#he was so good at having mommy issues that he leveled up to grandmother issues. grandmommy issues? no that's horrid.

[annabelle--cane]

I'm crazy I'm crazy I'm crazy

[lottesreads]

Why Me? - Part 4

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader (Callsign Mantis)

Warnings: Cursing, insecurities, pining, mommy/daddy issues, throw up, little bit of angst, mentions of pregnancy, dirty jokes, mentions of death, mentions of being drunk/drinking

Word Count: 6892

Summary: The next morning commences after Bob sleeps over. You tell him things you never thought you'd talk to anyone about, and you both get to know each other a little better.

A/N: I realize now I have no posting schedule, I just post when it's done, so sorry 'bout that! Things are starting to pick up and I cannot wait to get to the next couple of parts, enjoy! And as always, love to know what you think!

Masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, you are actually a very level-headed individual. You made it through the academy and multiple deployments, often as the only woman in your squadron. You pushed back when people tried to knock you down, and you were able to do it by yourself. You didn’t need to call your dad for backup, he often didn’t know just how much shit you had to sit with just because you held his last name. It wasn’t just the Navy that held you in suspicion because of this. Your own flesh and blood held some animosity toward you. You often heard your grandmother tell you how great her daughter’s life could have been, “If your good for nothing father hadn’t come around.” You took it as she meant it: If she never had you.

That’s how it has always been around your mother’s side. She met Mav when he was stationed in Florida, your mother on spring break from her junior year in college. She was barely old enough to drink, but they made quick enough conversation. He was still in his flight suit from work when she walked into the bar with the rest of her friends. Only looking for a little fun she quickly left them in the dust for the man behind the aviators. They spent the entire week together until she had to go back to Ohio. He gave her his number in case she ever found herself back in Florida, and that was it. That is, until about a month later after finals were over and she still had one test to take. It came back positive. 

Pete was thrilled to hear back from your mom already, hoping they’d be doing a different kind of catching up. Instead, he was met with the sound of your grandmother yelling at him through the phone. He didn’t hear much, but the few words and sentences he did catch were “pregnant”, “kill you”, and “my baby”, but to be honest he didn’t hear a lot after the first time she said pregnant. To be fair, your dad stepped up to the best ability the Navy would let him. He requested a transfer to be closer to the two of you, calling Carole for advice, and when you were born, she and Bradley even made the journey to see you.

Then there were the deployments. Everywhere he went, Mav seemed to piss off someone, whether it be his Captain, Admiral, or anybody above him who had the power to send him out, they did. Moving to Virginia, your parents tried for the first two years of your life. They really did. Your mother ended up dropping out of school to take care of you while your dad was away. Always citing the Navy for the reason their troubles began. When he was back they’d fight constantly, her saying he was always away, and him telling her that it was his job. She couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Thus started the arrangement you grew up with. Spending the school year with your mother, and the summers with your dad. Even if he had to leave in the middle, you spent the rest of your time with Carole and Bradley. A great reprieve from your mother’s side. Even from such a young age you felt bad taking away Carole from Bradley, learning guilt from your family very early on. There was one point when Pete was deployed when you were 8, Bradley 14, that you told him this. He told you he felt the same way about your dad and ended the conversation with, “We can share.”

You miss the times when you couldn’t wait to see the two of them. Which makes what happened last night even more bittersweet when you look back on it. Your dad didn’t even think there was conflict between you two, he just saw his kids talking again. That was enough for him. You didn’t even want to think about Carole right now. It always hurt, but knowing that her girl was fighting with her boy would have her smacking the both of you upside the head.

You could practically feel her in your brain the next morning. Either that or your head was pounding from all the tequila and lack of water in your system. From behind your eyelids you can tell the sun is just barely starting to come up. Damn that internal clock. You dare to move your face further into the pillow, but still completely at the feeling of something moving underneath your arm. Your hand lies curled into Bob’s side, the remainder of your arm resting over his stomach. You must have shifted in the night, you on your stomach, Bob’s hand now resting on your arm. His head facing toward you, eyes fluttering every couple of seconds, obviously in a deep sleep. He looks so peaceful like this, it almost stops your heart from beating out of its chest.

You take slow, measured breaths, praying you don’t wake him up. Not wanting to leave the only moment thus far that you’ve seen Bob completely at peace. Your eyes get caught wandering over the same few freckles across his nose and cheeks. As you admire the appearance of each dot, you are made painstakingly aware of how close your faces are. Your arm unintentionally flexes around his side and he takes a deep inhale. You close your eyes immediately, scared that you may have woken him up. His hand starts to smooth up and down your arm as you try to quiet your breathing. His hand abruptly stops in the middle of your arm as you feel his head lift from the pillow. You are trying your darndest to quiet your breathing all while your heart rate is skyrocketing. An impressive feat you are hoping Bob doesn’t catch on to. His head falls back to the pillow as you hear him let out a breath. He hasn’t dared to lift his hand from your arm quite yet, it still lingers, his fingers now tracing small shapes.

Oh god that was even worse. Feeling his hand wrap around your arm gave you butterflies. But now he was being so- delicate. Drawing deliberate shapes and patterns, none of which you could decipher. He was fully aware of what he was doing and now so were you. Your chest begins to feel light until the butterflies in your stomach are absolutely lurching. Wait, no you were going to be sick. Your eyes shoot open, alerting Bob, as you untangle yourself from the sheets and run toward the bathroom. Barely making it in time your stomach promptly evacuates whatever was left in there from last night. You can’t even hear Bob follow you in, but are made aware of his presence as he holds back your hair and rubs your back. Even as you’re puking up your guts, you take a moment to acknowledge just how touching the gesture is. And then you feel immediately guilty for letting Rooster get to you last night and ruining the plans you made with Bob.

Once you’re absolutely sure you’re finished, Bob helps you stand as your eyes meet in the mirror. He grabs your toothbrush, applying some toothpaste and handing it to you.

“You feeling ok?”, he asks as you begin to brush your teeth. You close your eyes and nod, not finding the strength to look at him quite yet. “Where do you keep your pain meds?”. You spit and rinse your mouth, continuing to lean over the sink.

“Cupboard to the left of the fridge”, you grumble. Just as soon as he’s gone, Bob reappears right next to you with a couple pills and a glass of water. You graciously accept the drugs and sip the water. You spare a glance in the mirror and catch Bob’s eyes. He had put his glasses on at some point, but was still sporting the sweatpants you lent him. It seemed weirdly intimate and almost fitting to see him in your clothes as well as in your bathroom. Oh god. This poor man had to put up with you all night and had to carry your drunk ass up the stairs. You place your hand over your forehead in embarrassment. “Oh god.”

“What’s wrong, you gonna be sick again?”, concern etches into his voice.

“No it’s not that. I’m just- I’m so sorry I ruined your night.”

“My night wasn’t ruined.” This has you opening your eyes once again and turning to Bob.

“How did I not ruin your night? You were supposed to go out and play pool, not carry your drunk coworker up the stairs and have to crash at her place.”

“Ok, first thing: If I recall correctly we did play pool. Number two: I offered to drive you home and then carry you up the stairs. And number three: I crashed here because I wanted to make sure you were ok. I didn’t feel right leaving you drunk and alone.” He seemingly and very purposefully left out the part where you practically begged him to stay in your bed. And you are grateful for that. The levels of empathy and generosity radiating from this man are astronomical. After getting through the exterior of anxiety and doubt, there is a big old softy in there.

“Well, thanks for doing all that. You didn’t have to.” You shyly offer. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if I didn’t make sure you were taken care of.” You look up and share a small smile with him. Seemingly meeting your embarrassment and his kindness in the middle. But your head is still pounding as you wince at the light coming through the door. As if he could read your mind, Bob closes the blinds to your bedroom alleviating the pain slightly. “Let’s get you back to bed.” You blindly take his arm as he leads you to your bed once more, allowing you to get situated before he comes back. The bed dips as he sits next to you, “Fair warning, I’m gonna place this rag on your forehead, ok?”

“Ok”, you whisper. Bob gingerly smooths the cool rag over your head and places the glass of water on your nightstand.

“Now that I know you haven’t died during the night-”

“How can you be so sure? It doesn’t feel that way”, he lets out a small huff of laughter.

“Because you still have the ability to be a smartass. It’ll be a cold day in Hell when you don’t have a quick comeback.” You smile at his use of the word ‘smartass’. You want to take it with a grain of salt, but hope it means he’s more comfortable around you to finally swear.

“Robert, such language.”

“I know I know, just don’t tell my mama.” You open your eyes a crack at the use of his southern drawl, smiling. He’s smiling right back at you, breaking the contact finally as he clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get home to Sylvia. But I’ll be back later if you’re feeling better to go grab your car.” You reach out to grab the nearest thing to you, which happens to be his hand.

“Bob, I didn’t even think about my car. I am so sorry. I’ll just walk over there-”

“Hey it’s fine”, he squeezes your hand, “I only live about 10 minutes away, it’s not that big a deal.”

“After this you better be able to call me your friend. You took care of me while I was drunk and held my hair back as I puked. That’s as close as two people can be.” He smiles at your tired words. Of course he wanted to be your friend. He wanted to be more, but he would take anything you were willing to give him. And therefore what the Navy would allow. But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. It still baffled him why you would want to talk to him in the first place, but here you are. Bonding over the fact that he took care of you. It wasn’t even a question in his mind, he was always going to make sure you were ok.

“Of course you’re my friend”, taking a look down at your still connected hands he realizes all the compromising positions he’s put you in during the last 12 hours. Deciding this is still too intimate for friends, he slips his hand out of yours and stands. “I’ll be back later if you’re feeling up to it.”

“If you insist.” Bob grabs his pants from their folded position on your dresser as well as his phone, looking back to you for one last glance.

“Oh I do.” He taps the door frame, “Get some sleep.” Your eyes slip shut as you succumb to a sleep you would classify as coma-like. You don’t even hear the front door close, Bob being mindful and shutting it as quietly as possible so as not to disturb your headache further.

Bob couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face the entire drive back to his place. You wanted him to be your friend. You wanted to spend time with him. And more importantly, he would be seeing you again later. He didn’t even care he saw you throw up this morning, he still thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Not to mention you were funny as hell and strong-willed. You didn’t back down when Rooster had confronted you, and you ended up beating him in pool, drunk. Thinking of how amazing you are had the smile slipping from his face. What exactly did you see in him? Even just as a friend, what could he have to offer you?

He all too soon pulls up to his driveway, noticing Phoenix’s car waiting for him. He furrows his brow, she never said she was coming over. He makes his way to the front door, unlocking it and walking in. He’s greeted by the sound of paws on the hardwood floor running towards him. Sylvia stretches her back legs jumping up on his chest.

“Hey girl!”He greets her with head scratches, gently resting her front back on the floor. Hearing him enter, Phoenix frantically rounds the corner and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Oh thank god. Where the hell have you been?!” She looks him up and down once, face contorting in confusion, “And who the hell’s pants are you wearing?”

“I crashed with Mantis, she was pretty drunk and I didn’t feel right leaving her alone. Why are you here?”

“Because you haven’t answered your phone all night or this morning! I was worried about you.” Bob grabs his phone from out of the pocket of your pants, realizing he left it on do not disturb. There in all their glory are the missed text messages and calls from Phoenix.

“I’m sorry, I put my phone on silent so it wouldn’t wake Mantis up.” Phoenix smiles softly at the notion, but furrows her brow once more.

“Wait, where exactly did you sleep?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you were afraid of your phone going off and waking her up that means you were pretty close.” Bob looks away and rubs the back of his neck. “Bob, answer the question.” The way she squints her dark eyes at him makes him realize she isn’t messing around.

“I was in her room.”

“Did you sleep on the floor?”

“No” He responds quietly, hoping she didn’t hear it. By the way her eyes widen and mouth drops he knows she did.

“BOB!” He quickly holds his hands up in surrender, attempting to clarify the situation.

“I only did because she didn’t want me to leave! I stayed on my side the entire time and I promise you nothing happened.” She huffs out a sigh.

“If Mav finds out you were in his house, in his daughter’s bed-” Bob’s face reddens at her implications.

“Phoenix! Oh my god! You’re making it sound like something it definitely wasn’t”, he rubs his face in his hands avoiding her gaze.

“All I’m saying is, you are literally in her pants right now.” He continues to hide in his hands while Phoenix snickers at her own joke.

“You should go.”

“Oh come on, you’re the one in her clothes! But if it’s making you uncomfortable I’ll stop.” He peeks through his fingers and realizes she’s being sincere. She hears a muffled “thank you” from him as she makes her way to the door. “Good to know you’re alive. We still on for brunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah I’ll be there”, Bob mumbles out, still embarrassed.

“Good, Rachel’s really excited to meet you.” Bob finally looks at Phoenix and smiles, noticing the love-stricken look on her face. 

“Well I’m excited to meet her, too.” Rachel and Phoenix have been going out for three months, Phoenix only now taking the initiative to introduce her to her friends. Not wanting to scare her off by bringing her by the Hard Deck. Last night only solidified that she was making the right choice in not doing so.

“See ya later!” she calls out, shutting the door behind her. Leaving Bob alone with Sylvia, he bends down and gives her all the attention she deserves. He takes her head in both his hands and scratches her ears.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here last night”, he says in the baby voice reserved only for her, “Daddy had to go take care of someone. I know, I know. Maybe you’ll meet her someday.” She cocks her head to the side. “But don’t get too attached, that’s gotta be my problem and mine alone.”

True to his word, after texting to make sure you were feeling ok, Bob came over to retrieve your car. After getting a few more hours of sleep and almost throwing up a couple more times, you were able to shower and down a few glasses of water. Then miraculously you put on some clothes and were attempting to do your hair as the doorbell rang. As fast as your legs let you, you cautiously walked down the stairs to open the door. Even with the pills you took earlier this morning, you were still feeling lightheaded. Not even attempting to eat anything after Bob had watched you at your not-so-finest moment.

You open the door and there’s Bob in all his coiffed hair and wire frames glory. Sporting another t-shirt that wraps perfectly around his biceps as well as jeans that hug his legs just right. You really wish you were a pair of jeans right now. You barely even notice he’s holding your neatly folded sweatpants until he holds them out for you to take.

“I washed these for you, thanks for letting me borrow ‘em.” You graciously take them, taken aback by his thoughtfulness. You really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Thanks Bob, you really didn’t have to do that.” He simply shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, straining his forearms.

“It’s really no problem. How are you feeling?” You move to take the pants back to your bedroom, answering him while climbing the stairs.

“I’m alright, definitely better than this morning, thanks to you.” You return downstairs and find Bob admiring the framed pictures on the walls. Some of you and your dad, some of just you. And of course some of Bradley with his family. He picks up a frame of you, Bradley, and Carole. You were only 10, and didn’t know it at the time, but it was one of the last summers you’d spend with the Bradshaws. “Oh god, don’t look at that.” It was meant to be playful, but scared Bob nonetheless.

“Sorry.”

“No I’m sorry, I don’t want to subject you to pre-pubescent me.” He smiles softly and looks back at the picture in his hands. You’re sporting a great toothy smile and hugging Carole while she sticks out her tongue and Bradley gives you bunny-ears with his fingers. Bob doesn’t think he’s ever seen you smile that wide since he’s met you. 

“You look so happy” He watches as you reminisce, your eyes softening while your finger runs over the woman’s face. You don’t look a thing like her, but he notices the similarities in Bradley.

“I was”, you say simply. You clear your throat, breaking the both of you out of the moment. “So, you ready to finally get rid of me?” He lets out a small laugh through his nose. That statement could not be farther from the truth. Bob opens his passenger door for you, almost reaching to help you up, but pulling his hand back before it lands at your waist.

“Good to know it wasn’t my truck that was the problem.” You scoff at him as he slides into his seat, pulling his seatbelt on as you do the same.

“I happen to like your truck Robert, just not so much when I can barely feel my legs beneath me.”

“Glad to hear it.” You both smile at each other until he tears his eyes away to the road to get going. The radio begins to fill the silence with its humming, guitar filling the cab of Bob’s truck. His hands start to sweat as he looks over at you, your eyes closed as your head falls back to the headrest. “How’s your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints yet”, you mumble. Bob chokes on his spit, eyes widening. Did he hear you correctly?

“What?”, he asks quickly. Your eyes mirror Bob’s as you look over at him, his gaze narrowly avoiding yours as his face heats up. You slap your hand over your mouth, forgetting whose presence you were in.

“Oh my god”, you say behind your hand, taking it away only to rest it in between the two of you. “I am so sorry, it’s a reflex response at this point! Phoenix showed me the Elvira movie while in school and it’s just something we say now.” You start to laugh nervously, hoping to dissipate some of the awkward tension you created. His facade cracks as your nervous giggle continues, he begins to break into a full hearted laugh while your giggle turns into something akin to his. “Bob”, you say as your laughter dies down, “If we’re going to be friends you’re going to have to get used to stupid crap like that.” His smile grows a bit wider, as he imagines himself laughing like this with you more often.

“I could get used to that.”

“Good”, you say, resting your head once again. Trying not to stifle another smile that threatens to take over your face.

“But seriously, how are you feeling?” You let out a large sigh.

“Oh you know, drugs can only do so much.” He knows you’re not letting on to how bad you’re actually feeling as your eyes remain closed.

“Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Oh god no, you were there this morning. I haven’t even dared to try to keep anything down.”

“Well that’s why your head still hurts. You need to absorb the lingering alcohol with some carbs. I know just the place.”

“Ya know I usually have dinner with someone before they sleep over, not the other way around.” Bob’s face still reddens at your remark, but this time he doesn’t shy away from laughing first.

“You know me, always breakin’ the rules.”

Bob pulls off into the parking lot of a small diner, one that had not seen any renovations since at least the 80s. You’re out of your side before he has a chance to open your door. He’s kind of glad you don’t give him the option. He wants to be a gentleman, but doesn’t want to toe the line between friends and something else. He does open the door for you and lets the hostess know it’s just the two of you before getting seated in a small booth close to the back.

You both begin to look over the menu before you speak up, “So, what do you recommend?” He glances up from over his menu before reaching over and pointing at yours. You can’t help but notice the veins bulging out of his hands and forearm as he does so. You keep reminding yourself that friends aren’t supposed to think of each other this way but you just can’t stop yourself from remembering how his hands felt on you. The drag of his long fingers over your arm, and the way his hands gripped your hips-

“They serve breakfast all day, and make a mean biscuits and gravy. But you can’t go wrong with a burger and fries.” Your stomach lurches at the thought and Bob must notice the grimace on your face. “Or, if you’re not feeling up for something that big, they do have good soups. But mama always said that the best cure for a hangover was some nice greasy food.” You smile at the slip of his accent.

“Well, if your mama says so.” His hand retreats as his lips curl up at your mirroring of his accent. The waitress comes over to take your orders, and at his mama’s advice you order a burger and fries. She leaves with the menus as you turn your attention back to Bob. “So, where ya from Bob?”

“I shoulda seen this coming”, he starts to fidget with his hands, drawing your attention back to the long digits.

“What do you mean?”, you respond coyly, feigning ignorance.

“Oh come on, I say ‘mama’ one too many times and people start asking where the twang comes from.”

“Well?”

“If you must know, I’m from West Virginia. Born and raised.” You raise your brows.

“No shit.”

“What?”

“It’s just that I spent every summer with my dad in Virginia. We’ve been next door neighbors this entire time.” Bob allows a slight smile to take over his face, entertained by your excitement.

“Where’d you spend the rest of the year?” It’s your turn to tear your eyes away from him. You try not to let the thought of your mom and her family affect you, but it’s obviously no use.

“With my mom, in Ohio.” Regardless of the fact that Ohio is also a neighbor to West Virginia, you brought up the time with your dad instead. Before he’s able to ask any follow up questions, the waitress comes by with your food, dropping the heaping portions in front of you. You hesitantly take a bite, but instantly melt into it as the first taste hits your tongue. “Shit, that’s good stuff.”

“What’d I tell ya?”, you smile at him through a mouth full of burger while he takes a bite. Opting to slow your roll before you upchuck anything else today, you set your food down and take a drink of your water. “So, your family’s still in West Virginia?” Bob gently sets his burger down and gives you his full attention.

“Yeah, I got an older brother and a younger sister. As well as my mom and dad. They live back on my family’s ranch.”

“So you are full-heartedly a John Denver country boy”, Bob laughs and stares down at his plate.

“I guess I am.”

“So how’d you end up in the Navy then? Assuming your family wanted you to work on the ranch.”

“They just wanted the best for me. One day I picked up a book in the library about planes and I was hooked. Then a Naval recruiter showed up to our high school and told me about the aviation program and here we are.”

“Here we are.” You share eye contact for a quick beat, both smiles growing slowly on your faces once more. You can’t help but feel a little jealous of his family. Both parents just wanting the best for their kids, supporting them no matter what. “I bet your mom’s the kind of person to have a sticker on her car saying ‘Proud Navy Mom’”. He bites his lip to stifle a large grin and you know you’ve hit the nail on the head.

“I plead the fifth.” You break out into a small laugh while Bob admires your smile. He wants to know more about your family but is hesitant to bring up the subject. He decides to go for it anyway, hoping to get to know you a little better than surface level. “I already know about your dad, but I’m assuming your mom wasn’t too thrilled when you joined?” Your hand stops mid-air from bringing the ketchup covered fry to your mouth. You place it back on the plate and dust your hands off on your jeans avoiding Bob’s gaze.

“Uh, no. No she wasn’t. There’s a reason I didn’t tell either of my parents I was going to the Academy, my dad didn’t even know until I sent him a graduation announcement.” Bob’s brow practically raises to his hairline.

“Really, not even your dad?”

“No”, you say shaking your head, “After everything that happened with Bradley I didn’t want to risk him pulling the same bullshit.” “What exactly happened between you and Rooster?” You shake your head again, looking at him this time.

“You don’t wanna hear that.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” Your eyes latch on to his, the sincerity oozing off of him.

“Well, he was like a brother to me. Closest thing I’ve ever had to one, excluding the step-siblings who couldn’t give less of a shit about my existence if they tried. And after my dad pulled his papers to the Academy I never heard from him again. I tried reaching out, and every year I still sent him a text for his birthday. But he never responded.” You swallow and look away from Bob, debating whether or not you’d tell him the whole truth. “And then when I needed him the most he still didn’t pick up. I even left him a voicemail hoping he’d hear it and after six years he’d respond. But nothing. After his mom died, I thought he’d need us more than ever. Turns out he was angry enough to never speak to us again.” You look back at Bob, bringing you down to earth once more. “That was, until this mission. It took them almost dying to get back to each other. That and one weekend in the middle of nowhere, God knows what they talked about.” Bob waits patiently, noticing you struggling to find the words to continue. He continues to nod and stare at you. Not in a pitiful way, but in a way that he wants to understand where you come from. “And I guess I’m still mad at him because both him and my dad got closure. I didn’t. I’m not going to apologize for something my dad did, and I guess Rooster doesn’t think he has anything to apologize for. And now they’re off playing catch-up, and I’m… still here. Not that right here is a bad thing, I’m glad to have your company.”

Bob’s eyes go from understanding to confusion. “If he made up with your dad, that still doesn’t explain why Rooster’s being- “A dickhead?” You cut him off. There’s a small fire behind his eyes now, a look you have never seen on Bob until this point.

“Yeah.” You shrug, going back to your fries.

“I dunno, I’m no psychologist but I think it has something to do with the fact that I started all the smart comments and he’s just getting back at me. Still, I’m angry at him for good reason. I don’t know what his is.” You go back to your food, hoping Bob will notice your want to shift the gears of where this conversation has gone. “But now that you know my tragic backstory, I’m gonna have to kill you.” Catching the way you dissolve into humor, Bob’s face softens as he takes your hand across the table, he seems to be doing that a lot in the past week. You’re not mad about it, not at all. Just.. perplexed. How could you go from barely talking to this man, to sharing some of your darkest secrets with him all within the span of six days?

“Hey”, he brings your attention back to his face rather than your smaller hand in his. His brow turned up in the middle, conveying empathy in the highest degree. “I’m sorry you have to deal with all that, especially by yourself. And you know what, Rooster sounds like a total-” He stops to find the word he’s looking for, you look on waiting to let him see what he comes up with “asshole”, he finishes for himself. Your eyes widen as you take in his words, and that’s when you feel him squeeze your hand in his much larger one. The same hand that traced your arm this morning when he fell asleep next to you, the same one that lifted you up all those stairs, helped you into his car, the same one that pulled you off the ground after your failed exercise, and the same one that is now reassuring you that everything is going to be ok. He can’t know for certain, but for right now everything is better than ok while he holds your hand in his.

You want to tell him how safe he makes you feel, how you want to tell him more about yourself. Something you always had a hard time doing. You squeeze his hand right back and gaze into his ocean-blue eyes. You get lost in them before you’re able to seemingly find the words you’re looking for. They’re in your heart, but you can’t get them to your brain and out of your mouth. You open your mouth to speak, but before you’re able to get anything resembling a ‘thank you’ out, you hear your name being called.

Your head turns in the direction of the voice, as both you and Bob immediately retract your hands from each other. You’re met with Penny and Amelia walking toward the booth you and Bob are seated in. Your heartbeat is racing as you blink rapidly, you barely manage to speak, “Penny, hi!” You glance back at Bob as he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding any eye contact. Why are you so nervous? It’s not like you were doing anything wrong. You were just holding hands across the table with your newly coworker turned friend and getting lost in his gorgeous eyes. Absolutely nothing wrong with that.

“Hey, good to see you made it out of the parking lot alright last night”, Penny remarks as she and Amelia stand before your table. “Not that I had any room for doubt when Bob was the one making sure you got home safe.”

“Right, yeah he made sure I was ok.” You feel a flush take over your face at the prospect of anyone finding out Bob was in your bed last night. Especially your dad’s girlfriend and her daughter. But you know you didn’t do anything wrong, friends share beds all the time. It was purely platonic. “I’m sorry for last night though, won’t happen again.”

She waves her hand, “Don’t even worry about it. You had a little too much to drink in a bar, it happens all the time.” Amelia scoffs at this.

“I heard she got absolutely hammered-”

“Amelia!”Penny scolds her. Bob turns to face the wall, attempting to hide his laugh as you lightly kick his foot. “Anyway, what brings you two here?”

“Oh you know, just pulled off on the way to grab my car. Bob mentioned they have great burgers.” You give him a sly smile, as if it was your own little secret they were the perfect hangover cure.

“That’s exactly why Amelia and I are here. Just having a little date before the bar opens later.” You force a smile as you feel Bob’s gaze on the side of your face. That jealous feeling crawls back up your throat again as you look at the mother-daughter duo. “I thought you would have left already though?” Your brows furrow, breaking you out of your trance.

“Left? For what?”

“Rooster stopped by earlier to grab something for your dad, he was heading out to his hangar earlier today. I assumed you were going with him.” You clear your throat and stare at your hands, twiddling with your thumbs to distract yourself. Your heart drops as you realize, once again, you’ve been left out.

“Um, no. I wasn’t invited.” Screw Rooster, and you know what, screw your dad, too.

“Oh, well. You are always welcome to come over if you ever need or want to.” She seems surprised at the actions of her boyfriend. You make yourself look up at her, plastering on a small smile.

“I know, thanks Penny.”

“We’ll leave you two be. Good to see you both!”

“You, too.” Bob waves at them as you look at your plate, suddenly feeling nauseous again. Your throat starts to tense up as you reach for your water. You are almost 30 for heaven's sake, you should not be jealous of Rooster and your dad. And you sure as hell aren’t going to cry over it.

“Hey-”, Bob starts but is interrupted by the waitress dropping by with the check. You pick it up immediately before Bob can reach for it. “Hey no, let me get that.” You place the check on the seat next to you as you rifle through your purse to grab your card.

“Nope, after everything you did for me last night and today I am not letting you pay.” He goes to open his mouth and you stare directly at him, “Don’t even try Bob.” Sensing the determination in your eyes and voice, he reluctantly allows you to pay.

“That’s alright, I’ll just grab the next one.” You look away as the waitress grabs the bill from you, and surprise coats your features.

“You wanna hang out again? Even after everything that happened in the past 24 hours?”

“Especially after everything. I can’t go back to being just your co-worker after seeing you vomit.” A nervous smile makes its way to his face as a more real one replaces yours. 

“You’re right, we’re friends now. And I can promise you there will be less vomit next time.”

“Can’t wait.”

After getting your card back, you and Bob make your way back to his truck and head off to the Hard Deck. You spot your lone car in the back, only a couple employee cars litter the front row. Bob pulls up right next to your car, hopping out and making sure you have everything before you leave. He even goes so far as to open your door for you as you roll your window down to say goodbye.

“Well, I guess this is me.”

“I guess it is.” He rests his hands on the open window as you grab one final look at him. You rest your elbow in between his hands, admiring his veins. Trying not to imagine tracing over them with your fingers.

“You better not ghost me at work on Monday.” You scold him. He laughs through his nose and looks down.

“I promise I won’t.”

“I’m holding you to that, Floyd. And thanks again, for everything.” He taps his fingers a couple times before leaning away.

“I trust you will, Mitchell. Drive safe.” You bid him goodbye, taking a deep breath, trying no to process everything that happened today while driving. Saving all your feelings for when you’re home alone, in the privacy of your room. The only four walls you feel safe to cry in.

Bob watches you slowly drive to the edge of the parking lot. He would have never guessed so many things that he learned about you today. The way you looked at Penny and Amelia deeply saddened him. The fact that Rooster is still being an asshole after he didn’t speak to you for 16 years angered him. After you shared that with him, he wanted to do everything in his power to make you happy. It’s obvious you’re good at putting on a mask, but Bob is good at noticing the little things. How great you are at faking happiness being one of them. And then there’s the fact that after today you’re going home to an empty house because your dad and Rooster made plans without you, yet again. 

Before he fully knows what he’s doing, his feet start moving toward your car, hoping to catch you before you leave the parking lot. It must have been the fastest he’s ever run, possibly even faster than when his older brother, Tom, chased him with a handful of cow poop. You must notice him in your rear view, as you stop and poke your head out the window.

“Is everything ok?”, you ask, concern lacing your features. Bob’s out of breath as he gets to your window, once again resting his hands in your car. And he’s still out of breath as he asks his question.

“Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow?”

Taglist:

@lemmons1998

[reinvent-and-believe]

saying your names

Prompt: hallucination Relationships:  Geralt & Visenna  Rating: T Content Warnings: unintentional but constant misgendering by a parent; depiction of gender dysphoria in a small child; reference to child self-injury (scratching); abandonment issues; minor book spoilers Summary: Visenna's child is claimed by a witcher through the Law of Surprise. When she bears a daughter instead of the promised son, she thinks she's cheated Destiny. But Destiny rarely accepts such defeat. (Or - the trans Geralt mommy issues fic)

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​

-

i. The Brave Knight

There’s an old fairy tale from far-away Toussaint, one Visenna remembers her grandmother telling her when she was little more than a babe, of a cohort of the bravest knights who gathered at the behest of the first duke to slay monsters and defeat villains and protect the land from all manner of evil. They were five in total, but none rivalled the gallant Sir Geralt, who defended the innocent and the weak, who perfectly embodied the Virtues, who fearlessly and faithfully loved the beautiful maiden Liliana. It’s a story like no other, full of heroics and chivalry, grand quests and epic romance. Visenna remembers sighing as a little girl, of braiding flowers into her shining copper hair and pretending to be Lady Liliana, rescued by that most puissant and most chivalrous of knights.

She hopes that her own daughter will love the tales as much as she did, so she recounts them while Greta lies in bed, wide dark eyes barely blinking as she soaks in every detail. She’s two now and obsessed with stories, any silly rambling thing Visenna remembers from childhood or improvises about the forest creatures near the village, but none have captivated her quite like this tale.

The next day, Visenna hears her daughter whacking at the swaying cattails at the bank of the river with a stick. “I defeat you!” comes the tremulous cry. “I Sir Geralt! I brave knight!”

It’s a small thing, and silly, yet Visenna goes cold.

ii. The Babe

When she realizes she’s with child, Visenna knows it will be a boy, feels it as sure as she feels the wind on her face, the blood pounding in her veins. She’s happy for a time. She knows the horrors women face, has seen, has felt firsthand the cruelties the world inflicts on beautiful little girls. Better a boy, then. Better a boy with a chance at a good life, a boy she can teach and train, a boy who won’t beat or violate or torment.

A mere month before the babe is due, the man returns, and finds her with child, and tells her what he’s done. He blames Destiny and the Law of Surprise and Tradition as Visenna learns a new type of cruelty men can inflict.

And so she hardens herself, tells herself that she will not become attached to what’s growing within her, this life promised to pay a life debt. “Don’t be absurd,” her friends tell her, through nervous glances. “You always assume the worst. It may well be a girl. The witcher won’t have need of a girl.”

But Visenna knows it, feels it with every spark of chaos within her and every pulse she sends out. The babe will be a boy, and she will have to give him up to the witchers, to be trained and transmuted into something other, something more and something less than the child she’ll birth.

And so Visenna grows cold.

When the midwife puts the squalling red girl with dark hair and wide dark eyes in Visenna’s arms, she sobs for days, sobs until she has no tears left and her eyes are raw and swollen. She won’t let the tiny thing out of her sight, barely lets others hold the babe, even in her utter exhaustion. Destiny may have promised her child to the witchers, but Destiny made the folly of giving her a daughter instead of the promised son.

iii. Greta

Greta will not wear her clothes.

At first, it’s almost a game. Visenna dresses her in a frock while the three-year-old protests then glares in turn when she’s overridden. She moves stiffly in the garment, pulling at the sleeves and tugging at the skirt, but she complies. But the minute she’s out of her mother’s sight, the dress comes off, and Visenna finds her naked, regardless of the weather. And the process repeats.

The struggle over clothing is only the beginning. Generally obedient, respectful, intelligent, Greta is nonetheless not an easy child, prone to inconsolable fits of panic and distress, prone to disappearing if not constantly monitored. It’s as though Visenna has birthed two different children. There’s the sullen, timid girl who hates wearing clothing, who barely speaks, who flinches at the sound of her own name, who stiffens in panic sometimes when she’s called, who cries at the slightest provocation, who goes missing only to be found after a frantic hour of searching lying on the floor in the narrow space between her bed and the wall, staring blankly, hearing nothing, seeing nothing. Then there’s the other child, the one who cuts dark curls short with the pruning shears from the shed, who runs fearlessly through the woods, slaying invisible monsters all around, yelling and laughing and breathless.

When a young couple with a son not much older than Greta moves into a nearby cottage, Visenna hopes that companionship will stabilize her daughter’s volatile, inexplicable moods. Instead, it leads to an immediate altercation: on the first day Greta and the boy Marek play together, the boy’s father shows up on Visenna’s doorstep, furious, with a wide, bleeding gash in his hand. He’d found them wearing each other’s clothes, he tells her. Greta had refused to surrender Marek’s clothes, and when he moved to force her out of them, she’d bitten his hand. “Like a rabid beast,” he spits out as Visenna runs past him to the small shack where Greta makes herself as small as possible, shaking all over.

Visenna shoves a few coins at the man with a glare. “Buy your son another outfit,” she snaps, and when she kneels down to Greta’s level the terrified child’s arms wrap immediately around her neck. She takes her child home in the roughspun tunic and trousers.

(Maybe she should punish the child for biting, but Visenna knows the ways men can be cruel, had seen the terror in her child’s huge brown eyes. Even if he meant no harm in trying to retrieve his son’s clothes, she can’t help being glad the child bit him rather than permit his touch.)

Visenna has never listened to Greta’s thoughts before, rarely listens to anyone’s on purpose, hates the uneasy sense of violation the act stirs up in her. But as she carries the silent, shaking child home, the thoughts ring so loudly she can’t keep them out.

Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl. Not an idiot girl.

Then:

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

Not a girl.

iv. The Child

The morning after the incident with the neighbor, Visenna lays two outfits side by side on the bed: the tunic and trousers nicked from the neighbor boy, or the dress most frequently tolerated, a plain shift of soft linen, comfortable and loose.

"Which would you rather wear today?" Visenna asks, making the beds as usual. She hears the sharp intake of breath, sees out of the corner of her eye the hesitation, and then the child grabs the boy's clothes and cradles them in trembling arms.

Visenna visits a tailor and trades in little frocks for breeches and shirts. She watches her child’s face light up when she presents them, watches the child run reverent fingers over each garment, little hands doing their best to neatly fold each piece.

She stops calling the child Greta; stops calling the child anything but child. The child doesn’t seem to mind this namelessness; on the contrary, the child thrives. The too-thin frame rounds out with healthy, nearly chubby development as the child begins to eat more than a few bites at each meal; weak, skinny arms and legs grow strong with constant running and playing in the woods near the house. Banished is the pale, terrified little girl; only the rambunctious, talkative, joyful child remains.

"When I'm a knight," the child tells her one day, coming in from the yard wearing a bucket as a helmet, "I'm going to ride a big horse."

"Oh, a big horse," Visenna echoes, ladling the soup into a wooden bowl and blowing gently to cool it. "What will you name the horse?"

The child considers this. "Does it have to have a name?"

"All creatures need a name."

The child doesn't speak for a long while. Then that piping, gentle voice rings out. "What if the horse hates its name? It won’t be able to tell me."

Visenna sets the bowl down on the table. She doesn't ask any of the questions pounding through her head as she looks at her nameless child, lost in thought. She doesn’t think about Destiny, how a witcher may well show up at her door at any moment looking for their payment, doesn’t think about taking the child there herself. "Helmet off," she says instead, running a hand through dark curls when the child obeys. "Come, eat your soup."

v. The Butcher

She first hears whispers of the Butcher of Blaviken when she’s traveling through Poviss, brought north by an outbreak of smallpox needing healers. She hears of the vile, deranged, white-haired witcher who slaughtered nearly an entire village unprovoked, even women and children. She thinks little of it. The child she left with the witchers over half a century ago had brown hair, and the years would not have turned it so quickly, not on a witcher.

If he’s even still alive.

She puts the thought away, carefully, as she has for decades.

She thinks of it a little more in Kovir. “You’re one of them!” shrieks a woman in the tavern, pointing at a bulky man sitting in the corner. “One of them witchers like that Butcher! I seen your wolf necklace!”

All eyes train onto this disfigured witcher who is not Visenna’s child. (Does her child bear scars like this? Do his shoulders stoop in such defeat?) He scrubs a square hand over his face, looking almost pained, before he shoves away from the table in silence and leaves.

School of the Wolf, then, just like the witcher she’d surrendered her child to with naught but a letter left at the inn where he was staying. Your Child Surprise will be at the crossroads by the river at midday. A few brief, stilted sentences explaining that the child was different from other boys but Destiny had chosen him nonetheless. A terse plea that the witcher treat the child with kindness, to protect him if he could. A postscript, written in a shakier hand than the rest of the letter. My son’s name is Geralt.

Vesemir. The child’s father had called him old, grey-haired even then. Is Vesemir this Butcher, the ruthless, barbarous old witcher who leaves a trail of fresh corpses in his wake? Had she entrusted the helpless child to a merciless brute all these years ago?

It’s not until the notice board outside of Tridam that she understands. It’s a fairly standard notice concerning some vague, nondescript monster that’s caused disappearances, pleading for help from any witcher, excepting the butcher Geralt. Show your face in Tridam and we’ll finish you off like they should have done in Blaviken.

Her child, the Butcher of Blaviken.

She doesn’t know what happened in Blaviken, can’t find a clear telling. Killed a woman, some say, killed an army, killed all but three people, killed everyone down to the dogs and cows and sheep in his rage. Tales grow in the telling, she knows, but she can’t dispute it. Perhaps he is evil incarnate, perhaps by sending him to the witchers she doomed the continent to bloodshed, perhaps he is the monster in these furious whispers.

But she can’t help remembering the tiny, terrified body, rocking in the corner of a shack, those wide eyes staring up at her in panic. “Like a rabid beast,” the man had said, but Visenna found only a petrified child shaking in the corner.

vi. The White Wolf

The young man swaggers towards Visenna. Between the bright turquoise doublet, the enormous feather swooping dramatically through the air on his jauntily tilted hat, and the self-assurance of his stride, he looks like a veritable peacock.

It’s her own fault. She knows she’d been staring, but the sound of that name on his lips…

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” His smile is bright and surprisingly genuine, reaching all the way up to his eager blue eyes. He’s younger up close than she’d imagined from across the tavern, barely more than a boy. “Though not half so lovely as you, I daresay. Might I interest you in a drink?”

She nods, silent. Watches him charm a passing barmaid who blushes and quickly returns with the desired ale. He slips into the chair across from Visenna, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his long fingers together beneath his chin, fixing her with a wide-eyed, adoring smile.

Before he can speak, she asks, “Your song. About the witcher.” She pauses, unsure what she means to ask. “Did you write it?”

Somehow the boy looks even more delighted. “Indeed I did! By the gods, it’s wonderful to chat with a fan. It’s one of my most recent compositions. How did you like it?”

“Hmm.” The boy’s song had been so jarringly different from any reference to the child she bore than she’s ever heard. In the bard’s honeyed voice, he sounded almost heroic. She hesitates. “Do you know him?”

“Only a little,” he admits, but there’s a slight flush on his childish face that he attempts to cover with bravado. “The song is the true telling of our grand adventure. I accompanied the White Wolf on his quest to defeat the Devil of Posada, the most terrifying monster to ever...well, terrorize the good people of the Valley of the Flowers.”

“And he’s...he’s not what people say?” Those huge brown eyes staring up at her, tiny body trembling. “Not a butcher?”

“Oh my good lady, not at all!” The bard’s expression of dismay is guileless, earnest. “He saved me, put himself between me and harm’s way when we were captured by the elves, offered his own life for mine.”

A life debt. Just as the child’s father had promised the Law of Surprise to the old witcher, the vow that had set the course of Geralt’s life before he was even born. And now this strange boy owes Geralt a life debt of his own.

“So that’s why,” she confirms cautiously. “Why you write songs for him. Make him the hero when men would be more than happy to remember him as a monster.”

The boy hesitates, his charismatic blustering slipping as he bites at his bottom lip. He reaches distractedly into his pocket, finding some trinket he rolls about in his palm to occupy his busy, nervous hand before he slowly answers. “Even if he hadn’t saved my life I would have written about him. Well, not if I hadn’t survived that particular encounter, of course. But if I’d gotten away myself, or if I hadn’t followed him into the wild in the first place, I would still have written about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I…I don’t think he’s known very much kindness.” The bard doesn’t look at her, quite, as he speaks, slower and softer than before. “You ought to see the way he responds to a simple compliment, you’d think his head might explode, he twitches and looks bewildered and grunts angrily. It’d be amusing if it weren’t so very sad.” He’s quiet for a moment, tracing the wood grain in the table with his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. “But he’s kind, even if the world isn’t. He gave his reward for the contract to the…well, to someone who needed it more. And before that, he…” He glances down at the dull gold coin between his fingers, rubbing absently at worn, beveled edges, his face flushing prettily. “He liked my singing.”

She watches the bard, lost in thought and fiddling with a lone coin, for a long while.

vii. Geralt

A slip of a thing running through the woods. Frightened. Alone.

A fight. Gruesome, brutal, fast.

The stench of decay.

“And me? What did I do? I bandaged a wounded man who’d fainted away and put him on my cart and didn’t leave him to expire. It’s an ordinary matter.”

“It’s not so ordinary. I’ve been left...in similar situations...like a dog.”

Blood. Not running, red and healthy and clean; slow. Thick. Dark. Foul.

Infection.

Youths dancing in lusty delight on a warm spring night. A woman with raven curls, naked and wistful in his arms, the warmth of a bonfire lighting her face a beautiful gold. Children screaming, playing in a dried moat. A queen, formidable and sneering, full of contempt.

Hideous wounds, threatening the leg. Amputation may be necessary, without immediate intervention.

Resin in the air.

Ashen hair matted over the clumped, drying cake of blood deforming half of a pale face.

Black potion with a green seal. And then darkness.

Visenna awakes with a start.

The druids’ campsite is still, the last embers of the fire the only light in the darkness of the forest. She pulls the woolen cloak around her thin shoulders, grabs her medical bag, and goes to find the witcher that was once her child.

She finds him a pale and bloody mess on the back of a cart, eyes open and unseeing. He’s racked with feverish chills as his body desperately attempts to fight the infection poisoning him.

She helps the merchant move Geralt carefully onto blankets on the ground. She tends to him, as she’s tended to thousands of others. She cleans his wounds, scraping destroyed, decaying flesh away from healthy tissue, pulling the gentle pulses of chaos from the earth to purify his blood, draining infection and necrosis and narcotic alike from him.

She’d cleaned blood and dirt and debris from scraped knees, once, the too-fast beating of a little, huge heart pounding so loudly she could feel it. The wounds of childhood.

His pulse is slow, the drumbeat of a dirge.

She’s warm all over, suddenly, then cold. Her vision swims before her eyes.

A little more. The pulsing wanes, wavers as she begins to join him in the dark void beyond consciousness.

No.

She breathes, her eyes closed, then returns to her work.

She feels him stirring before he makes a movement, senses him swimming to the surface, coming to. He’s quiet, still, blank. When his eyes open, he’s staring at the treetops above them. His face is impassive. Lifeless.

The way she would find him, sometimes, after he went missing as a child. Staring at nothing. Trying not to be.

She can hear it in his voice. He knows.

His leg will heal, now. She’s done all she can.

She moves on to the bedsores, massaging ointment carefully into the open wounds. His body is stiff and unyielding beneath her touch.

She gives him what she can. “It’s my profession,” she says. Her voice is steady, cool. It’s no excuse, no answer, but it’s what she has. “The only thing I’ve ever been good at.” This much at least is true. This much she can give him.

She’s always known she would meet him again. She never sought him out, never avoided him. “People linked by destiny will always find each other.” She hears it, as though it’s someone else’s voice.

“I want you to look at me.” It’s a snarl. Not a sound she’s heard from those lips before. “How do you like my eyes? Do you know, Visenna, what they do to a witcher to improve his eyes?”

She knows enough. She meets his gaze.

Those eyes, the greatest marker of his difference, his inhumanity. They’re golden, now, instead of brown. His pupils are wide, round, black, pained. They aren’t so different. So monstrous.

Just the eyes of a terrified child lashing out in desperation.

“Do you know it doesn’t always work?” he demands.

“Stop it, Geralt.”

And something breaks.

“You don’t get to use that name!” There’s a frantic rage dripping off every syllable, hatred and agony, like a festering wound ripped open and left to bleed. He glares at her with a wild fury. “Vesemir gave me that name.”

And he’s a child, he’s three years old and screaming like he’s being tortured when she calls his given name. He’s five and distraught over the thought of a horse who hates its name and can’t tell anyone. He’s four and he’s a trembling mess with blood beneath his fingernails, shaking and unable to stop ripping at his own flesh.

“You trusted Destiny rather than trying to find me yourself,” he begs.

A child with nothing in the world running through the forest and into the arms of a witcher.

There’s a tear running down her face. It’s the only thing she can feel. “Don’t ask me any more questions,” Visenna says softly.

“Why?”

She’d known since before he was born that she wasn’t to keep him. That Destiny had other plans.

When she thought she had a daughter, there was hope.

“The answers will only hurt us both.” Carefully, Visenna presses him back into the makeshift sickbed.

“Yen was right.” His voice is low, barely audible, a broken murmur. “It’s not enough to be destined for each other.”

A child runs through the woods and finds a witcher waiting.

Brown curls become ashen locks. Eyes swirling brown and gold and green.

“Something more is needed.” He’s not speaking to her anymore. He’s staring up, at the treetops and through them to the stars above, his eyes losing and regaining focus. “I...I want…”

“No.” Her voice is soft, and she sees him relax into the smooth cadence in spite of himself. “Go to sleep, Geralt.” She hesitates as his eyes grow heavy, begin to drift shut, and she can’t help leaning toward him to gently whisper, “And just between us, Vesemir didn’t give you that name.” She lets herself reach out, carefully brushing white hair off his sweating brow. “It doesn’t change anything, but I’d like you to know that.”

“Visenna…”

“Sleep. I was just a dream.” She hesitates, watching silently as he fights the exhaustion, like a child fighting to stay awake past his bedtime, begging for one more story. “Sleep, Sir Geralt.”

He does.

viii. Sir Geralt

She does not see him again.

She travels to Sodden and heals the injured, soldier and mage alike.

She hears tales, as she has for years.

Geralt’s kidnapped a young Cintran princess for unspeakable, nefarious purposes.

Geralt died on Thanedd, caught up by chance in the mages’ bloody revolt.

Geralt led the forces of Lyria and Rivia against Nilfgaard, earning himself a knighthood and a position in Queen Meve’s army.

(She doesn’t believe any of them, doesn’t let herself care either way, but she hopes the latter is true. Hopes he lives out the rest of his days a brave knight, as he always dreamed of becoming.)

Visenna works. Cleans and stitches and bandages wounds, wanders from battleground to battleground. There’s no shortage of work for a healer.

So many tales of Geralt the witcher, Geralt the traitor, Geralt the butcher, the knight, the outlaw, the hero, the father. Of his victories and defeats, his loves and enemies, his transcendence, his demise.

Visenna listens to them all. Collects the stories, the lies, the praises, the calumnies. She draws them carefully within her. Carries them with her as she continues on the path.

For all the rumors and speculation and ballads, of all things, for all the different Geralts, there’s one that’s hers and hers alone. A skinny, adventurous child with brown curls and a bucket-helmet falling into his eyes who swings a gnarled oak stick as a sword. He’s ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the weak against the unrelenting onslaught of monsters only he can see.

[baeklooming-day]

Carousel of daisies | Baekhyun

🪄 Summary: A ghost who’s prison has been a magical carousel loved by kids for long decades, a ghost who will be set free only if he meets his soulmate, his daisy.

🪄 Genre: Ghost!AU, Soulmate!AU, Magic!AU, fluff

🪄 Word Count: 6.8k

🪄 A/N: Thank you Baekhyun for inspiring me. I love you.

🪄 Listen to Amusement Park 🎠

Masterlist.

1904

Amusement parks were without a bigger question a beautiful and colorful place to be, full of bedazzling joy and kids’ laughter.

Some of them were the wandering type of an amusement park, appearing and disappearing again in a particular spot, just to offer their candies and lights to everyone in town to enjoy with their loved ones.

Some people liked to call these parks „the pop-up amusement parks”, and even though usually they would announce a similar visit to make all the parents in town aware in advance of the soon to be frolics of their kids in a complete awe of the many jolly attractions which they were always so eager to try for themselves, the so awaited and cherished amusement parks used to simply move in a week or even a few days later without even caring to leave a notice to let it be known that they would be soon taking all the fun away again, leaving it a mystery if they would come back, or if another wandering amusement park was about to visit in their place anytime soon.

Apparently a lot of families thought of it to appear to be an even greater issue for the amusement parks to disappear so suddenly and quickly as if under a magical spell than to visit in the first place, so with the passing of time lots of different complaints had been filled and submitted to the mayor’s office, demanding to simply do something about it, to find a good enough solution to prevent all the kids in town from throwing big tantrums as soon as they learned that the park left, and at the same time to give them something equally as merry and bright to enjoy themselves in their leisure time.

To gift all the kids something to give them joy whenever, everyday, something what would stay and never go away, something what would always be bound to just be there no matter what.

An own amusement park was unfortunately, but unquestionably out of the question. The reason was not because the town could not allow themselves an expense of a similar level, but because there wasn’t really anyone who was actually willing to dedicate their hours during the day to look after the place and all the possible guests and screaming kids.

A simple, traditional playground had been crossed out of the suggestions list as well, alone for the fact that there already was a plenty of new colorful playgrounds around the town, and an additional one would obviously not be the most desirable thing in place of the amusement parks which the kids loved so much.

So everyone continued thinking carefully, everyone was contemplating and asking themselves what thing could possibly be the best choice out of all ideas named previously. Or perhaps the most entertaining idea had not been listed just yet?

Some well founded features had been kept in mind throughout the whole process of weekly brainstorming between the citizens, and those were that the new entertainment for kids in town should be, before anything else, something very particular and timeless.

And just as they thought that there was not such thing when nobody seemed to be able to come up with a suitable idea, someone simply threw the totally random, yet immediately enthralling suggestion.

„Let’s build a carousel.”

Almost all pairs of eyes present by the discussion snapped into the direction of the owner of the voice at the same time.

„A carousel?” Asked someone at the other side of the long table where everyone else was sitting.

„Yes, indeed.” Answered the same smooth voice. „We have a lot of playgrounds around our town, and some of them do have carousels but these are not really what I have in mind.”

„Enlighten us.”

„Let’s make it a carousel worthy of those standing in the biggest amusement parks as of now. In that way, the kids would have a piece of an amusement park everyday, but it wouldn’t be that big of a struggle to keep it together than a whole park, you know what I wanna say?” The owner of the voice slowly leaned back in his seat, waiting for a response from his fellow citizens.

„Well...” Someone started. „I know what you mean. But is it even possible to pull this off? Those large carousels are almost an artwork themselves with how they look, in all these precise tiny details and colorings, let alone the mechanism inside them to make them move. Are you sure-”

„Yes.” Responded the smooth voice. „I want to do it. I need to do it.” A small pause. „For my son.”

„For your son?”

„Yes. For Baekhyun.”

„Awe, the little Baekhyun, always all over every carousel at playgrounds, right? Alright. I think your idea is good.” Said someone else, agreeing with the idea.

The young man smiled contentedly in his seat.

What wouldn’t a parent do for their own child in order to make them happy?

When the meeting ended, everyone who became enthralled with the idea rushed to prepare plans of realization of it almost right away.

The common excitement reached its peak, when many long months later after thoroughly planning and working on the project, it finally appeared, standing in the middle of the square in all its glory.

The carousel.

All the kids in town became immediately bewitched with the news, and as soon as they came to a view of the large, strikingly colorful and joyful merry-go-round displayed right before their big eyes, the cheering couldn’t find an end.

As good as every child fell in love with the newest attraction, but one particular little someone was markedly left in awe way more than all the other children.

A very little boy, with the softest locks of hair colored like pearls, was walking around the carousel with his little mouth agape, looking at it from every angle, kneeling on the ground in his lilac trousers to take a look at that joy from down below.

„Do you like it, Baekhyun?”

„Oh, yes!” The little boy exclaimed. „I love it, dad!” He quickly pulled himself up and approached his smiling father in jumping steps. „I loooooove it! I love it so much I wanna stay in that carousel forever!”

The young man let out a soft laugh. „Be careful what you wish for, my dear Baekhyun. It might really come true, sometimes differently than you originally wanted.”

Baekhyun looked up, with his brown eyes seemingly confused.

„But talking is not what we are here for today, is it?” The man said briefly, putting his hand on Baekhyun’s little head, gently caressing his pearly hair. „Do you want to make the honors of the first official ride on the carousel?” He asked, a wide smile making its way back on his lips as soon as he noticed the unduly frolic expression on his son’s face.

„Yes! Yes, I do want to!”

2004

The weather was outstandingly cold that afternoon, significantly much more colder than you were able to recall remembering the whole past week.

It was very, very early but awaited spring which has finally fallen on the quiet town, and if one was observant enough, tiny and green leaf blossoms which were just about to start blooming sometime soon, as if still too timid to break through their delicate shell and spread all over the branches of the trees soaking them in green, could be seen from a distance.

The afternoon, just like the whole day, has been cold, but as if to make up for the not so particularly pleasant temperature the sun was gently throwing its reassuring and comforting gold gleams and twinkles everywhere you could look, making a soothing, almost idyllic atmosphere at the square which merely appeared before your big curious eyes.

It was the first day when the sky was not all covered with weighing dark clouds, so you were continuously emanating with clear joy knowing that even if it took you the longest time ever, you had convinced your mom to take you to the square to play in the afternoon.

And now you were finally out there, letting out a sudden squeak of joy as soon as you came to a view of what you have been longing for ever since the first time as you heard your grandmother mentioning it at their home.

The beautiful, sparkling carousel full with colors, lights, and children’s happy giggles as it moved around spinning their world on that jolly merry-go-round ride.

“Mom!” You called out to your mom with as much volume as a four-year-old little girl could master, noticing how she was left far behind you because of how slowly she proceeded to walk. “Mom, mom, mommy! Look! Walk faster, mommy!” You continued to yell.

“Heavens, Y/N.” She exhaled, shivering a little as the cold breeze blew in her smooth face. “I am not used to these temperatures, not used at all.” She added under her breath, but not loud enough for you to hear.

You gave her a questioning look with your dazzly eyes. “Are you cold, mommy?” You asked, scooting a little closer to her and wrapping your small arms around her left leg.

“Yes honey, mommy is cold. Look-” She bent down to match your level, taking your little hands in hers. “Do you feel it? Cold as ice!” She said with a smile audible in her soft voice as she watched your eyes sparkling even more.

“But I am immune to coldness!” You exclaimed proudly.

“You are my little ice queen, yeah?” She soothed the wild silky locks on your small head, messy from the wind and from running. “But I feel like I will freeze if I stay like this any while longer.” She looked to the side, her eyes becoming instantly as big and sparkling as yours when she noticed a lovely coffee and tea house with people lining up to the entrance.

Your mom said something to you then, but as much as all your focus has usually always been on your mom, you did not hear a thing whilst your attention was brought somewhere else, your eyes being glued to something what seemed like only visible to you.

People were walking past him, not giving even one look, as if he was invisible for them, whilst in the background right behind him there was the colorful object of your awe, the carousel, spinning around with other laughing kids.

He looked as if he was frozen in a motion scene, just standing there calmly and holding a flower. He was wearing a sweater in a dark shade of teal, with two visible white stripes and blue and orange flowers at the front. His hair was of a color equivalent to a real pearl, his loose light locks looking as if they radiated some mysterious kind of gleam from within, just as if made of stardust.

The boy looked at you, blinking slowly, and you looked back, deciding to send him a candy smile as you felt some weird sort of warmth filling your young heart the longer your bright eyes stayed locked with his dark ones.

You were being pulled to the carousel and to the mystical boy with pearl colored hair, or at least that was how you felt when you suddenly let go of your mom’s hand, feeling a peculiar need to run in his direction.

But before you could do so, you felt your mom’s still very cold hand clasping around your own. “Y/N, did you hear what I just said? I said that I will go really, really quickly to buy a hot steaming coffee to warm myself up, alright? You will be a good little girl and will stay by the carousel until mommy comes back, will you?” She said. “You can already get on, I will be back before the ride ends, alright?”

You only nodded eagerly, earning a comforting smile from your mom as she dashed to the coffee place which was just two steps away from where you two were standing.

You quickly turned your little head to look at the boy again, but the moment your eyes landed where you saw him just seconds ago, you immediately noticed that he was gone, nowhere to be seen, as if disappeared in thin air. Nonetheless, you decided to walk up to the carousel, not wanting to believe that this mystical person wouldn’t appear before you in a minute again.

Baekhyun immediately felt this too, in the moment you came into his vision. He would lie if he claimed that he was not taken by a complete surprise as the unforeseen wave of peculiar warmth rushed to fill his ghostly heart. There was a time when he longed for this particular feeling to find him, there was a time when he would stay alert every minute of the day and look for you himself as much as the unbreakable bond which held him close to the carousel allowed him to.

It has been one hundred years since the carousel was built.

And it has already been eighty two years since he died.

Nobody would even ever suspect that the beloved and only son of the man who gave the town that marvelous, magical carousel, would leave at the young age of just twenty two, one windy day in 1922.

Baekhyun himself wasn’t too content to recall the events which took place in that memorable for his loved ones year. The mere thought which flashed through his mind the moment everything went dull, was his careless childish wish from when he was just four years old and went to see the newly acquired carousel with his father.

When he said that he wanted to stay in that carousel forever.

His wish has been granted to him, what he learned as he woke up in the carousel, being almost violently pulled back to it every time he tried to leave, as if some angry, invisible, formless force was clasping its claws around his limbs to send him flying back to the twinkling merry-go-round which became his mocking prison.

There was one way to break this unusual link and to set himself free.

In order to be able to perform that, he needed to meet his soulmate.

He didn’t know how he even knew that, but right after his awakening in the carousel, this thought was one of the first things which appeared between his returning memories of his life which he left behind way too soon for the looks of it.

Baekhyun was full of hope at the beginning, but as the following years flew by and his soulmate didn’t appear, he started to lose the last sprinkles of hope that he had left.

That was the reason why he was feeling so dazed and confused, so flabbergasted and refusing to believe what was occurring around him the moment you looked at him with your sparkling eyes and smiled at him warmly.

He knew it was you.

His soulmate.

The happiness was unfortunately soon replaced by a bittersweet feeling of disappointment as soon as he realized that standing there and smiling at him just a few steps away was a little girl, around four years old.

Even if you found him now, you were much too young to fulfill his floating dream of love and freedom, and he was perfectly aware of that.

He knew that he would have to wait for you even longer, until you became older and could love him properly.

But that didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t talk to you now already, did it?

Baekhyun swirled the little daisy flower in his fingers, taking a decisive step next to you, the little girl with sparkling eyes.

You made a jumping beeline to the colorful carousel, your mouth forming a little “o” at the view of shining figures of white horses which were spinning around happily.

You scrunched your little nose unamused, as you noticed all the horses being occupied, the ride not looking like it was about to end too soon as well.

“Why is everything taken?” You asked grumpily, throwing longing glimpses at the carousel.

“Do you want to ride on the merry-go-round too?” Asked an unfamiliar, velvet like voice coming from beside you.

Your little head instantly snapped to the direction of the sound, your eyes looking up to meet those of the owner of that melodic voice speaking to you.

“Oh!” You exclaimed. “Oh! You are the starry mister!” You said in awe, pointing your little finger at Baekhyun, examining his face.

He let out a soft chuckle, kneeling beside you to be on your eye level. “Starry?” He asked.

“Your hair looks like stars! So pretty!” You said, reaching out your small hand to sloppily caress his pearl locks in a childish manner.

Baekhyun felt another wave of warmth flowing through his foggy ghost heart, feeling a loving smile spreading on his lips. Seeing your natural childish curiosity and amazement, he was happy that he could witness it when you were still a little innocent child, yet to learn lots about life.

“What is your name?” He asked.

“My name is Y/N!” You replied joyfully. “And you?”

“Baekhyun.”

“So you are the magical Baekhyun.” You stated.

“Magical? Do you like magic?” Baekhyun asked.

“Yes, I do! And I like flowers too!” You answered.

“Flowers? Which flowers do you like?” He asked you another question, before looking at the white daisy which he has been holding in his hand all that time. “Do you like daisies, Y/N?

“I like daisies!” You replied. “And I like you, Baekhyun! You are nice and you have pretty hair!” You added, giving him a candy grin.

“Is that so?” Baekhyun couldn’t help it but mirror your genuine smile. “Will you be my daisy?” He asked, holding up the flower for you to see.

Your sparkling eyes fell on the little daisy immediately. “Yes, I will be your daisy!” You reached out your arm, squealing in joy when Baekhyun placed the small flower in your open hand.

“This is a promise, okay?” He said.

“Of course!” You nodded in agreement, even though you couldn’t understand it just yet.

The little magical moment was interrupted though, when suddenly the familiar voice of your mother filled the air, reaching your ears.

“Y/N! There you are!”

“Mommy, are you warm now?”

“Yes, I bought a coffee. Look!” Your mom happily held up a steaming cup of coffee, the steam visible as a faint white cloud in the chilly air. “Have you been standing here the whole time? Didn’t you want to get on the carousel?” She asked a little bewildered.

“I was talking to Baekhyun!” You said smiling.

If your mom looked bewildered before, now she must have looked totally puzzled. “Baekhyun? Who’s Baekhyun?” She asked.

“My new friend with hair that looks like stars!” You said, but then you knitted your eyebrows. “Mommy, he is standing right next to me!”

Your mom’s eyes looked at you, then at the air beside you, before she let out a deep breath and gently took your hand.

“They told me that having imaginary friends is normal at that age, yeah, they definitely told me that.” She mumbled to herself whilst sipping on her hot coffee, leading you away from the carousel.

You quickly turned around to have one last look at Baekhyun, still standing by the spinning carousel with his hands in his pockets, his eyes following your small figure. “Bye, Baekhyun! I will come back!” You yelled, waving him goodbye with your right hand.

“Y/N, stop it! There is none there! And let’s hurry, the wind is becoming worse, ugh!” Said your mom.

Baekhyun did not move, he stood like that as long as you were still visible in the distance.

He smiled.

Of course your mother could not see him. You were usually starting to lose the ability to see beyond living beings as you were becoming older, and little kids couldn’t tell the difference between a living person and a ghost.

Baekhyun put his hand on his head where your small fingers touched his hair, smiling softly.

“Until we meet again, my daisy.”

2021

“Woah!” Said your friend, Lorena, whilst whirling around and taking in the blooming sight of lovely cherry trees being planted everywhere you could lay your eyes. “You weren’t lying, Y/N, this town legitimately looks like out of a Disney film.” She added, stopping right next to you and your other friend, Lily.

“I told you multiple times.” You said with an elfin sneer.

“You did, but when was the last time you actually visited this place?” Asked Lorena. “When you were a toddler?”

You gave her a little judging look, only for the three of you to burst out in genuine laughter not even two seconds later.

You were nearing your 21st birthday with every following day, and because this year was of a particular meaning to you for many different reasons, you decided to spend it with your two closest friends in the charming small town where your grandparents lived, and recall the memories of when you were playing there as a little child one day in early spring.

But it was not the only reason why you were walking through the old climatic streets with buildings covered in green ivy just now.

As of lately, you have been having peculiar dreams.

You never linked any meaningful value to your dreams, merely because you just didn’t believe that there was anything extraordinary to that, a dream was after all just what your brain went through to “filter” itself at night, right?

But this time was quite different. You kept having weird blurry dreams where the only thing you could really make out of it was a colorful merry-go-round full of warm lights on the background of blurred delicate shades of gold and yellow. Sometimes it was the only object visible, but sometimes you could also see something else.

In the first dream in which you witnessed it, you couldn’t really tell what it was. The figure was standing before the spinning merry-go-round, looking as if painted with delicate, but messy brush strokes on a flawless canvas, forming a mix of dark and light colors. Knowing you, you just decided to completely ignore it, not thinking too much about it the next morning when you woke up. But as the days passed, you kept seeing that mysterious figure by the merry-go-round, with the difference that with every following dream it was becoming more clear.

More clear, but not clear enough to tell every little detail. All you could really tell was that it was clearly a person, just standing there, holding something in their hand, whilst their hair seemed to be glowing under the lights of the slowly spinning carousel behind them.

When these dreams have not left you alone for a whole month, you finally decided to visit the small town you knew from your early childhood, for it was the only place you knew which you could connect with the mystical merry-go-round you saw in your dreams every night as soon as you closed your eyes.

“Ey Lily, do you think there is a Starbucks somewhere?” Asked Lorena.

“I don’t know, but I saw a really pretty coffee place somewhere as we walked here.” Answered Lily, brushing her a little too long lilac dyed bangs away from her forehead. “It looked really old school, if you ask me. Oh, look, it’s there!” She pointed to a small building between the pink cherry trees, its walls seeming to be shimmering in a beautiful rose gold color.

“Oh my, it’s even cooler than Starbucks! Let’s go in there. Y/N?” Lorena turned around to look at you, but you couldn’t hear a word she just said.

Your sparkling eyes were glued to the one and only thing standing majestically in the middle of the square you knew so well from your memories and dreams.

The carousel.

It has not changed, it has not changed even a little from what you could tell, still being as colorful and merry as the last time when you saw it all those long years ago.

There were kids spinning around and laughing, other people just walking by, the scene awakening some kind of nostalgia inside you, knowing that this view was indeed very, very familiar to you, bringing back the events of the idyllic year 2004.

You were left there in awe, admiring the happy sight, when out of nowhere you felt a little wave of a warm feeling, as if comforting warmth flowing through your heart.

You felt your eyes widening a little, when in the moving crowd of other people you noticed a person, standing still and looking straight at you, with locks of very light, glistening hair.

Subconsciously, your feet took one, two steps ahead in the direction of that mystical person, feeling the peculiar need to just run to them.

But just as you took another step closer and wanted to look more closely who it was, the person disappeared, as if instantly brushed away with a magical spell.

You stopped, confused, looking around to see if there was anyone with such a light hair color, really resembling a pearl.

But there was none, no matter how carefully you looked.

“Y/N! Where are you going? Did you hear what we just said?” Asked Lorena, placing her hand on your shoulder, looking a little bewildered. “Left unattended you just start wandering off, just like when we were in school!” She paused, before talking again. “So listen, apparently there is a newly built game arcade just around the corner, how cool is that? And apparently, they have the old school Super Mario there! So Lily suggested that we go get a coffee at that pretty store there, and then we go to the arcade seeing that the night is falling already-” She took out her phone, checking the time. “Is it a good plan or is it a super good plan?” She asked joyously, looking at you.

But you were only half listening, your eyes still looking for the person with pearly hair between the people. “Y/N?” Lorena started again, her soft voice sounding a little concerned once she noticed your dazed expression. “What are you looking at?”

You brought your attention back to your friend, looking at her with two big question marks visible in your sparkling eyes. “I just saw someone. Someone familiar.” You replied, letting out an audible gasp when once again, before the merry-go-round, you saw him.

Now you could see clearly what the mystifying person looked like.

It was a boy. More or less around your own age. He was wearing a dark teal sweater with a floral pattern on it, and his hair was resembling a shining pearl. The soft looking locks of light hair were sliding gently on his forehead as he ever so lightly tilted his head to the left, his mystical eyes not leaving yours for even a split second.

“He’s standing right there, by the merry-go-round.” You said quietly, pointing your finger to the said direction.

Lily and Lorena both followed the direction where you pointed, but soon ended up giving each other, and yourself, puzzling looks.

“Um, Y/N, boo, there is none standing by the merry-go-round.” Said Lily. “Everyone is walking, besides the kids playing there are also going home already.”

You looked at Lily in disbelief. “But Lily, he IS there, the boy with-” You paused, feeling the already familiar warmth spilling on your heart the moment the boy smiled at you. “The boy with hair like pearls.” You said, just a little above a whisper.

“I really don’t see anyone like that, Y/N.” Said Lorena, now gently taking your hand and pulling you away from the carousel. “Let’s go and have a drink, okay?”

You nodded faintly, letting your friends take you away to the coffee place mentioned earlier.

There was no way that none else beside you could see the boy with pearly hair, whilst he was clearly just standing there in one point, not moving even an inch and instead just his eyes being fixated on one point in front of him.

On you.

He had this undeniably peculiar aura to him, he didn’t seem like just any regular person you could meet around on a daily basis, not even addressing the obvious until now fact, that everybody else genuinely seemed to not be able to see him standing there.

You watched the sky through the large glass window inside the lovely coffee place, as it became always darker and darker as the night was falling above the town.

You were holding your half empty, but still steaming, dark mocha in your small hands, contemplating whether your eyes started playing tricks on you or if you indeed saw what you saw just moments ago.

“So, girls.” Started Lorena, as soon as she finished her own cup of coffee, wiping away the cream from her nude lip. “Seriously, let’s go to that game arcade. It has been so long since we all played something old school like that.”

“I told you, my ideas are always the best.” Said Lily. “Y/N?”

You were just about to give your friend an answer, when briefly you caught a glimpse of a pearly head outside by the merry-go-round.

You flinched immediately, taking the last sip of your mocha and quickly standing up from the table. “Listen, you two can go ahead to the arcade, I really need to check something first. I will join you there later, okay?” You said, not even waiting for your friends’ reply and running out of the building.

“I’m a little worried about our Y/N, to be honest.” Said Lorena. “She literally looked as if she saw a ghost.” She added.

“Me too, if I’m being honest.” Said Lily. “But something tells me it isn’t anything bad. Let’s just go to the arcade and wait for Y/N like she told us to do. If she doesn’t show up within twenty minutes we will call her or just come back here.” She added, finishing her own drink.

By the time your friends left the coffee place and directed themselves to the game arcade, you were already circling the still illuminated, but completely quiet by now, merry-go-round. You were more than totally sure that you saw him standing just here again, but by the time you got out of the store and reached the middle of the square, he was nowhere to be seen.

You sighed in disbelief, running your fingers through your long silky locks.

The otherwise full of beans big square, was now completely quiet and empty under the dark blue night sky, all covered in twinkling stars creating a real magical atmosphere.

The majestic carousel, the object of your complete acclaim when you were just four years old, was still wholly illuminated and bright presenting itself before your eyes.

“Why is everything so quiet.” You said quietly to yourself.

“Last time everything was way too crowded, wasn’t it?” Said a velvet like voice, right next to you.

You flinched, startled a little by the sudden unfamiliar voice.

Or was it really unfamiliar?

Your head instantly snapped to the direction of the sound, making your jaw drop in awe, disbelief, and total surprise all at the same time.

Right before your eyes, there was the mystical boy with shining pearly hair and chocolate brown eyes which looked at you in a longing way.

“You are-” You started, still flabbergasted. “You are the boy with hair like pearls.”

“Pearls?” Asked the boy. “But I clearly remember you used to call it hair like stars.” He said softly.

Your eyes widened a little. “What? Wait.” You paused. “Do I know you?” You asked.

“You might know my name but you do not remember the owner.” He replied.

What on earth?

You were left a little, and by a little you wanted to say a lot, dazed and confused by his words, so as silly as it might have sounded you decided to change the subject by asking him a random question. “Um-” You started. “I saw the number 1922 engraved in the carousel, was it the year it was built?” You asked, looking at him with your sparkling eyes.

Her eyes are still as sparkling as I remember.

“No.” The boy replied, his voice smoother than anything else you have ever heard. “It was built in 1904.” He added.

“Woah.” You said in a genuine amazement. “Respect to those who take care of it, it looks as if it was newly built. But why is there 1922 then? Shouldn’t it be 1904 if it was the year it was built?” You asked, tracing the fine lines of detailed colorful engravings on the carousel.

“Do you know the story of this carousel?” The boy asked.

You looked at him, shaking your head, a sign for him to continue speaking.

“One of the noblemen of this town built this carousel for his only child in 1904.” He started. “1922 was the year when his son passed away.” He said in a quiet tone.

A little frown fell on your scarlet lips. “How old was he?” You asked.

“Twenty two.”

“Just one year older than me.” You muttered to yourself. “What a waste. He had his whole life ahead of him. What was his name?” You said.

“His name was Baekhyun.” The boy replied softly.

You paused for a brief moment, frozen.

Baekhyun?

You were sure you have already heard this name somewhere.

When you didn’t reply, the boy continued talking. “This carousel was of a great meaning to him.” He said. “And during spring time, he liked to collect daisies on the hill over there when he was little.” He added, looking at you warmly.

“Daisies?” You asked, feeling as if some old, forgotten memories were coming back to you the moment he said the name of these little flowers.

“Yes, daisies.” He said, a small smile falling on his soft lips. “Do you like daisies?”

“Um, yes, I do like daisies.” You replied slowly, not knowing what was the peculiar feeling which has flown over you just now.

The boy took a decisive step closer to you, soon you felt his cold hand very gently taking yours, not breaking eye contact. “Will you be my daisy?”

And then you felt it, everything coming back as if in a flash. The cold early spring day in 2004, you with your silky locks disheveled by the wind, the beautiful carousel, and the ghostly, mystical boy holding a single daisy, invisible to all the people around, but to you.

And then you also remembered it.

You remembered it when that boy with hair like pearls told you his name.

His name was Baekhyun.

“But, but-” You started, looking at him with big eyes. “No, this is impossible. You look-” You paused, breathing in and out. “You look just the same as then.” You were still feeling the cold coming from his soft hand, you gently squeezed it as if to prove to yourself that it was not a dream. “Could you really be the same Baekhyun who I have met here all those years back?” You asked in disbelief, your sparkling eyes twinkling in the moonlight as you looked at the mystical boy before you. “Could you be the same son of the nobleman who built this carousel? The same Baekhyun who died in 1922?” You asked in a quieter tone, not believing the sight before your eyes. “Is this really not a dream?”

She remembers.

“I have waited seventeen years for you to find me again, my daisy.” Baekhyun’s chocolate eyes were now just as sparkling as yours, little happy twinkles dancing in them as he reached his other hand to very gently cup your cheek, bringing your face closer to his.

You just looked at him in awe, the familiar feeling of warmth filling your heart spilling all over you again as he tenderly placed his lips on yours.

The moment your lips touched, you immediately noticed that his equally cold hands and lips started becoming warm, living, losing the ghostly cold they held before.

Without even being aware of this, your own free hand circled around Baekhyun’s neck, letting him kiss you in the sweetest way possible and letting yourself kiss him back.

The moment his lips left yours, you suddenly heard a loud sound similar to that of a breaking glass somewhere near the carousel.

With your arm still around him, you watched as Baekhyun’s eyes fell on the carousel, or more like on the ground next to it. You looked at the ground flabbergasted yourself, when laying there, completely broken, were immense chains made of the thickest glass.

The wave of warmth flew over you one more time when Baekhyun turned his head to look at you again, a light scarlet shade starting to color his once milky and bloodless cheeks.

Your fingers lingered a brief while before gently placing themselves on his cheek, the previous cold being completely gone, instead you felt the warmth coming from within his skin.

Just as if he was wholly alive again.

He appeared to become aware of this too, when he placed his own hand over your small one, feeling his lightly flushed cheek. “Am I-” He started in disbelief, his chocolate eyes widening. “Am I alive?”

You yourself were left in a complete awe even more than before, being able to do just as much as to look him in those brown eyes and nod eagerly, repeatedly.

It was crazy, the whole day in this small town full of magic, and you were more than sure that the most people would never believe it or simply give you stupid looks.

You were more than sure that none would be in the position to actually understand the unusual events which took place by the old merry-go-round, but you wouldn’t be too surprised, because you couldn’t really understand them yourself.

All you knew was the warmth which filled your heart always more and more, the longer your sparkling eyes stayed locked with Baekhyun’s brown ones, and the longer you stayed locked in his warm embrace.

Your eyes traveled over every little detail of his handsome face, until your fingers gently brushed away his pearly bangs which fell on his eyes.

He was perfect.

“So” You started softly. “I will be happy to be your daisy.” You said.

And you could swear, that this particular smile which appeared on his lips was the most enthralling thing in the whole universe.

“You will?” He asked, smile audible in his velvet like voice.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

You stood there, softly smiling at each other, living in the moment of a magical marvel.

All you could see in that beautiful while was all the life which was coming back to Baekhyun’s eyes, the eyes which were lifeless and foggy just moments ago.

What you failed to see were your two best friends, Lorena and Lily, standing just some feet away, observing the lovely scene in awe.

“Do you see that, Lily?” Asked Lorena. “I would suggest you and me both make an appointment by the eye doctor, that boy with hair like pearls or whatever is REAL. Y/N really saw him there, but we did not?” She said, rubbing her eyes as if to make sure that she was seeing right. “And damn, he is handsome. Holy freak, they are both beautiful. My eyes start to hurt from all this beauty.”

Lily let out a genuine laugh. “You know what, Lori, let’s just go. Something tells me that those two have a lot of stuff to catch up on.” She said, taking Lorena’s hand to gently pull her away.

“Buuuut-” Said Lorena. “I really wanna know who he is.”

“An old friend?” Said Lily, whilst leading the still talking Lorena away.

Meanwhile, you and Baekhyun were still standing in the same position next to the colorful merry-go-round.

“You know, I actually never got to get on the merry-go-round.” You said.

“Well then-” Said Baekhyun, throwing a quick look at all the empty white horses reflecting the magical lights of the carousel before looking back at you. “Do you want to go on a merry-go-round ride with me?” He asked, a little pending audible in his velvet voice.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” You replied.

If you thought that looking at the carousel alone was a magical sight, then you surely felt as if you were in another magical dimension whilst you were spinning around on one of those snow white horses with Baekhyun right next to you.

The moment was even more magical, when a very soft and pretty melody reached your ears, sounding as if it was coming from inside of the spinning carousel.

Merry-go, merry-go, merry-go-round...

Beautiful you on the merry-go-round.

The lights of the merry-go-round have indeed always been beautiful and bedazzling, but right in that moment, that warm night, nothing could be more brighter than the twinkles in your sparkling eyes, and Baekhyun’s chocolate brown ones as you spun around for the tenth time.

It was perfect.

Author’s End Note: Thank you for reading! Don’t forget to REBLOG if you liked it and leave me your opinions! It helps to improve lots! I know that the ending might not be what everyone likes, but it seemed right to me to end the story in that and not another way. I really hope you enjoyed this, and seeing that this is the first story in 2021, I wish you all the luck and wonders in this year, and I genuinely hope it will be full of magic!!

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

Meeting Family

Tagging: @melyaliz @sea-quinn @lizartgurl @speedypan @coffee-randomness @uncpanda

Read Earlier Parts Here

A/N Nick and Debbie mentioned at the end belong to @melyaliz

"What are you thinking about kitten?" Selina asked as she carefully brushed the little girl's hair.

Annabella had a little frown on her face that matched her father's when he was deep in thought. Her little brown eyes met Selina's in the mirror.

"What's a grandma?" Annabella asked.

"Well a grandma is what you call the person who's the mommy of your mommy or daddy." Selina said simply as she began to grab strands of Annabella's hair.

"But… daddy doesn’t have a mommy anymore. And you're not my mommy. So how can I have a grandma if I don't have a mommy?”

Selina's heart ached for the little girl, again she found herself thinking about whisking her away. But Bruce was stubborn; they had to stay in Gotham. According to him it was the best option.

"You do have a mommy kitten, she's just not here." Selina sighed, this was a conversation she needed to have with Bruce not her.

"Why can't you be my mommy?" Annabella asked, her voice coming out so soft Selina almost wasn't sure if she heard her right.

How do you explain to someone so young that you just weren't ready for that title no matter how much you loved them? How do you tell someone that even though they love their father so much the commitment scared you? Alfred cleared his throat making Selina jump slightly. She quickly secured the braid she was working on with a hair tie.

"Mrs. McNider has arrived." Alfred announced.

"She's not used to strangers." Bruce said as he approached the manor. "In fact she's pretty protective of any one she's grown up with. So if she doesn't approach you immediately don't take it personally. She has a pretty set schedule though it got a bit disturbed after the… incident. If I’m being she hasn't really been sleeping in her room lately though that was already a slight issue before what happened. I've already added more security measures because once the paparazzi catch wind of who you are it's only a matter of time before she realizes.”

"I see you haven't changed Bruce." Teresa chuckled as they reached the door. "Let's just take this one step at a time."

Bruce made a face as if he did not like that plan and Teresa couldn't help but smile. The doors opened then and Alfred stood in the entryway.

"Ah Mrs. McNider, I hope you had a pleasant flight." Alfred greeted.

"It was wonderful Alfred." Teresa smiled as she stepped inside. "Now where is my granddaughter?"

"Hiding." Said Selina, she stood in the middle of the entrance and just behind her clutching her leg was Annabella.

Her little face peered over the side of Selina's leg and Teresa couldn't help but gasp. Deep down she must've been expecting the features of her daughter. Despite the pictures she had received she thought maybe her eyes would hold the coldness her daughter carried. Instead Annabella's soft brown eyes studied her with such intense curiosity they seemed to bore deep into Teresa's soul. No, not the eyes of her daughter, they were the eyes of her lost son.

"So you're a grandma?" Annabella asked, stepping away from Selina.

"Yes, I'm your grandma. Though if you don't mind I would prefer the word abuelita." Teresa smiled as she bent down to be at eye level with her.

"Abuelita." Annabella tested the word out. "Why?"

"Because that's the spanish word for grandmother." Teresa explained.

"Tú hablas español?" Annabella asked, excitement lighting up her eyes.

"Sí." Teresa chuckled.

"Ms. Wayne, why don't we show your abuelita where she will be staying." Alfred suggested.

"Okay." Annabella beamed, taking her grandmother's hand and leading her through the manor.

By the end of the day Annabella decided that grandmother's are the best. Hers especially, Teresa did not mind answering all of Annabella's questions. And Annabella was convinced that her grandmother's handbag was magic since she always seemed to have just the right thing to use throughout the day.

As soon as Annabella's head hit the pillow she was out like a light. The adults all stood around as they watched her sleep.

"This is the first time she's fallen asleep so fast." Selina whispered.

"She'll be up soon enough." Bruce frowned as he felt his phone buzz. "I have to go into the office."

"I guess I should go home too then." Selina sighed, she turned and gave Bruce a peck on the cheek.

Teresa watched as Selina quickly and quietly walked into Annabella's room and gave the little girl a soft kiss on her forehead. With that she went out and Alfred escorted her out to her car.

"She wants to run, you know." Teresa said, focusing on Annabella now.

"I know she told me." Bruce said, wondering how she could have known that.

"But she's still contemplating it. Unless you tell her the truth, there's a chance she will stay. She needs to know why you're so driven to stay here."

"It's better for Annabella."

"Is it? Or is it better for you?"

"What do you see?" Bruce sighed.

"She will suffer one way or another even if you leave. How I'm not quite sure, but she'll pull through, she's strong. She'll be even stronger if she has more people supporting her, she needs more family and more friends."

"We're all she has."

"Now Bruce we both know that's not true."

Bruce simply frowned at that knowing that. Okay so maybe there was other family but he couldn't risk bringing them into their lives.

"Go, I'll watch over her. Make sure she stays in bed." Teresa urged as she lightly guided him away from the little girls room.

The week got better for Annabella and by the end of it she had her grandmother wrapped around her finger. For all her meals Annabella was allowed to help her grandmother prepare the food. Well she was allowed to pour things into the pots and pans at least but the kitchen was filled with music and laughter.

Though Annabella had considerably warmed up to Teresa every time they went out to the park or just to tour Gotham Teresa did notice the little seemed to cling to her. For good reason strangers were still scary for Annabella. Still they needed to work on her people skills.

In the evenings they would relax with some tv while Teresa worked on a craft. Annabella loved to ask hundreds of questions on whatever her grandmother was working on. She was even given little tasks like sorting the yarn for hitting or organizing the strips of fabric for a quilt.

By the time it was bedtime Annabella she went to sleep with ease. Bruce had to admit he was impressed but even he could tell Teresa was a little winded. Maybe she had a point, maybe he should bring in more family.

"She has an aunt and uncle that have children. They are all the way in Tokyo and I haven't spoken to them in years but… I'm sure they would be thrilled to come and spend some time with her." Bruce looked at the woman who smiled knowingly. "What?"

"I knew you'd come around." Was all she said making Bruce feel uneasy.

"What did you do?" He asked, he was still trying to figure out just exactly what she was capable of.

"Nothing I haven't done before." Teresa waved her hand dismissively. "Now off to bed for you too. There is no light in the sky yet and you won't be young forever."

~~~~~~~~

Nick sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He really needed to take a break from the computer but he just had one more task to do. Blinking, he stared back at the screen and clicked on his junk folder. Without meaning to, he accidentally clicked on one of the files. He was about to exit out of it when he noticed the header.

“Hey honey?” He called out and blinked again wondering if maybe he was just sleep deprived.

“Yeah?” Debbie asked, coming out from Jens room holding the book she no doubt took from the girl in order for her to go to sleep.

“Um, since when did Bruce have a daughter?” He asked cautiously, still unsure if the article was real or not.

“What?” Debbie asked, walking faster. She stood behind him and bent forward to see what her husband could possibly be talking about.

There in the email was an article from the Gotham Gazette a large photo was displayed that had Bruce walking out of an ice cream shop holding a little girl that looked to be around five. Next to him was an old woman who had a soft smile on her face. In the bottom corner was a picture of two women but one seemed vaguely familiar. The header read Who’s the Real Mother?

Debbie didn't bother to read the article, instead she focused more on the little girl that Bruce carried. It was hard to really see any of her features in the black and white photo but there was no mistake when it came to the way that little girl smiled. She had Aunt Martha's smile.

“I’ll start looking into flights.” Was all Nick said as he opened a new tab.

“I’ll start packing.” Now all Debbie had to figure out was if she was going to slap her cousin or kill him for not telling her about her niece.

[ellaintrigue]

(Yes, I am so chonky that you can’t see my swimsuit bottom here, lol. Lewd comments not welcome.) I am currently below poverty level despite my nice surroundings (which I am blessed with) so I was tickled to drag out my $25 Dollar General pool the other day. It's my 3rd year of using it and it has some dry rot. I noticed my neighbor set up a nice above ground pool but remembered how the one like it that I had as a kid would always get scummy, even with a filter. I am not going to sweat not having a pool, if things can ever get normal I'll hop in the bay. I don't even know what is open in Maryland besides Ocean City and I am avoiding people. Cape Charles, Virginia also remains closed.

So, thus I bask, my feet hanging out and catching the sun. I probably look comical but at least there is a degree of comfort. Since the drama of my ex that I mentioned in my last (ridiculously long) blog I have been trying to live my best life, a simple one. Which has led me to make some decisions regarding pet ownership. I rescued my last cat, Jester, in 2018. He has been a terror with behavioral issues but has finally calmed down to where he no longer shreds the entire house. It is best to keep cats inside, however, I can no longer have outdoor cats due to predators in the area. In 2018 both Kittibelle and Little Man were attacked by coyotes, leading me to bring them indoors. Domino remains outdoors because she has horrible and incurable diarrhea due to disease complications her whole life.

I have 4 adorable cats, but recently questioned, why do I? Growing up there were always at least 3 cats on the farm, starting with George, Monica, and Ghosty. There were 2 horses, then 1 horse and an ass. Chickens, guinea fowl, and even domesticated rabbits at one point. A farm with a mommy, daddy, and little girl, well funded.

My best friend is about to have another child and recently adopted a 2nd cat and a 2nd dog. I don't know how she does it. Another good friend of mine has uncountable animals: dogs, rodents, snakes, etc., and is always getting more. I am somewhere in-between on all of this: I love pets but have realized my limit. At one point my ex and I had 6 cats, a dog, and chickens. Now I'm done.

From now on, starting when after my cats grow old or otherwise pass, I will not have more than two animals at a time. The horses and chickens of my farm are long gone and the fence demolished. And I have to wonder, why do people take on a ton of animals? Yes, we love them, yes we save their lives, but when we get more than 3, are we trying to fill a hole in our hearts?

I was broken after my ex but did not turn to any particular crutch. That was 2016 and my horse and a cat were put down that year. In 2017 my tomcat died and I adopted Lester. I had Lester, Jester, Kittibelle, Domino, and Little Man. Now that Little Man is dead, I realize I don't need to take on more critters to fill a hole, I need to focus on myself. In years of customer service and caring for my ex and grandmother, who was taking care of me? My mom and dad have always been there for me but I was absent. I wasn't taking care of me.

Obviously I'm not going to slack on caring for my cats. All are vetted and the most that happens is normal cat vomit which seemed to be a theme one day last week. I barely slept then two cats woke me up by making noise outside my room. I feed them, one pukes everywhere. I go into the other part of the house and feed the senior cat. I make tea, grab it, and go to open the door and the old cat gets in front of the door and pukes everywhere. I couldn't even open the door to move my stuff into my room before cleaning it up. Now I find out she has a food allergy. Special food now.

Oh, I love it. For all the annoyance having my cats is so rewarding and they are great company. But I get tired of being woken up at 3 AM, cleaning up barf, and the old one biting me. Lol.

And you know, I'm full of love for all animals: cats, dogs, horses, etc. I don't understand the "crazy cat lady" cliche when it comes to people that take care of their pets. It is sexist because guys don't get negative labels for owning a cat. The first time I went to my ex's house there was dog shit all over the balcony and there were at least 8 dogs in the house. Why isn't that a cliche of crazy dog people? Then I talked to a guy that lived in a trailer, which I don't judge. Trailers are extremely energy efficient and the colorful vintage ones are adorable. But he had 12 dogs. How could that be sanitary?

All of us animal lovers are a little crazy I think, but some are crazier than others. I'm going to stay humble, care for myself, care for my cats, and hell, maybe someone will care for me too one day. Make me popcorn and rub my feet.Have a good weekend, y'all!!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: Volume 2, Chp. 23″

Summary: Erik makes a discovery that changes the course of his family forever...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"Every once and awhile

I find myself going through a transition

Packing up, flying away again

Never knowing how or which way is up

Turning, Spinning high

Welcome to changes

No time to spare

Might as well get used to it

Welcome to changes

Blow with the air…"

Carleen Anderson – "Welcome to Changes"

Califia had known Dr. Barbara Davis since she was a child.

Therapy was something her grandmother insisted on after her father was arrested and sent to prison. Nana Jean understood that her granddaughter was traumatized and needed the professional help her mother couldn't give her.

Califia was grateful for the intervention and grateful to have used Dr. Davis services when she had a brutal fight with N'Jobu when they were in their twenties. It was the only time in their relationship where N'Jobu had laid hands on her. He was defending himself from her attack after he accused her of being a cheating slut. He claimed much later that he had been holding back, but she remembers him using ulwa on her without hesitation. Perhaps it was ingrained in him to protect himself with full force no matter who it was who attacked him.

Califia allowed the fingers of her left hand to fuss with the leather button on the couch she sat on in Dr. Davis's comfortable and welcoming office. Soft browns and mauves surrounded them with splashes of pink. Soothing colors in all the décor. Hanging plants with long green tendrils giving the space a safe feel.

Erik sat beside her, quiet, his hands in his lap as he waited for their session to begin.

N'Jobu had been home for months and their family had maintained a stable home life since his return. Califia had returned to work but she made sure she and Erik saw Dr. Davis twice a week.

"How are things going for you at school, Erik?"

Dr. Davis's kind eyes peered at him from her horn-rimmed glasses, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked at the boy. Erik's body shifted in his seat.

"Good," he said, "…better actually."

"How so?"

"I sleep better at home, so I'm…calmer…um, yeah…calmer at school. No more nightmares."

"That's good to hear. And you, Califia?"

Califia's eyes left Erik's face as she gazed at the therapist.

"I still get bad dreams…sometimes. Not of the attack, but just weird stuff that I can't remember when I wake up."

Dr. Davis scribbled some things down on a yellow notepad.

"What about N'Jobu? How has he been?"

"Good. He and Erik are going camping this weekend with Erik's friend Walter."

"We went to Disneyland a few weeks ago," Erik said. His face lit up at the memory.

Dr. Davis went over some new breathing techniques with them and showed them how to quickly assess their anxiety levels with each other. It hurt Califia so much that Erik suffered from some of the same problems that she grappled with as a child. Intergenerational trauma was no joke, and she worried that she had passed down so much of her pain to her son. Erik had always been a joy to raise, a sensitive little one who felt deeply, but Lia's assassination had opened a wound that accelerated anxiety in him. He was also showing signs of obsessive-compulsive behavior. She could see the stress in him as he tried in his own way to still process and live with what he witnessed.

Their fifty-minute session went by quickly and while Dr. Davis put away her notes, Califia felt her heart- rate go up.

"Erik, do me a favor, could you wait out in the next room. I want to schedule some things with your mother real quick," Dr. Davis said.

Erik nodded, hopped off the couch, and disappeared into the waiting room.

"Califia…what is it?"

Califia finally allowed her tears to flow freely. She kept them in so Erik wouldn't see them, struggling to look normal for him as he left the space.

"I'm messing him up," she said, her voice shuddering from suppressing her emotions from Erik.

"What makes you say that?"

Dr. Davis handed Califia a tissue to wipe her eyes.

"My entire life has been nothing but pain and struggle and mental health issues. I see what it's doing to him. I'm setting my baby up for failure. He's become so rigid about things and he treats me like I'm the child sometimes. He always checks to make sure I'm okay. I'm supposed to be doing that for him!"

She threw her hands over her face unable to stop herself from weeping. "I've fucked up my son—"

"No…you haven't done that—"

"You see how he is—"

Dr. Davis pulled Califia's hands from her face.

"Let me tell you about your son. Erik witnessed a horrific event. But he is resilient. He has an absolute innate sense of justice. He believes strongly in fairness. He has a protective nature about him. His heart is so big and loving that he wants to make sure his Mommy is okay too."

Califia sat back on the couch still clutching the tissue in her hand.

"Parents can pass down anxiety—"

"That can happen. Erik has been displaying symptoms of an overactive brain, but it's nothing we can't work to improve. He's a brilliant child with big thoughts and ideas going on. He's learning to focus in much calmer ways so don't get yourself so worked up. Your coming here with him is the best thing you are doing to help him and yourself. His coping behaviors are simply coping behaviors. He could outgrow them over time—"

"What if he doesn't?"

"Let's focus on right now. Stressing over the future or the past is what keeps you stuck Califia. We work on that with you, and Erik will be fine. The fact that he sees you here doing your best to get well mentally only encourages him to do the same. You have to stay focused on the present with him now. Be mindful of the progress you both have made. Think of all the support you have from your family. Especially N'Jobu."

"Erik…he's my best thing, y'know?"

"I know."

"I worry so much about him. Parents are supposed to protect their children—"

"We live in the real world, Califia. You can't shield Erik from everything that happens, but you can be a pillar of strength and unconditional love for him. He can face anything when you and N'Jobu give him that."

Dr. Davis handed her another tissue and Califia tried to fix her face before going out to Erik.

Her son's eyes sought out hers the moment she walked out and he saw that they were pink from crying.

"You okay, Mom?"

"I am. Ready to go?"

"Yes."

She was mentally drained from the session and drove herself and Erik to visit N'Jobu at the shop. He was managing two new locations and they caught him as he returned to the original Drizzy's Kuts.

N'Jobu's eyes always lit up when he saw them and the moment they stepped into the shop, his arms were around her waist in greeting and he was touching Erik's hair.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you two to pop in," he said.

Califia sat in an open booth chair as Erik greeted three of the other barbers working on customers.

"Can I leave Erik here with you while I run over to see Rolita?"

"Sure. Is everything okay?"

"I got a text from her about meeting at her place with some of the women from Rise Up. Shouldn't take that long. An hour or two."

"Dinner at Nana's still?"

"Yeah."

She kissed his cheek and waved to Erik as she left. Needing Erik to be with the stronger parent right at the moment was important. She needed time with Rolita to lift herself up away from Erik. It was almost like he had extrasensory empath powers, able to read emotions and feelings from people just by looking in their eyes and taking on their weight. It was scary sometimes.

Rolita greeted her at her home with four other women from Rise Up and two men from a local Black activist group. There were snacks laid out in the living room and Califia ate chips from a paper plate with salsa. The mood in the room was solemn.

One of the men pulled out a laptop and showed the women a web page with a list of photos and names. Rolita sat next to Califia and took a deep breath.

"Activists are being murdered," Rolita said.

Califia felt the tension in the room rise.

"Misha Browning was found two hours ago," Rolita said and there was a gasp in the room from everyone.

Califia closed her eyes and steeled her nerves. Misha was a woman Califia had only known and interacted with online in cyber activist spaces. They had coordinated national action plans on police brutality and domestic terrorist attacks on immigrants and mutant humans. She had gone missing a few days previous and word spread by the police was that she had a domestic dispute with a boyfriend and disappeared soon after. But her boyfriend, a man Califia had met in person at a climate change conference in Fresno after she graduated university, was staying on a Scottish Island for a fellowship prior to Misha's disappearance.

There was a pattern.

Up until that moment, ten activists that Califia interacted with personally or knew of through online spaces nationally were dead. Seven of the dead were reported to have committed suicide. Four Black men and two Black women, and two Native women from the Pine Ridge Nation active with pipeline and environmental protests and civil disobedience. Three of them were said to have been murdered under suspicious circumstances. Their mental health was scrutinized and most of the newsfeed on them was swept away. Prominent and vocal activists. Killing themselves?

And now Misha. Found face down under Ohio river debris fifty miles away from her home.

Califia could only think of Lia and then her own self. Rolita too. They were mothers with young children. They were mothers trying to make the world safe for their babies. Could they be targeted next? Could they show up dead and the world told that they committed suicide? It wasn't unthinkable that an activist could kill themselves. Mental health was something they all grappled with and sometimes the world beat them down until killing oneself seemed like a good option. But ten people? Now eleven? Within two years?

Califia sat back in her seat. The rest of her time there long. And painful.

###

N'Jobu sat with Erik at his great-grandmother's kitchen table as he watched his son disassemble yet another one of his robotic toys. Erik had figured out a way to hack into the software of the original robotic programming and rebuild a new larger robot combining four different toys and the pieces of scrap metal his grandfather found for him. He placed the final pieces of the disassembled robot onto the final product.

Erik routed power to his new creation with a handheld and tried to get the strange-looking franken-robot to pick up a mug filled with tea and raise it up to N'Jobu's mouth. A set of spoons and a fork sat on the dining table waiting to be used by the robot to lift up a scoop of fruit loops and pick up sliced mango pieces.

"Be still, Baba." Erik said moving the levers in his hand.

N'Jobu sat still, but the tea mug didn't seem secure in the robot hand as small drops of the liquid spilled from the cup.

"I'm still, Son," he said trying not to laugh as the robot hand grew more unsteady.

"Stop laughing at it, you'll hurt the Daka 3000's feelings," Erik said.

"Oh, you changed its name again. Won't your mother be upset? The Cali 3000 was a nice-sounding name."

"Inventors name things after themselves."

"Why not JaJa 3000?"

"Too soft-sounding. The Daka in my middle name sounds hardcore…Baba, c'mon, be still!"

N'Jobu was leaning back in his seat, his hands up to catch the mug if it dropped.

"I have to perfect this by next week to be ready."

"Is Walter entering the science fair?"

"Yeah, he's working on something."

"You're not going to tell me about it?"

"It's boring."

"Don't say that about your friend."

"It is!"

"Tell me about it."

The robotic arm made it up to the front of N'Jobu's face with the mug. Erik did his best to ease it closer, but it was too jerky. He took a pause and stared at N'Jobu.

"He's making a display of fabrics that can be used to make flak jackets. Bulletproof—"

"So military science—"

"No, clothes for kids. So they won't be shot dead in school."

Whoa.

N'Jobu stared at Erik.

"He's really doing that?"

"Yeah. Lame."

"I don't think it's lame…just…that's pretty hardcore, Son."

"Compared to this? I'm creating a robot that can help the elderly in their homes. Open their pill bottles when they can't, feed them, and help put things away…but Walter's anti-kill clothes is hardcore. Serious Baba?"

"You both have created hardcore things."

"Kids shouldn't have to make clothes like that."

"I agree—"

"Like, make clothes that can let you fly or something…"

Frustrated, Erik snatched the mug from the robot's hand.

"I can't get this to move smoother. I'll have to take it apart. Wish I could get some nanobots for this…"

"Do you want to try the spoon or fork again? That did really well."

"Nah. Thanks for being my experimental human."

"Glad to be of help. Do me a favor though."

"Yeah?"

"Be supportive of Walter. He's trying to make something to help other children. Grown-ups are the blame for that, and it's a shame that a child his age wants to make something like that because we suck, but he is doing something he thinks is a good thing. Support that."

Erik stared at him and nodded his head.

"Who knows, maybe you both will make it to the Stark Expo. That would be exciting."

Erik grinned.

He was so determined to make his robot work. Not just for the Expo.

For Nana Jean.

His son's great-grandmother was ailing. Today she was having a good day and strong enough to make a Friday night fish fry. Relatives were coming over, and everyone was determined to make it a joyous evening of good food and family fun.

N'Jobu could see that the older woman was having a hard time with her health. Her once vibrant face was appearing a bit dull the last few months, and her already thin frame was looking gaunter. She was experiencing bouts of anger when she couldn't do a lot of things by herself like she used to. Like driving. She was having trouble with her hands, periodic shakiness and pain making it difficult for her on some days. But not today. Today she was cooking with the assistance of Erik and N'Jobu.

Erik picked up the tools he used to tweak the wires on his robot when he suddenly reached out and tapped on N'Jobu's kimoyo beads.

"It's lighting up, Baba!"

N'Jobu saw the emergency silver lighting on his beads. They warmed up his wrist.

"I've never seen that color before," Erik said, his eyes glued to his wrist.

The past three years he had told his son his beads were like mood rings and could change colors at will. But he was right. Silver was a new color. Silver was a signal from his fellow rogue War Dogs. Something was wrong.

"Clean this up, and we'll start making the batter for the fish and shrimp," he said.

Pushing back from the table, N'Jobu headed to a guest bedroom, Junie's old room, and locked the door.

"D'Beke," N'Jobu said, watching the man's shape hover over his wrist.

"We have found Klaue. He is ready to move into Wakanda. The time has come your Highness."

N'Jobu shut his eyes and sat on the guest bed.

"Send out a code three, and make sure all cells are on code. No more communications until you all hear from me. Understand? Send me Klaue's contact. We have to be…we have to be…D'Beke if anyone acts suspicious…end them."

"Yes, Prince N'Jobu."

D'Beke winked out and N'Jobu felt his body tremble with excitement and nervous energy.

The time had come to act. No more planning. Action.

"Wakanda Forever," he whispered.

###

Califia felt beyond stuffed. She rubbed her belly from all the shrimp she consumed. Hot, juicy, greasy, salty-sweet delicious shellfish fresh from the skillet. N'Jobu rubbed his belly and Califia watched Erik help Nana Jean fry up more shrimp in cornmeal batter this round.

"Nana. I can't eat anymore," she said.

Nana dropped shrimp into a fry strainer and Erik lowered it and stood back when the grease popped. Nana dropped more shrimp into the bowl filled with the batter.

"Someone will," Nana said, her frame so much smaller from how Califia always saw her as a little girl. She felt it deep down. No one else in the family wanted to say it outright, and Nana Jean was not forthcoming with her health, but Califia knew. Her great-grandmother was battling something and trying so hard to stay on the earth for Erik. That was her child. He may have come out of Califia's body, but Erik was her baby

Erik's mind was set on going to the Stark Expo in New York. He had come so close last year, making it to a semi-final status and receiving a signed certificate from Tony Stark himself. She and N'Jobu had to nurse him through a mini-temper tantrum when he didn't get to be a finalist. He pouted for weeks and wouldn't even hang up his certificate in his room that Nana Jean had framed for him. N'Jobu had to have a sit down with him and remind him of how many people, children, and adults had submitted projects and didn't even make it to the quarter-finals. She remembered the title of his abstract too, "Novel Subtle Acoustic Communication: Successful Elucidation of the Cryptic Ecology of Runner Plant Bugs with Emphasis on Their Stridulatory Mechanisms". He spent three months capturing the faint sound of bugs. Bugs that he had crawling all over his bedroom when a few escaped by accident. She shivered at the memory.

Califia had to chime in and show him the certificate.

"Tony Stark really signed this. A busy man like him took the time to sign something acknowledging your hard work. You should be proud of yourself."

It wasn't until Erik went online to see how many people had entered projects did his own parent's words kick in. There were only twenty-five semi-finalists for his category and his face beamed when he announced, "Just over half a million people entered globally."

For the new year, he switched from acoustics to robotics hoping to be a finalist. And he focused on something more personal, and close to home: Nana Jean.

That big ole heart of his wanted to make his Nana as self-sufficient for as long as possible with a personal elder care robot.

N'Jobu watched her closely after she rubbed her belly and caught his eye. Her mood hadn't been the best when she arrived at the house. The meeting at Rolita's was tough on her psyche and she almost opted to go home and sleep until her grandmother called Rolita reminding her to bring her daughter Neveah.

Erik's cousins and Neveah ran around the front room while Erik cooked at the stove.

"JaJa, go be with the other kids, I'll help Nana."

Erik nodded and she watched her grandmother pat his head.

"Nana, for reals, I don't think anyone else can eat more. Take a break and spend time out front too."

"Dayclean is still eating," she said.

"I am done, Nana. Go relax, we'll take care of all of this."

N'Jobu stood up and cleared the dishes left on the table as a few of Califia's Uncles cleaned up after themselves before heading to the den to watch TV.

"You good?" N'Jobu asked.

"Better."

"Erik told me you looked upset leaving your session today. Want to talk about it?"

"It was nothing serious…really. I was just feeling a way. Venting."

"Did it help?"

"I think so."

He rinsed dishes and stacked them in the new dishwasher they bought for Nana three years ago once they saw she had trouble with her hands.

She finished putting leftovers in the fridge and when she looked at N'Jobu again, his gentle eyes broke her down.

"Let's go in the back," he said when he saw her eyes well up with water.

The house was busy and no one paid them any mind going to the back guestroom. It was quiet back there. N'Jobu locked the door and they both sat on the bed.

Califia wiped her eyes.

"He is too much like me. And I am afraid for him."

"Califia—"

She touched his hand.

"His quick temper. His anxiety. His need to be in control…this compulsion to make things perfect…it's not healthy…and living here, and seeing Lia…I have damaged him."

N'Jobu stayed quiet and she was grateful. Over the years he had to learn how to let her talk things out and not try to offer immediate solutions as he was want to do all the time. She just needed to be heard. Just wanted to let her words linger openly so she could work through her pain.

"I worry about how he will deal with the trauma later in life. Kids bounce back. I know this. Better than adults. But he…you know this about him…he feels too deeply. This world will break his heart N'Jobu. People like that suffer more than most."

N'Jobu continued to listen as he held her hand.

"I worry about him. I told Dr. Davis this. I worry that he has inherited my pain. I pray and pray that he can be more like you, like…if I could take the worst aspects of myself and remove that from his DNA—"

"Stop."

N'Jobu's eyes were watery. He stroked her face.

"I don't want you thinking like this. I don't want you to carry this in your heart. Take parts of you out of him? He wouldn't be who he is without those parts of you. I know I'm supposed to let you feel what you feel, but my son…our son? He is perfect. He is his own person. That is an Udaku Prince out there and you make him perfect. Understand?"

"I want to believe you, I might believe you if…."

"If what?"

"If you would take us to Wakanda. It has to be safer and better there. You heard what Rolita told you at dinner. It's bad out here. You heard about Walter's science project. Fuck is that? Fuck kind of world are we living in. How can we protect Erik? What if something happens to him? What if something happens to us? Who would take care of him? Who would be capable of caring for a child like ours? Huh? Tell me."

"Babe—"

"Why won't you take us away from here? My baby is a Prince. He deserves to live in a world without fear, or where his best friend doesn't make bulletproof t-shirts for his peers. Don't you want him to have the life you had growing up?"

N'Jobu pulled her in with a tight hug when the tears really started flowing down her face. She was so tired.

"My love, don't cry, please…don't cry…"

It was the same quiet fight they had over the years. His refusal to take them home.

They weren't welcome. She knew this. Deep down they were not wanted in his world, and yet it was the only one that could save them. And she didn't understand why he prevented them from contact. Not even a visit. Their son was learning Wakandan. Memorized their alphabet. Practiced writing his name, even practiced a little speech he wanted to give in front of his royal grandparents when they would meet. Even had a gift he made for his cousin Prince T'Challa, a little necklace that would hold secret-coded messages between them.

And yet…

Here they sat with her crying about it once more.

They left the bedroom and joined the rest of the family to eat pound cake and watch Wheel of Fortune, everyone shouting at the tv their guess's at the puzzles. Neveah and Erik giggled like crazy whenever her father Dante guessed words that clearly were made up to make them laugh.

Once they returned home, Erik put away his robot, and she and N'Jobu dressed for bed. They allowed Erik to lounge in bed with them until it became way past his bedtime. She caught that mood from N'Jobu that he wanted to make love, but Erik kept prolonging his stay in their bed by negotiating for extra time with them. They allowed him to watch another half hour of the SyFy channel until he was knocked out and snoring with his head resting on Califia's stomach.

"Hey, buddy, time to wake up," N'Jobu said nudging Eric gently on the shoulder.

"Thirty more minutes," Erik whispered, his eyes wide as if he hadn't been snoring a minute ago.

"So you can sleep again? Go to sleep in your room. I need some Mommy time," N'Jobu said. He started pushing Erik away from Califia.

"Mom!" Erik whined pushing N'Jobu's hands away and trying to stay on her stomach.

"It's two in the morning, JaJa," Califia said stroking his braids.

"Then I should be able to stay since the sun will be up in five hours."

"If you don't get," N'Jobu said pulling on one of Erik's braids.

"Ow, Baba! I know why you really want me gone…you wanna kiss Mom and do the nasty!"

"Boy!" Califia said, a shocked expression on her face as she play slapped his arm.

"Yes, now get," N'Jobu said.

"I can't believe that came out of your mouth," Califia said.

"Why are you being embarrassed?" Erik teased.

"Time for you to get out of grown folks business," Califia said lifting him off of her stomach.

Erik finally rolled over and stood from their bed.

"Y'all some haters, man, for real," he said.

His dimples melted her.

"Who is this child? Where is my sweet JaJa?" she said.

Erik leaned back over the bed and kissed her cheek.

"Night Mom," he said.

"Night, Baby. Sleep well," she answered.

Erik gave his father a sly look as he sauntered out of their room backward.

"I'll just close this so I can get some rest," he said as he grabbed their doorknob and shut it behind him.

"Okay, maybe we should take some of your DNA out of him," N'Jobu said as he wiggled out of his pajama bottoms.

"That was all you, nigga," she said staring as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

He tugged on her nightgown and she brushed his hands away.

"We can't do it now," she said glancing at the bedroom door.

"Why not?'

"Because he knows that's what we're doing—"

"I don't care, just put the pillow over your mouth," he said pulling the bed covers back and raising up her gown to her hips. She widened her legs and allowed him to lick her vulva slowly, but then she felt self-conscious. Kept glancing at their bedroom door making her stomach tense.

"I can't, not yet," she whispered.

"Babe, stop being silly. I want to make you feel good after a tough day…shit…pussy wet already."

His tongue rested just under her clit as her ring poked out from the engorgement of the slick bud. He gave light pulses there and her legs shot up, her thighs falling open.

"Get the lube," he said stroking his dick.

Reaching into her drawer she pulled out cherry flavored lube. She coated her vulva and opened her wet inner lips for him.

Tongue darting in and out and smearing his lips with her arousal, Califia held N'Jobu's head.

"Let's just do a quickie," she said.

"Quickie, longie, I just need to be in my pussy," he said shifting his body to line up with hers. He inserted his erection and she gasped out loud.

"I'm about to fuck you real good," he hissed in her ear.

Califia stuffed her left hand over her mouth as her right arm held his shoulder in a death grip.

"God, baybee—"

"Mmmmm—"

"Wait, not so hard, the headboard is banging against the wall—"

"Fuck that wall—"

"The noise—"

N'Jobu lifted up and watched his dick slide into her.

They had been working and caring for Nana Jean and Erik so much that it had been a couple of weeks since they had last had sex. And this quickie was just what they needed. If N'Jobu didn't waste any time kissing her, she knew he was desperate to get in her stuff. He couldn't go very long without some sexual contact with her.

"Look at your dick, Jobu," she encouraged, his face so intent on watching her pussy grip his length. His dick was shiny, his dark coloring magnificent. She felt sorry for people who couldn't have Black dick like this filling them up. He was ready to split her in two. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to get her mind off of her troubles.

He pulled out and positioned himself on his side behind her. His hands gripped her breasts but her gown kept slipping down.

"Take it off," he said and she removed it over her head and tossed it on the side.

White light under the door.

Erik was still up.

Califia dropped her head to one of her pillows and bit into it. She could hear how gushy her pussy was, could hear N'Jobu trying his best to keep his voice down but to no avail.

"Damn…damn…," N'Jobu grunted, his hands tightening around her breasts.

"Yes, baby."

"I missed this pussy, girl. We gotta stop playing and make time for us…oh shit…"

"Jobu—"

"Where you want it, baby? I'm ready to cum…oh…Califia…where you want this nut?"

"In my mouth," she said.

"Okay…okay….," he panted.

He kept stroking his dick in her pussy, hitting the side of her walls hard.

His pace picked up, and for a second she thought he would cum inside her because he didn't seem willing to leave her hot folds.

"Turn around!" he shouted.

Yanking out of her, he stroked his thickness as she turned around and lowered her face to his cock.

"Open your mouth…oh shit…baby open your mouth!"

Mouth Open. Tongue out.

N'Jobu slapped his dick on her tongue, his eyes swimming with an all-consuming carnality. Her own fingers plucked at her clit and when his release splashed all in her mouth, she gulped his cum down as her sugar walls clenched from an intense orgasm.

She swallowed everything he gave her, and he spent some time licking between her legs again and giving her another orgasm.

She was about to enjoy the third orgasm from his mouth when a brilliant blue light spilled under their bedroom door.

"N'Jobu!" she cried out.

He turned his head and saw the brilliant fluorescent blue. His eyes shifted in a way she had never seen before.

He leaped up and put on his pajama bottoms. She threw her gown back on and followed him out of their bedroom.

Erik's bedroom door was open, the dazzling blue array coming from there.

"Erik!" N'Jobu shouted.

Their son stood in the middle of his bedroom. N'Jobu's Wakandan beads were on his wrist, the blue light bleeding out from it.

"Baba!"

Erik tried pressing down on a bead.

"Don't do anything else!" N'Jobu said.

But it was too late.

Erik twisted one of the beads and the brilliant blue light filled the entire room and a large holographic image floated above Erik's wrist.

A street scene.

People walking on elevated sidewalks.

Space ships flying in the air.

Black people dressed in ways they had never seen before.

"N'Jobu, what is this? What is that?" she whispered with awe in her voice.

Erik's eyes studied the images and he took his free hand and stuck it inside the field of blue light. It expanded and different color-rich scenes played like a series of split screens spinning in a circle.

A cityscape.

And a futuristic structure that looked like a double palace…

"It's Wakanda," Erik said.

His fingers flicked an image up over his head. It looked like a billboard advertising a car they had never seen before in the world. The lettering was all Wakandan.

Erik's bright eyes stared at her.

"It's Baba's home!"

###

Chapter 24 

Tag List”

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514  @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry  @honeytoffee

[heartsofstrangers]

What has been one of the most challenging things you have experienced or are currently experiencing?

“Lately I have been experiencing some eye difficulties. As a photographer you use your eyes all the time, and in my left eye I have vitreous detachment, which means the gel inside the eye is breaking apart, and I get black floaters in front of my eyes. So it’s stuck in my vision, which is really frustrating. There’s nothing that can be done for it, so you just live with it. It can get worse or it can stay the same. Supposedly eventually my brain will get annoyed with it and think it’s not there. The doctor said that I probably would notice it more than other people, since I’m a photographer. It’s a nuisance that sits right in front of your eye. It’s really bugging. So I have to deal with that. But there could be worse things in the world, right?”

So are you afraid that that going to interfere with your career as a photographer?

“Absolutely! When it happened I thought, okay, maybe I should just go to the eye doctor and find out what this is. The way that she worded it, she’s doing my eye exam and she says, ‘Well, I thought you were too young for this, but there it is.’ I said, ‘Too young for what?’ and she says, ‘What you’re having usually people in their 60s and 70s get.’ I’m like, ‘What does that mean?’ She says, ‘It’s the aging process,’ and I’m like, ‘Oh great. I’m going to be forty this month.’ It’s like a midlife crisis once she said that. I thought, ‘Oh my God.’ My health, my vision is everything. You don’t realize how important your eyes are until you deal with something like this. So it’s been pretty depressing. When it’s bright outside it’s like I should wear sunglasses all the time because it’s that bad. Driving is like flies going in front of your face. I keep on swatting it. I’m not on drugs. It’s just there.”

Had you noticed that that was happening before the exam?

“Yeah, that’s why I went to the doctor. I was doing a wedding and the deejay had some very bright LED lights and stuff. I thought maybe it was from that. When I went to my eye doctor, she said what you have is this detachment of the gel inside your eye. You get these black floaters. It’s almost like smoke and gray. They move every time you move your eye. They go in and out of focus. Sometimes it’s more focus, then other times it’s just a blurry blob. So right now that’s one of the hardest things to deal with, because it’s so new. There has been a lot of other hard stuff in life. Growing up with a single mother. Parents being 15 and separated at such a young age, so my mom was a single mother. We grew up in Fair Haven, Connecticut, in a pretty rough area. I think you grow up a lot faster than anyone in the suburbs, just because you always had to be. I was alone there with my mother. My brother was five years younger, so I was an older brother with a single mother. So I was very overprotective of my mother and my brother. So I think I grew up a lot quicker than most my friends have. I had to. It was survival, basically.”

What’s your relationship like with your parents?

My parents are so different. To me my mother has been my mother and father in a lot of ways. My father is in my life and we have a good connection now and he’s a good friend. He’s my father, he’s been supportive the way he knows how, but my mother has been the rock. She’s been through it all. She’s the one who had to teach us a lot of stuff. My father is a great guy, I love him, but he doesn’t drive, he doesn’t have credit cards. He’s his own bank. My mother has been through a lot. She is the only daughter and she has five brothers. She’s tough. My parents actually met at Hillhouse High School, and were the only white people in their class. It was an interesting reason they got together. It could have been one of the issues at the time. They’re such different people. I see them in me, but I see more of my mother. I see the creative side of my father. My mother is more the nurturing, caring type. I do have both of my parents in me, and a lot things that would drive me crazy about my mother are totally me now. It’s the things that drove me crazy about my mother that I do now. My mother cared about others more than her own self. It’s stuff I do now and I can see why she did it. It’s just who she is. She worked with mentally challenged people and people who had no homes. We would have holiday parties and she would invite all her clients and she wasn’t even working that day. She would invite them over. She got married seven or eight years ago and she had her mentally challenged clients come and sing at her wedding. You could imagine how that sounded, but that made her happy. It was her wedding, you know. What were you going to say? That is just who she is. She wanted those clients to feel special. That’s why she had them sing at her wedding.”

How have your mother’s lifestyle and her perspective on things shaped who you are? I would imagine you exemplify some of the same qualities she has.

“A lot of times I speak before thinking, and that’s my mother. She loves talking to people and making them feel special, but sometimes you say something before you’ve thought about it and it could be offensive, but it’s not meant to be. She’ll laugh at herself because she’s doing it, but she’s also very sensitive. She’s strong but also sensitive for other people, more with other people than her own family at times. I told her the other day one of my close friends may be dying, and she started crying. When someone in our own family, like my grandfather who she was very close to was dying, she couldn’t cry because she was trying to be strong for other family members. She is very caring, like me. My brother has two kids now and she’s the best grandmother. She spoils those kids. We didn’t just get things, we got love when we were kids. When you’re a kid, you think you want things. I’m glad we didn’t have them, because it made us who we are today, my brother and I. She made us work for everything. I wanted a car when I was sixteen, and she said, ‘No, your grades are not good enough. If you want a car, you are going to work for it.’ When we got detention we had to walk home. She wasn’t coming to pick us up. She didn’t care if it was raining, snowing. But when we got older, she said, ‘It hurt me to do that when you were kids, but I needed to make you better men.’ She’s right. A lot of my friends were spoiled over the years, and you could just see that they never grew up because they always had mommy and daddy to be there. We knew we had to do it ourselves. That I definitely get from my mother. The artistic side is definitely my father. He is very artsy and he’s out there sometimes, and it drives me crazy, but I’m doing the same thing he does. The other day I picked him up, and I was telling him I had a girl over and I had these mason jars filled with pistachio shells, and she was like, ‘Why do you have these?’ I said, ‘I want to make something out of it.’ My father says, ‘I have the same thing at home.’ So it’s like he and I have the same thing. She was like, ‘Oh, you’re a pack rat.’ I said, ‘At least I’m an organized one. They’re in jars, not just on the table.’ My father had the same exact thing at his house. My friend said, ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ I can see the unique things both my parents have that are in me now. The older you get, the more you see it. When you’re young you don’t see it. I love my parents and who I am and I love that’s the way they made me.”

Was it ever hard for you to accept who you are, like your parents?

“Oh, yeah. It drives me crazy, because you want to be your own thing. As an artist you want to be unique and different. You don’t want to be like a mold of anything, right? But that’s why the photography helps me have my own voice. Like I said, I want to be a sponge and learn as much as possible. I want to have good filter. Filter out things I don’t want in my life. I think that’s pretty much me in a nutshell.”

How old were you when your parents separated?

“I was two years old. They were so young. They had me at 15. My mother was pregnant at 14 and had me when she was 15. It was the first time they had sex and they had me. That’s pretty unique, right? It’s like a slap in the face. I actually loved growing up where I grew up. When I was a kid, Fair Haven was my playground. I used to hang out with older people and I learned a lot. I also learned bad things. We moved out when I was 10 or 11. We moved to Meriden, Connecticut. Then we moved to Wallingford, and we were there four or five years. I moved back to New Haven with my father. My mother was going through a divorce and they were having issues, so that’s why I ended up moving back with my father at the time. I finished school in New Haven and been in New Haven ever since.”

Was it hard for you to bounce around like that? It seems like you changed schools a lot.

“I look back on it, and if I ever have kids I wouldn’t want them to move around as much as I did. You also have to start new friendships, and at the time I didn’t have a car and stuff like that, so you’re not going to go drive to see your friends or take the bus to go see them. In some ways it was hard. There are certain people I went to high school with, like Liz, who is someone that, we don’t see each other two or three years but I’ll always have a connection with. I try to support her. She’s someone who you can learn from, and it’s who you can learn from that I want in my life. I don’t want leeches, vampires. I want someone who has a gift. You watch them and watch them grow. You’re competing with them, but you’re doing different things. You compete with them on a certain level. You feel like you can match them at a certain level of what you’re doing. I don’t want to be good at a million things. I just think I can be good at one thing. Bouncing around I think has made me who I am. My brother and I are two different kids. We are five years apart. My brother doesn’t have any street smarts. He grew up more in the suburbs. He’s a great kid, great father, but we’re two different people. He’s a little closed-minded and I’m more free spirited and open-minded. My mother says that. There are things that drive her crazy about my brother and then there are other things about me that drive her crazy. We both have good qualities and there are qualities that drive her nuts. She vocalizes them. My brother is a very good writer. There is not one artistic bone in his body, but he is a good writer. He’ll write her a nice card and stuff like that. She really doesn’t get cards from me and she wants them. I can’t go and buy a card that someone else wrote. I have to give her something that’s from me, something that I created. I think that’s the artist thing. So I always play this trick on her: if it’s her birthday I’ll get her a Hanukkah card or something like that. So for Mother’s Day I get her a Mother’s Day and a Father’s Day card. Usually if I get her a card it’s a blank one that I have to write something in. They’re very short, because I’m not a writer. I think she learns things from me. My brother is more an athletic guy. He did the Iron Man a year ago. I’m never going to do an Iron Man. I don’t even want to walk to my car half the time. This kid is out here doing all this stuff, and he knows he’s never going to win it, but he’s just a very competitive person in that way. We’re different people, but we both have good hearts. We vocalize it a little bit differently. Mine is more imagery and stuff like that. I think the images I show are the lifestyle I want or something I think is beautiful, pleasing to my eye. Stuff like that.”

How did you get into photography?

“Well, my father and my uncles always had cameras. As a kid I always wanted to touch them and play with them and it was told no. That was a no-no. You can’t touch somebody else’s camera. I was a graffiti artist for a while, and I didn’t want to end up in jail. I had some friends who were really amazing artists, and we would go work on a piece. I would just talk about it and they could finish the piece before I even put one line on it. They were that amazing. I knew they were better than me in that way. I could see it, but sometimes I couldn’t put it into things, so I wanted the camera so I could start documenting what we were doing. I realized it’s almost the same thing, but it’s all about the light and shadow, shape and design. So I really took off. I started working for a camera store. Ever since then I’ve been in the photo industry. It’s been a really good outlet for me. To show people who I am, what I love, show people, lifestyle. Some people are stuck in their element, and they won’t go out and see something else, something beautiful. It may be so scary to them because there’s a lot of fear in this world, because that’s what the media says. In truth, it’s just a fear tactic. I don’t ever want to live in fear. So with me the camera stuff when I tell my friends I’m going to India, they all say the same thing: ‘I would never go there. It’s dirty, it smells.” I’m like, ‘New York City smells too. New York City is dirty too.’ It’s because of the media that they think people are more violent over there. Not true. So with me by my images, when I take pictures of people in these other countries, I’m hoping to change people’s views, by showing them it’s not all bad. And as humans we all have the same basic needs: water, shelter, and love. That’s all there is to it. A lot of people think people are violent just for certain reasons. A lot of the time I think people are just violent because they have no food. They have no water. If I didn’t eat all day, at the end of it I get pretty hungry, right? So imagine if you don’t have it for your family for weeks or months at a time. I think I’d be a violent person also. I hope the world becomes a better place. With people with strong images and stories, it can change the world. I appreciate what you’re doing. I think if it helps ten people, it’s a start. You know, I don’t do it for Facebook likes. I’m not doing it for this. I hope people look at it and they like it, but I love when people talk about it. Soon as I go out no one has ever commented on it, but they’ll know exactly what it made them feel, and that’s by me going out and seeing me and they say, ‘Oh, you’re the one who took that photo.’ They’ll go into it and I’m like, ‘I didn’t even know you saw it,’ but they did. People just don’t comment on it. You don’t even know if Facebook things are genuine anyway. It’s just someone who clicked. They don’t even look at it. I have friends who click on stuff and they’re like, ‘I never even saw that,’ but they liked it. They just clicked on it; they didn’t even look at it. That’s not what I want. That’s why with my Instagram feed, I’m trying to change the way that not everyone will get what I’m doing because I’m separating things to make one image. What I’m hoping that it will draw people in to look at the overall message.”

What inspired you to travel to India, to take photos of things you found beautiful there?

“India has always been a dream for me since I was a kid. I think it has to do with being an artist and seeing all the color and the culture is totally different. India is a place that I feel is a totally different world than you would see here. There’s nothing that can compare to it. I was asked to go by friend that’s a lawyer and he had a client that was from Indian that was going to host us. We were going to photograph welfare trust for kids. Basically a help portrait concept where we would photograph these kids make a print put it in a frame and give it to them to take home. By doing that we also, I found out that the kids we were photographing to give images to bring home didn’t have homes to go to. The whole time I’m thinking I’m going there to do a good thing, but turned into something I felt wasn’t as good; but in reality it was good—it was just that my interpretation of it was as if I’m changing the world by giving them a picture, but it didn’t. They still do not have a home. They have a photo of themselves, but some of these kids don’t have parents and stuff like that. I think it was a nice gesture. When I went there, I actually got more out of it than I actually gave. That to me was a beautiful thing. It was very humbling. I don’t know if this is just America, but people think we’re the best. When we go there, I can totally see where having no money, it becomes more about family values. You’ll see the kids working with their parents. So if the parents are washing clothes, the kids are washing clothes. The father is working with the cows, the kids are working with the cows. To me that’s beautiful, because it’s passing on their culture. Here, kids want to play with video games and don’t want to go outside and have to work toward anything, but in India kids walk—in other countries too, but I can only speak from where I’ve been. In India kids walk six hours for a jug of water, so a lot of the kids, especially the girls, don’t go to school, since they have to go get water for the homes. Why can’t we change that? My hope is to do that one day. With me it’s about learning and hopefully making some kind of difference to somebody.”

What would you like to do to make a difference with your photography? Is there a connection to helping people and your photography that you have a passion for?

“At the moment my vision multiple things, but I hope my images will bring awareness to certain issues, not to just point a finger and say they have issues. It’s how can we change these issues or make people think about them? For instance, look at this beautiful kid in this situation who’s smiling but is also naked, showing there is also a need to help this. Water is everything. Without water what is life? There is no life. So I think water is the one common thing everyone in this world has. That’s why I wanted to concentrate on water at first, then go from there. We’re not going to have plants, we’re not going to have anything. I just want to show people. I don’t want to just show a person sitting by a thing, I want it to have a meaning toward that, and that’s where the story begins. Eventually, this is where I get better at telling more of the story versus just the imagery. Being a photographer, I think sometimes the images can speak for themselves. With every image I take, I want to tell three stories with the image. That’s the goal. It doesn’t always happen, but the goal is to always tell three stories in one image. That’s all to do with framing and stuff like that. I want to document the environment, and I want to be able to go back and document that area again years later, if I can get funding. I don’t want to see that person, that village only one time. I want to see it multiple times. I want to see the progression. The only way to change people’s mind is if we show the one area and everyone’s like, ‘Oh yeah, we gave a water pump.’ But what does that do for everybody here? It doesn’t show them that it makes a difference. When you see a difference, it’s like the pen pal thing. You get to see updated images of these people. That gives people investment. They’re a part of it now. They’re making a difference also for these people. I think that can change the world. There’s a lot of these nongovernmental agencies, Red Cross and things like that, where you give your money, and I don’t know if this is true, but like with Haiti, people gave all those billions of dollars, but they only made a hundred houses with those billions of dollars. Where is that money going? My goal is if I do get funding, I want to document where the money is going by giving people a portfolio book—to actually show it, not with just one image. I want to show good images, something that you would be proud to hang in your home. That’s the ultimate goal. My gift in all this is not selling the prints. It’s more about the stories, that I have access to these people’s lives. Ultimately that would be my goal. To just travel, document areas, learn, then down the road write a book or documentary or something like that.

Did you find it was easy to make connections with strangers in foreign countries?

Yes. This year I have been to India, Mexico, Jamaica, and Italy. I felt the hardest place to talk to strangers in was Italy. Not speaking Italian (and I’m an Italian American), it was hard. I was almost robbed by four gentlemen in Italy. It was a little bit easier in Ecuador. You meet people. I didn’t find Mexico easy, but India was easier. A lot of people in India speak some English, but they’re also more curious. There’s more of a play of really looking into each other’s eyes and connecting. In India there’s no sense of personal space, so I think people are very invested in what you’re saying. You can see the play between each other, with the other person’s eyes getting bigger and brighter and then receding; and then when they say yes, they bob their head back and forth, which is a totally different thing. There’s this really weird thing, like if I’m saying something and they don’t understand it, I felt like they did understand to a certain point. They make an effort to know or try to figure out what you’re saying. India is my favorite place in the world. It’s about the people, and I’m a people person. It goes to show that you don’t need to speak the same language to have the same vision for things. I also learn a lot about my self-traveling. I think anywhere you go in the world, those challenges of meeting different people and talking to strangers exist, but if it’s done in the right way, you can do it. You just have to get over that barrier. I found Italy a little bit different. It’s just a different lifestyle. That is just my experience with it. Someone else could have a totally different experience with it. Everyone I know who’s been to India has said they’d go back there. I had a couple of friends who went. They went when I was doing a wedding. They are germophobes, so I didn’t think they would do well in India, but they actually had a ball. They want to go back. That’s a lot because at their own house they don’t eat at the same table as certain people because they’re germophobic. But in India it’s all around you. There’s nothing you can do. It’s survival. So you are going to sit there and eat with everybody else, or you’re not eating. Actually, a lot of the food is healthier too in India because it’s off a tree. I think at first the barrier is your nervousness, but you just have to go out and do it. Once you start doing it, it becomes, ‘I got that one, let me get the next one.’ When someone shoots you down, you take a step back. If someone says they don’t want their photograph taken, my heart is like, really? I wanted that photo so bad, but they didn’t want it, and I can’t make them want something, you know. I think once I got comfortable with it, it took me a while. The first time I went, I thought, I want to photograph that person but I didn’t have the balls to do it. Once I did it, it was like, okay, this is easier than I thought. If you did it and you had a shirt or something like that or a card that said this is what I’m doing, it would make more sense. I’m still learning about traveling and taking people’s photos, but it’s becoming second nature now.”

How has getting behind the lens of a camera changed your life?

“Being behind a camera is an amazing thing. Sometimes you feel like you’re not there. You’re peering in. Also, when you have that camera, it lets you into so many people’s lives that I would never have access to. I feel it’s powerful for me and powerful for the subject. The more I know that person, the more powerful that image can be. I really want to know who they are, document them, and build a mission behind what they want to express about themselves, or show them something I think is beautiful. Sometimes it blows them totally away, because they don’t think that that’s beautiful in them, but I see it. I can make it beautiful and they’re like I never thought about it that way or whatever. The camera has given me a lot of confidence that I probably didn’t have early on in my life. It can also come off as a creepy thing, because as a photographer you are always looking at people—their faces. It could be creepy if you’re just staring at someone. I don’t even know why I’m staring at them half the time, but I am. I’m looking at the structure of their face, the way they smile. That helps me with my other subjects even if I’m not going to photograph that person. You have it in the back of your mind that this person is going to do this thing. It’s all timing. It’s mimicking stuff. So I know you have a beard and the structure of your face now, and when I go to photograph someone else I kind of know how I would like that person. The camera is really neat. It’s my life and it’s not going anywhere. It will always be there. For money or not I want to continue to learn and get better at what I do, help my subjects more, and really put out a good product.”

What have you learned about yourself over the years getting behind the camera and traveling?

“I’ve learned that the camera . . . well, you’re not as good looking as you thought, when you take pictures of yourself. I had a bad attitude as a kid. I had a chip on my shoulder. If I liked you, I liked you, and if I didn’t, you knew about it. I was getting into a lot of fights. I was a troublemaker. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I want to be that one to help someone. You find there are a lot of people struggling a lot more than you are. I read these stories and I’m like my life was, what am I complaining about? The camera lets you into so many people’s lives, and you find out that your issues are not as big as theirs are sometimes. Like I’m complaining about something so small, and someone else is like, ‘Yeah, I’m dying of cancer.’ A couple years ago one of my friends was a really good photographer and I got a lot of business from him because his business was very successful. Before we even met he started referring clients my way because he liked my work, and we became friendly. It was around one, one-thirty in the morning and I had just got home from having drinks with friends, and his wife sent me a text message saying he was missing and if I could come in the morning to help look for him. She told me the backstory: he went for a bike ride and they can’t find his bike, somebody saw him in the water. So I went there and we searched for him for ten days. He drowned. That whole time I had, the first couple days I didn’t bring my camera, but then I started bringing my camera, because it was a way for me to sit back. If I was going to break down, I didn’t want his kids to see me break down. So I would put the camera in front of my face and start taking photos. One of the days was Father’s Day. We were on the lake where they thought he was under the water and the current was very bad. That’s why it was hard to find him. His wife came with the kids right next to the water and she had a sheet. It was for the kids to write him messages. ‘I miss you,’ ‘come home soon,’ stuff like that. When she brought them there, I freaked out in my head, thinking he’s going to pop up when these kids are there. How’s that going to affect their lives? I went into a different mode where I started photographing what they were doing, because I was going to lose it. His son was like him in a lot of ways. I was watching a movie and he was like. ‘Can I paint your head?’ I was like, ‘You want to paint my head?’ He says, ‘Yes. I want to do little feet on your head.’ He started painting my head, my ears and everything. It may have looked weird to a lot of people, but it was a way to distract the kids, to let them be kids for a minute. Thank God he didn’t pop up while they were there, but the next day he did. He rose up and his grandmother found him floating. It really put it in perspective that he loved photography and it helped his family. His wife was pregnant at the time. She had the baby about six months after he was found. It shows how powerful the camera is. Even though we took all these photos at the time, some people thought it was insensitive, but it wasn’t. It’s what he would have wanted. He wouldn’t want us to sit there and not be who we were. The way we were talking, I felt bad because his family, all of us never met his family before, and we’re there as friends and he was a ball-buster, so we’re sitting there busting balls, and I was like the mediator. I had to go up and say I don’t want to be insensitive, a couple people were at first, they thought we were just having a good time, but when I explained it, they were like that makes sense. That’s who he was. You guys know him better than we did. Do your own thing. He was the most dirty storyteller and stuff he would send us. We would sit there and tell stories. We were laughing, but we were also sad at the same time. His family portraits, he did his own family portraits. He would set them up on tripods at home. They were edgy and different. They were so good. His baby’s going to be two. He never met his father, but he looks just like him. They have the big photo of the family on the wall, she holds him up and he kisses his father’s face and says daddy. He doesn’t kiss his mother or brother and sister’s face. He has this connection with his father’s photo. He puts his hand on it. Those photos to me are the most powerful things that he has. My connection with a camera is pretty deep because of stuff like this. That molded my mission even more after that. I’ve been documenting the little milestones of his family. He loved his bike, so with his wife’s permission we put together a bike race for the kids. I did a design on the bike. We had the kids bring their bikes so they could design them however they want. Now it’s a yearly event for the summer time for the date of his death. He loved photography and he and I would talk for hours and hours. He was into lighting and stuff like that. It’s life and death. It’s crazy, but his last thing was . . . I’ll tell you the story. He went bike riding the day before he died. He was over on this cliff at Lovers Leap in New Milford, and he fell off into the water. It was a seventy-five-foot drop or something and he hit the water. He passed out and the only reason why he survived was because he had a camel pack on his back with water and it kept him afloat. He was able to get out. He had a concussion. That day he had a shoot, and this couple wouldn’t cancel, so he still did it after this thing. He was pretty beat up. In the morning he would get up and help the kids get to school. The next day he was like, ‘Can I sleep in?’ and his wife said, ‘Yeah.’ He went back to find the bike and that’s when he drowned. They also opened up the dam, so the water was traveling at twelve knots. He had asthma and the current was really bad. The undertow was bad. An eyewitness heard him ask for help. She called 911 for help and he went under and never came back up. That was harder than my eye situation. The photo community is really good, so we all helped. We put together our own search party. It was amazing. The state said they never seen something organized so well from people who never did it before. As photographers we took pictures and stuff. We had bad service, but we had chargers for our phones, we were using our packs to charge phones. We had a center we put up. We had 2500 volunteers from the photo community. We had someone who flew in from Maine who went looking overhead. The state wasn’t doing anything with their efforts. They would send down divers because the water was so bad. We didn’t know how bad the water was, and they weren’t telling us why they weren’t doing it. Then they finally did send a diver down, and a log hit him and shattered his shoulder. That’s why they weren’t sending people down. The water was so bad because the floodgate was open, plus the current and stuff. His body was underneath there just twirling around the whole time. It was really hard but at the same time, we knew he was gone. They were like you may not find him for two years. Thank God it was only ten days. Something like that puts everything into prospective. It’s terrible.”

The connection his son had to the family photograph and to his father says to me a lot about the power of images.

“It’s amazing he knows that’s his father without ever meeting his father. He looks exactly like his father, first of all, and his wife is a very strong person. She took the photo down because she had moved to a new place and they were painting and the photo was on the floor and he went up there and started kissing his father’s face saying daddy. She was like how did he know that? He will always just touch his father’s photo. There is something there. I never believed in stuff like that. I actually had a dream about him one time and it was the realest dream I’ve ever had. I literally woke up crying. I dreamed I was talking to him about his death. It was him like how he was and I was asking him, and he was at a grill cooking with his hat backwards, and I put my back on the wall and said did you ask him why, did you ask him and he stopped then when back to cooking. He said, ‘Why did you ask me why? There is no why, there just is.’ I woke up crying like a baby. In the dream it was really him. I told his wife and she goes I had two dreams like that very vivid ones and I haven’t had one since but it was him in the dream. He was content with his death. That made him almost more beautiful. He was just that’s it. It just is. You just can’t understand how someone could die when his wife was pregnant, they already had two kids and she’s pregnant ready to have another one. She hadn’t even told anyone she was pregnant yet. She’s searching for him. She’s stuck in the mud and we pull her out of this into a boat, she’s like this is not fun being pregnant. I’m like you’re pregnant. I’m like oh my God I’m searching for my friend who is probably dead and his wife is pregnant. It was tough. We all got through it as a community. I still see the family. It’s amazing life is like that.”

Has the camera helped you though dramatic times in your life?

Oh, definitely. If I’m having a shitty day, I pick up my camera and I go for a ride. I’ll go sit by a river and not even take a photo, but having the camera draws me to go out more. If not, I would say I don’t want to go hiking today, but if I’m going to bring my camera, I may only take one photo, but I have my camera just in case. I think having your camera all the time is very powerful, because it’s an outlet and you could meet somebody new. If you can meet five new people a day, think about it. Five new people could be a powerful thing. You probably won’t stay friends with them all, but if you give me five people a day it could help your business and life. You can learn so much. There are so many amazing people just around here. It’s like why don’t we walk up and say, ‘Hey, how are you doing?’ because people take it as being creepy. But if you can do that with a camera, you say, ‘Hey, I’m a photographer,’ it’s a powerful thing. I bet musicians can do that too with their music. For me photography is the closest thing I have to that. I really find people and their stories fascinating. I just think the sky’s the limit. I hope to continue. Not everybody is a photographer, but now everyone has a camera or cell phone. It’s a little bit different. Your images just need to be a step above that and different to stand out from the crowd. That’s what I hope to do.”

What advice would you offer to someone else who can relate to any of your story so far, being a photographer, growing up maybe the way that you did?

“You’re not alone. We all think like why me why me this and that. There are so many people who have it so much worse. You just have to go out and live for what you want in your life. There may be a setback here and there, but just continue, and you will draw in the people that you want in your life. You’ll find out right away who you don’t want in your life. Even if someone screws you over or something like that, that doesn’t mean everyone is going to screw you over. There’s one bad seed in every apple, right? You have to learn and continue to find your path, and write your own story. I hope to continue to do that and continue to really grow hopefully for a better world. It’s scary whatever is going on, but it’s also the media glorifying stuff. That’s what’s sad about it. It’s legal to do it. It’s legal to say, ‘Hey, these people are assholes,’ but in reality people just want water and shelter, love and respect, you know. People should just respect people more and not point fingers. That’s one of my issues with most religion. It’s just another way to say my God is better than your God or my belief is better than your belief. Why don’t we just be human and say, ‘Hey, you need water and I need water,’ etc. Why is that so difficult? I don’t understand. I never will. I’ll never understand why I can sit here feel better than the next person. We should all just say that person is working their ass off. So if we all lived like humans, respected each other more, the world would be a better place. To travel to a place totally different you could actually. I may be here a hundred days and walk by this place and maybe take two photos, but you go to a new place, it’s like Oh my God. Your senses are all over the place. You see more stuff because it’s different than what you’ve seen before. There should always be beauty right here. There should always be photos. You may not like it, but someone else may love it. When I go to India, it’s so totally different. There are a lot of things that are just beautiful and you want to photograph them all. If you have a story with that image it’s going to be a hundred more times powerful. So I hope to continue to travel and meet new people, and see what happens. I would love to teach younger kids. I want to teach them using the way that they learn. I think people teach wrong. I’m not a teacher but I think the rawness . . . Send them a message. Give a kid an assignment to go document is a good way. Go document this, and give them some guidelines. But I also want to be a mentor to people. I need a mentor too. It’s not like I’m above any of that. I want to be a mentor. I want someone to mentor me who has something unique I can learn and use in my own craft. I’m not trying to be a big shot. If I can help kids at that level, they’re going to absorb so much. They’re going to take it and do what they want with it, but it could be a good outlet for them, but keep them off the street, give them hope. Let them document their story. Images are the one thing you can look back on and are like, ‘Wow, look at me then and look at me now.’ Maybe when you’re older and you look back you’re like I was a good-looking guy. Now I’m getting old. But It’s also who you are inside. It should grow. Your appearance may change, but you just want to feel what the people around you feel. I just think it could be powerful if I teach kids some form of art—the reason why you do it—and also show the kids we were their age once too. They have different struggles now because of social media and stuff. We had different struggles than they did too. If you tell people, ‘This is what I went through,’ it can’t get more real than that. We all go through depression or shitty points in our life. We make bad judgments or whatever. The only thing I can think of is building photography, right? I wake up in the middle of the night with an idea like I have to do this. I have so many things I want to do. I thought about them like ten years ago and I haven’t done them yet. They’re in the back of my mind. I’m going to do it one day. To give kids hope and have them pair up with different walks of life to work on an assignment together. That could be powerful. There is such a division with adults at our age where a lot of people are set in their ways. I’ve been in the inner cities and now I’m here, I don’t know how to interact with people. There has to be something they can interact with, right? It may not be photography, but it may be something else. Through these things I think it could branch off and people can come together. Even if it’s storytelling. Different things like that.”

Do you have a favorite quote that you would like to share?

“I don’t really have a favorite quote.”

Is there something that someone has said to you that stuck with you over the years, or a piece of advice?

“I really can’t think of one. I just feel like a quote would be something from my life. I like the word Namaste because it means no bother to you. In parts of India when the holy men say it to you it’s very tough. You’re bowing to someone to show respect and I think that could break down a lot of barriers right away. Instead of saying, ‘Hey, nice to meet you,’ you say ‘Namaste’ and automatically lower your shoulders a little bit. You’re more open. Like a heart opener, you want to absorb more because that person already respects you without even knowing you. You should respect someone until they piss you off. Nowadays people don’t respect you. They want to wait and go through all their little trials and stuff like that to see if they want to hang out with you. Right away these people are saying Namaste, it’s a respect thing, and you sit there and have a conversation; you may never want to talk to them again, but they give you that time to talk to them. Here it’s like hey my name is this, nice to meet you, and whatever, that’s it. When someone says it in the beginning, I find it changes people’s perspective on that conversation because they’re not uptight about it. They already came down about it with the respect. It’s a powerful thing. When you put the camera away from your face you have some rapport. There’s a conversation. I’m looking at your face structure I’m building. When you have this camera up, they’re looking at this foreign object that’s protruding from your face. You talk and they can’t hear you, because it’s right in front of your face. So when you do that, it’s easier for people to relax. Respect isn’t one-way. I may not like someone’s lifestyle, but I can still respect them. They have the same needs. They need a bath or shower, water, they need to eat, and they need shelter. Who doesn’t need that, no matter what religion you are? We all need that. No one is going to say they I don’t need a toilet to go to the bathroom so why do we think we’re so different? Because of a book? Who knows what’s right or wrong? It’s a book. This book is telling you God says to do this or God says to do that. You think really? Ultimately those books have rules that were meant to be broken in some ways. Even if all this stuff was reality and they wrote this stuff, I think nine out of ten times you should do it. I don’t think everything like that is meant to be like that. I know people who are super religious, and I’m not totally against that, and over the years I played with going to a bunch of different churches. I’m trying to find what’s real for me. I like to learn. Either I’m going to say this could be a good thing I get out of it or it’s bad stuff and I totally tune it out. I went to this one church and I was totally surrounded and they were like what’s your position with God? You need to do this and you’re not doing this. This was not for me. I’m not going to be like I have to do this or that. That’s not who I am. There are some things that are like maybe. It makes you think at least.”

How has it felt to share these experiences and thoughts and feeling with me?

It’s not bad because I’m telling it. I don’t like being recorded. It makes me shut down a little bit. It’s not on purpose. It’s a conscious thing because it’s right there. If anybody asks me I’d tell them. Normally people like me or hate me because I don’t sugar-coat things. I tell it how it is. That is who my mom is. She’s a no-bullshit person. I wouldn’t have done it if it felt weird. I think what you do is awesome. It takes a lot of your time to do this. It’s for you in a way and also for people that will benefit even more people.”

Do you think it’s possible by sharing our stories with others that we could maybe bring someone else some hope or inspiration?

“Oh yeah, absolutely! People just want to relate to people. That’s the number one thing in business too. They buy from people who they can relate to. It’s not just money-wise either. It’s in general. People want to be around people they can relate to and don’t judge them. Even with my situation, having a young single parent, if it can help one person it’s worth it. There are so many things I hear from other people and I think, wow I’m not alone. Someone’s mother was thirteen when she had them. It’s part of my life. It made me who I am. I think it’s going to help a lot of people in a lot of ways. If you look at what you have documented, have a hundred people who read it, if the stories help one person each then the book is worth it, right? You can’t expect everyone to be like wow that’s amazing, because some people can’t relate. There are going to be people who will learn something totally different that they never expected. I think you hope to get that out of this. All this stuff is very important in a lot of ways. You want people to feel that they can relate to other people. I want to be around people I can feel like a little kid around. Like this person is awesome and I just want to learn from them and I hope to do this with that person. I hope to teach them what I like. I know people won’t like everything, but I’m hoping they will get a few things out of me. Even myself, I learn something from someone and when I do that thing I always think about that person. I’ve been learning how to forge in the woods. I’ve always have been interested in it, but without that person I would have never gone out and done it. Hands-on experience is very important. Anything like this is.”

[themomsandthecity]

I Struggled With Body Confidence My Whole Life, but My Daughter Changed Everything

In I Feel Pretty, Amy Schumer plays a woman who can't get over the fact that she's not - in her own eyes - beautiful. There's a scene where she's trying to get the attention of a bartender, and he just doesn't see her. Her looks haunt her - in a world obsessed with beautiful people (Met Gala, anyone? Beyoncé at Coachella?) - she feels invisible. I can relate. For most of my life, I've felt that way, too. Or worse, I felt seen, and judged as wrong. Not tall enough. Not small enough. Not thin enough. Not pretty enough. Too big in most places. Never dressed the right way. I have a million stories of the little slings and arrows that contributed to my insecurity. Being a kid who never lost my baby fat. Sucking in my stomach for decades. Hiding as I changed in gym class. Crying in dressing rooms when clothes didn't fit right - or at all - in the biggest size the store had. Related: I Know It Sounds Awful, but I Really Struggle to Teach My Daughter Body Positivity Nothing felt right about me. Not a damn thing, and I didn't get a lot of help from the world in changing that assumption. Television, movies, and magazines showed only beautiful women. Fat people were, with few exceptions, only there to make jokes. Ugly people weren't seen . . . especially ugly women. My mom was too beautiful to understand my insecurities when I was a kid. I didn't have the words to tell my handsome dad. My sister was beautiful, too, with the same red hair as our mother, both of them so often praised and complimented for being a redhead that I hated red hair, my own being utterly boring brown. My brother was quick to point out my physical flaws and mock me for them - I was too fat, my glasses were so thick, I was physically awkward, which seemed to disgust him. I didn't date until I was 19 years old, and it was so hard pretending to be confident after spending an hour trying to hide the breakout on my chin or fluff up my flat hair. Dating didn't make me feel different about myself. In fact, it made me feel worse, since my dating history consisted of three very good-looking guys. What is he doing with her? I imagined people wondering. I wondered it myself. He could do better. Related: This Mom Is Proud That Her "Perfect Body" Went to Her 2 Beautiful Kids Then came the guy I'd marry. By then, I was exhausted from trying to be more than I was - funnier, more interesting, better looking, more ambitious. My last relationship had worn me down to a nub. He was the boyfriend who told me I should lose weight . . . and I did because he was a perfect physical specimen, and so I should at least try, right? (Wrong. I should've dumped him, but it would take me years and years to believe that.) I remember when I met the guy who'd become my husband. I thought, "I'm done trying. He likes me or he doesn't, but I'm not turning myself inside out for someone ever again." And he did like me, then he loved me. He thought I was beautiful. He really believed it. Once, when we were at a wedding, he looked around and said rather smugly, "You're the most beautiful woman in the room." I wasn't. Even his love and sincerity didn't trick me. It was a relief, though, being with a guy who didn't need me to be more than I was. If I had a whopping huge pimple, it was OK that he knew it. If my period was nasty, I could tell him. It sounds so dumb, and yet it was the first time I'd been in a relationship where I'd given myself permission for that kind of honesty. And yet, it was still there, my lurking insecurity, my horror at him walking into the bathroom when I was shaving my legs and didn't have time to suck in my stomach or arrange myself more attractively. He might have thought I was beautiful, but I didn't. I had eyes, didn't I? I knew beautiful, and it wasn't the person I saw in the mirror. Forget being pretty. I failed at motherhood, and it was all I ever wanted. I hated my physical self more than I could ever put into words. Then came pregnancy. I was so happy . . . until I miscarried the day after I told my entire family I was pregnant. It was normal, the doctor said. Sad, but common. I got pregnant again, and waited and waited for the 18-week ultrasound, which revealed a baby with an incomplete heart and brain, a baby who would not make it to term, they said. They were right. At 20 weeks, I gave birth to a baby who would never draw breath. My stupid, stupid body, failing me yet again . . . but this time on the most primal, essential level there was. My sole biological purpose was to procreate. My grandmother had had nine children. Nine! My mother - three kids in four years. I was supposed to excel at this, being a strapping farm worker in size. Wide hips, big boobs, born to breed. Except I couldn't, and I desperately wanted to. I was a failure. Forget being pretty. I failed at motherhood, and it was all I ever wanted. I hated my physical self more than I could ever put into words. My third pregnancy was fraught with terror. I trusted nothing. I waited for doom. At any given day of those 41 weeks, I could've told you how many days it had been since conception. Eight days after my due date, I gave birth to a healthy daughter. What I remember from my labor was a sense of awe. My body was doing things I never knew it could. I got to the hospital at 10 in the morning, and by lunchtime, I was a mother. I was a goddamn superhero. When I held my daughter, I knew I had to be better for her than I'd ever been before. Stronger, braver, more honest, kinder. And not just toward my baby, but toward the world . . . and toward myself. That was when things turned. When I could nurse her, rock her, stay awake for 20 hours soothing her, I was amazed at my physical abilities. When I could carry her on my shoulders and push her on the swing, I liked my strength, my size, my brawny shoulders. When she cuddled against me and declared me "comfy," I liked my soft stomach. When I had to role model confidence and positivity so my daughter would have those qualities, too, I did my flat-out best. And when she looked at me and said, "You're so pretty, Mommy," I knew that I was. When she looked at me and said, "You're so pretty, Mommy," I knew that I was. I've come to like my looks. I think I have a kind face. A ready smile and eyes that hearken back to my Hungarian ancestors. I've accepted my size, which continues to evolve and change as I get older. I'm mostly healthy these days. I try to embrace the gentle humiliations of aging, because I've lost too many friends to dismiss the gift of these 53 years. In my upcoming book, Good Luck With That, two best friends struggle to get to a place of self-acceptance without changing a thing about their physical selves. There's no magical thinking, as there is in I Feel Pretty, no magical concussion. But they get there, step by step, confronting the same things most of us have to, unpacking their issues, together, best friends through it all. In Amy Schumer's movie, Renee walks across the lobby of a Manhattan skyscraper, confident that she's the most beautiful woman in the world. When I walk across a lobby (or a grocery store), I'm confident now, too - not out of the conviction of my beauty, but the knowledge that I'm enough. That I have much to offer. That I'm the mother of two fine people, the wife of a good man, a woman who made a surprisingly successful career for herself, a person who will always help if she can, and with a smile at that. I look just fine. In fact, I look damn good. Kristan Higgins is a New York Times bestselling author of nearly twenty novels. Her latest, Good Luck With That, is available Aug. 7, 2018. http://bit.ly/2Lmu2uK

[culturalogique]

Motherhood III - My thoughts

Motherhood. Motherhood is a strange thing, it creeps up on you. Slowly. Even when you’ve known you wanted to be a mom for a long time, there’s no way you can see it coming. Now that I am a mom, I have had my baby and I’m on the other side. Three months now. I look at first-time pregnant women and shake my head. They just don’t know. There’s no way they can know. They can read everything, talk to everyone they know, do everything in their power to be prepared and there’s no way to know everything. It’s an infinite pool of knowledge and potentialities, the point is no one knows, even women on their fifth childbirth/rearing don’t know what’s going to happen. It’s a mystery, one of the last, true great mysteries out there. And yet every woman is completely and wholly prepared for what they are about to experience, because it’s made up exactly for them, for her, at this moment, at this time.

Back to my point. Motherhood sneaks up on you, it comes in layers.

 Some of the things I’ve noticed.

 Baby animals. Everything for your newborn is covered in natural elements, leaves, flowers, trees, giraffes, whales, wolves, raccoons, pooh bear, baby elephants, baby animals of all kinds. We celebrate them, we celebrate life and love and family. ‘Daddy’s little princess’ ‘I love mommy’. But out there in the real world, we are letting species die at an alarming rate. We wouldn’t dare give up our foreign vacation, our second car or strawberries in January. But when it comes to our babies, we know what’s good and wholesome. Life, the life that issues forth when babies are born. We recognize the value of the natural world, fresh air, bright colors, celebration.

 That was one of the first things that hit me after my daughter was born.

 Sad.

 Of course hormone’s are raging you at that time.

 My sister called it ‘You’re so happy you’re sad.’ That’s exactly, how I felt!

 No one tells you you’re going to have feverish night sweats for the first nights to a week afterward, no one tells you about the panic.

 My first re-occurring dream/nightmare was of waking and checking the baby to see if she was alright and then realizing that she wasn’t the real baby. And looking around in a panic for the real baby only to realize I was awake and the real baby was right in front of me and she was fine. Happened multiple times. My husband and I still joke about it.

 Not to mention my actual paranoid question if someone could have possibly looped footage of my baby sleeping comfortably into my baby monitor to trick me. I literally had to talk myself very carefully through this one… a) why would anyone do that, seriously you think someone is stalking you and specifically wants to steal your baby badly enough to infiltrate your house, b) how would they do it, the monitor was from my sister who had gotten it second hand from her sister in law, this thing had been through 5 kids, it wasn’t even connected to the WiFi! Pretty nearly impossible and c) those are her clothes, that is from today, you just laid her down, it’s fine, you’re just paranoid!

 That’s how much you love them, it’s irrational. You cannot control how you feel and what you want to do about it.

 Speaking of which I better go check on her right now. :D

 Ok, I’m back.

 In the beginning, my mother, her grandmother, would be worried she wasn’t breathing, truly worried and asking me to check. Mother of both myself and my sister, olympic swimmer, early child development specialist grandmother, was so connected to this new little being that she was doubting her ability to pick up on the subtleties that might mean loss of life.

 They scare you so much with SIDS and all the precautionary measures that it’s a miracle babies are even born. Of course it is a miracle.

 Everything is upside down and inside out. But, gradually, like a frog boiling in a pot of cold water.

 You become your child. Gradually, you start peeing your pants, you need to wear pads, like diapers. Your thighs start to chafe and stick and get rashes. You need diaper rash cream. You can’t reach your feet, you can’t clip your own toenails or coif your private area, you need help to do basic things. You have to eat small amounts, because too much will give you heartburn and an upset tummy. You’re uncomfortable, you wake up several times in the night. Not just to pea, also for no reason, you’re just AWAKE. Oh, and you’re nauseous, you puke, you can’t keep food down, you have a gag reflex and are super sensitive to foods, tastes and smells.

 You are becoming your baby. Pregnancy helps you feel what it feels like to be a baby. And to know definitively that your life will never be the same.

 This is the new normal. You have set sail.

 Of course, men and other partners/caretakers have no idea. The women who know are women who have given birth, recently being the best. Because they have not forgotten the truth of it.

 No one tells you you’re going to lose your core strength and the ability to control your urine, like maybe permanently.

 No one tells you about the fluids. I was expecting the pee, poop and spit up, but being imperceptibly soaked in a cold sticky fluid that is your own milk, soaking down into your shirt, your sheets, everything at any time.

 Or that you’re vagina may never be the same. Only afterwards will your girlfriends who are moms admit it. Oh yeah, I call it my ‘fin’ one friend laughs. Another recall’s going in for her 1 year check up, asking ‘what’s this’ and having it explained that this is now her vagina, it is healed after 2nd degree tears.

 Mine is more a valley or a divet. The tear came back together at the top but the bottom remains slightly open.

 Both my midwife and my primary care physician say it’s normal and that it will ‘granulate’ back together, gradually, of course.

 And what about sex? Hmmmmmm, well after the three+ weeks of bleeding profusely out your bottom, not being able to sit up and still too weak to go on long walks or to lift even moderately heavy things. Not to mention however your nipples and breasts feel depending on how nursing is going.

 Penetrative sex is not the first thing on your mind. Maybe a shoulder rub?

 But on the other hand, you know it’s important and for some lucky reason you do feel kind of horny. Thank goodness for that! You agree to it.

 And well, it kind of hurts. Not a lot but it’s very uncomfortable, especially in certain positions.

 Now I know why in certain religions they promise you 32 virgins, because a woman who’s had a child birthed out of her is going to tell you exactly what she likes and doesn’t. Out of necessity.

 My husband is a saint. He is so thankful we are sexing at all and so understanding of my courage, he only wants to do right by me and so we have a sex life, once again.

 Different than ever before but a sex life. This is the part where I remember our midwife telling us about sex after baby, ‘it’s like meeting again for the first time, everything is new’.

 And it is like that. Closer, more open, more understanding and compassion. More true love than ever before, this mutual purpose, this mutual accomplishment, precious beyond belief and yet fragile and needing constant faith.

No one tells you you’re going to be ravenous afterwards, wanting/needing to eat and drink even during the night – just like a baby.

 The truth is there’s too much to tell. And we new pregnant mom’s we don’t listen, we simply cannot take in that much information. On some level we just have to wing it and hope, pray and prepare for the best.

 Right after I gave birth the advice I had for women was – ‘Do your squats. Keep up with your yoga and your stretches. Walk every day.’ ‘This is an athletic event, better get your game face on.’

 Which reminds me of my daughter, when she was learning to latch on to my breast, she would sway her mouth back and forth on my nipple with her mouth open to locate the nipple and then she would get what I called her ‘game face’, which was part growl, part bite and part lunge and go for it.

 Mothers and babies, we’re more alike than we look.

 Now that my daughter is 3 months old. Today! Happy birthday Melissae, you’re a quarter of a year old already! I feel like I have not only set sail, I’m in open water, out of the sight of shore.

 Here’s to the best. For all of us.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Matchup ♥

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Hi!~ you can just call me Alex, please!~ I would like to be anon if that is ok lol the fandoms I want are A3!, Haikyuu!!, and Naruto! 🥰 SFW and NSFW is alright with me! 😉 whatever is comfortable lol

Alright so, intro info! I’m a Capricorn sun, Sagittarius moon and Virgo Ascendant. My modality is Cardinal 53%, Fixed 37%, Mutable 11%. My elements are Earth 51%, Water 36%, Fire 10% and Air 3%. My MBTI is INFJ. I’m also a HuffleClaw with a bit of Slytherin. I have was born with Turner Syndrome. I have ADHD, Autism, Anxiety and Depression. I am agender and I use they/them pronouns though she/her are alright since I’m used to those pronouns lol I am still exploring my sexuality, I am very open dating anyone of any gender so I would say I’m bi/panromantic, however I do strongly connect with the asexual spectrum since trust is a big deal for me lol

I had a coarctation or narrowing of the arota at 6 days old and was pronounced dead on the way to Children’s Hospital. I had open heart surgery soon afterwards. My grandmother was told that with all the mental health issues I could have due to TS, I could be super smart or I wouldn’t even be able to remember my own name. The doctor’s said I would be bad at math. My parents divorced when I was 10 and my little brother was 6. Both of them remarried, my dad once and our mol several times. Though, I won’t go more into that lol just to save you the details, our grandparents raised us and life was -is- really messy ahah

I’m currently going to college. I was supposed to graduate last semester, but I changed my major several times in the last 2 years lol 😂😂 I was a biology major and wanted to work in marine bio/ wildlife conservation and start my own rehab places for marine/terrestrial mammals. I am now a Middle School Education major with areas of concentration in science and language arts with a minor in TESL ( Teaching English as a Second Language). I want to teach English in Japan! 😊 As far as grade school, I always made As/Bs witout even trying and I loved to read, so much so that I got an award for it in 5th grade! I was quiet yet loud and super awkward as a kid 🤣🤣 I actually loved science a lot and even took AP courses until highschool because the teacher I would have taken in highschool was a really bad teacher who if he had family members and didn’t like them, he wouldn’t like you. He taught my father and his sister and didn’t like them, so least to say young and impressionable me noped out of that fast 😂😂

For a while, I wanted to be a Forensic Antropologist like Temeperance from Bones! 😊 however, we didn’t have a anthro major at my college, only chem lol so, when I started taking upper level courses, I quickly found I much prefer bio to chem 🤣🤣 I still dislike math as I have my whole life, but since I got to college, I’ve only made below a B in one math related course! 🥰

Ok sorry for a lot of random info 🤣🤣 onto other things! So, I’m very shy and quiet at first, but when I get comfortable around someone, that’s when the wierd comes out 🤣 I’m very passionate about education and science! I am a Christian and am very passionate about equality. I also firmly believe in redistributing millionare/billionares’ wealth.

I grew up watching anime and still love it to this day. I have strong connection with Japanese culture because anime was the gateway into learning about it and anime will always have a special place in my heart because of it! Japanese culture and really most if not all Asian cultures resonate with me because of the morals anime had taught me. I firmly believe in balance and hamrony with nature! I was introduced to kpop in middle school and have been a fan ever since lol 🤣 I also like pop/alternative music lol I like P!NK, Linkin Park, Adele and a few others lol

As I mention with wanting to be a marine biologist, I really love animals!~ 💕💜 my favs are otters, foxes, cats of all kinds, dogs, wolves, dolphins, and honey badgers! I currently have a Korat named Lila (li-lah like lilac) she is a very unique cat 🤣 she’s super curious and sorta a crackhead lol I did have a yorkie terrier named Sarah and a miniature schnauzer named Star, but since last June, we had to put both of them down 🥺 Sarah got cancer suddenly late last year and a few months ago Star had congestive heart failure. They were 13 and 14 respectively. They were amazing dogs! Sarah loved to swim and hunt little creatures and was the energetic one while Star was the grouchy old lady 🤣🤣

I also love anything fantasy/superhero! I love HP, LOTR, and Marvel! My fav genre of anime is shounen obvi lol 🤣Lol I also love learning other languages! I took French in highschool and two semester of Mandarin in college lol ( I need to brush up on both 🤣🤣) I am currently trying to learn Japanese! I wanna also learn Korean, Welsh, and Irish! I hope to go teach English in Japan via the JET program at my college! 🥰 I will more than likely stay in Japan after I stay the 5 max years through the JET program!

I also really love video games! I wanna play Persona 5 soo bad 🤣🤣 Horzon: Zero Dawn, the Legend of Zelda series, the Pokemon series and Animal Crossing: New Horizons are some of my favorites lol

Hmmm… what else to say? 🤣 I am typically the mom friend of the group ahaha oh! I am 4’9” and weigh 140 so I’m kinda chubby 😅 I am very self concious about my body. I have green eyes and I wear small, black rectangular glasses. I have moles and freckles all over my body. I have a dyed blonde bob with a brunnette undercut. I don’t have any piercings yet but I do have one tattoo on my inner left ankle!

I am stubborn, passionate, caring, empathetic, understanding, loving, loud, quiet, awkward, hyper, enthusiastic, curious, and I can procrastinate at times due to my ADHD lol I also love to have plans lol I like things to be organized and clean, but I don’t mind ‘organized chaos’ sometimes lol I am also very loyal to my friends. I prefer having a few super close friends than having tons of aquaintances.

Ok so dating lol um I’ve never actually dates anyone before 🙈 I’m also a virgin lol trust is a big issue for me, like aforementioned my parents divorce affected me a lot and I have a strained relationship with each of them due to the divorce and the events over the years afterwards. Plus, as a Capricorn, school/career is my main focus. I’m so busy with college and trying to figure myself out, I haven’t got time for dating ahaha so my irl soulmate will need to be a hell of a person and have the patience of a saint to deal with me 🤣

Even though I have never been in a relationship, out of curiousity and wanting to be knowledgeable, I have researched BDSM lol 😂 I am definitely not into slave/master, whipping, or anything super hardcore at all lol though, mild stuff like toys, handcuffs, spanking, biting, dirty talk, brat/tamer or daddy (mommy)/ little girl and blindfolds would be stuff I’m willing to try out lol basically, some light pain, toys and anything where I can be submissive and cast my cares away while still being able to be sassy/defiant suits me 🤣

Oh! For the purposes of this matchup, just male characters is fine lol like I said, I’m still trying to figure myself out so, for simplicities sake, assuming heteronorms is alright lol

Hmm as far as a type of guy I like, I can give you some anime examples 😂 Portgas D. Ace from One Piece, Itachi/Kakashi/Shikamaru from Naruto, Roy Mustang (also shoutout to Solf J. Kimblee as a guilty mention 🤣) from FMA!B, Kisuke Urahara from Bleach, Zuko/Sokka fron ATLA, Gintoki/Kamui/Takasugi/Shinpachi/Hijikata/Katsura from Gintama, Daisuke Kanbe from The Millionare Detective- Balance:Unlimited, Shinso Hitoshi/Shindo Yo from BNHA/MHA, Levi/Beel from Obey Me!, Itaru/Omi/Sakyo/Misuki/Tsuzuru/Kazunari/Banri from A3! And many more 🤣🤣 sorry for the long list lol basically to sum it up my type is kinda laid back, a lil perverted, confident, dominant, funny, teasing/flirty, caring, intellgent, mysterious, passionate and stubborn lol

Well, I hope that was enough info to get a good in depth matchup 🤣🤣 I feel like I gave too much but I wanna try to make it as detailed for y’all as possible so you can have an easier time with the matchup ahah thanks a lot, I love your blog and keep doing the good work you are doing! 🥰❤️💜💕 be sure to take care of yourselves and I hope y’all have a great weekend!! 🥰

( I apologize for sending it a second time, but there was some stuff I wanted to add that I forgot to mention until I after I sent in the first one 😭 again, I sincerely apologize!)

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Hello Alex and thank you for submitting with us! And thank you for supporting us! I hope you enjoy the boys I paired you with!

>Admin 𝕋

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𝐼 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽...

I choose Kiba to be your Naruto boyfriend! when he first sees you, and how quiet and shy you are, Kiba will definitely want to bring your inner playfulness out! And when he sees that you do have some playfulness in you, he will see that you became comfortable enough around him that your inner weird came out! And that would really pull at Kiba’s heartstrings! Kiba will also find it fascinating that you like different types of culture, and how the world works via science and education! He isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he will definitely appreciate how you think, since he wants harmony in the world too! He will love the fact that you love animals and he will love the fact that you want to be a marine biologist! Being an animal lover himself, he will marry you right on the spot, just for that!

Since you are the mom friend of the group, you can totally take care of Kiba! It might not be the best, but Kiba would really love and appreciate you taking the time out of your day to do stuff for him, even if he didn’t ask for it! He will love your buddy, it being curvy and easy to hold onto, if you know what I mean wink wink. He will find your little beauty marks to be charming and I see him poking your moles and freckles every so often when he is bored! And when you tell him that you want to get tattoos, hell yeah! He will want to be there for when you get your first one!

Kiba will love the fact that you are passionate about your studies, and you main focus is school and your career! He will love the fact that you are don’t want anyone to mess up your future, and where you want to go in life! He may be a bit on the impatient side, but when he is with you, he will understand the need for patience and why it is important! He will also love the fact that you are so loyal to your friends! He doesn’t want to date anybody who isn’t loyal or isn’t compassionate to the people around them, so that will definitely be a plus in your book!

For the spicy stuff, Kiba at first would not know what he is doing but once he figures it out, ho boy, you are in a for a treat! Biting, lots of biting, and him being just very dominant, wanting to please you and make you feel like you are on cloud nine! He will let you do what you want, if it means that you are going to like what you guys do in the bedroom! From the biting to the dirty talk, he is up for anything!

I choose Sakyo to be your A3! boyfriend! Sakyo will see your shy and quiet persona and think nothing much of it, but once you get comfortable around him, enough so that your inner weirdness comes out to play, he will be surprised that you were hiding such a fun and cheerful person away from him! He will also like the fact that you are passionate about science and education, since Sakyo himself is definitely one to go to science for something that can’t be explained, and he is one to like education too, since it gives you wisdom on subjects you didn’t know about before! He will love the fact that you love his culture so much, from the anime to the actual history of Japan. He will feel that you super educated on the subject, and will be appreciative of how much you love where he is from! 

Sakyo will find it adorable that you love animals, and he find it admirable that you want to become a marine biologist! It is a hard job, learning about all kinds of animals, and then discovering new ones! Yeah he will find it very impressive! And if you were to ever tell him that you want a dog or some kind of really cute animal, he will never able to say no to you! So you should use that to your advantage! As for video games, he isn’t one for the, but if you ever try to get him to play with you, he will have a hard time saying no! It will frustrate him though, that you’d keep beating him at all of them!

As for appearances, I feel Sakyo wouldn’t care about what you like, it’’s all about what is on the inside, and when he sees that you are a passionate, loving, caring, a mother figure to your friends, loyal to them, and empathetic to the people around you, he will just know that you are the person for him! Seriously, yeah he might like your curvy body, but what will really give make him like you is the fact that you are just a really nice person for people to be around! He will definitely understand the sentiment of having just a few close friends, than having like twenty acquaintances.

Sakyo will love the fact that you’d rather focus on your studies than have a boyfriend that could distract you from your future career! He would be glad to wait for you to accept him, until you are stable in your career and would be able to start dating you like he wants! And for a little spicy time, he would be a dominant as all hell. Like he would be so into dirty talk and taking you to heaven with his mouth. You might tell him you want to some like spanking and biting, and he might be into the biting, but the spanking makes him feel a little weird, so he might do it as often. But! If you ask, him he will have no reason to say no! So you better have fun with him!

I choose Iwaizumi as your Haikyuu boyfriend! Much like Sakyo, Iwaizumi will see you shy and timid demeanor and think nothing of it, and if anything, he will think it is kind of cute, but would have an inkling that you are more than you put out. And once Iwaizumi sees that, yes, you are more than shy, that you have your weird quirks and can be quite loud, he will find you even more cute, what with the way you act around him and not the others! He will find it so cute that you only act like that with him and nobody else! And much like Sakyo, he will find it awesome that you like his culture so much! From the anime to the language, and everything else! He would even offer to help you learn the language and such, to help you better understand his culture! Iwaizumi love the fact that you like superheroes and practically anything fantasy! I suspect that Iwaizumi also love Marvel and such! I also feel like Iwaizumi is extremely good at video games, so when he plays with you, make sure you try your best to win against him!

Iwaizumi will feel a bond with you being like the mom friend, since he has to constantly watch over Oikawa like he is his child! And for appearances, much like Kiba, I feel as though Iwaizumi will see your blemishes and your curvy body and think it is just uniquely you! Something that he associates with you alone! And the uniqueness will definitely get him to really like you! But I feel like he will really like girls in glasses so that is a definite plus for you!

Iwaizumi will love the fact, like the others, that you are a loving and caring person. Someone that is passionate and driven! And the fact that you have all your plans thought out and organized in your own way? Oh yeah, he would definitely like that! And the fact that you are so passionate about your future that you’d much rather focus on that instead of being in a relationship! He’d understand, would he hate that fact that he has to wait for you to be stable in your career? Yes, he wouldn’t like it one bit, but he wouldn’t leave you because of it! Will he wait for you? Most definitely!

For the spicy stuff, ahahahaha Iwaizumi. He is like. A dominant bottom, he’s okay with essentially whatever you want to do, as long you both are having a good time, and you guys are feeling good! As for the biting and the spanking and all the kinky things you want to try out, he’d be into it, he’d just wouldn’t know how to go about it, so it would be a learning experience for the both of you! In the end, Iwaizumi would be into a lot of things you guys tried! So beware what he has in store for you in the future!

[4themoments-blog1]

Banned from College?

I vividly remember the first time I met Shina. It was our freshman year and I don’t specifically remember whose room we were in but I remember downing shots of Fireball alongside a few other people. This upperclassman was stuck on me, but I never wanted anything more than a playful makeout session really. He wasn’t my type, but his personality drew me in. We grew a weird bond. We talked a lot about his childhood and I never spoke about mine, although I’d speak of what kind of life I wanted in the near future. I never really saw us as romantics, it was just fun to be around him, having a man cuddle you to sleep and be playful with. But he was still a little boy at heart and you know how boys are, he probably had his friends convinced that we were fucking. I never allowed any of his advances. Even when I slept over his shitty dorm room sober and would wake up to him begging for us to fuck, “no”, I’d nonchalantly answer. And he got the hint. 

We grew apart.

I remembered that night freshman year. Shina and her friend walked in the room and greeted everyone. She wore skinny jeans and a cropped top revealing her lower belly button piercing. It was one of those dangly jewelries and I asked her about it with no real interest, just the intent of initiating small talk. I was 17 and at the time I was still very reclusive and too shy to speak of anything I considered to be private. She then fled the room, and that was that. Our relationship from then on was a hi and bye- very cordial and very shallow.

I never thought I had much in common with her from the outer surface.

By then it was our sophomore year. The adrenaline of the previous year was gone as we each found our niche. After my best friend and roommate left the school due to personal reasons, I was placed in an awkward situation with a new roommate. I knew from the jump we wouldn't get along. Long story short I got in a physical altercation with that brolic ass bitch but that’s a whole other story child ;).

Shina was going through the same thing, except it wasn’t a fight with her roommate and I’m sure she got her ass beat. We had the same math class and would talk about the ongoing drama. No matter how carefree Shina was, she always made her work a priority and I did admire that about her. She was rough around the edges but had a deeper essence. You could tell by the way she spoke. She had the personality to reel you in, no matter what the topic was. The more we spoke, the more I started to like her. We seemed to share a lot of the same values, although we carried ourselves differently. We were vocal about what we were willing to tolerate. She was just more of a wild and free spirited bitch. And I liked that.

Shina and Michele were pretty close. I, as the outsider, started to spend more quality time with the two. Michele and I never had a friendship and often walked passed each other as if the other didn't exist. One of my roommates, freshman year, dated her brother and it ended on a terrible note. There was tension between the two and it bled onto my relationship with Michele. We were just both naive and easily manipulated to be real honest.

The first time we all established some sort of camaraderie was at this club in Miami. As Shina parked and stepped out, we remained in the car.

*Awkward silence*

“So, I’m not sure what the issue is between us but I wanna have a good time” I said. She responded, we spoke about things, and I complimented how cute her tone was as we carried on. Michele always seemed unapproachable but she had the best sense of humor and her intellect was on a different level than most. She was extremely mature for her age, and was very private- like myself. Later on I came to find out that Shina told Michele to “act friendly” towards me so she could use me.

Ever since that night, the three of us grew really close. I started to know these girls like the back of my hand. We spoke about our dysfunctional families, life, our dreams- man did we speak about our dreams. I really grew to love them cause it felt as if I’d been missing them my entire life. I never felt judged, crazy or belittled. Although the three of us had different personalities we also shared a lot of the same commonalities. We partied damn near every weekend and if we weren't at a club, we’d be somewhere on south beach smoking weed and drinking liquor which we’d have to ask other classmates to cop for us since we were underaged. Many other times we’d be over her guy friend’s crib smoking their weed, then dipping out. We hotboxed Shina’s ran down car damn near everyday. On other days I’d just cop a bottle and we’d be in the room drinking, blasting music, talking about niggas, planning our day.

It was reckless and exhilarating, and I grew infatuated. I came from a strict and extremely judgmental household, where every aspect of my life was compartmentalized and critiqued. My sister grew up in France , so I was basically raised as an only child in the states. Having two close friends at my side all the time, was something I wasn't used to. If Shina ran out of cash, I would easily Venmo some money into her account. If I needed a ride, she’d drop me off. We were very selfless, or so I thought.

So when I met these two girls who didn’t give a fuck and could hold conversations about sex, religion, culture, dreams, and be goofballs all at the same time… It was what I thought I needed. I started smoking a lot. We’d meet up at the school parking lot and smoke a J. Midterms went horrible? Smoke. Bored and bout to go to bed? Smoke. Dick appointment was lit? Smoke. Didn’t get the job interview? Smoke. “WYD” “Chillin, WYA” “SMOKE”. It was an every day thing and surely each night we’d find a spot to smoke. I’ve always been more of a drinker, and now that I think about it- I don’t know how I was functioning. I could barely keep up cause smoking would trigger my anxiety so I usually ended up paranoid and tapping out.

On labor day weekend we picked up a few guys and drove to south beach. Mid way, I had a severe anxiety attack and immediately wished I was back home. I thought maybe I should ask to turn the car back around because I legit felt like I was dying. I didn’t want to be an inconvenience, especially on a lit wknd, so I took a bottle of Mango/Pineapple Svedka and chugged it down till I felt nothing. It was as if I was on a cloud, and nothing mattered anymore. I got so crossfaded, that I barely remember how I got back home. There were many nights when Shina would drunk drive and although I’d persist that we don’t, she’d reassure me and we’d get back in one piece. This one night we met these guys at a drive through after coming back from the club, and drove to their hood. We parked in the lot and spoke for a minute but someone had to pee so the three of us ended up entering these strangers’ house and I recall jokingly saying if these guys tried anything we’d have to fuck them up, run to the car and speed off. Michele and I would accompany Shina to her sugar daddy’s cook out which we were so oblivious to at the time, but now it makes sense as to why he’d slide her cash underneath the table.

Several situations we were in could've ended horribly but nothing ever did. Except for the night I got kicked out of school, but to this day I don’t consider that as insane as some of the shit we previously got into. One night I drank so much, I spent the next day in its entirety throwing up and could barely keep anything down other than some soup that Shina’s grandmother made.

As time went by, Michele and Shina’s relationship started deteriorating. I remember this one night I walked into Shina’s dorm room and laid on top of her as I asked her about her day. She told me these guys wanted to hang out but she didn’t want Michele tagging along. This was uncomfortable for me due to the fact that they knew each other longer than I knew them and I wasn’t one to pick sides. I simply told Michele, Shina wanted me to go out with her and we left and drove to this AirBNB mansion where we played cards and smoked weed then drove back to our dorm. After that night it was clear that there was underlying tension between the two.

Michele and I ended up having so many parallels in our lives which indeed led us to becoming very close. Being Haitian, we dealt with a lot of the same trials and tribulations. Whether it was stereotypical bullshit, both of our fathers being inconsistent, coming from a middle class upbringing, writing poetry to ease the pain we’ve endured, growing into spirituality. We both faced the pressure of going to college and becoming somebody, trying to make our mommies proud and being independent. To this day, although I feel that we’ve grown apart, I still love her.

Michele and a mutual friend of ours had breakfast at the caf one day and told me of a shitty night she had with Shina. I insisted that she tossed the bad vibes aside, but she was right.

Every concealed flaw of Shina was becoming undone, and sooner than later- it’d all come to light.

This particular night it was as if my subconscious knew everything would change forever and if I knew best, I would've stayed my home. It was the summer time, the girls were taking summer courses and living on campus. I did too since my mother paid for a study abroad program in Italy that was due the following month and I wanted to knock a class off my schedule. It was still early in the semester but I was not partying like my usual self. So that night it was eager that I headed out with my girls. My room was disheveled with suitcases on the ground and lights taped at the perimeter of my wall. Shina walked in and asked me to do her makeup, and I did by dabbing an ABH glow kit highlighter palette I’d just ordered onto the peak of her face. Michele was still in her room getting ready, as Shina would stop in between and ask her for help regarding her outfit and what not. At this point I’m alone in my room and I feel something tell me to stay home. I disregard my instinct. I figured I was just feeling tired and lazy, and pursued to tell the girls I was ready to go. By the time we got downstairs, Shina stepped out of the car asking if we each wanted to pop some xanax which I then asked her why the fuck was she popping pills. She responded it was only half a bar and went to cop her xans.

I’ve never been interested in abusing pills/drugs or trying anything more than marijuana solely because everyone was curious at one point.

Pills, drinking, driving… nowhere did that sound like a good idea. As Michele sat in the passenger seat I looked to her and said I hope she had no interest in that. Shina was someone who once she had her mind set, she refused to listen to anyone or view the bigger picture. She came back and took the pill(s), Michele and I stuck to smoking weed.

Once we got in the club, it turned to be one of the worst nights I could’ve experienced in Miami.

As a child I’ve always been able to manifest situations that were aligned to benefit me. No matter how traumatic an experience may have been, I was never tainted. I always told myself I had angels guiding me. But I guess at 18, I stopped being in tune with the divine energies that had always been there for me, when people weren’t. The whole car ride was awkward. It was just unwanted tension. I couldn't have been the only one who felt it, not matter how fucked up we were.

We got in the club and the next thing I know I’m “accidentally” shoved onto a table which completely pissed me the fuck off. By this time Shina was extremely frustrated and kept trying to get me to join her at the other side of the room and leave Michele. As I refused to go back and forth I collided into a table leaving everyone in the room to witness it. I’m not one to easily get embarrassed, but I certainly was atm. Anyone who knows me knows I’m down for a twerk session and don’t mind getting fucked up at a party, but it’s always done with poise. Being pushed in the middle of the room with everyone watching, wasn’t cute. So I get up and walk towards Michele and by this time Michele tells me she’s ready to go home and I agree since I was fucking over it. We go up to Shina and let her know we should all leave. Shina goes fucking nuts. She’s screaming her lungs out and now normally since she’s a friend I would try to neutralize the situation but I was fucked up and felt nothing but bad vibes so I was not here for her childish ass rant in the middle of the club. So at this point she’s screaming at Michele and the security guard comes up trying to break up whatever it is that was going on. Clearly it’s a case of drunk bitches arguing over nothing but I couldn’t tolerate the disrespect. Was she acting like this cause she drove us here and felt as if she could speak to us in that manner? If so I could easily get my ass a ride back home, so I did. I flashed my screen at Michele and told her the uber was on its way. I made my exit and Michele followed.

We stood outside in disbelief of what just took place. Shina drunkenly, high and tweaking off xannies followed us belligerently going psycho. I hope you fucking die, she texted Michele. Michele read the text to me as we got in the uber and I just sat there high, drunk, and confused.

The uber driver laughed as we went back and forth cussing and puzzling what the fuck whatever that was. We drove 20 minutes back to our dorm and I chose to go to Michele’s room for a bit. That was the last time I’d ever be in Michele’s dorm room.

I suggested we stepped out to the first floor and so we did. A few minutes past as we’re conversing, and it’s Shina belligerently intoxicated; knocking at Michele’s door on the floor above us. Michele addresses her and asks her for her belongings which she left in Shina’s car. Shina’s response? She throws it at above the balcony at the door. It gets even more out of control. She starts screaming once again, throwing profanities in which I had no envy to tolerate due to her pill and liquor concoction.

I step on top of a bench and yell back as loud as I can. When I reach a point of anger. I black the fuck out. No remorse what so ever. Shina and I are having a screaming match at this point, as Michele stands aside silently. Is this really happening right now? It’s like two in the fucking morning. Fuck this bitch.

In an instant. Shina hauls through the balcony and to the staircase. I turn to my left and here she comes, walking directly towards the both of us. I get off the bench in order to protect myself and my friend. I’ve never been intimated by a soul and if Shina thought she’d be an exception that night... she thought wrong. One thing leads to another and I am dragging her through the grass and up the concrete, punching the fuck out of her face. My acrylics are ripped off my nail bed as I punch her. I feel nothing. I let it all out. All the anger that I’ve learned to mask so deeply. This is why I choose to not be irritated so easily, cause once I’m angered, it’s the devil’s advocate and I feel nothing.

 I’m not proud of that moment and it’s something that I take absolutely no pride in. Hurting someone I once considered a friend. It was never supposed to go down this way. 

Now to someone who takes pride in being vulgar and eager to retaliate, go ahead and chant to the world that you’ve beat someone’s ass... but even now thinking about it I am disgusted. Growing up witnessing so much violence and hatred... why am I repeating the shit I went through that I swore to myself I would never bathe in. 

Lights are blurring and it’s public safety. The man separates us and writes our names and IDs down. Aww man I’m in deep shit. This nosy ass nigga Jerry peeped some extent of the incident and came upstairs to ask what happened- obviously to gossip the following morning but I kept silent. 

The following day, well you can guess what happens next. A whole lotta BULLSHIT. Including the public safety dude raving about how I learned how to fight like that, insisting that I see the bulge all over Shina’s face. Which I thought was completely inappropriate and tasteless. But that’s what these authoritative “figures” find pleasure in. It’s like their own WWE/BGC Jerry Springer special. It’s what keeps them talking about solutions that they don’t plan on providing. It’s what keeps them entertained. Students making bad decisions. Damn near ruining their own lives. 

It’s been an entire year and that changed my life. Completely. I am no longer entertained by drama. I am no longer interested in seeking genuine friendships. I am more to myself and even a bit paranoid by overly friendly girls. I’m not saying I am not open to meeting people, but I’m very cautious, even more cautious about my words and actions. 

I don’t think she’ll ever see this but Kashina Harmon I forgive you and I am sorry it ended on such a chaotic note. I really wish her the best. At the end of the day, I don’t want to portray her as a toxic person. Because many times, I’ve been misunderstood. That was her way of dealing with internal pain, and I myself am no angel. 

Choose your friends wisely and confide in no one but yourself.

-KF

[enzaime-blog]

A Survival with Breast Cancer by Surgery

New Story has been published on http://enzaime.com/survival-breast-cancer-surgery/

A Survival with Breast Cancer by Surgery

I have been MIA for the past few weeks, recovering. I had my swap surgery February 9th and started my Xeloda pills last week. My new “Girls” are looking pretty good, but it’s hard to get excited about them when they are black and blue. Luckily, the new Victoria’s Secret catalog came in the mail the very same day as my surgery. I treated myself to three new bikinis as motivation for falling in love with this new body.

On the chemo front of things, the Xeloda treatment is going well. I’m pleasantly surprised. I haven’t had to call my doctor in a panic or get rushed to the hospital. So far so good, although I guess my previous medical dramas have set the bar kind of low!

I am definitely fatigued, but I can learn to fit fatigue into my lifestyle. There’s nothing wrong with an 8pm bedtime; I’ve got nothing to prove. I also need to learn to live with a constant stomach flu. Most women my age have to remember to bring a change of shoes in their purse (heels for the office or the bar, flats or flip flops for getting around town) or they have a purse stuffed with technology: a work blackberry, a personal cell phone, a digital camera, an IPod, or the young mom carries a diaper bag stuffed with toys, snacks, pacifiers, wipes, and, of course, diapers. Not me. I can’t leave home without making sure my Immodium is in my purse. I root through my purse at dinner to pull out, not lipstick or a mint, but those Xeloda pills that must be taken with a meal. I am not turning into my mother, like some women my age. I skipped that stage completely. I’m turning into my grandmother!

That said, my face may be suffering from the Xeloda even more than my tummy. The hives have retreated everywhere but from my face. I have the face of a 14 year old now. This is not my face. I turned to the Big Man the other day as we were brushing our teeth and pointed in the mirror saying, “Who the Hell is that woman in the mirror? That is not the woman you married!” He, of course, told me I was beautiful, but later that evening he advised me against ordering dessert because the chocolate might aggravate my “rash.” Don’t be fooled, blog friends, the Big Man is not perfect!

I suppose this is typical of my cancer journey. I check off one item on the “Cancer To- Do List” and another To Do pops right up. Just when I had finally gotten over the major self-esteem issue that was learning to love my post-mastectomy chest, I now have to learn to love my chemo-induced acne and nausea.

Like the Victoria’s Secret shopping spree, I am now pondering a trip to a make-up artist. Do any of you Boston-area readers have a recommendation for where to go? I get nervous about the stands in the mall. I’m not looking to get “hot” for a night out at da club. I just want to look fresh faced for a trip to, I dunno, the grocery store.

So, I apologize for my absence, but I’ve been a little under the weather and also I haven’t been too full of self-confidence. Blogging requires a bit of chutzpah. I’m letting it all hang out here on this website. I have to be in the right frame of mind to blog. I might wake up ready to take on the world, but when I look in the mirror these days, that attitude quickly disappears as my cancer-acne stares back at me.

Which brings me to my topic for today. I want to take this opportunity to praise my Mommy. She is truly the only person in the world who can help me at a low self-esteem moment like this one. My swap surgery was surgery number 8. In 6 years, I’ve had 8 surgeries. Mom has dropped everything and run to my aide for every one. After spending the last 3 weeks together, I’ve realized that I always proclaim my love for the Big Man and I really have barely mentioned the other major player in my life.

Oh, Mommy, How do I love thee? Let me count the ways:

Mommy and Bridge on my wedding day Don’t we look alike? 1) Mom is my biggest cheerleader. When I am feeling unattractive, she knows just the right thing to say. When I lift my shirt up above my head in the living room and say, “Mom, does the left one look slightly bigger than the right?” She takes my self-doubt seriously. She never tells me I’m being silly. She takes it seriously and she tells the truth! Mommy looks, critically, at both new breasts. She might even get out a measuring tape to take a closer, more scientific look. She asks me to turn to my left and turn to my right. Then she kisses me on the head and says, “They’re perfect! I love them!”

2) She talks and talks and talks and talks

When your life is a living soap opera, the best medicine is to forget about all the really huge life-changing stuff that’s going on. People and US Weekly come in handy, but really the best medicine is a good, long conversation with mom. My mother will talk about anything. We talk about interior decorating and real estate, politics, and, of course, gossip. My mother is like an elephant, she never forgets a face, a name, an occupation and marital status, or a child’s name, occupation, and marital status. My mom loves to read the high school sports section of her local paper religiously. Why? She hasn’t had a child in high school in at least 10 years. She reads the sports page because her friends and her neighbors have kids in high school. She likes to be able to personally congratulate them on their child’s accomplishments when she runs into them in the grocery store.

You get the picture. Next to going out to dinner with the Big Man, talking to my mother is my favorite activity.

3) Last, but certainly not least, she does whatever needs to be done, no questions asked and with no expectation of repayment. Five years ago, I was bald as a baby’s butt and just one week post-radiation. I wanted to move back to Boston to be closer to my boyfriend of one year. My mother not only allowed me to move, she moved me. I couldn’t lift a thing. I was just a few months post-surgery. She drove furniture cross-country and then moved it all in for me. No questions asked.

Since that move, she has come up to Boston every three months to sit with me and hold my hand as I received my three-month scan results. She books flights. She books hotels. She takes me out to dinner. She takes me shopping and out for manicures to take my mind off my impending doom. She goes grocery shopping and cooks dinners that are frozen and ready to use after she leaves. All in all, she keeps my life running.

When I had my double mastectomy, Mommy moved to Boston for more than a month. She uprooted her life. She left bills and friends and the comfort of her own home. She found a long-term apartment down the street from my house and was at my disposal before I woke each morning until I fell asleep at night. She found a lovely B&B owned by an Irish couple that is three doors from my home that has become her second home. (if you ever want to visit Boston, I highly recommend it! www.aisling-bostonbb.com) I owe my very life and all of my cancer fighting success so far to my mother’s constant help. I couldn’t have faced all that I have faced without her help.

Two Hot Girls on a Hot Summer Night My mother is the ultimate portrait of a lady: graceful, selfless, smart, funny. She knows how to handle every situtation in exactly the right way, from talking to doctors to making career choices, from gardening to cooking & cleaning, from buying a house to renovating and decorating it. Mom has never steered me wrong and she is such a source of help, support and advice for me and for my three brothers. In fact, now that I mention it, how in the hell did she manage to raise four kids who were all a year and a half apart in age? Many women are exhausted by two, imagine raising four kids all under the age of five!

When I was growing up, my mother and I could barely speak without arguing; I believe it’s because we were so much alike. We knew how to push each other’s buttons and we couldn’t help ourselves! I hate cancer, but I will forever be, on some level, very thankful for this nasty turn my life has taken. Cancer brought Mommy and me closer than we ever would have been otherwise. My mother is the port in this storm. This life would be unbearable and the situation would be untenable without her constant assistance. I can sleep soundly at night knowing that Mommy’s got my back.

Mommy can never be repaid. Saying “thank you” will never be thanks enough. Helping her move, taking her to dinner, remembering her birthday or Mother’s Day, nothing I do could ever be enough repayment. This blog entry isn’t enough. This ode could be a book.

The only thing I could possible do is take this opportunity to reassure her, to promise her, publicly: Mom, I promise never to put you into a retirement home. In fact, I think I owe you and all your best friends a very comfortable old age!