#brought to you by the crisis I had after being she/her-ed this morning by an acquaintance

[ariolimaxxx]

I will shout from the rooftops about queer joy all day long but there's also the queer terror of realizing somewhere in your own self-realization you reached a point of no return and will have to make a choice between the safer/more secure option of repressing everything you've realized (which is miserable and uncomfortable) or living authentically as yourself (which is fucking terrifying)

[fullmoonremus]

God Damn Smile | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: Fluff :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word count: 3.7k 

Summary: Edmund reconnects with his childhood best friend, and it makes old, forgotten feelings resurface. 

Request: Hey! Can you write an Edmund x reader based on “A Typical Teenage Love Song” by Tate McRae? It’s fine if you can’t. Tsym in advance!

A/N: This song is so cute :D Ahhh, I love this imagine!!! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! Thanks for the request :)

masterlist | read on ao3

“No! Don’t step on him!” Five year old Y/N L/N yelled at her friend, Edmund Pevensie. He had his foot raised above a small garden snail, right in the middle of a game of Godzilla. The pair were currently in Y/N’s back garden, playing amongst all the plants. Both children were dressed in brightly colored rain boots and their play clothes to enjoy the rainy weather. 

“It’s just a snail,” Edmund responded, lowering his leg to the ground. Instead of squishing the garden creature, he kneeled down to the ground for a better look. It wasn’t anything special, just a normal garden snail, but it seemed to be rather important to his playmate. 

“He is not just a snail! He is my friend.”

“If he’s your friend, what’s his name then?” Edmund let the small snail crawl up onto his finger before standing upright. 

“Snaily,” Y/N responded, putting her hand out and throwing the teddy bear in her arms to the ground. Edmund placed Snaily on her palm and smiled a toothy smile. This made Y/N grin, putting her hand at eye level. “Thank you for not squashing him.”

“He’s my friend now, too. You don’t squash friends.” 

Y/N nodded in agreement, “You don’t squash friends.” 

~

“Do you remember being a baby?” Edmund asked Y/N. They were now eight and sitting on the Pevensie family swing set, avoiding the youngest Pevensie child, Lucy. Y/N adored Lucy, she thought the girl was adorable, but Edmund insisted the two have “big kid things” to attend to. 

The swing set was old and rickety, as it had been in their family since Edmund’s older brother, Peter was a toddler. The colors were faded, the slide had a large crack in it and Edmund had written his and Y/N’s initials on one of the support beams. “No, am I supposed to?” Y/N answered. She had been last to reach the swings, so she was stuck with the squeaky one. Her face cringed each time the chains made a noise, despite her attempts to stay as still as possible. Y/N brought her hands to the teddy bear on her lap, covering its ears. Having been in the sun all afternoon, the swing was hot on her legs and it stuck uncomfortably to the skin on her thighs. 

“I don’t think so. My parents were looking at our baby books this morning so I was wondering,” 

“My mom has a picture of us when we were three hanging in our living room,” Y/N’s nose wrinkled and she kicked up a small patch of dirt. “We’ve been friends since we were babies. I don’t remember meeting you, though. You were just, there.” 

Edmund laughed, standing so he could lean his stomach against the seat of the swing. He swung on his stomach once before situating back onto his feet. “Our fathers are friends which means we’re friends. That’s just the way the world works.”

“Friends forever, even if one of us moves far far far far away?”

“Friends forever, Y/N.” 

~

“Do you have to go?” Ten-year-old Edmund stood outside of Y/N’s house, holding a box of barbies. Mr. L/N took the box from Ed’s hand and put it in the trunk of his car. 

“It should only be for a few years at most, Ed. I’m getting relocated for work,” Mr. L/N responded, messing the young boy’s hair up with one hand. “We’ll be back. I gave your Dad our new address and you can write to Y/N to your heart’s content.”

When Y/N joined them at the car, backpack slung across her shoulder and her favorite teddybear hugged between her arms, tears were rolling down her face. 

“I don’t want to go, please don’t make me!” She cried, holding to her teddy to her chest. Her face was scarlet and her mouth was etched into a frown. 

“You can stay with us!” Edmund offered, his own tears starting to roll down his face. Y/N was more than just his playmate, she was his best friend. They had spent the last seven years of their life seeing eachother almost daily, and now all of that was going to come to a sudden halt. 

“That’s sweet of you, buddy, but I think her mother and I would miss her too much,” Mr. L/N smiled down at the two before walking to the front of the car where his wife was talking to Helen Pevensie. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Edmund sniffled. “I’m going to miss you. I have no one to play on the swings with!”

“You can play with Lucy.” Edmund made a face at this suggestion, making Y/N sadly giggle. “Or Peter.”

“No, Lucy cries too much and Peter always kicks sand in my eyes.” 

A thoughtful look came over Y/N’s face and she looked down at the plush in her arms. After a small moment of what looked like intense thought, she held her teddy out towards Edmund. 

“Here, Ed, now you can have a friend!” Edmund hesitantly took the bear from Y/N’s hands and looked down at it. It was obvious Y/N really loved that thing because it was a bit raggedy and one of the brown button eyes was replaced with a bright green one. “Teddy likes it better here, anyway. You can take care of him.” 

Y/N awkwardly gripped her upper arm with her hand, swaying on her heels. Edmund hugged it to him and nodded stiffly. “He’s in good hands. I will protect him with my life.”

Both kids laughed and embraced before Y/N was whisked into the car. 

~

Dear Y/N, 

Happy 12th birthday! I’m sad I couldn’t be there for it, but I hope your cake was yummy. The picture my mum showed me looked absolutely delicious. She also said you took up archery at your new school! My school doesn’t offer that, so I thought that was cool. Did you shoot anything? I know you are too nice to shoot any animals but I never know with you. ;) I hung out with this girl in my English class the other day, she reminded me of you. She had long brown hair and blue eyes and a laugh that sounds like yours. She wasn’t as fun as you, though. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend. I’m not sure if I want to be her boyfriend. She kept trying to hold my hand. Her hand was sweaty. And she kept saying I have a cute smile. I don’t know how a smile can be cute? Teeth are weird. Peter said that was her way of trying to flirt with me. Do you flirt with boys at your school? What do you say?

Maybe we can play Minecraft together again soon. Last time we played I had a great time. Have your mom text mine and we can try to schedule something. I want a phone, it would be easier to talk to you.

I attached a picture of me and Teddy at the park. He misses you almost as much as I do.

I’ll be waiting for your response, 

Ed

.

Ed, 

Thank you for the birthday wishes. :D The cake was delicious, I wish you could have tried it!!! And to answer your question, yes, but I’ve only ever shot targets. It’s against school rules to shoot anything other than them. Sort of a bummer, though. 

Your not-girlfriend sounds nice. I agree with her, your smile is very nice. You always look so happy when you smile, especially when your eyes light up. 

I don’t really flirt with boys, boys are kinda gross. Not you of course, but the guys at my school. There is this one guy named Ethan who is kinda cute. He wouldn’t want to be my boyfriend though. My friend always talks about kissing him. I want to kiss someone...have you ever kissed a girl? 

My mum said I can get a phone when I turn 14. Then, we can text and call whenever we want! I miss you. How’s teddy? He looks so happy in that picture. I hung it on my bulletin board. 

Respond quicker this time, will ya?

Y/N

~

EDMUND!!!

I’M HAVING A CRISIS AT THE RIPE OLD AGE OF 13! Remember that boy, Ethan? Well, apparently he has a big crush on me. That’s fine, he’s cute and everything, but my friend has a big crush on him. I guess it’s like friendship code to not date him? I feel bad rejecting him. I kinda have a crush on someone already. I know he doesn’t like me though. 

Are you still dating that one girl? In your last letter, you said you were gonna break up with her. How’d that go? Did she cry? Did you cry? I hope you didn’t. I don’t like it when you cry. It makes me sad. 

Can you believe we’re teenagers now? It seems like just yesterday I was handing you Teddy and crying in the car for an hour. I hope we come back soon. But hey! I’m almost 14, which means I’ll be getting a cell phone. Maybe if I have a phone my mum can convince yours to get you one. 

I miss you, Ed. I hope to be back soon. 

Y/N. 

.

Y/N!!!!

I’m not sure if that really counts as a crisis, but okay. If you don’t like him, don’t date him. That’s why I broke up with mine. I discovered I kind of like someone else, so I broke up with her. And no, I didn’t cry. If felt like a relief more than anything. Let me know how the “crisis” turns out. 

I can’t wait until I get a phone. My entire grade has one, and so do Susan and Peter. I feel kind of left out, having to write letters when I want to talk to someone. It’s always fun when I get them, though. 

If I have to hear Stitches by Shawn Mendes one more time, my head is going to explode!!!! Susan keeps playing it on repeat. I tried to turn it off earlier and she almost broke my arm. Why are siblings so mean? Or are mine just weird? You’re lucky you’re an only child. I miss you too, Y/N. If you were here life would be so much easier. 

Edmund

~

“Edmund, you got a letter,” Lucy says, dropping the envelope on his desk. He was working on college applications, typing away on his laptop, and looking grumpy. Music blasted through his speakers as he worked. 

“I didn’t order anything?” He grunted in response, not taking his eyes off of the screen. 

“It’s from the girl you’re basically in love with, I think. It has her name on it.” Edmund looked at the envelope with scrunched eyebrows. Sure enough, it had her name and address written on the front in her familiar handwriting. His heart rate sped up while he gently (and shakily) broke the paper seal. Why didn’t she just text him? 

Hey, Edmund,

I know we haven’t talked since we were like 15 and I could have just texted you, but this seemed more nostalgic and romantic in a way. You know how I tend to romanticize everything. 

Anyway, I wanted to let you know we’re moving back for Senior year, crazily enough. A few years my ass, huh? We’ll be back on the 14th, so get ready for chaos. 

Seriously, I’m looking forward to seeing you outside of Instagram again. You don’t have to come see me if you don’t want to, I know it might be a bit awkward, but I’d really like it if you did. My address is 1014 Swanwhite Lane. Come stop by if you feel like it. 

I do miss you. Judging by your social media, you’re doing well. I’m happy to hear that. 

Hopefully, I’ll see you soon.

Y/N

“Oh my god, she’s coming back,” Edmund says, gripping the thin paper in between his thumb and middle finger. “What’s the date?” 

Lucy pulled her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it, “The 28th. Why?”

“She got back the 14th! She’s been back for ages and I had no idea, oh my god!” 

“Well, are you going to go see her? You lost your chance to sweep her off her feet by waiting for her to arrive.”

“Sweep her off her feet?” Lucy rolled her eyes and hit him with the rest of the family’s mail. 

“Don’t play stupid. I’ve heard you and Peter talking.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes skimmed the letter again. Lucy snatched it from his fingers and hit him with it. 

“Don’t know what I’m talking about? Really, Ed? The whole ‘I’ve been in love with her since I was 8 years old’ thing you told Pete? You don’t recall? Or the fact you have her post notifications on?” Lucy read the letter herself. “She wants to see you! Come on, this is your chance. You haven’t even looked at a girl since you were like 13.” 

“I’ve been focusing on school. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a Friday night in the middle of August and you’re getting a head start on college applications. Ed, go see the girl.” 

“Mum will never let me,” Lucy held up one finger and left the room. After about 5 minutes, she returned and held his coat out to him. 

“She said to go have fun. Here, it might be chilly.” Edmund sighed and took his jacket. The corduroy felt soft under his fingers as he slid it on. 

“You don’t have to be so pushy, Lu.” 

Lucy smiled, “It’s only because I love you. Besides, if I didn’t push you, you wouldn’t go.”

~

Edmund sat on the curb across the street and looked up at Y/N’s house. It was well past 11 at this point and only one light in the house was on. Hopefully, it was Y/N’s. 

He awkwardly thumbed through his contacts before pulling up Y/N’s. The last text was on his birthday, a simple two message conversation consisting of “Happy Birthday!” and “Thanks!”

Look outside 

He watched nervously as his message went from delivered to read, but no typing bubble popped up. Edmund sighed and stood, shoving his phone into his jacket pocket and walking towards the house. Sure enough, the front door opened and a grown-up Y/N stepped out. She was still dressed, but her shoes were off and her hair was tied back. Edmund smiled at her mismatched socks, old habits die hard apparently. 

“I thought you were never going to come and see me,” Her voice was like honey. 

“I just got the letter today, so blame the postal service. Not me.” The two walked to the curb and sat down. 

“Well, I’m glad you still came. I was expecting you to wimp out.”

“Wimp out?! Why would I do that?” 

Y/N let out a forced chuckle and looked at the pavement. “Because you stopped answering my texts and calls.” She crossed her arms across her body and shivered. She was only wearing a short-sleeve shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. “But I get it, life gets in the way sometimes.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Are you cold?” Without waiting for an answer, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it across Y/N’s shoulders. It smelled like spearmint gum and pine. 

Y/N let out a real chuckle this time. “Smooth, Ed. Very cheesy.” 

“I will happily take it back.” 

“Please don’t, this is the closest I’ve been to you in years.” Her fingers gripped the material and closed it around her torso. She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. Edmund didn’t quite know what to do. “I missed you, Edmund. It’s so nice to see you again.” 

“I missed you too. Your return is a few years late.” His chest vibrated with a snicker. 

“I know, but I’m back now.” A moment of silence filled the air as the two tried to grow more comfortable in the familiar company. 

“I used to dream about sitting with you like this, you know,” Edmund said before he could stop himself. 

“You did?”

“Yeah, I used to picture us in all sorts of situations, but most of them were small things like this.” 

“But not anymore?”

Edmund sighed, laying his head on top of hers. His hair tickled Y/N’s forehead. “I figured you moved on from me.”

“Moved on? What do you mean?”

“I mean, you have so many friends and a new life… and we stopped texting as often. I don’t know, I thought you, maybe, outgrew me.” 

Y/N played with the zipper on Edmund’s jacket, making a small clicking noise fill the air. “I never outgrew you, Ed. In fact, a day didn’t go by that I didn’t wish I was here with you.” 

“I don’t see why. You had so many friends and such an exciting life. I’m rather dull in comparison.”

“You’re definitely not dull. And it doesn’t matter how many friends it seems like I have, you’re the only one I consider a best friend. I should have reached out more, maybe I could have had a better year.” 

Edmund shifted so he could wrap an arm around her waist. “Did you have a bad year?”

“Yeah, that’s sort of why we came back. But, I mean, I’m here with you, so everything has a bright side.” 

Edmund grinned and tightened his grip. “That’s one of the things I love most about you. You can always see the positives in everything.” Y/N pulled back and looked at his face. 

“I love it when you smile,” Y/N commented. “I could spend hours staring at that god damn smile.” Edmund’s cheeks reddened and his smile grew bigger. 

“Why don’t you, then? Stay with me for hours, I mean.” 

“I will if you let me, Pevensie.” 

Edmund sniffed once. 

“Did you ever end up dating that guy from your Chemistry class?” Edmund asks, studying the side of her face. His eyes scanned over her skin, admiring how soft it looked. 

“No, I’ve been in love with someone else for quite some time.” 

“What a lucky guy, then.” Edmund’s voice was only a bit louder than a mumble as he turned his head away from her. 

“Yeah, I guess he is. I’ve known him since I was really young.” 

“How’d you meet him?” Every word felt like a dagger into his stomach. 

“I don’t remember, he was always just there. Our dads were friends so we were friends. That’s just how the world works.” Edmund took his hand off of Y/N and placed it in his lap. 

“Oh, I see.” 

“Yeah, he’s super cute. He’s really smart, too, but kinda oblivious.”  

“Wow, he sounds great, Y/N. I’m so happy for you.” Each word sounded like he was choking them out. He stopped listening a few responses ago, but he still wanted to support her. No matter how hurt he felt, he was still her friend. 

“He’s the best person I’ve ever met, if I’m being quite honest. He can be a bit of an ass though.”

“What’s his name?” 

“You might know him,” Y/N tucked her hands into her sleeves before continuing. “His name is Edmund Pevensie.” 

“Wow, what a cool- wait what?” Y/N giggled at the look on his face. His eyebrows were lifted and his mouth was open slightly. 

“Yeah, I don’t know, maybe you’ve met him.” 

“You’ve been in love with me?” 

“Been and am, darling. God, when I got your text tonight my heart almost stopped.” Edmund was speechless, he couldn’t believe the girl he had been in love with for so long felt the same way. “Of course it’s okay if you don’t feel the same-”

“-No! I’m just shocked. I can’t believe this. I have loved you since we were little, I feel like I’m dreaming.” He couldn’t help but let the smile engulf his face, making his freckles stand out against his red cheeks. This was not what he was expecting when he had walked to her house. 

“There’s that handsome smile I love to see.” 

“So, you were waiting for me?” 

“Just like you were waiting for me. Lucy texted me about six months ago about how you never show any interest when she tries to set you up with girls. Now is just our time, unless you aren’t going to show interest in me.” 

“When did you get so sassy?” Edmund turned so he was facing her straight on. 

“When did you get so flust-” She was cut off mid-word by his warm lips being pressed against hers. He tasted like licorice and mint, and Y/N instantly got intoxicated off of his lips. Both parties had dreamed about this moment for years, so now that it was happening, it left them both feeling light-headed. Edmund pulled back and smirked. 

“Who’s the flustered one now?” He asks, hand cupping her cheek. 

“Does this mean you’re finally mine?”

“Y/N, I’ve always been yours. Hell, I’ll always be yours.” 

Edmund made a face as if he remembered something and reached into his backpack, “By the way, I’m not the only one who missed you.” He placed a very old teddy bear in his lover’s lap. 

He had raggedy fur and one green eye. 

[justsmilestuffhappens]

Making the Most of It

*nsfw coitus interruptus

@lilywoood @comablog2 @cherishingstydia

After a stressful day of hard calls and nearly missing an event for Christopher after school both Eddie and Buck were worn out.

Buck knew Eddie was more so than him with Christopher getting that award. If they'd have missed it then it'd be another failure to add to Eddie's list of not being there for his son.

"Hey." Buck came back from the shower in just his towel and boxers.

Eddie looked up from his book. The book club thing he'd joined was incredibly endearing and buck loved that it was something Eddie did in his own time and enjoyed.

"I think the person who suggested this for our group was calling me out." Eddie said bookmaking his page with a soft frown.

"Why's that?" Buck asked sitting down on his side of the bed.

"The dad in this story has trouble being there for his son but he's gotta come to grips with only being able to do so much before he's going to die soon."

"Woah! Okay? But, uh. Is it too much?" Buck asks scooting closer.

"No. I identify with him but, he's alone in it. I'm not exactly alone. I'm lucky and grateful to have you." Eddie gently pulled buck's face closer to kiss him.

"So. I uh, got an idea. I know you're stressed, so- how do you feel about a massage?" Buck asked with a smile while rubbing up Eddie's arm as he was holding Bucks cheek.

"I'd like that." Eddie rubbed his thumb on Bucks cheek.

"Good. Lay down, on your stomach. I gotta fight your shoulders before I can get to that back of yours.

Eddie felt as Buck poured some oil onto him. It was distinctly warm, not too hot.

"Hmm." He hummed happily. Buck felt it in his hands.

"It's not too hot right? I put it in the shower with me so it could warm a little." Buck asked.

"No. It's just right Goldiloc-" Eddie cut into a moan as Buck worked his shoulders.

"Does that make you one of the bears?" Buck asked.

"Shh. God, keep doing that Buck." Eddie said while buck quieted down.

"You're lucky I love you"

"Yeah, I am." Eddie said while buck finally moved down to his middle and lower back.

"I'm lucky to have you too." Buck said while Eddie was sure he was fighting not to grab his ass making him smirk. He decided to flex his glutes where buck was straddling him earning Buck stopping for a moment.

"Stop that. I want to help you relax. Don't distract me," Buck said.

"Well, sex is good stress relief with all those endorphins." Eddie countered.

"And so is this physical contact, now accept my foreplay. I'm not saying no, I just want to focus on you for a bit Eds." Buck came down to kiss Eddie's spine.

"Mhm. Yeah. Babe."

Buck continued to massage Eddie and adding more oil when he felt he needed it.

"Okay. Now it's your turn." Eddie's said moving to get up.

"No. You don't have to." Buck said while letting Eddie up.

"I want to do the same for you. Please Buck." Eddie said while knowing buck couldn't deny a Diaz anything.

"Fine." Buck sighed as Eddie got the massage oil and let buck lay down for him to get on top and get to his back.

Eddie kissed buck across his shoulder blades as he rubbed the oil in his hands to warm it up more from it cooling as buck used it.

Buck wouldn't lie. It felt good to have Eddie's undivided attention.

His blush while hidden was probably known by Eddie by now, they were so in tune together.

"Relax Buck. Let me take care of you like you take care of us." Eddie felt buck slump more while he went back to making his boyfriend feel good.

The larger towel Buck had brought and set down would help with cleaning up afterwards but they'd probably need another shower anyways or to clean the sheets for what he had planned after this.

By the time he was through they'd be too tired to get up until the morning.

"Eddie."

"Yeah babe."

"I love you. And I'm not just saying that because of the massage. But it feels really good."

"Then I guess I'm doing it right." Eddie teased while moving down to cup Bucks cheeks.

"Oh. I didn't know this was a massage option. I've been missing out."

"I want to be the only person who gets to do this and make you feel good. So don't get any ideas," Eddie said hands gliding down to work on bucks long and thick thighs.

"Can we do this every time we work out? Think I could use it then," Buck laughed.

"Shh. I don't know. I'll think about it." Eddie joked while nipping Bucks ass a little.

"I'm gonna get you back for that." Buck said getting up.

"Not if I don't let you." Eddie pushed buck back down earning an "oof" from the man's lips.

Buck grabbed his arm as Eddie paused making sure Buck was okay and into it.

"You're just making it worse for yourself." Buck said while grunting and jerking to get Eddie off himself.

Eddie laughed as Buck didn't get very far. In his exertion the bottle that was still open tipped and spilled more between them.

The cold startled both of them as Buck finally got his leg up and around Eddie. Using his moment to switch their positions. Eddie's found himself on his back with Buck above him facing the ceiling too before twisting around to capture his lips.

"That was hot. But you got lucky." Eddie said as Buck pinned his arms beside him and smirked.

"Maybe I was lucky. But I was holding back before too- and now we're completely covered in this stuff." Buck shook his head.

"You don't have to hold back with me though. I can take it too. Just like you said you could take me, remember,"

Buck swallowed at his words being used against him. It was unfair.

Soon Eddie had him in a some sort if MMA hold he thought he'd seen before.

Buck moved to get Eddie off by shifting his balance first bringing him closer before pushing him away and grabbing his hand before he actually fell off the bed and brained himself.

"You've been paying good attention to when you see me fight or when we watch, huh?" Eddie asked.

"I guess so."

Eddie slowly with held eye contact pushed Buck back down onto his back.

Buck bit his lip as he opened his legs to wrap around Eddie and pull him down closer.

"Hottest foreplay ever"

Buck couldn't tell if Eddie was asking or telling. "Yeah."

Eddie reached down to cup Bucks fully erect member through his boxers ignoring his own that was straining in his.

"Eddie, come on." Buck's breath sped up as Eddie's fingers pulled at his waistband. It wouldn't take much.

"Gonna make you feel so good b-"

"Daddy?"

Both of them froze.

It was at that second Buck remembered he'd forgotten to lock the door.

Eddie turned around and looked at it opening in horror before schooling his expression.

"Si, mijo."

"I'm thirsty." Christopher yawned as he opened the door.

Buck could laugh if he wasn't so mortified.

"I'll get you a drink buddy." Eddie got up and wrapped Bucks towel on quick to hide his erection that was slowly dying down.

"Why were you on top of Bucky holding him down?"

"We were just play fighting, like uh, wrestling to get tired. Grown ups like doing that sometimes before going to sleep," Eddie tried.

"But why are you all wet? Did you get sweaty doing it?" Christopher inquired.

"No. It just gets a little hot sometimes in daddy's room. That's why we slept in our underwear." Buck chimed in.

"Does Buck help you sleep and have good dreams dad? Like my teddy bear,"

"Yeah son. Buck's the best at making other people feel good. Let's get you some water and put you back to bed, ok?" Eddie guided him to the kitchen.

Buck scrambled once they were out of view to grab some night pants from their drawers and hurried to catch up.

They both glistened in the low light as Christopher let himself be ushered back only because he was still so tired from the earlier activities to keep talking.

"Nighy daddy. Night Buck." Christopher said as Buck took the cup from him and put it on his nightstand as Eddie took off his glasses.

"Night kiddo. We love you."

With their crisis averted buck and Eddie retreated into their bedroom.

"That's was a close one." Buck whispered.

"You're telling me. I'm not ready for the birds and the bees, he's not even a teenager yet. You're going to help me when that day comes." Eddie vowed sitting down.

The mood couldn't be killed, Eddie still found buck incredibly attractive and always would but it had shifted. He couldn't even think of that right now.

"Let's go to sleep. You can wash everything tomorrow while I start breakfast after a shower."

"We're cuddling though."

"You better flipping believe it."

"I was tell you, not asking." Eddie laughed while pulling Buck closer.

The oil wasn't so bad after they used the bits of towel left to dry off a little.

-

It wasn't even a week later that things took a turn.

Christopher had come with Tia Pepa to drop off a side dish to their late lunch from Abuela.

"Thank you and Isabel for this again Pepa." Bobby said while putting the dish in the oven to warm.

"It's no problem. You need to keep up your energy. Mama insisted she cook it but I helped her. Said she can't give you the recipe until after the wedding." She winked.

"Ha. Well, we'll all be there. Have a nice day. Where's Christopher?"

"Visiting his two favorite people. Oh. That boy is so happy, he can't stop talking about his papa's." She smiled.

Over toward the common area there was a commotion.

"Buck no. I've got seniority kid. We've watching this." Chim held the remote away while pushing his arm to keep Buck at a distance.

"But this show blows and you've seen it before. Let me-" buck strained to reach even though chim knew he was winning more out of respect and buck holding back.

"You're wrestling with Chimney like you do with daddy?" Christopher asked getting both of them to freeze for different reasons. Startled and confused.

"Buck and Eddie wrestle Chris?" Hen asked while Eddie pleaded with God for his saint of a son to change the subject.

"Yeah. They do it before bed so they can be tired enough to go to sleep." Christopher smiled. "Right daddy?"

Eddie looked down at his son beside him. Why? Ok. Breathe.

"Yes mijo. It's just something adults do though it's with people they're very close to, ok?" Eddie looked to Hen for support.

"It's your dad and Bucks special time, they like to- wrestle. Yeah. Right chim?" Hen looked him in the eye as he stopped quietly laughing to put on a serious face.

"Oh yeah. They're right. Just don't tell people about it okay. I'm sure it's different with your dad. Buck loves him more than me Chris." Chim smiled as Buck continued to bite his lip.

"Yeah. Bud. Chim is just my friend. I love your dad." Buck calmed down.

"Why aren't you all wet and sweaty though?" Christopher asked killing Buck.

Hen laughed quietly. "I'm sorry I sneezed. Excuse me."

"Bless you hen." Both of the Diaz boys said while buck joined them.

"Hey mijo, wanna try on my helmet before you go back with Pepa to Abuela's. We can send the picture to her."

"Yeah!" Christopher followed his dad.

"Good luck with "the talk' Buck. You're a father before I am. What's this world coming to?" Chim joked.

"Eddie already made me promise to be there. I'm dreading the day." Buck groaned.

"Welcome to parenthood." Bobby and Hen said back to back.

"For the record you're doing pretty good." Hen soothed buck with a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll make it through, together." Bobby said touching the other.

"What's with the you both being wet part?" Chim asked curiously.

"Massage oil." Buck sighed.

"Oh. That makes sense." Chim said.

Eddie came back up alone.

"Chris okay?" Buck asked.

"Yeah. But Pepa said try not to do the deed while Christopher is home."

"She's gonna tell Abuela isn't she?" Buck dropped his head then looked up to see chim texting. "No don't tell maddie."

"Already done. Here's the remote Buck." Chim went to sit with hen and chat with Bobby while the food cooked.

"It's okay. If we have to tell him then we have to. It's like the book. We've gotta just do the best we can." Eddie comforted buck while sitting next to him.

They were definitely having sex at Eddie's before being scolded by Abuela. They were never gonna hear the end of it.

[altrcistics]

❄️❄️ –––– have you seen [ ESME MACMILLAN ] since the storm? some say they look like [ DANIELLE CAMPBELL ] but they’re [ 21 ]  & go by [ THE TACITURN ].  [ SHE ] lived in halloway for [ 11 YEARS ] & they are originally from [ LONDON ]. before the town vanished they were studying [ MEDICINE ] and lived at [ UNI BLVD ]. most people knew the [ CISFEMALE ] as [ ALTRUISTIC ] but i’ve heard they can also be [ RETICENT ]. for some reason, they feel [ UNEASY ] about the town’s disappearance.    ––– 

–––––– well , well if it isn’t me , b , with a broken theme !! but i’m too eager to pay any mind to it right now , and i’ve got homework due at midnight that has to happen after i get this baby posted . hi friends !! very excited to be here . this is my soul baby esme who is just trying her gd best and is stressed out 99% of the time . needs a 12 hour nap and maybe a therapist . summed up in a word ? soft , probably . i hope you love her like i do anYWAY GONNA leave this here and get to plotting so you can also hit me up at  b a y#9956 on discord!! 

LONDON.

weston and anna macmillan never planned on having a child. they were young and in love, and both had struck the genetic lottery – weston with his brains, anna with her trust fund. while weston was up and coming in the world of corporate law, anna had spent her life in pointe shoes and was at the top of her game as a principle dancer for the royal ballet in london. they were picturesque… perfect, even. until anna found herself to be three weeks late and their dazzling little dream life reached its first hiccup.

that hiccup entered the world screaming a whole nine months later!! tiny blue eyed esme grace macmillan was a fuckin handful even before she was born. as anna went through prenatal checkups, she found that her heartbeat was irregular. further tests concluded that she had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (hcm) which is a genetic condition that affects the muscles in the heart and causes irregular blood flow. it’s not fatal, but it is hereditary and gets riskier with physical exertion. being a new mother, anna made the decision to shelve ballet and focus on this new chapter of her life.

which was probably a good thing! she loved being a mom, and it was safe to say that having a set of eyes on esme at all times was the right choice. she was restless and constantly full of energy. from a really young age, it became apparent that esme had inherited some of the best parts of her parents. she got her dad’s brains, catching onto things quickly and learning to walk and talk earlier than most. this turned into simple reading and messy writing shortly after. she wasn’t a very social kid though, didn’t talk much.

as soon as esme was old enough, she was put into tiny pink ballet slippers. she took a liking to dance, and this is when they realized she’d also inherited her mother’s natural grace. early on, it looked like she’d easily follow in her mother’s footsteps.

dance really really opened esme up. it was here that she started making friends and began tip toeing outside of her comfort zone and opening up a little bit, but her direction changed when she was six and discovered figure skating.

it was technical and lyrical like ballet, but it was far more challenging. even as a kid, esme loved a good challenge. so her parents bought her a pair of skates, and the rest is history. as she grew up, her weekends were occupied with practices, performances, and eventually competitions. she was a natural. and for the first time there was an air of confidence about her.

though she loved it more than anything in the world, her life soon came to revolve around school and skating.  it caused her to miss out on a normal childhood, never really making friends close enough to be invited to sleepovers or birthday parties.

that made the move much easier for esme. when she was 10, her father’s firm went international and he was put in charge of the american branch. thus, the macmillans hopped across the atlantic and moved to halloway for a fresh start, a new adventure.

HALLOWAY.

she took a small break from competitive skating when they moved; it was her parents’ choice in hopes of her actually making friends in new hampshire. and it worked! for a while. esme was still quiet, still a little too book smart and a little less than street smart. even as a kid, she was awkward, but she was kind and clever and for the most part — people liked her.

and life was good for a long time! she got back into skating, and around the time she was thirteen she showed no signs of stopping. in fact, her sights were set on an olympic medal, and though her parents were wary of her inherited condition, they supported her in every possible way.

entering high school, life got a little bit harder. her schoolwork and training kept her pretty tied up, and it was often really hard for her to balance a social life along with that. she didn’t show up to every party. she didn’t really have any interest in going on dates. she kept up with her friends and made time for the important things, but she wasn’t exactly the most open person.

this backfired real quick!! as a freshman, at a bonfire, a senior boy kinda came onto her and when she said nope no thank you, he got pissed. instead of taking rejection Like A Man, he decided to spread a little rumor about them hooking up. this combined with her quiet nature kind of caused her to get a bit of a reputation of being aloof and a bit easy which is so far from the truth. but high school is high school!! and people were fuckin mean about it for a long time thereafter!

around this time was also when her parents sorta…. fell out of love. as in… her father got a little power hungry, a little bored of his life, and like the cliche he is started having an affair. the secrecy of it didn’t last… long and he ultimately left both anna and esme. she felt kind of.. abandoned. like they weren’t good enough almost but.. she and her mom got . even closer because of it tbh. the macmillan girls don’t need no man!!

so she threw herself into her studies and even more so into skating. she trained in the morning and on the weekends, year round. winning competitions made her feel good, and she kept doing so. when she was fifteen, she competed at the world figure skating championship. though she didn’t medal, her scores were impressive and she became an alternate for the us figure skating team at 16. being so close to those five rings was enough to push her further.

she left traditional high school and threw herself even further into figure skating. (this only fueled halloway rumors that she was a bit of a snob akjdfha) after graduating, she enrolled at halloway part time in order to slowly get through her gen eds while training for, yup, you guessed it, the 2018 olympics.

and ya know what? it paid off. at 20, she’d had two world’s silvers and a world’s gold under her belt as she competed in the winter games. her whole life had been leading up to that moment, and she brought home an olympic gold medal in women’s figure skating. that’s right, ya girl fucking peaked.

it was a high, for a while. and she rode it quietly and gracefully. idk she was PROUD ok she worked so hard…. but her incessant need to be perfect and to continuously better herself was nagging in the back of her mind. she wasn’t sure how you could really get better than gold at the olympics.

needless to say, she’s in the midst of a bit of an identity crisis. with her heart condition and ya know aging… she knows figure skating isn’t a forever-thing. so she went back to halloway, taking an interest in medicine and trying to understand her own weakness— a weak heart. she began studying medicine and to fell in love with that profession, but . she honestly can’t stay off of the ice. activate existential dread! she doesn’t actually know who she is!

and then the heckin storm happened smh

NEW HALLOWAY.

with a calm exterior and a notorious knack for being maternal . . . someone , somewhere along the line said hey let’s put esme in charge of the hospital to which she said in a john-mulaney-esque voice . . . huh ? what ? huh ? what ??? huh ???? and then did it anyway

if she’s not on call or working at the hospital , best believe she’s studying because she’ll be the first to tell you she has no business calling herself a doctor 

it’s been months!! since!! they disappeared!! and she’s sort of adjusting to this new life which often makes her feel very, very guilty because she doesn’t know what’s happened to her mother at this point

when everything was frozen she still found time to escape and do some skating on the lake aksdjfhas

for the most part, she keeps herself busy ... someone like .... help her tho

PERSONALITY.

esme’s naturally introverted. she likes people, but she’s a textbook people pleaser and gets exhausted quickly when she’s socializing. she’s always been quiet, never the center of attention (unless on ice) and never the loudest voice in the room. when she does speak, though, it’s purposeful and articulate. the sort of ‘she doesn’t talk much but when she does it’s important’ kinda thing idk. she’s not meek ya know.. just reserved

she’s naturally… very kind. cares a lot about other people but struggles to express that which is why she gravitates towards the profession of medicine. she enjoys helping people ya know

ya girl keeps her shit close to her chest. doesn’t really want to bother anyone with her own shit and takes her anger out in physical activity, disassociates from her sadness by reading. a lot of people know her but not on a deep level. tbh does she even know herself? prob not

she’s not a stick in the mud, but she does need a little push every now and then. she lets loose when she’s around people that she’s comfortable with tbh. behind the prim and proper macmillan facade is.. a bit of a goofball. does not hesitate to participate in dramatically karaoke or midnight swims in a lake.

SOFT as fuck but she’s not one to be walked all over. she’s clever as all get out and when snapped at harshly enough won’t hesitate to snap back. she doesn’t get angry to the point of showing it easily, but when she does, she’s very purposeful with her words. don’t underestimate her she hATES being underestimated

competitive as heck. in academics, in sports, in board games. she’s a sweetheart but she will wreck you in spite and malice or sorry bc she just… has a competitive nature

really does give a shit about what people think of her. like… wants to be liked. not being liked by some people in high school really fucked w her bc she just….. can’t help caring about how other people perceive her and wants it to be positively. it’s in part because of how she was raised?? she grew up in a pretty monitored, strict environment between rigorous training and her parents’ world of the rich (will this change after the storm tho??? we’ll SEE)

values honesty like has absolutely 0 time to be lied to and 0 time for bullshit

SO curious, always ready to learn more

will make a fool of herself to see you laugh

a lil bit of amy santiago.. a lil bit of rory gilmore.. a lil bit of caroline forbes..

needs to relax; constantly Anxious

s t u b b o r n

literally never sleeps

doesn’t curse bc there are more clever ways to express anger

reputation: aloof and stuck up. reality: literally just shy lmao

is TRYING VERY HARD

WANTED PLOTS.

i have a few connection ideas here!! and a tag here!! but also…

friends from halloway that she’s just… straight up been pals with since she moved there

i’m… constantly thirsty for … girl gang shit. any of y’all watch the bold type? i eat that shit uP AND IT’S all i NeED TO BE . HAPPY OK

esme’s an only child and i would love to see a sibling-like bond for her

academic rivals pls and thank!! mayb in their major…. mayb back in high school…. paris vs rory anyone?

the maya to her riley oh man

a bad influence or even… the polar opposite . to her Mom Friend-ness

someone else who grew up in the realm of rich parents like galas suck but at least we got each other!!

neighbors!!

new friends! people who she’s met through halloway and quickly taken a liking to. super interesting dynamic bc… while she’s eager to know u she’s not so eager to …. open up lmao

previous roommates

y’all into angsty exes? i know this is the end of the world and all but that don’t mean wE CAN’T get SAD

someone she became friends w via… skating yikes akjdfha i swear that’s not her only personality trait

someone she agreed to tutor!! or study buddies!! ‘i’m going to cry literal tears on my flashcards please study with me!’

someone she was forced to be friend with post-storm. they step on each other’s toes but suck it up for the sake of everyone else

i .. love combining ideas and brainstorming too so!!! we can also do that!!

if you made it this far i’m literally going to cry bc i love you already for reading a rambling like this . aNYWAY !! that’s my esme. feel free to smash the like and i’ll come to you or message me on discord!! 

[kyndaris]

Banana Life

Growing up as a Chinese-Australian has had its ups and downs over the years. There has always been a bit of a cultural divide with how my parents have viewed things and how I’ve perceived such matters. In fact, I remember many a fight when I was younger and hated the thought of going to Chinese School every Saturday. Now that I’m older, though, I appreciate the fact that I’m bilingual (I still can’t read Chinese as well as my mother would have hoped, but at least I can tell where the train station is). 

But I often count myself among the more fortunate ones when it comes to being the target of racist attacks. There has never been one singular event when someone has told me to ‘go back to where I came from.’ Nor has anyone physically assaulted me based on my appearance.

In saying that, I have often bristled when people ask me again where I’m from. As if my answer: Australia is not enough. If you wish to know my ethnicity, then be more direct. Unless, of course, you wish to see my birth certificate? I know that some people are curious and want to find a way to bond about their experience in an Asian country, but there are better ways to phrase a question rather than going with a blunt: so, where are you from?

I’ve also never liked when people come up to me and say ‘Ni Hao.’ Yes, I know I’m Chinese-Australian and understand the words, but for all you (a relative stranger) know, I might not know a lick of Chinese at all. What if I was sixth generation and never grew up learning the language? What if I was actually Vietnamese, Japanese or Korean? Malaysian or Singaporean? How about Thai, Indonesian or Filipino? 

Actually, when I was in the small country town of Leeton, I did have a gaggle of girls approach me and say ‘Konnichiwa.’ Perhaps they saw a great number of tourists in that area and assumed I was one of them. I never actually got to the bottom of why they addressed me in Japanese, but I was greatly puzzled. A simple ‘G’day’ would have sufficed. It isn’t as if I approach all Caucasians and start going ‘buongiorno’ or ‘top of the morning.’

Then there have been the subtle times when I was at university and handed Free English lessons pamphlets. Why me? There were plenty of international students from Europe that might have been struggling with English. But because I looked different, many people assumed that I was an international student. One time, I asked one of these good Samaritans if it sounded like I needed Free English lessons. And do I speaker da good English. They quickly learned their error. Although, they then followed me up half the street trying to convert me to Christianity.

Over the years, though, and in more recent months, I’ve read plenty of articles and stories where people have discriminated against people that look like me. People, who, like me, have grown up in the West and often struggle with belonging as we straddle two worlds. Our values are not the same as our parents and yet, we don’t look white enough to be considered ‘true blue Aussies.’ As my mother loved to say - and which was repeated in Crazy Rich Asians - we’re bananas. 

One of my friends said that in the UK, East Asians are one of the smallest minorities there. Here in Australia, we’re one of the largest. Just like in the United States of America, we’re a model for all other ethnic minorities. Most of us studied hard in school, to the detriment of our mental health. We’re good at mathematics. We’ve also prove to be invaluable employees in the work place. And our parents have often hoped that we land an excellent job that pays well: accountant, lawyer, doctor or engineer. 

Most of us have also learned to play a music instrument. Some of us love anime with a passion. Others have dived down deep into the world of Korean Dramas. And a lot fell in love with a film that finally put us on the big Hollywood screen. Representation matters. Even as we’ve remained mostly silent in our achievements after decades of being regarded as the ‘yellow peril’ or ‘Asian invasion.’

COVID-19 has proved thoroughly that despite the great strides Western society has made in being more inclusive, many people are still mired by their prejudice. People have graffiti-ed and vandalised houses in the suburbs of Melbourne. They’ve made disparaging comments under their breath whilst in earshot of Asian Australian in shopping markets. Elsewhere, we have been attacked and told that we’re a disease.

Now, let me be clear. None of this has happened to me personally. And yet, reading these stories, I often fear what might happen should I ever find myself in such a situation. When I was younger, I often thought I’d retort with the fact that if they told me to ‘go back to where I came from,’ I’d simply do the same. Australia has always been a migrant country. All of us came via boat or plane if they’ve traced their ancestry as far as it can go. Maybe that was the First Fleet or as convicts. But just because you’ve settled and claimed the land that we’re on for longer than me and my family, that doesn’t give you the right to say that I’m not who I say I am: an Australian.

As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve realised that trying to reason with these people doesn’t always work. And trying too hard might mean risking getting burnt. In Life is Strange 2, trying to stick to my values only had Sean Diaz bullied into finally singing a song in Spanish for fear that he would be assaulted.

Even little comments can hurt, even when they’re said in jest.

I remember at around the start of the current COVID-19 crisis, a colleague once asked me if I ate bats. At the time, it was believed that the virus had been transmitted in a wet market in Wuhan by eating bats. I said ‘no.’ And then proceeded to list a number of things I have never eaten: snakes, shark fin, dog...the list went on. Of course, I knew it was all in good fun and teased her back by asking if she ate frog legs or escargot. It gradually evolved into a conversation about the different types of food that was enjoyed around the world. But that first assumption also stung and made me question how the people around me viewed this little Chinese-Australian trying to make her way in the world. 

Yet even when it’s not others trying to put us down, some of our fellows are coming up with conspiracy theories. In my badminton group, one of the players said that COVID-19 stood for something more sinister than just corona virus disease. They said that it was an acronym which stood for China Output Virus in December 2019.

Social distancing restrictions are now easing around the world. I know many are looking forward to going out and meeting up with friends without having the fear of disease and death hovering over their shoulder. There is always the concern that lifting quarantine will lead to more outbreaks. But, what I’m scared of most of all, is when someone sees me and decides that it’s my fault COVID-19 was brought in Australia, though it’s been years since I’ve been to China. And then begins to attack me: either verbally or physically just because of what I look like.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Baby’s First Date

Summary: As Ethan struggles with coming to terms with his sexuality, there’s the matter of Crockett asking him on a date. (Baby’s First: Part Two)

WC: ~3k

After kissing Crockett, Ethan goes home to his apartment, feeds his bird, eats cold leftovers, and goes to bed. He sleeps fitful but long, and doesn’t feel rested when he wakes up and goes back into work. Nothing is different, but everything is. He can still feel the faint ghosts of Crockett’s hands on his cheeks, his chest against his own. The memory is strong and heavy, oppressive across his mind as he tries to go about his shift.

Crockett is there too, and doesn’t do a single thing to indicate remembrance of the moment shared, even when they cross paths working over the same shooting patient. Ethan’s hand in the patient’s body, holding his artery shut to stop the bleeding, Crockett pulling on gloves as he orders his trauma team to scrub in because they don’t have a lot of time, for some reason Ethan feels like this is the perfect moment to bring up the unspoken.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” he asks as he walks along with the bed, still clamping the artery by hand. It’s a bad time. “Because I think we should.”

“Choi, can this wait until after surgery?”

Yes. Of course it can. He nods, and then someone who’s dressed properly for surgery comes and replaces his hand with the tool designed to do it better, and then he’s abandoned outside the glass doors with blood up to his wrist and a sinking feeling in his chest. Maybe Crockett is avoiding him for a reason, like regret. What reason would he have had to kiss him besides an impulse that may be embarrassing now in the morning after? Ethan hates that he even brought it up, and he hates more that  he had welcomed the kiss so easily the night before.

Worst of all, he can’t forget Crockett’s words in the doctor’s lounge, about how liking men and women aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. But they are. And they aren’t. And he keeps thinking about Crockett’s lips against his own and how they had been so soft, so tender, but it doesn’t mesh with a life spent pursuing women and being happy with that. He hasn’t experienced this before. If he was gay, wouldn’t he have known sooner? Shouldn’t the realization have come in high school or perhaps even earlier? Gay people don’t realize this shit when they’re as old and world-weary as he is. He’s not having this crisis now.

 That’s how he winds up sitting in the cafeteria, slowly eating yogurt, with Natalie sitting beside him and looking amused. She sees right through him, but he can’t help asking. There’s no one else to turn to except for Crockett, which doesn’t feel like a good or fun idea at this point in time, if he’s honest. That surgery’s been going on for at least an hour. If the patient dies because of Ethan’s delay to ask a stupid question, he might as well quit his job right here and now.

“You’re gay,” he says as an opener. “Right?”

Natalie shakes her head. “I’m bi.”

“Bi?”

“Bisexual,” she amends.

He considers that briefly, mind flashing a brief memory of Emily talking about this when they were teenagers. “So you like men and women?”

“Yes and no.” She shrugs. “I guess I’m attracted to any gender or lack thereof. But I have a preference for women.”

Ethan takes another bite of the yogurt, which has no discernable flavor when all he can think about is Crockett and the fact that he’s absolutely made a huge mistake in allowing what happened last night. Bisexual. He could be bisexual. But he isn’t, and he doesn’t know what’s going on in his head right now to have made everything spiral out of control in a matter of hours. 

“I don’t know what I am.”

She rubs his back like a mother might, comforting her child in desperate need of someone to just tell them that it’s okay. Natalie’s always reminded him of maternity, even before Owen. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You have time to figure it out, and even if you never do, it’s okay.”

But he likes labels, neat little boxes to fit himself and his patients into in order to make the world a little less chaotic. Not knowing is going to drive him crazy. He needs answers, but he doesn’t have them and even if he was bisexual, that’s not something he’s necessarily ready to say for himself right now. He’s never thought about it before. He’s never been interested in men before, and he has this fear that it’s a one time thing, blown out of proportion from a moment of weakness and alcohol in a kiss that he can’t stop thinking about. 

Natalie sits with him until he finishes his yogurt, and then he stays by himself until he gets word that his patient is out of surgery. Which means Crockett is also after surgery, and Ethan hates the inopportune time he chose to bring up what happened between them. He was impulsive. He was stupid. The entire walk back to the ED, he berates himself for his impulsivity, and wonders how badly he’s really fucked up when he arrives at his patient’s recovery room. Now the focus is his secondary industries, like the scrapes on his body and a long gash steadily bleeding on his leg. Stable, but not solved. 

“He’s a fighter,” Crockett says as Ethan puts in the call to plastics for his leg. “Heart on us in surgery for a minute, but he pulled through.”

“I can see that, thanks.”

A hand, nearly burning with how warm it is, settles on the small of Ethan’s back as Crockett leans in close beside him under the pretense of observing the vitals closer. “You wanted to talk about last night?”

Yes. No. Maybe. He kind of wants to curl up in a ball and scream for the next ten years. Instead he nods and gets antiseptic on the patient’s slightly bloody cheek. It’s a good thing the anesthesia hasn’t worn off, that would probably hurt. Even the toughest have cried like babies when it comes to borderline road rash like this.

“Was I a good kisser for you, Choi?”

“That’s not the point.”

But yes. It was a good kiss, one that Ethan still craves. 

“Then what’s the question?”

“What did it mean?”

Crockett breathes out slow, pulls his hand away from Ethan’s back, and offers him a smile like the sun. “To me? To me, it meant the first real connection with a person since I got to Chicago. I can’t tell you what it meant to you.”

Somehow, the answer feels evasive, and when Crockett leaves Ethan there, he’s gotten no satisfaction and no reprieve from burning curiosity and self-revelation twenty-odd years too far down the line. But Crockett did say enough to fuel more questions. To him, it was connection. To him, it was something. Which means Ethan can’t pretend it was nothing and move on, and he has to confront the way he feels out of nowhere. 

What did it mean to him? This is a choice for himself to make, not to ask of Crockett because he isn’t going to be getting a solid answer. It had to have meant something if he’s still thinking about it the next day, still pondering its significance in his sudden questioning of something he thought he knew about himself.

Plastics arrives shortly to stitch up the patient, and then he’s off to the ICU, leaving Ethan to finish up some paperwork side by side with Crockett. The man radiates an ungodly amount of heat, enough for Ethan to feel it even with the inch or so between them. He should speak.

“Dr. Manning asked me how I managed to get you, of all people, asking her about bisexuality.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” he says. Defensive. Obvious. “I was just asking her some questions.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Before Ethan gets the chance to answer, Crockett laughs. But it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at him, just as a joke they’re both supposedly in on. And it has to mean something. Everything needs to mean something. He can’t keep drifting afloat like this with no idea what’s happening or what this stands for in terms of his sexuality.

“I’m not into Natalie.”

“Are you into me?”

Ethan freezes. It’s not as easy as that. And he can’t think straight with Crockett so close, smiling at him like that, their shoulders now brushing. Being put on the spot like this isn’t helpful in figuring himself out, either. Fuck this. Fuck Crockett.

Fuck Crockett?

That’s not a thought he’s even marginally ready to deal with right now, especially as Crockett sets a gentle hand on Ethan’s arm, just above his elbow. He’s so tender with him in every touch. It makes it harder. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if this is- I’m sorry if-”

“I don’t know,” Ethan admits, and doesn’t pull away from the touch. “I don’t know if I’m… I just don’t know yet.”

Crockett nods and his hand dips down to touch Ethan’s waist. It mirrors the night before, the way Ethan touched him, and it makes him feel small in his own ED. He swallows hard. This is going somewhere. He’s not ready for it. 

“Then how about I take you out for dinner this weekend? Somewhere nicer than Molly’s, and no pressure to figure things out. Take your time. I’m willing to wait.”

Time for Ethan to figure it out, but with the expectation that he’s going to decide he likes Crockett beyond amicable colleagues. No pressure. It’s a useless assurance. He should say no, avoid the trap brewing which Crockett likely didn’t set on purpose. 

Instead, he agrees. Lord knows why, but he agrees, and Crockett promises to take him out on Friday. “I’ll pick you up and everything,” he says, after offering his phone number. “Just text me your address by then.”

Friday, only a handful of days away. Three, not counting today. Then he’ll be on a date with Crockett, and what’s the ettiquette for that, actually? Who pays? Do they split it? What if the date becomes a shared bed that night and regret in the morning. He shouldn’t have said yes, but it’s too late to back out now. Fuck his entire life. Three days to figure this out, or come up with some reason not to go. He’s screwed, isn’t he?

When he goes home that night, he spends two straight hours in front of his closet, trying to make a decision about what to wear for a date that’s days away. He looks good in navy, and Emily gave him a nice button down with white polka dots on it for Christmas a couple years ago. Maybe that one. Should he wear a tie? Should he wear slacks or dark jeans? Fuck. he hasn’t been this worked up about a date since he was a teenager having his first dinner and movie with the girl in his civics class. It’s because he doesn’t know the rules, he tells himself. He doesn’t know how this is supposed to go or what it might turn into, and he isn’t certain yet that he even likes Crockett. And as a rule of thumb, he doesn’t go on dates with people he isn’t sure he likes.

So Ethan gives his closet door a nice kick and changes out of his scrubs. Joggers and gloves. He can be productive with his nervous energy. After all, he has a punching bag up in his living room for more than just morning workouts. It’s to burn things like this off, and he can stop thinking so much about Crockett’s smile as he beats the ever-loving shit out of the red cover and makes his hands ache with the force. He should’ve wrapped them under the gloves. Too late now.

On Wednesday, he doesn’t see Crockett, and he wastes another evening on the punching bag.

Thursday, he’s only just taking off his coat when Crockett walks in and grabs his wrist, tender with bruises already, and lifts it up for inspection. “What happened here?” he asks, like it isn’t his fault. To be fair, he doesn’t know. “Get in a back alley fight or something?”

Ethan shrugs and pulls away.

“Okay, fine,” Crockett says, raising his hands defensively. But he’s still smiling like every single memory of him blaring in Ethan’s brain. It’s with that smile on his face that he leans in and smacks a wet kiss onto Ethan’s cheek like a child imitating cartoons. He laughs as Ethan wipes the space with a furrowed brow. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

He almost shrugs again, but instead agrees and they make plans for seven. At seven, after they’ve had time to shower and change, Crockett will pick him up and buy him dinner and it’s actually going to happen. It’s going to happen, he repeats in a mantra all day, and all through the night and the next day as Crockett dances around him. They work. Crockett compliments him time and time again. And Ethan tries to hold himself together and avoid a complete panic. 

Dinner is happening.

Dinner is happening, and come Friday night, he’s ironed his shirt three times before he finally puts it on and smooths it again. His hair is gelled. He’s even put on his nice cologne for the occasion. He just wants it to go well, but all the same, he’s terrified of what this date could turn into. Everything is moving too fast for him.

In fact, he tells his reflection, “This is too fast,” seconds before his door thuds in a heavy knock that he knows comes from Crockett’s fist. 

He doesn’t bother calling out that he’ll be there in a second, just pulls the door open. Crockett cleans up nice. His hair has been styled, a crisp red button down clinging to his frame, cradling a bouquet of roses with the same bright color. 

“For you,” Crockett says, holding them out. They’re beautiful, like Crockett’s smile. Ethan wants to scream. “Thought you deserved something as gorgeous as you.”

Fuck. Fuck. He takes them with a soft thanks and sets them on the table to set in a vase after dinner. Dinner, Crockett is taking him to dinner, and when they leave the house, Crockett wraps an arm around him, pulls him in close. He smells like spice and warmth, as opposed to hospital antiseptic and sterility. 

“Have you ever been to that steakhouse downtown?”

“No.”

Crockett smiles a little. He’s always smiling. It’s always breathtaking. “Me neither. But it’s supposed to be crazy good, apparently it’s where Manning and Nurse Sexton like to go on their date nights.”

“They’re dating?”

“Yeah,” Crockett answers, fishing for his car keys. “Have been for like six months, according to Dr. Manning.”

Maybe Ethan should pay a little more attention to his coworkers who aren’t Crockett. He makes a mental note to talk to April, ask how things are going, and then banishes them from his mind as Crockett opens the passenger door for him. It’s a nice car, but not over-the-top luxurious, and it’s warm against the bitter autumn cold as they pull out of his complex. The entire ride is just Crockett talking mindlessly about how hard it was to find flowers “worthy of someone like you” in that heavy accent, smiling with his eyes as each word spills out. 

Crockett leads him into the restaurant just as he guided him out of the house. Touchy, affectionate. He’s going to start crying. The restaurant is nice. Spacious, classically decorated, romantically lit. It’s nicer than anywhere he’s ever taken anyone on a date, even an anniversary. But this is a first date. And Crockett’s made reservations, so that they’re seated right away and a fancy waiter comes by with a bottle of wine he shows them before pouring into their glasses.

“This is really nice,” Ethan admits, taking a sniff before a sip. He’s not much of a wine guy. “Thanks.”

“Only the best for you,” Crockett replies. He’s got that smile again. “Baby’s first gay date.”

“I hate you.”

Crockett laughs. It’s going to become some in joke, Ethan already knows, and he’s annoyed but there’s a charm to it, the way there is to everything that he says and does. To the way he flags down a waiter to order, to the twang in his voice as he tells some story about partying in med school, to the warmth of his hand when he holds Ethan’s atop the crisp tabletop.

His chest aches when Crockett asks if he wants dessert. Something sweet to round out the night, fill them both with warmth, and he knows he has to admit that this is a lot for him. This is too much, too fast. He isn’t ready.

“I think the tiramasu is supposed to be good,” he says, pointing at the picture. “What do you think?”

“This is moving too fast.”

Crockett pauses and looks up at him. Eyes crinkling, a smile pulling at his lips. Not a bright one, just sad and a little bittersweet. “I get it.”

Somehow, this is worse than if Crockett was angry. 

“Take all the time you need to figure yourself out,” he says. “If and when you’re ready, I’ll be here. And if you ever do decide you like men, just not me, that’s okay too. Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”

He leans over the table to leave a tender kiss to Ethan’s forehead. 

“I can drive you home or call you an Uber, your choice.”

“I’ll take the ride.”

They don’t share dessert, and when Crockett drives him home, talking inanely about this or that, Ethan can’t stop looking at him. There is no kiss goodbye, kiss goodnight. Only him back in his apartment, the only other things worth notice being his bird and the bouquet of flowers waiting for a vase to support them a little while longer.

[worseandworser]

Rosaceae

Here it goes, my submission to @fmasecretsanta2018 ! Happy holidays to @humanedspresso !! 

Ship: RoyEd

Summary: And to worsen his current situation, Mustang was at the unfortunately-visible-from-the-large-glass-window cashier, spying on Ed with mischievous eyes. A smug smile curled his lips as he noticed the blonde's stern look and Edward groaned in frustration.

Roy winked.

Ed went back inside.

Rating: Teen and Up 

Warnings/tags: florist!Ed/tattoo artist!Roy, nothing but fluff and Al is full of this bullshit

read on ao3

Blue Carnation & Co. was located at a very nice street: short buildings, tall trees and a good amount of passerby. Due to quality and variety, it had managed to gather a considerable amount of clientele; form children to elders, lovers to bachelors… Its popularity steadily grew just like the flowers its owners nourished. It was Trisha Elric’s dream for the entire duration of her short yet loving life, and her sons had dedicated themselves to make it come true.

After selling a marigold bouquet to a lonely woman, Edward went to the outside showcase to check the store's newest arrival. The petit bush of winter daphnes had been strategically placed at the store's entrance so the strong, sweet smell would invite possible costumers in. And it was beautiful! Who wouldn't want to walk by beautiful flowers?

Taking his time fixing it, Edward got rid of the dry leaves and untangled those growing awkwardly. As he threaded his gloved fingers through the stems, a tiny piece of paper fell on the plant's soil. His first, almost instinctive reaction was to sigh in deep annoyance.

The second was to glare at the store across the street.

The only problem Edward could find on owning this specific flower shop was there. A small but nonetheless annoying tattoo studio called Molten Gold Ink. It served as a hideaway to the world's biggest bastard, Roy Mustang. Each working day, Ed found himself being the jerk's one and only target, and repeatedly kicking him out. Mustang had the bad — and possibly dangerous — habit of embarrassing Edward in front of his little brother. Every morning, the man took a detour to leave small notes hidden around in the flowers for Ed to find, which always brought a mild blushing crisis. If Alphonse had any negative thoughts about it, he had certainly never voiced them.

And to worsen his current situation, Mustang was at the unfortunately-visible-from-the-large-glass-window cashier, spying on Ed with mischievous eyes. A smug smile curled his lips as he noticed the blonde's stern look and Edward groaned in frustration.

Roy winked.

Ed went back inside.

“Hello?”

Edward's head snapped up from the notepad and he studied the man trying to get his attention. Sandy-blond hair styled in a mess and very blue eyes that curiously matched the button-down shirt. He cautiously placed a vase of daisies over the counter, smiling warily.

“Good morning,” greeted awkwardly, “I was here earlier and I bought these flowers, but… well, I’m wondering if I could change them for something else?”

Deeming the specimen in a good state, Ed shrugged.

“Sure, why not? What do you have in mind?”

“Red tulips, maybe?”

“We have that, but they are a bit more expensive.”

“It’s no problem! It’s for someone special, you see…”

Intense, then. Edward suppressed a smile and nodded, quick to make his way through the store. He came back to the cashier with a vase slightly larger than the one the client had brought, containing three blooming blood-red tulips; their petals shone with health and the leaves gracefully embraced their stem in a vibrant green.

“Here,” said Ed, as he left the flowers next to daisies, “If you’d like, I can make them into a bouquet.”

The man beamed. “Nah, this is fine, they live more like this, uh?”

“Good point.”

Ed was just finishing the packing — tying a nice ribbon around the vase's edge, putting it inside of a proper bag — when his sight caught a small paper roll that surely was not supposed to be stuck in the soil. Instantly, Edward felt the ground underneath him crumble; he stared at the innocent costumer, and then back to the paper.

He pulled it out and shoved it inside his pocket. And if he pushed the bag a little too roughly into the other’s waiting hands, nobody could judge, right?

“Here! It’s more 150 cenz!”

The man shot him a puzzled look but reached for his wallet anyway, pulling out a few coins and handling them to the blond vender. Edward smiled awkwardly.

“I hope your date goes well, Mr…?”

“Havoc, Jean Havoc,” he beamed, offering his hand and Edward took it gladly, “Thank you very much!”

The moment he was outside, Edward scrambled to unfurl the note. Bubbles filled his belly and the rapid increase of heart rate should be worrisome. Except that in the end it really wasn’t.

My heart aches for you whenever we are apart.

“Oh, that’s sweet!”

The blond yelped, turning to scold the imposing threat behind him.

“Dammit, Al! You scared me, you brat!”

Alphonse laughed as Ed clutched the note against his chest, keeping it from view.

“Why are so defensive? It’s not like I haven’t read one of those before.”

“You shouldn’t, though.”

“Considering what I found a few days ago,” Alphonse grimaced in clear disgust, “You’re probably right.”

The older Elric blushed, causing another fit of giggles from his brother.

“Oh, god, Al, please tell me it wasn’t— it was, right?” groaned, “God, if he doesn’t stop already…”

"Don't be mad at Roy, Brother," patting Edward on the back, Al offered him a sympathetic smile, "I mean, at least it means he's into you!"

“What the fuck, Al?”

“And he’s such a good—”

“Shut up!”

"And you totally like it!"

“I said shut up!”

Lilies, roses, carnations, gerberas, orchids, chrysanthemums, daisies, peonies, calla lilies, dahlias, sweet peas, alstroemeria, delphinium, anemone, hyacinth...

The door hinges creaked announcing the arrival of a new customer and Ed sighed, closing the notepad and leaving his spot behind the counter. He put on his best you-will-buy smile and waltzed through the rows of colorfulness and alluring scents. Clients always had the worst timing, interrupting Ed when he really shouldn't be interrupted.

And sometimes he wondered… if Trisha would have been more patient. When he and Al were kids, she seemed like the most tolerating human being, smiling and talking with a soft voice that could lull two energetic boys to sleep with a few words. She was a walking flower, and would certainly fit way better with the environment then Edward. Maybe she wouldn't even feel the slightest irritated at the raven-haired man touching the sunflowers.

Well, what a shame Ed was the owner, uh.

“You!” he called out, “Back from where you came, you bastard!”

Roy Mustang turned to him, finally leaving the poor sunflowers alone. The dark eyes glimmered as they settled over the petit blond and he smiled, slow and charming and what a shame Edward had to kick someone like that out.

“Good afternoon to you as well!”

"Quit it, Roy," crossing his arms, Ed shot him an annoyed glare, "I know you're just lazying around."

“It’s lunch hour.”

“Lazying around.”

The man pouted — which was ridiculous, or stupid — feigning hurt.

“I can’t understand, how do you get people to buy anything if you treat your most important client like this…”

Edward rolled his eyes, grabbing Roy by the wrist and tugging him towards the exit, “You’re no client, you’re just a slacker! And I already told you to get the hell out.”

"Not with that specific wording, actually!" Mustang stood firmly by the doorway, refusing to be moved, "By the way, I was a client, on the past tense but since you're being so rude—"

Groaning, the blonde shoved him softly on the chest, “Out, idiot!”

The tattooist raised his arms in surrender and gloomily crossed the street to go back to his studio. Edward, in a completely well-intentioned manner, accompanied the man with his eyes all the way through. To guarantee he would no longer be interrupted and, obviously, it had nothing to do with arses. Of course not.

Good arses around that area? No, not at all.

Roy Mustang always closed the studio at precisely 6 p.m. The opening hours happened to vary — constantly dependant on how comfortable was the bed on each morning — but locking up was sacred and it must never be delayed. Because Blue Carnation & Co. always stayed open a bit longer.

Crossing the street with a bonce on his steps, Roy felt his insides warming up and, by the time he'd reached the door, he was pretty sure they had dissolved entirely. He stood silently by the glass window, mesmerized by the long-haired owner making the last arrangements for the day. Jumping from vase to vase with a concentrated expression, he couldn't be more certain that Edward was the most beautiful man Roy had ever met.

And Roy was the luckiest one because he got to see that every day.

As he entered the store, Edward didn't even raise his head — however, the small twitch on the lips were enough of a sign. Roy walked to him, arms instantly finding their home around strong shoulders.

“Hello,” whispered.

"Hey," one hand came to rest over the tattooist's forearms, "Did you know I almost sold a few roses with a very not worksafe note attached to them?"

Roy chuckled.

“Oh, really? That would have been unfortunate.”

“Roy, I’m serious, you need to stop.”

He kissed a crown of golden hair, “But you like them, don’t you?”

Roy could hear the eye roll that followed.

"If you won't, then at least keep it PG-rated."

Edward detangled himself from the embrace and went to the cashier with Roy trailing right behind him. Another blond head popped up, turning to Roy with a warm smile.

“Good evening, Roy!,” greeted Alphonse, “Is there any chance you’re here to buy some flowers?”

"Some other day perhaps," Edward intertwined his fingers with the tattooist's, who tightened the grip for a brief moment in acknowledgment, "I'm here today just to drag my hardworking husband back home."

Edward looked away and snorted, “Give me food and I’ll go willingly.”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

"Then go!," Alphonse said, a bit too enthusiastically, "I can finish the check-ups and lock everything, don't worry!"

Edward, surely baffled by his brother's behavior, blinked a few times and Roy used that seconds of shock to drag the man away. Staggering to follow, the blond shouted orders at Alphonse that were brushed off with waves and half-mumbled agreements. By the sideway, Roy could not resist any longer: he pulled the florist against his chest, peppering his face with kisses. Laugh bubbled out of Ed's lips and he fisted Roy's shirt in a false attempt to push shove him off.

And Alphonse, who had to watch the whole show, smiled fondly and sighed.

“Disgusting…”

[randomoranges]

a complete wildcard, the world is yours, reach out and taste the rainbow

advent calendar part 30

boy howdy this one got long lamao.

Day 24

Word: Growing

Object: Adisposable razor

Edwardpassed his razor under the faucet and then turned it off, he tapped the razortwice on the side of the sink and then brought it to his face as he looked athis reflection in the mirror; he was about to take the first stroke, but thenrealised his reflection was blurry; he squinted and leaned closer to the mirrorand then gave out an exasperated sigh – this was utterly ridiculous – hecouldn’t see a goddamned thing anymore and couldn’t believe he would have to wearhis goddamned glasses to fucking shave.Edward put down his razor with a thud and then glowered at his reflection – orat least tried to. It turned into a grimace.

Thereflection before him didn’t seem pleased as it squinted and searched for hisglasses which he was now thankful he had only removed before he took his showerand had therefore left next to the sink. He shoved them back on and sighed.When had he gotten so old? There were the beginnings of lines around his eyeswhere there had only been smooth skin before. He passed a hand through hishair, pushing back his bangs and winced – his hairline was even starting torecede. And that was without mentioning the greys he kept finding. He watchedas his hair flopped back into place and he was convinced that there was evenless volume to it than there had been before. Where had time gone? He felt likehe was in a race against time and the speed was always increasing, leaving himperpetually trying to catch up and out of breath.

Edwardtook a step back and tried to get a better look at his towel glad body – why the hell was Étienne even still with himand what the hell did he even see in him were only the tip of the icebergof questions that were running through his mind – there was absolutely nothingattractive about what his reflection showed off; protruding belly, hairy chest,round shoulders, floppy hair, wrinkles…

“Hon, canI come in for a moment? I think I left my shirt in here,” Edward stepped backto the sink and blinked at his reflection; he nodded, but then realised Étiennecouldn’t see him and went to open the door. His fiancé stepped in, bringingwith him a waft of that tropical shower gel he liked to use mixed in with thegood aftershave Edward liked. Edward watched him from the corner of his eye,watched him with the help of the reflection of the mirror and got absorbed intoÉtienne’s every movement and voice.

Étiennemade aging look easy.

It seemedthe more Étienne grew older, the more beautiful he got and the more he seemedto settle into his own skin, whereas Edward felt like his body was going oneway and his mind another.

“Aha,there it is!” Étienne said triumphantly as he found his shirt under his towel,hooked behind the door, “You almost done? They’re waiting for us upstairs,” Heasked as he put on his shirt and started buttoning each single button. Edwardnodded and watched as slowly, slowly, Étienne’s vine tattoo got covered by thecolourful and festive fabric – how the motifs of lilies, roses, thistle,shamrock and pine got replaced by smiling snowmen surfing the waves, “Eddy, youokay there?”

Edwardbit back a curse and picked up his razor, realising he had been staring andlost in his own mind – Étienne had noticed and Étienne was always good atpicking up when his mind was in ten different places at once. Edward wonderedif it came with practice. If it had something to do with Étienne being a victimof his own mind, but as much as he appreciated it, sometimes he hated it.Sometimes he would prefer commiserating with his petty thoughts of self doubt.

Étiennewalked over to the vanity and hopped onto it, beside the sink – Edward triedglaring at him, but once more the effect was lost and died down when he saw thepoint of concern in Étienne’s green eyes, “You okay?” Edward could have saidyes – it would have been easy to say yes and brush it off – to pick up hisrazor, shave, get dressed and then forget all about it, but after sixteen yearsof knowing Étienne – after sixteen years of Étienne knowing him – Edward knew that such a line wouldn’t work –especially not when everything about his face and posture said otherwise.

“How isit that your hair still has so much volume and is as thick as ever?” Edwardchose to finally say as he started shaving, squinting at the mirror all overagain, “Christ – I still can’t fucking see,” He muttered to himself. Étiennewas a little surprised and thrown off by the question and even more so by thecomment, but he laughed and that got Edward’s attention, “The curls are mygreat deception,” He said with a wink and a flourish, “They make my hair seemlike it has more everything than whatit really is – trust me, when I was a kid my hair was even thicker than it is now.”

Edwardput down his razor and looked up to Étienne for the first time, “What’s thisall really about? I never took you for the vain type,” He chuckled and Edwardrolled his eyes at the comment, “M’not,” He said and turned his head to look athis reflection once more, sighing deeply, “When did I get so old?” He asked,voicing the question that had been plaguing him since he had stepped out of theshower earlier.

Étiennelaughed again, “Is this some sort of pre-midlife crisis? I’ll have you knowthat I’m older than you, in case you forgot, and that regardless of, you’re notold,” Edward quirked an eyebrow at that, disbelief written all over his face, “Maybe…”He wasn’t convinced – didn’t sound convinced and he knew Étienne knew all ofthat, “Should I be worried you’re gonna exchange me for a younger model? Somespring twenty year old with good shoulders and more flexibility? Chiseled absand the stamina of a horse? Some gorgeous tall, athletic hunk?”

Edwardrolled his eyes, “No… if anything you should replace me,” He mumbled andregretted it when he realised Étienne had heard and understood every word, “That’snot what I meant,” He tried to recover, but the damage was already done, “Eddy –what? No, why would I ever want to do that? Whatever gave you the idea that Iwould want to do that?” Étienne jumped down the vanity and placed himself infront of him, his face a mixture of hurt and worry – had he done anything tomake Edward doubt his feelings for him? Had he said anything or made someoffhand comment recently?

“No – it’snot you – that’s not what I was implying – it’s not that…” Edward let out afrustrated sigh and passed his hand through his hair yet again and rememberedhow he had felt moments before; the hair, the wrinkles, the skin, the body, “Lookat me, Étienne, I’m old! I feel old! There’s absolutely nothing attractiveabout me! I don’t even….” He trailed off and it absolutely pained Étienne tohear Edward berated himself this way. It physically hurt him to hear Edwardbelittle himself and fail to see the beauty that Étienne saw in him each andevery day.

“I tendto disagree with you,” Edward crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, not caringif Étienne saw him do it, “We’re both getting old, Ed, and that’s what’sabsolutely marvellous about it – we’re growing old together and we have been for the past sixteen years,” Étiennetentatively reached for Edward’s hands and was relieved when he didn’t pullback, “We get to enter these new parts of our lives together and I for onethink that’s truly something special. So what if you no longer have the body ofa twenty year old? I don’t either!” Étienne smiled softly, “And that’s okay!Sure, there are some things that I miss, but every morning I wake up next toyou I still think you’re the handsomest man I’ve ever seen and I can’t believeI’m the lucky one who gets to spend my life with you.”

Edwardwas silent and watched as Étienne took the razor and passed it under the waterbefore he brought it to Edward’s face and started shaving him, much as he’ddone a year or so ago when he’d broken his wrist, “What’s this really about,Hon,” He asked again, softer, and Edward wasn’t sure what it was – his mind,Étienne being so close and gentle, the act of someone else taking care of him,but he felt something in him crack and slowly melt – bubble up and releaseitself, “The restaurant – the other day, that pretty waitress,” Edward startedoff, “She kept openly flirting with you and it’s not that it bothered me, butit made me start to think about me – about us…” He trailed off with a sigh, “It’sstupid, but I guess it made me wonder why you were still with me when you couldhave someone like her.”

Étiennepaused in his shaving and gave Edward a funny look, “Do you really think Iwould have proposed to you if I wasn’t absolutely head over heels for you?”Edward looked away, ashamed by the foolishness of his thoughts, “Silly goose,”Étienne murmured and pecked his nose, mindful not to get any shaving cream allover himself, “I love you – don’t you think I would have traded you in for ayounger model when I had the chance?” He grinned, “I don’t want some twentyyear old cute waitress, or some thirty year old athletic guy; I want you – you’llalways be my first choice; tea cup collection, undying Oilers devotion, maniccleaning tendencies and all,” Edward managed to crack a small smile at that andÉtienne was relieved, “I want to grow old and wrinkly with you, Eddy. I want tobe senile and curbed over, half deaf and half blind with you by my side. I wantto complain that I can’t find my dentures while you yell at me to turn up my hearingaid. I want you – all of you and Idon’t care how it is you look like, because you’ll always be perfect for me.”

Edwardtried hard to blink the tears away from his eyes – he did, really, but if onerolled down his cheek, well, he was only human. Étienne wiped it away andfinished with the shave; he dried off Edward’s cheeks with the towel and thenapplied some of Edward’s good cologne on them, before he smiled at him, softand gentle, “There he is, my handsome man,” Étienne kissed him lightly, beforeEdward pulled him for a tight hug, trying to regain his composure, “Thanks…”He murmured. He felt Étienne hug him back and Edward relaxed in his embrace,finding the same warmth and comfort he always found in it.

He glancedat the mirror and his reflection may have not changed – it may have had thesame lines around his eyes and the same grey hairs that seemed to multiply, buthe had Étienne.

Edward passed his razor under thefaucet and then turned it off, he tapped the razor twice on the side of thesink and then brought it to his face as he looked at his reflection in the mirror;he was about to take the first stroke, but then realised his reflection wasblurry; he squinted and leaned closer to the mirror and then gave out anexasperated sigh – this was utterly ridiculous – he put his razor down with athud and pulled on his glasses, glad he had brought them with him to thewashroom.

 He passed a hand through his hair,pushing back his bangs and noticed how his hairline was even thinner than ithad seemed to be only last year. And that was without mentioning the greys hekept finding. He watched as his hair flopped back into place and he wasconvinced that there was even less volume to it than there had been before.Where had time gone? He felt like he was in a race against time and the speedwas always increasing, leaving him perpetually trying to catch up and out ofbreath.

 “Ed, can I come in for a moment? Ithink I left my shirt in here,” Edward watched as the door slowly opened andÉtienne came in dressed in nothing but his pants. He watched him walk about theroom, looking for his shirt and took a moment to observe the spectacle,marvelling how despite past events, Étienne still seemed to make everythinglook easy, even if he knew better.

 “Aha, there it is!” Étienne saidtriumphantly as he found his shirt under his towel, hooked behind the door,“You almost done? They’re waiting for us upstairs,” He asked as he put on hisshirt and started buttoning each single button. Edward nodded and watched asslowly, slowly, Étienne’s vine tattoo got covered by the colourful and festivefabric – how the motifs of lilies, roses, thistle, shamrock and pine gotreplaced by penguins of every colour holding on to presents of even morecolours, “Need a hand over there?”

 Edward blinked looked back to hisrazor and chuckled softly to himself, “If you insist,” Étienne walked over tothe vanity and managed to heave himself onto it, before he picked up the razorand proceeded to start the shave.

——-

PREVIOUS: XXIX

CURRENT: XXX

NEXT: XXXI

[gillianfoster]

hey @basinhounds help me out here

Sometimes Eddie felt like whoever assigned roommates in his dorm had a real fucking sense of humor - or at least they must have thought they did. Assigning him to live with Richie Tozier was practically halfway to a sitcom just by the nature of it all. Richie left his shit everywhere, and Eddie got too anxious to function if he let his clothes get that wrinkled or his things get that... Everywhere. It practically looked like there was a tape line divider down the middle of their room, just because Richie knew better than to let his mess cross into Eddie’s section of the room. They bickered like an old married couple over everything from pizza toppings to attractive actors. By all accounts, they should have hated each other.

Except it turned out they liked a lot the same music, and mostly the same movies, and that they actually liked each other, a lot, under all the arguing. Richie had ended up being Eddie’s best friend, really - which only added to how ridiculous it all was from Eddie’s perspective.

Part of this was the fact that Eddie was, frankly, too gay to function, and Richie fit Eddie’s list of ideal boyfriend characteristics pretty much to a T. He was tall and funny (not that Eddie would ever tell him that to his face), he had dark curly hair and big thick-rimmed glasses, and he was sort of an amateur musician. Every time Eddie found out something else about him, caught him painting his nails for fun or wearing some ridiculous vintage t-shirt with a shitty pun, he was overwhelmed again by how unbelievably stereotypically hard he’d fallen for his shitty college roommate. It wasn’t even like Richie was necessarily straight - Eddie was pretty sure he was bi - it was just that he was also pretty sure Richie would never even consider dating him.

The real problem was that Richie should have been an asshole, by all accounts - but he wasn’t. Eddie had seen him bend down to pet any dog that crossed his path. He saw the twitch of insecurity in Richie’s smile whenever he told a joke and waited for someone to laugh, or when he played a song on his guitar for the first time.

Richie Tozier was, in all his imperfections, practically perfect.

These were the sorts of things Eddie groaned into the phone at Stan whenever he could be alone in the room, certain that Richie was somewhere else was on campus.

“And he’s nice! And hot! That’s the worst part!”

“Why do I have to suffer through this again? Isn’t it someone else’s turn?”

“Stan, I need you to understand.”

“All I understand is that it sounds like he’d annoy the hell out of me. I’m sure if you like him, he’s great, and we’d get along, but from a distance I just kind of want to punch him.”

“How could you say that?”

Stan sighed. “Again. Why aren’t you talking to Bev about this?”

“Bev knows him! They went to high school together or something. They probably used to make out under the bleachers. And that’s not like, a comment, I’m just saying, they probably did.”

“I think you just like to torture yourself, Eddie. And you’re being ridiculous. This guy is the farthest thing from cool-”

“I never said he was cool! I have not stooped that low.”

Stan sighed again - this time really seeming to go for an Olympic medal in exasperation. “Eddie. Either request a roommate change or do something about the situation, I’m always going to give you the same advice.”

“I don’t need advice, I just want someone to listen to me. I can’t talk to Richie, Bill’s always busy with Mike and in another time zone, I can’t talk to Bev, and Ben never answers his phone in the library, so you’re what I’ve got here, Stan.”

“Are you done now, then? Can I be free?”

“...Yes, fine. For now.”

“Thank you.” Eddie’s only response was a dial tone, then, and he put his phone down and rolled over, groaning into his pillows.

The real problem with living with the boy you were in love with was the constant need to look at least presentable. It was only about five minutes of stressing out over Richie’s general existence before Eddie felt the need to go neaten up in a mirror again, making sure he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt.

Richie wasn’t even supposed to get back until later that night - he had some kind of rehearsal for a show or the comedy club he was a part of - but Eddie felt like he could never be too careful.

Eddie had found a distraction in his homework by the time he got the text from his mother.

I need to speak to you. Call me when you can.

Texts like that, from Sonia Kaspbrak, were never good news. Literally never. Eddie was still shocked that he’d managed to escape all the way to New York for college and that his mom hadn’t come chasing after him - every time she called or tried to talk to him, he was terrified that she’d tell him she was going to stop supporting him at all (not that her pittance of an allowance for him did much more than cover some meals), or that she’d really figured out something that would make her disown him entirely. Then again, maybe either of those things would be a relief at this point.

Since Richie still wasn’t back, and Eddie knew the longer he put off the phone call, the worse things would get and the more stressed out he would feel, so he picked up the phone to call his mom back.

“Hey, mom.”

“Eddie. I have some news. You may want to sit down.”

Eddie looked at his desk, furrowed his brow. “Yes, I’m sitting down. What is it?”

“Your great aunt Joyce is getting married.”

“Oh, I’m-” Eddie was fully prepared to give his condolences because he was fully prepared for his mother to tell him his great aunt had died. Instead, he suddenly found he had to hold back laughter. He paused. “Right. I mean. Good for her?”

“She should hardly be getting married at her age! It’ll be the death of her.”

Eddie had to hold the phone away, then, just to laugh. He brought it back to his ear. “Right. Well. I can send her a present or something, right? Maybe some heart medication.”

“Edward Kaspbrak!” Eddie winced at his mother’s use of his full name. “You’ve got to come home for the wedding. And don’t talk about your great aunt that way. You’ll bring her something in person. Something nice.”

“Okay. Right. Of course. Maybe a... Blender?”

There was a long pause, and Eddie held his breath, waiting to be scolded again. “...That’ll be fine. There’s one on the registry. You’ll have to drive home next weekend. There’s been hardly any planning at all. It’s all some kind of whirlwind romance.”

Eddie had trouble imagining his great aunt getting into a whirlwind anything without breaking a bone, but apparently she’d managed. For a moment he felt a little pathetic that his 84 year old great aunt could get a boyfriend and he couldn’t, but then he pulled it together. “Right. Next weekend. Well I can do that, I don’t have class on Friday, so. I can come home for the weekend. I’ll drive down. Should I... Bring someone?”

“Would you bring a nice girl?”

Another wince. Eddie’s mother had known he was gay since before he left for college - but she never seemed to give up hope that he’d get over it. “Not really, mommy. I could bring a nice boy?”

“Try not to shock the whole family, will you? And make sure they’re clean.”

With that, apparently Eddie had ended the conversation, because his mother had hung up on him. Eddie sighed and rubbed at his forehead.

Eddie would rather stick himself with a needle than go home on his own - and he used testosterone patches for a reason. Still, his options for boys to take were limited. Stan would have had to fly up, and so would Bill or Mike. Ben went to the same college, but he probably had work that weekend, since he took as many shifts at the library as he could. Bev could be funny, just because Eddie had a feeling his mother would hate her more than any boy Eddie could have brought - well. Except maybe Richie. And that’s the thing, right, was that Richie would probably say yes. He’d be funny and keep Eddie company and they’d both have a good time. Except for that to happen, Eddie would actually have to muster up the courage to ask, which was never going to happen.

He was still dividing his time between his crisis and his homework when the door flew open and Richie finally came back.

“Eds! What a day.” He came over and kissed Eddie on the cheek, leaning over his chair, and Eddie swatted him off, smiling.

“What was so exciting about your day?”

“Mm, nothing, just long. Glad to be back again in home sweet dorm room. What about you? Did you go out and have thrilling adventures while I was gone before you came back to your homework?” Richie went over to his own bed and kicked off his Converse to lay down. He propped himself up on an elbow to keep looking at Eddie while they talked.

“Not really. I talked to Stan.” And my mom told me I had to come home for a wedding and I would pretty much do anything if you would come with me, he thought but didn’t say.

“Right. He’s the one in... Atlanta?”

Eddie smiled. “That’s the one.”

“See the effort I put in for you, Eds? And you don’t even appreciate it.”

“You’re such a loser,” Eddie muttered in response - but he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face either.

If Richie was home, it was starting to get late - and a look at Eddie’s phone told him that was true. He could finish his homework in the morning. He picked up his pajamas and went into the bathroom to change. Richie didn’t seem to have any issue changing in their room standing by the closet if he needed to, but Eddie still felt strange about it.

When he came back to their room, he kept his binder carefully tucked in with the rest of his clothes - not because he didn’t want Richie to see it, but because with Richie’s things being the way they were, they’d gotten their binders confused more than once, and found that they very much did not wear the same size.

Eddie did wonder sometimes if that was why he and Richie had been assigned to room together - out of some strange initiative or concern that they’d both be bullied - but if that was the case, he couldn’t even really stay mad about it. He was too glad to have met Richie.

After putting his clothes away, he turned off his desk lamp and laid down, then turned to Richie in the dim light of Richie’s side of the room. “You said you and Bev went to high school together, right? So how did you two like. Meet?”

Richie laughs. “Shit. It sounds a lot, like. Cooler than it was. We used to smoke together behind the bleachers. Cause, you know, everyone knows it’s fucking terrible for you now, so no one really does it as much anymore except like art students in college, but she used to steal her dad’s cigarettes, and I would bum off my mom, and we would skip classes to smoke together. We also both had pretty shitty parents, I’m sure that helped. So we’d talk and smoke and I’d try and be her wingman with all the girls she had a thing for - not that she needed my help, mostly I just made an asshole out of myself but she still likes me anyways, so.”

Eddie hums, but then blushes, because of course Stan was right, and he’s an idiot. “She seems cool.”

“Bev? She is cool. Way cooler than me, but I’m a fucking loser. She just used to get shit where we went to school because we grew up in the middle of fucking nowhere. Assholes couldn’t decide if she was a slut or a lesbian - which, neither, she dated like one boy and two girls. And not like it was any of their business either way.”

“Yeah. Me and Stan and our other friends were so in the middle of nowhere our biggest bully still had a fucking mullet in the 2010s, so.”

Richie laughed, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room, and Eddie smiled into the darkness. “Wow. Yeah, that’s pretty incredible.”

Eddie yawned and snuggled further into his blankets. Every night living with Richie felt like a sleepover sometimes - more often than not they stayed up later than they should have, just talking. “I should probably get some sleep. You going out early tomorrow?”

“Nope. Thursday, remember? You, me, Ben and Bev can get breakfast tomorrow if you want.”

“Oh, yeah. Sounds good.”

It was surprisingly easy to fall asleep after talking to Richie as long as he turned to face the wall and didn’t think too much about Richie being able to watch him.

He woke in the morning, like he always did, a little before Richie and twenty times less awake. Neither he nor Richie were morning people, but Eddie was particularly murderous before he had coffee and food, while Richie was mostly just quieter and sort of bleary in the mornings.

While Eddie was still in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, Richie joined him at the next sink. Richie’s left elbow brushed Eddie’s right, and they glanced at each other in companionable and sleepy silence.

Richie came back to the room dressed, and they both got ready and went down to the dining hall to meet Ben and Bev after exchanging some texts.

Once in the dining hall, they both went straight for the waffle makers - fortunately there were two. Richie seemed to only ever eat desert-based foods for breakfast, because he said it was all he could do to get himself to eat breakfast. Eddie just enjoyed the opportunity to finally eat whatever he wanted for breakfast without his mom being a complete weirdo about it. When their trays were filled with food, they both paid for their food and found a table. Bev and Ben joined them only shortly after - Eddie had fortunately already finished his first coffee by then.

“Hey, guys!” Ben said, smiling at them. Bev waved at them after she set down her tray, but already had a cinnamon roll in her mouth that she’d taken a bite out of.

“Hey. How are you guys?” Eddie asked.

“Tired as ever,” Bev responded, sitting down.

“Mood,” Richie said, and Eddie snorted at him.

They mostly ate quietly, and eventually Richie excused himself to go and get some more syrup for his waffle, to add to the already ungodly amount.

“Hey, Bev,” Eddie said quietly.

“Mm?”

“Could I, um. Ask you something?”

“I guess, sure.”

“Right, well, my mom told me I have to come home for this wedding next weekend and I was kind of wondering-”

“She hates weddings, Eddie,” Ben said, and Bev gave him a look. “Well you do.”

Bev rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, Eddie.”

“Well I did think of asking you, it’s just that I would rather take a guy, right, so I was wondering if you like... thought that Richie would say yes to going with me.”

“If I’d say yes to what, Eds?”

Shit. Eddie froze, and turned to look up at Richie. He could see Bev’s grin from the corner of his eye, and Ben looked ready to laugh, too.

I hate you both, he mouthed to them, and then he turned fully to Richie, who was standing behind his chair. “Right. Well. My great aunt is getting married, and my mom is making me go home for the wedding, but she said I should bring someone, so I. Thought maybe I’d ask you to come.”

Richie grinned. “You’re really asking me to come to a wedding with you?” Eddie nodded. “Well of course I will, Eddie Spaghetti!”

Leaning down, Richie ruffled Eddie’s hair, and Eddie swatted him away. “It is way too early in the morning for any of that, asshole.”

“I can’t help myself, I’m too excited. Getting asked to a wedding! By my very own Eds. It’s more than I ever dreamed.” Richie swooned and ended up sticking his elbow in Eddie’s leftover syrup, and Ben, Bev, and Eddie all laughed at him.

Eddie still grabbed Richie’s arm and wiped the syrup off with a wet napkin. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Only for you,” Richie said with a wink.

Eddie rolled his eyes, and ignored the looks Ben and Bev were giving him.

They got all the details settled later that night - that the wedding was not this weekend but next, that Eddie would drive, that they would both need suits.

That weekend, the week before the wedding, found them tooling around the discount rack at a men’s store, looking for something for either of them that wouldn’t leave them totally broke.

“Do I have to wear a tie? Because I’ll do it for you, Eds, but I won’t like it.”

Eddie looked over to see Richie holding up a couple of tie options. “Let’s just get ties at a thrift store. And you can get one with some ridiculous pattern to make yourself feel better and keep up your pattern of generally tragic outfits.”

“Says the man that wears rainbow short-shorts,” Richie replied with raised eyebrows.

“I know you like my shorts, you can’t shame me for them in this store, I know better than that.”

Richie laughed, but he looked down, and Eddie knew he was right.

“Anyways. We’re here for suits. We can coordinate ties and shit once we actually have the suits.”

Nodding, Richie slung an arm around Eddie and pulled him back to the discount suit rack.

They did actually manage to find suits. Eddie ended up with one that was a nice, dark, fall red. Richie’s was a nice deep blue that looked good next to Eddie’s shade of red. They could also easily get ties to match the other’s suit, and they could both wear black shoes, all of which Eddie relayed to Richie as they left the store.

Neither of their suits fit perfectly, but they fit well enough, and neither of them really had the money for alterations.

They were at the thrift store, with Richie holding up a Space Jam tie and waggling his eyebrows at Eddie, when Eddie’s mom called again.

“Mom? Hi.”

“Eddie, you’re going to dress up for the wedding, aren’t you? And make sure you bring that gift. Have you got everything settled? It’s so bad for your health to let all this go to the last minute, you know that, don’t you?”

“Mommy, I’ve already got a suit, and I know who I’m bringing, I just have to buy the gift.”

“Is that your mom?” Richie asks. “Tell her I said hi.”

Eddie shakes his head, but his mom already asks, “Oh, Eddie, who’s that?”

Here’s the thing. When Sonia let Eddie go to college, her one requirement was that Eddie not room with another boy - for several reasons. She has no idea that Eddie agreed to room with anyone, let alone Richie. They’ve only ever talked when Richie was out of the room.

“Oh, that’s my uh. Boyfriend?”

He realized what he’d done as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late, then. Richie’s eyebrows shot up, and Eddie closed his eyes to try and block out the expression.

“Oh. You are bringing a boy, then.”

“Yes, mommy.”

“...Make sure he dresses up, too. I won’t have you bringing some mess into the wedding.”

His mother hung up, and Eddie noted in passing that she never seemed to say goodbye anymore. Then he opened his eyes.

“So did I miss something?” Richie asked. He was grinning.

Eddie exhaled in one long breath, and felt like his soul also left his body. “My mom doesn’t know I live with you, and I’m bringing you to the wedding anyways, so I was thinking date? But then that just sort of came out. I’m sorry.”

“I did think you’d have taken me to dinner first, Eds,” Richie said with a wink. Then, almost like it didn’t matter at all, he picked up a tie and held it in front of Eddie’s face. “I feel like if you don’t let me get this pineapple tie, I’m actually going to die.”

“Was that supposed to rhyme?” Eddie said, managing to joke back, somehow.

“No, actually, now I feel like a dipshit. Can I get the tie anyways?”

“I mean, you can get it, but you’re not wearing it to the wedding. Here.” Eddie picked up a red paisley tie, and kept digging until he found a blue paisley one that didn’t clash horribly. “I get the blue paisley and I match you, you get the red paisley, you get a pattern and I get the peace of mind that we’re sort of coordinated. Compromise?”

“Alright, alright. I’m getting the Space Jam one, though, you can’t stop me.”

“I never thought I could, Rich.”

Eddie was grateful for the distraction Richie seemed glad to provide, and for the fact that they just seemed to have moved on.

It didn’t come up again until the night before they were supposed to leave, while they were both lying in their beds, the moonlight from the window the only light left.

“Okay so, genuine question, I’m not trying to be an asshole,” Richie began.

Eddie turned over in bed to look at him. He could only see parts of Richie’s face, his eyes shining in the slats of light that their blinds allowed. “Okay. What is it?”

“Am I actually supposed to pretend we’re boyfriends at this wedding?”

Caught off-guard, Eddie blushed a little, and was glad for the dark. “Oh. Uh. I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess my mom thinks we are now? On accident? So it depends on how you want to handle that.”

Richie shrugged. “I mean, you haven’t talked a lot about your mom.”

“...Right. Well. Yeah. Uh. She was sort of shitty, when I was a kid. Not about like. Me being trans, just about me being gay - I don’t know, maybe it’s some combination of the two? Mostly she just didn’t want me to go anywhere or be around anyone. It was like she thought I would. Get contaminated or something. My dad died when I was a kid, I guess it triggered something for her, and she was always afraid I was going to get sick - I sort of got afraid of it, too.” Eddie realized he’d started to overshare. “Uh. Just in the context of the wedding, she wanted me to bring a girl. I told her I wouldn’t. She told me to make sure that I at least brought someone like. Presentable, basically. She used the word clean. Because she always does.”

Richie laughed, then, and Eddie looked over in confusion. “You’ve got a hell of a way to pick ‘em, then, Eds. You realize your mom’s gonna hate me.”

“I mean, not necessarily.”

“Eddie, babe, be realistic. It sounds like she’s gonna hate me.”

“Well it’s not like she actually likes me that much either!”

There was a pause. “I just need to gauge here - do you actually want me to help you piss off your mom? Is that a goal?”

Eddie bit his lip. “I mean that’s not why I asked you. I asked you because I think you can. Make it fun. You know? I didn’t just ask you because my mom won’t like you. If that’s what you’re asking.”

“...I guess it was, a little. So I should be on the closest thing I’ve got to best behavior unless otherwise notified?”

“Yeah. We’ll go with that. And then we don’t have to play up the couple thing too much, like we don’t have to do a lot of PDA or anything, we can pretend we’re just toning it down.” Eddie turned onto his back again, trying to calm back down enough to sleep in the next week. “Sorry for dragging you into all this. You can stay here if you want.”

“And miss your 84-year-old great aunt’s wedding? Eds, it sounds like a fucking blast. Plus, I already bought that suit. No turning back now. And... You know, you’re right. We’ll have fun. Don’t worry so much.”

Eddie scoffed. “If only it were that easy.”

He heard Richie huff out a laugh, too. “Alright, fair. Try to worry as little as you can manage. I’ll do what I can to make that easy for you. Deal?”

“...Deal. Thanks, Rich.”

“Of course, Eds.”

Eventually, somehow, Eddie managed to fall asleep.

[stormhavenmedia]

In Mid December 2018 the Untied We Roll Convoy was first publicly announced. This was a protest in the form of a convoy that would leave Alberta and travel to Ottawa picking up people along the way until finally reaching Ottawa with  many cars and a bus full of supporters, along with  and a convoy of over 200 trucks and even tractors. Participating in this was the grassroots Yellow Vest Canada movement that had sprung up after the one in France. First on social media but quickly moving to the real world with small but persistent demonstrations across Canada that continue to this day.

The issues the convoy wished to bring to Ottawa were as varied as the participants. Many Oil and Gas workers were protesting what they saw as the Liberal governments attempt to cripple the Canadian energy sector in favor of Saudi oil while Alberta faced huge layoffs and skyrocketing suicide rates.  Many others while not opposing Immigration were deeply concerned with the uncontrolled mass migration called for by the United Nations migrant compact. Thousands were and continue to pour across our border in violation of our Laws somehow claiming to be “refugees” from upstate new York and Minneapolis. Many were appalled by the ceaseless attacks on Canadian identity and culture being pushed constantly by Educators and media. Many objected to the obvious , if yet unpublished corruption, the is the lifeblood of the Trudeau Liberal Party. They were Canadians from every walk of life who used their own resources and crowdfunding. Some brought their families while they ate in cheap truck-stops and slept in their cars driven by their desire to save their country from corruption and ruin.

On December 30th a workshop going by the name of Powershift: Young and Rising/Jeunes en action was posted to Facebook by the parent group identity Powershift. Powershifts Facebook page lists it as being founded in 2009 although as of publication no corporate info seems to exist for it as a Non Profit. This event, and the actions that proceeded from it were labelled by the controlled press as a grassroots Indigenous Youth and allies responding to the racist, colonial, environmentally destructive issues being advocated by the Convoy. It was anything but.

This event was organized by massively powerful international actors who operate from the shadows of corporate shells. These same actors have now completely decimated Canada’s economy, just as the Yellow vest and United Canada convoy said they would. It was done in collusion with the Canada’s eastern political/cultural elites in response to a group of Canadian citizens gathering in an actual grassroots movement out of desperation over the deterioration of their country and the future of their children. The brave and hardy Canadians of the Yellow vest and the United We Roll for Canada convoy were right again to fear for their very future. The goals of the million dollar workshop put on in response to them, is no less than the complete disintegration of Canada.

For anyone who thinks this is some sort of conspiracy listen to the last 50 seconds of this. I will introduce you more fully to who Alex is and who he represents later.

The movement United We Roll was brutally vilified by the Liberal/UNIFOR controlled Canadian Media from the second of its conception. They were labelled Racists and Nazi’s in a constant stream of woke Op eds or “investigative” features built from trolling their social media for off color jokes. They were in targeted by taxpayer funded thought police like the jokingly named anti-hate network and subjecting to doxxing and a constant stream of insult and propaganda.

These hard working deeply motivated and brave Canadians trying to exercise their democratic rights were literally shut down using their own Tax-dollars, Union dues, and the funds of massive oligarchical controlled Foundations most of which receive tax relief and direct funding valued in the millions from the citizens they are working to disinherit. The “conference held on University of Ottawa was an integral part of this campaign and I believe shows the generalized co-ordination between the Liberal Junta and the so called “civil society” that is evident in the contrived  blockade “crisis” that have allowed a few hundred to shut down a country of millions.

  The initial call-out for PowerShift was done by FB livestream. December 30 2019, two weeks after the convoy and its schedule was announced. It was designed to partly be a narrative response to United We Roll and its schedule was carefully co-ordinated to the convoys so they could act against it in a concerted way while preparing their larger plan.

  So as scheduled, and despite massive scorn and abuse by the media pundits and elite Chattering classes, the United We Roll for Canada convoy  made its hopeful departure on the 14th of February 2019. The participants were literally your neighbors, with no “media training” or even an organized media team.

That same day as planned in Ottawa the Powershift Conference collected, and transported to their  paid billets, the young people it had flown in from all over Canada. they were greeted with a 48 page glossy conference schedule along with their individual “radical swag” bags. See the full version online below by following the link.

https://issuu.com/jacquibush/docs/print_full_program_en/30

  The Conference was paid for by these organizations all of which receive millions in Taxpayer funding and foreign Foundation money

The Conference utilized many facilities across campus and had access to huge media resources. It had the full support and backing of this massive publicly funded institution and access to millions of dollars of taxpayer and Soros Foundation money.

Training “workshops” organized by the Powershift Conference, held on the grounds of a publicly funded University with its full facilitation. One of the major topics of the four days, seemingly an area of special concentration, should be chilling and instructive to every Canadian as we watch these “blockades” strangle our country.

The “networks” this event boasted of creating are the ones now directing the “blockades”. The training was a full 9 hours on the Saturday the 16th and the full 4 hour morning on the Sunday Feb 17th. A significant portion of the three 8 hour training days, seems they thought it important.

In the words of one of the main “facilitators” of the event the plan is laid out.

  As well as hundreds of youth Powershift also flew in and paid accommodations, meals, et al for 95 different presenters from all over Canada and the world. Lets have a look at our instructor list and some of what they had to offer beyond shutting down Canada’s rail communications.

Some Keynote speakers included;

Clayton Thomas_Muller the Soros funded 350.org senior campaign specialist who in concert with their partners at Tides who have used the mask of indigenous rights have all but shut down Canada’s economy. Notice the fascination with “population control” of some of 350.orgs funders. This is actually quite natural given the Eugenic roots of the modern environmental movement.

Harsha Walia founder of No One is Illegal the organization working tirelessly to destroy our borders and flood Canada with millions of “migrants” who will destroy workers rights, economic security and as we saw in the last election, Democracy itself. She is one of the organizers of the vast Soros backed web that has flooded the western world with “migrants” as detailed in Michelle Malkins excellent work “Open Borders Inc”

  Sean Devlin; When not filling his pockets with our tax dollar via CBC and various federal artist grants Sean likes to discuss what a shithole Canada is. Sean was one of the architects of the Foreign funded anti Harper campaign. Sean used to run a Tides/Rockerfeller funded media group called “Shit Harper Did” with a girl named Brigette, you remember Brigette don’t you?

Manon Massé authoritarian leader of Quebec hard left political Party Quebèc Solidaire and longtime collaborator with ? Canada’s draconian new Minister of Culture. Her political party also backs zero emissions and open borders. In case you were wondering she would absolutely love to see the rest of Canada disintegrate

  Romeo Saganash Sitting  NDP member of Parliament for Abitibi–Baie-James–Nunavik–Eeyou (Québec) where strangely a 4.7 billion dollar deal was just signed by Quebec, “The project will help to unlock the wealth of the region’s varied natural resources and create jobs and business opportunities,” said Quebec Premier François Legault.”. i guess this resource development is powered by pixie dust.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/north/cree-development-quebec-abel-bosum-fran%C3%A7ois-legault-grande-alliance-1.5466612

Everyone on this list makes way north of six figures, most of it originating in our pockets.

  But this highly funded conference was not about simply motivational speeches. It was a venue for very intensive and focused training. Lets see what our happy campers were learning

For lectures on how to use the Law to actually sue for climate change, a tactic that would start to be employed a year later we have some heavy hitters indeed.

  January 2020

To oversee the hours of high end media training Media they had seasoned CBC veteran, founder of the Leap manifesto, and son of longtime Liberal partisan and permanent state bureaucrat, and UN promoter Stephan Lewis,  husband of Naomi Klein and multi millionaire

  Lessons on how to interfere in the upcoming 2019 federal election were given out by one of the political operatives of the corrupt US Democratic Party. It was a group of these high end political operatives that help put the Trudeau Liberals in power in 2015,

The rest of the crowd was very diverse for a “climate conference”

Meet Shady, perhaps the only  “Syrian Algonquin” on earth

Our intrepid Instructors had many varied lessons to impart, including fun subjects like resisting arrest and BLOCKADE organizing and employment

          Don’t worry about our campers being all work no fun, becuase what revolutionary sleepover would be complete without some socialist Islamic rap music

And of course what Marxist day camp would be complete without arts and crafts, take note of the banners they are silk-screening.

As The United We Roll for Canada convoy was making its way across the country and despite the massive disinformation campaign was receiving growing support. Average Canadians were hanging off overpasses to cheer them on, towns greeted them as they entered. As they crossed our happy campers were busy putting out a wave of disinformation as part of their social media training.

  When our scrappy convoy reached Parliament hill on February 18 as planned they were met with what the corrupt media reported as being a grassroots Indigenous led protest. Notice the signs and banners they may look familiar.

  The aggressive tactics used to try and intimidate the peaceful grassroots Canadian rally had been worked out over the preceding four days, between taxpayer funded lunch breaks and Hip Hop Marxism. The instructors were not picked because of their deep understanding of climate modeling or alternative energy production. They are picked because of their fanatical advancement of a corporate sponsored Neo-Marxism that uses Identity Politics and the guise of “climate emergency” to advance a dystopian vision of a technocracy driven, highly controlled society.

They’re specialty is whole of society operations to disrupt our community and national cohesion, cause division, manufacture “crisis” events. All the while working to enable some critical mass so that a population can be herded unwittingly into destroying itself. If you think this is some sort of tinfoil hat fever dream. I would invite you to look at conditions in Egypt, Syria, Libya.

It should be obvious this was far far more than a “climate change” event. This was a regime change seminar. This was training for a the Color revolution being unleashed upon us with the consent and collusion of the  Liberal Party. This isn’t odd some of the same political operatives and Foreign Foundations paying the bills and providing the training put Trudeau in power.   This same program was used successfully in Ukraine to provoke the “Maidan” color revolution and install a Fascist regime in Kiev in 2014.

Looks like the same network may have helped pull off pulled off the same feat in 2015 and 2019 in Canada. This event provides a clear example of the collusion between the Liberal Party and its paramour Unifor, and their Foreign Foundation masters. It also shows how highly financed groups are gathering young people from across Canada to propagandize them and use them as the zombie soldiers in their attempt to take down Canada’s Democracy and Society. In this moment the Nexus of the forces working to destroy us held a gathering to plan out there next moves.

Lets talk about “Color Revolutions”

So if you think this term denotes some sort of tinfoil fever dream then listen to the words of one of its architects. Alec Ross is a shadowy corporate player who was hired by the Obama State department to facilitate the Arab Spring  and the “Maidan” uprising in Ukraine .

So if your still reading the base idea is terrifyingly simple. You can go into any society and find some division. You find what they refer to in their literature as “Indigenous movements”. You send in trainers and operatives to radicalize these groups. One of the other keys is co-opting the Education system. using it to radicalize youth against their own society. They are far more open to ideological indoctrination and lack real world experience. they are perfect for the “good vs evil” narrative that underlies the dogma. they can then be used as a weapon against their own societies. The outcomes for whatever “Indigenous political movements” and their members are irrelevant. A good basic pop culture reference would be the Hunger Games. The technocracy keeps control by forcing the to fight each other for scarce resources all directed by the elites of the capital.

  The Powershift Conference seems to be a recycling of an identity deployed in the USby the same groups  in 2011.

Power Shift 2011 was organized by the Energy Action Coalition, a coalition of 50 youth lead environmental and social justice organizations. Tides funded of course. Their website is no longer functioning.

The base idea of this sort of “virtual leaderless action network”  being used against us came out of a conference in New York 2008. The conference put the largest corporate entities on earth and the most powerful of their network of foundations the Council on Foreign Relations in a room with Academia, the bureaucrat elites of the permanent states buried in the western democracies, and the corporate media. The “Arab Spring”, that would result in open slave markets in Libya and the brutal Syrian civil war that also helped produce the weaponized migrant crisis.  Other “grassroots” uprisings were planned with the participation of the biggest corporate players on earth like Google and the Obama state department. One of the targets was doubtless Canada

We need to thoroughly understand the highly organized and co-ordinated nature of this attack and disrupt it. We need to build data bases of these players and understand their relationship to each other and the Liberal Junta.  These individuals and organizations need to be confronted. Their offices occupied, their staff outed completely. The network of Public Interest Research Groups need to be dismantled by pressuring the Universities that fund and abet them.  My fellow Canadians we simply need to co-ordinate our millions to defeat their thousands.

William Ray

For more suggestions on how you can act

  “Identify, Confront and Disrupt, Disrupt, Disrupt, the activities of these foreign funded or affiliated groups. Many of these names are already known to us. We need to start collecting and correlating the hundreds of these sock puppet advocacy groups. We need to physically Occupy their offices, Identify their Canadian staff, expose and confront them. Disrupt any fundraising or workshop activities. If you see someone collecting for these groups make sure no one gives them a dime, you can do this quite legally. Disrupt their social media and any events they might hold. Again you can do this while breaking no Law. Check to see if these groups receive tax payer money from any level of government. It requires some sleuthing even though the records are public shells and deceptive program names are used to hide the money trail. But hey what Canadian doesn’t like a good mystery on a snowy night. Many do receive public funds put massive public pressure to stop all public funds flowing to these advocacy groups. Find the corporate sponsors and begin boycott movements.” Read More….

    The Training for the “Rail Blockades” was done at Carleton U. Feb.14-18 2019, Paid for by Canadians In Mid December 2018 the Untied We Roll Convoy was first publicly announced. This was a protest in the form of a convoy that would leave Alberta and travel to Ottawa picking up people along the way until finally reaching Ottawa with  many cars and a bus full of supporters, along with  and a convoy of over 200 trucks and even tractors.

[biofunmy]

Boris Johnson, Giuseppe Conte, Dorian: Your Friday Briefing

(Want to get this briefing by email? Here’s the sign-up.)

Good morning.

We’re covering Boris Johnson’s promises to speed up Brexit talks, how Giuseppe Conte went from irrelevant to irreplaceable and a chicken-sandwich battle for the ages.

Mr. Johnson promised that Britain’s Brexit negotiators would sit down with their European counterparts twice a week through September, with the possibility of additional technical meetings, to try to reach a deal that would avert the risk of a cliff-edge departure.

“While I have been encouraged with my discussions with E.U. leaders over recent weeks that there is a willingness to talk about alternatives to the anti-democratic backstop,” he said in comments released by his office, “it is now time for both sides to step up the tempo.”

Details: The Conservative Party leader in Scotland, Ruth Davidson, resigned, and Lord Young of Cookham, a former cabinet minister, resigned as a Conservative whip in the House of Lords on Thursday.

Meaning: The move seemed to acknowledge the mounting concern about the suspension of Parliament, a decision that provoked spontaneous protests in London and other cities.

How Giuseppe Conte became irreplaceable

The departing prime minister of Italy, after 14 months of being ignored and mocked, has been using his resignation last week to catapult himself into a leading role in the country’s government.

In accepting the mandate to form a government on Thursday, Mr. Conte said that he wanted to win back lost time “to allow Italy, a founding member of the European Union, to rise again as a protagonist” and “transform this moment of crisis into an opportunity.”

What’s next: Mr. Conte will now begin meetings with all party leaders and is expected next week to submit to President Sergio Mattarella a cabinet that, if approved, will be brought to Parliament for a confidence vote.

Reminder: Mr. Conte will preside over a populist/anti-populist coalition between the Five Star Movement and the center-left Democratic Party.

What genes say (and don’t say) about sexuality

An ambitious new study found that many genes play a role in sexual behavior, and that there is no one “gay gene.”

The study in the journal Science found that genes account for perhaps a third of the influence on whether someone has same-sex sex, along with social and environmental factors.

“I hope that the science can be used to educate people a little bit more about how natural and normal same-sex behavior is,” said one of the lead researchers. “It’s written into our genes and it’s part of our environment. This is part of our species and it’s part of who we are.”

Perspective: One of the study’s researchers and a colleague, both gay men, parse the implications and limitations of the work in an Op-Ed.

Accused of recruiting for Jeffrey Epstein

The Times is reporting on disturbing new accusations that Jeffrey Epstein relied on a ring of women close to him to feed his insatiable appetite for girls.

Mr. Epstein’s accusers contend in court papers that his onetime partner Ghislaine Maxwell, along with a small cadre of other women — including several assistants and one referred to as Ms. Maxwell’s “lieutenant” — helped Mr. Epstein lure girls into his orbit and managed the logistics of his encounters with them.

Legal dilemma: Experts also told The Times that prosecutors may struggle in deciding whether to charge the women, because some may have initially been victims themselves.

If you have 8 minutes, this is worth it

Those excluded from France’s sacred August holidays

France is famous for its long summer vacations. In Paris, handwritten notes pop up on the doors of the local bakery, brasserie or locksmith indicating that the owners are away and that you should be, too.

But for many, vacations are becoming increasingly out of reach financially, especially as traditional summer hot spots cater to high-income clients. The gap reflects an increasingly unequal French society — another sign of the things that gave rise to the Yellow Vest movement.

Here’s what else is happening

Measles: There is a “dramatic resurgence” in the disease on the Continent, the World Health Organization said — fueled in part by a rising wave of people who are refusing to be vaccinated. Albania, Britain, the Czech Republic and Greece joined 12 other nations where the disease is endemic.

Hurricane Dorian: The powerful storm is on course to hit Florida as a Category 4 hurricane. It could start as early as Saturday night, with winds of up to 130 miles per hour. Forecasters predict that the hurricane will drop 4 to 8 inches of rain, with up to a foot in some areas.

Climate change: The Trump administration laid out a far-reaching plan to cut back on the regulation of methane emissions, a major contributor to climate change.

Colombia: A former rebel commander called for a return to arms, saying the government has failed to honor the peace deal that ended a 52-year war.

Snapshot: Above, a Popeyes location that sold out of chicken sandwiches in New York, after Twitter insults led to the most successful product launch in the fast-food chain’s history. A viral social media debate between Popeyes and Chick-fil-A had customers flocking to restaurants across the country to see for themselves — and it turned into a logistical headache.

U.S. Open: Taylor Townsend upset the Wimbledon champion Simona Halep for the biggest win of her career. Coco Gauff, the 15-year-old who has captivated the tennis world, beat Timea Babos to reach the third round. Next she will face the defending champion, Naomi Osaka.

What we’re reading: This piece in the Atlantic. Remy Tumin on the briefings team, says: “My friend and former colleague Peter Brannen puts the fires in the Amazon into the context of humanity’s burning of fossil fuels, which summons ‘creatures long dead to return to Earth’s surface and give up the ancient energy they took to the grave,’ he writes.”

Now, a break from the news

Listen: Lana Del Rey’s fifth major-label album, “Norman ____ Rockwell!,” is a collaboration with Jack Antonoff packed with fiery lyrics.

Smarter Living: One thing you can do for the environment is drive less. Our Climate Fwd: newsletter did the math for the U.S. Since Americans drive trillions of miles every year, a 10 percent reduction would equal taking about 28 coal-fired power plants offline for a year. Short trips are the lowest-hanging fruit — you can ditch the car and walk, bike or take public transit.

And if you use Slack to escape from email hell, we can help you keep it from taking over your life.

And now for the Back Story on …

Namor, the Sub-Mariner

The Marvel Comics character turns 80 on Saturday. Created by the writer-artist Bill Everett, he has been a villain, a hero, a corporate tycoon and more.

In his origin story, published on Aug. 31, 1939, he is a force of nature personified. Two divers who spot him in the ocean depths are in awe of “the long strokes of his powerful arms.”

Under water, his hair and skin color vary. On land, he has brown hair and is Caucasian — closer to his modern look.

The cartoonist Art Spiegelman, writing about how fascism shaped the golden age of comics in the 1940s, noted that the volatile Sub-Mariner was “a marked contrast to the square and square-jawed vigilante do-gooders who lived in the less scruffy DC Comics neighbourhood.”

The reason for Namor’s rage resonates today: undersea explosions set off by a scientific expedition. With the kingdom of Atlantis threatened, his mother tells him, “It is your duty to lead us into battle!” And so he has, for eight decades and counting.

That’s it for this briefing. We’re off on Monday for the U.S. Labor Day holiday. See you next time.

— Melina

Thank you Mark Josephson, Eleanor Stanford and Chris Harcum provided the break from the news. George Gustines, a senior editor for graphics and video, wrote today’s Back Story. You can reach the team at briefing@nytimes.com.

P.S. • We’re listening to “The Daily.” Our latest episode is about Uber’s struggle to make a profit. • Here’s today’s Mini Crossword puzzle, and a clue: Philosopher John who lent his name to a “Lost” character (five letters). You can find all our puzzles here. • On Thursday, we distributed 2,000 copies of the Times Magazine special issue “The 1619 Project,” along with a related newspaper section, for free to readers outside our headquarters in New York.

Sahred From Source link World News

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[veryangryhedgehog]

“Scattered Pieces,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

March

When Cindy awoke, it was to the beep of hospital monitors. She bolted up suddenly, nearly dislodging the IV from her arm, and glanced around the unfamiliar room rapidly. Where was she? What had happened? The walls were white. Was she dead? Then her eyes fell upon Marcell, half-dozing in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed she was laying in, and she relaxed. If she was dead, then there was no way Marcell would be here.

He blinked at the noise, and smiled, relieved. “You’re awake,” he breathed. “I was getting worried.”

“What… happened?” she asked. “St. Adelaide’s, the Truth? Is everyone alright?”

“They’re all fine,” he grabbed her hand. “As for Adelaide’s, well, I might as well show you.” Sighing, Marcell grabbed a remote from the bedside table and flicked it towards the TV.

Cindy gasped at the image. Behind the scrolling text of the news program was live footage of St. Adelaide’s hill, or at least, what used to be the hill. All that was left there now was a gigantic crater.

“Oh my god,” she muttered.

“When we woke up, we could see the sky. Thank god it was dark by that point.” Marcell stared nearly wistfully at the TV. “When you were still out cold, we got you to the hospital. That was three days ago.”

“Three days?” Cindy’s eyes widened. “And… the Truth?”

Marcell made a face. Not the greatest of signs. “It’d be best if Aurum explained. But right now you need to rest.”

“I have been sleeping for three days, you know.”

“And now you’re going to sleep a little more,” he intoned before kissing her on the forehead. “Oh,” he added. “Before I leave and let you sleep…” he suddenly looked very guilty. “About what happened down there, when I… lost control…”

“When you almost killed me, you mean?” Cindy confirmed.

He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never should have—the two of us, it’s… too dangerous.”

But Cindy just rolled her eyes. “I forgive you. And no, it’s not. If the only time I’m in danger is when you’re being forced into an existential crisis by an unfathomable cosmic entity, then I think I’m alright.”

Marcell just shook his head. “I’m never going to be able to dissuade you, am I?”

“Nope.”

“Then in response to your words down there,” he managed a small smile. “I love you too.”

Cindy’s smile then was the sun itself. She grabbed his hands, and he pulled her in for a soft kiss, and in that moment, Cindy knew that everything was going to be okay.

~~ o ~~

The three of them were always there now, just on the edge of Doug’s vision. They sat in the chair in the hospital room, they looked out the window to the parking lot below, they never got too close, and they never spoke. But they were here now, in the real world for good, brought out of the depths of his head in a plume of mercury off-gas. A barrier had been crossed, and there was no going back now.

Doug took this development as he had taken most of the others in his past; he shrugged, and simply thought: “Great. I guess this is my life now.”

It had been three days since that Niko kid had brought him here, and at least there had been a little improvement since then. His vision was mostly back to normal—sans the constant visual hallucinations—and his thoughts weren’t running through his mind like the extra thick kind of Aunt Marma’s Genuine Maple Syrup anymore.

The shaking and the spasms, however, had only gotten nominally better. “That will improve with time,” the doctor told him. “But it’s unlikely that they will ever fade entirely. Mercury poisoning is not something that can be easily reversed. Some of the damage to your motor functions and other parts of your brain might be permanent.”

The doctor seemed nearly perturbed at how well Doug was taking all of this, but he couldn’t very well tell him that this was just the culmination of over two years of near-constant abuse. Then he’d be recommended a counselor and that would be a pain and Doug would much rather deal with it in his own special way: bottling all of it up and figuring it out himself. Sure, it probably wasn’t the most effective, but it was certainly the easiest.

But he wasn’t thinking about all that now, not really. Because for the last three days, only one thought had been dancing through his mind, cavorting around his dreams: how he was going to kill Abigail Hodge.

The first step of this complicated, multistage plan was to get out of this hospital. Then he was going to track her down and murder her dead. There were of course a lot of auxiliary steps in between this, not all of which made sense to anyone except Doug. But that was all that really mattered. He was going to kill her.

For now, however, all he could do was bide his time. He still could only walk about to the bathroom and back before his legs began to give out from under him. But he was getting better, slowly regaining his strength back. Any day now, he would begin his quest for vengeance.

Except of course, that nothing could ever go according to plan for Doug. Because the next morning, something wholly unexpected happened. A nurse just strolled into his room, grinned at him as if nothing was wrong, and said: “Doug, your sister is here to see you.”

Doug’s blood turned immediately to ice. It was Abigail. It had to be. She was the only person who knew about that. But wrong again, for an instant later, the woman who strolled through the door set him into an even more confused panic.

At first he thought he must be hallucinating the whole thing, because she should be dead. The last time he’d seen her she’d been through the windshield of Morgan’s car. But it wasn’t in his head, because Cocaine was in the corner, snorting something off the rim of the sink.

This couldn’t be real. Elizabeth was dead.

He couldn’t say anything, his throat glued closed.

The nurse merely smiled at him, then turned to not-Elizabeth. “I’ll leave you too alone, Ms. Bailey.”

“Oh please,” she grinned. “Call me Jilli.”

Ah, he understood now. This was all some kind of trick. Some bizarre mercury-fueled dream. Clover’s relation, Elizabeth’s face, Jilli’s name. If he squeezed his eyes shut he’d wake up in a second.

It didn’t work.

“If you’re thinking this is a dream,” the woman smirked, “you’re wrong.”

“Who the hell are you?” Doug asked.

“Me?” she grinned. “My name is Kei. I’m a warrior princess from the moon. And I’m here to make a deal with you…”

~~ o ~~

April

Both Cindy and Tommy had been in and out of the East Branch a lot over the last few weeks. After a short recovery, the whole group met once more and Aurum explained the situation.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed. “It seems out mission is not yet complete.”

“What do you mean?” Niko asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Looking upwards, Aurum attempted to explain. “When you stabbed the Truth, you didn’t destroy it, merely fragmented it. Which is good, it’s far less harmful that way.”

“But we still have to track down the pieces,” Marcell sighed.

“This doesn’t seem all that uncommon,” she added apologetically. “Abigail claimed to have it in her mind, after all, and… other times.” It was subtle, but Tommy didn’t miss her glancing over to Servus. Strange.

So Cindy was in and out helping Marcell and Aurum do research. She proved nearly invaluable with both her technological and magical advantages.

Tommy, however, was there for a different reason. Even after everything that had happened, Mathilda still refused to budge, and he had come to the conclusion that she was broken. But then he remembered something: Aurum had said that it was probably Atlantean in construction, and now… well now there were two Atlanteans living temporarily in the library. So he asked them for their help.

“I was raised in seclusion far outside of the city,” Gil confessed. “But Muirne may be able to help.”

“Aye,” she nodded. “I’m no expert, but my mother was a makinist. You said this was a wagon?”

“That travels between dimensions,” Tommy nodded.

“I’ve heard of a few prototypes. I’ll take a look.”

Just as they were about to leave, Tommy felt a tap on his arm. He looked down to see Servus staring at him with his usual deadpan expression. That had been the other reason Tommy had been coming to the library.

Ever since that first raid on St. Adelaide’s, it appeared that Servus was beginning to develop a personality. It was very subtle, he had trouble emoting and especially speaking, and seemed to be terribly confounded and confused by all of this. And so from one lost kid to another, Tommy just kind of… took him under his wing.

“Come?” Servus asked, one of his eyebrows twitching up an inch. Even though he was slowly becoming more human, Tommy had a feeling he would always be able to win first place in any resting bitch face competition he ever decided to enter.

“Sure,” Tommy shrugged. “Why not.”

After waving goodbye to Aurum, the four of them made the trek out to Mathilda, still in the abandoned lot across from the elementary school. Tommy frowned as he saw that weeds had begun to grow around her wheels, and he grumbled as he pulled them out.

Muirne and Gil waited patiently for him to finish, while Servus bent down to help hm. “Thanks,” Tommy nodded, patting him on the head. Muirne looked over at the automaton, a slightly pained expression on her face.

“Alright,” Tommy straightened. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He gestured ironically, and opened the door to the inside.

He’d forgotten how musty it smelled inside. No one else had been in here in a long while… except maybe Cowell once or twice. He crawled over the pile of blankets to pull the small window on the side open, then stuffed the big comforter into the back.

Muirne and Gil stepped inside, both politely avoiding crinkling their noses. “Mind if I poke around?” Muirne asked, and Tommy waved the affirmative.

“Yes, this is definitely Atlantean,” Muirne muttered, running her hand along the carvings on a wooden beam. “Which means that somewhere along here…” she pressed the center of a decorative sun, and a small panel emerged from the wall.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Wha—?”

“You never knew this was here?” Muirne chuckled.

“Not a clue,” Tommy shook his head. He wondered if Remus had known about this.

Muirne turned a few dials and examined the window, which snapped closed on it’s own to reveal a pale sort of overlay.

“You know you’ve had this on ‘automatic,’ right?” she asked after a minute

“Automatic?”

“Aye. You’ve just been letting the old girl go wherever she wants.”

Tommy felt a little weak in the knees. “You’re telling me… that all this time… there was a manual setting? I could’ve left at any time?”

“That is what she’s saying, yes,” Gil raised an eyebrow.

A grin began to spread over Tommy’s face. This meant… why, he could go wherever he wanted now. Any place in the whole cosmos, any adventure he wanted. He could leave Ede Valley, get out of this place that put so many bad memories on his shoulders. Free as a bird, nothing to tie him down.

“Well shit,” he said. “Maybe I’ll…”

But he broke off as he happened to glance over at Servus. It seemed to be dawning on the kid what it meant if Mathilda was fixed, if Tommy could leave. His first thought was to see if Servus wanted to go with him, incredibly fitting, after all. But he realized then that it wasn’t just Servus keeping him here.

It was Cindy, who he’d just met again after all of these years. It was Mike, who he’d never known and right now needed help from people who could understand. And besides, how the hell could he quit his job at the Smiling Goat? Literally how. Cowell would somehow twist his words around in his mouth so badly that he’d be working more hours instead.

And he realized then that the thought of flying away was a distant pipe dream. As much as he hated to admit it, he had roots here.

As he was mulling this over, Gil and Muirne had been discussing something in the corner. As Tommy stirred from his internal monologue, Muirne jumped on him. “Please,” she said, “before you go, allow me to study her. If Gil and I had a machine like this…”

Tommy smiled. He knew what Remus would want him to do. “Take her for a while,” he said.

Gil and Muirne blinked. “Truly?” Gil asked, recovering first. “You are not ‘pulling our legs’?”

“Not forever, keep in mind,” Tommy shrugged. “I expect you to take good care of her, and I expect her back in one piece. And don’t make a mess. I know exactly what’s going to go down in here.” And what had, many times over the last couple years, with many different people, he added to himself.

Blushing furiously, Gil spluttered. “I don’t know what you could possibly be referring to.”

Tommy clapped him on the back, and winked. “Yeah, you do. Anyway, give me one more night in her and I’ll clean out my junk in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Muirne blinked. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just keep her safe,” Tommy requested. “She’s got a lot of good memories in her. Come on, Servus,” he added to the automaton, who seemed to have perked up considerably over the course of the conversation. “Let’s get you back to Aurum.”

“Alright,” Servus lifted one side of his mouth an inch.

“Hey, you almost did it!” Tommy beamed. “You know what, let’s get some ice cream on the way back. Wait, can you eat ice cream?”

Servus blinked. “Don’t know.”

“Welp, I guess we’ll find out, then,” Tommy hopped down Mathilda’s creaky step after Servus and they walked down the road as the sun began its slow descent into the horizon.

~~ o ~~

May

Cindy had never expected so many people to show up to her high school graduation. Not that it was really a big deal for her, it was just a celebration of her assent from hell itself, but she was flattered nonetheless. Lucius was, of course, sitting with the teachers, but she kept noticing him glancing over in her direction with a slightly goofy grin. Tommy, Niko, Servus, and Cowell were on one side of the bleachers, and Tommy waved as she walked in. Servus held his camcorder, no doubt so Aurum could see as well. Her mother was on the other side of the bleachers, a handkerchief clutched in her hands, and Mike sat next to her, a finger hovering near his ear as if he was casually trying to block out some of the noise. He was trying for a grin, but Cindy could tell that he was very overwhelmed.

She was surprised at the sheer volume of noise that accompanied her rise to the stage. In fact, it nearly knocked her off her feet. She’d been expecting polite applause and not much more. Then again, she supposed the friends she did have were not the quietest bunch.

Though she couldn’t help noticing Mike leaving the bleachers shortly after she sat back down.

As soon as the ceremony was done, families and friends lingered in the gymnasium, but Cindy snuck out as fast as she could. She found Mike just inside the front doors of the school, his eyes closed.

“You alright?” she tapped him on the shoulder, to which he jumped slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, “Just the people and… a little overwhelming.”

Cindy frowned. “Sorry.”

“’S not your fault,” he shrugged. “It’s not anyone’s really.”

“Abigail’s,” Cindy supplied.

“I’m not ever really sure about that,” he gazed off into the distance. “She’s just a slave to human instinct, curiosity. Just like all the rest of you.”

It still felt strange whenever he didn’t include himself in ‘people’. He’d been acting more and more like Mike over the months, as he got some of his memories, some of himself back, but it was times like this when she knew that Mike would never truly return.

Their mother found them a second later. “Oh, Cindy,” she said, wrapping her arms around her enrobed daughter. “I am so proud of you.” She pulled away, and began to tear up a little.

“Moooom,” Cindy rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “Thanks.”

Tommy and the crew emerged from the gym a minute later. “Oh, there’s some friends,” Cindy said. “I’d better go say hi, I’ll be right back.”

She ducked through the crowd, and came up behind them, tapping Tommy on the shoulder. He grinned, and they hugged. “Congrats on being the only one of us to actually finish high school,” he beamed.

“Hey, I got pretty close,” Niko pouted.

“Yeah, only missed by a whole entire year,” Cowell shook his head in mock disappointment.

“It’s better than Tommy,” he insisted. “He didn’t make it past the third grade.”

Tommy frowned. “I still got a good education,” he said. “Just not a very… conventional one.”

“Oh yeah, what’s pi then?”

“Uh, something you eat? Duh?”

“I rest my case,” Niko folded his arms before looking over to Cindy. “But congratulations.”

“Thanks,” she nodded, “and the only reason I’m even here right now is because while all of you were off having adventures I was stuck back here in good old Ede Valley.”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said, glancing over to their mother and Mike. “I wouldn’t knock what you’re got.”

“Tommy,” she put a hand on his shoulder. “You know you could always go talk to her.”

“Yeah…” he paused for a moment. “You know what? Yeah, I think it’s time.”

“Good luck,” Cowell smiled pleasantly. “Try not to give her a heart attack.”

Glancing over to him, Tommy looked a little worried. “Please don’t tell me that’s one of your predictions.”

He laughed. “Not this time. Merely being facetious. Or am I?”

“Yes, you are,” Cindy said. Even though Cowell was still largely a mystery to her, she’d found that over the last few months her ability to read people had grown even stronger. “Come on, Tommy. We’ll see you guys later.”

The three of them waved as Cindy and Tommy made their way back over to Mike and their mother.

Carol Miller for a second only looked at the newcomer with mild interest. “Oh, Cindy, is this a friend of y…” but she broke off as she looked up at his face.

It felt like an eternity before Tommy could say anything, an eternity of their mother staring up at him, vague recognition and confusion dawning on her face before he was able to open his mouth. “Hi mom,” was all he could manage, in the end.

“T… To—” she sputtered, as if almost afraid to say it. “Tommy?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m back.”

Tears began to well in her eyes as she tackled him in a bearhug. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Tommy, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

And finally, after so long apart, after runaways and psych wards and boarding schools, the Millers were at last all together again.

~~ o ~~

The four of them went out for dinner after that, Tommy filling their mother in on some of the details of where he’d been, and all of them enjoyed being together again. But once the food was cleared away and their mother had paid the bill—after refusing Tommy’s offer to do so instead—Cindy looked at her phone and saw the time.

“Oh, is it that late already?”

“Do you have plans tonight?” her mother asked.

And it was at that moment that Cindy realized something. She wasn’t a high schooler anymore. She no longer had to lie. “Yeah I uh….” She couldn’t help grinning a little. “I… have a date.”

Their mother gasped. “Really?” she asked. “Do I know him?”

“No,” Cindy said. “And I can’t introduce you quite yet,” far too soon still, there’d be a few more weeks of minor sneaking around yet. “But I hope to soon. Anyway,” she stood. “I’d better get going. I love you all, I’ll see you at home. I think I’ll be home tonight.”

Her mother looked worried, but she nodded. “Text me if you won’t be, alright?”

“Will do,” Cindy smiled.

This whole time, Mike had been glancing out of the window towards the slowly sinking sun. A small figure was standing besides a nearby chain-link fence, waiting for him.

“I… think I’m going to… go too,” he said absently.

“Mike, it’s getting late…” their mother frowned.

“I’ll only be a few minutes,” he explained. “And it’s not that far home, I’ll walk.”

“Okay…” Carol began to look a little sad as Mike got up and left too.

But Tommy was still there. “I’ll come home with you, mom,” he grinned, and stood, holding out his arm for her. She took it , and they left the restaurant together. “There’s still a lot of things we need to talk about…”

~~ o ~~

Mike waited for Tommy and their mother to leave the restaurant and be well out of sight before approaching the fence. The small girl with pigtails was there, waiting for him. They had never met, but he knew who she was.

“Alpha,” he said, to be polite, even though she no doubt already knew he was there.

“Beta,” she replied, without turning to him.

They stood there for a moment, staring off into the distance. “I’m sorry for what she did to Mike,” she said finally. “It’s been so long for me that I barely remember what it’s like to be human. But you…”

“I’ll live,” he shrugged. For the first time in the last three months, he could stop pretending to be human. It felt… good. He let his face drop into a neutral expression. Expressions were the hardest thing to fake.

“I’m going to leave now,” Buttercup finally turned to him. “I’ve atoned for what I’ve caused.”

“Of course,” Mike nodded. After all, if there was nothing holding you here, why stay? “Where will you go?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I believe that I’ll just start walking. But Beta,” she gazed up at him with her old eyes. “Don’t follow me. I have a wish for you.”

He tilted his head.

“I have a wish that someday, you can figure out who you actually are. I didn’t live long enough as a human to do such. But you… you have a chance.”

Mike… Nihil… Beta, whoever he was, he nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” she said before she started walking. “I’m sure we’ll meet again some day.”

He blinked once. “I’m sure we will.”

~~ o ~~

Cindy sat on the balcony overlooking the back of Marcell’s house, her head on his shoulder. Her feet dangled through the posts of the railing, falling into nothing below the cliff’s edge. For the first time in a long time, it seemed at this moment that everything was alright.

Neither of them said anything, they didn’t need to. Cindy’s Mother had already been messaged and the night was young. For once, they were in no hurry to do anything.

“It’s almost over,” Cindy said.

“What is?” she felt the rumble of his voice in her bones.

“The secrecy. The sneaking around. We won’t need to hide anymore after this summer.”

“People will talk regardless of how long we wait,” he warned.

She shook her head as much as she was able. “But now there’s nothing they can do about it.”

Marcell chuckled. “Fair enough.”

As they sat there, listening to each other breathe, Cindy pondered something as she looked down at the only town she’d ever known. “I want to go somewhere this summer,” she said. “With you.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I really just want to get in a car and drive.”

She could hear the slight smile in his voice. “Why not? It could be fun.”

They watched the moon slowly rising over Ede Valley, over the crater that used to be St. Adelaide’s. Cindy was excited, and nervous, and many other bundled-up emotions besides that she didn’t have names for. But she knew that whatever happened, it would certainly be an adventure.

[lodelss]

Rebecca McCarthy | Longreads | Month 2018 | 10 minutes (2,519 words)

In May of 2017, Mayor de Blasio unveiled Jimmy Breslin Way, a street sign dedicating the stretch of 42nd Street between 2nd and 3rd Avenue to the late reporter. It was a strange press conference — half eulogy, half lecture — a chance for the mayor to laud Breslin and scold members of today’s media by whom he often feels unfairly maligned. “Think about what Jimmy Breslin did. Think about how he saw the world,” said de Blasio. He left without taking questions. What was he talking about? Did he imagine he and Jimmy Breslin would get along? In 1969 Breslin wrote a cover story about Mayor Lindsay for New York Magazine, “Is Lindsay Too Tall to Be Mayor?” was the title. Lindsay was an inch shorter than de Blasio.

In 2010, Heike Geissler took a temporary position at an Amazon warehouse in Leipzig. Geissler was a freelance writer and a translator but, more pressingly, she was the mother of two children and money was not coming in. Seasonal Associate, which was translated by Katy Derbyshire and released by Semiotext(e) this month, is the product of that job. (Read an excerpt on Longreads.) It’s an oppressive, unsettling book, mainly because the work is too familiar. The book is written almost entirely in the second person, a style that might’ve come off as an irritating affectation with a lesser writer or a different subject. Here, it’s terrifying — you feel yourself slipping along with Geissler, thoughts of your own unpaid bills and the cold at the back of your throat weaving their way through the narrative. It’s not just that this unnamed protagonist could be you, it’s the certainty that someday she will be you. “You’ll soon know something about life that you didn’t know before, and it won’t just have to do with work,” Geissler writes. “But also with the fact that you’re getting older, that two children cry after you every morning, that you don’t want to go to work, and that something about this job and many other kinds of jobs is essentially rotten.”

*

The question of who killed New York used to be up for debate. Was it John Lindsay, who couldn’t face reality, who covered the city’s debts with short-term, high interest loans he knew were impossible to repay? His successor, Abe Beame, who bent to the demands of the bankers and gutted the social safety net during the fiscal crisis of the 70’s? Ed Koch, who embraced Beame’s cuts wholeheartedly and mocked past mayors as men who wanted New York “to be the No. 1 welfare city in America”? Giuliani, who launched the deregulation of rent controlled apartments and the quality of life campaign that gave us Broken Windows and COMPSTAT? (I’m not mentioning David Dinkins, because I really don’t think David Dinkins brought us here.) Was it Hipsters and their attendant paraphernalia? Was it the McKibbin Lofts? Union Pool? Was it Shred Stuy?

Inventory work provides Geissler with a granular view of consumerism. Stripped of the marketing and storefronts that make it palatable it quickly begins to look like a form of mental illness. Who is buying these mugs, stamped with George Clooney’s face?

All New York City mayors are venal, but some are more venal than others. A few months ago, I would have told you Bloomberg was to blame, our bloodless, billionaire mayor, who rezoned the city’s most vulnerable neighborhoods and openly courted real estate investment from foreign billionaires. Rents rose at neat clip alongside the homeless population. To his credit, Bloomberg — a very short man — was always transparent about where his priorities lay. The city, he said, was a “luxury product” and it should behave that way.

De Blasio was supposed to be the antidote to the Bloomberg years, a progressive underdog who ran on universal pre-k and affordable housing. But that affordable housing has largely failed to materialize — where it’s been built, it’s often still pretty unaffordable — and his administration has been marked by disappointing half-measures and an ill-conceived plan for a ridiculous four billion dollar streetcar no one wants.

On Black Friday, Amazon workers staged mass walkouts across Europe. On Cyber Monday, led by community groups Make the Road New York and New York Communities for Change (NYCC), protestors stormed Amazon’s Midtown bookstore to protest the planned headquarters in Long Island City and later gathered in front of the LIC Civil Courthouse chanting “I stand in the rain, I stand in the snow, Amazon has got to go!” City Council members Jimmy Van Bremer, Jumanne Williams, and Melissa Mark-Vitero were all in attendance — Williams and Mark-Vitero, it should be noted, are both running for Public Advocate. All of them decried the incentives offered to Amazon, which total about 3 billion. Williams claimed they were steamrolled by the Mayor and Governor Cuomo and that while Cuomo’s betrayal was no surprise, the de Blasio administration was “the biggest waste of progressive capital [Williams had] ever seen.”

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It might’ve been a good show of force, had not all of the aforementioned politicians signed the letter urging Amazon to build its headquarters in New York. What did they think was going to happen? A New York Times investigation released earlier this year showed that the city had lost 152,000 rent-regulated apartments since 1993. The subway system is crumbling, the state leads the nation in income inequality, and the homeless population is at an all time high. No reasonable human being could look around and conclude that the answer to all these problems is to give the most avaricious company in the world the keys to the city. Amazon swallows everything it touches, it isn’t interested in civic health. Only half of the jobs being brought in are in tech and many of the low level positions will likely be replaced by robots fairly soon, but for now, these are the jobs for which the Mayor sold the city. “At any rate,” Geissler writes, early on in Seasonal Associate, “it’s almost impossible not to be forced to your knees and into defiance by this job you’re about to have.”

*

Geissler was hired in the warehouse to handle the Christmas rush, hence the title, and the cold is so omnipresent it seems to be a feature of the company rather than simply the reality of winter. A gate that will not latch properly becomes a major antagonist and everyone is either ill or on the verge of falling ill, although they have been warned specifically against this. “Sick days hurt Amazon,” Geissler is told at her orientation. Precarity manifests as a constant, low-grade fever. You’re the protagonist but her voice leads you through the job, a tired Virgil navigating a new circle of hell. The work is inventory — entering items into the system so they can be purchased online and performing at least a cursory check to make sure they’re undamaged. “Everything exists, in case you were going to ask,” says Geissler. “Absolutely everything exists, and people can buy it all.” Despite the scale of the warehouse, inventory work provides Geissler with a granular view of consumerism. Stripped of the marketing and storefronts that make it palatable it quickly begins to look like a form of mental illness. Who is buying these mugs, stamped with George Clooney’s face? Who needs these pre-distressed Iron Maiden hats, already rags at point of purchase? Amazon customers, which is to say, all of us.

Geissler tried to sell the book as straightforward journalism initially and was turned down by five publishers, likely because book is largely boring. It’s a propulsive, weaponized banality though — something unnatural is going on here and it’s hard to see a way out.

Geissler isn’t the typical warehouse employee and as a temporary contractor she’s something of a tourist at Amazon. She’s well-educated, she’s white, she lives with the father of her children, and she’s normally able to make a living — however precarious — as a writer. There’s significant privilege there. Many people spend their entire lives working shitty, unforgiving jobs with arbitrary, infantilizing rules and part of the reason Geissler is so attuned to the myriad indignities of Amazon is because she’s unused to them. She’s aware of this position though. “It has to be said right away,” she writes, “that no one is suited for unhappiness, yet this fact doesn’t get enough recognition.” Seasonal Associate is a book about slippage and a sudden fall into the working class, but it’s a document of anxiety and futility rather than stunt journalism. The central rallying point in the warehouse is a desk made out of a door — a replica of Jeff Bezos’ desk when he founded Amazon; an absurd symbol of frugality and the company’s dedication to customer satisfaction over employees’ personal comfort. As if every warehouse worker has the potential to become the richest man in the world, if only they would stop buying such expensive desks. The idea that if you work hard enough you will inevitably rise out of poverty has always been a sham and Amazon has taken it to it’s logical endpoint. You work hard and nothing happens. You will never be good enough at your job, because you’re a human being, not a machine. As long as you’re alive you’re a potential problem for the company.

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In order to maintain some sense of agency Geissler stages tiny acts of rebellion — refusing to hold a handrail despite the signs instructing her to hold the handrail, keeping her safety vest in her pocket until she absolutely has to put it on. The gestures are adolescent and effectively meaningless, but every time she’s snide it’s a relief — a sign of life. Much later, after her contract is finished, she recognizes a man in a parking lot who she described as Amazon’s “only hipster.” The last time she’d seen him he was docking people’s pay for what’s commonly known as time theft. They had lined up a few minutes early to leave work, rather than waiting, unpaid, to go through security. “Unable to think of anything better,” says Geissler. “Or because it seemed like the most appropriate idea, I called out the name of a book I’d just read, by Mark Greif and others. I yelled at him: What Was the Hipster! I called it twice and I thought then he might know he was over.”

Geissler tried to sell the book as straightforward journalism initially and was turned down by five publishers, likely because book is largely boring. It’s a propulsive, weaponized banality though — something unnatural is going on here and it’s hard to see a way out. “You’ve completely forgotten that you have a profession and are only here to alleviate momentary poverty,” Geissler writes, just after her interview at Amazon. “Something inside you is essentially unsettled and will never calm down again, even though you do get the job. From this point on, you are beside yourself with worry.”

My own mother raised two kids by herself as a high school English teacher and she took a number of side jobs to supplement her income. Tutoring, working at a bakery, working at a strange, luxury gardening store that sold copper birdhouses and rocks that said things like “LOVE” and “CREATE” for people who couldn’t. None of them were bad jobs, none as oppressive as warehouse work, but they did not pay very well. Her desk (worse than Jeff Bezos’) was just a slab of wood, perched atop two filing cabinets. She never made a big deal out of that though, because she is not an asshole. She’d wake up at four or five in the morning to grade the lousy papers of teenage Republicans and shovel the walkway, but she still tried to read to me and my brother before putting us to bed. Oftentimes she’d fall asleep mid-sentence and start mumbling about the electricity bill or replacing the boiler. Eventually, a doctor told her she had to relax — her blood pressure was dangerously high, her muscles so tense that when she breathed, her ribs barely moved.

If you think you’re immune to this — if you went to college, if you believe you’re upwardly mobile, if you imagine you will comfortably survive the inevitable spike in rent once Amazon’s headquarters settles into Queens — unless you have vast familial wealth to draw on, I’m sorry but you’re wrong.

My mom was thrown into financial uncertainty (and my dad wasn’t even a deadbeat) by an early divorce and the responsibility for two small children, but at this point that choking feeling is basically just the lived experience of the average American. In a conversation with Hans Ulrich Obrist in 2003 J.G. Ballard said that “the totalitarian systems of the future will be subservient and ingratiating, the false smile of the bored waiter rather than the jackboot.” This is it, the future is here now. It’s because Geissler doesn’t fit the typical profile of an Amazon warehouse worker that her book is such a well-timed warning shot. If you think you’re immune to this — if you went to college, if you believe you’re upwardly mobile, if you imagine you will comfortably survive the inevitable spike in rent once Amazon’s headquarters settles into Queens — unless you have vast familial wealth to draw on, I’m sorry but you’re wrong. Without immediate collective action, this is coming for all of us.

*

“Too tall,” Breslin clarified, about Mayor Lindsay, “means too Manhattanish, too removed from the problems of the street corners.” He wrote “Is Lindsay Too Tall to Be Mayor?” shortly after his own failed mayoral bid with Norman Mailer, a campaign that left him “nervous and depressed.”

“I saw a sprawling, disjointed place which did not understand itself and was decaying physically and spiritually, decaying with these terrible little fires of rage flickering in the decay…On top of the city was an almost unworkable form of government and a set of casually unknowing, unfeeling, uncaring men and institutions. The absence of communications in a city which is the communications center of the world is so bad that you are almost forced to believe the condition of the city is terminal.”

  If that doesn’t sound familiar, it will soon. On December 12, the New York City Council held the first of a series of hearings on the new Amazon headquarters. Protestors covered the balcony and unfurled a No HQ2 Banner. “It’s all smoke and mirrors!” a man yelled. “Don’t let them monopolize the city! Don’t let them near the subways, don’t let them near the schools — these guys are lying creeps!” He was escorted out.

Amazon has become so large that it can have the same pacifying effect as the threat of climate change, but despair isn’t helpful right now. As Hamilton Nolan and Dave Colon have already pointed out over at Splinter, Amazon’s New York headquarters represents the best chance at effectively unionizing the company and the resistance to HQ2 is broad and growing. Still, it was difficult to watch the City Council hearing without a paralyzing sense of dread. Amazon is a contractor with ICE, they have a horrific labor record, and they’re accountable to no one. That guy was right, these people are lying creeps, as are many of the people we’ve elected. There’s such a long and rich tradition of grift in this city that it’s rare to be able to definitively level blame, but here we are. De Blasio was too tall to be mayor and we didn’t see it. “Is this all a matter of life and death?” Geissler writes, at the very beginning of Seasonal Associate. “I’ll say no for the moment and come back to the question later. At that point, I’ll say: Not directly, but in a way yes. It’s a matter of how far death is allowed into our lives.”

* * *

Rebecca McCarthy is a freelance writer and a bookseller.

Editor: Dana Snitzky

[theconservativebrief]

Almost a year ago, on October 5, 2017, the New York Times published an article accusing Harvey Weinstein of a pattern of sexual misconduct that almost single-handedly launched the most public phase of the #MeToo movement. What followed was a year of powerful men across industries being accused of using their power to sexually harass and assault those around them with impunity; a year of cultural discourse around the politics of gender and sex and consent; a year of demands for systemic change.

And now, as the one-year anniversary of the movement approaches, nearly every one of #MeToo’s major themes is converging in the sexual assault accusations facing Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh.

Christine Blasey Ford, a professor of clinical psychology at Palo Alto University, says that Kavanaugh assaulted her at a party when they were both teenagers in the 1980s. According to Ford, Kavanaugh and a friend “corralled her” into a bedroom, where Kavanaugh pinned her to a bed and groped her, covering her mouth when she tried to scream. “I thought he might inadvertently kill me,” Ford told the Washington Post. She was able to escape, she says, only after Kavanaugh and his friend toppled into a drunken heap.

Kavanaugh denies the accusation. “This is a completely false allegation,” he said in a statement. “I have never done anything like what the accuser describes — to her or to anyone.”

On Sunday, a second woman came forward. In an interview with the New Yorker, Deborah Ramirez said that while she was at Yale with Kavanaugh in 1983, he exposed his genitalia to her at a dorm party, shoving his penis into her face.

Kavanaugh denies this claim as well, saying, “This alleged event from 35 years ago did not happen. The people who knew me then know that this did not happen, and have said so. This is a smear, plain and simple. I look forward to testifying on Thursday about the truth, and defending my good name—and the reputation for character and integrity I have spent a lifetime building—against these last-minute allegations.”

Judge Brett Kavanaugh testifies before the Senate Judiciary Committee during his Supreme Court confirmation hearing on September 4, 2018 Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images

Ford is set to testify before Congress, as is Kavanaugh. But in the lead-up to Ford’s testimony, the media, politicians, and ordinary Americans have managed to relitigate nearly all the major questions that the #MeToo movement has brought up over the past year.

The Kavanaugh confirmation process has brought to the surface the many fallacies our culture repeats about rape and other sexual misconduct: that committing sexual violence is normal male behavior (boys will be boys, after all); that real victims come forward right away (and anyone who waits must be a liar); that depriving someone of a powerful position is the same as locking him in prison (or even killing him); that it takes the word of multiple women (at least more than one, and probably more than two) to equal the worth of a man’s word; and that the country owes accused men a path to redemption (even if they haven’t acknowledged what they did wrong).

These are the stories that we repeat in our culture over and over again: quietly among ourselves when someone we know comes forward with an accusation of sexual misconduct, and more loudly, in the press, when stories of sexual misconduct make the news. They’re the stories that we repeated again and again over the course of the past year as the #MeToo movement rose and swelled, and they’re the stories we’re repeating now as Brett Kavanaugh fights for a supreme court seat.

Here are the myths our culture tells about sexual misconduct and how they have played out in Kavanaugh’s confirmation process — and how they damage us.

After Ford went public with her allegation of sexual assault against Kavanaugh, the Supreme Court nominee’s supporters soon began deploying what Megan Garber at the Atlantic calls the “the boys-being-boys defense.”

This defense has two parts to it; first, it minimizes harassment and assault, likening these behaviors to harmless games or roughhousing. Fox News columnist Stephen Miller tweeted about the Kavanaugh allegations, “It was drunk teenagers playing seven minutes of heaven.” Meanwhile, Carrie Severino, a lawyer for the Judicial Crisis Network, a group backing Kavanaugh, suggested in a CNN interview that the actions Ford describes could perhaps be interpreted as “rough horseplay.”

Next, it claims that this type of behavior is so widespread as to be unremarkable. A lawyer close to the White House told Politico: “If somebody can be brought down by accusations like this, then you, me, every man certainly should be worried. We can all be accused of something.”

We’ve seen both pieces of the “boys-will-be-boys” defense over and over in the past year, whenever a high-profile man has become the subject of sexual misconduct allegations. Again and again, we’ve heard that what a woman or girl experienced as assault or harassment was actually just flirting or playing around. Again and again, we’ve heard the argument that sexually coercive or even violent behavior is normal and to be expected from boys and men.

Critics of the #MeToo have routinely redefined sexual misconduct as mere “seduction” gone wrong, worrying that a movement aimed at exposing the prevalence of harassment and assault will instead destroy “flirtation.” In a much-discussed op-ed in January in the New York Times, Daphne Merkin quoted an unnamed “feminist friend”: “What ever happened to flirting?”

“What one woman considers annoyance or even mild harassment, another might consider harmless flirtation, or even seduction,” wrote Heather Robinson in the New York Post in December. She asked, “will the fear of being branded a harasser cast a pall over opportunities for singles to find romance and fun this holiday season?”

Never mind the fact that survivors speaking up as part of #MeToo weren’t talking about holiday fun — they were sharing stories of abusive behavior, often by those in positions of power over them, that frequently left them traumatized.

Meanwhile, other critics of the movement argued that what looked like sexual misconduct to #MeToo advocates was simply the way of all men. Andrew Sullivan said it in New York magazine in January: Male sexuality “as men would naturally express it, if they could get away with it,” he wrote, is “full of handsiness and groping and objectification and lust and aggression and passion and the ruthless pursuit of yet another conquest.”

He allowed that, yes, “we can and should be restrained, tamed, kept under control” — but according to him, “groping” is just part of men’s nature. If the #MeToo movement fails to accept this, he wrote, “it is going to alienate a lot of people.”

As Rosalind Wiseman, author of Masterminds and Wingmen: Helping Our Boys Cope with Schoolyard Power, Locker-Room Tests, Girlfriends, and the New Rules of Boy World, told Vox, the behavior Ford describes is not “horseplay”: “Horseplay means there is equality and consent between two people.” This is also true of “seven minutes in heaven,” or any of the many other sexually tinged games young people play — they can be fun if all parties are enthusiastic. If one person is forcing another person to participate, it’s not a game anymore — it’s abusive and harmful.

Protesters march during the Women’s March in Washington DC, the day after President Donald Trump’s inauguration. Sarah L. Voisin/The Washington Post via Getty Images

Moreover, as Wiseman notes, sexual assault by teenage boys may be common — many men have told her that it is, at least anecdotally — but that doesn’t make it right. To treat this behavior as in any way acceptable, as just “boys being boys,” normalizes something that can leave survivors with lasting trauma. It helps create an environment in which “all violence is basically accepted and begins to be tolerated,” Niobe Way, a psychology professor who studies boys, told Vox.

It’s unlikely that, as the lawyer put it to Politico, “every man” is guilty of something like what Ford describes. But the #MeToo movement has shown how prevalent sexual assault and sexual harassment are. In a survey conducted earlier this year by the group Stop Street Harassment, 81 percent of women and 43 percent of men said they’d been harassed or assaulted at some point in their lives.

If we respond to this prevalence by throwing up our hands and deciding that sexual misconduct is simply something men do (for one thing, sometimes the perpetrators aren’t men), nothing will ever change. Instead, anti-sexual assault advocates have long been working to spread the message that assault and harassment are never normal or acceptable, regardless of one’s age. In the last year, the #MeToo movement has helped to amplify their calls.

One of the recurring critiques of Ford’s story is that she didn’t tell enough people when it happened.

“Ford never mentioned the purported assault to anyone at the time, or at any time over the following 20-plus years,” noted the Federalist, arguing that “the facts seemed to support” the idea that “Ford had been dispatched by the left to thwart Kavanaugh’s impending confirmation.”

“Ford never told anyone of any supposed incident until 2012, when she discussed the matter with a therapist during marital counseling,” reported Breitbart in its first Ford story, giving the point a place of honor in the second paragraph and ostentatiously referring to Ford’s account as a “supposed incident.”

It’s a critique with which President Donald Trump wholeheartedly agrees. In a series of tweets on Friday morning, Trump — reportedly pleased by the positive response he’s earned by not personally attacking Ford — argued that she is undoubtedly lying now because she didn’t report Kavanaugh’s alleged actions when she was a teenager.

I have no doubt that, if the attack on Dr. Ford was as bad as she says, charges would have been immediately filed with local Law Enforcement Authorities by either her or her loving parents. I ask that she bring those filings forward so that we can learn date, time, and place!

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) September 21, 2018

The idea behind this argument is that if Kavanaugh had really attacked Ford at a house party back then, she should have told people right away. She should have reported it to the police or a teacher or her parents or another trusted adult; she should have put it on the record when it happened. Since she didn’t, the argument concludes, we can safely assume that the “supposed incident” never actually happened.

It’s an argument we saw before with Bill Cosby’s accusers and in the past year as part of the general backlash to the #MeToo movement: If it really happened, she would have said something at the time. She wouldn’t have waited.

As German Lopez has already outlined for Vox, that argument ignores the data that we have on survivors of sexual assault, which says that most of them choose not to report what happened to them. Mostly, that’s not because the survivors are making false claims or because what happened to them wasn’t a big deal. It’s because what happened is a very big deal, and our system is very poorly set up to handle it.

That means many survivors fear that if they come forward, they’ll only have to suffer repeated trauma at the hands of the legal system and have nothing to show for it afterward — and the data suggests that they’re not wrong to have this fear.

As Lopez wrote: “Part of this is the result of sexual assault victims fearing the repercussions of speaking out — the shaming, stigma, and retaliation, not to mention the difficulty of potentially reliving a traumatic event over and over in the course of an investigation.” Another factor is that “even when sexual assault survivors do come forward, police don’t appear to pursue their claims as vigorously as they would other crimes.”

We know this to be the case for survivors of sexual assault now, in 2018. In the early ’80s, the experience of coming forward with a sexual assault report was even worse — and the idea of coming forward with a story about an assault by an acquaintance at a party was nearly unthinkable.

The term “date rape” did not exist until the 1970s, and the earliest known usage is by feminist theorist Susan Brownmiller in her 1975 book Against Our Will. The first major national date rape case came in 1990, and it was met with widespread confusion and dismissal. Reportedly, when the victim told her father that she’d been raped by a date that she took back to her dorm room, he responded, “It would not have happened if you had not let him in your room.”

Four decades ago, outside of feminist circles, rape was understood to mean “stranger rape.” It was a violent assault by a masked man in a dark alley. Getting assaulted by an acquaintance at a party would have been considered “horseplay.” For those who weren’t affected by it — those who weren’t actually getting assaulted by their acquaintances at parties — it wasn’t considered scary. It was primarily considered funny.

There are multiple ’80s teen comedies that built ostensibly lighthearted comedic sequences out of the sheer hilarity of the idea of girls getting assaulted at a party — most notably, as Helaine Olen pointed out on Twitter, Sixteen Candles.

Sixteen Candles was celebrated for decades for the dreaminess of its romantic hero, Jake Ryan. Jake Ryan was the perfect dream boy of the ’80s. (“Jake is Christ, redeeming the evil sins of high school,” wrote Hank Stuever, tongue in cheek, in the Washington Post in 2004. “Jake as the ideal. Jake as the eternal belief in something better.”)

Jake Ryan also makes a speech about how his girlfriend Caroline — perhaps the closest thing this movie has to a villain — is so drunk that “I could violate her 10 different ways if I wanted to,” before passing her unconscious body over to another boy and saying, “Have fun.” When Caroline wakes up the next morning, she finds that while she was unconscious, the other boy had sex with her, which is to say that the boy raped her.

“I’m really sorry about getting you mixed up with that guy,” Jake tells Caroline the next day.

“Oh, it’s okay,” she says blithely. “He wasn’t too terrible.”

The Caroline subplot is a neat encapsulation of how mainstream culture thought about date rape in 1984. It is the girl’s fault. (Caroline is sexually aggressive and drunk, so therefore, she deserves what she gets.) It is acceptable because the boy is entitled to sex. (The boy who rapes Caroline is a nerd who is roundly ignored by other girls; his status is presented as a tragedy for the poor, unjustly overlooked nerd rather than the result of a sensible self-preservation strategy by the girls, and Caroline is presented as the recompense he is owed.) And after all, it is nothing worth complaining about.

If Caroline didn’t want to be raped, Sixteen Candles suggests, she wouldn’t have gone to a party and gotten drunk. If she didn’t want to be raped, she wouldn’t have been around a boy. If she didn’t want to be raped, she would have been a nice girl. Because she is not a nice girl, she has no grounds for complaint. And anyway, what happened to her definitely wasn’t rape.

For a teenage girl like Ford or like Ramirez, the culture around her would have reminded her that if a boy assaulted her at a party, it was her own fault, it wasn’t a big deal, and it certainly wasn’t assault. And if, two years after her alleged attack, she felt any doubts or regrets about her silence, she just had to look at what dreamy and perfect Jake Ryan thought.

As the #MeToo movement has gained steam over the past year, many — though by no means all — powerful people who have been the subject of sexual misconduct allegations have lost prestigious positions. Talk show host Charlie Rose and CBS chair Les Moonves were fired from the network. Democrat Al Franken resigned from the Senate under pressure from his party. Mario Batali stepped away from his restaurants.

Relatively few people accused as part of #MeToo have faced any sort of criminal prosecution in connection with the allegations. But critics of the movement routinely conflate the loss of an impressive job with imprisonment or even death. John Hockenberry, for instance, a former public radio host who was accused by multiple women of sexually harassing them or sending them inappropriate messages, recently wrote about his experience being “swept away” by the allegations in a Harper’s essay titled “Exile.”

Writing in Canada’s National Post, Christie Blatchford cast the #MeToo movement in even more dire language. “This is where we are now,” she wrote. “An execution, then no trial. Just an execution.”

Related to the idea that losing a job is akin to criminal conviction is the notion that those who’ve been accused as part of #MeToo are entitled to the same protections as criminal defendants, even if they are not facing criminal charges. Daphne Merkin, for instance, lamented in the New York Times in January that “due process is nowhere to be found” for men like Garrison Keillor, Jonathan Schwartz, Ryan Lizza, and Franken — all of whom had lost jobs as a result of #MeToo, but none of whom had faced any criminal proceedings.

Supporters of Kavanaugh and critics of Ford’s allegations have performed a similar kind of conflation. “This has been a drive-by shooting when it comes to Kavanaugh,” Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-SC) told reporters on Tuesday, before adding, “I’ll listen to the lady, but we’re going to bring this to a close.”

“Brett Kavanaugh’s Supreme Court nomination is in crisis,” writes Edward Morrissey at the Week. “So is our commitment to impartial justice and due process.”

But since he is not undergoing a criminal trial, Kavanaugh is not actually entitled to “due process” in a legal sense. The criminal court system in this country has a high bar for convictions, requiring prosecutors to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, because the consequences of a criminal conviction are so serious — the defendant can be deprived of liberty, or even of life.

For civil cases, the bar is lower; the potential penalties are less severe. And when what is at stake is the loss of a job — serious, certainly, but not the same as imprisonment, no matter what #MeToo critics say — then the high standards set up for criminal cases are not necessarily appropriate.

This is doubly true in the case of Kavanaugh, who stands not to lose a job he already holds but instead to lose the opportunity to serve on the country’s highest court. As Jeannie Suk Gersen, a professor at Harvard Law School, writes at the New Yorker, Kavanaugh “is petitioning the public for the privilege of holding one of the highest public offices in the country, and he should have to persuade us that he didn’t do what he is accused of doing.”

A protester holds up a sign during a rally in Washington, DC, against the confirmation hearing for Brett Kavanaugh on September 4, 2018. Andrew Caballero-Reynolds/AFP via Getty Images

No one is entitled to a seat on the Supreme Court. It’s certainly reasonable to investigate Ford’s account; she herself has called for such an investigation. But that doesn’t mean that if she can’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Kavanaugh assaulted her, the American people owe him a lifetime job deciding some of the country’s most difficult and consequential cases, including those that affect women’s right to make decisions about their bodies.

Many critics of #MeToo have lost sight of an important fact: Our legal protections in court exist to balance the rights of the accused with the rights of the victim and the interests of society. In other situations, we should also think about balancing those rights and interests. It’s important to consider the right of accused men to defend themselves, but it’s also important to consider the rights of survivors, and the right we all have to be led and governed by people who treat women — indeed, who treat all people — with respect.

Before Ramirez came forward, one of the recurring defenses of Kavanaugh was that since Ford was the only person accusing him of assault, it probably didn’t happen.

“If there’s one thing we’ve seen time and again, it’s that one allegation often triggers a cascade of additional claims,” wrote David French in the National Review. “There seem to be precious few men who engage in serious sexual misconduct just once. If this was the kind of behavior that Kavanaugh engaged in, then look for more people to come forward.”

In a separate article in the National Review Online, Mona Charen wrote, “Maybe [Kavanaugh’s soccer dad persona] is all a charade, but we should be loath to draw that conclusion without at least one more woman stepping up to recount a similar experience. Absent that, his whole adult life tips the scales far more than one uncorroborated accusation.”

This argument draws from data that suggests that most sexual predators are repeat offenders. Generally, few predators stop at one groping: They tend to consistently cross boundaries with women, even escalating their behavior over time. On that level, it’s totally reasonable to argue that if Kavanaugh really is a predator, then statistically, he should have more than one victim.

However, we’ve already seen that there are all kinds of structural and social barriers in place that prevent women from telling anyone that they’ve been assaulted. So if a person has assaulted multiple women, there’s plenty of reason for those women not to come forward. And that means that making multiple accusers a prerequisite of taking any accusation against Kavanaugh seriously feels less like a genuine attempt due diligence than like a balancing act: how many women’s word does it take to equal the word of one man?

It took more than 80 women going on the record about Harvey Weinstein to get criminal charges brought against him. Now that Ramirez has stepped forward, there are two women on the record about Kavanaugh.

How many women would it take, not to bring criminal charges against Brett Kavanaugh, but just to disqualify him from one of the most prestigious seats of power in the country?

For some of Kavanaugh’s supporters, it apparently would take more than two. Shortly after Ramirez’s story went live, National Review editor Rich Lowry pointedly quoted from a section of Ramirez’s New Yorker article that he found less than convincing on Twitter. “After six days of carefully assessing her memories…” he wrote. One woman’s word might not equal the word of a man, but two apparently doesn’t either.

The Kavanaugh scandal hit at roughly the same time that some of the more high-profile men accused of sexual misconduct last fall (including Louis C.K. and Matt Lauer) began to put out feelers to return to the center of public life, raising the question: What do these accused men need to do to be granted forgiveness?

As a result, Kavanaugh has found himself looped into this redemption narrative as well: Shouldn’t he, supporters demand, be given the chance to redeem himself for his youthful indiscretion? The fact that Kavanaugh has denied all of the accusations against him, so that officially, there is nothing for him to redeem himself from, has not prevented this narrative from taking off.

“We were taught to extend forgiveness when people demonstrate through their actions that they have changed,” argued Dennis Prager at National Review. “As a well-known ancient Jewish adage put it: ‘Where the penitent stands, the most righteous cannot stand.’ In other words, the highest moral achievement is moral improvement.”

The argument is, roughly, that Kavanaugh didn’t assault Ford, but if he did, he should still be able to redeem himself enough to participate in public life again.

This is a tricky bit of preemptive doublethink. Many people are happy to wrestle with the question of how men accused of sexual misconduct can redeem themselves and earn the public’s goodwill again. But if you believe that Kavanaugh assaulted someone as a teenager, and you also believe that he should be able to redeem himself enough to occupy a seat on the Supreme Court, surely the first step toward redemption would be for him to say that he did it?

This argument relies on the belief that no matter what Kavanaugh might ever have done, and no matter how he responds to it, he is owed a powerful and prestigious position in public life if he wants it. We’ve seen the same belief undergirding the great redemption debate of the past few months, as the famous men who lost their jobs last year begin to clamber back into the spotlight.

“One next step, among many steps [for #MeToo] has to be figuring out a way for the men who are caught up in it to find redemption,” wrote Michael Ian Black on Twitter following Louis C.K.’s first major public performance after admitting to sexual misconduct. C.K. has admitted to having masturbated in front of women without their consent and has acknowledged that this was wrong, but as far as we know, he has not done anything to make restitution to his victims or to assure the public that he will not hurt women again in the future.

“Nobody has quite figured out what should happen in cases like [Jian Ghomeshi’s],” said now-former New York Review of Books editor Ian Buruma after publishing an essay by Ghomeshi, “where you have been legally acquitted but you are still judged as undesirable in public opinion, and how far that should go, how long that should last, and whether people should make a comeback or can make a comeback at all.”

Ghomeshi spent his entire essay explaining how, if you think about it, he is the real victim of his situation. He spared seemingly little concern for the 24 women he was accused of assaulting, with behavior going as far as nonconsensual beating and choking. (Ghomeshi was legally cleared of all charges after signing a peace bond and apologizing to one of his accusers.)

When this argument is applied again and again to men who have shown no interest in atoning for their actions, it begins to sound less like a call for restorative justice and more like a cheap and easy attempt to score a second chance for people who will not put in the work to earn one. The argument is less “everyone deserves a shot at a second chance” and more “the people I like deserve a shot at a second chance without working for it because they want it.”

The redemption fallacy is converging on the Kavanaugh case along with all of the rest of the rape fallacies that the #MeToo movement has painstakingly dragged out and reexamined because they are all very effective. They all disguise the fact that our culture does not actually think that sexual assault is a big deal or that sexual predators should be punished.

Anita Hill testifies on her charges of sexual assault by then-Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas before the Senate Judiciary Committee on October 14, 1991. Laura Patterson/CQ Roll Call via Getty Images

Our culture mostly thinks that sexual predators are entitled to do whatever they want with women’s bodies and to go wherever they please — including to the White House and the Supreme Court. And even if they momentarily have to face consequences for their actions, our culture mostly thinks that sexual predators should get to return to positions of power, where they will continue to make decisions for the rest of us.

The #MeToo movement has already succeeded in bringing to light the many problems with the way we talk about sexual harassment and assault in America. Since women came forward to report their experiences with Harvey Weinstein, we’ve seen an unprecedented public conversation around how high-profile people (most — but not all — of them men) abuse their power, and how difficult it can be for survivors to tell their stories.

One recent example: In response to President Trump’s tweet claiming that Ford would have reported right away if her charges were real, survivors began sharing their own experiences under the hashtag #WhyIDidntReport. Alyssa Milano, who helped kick off the current #MeToo movement with her tweet in October, wrote that she had not reported her assaults, and she encouraged others to add their experiences.

Hey, @realDonaldTrump, Listen the fuck up.

I was sexually assaulted twice. Once when I was a teenager. I never filed a police report and it took me 30 years to tell me parents.

If any survivor of sexual assault would like to add to this please do so in the replies. #MeToo https://t.co/n0Aymv3vCi

— Alyssa Milano (@Alyssa_Milano) September 21, 2018

The public conversation has been groundbreaking in its own right, making some survivors feel comfortable coming forward after years or decades of silence. But we have yet to see whether the movement can eliminate the myths and fallacies about rape and harassment it has brought to light.

What happens next in Kavanaugh’s confirmation process will be a test of that question. Nearly 30 years ago, under very similar circumstances, Anita Hill testified that Clarence Thomas, then a Supreme Court nominee, had subjected her to repeated sexual harassment. We saw her shamed in the press and on the floor of the Senate. We saw Senate Democrats fail to investigate her claims as aggressively as they could have. (Joe Biden is still apologizing for his role in the proceedings.) We saw the nominee get the last word, in a statement televised for the American people in primetime on a Friday. We saw him join the Supreme Court.

Since then, we’ve seen the rise of #MeToo. Whether things are different this time around — whether Ford gets a full and fair hearing, and whether Congress and the American people give her words the same weight they’d give a man’s — will say a lot about how far we’ve come and how far we have yet to go.

Original Source -> How the Kavanaugh allegations became a test for #MeToo

via The Conservative Brief

[superblyjovialtheorist-blog]

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I am 16 years old, living in California. How much is collision insurance for the Suzuki GS500F? The minimal insurance possible?""

CA DUI expungement affect insurance rates?

I received a DUI back in July of 2001, and it has been affecting my insurance rate ever since. Under the new DUI laws the DUI I received (a misdemeanor) will be on my record until 2011. I qualify for expungement of this record. My question is if I do expunge my DUI will my auto insurance company be able to see my dmv record and will my insurance company be allowed to charge me the same rate?""

Will the eclipse GSX make my insurance more than the GS?

Ive been trying to to see if the insurance is cheaper on the GS than the GSX because i dont want to get ripped just because it has a turbo. But i also dont want to buy the GS and then have to buy a whole bunch of new stuff just to put a turbo on it.

""Buying a car, when to purchase insurance?

If i decided to go to a used car dealer and buy a car when do i buy insurance? Can i drive it home then buy insurance or do i need to get the insurance before i drive it off the lot?

Problem with insurance?

I got in an accident that I am not in fault. Basically I was stopped at the intersection behind the red lights. A car from opposite side ran the red light hit the crossing car and the second car spin and hit my car. I have full caoverage and fixed my car with my insurance and have my insurance claim the money from the first driver insurance company. I rent a car under my coverage and also pay $500 deductable to fix my car. Now is almost a month pass and I keep calling my insurance to know if they got paid by the other insurance and requesting to pay me back for rental and the 500. My insurance is telling me that they may not be able to get ever thing they might be get only the cost of the fixing my car. What should I do? Should I sue my insurance or not?

Universal Health Insurance?

I am conservative but I go agree that we need universal health insurance. But I haven't studied too much in depth on it. In your eyes (both liberal and conservatives answer please) are the pros and cons of unversalizing healthcare? How would universal health care work for people with diseases like diabetes, cancer, AIDS? What about people who have not been diagnosed with diseases, and tend to only see a doctor when they are sick? What about preventive care (aka mammogram for women, prostate check for men)? What are experimental medical procedures and experimental medications? What about fertility clinics for women who cannot become pregnant? What about anything else I forgot? And please, no arguing, this is just opinions.""

Insurance cancellation question?

I cancelled my old insurance with Access about 2-3 weeks ago and I was told I'd be receiveing and reimburstment check back from them since the policy had only been active for about 2 months. What's to average wait time on one?

what is the full coverage insurance for motorcycle include? ?

for California and for finance company requirement

""I'm 24, I'm young and healthy. PPO or HMO policy?""

I'm 24, I'm young and healthy. PPO or HMO policy?""

Getting private insurance?

my husband had blue cross blue shield insurance at his job and im halfway through a pregnancy but now we've lost it anyone know of any cheap but good insurance companies for a family ....growing

How does an Insurance Claim work?

How does an insurance claim work. Let's say I get up one morning walk outside and my car has been stolen? The police come out and take a report, then they leave. How long would it take insurance cover this and how much would they cover? For example, if I have a car that I'm financing that is worth $24,500.00 dollars that had full insurance coverage. Basically, how does it work? Since it's being financed, I'm sure the insurance company would pay out the remaining balanced owed on the car to satisfy the loan with the finance company but what happens to me afterwards? Lets say I have $100,000 dollars in coverage that covers me in case of theft or something like that. Being that the car was fully covered and insurance was able to pay back the loan, would they give me the money to buy a new car at equal or face value of the car that was stolen? Insurance is so friggin complicated...if someone could explain the process to me I'd appreciate it.""

What is the cheapest insurance for a Full-Coverage 2009 Hyundai Sonata?

i just need a cheap insurance for a 2009 Hyundai Sonata.. moving out to my boyfriends house and looking for something thats going to save me some money please anything will help :) Thanks

Auto Insurance rates?

Is there a web site where I can see how a particular type of car rates for insurance vs another car?

""Question for Daycare center/summer camp owners, how much does your daycare insurance cost each month?""

I am looking into starting a summer camp type daycare next summer. I am writing up a cost summary and I have no clue what the average price for insurance is. I am looking for like the insurance that covers injuries, accidents, accident while on field trips/bus and like when you get sued for these injuries and stuff. I do not need to average cost of insurance for the building or vehicles. Any help as to how much is an average cost, or what the correct title to what I am looking for is, I have found it to be called just Daycare insurance, is there another name or does it depend on the company? Also what is your insurance price dependent on (# of kids, size of facility, age of the kids, etc.). Any help is greatly appreciated, thank you so much.""

Can I get car insurance without a valid driver's license in the state of Delaware?

1. My License was suspended due to an ERROR that involves the Division of Child Support Enforcement... 2. My Ex-Husband said he will pay for my car insurance if I transfer the car title & registration into my name (knowing that my license is temporarily suspended). 3. * My Ex is a Wilmington Police Officer in the state of Delaware. * 4. I believe my Ex knows that I will not be able to get car insurance (due to the fact that he is a Police Officer), therefore, that is why he is willing to pay for it. 5. Any help will be greatly appreciated!... Thank You!!!""

Where can I find affordable car insurance for a kit car?

I recently purchased a car that was given a kit car title instead of a rebuilt title and now I have no clue who will insure it! I live in Florida and the cars title lists it as a 2006 Neon. Any info would be greatly appreciated!!

Auto Body shop quote and Insurance quote?

My insurance adjuster came out and cut me a check for 1,200. The check issued is a fair price.The shop i trust gave me a quote of 1,300 which means I will only have to pay 100 out of pocket. My deductible is 500. Do i still have to pay 500 even though the check will cover most of the expenses?""

disablity insurance self employed quote

disablity insurance self employed quote

What are the cheapest high risk car insurance companies? I have 2 DWI's!?

I recently got my 2nd DWI. I am looking for some of the cheaper high risk auto insurace companies that I can get in Missouri. Thanks for your help

How much would this car cost?

Hello, I was wondering hypothetically speaking, if I bought the new 2012 Ford Mustang GT. Im under 18 (I would use my moms credit). And how much is insurance on a sports car when you under 18? Im looking for a range for the insurance. I know people say I can't give you an answer because of blah blah blah get a quote. Like I was told like 150 a month? I live in a town in Northern Ohio low crime rate. You people think it would be like 100-300 a month?""

If you can't afford health insurance for your family and the government says you make too much...?

then what do you suggest? What if your family has too much income according to the government for your kids to even qualify for Medicaid or the low cost options (CHIP)? My husband makes $48,000 a year before taxes are taken out. While that does pay the bills and keep food on the table, we can't do a $800 monthly insurance policy and our kids are denied Medicaid and CHIP (we make $300 too much per month, of all things). We pay the necessities. We don't over spend and we don't go out and spend money on entertainment more than a few times yearly and even then it's cheap entertainment. We do what we can, but health insurance just isn't going to happen for us unless one of two things happens: 1- my husband gets a major pay raise or 2- the government changes their income requirements (don't see that happening). So what do you suggest for my family? We do what we can. We use our tax returns each year for medical expenses and bill pay offs. If a major medical expense comes up, we pay it down little by little. We do use the public health department when we can. But bottom line is that we can't afford insurance. Period. So, for all of you who think this is completely unacceptable, what do you suggest we do?""

Which of these cars would be good for a first driver? Which one would have the cheapest insurance?

1. 2005 Ford Five Hundred 2. 2000-2005 Jeep Wrangler 3. 2000-2005 Honda Accord 4. 2007 Dodge Caliber 5. 2004-2006 Mazda 3 6. 2006-2007 Volkswagon Jetta Please Help!!!!

Cheap Car Insurance For 17 Year Olds Male ?

Hello .. am trying to get insured on a corsa 1.2 sxi and i am 17 years old .. ive been on go compare, moneysupermarket etc and they want 4045 grand a year with pass plus :/ can anyone help me out and get me a list of cheap insurance companys :)""

Whats a good health insurance company?

One that is affordable, has good coverage, good selection of choices? Fair, good quality, what do you recommend ?""

Do you have health insurance?

if so, How much is it per month? How old are you? What kind of deductable do you have? Feel free to answer also if you do not have insurance, also, do you support obamacare?""

How much should I be paying for car insurance?

I live in the Philadelphia metropolitan area, although not in the city itself. I'm 25, and I've had my license since I was 18. I've been in one accident, and the other driver was ruled at fault. I've had no traffic tickets. I have a two year college degree and good credit. I drive a 2006 Chevy Cobalt that will be paid off in August. It's currently under my parents' name and on my parents' insurance policy. Once it's paid off, they're supposed to sign it over to me. (I'm reimbursing them for the car and insurance.) My parents might be ripping me off on the insurance costs; my father bought a second truck around the time of my 25th birthday, and there hasn't been any drop in the policy costs. How much can I expect to pay for a policy in my name only with the car in my name only?""

Can I cancel my auto insurance because I am leaving the country for 3 months?

I am leaving the USA for 3 months so I was wondering if it would be possible to cancel my auto insurance for these months and not pay the monthly premium. I will not be driving the ...show more

Any suggestions for a first car that's affordable and safe for a 16 year old?

I'm 16 years old and much in need of a car... as you can imagine money is sort of an issue. I need a car around or under $3,000 that works and will get me from place to place. A car that looks decent is a plus too. If anyone has an idea of how much insurance would cost monthly for a car around that price with a student grade discount also, please tell me. Any ideas on a car or a way to save up some more money so i can get something above 3,000? Don't be smart @sses and tell me to get a job because I'm really busy with school and sports...thanks""

""525i First car, how much insurance?""

Hey, Im currently trying to get my driving lisence and I was thinking of buying a BMW 525i 1995 model as my first car, how much will the insurance cost approximatly? i know it will be expensive, but how expensive?""

I need cheap & affordable health insurance.?

Actually im in search a cheap and affordable for my gf. she's working fulltime/overtime from 2 differents jobs with the annual income of $16,000, but she doesn't get any company benefits... She has been sick alot lately and im really worried for her, especially when she's only 20 year old living her step parents. Her step parents got 2 kids of their own so they totally ignore her needs, so it's up to me to do my best to support her. She's not qualify with medi-cal because her step parents make alots of money. Can someone please provide me some information about buying affordable health insurence for the low income? possibly some link there? Thank you""

Can I have both employer provided insurance and obamacare insurance?

Can I have both employer provided insurance and obamacare insurance?

I was in a car accident and the insurance company wont pay me.?

I was rear-ended back in March of 2012. I was at a complete stop on the freeway and the guy hit me going about 30 mph. The force of him hitting me pushed me into the person in front of me, and that pushed them into the person in front of them. There was no visible damage to the cars in front of me and they left without leaving or taking any information. Now my issue is: When I tried calling the person's insurance company, the insurance adjuster told me that because there were 2 other people involved and they did not leave any information that they cannot give me coverage because the guy who hit me has a very low coverage rate and if the other two people called to get money they wouldn't be able to pay it. And that I have to wait 2 years before I can recieve any payment for the damage to my car. I did not have insurance at the time of the accident so my current insurance company will not help me with this issue. Please let me know what I can do! I live in California by the way.""

What would be an estimate for insurance on a 2WD silverado for a 16 year old male living in California?

I recently got my license and am looking at insurances. Can someone find me a quote (or at least give me an idea) for a 16 year old male living in California. The vehicle would be a 2WD 2006 Silverado. I also have a clean record if that helps at all. Thanks!

Does insurance compaines cover the person or the car at fault?

The girl that parks right next to me in my apartment swiped the side of my car. she is now claiming her friends park her car sometimes, but she knows she didn't hit my car. Personally her car is her responsibility and I feel like even if a friend of hers was parking when the incident happend, she is responsible for damages because its her car. Would she be responsible? Can I take her to court if she doesn't have insurance? And if she does have insurance would they cover this? I also have good pics.""

How much will health insurance cost for a 21 year old with no preexisting conditions?

I never had to pay for health insurance (part of family benefit package) so now I'm thinking of getting one. How much will it cost? I am healthy, work in an office (not dangerous), attend university (are there student discounts?), I am athletic,(healthy weight), I live in Los Angeles the only health issue my family has is that my dad is diabetic (but he got it when he was around 50 so i don't think it's heritable)] I need an insurance to only cover me in case something happens and I need emergency care (surgeries, hospital stay etc.) approximate numbers will be appreciated.. thank you""

I am 16 and need tips on insurance and a car....

I am 16 years old and I have no job currently but I am getting one this week... it is half way through summer holidays and at first I was just going to drive my dads car cause insurance alone for me is 3800$ year because my dad is a single parent. But going into grade 11 I want to drive a car and I seen a beater for about 500$ volkswagen still running good, but Is it true that you need to put down a quarter or half of the insurance to start off? What do you think I should do about any of this ..... thanks""

Car crash damage my insurance rights?

my 2009 vauxhall insignia was hit from behind sitting at a car park space in a supermarket,there is substantial amount of damage to the right hand arch right above the back wheel,the back bumper is also broken,it was hit that hard it was pushed onto the car park space in front of it,i believe what saved it from any further damage was the driver of the other car hit the wheel of my car which i guess cushioned the blow.i have went today and got estimates for the repair which is in the region of 2500 pounds though could be more as they have to put it on some sort of machine to see if the wheel alignment is of,the repair shops say what they will do is cut the arch out and put a new arch in and spray it but no matter what its never going to be the same.the reason they do it like this is because the whole back of my car runs to the front without any splits. Im not happy about this being done like this as this car today is worth around 10,000 pounds which i pay for and dont want it patched up,i would prefer if the other guys insurance wrote it off so that i can get an original car which i first had,is there anyway i can get this to be wrote of and claim it of the guys insurance,i have heard of depreciation money if my car has been hit but this is still not going to compensate me for my car being patched up. thanks""

Looking for some cheap full coverage car insurance.?

Looking for some cheap full coverage car insurance.?

What is a good car for a 17 year old. and what is the cheapest insurance?

What is a good car for a 17 year old. and what is the cheapest insurance?

Will I be dropped by my insurance due to suspension of license?

I recently had my California license suspended due to a failure to appear in court (yes I'm an idiot). Will my insurance drop me because of this? I am still paying my car off as well. If my insurance drops me, will that affect my car loan? Any help at all is greatly appreciated.""

How much would insurance on a v6 01-06 mustang be for a 16 year old boy?

i know MPG isnt that good but id have a good job. I make straight A's and i know that counts as something and then id be taking drivers ed.

When You Buy Car Insurance On The Internet..?

You know when you buy Car Insurance, is it immediate effect? or do you have to wait a certain amount of time until you can go out and drive?""

Would insurance for a 16 year old boy be cheaper on a 4-door 03 oldsmobile alero or a 2-door 06 chevy cobalt?

we have a 2003 2-door Oldsmobile Alero and a 2006 2-door Chevrolet Cobalt, the alero is automatic and the cobalt is stick shift. they said i can have whichever insurance is cheapest on. idk if this helps but they are both paid off""

disablity insurance self employed quote

disablity insurance self employed quote

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-much-car-insurance-teens-megan-valenzuela/"

[sarahburness]

How Creativity Creates Mindfulness, Happiness, and Peace

“Mindful and creative, a child who has neither a past, nor examples to follow, nor value judgments, simply lives, speaks and plays in freedom.” ~Arnaud Desjardins

No human being lives without experiencing the duality of life.

Good and bad. Love and hate. Life and death. Acceptance and rejection. Success and failure. Joy and jealousy. Compassion and judgment.

So why do we spend so much time trying to pretend that it’s bad to experience all of it, the good, the bad, and the ugly?

Even our weather men and women tell us it’s a going to be a bad day because it’s raining or snowing. I mean, come on! The earth rejoices when it rains; snow is a natural part of our eco-system.

Why do we try so hard to suppress the difficult feelings and experiences in our lives? Because our brains are wired that way? Because we were traumatized? Because our parents, teachers, and God knows who else told us to?

Does it really matter, as we heal, who, where, and why?

I remember the first time I heard the quote “Thoughts are things.”

I knew instantly that if that was true, I was in trouble because I had a lot of thoughts I wasn’t proud of and never voiced out loud. I was taught at a very young age not to “rock the boat” or be “too dramatic” and the worst, “Your mom is unhappy because of you kids.” Yikes!

So, when things got bad at home or at school or at church, they got stuffed. In me. In my heart. In my gut and in my head.

On the outside I looked fine. Cute, bubbly, artistic, smart. But on the inside I was scared, confused, and anxious, and did not have a clue how to interact comfortably with people.

I tried really hard (unsuccessfully) to fit in.

Luckily, I had the outlet of art. I drew, I painted, I sewed, I made batiks—whatever I could get my hands on in the art department at the Catholic High school I went to, or whatever my mom would let me touch at home. She was an amazing seamstress, but, with eight kids, had neither the time nor patience to teach me. Luckily I’m old enough that we had “Home Ed” in high school, so I learned to sew well enough that my mom would let me use her sewing machine.

Being creative got me through high school and into college with no major consequences. I wasn’t insecure, lonely, or in need of an outlet. I didn’t drink too much, I wasn’t promiscuous, and I didn’t do drugs.

Fast forward a couple decades and I can tell you that eventually, I did experience the consequences of trying to drink my thoughts and feelings away. 

I stayed pretty creative as long as I could, but, as life goes, I grew up, got married, had kids, and started to work.

The turning point was when I lost my family of origin after some dramatic, painful events that I've chosen not to discuss publicly. (I learned the hard way that going over and over painful past events is not helpful to my healing.)

I could not deal with what was going on inside of me.

I started to drink more and more to squash what I was feeling.

Within a few years, the addictive gene in me eventually cried out “GOT YA!” and I was lost.

And this is what led me to the finding peace through being creative again. My crisis. My breakdown.

An intervention with beautiful, sober women, who didn’t know me but wanted to see me find myself again led me to being creative again.

These women had been learning how to draw and paint from a friend who eventually became my sponsor.

When I saw what these women had painted, with no artistic experience, it triggered something good inside me—the memory of being creative. (Yes, people, we can have good triggers!)

“Whatever this is, I’m in!” I said, and I was on my way home. Home to my true self.

They introduced me to an art form I had never heard of before, mandalas. I had no idea what a “mandala” was. Never heard of it and didn’t care. The mandala teacher had a studio full of every art supply you can imagine and space for many women to create. I was in heaven!

As I drew and painted my first mandala, my creative mind took over and the crazy thoughts in my head stopped.

I didn’t realize it then, but being creative again forced me to be what we all strive for when we think of being mindful: calm, serene, awake, and aware. 

My goal was to have fun and be creative again, but what I got was far more than that.

I reactivated the divine creative energy we are all born with.

When I’m engaged in any creative activity, my “monkey mind” settles down. My inner critic has little to say. I’m not regretting the past or fearing the future. I’m in the here and now. I’m centered, relaxed, and rejuvenated.

I got really curious—what’s was going on?

Why had engaging in creative endeavors become so significant in my life? Why did it feel like that had been the single most important thing in my healing (after being sober, that is)?

The Interconnectedness of Creativity and Mindfulness

So began my research into creativity and mindfulness.

I discovered that Carl Jung used art therapy with his patients. He encouraged the spontaneous drawing of mandalas. He believed that by just letting his patients draw with no interference, they would heal things in their psyche without even knowing it.

“Most mandalas have an intuitive, irrational character and, through their symbolical content, exert a retroactive influence on the unconscious. They therefore possess a “magical” significance, like icons, whose possible efficacy was never consciously felt by the patient.” ~Carl Yung

I stumbled upon a new book about the power of doodling called The Doodle Revolution, by Sunni Brown. In the book, Sunni cites a lot of very famous people who used doodling to help them think better and retain information. She challenges all the parents, teachers, and bosses who say, “Stop doodling! Get serious! Grow up!”

“There is NO SUCH THING as a mindless doodle,” according to Sunni.

CNN reports creative activities impact the body in a way similar to meditation. It’s like yoga for your brain.

This was also about the time that “adult coloring” became a billion-dollar industry. Why are millions of adults coloring, I wondered?

The more research I did, the more obvious it became.

Our society is craving sanity. Coloring reminds us all of the days of childhood when it was okay to pick up crayons and zone out for a bit. Having “adult” coloring books has given millions permission to stop, color, and find peace.

What I personally experienced while being creative was mindfulness; my brain was quiet yet active brain while painting, collaging, sewing, drawing, coloring, baking, and crafting.

Being creative somehow taught me the skill, if you will, of paying attention to me, of being mindful.

As it turns out, when you are being creative, you are using both your creative self and your analytical self, your left and right brain hemispheres at the same time. This not only quiets your mind, it engages it.

You are creating without angst. It kind of just happens.

My creative self was reawakened. I was allowing myself to be me, to feel me.

Having something creative “in the wings” became important, something to look forward to. Downtime became fun instead of something I dreaded.

This is not say that being mindful instantly became an easy process for all the other times when I was not doing something creative.

Having gone through some pretty traumatic years, it was “normal” for thoughts of dread, unworthiness, sadness, and shame to rumble through my mind, like the undercurrent of a river when I was engaged in mundane activities.

Being alone cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, doing bills, and working was still wrought with angst and despair.

I began to yearn for that calm, serene mindfulness I felt while being creative at all times in my life. So I engaged in more creative activities and hung out with people who were on the same path of healing. I began to create a new “family” of people who supported and loved me. 

I found and became active in a spiritual home. I started to naturally attract friends on the same path of becoming more creative, more mindful, more spiritual, more compassionate and successful in all areas of life.

I read The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle and learned how important it is to notice it all—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

“Wherever you are, be there totally. If you find your here and now intolerable and it makes you unhappy, you have three options: remove yourself from the situation, change it, or accept it totally. If you want to take responsibility for your life, you must choose one of those three options, and you must choose now. Then accept the consequences.” ~Eckhart Tolle

Wow, it’s okay to have “bad” thoughts. It’s actually normal. It’s hard. And I learned that it’s my responsibility alone how to handle it.

I’ve subscribed to helpful blogs like TinyBuddha.com and mindful.org.

I started doing Bikram (hot) yoga.

Ninety minutes in a hot room doing yoga brought up a lot of difficult memories. But I stayed with it. I stayed in the room even though I was terrible and even though I would sometimes cry during the thirty-second rest periods between poses as I processed memories of hating my body and feeling ashamed and remembered being teased for being fat.

I began meditating.

At first I could only meditate with music or a guided meditations for five to ten minutes. I meditated like this sporadically for years.

Just recently I started meditating in the morning and before bed at the suggestion of my life coach. She suggested two to five minutes, silently, in the lotus position. I said, “I can do at least ten I’m sure.” Much to my surprise, ten minutes was easy so I progressed to fifteen, then twenty, then thirty.

I am now meditating for thirty minutes, alone, no music, sitting in the lotus position (as best I can) twice a day. This I consider a miracle. Meditating like this has also allowed more memories to gently come up and dissipate. Wow.

Being mindful is not always an easy road, but it’s a much better path than trying to stuff painful memories, feelings, and thoughts down. 

It’s much easier than trying to drink them away.

I know this to be true.

Being mindful has helped me be comfortable with my thoughts. Okay, that’s not always true—I still sometimes get angry and want them to go away, but I don’t dwell as much, I don’t lash out as much, and I am most definitely a happier, more peaceful person.

The Process of Being Creative Triggers Memories—Good Ones

If you activate your divine creative energy, you are activating the positive, shiny aspects of yourself. You remember happier times. You feel accomplished. You’re happy with yourself. You smile more (and people smile back)!

As you then become more mindful, perhaps through yoga and meditation, the difficult thoughts and feelings are balanced with the positive, creative, and happy aspects of you.

You take responsibility for your life. It’s fun to be with you.

You realize that you are the person you’ve been waiting for.

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from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-creativity-leads-to-mindfulness-happiness-and-peace/