finally gelled us together. For good. He’d been sober since.

We moved in together 7 months ago. Even though it doubled my commute time—tripled with delays, I had never been more sure that I was exactly where I needed to be.

We held space for each other. Even the heavier bits; we knew what they were. What it was like to hold them on our own. We always joked about how our loads had halved despite taking on half of the other’s. Because just like our venn diagram of love, our venn diagram of hurting was the same.

“Oh god, I better not be hallucinating.” I nearly jump up and down when the twin headlights of the next train peek in the distance. The platform board still says 6 minutes.

“You’re cutting up what?”

“Nothing! Train’s here!”

“I’ll pick you up from the station.” Harry says before I hang up.

I spend the remaining 15 minute ride going over the lecture I’d given tonight.

3 years ago when I applied to be a lecturer I didn’t actually think I’d get it. But in the 10 years of my career I had collected, I had done exceptionally well. It was ironic with all the bullshit life threw at me, I had somehow channeled it into a determined work ethic. After failing many math tests in high school I had found a love for it in uni—it made me work hard, get out of my head with its constant thoughts. Harry now took to calling me a masochist for teaching something mathematical.

In reality it wasn’t that mathematical. I taught Management Econ which was a snorefest on paper but I tried to be engaging and include a whole host of ways to teach—I knew not everyone excelled with a textbook.

It had made the course popular, it went from being offered once a semester to 3 times this year because the waitlist spoke for itself. It was one of my proudest accomplishment—getting students motivated and interested. And because it was mostly first and second year students, they were still eager and not jaded by the uni system.

That was how I spent my evenings on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Otherwise I worked for the city the same hours Harry worked his creative exec job at a major firm in the city. Sometimes we met up for lunch. It was the little things like that, making time to see each other in the middle of the day even though we woke up and fell asleep to each other, that made this relationship feel so secure.

It felt like coming home each time I caught sight of his face, and knew his smile was just for me.

My thoughts drift to our daughter. She would have celebrated her 18th birthday a few weeks ago. I always lit a birthday candle for her, this year Harry and I bought a cake and a symbolic drink for her. Our baby was old enough to drink.

“Do you think she takes after her parents?” Harry had asked.

“I think she grew up alright.” I always imagined her to have. “I hope she has no reason to drink herself silly.”

“Being 18 is reason enough.”

We talk about her often. She slips into conversation as easily as inhaling. It keeps her with us.

When I spot Harry’s car at the station I nearly weep.

“Your cheeks are so cold,” Harry says after a peck hello. He holds them both in his heated hands and plants exaggerated kisses on each cheek.

“Please sir,” I kiss his mouth and continue in what Harry called my Oliver Twist accent. “Take me to the chicken noodle soup. I hunger.”

Harry responds in the same accent (although it wasn’t as good as mine) and pretty soon I’m forgetting the 20 minute delay, the lecture with 100 technical difficulties, and anything in between.

After dinner and completing my 20 step night time routine I crawl into bed beside a cozy-looking Harry.

“Whatcha reading?” I peek at his book. I can’t believe he was the reading-before-bed type. In a way it was so different from the 17 year old guy I knew. It was also a reminder that even though we knew each other through and through, there were still so many habits and stories and quirks to discover.

“It’s a boring as hell sci-fi novel, don’t ask.”

“Then why are you reading it?”

“I accidentally joined a book club at work!?”

He tells me the story of how he told some people he enjoyed reading, and then being unable to say no when they bought this month’s book for him and presented it to him a week later.

“I bet you that’s their ponze scheme. It’s like an MLM, the latest recruit has to guilt the next joinee. You’ll be doing it soon.”

Harry laughs and holds his book out to me. “That actually brings me to my next question with this very generous gift, do you like reading?”

“Nope.” I push the book away. “I also don’t like book clubs.”

He tosses the book down lightly. “Damnit!”

We laugh. I cuddle into his side and lay my head on his chest as he finishes his chapter. His heart beat is steady, like the life he’s helped me create as we committed to each other. I listen to it as it lulls me to a calmer place.

“So how was work? How’s your students this semester?”

“Work’s good. Same old right now. Teaching was interesting. It’s the second week of classes so still seeing a lot of people come and go. You start to see the regulars by week 3.”

“Full class?”

“Almost,” I tell him. “A few empty seats. There was one girl who was obviously watching tv the whole time, another guy that fell asleep halfway, and this other kid kept looking at the door like he was physically trying to decide whether he would stay. Weird lot.”

“They won’t be there next week.”

“Nope.”

“You think she’s starting uni? I wonder what she’s decided to study.”

“Mmm, I always think it’s something creative like you.”

Harry squeezes his arm around me. “I think she’s a masochist like you.”

We talk more about her, about the upcoming weekend, and as sleep visits we drift away still intertwined like most nights.

***

“Does anyone know why?” I ask the lecture hall. Just like I predicted, most of the people I knew wouldn’t make it were gone. Now there were just under 60 students in total. What had surprised me was the guy who looked nervous the second week stayed. He’d been joined by two friends who only showed up in week 4. He was probably the designated note taker.

A girl to the left puts her hand up and I point to her. “The growing gap between upper and middle classes?”

“Yes.” I give her a reassuring smile. Until I started teaching, I forgot that most answers they gave were questions. “Anyone else?”

The girl beside nervous guy puts her hand up. “The ageing population, it skews the demographic from what was initially projected?”

“Exactly,” I try not to show favourites but that was beautifully said. Maybe she didn’t need to come to all the classes.

“That would also affect the workforce,” a guy sitting in the front pipes in. I smile, pleased that a discussion was forming.

A few others join in and I nod at each point. I loved this job.

After class is over I always got a few stragglers asking questions. The nervous guy comes up to me.

“Um professor,” he hitches his backpack and glances back at his friends. “For the assignment due next week, can groups of 3 be okay?”

I glance at his friends, it was supposed to be in pairs but what the hell. “Sure. But I’ll need extra stuffing in the assignment to make up for it.”

I say it with a joking tone but he’s so wound up that he takes me seriously.

“Of course. We’ll increase the citations and make sure to include more research-“

“Philippe,” one of the girls is suddenly a few feet away.

“Thank you.” He says, finally meeting my eye. I smile and he relaxes. I turn to his friends, to acknowledge them but they stare at me like I’d grown a second head. One of the other students asks her questions and I turn my attention away—weird.

***

“Mid-terms?” Harry asks. I’m reading a textbook while I stand over the simmering pot. We had accidentally ordered 4 times the tomatoes on our online order last week and with three still left I’d decided to batch make spaghetti sauce. It had been a long time since I made it from scratch.

“Kind of.” I push the book aside. “Someone in the department wants to update the textbooks and they left notes in the old one for what needs updating. They asked me to take a look.”

“That’s cool,” Harry walks over to me. He smelled like cologne and outside, the way he usually did right after he came home on chillier days. “That he wants your opinion?”

“She actually,” I poke him. “And it is! I can’t believe I get paid to lecture about one of my passions.”

“Economics,” Harry makes a face like he smelled something bad.

“Makes the world go round,” I smile sweetly.

“Remember when you liked things that were cool like Harry Potter and Coldplay-“

“I still like them! If I recall you’re the one who motivated me to do well in maths.”

“I did?” Harry looks off into the distance but his slow smirk is evident that he was remembering. He tilts my chin up and brushes my lips. “You’re right. So how about now? Would that still work?”

“Do you want me to stroke your ego right now?”

“Amongst other things,” he muses, his hands drop down to my hips and then lower, giving my bum a squeeze.

“Cut it out,” I scold him but it’s cancelled by the smile on my face. I shake my head and go back to the simmering pot.

“Is that tomato soup?” Harry’s suddenly distracted by the pot. We’d been having a lot of it this week because…well tomatoes.

“Nope, I’m making spaghetti sauce. From scratch.”

“Hey, didn’t you make that one time? When we were kids.”

“Hm,” I think back. It felt like so long ago but something niggles at me. “I think? I used to help my mum—it’s her recipe. Maybe you had dinner on a night we made it?”

“Yes. Dinner at your place, around Easter.”

I remember that Easter clearly but not for dinner. It was a night Harry and I had talked our lives all out.

“Aw. We were so young then.” I wrap my arms around Harry.

“I’m still young,” Harry says. “I’m in my prime.”

I pat his cheek. “Of course you are love.”

***

“Taylor I can’t really do this right now!” I tell my sister as she whines to me. No matter how old we got we were always somehow 17 and 12.

“C’mon just call mom! Tell her you met him and he’s really awesome.”

“I’m not lying to mom so you can invite your newest loser boyfriend to dinner. Anyway I can’t talk. I have to get to class!”

“I know.” She says weirdly. And I understand why when I walk into class and see her sitting in the front row. Ugh she knew I would try to blow her off!

My sister had somehow taken up the bad habit ever since her mid-20s of having a string of shitty boyfriends. We all blamed it on her longterm bloke breaking it off around her 26th. I don’t think she ever fully let herself heal from that.

After two separate guys were invited to two separate family dinners and both ended in mum or dad exploding over something, they were banned. This new guy, as she insists, was different. Mature. He deserved an invite.

She holds up 9 fingers and mouths, 9 months! That’s a long time!

I shake my head and start setting up my laptop.

“Hiya,” one of the students, Kim, walks up to me as I do so. “Sorry I was just wondering when we’re getting our assignments back? Will it be before midterms?”

Midterms were in 2 weeks for this class. The assignments were in my bag, marked and ready. I tell her and watch the relief spread through her.

I spend the next hour teaching, and before we break at the hour I announce I’d return assignments. As I call them out student walks down to me and pick them up, leaving with a smile or a frown.

“Philippe?” He had stuck to his word and his group had gone above and beyond. It was a beautiful paper, albeit overly-sourced. But I appreciated it.

“He’s not in,” one of his friends comes down to get it. She looks at me in that same way again, with just as much fear as curiosity. It’s odd.

“C’mon then,” I shake the paper I was holding out. “I don’t bite.”

“Oh sorry,” she grabs it from me in a rush I nearly get a papercut. She doesn’t even look at the grade, turning quickly away before halting, pivoting halfway, changing her mind, and running back up the steps to her seat. That group of kids were weird. Maybe they were on drugs.

I catch eyes with Taylor and she raises her brow. I shrug and continue handing out the papers.

I don’t expect the girl to come up to me after class. Her friend stays hovering behind, close to my sister who I know must be desperate to have sat here the whole lecture.

“Um ‘scuse me. Professor?”

“Yes?” She was the last person in the small line that had formed after class.

“I had a question about the assignment? You um, you said we missed the equations for our answers but they’re um-“ her hands are shaking as she flips the pages to the last page. “They’re on the bottom here.”

“Oh,” I did remember they were missing it but my pen marks were all over the back of it. “I must have missed that, bloody hell sorry about that!”

“Yeah um, do we get the extra points?”

“Of course but I-“ I glance back at Taylor. She’s talking to the friend. I had to get her out of here before she said something ridiculous. “I have office hours after my Monday class. I’ll have it remarked by then and you can pick it up?”

“Um, okay?”

I quickly shut my things down and grab my sister, getting her out as quick as possible.

“I’m a professional,” she reminds me. “Jeez. Anyway Y/n listen it’s the longest I’ve been in a relationship since, well y’know. 9 months! It’s different with this guy. He works like you! A cushy office job. He’s serious. Please!?”

I hadn’t seen Taylor since last month’s dinner when she had tried to convince me to get on board with this guy. She’d been pleading for a month. “Fine.”

“Oh I love you!” She squeezes my arm. “Text me when mom gives the okay.”

I sigh. I’d really got myself in the middle again.

I retell this to Harry when I get home.

“She’s persistent. But 9 months is a new record.”

“I know!” Harry knew all about her string of boys, I’d caught him up months ago. “Anyway I can’t believe she sat through the whole lecture.”

“Maybe this is the guy. The One.”

“You don’t believe in that do you?”

“Yeah?” He squints at me. “Of course I do?”

“So I’m The One?”

“Baby do I even need to say yes? I knew it as soon as I saw you when we were 14. You confirmed it when you kissed me on the roof that day.”

“I can’t believe I did that. I had my first drink that day by the way so I might’ve been drunk.”

“You were not drunk when you kissed me,” Harry points his fork at me.

“Look at you getting all worked up,” I tease.

“I’ll get you all worked up,” he mutters into his plate. I grin as I stretch my leg out under the table and run it up his leg. He grips my ankle when it gets too high and the look he gives me across the table sends my heart racing.

“Oops,” I drop my foot and go back to eating.

We put on a movie after, something we can zone out to. It doesn’t take Harry long to get bored and nuzzle into me, and it doesn’t take much longer after that before the movie is just for show and we’re tangled in our sheets.

There were 17 years of experience Harry showed up with now, and it was another one of those things that made catching up on lost time all the better.

***

In the first half hour of my office hours, the girl walks in. I should remember her name but I just associated her group with Philippe. I was surprised he wasn’t here actually. He seemed to be their spokesperson.

“Hi come in!” I wave her into the tiny cubicle-like room I borrowed for a few hours every Monday. “I’ve got your assignment here all done.”

“Thank you,” she hovers over my desk and I hand it over. Her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie and I seriously consider the drug angle. Or maybe her and her friends had serious anxiety issues. I didn’t miss that part about being a teen.

“You wanna flip through one more time? I try not to make mistakes twice but…”

She sits down tentatively and buries her head in the paper as she flips through.

“It’s alright,” she says. Her expression is so serious it nearly makes me laugh. She had pretty hair—blunt cut bangs that I remember rocking in my early 20s, but on her they hide the expression in her eyebrows. Maybe that’s why she always looked so sullen. Her lips are painted a pretty mauve colour and it complimented her green eyes.

“I really um…your class is really interesting.”

Kids saying that was like injecting pure joy right into my veins.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,” I smile at her. But it still doesn’t crack a smile on her end. “It’s dense material but that’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know if I was gonna keep the class.” It’s subtle but she inches back in the seat. The more she talks the more she relaxes back. “But I heard it was worth taking. And people were right.”

“Are you in your first or second year?” I ask.

“First,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s covered in piercings.

“How are you liking uni so far?”

She meets my eyes for a second before they shift away. “Yeah it’s nice? I’ve never lived away from home but I have some friends here that I’ve known since before so it helps. It’s really different, less structure but I like the freedom.”

Wow, she really spoke a lot more when she was comfortable. But I find it endearing.

“That’s really nice. It’s good to have a support system, especially with such big change.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. Her eyes dart around the desk as she goes silent. I wait for her to get up and go but a minute passes and the room starts to feel even smaller.

I could ask her if she needed anything else, or maybe continue the conversation? Did she want me to ask about her? No, that would be weird.

“So um, was that your sister in class last week?”

Okay, didn’t see that coming.

“It was! My baby sister, although she’s not really a baby. Did she tell your friend that?”

She nods again. “She was talking to her.”

“You have any siblings?”

“An older sister yeah.”

“So you get it,” I say. “You love them, they get under your skin, you’d do anything for them, and the cycle continues.”

For the first time she smiles and my breath catches. For a moment…no. No, I was imagining things.

“Yeah. My sister and I were close growing up, but she’s the one person that really knows how to get under my skin. I swear she does it on purpose sometimes.”

“Probably,” I want to say something funny again. I just want to see her smile.

Back off, my inner voice says. Don’t do this again.

Some years back, when I was still in the throes of alcohol, I had followed a girl at the mall for nearly an hour. She had looked so much like my sister but with brown curly hair. I could have sworn it was her—my daughter. But after an hour of drunk stalking she had met up with her mum, a direct clone of her.

I couldn’t be obsessive again. Nobody knew about that phase. Not even Harry.

“D’you have any kids?” She asks. I don’t expect the question and it throws me off what with the thoughts looping in my head. She watches me, waiting for an answer.

“Um,” I usually answered no. To anyone who had asked in the last 18 years. But for some reason I nod today. “Yeah. One.”

I imagine it, I must have. Her face draws in for a second before she looks down. “Does she ever come to your lectures?”

“Oh no,” I feel the prick of tears and try to blink them away without being too obvious. “I’m not sure she’d find them interesting.”

“Oh.” She finally stands. “Maybe when she’s older…but I’ll see you on Thursday I guess?”

“Yeah,” I watch her go and realize she’d forgotten something. “Don’t forget your paper hon!”

She stiffens by the door before coming to get it.

“Sorry, it probably makes me a bad prof but there were two female names on the paper. Which one’s yours?”

“Bridget,” her voice cracks.

“Bridget,” I try to match the name to her face. It fit. “That’s lovely.”

She scurries out and I hear someone say “well!?” Outside followed by a “shh!”

I shake my head and try to focus back on my work, my heart racing an unusual amount.

***

It takes a couple days but I confess to Harry. He’d decided to meet up with me after class on Wednesday to eat out. We didn’t go far from the uni, a pub a few roads down. I actually spotted a couple former students there and they’d waved at me warmly.

“You’re not crazy,” Harry holds my hand on the table. “A few years ago I realized the volunteer interns we took on from the nearby school? They were the same age as her, teens? And I used to check up on them all the time, make sure they were feeling comfortable, until one of the guys on the team told me to quit being so weird and find someone my own age. I don’t know if it came across that way but…I got lost in that.”

“Oh Harry,” I squeeze his hand. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Me too,” I pop another chip into my mouth. “But really I’d kind of pushed those memories out of my head until the other day. I can’t explain it, when she smiled it just felt like I knew her.”

“Yeah. Maybe she just looks like Taylor?”

We finish dinner while Harry tells me about a story about some friends of his I knew. We reminisce about our old friends as we wrap up and head out into the brisk November air.

We’re near the station when I gasp and clutch Harry’s arm. Standing outside one of the nearby pubs, smoking with her friends, was Bridget.

“Harry! That’s her!”

“What? Who?” He’s so oblivious as he whips his head around.

“Hushhh!” I nod towards the northwest side. His eyes scan the group. “Red beanie. We have to walk past just look at her okay? Tell me if you see it.”

Harry laughs to himself, “This feels like we’re in high school walking past a crush.”

“Is that how you walked past me?” I tease.

“I did.” He looks at me in that way that still gives me butterflies. It never got old.

“Stop making me want to jump your bones out here. I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Hey I’ll still have a job to support us,” he whispers as we near closer to the group. “Feel free to do whatever you feel.”

“You’re a bad influence.” I whisper back. By now we’re a few feet away and I sense Harry slow down beside me.

Bridget’s nodding to whatever her friend is saying. Philippe is waving his drink around as he responds. We almost pass by unnoticed when someone completely different calls my name.

“Hey professor! Can we buy you a drink?”

I turn and spot a group of students I taught last semester. They were all friends, always battling out their wits during group discussions. It made my class lively, even distracting at times. But I tried going with the flow of whatever group of students I got.

“Hey kids!” I say. Then I have no choice but to acknowledge Bridget and her friends. “And more kids! Is this the new spot to be at?”

I sounded so lame but shite! We weren’t supposed to get caught.

“It’s always been popular,” one of my old students says. “Can we pick your brain? Buy you a drink? We can buy one for your friend too.”

“I uh,” I glance at Harry but he’s frozen solid. I look to what he’s looking at and it’s Bridget. They’re locked in some silent conversation and her friends eye each other. “Harry?”

“Huh?” He focuses on me, flushed and just as confused as I had looked on Monday.

“We’ve gotta get him home,” I pat Harry’s arm. “Our alcohol metabolizes differently at our age.”

“You’re not that old,” Bridget says. She seems to be surprised she said it at all and her eyes widen. “I just mean you look younger than my parents.”

“We’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile up at Harry who still looks a little lost.

“Miss aren’t you going to introduce your male friend?” One of my old student goads.

“Don’t assume,” the other chides.

“Aren’t you a nosy lot after a few drinks.” I missed dishing it back in class with them.

“Oops!” They laugh.

“Anyway. This is Harry.”

“You can call me Mr. Professor,” Harry jokes and it’s a crowd pleaser. God they were drunk. Harry leans into me, “I can see why you like teaching. They’re an ego-booster.”

“Not in a 6pm lecture on a Thursday night.” I whisper back. He hides his laugh.

“Are you guys heading home?” Now it’s Philippe. I’m surprised he was getting involved in the conversation. He was usually the quiet nervous type.

“We are. Need a good night’s rest so I’m not falling asleep in your lecture tomorrow.”

“We wouldn’t mind,” Philippe goes for joker but his face flushes. It’s cute.

“Philippe you take way too many notes during class for me to believe that.”

His two friends, Bridget and the other girl, look at each other wide-eyed before losing it. And I watch Bridget’s face transform again and I get the same feeling. I look up at Harry and he’s transfixed.

I tug his sleeve and he looks at me, swallowing like he was parched.

“Weird right?”

“Yeah,” he whispers but his mouth turns down ever so slightly.

The girls are too busy cajoling Philippe to say goodbye to so we make our exit quietly. We don’t talk much on the train ride home but Harry simple holds his hand out on my thigh, palm up, and I lock my fingers into his. Even when we didn’t have words, we never stopped staying in touch.

***

It’s exam and holiday season before I know it.

I was actually looking forward to Christmas this year. It was the first that Harry was going to join with my family. Taylor’s bloke was also showing. He had been a hit with my parents and even I could admit he was the better of all the guys she’s every brought over.

It’s the last 30 minutes of the last exam I was facilitating this year. I announce the time left to the group. There were only about 15 kids left.

Bridget is one of them. I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and bite her lip. She’d been pretty quiet the remainder of the semester, and I tried not to let my eyes wander to her too much.

After that night, bumping into her with Harry, we hadn’t spoken much about it. The hope that was initially so buoyant turned crushing as we faced the reality that the odds were slim to none. That our wishes were just pennies tossed in a fountain, sinking to the bottom of the pool.

Dreary winter days pass by and Harry and I try to keep the seasonal depression away with regular outdoor dates, cozy nights in bed, and seeing friends as often as we could.

On Christmas we go to my parents’. It’s a loud affair as my grandparents and a few cousins join us. After dinner I go up to my childhood bedroom, it’s now a guest room but some of my things still lay around. I open the window, it was cold so I drag a blanket out and sit outside. The street is quiet, I see families in a few open windows and I watch the festivities through them. I feel a mix of nostalgia and an ache that goes even beyond that, like I was missing something.

“Y/n?” Of course Harry would find me even though I’d left the door closed and the window tilted.

“Here,” I say.

“Ah,” he struggles to hoist himself out. “Some things never change.”

“You need help?” I watch him climb on all fours.

“I’m steady,” he grins as he crawls to me. I open the blanket and he gets in.

We sit in silence for a bit.

“It was getting really loud downstairs wasn’t it?” I ask.

“I think your grandma’s in love with Taylor’s guy.” Harry says so bluntly that I burst out laughing. He joins in.

“I feel like old people get to flirt with whoever they want because it’s always harmless.”

“Maybe that’s the case with older women,” Harry grimaces. “Can’t say the same thing about old men now can we?”

“Jesus!” I laugh and then laugh even harder when Harry says: “it is his day.”

By the time I wipe my tears Harry’s gazing down at me.

“Sorry,” I lean my head against his shoulder. “You have to stop being so funny.”

“Nah,” he kisses my head. “Have I never told you how much I like your laugh?”

He had. On a night many years ago on a roof like this.

I go to remind him but he’s pulling away. I watch as he shifts to face my slowly. He pulls something out from behind him and my brain only connects the dots as he starts talking.

“Y/N, this is something I wish I could have done 18 years ago but only feels incredibly right to do now. Especially out here.”

“Harry,” I gasp. When did he get the ring? When had he planned this?

“We somehow found our way back to each other again y/n, and you know I love you more than ever before.” He clears his throat as it clouds with emotion. “Some 18 years ago I told you I knew you, because the first time I ever laid eyes on you my heart knew. You were something special. And I never ever want to spend another moment apart again. So Y/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honour and finally be mine? Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” If I wasn’t sitting on a roof I would launch myself at Harry. I settle for pulling his face down to mine and kissing it. “I’ve always been yours Harry. But yes, of course yes!”

He slides the ring on and it fits perfectly.

It was perfect.

When we go back down my mum knows right away, and if it was loud before it’s absolute chaos as everyone descends on me and demands to know how he proposed and how the ring looks.

“On the roof? When there’s a perfectly pretty tree here?” My grandma asks. Harry and I exchange a look then, trying not to laugh all over again.

We ring in the New Year with friends, as fiancés. I can hardly believe it. Apparently most of our friends knew Harry was going to propose and they all toast to us and our happiness.

Somewhere in mid-January, I drop by my parents’ house to drop off some groceries. That’s when my dad hands me a letter that had been mailed home.

“It came for you, I dunno who thinks you still live here but it looks handwritten.”

I take it from my dad as I say one last goodbye. I barely make it to the tube with wobbly legs. Because somewhere inside I know.

It’s a long and agonizing 2 hours that I wait for Harry to come home. He finds me sitting in the dark; the sun had set while I waited, and I’d been too busy staring at the feminine scrawl on the front of the letter to turn on the lights.

“Hello-y/n, what are you doing in the dark?”

Harry drops his things where they are when I look at him. “Y/n are you alright? Say something.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I just push the letter forward.

He walks towards it. It’s like he hits a brick wall when he puts the pieces together, he halts a foot away.

“What is that?”

“Is was…” I try to swallow so my voice doesn’t sound so hoarse. “My dad gave it to me. It was sent to the house.”

“Is it…”

“I was waiting for you.”

Suddenly he’s in motion. He puffs his cheeks out and lets out a noisy sigh. Then he paces the floor one, two, three, four times before standing in front of the couch.

“We should read it.” I say.

“Yeah,” he deflates into the couch. I want to join him but it feels like my arse has been glued to the chair.

I inch it towards me and Harry nods. He wanted me to read it.

My mouth is parched. I can barely make out any sounds as I open it up. It’s three pages folded in two, the paper itself isn’t anything very special, it’s typed up so it’s literally just ink on paper. And yet it’s worth a whole goldmine.

“Y/n and Harry,” I read before my voice breaks and I bury my face in my hands. Our baby girl had written to us. She had reached out.

“C’mon love,” Harry’s suddenly beside me and his hand squeezes my neck. The touch gives me enough strength to stand with him. He sets me down where he just sat and leaves again, returning with water and the letter.

“Can you read it?” I ask.

He settles in beside me, we touch along every edge of us. The letter sits in between us like our love, our hurting—it’s where it belongs. He begins to read in his soothing voice.

“Y/n and Harry,

I hope it’s okay I’m calling you that. I don’t know if it’s proper but ever since I found out about you two last year that’s what I’ve been calling you.”

Harry lets out a shaky breath and I intertwine my arm through his. He kisses my temple and continues.

“When I turned 15, I asked my mum about you. I started to wonder where I came from. I knew I was adopted for as long as I could remember but it didn’t mean much to me for a long time—I had a mother, a father, and a sister. I had a family so why did I need to know where I came from?

But over the last few years it’s been like an itch I couldn’t get to. See when I was 15, what set it off is that my sister decided to look into her birth parents. They were separated, her father lived in Tokyo and her mother lived in Wales. It took her a year to convince our parents to go to Wales. I went with and I found myself in the home of a woman who looked just like the girl I grew up with. The whole time it ate away at me. I wanted this ending too.

I asked my mum and dad when I turned 15 but they were weird and evasive. I turned my skills to the internet but I didn’t really know where to start.

I felt the missing part more and more as I turned 16. I used to fall asleep thinking about you two, if you were alive, what you looked like, where you were, what you did.

I love my parents. They’re wonderful and amazing, they are supportive and never made us feel like we were anything but theirs. But I wanted to know my background.

On my 17th birthday my parents gave me a letter like the one I write today.” Harry stops reading and takes in a deep shuddering breath. “She got the letter.”

His shoulder shake and he pinches the bridge of his nose. I clench my teeth so I wouldn’t cry too. I wanted to finish this letter. I wrap my arms around him and hold him.

This was unbelievable, what we’d dreamed of. Her words, in our hands.

“Here.” I take the letter from him and continue. “Let me read it.”

Harry stays hunched over, so with my hand on his back I continue, “in it you told me how much you loved me. How much you loved each other, your families, where I came from. And Why you had to give me up. For a better life. I saw the picture of you, and I felt broken and complete at the same time. I realized I was the same age as you in the photo, I had to meet you but I was terrified. And I didn’t know how.

I spent a year agonizing and looking through every google page I could find about you. I learned a lot! But I needed to meet you.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve made decisions that may not have been the best but I’ve left my number and a picture of me when I was 5 in the envelope.

I hope you call.”

With shaking hands I turn to the third page that has one of those polaroids taped to it and a phone number in the same handwriting as the envelope.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry says while tears continue streaming down his face. I can’t even hide mine anymore.

She was beautiful indeed. She had his eyes, and her curly locks in a deep brown frame her chubby face. She had my nose, she looked a little like my sister as a baby. A scatter of freckles over her cheeks confirm it. She was ours. Our baby had reached out. We knew what she looked like.

“We need to call her,” I say. “We need to meet.”

“Yeah,” Harry wipes his face. “We…we need to do this carefully. It’s delicate right?”

I wanted to call her right now but what would I do but cry into the phone? No, I had to wrap my head around this. Harry was right. “Right.”

“She’s out there,” Harry turns to me. “She wants to know us. Y/n she wants to meet us! She saw the picture I-“

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper. “Our daughter wants to—did she leave her name?”

We open the letter and flip over every piece of it but her name is nowhere.

“Maybe she didn’t want us looking her up?” Harry offers.

“Maybe she has an awful digital footprint.”

Something about it makes us laugh and we can’t stop. But pretty soon it shifts back into tears and we’re left holding each other on the couch, tender and content and anxious.

Our daughter had made contact. Would she like us? Would she be mad at us? What did this mean for us?

The thoughts continue to spiral the rest of the evening. We don’t make much of an effort, we reread the letter and try to get dinner in us. We face each other as we try to fall asleep, whispering questions into the darkness. The darkness doesn’t answer, it grows heavier as does the night, and we fall asleep for the first time in our lives knowing the weight of a decision so long ago was a tiny bit lighter.

***

It’s a few days later. All I’d been thinking about was the letter, when I woke up, at work, during my commute, during breaks, when I went to bed.

It sits on our dining table, we glance at it as we pass by. It becomes part of the decor, three pieces of paper and an envelope. It’s so much weightier than that.

I come home from my lecture on Wednesday, a slight buzz of anxiety humming in the background. It wasn’t unusual for Harry and I to get busy at work and not talk the whole day but today Harry had been radio silent. He hadn’t answered my texts or phone calls in a very un-Harry way.

I walk in to Harry sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the coffee table. On it sits the letter.

“Hey,” I don’t even take off my jacket. I slide next to him. “Is everything alright?”

“Hey,” he whispers. He stays frozen sitting forward, elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hand.

I wait for him to speak, to say something about what was going on. I rub my hand over his back and he glances up. I tip forward until our foreheads touch. “What’s going on in that brain of yours? Let me help you.”

“It’s a lot,” he whispers. It tears me in two.

“Hey,” I remind him. “Just one day at a time. Let’s just talk about today.”

“I want to call her so bad,” he leans away and buries his head in his hands. I wanted to call her too, I’d been waiting for Harry to give the cue since I knew I could be rash and impulsive about something like this. But something was going on with him.

“We will.”

“We gave her up. What if she hates us?”

“She wouldn’t have written us that beautiful letter, or sent a photo, or left her number if she did.”

Harry sniffles and then asks what he really wanted to, “what if she hates me.”

“Harry look at me,” He unfolds slowly and I make sure he’s looking at me. “You’re her father, you’ve carried her with you for the last 18 years. You love her. She wants to know you. Why would she hate you?”

“I’ve fucked up so much!”

“You’re not your mistakes.” I remind him. I get teary eyed as I feel the echoes of his insecurities. I’ve thought about it too: what if I didn’t meet her expectations? “She’s not going to see you and see every good and bad decisions you’ve ever made. She’s just going to see her father—her biological father, and see where she got her eyes from and her hair from and every other quirk she has.”

“You’re not worried?” He asks, looking at me with grief.

“Of course I am,” I confess, tears leaking out of my eyes damnit. “I’m so fucking worried. But my curiosity overtakes that, my love for her is what I’m focusing on.”

“I love her,” he says.

“That’s all that matters.” I cup his face and press a reassuring kiss to his lips. “That’s all she’ll care about.”

Harry untangles himself from me and my heart sinks. He paces the length of our living room a few times, running his hand through his hair.

“We really should talk about the letter,” he says.

“Yeah. I know. I want to call. Badly.”

He pauses. It’s like all the anxious energy drains out of him at once. He sits back down beside me.

“What do we do?” I ask

“How about Saturday? She’s probably going to be home then right? No school—if she’s in school.”

Two days. Two more days of agonizing over the letter.

At this point the letter is memorized, seared into my brain like I had an exam on it. I want to know the person behind it.

When we wake on Saturday it’s a cloudy day. I don’t take it as a bad omen.

We sit with our phones out after breakfast, just staring at everything before us.

“You should do the talking,” I tell Harry. “I’m too nervous.”

“I think you should.” Harry says. “She sent the letter to you.”

“Only because that’s the address my mum gave…gave her mum.”

It hits me again in another wave I try not to drown in. She was eighteen, she’d lived a whole life with a whole family. There was everything of her we’d missed out on.

“Please Harry?” I was already overwhelmed with the realization. I just couldn’t.

He watches me, must hear the desperation in my voice, and slowly pulls his phone forward.

It rings, and rings a few more times. When it goes to voicemail he turns it off.

“I didn’t think that was an option,” Harry says and we laugh. It feels good.

“It’s only 10 maybe she’s asleep. Try one more time?”

He pulls my phone and tries again but it still goes to voicemail.

We sit there, unsure of what to do. We agree to try again later, in the afternoon.

But around half past 12, while Harry’s working in our spare room and I’m scrolling through my phone, it rings. I don’t think much of it and pick it up automatically.

“Hello?” It’s silent on the other end. “Hello?”

I wait, but as I do it dawns on me. Who called me?

I check my phone screen and swipe through as I say hello again. I match the number. It was her.

I run to Harry but the phone is still silent. I wave the paper with the number saying hello again.

“Is this…well you never gave us your name. But we got your letter. We’re so gl-“

The line goes dead and so does my heart.

“You called her again?” Harry whispers, his brows furrowing as he stares at the phone.

“She called.” I think about calling her back but that was pushy. She was backing out of this.

All of a sudden I feel myself giving out. I catch myself against the wall and slide down.

“She’s backing out. It must be…too much for her.”

Harry stares at a spot on the ground, a million thoughts flickering through. Finally it settles on acceptance. He sighs.

“We can’t force her to talk to us,” he says softly what I already know. But his words are like a saw to my resolve and I just start crying. He gathers me in his arms but the grief feels endless. It felt like she was slipping away again; I’d lost so much and I lost her again. She had been so close. How could she do this? Why did she reach out if she wasn’t ready?

Questions without answers. More of them piled on top of the lifetime of questions I’d built for her.

I know Harry feels the weight of them too. We carry them together. That’s the only reason I hadn’t broken yet.

But I come close to it that day. We don’t hear back from her. And we don’t try to call her back. It didn’t feel right.

It killed me she was so close. And something changes inside.

For weeks I feel like I’m on autopilot. It’s like my first semester of uni all over again.

Harry tries his best to keep me together but he struggles too. It makes me feel worse I was taking the bigger hit, not being there for him as much as I wanted. But life feels like a a million blankets covering me.

I try to keep my usual momentum for my classes, but I’m always exhausted after. It pulls me deeper into my sadness, something I loved made me so tried.

It’s a Thursday at the end of the semester and I’m marking exams during my study hours when there’s a light knock on the door.

I’m surprised to see an old student.

“Bridget,” I wave her in. “Come in, what can I do you for?”

“Hi professor-“

“Call me y/n, I’m not teaching you anymore am I?”

“No,” she says with a stiff smile. The last time I saw her was in February, I’d spotted her with Philippe and a few other friends at a local coffee shop. She had been explaining something to one of her friends from a textbook.

Now her hair was short and more pronounced with waves. I wonder if she styled it, her longer hair had been pin straight.

“I had a question?”

You already asked it, I want to joke. But she was usually wound up so I knew it wouldn’t land well.

“What’s that?”

“Um, well.” She perches on the chair and I wait patiently for her to continue. “Are you taking any applications for TA next year?”

I wasn’t expecting that. She always found a way to take me by surprise. I stare at her for a few seconds, trying to remember what year she was in.

“Aren’t you in first year? If I do TAs they’re usually 3rd or above.”

“I know,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. “But seeing that one of my majors is in econ and my gpa is really high, and I did well in your class, I wondered if you would consider me?”

I hadn’t done TAs since my first year of teaching. I found I liked the work because it got me more familiar with the class.

“What’s your other major?” She had said one of them was econ.

“Sociology, I’m pre-law.”

Ambitious. “Why TA for my class?”

She balks as she meets my gaze. There’s something that flits through her face that I can’t quite read before she drops eye contact.

“Um, I really enjoyed it. I did really well. I think you’re super smart and would learn a lot by TA-ing for you.”

“I don’t give special lessons to my TA,” I let her know. “You’d typically attend some of the classes, mark assignments, and maybe teach exam tutorials, and have office hours of your own for students.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Why should I pick you?”

She pushes her shoulders back, “I’m responsible, dependable, I submit all my assignments on time and have experience teaching.”

“Teaching?”

“I used to tutor when I was in high school. I didn’t really get an allowance so I found a way to support my hobbies.”

“What are your hobbies?”

She blushes a little, was she still nervous? “I love reading, books are expensive.”

I nod. For Harry’s birthday I’d told him he could get any books from Waterstones and it had been over £100 for 3 only.

“I also enjoy cooking. And um, it’s been a while but my friends and I sometimes go to like. Do you know comic con?”

“Yes,” I’d seen things online.

“Yeah we liked to dress up for that sort of thing. We used to make our own outfits and usually the cost varies depending on what you’re making and how realistic you want it and…” she trails off as I smile. She was really enthusiastic about it. I couldn’t help it.

“Tell you what. Leave your number with me and I’ll think about it. I haven’t had a TA for the last few semesters but I am going to take this into consideration.”

“Really?!”

I laugh. “Yes. Really.”

“Um…” she starts to fidget again. “Can I leave my email? I’m getting a new phone soon so I-“

“Sure. Anywhere I can reach you.”

I expect her to get out a pen but she says it verbally and I type it out.

“Um, are you alright?” She asks out of the blue after I type in the last letter.

“Alright?” I raise my brow.

“I mean, you seem…I just heard, um.” She tries to backtrack but I ask her again and she spills. “Some people just said your last few classes seem scattered. Not that people don’t like you. I just…that’s what they were saying. And I don’t know if having a TA would help? And I just wanted to ask if you’re okay sorry I shouldn’t…it’s none of my business.”

God, this girl was so awkward. But she was sweet for caring, I think. “You’re not applying for the role because you feel bad that I seem…scattered right?”

She blushes. “Sorry. I think I said too much.”

I want to laugh but it strikes me that my students had noticed. I’d let it affect their learning. It didn’t feel very good.

“Life’s hitting me hard recently,” I tell her simply. “But I’m alright. Thank you for reaching out Bridget.”

As I finish up the semester I think about her. It wouldn’t hurt to have her TA for one of my lectures, see how she does. I didn’t care for TAs as a lecturer but something about her is compelling and I find myself emailing her in the middle of the night in June. She responds back a few minutes later,

Thank you!!! You’re the best. I’ll do whatever you need just tell me I can do anythingggh

Sent from iphone.

I laugh to myself as I put my phone away and go back to bed. My guesses were she was drunk at a party.

Harry’s asleep beside me and I reach out to touch his back but think better of it. He’d been busy at work with a project nearing its deadline and I didn’t want to accidentally wake him.

I turn around and try to drift off, thinking about my daughter, about how Harry and I hadn’t really talked much in the last two weeks, about my teaching, and my new TA.

Age 38:

It’s a depressing summer. The air of dashed hopes still hangs around Harry and I. It’s less thunder clouds and more of a fog.

One weekend morning, it’s one of those mornings that start off heavy. I can’t get out of bed, but I hear Harry pattering about doing his weekend morning thing. I hear the dishwasher turn on, and soon after he walks in with our laundry folded in a basket. I feel awful as I normally do, but not awful enough to get up and do anything about it. I think I’d have to feel less awful, to do that.

I don’t expect him to get in beside me once he’s finished putting everything away. He smells like laundry and shampoo, I must smell like rot and decay.

“Y/n,” he says gingerly. I just look at him in response. I felt too heavy to even reply. He sits up and calls my name again.

“Mm,” I say.

He sighs. Despite months of this Harry’s been nothing but understanding but this morning seems different.

Suddenly I’m being pulled up by my shoulders and I find myself sitting up in bed.

“Y/N,” Harry says again. I fold my arms as the duvet slips down and the cool air raises goosebumps. “I love you, which is why it’s so hard seeing you like this. You have to get on, my love. We have to move forward. It’s been months.”

All I could remember after our daughter hung the phone up on us was when I almost got to hold her. Right after she was born, I almost got to hold her but they took her away. And that piece of me that followed after her was nearly returned. It was that almost that was a death blow.

“It’s hard,” I feel myself tear up. It was hard not to these days.

“I know baby,” Harry scoops me into him. “I know. It’s hard for me too but we have to get better. We have to live our lives. She’ll come back to us, I just know it. She’s scared, we’re hopeful. Fear’s gonna keep her away. Hope keeps us patient.”

I cry into his shirt and he rocks me.

“I’m sorry,” I say into his shirt.

“It’s alright,” he grips the back of my neck.

So for Harry, for us, I try to get back to myself. I start to pick up my outdoor hobbies, I try to keep conversations going with Harry, I reintroduce my multi-step night routine. I look forward and re-light the candle of hope, even though I ache to blow it out before it can burn down to its wick.

My wounds inside stay tender.

We had booked our wedding for November and as the days approach we find ourselves with one thing on our mind.

Harry and I finally talk about it.

“I always thought she’d be there at the wedding once she reached out.”

We’re sat in an outdoor space near King’s Cross, coffees in hand as we people watch. We’d just come back from a cake tasting and neither of us felt like going home with such a glorious August day. Kids splash in the water sprinklers and couples sit around arm in arm. I touch shoulders with Harry unconsciously.

“Me too. I think that’s what’s kept me from mentally committing to the fact that the date is coming closer.”

“It can’t be forever,” Harry says. “She reached out. She just needs time. She’ll call again one day and we’ll meet her.”

“I know.” I lean my head on his shoulder. This was a realization I’d also been slowly digesting. I’d waited 18 years, what was a few more months, another year? Her baby picture lived on our fridge, at least we were one step closer.

And the love, I had to remind myself in these moments. Hold onto the love.

***

“I can’t stay for this class,” Bridget tells me. It’s the second week of classes and there were still 10 minutes until it officially started.

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really,” that’s when I notice her nose is red and her eyes are too. “My um, my parents had to put my dog down. She…she wasn’t feeling well yesterday and the-they found cancer? And she was in a lot of pain but she never showed it? And-“

I put my hand on Briget’s shoulder and lead her to the exit. There was no reason for the whole class to see this.

“Sorry. I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” I rub her shoulder. “I understand. Take the time you need I have this covered.”

True to her word, Bridget had been a loyal TA over the summer. I considered it a trial run not expecting much but she had shown up, aced marking, and I’d gotten good feedback from the students at the end of the semester.

I’d also taken to her. She’d join me during my 2 hours every Monday and when no students would come she would loosen up. She’d told me all about the dog she grew up with, she showed me costumes her friends and her made, I’d asked her about the books she was reading and the classes she was taking. It was like having a younger sister again, except I was mature enough to appreciate her.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” Bridget says and this statements seems to be the breaking point. She curls in on herself, shoulders shaking. I don’t even think, I just pull her into me like I would for Harry, for Taylor, for any of my friends.

“You have a lifetime of memories with her,” I hold her. At first she stiffens up and I almost let her go but she only breaks down further and wraps her arms around me. Tighter than I expected.

“I wish I said goodbye,” she says into my shoulder.

“I know hon,” I squeeze her against me, something maternal washing over me. “I know.”

After a minute or so she regains her composure, wiping her face with her sleeve. When she looks at me she looks so much younger, her face grief-stricken and regretful.

“I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be.”

She seems to want to say something more but whatever it is, she swallows it and takes a step away.

I don’t see her for two weeks and I miss her.

When she walks into the lecture the first week of October I try not to rush her but I’m overjoyed seeing her face. It had become so familiar to me.

She smiles shyly when she walks up to me and I pull her into a hug. This time she doesn’t stiffen.

“How are you?” I whisper. Students were still trickling in so I use the time to catch up.

“Okay. Better than that day I cried all over you sorry again. I went home last week, thanks for letting me take it off.”

“Of course. You forget I’ve been doing this without a TA before you. I can hold down the fort.”

She cracks a smile, her dimple making a rare appearance.

“By the way, week 10’s lecture is supposed to be cancelled.” I tell her later during office hours. “But I wondered if you wanted to hold a tutorial that week for some of the material?”

“Really?” A light comes on in her eye. It’s fiery and bright with excitement.

“Yeah! You know the material! I’ll leave you with slides and you can go about teaching them.”

“I’d love to!” She grips her laptop close to her. “Wait why is it cancelled?”

“I’m getting married that week!”

The light dims. Or maybe I imagine it.

“Oh! I thought you were married already?”

“No,” I’d referred to Harry as my partner any time he was brought up. “We’re getting married in November. You’ve met him actually, kind of, that night we ran into you and some students at the pub. Last year?”

“Oh yeah I remember,” she says but her eyes are somewhere else. “So you’re getting married?”

“Yes Bridget,” I laugh. “Married. Tying the knot. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she blinks and she’s back. “You never mentioned the wedding. Do you have a dress?”

“Yeah! Just finalized the tailoring last week. Most things are ready, we’re just finalizing the rings!”

“Cool!” She fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Is it in London?”

“Yeah, it’s not too big but we didn’t want people travelling too far. This is where Harry and I were born and raised so this is where we want to marry too.”

“Wow,” she seems lost in thought and she stays pretty quiet the rest of the time. I didn’t realize my news was that surprising.

Maybe I still didn’t have Bridget completely figured out.

***

“Harry I can’t pick them up! I need to get home and then head back out to class!”

“Y/n it’s on your way home!”

“Not really! It’s a 30 minute detour. Why can’t you do it?”

“Because you can still get to him right before he closes. I won’t be done here until after he closes. I’m sorry love!”

“Agh and why can’t he do tomorrow?”

“He’s off until Saturday! We need it today.”

It’s the Wednesday before we marry and our rings are still at the jeweller’s. He’d finished them last weekend but we’d been so busy with other things we hadn’t had time to pick it up. And now it was either today and be late for class, or the day of the wedding.

I had gotten delayed at work and missed Harry’s texts explaining the situation. I’d only responded while on the tube, but going out of my way for 30 minutes meant I’d be 30 minutes late to get back to class. And since I’d left marked assignments at home that the kids needed for next week’s tutorial, I had no choice but to head back.

The idea hits me at once.

I hang up on Harry and ring Bridget. She picks up right away.

“Bridget, I’m on a crazy tight schedule. I’m going to be late to class by half hour at least.”

“Oh no. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah it’s just wedding thing but can you do something crazy? And feel free to say no okay?”

“Okay?”

I explain to her that if she rode to my flat, Harry would be there by then and she could pick up marked assignment. She can delay class by taking them up.

She’s silent but eventually I get a yes. “Okay. Can you text me your address?”

“Yes! Yes. Thank you Bridget. I owe you your trip fare and lunch or something. I’ll text you now, leave as soon as you can!”

I call Harry again and confirm he’d be home by the time she arrived. Everything works out.

I get the rings, and have to head home so Harry can try his on. The jeweller was expecting both of us, and let me know he couldn’t do adjustments if I didn’t text him by today. Just my luck!

When I get to the flat I tell Harry not to read his inscription but to try it on and thankfully it fits.

“Hey,” Harry calls out as I try to rush back out the door.

“What?” I was out of breath and frantic.

“Slow down,” he pulls me into a lingering kiss and despite being breathless before, I get some air into my lungs when we part.

“Sorry, so hectic.”

“I know I’m sorry,” he strokes my cheek. “I would have gone if I could make it. Also don’t be mad.”

“Be mad?” I let go of the door handle. “What did you do?”

“Your TA stopped by, Bridget. I forgot she was coming so I didn’t have your papers ready. I invited her in and she was in the living room looking at our pictures and she stopped in front of the baby picture. Of our daughter.”

“Okay,” did Harry tell her our history? I get antsy. “And?”

“Well she asked if that was our daughter. And I didn’t know what to say, if you’ve said anything to her? I panicked?” Harry runs his hand through his hair. “I just changed the subject.”

“Okay, that’s not bad. What’s the bad part I don’t get it?”

“Well. I changed the subject and told her she should come to the wedding.”

My jaw drops. “Harry.”

“I know! I know I’m sorry! I know she technically works for you, she was a student, all that! You’re so fond of her though maybe it’s not a bad thing?”

“Harry that’s…she was my student! I’m a prof at that school I…is that even allowed?”

“Yes? I panicked and googled it.”

I groan, “I swear you’re getting worse the closer we get to the wedding.”

The other week he had tried to buy out a whole bakery in case there wasn’t enough cake for our guests.

“You can tell her we have a full guest list? I don’t know what came over me! She just looked at me with those puppy eyes and she asked about the picture and I tried to talk about something else but the only thing on my mind-“

I kiss him. Just to shut him up. I was getting really late.

“This is like that book club you were tricked into joining all over again-“

“Hey I really like that book club now! It might be a good thing!”

“We’ll talk later.” I shake my head at him. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. It’s weird but what’s one more guest?”

“I also said plus one.”

I let out a long exhale and then kiss Harry again. I didn’t want him spiralling while I was gone.

“Baby don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m fine with it. We’ll talk when I get home?”

I mull over it on the ride to uni. But I can’t find a way to uninvite her without it being awful. I text our wedding planner if we could squeeze in two more seats and she gives me the thumbs up.

I did have a soft spot for Bridget, and technically I’ve known her for over a year now.

During office hours, we get a few people in for the first half hour. Then we’re back to just the two of us.

“Thanks for taking over today,” I tell her. “I really appreciate it.”

“That’s alright. Happy to help out.”

An awkward silence slithers in.

“So my partner invited you to our wedding.”

“Yeah! I didn’t know if that was serious am I…?”

She looked so hopeful I couldn’t shoot her down. “Yes! I have a couple people from the faculty coming. And some colleagues from my day job. You’ll probably have to sit with them but?”

“That’s fine!” She’s chirpy Bridget again. “I’d love to. That would mean a lot.”

I watch her as the smile stays on and she gets out her phone, typing away. Maybe her friends, her plus one.

I realize I’m not entirely against it. It had happened, and I was okay.

***

I stare at myself in the mirror, smoothing down my dress in a nervous habit. I never thought I’d get married twice, I always thought after Tatum I was done with marriage, but Harry would always be the exception.

I feel a flutter of nerves thinking about him. Walking down the aisle to him. We started talking on a rooftop one day, we had just been two kids.

“You better not cry,” Taylor threatens as she walks into the room. She had gone to fetch lash glue after my teary eyes loosened an edge.

“I’m not,” I say weakly.

She stands beside me in the mirror, “They’re all waiting downstairs.”

Just 30 minutes ago this room had been a chaotic mess. From my mum, to my friends, to the wedding planner. I’m kind of glad my lash came loose, I’m able to ground myself in these few minutes of silence.

Taylor talks about our family downstairs as she fixes my face. I get up with her help and she beams, but her eyes look misty.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Nothing!”

“Why do you look sad what happened?”

“Oh my god calm down, I just can’t believe you and Harry are getting your happy ending! I’m just…emotional.”

“Aww,” I cup her face even though I want to squeeze my baby sister against me. But my white dress, although not entirely traditional, would be ruined for the ceremony.

A ping on her phone—mum. We rush out. It feels like getting caught when we were younger and quickly getting away from the scene of the crime. I grip my sister’s hand until I stand in front of the doors leading down the aisle.

I don’t remember walking, it felt more like floating. Even if there was a chimpanzee and a talking dog in the pews I wouldn’t have noticed. My eyes are locked on Harry’s teary ones, they anchor me as I glide towards the man I’ve never stopped loving. Who always saw all of me.

When he reaches for my hand I grasp it and I know I made the right decisions. Even the painful ones. After all, I wanted to be nowhere but here.

“Y/N,” Harry reads his vows to me and I try not to cry as he sweeps me away with his delicate words about our love story.

“To be so deeply known by another, without even saying a word, shouldn’t make sense and yet with us we have a language that goes beyond words. A brush of your hand or a look in my direction, it can be enough to unload whatever burden I’d just been carrying. I promise to do the same for you, and to never end this dialogue between us. To love you and to cherish you forever.”

Harry couldn’t keep the tears in and they slide down his cheeks as he reads his words out to me. I reach out instinctively and brush his tear away and he laughs because I was doing it again.

“You’re can’t make me cry in my makeup,” I tell him and our guests laugh.

I had sat and thought so hard about my own vows. In the end after 50 versions, I’d settled on short and sweet.

“Harry, when we first spoke on the rooftop of that party in high school,” I say at my turn. “You told me everything you wanted. One of them was to make the world a better place. And I don’t know if you still want those things as much now as you did then, but one thing is true. You’re made my world a better place. I can’t imagine doing life without you. I love you with all of my heart, there’s no equation that could calculate how much.”

Harry grins at me and my breath catches. My man, he was my Harry.

We finish our vows with a kiss and a lot of noise from the crowd. When we turn to everyone I’m struck by how lucky we were.

The absence of our daughter was tough but when it came to love we had an abundance of it. I see it in every smiling and shiny face in the crowd. It’s like photographing a sunny day with one of those old school films, the sun is covered by a dark spot but the rays still wash everything in gold.

Harry squeezes my hand and I look up to him. He’s already looking at me.

He holds his hand up and lets out a whoop before he pulls my face towards him again for an even longer and borderline inappropriate kiss. I feel myself start to blush in front of the crowd.

We start down the aisle and this time I beam at every guest I catch eyes with.

My mum and Harry’s wave with tear-streaked faces. My friends from high school shout out, always the biggest supporters of our relationship. I catch eyes with Bridget, forgetting for a second she was here. Philippe is beside her, but what’s surprising is her blotchy face. I didn’t take her for someone who got emotional at weddings. I throw her a wave and she smiles through the tears.

Whoever ordered weddings to have a small break between the ceremony and the reception deserved a billion dollars. Harry and I spend the quiet moment doing our outfit change but afterwards we hold each other and let the moment sink in. The day sink in.

“We’re married,” Harry whispers when I tell him we should get going so we weren’t late.

“We took the long way to get here didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” he tucks me under his chin again and even though we would be late we just sway together for a little while. Our own private first dance, before the one for our family and friends.

“We did it all quite backwards actually.” I look up to him.

“Yeah, but we were never ordinary.”

“No, and I don’t think anything we’ve ever done is either.”

“Including our kid. I really wish she were here.”

“We’ll tell her all about it one day,” I promise him. His face eases into a loving smile, the fact that we’d made it to a place again where I can comfort him about this said a lot. Said we’d make it through everything, despite.

“I don’t want to do life with anyone else y/n, I have everything I need right here.”

“Remember that day at Whole Foods?” I remind him. “The first time we bumped into each other.”

“It’s a core memory,” Harry remembers. “I feel like the sun never set on that day. Getting to see you after all those years…it’s cheesy but it felt like coming home.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Me too. I recognized you by the back of your head did I ever tell you that?”

“Stared at it enough in maths, of course you did.”

“That’s probably why I did so poorly that year remember,” I laugh. “Just staring at the back of your head.”

“That’s why I never sat anywhere but in front of you.” He swipes lightly down my nose and I smile. “Now I get to see every angle of you whenever I want.”

“Oi,” I slap his chest. “Save it for tonight.”

He brushes my cheek. Under his gaze I’m stripped naked. There was nothing to hide with him, ever.

“I understand how long it took you to get ready,” he says in his deep silky voice. My stomach flips. “So I can’t do anything right now. But y/n, our wedding night will turn into a wedding dawn, and then to day again. I promise you.”

I tip-toe, even in my heels, and brush my lips along his cheek. In his ear I whisper, “I don’t expect anything less.”

I step away, feeling unravelled by the look of desire in his eyes. I’m sure I had the same look of want. But before we can give in to what we wanted to do, I open the door to our suite and embrace the gust of cool air.

“You should get some air too,” I say and he laughs, following me behind.

***

“Bitch!” Taylor comes up to me on the dance floor later that night. We had dinner, Harry and I had our first dance, there’d been toasts and tears in between. I was finally letting loose as the wedding party crowds the dance floor. We had been taking pictures all night, after this next glass of champagne I was going to call it quits on photos lest anyone captures anything that’s not an elegant bride.

“What?” I turn away from Harry to face Taylor. She’d been running around all day making sure my wedding day was perfect and seeing her just warms me with love. I squeeze her against me despite her protests. “I love you Taylor. Thank you for everything!”

“Ugh c’mon,” she wriggles out. She’d never been very affectionate.

“Where’s your bloke?” I look out for him.

“He taking a call. Anyway don’t change the fucking subject!”

“What subject!?” I ask as someone dances past me, fluttering their fingers in my direction. I blow them a kiss.

“C’mere,” she’s annoyed I’m distracted. She drags me off to the side and I hold a finger up to Harry as he watches us. “When the fuck were you going to tell us about her? And you invite her to your wedding and everything and nobody knows anything!?”

“What?” I was drunker than I thought or Taylor was making no sense. “Wha?”

“The girl you just took a photo with? Don’t act stupid Y/N jeez I can’t believe it. You hid it from me when it happened but why are you still hiding…”

My sister grows more upset as she talks, I realize it was serious. Taylor rarely allowed herself to get this worked up in public.

I put my hand on her shoulder but she shakes it off. I think hard about who she was talking about. Who had I just taken photos with?

Some of Harry’s friends took a picture lifting us up, then there was a photo with my cousin but that can’t be who Taylor was talking about. There was Andie, a few other friends and their partners, then Bridget and Bridget and Philippe.

Bridget.

“Wait what are…who do you think that is? Taylor I work-“

“Your daughter! Why are you still acting fucking clueless!”

“What’s happening?” Harry walks in mid-way into the conversation.

“God you too!” Taylor turns to him and hits the back of her hand on his chest. He rubs the spot and stares at her like she’d gone crazy.

“Me too what?”

“Harry?” His mum walks up to us, her brows pulled together the same way Harry’s does when he’s confused.

“Yeah?”

“Who’s that girl? With the brown hair? Purple dress?”

She’s eyeing Bridget who’s laughing with Philippe.

“Bridget?” Harry glances at me and Taylor grows more pink.

“Bridget? That’s her name?” Taylor blinks away tears. “Really y/n? I get when it happened I was a child, you and mom kept it from me. But she’s, you invite her to you-“

“Invite who?!” I shout. What the hell did Taylor think.

“Y/n,” Harry puts his hand on my lower back in warning.

“Your daughter?” Taylor says with teary eyes and a look of betrayal on her face. “That’s your daughter isn’t it? She looks just like…”

“Jesus I thought the same thing,” Anne looks at all of us. “Harry?”

“That’s not-“ he stops talking and we all look over at her. I had to say, right now she really could be. With her hair curled and wearing what she’s wearing. She could be family.

“She’s my TA. I’ve known her for a couple years guys I’ve bloody taught her. That’s not our daughter. She wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight? Harry invited her last minute.”

They all turn to look at me. Taylor looks miffed, she bites her lip as she looks at her one last time.

“That’s weird. Nevermind.”

She leaves like she didn’t just make a big scene. Anne covers her hand with her mouth and shakes her head. “I’m sorry loves, I didn’t mean to upset anyone-“

“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure her. Taylor did. And she couldn’t even say sorry.

“Don’t worry mum,” Harry pays her arm. She fades into the crowd and Harry stands in front of me so all I see is him. “She’ll get air, she’ll be fine.”

“But how could she just cause such a big scene like I’d hide something like that from her? On my wedding day! And then leave without even apologizing ugh! She is still such a brat sometimes!”

“I know, she’ll apologize later just let her be.” He knew Taylor enough. He knew her at 13 and he knew her now. That’s exactly what she would do. “We’re getting you a shot.”

“That’s the last thing I need! I’m already kinda tipsy Har.”

“This won’t tip you over c’mon. Shake it off.”

He leads me to the bar and we take a shot. I nearly spill half of it, it was awful whatever it was. I lose Harry as we get back to the dancing and end up behind Bridget instead. Philippe noticed me first and slows his dancing, which signals Bridget to turn around.

“Y/n!” Her smile is so bright it hurts to look at. It dims as I just stare at her.

It would be crazy. It was a big fat coincidence. She had a mum, a dad, a sister, she told me all about them. Her childhood dog and the time she twisted her ankle playing football in year 4. She wasn’t who we wanted her to be.

“Are you alright?” I read her lips. There’s only ringing in my ears. “Hey! Y/n!”

Philippe is suddenly on my other side and I’m being led to a chair. He disappears and Bridget pulls a chair beside me.

“What’s,” my voice sticks and I clear my throat. “What’s going on between you two? He’s your date?”

“Philippe?” Bridget’s brows draw together and I can’t stop looking at where they meet. I knew her. I didn’t know her. I was too afraid to ask. “No just friends.”

“That’s not the way he’s looking at you.”

“What?” She tucks her hair back. “No we’ve been friends since high school. It’s not like that?”

“What would you do if he got a girlfriend?” It was a random conversation to have, here and right now but it helps me from tumbling anywhere else. Especially into a pool of what-ifs.

“I’d,” she shrugs but a flicker passes through her face, for a second her jaw clenches. “Be happy for him.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not! Why are you asking?”

“You two like each other. I see the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. Why did you invite him tonight?”

She shrugs, picking at something on her arm. “I dunno. He’s good at being a plus one. He always supports me? He’s always been there for me.”

“Sorry,” he shows up with a glass of water. “I swear the guy behind the bar was ignoring me.”

“Thank you Philippe,” by now I didn’t really need the water but I hold the icy glass in my hands. “Let’s see the pictures you took. I want them in my inbox or something soon. We don’t get our official photos for months.”

“Oh yeah here,” Phillipe hands over his phone after opening the photo. There are a couple of all of us, and then a few with just Bridget standing between Harry and I smiling.

I look between all three of us and feel something in my gut. But it’s too scary and big to unpack right now. I shove it away. I couldn’t do this. Not today, not tonight.

“You look beautiful Bridget,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Did I already say that?”

“Yeah,” she smiles awkwardly. “You said that before the photo.”

“You do. And so do you Philippe. Thank you for attending my wedding.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” Bridget looks at me wide-eyed, like she’s about to say something but when Philippe’s hand lands on her shoulder she looks down.

“What?” I ask anyway. Her eyes dart like prey to me, to Philippe, and down to her hands. I grab her hand and force her to look at me, like I could read something in her eyes. Like I would know. “Bridget.”

She looks up and her eyes well with tears as we look into each other’s eyes. My throat feels tight like I was having an allergic reaction, it travels down to my chest, I inadvertently feel myself squeezing her hand.

“I’m so-“

“Bridget,” Philippe’s voice cuts through whatever Bridget was going to apologize for. I look up at him and he’s burning a hole staring at her that hard. Over his head I see Harry.

“Oh look I see my husband,” Harry’s spots me too, relief in his features. His eyes stay on my face as he walks towards me and his eyes keep my steady. I want to tell him something, but everything that just happened was so non-verbal and unreal that I think I made it all up. I must be because this was insane and there was no explanation other than I was drunk, and sadder than I realized. “Gotta go kids. Have fun. I think I need another shot.”

I remember the rest of the night in snapshots. I forget myself later, giving myself up to Harry after that. We actually make it to dawn in a mixture of love and declarations, filthy words and I love yous, laughter and deeper conversations. It’s everything we were. It’s just like he promised.

***

Life moves on and I don’t bring anything up to Harry. I couldn’t, either I’m wrong and get his hopes up, or he thinks I’d gone insane in my sadness.

I feel like Bridget avoids me the week after, I return to class and she sits there, even takes questions after class, but she makes an excuse of studying during office hours and I barely get a few words with her. The week after she has an exam and she skips out after class.

I’m antsy. I want to know more about her; from her. I’m tempted to find a way to access her profile, get more info via the school. But I wait.

Harry notices, as we prep for our honeymoon booked over the holidays, he continues to ask if I was alright. And I try to convince us both I was.

About 3 weeks after the wedding, it’s a Saturday afternoon. Harry’s making lunch and I’m sitting in a pile of our books trying to decide what can be donated.

“Can you get that?” Harry asks.

“Hm?”

“The door?” He says just as there’s another knock. I’d been so entranced in the book I’d randomly started reading a passage of I hadn’t even heard.

I scramble to get it before the next knock and nearly stumble back when I find Bridget at the door.

“Hiya,” she says with an awkward wave.

“Hi…Bridget. What…come in what’s going on?”

“Sorry? Now that I’m here I should have called first.” She comes in and I go further in, waiting for her to follow. She hesitates before peeling her wet boots off.

“Harry? We have a guest,” I announce as I take her further into the home. I guess she’d already been here once before. “Bridget what can we do you for? Did you need something?”

“Bridget!” Harry pops out of the kitchen into the adjoined living room when we get closer. “Nice to see you again! I’m nearly done lunch, did you want to stay?”

What was it with Harry randomly inviting Bridget to things that were not pre-discussed.

“Um, I no. I probably shouldn’t. I just, came by to talk?”

“Sure,” I lead her to our dining table. “Is it about school? Did something happen?”

I sit across from her and Harry mumbles something, turning the dials down on the stovetop before sitting beside me.

Bridget’s eyes dart everywhere, from me to Harry, to the pictures on the wall, the kitchen, the books all over the floor.

“I was just doing a clearout,” I say to fill the silence. “Hey you like books right? Look through that pile there later if you want any of ‘em.”

“Actually,” she tucks her hair behind her ear. I feel Harry tense beside me. “I have a book for you.”

She leans down to where her tote rests and pulls something out. She lays it on her lap first, where we can’t see it. When she looks up to us she has tears in her eyes and her chin quivers.

“Please,” she whispers before pausing. My stomach drops as I take her in. Her face is blotchy and her hair hangs around her face, hiding half of it. She’s definitely cried before coming here, and I almost feel like deja vu as she places the book on the table. “Please don’t hate me.”

She slides it across to us. It’s just a simple leather hardcover, about 30cm by 30cm. The thing in my gut, the suspicion or the intuition, it turns into a cackling ball of energy and moves up to my sternum. I put my hand over it, and then move it to Harry’s leg. He’s frozen like a statue, staring at the book.

“Please open it?” Bridget says with tears streaking her face.

When Harry doesn’t make a move I pull it the rest of the way towards us. I open the first page to a few baby pictures.

I’d never held her in my hands, never even saw her. I’d pushed her out into this world, into another’s arms. But somehow I know who this is.

“Bridget,” I don’t even look at her. I start to frantically flip through the pages. The baby grows, 2 months, 6 months, 1 years old. Another girl joins in some photos, she always has an arm around the other child. I flip and flip and flip and even though I’m expecting it the photo stops my breathing.

I stare at the clone, or the original, of the photo on my fridge.

I’m frozen until another photo is slid towards us. It comes into view: two teenagers on Halloween night. The guy is dressed like the girl, the girl is dressed like the guy.

I throw my chair back and in the time it takes to walk to Bridget she stands too.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs but I just do what I wanted to do the second she was born.

I hug her. I hold her to my chest the way I never got to over 19 years ago. She belonged here. She never got to be here.

She was finally home. My daughter.

“Bridget,” I cry into her hair. Harry’s hair. She had Harry’s hair, his eyes. She got my nose and everything else. I was holding my daughter. She was in my arms, finally.

She really did look like Taylor as a baby.

“I’m sorry,” she cries again. “I was so scared and I screwed up and-“

“No.” I say fiercely. I push her out of the hug so I can grab her face. I wipe her tears and I nearly cry again. How many tears had I missed? Over skinned knees, playground taunts, first crushes and friendship breakups. How many tears had I missed? “Don’t say that. You’re here. You’re—Harry!”

I turn to him, why wasn’t he here?

He’s sat exactly where he was before. Frozen, staring at a spot between the picture of us and Bridget.

I let go of Bridget and move back to him.

“Baby,” I touch his arm and he springs up. Tears coat his lashes.

“‘Scuse me,” he brushes past me and heads out into the hall. Away from us. I want to go after him but I don’t want to leave Bridget—our daughter, alone.

“I’m sorry I knew I would ruin things I-“

“Please,” I want to go after him so bad but I go to Bridget and pull her into a gentler hug. When we part I keep hold of her shoulders. I never wanted to let her go. “He’s just processing it. He’s fine. He’s not mad at you I promise. Promise.”

She bites her lip, it reminds me of Taylor. She was a bit of everyone I knew and loved. She was the love that Harry and I always had. She was ours.

“I just got so scared when I tried to reach…I didn’t mean to deceive you. I didn’t. I felt terrible every day.”

“It’s okay,” I tuck her hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing to be sorry about-“

“But I saw you,” she cuts me off. “After I finally called you back and then just like, ghosted you. And every time I saw you at school it was like…I knew I was to blame. And it made me want to tell you even more but I got more scared any time I came close to it. I almost said it at your wedding—it would have been so stupid. Philippe stopped me.”

“I understand,” I did. I also didn’t care about any of it. She was here. That’s all I cared about. I wanted to know everything about her, I needed Harry here though. “Look Harry…your…Harry. I’m just going to check on him. You stay here and just…”

I trail off and leave. I had to be sure he was okay.

He’s not in the bedroom, or the office. I try the door to the toilet and it opens, he’s sitting on the edge of the tub with his head in his hands.

“She leave?” He asks in a hoarse voice.

“Oh baby,” I crouch in front of him. “No. She’s still here but I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m pathetic,” he buries his hands in his hair. “I’ve been waiting my whole adult life for this and all I do is freeze. Her first impression is of her dad just freezing and then running away.”

I try not to laugh at his dramatic retelling. “Har you know that’s not true. She’s known you before this. It was a shock-“

“You were fine.”

“You know I…always suspected. Especially after the wedding.”

He looks up at that, finally. “You never said.”

“Harry, I felt crazy. Saying it out loud would have forced me to check myself into the psych ward. We all react differently, it doesn’t matter though. Our baby girl is here. The day we talked about!”

He takes a deep breath, and then another one. I guide him to stand and he looks so limp and sad that I squeeze him in a hug. “She doesn’t care how you reacted. She just wants to know you.”

Harry sighs again, he splashes his face with water and we walk out. I was nervous for him.

We walk back into the living room and my heart sinks when Bridget isn’t there. But her things are?

A few steps further and she’s at the stovetop, stirring a pot.

“Oh sorry,” she steps back and nearly throws the spatula into the pot. “It was boiling a lot and-“

“Bridget,” Harry ignores most of what she’s saying and she freezes at the sound of her name. He’s a foot away from her now. I watch him raise a hand to her face and then drop it. His face is a cross between heartbreak and awe as they drink each other in. I wait in anticipation.

“Hi,” she finally says shyly. But it breaks the ice. Harry pulls her into a hug and she returns it tenfold from the looks of it. I can’t tell who’s crying, but I give them their moment as I turn the dials off on the stovetop.

It was just a regular Saturday, except it wasn’t. Our worlds exploded with our past and was putting itself back together again, all the old broken pieces were being mended back together with love. My chest drowns in it, I can barely breathe. In Harry’s arms, there’s no denying she’s ours.

***

“Thank you,” Bridget says as we tuck into dinner. Harry’s lunch prep had gone cold as we’d all sat down and talked about how Bridget found us (looking me up, finding out I was teaching a course she was interested in, forcing her friend Philippe to take it to see if I was who she thought I was), and going through her album. I found out more about her sister Louisa and her parents. It was weird seeing pictures of them, in my mind they were the people that took my baby as their own and for Bridget they were mum and dad.

We finally decide to do something about food when our stomachs rumble. Harry goes back to cooking, showing Bridget what he’s doing until she leaves to take a call. I recognize Philippe on the caller ID.

I take Bridget’s place but I’m more of an extra weight tied to Harry’s back as I hug hun from behind. We don’t even have words on what this all means to us. For now, just touching each other keeps us grounded, it keeps is in what was happening together.

Bridget comes back from the call when we’re nearly done.

“I just want to say I am sorry—and I know you said not to be,” Bridget says quickly before I can get a word in. “But I never meant to deceive the both of you. My plan was to take your class, leave the letter and then talk. I Googled you so much it felt like I knew you. Yet when we spoke in your office that day, you felt familiar but In a different way than the person I studied. I just liked you so much, and I wanted you to like me. I was scared maybe you wouldn’t. So I just screwed the plan and messed up everything.”

“Hey,” Harry hands her a tissue and she takes it. Under the table he squeezes my hand. “It’s in the past.”

“I know. Still made me feel awful. And I couldn’t tell you but I also couldn’t stay away. I applied for TA and, it felt like having a friend and a sister and a mentor all in one. And I…I screwed up. I took it too far. And then you invited me to your wedding—I got to attend my parents’ wedding! It was so absurd. I couldn’t stop crying.”

Sounded like me. But I don’t say anything. We listen to her attentively.

“I only told my sister. I wanted to tell you two before I told my parents.”

I think about my parents. Harry’s. I didn’t want to overwhelm her but I couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone that already loved her.

“I just hope…no, I know I hurt you two a lot. I didn’t mean to. I am really sorry about it all.”

“Bridget,” Harry’s hand comes down on hers. “What’s done is over. There are so many things we wish we did differently but ultimately it’s all done. All that matters is you’re here, now. You’re our daughter we never got to meet and you’re finally here.”

Harry’s voice cracks on the last word and he sits back and laughs away the tears. “Sorry. I’m a mess today aren’t I? Your first impression of me is a crying mess.”

“That’s not my first impression,” Bridget laughs but her eyes also fill with tears. “That night at the pub. When I saw you two together I nearly bloody fainted! When I looked you up y/n, there’d been an old wedding registry with another bloke. But then seeing you two together?! I just couldn’t believe it—I thought I dreamed it. And then I nearly cried because my bio parents were somehow together?? And the way you just stared into my soul it felt like you knew who I was.”

I laugh, remembering but also knowing exactly what look Bridget was talking about. “He does have a piercing look doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. It could gut someone!”

“That makes it sound awful!” Harry laughs. “Don’t say that.”

“It nearly gutted me! I really thought oh shite—“ Bridget freezes and looks between us like we were gonna scold her for swearing and I nearly leap across the table to hug her again then. “I uhm, I thought you knew who I was.”

“We thought it then,” I let my eyes roam over her. I realize I’d always been a mother, despite not having my daughter. Holding her earlier had awoken an instinct in me and now every time I look at her I feel a rush of love and something fierce. I wonder if Harry felt it too. “But we thought we were mental!”

Her phone chimes as we laugh. She flips it around and then tucks it into her purse.

“You need to take that?” Harry asks.

“No it’s just Philippe. He was at the wedding? I was just talking to him, I hadn’t texted him in a while he wanted to know how it went.”

“Philippe,” I say with a knowing smile. Bridget blushes and Harry asks what he’s missing out on so I fill him in.

“He sounds like a good lad,” Harry comments.

“A good lad?” I repeat. “Are you hearing him?”

Bridget laughs behind her hand and I can’t stop staring at her. I have to force myself to go back to eating.

“He is. I might have told him about how I felt?”

“Wow,” I put my fork down. “You’re confessing an awful lot lately.”

She blushes even deeper. And suddenly I’m grateful of the weird and layered way she’d come into our lives. Despite hiding the truth, it had allowed us to get to know each other as people first. Without any baggage or give me any inclination to fit who I thought she should be onto who was in front of me.

I got to know her for the young woman she was first, so did Harry in a way. And I would be forever grateful for that despite all the pain in between.

“Sorry,” I get up. The affection was overflowing from my cup. “I’m going to give you another hug because I just can’t believe all this.”

“Ohh,” Bridget stands to meet me and we wrap our arms around each other. Here was a girl I already knew, here was my daughter waiting to be known.

“God, she really is our daughter.” Harry quips from his side of the table. He explains when Bridget looks over at him, “y/n is known to be a big touchy person, I’m kinda like that too.”

“Oh my god,” she smiles at us. “I’m like that too! My sister hates hugs. My dad’s 2 pats on the back man, 3 if he’s feeling a lot. I always wondered if…”

She trails off. It seems to hit all of us all over again every so often. For me it’s when she talks about her mum and dad and it’s not Harry and I. The reminder that she went 19 years becoming her own person that we now were catching up on.

For her, it seems it was realizing all the parts of us that were in her.

“You got Harry’s hair, and eyes.” I comment.

“I did! I realized that as soon as I saw a photo online. But I do look a bit like you.”

“You do! I should show you some younger pictures of us and our families. You’ll see more similarities.”

“Wow. So you have a younger sister. How about you Harry?”

“Older sister. Seems we all have sisters.”

Bridget and I make eye contact, remembering a conversation we had what feels like ages ago about having sisters.

We continue our dinner, swapping stories and filling her in on anything she wants to know. She leaves after, claiming to have to get back home, she had an exam on Monday to study for.

When she leaves Harry and I can’t stop talking about her. Or gushing would be more accurate.

“Did you see the way she laughs?” I’d tell him. “Pure you!”

“The way she tucks her hair back,” he would retaliate. “Just like you. You did that especially back in secondary.”

We talk until we’re exhausted, crawling into bed just staring in wonder. There were still so many details to figure out, so many things to cover, it could drown a person thinking of it all.

But like an anchor in the sea, Harry and I fall asleep with hand clasped together. We keep each other buoyed amidst it all.

It was going to take time for this all to sink in but all I’ve ever had was time, and questions. I think I was finally getting time and answers.

Age 39:

Harry’s pov: Having our daughter in our lives is simple and complicated at the same time. At first there were a lot of things to untangle but as time went on, the knots loosened until our lives became their own knots, tangled into each other.

Meeting her parents, the people I met once many years ago, was likely the strangest part. They already felt so familiar as soon as they greeted us in a warm embrace, as if we were there own children. I guess the last time they saw us we were.

“Oh look at you,” Bridget’s mum had squeezed us tight. Her dad had pat us three times and we took it to mean as much as a hug.

In my mind they were always the age they had been then. They were probably around the age we are now. Seeing them sport greys and fine lines, it was like stepping into a time portal.

Lou, Bridget’s sister, eyes us for the first little while before warming up and sharing all kinds of stories—especially the embarrassing kind with us.

When Bridget meets Y/n’s family, I can tell they’re loud and overwhelming at first but we’re all surprised when Taylor embraces Bridget and takes to her immediately.

She brings out old pictures they had of Y/N and I, but every time she says, “your mum and dad…” when she talks about us through the pictures, I notice y/n protesting less and less.

It makes me feel funny, I keep thinking I was going to wake up and find out it had all been a dream.

“This feels very full circle to me,” y/n’s mum says. She’s watching Taylor talk about her baby bump—she was 3 months along. “I saw Bridget as a wee baby when they handed her over to her parents. I remember running late to hospital and making it to the room just in time to see it. I blinked and now she’s in my living room!”

“Sometimes I feel the same way,” I confess.

My family is slightly quietier but they all fuss over our daughter. They ask a million questions and when it’s all over we take Bridget for ice cream. It’s a pseudo-recreation of a life we never had.

Bridget eases into it too. At first she had bouts of disappearing on us. No more than a couple days. But we give her space, understanding it was overwhelming.

Every time I see her, I see her mum—y/n. I was never there when y/n gave birth. We had to drive up from London when we got the news and by the time I got there the dust had settled.

I never even had the potential of seeing her. I’d always been more sympathetic of y/n; her loss had been physical, mine was slightly more abstract.

Even though I’d spent every year since regretting that I wasn’t there to at least glimpse her, I’m glad now I hadn’t been there to see her. If I had to live the last 18 years with this feeling in my chest I don’t think I could have lasted that long. I don’t know how y/n did it. It’s a concoction of deep unconditional love, and tenderness, and recognition, wrapped in a shell of protectiveness. It took me a while to sort through it all but I had a conversation with my parents one night at dinner Y/n and I had visited. And they’d laughed because they had told me that was simply what being a parent was.

“Maybe she regrets it,” I had said the second time she ghosted us. Really it had just been over a day where she hadn’t gotten back to us. But I couldn’t help the overthinking, being tuned into any potential of loss with our daughter.

Somehow, y/n was the cool headed between us two in these moments. Maybe it was being a mum, maybe it was knowing Bridget beforehand, but she was very in sync with her.

“She needs space. The last thing we want her to be is overwhelmed too. Now don’t overwhelm yourself love, at least she’s in our lives.” She’d say.

It takes us the start of the summer and all those meets later for Bridget to finally feel at ease.

We invite her on a road trip, we were renting a place in the Cotswold for a few days and told her to bring Philippe. When she doesn’t even hesitate to say yes Y/n tells me we’d done it: she was finally more comfortable than overwhelmed.

“Y/N made me a better man,” I say after a couple drinks. We’re all sat around a fire outside the house. Despite it being a warm day of hiking the night had cooled significantly and we’d decided that boozy hot cocoas was the way to go. “I’ve lost my ways a lot of times as an adult. But she’s always been my north star. Even when we got back together she led me to being sober and getting my shite together.”

“Oh…” Philippe looks down at his drink. “Are you…”

“No,” I laugh, Philippe was the most-conscientious teen I’d ever met. “I got sober to get my life in order. But…it’s in order now. I haven’t done anything crazy for over a year now.”

A little before our wedding I decided I wanted to end my sobriety. It had been a thought for months, and I had waited before giving in. But I really felt more in control of my life. I faced my life decisions head on, I confronted my past with y/n’s help, and I didn’t think I’d lose control again. It had been a shaky first week but I was right. It was a proud moment for me.

“You two really have something special,” Bridget comments.

“They do,” Philippe adds. “I can’t believe you got your happy ending after so many years!”

“Yeah,” y/n says as I lay my hand on her thigh, palm up. “Y’know what they say about loving someone and letting them go.”

“I guess you did that with me,” Bridget says so quietly we almost don’t hear her. But out here in the countryside we do.

“We didn’t want to,” I remind her.

“No I know.” She smiles, it’s a bit sad. Philippe tugs her closer. I could see how much he cared for her in that small gesture. “I’m not saying it like that. I hear your story and I just imagine how different my life would have been if I was raised by my, by you two. I wouldn’t have this life. And I really like this life.”

She looks at Philippe and I feel y/n squeeze my hand. She often said they reminded her of us when we were younger; the kind of love you’d do anything for.

“But you two loved me enough to let me go. To let each other go. It’s fucking sad but it’s beautiful. Life’s weird.”

“Here here,” Y/N raises her nearly empty cup of hot cocoa. “Life’s weird, sad, beautiful, but lately my life’s been full of so much love. I wish I could sell all the excess, I think I could solve a lot of world problems with it.”

“Wow,” I lean over and kiss the top of her head. “That’s one hell of a speech.”

“I have a speech,” Philippe stands, a little tipsy, and clears his throat. Bridget rolls her eyes but they shine for him. “Bridget you’re the love of my life. Since we were 13. But Harry and Y/N, I think I love you too. Ever since we were 15, I’ve watched Bridge struggle for answers about her past. And you two have given her all the answers, welcomed her—and me actually, into your lovely life. I’ve watched her become old Bridge but even more confident. I’m falling harder for her these days. And I can’t thank you guys enough.”

“Aw Philippe come here,” y/n lets of my hand to walk around and give him a hug. How quickly strangers became family.

Bridget grumbles about being left out and joins the hug. Soon I join in too. I want to create a mold of this moment, I think as I squeeze them against me, I’d make it out of plaster and let it dry. Any time we wanted, we could always find our way back to this moment here.

Age 40:

Y/N and I watch our daughter cross the stage. Beside us are our parents and in front of us sits Bridget’s parents and her sister. She has a whole army cheering for her. This was the first milestone event we could all really show up for, and show up we did.

“I can’t believe this,” I was so proud of her. I know the kudos went to her parents, and herself, but I beam with pride. Honestly Bridget could spin in a circle in front of me and I would be a proud dad.

“We need to get photos,” mum leans over and says so seriously, as if we hadn’t planned on getting a million already.

We have a framed picture in our hall, Y/N and I on our wedding day, our daughter in between us. Her graduation photo is definitely making it. She makes fun of this wall, calls it the Styles hall of fame, and I never mention it but she always lingers a few second longer in front of the photo of the three of us.

I do too.

“It makes me so sad you won’t be so close to me anymore,” my mum tells Bridget later. We’re all piled in our flat, drinks and celebratory cake in everyone’s hands.

It reminds me of mine and y/n’s 40th birthday, we had gathered our family and friends here and it was some of their first times meeting our daughter. Today is more intimate, and focused on Bridget.

“I know it makes me sad too, but I’ll be here often, visiting Philippe.”

“Only visiting Philippe?” I raise a brow.

“Is there someone else I’m supposed to be visiting?” She mirrors my raised brow.

As Bridget’s gotten more comfortable, me and her could banter for hours if you let us, it’s one of those things that brought us closer together—having the same sense of humour. It’s allowed us to have just as deep heart-to-hearts, a handy joke always close to the surface.

Y/N always says seeing me like that, thoughtful and silly, reminds her of the boy she fell for. I can’t deny that I’ve been feeling closer to my 20 year old self than my 40 year old self lately.

“She’s too cheeky,” Bridget’s mum says. “But I have to say I’ll be glad to have her back.”

Lou, Bridget’s sister, was moving to Wales. Apparently she wanted to know more about her background, and take a trip with her bio mum to visit her bio dad.

I think Bridget was moving back to Coventry to keep her parents’ loneliness away; she said she would commute to Birmingham for school. Even though she got accepted into law schools in London, going to a uni close to her parents just showed me how close she was to her parents. It was a bittersweet feeling.

“I’ll have somebody to watch cricket with again,” her dad says.

“Ohh,” Bridget throws her sister a side-eye. “I love cricket…”

We all laugh at her complete lack of concealing her true feelings.

Later that night, it’s just Bridget’s parents and us. The kids are on the balcony talking.

“I know we’ve said it before,” I say after a long silence. We’d just been watching the kids talk and laugh outside. “But I want to say thank you again.”

Bridget’s dad shakes his head. “It was the greatest pleasure of our lives getting to raise those two girls.”

He looks over at his wife and they smile at one another. Seeing them interact, I’m grateful that somehow fate had led us to them. While Y/N and I were figuring life out, while I fucked up a lot of things, she was raised on a steady and stable foundation.

“She’s incredible,” I murmur. “She’s gonna be a lawyer. She’s going to change the world.”

“She sure will,” her mum says. “We should be thanking you two. For giving us Bridget. I know it wasn’t easy, you told me you thought about her nearly every day. But we can’t imagine our lives without her.”

We sit in a comfortable silence, looking out at the kids until they notice and start to ask questions through the glass.

“She’s happier,” her mum says smiling at Bridget and Lou exaggerating their words through the glass. “She stopped being like this before she left for uni. We thought we lost her but…I think everything worked out for the best.”

Y/N glances at me. Her eyes crinkle when she finds me looking at her first, her eyes steady me as she says what I was thinking, “I think so too.”

Age 45

Your pov: “When did she say she would be here?”

“6?” Harry says for the tenth time.

“It’s 6:20 do you think something happened? She hasn’t texted has she?”

“My love,” Harry puts down the cutlery he was arranging on the table and holds my face in his hands. “They’re driving from Coventry, they probably hit some traffic.”

“Maybe I should call her?”

Harry sighs and squishes my face.

“Don’t! You’ll make more wrinkles.” I warn.

“I love your wrinkles,” Harry kisses my forehead right where the pesky wrinkles had been growing deeper over the last few years despite the additions to my night routine.

Harry always said our wrinkles were just the stories of our lives showing through. I told him to get himself undereye cream.

“You don’t think I’m aging handsomely?” He strokes the moustache he started growing last year. At this age, even I couldn’t deny it made him even more attractive.

“Well it’s no good if you’re ageing handsomely and I age like a troll.”

“I will love you if you age into a troll.”

“But will you love me if I turn into a worm?”

“Do you even have to ask? I’d buy you the best soil and keep you in a beautiful pot.”

“You wouldn’t take me fishing?” I ask. He sighs. Last year while we were taking a trip up north for Lou’s wedding, we’d gotten into a fight and when I asked him the question while he was still stewing he said he’d take me fishing. It had, ironically, broken the iciness of his anger and we’d laughed about it so hard he’d nearly had to pull over.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he wraps me into his chest nearly suffocating me.

I’d spent half my life with a lot of difficulties, but life now felt easy compared to it. I had the privilege of getting older with the man I adored, got to watch my daughter flourish as an adult and a lawyer, watch her get married to the love of her life, and all the while live comfortably in the heart of this city I called home.

When Bruno starts barking though, I gasp and push myself off of Harry, “that’s them!”

Bruno continues to bark as I rush to the door. We’d got him a couple years ago as a pup and I can’t believe it had taken us that long to get a dog. He filled our lives with laughter and long walks. We loved him.

“Down.” I say to him. I open the door and hold my hands out while Bruno runs in circles beside me.

“Ahhh sorry we’re late!” Bridget steps into my hug and I tug Philippe’s hood so he can join. Bruno goes for Philippe when they walk in, he’d gotten obsessed with him after Philippe took care of him while Harry and I took an anniversary trip last year.

“Where are my hellos!?” Bridget says to Bruno and he barks, standing on his back legs to paw at her leg.

I hadn’t seen the two of them since March, that was 6 months ago. It had been their wedding, and they’d gone on a month long honeymoon after that, after which Harry and I had taken time off to road trip around Europe with Bruno, and then time had just zipped by.

After a hearty dinner, Harry and I carry out the birthday cake we’d been hiding.

“You didn’t have to do this!” Bridget fans her face but we treat it like we do any special occasion, plus making up for all the ones we’d missed. We get photos and exchange presents, she cries reading the cards and the whole time she says she had a present for us.

It’s a small bag, Harry and I guess that it was something for Bruno but when we take out a box it doesn’t sound like much when we shake it.

“Is this a prank gift? There’s nothing in it?” Harry asks.

“Open it!” He was making me antsy.

“You open it,” he hands me the box. Bridget and Philippe stare intently at my hands.

I undo the bow and slowly open the box. There’s a small square of tissue paper, and then a piece of paper. I remove both but something catches my eye.

I flip the paper over and stop breathing.

“Is that-“ Harry stops talking too. We stare at the piece of paper in our hands. It looks so much like one I had held 28 years ago. But it’s not.

“Bridge,” I look up at the couple. The parents-to-be.

“We’re having a baby,” Bridget says. Philippe and her are gripping hands and I throw everything off of me to launch myself at her.

“A baby!” I hear Harry say and joining us. “You’re having a baby! Y/n!”

“I never thought we’d be grandparents,” I look up at Harry.

“Those wrinkles were coming in for a reason,” he teases.

We never did have any other kids. Quite frankly, neither of us wanted any. When we first got together we were just starting to get comfortable with the reminder that we had a daughter out there and we could talk about her freely with each other. It felt like having a third person in our little family.

After Harry proposed, while we planned our wedding, we talked about it but we never thought it felt right. We both had first marriages where a lack of conceiving had just put a strain on the relationship we didn’t think we needed. We’d also felt like it was betraying something, before we met our first child.

When Bridget did reach out, it became about catching up on lost time. And then with her in our lives we knew what we suspected all along. We had each other, and that was enough. Bridge was our bonus. And getting to be aunt and uncle to our nieces and nephews it was enough. It was a full enough life.

We never even dreamed in our 20s we’d get to be parents and now we would get to be grandparents! I never realized until this moment that I wanted this. Really wanted it.

“Do you know the gender?” Harry asks.

“No,” Philippe answers. “We were thinking of doing one of those reveal parties? But not for a couple months.”

“Wow,” my hands drift down to Bridget’s belly and I remember I had something. I leap away from the group and find the box in my closet, it’s painted pink with random collages from old magazines. It hosts old diaries, photos, a hospital bracelet, and an ultrasound.

“This was you once,” I show her the picture when I get back. “I carried you like that once upon a time.”

She takes it with teary eyes, holding it close to her face to make out the shape of her. She hands it to Philippe and grabs my hands.

“I’ve thought about it before, but when I got pregnant I couldn’t wait to tell you-“

“She kept telling me I had to make a trip out to London just so she could give you the news.” Philippe interrupts, eyes scanning the ultrasound still.

“No really,” Bridget laughs. “I did. It’s like I got this new perspective.”

She puts my hands on her belly and covers mine with hers. I feel everything at once then, all the heartbreak I ever went through to get here.

“I can’t imagine giving this baby up. And it’s barely 3 months. What you were willing to do to give me a better life-“

She breaks off and Philippe squeezes her shoulder. I watch my daughter try to gain control of her emotions. I remember when I was pregnant with her, anything would set me off.

“It must not have been easy. After carrying me like this for 9 whole months. Thank you-“ she looks up to where Harry’s standing. I barely register his hand on my shoulder. “Thank you as my mum and dad, for making the hardest decision I can imagine ever making, so I could have something you knew you couldn’t provide.”

I reel my tears in, save them for later that night in bed while Harry holds me tight against him.

Right now I kiss my daughter and tell her what a good mother she will make. I tell her and Philippe how proud I was of them, how excited, how wonderful this was.

Age 46

The day we meet our granddaughter is seared into my brain. We get the call at 8:35pm, Harry and I were staying in a B&B in Coventry despite Bridget’s mum insisting we stay with her. We’d been here all weekend, booked it all week, not wanting to miss Bridget’s delivery date.

“Y/N she’s here,” her mum whispers into the phone. Her voice is filled with joy and giddiness. “She’s here.”

“We’re coming,” I say. Harry’s already at the door and we rush out into the night to see our granddaughter.

She has the perfect little face, and when she finally wakes up I gasp when I see Harry’s eyes looking back at me. I turn to him, to see if he noticed, but he’s teary-eyed and gazing at the baby in awe. I soak it in for a second, imagining this exact look if we’d kept our baby so many years ago.

Bridget’s parents had given us the room, to give us a moment alone, and I can’t be more grateful. Bridget encourages us to hold her and as her soft body is pressed into my body I let out a sob and hand her over to Harry. I excuse myself and step outside the room.

Lou’s kids sit on the floor outside, playing with whatever toys are spilling out of a miniature backpack. I focus on the flashy colours, trying to calm down, counting the number of toys falling out.

My life was a 180 from 10 years ago. This moment would go down in our history books as one of the best days of our lives.

But I can’t deny the bittersweet. The experience threatens to push me into the bitter past of not even getting to hold Baby Bridget. But with it comes an undeniable sweetness of getting to experience this now.

I take a deep breath and walk back in. Harry and Bridget stop mid-sentence and turn to me. Bridget’s face is streaked with tears, Harry’s looks concerned but I smile. He sits with the pink bundle to his chest and I ache.

“Don’t look so obvious you were talking about me,” I try a joke.

“Are you alright?” Bridget asks.

“May I hold her?” I ask in return.

I sit on the edge of the bed and she’s placed in my arms; she’s perfect. Just as perfect as Bridget must have been.

“She’s got Philippe’s hair,” I gently stroke the wispy blonde strands.

“She’s got my eyes, her grandpa’s eyes.”

I look at Harry. And he catches the stricken look on my face when Bridget tips forward and whispers to her baby.

“Look baby, this is your mumma’s mum, and your mumma’s dad. You’ve got his beautiful eyes. Say hi to grandma!”

My throat tightens. “Bridge.”

She leans away, her eyes dart between us. “I know I call you Y/N and Harry. It made it easier at first but…you are my mum and dad. Even though I have another pair. You are my mum and dad. And I want her to know you like that.”

“Oh love,” Harry leans down and kisses the top of our daughter’s head. She keeps her green eyes trained on me, grasping my hand that’s wrapped under her baby’s.

I mouth a thank you, my voice couldn’t pass through the block in my throat. She squeezes my hand and it sets the baby off. Remembering when my nephews were this young, I just hand her back to Bridget knowing she only wanted her mum.

Harry and I stay in the waiting room. We couldn’t go home, even though we had spent our allotted time we had inside the room, we stay there.

We watch Lou’s kids as Bridget’s family gathers in her room. We stay as they fall asleep, draped over us. I remember when Taylor’s kids were this small, they would fall asleep anywhere.

We talk in whispers, I don’t remember what about exactly. Mostly how excited we were. How there was so much to look forward to. How different our lives looked a decade ago.

“One day we’ll tell our grandkids,” I remember Harry saying. “We’ll tell them all about us, how we met, how our love burned so bright it shone in the sky. We lost each other but our love was always there to guide us back home.”

“We’ll see them grow up, all the memories we missed.”

“We’ll change diapers.”

“We’ll change diapers,” I giggle, half-delirious by the lack of sleep. It was probably 2am and I was tired.

When I gaze up at Harry I remember him holding our granddaughter. I replace her with Bridget. For a minute I allow myself to imagine how that would have been.

“I think you would have made an amazing mum if we did things differently,” Harry whispers into my hair.

“You too.” I whisper back.

“An amazing mum? You think?” The edge of his lips tug upwards.

“Harry,” I warn. We had kids sleeping on us we were trying not to wake.

“I love you.” He says in response. “To the stars and back.”

On our drive home I can’t stop looking at him. I always wondered how it would be like to grow old with someone; when I was younger and watch my own parents celebrate anniversaries. And then when I was older and my first marriage was so rocky.

But thinking about it now is like a simple mathematical equation. You take two lives, two individuals, and you bracket them in love. You add an exponent—the decision to continue choosing each other. And you get a lifelong commitment. No matter the situation, no matter the challenges or the changes, you choose to choose each other.

His side profile lights up by an oncoming car. For a second he’s the same boy I feel in love with, a few more gray hairs, a few more wrinkles, and a moustache. But he’d always be the boy I followed out to the roof, who held my hand in our high school hallway, the one who turned an I into a we when I got pregnant, I see the man I had coffee with after a run-in at the Whole Foods, I see the broken heart from a harsh life sitting on the steps of a church, I see a bookworm, I see a father, a husband, and now a grandfather. I see the one person who knows me like the back of his hand. The one I am home with always.

“What is it?” Harry asks as we pull into our b&b. “Have you been asleep this whole ride or have you been staring at me?”

“Staring at you?” I ask. “You think I was staring at you the whole ride?”

“Well you were really silent. And facing me

“I was thinking.”

“About me?”

“Why are you so desparate!? Do I not show you enough love regularly?”

“I could always use more,” Harry looks half asleep as we reach our door.

“The people are right: you give someone a hand and watch as they take the whole arm,” I tease.

“When you gave me your hand, I made you a wife.” Harry retorts.

“Ooh,” I poke him. “I have to say that’s a good comeback for being half-asleep.”

Harry grins back. “You keep me sharp.”

“And you keep me happy. Now open the door so I can stop freezing out here!”

We walk into the warmth of our b&b.

For so much of our lives, our past decisions haunted us. We let so much go. Now life was repaying us, returning it all back, with interest.

***

In a small b&b in the middle of a town called Coventry, two lovers crawl into bed. They’d just become grandparents and they carry an exhausted buzz about them as they try to fall asleep. They’re both thinking of the other, of their daughter, of the tiny bundle they held in their arms today.

Some 20 minutes away their daughter lays in a hospital bed, an exhausted buzz putting her to sleep. She dreams of her mother who gave her up, how she had found her parents in the end, and dreams about the kind of mother she’ll be.

A few doors down lay her newborn daughter, she doesn’t dream of much, not yet, but she’s in for a lifetime of love.

Most of life is what we made it. Y/N and Harry loved deeply enough to make it.

———————————————

TAGLIST: @quinnwritezz @unknownnbihh @dilfhrrys @umadirectioner @hermionelove @anonymous-91 @meganxfddf

[cashandprizes]

The Boring CBT Final for the Fun CBT King - By Lexi Moon aka CashAndPrizes

Okay! People asked and I fought tumblr to deliver!

Hi, I'm CashAndPrizes also known as Lexi Moon, and I am a doctoral student studying clinical psychology. I wrote about Redacted (specifically Lasko) for my final for Cognitive Behavioral Therapies. Here's the paper.

Shout out to my beloved friends in the WhoreHome and W.A.R. for keeping me going through this paper. I love you dearly.

Words of warning:

I am a clinician in training. I am still being supervised. I have not been graded on this final yet. (I'll update when I get it!) And I am definitely not an expert. Take everything here with a grain of salt.

I am not a licensed therapist but even if I was I am not your therapist. I'm play acting as Lasko's therapist for a class. Take everything here with a grain of salt. If you read any of this and think "It's a bit loud in here" do not assume this is absolutely you. If you have the means, please try finding your own mental health professionals and if you don't, please do a lot of research on these subjects. Don't use this as a diagnosis please, I'm just a guy.

I filled in a lot of Lasko's backstory based on my experiences with patients and my beloved Lasko kinnies who were instrumental to the writing of this paper. (I won't tag you and call you out, but you know who you are an I love you.) Your headcanons might be different - that's cool. I'm not claiming canon over most of this - but I did use the transcripts and timeline very heavily.

If you don't like the idea of pansexual, transgender, Indo-Caribbean/Trinidadian child of immigrants Lasko - pookie this might not be for you. If that sounds like your jam though - come on in, the water's fine.

Without further ado. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mambo Number Five. Here's Lasky. I can, in fact, fix him.

Case Summary

This case conceptualization addresses the hypothetical course of treatment for Lasko Moore, a character in a modern-fantasy audio narrative. Lasko Moore presented to treatment as a 30-year-old pansexual and transgender Indo-Caribbean man working as an administrator and adjunct professor at Dahlia Academy for Magical Novices for persistent anxiety symptoms. Upon intake, Lasko reported experiencing near constant racing thoughts that he was unable to “turn off”, panic attacks, and increased anxiety about social interactions at his work. He described spending a significant amount of mental energy preparing for and reviewing social interactions with colleagues such that he often avoids his colleagues in an effort to minimize his anxiety. Lasko reported that the anticipation around coworker interactions (meetings, socials, etc.) becomes quickly overwhelming as he becomes preoccupied with what he will say and do in an effort to try and minimize his tendency to become hyperverbal and overshare information as well as stuttering. He described this process as starting with embarrassment over previous interactions which leads to critical thoughts like “I shouldn’t be so anxious” which leads to rehearsal of potential outcomes of interactions. However, in the moment of social interactions he becomes so anxious as there “aren’t any objectives [or] any specific roles” to the conversations that he “word vomits” and becomes tangential and overshares until he runs out of breath and stops himself from talking due to his own critical thoughts and begins to isolate himself. 

Lasko was initially diagnosed with Panic Disorder (F41.0) and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (F41.1) to capture his persistent anxious state with occasional intense bouts of extreme anxiety and panic. An initial long-term goal was collaboratively set as improving his coping strategies and tolerance of anxious affect to better network and create relationships. As this was Lasko’s first time utilizing mental health services, treatment began with inhibitory learning in combination with Acceptance and Commitment Therapy in order to facilitate willingness to experience interoceptive cues and extinguish avoidance due to fear of negative consequences. This was able to reduce his panic attacks as he felt more able to tolerate overwhelming anxious affect. Despite his clear engagement with treatment through attendance, homework, and skills practice, Lasko continued to struggle with critical thoughts and avoidance of coworkers which he identified as a major barrier to his continued professional development and potential non-academic relationships. Through collaborative exploration, a persistent early maladaptive schema relating to his critical thoughts emerged and treatment shifted to a goal of starting dialogue between schema modes to facilitate the use of coping strategies to build interpersonal effectiveness. Lasko was born as the human-born child of Trinidadian immigrants who moved the southern California in the early 1990s due to political unrest. From an early age Lasko faced high academic expectations from his parents who desired upward mobility for their child and a “piece of the American Dream.” His mother was emotionally labile to the point of explosive outbursts where his father was more passive and spent significant energy working and caring for his wife. This experience started Lasko’s early maladaptive schema regarding rigid standards with no support, which only became worse when Lasko’s elemental powers began developing at thirteen and his parents expected perfect control (and perfect suppression) of his powers with no training and a highly critical environment. This led to Lasko isolating himself at home as much as possible to hide his lack of control but left him with an environment that created a positive feedback loop where his lack of control led to increased yelling and criticism which led to worsening outbursts of his powers. This culminated in a final traumatic event when Lasko was seventeen and lost control of his powers, leading to his mother “calling [him] everything she could think of […] she was so loud and I just wanted her to stop” to the point that Lasko accidentally sucked all of the air out of the room and almost suffocated his mother. Though Lasko was able to find support with the Department of Uniform Magical Practices and become emancipated from his parents, these experiences developed a maladaptive pattern of hypercritical thinking about himself, especially in the context of social relationships.

Research

Avelino Cardoso et al. (2023) pose potential ways to modify and apply Schema Therapy to sexual and gender minorities. This work focuses on understanding how of harmful implicit and explicit messages about gender and sexuality contribute to early maladaptive schemas based on consideration of the minority stress model, and how Schema Therapy interventions can be applied to sexual and gender minorities. One area of particular relevance from this article is the conceptualization of an inner critic mode that specifically represents stereotypes and prejudice that are naturalized by society. When applying these principles to the case of Lasko, the environment of his childhood can be understood as an essential aspect of the treatment. Though Lasko did not present to treatment looking to discuss the impact of his pansexuality and transgender identity, potentially because of the clinician’s own advertised identities, the impacts of systemic oppression against sexual and gender minorities can be woven into treatment for his hypercritical early maladaptive schema. Based on the suggestions of Avelino Cardoso et al. (2023), it may be worth examining his secondary schemas around shame and social isolation as also being shaped by his experience as a gender and sexual minority and how that may contribute to his predominant hypercritical schema. 

A major concern for this section of the paper is the lack of research modifying second and third wave cognitive behavioral therapies for sexual and gender minorities. Results for Acceptance and Commitment Therapy with LGBTQ+ individuals only revealed one article about group therapy and a study proposal; results for Schema Therapy with LGBTQ+ individuals only provided Avelino Cardoso et al.’s (2023) theoretical essay. There does not appear to be much research and what research exists is extremely limited with no randomized control trials. This makes it clear that evaluating the efficacy of treatment for sexual and gender minorities is not a priority, which leads to a major critique of Avelino Cardoso et al.’s work. Though the article is useful for considering how to address systemic change in the room, it seems to attribute lived experiences of sexual and gender minorities to a schema rather than ongoing threats in a world where hate crimes and discrimination against LGBTQ+ individuals is on the rise. The abandonment and violence that these individuals may face is not imagined and it can be seen in the lack of interest in research.

ADDRESSING Model

When considering the case of Lasko, it is important to remember that psychology does not develop in the vacuum of individual experiences – psychology develops based on the global environment, which includes the social, political, economic, and cultural contexts as well as individual context. Utilizing Hays (2022) ADDRESSING Model, the impact of Lasko’s intersecting identities can be understood to have a major impact on his current symptom presentation and the development of early maladaptive schemas and schema modes. Lasko was born to first generation immigrants from Trinidad with strong Indo-Caribbean and Catholic roots – and he was assigned female sex at birth. Using a systems-focused lens, Lasko’s current symptoms can also be understood within the larger context of living in a world where several aspects of his identity are under intense scrutiny and political debate. As a child of immigrants and as someone Indo-Caribbean, Lasko likely faced explicit and implicit messages about his intellectual capabilities, his body, and his work ethic. While Lasko directly experienced his mother as extremely critical and never satisfied with his performance, it is just as likely that he received messages as a child about needing to work harder than many of his same aged peers for equal amounts of recognition based on his racial, ethnic, and sex assigned at birth. There is also the element of the disconnect between his sex assigned at birth and his gender presentation, and the messages he received about being transgender from his Catholic, Trinidadian immigrant parents as well as the American culture – which were likely discouraging at best and hostile at worst. 

Keeping all of this in mind, Lasko’s hypercritical, social isolated, and emotional deprived schemas can be understood as also being a direct result of the intersection of his identities – and this does not even cover the added layer of being an empowered human-born. In a variety of ways, Lasko has had very different experiences than his peers by virtue of being a transgender, pansexual, child of unempowered human immigrants. When Lasko describes feeling different from the people around him growing up and when he entered the empowered world, this is a real experience based on the multiple identity intersections – it is not hard to believe that he did not have many friends or family members between the late 1990s and late 2000s that had similar experiences to him. This left him with the acute sense that he was fundamentally different and needed to work much harder than those around him, and also that to get validation he needed to sacrifice his needs (or identities) for those of others.

Methodology

The initial treatment approach for Lasko was a combination of Acceptance and Commitment Therapy and inhibitory learning with interoceptive and in vivo exposure, which was successful in decreasing his panic symptoms but not generalized anxiety symptoms. Lasko reported that he experienced sudden panic attacks that seemed random and included symptoms such as accelerated heart rate, tightness in his chest, hyperventilation, feeling that he would lose control, sweaty palms, and loss of control over his magic. At the time of treatment, he reported that he had been having at least one panic attack every other month since he was a teenager and that they would occur more frequently when he was in periods of intense stress. After exploration, Lasko was able to determine that he often had panic attacks related when he spends time ruminating in anticipation of social interactions. Lasko explained that during panic attacks he tends to seek quiet, dark places to hide and “ride out” the panic attack and that he has thoughts like “I’m going to mess this up” or “I can’t do this.” 

Treatment started with Acceptance and Commitment Therapy and inhibitory learning as an evidence-based approach for treating panic attacks and generalized anxiety to address his symptoms and reduce further panic attacks as well as his anxious thought patterns (Barlow, 2021; Ruiz et al, 2020). Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) is a therapeutic practice that focuses on improving psychological flexibility and understanding the function of behavioral patterns (Gordon & Borushok, 2017). Much of early treatment with Lasko consisted of psychoeducation around the therapeutic process, behavioral therapy, and mindfulness. He took easily to ACT and benefited from understanding how avoiding social interactions was negatively reinforced by decreasing his anxiety while keeping him from creating connection. Inhibitory learning through multiple types of exposure (in-vivo and interoceptive) was able to make him more comfortable with feeling panicked, effectively reducing his panic attacks (Ramnero & Törneke, 2008). However, his baseline anxious affect and negative thoughts did not ease despite the use of ACT, so treatment shifted towards understanding the function of his persistent negative thoughts through Schema Therapy.

Lasko’s symptom presentation after several sessions of ACT and inhibitory learning was a persistent anxious affect and worry (especially around social situations) that felt uncontrollable and critical ruminative thoughts. As it seemed treatment had plateaued, the content of sessions moved towards a deeper understanding of his critical thoughts based on an indication of deeply held early maladaptive schemas. Barlow defines early maladaptive schemas as persistent behavioral, cognitive, and relational themes developed in early childhood that are reinforced throughout lifetime and that cause significant disruption and dysfunction (2021). Schemas are often viewed as truths about the self and others and are difficult to challenge because of the deep affective component and lifetime of reinforcement (Barlow, 2021). Movement towards schema work started with psychoeducation which involved discussing how schemas are reinforced through modeling (in this case by his mother’s critical comments about his performance) and how people can often act in ways that reconfirm schemas into adulthood. Lasko then completed the Young Schema Questionnaire - Revised and received high scores on schemas related to emotional deprivation, social isolation, and unrelenting standards (Rijkeboer, 2015). During the debriefing and explanation of the results, Lasko reported that when he was completing the questionnaire he felt “really seen” in a way that was uncomfortable but also validating to his experiences in childhood and as a queer person of color living in America.

The topic of sessions then moved towards further psychoeducation about the process of schema work, including delving into his schemas and determining schema modes with the goal of improving his understanding of schemas and working towards healthier integration of modes and coping strategies (Barlow, 2021). Lasko was committed to treatment but apprehensive about “what would come up,” speaking to his concerns about dredging up uncomfortable memories and feelings. In response, he was encouraged to revisit his understanding of ACT and his core values as a reminder of why he wanted to continue treatment and work through feelings of discomfort and grief. The next session started proper schema work, starting with Lasko explaining his understanding of schemas and how they were currently impacting him. He aptly summarized that his childhood experience of feeling intense pressure to do well academically and conform to socially and religiously defined gender roles left him feeling isolated from his peers and that he always needed to work harder and do more, while also feeling as though he had no support or anyone who truly understood him – this led to the development of schemas related to emotional unrelenting standards, social isolation, and emotional deprivation. 

The first step of schema work was to identify schema modes as recommended by Barlow (2021). Lasko completed the Young Schema Mode Inventory (YSMI) as homework (along with his regular thought and feeling records) and scored highly in the following modes: vulnerable child, compliant surrenderer, detached self-soother, punitive parent, and demanding parent (Lobbestael, 2015). With this in mind, the next session started with reviewing his thought and emotion records as a baseline for identifying schema modes. Lasko was able to sort different thoughts and feelings into categories that broadly resembled the categories for child modes, coping modes, and parent modes, but he struggled to come up with names for them. He eventually decided on “Young Lasko” to describe his vulnerable child mode, “The Doormat” to describe his compliant surrenderer mode, and “The Critic” to describe his punitive and demanding parent modes with suggestions from the therapist based on his results on the YSMI. Lasko was overwhelmed with sadness and fear during this session, describing how hard it was to name and admit these schemas out loud and how scared and vulnerable he felt. He reported a heavy weight on his chest and how badly he wanted to hide from the therapist and his own internal experience, and his wavering control over his powers was evident by the rustling of papers in the room. The second half of the session was dedicated to using ACT and mindfulness techniques to sit with the almost intolerable affect without judgement. The session closed with a discussion of how he could focus on his value of self-care after the session and he decided that he had plans to meet with his friend group the next day and try to talk with them about his feelings as a form of self-care and confirming his acceptance in his friend group. 

The following session he reported that his conversation with his friend group had gone “really well, better than [he] expected” and the session started by discussing how this did not conform to his expectations as a way to integrate the initial phase of inhibitory learning into the present. The conversation then moved to re-introducing the names for his schema modes and utilizing a combination of mindfulness skills and reaffirmation of his core values to give a voice to those modes and their needs by recommendation of Barlow (2021). Lasko explored that “Little Lasko” felt “awful, awful all the time” and was a sad little boy trapped in a girl’s body who “[held] onto all the bad stuff” including feelings of being completely isolated from others and deep sadness. Lasko further explored that “The Doormat” was a representation of how he had worked so hard in school and at home to make everyone else happy and that by avoiding his own needs and wants (for self-expression, acceptance, nurturance, joy, etc.) he thought he would get his needs met. At this point in treatment, discussing “The Critic” was still too affectively laden so discussion started with the first two with the goal of working up to “The Critic.” Based on guidelines from Barlow (2021), the next few sessions focused on identifying the ways these schemas had developed within his childhood and how they had once been adaptive and essential for his survival. Lasko’s homework between these sessions was to read handouts given by the therapist about schema modes and the ways they are internalized throughout childhood. Lasko was also willing to try journaling once a week from the perspective of either “Little Lasko” or “The Doormat” to better understand how integral they had been to his survival. 

Session Description

This transcript describes the first part of the schema work, where Lasko began to identify and label schemas with prompting from the therapist. Rather than just using the terms from the YSMI, Lasko was encouraged to create his own meaning to better represent his own understanding of the schema modes based on evidence-based methods from Barlow (2021). The goal of this session was to help Lasko observe the schema modes based on his thought and feeling record from the previous week and start thinking of the modes as parts of him that were observable separate from himself.

Therapist: You’ve summed up schemas and how they work, and I don’t even have anything else to add. Lasko: I really, um, want to make sure you know I’m serious about this. I want to get better, I want to be better. Therapist: It feels like it’s really important for you to feel like I know how hard you’re working right now. Lasko: Yeah, well… Yeah, I don’t want you to think I’m not doing the work. Therapist: It’s interesting because you’re the one paying for sessions, you know? While I’m glad that we are working together towards your goals, what you get out of this is really up to you. Can we talk more about how you want to make sure I know you’re working hard? I think that’s really tied to this whole schema thing I’m trying to sell you on. Lasko: I’m already sold on it!  Therapist: [Hm] Lasko: … That’s… that’s what you mean, isn’t it? Therapist: [Affirmative hm] Lasko: Fuck – sorry – shit! I um… I feel like I need to prove to you that I’m listening and trying really hard. Therapist: What will happen if I think you aren’t trying? Lasko: Well, you won’t take me seriously – at all. You’ll think I’m wasting your time and that I should – I need to be doing more and taking it seriously. Therapist: And how would I be feeling with you? Lasko: Angry, because I’m wasting your time – but I’m not, or I don’t want to. I don’t want to waste your time, you have so many other patients you could be seeing and if I’m not doing what I should be doing then I’m just- I’m taking up space someone else could be using and they probably need it more than me. I mean, I’m fine you know, I’m anxious but I can survive, right? There’re people out there who need your time more than me and I’m wasting it – or I would be. I’m not – I don’t think I’m wasting your time right now except I keep rambling. Therapist: There’s a through-line in there that I want to pull. You feel like you need to do what I expect you to do, right? Lasko: Yeah, I mean you’re the therapist. You’re the expert with – all the experience and degrees. So yeah, I should be doing what you expect. Therapist: It sounds like there’s some part of you that feels like you need to be doing what I say you should do, even if you don’t want to or have something else to say – like your “rambling” – and that if you don’t, you’re wasting my time. Does that feel right?

Lasko: I want to do this, I do. But um, yeah. That feels right. Therapist: And you do what I say you should do because if you don’t…? Lasko: Well I’m wasting your time. And then you’ll – I mean you probably won’t, you’re a really nice person and you’re so helpful but I just… I have this thought that you’ll get mad at me. Therapist: I would be mad at you. What would I do if I was mad at you? Lasko: You would um… Well I know you wouldn’t, because you just – you’re not like that but like my mom would start screaming at me. She would just… she would just yell and tell me that I was wasting their money because I wasn’t doing well enough at the school they paid for me to go to you know? Or I messed up the nice clothes they paid for. Or I just – anything like that really, I was wasting money and time and I was a waste of space and… Fuck – sorry – wait, um. This is hard to talk about and I don’t want to cry. Therapist: This is really hard, I’m really putting you through it already today, aren’t I? Lasko: [Affirmative hm] Therapist: I want to take what you just said and kind of summarize, kind of explain, is that okay? So, it sounds like you have these thoughts that you aren’t trying hard enough – or at least that I don’t think you’re trying hard enough, right? And these thoughts serve to make sure that you show me how hard you’re working so that I believe you, because if I don’t, I might think you’re wasting my time and become angry and yell at you.  Lasko: That’s a really succinct way to put it, but yeah. Therapist: So what I think is happening here, is that there’s a part of you that is so terrified that I will become angry and yell at you and make you feel just awful about yourself. And to deal with that, there’s another part of you that works really hard to try and anticipate and meet my needs so I won’t become angry with you. And then there’s also this third part of you, this part that is so critical and reminds you of how scary I could become if I got angry with you and kind of beats me to the punch by being mean first. And all three of these parts were working together in those last few minutes. Lasko: Wow… yeah, that um… you hit the nail right on the head. That feels right. It’s not – um, it’s not really great for me, though. Therapist: What I’d like to do is start by giving a voice to these parts of you, just letting them speak. Do you think we could do that? Lasko: That… That sounds really awful. But, yeah we can… we can do that. Therapist: And here I am, asking you to do these terrible things you don’t want to do and you’re doing them with me anyway.  Lasko: That’s the um.. that part of me that tries to meet your needs, right? That’s what you said? Therapist: I think so. I really want to hear more from that part of you.

At this point in the transcript, the therapist was using a combination of techniques to try and get closer to the schemas that were indicated in Lasko’s dialogue. There was a mix of rephrasing/restating what Lasko had said with the dual purpose of making sure the therapist understood and phrasing things in a way that would lead to more dialogue about schemas. The therapist in this section also started outlining the core schema modes operating at the moment in broad terms to gauge Lasko’s ability to tolerate and explore them further with the intention of eventually moving towards labeling schema modes. In this section, it is becoming clear that Lasko’s persistent anxiety about the therapy (proving he is engaged enough) is a result of active schema modes that attempt to anticipate and meet the therapist’s needs to prevent criticism and anger on the part of the therapist. This insight from the conversation can be broadened to potentially explain the utility of Lasko’s critical thoughts and anxiety around social interactions – he spends so much time preparing and planning for these interactions to try and anticipate and meet the needs of others to prevent criticism and anger from his peers, the mere idea of which causes deep feelings of fear and sadness, by criticizing himself first.

Therapist: I think so. I really want to hear more from that part of you. Lasko: I mean – geez, what should I say? Therapist: Maybe we could start with what that feels like…? Lasko: It feels like I’m always guessing, trying to figure it out. I feel like I have to do everything right, try harder, do more…I feel like I always need to be doing more, doing it better. Therapist: What emotions does this part of you have? Lasko: Um, I don’t – I don’t know.  Therapist: Do you think I should bring out your old friend the feelings wheel? Lasko: Yeah that might – might help. You know how much I love the wheel. Yeah – um, I guess I feel… inadequate? Maybe… Therapist: Can I suggest something that I’m sensing in you? Lasko: Please, you’re way better at this than me. Therapist: I’m wondering if this part of you feels desperate. Lasko: Yes, desperate. Therapist: Desperate… it feels like there’s more to that. Desperate for what, do you think? Lasko: Desperate… desperate to please – desperate to get it right. Therapist: Wow… desperate to please feels really powerful. I see you rubbing your chest right now, what are you feeling? Lasko: It’s like… my chest feels tight – a little like when I have panic attacks. Therapist: That connection feels really important. What do you make of that? Lasko: I feel – I’ve felt desperate when I’ve had panic attacks before. Like desperate for air, which is just – it’s funny as an air elemental you know, well not funny-funny, but it’s just – anyway, it’s like desperate for air but it’s also like I’m desperate for… I don’t know how to phrase it…? For it to stop, yeah, but also like I… I want to do things right when I talk to people but I always fuck it up – sorry – wait, don’t apologize Lasko. Sorry, I – sorry – fuck. I just- I want to have better interactions with people! I want things to go better and to communicate better so people like me and – I don’t know. Therapist: So people like you… do you think that’s what this part of you wants? Lasko: Yes – so badly… So badly it hurts. Therapist: It hurts in your chest, right there? Lasko: Yeah… it’s tight and heavy and then I start crying because I’m just – I’m a mess. Therapist: You’re feeling so much right now, and you’re doing it because I said we should. Lasko: Well… yeah, it’s um – it sucks but you know better than me. Therapist: That seems to be a thought you have a lot, we’ve talked about it before on your thought and emotion records – and I think it’s really tied to this part of you. Lasko: I mean… maybe, yeah. Therapist: What do you think you could name this part? How do you think we could refer to it? Lasko: Like a name? What kind of name…? Therapist: It’s really up to you, I think it’ll be more helpful to use whatever you think is the best way to describe it rather than my clinical-ese jargon.  Lasko: I don’t… I don’t really know. I’m not good at this kind of thing. Can’t you – you can just name it, right? Therapist: I could, but I feel like if I name it we’re staying in this pattern where you just acquiesce to my demands. Lasko: Which is like – the whole point of this, yeah. Therapist: Exactly. What feels hard about thinking of a name? Lasko: I don’t – I don’t want to pick some stupid name that I have to use, and you’ll think “wow that was a really stupid name choice, I should have picked it.” Therapist: [Hm] Lasko: Yeah, you don’t have to say anything, I hear it. Also, I just… naming it feels so real, you know? Then it’s a real thing. Therapist: And there’s something about it being “a real thing” then? Lasko: Then I’d… I’d have to talk about – acknowledging all of it – that feels really awful. I feel like I can’t breathe right now. Therapist: I can feel the air becoming thin too. Why don’t we take a few moments and just notice how you’re feeling and breathe through it?

This section of the transcript starts to explore and move towards labeling the schema mode of the Compliant Surrenderer. This mode attempts to anticipate and meet the needs of his hypercritical Punitive and Demanding Parent mode to protect his Vulnerable Child mode, which becomes clear in the transcript as he verbalizes that this part of himself is desperate to do well (whatever that may look like) so that others will like him. Just sitting with this part of himself causes Lasko almost intolerable feelings of desperation and panic, likely due to his fear of his Punitive and Demanding Parent mode as well as a fear of criticism and rejection from the therapist.

Closing Thoughts

I really enjoyed this case and this paper. While I didn't choose a current patient, I feel that I got a lot out of this assignment. It was really interesting to think formally about a character and work through a treatment plan and focus on a specific element of treatment. I managed to pick a case where I got to implement schema therapy, which is one of the forms of CBT that I find most interesting in addition to ACT. Despite this being a fictional character, I have certainly had previous patients who have similar struggles – and I also felt that I was able to use the media (and my previous experience to fill in gaps) to make the most of this assignment for my learning.

As I was working on this case, it occurred to me that though I felt like I was able to portray this character as accurately as possible I felt like so much was missing or unaccounted for. Because I was working from a CBT rather than psychodynamic lens, I felt like there were clear points where I would have ideally worked more relationally to address resistance or spoken more about the therapeutic relationship. There are always a million different things you could pick out of a patient’s response to respond to, and it was challenging to focus more on the schemas rather than talk about the relationship. I also felt like because of the limits of this paper, I did not have enough space to talk in the methodology or transcript session about how I felt his identities played a part in the development of his schemas. In this example, it was very clear to me that Lasko’s experiences of his parents were only part of the equation as development does not exist in a vacuum – there is a reality that his identity as a pansexual, transgender, Indo-Caribbean, second-generation immigrant and his experiences of xenophobia, racism, heterosexism, and transphobia would have also impacted his feelings of isolation/difference from others and internalized pressure to present and perform well. I also think that this would have been something I discussed in subsequent sessions as I believe this is another function of his schemas – to protect and prepare himself from his experiences of a hostile, sometimes violent world.

References

Avelino Cardoso, B. L., Paim, K., Figueiredo Catelan, R., & Liebross, E. H. (2023). Minority stress and the inner critic/oppressive sociocultural schema mode among sexual and gender minorities. Current Psychology, 42(23), 19991–19999. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12144-022-03086-y 

Barlow, D. H. (2021). Clinical handbook of psychological disorders: a step-by-step treatment manual. Sixth edition. New York, The Guilford Press.

Hays, P. A. (2022). Addressing Cultural Complexities in Counseling and Clinical Practice: An Intersectional Approach. Fourth edition. Washington DC: American Psychological Association.

Lobbestael, J. (2015). Validation of the Schema Mode Inventory. In M. van Vreeswijk, J. Broersen, & M. Nadort (Eds.), The Wiley‐Blackwell Handbook of Schema Therapy: Theory, Research, and Practice (pp. 541–552). Wiley-Blackwell. 

Ramnero, J., & Törneke, N. (2008). ABCs of human behavior: Behavioral principles for the practicing clinician. Oakland, CA: New Harbinger & Reno, NV: Context Press.

Rijkeboer, Marleen (2015). Validation of the Young Schema Questionnaire. In M. van Vreeswijk, J. Broersen, & M. Nadort (Eds.), The Wiley‐Blackwell Handbook of Schema Therapy: Theory, Research, and Practice (pp. 531-540). Wiley-Blackwell. 

Ruiz, F. J., Luciano, C., Flórez, C. L., Suárez-Falcón, J. C., & Cardona-Betancourt, V. (2020). A multiple-baseline evaluation of acceptance and commitment therapy focused on repetitive negative thinking for comorbid generalized anxiety disorder and depression. Frontiers in Psychology, 11. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2020.00356 

Home. (n.d.). Redacted Audio. Retrieved May 5, 2024, from https://redacted-audio.com/

Appendix

Character and Media Primer

Redacted Audio is an urban-fantasy audio narrative on YouTube that centers around the fictional city of Dahlia in southern California and its inhabitants (“Home”, n.d.). In this urban-fantasy world, people are separated into four categories: unempowered humans; empowered humans, which can be further broken down into elementals and energetics (people with control over the four elements, gravity, sound waves, magnetics, psychokinesis, telepathy, seers, or a jack of all trades) and shifters (e.g.: werewolves); vampires, who are turned unempowered or empowered humans that feed on blood to survive, have superhuman speed and senses, and cannot go out in the sun; and demons, beings of pure magic that are not necessarily evil or good. The character I have chosen is an empowered human who was born to unempowered human parents – a human-born – which is a rare kind of person who often faces discrimination and barriers to learning how to control their magic. Lasko is an administrator and adjunct faculty member at the Dahlia Academy of Magical Novices, which is essentially magical community college where students (of any age) can learn mastery over either their specialty or all aspects of empowered human magic. The Dahlia Academy of Magical Novices operates as a school under the larger Department of Uniform Magical Practices, which oversees magical practices, ethics, and maintains the covert status of magic. Lasko specifically has natural control over the element of air, giving him an increased lung capacity and control over air (making wind currents, taking air out of the room, making tornados, etc. – think air benders in Avatar: The Last Airbender if you are familiar), but chose to complete his full certification at The Dahlia Academy of Magical Novices to have a better understanding of all types of magic. He teaches an introductory class on magic for incoming students as a way to provide a less discriminatory experience for other human born students.

ACT Hexaflex

YSQ-R Table

YSMI Table

That's all, folks!

[majokkid]

Contacting an Incubator

It feels like most of the magical heroes, or aspiring magical heroes, in my orbit are working within the paradigm of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and I’ve seen many requests across platforms for tips regarding contacting Kyubey or another Incubator.

For the uninitiated, an Incubator is a ‘messenger of magic’; they grant a wish in exchange for service as a magical hero. In Puella Magi Madoka Magic and related works, those who form a contract with an Incubator must defeat witches—corrupted entities that feed upon the hopes and dreams of the masses.

Note: While this agreement may seem fair to some and the Incubator may seem enthusiastic to help by any means necessary, Incubators are known for their calculating ways and almost trickster-like mentality. Incubators cannot exhibit emotions of any kind and as a result Incubators often seem cold and uncaring. However, Incubators seek to achieve only one main goal; to preserve the universe from total entropy. To ensure this, they employ all logical and efficient means to create magical heroes.

You may want to try contact an Incubator if you want to initiate your magical hero journey or if you want clarity or direction regarding this kind of work. I’ve seen evidence of folks using a variety of methods in order to contact an Incubator, namely through evocation, divination, and invocation/channeling techniques. If you are a solo practitioner looking for this communication, I would definitely recommend the routes of evocation and divination. Here is how I would go about contacting an Incubator:

Prepare a dimly lit space with a mirror, and/or perhaps a candle, where you can work with minimal distractions. Banish as you would normally and prepare to meditate.

Position yourself comfortably in front of the mirror or candle. If you have both, try to place the candle beneath the reflection of your face or off to the side—just try to not obstruct the view of your reflection.

Relax your body and begin meditating with your eyes closed. Try to not focus on anything in particular and steady your breathing into regular intervals.

When you are satisfied with your breathing, open your eyes and stare into your reflection with a soft gaze (as in, you do not have to fight to keep your eyes wide open). Try to keep your eyes open for as long as possible before blinking and repeating, all the while keeping your breathing regular.

After a bit, you may notice your reflection changing or distorting, or you may start seeing things on the periphery of your vision. This is when, I believe, an Incubator may approach you—either by appearing behind or beside you visibly in the mirror or by altering your reflection entirely. This is when you can initiate telepathic conversation. Try to keep your breathing regular throughout this experience.

At this point, you can continue communicating telepathically or introduce a divinatory tool. If you want to use a form of divination, I recommend something simple like using a pendulum or automatic writing—something that is not too complex or requires a lot of effort as to not distract you from your breathing or could potentially break your connection.

When you are satisfied, or the Incubator leaves, close your eyes and ease out of state. Snuff any lit candles and banish to clear the space.

This post is part of my Magi Praxis series. If you have any suggestions for future topics, or you have attempted anything I have shared and want you share your experiences, please send me a message! I am always happy to go back and provide further explanation as well. ☆

[manifesting-principessa]

the beginner's guide to making money by investing in stocks (hot girl version)

since one of my goals here is to make money i wanted to teach you about what i know about investing in stocks. i use the website etoro to invest, below you can see a picture of my portfolio at the moment. i am by no means an expert but i've found the whole process of investing to be unnecessarily mystified so i thought i'd share what i have learned so far.

what does buying stocks mean?

in simple terms, buying stocks means buying a (tiny) fraction of a company. if the value of the company increases the value of your share goes up, if the company loses money the value goes down.

when should i buy and sell?

ideally, you should buy when you think that the value of a stock will increase in the future and you should sell when you have made a profit. in practice, this means you try to invest when a stock has reached its lowest value and you sell when you think it has reached its peak (but this is, of course, impossible to predict perfectly).

where can i buy stocks?

i would personally recommend going through an online stock trading platform, like etoro. you can look up what the best stock trading platforms are for your country. you should pick one with minimal fees that offers some tutorial or introduction to trading.

you can also go through a stock broker (a person that makes the investments for you) or more broadly your bank - be aware though, that they might take a cut of your profit for their services which is something you need to subtract from your expected profit.

how do i know what to invest in?

There are a few recommendations that I have seen time and time again:

ETFs - exchange-traded funds are bundles of stocks that are traded together. the advantage of ETFs is that they don't rely on a single company making a profit, the companies just need to make a profit overall. they are much less volatile than individual stocks and since economies usually always grow in the long-term, you are very likely to make a profit.

large companies - you can also invest in large, well-established companies that are very likely to make a profit and very unlikely to go bankrupt (e.g., apple, amazon, etc.)

diversify - this means you should invest in a wide variety of companies and industries. even when one of them does really poorly you are likely to make a profit overall.

copy-trading - this means 'copying' the investments of a more experienced trader. so you specify an amount of money and invest it the same way someone who knows what they're doing is.

how much should i invest?

most websites have a minimum amount you need to invest so you could start with that to get a feel for how it works.

as a rule of thumb, they say you should not invest money that you will need within the next 5-10 years. that rule prevents you from having to sell your stock at an unfortunate moment - even if you initially write losses, you can wait for a moment when your stocks have increased in value again.

if you have a fixed income you can commit to investing a part of your income every month. i've seen this referred to as dollar-cost averaging and i have not tried it yet but it is said to be a good way to build wealth in the long term.

how do i actually make money using this knowledge?

simple answer: by selling your stock at the right time and withdrawing the money. investing is a marathon, not a sprint - you should generally give your money some time to make a profit instead of checking every day and panic selling when you see a slight change. for some stocks, the company may also pay dividends. disclaimer: at least where i am from you need to declare what you made from stocks as income and pay taxes on it.

thank you so much for reading!

if you have questions or know more about this and want to add something please leave a comment 💕

[landofzero-archive]

Battle on the Sugoroku Board - Prologue

(Location: ES Hallway)

(One day during the first thirds of February (1). Corridor in front of the NewDi office.)

Natsume: ……PheW, finally the chaos of the end-of-year and New Year period has calmed dowN.

It started with the SS Qualifiers, the new stage for the special program for the end-of-year and New Years SSVRS trial, Maizuru Manor (2)—thougH it feels we’ve been tooting our own horn.

I wondeR if we can finallY return to normal activities.

Now theN. I’ll go beat up the Senpai who is still breaking labor law (3) during the end-of-year and New Years period, and enjoy a belated vacation–

UmM?

(Location: NewDi Offices)

Tsumugi and Ibara: ………♪

Natsume: (“Viper”......!?(4) Why is he herE!?

CoulD it be that he’s trying to imprint something onto Senpai when I’m not therE—)

Ibara-kun. What do you neeD from NewDi?

Ibara: So you’ve returned, Natsume-kun ♪ 

I’m sorry to be bothering you! As the representative of CosPro, I’m currently talking to His Majesty the acting director of NewDi, so please don’t worry about it, Natsume-kun ♪ 

Natsume: ………!

Ibara: My my my! A snake glare! (5) Lately, I tend to be forgetful of the fact that I’m a ‘Viper’, so I’m greatly indebted to your consideration in reminding me of that!

Natsume: That isn’T what I’m trying to do. Can you not string me along at your pace like thaT?

Enough with this tedious talk, just say what you want tO say.

Tsumugi: Don’t be such a grouch~, Natsume-kun. You know, since another agency’s representative came all the way to NewDi~?

Come on, smile, smile ♪ 

Natsume: Shut up, workaholic. (6)

If you don’t rest already, you’re going tO end up in a hospital, you know.

Tsumugi: No way!?

Ibara: You seem to be quite irritated~ It looks like you’ve been equally busy!

Well, this isn’t something that needed to be kept a secret, so I’ll let you in on it. I was just thinking of enjoying seeing Natsume-kun being left out in the cold! (7)

Natsume: You’re a rotten character, huH.

Ibara: AHaHaHa☆ That’s a good look on your face!

Putting that aside. Are you familiar with “NETV (Netteibi)”, Natsume-kun?

Natsume: Net……What?

Ibara: “NETV” —A recently started streaming broadcasting service that’s aimed at overseas folk.

It can be said that unlike a streaming program that is enormously funded with investments of shares in large quantities, it’s a streaming service from a company from this country with a moderate budget.

While niche, there is a demand from overseas. An Idol programme—- or some such is what “NETV” is trying to produce.

As such, I’m simply here to inquire if NewDi would like to cooperate by arranging participants.

Tsumugi: That’s right! Even though Saegusa-kun said it was a ‘moderate budget’ but, from my reading of the plans, the budget allocated is surprisingly quite substantial.

I was thinking that it’s a good chance for a new agency like NewDi.

Natsume: How suspiciouS……of this “Viper” to approacH us with talks of work.

There haS to be something else to it. OtherwisE, CosPro would surelY have exclusively monopolized this delicious project.

Ibara: What nonsense--- to say there is 'something else'. Just like divination, statistics and calculations are all there is to it.

I’m not trying to make a boring joke like “There is nothing hidden to 'fortune tellers'”— or something. (8) There are some things I haven’t explained, but it’s only because I’m unable to disclose everything.

The truth is, CosPro also has investments in this “NETV”.

It was an old connection from the time around when I was just starting out as a manager. Thanks to that, if the program is not a success, it’ll be a total loss.

In other words, this proposition is an idea meant to at least minimize losses. Because a cross-agency programme would be good publicity.

CosPro is extending the opportunity to participate to NewDi to push the program into success—

How about it? It’s not a bad proposition, right?

Natsume: ………

Tsumugi: As for me, I’m thinking positively about appearing on “NETV”.

I didn’t get any bad impressions from when I was looking at documents. It felt like it was influenced by a proper production company.

The only problem is, “NETV” is an online internet program, so not a lot of huge agency idols will participate.

……That said though, NewDi isn’t a huge agency.

This is a chance that won’t come again for us as we are right now. Net programs are still in its infancy stages right now, so long established agencies would not be expanding into it.

Natsume: ……I seE. ThougH there are undeniably fishy parts to it, it doeS stand to logic.

HoweveR. If you do anything suspicious, I won’T be silent about it.

Ibara: My my, please do not say that! Let us be mutually supportive of each other as coworkers in the same job!

Well then, I will be returning on a later date to explain the project! Take care until then!

TL Notes

上旬 - the first ten days of a month, or the first thirds of a month.

He’s listing past Switch events. Maizuru Manor is the orphanage from the 2023 MaM new year story; Poltergeist during the NEW COLOUR campaign.

He actually says ブラック労  (Black labour) here which is the term in Japan for worker exploitation in the form of extreme working hours, verbal abuse, or even power harassment/bullying. The companies using this form of employment are called ブラック企業 (Black Companies).

Technically, a 毒蛇 (Dokujya) is just a ‘venomous snake’; the term does not imply any specific venomous snake species but as the fandom usually knows this particular nickname of Ibara’s as ‘Viper’, Mod is following suit. Viperidae snakes are called クサリヘビ科 (Kusarihebika), and the viper itself is 鎖蛇 (Kusarihebi).

蛇睨み - literally, ‘snake glare’, is a reference to a Pokemon move. In the English version, this move is called ‘glare’. This move paralyzes the target. It can only be learned by snake Pokemon.

‘Workaholic’, written in katakana, is basically read the same way as the English word.

The JP text says Natsume was ‘left out of the mosquito net’, basically the equivalent of ‘left out in the cold’.

This is a pun. The beginning of the word for 'fortune teller' 占い師 (uranaishi) is phonetically similar to the word 裏 (ura) which can mean a lot of things such as 'opposite', 'hidden side', 'hidden shadows', 'more than meets the eye', 'rear'... to that effect. Mod has translated every instance of 'ura' in the lines leading to this bit as 'something else', to insinuate the pun.

Directory | Next

[dawnrider]

OTP Prompt Challenge request:

9. Morning Routine: InuKag

(I’d love to read some fluffy, domestic married Inukag morning routine bliss, but please write if/ as you feel so inspired ❤️)

Hello @xanthippe-writes ! Thanks for the prompt from this list.

This felt like it fit into my Bushel and a Peck universe so have some domestic morning routine. While not blissful, per se, it's fluffy and happy. And hopefully a bit real...

Fancy Cheese and Size Threes

“Don’t forget to grab diapers,” Kagome called from Sara’s room, the sounds of an angry baby not wanting their diaper changed following her words.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes in the mirror as his toothbrush hung out of the side of his mouth. He was trying to simultaneously wrangle curls into pigtails – Izzy’s current style of choice – and brush his own teeth while not dribbling on his shirt. “There,” he declared with a sigh, tugging on each one to pull them tight. “Go get your bag and your sweater.” Grasping the handle of his toothbrush, he got back to brushing.

“But I’m not cooooold,” Izayoi whined. Inuyasha paused in his brushing and gave his daughter a sharp look in the reflection of the mirror. She pouted, then turned on her heel to do as asked. He heard his wife cooing to Sara in order to distract her while trying to dress her. She’d hit the stage where she hated being changed in any capacity and tried to escape the changing table while you fought leggings onto her chunky little legs. “Daddy! I can’t find my sweater!”

“Nice try, pup. It’s on the chair,” he called back, spitting out the last of his toothpaste.

“Oh.”

“Uh huh.” He stepped out of the bathroom just in time to be handed an armful of squirming baby. “Well good morning to you too,” he muttered, dropping a kiss on top of her head. She squealed angrily at being restrained, little arms flailing.

“Here,” Kagome murmured. Her fingers swiped something from his face, then grabbed a towel just inside the door. “Toothpaste,” she clarified with a grin when he gave her a confused look. He sighed dramatically, then chuckled when she went up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek. “Diapers.”

“I heard you the first time.” Inuyasha adjusted Sara in his hold to keep her from climbing over his shoulder. “She still in a size three?” Kagome nodded as she pulled socks from the top drawer and tried to balance on one foot to put each of them on before giving up and plopping onto the floor. “Anything else we need? The C word?” he whispered the last, glancing toward the doorway. Izayoi was in her room, presumably struggling her way into her sweater based on the sounds she was making.

Kagome grinned wryly. “Probably not a bad idea. Just don’t get the soft kind. She doesn’t like those anymore.” He nodded. No string cheese, only the sticks. Got it. “Can you grab a bottle of wine too?” He knew if he asked her what kind she would say anything was fine, but he would end up grabbing two and hope one of them was serviceable.

“I’ll even get us some of the fancy stuff and the you-know-whats you like.”

Kagome’s eyes glowed. “Can we watch that movie I’ve had saved for later?” Inuyasha pretended to hate the idea, but nodded anyway, a sly smile lifting his lips. Fancy cheese and cracker night was a long-standing tradition. Especially now with both girls, they rarely got the chance to get out for an actual date night, so an old romance adventure movie on the couch with “fancy” grocery store cheese and crackers was about as much of a date night as they could reasonably expect.

“Am I gonna be late, Daddy?” Izayoi called from her room. She had only minimal understanding of the clock, but knew that time was a factor in their day. Inuyasha glanced at his watch and swore under his breath. “That’s a bad word!” Izayoi scolded, sounding scandalized.

“Yea, yea. Just don’t repeat it. Bye. I love you,” he murmured, kissing Sara’s squishy cheek and handing her to Kagome. “You too.”

Kagome grinned as he pressed a kiss to her lips, snatching his collar for a moment to keep him there. “Love you. Fancy date night.”

“And diapers. I know.” He grinned, kissing her one last time, then went to scoop up the four year old. Despite her protests, she’d put on her sweater and had her little backpack strapped on her back, the clip done in front. “You’re gonna have to take that off in the car, you know.”

“I know. I don’t wanna lose it!”

“Kid, that would be some kinda skill to lose your bag between here and the car,” he said with a chuckle. Despite his teasing, he wouldn’t put it past her to set it down somewhere and get distracted. He asked her about what she planned to do at preschool today and she told him elaborately the picture she planned to color and the tower she wanted to build in the block corner because Joey – another hanyou child she seemed to have a love-rivalry relationship with – had knocked over her last one before it was finished.

As he was backing down the driveway, he looked up and spotted Kagome holding Sara, chubby baby hands banging on the window glass and a face that told him she was squealing with laughter.

“Wave bye to your sister.”

“Bye Baby! Bye Mama,” Izayoi called as she waved back. Inuyasha grinned and gave a little wave too, making Sara screech and smack the glass again. Kagome was barely holding in laughter and she wiggled her fingers to say goodbye as well. “Daddy?”

“Yea, pup.”

“When I’m bigger, can I eat fancy cheese too?”

Inuyasha nearly choked, then smothered a laugh so he could look at her seriously in the rearview. “Sure, pup. You can eat fancy cheese when you get older.”

“Good. I wanna know what’s so great about it. You and Mama never share.”

“Trust me, Iz. When you get older, you’ll understand.”

“You alllllways say that.”

“Yup. And it’s pretty much always true.” He shook his head and smiled, seeing the slight pout on her face. “Guess what.” Her ears perked up, her pigtails quivering behind them. “We have to stop at the store on the way home from school later. You want to pick out a treat for you and Sara?”

Her eyes got huge and her mouth dropped open. “Really?!” He nodded. She squealed in excitement, then stopped almost immediately as both their ears flattened at the noise. “Sorry, Daddy.” Inuyasha only reached back behind his seat and patted her leg. She still had a lot to learn about being hanyou, but she was learning, and he couldn’t be more proud.

[critter-genfic-events]

This week, we have four fics that feature blindness! (We ended up not getting any recs with deaf characters). Check them out beneath the cut, and as always, comment or kudos if you like them!

glass and steel by sparxwrites (1174,Teen) Warnings: internalized ableism Pairings:

They take Caleb first, and then they take his eyes, and when the Mighty Nein come to rescue him there is nothing left to save.

Reccer says: Frumpkin as a service animal!

roses are red and violets are blue by StorytellerSecrets (7160,Teen) Warnings: major character death, rape, underage, graphic depictions of violence, minimal comfort, vomiting Pairings:

Percy goes blind during the Briarwoods attack

Reccer says: amazing whump, with wonderful and horrific descriptions

Even Blind, I See You by Professor_Rye (1126,Mature) Warnings: eye horror Pairings: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

That’s what they had called this. A purge. It was the Dungeon of Penance after all. They were trying to save his soul, they had said. To burn the evil out of him before he eventually succumbed to his fate. To justice. Even now, he found their practices foolish.

Reccer says: Delicious Essek suffering

(Blind)sight by Celume (5443,Teen) Warnings: Pairings:

Orym relies on sight most of all but when a sudden illness threatens to take that away from him permanently, he has to find a different way.

Reccer says: Orym is so defined by his ridiculously high perception, it's interesting to see what happens when that's taken away from him

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring fics with Jester Lavorre!

Oh! Also! Critter Gen Week is happening! Vote on your favorite prompts!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit! If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[house-of-lebedov]

Prolouge (2/2)

Transcript below

[Prison guard]: Estlor, you got a visitor. Come with me...Remember, we got cameras all over this place. So, don't try anything funny.

[Claude]: Well, well. Looks like the little princess finally found her courage.

[Leon]: Blurt out all the insults you want, Claude. I'm not the one behind bars.

[Claude]: I can see you still lack the respect of your imperial peer.

[Leon]: As if you ever deserve it. But, I digress. I am not here to play your mind games today. Quite the opposite.

[Claude]: Ah, I see where this is going.

[Leon]: Do you now?

[Claude]: I do. You've finally realized that you messed up.

[Leon]: Come again??

[Claude]: Don't act surprised, Princess Leon. Of course, it takes a while to forgive, but I am willing to look past your betrayal toward Glessia and our family.

[Leon]: ...

[Claude]: I'm sure whatever plan you have in mind to minimize the casualties to us will be enough to get you back in power in no time. But, for now, we should keep our meetings on the lowdown. I also wish for you to get the support of the Chemios Duchy as soon as possible. Is that clear?

[Leon]: ... Pfft--

[Claude]: Huh?

[Leon]: LAUGHS

[Claude]: Was it something I said? Why are you laughing?

[Leon]: Forgive me, I just--...Did you really think that I would--? Oh, this is just too rich.

[Claude]: Do you find this funny?

[Leon]: In a cosmic sort of way, yes. But Claude, you can't be that stupid to think I was still going to help you. Even after everything you put me through? I'm not the kid you kept hostage and brainwashed anymore. So, I'll get to the point: You will face the consequences in the eyes of the law.

[Claude]: You're going to sue me?!

[Leon]: It's more like me and Clastein are suing you and your family.

[Claude]: You ungrateful bitch! I promised you a place on my throne--!

[Leon]: You mean the throne you last during the war? the same one that'll be merging with Claostein's?

[Claude]: The Glessian nobility would never agree to such nonsense! No Glessian would!

[Leon]: Your precious nobles are the reason why this merge is happening. And even if they could, they lost the power to do so.

[Claude]: Leon, I swear--!

[Leon]: Uh uh. I wouldn't do that if I were you.~ Just because we're alone, doesn't mean there isn't anyone watching. You're lucky the cameras don't have sound installed.

[Claude]: Eugh. You really are your father's daughter.

[Leon]: please, we both know my father would not dream of this, even if he tried. All I want is to see your overdue downfall. You have no one else to blame but yourself. As I was saying, the next we see each other is in court. So, I suggest you find a lawyer desperate enough to plead for you.

[Claude]: Where do you think you're going, you bitch? This isn't over! I am still the Emperor of Glessia, dammit!

[Leon]: Not anymore, you're not.

---------------------------------------

[Judge]: In the case of Claostein versus Estlor, the jury had found the defendants guilty of all charges against the country and the imperial family. They will be sentenced with the death penalty. I would like to thank the jury for their service today. This court is adjourned.

[headfulloflettuce]

The Human Who Fooled All of Prythian

11. Up-And-Coming Actress

Cosette and Ophelia let the horses go after passing through the mountain pass to minimize the chances of getting tracked. The further they walked the weather steadily got colder, the ground turning from mud to snow. It took them four hours to reach a small town. All the shops were closed - fae sleeping peacefully inside their homes. The two women looked at each other, shivering. 

“We should find an inn to stay at.” Cosette said.

“But we don't have money.” Ophelia hopped from foot to foot to keep warm.

“We do.” Cosette smiled, pulling out a small bag.

“Eh?!” Ophelia stared in shock, “But how??” 

“I stole it.” Cosette’s eyes glinted mischievously.

“Cosette! This is serious! What if the fae from Autumn come looking for their lost-no stolen items?” Ophelia followed Cosette towards a small shabby inn.

“These weren't stolen from any High Fae.” Cosette clarified, “I stole from the servants. Small trinkets and pieces of silver here and there. Servants don’t have the resources to go searching for us.”

“Still, what you did is dangerous!” Ophelia relaxed slightly, happy to hear Cosette wasn’t a complete idiot.

“Escaping at all is dangerous. We should be concerned about the royal family trying to retrieve us. Though…I don’t think we’re worth the effort.”

“I guess that's true. However, there is no guarantee that the innkeeper will take us in our condition.”

“What do you mean?” Cosette looked at her.

“We don’t exactly look like good news. He might not let us in because he deems us below his business.”

“But we have money…”

Ophelia shook her head, “I’ve seen desperate men turn away money to maintain their pride. You’re no fool Fern, I am sure you’ve seen it too.”

Cosette nodded hesitantly. Ophelia had a point; there was no reason for the innkeeper to permit them to stay despite the money they possessed. 

“Still, we have to try. It’s either that or die outside from the cold.” Cosette shook slightly as the wind sent snow directly into her face.

The two stepped inside the inn, warm air enveloping them into a comforting embrace. The building looked run down, its walls covered in scratches and peeling wallpaper. The man behind the counter looked sweaty, his greasy black hair unkempt, going down to his shoulders.

Cosette adjusted her hair, covering her ears completely and approached the counter.

“One room please.” Despite speaking confidently, Cosette couldn't erase the exhaustion that seeped into her voice.

The man raised an eyebrow leaning in to take a closer look. 

“Can you two pay?”

“Of course. How much is the room?”

“Hmm…Twenty silver. Breakfast is included.”

Cosette put the money on the desk.

“Where did you get this money girl?” the man’s eyes widened.

“Earned it.” Cosette tensed. 

Was something wrong?

“I don’t believe you.” he retorted, “Two women walking around in the middle of the night? In such rags? You’re clearly ill equipped for the weather and yet you’re showing up at my inn at an ungodly hour with plenty of money.” he smirked, “If I didn’t know any better I would think you were involved in some seriously shady business. Or…perhaps you two are on the run.”

Suddenly Ophelia’s voice interrupted them, “Ahem!”

Cosette and the innkeeper looked at her.

“Seriously? This kind of service is horrid. Not only are you overpricing us for this dump but you dare to insult us too.” Ophelia shook her head disapprovingly.

“Insult? I am just stating facts.” the man ran a hand through his hair, “And if my place is such a ‘dump’, you princess should find a different hotel.” he mocked.

“I, for your information, am a trader’s daughter. I am simply trying to visit my family in the capital.” Ophelia lied smoothly, “We were attacked in the forest by lesser fae. Barely survived, that’s why me and my servant look like a damn mess.” she snarled.

I can’t believe she has the energy to play pretend right now.

Cosette did her best to hide her impressed expression.

I picked my partner well.

The man paused, seeming taken aback by her confidence.

“You’re going to the capital?”

“Yeah that’s what I just said.” Ophelia sighed.

“Why didn’t your father provide you with a proper escort?” the man sneered.

“You’re too nosy for a mere innkeeper.” Ophelia glared.

“Well pardon me miss, you don’t exactly look the part.” The man, however, eyed the money on the counter, raising his arms placatingly, “I do…apologize for the confusion, I just wanted to double check you two weren’t criminals”

“Next time just let my servant do her damn job.” Ophelia rolled her eyes. 

“She’s your servant?” the innkeeper glanced at Cosette.

“What? Did you think she was my master or something?” Ophelia spoke haughtily.

The man nodded apologetically.

“Alright then, the room is you-”

“No.” Ophelia snatched the money away from him, throwing only 5 silver pieces, “You overprice this place. I am not paying more than what it’s worth.”

The man growled.

Ophelia smiled back sweetly, “Next time take the money when it’s given to you.”

“The room is upstairs, first on the left.” he grunted.

Ophelia spun around on her heel, Cosette right behind her as they walked upstairs. 

The room wasn't anything special, but it was cozy compared to the closet of a room Cosette had been sleeping in, or a cell in the Autumn Court’s dungeons.

“That was close.”

“Too close.” Ophelia looked at Cosette, “Did you forget how we’re dressed? Having that much money is not normal with our appearance. He clearly was overpricing the room to see what was going on with us.”

“Right.” Cosette nodded, cringing internally for her lack of knowledge of the fae world.

I didn’t know that 20 silver pieces was so much.

“Seriously, it’s like you’ve never seen money in your life.” Ophelia collapsed into bed, Cosette joining her.

“I am used to a different currency.” Cosette muttered.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, “Humans use a different currency?” she said incredulously.

“My village did.” Cosette lied.

Ophelia sighed, “Just…100 copper goes to 10 silver, which can be converted to 1 gold. Got it?” her voice lost some of its edge, unable to remain angry at the young human before her.

Cosette nodded.

Ophelia muttered something, quickly getting under the covers, looking at Cosette.

“You getting in or what?”

Cosette got under the warm blanket with no complaints.

The wind howled outside the window, covering their footsteps and traces of their journey. Despite the late time, neither woman was asleep.

“This is real.” Ophelia whispered, shifting under the cover, only her eyes peeking out.

“It is.” Cosette’s mind reeled at the fact that tomorrow she wouldn’t have to wake up and see Isabella. She wouldn’t have to wake up and see Eris or his brothers. She didn’t have to fear Beron or any other nobles having their way with her.

No.

Cosette paused.

No, now I have to fear any other fae killing me.

Cosette’s excitement died down a bit at the paranoid thought.

“I can’t believe we’re actually out.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re actually free.”

“...Yeah.”

Cosette couldn’t pinpoint this feeling in her chest. Elation? Happiness? Freedom? Or perhaps an overwhelming fear that this comfort will be torn away.

Ophelia sniffled, “I can’t believe I am really free. After everything. After all this time…”

Cosette stared up at the ceiling, not saying anything. A disgusting feeling settled in her stomach. She curled up, turning away from Ophelia.

“Cosette?”

I don’t trust you.

The words flashed through Cosette’s mind. What made Ophelia any different from the fae she met in Autumn?

“Hu-Fern?” Ophelia shifted closer, her voice worried.

Cosette felt tears prick her eyes.

This wasn’t fair.

Ophelia waited for her to speak, not wanting to push.

“I sometimes wonder if this was all my fault. That this is some form of divine punishment. Getting caught up in this I mean.” Cosette rambled. Despite her distrust of Ophelia, if she was to die she’d at least get her feelings off her chest.

Maybe I was too rude to the barista that one Monday. Or it was the fact that I yelled at my brother for crashing my car. 

“Cosette…you did nothing wrong.” Ophelia’s voice was soft, “It’s not your fault you got taken from your home, and it’s not your fault that the Autumn Court’s ruling faes are insane.”

“I know that. It just feels like there must have been a reason that this happened.”

A reason that I am here. A reason that I got thrown into this stupid world.

“Sometimes there is no reason. Sometimes the reason is that people are just terrible.”

A moment of silence passed.

“Ophelia?”

“Yeah?”

“You better not stab me while I am sleeping.”

“Geez, is that how low you think of me?”

Cosette didn’t answer, making Ophelia sigh.

“You are one of the few people who has ever managed to escape Beron’s grasp. Escape Autumn Court! In fact, probably the only human to have ever succeeded.”

Cosete felt a weight snuggle closer to her, offering heat as the wind outside decorated patterns on the window with snowflakes.

“I owe you my life Fern.” Ophelia smiled, “A favor for a favor human. I am not one to repay a friend by stabbing them in the back.”

“Cosette.”

Ophelia shifted, a question hanging in the air.

“My name is Cosette.”

Cosette opened her eyes with Ophelia snuggled close. She glanced out the window from where she lay in bed. The wind had settled, having left the window painted in gorgeous crystal fractal patterns. Cosette froze as she felt the body next to her shift closer, the feeling akin to a hug.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax next to Ophelia. Whether she liked it or not, the two of them were in this together. 

I need an ally.

Cosette looked down at Ophelia.

What better person than someone who owes me their life?

Cosette shook her head.

She couldn’t rely on supposed fae favor rules to survive. 

Ophelia opened her eyes, smiling softly.

“Good morning, did you sleep well Cosette?” Ophelia’s voice still sleepy as she lay snug under the blanket.

Cosette couldn’t help but smile back. It felt so good to hear someone call her by her name, her real name. Not ‘it’, not ‘Fern’, not ‘human’, just Cosette.

“I slept well.” she tried sitting up, and immediately fell back into bed with an ‘oof’, “I can’t move.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened from concern as she tried to sit up as well, “What do you me-oh ow!” Ophelia also fell back next to Cosette, “My muscles are on fire.”

“Yeah…riding a horse and walking for hours will do that to you.” Cosette noted dryly. She doubted the adrenaline or stress helped their physical condition.

“Well, I am just happy to have a proper bed to rest my tired bones on.” Ophelia mused. 

Cosette looked at her satisfied expression. 

“You talk like an old person.”

“Oi, watch it!”

Cosette giggled.

I can't know if I can trust her for certain, but she didn't stab me during the night. That already counts for something. Right?

The two women eventually managed to crawl out of bed, but not before cursing every deity in existence within Prythian and outside, for the pain their bodies were in. Cue Cosette trying to explain to Ophelia that her supposed human village believed in a man named Jesus Christ. Ophelia seemed skeptical, but didn’t voice her concerns, as the two women bathed for the first time in ages and headed down for breakfast.

The morning breakfast was nothing special but it was everything to Ophelia. Cosette eyed her warily as the fae dug her teeth into the complementary eggs, toast, bacon and anything else she could get her hands on.

“Let yourself breathe a little.” Cosette smiled, her hand moving through her hair periodically to check that it covered her round tipped ears.

“Sorry…” Ophelia blushed, slowing down a bit, “I just haven’t had proper food in so long. Oh! An apple!” Ophelia dropped the bacon she was devouring to sink her teeth into an apple. 

The innkeeper and a few other guests glanced at them with a mixture of concern and disgust. Cosette had to restrain herself from glaring back at them.

You all try starving for literal years and then see how you react to a proper meal.

Cosette looked at her finished plate, and back at Ophelia’s overflowing one.

“I am going to take a small walk around town okay?”

Ophelia nodded, too busy eating.

Cosette was hoping she didn’t get indigestion as she was pretty certain it wasn’t healthy to eat this much after starving, but she didn’t have the heart to deny Ophelia food. Plus, maybe fae worked differently.

“Be careful to not eat too much, okay?”

Ophelia nodded again.

Cosette carefully wrapped some buns and fruits into some napkins and put them into a small bag.

Cosette stepped outside, breathing in the crisp fresh air of Winter. She smiled as she spun around, shivering. It was so, so cold, and yet so free. Cosette set off down the street of the small town, looking at the open shops. She didn’t have a particular goal in mind, simply wanting to take a small walk. Besides, she didn’t think she could sit calmly right now, knowing that somewhere Beron was livid at her and Ophelia’s disappearance. She flinched, Eris’s cold expression flashing before her. She took a deep breath, shivering.

How did he feel? Losing 11,000 gold so easily?

It felt strange, seeing the day to day life of faes so casually. Watching kids run through the streets, building snowmen or throwing snowballs. Adults scolding them, purchasing groceries or setting up shops. It was a completely new perspective on Prythian. It was just regular people doing regular day things. A few fae turned to glance at her with suspicious expressions, making her quickly check if her hair was still in place, covering her ears. She tried to smile at them, but that only made them shuffle away, or glare back with stronger ferocity.

Dang, Winter fae really were cold.

A small shop caught Cosette’s eye, so she stepped inside, escaping the strange looks. The shop smelled of dust and parchment, soft music floating through the air.

Huh, weird. Since when did a medieval fantasy world have an automated music system? 

Cosette glanced around, seeing shelves upon shelves of old trinkets and books, yet no enchanted orchestra or something of the sort. Some texts lay scattered, so old that papers were falling out of it.

No one came up to assist her so Cosette helped herself to browse the items. She moved deeper inside the store, gently running her fingers along some jewelry on display. She paused, staring at a particular set of earrings. They were quite detailed. Little golden plated leaves and vines went around what should be the top part of the ear, followed by dangling pieces. She tilted her head. The design was quite smart, little earring backs were on the top and bottom to ensure that the design remained secure to a fae’s ear.

Staring at the earrings, Cosette had an idea. 

An ingenious revelation, one might say.

Cosette grabbed the cuff earrings.

Utter stupidity was another phrase for it.

Cosette carefully pulled to see if the metal would bend. It did. A smile stretched across her face, as she quickly rushed over to what looked like the fabrics section of the store, grabbing a piece of peachy leather. 

She approached the counter, covered in items, papers and pens, ringing the barely visible bell.

No one came. 

Cosette kept waiting, and waiting. 

She sighed, pulling out her money pouch and searched for any price tags to see if she could estimate the necessary sum. Finding no official prices on any similar items she climbed behind the counter.

Damn society that is based on haggling.

Her eyes fell on a small paper that had ‘30 silver to fix the door’ written on it. Cosette pulled out thirty silver pieces.

This should suffice for an exchange.

Cosette headed back towards the door, careful to not knock over any ledger books she had to climb over to get back out from the counter.

Creak.

Cosette froze, ducking close to the ground.

The music stopped.

She carefully moved through the store, overly conscious at every sound her shoes made against the floorboards. Cosette navigated the display cases like a maze, peeking around corners, each time terrified of what she would find staring back. Her fear only grew worse when she was met with nothingness. 

Glancing around from her spot, ten feet away from the front door, Cosette still couldn’t see anyone. Taking a deep breath, she made a run for it. 

She was certain she heard a scraping sound behind her as she flung herself at the door, shutting it behind her. Panting, Cosette sunk to the ground, slightly dazed. A fae woman walking down the street gave her a weird look, to which Cosette merely smiled, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

She looked up at the building, backing away from it. It still looked unassuming from the outside. Just as cute and cottage-like as it did when she entered, yet her body unexplainably shivered.

Cosette hugged herself.

No, not unexplainably…I went outside with no jacket.

Cursing herself for not considering the potential hypothermia, Cosette ran back to the inn.

Cosette kicked off her shoes, rushing over to the desk in the inn’s room, laying out her materials. Finding some scissors, she got work. Carefully bending the metal, removing the unnecessary sections and leaving the cuff and tip parts of the earring. She gently cut the leather, attaching it to the tip.

“Oh hey you’re back!” Ophelia stepped inside their shared room, “To the Mother, that breakfast was delicious.” Ophelia rambled about the delicious egg toast. Complaining that she was eventually kicked out because ‘breakfast service was over’. How dare they indeed.

Soft footsteps approached Cosette.

“What are you working on?” Ophelia asked, peeking over Cosette’s shoulder.

“I am going to become a fae.”

“You what?!”

“Not for real of course.” Cosette smiled, turning to look at Ophelia, “I am going to fake it.”

“By the Mother you’re an idiot.” Ophelia muttered, staring at the cuff earring, “It won’t work. Fae aren’t stupid.”

“They’re stuck up enough to act like they are.”

Ophelia gave her a look, as Cosette finished up her art project, carefully putting on the ear cuff. It was a bit tight, but that was better than it being loose.

“What do you think?”

Ophelia’s eyes widened, as she looked at the ‘ears’.

“It actually looks good…the only thing now is the scent.” she murmured, “Granted you smell bad enough from your adventures that it shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“Hey...” Cosette frowned, making Ophelia smile, shaking her head in disbelief at the situation before her. 

“This is insane.”

“It is.” Cosette could at least acknowledge the outlandishness of her own actions. 

“If you get caught…this…”

“If I get discovered you lie and say you had nothing to do with it.”

“What? No! Absolutely not!” Ophelia protested, shocking Cosette, “If I am going to help you do this I am not about to just stand by and watch you get torn apart when shit hits the fan!”

“Ophelia…”

Ophelia shook her head, “I will hear no complaints regarding this.”

The two women stared at each other, Cosette nodding slowly in acceptance.

“So? Do I make a convincing fae?”

“No.”

“Eh? Why?!”

“Ears aren’t enough.” Ophelia sighed, “Sure the scent we can try to mask but it’s your mannerisms too. You don’t act like a fae.”

“Then teach me.”

“What?”

“Teach me how to act like a fae.”

Ophelia’s eyes looked like plates, “I can’t do that…”

“Why not?”

“What you’re asking for has never been done before! I wouldn’t know how to teach you! Besides, why do you even need to do this? You can go home now.”

Cosette’s expression hardened. 

“No.”

“No?”

“I need to remain here.”

Ophelia watched her with an unreadable expression.

“I...can’t go back to my village.” Cosette lied.

There’s no way humans have a means of traveling through worlds. I have to stay here if I want even a chance at true freedom. If I want a chance to return home.

Ophelia opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself.

“Okay.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re not going to ask more?”

“Would you tell me the truth if I did ask?”

Cosette cringed.

“That’s what I thought.” Ophelia looked a bit sad, but quickly removed the expression, “You saved my life human. My promise remains as is; a favor for a favor. I am not going to pry when you don’t want to share…and if you insist on learning the ways of the fae, I will do my best to teach you.”

Cosette hugged her, making Ophelia stumble

“Oh thank you!”

Ophelia laughed softly, “You humans are always so stubborn.” she ruffled Cosette’s hair, “So, where are we going now? We can’t stay by the border. It’s too dangerous.”

Cosette smiled, “Let’s go to the Winter Court’s capital.”

Ophelia hummed, gently wrapping her arms around the human before her. 

“Any particular reason you want to go there, or is that information also top secret?”

“No.” Cosette laughed, “I just really like the snow.”

Next: Chapter 12 - The Day Fern Died

Back: Chapter 10 - Get Me the Hell Out of Here

Masterlist

Tag list: @rcarbo1

[runwayrunway]

No. 28 - A Further Explanation of the Star Alliance Test

This is a main-series post, despite not being a review of a specific airline. I just think it's something that belongs in the series, that should be read. Don't worry. Today's airline is going to come later. This is a necessary preamble to get out of the way first, and it's also me making things right with an airline I've covered already.

Stick around and I promise it'll make sense. I had to rewrite this entire post from scratch, so if I could have changed this fact I would have, but fundamentally before I talk about today's true subject I need to talk about the Star Alliance Test (SAT for the remainder of this post). 

So let's begin with a question. You don't have to get this right. Just take a brief look at these pictures, don't try to examine them closely or anything, just a look-over, and tell me which one of these planes - we'll call them 1, 2, and 3, left from right - flies for an airline we’ve touched on briefly before, Avianca.

Got your answer locked in? Hit the readmore and let me tell you why I asked you this!

That's right! The answer was No. 1. You can tell because it says Avianca on it, if you look closer. But...why? Why would we want to be put in a situation where 'which of these three airlines with completely different liveries, identities, and brands does this plane fly for' is a question that could feasibly come up? 

I don't know. I didn't make that choice and I was probably on some other wall during that meeting. Oh, and to the best of my knowledge I also hadn't been born yet. But it's a thing airline alliances do. And Star Alliance is the subject of the Star Alliance Test - one of my metrics for determining if an airline deserves a grade of F. 

The Star Alliance test has been used precisely once - in my SAS post, regarding the 1998-2019 livery (henceforth referred to as red engine SAS or RESAS).

This monstrosity, for those blessed enough to not remember.

Here are the rules of the test. 

The Star Alliance Test has exactly one question. Would I prefer that all this airline’s planes were forcibly repainted into Star Alliance liveries instead of allowed to remain in their current state?

If the answer is 'yes', the airline automatically gets a grade of F. 

Why Star Alliance? After all, it could be better but I don't think it's that bad. Well, I choose it because the Star Alliance test isn't really about being aesthetically pleasing - at least, not exclusively. Let me explain. 

Star Alliance is the largest airline alliance in the world. Flightradar24 estimates there are 106 planes flying in a Star Alliance livery. It has 26 member airlines, shown above. Note the variance in color scheme, in logo, in origin. 26 is so many airlines. These carriers span every continent except Antarctica and basically only share three features: being international, being full-service, and being members of Star Alliance. I think it's safe to say that in any other context, nobody would ever associate THAI and Avianca, or Shenzhen Airlines and TAP Air Portugal, or Aegean Airlines and EVA Air. 

Each of these airlines has a livery of their own, except for Copa. I've covered Lufthansa and SAS already. Croatia Airlines and Air New Zealand are on my request list. Another several are on my own private 'short' list. (It is 50 airlines long. You don't want to know how long my longlist is.) 26 airlines comes out to at minimum 26 reviews, but actually more because you saw me squeeze four out of SAS. I will say up front, Star Alliance runs the gamut of liveries. There are a couple I like, a couple I think are very bad, and most I think are middling. But each of them, except Copa, is its own. Some of their designs are minimal, disappointing, ugly, but they are all designs made in an attempt to reflect the airline's identity and distinguish it from the rest of the tarmac, even if they create something ugly or boring or cowardly or all three.

A livery can be very, very bad indeed. But in my own mind an F, an outright failure, is the inverse of an A+ in a sort of cosmically symmetric ontology, and these are not the inverse of an A+ livery. They do not embody a transcendent bad to balance the scales against transcendent good. To reach this point you must be not only ugly but a gnawing void eating away at your own self. A livery worthy of the grade F do not fail to execute a good concept, or even fail to execute a bad concept. They have no concept and they fail to justify their existence.

One of the worst liveries I've covered vs one of the best.

The SAT is a litmus test for this astronomical, pernicious state of utter failure. It takes more to fail the SAT than to just be uglier than the default Star Alliance livery. Plenty of liveries are uglier than Star Alliance's and they pass by light-years. To fail the SAT requires more than bad design, blandness, or anything else of that nature. It is monumentally difficult to fail the SAT. It’s like stalling an Airbus. You can do it. We know this. People have managed to do it, when the perfect storm arises and the world enters that uncanny state where luck and circumstance conspire to make the absurd a reality. But it’s really not something you can do, broadly speaking. Just pulling the nose up too far or forgetting to keep track of your airspeed isn’t going to do the trick. Icing on the wings won’t either. Even forgetting to extend your flaps on takeoff probably won’t be enough. It’s rare enough that it straddles the border of being an urban legend. It seems so easy to do thoughtlessly but it’s only happened a couple of times. Even doing it intentionally is harder than just designing a good livery. I'm not even sure it's possible to do it intentionally.  

To fail the SAT, you must fail so comprehensively that you should no longer be allowed to design your own livery. You should, in a paternalistic manner, have your entire fleet forcibly repainted into the Star Alliance colors. 

A livery is meant to distinguish and represent an airline. Even a bad design is still a design. The reason that RESAS fails the SAT, in my mind, is that it doesn't feel like a design. It's not coherent. It's not intentional. It doesn't feel like improperly integrated parts, or even multiple liveries stapled together. It feels like it was designed by random number generator. It utterly fails to represent the airline, utterly fails to look good, and utterly fails to even seem like thought was put into it.

To fail the SAT is to get to the point where I genuinely think it is so shameful to paint this on your planes, so inept on every level, that it would be better to just not have a livery. It would be an act of mercy to become indistinguishable from other airlines instead of staying as it is, a thing you could only ever pity and never truly love. Never respect. The most wretched sort of creature. If your shirt is stained too badly, you just can't keep going on like that. People will point and laugh at you, and that's never fun. They'll say 'that guy's shirt is covered in mysterious substances', and you have to just put on a jacket and cover it up until you get home and fumigate it with kerosene. From 1998 to 2019, SAS would have been better off just not having a livery than they were flying that...thing.

It doesn't have to be Star Alliance in particular. Just something which renders the airplane mostly generic. They can keep a little logo on there but they don't get their own design. It could just as easily be, say, forcible repainting into the default manufacturer liveries Airbus and Boeing use for prototype aircraft.

Not the end of the world, right? These are surely not unbearable liveries. I don't think it's any worse giving up your identity to say you're part of Star Alliance than it is to subdue it in favor of the model of plane. If you're SAS pre-2019, this may be a decent option for you. If you're literally anyone else, the mere concept should be philosophically repugnant.

I am actually being kind, though. If I were to be even harsher, I could have easily made this the SmartLynx Test.

I asked you all about SmartLynx. To begin with, not a single person believed they could recall seeing one of their planes, or that they had flown with them. I didn't think they'd be able to. That's not a question I can really answer about myself either, at least not with any confidence. But what is SmartLynx?

The vast majority of responses just expressed bewilderment. I got 50 total replies to the questionnaire itself. Keep in mind that some people declined to answer, and I didn't include them, and even still the number of people who actively expressed that they did not know is nearly half of all responses. Few of the answers were especially confident, either. I'm fairly sure the ones about transporting animals were all jokes, and nearly everyone expressed that their answer was a guess. Someone just said 'bad', which I thought was pretty funny. I liked that answer.

I got two people who said that SmartLynx are airplane lessors. Actually, one said 'private airplane sharing company', but I've interpreted that as meaning lessor. Anyway, they're right. The people who said charter also aren't wrong.

SmartLynx are a Latvian airline which specializes in wet leases. For those unaware, a wet lease (very bad term) in aviation is a lease of an airplane that comes with a crew to operate it. Generally everything else, like fuel and various operating fees, is on the airline leasing the plane, and they're also the ones who market and sell the tickets. Basically, you could get on a flight, your ticket says, for example, Oceanic Airlines Flight 1, you bought it from the Oceanic Airlines website using your Oceanic Airlines miles, and be none the wiser that SmartLynx owns the airplane and pays the pilots flying it. These vary a little, but generally a wet lease provides ACMI (aircraft, crew, maintenance, and insurance), and if you ever see the term 'damp' or 'moist' lease that means the cabin crew is provided by the lessee rather than the lessor, but apparently neither sees much use. Which is a shame, because I think this is one of the few situations where more categories actually might make this easier to parse.

If all of that is sort of confusing and a lot of information upfront, you are not alone in feeling like this! I'm still pretty shaky in my own understanding of it. I'm a history person, not a business person. You can think of it as codesharing but never mentioning that's what you're doing, if that's any easier. It's also similar to regional brands of larger carriers, like Delta Connection flights being flown by Endeavor Air or SkyWest, though these carriers aren't going as far as to lease and are still on the hook for their own operating costs.

Every time I explain this to someone for the first time they think it's pretty deranged, and I don't completely disagree, but it's very normal. There are plenty of reasons airlines might wet lease, generally involving them not having the capacity to fulfill demand. All sorts of airlines provide wet leases, and all sorts of airlines hire them. It can create weird legal loopholes regarding who is allowed to fly in whose airspace, but typically it's just one airline not having enough planes for the holiday peak. They usually last for a few weeks or months, rather than the many years of a 'dry' lease which includes a plane only.

SmartLynx fly basically everything you can think of - passenger, cargo, holiday charter. Some airlines they've leased for are EasyJet, DHL, Finnair, and victim of the blog condor. Because they never operate flights under their own name, there is absolutely no reason for them to have their own livery. Indeed, it makes more sense not to, since it would be easier to leave their planes blank in case they want to repaint them into another airline's livery for a longer-term lease.

If you fail the Star Alliance Test, I think you would be better off painting your entire plane white.

SmartLynx has no identity because their entire point is to assume that of others. They basically do the airline equivalent of paying somebody to take an exam for you. This is a SmartLynx plane with Saudia logos on airasia color-blocking. It's a bit weird-looking, sure, but it betrays nothing about SmartLynx because their entire job is to not have a brand. Nobody has ever seen a SmartLynx plane because they exist literally but not philosophically - the job of a SmartLynx plane is to fly for a different airline. They are the stagehands of aviation, scurrying around in all black to stand out as little as possible.

But SAS isn't SmartLynx. SAS is a big airline, a flag carrier, and to say that they fail the SAT means that I would prefer their planes all be wiped from existence in an apocalyptic flood of liquid paper. I do not think the 1998-2019 SAS livery deserves to exist. I keep repeating myself because I need to stress how profoundly difficult it is to get me to this point. I would rather a livery be clumsy, bare-bones, poorly executed, cowardly, genuinely ugly, absolutely dismal, than it be non-existent. It takes something absolutely tremendous to bring me to the point RESAS has, where there is nothing, no vision, no meaning, no direction, no design, that justifies its existence.

...so what about condor?

condor was the first airline to get a grade of F. The second was the aforementioned red engined SAS livery, now mercifully retired and thus reduced to a footnote in a post about how far SAS has come. The reason I brought up the SAT in SAS's post and didn't in condor's is that condor emphatically passes the SAT. 

I began with the assumption that the SAT was a good measure of if a livery deserves an F, and maybe it still is, but it's definitely not all there is to it. condor is different from Copa and RESAS, it just is. And I think the best evidence of this is that, of all the reviews I've posted, condor is the only one where a significant portion of people who reblogged it disagreed with me. I do understand that at the end of the day everything I say is subjective, and I don't mind when people have opposing views on something, but combined with my own thoughts on the livery, and the process of researching and writing my BWIA post, it pushed me to an epiphany about what makes a truly great and truly terrible livery. And, partly out of curiosity and partly to follow this new path of personal evolution, I asked survey-takers what they think of the condor livery. Maybe I should have left it as a free-response question, but I wanted figures, numbers. So here's what I got. (Free responses have been merged into whichever category they match closest for the sake of simplicity.)

These results are fascinating. First, you may notice that this is missing two options. Not a single person said that this livery was boring, or that they felt neutrally towards it. Even people who are still making up their minds are a dramatic minority.

Second, people who had a clear-cut opinion of the livery, positive or negative, made up just over a fifth of respondents. Most people were at least to some extent conflicted, although which specific variant of conflict varied. There are people who appreciate the idea but do not like the appearance of the livery, and then there are people who find some charm in it. Around 2/3 of these people cannot force themselves to fully insult what they see as a sort of goofy creature, while the other third cannot allow their emotions to sway their rating. If my post on the matter didn't fully convey it, this is probably the closest to my own opinion.

If I was condor, and I saw these results from a focus group (replicated on a scale far larger than my survey, of course) I would probably say to go ahead with this livery. All press is good press, as they say. You're going to end up with a livery that sticks with people, and they're going to respect that even if they think it's hideous. At the very least, they're going to notice you.

Condor's livery is ugly. I will not change my stance; it does not look good. It is unpleasing to my eyes. But it is not the opposite of an A+ livery. In fact, it has a lot in common with them. The reason I love PSA, BWIA, and Amakusa Airlines so much isn't just that they make good use of the plane's shape, have pleasing colors, and generally look nice, but because they are built on the bedrock of a concept which goes beyond designing an airplane. In BWIA's review in particular I discussed the fact that it takes the approach of building a livery around an idea rather than an idea around the concept of what a livery should be; this is what distinguishes an A+ from an A, and the gulf is far larger than the gulf between any two other grades. The difference between 'it's on the better side of okay' and 'I somewhat tepidly like it' can be rather small compared to the difference between 'it's very good' and 'it's genius'. 

In the 2022 film "Nope", protagonist OJ asks if there is such a thing as a 'bad miracle'. To me, condor is something similar: bad genius. condor takes a once-in-a-decade great concept and executes it incomprehensibly poorly, and now they're the infamous ugly stripe planes. It has failed spectacularly but it has failed in perfect harmony with itself. It is unlikely that someone attempting to make an ugly livery as a joke or a parody could come up with something quite this sad. I've struggled for a little bit to think of a way to convey what it means to me, and I think I might have finally found it.

The town of Borja, Spain has a population of under 5,000. Although it was largely unremarkable as far as this sort of work goes, they were quite fond of a fresco painted on their church wall around 1930 by the artist Elías García Martínez. All art begins to deteriorate over time, and frescoes are notoriously difficult to conserve. In 2012, an octogenarian with no relevant training had a vision of a gorgeous restored painting. She definitely should have thought before acting. Just because you see something in your mind's eye doesn't mean you can make it real. And if you rush into it you might make...well, you see the picture on the right.

This picture is hideous. And it has brought in crowds of tourists hundreds of times the size of the town's actual population. Their money has funded pensions and built infrastructure. It has become a cultural icon. Nearly everyone with an internet connection has seen it. It's by far the most memorable thing about this tiny town. It is a work of bad genius.

Say what you will about condor's planes - and I myself have said many mean things about them. They are ugly and they are iconic. They are condor's grand statement, and no matter how ugly I think they are the world would be losing something if they were assimilated into identical Star Alliance liveries.

This striped livery is terrible, and it is great. It is worse than many liveries are good. And it does not fail as a livery. It is fundamentally condor's, and there is nothing like it. Distinctive, coherent, unique...and also ugly.

I've realized that condor belongs as a fundamental landmark in my understanding of liveries, just like Lufthansa or BWIA or PSA. Now that I've said all of what I've said in this post, I think giving condor an F just doesn't work. It doesn't belong in the same category as liveries which fail the Star Alliance Test. It doesn't deserve a better grade though. Something so bombastically, almost elegantly hideous requires a rethinking of the scale I've been using.

condor gets Runway Runway's first ever Z rating.

It does a tremendously poor job at being good, but a fantastic job of being a livery. In order for the Star Alliance Test to retain its meaning and the F tier to retain its coherence, condor needs to be reclassified. It is awful, hideous, sloppy, a waste of potential, but it is potential, and 'awful' originally referred to something which inspired awe.

[merlwybs-wife]

LFRP: Mjara Phovent

Basic Stuff —

Name: Mjara Phovent

Alias: Marsnek Miret

Age: 58

Race: Viera -> Veena

Gender: Genderqueer (he/they)

Sexuality: Homosexual

Relationship Status: Widowed

Title: Viscount

Carrd Link

Personal —

Hobbies: Fashion, Lace Making, Embroidery, Dancing, Reading

Languages: Common/Eorzean (minimal Hingan)

Residence: Ishgard

Birthplace: ?? 

Religion: Why do you ask? He worships Halone, of course. Like any proper Ishgardian. Halone be praised.

Seeking —

Inquisitors. My ideal is to find an Inquisitor who knows Mjara is suspicious. His first husband was rumored to be a heretical black mage, but died before any proper investigation could be conducted. I'd love to have some sort of cat-and-mouse relationship. Bickering/Bantering would be an immense plus.

Criminals. Mjara has ties to an organization called The Crown, a criminal syndicate that is centralized in Ishgard. Mjara is generally used as a "face" between members of the syndicate & civilians, so can be seen working in all facets of the underbelly of society. He specializes in information brokering & buying illegal/dangerous items. If anyone wants to be an active part of The Crown, I am definitely open to such relationships. Mjara has notable relationships to NPCs, including: cleaners and those who are assigned to him as "guards." He's also very familiar with the organization head. If you'd like to have your character know one of these NPCs, or be the NPC themselves-- I'm open to discussion!

Criminally-oriented Noble Ishgardian Houses If your character is part of a House in Ishgard that may be affiliated with The Crown, or have used Mjara's more illegal, discreet services, I'd love to discuss this as well!

Open To —

Casual Acquaintances Since he's recently been "revamped/retconned," Mjara has virtually no social relationships. I'd like to change this! Though this could mean befriending him, this is quite hard to do. Frenemies/Enemies/Rivals are much more likely with him! But, I'm definitely not opposed to trying for a friendship.

Past/Present Patrons & Flings Mjara performs burlesque, and is rather good at it! Though he usually performs in Ul'dah, he does indeed do private performances for people in Ishgard. If you have a character that may have seen him perform (be it in Ishgard or Ul'dah), or would like to, hmu! Additionally, Mjara sleeps around pretty casually. If you'd like to have this be an established/future relationship (and maybe get some scandalous plotlines going), this is also something I'm open to!

Contact

Please only inquire about RP if you are 21+

I’m in PST, generally available from 9am/10am - 6pm, after which I get too tired to start RP in-game.

Due to my health, I prefer discord RP atm. We can attempt to schedule something in-game, but there is a chance I will have to cancel last minute. I can try my hand at tumblr RP, but I've never done it!

My DMs are open! No need to ask. It's better to contact me on discord, though (@ mon_mothra )

Boosts/Reblogs are appreciated!

@mooglemeet