#but it also started to spring up again around the hiatus period

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer” idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

masterlist

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[blossoms-phan]

I am home from Berlin, and wanted your opinion on a heated debate that was happening in Berlin, that keeps creeping into my mind. People had strong opinions. Everyone was saying how nice Phil was, and how much they loved him and one person started saying that it made them sad as they thought Phil was very insecure in himself, that he saw himself as somehow less than Dan, and that Phil worried that without Dan, we wouldn't love him and he would sort of fade away. Argument went onto Phil is accepting less than he would ideally want in a personal relationship because he somehow thinks he is undeserving of Dan, but he takes what he can get. This all started because people were talking about Joey Graceffa and his skin cancer diagnosis and then led to the comments he made about Dan and how disrespectful that would be if Dan and Phil were a thing. This was pre show, so not sure if after the show people changed their options, but it was interesting, even if I don't agree with all of it.

Sorry if my English is not good. Thank you.

im so fascinated by this apparent conversation and i've been trying to figure out how to respond to this bc idk if i have a good one?

first of all the fact that this was pre show is interesting to me bc one of the most compelling parts of the show/script to me so far that there hasn't been a lot of discussion on (we're only a few shows in im sure it'll come up more/we've been a little distracted by other things lol) is the part where it gets "real" and phil talks about how he felt like he was making content that's not as "important" and babysitting us during the kind of hiatus period/when dan was doing other stuff (sorry for the paraphrasing i haven't listened to it since antwerp so idk if this is entirely accurate) and combined with the sort of soft launch of this bit in pizza mukbang 2 (which is more of just an open conversation/moment of honesty) i find it really sad that phil ever felt that way, obviously he felt comfortable putting it into the show but i think it's less about insecurity bc phil is clearly more confident and comfortable with who he is now, i think he just... enjoys doing this stuff with dan? and there's nothing wrong with that, it doesn't mean that we would love phil any less or that he would "fade away" if it was just him doing all this but like phil's said and dan has echoed many times as well they just like working together and having fun and making it an extension of the rest of their intertwined lives so. idk i have nothing to say to that "argument" really i couldn't agree less they are both so lucky to have each other and they love each other so much. i had not heard about joey graceffa that's awful but idk yeah that comment was a little out of pocket but it was also clearly a joke "if dnp were a thing" i mean they are lol everyone knows no one has a real chance with either of them but yeah. other berlin goers i'd love to hear if any of you caught onto this conversation i did not know this was the kind of stuff people were talking about at shows i would not want to participate in this kind of debate right before seeing them irl but that's just me ig

[buddieisgoingcanon2024]

Isolation is cult tactics 101. Like remember that Valentine’s post that first really exposed the problems in their relationship where C basically said “you changed and it’s pretty hard for me to still love you.” Like in other words R wasn’t really down with some of her ideals anymore. And then we get this period of Chrysti following all these conspiracy theory mommy blogs…you know the usual there is poison in all food etc, etc and then she starts deep diving into this whole Church born again faith thing and you start seeing her follow these things like how to home school your kids which again is cult like behaviour. Meanwhile R is not really down for that stuff and still has a support system in place with family and friends and coworkers/crew and he’s trying to make it work with her but also getting ready to leave if necessary. He does end up leaving and it’s a period of silence and blocking on social media…and no actual confirmation from either side about the article. Suddenly we see this reconciliation going and everyone is like “why dude you literally left a toxic relationship…why go back.” Maybe he did have to go back for the kids because of Chrysti and her cult like stuff where he didn’t want her being the sole influence and that she probably threw the custody word at him which is why he had to literally go along with all of her stuff and the random ass “vacation” and it would explain the whole him looking like a zombie situation, and why slowly he is becoming more and more isolated from his people because she constantly uses the threat of custody against him and so he has to do the “if you can’t beat them join” mentality at the moment. And that there is evidence that she has a certain degree of control over his social media. It’s also very interesting that as usual she was super active with posting about that trip with R and now that it’s closer to his bday we suddenly get a degree of silence/low activity…only for R to suddenly have something else problematic come up on his account so close to the date…like her sabotaging to a degree would not be surprising in the least. And despite his bro having been busy with his own stuff it is odd that he’s suddenly MIA, as well as the bestie Gentry and during a hiatus we normally have R hanging a bit with Kenny and it’s actually surprising to see that he didn’t go down to the picket line with Aisha as it seems like something they would do together and he was actually getting along and hanging out a bit with Brian Micheal Smith from lonestar and I know that a lot of people aren’t big fans of Julian Works from Lonestar but we don’t even see him popping up in R’s circle anymore when he was at the start of the spring. It was also clear that in early spring Oliver was being a support to him before the breakup and he’s not around either. Instead he’s completely surrounded by Chrysti’s people who are made to look like mutual friends but most likely creates a huge echo chamber of her wack ass ideals. And any move R makes Chrysti drops the custody word. The man is the definition of trapped and she is going to ruin him before the end as payback for leaving her. Anyways how is all that for a conspiracy theory Chrysti?

I like this theory. I too think it’s been C doing the following and liking on Ryan’s behalf.

[gabrielkahane]

Heirloom

Short form:

Heirloom (concerto for piano & chamber orchestra) premieres with Jeffrey Kahane & the Kansas City Symphony under the baton of Michael Stern, September 24-26. Tickets are here.

I’ll play a solo show at Rockwood Music Hall on Tuesday, September 28th. My dear friend and colleague, Johnny Gandelsman, will open with a solo violin set. Johnny’s on at 7pm, I’ll go on around 8pm. Tickets are $20 and are here. This will be my only NYC appearance this year!

Applications for Luna Lab with Oregon Symphony are now open! If you are a female-identifying, non-binary, or gender-nonconforming composer between the ages of 12 and 18, and live in Portland or Southeast Washington, please apply for your chance to study for a year with the incredible Nathalie Joachim!

Long form:

Several years ago, my friend Eric Jacobsen started pestering me about writing a piano concerto for my father, Jeffrey Kahane. It was an intriguing (and natural!) idea, but I kept putting it off in large part because I’ve never felt comfortable with large-scale instrumental composition. I think of myself first and foremost as a songwriter, and while I love to write for instruments in the context of vocal music, I feel almost entirely unmoored when voice & text are taken away. But Eric was persistent, and, well, here we are. Next month, the Kansas City Symphony will open its season with Heirloom, after which the piece will be heard in the coming years in performances presented by the co-commissioners who’ve rounded out the consortium: the Oregon Symphony, the Aspen Music Festival, the Los Angeles Chamber Orchestra, the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra, and Eric’s Brooklyn-based group, The Knights.

Heirloom is an aural family scrapbook, exploring, in its three movements, a series of inheritances. I’m incredibly excited to witness its birth September 24-26 in Kansas City. You can find the program note I’ve written to accompany its premiere at the end of this email.

The following Tuesday, September 28th, I will play my first concert in New York City since our lives were individually and collectively turned upside down by the pandemic. Most of the evening will be devoted to a new slate of songs drawn from thirty-one composed in October of 2020, the final month of a year-long, complete internet hiatus. Johnny Gandelsman, violinist of Brooklyn Rider, opens with what promises to be a ravishing solo set. Tickets are here.

Lastly, in 2019, I took on the position of Creative Chair with the Oregon Symphony. I’m very pleased to announce that this season, we’ve begun a partnership with Luna Lab, the brainchild of composers Missy Mazzoli and Ellen Reid. Luna Composition Lab offers mentorship and professional training to female-identifying, non-binary, and gender-nonconforming composers between the ages of 12 and 18. We at the Oregon Symphony are incredibly grateful to partner with Luna Lab to offer one student a year-long period of mentorship with Grammy-nominated flutist, composer, and songwriter, Nathalie Joachim, who happens to be one of my all-time favorite humans, and who will be giving the world premiere of Suite from Fanm D’ayiti with the Oregon Symphony in the spring of 2022. What makes this even more amazing is that another all-time favorite human, the violinist Pekka Kuusisto, will be playing Nico Muhly’s concerto Shrink, on the same program. Oh, but we were talking about Luna Lab. If you or someone you know wants to apply, you can find more info & the application form here; you just have to submit one score & a recording (MIDI is acceptable). I will be reviewing submissions along with Nathalie. Applications are due on September 7th.

Obligatory capitalism appeal: I know it’s been a while since I’ve put out new music. It’s coming. I promise. In the meantime, may I remind you about this gorgeous limited edition vinyl record?

That’s it for now, folks. Stay safe. Try to lead with love, even when it’s hard.

All my best,

Gabriel

Heirloom program note:

Tucked away in the northernmost reaches of California sits the Bar 717 Ranch, which, each summer, is transformed into a sleep-away camp on 450 acres of wilderness, where, in 1967, two ten-year-old kids named Martha and Jeffrey met. Within a couple of years, they were playing gigs back in L.A. in folk rock bands with names like “Wilderness” and “The American Revelation.” They fell in love, broke up, fell in love again. By the time I was a child, my mom and dad had traded the guitars, flutes, and beaded jackets for careers in clinical psychology and classical music respectively. But they remained devoted listeners of folk music. Growing up, it was routine for dad to put on a Joni Mitchell record when he took a break from practicing a concerto by Mozart or Brahms. That collision of musical worlds might help to explain the creative path I’ve followed, in which songs and storytelling share the road with the Austro-German musical tradition.

That tradition comes to me through the music I heard as a child, but also through ancestry. My paternal grandmother, Hannelore, escaped Germany at the tail end of 1938, arriving in Los Angeles in early 1939 after lengthy stops in Havana and New Orleans. For her, there was an unspeakable tension between, on the one hand, her love of German music and literature, and, on the other, the horror of the Holocaust. In this piece, I ask, how does that complex set of emotions get transmitted across generations? What do we inherit, more broadly, from our forebears? And as a musician caught between two traditions, how do I bring my craft as a songwriter into the more formal setting of the concert hall?

The first movement, “Guitars in the Attic,” wrestles specifically with that last question, the challenge of bringing vernacular song into formal concert music. The two main themes begin on opposite shores: the first theme, poppy, effervescent, and direct, undergoes a series of transformations that render it increasingly unrecognizable as the movement progresses. Meanwhile, a lugubrious second tune, first introduced in disguise by the French horn and accompanied by a wayward English horn, reveals itself only in the coda to be a paraphrase of a song of mine called “Where are the Arms.” That song, in turn, with its hymn-like chord progression, owes a debt to German sacred music. A feedback loop emerges: German art music informs pop song, which then gets fed back into the piano concerto.

“My Grandmother Knew Alban Berg” picks up the thread of intergenerational memory. Grandma didn’t actually know Alban Berg, but she did babysit the children of Arnold Schoenberg, another German-Jewish émigré, who, in addition to having codified the twelve-tone system of composition, was Berg’s teacher. Why make something up when the truth is equally tantalizing? I suppose it has something to do with wanting to evoke the slipperiness of memory while getting at the ways in which cultural inheritance can occur indirectly. When, shortly after college, I began to study Berg’s Piano Sonata, his music— its marriage of lyricism and austerity; its supple, pungent harmonies; the elegiac quality that suffuses nearly every bar—felt eerily familiar to me, even though I was encountering it for the first time. Had a key to this musical language been buried deep in the recesses of my mind through some kind of ancestral magic, only to be unearthed when I sat at the piano and played those prophetic chords, which, to my mind, pointed toward the tragedy that would befall Europe half a dozen years after Berg’s death?

In this central movement, the main theme is introduced by a wounded-sounding trumpet, accompanied by a bed of chromatic harmony that wouldn’t be out of place in Berg’s musical universe. By movement’s end, time has run counterclockwise, and the same tune is heard in a nocturnal, Brahmsian mode, discomfited by interjections from the woodwinds, which inhabit a different, and perhaps less guileless, temporal plane.

To close, we have a kind of fiddle-tune rondo, an unabashed celebration of childhood innocence. In March of 2020, my family and I were marooned in Portland, Oregon, as the world was brought to its knees by the coronavirus pandemic. Separated from our belongings—and thus all of our daughter’s toys, which were back in our apartment in Brooklyn—my ever resourceful partner, Emma, fashioned a “vehicle” out of an empty diaper box, on which she majusculed the words vera’s chicken-powered transit machine. (Vera had by that point developed a strong affinity for chicken and preferred to eat it in some form thrice daily.) We would push her around the floor in her transit machine, resulting in peals of laughter and squeals of delight. In this brief finale, laughter and joy are the prevailing modes, but not without a bit of mystery. I have some idea of what I have inherited from my ancestors. What I will hand down to my daughter remains, for the time being, a wondrous unknown.

Heirloom is dedicated with love, admiration, gratitude, and awe, to my father, Jeffrey Kahane.

[hlupdate]

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

[hldailyupdate]

This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

Ive never really understood the hype surrounding Taylor Swift - I mean, I like some of her songs, but im not big on modern pop music so generally she just doesn’t really click for me. But I find it interesting that theres quite a few of Beatles/Swift blogs - like, they should have very little in common given that they’re from completely different eras and all, but somehow people seem to find a lot of semblance between the two. << and thats not me shitting on any of these blogs btw! Hope I don’t come off as rude or condescending there <3

Anyway, I was just wondering what got you into Taylor Swift? (I think ive read your post on how you got into the Beatles)

Hi, anon! Don't worry, I don't think you're rude or condescending! I agree they don't have too much in common and I don't really like their music for the same reasons.* I do have a playlist of Paul songs that have similar vibes to Taylor songs but it's mostly lyric-based. (Also the Beatles For Sale songs actually have quite the Taylor-tinge because Paul and John were not immune to Country Music)

I saw @stewy say once that a possible reason there are a good handful of us Swiftie-Beatle People on here is the appeal of a vast discography, which I agree with. If you have an artist/group with 200ish songs, it's just really fun to really dive into their work and explore all the facets. I also think: we're talking about the most popular band of all time and one of the highest-selling artists of the 21st century. They have a lot of fans so there's bound to be overlap, regardless of musical differences.

Moving on to your question: Getting into Taylor was an extremely personal experience for me and so my explanation is probably going to be kind of long so I'll put it under a read more.

It was spring-summer 2014, I was 15. I had heard the more popular songs of hers starting with Love Story and enjoyed pretty much all of them (I always found her hopelessly romantic point of view fascinating) but before I got a Spotify account in 2013 it was difficult in general for me to really get into an artists' entire discography so most of her songs had flown under my radar.

At the time, I was in this very weird sort of codependent online friendship with this girl who was basically my first real best friend and my first more or less crush. She was very depressed and I was very much in an I Could Fix Her™ mood, except that I obviously couldn't fix her and it made me feel like I wasn't enough and she had begun pulling more and more away from me and not replying to my messages and it was simply driving me insane. I consider it the saddest period in my life.

at some point during this period, I started trying to connect with other people (all online, I didn't know how to talk seriously to anyone IRL) and explaining the issues I'd been having, and one of the people who brought me joy and whom I actually felt not drained talking to was a huge swiftie. And IDK the fact that she loved Taylor and the fact that talking to her made my life better (and also the fact that I liked all the Taylor songs I knew at that point) just made me decide to give her a listen. And I think that whole "large discography discovery" phenomenon really helped me at the time (funny, because her discography has doubled since then). It gave me something new to focus on; there were just so many songs to discover, all telling such rich stories. I also have always loved bridges, they are almost always my favourite part of a song. And Taylor, god-bless her, loves them too and always puts her ALL in them. Like pretty much every bridge of hers brings the song to the next level, and even a lot of her songs I don't adore tend to have great bridges (Stay Stay Stay and Paper Rings come to mind). I think one of her most underrated qualities is how good she is at song structure and really building up an entire musical journey with a song. She also almost always adds cool ad-libs in her second and third choruses to keep the songs interesting and dynamic (or at least since she's gone pop). Anyways, back to the story: Then Taylor announced 1989 as her next album and released Shake It Off, and it was just like this great happy thing for me to look forward to, when I had very little keeping me going. The era was promoting a lot of happiness which in hindsight was slightly fabricated and it was just a really great thing for me to latch onto.

At the same time I was coming to realize that I was gonna have to pull away completely from my friend and all those break-up songs just… Hit, y'know? Like, some people seem to think Taylor's a one-trick pony because she likes to write break-up songs but to me, break-ups are just like this moment where you as a human can potentially feel every single emotion, and Taylor's songs have covered every facet of the concept. Here are some songs I remember from that period, that all meant a lot to me at the time because they explained my own pain to me so well:

Haunted, for the absolute terror you feel in the first moments you realize someone is probably gonna leave you. Come on, come on / Don't leave me like this / I thought I had you figured out / Something's gone terribly wrong / You're all I wanted.

I Almost Do, for the inner turmoil you feel when you know you have to stay away from someone for your own good but you really, really have to resist just running back to that person. We've made quite a mess, Babe / It's probably better off this way / And I confess, Babe / In my dreams you're touching my face / And asking me if I wanna try again / With you / And I almost do.

Last Kiss, for that absolute sadness that comes simply with remembering everything that was good and not comprehending how it could've possibly ended. I still remember / The look on your face / Lit through the darkness / At 1:58 / Words that you whispered / For just us to know / You told me you loved me / So why did you go / Away?

Forever and Always, for that feeling of desperately wanting to hold on to what you still have but at the same time realizing it probably isn't going to last and having no idea how to fix it, plus feeling like the other person doesn't even care. So here's to everything / Coming down to nothing / Here's to silence / That cuts me to the core / Where is this going? / Thought I knew for a minute / But I don't anymore.

Dear John, my all-time favourite song, for that moment you find clarity and realize that you deserved better and that you were headed in an extremely dark direction because of this other person. [DISCLAIMER: my friend did NOT abuse me nor did we have some inappropriate age difference. But the way she would ignore me and her general moodiness really affected my own mental health and self-worth problems] You paint me a blue sky / And go back and turn it to rain / And I lived in your chess games / But you changed the rules every day / Wondering which version of you I might get on the phone / Tonight / Well I stopped picking up / And this song is to let you know why.

(She's covered more aspects of break-ups in other songs [cheating, divorce, feeling awkward around your ex amongst others], these are just the ones I remember being really important to me when I was first getting into her)

She really helped me feel a lot less alone during one of my loneliest periods and I really can't thank her enough for that. Soon after this, I started crushing on a girl in my class and Taylor's love songs started to take on a new meaning for me as well.

What's crazy to me is, when she went on hiatus for a few years, a part of me thought maybe I'd grown out of her and no longer had much in common with her, but when reputation came out I was pulled right back into my love for her as a person and musician and then when Lover came out I found that she was still explaining feelings to me better than I ever could (specifically with the songs The Archer and Cornelia Street). And now with folklore and evermore she's simply absolutely perfected her story-telling and I find myself deeply moved even by the songs I don't directly relate to. I feel like she has this amazing ability to find the absolute truth in the specific. I've never had a summer romance with someone who already had a girlfriend and mostly wanted to go back to her, and yet the bridge of august feels so real to me, y'know?

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Cancel plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose

It's hard to explain but looking at this, like it's so much more than the story it's telling. It's talking about how when you're young you really need so little to feel satisfied; how sometimes the idea of someone maybe spending time with you is better than actually doing things with other people; and how if someone using you without much thought can make you feel like you're not even entitled to grieve what you lost. Sorry. I'll stop. Don't want to go insane.

So, all of this is very personal and unique to me, but I think really the main thing that draws me to her is how vulnerable and honest she is about emotions, how eloquently she can explain the pain of being alive to me. Some people think she isn't the strongest singer, but I think, much like John actually, one of her greatest assets is how good she is at projecting emotion. The song happiness is a song I think has some lyrically weak moments but her vocal performance on it is so raw and devastating that every single line works even when, looking at it on paper, it feels like it shouldn't.

Hope this rambling made sense to you, lmao?? I love talking about Taylor though so thanks for the ask! Also very open to giving song recs if you do want to check her out more but I won't unless solicited to lmao *Sort of off-topic but I do think there's a relation between my fascination with the Beatles' history and my love for a great break-up song. I like pain I guess :)

[thepencilnerd]

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide? 

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone. 

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to...  This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase. 

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.” 

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in. 

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to. 

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving. 

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...” 

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought. 

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.” 

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call. 

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver. 

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.” 

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling. 

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?” 

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end. 

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought. 

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”   

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully. 

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped. 

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.  

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between. 

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself. 

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face. 

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more? 

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful. 

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today. 

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works. 

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe. 

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart. 

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance. 

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food... 

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop. 

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp. 

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center. 

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?” 

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters. 

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face? 

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin. 

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think. 

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.” 

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.” 

He was taken aback. “But—” 

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.” 

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that. 

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.” 

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman. 

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!” 

Sure, the pessimist in him spat. 

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in. 

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window. 

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts. 

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary. 

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself. 

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for. 

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home. 

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago. 

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head. 

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio. 

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit. 

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back. 

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job. 

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language. 

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.” 

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?” 

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.” 

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes. 

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer. 

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add. 

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start. 

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.” 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.” 

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!” 

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off. 

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe. 

 “Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?” 

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent? 

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.” 

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist. 

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly. 

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.  

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way. 

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile. 

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were. 

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors. 

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!” 

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent. 

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of. 

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila. 

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you. 

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash. 

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early. 

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes. 

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow. 

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute. 

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times. 

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf. 

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response. 

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”  

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation. 

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down. 

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?” 

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes. 

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.” 

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?” 

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog. 

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot. 

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?” 

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?” 

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.” 

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it. 

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into. 

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.” 

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings. 

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people. 

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand. 

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders. 

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders. 

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing. 

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.” 

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here. 

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating. 

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide. 

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all? 

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out. 

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered. 

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.  

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.” 

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out. 

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home. 

“It’s fine,” he grunted. 

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat. 

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain. 

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song. 

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook. 

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”  

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out. 

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side. 

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again. 

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him? 

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles. 

I’ll get out of it. 

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day. 

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides. 

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin. 

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.�� You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job. 

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile. 

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside. 

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?” 

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated. 

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well. 

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?” 

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves? 

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming. 

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving. 

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?” 

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.” 

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?” 

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?” 

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.” 

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case. 

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks. 

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?” 

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo. 

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing. 

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around. 

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it. 

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table. 

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.” 

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice. 

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.” 

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving. 

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming. 

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary. 

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier. 

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated. 

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!” 

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.” 

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something. 

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.” 

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered. 

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange? 

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence. 

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth. 

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—” 

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face. 

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!” 

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears. 

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.” 

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation. 

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did. 

He needed to cry but he couldn’t. 

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.” 

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup. 

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand. 

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath. 

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little. 

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing. 

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself.  All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!” 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.” 

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan. 

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush? 

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.  

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator. 

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?” 

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice. 

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife. 

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison. 

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy. 

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.” 

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts. 

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.] 

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

                                                                                         You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.] 

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.] 

                                                                             You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.] 

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

                                                                   You: I deleted all of my apps                                                                               and never got back to                                                                                        reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on. 

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.” 

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along. 

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her. 

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease. 

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning. 

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone. 

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop. 

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper. 

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.” 

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student. 

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious. 

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.” 

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off. 

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?” 

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.” 

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips. 

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort. 

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model. 

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message. 

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.” 

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.” 

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them. 

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.” 

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.” 

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud. 

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine. 

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior. 

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.” 

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.” 

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.  

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage. 

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain. 

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.” 

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage. 

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously. 

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you. 

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort. 

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you? 

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question. 

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.” 

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?” 

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent. 

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.” 

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after. 

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better. 

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences. 

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you. 

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time? 

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker. 

Maybe he’s changed. 

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once. 

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed. 

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them. 

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast. 

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost. 

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago. 

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable. 

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares. 

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back. 

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking? 

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you. 

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two. 

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple. 

Until he started breaking the rules. 

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?” 

 Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel. 

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what? 

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole? 

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside. 

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken? 

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring. 

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape. 

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light. 

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.  

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch. 

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze. 

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating. 

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars. 

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained. 

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering. 

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth. 

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again. 

Definitely crying. 

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears. 

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get. 

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet. 

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building. 

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse. 

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering. 

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now... 

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. 

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you. 

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. 

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible. 

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze. 

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.” 

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same. 

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...” 

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.” 

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?” 

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection. 

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.” 

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!” 

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?” 

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love. 

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you. 

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials. 

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face. 

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—” 

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers. 

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass. 

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?  

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment. 

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

[dansnaturepictures]

The third of my 10 wildlife/photography highlights of 2020 blogs: My year in the New Forest

I do this post every year now and as I felt it worked well last year I’m structuring this post like this again. I will roughly talk through notable New Forest walks and trips we had this year in chronological order, but then introduce thoughts about subsequent walks at the same place, a similar or nearby one or one that featured the same or similar wildlife next so it does flip around back and forth around the months a bit. It was another special and varied year visiting our beloved national park, even if coronavirus meant there was a hiatus where I really missed going to the forest during the first lockdown as has happened before for a different reason a long time ago for me.

It all started with an early winter visit to Denny Wood to help build my bird year list early on, for the first time since 2015 we didn’t visit here alongside Lakeside on New Year’s Day to see woodland species but still made it here early on and I had a little look at the heath between it and Shatterford on 3rd January. As well as taking in a really nice landscape as it got sunnier and sunnier that packed day for me I was happy to watch the feeding woodland birds spending precious moments with them seeing my first Marsh Tit, Coal Tit, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Dunnock, Nuthatch and Treecreeper of 2020, with my first Rook and Mistle Thrush of the year on the way driving in and on the way home nearby respectively.

Blashford Lakes was our location of choice on 4th January getting memorably lots of year ticks of bird species beginning with G. Standout birds I have seen at this rich reserve this year have included; Goosander, Goldeneye, Goldcrest, Great White Egret and Siskin. A standout visit to Blashford Lakes this year was my second of the year on 1st March which was one of my most special days of photography this year. I took some of my pictures I am most proud of this year as part of a high amount produced that day, including ones of a Robin one really closeup one that was one of my favourite ever pictures to take an early favourite of mine that I’d taken with my new camera that I got for Christmas, rainbows especially over Ibsley water, general landscapes, a Great Spotted Woodpecker one of my favourite birds and the nice bit of red fungi that there was so much of in the woods in the early days with my new macro lens which I got for my birthday shown in the first of my pictures in this photoset.

I had another strong year at other New Forest reserve Lymington-Keyhaven on the coast. Key species I saw there this year included; Kingfisher, Spotted Redshank, Spoonbill, Peregrine, Marsh Harrier, Slavonian Grebe, many Bar-tailed Godwits on multiple visits this quite special bird became a regular here this year I thought, Greenshank, Ruff, Knot, Whitethroat, Yellow Wagtail which I took the second picture in this photoset of at Pennington in early September, my first Sand Martin of the year in March and many more seen well in June, Common Tern seen fishing really closely that day too which was great, Little Tern, Sandwich Tern and Reed Warbler those three for the first time in 2020 on the same day on what was a memorable late spring return in May to here and the sea after two months away from this habitat during the first bit of the lockdown which was really a sweet and special day for us, Avocet, Shelducks and Little Ringed Plover well with offspring in the spring lovely to see in great numbers in some cases, Black-tailed Godwit, Eider Duck and the lovely Grey Phalarope and its rarer cousin the Wilson’s Phalarope on one amazing October day as I mentioned in my first highlights post. Many lovely Cetti’s Warblers’ calls heard here was great too and it was even delightful to see two Black Swans here in late January. The day I saw the lovely white headed Ruff and another later on stood out for visiting here in late February I saw the white headed and another Ruff there again in October in my best ever year of Ruffs generally this year as I took a large amount of photos and ones I was very proud of that stood out this year of flying Mute Swans, lovely sunny beautiful landscapes, Rock Pipit and more. I had an equally as high yielding photo day I was happy with on 5th September producing photos of Knot, the Yellow Wagtail, Mute Swan and Little Egret flying, young Shelduck, Turnstone up close, many landscapes, flowers and some autumnal sights which I liked a lot. I got a delightful moment on a June Pennington visit seeing two Mute Swans with eight cygnets my first seen anywhere this year cross the footpath and go down the bank into the sea to swim. I enjoyed seeing flowers such as sea aster at this reserve a lot this year too. I enjoyed other flowers at this reserve this year too including common toadflax and broad-leaved clover.  On the way back from seeing those three species at Lymington on 31st October it was atmospheric and brilliant on Halloween to see a gigantic full moon in the sky over the lovely forest landscape on the way back.

Another really pivotal day in my year which I already mentioned in my bird highlights of the year blog was a January visit to the Whitefield Moor/Holmhill area of the New Forest as part of one of my biggest weekends of the year. The Great Grey Shrike was an absolutely rare and mega bird to see one that had been widely seen by many that winter and a largely reported bird in the forest it was true joy to finally see it after a few attempts, as was the Hen Harrier very likely the same bird that had been my 200th of 2019 here on my last day of birdwatching/photography that year. My all-important first Bullfinch of the year completed a golden hat trick of bird year ticks with my first Fallow Deers of the year seen from the car on the way in at a part of the forest and some seen on the walk, and I took once again so many photos and some I was so proud of. The weather was amazing and sunny and the day felt part of something important for me. The Great Grey Shrike was only my fourth ever time seeing one (all in the forest over the years) but I soon got my fifth as on a trip to Milkham in the New Forest in March we were surprised to see one far away fly high into a tree. It was a sensational sight and made me really happy after a quieter period of birdwatching when coronavirus uncertainty had just started to hit I could be seeing a really rare bird and one we’d sort of found too it was smashing. I took the third picture in this photoset of this bird. It was generally an amazing day at Milkham a real rising star of a New Forest location wildlife wise for us as we are starting to see so much there where I also got my first year tick of March seeing my first Crossibills of the year late on. A fantastic and classic woodland New Forest species always an important one for me to see in a year this was my sixth straight year list I recorded this species on which I liked. That day I also saw Hawfinches in woods near Broomy Walk on the walk, a Grey Wagtail unusually on the path and got great views of two of my favourite birds the Buzzard and Great Spotted Woodpecker. Like I said in my highlights post about my favourite birds generally this year I’ve had brilliant years for both these species. I also took many landscape pictures I was happy with that day. It was a classic New Forest day in rich and varied habitat it has so much of and with iconic forest species.

I had a sensational day back at the Whitefield Moor/Holmhill bog walk on 11th July right in the summer especially for insects. I saw my first Common Grayling of the year one of my favourite butterflies always a top one to see in a year and Common Darter dragonfly of the year that day. I also got cracking views of an Emperor dragonfly flying over a pool right beside us it was fantastic to see such an intimate moment, and I saw male and female Silver-studded Blues on the heath on a sunny and hot day two species I had an especially good year for. Butterfly wise I managed to submit some sightings to the Big Butterfly Count that day from a small patch of the walk. Large White 10, Silver-studded Blue 6, Peacock 3, Brimstone 2, Meadow Brown 2, Red Admiral 1 and Ringlet 1 were the results great to chart them at this location. There was also so many Keeled Skimmers one of my favourite dragonflies out on the heath especially lots of golden females which was great I took one of my best photos this year of one with my macro lens it unusually staying still enough for long enough for to get a closeup picture. Buzzard, Jay two of my favourite birds, lots of Redstarts, Stonechats, Greenfinch and Chaffinch completed the highlights that day. As well as common red soldier beetle a species I saw so much those few days and Black-headed Gulls in the car park which I’d not seen here before. It was also amazing to see a Spotted Flycatcher on the way back at Football Green on the edge of the forest and get some nice Song Thrush views.

In late January myself and my Mum participated in an arranged walk with two lovely New Forest seasonal assistant rangers at Kings Hat as a result of a micro photography competition I had entered late last year. On quite a dark but lovely day walking in nice light rain it was great to go about the precious landscape and learn about the amazing work being done to manage the forest and how the Higher Level Stewardship Scheme works and its benefits. I especially liked learning about the iconic and unique to the New Forest rare tadpole shrimp, the important commoning, history of the forest and the work being done to recover the area from the impacts of verge parking. We also met like-minded people on the walk that day and it was a very polite and satisfying time. It was very memorable and a day I looked forward to a lot. Later that day we came back into the forest with the dogs and enjoyed a walk around Eyeworth Pond one of our top forest spots. As I said in my first highlights post the next month I saw my first Mandarin Ducks of the year in a call in there. In early March we were back there for another call in after a walk elsewhere and it was nice to see Mandarins, a Goosander up really close and enjoy some Mallards in a bit of sunlight on the pond on a day that had been showery that the sun brought out its colours so well. I took the fourth picture in this photoset of a Goosander.

Nearer to the outskirts of the New Forest at Badminston and Badminston Common I began my February by seeing one of my birds of the year when we managed to spot a Hoopoe that had been seen there, only my second ever. It was so amazing and perfect to get to spend a few minutes watching this esteemed, iconic and in some ways ultimate bird species moving about in horse fields. One of my best bits of the year for sure I was proud to have this experience and I took a record shot the fifth picture in this photoset of this remarkable bird. It was a beautiful new spot to discover in the forest too whether it be one offs or regular species birds often lead us to discover New Forest locations. We had a nice walk at nearby Calshot afterwards on the day where it was nice to see Brent Geese and a Little Grebe. aAs February went on a string of wet New Forest walks would provide us an outlet to still get out with the dogs and walk through named storms Ciara and Dennis. This included woodland walks at Acres Down and Hawkhill. It was quite something to see nature’s full force with trees swaying in the wind and that rain a moment in the year as such that will stay with us it defined those few weeks and what better place to observe this than the forest. This little period of time culminated in a walk at Blackwater where the weather wasn’t so bad throughout it eased off rather and it even got a little bit sunny, as the landscape my sixth picture in this photoset shows. I took a good few more photos that day after a slight drought for them with the weather and I got a surprise when at a strong place for them and a place we only discovered for them we got a distant view of my first Hawfinch of the year late on in the arboretum. Always a big moment for this strong forest species for me.

To end February on Leap Day at Pig Bush we had another classic New Forest day for us at this my favourite forest car park and walk. In the height of my boom period of photos at that stage where I’d regularly produce around 20 per trip and it became the new normal for a bit the new normal would be even higher later in the year of course I took yet another high amount of photos and some I was so happy with wildlife and landscape. I also got some top birdwatching done with views of my first Lesser Redpolls and Jack Snipe of the year in the woods and a boggy area respectively. It was great for the first time ever for me to see redpolls out in the wild sort of so not at a place where there were bird feeders. Obviously Blashford Lakes is where I usually see them in this setting and I’ve had some amazing up close views of them there especially last year but seeing some in the open like this shows another side to the species really. Like many of my walks this year there was a brilliant supporting cast of other species seen on this walk including Treecreeper, Redwing, Goldcrest, Nuthatch and Great Spotted Woodpecker and Buzzard again. Both the February Pig Bush and March Milkham visits gave me huge senses of being in a wilderness and both stood out for months to come. The weekend after this before the March Eyeworth Pond call in I referenced above in another sunny patch of the day we had a great walk at Hawkhill again seeing the duo Buzzard soaring against a brilliant bright blue sky and Great Spotted Woodpecker flying high into trees again and I took some memorable landscapes including the seventh of my pictures in this photoset showing its distinctive grassland.

On a grey Friday off work on 20th March I spent part of it at Acres Down where I got a brief view of a Goshawk flying in the sky, only my second ever of a top bird we first discovered this place partly for. One of my standout birds of the year again. There were also a lot of Buzzards around in what became a day of raptors with Peregrine and Sparrowhawk seen at Winchester Cathedral later in the day and Buzzard at home too. Alongside a Pennington visit the next day where I saw my first Sand Martins this year these were to be my last New Forest trips before the Covid-19 enforced hiatus in the first lockdown. What a way to sign off for a bit. When there later in the year I was happy to see my first Tree Pipit and Redstarts of 2020. Both exceptional species especially the former that I felt so lucky to see this year. I’ve had a great record for seeing Redstarts down the years especially in the forest which I was proud I could carry on with but the Tree Pipit I didn’t manage to see last year at all after a three year run of seeing them before so I was happy to see it on a hot and sunny day singing a bit too these two are among my birds of the year for many reasons. On a showery but quite humid July Saturday it was great to see a Red Deer in the New Forest on our way to nearby to Acres Down Millyford Bridge. A pretty nice view of it through vegetation. The second Red Deer I’d seen this year at that stage, quite unusual for us even more special that it was a New Forest sighting though as they’re such a key part of the biodiversity of the forest a key mammal there and I’ve not seen them here nearly enough in truth. On the walk at Millyford it was nice to see quite a few Song Thrushes and some foxgloves that appeared to have been knocked over but the flowers had started growing upwards from a sideways plant beside the river in woods it was beautiful to walk in that day a really sweet habitat I find which the New Forest hosts well which was interesting. It was also good to see a tree with mushrooms on that day too. We came back to Millyford Bridge later in July seeing more mushrooms, as well as Robin and cow both with young which was great, lots of Grey Wagtails it was lovely to see a great bird in this watery habitat, New Forest ponies, some Fallow Deers running through, lots of little moths and a Large Red Damselfly on a very relaxing Monday and tranquil walk on a Monday I had off work.

On the way back from Martin Down in May it was great to see a couple of adorable New Forest pony foals and Canada Geese with goslings by Janesmoor Pond. On the way back from Martin Down in July it was good to see some Fallow Deers and get great Stonechat and Goldfinch views in a layby on an ice cream stop by Stoney Cross when the forest landscape looked nice and atmospheric on a rainy day after seeing Goldfinch well before and after the walk at home. I had an astonishingly good day’s wildlife watching on a walk from Fritham to Cadman’s Pool in the New Forest on a very beautiful, hot and sunny second May bank holiday Saturday. On it I saw two beautiful Cuckoos and heard them on the walk my first of the year and I got second views this year and pretty spectacular ones too of Tree Pipit and Goshawk with two each seen. One Tree Pipit view was classic Tree Pipit with it singing loudly on top of a tree which was brilliant. On that day I also saw my first Southern Hawker and Keeled Skimmer dragonflies of the year, many Fallow Deers, many House Martins and Chaffinches, Redstart, Mistle Thrush, Buzzard and a few Small Heath butterflies. What a late spring day!

On 6th June I had a brilliant walk on a dry patch of a grey and showery day from Turf Hill to Deadman Hill. I felt a strong sense of wilderness of hearing the trees swaying a bit in the wind and smelling a summer heath. I also saw a little bit of early purple heather coming out and one of the habitat’s star species my first Silver-studded Blue butterfly of 2020 an amazing moment to see this precious species so nicely an early sighting for it in a year really on a mostly grey day slightly hunkered down on the slopes of Deadman Hill. A view of Yellowhammer, a young Stonechat, some Fallow Deers really closely, bog cotton grass and an adorable New Forest pony foal completed my highlights that day.

On a scorching Sunday at the height of a heatwave at Cadman’s Pool on a brief walk after another elsewhere in another national park the South Downs I was so happy to see my first Golden-ringed Dragonflies of the year flying over the steam here. Classic New Forest wildlife on a vintage summer wildlife day for me always a beautiful and well-marked dragonfly I aim to see in a year. I also got great Southern Hawker views of a female and did my last of many Big Butterfly Count surveys there seeing 8 Large White, 4 Gatekeeper, 4 Small White, 1 Holly Blue and also 1 Peacock which was nice adding some real variety of habitats for my butterfly counts this year. That day I was also thrilled to see like Golden-ringed Dragonfly a summer New Forest speciality two young Siskins, Bullfinch over a period I saw them a lot and lots of New Forest ponies on a hot day including foals after seeing adorable baby donkeys on the way there and a pig. The weekend after the weather had changed and it was a wet day the Saturday but on it I discovered a new place and had my first ever walk at Matley. It was nice to photograph a view here I had seen lots of times from the car on the way to and from other car parks we walk at very nearby and could never photograph I took the eighth picture in this photoset of this. The walk and on the way in was the first time I saw heather gloriously purple and at its peak this year so I thoroughly enjoyed seeing and appreciating that and getting photos I especially loved seeing it and photographing it when it rained hardest looking very atmospheric. A sight I adore in the forest especially. Wildlife wise it was great to see on that walk a Kingfisher briefly flying along a stream, Swallows quite late in their season over the heath, moths and lots of Robins. Lots of autumnal sightings that day too as I address early on in my autumnal highlights blog. The heather at its purple I expect of late summer but the autumn really was seeming to have come early in this strange year.

The heather looked glorious on a walk at Ashley Walk in the New Forest to the Leaden Hall area and back it was so purple and carpeted the landscape so nicely. I saw some top wildlife that day including another Common Grayling butterfly, Wheatears including young, Linnets, Stonechats, Meadow Pipits, Mistle Thrush, Buzzard, many Fallow Deers out on the heath two herds which was so nice to see it was particularly a great day for grazing animals with cattle calves, donkeys and New Forest ponies both with young also seen very well and included in my photos a few taken that day. In a great bit of flower action alongside the lovely heather I loved spotting my first ever devil’s-bit scabious a wonderful flower to see which I took the ninth picture in this photoset of. I identified it using the plant net app photo identification a kind Twitter friend suggested it to me and it became invaluable in my best ever year of flowers which I speak about more in my two butterfly related highlights posts. Other autumnal colour in the landscape and nice sky scenes on a showery to start the walk but mostly very nice afternoon stood out that day. We were back at Ashley Walk for our now annual October walk from here up to Leaden Hall of an afternoon to try and catch the Ring Ouzels coming through on their outward migration and we were so delighted to see at least two of these beautiful thrushes really well that day. It was a brilliant afternoon watching this truly special bird it was special to see them for a fourth time for me, and get views as I did of them they really were my best ever views of these birds for the length of views time wise and how clear I could see them in binoculars and landed the birds showed well and did exciting flyovers which I loved and make out the differences to the very similar Blackbirds which were about namely the white bib on the plumage of the male, the lighter and quite creamy underwings when flying and how much bigger they are which I particularly noticed that day. One of my best bird species seen this year too without doubt and it makes me so proud of the New Forest having these birds around they really are incredible. I also heard one make its nice “tak” noise that day and in the rich berry bushes with them and the Blackbirds was a Song Thrush. I took the tenth and final picture in this photoset of a Ring Ouzel that day. That day I also enjoyed seeing Buzzard flying over, get stunning Kestrel views of one right beside the path and with Meadow Pipits and Stonechat get brilliant clear views of a delightful Dartford Warbler one of my favourite birds flitting around at the tops of bushes. A famous New Forest species that I’ve had such a good year for them this was however the first I had seen in the forest this year which really matters to me as for such a rare bird the New Forest is a key refuge for them and it’s a key bird of the habitat and where I fell in love with it. We also took in great mushrooms, landscapes and sky views. And as I mention in my seventh of these posts about my autumn on the way home by Bramshaw I saw my first pigs out for pannage of the year which is always a memorable moments and some Fallow Deers during their rut at Leaden Hall.

I had a brilliant walk at Blackwater on 4th October when as I mention in my seventh of these posts about my autumn in which I mention the New Forest quite a bit as usual in also seeing a herd of Red Deers and red fly agaric mushrooms. But on that day I was so happy to see a cute, fascinating, beautiful and shy mammal a Muntjac Deer briefly it was a fantastic view of only my third ever and first of the year. It took my mammal year list to 17 making it my second highest ever after last year’s. It also meant for the first time ever after the Chinese Water Deer sighting in Norfolk meant I’ve seen all six wild British deer species in my life that I saw all six of them in a year quite special following last year seeing the five deer species I’d seen in my life this took it a stage further nicely. I also loved seeing another Lesser Redpoll on this fairly wet walk yet another I’d seen in the open forest this year which felt very satisfying to see this beautifully marked bird again I did enjoy seeing it as well as Coal Tit and two Treecreepers. The wildlife I saw on this day made me so proud to know, love and live so close to the New Forest and I enjoyed some great atmospheric views on a mostly wet day which I always love at Blackwater.

On 24th October one of my best days this autumn and ever for two autumnal features as I wrote about in my seventh of these posts about autumn we went back to Pig Bush for a third time this year. Alongside the autumnal bits it was a classic Pig Bush visit as on a pretty wet day it was interesting and beautiful to see the rain showers move through the big landscape. I also enjoyed seeing a second New Forest Kestrel in as many Saturdays quite close after the one at Ashley Walk, a dragonfly quite late either Migrant or Southern Hawker, lovely New Forest ponies and cattle with calves too. There were also lovely flowers around some nice yellow ones and scabious probably small scabious. This was a special day as our annual October Pig Bush visit as that’s when we first ever went there one of if not the favourite individual spot in the New Forest for me so it reminds us of how it looked that day and it was actually 10 years on from when we first went there. It was a fitting top afternoon for that occasion. I wrote about Pig Bush in my autumn as I have said and week off in June highlights posts in this year’s thread of blogs. The next day at Rockford Common I really liked seeing a rainbow over the heath and being the backdrop of New Forest ponies this was very beautiful, especially lovely with what rainbows came to mean in honour of our National Health Service this year. Other highlights were Roe Deer seen quite closely, Stonechats in the sun which was quite nice to see and some other autumnal things as I wrote about in that highlights post later in this thread of blogs. Also that day the day after the clocks went back this autumn as the sun came down over the heath walking through fairly dark woods we heard a loud barking noise. To my delight I looked up to see a smashing looking Raven fly over with its big beak and I got some great views of it. A really fantastic wild moment, as it had done before elsewhere it epitomised the wilderness of the New Forest for me, beautiful. A fitting end to what was a thrilling and packed wild New Forest weekend for me.

I wrote a little bit about the New Forest in my fifth highlights blog coming up in this thread about my week off in June this year, during which I saw my first Spotted Flycatcher of the year at Pig Bush which was a great moment for me. The New Forest gets mentioned in and indeed began with me seeing devil’s finger and the very rare and New Forest speciality nail fungus near Bolton’s Bench my bonus 11th and final post about my November and December.

[dearholly]

Dear Me,

I know why you’re here and I’m not mad. I’m not disappointed. Read this and then go rest. And please be gentle on yourself. 

We met at Macy's and immediately hit it off. I think it was a dark sense of humor and a fluency in sarcasm that first bonded us. She was amused and seemingly rapt by everything I had to say. When I eventually left Macy's for a work-at-home job listening to sales calls, I brought her with me. And because he was unemployed, her ex-boyfriend/roommate came with us as well.

They had dated in high school but had long since broken up although hey were still living together in her parent's house after his parents moved to Hawaii without him. I got to know him more when we started at our new positions. As a telecommuting job, here were a lot of opportunities for us to bond over instant messenger. He had a raw, vulnerable quality that drew me to him and I enjoyed how open and free I could be with him. He didn't seem to mind the darker parts of my humor and we bonded over a love of cars and photography.

The first tear in the fabric of everything is, I think, when I admitted to to my husband that I thought I had feelings for Her. He sexualized this confession and internalized it as permission for himself to be attracted to her, which in short turn he started to act on. In some ways, I knew that would happen but but I was terrified of my feelings. I didn't know exactly what I wanted, just that I wanted something else. Something more than what I had. On some level, I believe that I wanted her. But I let my fear and submissiveness get the better of me and chose to put my needs aside for what my husband wanted, which at the time seemed more manageable for me than having to deal with my own inner turmoil.

Throughout their entire flirtation in the beginning, she never came to me to tell me what was going on, or to question it. To this day, I don't even know if she asked my husband whether or not I knew. It might be the years that have since passed shading my opinions in this matter, but I don't believe she ever did ask him. I eventually did come to her to tell her what was going on, but I don't believe that I ever really trusted her again after that, despite our friendship continuing for another five years.

Years later, when I would say all of this out loud to a therapist, I would realize what a hard time I have accepting and advocating for my own feelings. Looking back now, I can tell you I was deeply hurt and extremely angry.

Which is probably what lead me to sleep with Him, her ex-boyfriend slash roommate, on the same night she first slept with my husband. And I did not afford her the same foreknowledge that I had.

But it wasn't all vindication. He and I had been getting very close. We worked together on a wedding I shot in Malibu. I'll never forget when we had some free time in between getting shots and we drove down to the beachier part of the beach to look for some locations to shoot the couple later. It was raining and the beach was empty, so he told me to take the car onto the sand, assuring me that it'd be fine. He was something of an expert on cars, after all. The front tires almost immediately sunk into the sand and we got stuck. As panic mounted in both of us, a friendly gentleman in a Nissan Xterra came by and offered assistance. With some pushing and revving, the car was unstuck. After our Samaritan drove off, He turned to me to apologize and wrapped his arms around me. There's something about being hugged by a person who is much taller than you. In that moment, I fell in love with him. His easy free affection was all it took.

And she had no clue about any of it because I did not do the courtesy of cluing her in. This is what is so dangerous about people who are not even aware of the emotions they're having.

Also, I knew that she would cock block. So the night that she came to my house to fuck my husband, I set up a little date with her ex boyfriend. I took him to a local bar, and explained what was happening with Her and my husband. And then I told him, "But I am here with you." Couldn't keep our hands off each other after that.

I didn't tell her until after the fact and I am positive that there was never a moment after that that she fully trusted me either. We cursed ourselves from the very beginning. And then made things truly awkward by attempting to have a four-way.

They say ignorance is bliss, but denial is true euphoria. And that is where we lived for the next 6 years. We changed our state abbreviation from CA to WA, but we lived in the same place, ignoring red flag after red flag. The chemistry was just bad. But we plundered ahead, all four of us. And when three of us lost our telecommuting jobs, it was Him that found us work again.

I hated the idea from the very beginning (red flag) but said nothing. I resented that he got her a job at the same place he'd gotten me a job and that she'd be starting the day after me, leaving me no time at all to have this one thing for myself. I knew even then that working and living with her would turn out to be a problem. And it did; when something bad happened at work, there was no escape from it at home. When something bad happened at home, there was no escape from it at work. Even though we were on opposite ends of the house, there was just no escaping it. When she was upset, there was a toxic cloud that hung over the whole house. It seeped into everything and was unescapable. It left no room for anyone else to take up any emotional space.

After a while, I stopped getting a period. But because I was living on Denial St, I ignored it for over a year. My doctors wholly admitted that they have no idea how this could have happened at such an early point in my life, but all of them speculated stress, both physical and mental. Prior to losing my period, I had lost a great deal of weight in a small time by over-exercising and under-eating. I was starving myself and then working myself to the point of exhaustion, and if this were the cause of my early menopause, I would not be surprised to find that out.

However, there was no space in my home to have any feelings about this. Because I was of a mind to never have children anyway, it was easy for most people to minimize how deeply it was affecting me, and ignore the active signs that it was doing so. And I never talked about. The feelings were too confusing, too mixed up, to talk about. I didn't understand them myself and there was no room to figure them out there.

A couple months after I got my menopause diagnosis, I started having regular panic attacks. She is the one who suggested I speak to a therapist. She's the one who recommended my first one, actually. And I am still glad that she did. My life really started to turn around at that point. I started in May of that year and by the end of the summer, I had finalized my divorce and moved into my own apartment. And later that year, I started anti depressants.

It is my belief that all of the improvements and growth in my life are what lead she and I to have our initial falling out that next Spring. Through therapy, and medication, and meditation, and all the other ways in which I was working on improving myself, I did eventually grow strong. And so did my boundaries. I started saying "No." more and "Sorry" less. And I stopped accepting unnecessary bullshit that was launched in my direction.

Especially when it is in a shared space in which professionalism is mandatory. After a five month hiatus from the office in which she recovered from an exploding kidney, I invited her to help me train a batch of new hires. During which, at some point, I explained something to one of them which was news to her. She started raising her voice in frustration, demanding to know why she was never told anything, and in general being extremely negative. To be clear, this type of behavior was just something she did. And it always bothered me - something that should be of little to no consequence to her personally, blown up in decibels and f-bombs. Like her brother dating someone she didn't approve of. Or her roommate's cousin marrying someone she didn't approve of. Or her cousin dating someone she didn't approve of. Or her aunts doing or saying something she didn't approve of. I often thought about buying her a robe and gavel for how judgmental and salty she could be to the people she supposedly loved. But I digress....

I am a deeply private person. So in that moment in our office, I was completely mortified. Here are these strangers I am trying to set a good example for, and here she comes with her Debbie Downer bullshit. I shut the conversation down as fast as I could by leaving it immediately. But later I sent a text explaining why that was over the line and why I was upset. A day later, I received some half assed apology about how she felt she was being left behind at work, and that somehow justified the disrespect. Like it was acceptable behavior because she was in pain.

I didn't respond. For one, because I was knee deep (literally) in dog fur, trying to shave my Maltese mutt. And for another, I thought that what needed to be said had been said. Her response didn't change mine. And so the next day, I went to her apartment as I did every Monday to do my laundry. As I was putting the laundry into the washing machine, I heard her bedroom door open. Before I could even look up from my dirty jeans and towels, I hear "Oh... Hi." and I turn just in time to see a flash of red hair whipping behind a slamming door.

At that point, I start to have a panic attack, assuming the slammed door was for me and my face. But I breathe through it and decide its best left aone. She's still upset and I don't have the bandwidth to find out why. I'm done volunteering for whatever that is. At work, I try to be cordial. With Him, I try to maintain boundaries and I tell him nothing that happens between she and I.

A few days go by. One night, I go pick him up and we have dinner at a diner down the street from his place. He's visibly upset, and he's using that soft whispery tone that usually precedes a fucking nightmare. Over my country fried chicken, I ask him what's wrong. He asks why I am ignoring her. I tell him I am not. And that after having a door slammed at me, I'm giving whatever she is dealing with a wide berth. He convinces me to reach out to her to try and resolve the issue.  

So I try to do that. But I'm annoyed and I say entirely the wrong thing, from the very start. I tell her "Stop telling people I'm ignoring you." Rather than "I am not ignoring you, Friend. Rather trying to give you space to deal with whatever it is you're dealing with because I don't understand it"... which eventually I do say, but it's too late. My tone is too incendiary. I'm too angry now. And I no longer feel as if this is anything worth saving anymore. She feels the same way. So she tells me we can no longer be friends. I'm hurt that she said that, but more disappointed that she said it first, and I accept that this is the way things will be. I block her on every social media platform we have in common.

Things are instantly strained between He and I. I ask him repeatedly not to get involved because I will be the one accused of it. But he can't help himself from being upset because she's upset. They have no boundaries at all between them. I tell him I need a break from him. He accuses me of "dropping him" the same way I "dropped Her" And so we break up.

For about 2 months. And then one night, I happen to get a late bus out of Seattle and sit across from him. He was coming from work. And I was coming from a bar. Were it not for the tequila, I probably would never have moved next to him. We made very little conversation all the way to our bus stop. I don't remember what I said. Probably just that I missed him and that I wish things had been different. We started talking again after that. And things were better, for a time. Between he and I, anyways.

What happened then between she and I is what sealed our friendship to the annals of history forever...

One night, while late in bed, I get an email notification from tumblr telling me I had a new follower. And its Her. Through several name/address changes, on the one platform I did not think to block her from, there she was following me. Looking down on that message as it glowed up at me from under the covers, witnessing the little smirk in her user avatar, I started to shake. The blog I thought I had made for myself, similar to this one, where I had the space to ruminate and collect thoughts, had been violated and invaded. Like every other aspect of my life, by her.

I did not react well to this discovery. At first, I made several passive aggressive posts directed at her and then deleted each one. And then I went directly to her, asking her to stop as I didn't think it was appropriate for her to be following me. Her response was to laugh at me, and mock something I had said in one of the passive aggressive and deleted posts I made. I'm not ashamed to admit that my reaction was explosive. I hurled every shitty thing I could think of to say inside one sentence and then deleted the entire messaging system we were using to communicate (which at the time was Slack). Later, when I apologized for my terrible reaction, she doubled down on the insults and called me a hypocrite for expecting that there be boundaries between myself and the person who said they never wanted to speak to me again. And so a final decision was made that this was not worth saving. So I blew it up over two lengthy emails.

I don't even remember what I said. And I don't want to. I suspect my brain is protecting me like a heat shield protects a satellite that is being hurled back to earth. I do remember what she said, which is that I proved her therapists right and that I had always been a bad person. I remember this because my therapist had lead me to the same conclusion about herself. Funny how even in our friendship death, we still have things in common.

A day or two after she followed me on tumblr, I updated the configuration of my blog that said no one could access via the app that wasn’t one of my followers, essentially ensuring that whoever was going to visit my site was going to do so in broad daylight. And then I installed a counter that tracked IP addresses of visitors who came to my blog. For months, she continued to check on it. It was like she couldn’t help it. She was clearly sick. So to test the lengths to which she would go to find it, I changed the name once again and sent Him a link to a post. Lo and behold one week later, there is the entry from his phone visiting. And then a few days later another, closely followed by Her IP again. Tumblr would be the first of many spaces that she colonized and evicted me from. It's not a coincidence that I struggled to find a voice after that or that I have not been able to write with anything approaching ease in the last few years.

I didn't see her or talk to her for months. She had stopped coming into the office. I stopped hearing sirens in my head when I saw her name, so I unblocked her on social media. After all, we still share friends and having gotten what I wanted all along (space), my anger had evaporated. 

But according to my boss, she still used the fact that we no longer got along as an excuse to work from home. As if I had been the one shouting at her in the office, as if I had caused a hostile work place. It's no small coincidence, in my mind, that I was let go by our boss very shortly after she returned to the office regularly. I can't prove it, but I believe she contributed to it. And unfortunately, it wouldn't be the last time she actively set out to hurt me.

When I lost my job, I lost my insurance and therefore, access to my therapist. And I had to start rationing my anti-depressants. I fell into the deepest darkest depression of my life. And it did not help that this was all in the dead of winter, when the sun barely came out long enough for me to see it and run outside. Through the rest of December and January, I submitted dozens of applications and copies of my resume. Finally, at the end of January when I had had to start cutting each of my Lexapro's in half to get by, I got a call for an interview for a company in New York. They hired me almost immediately, and before I knew it I was being sent to New York to be trained. It was right around the same time that I found out the remaining members of the team I had hired at my previous job, Her and several others had been let go unexpectedly. I'd love to say that there was no part of me that received any amount of pleasure upon hearing that, but I'd be lying. I definitely gloated. It felt good to know that things were going wrong for them, for her, when things had just started to go right for me after they messed them up so poorly. In all of my self righteousness I opined to a mutual friend about how bleak Her household must be because I believed it probably was. It sucks to lose one's job and I would know all about that. That mutual friend, knowing that I had a relationship with Him at this time, mistook my opinion as though I had heard it was bleak in the household directly from Him. So the next time our mutual friend spoke with Her, our mutual friend voiced some concerns about the state of how things were going for the two of them. Her spoke to Him later, demanding to know why He is telling me in particular that things in their house are not fine. Which leads him to send a group chat message...

It's 7AM EST early February and I'm in the Best Western of Troy, New York reading my text messages. He has sent one to our entire friend group, demanding that if any of us are speaking about him to stop it immediately; leave him out of all conversation - She is upset that there has been any talk at all. I tell him that request is impossible as we're all friends who care about each other and I refuse to be isolated in any way from any of them. Meanwhile, sirens are going off in my head. I hear my mother's voice, warning me about domestic abusers who isolate their victims from their friends to perpetuate their abuse. I silence it. After all, I still live on the corner of Denial St and The-Dick- Is-Big Ave.

Eventually, a one-on-one conversation is started between He and I. He insinuates that it is the group chat itself that is the issue, because she is not allowed to be in it. I tell him I think it's valid that she is not in it as I am, and I want her to remain firmly out of my space. Which is a mutual feeling between the two of us, or so I thought. And anyway, I tell him, it's her that has me blocked on every social media platform we had in common.

It's at this point he calls me a liar. And it's at this point the story should have ended but I still have a severe lack of love for myself, no therapeutic support, am low on my anti depressants, and completely isolated in New York for the next two weeks.

He tells me he has her search for me on Facebook and Instagram and she finds nothing, which proves that it is I that have her blocked therefore I it is me doing the lying. Which, anyone who knows anything about social media will tell you, this is expected behavior if you have someone blocked. But he hardly ever engages with social media, let alone take the time to understand it, so this is lost on him.

I'm immediately triggered. I have to leave the office where I'm being trained for my new job and walk back to my hotel to catch my breath before I vomit up the coffee and cake that our sales manager brought as a welcome gift. The words "At this point, yeah I do think you're lying." keep swimming back up to me from a little grey bubble. I call him and scream into his voicemail. "...I do think you're lying to me," ... My hands practically vibrating, I take a screen recording of all of my blocked lists and send it to him. "...you're lying to me..." I black out for a moment, thoughts of my mothers fists raining down on me as I'm being called a liar in the backseat of her car. I sob into my hotel pillow. I feel broken.

But it’s the middle of the day, I’ve had this job for all of two days and I cannot be having a massive freak out this early on. I take one of my precious remaining Ativan and try to breathe. Eventually, I calm myself. In a sick twist, I end up apologizing to him for screaming and overreacting. I open myself up further and explain to him why being called a liar is a trigger for me. This was a pattern with us; The only way he ever had compassion for me when we argued (and sometimes when we weren't) was when I spelled out exactly what I was going through. I thought if I was honest about my feelings with him, he would treat me with more dignity. But as a matter of fact, it turned out when I was crying on his shoulder, he felt as if I was manipulating him. He told me that once when I called him, sad because someone I had a crush on had started dating someone else. I was never sure what I was supposedly manipulating him to do. Spend time with me? Show concern for me? But despite that, I take a huge risk, expose my jugular to him again and beg for him to understand where I am coming from. 

He apologizes. He comes over and we have a quiet talk. For a very short time, things go back to whatever normal is to us. We're communicating a little more and I think we're being more honest. But things aren't the same. We're still very vulnerable. I never knew if he sensed that or not. I'd like to believe that if he did, his behavior would have been different. But his behavior remained rough, and careless. 

A little over a month after I returned from New York, he had invited me to his house while she was away. The entire experience was unnerving. For one, the apartment felt cold and dark. It was not very inviting. For another, He was relegated to sleeping on a roll up mat on the floor while She had a bed and a closing door with a closet and a window. This really bothered me. I thought there would be more of a separation, or a at least a clear division of space. A boundary. I look desperately for boundaries, but there were none. Her makeup vanity was directly behind his work desk and above the space he used to sleep in. And there was no trace of me there at all. But of course there wouldn't be. She wouldn't allow it. And he never cared enough about me to change that in any sense. So I started to really see for the first time that our relationship was just sex for him. I couldn't see clearly that we even had a friendship anymore and this really bothered me.

I wanted to talk to him about it, and I asked him if we could. I'm not even sure what I wanted to say, but I just needed reassurance that he was still friends with me. That he still liked me. That he was, even though he was far away, still somewhat in my corner. I was feeling anxious, I was low on my medicine, with no therapist, working 12 hour days and still broke from being unemployed for months. I just wanted to talk and have him reassure me that at the very least, he was there for me and would be there for me. He agreed to that and we scheduled a time to talk, because at that point he was extremely busy with work and trying to balance everything, as was I. The afternoon we had worked out to talk comes and goes, and I don't hear from him. I message him and I express annoyance because we had plans, but he tells me that he had an outing with Her, and it went long. And then he expresses annoyance at me for being annoyed at him. He goes on the defensive. I completely unravel over a string of messages, which of course are poorly timed and one right after the other, which I know he hates. He engages his favorite tactic which is to leave the conversation entirely, tell me he's not speaking to me for a while, and then come back at his whim. He does this over a few days. He responds to each of my texts individually, escalating in each response until he's screaming at me in all caps and has worked himself back into the rage which makes him walk away.

I'm at the point where I'm looking at this pile of garbage relationship which has twice in the past two months shoved me into two of the worst, most ill-timed panic attacks I've ever had - and finally I hear my therapist's voice ring back to me as clear as a bell: He will never leave her, and he will never choose you. Everything that my denial had been holding at bay like a sweet little naïve raincloud crashed down all at once around me with the force of a tornado. It was the way there was never any compassion or kindness shown to me at the worst time of my life. It was the way he called me a liar and a manipulator when I was trying to include him in my deepest most personal feelings and experiences. It was the way he never noticed that I was blowing up my life with alcohol or that I was deeply depressed. It was the way he lied over and over again, telling me that he cared about me and then turning around to demonstrate why that wasn't actually true. It was the way I had to bend over backwards to accommodate his feelings, while there was never any room for mine.

And so, as anticlimactically as it began, our relationship finally ended. I don't even remember what the final blow was, or what I said in response. No doubt something shaky and angry and ugly. But I have never regretted it. For as ugly as I know it probably was, I do not regret it. My life, my health both mental and physical, has improved exponentially since that day in late April.

But if there is a hopeful epilogue to the story, it would pick up six months later when I had settled into my new place in the city, to be closer to work. I started to feel those pangs again. Those little flighty feathery feelings that can be so strong they echo across decades with such intensity that you can almost physically feel their presence inside your skin where they hibernate. It was the same feeling that made me sit down next to him on the bus all that time ago. I missed him. In spite of everything that happened, everything I learned, and went through, I did. But it wasn't until I started to feel as though I missed Her too that I knew I had to get back into therapy. A queer friend of mine who had been struggling through their own relationship issues, suggested a co-op place in Seattle they'd been using which was geared specifically to women and those who identify as such. Signing up with them was probably the best decision I'd end up making in my 30's. The therapist I was paired with was understanding, validating, and I never sensed once that she was bored with anything I had to say. She equipped me with the best tools to deal with my feelings, she taught that it's okay to love and protect myself through setting and maintaining healthy boundaries. And the best part about her is that she herself maintained extremely healthy boundaries. I never knew more about her than I needed to know. Yet I felt like I connected with her on a very deep level. And through talking to her, working with her, I was able to fully understand and appreciate what I had just been through, and how to exercise compassion for myself when I would find myself in situations where I would start reliving all of that trauma. Because of her, I found myself again. Or maybe I found myself for the first time. She helped me understand the feelings I'd been having for years but hadn't had the space or emotional support to explore. She helped me put a name to a feeling I’d had since childhood but never knew there was a word for. Not long after I started working with her, I came out as non-binary. Through our work, I found a deep well of love for myself that allows me to firmly (but with patience and love) define and protect my boundaries, and still have enough energy left over show interest, compassion and love for others in their journeys. And I stopped trying to avoid feeling like shit through drinking. Literally, everything became better a result of my therapist's influence on me.

But try as I might, there are some days in the year where my mind wanders back to the grey north where I tried to make a home. When I can almost hear the drizzle of rain in Occidental Park as I cried my eyes out there over something He said. In my mind's eye, I turn away, but the neighborhood is haunted with these types of traumas for me. Nowhere is safe, my mind panics, and I get turned around in the horrid memories; screaming at each other on 1st Avenue outside E Smith, sobbing so hard on 2nd that a stranger asked me if I was okay, countless arguments in the park that followed us to the bus stop and back to our home. Eventually, my mind grows desperate for answers, and it carries me back in time... all the way back to 2010 at Macy's when it began, and the loop starts again.

Which brings me to today. I've lost count of how many times we've been down this road. But I know grief is hard. And so is recovery. One of the ways in which I see to my recovery now is to write more. I don't usually publish what I write because it's just for me and I still have a lot of residual anxiety about posting anything personal online. Another reason is that my writing is so fluid that publishing it seems too final. Like... what if I change my mind about that way I've structured a sentence? What if I think of a better way to phrase that feeling? What if I change my mind entirely about the thing that I've written about? ...Why use a period if I could use a comma?

But I'm publishing this note anyway. For you, future Holly. Because you need this to be over. And because whenever we get into this rut, the only thing we seem to be able to do to stop ourselves from missing them and reminiscing about the good times is to walk ourselves through the trauma that they ended up causing. Which is effective in getting the sad feelings to stop, but you know is burning you alive on the inside. And so I'm writing this note to tell you (future me) that we don't have to do that anymore. You can set these thoughts and feelings down in language and writing, and be done. You can publish them, and move on. You can walk away. Put a period on the end of the sentence and close the book. 

But if you ever feel as though you need to mutilate yourself mentally by trying to list it all out again, so that you can poke it and dissect it and review it in triplicate... I will be here. Waiting to remind you that nothing you have ever done disqualifies you from being afforded compassion and kindness. Waiting to remind you that you deserve better friends, better love, than those that would afford you only scraps. Waiting to remind you that your anger is valid, along with your hurt and your sadness. And also waiting to remind you that this is temporary. These feelings are temporary. Give yourself the space today to feel what you are feeling. Let yourself be sad. Let yourself be angry. And tomorrow when you wake up, let it all go.

I love you. -H

[wackygoofball]

Gwenspiration: The Wacky Version Vol. 1 - The Fanfics

As threatened/promised, I am tooting the horn in a number of posts, following the most kind call of @jaimebrienneonline.

I decided to begin with fanfic as JB fanfiction was my way into the fandom when a kind voice, long time ago, lured me over to the wonderful world which is JBO. And ever since that day I found both my home and my people. 

I am not going in a particular order because like my non-existent children, I kind of love and love to hate all of my fics equally.

But, for matters of scrolling convenience, I will put this list below a cut:

Childhood Friends has a special place in my heart because it is one of the two fics that got me into the fandom, and it is of the rare species of completed Wacky WIPs. The story marked my first tender steps in the canon as I was still catching up on show and book knowledge but got instantly hooked on the JB dynamic and just *had* to write fanfiction about them, albeit not yet knowing just what the frack Westeros even looked like on a map. I simply was intrigued by the idea of how the lives of our OTP may have played out differently if only they had met at a younger age, only to run into one another time and time again over the years, until at last, the circumstances seem to be in their favor. Writing that fic was a challenge because, for one, it got finished, which is incredibly hard for me to to do, and it is a coming of age story of sorts, which is not necessarily what I am used to writing. Nonetheless, it was a project that got me firmly into the fandom, which is why I am always remembering the process (and the writer’s panic) somewhat fondly, and always smile like an idiot when someone finds that old fic of mine and leaves a kudo or even a comment, reminding me of those early beginnings of my JB shipping career.

Choices likely has to be mentioned in the same vein, despite its crucial difference being that it went on a very, very, veeeeeery long hiatus and yet has to awaken (some prince wanting to give it a smooch to maybe bring it back to life? Would be much appreciated!). It was born out of the wish of exploring the infamous what if of Jaime and Brienne already getting intimate while on the road back to King’s Landing - as a matter of necessity/convenience, only for the misfortunate/very fortunate circumstance that Brienne winds up pregnant after their one time together. I enjoyed/would very much to enjoy again to write the character studies on how they deal not just with the issue of parenthood but also with their insecurities regarding their feelings for one another, which inspires more than one ill-made choice (*roll credits*) for either one of them as neither one dares to call love what actually is just that, hiding instead behind missions and honor, parenthood and duty, and fractured pasts that leave them wondering just who they became thanks to each other.

Colour Verses is a series that was born out of my first ever (I believe) JB Appreciation Week. OMG, it’s been so long. The theme of colors really had me inspired, which is why those pieces, which can be read in succession and independently, have a soft spot in my Wacky heart.

The Shredding Project, I believe, deserves an honorary mention despite its utter lack of completion for some of its parts and a happy ending for some of the tales shredded in this part of the fandom. I have a great passion for fairytales and deconstructing them, which inspired this undertaking of twisting and turning aka shredding all those stories into new models to fit Jaime and Brienne into. In fact, the Shredding Project is much larger than it currently is on AO3, as most of the shredded stories still reside in a large, very large Word file on my computer (42 shreddings up to date with a total of 414k words *whispers* 414k mkaaaay, yes I *am* obsessed), and can be found in the respective thread on JBO, where one can read perhaps not an eloquently put-together retelling of favorite fairytales (and some Disney movies) but at least find a conclusion to every story and thus a happy ending, as befits a fairytale.

Bow Down is another story I would mean to include in this list. It came to mean a lot to me personally because I worked my way through it at a time when I was not really having the time of my life for a number of reasons. Thus, finishing that fic did a lot of things for me - and hopefully also with my oh so patient readers. The basic premise is how things would have developed, had Brienne failed to find Sansa and thus fully dedicate herself to the cause of the Blackfish during the Riverrun Siege whose bitterness is clouding his judgment, leaving Jaime in a tough position to choose between his family and the mannish woman he can’t help but care about as much as he does.

A Tale of Spring is one of those fics I wish to include in that already way too long tooting because a) it is a finished story, which is always a rarity in my Wacky world, and b) it is still a kind of headcanon I would have loved to come about in some capacity, as it leaves room for not just happy endings while at the same time giving space for futures to grow for JB as they are cautious to dream of their future past the Long Night, edging on a Dream of Spring.

Paths is one of those stories I am, yet again, very desperate to get back on track with (I mean, it is supposed to lead somewhere, title has it). This story means a lot to me because I just have so much in my head for how this is meant to conclude and just have to get over that one edge to finally ebb into the narrative direction I need this to go (aka follow the path *badum tssssss*). I suppose the story was very much fuelled by my love for G.I. Jane and the dynamic between Jordan O'Neil and John James Urgayle (and Viggo in those short shorts... way too short shorts... damn). At the same time, my aim with this fic is to show not just how tough JB can be and how much ass they can kick together but also how insecure they are beneath the tough surface and how they actually long for something way outside the line of fire.

Train Acquaintances, by contrast, is a rather self-indulgent fic I started to write and was surprised to have found an audience rather fast. I just really liked the theme of trains as a way for two people to meet while at the same time playing with the overly romanticized notion of trains and deconstructing it somewhat. They are a curious means of transportation, to put it mildly. And to then throw in Jaime trying to act smoothly when he is just acting like a dork most of his time was just too delicious to resist. While it’s been a long time (because my computer ate part of a chapter I found really important and that has frustrated me so much, I can’t even tell you), I remain intrigued writing this story because it has a rather distinct mood from what I normally tend to write. And awkward Jaime is just so much fun to write.

Washed Away is one of those fics I am so desperate to get back to that you woudln’t even believe - because it is the one fic most closely tied to the book canon. Its premise is the Lady Stoneheart situation yet to be resolved, wherein Brienne makes a dangerous gamble to save the man she knows is not guilty of the crimes Lady Stoneheart accuses him of, leaving them both to wrestle not just with the dilemmas of this overall situation but also their conflicting vows and feelings for one another.

In the Eyes of the Seven is one of those fics I am yet again very desperate to get back to (yes, I realize I type this sentence far too often, but it is the truth!) but have not yet found a way to bridge between two important plot points, currently creating a gap that keeps me from moving on to the next chapters. It is one of those narrative places where I nerd around freely and explore some mad medley of historical fiction inserted into the history of Westeros, taking up on the runaway nuns of the Reformation period and re-applying it to the Westerosi context by making it about septons and septas instead. While perhaps not a particularly popular story of mine, it is a story I very much enjoy writing as it gives opportunity for lots of introspection, insecurities, and the wish of both characters to break out of the boundaries of the norms set by a static system leaving no room for the likes of the Kingslayer and a woman fancying herself a sword as much as a book or a dress. In general, there are just so many ideas for it inside my head that I really hope to get back on track with that story because there is just so much more I want to tell the readers about in this strange tale.

May the Norns Bind Their Fate strikes a similar tune for me, as I get to gush about my mediocre-at-best knowledge of Norse mythology (albeit a great interest) and yet again change Westeros to my liking to insert the political system of the Viking era into this society (or rather my wacky interpretation thereof). For me, it is both an experiment in terms of perhaps (big perhaps) turning things a bit more heated than I am used to (for Wacky writes no smut, unless it is a literal accident, which only happened, like, once) and diving deep into aspects such as trauma and grief as well as fate and determinacy, since the idea of seers knowing your future has a very distinct appeal in my view, and how knowing one’s “fate” may affect the outcomes of the events. Thus, taking up on the challenge to deal with that in this fic still has me hooked - and I hope I am not the only one.

Last but not least...

An Honorable Man and a Just Woman is a story I am happy to have found an audience because it really gives me something personally to write it. Considering how sadly things played out in the show, I was in dire need of my own little fix-it and have since taken up on the challenge to entertain those questions of what would have changed had Jaime survived, what would be if he were declared King of the Six Kingdoms. Not only does that leave a humbled Jaime trying to find his place in a world he never thought he would see, having seen his ending long before he rode away from Winterfell, but it also leaves him and Brienne with the reality of what it is like to survive when so many died, and how to cope with how they parted and why. And while there are still so many things left unsaid and feelings left unexpressed, one can only hope that those two honorable and just people will eventually find their way around in the new world they are meant to build.

So yeah, I tooted a lot, and I still left out a whole bunch of my weird fanfic children, but those are the ones I feel a great deal of dedication to, even if, admittedly, a lot of them haven’t seen an update in ages. But rest assured, anyone reading this who dared to jump the Wacky train and read along, knowing very well that this strange woman struggles finishing a WIP most of her days, that I am still dedicated to each of those stories (as I am to any story I write). There are simply technicalities and real life not letting me dedicate as much of my time to it as I would need to finally get that final push ahead on a lot of them.

Be it as it may, in the spirit of Glorious Gwendoline Christie, here’s to my shameless self-promotion!

Stay tuned for the next post about the wackiest of Wacky’s wacky creations.

Until then...

Much love! ♥♥♥

[mokkoriness]

Motto2 vol. 20 Saga (A9) x Ryosuke (Lolita23q) Interview

Photo credit: Fantasy Alice9

Despite there not being that much interaction between them to date, in actuality, Saga and Ryosuke knew of each other since over 10 years ago. Hearing them talk, in addition to having things in common such as both being bassists and composers, it appears they have many things they agree on, and they hit it off! At this rate, it appears that in 2017, both A9, who have returned to their roots, and Lolita23q, who have resumed band activities, will do something interesting...!!

Saga: I've known of Ryosuke for quite a long time ago.

Ryosuke: I've also known about Saga for a long time. Before A9 had started, I was in the vocalist Show's session band and I've also been their roadie. I've known Saga since he was in Delta Ark...

Saga: That's such a long time ago! (laughs)

Ryosuke: From the time there was that compilation album "HYSTERIC MEDIA ZONE 5"...

Saga: That's super old!! (laughs)

Ryosuke: But today is the first time actually having a proper talk with him.

Saga: Right. We've never had a proper chat since meeting each other, but I've been hearing things about Ryosuke from Show for a long time now. Like "He's a really good kid, has really good manners and is amazing at the bass too. He's a skilled kid".

Ryosuke: No, no. That's too kind (laughs).

Saga: Oh, my bad for calling you a kid (laughs).

Ryosuke: I'm the junior here, so that's completely fine. And also because I respect my seniors who are moving ahead.

Saga: Huh? When did you guys form again?

Ryosuke: Our first live was in November 2004.

Saga: We formed in the Spring of 2004.

Ryosuke: There's less than a year's difference of our current bands, but you also had a career before that... When I played for the first time at a live house, Saga and Show were already playing at Takadanobaba AREA1.

Saga: Memories of those times are starting to come back to me (laughs).

Ryosuke: That's why when Show and Saga formed alicenine., I thought "This is going to be one amazing band". I purposely said their band name from that time.

Saga: But we're pretty much from the same era, so why didn't we meet? We've only played a show with Lolita23q once.

Ryosuke: I think that's because ever since alicenine. formed, they shot straight up.

Saga: No, no, not at all. We joined a management company right after we formed, so there was the fact that we weren't so free to move as we wanted...... But now that we've gone independent, there's none of that anymore and it's easier to get things done. It's like the same goes for today, being able to collaborate with Ryosuke.

Ryosuke: I'm really glad that I can have a chat like this with Saga.

Saga: Although we never interacted in the public sphere, in 2012, when I heard that Lolita23q would go on hiatus, I was sad, as one would expect.

Ryosuke: Really?

Saga: Yeah. But I wasn't suprised. Because I really understand the difficulty in keeping a band going. And when it comes do doing it for over 10 years... right?

Ryosuke: Uh huh.

Saga: I don't know the specifics for you, but when you are active as a band, don't a whole range of obstacles come up? So I did feel that it was sad... but I also felt that it is what it is. That's why when I heard Lolita23q would be making a comeback, I was genuinely happy.

Ryosuke: Thank you very much.

Saga: I also want you guys to show the fans in the current Visual-kei scene who haven't seen Lolita23q before what's what.

Ryosuke: I do hope they come see us.

Saga: Lolita23q had left an impression on me from the very beginning. The impact from their artist photos each time is amazing.

Ryosuke: Yeah... Our lives depend on that.

Saga: BAN adds a nice touch to the band (laughs). He does his own thing. Even in the new artist photos, he does his own thing. That's also amazing.

Ryosuke: He has consistency in how he presents himself. I think that the artist photo up on our website right now is the coolest BAN.

Saga: I also think that the artist photo now is the best, even including all the artist photos in the past. You guys are shining the most right now.

Ryosuke: Really? Thank you very much. I was very particular about the composition, even in the smallest details. After the band went on hiatus, I studied a bit on design, so I made use of all the things I mastered in the artist photos, like proportions and balanced.

Saga: You always looked at things overall and produced the presentation of the band and such, right?

Ryosuke: I wouldn't got so far as to say I produced it, but I wanted to say that ever since back then, I was the main person behind the band's creative side. But in making our comeback, I think that working from behind the scenes is okay. Because I want to contribute the know-how and ideas I have to the band even more than before we went on hiatus.

Saga: You won't say "I'm the one doing it".

Ryosuke: No, I won't. I'd be happy if my work was needed by the people we work with or the members.

Saga: It's like you take a step back to look at things.

Ryosuke: That's right. I'm a band member, but I've also got a position like a kind of director. But I don't even want to say things like that.

Saga: Oh, really?

Ryosuke: I want to avoid giving off this cocky feeling. But I'm actually really interested in things like this.

Saga: You like looking at the overall picture?

Ryosuke: Yes. Or rather, doesn't it happen with our part (= bass)?

Saga: Well, yeah. That's how it ends up being (laughs).

Ryosuke: Right!

Saga: Well, in terms of where you stand in the band, you end up looking around you (laughs).

Ryosuke: It's just as you say. That's why I think that I'm the one who chose the bass.

Saga: But even though you're a bassist, don't you also have solo activities as WING WORKS, where you don't play bass, but instead sing, and produce eveything? By doing things like that, I think that you're a unique person, even in this scene. So what are you thinking when you do your activities? I've always been really curious. Like "I wonder if he is moving while thinking about many things while looking 2 to 3 steps ahead?".

Ryosuke: That's right. When I thought to stop the band the first time, I thought that I couldn't be in a band anymore.

Saga: Like perhaps you couldn't form a band better than Lolita23q?

Ryosuke: There was that, and I'm not denying the stance that the other members took after that2, but at the time, the CEO of the label we were under at that time gave me the advice "The road of music is [One band per lifetime]", and that had always stuck with me.

Saga: Yeah.

Ryosuke: That said, I was thinking about forming a new band at first, but I immediately thought that I couldn't be able to form a band better than Lolita23q. So if that was the case, I thought to do it alone.

Saga: I see.

Ryosuke: That and I really like MIYAVI, so I was influenced by him.

Saga: Oh, really?

Ryosuke: Yes. If I recall correctly, just around the time when Lolita23q went on hiatus and I was wondering whether to do go solo or not, that's when MIYAVI and bobo started their activities in his current style. I bought a ticket and went to see them live, but when he frst started doing his current style, there weren't any people in the audience.

Saga: You bought a ticket?

Ryosuke: Actually, I've been a big fan of his since Due le quartz. Ever since MIYAVI went solo, I've always bought tickets go see his milestone lives. By myself.

Saga: By yourself? Really?!

Ryosuke: Really. Every time I go see him, I always learn something and I think "I'll work hard so I can become like him". When he went solo, didn't -miyavi- always have this vigour when it came to activities? But when he first started the two-person style, there were so few people in audience it would be unimaginable these days. But the things he is doing is clearly progressing even further than what he had done up until then. That was the biggest thing that made me want to become a solo artist.

Saga: I see... So it was his influence. -miyavi- used to be in the same management company as us, so I saw things that were happening back then, and once when he went overseas, he came back as a different person. He would start speaking English out of the blue. At that time, the people arond him had questions marks about him, like "-miyavi-, what's wrong?" and "I don't know what you're trying to do".

Ryosuke: Oh.

Saga: In that kind of mood, he pushed forward on his own path, and pushed completely through... I think that inside of himself, he had discovered something amazing and returned to Japan, and is sticking to what he wants to do, even if under tough circumstances. I think that because he stuck to his guns, he's able to do what he is doing now. I mean, no one else is doing what he does.

Ryosuke: He is a one-of-a-kind of person.

Saga: He may have had a really rough period, the kind that Ryosuke was talking about earlier, but now he is playing solo shows at Makuhari Messe3. You only sing at WING WORKS lives, right?

Ryosuke: Yes. Actually, there are also some of my solo recorded songs that don't have any real bass sounds. I think that a synth bass would work better there. I make clear distinctions there (laughs).

Saga: I think that is perfectly fine to do. If it's not necessary for the song, then there is no need to put it in the song. Often, there are people who say things like "What a traitor", when a bassist puts his bass down and takes up the microphone. I hate those kind of people. It's nonsense.

Ryosuke: Saga, I wish you were there to say that to my fans right after I went solo (laughs).

Saga: (laughs). I mean, Ryosuke is still doing music. What I really understand from this conversation is that he didn't become a musician because he really wants to play the bass. That's not the order of events.

Ryosuke: That is completely true.

Saga: For example, if in your band, you we were to disregard the vocalist and start singing, you might face criticism. But he is doing solo activities prepared to take on the risks and taking responsibility for what he is doing. You are free to express what you want and how you want. Actually, anything goes.

Ryosuke: That's right. Even before that, there was a period where I was DJing, so I had no objections to standing on stage without a bass, and if I had to say which, the music I want to do with WING WORKS has complex basslines, so I thought it was only natural that I devote myself to singing, so I could produce something of high quality. If I had wanted to do punk music, I think I would be singing while playing the bass.

Saga: Yeah.

Ryosuke: But it's just that my roots are not punk music. That's why I made the instant decision of setting down the bass.

Saga: That was probably the obvious answer for you, right?

Ryosuke: It was.

Saga: It just so happens that the way for him to be himself turned out that way. But don't the people watching not know that? The true Ryosuke?

Ryosuke: Well, I've not been able to communicate that well.

Saga: So there is that kind of struggle.

Ryosuke: Yes. By the way, what are your musical roots, Saga?

Saga: My roots... Before I was introduced to the world of bands, I wanted to be a singer-songwriter. Rather than saying I was doing music because I wanted to play the bass, originally, I looked up to people who composed and sang songs. That is where my interest in music began.

Ryosuke: I see!! Why was that the case?

Saga: My mum and dad had CDs at home. Many of them were from their generation, like folk singers, and influential singer-songwriters, like Miyuki Nakajima. As I continued listening to those CDs, I myself wanted to become a person who composed and sang songs. So in order to become a singer-songwriter, I thought I better first learn the guitar, so I tried to learn the guitar. But then when I was in middle school, I saw a videotape of LUNA SEA, and then affected by the poison that is bands (laughs).

Ryosuke: Poison?! (laughs)

Saga: I made the mistake of discovering bands, and I was completely wrecked (laughs).

Ryosuke: The mistake?! (laughs)

Saga: I got on the wrong path of life because of rock music, and now here I am (laughs).

Ryosuke: I understand what you mean (laughs).

Saga: So to make it easier to form a band, I started playing the bass, thinking it the bass would be better... So the biggest part of my roots is the fact I like songs, and that I want to write good songs. Actually, I'm the type of person to not really be fussy about the instrument I play.

Ryosuke: Me too. That I play the bass is just by chance. Or rather, to me, the bass is no more than an output method for me to express myself. When I decided to learn how to play an instrument because I wanted to do music, it just so happened that the bass was the instrument that fit me the best. Actually, there is something that I really wanted to ask Saga.

Saga: What is it?

Ryosuke: Despite the numerous Visual-kei artists out there, there are very few bassists that are in the main composer position. Also, did you also once say that you like U2 and Aerosmith, and your roots are also American music and stadium rock?

Saga: Yes, that's right.

Ryosuke: Did you say that so that the audience could understand your music more deeply?

Saga: That's right. How should I put it... Even if you were to play the music that is your roots in the scene right now, the audience won't understand you well, or rather, the assumption is that the other members are playing your music. Since your musical roots are going through the filter that is the other members, I do wonder if this music is blending well into this scene. For example, by Show singing the songs, that feeling is neutralized well. I think that to have the fans accept this music in this way is also possible.

Ryosuke: The other day, Show had said to me "Since going independent, A9 will first put out music that is highly artistic". I did certainly think that "PRISMATIC" sounded like Maroon 5.

Saga: Yes, yes.

Ryosuke: So now that I've learned about Saga's musical roots, I can understand that. At the same time, I think that it's amazing because music with that perspective and that approach cannot be found anywhere else in the Visual-kei market. You did a tour in Spring for that release, and didn't you also do a live where you returned to yor roots this Summer?

Saga: That's right.

Ryosuke: Looking at A9 from then on, the mode is completely different to when they had made "PRISMATIC". Up until Summer, I guessed that at that rate, you would become the Japanese U2 or Radiohead, and I was looking forward to it. I really, really like "PRISMATIC".

Saga: Thanks (smiles).

Ryosuke: But... So why did you return to your roots? Isn't it only obvious that you could have kept on going in that direction?

Saga: We can, and we could if we wanted to. But... Looking back on our activities over the last 12 years, we had slowly begun to stray off the path and made new music, saying things like "Our last album was like this, so let's make the next one like this". As we were doing that, wouldn't that also mean that people would have this view of us, like "So A9 is this kind of band"? At the same time, we had also built up our own aesthetic; we had our own branding, or rather, there was this idea of what we should be like, or what we wanted to show. So when it came to making music that did not stray from that idea, it was a situation in where the broad scope of song arrangements was getting narrower. Because we made it a point to not use the methods that we had used before.

Ryosuke: I see, I see.

Saga: Having been doing that, when we were in our 12th year, it had felt like we had done all that we could do. We also had a clear understanding of what we were good at and what we weren't good at. So "PRISMATIC" is to A9, the musical approach that we are the worst at, and the thing we avoided the most to date. Just as I had thought, it's the type of song that is the most difficult for Show. "PRISMATIC" is the song we wrote using the last of the last of what we had, which we hadn't used before.

Ryosuke: I see.

Saga: By writing that song, we had nothing left. I had started to think that if I was to make any more music with a new approach, there was no longer a need to do it as A9.

Ryosuke: Is that so....

Saga: As I was thinking this, we ended up doing a live where we returned to our roots. What I thought after doing the live was that the songs we wrote at the time were a pure manifestation of what we were thinking, and we weren't held prisoner to what we had done in the past. Although we didn't have any musical knowledge, though low quality, the songs we wrote then were good. And at the same time, I wondered what it would be like if we wrote songs with that writing style. It made me want to try writing songs in the same way we did 12 years ago. Strictly speaking, although it would be impossible to do exactly the same thing, there are some things that we have picked up over the last 12 years. In particular, after making our major debut, we were in a blessed environment of having famous producers produce our songs, and we learned many things. There were many things that we had learned, having producers such as Hajime Okano, who also produced for L'Arc~en~Ciel, Akira Nishihira, and Satoru Hiraide, who also produced for UVERWORLD, produce our work.

Ryosuke: That is wonderful.

Saga: But at the same time, we also know that there is no correct answer when it comes to music. And depending on the producer, they might say the exact opposite.

Ryosuke: Right.

Saga: But that is something we learned only after having worked with many producers.

Ryosuke: It's like you came full circle in these 12 years.

Saga: Yeah. In the end, it's just a matter of whether it feels good or bad to that person. But it's only because we took the long way and came full circle that I've come to think that I want to value what I like and what I want to do with A9, and that I want to return to our roots, no matter what others may say. In that respect, we might be coming closer to our first releases... I would like to do music in the way we had done back then, without thinking about anything, but with the brain and body that I have now, in its 13th year.

Ryosuke: I see. It's kind of similar the mode that I'm in right now.

Saga: Yes, maybe.

Ryosuke: Now that we are active as Lolita23q once again, we're writing new songs now. There was blank for a few years, and although it does feel like we've gone back in time, I don't think I can be satisfied with just that. Looking at the times now, my feeling is that I want to show the people who have never seen us before something new.

Saga: Yeah. So you start full-scale activities from next year?

Ryosuke: Yes. We will return to our roots with the five official members.

Saga: "Returning to our roots" is a common phrase for Lolita23q and A9 in our 2017 activities.

Ryosuke: That's right. Let's do something together, as two bands that are in the same mode.

Saga: Since both of our bands are aiming for the same vector and have the same mood, it might be interesting if we could do something together. Let's have a party!

Ryosuke: Let's do it!!

Saga: But before that... let's go have a drink together. There's still plenty more that I want to talk about that we don't have time for here (laughs). There are also things that we can't talk about here (laughs).

Ryosuke: Let's do it (laughs)!!

1 A livehouse in Takadanobaba, Tokyo, and one of the "holy places" for Visual-kei bands. 2 After Lolita23q went on hiatus, some of the other members formed other bands. 3 A very large exhibition hall, which holds about 9000 people.

[brownskinsugarplum76]

Eye of the Storm, Ch. 1

So, I'm going to take the plunge into something multichapter. I'm not sure where it will end up, and I'm not sure how long it will be, but I'll keep going as long as I can (but no regular publishing schedule). It's going to be AU-ish, with Robert single, but with as much as of the legit Zeppelin timeline in place as possible. It's starting in 1976, after his car accident, right before the release of Presence. And it brings back Maggie, of San Diego beach fic fame. 😁

Thank you, as always, to @firethatgrewsolow for your expert advice, guidance, and review. Thank you also to @starchild0985 for your encouragement for me to just do it. And thanks to @callmethehunter for the Maggie character idea to begin with.

No smut in at least the first 2 parts, but we'll get there.

Thank you. Please send positive vibes--I am a bit nervous about my ability to pull off a bigger story. ❤️❤️❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robert was enjoying himself at one of his favorite places besides the stage: the soccer field. He smiled as he watched the LA Aztecs thwart another Dallas Tornado goal attempt at 80 minutes into the match. He had to admit it wasn't as exciting as being at a Wolverhampton game, but it would do. Few people in America got feverishly passionate about soccer like his countrymen and women. This was especially so in LA, the playground of starlets and rock stars, most of whom thrived on nocturnal indulgences rather than daylight spectating.

He swept his hair out of his face for the umpteenth time. The wind meant that Old Man Winter, as gentle as he was in The Golden State, was not ready to retreat. Robert was glad he'd brought his leather jacket with him from Benji's car; his black, long-sleeved tee wasn't enough to ward off the coolness of the air. He had to laugh at the thought that the weather could be considered chilly, having survived much worse winters across the pond.

It was a few weeks shy of spring, a few weeks before he'd be thrust back into the spotlight with the release of the seventh album. He was proud that the band was still standing. During their forced hiatus there had been an influx of raw, hungry, minimalist groups openly mocking bands that reveled in grandiose musical ideas on grandiose stages, and Zeppelin was not immune to these kinds of attacks. But being in the studio a few months prior in front of a microphone felt like home, even if he was still on the mend.

Just like his pride in the band's resilience, he was thankful to be on his feet unaided, a couple months removed from the confines of a wheelchair or leg brace. He was also extremely thankful that his fall in the studio, during a moment of excitement, didn't cause another injury and another setback. He wouldn't have wanted to let the band or himself down in that way.

He shifted his attention back to the game. He refused to sit while soaking in the sun and the sport, the camaraderie with his friends, and the feeling of being alive and well. He also was enjoying being off duty, as Robert Anthony, rather than the Golden God. He would enjoy that feeling while it lasted; it never lasted long.

He had been scanning the crowd periodically as, in addition to the game, he was looking to score a lineup for a passionate match in his bedroom. It seemed a bust, because the few women present were tightly clinging to their significant others. But then he saw a familiar face, and he couldn't help but smile.

Maggie.

He hadn't seen her in about a year, though she lived a road trip away. And now he realized that had been a mistake. With too much on his mind after his accident, instead of reconnecting, he felt it safer to conjure up the memory of her body on their first night together. He remembered fondly how she lay underneath him in San Diego, slightly dusted with sand, as the world spun in a haze of tequila and the ocean waves rolled incessantly a few yards behind them. He also frequently thought of seeing her the following year at Kezar. Bonzo joked that she was the second bird who felt the clutch of his hand that day. It was an apt description, because Robert couldn't keep his hands off of her. After that reunion, he stole as much time as he could to visit her in San Diego or spirit her away to LA, whenever the band was camped in its American home base. Their relationship was free-flowing and undefined, but fueled with enough passion for it to bloom whenever they got together. He hoped they could pick right back up.

He watched her approach the stands, alone, and he took that as a positive sign. “Maggie, love!” he exclaimed. He raised a hand and waved; his cuff bracelet was almost in danger of flying off in his excitement. The gesture bordered on absurdity, as if she wouldn't be able identify a tall, otherworldly attractive man, one with whom she'd had many happy memories, who also just happened to be a household name. He grimaced at his overeagerness. But if his convalescence in Malibu told him anything, it was that cabin fever was possible in paradise. He wasn't quite ready to engage in tour life, but he was ready to be the prowling, pouncing lion again, not the broken man who was the receiver of TLC, even though the women were very lovely and very willing. He craved a fun fling, or more, with the right woman. The sight of Maggie gave him hope that he would get his wish.

She looked his way. Her mouth went wide, but her face soon settled on delight.

“Robert!” she squealed when she reached him. “What are the odds? How are you?” She threw her arms around his neck.

His spirited bear hug lifted her petite body from the ground before he initiated a kiss, one that successfully conveyed how much he missed her.

“Much better,” he said, putting her down and smiling some more.

“That's right, your accident! You're lucky to be alive!”

“I'm also lucky to be walking without a limp or anything… Some of the specialists had their doubts, but I never gave up.”

“That sounds like you. You look great,” she said, appreciating every inch of him from his hair, which was bigger than usual due to the vicious wind, to the red Converse sneakers on his feet.

“So do you.” He realized nothing had changed: her dark, wavy hair still grew past her shoulders, her smile still warmed his heart, and her curves, swathed in jeans and a thin sweater under an open peacoat, still called to his primal core.

He brushed her wind-blown hair out of her eyes. It was a futile gesture, because there was no shortage of wind. But when his hand came to rest on her cheek, it did accomplish what Robert ultimately wanted: a tender connection.

Maggie closed her eyes to savor the feel of his large hand. Robert beamed at the thought of how much she seemed to have missed it.

She greeted Benji, whom she had met at Kezar Stadium, and introduced herself to the rest of Robert's friends.

“Can I get you something? A hot dog? A beer?” Robert asked Maggie.

“I'm OK, thanks.” She turned to watch the play on the field.

“No worries. If you have time, maybe we can stop somewhere after the game?”

“I'd like that.”

Robert picked up his beer and took a sip. “So, what brings you up here, love?”

“I actually live in LA now. The band, we were signed, and we released our first album last month. We've been doing a bunch of LA gigs and are gearing up for a short tour in the summer. And we're going to open for Santana on a couple of dates this fall!”

“How wonderful! The time of year will be perfect for your tour. No risk of an icy car crash death, as when we first hit America…”

“I'm definitely glad for that! And you'll have to tell me that story another time. How frightening! So, I think I've read that you all have a new album coming out soon?” Maggie asked.

“In a few weeks’ time.” Robert sighed.

“Not excited?”

“I'm glad we recorded again, and it was really amazing that the album came together so quickly, but I have been enjoying the slow pace of our time off. I've missed the stage, but the circus that forms up around us, night after night? It's been good to have some distance from that, you know?” He watched LA race down the field and score a goal. He pumped his fist in the air and cheered.

“Lifelong soccer fan? Here by yourself?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I am,” Maggie said. My father got us kids interested in soccer, and we all played in the neighborhood. My one brother was supposed to be here with me today, but he's a bit under the weather.”

“Rough and tumble tomboy past, then?” Robert took another sip of beer.

“I did have more boy friends than girl friends growing up. It led to lots of crazy adventures, but it also gave me the confidence to lead the band and deal with trashy men in the industry...”

“I bet you've come across tons of them already.”

“Tons,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Well, if I know you, you've reduced them to damn near tears at the end, yeah? I know you don't take shit from anyone.”

“Thankfully we have a manager now, so I can step out of that role, but yes, I have fought for what we deserve.” She grinned proudly. “My band is my life and my family. I can't keep quiet when things seem to be going wrong for us.”

“That's my girl!” Robert leaned in closer to Maggie. “I also remember that you're a lady who knows what she wants and doesn't stop until she's satisfied,” he whispered in her ear before nipping her earlobe. A hungry smile spread across his face as he contemplated her fiery spirit.

“And that has not changed,” she said, turning and looking into his eyes.

She placed a hand on his chest as he tilted her face and kissed her slowly.

Robert marveled at his eagerness to consider leaving the match early, to spend some alone time with Maggie. This was new behavior, and it spoke volumes about the importance he had placed on her.

With only a handful of regulation minutes left, and LA comfortably ahead, he decided to break with tradition. For her.

“I think we know how this is going to go…” He put on his sunglasses and zipped up his jacket.

“The game, or our time together?” Maggie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah!” Robert ran a hand through his hair. “I meant the game,” he said with a chuckle. “But--”

“--I'm teasing you. I'm sure both of your thoughts are spot-on. In fact, I'm counting on it.”

“One catch, though, Maggie dear: you'd need to drive, as I'm still at the mercy of Mr. Lefevre, here, for getting around. LA traffic is too much work too soon for my delicate bones, I'm afraid.”

“At my mercy… I like the sound of that, even if you left out the detail of me being your chauffeur…”

“You'll forgive an invalid lad and be gentle, won't you, love?” His sweet gaze became more seductive the longer their eyes connected.

She sighed, remembering how Robert could charm his way out of anything, and how willing she had been to let him do it. “Sure, if that's what you really want…”

“For now, anyway,” Robert countered.

With a warm smile, Maggie linked her arm with Robert's. The two of them said goodbye to his friends and headed to Maggie's car.

[fountainpenguin]

Ex-“Refusal” Prompt

“Refusal” is a Prompt that revolves around Timmy’s Dad, Sheldon Dinkleberg, and some of the other Dimmsdale characters in their age group back when they were Squirrely Scouts together. In this draft, the Scouts go camping to Dimmsdale Flats, and Dad and Sheldon clash during a hike. I left in all my character notes in case they’re of interest to anyone wanting to explore Timmy’s Dad’s or Sheldon’s characters.

This is a really fun Prompt that was really coming together and I think I could have polished it up nicely, but I was a little bothered that a piece meant to explore Timmy’s Dad’s character had Flappy Bob for a narrator, and I’ve since found a way to portray the Dad-Dinkleberg conflict in a much more interesting way for me, so I don’t need this version anymore. “Refusal” will be one of our first Prompts once 130 Reasons comes off hiatus, so keep your eyes out.

Characters: Robert “Flappy Bob” Ferguson, Thaddeus “Dad” Turner, Sheldon Dinkleberg, Louis Bickles, Bennett Buxaplenty, Oliver Buxaplenty, Pappy

A lot of kids by this age might have started asking questions like where do babies come from, why were they here, and what were they supposed to do? When Robert Ferguson voiced those same questions, he tended to be a tad more literal. As Mr. Turner blasted “[Song]” and “Stayin’ Alive” the whole way to the outskirts of town, and Sheldon and Louis bellowed the lyrics out at the top of their lungs, Robert sank into the beaten cushions of the station wagon and covered his eyes.

Where did babies come from? In his experience, they were unceremoniously dumped by their parents on whichever unlucky saps happened to be in the area to care for them (and whenever he asked Mrs. Twittafly, she swore he’d been hand-delivered to the Dimmsdale Orphanage in a silver basket by a ghost).

What was he doing here? He honestly had no clue. One morning last February he’d hopped out of bed to try squeezing in a little juggling practice before the Powers That Be were awake to tell him to knock it off, and he tripped over the folded uniform lying on the floor. Robert knew the rules: Do as his mysterious benefactor ordered, or the seltzer bottles would get him for it. He joined the Squirrely Scouts immediately.

And where were they all going? Dimmsdale Flats. Population: Too boring to be bother mentioning.

He’d been crammed into the back seat of the stuffy car for thirty minutes, his sharp and angular thirteen-year-old body more than a little too big for the uniform he was wearing. Was it really too much to expect his benefactor to provide clothes that actually fit? On either end of the back seat, Louis Bickles and Sheldon Dinkleberg danced back and forth in what little space they had against the dirty car windows. Oliver Buxaplenty had claimed the entire middle row for himself. He was a Buxaplenty. They could do that.

Directly to Robert’s right sat Tad “Dad” Turner (sour after Bennett Buxaplenty had convinced their troop leader, Pappy Turner, to boot his own son to the rear so Bennett could claim shotgun). Dad had a spiral-bound sketchbook with an elaborate red cover in his lap. It had a strap and a buckle too, because mostly, he refused to let anyone see what he was drawing, and always snapped at curious Sheldon for peeking.

Dad loved drawing and designing clothes almost as much as Louis loved wearing them. But for now, he struggled to focus on the sleek car he was sketching. The bouncing of the station wagon along the dirt road kept making his lines smear and his pencils snap. Every few minutes, he’d shove Sheldon with his elbow or kick his ankle, as if this were all his fault.

“At least there are just four of us,” Robert grunted when they bounced over another sloppy speedbump in the dirt road. The station wagon didn’t have belts to hold them in, and he grabbed the back of the seat as Mr. Turner took a turn too fast. Mud splattered against the window nearest Louis. Robert wrinkled his nose. “We’d have to fit another one of us in here if Denzel’s mom didn’t make him join the Sugar Cream Puffs.”

The car hit a sharp rock and bucked, Sheldon’s hand flew down and slid across Dad’s notebook. Half his page tore, right through the sad-looking cow in the middle. Dad’s hands flew up, breath sharp. “Sorry Dad,” Sheldon apologized in his quick and cheerful way. Too late. Dad shoved the curly-haired boy against the window and flipped to the next page with a grimace. He tapped his eraser against his teeth.

“Why is Denzel in the Cream Puffs?” he asked Robert.

“They get half off on most of the cookies they don’t sell, I think.” Gripping his pointy knees, Robert blew the air from his cheeks. “Pretty convenient, him dropping out of Scouts right before I came in. Lucky for me.”

Clearly, no one else found this suspicious connection interesting. Dad kept drawing, Sheldon gazed in rapture at passing cows and ranches through the window, Oliver was asleep with his blond hair sticking up like straw, and Louis still had “Stayin’ Alive” on the brain (even though that song had faded out two roads ago). Finally, Bennett switched the station to random Beethoven and turned around.

“Will you urchins exercise a little volume control? Some of us are trying to read.”

Sheldon threw his hands in the air. “Why read when you can party? Move along, move along!”

“Ooh!” Louis mimicked him on Robert’s other side. “It’s always been my dream to throw a big summer bash!”

Robert thought about it, then punched his hands up too. “Party! Party!”

I mean, who was going to stop him? A gush from a seltzer bottle in front of witnesses? He’d surely be punished for wearing anything colorful or raising his voice later, but he may as well enjoy himself while he could.

Dad folded his hands over his ears. “I can’t concentrate! You’re so loud! You’re way louder than trains on fire!”

Sheldon jabbed an elbow into his side. “Aww, cheer up. We’re just having a little fun.”

Dad scowled at him. “I know where you live.”

Louis broke into song again, bellowing lyrics from the radio. That woke up Oliver. He jerked up his head and yelled, “I didn’t do it!”

“Oh look,” Robert interrupted, wrapping a warning hand around Dad’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

Dimmsdale Flats had been founded in 1744, 80 years after the main town itself. Robert had never come this far along the outskirts before. He peered past Louis and through the dusty station wagon window. The tiny town was populated with wooden buildings and the occasional saloon. Men and women dressed in period outfits drifted back and forth across the road. Two horses build a carriage. It didn’t look much like a campsite, but the mountains were closer here than he’d ever seen them before. Robert couldn’t make out the famous Dimmsdale sign from where he sat, but he knew it was up there just a short hike away.

Pappy parked under the shade of a rather spindly-looking building. Oliver hopped out first, slapping the dirt with both sandals. His twin lingered in the front seat, pouting at the book in his lap.

Sheldon was the next to crawl out. He lowered a seat for the others in the back, but in an act of utter defiance, Dad flopped over the seat that was still up. Robert took the easier exit. The wrinkles of his uniform creased in the backs of his knees and practically cut off the flow of blood to his legs. Louis bounced out with a sunny spring to his step. He set one hand over his eyes.

“Ooh, this looks like a super fun place to spend the week! Maybe when I’m older, I’ll actually live here myself.”

“I hate it,” Bennett muttered, slamming the car door behind him. Dad was still inside, lying on his back with his sticky legs straight in the air. Pappy had turned around. His mouth was moving, but Robert couldn’t make out the words.

[Eventually they all get out, receive instructions from Pappy on how things are going to go down, and transition to the campground]

Oliver ran circles around Bennett, babbling about Skittles baked into cookies instead of chocolate chips. Dad hung back, fingering the strap of his sketchbook.

Louis tossed the poles and tarps on the ground and dropped to a crouch. “Okay, so how do we make a tent out of this? I want a dream house.”

“Let me help.” Sheldon knelt down and unfolded the instruction sheet. “Hmm. Okay, I’ll start putting the sticks together. You can get the mallets.”

Bennett tossed them all a snooty glare. “Well, you ruffian folk enjoy yourselves in the dirt. I’m getting a room in the inn.”

Oliver hopped on a boulder. “Yay! Camping indoors!”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Mr. Turner grabbed his walking stick and hurried after him. “Bring your heinie down here, you rich pansy! Your parents may let you get away with whatever you want, but I have rules!”

“Pappy?” Dad called after him, clinging to the canvas. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

No response but distant shouts.

Robert hooked him beneath the arm. “Come on, Dad,” he said, fighting to keep a more enthusiastic tone in his voice than he actually wanted to. “I’ll help you. You know I want to be a clown when I grow up, right? Putting up tents comes naturally to me.”

[Tents get up. Flappy rooms with Dad and possibly Louis. Not sure if sleep scene is timeskipped or if Dad stays up drawing / confessing feelings to Flappy. I could see him up all night with lantern angrily drawing or writing his feelings in his sketchbook like a diary while Flappy tosses and turns trying to sleep, and I can also see Flappy being aware he’s angry and trying to talk to him, but Dad flops over and refuses to talk. Maybe both.

Alt version is they go on their hike after putting up tents, so we know who is rooming with who but we don’t have a sleep scene. Also note that as soon as Flappy’s alone, the Pixies will douse him with the seltzer bottle for daring to be energetic with the fun-loving kids. Pixies are really bad at seltzer punishments b/c they have a tendency to wait until he’s alone and then squirt him, rather than squirting immediately after he does something they disapprove of. My guess is there are no indoor bathrooms at the campground. Wonder if they have a buddy system / if Flappy deliberately takes a buddy with him.

They go on their hike up the hill towards the DIMMSDALE sign. Somehow, they end up separated from Pappy. Possibly Pappy was going on ahead yakking about interesting birds and trees, and everyone fell back b/c they were dragging their feet. Then an argument started between someone... Either Bennett overreacting or Dad straight up pushing / tackling Sheldon over the edge of a small cliff. Also I need a joke in here about Pappy referring to his son by his embarrassing nickname, Tadpole. Oliver probably gleans how embarrassed Dad is by Dad covering his face and turning red, so he teases him mercilessly. It’s already established by age 9 that “Everyone calls him Dad” but things like this solidify his determination to abandon the name Tad.

Maybe Dad brought his sketchbook along and he fell behind b/c he wanted to draw a bird or deer he saw. Robert is our narrator, so he pauses beside him to look, and he and Dad have a nice bonding moment of staring quietly into the trees at the animals in the wake of their difficulties last night. Thinking Dad quietly tells Robert that his mom loves deer and he’s drawing a picture he wants to take to her in the hospital. Need to decide if Robert would know his mother’s condition is terminal and if Dad knows he and Pappy will soon be visiting her for the last time.

Maybe Dad just found out (either that it’s terminal or that this is her last week or two to live) and that’s why he’s been so cranky this entire trip. He’s coping in his own way. Dad’s coping mechanism has always been to physically remove himself from the situation (Ex: man cave in attic, retreating to the den / sewing room to cool off after Timmy melted his trophy, sneaking away from camp to cry in the woods, sobbing on the bathroom floor after dropping his invisible pencil, bongos underwater, “You’re mean! I’m telling my wife!”) and he tends to head out into nature alone. Putting him in a car with a bunch of loud kids is exactly how he does not cope. It’s natural he would either stick extremely close to Pappy up front, or fall behind. Thinking he falls behind to draw. Drawing is his escape as a kid. What can I say? He’s a pencil lover.

So he and Flappy bond. Then Sheldon comes running back b/c he’s nice and didn’t want them to get left behind, but he’s super oblivious and loud and scatters the deer or birds. Possibly he startles Dad, making him jump and scribble in the middle of a beautiful drawing, or tear it again like in the car. Maybe Dad jumps up (Flappy tries to hold him back) and all his rage comes out. He either pushes Sheldon over the edge of the small cliff, the two of them tumbling the extremely short way down, or he just runs off b/c his natural personality is probably flight > fight. 

Either way, they attract the attention of the other kids while somehow not attracting Pappy’s attention, and somehow they end up getting lost. So yes, pushing and rolling down the hill could work as long as we justify how angry he is. Talking about mom and showing how grumpy he is earlier (especially with Sheldon already ruining his drawing in the car / nosing in his stuff while he was using the bathroom or at breakfast or something) would work fine. They now get lost. Possibly Dad’s sketchbook fell in a stream and is now soaked. Maybe when Sheldon startled him, he dropped it and it tumbled down the hill and plopped into the water, ruining it, and then he pushed Sheldon.]

“I’m the one who lives in these woods! Are you guys really going to follow Sheldon Dinkleberg instead of me?”

[Alt: They’re not lost yet, change “follow” to “believe”]

“Dad, listen-”

Wiping boiling tears from each cheek with a swipe of his fist, Dad turned and bolted into the trees. “Dad,” Sheldon hollered after him, “don’t be like that!”

“You’ll get lost!” Louis shrieked.

“Good riddance,” grunted Bennett. Oliver shook his head.

Robert motioned to the others. “Come on. It’s not safe out here. We have to go after him.”

[They chase after him. Pappy has no idea.]

“Dad! Dad? Dad, where are you?”

“Funny,” Robert puffed, jogging after them. “The kid has one skill in life, and it’s that he’s an expert at getting away from people.”

“That’s not true,” Sheldon said cheerfully. “He’s also our ‘dad friend’ who lets us play video games, roughhouse, and eat snacks. That’s why everyone calls him ‘Dad.’”

[Keep running, scrambling over things and just generally veering from the path. Everyone is intent on chasing Dad and for some reason no one chooses to go back to Pappy, even if it’s an option they consider.]

“Wait.” Sheldon held out an arm. “Be careful of the circle of mushrooms. We don’t want to make the faefolk mad.”

“Faefolk? You mean like fairies?” Louis brought his hands near his face and squealed. “It’s always been my dream to see a fairy!”

Bennett rolled his eyes. “Geez louise, you middle-class people are gullible.”

Oliver poked his twin in the cheek. “His name’s Louis, not Louise.”

“I don’t believe in fairies,” Robert said, stiff-voiced.

Sheldon shrugged. “Well. I do. And they can disguise themselves, so that’s why you should always be nice to everyone, so they don’t curse you. That’s what my nana says. Come on, let’s go around.”

[They go around the mushrooms and keep exploring. Possibly split up. Obviously our narrator is the one who finds him in the end, possibly after Dad shifted and accidentally knocked a pine cone down on his head. Think they’re evergreens on the Dimmsdale hill, so pine cone > acorn]

Robert tilted back his head. There, in the branches, perched a huddled mass of torn blue clothes, bloody scrapes, and rising welts from bee stings.

“Dad?”

Dad hugged the tree trunk tighter. “Go away. I’m staying up here for the rest of my life.”

“What will you eat?”

“Nothing.”

“What will you drink?”

“I can live a humble life with nothing but my own salty tears.”

Robert folded his arms. “What about when you have to go back to school on Monday?”

“I don’t care!”

“What about Mom? Won’t you miss her?”

Dad rubbed his face with his wrist and said nothing. Robert stretched up to the lowest fork in the tree and heaved himself up. “At least let me keep you company.”

[Include bonding scene here if we didn’t include it up by deer drawing scene. Possibly Dad started to open up to Flappy, but got cut off by Sheldon’s arrival. So here, they sit together for a moment of silence (Possibly even watching Louis search the area beneath them) and after a few moments, Dad opens up to Flappy again and wraps up their earlier discussion. 

For some reason, Dad falls out of the tree. Not sure if he was mad and tried to push Flappy off, or if he just slipped while climbing down. Either way, he ends up getting hurt on the way down. Sheldon volunteers to bandage Dad’s leg because “I’m a certified camp medic” / has Scout badge, to which Flappy responds either “Of course you are” or “Of course you do.” 

Playing on the idea that Sheldon is uncannily good at everything, but like... He literally works for everything he does. He pays close attention when they learn new things and he keeps practicing until he masters a skill, even after earning a badge or being praised. Ex: If he wants to become good at s’mores, he’ll be the first one to the campfire (even volunteer to get it set up while Pappy does other stuff) and he’ll spend the entire time experimenting and crafting s’mores for all his friends, whereas most kids would just make them for themselves. He finds everything interesting and wants to learn. 

His main weakness is that he has limited artistic ability- Dad has him beat when it comes to drawing, sewing, and even stuff like dancing / charades. Sheldon is good at academics, and Dad excels in artistic things but doesn’t get rewarded for that at school (and in fact gets teased for his girly talents, even though he adores sewing and designing clothes b/c those are things his mom taught him; she’s been sick and bedridden for most of his life and her teaching him to sew is the one thing they were able to do together). 

Emphasize how Pappy keeps wandering away / not listening to Dad, and Dad needs someone he can sit with and talk to. Add this into his character later with Timmy always getting distracted / wandering away / expressing boredom with Dad’s interests. Dad clicks with Mom so well b/c even if she doesn’t always understand his interests, she listens to and supports him (Think about how she keeps using his dangerous inventions in the kitchen, instead of complaining about them). Having someone take an interest in his interests is very important to Dad. Think about how obsessive he was of Timmy for his first eight years, video recording every moment of his life. That was his way of taking interest in Timmy’s life.

When writing present-day Dad, focus on how he’d love to take more of an interest in Timmy’s life, and he tends to bumble into Timmy’s business despite Timmy’s protests, or tends to push Timmy into joining his crazy activities, like building him a lousy bike or dragging him into projects like in “Lame Ducks.” He really wants to spend time with Timmy. Reasons he can’t include having to juggle work, time with his wife, and his own introverted need to relax alone and be artistic (Think about his personal sewing room in “Mice Capades”), and he also spends a lot of time building gifts (Possibly his way of trying to help his wife and son feel he loves them even when he’s too busy to be with them in person). Dad treats quality time as his way of receiving love, but he tends to express his love by giving gifts. 

Thinking that due to repeating timestream, Timmy went through an extended rebellious adolescent stage (during those 40 years of Season 7) and became a bit more snappish, often trying to push his dad away. This would hurt his dad deeply, and Dad would keep trying to be a part of Timmy’s life before Timmy’s repeated insistence he back off (both b/c he’s going through a teen phase and because he needs to keep his secret hidden) finally turns him to spending more and more time with his understanding wife and less time with the son who rolls his eyes, sighs, and sarcastically insults his interests. Need to figure out where to place that episode where Dad and Timmy bond over being scared of Mom’s cooking and Timmy wishes she could cook amazingly. Excellent episode for Timmy-Dad relationship.

Back to Sheldon, think about how he spent his money on an intestine-shaped secret lair. He could have built his own awesome lair, but instead, he heard Dad describe the secret lair and he thought, “Wow, that would be cool!” Sheldon spends money on things b/c he has no creativity. He looks at things and thinks, “Oh, I want to help” and he can research how to help (Ex: Turning his pool into turtle sanctuary, buying the Turners exact replicas of all their stuff instead of jumping on the opportunity to gift them fancy stuff), but he can’t innovate on his own very well. 

Note to self: Need to figure out what burglar in “Lame Ducks” did with everyone’s stuff. Seems like if they uncovered his lair, it would be easy for the Turners to get back their old stuff and have two of everything. Also still debating the legalities of an orphanage in Dimmsdale during Flappy’s youth b/c clearly we’re in a slight alternate universe here.]

Robert sighed as Sheldon began to bandage Tad’s shin.

[...]

“Come on, kiddo.” Robert took Tad in his arms. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

[End]

[heartlandians]

Filling Empty Spaces (Amy/Mitch), part 17

Mitch and Amy find an unexpected connection due to absent lovers. Set around season 11. A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this story, so hopefully there won’t be too many grammar errors.

* * * *

As Amy and Mitch reached the top of the hill near the Mustang Meadows, Amy looked around. At first she didn’t see any of the wild horses, and the trip to here felt anticlimactic, but then something caught her eye between the trees, across the field. The herd was sticking together and keeping each other warm from the brutal wind that blew across the snow-covered meadow.

“Look! There”, Amy said, pointing the direction to Mitch. She checked if the man was looking at the right place. When his face lit up, Amy knew he saw them.

“Wow... I’ve never actually seen this many mustangs in one place at the same time!” he commented, almost out of breath.

“Not many have”, Amy said. Something about the presence of horses made her feel more at home and calm, even though she worried about Ghost and - in a way - about Ty. “This is Ghost’s herd. I recognize few of these horses from years ago. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, though.”

She got quiet as she was starting to feel nostalgic. It wasn’t about the horses as much as it was about Ty. Amy had helped this herd escape from Wes and his men from years ago with Ty, seen Ghost with one of the mares and their foal with Ty when he had been sick in the fishing cabins and they had occasionally stopped to admire the horses whenever they had spotted them during trail rides.

It all came back to Ty.

Those were good memories, and in a way Amy wished for something like that to happen again, but it probably wasn’t in the cards with Ty anymore. He had chosen to live elsewhere and was probably now helping animals somewhere across the globe. Hudson and the little wonders of it - like this herd - had not been enough.

“Anyway... I can’t see Ghost anywhere... Can you?” Amy asked when her eyes looked through the various coats of the horses. None of them belonged to Ghost.

“Can’t say that I do”, Mitch said. “Do you want to wait here for a while?” he suggested, already sensing that Amy probably wasn’t going to give up on him that easily. 

“Yeah. But if you’re busy, you don’t have to stay here”, Amy replied, not wanting to make Mitch feel like he had obligation to be here, knowing that he probably had a lot of work to do.

“I don’t mind -- I’m kind of curious to see how this plays out”, Mitch responded. “Besides, I was going to go for a walk with Venus anyway, so, we might as well do this instead. She’s been feeling kind of anxious now that the Dude Ranch has had no guests, and Lou’s not here to ride her.”

In a way Mitch shared the feeling; the cattle business quietened down during winter months, and since Lou was not around, the Dude Ranch was somewhat on a hiatus as well, which left him less work to do. 

The only good thing that came out of all this was that Jack had asked him if he could help around Heartland. Even though Mitch didn’t want to be “just” a ranch hand, it did still feel good to have something to do during these winter months, especially because he knew it to be temporary. He was not one of those people who could just sit and do nothing for longer periods of time.

Amy looked at the horse under Mitch. “Yeah, it’s been kind of weird here, with no Georgie or Lou... or anyone else, for that matter.”

Mitch could see from Amy’s glance that she was feeling gloomy about it, which was understandable, not only because she and her family were close but also because she was going through separation with Ty. With Amy working less now that she was still recovering and had to take care of Lyndy alone, it almost felt like Heartland was hibernating, waiting for spring to come with new opportunities. 

“How you’ve been?” Mitch asked. They had seen each other, passing by every now and then, but it had been months since they had really talked about anything else than horses. At first Mitch had figured it was best to just stick to something casual, because maybe that was what Amy had needed, but now that he could see how isolated Amy had become, he was starting to worry about her. 

“Me?” Amy checked and looked at the man next to her. “I’ve been... okay. It’s been kind of a blur, these past few months. I can hardly understand it’s Christmas time. I only remember it when I step into the ranch house and I can smell the food Grandpa’s been preparing and see the decorations Lisa has put up, but... at the loft, the time is kind of still. The only thing that makes me realize the time is passing is when I can see Lyndy grow every day. She’s learning so many new things -- she’s even walking now!”

A faint smile lingered on Amy’s lips as she recalled Lyndy’s first steps. She remembered laughing excitedly about it at first, but then ended up crying because of loneliness and her emotions being all over the place. It had been hard, but she was trying to take it day by day.

“That’s amazing”, Mitch commented, smiling as well. “The kids, the grow up so fast.”

Amy nodded. “Yeah, they really do.”

“I feel kind of... guilty”, Mitch admitted after a beat, “for not talking to you more. I know I’ve been busy with the work, but... I still should have taken more time to ask you how you’re doing.”

“But... it’s not your concern”, Amy pointed out. Mitch might have worked at Heartland, but one of his chores wasn’t looking after her on the side.

“I know, but I still have this... urge to help people. Like, even when your dad was having a problem with that skunk earlier this year, I really didn’t have any obligation to him, but... at the same time I felt like I should do the right thing, you know”, Mitch explained. “I guess I just hate seeing people miserable, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s not a bad thing, wanting to help people, I mean”, Amy said, knowing she shared the same kind of thing. It was more evident with horses, but she did like to help people too, sometimes even when they didn’t deserve it. “As long as you’re not sacrificing your own well-being, or others’.”

“It’s not, but... I don’t want anyone to feel like I’m trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong. I just want to help if I can”, he spoke. “But I haven’t really known how to help you.”

Amy looked at him, wondering about that. “I suppose it’s not easy; I remember feeling helpless when Lou was going through this. How could anyone know what’s the right thing to say or do, when even I don’t know it and I’m the one going through this. -- Besides, I have to admit, I’ve been kind of isolating myself on purpose.”

“Why?” Mitch asked.

“For many reasons”, Amy responded, not wanting to get into the whole thing about what Caleb had once said about Mitch’s friendliness, “but I guess I just... don’t feel like I deserve anything good, like I should be ashamed to be who or what I am.”

“Why do you feel that?” Mitch wondered.

“Because...” Amy sighed. “I guess it’s something Ty said when we had that one big fight before we... fell apart. He pointed out how my idea of moving out from my childhood home is moving on top of the barn where I’ll be spending all my life. I guess it just made me feel... pathetic, or something.” She looked down. Suddenly everything she had ever enjoyed after that had felt sad, like there was no comparison to Ty’s choices and the risks he was willing to take to live the life to the fullest.

There had even been a moment where she had considered leaving all of this behind and following Ty to his adventures. Maybe he somehow knew better what was good for her. After all, he himself had said that he had only known what he had wanted when he had had it. Sure, she had been to Europe and done few big clinics around the world, but eventually realized they were not for her on the long run, but was that any sign that she couldn’t enjoy being the wife of someone who traveled around the world, saving animals?

Eventually, she had gotten bitter about it the more she thought about it. Why would she have to give up something she so purely loved only to end up being the extension of someone who did what they loved, alone. That was not fair for her and not something she wanted to teach Lyndy either. 

“Amy, you’re not a reflection of someone who can’t love you the way you are or deserve to be loved”, Mitch said, hoping he wasn’t pushing a line. “And I’m sorry if that’s a rude thing to say but I wish someone would have said that to me when I saw Lou running out of the church, holding hands with Peter. I know it’s not the same thing, but I just... I took all that hurt out on myself and isolated myself from the things that I loved. I wanted to come back here, back to Heartland, but... I had promised myself that I would try to forget it just because Lou hurt me. I almost made myself think I didn’t want any of this because I just didn’t want to hurt like that again. But when I came back, it was like coming home, and I never wanted to leave again. The hurt... eventually, it passed.”

Amy looked at Mitch. It was strange to hear someone talking like that about her, Ty and Lou, but at the same time Amy felt like she had grown a little bit and had come to understand not one of them was always right even though deep down they were good people. They all did things that hurt people and that were wrong. Mitch had a right to feel hurt - and so did she.

“I know...” Amy said, even though she had not fully embraced it yet. “And I also realized that I almost lost myself by trying to chase Ty. At first I thought maybe I was just scared of the change, but maybe I was not so eager to go along with him because... this is me, this is who I want to be and I don’t want anyone to take that from me.”

“Then you should be who you want to be”, Mitch encouraged.

Amy nodded. “I do miss him, though, but not... who he is now, more like who he used to be. But I can’t stop him from changing, because... people change, and we shouldn’t hold each other back; if that is the direction he wants to go, he should. I just get so angry because of his process, especially how he decided to create these dangerous situations and then it was up to him to protect me and Lyndy from them. It was all his decisions and it was not fair for us.”

“You’ll find your footing again”, Mitch believed, “I know I haven’t been through what you have, but... I have been through trauma and I have been through heartbreak and the best thing to help me heal was to embrace the things I love. Like going for a ride and just looking at the beauty of Alberta.” He looked around, taking in the vista and feeling better just by looking at it.

“Thanks, Mitch”, Amy said. “I feel like you’ve had this ability to understand me through all of this better than anyone else, which is kind of odd because I never really thought we had that much in common, to be honest. I shouldn’t have kept you at arm’s length because I could have used your perspective.”

“Hell, if any of my sucky situations can help you to get over something better, then all of that suffering has been worth it”, Mitch commented with a one-sided grin. 

It did lift up Amy’s spirits a little and she promised herself not to push Mitch away because of the possible gossip it might create or whatever had happened with other people with similar situations. She just needed a friend right now and it seemed like Mitch was the right person for that.

[prevsapphism]

☆。.* activity notice ✧*｡⋆✧

ALL RIGHT as of tuesday may 8, i, queen morgaine bubblegum from The Legions of The Great Fantasy Femslash, have Officially Returned to the rpc from my brief sabbatical!!! i have two days off starting today and i’m ready to devote both of them fully to writing disabled middle-aged lesbians and making them kiss once again!!!!! im back!!!!!! Back In The Game!!!!!! sapphiism has been renewed for another season!!!!!!!!!! finally!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i was supposed to come back in mid-april, but was delayed due to Astrological Complications. ( aka mercury hadn’t exited its shadow period yet and even though it was out of retrograde i was NOT taking any chances. )

here r some cool things that happened / places i went to during my hiatus:

i saw KATE NASH Live In Person on april 30th and . holy fuck. What An Evening.

she is so sweet and talented and such an energetic performer!!!!

she wore a snakeskin print jumpsuit with BELLBOTTOMS and RED POMPOM EARRINGS!!!!! she jumped around SO much when she sang and during the bridge of ‘we get on’ she came off the stage into the area that’s like. where the photographers were and like. Literally Serenaded me for the bridge of that song and she HUGGED ME and she said i looked amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!! were getting married later in the spring ladies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

then i went round to the stage door after the show and told her her music helped me as a sick autistic lesbian and she said i was amazing!!!!!! i also have her setlist!!!!!!!!!! ( and vids for those who wna see!!!!!!!! ) holy shit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i had sunday brunch in philadelphia for my birthday!!!!!

i watched a LOT of Questionable Late 90s and Early 2000s Films for the love of hot middle-aged women!

i went to see the cherry blossoms on the mall with frankie!!!!!!!! ( for those of you keeping up with the Frankie and Morgaine saga. )

despite everything else listed above, it was a lot harder than i thought to be away from my blogs. i’m surprised i made it as long as i did. but i like to think a hiatus helped my burnout a lot, or at least really really hope it did. it certainly was good for my Creative Self, seeing as i have billions of new canons in my notes to expand and had to all but sit on my hands to keep from cutting my hiatus short and expanding them all at once lol.

i love you all SO much. i missed everyone SO much. i have SO much character development saved up and i cant to document it all here. i’m back for realsies and itching to write again. 

♕ ♡♡♡♡ xoxo queen morgaine

( ps: can we PLEASE talk about f.rances m.cdormand’s m.et ga/la dress. and fr.ances mcdorma.nd in general.  i love her SO much i cant Fuckening stand it holy SHIT. )