#a lot of things are unfolding/growing and also the anxiety is terrible

[itspileofgoodthings]

I mean I’m obsessed with crash landing on you because it’s like if a hallmark movie was good and that is fascinating to my brain and healing to my heart.

[julyarchives]

Lunar Love || (M)

Stuck between forbidden love and duty to the kingdom, decisions under the moonlight may change everything

→ Pairing: Yanan x Female Reader

→ Genre: Smut

→ Words:  2.8K

→ Contains: Smut; Princess MC; Royalty AU; whole lot of romance

→ A/n: So, we tried a different kind of language for this story, and writing this beautiful romance was really fun! We hope you guys like it as much as we do!

You consider yourself lucky. Being born part of royalty had something to do with that but also being able to live the life you wanted since a little kid was a dream come true. You have everything, a beautiful big royal housing, a lovely mother and a caring father, every luxury you could think of, and many more. Of course, it is not completely perfect, having strict duties and forced into marriage for alliance purposes was not at all part of your dream. But even though you were promised to a faraway prince, you had your own prince, so to speak. 

 Since learning you were to be married, your mother insisted on making you take classes on proper manners and house managing to suit your soon-to-be husband. She left the teaching role to the youngest and studied man in the kingdom. He was sure wise and proper like she expected you to be and it helped that he was a close friend of yours growing up. Yanan was a dream come true to all the royalty ladies you knew, and some commoners as well, and who was to blame…

 Yanan took the role of your teacher against his will, claiming to be needed for studies elsewhere but never leaving nevertheless. He taught you many things as to how to please a man and honestly, it was all dull and you knew it. So did he. When he was certain you two were no longer watched closely by the Queen or any maid answering to her, he'd stop pretending he believed in female submission in marriage and simply enjoyed time with you. 

 That's when things went wrong. Or maybe incredibly right. You learned subtly that even though he was always leaving the kingdom for studies, his heart never parted with him, it always stayed in the royal housing, with you. To claim you loved him from the start is a lie, you didn't even know you were allowed to feel love for someone who was not to be your husband but his actions as the days went by, carefully moving his routine around you so to not force his feelings to the surface got you enchanted in mere weeks.

Once enchanted there were no turnbacks. Your cheeks would flame up as he smiled at you, his smooth and gentle manners captivating your heart more and more. Subtly, just as the wind caressed your faces by the housing lake, you confessed your confusing heart, even if it hurt knowing this lovable man was not to be yours. That day he was your first. Your first love, kiss, and first night awake in someone else's arms. It was also your first tears when you parted ways, scared of never living your love. 

 Since that day your chambers were always filled with flowers, coloring the royal house differently, filling your heart with more love and more longing. The maids designed to accompany you always thought it was the goodwill of yours to be husband and you nodded along, letting your mind dream that to be true. The downside of being a princess was the need to be surrounded by people all the time, your security and comfort coming first, so outside classes, it was incredibly hard to meet Yanan.

 So when he showed up at the door of the main room as you had your daily tea with other noblewomen, your heart almost stopped. Their whispers angered you in envy and jealousy but your eyes were strained in the soft black-haired man standing in front of you. With an elegant bow, he addressed you. 

 "My princess", he kissed your hand as any other man would but the tenderness you felt there was special. 

 "What brings you here?"

 "I was given this message. I was told to deliver it to you to deal with it privately, since I'm closer acquainted with you, my Princess".

 You nodded, lost for words. You quickly unfolded the parchment and you almost dropped it from shaking.

 As the moon sets higher, I'll be waiting by your beloved garden. Be so kind to meet me there after dinner.

 "I- I completely understand, sir. Please take this away and seek to do what you judge best with it. Maybe burn it", the shocked gasps from the ladies brought you back to reality. "Oh, fret not, ladies. It was a mere message from the head maid over my request to more rose waters". 

 You prayed for it to be enough to calm them down and luckily it did. It was not good to have them gossip about what that note was about. They knew better to question you and even better to know you're not supposed to keep a message from a housekeeper. His elegant writing was impossible to not recognize and you smiled gently at him, bowing your head and watching him leave silently. Your heart was euphoric and you knew time was going to pass way more slowly than usual. Thankfully it was the end of the afternoon and soon enough you had to go have dinner with your family and nobles.

 Dinner did no good to you, for it was spent exchanging secret looks between you and your lover, anxiety building up as the clock ticked away the long seconds remaining for your tryst.

 “You look rather distracted, my dear” your mother stated, “is there something troubling you?” 

 “I’m just a little tired, mother, nothing a good rest can not fix,” you said, containing your leg under the table, which was shaking in anticipation.

You tried your best to remain present, but your mind did nothing but wander back to the last time your lips met, your romantic rendezvous rather chastely, but now you were craving his lips like you never had before, dreaming about the feeling of being in his strong arms again.

 Took it long enough, but you were finally excused from the table and accompanied to your room by your loyal maidens. 

 “I shall not be disturbed tonight, for I must heal from this terrible headache” you dramatically touched your temples. “Wake me up only for my morning tea.”

 They bowed obligingly, leaving to fulfill their other duties.

 Wasting no time, you evaded your chambers as soon as there was no one in sight, not even bothering changing from your formal dress, carefully prepared for dinner with guests. You ran away, sneaking around hidden corners that only you knew, and finally, you made it to the gardens.

 Your beloved awaited for you under the pale moonlight, which reflected on his skin beautifully like he was part of the collection of marble statues that adorned the bushes and flowers in the area. He was breathtakingly handsome, and you felt like the luckiest lady in all the kingdom.

 He spared his words as he simply took your hand and, in between giggles, you two ran fast through the darkest spots, finally making it to the forest, where you two could live your romance without being bothered by the real world. Over there you two could be accomplices and lovers, living your fantasy and desires as you please, whilst everything else was dearly forgotten. Far enough from the castle, the moon was the only source of light, and it didn’t take long for his lips to urgently seek yours.

 You blushed, embarrassed from the moan that escaped you as soon as you felt him all over you.

 “I longed for a taste of you, my lady” he whispered between kisses.

 “Me too, my charming lover” you confessed “being in your arms last time only made me yearn for more.”

 He kissed you passionately, but his hand gently found in your, and in between pecs he said:

 “I’ve prepared something for us.”

 You followed him without any hesitation, trusting him with your life and heart.

 A bedsheet spread across the prickly grass decorated with flower petals awaited you both on a glade. You removed your shoes, so did he, and you two stood in the middle of it, now kissing with patience. His hands now caressed your face, kindly guiding you with sweet dominance, and you were completely his.

 "May I touch your beautiful skin, my princess?" He said, hand positioning on the small of your back, ready to untie your corset.

 You nodded and so he did. Although he was undressing you, and you were now more vulnerable and exposed than you've ever been before, his eyes were locked on yours. Even as he slid your dress down your shoulders, dropping it at your feet, he still couldn't stop staring at your face, eyes burning with love, and yours reciprocating in the same intensity. 

 He then proceeded to delicately kiss your shoulders, as he was caring for every centimeter of skin he could see. You longed to feel him as well, so you took his jacket off, then unbuttoned his shirt. Your hands immediately went to his back, his wariness comforting against your palm.

 "Make me yours, my sweet Yanan." You whispered in his ear "for tonight I'm no princess, nor any part of royalty. I am yours and yours only."

 "What have I done to be gifted with such blessings? Or perhaps I'm being tainted with the most beautiful sin." He said, locking eyes with you again, resting his forehead against yours as he held you close.

 "I am no devil as well, but if sinning is drinking from you, then nor a saint I am." Was your final words before pulling him into a passionate kiss.

 Both of your exposed chests were now pressed together, and although this was your first time being undressed in front of a man, you felt no shame. The moment was magically flowing, and it was a bubble you never wanted to come out of.

 Yanan was still a little bit cautious, afraid of crossing any limits, always treating you so gently. You decided to encourage him and guide his hand to your chest, making him gasp with the contact. 

 "Touch me, my love" you said in between kisses 

 "Let's lay down first, darling" he replied, holding you still, so you would do it comfortably.

 You laid against the soft sheets and he positioned himself on top of you. Yanan still had his bottoms on, but somehow that made him more attractive. He put his hand back in your chest, this time more sure of it, and now massaging it lightly while his finger played with your nipples.

 You felt wetness pooling in between your legs, and the bulge in his pants told you he was aroused too, and taking advantage of that, you buckled your hips against his, getting some relief from the friction, small moans escaping both of your lips.

 "Those sounds are heavenly" Yanan whispered, nibbling your earlobe.

 You let out another moan as a response, and to reward you Yanan caught your other nipple in his lips, swirling his tongue around it, making you throb in desire. Your finger intertwined in his soft hair, tugging it to show him that you were liking what he was doing, your moans becoming louder as you did so. He put his tight higher up, so now you were riding it, the jolts of pleasure pooling in your lower stomach.

 "I need you inside me, Yanan" you managed to say, sliding your hand inside his pants and lightly stroking his member.

 There was no time to lose as you felt desperation so strange yet so welcoming to have him. And thankfully his desire matched yours, his moan indicating his own lust. He pulled down his pants enough to get his member free and entered you slowly, eyes locked in yours, his hands finding yours to hold. It was such a special moment, your connection going beyond anything you ever felt, it was physical and emotional, you felt in your soul and when he shuddered from being inside of you, you knew both of you needed him to move.

 "My love, please, I need you", you whispered, feeling the stretch burning so pleasantly. 

 "Any wish of yours is a command to me, my princess", he whispered back, hips moving slowly against you.

 You both moaned at the feeling and you held his hand tighter, his member hitting the perfect spot for you to see stars with eyes closed. Yanan whispered praises at you nonstop, pouring his heart out for you as he picked up speed slightly with his thrusts, his own need clouding anything else. The night felt hotter as he made love to you in a gentle yet intense manner, his voice sending shivers down your spine and his member sending flames up your core. All too soon your hips moved harder against him, a silent plea to release the impending desire burning inside of you. He grunted at that, grinding harder and faster against you, feeling you clench around him. 

 "Let go, my love. Let it wash over you, that desire inside", he moaned, one hand caressing your nipple again. 

 It was all too much for you, eyes closing and mouth opening in ecstasy, moaning nonsense that only your heart knew. That white-hot burning feeling taking over your body and you knew no other man would ever make you explode like him. Yanan followed immediately, voicing his own love for you as he spent inside of you. Your body shook from the intensity of your orgasm and Yanan held you close as he finished with you, both of you a trembling mess. When you both came down from it, eyes staring curiously and adoringly at each other, you couldn't help but smile at him, your free hand moving a lock of his hair behind his ear, his own smile matching yours.

 Yanan laid next to you and you turned to cuddle him, laying your head on his chest, hearing his heart beating as if to the sound of thunder. For a moment you worried for he spent inside of you and your hand shot to your belly, holding it as if your fear became true at the second you felt it.

 "It would be a beautiful child if it had your eyes, my lady", he smiled down at you, knowing what your fear was.

 "I beg to differ, my love. If the child was ever to be born, it'd be a delight to have one with your handsome features", you smiled back.

 "Y/N, I sure feel I am not worthy of your affection, impossibly so of having your body next to mine as we are, but my lady, you have my undying devotion". Yanan's eyes were heavy and the sudden change worries you. 

 "What worries you, dear? Why are you telling me your heart once more?", you sat up, not even caring about your nakedness and he sat up as well.

 "We are not fated together, my lady. We are challenging fate and the palace goodwill just by being close", he sighed, his hand caressing your cheek adoringly, "the King is pushing up the date to your marriage, my princess".

 Your head began to spin and he could only hold you close as silent tears adorned your face. Holding him close, all you knew was that no matter what happened, you'd fight for your love, you'd stay by Yanan's side for the rest of your life, no matter how many years. 

 "If I were ever so brave to challenge fate, even more, my love…", he spoke so low you had to look up so you could understand, "I'd propose a new life for our love. A new start to our hearts, together, on a faraway land. Where no prince will steal my heart's muse from me again".

 His smile matched yours and you knew it was the only way. You didn't answer when he brought up the marriage by being certain a sob would come out instead of words of how you felt like a different kind of explosion would burst in your chest.

 "It is the only way to make our love happen, my sweet Yanan. And if I have to fight until the day of my death for your love, then so I will. You tell me when and I'll run away with you without any hesitation, my love".

 "Tomorrow", his stern voice made you shiver in excitement. So he had plans for you, he was fighting for you and that made tears pool in your eyes. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much but you didn't even care. "I took the liberty to think of a plan to start anew, my princess, for I knew your heart is a mirror to mine and so will be for all eternity. From tomorrow on, I'm forever yours, my beautiful Y/N".

 "From tomorrow to all eternity, my beautiful Yanan".

[allmygyus]

＊*✩Unrequited Love✩*˚＊

can we talk? (34/?)

[ prev : masterlist : next ]

wordcount: 1,953 !! warnings: mentions of anxiety, a lil angsty 

You opened the door to and see Soonyoung standing with one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and the other holding a white plastic bag. He looked at you sullenly. You ignore the aching in your chest and reply with a blank stare and took a few steps to allow him to come inside. Although your feelings were still a mess, one thing was sure. You were upset with him. He took off his shoes and you walked away as he shut the door behind him. He placed the plastic bag on your kitchen counter and sat on the edge of your couch.

Soonyoung was a bit flustered and nervous because he knew he was at fault. He watched you sit behind your desk and continue to paint. Thoughts spiraled in his head. Should he approach you? Would you get angry at him if he disturbed you while painting? Should he just apologize and leave? How could he fix the gap between the two of you?

He cautiously stood up from the couch and made his way behind you. As he lifts his hand to tap your shoulder you speak.

“I said I didn’t want to talk to you,” you say with your back still facing him. You saw his reflection from the glass that held your paint brushes.

“Y/n I-,” he utters but was interrupted by you slamming your paintbrush on your desk, causing him to jump at the loud thud. He didn’t expect it to be this tough to make amends with you. Soonyoung so badly wanted to apologize and fix things with a hug. He also wanted to tell you why he reacted that way and how by the past few weeks he had developed feelings for you, but he couldn’t.

You took your earphones and shoved them in your ears playing loud music so that you couldn’t hear what he would say.You were being childish and you were aware of that but, it truly hurt you how one minute he would be the cause of butterflies in your stomach and migraines the next. It just made you more frustrated and confused.

Soonyoung stood behind you, debating in his mind about what his next move should be. He was growing frustrated as well, by your childish actions, but this time he was in the wrong so he had to subside the frustration that grew.

Soonyoung looked out the window and wondered if he should go home instead but saw the heavy snowfall and realized he had no choice but to stay here and wait for the snow to stop. He just couldn’t bare to be in the same room with someone who he really cared for but was on bad terms with. He just wanted to fix the mess he’s made.

You on the other hand just wanted to ignore him. Not just him but Mingyu as well, even though he wasn’t at fault. You figured that the less you interacted with them, maybe the clearer your thoughts and feelings would be, but it was hard to ignore the person who stood behind you. It was hard to ignore them both, actually. They were your best friends.

Soonyoung took a deep breath and sighed. He waited for you to put your paintbrush down and pick up your phone. Once you did, he pulled the earphones out of your ears and spun your chair around.

“What the hell?!” you yell as your phone was snatched from your hand.

“Listen, I can’t stand being in the same room right now and not talk to my bestfriend,” he bent over and put his hands on your knees.

“Okay, I’ll be in my room then,” you shoved his hands off and made your way to your bedroom.

Soonyoung grabbed your hand and pulled you away from your bedroom door and quickly pushed you to sit on the couch.

“Soonyoung, I swear to-“ you say as you stand up but was blocked by him sitting on your lap like a child. He was getting desperate and this was the only way he could keep you from moving. He sat on you as if you were Santa and he was a child about to tell you what he wanted for Christmas.

“I won’t get off until you listen and let me talk,” he said while clinging on your shoulders. As much as you pushed and shoved him, the man-child would not budge. His annoyingly proud smirk just made you more irritated yet you give in.

“Okay fine,” you cross your arms.

“Do you promise to stay here and listen?” you huff and nod in reply. It’s not like you had a choice anyways. He nodded, sat next to you and crossed his legs to face you. You do the same but kept your arms folded and head down.

“I’m sorry,” he placed a hand on your knee. You look up at him and tilt your head.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole and picking a fight with you,” he said genuinely. You unfolded your arms and listened to him.

“I was being that way because I was just stressed about the whole dance crew auditions and Seungcheol auditioning with the others. I spent the whole weekend thinking about what I should do and I just kinda wished you were at practice earlier today because only you can ease my mind. Not seeing you there just-,” he sighed and paused. “I was being an idiot that let out my anger on my best friend. I was wrong for that and I’m sorry.”

An uneasy silence filled the room as he waited for your reply.

“Yeah, you were an asshole,” you scoffed. “You know Soonyoung, you’re not the only one who’s going through things. I have a lot going on too but you don’t see me being an asshole to my friends.”

“I know, Kiddo-,” he says.

“I was having a rough day too! Heck, I’ve been having a hard time lately. Balancing my academic requirements with my other responsibilities! But I never lashed out on any of you!” you raise your voice.

“Y/n,” he placed his hands on yours, trying to calm you down but you shoved him aways again and stood up.

“God, Soonyoung! You have no idea what I’ve been going through,” you run your fingers through your hair and pace back and forth the living room. It was hard and it was the first time you had felt this much anxiety and anger altogether. From your undecided feelings to your never ending list of academic responsibilities. You chose this but couldn’t help but feel pressured. He stood up and faced you to listen to what you had to say.

“The last thing I needed was for you, my best friend, to get angry with me over a little misunderstanding,” you sigh.

To others it may seem like small bickering through chat, but for you it was a big deal; you were a sensitive person. You were never one to fight and argue with others, especially your best friends, and he knew. You weren’t the type of person to be mad too. Much like Soonyoung, you tried to stay cheerful despite everything else that happened in your life.

Being angry or upset was something you were not used to. It was out of your character and, most of the time, being angry would lead you into tears. When Soonyoung fought with you, you were at your breaking point. All the stress from your responsibilities and the frustration of developing feelings for two of your best friends just caused you to bottle it all up and deflect. Deflecting on your problems only made it worse. Your thoughts spiraled, the weight on your chest got heavier, and you were just out of it. You were thankful because when you were at Jihoon’s studio, you were able to relieve some of the bottled up emotions but a part of you still felt trapped. You weren’t able to release all the emotions and feelings that you had bottled up in front of them and you didn’t know why. Maybe because you cried first before you could tell them everything, you weren’t sure.

And now, you weren’t sure of what to say or do to the person in front of you.

“I know and I’m truly sorry,” he walks towards you. You stay still as he holds your hands. You chewed on your bottom lip and felt the lump in your throat form. No, not infront of Soonyoung. You knew that if you dared open your mouth, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from crying.

So instead you nod your head, telling him that you forgive him. He then quickly assesses the situation but hesitated.

“Y/n I- Are we- We’re okay now, right?”

You nod again in reply and he engulfs you in a warm hug. He figured that it wasn’t the right time to tell you how he felt. He just had to be there for you right now because he now knew about your other problems in life. His feelings for you was the least of his worries right now.

You on the other hand, while being embraced by Soonyoung’s arms, felt at peace. His arms provided a sense of comfort and serenity. Sinking deeper in his arms, you breathe out and the bottled up emotions were set free. Once the first tear fell, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. You sobbed in his arms and tightened your grasp on his jacket. The more you deflected on your problems, the more you felt trapped and the heaviness in your chest increased. As he stroked your hair while you cried, the heaviness was gone and you felt more like yourself again.

As he held you in his arms, he realized how he deeply cared for you. He wished that it was always him who would be the one to hold you while you cried and never again the reason for your tears. In that moment his arms squeezed you a bit tighter and despite the heaviness in his stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your bodies so close together. Your touch made him feel warmer and more alive.

As your tears came to a stop he released you from his grip to have a look at your face. Puffy and red with swollen lips and eyes.

“Y/n,” he whispered and you look up at him. He sweeps the strands of hair that stuck to your face.“You look terrible.”

You let go and smack him in the arm as he bursts into small giggles.

“We just made up and you’re bullying me already?”

“I’m kidding,” he quickly pulls you back into his arms. The sudden action causing your heart to skip a little.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“I brought chicken,” he let you go and walked to your dining area. “We can watch movies and eat if you want.”

You nod and he brings the plastic bag to your coffee table. The two of you spend the night talking, eating, and laughing with the movie was playing in the background. He told you his problems about the dance crew and how he decided to have Seungcheol and the others back. He wanted to move forward and maybe even make amends with them again. You tell him how Seungcheol would talk fondly about him and how the others felt bad about how their friendship ended. The two of you listened to each other tentatively the whole night as you shared your troubles, except for having feelings for each other of course, and eventually fell asleep on the couch together.

Summary: ⤑ Soonyoung, Mingyu, Seokmin and y/n. It’s always been the four of them and y/n wouldn’t have it any other way. Y/n loved the three of them but she loved one differently. It’s their third year of college and y/n’s been debating whether she would tell the one she loved how she truly felt but would it be worth risking their friendship over? Along the way she struggles to realize what it is she truly wants.

Pairing: ⤑college student y/n x ??

taglist: @sunshineshouchan @dy-mglzz @suhfluffy @muhanuibean @itsdnguyenxoxo @unmanageable-day @ash-moon8 @444wjh @fluffyhyeju @skylions-den @cheolright @monstathedisco @samemagicpoint

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

Twitter has basically begun a crusade for crucifixion of a group of girls who have gone to Harry’s shows. One girl tested positive for covid the day after the Las Vegas show (allegedly negative the day before but 🤷‍♀️), and immediately did what she could to get the word out. The internet did what the internet does and found a few other girls who were pictured all massless in a group with her, and who have since gone to the Denver show. All of Twitter has engaged in this super weird, very aggressive attack on these girls - everything from tweets begging them to wear a mask and stop going to shows, threatening them if they don’t wear masks, insulting them, and (perhaps strangest of all to me) attempting to guilt them using the possibility that they’ll get Harry sick and/or get either Sarah and Mitch sick who will give it to the baby. Now I acknowledge Twitter isn’t always the most sane or rational place, but all of this has been a bit confusing to me. What are they trying to accomplish? What do they think they’re actually accomplishing? Did they really believe every single person who went to Harry’s shows would behave with integrity and wear a mask the whole time and/or skip a show if they thought they might have been exposed prior to it? That’s maybe the most concerning to me, because I worry it means a whole lot of people have very, very incorrect ideas about their true level of risk attending these shows. I have pit tickets to one, but I am under no delusions that every single person in the pit with me will be behaving as an angel. That someone, or more likely multiple someones in the pit would be covid positive and would at some point go maskless regardless of the rules was one of the factors I took into consideration when I decided to go to my show. The morality policing really bothers me, too, because it always seems to turn so quickly from “you might get Harry or Mitch and Sarah or the baby sick” to “every single one of you is a horrible person for going to shows in the first place you careless monsters,” and then devolving into these arbitrary rules like no one should ever go to more than one show, or if you have to travel at all outside your hometown for a show don’t go to it. There has also been lots of proposing other risk reduction measures that don’t make sense to me practically, like testing every single ticket holder - great in theory. Practically a nightmare. As I’m getting to the end of this ask I’m realizing it doesn’t really have a point - just that when I saw all this unfold I thought about you, and the way you’ve laid out a framework to analyze the real risk of going to a show like this, which have really helped me think about my own show, and which I wish more people could have seen. Hope you’re well!

Thanks for this anon (I'm finally heading back to some anons from earlier in the tour that I'm really interested in). It's lovely that you say that the way I lay out the risk has helped you.

After I started reading this I read an article about wellness and vaccine denial and the tag line was: 'The randomness of illness is far too frightening for many to contemplate – so they rely on a fiction they’re special and can control their bodies' And that's something we see everywhere - including people loudly insisting that if everyone wore masks we'd know that Mitch and Sarah's baby wouldn't get sick.

The discussion seems to me to be deep in denial about what is known about COVID. In particular, that screaming for an hour, inside, surrounded by other people who are also screaming, is pretty high up there on the most COVID-unsafe activities. Masks reduce the risk (although given how intensely aeorsol friendly screaming is - nobody can be sure how much). But an intervention can reduce the risk and there can still be lots of risk. It's so important that people don't do scream for a long time around other people, unless they accept the full range of risks of what they're doing, including the risk that they might infect other people, even if they're vaccinated, even if they're wearing a mask the entire time.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about what people are doing when they say 'think about Mitch and Sarah's baby'. There's the straight racism of worrying about a white baby (COVID isn't even likely to be the most risky virus for a baby in the arena) when there's a black man with breathing problems on stage. But there's a clear purpose to all of that - which is the moralistic worldview. The baby isn't just vulnerable, but innocence, and by invoking innocence the outraged tweeters are suggesting someone's guilty.

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

In general, 'people just need to be better' is a terrible public health and political response. And what I need to remind myself is that's true of people dealing with their COVID anxiety by seeking certainty when there is none, as well as suggesting perfect masking could stop spread in high risk environments.

While I'm very tempted when faced with this sort of material to rage against what a ridiculous view of risk it is (and I usually give into temptation), it's far more useful to acknowledge that wanting certainty is a really normal response. The last year and a half has been incredibly stressful for so many people. And many people have been left in situations where there's insufficient support, completely untrustworthy communication and absolutely terrified.

The people who are anxious on twitter probably come by at least some of their anxiety honestly. (Although how much of the anxiety is about Harry as opposed to COVID is an open question). And so I do think it's worth saying: 'the situation is really scary, but yelling and trying to control other people won't make you safer, or make the situation less controlling and scary'. But that sort of response if you can suggest something less damaging that people can do and I don't know enough about the US to know what would help (I'm guessing anything that takes vaccines and good information to where people are - and it's worth praising Harry's team for what they're doing along those lines).

So I do have one final answer to a question you didn't ask anon. You say 'twitter' and 'all of twitter' in your ask. I think it's useful to conciously reject that framing. What you saw was being done by some accounts. There were lots of people who thought differently, or didn't care, but you didn't see them because they didn't post. People who say things can end up taking up a disproportionate space in our awareness, because we can't see silence.

I'm sure they've moved on to some absurd other policing now (a few days ago it owuld have been signs, I'm not sure what people are engaging with now). Which shows that a lot of it wasn't about COVID and also that it's worth actively not trying to allow it to grow bigger in importance than it actually is.

[where-s-all-blue]

Self Insert AU for your chaotic crack fic needs

When you get transported into the One Piece Universe, you can't choose where you end up in nor in which time. Even your age might be jumbled up.

Depending on where you end up, your memories of your old life will disappear until the crew or group you are in is featured in canon.

If you make a joke about something, it's very likely that the universe will make it happen just to fuck you up. For reference, see C and R making up a lost island that sunk into the sea only for it to re-emergence randomly in the New World right in front of their eyes.

No matter what you do, you can't change the canon plot.

You don't have a plot armour.

Mod specific headcanons under the cut.

Onto the specific headcanons of C and R:

C

C ends up in the same town where Luffy meets Zoro, only days before it happens, hence her memories aren't that jumbled up, but she can't remember her real life friends. She pretty much joins them there and then.

C has the habit of saying cryptic things and accidentally revealing things beforehand, like when someone important is about to join the Strawhats whom she has joined. The crew thinks that she can see into the future.

She also tends to start crying when she meets people who are good but have tragic pasts. Luffy starts to use this as an indicator for people being nice.

During the timeskip, C ended up eating a devilfruit, her devilfruit was Neko Neko Mi, Model: Toyger ver Dwarf. This means that she is essentially a Toyger breed of a regular housecat, who happens to have dwarfism and thus will never grow up bigger than a kitten.

C uses her devilfruit to sneak around, get out of trouble and to get a free lift from her crew members. R uses his fruit power to intimidate people and to fight, he also uses it to go unnoticed while he naps in the dark corners.

The majority of people assume that she is max 14 years old due to her petite form and mischievous nature. However, when reaching Wano, she’s actually 18.

C’s outfit is modeled after a cow; she adores them as she finds them cute. She wears tiny horns on her head and a dotted over dress on top of her blue dress. Her cat form also keeps the horns on it.

Her fighting style includes using these horns to inflict damage. She also has learned how to use armament haki during her training.

She spent three months stuck in her cat form due to not knowing how to control it. She has managed to awaken her fruit powers, which doesn’t really help her much aside from giving her extra speed and durability.

During one of the early calls between C and R, they joked about her having the will of D. Later on she learned that she infact DOES have that secret name and she actually carries the will of Portgas D. Rouge. She also resembles Rouge by her looks and sometimes says things that especially got the attention of Garp as he’d last heard the woman herself say them.

C made up an island just to avoid suspicion, claiming that it sunk to the bottom of the ocean only to find out that the island did infact exist.

She also claimed that R and her are childhood friends before her family moved to the East Blue from the North Blue.

In Wano, she learns about the backstory of herself and is left speechless.

She’s actively trying to set Law and R up for her own amusement, even going as far as claiming that he suffers from chronic anxiety which can be cured by slow socialisation (to earn his trust) and cuddles, but the latter must be done by someone the red head respects. Law accepted this as a fact until his mind caught onto it about a week later.

Her favourite colours are purple and green, she often wears brown and blue.

The fake Strawhats had two sets of her; a feral kitten and a giant hulking man with cat ears. Upon seeing this, C immediately called out how they got her motif wrong.

C often takes selfies in the most inconvenient places like right in front of Katakuri, Oven and Daifuku, which she then sends over to R. She also likes to avoid fighting in favour of watching the plot unfold itself.

R

R ends up 10 years into the past, into the office of the Revolutionary Army where he was found by Ivankov and Dragon. He is also now a child. Until he turns 19, he doesn't have any memory problems.

Ivan looks for a cure for R's memory loss, but she doesn't have much time as she's supposed to infiltrate a prison. She quite literally drops him into the hands of Trafalgar Law, explains the situation and leaves without allowing him to protest.

Due to R's shyness, he spends the next half a year silent, making the crew think that he might be actually mute only to later on burst into a song in an attempt to soothe someone. The crew never realises this though as they're used to hearing weird sounds in the submarine.

R uses in total three names in this universe: Ren (Revolutionary Army), Eli (Heart Pirates) and Nao (C, later on the Strawhats). They joke that he has just very long name and those are parts of it.The joke later on turns into reality making R's name be Reneli Nao much to his embarrassment.

During Ivan’s search for a doctor who could cure him, R ended up accidentally eating a devil fruit. The fruit was Zoan type, Neko Neko Mi, Model: Black Jaguar. However for convenience, he refers to it as panther fruit as that way nobody can tell for sure if it was leopard, snow leopard, tiger, lion or a jaguar (Panther is the class name of each of these large cats).

R has two bounties, one as Ren and other as Eli, the latter being his "pet" bounty. Whenever the marines see him in his human form, they refer to him as revolutionary army member rather than as a pirate. Somehow they never put together the fact that Eli and Ren are the same entity.

His bounty as Eli is only around 100 beries due to the marines assuming that the black jaguar form is his real form, and thus believing that he’s a pet.

Before the timeskip, R uses black sunglasses to block out the light as he is very light sensitive, post timeskip he's seen using a cap.

During a call, C joked about him being the illegitimate son of Shanks, in Wano this is confirmed to be the case and the duo swear to never joke again.

He too claimed to be from an island which sunk, only for it to turn up on old maps.

R is an awakened Zoan user, which grands him higher speed and durability.

He also has the habit of switching into another language unconsciously when he curses or insults people. He most often calls them fools in Hebrew, which the rest of the crew assumes having been the native language of the island he’s from.

Law is the only one who knows what he is saying, which makes situations where someone assumes that they’ve earned his trust because he’s “giving them a nickname” even funnier.

He knows how to use both rapier and a katana, his old sword was a rapier which he called Shoshannah after his mother (this means lily or a rose), his current sword is named after his real life brother’s cat, Mito, which in Japanese means serene water while in Italian it can mean myth.

During Zou, the only reason why he got hurt was because of his fruit powers suddenly activated making him loose his balance.

He calls Ivankov “mom” on multiple occasions.

His denden mushi was a gift from Ivankov, however, he just can’t bring himself to decorate it claiming that he’s waiting for the moment he’ll be able to pinpoint just what would reflect him and his personality accessory wise.

His trademark colours are orange, blue and purple, which you can find from his hat and the scarf he wears around his waist to help him carry his katana.

R is a terrible liar which he tries to make up for by turning conversations overly philosophical. Most often he ends up accidentally blurting warnings to his captain and crew.

He often challenges his captain without even realising it by asking questions like “Are you sure about that?” or calling something the stupidest thing he’s ever heard right to his face.

He seems to be immune to feeling intimidated by people to the point where it’s thought that he simply doesn’t have any self preservation instinct. Despite of this, R is very careful and plans his moves to ridiculous detail, trying to take in any possible threats and any potential change in the environment.

Law has a theory that R is the reincarnation of Corazon because he seems to know things that only Corazon would know. This theory was debunked once he learned that R is only 3 years younger than he is.

Other

C and R meet one another in Sabaody, where they both start to regain their lost memories. While they're running from the marines, they quickly catch up and exchange numbers so they can keep in touch.

C and R call regularly, but have trouble when someone else picks up, they both are very shy after all. This leads to moments where C asks Usopp to ask whoever had picked up if Nao was available and vice versa.

Penguin and Shachi have a stash of photos from the time R was stuck as a jaguar cub (when they thought that he was a lot younger and that the devil fruit was just a black cat). They tend to show them to C out of spite towards R, who still doesn’t talk that much.

There’s a third person (let’s call them K), who’s sailing with Boa Hancock, C and K haven’t met one another in the OPverse, but R has made sure that the two also manage to talk by giving them each other’s denden numbers.

K likes to mess with R and Law by referring to them as brothers or “cat men”.

R reunited with K when his captain was taking care of Luffy. The latter found R’s situation hilarious.

The denden mushi of C has purple and green stripes and tiny horns, K’s radiates  G A Y  because of glitter. K’s denden also holds a tiny pride flag.

[queenofcats17]

Hell's studio prompt: sammy and henry can still fuse with each other after the fusion ordeal and they find that out on accident

Oooh~

Here’s the original fusion story

—————————————-

Sammy was still rather peeved about the whole fusion thing. Every time he got involved in Joey’s shenanigans he got peeved. He didn’t like having weird things happen to his body without his say.

Although, admittedly, fusion hadn’t been…terrible.

Sammy would admit that. Being fused with Henry wasn’t as bad as the other things that had happened to him. They could have actually gotten some work done if they’d figured out how to manage each of their jobs while in that form. Plus, he liked Henry. He might not have wanted to admit it, but he respected the other man quite a lot. Henry was a good man, diligent in his work and kind to those around him. If Sammy had to be fused to anyone, he was glad it was Henry.

“That fusion thing was really crazy, huh?” Henry remarked to him about a week after the incident.

“That’s one word for it.” Sammy snorted derisively, taking a sip of his coffee.

“You have to admit, it wasn’t bad.” Henry gently nudged him. “It was nice to get to know you a bit better.” Sammy flushed, quickly avoiding Henry’s gaze. He didn’t like people being able to gain access to his innermost thoughts.

“It wasn’t bad, sure, but what happened afterward was weird.” He muttered.

For a few days afterward, both he and Henry had felt a sense of….incompletion. Like they were missing something. Joey had been rather apologetic, explaining that it was a side-effect of the fusion. He was looking into a way for people to fuse without feeling that way when separated, but it was a work in progress. Sammy had absolutely not been a fan of that at all and he’d told Joey as much.

“Right…” Henry pulled away with a grimace. “Yeah, that was weird.”

“Don’t tell me you want to do it again.” Sammy looked back at him.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? It did make me kind of curious.”

“You spend too much time with Joey.” Sammy rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his coffee.

“Maybe.” Henry laughed. His laughter elicited a small smile from Sammy. It was hard to hate Henry. He had very fatherly energy that made one feel at ease.

“I guess there’s a reason you two are friends,” Sammy said.

“Pretty much.” Henry gave him the sort of kind but long-suffering smile that came from being the friend of Joey Drew for so many years. Henry’s approach to weirdness had always been ‘sure, why not’, which made him just about the only person who could stay friends with Joey for so long.

“Anyway,” Henry’s face went serious as he got up. “I was wondering if you could come to look at the frames I’ve drawn so far and see how it lines up with the music you’ve written.”

“Of course.” Sammy nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for Henry to want to listen to the songs Sammy had composed or ask for Sammy to come to see how his animations lined up with the music. He was very meticulous when it came to his work. He wanted to put out the best he could.

“Great!” Henry lit up again, holding out a hand to help Sammy up. Sammy took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

That was when the strangeness began again.

As Sammy was pulled to his feet, he and Henry began to glow. Everyone else who was in the break room stopped, watching the strange scene unfolding before them. The glow around Sammy and Henry grew brighter and brighter as their individual forms vanished, melting together into one form. Slowly, the glow began to vanish, revealing a man that none of the other employees recognized. He looked like Henry? But also Sammy? The man looked down at himself, then at everyone around him.

“Fuck.”

.

Joey was in the middle of a large stack of paperwork when the door to his office was slammed open, and the imposing figure of Senry came barging in.

“S-Senry?” Joey stammered, eyes widening. How had that happened? They shouldn’t have been able to fuse again. Not without a ritual. Joey could hardly see Sammy performing a ritual of his own free will, so it couldn’t have been that.

“Why did this happen again?” Senry demanded, slamming two of his hands on Joey’s desk. The other two were busy fidgeting, one sweeping through his hair while the other worried with his tie.

“I…I don’t know.” Joey said. “You shouldn’t have been able to fuse without a ritual.” He began to wring his hands, trying to calm his growing anxieties. “What were you two doing when it happened?”

“Henry was helping Sammy up.” First Sammy’s voice came through, then Henry’s. Senry cleared his throat. “They- We were in the breakroom.”

“I see…” Joey pushed the paperwork aside, bringing out his spellbook and beginning to flip through it. “I’m so sorry. This is pretty weird.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Senry snapped.

“I’ll figure this out, don’t worry,” Joey assured him. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Senry sighed heavily. “Okay. Whatever. I’m going to try and get some work done.”

He turned and left the office. He was too tired to just sit around. He had to get something done or he’d go crazy. The only question was how productive he’d manage to be.

[eturni]

Day 15 - Laughter

It’s day 15 of @drawlight‘s holiday-themed calendar challenge . https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for  and today is Laughter.

Today is also the day that I saw the Tumblr post about a somewhat unsettling, if very positive, Welsh Christmas tradition. What unfolded is effectively a holiday creepypasta that is a little on the long side for my offerings to the calendar. hopefully it hits right still.

There was a small rental cottage in a charming area of Newport that currently served as both meeting place and occasional (nightly) sleep-over spot for a certain angel and demon as they negotiated the terms of a non-involvement policy over recent orders in the area.

The city was more than growing and would continue to do so with all the veracity that humans put into these things but for the moment there were just enough people to hide the fact that an angel and demon were too close to one another without being enough that they would struggle to spot their own bosses.

It made for a surprisingly low anxiety Christmas time for the pair of them despite the closeness that broke a lot of their less-spoken rules. Head office barely bothered with them around this time of year anyway.

Crowley was just getting truly settled in with his third glass of wine, watching Aziraphale put up festive candles around the home. He put his glass down just long enough to listlessly throw another log onto the fire and bask into the warmth it gave to Aziraphale’s naturally curved edges.

He was just getting settled into this when the sound of soft laughter echoed up the street from them. There was singing and high laughter and it was coming closer. Crowley rolled his eyes. Carollers, already.

Still, Aziraphale was positively vibrating as the sound moved closer and was already at the door when the laughter, low now and deep, sounded at their own little temporary home.

Aziraphale threw the door open and Crowley dropped his glass, the shatter of it and blood red stain across the floorboards left unremarked as Aziraphale took in what was looming in their doorway. Figures shrouded in darkness, moving wrong and bubbling with a laughter that was, in fact, both low and high at the same time. And completely inhuman.

Continue reading on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52049386 or:

Crowley vaulted himself over the back of the little couch to get himself to the door, taking in the figure at the front. A horse’s skull attached onto a pole like a hobby horse. It was surrounded by three figures that stood further in the darkness and could barely be made out even with Crowley’s inhuman sight. It raised the hairs at the back of his neck.

The head tilted a little, the movement just a little too fast for comfort. Then it turned and looked at Crowley with dead, glassy eyes. It was a mask or a puppet or a something not real. It looked real enough, a real skull. Crowley told himself it was not. Still, he felt seen; a type of sharpness to the dark blank of the otherwise dead eyes that seemed to somehow land squarely on Crowley and see him.

It couldn’t be a skull, there was no bone behind, only darkness. It must be something with black fabric or paper or anything behind the sockets. Must be someone wearing it to look unerringly at Crowley in the way only a demon could know they were being watched.

There was a hobby horse stick. Bedsheets draped over of an impossible age. Threadbare but with the pattern new and in bright warm colours. It draped straight down, no room for the bulk of what would be tall enough to fill the head. Not without there being legs.

Crowley did not look down. There would be no legs and he did not want to confirm this.

Voices rose from behind the Mari Lwyd, the very human figures behind dressed in a riot of colours.  They were men (they were supposed to be men) dressed as a Punch and Judy, with a fire poker and a broom respectively, and a ringleader with a large hat that cast his face all in shadow and a whipping stick at his hand.

They sang and it was not human. They sang and it was not the echoing of angelic choirs or even the painful grating cries of the Fallen those first few tries after the war. They sang and Crowley’s head flinched away automatically to deny it but the discordance was inside of his skull, scratching at the bone from the inside.

Gentle friends, we have come to ask we may have leave to come in. If we may not have leave laughter rose from one of them in the back, a rolling bubble too deep and sinister but trying to be child-like then listen to the song that tells of our leaving tonight.

Aziraphale smiled warmly but with that feeling around the edges of it that was old and dangerous. Crowley loved him for it and wanted to protect him at the same time. This thing was newer than them, so much so. But it was strange and halting and not of them.

Aziraphale stepped in front regardless, likely seeing the faint tremble in Crowley’s hand, and smiled wider still. “Then sing your tale, dear acquaintances, for I have no room in here to provide leave for one and all and this creature will be my foe.” The song was deep and holy and yet, placed behind Aziraphale Crowley found himself comforted rather than burned by it. The power went outwards, the command to leave woven into each note.

Even demons were of God, somewhere at the beginning of things. This was no demon, not a thing that could be smote and cast out.

They barely faltered before starting up again, though this time the punch raised his iron poker and began knocking at the wood of the door frame in a slow, insistent rhythm. The Judy raked her harsh bristle-broom over the window ledge and pane. The fine twigs please let them be only twigs, don’t look too close scratching at different pitches and in harmony with the scratch that still sang and clawed at the inside of Crowley’s skull

The demon took Aziraphale’s arm and squeezed urgently, looking ahead only at those knowing dead eyes on him again. The implements remained part of the figures as they moved, the angle never changing. They were as much a part of them as hand or head or torso. All that and the sharp iron of a poker part of one terrible form that moved and sang around the Mari Lwyd.

We have cut a shin to come here tonight over the stiles. If there are those here who could compose Englyn let us hear them. Now. Tonight.

Aziraphale took in a deep breath and wiggled up to hid full height; evidently somewhat offended by this creature even questioning if the angel could form poetry. He was practically made of it, after all. “You shall not enter this home, You are not one of our own, I do not know what you plot, And entreat: leave us alone.”

Something did falter in the beast then, it’s strange head twitching to the side whippet fast and taking in Aziraphale now. Crowley made an attempt to step in front of his angel but was stopped by a firm, warm arm.

The shadows grew in the doorway and something like a wail but almost a whinny rose up from the centre of the village. Crowley instinctively knew that it was the spot he had seen a patch of upturned, disturbed earth in the village green that morning.

The skull clattered a little as the glow around Aziraphale only seemed to get brighter under the press of shadows that made the wood groan and the stones tremble. The jaw snapped closed for just a moment, the teeth grinding in a screech that skittered down the demon’s spine before it’s mouth opened once again and the discordance began anew.

The large sweet cake with all kinds of spices, cut generous slices this Christmas-tide. Tap the barrel and let it flow freely, don’t share it meanly this Christmas-tide

Aziraphale paused and looked closely at the creature before them and it’s many puppets. “You mean to tell me that it’s cake you want? And our ale to partake, No armies of ours to wake, heaven and hell have no stake?” This time the press of the angel song held commands for truth.

Where Crowley expected a fight, expected more groaning and warping of the world, the Mari Lwyd nodded it’s great head in a juddering motion and the thump of the poker stopped, thought the scratching continued.

The large, sweet cake and mortal cheer. We chase the dark from homes, tonight

Crowley’s heart almost stopped as Aziraphale stepped back from the doorway and he beckoned the amalgamation of creatures in. “Well why didn’t you say to begin with? More than enough Christmas cheer here. Just don’t cause any mess as I’m afraid it’s a short holiday stay you see.”

Crowley turned his head to argue with Aziraphale and in the next moment the Mari Lwyd was inside of the home. It had never moved, he was certain. The doorway wasn’t large enough and it hadn’t stooped but now there were shadows in the cottage and the strange man-like figures that moved around it like puppets on caught strings were filing in. In the light their faces were drawn too tight across whatever was behind them and their smiles were too bright and infinitely cold.

He fled to the kitchen and found Aziraphale pulling out a tin with some fortified Christmas cake in and grabbing a bottle of wine from their stores. “Aziraphale what the heaven do you think you’re doing?!”

“Providing simple hospitality my dear. Whatever Mari Lwyd is, it can’t be cast out and that means they must belong in the village. If all they want is some Christmas spirit then-”

There was a burst of laughter that skittered up Crowley’s spine the wrong way right before a crash from the other room. Aziraphale pursed his lips and blinked slowly and deliberately in the way he had of gathering strength. “What did I just say?” Azirapahle demanded, striding out with the tin as though he hadn’t been expecting to be torn apart or worse moments earlier too.

The figure of the leader was chasing the horse with rider’s crop held high and Crowley did not look at the floor. Did not see whether legs chasing the horse moved as human legs should. Did not see if anything at all lay beneath the oddly-draped sheet.

“Now, you must behave or there’ll be no cheese to go with the cake.” Aziraphale ordered quite firmly, placing the tin down on the coffee table.

The Mari Lwyd opened it’s mouth again and a rattling laughter rose up and around from a point that Crowley did not want to pinpoint but it settled finally; the dark pits settling on the tin. They were shadow and void still, even with the light of the fire pressing in where bone should be. It was bone. Crowley could see that clearly enough. A real skull pulled from the earth and sent to the homes round about for Christmas.

Cannot frighten the bad spirits otherwise.

The voice ached at the back of Crowley’s teeth and made his fangs want to slip from their place in the ether. He miracled his glass back together and started pouring for the beast and their ‘companions’ anyway because he hoped Aziraphale knew something that he did not.

When the angel returned, with cheese, it was also with promises that they would deal with anything negative in the home and that the Mary Lwyd could “Just relax, dear, it must be a long night for you.”

Crowley watched this all happen in complete bafflement and promptly finished off three bottles in the hope that the lack of clarity would make things easier. He lost track of the conversation as Aziraphale and the Mara Lwyd started to chat about benevolent and mischievous local spirits in all the areas they’d been in before. Made Crowley wonder about the nature of it but no fae or spirit or cryptid had set him this on edge before and even Aziraphale’s warmth and the familiar old ornaments that decorated their tree couldn’t put that to rest until the angel was good-naturedly showing the being and it’s puppets out of the door.

Once they were alone and the shadows receded it took some of the cold away that had settled on Crowley’s heart. Aziraphale gathered him up in his arms, uncharacteristic to say the least, and started to talk. Something about books, or fairy tales. How he had done well to stand up that way. How the beast had seemed to know he was no threat, at least by the end.

Something shifted finally. Settled in the right places. He was a demon and whatever the Mara Lwyd was it thought he was the threat to Aziraphale just as much as he had thought it of the thing. Aziraphale had announced him an enemy in case they were sent from one of their head offices.

He let out a slow, shuddering breath and nodded, reaching blindly for a slice of cake to give him some sort of sugar rush enough to get through his world being tilted on it’s axis “Well merry Christmas I guess.” He muttered, voice as vague and disjointed as his thoughts felt.

Aziraphale laughed and it was bright and warm and everything the Mara Lwyd had not been as they angel leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “Merry Christmas indeed.”

[writsgrimmyblog]

Rec List #1 Theme: 2018 Favourites

One of my fandom resolutions is to rec more in 2019. I’m going to post rec lists for some of my favourite Nick fics divided up by theme/content/ship or whatever I fancy throughout the year. It seems fitting that my first rec post of 2019 should be my favourite Nick Fics of 2018. If you’re interested in my Harry Potter themed recs, you can find them over on my other blog @writcraft under the tag #writ recs where I’m undertaking the same initiative.

This is by no means an exhaustive list - I’m limiting myself to ten recs per list and it is very difficult, I could have recced many more. I’ve read and enjoyed a whole raft of terrific stories and this rec list is simply based on my personal tastes which may not be everybody else’s cuppa. Please heed the content warnings the author has flagged on AO3 in each case, none of my recs include the content tags.

#1. Ten Track Sophomore Album by @junkshop-disco​ 

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles | 4,228

Nick has always lived in noise, been the cause of a lot of it, but one day a boy writes him into a pop song and the whole world dissolves into static.

It doesn’t happen like that, not that easy, not that linear, but that’s the heart of it, the soul, if these things have such a thing.

My Rec: The Nick fic of 2018 is undoubtedly the final installment of junkshop-disco’s incredible Doodle of a Surface Life but that has quite rightly garnered so many recs by now if any Gryles reader hasn’t yet indulged, run, quick, what are you waiting for? I love DOASL with all of my heart, but I’m also a sucker for angst and I wanted to highlight this equally terrific fic in my rec list. The structure of this story, in which Nick loses his ability to hear music, is so cleverly done. It’s a very skilled writer that can create an entire fic around sound and make it come alive, and junkshop-disco manages it brilliantly. The fic reads like music, even as it describes the absence of it and it’s a stunning piece of writing. If you like your Gryles contemplative and angsty with confident, lyrical prose, this is the one for you. Junkshop-disco has such a terrific way with words I highly recommend reading all the works by this author. Every single one. But when you do make sure you take a moment to stop by this beautiful story and leave it all the love it deserves.

#2. Tell Me It’s The Strongest Shape by @louandhazaf

Nick Grimshaw/Elgar Johnson/Louis Tomlinson | 73,224

Nick and Elgar have it all. They’re famous, successful, and engaged to be married—and sometimes they play with others.

When uni student Louis gets street cast by Elgar for a GQ photoshoot, he's drawn into Nick and Elgar’s complicated relationship.

They've always invited mates into their bed. It doesn’t ever mean anything. Until… it does.

My Rec: This is such a great exploration of polyamory and the complexities of open relationships, and the author took a great deal of time developing the relationships between the characters and really working on highlighting some of those difficulties. I tend to gravitate towards fanfic where I care deeply about the characters, and although Elgar seems terrific I don’t have the same fannish relationship to him as I do to Nick and Louis so I was curious to know how I would respond to this fic. Basically, the author killed it. I felt such a deep investment in Elgar, Nick and Louis throughout and everything just flew by as I was reading. It’s also really fucking hot. Like, REALLY. Brilliantly done. I loved it. 

#3. Let The Boys All Sing And The Boys All Shout For Tomorrow by @lunarrua​

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles | 18,429

It's February 1988. Thatcher is in power. There's a new drug sweeping through the clubbing scene. In Manchester, it's the eve of a major protest and a new musical movement. And when Nick finds Harry looking lost outside his favourite chip shop, it's the start of a weekend that will leave an indelible mark on both their lives.

My Rec: I saw the summary for this fic and actually yelled at my screen when it popped into my inbox. Gryles, set in Manchester in the 80s? Hell yes. The fic itself certainly didn’t disappoint, it’s absolutely beautiful. The author writes a well-researched, confident piece and the result is stunning. The atmosphere of the whole story is captivating and you can feel yourself transported to the heady days before the Manchester music scene shifted, the anxieties of the AIDS crisis and the fragility of the relationships formed during that period. The Harry of this fic has a transient quality which evokes the nostalgic reflection on a different time in our not so distant past. A real triumph. I loved this story with my whole heart. 

#4. Séjour by @silveredsound

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson | 6,288

It is so quiet, which should be conducive to concentration, but Nick is bored and listless and lonely. He’s been there for two days and wants to know where the helpful lady is who’ll deliver him a gamine but takes-no-shit housekeeper who he can fall in love with without words. Words are not his friend.

“Where is my Love Actually moment?” he asks the ceramic kitchen sink as he pokes holes in the cover of one of the M&S ready meals he brought over with him.

«≠»

Nick’s got writer's block. Louis is a master of distraction.

My Rec: I’ve loved a number of stories by Silv this year and I was swinging back and forth between this and others, but there’s something about this little fic that has wormed its way into my heart and has taken hold so this is the one I’m choosing. As I said in my earlier reblog rec, this has such lush, evocative prose it perfectly captures the sense of a fleeting summer. There’s a seductive quietness to it, and a lovely unfolding of the story through snippets of tasting notes left by Louis on bottles of wine and Nick feeling a little bit lost and searching for words as he struggles with writer’s block. Two boys find one another in the warmth of a sleepy French town and it’s beautiful. Really wonderfully done.

#5. Fists & Flowers ‘Verse by @jiksax

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles | 1,613 (Make It Worse) and 2,322 (I’ll Do What You Like (If You Stay The Night)

He’s looking at Nick with that soft, terrible look in his eyes, the look that tells Nick the two of them are probably something.

My Rec: If anyone other than Jiksa had told me they were planning an angsty fisting fic series I would have been like umm really? But of course, it’s Jiksa, so naturally I found myself sobbing at the raw, devastating intensity of the story. Jiksa deftly weaves the intensity of the physical act itself into the emotional tumult of Harry and Nick’s relationship in a way that’s incredibly beautiful. A bold, brave, superb piece of hot, confident writing, rich with emotional complexity. Gorgeous.

#6. Constantly on the Cusp by @shiftylinguini

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson | 6169

It’s 5 in the morning, and Nick’s got an alarm going off, an unexpected bed full of pop star, and a nation to wake up.

It’s far too fucking early for this.

My Rec: UNFFFFF. I love Shifty’s writing. Like, an obsessive amount. I was so thrilled when Shifty started writing Tomlinshaw I didn’t know quite what to do with myself. It’s actually hard to believe this was Shifty’s first Tomlinshaw, because everything about the fic felt like they have been writing them for years. Louis is sleepy, horny and pissed off, Nick is awake, horny and wondering what it all means, and together they have this scorching hot, sexy moment. Nick’s internal monologue  gives us so much insight into their relationship and the fic offers a lovely, warm, hopeful moment at the end. Fantastically written and a sexy delight from start to finish. Loved it!

#7. this cookie’s baking by @disgruntledkittenface 

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles (Genderswap Femslash) | 8,148

Harry’s eyes flicker between Nick’s eyes and lips. “I just want to be your–”

“Baby,” Nick says softly, cupping Harry’s jaw, “you already are.”

Nick and Harry have a long-overdue conversation.

My Rec: This was the first genderswap Gryles fic I have read and I absolutely loved it. The relationship between Nick and Harry feels so perfectly them and there’s a lovely warmth to the whole story. It’s light and funny but also contains moments of real emotional depth and those first time explorations and the hesitancy of admitting to being something more than friends is handled in such a terrific way. It’s a gorgeous story with wonderful writing and I loved every minute of reading it.

#8. let’s make some new rules by @camiii 

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson | 12,743

A coffee shop, a Christmas party & a fake date to make sure no one gets laid at the end of the night.

My Rec: This was such an enjoyable read. I love camiii’s Tomlinshaw, and seeing this pop up was a wonderful surprise. Barista Louis agrees to be Nick’s fake boyfriend as he pines over an ex that definitely isn’t worth his time, and they become closer in the process. The pace of the story is wonderful, the flirting is brilliant and despite some misunderstandings and Nick’s no good ex trying to fuck things up, the ending is warm and hopeful. A lovely story, full of festive cheer. Thoroughly enjoyable.

#9. I’ll be seeing you by @daretomarvel​ / renlyne

Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles | 11,481

It’s 2028, and Nick’s bought a house.

My Rec: I love Ren’s writing and this Notebook inspired Gryles is a beautiful treat of a story, in which Nick starts buying little bits for his dream house. It’s hard to believe this story is just over 11,000 words because the world the author creates is so rich, detailed, layered and complex. The relationship between Nick and Harry has all of these gorgeous details and nuggets of history as it grows and develops, seedling-like, into something that might just be everything they’ve both been searching for. It’s a warm, hopeful, beautiful story but as it’s Ren, it manages to still tug at the heartstrings in the best kind of way. I read this again as I was putting my rec list together and did so with a lump in my throat, full of feels for the Nick and Harry of Ren’s universe. Gorgeous writing with bags of emotional intensity. I loved it.

#10. All I’ve ever had are love songs by @candybarrnerd / icarusinflight

Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson | 21,688

Things are finally coming together for Nick.

Nick is the DJ of his uni's radio stations, and he passively aggressively dedicates a song to Louis.

My Rec: Icarusinflight is another author who was already on my periphery from Harry Potter fandom who wrote their first Tomlinshaw fic this year and I was so thrilled to see them writing in this fandom and I’m very excited about their upcoming 2019 projects which also includes fics featuring the 1D boys in various ship combos. I love uni AUs and I hadn't read one for a while, so this was such a treat. I loved how Louis is sharp, sassy and confident but with niggling insecurities. Harry was so affectionately humorous in this story and Nick’s voice is wonderful. This is a really well-paced, enjoyable story with a hot af first kiss that deserves a mention all of its own. The music references, the tea and the cameos from various 1D members are all terrific and the writing is brilliant. Can’t wait for more from this author this year.

Bonus Rec: I was meant to limit this to just 10 recs but I also wanted to give a quick shout out to @nightwideopen. I’ve said this in previous rec lists before, but I am constantly impressed by the quality of @nightwideopen‘s writing and the way they explore things such as asexuality and gender dysphoria which can be harder to find in a relatively small fandom. I’d particularly rec so far (it’s alright) and i’ve been thinking lots about your mouth from this year, both Tomlinshaw.

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Ten Across

Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3468 Characters: Nick Stokes, Gil Grissom Summary: Nick has a last minute emergency at work, and asks Grissom to babysit his kids, Madison and Parker, who ask Grissom why their dad doesn't like ants. Notes: Something to make up for the angst-fest that was Hellbound.  GSR implied, Nick's partner is left up to the reader!

@hands-christian-handersen @deltajackdalton, this your fault specifically, @impossiblepluto, @altschmerzes, @dannilea, I just feel obligated to tag you three in any nick and grissom friendship fics I write.

Read it on A03

“Uncle Grissom’s here! Uncle Grissom’s here!” Madison screams, running down the stairs towards the front door. The six year old was clutching two books, one on grasshoppers and one on hummingbirds.

“Uncle Gil’s here? Awesome!” Parker shouts from the couch. The nine year old was too busy playing his video game to turn his head towards the door.

“Daddy, Uncle Grissom’s heeeeeeeere!”

“Yes, Maddie, I heard you the first time,” Nick laughs as he continues to multitask, writing down names and phone numbers, packing up his backpack, trying to adjust his tie. He rushes out of the kitchen, nearly knocking into his daughter and dog (who surely would have told him “Uncle Grissom is here,” if he could speak english) to open the door for his former boss.

Grissom must have heard Madison’s shouts, because he is smiling as Nick welcomes him in.

“Hey, Gris, thanks again, man, I know it’s...last minute,” Nick seems to linger on those two words, his brow furrowed as he keeps trying to adjust his tie.

“My pleasure, Nick,” Grissom replies as he pets Sam, the dog with one hand, while the other is pulled by Madison.

“Uncle Grissom, look at the books Daddy gave me! This one’s about hummingbirds, and this one is about grasshoppers--I mean, Acri--Acridim…”

“Acridomorpha. That’s very interesting, Maddie! I brought some books of my own, for you to look at, until bedtime, of course,” he added, winking at Nick. He pulls a book out on atlas beetles, showing it to Madison, who beams brightly.

“Beetles! Did you know that the lava is capable of biting?”

Nick laughs at Grissom’s look of bewilderment.

“That’s larvae, Mads!” Parker beckons from the couch. “Dad told you a million times, jeez! Hi, Uncle Gil!”

“Hello, Parker.”

“So my son gets to call you ‘Gil,’ but I don’t?” Nick pouts, waving Grissom into the kitchen. He pours himself a cup of coffee from a pot that’s still half-full. “Coffee?”

“Thank you. And yes, he does, he helps me with my crosswords.”

“Pfft, so did I...once or twice...I think. Anyway, here’s a list of emergency contacts, they both just had dinner--I gave them desert already so don’t let them tell you otherwise. Madison goes to bed at 8, Parker at 9. I shouldn’t be long, I’ll try to be back as soon as I can, I swear--”

“Nick, it’s okay, you know I love spending time with the kids.”

Nick smiles, patting Grissom on the shoulder before running out the back door.

“They love you to, you know. Maybe even more than me.”

“I highly doubt that, Nicky, my boy.”

Nick leaves, still grinning, and Grissom has a moment’s silence, before the energy of the house rises to a frenzy. Sam circles around with a toy in his mouth, begging Grissom to play with him. Madison is jumping up and down, reciting facts about all the books in Grissom’s briefcase. Nick’s birds are chirping, disturbed by all of the sudden noise. Parker turns the television up a bit louder, scoots himself closer to the screen.

The energy reminds him of the lab, the buzz of voices talking, people rushing through the small building. It also reminds him of a much younger, clean-shaven Nick Stokes, playing video games with Warrick Brown, excitedly talking about birds, cranking up the music playing in the DNA lab as he hangs around with Greg Sanders.

So, in a situation where he would suffer a migraine, he was smiling, because he expects nothing less from the Stokes residence.

The initial chaos dies down after a few minutes, and everyone is at peace until Madison’s lower lip begins to tremble, mid-rant about the parrot that was currently squawking in the corner of the room, and she falls silent.

“Maddie, what’s wrong?” Grissom asks softly, noticing the young girl’s sudden silence.

“I...I m-miss Daddy!” she begins to cry.

“Pfft, I don’t,” Parker mumbles.

“It’s okay, Madison, he’ll be home soon enough,” Grissom comforts her, shooting Parker a warning look. Parker gulps and falls silent, he’s got Nick’s anxiety Grissom briefly thinks. He places a hand on her shoulder, lifting her chin gently to look into his face. “When you wake up in the morning, he’ll be here.”

“P-promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay…” she sniffles, but Grissom can sense that their promise offers little comfort. He glances towards his briefcase, noticing that only three of the five books were taken out and placed on the floor, before Madison got distracted by the bird.

“I think there’s some more books in my briefcase, if you wanted to take a look at them.”

Madison’s tears faded away, and she grinned. Grissom can’t help but see how much her smile reminds him of Nick’s. She gets up and runs back towards the case, and Grissom sits down on the couch, beckoning Nick’s dog to jump up on his lap.

Parker throws down the controller in frustration, running his hands through his hair.

“Ugh, I’m terrible at this game! I just died, again, and now I have to start all over!” he whines, beginning to pace around the room.

“Maybe a fresh start will help you see things in a different perspective,” Grissom told him. “Like a puzzle.”

Parker sighed, throwing himself next to Grissom on the couch.

“Yeah...or maybe I just need a break.”

Grissom dug out a piece of folded paper in his pocket, and handed it to Parker.

“Here, I brought this for you. I think it’s time you try it on your own.”

Parker unfolds it, it’s a crossword puzzle.

“You think I’m ready?” Parker asks him, his eyes shining bright. Determined eyes, just like Nick’s.

“I know you’re ready, Parker.”

Parker grins, and runs off to find a pencil. Grissom turns off the television, still stroking Sam with his right hand. There is peace for the next hour, bedtime is growing closer and closer. Parker seems to have moved to the kitchen table, Grissom can hear him reciting the clues, thinking out loud.

Madison, however, is suspiciously quiet, which Grissom knew wasn’t a good sign.

“Uncle Grissom!” she suddenly wheezes behind him, startling both him and the dog.

“Yes, Maddie?” Grissom asks in a slightly annoyed tone.

“Daddy’s never told me about this bug!”

Grissom’s heart sinks as he stares at the book Madison is holding up. It’s a book on fire ants.

“He doesn’t like ants at all, I don’t know why, I think they’re cute,” Madison keeps talking. Parker looks up from the table in the other room, and Grissom can’t help but see a younger Nick, a haunted look etched all over his face. Did Nick tell Parker what happened, why he doesn’t like fire ants?

“Sometimes one will crawl on me and I’ll talk to it, but then Daddy brushes it off me,” Madison keeps saying. Parker makes eye contact with Grissom for a moment, a worried look on his face, before he shakes it off and looks back at the puzzle.

“He told me they bite, but they never seem to bite me.”

“Hey, Maddie, I think it’s getting close to bedtime,” Grissom tells her, gently lifting the book of ants out of her hands. Madison pouts, but starts to walk up the stairs. Grissom follows behind her, standing awkwardly in the hallway as she brushes her teeth and changes into her pajamas in the bathroom. When she’s ready, Grissom guides her into her bedroom, and reads her a story about a woodpecker. She sits, listening very intently, but a yawn escapes her body as Grissom finishes the story.

“...the end.”

“Aw, can I have another story? Five more minutes, pleeeeeeease?”

“Remember our promise? The sooner you go to bed, the sooner you’ll get to see your Dad.”

“Fine. But..can I keep the fire ant book?”

Grissom thinks for a minute, torn between wanting to let this curious young girl learn more about a topic she is very interested in, but worries as to how Nick would react if he found out about it.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Maddie, because your dad really doesn’t like ants, but I’ll tell you what, the next time you’re at my house, you can read it all you want.”

Madison hugs Grissom’s waist, before hopping into bed, pulling the blanket over her.

“Can you put on the nightlight?” she asks in a worried whisper, as Grissom begins to walk out of the room. He smiles and obliges.

“Goodnight, Madison,” Grissom says to her, turning off the main light to the bedroom.

“Goodnight...Uncle...Cisco…” Madison breathes as she drifts off into dreamland.

Grissom walks back downstairs, where Parker is still sitting at the kitchen table, but the crossword is blank. He seems to be lost in thought, his eyes dark, his thick eyebrows furrowed. It’s a look Grissom knows all too well, one that is usually accompanied by the word “why,” spoken by another Stokes mouth.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Grissom asks the young boy. Parker looks up at him, licking his lips.

“Why doesn’t Dad like ants?” Parker asks.

“I...don’t think that’s for me to answer.”

“Why not? I’m nine years old, I’m not--I’m not a baby like Maddie!”

“Have you tried asking him?”

“I did, and he just gets...sad.”

“Your father will tell you when he’s ready.”

Parker huffed, crossing his arms, and clenched his jaw. Another look, that Grissom knew well.

“That’s not the only thing on your mind, though, is it?”

“He gets mad with me...a lot. Almost took my video games away yesterday.”

“Oh? What did you do?”

“Well, the first time, last week, I had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, I was so close to beating this level that I just wanted to try, one more time, and he caught me sneaking through the house--I think I scared him, and...he had something behind his back though, and he wouldn’t show me. He always shows me what he’s doing, but instead, he just...told me to get my ‘ass’--oh, sorry, Uncle Gil--’butt’ back in bed.”

Grissom fills in the blanks of the story. Didn’t take a forensic investigator to realize, how worried Nick must have been, to hear someone walking through his house at night. He pictures a troubled Nick, gun drawn, walking cautiously through the halls, eyes fixated on the ceiling above him, before being startled by the young boy.

“The second time we were at the park, when Maddy was playing with the ants a-and he told us to stay away from them b-but I just wanted to look at them and I found the ant’s home and was playing around with it until he told us we were going home cause I wouldn’t listen, he didn’t yell but he just got...sad again, like he was...disappointed.”

“And the third time?”

Parker falls silent for a moment, and his lips begin to quiver, just as Madison’s did earlier. His eyes grow damp, and Grissom’s heart rate rises to a dangerously high amount, worrying about what he’s about to hear.

“Me and Mads were--were playin’ a-and I, I didn’t mean to hurt her, I suh-swear…” Parker begins to mumble, his voice shaky, his accent thickening. “We...we were playin cops n robbers and I was the cop and she was the robber, and I c-caught her, so I had to put her in jail and…”

He falls silent again, Grissom can sense the tremendous amount of guilt and shame from the young boy. He feels bad, allowing this innocent boy to relive an experience that has apparently caused him a lot of grief, but he knows that if he truly is Nick’s son, talking it out with Grissom would help him in the long run.

“I pushed her into th-that closet, over there!” he cries, pointing to the small closet in the living room area. The door is open, Grissom can see that it’s just barely enough standing space, not to mention all the coats and shoes littered inside.

“It was just part of the game, but it--she--it was so dark and she’s scared of the dark and she started yellin’ at me to let her out, an-and then she started screaming a-and Daddy came runnin’, threw the door open and yelled at me…”

Grissom’s mouth tightens to a frown, and reaches for Parker’s hand in an effort to comfort him. It seems to work, the boy’s tears stop and he sits up straight, wiping away his face with his free hand.

“He...He ‘pologized to me later, even let me stay up late that night to play my game...but...I thought I heard him cryin’ when I walked by his room on my way upstairs...Why won’t he tell me what’s wrong? Is-is it because he doesn’t like me?”

“Your dad...your dad’s been through a lot, Parker, I won’t lie to you,” Grissom sighs. He struggles to think of something to say, flipping back through flashcards of phrases to use when talking to the families of victims, but none of them seem to tell him how to address the son of one of his closest friends, who just wants answers to questions Grissom’s not authorized to answer.

“But he loves you, more than anything in this world, okay? You’ll never disappoint him, even if he gets angry with you sometimes. You know, he used to get angry with me sometimes, too.”

“He did?” Parker asks, his eyes wide in shock. He lets out a small giggle as Grissom nods.

“You just have to be...patient with him. He’ll tell you about the ants, when he’s ready.”

“You think so?”

“He told me,” Grissom replies, matter-of-factly. “You know what else he told me? That your Aunt Sara once got sprayed by...a skunk and she still smells really bad.”

Parker bursts out into a fit of giggles, and Grissom knows the hard part of his job is done. The easy part is giving Parker a special treat, chocolate covered grasshoppers. Helping him with the crossword, even though he claims he’s “got it” without Grissom’s help. Grissom educating him on some of the more complicated words, with Parker listening to him as if it was the most important lesson in his life.

The hour came and went, almost too quickly for either of their liking, but they only had a few more to go…

So Grissom lets him stay up, just “a few more minutes”...which was an hour ago.

“Okay, Parker, it’s time for bed, I let you stay up long enough.”

“Aw, but Uncle Gil, I got one more!”

Parker’s back is to the door, he doesn’t seem to notice as Sam runs to the door eagerly, scratching. Grissom can just barely see Nick’s smiling face on the other side of the door, gesturing for silence from Grissom with a finger on his lips as he gently opens the door. Grissom winks at him, as Parker continues to be undisturbed at the sudden commotion from the excited dog. Nick silently steps towards his son, crouching down and hovering next to him.

“Hmm...10 across, ‘what cows drink.’”

“That, my boy, would be ‘milk.’” Nick says, startling his son and making Grissom burst into laughter.

“Wha--Dad!” Parker blurts, nearly falling out of his chair. Nick joins Grissom in laughter, and Parker pushes him back playfully.

“That’s not the answer! It’s ‘water,’ cows produce milk!”

“Oh! Of course they do!” Nick exclaims, playing dumb to appease his son. He ruffles the kid’s hair. “Whoa, looks like you finished your first crossword! I’m so proud of you!”

Parker beams up at him brightly, as Nick lifts him up into a tight embrace. Grissom winks at Parker as Nick spins him around, making Parker giggle.

“But now, it’s time to go to bed, buddy,” Nick sighs as he sets his son back on the ground.

“Okay…” Parker mumbles, but runs around the table and gives Grissom a tight hug.

“Thank you, Uncle Gil.”

“Your welcome, Parker.”

Parker runs up the stairs, clutching the finished crossword puzzle, and Sam follows behind him. Nick sits down at the table, where Parker previously sat. He saw the small bag of chocolate covered grasshoppers, and smirks knowingly at Grissom before grabbing a handful.

“They weren’t too much trouble, I hope. Maddy’s been fighting bedtime, lately.”

“They were great, Nick, no trouble at all.”

“Parker’s been, uh...a handful lately.”

“So he told me.”

“Guilty conscience, just like his old man, huh?”

Grissom chuckles, and the two sit in silence for a few moments, before Nick takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes with his hands.

“Did he tell you about the closet thing?”

“Yeah,” Grissom sighs heavily. He suddenly feels a phantom pain in his shoulder, one he hasn’t felt in over a decade.

“Man, I was so...sometimes I wonder, you know, if I’m…if I’m not...messin’ them up somehow...”

“Nick,” Grissom begins sharply, trying to steer Nick away from any self-depreciation, before softening his tone. “Look, I know that I’m not the most...educated person on this subject matter, but for what it’s worth, I think you are an excellent father of two bright, wonderful children, who are proud to call you their father.”

Nick’s lips curl into a smile, and he sniffles.

“I’d say you know a lot, man, you basically were like our second dad, back in the day, you know? You gave us advice, you set us on the right path, you were so patient and...you listened.”

Both men sit in stunned silence, at the sudden realization of the true nature of their relationship, which had, until now, been solely unspoken. Nick clears his throat and gets up from the chair, awkwardly asking Grissom if he wanted anything to eat or drink, before Grissom mentions he needed to get going, because Sara should be coming back home any minute now.

Nick reaches his arm around Grissom’s shoulder, as Grissom sticks out his hand for a handshake, and they clash in a clumsy embrace.

“Thanks again, Gil!” Nick calls out to him as he walks off of the Stokes’ porch. Grissom looks back at him, shaking his head.

“No."

“Still?” Nick winces.

“Respect your elders, Nick.”

Nick laughs and watches as Grissom drives off. He does a sweep of the house, checking all the doors and windows before shutting off all the lights and heading upstairs. He checks in on Madison, surrounded by stuffed animals, he can see a smile in the faint glow of her night-light.

He checks in on Parker, who is doing a poor job of pretending he’s asleep, as Sam lays curled up at the foot of the bed. Nick enters the room, sits on the bed. He adjusts the blanket to cover his son’s body completely, and gently removes the comic book and flashlight from underneath his pillow.

“He still doesn’t like me calling him ‘Gil,’” he sighs to his son, whose eyes are shut tight, but Nick can see his ears twitch upward at the mention of his favorite uncle.

“I...I know I said it before, but I really am sorry for what happened yesterday. You didn’t know, what you were doing and, uh…”

He takes a deep breath, and strokes his son’s hair out of his face.

“It’s my job, you know, to catch bad guys, put them in jail but...sometimes...the bad guys win. We catch them, but it doesn’t take away the bad things they’ve done. Sometimes they get away with it, but the...things they do to hurt people, it doesn’t go away. And one day, when you’re older, I’ll tell you all about those times, where I….why I...But, it’s…”

Another deep breath, Sam whines slightly, placing his head on Nick’s lap.

“You know, I was nine years old, just like you are, waiting for my...mom to get home and I-I want you to know, Parker, no matter how angry or sad I get, I will never stop loving you, okay? You can always talk to me about anything you want.”

He places a soft kiss on his son’s forehead.

“I promise.”

He gets up and walks out of the room, wiping his eyes as he takes one last look at Parker, who, for all Nick knew, did genuinely fall asleep. He smiles in disbelief, what did he do to deserve these two little angels? He shuts the door gently behind him, leaving the flashlight and comic book on the ground, knowing that Parker will need them for his nightly adventures later. He’s completely unaware, of the four words spoken in a whisper from his son’s lips as he drifts off into a blissful dreamland.

“I love you, Dad.”

[howmanyheartaches]

I haven’t written anything fictional for half a year, so when Sparkle Sparkle came back, I was very thrilled! My Sparklee is papillon82fluttersby – HAPPY SPARKLING!

 I went for the prompt “Harumichi at an event where one of them is out of her depth”

 Not to spoil my fic at this point, just know that papillon82fluttersby’s favourite senshi used to be my favourite Inner (now they’re all juggling, but I loved her in the new Myu a lot!!).

Thank you so much, Awashsquid and Docholligay, for organising this party!

 That’s what friends are for

 Haruka wasn’t one to fear the spotlight. Of course she had been nervous before her speech at their wedding and she couldn’t deny that her heart would pound whenever all eyes were on her while she was doing something she loved. However, when she excelled in a task, she was confident; she would smile freely at all her fangirls before she’d start in a sports competition.

And it was easy for Haruka to share the spotlight with Michiru. When she’d accompanied her wife on stage, everyone was watching musical genius Michiru Kaioh anyway, so she could relax whenever she hadn’t had the time to practice enough and focus on her piano play.

But this was different. Now every note counted. And Haruka felt like a fish out of water.

Obviously, she had tried to deny it. Her lies had enough potential for an Academy Award. It was easy for Michiru to see right through her and normally, she would have tried everything to get Haruka out of this situation.

 In this case, she hadn’t much of a choice either, and the person Haruka had lied to was too caught up in her own head to acknowledge her best friend’s fake behaviour.

Michiru usually had no problem being in a recording studio. She had spent her childhood practicing the violin for three hours each and every day, competing as soon as her mother had been satisfied. The three grey walls, with a huge window completing the room, were familiar territory. Still she felt anxiety – it was like Haruka’s was mirrored back to her.

The violinist hadn’t felt Haruka this uncomfortable in a while. Back in their early days, it had almost been common. This stomach-wrenching feeling, the tremble. Even worse in battle of course. Haruka was so terribly afraid of failing – but still so brave. Why was it just so hard for Haruka to perform this song in this environment?

Was it because she didn’t want to disappoint Minako?

Michiru felt anger rising inside of her watching Minako through the window. The blonde had decided to place them both at the same time in the recording cabin, which was what Michiru preferred. She hoped her presence would soothe Haruka at some point, but so far it didn’t work any magic.

After the constant battles, time had become quiet. Michiru didn’t mind that her mirror didn’t show her any dark energy; that Rei’s dreams had slowed down. They had all been able to settle into their lives. Michiru couldn’t be happier – being married, choosing when and where to perform, spending time with her family at the beach.

Quiet however wasn’t something for Minako. It had never been, obviously, but with the reassurance that they lived in a time of peace, Minako had decided to reach her goal of becoming an idol. And not just any idol – “top top top of the world” as she liked to outline her dream.

“Could you please repeat the last part? Thank yaaa!”

Michiru sighed and shared a glance with Haruka. The butch nodded, but it seemed like a punishment to her to put the big headphones on again. They started to play the last part again. All for the sake of Minako’s new record. Unfortunately, self-produced.

From the corner of her eye, Michiru could see how beautiful Haruka looked playing the piano. The blonde was dressed in a black sweater and sleek, black pants, her hair on the loose because she was going through it so much with her fingers. She still looked nervous and had a hard time pouring her soul into her playing. The melody wasn’t even that difficult, if Minako could come up with it. Michiru raised an eyebrow, focusing on herself again, not being able to shake the uncomfortable feeling.

While they were playing away, Minako started to chat with the sound engineer. After they stopped, Michiru could hear Minako’s chattering, which didn’t really help against Michiru’s growing fume. “So I was like ‘Okay honey, we really need to put a stop to this. How about we’re continuing recording if this song is not about you being a heartbroken crybaby anymore?! Nothing about a little grief, you know, but this is certainly not about a strong woman.’ And I walked off in wide steps, clicking heels, I was a total boss babe, you know? I don’t need a collaboration like that, that’s just not my vision for this album!”

“Wow, I can’t believe that someone like you would write such a lovey-dovey ballad like this!” The sound guy waved towards Haruka and Michiru, still trapped in the cabin.

“What can I say, I’m layered”, Minako flipped her hair dramatically.

Michiru was still chewing on the lovely-dovey. On top of that, she didn’t like to be kept waiting by Minako for a response if they should continue playing.

“Minako”, she spoke into the microphone with a firm voice that could cut glass, as Minako kept ignoring them.

“Oh! Oh! You’re still there, like little marionettes! Lovely! Errr …” Minako stopped herself. “Whoa, that sounded like a pirate. Like the one Michiru made you into in her latest smut fic!”

Haruka looked at her best friend startled.

“You didn’t know that, buddy? Okay. She did not write herself into the governor’s daughter’s role. You definitely didn’t have sex in a dirty place. Forget about it, I never found this in Rei’s drawer.”

“Minako”, Michiru repeated, this time leaving no illusion that she wouldn’t be able to kill Minako with her violin’s bow.

Minako’s phone went off. The singer jumped to her feet: “Uuuuh, I was waiting for that call! I think we should continue tomorrow!”

*** 

Ami looked confused when she opened the door. She always looked confused when this happened, even though Michiru’s knock was always the same: determined.

“Michiru! Hi!” She blushed, painfully aware that she hadn’t changed after dinner and a spot of tomato sauce greeted from its place on her baby blue, long cardigan.

“Make some tea, would you?” Michiru smiled at the younger woman mildly and found her way into Ami’s apartment that the medical student shared with her girlfriend.

“Sure”, Ami wedged her hands nervously, “Mako is instructing her cooking class, but she has left me some scones from earlier today. They’re not much but …”

“That sounds wonderful”, Michiru had seated herself in the lounging area already, unpacking her shopper.

When Ami arrived in the living room, a tray with tea and scones in hand, Michiru already had unfolded her painting supplies.

Ami sat down next to her on the floor, trying to mimic the gracile way Michiru held her body.

“Let’s paint”, the older announced, beginning to draw a storm.

Ami, who joyfully had grasped the expensive brushes Michiru used, soon stopped in her movement, watching Michiru with worry.

It wasn’t their first painting session, but definitely Michiru’s angriest. Usually, Michiru preferred “Under the Sea”, “Into Space” or “Haruka” when she was drawing just for herself. Ami loved the harmony that then came upon Michiru, adapting to it herself. It was hard not to think about her father, but it was also hard to resent doing something she loved. Ami Mizuno was a woman of many talents. But asking about Michiru’s day wasn’t one.

*** 

Haruka hadn’t been in the mood for joining Rei to help her refurnish an old table, but then again, Michiru had insisted her to. Probably because Rei was Minako’s partner – and that was also the reason why Haruka had a hard time being around the social studies student.

“I can’t believe Minako still thinks this table is hideous! I mean, look at it, we’ve done some fine things with it!” Rei’s high ponytail swung around furiously.

“I still think that it would have been cheaper for you to buy a table at Ikea, considering the money you put into refurnishing supplies”, Haruka noted.

“Ikea”, Rei looked at Haruka in disgust. “You are definitely wrong, this was a good deal at the flea market and I’m in no position to decline it! Even though my girlfriend is going to rocket to super fame very soon. But I swear, I’ll do my best to not let capitalism win!”

Haruka cringed.

“Wait. I know that look on your face. How was your time in the recording studio anyway today?” Rei waved a brush around like she was a teacher pointing at a pupil to move in front of the whole class.

“It wasn’t good enough. We didn’t finish and will go back in again tomorrow”, Haruka let her shoulders sink. “I feel like this is all my fault.”

“And why’s that so? Did you forget how to play sheet music?”

“No. But Minako wasn’t happy. I have to admit, that was my worry from the second she asked me to do this with Michiru.”

“Tenoh, do you think it was a piece of cake for me working on the guitar parts with her? She’s a perfectionist. So are you and I. But we’re not doing this for us, we’re doing it for her, even though she’s a brat. But she deserves the world.”

“It’s just so that however good my performance is, it will be heard forever. Over and over again. I wonder how the Three Lights did it, but I guess it’s just that Seiya thinks so highly of herself she’d never have any doubts”, Haruka kicked against the refurnished table, making it almost collapse. Such a good deal.

“They were also searching for their princess, I’m just saying.”

“I know, right? Their songs were never that good?!”

*** 

“I frankly do not understand how Minako doesn’t feel any shame. Haruka is her best friend”, Michiru said like it was nothing.

“Oh”, Ami announced, remembering Minako’s request for the album support. She was glad Michiru had finally broken the silence, still working on a wild mix of greys and blacks that looked together like a hurricane on paper.

“It’s my fault. I should have insisted more on declining Minako’s offer. I could have said my manager …”

“Haruka still would have agreed to. Mina means a lot to her.”

“She doesn’t seem equally important to Minako”, if Michiru could snort, this would be her moment to.

“That’s not true”, Ami tilted her head. “Mina feels a lot of pressure.”

*** 

“Mina is under a lot of pressure”, Rei said softly. “She sees all of us settled into our lives. Makoto is so, so good at what she does and her life with Ami is like from one of these lesbian books, where the more tomboy one is a doctor! You and Michiru and Hotaru and Setsuna are so happy together and with what you get to do. Even though Hotaru would never admit to that, but she’s a teenager! And Usagi is Usagi. Mina doesn’t mean to be this tense these days, I just think she wants to make this work.”

“You forgot to mention yourself.” Haruka half-smiled, feeling a bit better about the whole situation.

“I JUST WORKED ON THE PERFECT TABLE I MEAN JUST LOOK! LOOK!”

*** 

“I’m clean and I smell like soap”, Haruka happily announced, joining her wife in the bedroom, wearing her favourite PJs.

“Love, you look like you feel so much better than you did this morning”, Michiru noted, looking up from her book, already tugged into her blanket.

“I do. Talking to Rei made me understand it’s good - not less, not more - when Mina finally says it’s good.” Haruka swiftly found herself underneath the blanket as well.

“It was always good, she just needs to focus”, Michiru replied with a soft smile.

“That’s what Ami made you realize, right?” Haruka grinned, leaning onto Michiru’s shoulder.

“She’s smart, our Ami”, Michiru giggled. “I’m glad you found your confidence again. Minako should be proud to have such a talented, good-looking pianist on her record.”

“I know, I’ve always known.” Haruka leaned forward to wink, but then led her pretending go. “It’s just that I feel so uncomfortable playing with the headphones on. I feel like everything will be constantly judged and I’m not used to this.”

“Minako didn’t really judge and that’s the problem. But no worries”, now it was Michiru’s turn to wink, “I have a plan …”

Then she closed the book because she needed her hands – to deeply kiss Haruka, the person she regarded as the love of her life, holding her tight.

*** 

“Obsession” was composed by a Dane, who he had been, well, obsessed with Bach. It was very loud, shrill even. While it put a smile on Michiru’s face to play such a jarring melody, it made Mina, who had just walked in, cringe. Haruka, not entirely sold on the piece, watched Michiru in awe.

As she finished, the violinist spoke right into the microphone: “Now that you remembered what I can do, I want you to see what we are both capable of doing with your song. Now that I have your attention, I suggest that we concentrate and wrap this song up smoothly. We are here to support your career, Minako, but for a first-timer in a studio it’s certainly not easy to know what’s wrong if you’re not giving us any hints. Do you agree?”

Mina had been frozen, but found to her old confident behaviour in a second: “I sure do. Because I’m certain you remember that.I.am.the.leader.”

She mimicked Michiru, ending with an emphasis on every word, who took this with no impression. “How could I forget a fact you sing to us like a hit song you’d like to have. So. May we start?”

“Let’s”, Mina sat down next to the sound guy, who had no clue what that whole leader deal was about. The blonde was ready to work – finally. She showed Michiru her thanks with the smallest smile, that Michiru took with a little nod. It was easy to get lost. But it was also easy to get out – with the help of your friends.

[fallinnflower]

outlier

dk (seokmin) x reader (angst/fluff, soulmate!au, non idol!au)

a/n: a big thanks to @kim-jung-uwu for giving me this idea and also for coming up with the alternate title “fate’s bitch.” this one’s for you bby.

Ever since Lee Seokmin could remember, he’d been able to see the red string of fate.

Most people had to wait to see theirs until they first touched their soulmate as an adult, even if it was just a brush of their shoulders — although many people expressed feeling a pull towards their soulmates before they made contact. Only after that would they see the red string connecting them begin to manifest.

Seokmin, however, had always played a different role.

As a child, without truly understanding the impact he had, he would gleefully tug at skirts and pant legs simply to tell a stranger where their string was pointing. Most people were perplexed by this, his family included. The gift Seokmin had was rare, and even the most knowledgeable on the subject of the soulmate connection was unable to give them answers.

It wasn’t hereditary. It wasn’t a phase. It was simply a glitch in the system. Seokmin didn’t know there was anything strange about him until his parents were preparing him for school (“Never tell anyone you can see the strings, Seokmin,” his father had said, hands on his shoulders. His mother smiled at him, but her eyes seemed concerned. Seokmin nodded.)

The probability was high that you would not see your string manifest until you were at least sixteen, regardless of the time you first met your soulmate. Seokmin supposed it was just the way of fate to allow soulmates to grow up a bit more naturally, rather than simply spending the entirety of their lives with only one person that mattered to them.

But Seokmin had always seen the strings connecting people. Except he’d never seen his own.

When his friends started to develop their strings (although they didn’t know it yet), Seokmin saw it all unfold before his very eyes. The first time it was exciting, watching Seungcheol’s string suddenly illuminate before him, carving out a path through the universe to the one person in the world meant for him.

And then, suddenly, things began to cave in, because he had the ability to help his friend, yet he couldn’t help but freeze up at the sight of the new string.

That very night Seokmin went home, confused. He had seen where Seungcheol’s string led, but nobody but him knew that; and nobody but him could tell him what to do about it. True to his promise, he had never told a soul about his gift, not even his best friends.

He was alone and confused.

Seokmin had always been the cheerful, helpful type. Or, he had tried to be, and so he ultimately came to the conclusion that he would investigate Seungcheol’s soulmate for him and simply nudge his friend in the right direction when necessary with a smile on his face. After all, Fate had given him the ability to see where all strings led — he imagined this made him some sort of universe shepherd.

When Seokmin suggested Seungcheol go speak to the barista he had been eyeing for the past ten minutes, nobody thought a single thing of it; they didn’t make contact for another week, anyhow.

And that’s how it began.

His first match had been decidedly young, and with thirteen close friends all at staggered ages there was little time to spare for thought afterwards. Seokmin made something of a personal business out of it, tracking down his friends’ soulmates at the end of their strings and then tactfully finding ways for them to meet. He never tampered with fate (though a part of him was sure he could), simply helped to guide it along. If he ever questioned his actions, he simply told himself that Fate had a plan for everything, himself included. The system had to have known about and included him.

It had to.

However, as the years wore on, Seokmin felt himself dropping from the emotional high that had developed when he was busy helping all his friends. He felt more alone than ever, watching them all meet their soulmates until he was one of the few left. He had been so busy before taking care of everyone else that he had neglected his own lack of string.

But now, it began to weigh on him.

The thought occurred, more than once, that he was simply Fate’s helper, and that his only duty in life would be to lead others to their happy ending. The world seemed to close around him, like walls slowly scraping in on all four sides, trapping him.

He was alone, and for the first time since he was young, he truly felt it.

From ages sixteen to eighteen, Seokmin held out hope that one day he would wake up to see his string. After all, he imagined it would develop just like everyone else’s did, and guide his way into the future.

But sixteen rolled around. And seventeen. And eighteen. And the smile on his face felt a little more forced. He held onto nineteen like a life raft—

Then realized he had to let go.

Seokmin threw himself into college as soon as he possibly could, and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

“Soulmate studies?” Soonyoung asked, incredulous, “Don’t we already know, like, everything about soulmates?” Seokmin’s heart pounded, but he managed to laugh as he shook his head.

“We know a lot, but there’s always outliers. I want,” he paused for a moment, swallowed hard (nobody noticed), “I want everyone to feel reassured with the process. Everyone deserves to be happy. I want to help them find their soulmates.”

Soonyoung smiled, but Seungkwan laughed, playfully pushing Seokmin’s arm.

“Aish, Seokmin, you’re always helping other people,” he said. “Why not focus on yourself and your soulmate for once?”

He felt his stomach drop. His mind turned back to all those helpless teenage night spent begging his darkened ceiling for answers, every weekend spent tirelessly chasing the tails of his friends’ fates. His heart beat loud in his ears, a steady rhythm.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—

“I like making people happy,” he said instead, shrugging and looking down at his feet. “I’ll trust Fate.”

He would be lying if he said he didn’t believe the words that came out of his own mouth. Soonyoung and Seungkwan did, too.

Ever since enrolling in college, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. When he first presented his idea to a professor, however, he was met with exactly the pushback he had expected but nonetheless feared.

“Outliers?” His professor and advisor repeated, leaning forward over her desk. “There isn’t much scholarship on this, you know.”

“I know.” He stared into his professor’s serious eyes, running through every possible excuse to give his professor. A confession was on the tip of his tongue, eyes flicking down past the desk to where her string vanished out the window. He lifted his gaze back to hers, flashing her his signature smile,

“It’s a passion project.” I need this, he thought, and he kept his hands clasped in his lap as his fingers trembled with anxiety and desperation. Please, he begged. I need this.

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, blinking at the ceiling for a moment as if in deep thought before pulling a pad of sticky notes out of her desk drawer and a pen.

“You’ll need to read these, to start,” she said, and pulled the sticky note with three books written down in red ink.

“Thank you,” he said, before bowing and leaving her office. Only then did he allow himself to look at the note, unable to keep down the (bitter) laughter that rose past his lips.

He had read these books as a child. They still sat on his bookshelf alongside all his regular textbooks, thoroughly dog-eared and marked up in various attempts to understand his situation, to convince himself that Fate hadn’t forgotten him.

He hadn’t found proof of that yet.

While Seokmin had at first believed that Fate had simply forgotten him, he eventually began to wonder if it was intentional. By almost all accounts, the system had never failed before, and the few outliers in such circumstances tended to be dangerous, people incapable of experiencing the range of emotions necessary to fulfill the soul bond.

He began to wonder if he was set aside on purpose, left alone because of some lingering darkness in his heart that he had yet to awaken. Maybe it was his growing doubt in Fate on the whole that had warranted his loneliness.

Maybe he deserved it. The loneliness, the doubt, the fear, the anger, the confusion. Maybe he was terrible, secretly terrible, and he was simply meant to suffer.

He felt himself slipping into something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, and so he flung himself into his work until he had no energy to lie awake in fear at night, asking questions without answers. He stopped looking at his hands first thing in the morning. He tried to move on.

Near the end of Seokmin’s third year in college, Soonyoung invited him to a flash mob his dance team was hosting on a Friday afternoon; he was exhausted, but said he would attend, unable to say no to his talented friends and imploring eyes.

The flash mob was meant to be held right when the last classes of the day would end and students would be pouring through the Quad. The group would be near impossible to miss, and Seokmin had to applaud Soonyoung for his planning.

However, not everything could go to plan, and after Seokmin’s lecture ran late he found himself sprinting across campus to catch his friends’ performance. There was a sizable crowd already formed when he arrived, accompanied by a tangle of red strings that he couldn’t help but find horribly distracting. He gently wove his way through the crowd until he got nearer to the center, where he politely excused himself and apologized as he shouldered towards four of his other friends’ familiar faces. One girl in particular stumbled slightly, attempting to move at the same time as Seokmin, and he quickly steadied her and apologized before moving forward. He didn’t notice the widening of her eyes as he left, blocking out the sounds and sights of the crowd to see his friends in the Quad, dancing perfectly in sync.

While watching, Seokmin found himself clapping and cheering along with everyone else, the exhaustion leaving his body as the energy of the crowd buoyed him.

“You made it!” Jeonghan said, slinging his free arm around Seokmin’s shoulders. The smile on his face faded as he looks into Seokmin’s eyes, however, his own eyes narrowing.

“You look tired,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You should go rest after this.” He felt inclined to agree, not only because he was tired but because the look Jeonghan was giving him made him feel as though his friend would know if he didn’t do as suggested, and he would pay for it later if he disobeyed. Seokmin nodded.

And so it was that he was gently ushered away from the group once he had congratulated the performers, making his way dazedly back to his room. Once he was there, he realized how truly exhausted he was, and went straight to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, too tired to even make himself ramen before bed.

When he pulled the towel away from his now-dry face, he caught sight of himself in the mirror—

And nearly passed out.

Tied to his right pinky was a thin, crimson string, which faded slightly as it stretched out the bathroom door, still in the process of developing.

He dropped the towel, his back pressed against the opposite wall, staring at the reflection of his string in the mirror and terrified of looking away in case it was all a cruel trick being played on him. He was too shocked to move, even as his knees became weak and he began to slide down the wall, sitting on the cold tile floor of his bathroom. Every breath he took shook, and sounded incredibly loud to his own ears, and he wasn’t sure how long he sat staring up at the ceiling before he finally lifted his hands towards his face and turned his gaze downward.

It was there. It was still there. His own red string, stretching off into the distance, trembling just like his hands. For a moment, his heart soared — Fate hadn’t forgotten him! All these years spent locked away behind his mask and terrified, hoping beyond hope that he could be happy, were finally over.

He felt freed. And yet the sudden lightness in his chest overwhelmed him, the thoughts of a possible future with his soulmate rising to the forefront of his mind. It felt as though his chest was being ripped apart by the wild beating of his heart, his head pounding at the sudden, violent wave of thoughts, and he began to sob.

He had resigned himself to never having a soulmate, to being alone, and in doing so he wondered if he had been more horrible than he had ever possibly imagined himself to be. In effect, in his mind, he had killed you.

He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, a dry tongue, and puffy eyes from crying. Even once he had dragged himself off the bathroom floor, he couldn’t seem to keep the tears from falling.

What was he supposed to do? He didn’t know how to treat his soulmate; to be honest, he was terrified of meeting them. For years he had conditioned himself to be contentedly alone with his secret, to live and to die just that way, and yet somewhere very recently in his timeline you had crossed his path.

He had been wrong about Fate. He would have to rework his thesis. He would have to rework everything.

Seokmin spent his day the way he used to in high school: chasing a string. But this time it was his own, and every time he thought of it his heart began to race. He bounced his leg while he rode the bus into the nearest city, following someone he hadn’t thought possibly existed until mere hours before. He already loved you, he was certain, but the thought itself terrified him. What should he tell you? When his parents said he couldn’t tell anyone, would it also include you, his soulmate?

Again, he was left alone, without answers, his only option to continue following the only clues that Fate had left for him: the red string.

The very moment he saw you in the crowded boba shop, he knew it was you. You were sitting alone at a table, staring down at your free hand on the table, stirring your drink absently with your straw. He could tell by the furrow of your brows you were looking down at your string tied to your pinky, and he felt his heart leap up into his throat.

You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. He had never seen anyone more stunning in his entire life.

He decided to buy himself some boba before approaching you, thinking of what to say his whole way to your table. He took a deep breath before approaching, and found himself smiling broadly as he stood beside your table.

“Hi,” he said, and you looked up, eyes wide. “I’m Seokmin. I think we met yesterday?”

You laughed, and invited him to sit down; he had never felt more alive.

One week later, the weekend before finals week would begin, you agreed to join Seokmin on a picnic. He wanted it to be perfect; a way to help you relax before the stress that he knew was about to come for you. If he could take your mind off your anxieties for even a moment, he knew he would feel fulfilled. After begging Mingyu to help him pack a perfect picnic dinner, and triple-checking his hair and outfit, he finally went to meet you, unable to keep the smile off his face or the spring from his step.

And yet, it seemed as though Fate wasn’t ready to end his struggles yet.

He was more than halfway to your apartment off-campus when the rain began. It was slow, at first, and Seokmin hoped it would pass — but the first rumble of thunder led to an increase in the wind and the rain itself, and sent him running the rest of the way in the hopes of keeping the basket’s contents dry.

He arrived at your doorstep dripping and dejected, panic rising in his chest.

“Seokmin,” you gasped, immediately pulling him inside by his wrist. “Let me grab you a towel—”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, and you paused, looking back at him with a smile. He felt his heart give a painful lurch.

“For what?” You laughed. “You can’t control the weather.”

“It was supposed to be perfect,” he said, his voice trembling, hands shaking. He could feel his eyes burning, but he couldn’t look away from you. “I—I wanted it to be perfect for you, but I messed up and now it’s raining, so we can’t—”

He finally dragged his gaze away from you, burying his face in his hands. He was too preoccupied by the sobs rising in his chest to notice you walking towards him until you had taken his hands in yours. He kept his head down in shame, tears streaming down his reddened, blotchy cheeks.

“Seokmin—” He shook his head.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, his words coming out all in a rush, “You deserve someone who remembers to check the weather before they plan a picnic date. You deserve someone Fate doesn’t hate—” You pulled at his hands slightly, urging him to look at you.

“Seokmin, look at me, what are you talking about?”

“Fate,” he spat, finally looking you in the eyes. “Fate hates me, I wasn’t— I wasn’t supposed to have a soulmate, you shouldn’t be stuck with me…” He shook his head and looked away again, but you grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you.

“What are you talking about? We’re obviously soulmates,” you said, and he saw the fear in your eyes as you searched his and he continued to cry. All his insecurities seemed to bubble up at once until he could no longer contain them, his lips trembling with the effort.

“I’m an outlier,” he blurted, before pressing his lips tightly together again to prevent a sob from breaking free.

“An outlier? Like what you’re writing your thesis on?” You asked, gently. He nodded.

“I— I can see strings, but I never saw mine, not until I met you, and I always thought I didn’t have a soulmate because I was terrible for doubting the system, and now I can’t even make you happy by taking you out on a date like I wanted to because I messed up.” He barely takes a moment to breathe before he continues,

“So maybe I’m still not supposed to have a soulmate because I can’t even do it right.”

“Hey, hey,” you said, softly, still holding onto him as if his cheeks were made of porcelain. “Who said I wasn’t happy, Seokmin?” There was a pause, and he focused on your voice, his eyes searching yours for any doubt. Instead, you smiled,

“And who said we couldn’t have a picnic inside instead?” Unbelievable, he thought as he laughed. You were unbelievable.

He loved you.

A mere hour later found you both sprawled on your bedroom floor beneath a carefully crafted blanket fort, the mostly-emptied picnic basket shoved to the side to make room for the two of you to spread out. You rested your head on Seokmin’s chest (he was now wearing clothing you had stolen from your brother to sleep in), gazing up at his face as he played with your hair. He had his eyes closed, head leaned back on one of your many fuzzy pillows. You smiled, but you couldn’t suppress your sudden yawn. Seokmin looked up at the sound, smiling gently at you.

“Tired?” He asked. You nodded.

“Rainy days make me sleepy,” you admitted, and Seokmin laughed; you were almost certain he called you ‘cute’ under his breath. He pulled the blanket further over you and wrapped his arms around you so you fit more snugly against him.

“Should I sing you a lullaby?” He asked, voice soft, and you found yourself nodding as you closed your eyes, nuzzling your cheek over his heart. You heard Seokmin lightly clear his throat before continuing to comb through your hair, his soothing voice filling the air around you.

He watched as you fell asleep, felt as your breathing evened out, yet he still finished his song for you before he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he said, and you were almost sure you heard it in your dreams.

[delineative]

writing year in review: 2018

total number of completed stories: 9

total word count:

ao3: 43 879

(+ ~5k on socks)

fandoms written in:

dorohedoro

we both chose each other - noi/shin

houseki no kuni

growing without rest - phos/phos

idol producer / nine percent

counting flower petals all day long - xukun/zhengting

leaving nothing behind - xukun/zhengting

when we see each other again - jun/zhengting, ziyi/zhengting, yanjun/zhangjing/zhengting, xukun/zhengting, justin/chengcheng/zhengting

take one step closer - xukun/yanjun/zhengting

nct

from first principles - 00line

produce 101 china / rocket girls

coincidence makes sense - yamy/meiqi/xuanyi

seventeen

the earth in its turning stopped (last 2 chapters) - seungcheol/jeonghan/joshua

reaching for you from the endless dream - wonwoo/jun

wips:

out of the wips i’m currently working on:

dirtmix assignment (will be revealed very shortly!)

nahyuck pacific rim au

markrenmin enemies to lovers fantasy au

looking back, did you expect to write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

around what i expected... i was aiming for 1 fic a month and didn’t quite manage to hit that but i feel like each fic was longer than usual (i’m a terminal shortfic writer so anything over 3k is long for me). like i kept going 1-4k over my projected wordcount which was extremely panic-inducing when i was trying to write to deadlines lmao so overall i’m okay with the quantity of words i produced this year!

what pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

fandom-wise probably the survival show spiral and moving into ncity... if 2017 was the year of yugioh then 2018 was the year of rpf. some of the stuff i posted to socks was very uncharacteristic of my usual m.o but i think everything i put on main was very true to brand i.e ambiguous relationships + vague pining + emo conversations in the dark

did you take any writing risks this year? what did you learn from them?

i signed up for svtbb and had to drop out due to exam pressure, which was sad bc it’s the first exchange/fest i’ve ever defaulted on, but then i went and did lordeventeen and yuletide even though they partly ran through exam seasons too so i guess i learned nothing?!?

actually i think i probably could have afforded to take a few more risks genre-wise, i feel like everything i wrote in 2018 recycled the exact same themes but also at the same time those themes are the only thing i can write. terrible taste i will never change i will never improve that is a promise etc etc

what’s your own favorite story of the year?

reaching for you from the endless dream had me tearing my hair out while i was writing it but ultimately i feel like it paid off! i’ve always wanted to try canon compliant + magic and this ended up with some of the best writing i’ve ever done, plus i’m happy i was finally able to write something for one of my favourite svt ships <3 honourable mention to the concept behind when we see each other again, my post-disbandment allzzt ship manifesto titled after csc_uri_dasi_bol_ttae.mp3 

best story of the year?

also reaching for you from the endless dream! i’m really proud of how this one turned out both in terms of technical quality (.... *repeats the same phrase 300 times* Is This Thematic Consistency?) and emotional beats, and it got so many lovely comments. i think this is probably one of my best fics ever, and i’m glad it struck a chord with other people too!

most popular story of the year?

not counting teiits since most of that was posted in 2017, it’s counting flower petals all day long, which really surprised me when i checked my ao3 stats? i must have hit the sweet spot of fandom growth + burgeoning ship popularity bc literally nothing happens in the fic other than one (1) kiss, but thank you for giving it so much love 💖

story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

omg i think everything i wrote this year was WAY over-appreciated but coincidence makes sense, which features a f/f/f rarepair (raretrio?) in a fandom with very little western fan presence, so i’m not surprised by its stats but i’m still pretty fond of this one and consider it one of the better fics i wrote in 2018, and one of the best idolverse fics i’ve ever written

most fun story to write:

from first principles, the debate au fic i’ve wanted to write for like 6 years, my beloved pet project through the month of august, and i think it shows? i tripled my projected word count and in the process of writing fully converted to dreamyism(/renjunism), so a lot of love went into it, even though there are places you can tell i definitely rushed the execution. one day i’ll do justice to a proper nct sports anime fic... 

story with the single sexiest moment:

all the rated content i wrote this year was posted to socks other than the brief dance studio 3some scene in take one step closer, but i genuinely have no idea if that was even sxc since i wrote it on my phone in a feverish last-minute sprint on a plane while blasting twice bdz and haven’t reread it at all jhfgdfjdfh

most sweet story:

the general tone of everything i wrote in 2018 was much less depressing than 2017 but i guess the sweetest story was we both chose each other... what’s more romantic than dismembering a bunch of thugs with your beloved partner and then jumping off a cliff together!!

story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

kind of a weird question to apply to rpf... characterisation perceptions are constantly shifting based on current meta and au role needs, though i feel like i’m always struggling to play catchup and by the time i publish anything the general image has shifted ;__; 

most unintentionally telling story:

from first principles draws heavily on my own experiences with high school debating... lots of 3rd speaker related anxieties and hangups projection all over the place in there lmao

hardest story to write:

every time i’m working on something, especially when i’m close to finishing, it is the hardest thing i have ever written... i can’t remember if writing has always been this difficult for me or if it’s an rpf thing. probably i struggled the most with reaching for you from the endless dream bc i’m deeply intimidated by writing jun (light of my life) due to the fear of not doing him justice, and also the deadline pressure nearly killed me. also at one point i called writing from first principles the worst experience of my life but looking back it wasn’t even that bad... mostly it was just that it kept getting longer and longer and eventually i was like Please God Let It End Already

biggest disappointment:

not finishing my svtbb fic... i am literally twitter user juncheolsoo i owe them SOMETHING!! not writing more fic. mediocre execution of decent concepts bc i got too impatient and rushed to finish things before i got bored of them

biggest surprise:

all of my fics about idol boys except one have over 100 kudos, which is just a ridiculous amount?! idol rpf fandoms have been so kind to me... i will work hard to become a better content creator in 2019!!

favourite opening line(s):

from leaving nothing behind:

“Are you looking for Justin?”

Xukun rears back, knuckles still poised to knock on the doorframe. “I—what?”

“Are you looking for Justin?” Zhengting repeats. He’s sprawled across the bottom bunk, leg dangling inelegantly off the edge. The phone in his hand casts an unsteady ellipse of light over his collarbone.

favourite closing line(s):

from growing without rest:

Beyond the arches the world is silent. The gem Phosphophyllite will become returns their gaze steadily, evenly. The shadows lengthen. In the distance behind them, a flicker of white, like light needling off somebody’s back, or the gleam of a pearl eye.

favourite 5 line(s) from anywhere:

from first principles:

“If only Mark-hyung was still here,” Renjun said, only half-jokingly. There was a brief moment of solemn silence as the three of them paused to consider their ex-captain, who had passed on last year to the realm of university debating.

when we see each other again:

So maybe they weren’t friends, but they were something. You couldn’t inhabit the same space for two years and come out the other side as strangers. Sometimes Zhengting thought that might have been easier than whatever this intimacy limbo was supposed to be, knowing somebody in the minutest details, what they looked like at the height of their intensity or the moments before they fell asleep, without really knowing them at all. Looking, and not having the gesture returned, or at least not equally.

coincidence makes sense:

The song ends, starts over. Meiqi doesn’t, though, pivoting to face them, and that’s all the invitation Xuanyi needs to unfold from her position beside Guo Ying and cross the floor. Like two halves of a single movement Meiqi reaches out to Xuanyi and Xuanyi presses their palms together, interlacing their fingers. The tilt of their heads towards each other like it’s something irresistible.

reaching for you from the endless dream:

Junhui was practically raised by the industry. The stage lying close enough to the bone it would be indistinguishable from it. He leaves his intensity on the stage but glimpses of it show through in odd moments, seamlessness without ease. It’s hard for Wonwoo to understand, but most things about Junhui are.

take one step closer:

You want to look into somebody, of course you have to let them look back. This is why he kept away in the first place, the terror of vulnerability when it could be staved off indefinitely instead, though he’d wanted to be seen, hoped for it, even, despite himself, something in the marrow singing out to be known.

It’s like an infection, a second heart in his ribs. A kind of longing that bites right through his hand. Strikes down to the quick. Severs the whole thing clean off. He ran so far from himself he landed in somebody else’s body, and here he is, still trying to escape.

top 5 scenes from anywhere you would choose to have illustrated:

jun lifting zzt up and spinning him around, from when we see each other again (;___; #junting_agenda_seeding)

wonwoo and jun in the kitchen with nectarines spilling out of the open fridge, from reaching for you from the endless dream

cxkzzt conversation in the dark while zzt is wearing a facemask, from leaving nothing behind

00z sports shounen hug, from from first principles

phos getting crushed by their future self’s gold arms, from growing without rest

honourable mention to noishin leaping off a cliff from we both chose each other, which actually did get illustrated in dorohedorozine <3

do you have any fanfic or profit goals for the new year?

cut down my wip list... please i have 25+ wips on my spreadsheet i just want to FINISH something for once in my life instead of constantly starting new wips and letting them rot in the graveyard of my gdocs

practise writing actual shipfic and not poorly disguised gen. i WILL get better at writing kiss scenes

try to write something over 10k again

relearn what figurative language is and how to use it. rpf boosted my productivity stats but at what cost...

[basshouse]

Of Politics and Road Trips

Welp, it seems like the time has come to address one of the gnarliest and most frequently asked questions of all time.  To be clear, that's gnarly for me and to me, respectively.  I’d also like to memorialize a recent road trip.  Before I start, though, let’s get grounded in the current context: it’s late summer IN MARCH; We are headed intro autumn, and there has been enough early snow that Mount Hutt was open for skiing (what?!?!).  I started my new job at Jade Software; the kids started a new school year in January, with Anily headed off to her first year of high school (5 years of high school here); both kids have changed to a new soccer club, which is much closer to the house (thank god); Anily made the A team; James is playing soccer and basketball and ridiculous amounts of Fortnite.  It’ll soon be a year that we’ve been here. We are right in the middle of a full 12 weeks of visitors and trips from/to the US. And in case you were wondering, the cat has managed to escape through open windows and doors a few times, but he’s always come back so I guess he’s ours for real :-)  

I still haven't submitted my dreadfully complicated tax return.  I am seriously procrastinating, and having visitors and reasons to road trip is helping/hurting. 

So!  BFGFAQ (big fat gnarly...you get it): It’s the political one.  From the Kiwis this usually comes in the form of “are you a Trump refugee?” or “what do you make of what’s going on over there?”  And even if it’s not an explicit question, how can I possibly answer the most frequent Q of all time -- “why did you move to New Zealand?” without considering how the political landscape of the US factored in?  I mean, you don't just up and move across the globe and leave a great place and a fabulous life without at least a mental checklist of pros and cons.  At least, most of us wouldn't.  And if you’re a grown-up (which we sadly have established that I am) and a contributing, aware, member of society (which I would argue that I am), your list must include considerations of the way your taxes are spent and people are treated in the place you live and how the outcomes of those things impact your lifestyle, your life, and the lives of other human beings.  Right? Right!  

MAJOR UPDATE:  A handful of days after I posted this, someone (likely an asshole white supremacist) shot and killed people in a CHCH mosque.  The city is still in lock down as I write this.  It is terrible and sad that  things like this happen anywhere, ever.  And I just want to say that as you read the ideas below, I’ll be watching closely the response of the NZ government.  

If there’s one thing that moving around the world to a place you’ve never been before, with a small family and no friends, and taking up a real life with a paycheck and a rent and a job does really well, it’s create an opportunity to reflect on the differences between where you were and where you are.  It also is extremely useful for considering, in a very real way, how the values you hold are (or are not) reflected in both a political system and a local way of living.  You really notice how political decisions, socioeconomic forces and cultural norms trickle into investments, infrastructure, bureaucracy, language, aesthetics, and interactions that impact you as you move through your day-to-day and learn how to get things done.  And because you’re an observer who is trying to become an insider, you may operate with less bias and pre- disposition to judge, more of a natural curiosity and interest in gathering information and then assimilating it and deciding over time. Chalk one up for perspective!  Happy to say this was the kind of experience and growth I hoped we’d all get through this adventure. 

Now, from the Americans this question usually comes in the form of something like “OMG, are you so glad you’re not here for this?” or “are public healthcare and lack of gun violence really as amazing as they seem from here?”.  Because, like me, most people I talk with on a regular basis feel something like this:

t least you do now, thanks to Willie Wonka’s and friend above, and this: 

So while I am not here in NZ without political bias or personal ideas of what’s right, wrong and important, I am more open minded to considering what’s good for this country and this context, and I have a stronger appreciation for the complexities of things all across the board since I’ve now gathered more data and had more experience. 

So, my American friends, in the interest of helping you draw some of your own conclusions, here is a segment I like to call Fact, Figures and Feelings:

America is amazing.  You have SO much of everything.  Including great food, tons of money, vast political power, and a really noticeable amount of homeless people.  I mean!  When I was in San Jose I felt so conflicted by both where to go for every meal and the fact that to get where I wanted to go I was uncomfortable with my own feelings and anxiety about possible conflict with the homeless and mentally ill folks I passed constantly. And it was often while I was walking into a convention center full of people trying to give away millions of dollars, listening to speakers who had made millions through technology. And while the dog adoption station on site and the furry friends in it made me feel a little better in the moment, could there be anything more cliche? Embarrassing. And yet is it fundamentally bad to have cute dogs making rich people feel good and maybe getting adopted?  No.  But it maybe uniquely American. 

Know what else you have a lot of, USA?  DRAMA.  Seriously.  The NZ morning news is usually about 25-50% reporting on the shitshow that is US and Brexit, and it turns out that when people say “if you get homesick, just listen to the news” they are correct.  

So what about NZ?  Well, when you live in a country with SO MANY FEWER (like so many!) people and a much smaller GDP, your reality is very different.  Not so loud.  Not so busy.  Not so many options. Much much simpler and frankly, it feels more sane. But we know the Mexican food sucks.  So... six of one/half dozen of the other?  This is what I am saying: I cannot tell you if Enchiladas and Aveda products make up for dealing with the opioid crisis if you’re seeing it every day, or if leaving Tito’s vodka and a much higher salary on the table is balanced out by the fact that police here in CHCH carried guns last week and this is how people think about it: 

FUN FACT: During the “summer holidays” (December-Jan), the morning news show on public radio literally went off air.  They replaced it with special summer programming, mostly dedicated to personal profiles and reviews of music and activities.  The only headlines they read each day were almost entirely about the US (shut downs) and UK (Brexit).  Apparently it’s possible for time off to extend to politics and news.  WOW.  Just notice how you feel about that. 

Now, NZ is certainly not the rainbows and unicorns utopia we liberals like to think a place with a public healthcare system and affordable education and far fewer guns will be -- there’s a growing imbalance in the distribution of wealth, the abortion laws are archaic, affordable housing is a big issue, nurses and teachers strike because they don’t get paid enough.

Politics was not the only motivator for our move, but we considered it -- sure seemed like a nice time to be out of the US, and it is.  It’s certainly not a clear #NZFTW-100% -they -nailed-it situation, though.  Every place and every system has its bad sides, and I have a lot to learn to really decide how the pros and cons balance out. All I know is that it’s really, really nice to be in a place where the political conversation is much simpler and more focused on politics and their outcomes on people than on hateful rhetoric. I am disappointed when I think of the lost opportunity due to the amount of resources you are wasting on unproductive, unkind conversations in the USA, when you have so much.  I feel bad for not being there to help stand up for the rights of people I believe in, but when you don't wake up angry every day at the headlines and the people you share space with, when the dialog is a little more open and productive, when the headlines are not so likely to be violent and sad, you start with a much better mental health baseline. You just can’t eat a great caesar salad whenever you feel like it, and it’s expensive as hell to leave the island and you don’t get paid enough to be able to do it often, which may really stress you out. For now, I’m really ok with it. But over time will the flaws in the NZ system (every system has them) outweigh the positive?  Do the opportunities in the US outweigh the negative? 

In the interest of letting you form some your own opinions: Take a look at the the top headlines of 2018 in New Zealand.  They include a pregnant PM; visits from Ed Sheeran, the Royals, and Obama; a handful of natural disasters; a bunch of news about other countries and sports; and the BIG BIG Drama which “unfolded over several deeply uncomfortable days” and ended in a minister being briefly admitted to a mental health facility and broad discussions about mental health.  Consider if the US was as concerned about its politicians’ mental health when they did crazy shit :-). 

Oh also, this is my CEO at work on Friday (hee hee): 

So far this year Lime Scooters (people get hurt on them, and people break the rules and double ride with no helmets -- gasp!) and the potential of a capital gains tax have been in the news pretty much daily. And that’s about it. Boring? Yes! Nice? Also yes! Did you know NZ is the only country in the OECD to not have a CGT? Are you impressed with my knowledge of initialisms? Worldly is the word you’re looking for to describe me.

I know, it looks like I am pooping on a trail, but I am actually doing squats mid-hike IN A SKIRT.  Probably gives me enough credibility to become a world leader, or at least present these numbers for your consideration: 

Now that you have something to think about -- because you weren't already thinking about politics enough (sorry!) -- let’s turn to a less political, but more important spiritual and philosophical topic: The Art of the Road Trip.

Pro tip: It’s easier to be a Road Trip Rembrandt with the right tools -- like these:

Mountains + Vans = Roadtrip Masterpiece

I think I mentioned in an earlier post that one of the things we’ve been doing a lot of is road tripping. Not so different from Seattle, eh? True. But since we can surf so close to the house and we have such a beautiful country to explore and a slightly less active social life, the road trips are more frequent and more varied.  As we are all happiest when we’re in the flow and hitting the right balance between challenge and success, I guess it makes sense.  Because if I do say so myself, we are damn good at the road trip, but there’s no way to have 2 to 6 people in a small space with a lot of stuff and a windy road ahead and podcasts and music to choose without challenge.

#vanlifeisthebestlife.

Here’s a map of where we’ve been on our travels thorough the country so far: 

So what’s the art of the road trip?  Composition: 

And the science?  One part great music, one part planning, and at least two parts having a sense of humor and joy about all the chaos. 

Like when there’s no where for you to sit: 

My most recent road trips were extra awesome due to the fact that Leslie Lapham (AKA Alex, AKA LL) was here and we took off on a few fun adventures. Now, Leslie is great for a lot of reasons and it was super fun to have her here for 5 weeks...and one of her best qualities, she takes great pictures!

Here’s what I like to say about our first trip:  it started with a bang and ended with a bee sting.  

Here’s the bang -- this is what happens when some dickhead decides to pass you on the right at high speed on a highway while you are TURNING RIGHT into a campground: 

So, that sucked.  Especially because aforementioned dickhead did not stop to see if we were ok, just left us there in the dark on our own. Luckily the Taupe Donkey was still drivable and packing enough duct tape to make it work.  So, off we headed from Kaikoura to make ourselves feel better in the vineyards and wineries of Marlborough.  

The Cloudy Bay Winery was not a bad place to spend an afternoon!  

Watson’s Way (not pictured) was a really weird place to spend a night though -- we were basically parked in a gravel parking lot in someone’s yard.  But man, did we have some good food! 

Although oops, I accidentally tried to take a grapevine as a souvenir.  And I swear this was before I even did a tasting!

After wine tasting and an amazing dinner at Arbor, we headed to the Marlborough Sounds, starting at Havelock, the mussel capital of the world!

We did a cool tour on the mailboat, which literally delivers mail, packages, animals, groceries, and god knows what else (possibly the odd tourist by accident?) to the residents of the remote 300 or so bays in the region, which can only be reached by boat. 

We ate a lot, of course.  But we ordered more than we could eat. 

After that we headed south on the inland route and camped overnight at the Tasman Lakes National Park.  

There were eels, pretty views, and random dock yoga.  

And last but definitely not least, we topped off the trip by meeting Jason at the always fabulous Hanmer Springs Thermal Pools.  What a drive to get there, too!  I did get stung by a bee while I was soaking, which was a total and pretty painful shock, despite the signs warning people to watch out for bees.  Little fuckers! 

After that, back to co-working and a couple weekends in CHCH:

Then...Lois!!! 

Now this blog is not about all the visitors and it’s already so long I dare not start going on about having Leslie and Lois here together.  Suffice it to say we had some fun times, some great food, and after 8 hours in the emergency room we did a quick road trip to Oamaru.  There were PENGUINS!!!!

There were penguins!!! We saw them waddle onto the beach at dusk after swimming 50K through the ocean all day.  Alas, you cannot take pictures of them, so you’ll have to settle for 3 Generations of Wachsmuth Women in the Wild until next time.  XO. 

[homebehindarchive-blog]

1, 4, 5, 9, 20, 25, 29, 31 for the character development questions meme, for hannah! (pls take your time i know i sent a fkn lot im sorry i was curious)

NEVER APOLOGIZE I LOVE THIS 

1.  How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

hannah can behave noticeably differently depending on who she’s with and her comfort level with them. she’s not always the most confident in new situations, and she can get nervous: lip biting/nervous smiling/hair twisting/leg jiggling when sitting. in those cases, her motions tend to be pretty quick, as if to just get them over with. there’s a lot of energy in them, but it’s nervous energy. she tends to talk quickly and can say some pretty inane things just for the sake of saying something, which then compounds her anxiety. BUT. with people she’s comfortable with, this changes. she’s not nearly as fidgety. in fact, her overall energy changes to calm and welcoming warmth. there’s still definitely an undercurrent of something else underneath that, but it’s like a pleasant hum of energy. she still moves a lot, even in little ways. she had a habit of playing with her quill during classes, for example. at the leaky cauldron, she’s always doing something. 

4.What is their size and build? How does it influence how they use their body, if it does?

hannah is of pretty much entirely medium build, in height and weight, though she did run toward roundness as a child/young teenager (a fact that didn’t do wonders for her self esteem). there’s always a sort of softness to her - - - she’s never any sort of angular or anything even bordering on toned. she loses a good deal over her sixth and seventh year due to various circumstances (loss of appetite after her mother’s death, seventh year being what it was) without really meaning to, and she’s actually not very happy about it. over that time she’d tend to carry herself with arms folded across her middle, shoulders sort of curved forward, hands always pulling the sleeves of her sweaters down over her fingers, etc. her body language became very much about self-protection. after the war, when she’s had a little time to heal, she gains a bit of that weight back. she hits a fairly average size and maintains that as she runs the leaky cauldron. as she puts weight back on/has the exercise of running the leaky, her expressions open up and her body language becomes much less self-protective, kind of an unfolding. there’s still the nervous/shy distinction of her general energy, but nothing like war-time levels. 

5.How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why?

her clothes tend to walk a border between moderately fashionable and entirely practical. she doesn’t follow fashion as closely as some of her friends do, but she picks up elements of it. she tends to favor earth tones like these or pastels. she doesn’t go in for prints very much, but she does have a taste for more understated florals. her preference as far as jewelry goes runs to the simple: mostly just the necklace her mother gave her on her last christmas and simple earrings. she wears a couple of thin bracelets on her right wrist, and a simple, pale-leather banded watch on her left. as far as shoes, she avoids heels like the plague, but loves canvas shoes. she’s not much for “things” when it comes to favoring, but she does love anything soft. texture is huge for her - - - she can’t wear anything rough or scratchy, and when it comes to her living space she likes to surround herself with soft knits, comfy pillows, thick blankets, etc. 

9.How do they manifest energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions?

to be honest, hannah is terrible at hiding anything. most of these can be read pretty easily on her face and in her body language. exhaustion, disappointment, and even sadness tend to register in a lot of the same ways. her movements slow down, her smiles are smaller, she tends to sort of curl in on herself in minor ways. she’ll try to hide these things and just push right through them, and she usually manages to do that...but she doesn’t do very well at the hiding. tension i’ve pretty much already described in her nervous reactions: quicker movements, fidgeting, etc. they’re manifested pretty much identically. anger, frustration, and embarrassment can be read very clearly in her face (it tends to scrunch up a bit, she blushes easily, etc) and also tend to show up in what she’s doing with her hands. when she’s angry or frustrated they tend to curl hard into her palms, when she’s embarrassed she tends to fold them up or tuck them away, somehow. she’s basically an open book when it comes to emotions, though she tries hard not to let the negative ones show (she really doesn’t want to make anyone else feel badly just because she is!) 

20.What kind of individual relationships do they have with others, and how do they behave in them? How are they different between intimate relationships like friends, family, and lovers versus more impersonal relationships?

hannah tends to build very strong and close interpersonal relationships, but they tend to be fairly few. her closest friends at school were ernie, susan, megan, and justin, and they were more or less a small family. she tends to gravitate toward people who make her feel secure in one way or another, and while she’s friendly with everyone, she’s really only truly intimate friends with a select few. she’s actually more quiet and more settled with people she knows well. she’ll open up more, easily confides in them, uses affectionate touch, etc. in more impersonal relationships, she tends to display a lot more nervousness in a do-they-like-me/i-really-hope-they-like-me sense. she talks more without saying much, avoids touch, etc. 

her general behavior around close friends vs. a romantic partner would be pretty much the same and only vary by degrees of intensity. she’d be the sort to really give her all to a romantic relationship, and that would include building a solid friendship at the core of it. 

25.What do they need and want out of relationships, and how do they go about getting it?

security tends to be a common theme with relationship needs. it manifests in various ways: ernie was very secure in himself and his ideas, and she liked that - it tended to anchor her - but it’s not the only kind of security. in fact, the security she’s looking for tends to be more security within the relationship. she needs to know that the person isn’t going anywhere and isn’t going to just stop liking her for reasons she can’t explain. she doesn’t really do much to get this, actively, unless it’s in recognizing that she’s not comfortable around a certain person/in a certain relationship and distancing herself a little. (she’s rarely ever able to fully distance herself, she’d always continue to be friendly, etc, but she also wouldn’t pursue a deeper relationship.) 

29. What kind of activities, interests, and hobbies do they have? What significance and impact do these have in their lives, both positive and negative?

hannah has always loved plants and animals, particularly flowers. she likes taking care of things/helping them grow. there’s really no purpose to this: she doesn’t grow flowers for anything, she just likes that they’re flowers. i wouldn’t say she has very many hard-and-fast hobbies. most of her time at hogwarts was typically spent sitting around and talking with her friends, going on walks through the grounds with them, studying with them. she loves people, and she loves being around people. positively, all of this means that she makes a great owner of the leaky cauldron and turns it into a place of welcome. she gets to push all of that into the ability to take care of the people that walk through the door. but it also means that, at the end of the day, she doesn’t tend to know what to do with herself. once she’s outside of a school environment/not living in a dormitory anymore, she has the tendency to succumb to a good deal of loneliness. to avoid this, she’ll find tasks to do even if they don’t need doing: the floors were just scrubbed yesterday, but she’ll scrub them again just to distract herself. ironically, this is an isolating cycle more than it is anything else. she doesn’t want to “bother” anyone with her loneliness, so she finds ways to distract herself from it instead of finding ways to fix the problem. 

31.. Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?

there really isn’t much that i can think of as far as “dealbreakers.” for the most part, if she’s with a person/people she trusts, hannah can just go along with things pretty happily. i do think hannah can be a bit oversensitive to people’s reactions to her. brusqueness can crush her, as can moments she perceives as a failure, socially. anything that causes her anxiety to spike and manifest itself, particularly in magic-related ways (flock of flamingoes in the exams, for instance) can shake her for days. 

[its-peach-bleach]

An Abundance Of Everything That Starts With "L"

The birthday fic nobody was asking for, but you can read it on AO3 here

When Yuuri opens his eyes, it feels like a normal day.

He clicks his tongue annoyed at the loud, overly cheerful ringtone of his phone and squints at the bright screen as turns the alarm off. Sighing, he stares at the familiar ceiling of his room and for a second he feels reverted to back when he was unsure about what to do with his future, what the next day would bring.

With a sudden clearly that drives away the remaining hazy sleepiness Yuuri realizes that today, he‘s a year older.

25.

That‘s not old. Most people would call him young. The average lifespan of a man is 80, so now Yuuri has only lived a quarter of his whole life. But somehow it feels like he already lived his most important, most rewarding and exciting years.

Soon, way quicker than anyone will think because building something takes so much more time than destroying it and seeing in collapse into dust, there will be more cracking joints and hurting knees, and his pale bend body will be so battered from all the excessive amount of training training training and also living that it will be useless for the thing he loves. For the man he loves.

He sits up and closes his eyes, trying to breathe. The pulse in his temples is overpowering, and it feels like his lungs are caving on his heart, squeezing it in a hot grip he can‘t escape.

He tries to take a deep breath, tries to be cautious of the air in his lungs and hold it in, and even though he knows it‘s there, has to be there because he can feel it stroking over his opened mouth, it feels shallow and empty. It feels like drinking water while starving.

Not enough, not helping, not satisfying.

It‘s okay.

Yuuri closes his eyes, his heart hammering in his chest, and he listens in the quietness of his room to his breathing, dismantling the sensations one by one. His window is cracked and cold air is streaming in and it’s giving him goosebumps. His body is fine and safe and warm. His hands on his knees are too hot. It’s still dark outside. It‘s 6 am. He‘s in his room. Wait, he isn‘t- he‘s in their room. If he would turn the light on Yuuri would see Viktor‘s suitcase at the foot of the bed. He‘s safe. If he would bury his face in his pillow, he would smell the sweet expensive fragrance of Viktor‘s perfume, and he could see the marks he left on Viktor‘s body.

He‘s fine.

There are countless notifications on his phone that make his anxiety flare up again, because it‘s so much to do, but he tries not to think about it and instead focus on his body, on his breathing as he walks into the bathroom.

Yuuri never particularly liked his birthday.

Especially when he was younger it always meant one thing: Puberty. He remembers feeling his own growing body with his too tight skin, remember the silvery and purplish stretchmarks from growing so ridiculously fast, remembers the growing pains and the mood swings and the times his family knocked worriedly on the bathroom door.

And of course he also remembers the countless failed jumps that weren‘t his strong point to begin with, remembers bruises and crying and awkwardness that felt like it confined his whole self into this compact overly cautious boy with glasses that left imprints on his still chubby cheeks.

In a sense, he‘ll going through a second round of puberty when he‘s older. But instead of being build up and becoming tall and strong his body will dismantle itself slowly, like the crumbling dust from ruins, or the way Viktor sheds his jinbei over his pale shoulders.

It will be achingly slow.

Yuuri doesn‘t like his birthday.

When he gets up and brushes his teeth, he‘s suddenly reminded of the birthdays in Detroit, thinks of surprise parties in the dark, how he was too shy to say no to expensive gifts, remembers the Skype calls with his family and how they all looked so tiny and unreal and how his heart ached with homesickness.

And when he undresses he feels worry clenching uncomfortably in his gut, and the fact that he even worries makes him feel guilty.

Yuuri knows that Viktor can be too much sometimes, and he loves his dramatic sides.

Loves it when he sighs and puts the back of his hand to his forehead like a victorian woman in a too tight corset, loves it when he pretends to get weak in the knees so Yuuri gives him a piggy back ride and how he whispers filthy things in his ear then, his hot breath tickling him, loves how he pretends to be shocked and his loud gasp.

And yet he‘s still afraid that whatever Viktor has planned will be so over the top that it‘s simply too much. He knows how Viktor loves to spoil him, knows all about that wonderful tenderness when he washes Yuuri‘s hair or how he smiles when he puts lip balm on Yuuri‘s lips. But there is this strange vulnerability that comes with birthdays, comes with getting older and all Yuuri wants is quietness and maybe drinking with his friends and family in the evening.

When Yuuri walks down the corridor he hears faint giggling and then small feet patter over wooden flooring. Yuuri bites his lip, not managing to suppress his smile. He tries to walk down the stairs as slowly as possibly to give the others a few more seconds.

There‘s soft yellow lighting that makes the stairs in front of him barely visible. His socks touch the floor, and it makes a creaking sound.

Yuuri breathes and looks up.

Yuuko beams at him while Nishigori tries to hold all triples in his arms at once. It reminds Yuuri so much of when they were kids, teenagers and now even adults because after years and years they’re still together. His breath gets stuck in his throat.

Mari smiles and even her little dimple in her right cheek shows, and the fact that she even woke up this terribly early just for him moves him.

Minako is also smiling at Yuuri, and she even went through the trouble of straightening her hair. For what feels like the first time Yuuri notices faint lines around her smiling mouth and the crinkles around her eyes, and somehow it seems like she was too proud to age and only allows it on special occasions. Now, Minako isn‘t his ballet teacher, but his second mother.

The lines of her face are mirrored in the faces of his parents, and in all their shining, loving glory Yuuri sees himself and sees his future and it‘s scary until it isn‘t, because they‘re happy and it‘s so amazingly tangible he just has to reach his hands out and grasp it.

Yuuri knows he caused a lot of these lines and crinkles. Some out of anger, others out of sadness but also laughter. They‘re the testimony of his life.

He left his marks on these people just how they left theirs on him.

In the midst of them all is Viktor.

Lovely, gorgeous Viktor as he smiles softly, and he can feel the gazes of his loved ones and they‘re happy and smiling, and he‘s so overwhelmed with love that the barely perceives all the congratulations.

After everyone hugged him tightly, Viktor suddenly clears his throat.

„So,“ he says as his eyes flicker almost nervously, „Yuuri, I know you don‘t like fancy gifts and I was debating for a long time what I should get you, but through the help of your amazing family and friends we could- make something I hope you‘ll enjoy.���

Viktor smiles then, and when Yuuri sees it he‘s alarmed for a split-second because it looks so similar to his fake smile. But then again, it doesn‘t. There‘s something strange and new in his face, a vulnerability and nervousness in the line of his shoulders and mouth, and Yuuri can‘t tell why until Viktor unfolds a piece of paper.

He takes a deep, shaky breath in the dimly lit room.

„Yuuri,“ he says, „You‘re my fiance, my love and my light, my everything.“

He stares at Viktor with wide eyes. Slowly he turns his head and looks at the others, all of them wearing the same proud, mischievous smile.

How could he not realize that Viktor was learning Japanese?

Now all the glances and the whispering and all the times Viktor needed to be alone make so much more sense.

„Surprisingly, it‘s not that easy to write this letter because I just have so much to tell you. There are so many things I admire about you Yuuri, and I think they all have in common that they all show how you‘re so full of strength. Before I met you, I used to think that I was strong, independent, and it felt like the only thing that could ever stop me was myself. But Yuuri, you‘re strong without shutting everyone out. You found strength in relying on others if you need to, and I love that you know what you want and always do your best to accomplish your goals.“

A thing Yuuri somehow completely forgot was how big the differences between English and Japanese actually are. After years of speaking it daily he got used to it, speaks and thinks and loves in English, and it‘s a part of him, natural like air. That‘s what he thought at least. But all the fine nuances of Japanese that just got lost in the English language are right there, on Viktor‘s tongue, with a Russian accent and only for him.

„You‘re sincere and strong, and you‘re stubborn and determined to the point that it almost scares me because I can‘t keep up. Now I understand why Yakov was always this stressed.“ Besides Yuuri, his mother laughs wetly and squeezes his hand, a silent confirmation.

„I didn‘t know at first what to think of you because you were so different from the time at the banquet- but over time, I realized that this was not the real, not the usual you. You were shy and insecure and skittish and anxious, and so much more real than I ever hoped you‘d be.“ Viktor sniffles and yet smiles as he wipes a stray tear away.

„You‘re see-through, Yuuri. You do everything so sincerely, so genuinely and with a strength that most people maybe don’t immediately see, but it‘s there. And I can‘t thank you enough for letting me in and letting your walls down and that- that you saved my passion, my career. Me. You‘re so greedy for life Yuuri, and there are not enough words to express just how happy I am that I can help you reach the things you want. There‘s nothing left to say except:

I love you.“

This is unfair, Yuuri thinks and wipes frantically on his face, his glasses pushed up into his hair. It‘s unfair hat Viktor gets to say all these amazing things, can just dismantle him so carefully like pulling loose threads apart. He sobs, and he knows he‘s not being quiet at all but when he looks up he sees his mom clutching the jumper of his dad tightly, their shoulders shaking, and Nishigori hides his face in the soft hair of one of his daughters.

„Viktor,“ Yuuri sobs, and then with even more desperation “Vitya,” trembling fingers outstretched to finally pull him close, to kiss him, to mutter words back to him that can hopefully make him come undone in the same way.

„I‘m not done yet,“ Viktor says and smiles, eyes swimming in tears.

He takes another shaky breath, and his smile trembles so much that it breaks your heart.

„Mama, papa, I want to thank you for giving me Yuuri and for being there for him and supporting him without a second thought, and I- I want to take care of him just the way you did. I promise I‘ll make him happy.“ Viktor is crying so much his shoulders shake and his chin scrunches up in childlike desperation.

„Mari, I want to thank you for being such a wonderful big sister and protecting him. And Minako for being his teacher and giving him all the time he needed to practice, for believing in him and encouraging to skate because otherwise we wouldn‘t even have met. And I want to thank the Nishigori family for being such an amazing support and a lovely family and being his closest friends, and of course for uploading the video of Yuuri.“

Yuuri rushes forward and kisses Viktor, all soft pliantness on his mouth, and he tries to savor the taste until he‘ll even remember this when he‘s 80, or 90 or even 100. There‘s this kind of desperation that comes with tears and candlelight, and Yuuri never felt more treasured in his life than in this everlasting moment.

Sadly, time moves on and they part, have to part because his mom is bringing the birthday cake in, and the sizzling of the sparklers sounds like fizzy soda as it flickers over the whole room, and Yuuri is again overwhelmed with this almost tangible feeling of love, and it feels like he can just press it close and oh how he wants.

„Happy birthday!“

Yuuri laughs wetly, and Viktor presses a kiss to his temple.

Before he blows the candles out he locks eyes with Viktor, watches the gleam of his face and the wonderful crinkling of the corners of his mouth, and for the first time in his life, he doesn‘t wish for not falling at a jump in competition, doesn‘t wish for less pain and more medals and more success.

When Yuuri puckers his lips, all he can think of is:

Please you gods, make Viktor happy.

[disaffectednotes]

Corona & culture / cultural studies - Scattergun virus thoughts

Putting some scattered thoughts down, largely inspired by a steady diet of high-fibre podcasts in recent weeks. These notes are fragments, really, and hardly add up to more than passing thoughts, given the unfolding situation and the partiality of any knowledge right now. I’ve noticed in myself the will to “master” the situation by consuming as much information as possible – even as I know this will inevitably fail. Perhaps the following can be read in the same spirit of failed mastery, or to sublimate the anxious energy that’s all around...

“We’re all in this together.” The virus as the “great equaliser.” Such appeals to the common good and common ground have been… common. War mobilisation rhetoric is also doing the same work of unifying the disparate population. At the same time, disgruntled jokes are made about celebrities and royals getting tests when frontline medical staff cannot. It’s also clear that this virus will rip through some communities more than others, as reporting this weekend about effects in black communities in the US has made clear. Arundhati Roy also made this clear too in her excellent piece for the FT this weekend. India is only just at the start of this. The economic crisis has reached many poorer countries before the virus itself hits.

On the cultural level, some of this mobilisation of fellow-feeling and resentment has been played out through celebrity culture (https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/30/arts/virus-celebrities.html). There will be people on this list more expert in celebrity culture than me (paging Celebrity Studies scholars), but commentary is engaging in the cyclical argument about how this will be the end of celebrities. As if seeing in 1080p the smooth interiors behind celebrities cocooning at home will rupture the culture industry and the star system. And yet, the hatred is real. “The film Parasite, in which a poor South Korean family cleverly cons its way into the home of a rich one, has been converted into a well-worn social-media retort whenever celebrities offer glimpses inside their own manses; the reference succeeds partly because so many superrich people have such blandly similar minimalist homes.”

More abstractly – how do the universal and the particular interact in this moment? We seem to have the interaction of universalism in the sense of appeals to and mobilisations of public health (with its birth as a discipline in Soviet healthcare, no less) and the particularity of suffering.

Closer to the question of Cultural Studies as an intellectual formation: what reconfiguration of economy, culture, society etc might follow from this. After the financial crisis a decade ago, there was, no doubt, a new opening onto political economy in cultural studies. As Randy Martin put it in 2015, “the very architecture by which knowledge of the social has been made legible – the grand trinity that partitions economy, polity and culture – has come undone, and from these ruins issue all manner of challenge and possibility.” Of course, this pandemic event adds another dimension to the broken trinity – or, put differently, where do quasi-natural factors like novel viruses fit in the trinity? Chuang and Rob Wallace suggest the historic spread of pandemics cannot be untied from urban development, intensive agriculture and capitalist markets. If there’s no unsullied “nature” outside global capitalism, this also suggests the open question of whether this is an exogenous or endogenous shock to an interlocked world system.

Another plank of this concerns the status of the “economy” as an object, and what its abstract claim is on politics (in our really-existing world of market-dependence, obviously). E.g. the increasing attempts to weigh up the economic cost of lockdowns vs care of population. Already as part of a wide-spread legitimacy crisis post-2007-8, there was a growing sense, I think, that people did not see their lives reflected in GDP figures (see Will Davies on this). Sure, the numbers are going up, people seemed to say en masse, but I’m not seeing that in my life. Wellbeing budgets (e.g. NZ and UK) were one attempt to deliver a fix for this gap between lived experience and economic indicators.

What is being asked for here is an unprecedented global demobilisation and isolation, almost concurrently. There’s anxiety about this. It’s unknown territory. Above all, those clamouring for a return to the Service of Goods right now seem to be desperately ensnared by the oikodicy that Joseph Vogl talks about. “A theodicy of the economic universe: the inner consistency of an economic doctrine that—rightly or wrongly, for good or ill—views contradictions, adverse effects, and breakdowns in the system as eminently compatible with its sound institutional arrangement.” Nothing needs to change; just get the people back to their stations and everything can carry on. The hangover from this governmental largesse will surely come in the form of austerity lashings for many.

On the conjuncture in which this virus appeared – it seems important to remember the crisis of legitimacy that has been underway (at least) since the last financial crisis. This has had several effects, I think, on trust in politicians and trust in experts. Lockdowns have played out in rather draconian ways, I think, because flows of trust between citizenry and state are at low levels. (Equally in those countries that English-language media are lumping together as “Asian” or “East Asian”.) The US and the UK have fumbled their management terribly, and lost a lot of time to quell the virus in the process. Aside from the obvious political disaffection and so on surrounding elected officials, there was already an epistemological crisis surrounding the “expert” and expertise, the media and information sources — and now? It seems to be going in two directions. In some ways, epidemiologists and other public health actors seem to be trusted; in part, they seem to be figures of faith for acting in the best interests of the public / society / everyone. Goodwill seems to be carrying their message through, helped by endless news reports of deaths. And yet conspiracy theories continue to be rife – 40% of US Republicans believe the virus is a Chinese concoction from a lab; on the weekend, we’ve seen 5g mobile towers burned in the UK in some sort of anti-tech connection with China. It will also be interesting to watch the anti-vaxxer groups in the wake of this, themselves one of the chief symptoms of a rear-guard response to the epistemological crisis around science.

At the level of everyday life, it will be interesting to experience the new tempos and rhythms of everyday life that will come out the other side of this. Obviously, people are right now being enlisted in a series of new habits around social distance, but time is also being enlisted too. We check the news to see updates on the length of lockdowns, the next meetings, the rise over the past 24hours. Morbid scoreboards measure out days and deaths, for our fascination and horror. We hear that lockdowns will come ago. Six weeks, two weeks, maybe six months, up to two years, maybe five years. Yet the future as a space of projection feels utterly blank. Who can plan anything, other than as a coping mechanism with an asterisk of a disclaimer (to be confirmed)? Epidemiological metaphors, otherwise describing dynamics visualised on graphs, have slid into the language with almost universal recognition. Flatten the curve (even in German they say this, auf Englisch). Now people speak casually about “the hammer and the dance.”

Another cultural question of everyday life – what will survive of neighbourhood businesses, given the economic ruin that is already evident in unemployment statistics and massive companies going on rent strike. In Berlin, neighbourhood places like cinemas, bars, restaurants and cafes, unable to open for weeks, have taken to asking people to support them by buying vouchers and merchandise online. Cancelled gigs and events ask people who can afford to ignore refund, so that music venues and theatres and promoters and artists can come out the other side. I’m sure similar things are happening elsewhere. But there’s a chance this could alter the face of local communities (in places already changed by gentrification, no doubt, and other processes).

Equally – what will cultural policy and support for cultural industries and artists look like? Responses already seem divergent. Germany has trumpeted a huge package of money for operators at all sizes (https://news.artnet.com/art-world/berlin-senate-bailout-process-1820982 & https://news.artnet.com/art-world/german-bailout-50-billion-1815396). In Berlin, bookshops are essential services and remain open. In Australia, the other case I know something about, anxiety was rising before the lockdown that this could decimate those artists already struggling with high costs of living and piecemeal work (https://www.themonthly.com.au/blog/anwen-crawford/2020/19/2020/1584580982/coronavirus-cancelling-culture). I don’t know that any systematic response has emerged to this situation from the Australian government(s). Meanwhile, Jerry Saltz suggests the art world could look different after this – https://www.vulture.com/_pages/ck8ivxorc0000yeyerntsmxxj.html. By that we can also include the mass sackings of culture workers with barely any hope of reinstatement anytime soon – https://hyperallergic.com/551571/moma-educator-contracts/

I wonder if there might be a new “paranoid style” in culture and everyday life. What does life look like after we have been so thoroughly inculcated into logics of the other (and self) as virus vectors? It seems hard to imagine that sociability will not be affected by this sustained mentality. I imagine there could be an ecstatic return of sociability? Matched with paranoid moments? Prevailing at different points? Except, I think we already being prepared for a staged return to normal social mixing. So the ecstatic moment may not come. People wonder out loud too about parallel epidemics of loneliness and mental health from weeks of limited social contacts.

In cultural production, it will be interesting to see how this paranoid style might play out in formal and generic novelties, rather than simply the pandemic *content* that will be pushed through the Netflix pipe. The “bottle episode” format might become even more of a mainstay. And the lockdown nostalgia genre (like the “blitz spirit”) is probably already in the making. Will “flatten the curve” become “keep calm and carry on” kitsch?

It’s interesting to watch what Adam Tooze called a clumsy rewiring of globalisation – where Zoom comes to the fore as platform, where relations to flying around the world become more fraught and second-guessed. This ad hoc reconstitution of institutional and individual practices is obviously apparent at universities. It will be fascinating to see what the afterlife of this moment will be in the sector. Again, like the ecstasy of reunion with friends (and strangers), will the metaphysics of presence reassert itself as a thousand and one postponed conferences are launched onto the market for papers and academic attention? Or will the convenient and environmentally sustainable virtual conference finally become more acceptable? For those at a distance from the conference centres of the northern hemisphere, there’s been a certain obliviousness among, e.g., European academics about the many costs involved in travelling from, e.g., Australia for a conference. The Fridays for Future movement and others had already instilled greater awareness about this; so perhaps this accelerated acquaintance with these technologies will make the option viable. I’ve been part of several online reading groups already in the past fortnight, and their decentralisation has been inspiring. For example, one group hosted in Ireland had its largest number of participants in India and Israel. Obviously cultural, symbolic and financial capital will continue to accrue among the big-name academic cities and campuses, but these initiatives have opened onto new constellations of community, discussion and collective endeavour.

What are the subjective effects of all this? Some psychoanalysts co-wrote a letter a couple of weeks ago about their patients with some striking insights.

“And yet, against the predominant narrative of trauma and the dangers of isolation, we find many patients who are doing fine or even doing better, who like externalized chaos, or whose melancholia is abated by the nearness of death and reproach; those who are used to doing their own thing and who find their anxiety and sadness contained and cohered by the pervasive force of a virus that shuts all down. We hear those who have longed for everything to be cancelled, for life as we know it to be paused, hushed and stopped, even to the point of daring to express their own desire to, in fantasy, be one of the affected, which is to say, infected. Many admit that they are feeling strangely fine—no more FOMO—and even a few are looking forward to enjoying the spiteful reality that the virus effects all, rich and poor. Beyond this, there might seem very little worth saying. Some now don’t talk at all in session, while indicating that they are talking all the time, like the run on social media. Symptoms, despite so many breaks in the fabric of reality, persist, sometimes blindly and deafeningly so; it feels crushing. The continued contact can be important, but perhaps only for that—to know the analyst is still there.”

Other things to say… but I’m running out of steam and you’re probably running out of patience… so now in the form of suggestive promissory notes for further thoughts…

These ideas all came from listening to Adam Tooze talk about the current crisis and how it compares to 2008: Incoherent American power — soft power and culture yet literal bankruptcy of American social model, meanwhile Fed is efficiently fighting spotfires and Trump is a clown show; running 2008 playbook but at high speed; public balance sheet taking over from private again; fiscal conservatism as cross to nail progressive politics to cross for years; expansionary fiscal policy nationally vs contractions and austerity locally; emerging markets pressure (South Africa — immunosuppressed HIV population + downgrade of currency); timing of crisis with oil shock and uncertain global supply chains; car-making is dead right now; VW is worried about liquidity; what might bailout conditions be?; German governments talking about mass buying VW electric cars to ensure work when factories can reopen, while aiding in VW’s need to increase electric sales.

Media companies — some experiencing a massive boost in visitors right now, but with drop off in advertising. Who wants to sell stuff next to death charts? Who is in mood for big spending? Media outlets cutting staff or closing.

Mutual aid groups and solidarity networks have sprung up informally – and been mirrored formally by state calls for volunteers. This puts me in mind of the anarchist / horizontalist moment of Occupy a decade ago. Then, since, the return to state by activists for Corbyn and Sanders. What now?

Also, what do social movements do to respond to what will be inevitably be an uneven roll out of crisis response? Plus, the draconian enrolment of police and military, with powers for six months to two years? How do groups organise against that? What are the forms of creative protest in times of physical distance? Cementing affected and affective communities somehow – maybe seeding these online to go “live” when restrictions are lifted. Thinking also about ACT UP and other social movements – e.g. How to Survive A Plague. Those movements, internationally, put their bodies on the line, staged die ins during AIDS-HIV crisis. Militant disobedience might be demanded to get better crisis response. (Sidebar: Fauci and Birx, both experts on HIV and AIDS; Fauci was targeted by ACT UP but was sympathetic.) Some small protests in Berlin on the streets in recent weeks, using social distancing. Calling on politicians and population not to forget refugees at EU’s borders. Others occupying empty apartments (& Airbnb) to call for homeless relief. Also, what could cultural protest look like right now? (https://hyperallergic.com/550091/illuminator-covid-19/).

What might the crisis do for an ethics of care – and awareness of social reproduction too. Some public health thinkers have talked about “social immunity,” particularly in the US. And the flipside seems to be the social contagion that Chuang invoke. (No doubt here all the biopolitical debates come up again, e.g. Esposito on immunity)

And there’s been interesting work on geographies of movement and exclusion. Various visualisations of how the virus moves around the world and what this illustrates about travel, business, leisure etc today. But also the unevenly distributed luxury of working from home – the NY Times piece about poorer workers in NY moving around the city much more than the knowledge workers who could “shelter in place”. Five bus drivers have died in the UK. Meanwhile, in Germany, the former socialist eastern part of the country has far fewer cases. This once again underlines a deeply sensed feeling of stasis – both a distance from the cosmopolitan cultural power of an EU-level project but also the literal (comparative) lack of infrastructure for things such as fast-speed rail links between cities from eastern German states into western states and beyond into other parts of Europe.

No doubt these reflections are parochial and limited, drawn from what has most captured my attention – selfishly – in a truly global crisis, and one with many months to run….

For rolling lists of good discussions on these topics:

https://the-syllabus.com/coronavirus-readings/

https://yourpart.eu/p/QuarantineSchool_COVID19