#That story makes me laugh more than anything but it's just an example of ''Karen we are driven by anxiety and energy drinks rn''

[magicalqueennightmare]

Sins & Amends Chapter 28

Billy Russo x Female Reader (60 part story)

This follows pre- the punisher into the storyline of daredevil, punisher season 1 and beyond

This is NOT Canon Billy. This is decent human being Billy left with bad options over worse decisions

This was also posted to A03 under: WaywardGaPeach. That account and this one is the only place you'll see me post this. If you see it on any other platform/account know it's not me.

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You start developing a relationship with Matt

"Karen said you're a fan of chinese food and that you like this place" Matt said as the two of you sat down at your table. "I am and I do" you replied trying to squash the nerves you'd been feeling since he came to your place to pick you up. Hell no one could blame you, you hadn't been on a date with anyone but Billy in the better part of a decade.

You glanced around focusing on the different paintings and decorations adorning the walls. This was just Matt. You knew him, he knew you so why did you feel like your heart may jump out your chest at a moment's notice? What pulled your attention back to him was when he reached across the table and barely let his hand brush against yours.

"Y/N, we're friends. This doesn't have to be considered anything more than two friends getting dinner. There's no pressure" you felt yourself start to calm down slightly at his words. You moved your hand closer to his and he smiled when you gently slid your fingers between his "I just want to make sure that no matter what happens I won't lose you out of my life Matt" 

"Don't even worry about that. I'm not the type to hold it against someone if a relationship doesn't work out" you knew he was telling the truth because Karen was a perfect example of just that but you felt the need to lighten the mood slightly so you added "good because if we start dating then breakup I'd hate to have to hire Marci to fight you for custody of Foggy" a broad grin crept onto his face at that before he said in a very solemn voice "We will continue to have shared custody" you started laughing which made him crack up and by the time the waitress came over to take your order you'd forgotten why you'd been nervous in the first place.

------------------

After dinner you and Matt were walking down the sidewalk trying to decide what to do next because although you'd been nervous now it seemed as though neither of you were ready to call it a night.

You heard faint music from a little ways down the block and grabbed his hand "C'mon Murdock. Let's check out the band!" He smiled and motioned with his free hand "Lead the way" 

You walked into the bar holding onto Matt's hand. There was a jazz band performing and the crowd wasn't too overwhelming so you worked your way towards an empty booth you'd spotted near the corner of the room. 

You sat down then scooted around the circular table so Matt could also sit down and that there was enough room that you were both comfortable.

A waitress spotted you and walked over with a smile "Good evening. What'll you have?" Matt ordered a beer and you asked for a whiskey sour. She said she'd be back shortly leaving the two of you alone once again. Matt turned a little towards you and it seemed like he wanted to say something but he simply smiled "The band's pretty good"

"Yeah they are but that's not what you wanted to say" you replied watching him for a moment. A faint smile graced his face before he agreed "No it wasn't but I really don't want to seem overly nosey especially if you're considering a second date" "Second date? Ambitious!" You teased then said "It's not being nosey Matt just ask. I don't keep a lot of secrets well not about myself anyways"

"Just everyone else's?" He asked leaning back so the waitress who'd just walked back over could sit down your drinks. After she walked away you replied "Exactly. Now ask" he took a deep breath and almost seemed to be bracing himself which given what you knew about him made you wonder how bad the question was. "Why were you so nervous to go out with me?" 

Oh that's what it was. You tried to judge just how much to tell him. Might as well give him at least most of the story so if he decided he in fact didn't want a second date "Ok well you know about the last year of my life and the chaos that ensued from that" he nodded so you continued "Well not long before that day the guy I'd been with for quite a few years Billy um he ended things, out the blue. One moment we were planning our future then the next he was telling me he didn't want to be with me anymore. I didn't have time to let myself heal from that before I lost the castles. To make matters worse and my heart more shredded he came to the funeral because well he was Frank's best friend. I was in pain, he comforted me and over the next couple weeks was there for me until I ended up sleeping with him again. I thought it was a new start then the next morning I woke up to him telling me it was all a lie and I needed to get out his apartment"

You waited for any judgment but it never came. He simply leaned closer to your ear and whispered "My ex girlfriend who died while fighting ninjas who wanted her as their key to unlock some ancient power as it turned out was placed into my life back in college as a way to keep me from pursuing a normal life. Also the only reason two of the few friends I do have started back talking to me is because of you helping me" you laughed lightly "so basically our lives are screwed up anyways so let's keep each other company?" You asked and he shrugged "If you want my company I'm happy to give it"

--------------------

It was nearly midnight by the time Matt walked you to the door of your building. "So is this gonna turn into a second date kind of thing or have I already scared you off?" You turned to face him and was surprised he was closer than you'd expected but felt your heart speed up slightly which in turn caused a rush of embarrassment at the fact that you knew he'd heard your heartbeat change. "I don't scare off too easily" he replied and you found yourself staring at his lips when he spoke. God you were acting like some teenager on their first date. "So if a woman asked you for a goodnight kiss you wouldn't mind?" You asked and was rewarded with a smile "not at all" 

One of his hands came up to cup your cheek and the other went to your hip as you stepped closer to him and finally let your lips meet. His lips moved against yours almost gently. When you let your hands slide up around his neck he deepened the kiss causing a sigh to escape you. He used the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth rolling it against yours and you had to bite back a moan.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused the two of you to separate like you'd been caught doing a lot more than kissing and you were glad to see it was just your upstairs neighbor Mr Garcia. "Hi Mr Garcia" you greeted with what you knew was a guilty looking smile. 

He was trying to keep from laughing when he said "Don't mind me. Had to go on a cravings run for Lena and the two of you were kind of blocking the door" "How is she doing? She's close to her due date isn't she?" You asked and felt Matt's hand on your lower back so you leaned a little into his touch to let him know it was ok.

"She's thirty four weeks so we're on the downward slope. You being downstairs makes both of us more comfortable" "Anytime I'm needed you have my number" you said with a smile. He nodded then looked at Matt "She's a good girl son. Treat her right" Matt nodded "Yes sir"

Once Mr Garcia was in the building Matt started laughing "Was it just me or was that dejavu to teen years?" "Very" you agreed with a laugh then leaned up to kiss him on the cheek "You have my number. I've got back to back shifts the next few days but we could always meet for breakfast or lunch?" "Looking forward to it" he said with a smile.

You watched him start down the sidewalk before heading inside. Like everyone had said it didn't have to be anything serious. Hell he was healing the same as you were but maybe it would be good for you both.

Telling Alice you'd went out with Matt was extremely reminiscent of the first date you'd went on then coming home to Maria waiting up for details.

"He's cute! Do you like him? Did ya kiss him?" She was shooting questions off faster than you could answer them although the two of you had actually went to the bunk room to crash for a while between calls "Yes I like him! I mean we've been friends for a while now" she rolled her eyes then chunked her pillow at your head "That's not what I meant and you know it!" 

"I mean it was only one date but it was nice. It's been so long since I let myself think about another guy in that way but he is a really good kisser" before you even got through saying it completely Alice was laughing "Oh yeah my girl's getting her feet back under her completely and it is beautiful to see!" You sat up and looked at her "I thought you liked Billy?" The way she was talking you felt the need to ask. 

She shrugged "Honestly? I did. I really thought the two of you would be it for each other but I've also now seen you cry over him twice! He's done you wrong and has given no explanation. Like I told him years ago if he can't see how amazing of a woman you are then all the better for Murdock being able to see that. Look, the two of you don't gotta be anything. You could stay friends, just have sex. Doesn't matter. I just don't like seeing you as broken as Billy made you feel. Least he could've done was give you a reason"

You couldn't argue with that. Hell you would've felt better if Billy could've given you any reason besides that he just didn't love you anymore. It made you question so much about yourself then when he acted like he cared when Maria and the kids were killed only to turn around and say it was all a lie. "I think we're gonna see each other again like as a date not just friends" you finally said after a moment and she flashed you a grin "Good"

The transition from being Matt's friend into dating him wasn't as hard as you thought it would be. You worried about him the same as you did before with the whole daredevil thing, that hadn't changed any. You still hung out in a group with Karen and Foggy when you could, the only difference was that at the end of the night Matt would kiss you before you went your separate ways.

---------------------

"So how it's going with Matt?" Karen asked handing you a beer as she joined you on the couch. You were off and wanted to watch horror movies but didn't feel like watching them alone so when you called to see if she wanted to come crash in your guest room that night she had offered to bring the provisions.

"You know it's a little weird that you are just curious as a friend considering he's your ex?" You said and she shrugged "Quick question Y/N out of everyone you know would you consider any of us completely normal?" You thought about it for a moment then slowly shook your head "Not really. I mean Curtis is the most stable one by far"

She grinned pulling her blanket up around her like you had yours. "So answer my question!" You stared at the screen for a moment where the opening credits to Halloween 2 was playing. "It's going good. He's a bit of change from Billy. I mean that in a good way I guess? Just with Billy by the time we started dating we knew each other better than we knew ourselves. Hell we said I love you after three months but I felt it long before that. With Matt I'm honest with him but he's very careful as to what he asks. Like he knows most of what happened with Billy and that my family was shitty is how I ended up with Maria and her parents. I've asked about his past, the accident that made his lose his sight i know about. How he met Foggy, how he met Elektra he's honest when I ask anything. I just feel like to some degree maybe Matt sees me as more fragile than Billy ever did?"

She was quiet for a moment so you turned to look at her and saw she was chewing on her bottom lip "That's your I want so bad to say something face, so say it!" She released her lip from between her teeth with a light pop then smiled "Maybe because with Billy you never let him treat you as being fragile. Frank doesn't share a lot but Curtis does. You were a livewire from day one of meeting Billy. Matt's seen you on some days where you've been stressed but he's never seen you in ways like even I have. I've seen you pissed, I've seen you giggly happy. How your eyes light up after shifts where you've saved someone's life or how when you've had a bad shift there's times you want so bad to be alone but you still smile when me, Alice or Kenzie shows up at your door" 

"So what? I don't have very much of a filter as is so you're saying drop what filter I try to have?" She nodded "Yeah because honestly? At the end of the day no matter what happens you two are still gonna be friends. He knows about eighty percent of the real you. Show him the other twenty and he'd never see you as anything near fragile"

After the little talk with Karen you no longer tried to filter anything with Matt. Hell you knew he was daredevil why would he not be able to handle you at full force?

"Jason and Chief Michelson nearly had a coronary themselves when I climbed into the flipped over car" you were talking to him about a wreck you'd worked a few days before hand and he was listening intently. The two of you had went out to dinner then ended up going back to his place. You were currently sitting on his couch with your feet curled up under you watching the rain fall outside as you talked. You'd kicked your boots off at the door because they'd been wet.

"How'd it turn out?" "The guy had three cracked ribs, a concussion and a pretty serious head laceration but he's alive and was released to go home today" you replied feeling a smile slip onto your face then realized you'd been talking for the better part of twenty minutes "I've been rambling haven't I?" You asked and he reached out to grab your hand "Not rambling. I like listening to you talk. You're passionate about your work. I think you're nothing short of amazing" "You mean my work?" You asked and he shook his head "No, I mean you" 

"Oh" you didn't know what else to say. "I don't mean to over step and honestly I thought you were amazing long before I ever thought about asking you out. I mean anyone who works with the FDNY are heroes" you laughed lightly and put one finger to his lips "Now you're rambling Matt" he smiled and kissed your fingers "My apologies"

You didn't realize how close you'd moved until his hand brushed against your leg. "Y/N" his voice was so soft when he spoke your name you leaned forward just enough to let your lips meet his. 

Every other time you'd kissed him had gotten to a certain point then one or both of you pulled away but this time was different. When he pulled back you were both a little breathless "Y/N. Where do you want this to go?" You felt a rush of either confidence hit you or it was just the fact that you hadn't had anyone kiss you like that in a long time. You moved your legs to be straddling his lap and had to bite back a moan when you felt how hard he already was underneath you "Well I was thinking about your bed but the couch would be fine too" 

@intothesoul

@weallhaveadestiny

[kirain]

I started playing rdr2 but stopped because like idk but I can't seem to get over the fact that all the women are prostitutes and they don't really have any important roles. Like what's Abigail do? Ooh she's a mother who's always mad? What do the other women do? Oooh they sleep with the gang. What's Sadie do? Oooh she becomes a badly written femme fetale who suddenly becomes a flawless killer. The women are just so badly represented.

I get the feeling you didn't play the game naturally or see any random encounters, because none of what you said is true. There's a lot to unpack here, so let's start with the "all the women are prostitutes" comment.

First of all, none of the women are prostitutes, a fact that deeply irritates Micah. During a coach robbery where he rides with Arthur and Bill, he even says, “Why the hell do we need a gaggle of girls who won’t even fuck you if you put a gun to their head? Is it too much to ask considering they get a piece of every damn dollar I bring in?” Poor baby. He even tries to proposition all of the women (Grimshaw included), but they all insult him and send him running with his tail between his legs. It’s hilarious and I love it. Arthur also responds to Micah with, “Everyone does their share. I don’t see you lifting a finger around camp.”

Now a bit about the girls:

Mary-Beth was a skilled pickpocket, but she ended up being caught by a group of her victims. She mentions this during a conversation with Arthur, where she points out how hard it was for women who came from nothing, and the inequality of it all. RDR2 actually regularly highlights how difficult frontier/outlaw life was for women back then, often pulling zero punches. While fleeing her pursuers, Mary-Beth luckily ran into Hosea, who helped her escape and welcomed her to the gang. You can see Dutch lusting after her a few times, because he's an old pervert, but she always shuns his advances. She was never a prostitute and she was actually underage when she joined.

Tilly was a child outlaw and a member of the Forman gang from the age of twelve. She ended up killing the leader's cousin because he [as is heavily implied] tried to rape her. She was around sixteen at the time and tried to return to her mother after the ordeal, but she unfortunately passed away while Tilly was running with the Formans. Out of options, she eventually joined the van der Linde gang after Dutch saved her from some unspecified trouble. You can find most of this out during one of my favourite side missions, where she gets kidnapped by Anthony Foreman in retaliation for killing his cousin. With Grimshaw’s help, you can rescue Tilly and put an end to it once and for all. She was never a prostitute and was also underage when taken in.

Susan Grimshaw was one of the original members of the gang and one of Dutch's first lovers. They parted amicably and both fell in love with other people (Dutch with Annabelle, and Susan with a doctor who sadly ended up dying), but she stayed with the gang because of their mutual respect for each other. She later became the arbiter of the camp and a kind of surrogate mother to Arthur, John, and the other girls. She was never a prostitute, but rather a rough-and-tumble outlaw.

Karen is a little more complicated. Overall, she was a scam artist (Hosea even called her an “actress”) who sometimes lured men into brothels, then stole from them or picked their brains for leads. That doesn't necessarily mean she was a prostitute; however, it just means she used sex as a manipulation tactic. Out of all the women in the group, she was the freest and most unconventional. She also stood on guard duty and participated in heists. The only man she ever slept with in game was Sean, and his death absolutely devastated her. If you talk to her or observe her interactions, you also discover she’s a raging alcoholic suffering from some very deep-seated issues. She likely did have to do things she wasn’t proud of in order to survive, but in my opinion that makes her one of the most realistic members of the group. She was never described as a prostitute.

Molly was an aristocrat who left her family to be with Dutch. His abusive treatment eventually led her to suffer an identity crisis, where she ended up hysterical and heartbroken. Her story is sad, but she was never a prostitute. If anything, Molly is the best example we have that Dutch views people as items, not human beings.

Abigail is the only prostitute in the game, but by the events of RDR2 she's an ex-prostitute. To say she's nothing more than "a mother who's always mad", I feel, does her character a great disservice. First of all, she left that profession behind to raise her son, to give him a decent chance in life. Unlike John, she stepped up immediately to become a responsible adult. I don't think people realise how impressive that is because, one, she could've easily abandoned Jack at the roadside (which was common back then), two, she could've induced an abortion, and three, she was quite young when she had him; around nineteen years old.

You say the women are "poorly represented", but they're stronger, smarter, and more mature than most of the men. A few of them even become self-sufficient in the turn of the century, something dear old Dutch couldn't even do/accept. Abigail in particular helps Sadie mourn her husband and the two grow very close. Their interactions are both grounded and heartwarming, with Abigail telling Sadie she’ll suffer the loss of her husband, but that it’ll get better if she keeps on living. She takes care of her, and Sadie later returns that kindness. These women are so full of quirks and humour and personality, I don’t know how you missed it.

As for Sadie ... where do I even begin? Badly written? Femme fatale? Flawless killer? Sadie is one of the best written characters. She's not flawless, she's exceptionally flawed, temperamental, and traumatised. It's never expressly stated, but it's implied at several points throughout the game that she was repeatedly assaulted while the O'Driscolls kept her captive. At first, she's petrified and miserable, to the point that all she does is cry and express suicidal ideation. Then, she gets angry. Very angry. Having nothing left to live for, her home and husband torn from her grasp, she throws herself headfirst into danger, which almost gets her killed on a number of occasions.

She's not a "flawless killer", she's a messy killer. She's not an expert death-dealer, and that's made evident from the start -- but she was a hunter who shared the workload with her husband, so it's not as if her skills just magically appeared. You do see how much it weighs on her, however, near the end of chapter six. If you help her kill the rest of the O'Driscolls, she laments what she's become because she thinks her husband would be horrified. She’s extremely complex and struggles between mourning and moving on.

I also can't help but laugh at the "femme fatale" accusation, because Sadie actually defeminises herself, which is understandable considering the hell she’s suffered. She even wears men's clothing, which wasn't illegal [anymore] back then, but it was openly frowned upon. Femme fatales use their beauty and sexuality to their advantage, ensnaring men with their feminine wiles. Sadie never does that and fights side-by-side with the boys. Interestingly enough, that's partially why Calamity Jane, an actual historical figure, garnered so much attention, because of how she behaved/dressed. It’s pretty clear to me that Rockstar might’ve used her as inspiration for Sadie. This was a real woman who lived from 1852 to 1903.

In addition, Sadie plays one of the most important roles, yet she does so without falling into the category of a Mary-Sue. She saves the gang and moves them to a new location when the Pinkertons attack Shady Belle. She hatches the plan that frees John from prison. She helps Arthur rescue Abigail after she gets kidnapped. She tracks down Micah and puts an end to his reign of terror. But most of what she does she accomplishes with a partner--Arthur or John--both of whom she respects immensely. No one, not even Arthur, does everything alone, and when they do there’s usually negative consequences. It's the camaraderie and shared experiences that make these characters successful, and aside from Charles and Hosea, I’d even argue that the women are more well-rounded and fleshed out than the men.

I gather from for comments that you didn't finish the game, so I hate to spoil it, but I kind of have to if you walked away with this mindset. The women of RDR2 are a force to be reckoned with.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Why do I not have the option to copy and paste formatting? Why is that an option I am not given? Who thought that I wouldn’t need that when I’m on my phone? Screw that guy, who I am arbitrarily calling Adam. If anyone knows how to do that, please tell me.

Chapter 6 Pt 2

“There is no fucking way you got a date with her.” Raphael does not even look it up. “No way in hell.”

“And yet the flow chart worked.” He laughs from his lab, shutting off any excess equipment as to not overwork it. “It worked like a charm and she asked me to go to her place so ha.”

”You didn’t show her the chart, did you?”

“I did not.”

“Well, there you go.” Leo looks back at him from his seat on the couch. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock.” He slides the door closed. “But I’m planning on being there at six fifty-five so that she knows I value her time.”

“Does the sun set that early?”

“Why do you even ask?” Raph turns a page in his once periodical periodical. “You know he looked it up.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Forgive me for also valuing preparedness.”

“Nobody likes a know it all.”

He grins smugly. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, I,” he gestured to himself, “have a date with a gorgeous girl tonight, one where she has already invited me into her home, and you,” he gestured to Raphael, “are reading a magazine from a company that went out of business two years ago alone.”

“Donnie, don’t be a jerk.” Leonardo looked back at the television. “Raphael brings up a valid point; you tend to act like you know everything, and the actual request wasn’t for a date.”

“How else can I interpret one on one time with her?”

“Well,” he counters, “how do you interpret one on one time with us?”

He blinks. “Wait, so you’re saying she’s… how do you put it?”

“Nah, I don’t think she’s friendzonin ‘im.” Mickey looks up from his drawing. “Think she’s sending signals she doesn’t mean to.” He sets his half-shaded piece aside. “Think about it; she said she’s been all stressed out, right? She died like two weeks ago.” He shrugs. “She’s probably just lonely and needs the company.”

“That’s… actually really insightful of you.”

He grins. “What can I say? I’m a modern McPherson.”

Raph snickers at that. “Donnie is more of a McPher—how old is that movie, anyway? A hundred?

“Hey!” He shoots a glare at his brother. “Respect the classics.”

“Not to interrupt your riveting intro to film class,” Donnie interjects, losing his shit, “but I really need to know what this is before I go, and it’s already fifteen ‘till.”

“Look, maybe she’s interested, maybe she’s not.” Leonardo’s eyes are back on the screen. “Just try to tread carefully and you’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably?”

“Again, Raph had a point.”

He groans, walking to the entrance and exit of their home. “You guys aren’t helping.”

“Not our job.”

Leo calls after him. “Be home before six!”

He turns the corner, cradling his head in his hands. ‘I am totally and thoroughly fucked.’

--

GoodFellas.

Of all the movies in the world, that is the movie you have decided to use to explain these concepts. This is the example piece that you are going to show to the vigilante. All you know is that you had started watching the Phantom Menace and had decided against explaining the concept of racial coding and this is the only other movie that you can think of right now. You have decided to commit, and you are already regretting it, but you decide to figure it out as you go.

You set the pizza on the coffee table, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave to pop. You do not expect Donatello to be late, so you decided to start now so that they could get started right away. You start walking to the window, stopping at the mouth of the hallway. You look yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror despite yourself. You do not exactly know why you care so much; this was not a date, and you had not advertised it as one. Still, impressions are important, and the last thing you need is for him to not listen to you because of it. That is what you are telling yourself, anyhow.

You hear knocking against the glass. You check your phone for the time. ‘Five minutes early.’ You smile softly. ‘How responsible.’ You open it up, smiling at your guest. “Welcome, Donatello.” You take a step back. “Please, make yourself at home.”

He barely makes a sound as he steps off the windowsill, looking around your apartment, fully illuminated, for the first time.

After about thirty seconds of his investigation, you clear your throat. “Donnie?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

You smile gently. “You wanna sit down? I bought pizza.”

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, sitting down and facing the television screen. “I like your place.”

“Thanks.” You sit down next to him, tucking your feet under you as you flip on the television. “How do you feel about gangster movies?”

“Gangster movies?”

“Yeah.” You list a couple on your fingers. “Scarface, Godfather, all that jazz.”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you make gangster movies legally?”

“That is a long answer. The short version?” You lean forward, taking a slice from the box. “The police are kind to those who cooperate, and people think their stories are fascinating.”

“So they’re documentaries?” He mimics you.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. You want something to drink?” You hear the microwave beep as you stand up.

“Water?”

You nod, walking over to pull the popcorn out of the microwave and grab your drinks. “I trust the walk wasn’t too bad?”

“Not at all.” The small talk is torture. “Getting to your window was a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t anything too bad.”

“That’s good.” You pour him a glass. “I’ll have to get something for that; maybe a planter or something, so you have a bigger ledge.”

“It’s alright.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “It’s wide enough to stand.”

“Still.” You place his cup on the counter, dumping the kernels into a large plastic bowl. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if one of you guys got hurt trying to come in through the window.” You grab a can of soda out of the refrigerator, sitting down and handing him the glass.

He smiles slightly. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that?”

You grin. “I try,” you hum, starting to pull up the movie. “I think you’re pretty cool too, Hamato.”

He chuckles. “You make me sound like I’m fifty.”

“Oh, totally.” You nod in agreement. “You’re an old soul.”

He blinks. “Old soul?”

“Mature, I mean.” You shrug. “I mean, handling the stuff you do with any degree of tact, to me, displays a great maturity you don’t see in most teenagers, myself included.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

You get back up for napkins and plates. “Not at all.” You hand him one of each. “It’s an admirable quality, though not one I particularly envy.”

“You think?” His hands linger for a moment longer than typical as he took them.

“Yeah. You want me to turn down the lights for the movie while I’m up?”

His face goes red. “I-I mean,” he stutters, “if you want to.”

“Then I will; shows the image better when it’s dark.” You walk to the wall, flicking off the lights and sitting down next to him, setting your slice on your plate as you turn on the movie.

Your reactions to it are different.

He does not seem what you would call disturbed, but he gets grossly invested in the story extremely quickly. He is noticeably more interested in watching you watch the movie, but he studies the plot intently, noting the more domestic plotline between the lead and his wife in particular. His reaction to the violence is strange to you; he is not aloof, so to speak, but he does not flinch much until the fighting is between Henry and Karen.

You have seen this movie what feels like a thousand times. Whenever you think it applicable, you lean over and whisper to him about the directing, the script, the plot—it is supposed to be a lesson, after all. But you realize that your attention, every so often, shifts to the bed, to your pillow with the knife underneath it. The violence of the movie makes you edgier than you are used to.

About halfway through the movie, you move closer to the boy sitting beside you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listen for cues for comments. You don’t notice his reaction, but you do notice how his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You do not object; you were the one who initiated, after all.

“Here’s a psychology relationship thingy you can tell your family about.” You cringe at that poor little girl standing in the hallway. “’That’s all in your head’ is classic gaslighting. I dunno if that’s really your area or not.”

“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.” He fiddles with the cloth of your jacket absentmindedly. “It’s kinda hard for me to wrap my head around, people staying like that. I mean,” he clarifies, “I get why, but—”

You both tense up as a young man on screen is shot dead by Joe Pesci’s character.

You exhale. “Yeah, I get what you mean.” You shrug. “But folks get scared, ya know? In her case, she doesn’t want to break the family apart, and she’s really into him.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way.” You look up at him. “What can I say? We fall into infatuation so fast with bad people who say what we want to hear.”

“Don’t you mean fall in love?”

You watch as Lorraine Bracco holds a gun to her husband’s face. “Nope. Love is entirely different.”

“Yeah?” He glanced down at you.

“Apples and oranges.” You gesture to the television. “Love is supplementary, a beautifully imperfect connection between people.” Your voice becomes smoother, airier. “It’s a bond built on trust and respect. Infatuation is more of an addiction than anything.” You sigh as Liota meets to discuss his relationship with Sorvino. “At least I think so. That’s why love at first sight is a bunch of bullshit; you can’t have that kind of profound trust with someone you just met.” You shrug, looking back up at him. “Then again, what do I know? I’m an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old girl.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” He looks back down at you. “I get what familial love is, but whenever Master Splinter talks about his wife, he has a hard time putting what he means into words.”

You hear their guilty verdict. “Totally get that. Articulation is not easy to do.”

A few minutes go by.

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

You watch as a man drags his wife out of a Christmas party. “This movie is exactly why I don’t ever want to learn how to do the stuff you do. It changes you, all that violence; desensitizes you.” You bring your knees to your chest. “Especially Raphael. I swear, that shift was as dramatic as his, at least at this point in the flick.”

He pauses. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

You close your eyes, breathing slowly. “I’m going to try my best,” you swear, “do everything in my power, to see to it that you guys don’t experience more than you have to.”

You mean it. He can tell.

You two are quiet for the rest of the movie. You explain why certain directing choices were made, connect the beginning with the end, talk about the theme, all while you two watched their fall from grace. When the movie ends, you realize how tangled up in him you are; your head on his chest, legs draped over his with his arms around your waist. You feel the icy air against you, as if his skin attracted it to you. You push the hair out of your face. “So,” you stretch, turning the light back on, “do you wanna see another movie, or do you have a curfew?”

He pauses. “I should honestly probably get home,” he sighs. “If I’m not home early they’ll start getting ideas.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod, completely understanding the reasoning. “You can take the leftover pizza home if you want; the guys’ll probably eat it before I do.”

“Mikey’ll be on cloud nine.” He picks the box off the coffee table. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” You stand at the window, opening it for him.

He climbs onto the windowsill, looking down at you from his perch. “I had a good time.” His face flushed. “We should do this again.”

You nod in agreement. “Definitely.” You rub the back of your neck. “I’ll pick a lighter movie next time.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You steal yourself, cupping one side of his face and kissing him gently on the cheek. “Goodnight, Donnie.” You smile. “See ya tomorrow.”

You are a bit concerned he’s going to fall off the windowsill. “Y-Yeah,” he grinned, words slurred. “See ya later, Y/N.” He waved, climbing up and out of your window.

You smile softly, sigh. You flop back on the bed, rolling over. You have not been this at ease since you died.

‘I really like that guy.’ You close your eyes. ‘I really, honestly do.’

You drift off to sleep, dreamless for the first time in too long.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 6 Part 1

Chapter 7

[liberty-barnes]

Keep You Safe

Peter Parker x Female!Reader

Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”

Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day

Word Count: 2167 words

Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes

A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something. I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.

Masterlist 

Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.

There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.

Peter Parker was not a creep.

He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.

He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.

You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window. 

He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies. 

He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.

“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.

“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.

Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.

“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.

“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.

“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor. 

After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.

He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.

He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.

Princess 👑 ❤️:  heyy :) Princess 👑 ❤️:  can i meet you at the tower later? Princess 👑 ❤️:  i want cuddles :)))

He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :) Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3 Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33

He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.

No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.

“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.

“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”

You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.

Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.

He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.

“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.

“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”

“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”

“I need Disney themed stuff.”

“You already have Disney themed stuff.”

“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”

He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.

“‘M hungry.”

“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”

“Did too!” He snorted at that.

“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”

A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.

“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”

Oh shit.

“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.

Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.

“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”

He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself. 

“Have you been following me?”

Shitshitshit.

“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.

You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.

“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”

He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.

“Do you not trust me?”

“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.

“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”

Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.

“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”

He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.

“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”

“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.

“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”

“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”

His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.

“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”

“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”

You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.

“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”

“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.

“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”

He smirked at you.

“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.

“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.

He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.

“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”

“Shut up.”

That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.

You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.

Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3

And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.

With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.

Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!

Love you all, Libby <3

[andcontemplation]

The Last Snowball

~or~

Why Joyce Hates Jim Hopper’s Guts (a love story)

--

December, 1964

--

"Skipping class again, huh?"

Jim Hopper thought he’d been busted, until he turned to see his tiny brunette friend cross the hall toward him with a great big smile on her face. He chewed slowly on the last bite of his second sandwich of the day as he watched Joyce flutter up to him like a little bird. 

"Did you run here to state the obvious?" he asked through a smirk and a mouthful of bologna. 

"What? No!" Joyce’s nose scrunched up and she quickly shook her head before the big smile crept back. "You weren't by the steps after fifth, and I was looking for you. I wanna ask you something!"

"Why are your cheeks all red then?" he asked. 

Joyce brought a hand up to her left cheek and stood on her tiptoes to look at her reflection in his locker mirror. Indeed, her cheeks were ten shades of crimson, and the blush only deepened when she saw it with her own eyes. 

Hopper swallowed and raised an eyebrow slowly. 

"What's up?"

Joyce sighed and fidgeted with the lock on his locker door. Then she repositioned the textbooks in her arms, looking anywhere but at him. She tried not to think about how hot her cheeks were getting under his gaze.

"Well -- I don't know if you noticed, but the winter dance on Friday is a Sadie Hawkins," she said holding her breath, before sneaking a peek at him with wide, worried eyes to gauge his reaction. But there was none.

He just kinda shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Half the junior girls asked me already," he admitted, crumpling the empty paper bag that once held the rest of second-lunch and tossed it in the trash can over her head and behind her. Completely clueless, as usual. 

Joyce deflated.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, keeping the smile plastered to her face, desperately trying to ignore the heaviness in her chest at his words. "Who?"

Hopper shrugged again and turned back to the mess in his locker, getting ready to head out.

"A bunch of chicks. I told 'em 'No.'"

"Oh." The heavy feeling disappeared just as quickly as it came. "A bunch, huh?"

"Why'd you ask?"

"Uh… well, I don't know," Joyce sighed and trailed off. "I just thought, maybe…"

"Yeah?"

 "You and I..?" 

She didn't want to say it -- she couldn't possibly say it. The words caught in the back of her throat, but Hopper was getting impatient. 

"Well? Spit it out!"

Joyce took a deep breath. 

"Well, it's just that... it's the Snowball. And I wanted to see if maybe you wanted to go. With me?" 

She shifted her weight nervously as she waited on his response. It felt like forever as she watched his face change from clueless to amused, confused, and then back again.

"Hmm, no thanks," he said finally, coolly shrugging his hunter green plaid jacket over his broad shoulders. "I got plans." 

Joyce's face fell for real this time, and she leaned back against the lockers, letting his locker door shield her disappointment. Hopper was rummaging around his locker again, banging books around on the shelves and dropping his winter gear at his feet -- hat, mitts, a pair of long johns, and big woolly socks.

"Why don't you ask your new boyfriend?" he asked rather bluntly from behind the locker door.

"Who? Lonnie?” Joyce leaned forward to glare at him. “Lonnie's not my--" She bit her tongue and steered the conversation back on track, knowing the topic of Lonnie Byers was not a welcome one with Hopper lately.

"I wanted to ask you, dummy!" she told Hopper, feeling her mood start to sour. "Since you're like... I don't know? My best friend?"

"Aw," Hopper said, clutching for his heart and rolling his eyes. "Be still my beating heart. You make it sound so special." 

Joyce bounced on her heels in frustration. Sometimes she wished she was taller so she could properly smack him on the back of the head. 

"I just mean-- We went to our first Snowball together. Shouldn't we go to the last one too?"

"Uh, no?" Hopper said and then ducked out of her reach when she aimed for his arm. "What? I'm struggling to see the big deal here. It's just a dance!"

Joyce raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. What a stick in the mud!

"It's the last Snowball, Jim."

"And this is the last week I can bag a doe with my tag, Joyce."

He bent down to gather up the small pile of clothes on the floor and shoved them into his backpack. Joyce set her jaw, grimacing. 

"A deer?"

"A female deer," he grinned up at her.

Joyce clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"You're telling me you'd rather kill some poor, innocent creature than dance with your best friend all night?" Her voice trailed off, hopefully conveying the intentions behind the words --  I like you, you big doofus. 

But Hopper didn't catch on.

"Yes, absolutely."

He said it so abruptly, Joyce struggled not to look too offended. 

"Well, I… I thought you could only hunt 'til Last Light anyway?" 

Hah! She had him there -- according to Indiana fish and game regulations, he wasn't allowed to hunt after the sun went down. Honestly, she didn't know much else about hunting other than that small fact, but Joyce clung to it like a life raft. 

"Why don't you just come to the dance afterwards, then? Meet me there?" Joyce persisted.

"No can do!" He pressed his lips together, unapologetically. "I plan to be elbow deep in blood n’ guts after Last Light."

Her jaw dropped, and it made him smirk again. 

"That's disgusting!" Joyce said, horrified. 

"So's a Sadie Hawkins!" he exclaimed. "Girls asking guys? What's next? Cats chasing dogs? C'mon, Joyce." Hopper snorted at his own joke and stood up. 

Joyce tried to ignore the rude passing comment, even though it made her want to stab him with her women’s lib pin. Why was she asking him again? Oh right. Those pesky feelings... the same ones she'd been fighting for the last four years. Just when she thought she had them beat, making herself believe she only ever wanted to be just his friend, feelings would rear their ugly head again and make her act like a complete fool. Like right now, for example:

"But it's the last Snowball!" She tried with him one more time. “Come on, don’t be such a party pooper.”

Hopper slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed the last of his junk shoving it back in the locker, anywhere it would fit. He heaved a sigh.

“So? We had Homecoming last month. Prom's in spring. How many dances do we really need?"

Never mind that Joyce was helping Karen plan each of those dances and leading the Pep Club in decorating the gym for all of them too. Or that this was their last year of school -- ever! He knew perfectly well how much it all meant to Joyce and she couldn't believe he wasn't a being bit more sentimental about all of it. 

"It's our last Snowball." 

That's when Hopper finally got it. And then he rolled his eyes. 

"You realize that none of the guys are going, right?”

"Nuh-uh.” Joyce shook her head. “Not all the guys. Some of the seniors are going with the gals!" 

She didn't know exactly how many, and she left out the part where it was mostly the steadies going together, hoping to convince him.

"Well, none of the single guys are going," Hopper assured her again. "Trust me. We all have plans. Besides, that dance is only for the freshmen and middle-schoolers, now. Last year was so lame."

"Plans?" she echoed.

"Yeah. I told you! My card's punched all week."

"Heya, Hop!" Benny called out, interrupting them from down the hallway, catching their attention over the top of the other student's heads. He raised his .22 in his hand to Hopper like a chalice. "Hunting?"

"Hunting!" Hopper hollered back and turned back to Joyce. "See? Hunting."

Joyce rolled her eyes and let out a grumble -- at least his plan wasn’t Chrissy Carpenter again. 

"How many times can a man go hunting in a week?" she asked pointedly.

"Well, Beatles say there's 8 days…" Hopper started, slamming his locker shut.

"Let me rephrase that," Joyce interrupted. "How many times can a man go hunting in a week and bring home absolutely nothing?"

Hopper narrowed his eyes on Joyce and chewed his bottom lip, biting back what he really wanted to say. She knew full well he hadn't gotten anything yet this year, and he was quickly running out of time to prove his machismo to his pals. Now she was purposely rubbing salt in those wounds. 

"Look at you, being funny," he said flatly, moving her aside to follow Benny out the double doors. "Don't let me spoil your little party, okay? Slow dance with Karen if you have to," he added with a wink. 

"I hate you, Jim Hopper!" Joyce called out after him, meaning every word in that very moment. Just when she thought Hopper might change, here he was, being his same-old callous self. 

"Feeling's mutual," he chuckled over his shoulder. "See ya later!"

"Yeah, whatever, Captain Funwrecker." Joyce grumbled back as she watched him walk away.

Her spirit was crushed. 

Her crush? Crushed. 

Was it too late to bottle all those feelings back up? Swallow what was left of her pride and ask one of the shy, senior guys instead? At least, she thought, Bob Newby’s always a sure thing.

Lonnie was her original back up choice, but she already knew he'd laugh in her face too, just the same as Hopper had done. 

Lonnie wouldn't be hunting, though. Just drinking and partying at the quarry or whatever he and his miscreant friends liked to do for fun -- she still hadn't quite figured that out, though she was beginning to think maybe being a miscreant was more fun than it sounded. More fun than hunting poor innocent creatures anyway. Or playing lone wallflower at the dance again...

As the last bell rang, Joyce wondered why all the boys she liked had to be such jerks.

---

[sambergscott]

the best thing is you

just jake, amy, and their favourite things about being parents

There are a lot of things Jake loves about being a dad: stealing his kid’s food when he can’t finish his plate, sleepy cuddles before bed, putting on voices for all the characters in his books, and wearing matching Adidas Superstars. But if he had to pick his absolute favorite number one thing, playing with Sam’s toys would come out on top.

Luckily, their apartment is filled with toys, organised by type, colour and size into various bins and baskets and labelled (Santiago Style!) so he always knows where to put stuff during tidy-up time. If Jake so much as accidentally puts one red Lego block in the yellow Lego container, Sam tuts, rolls his eyes and snitches on him to Amy later.

He has lots of toys but it’s not like he’s spoiled or anything; Amy has a big family and he gets a lot of hand-me-downs. Amy helps him write thank you cards every time he receives a new toy, they constantly remind him how lucky he is and donate his unwanted items to less lucky girls and boys.

(During one decluttering sesh, he puts his favourite truck in the giveaway pile for another kid to play with and Amy almost cries. They’re biased, but they’re pretty sure that Sam is the best kid ever).

They re-enact Ninja Turtles scenes with his action figures, roam the apartment with his dinosaurs and play shop (which consists of Sam selling Jake tinned goods that he already owns).

Both Jake and Sam’s favorite thing to play is the appropriately titled Detective Daddy game.

In short, Jake wears his badge and a tie (even over his t-shirts because, as he explains in his Grandpa Holt voice that never fails to make Sam fall over in a fit of giggles, wearing a necktie in the workplace is very important) and interrogates the three year old until he confesses to his crimes.

It usually goes like this.

“Princess Mommy has been kidnapped!”

Dramatic gasp.

“And I think you took her.”

“Me?” He clutches his chest, feigning innocence.

“I found her tiara in your bedroom, I checked the baby monitor security footage and you weren’t where you said you were and most incriminating of all, I found your fingerprints on her Amy water bottle.”

“My name’s Amy!”

(He often confuses the fact that they share one of the same names and thinks his name is Amy, not Santiago. It’s kind of adorable).

“I checked your file,” he brandishes a manila folder he stole from work and drops it on the dining room table, “and your name is Samuel.”

He gasps again. “I didn’t do it, Officer!”

“Just admit it,” Jake growls playfully, leaning forward to intimidate the suspect.

Sam climbs onto the table and closes the gap all the way, booping his nose against Jake’s and making him break character for half a second.

“Admit you kidnapped Princess Mommy,” Jake insists, tickling him until he finally surrenders.

“I did it! I did it!” He cries. “I kidnapped Princess Mommy and Queen Karen!”

Cue Jake a dramatic gasp from Jake this time.

“You’re going to jail for a long, long, long, long, long, long time!”

Jail is a pillow fort in the corner of the room.

(It’s actually cosy and super comfortable; Sam sent Jake there one time when he played the role of detective the morning after Jake had worked a night shift and he may have fallen asleep until his son decided to jump on him to wake him up so they could have more fun).

Jake scoops the dangerous(-ly cute) criminal into his arms and throws him in pillow fort prison, then rescues his Princess and Queen from the couch.

Sam can’t get enough of cop related games. It warms both Jake and Amy’s hearts that he’s so proud of what they do; it makes all the late nights and time away from him totally worth it.

Victor and Camila buy him a Police Station Lego set for Christmas and, after constructing it with mommy and daddy, it sits pride of place on top of his dresser next to a framed picture of the three of them. The next time he visits the Ninety-Ninth precinct he brags to Rosa, Charles and all the uniformed officers about how his police station is way cooler than theirs.

That very Christmas, he plays cops and robbers for the first time and kicks Santiago cousin butt. Amy high fives him in front of her brothers, thrilled that Sam is continuing her legacy of being the best at the game.

Jake will come up with elaborate (kid friendly) cases that Sam is obsessed with, for example, “oh no! Someone stole a pizza from Sal’s and is getting away!”

“Not Sal’s!” Sam cries because even at three years old, he is aware that Sal’s is the best pizza place in Brooklyn. Like father, like son.

He chases his police cars around the living room, making siren noises and eventually cutting the bad guy’s car off before he can escape towards the bedrooms down the hall.

(They’re going out for a walk when their elderly neighbour offers him one of her grandson’s fire engines that he’s got too old for. Sam declines because firefighters are for losers and the FDNY suck. Amy shoots her an embarrassed smile and herds Sam away).

When it’s time for bed and all the toys have been put away, Jake tells him the story of how a cool, leather jacket-wearing detective married the youngest female Sergeant in the history of the Nine-Nine.

Sam asks to hear it again every night.

--

There are a lot of things Amy loves about being a mom: baking chocolate muffins and pretending not to see when he steals some of raw mixture (even though he has chocolate all round his mouth), sleepy cuddles before bed, singing to Disney hits at the tops of their voices and trying not to cry when he brags about his mom being the youngest female Sergeant in the history of the Nine-Nine to everyone they meet. But if she had to pick her absolute favourite number one thing, teaching Sam to read and write and count would come out on top.

She was always good at school. She got the highest grades. She loved crawling into her dad’s lap and reading to him, glowing under his constant praise. She didn’t need any help with the big words unlike Tony and it wasn’t long before her teacher advised that she skip fourth grade.

She studied Art History at college, topped her class, and was the best in her group of recruits at the Academy, too.

As her brothers started having kids, she loved helping them read and, as they got older, helping them with homework. She especially loved when they would confide in her that she’s smarter than their dads. Beating her brothers, even as an adult, was still her greatest joy. Until she fell in love and had a kid of her own and beating her brothers was demoted to third spot.

The Santiago genes are just as strong in Sam.

He’s like Jake in a lot of ways: his dark, unruly curls, his nose, his sense of humour, his penchant for dramatic reveals.

(Running into their room at 5am shouting, “Mommy! Daddy! I didn’t wet the bed last night!”, for example).

But he is smart. Santiago-level smart.

He learns to count to twenty before all his friends, is a super reader and bilingual.

Amy has been singing him Spanish lullabies since he was a newborn, teaching him his “Por favor”s and “Gracias”s, whispering “Te amo” as she kisses him goodnight. She cries so hard the first time he says it back.

It’s very important to her that he can speak Spanish so they have  lessons with daddy on Tuesday nights. She buys a textbook and makes them sit opposite her at the dining room table like they’re actually in school.

“¿Cuántos años tienes?” She asks him after their first lesson.

“Tengo tres años,” he responds with a proud smile that has Amy gathering him into her arms and smothering him with kisses.

Rosa has been teaching Jake Spanish for a couple of years but his brain is so full of case details and Die Hard quotes that Sam quickly surpasses him, joining Amy on her side of the table.

“Tell mama she’s pretty,” he instructs.

He furrows his brow, immediately looking to Amy for help.

“Luces bien.”

“That was it!” He snaps his fingers. “Luces bien, Ames.”

She blushes, tucks her hair behind both her ears and flicks to the next page of the textbook. She’s only in one of his hoodies and leggings, she’s not even sure when she last washed her hair, but her husband makes her feel beautiful. Always has done, right back to the time he said her dress makes her look like a mermaid.

Along with Spanish, she teaches him basic geography. He knows that Cuba is the largest island in the Caribbean, that Havana is the capital city and can draw the flag with his crayons. He shows off to Camila the next time they visit and earns himself an extra cookie.

He can write his name, too, and she remarks that at age three his penmanship is already better than Jake’s.

(Jake sticks his tongue out at her, even if it’s true).

Like Amy, he loves books. Loves the silly voices Jake makes as he reads, loves reading along with Amy and love love loves reading the book of Jake and Amy (illustrated by Terry) that Jake has made for his fourth birthday.

“Don’t you want to read a different book tonight?” She questions foolishly. They’ve read it three nights in a row.

“Nope,” he grins. “Mommy and daddy’s book.”

Her heart melts as she opens the book and he snuggles into his arms.

“It was her first day at the Nine-Nine...”

--

After an interrogation that went on longer than expected, Jake missed dinner and bath time and had to break several speed limits to get home in time for his bedtime story and goodnight kisses.

He locks the apartment door behind him and follows the sound of Amy’s voice to Sam’s bedroom, recognizing the story immediately.

“I’m hearing wedding bells!” Amy reads, doing a spot on impression of Charles’ voice.

Jake stifles a laugh, leaning against the doorframe and listening to his wife recite the story he knows so well.

There are a lot of things they love about being parents, but at the end of the day, watching Sam play and learn and cuddle their spouse is the best thing of all. And soon they will get to watch them do it all over again with Baby Peralta 2: Peralta Harder.

[okay-victoria]

Writing Dialogue

While some choices in dialogue will come down to style preference, most fanfic dialogue suffers from a much earlier problem of being done incorrectly, no matter what the stylistic preference. Once basic spelling & grammar is mastered, and assuming the fic contains more than a handful of dialogue, I think bad dialogue is the thing that kills my enjoyment the fastest. I can handwave plotholes and understand emotions that weren’t conveyed right, but I can’t read people having a conversation that doesn’t look anything like an actual human conversation.

Problem 1: Too Much Drama

We want our scenes to pulse with energy! Of course we want the dialogue to be dramatic! The problem here is, what makes for good dramatic dialogue is not people yelling powerful words at each other very passionately. What makes for dramatic dialogue is mostly the importance of that scene to the plot & the characters, so to achieve dramatic dialogue, the best thing you can do is not overly rely on the dialogue itself to be dramatic. Set up a dramatic situation, and then people don’t have to yell. They can say a few basic sentences and the audience already knows why it is important and why the characters care so much.

Have you ever seen the scene in The Room where Tommy Wiseau yells “You’re tearing me apart, Lisa!” Did you actually find that dramatic or did it just make you laugh because it was overdramatized? That’s what dramatic dialogue does to a story. Unless your characters are middle schoolers exclaiming it out in the hall between classes, chances are, older and more mature characters aren’t going to do a lot of yelling or make weirdly dramatic statements like the world is ending.

One of the biggest offenses on this count is overusing exclamation points and overusing emphasis. Exclamation points should be used very, very rarely, as should telling your reader what words are meant to be emphasized. Your character’s mood should primarily come through action - are they slamming doors, pacing back and forth, collapsing into a chair? Dialogue tags like “shouted” or “replied angrily” can be used to help, but should not stand on their own as the only thing portraying mood.

Instead of looking like this: “OMG! Can you believe it! Drama! Let me scream all the drama out in a monologue!” Lisa screamed, it should look like *Lisa kicks off her shoes, one leaves a mark on the wall* *Lisa slams bag down on counter, opens fridge for beer* *Lisa’s boyfriend stands frozen, as this is not normally how Lisa comes home from work. “This thing happened.” *Lisa collapses into kitchen chair and sticks head in her hands.* *Lisa’s boyfriend comes to put a hand on her back*. “One sentence reminding reader why Lisa is upset about this”.

Problem 2: Too Little Drama

Alternatively, you get scenes that sometimes look like two college roommates got high and are trying to acquire a pizza with as little effort as possible. Let’s say, for example, you have one character that has a crush on another character, and they are trying to find out information about them. While maybe the character learning this information is going to do something with it, so it’s important to the plot in another way, so the conversation itself does not need to be dramatic, it might end up looking like this:

I met Crush after class and we walked together. “What’s your favorite color?” - “Red” - “Do you like dogs?” - “Yes. Did you do the homework?” - “Yes. Math is my favorite class. How about you?” - “P.E.”

Like with the above, setup and action are everything. If you set up the scene where we know in advance how long it has taken Karen to get up the courage to talk to Chad and things like that, and then include actions in between the dialogue to show that she is nervous and therefore not very talkative, like her glancing up at him briefly but looking away as soon as he makes eye contact, or have her analyze Chad’s mood and wonder if he’s annoyed, etc, the scene can be made much more meaningful without needing to be a “dramatic” scene.

Problem 3: Dialogue is written like exposition

This tends to go unnoticed by some authors who are otherwise decent, and for me really ruins an otherwise decent story. The writing within the dialogue tags is written well, it just isn’t written like dialogue. It is written like exposition/narration.

In exposition: This project was doomed from the beginning. The improvements might look nice on paper, but the law of diminishing returns was going to stop it before it really started. Sounds...not excellent, I just pulled an example out of my ass, but fine.

In dialogue: “I think this project is doomed already,” Bob said, looking around the meeting room. “The improvements might look nice on paper, but the law of diminishing returns is going to stop it before it really starts.”

...sounds like Bob is kind of a psycho, or possibly your most pompous and hated coworker. Who the hell says “Law of Diminishing Returns” out loud if they aren’t a professor? The longer the dialogue and more flowery/technical/big vocab it becomes, which often *adds* to exposition, the worse and more unnatural the dialogue becomes.

Dialogue should not feel the same as the “speech” when a character is thinking. We tend to be fairly limited in how we express ourselves, use shorter and more simple sentence structures, more basic vocabulary, and haven’t memorized what we are going to say, so it doesn’t come out eloquently.

The one real exception to this that isn’t really dialogue, but is speech, is if you have a character making a speech or presentation, which they have prepared for in advance, and it is reasonable for them to give it uninterrupted.

If you want to make a point of one of your characters sounding like a total tool when they speak, you can also do this to achieve that and make it immediately clear to the audience why everyone hates them, but unless that’s what you’re going for, avoid this at all costs.

Problem 4: Dialogue is otherwise unnatural

Always, always, until you’re pretty damn sure you’re pretty damn good at it, say your dialogue out loud.

Would that personally really say “What is that?” or is it “What’s that?” Along the lines of not needing to use emphasis as much as you might think, if you were, say, in Scotland and just saw the Loch Ness monster pop out and want to ask your companion what it is, “What is that?” is fairly unnecessary. “What is that?” suffices. The simple fact that you didn’t use the standard contraction means the character emphasized the “is”. If you just see a piece of mail on someone’s desk that you are curious about, you’re going to say “What’s that?” and it won’t sound like you are dramatically asking about a generic piece of mail.

There are lots of very minor and small things that can easily go wrong in dialogue of this nature. It’s really important to say to yourself: if I was in this situation, how would I say it? Read it like you are acting it out in a movie and see. Also, question if a person would even say a sentence like that to begin with, or if they would be more or less direct in their approach. More direct is appropriate in many cases because people are usually trying to communicate clearly. Even if they are lying, they usually just say a direct statement that is a lie, they don’t dance around it indirectly and give hints to the other character. More indirect is appropriate when a character is trying to have a difficult conversation - we don’t tend to give tough advice or be directly rude, we try to work around it to make it sound better.

Because people want to have “exciting” or “cool” dialogue, they will often also give characters great rebuttals all the time, where they have these snappy conversations. This *can* work, but it’s really hard to pull off well, so in general I’d limit it to having a character having the occasional good rebuttal than a conversation of back-and-forth snark. Honestly, most of us just can’t think on our feet that well, and unless you’ve built the case that these characters can [ie, they’ve been married 20 years and are having the same arguments over and over so have it all thought out] it just seems very unrealistic.

Problem 5: Underutilizing dialogue tags

If you have two characters speaking, theoretically, if we know who the first speaker is and they switch off, a reader can follow the conversation indefinitely and know who is speaking.

In practice, that doesn’t happen. We like to be occasionally reminded. Personally, I try to max out at four consecutive lines of untagged speech, so no more than:

“Hey” said Kyle when he saw Brad.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Partying, bro, what did you think?”

“Haha, true. Do you think Lindsey will be there?”

“Man, you have such a crush on her,” Brad laughed.

Problem 6: Overusing dialogue tags

Conversely, in a conversation that is easy to follow, every single line does not need to be followed by a variation of “X person said”. If you are going for a tight back and forth conversation where neither character is thinking in between, you want to gum it up as little as possible with extraneous non-conversation. Hit us with occasional dialogue tags, and that’s it.

Problem 7: Not breaking dialogue up

This is somewhat of a style question, but in general, conversations should only be quick back and forth when that’s the point, but otherwise should generally pause briefly to “show” people doing actions, give some character thoughts, or otherwise break it up so the entire scene isn’t just a conversation.

Also, you can use these pauses as a way of showing hesitation/actual pauses that happen in the conversation.

Problem 8: Huge breaks between dialogue

This is something I am probably the *most* guilty of myself, because I’m writing a story where characters analyze the other characters a lot, so sometimes they’ll pause and think for a while in between. I haven’t quite arrived at the level where I’ve figured out how to get that all to flow in a way that breaks the dialogue up nicely, but not so much it is jarring and you’ve forgotten what the last thing a character said was.

But, anyway, definitely something to keep in mind. While a scene shouldn’t usually be all conversation, breaking the conversation up too much makes it feel like it isn’t a conversation at all.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 5 (1/3)

Here I am! How was Christmas?

Previously on TWoT: A 2020 girl ends up in 1899 with a bunch of outlaws. First she freaks out. Then, she agrees in living with them. After, she begins to know the gang members, the way they think and act and among them a certain Mr. Morgan catches her attention. Now, she wants to go around, learn more about the surroundings and be an active part of the gang. 

Chapter 5 (1/3) - Playing and learning

Words: 3k

That morning Emily woke up with an urgent need: she needed to brush her teeth. She hadn’t done it in thee days and started wondering how could those people live without brushing. She had asked Mary-Beth, of course, who confirmed the existence of toothbrushes and paste, but they didn’t use it. Apparently in 1899 it was considered as something only rich people could do, because they had time and money to waste in personal hygiene. So Emily had to settle for an old friend: the chewing gum. They kindly informed her that gum was an old habit already and that the mint flavor variation appeared at least thirty years earlier, a fact that surprised her. 

After all the work Miss Grimshaw had given them the day before, there was nothing to do in camp, and when Emily said nothing, she meant nothing. Again, she questioned Mary-Beth, asking her what did they do when they didn’t work. Her answers was: nothing. They read something, wandered around, complained about the boredom, insulted each other. The last one seemed to be an important part of camp-life: instead of talking with each other, act like a group, like a family, at the first chance they had they were at each other’s throat.  

For example Emily soon understood Mary-Beth, Tilly and Karen didn’t like Molly, and apparently Miss Grimshaw didn’t like her, either, but Emily couldn’t understand why. They were all women living in a difficult situation, they should have sticked together, have each other’s back. Where was their sisterhood?

When Mary-Beth returned to her book, Emily started walking among the tents, preparing herself to a day full of attempts to understand those people, the only thing she could do to avoid being bored to death. After all, she had no music, no interesting books, no TV and no Internet.

As she reached the center of the camp, she spotted Miss Grimshaw sipping something from a cup right next to the pot in company of the man who Emily learned to be Mr. Strauss, the money lender. She gulped and summoned all her courage before approaching them. That woman had something that attracted her like a moth with a lantern, the same effect Hosea had on her. 

“Good Morning, Miss Grimshaw” she said shyly.

“Morning to you” she replied.

Even when she wasn’t giving orders, the inflection of her voice was strong and straightforward. 

“Morning” said Strauss and Emily nodded as an answer.

“I-I was wondering, why everybody addresses to you with your last name, Miss Grimshaw?”

The woman seemed taken aback by that strange question and for a moment she struggled with her own thoughts.

“I guess it’s a way to show respect. Even though they don’t give me much respect apart from calling me by my last name. These new generations, they’ll be the ruin of this world.”

Emily smiled at her complaining, thinking about all the times she had heard something like that in 2020. Some things never change.

“That’s a pity, you have really a beautiful name, they should use it more often.”

Miss Grimshaw frowned.

“Are you trying to make fun of me, girl?”

“N-no, Miss Grimshaw, never! I-I… you just remind me a lot of… my mother has a similar personality. She’s not as strict as you are, b-but… she’s the one who governs the house and gives orders and taught me how to take care of myself.”

Emily talked with her head low, thinking how pathetic she was sounding.

“What about your father?” asked Mr. Strauss and Emily noticed his foreign accent.

“Oh no, my father is more like a subject” she laughed.

Then, after an embarrassing silence fell, Emily addressed Mr. Strauss.

“You have a strange accent. Where you come from?”

“Austria.”

“Really? My grandfather’s brother lived for some time in Austria after the war ended and he kept telling us how much Austrians were different from Germans. He said they were more… friendly somehow.”

“Which war?” asked Mr. Strauss.

“The… Second World War” answered Emily, but while she pronounced the words she already new they couldn’t understand.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about things you still haven’t lived.”

“Oh for Lord’s sake girl. When will you give it a rest with this nonsense?” Miss Grimshaw rebuked her.

“It’s not her fault, Susan. You can perfectly tell she really believes in her delusions” answered Mr. Strauss. 

Emily lowered her eyes and felt like she had been stabbed in the back. They didn’t believe her, but what could she expect? They seemed two down to earth people, they didn’t have the predisposition to believe her.

“I’m sorry, I-I’ll go find something else to do than bother you” she murmured and without looking at them she quickly walked away.

Her legs leaded her in the back of the kitchen and she realized where she was only when she saw the prisoner tied to the tree. Again, she thought that probably he was tied there for a reason, maybe because he was too dangerous, or that he had done something terrible, and he deserved to be there. So again she walked away without looking at him twice. 

As she kept going, thinking about how many people in that camp were just not going to believe her and her story, she passed right in front of Arthur’s tent, but he wasn’t there. She stopped and looked around for a second, being sure he wasn’t in her range of sight before drawing closer. 

The first thing that stroke her was the amount of photographs: one of a woman on the table, another woman on the crate at the back of the bed, and then three on the side of the wagon. On the table by the bed there also was Arthur’s hat, which Emily took before sitting on the cot. She looked at it for a while before placing it on her head and smiling feeling how heavy it was compared to what she expected. Then, she turned around to look better at the three photos hanged on the wagon. 

There was a… dog? There was a man, who, thanks to the resemblance to Arthur and to the name written on a tablet he was holding, Emily could understand was his father. But was the third photo that shocked Emily most of all: a young Arthur with two young Dutch and Hosea! The latter was the one Emily focused on, with his very pale blond hair, and she couldn’t help but notice he was incredibly handsome! Even more than Arthur who with the years had got definitely better. 

So, that was the place Arthur slept in, she thought turning to sit straight again. Maybe he had his diary somewhere. She looked around, but the only thing she found was a little newspaper cutting dated 1887 about a bank robbery, and reading the description of the suspects, Emily recognized Dutch, Hosea and Arthur. She laughed picturing the scene in her mind, and in the end she was surprised to find out the money they had stolen, they gave it away to the poor. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” 

Emily turned to smile at Arthur as he walked closer and stood up showing him the cutting.

“A bank robbery?” she asked.

“You know you’re trespassing a private property, don’t you?”

“I didn’t think you minded too much about private property” she laughed.

Arthur took the hat from her head and put it on his with an annoyed face that made everything more hilarious for Emily.

“So, that’s your father, I got this” she said pointing at the photo while Arthur took the cutting from her hands.

“And I suppose this is your mother” she added taking the photo from the table and turning it to read the name.

“Beatrice, it’s a beautiful name.” Arthur took the photo too and put it back to its place.

“But I don’t understand who’s that woman. Your sister maybe?” she asked pointing at the other woman picture.

Arthur took her by her shoulders and made her turn around.

“This is none of your business” he said pushing her out of his tent. 

“I’m just trying to know you better. I love that picture with Dutch and Hosea, by the way. The three of you looked awesome!” she replied turning to look at him.

His pissed off face made Emily laugh, but in the end she returned serious.

“I’m sorry you’ve lost your parents. Your mum looked like a good woman” she said looking at him right in the eye. 

“I can’t say the same about your dad, because from my understanding he was a criminal too, but…”

Arthur’s hands on her made her jump and when he spoke a shiver ran down her back.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know” he growled.

She froze on her place looking at his clear eyes. He had the same look of the day before, when they came out of the saloon, the look that had scared her, that made her understand he wasn’t joking anymore, the look that had the power to put her back into her place.

As he walked away she felt suddenly heavy. She was sorry and ashamed for what she had done. He was right, she didn’t know anything about him, she had no right to say things about him, his family and his past. She wanted to run, reach him and tell him how sorry she was, but she didn’t, scared by the fact he could get even angrier.

...

Emily was a very active kind of person, always working, always doing something with herself, and that situation was boring her, so she had to think about something. Who she wanted to spend her time with? She didn’t get to choose. As she left Mr. Morgan’s private space, Jack came running and asked her to play hopscotch again. 

“Why don’t we try something new instead?” she asked kneeling down to look at him right in the eye.

“Do you know other games?”

“Oh I know plenty of games. For example: what do you want to be when you grow up, Jack?”

The little boy frowned: no-one had ever asked him that question and for him it seemed something impossible to answer. 

“I don’t know” he said in the end.

“Well, when I was little, I knew exactly what I wanted to be. I wanted to be an explorer. So I took my backpack and went exploring.”

“What did you explore?”

“Everything. I’ve been in the African deserts, the highest and coldest mountains of Asia and the thickest jungles of South America.” “Really?”

“Yes, really. I just had to close my eyes and I could see them.”

“How?”

“Use your imagination. Come, I’ll show you.”

The process was more difficult than Emily expected. Jack was four years old, but she had never seen a more down-to-earth kid in all her life. Imagination was a strange word in his vocabulary. 

“When Uncle Hosea reads a story to you, you imagine what happens on your head, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s the same thing, you just have to take the images from your head and bring them in the reality. Now, first of all, explorers have hats, big hats, so we have to find two.”

After they found the hats - Emily borrowed a big one from Charles and Jack one from his father - she started with her play. She brought him into the woods, searching among the leaves and dirt for traces of the ‘big mountain gorilla’, then she made him cross the 'Pacific Ocean’ on a canoe, which was a crate, and landed on the exotic ‘New Guinea’.

“Look, Jack!” she exclaimed pointing her finger at Tilly in the distance.

“She’s one of the native girls of the island. Should we approach her and find out if she speaks our language?”

...

The new girl was playing again with Jack and this time her game was even crazier than the jumping on numbers. They kept wandering around camp, or in the woods, or on the edge of the cliff and pointing at things that didn’t exist. At one point they even approached the fire, where some of the gang members were sitting, with a stealth and careful pace like they were hunting a dangerous animal, but instead the girl pointed at Uncle’s face and said: “Look Jack, this is a great shaman of the Australian desert. They say he has magical powers. We should show our respects.”

Javier, Bill and Uncle himself laughed in a snort looking at her slim figure bowing in reverence.

“Oh great shaman, please, enlighten us with your wisdom.”

“What exactly are you doing?” exclaimed Lenny coming closer to the fire.

“Oh no! They sent one of their warriors. Hurry Jack, bring me my sword, we have to defend ourselves!” she yelled to the little boy.

Without hesitation, he run away and Emily looked at Lenny who was about to sit down. 

“No, no don’t sit, please. We have to fight” she said.

“I won’t fight with you” he replied.

“Come on, Lenny! I’m doing it for Jack.”

“What? Acting like a fool?” asked Bill.

“Playing with the imagination. He needs this” she answered.

Lenny didn’t want to, it was stupid, it was humiliating, but she was begging him with the eyes.

“Here’s your sword!” yelled little Jack running towards her and giving her two sticks.

“Take your weapon, sir. We’ll see if you are as brave as the stories tell” she said with a big fake voice and handed one stick to Lenny.

He sighed and looked at the people around him as they were all wondering if he would have played that stupid game. He had no choice: he took the stick and put himself in position.

The mayhem she was causing caught the attention of more people until even Dutch came out of his tent to look at the scene.

“The hell are they doing?” he heard Arthur’s voice by his side.

“I have no idea” he laughed.

Lenny dodged and attacked again and finally succeeded in hitting Emily’s leg.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed and threw herself on the ground.

“Jack! Jack come here! I need you to take my place! Here, take the sword. Fight my faithful friend, fight for my honor!”

Everybody laughed again at her words as Jack took her place in the “fight”.

Arthur chuckled too and took a few steps towards that unusual scene. That girl had had the power to make Lenny play. Lenny, who always did everything in his power to make the others believe he was a grown up man. How had she done it?

“Well, she surely is a better actress than you, Arthur” joked Hosea showing up by his side.

“Yeah, maybe you should take her with you to the next robbery.”

Hosea chuckled.

“Maybe I will.”

...

Finally, Lenny let Jack hit him and, just like Emily had done, he threw himself on the ground and played dead. A loud shout of joy raised from the people around them for Jack’s victory and Emily was delighted by the fact that she had been able to involve all of them in the game.

“Okay, I guess it’s done. Go give the hat back to your daddy. We’ll explore more another day” she said taking Charles’ hat off.

Jack hopped away and she walked closer to Lenny as he was standing up.

“Thank you for playing the game. I didn’t know you were such a good actor” she joked.

“Never good as you” he replied.

“And also thanks to the great shaman, for his infinite patience” she addressed Uncle with another bow.

“My pleasure, dear. You’ll be surprised to know I’ve actually been to Australia.”

“Really? When?” she asked sitting on the log near the campfire.

“Australia? You?” asked Bill making Emily understand he didn’t believe him.

“Why is it so difficult to believe?” she asked.

“Ah! I’m more inclined to believe you come from the future than he’s ever been to Australia.”

“And you’re right, I never did.”

Emily frowned.

“So, you lied?” she asked.

“I’ve never been there, but I tried to. I made it as far as Chicago” answered Uncle.

Emily fixed her eyes on him, trying to understand if he was playing dumb, or he really was, before she busted out laughing. 

“Chicago ain’t nowhere near Australia” exclaimed Bill, who unlike Emily seemed annoyed by Uncle’s words.

“No… but it’s on the way.”

Emily laughed again, louder and longer.

“What’s so fun?” asked Bill.

“You can’t be serious Uncle” she said among the tears.

“Why not? That’s the way for Australia. Maybe one day we’ll all go there and live the rest of our lives as kangaroo farmers.”

Emily couldn’t believe her ears. If those people were outlaws their only crime was lack of common sense!

“Okay, I think I’ll return the hat to Charles” she said standing up and drying her tears. 

She covered the distance to Mr. Smith’s tent still thinking about that crazy conversation she had just had, the road to Australia that passed through Chicago, the kangaroo farmers… That man couldn’t be serious. 

“Here, Charles. Thank you for lending me this” she said at the man as she reached his tent.

He was making some arrows and the thing intrigued her so much that she stopped by his side for a while to look at him working. But of course she didn’t limit herself to watch, she had to ask questions. She asked him everything about making arrows, the type of feathers he had to use, the type of wood, and then she passed to bows, how difficult it was to use one, how difficult it was to make one…

...

Charles had never minded to teach people how to do things and that was the only thing that stopped him from standing up and walk away from her. She was a good girl after all, she just had one flaw: the constant need to speak. 

“I know that Natives learn how to hunt from their horses when they are very young, is that true?” she asked.

“Yeah. How do you know that?” Charles asked in turn. That was his first question.

“I read it somewhere. Is it difficult? To ride a horse, I mean.”

“You can’t do it?”

She shook her head.

“You want to learn?”

“Oh no, for God’s sake. I hate horses.” “What?”

Charles couldn’t believe what she had just said and stopped what he was doing to stare deeply at her.

“I mean… I don’t hate horses, I just don’t like them. They’re dangerous.”

“Who told you that?”

“My father.”

“Has he ever ridden one?”

She seemed to think about it.

“No, I don’t think so.” “So, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” “But they are dangerous.”

“Only if you can’t control them.”

Charles watched her carefully before he took his decision.

“Come, I’ll show you” he said standing up from his chair.

“Show me what?”

“That there is nothing to be afraid of.” “No, Charles, really, I don’t…” “Come” he said and took one of her hands to help her stand.

Arthur had been looking at them from the distance while they were seated one on the chair and the other on the ground. From that little that he knew about Charles, he could perfectly tell he was extremely annoyed by all those questions the girl was asking him, but he was behaving wonderfully, and he didn’t expect nothing less from Charles. 

As he saw them standing up and walking away, his curiosity raised and he moved away from the tree he was laying against to follow them. They reached the external part of camp and he heard Charles saying “wait here” to the girl before he drew closer to the horses.

Arthur took the pack of cigarettes and brought one to his lips, lighting it and taking a puff. Charles came back, leading his horse by the reins. What were they doing? Were they planning to go someplace? Where could Charles possibly take her?

[anotheronechicagobog]

The Heroic Heralds of the Hermann Horde

Part 1

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

Warnings: swearing, tension, parental issues

 A/N: You should read my fic ‘Tylenol and Tequila’ part three for some relationships to make sense but it can be read without having done so, the story focuses mainly on the Hermann family (or Hermann Horde as I have dubbed them) but there’s some stellaride and upstead in here as well.

Being one out of five kids was exhausting. There were pros and cons that they all had to deal with. Lee Henry, Luke, and Annabelle got new clothes, Lee Henry because he was the oldest, Luke because hand me downs were too worn when they got to him, and Annabelle because she was the only girl. Kenny, Luke, Max, and Annabelle got away with pretty much everything because they didn’t have to set an example (and the only times they did get in trouble usually had more to with a bad call their dad had than anything else). Kenny was unintentionally favoured by their dad more because he has made it very clear he wants to be a firefighter like his dad. Max was favoured by their mom because of his traumatic birth. Kenny, Luke, and Max were closer because Lee Henry was the firstborn and not only had Cindy and Christopher decided to wait a few years before having more kids but also because he had to be the responsible older brother/third parent most of the time, his parents hadn’t intended for that to happen and they felt guilty about it sometimes, but they needed his help and made sure he got at least an hour of free time (this didn’t include homework or chores) a day. Annabelle felt left out frequently because she was the only girl and while she didn’t fit the girly girl mould, she just didn’t share a lot of interests or societal problems with her brothers. So the Hermann’s were their own unique brand of love and chaos, and they were alright with that. 

Lee Henry had gotten a part-time job for Friday nights and weekends as a lifeguard. People liked to joke that lifesaving ran in the family, but that wasn’t the case. Lee didn’t want to ever rush into a burning building, he never wanted to let worry and fear linger over his family’s heads day after day. Wondering if every unexpected knock on the door or phone call was a death notice or call to the hospital. He didn’t resent his dad for his career, but it had affected a lot of his life choices. The reason he became a lifeguard was because when he was 10, almost 11, his dad fell through the floor of a burning building.

He remembers the phone ringing, wondering if it was Susan from his granna’s quilting club, or Kraken (Karen) from the PTA. His mom answered with a cheerful hello but when she made no other noise and the room suddenly felt thick, he looked up, and he saw his mom’s face. She had gotten so pale he could see her veins, her eyes were wet and had sunken in, her mouth moving like she was screaming so loud it would shatter windows but nothing was coming out, and then she collapsed. Her knees just gave out underneath her. Lee jumped up to try and keep his mom from falling on the floor. He was too weak to catch her so they landed together on the hardwood together with a thump. She still couldn’t say anything, she started shaking, so Lee grabbed the phone. “-Ms. Hermann? Are you still there? Did you hear me? Your husband fell through the floor of a burning building, he’s on transport to the hospital-”

“In ambulance sixty-one?”

“... I’m sorry who am I speaking to?”

“Lee Henry Hermann, son of Christopher and Cindy Hermann. Is my dad being taken to the hospital in ambulance sixty-one?”

“Yes, but I should really-”

“Which hospital?”

“Lakeshore medical centre, I should really speak to-”

“We’re on our way.” He hung up, remembering the words his dad has said to him a thousand times, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. “Hello, yellow taxi? I need a cab to take five people, one adult and four kids, to Lakeshore medical centre. My Dad got hurt and mom can’t speak.” It was a flurry of running and car seats and firefighter turn out gear that wasn’t his dad’s. That wasn’t cool anymore. That he couldn’t stand to look at or smell. So when no one was looking he got up and, calmly, walked to a closet. He walked inside, closed the door, and let it all out. He cried, muffled his screams with his forearms. He ruthlessly scratched his arms, and hit himself. In the head, chest, thighs, feet. He knew right then, from the look on his mother’s face, from the grimness behind uncle Randy’s eyes, from the tearing feeling in his chest, he could never do it. He could never be a firefighter.

When he returned to the group, his long-sleeved shirt was rolled down and he’d stopped at the bathroom before heading to the cafeteria to make sure he looked okay. He was carrying two plastic bags that were filled to the brim with sandwiches and water bottles. He was spotted by uncle Randy first. “Lee Henry! There you are, what’ve you got there?”

“Some food and water, I figured we’d all need something to eat and drink, we might be here a while after all.”

“Yeah... Hey, I heard that you helped get everyone here, and you’ve been really calm and level-headed throughout this whole thing. You’ve done really well, why don’t you sit down and we’ll keep you company til we hear some news about your dad? Severide can pass around the grub, okay?” Severide made his way over to the oldest Hermann child and gave him a proud smile. “I for one, am not even remotely surprised that you’re so calm. Your old man is a firefighter, remaining calm in stressful situations and helping others is in your blood. Should we be expecting another Hermann at 51?” Lee felt his heart sink into his gut, but thankfully Boden called for all the members of 51 to have a talk in one section of the ER before Lee could answer.

Lee took one last walk around the pool, to make sure he hadn’t missed any puddles or items when cleaning the deck while the last of the stragglers got out of the pool and the stands when he heard a loud crack. He whipped his head around and found a teen about his age lying on the floor at the bottom of the stands. He rushed over and methodically went over his injuries, calling out orders to the other lifeguards and people around him. He and Kylie got the guy on their backboard and his neck stabilized. The paramedics arrived quickly. “Lee Henry?”

“Hey Brett, so we have a teenage male, unsure of age or name, with a head laceration, possible neck trauma, and loss of consciousness. He fell off the stands and hasn’t so much as opened his eyes, one of the other lifeguards went through the change rooms to see if there was anyone waiting for him but they couldn’t find anyone. I noticed him come in a couple of hours ago, but he didn’t socialize with or appear to have come with anyone. He just came in and sat down at the top.”

“Alright, well you did a good job, we’ve got it from here.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning he was met by his dad, smiling from ear to ear. ”There's my boy.” Christopher began patting Lee Henry on the back. ”Brett said you were amazing, guess you'll be joining me at 51 pretty soon, huh? And tonight we are going to celebrate, the entire firehouse is coming over and we're gonna do a pot luck.”

Lee Henry couldn't get a word in edgewise, just sighed as his dad walked away, over the moon. Lee Henry finished getting ready under the concerned eyes of his mother, who had witnessed the tension in his shoulders and fine line his lips went into. ”Are you okay, honey?”

”Yeah, I'm great. I'll see you after work.” He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek, grabbed his duffle and headed for the station.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lee felt his stomach sink when he recognized the extra cars cluttering the street in from of his house. He rolled his shoulders back at the sound of heavy laughter coming from inside, knowing it was better just to face it head on. He was met with the smell of various kinds of foods, and was met with the sound of rowdy firefighters. ”Hey Herm, the guest of honour had finally arrived. Lee Henry, come over here!”

”Hey guys.” Lee spent the next two hours, after working a 10 hour shift of a labour intensive job, bearing everyone’s comments about the ’next generation of Hermann firefighters’, and constantly being pulled away from the food table! Donna made pallea and his mom made brownies! He just wanted to eat!

He was tired, hungry, and emotionally worn out when uncle Kelly pulled him aside. ”Hey, Lee, I didn't want to say this to your dad before you, but I made a couple calls, and was able to get you a spot at the academy for next fall if you want it. It'll be great-”

”I don't want to be a firefighter.”

”What?”

”I haven't since I was ten.”

”Lee, you don't have to-”

”I... It's just a personal choice.”

”But your dad... He thinks you want to be a firefighter.”

”He never lets me get a word in, just rambles until he has to leave for shift or Molly's.”

”What do you want to be then?”

”A doctor.”

”Ha, you’re a healer not a smokeater, huh?”

”Don’t laugh, you'll need someone to fix up your self-destructive ass when you fall through a floor in a burning house.” Lee just couldn't take it anymore, his emotions had boiled over, so he’d snapped. And now he needed to leave so that he didn't have to watch his uncle put all the dots together right in front of him.

----------------------

He was hungry and in need of comfort. Both from food and people. So when Kylie jogged out of his house after him, he was grateful. They caught the el downtown and went to Bartolli’s, a favourite restaurant of the Hermann’s. ”You were pretty loud, when you were talking to Kelly, just so you know.”

He sighed. ”I figured. I texted my mom before we got to the station, told her where we were going, mostly to avoid her worrying, but I fully expect someone to show up.”

”It does seem like something anyone at 51 would do, they are very involved in each other's lives.”

”Hey, you've been dealing with this for a few months, I've been dealing with it my whole life.” Their conversation flowed freely, mixed with milkshakes and deep-dish pizza. 

”Do you know what you want to do when you get out of high school?”

”Definitely something that helps people, but I don't think I want to be a firefighter either. Kelly and Stella worry about me just going to school, I can't imagine how they'd feel if I was running into burning buildings! They'd probably only be okay with it if I was at 51 with them, and while I love them, I don't love them that much. I think something in law.”

”The only issue for us is how to pay for all that.”      

“We could join the military, but that does kinda defeat the purpose of not being firefighters...”

“Lee Henry? Kylie?”

“Detective Upton and Halstead, hi.”

“What are you two doing here? I thought that 51 was celebrating a big save you made.”

“Yeah, but it just ended up being a firefighter thing, you know how it goes, especially because apparently, you guys do the same thing.”

“Yeah, we do...”

“Well,” Halstead gave a smirk and a nod, “you two enjoy your pizza.”

“Thanks,” Kylie piped up, having not spoken much with the detectives, “and you two have fun on your date.” Lee and Kylie turned to go back to their meal, but noticed the frozen body language and panicked expressions of the two adults. They looked at each other, concerned, before Lee decided to bite the bullet. “Uh, guys? Are you okay? Should we call the other Halstead?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“... Yesssssss.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Have a nice night kids.” Upstead (what they were to be referred to as according to his mom) turned and bolted out of the restaurant, blushes and pizza in tow. “I really hope that they sort out their feelings, it’s getting a little exhausting and I don’t even spend that much time around them!”

“Amen to that.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Lee returned home it was late, and only the porch and living room lights were on. He entered the quiet house alone, having dropped Kylie off at her apartment before returning home himself. He locked the door, turned off the porch light, and went straight to the living room knowing that it was better to face his dead head-on than beat around the bush. “Dad.”

“Lee Henry.”

“We need to talk.”

“Apparently we do.”

“I don’t want to be a firefighter.”

“Well, I heard that pretty loud and clear. It was too loud to miss. You know I just don’t understand-”

“October 10th, 2012.”

“Excuse me?”

“You and uncle Matt fell through the floor of a burning house. Your ADSU went off cause the fall knocked you unconscious. I’ve heard Gabby say that that was one of the scariest days of her life. And I remembered you comforted her when she visited you in the hospital. But you didn’t comfort me-”

“Lee-”

“No. Let me speak for once. I was ten years old. And I had to call the cab company, and get everyone in the car, and keep everyone together, and make sure everyone was eating, and check-in with the nurses about your condition, and get school stuff organized for Luke, Max, and Annabelle, and make all the meals for a week, and get Granna and Grandad on an earlier flight back to Chicago, and manage your medication because mom was too stressed to. Your voice was ringing through my head the entire time, ‘if you’re in a dangerous situation do everything you can to stay calm, you can make things worse if you panic’. All that I was told that miserable week was that I was destined to be a firefighter like you. But I was just listening to you, and I realized that being a firefighter was the absolute last thing I want to be when I get older. I had always known in the back of my mind that your job was dangerous, but it didn’t hit me until that day, not even when uncle Andy died. I just... I had my blinders ripped off, and I can’t ignore the terror I feel every time you leave for work. And I see mom and the others feel it too now that there have been more close calls, and I can’t do it. I want you to know that I don’t resent you for it in any way, but I can’t do that to my friends and family. I can’t let the people in my life feel like they’re saying goodbye to me every time I go to work. And I’ve tried to tell you, but I can never get a word in.”

“I tend to do that apparently. Look, I’ll admit there’s a part of me that’s always wanted you kids to follow in my footsteps, but that is a very small part of me. I am actually really happy that you don’t want to be a firefighter because I know that I don’t have the strength to worry about you or any of the others day after day. It takes a special breed of people to do that, and I don’t come from it. If you want to be a doc, that’s great. I know that you’re more than capable and I’m really proud of you for being able to recognize that. I’m also really sorry. That you had to be so brave so young. Need you to know that I love you, that I am so proud of you, and that I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you as much as I should have been.” Lee had never, ever, seen his dad cry. Christopher Hermann was always strong and firm. But here he was crying in front of his eldest son, exposing all of his vulnerable emotions to him. Cindy found them forty minutes later full-on bawling and clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. Finally making peace with each other.

[athenagrantt]

okay.

summary: buck always hated the whole soulmate bullshit... okay maybe not always but for as long as he learned two things: one, what is his soulmark and two, who his soulmate is, in that particular order or in which buck has the last words his soulmate will ever say to him tattooed on his arm and his soulmate is his best friend. warnings: major character death words: 4,497k a/n: hi! So this is my very first 9-1-1/buddie fic and so I decided it’d be a great idea to introduce myself to y’all with this angsty fic and probably make all of you hate me so… yeah, call me satan and enjoy! lmao (side note if you wanna cry more I recommend to read this while listening to tough by lewis capaldi *wink wink*)                                                                                                        read on ao3

There were so may ways you could find your soulmate Buck couldn’t count them even if he tried. And from what he knew and he’d like to think he knew quite a lot about the topic since he was fascinated by soulmates growing up, most of them were cute, romantic and funny or some kind of combinations of all three. And since everyone around him fit into that equation, you could even say Buck was excited to find that person who was destined to be with him.

Everything shifted when Buck was a little older and found out there actually were not-so-nice and cute ways to find a soulmate and that made Buck anxious about the future. Instead of looking forward to his eighteenth birthday he was dreading it. Every time he thought about it his chest got a little tighter and his breathing quickened.

It wasn’t like he had to take a test or an interview or something like that to determine his way of finding his other half. He’d just know. He’d wake up on his birthday and just know how it’s gonna go so he shouldn’t be this stressed. But he was. And every year his anxiety just kept getting worse because just in three years, two years, one year he w o u l d k n o w.

And yes, he could be overthinking for nothing. He could be just as lucky as other people and have a cute tattoo or see them in his dreams or not age ‘til they meet and it would be awesome but at the same time his brain kept reminding him he could be the unlucky one and most of the time Buck didn’t even want to think what that would mean.

On his birthday, the birthday, Buck woke up feeling different. He couldn’t figure it out right away but he had this gut feeling something’s changed. It was almost like a missing piece of him was finally in its place. He felt whole. And the first thing he did was smile and exhale slowly, calmly. He chuckled quietly not even knowing why and got up from the bed strangely ready to take on another day.

Only when he was putting his clothes on, Buck noticed something on his arm which was strange considering the fact he could barely fall asleep the night before constantly thinking about everything the next day would mean. He took a deep breath and after few seconds finally looked at his arm.

Okay.

Buck furrowed his brows. That was it? Just one word? At first he thought maybe there’s more to come so he spent the entire day constantly checking his arms even though something inside his head was telling him there will not be anything else. And that little voice was right because when Buck went back to bed the same, lonely word was all he saw.

And then a cold, uncomfortable chill run through his entire body and it hit him like a ton of bricks. Something he should’ve think about right away. Instead of overthinking what the tattoo was actually saying he should’ve think about what was the meaning behind it. Because there was one and as soon as Buck unlocked that part, he knew. He knew exactly what that small, innocent okay placed on his wrist meant and for a few seconds that realization knocked the air out of his lungs.

Buck spent the next few hours sitting in the same exact spot on his bed, his breath shaky and shallow, the thumb of his right hand abstinently stroking the inked skin on his left wrist. He felt numb, not able to do anything to break his trance. He noticed he was crying only when the tears started dropping on his hand and still he did nothing to stop them. His vision blurry, the only thing he could see was that same little okay he was staring at for hours.

This was the last thing his soulmate would ever say to him.

He didn’t want to believe it. He wished it was a mistake.

But he knew,

he knew

he knew

he knew it wasn’t.

He knew that little word will, someday, shatter his entire world into pieces. Pieces he won’t be able to glue together. Because his heart will die. Literally. And there’s nothing he can do about it, nothing he can do to prevent it. All he can do is wait and hope.

Okay.

And just as he was lying on the bed, as if all the hurt wasn’t enough, Buck realised another two things. Yes, ‘okay’ will be the only thing his soulmate will ever say to him but he has no idea of knowing which one of them could be in a life-death situation. He just assumed that short word would be said when his soulmate would be dying but who’s to say it won’t be him and ‘okay’ will be literally the last thing he will ever hear? Thinking about it felt like someone was kicking him in the gut.

However Buck didn’t have much time to dwell on that because another thought wanted to be heard – Why just one word? Wasn’t his luck bad enough? How was he supposed to know which ‘okay’ would be the last one? Was he supposed to panic every time someone in his presence said it? Or was he supposed to just know like he knows he definitely was the unluckiest person in the entire world right now?

He had two possible choices - to just live his life to the fullest, knowing he or someone who he will love with everything in him might day and he has no idea when, why or who could it be or to completely close himself off to love, to avoid it like a fire and be miserable his whole life…

But seeing as only few years later Buck was working as a firefighter and chasing fires was literally his job the choice seemed pretty obvious. Somewhere along the way he decided he can’t waste his life. He won’t waste his life. The idea of losing his soulmate, one way or another, still terrified him, but throughout the years he learned to just ignore or silence that part of his brain. Was it healthy for his mental health? God no. But it was working so Buck decided to stick with it.

Then… Buck meet Eddie and again something in him started to change. It was even more confusing than the time thing like this happened on his eighteen birthday. But somehow, somehow Buck knew it had to do with his soulmate. He didn't know how Eddie fit in there but he must’ve.

Because Buck knew.

The idea of Eddie being his soulmate crossed him mind more than once but Eddie told him about Shannon, his w i f e, so no matter what Buck was imagining, Eddie Diaz wasn’t his soulmate and he had to accept it. And he did.

But then Shannon died.

And Eddie’s soulmark was still there.

And Buck was so confused.

Because that wasn’t supposed to happen. When you or your soulmate dies your soulmark dies with you/them. What happens after that? Buck had no idea but what he knew was that the blue eyes Eddie kept on seeing in his dreams should now be gone.

They were not. Even weeks after Shannon’s death Eddie was complaining he still dreamt about them. Buck suggested that maybe it takes time for a soulmark to completely disappear but the thing with Eddie’s soulmark was that it wasn’t disappearing at all. Eddie was convinced that it’s the exact opposite and the eyes he sees are even more visible than before. And at this point Buck was just lost.

When he met Eddie they talked about soulmates. And Eddie explained to him that even though he can see the eyes in his dreams, he’d only know for sure after he kissed his soulmate. He told Buck after he kissed Shannon for the first time he was positive she was it for him and then they had Christopher – whom Buck loves almost as if he was his own son, and despite everything that happened between him and Shannon he thought they would work it out. Unfortunately they didn’t and now Buck wasn’t the only one who was struggling with his soulmate.

He wished both him and Eddie had it as easy as their colleagues from the station.

Like his own sister and Chimney for example. They were both living in a black and white until they kissed and when they did suddenly the world was colourful and beautiful and the two of them were so happy and full of love.

Or Athena and Bobby. Bobby could literally see her in her dreams. He knew exactly who was his soulmate when he laid his eyes on her and when Athena heard his voice, when they first spoke, she knew it was him because the same thing that came out of his mouth was what was tattooed on her forearm.

But Buck’s favourite, to this day were Han and Karen. When they met their hearts started glowing. Han told him, jokingly that they must’ve really been in love because the glow of their hearts wouldn't go away for a whole week. And it only made Buck love their story even more. Mainly because when Buck was younger he wished that would be him someday. Finding love with a glowing heart.

Instead he was cursed with his little okay.

Nothing was okay and it was even less okay after the dinner they had at Bobby and Athena’s place one time Okay, no, the dinner itself was great. But they always were. As long as all of them were together in a room, everything was great. So they talked, they drank, they ate, they laughed and drank some more. A few of them would have a hangover the next day but they were having so much fun that the next morning wasn’t important. Buck wasn’t even mad when his team lost a game of charades – and if it was all Bucks’s fault because he kept staring at his best friend, no one has to know… except everyone knew. The alcohol coursing through his veins did not make him subtle at all.

It was weird. Because up to that very dinner party Buck never thought about Eddie in that way.

That was a lie.

He definitely did think about Eddie in that way but never before let himself think he could have something real with Eddie. He was so fixated on the idea that they weren’t soulmates he never even thought they could still be a thing. Not being someone else’s soulmate never stopped him from a relationship and yet he couldn’t bring himself to try and start something with Eddie. No matter how hard he wanted to pretend he didn’t know what was holding him back, he did. And it was pretty simple and obvious – he didn’t want to risk his friendship with Eddie and his relationship with Christopher. He loved that kid so much sometimes it scared him. The way Chris could chase all his worries away with just one smile was incredible and Buck would rather pine for Eddie from afar then do something that in the long run had the possibility of hurting Chris.

Where were those exact thoughts after the dinner when Eddie suggested they don’t stop the fun now and grab a drink or two at the nearby bar? Buck had no idea but he always had a hard time saying no to Eddie so they did grab a drink or two or four at the bar nearby.

So yeah, the dinner itself was great, it was everything that happened after that might have been the worst or best night in Buck’s life. To this day he’s not sure.

At first the night was going great. They ordered the first round of drinks and sat in the corner booth at the very end of the room where the music was just a little bit quieter and it was easier to hear what they were saying. Also, the light wasn’t that aggressive and when after good twenty minutes Buck thought about it, the whole atmosphere of the booth was awfully romantic. Eddie either didn’t mind it or simply didn’t notice too preoccupied with telling a story about Christopher from that morning.

They spent most of the time like this, talking and laughing, just like best friends do. Buck had even more fun than only hours ago when they were with the rest of the team. Something about it being just the two of them made it even better. And when the voice inside his head would keep on telling him it was because he had feelings for Eddie he’d just push it down, ignoring it before his heart would flutter at the idea.

It was so easy to fall for Eddie Diaz. Buck couldn’t even point to en exact moment he realised he wanted something more than friendship. The idea was silly but it was like Buck’s entire body started vibrating when he was close to him. When it happened the first time, for a second, Buck thought he was dying. He’s never felt anything even close to what he felt that day and it scared and excited him at the same time. Right there and then was the first time Buck thought about Eddie being his soulmate and just by thinking it his body got all warm and tingly and he absolutely loved it. Chimney was the only one who noticed his reaction and for a good week kept making faces at him any time Eddie entered the room which after a month was quite annoying but there was nothing Buck could do about it so he just learned to go with it.

Along the way everyone around him started to notice how taken he was by Eddie… Eddie being the exception. Buck was almost amazed by how oblivious his best friend was. Whenever Han or Chim or even Booby would say something to embarrass Buck in front of him he completely shrugged it off and didn’t give it a second thought. Sometimes Buck was curious what he’d have to do for Eddie to get the idea.

Like what if he were to casually take Eddie’s hand in the middle of his story? Without any explanation. Just hold it, maybe intertwined their fingers together and listen to the story like nothing happened. Would that be enough for Eddie to stop and question what was going on? Suddenly Buck really wanted to know and-

“Hey, man you there? You seemed kinda off.” Eddie’s voice brought him back from daydreaming.

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out a little.” Buck chuckled.

“Are you calling me boring, Buckley?” A challenging smile on Eddie’s lips.

Buck wanted to kiss those lips.

“I’m not saying Chris would told this story better but...” He trailed off, teasing.

“Wow.” Eddie sighed, trying to look offended but failing.

Buck knew he should’ve stop drinking if he wanted to finish the night without embarrassing himself but at this point in his life he was also pretty good at ignoring his thoughts so that’s what he did and moments later was ordering another round.

He had no idea what happened in that short period of time he was gone but when he was back in the booth he had this feeling that the mood has changed. Something shifted in that little world Eddie and him were immersed for the last two hours. He didn’t know what but when Eddie emptied almost half of his drink at once he knew something definitely happened.

And then before he even had the chance to ask, Eddie’s face was so close to his, Buck could probably count his eyelashes if wasn’t as surprised as she was.

And then they were kissing. And Buck’s head was spinning. And Eddie’s hands were on his neck pulling him even closer. And he let him. And Buck himself grabbed Eddie’s shirt in his hands. And an embarrassingly loud groan escaped his lips. And he could feel Eddie smiling. And Buck hated how much he loved it. But they were kissing so it didn’t matter. Because E d d i e k i s s e d h i m.

Buck had to physically, gently push Eddie away because as much as he absolutely loved feeling his lips on his own, suddenly he knew and yet again he absolutely hated his life.

Okay.

Right after Buck broke the kiss, he could see how confused Eddie was. And he had every right to because Buck did kiss him back. And they both knew what just happened and what that meant for them but for some reason, after a moment of complete silence between them Eddie felt the need to voice the fact. “You’re my soulmate.” He said quietly and Buck was surprised he could actually hear him. “We’re soulmates.” Eddie said again with a smile on his face and Buck wanted to cry.

Okay.

He was fine with Eddie not knowing Buck had feelings for him. It was easier. It was safer. But Eddie kissed him and Buck kissed him back. And now the idea he was so quick to dismiss so many time before turned out to be true and Buck hated it. Because it meant he would lose Eddie. Someday in the hopefully long ass future he will definitely loose his best friend. One of them will die leaving the other one. No one said it had to be soon but Buck couldn’t let himself get his hopes up.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

It didn’t take long for Eddie to decipher Buck’s reaction. He knew how Buck felt about his soulmark and it was safe to say he hated it. It wasn’t a secret. And Buck always said he’s rather never find them rather than go through loosing essentially a part of himself. So knowing that, Eddie couldn’t even be mad. He could only imagine how hard it was for Buck to know the last thing Eddie would say to him. Now that he knew Buck was his soulmate he wasn’t sure himself how he felt about the idea but he knew he wouldn’t want anyone else as his soulmate.

“Buck.” Eddie said, his hand firmly gripping Buck’s shoulder. “Look at me.” He asked and took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s okay.”

“Eddie.” Buck’s breath hitched and when nothing happened he exhaled sharply and pulled Eddie in for a tight hug. “You’re okay.”

“I’m fine. I’m okay. We’re okay.” Eddie assured him and Buck hated how his heart stopped for a second every time Eddie said that word.

“Please never say ‘okay’ to me ever again.”

Buck was so serious it almost gave Eddie chills but he rolled his eyes to somehow loosen up the tense moment. “Buck. Don’t be ridiculous.” He shook his head, grabbing Buck’s hand. “Do you really believe that me not saying the word will change anything?”

“I hope so.” Buck sighed. “Eddie, I can’t lose you.” He admitted eventually and it nearly broke Eddie’s heart to hear how defeated he sounded. And Eddie wanted to assure him, he won’t but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t promise something like that and he didn’t want to lie to Buck. “The only thing we can do is to live to the fullest and enjoy it while it lasts, okay?” Eddie said, adding the word Buck hated on purpose just to make his point.

And Buck knew Eddie was right. He couldn’t live in fear because he wouldn’t be living at all. And now that he knew Eddie was his soulmate Buck wanted so many things out of life. So just like he did all those years ago, when he found that little okay on his wrist, he decided to let that fear of losing Eddie motivate him to live his life like every day was the last one rather than stop living at all. And being a firefighter sure did help him understand how fragile life was, on a daily basis.

Even before he knew Eddie’s his soulmate both of them had a few close calls and right there one of them could’ve died and when Buck thinks about it now it would be so much worse. The situation he is now isn’t the best but it always could be worse. If Eddie were to die and Buck would find out they were soulmates before he had any chance to do anything about it he’s sure he’d die right beside him because of how broken his heart would be. At least now they had a chance to be together. No matter how long.

Months have passed and both of them were still happy and most importantly healthy. Of course, there were times one of them would be closer to the other side that they’d prefer, knowing the circumstances but at the end they were okay.

Until they weren’t.

The day started almost like any other. It was better because exactly a year ago they were in a bar where they discovered they’re soulmates. A year ago they got together and started their lives as a couple.

An anniversary.

Time really flies when you’re happy and in love. Buck could not believe it has been a year already. It was, hands down, the best year of his life. A year filled with nothing but the kind of love that consumes you entirely. So he insisted they go out and celebrate together. All three of them. Because it wouldn’t be the same without Christopher. Buck made a reservation at their favourite restaurant and was so excited he nearly started counting down the hours.

Much to all his friends’ joy he didn’t have the time to actually do it since the day was just hectic. Every call was more intense than the previous one and the last one of the day was the actual worst one in every meaning imaginable.

There was a man threatening a woman with a gun. He was drunk and Buck would say crazy. When they got there Bobby, Eddie and him went inside. Bobby tried to talk the man down, tried to reason with him but to no avail. It seemed like the man couldn’t even hear him like all this anger bubbling inside him made him deaf. Which was ridiculous of course, but Buck really didn’t know how else to describe it.

And everything that happened after Bobby stopped talking and addressed Buck and Eddie happened so quickly Buck didn’t even know what he was doing after he was in the middle of throwing himself at the captain. All he remembered was the man pointing his gun at Bobby and pulling the trigger. When both of them landed on the ground everyone present realised the gun did not fire. Buck let himself take a deep shaky breath before he looked back at the scene and oh how he wished he didn’t. Because when he turned his head around, standing up from the ground he saw Eddie charging at the man who now knew that now there was nothing to lose. He attempted to kill Bobby so he might as well carry on with his plan.

Before Eddie managed to reach him, the man quickly reload the gun and fired.

One.

Two.

Three.

Then Eddie landed on the ground, nothing but pure shock on his face. The only thing Buck could hear was the beating of his own heart. He was on his knees when Eddie fall down and now wasn’t able to pull himself up. Completely ignoring the very real chance of being shot himself he stumbled to where Eddie was lying in a pool of his blood, hand clutching his chest.

Buck was numb.

He had no idea what was happening around him. The only thing important to him was Eddie and when he reached him he took his hand in his. Tears were streaming down his face but he didn’t even noticed.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

“They’re almost gone.” Eddie mumbled, looking at Buck.

“What?” Buck asked even though he had a pretty good idea what Eddie was talking about. But this time, this time Buck let himself hope.

“Your eyes.” Eddie smiled, his eyes closing just for a second.

Buck’s wrist started to sting.

Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

“Eddie. No.” Buck’s voice broke and his heart was beating so fast. “You can’t-” He couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to finish. “Think about Christopher. You can’t leave Christopher.” He cried. “You can’t leave me.” Eddie’s grip on his hand was so weak it made Buck sick. “We have an anniversary dinner to go to.” He tried, he tried to be okay. “Eddie please.”

“I know you’ll take good care of him Buck. There’s nobody in this world that I trust with him more than you, remember?” Buck could barely hear him and the pain in his wrist was increasing with every second yet it still was nothing in comparison to the pain of hi dying heart.

Okay.

“Eddie-” He wanted to say so many things but the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him.

“I know.” Eddie placed his hand on Buck’s cheek. “I love you, too.”

Buck couldn’t take it any more. Still holding Eddie’s hand, he laid his head on his chest and regretted it as soon as he heard how slow and weak Eddie’s heartbeat was. How he wished it was just a very very bad dream or some sick joke. How was he supposed to live his life now?

“Hey, look at me.” He obeyed but when he looked in Eddie’s eyes he knew exactly what was gonna happen and if it was possible, he just cried harder.

Okay.

“Don’t say it. Eddie I am begging you, please don’t say it.” Buck was shaking his head frantically. His whole body was shaking and he wasn’t sure if it ever stop. “You’re gonna be fine. I love you. So much. You’re gonna be fine, okay?” He didn't even noticed what he said until Eddie smiled at him with all the love he had for Buck in his eyes.

“Okay.” Eddie exhaled and tugged at Buck’s hand. He couldn’t see anything through the tears but he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Eddie’s. When he pulled away he was choking on the tears. Still strongly gripping Eddie’s hand he just looked at him before he noticed that his wrist wasn’t hurting any more. The one thing he hated about himself and now the only thing he’d of Eddie was gone and he’d never imagined he’s miss it.

Buck managed to whisper one last ‘I love you’ before he felt a pair of hands pulling him away from his now forever gone soulmate.

And he was far, far away from okay.

[borhap-au]

Joe Mazzello: the fluffy chronicles.

Joe’s girl feels down and needs him to be there for her.

 He knew something was wrong. You could see it from just looking at him. He wasn’t like he always was. He was not playful, he didn’t crack jokes. He didn’t smile. He knew you felt bad. And – what broke your heart to a thousand pieces – he thought it was his fault.

“Please, please, please, just tell me” he looked you deep in the eyes, holding your hands in his. He was leaning towards you, sitting on the chair opposite you. Your mind was pure chaos. You knew well what was bothering you, despite telling him you were just in bad mood, without a reason. Yet it was so hard to say out loud. It wasn’t a one-time thing, it was happening for quite a long time… And you never truly admitted to anyone what was going on in your head. But it was the right time, the only right time if there ever was one. Right here and there – just to reassure the man you loved more than anything else in the world that it was not his fault.

“Where do I start… Well, fuck. Do you really feel like listening to all this? Because it is a long story, and as much as it’s important to me, I know nobody else cares, so…” you started. You honestly doubted he was ready for what’s about to come. He probably thought it was just about a stupid fight with your friend, or that you didn’t fit in your favourite jeans. He didn’t know how deeply it was rooted in your brain.

“Yes. I am ready and willing to listen to you no matter how long you want to speak. Please, tell me everything. I’m begging you” you smiled sadly looking at him. Despite feeling down you knew one thing – Joe was perfect. He was the perfect boyfriend, he was so loving, caring, so sweet. And you wanted to give him much more than you believed you were.

“I hate myself” he wanted to interrupt, but you didn’t allow him. “Just let me get all of this out of my chest. Then you can say whatever you want about it.” He nodded slowly letting you proceed.

“It’s not a new thing, I did since I was like… 12? You know, I was one of the cool kids when I was very young. I was believed to be pretty, smart, interesting. Always told by everyone I will go far, I will go wherever I want actually. Got the best grades, boys were interested in me, I had expensive clothes, beautiful hair… You know, the things that are important when you’re 12. And then I entered my teenage years and the reality hit me. Hard. I got much fatter than I used to be, I got acne, I heard for the first time that I’m ugly. We got new subjects and there were kids I could never catch up with, because I prefer languages, history. I was never good at physics or PE. I realised I’m more of an introvert type. I got less and less popular. I had a really toxic best friend that bent my worldview, but also my self-esteem. I was always in her shadow and at her every wish. I’m pretty sure my parents just got me because well, they… happened to have me. Neither of them is really meant to be a parent, they don’t know what they’re doing, really. And when I got into my rebel phase, they never understood me. They still don’t. Nobody in my family really does. They’re all like: “socialize more” or “lose some weight” or “all your problems start with you.” Well of course they start with me, Karen, I am the problem! I’m never good enough. All the people around me make me feel bad about who I am. I’m an introvert, and logically, there is nothing bad about it. It’s just the type of personality I have. But no. “You should go out! Meet people! You’re like a freak all by yourself in your room. You don’t socialize because you have no friends, is that the case?” Or if I’m shy and I don’t feel ready to be an adult yet, I’m scared to go on a job interview, I don’t like strangers, I have a fear of being rejected. And it is not my fault. I’m just that kind of a person. I do make money, just differently, I teach a few kids I know. But no, all the other people my age make fucking millions. “Oh, your cousin has bought a house. Your friend is balancing three job and college. Oh, my friend’s son is travelling all around the world.” Oh, well, good for them for fuck’s sake. I’m not like them. I’m not perfect. Just tell me I’m a fucking disappointment already. Just disown me. Because all of those little comments just make me feel like shit. And yes, it took me years to find a boyfriend so I obviously heard about it too. “Oh, you’re just jealous it’s not you.” No, I’m not jealous. And even if I was, I still wouldn’t like listening about other people’s love and sex life. I’m just not interested in those things. Honestly, I try to be a good friend, but when you’re the only single person that constantly need to give advices to those in relationships… It gets tiring. And of course nobody has ever been proud of me, not since childhood. I try, and try, and work my ass off and when I for example score 90% from a very difficult exam, all I hear is “why not 100%?” I’m not smart enough. I stress about everything. And when I stress, I eat. So I can’t just get slimmer. I can’t get motivation to work out, because I can’t get a motivation to live. I don’t feel like getting out of bed. I’m not smart, pretty, skinny… Not even interesting or charming. I’m annoying. I can see in people’s eyes they had enough of me few minutes into our conversation. I always feel worse, like I’m not good enough for anything, like literally everyone’s better. At everything. I don’t have my own thing. And even if I find something, soon people turn to the person that is better than me. I’m not anyone’s favourite person-"

“Oh no, I need to interrupt you here. You are MY favourite person. You are my favourite person on the whole planet. And I’m really sorry you don’t see how beautiful you are. I know the girls in the magazines look differently. And good! Because they are not real. They’re photoshopped. And we are made to believe this is what we want – this is what girls should look like, and in those kind of women we are supposed to fall in love with. But they don’t exist. To achieve such a small flat stomach you would have to get rid of all your organs. It doesn’t work like this. You are slim. You are beautiful. Why do we even care about the standards of beauty other people tell us we should have? You are my standard of beauty. I’ve never seen more beautiful eyes or smile in my life. I look at you and I just immediately smile to myself, thinking how lucky I am and how happy you make me feel. When you’re laughing, goofing around, when you do absolutely anything. They make money on dieting, sport related things, “healthy” food, proteins, whatever. They want us to hate ourselves. To always try to achieve the impossible. Because then we buy more. Because we are sad, depressed. Easily manipulated by the media. And I don’t want you to let them win. Because you are so fucking beautiful, girl, I had a crush on you since the first day we’ve met. I adore your body. I cannot take my eyes off you when you’re walking past me. You are the reason I’m happy and I want to be the same for you. And I am proud of you. I’m incredibly proud of every single achievement you attain. I always tell people what a good person you are, how loving and caring you are. I notice everything. And if you got 90% from a test I know damn well there is not a single person that got 100%. Because nobody is better than you are. And nobody knows more about the things you’re passionate about. And to me there’s nobody that can overshadow you. You are the one and only, the only one I see when you walk into a room. You’re your own light. And you have enough to give me a bit of that too. Because this is what kind of person you are. You give instead of taking from people. You are very special. And anybody who doesn’t see how blessed they are to have you in their life can go fuck themselves. I see it and I know that I am. You mean so much to me. And I see that you’re trying and honestly in the circumstances given, you really do well. You don’t have to compare yourself to others. They all had a different start. They came from a different place, they had different people around them. Especially since you only had people discouraging you. You achieved it on your own. You owe it all to yourself. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with being an introvert, when will people acknowledge that? It’s not a mental disease like they want it to appear. “15 ways for introverts to appear as extroverts!” What about manuals for extroverts to be more quiet and understanding sometimes? And you never disappointed me. Since we’re together I’ve been so much happier and I really wish I could do the same for you. I don’t know where I’m making the mistake-“ you stopped him with a kiss.

You were listening to all that he was saying not believing this man is yours. He was like a blessing, he understood everything you had in your mind and was able to help you understand very important things too. And he loved you. Loved you more than you allowed yourself to believe. He was genuinely interested in you and your problems. He wanted to help, however he could. He even blamed himself for not doing more. Yet he did so much more than anyone else in your life before. In that brief moment, you felt happier. You knew it wasn’t the end of fighting for your happiness, it was just the beginning. But you finally felt like you wanted to fight. He made you want to take appropriate steps to change the voice in your head. Because for once you felt like someone actually wants you to be better, but in a sense that they cheer for you, not that they’re disappointed in who you are. And you knew it’s a long fight and there will be many defeats. You knew the excitement you felt now won’t last forever. But the moment you felt his lips on yours, his hands on your back, bringing you close, you knew you had a reason to fight for your happiness for. He was your reason.

“Believe me or not, I actually feel better now… It was good to finally talk to someone about it. But please don’t tell me that you feel bad, because it’s your fault… It isn’t. It started happening long before I met you. I don’t expect you to come into ruins and build a castle from them. I just love you so much for the fact you enjoy what you’re seeing for the reasons others hate it.” He smiled a bit petting your cheeks with his thumbs and kissed your forehead.

“I love you very much. And if they don’t see how amazing you are, it’s their loss, not yours. You have the people that truly care around you. You have me. And you will have me as long as you need me. I’m here, always. Call me at 3 AM, no problem. Text me and I’m here. Stay over at my house whenever you please, fall asleep in my arms if that calms you. Let me know if you need my attention more than usually. Hit me up when you need someone to encourage you. I will do all of it for you, and more, but please, just let me know you need those things. I’m not a mind reader, although I wish I was. I cannot help you if you won’t tell me something’s wrong.” He looked at you concerned. After all, he still wasn’t sure if he did enough. He was truly worried. He really cared.

“Only if you promise me that you will do the same. Maybe you think I don’t know it, but I do. You feel down sometimes too. And I don’t want to feel like I’m nosey and I try to dig out something you don’t want to tell me about. But I do care so much about you, and I want you to tell me, always. If I see that you don’t, I won’t tell you either. Either we’re both in this relationship, caring for each other and helping each other, or… There is no deal. I don’t want you to suffer quietly and then come here to help me. Men can feel bad too. You should allow yourself for it, rather than keeping it in and pretending all is fine. Men can be emotional, men can cry. And you can cry on my shoulder whenever you want. I’ll do anything I can to help you overcome your problems.” He sat on the couch next to you and you leaned on him, snuggling. He pet your back.

“I promise you. Actually, there’s something- I didn’t tell you this before, but I really like when you ask me all those little questions. Like how am I, is everything alright, did I took everything, how was my day, am I feeling well physically and mentally, did I dress appropriately, didn’t forget to eat… It may seem stupid, but I really love those things. They make me realise how much you care for me, to take time to think about those things. And I like resting my head on your stomach hugging you in bed. It makes me feel close to you, I love hearing your heartbeat. Those little things are important to me.” He smiled slightly when you nodded making sure to remember all of it.

“I like when you text me first thing in the morning. And when you come here out of the blue. I like when you’re showing me affection, hug me, hold my hand, caress my body. I like when you speak about your emotions. I like when you say”

“I love you” you both said at the same time and you smiled.

“Exactly. And I love that you listen.” You added.

“Because you listen too. I have boys who listen to me when I’m excited about sports; mom, if I want to talk about job opportunities or my dreams… I can always find someone who listens if I talk about good things. Nobody else listens when I feel down. Nobody else but you. You understand the importance of my mental health. I hope one day you’ll understand how important your health is. How important you are. ‘Cause to me, you mean everything.” He kissed your head.

“If one day I feel like I’m good enough, it will be thanks to you.”

“You are so much better than just that. You could fucking own the world if you wanted to. You can do, achieve, whatever you really want. You are a queen to me. I love you to the moon and back. And I’m so fucking proud to call you my girl. You just make other people happy. You make me happy. You know how much it’s worth? In the world where everything brings you down? It’s priceless. You are priceless. And I don’t know what more to tell you other than this girl – the one I have in my arms right now – is the reason I go out of bed, if feel like I’m flying instead of walking and whenever I know you got interested in something new, I can’t wait to hear you talking about it, gesticulating and being all excited. I love it. I love those moments with you. I’m always happy when I know we will meet on that day. It makes me feel alive.”

You listened to him carefully. He was better than you could imagine him. You knew he really would come at 3 PM to comfort you if you asked him to. And it was so important to have someone like that in your life.

“I don’t know what to say either. I just love you so much.”

“I love you too. From the moment you said you want to be with me, the life has been surreal. I feel like it’s all just a perfect dream. I’m in coma and I will wake up and you will be gone, my angel.”

“I’m here, Joey. I’m as real as it gets. Why are you here, though, I cannot understand.”

“Because you make me happy. I don’t feel obliged to be with you or any other bullshit the voices have been telling you. Actually, I would be happy if you became my wife one day. Because if I spent my life making sure you feel great and loved, then I would consider my life to be a fulfilling one. I’m not here because I have to, or something like that. I need you. My beautiful, intelligent, attractive, charming girl. My best friend. Just please, stay with me. Just as long as I make you happier than others would. If you find someone better, I will step aside. Because I genuinely only care about your well-being. I love you so much it hurts when I’m not around you.”

“Do you mean all this?” it’s like he’s been reading your mind. He told you exactly what you needed to hear.

“Every single word. Please, just try anything to be happy and I promise to be there, on the way with you, cheering for you and telling you how proud I am for every little step. And I mean all of this too.”

“Who would I be without you?” You asked rhetorically. You knew the answer was “nothing”, but you didn’t want to say it, since it would hurt him to hear you saying it about someone he loved so much.

“An ambitious girl with a bright future in front of her. Honey, you would be exactly who you are right now. I don’t make you whole, you are whole. I’m just an addition. You don’t necessarily need me, but you want me, and I’m happy and proud of it. And I will stay as long as you want me to. Helping you achieve what you would achieve on your own anyway and hopefully much more. I will not leave you. I’m here, for you. Always.”

[letterboxd]

Bong Hit!

Today Parasite overtook The Godfather as the highest-rated narrative feature film on Letterboxd. We examine what this means, and bring you the story of the birth of the #BongHive.

It’s Bong Joon-ho’s world and we’re just basement-dwelling in it. While there is still (at time of publication) just one one-thousandth of a point separating them, Bong’s Palme d’Or-winning Parasite has overtaken Francis Ford Coppola’s Oscar-winning The Godfather to become our highest-rated narrative feature.

In May, we pegged Parasite at number one in our round-up of the top ten Cannes premieres. By September, when we met up with Director Bong on the TIFF red carpet, Parasite was not only the highest-rated film of 2019, but of the decade. (“I’m very happy with that!” he told us.)

Look, art isn’t a competition—and this may be short-lived—but it’s as good a time as any to take stock of why Bong’s wild tale of the Kim and Park families is hitting so hard with film lovers worldwide. To do so, we’ve waded through your Parasite reviews (warning: mild spoilers below; further spoilers if you click the review links). And further below, member Ella Kemp recalls the very beginnings of the #BongHive.

Bong Joon-ho on set with actors Choi Woo-shik and Cho Yeo-jeong.

The Letterboxd community on Parasite

On the filmmaking technique: “Parasite is structured like a hill: the first act is an incredible trek upward toward the light, toward riches, toward reclaiming a sense of humanity as defined by financial stability and self-reliance. There is joy, there is quirk, there is enough air to breathe to allow for laughter and mischief.

“But every hill must go down, and Parasite is an incredibly balanced, plotted, and paced descent downward into darkness. The horror doesn’t rely on shock value, but rather is built upon a slow-burning dread that is rooted in the tainted soil of class, society, and duty… Bong Joon-ho dresses this disease up in beautiful sets and empathetic framing (the camera doesn’t gawk, but perceives invisible connections and overt inequalities)—only to unravel it with deft hands.” —Tay

“Bong’s use of landscape, architecture, and space is simply arresting.” —Taylor Baker

“There is a clear and forceful guiding purpose behind the camera, and it shows. The dialogue is incredibly smart and the entire ensemble is brilliant, but the most beautiful work is perhaps done through visual language. Every single frame tells you exactly what you need to know while pulling you in to look for more—the stunning production design behind the sleek, clinical nature of one home and the cramped, gritty nature of the other sets up a playpen of contrasts for the actors and the script.” —Kevin Yang

On how to classify Parasite: “Masterfully constructed and thoroughly compelling genre piece (effortlessly transitioning between familial drama, heist movie, satirical farce, subterranean horror) about the perverse and mutating symbiotic relationship of increasingly unequal, transactional class relationships, and who can and can’t afford to be oblivious about the severe, violent material/psychic toll of capitalist accumulation.” —Josh Lewis

“This is an excellent argument for the inherent weakness of genre categories. Seriously, what genre is this movie? It’s all of them and none of them. It’s just Parasite.” —Nick Wibert

“The director refers to his furious and fiendishly well-crafted new film as a ‘family tragicomedy’, but the best thing about Parasite is that it gives us permission to stop trying to sort his movies into any sort of pre-existing taxonomy—with Parasite, Bong finally becomes a genre unto himself.” —David Ehrlich

On the duality of the plot: “There are houses on hills, and houses underground. There is plenty of sun, but it isn't for everybody. There are people grateful to be slaves, and people unhappy to be served. There are systems that we are born into, and they create these lines that cannot be crossed. And we all dream of something better, but we’ve been living with these lines for so long that we've convinced ourselves that there really isn’t anything to be done.” —Philbert Dy

“The Parks are bafflingly naive and blissfully ignorant of the fact that their success and wealth is built off the backs of the invisible working class. This obliviousness and bewilderment to social and class inequities somehow make the Parks even more despicable than if they were to be pompous and arrogant about their privilege.

“This is not to say the Kims are made to be saints by virtue of the Parks’ ignorance. The Kims are relentless and conniving as they assimilate into the Park family, leeching off their wealth and privilege. But even as the Kims become increasingly convincing in their respective roles, the film questions whether they can truly fit within this higher class.” —Ethan

On how the film leaps geographical barriers: “As a satire on social climbing and the aloofness of the upper class, it’s dead-on and has parallels to the American Dream that American viewers are unlikely to miss; as a dark comedy, it’s often laugh-aloud hilarious in its audacity; as a thriller, it has brilliantly executed moments of tension and surprises that genuinely caught me off guard; and as a drama about family dynamics, it has tender moments that stand out all the more because of how they’re juxtaposed with so much cynicism elsewhere in the film. Handling so many different tones is an immensely difficult balancing act, yet Bong handles all of it so skilfully that he makes it feel effortless.” —C. Roll

“One of the best things about it, I think, is the fact that I could honestly recommend it to anyone, even though I can't even try to describe it to someone. One may think, due to the picture’s academic praise and the general public’s misconceptions about foreign cinema, that this is some slow, artsy film for snobby cinephiles, but it’s quite the contrary: it’s entertaining, engaging and accessible from start to finish.” —Pedro Machado

On the performative nature of image: “A família pobre que se infiltra no espaço da família rica trata a encenação—a dissimulação, os novos papéis que cada um desempenha—como uma espécie de luta de classes travada no palco das aparências. Uma luta de classes que usa a potência da imagem e do drama (os personagens escrevem os seus textos e mudam a sua aparência para passar por outras pessoas) como uma forma de reapropriação da propriedade e dos valores alheios.

“A grande proposta de Parasite é reconhecer que a ideia do conhecimento, consequentemente a natureza financeira e moral desse conhecimento, não passa de uma questão de performance. No capitalismo imediatista de hoje fingir saber é mais importante do que de fato saber.” —Arthur Tuoto

(Translation: “The poor family that infiltrates the rich family space treats the performance—the concealment, the new roles each plays—as a kind of class struggle waged on the stage of appearances. A class struggle that uses the power of image and drama (characters write their stories and change their appearance to pass for other people) as a form of reappropriation of the property and values ​​of others.

“Parasite’s great proposal is to recognize that the idea of ​​knowledge, therefore the financial and moral nature of that knowledge, is a matter of performance. In today’s immediate capitalism, pretending to know is more important than actually knowing.”)

Things you’re noticing on re-watches: “Min and Mr. Park are both seen as powerful figures deserving of respect, and the way they dismissively respond to an earnest question about whether they truly care for the people they’re supposed to tells us a lot about how powerful people think about not just the people below them, but everyone in their lives.” —Demi Adejuyigbe

“When I first saw the trailer and saw Song Kang-ho in a Native American headdress I was a little taken aback. But the execution of the ideas, that these rich people will siphon off of everything, whether it’s poor people or disenfranchised cultures all the way across the world just to make their son happy, without properly taking the time to understand that culture, is pretty brilliant. I noticed a lot more subtlety with that specific example this time around.” —London

“I only noticed it on the second viewing, but the film opens and closes on the same shot. Socks are drying on a rack hanging in the semi-basement by the window. The camera pans down to a hopeful Ki-Woo sitting on his bed… if the film shows anything, it might be that the ways we usually approach ‘solving’ poverty and ‘fixing’ the class struggle often just reinforce how things have been since the beginning.” —Houston

The birth of the #BongHive

London-based writer and Letterboxd member Ella Kemp attended Cannes for Culture Whisper, and was waiting in the Parasite queue with fellow writers Karen Han and Iana Murray when the hashtag #BongHive was born. Letterboxd editor Gemma Gracewood asked her to recall that day.

Take us back to the day that #BongHive sprang into life. Ella Kemp: I’m so glad you asked. Picture the scene: we were in the queue to watch the world premiere of Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite at Cannes. It was toward the end of the festival; Once Upon a Time in Hollywood had already screened…

Can you describe for our members what those film festival queues are like? The queues in Cannes are very precise, and very strict and categorized. When you’re attending the festival as press, there are a number of different tiers that you can be assigned—white tier, pink tier, blue tier or yellow tier—and that’s the queue you have to stay in. And depending on which tier you’re in, a certain number of tiers will get into the film before you, no matter how late they arrive. Now, yellow is the lowest tier and it is the tier I was in this year. But, you know, I didn’t get shut out of any films I tried to go into, so I don’t want to speak ill of being yellow!

So, spirits are still high in the yellow queue before going to see Parasite. I was with friends and colleagues Iana Murray [writer for GQ, i-D, Much Ado About Cinema, Little White Lies], Karen Han [New York Times, Vanity Fair, Vulture, The Atlantic] and Jake Cunningham [of the Curzon and Ghibliotheque podcasts] who were also very excited for the film. We queued quite early, because obviously if you’re at the start of a queue and only two yellow tier people get in, you want that to be you.

So we had some time to spare, and we’re all very ‘online’ people and the 45 minutes in that queue was no different. So we just started tweeting, as you do. We thought, ‘Oh we’re just gonna tweet some stuff and see if it catches on.’ It might not, but at least we could kill some time.

So we just started tweeting #BongHive. And not explaining it too much.

#BongHive

— karen han (@karenyhan)

May 21, 2019

Within the realms of stan culture, I would argue that hashtags are more applicable to actors and musicians. Ariana Grande has her army of fans and they have their own hashtag. Justin Bieber has his, One Direction, all of them. But we thought, ‘You know who needs one and doesn’t have one right now? Bong Joon-ho.’

And so, you know, we tweeted it a couple of times, but I think what mattered the most was that there was no context, there was no logic, but there was consistency and insistence. So we tweeted it two or three times, and then the film started and we thought right, let’s see if this pays off. Because it could have been disappointing and we could have not wanted to be part of, you know, any kind of hype.

SMILE PRESIDENT @karenyhan #BongHive pic.twitter.com/Dk7T8bFYtv

— Ella Kemp (@ella_kemp)

May 21, 2019

But, Parasite was Parasite. So we walked out of it and thought, ‘Oh yes, the #BongHive is alive and kicking.’

I think what was interesting was that it came at that point in the festival when enthusiasm dipped. Everyone was very tired, and we were really tired, which is why we were tweeting illogical things. It was late at night by the time we came out of that film. It was close to midnight and we should have gone to bed, probably.

Because, first world problems, it is exhausting watching five, six, seven films a day at a film festival, trying to find sustenance that’s not popcorn, and form logical thoughts around these works of art. Yes! It was nice to have fun with something. But what happened next was [Parasite distributor] Neon clocked it and went, ‘Oh wait, there’s something we can do there’. And then they took it, and it flew into the world, and now the #BongHive is worldwide.

I love the formality of Korean language and the way that South Koreans speak of their elders with such respect. I enjoyed being on the red carpet at TIFF hearing the Korean media refer to Bong Joon-ho as ‘Director Bong’. It’s what he deserves!

I like to imagine a world where it’s ‘Director Gerwig’, ‘Director Campion’, ‘Director Sciamma’… Exactly.

Related content:

Ella Kemp’s review of Parasite for Culture Whisper.

Letterboxd list: The directors Bong Joon-ho would like you to watch next.

Our interview with Director Bong, in which he reveals just how many times he’s watched Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho.

“I’m very awkward.” Bong Joon-ho’s first words following the standing ovation at Cannes for Parasite’s world premiere.

Karen Han interviews Director Bong for Polygon, with a particular interest in how he translated the film for non-Korean audiences. (Here’s Han’s original Parasite review out of Cannes; and here’s what happened when a translator asked her “Are you bong hive?” in front of the director.)

Haven’t seen Parasite yet? Here are the films recommended by Bong Joon-ho for you to watch in preparation.

With thanks to Matt Singer for the headline.

[amyscascadingtabs]

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 5. love, you’re not alone

read on ao3

read earlier chapters

Amy mourns, important conversations take place, and a new decision is made.

june, cont.

Amy has never called in sick for three days in a row before.

She's been on leaves, and the odd sick day is inevitable when you have a kid at daycare, but it's never been more than one or two days before she’s at least attempted to work from home. Now she can't even make herself do that.

Technically, she’s perfectly healthy, which should probably exacerbate the guilt she feels over calling in sick, but not even her FOMOW is strong enough to drag her out of the cave of misery she’s dug herself into.

 It's unlike her. She's Amy Santiago, she's a vessel of productivity more days than not, and even on lazier days, she'll have the energy to go about her daily life. This zombie-like existence, where it'll take three repeats before she notices her own name and she's uncertain when she last ate a full meal, isn't what her life is like. She's been sad before, she's been heartbroken and on the verge of giving up, but it's never enveloped her quite like this. She’s never felt this alone with her pain, because there’s no one to be mad at, no external circumstances or evil forces at work. The only things she can be angry at is her body, bad luck, and maybe fate, but she can’t put up a fight against either.

On the first day after what she supposes is the start of an early miscarriage, Amy googles, scouring the Internet for more information about chemical pregnancies. Her research feels largely pointless. It’s common, there’s nothing she could have done, it’s all down to a chromosomal accident. A chemical pregnancy can be seen as a good sign, one of the websites encourages her, and she snorts. It’s proof you’re able to get pregnant at all, she reads, and maybe it’s true, but it doesn’t give much comfort. After eight months of trying for twelve hours of euphoria that were ruined by a genetic fluke, she’d have wished for more reassurance.

 On the second day, she gets out of bed and dressed, thinking she can trick herself into going back to work and pretend like everything’s fine if she gets far enough. It nearly works and Jake looks relieved when Leah and her hug goodbye, but once she’s in the car, the panic attack from two days ago flashes past her eyes and she’s shaking until she can get out of the vehicle and walk back up the stairs to their apartment. She spends the rest of the day in bed. At first, she doesn’t cry, but then she hears Leah asking from the other side of the door about what she’s doing and her heart shatters hearing Jake try to explain that mama’s just tired, she’ll play with you again tomorrow.

 On the third day, she really tries. She gets started on a presentation for work and lets Leah pretend to make her coffee in her play kitchen, and she does feel better until her phone buzzes with news from the Santiago family group chat; David and his wife are having another baby. A welcome surprise, the message reads, and Jake has to hold her until she stops crying. Amy’s wracked with guilt as Leah brings her stuffed animal after animal, her eyes wide with distraught confusion.

 It’s after the fourth day things take a turn. As far as her days of mourning - because she supposes it is mourning, after all - have gone, day four is subdued. Equally as gray, but not as sharply painful. It’s as if someone muted the volume in their apartment and slowed down their movements, turning everything into a lackadaisical haze. Even Leah is quieter than usual, almost acting a bit nervous around her, but when the evening comes she lets Amy read her bedtime stories and she falls asleep with her hand on Amy’s cheek. It’s the most peaceful and content Amy’s felt since six days ago.

 “We have the best kid,” she mumbles as she curls up with her head on Jake’s shoulder ten minutes later, and he gives her an agreeing smile. “I think I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

“I need to get back to normal. I’m starting to miss it, anyway.”

“Can’t cure that FOMOW easily, huh?”

She ignores the comment. “Is the precinct still standing without me?”

He laughs. “Barely. On that note... I got a request from Holt to go on this stakeout for two days. I think I have to take it, because, well - we’ve taken a lot of days off recently.”

“Yeah, of course. I can handle a bit of solo-parenting.”

“Actually -” Jake’s voice is apologetic, tinged with a bit of regret, and Amy’s instantly on edge, lifting her head from his shoulder. “- I was thinking Leah could stay with my mom for a few days.”

“Why would she need to do that?”

“Ames, don’t take this personally -”

“I’ll decide that for myself.”

“But I think it’d be better for both of you.” Jake’s eyes are boring into hers, and there’s a gravity to his tone she wasn't expecting. “I know you don’t want this to affect her, but I think it does, even if she doesn’t understand why, and… maybe you need a couple days on your own.”

 She blinks, trying to make sense of his words. “So now I can’t be a parent to my own daughter because I'm sad over this?”

“Not what I was saying.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Don’t make this into something it’s not,” he asks, face twisted in a pained expression, and it takes all her self control not to get up and slam the door to their bedroom. She’s learned from her mistakes, though, so this time she listens. “I love you, so much, but I don’t know how to help you when you don’t want to talk to me, and I don’t know what to say to Leah when she keeps asking why you’re sad. She notices so much - it doesn’t feel fair to her.”

“No, but it’s not forever. It’ll get better,” she says, more to ease her own remorse. “And what do you mean I don’t want to talk to you? We’ve talked.”

“Not for real.”

“What do you mean, not for real?”

“You haven’t asked me how I feel about this, for example.” She opens her mouth, but he shakes his head. “Don't do it because you think you have to. I know it’s worse for you. But I’m disappointed, too, you know?” He bites his lip. “I think we all need a break before we go crazy.”

 She wants to object, but part of her knows he's right. They’re going crazy. Mostly her, but she can tell it’s affecting her family too, despite how desperately she wishes it wasn’t. She reluctantly swallows her anger for now - most of it is only poorly concealed guilt, anyway - and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” The tension fades from his expression as he exhales, watching her like he’s searching for signs of protest.

Amy shrugs. “I feel like the world’s worst parent. But sure.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, wrapping her in a hug as she buries her face in his neck for comfort. “This is just really, really hard.”

-

Her bad conscience is even worse when she wakes up the next morning. It's made easier by Leah jumping with glee at the question of whether she wants to have a sleepover at grandma’s house, but hugging her daughter goodbye at daycare is still extra difficult. It takes five minutes longer than usual and enough cheek kisses to make the toddler try to wriggle herself out of Amy’s arms, and she’s still fighting tears when she gets in the car. She turns the music up so she won’t have to think, but her phone shuffles to Paper Rings by Taylor Swift and endless memories of family dance parties to the song flood her brain.

She turns it off.

Five seconds later, she turns it on again and lets the memories be a welcome reminder of why she has to keep fighting. By the time she reaches the precinct’s garage, she’s singing along at the top of her lungs.

 She expects her first day back at work to be complicated, making abundantly clear how much she’s missed out on, but it’s not. After helping Holt out with a briefing, going through emails and submitting a work order for another broken fridge, she’s back to feeling like her efficient, professional self. She can do this. She can move on with her life and put this behind her. She can even follow the squad out for drinks later and have a glass of red wine for the first time in two months, enough to get her tipsy and laugh too loud at Rosa’s narration of a lively debate between Charles and a suspect about the ranking of different cheeses. Karen texts her a video of Leah pretending she’s Elsa from Frozen and gliding over the living room floor while singing the same lines of Let It Go on repeat, and her heart aches a little, but the guilt is easing. Jake sends her an update on the stakeout, asking if she’s doing okay, and for once, she doesn’t have to lie when she writes back I’m doing good.

 -

 She starts her second day back doing paperwork, but she doesn’t get far before she’s interrupted.

“Hey. Amy.”

She looks up from the stack of papers. “Rosa?”

“I need your help with this witness.” Rosa cocks her head in the direction of the corridor. “I know she saw my perp, but she’s confused and I don’t think she trusts me. I was wondering if you could help me talk to her? You’re much better with the emotional ones.”

“Ooh!” Amy shines up. “Is this another case for the Sleuth Sisters?”

“If it’s what gets you on board, then, sure.”

 Rosa briefs her on the case before they go in, and it doesn't take much to wake Amy's excitement. As much as she loves being a lieutenant, likes the administrative work and appreciates the more flexible hours, she does miss the constant surprises and adrenaline rushes that come with being out in the field. She even misses this, the simple interacting with people in order to both help them and discover new clues, anything leading closer to a solved case. She enters the room with a pep in her step and an ambition to help, but freezes when she sees the witness.

 At first, she wonders if it's the same tension she’s felt the handful of times she's had to question a familiar face - an identical twin of a high school bully, or a former neighbor she held a grudge against - but it only takes a closer look to realize that's not the issue. Amy doesn't recognize this woman.

The witness simply happens to be very pregnant.

 She doesn’t ask, because it’s not pertinent to the case, but Amy would put the woman at around six-seven months. Too far along for it to go unnoticed, not yet at the point where it looks like you’ve swallowed an exercise ball. She remembers loving that part of pregnancy, with the nausea gone and the energy returning. Her jealousy is a physical ache when she sees the witness placing her palm high up on her stomach, smiling in the same way Amy remembers she would do whenever she’d feel kicks.

The woman is shy at first, talking in a low voice with short sentences, and she keeps her hands atop the baby bump the whole time. Amy doesn’t blame her - she knows how naturally the instinct comes - but it doesn’t keep her from wishing the woman would stop drawing more attention to her state.

She doesn’t remember what questions she asks. She doesn’t remember what the woman answers. She makes notes but isn’t sure what she’s writing. All she can focus on is how the witness seems to personify the romanticized pregnancy glow, with shiny, thick hair and a cute bump. Amy’s using so much willpower in order not to cry, panic, or leave the room, it’s making her sweat, and yet she can tell from Rosa’s quizzical glances that her behavior is conspicuous. She can’t hide her envious anxiety, because every instance the woman touches her belly is another reminder of the pregnancy Amy thought she had and lost.

 Amy rushes towards the women’s bathroom the second it’s over. She needs to breathe, put her head between her knees and let the tears come until she’s cried out every drop of frustration over her situation, the unfairness of it all, the deep shame in not even being able to feel happy for someone else anymore. She’s disgusted with herself. Eight months of limbo trying to conceive has officially made her insane.

She’s leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on her face when Rosa catches up with her.

“Amy? What the fuck was that about?”

“Nothing. It was nothing,” she rambles. “I’m good. Great.”

“No, you’re acting weirder than usual, and something’s clearly up. Come on.” Rosa’s grip on her wrist is firm without feeling pressuring, and Amy’s too shaky to protest, so she follows her friend to the evidence locker.

“Can you sit down?” Amy nods. “Okay, great. Do you need your meds?” She manages another, more tentative, nod. “Okay, wait here and I’ll get them. Handbag, outer pocket, right?”

 Rosa disappears before she can confirm the information. She returns a couple of minutes later with two cups of tea and a prescription bottle, handing Amy the anxiety medication and gesturing at her to sit down before giving her a stern look.

“Okay, Santiago. Tell me what’s up before I get mad at you for making that witness feel weirded out.”

“I’m sorry.” Amy twists the cap, swallowing one of the pills before sitting down on the floor next to Rosa, their backs against a shelf of cardboard boxes. “You didn’t tell me she was pregnant.”

“No, because I didn’t know it was something you would act all loony about.” Rosa raises a brow. “What’s up? Are you pregnant again? That’s usually when you’re crying in here.”

She sighs, twisting back the cap and placing it on the floor beside her. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

“So?”

“We’ve been trying since fall,” Amy blurts out, admitting it to someone else for the first time in six months. “With IVF, now, but I’m still not pregnant. I almost was. Or I was, but I had an early miscarriage, so… no.”

Rosa nods slowly, bringing the cup of tea to her lips. “Damn.”

“It took eight months before we got a positive test. Ovulation testing, scheduling, IVF with shots and pills and money and a billion doctor’s visits. Then we finally found out I was pregnant.” The words are flying out of her, an unstoppable flow once she’s found them. “Except not even a day later, we found out it wasn’t happening, the numbers were too low. Chemical pregnancy. It’s why I was gone last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “God, it’s so good to tell someone.” “Uh-huh. Wait.” Rosa scrunches her nose and knits her brows like Amy just critiqued The Holiday. “You haven’t told anyone?”

Amy laughs. “How would I do that? Call a briefing, stand in front of everyone and say hi, just so everyone knows, I’m trying to have another baby but I have shitty ovaries so it’s not going well and it’s making me depressed? Sure.”

“Not a public announcement, dum-dum. But you could have told your friends.”

“I didn’t want people to know. It’s been hard enough to deal with on my own. ”

“And I get that,” Rosa nods. “But there are people here who care about you. We could have been there for you.”

“How? Steered me away from every pregnant woman in case I start crying? I’m sorry, Rosa, but I don’t see how it would work.”

“Maybe not, but we could have helped! I could have known not to ask you to work with me on this specific witness instead of sitting through that shitshow!” She groans. “I know you hate accepting help or whatever, but you’re not alone in this, even if you think you are.”

Amy looks down at her shoes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just… don’t torture yourself over this more than you have to. It’s not worth it.”

 They sit like that for another moment, no sounds but the occasional sips of tea and heavy breaths as Amy feels the anxiety fade from a heavy storm to a cool breeze. She still feels guilty over ruining the case for Rosa, for the poor pregnant woman who probably thinks Amy’s a sociopath, but the tea and company are helping more than she can express. She knows Rosa’s right, too - she’s been keeping this pain mostly to herself for so long, never considering the option of talking about it. It’s a little bit of performance anxiety, a little bit of embarrassment and a little bit of stigma. She’s not supposed to struggle with getting pregnant.

 “I guess I was afraid if I talked about it, it would make it more real.” The realization takes shape as she speaks it. “Like, as long as we didn’t tell anyone, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.”

“But it’s already real, isn’t it? Talking about it won’t change that.”

“I guess not.”

Much to Amy’s surprise, her friend, who could and probably would break Amy’s arm if she hugged her without asking, lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it gently.

“Look, I get if you don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s fine. But if you want to come over tonight, watch a Nancy Meyers movie and drink tequila, you can. I won’t bully you if you cry.”

The sentiment is sweet, and so very Rosa of her, it makes Amy throw her arms around her best friend in gratitude, risking the fact that she might lose her arm. Rosa grunts, but then she leans into the hug for a brief, precious moment before disentangling herself.

“I’ll expect you at eight,” Rosa says before collecting their teacups and standing up. “Bring pizza.”

This time, Amy manages a proper smile. “I’ll be there.”

 -

 She tries to get back to work, but her focus is done and the precinct appears calm, so she takes the freedom of working from home for the rest of the day. There are only three hours left until she’s supposed to pick up Leah, anyway, and the apartment could use some cleaning. Her daughter’s room, in particular, is a mess so thorough Amy’s nearly impressed, but mostly shocked by how a person so tiny can create so much chaos. There’s no question about which parent the child inherited her non-existent organization skills from, she thinks, and gets to work on pairing together different puzzle pieces with their boxes.

 It’s when she’s laying on her stomach, trying to get a hold of the pieces that’s made their way underneath Leah’s bed, that she finds something. There’s a plastic bag pushed all the way to the wall, and she reaches for it to see what it is. She can’t see clearly through the packaging, so she unwraps it, pulling out a white toddler-size t-shirt with black arms and fancified gold writing that reads Promoted To Big Sister.

The heaviness in her chest returns with a vengeance when she realizes Jake must have ordered it - either during the few hours they thought they were having another baby, or even earlier. She clutches the item to her chest and closes her eyes, anticipating the tears.

 “Shit. I was hoping you wouldn’t find that.”

Amy turns her head to find Jake standing in the door opening. It's clear from the messy hair and crumpled t-shirt that he's coming straight from a long work shift without showering first, and the bags under his eyes make her wonder when he last slept.

“It's okay,” she says quickly, folding the item so she can't see the design. “Just… can you take it?”

He nods, taking it from her hands and sitting down across from her on the gray long-pile rug, putting the shirt behind his back.

“I can hide that better. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Amy snivels. “It's fine. I'm fine.” She stands up, picking up a stuffed Ikea shark from the floor and putting it on Leah's bed.

“You're cleaning.”

“Yeah.” She finds an illustrated Harry Potter-book at the foot of the bed and returns it to its shelf. “It calms me. How was the stakeout?”

“Good,” he nods. “How are you?”

“I'm okay. I think. How are you?”

His smile bears heavy traces of exhaustion. “Also okay, I think. Did a lot of thinking while I was away, actually.”

“Yeah.” Amy picks up a basket of fabric vegetables, putting them near the play kitchen before she sits down across from Jake again. “So did I.”

“Do you want to share, or…?”

“No - you go first.”

 Jake grimaces. They’ve gotten better at this over the years, finding a balance between his hesitancy to lay bare his emotions in serious conversation and her tendency to read into details and draw the worst conclusions posthaste, but she can still sense his discomfort as he reaches for a stuffed dragon from Leah’s bed, squeezing it to keep his hands occupied.

“I know I don’t know what it feels like,” he says slowly. “It’s not my body that’s…”

“Broken,” she fills in reflexively.

“Putting up a bit of a fight,” he corrects her with an unyielding look. “But you’ve been acting a bit like it doesn’t hurt for me, too. I know it was only a day, but for that day… I was already ordering that shirt for Lee, you know? I was so excited.”

“I know. I’ve really been busy feeling sorry for myself, huh?” She tries to laugh, but the chuckle dies out like a droplet of water swallowed by a raging fire.

“No, you’ve been suffering. Don’t be mad at yourself for that. Just… you’re not alone in this.” His hand reaches out to hold hers, and she squeezes it tight.

“It’s funny. Rosa told me the same thing today.”

“You talked to Rosa?”

“Yeah. I’m going over there for Nancy Meyers and tequila tonight.”

“Good, you need it.”

“I do, huh?” This time, the quiet laughter survives. The corners of Jake’s mouth quirk up.

 She's missed seeing him smile, she realizes. She's missed sharing happiness with him. They’ve had moments of hope, and even when everything has felt dark, they've still smiled and had fun with their daughter; but she wonders when they last laughed at something trivial just the two of them. It feels like ages.

“I miss our normal life,” she says, because it's the only way she can think of to describe it. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess. It's all my fault.”

Jake frowns. “No, we agreed on trying IVF.”

“I meant, I'm sorry we're struggling at all.”

“I don't think I get it -”

“It's my body that's the problem, right? If only you’d married a woman with well-functioning ovaries, you wouldn't be sitting here.”

 She's serious, but the way he narrows his eyes and looks at her like he doesn't know if she's joking or not, makes her giggle. He joins in, shaking his head in disbelief, and for a moment, it feels like old times.

“I know this might be hard to believe,” he grins, “but Amy Santiago, I did not marry you for your ovaries.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

“I swear. I love you, more than anything in the world except our daughter, and that means I love all parts of you.”

“Even my shitty ovaries?”

Jake rolls his eyes lovingly. “They wouldn't be the first thing I listed, but, yes. I love them too.”

She laughs again. “Thanks, babe.”

“You're welcome.”

“I love you, too.” Amy closes the short bit of distance between them, wrapping him in a close hug as they sit there on the carpet. She's sniveling again, drying her eyes against his flannel, and he strokes her upper back and kisses the top of her head as he holds her. “So, so much.”

 They sit like that for a moment, not moving more than the slightest of shifts, another soft kiss pressed to a neck or a cheek.

“Do you want to think about the next step?” Jake asks, and she nods.

“We still have two frozen embryos left - we could transfer those and hope one sticks.”

His eyes gleam in that mischievous way she recognizes so well, maybe even from the first day they became partners. “And are we doing both at once?”

“I guess we might as well, right?”

Jake pumps his fist in a childish victory gesture, and it's Amy's turn to roll her eyes. Her skepticism is half-hearted, though, because it's hard to remain unaffected by his infectious happiness.

“I can't wait to be a family of five with you,” he whispers into her ear, pulling her onto his lap, and she groans.

“You’ve got to stop saying that, I swear you’re going to jinx it.”

  ~

 august.

Maybe it’s the fact that she’s gotten used to it, that she’s not forcing her body to produce an unnatural amount of mature eggs, or that she’s filled with so much now-or-never furious ambition, but Amy experiences their second attempt with fertility treatments to flow much easier. She takes the medications, is thankful they don’t involve as many injections this time, goes to checkups, and does all she can to maximize her chances in the meantime. No tip is too absurd in comparison with her desperation for this to succeed. She tries acupuncture and changes her diet. She cuts back on caffeine despite the headaches it gives her, and takes even more vitamins. She does a few tries at fertility yoga, which mostly fail when Jake walks in on her doing a very wobbly supported shoulder stand and explodes in laughter, or when Leah insists on watching and is silent for exactly one minute before she wants to use Amy as a jungle gym and tries to climb on top of her in bridge pose. At first, Amy’s frustrated, but then she thinks of the sources she’s read about laughter being able to boost fertility, and lets the yoga session turn into a giggling tickle fight with her toddler. It’s much more fun, anyway.

 She continues the tips after the transfer, too. She wears fuzzy socks for her day of bed rest even though it’s the end of July and their bedroom is uncomfortably heated as is, because keeping your feet warm is supposed to boost chances of implantation. She orders jasmine scented candles for the same reason, but it only takes a minute after lighting one for her to realize she’s wildly allergic. In the end, there’s nothing to do but wait, hope, and try to relax.

 They decide to go all-in for the relaxation part. Truthfully, it’s not as much a decision as an offer from Charles and Genevieve to tag along for free on their family vacation after a pair of Boyle cousins dropped out, and not as much relaxation as it is a change of environment to chase their dare-devil two-and-a-half-year-old around in, but it is a paid-for one-week-trip to a family-friendly resort in Mexico and they’re not going to say no. Amy packs two pregnancy tests in her bag, and they’re on their way.

She worries about whether being on vacation with Charles will inevitably mean an abundance of intrusive questions and terrifying dining choices, but either Genevieve or Jake must keep him in check, because it’s neither. Rather, having two extra adults present ends up hugely improving the vacation - there's always someone guarding the kids, and Amy finds herself finishing reading one book, a poetry collection and listening to two podcasts already in the first four days. She gets her daily workout in by chasing Leah around, trying to prevent her from jumping headfirst from the deep end of the pool. She takes turns with Jake to pretend they're sea monsters who want to eat Leah's toes while she floats around with her swim ring and puffs, laughing merrily at them both. She discovers that the best way to get her daughter to let her put on sunscreen is if she gets to watch YouTube clips on the iPad meanwhile, and reaffirms that the best way to get Jake to put it on is to do it for him, then accept his offer of returning the favor. They try out all of the resort’s playgrounds and eat a ton of ice cream to keep cool. On one of the days, Jake and Leah take a nap together in the shadow spooning on a daybed, and Amy takes about a hundred pictures before scooching her bed as close to theirs as possible.

With her heart full, and her relaxation levels higher than they've been for a long time, she almost forgets it's time to take a pregnancy test.

 -

 It's evening by the time she remembers.

Charles and Genevieve have offered to babysit Leah for a night in exchange for Jake and Amy watching Nikolaj the next, which gives them the rare chance to have a proper date night. Amy gets dressed up, opting to go the extra mile with a sleek, black, v-neck dress that hasn’t seen the light of day since their honeymoon, and paints her lips a matte red for a pop of color. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, she worries it’s too much - the dress sits tighter over her hips than it used to and the makeup feels like she’s overcompensating - but the way Jake’s gaze lands on her once she steps out, how his eyes widen and he swallows a gulp of air, makes her stresses dissipate.

Eight years of dating, five years of marriage, and he still looks at her with as much awe as he did their first night together.

He’s wearing a familiar pastel pink button-down, paired tastefully with dark jeans and the curls she still goes crazy for, so Amy figures she looks at him the same way.

 It is with great willpower they make it down to the restaurant in time for their reservation, only stopping once to make out against the wall of a hotel corridor. They’re seated at a nice table near a window with an ocean view, and it takes the waiter placing two drink menus on their table for Amy to realize why it feels like she’s forgotten something.

“Shit,” she mumbles, biting her lip as she reads the wine list.

Jake looks up, a horrified look on his face. “What? Don't tell me they only have Orangina for orange soda.”

“No, it’s not that. I just remembered I don’t know if I can drink. I forgot to take a pregnancy test.”

“That’s today?”

“Yeah. I was going to take it this morning, but then we slept in and Leah woke us up by jumping in our bed...” “And then Charles knocked on our door and asked us to come down to the breakfast buffet in five minutes,” Jake nods, bringing his hand up to his chin as if he’s in deep thought. “Well, we could leave and take it now?”

Amy considers it, but as much as she wants to find out, she also wants to sit here forever. Something about the restaurant’s lighting is making her husband look especially gorgeous, and it’s been way too long since they last sat through a proper nice dinner. She needs this. They need this.

“No,” she decides, intertwining her hand with his across the table. “Let’s have a quick dinner. I won’t drink anything, and then we’ll take a test.”

“Okay. Then I won’t drink either,” Jake declares, flipping to the non-alcoholic drinks with his free hand. “Yes! Regular orange soda!”

“You don’t have to just because I can’t -”

“Ames, I’m repeating, regular orange soda. This is the opposite of a problem. Plus,” he shrugs, “I literally just want to spend time with you.”

His tone is so genuine, his smile so sweet, she can’t stop herself from leaning forward and kissing him despite the looks from their fellow restaurant-goers.

 The dinner is wonderful, yet Amy can’t shake her nervousness. It bothers her. She’s having a luxurious meal, toasting in fruity soda together with the love of her life, and she can’t even be fully present in this moment because she’s worried about what the test will show. If this attempt has failed, she’ll have to do another full round of IVF, even though the thought of more injections makes her want to scream. If they get another negative test, it’ll be ten months and counting of this taking up too big a part of their lives, and Amy’s tired.

She wants to be pregnant and she wants to have another baby, but she also wants to enjoy life with her family without worrying about cycles, ovulation tests, and clinic check-ups. She wants to go on more of these date nights, more vacations, and share a glass of wine with her husband in the evening because she can. She’s tired of rules and recommendations, of counting, scheduling, and planning. For ten months she’s tried to be patient, but now the exhaustion has begun to creep over her.

They rush back to the suite once the dinner is done. Jake waits outside the bathroom while she takes the test, tries to make her hands stop shaking as she washes them, and carefully places the test display-down on the sink. He hugs her when she comes out, and she lets herself relax for a second in his arms even though she feels sick with anxiety.

They sit on the balcony, drinking from glasses of alcohol-free champagne in silence until the timer on her phone rings. Jake goes to get the test from the bathroom, but Amy feels like she knows the result before he’s given it to her.

 The test shows a bolded, plain, Not Pregnant, and she scoots it with her foot across the balcony, getting it as far away as possible.

“I’m sorry, “ Jake whispers, letting her lean her head on his shoulder and squeezing her hand.

She exhales, forcing herself not to cry. “So am I.”

“What do we do now?”

“First, I say we order a bottle of real champagne.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t object.

 Much like it was a sudden thought that awakened a long lingering feeling when she first suggested they’d start trying, this time it's the immediate and overpowering negativity bringing up the growing sensation of impending burnout, that makes her say what she's thinking.

“I want to stop.”

Jake looks at her with as much shock as if she’d said she was thinking of canceling her Staples Rewards Membership. “You want to… stop?”

She nods.

“Like.. just… stopping?”

“You heard me. I don't think I want to do this anymore.” Amy draws a shaky breath, looking down at their intertwined hands. “If we have another go at IVF, we have to do the whole thing again. I guess we could, but it’s so much money, Jake.”

“We could work it out,” he mumbles.

“We could. I just don't know if I want to.”

“But… you wanted another baby.”

“And I still do.” She thinks of all the families she’s seen at the resort over the last few days. Sisters and brothers playing together, a light-haired toddler taking a break from swinging to run and kiss their baby sibling’s head, tiny infants with sunhats and baby swimsuits eliciting screams of happiness from being in the water while their big siblings try to entertain them. It’s painful to imagine never having her dream of more than one kid fulfilled, but it’s infinitely more agonizing to feel like she’s missing out on the wonderful life she does have.

“But it's been so long. It’s been so much pain, time and tears, and I'm still not pregnant. Remember when you said we’d do IVF as long as I felt it was worth it for me?”

Jake nods slowly. He’s watching her with a wistful look on his face, which is somehow more heartbreaking than the negative test.

“I don't think it is worth it for me anymore,” she whispers.

“I… are you sure, Ames?”

“No,” she confesses. “Yes. For now, I’m sure.”

 He wraps his arms around her again, neither of them saying anything as she twists her head so their foreheads are touching. Trailing her fingers against his jawline, she cups his face, lips brushing against his with the softness of doing it for the first time and the familiarity of doing it for the thousandth. He’s a little surprised by the move, but then he’s kissing her back just as carefully, one hand tangling in her hair before he draws back.

“I’ll go get us that bottle of champagne,” he says, and squeezes her hand another time before leaving.

 The sun’s starting to set, painting the sky a captivating roseate-orange blend. It fills Amy with a sense of peace and relief - a hope that her life will soon feel more like her own again.

Checking her phone inside, she sees that Charles has texted them a picture of a soundly sleeping Leah. She ignores the trio of winking emojis he’s written after encouraging them to have a good night and sends back two hearts instead. She’s already missing her daughter so badly it’s physically painful, and her eyes linger on the picture long after she’s replied, but she reminds herself that tomorrow is only hours away. Tonight is date night, and she’s determined to make it a good one despite its unconventional start.

 Jake returns ten minutes later, all out of breath from what he describes as a brisk walk to the corner store to buy the fanciest bottle they had for a decent price, and she smiles and kisses his cheek before accepting a glass.

“This is beautiful,” she says, moving aside so there’s space for him on the patio loveseat.

“The sunset?”

“This night. The sunset. You.”

“You’re beautiful-ler.” His reply is as reflexive as her eye-roll.

“I mean it. I want to enjoy this night with you. Hell, I just want to enjoy my life,” Amy gives the abandoned test a death-glare, “without this constant stress. It’s ruining everything.”

“It hasn’t ruined everything...”

“No, but everything would still be better if it wasn’t there, you know?” She shrugs and he nods, taking a sip from his glass. “I want to get back to our normal life. This vacation is making me realize how much I miss it.”

“What do you miss?”

“Being relaxed. Having any sort of free time. I miss being able to just live our lives with our amazing daughter, and not be constantly thinking of whether I’ve taken this and that medication or gone to this and that appointment and what day of what cycle it is.”

“I get that.” There’s a playful smile on his lips, and she’s about to ask what he thinks is so funny before he speaks again. “Do you think maybe we make such great kids that the universe couldn’t handle more than one? Think about it! Your brain, and my good looks - maybe it’s too powerful a combination, and if we have more children, everything will, like.. explode.”

It’s a ludicrous theory, but he delivers it with so much conviction it makes her snort, laughing until there are tears in her eyes.

“I’ll have to admit,” she says when she can finally form words again, “it sounds way more plausible than any other explanation.”

 There’s a lighter atmosphere between them after his joke, the warm evening air a little easier to breathe. They change the topic, drink more wine, and she makes less note of what they’re talking about than how content she’s feeling. It's like just making the decision to stop and accept the situation, rather than doing everything in her power to change it, is a giant block of stone off her shoulders. Without it, she can feel like herself again. The painful thought of never having another baby still bites at her, but for once, she's able to push it aside and refill her glass instead.

She wonders when they last had a proper date night like this. She’s certain it’s been too long - if nothing else, then for the way she finds her eyes resting in certain places after a while. The one unbuttoned button on his shirt, revealing a bit of slightly tanned chest. The way his fingers wrap around the thin glass. His neck, practically asking to be peppered with nips and bites. His arms, his hands, the thighs she can't help but rest her hand on.

A moment of deep eye contact, meeting his curiosity before she blushes, looking away.

 “Another thing I miss about my life,” she says, struck with sudden confidence. “Having sex with you without always thinking about whether I’ll get pregnant.”

“Woah there.” Jake coughs, examining her expression. “Did you have four drinks already?”

She shakes her head.

“Hmm. Anyway - it's okay, Ames.”

“For you, maybe.” She swallows the last in her glass. “Less so for me.”

His cheeks turn a dark crimson. “I'm sorry -”

“It's not your fault,” she assures him. “Honestly, I haven't let it be about me. Or us. But - god - I miss it being just for pleasure.”

“Me too.”

The heated glance he gives her is a physical sensation, making desire pool in the pit of her stomach and sending her nerves on full alert when his hand touches her bare inner thigh, softly stroking.

“I can't remember when we last were child-free together for a whole night,” she whispers, and he smiles a knowing smile. “Let's make the most of it.”

“If you say so.”

She pulls him in for a searing kiss, sighing with pleasure as he moves his hand higher, closer to where she's aching for if to be.

“Let's go inside, babe.”

 She’s nervous about so many things - whether she’ll change her mind tomorrow, whether this counts as giving up, if it makes her weak - but as Jake’s fingers brush over the faint bruises from the last injections with so much reverence, and he makes a point of kissing the thin white stripes on her lower abdomen that remain tangible proof she once carried their child inside of her, she decides those thoughts can wait. His lips move to her centre, and she gasps so sharply, he places a hand on her hip to keep her still.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she breathes, feeling the vibrations of his laugh before he sucks harder and everything is forgotten except the blissful sensation of his tongue against her and the building, pleasant tension as he pushes her closer to the edge.

 It’s a night of relief, in more than one sense.

 ~

[positivlyfocused]

Sometimes I Gotta Seethe In Rage

Three weeks ago I wrote how every negative situation is positive. Well this week brought such a crazy-ass example of that, I shared it with all my clients. Now I want to share it with you.

This story is hilarious. I almost wrote "unflattering", but you'll see at the end that this story flatters me in the sense that I saw how this infuriating situation was also a massive blessing.

Summer's sun, blue skies and Oregon's hot breezy air called me out again last weekend. I love working outside along the Willamette River shores. I enjoy Ospreys above and salmon jumping skyward likely avoiding sea lions and their chisel like teeth.

I decided I wanted more of that, so I packed my bike. I packed light, my portable chair, my iPad and nothing more. I planned to finish reading Ross Douthat's The Decadent Society, its insightful take on current reality had my attention for weeks now. I anticipated exploring Douthat's take while enjoying the Oregon summer.

^^The usual spot I work from on summer Oregon days...by the Willamette's beautiful shores... 

That's not what happened though

Oregon's governor recently eased lockdown mandates. With her decree, all of Oregon made similar plans. I expected a few people riverside, but wasn't prepared for crowds that showed up.

A forty minute bike ride turned into an hour while I tried finding suitable, solitary rest stop. I finally decided on a rocky shore devoid of human for lack of any sand. But I had my chair. I didn't need sand.

I parked my bike, set up my chair then settled into Douthat's narrative. Thirty minutes later, a couple with two dogs showed up. The young, tattooed Portlanders led their dogs to the water's edge, unleashed them and threw tennis balls into the river. The larger of the two dogs, a pit-bull, leapt into the water while its smaller puppy companion barked in envy. Then the puppy eased into the water, found it agreeable and went for a swim. I smiled then turned back to Douthat.

Minutes later, the puppy was licking at my bare legs. I'm not a dog person, but I can appreciate a cute pooch. On this day though, I just wanted to read in quiet on a beautiful day. It annoyed me that this dog suddenly was licking my leg. But what annoyed me more was the fact that its owner hadn't done his legal duty of keeping his dog under control.

I lifted my legs away from the pooch, clearly annoyed, which the owner saw. He came bounding to my rescue, scooped up his dog with an apology and returned to his spot. There, he put it on a leash. His partner too re-leashed the Pit-bull.

All that was nice. But it was too late.

I got hooked in frustration-momentum

Momentum is a powerful thing. Especially negative momentum born of oft-told stories. I've harbored negative stories about dog owners who don't keep their dogs leashed and therefore under control as leash laws mandate. So much so it's one of my "pet peeves" (oh god! no pun intended!).

Recently when I read about a "Karen" from Central Park Manhattan who made a racist false police report against a fellow New Yorker who politely asked her to leash her dog in an area where a leash law was in force. The fellow New Yorker, a board member of the New York City Audubon Society who happens to be African American, recorded the whole incident. The recording went viral and popular outrage caused the woman to lose her job and her dog. Reportedly, New York is considering banning her permanently from Central Park and the District Attorney is considering pressing charges against her for making a false police report.

This story came to mind as that puppy slimed me. When its owner grabbed it and apologized, I mused whether he also thought about that Central Park incident.

The problem was, I didn't shake the association, which would have been in my best interest. Comparing my experience to what happened to the Audubon Board Member wasn't really fair. But old stories about my pet peeve combined with that viral Central Park experience in my head creating momentum that swept me up.

For the next half hour I couldn't focus on my reading. My mind swirled around the association, my indignation, my annoyance and frustration....

^^I don't hate dogs. Dogs love me as much as I love them...sometimes...🤣

What happened next was no surprise

The couple decided to pack up and leave, having I suppose, had enough time at the water's edge. As they walked to the bike path, I heard the woman say to someone I couldn't see "Sir, would you mind leashing your dog?"

The irony didn't escape me. "Cosmic Justice" I thought. Little did I know said justice was just getting started...

I couldn't hear the what the person she addressed said, but I heard what she was saying. I also got the annoyance in her tone:

"Why aren't you willing to put your dog on a leash sir?" She asked. I turned, hoping to see who she addressed. I couldn't see that person. She continued.

"My dog isn't friendly," she said. The person said something I didn't hear.

"How many years have you been around my dog sir?" She replied. "I'm telling you my dog is not friendly."

Apparently whoever she addressed had done nothing, so she reached down, picked up what looked like a 40 pound pit-bull and scrambled over rocks the rest of the way to the bike path with her male companion in tow.

I was thinking about karmic kickback, wondering how the couple felt now since they themselves hadn't controlled their (little) dog. Which is why I hadn't noticed that not seconds later another dog was sniffing at my leg!

It's my turn...

I turned in surprise, saw the Husky, then darted around looking for the owner. Presumably this was the same person the young woman spoke with earlier. Finally I saw him sitting in a chair he set up behind me on the bike path's edge.

My indignance increased. "Really?" I thought. "Twice in a row?" What did I expect? I create my reality. Here was the Universe serving me a big pile of pet peeve....a second helping if you will, this time via a Husky and yet another irresponsible owner.

But wait...it gets worse. Or rather, I got worse.

I should have known trying to get the owner to do anything about his scofflaw dog would be futile. After all I saw that play out just seconds ago. Never the less:

"Sir, would you please come get your dog!" I said with force ten annoyance.

The owner looked down at me, at his dog and said "he's alright."

"I'm not!" I said.

The owner said nothing.

At that, I'd had it!

Now I was fully in rage. That's right, I was so angry, I was shaking. I wanted to strangle that damn dog and murder the owner. But I also knew it wasn't the dog's fault. So I directed all my rage (in my mind) at the owner. I wanted to first strangle him, then murder him!

I should mention I had the presence of mind at this moment to see the ironic humor here. A part of me knew what I was doing was ridiculous. It's just a dog. But the principle folks, and the momentum of my pet peeve had me firm in its grip.

Clearly this guy wasn't going to do anything about his dog. There was no way I could recover my state of calm at this point, not to mention focusing on Douthat's prose. I decided then to gather my things and head home in a huff, which took all but a couple minutes.

But I couldn't let it end that way. Noooo.

As I pushed my bike up to the bike trail, I made my "offender" clearly: white male in his 40s, beer in hand, listening to a transistor radio, minding his own business and cool as a 🥒. Perfect contrast to my seething rage, which at this point, boiled over and out my mouth:

"YOU'RE EXACTLY THE KIND OF PERSON WHO GIVES DOG OWNERS A BAD NAME!" I yelled in his general direction. I hopped on my bike and peeled away on the momentum of my righteous indignation. 😂🤣😊

That wasn't the end of it.

A half-mile into my return trip, it struck me. What happened here? Why am I letting this situation shape how I feel? How I feel is more important than how I'm treated. In fact, I know by choosing how I interpret what happens in my life, I can create reality. Here I was doing what a noob at all this "you create your reality" business would do...

At this point, I should stop and say I know sometimes I'm going to get pissed. It's just part of what happens when an eternal being comes into physical reality.

Thinking an enlightened person doesn't get mad sometimes indicates misunderstanding about how physical reality works. Physical reality intentionally offers variety: things I want and things I don't want. After all, how am I to know what I want if I don't know what I don't want?

How am I to know what thoughts feel better than others, if I don't have a negative experience every now and then?

That's what I thought one half mile into my return ride. And that's when I decided I had the power here. I had choice.

So instead of continuing to seethe, I decided to put my attention on something else. Something more pleasing. So I noticed the blue sky. I noticed the green trees. I noticed how much I like riding my bike, how good the sun felt on my bare legs and arms, how good it feels on a Oregon summer day. In seconds I felt better. My feelings reminded me how wonderful it is working from Oregon's riversides:

That's when something amazing happened

The more I thought these thoughts, the better I felt. Then...

Ever had an experience where something happens, you react in a less than ideal way, then, later, you get a thought, an idea, an alternative way you could have responded that might have been more effective?

Well that's what happened. In my increasing happiness I received an alternative scenario that played out in my mind. Rather than throwing a tantrum at the guy, I saw my self calmly rise, gather my things and my chair, walk up to the guy and set up my chair right next to him. So close our chairs touched side by side. Then I sat down, looked at him and began politely talking his ear off.

That's when I burst out laughing, a belly laugh so strong it obliterated my anger. I let this alternative reality play through my mind, adding humorous bits here and there – I saw him looking at me surprised, then trying to ignore me, then suddenly packing up his things and stomping off, dog in tow off leash. I imagined him and I actually having a friendly conversation, chatting away like best friends. I imagined him and I sitting there, me chatting away and he trying to ignore my chatting tsunami in quiet annoyance...

And you know what happened next? The entire situation changed for me. No longer did I see him as the idiot epitome of bad dog ownership. Instead he became a shining example of what I could be.

Consider this:

This guy was doing his own thing, oblivious to what others thought and said about him

This guy was in his own reality, enjoying his life with his dog. So was the dog!

This guy had presence of mind, a centeredness so powerful, he appeared unphased by not only one, but two verbal aggressors trying to knock him off his rocker

As much as I want to vilify him, he demonstrated to me vibrational mastery. And at that point he went from villain to teacher.

I want to be like that. I want to be calm in the face of storms.

And, in fact I am, nearly all the time.

Which is another thing he taught me: that I am that nearly all the time.  When I'm not, there's always something great in the experience I learn about myself and about my Positively Focused practice.

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 4

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day91: I can’t post photos to the sister photo diary and it’s fucking me off. Using this as a place holder- last successful pic was 21/06/2020.

Day 92: Still awaiting Tumblr re: day 91′s entry. Meanwhile looking at other blog/diary sites. Very warm today, like it was throughout May. Boris announced a further relaxation in lockdown measures which includes reducing the 2m distancing instruction which paves the way for pubs, restaurants and other places to open on 4th  . It looks like the Ship will open 6th July, George on the 4th. I await to see the measures put in place before deciding whther it’s a goer.

Day93: Typing on day 94 - I received an email from Deryn from RCI HR concerning placement online module attendance, thanking me for my participation. I was somewhat confused. Was this a mistake or was I erroneously not icluded in the initial communications? I fired off an email to HR and WhatsApp’d Jim. He replied that I should take it up with HR.

I am worried by this. Furlough ends this week and I know not what the fuck is going on.

Day 94: Had a few beers last night, ‘cos I was feeling deflated over work. Finished Homecoming S2, which was very good, and cancelled Amazon Prime before the free trial ends tomorrow. Got up @midday but haven’t done jack shit today as my right ankle is playing up - it was twinging last night - apart from press ups. No word back from RCI but there was a notification that the email from Deryn was attempted to be recalled. Had a spat in Co-Op wth two lads who were ignoring the one way system and social-distancing. It makes my blood boil and I had to say something which ended up making my blood boil even more…especially as one of them asked me to ‘crack on’. It’s a pretty cool response actually, since I had them bang to rights but, at the time, I thought I was going to bust a blood vessel. I walked away having told him to not speak to me like that again and that he was a fucking arsehole! Didn’t make me feel any better though. Fog’s chatting later so I’m going to have a few beers right now (just gone 8pm) - I feel like throwing caution to the wind for some reason (probably work more than anything else).

Day 95: Typing on Day 96. I had a lot of beers with Fog the night before last and felt like shit all day yesterday. Still managed to drag myself up to Foggy’s and have socially distanced beers in his garden with Noel and Lord Irish of Michael.

Day 96: Feeling like shit. Third day of no walking ‘cos my ankle is a little sore although I did walk back from Foggy’s last night.

Day 97: Two walks and my usual stair climb today. Felt good to get back to routine. Plus, no booze yesterday, even tho’ it was a Saturday, feel better for it. I heard from Sue Cockings from HR on Friday, btw, still furloughed until further notice.

Day 98: I discovered, yesterday, that today is actually day 99 of lockdown since it actually begun on the Sunday evening that Boris Johnson announced the measures being in place - I mistakenly thought it began on the Monday. Tumblr still haven’t got back to me regarding reviewing why this blog is deemed ‘sensitive’ and I can’t add any more pics. While I am typing, Northampton are beating Exeter 0-2 at Wembley in the L2 play-off final. It’s funny that their fans can’t be there to see it. Football, in general, on its return after lockdown, without fans in attendance, is shit - like watching women’s football - too many empty seats.

Day 100: I have decided to number the days correctly (See prev’ entry). It’s a good time as I had to export , delete and recreate this blog on Tumblr since they have been non-forthcoming in my request for info as to why they deemed it ‘sensitive’. So, this is a restart, altrough seemless to the reader. On top of all that, I am writing this on Day 101! After restarting the blog diary I forgot to add the day’s entry! Bumped into Roger on my second walk, at the top of Basset Ford Place. We chatted for an hour or so. It was really good to see him and talk. We’ve made a promise to interact more...it seems both he and I allow ourselves to get down in the dumps (easy in self-isolation) and, as such, we shall try to reach out as and when. He suggested a walk together every now and then.

Day 101: I heard back from a charitable services company that Barry Haddon (who, coincidentally, I spoke with today) told me about (Auriga)and answered their email questions. BNarry rates them and told me they got him some decent results like he no longer has to pay Council Tax. I tweeted Chris Hawkes on Radio 6 this morning...he was asking for examples of sames names (’cos he had Dave Gorman on) so I told him about The Redlion and the ad the ‘other’ Tim put in the ET. He read it out! I created a photo album of 101 pics I’ve taken in lockdown and put it on FB including the Oundle Chatter group. The comments were great. My right eyesight is worrying, I cannot make out close up detail i.e. reading is blurred. I am going to start doing 10 press ups after each exercise i.e. three times a day. I decided that during my second walk so today I’ve done 20. Lastly, I have new neighbours I do believe. Hmmm.

Day 102: Emailed dad and Rita to have a rant about what dad thought of the Leicester lockdown and to share a link to my 101 photo album. Had a long Messenger chat with Rog.

Day 103: Typing this on day 104. Dad called when I was out ona  walk so we skyped when I got back. He looks really well! Advided me on how to cutt some branches that are hanging low (I asked him in the email yesterday). I then borrowed a saw, secateurs and green bin from Karen. I walked a long way today. My second walk was 9km.I then had loads of beers! The Co-Op car park seems to be the venue for youngsters to hang out. I was gone 2am before they finished partying. I (re)watched Steve Jobs. Wow....just wow. What a film and what a man!

Day 104: It was gone 1:30pm when I got up feeling the worse for wear. A chilli, chorizo and cheese omelette really sorted me out but no beer tonight. How my Saturday frame of mind has changed from just a few years ago. Elliot and Camilla dropped off a jar of japaenos (that Mil had WhatsApp’d me about) and, among other things, we chatted about a photo Tracie Garrett circulated featuring Ell, me her and a few others who met up to have a drink at The Haycock for Ron Gambling. In it was Cath and someone called Ross (who I don’t remember) who have both passed since the pic (July ‘99). I feel strangely saddened by it all. The pic itself is such a reminder of days past - it conjours up shit loads of different feelings.

Day 105: A few beers again last night so another late one (5ish) but up before noon. Finished watching a series called Condor. Pretty good - bit of a messy ending that is the norm with telly nowadays in that it is a little bit of a cliffhanger.

Day 106: The Ship reopened today. I left a nice message on the Virtual Pub group page wishing them the best plus said thanks to Rach. I think it will be the end of the laugh we’ve had on the virtual site now. I expect to go through a bit of a miserabel time with people now venturing out down the pubs.We were once all united in lockdown - that will no longer be the case. Met Rog for a walk - did over 7km oncluding through Barnwell Picnic Park - I don’t remember it being that pretty. defo going to go there again. Got an email from RCI asking for all furlough workers to join a Zoom meeting tomorrow with Paul (MD) and Deryn (HR). Ominous! Went shopping in Asda and Farm Foods. £100 with NO BOOZE!

Day 107: The zoom call today didn’t tell me much other than we are being furloughed still, until further notice. It was susggested that we have a zoom meeting every 2 weeks and that RCI recognise we’ve be left out in the cold somewhat. I appreciate that very much.There were 30 of us on the call plus Paul and Deryn were in the office since they had to make peopel redundant today. Mark was in the office earlier to take receivership of the IT kits from those that left.

Day 108: I am well on the way to doing 1,000,000 steps in theree months (July, August & September) but at what cost. I’ve done well over 11,000 steps each day in July (actually, a lot of days in June as well) apart from one (8k) and I am feeling it. My right leg/ankle is sore! Day 109: I had another mention by Chris Hawkins on Radio 6. He asked for Brian May moments - apparently when he met Brian May he was so starstruck that all he could say was ‘thank you for the music’. I tweeted my story of telling Felicity Kendall to have a good life. Today, both my walks have resulted in me getting fucking soaked. Hanna S2 is on Amazon Prime. Time for yet another free trial (number 4 or 5).

Day 110: I have walked 144,448 steps in 10 days, well on the way to a million steps in three months. The Heist of the Century - an Argentinian film based on true events - watched it last night (well, over two nights, actually). A real life Ocean’s Eleven (but with 6). Brilliant film, brilliat story. I had issues signing up to another Amazon Prime free trial last night so I set up another gmail a/c just now and I think I’m in. I used Danny’s Gmail (which I created over 15 years ago!) and it didn’t like it - I think I must have used it before. I reckon I have probably had loads more free trials than I care to remember. Anyway, off to watch me some Hanna!

Day 111: Very tired as I type. Bed at around 5am, up at 13:30, normal exercises, cleaning kitchen cupbaords and I’m done in. It’s 10:30pm now, just cracked open a beer and about to watch a new Netflix film “The Old Guard”. I would continue with Hanna but Amazon Prime keeps fucking erroring. I will try to go to bed before it gets light (which seems to be my w/e norm nowadays!

Day 112: I have got into the habit of eating dinner far too late. It’s 10:30pm as I type and I am just about to have something eat. I’m not sure why I feel it’s wrong to eat so late but I do, I shall be trying to address it. Late night again last night (gone 4:30am) so today was a lazy day. Only on ewalk but it was 10km and I get up the above 11,000 steps needed for the 1m challenge. My stair climb, at around 9pm, fucking killed.

Day 113: Boring Monday.

Finished watching The Old Guard on Netflix. A Highlander-esque affair with Charlize Theron kicking ass like she did in Atomic Blonde. It was OK. Haven’t manage to lick the late night eating. It’s 10:05pm and tea’s still cooking.

Day 114: I have been looking at planning persmissions on the ENDC site for questions posed on the Oundle Chatter group on FB. There’s going to be two sites with 130 new houses on each and it’s causing concern. And so it should - the planning docs are very revealing. Objections are dismissed in such an off-hand way. It’s really quite insulting. I was awfully down today, during my first walk. I mean, really despondant (too difficult to describe here), which is a lower version of the norm - it’s been a good couple of weeks since anyone’s even asked how I am! A week since that post on my main blog. But, I powered through and am back to the usual depth! I ate at @9:30 pm tonight. Told ya!

Day 115: I am typing this on Day 116 - I ended up hainga  couple of beers last night and forgot to post. I had the most ridiculous toing and froing on FB and Messenger with Rachel (Harris) - it was piss funny. She is the first person in days, actually weeks, who has asked how I am! I watched ep3 of Hanna S2. Absolutely superb. She kills Marissa! Did not see that fucker coming...mind blown! Day 116: I have finally finished the thorough clean of the kitchen. Fucking drama. I am typing at just gone 10pm, about to eat (curry I made yesterday). It’s been a strange day, timings wise, last night’s drinking meant I wasn’t up until just gone noon which obviously didn’t help. I had a call from DSM group - I applied for an IT tech role, they want to see me tomorrow (Friday) for an interview (in Sibson). Interesting! (Although the contact, Helen, hasn’t sent the promised email!)

Day 117: Despite not getting a confirmation email, I attended the interview at DSM. It went OK (I was there for 90 mins). I went booze shopping in Tesco’s afterwards. Spoke to dad today also - he and Rita are well, as usual! I am feeling really knackered and achy today. I do hope it’s not anything to worry about.

Day 118: Up at 1pm. 9.79 km walk. Cooking meatballs, drinking beer, listening to The Blaze about to watch Deepwater Horizon. All good today!

Day 119: Similar to yesterday, up late, bloody long walk, watching Saving Private Ryan (which I started last night).

Day 120: Typing on day 121. Received an email from someone that works at the BBC for Shaun Keaveny’s show - they want me to do small claims court on August 5th. I’m becoming obsessed with getting my steps in - my second walk was extended to round Barnwell Country Park - over 17.5k steps - not the most I’ve done in one day but, for example, most in one day last month (June) was 14.7k. More importantly, I am finding that I can walk further (and for longer) and not have a hypo; not a great deal further, but over an hour.

[shermandelux-blog]

HOW TO NEVER EVER OFFEND ANYONE ONLINE...EVER!!!

***spoiler alert....it's not possible!! so HERE's what to do when the internet  TURNS ON YOU!

So I'm walking out the front door of the brewery the other day and there at the bar was great friend and fellow brewery owner from down the block Damon Moreau of Common Crown Brewery. "How's it going buddy?" I blurt out, happy as always to see fellow brewers in our taproom. The somewhat fatigued look on his face said everything but yet he replied "Well our new beer just launched and social media is EXPLODING right now!!" Well, that's GREAT news I begin to attempt to congratulate him but he stops me in my tracks with a "yeah but NOT in a good way!" The reaction to the name "Cherry Karen Sour” hit fast and hit hard.  Some people were clearly offended by the use of the Karen meme on their cans and accusations of ignorance and racism began to fly. 

From my viewpoint, I thought it was a clever play on a sour beer being named after a sour personality. I've seen enough of the Karen meme vids and GIF's online to get the connection and was truly surprised to see such anger and attacking comments towards them. Of course, I'd witnessed the Karen meme developing over the years since seeing #FuckYouKaren on Reddit YEARS ago. I'd heard the many tales of  "the Karen in the dental chair" when my wife comes home from work. I'd just simply never EVER associated this meme with anything racist. My thoughts on the worst part of the Karen meme was the unfortunate effect on the poor ladies who, despite being incredibly nice, respectful, lovely ladies who DO NOT need to speak to the manager and simply happen to be named "KAREN"!

Growing up a redhead I've certainly dealt with my share of being the TARGET of the internet's "less than flattering" meme's that range from my obvious lack of any semblance of a soul, all the way to people celebrating "kick a ginger day" (thanks south park) essentially mobilizing the world towards an entire day of the year promoting actual ASSAULT on myself and my fellow soul-less Gingers. 

To be clear, I do not think my personal experiences as the target of the latest internet meme excuses ignorance towards other internet meme's. I do wonder, however, how much responsibility we are to shoulder for keeping up to speed with the latest EVOLUTION of a meme? From my ignorant line of sight "Karen" had not yet manifested herself into a racially charged concept causing fear and possible harm to people of colour. 

"Karen" had been making us laugh since 2017 on Reddit but a quick search of Karen on "Know Your Meme" cites that a pretty significant change happened in 2020! May 25th, 2020 to be precise! That day saw the global pandemic collide violently with the killing of George Floyd AS WELL AS the Amy Cooper Central Park incident. Dr. André Brock, associate professor of Black digital culture at Georgia Tech stated "..the viral widespread resonance of “Karen” footage now is the result of an interest convergence where the coronavirus pandemic intersected with collective outrage over police brutality. The weekend that the video of Amy Cooper in Central Park went viral was the same weekend that George Floyd was killed after now-former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin knelt on his neck, suffocating him. The Central Park video only highlighted the extreme violence — and potentially fatal consequences — of a white woman selfishly calling the cops out of spite and professed fear."

That happened May 25th, 2020. 50 days ago at the time of writing this. My point about the timeline of the evolution of the meme is that, as a fellow brewery owner, I can say with certainty that ‘50 days ago’ our friends at Common Crown Brewery would have still thought Karen was funny! They also would have already ordered beer cans labeled with Karen based artwork and they would have been so head down, consumed with keeping their business alive during the pandemic that they would have most likely missed the significance of Karen’s shift over the past weeks. I know i missed it. There's simply no way anyone could convince me that any of the fine folks at Common Crown would ever intentionally offend anyone with their branding and I'm positive that every single person who has ever met them feels the same way. So WHY such a violent and angry outcry towards them? I think Ricky Gervais from his time eating vegan wings on "hot ones" has some relevant insight! 

 The video above is obviously an overgeneralization of this new world we live in but it's also hilariously accurate. When did we become a generation of people swiping endlessly through other people's lives, waiting eagerly for OUR turn to be offended and stoke the internets mob justice flames? In today's day and age, I wouldn't feel safe announcing ANY kind of beliefs online be it political, religious, medical, sexual, etc. The internet is now a terrifying place, ready to attacknat a moments' notice and bully you for announcing that you wanted the Olympics in Calgary, or that you voted for Nenshi, or that you drive a Tesla, or, or, or,....

So NOW what!!?? Imagine you're a small business owner and despite your best efforts to make your customers happy, to make a living doing what you love, and to create a great environment for your staff to call home, you find yourself on the receiving end of the angry internet? Recently my good friend and fellow business owner James Boettcher of Righteous Gelato (the artist formerly known as Fiasco Gelato) found himself in this similar situation. After releasing a Black Lives Matter Gelato the internet backlash was swift. I watched terrified from the sidelines as my good friend and true Canadian LEGEND of an entrepreneur battled his way through a minefield. What started as criticism quickly turned into a pretty savage attack with people assaulting him as a person and as a business owner. It was brutal. And knowing the incredibly high level of intentions that both Righteous Gelato AND Common Crown Brewery uphold in every decision they make, I'm sure more and more people are thinking "when is it going to be ME who makes a mistake? When will I be the target of the internet's wrath? And what will I do when it happens to me?" 

Having caused a few controversial nationally viral stories myself, I'm no stranger to picking a fight and I'm no stranger to spending 24 hours a day for up to a week at a time responding to every single engagement, every single opinion, every single review, and every single media request during these times and I have a few suggestions for you if your turn ever DOES come around!!

1. Take a Deep Breath - Right or Wrong, Good, Bad or Ugly when you find yourself staring down the loaded barrel of an angry internet, the first step is to recognize that these situations are INCREDIBLE opportunities to let the world see who you really are! What you do next will be a defining moment in the history of your business, so take a deep breath and think "how do I let the TRUE spirit of my company's DNA shine through." 

2. Decide COLLECTIVELY on your position - We often react quickly with anger or defensiveness towards a seemingly unjustified criticism aimed at ourselves or our business. And why WOULDN'T we? NO ONE knows how hard we've worked as business owners to get to where we are right?? But that type of thinking is like a biased parent who's kid can do NO WRONG!! Anyone with kids on a sports team knows those parents! They are the WORST and usually have the worst kids! haha. But by involving your entire team to address the situation cooler heads can often prevail and can help a business see the situation from another position. Compassion, sympathy, and understanding of how others see our actions differently than we do is a hard skill to master. It's also perhaps the most important first step in admitting that we may, have truly made a mistake and need to genuinely make things right. Collectively Involving your team members with a less emotional connection to business is a great way to show them your level of respect for their insight as well as arrive at a position that the entire business believes and OWNS!

3. OWN your position...GENUINELY! - The internet can spot a fake a MILE away. Bullshit meters these days are finely tuned to sniff out shallow apologies, or disingenuous attempts to make the situation "go away". As Ricky Gervais stated above, it's OK if people don't agree with your decisions, even if they're MAD at your decisions. But don't waffle. If you were wrong...OWN IT! Apologize and mean it! Here's a sniff test example of whether you own an apology or not: If you apologize online for your actions and then someone posts in support of you that they thought your actions were justified....and you don't CORRECT them? then guess what? YOU'RE NOT SORRY so don't say that you are.

4. Don't delete the thread! - I love reading other business' reviews online! But I never waste my time with the 5-star reviews. I always feel they're either fake or the business owners' parents! either way, there's no value to me reading them. It's the ONE-star reviews that show me how a business responds to the challenges of business and most of THOSE are BS as well. When a bar gets a one-star review because some jackass felt vindictive towards the bartender who "cut him off" for the night. I laugh at the drunk idiot who thinks that bad review of this nature makes ANY negative impact on the business. On the contrary, a witty, clever response to a one-star review of this nature can do wonders for letting the world see your business's personality. And when a REAL one-star review comes in. It's a TRUE opportunity to show how your business is managed and you "right the wrongs". But somehow as business owners, we FEAR the one-star review!! Don't! Trust that the public will read between the lines and make their decision based on all the information. Again, we all have highly tuned bullshit meters, and deleting threads of this nature not only stop the public from gaining the full context of the situation you may find yourself in. It also, more often than not, creates a perception of guilt. If I hear about a company experiencing something similar and I look them and can read the threads I can make my OWN decision on where I stand on the matter. But if the threads have been deleted, I instinctively assume "boy they must have really screwed up!"

5. Don't be intimidated by the volume of the angry - People who "oppose" are ALWAYS louder that those who "support". Just because you've never had this much attention on your social channels and it ALL appears to be negative. You have to know that in general people who support you are much less likely to dive into shark-infested waters with you. However other SHARKS smell blood and are MUCH more likely to join in on the feeding frenzy. I guess it's just not as fun to stick your neck out there when you can safely watch the attack from the shore. Have faith, however, that despite the feeling of helplessness and the isolation of feeling totally alone in these times, there are TONNES of people who will read the posts, perhaps see both sides and potentially send you some support on a private DM, email, or phone call in support of what you're going through REGARDLESS of whether you're right or wrong. OTHER business owners are the friends you need to lean on, or shoulders to cry on during these times. The “swim in the deep end with me” quote from the video above is awesome to me as I’ve sent up the bat signal in my business before and called upon my pal Jim button of Village Brewery to wade into deep waters with me on issues in the past. It meant EVERYTHING to me that he dove in, headfirst with me!  It’s incredibly important to have people around you who, when they believe in your cause, are willing to stand with you on the front lines taking fire while  helping keep the flag in the air! Have those people around but also BE that person when YOU’RE called upon.

6. LEARN, LEARN, and LEARN SOME MORE- Regardless of the situation you've experienced, if you come away without learning and actively attempting to be better moving forward than you're an idiot. The entire WORLD is receiving a crash course on what acceptable behaviour looks like from all corners of humanity. The last few years have exposed a lot of mistakes humanity has made. The #MeToo movement, #BlackLivesMatter, and LGBTQ issues (to name a few) have allowed the world to learn how our past behaviours, past stereotypes, and even past ways of thinking are just not enough anymore. Being truly open to learning about what matters in the lives of those around us is truly eye-opening and incredibly important for loving forward progress of humanity. And without willing hearts, open to the opportunity to LEARN we'll all just be s bunch of angry internet trolls looking for people to attack who don't think the exact same way WE do or vote the same way WE do, etc!!

Finally, My hope for this blog is a call for PASSIONATE understanding and forgiveness. It's OK to be offended and it's OK to let a person or a business know how they've offended. The piece of the puzzle I've seen missing for some time now, however, is understanding and forgiveness. UNDERSTANDING that the initial outward appearance of a can of beer named after "KAREN" does not reflect the INTENTIONS of the great people trying to do great things for our community. But also the FORGIVENESS towards them once the issue has been raised. Most businesses today would stand stunned, eyes wide open, paralyzed in fear, and totally unaware of what to do next when faced with the attacks I've witnessed over the past year. Forgiveness is LIBERATING. It feels GOOD! But it takes empathy and compassion.

Imagine a thread someday where the offender realizes their mistake after reading criticisms they receive online. They regret it. They genuinely apologize. They learn a tonne, become more culturally aware, and the offended parties empathize with them, show them compassion, and openly forgive them for their mistake? Jack Handy probably said it best..."I can picture in my mind a world without war, a world without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world because they'd never expect it"