#although my dad is pressuring me to learn to drive again which I am too anxious to and not sure how to talk to him about

[sofiasfanartcollection]

*whispers* i turned 29 today

i feel old

[elisela]

echo oscar mike buck x eddie, 1.9k, vermont verse @extasiswings​ wanted eddie to have a cat in vermont and I wasn’t gonna do it but then .... well, it’s chapel so.

Eddie learned, very shortly after moving to Vermont, that he likes routine. He thrives off it—blame his parents and their strict schedule when he was growing up, blame the military, or maybe just blame his personality—but he finds comfort in knowing what his day is going to look like when he wakes up in the morning.

And he has a good one, has had a good one since he met Buck and fell into an easy(ish) life with him, waking up in the morning to kick a seventy-five pound dog off his bed so he can have sex with his husband, said husband making him breakfast every morning, filling up his days with workouts, running the youth center a few days a week, taking classes at the community college just because he hates being bored, and being home by the time his kid and Buck are both back just to spend the rest of the day with them.

(Less Chris these days, now that he’s sixteen and more interested in girls, trying to convince Eddie to take him in for an exam so he can be cleared to drive, and spending every waking minute out of the house and with his friends. Eddie’s mom had said he was too permissive last time she called and Chris hadn’t been home, but Chris is happy, Buck is happy, and Eddie is certainly happy, so he tried not to let it get to him.)

So Eddie’s in the middle of his Tuesday routine—breakfast with Bobby, Combat to Classroom lecture at a community college in Burlington, and a run around the University of Vermont campus before he heads home to clean up before opening the youth center—when he passes the Delta Tau Delta house and stops.

He’s not sure why the cardboard box catches his eye, but it does, and laying inside is one tiny kitten, eyes closed against the soft rain that’s falling.

Eddie’s parents were not big on pets growing up. His dad was never home, and he can still hear his mother saying, “when you’re mature enough to take care of a pet on your own, then we’ll talk.” Christopher had been born before Eddie was ever deemed mature enough for a pet, so it wasn’t until he’d found Ox out on the trail that he had gotten any experience. But Ox was a monster, a beast of a dog who took up so much room that he and Buck had gotten new furniture just to accommodate him.

So this—this tiny tan and black kitten that might fit in Buck’s palm—he’s not sure what to do, so he does what he always does when he has a question, and he calls Hen.

“Eddie, being a surgeon is not the same as being a vet,” she sighs when he fills her in. “Is the cat warm?”

He bends down and strokes a finger over its fur and down to its paws. “Not really,” he says, “but her eyes opened so she’s still alive. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Hen says, and Eddie grins even though she can’t see him. “Yes, take the cat to the vet. But you know you’re gonna have to keep it for awhile, don’t you? The shelters have been full for months, that always happens when it starts getting colder.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, leave her to die?” he says—

—which is the same thing he says that night to Buck, when Buck takes three steps inside the door, looks at Eddie bottle-feeding the cat, and says, “no.”

“No,” Buck says again, shaking his head as he toes off his untied boots and kicks them under the bench. “You already—” he leans down and kisses Eddie, a soft press of lips at the corner of his mouth, “—brought this beast into our���get off me Ox, let me get my jacket off first—into our house without asking.”

“She was in a wet cardboard box,” he says, looking down and tilting the bottle to get the last drops out. “What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“Leave her at the vet,” Buck says, scratching Ox on the head and moving towards the kitchen, talking as he disappears through the doorway. “I put chicken in the fridge to thaw this morning but I think I want—Eddie!”

“I think he saw the litter box,” Eddie whispers to the little bundle in his hands, setting the bottle down and sliding her back into his hoodie pocket to keep warm. He stands up, sliding a hand into his pocket to make sure she’s secure, and goes to console his husband. Buck might be upset, but he’ll get over it. “The vet wouldn’t take her,” he says, leaning against the doorway and watching as Buck looks over the bags on the kitchen table.

Eddie’s never had a cat; he had no clue what to buy, so he just … bought one of everything.

There’s something—off, about it though; when he’d brought Ox home, Buck had sighed and complained about it, but he hadn’t looked—mad.

Like he does now.

“I named her Echo,” Eddie offers, expecting to be laughed at, for Buck to roll his eyes and finally crack a smile, but he just lets out a breath and allows the bag to fall from his hand. “Buck,” he tries again, “really, the vet wouldn’t take her and—”

“And did you try anywhere else?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie skeptically. “Because the seven bags from The Dog and Cat tell me that you didn’t.”

“Hen said the shelters were all full,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should have talk to you first, but you were busy—”

“Funny, you’ve never thought I was too busy working when you want me to come home in the middle of the day because you want me to fuck you—”

“—and you love cats,” Eddie says over him, because he can’t exactly argue with that. He’s definitely taken advantage of Buck working for himself now, not having a set schedule or time-frame unless it’s his own making, the couch out in the workshop getting so much use that Buck had joked about finally just bringing a bed in. “You volunteer at an animal shelter, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“I walk the dogs,” Buck says, “and you didn’t think that, you thought if I came home and saw the cat that I’d just accept it like I did with Ox.”

Eddie opens his mouth to keep arguing, but Buck crosses his arms over his chest, and he closes it again. Buck doesn’t get closed off like this often, and although he still thinks he had a good reason—he’s not leaving any animal outside, exposed to the rain that’s now pouring down—but he’s also aware that Buck is … entirely right. Somehow, Eddie had fallen in love with Echo in between jogging back to his car with her wrapped in his hoodie and walking into the veterinarian’s office, and he really didn’t intend to look for a home for her anywhere else.

They haven’t fought in a long time, he thinks suddenly, because he has no clue what to do right now.

“I’m gonna go out to the workshop,” Buck says, “can you take care of dinner?” and leaves without waiting for the answer, motioning for Ox to follow him.

Ox goes, the traitor.

---

Eddie gives it an hour, calls the little italian restaurant that’s on the way to the ski resort—where Eddie had taken him on their first date—and orders Buck’s favorite dishes and a slice of peanut butter pie, because if he’s going to pull out all the stops he might as well get the dessert they’d shared that night. He checks in with Chris, who sends a picture of himself with three of his friends at Pizza Putt, grinning widely and holding up mini-golf clubs, and shuffles around the house cleaning up to kill time until the food is ready.

With just a few minutes left, he realizes suddenly that taking Echo with him is not a great idea, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone in the house, which means—

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the workshop. “I—are you okay?”

Buck’s laying on the couch, hand against his rib cage; he winces when he sits up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going in the house and I kinda ran into a dresser that May was bringing in,” he says quietly, and lifts his shirt. There’s a large bruise blooming under his skin, spreading across his side.

Eddie crouches down beside him, careful not to jostle Echo in his pocket, and rests his hand against the spot, pushing gently. “You want to go to the hospital? I don’t think it’s anything serious—”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Buck says, pulling his shirt down before Eddie withdraws his hand. “Dinner ready?”

“I gotta go pick it up,” he says, “but—I’m sorry. I should have called you, and I’ll call around tomorrow to see if there’s a shelter that can take her or someone who wants her. I’ll find a home for her.” Buck nods, but his gaze is on Eddie’s pocket, where Echo is poking her head out. “Would you watch her while I get the food?”

“Sure,” he says, and when Eddie sets her in his hand, Buck curls his arm to his stomach to hold her, and uses the other hand to pull Eddie down for a kiss.

---

There’s a fire going in the living room when he gets home, the first of the year; October is wetter than normal and Eddie makes a mental note to buy firewood over the weekend, because he has a feeling they’re going to need it more often this winter. Buck’s not on the couch, though, and there’s no trashy reality show playing on the television, so he goes through to the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

Buck’s not there either, but all of the bags from the pet store have been cleared away, so he starts setting out dinner—transferring it onto plates instead of leaving it in the boxes like they normally do—and is wondering if they even own candles for a candlelight dinner when Buck comes around the corner, hair damp and wavy, clearly just out of the shower with his joggers and t-shirt on.

In the stretched out chest pocket of his blue shirt is Echo, curled into a half circle, eyes closed. One paw sticks out, and Eddie feels such a sudden pressure in his chest that he thinks he may be having a heart attack.

“Don’t say a word,” Buck says, fitting a hand around Eddie’s hip and kissing him. “Is this from Trattoria?”

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Buck,” he says, staring down at Echo’s fuzzy ears.

Buck kisses him again, his lips pressed sweetly against Eddie’s, and Eddie has to force himself not to press up against him, mindful of the tiny kitten residing in his husband’s shirt pocket. “Shut up, Eddie,” he says, but it’s soft, gentle.

“And he said we had to give you away,” Eddie says to Echo when he pulls back, stroking one of her ears with the side of his pinky. “Looks like you went and found yourself a home.”

[dibidibifiction]

A Hundred-dollar Bill: PART 4

Warning: foul language, fluff Word count: 1.9k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist PART 3

I gently pull away from Taemin’s cuddle to get up. He immediately rolls his whole body the other way, finding Kibum who is spooning Minho on the other side. Once again, I stare at all my best friends. This time they’re sleeping so soundly and this, for me, is enough to provide me comfort. However, I somehow feel sorry for getting them into this mess. 

I adjust this one blanket for them to squeeze in.

I grab Minho’s cigarette pack and head to the roof of the building to wait for the sun to rise.

Once I’m sat on the dirty, dusty cement, I light a cigarette to my satisfaction.

I think of my parents. I don’t really believe in life after death but I genuinely hope they’re happy and together wherever they may be. I wish there was a way to let them know how much I miss them. Also, I really hope they don’t see how I’m doing right now because my dad would for sure beat me up.

“Hey, can I get a hit of that?” I hear someone say after a couple of minutes of my alone time.

I turn my head to look behind me. It’s Taemin. “Oh, hey.”

“That ‘hey’ doesn’t sound like you’re happy to see me,” he giggles. He takes the cigarette from my lips and then to his.

“A singer isn’t supposed to smoke, right?”

“Who says I’m a singer?”

I stare at him in confusion after I light myself another stick. “Spill it.”

“Nobody knows this. Well, except for Kibum Hyung since he’s all for social media and happened to find the article. Thanks for looking it up by the way,” he jokes. “About a month ago,” he starts. “Euisoo Hyung handed me the news that he handled my situation and proved to the media and to everybody that the rumors about me are wrong. I don’t know how he did it, I didn’t ask, but I’m just grateful. Not to mention relieved. He said that I can get back to work as soon as I’m ready. And I asked him to give me some time to think about it.”

“What? Taemin, what’s there to think about? This is your dream.”

“It was. I already lived it for six years and I couldn’t feel more honored and fortunate, but…” He hesitates. 

“But what?”

He sighs. “I have a new dream. I realized that living a lowkey life made me happier, less pressured, especially with the person I love. I decided to go back to the original plan, which is to become a dancer. Not exactly a singer,” he says, tipping the cigarette butt out of his hands.

I watch his eyes twinkle under the upcoming sunrise sky. There is not a drop of doubt that he’s really sure about this. I always wondered how hard it was for him to recover from all the hate, and his fans cancelling on him. He didn’t really open up this deeply. Now, here he is, rising from the ashes. 

“Last night, when I went out while Kibum Hyung rested, I talked to Euisoo Hyung again.”

“Really? And?”

“He told me that I’m going to have a meeting with the board of the directors about my choreography and songwriting career. Turns out there still is a reputation to ruin I just realized. So…”

“So what happened last night can’t happen again,” I finish his thought.

“Well, not everything that happened. There are some moments I want to make happen again.” He gives off a grin, trying not to giggle at his own flirty information. 

“Wait, let’s get back to that part where you mentioned somebody you love. What’s that about exactly?” I join his kidding around.

Now he can’t hold his laugh.

We stare at each other for a while as the laughter fades. Slowly, he begins to lean into me to gently put his lips onto mine. Then carefully slides his tongue against mine as they start to dance together.

It feels different this time. It’s more tender and more passionate. It’s less wild but more gentle. Less lustful but more pleasant. Less exciting but more caring. 

He pulls away. “Look, I know we’ve never talked about this. Us. I never brought it up because I want everything to stay the same and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Yeah, I know, me too. I like the way we are.” I smile brightly at him, involuntarily. I take a deep breath as I’ve decided to say what I’m about to say. “I love you though.”

Tears form in his eyes like they wanted to say the same thing to me. I watch them close as he starts kissing me again.

The sun has come up which marks the end of everything reckless and rebellious and the beginning of something prudent and responsible.

. . .

We wouldn’t see one another for months after that day. We lived separately for a bit to focus on our own lives, to be better. 

But we did hang out from time to time, just not as often as we did before. Lucky for us, we had each other—we still do—to realize that it’s never too late to start over. It’s from each other where we learned that each of us is like a hundred-dollar bill. No matter how much we’re folded, crumpled, and stepped on, we never lost our value. 

We never experienced what it was like to be living free as youngsters because our lives fucked us up so early. That’s also why we lived it in our late twenties. Although one certain thing we know is that we have no regrets, especially after we found each other.

It is now six years later and so much has changed. Our individual lives have never been better, and we’ve never been happier. 

Taemin is now a well-known, well-esteemed singer turned choreographer and songwriter, working with famous pop groups and soloists. He would make a comeback once in a while as a singer but it doesn’t become his priority. 

Four years ago, just a year after his career peak, Taemin showed Kibum’s secret sketched designs to a famous designer he worked with for some time for his comeback.

Long story short, Kibum finished fashion school where he was sponsored by that same designer, who also became his mentor. Later on, his social media following started growing and he would be interviewed and be featured by different magazine and publishing companies. He would work on his own clothing line little by little in collaboration with various famous fashion icons. 

Minho served the military for two years after he ran away from his father, who patched things up with him recently. After his military service, he reunited with his former soccer coach in college and they trained day and night without taking any breaks at all. I would cook and prepare us a picnic, then the rest of us would visit him in the field. He would soon make the national team. And after being reserved in the bleachers for so long, just months ago, he was responsible for their team’s rare championship and is awarded as the Most Valuable Player this season. Now, Minho becomes one of the famous successful football players who peaked in their thirties. 

. . .

As I’m tidying up for closing, I hear the bell ring as somebody enters my bakeshop. I turn around to see Taemin, who instantly puts a smile on my face.

“Hey, you,” he greets with a warm hug.

“Hi,” I say before placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “I’m almost ready. Hold on a second.”

After I check all the lights in the back rooms and am about to walk out the front door, all ready to go, I catch Taemin lost in thought. He admires the place, then looks at me. Staring at me with twinkle in his eyes. 

“What wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head and loses eye contact. “I’m just so proud of you,” he says, trying not to smile so widely.

This was the same café where Kibum and I first had lunch. This was the place where our friendship grew. This was where the rest of our lives began. When I found out that they were selling it a year ago, I had no second thoughts and did everything to get it. And now, here we are.

“Yeah, well,” I grab both of his hands and sigh in serenity and bliss. “I am proud of us.”

He looks at the ground, cringing all of a sudden.

I wrap my hands around his neck to draw him closer, and kiss him tenderly, catching his tongue on mine.

He hums in pleasure. “Do we still have time?”

I pull away, laughing at him. “No, we don’t.”

He sulks and shows a childish sad face.

“Come on. We’re late to meet the guys.”

After a half an hour drive, we arrive at Kibum’s newly renovated, newly furnished house. Now’s only the first time we’re all visiting because he wanted it to be a surprise. When I finally recognized the place, it made me almost cry. Even though he changed almost all its features, it still brought back the memories we shared out here. It’s the place where we broke in six years ago, almost getting caught by the police.

While Taemin goes in through the front door to deliver the cake I baked and the champagne we brought, my impulse orders me to head to the backyard where the swimming pool was located.

I catch Minho out on the patio, grilling meat and sausages. I spy the rest of the area, and my sight lands on the swimming pool. Turns out it’s the only feature that hasn’t changed. Although, it’s way cleaner and way more gorgeous.

I can’t help but let the tears fall.

Minho finally sees me when he takes a sip of his beer. “Y/n, hey, you’re here!” He was about to welcome me with open arms but then he notices that I’m crying. “What’s wrong?” 

My voice breaks. “I know it’s silly, but it’s just we had such memories here, and now we’re—” I can’t go on. I’m already weeping.

“Come here,” he hugs me anyway and places a peck on my forehead.

“Minho, what’s going on out there?” Kibum finally appears, Taemin following behind him holding four glasses in between his fingers and the bottle of champagne in his other hand.. 

“Nothing!” I say, holding back tears even though there’s no point.

“Oh, honey.” Kibum reaches out and wraps his arms around me. Taemin and Minho are behind me embracing each others’ hellos too.

So we have dinner at Kibum’s patio. Later on in the night, we all jump into the very swimming pool that I never thought I would see again. Back then, I thought I’d have to cherish every moment because I might not be able to live it again. But that moment happens again right now. And it will keep on happening.

We bond all night like we always have. Minho’s competitive rock-paper-scissors, Taemin’s harsh tickling, and Kibum’s savage comments. Although this time, we’re not fucked up adults anymore. 

Once again, I propose a toast. “To fucking friendship.”

“To fucking friendship!”

[patience-hope-strength-courage]

My Life With Anxiety #1 - 05/01/2021

*Warning Long Post!

Tonight I thought I’d write a post about my experience with anxiety during my life. This is obviously only my experience and anxiety is different for all who suffer with it.

It’s difficult to say when I began suffering with anxiety because I probably didn’t even know what it was or recognise the feelings I was having were caused by anxiety. As a young child - pre secondary school I don’t remember worrying particularly day to day but I think there were some signs if I was to try and really dig deep.

Something I do recall from being a young child was I did develop a fear of people dying from a young age after losing my mum. I’m unsure of my exact age but it would have been between the ages of 6-11 because my Granny sadly died shortly after my 11th birthday. I remember during the night if I woke and needed to go to the toilet on my way back I would stop for a few seconds and make sure I could hear my Granny breathing in her bed. I mean it sounds bizarre in my head now because I’m not actually sure what prompted this behaviour but I guess I felt I needed to check she was okay before I went back sleep - I never told her I did this. I guess you could say this is a form of anxiety - I was worried about something happening to her and clearly felt some responsibility for making sure she was okay.

Of course these behaviours don’t appear all that strange given my early life experiences. My experiences told me that people I love died and so I clearly knew this could happen. As I got older I’d say I maybe became more concerns with friendships and hated falling out with people or upsetting them. This was definitely true during secondary school and actually has never really changed as still to this day I worry far too much in case I’ve said something wrong or upset anyone! When there were friendship dilemmas between people I hated feeling like I needed to take a side (if it wasn’t me that was part of the fall out of course). I just wanted to please everyone and stay friends. This was difficult and so often I’d just remove myself from the situation and spend time alone - I’d sit somewhere alone and listen to music or go to the school library and do homework instead. This was better than conflict for me.

I did develop some anxiety around exams during school but this only really became noticable at the end of Year 10 I’d say. I think because there was extra pressure of GCSE coursework too it just got on top of me. I usually managed to get through the exams and actually would do better than I thought I had anyway! I always came out of any exam saying I’d done rubbish or probably failed, even if I thought I may have done okay (which wasn’t often). It was easier to tell myself I hadn’t done well because then if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be as disappointed. I got through my GCSEs and A Levels at school and did well for me, I mean I was never a straight A student but I put all my effort into revising and working hard. So I did well for me and got the grades I needed. I always found it frustrating that there were people who didn’t appear to work that hard but would still do so well. If I hadn’t have worked as hard as I did I’d have failed most subjects.

It’s difficult to talk about my anxiety without mentioned my OCD but I do want to write about this in a separate post because obviously it’s an anxiety disorder but I feel like I have general anxiety and OCD so they manifest in different ways and different times in my life. I first noticed OCD tendencies when I went to University. I became obsessed with worrying about leaving the light on in my room or making sure I’d locked the door. I would film myself turning out the lights and locking the door when I went home for the weekend so I could check if I was worried. I also was so worried about people leaving the hob on in the shared kitchen that when I knew they’d all gone out or to their rooms I’d go in and check. I’ll probably write about my struggles with OCD another time but feel it makes sense to mention it here because during that year at University that my Dad sadly and suddenly died.

I would say my Dad’s death was probably the event in my life that really set my anxiety off because although it was clearly there beforehand in various ways and the emergence of some OCD traits too, it was almost still under the surface and fairly manageable I’d say. After my Dad’s death I just felt anxious full stop, I think the suddenness of it all was just so scary and then the emptiness that he’d just gone. I’d always known people to get ill and die but because it just happened with no warning it just made realise that anything can happen in life. Obviously it taught me some good lessons too like how short life is and to make the most of every day etc and I do try to always do that regardless of my own struggles.

The months that followed my Dad’s death are difficult to remember that clearly now but I remember just feeling a bit lost and scared. It’s hard to explain now as it’s been nearly 10 years but I was just so worried. As the years went by I became more anxious of most things in life to be honest, but it didn’t actually stop me doing them. As in I managed to keep living and doing the things I enjoyed but just feeling anxious about them too. I studied for my degree with The Open University in the 3 years that followed my Dad’s death and this was brilliant for me. I had a hard time adjusting to University and had already decided to leave before my Dad died. Doing my degree from home worked perfectly for me, I didn’t need help being motivated to study and do the work as I have always loved learning so almost enjoyed it more reading textbooks and writing assignments. I guess I was in control of my studies abs study schedule. I realise many would find this way of studying difficult but it worked for me.

I was still anxious during these years. Driving became an issue I was always worried about doing something wrong and OCD quickly became a big issue with this (I will write about this another time). It’s difficult to remember exactly how things were back then as it’s been a few years but I know I was anxious and just scared I think of what might happen. Almost on edge the whole time ready just in case something went wrong in life.

I did take medication for my anxiety for nearly 5 years I think. It took me a long time to actually go to the doctors and do this but I did. It’s difficult to say whether it helped or not, I think it did in someways but not others. The worries were still there it didn’t fix my mind but I guess it helped it become more manageable at times. For me personally I wouldn’t go on medication again as I don’t feel it did enough for me but I know it’s different for everyone and for some people it helps so much. I decided to come off it before my Husband and I started trying for a baby. I did get withdrawal symptoms when I came off it, not in terms of my mental health feeling worse but more I felt physically not well. It was hard to actually say how I felt , I described it as kind of dizzy / wobbly and my head felt funny but not an actual headache. I was tired too but just didn’t feel great. Again it’s different for everyone but for me coming off them was tough because I absolutely hate feeling ill.

Since then my anxiety I would say has been okay in terms of I feel positive about it and although it’s never actually gone away I feel I’ve copied fairly well. Being pregnant was tough because I worried about every little thing but thankfully all was fine and I couldn’t be more grateful to have our little girl, she changed my life in the best way. I have a fear of hosptials in general, which I think stems from visiting my mum as a young child on ICU, so going into hospital to give birth was so scary even before it started! Becoming a new mum was obviously a massive learning curve as it is for anyone and I was worried about everything and probably still am!

I felt quite proud of myself (which is rare) for how I managed the first months becoming a mum but obviously then with the news of Coronavirus it definitely just made me so anxious. I was worried about it before most people even realised it was happening I think! I was premature in my fears compared to most I guess. I remember the first cases in the UK even though it was like less than 10 at that point!

I think for me having Anxiety, becoming a New Mum and then The Pandemic was obviously a recipe for me to become a bit overwhelmed with my worries. I don’t think I’ve really relaxed in nearly a year now since I first started hearing about the virus on the news. Despite this I actually think for me I’ve coped pretty well, unfortunately my OCD now is more about germs and washing my hands far too much whereas originally it started with checking things but I guess it’s my way of feeling like I’m doing what I can to keep me and my family safe. Being the kind of person I am I’ve made sure to follow the rules which I believe are incredibly important as I do believe we all need to do our bit and I get anxious knowing and seeing others breaking them but I know that’s life and people do have different views on things.

I’ve had to stop watching and reading the news at times because that is the worst thing for my anxiety. Seeing pictures of hosptials and reading figures terrifies me and also breaks my heart too. I do look sometimes when I feel able to without becoming overwhelmed by it. I do just find it so scary. I know other people who maybe don’t usually have anxiety feel just as scared by it all so I guess my feeling on this are justified. It’s a Global Pandemic I guess it’s understandable to be worried about it all.

I think the difference for me is that it’ll take me time to adjust back to how things were before. I’ve almost been grateful for the lockdowns and restrictions in some ways because then I feel I can follow them and keep safer but I guess then you get used to that and feel secure in your own bubble and way of doing things. When restrictions were lifted over the summer and into autumn we did do some things like some trips out to places for our little girl which was so lovely and seeing some family and friends too. Mostly outdoors because that’s where I’ve felt more comfortable but we did meet indoors with some people on a few occasions (when it was permitted) after a bit of pressure and feeling judged for still being worried and wanting to be more careful (or they would have seen it as over cautious). Some hurtful comments were made about my mental health which I won’t go into now but it’s affected me and I guess I’ve been seeing myself as not doing well enough or needing to be “fixed” since then - despite actually thinking I’ve copied pretty well with it all! It’s complicated and I won’t go into it now but the funny thing is when I feel judged it actually makes my anxiety worse for some reason? Like I then feel I need to work harder to not be anxious which makes it stronger.

I’m going to stop now but this is just a bit about my anxiety, there’s a lot more to it than just what’s written here. I know there are people out there who struggle more than I do and I do hope they have people to support and listen to them. For me I would love to be more open about it (I do have some people who I can be which I’m so grateful for) but once I feel judged for being a bit different I guess I then feel like I have to change who I am and hide part of myself if that makes sense. Then I feel awkward because I’m overly aware of my behaviour and what I say in case I come across anxious or they say something more about it.

I hope mental health and anxiety becomes better understood and less judged in the future. I know we’ve made a lot of progress on this since I was younger but I do think there’s still stigma out there and judgement and the view that it can just be fixed. I believe I will always have anxiety or be an anxious person but I hope to keep learning how to cope with it better and that I find ways so that it doesn’t limit me in life - that doesn’t mean it just disappears though.

Just some of my thoughts on the topic, probably a lot of waffle but I enjoy making sense of the thoughts in mind, goodnight world and stay safe.

** I should have mentioned that I have had counselling a few times over the years and I’ve always found this incredibly helpful and for me it’s offered a lot of support and allowed me to explore my feelings and life in more depth and understand and accept myself more.

[littlesweetchurro]

New to heroes Pt 2

After a month, Xochi tried again, but this time with a small paper cut on her lap. She noticed that she wasn’t healing. Then she ran up to her brother and cut him with the paper “What the fuck is your problem hair ball!” 

“Shut it, I want to practice using my quirk” 

Xochi’s brother didn’t say anything because he had seen how much this meant to her. He saw the day she accidentally killed the dove. He saw his little sister feel like the most distinguishing vile thing to walk the earth. He knew he had to be careful with what he said to her, he didn’t show it but he loved her and he didn’t want his words to hurt her. He knew the power words had over a person, a philosophy that all his family followed.

“Ugh-- fine,but make it quick, I have a date” He said.

So Xochi looked at the small cut on her brother’s arm, the small tinkling of blood, almost inspired her to make sure her brother stayed as handsome as he was. With a deep breath, she brought her hands up to her brother’s skin and let out a diamond colored light. The light was almost holographic, but in that second, her brother’s cut was gone. Both of their golden eyes were open in astonishment, the cut was really gone. “Not bad, hair ball” he said, but they both knew that he was proud of her.  

This is how Xochi began to progress, she would spend months working on paper cuts. Then after getting a handle on how much energy she needed to use and thinking of what she was healing, her quirk began to bloom. She realized that she needed to know how much energy to use and to do that she needed to heal, she needed to recall her mother’s anatomy lessons. Instead of reading story books or watching TV, she would lose herself in medical textbooks. 

One of the few things she enjoyed doing with her brother was exercising. She found out that after she started running with him, she was able to use her quirk longer and the light was usually lighter. (The lighter the color the more effective it is). “ Get lost fur ball, you are so annoying” he would say to her as he slowed his pace so she could keep up with him. 

“Fuck, why are you always following me around, go read a book, you nerd” - brother

“ Yeah, yeah, so where are we going?” -Xochi

“That’s none of your fucken business, now get lost” said his brother as they stopped at the local health center. “Hair ball, go and ask about the gymnastic classes” 

“HUH?! I don’t think splandex looks good on you and your big ego”

“Shut the fuck up and go ask” Xochi just kept looking at her brother, she thought he had a screw loose since his quirk is X-ray vision like dad’s except he is able to amplify his vision rage. Curiosity got the best of her, her brother always had a foul mouth,but today he was extra pissy--which meant he was nervous. Xochi opened the door, and in that instant she saw her. A beautiful girl with short purple hair. She had such an amazing smile, she seemed so nice. But then she realized why her brother was nervous, this girl had an amazing body. She was tall and well-built. She was wearing a tank with some spandex shorts that showed her toned muscles. 

Now it made sense why her brother was suddenly interested in gymnastics. 

“ Well, like you said I should go home and read that book, since you know I am such a nerd”- Xochi

“Where the fuck do you think you are going, I told you to go ask about the classes, and be sure to bring back a flyer”

“HAHA, oh yeah, what do I get out of it?” she asked with a smirk on her face

“ I swear hair ball if you don’t go and ask I am going to---”

“Going to what, huh, big guy, oh yeah I am so scared of you and your threats when you can’t even go talk to a girl” Xochi waved her hands in the air in a mocking way. 

“ Fine,  what do you want?”

A triumph smile decorated Xochi’s face.

“ I want you to pay for my gymnastic classes”

“The fuck you mean--- I ain’t paying for your stupid classes”

With that said Xochi started to walk away, when she felt a tug on her arm, “Fine hair ball, just go and get her info” 

“That’s what I thought, Mr. ‘I am going to-’, pshh take your empty threats elsewhere”

With that said, Xochi walked into the community center and ever since then she’s been in love with gymnastics. 

 Like her older brother Xochi displayed exceptional memory, although with her she could remember a great amount of information using musical mnemonic devices.  For example when her mother was teaching her the names of the bones of the wrist Xochi would sing “Sally Left The Party To Take Cathy Home”.That way she was able to remember the eight bones very quickly. She loved to listen to music dance along while trying to remember all the bones of the body. At some point she even made a silly dance to help her remember the leg bones. It look like a weird version of a shamee. 

Since they lived in a small coastal town, no one questioned when the couple wanted to home-school their daughter. With their eldest going to University, the three of them focused much of their time finishing Xochi’s education. With exceptional memory and the time spent educating her, she was finished with her high school education by the time she was 15. Her father thought it would be a good idea to get her started with her university education. Since Xochi knew she wanted to be a doctor, she enrolled in the medical program. To her surprise she had already learned most of the material they taught in the introduction courses. Her father was able to pull some strings so she could take an exam that would demonstrate where she was academically. After the results came back, they placed her in her third year of undergraduate degree.  

Living with her family in a small town was an adventure. Although she spent most of her time studying, Xochi loved having fun. She had a very adventurous spirit, unlike her parents who liked to stay home. She loved to experience life. So when she had time the young girl would bargain with her neighbors.

“ If you teach me how to ride a motorcycle, I’ll get rid of your skin rash” she negotiated with her biker neighbor.

“ Pshh-- fine” he said without putting up a fight. Although they both knew that she was going to heal that nasty rash either way. And like that Xochi was able to learn all kinds of things, from driving to singing.

The next year flew by, Xochi was able to complete her bachelor’s when she was 16.

 As she prepared to enter her master’s program, her parents told her it would be a good idea to spend some time with her grandma in the mountains. Xochi was thrilled with the idea. She loved her grandma, and she was always open to the idea of learning something new. 

Xochi’s grandma was a well-known herbalist, using her quirk she was able to identify the property of plants and flowers. Using her knowledge of chi channels, she was able to cure most ailments. The townsfolk from around the town where Xochi lived and the villagers from her grandma’s village all agreed that it would be best to keep the women’s abilities secret. You sorta needed to know someone to get in, kinda thing. Xochi thought how it was kinda like a secret society (think White Lotus from Avatar) where exclusivity and privacy were most honored. The locals knew that if others were to know of their abilities, it wouldn’t take too long for ill-willed people to come look for the healers.

The next month Xochi set out to live with her grandmother. The way there was arduous, but it may have been due to the fact the Xochi had zero map awareness. She was not only clumsy, she was easily distracted and got lost frequently. Once her brother had to go look for her in town because she got lost. If it hadn’t been for the nice older gentleman, she would have been bear food by now. Once they got to the secluded village, Xochi thought she would be living with her grandmother, but to her surprise she had her own European-looking cottage. Looking around she noticed how out of style everything was. Her cottage looked like it belonged in Italy, not in the middle of nowhere in Mexico. The whole village had a…. Unique style. Everything was uncoordinated, with unique shaped buildings and odd pairings of colors. She thought she had stepped in a Dr. Seus book. Apparently there was a man whose quirk let him build anything he imagined (as long as he had the materials). 

As her life began to settle down, she appreciated how calm everything was. The life here was more quiet, not that it was loud in her town, but here everything seemed to move slower. She studied under her grandmother. Her grandmother was her inspiration, she thought all the good this woman has done for so many people only using plants and flowers. Xochi never really thought much about herbology. Her focus was on medicine, it wasn’t until she saw her grandmother heal a man’s pulmonary embolism (a condition in which one or more arteries in the lungs become blocked by a blood clot) by using a combination of turmeric and ginger to help act as blood thinners which help break up the clog. Then applying pressure to the femoral vein in the infraction of the lung. Xochi’s world opened up, she realized how much she needed to learn. She burnt up the midnight oil learning about plants and herbs. She learned that by applying a little of her energy to the herbal medicines or teas, it seems to increase their efficiency and potency.

 The most nerve racking part was treating patients. At first she was nervous, but she remembered what her mother had said and she found a new confidence in herself. One by one she started to treat patients with all sorts of ailments. Her confidence began to skyrocket, she naively thought she was ready for anything. It wasn’t until she met a little girl that had a congenital heart problem. Xochi knew she wouldn’t be able to cure the child, but she could try to ease her pain by blocking the nerves around the heart.  Everyday she would spend around an hour in the morning and afternoon trying to ease the little girl’s pain. She would place her hands at the back and front of her chest and send a miniscule amount of energy to the nerves.

Having more experience with her quirk, she was now able to use it as a form of an echocardiogram. She could tell that the heart was chronically damaged and she wouldn’t simply be able to use her quirk to go in and fix the damaged tissue. For her quirk to work she needed at least some healthy tissue. It was useless to use her quirk on something that could not regenerate itself naturally. She thought of her quirk as cell restoration, she in a way helps cells restore or build themselves with the use of her energy. She sat in her chair going through all her medical books, thinking of a way to help this little girl. But alas she found nothing, at least not without a hospital and a cardiologist. The longer she wrapped her head around it the more she thought that she needed to push herself. “ I can’t completely heal the heart, but if I am at least able to heal the aortic valve, the left ventricle should have more blood flow”. With that in mind, she made a plan, she set out everything she needed. She gathered the plants that would help the little girl relax. Xochi had also learned how to block the nerve signals from the body to the brain-- a sort of anesthesia. With that she practiced over and over how to block the nerves with one hand. Now that she had mastered it, she was ready. She would block the nerve signals with her left hand while her right hand would go in to fix the valve. One of the ways she had learned to use her quirk was projecting her quirk on her finger tips, making them look like spiderwebs shooting out of her finger tips. She was able go directly into the organ without having to cut the patient. Doing this was extremely exhausting, it drained her energy so quickly, so she had to work fast.  When the day came, everything was going according to plan, she was right on schedule. As she began to relax one of the arteries in the valve erupted, causing the blood to block the passage to other parts of the heart. Already exhausted Xochi had to find the bleeding artery and cauterized it as soon as possible. Her breathing became intermittent, she felt herself drained. She kept trying to find the artery, but then she felt a hard strong grip on her shoulder. It was her grandmother. She ignored her and kept looking for the artery, now there was blood everywhere, making it harder for her to see. Sweat was dripping off her by liters, she started to lose sensation in her legs and her finger tips. Then she was yanked off the lifeless body of the little girl. She couldn’t register what had happened. She knew the girl had died, and there it was,  feeling like a monster. 

The next few days Xochi kept going over and over what had happened, she still couldn’t process it. The more she thought about it the more she felt like a monster. Once again her quirk had killed. Nothing passed through her mind except that. Days turned into weeks, she didn’t leave her cottage, she wouldn’t eat. The life in her eyes was gone. Every time she closed her eyes she could see the little girl smiling and laughing, thanking her for making her better. The sound of her thanks resonated in her head like a heavy drum. “ She thank me for saving her and I killed her”. It wasn’t until one sunny afternoon she heard a knock at her door, she had learned that if she ignored them, they would go away. “Who wants to be with a monster?”, I am only going to hurt them”. The knocking did stop “thank god she thought”, looking at the ceiling she didn’t realize someone had opened her door. She left herself being pulled into a hug. It was the little girl’s mother. Xochi couldn’t believe it, to the point that her mind went blank “MONSTER, MONSTER”. Then she felt a soft hand on her cheek, with a broken voice the mother said “ Thank you, you don’t know how happy you made us” without sound Xochi opened her mouth to say “What?”. Her heart felt like it was going to break, but the mother continued “for the last weeks that Lucia was with you, she was able to smile more. We knew she didn’t have long, that’s why we decided to go through with the procedure. No offense, you are so young and talented, but you aren’t God. There is a man where we live that has the ability to see a person’s lifespan. He is old and he says he is never wrong. He told us when Lucia would die. So we came to this village looking for you, because we thought it would give Lucia a pain-free ending, we never intended for you to save. It was selfish of us. We just wanted Lucia to be a kid again. And you gave her that.” Xochi leaned against her chair, speechless. She couldn’t process what was happening. “... You are thanking me, but I...I….”. With a kiss on her forehead, she parted ways. A kiss on the forehead meant a way to say thank you, I hope you stay safe and find happiness. The mother’s words kept sounding on Xochi’s head. She layed down, hugged her pillow and cried herself to sleep. As she was sleeping she remembered her mother’s words “with great power comes great responsibility”. When she woke up she touched the spot where the mother had kissed her. When her fingertips touched her skin, she felt like the anchor was cut off and she was finally able to swim.

This tragedy was the most important moment in Xochi’s life. She learned that her quirk could heal, but you can’t fix something that is not meant to be fixed. It was not only her stamina and energy she had to consider, but also her patients. There was something as too much. She realized that the moment she pushed a little extra on the aorta, it was too much for the little girl’s body. By putting extra energy into a body that is not used to it or has undergone trauma you can offset other things. That’s why the artery burst, the extra energy from her quirk was too much. She also learned that you cannot save every person. She learned that hard truth that every doctor has to face at some point in their lives. She also learned that she needed to learn how to cope with loss. As she was getting ready for the day, she heard a knock… on her ceiling. As she stepped out she was a raven with a letter. It took her a second to process “Ahh that’s right, the old man’s quirk lets him send messenger ravens” As she bent her arm so the raven could rest and she could retrieve the message, she smelled sterilizer “mother”. She undid the note attached to the raven’s black. The note read: “ I heard what happened from your grandma, and oh my sweet daughter how I wish I could give you a hug, but I can’t. To lose patients is the life of a doctor, although it is hard you must learn to look and move forward. Every health physician goes through what you are feeling, a feeling of inadequacy of failure. Remember mija, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived; this is to have succeeded. You may have not saved her life, but you made her last moments pain-free. I will not tell you to forget about it, you should always remember this feeling. Make this a learning experience and become stronger from it. I love you, take care”. Xicho took her mother’s words to heart, from that day on she learned to be more careful  and she learned the fragility of caring for someone. 

A couple of weeks later Xochi went to visit her parents. She loved to hike, but god damn how she hated using maps, so she didn’t. She practically had to beg one of the elders to escort her down the mountain. She felt so nostalgic, she felt like everything was a little more vivid. She took in her parent’s faces, the small crevices that time was leaving. She ran up to them, hugged them and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Ever since Lucia’s passing, Xochi was more appreciative of what she had. She wanted to hug everyone she knew. She enjoyed the physical contact of hug. After Lucia’s mother hugged her, she realized that a hug can really change someone’s day. Every since then she would greet people with a hug (which was the norm where she lived), but she never let go first. This made for some long hugs, but she realized it was because they needed a hug. And hey, who can say no to a nice warm hug. After hugging her parents for what seemed for hours, they let go of her.

Her father said” Honey, we heard tales of  an elder woman that has a quirk similar to yours”

Xochi’s face grew so bright you could swear that was her quirk, human lightbulb.

“No way?! Really where is she? Can I meet her?”

“Mmm no that’s the thing, she isn’t easy to track down. She is always on the move and doesn’t leave much of a trail. The only proof we have of her is the people who she has helped” said her mother.

“ Fuck-- well then how does that help me?” Xochi asked.

Her father grunted in clear disapproval of her foul language. “ Well there is an organization called the White Lotus that works with her, for her, I am not sure. The point is that they are the ones that lead you to her. Similarly to how your grandmother meets people”

“ Again, okay, that’s nice, but how do I meet her?”

Her mother let out a sigh “ The White Lotus contacted us a few months back, apparently, Medusa, the healer woman wants to take you under her wing. Again your grandmother has very strange connections. She told this Medusa woman of your quirk and she became interested in teaching you”

“ NO fu--- way, that’s great, so when is she coming? Am I going to her? That’s so cool someone with a quirk like mine can help me!”

“Thank you for not cussing, but that’s the thing she said you would have to wait 2 years to train under her. Apparently she is under surveillance or what not from villains. Listen me and your mother know that this is very dangerous, but we also understand that this could really be a great opportunity for you”

“ So I have to wait 2 years, it doesn’t seem too bad, then I could go back to school and officially become a surgeon!”

“Did you purposely ignore the fact that she is being chased by villains”

Xochi stood with her hands in her hips “ Well I better learn to kick ass too”

After a long discussion, they decided that it would be best for Xochi to study under someone that understood her quirk, knowing that it had great potential. With that set, they went to bed.

Xochi tried not to think too much about it since a lot could happen in two years. A week later she set out to the mountains.

Xochi eyes slowly opened as she became irritated by the warm yet bright sunshine hitting her eyes. Waking up was by far the worst part of her day. She missed the soft feel of her pillow against her face. The warm cocoon of blankets she built over night had to be disassembled. Fully awake, staring at the ceiling she pondered if she could just stay in bed all day. That’s when she heard her abuela yell “¡A darle que es mole de olla!” She was never a particularly big fan of her grandma’s idioms. She whispered to herself, “yeah yeah, there’s always a lot of work that needs to be done right away” as she rolled her eyes to no one in particular. 

With a sad goodbye she told her bed “I’ll be back, don’t you worry”. Thinking of being back in bed gave her that extra bit of motivation to get dressed. She always wore simple clothes. Since she worked with dirt all day it made sense to wear earthy- tones. She wore brown pants, they were easy and flexible to move in. She wore a hooded cloak that protected her against the sun. She had to wear wrist braces because pulling those damn Mandrakes was a bitch. Her boots were made of leather, everyone in town had the same pair. They were the one thing in town everyone had in common. Those damn ugly boots were the equivalent of “a little black dress”. 

As she finally set out to get dressed, she stared into the mirror. She had olive-brown skin with large golden-amber eyes. Her eyes regularly reminded her of those scorpion necklaces that tourists always like to buy on their first visit to Mexico. As she looked upon her naked body she saw that she had gained a little more weight, but she didn’t really care. She had a pretty nice hour-glass figure. She wasn’t all skin and bones. Since she worked out, either mountain climbing, running or practicing gymnastics, she had built some muscle on her. She knew that with her quirk she needed to have stamina, so working out became a part of her life. She loved the way she felt after a hard workout. Her family always taught her to be proud of her body. Body-shaming wasn’t really a thing, so she never thought much of her figure. Her parents were pretty liberal when she was growing up. They would tell her that whatever her body was, it was perfect. Because her parents were so open-minded they also talked freely about sex and sexuality. Xochi grew up completely confident in her image and her sexuality. Sex unfortunately had been on hold, as old men weren’t her thing. She found that to relieve her sexual tension, she would just have to work out a little harder.

She had thick-black eyelashes that made her eye color stand out even more. She had plump lips with a naturally pink hue. Then came her hair, it was wild, at times she thought the thing had its own will power. She had thick-wavy hair that swept to her waist. “ To comb or not to comb, that is the question” she squinted at her hair, pounting. With a swift motion of her hand she put the comb away and grabbed her hair band. She put her hair in a messy lower bun. Slathering sunscreen all over her face, she was ready to start her day. 

As she stepped away from her cottage she was greeted with the delicious smell of coffee and bread. Growing up her family had instilled in her the belief that you couldn’t start the day without coffee and bread. As she joined the older villages at the communal table, she noticed a new face. A very short- light skinned woman with a gray bun. She wore a simple blue dress with a pink shawl over her shoulders. She had deep set smile lines that gave her a sense of warmth and welcomeness. Seeing new faces wasn’t a commodity for Xochi, given that with her quirk nearby villagers always sought her out for help. However this nice-looking lady was definitely not from around here. As she sat at the table, she kept feeling like this lady was staring at her as she dunked her bread in her coffee.So Xochi starred back and offered her coffee soaked bread to the old woman, which made the old lady laugh. She then proceeded to introduce herself. 

“ Hello young lady, my name is Chiyo Shuzenji. I am an old friend of your grandma’s” She said in Spanish.  

 “ I am Xochiquetzal de la Luna, nice to meet you”, which she returned with a kind smile. Xochi was honestly not surprised that her grandmother had a Japanese friend, when she was younger she travelled all around learning about different plants from different countries. Which is why she was so insistent on her dad learning multiple languages. Which then caused a rippled effect, her dad made her and her brother study English, Japanese, Aztec and of coarse Spanish. They were a multi-language family. Most of the time they either spoke Spanish or English. Xochi thought about her rusty, never used Japanese and Aztec. She was brought back to earth from her thoughts, when her grandmother spoke in Japanese “ You see, Chiyo here is a pro-hero with a healing quirk. Most of the time she stays in Japan, however there are times like these that she travels around the world, helping others”. Xochi tried to recall her Japanese lessons, listening was easier than speaking it, and writing and reading  were almost impossible. She knew heroes existed, but she never paid much attention to any of them. Since her town was so peaceful, crime was never really a problem. Of course she knew that being a hero was a job, but again it didn’t really seem to interest her. She was more focused on healing others, or really anything else, just not heroes. 

“That’s nice” was all she could say.

“ My pro-hero name is Recovery Girl, I help heroes when they get hurt fighting villains” RG

“ How does your healing quirk work?” asked Xochi.

“ Well, you see I can accelerate the natural healing process with a kiss. The thing is that I am able to control how much healing they receive, in order to prevent them from feeling fatigue. From what your grandmother has told me, your quirk can heal as well. But you see with my quirk, it is dependent on the life energy of the recipient. The literal opposite of yours. Mary (Xochi’s grandmother) has also told me that your quirk has great potential, you just need a little more experience.”

Xochi just nods her head, unsure of what to say, unsure of where this is going. She is intrigued by the fact that Ms. Shuzenji can control the amount of healing she can do.

Recovery Girl goes on “ Mary also told me that you have already finished your BS, that’s quite the feat for someone so young. She also told me that you been an excellent student and have already mastered the herbology and treated a few of your own patients”

“ I am not sure where you are going with this lady, I would rather you just get to the point” Xochi said impatiently.

Recovery Girl laughed, “ I see you're as impatient as Mary. Yes, let’s get to the point. I want you to come to Japan with me and work for me” As soon as she said that Xochi began to interrupt “oh thank you, but you see---” 

“Oh yes Medusa, I know she is going to train you in two years. I actually think that’s a wonderful idea, her quirk is very similar to yours, I really do think she will be able to help you. But in the mean time, why don’t you come with me. You could also enroll in a University to help you with your studies”

“Well first of all, I am starting to think you guys are all in some secret illuminati society, since you all know each other, but yet no one seems to know about you. And second when do we leave?”

[elceeu2morrow]

NEW DIRECTION Louis Tomlinson on why he’s not ready to make up with Zayn Malik and how fatherhood made him grow-up fast

Beth Neil  2 Feb 2020, 0:01  Updated: 2 Feb 2020, 3:06

Back then he didn’t appear to be a natural frontman. He wasn’t one to hog the spotlight, nor did he seem remotely interested in competing with the magnetism of Harry or the vocal range of Zayn.

“There were times I struggled to find my place in the band,” Louis admits today.

But it’s often the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.

Behind the scenes he was very much centre stage: Louis was the mouthpiece, constantly fighting the boys’ corner and acting as chief negotiator between band and management.

“Being from Doncaster,” he says, “I’ve never had a problem with telling anyone ‘no’.”

On top of this (and perhaps most significantly), in the six years that the band were together after finishing third on The X Factor in 2010, Louis diligently racked up more songwriting credits than any of the others, hinting that a hard-working and ambitious young artist lurked beneath the surface.

Indeed, while he might be the last of the band to release a solo album (four years after they announced their hiatus, breaking several million hearts in the process), the result suggests that Louis, having held his nerve and bided his time, might just prove to be the dark horse.

“There was a while when I was worried I was getting left behind – some of the boys are on to their second album now,” he says, taking a draw onthe first of several cigarettes. “At times, I’ve been swimming against the tide, working out who I am. I was trying to find a way back into the industry, thinking of it mathematically rather than going off feeling and emotion.”

He’s referring to collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki in 2016 and 2017 respectively, which, although successful, weren’t where his heart lay. With Kill My Mind – the exhilarating ’90s-inspired opening track of the album Walls – he sets his stall out with a clear departure from anything he’s done before.

Walls is about regret, reflection and ultimately, hope, and feels like Louis, who sings in his still-broad Doncaster accent, has finally found his voice.

“I’ve always wanted to be autobiographical and honest. And in the last six months the songs I’ve written and recorded are of a better standard because there’s an honesty there,” he says.

Honesty certainly characterises the album, sometimes devastatingly so. There’s no escaping the fact that Louis, 28, has faced unimaginable pain over the last few years.

First losing his mum Johannah Deakin, known as Jay, in December 2016 to leukaemia, and then his sister Félicité, who died last year aged 18 following an accidental drug overdose.

The lyrics to Two Of Us, written about his mum, include intimate details about Louis’ experience with grief.

“It wasn’t until after I’d written it that I realised how much vulnerability I’d put in there,” he says. “When I first performed it… I had fans coming up to me in tears telling me their stories, and that’s not something I’ve ever had before. And to do it on that level about something so delicate… It was really cool to take something so dark and make people feel like that.

“I had to get a song like that off my chest. It was difficult writing about things that felt trivial compared to what was going on in my life. There was, I think, a necessity to write that song before I could move on creatively.”

Understandably, Louis won’t talk specifically about Félicité. But when asked about how grief has shaped him both as a man and an artist, he pays tribute to Jay.

“I think it’s a credit to how my mum brought me up that I have a resilience,” he says. “There’s nothing I want less than to have people feel sorry for me, so having that mentality has helped me through the hardest of times.

"I’ve also felt a real support system through my fans. I’d always felt it on a lower level, but when it’s something so impactful and life-defining, I really did feel it from them.”

Days after Jay’s death, Louis appeared live on The X Factor to perform Just Hold On with Aoki.

He was clearly in pieces and it was hard enough just watching, but somehow he held it together, presumably thanks again to that resilience.

“Sometimes it’s fight or flight,” Louis explains. “And the way I was brought up and because of where I’m from, I only see one option in that situation. I also wanted to put myself second and do it for my mum.

"That moment was bigger than me and it was actually incredibly liberating. It used every bit of strength and power and I look back on that performance as one of the proudest moments of my career.”

He says he tends not to suppress emotion and is able to share his darkest points with those he’s closest to.

But as the eldest of Jay’s seven children (five girls and two boys), he also feels a huge weight of responsibility towards his younger siblings and hasn’t had any professional therapy himself.

“No, no, nothing like that. That might be down to a bit of Northern pride, but I have a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and that drives me. I’ve got siblings who look up to me and I’ve got my grandparents as well. So all those things keep my head screwed on.

“My mum had a massive influence on me and I lived with a lot of sisters in the house, so I do find it easier to speak about my emotions. But I’m also from Doncaster, where to be a guy is to be tough and traditional and I feel like [there are] times where pride kicks in and I just say I’m all right.

"I’m lucky that I’ve got good people around me who I can trust and who I can be completely vulnerable with and say how I feel. Nine times out of 10, I don’t bottle things up. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

[below the cut is the rest of the unedited article - including Eleanor, Freddie, 1D]

His model, blogger and politics graduate girlfriend Eleanor Calder, 27, who Louis first got together with back in 2010 during the last week of The X Factor (“before it got manic”) has been a crucial part of the stability he’s needed through such sadness.

“She’s been amazing. With any monumental time in your life you need people who understand and love you. She makes my life easier.”

In 2015 they split up for nearly two years during which time Louis became a dad to Freddie, now four, following a brief fling with LA stylist Briana Jungwirth.

The track Too Young is almost an apology to Eleanor for that period (“I’m sorry I hurt you, darling… I cut you off cos I didn’t know no better”), but Louis says the time apart taught him some tough lessons and has made them stronger.

“I think we both agree that we needed [that break]. I was too immature for a relationship of that seriousness. But I had to learn that and be an idiot first.

“A lot of young men won’t understand until they have hindsight. The responsibility of meeting someone you could spend the rest of your life with at 18 is too much for most immature men. I was very immature at that → age and didn’t understand the feelings or importance.”

He and Eleanor guard their privacy ferociously and very deliberately haven’t made themselves a public couple. They don’t go to places where they’ll get papped or post pictures of each other on social media.

“Me and Eleanor have been together ages and I don’t have a lot of private photos for myself,” he says. “Even on a night out there’ll be some f**ker taking my picture and it goes everywhere.

"So those moments to ourselves are special. It’s the same way I look at Freddie. Do I wanna show him off and tell the world how amazing he is? Yes, of course I do! But I know he’s amazing and he knows that and that’s what matters.”

He dotes on Freddie (“I cherish my time with my boy”) but admits the unplanned pregnancy was a wake-up call.

“Yeah, it was unexpected and I had to grow up very quickly. It was another one of them moments – being faced with the reality of a situation and having to step up. It was a very maturing time in my life.

“And, again, I’ve kind of got between two headspaces. I’m the responsible dad and brother some days and other days I’m still the reckless idiot chav I used to be. I’m still trying to work out a happy medium.”

Absolutely no one could have predicted the global phenomenon that 1D became, least of all Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry themselves.

They sold 20 million albums worldwide, earning over £40million each, but the pressures of fame were, at times, intolerable. Louis says they were only able to keep their heads screwed on because they had each other.

“You can never be prepared for that. It was such a head f**k. But we grounded each other so the minute one of us acted like a d**khead one of the others would say: ‘Stop being a d**khead’. I see people in this job surrounding themselves with superiority and they lose the concept of the real world.”

He remembers doing a shoot with the band for Pepsi over in the States with American footballer Drew Brees.

“This guy was like a god and we were insignificant when he was around, which we understood. But I’ve never seen anything like it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth he’d have an audience of hangers-on in hysterics.

"These people were so far up his arse and he didn’t have one good joke. He had no banter! I still hang around with my boys from Doncaster and I hear real stories all the time, which helps me understand the world that unfortunately I don’t get to see. Having empathy with people and a connection with the world is imperative for any songwriter.”

Harry Styles recently said that he never touched drugs during his time in the band (although he’s made up for that since), because he didn’t want to “mess it up”. Louis smiles as he confides that he can’t say the same.

“All I’ll say is that I did my fair share and enjoyed my time in the band. It’s right what Harry said and it was smart of him, but I definitely had a lot of fun in the band. I was always aware of how amazing the opportunity was, but also enjoying the moment for what it was. I lived like anyone else my age – the difference was that I was in One Direction.”

He’s in touch with Harry, Niall and Liam “sporadically” (we’ll come to Zayn shortly), but they’re all on very different paths for now.

“If we all went to a pub tomorrow it’d be like we’d never left. The enormity of what happened in One Direction creates a massive bond and we’ll always have that.

"There have been times when we’ve done each other’s heads in. There might be something I say in an interview that bugs Liam or vice versa, but we all know what each other is like and we can call each other up and say sorry for being a d**k. We’re like brothers.”

But that’s not necessarily the case with Zayn, who quit in 2015 and with whom Louis has had a turbulent relationship since. He was hurt when Zayn was the only one not to turn up at the X Factor studio to support him through his performance after Jay’s death, despite promising to be there.

Then there’s Zayn’s apparent repeated digs. In one interview he branded 1D’s music “generic as f**k”. There’s a difference between making a break from the past and dismissing it completely, and it’s a line Zayn perhaps hasn’t always managed to walk.

“Hmm,” agrees Louis, cautiously. “Other than maybe Niall, there is no one who is prouder of the band and the songs we created than me. But while what I did with One Direction is relevant, it doesn’t define who I am and I don’t struggle to make that dissociation.”

Does he think some of what Zayn has said has been disrespectful?

“Yeah, I do. But I can understand it. We have a lot of situations where we’re sat in interviews and if you’re in a certain mood you might run your mouth. The older you get the more you can tell if these things actually carry any malice or if they’re just a prod in the back. That’s life, innit? Sometimes people chat s**t and that’s the reality.”

He’s not ruling out resolving their differences in the future, but there’s no olive branch on the horizon.

“No, but I’ve not actively tried. We’ve all got a lot on our plates and there might be a day where I wake up and think: ‘OK, I want to right that wrong’, but not yet.”

After being in his company for a while, it’s not hard to see why Louis was 1D’s driving force backstage. He’s thoughtful, articulate, open and self-aware, but there’s a steeliness to him and the requisite pop-star swagger, which doesn’t seem to spill over into arrogance.

He’s based in LA these days, to stay close to Freddie, but “Donny” will always be home. He says comparing the two places is “literally chalk and cheese” and it’s taken him time to “come round” to living in the States.

“It’s taken a while to get used to spending so much time there. I feel like I’m very British at heart.”

And that is reflected in his music, which is heavily influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, The Smiths and Oasis. In fact, the title track and latest single Walls sounds so similar to Oasis B-side and fans’ favourite Acquiesce that Louis’ manager flagged it as a potential issue.

“These kinds of things happen. There are only so many melodies you can write and if you listen to a band all the time like I do with Oasis…”

Anyway, says Louis. He had to make a choice.

“I was ready to risk it, but everyone said we should get in touch with Noel [Gallagher] so we did. Often the industry, and especially Noel’s world, can be a bit snobby and say: ‘F**k you you’re not using this song’. But he was really cool about it, signed it off no problem and although I’m sure he’s not happy about this, I f**king am, I’ve got a writing credit from Noel Gallagher on my album. That is some sick s**t so I’m buzzing.”

Is he nervous about going it alone? “I think I’ve got a good record so I’m confident. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t little bit nervous – there’s three and half years work gone into it so there’s a level of anticipation.”

The most overwhelming emotion though, is relief.

“Because it’s taken such a long time. I’m excited to go on to the next phase of my career.”

Louis Tomlinson’s new album Walls is out now.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Ostracized as usual Denise loudly tells every one she's making corn dogs and asks if they want some...

Then she asks Nathaniel in Spanish how many.

I'm in my room with my door shut and nothing but the air on... I'm not deaf and she opened my daughter's door to ask her and she rejected the offer.

But Denise is acting really cheerful like I knocked something loose other than her scalp loose.

I feel like it's fake but tree says i was going at least 60 mph and my very good quality glass screen protector cracked all the way across... And my phone screen was being weird after, showing green dots where i typed... Which isnt normal...

So like I mean i fucked her up... Like enough to do something to her brain? Or is it like dopamine and shit for pain still going in her chemical system?

I think it's fake... Idk... I don't trust her.

Tree says I fucked her up straight to her brain and knocked some tar loose.

I guess...

But it's weird... Cause she's never cheerful...

Like I'm waiting for us all to die. She could have some frontal lobe pressure that is really doing her a number though... Taking out that psycho sociopath shit She has usually.

That's probably it... If nothing else...

Oh they tell me she had tar injected up past her eye into her skull between her brain and skull... And it got knocked loose...

Well that is fucking weird.

She shouldn't be ostracizing me then! I think she's plotting...

She will be the happy one and I'll be the mean miserable one and so no one will mind if I go missing then she will go back to being psycho

Or she will be all "I kicked you out. Get out" but be all "no.not me.I'm the nice one. You have seen this"

Tar syndrome can't save us all.

Apparently she didn't even tell my Uncle Dad but i did. I wrote an email to him at that police station because i thought i was going to jail And I was not gonna have her go lie about that. Where I was or what i did. So i told him exactly in chronological order without many details exactly.

And I admitted to busting her head open.

Which tree posted and our replies.. And explanation of my adoptive father's existence.

But no way was she gonna go just tell her side. Sure to the cops fine. But not any where else. Not like I expected him to bail me out but I wanted him to know the truth and all that. Because she lies about Everything.

And i figured she would lie about where I was or what happened. Because i didn't know what was going on to be honest and i was all "man I'm fucking going to jail cause she's fucking bleeding because I couldn't control myself and did what I wanted to do for so fucking long"

It was worth one night in jail no charges. You know what i mean? Like just one. Then like "you know what? Forget about it my husband said this was bad to press charges on my kid" type shit

Like "drunk tank me" then let me go.

It was hot in the truck and I wanted to go sit in the shade on the sidewalk but i didn't trust her she got Nathaniel to give me a ride and i was all this bitch is gonna leave my ass stranded the first step I make out this truck.

Because that was what she wanted in the first place!

What the fuck. Its not the first time she's pulled over in that exact spot but before i told her i would get out and she was all "forget it" and I told her "you do that again and I'm gonna beat your ass"

She laughed in my face

And well I pounded her head in enough, apparently.

Excuse me but I get fucking mail on Monday even if it's a holiday. The fucking bitch just took me on Saturday

What does she think? The tooth fairy brought it?!?!

Just goddamed already.

A fact is a fucking fact. I loose my goddamed shit sometimes.

I don't even remember even talking to her. I just remembered like next thing I knew her hair was in my hand and I was all ... Wait what am I doing? Yes I want to do this and I used both hands to yank the shit out of it. 2x

The 2nd time because i could. Because she really tried to hit me! Ugh.

The 3rd time.. Like i knew the second she pulled out from the stop when she told me to,get the fuck out she was taking me to the police station and that is why i pulled her hair

Cause I was like bitch.

Then the 3rd time I planned that... I was gonna make it good if she turned on that street... But I didn't know what my brain knew subconsciously because I was all hey body what are you doing? Cell phone Stabbing her skull?! Not what I had planned but okay! Sure why not.

Then i was all fucking damit it i broke my nail. This is bad. I shouldn't did that plus she was bleeding allover the place and i was all this is it

I can't even pretend I didn't do it. Its too late

I couldn't lie my way out if I tried. I didn't feel bad. I didn't feel scared. I didn't fucking care any more

I was pissed at myself because my kid was gonna be stuck without a mom. Even temporary. Just for a night.

That's why I told my Uncle Dad. Like I said I wasn't looking for bail. But I knew he would want the truth and he always told me to tell it.

So even if I wasn't sorry I still had to admit what I did, for my kid. He always told me that. "Just tell the truth even if you're not sorry. Even if you're proud"

"But doesn't that prove guilt in the eyes of the law?"

"It doesn't matter"

He'd yell... 'Does this look like court? I'll get you a lawyer!' Cause I'd ramp up a huge thing But... The end of the game..

Just tell the truth.

That's what I learned from him.

Maybe my kid would be super pissed and I would deserve her hate at me for not caring about her and being stupid for 10 minutes.

Because it was. It was stupid.

And I'm lucky she didn't press charges and the only reason she didn't is because she's a horrible person and did horrible shit to me as a kid and my Uncle Dad always has taken my side Because I am honest and good and he has always told her she will find a new place to live if she ever presses charges on his kids.

Thats why I got him this shirt for father's day which I already gave him

2..

But yeah my kid would beat my ass if my Uncle didn't have that threat on Denise.

And I would deserved it.

So y'all people fucking around. I'm not a hypocrite. I know what I deserve for what I did.

I know it wasn't right

I owned up to it and I was ready to accept the punishment although I didn't want to. If she chose to, I had no other choice

She was dripping blood all over her shirt at s very rapid pace and she should have gotten stitches.

I feel kinda bad that she didn't. But she chose to lie and hide what really happened.

No one should be treated like she was.

If you are in a relationship like she is

A family like she is

A home she is

You should leave.

I don't say that because i hate her

I say that because we abuse her.

She abuses us. So, we eye for an eye and abuse her back.

So watching that video with no other information. Anyone in a relationship like that should leave.

Y'all know me and our history and so it's different

But no back story and out of context.. It was out of control and could be manifested into a different kind of tale.

And most people in the world shouldn't be treated like she was

If I was her and I was someone else that was say a boyfriend not DNA4U approved or stranger... I would thrown me out of the car, too. And I have, in the past.

So out of context what she did, driving to the police station... Was kinda the right thing to do but I beat her ass and that part is usually deserted but Jack called ahead because he knew I was hitting her and he knew in ESP connection what she was planning. Just as i did.

It is what caused her head to bleed. Like I said I planned it.

She should had went to a gas station or other public places that would been safer ... Especially how that police department is situated.

The back door is open. Not the front. But Jack sent someone out because he knew.

So... If any of you are in that situation you should press charges.

Next time they could kill you

I blacked out. Had she not been driving, i may had killed her.

Im being honest.

[argylemikewheeler]

If you like is prompt or not that’s okay. Prompt: Mike’s parents finally take him to a therapist and he gets diagnosed with depression and gets proper treatment. Hope your having a lovely day.

[talks of depression/self-sabotaging behavior really briefly but still be aware xo]

Mike would never admit it beyond the bathroom mirror, but he had been so scared of going with his mother to the doctor. He knew who he was– maybe not what he was on Those Days– and wasn’t sure what a stranger could possibly tell him about it. But he had no choice: his mother had been given the name of the doctor from a friend of a friend of a cousin or something, and Mike fell victim to it whether he wanted it or not.

Which he didn’t.

The entire drive there, Mike kept planning all the ways he wouldn’t cooperate. He’d first start maybe speaking only in the bits of Spanish he’d been learning in school. Or maybe backwards– no, he wasn’t that good at it yet. Then he’d just stare out the window– if the room even had one– and count the number of animal-like clouds he could see.

God, Mike missed old summers. The ones with his best friends and smiles that didn’t feel empty. The happiness Mike could feel without a hollow reminder that given a chance, a half crack made in the joy, and everything could break and he could be Like That again. He could be laying in bed, aching despite not having moved for days. Mike missed being happy in a way that wasn’t an oddity. When his parents wouldn’t be surprised by his laughter or a smile.

Mike’s mother didn’t try and coax him into being pleasant the entire ride up. She just drove and told Mike when they arrived. Mike didn’t try to look polite or even excited as his mom went to the desk to say they arrived for the appointment. Mike sat in his chair and kicked his feet harshly at the carpet.

How dare his mother take him here? She didn’t know what Mike was feeling– how could she ask him to share that with another person? Mike didn’t want to say it to himself half the time. What if someone told him he was crazy? What if they sent him away? Mike would only learn to swallow his heavy, black thoughts further. As if they weren’t already hidden somewhere dark Mike had only recently learned he had.

The doctor came out to get Mike and she wasn’t even wearing a lab coat. She had a cardigan and blouse on– she looked like a regular person. Mike didn’t trust it, but went anyway. Alone. Her office was small but well decorated. It felt strangely like a classroom, but less of the pressure Mike felt from school.

She asked him questions, too many if Mike was honest, about his daily life. How many days would he say he felt upset or sad– or a word Mike had never heard before– depressed. It sounded harsh. But then again, so were his feelings. He told her the number– out of two weeks, about ten days probably. Like, if he had to count. She wrote it down but didn’t change her expression.

Mike tried not to give her too much after that. He wanted to avoid her questions, but he felt bad being rude to a woman that was so kind to him. She didn’t ask for any of the gory details. She asked, once, if Mike had ever hurt himself on purpose– even if it was just to stay awake way past his bedtime to make himself tired the next day. Mike never considered being tired a way of hurting himself. It seemed pretty stupid, and he wanted to say as much, until he suddenly started to feel the heavy rings under his eyes. He realized then she was asking questions she already seemed to have the answers to.

Mike wasn’t upset after that. He figured he should have been, but if someone knew his answers, then he was free to finally speak it all out loud. He wasn’t the one giving it away, or blame, if it was already common knowledge between the two of them.

Finally, after an hour, Mike’s mom was called in.

“Karen,” she said, placing her clipboard on her desk. “I know it’s only been one session so I can’t diagnosis him right now with anything for sure, but–”

Mike crossed his legs twice, not sure which way would be the most comfortable to sit when he got turned into a monster. His mother gripped her purse tightly the skin around her nail bed going white.

“I think, Michael– can I call you Michael?”

“No.”

“Mike,” she suddenly redirected her attention to him. “you are showing signs of clinical depression and I think you could benefit from coming here to meet me– or any of my colleagues– regularly.”

“What does that mean?” Mike’s mother asked, although she sounded more relieved than disappointed.

“It means your son is healthy– it’s just a chemical imbalance in his brain. Your son is healthy, physically, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“I’m fine.” Mike meant the word in its totality. “I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

“Mike,” His mother said firmly. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Dad says I’m fine!”

“Well, your father doesn’t know you’re here.” She said quietly through clenched teeth.

“W-Why not?” Mike asked, turning to the doctor– she had said to call her Becca; her doctorate wasn’t in medicine.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mike.” Becca said. “Some people just don’t respond well to the truth.”

Mike bit his lip. “You sound like my friend, Will.”

“Does Will go to a therapist too?”

“Maybe… I think so. But for something different.” Will and Mike definitely spoke about very different things, Mike was sure. Will didn’t sound like he ever stared up at his ceiling at night and felt like it was moments from sinking down onto him– that had literally happened to him, one way or another.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s good to have people in your life that understand– even just the healing process.”

Healing. The word followed Mike home. The entire car ride, Mike couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of him needing to heal something in him. He didn’t remember ever breaking anything. The alternative was that something in him was born broken. Or maybe things can break without any pain; they just slowly crack and the pieces drift apart like driftwood at sea. There was no pain in the beginning, but there would be in putting everything back.

That night, Mike tried to slip out of his parents’ sight early and go to bed. His father wasn’t paying attention and his mother nodded sweetly and kissed his head before letting him up the stairs. Mike climbed into bed and curled up with his SuperCom.

“Will? Come in, Will.” Mike said, saying his closing over after he was sure he’d called his friend enough.

“… Hey, Mike! What’s going on? Why are you using this channel? I have a phone, you know.”

“I wanted to ask you something.” Mike rolled over and put his back to the door.

“Go ahead.” Will said. He sounded cheerful. Mike was envious.

“Do you… go to therapy?” Mike asked slowly, cupping the receiver to his face. The word felt dangerous to let loose in his house.

“I do, yeah. Mom takes me like, bi-weekly now.”

“T-Twice a week!”

“Every two weeks, Michael.”

“Oh… Oh that makes more sense.” Mike sighed and let his head lull into the pillows further. “Does it help?”

“I definitely think so. Makes things quieter, you know? It’s not always rattling in my head. I get to talk to someone. About my nightmares, about stuff with my parents, about Jonathan– sometimes I complain about you too.”

“Hey!” Mike squawked jokingly. He released his button without saying over, knowing Will would click his button shortly to let him hear his bubbles of laughter. After a moment sitting with the happy static, Mike pressed the button again. “So, you just talk about… whatever you want?”

“Oh, yeah. Whatever is bothering you.” Will said. “Why do you ask?”

“Mom took me today.” Mike sighed, rolling onto his back. “Doctor says– sorry, Becca says– I’m like, depressed or something.”

Will’s static picked up before he spoke any words; silence he wished to share with Mike. “Are you okay, Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Michael.”

“I’m going to work on it, okay!” Mike exclaimed. “I’m going back next week.”

“Call me after? Or come over if you want. I can have Mom make a dinner you like. You can sleep over.” Will offered. “It’s not that bad. I promise.”

“I know.” Mike nodded. He had one last question. “Nothing… Nothing’s broken, right, Will?”

“With who, me or you?” Will said, his voice shaking with a laugh. “There’s a big difference. I left this dimension… You’re completely normal.”

“I am?”

“Cross my heart.” Will said. Mike could practically hear Will moving his finger in an X across his chest. “It’s really going to help, Mike. Trust me.”

“I do.” Mike said. He lifted his finger and cut Will out. “It’s me I don’t.” He clicked it again. “Over and out, Will. I’m pretty tired.”

“Good night, Mike. Over and out.” He answered, clicking off the channel too.

Mike laid in bed, trying to figure out if he had the energy to heal in him. As unpredictable as his moods were, they were vivid to Mike. None of it felt like a dream. They were all incredibly clear and draining. On those days, the ones that made any single thought too overwhelming, healing would be impossible. Eating was too difficult then. But maybe that’s what made talking helpful; Mike finally had an audience with whom he could repeat his bickering brain’s thought. Maybe Becca could make sense of it all. Or at least shut it all up.

Mike knew the word would never be healed. It would constantly be in motion, constantly changing and growing, and maybe that was encouraging too? There was no race– he was going to be like this for a long time. It wasn’t like slapping glue on two snapped pieces, it was a rebuilding of something out of shifting parts that never intended to go together. He’d have to reintroduce different parts of himself to the New and Improved Mike Wheeler: the one that heals and cares and speaks and shares and maybe, just maybe, loves.

It sounded far off, but so did ever speaking his own hidden truths. But he did that today, didn’t he? Healing might have been continuous, but it also meant to be active. Just thinking about it was a bit of progress. A bit of a reward to throwing his hands up to his darkest days, but grabbing onto that small bit of light he found in his life– and maybe choosing to call every once in a while before bed.

ao3

[sharingshane-blog]

BPD in Doctor Who

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Suicide, Abuse, Self-Harm, Mentions of Physical Assault and Rape

When I was 17, almost a senior in high school, I watched my first episode of Doctor Who.  I started with Christopher Eccleston and worked my way through.  It took me only a couple of episodes before I was hooked. I became obsessed with the series, and many of the characters, particularly the ones from the Russel T. Davies era, because I felt like I could emotionally connect with them.  I understood them.  Rose Tyler really grew on me.  She was supposed to be around my age at the time, and we both lived at our parents’ home feeling overall empty and worthless.  

At that age, my anxiety and depression were particularly bad. Someone who was mentor and major influence in my life had committed suicide.  Not long after, my grandfather whom I would see all the time passed away. I was already wallowing in major levels of grief and loss.  I had also just gotten permission to skip eleventh grade and graduate a year early from high school.  With that, I had to work last minute to get myself together, so I could apply to colleges and universities.  My parents had a history of neglecting my needs frequently and one of the ways they did was helping me prepare for college.  They refused to help me research or check out schools.  They would not take me on visits because it was too much of a “financial burden” on them.  They also refused to teach me how to drive or help me much at all for the next step ahead.  I felt extremely lonely and I felt very abandoned.  My parents have a history of physical and emotional abuse towards me, but I did not come to terms with that until I was in college, eventually developing PTSD.  

Feelings of abandonment and isolation became chronic and debilitating for me.  There were many emotions I would bottle up until I could not take it anymore.  I felt like a geyser.  As the emotions bubbled and heated more, the pressure in the chamber underground increased until there was a burst of boiling hot water—a crisis or outburst of anger.  I had trouble maintaining consistent relationships with people which only added to the loneliness.  People came and went, and I never expected them to stay.  I felt too worthless to think they would care about me.  I had recurrent suicidal ideation.  For a long time, the way I would keep myself alive would to just tell myself every night that I will just kill myself the next day. I refused to go to therapy until well into college.  This had to do in part that I did not know how to express my emotions, and it also had to do in pat because of trauma.  My mom forced me against my will (on my 16th birthday) to see her therapist and basically admit how horrible of a child I have been.  After my grandfather’s death, I did attempt to see a counselor, but it was a religious counselor who told me that I did not need counseling and that I just needed to focus on my faith in God.  It was not until I was 19, well after beginning college, where I decided to actually pursue therapy.  I had many unstable friendships at college.  I was with my abusive ex-boyfriend.  My already unhealthy relationship with my parents became worse.  The tipping point was when I was in the car with my dad one day, and he tried to hit me. I jumped out of the car before he could do anything to me.  He drove off leaving me on the side of the rode in tears.  It was not long after that experience that I filled out the paperwork to start counseling.  I eventually got a therapist outside of the college campus.  After almost attempting suicide, I was hospitalized for a week at a psychiatric facility.  It was there where the psychiatrist inquired me about a condition called borderline personality disorder.

Here are the symptoms or signs of the disorder:

-Efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment, such as rapidly initiating intimate (physical or emotional) relationships or cutting off communication with someone in anticipation of being abandoned

-A pattern of intense and unstable relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, often swinging from extreme closeness and love (idealization) to extreme dislike or anger (devaluation)

-Distorted and unstable self-image or sense of self

-Impulsive and often dangerous behaviors, such as spending sprees, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, and binge eating

-Self-harming behavior, such as cutting or burning

-Recurring thoughts of suicidal behaviors or threats

-Intense and highly changeable moods, with each episode lasting from a few hours to a few days

-Chronic feelings of emptiness

-Intense anger or problems controlling anger

-Difficulty trusting and possessing a fear of other people’s intentions

-Feelings of dissociation, such as feeling cut off from oneself or seeing oneself from outside one’s body

Not everyone with the disorder experiences all these symptoms. The symptoms also come in varying degrees.  No two people with the disorder is completely alike, although they tend to understand each other.  After I received the diagnosis, I felt that my life made a little more sense.  I began to understand myself better.  I have been in treatment for a long time and have made many improvements.  During this whole journey though, I learned something else, one of the reasons why I became so obsessed with Doctor Who.  I mean who doesn’t want to fly away from their boring lives to explore all throughout time and space with a mad man (or woman) with a box?  I have not seen the episodes with Jodie Whittaker so no spoilers! You may cause a paradox and destroy all of reality if you tell me anything.  It’s my future.  It was more than a form of escapism or a way of leaving my miserable life.  I realized that the Doctor’s character really resonates with me on a more personal level.  Now I am specifically referring to the New Who episodes.  I haven’t watched enough of Old Who to make adequate judgments of the character during those episodes.  The Doctor in New Who exemplifies many of the characteristics associated with borderline personality disorder.  I am no psychologist or psychiatrist, but for me, I feel like that this was one of the main reasons I fell in love with the Doctor.  He (or she) is the star of the show, the hero, the person everyone loves aside from say the Daleks, the Cybermen, the Slitheen, the Weeping Angels, the Zygons, the Silurians, and well, okay not everyone.  But in other shows, people with the disorder or exhibits multiple aspects of the disorder are usually portrayed as antagonists and creeps.  

The Doctor continuously goes out of his (or her) way to try and avoid losing people.  It causes him a lot of pain when he loses his closest friends.  Sometimes he will push his closest friends away, even for years at a time, because he’s afraid he’d never see them again. Sometimes he’d isolate himself from making new friends for fear of them falling apart.  We see this with the tenth Doctor at the end of his tenure.  He refused to take on new companions.  He was also reluctant to take on Martha as an official companion after losing Rose. But as you know, things did get “escalated.”  The eleventh Doctor set up Amy and Rory with a house on earth so he could come back to them whenever for hundreds of years because he knew that humans could not live near as long as him and he couldn’t bear to see his closest friends die.  He uploaded River Song as a computer program in the biggest library in the universe so he could always come back to her.  After losing Amy and Rory, he isolated himself from most of others except from a select few refusing to make other friends for fear of the inevitable loss.  Like Martha, he was reluctant at first to take on Clara as a companion.   On the whole though, the Doctor is fairly quick in choosing is companions, almost like Jesus choosing his disciples.  The Doctor becomes close pretty quickly and has people by his side while traveling in the TARDIS (time and relative dimension in space).  However, he is also quick to cut communication in order to “save” his friends or most often himself from impending grief.  He tricked Rose and Clara to have the TARDIS take them home while he faced a life or death scenario.  When Clara came back to the Doctor 300 years later in his future, he admitted that the reason he sent her away was because he would have buried her a long time ago.  It seemed to be more for his sake than hers.  She didn’t want to be sent home, and she was willing to face every danger he faced.  For those who struggle with BPD, the fear of loss and abandonment is quite prominent. Similarly, to the Doctor, I would frequently be quick to make very close friends.  I often idealized them and think they are basically perfect. “And she is perfect,” the Doctor says about Clara Oswald.  “You are the most important woman in the whole universe,” he says to Donna.  At the same time, I was also just as quick to push people away.  I’ve sometimes seemed to ghost people, hide things from them, push them away from my problems, refuse help when I desperately needed it.  I was too afraid I’d hurt them or overwhelm them to the point that I’d lose them.  I become a roller coaster ride to be friends with.  I constantly felt the need to protect people from myself and try to save myself from impending grief which hurts so bad that it makes me sick.  

Like the Doctor, I also felt persistent emptiness and loneliness. I felt like no one really understood me.  Even though I usually had close friends nearby, they also seemed temporary. Give another year and it will be a whole new group of friends.  I am very blessed that I’ve been able to maintain a strong relationship with my best friend for almost five years.  I’ve not had a romantic relationship last even a year.  Alongside the loneliness came emptiness.  For the most part, I felt like my life was pretty meaningless and boring.  I felt like I constantly had to be doing something in order to fill the gap.  The Doctor gets like this too.  When he stuck around in Amy and Rory’s home for a couple of days, he got anxious.  He rarely sticks around for tea after saving the day.  He has to constantly be doing something, or he just feels bored or pointless. This causes anxiety or depression. The tenth doctor, after trapping himself in the 18th century with Madame de Pompedour to save her from impending doom, looked sorrowfully into the night sky because of losing access to his TARDIS.  Like him, I usually can’t handle monotony.  I get anxiety and depression really fast.  

Impulsivity is another common trait between me and the Doctor. This can look different for each person who struggles with BPD.  Many do struggle with alcohol or drug addictions but not all.  I do not, but my impulsivity comes out in other ways.  It actually is similar to how the doctor is impulsive.  I am very quick to putting myself in compromising or dangerous situations. Personally, I cannot actually go into much detail on this issue for my safety and the safety of others around me. As a result of impulsive decisions I’ve made, I have gotten assaulted or raped.  Now these crimes are ultimately not my fault, and do not advocate victim blaming.  People should just have the common decency to know that those things are wrong. Unfortunately, that’s not the world we live in.  I was almost physically assaulted after outing myself as transgender.  I learned quickly the dangers of being trans in society. I’ve stretched myself thin for the sake of others without taking the time to analyze how much I can handle.  The Doctor is very similar in this regard.  Over and over, he’ll walk passed “keep out” signs.  For him, they are like “dry clean only.”  He’s one of those people who usually takes action before thinking.  Although sometimes we find out that he has actually put more thought into something than we, the audience, assumed he had.  Still, a lot of times the plan is to run towards the danger, see what happens, then come up with another plan. ��When he hears a scream, he runs towards it.  When a sketchy guy is offering jobs at Hooverville in 1930, he was the first to volunteer.  Despite his intelligence and cleverness to get out of dangerous situations, he usually just as quick into them.  The results have even blown up the entire universe.  

Both the Doctor and I also seem to have struggled with a personal sense of identity.  This also can result in intense mood swings.  Sometimes I have feelings of euphoria, a heightened feeling of myself.  I can be the life of the party or on top of the world. I can become hypomanic (BPD and bipolar disorder often mimic each other).  Other times I am the complete opposite.  I think I’m the most awful, pitiful thing that creation gave birth to. I will self-harm or have suicide ideations.  I’m afraid that I am an abuser just like my parents, that I just hurt people, or that I constantly let other people down.  This sometimes spawns feelings of isolation.  Sometimes my emotions swing between extremes within a day.  The Doctor seems similarly to reflect these traits. For most of New Who, he is haunted about destroying Gallifrey in order to end the Time War.  Was he a genocidal maniac or a hero who ended a war that would have destroyed all of reality?  Is he any better than a Dalek who belongs to a race of ethnic cleansers.  Even after the 50th anniversary episode, the twelfth Doctor feels the need to ask Clara whether he is a good man. People with BPD tend to have a difficult time knowing themselves outside of how others perceive them.  They constantly rely on others to tell them how they are more than trying to take the time to analyze personal actions and intentions. We usually think our intentions are just excuses for the horrible things we’ve done.  The Doctor kept telling himself that he was trying to end the most deadly war in all of history when making the decision to eradicate his own species, but he wondered afterwards whether it was just an excuse to be the monster he truly was.  It wasn’t like he had a super friendly relationship with the Time Lords (although he was also half human first suggested in the 1996 movie and confirmed with the twelfth Doctor).  He constantly wrestled with the prospect that maybe he took on companions in order to use them rather than actually befriend them.  Davros visibly gets under the Doctor’s skin when he suggests that the Doctor takes “ordinary people and fashions them into weapons.”  We have the episode with the Dream Lord, a suggested personification of the negative aspects of his character.  There is a very dark portion of the Doctor which makes him such a complex character to fully understand.  Still, generally, we most often see him as a hero.  We are more gracious towards his decision to destroy Gallifrey to end the Time War than he is to himself.  I struggle to understand myself.  I generally have persistent feelings of shame that if the dark side of me comes out, then people will leave me.  It’s something I try to control.

Building off the last point, the Doctor is prone to anger quickly coming to that emotion.  “The fury of the Time Lord” is explored throughout the series.  It’s related to the question as to whether he is a good person or not.  This is one area I have seen significant improvements in.  It is okay to angry, but sometimes my anger was ineffective in achieving my goals.  I am not as quick to anger as I used to be.  I think a part of it is that I don’t live with my parents anymore.  I still have much room for improvements.

The Doctor’s fears of abandonment and loneliness has given away to trust issues.  Too many people have betrayed him.  We never learn his actual name throughout the series.  He doesn’t trust anyone with it.  He keeps a lot of himself a secret.  He will refrain from being vulnerable around others including his companions.  He’ll always say that he’s fine, that he is always fine.  This is the classic thing that someone battling mental illness says to cover up their emotions from others.  It is something that I have said in times of distress many times because I am afraid that people will judge me or betray me or leave me.  River Song tells him to trust her.  She whispers his real name in his ear to prove to him that she is worthy of trust.  Even then, he has his reservations.  When learning River was a prisoner for killing man and she doesn’t reveal who, he questions her and why future self would trust her.  There is always constant questioning of other people’s motives and intentions.  When Rose saves her dad’s life altering a fixed point in time, the Doctor is quick to accuse her of selfishness, that she only wanted onto the TARDIS to save her dad, that she was only using the Doctor.  Though Rose’s decision was impulsive and unwise to say the least, the audience isn’t as quick to accuse her of that.  We get the sense that she had a genuine care for the Doctor and actually wanted to travel in the TARDIS for the purpose of exploration.   As we millennials like to say, I feels.

Thoughts of suicide and self-harm or disassociation are not attributes that we can necessarily observe or be able to observe in the Doctor.  We do know that he does tend to view his life as less important as others.  He’s hinted that death may be a gift for someone who lives so long.  He is quick to sacrifice himself.  He gets angry at River when she tries to save him and tell him that the universe doesn’t want him to die.  He’s willing to neglect his life for the sake of others.  When he tried to destroy Gallifrey, he didn’t expect or want to live.  The ninth Doctor explained it wasn’t his choice.  The Doctor seems to be depressed that he didn’t die after ending the Time War, that his guilt is unbearable at times.  I don’t think I can delve much further on this particular aspect of his character to be honest.  

I have thought about this for a long time as you probably can tell.  I am still in love with the Doctor and it is one the view shows that I garner pleasure from when I am severely depressed.  It can distract me from my sometimes very intense and unbearable emotions. I believe this in large part due to how much I relate to the Doctor, that maybe I may not be an absolute monster.  Maybe, I’m not that bad of a person.  Maybe I’m someone that can be loved just like the Doctor. Maybe I am just as interesting and unique.  Maybe at times I can be the hero and not the villain that I always view myself to be. I continue to love the series and I can not wait to see Jodie Whittaker’s depiction of the character when I am able to get access to the episodes.  I am sad to say goodbye to Capaldi, but the story always continues. 

[solastia]

‘tis the season to be freezin’

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Summary: Is that Jung Hoseok drunken caroling outside of my window at 2 am?

Word Count: 3,621

Genre & Warnings: College Au, FLUFF. Hobi being adorable. Gratuitous use of Jane Eyre quotes. 

You heard Jung Hoseok before you saw his face. 

It was the first day of English Literature 1A, a class you needed for the credits, despite it having nothing to do with your major. Still, you did appreciate the classics, so you didn’t mind too much. You’d arrived a few minutes early in the hopes of getting a decent seat near the front, a hope that was fulfilled when you stepped in and saw only a handful of students. The professor wandered in not much later, and class began right on time. You zoned out a bit since the topic was Jane Eyre, a book you’ve read countless times as well as watched every movie adaption there was. You could recite the story in your sleep. 

You were losing the battle to keep your eyes open. Professor Jung was discussing Jane’s relationship with her Aunt and cousins and all the ways it affected her later in life. You were startled back to alertness when the faint sound of high pitched shrieking reached your ears. You sat up to try and focus on the sound as you realized it was getting closer. The professor stopped his lecture and with a deep sigh, gestured towards the closed doors. 

“Everyone, meet...”

“GOOD MORNING CLASS!” The double doors were slammed open, and a voice that was both honey smooth and raspy shouted out his greeting as he ran inside. 

“...My very late son. Hoseok, take a seat up front here, won’t you? And try not to be late again, it makes me look bad.” Your professor looked like he was fighting off a smile when Hoseok playfully salutes him.

“Yes sir, Professor Jung who I have never seen before in my life. By the way, your wife, who I have also never met before, would like you to grab some milk and dog food on your way home.” Professor Jung snorts and waits for the rest of class to cease their laughing before he goes back to his notes. 

You’re further startled when out of the three rows of seats in the front, nine seats in total of which only two are taken, he settles noisily in the place to your right. He sets down his textbook and searches through his tiny hip bag. Finally, with an annoyed sigh, he turns to you.

“Hello! I’m Hoseok. Can I borrow a pen?” 

You finally turn and examine the entirety of Jung Hoseok for the first time. The twinkling coffee-colored eyes, sharp jaw, and elegant nose were striking. However, it was the brilliant full smile that caught your eye. Your heart fluttered wildly, the room suddenly felt too warm, and a quote came to mind.

“A beauty neither of fine colour nor long eyelash, nor penciled brow, but of meaning, of movement, of radiance.”

Radiance. He was absolutely radiant. You’d offered a shy smile of your own and one of your precious, expensive pens that you never let anyone borrow, basking in his grateful smile like he was the sun personified. 

After that first meeting, the two of you had become...well, semi-friends? You conversed easily enough during class when his dad wasn’t paying attention. You’d claim each other for projects and he never once moved his seat. You’d learned a fair amount about him since he always liked to swap stories of how your days were going. You’d discovered he was a music production major with a minor in dance. You learned his sweet tooth could probably rival yours. 

Outside of class, however, it was mostly waves and smiles when you passed each other in the halls. He had a pretty intimidating looking group of friends, so you’d never been able to gather the courage to just go up and say hello. Not to mention, after a couple months Hoseok had developed quite the fan club, and women flocked to his group asking him to every event. You’d never actually seen or heard of him dating anyone, but you figured it was only a matter of time.

Even the one time you saw him at a party, you’d grinned and waved, but maintained your distance, hoping he would be the one to come to you. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself or him in front of his friends, thinking you were just another thirsty Hoseok fan. Instead, you’d stayed safely with your small group of friends on the other side of the living room, smiling wistfully as you watched Hoseok screaming and periodically dancing during several rounds of beer pong. You convinced yourself it was just your drunken imagination that it seemed like his eyes followed you around the room. 

Every day seemed to find you falling more for Jung Hoseok. You admired his ambition and drive, his sweet personality that hid a surprising savage twist at times. He was hilarious and always kept you smiling and laughing in class. He was as loud as you were quiet, and you actually enjoyed his attempts to bring you out of your shell. One of your favorite hobbies became trying to find something new to frighten him with because he was surprisingly easy to scare. It also gave you a reason to buy him a cup of apology tea. His discussions that he often drew you into with his father during class showed intelligence and an ability to look for the good in the world, despite its vast darkness. 

During one class discussion, Professor Jung had asked you all to close your eyes and envision someone special to you, then write down the words that came to mind. You’d rested your hands on the table and shut your eyes. Of course, Hoseok was the first thing you pictured. Suddenly, you’d felt pressure against your right hand. You opened your eyes just enough to peek under your lashes, and there was Hoseok’s hand. Skin to skin with your right hand. Pinky to pinky. 

You’d glanced out of the corner of your eye and saw that Hoseok’s eyes were still closed. He probably didn't even realize what he did. You’d released a shaky breath and tried to casually grab your pen, maybe accidentally but not really brushing your whole palm against the back of his hand. You’d thought you might have seemed him jolt a bit, but since he didn’t say anything, you assumed you were safe. Pen to paper finally, you write down the words that came to mind when the vision of Hoseok laughing first appeared in your mind. 

“Her coming was my hope each day, Her parting was my pain; The chance that did her steps delay Was ice in every vein.”

You’d sighed and tucked it away before sneaking a peek at Hoseok. He was smiling at you, but it was a smile you’d never seen on him before. One that got your heart fluttering and your knees weak. Soft and gentle. It disappeared in a flash and Hoseok finished writing his own quote while humming what you were pretty sure was the theme song for the Jetsons. 

Eventually, the end of your first semester at college came to a close. You’d just finished your final for Lit 1A and began putting your things in your backpack so you could leave.

“Pssst.” 

You glance up to see if Professor Jung is paying attention before whispering back. “What?” 

“Wait for me? I just have like two questions left.” Hoseok asked quietly. 

“Sure.” You responded, confusion evident in your tone. He’d never done that before. Sometimes you’d talk on your way to the door, but that was when everyone left at the same time. 

You answered the texts you’d been ignoring during your test while you waited. It only took another five minutes, then with a whispered, “Let’s go,” you both gathered your tests and belongings before bringing them up front. 

“I should have known the two of you would be one of the first ones done. I know Y/N probably did exceptionally well, especially since I included a Jane Eyre essay question with her in mind. How do you think you did, Son? I know you’ve actually been studying.” Professor Jung asked with a smile as he accepted our tests. 

“Great, especially since I have a loving Father who wants me to succeed in life. Even though he’d rather put customized questions in for hot girls instead of his own son.” Hoseok quipped as you hung behind, hopefully unnoticed, as you choked on your own saliva hearing him refer to you as a hot girl. 

Professor Jung laughed quietly and set the tests aside. “Y/N, I know you’re not a Lit major, but think about signing up for 1B with me next month. You and Hoseok both did great and kept the discussions going, so I’d think it’d be excellent to have you both back. Him, I can force. You, I’ll beg.” 

“Well, since you begged me, I’ll see what I can do. You’re a great professor anyway, so it’s no hassle.” You laugh, giving a small wave goodbye as Hoseok grabs your elbow to drag you away from his dad. 

As the two of you walked out of the classroom, Hoseok cleared his throat and asked, “So what are your plans for Christmas?” 

“Oh, nothing really. I usually do holidays solo. My mom travels with her boyfriend. I’ll probably just chill with some cookies and movies. Get some pizza from Gregoria’s Pizzaria. Maybe try to talk them into making it Christmas tree shaped. You?” 

“That sucks about your Mom. I’m just doing the usual family stuff. Dinner, presents, sneaking into the rum that was meant for cakes. Although I hate to tell you that Gregoria’s probably isn’t open on Christmas. They are just down the street from me, and I’ve never seen them open.”

“They are right across the street from me, and they are open every holiday except labor day. They’ve even made me four leaf clover shaped pizza for St. Patrick’s day.” 

“Dude, I think we are neighbors then! I’m on 6310 Kyrene.”

“Oh my God, you’re the house with the yellow fence that always has that giant snoopy house thing for Christmas?”

“That’s us! I love Snoopy! Where are you at?”

“6302...”

“OH, I know that house. You guys never put any decorations up. My Mom complains every year that you mess up her aesthetics.” 

“Ok, do you see me? I can’t put up all kinds of decorations by myself. Occasionally I’ll buy a small Christmas tree because I like the smell, but that’s if I’m feeling crazy.”

“Wow. I bet we’ve been to all the same places, all the same schools, and yet we are just now meeting. It’s like this cosmic fate thing where the universe decided we couldn’t meet until we reached a certain age, despite being so close to each other.”

“You sound like Namjoon now.” 

“You know Namjoon?”

“Not really know. He’s in my philosophy class. He’s very into class participation.”

“Sounds like him. Listen, I’ll feel bad knowing that I’m that close feasting while you’re literally down the street eating pizza by yourself...probably in the dark...singing sad songs.”

“You have quite the scene plotted out there, don’t ya buddy?”

“Yes...it’s so sad. Do you have a cat? That would make it extra dramatic. Wait, I’m getting sidetracked. Oh yeah, I was going to say you should let me bring you some food. We live off the leftovers for like a week after Christmas so we won’t miss it. And bonus: if I tell my Mom it’s for my poor, sad friend living alone with only a cat for comfort, she’ll probably give you a whole pie.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“Even better. You’ll get two pies.” 

You chuckle softly, basking in the attention, as Hoseok holds the building doors open for you and the two of you walk outside into the chilly winter air. Hoseok must have seen you shiver because he took off his zip-up hoodie and placed it on you before you realized what was happening. You glance up at him with wide, confused eyes as he adjusts the overlarge jacket around you and places the hoodie on your head.

“It’s a bit big, but you look cuter in it than I do. You usually take the bus home right? Wanna ride?” He asks, and it takes you a second to respond as you’re still standing there confused by him and overwhelmed by being engulfed in the citrusy scent of Hoseok. 

“I...err...yeah. I mean, no thank you. I actually have some errands to run, but I appreciate it. I’ll...see you around?”

“Yup. I’ll have to come by to get my hoodie, right?” He winks and saunters towards the parking lot, singing a butchered version of several holiday songs in one. 

You didn’t know what to make of him. It certainly seemed like he’d been...flirting? With you? You shook your head at yourself, knowing that you shouldn’t think about it too deeply. He was just nice. That’s who he was. But it didn’t stop you from burying your face in his hoodie the whole bus ride to the shopping center, breathing in his scent happily. 

You glance at your alarm. 2 am. 

Someone was singing very loudly outside of your window at 2 am on Christmas day. Someone was about to be killed at 2 am on Christmas day, you decided, finally forcing yourself to sit up. It was cold, and you hissed when your feet touched the freezing floor. You searched around with your toes for your slippers, shoving your feet in quickly when you find them. You shuffled towards your window and peered out into the darkness.

It was actually snowing again, a thick blanket of it covering everyone's yards. You’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of the slight storm before a loud screech of “’tis the season to be freezin’” reminds you of your task. You search your front yard for the source and find it in a red snowsuit covered person building a snowman in your yard. You lift up your window and peek outside, shivering from the bitter cold.

“Excuse me, my dude. That’s cool and all, but can you keep it down?” You yell out, and the person turns to face you.

“Y/N! You’re up! I know you couldn’t do decorations, so I made you a snowman! Wanna build a snowman with me?” A very obviously drunk Hoseok slurs out, dancing around his large lumps of snow that looked more like a snow Jabba the hut than a snowman. 

“Hoseok? What on earth...hold on. I’m coming down.” You slam your window shut, mumbling about idiotic men as you gather a jacket for yourself and stomp outside. 

Hoseok’s smile is almost blinding when he sees you, and his nose and cheeks are red from the cold. He runs up to you and envelops you in a hug, sighing when his chilled face touches your warm cheek. He pulls back and grins at your startled expression. 

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” He screeches, excitedly gesturing towards his “snowman.”

“Merry Christmas. I see you’ve been celebrating already.” You giggle, thinking drunk Hoseok has to be one of the cutest things in existence. 

“Yeah. My sister got home today, and we snuck an entire bottle of rum. Then I kept thinking about how you didn't have any decorations and probably no rum either...and it made me sad. So! I’m making you a snowman, and then I’m kidnapping you to come drink with me and let my mom feed you a pie. Isn’t that the best idea ever?!” Drunk Hoseok seems to be on a permanent loud setting, and you grin at his excitement, letting him grab your hand and pull you in the direction of his house. You guess he wouldn’t take no for an answer in this state, and since you were worried about him getting sick if he stayed out much longer, you give no resistance. 

Once you reach the porch of his overly decorated house, he pushes the front door open before turning back to you and picking you up bridal style. 

“Hoseok, what are you doing?!” You squeak as he adjusts you in his arms with a slight wobble. 

“You’ve never been here before, so I have to bless the threshold.” He explains matter-of-factly as he walks you both into the entryway and kicks the door shut with his foot. 

“That’s for brides, and you’re drunk. You’re going to drop me and crack my skull open all over your mother’s floor on Christmas.” You complain, and he chuckles and sets you down safely, albeit unsteadily, once he reaches the living room. 

He takes off his snowsuit, revealing a simple outfit of jeans and a Christmas sweater that had a rapper Santa on it. He helps you with your jacket after and grins when your snowflake pajamas were revealed. 

“So cute! You look like Elsa!” 

“Shut up.” You chuckle and take his outstretched hand and let him lead you to the kitchen, where he poured the two of you some rum from the already half empty bottle. 

He walked you back to the living room, and the two of you settled into the couch. You admired the large and extravagantly decorated tree as you sipped your drink, allowing the rum to warm you back up. You marveled out how quiet Hoseok had gotten and peeked at him to see if he’d fallen asleep. He most certainly was not.

He was staring at you, chewing his bottom lip like he was nervous. The expression on his face made you warmer than the alcohol did. 

“There was another reason I wanted to bring you here.” He muttered quietly before getting up and picking up an envelope. It had your name on it in bright yellow glitter glue on the front. He hands it too you shyly then resumes his seat next to you, watching as you carefully tear it open. 

Inside was a handmade card on notebook paper, the front of it a mess of glitter and Christmas themed doodles. Trees, snowmen, stockings, even a cat with a Santa hat. You grinned and opened it up, finding a written message on the inside. 

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still. I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self, and best earthly companion.”

These were two Jane Eyre quotes meshed together. Two of the most romantic Jane Eyre quotes meshed together. Your heart thumped wildly, and you stare at Hoseok in question. 

“I, um, well. I remembered how much you liked when we did Jane Eyre in class. Do you remember when my Dad had us do that one exercise, where we had to close our eyes and envision someone then write down a quote? Well...I...saw you. Then I wrote down that first quote. I added the second one a few days ago when I got the courage to make it into a card.” Hoseok rushed his explanation, a blush taking over his cheeks that you didn’t think came from the booze.  

“Hoseok...you...what does this mean?” Your voice was shaking, hope and uncertainty shining through your eyes.

“Do you maybe want to...date me?” He smiles gently, taking your free hand and tugging you closer.

“God yes!” You blurt out, before covering your face in embarrassment. 

Hoseok shrieks excitedly and pulls your hand away, placing a couple of sloppy kisses all over your cheek. 

“She said yes! It’s a Christmas miracle!” He yells, and you giggle at his cuteness.

“You realize as my girlfriend, you kinda have to stay for Christmas, right? You should probably plan on being here next year too. And certainly the one after that. Maybe all of them.” Hoseok tucks you into his side and laces your hand in his, stroking the back of it as he smiles happily down at you. 

“I will. Merry Christmas, Hoseok.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

Many years later you find that card again, buried in a box full of Christmas decorations you’d pulled out to start decorating your home. You read it fondly, the words still having the power to warm your heart. You have an idea and grab one of your precious, expensive pens to write a message beneath Hoseok’s, and you punch a hole in the card, looping a ribbon through it to hang on your tree. Once done, you smile happily at the sight before heading outside to the two shrieking males, one dancing around in his huge red snowsuit, the other toddling after his father as they built a snowman. 

“Reader, I married him.”

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

February 1/2021

And finally! People are awake so I can go make my coffee. (I say finally because I woke up at 4:30.) I seem to be having rather odd sleeps these days; I presume that it’s because of the coffee. Like last night I remember having this weird dream about working through this incredibly dense philosophical system. Attempting to, apparently, compare it with my own cognitive map. I suppose that I’ve always known that the tailoring of and adding to my cognitive map occurred mainly away from or below my conscious attention, I just never noticed it in so pronounced a way as last night in my half-awake state. It was like I had opened up the cellar door to my unconscious workings. It was quire a thing to behold honestly: my mind/understanding moving like that. It was all images, like when I give myself over to my imagination. But there was even more chaos and connections being made than what I experience in my imagination. I reckon that this is due to the fact that my consciousness, in it’s semi-conscious state, wasn’t conducting/viewing all of these happenings with the same strictness which it usually employs. 

I can’t really remember the connections that were made or whether any new understandings were discovered, but like I have become accustomed to trusting: I’m sure that whatever occurred will rise to my conscious awareness when ready. 

It’s really quite incredible though--I seem to be coming upon a new depth to my thought. It feels suddenly like all those boundaries which had once been so limiting upon my internal wanderings are suddenly now just dissolving away. Or, perhaps, I’m starting to realize that these boundaries upon my exploration had only ever been illusions from the start. And I only now am discovering the courage and drive to run myself up against them. Just as Harry Potter only discovered the illusory obstruction of Platform 9 3/4 by throwing himself up against it. In this comparison I suppose that the literary community would be to me what the Weasley’s were for Harry. And Hagrid too for that matter--one’s introduction to a whole new world. Or, perhaps, the same world as always, but an immense deepening of it. Thus, I am learning--artists are teaching me--that these boundaries can and should be pushed against. That is, if one wants to keep moving forward, one must lacerate oneself against that which stands in ones way. There is no way around it. This seems to be what I’m learning right now. Thanks, it would seem, in large part to Nietzsche, Eminem and Bios by Esposito. I am learning about the value of obstruction and how enemies are sometimes--often--one’s best friend. For, if such an enemy is a worthy enemy, they teach on in the must visceral way possible--by lacerating. And, again, as Nietzsche notes: pain is the surest way to fix a memory in man’s mind. It’s why I like to make all my own mistakes--I learn best from my own pain. 

Huh, I’ve long since recognized my fascination with pain, but it’s only now that I really get it.I had previously just assumed that pain was welcomed by me because it made me feel so alive. Which is definitely a part of it; but, it would seem, only the initial part. I realize that I feel so alive when in the midst of pain because the pain is teaching me something. But then, if we are to take/accept this ling of thought, what exactly was I hoping to learn when I ran that blade across my hips? Because that act of cutting myself seems to be the most obvious example of my welcoming of pain.

It must be said that was substantially less consolidated when I was engaged in cutting myself. I didn’t really understand myself--I was still very much so gripped with the awareness of and shame regarding my difference. I did not realize that such a difference could be in any way a positive thing. My only thoughts were of killing it in me; or, at the very least, silencing it. And I suppose that cutting did silence it--for a time at least. For, in that moment of the most visceral and violent opening, everything else was silent. All that existed was pain--beautiful, delicious, pure pain. That purity, it would seem, is what I was after: pure experience.

I remember a few years back I wrote an essay exploring how I “found divinity at the tip of a blade.” Pure experience is divinity? When I asked that question of myself my mind brought the idea of the Dionysian forward. I reckon that means that we need to explore there a bit. The Dionysian, in my understanding, is the purest expression/manifestation of an interdependent flowing of life that cannot be sorted discriminately into categories without losing it’s inherent nature. It is, by it’s very nature, unmediated and undifferentiated. It is pure life; untamed and transcendent; existing before and beyond any human attempts to constrain it. All we can do is get swept away in it’s all-encompassing life-dance of animalistic power. This letting loose of one’s animalistic and instinctual side is exactly what I shied away from for the first decade and a half of my life. I repressed my more primal tendencies/urges like my life depended on it--because I felt like my life did depend on it. To a certain extent all of our lives depend on us humans being able to constrain our more primitive urges: a secure and flourishing society such as ours could not stand without such practices of constraint. But my overemphasis on this constraint (it got to the point where my every thought was desperately consumed with how to be the “good little girl” that everyone wanted me to be) eventually became such that I needed to release some of the pressure for fear of implosion (explosion)? And what better way to release some pressure than by creating an opening? 

I might also add that I think another part of the reason that I cut, or perhaps how I made sense of my cutting at the time, was my seeing it as an attempt to punish myself. That is, as a punishment for my perceived difference from those around me. Correction through pain, as it might be conceived. 

In a sense, I was addicted to cutting. It was something, and often times the only thing that I looked forward to. I planned my day and my life around it: what blade would I use? Did I have time to sneak into the bathroom between classes for a cut? How deeply would I cut? Where on my body would my new cuts be? On and on and on the considerations went. It’s so odd to say (write) now, but the awareness of those openings that I carried around on my hips gave me a sense of power. I mean, yes, I was ashamed about what I was doing to myself; I localized the cuts to my hips for just this reason. But this shame seems to have been born not of my deepest self but of my awareness of societal judgments. That is, I knew how such actions, perpetrated against/on one’s self would be viewed as weak by the majority of people around me. And weakness was already something that I was deeply disgusted by. No need to give the world (outside of me) any more evidence to convict me of weakness. Because, it would seem, I fundamentally perceived my difference as weakness. Thus we can see why I was so terrified of my difference. Because life devours the weak.  I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been intimately aware of this fact. I think, although I can’t quite articulate how or why yet, this early awareness of the devouring character of life is tied up with my dad and his bearing. Perhaps I thought that the toughness and violence of his bearing was a requirement of life itself? And I could detect none of this violence or toughness within my bearing/Being. (I apparently never saw my cutting as being violent act. It was only ever another manifestation of my pitiful weakness.) From this came the idea that I was fundamentally incapable of withstanding life?... There seems to be something to that. Especially when viewed in reference to the great admiration that I’ve always had for Tanner (my brother). I could see a violence and toughness in him, even from the very beginning. I admired it but it also terrified me. For I knew that the violence/toughness of my dad, if colliding with that of my brother, could lead to deadly outcomes. But even with that knowledge, and my terrified cowering before this violence/toughness that I saw manifest in the men around me, I so desperately craved that I was violent and tough. But I wasn’t--I was weak and sensitive and moody and soft; essentially I was unfit for life. 

Well fuck, there it is, the thorn in my side. The feeling that has always plagued me--a part of me believes that I’m unfit for life. And this is why I devour philosophy and religion like my life depends upon it. Because a part of me (a very big and deep part--the foundation of my Being) very much so believes that my life does depend upon it. I need to attempt to understand life so that I might make myself fit for it. 

I cut into myself because these openings revealed to me an experience of pure life. They were an attempt to understand life... Life that I am a part of, life that courses through my veins--life that I released with that blade in all those lonely bathrooms. By opening myself in this way I felt like I had some level on control in life. 

I carry both the will/compulsion/drive to denigrate and to affirm life within me. That is, I am both Nazis and Jew; both the destroyer and the destroyed--and that which affirms every destruction. I am the ground and the chaos which takes place on this ground... This is an idea that I can only barely apprehend the edge of yet, but holy shit--it’s something. Are there such a thing as pre-shocks to an earthquake? 

I feel deep within me the contradiction of life. And maybe it was (my apprehension of) this contradiction that I felt to be weakness. Because, one cannot make sense of such a primordial/ fundamental contradiction; especially at the tender age of six. And, alas, we humans seem to feel in control/powerful through our capacity to make/impose sense upon the world. This seems to be an integral part of our nature; if we can make sense of a thing, we feel a bit more like we possess it. And when we possess something we feel in control of it--like it can hurt us no longer. For it is no longer an unknown. 

But, alas, I seem to have always been deeply aware that there are things in/of life that can never be made sense of. My awareness of this made me feel weak--unfit for life-- because I thought that this was an error of/in my particular Being. No one around me seemed to have nearly as much trouble as me comprehending life. Everything confused me, everything impacted me, everything hurt me. 

[sweater-vest-reid]

All You Need is Love: Chapter Twenty “All You Need is Love”

A Love Story Told by The Fab Four / Inspired by “Across the Universe”

Spencer Reid: a genius, hardworking, dedicated FBI profiler. Persephone “Percy” Jacobson: a passionate, brilliant, ambitious FBI specialist, and the newest member of the BAU. Spencer doesn’t believe in soulmates. Persephone doesn’t believe in happy endings. Told nonlinearly, watch as time, each other, and The Beatles, proves them wrong.

Chapter List

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A/N: Here it is! The last chapter! Thank you all so much for coming on this journey with me! 

Listen here

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There's nothing you can do that can't be done. Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.

{2014} Snow was still falling from the sky when Percy and Spencer walked into work that morning. The white flakes covering their hair and jackets slowly disappeared as they walked from the frigid outdoors to the warm BAU offices. They walked to their desks, glancing anxiously at each other. Who knew planning to tell someone good news was so nerve-wracking?

Spencer removed his winter gear, but Percy kept hers on, waiting for the perfect moment. And with the entire team present in one room (a rarity for the team), the perfect moment had to be soon. 

Hotch and Rossi leaned on the railing by their offices, and the rest of the team sat in the bullpen, sharing small talk about their weekends over cups of freshly brewed coffee. One by one, Percy slowly removed her winter garments. Her coat, her scarf, and her hat all sat in a pile on her desk, but her gloves remained on. A hidden blessing really; now the whole team couldn't see just how sweaty her palms were. 

"So, what did you two lovebirds get up to over the weekend?" asked Garcia. 

Percy's heart began to race. She glanced over at Spencer, and she knew his was probably racing too. It's not like they were about to share bad news. On the contrary, it was amazing news. But why was it so hard to say out loud? Was it because they still didn't believe it themselves?

"Nothing much, really," Percy lied. 

"Really? You guys didn't do anything at all?" asked Morgan. 

"We're being serious. We had no plans at all," reassured Percy, fighting to contain a telltale smile that would give away their whole plan.

"Although, we did start making some pretty important plans," added Spencer. "Those won't be happening for a while," said Percy.

"Oh really. So, when are these mysterious plans happening?" asked JJ. Percy could tell she was becoming a bit suspicious.

Percy turned to Spencer, "Not for another, uh, what did we decide Spence, six months?" 

She walked over to Spencer, leaning into him. He wrapped his arm around her. Over the past few days, they'd become much touchier, wanting to hold each other every moment of the day. 

They really were over the moon, truly the happiest they'd ever been. 

"You made plans for something six months into the future? Why not make it sooner than that, if it really is so important?" asked Hotch.

"With this job, we don't even know what state we'll be in tomorrow. We thought making plans half a year in advance would give us a better chance of actually getting to do them," Spencer explained. 

"Honestly, that's…that's fair," admitted Hotch, chuckling a bit. 

"So, what important thing are our two resident geniuses in love doing in six months?" asked Rossi.

"Getting married," said Percy as she removed her winter glove to reveal a dazzling engagement ring on her finger. 

The gasps, screams, and cheers from the BAU were so loud that agents who passed by the office kept peering inside to see what all the ruckus was. 

JJ and Hotch were full of happiness and pride for the couple, giving them both big hugs. Garcia was the loudest out of them all. Repeated 'oh my god' as she hugged both of them again and again. When she pulled away from her last hug with Percy, there were streams of tears coming down her cheeks. 

"I so happy for you both," she cried. 

"Really? I couldn't tell, Penny," Percy joked, wiping away Garcia's tears as well as the ones which had started to form in her own eyes. 

Morgan and Spencer shared a long hug. They didn't exchange words, they didn't need to use them to communicate what they were feeling. A similar embrace was shared between Percy Rossi. A hug that contained many years of history, way beyond what anyone on the team knew. 

"I'm so proud of you kid. And I know your dad would be too," Rossi whispered in her ear. 

"Thank you," she whispered back. 

Hotch's phone rang, like it always did, letting the team know that celebrations would have to be put on hold. 

"I'm sorry guys, but we have a case," he said. 

"That's alright. I can't imagine a better way to celebrate an engagement than catching a serial killer," Percy joked.

The team piled into the conference room. Percy and Spencer lingered behind them, sharing a tender kiss before walking through the door hand in hand.

Nothing you can say, but you can learn How to play the game It's easy.

{2015} "When I was younger, I read Plato's Symposium. He proposed that when humans were created, they each had four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. But the humans threatened the gods, and as punishment, the gods split them in two. For the rest of the human's life, they would long for their missing half. It wasn't until they found each other that they would be truly happy again," Spencer explained, his voice wavering from nervousness. 

Spencer didn't mind public speaking, as long as he was giving a profile or doing a presentation. But this was different. Having to share his emotions in front of anyone, a crowd especially was proving to be very difficult for him. He felt the crowd's eyes watching him, waiting for him to continue. The anxiety was overwhelming. 

But then he looked back at Percy, and all his fears melted away. He couldn't believe how beautiful she looked. In her white gown, she looked more like an angel than a human. The lace veil that sat on top of her head flowed down her back almost to her knees. Her eyes glistened with tears, and on her face was a look of pure love and adoration. She smiled. That was all the reassurance he needed. 

"As much as I admired Plato and his philosophies, I couldn't believe him. Everything I'd ever learned contradicted the idea of soulmates. I knew how humans were created. I knew we didn't start off with four legs and arms. And as far as I knew, I felt whole. So, from that moment on, I didn't let myself believe in the fantasy of a soulmate. I guess I was pretty cynical for a five-year-old,"  

Percy giggled, squeezing his hands a little tighter.

"Now, Percy, you of all people know that I hate being wrong. But believe me, on July fifteenth, 2004, when you walked through the door at the BAU, I had never been happier to be wrong in my entire life. Because, when I laid my eyes on you for the very first time, I truly felt complete. The day I met you was the day I believed in soulmates again because I knew I had met mine. You are my greater half, my better half. You make me whole. I love you so much, Persephone. And thank you for proving me wrong," 

Tears freely flowed down Percy's cheeks. She tried to say 'I love you too' but no words came out. She hugged him tightly, choking out a whispered 'Thank you' in his ear before pulling away.

"Okay, my turn. No pressure," She laughed, wiping away the tears. "You know I'm not the best with words. I tried for hours to write this but I couldn't find the right words to explain how much I love you, and how grateful I am that I met you eleven years ago. I'm speechless, not because I have nothing to say, but because I have everything to say, and if I start talking, I'll never stop. I'd never thought I'd get a happy ending. My life felt cursed, bad things seemed to follow me wherever I went. But there you were, the missing piece of my happy ending, wearing a sweater vest and rambling on about some academic article or the scientific accuracy of Star Trek. And I…well, I don't really know where I was going with this. I guess I'm rambling myself…"  Percy trailed off, losing herself inside Spencer's eyes. 

"The other day, I was driving alone, listening to the radio. A song played. An old Beatles song. One I'd heard many times before, but I had never fully understood. But know, that song reminds me of you. 'Love is old, love is new. Love is all, love is you'. Thank you, Spencer: for your love, your patience, your understanding. Thank you, for my happy ending."

The rest of the ceremony was a blur. The said their vows and exchanged their rings, crying and smiling the whole time. 

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Reid. Spencer, you may now kiss the bride,"

Nothing you can make that can't be made. No one you can save that can't be saved.

{2018} "I'm home!" Spencer called as he walked through the door. They had a day off, and Spencer had planned to spend it with his mom. Percy had a doctor's appointment in the morning and had planned on meeting up with them in the afternoon. However, she had not been feeling well for the past couple of days and decided to stay home and rest instead. 

"Hey, how's your mom?" asked Percy groggily. She had been asleep on the couch when Spencer walked in, and she wasn't quite awake yet. 

"She's doing quite well. She had a great day today," he responded, kissing Percy before sitting down on the couch by her feet. 

"I'm sorry again that I couldn't make it. I really just needed to rest today," Percy explained, sitting up to face him.

"It's okay, Percy. We can see my mom anytime. Are you feeling any better?" 

She nodded, "Yeah, a little bit. I'm not really nauseous anymore. Just a headache. A bad headache,"

"I'm sorry you're not feeling well," Spencer said, scooting over to Percy and wrapping his arms around her, "Did your doctor's appointment go well at least?"

"Yeah, it was no big deal just a medication check. And they drew my blood," Percy replied as she rolled up her sleeve to show off her bandaid. 

"Why are they drawing your blood at a routine med check?" he asked, suddenly very concerned.

"First, stop panicking. I'm fine, honey," Percy said, sweeping a piece of his hair behind his ear, "Second, it's because of my new medication. I had a bad reaction to a similar one in the past. The blood test is just a precaution. In fact, Dr. Moore should have left me a message with the results by now. I must have missed his call when I was asleep. When you walked in, did you happen to see if there were any messages?"

"I have no idea," replied Spencer. 

"Was there a little white light on the phone stand?" 

Spence nodded. 

"Then there's a message," Percy said, standing up to go check the phone. She stretched out her body on the way to the kitchen; she was stiff after spending so much time on the couch. They had a perfectly good (and extremely comfortable) bed, yet Percy still took naps on the couch, and her back was not happy about it. 

Percy picked up the phone, placed the phone on speaker, and played the voicemail.

"Persephone, this is Dr. Moore here. I have reviewed the results of your blood test and I did not find any medication-related issues, which is a great sign," 

Percy released a breath she didn't know she was holding in. She hadn't realized how nervous she was about the test. But know that she knew everything was alright, her hidden anxieties melted away. 

The voicemail continued, "As well, I would like to offer my sincerest congratulations. The test results show that you are currently four weeks pregnant. In lieu of that, I would like for you to come back in for an appointment as soon as you can so we can discuss your medication regime during your pregnancy. See you soon, and congratulations again,"

The whole world became still and silent. The only thing Percy could hear was the sound of her own beating heart. She was so overwhelmed with thoughts and emotions that she didn't know what to do or say; so, she just stood there, frozen, in the kitchen. 

Spencer slowly stood up from the couch. He walked into the kitchen to join her. Spencer had a million questions fighting to escape from his mouth, but his lips refused to budge. Instead, he grabbed the phone out of Percy's hand and pressed play again. 

As they listened to it a second time, the realization began to sink in. Their dream was coming true: they were finally going to be parents. 

"Did…did you know?" Spencer asked, tears forming in his eyes. 

"No, I had no idea. Oh my god Spence…. I'm-I'm pregnant," Percy squeezed Spencer as tight as she could, sobbing into his chest. 

Spencer hugged her back, even tighter. He was sobbing now too like he was releasing his overflowing happiness in the form of tears. 

Half an hour later, they were still in the kitchen. But now they sat on the floor, Percy in Spencer's lap. His hand sat gracefully on her stomach, already so protective of the little life that was growing there. They didn't say much, as they were still getting over the shock. Occasionally, they would exchange a kiss. But mostly, they just sat, enjoying each other's company, thinking about the future, and soaking in the most happiness either of them had ever felt in their entire lives.

Nothing you can do, but you can learn How to be you in time It's easy.

{2019} "Thank god we're home. I don't think I can walk any farther. My feet are killing me," Percy said as they walked in the door. She dropped her go bag by the front door and plopped down on the couch. 

Percy was twenty-weeks pregnant and was still working at the BAU. Not in the field, of course, but she would still travel with the team. Her bump was definitely showing now, after all, she was halfway through her pregnancy. Whenever he could Spencer's hand we on her bump, waiting to feel their little girl kick. Percy could feel her move around, something she wasn't used to yet. However, Spencer had yet to feel her kick.

He joined Percy on the couch, picking up her feet and placing them in his lap. He removed her shoes and began rubbing her sore feet. 

"You're a mind reader, Spence. Thank you," Percy said, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as she enjoyed the massage. 

"Are you feeling alright?" Spencer asked for the millionth time that day. Percy knew how anxious he was about her being pregnant and their upcoming parenthood. She knew Spencer checking up on her all the time was just a way for him to reassure himself that everything was alright, so she didn't let herself be bothered by it. 

"I'm okay, just sleepy. Somebody didn't let me sleep on the plane because she was kicking so much," Percy said as she lovingly glared down at her bump. 

"She was? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, slightly disappointed. 

"Why? You were out cold. Snoring even. There was no way I could have woken you up," Percy explained. She rubbed her bump gently, and the baby started to kick again, "There she goes again,"

"Really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. He placed his hand on Percy's bump, but by then the baby had stopped kicking. 

"It was only a little one, Spence. She's done now," Percy said, sitting up on the couch. 

"I wish I could feel her," Spencer pouted. 

Percy rubbed his arm, "Aww honey you will. It's just that she's so tiny right now that it's hard for you to feel it. I'm sure you'll get to feel her soon," 

"You know, we're going to have to think of a name for her soon," Spencer noted, "Do you have any ideas?"

"As long as we don't name her after a Greek goddess I'll be happy. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom, but naming your kids after gods is a great idea in theory, and a stupid idea realistically," Percy laughed. 

"Speaking of moms, I had an idea I wanted to run past you," Spencer asked. 

"What is it?" 

"Can her middle name be Diana? After my mom?" he asked. 

"Of course, Spence. That's a beautiful idea," agreed Percy, "Now we just need a first name,"

Percy stood up and started browsing the many bookshelves that lined their home. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing up to join her. 

"In one of these books, there has to be a name that we love. We just need to find it," Percy explained as she started to pull books off the shelf. 

Spencer smiled at the suggestion and joined her by the shelves, pulling some of his favorites down. Soon they had many large stacks around the room. They both sat down on the ground, paging through book after book, searching for the perfect name. Their list of names grew longer and longer, but none of them felt like a perfect fit. 

"Read me the list again?" asked Percy, stroking her bump. 

Spencer read off the list, "Our top choices are: Arya, Estella, Darcy, Jo, Alice, Charlotte, and Daisy,"

"How do you feel about them?" Percy asked. 

Spencer hesitated, "I mean they're nice names but…" 

"Not perfect?" finished Percy. Spencer nodded. Neither of them had any idea how had this was going to be. They had already been searching for a long time, and Percy was having trouble keeping her eyes open. She tried to hide it from Spencer, but with no luck. 

"That's it," Spencer said after he saw Percy yawn for the millionth time, "Let's get you two to bed," 

Spencer walked over to her, holding his hands out to help her get up. Percy was too tired to argue. They walked towards the bedroom, Spencer's arm wrapped around her shoulder. 

Something in the corner of Percy's eye captured her attention, and she pulled away from Spencer to look at it. There was a book sticking out from under the couch. Percy had knocked over one of the taller stacks of books earlier in the night. She must have missed this one while she was cleaning up. She leaned down and picked it up. 

It was an old copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, and instantly Percy knew. 

"Scout!" she exclaimed. 

"Huh?" asked Spencer. 

Percy walked over to him, placing the worn paperback in his hands. 

"Scout Diana Reid," Percy said, "What do you think?" 

"I think it's perfect," he replied, placing a sweet kiss on her forehead. 

Just then, Percy felt a jab in her side. The baby was kicking again. Instantly, she grabbed Spencer's hand and placed it on her stomach. She kept kicking, and for the first time ever, Spencer felt his daughter. 

Each kick brought more and more tears to his eyes. He smiled big at Percy, before kneeling down and becoming eye level with her stomach.

"I guess she likes her name," laughed Percy. 

"Hey there, Scout. It's me, your dad," Spencer said to the bump, "You're halfway there, Scout, and I can't wait to meet you. I already love you so much,"  

He kissed Percy's stomach, before standing up and giving Percy a kiss. 

"I love you so much, Persephone. I am so grateful for you and for our little girl," he said, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

A few matching tears rolled down Percy's face, "I love you too," 

"Happy halfway," said Spencer. 

"Happy halfway, Spence. Now let's go to bed,"

There's nothing you can know that isn't known. Nothing you can see that isn't shown.

{2019} "Do my eyes deceive me or is that the Reid's standing in the conference room?" asked Rossi as the team returned from a case. 

"No way," said Prentiss, a smile spreading across her face. 

Spencer and Percy stood in the conference room. Garcia stood with them, gushing over the tiny baby nestled in Spencer's arms. 

Scout had been born five weeks prior. She came a little early, but she was healthy, and that was all that mattered to them. 

"This is a pretty fantastic surprise!" exclaimed Prentiss. 

The team huddled around them, and Scout looked up at all of them with her big brown eyes. 

"You guys, she's so beautiful," said JJ, "Can I hold her?" 

Spencer nodded, carefully handing his daughter to JJ. JJ admired her, slowly rocking the baby back and forth. 

"How are things going?" asked Luke. 

"It's amazing," gushed Percy, "I mean it's difficult as hell, but it's so worth it. And Spencer here is like 'super dad'. She's only a little over a month old and Spencer has her sleeping for almost five hours at a time," 

Matt looked shocked, "How in the world did you manage that?"

"I read a lot of parenting books, one specifically on how the French raise children. You know, on average, most French babies can sleep through the night around the age of three to four months? Some even as early as two months," Spencer explained. 

Scout was now being passed to Luke. Garcia followed, looking at Scout over Luke's shoulder. She reached down and stroked her little arm. Scout reached out and grabbed Garcia's finger. 

"Look at her! She's already so smart. My little genius goddaughter" cooed Garcia. 

Percy knew from the start that her brother was going to be her daughter's godfather, and Garcia was the obvious choice for godmother. Garcia was ecstatic when they told her and immediately began spoiling Scout before she was born. She even had custom onesies made: one that was patterned to look like their bulletproof vests, one that said, "future SSA", and the one Scout was wearing that day which read "Dr. Reid III". 

"You see this room, Scout? This is where your parents first met. Neither of them will admit it, but it was totally love at first sight" Garcia whispered. Spencer and Percy exchanged a sweet glance, and Spencer wrapped his arm around her. Scout began to fuss. It was getting late, and she was probably getting tired. 

"I think that's our cue," said Percy, grabbing her little girl from Luke. Percy placed her in her carrier, giving her a little kiss before strapping her in. 

"So is it true?" asked JJ, "Are you guys really not coming back to the BAU?"

Spencer shook his head, "Percy knew she wasn't coming back, but I thought I would. But then Scout was born…" he trailed off, staring down at his daughter.  

"I can't imagine a BAU without the Reid's," Said Garcia sadly. 

"We'll miss you guys. We really will," said Emily. 

"We'll miss you guys too. We already do," said Percy. 

Hugs and tears were exchanged as Spencer and Percy left the conference room. They held hands as they walked through the office, Scout's carrier held tightly in Spencer's other hand. 

Percy stopped as they walked past their old desks. Once full of books and papers, now empty, ready for a new agent to start their journey. She smiled as she thought of the memories that filled the room. Spencer was having a hard time leaving as well. His life had revolved around this job for so many years, he didn't know what it would be like after he left. They were leaving for Scout, the best possible reason to leave, but that didn't make their exit painless. 

Scout released another quiet cry, and they both knew it was really time to go. They walked into the elevators. They waved at their old team one last time before the elevator doors closed.

There's nowhere you can be that isn't where You're meant to be It's easy.

{2009, 05x09 "100"} The sun had gone down long ago, but Percy still sat at her desk, digesting the events of the day. Tears had permanently stained her cheeks, and every time her mind played through the events again, more were added to her collection. There were bad days at the BAU, but nothing compared to the hell that had just occurred. 

The team stayed at Hotch's home for as long as they could. But Hotch needed time alone with his son to mourn Haley. There was only so much the team could offer. 

Percy had come back to the BAU only ten minutes earlier. She was just going to grab her purse and keys and head home, but she couldn't move. She didn't want to go back alone, just her and the remnants of the day. 

She heard the elevator doors ding and quickly wiped away her tears. It was Spencer, coming back to collect his things so he could go home. He sat in his seat, holding his head in his hands. 

Percy stood up, grabbing her things, and forcing herself to leave. She needed to face the silence and pain eventually. As she left, she stopped at his desk. "Are you okay?" she asked him quietly. 

He shook his head slightly, looking up at her, "Are you?"

She bit her lip, looking at him one last time before walking away. 

She wanted to stay, to wrap herself in his arms. She knew she would feel safe in his arms. But she kept walking. 

Spencer watched her walk away. Why did she have to leave? Why couldn't she just stay with him forever? He knew that everything would feel better if she was still there with him. 

Percy made it home. She sat in her kitchen, staring at the tabletop. What was going to happen now? Percy knew all too well what Hotch and Jack were going through, and it tore her apart. 

There was a knock at the door, and Percy opened the door. 

"Spencer? What are you doing here?" she asked. 

He stood there, so nervous that his hands shook, "I can't do this anymore," 

"What?" Percy asked, confused. 

"I can't keep pretending that there isn’t something here. Not any longer. What if you die and I never get to tell you? What if nothing ever happens because I was too afraid?" he was rambling, and Percy could swear that she could see tears forming in his eyes. 

"What do you mean 'if I die'? Spencer, nothing is going to happen to me," she reassured. She was so overwhelmed by his sudden outburst of emotion. Spencer was never like this.

"You can't know that, Percy. Haley was in Witness Protection, and Foyet still got to her. If WitSec couldn't do it, how are we supposed to protect the ones we love?" As soon as he said it, he froze. Now he could no longer pretend that his feelings for her didn't exist. 

"Love?" Percy choked out. Was this actually happening or was this her imagination playing a cruel trick on her. 

Spencer fumbled over his words, trying to piece together the perfect sentence that would explain all of the love in his heart, "I…I…"

"I'm in love with you," Percy said, the words escaping past her lips before her mind had a chance to stop them.

The look on Spencer's face was one she'd never forget. It was a look of shock, of relief, and joy. 

Percy could no longer contain her tears, "You're right Spence. You're absolutely right. What if I lost you and never had a chance to tell you that I love you?" 

He just stood there, staring at her.

"Say something. Please, Spence," 

Spencer grabbed her face, kissing her with forceful passion. At first, Percy was shocked, her eyes wide open and her arms held in the air. But soon, she leaned into the embrace, running her fingers through his hair. 

They pulled apart, breathing heavy. 

"Is it safe to assume you feel the same?" she joked, pressing her forehead against his. 

He nodded, pulling her in closer, "Since the day I met you, I knew,"

The kissed again before Percy pulled back once more. 

"Do you…do you want to come inside?" she teased. 

He smiled, "I thought you would never ask"

All you need is love, love Love is all you need

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[ancientbrit]

Natter #1   05/31/2020

Subject: MI MG Natter #1 2020 (another off topic) I suppose that I have always had an interest in mechanical objects As a kid, my folks bought me things that went around when you did certain things, such as light a flame under a boiler, pour sand into a hopper or pour water into a hole. Either that or I could take items from a box to build things (Meccano and Arkerecto). When I was starting at Grammar school in 1944, bikes were the big thing and I wanted to build my own - just couldn't see anything I liked that was pre-built at a price I thought I could (eventually) afford. I took on two paper routes (rounds in the UK) one in the early morning and one in the afternoon to raise the funds, but it was taking a long time. I was therefore delighted when our next-door neighbor, Walter Woodward asked me if I would be interested in helping him on Saturdays at the small engineering company he and his cousin owned This was something I had been angling for for ages and truth be told I would have worked with him for nothing, but I had to admit that the additional funds would move the bike project right along.The company specialty was a giant blow lamp that was used by the railways and was also exported to Russia where the huge soft flame was directed at rail lines to thaw frozen points.

I loved these Saturdays and learned something about gas welding, turning and threading on a lathe, forming steel tube into coils and on. All very much pleasurable to me.

Eventually, when I had amassed sufficient funds, I had the frame custom built to my specs  at “Claude Butler” and it was a thing of beauty, it really was. The ancillaries came along bit by bit over time, but the wait was worth it and it finally hit the road in 1948, the year of the first Olympics following WW2. I went everywhere on that beautiful machine, visiting Youth Hostels all over the country, cycling to school, training runs most nights and weekends and just cycling for the pure pleasure of it.

My first job after school was disappointing. I had interviewed for two jobs in London. One was with an engineering company (interview went well) The other was with an Insurance company which I knew I didn't want nor need as the first interview had been so great. I remember seeming to be a bit flippant during the interview with the insurance manager. A ten-day wait brought two letters, one from each company. I opened the engineering company's letter first, preparing to luxuriate in the good news. I was therefore gutted to see that although they were impressed they really couldn't see their way clear to taking me on, when I would be in the army, navy, or air force for my National Service stint within the year. They just couldn't afford to train me when there was a good chance that I wouldn't return to them after my discharge in three years' time. I accepted the Insurance job with regret, but it did pay - sort of - and with my first month's salary I bought my first wristwatch - an Oris from Watches of Switzerland which served me well. I still have it.

It was only a basic mechanical watch and not an automatic - they were way too expensive, but I was fascinated with their designs. All those tiny, intricate parts working together and adopting your body movements to keep the mainspring at an almost constant pressure hands-off - wonderful, especially if it was a skeleton watch with much of the face and/or back pared away so that all the working parts could be observed - working. The Oris and I moved all over Great Britain and the Middle East from Gibralter, Egypt , Iran, The Persian Gulf to Sharjah and Dubai (this was before oil was discovered) and Amman in Jordan with no problems. Following my discharge three years later I went into engineering school, following which a variety of jobs were undertaken, mostly in research which fascinated the heck out of me. Eventually, all these experiences took me to London again working on the wing design of the Lockheed C5-A, which then led me to the Lockheed plant outside Atlanta.This was a short contract to marry our wing design to the fuselage designed at Lockheed itself. When this ended Jean and I sailed home on the original Queen Elizabeth from New York.

When we arrived home, Jean presented me with a beautiful Omega Seamaster DeVille day/date watch in stainless steel, which I had seen on board and drooled over.  But the price seemed too much, bearing in mind that going through Customs at Southampton would elevate the price heavily, to a point which I couldn't afford. Jean has never given me the merest inkling of what she had paid for it, although I had a fair idea. She would also not tell me how she had spirited it through Customs either. We went through Customs together and there was never a mention of the watch. Naturally I was over the moon. This watch in stainless was ideal. I have no interest in gold watches, after all a watch is designed to tell the time and the huge extra cost for the gold is a total waste - to me anyway. My London company (CDI) had no further work in England for us, but they did have a contract to work on the Boeing 747 and so back we came. But we had only been back for a couple of months when tragedy struck!I had been to Safeway to do a weekly shop, but when I returned home my Omega hadn't made it with me. I roared back to Safeway but of course, my watch had not been handed in and I never saw it again. Even the insurers robbed me. When I sent in the claim form they came up with some cock and bull story which I accepted like an idiot. I certainly wouldn't let it go today. And so started a long period with el cheapo watches as a form of self-flagellation for allowing myself to be so taken.There were a few electronic watches and finally Jean bought me a great Seico electronic, which allowed me to split-time races, to a gnats whisker, and all whilst sitting on the bottom of the ocean had I so desired. I have worn it every day; every day that is until two days ago when the battery ran out!. Even if I could have removed the back (which I couldn't) I am sure that I wouldn't have a suitable battery. It was driving me nuts, still wearing the watch and glancing at it several times a day and seeing that it was still 10:20! So what to do? I started to look through drawers and any place I could think of that might hold another watch. These did surface but they were all electronic and of course, all their batteries were shot too.  Somewhere my old, original mechanical Oris was resting, but just where I had no idea and wasting more time didn't bring it to light. But what I did discover quite by chance was my Dad's old watch that his friends at work had given him on his 60th birthday in 1960. I know the date is correct as the back was engraved:- "To Joe from the boys of the GWTPO 19-6-60" I don't know where the Joe name came from as he was Gilbert Leonard, but then again I had collected a few myself when I was in the RAF, such as Guss and Zeke - both explainable - but some time later! The GWTPO is short for the Great West Traveling Post Office which was a special train that ran from Paddington station in London to Plymouth in the West Country, leaving London around 9 pm and arriving in Plymouth by breakfast time. Dad had run this train and others ever since he got out of the Royal Navy in 1947. This train comprised a great steam locomotive which Dad had taken me to see years earlier when I was young and impressionable - and I was. Seeing that beautiful piece of mechanical equipment with the paintwork smartly gleaming and the brass and copper all burnished, sitting there panting with a slow mist of steam emanating from various ports and oh that smell of hot oil and steam  - what more could you want? So very evocative. The engine driver so confidentally leaning out from the cab , backlit from the yellow/orange flames from the open firebox made him look other wordly as he smiled at all the mere mortals below. So evocative. The loco pulled a collection of special coaches which were set up to allow the crews to sort mail on the move. At certain stations, there would be a sort of gallows at trackside from which would be hung a sack of mail. On the side of one of the coaches would be a special net and as the train sped through the night the net would pick up the mail sack without slowing down. This system worked beautifully for years, with others running to all the different areas of the country from Lands End to John O'Groats The mail was sorted on the run and was all ready for distribution on arrival. The system was started in the Post Office's glory days when they could guarantee that a letter posted before midday would be delivered anywhere in the country by first delivery (9 am) the following day. I said first delivery as there were three deliveries every day back then. The only exceptions were deliveries to outlying Islands or places way out in the back of beyond where deliveries were by horseback frequently.

Admittedly I now have to exercise like mad once a day to wind the watch, but It started right off the bat and it hadn't run since Dad passed away at 94 in 1989. The TPO system was shut down only a few years ago when it was found to be simpler to truck mail everywhere, but to get to this stage, mailings had to be cut to a single daily delivery  and with no guaranteed delivery by first post following posting before midday the previous day either.- progress will out I suppose!

The very last run was quite an emotional affair and Dad would have loved to have been there as would I. It had massive coverage in the press and I still have newspapers of the day with the reports and pictures. Another one of those old familiar and loved functions that have gone forever. Stay safe - perhaps we will meet again in the not too distant future. YFLGordon

[familyvisionis2020]

Day 4 - Athens (2 of 2)

I was able to sleep blissfully, majestically, and woke up around 10 feeling drowsy but refreshed. I sit up in bed and the first thing I see is Kabir’s smiling face, he says ‘Rise and Grind’ like he always does and Royal says ‘let’s get this bread’ and the day has started. In the daylight the giant purple house we’re staying in is even more whimsical and palatial seeming. There are rocking horses on top of the shelves in the house, hanging decorative bulbs and a campy chandalier and ornate decorations in a transom in the hallway and wrought iron fixtures with silver perforated globes mounted like torches outside the front door and a complicated antique triple-bell thing  for a door bell and more chrome globes hanging from the porch ceiling that look like metal lace and whose purpose is unclear to me, stained glass and a 6 foot, ten=-tubed windchime, several hanging swings on the porch, iron patio furniture and a rusty gate and a giant log of pine driftwood suspended from cables and an enormous rusted bell that still dongs and a trellis of ivy and a big boat propeller and something that looks like a 12 foot long abbacus and a half a purple wagon wheel and a huge white vase that looks like white China with blue coi and aquarium scene decorations, a big stone dragon head with highly detailed scales and a cove in the back of its head that allows you to put a middle size candle inside of the head such that when you light it its eyes will appear to flicker from the front, several of those shiny reflective globe spheres, one patterned in swirls like a bowling ball, and tons of plants and small trees andshards of sculpture concrete and folk kitschworks and little benches and birds everywhere and a bicycle wheel weathervane and pinwheel and just generally kooky stuff and its so so homey and lush and expansive and calm here. There are two cats whose name I dont know who live here and a dog whose name is Cocoa but who Royal calls Stanly for no apparant reason which is his humor which I love. 

I take a bird bath and we head across the street to the coffee shop, Donderos’ which is architectuarlly quite similar to the house we are staying in actually, its a big old victorian house, pale-rufous salmon-coral siding with dull cream accents, a high gable and new black roofing, and rather than eing surrounded by an enormous wraparoudn porch like our place, it’s surrounded by an asphalt parking lot that itself is surrounded by a stone block retaining wall and hearty wild rosemary. We set up camp inside the cafe for the first part of the day, we all order food, people get grits and a thing called a gritboat and fried potatoes that are like homefries except perfect little rectangular prisms rather than cubes and different sorts of eggs, lots of coffee, I drink yerba mate again instead. I plug in my phone and laptop, check my law school statuses using an automated aggregator and find out that my application to University of Florida Law has gone under its second review which is neither a good nor a bad sign necessarily, just means it’s being actively reviewed, I add this data point to a website to collect law school admissions data points and then eat breakfast. I put so much butter and raspberry jam in my grits that I almost feel like I overdid it. 

Kabir and Jeremy are thinking through the status of the tour out loud; in light of the extreme emergency situation that Covid is turning out to be, in light of the pressure Kabir feels from the women in his family to not tour, in light of the handful of venues and bands that have cancelled or dropped from bills on our tour, and in light of the cost-benefit analysis of traveling another 1600 miles through the midwest and back again, in light of the possibility of being cancelled if we continue to heedlessly transmit ourselves like vectors (I have been jokingly calling the band ‘Family Vector’ rather than Family Vision) perhaps healthy or at least symptomless but mobile pathogens, in light of all this there’s just a preponderance of reasons not to keep the full tour on, and between Jeremy and Kabir with some input from John, the decision to severely truncate/abridge the tour solidifies like jello in a sad fridge. I’m actually careful not to give much input in the decision making process here, I have mixed feelings about the ethics of continuing to tour but am honestly not bothered as much from a principled public health standpoint as I am from like selfishly wanting to just have free time in my apartment in Chapel Hill to lay around and maybe read and write and walk around and do yoga and be alone and enjoy quality quarantine quarantime at home and maybe even spend time in person with someone I like who I mostly only ever email whose hand I want to hold who I want to watch scary movies with and talk about feelings with, talk about feelings in a way that for all the lovely blissful amazing things my friends in the band are to me, we don’t hardly talk about feeings much at all. Or actually more likely just don’t talk about feelings in this one particular intense vulnerable type of way that I honesty avoid lost of the time but also like crave to do around someone I feel tender and safe when they’re nearby. Anyways. So I am intentionally passive in the decision making and I think all the reasons they factor in are germane and their reasoning sound and accede to the decision to cut the tour short, the plan now is to play again tonight in Athens at the same place, Buvez, then head out to Huntsville Alabama tomorrow, take a break in Nashville for a day, then play our final show in Louisville Kentucky before driving the van back to Chapel Hill. I offer to give Jeremy a ride back to Ridgewood Queens from NY in an effort to be kind and of service and of use and to share a resource in a situation where, mercifully but somewhat troublingly I have very little asked of me and very little to offer: Kabir and Jeremy have done the lion’s share of the planning, have volunteered to do the driving (and are very good at doing the driving), and so the sort of soft imperative in my life to find a way to be helpful, to be of service, as a mechanism of maintaining sanity and spiritual fitness feels a bit atrophied. So it makes me happy when Jeremy says he will take me up on that offer, and I am glad I am the type of person nowadays to offer a thing like that. 

After the logistics are tamped down and tidied we breakdown our various electronics and head to the park which is maybe 300 feet down the street, which is outfitted with polished granite chessboards, baggies of pieces stowed in ziplocks in a small compartment nearby, and also outfitted with a massive polished granite slab made to be a ping pong table, with a metal divider rather than a net. Kabir wants to play me in chess and I almost say no, worrying that the ugly part of my competitive spirit may take over, but I decide to say yes and we play, and the game goes quick, standard queen’s pawn opening but then an early blunder by Kabir puts me on the offensive and rather than try to maneuver back into control of the center and winning chances, which I’m absolutely sure he could’ve done, he just concedes after about 5 minutes and that’s that. I have language for chess even though I haven’t played more than 10 games in the last 10 years because for awhile in 2016-2018 I would put on lectures by chess grandmasters on youtube to calm me down and to fall asleep. I think I picked up some general strategic understanding too. Kabir tells me one time he scholar’s mated his dad and his dad got so furious he almost flipped the table. Kabir will remark later that his dad, a published author and consummate professional writer who logs a minimum of 1,000 words a day, that he is learning the only thing that can shake his dad is a global pandemic, that he’s never seen his dad this worried. Me and John play chess next, it’s a very close game and John stays ahead in material the entire game although I put him on the backfoot early and kept momentum with a string of nuisance checks that I think demoralizes him a little and although he won’t resign and fights tooth and nail until checkmate he keeps saying he should have resigned. I don’t actually know how to checkmate him properly so I use a passed pawn and only with two queens can manage to finish the game. We play a second time, for a long time, and it’s very close again, and I manage to eke out a win, and John is done. And Kabir comes over with his book of The Best of Wednesday New York Times Crosswords edited by Will Shortz and explains that these are medium-difficult and that Saturday, not Sunday is the most difficult, Sunday is Thursday difficulty, just longer. He lays the puzzle down on the chessboard, I notice the crossword puzzle and chessboard are the same shapes and pattern more or less, and I make a joke in a loud Brooklyn-style accent that all I need is black and white squares on a grid and I’m happy. I get a laugh and that makes me feel good and I feel like a smart winner also and I feel smarter looking for clues together with John and Kabir and the weather is breezy and warm and I’m extremely happy just playing and relaxing, glad Kabir wants to play things with me, delighted to see not every game turns me into a monster.

We meet up with Noah, the person whose house we are staying at, and we all pile in the big maroon van and head to the State Botanical Gardens of Georgia. Noah without prompting assumes the role of tour guide, takes the reins and play acts that we are tourists following him, chides us for straggling, tells us to stay with the group, curates our experience. I love this, Kabir can be like this too, a man making decisions in a way that does not feel constricting or cruel or vindictive or violent, just a gentle assertion to let some expert knowledge shine through, which Noah has a lot of; I will learn later today that he is in the process of composing a thesis or dissertation about 19th century literature which focuses on the description of plants as a lens through which to assess and survey that literature, so his knowledge of plants is vaster than I knew. He takes us through the indoor greenhouse garden at first which is dense with lush tropical plants and hundreds of orchids. He explains how orchids used to be rare and expensive commodities, I mention how orchi- is the prefix for testicles and that orchids are named their name because the unflowered bulbs resemble testes. Kabir points at Noah and says ‘FACTS.’ We see a cacao plant, a coffee plant, a vanilla plant, dozens of fragrant flowers which each of the boys stops and politely smells, one by one, so adorable, a very tender stroll. We get a band picture together which Kabir explains will be captioned with a notification that our tour will be canceled. Noah continues to usher us through the verdant corridors, we see a banana plant with leaves taller than me up on a balcony, I think it’s the biggest leaves on a plant I’ve ever seen. There’s muscodine grapes on the ground, i split one open for the boys to smell, they put their faces close to my hand and trust me not to fuck with them, which I don’t. We are in super high spirits, everyone is enjoying themselves. Noah collects us and guides us outside where we enter the massive sylvan grounds of the Botanical Garden proper. Everyone is doing bits about the different plants. I see Spathiphyllums and mention to Noah Swingin’ Spathiphyllums from Mort Garson’s Plantasia, and in response he just hums the tune of the song, which I love. Royal goes and lays on a gigantic rock. We read the placards, tease out etymologies, reference colonial plant histories, see the real life versions of plants like Gingko Biloba and Agave and probably 40 varieties of thyme in the Physic plant section and honey garlic and rosemary and tarragon and lavender and ginger and turmeric and acer palmatum and quercus alba and nephroleptis exaltata, all scientific names I remember from high school horticulture, and so so many other kinds of plants it’s hard to remember them all. 

I looked up a list and I’m putting of the ones I remember of them here because to me their name is so beautfiul Anise Hyssop, Arkansas Blue Star, Summer Snapdragon, Buttefly Weed, Rain Lily, Wild Indigo, Crossvine, Million Bells, Athens Sweetshrub, Begonias, American Hornbeam, Japanese Plum Yew, Forest Pansy, Lavender Redbud, Fringetree, Old Man’s Beard, Summersweet Clethra, Coleus, Dogwood, Bath’s Pink Dianthus, Spurge, Mt. Airy Fothergilla, Hardy Geranium, Lenten Rose, Coral Bells, Swamp Hibiscus, Hydrangeas, Inkberry, Ornamental Sweet Potato, Crape Myrtles, Pink Loropetalum, Little Gem Magnolia, Dawn Redwood, Blackgum, Firespike, Fragrant Tea Olive, Phlox, Plectranthus Variegated Japanese Solomons’ Seal, Overcup Oak. Admiral Semmes Azalea, Sacred Lily, Drift Roses, Creeping Raspberry, Three Lobed Coneflower, Double Daffodils, Lady in Red Salvia, Blue Anise Sage, Bald Cypress, Confederate Jasmine, Georgia Blue Veronica, Snowball Viburnum, Chastetree, Amethyst Falls Wisteria.

We find a massive terraced zone with close-cropped fescue like a carpet and a long stone staircase, rectangular hedges capping bluffs of each 8 foot drop, a single concrete obelisk, some statuary, polished stainless steel gate structures, millions of flowers and plants arranged in tidy geometric grids. More than one person, and not just from the boys in the band, mentions that this place reminds them of the film Midsommar, and I agree, the light is bright but not saturated yet the way it gets in summer, so it has a similar sickly kalediscopic sheen to the movie’s colorscape. Noah traipses down the many staircases to a stone stage at the central of the terraced court and starts doing a bizarre interpretative dance that is a little balletic and a little frenetic, eventually he kind of stage dives into a shrub and falls before loping back to us, which we and other tourists respond to with polite applause. He then bounces up and down with me such that our heads are just popping up into the line of sigh tof the boys at the higher level, and we do that for a few minutes and it’s silly and fun. I suggest to Noah that we do yoga on the lawn and he immediately takes his socks off and starts corraling the wililng among the bands to do yoga, it ends up being me Kabir and John, Noah has the right lilt and cadence in his voice to make for a very plausible yoga teacher and he knows a few flows and postures and leads us in a pretty decent 25-ish minute session. Mostly I’m quiet and avoid making jokes and do my best to enjoy the physical benefits of the yoga, but at one point I say “my kundalini energy is through the roof right now’ in a thick mock southern accent which I think is hilarious and Kabir too. Kabir does a bit later where he says ‘come to find out, you simulated your love for me!’ in his thick syrupy southern joke drawl which is a quote from a 1982 song by french coldwave duo Deux which is exceedingly funny to me when I hear it. The sun is hot and someone, I think Paul from Tired Frontier, says ‘first sweat of 2020.’ It does feel like spring switched on the minute I left town, which is such a warm and lovely feeling.

We finish up yoga, gather the boys and Noah suggests we go to the grocery store to get a giant can of beans, some tomatoes, a red onion, a ripe avocado, two jalapenos, and a bunch of cilantro, and two bags of tortilla chips, and make a raw, unpureed bean dip and feast together, which is exactly what we do. I dust bits of dried grass off Kabir’s back that he picked up doing yoga. I do something very close to brunois on both the red onions and jalapenos, not quite the 1/8th inch industry standard but not far off, Noah praises my knife skills. We all devour the huge bowl of dip super quick and between me Jeremy Kabir John and Noah eat all those chips and all the dip in about 10 minutes, and we work further on the crossword puzzle. Jeremy eats a $1 tin of sardines and then goes to take a nap. We just sit out on the porch in the sun and vibe for a couple hours, idle conversation, i nearly fall asleep, but then rally and manage to type a ton on my computer and feel happy to be consistent blogging. 

We make it to the venue, Buvez again, and the rest of the night is basically identical to the night before, except this time Polly’s Gone is their usual selves, Surface to Air Missive, they sound almost exactly like The Shins, they play a short set. Jeremy talks to the lead guy, Taylor, and tells me Taylor said ‘yeah we’re just trying to be The Shins,’ Kabir says ‘that guitarist is incredible’ which is saying a lot because I think he’s incredible and has tons of techinical and theoretical and practical expertise. We play second instead of third this time, play a smaller set too, don’t do any joke songs, play to basically an empty room save the guys in the other bands, it’s fine, super breezy, zero pressure, fun, inconsequential. Tired Frontier plays, does some funny Covid-related banter, their set is basically identical to the set the night before. We all hang out on the picnic tables outside the cafe, all ten guys in all three bands, they share stories about getting caught smoking weed as a teenager and epic house parties and getting grounded and dumb stuff like that, and this time I’m happy to sit and put my feet up right in the middle of the conversation, shoulder to shoulder with Royal who is drinking a beer from a rocks glass and Kabir who’s smoking a Turkish Silver, looking at Taylor who yesterday I kind of thought was maybe too cool for us but who now has a kind of reluctant smile in this cute way that reminds me of how my dad smiles, a man used to being austere and stoic and foreboding belied by a cheerful time. The venue people bring out $60 in cash and Taylor tells us and Tired Frontier to split it between ourselves, a very classy move from the leadman of the hometown band, Kabir says if you ever need a show in the Triangle hit me up I got you. Taylor goes home, the Buvez people are bringing in the outdoor furniture again, we breakdown and load out together, everybody helps with everything (like not just drummer gets drums bassist gets bass and bass amp, rather everybody just gets everything) and that feels kind, I love how easy being decent comes to the boys in this band, I feel like every shred of decency and kindness I can muster feels sourced politically or has had been inserted in me only after being pryed open by the crowbar of desperation or like postulated but not fully embodied during therapy or the result of very direct counter-intuitve habit building and coaching and mentoring and although that’s hard for me, materially right now I am matching them, I’m decent too, I am a decent person among decent people, I can live without constantly lying and shoplifting and fantasizing about the next petty crime or act of vandalism I will execute to vindicate an image of elegant, thoughtfully erratic antipathy for authority I was always trying to curate and cultivate in the eyes of my peers. Anyways, everything’s fine, Royal suggests we go to a bar and Kabir uses his casual power as frontman to say no which is something I know he’s doing for him and for me and I deeply appreciate that. 

We go downtown in Athens and look for a chinese spot that ends up being closed and then wander into a diner where there’s kids in prom outfits settling up their bills with the hostess as we get seated. John marvels at this weird coca cola ad thing that has a big bottle tilted down with a rotating helictical metal piece the color of coke that makes a pretty plausible optical illusion of liquid pouring into a cup below. Kabir tells stories about his old bands, Sister David, Docking, Reynolds, a bit they used to due during live shows where they’d mix in ‘I’ve Got a Feeling’ by Black Eyed Peas to their spartan angular No-Wave set which we all agree is brilliant, wish we could’ve seen that. I scarf the huge plate of fries i order and basically drink the extra cup of ranch i ordered, it’s fantastic, I love how hungry i feel after playing shows, I share my fries with Jeremy. The Tired Frontier guys show up last minute and we rendezvous briefly before heading home. Not much else happens other than me spending like 15 minutes with the dog Cocoa gaining its trust and comforting it for the purpose of getting her to stop barking, which works and is very calming. I eat an apple and peanut butter out the jar by myself in the kitchen and I do not feel the need to be reading or looking at my phone while i do it, which is rare and very special. I take my medicine, plug in my headphones, and go to sleep.

[sa21-group2-canoodles-blog]

shooting for the moon.

By Jake Advincula

Masculinity is a topic difficult for me to broach, since it’s such a big part of who I am and seeps its way into many aspects of my identity. I suppose I’ll start with basketball.

It’s the year 2006, and an eight-year old Jake Advincula steps onto the Loyola Heights basketball court, nervous and awkward. He’s clutching a special basketball that’s brightly-colored and smaller than the ones all the other boys are using (who, for the record, are almost all taller, thinner and more athletic).

But wait! Jake tries his best to shoot, and… he misses! Such a disgrace to his parents, who paid a lot of money for that clinic! One of the worst plays of the season, folks. Stay tuned for a message from our sponsors.

This is what it felt like for me as a kid. I was always pressuring myself to be masculine, as part of my being competitive and a perfectionist. Not having realized my sexual orientation yet at that point, I presumed myself to be a “normal” straight boy who was just effeminate and ineffectual at sports - I was therefore, a failure in my own eyes.

My parents love me very much and I love them very much as well. They supported me, and wanted what was best for me by putting me into the normal male activities for boys my age. But sometimes, as a kid, I resented them for “forcing” me to do these things: for some reason, I couldn’t seem to bring myself to fit in, no matter how hard I tried. I was fundamentally different, and according to my stratified worldview, this meant I was either better than everyone or worse than everyone, and I couldn’t afford to be the latter. This was overwhelming pressure for any child, and yet it didn’t come from my parents - at least, not directly - it came from myself. In a way, I was my own oppressor, my worst bully and my biggest critic. I was so hard on myself, I’d bring myself to tears almost every session of that particular basketball clinic (among others I attended).

Things were worse at school, once the summer ended. Some of my more masculine batchmates, being the basketball lovers they were, indulged in the perks of masculinity, such as confidence and a sense of intrinsic superiority. Of course, this was all in my head - even now, I can’t be all too sure of my own perspective of events due to them being so heavily skewed by my emotions.

Getting back to my batchmates, the better at basketball they were, the more confident and masculine they became. This annoyed me - they derived esteem from the one thing I wasn’t good at. Being an overachiever as a child, it caused me great anguish to not be good at the one thing that seemed to matter to practically all my peers. At school as well, I experienced pressure to conform and be masculine, and kind of internalized this pressure. I apply this pressure even up to now, so it’s quite therapeutic to look back and everything and write this all down.

To cope with all this, I decided to be good at everything my oh-so-macho batchmates weren’t. I put my energies into academics, which benefitted me - I got approval from my parents, and had a temporary sense of accomplishment at doing something my batchmates couldn’t. This compensation for my insecurity probably contributed to my academic drive right now, and while it’s still beneficial (I’m currently writing this wide awake at 3 in the morning) it can also hurt me in the long run. By turning everything into a competition, I was prevented from forming healthy male friendships with my batchmates, who probably weren’t malicious since the beginning, and so I’m not socially healthy in that respect. I still have this subconscious resentment of masculine guys (albeit tempered by attraction to them, haha) because I, on some level, feel that they’re naturally able to do something I can’t, which is fit into a heteronormative society.

I suppose that, despite my apparent confidence as an openly LGBT person, there are still things I have yet to accept about myself. Sure, I like making jokes about my sexuality and how it makes me fabulous, but there still exists within me a deep-seated insecurity regarding my masculinity. Going back to basketball, I resented that everyone seemed to be naturally good at something I had to struggle and work hard to be good at. Basketball was, for me, an impossible task.

Of course, this perspective was all wrong. Basketball is supposed to be fun, casual, and a way to connect with other men - sort of like masculinity. To cope with my insecurity, I outright rejected the notion of masculinity once I realized I wasn’t heterosexual - society’s rule of “you have to be straight” didn’t apply to me, so why did the others have to?

Again, this was another wall I put up to protect my fragile ego. Just recently I’ve decided to rediscover masculinity on my own terms. I genuinely want to make meaningful male friendships, and learn basketball as something fun instead of an obligation. I want to choose to be masculine, not be forced to be so. Hopefully, this is the right step to take in terms of my personal development.

I suppose I’ll have to inject some academic analysis into this somehow. Basketball in the Philippines plays into Bordieu’s concept of habitus - a shared disposition or action that is widespread amongst a population. For men in the Philippines, playing basketball is our habitus - even given the rise in popularity of soccer a few years ago, basketball continues to be the most popular sport in the Philippines (I mean, just look at the ticket lines whenever there’s an ADMU-DLSU game in UAAP). I’m running out of words, so I suppose I’ll wrap this up with some key realizations:

I don’t necessarily have to be masculine, regardless of my sexuality

Despite this, I can still choose to be masculine on my own terms

I shouldn’t give into the pressures of society

There’s a lot more I could say about masculinity, but I suppose that’s for another time - my relationship with my more masculine family members, namely my dad, my grandfather and my cousin - are all colored by my insecurities. Although I suppose everything in my life is colored by my insecurities right now as well, which is all the more reason why I have to make efforts to surpass them.

Sources:

Swartz, D. (2002). The Sociology of Habit: The Perspective of Pierre Bourdieu. The Occupational Therapy Journal of Research. 61-69

[paigewritestrash-blog]

Terrible Things - Kagami Taiga x OC

This is my first post on this account woo! This au was inspired by the song Terrible Things by Mayday Parade.

Warnings: angst

"By the time I was your age, I'd give anything To fall in love truly, was all I could think That's when I met your mother, the girl of my dreams The most beautiful woman, that I'd ever seen." Another usual and exhausting day at practice. Or so I thought, when I saw her walk in with coach. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and it stopped at the middle of her back. Her bright green eyes caught me off guard, and I had to do a double take. She's gorgeous. I feel a sudden pain in my head, and the basketball bounces to the floor. "Kagami-kun, what is your problem?" Kuroko asks. But he follows my gaze to the girl, and sighs. He jabs me in the side. "Go talk to her." I punch him in the side. "No way! Who do you think I am?" I cry out. She's out of my league. The thought of talking to her makes my stomach do flips. I've never been this nervous, not even during basketball games. "I'm too nervous, anyways." I sigh. Kuroko wears a small grin. "That's a shame." I raise a brow. "She's coming over here." Kuroko pats me on the shoulder and smiles. "Good luck." "Oi, Kuroko! Wait-" He walks over to Kiyoshi, leaving me a sweaty mess as the beautiful girl walks over to me, wearing a smile that makes my heart race. "Riko tells me you need help learning how to use your left hand." Her voice is like music to my ears. I can feel my face getting hot. "Um, y-yeah, I do." I scratch the back of my neck nervously. She smiles. "It's nice to meet you, Kagami. I'm Felicity." Her American accent slips through when she says her name. "You're American?" I ask. Felicity nods. "My dad and I moved here in middle school." She picks up a basketball on the ground and spins it on her left hand index finger. "I played a lot of basketball there." She winks. "Thus why I'm going to teach you to use your left hand better." Felicity dribbles the ball and then dribbles it back and forth between each hand. She then turns to face the other half of the court from where we stand, at free throw line. She shoots with her left hand, yet I can't watch the ball. I can't take my eyes off of her. 

"She said, "Boy can I tell you a wonderful thing? I can't help but notice, you're staring at me. I know I shouldn't say this, but I really believe, I can tell by your eyes that you're in love with me." Now, son, I'm only telling you this Because life can do terrible things."

She looks at me and flashes me a smile. My heart flutters and I feel hot. "Can I tell you a wonderful thing?" She asks. I nod, not sure what to expect. "I can't help but notice the way you're staring... I know I shouldn't say this, but I can tell by your eyes that you're in love with me." I think my heart stopped beating completely. My face is burning up and I can't say anything. Felicity simply smiles at me again, her cheeks red too. "It's okay if you are. I don't mind." She winks and runs off to the other side of the court to get the ball she shot. I run my fingers through my hair and heave a sigh. Get it together, you're being too obvious. I'd be lying if I said Felicity isn't a good teacher. She made me play a game of one on one only dribbling with my left hand, which she dominated me at. As she predicted, that made me work harder. By the end of the night, even after everyone had left hours before, she had taught me how to switch hands in the air when I dunk. "You did great today!" Felicity exclaims. "Once you learn something, you perfect it very easily." She takes her hair out of her ponytail and shakes it, her long hair flowing to the waistline of her skirt now. I give her a shy smile. I can't stop staring at her. Every time I look at her and then look away, I want more. I can't help but be entranced by every movement she makes. Every word that comes out of her mouth is beautiful and I have to tell myself to snap out of it before I become a flustered mess. No one has ever made me feel this way... "Thank you." I say. "It helps when I have an amazing teacher, too." Her cheeks get red and she smiles. "Since I worked you pretty hard, what do you think about me buying you dinner?" I smile. "Dinner sounds nice. But you don't have to pay." I can't make her pay for my meal, what kind of gentleman would that make me seem like? I may not be good at romance, but I do know that the guy usually pays for the girl. Or at least that's what I learned watching romantic comedies with Alex. "Now, most of the time we'd have too much to drink And we'd laugh at the stars and we'd share everything Too young to notice, and too dumb to care Love was a story that couldn't compare."

After that night, we went on many dates afterwards. After our sixth date, we shared our first kiss, and I determined in that moment, I wanted to marry her. I wasn't one who cared about any of that, but Felicity... I want to call her my wife. And I will one day. We lay on our backs on her roof passing back and forth a bottle of alcohol. She's more of the smoking type, but due to the basketball team's drug tests, I can't. It takes a lot for me to get drunk though, and Felicity is what most would call a lightweight. Although, I don't need to be under the influence of anything to feel good when I'm around her. When she says my name, I feel at peace. "Taiga, what would you do if you won the lottery?" I think hard. "I could eat anything I wanted... And I could have all the shoes I wanted, too." "Shoes and food, that's all you care about?" She laughs. "And you, of course." I say. The longer we date, the more comfortable I get with flirting and being romantic. She moves her head to lay on my chest, and I wrap an arm around her. "If I won the lottery... I'd buy a beautiful house. One with a basketball court, a big, indoor pool..." She trails off. I can hear the smile in her voice. "I'd buy a really nice car. But one I can drive all year around, of course." She stays silent for a minute, thinking. "Oh! And I'd want my house to be fit for children." "Hm, you want kids?" I ask. I've never thought about having children, seeing as I'm only seventeen. I guess girls are different. "I do." She sighs. She doesn't have to be looking at me to tell what I'm thinking. "Don't worry, Taiga." She lets out a small giggle. "I don't want them anytime soon." Her index finger trails up and down my chest lightly. She takes a gulp from the bottle and sits up to straddle my waist, sitting on me. "I love you." Felicity smiles with her words. I know she's drunk, but I guess a drunk mind speaks the sober truth. "Saying it just makes me feel so good. I love you, Kagami Taiga!" She shouts, thrusting both hands in the air. She flops forward and her face is inches from mine. "I. Love. You." She kisses me after every word, and it makes my cheeks turn red. I laugh and swallow hard. I'm slightly buzzed, making this easier to say. "I love you, Felicity." A smile spreads across her face and she hugs me tight. She doesn't let go, she just lays on me with her arms wrapped around me. I don't question it and wrap my arms around her, too. In that moment I hold her as tight as I can. I don't want anything to happen to her. "I said, "Girl, can I tell you a wonderful thing? I made you a present with paper and string. Open with care now, I'm asking you, please. You know that I love you, will you marry me?" Now, son, I'm only telling you this Because life can do terrible things You'll learn, one day, I'll hope and I'll pray, That God shows you differently."

It's the fourth quarter of the winter cup championship game. I'm a third year now, and after this, I'll retire from basketball. After high school I'm going off to school in Tokyo with Felicity. She wants to be a teacher, and I want to become a professional basketball player, and the best player in Japan. This game is going to determine my future, and I feel the pressure as the opposing team continues to score on me. My jumps can overpower them, but it's hard when their players won't even let me jump. After walking back onto the floor after a time out, I hear a familiar voice from the silent crowd. "Kick their ass, Taiga! I believe in you!" My girlfriend waves her arms in the air, wearing a giant smile. That easily brings a smile to my face as I give my team mates one last look before taking my place on the court. The thrill of winning the winter cup again is enough to make me overflow with joy. But when I see Felicity running down the halls to congratulate me, I could burst with happiness. I feel the box in my pocket shift as she jumps onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I hug her back with as much force as she uses. "I'm so proud of you! Congratulations!" She smiles wide down at me and gives me a sloppy kiss, grabbing my face in her hands. "That last play you made, oh my God!" She exclaims. I'm not sure why, but when she watches me play it makes her... Excited. I set her down on the floor and intertwine my fingers with hers. "I know just how to celebrate. I'm treating you to dinner, and you can order as much as you want." She smiles up at me, swinging our arms as we walk. "Felicity, you don't have to-" "Taiga, don't argue, okay? You deserve this. Treat yourself." As we walk the box in my pocket keeps nagging at me. I'm so happy in this moment, I don't want to wait... I was going to do this tomorrow, but I can't help myself. I stop walking, causing Felicity to give me a confusing look. "Is something wrong?" "Of course not. Can I tell you a wonderful thing?" I let go of her hand and swallow hard, pulling the box from my pocket. Her face twists into a smile. I hand the box to her, which she stares at. It's wrapped in a bow that took me a tedious amount of time, and tries, to tie perfectly. "This was supposed to be for your birthday tomorrow, but I can't wait." "Taiga..." She whispers. "Open it with care, because I'm asking you, please," I wait for her shaky hands to open the box and reveal the ring inside before I get down on my knee. "You know that I love you so much," I try to speak strongly, but my voice falters with my nerves running wild. "Will you marry me?" She doesn't speak, she just nods rapidly through her tears and pulls me to my feet to hug me so tight air escapes my lungs. My heart still beats rapidly as I put the ring on her finger. "Oh, Taiga. You just made my night- No," She shakes her head. "My... My life! I'm so excited, we don't have to rush a thing. I'm just so happy to wear this! It's beautiful-" She talks a mile a minute, her hands around both of my arms, squeezing me tight. "I love you so much, fiance!" Felicity stands on her tip toes to kiss me. I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me. This moment is one I've only thought of a million times... Being able to say that I'm going to marry this girl, it makes me so happy words can't explain. Tears are welling in my eyes just thinking about this. My life at this moment is perfect, and I couldn't ask for anything better. "She said, "Boy can I tell you a terrible thing? It seems that I'm sick and I've only got weeks. Please, don't be sad now, I really believe, You were the greatest thing that ever happened to me."

It's been about a year and a half since we graduated high school and went off to college. We may have had a change of plans... Instead of going to school, Felicity agreed she would stay home to raise our child. She hasn't been feeling well lately, though, so the three of us bundled up to face the cold winter weather and go to the doctor. I was forced to stay in the waiting room while she got the results. Our son sleeps soundly in carrier, and I lay my head back against the wall. I hope it's nothing serious... That's all I can think about. When the door opens, I shoot my head to look to my wife, so wears a straight face. "Can I tell you a terrible thing?" Her voice is almost a whisper. My heart stops. I don't want her to say anything else, but she does. "It seems that I'm sick and I've only got weeks... Please don't be sad," She rushes over to me to cup my face in her hands so I look her in the eyes. Her face is blurred with tears that have already formed. It feels like someone dropped a two hundred pound weight on my chest and it's making it hard to breathe. "You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me." I shake my head, biting my lip. "Taiga, it'll be okay..." I shake my head again, sniffling as tears wet my cheeks. I bury my face into her torso, clutching her shirt as I let out muffled cries. "Taiga, please... I love you." Her fingers run through my hair and she rubs my back. "Let's make the most of this month. Do that for me, please?" She asks, her voice shaking as she sniffles. I nod, letting go of her to finally look at her face. I take in everything about it I can. Her beautiful black hair and sad, green eyes that usually twinkle with life. "Of course." I manage. "Let's go home." "So don't fall in love, there's just too much to lose If you're given the choice, then I beg you to choose To walk away, walk away, don't let her get you. I can't bear to see the same happen to you. Now, son, I'm only telling you this Because life can do terrible things."

I finish my story, sitting across the kitchen table from my son, who's now thirteen years old. He's asked me for years about her, and at first I ignored it, and told him I'd tell him when he got older. "So is mom in Heaven?" He asks with tears in his eyes. It breaks my heart to see him sad, but after years of giving him short answers, I realized there is no better time than now. I want him to know his mother, as I did. Remembering her as she was when we were together, it brings back that hole in my chest I felt the day she told me she was sick. It aches and makes it difficult to breathe. I nod, biting my lip. "She is. And you know where else she is?" I ask. "Where?" "She's in our memories, too." I bite my lip and exhale shakily. "She's watching both of us, and she's always with us. Remember that." He nods and gives me a small, reassuring smile. "You don't have to feel sad now, dad. It's just like you said, she's watching both of us. Plus, you always have me. We're a family." His red eyes seem solemn. My sadness has affected him all of these years. I give him a sad smile. "You're right." I sit back in my seat and heave a sigh. "I'll try to be better from now on. For you." The dull ache in my chest isn't as dark and brooding. She's always with us.