#and to those at amsterdam today: give it all for the last party for me as well

[mitamicah]

Today's entry for @kaarija-inktober is a bit different since with a prompt like community I couldn't help but draw some of my many friends I've gotten in this fandom :'3 love you all so much <333

(I have tried to keep it to people I know have shared their faces online at some point and so would - hopefully - be alright with being drawn, although if you want me to take yours down please let me know and I'd do it immediately! Also I sadly couldn't draw everybody so if you don't see yourself here it is not that I don't appreciate you as a friend, I still very much do :'D <3 )

@clovermoonspell @ninjani @j-restlessgeek

@bisonaari @carpblu @formulalakana

naimagardner97 (IG), ehaapsalo (IG), enrosagnu (IG)

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter 6- Last Christmas

Hi all! Sorry she took forever- I edited all by myself, so be gentle!

Plans change. Tickets do too, it seems. Harry's beautiful hope, his gift, it came in handy.

Not in the right way, the intended way. Not because she came to him, ran around the world or even an unfamiliar city with him. Those were dreamy ideas, when she wound up spending all of fall semester in Holmes Chapel. Those daydreams shaded the hospital walls and funeral home with sunny possibilities.

Her father had a heart attack and her mother a breakdown. It was too late, when her mother noticed he'd been out with the dog for too long and the dog was inside whining.

"I knew, in my gut. Day dawned wrong. And then never ended." She'd cried. Her mother had cried in her arms in a reversal Emma felt was way beyond her maturity level.

That hadnt been over the phone. Over the phone had only been muffled sobbing and her dad's name, "John."

Emma didn't call him John, but she could forgive her mother. It was up to her mother's good friend Di to share the news: Emma had always looked up to Di, she'd had some tragic marriage in her youth, and then decided god damned men weren't for her.

At the moment, Emma was of a similar mind.

Emma assumed she'd have a similar life to Di, had planned for it actually. Di had her own house, a thriving career as a solicitor and no children. A life like that, of her own, was Emma's dearest wish before she wished to be able to say yes to Harry.

Now she just wished her dad was still around.

There were so many plans to make, a funeral to finance and a mother to support, to put back together.

It's a wonder Emma wasn't an outright romantic, the way her parents had been, lifelong sweethearts. They still had moon eyes for each other until the very end, could be found holding hands on the couch often. Emma had come home unexpectedly early last year and found her mother sitting on the kitchen counter with her father between her legs making out like teenagers.

It was a lot to live up to.

Emma supposed it was why she kept all her heart eyes and love life in the closet and saved it all up to spend once a year. Just like an old lady's Christmas budget.

This year, she didn't think it would be happening. Harry must have had some rich person thing going on with the ticket, because the minute she decided that rather than ask her mom to buy her a ticket to get home, for the funeral, instead use the one she  had from Harry, he'd called. There was clear excitement in his voice, hot on the heels of her phone call to the airlines. It was August. He was set to embark soon, she'd just got back to Amsterdam. He must have thought she was gonna sneak in a cheeky visit.

"You're coming?"

"What?" She was so disoriented. Coming where? What was going on? Her brain was muffled with plans her feelings kept stumbling over at the knees like a trip wire.

"To see me? I got a notification you used the ticket?"

Her brain was muddled, like an egg in a hot pan, what? How did he do that? "No, Harry, umm I'm not coming. I don't even know where you are right now." She barely knew where she was.

"Whose fault is that?" There was a tiny edge to his voice that would cut her if she could even notice. "You could have answered my calls."

"Harry," she sighed, she had been avoiding him a bit. Mostly because she had an evergreen memory of his disappointed face when she told him going on tour was too much, that she simply didn't have the time. She was glad she couldn't see his face when she said the next bit. His voice was buoyant with hope, she was about to pop that balloon. "I need the ticket to go somewhere else." She couldn't bear to say it, was biting her lip hard not to think it, the liquid memory brimming anyway.

"Yeah, ok. Well, Happy Christmas I guess. See you in four months, maybe." The bitterness in his voice was like an old lemon and she didn't even have time to sweeten it with truth when his phone clicked off.

That made her resentful. How could this truth be sweet in any way? It got worse over time, the resentment just nestled among her other griefs.

Then he wouldn't answer her calls. She supposed that was giving her a taste of her own medicine and it was a quick wash down her throat with no water after the other jagged pill life had just forced down her throat.

And it didn't get better. Though, she had to scoff at herself for even having a square of heart for Harry to break leftover.

Break it did though, when she heard he had a new girlfriend, a blonde, a model, a French blonde model.

Of course.

Emma couldn't help but stalk her instagram. His was useless, ill used, so when she'd finished a day of running the house she'd been a child in while taking care of her grieving mother, she'd torture herself some more and watch stories where the beautiful blonde played in a pool, or made jokes, or showed the big mirror over her bed.

That one hurt most. She'd never seen Harry's bed, nor he hers. The little devil voice inside her head whisper shouted that he much preferred the one he was in now, with the mirror and the model to the tiny inn room they'd spent all their overnights in.

She didn't hear from him, and she never called to explain herself either. What would she say? My life fell apart and I needed your ticket, but it hurt to much to say it out loud and you were to much of an asshole to let me say it.

Harry wasn't an asshole, not really, he was hurt. Emma was stunned she had that power, though she had admitted to herself there was more between them than mistletoe kisses and holiday fucks.

She'd admitted it was more to her.

He acted like it was more to him, unless this was just a bruised ego. She didn't like to think that. Harry had every reason to have a giant head, figuratively to go with the oversized cranium he actually sported, but he'd never shown it. He was cocky at times, just enough to be sexy. All of that was a veneer over a sweet vulnerability that made everybody want to be around him, protect him, love him.

Did she love him?

No, she didn't think so, but given more time, the potential was there, like a rock at the top of a hill, all it would take was a push.

Which, time on tour with him would have been. If she could have went. Which she couldn't. She wanted to explain all of this to him as soon as she has the chance- which she would in 6 hours.

Her promises to herself were that she would not cry and that she would accept his new relationship. His real relationship. Emma would not try to touch him, or kiss him, or confess her almost love to him.

He was probably in love himself, from her internet stalks, she was halfway there, with both of them. Harry edged it out by being perfect in person. Camille, that was frenchies name, could only be half as perfect as Emma made her in her head.

"Do I wear the sweater?" She asked her reflection. She'd had to become her best friend the last six months. Emma might have called her mom her best friend, just based on time spent together, if their relationship was reciprocal, but at this turn of the road, she was supporting her mom as she grieved and got back to herself. Emma could see glimmers. She had hope.

She however wasn't sure she had hope for herself. Was she really contemplating wearing the sweater Harry gave her last Christmas to his mother's Christmas party? How pathetic was that? She was rolling her eyes at herself. He'd had a big year, and he bought lots of gifts, probably for his new girl, so her thinking he'd remember felt narcissistic.

Plus, it was her favorite, which mostly had nothing to do with the fact it was from Harry.

Emma really didn't want to go, but Gemma was expecting her. And she really needed to see her, have her support. They'd been texting, a lot. Gemma had heard about her dad and reached out. It was the only emotionally connection Emma really had, those texts, and she needed to see Gemma, honestly. Even if it meant seeing Harry.

She might have wanted to see Harry.

To explain, and maybe just to see him. Make sure he was happy, feel his warmth, steal him back.

No, that was unlikely. See if he was happy and wish him well.

She wore the sweater.

The house was cozy when she arrived, like it always was and it thawed her heart enough for it to ache a bit. For something new. Her heart ached a fair bit off and on, then went numb. It was the only way she'd survived lately. Emma knew she was putting off really feeling her major loss.

It was a strange pleasure to mourn something as minor as heartbreak.

The hug from Gemma made the trip through the snow and down memory lane worth it. And the people all around her and their laughter were invigorating.

The alcohol helped as well. Their house was pretty dry but had been especially when she started to notice her mom was unconsciously developing a bottle a day habit. When it wasn't there she didn't mention it though, so Emma didn't buy it, except for special occasions.

She was merry, and felt held. Her hand was in Gemma's. She'd stayed away from the back bathroom and the kitchen, even come in the front door.

Emma felt like she was getting away with it.

Harry wasn't there, with girlfriend in tow or not. So all her pontificating about checking on him was all for naught, and she was getting all the crosses. She certainly felt like today was a plus.

Until she heard a tone of elation issue from Anne's happy voice that only motherly joy could produce.

Harry was here.

"Fuck!" Came out of her mouth, and Gemma looked at her sharply.

"What?"

"Nothing, guess I'm jumpy, your mum's shout made me spill." Emma thought she shouted an excuse me while she hurried up the stairs to hide, find a place farthest away from Harry and his happiness. He might be alone, but if he was glowing like a brand, the way he did when they holed up together only slightly dimmed by their parting, now because of it, from some other lover, Emma couldn't stand it.

Plus, she thought she'd heard another name connected to his over her own rated r exclamation.

She was coming out of the bathroom. Emma had suppressed her tears ruthlessly and her bottom lip might bruise from the brutal teeth marks she employed. She'd have given herself some words in the mirror, affirmations helped, but what was she gonna say. "You're happy for him."

She wasn't. She was happy with him.

"Fuck this." Emma decided the only course of action was a straight line to her parents house. her mother's house, she mentally corrected and gave herself a more legitimate reason to cry than over a boy. Even if that boy was Harry Styles.

Who she barely stopped herself from running into as she kept her head down and rounded the bannister to head down the stairs.

"Jesus! You gave me a fright!" She dramatized and kept a hand over her heart and her tear stained face down.

"Emma." His voice was flat, and not cold, but the warmth that snuggled around her name was absent and she shivered. "I wondered if you'd be here." Not Hoped, she noted. "What are you doing up here? Don't your usually use the back bathroom?" There was just a bit of heat in that statement, but it didn't warm, it burned. Was he being mean, that wasn't like him? "Nice sweater." Ok, definitely mean.

Her face came up with that thought, it shocked her out of the sense of control she was exercising.

He did look hard, mean, for a moment, but soft around the edges like a melting popsicle when he caught her face.

"Are you crying?" His hand came up and he stopped it mid air before it wiped away her tear.

Emma felt her body lean into him and another tear slipped out when his warm palm and always chilly finger tips touched her cheek.

God she'd missed him! While she was bolstering her mother, she'd needed support. He was supportive, or would have been. But he wasn't taking her calls, and she couldn't bring herself to text, "my dad died". Then, it was such old news, she figured he'd have heard from Gemma.

He took his hand away like she was a hot cooktop.

He pushed his hair back off his forehead with the hand probably damp with her tears and bravely changed the subject. "How long you in town for this time? Jetting off to some climate refuge hotspot soon?"

Emma flinched. Oh- he didn't know.

"Un, no, I'm living here." She didn't elaborate, maybe saying it out loud was as hard as texting it. "I was actually just about to head home to check on my mum. The back bathroom was in use, and the cold makes me need to pee." What the fuck was she talking about, he didn't need that information.

His dimple pressed in just a bit and he went to say something, but Emma just couldn't. She couldn't look at him anymore, or tell him about why she lived there, or about the ticket he seemed to have been hurt enough to move on over. She definitely didn't want to see evidence of his movement, especially not his upgrade. "Anyway, nice to see you," the words shot out of her mouth, impresonal and true. "Bye Harry."

"Wait Emma!" She thought she heard, but she just kept going. She'd tell Gemma she was sick.

She nearly was when she saw Harry's girlfriend hugging her closest friend in the living room.

"Oh god."

Luckily, when she got home, her mum was awake and feeling chatty, not blue. Emma focused on her and the special she was watching. Let the warm sound of her mother's once common laughter wrap around her as a blanket. It was more comforting than a cup of tea.

She waited until later to cry herself to sleep.

The next day was Christmas- the first without her father. She dried her rightful tears before she saw her mom, though she would have had all the standing in the world for them and she felt better about them than those she's shed the night before. She knew though that her wet face would cause a cascade event, the first drop in a waterfall, so she dried them up.

They had traditions to get through.

And get through they did. They each wrapped a gift for her father that they left under the tree and held each other right before tucking into a late brunch and preparing a boozy and sweet laden Christmas dinner, Emma contributed the puddings.

They were very much her mother's favorite, and she broke out a scandi recipe she'd enjoyed the last several years.

She Skyped her university friends, they exchanged the small gifts she'd mailed them and them her. She missed them something awful. She missed school horribly, so much she even emailed her advisor. All of her heart hoped to return after the winter break.

Emma thought the feeling of missing something was a bit like a paper cut and losing your keys combined.

Harry called late Christmas Day, just a few minutes shy of Boxing Day. That more than stung, it was a gut punch, or a knife plunge, though she'd never had either.

Emma ignored the call from Harry. What was there to say?

Boxing Day, well, Emma wasn't much of a drinker, but it was basically a tenet of British culture to get obliterated while watching the queen.

For the last several years, Emma had been off her face on Harry. This year she chose savingnon blanc with her mum. Two days, then they'd go back to a dry house. Tradition was tradition, and she couldn't think about the one she'd started and ached all over for.

What a pale imitation of ecstasy drunkenness was, though she supposed they both left a hangover, a residue.

Her bed, when she begged off to it early was warm and fragrant, but it smelled all wrong. No sandalwood or black coffee, not even the mint she'd come to associated with the comfort of love, or something like it.

It was worse, because when she closed her eyes, having seen Harry's someone in person, she could see him snugged up to her, so cozy. It was in their place, their room at the Boat's Head.

It was over, Boxing Day, when she puked.

She had another missed call from Harry. 11:59 Her personal witching hour.

The next day was a little bit better, either because she had her literal hangover to tend, or because she'd ripped the bandaid off her hurt and let the wound air.

"Hiya!" Gemma's voice and face were bright, unlike the gray day.

"Hello." Emma smiled and her voice held it, she held onto it. "You're merry!"

"Yeah, I'm at the pub. Everybody is at the pub," she flashed the phone around so Emma could see the waving swaying people, "we wanted to get you outta the house, you made such an effective Irish exit the other day you've let your people down, we need to see your smile. You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you." Emma thought about it, there was a pull to the pub. "Um, maybe I can swing over."

It only took a few minutes to throw on jeans and a jumper, not her former favorite. The walk was a little longer.

When she found them, her first comment was "Im not drinking!" Over a grimace.

"Too much wine with old Elizabeth, huh? " Gemma Laughed

"Yes! Did you know my mum has a long pour?" Emma shared with a laugh.

"No, but mine's gotten more heavy on the booze with me lately, they must like the new stages. Daughters as actual friends and drinking partners. Mum is thrilled!" Gemma grinned.  "So am I! Harry's a little jealous."

Emma tried to catch her grimace before it stomped across her face. Gemma kept talking and she thought she'd got away with it.

"He wants to be one of the girl's! He came down last night and mum, Camille and I were sharing wine and mum was showing her atrocious pictures. You'd think he'd be mad or embarrassed! He was like, 'Where's my glass?'" Gemma was staring at her while she chuckled.

Emma had less success not responding. Her face was a picture she was sure, a jealous one. And then she heard herself asking, "what's she like?" She gulped down the g word she almost voiced. "Camille?"

Gemma made a funny face, then looked at her again. "Um, she's silly and kinda quiet and I think she's worried my mom will care she's posed nude."

She wouldn't. That wasn't Anne's style. And if she did have an issue, she'd never voice it. She was really big on respecting her kids choices. Even some of the stupider ones Harry had made.

Was she ranked among those now?

"Why do you ask?" The gentleness in a Gemma's voice told Emma she knew more than she was saying.

Emma couldn't explain, she was still in such a tender state, like a fissured piece of glass, she knew she couldn't go over it. "I just hope Harry's happy."  It was the only true thing she could say.

And Gemma, bless her just looped her arm through Emma's and said like she was holding a cracked egg. "He is." She left it at that, before she stood, pulling Emma after her. "And we need another drink." Apparently Emma was drinking, she needed it.

They spent another couple hours at the pub and Emma walked home through the soft snow. Her nose was stuffy, and her eyes were leaking, and she was drunk. Least she realized she must be, cuz she was crying. She really hated crying.

She was still weeping under her breath when she got home and found Harry on her doorstoop.

"You're still here?" She boggled. She assumed he'd taken his girlfriend to his big London home Emma had never been to, since she wasn't ever his g word.

"Yeah." He rubbed his hands over his corduroy flares. She'd consider what that might mean, but the pants distracted her. Those were new, must be getting fashion influences from new places, mew people. Those pants were roomy for him. He looked good in them. He looked good, happy.

"Did you need something?" Seeing himwas ripping her guts out and she could barely keep more tears at bay. Her insides were dangerously close to the skin now, tender and exposed. She hoped the distance between them and the weather and, well, maybe his rose colored glasses brought on by loving some other girl, he wouldn't notice her crying.

Over him. At the moment.

"No, I, um," he swallowed. "I thought we might talk." He made those green eyes at her and she hated it. Cuz they were soft and for someone else these days.

"I think we've said it all."

"We haven't said anything, not really, in a year."

"Yeah, well actions over words mate." Good, she was angry. She tried to go around him, into her door. Out of the cold and this situation.

"Emma, wait." He caught her shoulders and her blood froze in her veins but her tears were hot on her cheeks. "I'mso sorry about your dad." He choked up too.

She looked at him and let hurt run down her face, didn't even bother trying to stiffen her upper lip. When he opened his arms, she went to him and cried in a way she really hadn't let herself, into the comfort of his scent, the hurt of his presence.

Emma wasn't sure how long she cried, they wound up siting on the cold stone bench when their knocking knees froze.

"S that why you used the ticket?" He whispered against her hair sometime later.

She nodded. Sniffed up her tears and his pain laced smell.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She shrugged.

"I would have understood. And I would have come, to be with you."

Her tears apparently hadn't run out. She knew that, but she was hurt, by his hurt and his expectation.

She looked up at him. Her lips were so close to his, the outer edge that felt so plush and lovely.

That was a Liberty she didn't have. Maybe never a right she had, like him just expecting her to drop her goals to go to him.

"Where's your girlfriend?" She said the word like the four letters it felt like it was to her.

"Um," he stumbled over the subject change . "She was tired."

"You tell her you were coming to see a girl you used to fuck?"

"What?" He looked at her with a frown and Emma supposed she was being mean, mean but honest. "Don't say it like that. That's not what we were about."

Emma quirked a brow at him. "No?"

"Listen, why are you being like this?" He swallowed and looked like the wronged party when he was the one who assumed the worst of her, then abandoned her, moved on, and showed up, she could only assume, to rub it in her face.

The last year had been the worst of her life, and he'd been part of that. Mostly his absence.

Whoever's fault that was.

"Look, I don't need your pity or your condolences. Or your forgiveness. You just assumed I was taking advantage of you like you didn't know me at all. Which I realized is true apart from knowing what I look like naked, right? Let's be honest Harry? Huh, I'm just the girl you used to fuck over break. Your Christmas bit of fun. Til you found your next model. Who you couldn't wait to come home and show off, right in my face. So if we were more, you're a heartless asshole." She was crying over him now, but half the tears at least were angry and her face must be bright red.

The kicked puppy look on his face was so genuine and felt so false to her she could scream. "Why would I even think you would care if I had a girlfriend or not? If anybody was just the person the other thought of as a holiday fling, it was you about me, Emma."  He huffed, took down the finger he'd stood up to point at her. "I tried for more, asked for more?"

"When?" He'd asked for more, how'd she miss that?

"What'd you think the ticket was for? That was me asking you for more, at least more time?"

"I don't have extra time." She countered. Emma supposed that was some mealy mouthed passive way of saying you wanted to spend time with a person at least.

"And I do?" He yelled that before taking a big breath and muttering sorry. "Listen, I know what you're about, and that you are very serious saving the world, but I'm just as busy as you, more, and I would have made time for you."

"Why?" She stood up into his space. "So I could just miss you more, fall more for you and not get to have you in any real way? To torture myself?" And there is was. Emma knew the ache of the first weeks without him, and she'd always counted their brief time together as worth it. Subjecting herself to more just seemed masochistic. "Have more time with you so I have to get over you all over again multiple times a year."

"Who says you would have had to get over me? We could have been together!" Both of their voices had escalated past the bounds of polite disagreement.

"Together in every way except literally?" She threw her hands out at her sides. "What's the point of that?"

"The point?" He huffed. "The point is that I wanted you and you wanted me, and we could have had each other, but you're too busy," he sneered, "and couldn't talk to me."

"I couldn't talk to anyone!" She screamed. "I was supposed to text you that my dad died and I needed to use the ticket that was supposed to be a gift but was more like a curse, to take care of my mom. That my dream was at best on hold while I made sure my mum could get out of bed?" He looked a little slapped. "While you were off what? Being a rockstar? Having a record breaking year? Moving on? Out of spite?!" She didn't want to think that, but she'd wondered. She knew she was giving herself to much credit. "Why you made sure to bring her to Holmes Chapel? You take her to the Boar's Head too? Or just fuck her in your mum's powder room?" The words were explosive, the cadence like charges lighting off each other. Emma felt like a powder keg.

He was shaking his head. "Stop it. No, no, I didn't move on, not until I thought you were done with me."

"Oh, when I needed you and you wouldn't answer my calls?"

He looked at the ground then. When his eyes came up , the lovely green of them was even more vibrant, due to the tears crowding around their ages. "Emma, I'm so sorry about that. I'll never forgive myself."

His sincerity softened her, though the anger she'd wrapped around herself like a coat was all that was keeping her ribs together.

"I'm so sorry, I know the last year has been more than anybody should have to bear, especially alone." He took  a big breath. "But Camille, I didn't, it's not," he stumbled over the words like they were glass edges, but Emma had a feeling she was the one who was about to get cut. "Um, she and I just met and, well, we, we get on." That was a kind way to put it. "I wasn't looking for somebody else. But I was lonely and she's," the changes on his face ripped through Emma. "She's lovely. I brought her home, because I wanted mum to meet her." That told Emma everything.

"You love her?" She already knew the answer.

He ran his hand through his locks, avoided eye contact until the last second, "yeah, yeah, I think I might."

Emma was nodding, biting her lip to gatekeep the fresh round of tears threatening. "That's good Harry, I'm," she breathed, "I'm happy for you."

He looked at her then. "Really?"

"Course, I care about you, your happiness." That brought on the tears and he reached for her and she had to throw up her hands to keep him away. "No, no, please don't touch me."

His phone rang, he was the only person she knew who actually kept their ringer on. Well the only person under 50, it made her smile. Then cringe, the weird personal knowledge she had because of how much of an almost they were. From his face, Emma knew it was his actual calling.

"Um," he shady buttoned the call. "I have to go."

"Yeah," was all she could respond with, she already knew that. "Well, have a happy nee year Harry. You sticking around?" God she hoped not. May have to convince her mum to go to London if so.

He shook his head, "Um no, we're going to Paris." Ouch. Emma tried for subtle when she wrapped an arm around herself. "Sorry, I'd like," he always looked so genuine lately, in every interview she'd watched to hurt herself, his heart on his sleeve, in his eyes now. "I'd like to hug you, think you could stomach it?"

Emma nodded and went to him for the barest second and then concentrated on the pressure behind her eyes while he kept her close. "I'm so sorry Emma, for everything. I'd really like to be friends," he'd pulled back to hold her eye line at that.

She nodded, she wasn't sure how she'd handle that, but at best it was a couple phone calls, and no weekends away, they hadn't mentioned that in their middle state, she didn't think it would be to hard to keep him at arms length when they had continents between them most times. "Yeah, ok, friends. You take care of yourself, Harry." Emma was a strong girl, woman now, she could handle some texts and a phone call or so.

He kissed her cheek, a continental affectation she closed her eyes over and turned to go. He was almost out of the gate when he turned back. "I'd never take her to the Boar's Head, by the way, that's our place. I'd never take anybody else there." Before she could even think of a response he looked away quick and started to go. "Take care of yourself, Emma. Happy New Year." That came back to her on the wind.

Blew away like the hold she had on the heart she'd given him last Christmas. At least he was someone special.

[soupy-sales2004]

Unmade Up Excerpts – Edward Bell

Cups of Tea – p. 65

Next morning, after I'd been chauffeured (just round the corner) to the recording studio, David nearly toppled me with an effusive bear hug, which was some surprise, since neither he nor I were in essence touchy feely people. I was surprised, too, to see him wearing a beard, which inexplicably put me in mind of a drug dealer, or diamond smuggler from Amsterdam (not that I had ever met many). I decided not to tell him.

After introducing me to the band (hip local boys, brothers Hunt and Tony Sales; and Reeves Gabrel, more brains than hip) and having played some of the new album, David asked if I had ever heard of Narcotics Anonymous? If so, what did I think of it?

Here was an easy chance to give flight to a current bee in my bonnet. I didn't, as I might today say something like, 'Brilliant for those it suits'. Instead I replied, 'Oh, it's simply a venue for 'moaning minnies' to get on stage and parade their woes: not my cup of tea.'

A pause. 'All right,' said David. 'Please yourself, but me and a couple of the boys are going later on to the Hollywood meeting, and you're welcome to come along.'

So I went.

At the meeting new members were expected each in turn to introduce themselves. 'Hi, my name is... and I am a... (something) addict', even if they'd been 'clean' for half a lifetime.

Negative thinking in my book, so when my turn came, I stood up. 'Hi, my name's Edward and I used to be a heroin addict.'

Tremor of hush: necks craned in my direction. Scowl from David. He brightened up towards the end though, because it was his turn to put the kettle on and pour the tea, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy doing.

Black and White – p. 67

I will admit, there were other occasions where I could have displayed more delicate tact. We were chatting at a record company bash; David was reminiscing about a drinks party he had given in Mustique: he'd had to have Princess Margaret thrown out because she was so drunk.

'Blimey!' I expostulated. 'She sounds as bad as some of those pop stars one hears about.'

Black look. Straight to his pedestal and I longer existed. We were, though, in agreement over Levi jeans, straight leg, button-fly 501s. They were something American that I did like, currently preferring the white ones, as opposed to the black that he had and the band routinely wore. The very next day David appeared immaculate in a white shirt, gleaming white loafers and white Levis. I couldn't help myself and exclaimed, 'Hey, it's the Milky Bar Kid.'

If looks could kill, well, I just died.

Big Fight – p. 69

Another evening, another works outing. This time, David took us to his apartment to watch a heavyweight boxing match, a 'big fight', live on TV. Glasses of Coke or water were dispensed. He lay propped full-length on his emperor-sized bed while we crouched on the edge or sat on the floor cushions.

There was a big build up and ritual pumping of anticipation; the king and his courtiers were in for a treat. The bell rang, adrenaline levels soared and a ropey first round ended with an unconvincing knock-out.

This disappointing anti-climax brought our evening to a premature close in a similar way. A thoroughly disquieted David knocked our small party on the head and unceremoniously ushered his acolytes out of the flat and into the elevator.

I came away musing not so much on the unsatisfactory combat, as on the apartment and its furnishings - generous folds of heavily swagged velvet curtaining, ornate gilded mirrors, elaborate chandeliers and clusters of free standing church candelabra. Evidently, although the Venetian interlude had left him romantically unfulfilled, he had not come away entirely empty handed.

Iman – p. 75

The circumstances in David's life, since I'd last seen him in Venice, had changed considerably.

He was learning to drive and planning to buy a silver-blue E' type Jaguar (Tin Machine?). He often disappeared in the evenings, not to rock 'n' roll, but to sit at a computer screen for hours on end. These were relatively early days of such an preoccupation, but he took to it like a duck to water, or rather perhaps a spider from Mars extending its web. And Melissa was a thing of the past, never again mentioned. He was now dating, indeed seriously so, someone quite else: Iman. He brought her to the studio to meet us. This tall model was simply mesmerising: quietly dignified and very beautiful, but her most arresting feature was a skin that seemed to glow and radiate light.

We were in the presence, had we but known it, of David's 'Dark Star'. The woman he was to marry, who would have his child, and stay with him until the end.

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Six) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: none

a/n: thank you so much to @pizzasloot​ for proofreading!! as always, feedback is always welcome :-)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

March 2019 - Denver, CO

Planning a 21st birthday party for Tyson was way harder than you thought it would be, plain and simple. You thought your college days, when everyone was turning 21, would’ve prepared you for a few more, but boy, were you wrong. When girls turn 21, they want the big balloons and the cake with the Barbie on it, but what about guys? Not to mention, Tyson wasn’t even American, so the anxiety made you think he wouldn’t care as much as a typical  21-year-old American would.

Nevertheless, with help from JT, Kerfy, and Sammy, you were able to pull it off. You were able to corral a good chunk of the Avalanche roster to attend the party, plus some of Tyson’s friends outside of the team. Tyson knew you were planning something big for his birthday, but he was unsure of what it was exactly other than throwing a pregame at the Rookie House and then going bar hopping downtown. 

While he and the rest of the Avs were at practice this morning, and while you and Caitlyn were on your lunch break at work, you snuck into the Rookie House to lightly decorate the place. You decided to get the typical big ‘21’ balloons in silver, alongside a hefty lineup of alcohol. You somehow convinced yours and Caitlyn’s boss to take a longer lunch, in exchange for not taking lunch the next day, so you were able to take your time and be there when Tyson got home from morning skate.

You had just finished laying out his birthday present on his bed when you heard the garage door opening, causing a flight of anxiety to course through you as you rushed up the stairs taking them two at a time. As you settle next to Caitlyn in front of the decorations, Tyson, JT, and Kerfy walk through the garage door together, still caught up in their previous conversation.

“Happy birthday!” The two of you yell excitedly, causing Tyson to turn his head from his friends and to the two of you in the living room. His face erupts in a smile, eyes moving back and forth between you and Caitlyn and the decorations that are set up. He’s in awe as he looks at the array of silver balloons, the small birthday cake placed on the coffee table, and the ‘finally 21 and legal in America’ banner. 

He reaches the two of you, giving Caitlyn a quick hug while thanking her before he embraces you in his arms tightly, “Thank you.”

He pulls away, and you rub your hands along his shoulders and biceps as he moves completely away. “You guys didn’t have to do this.”

“We know, but we wanted to,” you say, gesturing between you and Caitlyn. She smiles at you, hiding the fact that you essentially had to beg her to come help and that all of this was 100% your idea. Both JT and Kerfy comment on the decorations before disappearing into the rest of the house. 

“Where did you get this banner?” He chuckles, pointing to the black lettering being held up by a string. You and Caitlyn both laugh, knowing it was a funny and somewhat dumb addition to the decorations.

“This shop on Etsy does custom ones,” You answer. “I thought it’d be funny.”

“I love it,” He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into his side. You check your watch to see the time, noticing that you and Caitlyn need to head back to your office soon.

“We have to get back to work, but I did get you a present. It’s in your room if you want to go open it?” You ask. He nods his head excitedly and the two of you go downstairs, leaving Caitlyn in the living room.

He sees the medium-sized gift bag sitting nicely on the edge of the bed, grabbing it, and sitting down. He opens your card first, reading it to himself. You watch as his eyes move left-to-right on the card, seeing a smile forming on his face from both the card and the extra note you wrote on it. He sets the card down next to him while patting the same spot for you to take a seat beside him.

You sit down, eyes on him as he pulls the tissue paper and the contents from the bag. His eyes scan over the small package of ukulele strings, setting them down to the side and digging in the bag again. He pulls each item out one by one, his smile only getting bigger as he sees a shot glass that says ‘legal as fuck, eh’, a pair of diamond-patterned dress socks, and a framed Polaroid of the two of you from Gabe’s wedding last year.

“Where did you get this photo from?” He asks, closely examining it. It’s a candid picture of the two of you that he had never seen before. Tyson’s shirt was unbuttoned showing his torso, much like the rest of the guys there, the both of you mid-dance and he’s holding your hands in the air. Even with how blurry and small the photo is, yours and Tyson’s smile are clear as day.

“Sydney gave it to me after the wedding,” You answer, looking up at him. “I kinda forgot I had it because I found it the other day when I was cleaning. It got under my dresser somehow.”

“Y/n, this is amazing,” He admires, setting the items down and turning to look at you. “Thank you, so much, really.”

You smile sheepishly, your cheeks warming at the extra attention. He’s looking into your eyes when you turn to face him fully and he leans in to wrap his arms around you, bringing you in for yet another hug. A loud yell of your name from upstairs causes the two of you to pull away slightly.

“I gotta get back to work,” you whisper. Even as you started to pull away, getting ready to leave, Tyson doesn’t let you go as quickly. He dragged the arm that was around your back to where your neck met your shoulder. It feels like time is moving in slow motion as his eyes glance to your lips before back to your eyes.

“y/n! We have a meeting in 35 minutes, let’s go!” Caitlyn shouts once again, snapping the two of you back to reality. You stand up, hugging Tyson once more as he thanks you again for the gift.

--

By the time most of the Avalanche roster had made their way through the front door of the Rookie House, Tyson was already four shots and a mixed drink deep. He had insisted he take one with you the second you got back to his house after work, and had convinced you and his roommates to take a shot before anyone else arrived. 

Knowing he was going to start feeling the effects of the alcohol soon, you pulled him aside to take photos in front of the balloons and banner you had set up earlier. You hand your phone to Caitlyn and lean into Tyson’s side, him squeezing you impossibly close, causing a laugh to slip from your lips. You pose for a few more photos before having some other people join in for group shots. 

Once you get your phone back you look through them all, finding the best ones to post on Instagram. You choose two: one where Tyson’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you’re leaning into his side, your hand splayed in his lower abdomen. The second one is more on the candid side. Your eyes are squinted close and your mouth is open, mid-laugh from Tyson pressing his fingers harshly into your side. Tyson continues taking photos while you edit them and open up Instagram typing out a caption before hitting post. Tyson feels the vibration of the notification in his pocket and pulls it out reading the caption and swiping through the photos. 

yourusername: happy 21st to my superstar of a best friend. glad you finally dont have to use your big-shot hockey player status to get into bars now! cheers to you💥

He laughs before typing out a comment and sliding his phone back into his pocket. 

josty17: thx for exposing me🙄

The pre-game is in full swing by the time everyone’s finally arrived. As Tyson’s best friend and designated drinking buddy, you give yourself the duty to make sure he always has a drink in his hand. As you’re making him his final drink before heading out to the bars, his large body collided with yours. 

“Hey best friend,” he greets, teeth shining under his wide smile under the kitchen lights. 

“Hey best friend,” you laugh, putting the cap back on the bottle of New Amsterdam in front of you. You grab the lemonade, opening it and filling the rest of the glass. “Here’s your refill.”

“Can we do another tequila shot?” He asks with pleading eyes. Luckily, he had an optional morning skate before their game tomorrow, while you on the other hand had an 8-5 job. The pleading eyes on Tyson’s face give you little room to say no, so you grab the bottle of tequila dramatically and the lime slices next to it. 

He grabs two shot glasses and you pour the shots, sprinkling salt onto yours and Tyson’s fists. You raise your glass to cheers his and give a quick toast,

“Here’s to being way more successful than I was at 21 and to this year being the best year yet. I love you and happy birthday superstar!” You cheer, clinking your glass with Tyson’s and downing the shot. 

Once Tyson finishes swallowing his shot, he cheers loudly, drawing the attention of those surrounding you. Tyson pulls you in for a hug, which is probably at least the thirteenth time he’s hugged you today, but you’re not complaining. 

“Thank you again for all of this, and for my gift earlier. This all means a lot.”

You laugh and shrug off the compliment, “it wasn’t just me, but you know I’d do anything for you and besides, you wouldn't have done anything big unless I took it over.” He laughs in agreement, knowing that he wasn’t one to pass up a party like this but would’ve never been the one to plan it for himself. 

Once he finishes the drink, the large group all starts ordering their Ubers or heading out in their own cars if they have someone to drive. Your group, consisting of Tyson, JT, Sammy, Gabe, and Tyson, all piles into the Uber that you ordered minutes ago. You’re all the first to leave, everyone in tow, all in agreement on the first bar to meet at.

As the night gets later, the rowdiness of the group of men you’re with only increases. It was a lot for you to handle at the start, the pressure to make this a good birthday for Tyson and being around so many of his friends in a larger than normal group only adding to it. The time was nearing last call at the last bar you were all at. The large group of broad hockey players had started to dwindle as guys headed home to get rest for tomorrow.

Tyson is starting to hit that stage of drunk where if he sits for too long, he’ll want to go to sleep, but at the same time, you can’t seem to keep him in one spot for more than a few minutes. Throughout the night, the boys had been feeding him shots, making sure that if they saw Tyson’s hands empty, they wouldn’t be for much longer. In order to keep him out for a little longer, you drag him to his feet from where he's sitting at the booth to the edge of the dancefloor where some of the guys are located.

As you approach Tyson, Gabe, and Nate, Tyson takes ahold of your hand, interlocking your fingers together, he leads you through the crowd. He looks back at you, with a wide smile as his expression is the only thing you see, the large crowd and bright neon lights turning into a blur. It was like he was trying to pull you closer to him with nothing but a subtle smirk and a twinkle in his eye; the twinkle in his eye causing you to match his smile with an equally wide one.

His shoulders are slouching and you’re somewhat surprised that his light blue button-up is still on over his black t-shirt and not tied around his waist, knowing he easily got overheated when he drank. Gabe embraces him in a bro hug, cheering loudly about how he’s still alive and that he better be ready for the game tomorrow. Tyson was well aware of tomorrow night’s game and made you promise him that you wouldn’t let him get too drunk, in hopes of his hangover being bearable in the morning. 

Because of this, you decide to leave the small group of guys to go get him water in hopes of clearing his head a little. When you get back to the group, Tyson doesn’t take notice of your sudden presence, even as you shove the water into his hands. “I think I’m going to invite her to Canada this summer,” he yells in a slur over the music to his teammates. 

“Who’re you inviting to Canada?” you ask, sticking your body fully into the circle. You stand next to him, hesitantly reaching for his free hand with one of yours to connect them again. He interlocks his fingers with yours without a thought and stares blankly towards you once the question has left your mouth. 

“Uhhh, no one,” he brushes off with a stutter. You look at him quizzically before ignoring what you heard, assuming the alcohol is what caused you both confusion. 

“Y/n, this is water,” he complains once he takes a sip. You laugh and roll your eyes at your friend. It was nearing one-thirty in the morning and he had already consumed more drinks than you could keep count of. He was clearly past the level of drunk, with how he was stumbling when he walked and slowly slurring his words as he spoke. 

“Drink it and we can get you another drink before we leave,” you negotiate. You assume he agrees to your negotiation as he chugs his water faster than you’ve seen him chug anything before. With his triumphant look as he shows you the now-empty glass, your plan failed you, and the guys surrounding you laugh knowingly.

“How about this? Nate and them will go get refills for all of us,” You eye Nate, Tyson, and Gabe as you speak. “And we can go get some fresh air outside and meet them back here in a few?” 

They all understand what you’re getting at, nodding their heads and saying they’ll see you in a bit before heading towards the bar. You tug on Tyson’s hand, heading for the front exit of the bar, maneuvering between the drunk and sweaty bodies. Once the Denver winter air hits both of your faces, you slyly pull out your phone to order an Uber back to his house.

You had let go of his hand once you got outside, and crossed your arms over your chest, phone still in hand. Tyson’s teeth chatter a little from the cold and he rests his head on your shoulder in hope of pulling any sort of warmth from your body.

Minutes pass by full of incoherent conversation from Tyson, most of it him telling you he’s cold and that he wants to go back inside, to which you respond with that you’ve only been outside for a few minutes. He easily believes the lie as another five minutes pass by and you’re shoving him into the backseat of an Uber. 

Once the door is closed behind you, he whips his head towards you, “Y/n! Where are we going? I thought we were just taking a break.”

“I’m taking you home, Tyson,” you explain. “It’s really late and you have a game tomorrow.”

He pouts at your explanation, but he stops complaining anyways. The bumpiness from the potholes on the ride home has him focusing on his breathing and leaning his head on your shoulder once again until you’re pulling him out of the car and to his garage.

He tries entering the code and after the fourth failure, you shove him aside, “What’s the code?”

“It’s 3717.” He mumbles.

You try the code and it doesn’t work and after your third attempt, it’s still not working. “It isn’t working, are you sure it’s 3717?”

“Nope,” He enunciates. 

You look at him with a deadpan expression, “Are you going to make me call your roommates to figure it out?”

“No, let me do it.” He asserts, throwing his arm over your shoulder and punching in the code, and the creak of the garage opening makes you let out a sigh. 

“What the fuck was the code?”

“A secret I’ll never tell,” he salutes, making his way to the mud-room door. As you walk behind him, you clench your fists in annoyance at your friend's actions, giving him the benefit of the doubt from his drunken state.

He stumbles up the small flight of concrete steps, walking inside and instantly heading to the kitchen to find some sort of snack to soak up the alcohol. The rustling of packages stops as Tyson whips around,

“I want a grilled cheese. Will you make me one? Please?”

You drop your shoulders in a groan, silently saying yes as you move to the fridge to grab the ingredients. You chuckle at the organic cheeses in the fridge and the weird oat nut bread he has. Tyson hops up onto the counter beside his stove, swinging his legs as he watches you prepare his sandwich. 

As you go to put the sandwich in the pan, his hand grabs yours pulling it back. “You forgot the pickles!” He exclaims, jumping from his spot to the fridge and pulling out a jar of bread and butter pickles. 

“That is the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you fake gag. He places a handful of pickles on the sandwich and then moves back to his previous position on the counter. “I don’t think I can ever see you as the same person again.”

Tyson’s face fills with hurt, and you’re not quite sure if he’s faking it or the alcohol in his body actually makes him think that. 

“I hate pickles.” You state, eyeing him as you flip the sandwich over. 

“I feel like I’ve seen you eat one before.” He responds, dipping his fingers into the pickle jar and snacking on one. 

“Have you not noticed how I always give you my pickles when we eat out?” You ask, thinking back to the countless diner and sports bar trips where the first thing you’d do when you got your plate of food was give him your pickle. 

“Well, yeah,” he answers quickly with a shrug. “I just thought you did that because I like them so much.” He smiles at the memories, biting into one more pickles chip before clasping the lid back onto the jar. You smile softly at the thought, too, before turning off the stove and sliding the sandwich out onto a plate for your friend. 

He grabs the plate and instantly drags you down the stairs to his room where he plops on his bed, criss-cross applesauce, white Adidas still on his feet, causing you to rip his feet from underneath him.

“Tyson, your shoes are disgusting from the bar,” You puff, taking them off his feet since he was too preoccupied with his sandwich. He thanks you through a full mouth before you join him on his bed, folding your legs underneath you to mirror his position. 

“Slow down there, killer,” you joke as you notice how fast he’s eating and how many extra large bites he’s taken. He swallowed the last piece harshly before setting the plate on the ground at the foot of his bed. 

“Are you sleeping over?” He lays down, eyeing you with droopy eyes waiting for an answer.

“I can, but I have work early,” you remind him, shuffling to stand up from his bed as you itch the back of your arm. 

“So then you’re sleeping over,” He states matter of factly. His eyes are closed now as he senses the movements of you standing up from the bed. With it almost being two in the morning and you having work early in the morning, you really should get home but with the added time of needing an Uber from your alcohol consumption, you decide staying is best. You set a handful of alarms on your phone, making sure you leave enough time for you to drive back to your place, get ready, and then get to work, all before 8:30 am.

“Let’s get you changed. You want shorts?” You start. “They’re in your dresser, right?” You ask for clarification. You hear him say yes tiredly, and you start shuffling through the chestnut drawers.

“You know, I really wanted to kiss you earlier when you were giving me my gift,” Tyson thinks aloud in a mumble as he sits on the bed. The admission causes you to halt your movements in your search for shorts for him. “Would you have let me kiss you? Wait, no, don’t answer that.”

Him telling you not to answer pushes a wave of relief through your body, thankful for not having to answer that question. As you open the third drawer you think to yourself, would you have let him kiss you? You didn’t see the harm in it, knowing that most guy and girl best friends shared at least one kiss throughout their friendship. Even Caitlyn and Tucker had asked you on multiple occasions if you had kissed to which you always replied with a harsh no. 

You finally locate a pair of shorts and walk back towards Tyson, helping him stand from the bed to get changed. He’s just coherent enough to strip out of his button-down and white t-shirt; where he starts to struggle is when his hands reach the button of his jeans. He pushes them down his thighs, he gets stuck at his knees he starts to stumble, falling into the bed and you laugh lightly at your best friend’s movement.

He curses out a sigh, before sitting up and finally getting them off and pulling shorts on.

“You good there?”

“Yes, bedtime.” He huffs decidedly, shuffling up the bed and throwing the covers away so he can get under them. 

You stand up, moving back to his dresser and closet to find clothes to wear when you hear a whine from behind you. “Hurry up, I want cuddles.”

You laugh at his newfound neediness, something he always was around you but it came out much more than normal tonight. Whether it was from the level of drunk he was or just the new shift in the comfort the two you felt in your friendship. You reemerge from his bathroom, changed into a pair of his sweats and his Colorado Eagles shirt.

“I like the shirt,” he chirps, smiling from his spot in bed. He continues to watch you as you lay down next to him and text Caitlyn, asking her to call you in the morning just in case your alarm doesn’t wake you. He’s on his side facing you, one hand tucked under his head and the other moving to rest in the air as he makes grabby hands. “I said I wanted a cuddle.”

“Fine,” you huff, even though you’re smiling and scooting your body down and underneath his arm. Your fingers find their way over his rib cage, lightly scratching at the bareness of his back, just underneath his shoulder blade.

“I know I said thank you a million times, but thank you for such an amazing birthday.” He speaks, voice quiet for the first time in hours. 

You flick your eyes up to where his are a few inches higher, “I loved doing it for you, Tys. I’m glad you had an amazing day.”

He stares into your eyes a moment longer before shuffling up the bed a few inches so he can rest his cheek on your forehead. “Can you scratch my elbow?”

You move your fingers from his shoulder blade to his elbow, lightly scratching at the muscles in his triceps. He softly groans at the feeling and you bite back a laugh in reaction. Soon his breath is heavy over your face and you're trying to force the smile off your face so you can focus on going to bed. But it’s hard, being this close in proximity at such a high level of intimacy with your best friend is causing an explosion of feelings in your heart and a warmth occupying your body. You think to yourself how light you’ve felt all night by his side and you think back to his earlier comment about how he wanted to kiss you. Not even an hour ago the attempt would scare you away, but now, you’re not so sure. 

When you turn over to get in a more comfortable position, your eyes land on the new decoration on his bedside table. You squint your eyes to get a better look and you recognize it as the Polaroid you gifted him earlier in the day. The soft smile on your face nearly triples in size at the thought of him putting your picture near his bed and a little part of you wants to steal it back just for you to place it near your bed in your own home. 

At the feeling of Tyson’s heavy breaths at the back of your neck, you close your eyes and let out a content sigh. Sliding your head deeper into the pillow, you play with Tyson’s fingers on the arm that’s laid over you before interlocking them and falling asleep. 

The ringtone of your phone is what pulls you from your sleep the next morning. You try to find your phone with your eyes closed, but with no luck on your side, you squint open your eyes and grab your phone. Seeing as it’s a phone call from Caitlyn and not your alarm, also seeing that it’s already 7:45, you jolt awake. 

“Fuck,” you curse into the phone as you pull it to you ear, sitting up against the pillows. Tyson’s arm tightens around you, his figure Shull heavy with sleep. 

“Dude, I saw your car across the street. Please tell me you’re home and like getting a ride to work.” Caitlyn rushes out. 

“I fucking wish. You literally just woke me up, shit.”

“Y/n!”

“Please tell me you have clothes I can borrow and that we can carpool to work. I’ll owe you big time, please.”

All of the commotion doesn’t wake Tyson to your surprise, but as you sit up further in the bed as he starts to stir next to you. 

“I’ll be over in like ten, you’re literally a life saver.”

“It’s so early, shhhhh,” Tyson mumbles next to you, turning further into your body. You want to scream out of anxiousness and stress but Tyson resting his head onto your chest stops you and you lift your hand to comb through his hair. 

“I have work in like, 30 minutes,” and that statement jolts him awake just as much as the phone call not a minute prior did for you. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he rubs his eyes. He rolls over onto his back and you miss the warmth of both his arm and his chest against you instantly. You throw the comforter over you, standing up from the comfort of his bed. You stumble to find your socks and grab your outfit from the night prior, moving to the bathroom with the intention of changing back into it before changing at Caitlyn’s. 

“You can just keep the clothes,” Tyson starts, his eyes open now as he sits further up against his headboard. “I can get them back eventually.”

“I promise you’ll get it back, thank you,” you speak, turning back to the man in bed and going to hug him goodbye. It’s an awkward hug with how you’re standing and how he’s half laying down but he gives you a kiss on the forehead before bidding you goodbye. 

“Text me when you’re alive,” you shout as you finally exit his room. 

Once you’re ready and buckled into Caitlyn’s passenger seat, the two of you speed through the short commute to your offices. 

“Caitlyn, before we get there I need to like, unload on you.” You start shakily, playing with your phone in your lap. 

She glances at you before turning her attention back to the road in front of you. 

“So, remember yesterday when I gave Tyson his gift and I was kinda taking a while? Well, it’s uh, he almost kissed me that’s why.”

“What?!” She exclaims, whipping her head to face you as she comes to a stop at the stoplight. “You cannot be serious!”

“Yeah and then when I took him home, it was just a lot with what was going on.”

“Please tell me you guys did not hook up,” she groans, stepping on the gas as the light turned green. “You guys can’t finally decide to get together and have it happen when you’re drunk off your asses.”

“God, Caitlyn, no we didn’t ‘finally’ hook up or whatever,” you stress in confusion. “I just made him food and it was just, really domestic, and then when I was finding him clothes to change into, he was like ‘I wanted to kiss you earlier’ and asked me if I would’ve let him if he did.”

“And? Did you say yes?”

“First of all, why would you assume that I would’ve said yes? And secondly, no because he told me not to answer.” You brush off. 

“Y/n,” she starts, pulling into an empty parking spot. She puts the car in park and turns to face you fully. “Before I give you my speech, answer this: you would’ve let him kiss you, correct?”

Even though you barely have to think before answering, the question oddly carries a lot of weight and it scares you. “I think so, yes,” you nod your head slowly.  

“Okay, hear me out. You and Tyson are best friends and not just like normal best friends, you two are inseparable. And I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, because it’s not, but I think you need to start noticing the small changes you two have been making recently. You wouldn’t just let a friend kiss you, you’d only want that if you felt something more.”

Her rant makes you sink back into your seat, making you feel cornered in the small confines of the passenger seat of her car. The combination of your hangover, her speech, and it not even being nine in the morning makes your stomach churn. 

“Yeah, I guess so, I don’t know.” You ramble, grabbing your purse from the floor in front of you and opening the car door. “It all happened in one night, it’s a lot to take in.” You defend yourself as you meet her at the end of the car. 

“You guys have been going through some change for a while now, Jack and I have noticed it. Hell, I think some of the guys on the team have started to see it, too.” She insinuates with exaggerated hand movements. “Like I said back when you were with Aiden, you obviously waited to tell Tyson about him for a reason and that was almost six months ago. Think about why you did that, and I think you’ll know what’s going on.”

The two of you ride up the elevator from the parking garage to your office in silence after that. The statement by your friend doing circles inside your brain as you try to figure out the real reason behind all of your previous actions with Tyson. As the elevator doors ding open and the white lights of your office shock you, you opt for a closing statement. 

“I think it’s just hard because I’m clearly attracted to him, and I have been for three years now. Usually, with friendships, I lose that interest pretty early on and like, build a wall if that’s what you want to call it,” you start as the two of you make way down the hall to the break room in need of coffee. 

As you select a K-Cup for both you and Caitlyn a smile grows on your face as you continue. 

“But with Tyson, every time I see him I feel the physical attraction with him, which sounds kind of shallow since that’s all I’m emphasizing right now, but it’s not just that. He’s such a good human and a good friend and knows exactly what to say to me even if I don’t want to hear it and all of that coupled with how handsome he is makes me feel a lot of different things that I still can’t exactly put my finger on.”

You turn your focus to Caitlyn, who has a knowing look playing on her face, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the fridge,

“See, I think you’re starting to figure it out.”

You smile, grateful for your friends words of wisdom. Even If you wanted her to just spell it out for you, her talk still helped as the two of you go your separate ways a few minutes later once your coffees are poured and after you ramble on about your night with Tyson a little bit longer.

--

tag list: @reavenedges-lies​ @oilers2997​ @quinnsbxtch​ (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

[lovesaadiqa]

BBL Costs, Prep + Recovery

Im booked!!  I talked to a few friends who I know either got this surgery or is getting this done.  I wanted one since forever but I wanted my teeth done first.  The deciding factor came down to my birthday plans.  

Originally I was going to do a birthday tour.  First weekend of October in Miami for carnival, 2nd weekend in Atl for Freak Nik, 3rd weekend in Bahamas and finally Nola for the finale.  Well Nola was just hit with a storm so yeah that’s out. Once I totaled up the flights, hotels, food and spending money.. I was like hmm, I can get a fat ass and started this process.  Immediately looked into surgeon and Dr. Pena was my favorite, his bodies come out so mf snatched, he’s located in Columbia.  Columbian surgeons can take out way more fat than American doctors however, the fatality rate is stupid and ultimately the factor that made me choose an American doctor.  

The next step was choosing the surgeon for the body I have and the one I want.  I weigh 151 and im 5′6″ I’m considered a “skinny bbl”.  I started researching doctors in Atlanta (so I could recover at home) and Miami (like duh).  I chose to go with Dr. Desouza in Miami with CG Cosmetics for a few reasons.  First, I love the look of his skinny bbl’s on other women with the same body type, weight and height as me.  Secondly, he was having a special for the end of the year (lipo 360, bbl, jplasma for $6500 for the surgeon I wanted) this almost sold me but it was the surgery date!!  Jplasma is skin tightening procedure to help with loose skin, you can only get this with lipo.  When they perform lipo they created canals under your skin to remove the fat.. well those same canals are essential when getting Jplasma.

Ok so I decided on the surgeon, contacted the cosmetic group and had a consultation which is pretty much just front, side and back view pictures.. I think they use this to make sure you don’t need a tummy tuck prior to surgery.  They also asked me questions about previous surgeries and if i’ve ever had anesthesia.  The next step went pretty quickly, we talked about what would be lipo’d (abs, waist, back.. I wanted inner thighs, an additional 2k, but was advised to wait on my pre-op to decide), when I wanted to book and how I'd pay.  My consult was on August 30th.. I bitched up when she attempted to take my payment.  I am a money hoarder and spending that much money made me feel like I was being financially irresponsible.  I called one of my Aunt’s who I felt wouldn’t judge me and also give me sound advise.  We talked about my fears, why I was getting the procedure and of course money.  My Aunt gave me excellent advice, reassured me and is a professional CNA who offered to accompany me so yeah I dare not turn that down, lol.  August 31, 2021, I called my coordinator (the contact between me and my surgeon) and told her I wanted to book, she asked me when I’d be ready and I requested first available which was 9/20/21!! Excited is an understatement.. I'd be 24 days post op on my birthday.  After I calmed down I paid in full for multiple reasons:  had to in order to secure the date, all surgeries book in this year had to be paid in full, it was the only way to get the discount.. My coordinator gave me so much information I couldn’t see straight (I was also high as shit off life thinking about a fat ass and me in the same sentence).. she emailed + texted everything, congratulated me and we hung up.

I get the emails:  “raise you hemoglobin with these vitamins” I purchased vitamin C $2, folic acid $2, iron $3 and floradix $35 - amazon, I take them as directed on the bottle and start eating my ass off (just to give my surgeon more to work with, lol).  Talking to one of my gf’s I realize I have to be cleared for surgery?!?!  What?  I open my email and sure enough I have to have blood work done 15-20 prior to surgery, it was 9/3 and a Friday.. SHIT!! I fly over to an Piedmont Wellstreet urgent care facility as recommended by my friend (she started this process as well so I was crazy grateful for her experience and that she shared it with me).  Urgent care was full but opened the next day, my ass was in that line at 7:32 am, I was the 13th person in line and they opened at 8.  I get to the desk and my appointment is at 10:30 and I'd have to pay the office visit fee to be seen, it was $155.  I came back at my allotted time and was told how much all of my labs would be.. $302.  My labs were to be processed and faxed to my surgeon by 9/9 because Labor Day weekend so.. yeah.  

I discuss accommodations with my Aunt and realize it’s cheaper, safer and more beneficial for me to go to a recovery house.  I search high and low baby and most of them were booked.. found one regardless with lymphatic massages included called Flawless Recovery House.  This wasn’t my 1st-6th option but the one with availability on my surgery date so I paid a deposit to hold onto my spot.  Total was $1312 for 5 days with 5 massages, I paid a $200 deposit.  Next, I booked my flight, round trip $116 with Delta.  My surgery date is on a Monday, I have to have my pre-op done on the Saturday prior so I booked a hostel from the 18th-20th on booking.com for $66.  I know I could have gotten an airbnb or hotel room but I wanted this experience.  I want to go to Amsterdam and stay in a hostel so I need to know what to expect.  Also I cannot party, smoke, drink or eat before surgery so fuck it.. a hostel will do, lol. 

I smoke big fucking weed and watched someone else’s bbl journey today and realize if I fail the drug test, my surgery will be cancelled and it’ll cost me $1500 to reschedule.  Boy the shit sent me into panic mode like I've never experienced before, only to find out the weed isn’t the issue nicotine is, it slows down your heart rate.  I can smoke weed just not out of a wood or a rillo and nicotine takes 3-4 days to get out of your system so a bitch barely made it.  I just won't be smoking until I get back home lol.  Just to be super informative no alcohol, diabetic meds, cocaine, pcp or anything that will fool with your heart or makes your bleed.  Today is 9/11 and im one week out from my pre-op... my body is a joke cause I haven’t gained a single pound and normally it’s nothing for me to put on weight.  I took my acrylics off, when you’re put to sleep they monitor your oxygen levels with those clamps they put on your fingers and they aren't the most accurate when you have on dark polish or acrylics.  I also cannot wear lashes cause when they go to fill this ass in I'll be laying flat on my face.  I mean my hair didn’t have requirements but I figure since im naked I might as well be bald.. y'all should see me rn, I look very much like a young man but im hype.  I’ll be back later to tell y'all what I pack and purchase prior to my flight.  Imma put the dates at the end of each update.. today is 9/11/21

My surgery group send me list of supplies  that I would need and the cost came to roughly $1100.  Naive me was definitely going to purchase everything on the list from them until I saw Leslie’s (@prettyhaute - on ig) bbl vlog.  I went on amazon and got away with murder.  Below I’ll list what I purchased and the price I paid versus what the surgery center was quoting me.

Faja - I paid $74.69 - Quoted $160.50 || BBL Pillow - $26.99 - Qouted $42.80 || Arnica pills - $8.95 - Quoted $37.45 || Compression socks - $13.99 for 3 - Quoted $10.70 for 1 || Foams - $17.99 for 3 - Quoted $64.20 for 3 || Scar Cream  $$29.82 - Quoted $80.25 || Arnica Gel - $7.92 - Quoted $21.40 || 

There a shit ton of items on the suggested list that I didn't purchase but way more items that wasn’t on the list I still need for instance:

Crocs, benadryll, robe, adult diapers, straws, earplugs, liquid iv, stool softener, antiseptic body wash, avocado float, back board, urinal, pineapple juice, throat calm, 3 moo-moo’s and a massage roller (the crocs are the only thing on this list that cost more than $20).  My flight is at 7:15a tomorrow and im so damn nervous but excited.  I will spend Saturday and Sunday gallivanting around Miami and then body , ody, ody, ody, ody, ody.  I still have to send my entire itinerary to my aunt but I think im all set.  9/17/21

Pre-op was packed but I went on Saturday and was in and out in an hour.  I was charged for a covid $80, 3 post-op massages $150 and a drug test $20.  I went over my clearance paper work with a medical assistant who also took 9 before pics of me.  Keep in mind, your surgery can be cancelled or reschedule if all of you labs aren’t at the surgery center on pre-op day.  I cannot stress how important it is to take your labs with you!!!  Mine were faxed over from urgent care but I was also provided copies which I took with me.  The photos were sent directly to my surgeon to analyze before surgery.  From my knowledge, I was also to be fitted for my faja but that never happened, do NOT leave pre-op without a faja!!! I paid for 3 massages from CG totaling $150 which I regret badly.  I do NOT recommend getting massages from the surgery center.  There are 4-5 different surgeons performing surgeries on any given day and they do at minimum 4 surgeries per day, that’s at least 15-20 different girls with the same surgery and post-op date.  CG had 2 massage therapists to drain 15-20 girls.  I was drained for 9 mins, your drain massages should last at least 45 mins for maximum drainage.  I only used 1 of the 3 massages I paid for and was denied a refund.  That is a huge downside to CG once they have your money good fucking luck getting it back! Ps. Ellie was a royal fucking cunt!!!!!  She told my medical assistant that I didn’t need a faja so I was never fitted for one and woke up out of surgery with a binder on versus a faja like I should have.  I wanted to slap the shit out of her and took the charge on the chin but I wanted my surgery so I refrained.. I was put on a 12 hour fast and contacted an hour after pre-op with my surgery address and time.  My fast started at 7pm the day before surgery and my surgery time wa at 6:30a, there was a $300 for showing up to surgery late.  All I could bring to surgery was compression socks and a faja (that I didn’t have), I was instructed to bathe with dial (the orange one) before surgery to make sure my incisions weren’t infected, no lotion, perfume, deodorant, makeup, nails, lashes, no jewelry/piercing or hair products and no personals ie, purse money, wallet also you will need a companion or surgery will be cancelled.  I’ll upload all my paperwork at the end.   Surgery day arrive at the surgery center at 6:15 am how about the entire fucking staff was late!  Bitch I was outside in Miami alone with compression socks on and a moo moo, LIVID.  No one arrived until 7:10 am, baby I wanted to kill everyone but fuck it, it was go time.  I’m escorted to a room, changed into a paper gown, piss tested, my labs were reviewed again and finally my surgeon comes in!  We were in the exam room alone which was weird cause I was asshole naked but he kept it 1000% professional, he asked me what I wanted and I say “the fattest ass” he looked me dead in my eyes without a single hesitation and said “it’ll heal like a diaper”  LMAO.  I showed him areas that I wanted lipo’d to death and he marked me up, I didn’t aka e picture of my mark ups but shit was rolling by then, he walked out I put my paper gown back on and the anesthesiologist walked in.  I expressed my biggest concerns to him, I didn’t want to die and I didn’t want to wake up during surgery.  He explain why the drug test was so important because certain street drugs will have adverse effect with the anesthesia.  My anesthesiologist walked me up to the surgery room and I hopped on the table, they put massage boots on both of my feet and inserted an iv, the mask was put on my face and my heart rate went to heaven, I wanted to shit myself bro.  The anesthesiologist told me to make a tight fist, I asked what time it was, 8:08am.. I woke up to a nurse helping me into a wheelchair with a binder around my waist and I was scream crying because my entire body ached, I didn't know where I was and the anesthesia is no hoe.  I was escorted to my recovery house’s transportation van and taken to my damn bed.  

I chose Flawlesss Recovery House with Ms. Opal.  I paid a $200 deposit before 2 weeks before surgery and the balance the day I left.  I opted for a 5 day stay.  I loved it there bro and couldn’t imagine trying to recover at a hotel or air bnb!  There were nurses there 24-7, I was roomed with one other girl but the house had a total of 4 bedrooms, one of which no one occupied and the door was always shut but my room was the only room with 2 beds, the others had 3 beds.  I had a call button, it was love, the nurses came expeditiously when I rang it.  They made 3 home cooked meals per day and I don’t eat meat, they accommodated me with no hesitation.  I loved it man.  So couple hours after surgery I attempted to use the bathroom on my own and blacked out, the anesthesia is really fucking strong and took an entire day to wear off (for me), the nurses helped me pee in a cup until then.  Post op day 9/21/21, I went in to make sure I looked good, got a faja finally and received that lousy as drain.  Back to the recovery house I was able to walk finally w/o passing out and in went my foams, I also could pee by myself with the use of a urinal.  I was constipated for 2 days, first bowel movement was on post op day 2. I paid for an independent massage therapist named Tatiana, she used a ultrasound machine to massage me so I cancelled her.  When I took my faja off for my massage it was washed and dried by the time I was done, I took a shower and put my faja on with my foams.  I cancelled Tatiana because don’t let nobody use no machine on you until you are at least 2 weeks post op, hand massages only.  All the girls were getting massaged by the literal best massage therapist (in my opinion) her name is Brittany, I could cry she was EVERYTHING, I was tender but she put the painful massage theory to bed!  She taught me how to drain myself and how to open my incisions without the q-tip looking thing.  In 45 mins she drained 5 of those doggy pad things worth of fluid off of me.  I received 4 massages in 5 days.  I left on Saturday 9/25/2021 on Sunday, back in Atlanta, I received my 5th massage and that when I was told I have not one but 2 seromas.  I swear on everything I love it was because everyone wakes up from surgery with a faja on but not me (Fuck you Ellie, lil bitch) I had on a binder (its what they use for tummy tucks).  The lady who did my 1st massage in Atlanta was Bri, not gone post her ig cause she did a damn good massage but when I asked her to syringe drain me the good sis stuck this long ass needle in my seroma but could get the fluid out, cancelled her too (the massage was good asf tho but nah).  Tired and tried I bit the bullet and booked a packed with Dream Body ($455 for 5 massage, I think, don’t quote me look it up on there site and follow them on ig)  because they are the biggest name in Atlanta, Jayda Wayda goes to them.  The  most painful massage yet, yes Michelle lil ass is so strong but she will get the fluid up off you.  She made me tear up bad and no matter how much I screamed or even tried to push her off of me she understood the assignment, Michelle helped me get back into my faja after my massage and told me my faja was too big and to have it altered.  She recommended a lady on ig @siri2sir but to know me is to know I altered my shit myself.  Allow me to tell y'all, I look good asf!!!!!!! 10/4/2021 

[cali-holland]

Learn To Be Lonely, Prologue

Tom Holland X Reader, Soulmate!AU

In a world where two souls are destined for each other, is it possible to find love when your other half has passed- or are you truly destined to have a lonely heart forever?

Word Count: 2500

Learn To Be Lonely Masterlist

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*gif is not mine*

~~~

Soulmates are two souls destined to be one. Two souls coming together as one heart. Or so that’s what the small mark on your wrist told you. Everyone was born with a half of a heart etched on their wrist. That heart would only turn full when you met your soulmate, when your life was complete, as deemed by the universe. 

Something about the concepts of soulmates bothered you. Maybe it was because you were told that you could only ever truly love and be loved by one specific person. Maybe it was because the small mark on your wrist seemed to dictate your every action in life. Maybe it was because society was riddled with stupid norms when it came to love- wait for your soulmate, only love your soulmate, your life revolved around your soulmate. The worst part was that you could meet your soulmate at any given moment and have your life instantly changed, forever intertwining your life with theirs.

You believed in soulmates, in true love, in all of it. You believed that one day your mark would be complete and your life would be too. You believed all of the stories of people meeting their soulmates, some in mundane ways and some in more miraculous ways. The first time you had witnessed a “first meeting”, as society dubbed it, was with your best friend and her soulmate.

“We’re here!” She ushered you out of the car the moment the Uber arrived at the party. You looked up at the large house, and an echo flashed through your mind ‘maybe he’s here’. Anytime you went out, your mind was quick to remind you that there was always the possibility of meeting your soulmate, your other half. It was this chance, this sliver of a chance, that motivated you to freely enjoy your time in public, especially when you had your best friend, Kate, by your side. Kate was like you- age 21, still without a full heart on her wrist. She wanted to meet her soulmate just as badly, both of you wanting that life-changing moment of your mark being completed.

The two of you rushed inside the house, already filled with the smell of alcohol and drugs, sweaty bodies pushed up against each other wherever there was room. Music blared over the speakers, drawing out the loud screams from beer pong in the dining room and the keg stands on the back patio. It was a typical college party, loud and crazy, and you were living for it. You and Kate hurried to the kitchen, searching for a few quick shots to start your night off right.

“New Am!” She shouted happily, smiling over at you. You both knew New Amsterdam wasn’t anything special, but this cheap vodka was her absolute favorite- you both also knew that meant she’d be gone in a matter of minutes.

“Cheers!” You laughed, throwing back the shot with her. It burned down your throat and you mentally cursed yourself for having no chaser. Straight New Am was not the way to go as a first shot. As Kate poured another shot for both of you, a tall blonde came into the kitchen, presumably seeking out more alcohol. You couldn’t help it- he was tall and gorgeous with those honey colored eyes, and you were definitely a light weight, already feeling that first shot. He tossed the empty beer can in his hand in the trash can and went to grab one from in front of you.

“Excuse me,” He said as he reached in front of you. You could tell that he definitely had more than just the one beer so far. He smiled at you gratefully, showing off his dimples. He looked next to you to Kate, who was putting the large bottle of vodka back on the table. You could tell by her smile that she was proud by just how full she filled the tiny plastic shot glasses. As she handed you your glass, her eyes caught with the stranger’s beside you. Her brown eyes widened, and the stranger smiled in complete disbelief. Your eyes flicked down to her bare wrist, showing off the new full heart mark.

Kate had found her soulmate. Kate was complete. 

“I’m Leo.” The boy smiled, holding out his hand to her.

“Kate.” She replied, her eyes shining in happiness as she shook his hand softly. You were seemingly erased from the conversation as they began to talk- alcohol and the party completely forgotten about. Though you didn’t find your soulmate that day, you were so incredibly happy that your friend did; Kate deserved someone special, and you knew your soulmate was out there, waiting to meet you one day.

“Y/N! Come on!” Kate smiled brightly, tugging on your arm to shake you from your thoughts. She held up her shot glass with her left hand, inadvertently showing off her shiny engagement ring that she had just gotten last week.

“Sorry, just distracted.” You apologized, picking up your glass.

“To 23!” She cheered, and you two clinked your glasses together.

Though you were out celebrating your birthday with your best friend, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling a bit down. You tried to enjoy yourself, you really did, but something felt off and you couldn’t identify why. You weren’t a psychic or anything, yet you still felt this looming cloud overhead, like something bad was about to happen. You passed off those thoughts as just worries over the future. It was your birthday, you were turning 23, you were going into a new year of life- alone. Your wrist still reminded you that fate was waiting for the perfect moment to give you your soulmate. You dreaded that the perfect moment would never happen, but you held onto hope.

But your birthday wasn’t all that bad. There were dark clouds scattered throughout the sky, so maybe the “looming cloud” you felt was just a foreshadowing thought that it would rain because no rain- well that was too good to be true. In the six years that you had lived in New York, it had rained on every single birthday. Somehow, the weather had decided that it’d be nice to you today (that or it wanted to surprise you with a massive storm this evening).

“To 23!” You smiled, matching your friend’s enthusiasm. Kate threw back her shot with ease, unlike you. As soon as the liquid hit your throat, you felt your heart lurch and you coughed uncomfortably on the alcohol.

“Are you okay?” Kate’s voice was laced with concern. Her eyes scanned over your face as you coughed away the burning liquid, forcing it to complete its journey down to your stomach. Your wrist started to burn, everything started to burn.

“Hurts.” You managed to yelp, tears clouding your vision. You closed your eyes, hoping that this was just a sick dream. You could hear Kate saying something, but you couldn’t comprehend it, too focused on the pain coursing through your body. After another moment of searing pain, you felt most of it stop suddenly. You slowly opened your eyes and looked over at your friend.

“Oh no,” Kate let out a whimper, holding her hands in front of her horrified face. You trailed her eye line to your wrist. Tears overwhelmed you again as you scanned over your burning wrist. Your half a heart, your soulmate mark, was now faded grey, not the sharp black it was just moments earlier. It burned, sending painful sensations throughout your entire body. You traced your fingers over the mark delicately.

“Does this mean-?” You couldn’t finish the question as your eyes found Kate’s brown eyes again. She nodded, tears in her eyes. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you in for a comforting hug.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She repeated, her words filled with sorrow.

You both knew what a faded mark meant. Your soulmate, the mystery man that you had never even met, was gone forever. You were a solum now, a soul without a soulmate, without another half. Your heart would never be full, your life would never be complete. 

“We should go.” Kate said quietly, knowing it’d be better to grieve in the comfort of your own apartment and not in a crowded bar. You nodded weakly, barely noticing how she went off to go pay the very small bill that the two of you had acquired. Wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulder, she led you out of the bar and hailed both of you a taxi.

While the ride back to your apartment was silent, your mind was anything but that. Your whole life led up to the “first meeting” between soulmates, and you would never have that. There were so many things you’d never have now; you’d never have your first kiss or even your first time; you’d never get married; you’d never have kids- all  of that was meant to be shared between you and your soulmate, but he was gone and he was never coming back. The burning pain on your left wrist was sure to remind you of that. Sure, you could experience all those things without your soulmate, but that’s not how it was supposed to work and that’s not how society would accept you. Those stupid norms essentially said no moving on if your soulmate had passed; you were just meant to be a solum, a widow, forever. 

Not only were you deprived of those things, but you also hit the realization of your mark. Your soulmate was dead. You lost your soulmate, but you didn’t even know him. There were people out there, though, that did know him, that loved him. You were suffering, sure, but you weren’t the only one suffering from this loss. You wanted to somehow reach out to his family, to console them, to talk to them, to just see what he was like, what your life could have been like.

It was a near impossible task though. Psychics helped people find their soulmates, mostly young hopeless romantics or older adults that were beginning to give up hope, but it was a difficult business to get into. It was seen as “cheating” the universe from setting up that perfect first meeting. Psychics could tell you almost anything you wanted about your significant other- their name, their age, their height, whether or not they have dimples, their hometown. Anything that could help you fantasize and later find your soulmate, psychics could tell you. With such shame put upon psychics (and those who went to them), getting a soulmate reading was hard to come by. It was even harder to find one that could locate a lost soulmate. You didn’t quite understand how it all worked- you thought it was some sort of voodoo magic, but you knew it worked, or at least locating the alive ones worked. You didn’t know any solums like you, who had lost their soulmate before even meeting them, and so you had no real knowledge of if it actually worked.

Once you were back at your apartment, Kate tried to help you, but you both knew there was nothing she could do to fix your broken soul. She comforted you as best she could, getting you blankets and ice cream and staying with you in your bed until you fell asleep. She had already found her soulmate, she was getting married to her soulmate, she was experiencing all those things that you could never experience. 

It took a few days of wallowing in grief before your head cleared and you finally managed to get out of bed. Kate had stayed by your side all weekend, and she was currently back at her place, getting cleaned up before work. You knew you should head into work, that you shouldn’t email your boss with a half-assed “I’m sick” excuse. When you opened your laptop to send the sad email, you found it was still opened to your Facebook account. You didn’t go on it all that often, but you were responding to the many “happy birthday” messages you had received just moments before you left for the bar with Kate, moments before your life forever changed.

Just before you closed out of the website, you saw one of your old acquaintances from high school had reposted her own friend’s ad for an apartment. A girl, 23, was looking for a roommate and needed someone to sign onto the lease within the next few weeks. “Two bedrooms, two baths, second floor apartment, big kitchen, wifi-included, pet friendly”, it read. The pictures were beautiful, you assumed either she was a photographer or someone close to her was because they were perfect. “Location: Kingston Upon Thames”, you read, scanning over more details on the apartment. 

‘Thames? As in England?’ You thought, confused. You weren’t the best at geography but you were certain that was an English river, not a neighborhood in New York. Curiosity got the better of you as you typed in the city to the google search bar. Yep, it was in England, just outside of London. You’ve never been to England. You sighed, maybe your mind wasn’t as clear as you had thought it was. Before you let yourself ponder over this perfectly pictured apartment, you called Kate, needing to talk to her.

“Tell me it’s a bad idea to move to England.” You said, rushing out your words as soon as she picked up.

“England? Why would you move to England?” She asked, her voice raised in surprise. She knew you weren’t in the right state of mind to make any big, life-changing decisions, but she also knew you wouldn’t really listen to her at times like these.

“I don’t know. I just,” You sighed heavily again, “I want a change. I just lost my soulmate, no one is going to complete my life for me anymore. I need to get out of New York, go somewhere new, experience life. And I just saw a post on Facebook from that one girl from high school, the one who had a British exchange student for a month and then she talked with a British accent for years just to-“

“Annoy everyone, yes I remember.” Kate stated, cutting you off.

“Her friend is looking for a roommate, it seems like a great place, but it’s in England.” You finished your long explanation. You continued, though you felt like you were trying to convince yourself of this decision more than her, “It’d be a new experience, it’d be good for me.”

“It’d be an experience, that’s for sure.” She let out a small sigh. “Talk to the girl and see if it sounds like a good idea, first. If you do want to move to England though, I’ll help you move. I’ll miss you like crazy, but I won’t hold you back.”

“Thank you. You’re the best.” You smiled, “I’ll message her right now, and see if this girl would even make a good roommate.”

Kate got off the phone shortly afterwards and you typed out a brief email to your boss, asking him to excuse your last minute absence. Flipping your laptop back to the Facebook tab, you clicked on the apartment post and wrote out your first message to the stranger.

‘Hi, I saw that you were looking for a roommate.’

~~~ Tag List: @thollandx​ @thenoddingbunny-blog​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes​ @marvelous-tswiftfan​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

[windermeresimblr]

Story Process Challenge

I was tagged by @danjaley and @treason-and-plot (in alphabetical order, not tagging order). Thank you both so much!

Summary: My process makes sense to myself alone and it’s very much a work in progress! Also, I’m very boring and don’t do gifs or videos, so you’ll just have to look at my screenshots. Sorry!

This is behind the jump for length.

1. Your writing process - show us a part of your script or explain how you write your scenes. Do you write in screenplay format or novel format? Etc, etc.

I write in novel format if it’s a wholly-posed story, mostly because that’s easier for me than a script. I feel like it really helps build the ~aesthetic~ of a scene that way. For my attempts at partially-posed/gameplay stories, I’ve gone for screenplay format, but it’s very new to me and I feel much more comfortable with the novel format. I usually write in Google Docs, since that can go with me everywhere and I can write on my lunch hour/waiting for my mom to get out of the pharmacy/etc, but sometimes I will write in Notepad. 

(Yes, this IS a flashback to Alasdair and Ma. Yolanda meeting; they were perfect teenage hellions causing chaos at a society party, don’t worry.)

2. Scene building - show us you in the middle of scene building through pictures, gifs, or a video. Explain what is the best thing about scene building and what is the worst!

I’m still learning how to make a very good scene build; this is where being a historical player kind of hurts. It’s hard to get a good sense of what a 1810s Spanish drawing room or a 1600s merchant’s house in Amsterdam really looked like without abusing my library privileges! (Images from Wikipedia and historical sites only go so far.) The best thing about scene-building is when the vision of the room in my head matches the room that’s in-game, which is pretty difficult. The worst thing about scene building is that I’m very perfectionistic and a control freak, which does not help, and frequently I do get lost in the details and can’t see the forest for the trees. 

(This isn’t a scene, it’s that Iron Age Roundhouse, but it’s a good example of how I do things--all the lights on, everything bright white paint or the $0 floor until I am happy with the shape and placement, and then I decorate.) 

3. CC/Pose Making - do you make your own cc/poses for your scene? If so, what is your process like to create? Do you just go off the top of your head? Do you use reference photos?

I’d love to be able to make my own CC and poses specifically for scenes! I’m still very new at CC-making--see my hats collection--and again, I’m very much a control freak. I use a lot of reference photos, especially historical costuming sites and books, because it gives me a lot of pride to have the clothing and accessories look just right. 

The creation process is usually: gosh, I need a crispinette/gable hood/palla/whatever for this character, let me see if there’s a mesh from TS2 or TS4 that I can wrangle into submission if I can’t repurpose an existing mesh, and then a prolonged period of fighting with Milkshape and TSRW and other programs until it looks serviceable and works. I’m not very technically skilled yet.

I don’t make my own poses--I’d love to, I have a hand-spinning poseset idea living rent-free in my mind at all times, complete with a drop spindle accessory, but I’m not very confident with Blender or hand accessories, etc. When I pose my Sims, I do use reference photos if I haven’t already planned out how they’re moving around in the scene. (Well, reference paintings, usually, although sometimes I’m lucky enough to find reenactment photos!)

4. Getting in the zone - What do you do to get in the zone to work on a scene? Examples include: show us your playlist you use when working on a scene, what’s your go-to scene snack/drink, etc.

I don’t know if I get into a zone as much as I just carve out time to work on things as I can. I don’t have playlists for my characters. (Not a Deaf thing; I just haven’t really...had the urge to do that. I’m worried I’m a neglectful Simmer now, ha ha.) I don’t have a go-to writing snack or drink. I just...try to relax a bit, usually, and sometimes I will look at my past chapters to see what we were doing last time. 

5. Screenshot folder - give us a look into your screenshot folder to show us just how much goes into ONE scene for your story. (Scrapped pictures encouraged!!!)

Do you REALLY want to see this? Really? I’m an AWFUL packrat. I try to organize it and I can’t. (Sorry. I’m very messy.)

6. Captions - are you a caption on the picture kind of storyteller or captions in text box type of storyteller? Why? Do you do both?

Captions and text go in the text box.

I’d love to be able to put dialogue in speech bubbles, because it seems cool, but I talk too much! (This is the same reason why I kind of go back and forth with Netflix-style captions. I don’t know when to shut up.) I also worry that the captions wouldn’t be visible in scenes with low lighting or overly-bright lighting. 

7. Editing!!!!! - explain and show us your process editing a scene through a video, gif, or picture. A Before and after will suffice if you aren’t in the middle of editing a scene as you answer this.

Philomena, before...

Philomena, after. (This is one of those images where I just threw up my hands at the hair editing. I wish TS3 had hat chops like TS4 did.)

I’m really not confident with editing--I want to have my pictures look aesthetically pleasing, consistent with the other images in the chapter, and “nice” in general. It doesn’t help that while I’m 95% Maxis-match, my aesthetic inspiration for scenes changes with the wind. I use pooklet’s lighting actions, and then from there I tend to use the Holy Colors, Batman actions. But I’m trying to find my own way of doing things--reliant on others’ actions, yes, but more consistently done and somehow conveying that it’s “of my workshop.”

8. Throwback-  show us an ANCIENT story scene you did in the past and explain how you would do the scene differently today!

First: I think I’d choose a different pose for Vicar Max here. (It doesn’t quite fit; why would he be staring at Alasdair like that? It’s more of a mid-conversation pose.) I liked how it looked like Alasdair was genuflecting as he sat in the pew, but again, the pose needs to be changed. I might just go for neutral sitting-and-talking-looking-straight-ahead poses. 

This was one of those pictures taken when I was trying to understand Reshade, so I’d obviously skip that. I’d also add Pooklet’s lighting actions, of course.

It’s definitely not lit well in the back--I’m not sure how I’d change that. I didn’t want to lose the “quiet chapel” feel, but there has to be a balance, not letting the characters look like they’re spotlit. 

The angle also looks weird, but I’m horrible at angles; I have a lot to learn still.  I’d either close-up on the faces or I’d zoom out more. (I think I was having issues with Alasdair on the OMSP, for some reason.)

I tag whoever would like to do this!

[palettes-and-prompts]

Sick Fic Prompts (Cute and/or Sad)

Dialogue Prompts

1) "I'm fine." "You not fine, you need to go to the hospital." "I'm fine! Just a little dizzy. That's all. Nothing to worry about." 2) "It's just a cough, I'll be fine." 3) "When's the surgery?" 4) "Bust me out of here, would you? I don't wanna spend my birthday in a hospital." 5) "Why are you crying? I'm the one that's dying." "I'm sorry." "God you're such a crybaby. Come here, I can't hug you if you're all the way over there." 6) "Give it to me straight, Doc. How long do they have to live?" "Yeah, it's just a mild case of bronchitis..." 7) "You're dying." "God fucking wishes he could kill me. I'm gonna live forever." 8) "You should go to a support group for people with-" "I'm not going to a fucking support group. Those things are depressing." "You should make some friends." "Make friends? This isn't Fault in Our Stars, I'm not gonna join a support group that changes my life and Augustus Waters is not gonna swoop in and take me to Amsterdam no matter how fuckin sick that would be." 9) "You look kinda sexy bald." "After I beat cancer the next thing I'll be beating is your ass." "Ooh, sounds kinky. You promise?" "I hate you so much." 10) "You've been sitting in that wheelchair all morning staring at me. What are you doing?" "Well, now that I'm bald and walking is annoying I thought I'd try being Professor X and seeing if I can make people do whatever I want." "Is it working?" "Well, you're still bothering me and not making me chocolate chip cookies so I can confirm I am not a mutant." 11) "Will you make me some soup?" "No." "But I'm sick." "Ugh, fine, what kind do you want?" "Can you make the one with the little stars in it?" "It's like taking care of a toddler." 12) "Will you kiss me better?" "I can't kiss the influenza out of you." "..." "Don't give me the puppy eyes, I'll get sick if I kiss you." "..." "Goddamn it, you better take care of me when I get sick!" 13) "My body feels like it weighs a million pounds." "I'm not walking all the way over there to put the remote in your hand. It's literally an inch away from your hand, just pick it up." 14) "My body...so cold...my mouth...so dry...my stomach...so empty..." "Blanket...right next to you...food and water...in the kitchen...Person A...so dramatic." "My temperature...so high...my body...getting weaker...Person B...so unhelpful." "Just get up! You can walk to the kitchen." "Can't...not strong enough...wont make it." "It's ten feet from where you're sitting." 15) "I'm sick and I need you to take care of me." "You want me to take care of you? I don't take care of anybody. I'm not even good at taking care of myself." "Maybe you should just call Person A to come take care of me." 16) "I'm sick. Will you make me some chicken soup?" "No. Die." "I'm starting to think we're not friends." "I'vs explicitly told you many times we are not friends." "Fine. I'll get my own soup. I'll make it special and only my /friends/ can have some!" 17) "Person A is sick." "So were /not/ going to the party?" "We have to take care of them." "...do we though?" 18) "Achoo!" "Ugh! Sneeze into your fucking elbow, you monster. Who raised you?!" 19) "Will you go pick up my medicine for me?" "Why would I do that for you?" "Because you love me?" "Yeah, but do I really love you enough to leave this bed for you?" 20) "You think I'm thinking about sex with you while you're sick?" "Yeah." "Okay, yeah, I was. But we can't do that because I don't wanna get sick!" "Be honest. For this body? You'd get a little sick." "Yeah, I would."

Regular Prompts

1) A gets sick and keeps coughing, insisting they're fine. Eventually they cough so hard in front of B that blood comes up. B panics and takes A to the hospital. When they get there the doctor tells them it's just the flu and that A just coughed too hard. B is relieved but immediately starts taking care of A. 2) A and B are roommates and when A gets sick B's taking care of them. When A gets better they're sad that B isn't going to be taking care of them anymore so they decide to pretend they're still sick to keep B's attention. B catches them heating up their thermometer and decides to keep playing along until A can admit it. 3) A's always complaining about how B ruins their dates with anyone and when they finally meet C and claim it's love at first sight B ends up getting sick and asks if A can take care of them. A wears gloves, face masks, and uses disinfectant spray any time B even breathes near them. When it's time for their date B is really sick, laying in the floor and A decides to cancel their date with C to sit with B and play with their hair while they're getting sick. B insists that A leaves for their date telling them they don't want to ruin it and never intended to ruin any of A's dates. When A realizes they want to stay with B and take care of them rather than go on a date with C they remember that B never really ruined their dates. A just always decided to skip them to help/hang out with B instead. (Bonus if A ends up getting sick because they kiss B after realizing their feelings, and B ends up taking care of them when they get sick.) 4) A and B are enemies who get flu shots at the same time but instead of flu shots they end up getting infected on accident by a disease there's no known cure for yet. They end up getting put in the same room and are the only other person the other can interact with. They bicker and fight about dumb things and their only interaction is with people head to toe in suits to prevent them from getting the disease. Everyone keeps telling them they don't have a cure yet and things start getting bad when their symptoms get worse. They both begin to feel bad for the other and slowly realize they're all they have right now since they're not allowed any other human interaction. They bond and try to keep each other's spirits up even when they come to terms that they might die together. 5) A and B are roommates who've never liked each other who end up catching C's sickness and spend a week arguing over who's going to do which chore. When being sick brings them closer and they spend time bonding over TV and movies they decide they could potentially see them as friends. 6) A and B are sick but aren't allowed to leave so they decide to be dramatic and send long drawn out messages to one another since they live across from one another with a clothes line between them that they can run the letters back and forth on. Doing this every day makes their day and soon they find themselves falling for each other. 7) A is sick and has no one to take care of them. B is the wild neighbor who's able to walk out their window and down the fire escape to bother them every day. When B notices A is sick they step in to take care of them which A hates but soon grows to love. (Bonus if they've never had someone take care of them so it's very strange but nice.) 8) A and B are enemies who are competitive as hell and when they both catch C's sickness they make it a competition to see who can get over it faster. 9) A is sick and they feel awful and B takes care of them. When A notices the symptoms aren't going away and that they're just staying the same B takes them to a doctor worried. They're both surprised when the doctor tells them it's just allergies. 10) A and B go to the doctor to see if A's sick. When the doctor tells them it's just allergies they buy medication and get on with it. When they don't get over it and things get worse they have a nurse friend of theirs check A they inform them that they indeed have strep throat.

Last one for today and then I’m gonna go to sleep, wake up, write some more, make some palettes, and try to get the rest tomorrowish? I don’t know for sure but they’ll be coming!

[fromthadiningtable]

For the headcannon prompt list could you do 61 but make it a preference? Thank uuuuu

61. honeymoon / wedding night 

Mick: Mick would pick a destination somewhat quiet, but definitely romantic. Probably somewhere in Europe like the Italian or French countryside or a nice beach in one of those areas. He’d rent out a quiet little villa where you would spend most of your time relaxing and relishing the newly wedded bliss. He’d make sure everything was perfect for you. He’d have a nice bath drawn for the two of you, with roses and candles and even champagne. “You looked so beautiful today.” he says, caressing you hair with his hand and taking a sip of champagne with the other. “Your speech was amazing, babe. I never thought you could make me cry so much.” You say, playing in the water with your hands and your back resting against his chest. He’d make sure you had breakfast in bed the next day with an amazing view of the rolling Tuscany hills or the glittering ocean. The whole time he’d be focused only on staring at you and praying he never forgot this whole trip and how beautiful and happy you looked. You would definitely do some sight seeing together, taking as many pictures of the beautiful architecture as you could. You wanted to have these memories forever. On the last night, you would have a beautiful dinner with some wine and cheese and possibly some authentic pizza. The night sky is lit above you two with beautiful stars and the moon is full. “Do we have to go home?” You say, looking at him with your eyes wide like a puppy. 

Nikki: Nikki would want to go somewhere where a lot of fun would be had and you could party but also enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere like Amsterdam would be perfect, plenty of places to go have fun but also there’s a lot of sights to see and quiet areas to spend time together. You’d start off with hitting the Red Light District and getting into a little bit of trouble. The both of you just bar hop all night and try new drinks that aren’t in the states. Nikki would giggle at you as you get a little drunk and begin getting slightly sloppy but keeping you adorable charm at the same time. You catch a cab back to the little loft Nikki had rented out and on the way he’d look at you close to your face saying, “Hey, I love you. So glad I married you.” And you’d lean in for a kiss that turns into heavy touching and eventually desperate clawing at each other. The days that followed involved going to see the city during the day, such as art museums and the river that runs right through the vicinity. Nikki booked an amazing last night dinner at a very fancy restaurant where everyone knows you by your newly wedded name and you enjoy four courses and choice of champagne or wine. He made the entire trip perfect. You make a motion across the table, pretending to have a camera and take a picture. “What are you doing, crazy?” He asks. “I just never want to forget looking at you in this moment.”

Vince: Vince would pick somewhere not too far away, but somewhere that was bustling and you both enjoyed. Somewhere like New York City would be a perfect fit for the both of you and your tastes. You’d fly in and immediately hit somewhere very nice to eat and then begin seeing the city at night. Rockefeller Center is definitely a must and then at the end of the night you’d head to the top of the Empire State Building to see everything from up high. The lights are amazing and seem even prettier than LA right now. You catch Vince looking at you from the corner of your eye. “What?” you ask, giggling a little bit. “There’s so much to look at but then I have my beautiful wife next to me.” His eyes are shining so bright from happiness and you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve this man. The rest of the trip involves going to see more of the city including all of the boroughs, movie sets, Central Park, and of course local spots to eat that you can’t get anywhere else. Your hotel room overlooks the city and you watch as all of the cars zoom by below you. Vince comes behind you and holds you gently, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “You know, we could just move here.” You stop for a second wondering if he’s serious. “L.A.’s getting old anyways.” he adds. “You mean it?” and he nods while smiling and looking you up an down. 

Tommy: Tommy would definitely love to go somewhere tropical so probably Hawaii is the best bet for the two of you. After the wedding and you’ve said your goodbyes to all of your guests, you fly in at night so you can’t see much of the beautiful scenery but Tommy promises that tomorrow is the day you hit the beach. He arranges a good old fashioned luau for the two of you which even includes cute drinks in coconuts and pineapples. It’s all so cheesy but you’re so in awe of everything he’s arranged so far. There’s a fire going and Tommy looks at you through hooded eyes, “I fucking love you.” You stare back and lean in to give him a long kiss. “I love you too. Wanna get lei’d?” You raise an eyebrow and look down at the floral necklace as you both bust out laughing. The following days you go to the beach and bask in the beautiful Hawaiian sun, the sand in your toes and your hand in Tommy’s as you both catch some rays. You even go on an amazing hiking trip through one of the mountains and get close enough to see a volcano. The atmosphere is fresh and clean and lush with vegetation. It’s beautiful and that’s all he can think when he looks at you through all of these moments. “Promise we’ll come back here someday?” you ask him, wanting to come here every vacation if you could. He pushes his pinky out for you to grab. “Promise, baby.”

[upthenorthmountain]

Something Just Like This - Epilogue

So Charis started reblogging all this stuff and I said I had part of an epilogue and then I had a bit of spare time so I pulled it together, I think, and here it is

Previous Chapters

Epilogue - Two Weeks Later

The village hall was filling up. Kristoff’s mother was supervising the arrangement of the buffet table; his brother was setting up the bar; a group of children in their best party clothes were running around kicking balloons and squealing; Sven was in the corner trying to get his phone and a set of speakers to talk to each other while Ben hung off his arm. There was a huge hand-painted banner saying ‘CONGRATULATIONS KRISTOFF AND ANNA’ along one entire wall and confetti everywhere.

Anna paused just inside the door to take in the scene.

“Sorry,” Kristoff said behind her, “I know they’re a bit much, en masse.”

“It’s wonderful!” Anna said. “So many people! I couldn’t muster more than one family member without serious planning. I can’t believe your mother organised all this in a fortnight.”

“She is the queen of delegation, and as you say, she’s got so many people to delegate to. Did your sister say what time she was getting here?”

“No. But I told her the times and she said she’d make it.”  Anna sighed. “I wish she’d flown out yesterday and stayed the night.”

“She’ll be here.”

-----

“You know,” said Sven to Kristoff, a baby on his hip and a glass of lemonade in his other hand, “I was talking with Jess the other night, as is a habit of mine, and I said. I said, I’m happy for him - you - I’m happy for him but I just worry about him, you know? After last time. And she said, I’m fairly sure he’s considered that, and if he thinks it’s worth it, surely he would know best. And I realised she was right, you know? You’re the only one who can decide if it’s worth it, and obviously you do think so, so.”

“I do.”

“And I mean,” Sven continued, “I guess I was thinking, he barely knows her! Then I realised what I meant was, I barely know her. And that’s not your fault, that’s my fault. I’ve hardly seen you recently -”

“That’s not your fault, Sven. You had a new baby, Jess and the kids are your priority right now, that’s how it should be.”

“Yeah, I know, but all the same. I feel like I’ve let you down a bit.”

“It’s not like five, ten years ago when we were all down the pub every weekend. Things move on.”

“Aye, I suppose.”

“Personally, as soon as we have a baby I’m going to drop you like a hot brick,” Kristoff said.

“Fair enough. Hang on, what’s that, Daisy?” Sven said to the baby. “You want to go and see Uncle Kris while Daddy gets some food? There you go,” and he handed her over, then laughed. “Oh, god, I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“You remember that night after Leanne left and I came round with that whisky and we got hammered.”

“Not really, which I thought was the point of it.”

“Well, one thing I remember, was you being upset about - you were complaining, about being Uncle Kris. Always Uncle Kris. You said, I don’t want any more people calling me Uncle Kris, I want someone to call me Daddy, and I said, I said I think there are websites for people like that -”

“Suddenly, it’s coming back to me. I don’t remember finding it funny at the time.”

“No, you really didn’t, you thought I was taking the piss.”

“Well, you were.”

“Only a little bit.”

Kristoff followed Sven over to the buffet table, carrying the baby. “Thank you for sorting the music, anyway.”

“No problem. Jess vetoed some of my song choices, I’m afraid to say.”

“Really?”

“Mmm. Apparently ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’ was not appropriate.”

“Sven.”

“Or ‘Relight My Fire’. I didn’t even ask about ‘Oops I Did It Again’.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are, you know.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

-----

“Anna, can I get you a drink, ah, I see you have one. Two.”

“I’m going to carry this glass of wine all night,” Anna said to Sven. “It was that or get a t-shirt printed that said ‘NOT PREGNANT’. And the other one is for Elsa, wherever she’s got to.”

“Sounds fair, sounds fair.”

“I never thanked you,” Anna said.

“For what?”

“You know. Ringing me. When…”

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about that. He’d have got there by himself, in the end, he just needed a kick.”

Anna smiled and sipped her drink.

“Although,” Sven added, “I was intending more to kick him into buying you dinner, maybe, or just having an honest conversation. The elopement took me a little by surprise. Just when you think you know a person.”

“I’m sure you know him better than I do.”

“In some ways, maybe - I hope you know him better than I do in others. Whatever he tells you about our trip to Amsterdam is a lie. That was a joke,” he added hurriedly.

Anna laughed. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I got it.”

Sven smiled. “I like you,” he said, “I’m glad you’re sticking around.”

“Definitely.” She smiled and went to take her sister her drink.

-----

“So you must be Anna!”

Anna turned, and saw it was Jessica. She laughed. “I’m tempted to start answering that with a no.”

“I’ve heard at least three people say it to you, and I’m sure that’s not all.”

“No, it’s definitely in the double digits.”

“At least you’re getting it all over with in one go, though.”

“Yes, that’s something. And it’s nice to meet everyone! I just can’t get over suddenly having a big family.”

Jessica smiled. “They’re lovely, Kristoff’s family. Ben calls Kris’s parents Nanny and Grandad, which we should probably stop, but no one seems to mind - where did your sister go? I haven’t had a chance to speak to her yet.”

“To get some ice - and she needed a break from everyone, I think. She’ll be back.”

“Oh, that reminds me, my sister set a date for Ruby’s Christening, you and Kris are invited, I’ll text you the details, do I have your number? Give me your number. OK. It’s not a big do but I think my dad is going to do a barbecue.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Sorry, is it weird to be invited to your husband’s friend’s wife’s sister’s baby’s Christening? But I always think of Kristoff as being like Sven’s brother - the more the merrier, right, with family?”

“Absolutely,” Anna said firmly.

-----

Sven was standing on a chair, tinging his wedding ring against a glass. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I’m going to make a speech. Yes I am,” he said when Jessica rolled her eyes at him, “because I didn’t get to be Best Man, so you have to listen to me now. Now then.” He paused to gather his thoughts.

“For those who don’t know me, hello, I’m Sven McAllister, and I’ve been Kristoff’s best friend for - nineteen years? Lord above. Nineteen years. Anyway. Right. Now. Those of us who know Kristoff,” he continued, “have noticed, over the last few months, a new spring in his step. A new smile on his face, a new name on his lips. A name I heard many times, and after a while I started to think, is this a Thing? Or does he want it to be a Thing but she doesn’t? Once I met her - I have, unlike many in this room, had the opportunity to see how delightful Anna is before today - I knew it was definitely a Thing, a reciprocal Thing, and I can’t say I’m surprised this is where we’ve ended up but I think I’m not the only one surprised by the speed of it. I think this is the fastest I’ve ever known Kristoff make a decision.”

The assembled company laughed, and Sven winked at Kristoff and raised his glass. “Which can only mean it was the right one, if he was that sure about it. To the happy couple.”

“The happy couple,” everyone chorused.

-----

Anna was just taking another tiny piece of cake when an arm slipped round her waist. “Hey,” she said, and turned to kiss her husband. “I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Every time I look round you’re talking to someone different. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine! Really.”

“Usually when we have a family party it’s not quite this many people - well, maybe half - we can escape in half an hour or so, anyway.” He kissed her again, then suddenly leant back and put his head on one side, listening. “Bloody Sven,” he said. “I’m going to kill him.”

“What?”

“The song.”

Anna listened, then burst out laughing.

(it’s a beautiful night, we’re looking for something dumb to do)

(hey baby, I think I wanna marry you)

[mindflixx]

Goa Gil, the unbelievable story of trance music's spiritual father At 64 years old, Goa Gil is an historical figure: one the oldest DJs in the world but also one of the most effective. His speciality: hallucinating twenty four hours sets, on tape, using hi-tech, dark psy and all the craziest sounds in psytrance music. The last one was the Ozora opening performance on July 30th, this picture probably describes it better than any words. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wzs_7qvm3HA The artist – who is also a sâdhu (a saint in sanskrit) – dedicated his life to “raise awareness through music”. It is in that quest, between the 70s and the 90s, that he and his companions shaped the spirit of the modern rave in the continuity of the hippy movements. Their model was an inspiration for many, like the Boom Festival, Burning Man and legions of other ravers around the world. Goa Gil's story begins in San Fransisco in the 50s but his adventure really starts in 1967. He is 17, his name is Gilbert Levey and he is putting up posters for a living. He does that for a legendary gig in San Fransisco: the Family Dog, where groups such as Santana, Velvet Underground, Jefferson Airplane or Grateful Dead used to perform. He lives in that 60s/70s rock universe, surrounded by artists like Steve Miller, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles or Janis Joplin - “who was a good friend”, amongst many others. "I was in the right place at the right time, as I got to see most of the well-known musical artists of the time performing live, from The Beatles, The Sone, Pink Floyd and Sid Barrett, and on and on and on... All of that is part of my history, and part of who I am. It also helped to shape my musical tastes". As he narrates us through his life, Goa Gil presents an imposing flyers collection (in which we found this gem). “Woodstock, the Family Dog, the summer of 1969... It was the psychedelic culture's golden age in San Fransisco. But the movement was already coming to an end.” Gil feels that the positive energy that made San Fransisco what it was, is slowly leaving: “All the magic that was there since 1965 met an abrupt end in December 1969.” A few months after the Woodstock climax, a black man dies, stabbed by a Hell's Angels biker at a Rolling Stones concert in Altamont, this marks the last times of the peaceful atmosphere carefully created by San Fransisco artists. From San Fransisco to the Indian mountains: the quest for “magic” It does not take more to Gil to go on his way to find this “magic”. He is 18 when he heads to India, the perfect destination for all the dreamers, pacifists and all the party goers of the Western world at the time. He remembers : “I bought a one-way ticket to Amsterdam then I went through Europe to Morocco, from there I went across Noth Africa.” From Istanbul, Gil took trains and buses through Turkey, Iran, to end in Afghanistan. “I only paid 30 dollars for the transport, food and hostels! It was really cheap at that time in 1969.” In Afghanistan, he meets an Englishman who becomes his travelling partner. “He had already been to Goa a year prior to our trip. He told me about the fabulous and deserted beaches... So I decided to accompany him to Goa. We went from Kabul to Karachi and from Karachi we got a boat to Bombay then another to Goa”. At this point, the young American has been travelling the world for two years and has been around wise elderly Hindus for more than one. Nothing matters but spirituality and self reflection. In December 1971, he receives an aerogram from his old friends asking where he was, telling they want to see him, asking him to come to Goa. “I decided that I had to go and see them for Christmas.” The revelation After making his way to Delhi, Mangalanand (aka gil) makes his way to Goa. “When the universe gives me hints, I try to follow them. I am living my karma... My Destiny if you prefer.” “When I got back to Goa, things had changed! There were more people and small gatherings around bonfires on Anjuna bech nearly every night. People played on drums, flutes and guitars, and I played too. It was a really powerful experience, as due to my higher meditations in Himalayas". Music came through him, giving "blessings" to all who listened: "It was then that I understood the power of music as a tool to transform consciousness and empower people through it's Blessings, and even to take the audience to high states of being". Music and parties took over the indian beaches. Tourists came by the dozens to celebrate what Goa Gil calls “The Cosmic Spirit.” Gil discovers the transcendental and unifying power of music, he organizes his first parties and settles for the stage name of Goa Gil. He sees music like a way to “to go into a trance” and the party as “a suitable vehicle to transmit ideas and knowledge.” Music is not electronic yet but the basis of the rave concept are here. Throughout the 70s, Goa's beaches fill up with tourists that end up settling in. It is the birth of a powerful counter-culture. The ocean, palm trees, dolce vita, jam sessions around the fire, beautiful sky and of course... drugs. Western preoccupations could not be further away. As time passes, Goa's nightlife constantly grows bigger. Psychedelic rock guitars are slowly replaced by synthesizer, while in the West, electronic music is developing. In 1975, Goa already dances to the sounds of Kraftwerk and Propaganda, “this kind of mainstream music that came to us.” According to Gil, “Goa turned 100% electronic in the 80s” thanks to new comers “like the French, DJ Laurent and Suiss DJ Ruedi, who were among the first ones to mix electronic music in Goa”. In his mix, he incorporates dance music and psychedelic rock. The sound may have come from the West but the atmosphere and the inspiration was from nowhere but Goa. “There were no parties like ours anywhere else in the world Goa Gil remembers as he strokes his endless grey beard. They expressed our ideas and our dreams.” It is the birth of parties with heavy basses, good vibes, dark dancefloors and fluorescent paint. Goa becomes a place for experimentation. Ravers tripping their heads off stumble upon monastic Indian sâdhus. The modern rave spirit is being shaped, the one we find today in many events around the world and that people usually associate with the Spiral Tribe. Full consciousness, letting yourself go, sharing, free party, self-organization, mutual respect, anti-materialism, all those values come together in Goa and create a ground for a new way of thinking and partying from the meeting between western tourists and the Indian people. The community gets bigger, the message improves and spreads: Goa Gil finds the magic. The Golden age and the birth of Goa's trance music “The first tourists were mostly Swiss and French but Christmas 1988 saw the arrival of many tourists from the United Kingdom. I met talented people like Youth and Raja Ram, among others. They had already heard about te parties and me! We welcomed them and they become part of our family discovering our scene, our spirit.” They start to produce sounds that fit with this spirit even once they are back in the UK. Transcendence seeking, tribal inspiration and dance culture are what they thrive on. Youth gives birth to Dragonfly and Raja Ram to T.I.P Records, Goa Gil humbly says: “I did not create anything on my own, it was them, it as an entire community. We were trying to make the perfect music for Goa's beaches.”

[thinktosee]

JOURNAL – DAVID AND CAMUS – PART 4 – THE FALL

Titian’s Fall of Man, c1550. Image courtesy Museo del Prado, Spain

This journal is a continuation of Part 3, which may be accessed via this link :

https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/613609798512115712/journal-david-and-camus-part-3-the-fall

Journal to David

Dear David my Son,

“I always thought our fellow citizens were crazy about two things : ideas and fornication.” (The Fall, p5)

Albert Camus’ monologue of 1956, titled “The Fall” is arguably the most distilled exploration of his philosophical beliefs about Existentialism. The term, “arguably” is applied here as it’s possible you’d disagree. Yes, “The Stranger” is emotionally, yet intellectually stimulating – fused to mine the soul trapped within the reader, rendering it to explode to the surface, as a dramatic offering of our otherwise dormant passions! (1) “The Myth of Sisyphus”? Well, that’s absurd. It is exasperating and predictable like any ritual, religious or otherwise. Besides why do we have to repeat it again and again? Boring. Say what? That’s Life, ain’t it? In Sisyphus, Camus makes us see the folly of our ways, of our life, with a Dante-que’ twist.(2) It’s no doubt a revealing story, I agree. But let’s get back to The Fall, shall we?  That’s the real enchilada there. That’s the story of the fall of man.

Sisyphus, burden and hope – Image courtesy reasonandmeaning.com

The Fall hints at the Garden of Eden when Google, oops pardon me, I mean Knowledge, made its entrance on the camouflaged stage following the supreme feast of the apple. And as in Sisyphus, that original fall is repeated forevermore everywhere, as if perfection and triumph are within our slimy grasp, each time we laboured. But hey, what do I know? You were the Camus-go-to-guy. You were the Existentialist, David (3). I am just following in your footsteps. Hence, our fall? Our never-ending search for Knowledge.

Camus’ The Fall takes the reader through the colourful musings of Jean-Baptiste Clamence, formerly a successful defence lawyer in snooty Paris, to his new digs in “Mexico City” a bar located in so very depressing Amsterdam. What in heavens caused this fall from grace? A couple of things, just like what happens on any given day to many of us, really, when Truth happens to cross our path, like a black cat :

Our copy of Albert Camus’, The Fall. This excellent edition is translated by Robin Buss, Penguin Press, 2006. 

1. One day in Paree, Jean-Baptiste had an altercation with a motorcyclist. It was clear from a legal perspective, that Jean-Baptiste was quite right. However, an observer didn’t see it that way and rudely chastised him for his behaviour. While being distracted by the observer, the motorcyclist took a swing at our kind lawyer and sped off. The incident infuriated and also embarrassed Jean-Baptiste. Where did these negative and violent urges in him originate, he wondered? Wasn’t he a man for the common people? Were his professional and also personal support for the down-trodden superficial after all? Was all this service, for himself, rather than for them? To create and then foster a false image of oneself? The seed of knowledge took root when he began to ponder on these Socratic questions.

2. In the second example, which is recounted in Part 3, Jean-Baptiste’s utter and pathetic failure to act when the young woman jumped into the river, gave him cause to re-examine his bona fides – his life’s assumptions. What in today’s lingo may be dubbed as his “fake news” life. Our contrived persona, really.

With these in mind, Jean-Baptiste migrated, wandering, and finally ended down under. Sitting on a mound in water-logged Amsterdam, he meets a stranger one day. Being expansive, as lawyers tend to be, and over a series of lectures or monologue, he recounts his fall. These accounts trace his “regression” and amplify what the fall is to Jean-Baptiste, as it possibly was to Adam and Eve, or to any one, including me.

The Fall really is about a Socratic exploration to live a life without any pretence, or camouflage. A life of freedom and not dependency. Or as you admonished me to “Be Yourself!” That is the only constant. Adam and Eve’s fall in the Garden ushers the introduction to Knowledge, and away from a blissful dependency and ignorance. So is Jean-Baptiste Clamence’s. So is mine. 

Image courtesy Sanskritimagazine.com

Let Camus tell us then what he means in a few selected passages :

“ ‘Do you want a clean life, like everyone else?’ Of course you answer yes. How could you not? ‘Fine. We’ll clean you up. Here’s a job, here’s a family, here’s some organized leisure’ And the little teeth bite into the flesh, right down to the bone.” (p6)

“There, give up. Mine is a double job, that’s all, just as humans are double.” (p7)

“I live in the Jewish quarter, or what they called the Jewish quarter until our Hitlerite brethren cleared a space in it. What a clean-up! Seventy-five thousand Jews deported or murdered : that’s vacuum cleaning. I admire such diligence, such methodical patience! You have to be methodical when you have no character. Here, the method worked wonders, there’s no denying it : I live on the site of one of the greatest crimes in history.” (p8)

“There is no denying that, at least for the moment, judges are necessary, don’t you agree? And yet I couldn’t understand how a man could appoint himself to exercise that surprising office. I had to accept it, since I saw it, but rather in the way that I accepted locusts….with the difference that the invasions of those orthoptera have never brought me a penny, while I used to earn a living by conversing with people whom I despised.” (p13)

“…but I would also only take their cases on the sole condition that they were good murderers, as others are noble savages.” (p13)

Fortunately, my profession satisfied this call to the heights.” (p17)

“Conversely, the indignation, talent and emotion that I expended relieved me of any debt towards them. Judges punished the crime, the accused atoned for it, and I, free of all responsibility, beyond judgement or punishment, reigned at liberty, bathed in a prelapsarian glow.” (18)

“I mean, relatives and in-laws (what a word!) – it’s a different tune. They find the right word, but it’s usually the one that wounds. They pick up the phone to you like someone picking up a gun. And their aim is on target.” (p21)

“Perhaps we do not love life enough. Have you observed that only death awakens our feelings?” (p21)

“That’s a charming house, isn’t it? The two heads there belong to negro slaves. A trade sign : the owner was a slave trader. Huh, they didn’t mince their words in those days! They came right out with it and said : ‘I’ve got a house on the street, I deal in slaves,  I sell black flesh!’ Can you imagine anyone nowadays stating publicly that that was his business? What an uproar! I could hear my fellow lawyers in Paris from here. They’re adamant on this matter and wouldn’t hesitate to publish two or three manifestos,……I might even add my signature to theirs. Slavery! Why, no, we’re against it! If we are forced to have it in the home or in factories, fine, that’s the normal run of things, but boasting about it, is going too far.” (p28)

“I’m well aware of the facts that one cannot do without dominating or being served. Every man needs slaves just as he needs fresh air.” (p28)

“Just between ourselves, servitude, preferably with a smile, is unavoidable. But we don’t have to acknowledge that fact. If a man can’t help having slaves, isn’t it better for him to call them free men? As a matter of principle, firstly, then so as not to drive them to despair. Surely we owe them at least that compensation? In this way, they will carry on smiling and we can keep our conscience clean. Otherwise, we might be forced to examine ourselves and become mad with grief….” (p29-30)

“The truth is that every intelligent man, as you know, dreams of being a gangster and ruling over society by violence alone. As this is not as easy as one might think from reading novels in the genre, people generally turn to politics and hurry to support the cruellest party. It matters little, wouldn’t you say, to abuse one’s mind if by that means one succeeds in dominating everyone. I found that there were sweet dreams of oppression within me.” (p35)

“There was no deception involved, or merely that blatant deception that they consider a mark of respect. As people commonly say, I loved women - which amounts to saying that I never loved any one of them. I have always thought misogyny to be both vulgar and stupid, and considered almost all the women I have known to be better than myself. However, while setting them so high, I exploited rather than served them. What does that mean?” (p36)

“Otherwise, there would be a solution and one could at last be taken seriously. Men are not convinced of your arguments, your sincerity or the seriousness of your suffering, except by your death.” (p46)

“If we are to end, doubt, we must stop existing, purely and simply.” (p47)

“The most natural idea for mankind, the one that comes naively, as if from the depths of one’s being, is that of one’s own innocence. In this respect we are all like the little Frenchman in Buchenwald who insisted on trying to lodge an appeal through the clerk, himself a prisoner……The clerk and his friends laughed : ‘Useless old chap. There’s no appeal here.’ ‘But, you see, Monsieur,’ said the little Frenchman, ‘mine is an exceptional case. I’m innocent.’ “ (p50)

“But above all because wealth shields from immediate judgement, lifts you out of the crowd in the underground, shuts you up in a chromium-plated car and isolates you in huge expanses of protected parkland…Wealth,..is not actually acquitted, but a reprieve.” (p51)

“How could sincerity be a condition of friendship? A liking for the truth at all costs is a passion that spared nothing and that nothing can withstand.” (p51)

“Dante allows for neutral angels in the quarrel between God and Satan : and he places them in Limbo, a sort of waiting room for his Hell. My good friend, we’re in the waiting room.” (p52)

“What we call elementary truths are the ones we discover after the rest.” (p52)

“I proclaimed my loyalty, yet I think that there is not a single person that I loved whom I did not also eventually betray. Of course, my betrayals did not get in the way of my fidelity.” (p53)

“I began to advise ‘transference of guilt’ as a tactic for the defence. Not that form of ‘transference of guilt’, I said, which has been perfected in modern inquisitions where a thief and an honest man are tried at the same time that the latter can be made responsible for the crimes of the former. What I meant, on the contrary, was defending the thief by bringing out the crimes of the honest man, in the event, the lawyer.” (p58)

“I had always lived a life of debauchery, since I had never ceased to desire immortality.” (64)

“The purely verbal references to God that I sometimes made in my pleas in court made my clients suspicious. No doubt they were afraid that heaven would be less qualified to look after their interest than an advocate…” (p66)

“I realized that the shout that I heard many years earlier echoing across the Seine behind me had not ceased to travel across the world,….I realized too that it would continue to wait for me…”(p68)

“...we cannot be certain of anyone’s innocence, while we can confidently pronounce everyone guilty. Each man bears witness to the crime of all the others.” (p69)

“Believe me, religions are wrong when they start to moralize and sound off with their commandments. We have no need of God to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men are enough, with our help.” (p69)

“Don’t wait for the Last Judgement, it takes place every day.” (p70)

“But too many people are now climbing up on the cross just so that they can be seen from further away, even if in doing so they have to trample a little on the one who has already been there for so long.” (72)

“Judges are swarming over the corpse of innocence, judges of every species, those of Christ and Antichrist, who as it happens are the same, all reconciled in little ease” (p73)

“What does it matter, after all? Don’t lies in the end put us on the path to truth?” (p75)

“He announced that we needed a new pope who lives among the poor and needy, instead of praying on his throne…” (p78)

“…you see, the main idea is not to be free any longer, but to repent and obey a greater knave than you are.” (p85)

“The judgement that you are passing on others eventually blows right back in your face and may do some damage.” (p86)

“Since we could not condemn others without at the same time judging oneself, one should heap accusations on one’s own head, in order to have the right to judge others. Since every judge eventually becomes a penitent, one had to take the opposite route and be a professional penitent in order to become a judge.” (p86)

“Throw yourself in the water again so that I might have once more the opportunity to save us both!” (p92)

 If only, we have that opportunity once more, David. 

daddy

Sources/References

1. https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/177348082353/david-and-camus-part-1-the-stranger

https://thinktosee.tumblr.com/post/177516436953/david-and-camus-part-2-the-stranger

2. https://www.amazon.com/Myth-Sisyphus-Albert-Camus/dp/0848833481

3. https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism/

[davewakeman]

20 Takeaways From the 2020 INTIX Conference In NYC

I’m back from INTIX 2020 and everything is bigger and better in NYC!

I’m not sure of the final numbers, but I think over 1,400 people attended this year’s conference in midtown Manhattan and I met hundreds of folks on the trade show floor, in sessions, and wandering around.

In fact, I’m still a little dazed from all the connecting and networking.

But I wanted to share with y’all a few takeaways from this year’s conference. In fact, being 2020…why not 20?

1. There was a large international presence: 

I know that making sure all the world’s ticket folks have a home has been the goal of INTIX’s board and CEO, Maureen Andersen, for the last few years and this year’s conference really delivered a much greater international flavor.

I met folks from Iceland, Denmark, England, Central Europe, Canada, and 6 Australians!

2. Leading panels of all international guests helped stimulate new conversations:

I never mentioned this during my trip to INTIX, but I managed to create two panels that had almost all voices that brought an international flavor and it really brought a great dynamic to our conversations.

I never mentioned it to the panelists that the prerequisite was having an international background but Simon, Angela, Martin, Gabe, Guislaine, and Frederic…surprise, you were part of my desire to bring a more diverse and international perspective to my conversations!

3. Danny Frank can throw a party! 

Many people came up to me to talk about the Wednesday night celebration. One person exclaimed, “Danny Frank can throw a party!”

Maybe the Anaheim committee can top Wednesday’s performance?

4. Venue tours were a big hit:

The tour of Radio City Musical Hall was especially popular with folks.

Having been in Radio City and around Radio City a lot of times over the years, hearing how special the experience was for folks reminded me that this is a good lesson for all of us to remain conscious that something that is old hat to us could be a once in a lifetime or first time thing for someone else.

5. Strategy passed many people’s lips:

Strategy and the impact of having the right strategy and communicating it up and down the organization came up at more points than I’d ever heard before.

I was happy because I think making sure that you have a strong strategy that is communicated up and down the organization is likely a real key to success.

6. The keynotes were both big hits:

I’m not sure if it was the first time someone sang to open INTIX, but if it was…it shouldn’t be the last time.

And, after Jimmy Roberts, several people mentioned to me that, “I’m not even a golfer and I can use…”

Which I think is the highlight of a good speaker.

7. The backdrop of NYC added a sense of excitement that people really enjoyed:

Opening night on Broadway was great!

Having the chance to hang out on Broadway with the lights and action of Broadway below everyone was a really great way to open the show and for many people another once in a lifetime experience.

8. Presenting in Manhattan gave folks a thrill:

On more than one occasion, I saw folks tweet or post to social media about their “opening” or “playing” Broadway for the first time.

9. The conversations between the primary and the secondary market are continuing to become more productive:

Nothing happens in a straight line, but I saw a lot more productive conversations taking place between and about the primary market and their relationship with the secondary market than I have before.

That can only benefit the customer because I think both sides of the market can learn from each other.

10. People really have listened and learned from “The Business of Fun”: 

Allow me to plug myself, but I am always amazed and grateful at the response that people give me about listening to my podcast and learning from it.

Over the last several days, I had people reference my conversation with Stephen Glicken from Project Admission, Tony Knopp from Ticketmanager, and many others. And, the fact that people listen and learn from all these great people is

I also had one person have a friend of mine asked if he could get her on the podcast! The answer was, “yes!” Duh!

11. Never forget people:

I was chatting with my friend, Michael L from the New Amsterdam and we got to talking about old school ticket selling.

(Spoiler: he’s one of the folks that taught me about Broadway and Broadway box offices many years ago.)

Our conversation reminded me how important people are and to try and quote Michael, “we are just around to make a little magic.”

12. There were a lot of new faces and voices:

I know that my friend Jacob from FC Copenhagen made his debut. Samuel Biscoe from the UK was there and speaking for the first time, I think. And, I had Frederic Auoad from Stay 22 on my panel.

And, scrolling through the agenda, I think newer voices were a theme.

Which is great.

The more voices, the more diverse the industry and the ideas that have a chance to take hold.

13. So many great tools and technologies are available:

To piggyback and the conversation with Michael L, the technology is a tool to help us do more of the human stuff, but the technology has shot forward and gives us greater freedom than ever before.

I can’t highlight everyone or everything, but Sean Kelly and his team at Vatic have produced some really strong results using dynamic pricing in the arts.

I love the work that Einar and Martin are doing with Activity Stream and talking about the “total marketing” concept.

The things that Rob Walters was sharing with me about Patron Base struck me as cool and exciting, especially as he works to penetrate new markets that they’ve never entered before.

14. Catching up with old friends and learning about their new projects was always great:

I never get to see the full Audience View team at once, but as they were rolling out their rebrand it was fun to catch all of them at once.

The rebrand looks good and finding out that those are light beams and not rock fingers was slightly disappointing, but I still enjoyed learning more about what they are working on now.

It was also great catching up with the team at Today Tix. They were awesome to me when I was going to Australia for the Ticketing Professionals Conference in Sydney in November. And, learning more about how they are expanding their services was great because I see how impactful their work with Harry Potter has been in Australia.

15. If you go, participate:

This is less an observation about this year’s INTIX than it is a general suggestion about the industry. But take the opportunity to be a part of a committee or take action.

I can say without a doubt that my participation has been rewarding both personally and professionally.

I’ve been a part of the technology committee at INTIX.

My good friend, Cat Spencer, is on the board.

I asked Derek Palmer about this while we were in Sydney together…

Everyone agreed, giving back is amazing and makes the value of membership and connection more powerful.

16. There was plenty of bacon at this year’s annual breakfast:

This joke only hits if you were at the 2019 conference in Texas, but there was no bacon in Dallas.

So having the right amount of bacon was one of the NYC committee’s top priorities.

17. INTIX is focused on being a year-round organization: 

From my conversation with members of the board, I know that a priority is to continue to work to be wherever tickets are being talked about.

One big thing that I would encourage all of you to look at is to check out your local chapters and find ways to connect with and get involved in your community.

18. If you are at a conference and you get a chance to see Tessitura’s Erin Koppel present, do it:

In back to back years, she’s put together workshops that keep me engaged. And, she does a fantastic job titling her presentations…which is tough!

So if you see her speaking at a conference, check her out. Helping folks take action and be proactive is a key skill that she has. So check her out.

19. Overall, the content at INTIX continues to add value and reflect the changes that are taking place in the industry:

I noticed a much broader content profile this year from career development, onto helping ensure that all guests are accommodated, to time management, customer service, and much more.

It is great to see the content continue to evolve and adapt to the changing demands of people at all stages of their careers.

20. INTIX is a love letter to the industry: 

The biggest thing I took away from this year’s INTIX was that it is a love letter to the industry and the positive thing is that the conference continues to evolve and reflect that no matter where you are coming from in the industry, there is a place for you and that the power of people creating powerful experiences for other people carries a lot of weight in a world where we are continually pulled apart and in many different directions.

P.S. I have one beef with the swag bag! Where’s my Mets’ t-shirt?!

Also, I’d love it if you’d sign up for my weekly newsletter on all things tickets, live experiences, and live events: Talking Tickets. It’s free!

      Please follow and like us:

20 Takeaways From the 2020 INTIX Conference In NYC was originally published on Wakeman Consulting Group

[bignaz8]

Armistice Day

Please take the time on Monday to remember those that have given the ultimate sacrifice to protect and ensure the freedoms you enjoy today. World War I (the 'War to End All Wars') celebrated a cease fire on this day, November 11, 1918 at 11:11am, and yet still today active land mines from that horrific conflict lie in wait, still fighting that conflict.

I have been to the Verdun valley in France where over 1.2 million died and to Fort Douaumont, which has now become a museum and a memorial to viewable remains of 350,000 unknown soldiers. Think about that for a minute. Once you've seen it, you will never forget it.

I have walked the remains of the trenches in the Argonne Forest where my great uncle Paul fought, and witnessed the eroded craters of artillery explosions and the bleached remains of soldiers that perished there.

I have visited the American cemeteries in eastern France (which are actually US soil), visited Arizona hero Frank Luke's unassuming grave and bowed my head in silent prayer.

I have walked the remains of the trenches in the Argonne Forest where my great uncle fought, and today witnessed the eroded craters of artillery explosions and the bleached remains of soldiers that perished and are still entombed there.

I have been to the fortifications and ramparts of Fort Griswold in Groton, Connecticut where 88 militia volunteers, among them my children's great-great-great-great-great grandfather and his brothers and cousins, a Pequot Indian, and two free black men fought against British General Benedict Arnold's attack on Connecticut, September 6, 1781. During their surrender after hours of fighting against overwhelming odds, the British commander took American Colonel Ledyard's presentation sword of surrender and ran Ledyard through, then giving orders to execute everyone left alive. Christopher was badly wounded during the massacre and was carted off to a British prison ship.

During the decisive Battle of Yorktown and the surrender of the British and Lord Cornwallis on October 19, 1781, the battle cry was 'Remember Fort Griswold!'.

I have traveled to Dachau Concentration Camp, where those whose ideals, race or sexual preferences did not meet a ruling party's guidelines. My father was in the 20th Armored Division, 70th Armored Infantry as a medic, and was one of a handful of medics and soldiers that liberated Dachau. He personally witnessed the dead and dying, the buildings filled with heads, arms and legs. He saved hundreds there through medical attention without so much as a medal. It was the soldiers' duty.

I've been to Anne Frank's house in Amsterdam. When your rights and freedoms are taken, it was horrible to witness the lengths taken and necessary to simply remain alive and preserve your humanity.

I have been to the Alamo, and stood at the spot where Davy Crockett fell on March 6, 1836 to help secure independence for Texas; and touched the mock-marked scars of bullets from that day in the limestone blocks of the mission.

I have felt the sorrow at Gettysburg, grieved in silence at Arlington Cemetery, paid respects at Grant's home and Lee's grave, let the cool breeze wash over me at Little Big Horn, anguished at Wounded Knee, and paid my respects to the end of an era at Skeleton Canyon in Arizona where Geronimo surrendered. I have been to Geronimo's final resting place at Fort Sill, Oklahoma, surrounded by his family far from their home in Arizona and New Mexico.

My grandfather was drafted for WWII and served in the Army as well on the home front. My uncle fought in Italy with the 10th Mountain and survived Anzio.

I stood at the Berlin Wall and felt the pain and anguish of a nation and people when I placed my hand on its graffiti surface. I wept for joy when I learned the news it was torn down November 9, 1989. There was nothing 'cold' about that war... except that long expanse of grey concrete.

I remember personally seeing the passion Pat Tillman had for the game of football when he was playing for Arizona State University. That passion carried over into a starting position with the Arizona Cardinals, and after September 11, 2001, his country. Even though his death was a tragedy, he decided to leave a multi-million dollar contract to defend this country and its ideals. Grit. Honor.

A couple years ago I was at Costco and struck up a conversation at lunch with an 88 and 93-year-old WWII veterans. The younger man served in Luzon, Philippines and the other in the 20th Armored Division, 14th Artillery. They were both excited to know that I knew the history of the 20th Armored Division intimately from my father.

After lunch was over I made sure to thank them for their service and sacrifice. And in doing so, no less than 10 other strangers suddenly walked up to thank them as well. I ran into the 20th Armored Division gentlemen another time last year, and bought him a hot dog and soda and ate with him. And thanked him once again.

Remember the Veterans... not just today, but everyday and say THANK YOU to them for ensuring your freedom to express your voice, your opinions and your liberty.

Because freedom is never free, and there will always be those wanting to control and purge your unalienable rights.

[qtakesams]

Happy One Month Anniversary, Amsterdam

If the title of this post wasn’t enough to tell you, today marks one month I’ve been in Amsterdam. Sometimes it feels like I’ve only been here a week, or twelve, or a year. The events I attended my first night here feel like I experienced them decades ago, and it seems like I’ve had my friends here a lot longer than 30 days. But alas, it is day 30-something.

           Friday night, I got on the train at Amsterdam Centraal and rode south of the city to Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam’s international airport. This felt particularly weird, as it’s only been a few weeks since I was there but so much has happened since then. Might I also add I was running on full adrenaline my last visit, so being in the airport and actually taking in my surroundings was brand-new.

           A friend and I boarded a cheap flight to London, where we stayed for two nights in a nice hostel near central to the city. It was my first side trip to an entirely different country, but what felt strange, is that it felt like I was going home. Although with a different currency and cars on the wrong sides of the road, England is an English-speaking country. Shocking right? The British speak English!

           In all seriousness, though, it feels weird to enter back into a country so similar to your own after spending just a few weeks in a place that seems like another planet. (London was really just outstanding, by the way)!

           Yesterday was my first day back in the Netherlands from my weekend getaway, and in the evening, we had a dinner with all of the students doing homestays and their families. There are three students doing homestays, including me, which is evidently a lot fewer than there have been in past years. More than half of the students in the program this year hail from the university, so I think they all chose to live together.

           This means the homestay dinner consisted of the three students, the housing coordinator for the CIEE, and our families. I have the biggest family (I make it a family of six), with the next biggest one being an older woman and her daughter, who is around my age. My last homestay friend lives with a much older, nearly retired woman not far from me.

           After I finished a FaceTime date with my biological mother, I went to the restaurant where I met everybody else. We really only ate snacks (bitterballen, a type of Dutch snack that is really deep-fried beef) and had drinks, so it was very lowkey.

           This dinner, however, was enough to make me realize how glad I am that I ended up with the family I did. The other two families had of course just met me, but neither acted like they really wanted to be there or have conversation (the entire point of the dinner). My host father arrived after me and brought my twin host brothers, whose laughter and conversation kept us from awkward moments, of which there were still plenty. I have a feeling that neither of my other fellow homestay students enjoy their experience as me. I could be wrong, but in speaking to them about it and then meeting their families, one can put context clues together.

           Living with a homestay in a foreign country provides you with a better balance of socializing than you might think. Some people ask if I feel like I’m back in high school, attending school and living with parents, but I do not in the least bit.

           My host parents have not known me for my entire life, so my conversations with them are often focused more on what is happening in the current moment and the near future instead of past memories or events. You never realize how often you discuss those things with your own family until you actually live with one who doesn’t have a past with you.

           On top of this, I can be as restricted or unrestricted as I wish. When I want to see people, I can just walk out of my room and go see friends or my family members. When I need alone time, I can be in my room with the door shut. My host parents worry about me, but they know the city is new to me and they don’t tell me what not to do. Which means when I leave the house to go to a party at 11pm and return home at 4:30, they don’t mind.

           Leaving for a weekend to an entirely new place made me realize how attached I already am to Amsterdam. When we returned to Schiphol, I knew (pretty much) where to catch the train back to Centraal Station. When I left the station, I knew exactly where to go to get home without a map. I was happy to be back in a familiar place. I was excited to get back to my house and sleep in my own bed.

           I laugh at myself when I remember how nervous I was, just four weeks ago, to come live in Amsterdam. In the moment, it makes sense to make yourself panic. To worry about all the little details and research stupid cultural things so you can make sure you don’t cause issue in your new home. Around three weeks into my studies was when I started walking places without my maps or feeling anxious about taking the tram alone. This is about the length of time it took me to navigate to the grocery store without my map when I moved to Edgewater in May. It makes sense to worry yourself, but in the long run, you’ll spend much more time being pre-nervous about a change than you will worrying about it once you’ve arrived. Unfortunately, I have no resolution to this!

           As my schedule fills up and I begin scheduling more trips and events, the time is beginning to fly. I know once I’m in a more thorough “groove” with my classes, it’ll go even faster. College semesters always do. I like, though, that I’ve only been here a month and yet it feels like a decade. That might mean that in December, I’ll have so many experiences under my belt that I won’t remember most of them without the help of pictures.

           In general, this moderately sappy post has been brought to you by lots of stroopwafels and my first hot chai latte this year. A month is gone, but three months and three days remain, and I’m so excited for what each day is going to give me. Let’s go, Amsterdam.

[tommyoboe]

FINAL YEAR - THE LAST ONE.

And yet, nothing changes. It’s another Sunday afternoon in the flat with Cameron following another stewarding shift this morning, and things are largely the same. Outside is quiet and in here we’re enjoying coffee, bagels and Friends. 

Then again, things are different now that term, the year, and in fact, my entire degree has ended. I mean, for one, I finished Game of Thrones today and like many I wasn’t completely satisfied with the ending. I suppose that sums up parts of this year that I haven’t been happy with, but after all of it I’m ready to move on.

Monday began our long week of rehearsals for the end of year Symphony Orchestra concert. Results were not making themselves particularly clear, but our final degree results arrived and there was an instant commotion amongst us final year students. I wasn’t overly surprised with my results in the end, with some lovely comments for the CD quintet and I recorded for my final project, but a more mixed bag for the report that I wrote in support. Once done with some complicated calculations, I found out that I have achieved a 2:1 for my degree overall, which, for what has been a manic year, I’m pleased with. Yeah, perhaps with a bit more work in certain areas I could have received a 1st, but what I have achieved will help me learn for the future, and to that I am grateful.

Having that degree spurred me on Monday evening to do some brainstorming for my upcoming residency as marketing assistant at the Ingenium Academy in Winchester this summer (I’ll be doing a daily blog so stay tuned for that!), and it’s safe to say that although it’s a big leap into a different angle of music making, it’s one that I’m really excited to start properly in a few weeks. Hopefully the sun will be with us again!

Day two of the final push to the finish line saw more mixed moments in Symphony, with reeds not responding as I’d like them to and concentration faltering without my daily dose of divine coffee. However, sitting in on an outstanding dress run of Hobson’s Choice from Birmingham Royal Ballet was quite the treat, really inspiring me to complete some reeds and get back to sounding on form, which I did!

I was grateful on Wednesday and will be grateful this coming week for the chance to practise. Not having to worry too much about fitting lots of notes in was a nice change, and always is this time of year. It made me focus on other things like playing with a suitable tone and really solidifying accuracy and tidiness in tricky passages. Very productive hour indeed.

Thursday saw us make the progress we needed in Symphony, putting a good number of us in better spirits for Friday’s concert. This was easily doubled when seeing Tan from Queer Eye outside Cameron’s work and getting a cute heart cappuccino from the barista himself, giving me the boost I needed for stewarding a masterclass with the Berlin Philharmonic’s solo horn player that evening. It was fun to watch, even if by myself at the back, and drinks after at the nearby pub was equally fun. Good catch ups were had, as well as 75% strength drinks (just the one, actually) and free drinks and crisps all round courtesy of the dynamic horn player. Guilt quickly left us when we assured ourselves the sort of money she was earning...

And then came the last day. A morning off refreshed me for the rest of the day, with the following run-throughs in the afternoon going well, with just the controversial ‘bin piece’ receiving rubbish opinions from some of the more vocal members of the orchestra.

Come the concert, the ‘bin piece’, supposedly a work on climate change that just didn’t convey that, was fine. It certainly was spoken about, if that was perhaps the actual aim of the music, rather like The Rite of Spring. Not that these two are that comparable though. The latter is an absolute masterpiece: the former is literally rubbish.

The rest of the programme delivered in the main, with just a few hiccups in accuracy but overall music played with ambition and style. With the concert also taking the form of a concerto competition final, it has to be said that the winning marimba concerto in particular was just entrancing to be a part of but also to be a spectator on. The soloist ‘lived the music’, and she deserved to win as a result.

Gershwin’s An American in Paris brought the evening’s viewings to a jolly close, with perky moments of cheek, lush solos and big tunes coming together for a great performance.

And then that was it. The last performance at the Conservatoire was done, and four years were done. Just like that. What better way to process all that with friends and colleagues at the bar and at the pub the rest of the evening? Many photos were taken, some more flattering than others, and potential final goodbyes were said to all those going onwards in their lives. It reaffirmed how exciting this point is, where control of everything really comes down to you alone, and the vitality of doing things that are going to make you happy is affirmed. That’s what I take now at the end of my degree, and although the path isn’t completely clear as to what comes next, I know I’m going to continue to make it interesting, in whatever form that may be. Because what is life if not interesting?

Sometimes I ask myself where the thrill of first year has gone, where I would be out every night, and if not staying up until the early hours numerous times. I think the answer is I grew up. I realised, primarily this year, what is important and what my missions are. Right now it’s to become the best oboist I can be, and as much as nights out are fun, they rarely leave me feeling the same elation they did in my younger years. But as a part of life most of us go through, I don’t regret any of those nights. Even the one ending with me acquainting a Celebrations tin.

In my second year I felt a good sense of stability with the friendships I had made, and the relationships that began to blossom, and in third year a hole opened underneath me and all that was shaken, with drifts occurring, leaving me lonely and at my lowest.

However, I overcame this and despite this year not giving way to many parties and big social events, I connected with people that are important to me with a clear mind and genuine desire to make conversation. Of course, I still have my moments of loneliness: you know, for example, it does suck a bit when there’s a full coach of people and you’re the only one not sat next to anyone, but at least now I can handle it and not link it to something I’m doing wrong. Things change around us; people come and go and that is life. Unpredictable.

There are so many more things that I am grateful for from my time at Conservatoire though. I may have had a tough year of auditions, but I got the chance to travel to wonderful places like Amsterdam, Berlin, Geneva and Cologne and I had the opportunity to play to people and see things I hadn’t seen before. I had the opportunity of doing auditions and gaining practice for the real world. I had teachers that had faith in me and were genuinely surprised at my non-successes. I became a more confident player and person in college and didn’t let bad days get me down. Now my first thought would be what next?

I’ve had more opportunities to learn from members of the CBSO and was even offered a concert with the orchestra. Although I unfortunately had to turn it down (damn, that was hard), that was one of the first steps to achieving something big.

And big is where I will continue to aim, ever striving for more and better. Having the chance of four years in a quintet as good as mine has been a privilege; we’ve been able to do some great things and forge great relationships. It really will be sad to see them all go on to different things, but one day I will make it my aim to play with them again. Four phenomenal musicians, and I was lucky enough to be the fifth member of that group.

Constants are always going to be my close friends, family and Cameron. They are the ones I cherish the most and will always come back to, picking things up right where we left off every time. They inspire me and move me forward in what I am doing. I can only hope they remain with me for many years to come.

Ultimately, my time at Conservatoire has been a success because I’m happy. I’m happy that the people around me are doing what they want to do and I’m happy to be doing the same. 

As for the future of this blog, I’m uncertain, but be assured, there will be good stories to tell. Sure, it might not be leaving a cor anglais on a bus or forgetting my oboe for my first Conservatoire lesson, but whatever happens, I’m looking forward to it.

Cheers to that, everyone. Now let’s go do life.

T