#i still have a couple hours of being 32 in my time zone

[geddyqueer]

happy birthday !!!

thank you anonymous friend!!! i hope your my-birthday is really great too.

[ccohanlon]

how i live

I woke at midnight, last night, to a hard sou’westerly and the floor moving in three directions at once — pitching, rolling, rising-and-falling. Now, six hours later, the wind has moderated. Everything is still. The rest of the world is obscured by grey mist and sporadic showers, as if the sky has fallen across the shore.

I climb up a short ladder to the companionway to check that all is well on deck — it’s the first thing I do every morning — then I return to my bunk to download email and read a couple of news sites on a laptop before my wife wakes and we have a cup of coffee together across the varnished teak table that separates our bunks.

We talk about what we want to do today and waste a minute or two trying to agree a time-table before giving up. For half a decade, we have scraped by with a minimum of routine or planning. We are singularly unadept at making lists or coordinating diaries. We end up doing most things together. Today, we will pick up some paint and shackles at a chandlery and find a local metal fabricator to repair or replicate a damaged stainless steel stanchion. We also have to buy some groceries. But first I want to repair our rubber dinghy.

My wife and I live on a 32-foot sailboat. It is a life-raft of sorts. It is also an island on which we are trying to regain an unsettled but sheltered freedom after several years of being homeless. Most days, we feel like castaways, with no hope of ever being rescued.

It’s hard to explain how we ended up here. Moving aboard was not a ‘lifestyle choice’ but an act of quiet desperation. We had dropped out of a life in which I had somehow ended up running two well-known, medium-sized companies, one of them publicly listed — before those roles, I had been a musician, gambler, seaman, smuggler, photographer, magazine editor, and governmental adviser — and we had taken to wandering slowly across Europe, the UK, and North Africa. After a year holed up on the southern coast of Spain, a few miles east of Gibraltar, riding out the worst of the pandemic, we moved to southern Italy, where we acquired, and set about restoring, a small ruin, part of servants’ quarters attached to a 16th century Spanish castle, in a village not far from Lecce, in Puglia. We had just completed the work, two years later, when the local Questura, the office of the Carabinieri that oversees Italian immigration, rejected our third application for temporary residence and issued a formal instruction to us to leave Italy — and Europe’s Schengen zone.

The boat was not something we thought through in any detail. I had spent a lot of time at sea in my youth and had lived on sailing boats of various sizes on the Channel coasts of England and France, as well as in the Mediterranean. Which is to say, I had an understanding of their discomforts. But the prospect of resuming a life that, before we ended up in southern Italy, involved moving every three months — not just from one temporary accommodation to another but from one country to another, so as not to contravene the terms of our largely visa-less travel — had exhausted us. I made an offer on a cheap, neglected, 45-year-old, fibreglass sloop I had come across online and organised a marine surveyor to look it over for me. He gave it a cautious thumbs up.

I won’t forget my wife’s dolorous expression, a month later, when she saw the boat for the first time. It was in an industrial area of Southampton, on a dreich morning in early spring — bitterly cold, windy, and raining. Around us, the Itchen River’s ebb had revealed swathes of black, foul-smelling mud. Raised far from the sea, on the plains of north-eastern Oklahoma, my wife told me later she had been praying that our journey to this glum backwater was part of some elaborate practical joke.

There is a whole genre of YouTube videos created by those who live on sailboats full-time and voyage all over the world. The most popular, the so-called ‘influencers’, are young(ish) couples or families with capacious, often European-built, plastic catamarans or monohulls. Their videos focus less on the gritty, day-to-day grind of boat maintenance and passage-making and more on sojourns in ancient, stone-built harbours in the Mediterranean, white, sandy beaches and palm-fringed cays in the Caribbean, or improbably blue lagoons and solitary atolls in the South Pacific, where they barbecue fresh fish, paddle-board, kite-surf and practice yoga and aerial silks for the envy of hundreds of thousands of followers. My wife’s and my life aboard together is nothing like any of this.

We are both in our sixties — I am just a year away from seventy — and we have spent more than a decade on the move around the world, at first following eclectic opportunities for employment then, when those opportunities receded, in search of somewhere we might be able to settle with very little money. Four months after moving aboard our boat, we still think of ourselves as vagabond travellers, our boat a shambolic, floating vardo that we haven’t yet managed to turn into a home. We’re not really ‘cruisers’, despite the sense of community we sometimes find among them, but we are seafarers — historically, a marginal existence driven by necessity. A recent, 150-nautical-mile passage westward along the south coast of England was a shakedown during which we learned how to make our aged, shabby vessel more comfortable and easier to handle and to trust her capacity to keep us safe at sea.

She bore the name Endymion when we bought her — after my least favourite poem by John Keats (“A thing of beauty is a joy forever…”) — but we re-named her Wrack. Depending on the source, ‘wrack’ describes seaweeds or seagrasses that wash up along a shore or the scattered traces of a shipwreck, either of which might be metaphors for my wife and me in old age. It is certainly how we feel when we’re not at sea. Life aboard Wrack is spartan — fresh water stored in a dozen polyethylene jerry cans, no hot or cold running water, no refrigeration and when the temperature drops, no heating either — so, from time to time, we concede the cost of berthing in marinas to gain access to on-site laundries, showers, flushing toilets, and wi-fi. Whether we’re berthed or anchored somewhere, we shop for food once a week — mainly vegetables, fruit, bread, pasta, and rice but little dairy and no meat — and eat one meal a day, cooked in the mid-afternoon on a two-burner gas stove.

The days we spend in close proximity to others’ lives ashore remind us how disenfranchised ours have become. We were homeless before we acquired Wrack, but now we are without a legal residence anywhere, even in our ‘home’ countries. We enter and exit borders uneasily as ‘visitors’, our stays limited to 90 or 180 days, depending on where we are. We have no access to banking, insurance, social services or, with a few exceptions, emergency health care. Even the modest Australian pensions we have a right to can only be received if we have been granted residence in countries with which Australia has reciprocal arrangements — and we haven’t. It’s hard even for other live-aboards to understand how deeply we are enmired in this peculiar bureaucratic statelessness. It’s harder for us to deal with it every day.

But life afloat provides consolations. We are ceaselessly attuned to the weather and our boat’s responses to subtle shifts in the sea state, tide and wind even when we are tethered to a dock. We appreciate the shelter — and surprising cosiness — the limited space below decks affords us but the impulse to surrender to the elements and let them propel us elsewhere is insistent. Our best days are offshore, even when the conditions are testing; the world shrinks to just the two of us, our boat and the implacable, mutable sea around us. Whatever problems we face ashore become, at least for the duration of a passage, abstract and insignificant. We sail without a specific destination — ‘towards’ rather than ‘to’, as traditional navigators would have it — and without purpose. Time drifts.

At least half of every day is spent maintaining, repairing, or re-organising the boat, an unavoidable and time-consuming part of our days, especially at sea. When we’re at anchor or berthed in a marina, we do what we can to sustain ourselves. Most afternoons are spent prospecting for drips of income from journalism and crowd-funding — a source inspired by those younger YouTube adventurers — or adding a few hundred words to a manuscript for a non-fiction book commissioned by a Dutch publisher, whose patience has been stretched to breaking point. Because of our visitor visa status, we can’t seek gainful employment ashore, and we have long since lost contact with any of the networks that once provided us with a higher-than-average income as freelancers. Our existence, by any definition, is impoverished and perilously marginal, we have little social life, yet we make the effort to appreciate our circumstances, even if it’s just to sit together in silence and absorb the elemental white noise of wind and sea, to do nothing, to not think.

Our precariousness burdens our four adult children, who have scattered to San Diego, Sydney, Berlin and Rome: “Where are you now?” our youngest asks. “How long will you be there?” We speak to each at least once a week. Not all of them long for fixedness but they do want desperately for us to have a ‘real home’, somewhere we can assemble occasionally as a family. We will be grandparents for the first time, soon. Like our few friends, our children worry that we might become lost — in every sense.

My wife and I are uncomfortably aware of our financial and physical vulnerability but at our ages, we can no longer cling to the faint hope that there’s an end to it. We have committed to an unlikely, reckless voyage. All we can do is maintain a rough dead reckoning of its course and embrace the uncharted and the relentless unexpected.

First published in The Idler, UK, 2023.

[qiankunfics]

KunTen Masterlist Part 5

AO3

1. love-shaped by andnowforyaya

Summary: “You didn’t answer me, kitty cat,” Kun teases. “And you let the air conditioning out.” Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

2. your majesty by farthendur

Summary: *KunTen features most prominently amongst other mentions of Kun-pairings. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

3. down into the mountain sound by rowenabane

Summary: Sometime after sunset, a man walks through the village walls. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

4.  Another Addition by rowx3yourships

Summary: Ten gave a small laugh. “Well - we may have adopted a kitten.” Rating: General Status: One-Shot

5. big news by 10vesick

Summary: The doorbell rings almost as soon as it’s settled, startling them both. The time has come. They’re about to share the big news. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

6. after midnight by trembleseos

Summary: kun and ten getting into the mood until... Rating: General Status: One-Shot

7. the godlike kind by rowenabane

Summary: Kun smiles sadly, the expression one that Ten remembers better than his own name. “You did.” Rating: Teen Status: On-Going

8. Billet-doux by lumively for seupeuu

Summary: A story about love, magic and mischievous kittens. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

9. home is not always a place by merryofsoul

Summary: I'm happy you're here, Kun thinks. I'm happy you're home. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

10. Tsunami by jenojaemin

Summary:  He’s making mountains out of molehills. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

11. Art. by Dream_Run

Summary:  "See the cane I bought? The one you laughed at?" Kun nods. "I'd like to paint your ass cheeks red with that cane, and take a few pictures." Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

12. match made by merryofsoul

Summary: If it wasn't for Ten's meddling dongsaengs, he wouldn't have found the love of his life. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

13. make me feel special by princealliance (anaksemuabangsa)

Summary: Love is supposed to make you feel special, right? That's not how Kun makes him feel, though. Rating: Explicit Status: Completed

14. Tremors by Intricate6

Summary: Ten is having a bad day with his tremors and Kun helps him cope Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

15. everything is blank until you draw me by xiaojunrights

Summary: Ten was such an intricate person. His mind worked in ways that Kun couldn’t fully understand. It was like he saw the world in such a different light from everyone else. He saw something no one else could see. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

16. The Tone by drawing_board, funkeymonkey

Summary: In which Ten gains a new found respect for the leader of the group, after learning that he has a whole side of him that Ten didn't know about. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

17.  Child's play. by Dream_Run

Summary: Ten meets his son's new teacher. Qian Kun. His childhood best friend turned friend-with-benefits at university. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

18. labyrinth by madhoney

Summary: He was blinded by its beauty, too easily enchanted into playing whatever silly game Ten wanted. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

19. inconveniently in love with you by erika_leana

Summary:  un is an oblivious idiot and Ten has been in love with him since the day he met him. Rating: Teen Status: On-going

20.  Waves (and everything that was left unsaid). by devinemoon

Summary: It took some time to realize that the small waves coming at me were actually warning me from the tidal wave that was to come. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

21. wrap you (in me, my love) by miramiro

Summary: “I love you, Kun. I want you to trust me the way I trust you,” Ten says. “Believe me, if I could spend every second of the day telling you how beautiful you are and how happy you make me, I would.” Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

22. Heart made of glass, my mind of stone by chaerinsthighs

Summary: In which Ten, disappointed with people's obsession to seek the wrong kind of love in the wrong places, finds his match in Kun, the lovely bartender of his favourite bar, ever a romantic in the most fascinating way in Ten's eyes. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

23. two of us in this world by TheRPL

Summary: Maybe it was a series of before and afters, a chain reaction, leading to the inevitable. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

24.  from front to back, sometimes up and down by Markmeinyourheart

Summary: Four Times people couldn't tell if Kun and Ten were in love and the one time they gave a straight answer. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

25.  merlot at noon by nuoyiwriter

Summary: a kun/ten soft smut oneshot Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

26. ambrosia by petitfleur (moonfleur)

Summary: Ten arrives on Olympus for one of the greatest celebrations of the year. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

27.  be the light by MVforVictory for EbbaTriesToWrite

Summary: Ten has a headache. Kun is a good boyfriend. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

28. From Home by softyjseo

Summary: October seventeenth is the worst day of Ten’s life. Rating: Teen Status: Completed 

29.  We Shine Bright (I’m Alive) by blandbanana

Summary:  You’re stretched thin. Being a leader is really hard, and we can all see the effect it has on you. This isn’t supposed to be an attack, just a slight intervention from the hyungs to set you back on track. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

30.  rosy cheeks and sweet smiles by laehys

Summary: kunten with the princesses dresses on. they fuck. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

31.  the unseeing eye by rowenabane

Summary: Ghosts do not exist until they do, and then suddenly they don’t. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot

32.  la la lost by misseverdeen

Summary: Ten sends an inappropriate copypasta to producer!Kun. Rating: Teen Status: On-going

33. 96linerzz legendzz by dojaefairy

Summary: *main couple is not KunTen but they feature really cutely Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

34. renegade blue by idlesong

Summary: By the shore of a purple sea, Kun seeks refuge from the persistent reminders of his misery. Ten offers him a way out. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

35.  Rosehip by Mntsnflrs

Summary:  Days like this were worse than the days of feeling nothing at all. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

36.  think i wanna feel love by tetrahedra

Summary: TenAlice, and Kun's reaction. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

37. mistletoe: tree of reincarnation by chanshine

Summary: the kingdoms of blue and red have been at war for longer than anyone could remember. their rulers seek peace. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

38.  Never Have I Ever by EbbaTriesToWrite

Summary: A game of never have I ever leads to a lot of revelations about WayV's leader Rating: Explicit Status: On-Going

39. A very Muggle Halloween by writesinfontuwu

Summary: Ten knows about the spooky festival muggles enjoyed. It was a day that the magical folks were able to drop their disguise and blend in with the muggles. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

40. alright, sir! by kuntenjohnil

Summary: Professor Qian and Professor Li are (obviously) crushing on each other, but none of them seems to be willing to make the first move. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

41. of their own by andnowforyaya

Summary: Ten surprises Kun on their favorite night of the year (outside of their birthdays and their wedding anniversary): Halloween. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

42. mirror, mirror... by goldhorn (englishsummerrain)

Summary: It really isn't Ten's fault Kun is so fucking hot in the dress. It might be his fault for pushing his buttons, though. Rating: Explicit Status: One-Shot

43. I think I'm Love With -- by Con10nt (acaesura)

Summary:  Ten likes to blame the mercurial retrograde for all of the sudden intense requests at the studio, the ache that still digs deep into his knee at the end of a series of hard days, and the very few hours of sleep he’s managed between showcases. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

44.  Met you at Ten by jcc_seo, moon_apple

Summary: Then, Ten started visiting the cafe and showed Kun the fun of life outside his comfort zone. Rating: General Status: One-Shot *Also a pod-fic

45. If You'd Only Come With Me by childofmalin

Summary: After moving to a small town, Kun finds himself longing for someone he barely knows. His secret is a dark one. Rating: Mature Status: One-Shot Trigger: Rape, Murder

46.  close range, closer still by rowenabane

Summary: Ten blinks open a single eye. “I killed someone to protect you. It evens out, doesn’t it?” Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot Trigger: Death, Murder

47. universe's error by fructoseintolerant

Summary: *Mention of JohnTen but end-game is KunTen.   Rating: General Status: One-Shot

48.  Child's play 2. by Dream_Run

Summary: "Thank you for being a part of my life. Thank you for being you, and for being mine." he whispers, resting his forehead against Ten's, a smile on his face. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

49. Fruits, Fights and Family by Drea_is_Dreaming

Summary: Kun, for the life of him cannot figure out what he did wrong. Rating: Teen Status: One-Shot

50.  hold me closer tiny dancer by TheRPL

Summary: Ten is the star. He has a talent for being loved. He also has a talent for getting under Kun’s skin. Rating: General Status: One-Shot

[saturnznct]

previous / next

series masterlist

part 32 - that episode of victorious

word count - 1667 words

note; holy fuckin shit the NCT dream teasers😭 I’m trying so hard to be loyal to Jaemin but they’re all bias wrecking me so hard

You had woken up to the overwhelming smell of Jaemin’s shampoo. He’d been in the shower and washed his hair before you’d gone to bed the night before, so the smell was still extremely prominent. You tried to sit up, but his arms held you down, making you fall straight back down. He shifted due to the disturbance, so instead of trying to sit up, you decide to wriggle out of the confines of his arms.

Once you’re sitting upright on the edge of your bed, you grab your phone from the table, scrolling through your notifications.

You roll your eyes at your friends, before standing up and going into the bathroom to do your business.

Once you’re finished, you decide that you’re going to start making breakfast for both you and Jaemin. So, you head towards the kitchen. Before you even reach the kitchen, you find yourself getting distracted, opening the door to the ‘spare room’ which you now knew would be the baby’s room. It was pretty much empty, sans a few boxes full of baby grows, blankets and teddies. There was also a small basket which a baby would fit into. You had decided to leave the nursery building until after you were halfway through your pregnancy, and you were almost there since you were now at the 19 week mark.

You jumped about a mile in the air when you felt someone’s arms snake around you from behind, their hands resting on either side of your bump.

‘You scared the shit out of me,’ you mumble.

‘Sorry,’ he murmurs back, kissing you on the cheek.

‘I was just looking at their stuff,’ you explain, ‘I was about to make breakfast for us.’

‘I’ll do that,’ he says, ‘you can go back to bed.’

‘No, I’ll do it,’ you whine, ‘I don’t have to be bedridden at all times.’

‘I want to make it though. So go back to bed, for me.’

‘Ok,’ you turn in his arms and give him a quick kiss, before breaking free at going back to your bedroom.

15 minutes later, he’s reentering the room, holding a tray with two plates on.

You sit up, and he places the tray on your lap. The tray is quite far away from you, your bump pushing it away.

You both eat what he’s made for you in silence, both still half asleep.

You knew you were both incredibly nervous for your scan later this morning.

‘Oh shit,’ he suddenly says, mouth full of toast.

‘What?’ You say.

‘We need to get going in half an hour.’

‘Is it 10 already? How long was I standing in that nursery-‘

You both quickly wolfed down the rest of your breakfasts, before scrambling to get dressed.

‘Hi Y/N, Jaemin, it’s great to see you both again!’ Doctor Nam smiles at you as you walk into the ultrasound room.

‘It’s great to see you too,’ you smile back.

‘Right, just get up onto the bed there.’

She rummages around her desk for a few moments, before turning around with a notepad, and sitting down.

‘How’ve you been Y/N?’ She asks.

‘I’m fine, I think I’m getting used to being pregnant.’

‘Yeah, you should be at this point. Any physical symptoms?’

‘Still getting dull pains in my stomach a bit. They’re not sharp or anything so I haven’t really panicked about them much. Other than that, I’m still just really tired, I feel dizzy quite a lot and have to sit down really often.’

‘As I’ve said the dull pain isn’t really much to worry about, but if it ever gets sharp you need to call me straight away.’

Your heart clenches at the thought, and you shudder, but you shake it off. Jaemin squeezes your hand.

‘Have you started buying things for the baby?’ Doctor Nam asks.

‘We’ve got quite a few pairs of clothes, and a couple blankets and stuff. We’re planning to properly start buying in the next couple weeks,’ Jaemin explains.

‘It’s good you’ve already started buying. Have you made a list of stuff?’

‘I’ve started one,’ you say, ‘but I can’t help but feel like I’ve missed a lot of things.’

‘We can send you a list over email, we tend to provide one anyway,’ she says as she quickly scribbles things down.

As you wait for her to finish writing, you look over to Jaemin, who’s sitting in a chair beside the medical bed you’re lying on, staring at you. There’s a moment when the two of you just stare at each other smiling, and then he pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it silently, in an attempt to calm you down.

‘Right, ok, I think we’re good to go!’ Doctor Nam explains, standing up and moving over to the ultrasound equipment to set up.

‘If you could just roll your shirt up for me,’ she says, and you comply, also shimmying your leggings further down your waist so your entire stomach is exposed.

A few moments later, she comes back over with the tube of gel in one hand, and the probe in the other.

‘It’s gonna be a bit cold, but you already know that,’ she smiles, before slowly squeezing the gel onto your stomach.

You flinch a little, the coldness spreading quickly throughout your body. You relax as her warm glove covered hands rub it in.

‘Alright,’ she says as she pulls around the familiar monitor.

She places the probe on your stomach, moving it around for 20 seconds or so before the shape of your baby appears on the screen.

‘There they are,’ she says, but she doesn’t need to.

It’s always been so surreal to see your child inside of you, especially since every time they’ve looked so much bigger and more developed. It’s so surreal to see them growing and changing, knowing that in just a few months they will be a complete human, in your arms.

For a few minutes, she moves the probe around, showing you various things, including the baby’s feet and hands, and also commenting on different things like the shape of its head.

She performs a few tests, including checking the baby’s organs, checking your amniotic fluid level and also the positions of everything, making sure everything on the inside is in the correct place.

‘Everything seems to be fantastic, their organs are growing just right.’

‘So, I know you’re probably aware that you can find out the gender of your baby now if you wanted?’ Doctor Nam tells you.

‘We would like to,’ you say, turning to Jaemin and smiling at him.

He nods before agreeing, ‘we’d love to.’

‘You want me to tell you right now? I can put it in an envelope.’

‘We’d love to know now,’ you smile.

‘Ok, let me just have a closer look.’

You feel her move the probe to a different part of your stomach, watching the screen as a different angle of your baby comes into view.

It’s about thirty seconds later before she says, ‘there’s nothing to indicate that it’s-‘ Doctor Nam stops speaking suddenly, ‘oh probably shouldn’t phrase it like-‘

You shift in anticipation, wanting her to just spit it out.

‘It seems that you are having a baby girl.’

You gasp, turning to look at Jaemin who’s eyes are quickly filling with tears.

‘A girl,’ he whispers.

You’re both shedding tears, not even paying attention to her words, too mesmerised by the thoughts of your baby girl.

You suddenly realise something.

‘Oh my god, Mina is gonna kill Doyeon.’

By the time you arrive at the girls’ apartment, all 9 of your best friends are already there, scattered around the room, either lounging on the sofas or sitting on the floor.

‘Hi!’ Chaeryeong exclaims, practically flying at you.

‘Let her get through the door,’ Mina says, appearing behind her.

You laugh, the four of you shuffling into the living room.

‘There they are!’ Mark says.

‘Here we are,’ you say, rolling your eyes at the way they’re all staring at you in anticipation.

There’s a few moments silence as you smirk, half enjoying torturing them.

‘Well!’ Chenle, Doyeon and Jeno all yell at once.

You look at Jaemin, before turning back around to look at the group.

‘It’s a girl,’ you say, before Doyeon attacks you in a hug, screaming in happiness.

‘Careful!’ You laugh hard.

You hear the boys congratulating Jaemin, as well as Mark saying ‘Haechan I told you it was a girl!’

When Doyeon finally releases you, both Chaeryeong and Mina both swallowing you in a group hug.

‘Wait,’ Mina says suddenly leaning backwards.

‘What?’ You ask.

‘This means I have to fucking be Doyeon’s slave for a month.’

You laugh, while Doyeon mocks her with a ‘ha ha.’

‘You know what, just because I’m nice, I’ll cut it down to two weeks,’ Doyeon teased.

‘Oh fuck you,’ Mina huffs, while the three of you laugh.

Eventually, the boys hug you one by one, each telling you how happy they are for you, and in Mark and Jeno’s cases, gloating about how they were right the whole time.

Jeno hugs you for slightly longer, murmuring his thanks for everything you’ve done for him and Doyeon in the last few weeks.

Just 8 hours later, and after you’ve been fed by Doyeon and Chaeryeong, it’s 10pm, and you and Jaemin are lying in your bed.

You’re half asleep, falling asleep to the feeling of Jaemin tracing shapes onto your stomach. It’s silent, except for the sound of cars occasionally passing outside.

Jaemin assumes you’re asleep, and starts mumbling.

‘I love you baby girl.’

You try hard not to move, your entire body just exploding with love.

‘Baby girl Na,’ he says, as though he’s trying it out.

You hear the sound of him exhaling and smiling, before feeling an almost ghostly kiss on your stomach.

That night your dreams are filled with dreams of your baby girl.

taglist (send me an ask if you’d like to be added!!);

@wendyaftrnn @kayleegglass @jaeminparadise @ncityy04 @mark-zone @soleilchannie @k-n-e-o @kiyeowooncity @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @peachykrystal @jesusagrees @moloprint @nctwhippedculture

couldn’t tag;

@freshwitchpost @r2njun @greentea-beach

[pxppinmolly-archived]

Mkay uuuuuuuh story times I guess?? I might be missing some stuff and I am also just rlly now feeling the exhaustion of being up since 8:30 AM and stressing and running around like... All day. I had a fucking rough day okay SO--SODKF

To start off I am officially a real life simp cus the two bartenders are the bar at our hotel got a total of 40 dollars in tips from me in the last like 2-3 days I went and kept going cus they were rlly cute and nice and kept calling me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’ and ‘honey’ and I was just HIIIIIII ...

Also got the most wasted I ever got, which tbf still wasn’t SMASHED but I drank 32 oz of ‘mermaid water’ and I ended up literally having Skyrim Drunk Vision and was. Super fucked up for a good couple hours or so KSDJ. Shit was GOOD tbf.

People in Florida sure are so much fucking nicer than here. I went to fucking Publix and my mom and I left feeling like we were in the Twilight Zone cus the cashiers were so kind. I left my hotel and a group of young people on their porch were like: HIII!! and when I said Hi back they were like: WE LOVE YOU!! HAVE FUN!! (heart gestures) which was v nice Another guy at the pool when V and I were night swimming was talking us up but V said he literally was just trying to hit me up but. Anyway. ASDKFJ Also the one cashier at the dollar general up our street was adorable, gnc as fuck, and I loved them and lowkey wish I got their social media

ALSO ALSO this gets it’s own blurb but a guy who ran a stand at the flea market selling like comic stuff and figures and funkos and stuff, him and his friend were looking at my horror ita bag and gushing over it and were talking how cool it was and he mentioned how he rlly liked the one beetlejuice snake pin I had Well I planned to get rid of it once I got more pins and I already have a beetlejuice pin so I thought id give it to him cus he also gave V and I a few bucks off of our shit we bought and also was super duper fucking cool and nice He was SO TOUCHED and kept trying to refuse it and was like pacing around so excited and INSISTED I get something I want in exchange even tho I kept insisting him to keep it but eventually I just took a random pin in exchange and he put it on his hat and was so excited and was like “next time you come down here Ill be here and still have this” and it was just so nice ;___;

Also being in the ocean again was so nice and freeing. It felt good to be at the ocean again its been YEARS... And I missed like. The beach. I saw a lot of beached jellyfish and also got to see a snail <3 And I got sun burned the first day and had to deal w that for a few days :| KIJASD

Got to hang out w my aunt and uncle and it was nice a good and fun time. Literally only today was the fucking worst cus it involved physical injury and extreme mental tollment with the tsa, flight, my mom and just general stress of airport but WOOF MAN... I cant wait to go back again ;___;

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (39/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch. 

But then he came back and won the World Series. 

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now. 

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for literally everything, to @imagnifika​ for this banner, and to all of you for all of your support on this story and on others. I never expected to get quite so attached to this one, so I like that you guys are too. Misery loves company and all that. lol. 

I hope you enjoy the last real chapter. The epilogue will be coming soon! ❤️⚾️

(If there’s any weird formatting, hop on over and read on AO3. Tumblr is being funky with my formatting.)

AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Outside, thunder rolls, quickly followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the bedroom.

It’s raining.

Raining.

On the final day of the World Series.

Fuck.

Emma jolts up in bed so quickly that her head gets a little dizzy, all of the blood that’s supposed to be in other parts of her body very obviously in the wrong space, and she has to shut her eyes to keep from throwing up while the sound of rain continues to pitter outside, a continual drip that she doesn’t want to be hearing.

It cannot rain today.

After a few seconds, when Emma’s head feels normal again and not like she’s about to feel dizzy enough to fall down even without standing, she opens her eyes and twists to the side to make sure that Killian is still sleeping.

He isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in bed.

For a moment, Emma wonders if she should bother to go and find him or let him be by himself wherever he is in the apartment. He was understandably quiet on the entire way home and through dinner last night, and she could practically see all of the gears turning in his head. There’s an unwritten list up there of how he wants to pitch to each and every batter on the Dodgers today, and Emma is almost positive that Killian is currently going through it and changing his game plan over and over again until he perfects it.

Considering the fact that her phone says it’s three in the morning, Emma is thinking that she needs to drag Killian back to bed. He may not fall asleep, but he can at least stay in bed so that his body gets a little bit of rest. Maybe he’ll fall asleep. Maybe he won’t. But it’s worth the effort.

Sighing, Emma pulls the thick covers off of her legs and adjusts her pajama pants so that they’re not hanging below her ass from where they shifted in her sleep. She doesn’t bother turning any lights on, the city and the storm bringing in enough that she can see without it, and after walking out into the hallway, Emma doesn’t even have to look in the spare bedroom or the gym to find Killian.

He’s sitting on the window seat in the living room, his legs pulled up to his chest and his cheek resting against the window as he looks outside, very obviously awake.

Killian is going to stress himself out far too much.

Quietly, she makes her away over to him, and while he doesn’t say anything to acknowledge her presence, he does let his legs fall open in obvious invitation for her to join him on the seat. She does, slowly adjusting herself to make herself comfortable while Killian wraps his arms around her stomach so that the warmth of his palms permeates over her skin to warm her from the chill of the apartment. It’s November in two days, but New York is already cold.

There’s a brush of scruff against her cheek followed by the soft press of lips against the underside of her jaw before Emma sees the reflection in the window of Killian resting his chin on the top of her head.

His fingers tap against her stomach in a pattern that she doesn’t recognize, but she doesn’t mind. She may have come out here to convince Killian to come back to bed, to get some rest so he won’t be like a zombie out on the field today, but there’s something almost soothing about watching the rain fall down to the ground to cover the street under the florescent lighting of the street lamps. Even with the thunder, the sound of rain is relaxing, and Emma can understand why Killian was out here being consumed by it.

(She’d still prefer the rain to stop.)

“What are you thinking about?” Emma whispers.

“You.”

“Liar.”

Killian chuckles, something deep in his belly, and she can feel it reverberate throughout her back from where he’s pressed up into her. “I mean, at this particular moment I was legitimately thinking about how good you smell, but no, I haven’t been thinking about you and the softness of your hair the entire time.”

“Damn. I thought our deal was that you always had to think of me and nothing else. Don’t you love me?”

Killian squeezes her stomach. “It’s too early in the morning for you to be so cheeky.”

“Says the man who probably never even went to sleep.”

“I did go to sleep,” he sighs, and Emma watches his eyes flutter closed in the window. “I maybe woke up an hour or so ago to use the restroom, and my mind just…it didn’t bloody turn off. I have changed mine and Al’s game plan at least seven times.”

Wow. She knows him so well. It’s almost a little ridiculous. Not that she’s complaining.

“Let’s…” Emma hesitates, not sure what exactly what to say that she hasn’t already said. “Let’s talk about something other than baseball, okay? We will talk about it after we’ve gone back to sleep and gotten some rest, but for now, this apartment is a no baseball zone. So, talk to me about literally anything else.”

His fingers keep tapping against her stomach, and Emma moves to place her hands over his, a silent reminder that she’s right here and not going anywhere. She may have run before, may have not known what to do when he lied about his shoulder and his accident and everything that came with that, but she’s not going to run now.

This entire relationship has been terrifying, but she’s glad that she took the leap. They’ve conquered some big freaking mountains.

“I’ve emailed someone to see what I need to do to finish my degree.”

Emma almost jolts forward so that she can turn to look at him, but Killian doesn’t let her, holding onto her that slightest bit tighter so that she loses a little bit of her breath.

“When did you decide to do that?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Wasn’t sure if I was going to go through with it. I’m…I’m still not sure when exactly I’ll go back. The woman said they could arrange online classes for me, and they can help arrange a different schedule. I don’t know if I’d start during the off season and see how many credits I can finish before next season starts up. Or maybe I’ll go all year round even while playing. I could always wait until I’m retired, but I don’t exactly want to do that.”

Emma tries to take it all in and figure out the best way to respond to him. This is obviously something Killian has thought about a lot. There’s not a reason in the world for Killian to have to go back to school. He’s not going to be a physics teacher or professor any time soon, if at all, so this is obviously something he’s decided to do for himself just to have as an accomplishment.

Killian deserves to get to do things for himself.

“I think you’ll figure out exactly how you want to do it, babe. I’m really proud of you for doing that.”

“It’s nothing to be proud of.”

“Too bad.” She pats his hand again and shifts her head back so that she can kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’m proud of you. Unless this is some kind of long con to actually become professor Jones so that Will can’t say it mockingly anymore.”

He chuckles, and she kisses his jaw again. “Damn. You’ve foiled my plan.”

“I knew it,” she yawns, unable to cover her mouth with her hands. “You know, when I graduated from college, I got some kind of fancy ink pen that I never used. They gave them to all of the journalism majors. What do you think they’d give physics majors? Calculators?”

“No, because we’d already own a hell of a lot of those. I might need to get some new ones, though. And possibly find some old books and go through them. It’s been almost a decade. I’m not sure I even remember anything.”

“We can go back to school shopping for you. We’ll have to take a picture of you in your cute little outfit with your backpack on your shoulders. I’ll put it on the fridge and everything.”

“You realize I’m doing this online so I’ll just be wearing my regular clothes sitting on my ass in here. I may not even wear clothes while I’m doing it.”

“Well, I can still put that picture on the fridge, but we’ll have to take it down every time someone comes over. No one needs to see that much of you.”

Killian practically purrs in her ear as he trails hot kisses down the side of her neck, and it sends chills down her spine and up over her skin. “You certainly do. You could see it now if you want to.”

Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth and tries to rein in any budding arousal. “As tempting as that sounds, you and I are both deliriously tired, and I really only came out here to get you to come back to bed…to sleep. We should go do that.”

Teeth bite down onto her neck. “Fine. That seems like the sensible thing to do, and as an almost college man, I have to be sensible, right?”

“Or binge drink and then study all night for a test at the last minute even though you had weeks to study for it?”

“Do people still do that?”

“I think so.”

“We’re really old, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she sighs as she stands from the bench and pulls Killian up with her, “but I think we’ve still got it.”

Emma easily falls back asleep, especially when Killian closes the curtains and turns on the box fan to drown out the sound of the storm outside, and while she doesn’t really know when Killian fell asleep, he’s slumbering away when she wakes up, his breath coming out in small puffs and his hair falling over his forehead. The weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders right now. He’s not thinking about what he’s got to do today or not do today, and Emma hopes that he sleeps as long as he can.

Hopefully right up until he needs to eat breakfast and go to practice.

But hopes are not always reality, and in reality, Killian wakes up a little past nine and all of the tenseness in his body returns. She can see it in the set of his shoulders and the way that he carries himself as he does some stretches to loosen his body up before making breakfast and getting on with his morning routine. She’s terrified, her stomach absolutely in knots, but she’s not going to tell him that. Emma is sure that he’s aware that she’s in this and wants this for both herself and for him, but she’s not going to tell him and put any extra pressure on them.

It’s more than just one man out there. It’s more than just Killian, but Emma understands how Killian works. If they win, he won’t take any credit for it. If they lose, it’ll be entirely his fault. She’s sure he’s talked himself into thinking otherwise, but his brain will revert back to that.

The storm in the night seems to have disappeared, the streets beginning to dry even if large puddles of rain water are left in dips in the cement, and according to all forecasts, it should be dry enough for them to play today. There are supposed to be light sprinkles, maybe a scattered storm or two, but it’s all sunshine when the game is scheduled to start. If there are any delays, Emma hopes that they aren’t long.

Killian may very well lose his mind.

(She may too.)

He’s currently showering, and while she hasn’t been keeping track of how long he’s been in there, it’s been long enough for her to curl her hair. She’s entirely sure that the humidity is going to cause it to frizz and fall flat, and the network will probably have her hair constantly attached to a curling iron and hair spray until her hair is like a bird’s nest of tangles and product.

Whatever it takes to look good on TV today, right?

She’s supposed to wear a dress or a skirt, something form flattering and attractive for television, but since there are no technical rules as long as she stays dressed, Emma completely ignores that suggestion in favor or her favorite jeans, a pair of trusty boots, and one of Killian’s jerseys, buttoning it up and tucking the front into her jeans. She’ll have to put on a sweater later to combat the cold, but she doesn’t want to do that just yet.

It’s ridiculous, but putting on the sweater means it’s time to go and she’s just…she’s not ready. They need a little more time.

“Are you wearing my jersey?”

Emma jumps and clutches her hand against the chain around her neck that’s visible with the way the jersey is buttoned up. She did not hear the shower turn off or hear Killian open the bathroom door. But considering he’s standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped low around his waist, he obviously did.

“Yeah?”

“What about – ”

Emma shrugs, a smile stretching across her lips. “Fuck them. I don’t give a damn about what anyone has to say. I can do my job while also dating you. It’s not a mutually exclusive thing, and today is a big day. If I want to wear the jersey, I can wear it now.”

Both of Killian’s brows rise high on his forehead, but he’s smiling too as his arms cross over his chest so that his muscles bulge the slightest bit. “I think this is the most attractive you’ve ever been.”

“Because I’m wearing your jersey? I thought we’d gone over that before. I – ”

“No,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “Because you’re saying fuck ‘em to all of the people who we both know will say shit about you wearing that. I personally think they should all pull the sticks out of their asses, but then what would they have to talk about?”

“Happy things?”

“Nah, that’s too boring for them.” Killian walks toward her, a definite swagger in his stride, and the cool tips of his fingers come up to touch her cheeks as he cups her face and brings his lips down to move over hers, slowly and thoroughly kissing her until she can’t breathe. It’s the good kind of breathless, though. “I don’t know if I’m going to kick ass today, but I know that you are. It’s pretty much undeniable.”

“You’re going to kick ass. Think it into existence, twenty-nine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t…I don’t know. I – ”

Emma sighs, and she swears it goes all the way down to her bones. There’s only so much she can say. At the end of the day, Killian has to be the one to believe in himself.

“You know,” she starts as her hand reaches up to her neck so that her fingertips ghost over the cool metal again, “about two months ago I had this really big thing happen to me, and I don’t think I’d ever been that nervous. Well, that was until my idiot boyfriend decided to play with an injured rotator cuff because he was too dumb to say something to anyone.”

Killian playfully rolls his eyes, but she sees his jaw tick. Still such a stubborn ass.

“Anyways,” Emma continues as she reaches up to unclasp the necklace, grabbing onto it and the ring before guiding her hand up to his where they’re still resting on her cheeks. Killian’s blue eyes widen so that she can see every color in them, and they get the slightest bit bluer when she places the ring in his palm and closes his fingers over it. “I was given this really beautiful, special ring so that I had a reminder that someone was cheering me on even when I couldn’t hear the cheers. You had this for a lot of years. I think you might need it back.

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he starts shaking his head from side to side, his eyes closed so that black lashes land against his cheeks.

“No, no, no. I’m just…no, Swan. I’m not taking it back.”

“It’s your mom’s ring.”

He opens his eyes then so that she’s consumed by the blue even as he steps away so that they’re no longer touching each other. Has she done something wrong?

“Aye, my love,” he mumbles even as he opens up the chain and wraps it around her, easily clasping it back so that it hangs around her neck once more. “It was my mom’s, but I gave it to you. I’m not taking it back. It’s yours now.” Killian smiles at her, the soft one that makes his eyes crinkle that she’s come to know as her own, before bringing his closed fist to his chest and tapping right over his heart. “I know right here that people are cheering for me. I know that my mom, my family – I know that you are cheering for me no matter what happens out there today.”

Emma’s not crying. She swears that she’s not crying and that the tears in her eyes are allergies or something, but that would be a lie. It would because she loves him a ridiculous amount, and she’s proud of him over everything that he’s done and been working toward lately.

He’s a good man with a good heart, and he deserves all of the world.

Stepping forward, Emma reaches up to tuck his wet hair behind his ear as her thumb traches over the apple of his cheekbone. “I love you, and I don’t care what Liam or Elsa or Addy says. I’m your biggest fan in that stadium today, and I promise I’ll be cheering you on no matter what happens. Tonight, win or lose, you and I are celebrating, okay? We’re going to sit in our pajamas stuffing our face with all of the food that you’ve been stress baking, and we’re going to drink copious amounts of alcohol.”

He arches his brow. “This sounds unhealthy.”

“You’ll have either won or lost the freaking World Series. I think we deserve a little unhealthy.”

“I think you might be right,” Killian chuckles, dipping his head down to slant his lips over hers. “I love you too, by the way. I’m probably going to tell you that a lot today.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“I don’t believe that at all.” He winks, and Emma swears that her heart flutters. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can go to the stadium, okay? I want to get my practice in early in case it does rain again.”

“Yeah, sounds perfect.”

-/-

The stadium is nothing like it was yesterday morning. There’s no empty field that’s covered in morning dew with a quiet air around it that allows someone to simply sit out there and think about the history of this place that’s happened before and the history that’s still to come both for the team and for each individual player and for those who love them. People are bustling everywhere. Vendors are already in their stalls, executives are walking up and down the hallways in their suits, heels clacking along the tile, and players are seemingly everywhere. Emma wasn’t quite expecting anyone to be in the clubhouse, maybe just a few people, but they’re all watching old tapes, eating food, stretching, and bouncing strategy back and forth.

It’s like being thrown into chaos with no hope of getting out, but Emma manages to when Ariel pops up out of nowhere with a bright smile on her face that only broadens the moment she sees Emma.

“Perfect.” Ariel claps together her hands. “Just the couple I was looking for.”

Emma points to herself. “Us?”

“Yep. Things are about to get really crazy today, and I need the two of you to pose for a picture before we forget. It’s just perfect that you’re wearing his jersey.”

“Why do you need a – ”

“Just go with it, Swan,” Killian laughs as he wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her closer so that Emma can rest her hand on Killian’s chest. “When it comes to A, it’s best to obey.”

“That sounds like a great motto.”

“Kind of like a cult, though.”

“Just a little bit.”

“Shut up,” Ariel groans as she lifts her phone in the air. “And smile, I mean. Don’t look like I’m forcing you to do this.”

“But you – ”

Emma doesn’t get to finish her sentence before Killian is squeezing her hip and making her squeal as he brushes his lips against her cheek so that his scruff scratches at her skin like the asshole that he is.

But at least he’s an asshole in a good mood.

“Perfect,” Ariel sighs. “Now, Emma, I need you to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s about to get even crazier in here, and I’m saving you from the madness.”

Emma doesn’t even get a chance to tell Killian goodbye or good luck before Ariel is dragging her by her forearm out of the clubhouse and down the hallways of the stadium going on and on about everything that’s going to happen today like Emma doesn’t already know. Of course, there are several things that Emma didn’t know. Apparently, her plan for she and Killian to go home and eat junk food and get drunk isn’t really going to happen. He’s got press obligations that far exceed anything that she does, and then there’s usually some kind of team celebration that they all do together. It could be moved to the next day, but that’s usually reserved as an off day before the city does a parade and other celebrations and…

This is only if they win.

Emma points that out, and Ariel immediately corrects her and says “when.” She’s convinced that they’re going to win, and she will not take any other kind of thinking around her. Positive vibes only.

Emma and Killian are totally going home and eating junk food and possibly getting drunk before falling in bed. To sleep. Everything else can wait. And if it can’t, fine. They’ll deal with that and do all of the celebrations and be happy about it because it’s a really big deal, but at some point in the next week, they’re both locking the door, turning off their phones, and then not letting anyone or anything bother them.

Unless it’s the food delivery guy. He can bother them.

But that’s it.

She’s gained approximately ten new wrinkles on her face in the past two weeks, none of them coming from being a year older, and Emma very much needs the season to be over for her own sanity.

Without a doubt, she’ll start to miss baseball in no less than two weeks.

Ariel Fisher, however, lives and breathes baseball and managing baseball players and quite possibly being the most supportive woman on the planet – and that includes Mary Margaret Nolan and her continual positivity – and even if the Yankees sucked, she would somehow cause them to win by her willpower alone.

Emma has known her in a personal capacity for over half a year now, and she’s still not used to all of the never-ending energy. Ariel probably had a full night’s sleep last night. Or maybe she didn’t sleep at all, and she’s in that stage of sleep deprivation where everything is heightened and you’re hyperactive.

Emma would bet on the latter of the two.

But Ariel does eventually finish talking once they’ve made it far away from offices and weight rooms and restaurants up to the suites that Emma is so familiar with now. She’s also familiar with all of the people waiting inside. Killian’s family doesn’t joke around when it comes to baseball. There is no reason for them to be here this early, and yet here they are.

And suddenly Ariel has disappeared, probably off to talk someone else’s ears off.

“That isn’t rain.”

“That most definitely is rain.”

“Anna,” Kris sighs as he and Anna stand at the windows looking out to the field, “that’s rain. It’s this thing that happens when – ”

“I don’t need a science lesson. I need it to stop.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire team is doing some kind of rain prevention dance downstairs because I think we all need it to stop.”

Everyone turns to look at her like they didn’t hear she and Ariel come in.

“Emma,” Lucy shouts, scrambling up from the couch to run toward her and tackle Emma in a hug that’s quickly joined by Addy.

“Hey, girls. Are you guys excited?”

“I’m bored,” Addy sighs out, which is not at all what Emma was expecting.

“Bored? How can you be bored?”

“Because I want the game to start! It’s taking too long, and we’ve been in here forever.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Liam tells Emma as he walks over to her and scoops up his daughter while bending to kiss Emma on the cheek. “But we’ve been very impatient with waiting even though whining isn’t going to speed up the game time.”

“So it’s been a fun morning in your house then?” Emma asks.

Liam rolls his eyes, and even though he and Killian don’t look too much alike, she can see the resemblance there. “Joyous. And from my chat with Killian this morning, I can tell it was about the same at yours with the sleepless night.”

“Well, it is a big day today.”

“Just look up the weather forecast, Anna,” Elsa groans as she moves to rest her head against the countertop. “It’s supposed to rain in the middle of the game. We have known that the entire time, but the sun is literally coming out. It will be dry enough to start play on time.”

Emma arches her brow. “Was Elsa the one not sleeping?”

“Yeah,” Liam mumbles as he adjusts Lucy on his hip, “yeah, she was. She and Addy sat in the living room all night because they couldn’t sleep. I expect them to crash soon.”

“I’m fine,” Elsa promises even as she takes a sip of coffee out of the largest mug Emma has ever seen. “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine. Where in the world did Ariel go?”

“I have no idea. She was here and then she wasn’t. I’m not even sure why she pulled me away from the clubhouse. It’s all been a bit of a blur.”

“Her nickname could be The Blur or something ridiculous like that. She’s always zooming in and out of rooms.”

“How’s Killian?” Anna asks as she steps away from the windows. “Is he freaking out? Has he tried to run away yet?”

Emma’s hand reaches up to toy with her necklace, moving the ring from side to side and choosing not to worry about the weather any more than she already has. “He’s fine. He’s freaking out, but he’s fine. All he needs is for the game to start so he can stop psyching himself out.”

“I want the game to start too,” Addy whines once more as she falls out on the couch and throws her arm over her eyes.

“Darling,” Liam laughs, “have we ever considered that we made her too big of a fan?”

Elsa shrugs. “I don’t think we ever even had a choice.”

Emma stays up in the suite talking and eating cheeseburger sliders and drinking hot chocolate for the next hour, and it’s enough distraction that she doesn’t really think about what’s going on and the nerves radiating deep from her stomach and out to every inch of her. That only really begins when she has to officially start working, leaving the suite to walk to the ESPN booth and get her microphone hooked up to her and prepped for the start of the game. They have her hair curled again, just like she thought, and Isaac and James most definitely eye the jersey she has on. Emma ignores them, even if she does put on her sweater and take the raincoat the network offers her, and leaves the booth to go find the spot they have saved for her behind home plate.

People are filling the stands, a hushed murmur covering the stadium as the sun continues to peek through dark clouds, and Emma’s eyes are stuck on Killian as he continues the last of his pre-game warm-ups.

This exact day last year was one of the craziest days of her life, and she doesn’t think any of it could compare to this.

“You look like you’re going to vomit,” Jeff murmurs as he sets up the protective cover over his camera.

“I kind of feel like I am. Don’t date someone on the team. It’s too much.”

“I think I’m safe in that department.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he laughs, and Emma doesn’t miss the rare smile on Jeff’s face. “You ready to go?”

Emma adjusts her earpiece. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

-/-

The Dodgers score on Killian’s first pitch.

A home run right off the bat – literally – and Emma feels the collective groan around the stadium in her bones. That is not what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a strike, then two more, and an out. Easy as pie, right?

(Killian would tell her pie isn’t actually easy.)

But that’s obviously not how things are going to go today.

Sports have really got to be a little less dramatic. Her nerves can’t take it. Can’t things just be simple? Can’t they have gone back to the beginning and have won in four straight games instead of losing enough so that they’re in game seven of the World Series?

“If” doesn’t exist, especially in sport, Emma reminds herself. That’s what Killian would tell her, and that’s what she has to remind herself.

It only works a little bit.

One pitch at a time. It’s how Killian is going to be out there, and it’s how Emma is going to be sitting in the stands talking back and forth with the guys up in the booth thinking the same thing. It’s kind of hard to think that, though, when there’s a continual string of near hits and misses and Isaac and James up in the booth won’t stop being so damn negative that it makes Emma want to scream.

The score is 1-0 in the top of the third inning. It’s not the end of the world.

The looming dark sky overhead is kind of making her think that way.

“I’m too nervous, Rubes,” she mumbles while Killian winds up his arm to throw a pitch. There’s two men on base, both due to errors from King. She’d feel petty and a little glad if she didn’t need him to play well for the team. “Tell me about wedding stuff. Distract me.”

There’s static in her earpiece before Ruby’s voice comes in. “We’re getting married on a beach with no clothes on. Don’t worry. We can get waxed on the bachelorette weekend, so we’ll all be as smooth as babies.”

Emma huffs. “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hysterical,” Ruby corrects, and a part of Emma knows that Ruby and Graham might legitimately get married like that. “We haven’t planned any more than what we talked about last week. Small, intimate, and then a killer party with good food and drinks. Finding a location is hard. Everything is so expensive.”

“Destination wedding?”

“How is that cheaper?”

“I’m sure you can find a really inexpensive place in Nebraska or something.”

“You can get married in Central Park for one hundred dollars,” Jeff adds in, and Emma snaps her head away from the game to look at him. He shrugs his shoulders. “What? I know things.”

“I think the one hundred dollars is only if you want to get married in a certain spot, though,” Ruby sighs. “We’re going to keep looking. Graham said that he’d ask some of his buddies at the precinct if they knew of any spaces. It doesn’t have to be pretty since I know Mary Margaret will work her magic to make it that way no matter what.”

Killian’s pitch lands right in Will’s glove, and the umpire calls the batter out. Thank goodness. She doesn’t know what she’d do if someone else got on base. Then they’d be loaded with no outs, and things would pretty much be screwed from here on out.

Emma reaches over into her bucket of popcorn (she bought the jumbo size because she is stress eating) and stuffs a handful into her mouth instead of eating one or two at a time. One piece falls out of her mouth and down her shirt, landing somewhere in her bra so that she has to pick it out.

“You’re on the jumbotron right now, Emma,” Ruby giggles.

“Ah, fuck,” Emma mumbles as she looks up to see there be a replay of her digging in her shirt. “I hate everything.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Me eating is like a running joke this season. I don’t get it.”

And she doesn’t really have time to get it before there’s the thwack of a ball against a bat straight past first base and away from everyone.

Shit.

It’s not good. Not at all. The two runners already on base get home, and the batter manages to make it to second.

It’s 3-0, and this is not at all how today was supposed to go.

Emma’s lungs are doing that thing again where they’re not taking in air, and there’s not enough popcorn in the world to make any of this better. If the tick in Killian’s jaw is any indication, she knows that there’s no one in the world more pissed at what’s happening than him. They don’t have anything together, and if they don’t get it together soon, they’re going to run out of time.

And then the sky opens up, little droplets of rain falling and landing on Emma’s nose, and that saying “when it rains, it pours” seems oddly appropriate right now. Her sadistic sense of humor is about to get worse.

They can’t lose. They can’t. she won’t allow it.

The rain keeps falling, a steady downpour of water, but it’s not enough to call for the rain delay. Not yet. And Killian is able to strike out the next guy and then get the third out of the inning with Eric catching the hit.

And just like the rain, the play stays steady. It’s not spectacular baseball by any means, mostly just a sludge match as everyone tries to keep their hands dry and the water out of their eyes, and the score slowly improves. Lance hits a good ball to get two RBIs, making it 3-2, and they manage not to allow any runs in the top of the fourth inning.

Good.

They’re creating chances. That’s what matters. They’re creating chances, and Emma can continue to eat her soggy popcorn while she freaks the hell out about what’s happening and continues to try to act like she’s a professional and not overly invested in the outcome of this game like she’s got money on it.

It’s the bottom of the fourth inning now, a chant of August’s name moving across the stadium so that it shakes in anticipation, and the bases are loaded. There are also two outs. Emma’s not saying that this could be the thing that changes the momentum of the game, but if the way that she’s gripping onto Jeff’s arm is any indication, she knows that this could change the momentum of the entire World Series.

“Come on, Booth,” Emma yells out as her free hand hits against her thigh, the wet denim clinging to her skin. “Be smart. Watch the ball.”

August obviously doesn’t know how to follow instructions because then it’s a swing and a miss.

Strike one.

There’s no chance for a strike two because while the rain has been sprinkling for the past hour, it’s pouring now. Jeff is mumbling about his camera and the cover not doing enough, but all Emma can focus on is all of the players running inside to the dugouts and fans shuffling inside while an announcement comes over the speakers that there’s an official rain delay.

An hour ago, she would have welcomed it. They didn’t have any of the momentum then. They do now.

This isn’t how things are supposed to be going.

Fuck.

-/-

“So how long is the rain delay going to be?”

“I don’t know.”

“But can you find out?”

“I can’t control the weather, Emma.”

“But you know things that we don’t, David,” Emma groans as she paces back and forth in a tunnel in the stadium, her hair frizzing around her face and her jeans completely soaked through. “It’s been an hour. Are they going to call the game? Are they going to continue it? This is agony.”

“You need to calm down.” Emma looks over to David with raised brows, and he holds his hands up in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to say that to you, but you’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep worrying like this.”

Everyone they know is going to give themselves a heart attack, apparently.

“I know, I know,” she sighs, reaching up to hold onto her necklace and quieting down as some people pass by the two of them, probably looking at her like she’s a crazy person. “I’m nervous. This is really hard. I just…I want to be allowed into the clubhouse so that I can see him. He’s going to be freaking out. I just know, and I – ”

David walks toward her and places his hands on her shoulders while he looks down at her with a soft, reassuring smile on his face. She’s sure that he would hug her right now if she wasn’t soaking wet.

“Killian is fine, sweetheart. You are fine. We’re in the fourth inning. There’s still five more to go, whether it’s finished today or tomorrow or a week from now. They have time to come back. You, however, need to be back in hair and makeup because you’re supposed to be doing a clip on SportsCenter in fifteen minutes to fill the dead air time.”

“Shit. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“I couldn’t get a word in. You were kind of having a meltdown.”

Emma practically has to run down the hallways, which doesn’t help her appearance at all, and she’s sure that here makeup is streaky and her hair a wild mess that can’t be tamed, and the entire world can probably see her bra underneath her jersey right now. There’s not a hell of a lot that the makeup department can do, especially without a change of clothes besides a dry raincoat to replace the one that got soaked through, but they try their best before she’s standing in front of a plain backdrop inside the stadium talking back and forth about what’s going on in the game, breaking it down inning by inning in a way that she hasn’t had to do quite some time.

Considering she does it all with last minute notice and no notes in front of her, she thinks that she does a damn good job.

None of that really matters, though, because right as they’re wrapping up the segment, they get the announcement that play will resume in the next twenty minutes.

It’s time to play some more baseball.

Emma shouldn’t have eaten all of that popcorn because her stomach is most definitely churning with nerves.

They can do this. They have to. They will.

-/-

August immediately gets struck out, and the fourth inning ends with the Yankees still down 3-2.

The next two innings are scoreless for both teams, and Killian wraps up his game after that. He played well. It wasn’t his best, the weather and the nerves probably impacting him, but she’s proud of him.

She’ll be proud of him no matter what.

And she really wishes that the network wanted her to do a mid-game interview or let her go into the dugout just so that she could see him and tell him that in person, but they seem to be determined to only allow her to stay on the sidelines by herself.

Emma: I love you, I love you, I love you.

Emma: You’re my favorite player (and person) no matter what, and I can’t wait to see you when this game is over and you’re holding that trophy.

He texts back almost immediately, and he must have his phone out on the massage table.

Killian: Will you go out with me if we win? Or if we lose?

Laughter bubbles up inside of her, and it’s the first time all afternoon that she’s felt this light.

Emma: Only if you ask me out on live television like the asshole you were when you did that last year.

Killian: I think I can do that.

Her stomach flutters again, and even though this is kind of the biggest game that Emma has ever watched in her entire life, her eyes keep switching between her phone and the game. It’s pretty much the only way that she can stay calm and keep getting air into her lungs without one of them collapsing and her having to go to the hospital.

This game is going on forever. Literally. Each inning is longer than the last, and the sun is beginning to set over the horizon so that the remaining gray clouds disappear into the dark of night. Florescent lights fill the stadium, lighting up the crowd and the players, and Emma can’t stop shivering, especially with the remaining dampness of her clothes and the chill that’s whirling around. It’s got to be forty degrees out here at the most, and if it weren’t for Mary Margaret brining down her coat for Emma to use, she’d turn into an icicle by the end of the game.

Probably before the end of the game.

Today is obviously going very well.

It’s not just Emma, though. The crowd is starting to get a little delusional now too. The game has been going on for over six hours now, the last three completely scoreless, and everyone is getting restless and antsy and probably very, very drunk.

Some rum or whiskey or several shots of tequila is sounding really good right now.

She can’t have any of it.

And she’s moved on from popcorn to copious amounts of hot chocolate to keep her warm.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth in what could possibly be the last inning of the game and the end of the season, and they’re still down by one run. It’s almost exactly what happened last night, and Emma’s dentist is going to hate her for how much she’s grinding her teeth.

Just one run to tie it up. One more to win the whole damn thing.

Easy, right? Right.

“Fuck,” Emma mutters underneath her breath, unable to keep the thoughts inside. This cannot end up like last night. They’re so damn close. They can do this.

Eric settles into his position in the batter’s box, his hands moving up and down his bat until they’re in the right spots, and Emma would probably give up her entire salary to know just what Ariel is doing right now up in the suite. She’s got to be losing her mind.

Emma is kind of losing hers.

One. Two. Three.

The ball flies off of Eric’s bat, straight down past third base so that it practically paints the line, and Eric is off like a cheetah, quickly passing over first base and turning so quickly that he nearly falls on his way to second base. Emma stands, unable to stay sitting down, and she can’t even hear herself yell over the roar of the crowd as Eric slides against the dirt to mark up his uniform and have his fingers touch second base right before the ball gets to him.

Safe.

Holy shit. They have a man on base.

And August is up next. God, she hopes that he doesn’t choke again. There’s been a hell of a lot of pressure on his shoulders in the past two days, and he’s crumbled underneath it after having some really big opportunities to close things out. As good as these guys are at playing in the moment, the past does have the ability to creep up around them and wrap around their neck to pull them back to the past so that they can’t move on.

August has to move on.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

Shit.

One. Two. Three.

Ball.

Okay.

One. Two. Three.

Strike.

Fuck.

Emma cannot do this. She absolutely can’t. It’s too much. It’s all too much, and she has to bend down to put her head between her legs. She knows that her phone is going off, that she’s got texts and calls and emails, but she can’t look at any of them. If it’s something for work, Ruby will speak into her earpiece or Jeff will say something.

This is the worst. Who likes sports? This is just the worst.

One. Two. Three.

The ball thwacks against August’s bat, and it flies toward left field. Emma is positive that it’s going to go over, absolutely positive that it’s going to be a home run and that they’re about to win this game. But then it hits against the wall, and suddenly it’s back in play. It’s not a home run, not quite, but it’s enough to have Eric round third and run toward home, his body barreling as quickly as possible before he’s sliding through the dirt once more so that it flies up around him.

Safe.

3-3.

Holy fucking shit.

Emma can’t hear. She can’t. The crowd is that deafening, and while Emma isn’t jumping up and down, her knuckles are going white as they grip onto the sides of her seat. All she can focus on is the way that Eric runs straight into Killian just outside the dugout, the two of them jumping up and down and hitting each other’s backs and asses as every other member of the team surrounds them in a celebration that sends chills down her spine.

Her cheeks are warm for the first time all night, and Emma has to force down the emotion in her throat.

It’s not over.

But that’s a good thing. They have the chance to do this, to win this now, and Emma’s heart is pumping blood faster than it ever has in the entirety of her life. It may very well beat out of her chest.

She doesn’t even care.

The high comes down five minutes later when King is easily struck out, putting their first out of the inning on the board, and even Emma isn’t petty enough to want Arthur King to do poorly when him doing well is good for the team. She’s petty. Just not petty enough.

Will Scarlet, though, deserves the entire world, and all of the organs in Emma’s stomach shift again when he steps into the box and adjusts his helmet. Sprinkles of rain are falling down from the clouds and spitting against Emma’s skin, but it’s not enough to stop the game. Not yet. The momentum is with them again, the game and the championship on their bats, and Emma has never known Will to be scared of a little rain.

One. Two. Three.

A swing and a miss.

Strike One.

One. Two. Three.

No movement. Deep breath inhaled.

Ball.

One. Two. Three.

No movement.

Strike Two.

“Damn,” Emma mumbles under her breath as she tightens the jacket a little further over her arms, her legs shaking and tapping enough to power the electricity in all of the Bronx. She’s going to break the chain around her neck for how tightly she’s tugging on it. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

It’s got to be all fine.

The water is spitting a little harder now, Emma’s vision getting a little bit blurred, and it’s taking everything in her not to stand up right now so that she blocks the people behind her. Ruby is chattering in her ear cursing or hoping or something, her phone is still going off, and Jeff has to be complaining about how much Emma is crushing his forearm.

She doesn’t care.

Because Will is standing in position again, and he’s ready.

One. Two. Three.

There’s a sharp blow when the ball makes contact with the bat, and while the rain and the stadium lights make it hard to see, Emma already knows that the ball is going over the back wall and into the crowd.

Gone. It’s gone.

It’s freaking gone.

Will Scarlet is an absolute legend.

The Yankees just won the World Series.

Killian just won the World Series.

Everything is so loud around her, cheers reverberating and shaking the stands so that Emma can literally feel sounds, but she has trouble focusing on any of that over the sound of her heart pounding in between her ears and Ruby yelling in her earpiece that Emma has to get down to the field.

The field.

She has to get down to the field, and somehow, she does. Jeff must have carried her there or pushed her or something. It’s a madhouse, one Emma can’t navigate, and she knows that she’s supposed to be doing some kind of interview, preferably with Will, but there’s no way for her to find anyone. It’s a mass of players all huddled together and jumping up and down as coaches and wives and children all join in, the rain coming down even harder than earlier.

All Emma really wants is to find Killian and kiss him like she’s never kissed him before.

That’s saying something.

Emma sees him standing ten feet away from her on the outskirts of a pile of men embracing each other in happiness, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for the past two hours and his smile so large that it reaches his ears. He looks beautiful, ethereal almost, and Emma can scarcely breathe looking at him after pushing through so many people to find him.

That’s when he sees her through the people and the rain and the unending joy.

Killian pulls his arm up to tap his closed fist over his heart, and Emma’s heart stutters at the movement before a slow grin stretches across her lips while she reaches up to tap her fist over the ring and her heart.

She was cheering him on the entire time.

One. Two. Three.

Emma takes off toward him, ignoring Ruby in her ear and Jeff behind her with the camera, and in six strides, she’s pressing up onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding onto him so tightly that her feet come off the ground and Killian’s hands scramble for her ass, barely holding onto her as he lifts her in the air and swings her back and forth as they both get covered in the continual downpour of rain.

She can hardly see, the water far too much, and when she cups Killian’s cheeks and slams her mouth into his, he tastes like water and spearmint gum and quite possibly all of the happiness in the world bottled up into one human being.

Kissing him and being here with him is everything she ever wanted and everything she never allowed herself to dream.

“Fancy seeing you here, Swan,” Killian laughs, his mouth still pressing against hers.

“What are you talking about, Jones? I was right here last year.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, the grin the most infectious thing she has ever seen, “but I think I like this year a hell of a lot better.”

“Can’t wait to see how you try to top this next year.”

Killian throws his head back in in laughter, his skin covered in rain, and he finally puts her down on the ground so that her feet sink into the soft grass below her, arms still wrapped around Killian’s neck so that she’s close enough to see the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips.

“You know what, my love? I think I’m good staying right here in this moment for now. We can figure out the rest later.”

-/-

-/-

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[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

32. God Bless the Child

Previous || Word Count 7132

The next year was eventful for a tremendous amount of reasons.

First and foremost, Grace had a World Tour scheduled for the end of spring, entire summer, and beginning of fall. That meant that Hazel had the chance to travel, stuck with staff most of the time, or her mom the OTHER portion of time. She didn’t want to do that. Hazel liked seeing new things and traveling, even being around crowds of people, but she was going through puberty and often just wanted to chill with her friends or even by herself, to write poetry, maybe record some of her raps, and work on comics. Of course, Grace told her that if she could do that anywhere, it was in the tour bus.

Simon’s final book was going to be released in the summer, and he was going to begin working on the movie production for the (hopefully first and not only) film in the fall. Whether or not the studio would want to make more would depend on the success of this film, and the budget would be determined by what types of sales this last book made.

Grace was always going on about “an ecosystem,” a concept that one of her favorite influencers spoke about. Basically, she believed that whenever you had the chance to give people that you knew of/believed in a shot, you should do that. So, Simon wanted to get the studio in business with the tech company that he currently worked for, for numerous aspects of the production.

Simon already had multiple prototypes for animatronics and pointed plans for various aspects of this movie. A deal like that could really help the company (that he may or may not be staying at once he finished with this huge movie project), which also might be a situation in which he could be working on many of these things and get paid from his company as well, in the meantime for the work that fell under the studio’s umbrella. It would help all of them, and save money and trouble in other areas where he might have problems with CGI concerns and such.

Simon had been preparing for if Esmoroth took off big his entire life. He still had models at home, and years worth of world building, sketches, schematics, simulations, mini movies, files of programming for how various scenes looked in his mind.

These things being considered, whenever Simon put his and Grace’s schedules side by side at the beginning of the year to find opportunities and plan special events… well… They were not matching up very well. “I don’t like this Grace. I know that sometimes we take a few days apart, but our longest stint has been 2 weeks and 4 days… This calendar makes it look like we might see each other in increments of 6-8 weeks at a time, more than once and the fragments in between are…” He started breathing hard and she wrapped her arms around him from behind. He placed his hands over hers. “Okay. You’re right. We can do this.” She just smiled. She hadn’t said that, but that was basically what she wanted to convey. “Montanus’ arrival is scheduled for the 4th of July weekend.”

“Yeah. I’ll be flying out there. Are you coming?”

“Can’t. But, I’ll be there for the christening… which… you have a show the night before, so… Are you going to be there?”

“I’m planning on it. My show the night before is a few hours away, so I should be able to make it the next morning and still dash out to the next venue.”

“Sweet. Then, I’ll catch the show that night.”

“My period is that weekend.”

“Ugh. I mean… not that I don’t still love you then…”

“We both know why you’re here,” she said, chuckling.

“Because I can’t function outside of your divinity,” he replied, quicker than she was prepared for. He made note of all the spaces that he would have to possibly see her on this tour and started looking into the accommodations that he would need whenever he did.

.

Grace had hit after hit after hit on her album, her old original stuff was starting to receive a resurgence of streams and her pages were getting more traffic than her current team was able to handle some days. But, she simply reached out, within her ecosystem for others that might be able to join said team and make things flow better. Meanwhile, she didn’t get onto social media much. One of her problems with fully letting down her walls was the fact that surfing the Internet always made her have to take a look at how people viewed her. She had to start considering that no matter how well she did or how hard she tried, someone out there would have a problem with her, and because she was famous, it would be a lot of someones.

Hazel was online more with her work. She liked to enter freestyle challenges, submit her spoken word, publish her poems. She called her current brand of creativity “Doetry,” and she had a pretty increasingly large following. Simon usually helped to administrate, because Grace was never great at that type of thing and also because he didn’t trust Internet weirdos enough to not be involved.

She was going through things, but he never censored her or intruded. He monitored to make sure that nobody was making her life any harder than it had to be, being raised in NYC and the daughter of a very public figure, and also Simon, who was important enough, depending on who you asked… and he was getting to the point where he might reach notable fame.

May 19 was a Tuesday that year, so they would be spending the previous weekend celebrating Hazel’s birthday and her actual birthday would just be a school day that everyone on social media sent her birthday wishes on. Simon took time off to take Hazel, Lucy, Lindsay, Alex, Todd, and Louis to Grace for the weekend. The way that the schedule was set up, she wouldn’t have had the time to leave and come back and go to her next venue, but they would have the time to come to her. Hazel suggested that she just miss out, but Grace was NOT going to do that, especially with the year that Hazel had been having. So, she paid for Hazel’s friends to come with.

Simon found it fascinating that these kids’ parents were entrusting the children to him to get on a plane together, travel to another state, spend more than one night there, and fly them back home safely.

He supposed it was similar to a Scouts trip, or a school trip… but he was just the “parent” of another child. He wasn’t a scout leader or teacher. Then again, those were just people too, he guessed. He would NOT feel comfortable sending Hazel on a plane with any of these children’s parents, except for maybe Lucy’s.

But, Simon found that his old scouts instincts kicked in when being responsible for a group of kids, but this time around he had that nagging dad-like behavior that the past couple of years around Hazel had given him.

Being off for Hazel’s birthday, she arranged for them to have a spa day retreat. The kids and some of the staff were included in this, though not as advanced a day as Grace and Hazel. Whenever they met up and had their indulgences, Simon could barely keep his hands off of Grace. Hazel felt a little bit slighted.. It was HER birthday, after all. They didn’t have to be cozied up the whole time. Of course, Grace presumed she wanted to spend most of her time with her friends, and whenever they finished with cake and began listening to music and chilling, Grace and Simon left them with the Nanny so that they could have some alone time. Hazel aired her grievances to her friends. She hated that Grace was on tour. She hated that their home life was separated into different worlds that she had to board and unboard. Lindsay understood it perfectly. Her dad was sometimes not home for weeks or months. Sometimes, she didn’t see her mom (who actually lived with her) for days. Sometimes, whenever she did see her, the woman was busy with making appearances and performing shows, and she DIDN’T have a nanny. She just had to be at home by herself a lot. Whenever her dad was there, he’d have his friends over a lot. They would disrupt Lindsey’s quiet, but she would be grateful that she wasn’t alone. She would LOVE if her parents tried to include her in their worlds like Grace and Simon did with Hazel.

Lucy’s parents were usually there whenever she needed them, but they didn’t seem to be very happy. They were always together, but the only time that she saw them smile at each other or talk to each other was whenever they were out in public. Her father was a politician, and her mother was a public figure, simply for being his wife and being a good conservative wife who followed his guidelines. Lucy… didn’t care for any of it. She would’ve liked to just have two people who love each other like Grace and Simon seemed to.  

Hazel felt a little better, because apparently, she had pretty good parents. She also didn’t feel a little better, because she still felt dissatisfied.

Whenever Simon and Grace made it back, after the others were asleep, Hazel talked to Simon about letting her stay home with him after the school year ended. Both Grace and him loved her, right? So, she should be able to stay home, near her friends, in her comfort zone, and then she’d see Grace when she got home, and she’d be crazy excited about it, like she used to be when she didn’t get to see her everyday. Like she was whenever she saw her this weekend!

Simon reluctantly let her know he would be much busier in the summer than he was at the moment. He was at home with her and the Nanny as much as possible, but he reminded her that there was less than a month left of school and then she would be with her mom again. Her mom had ONLY been gone now for about a month… Hazel didn’t know if he could hear himself basically saying, “It’s only a couple of months away from your mom, both of you changing over that time in different ways and potentially growing apart, then you get to be awkwardly thrown back together because I’m not actually your parent and can’t wait until she can take you back!” He didn’t say that, but that was what she heard. She nodded her head, sadly, and Grace chimed in to remind her that she’d be on tour with her! They hadn’t been able to be together in almost a month and after one more, they would! Hazel smiled. “Of course, Grace. I can’t wait. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

Hazel finished off the school year with the Nanny and Simon. They flew out to meet with Grace, in June, spent a couple of days together, then Simon was headed back home, to focus on his stupid important things, Hazel couldn’t help but think. And she was pissed at him, too. She had been mopey and basically on autopilot most of this time, even with Grace trying desperately to cheer her up whenever she had some free time.

She just wanted a summer where she could hang out and have fun if she wanted to. Grace asked her to at least give her a couple of weeks to prove that this could be a fun experience. However, Grace kept running into that troublesome hassle of the public being pushy and entitled. Hazel and she kept either getting rushed in and out of places and trapped for a while, bothered every few minutes when they weren’t holed up, or surrounded by staff getting things done in between performances. Hazel lasted two weeks, then cried and begged to go home and be able to see her friends. It broke Grace’s heart but she promised to let Hazel go back with Simon after the stop in California for her baby brother’s birth.

Grace felt super rejected and cried about it, but if that was what Hazel really wanted, she didn’t want her career to make her feel stressed out. Her mother was quite a smartass about it. “Who would have thought that it might be difficult to focus on a demanding career while raising a child?”

“I didn’t call you for this.”

“Of course not. What did you call for?”

She wanted to know how the surrogate was. Grace didn’t know what it said about someone that they would rent out their body to grant someone else a child, but she could totally understand the flipside. Whenever Simon mentioned babies, she was extremely willing to adopt again, even the smallest baby that they would be able to be matched with… but nothing statistically made her have an inkling of wanting to actually change her entire body, probably for the worse so that she could potentially die to bring someone else into the world that she would immediately begin having to take care of and put everything into. It was hard enough to do with Hazel, and getting harder all of the time.

When that child’s period came around in February, Grace picked her up from school, gathered up the products she was most interested in (products from Grace’s own line), provided snacks, emergency meds, just in case, and any information that Hazel wasn’t certain about. Simon came over with a gift basket of stuff that had been suggested to him by browsing nice things to do for periods. They really wanted her to be comfortable and safe. She just wanted them to stay the fuck out of her room and let her lay down and write poems.

She didn’t get how Grace had period yoga, and heightened self care. The LAST thing Hazel felt like doing was caring about anything, even self. She wanted to rest and to rage. That was it. Grace would buy her flowers and say something silly like, “Whenever my period comes around, sometimes, flowers make me feel happier,” Then just… leave a pot with an orchid, or geraniums, or a peace lily in her room… to have to what? Care for a flower now TOO, as well as self?? Hazel hated the way her period made her feel. She spoke to her therapist about it and was advised to speak to her mother and potentially a gynecologist about it as well. Hazel put that conversation off, though.

She seemed her happiest whenever she was able to go to her grandparents’ to wait for the baby with them. Grace… didn’t understand…

Simon explained, “You don’t remember being 12 and not wanting to be around our parents?”

“Our parents sucked though! And she WANTS to be around my parents!”

“She wants to meet her baby uncle,” Simon told her and wrapped himself around her.

“Has she mentioned anything to you? I know that sometimes she feels more comfortable telling you stuff than she does me, since you aren’t her parent…”

He let go and frowned, “Wow.”

“I mean… There’s paperwork, Simon. You aren’t…”

“I know, but, I step in as much as you did before that, maybe even more. I understand that she technically isn’t mine, but she's important to me, too, Grace.”

“I know, but…” she sighed and shook her head, “I’m not trying to start a fight. Of course you’re as present as any father has ever been for her. I wasn’t trying to downgrade that, and I didn’t mean to sound like I was. I just wanted to know if she’d said anything to you about me.”

“No. She’s not talking to me. But, she does express herself via Doetry.”

“Her content is so angry and dark…”

“What she shares, at least…” Grace threw him a warning look. “I’m not saying make it a habit, but maybe taking a peek into her personal stuff might give you some type of clue as to what she needs right now.”

"I'm not snooping into Hazel's things, Simon. There's a reason that she shares what she shares and hides whatever she hides, IF she's hiding anything. I don't want to parent that way."

"Okay."

"And I'm also saying that you shouldn't."

"Noted."

"Okay… what I meant by shouldn't is don't do it."

"So, it's an order?"

"Yes."

He sighed. Hazel WAS Grace's daughter, legally, and he didn't want to do anything that he didn't have permission to. "Okay." It took him longer to say it than Grace had gotten accustomed to, but she knew he meant it and that it was hard for him to agree to this wish. She strummed his cheek with her thumb and he leaned into it and smirked. It was also easy to make him forget whenever she upset him. She leaned up just enough to kiss him on the nose and he blushed. She giggled. “What?”

“The fact that you’ll blush when I kiss you on the nose when you literally have been putting your nose right in between my thighs for almost 2 years.”

He blushed even more and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m blushing then, too. You just don’t notice because you’re usually quivering in pleasure.”

Sha gasped, “Cocky,” she said and elbowed him playfully.

“Confident… and accurate.”

“You don’t have to SAY it,” she said, now blushing herself.

He didn’t call her on it. Just seeing it was enough. Simon kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “I love you…” Her smile vanished and he furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her mouth in disappointment. “Sorry. I thought…”

“No… Don’t be. I guess it had to come up some time…” She stared at her hands. “I don’t know how to… I feel like my actions should… I know sometimes people just need to hear it, I just…”

“Please, stop.” He laughed, but was red and she had a feeling not from blushing. “You’re making it worse.”

“I just… Had an immediate flashback to the first time you told me and… I don’t know. This was so different, and you’re so different, and I have no idea why my brain is doing this to us…”

He wanted to say because of what he did to her, but hell.. That was really long ago and like she said, everything was different now. One day, she HAD to forgive him! He shrugged his shoulders, “You can’t control how you feel any more than I could.”

She frowned and nodded. Then, fortunately, Hazel came rushing in, "He's coming!" Simon and Grace both rushed into the birthing quarters where Mrs. Monroe, the documentation crew, the surrogate, midwife and such were. Hazel and Simon stood out of the way while Grace rushed to the surrogate and asked the midwife what she should do. (She was designated as her birthing partner, as she felt bad that her parents didn't seem to see her as anything more than a vessel) Grace spent a lot of time reading up to try to prepare for this.

It was a powerful time. It LOOKED as painful as it sounded from everything she read that discouraged her, but she tried to be strong for the surrogate. Simon was really impressed with how much Grace was able to do for her. He knew that she had become very empathetic over the years, but it was honestly a side of her he still hadn't seen. Meanwhile, Mrs. Monroe looked on, excitedly, but useless.

Whenever Montanus was born, Grace and the surrogate were both crying and Grace complimented her and told her how she was stronger than (Grace) could ever hope to be. When Grace tried to show her the baby, Mrs. Monroe cut her off and collected him, then gave the nurses some instructions for seeing to her. She was about to have delivery day photos taken.

"None with Astrid, Mom?" Grace wondered, still holding the woman's hand.

"You can, if you insist," she said. "Bad enough your father is late. I don't want to hold everyone up."

Grace was going to say more, but the surrogate squeezed and tugged her hand to get her attention and shook her head. "I signed up for this," she said, quietly. "It's not like he's mine…"

"You held him. You changed. You grew. You hurt. You bled. You cried. You.."

"Signed up for that." But she looked sad. Ao sad that Grace decided at that moment of she EVER DID have a surrogate, it was going to be a fellowship. A sisterhood. A loving connection in which she repaid the person with respect as well as her fee. She was a human. How her mother was able to just plant Montanus inside of her and basically discard her afterwards made Grace feel sick. She didn't even go with Simon and Hazel to see the baby. She was more concerned about this woman who had to put on a strong face after a really hard job.

Later, when she had to leave and also send Hazel off with Simon, she cried on him. "I'm not gonna do that to my surrogate. It was really mean, right? That was so cold…"

Simon rubbed her back, "Grace… it's a business transaction."

"He's not a transaction! He's my brother and he JUST got here, and Mom's ALREADY treating him like an asset. She messed up one kid and she’s had two decades to learn better emotional intelligence. The restart doesn’t look good to me.."

"She's bad at the emotional stuff, but she's trying," Simon offered. You aren't like her and you'll never have to be. You can treat your surrogate as sweetly as you please. But...I have to agree with your mom that they didn't need to connect. That'd just make it harder.

"She couldn't even say hi to him? After all of that?"

"It's what they agreed to. She would have taken one look at him and tried to keep him."

"She wouldn't be able to. He's from my parents' DNA. It was just… so uncomfortably cold. You should bring a baby into a warm life. I was too upset to even see him. I didn't want to give him the negative energy I had."

Hazel shrugged, "You didn't miss anything he looks like… a potato."

Simon gave her a shove and she wondered what was wrong with the truth. "He hasn't developed his looks yet. But he was cute in that it's a new life way."

"I… did not see that," Hazel admitted.

"You saw a potato," Simon repeated.

"Yep."

.

The christening was closer to the end of Grace's tour. She was going to be seeing her parents, new brother, Simon, and Hazel all again for the first time since she'd been on the road alone. Hazel and Simon went early so that he could help his dad with some things and Hazel would stay with her grandparents while he was doing that. Grace arrived in the morning and headed straight to the church.

They were supposed to wear neutral colors and earth tones, meanwhile, Montanus was styled to be in brilliant white with silver and gems. Grace had flashbacks to seeing photos of her own day. She had been draped in gold and yellow and dressed in something that was probably more expensive than reserving the building. She had been "clothed as the sun," and now nearly 25 years later, they had a boy "clothed as the moon."

Her mother told her that she has her outfit selected. She has to change in a room that brides generally used and Grace was a little thicker than when she had initially been fitted, so she squeezed into it and was far more voluptuous than she wanted to be in a church. Non-believer as she was, it simply seemed distasteful. She loved her halo crown for the event. It was pretty fancy, as she seemed to be reprising her role as the sun.

The officiant said something about the sun giving light to the moon, just as she, as his sister and godmother would give her own form of light to him and other poetic and sweet things about love and support, God and stuff and he blessed the baby and allowed them to put him on display for another photoshoot.

Grace ducked out, because she was STARVING, so of course Simon and Hazel came with, as they hadn’t had a chance to spend time with her in weeks. Old stomping grounds made them feel nostalgic and gave Hazel more fodder for imagining them as kids. She loved those times. Them, her age or a little bit younger or little bit older - she wished she knew them then. She wished for adventures like theirs with HER friends. She would never let it turn out how they were for a while, but she was also glad that they had each other now. The past few weeks with her and Simon had been very challenging, as he was more strict in Grace’s absence than when she was home, but he wasn’t abusing it. He just didn’t have Grace there to override him putting his foot down. Hazel hated THAT, but he didn’t care about certain other things, like she got to hang out with her friends longer, stay out later, and stay up later. Grace was a little more about her keeping a certain structure, which was fine a few years ago, but now it was unnecessary to Hazel and fortunately, Simon didn’t care because it was summer. So long as she was upfront about what she was doing and checked in, he was pretty chill. BUT, if she went outside of the boundaries, he was VERY strict. Almost like he felt betrayed. She hated to make him feel that way. They worked out well, though. At the end of the day, they were always friends again.

Grace noted that they had a few inside jokes and stuff while they were at lunch. People kept looking at the trio, in their fancy dress at this little burger dive. A few people came to see if they could get autographs and stuff. Grace was pretty open to that, even when it was uncomfortable. Simon reflexively wanted to step in, but she would brush it off and give him a look to ask him not to, so he gathered his sense of territory and possessiveness and choked it down. He didn’t have consent to defend…

Then… Something else happened. They were getting ready to get into the car and someone rushed up on them for an autograph. Simon would have been impressed with his quick reflexes if it didn’t go so… terribly infuriating…

He stopped the person in their tracks and they threw their hands up, and said that they just wanted a photo with Grace. Simon let go of the guy’s collar and looked at Grace. Hazel had her hand over her heart. Apparently Simon wasn’t the only one caught off guard by the Flashlike fan. “You okay, Haze?” he asked.

She was breathing hard and staring at the man. Grace stooped down to get on her level. “She’s fine,” the man said. “Could I get a photo?” Grace took a deep breath, ignoring him and repeated her question to Hazel. She wasn’t sure why her baby girl was reacting so intensely. Sure, it could be that this motherfucker came out of nowhere, but also… she could have known him from before, because they were in the same area they used to live, OR she might have had something recently happen that made this spook her today. WHATEVER the case, Grace was concerned and trying to talk to her. “I’ll just get a photo and leave you to it.”

“Chill,” Simon warned. He was getting pissed at this person and also worried about Hazel, because she still hadn’t responded. The guy scoffed and Simon clenched his fist. Realign your patience, Simon. Realign.

“Haze?” Grace repeated. Hazel took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry. He scared me. I’m fine.”

“Told you she was fine,” the dude said, really annoyed. Simon bit his lip and was practically digging holes into his palms with the balls that were his fists.

Grace wrapped an arm around Hazel and politely told the man, “I’m not currently taking photos. We just stopped to eat and we have to get back to something.” She was now too upset to take a photo. This was her boundary.

She opened the car door for Hazel and the man said, “Ugh, you were signing stuff inside, I saw you.”

Simon stepped in front of him and reiterated, “Yeah, but she told you no, so I advise you to step away from Grace and her daughter. You’ve already startled her and were extremely insensitive about it. You didn’t even apologize to her.”

“She said she was fine, just like I said.”

“She also is clearly not fine, and you, as a grown man should have been keen to it and respectful of that, especially considering that YOU were the one asking for something!” Simon’s canines were bared and Grace had to admit… she was not against seeing this Simon emerge again… not in this situation, at least.

“That’s not even her real daughter…” CRACK! Hazel called Simon’s name. He didn’t hear her. He had taken that balled up fist that he had been tempering and connected it to that man’s jaw. Grace held Hazel back and said softly, “Maybe cover your eyes, Baby.” Because she wasn’t gonna interfere. Simon looked at the man after he had punched him onto the pavement and some people had gathered. Then, he remembered! He turned towards Grace and Hazel, worried that he had just royally screwed up. Hazel’s face was alight with amusement and Grace’s alight with… something else.

“It just snapped…” He explained.

“It’s okay. We all mess up, right MOM?” Hazel asked, smiling at Simon.

“Yeah, Haze, but he didn’t mess up. Sometimes, people deserve it.” She took Simon’s swinging hand in hers as the ex-fan rushed off crying and complaining about pressing charges. “Let’s get back to my folks so I can tend to this.” She kissed his hand and smiled at him. He smiled back, swelling with pride. Hazel took his other hand and kissed it. These two hand kisses were very separate and different things. But, both mattered to him more than anything in the world.

“I lost my patience, but i don’t feel bad. Nobody’s gonna hurt either of you, as long as I’m there. You ARE Grace’s REAL daughter.”

“I know that, Simon. I’m yours too,” she said with the casual shrug of her shoulders, but he knew that it was a huge thing for Hazel to say such a thing.

.

Simon got to hold the and he was extremely enchanted. "Grace! He's so beautiful. Oh my God. He looks just like YOU!"

Mrs. Monroe offered, "Or, he looks like ME? Grace got her beautiful genetics from me."

"Yes, Mrs. Monroe. You look like Grace, too," he said, not turning away from the baby in his arms. She frowned and folded her arms. "Grace, if we have a baby, I hope they look just like Monty!"

"His name isn't Monty," Mrs. Monroe said. "It's Montanus. It means mountainous. He's the highest point of my life."

"Wow, Mom. Screw me then, huh?" Grace joked. This kid really WAS precious.

Mrs. Monroe said, "You put me through months of HELL, and quite frankly depression and misery. But… after a very long and painful journey pity of my body, we looked at each other and I felt like seeing your face delivered me from all of the worst of all of that. I'd been given grace, and I told your father after he snuck that hideous photo of me gawking at you that would be your name. We were going to call you Soleil. Like the Sun. But, I met you and I said, No. This is my Grace." Mrs. Monroe cupped Grace's chin and Grace smiled while Simon's eyes watered.

"That's a beautiful story." He nuzzled Grace with his nose and whispered, "I can't wait until we have a beautiful birth story."

"You certainly CAN wait," Mrs. Monroe said and eyed him up and down.

"So, you put Grace in THAT dress and let me look at THIS baby and you think I'm NOT going to think about knocking her up?"

"He's joking. We don't even do that,"Grace said.

"Doesn't mean I'm joking. LOOK at him, Grace. This has got to be the most beautiful baby that has ever lived!"

Grace scoffed, "Um. No. I'm sure that was me as a baby."

"I don't know… I can't imagine any baby ever looking more adorable than this one." He shook his head and looked at him, then pulled him close to hold against himself.

He heard Mrs. Monroe whisper, "I think he thinks he's ready for one." He shut his eyes to listen to the infant breathe. He… hadn't held a baby since he had been helped in holding Hope when he was a little boy. He'd had a similar reaction to her… but he didn't know what she looked like anymore and he didn't even have feelings for her anymore. He remembered her as someone who was lost way too soon, someone that he accidentally hurt, someone who would remind him to always handle the innocent with extra care. "I would kill for you," he whispered and kissed Montanus'" head. For his own. For Hazel. For Grace.

Grace wondered, "Can I hold him?" The way that he was feeling about this baby… He didn’t want to let him go… but then again, Grace was still not wanting kids and Simon rationalized that holding “Monty” was gonna change that for her, so he reluctantly handed him over in the hopes that she might be swayed. “Wow…” She said staring into big brown eyes, like her own but more bright and full of wonder. He reached out for her and she let him hold her finger. “Okay. I absolutely want one,” she joked. Simon smiled. He knew the feeling, even though he also knew that SHE didn’t really mean it. She did have a point, they still hadn’t actually had sex. They had… done a lot. Very gradually over the past year and a half, but not that and she seemed to get anxious whenever things approached it. Simon always stopped and confirmed whether or not she wanted to do more. That out that he gave her, she always took it. It was why he kept checking. He worried that if he didn’t, she might just go along with things, and that could be something else to resent him for down the line. Affirmative consent. It was a small price to pay to keep the amount of trust that HAD been rebuilt intact, and maybe someday it would pay off.

Someday was closer than he’d thought. They eventually surrendered that baby back to his parents and Hazel, not wanting to cry jealousy, but feeling a way retired to her room to meditate and write before bed.

Simon and Grace retired to her room, afterwards. “I am lovesick with baby fever,” Grace said. He was on her like prey, with his hands sliding up her sides and his nose tracing her neck. “Slow down, Gray Eyes,” she said with a chuckle, looking at them in the vanity mirror. How many times had they looked at themselves in that mirror when they were younger? It was never like this… They didn’t even look the same to her. They didn’t feel the same, but somehow, everything was all coming back to her, just being in here, with him.

The good and the bad. Luckily, she would be able to say goodbye early in the morning and not see him for a couple of weeks. Tonight could just be… fun. She tried to push out the old thoughts, the old fights, the old Grace and Simon. They were Simon and Grace before The Apex and they had become another Grace and Simon.  New and improved.

“This dress really isn’t helping in the “slow down” department.”

“I’ve gained a little weight,” she said, a little self consciously.

“Mmm hmm,” he said, appraisingly, tracing but not touching the curves of her cleavage. She hadn’t given him permission. Simon was very disciplined, now. Very diligent in not crossing any boundaries, but he certainly danced the fine line.

“Will you please help me out of this dress?” She whispered, not taking her eyes off of the obediently trained blond man in her mirror.

“Yes, ma’am.” He carefully unclasped the back and slowly unzipped, revealing each inch of her skin with utmost reverence and full throttle desire, contained, but entirely visible as she studied his face. She stepped out of the dress and carefully placed it aside. He noted that specifically, because he remembered how she used to just toss them on the floor. He was making more and more notes of how much more thoughtful she was about her things and surroundings. “Grace?”

“Yes, Simon?” she was cleaning off her makeup, still in her undergarments and halo crown.

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me back in. I know that it takes a very big person to be able to do that and I’m grateful that you’re so big of a person and I’m also proud of you. You’ve changed a lot in a lot of ways that I tried to stop before, because I was scared that you’d outgrow me and leave me behind if you came to be this bigger person. I’m glad that I’ve realized that becoming a better you was exactly what type of person who could give me another chance. It makes me want to be a bigger, better person. It makes it easy for me to be good, and I’ve realized that I do it for you, but also for myself. I feel better, and I just want you to know that you’ve done so much towards that.”

She wanted to make a joke about how he must’ve really wanted some tonight to be spilling all of this, but he was so genuine, she was entirely too touched. Between that and his protecting Hazel earlier, not to mention Hazel claiming him?

She set her cloth down, turned around and kissed him. No other response was needed.

The kissing grew, she didn’t break apart while they carefully made their way to the bed and… well… it wasn’t really a discussion or a question. The time had come. Simon opened his mouth to confirm that she was sure and she silenced him with her lips while she took off his clothes.

At every point that he wanted to ask her for permission, she took initiative while simultaneously kissing him to stop the question. If she thought too hard about it, if he asked her about it, she would think too hard about it - If she thought too hard about it, it might never happen.

At some point, she began crying. Simon panicked. He tried to pull out, but she clasped him tightly with her legs and held on to him, sobbing into his ear. Were they happy tears, or had he made a mistake? It was fucking with him. “Grace?” he whispered, slowing down, at least. She urged her hips to make him speed back up and he started crying too. “I don’t know if I’m doing something wrong!” he whimpered, terrified of her tears right now.

“Does… it mean something to you, Simon?” She asked in an insecure voice that he hadn’t heard in so long that he forgot how she sounded when she wasn’t sure of herself.

He lifted his head to look her in the eyes, moving her chin to face him so that she couldn’t avoid it.

“Everything. It means everything to me, Grace. You mean everything to me.”

She sobbed and began to move her hips again, somehow holding on even tighter to him. “Never let me go again. Never push me away.”

“I promise. I won’t. I swear on my life.”

She’d mentioned before that her period was that weekend, but she wasn’t on it. The stress of touring probably knocked her off of her schedule. At any rate, she wasn’t one it, as she had planned to be. That worked out perfectly for Simon that night, but he wasn’t even thinking about those details at the moment. He had to spend the rest of the night making sure that she knew things wouldn’t be like they had been before.

A couple of weeks later when she came home from the tour, Hazel and Simon had her welcome home party under way. It was lowkey - just the 3 of them and the cat. Simon cooked everyone’s faves, and they didn’t ask tour questions. Hazel kept using “Mom” and “Dad,” despite the official paperwork. Grace felt super at ease, considering.

“Hey… We have to talk about something, as a family…” Hazel and Simon looked at each other, both a little worried, as she sounded super serious out of nowhere. Did something happen to her on the tour? Were they about to have to kick somebody’s ass? What was she about to say?? “I have an announcement…” She took a deep breath and took something that she had on her person out.

Simon gasped and got up to rush over. Hazel asked, “What is that?? What’s the announcement??”

Simon took both of Grace’s hands and searched her face, “What do you want to do? You know I’ll support anything. If you aren’t ready, I understand…”

“UNDERSTAND WHAT?? WHAT IS THAT, MOM???”

“I’m ready,” Grace told Simon, then to Hazel, “Mom’s… having a kid…” She winced, unsure of how Hazel was going to feel about a bio on the horizon. She SCREAMED. “OMG! Lindsay and Lucy are gonna be JEALOUS. SO JEALOUS! Lindsay thinks her kinkajou is SOOOO cool… and it is, but I’m gonna have a SIBLING! Oh… unless we’re being quiet?”

“For a while. I’m still… taking it all in…” Grace said. She looked at Simon. She was scared shitless.

“I’m going to do whatever you need.”

“I know. I trust you with my life.” He smiled brighter than anything she had ever seen. She collected Hazel and him, “Both of you.”

Next

[summerbreezeyy]

Love, Huh? - Chapter 6

Finally today arrived. The day you were meeting Yixing. After the dinner with the Oh’s, you texted him you were free the next day, but he had to be in China for a family wedding for a week. You met Yixing back when your ex was finding businesses to invest in, and his club was one of them. You didn’t instantly become friends with him, other than the fact that your ex was super jealous, Yixing was kinda scary at first. He had this intimidating aura, even your ex agreed. But you got closer. In secret though.

For the past week, the boys have barely left you alone. They would try to arrange their schedule so at least one of them would be home. You know they have many friends, especially Chanyeol. Even Kyungsoo has his routine hangouts with his group. And Sehun who likes to drink outside. But lately they’ve just been at home a lot. You overheard Chanyeol couple days ago talking to his friend, “Sorry babe, a bit busy tonight, the comeback is near. But I’ll see you next week at the show okay?” or when you unintentionally and accidentally saw a text message on Kyungsoo’s phone from ‘Kwangsoo-hyung’ that read “We miss you Soo-ya. Hope you can come next time!” when both of them (plus the youngest) were schedule-less and spent the whole night at home drinking with Sehun’s newly bought whiskey.

When all of them had to leave altogether one day, they called and texted you (or facetime at the clingy maknae’s case) all day. You wanted to tell them that you were okay, and to be alone for a couple of hours is totally manageable. But you didn’t, knowing that they still felt guilty (when they shouldn’t have) they couldn’t be there when you needed them. So you let them, do things that would ease their minds.

You told them about your plan today, since they had to finish everything up for their next week’s comeback. Like expected, when you were getting ready to meet Yixing, you checked your phone to find a lot of texts already came in the group chat, the one they already had before they added you in.

Yeollie [10:16] :

Hey @you awake yet?

Se [11:03] :

Sleepyhead wake up

You [12:24] :

Sorry just checked my phone. Been awake since 10 you ass @Se

Almost ready to head out tho, leaving in about 15 minutes. So excitedd!

When are you guys coming home tonight? I was thinking of Ramyeon night?

Kyungsoo [12:26] :

We should be home at around 8 or 9 I think. Don’t wait for us to have dinner. Chanyeol would pick a movie for tonight, but if you’re tired you can go to sleep early. Have fun with your friend and be careful.

Yeollie [12:26] :

At 8!

Oh Soo answered that already lol :p

Have fun we miss youuu!

Wait I thought you were meeting him at 1?

Se [12:27] :

My ass is great, you just jealous

You [12:27] :

*you’re

@Yeollie always the sweetest! I miss you guys too! And this morning when Xing told me the address, turned out the café is just a couple blocks away, so I’m walking there!

@Kyungsoo yes sir!

Se [12:27] :

Hmm.. Kinky

You [12:27] :

Shut up, you’re the only kinky ass in this gc fool, my eyes are still suffering from what I saw

Se [12:28] :

…

Okay I’m shutting up

Yeollie [12:29] :

Ohh! Tell me! I wanna know!

You [12:29] :

If Sehun continued being a brat I would happily tell you :)

Kyungsoo [12:29] :

Back to actually important thing, you’re gonna walk there? Can’t he pick you up or just take a cab instead. It’s safer.

You [12:30] :

I think I could walk just fine, Soo. No need to be paranoid. I’m not dying or anything. Gonna keep annoying your asses for a long time so count on it!

Se [12:31] :

You’ve been saying ‘ass’ waaay too many times today. Didn’t know you’re an ass-kinda girl

You [12:31] :

Sehun, I’m thiiis close to type in what I saw 3 christmas ago in your room when both your hyungs were visiting their parents

By the way, aren’t you guys supposed to be working now?

Get off of your phones! If they fired you and you’re jobless who’s gonna feed me :(

Yeollie [12:32] :

I’m lunching and Soo’s at makeup and Sehun is messing around like usual, we’ll keep our job just fine and you’re gonna be eating good food for the rest of our life!

Oh and by the way, we’re watching Captain America tonight ! But like Soo said, if you’re tired you could just go to sleep!

And please Sehun, keep being annoying. I can’t wait for when she’s fed up with you and finally tell us your kinks.

Se [12:32] :

Yes mommy

@Yeollie interested much ???

You [12:32] :

Ooh, I see, another kink. I’ll keep that in mind, baby ;)

By the way @Yeollie I still find it weird you’re Team Cap but ordered Iron Man costume instead. And don’t worry. I can sense it’s close to when I finally do :)

But not complaining about the movie tho, I got to stare at Chris Evans’ face (and abs and arms) for 2 hours, I don’t even think I’m gonna be sleepy.

Se [12:33] :

Why are you only mean to me :(

He’s weird that’s why! Everyone who’s Team Cap is weird!

You [12:33] :

Faulty logic. You’re Team Iron Man but still the weirdest out of all of us

Yeollie [12:33]:

*online high-five*

And Team Cap rocks!

You [12:33] :

Preach!

Se [12:34] :

@Kyungsoo hyuuung help me they’re bullying me :(

Kyungsoo [12:34] :

Oh I didn’t tell you? I’m also Team Cap.

Se [12:34] :

HYUNG! HOW COULD YOU?

You [12:34] :

Should we change this gc name to ‘Cap’s bitches’?

[12:35] Yeollie changed group name to “Cap’s Bitches”

Se [12:35] :

HYUNG SERIOUSLY!

Kyungsoo [12:35] :

Jesus

At this point you were laughing close to tears. You continued eating your lunch, a text came in, from Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo [12:37] :

Hey you had lunch yet?

You [12:37] :

Eating rn!

Kyungsoo [12:37] :

Good. Don’t forget your meds too

You [12:37] :

Yes daddy

Kyungsoo almost choked on his drink, that his makeup noona looked at him weird.

“Funny pic,” he half-assedly explained.

You [12:37] :

Wait that came out weird

Sorry lol

Kyungsoo [12:38] :

You should thank God this is not the gc

You [12:38] :

Sehun won’t let it go I know :)

Hell I think Chanyeol would also tease me about it

By the way I’m gonna head out shortly

Have a fun day at work! See you tonight! xx

Kyungsoo [12:39] :

See you, and be safe.

Leaving Kyungsoo and the group chat (that was just filled with Sehun’s whining at this point) on read, you finished your dishes and went back to your room to grab your bag. Picking up the phone you left on the counter, you saw the last messages on the group chat.

Se [12:44] :

I hate everyone

[12:45] Se changed group name to “im leaving the band”

A laugh came out from you. Finally things were starting to be normal again. Except of course the constant nagging and worries from them. But you found yourself liking it, that they care about you. And of course, it did feel nice to bicker with Sehun after so long.

“I miss your bratty ass,” you smiled mumbling to no one.

When you were checking out the chat, someone rang the doorbell. Weird, no one was supposed to come over.

You [12:45] :

Hey anyone expecting someone today?

I thought the cleaner was supposed to come tomorrow?

After the quick texts, they didn’t answer and the bell rung again. So you took a look at the peephole, and found the person you didn’t expect standing in front of the door.

“BAEKHYUN!” you exclaimed.

“GIRLIE I MISSED YOU!” he then proceeded to hug you.

“What are you doing here?!”

Baekhyun let you go before answering, “Your boyfriends told me you needed company today!”

Ah, of course. The boys.

“They told me to come last week too, but I was busy so I couldn’t. I was so sad I couldn’t see you earlier. It’s been sooooo long!!” he explained.

You hugged once again, indeed, missing him. Before the shitshow happened, he was one of your closest friends other than the EXO, the boys’ band. You then told him you were meeting Yixing and he was more than happy to come with you.

So you walked with him to Yixing’s café. He started to talk about the things you missed out about him, like how he became the million seller with his last album, the first Korean solo artist to do so in 19 years (yes go off king), and some of the guys he dated. He also mentioned his plan to collab with Kyungsoo again and how he had high hopes about it, since the first made him got a best friend in the latter and also in you and the two others.

It took him about 10 minutes before asking, “So what happened?”

“Bad relationship, and like usual, they were there to pick up my pieces,” you answered with a sincere smile.

Baekhyun didn’t pry. And that was really what he really need to know. That you were okay.

15 minutes of walking and you finally arrived. And you didn’t even have to enter the café to find Yixing, he was standing on the entrance looking down to his watch and phone. He only looked over when you called his name, and you launched into each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he held you.

“Again, not your fault, and never will be.” You stepped back from him and introduced him to the other person. “This is Baekhyun, and this is Yixing,” you said to both and Yixing offered his hand. Baekhyun zoned out for a minute before shaking the other’s hand.

“Come in! And choose your favorite treat please!” the tallest welcomed you in.

After choosing the mouthwatering red velvet cake and rose tea for yourself, all three of you were seated in one of the tables.

“So I never knew you had a café,” you said to Yixing.

“You know I’m a sweet tooth. Once I’ve saved enough, this happened,” he gestured the café. “Have you been okay?”

“Yes, how ‘bout you?”

“Me? I’m okay. Well not really. I’m drowning in debts cause I made a leap of faith when this lot became available couple of months ago, so,” he laughed.

You laughed with him too, “Your parents are rich, Xing. You need to worry about nothing.”

“Exactly why I’m not depressed about the debts,” he paused to take a sip of his drink. “Is this one of the guys you live with?” he asked pointing at the guy sitting next to you, currently head deep in his strawberry watermelon cake.

You chuckled seeing Baekhyun’s excitement eating the treat. “No. He’s their friend though. Mine too.”

Realizing he was being talked about, he looked sheepishly to the both of you. “Sorry, this is really good,” he talked with his mouth full.

“By the way, where do you live? You said it’s not far?” Yixing asked you. When you told him the name of the building, his eyes widen. “No way.”

“What?”

“I live there too!”

“No way.”

“Do you live there too?” Yixing asked Baekhyun this time.

“Sadly, no.”

All of you ended up talking about music, with Baekhyun giving songs recommendation for Yixing to play in his café, most of them are his songs though. Not that anyone complained, his songs are bombs. Baekhyun also asked about business things, turned out he was thinking about opening up a clothes store for his brand.

“Sorry I have to take this,” Baekhyun said when his phone rang, and he walked out of the café.

“Does he know?” Yixing asked once Baekhyun left.

“A little bit.”

“The other guys?”

“They know.”

“Good. You need the support.” He paused again. “I’m really sorry though. I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“Like I’ve said over and over again, it is not your fault.”

“His mom called a couple days ago.”

Your breath hitched. “Why?”

“He’s been spiraling out of control.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “But why would she call you and not his friends?” They were friends yes, Yixing and your ex. But not that close.

“She asked my number around, knowing I know you, to ask me to tell you. She’s his mom but still a woman. She couldn’t ask you for this.”

“For what?”

“A call. To him.”

And this time you were sure you weren’t breathing. “What happened to him?” you asked him with your head hung low.

Yixing took your hand in his, “Drugs.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

He took a deep breath before continuing to explain, “He did drug business behind my back at the club, another reason I closed it down other than the fact that all the investors left after what happened. And the police knew. That’s why they tried to push you into suing him, cause they don’t have enough proof to put him behind bars. He never used them before. But his mom told me he’s been doing it. And she begged me to let you know, to ask you to call him. Just once, to tell him to stop.”

Your head fell again, you were holding back tears. You were afraid, of him. You were afraid of what he did to you and also about what would happen to him.

“You don’t have to do it, not after what he did to you.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” you replied weakly.

“Don’t think too hard. I don’t agree with this too. I only told you because his mom literally begged me on her knees to let you know. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

You just nodded. When Baekhyun came back, you tried to fake a smile and masked your feelings. After about another hour, with promises of visiting in the future, you left. As both of you walked out of the café, you turned to your side to the guy who spent the last hour staring at your friend, “You know, he’s gay, he’s single, definitely ready to mingle, and I also noticed his interest in you” you watched his eyes twinkled, “Go get that dick,” you lightly smacked his bottom as he blushed and walked in once again to face the guy behind the cashier. You saw them pulling out their phones, clearly exchanging numbers. “Happy?” you asked as Baekhyun came out smiling wide.

“I just got myself a sugar daddy, of course I’m happy!”

“Oh don’t even try. He’s my sugar daddy.”

“Honey, you already have 3, you don’t need more.”

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch | True Crime Television

by Don Hall

Traveling to Kansas for Christmas during a raging pandemic was a balancing act between stupid, reckless, and necessary.

Dana and I struggled with the decision. We spent Christmas last year at the casino I was working at and Joe came out from Chicago to play. I had to work, Dana and Kelli got a room at the West, and we FaceTimed with my family. It was weird. I had never, in my life, worked on Christmas Day. With a few notable exceptions, I had rarely spent Christmas Day apart from my family.

A couple of factors came in play when making the decision to travel to Kansas during a pandemic as the odds of contracting the virus increased by the day. 

First, my dad is in precarious health. A cancer in his marrow has been sitting quietly for years and is always a threat. In the past year, he has suffered kidney failure and is on dialysis three times a week. The idea that I would miss his last Christmas for almost any reason was horrifying.

Second, my sister's youngest son died this past April. We flew up and helped her for a week but this was the first Christmas she was to endure while still grieving. 

Yet there was this virus.

We decided that, if we were diligent about our masks and social distancing even within homes in Kansas, stay with my sister (who is a high school government teacher and has been online for months now), and make sure we were COVID-free before the trip, we were willing to take the risk.

It was worth it. As of this writing no one has the virus in my immediate family so we did our job and the trip was wonderful.

My sister, anticipating that Dana and I would be picky about what television we watched, binged on her favorite genre, True Crime. Turns out, Dana and I are just fine with True Crime, so we spent more than a normal amount of time watching salacious documentaries and dramatic recreations demonstrating the ugly face of human beings during a holiday known for its celebration of the best faces.

‌On the morning of July 13, 2011, 32-year-old Rebecca Zahau was found hanging naked and bound from her wealthy boyfriend’s Coronado mansion. Authorities were quick to rule the death a suicide, but strange clues found at the scene — including an eerie message scrawled in black paint on a nearby door — convinced her family that she had died by someone else’s hand.

When college-age men began showing up dead in bodies of water across the country, many of the deaths initially appeared to be accidental drownings. But a team of retired NYPD detectives led by veteran Detective Kevin Gannon believe there may be a more sinister explanation for the deaths after noticing in nearly all the cases smiley face graffiti has been found near the body.

In the dead of the night, eight people were shot “execution-style” in a brutal family massacre that left a small rural Ohio town reeling and questioning who could have carried out the cold-blooded murder of an entire family. For more than two years, they were no answers until a shocking series of arrests of another prominent family in Piketon suggested a possible growing feud between two families, who had once been close friends.

This stuff is grisly, man.

My mom and I used to have a disagreement about the nature of man. She believed that we are essentially good creatures who get seduced by the dark side. I believe that one afternoon spent with a two-year old tells the opposite tale. Children, when left alone, tend to be greedy, self-centered, narcissistic, violent. Adults are merely children who have learned to lie better about these innate impulses.

Spend a few hours watching true crime documentaries (and a few more hours watching public outrage videos) and its easy to see which narrative is more accurate.

One of the most erroneous concepts to follow these types of stories is that someone who murders his wife and kids, shoots up a school, kills her co-worker and stuffs pieces of the body in mason jars to be distributed through a gruesome Etsy store are insane. That these outliers are mentally ill.

I disagree. If horrifying behavior against our fellow humans is an indicator of mental illness, then we're all batshit crazy. Like the antiracism argument, if everyone white is racist regardless of actions or intent, then the term racist has no meaning (or at least no bearing on societal solutions). If everyone is nuts, then nuts is the default.

"That guy who got some trim and shot his wife in the head to get the comic book insurance is not normal" is a cop-out that lets the rest of us off the hook and creates a zone of denial surrounding our own behavior. These people aren't crazy, they simply thought they could get away with it like when you pilfered the stapler from your workplace or used your phone to take a covert photo of your sexy co-worker so you could go jack off to it in the stall of the McDonald's bathroom.

True Crime is not so much a genre of how terrible some people can be. It is a genre that acts as the mirror to society as it is rather than as we hope it is.

Traveling to Kansas during a global pandemic was insane. For all our justifications and precautions, we made the trip because we thought we could get away with it consequence-free, no more and no less.

Given that no one in my family throughout the holiday is suffering from COVID symptoms, we got away with it.

[stuckwith-harry]

Would you do 32, 42, and 44 for Harry and Ginny? Also 1 for Hinny as a couple? (If that's too many, feel free to pick just some of them to answer.)

i have never given a concise answer in my life and thus i present you with this monstrosity of a post. i had a good time and i am sorry.

1 what does their bedroom look like?

i imagine that, pretty early on in their careers, they’ve had to declare the bedroom a strictly work-free zone because it took over their personal lives hard and fast. (fuckin’ workaholics.) there might be the occasional daily prophet before bed (“it says here i’m having an affair with neville.” - “i thought i was having an affair with neville?!”), but other than that, they need to carve out a space for themselves that’s just theirs, and leave the rest of the world at the door, thank you very much.

in that sense, the bedroom is really simple. there’s traces of the twenty-something that lived here before they turned into thirty-somethings, forty-somethings: clothes piled up on the armchair in the corner, pictures from different decades. a window that overlooks the apple trees in the garden. (i’ll even throw in a little balcony, if we’re feeling fancy.) the only books on their nightstands are those read entirely for pleasure. their DA galleons in the drawers. diaries in ginny’s, eventually, when she starts keeping them again. entirely non-magical notebooks, picked up on muggle flea markets or in second-hand bookshops. hagrid’s photo album in harry’s. probably a foe-glass or a similar alarm system on his nightstand. just in case. other than that, it’s as distraction-free as possible.

massive king-sized bed because they’re both absolutely impossible sleepers. (harry: human-sized starfish. minimum of one arm and one foot dangling off the bed in mid-air. ginny: shameless blanket hogger. curls up like a cat. similarly nightmarish to disturb.)

i imagine the house a bit like an inversion of the burrow: it’s got a similar rustic country charm, similarly bustling, chaotic feel, but remained a relatively small cottage on the outside while the inside and backyard grew over the years to accomodate a) careers that require home offices and b) three to five kids. lots of wood. dark wood in the bedroom, i think. mismatched mugs and bedsheets and picture frames they’ve collected over the years. luna’s cuckoo clock. (see below.) yellow walls.

(three to five, because i’m counting teddy, and because i kind of like the thought of them having another one post-epilogue. at this point we all know how i feel about the probability of harry and ginny making an oopsie baby at some point in their lives (it’s 100%) and all three kids being at hogwarts seems like … plenty opportunity, heh.

actually, i don‘t know yet if i think baby number four would bean oopsie baby. i can see them coming home for a while after the epilogue, thinking about how quite the house has been.and hey, we always said three or four, right?)

anyway, this was an excellent excuse to look at pictures of english cottages on pinterest and i cannot thank you enough. moving on!

32 thoughts on material possessions in general?

given harry’s various “let me buy this solid gold item just for the fuck of it” incidents throughout the series, i don’t think he’d generally have a problem splurging occasionally if it’s something he really wants. (he stopped himself from buying that golden set of gobstones, i think, so he’d be sensible about it, but at this point, the man is swimming in money, so it’s not like he couldn’t.) you get the sense that he does, on a surface level, enjoy nice things. in moderation, but he does.

i see him splurging on the family home, because that’s actually valuable to him and, yeah, because he can. so, they’re not living in a castle or anything, but a nice, relatively spacious english cottage nonetheless. with a garden. see above. and he’d get himself a broom again, if just for family matches. (maybe ginny gets him that, i haven’t decided.)

but other than that … i don’t think there’s anything big harry would really want to own, or splurge on. he definitely doesn’t care for fancy clothes or expensive haircuts or anything like that (what’s that supposed to get him, anyway? reputation & status? because that’s so hard to come by for wizard jesus? who’s in the wizard fbi?). we know the family has a car in 2017, but like … can you see harry freaking potter rolling up to king’s cross station in a bmw? first of all, that’s a nightmare in central london, and more importantly, i think a big car would just remind him of vernon, so, hard no.

ginny’s a bit more cautious with her money, given the financial situation she grew up in, and while i imagine being a badass quidditch legend pays pretty well, old habits die hard. the stuff she does own, the stuff she buys, she’d probably hold onto pretty tightly and she’d probably only rarely buy something for the absolute hell of it. (like, i don’t really see ginny buying a solid gold anything. and no, i’m never letting him live that one down.)

but, even outside of buying stuff, they’re not that big on material things. there’s stuff that’s connected to memories, people, achievements, of course: brooms and photo albums and quidditch jerseys and trophies, and the bright blue cuckoo clock in the kitchen - luna’s moving-in present.

(that headcanon came from twelve-year-old me and i still cherish it deeply. it’s got a garden gnome on the inside that announces the hour the according amount of times. so at three, it comes out and shouts, “three o’ clock, three o’ clock, three o’ clock!”. you get it. ginny was delighted. hermione was aghast.)

as far as buying stuff and presents go, they’re more experience-type people. quality time. (a lot of tickets to quidditch matches, i imagine. three words: jocks. for. life.) you remember my workaholics comment from earlier - now hold on to that thought and think about harry and ginny trying to take a two-week holiday during that phase of their lives. lying on a beach somewhere. doing nothing. for weeks. it’d probably be really good for them, but they’d suck at it. so that leaves going somewhere together while someone’s babysitting the kids for a few hours. maybe a weekend getaway. i think that’s the stuff they’d splurge on more than material things.

(ginny does really love that world cup trophy, though. it’s displayed in the hallway. can’t miss it.)

42 hobbies?

one more time, with feeling: work-a-ho-lics. i don’t really … see them taking an awful lot of time for hobbies. they’d teach the potter kids quidditch over the holidays, sure, and i love the family quidditch games in the weasley’s garden, so that stays. saturday night, the whole family, multiple generations, show up at the burrow for dinner, and it usually ends in a very chaotic multi-generation quidditch match.

(one more time, with feeling: JOCKS. FOR. LIFE.)

44 religion?

alright, make me write a dissertation, i guess.

we know some … surface-level christian elements are common in the wizarding world - celebrating christmas and easter, that sort of thing, though it never seems to be done in a particularly religious context? hogwarts at large seems to celebrate christmas much like i have my whole life: it’s about the presents, the christmas tree, the baked goods and the family time, and that’s it. who’s this jesus guy?

(i grew up in a small town in southwest germany, in a predominantly christian environment, but my family itself is atheist as fuck. in short, because my parents are from east germany, which was pretty atheist in general, as far as i know. we did christmas for all the fun stuff mentioned above, but i have never seen either of my parents set foot inside a church.)

i … actually don’t know if the dursleys would have been religious (meaning harry would have grown up in a somewhat religious environment). i assume so, but i don’t know. any brits wanna weigh in on that?

given all that, i do what i do best and i just project my experience onto fictional characters, which in this case means they’re all non-religious but celebrate christmas for the fun parts of it. presents, cookies, decorating the christmas tree. the coca-cola christmas, if you will. that’s it.

[fmdjaewonarchive]

► reply.

date(s): 6 september - 23 september 2020 mentions of: charm (very brief but i thought it was fun to mention), @fmdsamsoo​ word count: +/- 1850 (minus lyrics) warnings: jaewon being gay tw details: fmdos2, the creative process behind reply, basically jaewon is really fucking gay, that’s the solo. i could’ve split this up into two solo’s probably but i like to have the whole creative process in one place plus i need to write about his performance still anyway. 

a part of jaewon still had a hard time puzzling together that somehow, someway he had actually managed to secure the first place last round. it was nice of course, alarm was an incredibly personal song to him and he didn’t know how his already brittle self-esteem would’ve taken the blow had he ended up in the bottom ranks but as nice as it was, it was still unexpected.

there was, however, no time to perfectly puzzle out how exactly he felt about the result, the bliss short-lived as he found himself back in the studio’s of dimensions entertainment mere days after, ready to do the whole circus all over again only this time with a much, much harder mission. colors were a vague concept to write a song around after all and a part of jaewon felt back in high school all over again, the familiar anxiety of receiving a very unspecific task that somehow had to fulfill the criteria set that were completely unknown to him. he didn’t like that gnawing in the back of his mind, having to second guess if maybe, he was interpreting this in a way that wasn’t expected of him.

if anything, jaewon felt lucky that he didn’t have to tackle the task alone (even if it still felt a bit like cheating) finding himself back in the studio with the same producer from before. jaewon kind of felt for the man, seemingly assigned to deal with him for however long his run on the show was gonna be.

“look who we have there, if it isn’t our big winner.” the producer greeted him enthusiastically and jaewon received the compliment with a hint of a blush and a quick bow of his head. “ah, thank you, but please the credit is just as much yours as it’s mine hyung, i couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

the man just shook his head. “always with the humility, enjoy a nice thing for once buddy, you’ve earned it.” he turned to the computer in front of him. “unfortunately, i don’t think we have much more time for pleasantries and celebrations, we’re short on time as always so what are you looking for?”

and that was the million dollar question wasn’t it. what was jaewon looking for? the color white, apparently. and someone in direct contrast with his last song. those two together meant something far out of his comfort zone. but truly, that wasn’t as telling as one would assume it was. truth be told, jaewon’s comfort zone was very small (both in terms of music and well… in general). most things were outside of his comfort zone.

“okay… so… remember what we did last time?” jaewon asked, more rethorical than anything yet still waiting for the producer to confirm with a nod. “forget all of that, we’re completely abandoning that. i need a complete 180.”

the look the producer shot him was one of mild despair and mentally, jaewon noted that after all of this was over, he owed the man much, much more than just a meal to thank him for all his efforts.

“i need something that doesn’t sound like anything i’ve ever done before. not by myself, not with my collaborations, not with unity, not even with champion. something people would never associate with me.” he elaborated further and the more he spoke, the more the other man seemed to form an idea.

“okay, that i can do. but tell me jaewon, do you think you can wave the brooding angsty vibe goodbye for one song?” it would’ve felt like a dig if well… the question wasn’t so valid. jaewon’s whole image was created around being dark and mysterious with a bit of a sexier push from dimensions. he could show up with a song completely different from that, but could he pull it off?

“yeah, yeah i can.”

when jaewon left the studio, it was with an instrumental filled with light-hearted, bouncing piano chords woven together with a deeper drum sound. he could work with this, he could make this work.

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

with kick it promotions wrapped up and little schedules outside of that, jaewon has plenty of time to withdraw himself in either one of the many studios of dimensions entertainment or the one back in his and soo’s apartment (the perks of both being involved in making music, a home studio was a must).

unlike for alarm, where jaewon had just forced himself to stare at an empty document until some semblance of an idea, this time the process was more guided. there was a lot of mood setting, browsing visuals of… white things. because that was the theme had to run with after all right, whatever that was supposed to mean. but also going through music, listening to songs much softer than what he was used to.

first just unity’s music, songs on their softer side. like touch for example, or 0 mile, but also a large chunk of their unity zone album (pandora’s box, daydream, love me now). none of them had the same playful edge the instrumental had, all on the softer side rather than the cute side but it was a step in the right direction. especially for jaewon who had always gravitated to the grittier, more experimental, noise-heavier sound of unity’s music. it was good to remind himself he’d done lighter before, that he could again.

it wasn’t just unity’s music though. jaewon doubted he’d ever listen to as much charm music as he did for writing this song.

so the first few studio days were spent spitting through reference material, both audio and visual, the most jaewon actually wrote a list of vague ideas, feelings, directions he could take the song in without, you know, actually writing lyrics.

the actual concept for reply came, funnily enough, completely by accident.

it’d been the fourth consecutive day jaewon had locked himself away in a recording studio in the company’s headquarters. it hadn’t been the plan to be away from home so much but he was on the verge of a breakthrough, he could feel it, all he did was try a little harder.

and still most of the day passed without much progress.

fine then, a small break was probably in place with how it had started bleeding into the evening already and jaewon retrieved his phone from wherever he had discarded it, not having looked at it for hours as he had been too busy with the creative process (even if, truly, he hadn’t achieved much).

unlocking his phone, he was immediately met with a row of text notifications, all from samsoo.

[ 09:16 incomming message : my universe ] i saw you already left, what time will you be home? [ 14:48 incomming message : my universe ] i’m going to get groceries, is there anything you need? [ 16:04 incomming message : my universe ] don’t overwork yourself jagiya [ 18:35 incomming message : my universe ] i’m assuming you won’t be home for dinner, there are leftovers in the fridge [ 19:22 incomming message : my universe ] just let me know what time you get home yeah? [ 19:59 incomming message : my universe ] jagiya?

of course, jaewon felt bad for leaving his boyfriend unanswered for so long, still, a part of him couldn’t help but smile fondly at the texts, warmth spreading in his chest at the concern, a feeling no one other than samsoo had ever been able to evoke in him.

that much had to be worth a song right?

jaewon could work with this, but of course not before responding to his boyfriend.

[ 20:31 outgoing message : my universe ] sorry, i lost track of time [ 20:31 outgoing message : my universe ] i just got an idea so it will be few hours still probably [ 20:32 outgoing message : my universe ] let me make it up to you tomorrow? no plans or anything, just us [ 20:33 outgoing message : my universe ] i love you, see you in a few hours

after that, his phone ended up back where it had been all those previous hours, after all, he had better things to focus on, like writing. he wanted a song that did justice to the happiness he felt whenever hearing from soo, how his heart felt lighter with every text message, every phone call from his boyfriend that had pretty much been dragging him through the workload that mainly had come with champion lately.

even two years into their relationship, their was a certain giddiness that came whenever his boyfriend’s name popped up on his phone, especially when the two of them were separated for a longer period of time.

it's a waste of time being alone and i'm waiting for your reply

the more lyrics he writes, the more he deviates from his original inspiration, somewhere along the line deciding to depict a relationship in its earlier stages rather than his own. as lovestruck as him and soo still were up to this day, jaewon had no doubts that he had been even more whipped, even more impatient to spend more time as a couple than he was today. this wasn’t supposed to just be about his relationship, it was supposed to have a universal feeling to it, something almost everyone could relate to.

i don't want to be alone let's just go out to the cafe on a day like this

it seemed a fitting theme for the color white, the excitement and eagerness of young love. of anxiously awaiting a text message even though you’d seen each other a few minutes ago, almost obsessively yet so innocent, so well-intended that it’s hard to attach a negative connotation to it. a helpless, awkward kind of impatience as you’re still figuring out the ins and outs of dating.

ya, what are you doing, except for me, call me what are you doing?

some more hours passed but eventually, jaewon finished the song a little before midnight. it was still a draft, some parts would undoubtedly have to be tweaked, words swapped out to be more fitting but it’s just fine-tuning, it can wait.

at the moment, jaewon just wanted to return home to soo with the same eagerness in his heart that he had just written down for reply.

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

(he did end up fine-tuning the lyrics but not until the 23rd, the day he went in for recording and producing the final version of the song. ideally, he would have waited with the final recording until after the demo performances the next day but with champion leaving for america almost immediately, there was no time for that, the deadline slated for when he would be in the state. this would have to do instead, trying to get done the majority of the work before he left and if anything needed to be changed after the demo recording, any unforseen feedback, suggestions of criticism, jaewon would have to trust on his co-producer to take care of it. not that the thought worried him, the man was probably more skilled than he was anyway.)

[chuffyfan87]

Priorities. Part 1a

Cowritten with @fairheads. Set towards the end of series 32. What might have happened if the writers had let Chuffy talk through their issues like the adults they are...

-x-

Duffy sighed as she scraped the plate of cold food into the bin. He'd sworn he'd be home by 8pm. It was now almost 10pm. She understood that it would take a bit of time for Charlie to get back into the swing of being nursing manager again but it was getting beyond a joke! He hadn't finished a shift on time in almost two months and seemed determined to put them on opposing shift patterns so they barely saw each other. She was beginning to feel like his wife in name only.

Charlie scratched his head, looking at the clock he realised he’d missed dinner again. He sighed, he hadn’t meant to let her down but had been stuck late at the department again. He picked up his phone to call her.

She heard the phone ring but ignored it, turning the TV up until she heard it click over to the answer machine.

“Duffy? Duffy? I’m sorry love. I should be home in half an hour. I... I’ll see you then.” Charlie left a voice mail, wondering if she had purposely not answered.

"I'll believe that when I see it!" She muttered darkly from the sofa as she heard him hang up.

Charlie made it home just before 11pm, later than he said. He was tired and hungry after a long day at the ED. Opening the door, he listened for a moment trying to figure out whether Duffy was still up watching tv or whether she’d gone to bed. He’d hoped the former was the case, he felt like he hadn’t seen her properly in weeks.

The sound of the TV blaring out floated through from the lounge.

Standing in the doorway, he lent against it. “Hey...” He greeted her softly. She was curled up at one end of the sofa, covered in a blanket, her head resting on her arm.

"I see you remembered where you live..." She muttered, not turning to face him.

He was surprised by her cutting remark. “I’m sorry love.” There wasn’t much else he could say.

"You're always sorry. Doesn't change anything though does it?"

“No.” He sighed, internally berating himself. He didn’t want to fight with her, he needed her support but she needed him too and he wasn’t there. Taking his coat off, he walked through to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and opening the fridge.

"If you're looking for your dinner it's in the bin." She called through from the lounge.

He was again surprised by her unkindness, it wasn’t like her. He didn’t respond, instead he grabbed some bread and popped it into the toaster. “Can I get you a cuppa?” He shouted through.

"I'm on the early shift tomorrow, remember?"

Charlie had forgotten, his head was all over the place. “So no tea?” He confirmed with her.

The only response he got was a snort of derision.

Charlie sat down at the kitchen table with his toast and tea, he’d had the shift from hell and now his home was a war zone to top it off.

Duffy remained on the sofa, staring at the TV but not taking any of it in. If she was honest she hadn't really been paying attention since she'd turned it on earlier that evening.

Charlie finished his supper. How did they get to this, sitting in separate rooms? Never any time to properly speak? It worried him.

Hearing Charlie place his plate in the dishwasher, Duffy turned off the TV and prepared to head upstairs to bed.

Charlie turned and almost literally bumped into her in the hallway. “Sorry,” He apologised. “You off to bed?”

"Its almost midnight and I have to be up at 5.30am, what do you think?"

Charlie swallowed his words and looked down at his feet. “I thought we might have some time to talk...”

"Maybe you should have thought about that three hours ago." She retorted.

“It was a bad shift, I tried really hard to get back love.”

"Funny how I can always make it home on time but you can't..."

Charlie sighed and reached for her hand but she pulled away.

"I'm going to bed." She turned and began to head up the stairs.

“Duffy...” He tried, rubbing his neck. “Please, love...” He tried again, but she was gone.

He grimaced as their bedroom door was slammed shut.

Charlie sat on the sofa alone, he was finding his new role difficult and he found it impossible to time manage effectively. He wrapped himself in the blanket, it smelled like her.

Duffy sat on their bed feeling utterly ridiculous for sulking like a child but she'd had enough.

Neither one of them moved, they were both stuck in their private hell, above and below each other.

After several minutes had passed, Duffy stood up from the bed and quickly got undressed, throwing on an old pair of pjs before climbing under the duvet.

Charlie fell asleep on the sofa, waking up an hour or so later, cold and stiff. He climbed up the stairs, unsure whether he should sleep in the spare room or not.

He tentatively pushed open the door to their bedroom. Duffy was curled up under the duvet, turned away from the door.

His bedside lamp was on and a fresh glass of water sat beside it along with his heart medication.

Charlie smiled when he saw what she’d done. It was something she’d done every night since they’d been together, but he hadn’t expected her to bother tonight - she was so cross with him. He got undressed as quietly as he could, trying not to wake her. Swallowing his tablets, he carefully got into bed and turned the light off.

Staring at the wall in the darkness she waited to see what he planned to do next, if he was serious about wanting to talk.

Charlie tried not to move at all so he wouldn’t wake her, she’d been pretty clear about her early shift and he didn’t want to piss her off any more!

After a few minutes she couldn't help but sneeze, giving away the fact that she was indeed still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispered, rolling over to face her.

"Hmm..."

He reached for her hand.

She didn't pull away from his touch, instead just leaving her hand resting limply on the bed.

It was unlike her to be so unresponsive. “Want to talk?” He tried.

"Unless that talk includes you saying that you're sorry for being a totally crap husband recently and intend to do much better and actually mean it then no."

“Duffy...” He tried to get her to look at him.

"I'm starting to feel like I saw more of you when I lived on the other side of the bloody world!" She continued, still not rolling over to face him.

“Please turn over...” He urged, placing his hand on her hip.

She huffed and finally rolled over.

Charlie tenderly brushed her hair out of her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. “I’m so sorry Duffy, I’ve got this all wrong.”

"So you get that you have to actually put effort in to make a marriage work then?"

“I don’t want to lose you.” He stumbled over his words.

"I don't want to be taken for granted." She sighed.

“I thought I could do the job easily, thought it would be like putting on old slippers but everything’s taking me so much time. Tonight I really tried to get home in time to have dinner with you but it just seemed to be one thing after another. I didn’t mean to not have time for you. I’ve been really shit haven’t I?”

"I understand that it'll take you time to get back into the swing with the nursing manager job but why put us on opposing shifts? It's like you don't want to spend time with me." She sighed.

"The idea was that it would give us more time together." He sighed, “I guess I got it all wrong... I’ve been such an idiot.” He seemed genuinely remorseful.

"We promised each other that things would be different."

“I know and I want to work on us. I can do better. Can I try and make it up to you?”

"Depends what you had in mind."

“Anything... I’m sorry for being a totally crap husband recently and I intend to do much better and I actually mean it.” He echoed her earlier words.

"I understand your work is important to you, it's important to me too, but you need to remember that you have a life outside of that hospital."

“A very good life with a very wonderful woman...”

"Who doesn't appreciate being second best."

“Can you forgive me? Let me make it up to you?”

"You can try..."

“I’ll try to make sure I get home earlier and try to swap so we’re on same shift for a start. I want to prove to you that you’re the most important thing to me, can I do that?”

"Its a good start."

“How else I can I make it up to you?”

"You keep saying I'm special to you but actions speak louder than words."

“Point taken. Can I kiss you?”

"I suppose..." A small smile was slowly creeping onto her face.

He held her cheek, leaning in to kiss her softly. “I’ve missed you.” He whispered, kissing her again.

"I've missed you too. This bed is awful cold without you."

Charlie nodded, “I know and for a moment earlier I thought I should go sleep in the spare room but then I saw you’d put my meds and water out and I thought what am I playing at? I have this beautiful woman who has the biggest heart who still loves me even though I’ve been a complete idiot. And...” He was still rambling, when she kissed him.

"You are a complete idiot but you're my idiot."

“I’m glad you still think so... I’m really sorry about dinner, I was going to pick us up some wine and I’d planned having a lovely evening with you, showing you that you are important to me and then everything that could happen, happened and the clock was just ticking. I felt awful.”

"I'm sorry I threw your dinner away."

“I don’t blame you, it’s not like it’s the first time this week is it..?”

"Still... It was quite childish of me. I shouldn't be throwing temper tantrums like that at my age." She blushed.

“I think I deserved it. Thank you for talking to me.”

"I don't like going to sleep on an argument."

“It didn’t look like you were getting much sleep. It’s your shift soon though...”

"I fell asleep on the sofa earlier waiting for you to arrive home and its thrown me off."

“Wide awake now? Did you worry I wasn’t going to come back at all?”

"A couple of times you haven't."

“I know... I’m not proud of that. The thought of you all on your own here, when I should be with you...”

"I'm used to being on my own but I never thought you'd treat me like that."

Charlie felt ashamed of his behaviour. “Me neither...” He mumbled.

"You were there through it all, saw the crap I went through..." She sighed.

He nodded, “I know...” He ran his hands through his hair, he was uncomfortable with the guilt he felt.

There was an awkward silence between them for several minutes. "How did we end up in such a mess?" Duffy sighed, finally breaking the silence.

“I don’t know but it’s all my fault.”

"How about we both try harder? Both at work and at home."

Charlie nodded. “I might need a hand at work...”

"I've been waiting for you to ask."

“It’s all got a bit on top of me. I could do with some help...”

"So what do you say..?" She teased.

“I’ll try harder, I promise.” He smiled at her.

"A simple 'please will you help me?' would have sufficed."

“I think I can cope and then it all becomes a bit much and I’m not very good at asking for help. Please will you help me?”

"Yes I will help you, you silly, stubborn old man!" She chuckled softly.

“I’d appreciate that. And please will you tell if I’m getting this wrong again? You are the most important thing to me, I don’t want to upset you."

"OK. I will try."

“Time for a cuddle?” He asked.

"I suppose you've clawed your way far enough back into my good books..." She smiled.

He smiled, “I’m trying!”

"Very trying at times..."

He laughed, “Come here you... We haven’t had a hug in ages.”

She sighed contentedly as she shuffled over and he wrapped his arms around her.

He kissed her head as he held her in his arms. “I love you Mrs Fairhead and I’m really am very sorry.”

"It still makes my heart skip when you call me that." She admitted shyly.

“Mine too, which is why I know I’ve been a bloody idiot and I need to make it up to you.”

"Well you talk a good talk, now you've just got to back it up by walking the walk."

“I will. You should probably get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

"Yeh, sleep deprevation and twelve hour shifts don't mix well..." She yawned.

“Tell me about it! Night darling.”

Despite it only being a few hours til she had to get up for work Duffy slept better than she had in weeks. When her alarm woke her she was surprised to find Charlie also awake and a tray of breakfast waiting on the bedside table.

“Morning beautiful,” He smiled, as she stretched and groaned.

"What are you doing up?" She queried.

“I wanted to make you some breakfast before your shift?”

She tilted her head. "Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" She giggled.

[djgamek1ng]

Log Horizon: To Fade Away (OC story) - Chapter 2

The gang woke up, headed down for some breakfast and to discuss a plan of action for today. Duran was the first to wake up, then Sky not too long afterwards and Gaia woke up an hour afterwards. Both Duran and Sky saw that Gaia had it rough. Duran decided he would ask her about it later. Sky was worried that she might’ve had something to do with it, so she decided to not ask about it and hope it faded away sooner or later.

“So, what are we going to do today?”, Duran asked the other two after finishing breakfast. “Well, we probably should try out fighting monsters, right? After all, this is the world of an MMORPG, we’ll have to at least be somewhat used to combat, even if we won’t fully use it”, Sky replied. Gaia nodded and she said “Y-yeah, I can agree. Even if any of us decides to become a blacksmith or something, it is still important for us to get used to fighting.” “Alright then. Might as well get a feeling for how tanking works in this body instead of behind the computer screen. Let’s take stock of our supplies and gear, so that we know what to get or replace before we head out”, Duran said. The other two agreed and the three of them went to look at the stores. It was chaos. Adventurers screaming at People of the Land, People of the Land being scared and intimidated by Adventurers. It became pretty clear to the party that they weren’t gonna get anything out of this, since the chaos wasn’t looking to slow down anytime soon. The party instead decided to head out of Akihabara and into the combat zones.

They found some lower level monsters of level 27 to level 32 to practice on in the forest after about an hour of traveling. “Okay, so to go over this one more time so I’m sure, this is the plan: Duran attracts the monsters and walks towards here, then me and you, Gaia, come to support him and defeat the monsters. That’s about the gist of it, right?”, Sky asked. “Y-yes, that should be basically everything”, Gaia responded. “Keep in mind that if I run straight back that I wouldn’t be able to get the aggro of all the mobs immediately, so don’t quite immediately start unleashing big skills”, Duran chimed in. “Right, right. So wait a bit before actually striking the enemy. Should be simple enough”, Sky said. “Alright, let’s do this”, Duran said before he unsheathed his sword and went running in.

He had run ahead and at about 5 meters away, he swung his sword while yelling “Spiritual Wave!”. A light-yellow glow was around his sword and it released into a wave of divine energy when he swung his sword. It hit the mobs and they started running towards Duran. He started running back and communicated over the telepathic communication system of the game towards the girls. “2 Brier Weasels, 1 Goblin Scout and 3 Kobold Mages are running after me”, he communicated. “Alright, so we should take out the Scout first”, Gaia said. “Yes and leave that to me!”, Sky responded. The Goblin Scout shot at him a couple times, with a few of them hitting. “Agh! T-that is gonna sting… I’m down to 5000 HP”. He reached the designated spot and he used ‘Aura of Hate’, followed up by another ‘Spiritual Wave’, to make sure all the enemies where focused on him. “Okay, they are ready to go! Let them have it, you two!”, Duran yelled out. Sky and Gaia ran out from their hiding. Sky went to attack the Goblin Scout. “X-Cross!”, Sky yelled out. With two quick swipes in the form of an X that both had a red trail, the Goblin Scout was destroyed and let out a spray of blood. “Healing Light!”, Gaia called out as she healed Duran. Duran, who was now surrounded by 2 Brier Weasels and 3 Kobold Mages, was fending them off the best he could. Some attacks got through, mainly the magic attacks from the Mages. It hurt, but not as much as he would’ve assumed. Especially not the piercing vines the Weasels were using. His HP was dropping quick though. When he hit 4500 HP, he activated ‘Divine Aegis’, which is a defensive skill that boosts the user’s physical and magical defense by a lot. The attacks were hurting less, and his HP dropped a lot slower. Gaia cast another spell, ‘Pulse Heal’, which put an effect on Duran that would trigger when his current HP was below half his maximum HP. When it triggers, it heals the person it is put on for a high amount.

Duran was attacking the monsters with his sword, before he saw a shadow appear behind one of the Mages and with two cuts in quick succession, one of the Mages fell down, dead. Sky had used her ‘Quick Step’ skill to come over and help. The two of them exchanged a quick nod to make sure the other was okay. Duran stabbed his sword into one of the Kobold Mages and it was quite hurt. In that motion of pulling back his sword, he stabbed his sword into the ground. “Holy… Explosion!”, he shouted. Around him in a radius, quick flashes of light appeared before they burst and made explosions of divine energy around Duran. This damaged all the monsters nearby, killing one of the Weasels and the Mage he had just stabbed. The attacks of the remaining Mages and the one remaining Weasel triggered the Pulse Heal. Gaia reacted to that by casting ‘Holy Bolt’, a magic attack that launched divine energy from her hand, at the Weasel. It hit and it was enough to kill it. The Kobold Mages went to attack Duran and as he tried to dodge one of the hits, he tripped and fell due to not being used to his smaller stature yet. Him tripping lead to him getting hit by both attacks, losing a chunk of damage. The Mages prepared for a quick follow up attack, but before they could launch it, Sky slashed the Mage that had the lowest health twice and used ‘X-Cross’ to defeat the other one.

With the encounter out of the way, they went to look for a safe place to rest up for a bit. It took a bit, but they eventually found a spot to sit down for a bit. Duran was a bit worn out from the battle, but he was mostly okay. Sky was also doing pretty good, though she was a bit shaken. Gaia was very visibly shaken by the battle. Duran and Sky both noticed it. “Hey, are you okay Gaia?”, Sky piped up. “…T-this is battle in this world, huh?”, she replied.

S: Yeah… it is kind of weird and it feels pretty bad to have to actively attack another creature. G: Y-yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that… It honestly i-is kind of harrowing. S: How are you holding up Duran? D: Weirdly… I’m doing fine. Adrenaline is pumping, but outside of that I’m not really shaken up. S: Huh, maybe you just have an affinity to combat. D: Could be yeah. G: I-I wish I could be like that. D: Heh, while I appreciate that, honestly it frightens me. G: H-huh, why? D: Well, it makes me worry about my lack of concern over killing things. Like, I know these are monsters that don’t really feel, but still. S: I guess that makes sense. Well, don’t worry for now. If you keep feeling that way after being in combat with actual people, then it starts to become real worrying. G: Yeah and we’ll be here to support you, no matter what! D: T-thanks, you two. S: Alright, let’s-

Sky was interrupted by a scream. Duran stood up immediately and drew his weapon, wary of it being more enemies. Sky jumped up and held her hands on her weapons as well. Gaia jumped up and started running in the direction she heard the sound in. “G-Gaia? Where are you going?!”, Duran yelled. “It was a girl’s scream, we gotta go help her!”, she yelled back. “O-okay!”, Duran said, and he started running after her. Sky followed as well without saying much.

[yourtransgendersocialworker]

12.31.2019, On an Inside Scoop of a Mental Health Crisis

I’ve been thinking, lately, about how a person who is in the middle of a mental health crisis may have a very different perspective than those watching. I wonder what it may look like when those who experience a crisis together debrief the sequence of events. I tried to piece together my memories of my last mental health deterioration and verbalize how I felt and what I remember.  I experienced the entire thing. 

Before the night, I had been bad off for a couple weeks. I had a few triggering events which led me down a shame spiral. Over the course of about two weeks, I started to lose touch with reality. I felt very confused and embarrassed. I was struggling to pay attention and I couldn’t remember anything. Bad thoughts ran rampant. The voice inside my head was loud, non-stop and confident with suicidal ideation. 

It started when I posted a Facebook status. It was cryptic and vague, something like, “I don’t belong here anymore.” I don’t remember much about that night anymore, but I can imagine what it might have looked like. I posted that status and then I paced around the house in a panicky daze. Pacing around the house in a dissociate state was becoming a nightly routine*. My mind was on fire, so loud and certain with bad thoughts. I was in so much pain. 

People reached out on Facebook, asking if I was okay, but I didn’t respond. It was comforting to see the love and support but it was too overwhelming to engage with it all. Ryan called me and I didn’t answer his call. Theo’s mom texted me after I was asleep asking if I was awake. I didn’t see that until the morning so I did not answer. When I woke up, my friend texted me asking if I was okay, saying they didn’t want to have to come over if I didn’t answer. I texted back saying I was okay and they got mad that I posted that status online. 

Later I wrote a blog journal about how bad I was feeling and I reflected on my poor decision to post that Facebook status. I wrote about how it felt to be told to not post shit like that, about how it hurt and about how I shouldn’t worry people. I quoted what the friend had told me but I didn’t say her name. I wrote that I agreed and I talked about the right and wrong ways to ask for help and how scary it is to ask for help. 

Meanwhile, I am still in the middle of a mental health crisis. 

I go to the therapist’s office on a Friday. I tell him how bad I am feeling and I tell him how I would want to die. He tells me I can’t leave his office until I make safety plans with him. I texted my friend asking if I could stay the night at their house, or if they or their boyfriend would come stay the night with me because I was in my therapists office and he wouldn’t let me leave. My friend stopped texting back when I asked that. I made plans with Ryan to meet halfway between us, in Lexington, Kentucky. We both drove around 5 hours and stayed in a hotel for the weekend. We played Bible golf. I told him my thoughts about mental illness as a terminal illness and he spent the weekend trying to convince me to stay alive. I was so sure of myself and referred to myself in the past tense. Ryan said he felt like he was already grieving my death. I was happy we could do that together. 

I saw that my friend deleted me from Facebook. My other friend texted me the next day saying they were glad I was able to make a different plan. My family here was suddenly gone. I just continued to spiral. I left Lexington still determined to kill myself. I made it about a week.  I went to work but I couldn’t work and people were taking me on walks and I talked openly to my coworkers about my suicidal thoughts. Words would pour out of my mouth before I processed them, startling the both of us. The coworkers started talking to each other. Gwen and I hid in my office for a couple hours while she gently warmed me to the idea of seeking help. I was determined to kill myself. I couldn’t think straight but I knew things were bad. I eventually agreed to go. We went to my house and prepared a bag and prepared me for what was next. Gwen took me to the crisis center and we joked about the decorations on the wall and she came back for the assessment and reminded me to tell them my theory on terminal mental illness. 

I got sent to the same hospital I went to the first time. Staff remembered me and I remembered them. I spent 32 days in the hospital watching people come and go, 32 very lonely days without many visitors. I recognized the hospital kinships as structured and contained. I tried my hardest to understand what exactly had happened up until this point. I couldn’t wrap my head around losing my friend family and I began to question everything. Was I toxic, causing more pain than pleasure in my relationships? Was I worthless, worth leaving when I needed help the most? The only relief from self-interrogation was the anxious peace of my impending death. I realized I was living my last days and that was comforting. I did 16 rounds of shock treatment and didn’t feel any different. 

I came back home and tried to piece my life together. Nothing had changed. I couldn't trust myself or anyone else. I still had no idea what was real and what wasn't real. I still didn’t understand what warranted the abrupt abandonment of my support network. I read a lot of books and prepared myself for death. I stopped telling people my plans. I did research. I cried hysterically to the Nurse Practitioner and she hugged me and referred me to an outpatient program.

I started intensive outpatient treatment and I told them about my terminal mental illness and they cried and increased my time to partial hospitalization. I made a couple friends and got along well with the staff. I made connections and I made granola and I made a mask. It felt good but I knew it wasn’t the real world. I talked a lot about suicide and the therapist tried to respect my thoughts while also trying to convince me to stay alive. I thanked the therapist for trying so hard and I told them how I was going to kill myself. People reminded me that a couple weeks ago I said I was doing okay but I couldn’t remember that. 

I started back at work. I didn’t arrange any more therapy. I have done enough and I know another person isn’t going to change my life. I am here now. I am tired. I sleep most of the day. I don’t move very much at all. I worry that my friends feel obligated to reach out to me. I want to be a kind friend but I don’t want to spread my dark energy. I am more calm than usual. I'm moving a lot less so there is less about my reality to question. I still feel the same. I'm not talking about it as much because there is no point.

————

Since writing that last paragraph, I was in a bad car accident. The morning after, I called the numbers I had memorized, my mom, Ryan and Theo, to ask for help getting a ride home from the Emergency Room. I was covered in blood and positioned casually in the waiting room for someone to come claim me. My supervisor picked me up and I vomited in her car and dribbled blood onto the passenger door. Friends showed me they cared for me. Kiley drove from Illinois and stayed with me over Christmas. Her presence in the midst of my hardest time reaffirmed my ability to connect and share loving-kindness. The news of a suicide brought reflection and pain. The lens shifted. 

2019 was incredibly hard. It’s right up there with 2009 as the hardest times so far. I’ve learned a lot about family- the word, the concept, the reality. I’ve learned about true friendship and true love. I’ve learned I’m not always to blame. I’ve learned that despite all of the dark, I am still filled with love. I’ve learned that growth isn’t a synonym for progress. You can grow into an ugly thing. I know one thing to be true- I have not turned ugly.

This decade tried its hardest to destroy me and towards the end, I eagerly chipped in. I’m not one to hold weight to the date changing, but it feels like the right time for me to try again. 

_____

*Try to explain the spiral of depression and dissociation. 

It usually starts with feeling ashamed or embarrassed about something.

You come home from work and you start to panic. You think to yourself, “Be gentle with yourself. If you’re tired, just sit on the couch.” You sit on the couch and feel like a waste for not being productive. Your mind is on fire and you can’t think about anything. You are overwhelmed with static noise. Your legs shake and you scroll through your phone so much that it tells you there is nothing left to look at. You start to think about dying. You get up but you don’t know what to do so you smoke a cigarette and look at your unfinished projects. You wash your hands and stumble back to the couch, the cigarette being just enough of a distraction to trick you into thinking you actually did something. You zone out. You watch the house dirty around you, let things pile up. You start to move through space differently. The air feels thick and your body moves in slow-motion. You start to feel like you are looking at a “Magic Eye.” Your eyes are out of focus all the time and they blur and shift throughout the day. You cry often and uncontrollably. It does not feel like a release, but like you are made of clay and you are cracking. You realize you’re not paying attention to anything anymore. You think about killing yourself every free second you have. You think about the act of killing yourself, you think about your funeral, you think about your dog, you think about your family and your friends. You think about everything you’ve done in the world. You think about everyone you love. You think about the idea of a good future. You know what you’ve got to do. You think things through and come to the same conclusion after each hypothesis you try out. You can’t hear your friends speaking to you anymore because you are thinking through everything. People are talking to you but you are wild inside and trying to hide it as best as you can but you can't hide your suicidal ideations when you are telling everyone goodbye. You surprise yourself with the things you let pour out of your lips. You aren’t answering messages anymore. That's too much. You feel a sense of peace and determination. You know you need to be brave and you are worried about that. And that is where it whisks off.

[idombledore]

How to lose 30 kilos in 6 months and love every minute

Part 1 > Revelation in France Three years ago, my wife and I decided to call time on our marriage. It was a sombre final chat in the kitchen, sharing the last bottle we might ever share. We were sad but it made perfect sense. We’d tried. My wife said she’d move out down to her parent's house in the country and she asked me what I'd  do, I picked something random from the top of my idiot head and said “Spain.” “Spain?” she said and “Spain” I repeated. No idea where it came from. Maybe I just wanted my departure to be more triumphant, a little more exciting than moving in with parents. Whenever we’d have a fight, that’s what she’d do. I'd run my consultancy for twenty odd years and over that twenty odd years, my role had evolved into taking clients to lunch, dinner, shows and spectacles.  Nice if you can get it but it took its toll on my fitness. By the time I drove off to the Channel Tunnel, I was eighteen stone and I hadn't played a meaningful game of football in years. For some reason, a revelation always hits me a while after the event, more autopsy than eureka. Something that seemed so clear suddenly fogs up in deference to the new truth. Of course she was right, idiot. You always knew that. “If you can’t respect your own body,” she said. “How can anyone else?” And there it was. Respect your body. Respect your mind. Fitness. Breathe new air. Everything is going to change. If my automated blurting of “Spain” was taking me to Spain, then let it be Spain. I would return  triumphant, slim, toned and sleek and everyone would say how awesome and happy and better-without-her I was. I was more than halfway from Calais, driving to a small French town called Île de Ré, an island off La Rochelle on the West Coast. I remember the exact spot because the signs had shown their first direction to Le Mans. From that sign, 300km shy of my target, facing three more driving hours, I lost a lump of time I can’t account for. The next thing I knew there were signs for La Roche Sur Yon. I remembered it from my planning stage because it was pretty close to where I was headed. The sat nav confirmed I was suddenly only an hour from Ile de Rey in what seemed like a blink. I couldn't tell you why it happened and I have no idea what, if anything, I was thinking in the missing time. What I can tell you is the clarity on the other side. My new start. My new energy. My mission. Maybe the universe had supplanted a new person into me. Maybe it took me time to reboot. It felt like it. At that moment, I couldn’t possibly have imagined anything else. I’d booked a little room overlooking the harbour at Le Colonnes. I was soon checked in and I unloaded laptop and cables to start the mission I hadn't quite fleshed out yet. 6 foot 1. 18 stone. I fumbled my finger over the Body Mass Index chart, into the blue, sailing past green and into the orange, and just before getting into the red, there it was. My number. My target. 32.  I was actually clinically obese. I needed to be 24 to fit into that little green zone of health and fitness. 25% of my bodyweight was surplus. This was a holy **** moment as I pulled back from the screen. I closed the laptop and swore foulness on that 25%. My mission had shown its numbers and my plan had started. That night would be the finest French cuisine a man can enjoy and the next day, everything would change. Part 2 > Mission Planning I woke up remembering Le Skipper in the harbour, the fillet steak with crushed pea purée and dauphinoise potatoes that would serve as my turning point.Something I wouldn’t deserve again until my mission was accomplished. I was still buzzed. Normally, revelations are flushed with the first order of the day but not this one. The morning  after a revelation is a test of human willpower. If you fold at such an early point, there is literally no hope for you. If the stakes are this important and you fold, you, my son, are an idiot. As one lady said to me more than once, “It’s not a rehearsal, boy.” I wasn't sure if I was still an idiot or not yet as all manners of sweet and savoury things greeted me in the  breakfast room at the hotel. Bacon, eggs croissants, jam, cheeses and hams, but hang on, my eyes focused on something else, like they were being moved by another force. The fruit section. Normally I'd  be starting a three course mini marathon under the guise of getting the day some energy. Today though, I took a little bowl and filled it to the top with melon and orange, mango, cherries and all colour of things and I sat down with orange juice and looked over at big people and little people, busy people and relaxed people. I knew I was on a different level to them, just for now, in the light still shining on me. Your willpower gets a serious shot in the arm. I had more research to do about the exact food groups I'd  need but I knew this was right. Then the first glimmers of insubordination popped up briefly and reminded me that I had a fallback and that fallback was called lunch and every day I had a fallback plan to the next meal. Maybe fruit wasn't enough, surely a bit of bacon and cheese? No, fuck off, I said, turning a head or two in the dining room. I gestured an apology and then I smiled at the last cherry in my bowl. I munched that little cherry up. There would be no bacon or cheese. Those dark little glimmers were crushed and squished and left pleading as I got up and left the room. I was smiling as I approached Bordeaux. Today's destination was about six hours over the Pyrenees to Pamplona in northern Spain. This is where they do the bull run every July. Basque country, and the Bordeaux signs told me I was about a third of the way there. The night before had included two bottles of Fitou. Le Skipper was quiet and the staff had time to chat. After dinner, I was pretty much the only punter there so they wrapped it up and took me to Bar Kokot with their Austrian Rum. So, there hadn’t been time to do the work I needed but what a fine farewell to my old life. Yet another sign flashed my licence plate and said I was going too fast and I anticipated a box full of speeding tickets waiting for me whenever I got back to London. But I didn't care. I couldn't wait to get to Pamplona and get the laptop out, make my plan. A few hours later I was in my room at the Pamplona Catedral Hotel doing just that. I already knew how much weight to lose. Thirty kilos, almost 5 stone. One of the first results, I found out about the Okinawa diet. Okinawa, a little island off the south of Japan has the longest living humans on the planet. Taxi drivers are ninety years old and still dance. People eat whatever grows near them and that’s it. One photo I saw was of an elaborate table. You could sit about ten people round it. The table was a tea making machine. A few strips of bamboo were hooked up to an inlet and brought mountain spring water into the table. Most of the water would trickle out and continue down the mountain, unsure of why it had been put through the bother,  but when you turned a little handle, the water would be diverted around a spaghetti of pipes and on towards the bowels of the table. It would slip and slide through channels lined with fresh tea leaves and elements gradually heating it up as it travelled. Turn one of the eight  little taps under the  table edge and you have a steaming cup of the freshest tea. So, the fine people from Okinawa told me how you could eat perfectly well and get everything a body needs. And you didn't need meat or anything processed to do it. My first culinary casualties. I also learned that my whole eating schedule had been wrong all my life. The best way to do it is to eat small but eat often. I'd  been so proud of myself some days when I was too busy to eat anything and had six tons of dinner at about 9pm. Wrong. The body is a sensitive little baby. If it doesn't get fed often enough it throws its toys out the pram and truly believes it’s starving. It then converts what you do eat into fat, sensible storage for a rainy day when maybe you do starve. How a brain can fail to tell a body that it’s ok, no-one's going to starve is beyond me but apparently it does. So, by the time I'd  showered and got ready to see what this former bastion of the Roman empire had going for it, I had successfully mapped out my new diet. And it was all the stuff I like to eat anyway. I'd  start with some fruit, in deference to the first successful morning. Then give it a couple of hours and a little low fat cottage cheese on a wholewheat crispbread, and a few crushed walnuts sprinkled on it. Before what was probably the main mini meal of the day, about two o'clock, it was exercise. My wife’s brother had told me the body prefers to exercise then eat as it’s still burning, rather than the other way round. Maybe A little tuna steak with bok choy, a bit of spinach, greek yoghurt and some kidney beans or chickpeas. Amazing things chickpeas, fibre and protein all in one little pill. It wasn't a problem designing these mini meals, the problem was there was too much choice. If you're going to have pasta, have wholewheat pasta. If you're going to have rice, have wild rice or brown rice and not too much of either. Your 5 or 7 a day is so easy to achieve and better. Let your milk be zero fat milk, let your greens be asparagus, broccoli, kale, spinach, artichoke, sprouts and bok choy. Eat nuts, almonds, walnuts. Eat pulses. Kidney beans, chickpeas. Prefer fruits of the forest over others, raspberries, blackberries and the like. Loads of antioxidants. And let your booze be anything but beer, predominantly white wine and a glass of red a day comes straight from the doc. All the stuff I already knew. Lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, celery, onion, garlic. Jesus I could do a meal planner for a month without getting bored.   This was going to be tasty. I could still love my food but carry that aloof grin that comes with a man shedding timber and having fun doing it. I'd  know exactly how many calories came with each mini meal and how much exercise to do to burn them off. The laptop was closed up and my phone map and I set off to explore Pamplona. The city is called Iruna in the native Basque language and there was an ever-present but subtle show of the independence from Spain the Basque people had been after for a long time. Basque flags were draped over balconies and stuck on cars but a local told me, do not take a flag out in public or you’d get carted off. One local comedian had added a bit of graffiti to a low wall, poorly translated as “Anything but a free state is just a load of bulls.” Back in the hotel room, I tackled the exercise aspects. Swimming would always figure, especially in Spain, but what else? Running can be high impact, shin splints and the like. It would be rowing. It’s got everything, loads of muscles getting tickled gently, great cardio and hang on here we go, I can get a machine for the house for a couple of hundred euros. I'd join a kayak club or some such but winter was on its way and even the Spanish winter doesn't lend itself to being in the sea. And that was it, a meal for all moods and occasions and an all year round exercise regime. When it was too cold to swim, double up on the rowing. Just make sure you get in some form of water as soon as you finish exercising to loosen up your muscles. I also learned how little anyone should need a gym (apart from my little rowing machine of course). We really do have everything we need around the house. First of all, a running machine? What? Just run around the block. If you want to run uphill, run uphill. Muscle tone is also important. If you’re shedding tonnage, you want the tonnage that’s left nice and tight. Push ups, pull ups, weights, dips, pec toning, ab toning and your core. You can pull up on anything, a couple of chairs, backs together, get your balance and you’re away. Climb something. I'd  start slow. An hour on the rowing machine, weights and core stuff and finally fifteen minutes of laps in the pool. It was all mapped out. That evening, I sat down in a little restaurant I’d spied earlier, down some steps to a little square, live jazz music in the middle. The menu didn’t have much of the stuff I needed and I’d definitely give the “grosse crevette” and “assaulted pasta” a swerve.   I wondered if this would be a problem going forward. I remembered many menus and I wasn’t sure many of them were fit for my new purpose. But then I saw the celery and walnut salad. Fine, little glass of chablis to go along and everything was still on track. Part 3 > Execution The next day around four o'clock, I arrived at my final destination. A little town called Javea, a hundred kilometres south of Valencia. Look at Spain. There’s a little nose about two thirds down the east coast. Tip of that nose. That’s us, pressed against the sea by the mountains. It felt like its own little island.   First priority after wandering around was the supermarket. Go get the super foods. My place was in Cabo la Nao right up on the point near the lighthouse. My mission hadn’t been created when I booked it, but with my new mission head on, the remoteness of my location would be a good thing. When I went outside to get back in my car, I was reminded it had just carried me from London to south east Spain. Over those 1800 miles, the front of the car had accumulated a second skin of unfortunate insects. Insects of all shapes, colours and sizes had become one single cloak of wonder food for any bird that took a fancy. And they did. A feeding frenzy was underway and even this one approaching human and a mystery cat that seemed to appear from nowhere couldn’t scare them off. They each had an allocated section of bodywork to pick at and they did well but still couldn’t get it all off. The earlier casualties were part bug, part Audi. The nearest supermarket was down in the Cala Blanca bit and was called Consum. It was the strangest supermarket shop I'd  ever done. A hundred euros of good healthy stuff. I'd  never put walnuts in a shopping cart. But I carried the same internal smugness of someone whose every passing minute is making them healthier than everyone else. It was a hot day and I knew if I didn't get it all fridged up quick smart, for the whole six months here, there would be a sea bass, salmon, octopus and monkfish essence in my car. The pool was warm enough not to have to thrash around like a perishing salmon and it was my first test of where I was fitness-wise. It was a fifteen metre pool. Breaststroke was the best all round stroke for  what I was after so I took off up and down. I'd  have to do this for at least 30 minutes every day so how close was I? I managed about 15 minutes and thought it was a good start for day one. My own salmon was ready to go under the grill and I was hungry. Baby steps. The house and garden had to provide me with my makeshift gym. Soon, I had two sturdy wooden outside chairs back to back for pull ups, a couple of buckets from the gardener’s shed filled with pool water. The rest would need no props. The push ups over there next to the pool and that little wall would do the ab stuff. Suspend myself on it and hold myself there for ten seconds, ten second break, repeat until knackered.   I had a little go at all my disciplines. The props held up just fine and my routine was set. There was only one thing missing and it would be the majority of my cardio workout. The rowing machine.   In five days time, it would be on my doorstep. I carried on with my eating regime and stepped up the swimming and workout aspects and on day five, the rowing machine arrived. It was lovely and orange and it went right where I hoped it would, between two columns on the terrace. Then I suddenly realised, apart from the supermarket on day one, I hadn't been out yet. The days had been formed around my mini meals and exercise and going out didn't sound as healthy as staying in. But I had to prove to myself I could carry on the mission in or out. That night, I did go out, met some nice folks, Lee and Tracey from Southend and a drummer called Hector, saw a band and drank white wine and had lubina a la plancha,  grilled sea bass, asparagus and a few slices of grilled aubergine, every so slight drizzle of local honey. My taxi got me home at a reasonable hour and I got out without that heavy feeling I’d get when I went out back home. Always too much beer and always too much red meat. I took a quick stroll round my makeshift gym and my new rowing machine and then slept better than I had for ages. Tomorrow, a full programme for the first time. The rowing machine soon got me sweating. The readout was like trying to wish away the miles in the car, watching calorie after calorie clock away, minute after minute. The machine was fine, nice and easy, smooth strokes, keep your back straight. Pretty soon I'd  done my hour and I took a break for water. The weights and pull up and everything else was becoming faster and I was doing more of them. By the time I got into the pool, I was feeling muscle burn and my heart felt reawoken. With the help of a great little tool called Supertracker, I had it all mapped out. Today I would eat 1200 calories and  burn off 2000. And so it was for the next couple of weeks. The cats started popping in to see what this strange noise was an hour every day and soon they stuck around for some cheeky tuna and I had one or two pusscats to talk to while I worked out. The hour a day on the rower needed a bit more entertainment than the readout. By now I knew my pace and you just have to finish the hour come what may. Being in my own head was amusing enough but I needed a bit more autopilot. The laptop was enlisted to provide comedy shows and every so often, this Spanish course I was taking. The hour started to go by like the missing time I'd  felt in La Roche Sur Yon. I was doing more miles to the hour, I was doing more laps in the pool and I was looking forward to every stage more and more. Pretty soon though, the pool became unswimmable so I got a wetsuit but that only really extended it a few weeks. My regime changed and I doubled up on the rowing. My daily meal plans were sometimes not planned, just cobble together the right food groups in the right quantities. Some of the taste combos were worth jotting down, others didn't really work but still, the scales in the bathroom were starting to show results. I'd got down to 100 kilos from 108 in the first 3 weeks. I couldn't believe the progress. I was never hungry, I felt great and the pounds were escaping with ease. I'd have this done in a few more weeks. I started a weight chart and logged as much as I could, something to be proud of. Then the rate of weight loss slowed. I checked the scales. How could doing exactly the same thing every day cause a different result? I changed the scales so that it seemed more of a dramatic reduction. A bit more research told me the scales were fine, the programme was fine. It’s just the first bit of weight drops off you because you're reducing your water retention. After that, you work just as hard for half the initial result. And don't forget, the programme is increasing muscle mass as well, which weighs more than fat. That's fine. So be it. This was the realistic rate. Months not weeks. And I was enjoying it. I was enjoying succeeding, winning. This wasn't so hard. A couple more weeks went past and still the pounds tumbled. Sometimes the reductions were erratic, same programme, 2 pounds off one day, half a pound off the next. I didn't really need to know why as long as the weight kept dropping. The thing was, I had been looking at myself in the full length mirror by the door every day after my workout before the shower and I still didn't look any different. I knew all the machinery and logic associated with my mission couldn’t all be wrong at the same time so I was pretty sure there would be a decent reason for it and so there was. What you’re doing initially is sorting out your core. That’s where you’re losing the initial weight and water. Your core is what’s getting beefed up and fit, out of sight. It made sense enough to a layman but you still like to see changes. And then it happened. My jeans had been feeling a little looser than normal for a few days and then I realised I needed the belt in another hole. There it was, the first sign. I couldn't confirm it from the mirror but this was incontrovertible. Maybe it was something psychosomatic in my head showing me something, but soon after that, I started to see some definition around my middle, not so much abs per se, just prepping the ground for them. The pounds kept shedding off my weight chart. I will freely admit, I did have one or two blowouts, the need for a kebab and a cold beer, and I knew the numbers would show it, but I was now not actually fitting into trousers and shorts and some shirts looked like nightdresses. I needed healthy persons clothes. I have never felt so happy about an impending cost. I looked good, like I did in my 30s. By the time four months had passed, my target of 80 kilos remained and I was only a couple off at 82. I had two months to drop that and I knew I would. I looked at photos of me in london 6 months before and it was incredible. I looked like a different person altogether. I looked tired, heavy, dreading the next flight of stairs. Warning. This is a pivotal moment. When you’re ahead of the curve and bossing it, its easy to entertain the notion that you can ease off a bit. Physically, you’re probably right but don't do it. It changes your mindset from achieving something to already having achieved it but it’s not yet achieved. Rabbit and the hare. Achieve it first, then reward yourself with easing off. I hit my 80 kilos with five weeks to go and the next five weeks kept me there. It was done. I'd  smashed the shit out that 25%. It was gone. I took off from Valencia and landed at Gatwick requiring second glances at my passport photo. Yes, folks that really is me,  just an awful lot more of me. By the time I wandered down the street to the pub, I'd  already decided I wasn’t going back to the UK for good. Spain was my home now. My mission, my new life was born on the French highways and realised in the Spanish mountains. I wasn't even really thinking of the reaction I’d get when I walked in. I didn’t need reactions. I knew what I’d done. Me and my water buckets, pussycats, rowing machines, the glorious island of Okinawa and singing, dancing Spain. The reaction was complete astonishment. Not just someone telling you you look well. This was holy **** across the board. My choice of a pink leather coat to mark the occasion drew its own conclusion but I was stronger and fitter and more vibrant in mind and body.  And I looked it and we all knew it. Life’s new plateau had been reached with a simple regard for my own well being. A respect for my only asset. And it was simple, inspiring and very enjoyable.

[diloph]

Pardon me, but it seemed from some of your posts on KOTM that you didn't like Mark Russell that much. I know he was a cliche everyman type, but what exactly made him any worse than others in these movies?

I apologise if this isn’t my most coherent answer. I’m a little bit stressed at the moment, trying to finish the next chapter of IIID and create relevant, if poorly assembled memes before the Invader Zim movie is released.

To be honest, some of it is a bit tongue-in cheek. Making fun of the most visible character in the film, considering that he hates Godzilla with a burning passion, is just a little bit of fun. It’s like how I refer to Rick Stanton with disdain sheerly because he’s somewhat based on Rick Sanchez, who I don’t dislike either.

The film isn’t about Mark: King of the Fathers anyway, so if I completely despised him, I could just zone out during his scenes, or skip them when the DVD comes out.

But… some of it wasn’t so jokey. He’s still an okayish protagonist, I’ve got nothing against the actor himself and his acting is fine. Still, Mark was loud, abrasive and hated Godzilla; you know, things that grate on my nerves when it comes to a 2+ hour Godzilla movie and that made the character… trying.

We’ve had them before, but Godzilla was generally more villainous and obviously, we feel sympathy and camaraderie with him as the title character and we are here to see him do cool things. Having a human protagonist who hates our cool monster protagonist makes sense in universe, but ultimately, it’s not what we’re here for. We can tune that out.

As for what makes me dislike Mark… for starters, he’s kind of a prick. I once saw somebody describe him as the type of guy who thinks that if he speaks loudly enough, shouts enough, he’ll get his way. I can’t say I blame them, in that first meeting with MONARCH, he’s downright hostile.

He’s also, for whatever reason, the guy that everybody turns to in the crisis. He might have a background in bioacoustics like his ex-wife and animal behaviour besides, but apparently nobody else at MONARCH is capable of doing things without the express instructions or approval of everyman Indiana Jones. Military procedures, common sense, the desperate plan to revive Godzilla; everybody seems to defer to him really quickly.

It took me out of the movie. I understand that he’s meant to be our relatable protagonist, but it’s a little bit jarring and it happens multiple times. Mark is either issuing instructions or is along where he shouldn’t be, given control of a situation where by all rights he shouldn’t have any other than spur of the moment hero stuff.

It’s like he believes that nobody has any common sense and frustratingly, a couple of times the narrative agrees with him or at least proves his actions right. For example, when Colonel Foster tries to brief MONARCH on the actions of Jonah and the terrorists, he shoots down her theory and proceeds to go on a rant as to why we should Destroy All Monsters.

He’s right, as Jonah wants to free King Ghidorah, but he has this frustrating “protagonist only” habit of noticing threads that other characters really should (nobody seems to notice that the Titans are attacking capital cities or at least very densely populated areas until he points it out), then speaks about it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Which when MONARCH is meant to be staffed with scientists of multiple disciplines veers back into the incredulous. I can suspend disbelief when it comes to giant monsters, I don’t excuse people not seeing what’s in front of them.

And as for the moments where he really shouldn’t be issuing instructions, take a look at when Rodan is freed by Emma Russell. Serizawa instantly defers to him (I think that Mark might have been his senior before he left MONARCH and BOY do I want to talk about that plan later on) to cook up a plan instead of… himself (Director of MONARCH, or at least I assume so) or again, Foster, who controls the planes and men he wants to send at the giant pterodactyl that just shrugged off a molten lava flow.

Given his characterisation as an angry, driven father who is desperately looking out for his family after being bereaved by monsters and is butting heads with the scientists at MONARCH, I think it was an attempt by Legendary to recreate Joe Brody. Bryan Cranston’s character in the previous film was killed off too early and was featured in a lot of the trailers, giving a wonderful performance. When he died to be replaced by his son, Ford, it caused a backlash as a result.

Mark being that angry, snarky character definitely shares some similarities. But while Joe was a crusader for the truth and more than a little bit obsessive, he was trying to pierce the veil as to why his wife died, without realising that it drove his son away from him. He was trying to reveal this great coverup to the world and spent the rest of his life doing so with such conviction that he appeared crazy.

Mark… doesn’t have this driving force. He lives in a post-San Francisco universe. Monsters Exist and everybody knows it.

Now, that’s not to say he doesn’t have reasons for acting as he did. He lost his son and has driven a wedge in between his family via his drinking problem (but let’s face it, compared to unleashing the Titans by starting off with Space Dragon Satan, he’s taken it comparatively well) but he acts as if he’s the only person who has ever lost something to Godzilla and the rest of the monsters.

Even when that happens to characters in the film, Mark still acts like that and it doesn’t make him look like the grim, determined hero, it just makes him look like an obnoxious dick. It isn’t his way of coping with the trauma of loss, he just… does it.

Part of me does get why he’s annoyed and angry with MONARCH’s attitude towards the Titans. He’s correct that they’ve been keeping secrets, dangerous ones at that, but equally the kaiju are living things. They’re dangerous and unpredictable, yes, but MONARCH have been taking precautions; killswitches are present in even the supposedly benevolent Titan’s chambers like Mothra and as far as they know, all of the Titans bar Godzilla are dormant and those that aren’t are kept in check by him. Had the Ghidorah Crisis never arose, we may never have seen any other Titans for the rest of human history.

But he treats everybody around him like an idiot with little to no prompting. Mark is brought on as a consultant and he then proceeds to dominate the scene, either through his decisions in universe or the part written for him out of it. He gets the last word, the last say on a plan or a witty remark or whatever.

And some of that costs lives. Actually, no, a LOT of it costs lives.

So, to start off, when the operation in Antarctica goes tits up, Mark grabs a handgun and goes into Outpost 32 by himself (though what he and the central nervous system of MONARCH were doing on the ground and not supervising from the Argo remains to be seen, but I digress). He stops Jonah and the terrorists on the walkway… screwing up Foster’s attempt to take down Jonah, forcing her to snipe his henchman in order to save Mark’s life.

This leads to King Ghidorah waking up. Not going to extend him a great deal of blame for this one, as with a sniper present, Emma or Madison would have been forced (or “forced” in the former’s case) to retrieve the detonator and the Six-Eyed, Six-Horned, Flying-Golden-People-Eater would have gotten loose regardless. Hell, I spotted clues that he was gearing up to wake up without Emma Russell’s help.

In a narrative sense, its his character that also sets up Vivienne Graham’s death. If he hadn’t been stuck in the tangle of wires and metal aboard the Osprey, she would never have needed to stay behind to help and subsequently got singled out by King Ghidorah.

I’d definitely agree that this is more of a personal thing on my part, as I’d wanted to see more of Vivienne’s character thanks to her actress’, Sally Hawkins’ work in The Shape Of Water and that in the previous film. But in a way, he is still sort of responsible for her being written out and replaced with the vastly less interesting replacement characters of Rick and Mor- erm, Sam.

That said, I know that Ghidorah is 100% to blame in universe. He killed her because he was a bastard and I wanted to him to be a bastard, so the monkey’s paw curled a finger there, so that’s egg on my face. It certainly did wonders for establishing him as a monstrous villain who we love to hate.

I’m not wholly unsympathetic to Mark. Like I said before, the pain of loss over the 2014 attacks hurt him badly and the film doesn’t shy away from this. Mark’s descent into alcoholism is noted by both himself and his family as a rough time for all involved, part of the reason he left MONARCH in the first place. Having his daughter and ex-wife seemingly kidnapped by dangerous ecoterrorists who plan to unleash giant monsters to mass-cull humanity also wears his patience thin, as you might expect it.

But he keeps this… horrible attitude throughout the movie. The world is literally going to shit, another monster is about to be unleashed and he asks if MONARCH have had enough common sense to evacuate the town of Isla Del Mara and if Rodan has had a cutesy name all picked out from mythology for him ahead of time.

Fuck me, if I was Serizawa, having just lost my protégé and quite a few well-meaning soldiers who were trying to rescue somebody who turned out to be a massive ecoterrorist nutjob, I would have floored him. There is a time and a place for snarky comments and it is not after at least twenty people you worked with are dead and BILLIONS MORE MAY FOLLOW.

But now, one of the points that really got me disliking Mark Russell follows here. The scenes that start at Isla Del Mara and the luring of Rodan to King Ghidorah, all the way up until the detonation of the Oxygen Destroyer.

Rodan emerges from the volcano and asides from spreading his wings and roaring, doesn’t do much. He spots the incoming Argo and its entourage and narrows his eyes. Uh oh! Surely, at this point, the dastardly destruction god would leap from his perch in an attempt to chase this challenger from his territory?

Um… no. No, actually, he stays put.

Now, I get that Rodan might not have stayed that way for very long. From the ensuing chase scene, I can gather that the Monsterverse’s version of Rodan is a bit of a dick, but he still didn’t start the fight.

Instead, what happens is that Serizawa asks Mark what they should do and Mark comes up with the plan to get Rodan to fight King Ghidorah in the hopes that one will kill the other and that would at least solve one of their problems.

Sound in theory, yes, but it is not sound in execution. At all.

So, that little town that Mark kicked up quite a fuss about? As you might have noticed, it’s lying between Rodan and the Argo and is part of the reason that the big ol’ bird should be lured away, to complete the evacuation.

Mark’s brilliant plan has the jets surrounding the Argo to blast Rodan and 180 the superplane in order to get him to chase… without factoring in THE TOWN BETWEEN THEM AT ALL.

I get King Ghidorah was closing in. I get that Rodan is a wild, unpredictable animal who could go off the chain at any moment. But there was absolutely no time to get the ARGO to move a little ways around the island before beginning the attack? At worst, Rodan would make a dive for them anyway, but that’s what the jets are sent in to distract him are for. To grab his attention and then lure him to the Argo, which would then take him to Tricephalopathic Terror Town anyway.

As a result, Rodan utterly OBLITERATES Isla Del Mara simply by passing over it and so many of the people they were trying to evacuate die a horribly pointless death. It never once passes his mind (or let’s not beat him down solely) or that of anybody aboard the Argo that a creature with wings that size that can fly would generate an unbelievable amount of force simply by flapping once to create lift? He’s also dripping lava, so even if the hurricane level winds that follow him weren’t an issue, having something with that amount of residual molten rock passing overhead doesn’t seem like a healthy thing to expose Isla Del Mara to.

Further dislike ensues when one of the miraculously surviving Ospreys issues a mayday during the Rodan/Ghidorah fight and the cargo doors are jammed. Mark the Hero leaps up with gritted teeth and desire to get things done, asking the way to the hangar. After all, he’s had miraculous problem solving abilities so far, why not?

“Which way to the hangar?” he asks.

Sam, a character who I’m even less fond of, stands up and offers to show him the way. Fairly brave, considering that the Argo is rattling like a leaf in a thunderstorm as two daikaiju battle nearby. I found the character annoying and sort of… pointless, but I admire that bit of bravery.

“Anybody else?” Mark asks, making a face.

Dude. The man just offered to help you and people need that help. Get off your high horse, swallow your pride and just go without comment. God knows how many people your stupid plan just got killed.

The two run to the hangar and a crewman explains the door is jammed. Mark decides to drop a hanging Osprey onto the doors to get them off… without suggesting it to the crewman. He just fucking goes for the buttons, expecting his usual “my plan will work” attitude to succeed.

At last, one of Mark’s harebrained schemes is met with reasonable resistance for the first time and the crewman attempts to wrestle him off, before Mark Is Proven Right Again. But even suggesting it, getting a refusal and then doing it is more heroic than just going for the damn buttons like a lunatic.

He would have looked damn stupid if the weight of the Osprey wasn’t enough to open the doors and it instead just blocked them. The falling aircraft also almost hits the airborne one with its civilian payload as it also wasn’t warned, so again, he took an unnecessary risk that came off lucky because he couldn’t find the time to say “I have an idea”.

To round out the trifecta of what makes me dislike Mark in these scenes is what happens when the rest of the scene plays out:

Gravity Beams spew from Ghidorah’s mouth and blast Rodan into the ocean, defeated. Not satisfied with just this victory, the Golden Demise locks his terrible gaze on the Argo and with a sickening, gleeful cackle, closes in on the plane and its freshly arrived civilians.

All are stunned into a horrified silence. Even Mark, who has been having Unreasonable Protagonist Luck up until this point, bricks it.

“Oh, God.” he pleads.

God answers and he erupts from the ocean.

With a deafening roar, the mighty form of Godzilla slams into King Ghidorah with the force of a collapsing mountain. His dynamic, mid-air leap is enough to drag the foul hydra into the depths of the ocean and Godzilla proceeds to hold him there.

Ghidorah attempts to resurface and fly away, or at least lash out at the Argo in spite, but there Godzilla is again, yanking the head back underwater, biting and rolling like some mountainous crocodile, pinning the alien dragon under his weight.

Unbeknownst to our hero (Godzilla, obviously), the military has deployed the terrible Oxygen Destroyer in an attempt to Destroy All Monsters, giving only a cursory warning to the Argo to get out of there and fast. Mark makes his way onto the bridge and is informed of the decision.

“But he… he just saved us!” says Mark.

No, wait, he didn’t say that. Hold on…

“They… they didn’t even let us get clear?” says Mark.

Uh, no, sorry, trying again.

“Well, it’s not the worst idea.” he says.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK. YOU.

I get that you’re mad with Godzilla. I get that as the title character with a long history, we root for the kaiju more than anybody else. I get that he took your son from you, but twice… TWICE NOW, he has saved you and the people around you with PERFECTLY TIMED ENTRANCES. Even if it was just a coincidence, I’d be at least slightly more forgiving of the lion that killed my brother by accident if it jumped in front of a tiger that was slaughtering people left and right before it leapt at me.

Twice.

There’s not even a hesitant “oh, but he did help us”. Not even a shocked disbelief that the military has a weapon that they think will kill not just one, but two (because I’m willing to bet he thought Rodan was dead) Titans, much less them firing it without warning right on top of their position. Just a “well, fuck ‘em” shrug.

Godzilla nearly dies, Ghidorah seizes control of the Titans and sets about starting the apocalypse. Finally, Serizawa says what I’ve been thinking for quite a while and says “Well, it looks like you got your wish, Mark.” with a mixture of anger, sadness and disgust.

I could go on; the Titans are rampaging and Mark goes to leave Castle Bravo to strike out on his own and rescue Madison, despite the fact that he knows that Emma will probably try to keep her safe in whatever secure hidey hole she and the Kaiju Cultists have holed up in. In the novel, he’s outright going to steal one (also his first instinct when confronted by an alpha wolf in the novel, is to blow it away with a sidearm, before realising that’s absolutely callous and horrible and tries submissive behaviour tactics instead. So hey, Movie Mark is a slightly better person than Book Mark).

Mark suggests the nuke plan and goes down with Serizawa, Chen and Rick Sanch- Stanton. Everything goes sideways and he doesn’t even fucking blink when Serizawa decides that somebody’s gotta do it manually.

Back aboard the Argo? How does he break the news to Sam, the only member of the MONARCH team that wasn’t there? Shoving Serizawa’s notebook into his chest, saying that they better not screw this up and not even fucking pausing to tell him what happened.

Mark’s self-centred attitude keeps coming back and it gets people killed. My second time viewing this film, during the two confrontation scenes with Godzilla, I wasn’t getting the “There is a massive threat in my territory!” vibe from the King of the Monsters, I was getting a “Who the hell is this asshole and why does he hate me so much?” feeling from Our Glorious Boy.

It’s a recurring theme too. Mark experiences loss, but he feels as if his loss is the only one that matters. Both he and Emma do this to Madison and it makes me mad that in trying to cope with their own loss, they shunned the one remaining child they had left. By the time they realise that, the world is literally about to end and they’re still bickering at one another.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m very vocally critical of Mark and Emma’s treatment of Madison. Both she and Mark decide to put their own ways of coping with their son’s death (constructing a device to allow for the orchestration of mass human death and convincing oneself that it’s the correct course of action/drinking booze) above Madison’s own well being.

When the chips are down, of course, they care for her and ultimately risk their lives to save her, but… congratulations for the bare minimum parenting, guys? Physically, they want her out of harm, but mentally she should either fall into line with Emma’s thinking or be there for Mark.

Godzilla and Mothra feel more like her bloody parents in this film (Godzilla saving her life when she was facing down the literal fucking devil and Mothra’s gentle interaction at the temple and reviving her from death when she appeared to have died in the novel) than the other Russells do. Both fill the archetypes of “Father” (tough, stern, but ultimately your protector) and “Mother” (gentle, nurturing and wonderful) better than the people do.

…yeah, alright, that one is a stretch, but I had that idea a while ago and I wanted to put it to paper.

In short, I’m mad at Sad Mad Dad because his character shoves the waaaaaaaay more interesting, compelling and sympathetic characters of Serizawa, Graham and his own daughter (and the actual goddamned non-monster hero of the movie), Madison out of the way of main character-ness, just so we can have somebody who is about as pleasant to interact with as a cactus.

King of the Monsters is a film that has a lot of sacrifice in it, good and bad. Emma wants to sacrifice most of humanity to save the planet. Serizawa sacrifices himself to save Godzilla and thus, the planet. Mothra sacrifices her own life to save Godzilla from King Ghidorah and so does Emma, to save her family and as redemption for her sins.

Even Madison was also ready to at least risk her own life to distract the Titans and King Ghidorah if it would even slightly disrupt his efforts to conquer the planet. She goes against terrorists, her own mother and a demonic, nigh-omnipotent being of malicious intent and faces him down with a defiant roar of her own when it looks like the end.

But Mark doesn’t sacrifice. He wants his daughter back, but he never takes a hit. Other people die for him, as a result of him and he doesn’t even recognise it. The world is at stake and he keeps his focus on his own desires, ignorant to the people around him because only his loss matters.

He might not be the genocidal monster in the film that Emma was, that Jonah and of course, Ghidorah certainly were. But he has a very narrow and dispassionate world-view and outside of certain cartoons with comedic circumstances, I don’t care much for that at all.

TL;DR: Madison should have been the central protagonist, because I like her more.