#i understand whats happening to them and honestly hope they get professional help

[emily-ella-nightshade89]

Must a cameo be part of a bigger picture? Is not enough to just enjoy a surprise for fun?

[pucksandpower]

Seeing Color

Lando Norris x soulmate!Reader

Summary: the average person goes their whole life without seeing so much as a drop of color, so safe to say you’re quite surprised when the sky suddenly turns blue while you’re covering Formula 1 for the first time

The sky’s a muted gray, just like every other day of your life, as you stand in the bustling paddock of Silverstone, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

This isn’t what you signed up for. Football’s your thing — sweaty players, goals, and post-match interviews in rain-soaked stadiums. But motorsport? Formula 1? It’s a different beast altogether.

“Just one race,” your supervisor had assured you. “It’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a pro.”

Easy for them to say. The paddock is a maze of garages, team colors (which are a uniform grayscale for you, of course), and a cacophony of sounds that’s more overwhelming than a packed Premier League stadium.

You’ve been briefed on the basics — Max Verstappen’s the reigning champ, Lewis Hamilton’s the legend, and Lando Norris, the homegrown young talent, just secured P2.

P2. The words feel alien, even though you repeat them to yourself over and over, willing them to become familiar. Podium finish, second place. You’ve got this.

But the truth is, you don’t. Not really. And it’s showing as you fumble with your notes, trying to prepare for the post-race interviews. Your heart’s racing faster than any of the cars on the track.

“Hey, you alright there?”

The voice comes from behind you, startling you out of your thoughts. You turn around and see a young man — not too tall, with curly hair, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. You recognize him immediately, even in black and white.

Lando Norris.

“Yeah, just-” You scramble for professionalism, straightening your back and offering what you hope is a confident smile. “Just getting ready for the interviews.”

Lando’s eyes flicker down to the notes in your hand. “First time covering F1?”

Your smile falters. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles softly, and for a moment, it’s as if the world around you narrows down to just the two of you standing there in the paddock, the sounds and chaos fading into the background.

“A little,” he admits, leaning casually against the wall, as if he’s got all the time in the world. “But don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound surprising even yourself. There’s something about his easygoing manner that puts you at ease, just for a moment. “I appreciate that.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, right?” He asks, and you’re caught off guard that he knows your name.

“That’s me,” you reply, slipping into the role of interviewer as best as you can. “Congratulations on P2, by the way. How was the race for you?”

He glances at you, and for a brief second, his expression changes. It’s subtle — almost imperceptible — but it’s there. Something shifts in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Thanks,” he says, but the word comes out softer than you expect. There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation, before he continues. “The race was … it was intense. But honestly? Standing here right now … it feels like something else is happening.”

You frown slightly, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

Lando looks at you again, more intently this time, and you’re acutely aware of the way your pulse is thumping in your ears. “Look around,” he murmurs, his voice low, as if he’s sharing a secret. “Do you see anything different?”

You blink, confused. You glance around, expecting to see the same monotone world you’ve always known, the same dull shades of gray. But instead … you see it. A soft glow in the distance, a faint tinge of color in the sky.

It’s … blue.

A gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it. “What …”

Lando steps closer, his expression as bewildered as yours. “You see it too, don’t you?”

“I-I don’t understand,” you stammer, your heart racing even faster now. “This can’t be real. I’ve never seen color before.”

“Neither have I,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “But … I’m seeing it now. Because of you.”

The air around you feels electric, charged with something you can’t quite name. Your eyes lock onto his, and suddenly, the world isn’t gray anymore. It’s alive with hues and shades that you’ve only ever imagined. His eyes, a stunning shade of fluid green, meet yours with the same wonder.

“This can’t be real,” you repeat, more to yourself than to him. You’re trying to make sense of the impossible, of the vivid blues and greens and reds that are slowly seeping into your vision, like the world is waking up from a long sleep.

Lando reaches out, his hand hovering near yours, not quite touching. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that’s startling — like he’s just as unsure of what’s happening as you are. “I think …” he starts, then stops, swallowing hard before trying again. “I think it’s because we’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” You echo, the word feeling foreign on your tongue. You’ve heard the stories, the myths — how the world is black and white until you meet the person you’re meant to be with.

But it’s just that, isn’t it? A myth? A fairytale? With over 8 billion people on Earth, the chances of actually meeting your fated match are slim-to-none. Most of the population has grown to accept that they will never see anything other than black and white.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “That’s what they say, right? You don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. But I never thought it’d actually happen. Not like this.”

You’re silent for a moment, trying to process it all. The colors, the implications, the fact that this person — this stranger — is suddenly supposed to mean everything to you. It’s overwhelming.

“I don’t even know you,” you whisper, voicing your fears. “How can we be soulmates if we don’t even know each other?”

Lando’s smile is small, almost shy. “I guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

The words are simple, but they carry a weight that you’re not sure you’re ready to bear. But when he looks at you like that, with such sincerity, you find yourself nodding.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “I guess we will.”

He takes a step closer, and this time, his hand does brush against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You feel it in every nerve, every inch of your being. It’s like the world has shifted on its axis, and you’re standing at the center of something much bigger than yourself.

“Can I ask you something?” Lando’s voice is quiet, almost tentative.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice just as soft.

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question catches you off guard. It’s such a simple thing, and yet, in this moment, it feels like the most important question in the world. You look around, taking in the colors that are now flooding your vision — the vibrant greens of the trees in the distance, the deep blues of the sky, the bright reds and yellows of the cars and team logos.

“I don’t know,” you admit, and the honesty of it feels right. “I’ve never had a favorite color before.”

Lando smiles, a real smile this time, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Pretty sure I’m legally obligated to say mine’s papaya,” he laughs, and you notice it for the first time — the vibrant hue of his team’s colors, standing out against the grayscale world you’ve known until now. “I think you’ll like it.”

You smile back at him, feeling the connection between you deepening with every passing second. It’s terrifying, and exhilarating, and everything in between.

“I think I might,” you say, and the words are full of a promise that you’re not sure you fully understand yet, but that feels right nonetheless.

For a moment, the world falls away, and it’s just the two of you, standing there in a kaleidoscope of color that’s bursting into life all around you. The roar of the engines, the clamor of the crowd — it all fades into the background as you look at each other, truly seeing each other for the first time.

“So … what happens now?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando’s hand tightens around yours, and there’s a steadiness in his gaze that grounds you. “We take it one step at a time,” he says. “We get to know each other. And we see where this goes.”

The simplicity of his words is comforting. There’s no grand declaration, no rush to figure everything out. Just a promise to take things as they come, to let whatever this is between you grow naturally, in its own time.

“I’d like that,” you say, and you mean it.

He grins, that boyish charm back in full force, and you can’t help but smile in return. “Good,” he says. “Because I think we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

There’s a warmth in his tone that makes your heart skip a beat, and for the first time since this whole whirlwind began, you find yourself excited about the future — about the possibility of what’s to come.

“Yeah,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think we are.”

And as you stand there, hand-in-hand with Lando Norris, surrounded by the vibrant colors of a world that’s finally come to life, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is where you were always meant to be.

[g4rvez-r3id]

When You’re Lost in the Darkness, Look for the Light

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Your ex, Spencer Reid, has just lost his girlfriend due to her being murdered. When all else fails with the BAU team helping him get through this loss, the only person left to help is you.

Category: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: established past relationship, maeve arc, takes place after 8x12 “Zugzwang”, mentions of death and suicide, technically an AU for 8x13 “Magnum Opus”, spencer is obviously still mourning maeve, mentions of lauren storyline, mentions of breakups, reader was in a past relationship before spencer, kinda sad, hopeful ending(?) let me know if i missed anything! <3

Author’s Note: i feel like this was a bit rushed, especially towards the end butttt i might make a part two to this- just let me know if i should :)

It’d been a few weeks since what happened. Spencer witnessing his girlfriend being murdered right in front of him by her stalker. You knew that he was taking it hard, of course, who wouldn’t after seeing something like that?

The team had been frequently visiting him. Garcia had stopped by with her ninth gift basket on his doorstep, since he never answered. JJ had offered to bring the boys over to cheer him up but Spencer would never answer. Even Hotch, and Morgan tried to get him to get a breather outside of his apartment but of course, Spencer never answered. Blake and Rossi knew that he needed his space, knowing that a loss like this wasn’t easy.

Everyone on the team had tried, everyone except you. And honestly, why would you? Your breakup with Reid was enough reason not to go and see him.

You two had broken up when he’d found out you’d known about Emily taking her death. (You weren’t even supposed to know about it, you had just stumbled across Hotch and JJ having the conversation after you’d found out that your best friend was dead.) After she’d come back when they had a lead on Ian Doyle’s son, Spencer had later confronted you and told you he couldn’t forgive you for knowing for ten months and not telling him about it.

You expressed just how much it pained you not to tell him but that she couldn’t risk telling him. He had to understand that. Frankly, he didn’t.

And it seemed that he still hadn’t forgiven you since then.

It’d been over a year since you last had a full conversation with him since then, only opting for small talk or only talking when it was relevant to whatever case they were on.

And then you found out about Maeve. There were whispers around the office, Spencer was smiling more in the office, he was secretive and not to mention the case with the payphone that you and Blake took him to after needing answers regarding a case. You and Blake badgered him, wanting answers as to why he was being so secretive.

And then his words confirmed it for you — “Because I don’t want them to know about her, okay?”

And so, he had a girlfriend. And you were perfectly okay with that. Of course, it hurt that he’d moved on but someone had to, eventually, right?

Since then, you had avoided him any chance you had. If you two were alone in the kitchenette, you were the one who left first. If there was a spot on the jet open next to Spencer, you’d offer it to someone else quietly. You figured pushing him away — even professionally — was the best thing you could do for your own mental health.

But then Spencer’s girlfriend had gone missing. And you weren’t exactly forced to work a case but it sure felt like it when Hotch said that you guys would be working on your free time. You had half the mind to walk out of the bullpen right then and there. But then you looked at Spencer. Spencer, who looked like a kicked puppy dog with his sad eyes, messy hair and anxious stance and pleading, begging the team to help find her. And you knew that he’d always be your weakness, no matter what. And you’d like to think that maybe he’d do the same for you if the roles were reversed.

It’d taken a few to discover that Maeve’s stalker was Diane Turner, a research assistant at Mendel University where Maeve used to work. Diane applied and was rejected for a PhD after submitting a doctoral thesis about spontaneous cellular death in suicide patients, due to said thesis being biased as it contained references to her own parents, who’d committed suicide. She targeted Maeve, believing she was the one responsible for rejecting her PhD.

You remembered the minute you heard gunshots in the building, heart dropping at the possibility that it may have been Spencer who was shot at, since he offered to trade himself for Maeve. And thought it was better if the team were to wait outside of the building.

You remembered trying to talk him off the ledge but he simply ignored you and went into the building anyway without a vest.

You remembered Spencer trying to talk Diane down as she held a gun to Maeve’s head and growing anxious at the fact that Diane was getting more and more angry.

You remembered what Maeve spoke to him — her last words — “Thomas Merton, he’s the one you can never take away from us.” The proof of how much she loved him.

You remembered Diane pulling the trigger on herself and Maeve and Spencer’s painful pleading as both Diane and Maeve landed on the ground in a puddle of their own blood.

And you hated it but you remembered Spencer falling to his knees, sobbing over Maeve’s body. You could hardly believe it, even when it happened right in front of you. You’d fallen beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him the best way possible. And he grabbed your hand. Granted, he probably didn’t know or didn’t care enough to know who it was in that moment, but he took your hand anyways.

And since then, not a word from Spencer. And it was starting to worry the rest of the team.

But when you arrived in the office a few weeks after, staring at Spencer’s empty desk, JJ had spoken up and said — “Everyone else has tried but you. And I think you’re the person he needs right now.”

You’d responded, telling her that you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now in his time of mourning. But JJ had encouraged you. You’d known him in ways the team didn’t. Hell, you dated him. And you also knew what it was like to lose someone you loved.

A few years before you dated Spencer, you had had a boyfriend. You were dating him for three years until he lost his life in a car accident. You were heartbroken from the lost and you didn’t go to work for over a month after. The only person that gotten you through that had been Spencer. He always had a way with words and you remembered him being there for you the entire time you dealt with it. A couple of years later, you and him finally began to date.

And now here you were, standing outside of his apartment, wondering how the hell you got yourself in this mess. You’d told Hotch that you needed to take care of something and that you wouldn’t be joining them on this upcoming case. It was true and it wasn’t like you to just call out of work unless it was an emergency. It technically wasn’t a lie, Spencer was your emergency. And you knew that Hotch would understand.

You’d hesitantly knocked, so quietly. “Spencer? It’s me,” You’d spoken up, your voice hoarse. “I, uh, I know I’m the last person you probably want to talk to right now… but… I’m here. If you need anything, I’m right here.” You assured.

To make your point, you moved two of the gift baskets away from the door so you can plop right down on the floor to sit against the door. “And I’m not going anywhere.” You rested the back of your head against the door. “And we don’t have to talk. We can wait however long you need to. I’ll be here.”

“But, please, give me something so I know that you’re alive in there.” You asked and quietly pleaded, “Please.”

You’d waited thirty seconds before you lost hope entirely and then three soft knocks came from the other side of the door and you smiled to yourself in relief that at least he was conscious.

And soon the minutes turned into hours, with you resting your head against that door and shifting a couple of times to get comfortable. Spencer still hadn’t budged since he’d knocked on the door. You’d taken the opportunity to help yourself to one of Garcia’s gift baskets since Reid hadn’t seemed to claim them. You’d opted for one of the fresher baskets since the others had probably been sitting for about a few weeks now. There was a basket with the mini chocolate chip muffins that you snacked on while sitting there.

And after hours and hours of still waiting there with no peep from Spencer, your eyes began to flutter closed at how sleepy you were getting. Sleeping outside of Spencer’s apartment wasn’t the best place for your back or your neck but you had slept in worse places.

You’d probably succumbed to sleep at least a few hours later until you had a rude awakening involving Spencer finally opening his door.

You hit your head right on the floor, which had woke you up. “Ow.” You muttered and looked up, seeing Spencer’s ghostly figure standing above you. You could’ve sworn you were dreaming. “Spencer?”

“You’re still here?” He asked, confusion in his voice. You finally stood up from the floor and nodded at him to answer as he began to walk away from the door and went back to the couch.

It was then that you got a look at his apartment. There were books on the floor everywhere. If you knew better, you’d say Spencer may have thrown them out of anger, pain. Old takeout boxes on the kitchen counter and living room table. It smelt like death — (but it actually might’ve been Spencer). You had to squint to look around since it’d been so dark. “Oh, Spencer…” You mumbled and turned to him on the couch. He was in a fetal position on the cushions, his hair falling in front of his face with an evident frown engraved on his face. He looked like a fragile child and it ached your heart to see him like that.

You found yourself kneeling in front of him and brushed the hair away from his face — like it was second nature to you. Like you’ve done it before. And you have.

You looked around, wondering what you should do, what you can do. And you finally find something small to start with. “When was the last time you slept in your own bed?” You asked and Spencer didn’t answer. You expected that.

You stood up from kneeling in front of Spencer and walked to his room, grabbing a few clothes — a plain t-shirt, a pair of underwear, plaid pajama pants and a pair of mismatched socks. You then went into the hall closet to pull out a towel and a washcloth for him and walked towards the bathroom to start running the water. He always liked it not too hot or not too cold but just warm enough.

You walked into the living room and found Spencer sitting up on the couch. “Why don’t you hop in the shower? I’ve got it running the way you like it.” It took a few seconds but Spencer nodded at you and began to trudge to the bathroom. He’d left the door a crack and you wondered why he did. But then it occurred to you that maybe he didn’t want to feel quite alone for a minute and you were right there if he needed anything. And he knew you had a guilty conscience, knowing that if he had closed the door and he’d done something to himself, you’d never forgive yourself. And you wouldn’t want him trapping himself in the bathroom either.

As Spencer went into the shower, you’d taken care of the rest of the apartment. You started with opening the blinds to bring some sort of light in and then with the kitchen counter, clearing out all of the old takeout boxes and washing dishes and wiping down the table and putting the books back on the shelves. All except for one. The Narrative of John Smith, it’d been the one book that he was clutching onto the entire time she’d been here until you told him to get into the shower. You knew he needed to put that one away on his own terms.

You fixed the couch up, laying the throw blanket neatly over the couch and then walked to his room, setting up his own bed. Wanting for him to be as comfortable as possible.

When he finally exited the bathroom, you didn’t hear him. You hadn’t heard his footsteps as he looked around the living room, seeing how you tidied up the place while he was in the shower. He almost thought you left, until he heard your humming from the other room. You were singing to yourself, a habit you picked up often doing casual things like laundry or spring cleaning. He missed the nonchalance of your presence and as he walked towards the door and found you making his bed, he missed it even more. Missed you even more.

You finally noticed that you weren’t alone, looking up to see him in the doorway and you smiled towards him. “Oh, hi.” You said and he walked into the room, looking down at his newly made bed. “Are you feeling better?”

He didn’t answer verbally, just shrugged.

You didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, you look down at his perfectly made bed and say, “Why don’t you get some rest?”

Spencer nods at you weakly and gets under the covers. You almost want to tuck him in, like he’s a child, but you refrain from doing so. You look down at him and felt like you’ve done everything you could for him. Made sure he showered, tidied his apartment. Surely he’s sick of you being here now.

You ease the awkward tension, sucking in a breath and patting your knees. “Well… I’m just… gonna… see myself out. Get all of the rest you can, Spencer. No rush to come back, just take your time.” You assure finally and silently plead him to ask you to stay longer. Because you don’t exactly feel accomplished at the fact that you haven’t done anything except ask him to take a shower and clean his apartment. It didn’t really feel like a win. Instead, you felt more heartbroken for Spencer.

And somehow, by some miracle, you felt him grab your hand and you turned to face him and his gleaming eyes. “Can you…” The words trailed off from his lips as he stares into your eyes. “Can you stay?” You look at him, with wide eyes. It was like he read your mind. “Please?”

You look at him and try to maintain your composure as much as you can. Because this is the first time he’s asked you to stay the night since you two were together. “Yeah, of course, Spencer.”

He moves towards the other side of the bed to make room for you and you’re shocked by the gesture. You hadn’t shared a bed with him since you were together, either. You sit up against the headboard and he gravitates towards your thigh, resting his head on it and closes his eyes and your hand finds his hair, running a hand through it and trying to maintain his curls at the back of his neck.

Then, you remember. You look towards the drawer next to the bed on your side and wonder. You open the drawer and sure enough, there it was. The brown comb you left behind. You often used it to brush his hair, especially when it was shaggy down his shoulders and he’d often rest his head on your thigh like he was doing now and you’d run your hand through his locks until you’d finally bought a comb. It surprised you that he still kept it. You would’ve thought it ended up in his ‘Y/n box’ like how everything of his ended up in your ‘Spencer box’.

And like second nature, you began to brush his damp locks with the comb, trying your best to angle your arm to not interrupt his rest. You softly smiled at the scene, his eyes closed and nose scrunching every few minutes or so.

You’d suspected that maybe he’d fallen asleep to you combing his hair because his breathing evened and he was quiet with his eyes still remaining closed. But you still found yourself still combing through his hair despite getting the tangles all out.

“I miss her,” He admitted and for a moment, you stopped your movements, not only because his words shocked you but also because you thought he was asleep. “I miss Maeve.” He added and you notice as his lip quivers at his own mention of his dead girlfriend and you do everything in your power to keep your lip from doing the same.

“I know.” You say, your voice so soft and nurturing as you continued to comb through his hair.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else but you were glad he’d spoken out just what he was feeling in that moment. You lean against the headboard, wishing to say more but what Spencer really needed right now was someone in his corner, not someone who wanted to give their own opinion about the situation or relate to him — just someone to listen to him.

You continue brushing until you finally decide that his hair is silky smooth and place the comb on the table next to you and look down at his resting face and instead of the frown you’d seen earlier, you finally see some sort of look of peace. Of course, the sadness is still etched on him from a mile away. But you glad to grant him some form of peace in a time where he’s most desperate of it.

You begin to run your hand through his hair, massaging his scalp like you often used to do when you were together. And for a moment, it’s like you two are dating again and it’s like it’s casual, like you’ve done this before — which you have. But it’s been so long, you never thought you’d be in this position again.

Eventually, he falls asleep on your thigh and his soft breathing is more even than it was before and his mouth is slightly parted as he sleeps. And you don’t care about the crick you’re going to get in your neck from this headboard, you don’t care that your leg is dead and that your pant leg is slightly damp from his wet hair. What matters more than anything right now is him getting the rest he deserves.

And what mattered more than anything and your goal was that Spencer was going to fight through this gaping hole of darkness and find his light eventually. And somewhere deep down inside of you, though you’d never admit it out loud — you hoped that that light was you.

[chimcess]

Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

masterlist || next || playlist

Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in. 

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza. 

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver. 

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime. 

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back. 

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves. 

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked. 

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up. 

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else. 

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap. 

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday. 

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice. 

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

 Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch. 

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out. 

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up. 

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full. 

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty. 

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream. 

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season. 

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest. 

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me. 

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master. 

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man. 

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat. 

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that. 

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh. 

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart. 

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them. 

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar. 

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself. 

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November. 

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother. 

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade. 

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently. 

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself. 

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips. 

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

 That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer. 

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others. 

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway. 

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment. 

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices. 

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me. 

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible. 

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled. 

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job. 

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched. 

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself. 

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again. 

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company. 

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease. 

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more. 

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up. 

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out. 

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice. 

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family. 

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that. 

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags. 

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage. 

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long. 

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely. 

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down. 

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him. 

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue. 

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same. 

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it. 

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hellllo, I saw this post from you about the 141 with a reader with past sa, and I wanted to ask if you could do one where reader mentions something that happened to them, without realizing it was sa (pls with König, I just love him). I hope this is ok for you to write

Ooh that’s a good one! I love writing for him honestly!

tw: mentions of sexual assault, mild description but nothing graphic, trauma, comfort

König loves your voice. He especially loves all your stories of your life before him, all the highs and the lows, the victories and the pitfalls, and everything else in between. His favorite part of getting together with you, is learning about you. He just loves you so damn much.

So when you’re lying in bed with the TV playing and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest, gently tracing the skin of his pecs under your fingers, he’s in heaven. He’s indulging your guilty pleasure of watching trash TV, he could never understand these dating shows but he gets a laugh out of seeing you get so worked up about them and maybe he gets a little invested too.

“Ugh poor girl.” You sighed watching the couples argue, “I feel for her, my ex was the same way.”

“How do you mean?” He’s running his fingers over your arm, drawing figures absentmindedly,

“He was just kind of manipulative and gas-lighty, always got what he wanted.” You shrugged, “Like, he’d initiate things and I wouldn’t be interested or I’d be too tired and he’d still keep trying and we’d wind up doing it. Like I said always got his way.” You seemed nonchalant about what you said, so much so that it took him a second to process what you said.

And then König’s blood went cold and his feather touches slowed to a halt,

“Schatz…” he breathed, his heart starting to race, he wasn’t sure how to handle this new information. Were you aware and just putting on a brave face? Or…

“Don’t sweat it, Köni, for all his aggressive persuasion he was a shitty lover.” You chuckled, confused as to why he stopped stroking your skin, yet as the words came out of your mouth paired with his reaction, you started to wonder if you messed up.

“Liebling, is that true?” His voice was even as he continued rubbing your arm, he moved to sit up and brought you with him,

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I’m over that asshole anyway.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it?” He turned to face you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face

“About what, my ex?”

“About his ‘persuasiveness’.” His tone hardened as the word came out of his mouth, he’s not big on sugar coating, but this is delicate and should be handled carefully,

“Not really? I mean, I’ve mentioned it to a friend before but that’s about it.”

He watched you carefully, eyes tracking every centimeter of your face, watching, waiting for a reaction, waiting for a response.

“Why do you ask?”

He stayed silent, still watching you. Waiting for you to piece things together, waiting to catch you should you realize what you just said. He watched gears turning in your head but still you struggled, is it worth bringing this up and helping you realize it? Would it do more harm than good to protect you from the truth? He wondered if a part of you realized but you’re protecting yourself from the truth so it’s forcing your mind to stop from connecting the dots. Is he even equipped to deal with the fallout after you piece it together? Would it be worse to encourage you to speak to a professional?

“I’m just worried, liebling, what you’ve described isn’t exactly a good thing.” He hated picking and choosing his words so carefully, it only made his anxiety worse and he worries he wouldn’t be able to help you with how busy his own mind is. But for you, he’d do anything. Whether it’s choosing his words carefully, gently guiding you to a point of realization, or finding your ex and breaking every bone in his body.

“Well, yeah, I know that but…” and then it hit you, he watched your eyes widen as the gears all clicked into place, “it wasn’t like that, König. That’s different.”

“It really isn’t, schatz. I’m so sorry, but it’s not different at all.” His voice is so soft that you wouldn’t have heard him if you were so close. He pulled you in to sit on his lap, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly against his chest. He’s got your head tucked under his chin, one hand pressing your head against him, his fingers running through your hair,

“That’s not what happened.” Your voice was small as your own arms came up to wrap around his back, your body preparing you for the tears you were fighting to shed,

“It’s ok, liebling, I’ve got you. You’ll always be safe here.”

[ash-says]

Tips on how to dodge personal questions in a Professional Setting:

I know. I know. I said I will be on a break and I still stand by that but it was difficult to throw away the sudden surge of motivation so here I am.

I received a request to make a post on this long back so here is your girl serving it. Honestly I am not much of an expert at it either but I have some ways that work sometimes so here goes nothing.

1) Do not give in to the pressure.

Literally that's the starting point. Whenever someone asks us a personal question we feel obligated at some level to answer because of xyz reasons. That's why we first need to escape the pressure of answering.

2) Straightforwardly and Politely state I am not comfortable answering that.

The bulletproof method. No explanation needed.

3) If you are in a situation where the person is being really nosy and can't take a no for an answer. Try saying to them,"I don't understand how it's relevant to our topic of discussion."

4) If you are not in a position to decline at all which happens when the person asking the question is of higher authority and has influence in this situation give vague answers that lead nowhere.

Example: So are you dating anyone?

It's tough to say in particular you know the dating scene nowadays it's difficult to put a name on anything.

Or what do you do on your weekends?

Nothing just the usuals. I am an office worker after all.

This creates a sense of familiarity with the crowd but at the same time does not reveal anything in precision.

5) Turn the topic on them. One of the smartest things you can do is make them the central focus. People love to talk about themselves so it works most of the time until you come across someone truly smart.

Example: hey how's the new office? Are you liking it here?

Ans: Well I am still getting used to the environment here. What about you? How long have you been working here?

6) Another thing you can do is dance around the topic but not on the topic. You remember how you used to write a 1 mark question for 5 marks exactly like that. Tell the prequel and sequel of the question but never answer the exact question.

7) This one is kinda rude I won't suggest doing it around randomly but if you have been in the corporate space for sometime you would know that there are some people who like to ask things only to belittle you or spread gossip or to be mean. The jealous ones that don't have a life of their own.

In case they ask something or say something rude or cross a boundary just start singing a song or change the topic completely. Don't acknowledge anything they say and continue with your random talks or humming. Trust me it's the easiest way to get rid of them.

Still some are persistent and will try to get an answer. Simply say it's not worth discussing. It's boring.

8) Apart from that there are subtle things you can do which can create a persona that conveys you are not open towards personal questions. You can do it by simply detaching yourself whenever someone starts talking about their personal lives. Don't be a participant or a listener. It gives a que you are not looking to bond personally and many other similar things.

9) If you are truly in a toxic work culture where your colleagues seem to constantly bug and bully you to share personal stuff (happened with me in my previous workplace) Firmly state,"I come here to work not to make personal relations."

10) Ignore.

I hope it helps even a little there's not much we can do without offending the other person but we can be gentle and polite in our tone and gesture that's the only way.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

[accio-victuuri]

Bojunyixiao’s Weibo night 2023/2024 🎉🎉

can you believe we’re here again. no matter how problematic sina weibo is as a platform, their awards night is a day cpfs look forward to because our boys will be attending. even if we know they won’t interact or anything, the fact that they get to attend the same event is enough for us.

i will just include the recap for the past years on here, the 2019/2020 being very short cause i feel like that has been widely speculated and talked about already. then 2021 and 2022. this post will discuss the event and stuff that happened + some commentary + cpn clownery. enjoy!!!!!

I. CPFs team building and showing strength

It would not be fair to exclude this feat that cpfs achieved with the free tickets for Weibo night. Even if we had no idea if both of them will attend, cpfs tried to grab tickets just in case it happens so we will be prepared. In the first round, we surprised all other fan groups with how we dominated and it set the rhythm for the next rounds. Trust cpfs to set the trend and make other fandoms “wake up”. lol. They can say what they want about cpfs but we all know that part of the hate is because they do not understand why we’re still here. They don’t get why we are this strong and a happy group.

My favorite thing that happened was when the top profile photos spelled out BJYXSZD + heart with a mole. It doesn’t stop there tho, the next week/round, we still dominated so Sina Weibo tried to save face by doing some tactics to suppress us. Nevertheless, every week, more of us got tickets because of the help of our little turtle fandom.

There were also efforts to get top comments on Weibo Night posts but I won’t get into that anymore cause we usually do that. But the thought of showing strength “online” as what the boys advertised is sweet.

Years later, we are still as strong as ever and shall remain that way. and that’s all thanks to each and every turtle out there who chooses positivity & makes sure our community remains a safe space.

II. The anticipation and announcements

It’s safe to say that this year, XZ is a sure attendee cause he always tops the voting at this event. However, some were still not sure cause he did not attend other public events last year like 10c starlight or NYE events cause he is busy with filming his projects. On 1/10 evening tho, a rather unsavory rumor made it on HS which was a signal that weibo night was getting desperate and wanted some noise for their event. lol. maybe there are other parties involved, but the intent is the same. I will also just mention the issue that happened on 1/9 with Chunzhen and them withdrawing lottery tickets supposedly won by certain fans. But the next day, Weibo lottery decided to honor the win and gave the tickets. I have no reaction to this tbh, and that’s why i didn’t talk about this separately and at length on my blog. It’s the brand / fandom that i have nothing to do with’s issue. As a turtle, we all know how CZ is with certain things so i’m not surprised that this happened. LOL.

I honestly feel for XZ, he is out there working hard and minding his own business but people and circumstances keep dragging him into irrelevant incidents.

As for WYB, everyone thought he wasn’t gonna attend. This is the same energy as last year. People are busier with grabbing tickets for his SDC6 finals and completely ignored weibo night ( as they should ). There was still some hope tho, cause if you think about it, he attended a lot of platform events. Tencent, IQIYI, GQ MOTY and 2 NYE shows. So why not Weibo Night? I have said it before, but one thing that I loved about WYB attending multiple events by the end of last year was it’s a show of his position and professionalism in the industry. He can go anywhere and be welcomed — he has good relations with almost everyone and that is important in their industry.

I know he is not fond of public events, but i’d like to think he says yes because of his professional relationship with these platforms/companies. I was never a fan of when people flex that their fave “will not go to xx because they did something to him etc.” LOL. That’s not how any industry works. You can’t burn bridges and I’m happy that WYB doesn’t do that. It’s also a testament of how much of a good boy he is 🤍

Anyway, back to the timeline. On 1/10, Weibo announced some winners and the boys are on there. I guess One & Only winning was a clue that WYB will go. Then a so/o account gave a tip that WYB will announce his attendance to an event on 1/11 @ 13:00. So by the evening of 1/10, it was mostly confirmed that WYB will be going.

The next day, 1/11, Weibo Night account started posting emoji clues for the remaining celebrities to be added in their guest lineup. A few hours later, both the boys announced their attendance. What’s different this time tho is aside from the usual copy-paste caption, there is a reminder for everyone to not do any fan activities at the venue. more details was also added in the comment. I guess they don’t want a repeat of what happened last year with the crowds. It caused a delay & cancellation of the red carpet. Both XZS and YBO reposted with more guidelines to follow like no gatherings and light signs etc.

i know weibo dictated the posting time but the 13 kadian is sending me! yizhan! 🫶🏼

The BJYX ST mods also sent out a message to not do any offline support.

There are more fandom drama after the announcement with other groups but i won’t add that here anymore cause it will only rot our brain. && it’s so much better to focus on the boys!

III. Pre show discussion

On the eve of Weibo Night, GG attended an awards show and it gave us some sweet candy. The most interesting to me is the choice of Alexander McQueen and the first two celebrities tagged by the brand on their weibo in 2024. This is giving me Dsquared vibes. Also how it almost mirrors the wedding-ish vibes they had last Weibo night. I know we as cpfs are somehow programmed to seeing connections but honestly, they don’t make it hard.

Late at night too, Weibo started showing opening screens of attendees and of course they didn’t put them in the same group/frame. This is understandable cause they wouldn’t put the top male celebrities together and knowing how both their fandoms hate each other. Also, how the grouping went, WYB’s was more of the “movie group”. That won’t stop me from being a bit better tho. lol. Cause if they can’t put them in the same frame like that, there is just no way they will be on the same stage or even sat remotely close to each other.

A photo from inside the venue also showed the projected commercial on stage is WYB & Chunzhen 😂😂😂😂😂

I can just imagine XZ smiling when he sees.

There were also talks of the both of them being on the second row. XZ was already seated way before the ceremony started, and their names are so close but cpfs were anticipating since WYB was not inside yet. We were all waiting to see if it will happen. WYB is supposedly next to YZ but then we see that Jackson sat there. We joked that he should stay there so WYB’s place will be taken and he will have no choice but to sit next to XZ 😂😂😂

IV. Red Carpet shenanigans

🟢 WYB’s red carpet walk

I honestly didn’t get the whole look tho when some people pointed out that it’s the glam version of what he wears when he plays golf — i kinda got it. For his past platform events like GQ, IQIYI & 10C, his red carpet were really casual. I guess that’s what he wants — to be comfortable walking the carpet. There were also some praising him for going against the norm. Well, I have to say tho that his face really stood out. Minimal to no make up look. He was so handsome! 🫶🏼

🔴 XZ’s red carpet walk

I love his outfit! It’s black but still got that something special to make him stand out. &&& I honestly love the hair! I thought I would cry because of how short it is now but it suits him. I mean, he looks gorgeous in anything but you know what I mean ☺️

CPN: XZ signed his name beside/very close to WYB. granted, there are so many signatures there but i’m wondering if he recognized his husband’s signature. lol. In this simple way, they can be next to each other!

V. Weibo night links

XIAO ZHAN

Photoshoot for red carpet look

Photoshoot for second outfit

Xiao Zhan winning Outstanding Actor of the Year

WANG YIBO

Photoshoot for red carpet look // Photoshoot BTS video

Yibo winning popular filmmaker of the year

Yibo-Official post for Weibo Night

* This is incomplete cause we still don’t have ( at the moment of posting ), the BTS for XZS photoshoot + their photos while receiving the awards.

VI. THE SUGAR RUSH 🍭🍬

• WYB’s personal post of him and the caption. The freakin caption. Look, i know that WYB’s brand is all about being the “cool guy” so maybe that’s why he said in the caption that he likes the HS about him. But the thing is, it’s totally out of character. How many events did he attend with him going so high up the HS with much more interesting tags but he chose this? Also, he really needed to do so that he used his own account??? For a couple of years now, yibo-official is the one that posts for him when he is at an event. So the speculation is this one is personal and amused him so much, seeing that their HS for the same event they are both at matched! Also, when WYB posted that, CPFs flooded the top comments! Understandably so. 💛

• The signed photos which i’m not sure about. I actually saw someone post that earlier and people were clowning about how it can’t be real.

But then, an account posted a giveaway with all the other attendees and it included the couple photo. I’m putting this down as clownery, cause on their end there will always be deniability. The autographed photo was also deleted by the account a bit later, which is actually expected cause it will bring trouble. lol.

• XZS and YBO matching again! Look at how they arranged the photos. How a few of the snaps are not in theme with the rest. Nothing new here!

• The same song and dance of them missing to see each other. As soon as XZ was gone, WYB came in to sit down. Good thing he had Jackson to talk too a bit and he was gone again after 10 mins! Hopefully they could spend time together backstage away from the cameras. 📷

People are pointing out that XZ was checking his phone lol. probably checking if WYB is giving him a signal to leave so they can do their usual operation. These two! Honestly!

• Not really CPN, but a similarity. In the red carpet, both of them didn’t do the “activities” that others were supposed to. If you watched the red carpet, there is a point where they have to choose something from a wall with numbers. there is also a choice to take a photo from one of the “themes” by they both bypassed it. I was rolling my eyes cause a WYB anti was trying to make a big deal out of it, but then XZ did the exact same thing. Some people just don’t understand how celebrities like them operate. Not to say that they are above everyone else, it’s just that they do things differently.

• ZSWW fake rumor account posted at 19:21. At this time the red carpet was already finished. It doesn’t say who is saying which line. I’m interpreting this incident to be something that happened today backstage 🤡🤡🤡

"A kiss, a kiss...

"Oh, okay, let's talk about it later when we get back.”

"There will be a surprise when I go back 😏”

"What?"

“You'll know when you go back”

Then they posted again, at 21:05 with a much longer one but it doesn’t seem be pertaining to today’s events.

• There is a photo/video of XZ talking to Huang Bo! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! and now we’re thinking about how they haven’t cooperated with each other but seem familiar. Yes, we don’t know all their relationship and friends off camera but my mind immediately went to the SDC 3 clowning. That’s most likely when they became close. lol.

• Heaven’s choice cause WYB was sat at #23 ( Love Zhan )

• This time, both of them left the venue after they received their awards. XZ didn’t stay like he did the previous years. Good for them! It’s better to spend time together 🤍 I know that most of us expected what happened today, them not being in the same place at the same time. Tho some may see that in a negative way, I actually see this as an example of trying to keep their private life separate from the public. Tho a big part of their lives are on camera and that’s how they met. I think what they are doing is really to reserve the time they have & are seen together in private. Maybe some can’t see it that way and will be frustrated but at the end of the day, we have to respect their choice.

• XZ’s 2nd outfit is by Balmain! He tends to wear this at events that they both attend 🥹🥹🥹

• It’s now XZ’s turn to see the cpf headband light signs! Lol. I hope he saw it. We all know that he is near sighted sooooo….

====

If there are post event CPNs, i will do a separate discussion. See you in the next Weibo Night! ✌🏼

[thetriumphantpanda]

Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter Six)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 3.3k

Warnings / Not much to warn you of here apart from some pining, discussions of therapy sessions, a graveyard but that's about it.

Authors Note / We're moving slowly but surely where these two need to be. I hope the slow burn isn't putting too many of you off but I promise within the next few chapters we're going to get to the meat of the story. If you enjoyed this then please consider reblogging, commenting or popping into my ask box with your thoughts and feelings! I love you all and thank you for continuing to support me.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

You were back in Belinda’s office. There was something about sitting there today that brought you back to the very first time you’d sat down with her. Afraid to unpack everything, sitting on the verge of tears, sobbing at the first mention of Mark’s name. It didn’t feel much different this time, tissue clasped in your hand as usual, but you didn’t think it would be Mark’s name that made you cry, you were sure it would be Joel’s. 

“You seem a little distracted today.” Belinda points out, pulling your attention from staring out the window, “Anything particular on your mind you’d like to talk about?” 

You let out a sign and your shoulders slump, “I think I’m confused.” 

“About what?” Belinda asks. 

Another sigh, another slump of your shoulders so you’re practically leaning over your knees to avoid looking at her, “Something happened,” You mumble, “With Tommy’s brother.” 

“Joel?” 

You nod, “He’s a friend, he’s really helped me these past few weeks, this weekend I had them all over, Tommy, Maria, Joel and Ellie and it was such a lovely day, the first time I’d felt genuinely happy in a long time.” 

“Then something happened?” She presses. 

You lean back, looking at her this time, she’d always told you that in order to have difficult conversations you had to face them head on, “Everyone left apart from Joel, we’d been drinking quite a lot and I asked him about his experience with grief, which was fine, but as he was leaving we kissed,” God you felt like a teenager again, explaining to your best friend how your crush had kissed you before class, “And now I’m confused Belinda, and I don’t know what to do.” 

She nods in understanding, “Did you want him to kiss you?” She asks. 

“I don’t know?” You shrug, “I guess I did; I think I’ve been ignoring the fact for a while that I like that he’s looked after me and that he’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, it’s not that I didn’t want it, it’s that when I closed my eyes, all I could see and think about was Mark.” 

“You know, this is entirely normal and understandable,” She’s trying to make you feel better, even if she is the professional, “When we lose someone, especially someone we know romantically, it’s hard not to compare the two people to each other, but that doesn’t mean it’s not something you shouldn’t pursue if you want it,” She notes something down on her notepad, “You do want this, with Joel?” 

“I don’t know,” You groan, throwing your face into your hands, “When we were talking outside before all of this, I told Joel that I almost wished Mark had told me to move on before he died, gave me permission to be happy.” 

“But you don’t need his permission,” She states blankly, “I’m going to speak very honestly with you now, I hope that’s okay?” You nod, giving her permission to go on, “Mark is gone, I know that’s painful, but we don’t know what, if anything, exists after this life, and if you continue to think of what Mark would want you to do for anything then you’re never going to be happy.” 

It was inevitable but this is the moment you start crying. Up until now you think you’d convinced yourself that it might all be a bad dream, that you’ll wake up one morning and he’ll still be there, he’ll make the coffee and you’ll sit together, and everything will be fine. But Belinda is right. He is gone. Has been gone for over a year and he’s not coming back. You dab at your eyes with the tissue. 

“I think Joel makes you happy, am I right?” You nod, “Well then, don’t fight it,” She sighs herself, putting down her pen, “I’m not saying run off and get married, or sleep in the same bed, but if he makes you happy then let him do that, I think you might surprise yourself with what happens.” 

“But what about what everyone else thinks?” 

“Do you want me to answer that as your therapist or your friend?” 

“Both?” You shrug. 

“As your therapist, we already talked about this, unless it’s Tommy or Maria or anyone else you’re close to, it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks,” She pauses and a smirk falls across her lips, “As your friend? Fuck them.” 

You laugh through your tears, blowing your nose into the tissue before balling it into your fist, “Listen, I’m not telling you to rush things, just speak to him, be honest about what’s happening in your head, and if he’s half the man you’ve made him out to be then he’ll understand, and he’ll wait for you.” 

You stand up to leave, “You know, he already told me he would.” 

She’s got her hand on the small of your back to lead you out to the front door, “Well, there you go,” You open the front door to leave when Belinda adds, “Go get your man.” 

*

It’s late afternoon and you’re sat on the back porch soaking up the last of the sun. Finished coffee mug on the table, you’re absentmindedly running your fingers along the table. 

“Oh thank God!” 

You think your heart stops of a second as you let out a scream and turn to the back door, it’s Maria. 

“Fucking hell Maria, a little warning would be nice!” You exclaim, clutching your chest to try and regulate your pulse back to someone who isn’t about to die of a heart attack. 

“Sorry, but I was knocking on the door for ages, I didn’t know where you’d gone!” 

Maria takes a seat next to you and your heart fills with guilt at the fact that you’d worried her, “I’m sorry, guess I was just in my own little world out here,” You speak, “Shouldn’t you be at the council meeting?” 

“Finished early,” She shrugs, “Thought I’d pop by and see you.” 

“Coffee?” You ask, pointing to your empty mug. 

“I’m okay, I think I had three to get me through that meeting, anymore and I’ll be climbing the walls.” 

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you before Maria speaks again, “So, what’s on your mind then?” 

You run a hand over your face, “My therapy session with Belinda has thrown up more questions than answers and I don’t really know where to start.” 

“Well, two heads are better than one.” Maria coaxed. 

You groan, “You cannot say anything to anyone, not even Tommy, okay?” 

“Cross my heart.” She smiles, doing the motion of a cross over her chest. 

You take a deep breath, “I kissed Joel.” 

“Sorry, say that again?” 

“I kissed Joel.” You say again, louder this time. 

“I thought that’s what you said but I just needed to be sure,” She’s got the same smirk on her face that she had in the market a few weeks ago when Joel had first appeared, “And what’s the problem?” 

“Maria, you know damn well what the problem is!” You snapped. 

“There could be lots of problems, honey,” She soothes, “Did he kiss you without permission? That’s a problem. Was he a bad kisser? That’s also a problem. I’m going to need to know the exact problem you have in order to help you.” 

“For crying out loud,” You grumble in frustration, “Neither of those are the problem, the problem is that I wanted it. I wanted it so bad Maria, and then as soon as I closed my eyes it was Mark, I was thinking about Mark.” 

“Honey, of course you did, Joel is the first person you’ve looked at since he died, of course you’re going to be thinking about him, but that doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.” 

“But he deserves so much more than a woman who only sees her dead husband when she kisses him.” 

Maria reaches out and gives your forearm a hard squeeze, “So do you honey, and the only way that’s going to happen is to keep trying,” Her voice is low and its sweet and you’re so overwhelmed that you start crying again, “He’s a good man, let him learn to love you darling girl.” 

You lean your head back against the chair and look up into the clear sky above you, rubbing at your eyes to try and dispel the tears from falling anymore. You were tired. Sick and tired of this always being the go-to when things got hard or complicated. 

“Maybe you should go and talk to him?” Maria suggests softly. 

“Joel?” You asked, leaning your head to look at her. 

“Well, yes, eventually, but I meant Mark,” She nods her head to the sweet peas on the wall, “Why don’t you take him some flowers and talk to him about everything?” 

You had to admit that you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spent time at his grave. Up until now it had been more painful to imagine him, buried under the earth, rotting away, than it was to go and see him. Maybe this is what you needed though. He was always the person you’d go to with your problems, and although this was a different problem altogether, maybe he could still help. Maybe, in your wishful thinking, he could send you some sort of sigh from beyond the grave. The permission you needed to truly let yourself be happy again. 

You nod, “Maybe I will.” 

Maria smiles and stands, “I should really be getting back home, there’s mountains of documents for me to pour over, but you know where we are if you need us.” 

*

Joel was vaguely aware that Tommy was talking to him. He could hear the usual southern drone of his accent, but he couldn’t hear a word he was actually saying. 

“Are you even listening?!” Tommy pauses, breaking Joel away from his thoughts. 

“Course I am.” 

“Fuckin’ liar Joel, you’ve had your head up in the clouds since we started out this mornin’.” 

“Yeah well, I just gotta lot to think about right now.” 

“Enlighten me then, what do you have going through your mind right now that means you’re away in cloud cuckoo land?” 

“You know you can be really irritating sometimes?” 

Tommy grins at him as they continue their patrol together. It’s the easy route this afternoon which Joel is glad for, his knees are really starting to feel their age now and he doesn’t think that regular patrols on the hills would be a good idea anymore, “I’m your little brother, I’m supposed to be irritating.” 

“You gotta swear to me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, you understand?” 

Tommy is looking at him expectedly, slowing his walking pace down so he can look at his brother. Joel almost wishes he would walk ahead of him, so he doesn’t have to look at his face when he admits what he’s done, but talking with Tommy about this stuff has never been easy. 

“I kissed her.” Joel states simply, not wanting to beat around the bush. 

Tommy stops dead in his tracks; Joel decides to keep walking. He can’t deal with the shit-eating grin he knows will be plastered on his brother’s face. He can already hear the ‘you told me it wasn’t a date’ comment. 

“The longer you stand still, the later we’ll be for dinner,” Joel calls over his shoulder, “I’m not going to be happy with another meager plate of leftovers.” 

He can hear Tommy’s boots hitting the ground behind him and then he’s being clapped on the back, “I didn’t think you had game anymore, big brother.” 

“Would you knock it off?!” Joel exclaims, “It’s nothing to do with game, it was a stupid mistake.” 

“Cut the shit Joel,” Tommy scoffed, “Everyone saw how you were lookin’ at her over that fire the other night, whatever it was, it wasn’t a mistake.” 

“Yeah, well you weren’t there, alright?” Joel is regretting bringing this up altogether now, “Maybe I don’t mean that it was a mistake, lord knows I’ve wanted to for a while now, but fuck, the way she looked at me after, it broke my heart, Tommy.”

“So, she regretted it, not the first time a girl’s come to her senses with you.” 

That earns him a swift slap to the arm, “All she said was that she couldn’t, not right now anyway.” 

“Well then, I don’t know what the issue is?” Tommy shrugs. 

Joel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, it’s reminiscent of all the time’s Tommy had called Joel from jail to bail him out all those years ago, “The issue is Tommy, that I can’t be around her then, there’s something inside of me that just wants to do whatever I can to make all her pain go away, and the only way I want to do that is to kiss her, but I don’t just want to slot in where her husband left, that ain’t right.” 

Tommy is quiet for a while as they continue walking, he, like Joel, is surveying the land, but like always, it seems quiet. No signs of infected, no signs of raiding parties. They reach the end of the patrol hike and Tommy sits against a tree, taking out his hip flask to take a sip before he hands it to Joel, who gladly takes a drink before handing it back. 

“You know, you’re nothing like him.” Tommy says quietly. 

“Like who?”

“Fuckin’ hell, your memory can’t be that bad,” Tommy takes another drink, “You’re nothing like Mark.” 

Joel doesn’t want to pry, because then it might seem like he’s fishing for compliments in some weird way, but it’s alright because Tommy has never really been able to keep his opinions to himself. 

“Don’t get me wrong, he was a good man, but physically? Completely different.” He passes Joel the flask again, “He was blonde, couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it, and let’s not forget younger than you, he was so small and slight, and completely hopeless with anything around the house.” 

Joel’s ears prick, “But she told me when I fixed her step that he always handled that kinda stuff?” 

“That’s because I did all the fixin’ and let him pass it off as his own,” Tommy shrugs, “Don’t ask me why, I guess I can see why she’s gotten under your skin, she’s the sweetest girl I’ve ever met, one of the only girls I would protect with my life, outside Maria and Ellie now.” 

“Does that mean that back porch was all your work?” 

“Course it was Joel,” Tommy chuckles, “He was a lovely man, nice as pie, could never do anything wrong to anyone, we all loved him, loved them together, but brother I can guarantee that there’s no way you’re just going to slot into his place, because you’re nothing alike.” 

“I don’t think that’s really what I’m worried about, I just don’t want anyone to think that I think the only way to help her is to take her to bed.” 

“You’ve been her friend first Joel,” Tommy reassures as he stands up to make the walk back to Jackson, “This is how things happen these days, you meet someone nice, do nice things for them and if things are meant to be, they’ll be.” 

“When the hell did you get so wise?” Joel chuckles. 

“Just focus on the fact that all she said was not right now,” Joel nods in agreement at Tommy’s words, “And maybe, stop acting like you’re fifteen again and just open your mouth and talk to her, you’ll never know what she really means, or feels, if you don’t.” 

*

The sky has decided to match your mood suddenly. Gone are the bright blue skies and the sun, replaced with grey clouds that you think threaten to burst open and soak you any moment. It would be a mercy if they did, it would give you an excuse to leave and go home. It’s like the weather knows that you want to turn and run - it’s why it’s holding off on the rain. 

You’re stood in front of Mark’s gravestone and it kind of feels like you’re having a strange out of body experience. You shake your head and remember the fistful of sweet peas in your hand, cut especially for him. When you look down at them, all you can really hear is that fucking southern drawl that Joel has saying that nickname. You curse him, because even now he’s front and center in your mind. 

You set the flowers down on the earth in front of the gravestone before settling yourself down on the ground with your knees pulled up to your chest. Where do you even start? 

“I’m sorry,” Seems a good a place as any, “I’m sorry I’ve not visited recently.” 

It’s like you’re expecting a voice to respond back, a lump appears in your throat when you realise he’s not going to answer you, “It’s been really hard recently,” You continue speaking, eyes on the gravestone, “I’m trying to get back into life here, I mean, I’m sure if you’re out there somewhere you’ll know, I’ve started going back to work, and I can finally leave the house without Maria.” 

A lone tears drips down your cheek, which you brush away, “I’ve even made new friends, there’s this new guy here called Joel and his daughter, Ellie, well, he treats her like a daughter, but he lost his first daughter on outbreak day,” You’re rambling, even to his gravestone, you’re rambling, “Anyway, that’s not important.” 

You’re quiet for a moment because you really don’t know what to say, “I wish I didn’t miss you so much, Mark,” You sniff, “It would make this so much easier, but I think Joel might become more than my friend, I don’t even know how it’s happened Mark and I’m so sorry, I don’t feel like I’ve mourned you for long enough, but he’s a good man, he’s kind and God you’re so different from each other, but I think he might be good for me.” 

There’s such a relief in admitting this to yourself more than anything, that Joel might be good for you. You’ve always been different around him, whether you wanted to accept it all not. He could effortlessly pull smiles from you, make you laugh, make you cry when he was kind to you, he’d pushed you in ways you really needed. 

“I think I know you’d want me to be happy Mark,” You sniffle through tears, “But God, if you’re there, give me a sign, just give me something, I’m begging you,” You rub at your face, “Please?”

You don’t really understand what it was you were looking for. Before all this, your friends had told you that their loved ones came back as something to signal they were still around. You remember Jessica from your high school math class mentioning her grandfather came back to visit them as a bumblebee because he liked gardening. Your parents hadn’t reappeared as anything, you hadn’t noticed an abundance of anything that might signify that they were looking out for you, and this was no different. There was nothing, no birds singing in a tree that you could convince yourself was Mark. 

You drop your head into your knees and resign yourself to the feeling of emptiness when there’s a warmth on your back. You lift your head and turn around. The sun is breaking through the clouds behind you and when you look around, the sun is beaming directly onto you and Mark’s gravestone. A sob leaves your lungs and the biggest feeling of relief washes over you. Maybe it was the biggest coincidence you’ve ever known, but by God you’re going to take it. The sign you’d begged for. The sign that you knew you didn’t really need. The sign that Mark would want you to be happy, and if it’s Joel that did that, then so be it.

You rise to your knees and put a hand on the top of the gravestone, lightly pressing your lips to it, “Thank you.” Is all you whisper before you’re gone. 

PREV | NEXT

Joel Miller Taglist - @winwin70@jessie8605@trulybetty@amanitacowboy@morning-star-joy@tieronecrush@leeeesahhh@babeincolor@beee-haw@kirsteng42@mirandablue1@sixxslut@impala1967dwinchester@flash2412@gimmebackmysoul@kelp-dreaming@gracie7209@voteforpedro09@brittmb115@karokaroxx@amb11@heartfairy @grumpy-the-tired @Lillilotus @doctorstatic@morallyinept@southernbe@elissaa@pop-sugar102@u-luciferssatanicdaughter@alyhull@purplerain44@harryleatherfit@lovely-ateez@emilianamason @bootyliciousposts @lorilane33@casa-boiardi @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @tightjeansjavi @cavillscurls

[basiatlu]

On Theft in Art

First: thank you to the anon here and the other many people who brought this to my attention! I know you did it out of support of me and I love you for it.

I was ready to keep it private as I didn’t want anything negative to come up and be associated with my art. But as I was asked across different platforms concerning the art in question I realized it really bummed me out. I’m here to have a good time in the fandom and create with you all. We have a good thing here in the community and I didn’t want any smoke with another artist - a mutual even.

So to help me feel a little better about it I want to turn this into an opportunity to teach others on the differences between Reference, Inspiration, Reinterpretation, and Theft

Reference: (usually) a visual source of information in order to better understand something. Example here is of my reference board and the art I am currently working on.

My favorite example of a professional using reference photos is by Hirohiko Araki (creator and artist of JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure), who uses fashion editorials and photoshoots ALL the time it’s awesome - tysm @yumiaiyuma for showing me this goldmine

Study and Inspiration: here is a great example from the wonderful Stephanie Pepper. Notice the caption stating these are studies, the movie it is from, and I will even go on to say that this artist is influenced or inspired by the prolific works of J. C. Leyendecker (but what’s key is that Stephanie Pepper has developed and practiced to the point of deviating from his work and become a style of art completely her own - and she’s so recognizable in my opinion!)

Personal Example for Inspiration:

An Example of Reinterpretation: note - Both these classical artists whose works are being recycled are dead and no longer missing out on potential work and income. Where stealing ideas and art from current artists hurts them financially and mentally and emotionally. Howl as The Fallen Angel by _mimimaru on Instagram is an interpretation of a 1847 painting by Alexandre Cabanel and is now considered public domain // the Mickey Mouse self portrait was by Charles Boyer and is a parody of the famous illustration by Norman Rockwell and was commissioned by Walt Disney, himself.

Now here’s the part that is concerning to several people, myself included.

Recently, an artist found the reference I used, and decided to draw Andromeda, Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Regulus staring at Sirius getting supposedly punished by Walburga Black off screen.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a matter of tracing or claiming my image as their own. I do not mind at all if myself and another artist end up using the same reference. It happens all the time. Referencing and studying is not stealing. Reinterpretation is great for meme art challenges and paying respect to old classics. Even being inspired and doing one’s own version of another artist’s idea is totally cool, especially if you tag and/or shoutout the artist that inspired you.

I genuinely love and appreciate everyone who has brought this to my attention and who has been supportive and defensive of me with this. That reaction means more to me than anything else in this whole ordeal, if I’m being honest. So thank you all so much, with all my heart.

In closing: Do I hope this is all one gigantic coincidence? Absolutely. It’s one of those very uncool things that hurts my heart as an artist. I just want everyone to enjoy art and inspire each other so we can all grow. I do not want any malice to come from this either. I just wanted to inform everyone that I am aware of this, and give some of my thoughts on it. I also wanted to use this as a way to educate everyone on artistic process and why these things might happen sometimes.

Edit: me and the artist have chatted and we see it as a silly coincidence ♡ and honestly I'm happy and so relieved with that. But I think a lot of this info is still good to be mindful of in a creative community where we circulate ideas and content regularly.

[merakiui]

Omg Mera I love your codependency Azul piece! He's so insane and he's so determined to cling to his darling at all time. And when codependency boyfriend Azul evolved into codependency husband Azul? Gosh he would be so insistent on making his darling pregnant, so they will be a happy family and darling has even more reasons not to leave him! Darling initially thinks that having a baby will help Azul so they agree, but then they realise in horror that even the baby is not safe from Azul's antics. Truly, there's no escape for darling.

You’re trying your very best to help Azul, hoping that this will ease his self-destructive tendencies, but he just gets worse with a child. He’s all over you during the nine months you’re pregnant, even more obsessed and attached than before. He can’t leave you for more than a minute, so that makes going to work very stressful. He can’t let you out of his sight for more than a few minutes; he’s always so worried. It becomes so debilitating that he actually forces you to come to his work with him, and you sit in his office and read a book while Azul’s busy reviewing paperwork or revising a spreadsheet on his laptop. It’s really so troublesome, but if this is what it takes to keep your husband peacefully on track you’ll do it.

It becomes a little challenging to get you out of the house for long periods of time when you’re more heavily pregnant because you tend to become exhausted rather quickly. Azul understands it’s a lot on you because this is your first pregnancy and you’re already doing so much on your feet already, even if he insists he’ll cook and clean and do all of the housework himself so you won’t push yourself too hard. It becomes annoying quickly because you’re still capable of these things. You just need to pace yourself and take breaks occasionally. Honestly, he’s so stifling with his worries. >_< Azul might consider getting one or both of his childhood friends (Jade and Floyd) to watch over you when you feel too fatigued to get up and follow him into work, but even that is a stretch. He calls every second he gets, most often when he’s on break or out at lunch. He asks so many questions because he’s always so afraid that something’s happened and he’s not there to help or protect. Jade always calms him down, asking, “Would we ever let any harm befall your (Name)?” He alway says your (Name) as if you’re Azul’s possession and not your own person. Azul knows the answer to this question well. Of course the twins can keep you safe. They’re ruthlessly strong. Still, he worries. He always does.

And when it’s time for the baby to come into the world… omg he’s a mess. He doesn’t want the doctors and nurses touching you, but he knows they have to because they’re professionals and they’ll ensure the baby’s delivered safely. He hates seeing you in pain, but soon it’ll be over and you’ll get to hold the baby and he can finally have the happy family he’s always wanted with you. He’s arguably “healthier” with your child because he spoils them rotten and allows them to get away with a lot of things because he dotes on them so much. He never shows them any of the nasty, monstrous sides you usually see because he only wants his child to know happiness and love. But if you try to find a way out of the relationship after giving him the child he’s wanted, he’ll use them as a means of keeping you tethered to him. After all, it won’t be a happy family if Papa Azul is found dead in the bathtub.

Your husband needs help, but then you’re not sure where to start—or how to go about starting. But you’ll have to try because it’s all you’ve ever done: try and try and try.

[ben-marco]

feel free to delete or not answer, i dont expect a therapy session in response to this ask and i definitely dont ask with hopes of getting a free diagnosis of ramcoa trauma online

do you have any tips for trying not to feel like im lying to myself whenever flashbacks and memories / emotions / etc of possible ramcoa trauma pop up? theres no external confirmation about anything, like our parent/s not remembering us going away for a couple days for example despite us remembering being away from them for days at a time and i feel like im going bonkers 💀

This is a tough one for many survivors of OEA (and for many survivors of abuse in general, honestly). Know that you are certainly not the only one.

What helped me was knowing that when memories like that bubble up, it's likely because a part felt safe to share them with me. If I had entrusted someone with such sensitive information, it would be very upsetting to me if they responded with "That's not real, you must be lying!" But...it can often be easier to respond with disbelief than it is to respond with patience and comfort. I get it.

When memories come up, even if I as a host/ANP don't necessarily immediately believe them, I try my best to keep my kneejerk disbelief to myself. I thank the part for sharing them ("I understand this must have been very difficult for you to share with me. That must have taken a lot of courage. Thank you for sharing" or some variation) and then, if I'm in a position to do so, I try to engage in something that's grounding or stabilizing, and I ask inside if anyone needs anything or if they would like to join me in getting grounded together. Sometimes I get a response (sometimes the response is from the part who shared the memory) and sometimes I don't, but either way I try to take a moment to do something that makes me feel grounded and safe and present. And just like I thanked the part, I also tell them that we are safe now, and things are different these days.

What matters here, in the moment, is not necessarily whether a memory is true, false, or anything in-between. What matters is that a part has entrusted you with that memory and needs to feel safe. Sorting out what's true or false can come later, and a trauma-informed professional may even tell you that it doesn't matter as much whether it's true or false as much as it matters that you are suffering from it. Whether a distressing memory is "real" or not, you still remember it and you still experience distress from it. That is what matters.

I know it's difficult and painful to deal with being handed these memories but really the most important thing you can do is take a deep breath, thank that part for sharing, and then do something that reinforces the fact that you are safe now.

In the front of my journal, I've written down a few communication questions that I like to use during flashbacks or when I'm "sent" memories by EPs or traumaholders. I am not always able to use them, but I've found them helpful for the events when I can use them. I'll leave them, and some other resources, under the cut.

Communication questions for flashbacks. When asking these, I find it's important not to take an interrogatory tone-- remember, you don't want the part to think they're in trouble for sharing with you. If I can't ask these questions in the moment, I also find it helpful to reflect on them after the fact.

"Is there a reason I'm being shown this flashback? Is someone sending this to me?"

"What are you trying to communicate?"

Is someone else in a flashback and got close to front?" (If so, grounding is extra important here)

"Do you feel unsafe about something else happening in our life?"

"Is this your way of reminding me we aren't supposed to tell anyone?"

"Are you trying to keep me from doing something? Why are you afraid of me doing that?"

"Did something trigger you that I don't know about?"

"Did someone inside order you to share this memory with me? You are not in trouble. I want to talk to them, not you."

"Are you feeling ignored? Are there other ways you could get my attention without re-traumatizing me?"

"Are you oriented to the present? I know it's 2024 (or the present year), but do you? How can we work on getting grounded together?"

"Am I being reprimanded? Can it be shared with me what I did wrong? Let's talk this over."

Of course these can be added to or changed as you see fit. They are from this article by Beauty After Bruises and I've been copying them into my journals for years. You may find other parts of the article helpful as well, as it discusses grounding techniques and other flashback coping tools.

The CTAD Clinic's YouTube channel might also be helpful, and if you'd like to make a grounding box or learn about making one, MultiplicityAndMe has a wonderful video about that.

[rageprufrock]

hello, I hope you're doing well. I was wondering if you could answer a career-related question of mine. I'm a young woman (21) in an extremely male-dominated field. I want to go into project management, but I am not prepared to deal with the insane male egos/fragile masculinity I had to experience during my internships. it doesn't help that I've been a passive person my whole life. how do I overcome my passiveness? how do I even begin to learn leadership and project/people management? 1/

I'm going to be honest, you're catching me at a disadvantage because I'm allergic to project management. Like if I'm sharing an area code with that shit I'm itchy. I'm joking, a little, sort of, because the unfortunate truth is about 50% of my job on any given day at this point is project managements but I still hate it. The point is, I'm not your best point of contact for it, because while I can do it for my specific area of expertise, the practice by itself is not my ministry, if you get my drift. Project managers are lunatics who you will find snorting crushed up Excel spreadsheets in truck stop bathrooms, and for that I fear and respect them.

For the passivity, maybe have some thoughts that might be helpful.

So like, you're probably not going to like hearing this: but oh my God, you're--so young. Like I refer to someone on my team who is 30 this year as the resident fetus. You have nine years before you hit fetus status. So much of you're feeling is only going to be remedied with time and experience, and your fearfulness of speaking or standing out right now in a professional environment isn't a mark of failure in yourself, it's a natural part of your growth and progression.

It is absolutely normal and completely fine that when you were in an intern (or honestly, even early career!) situation, presumably surrounded by people who were more experienced than you and have significant seniority to you, you felt were feeling at sea with the egos and politics.

Here's a dirty little secret, especially re: internships:

Many interns get brought in on projects that are far, far, far beyond their actual scope of capability.

That is because we have no actual expectation that you will deliver any work or usable outputs on it, but we want interns to get excited about what we do, to feel like their work could be important, for them to get a taste of the what it will be like when you actually get your feet wet and have more professional seasoning.

For example, people who summer at law firms get a red carpet experience rolled out to them, and they get to sit in on really exciting high profile client meetings! These are not things that will happen for them again for a long, long, long fucking time once they become associates! Once they've got you in their claws, they no longer care about giving you enjoyable stimulus, now you gotta start billing.

In organizations I've worked at in the past, I was fully happy to welcome interns with like 4 minutes of "experience" into very sensitive high level meetings--with the understanding that (a) everybody there knew they were the intern (b) the objective was to show them what the work could be like and (c) that nobody would actually ask them to throw themselves into the demented fray of the actual work.

The goal isn't to scare you off. We know that the stuff you're seeing a lot of times as an intern is really terrifying, for a lot of reasons. If you're in a room of people with 10 or 20 years of experience on you, then...yeah, it's going to feel awkward. You're not even a full time employee! Of course it's going to be weird and nervewracking! If you didn't feel weird and nervewracked about it, I would ask you to bottle whatever it is you're taking and sell it to become a billionaire.

Beyond that, the rest of it will come with time--truly.

When I think back to the person I was at 21, at 22, I feel such a strange tenderness toward her. I feel so protective. She had no idea what she was doing, and she was doing her best to do her best every day. She failed a lot. She was a mess. The people around her knew it. She knew it. She wasn't the greatest at what she did, or a very good friend, but she was trying so desperately to keep her head above water and only sometimes succeeding.

So much of the vulnerability you're feeling will be remedied in tiny, unnoticed ways. With every day and week and hour, you'll gain some new insight or capability, and some afternoon or month far from today--but closer than you think--you're going to look back and realize you've built yourself an entire suit of professional armor, and have no idea where it came from. You feel passive and ill equipped right now--but that's only because you are ill equipped right now, you just tumbled out onto this strange new world.

It's going to take a while to get your sea legs--just try to be kind to yourself as you do it.

You're going to crush it. I just know it.

[minas-linkverse]

Hi again 😃 I was wondering if you would feel comfortable with kinda elaborating on paranoia ( I think you said you have it yourself?) this is the first time I have seen it represented in media properly, and have also lately been questioning wether I have it or not, as a person with adhd and autism. I’m not really sure how to phrase this well but if it’s okay with you do you have any tips/parts of paranoia that could maybe help me in my consideration on wether I have it or not (I would get an assessment btw ) Please please don’t feel any pressure at all with sharing, having such good representation already in your comic is epicly awesome already and I don’t think people should have to do stuff that they are not comfortable with sharing.

I love your comic, your art and greatly appreciate your representation it’s so cool and awesome , sorry for the long ask I hope you have an nice day 🤩👋😃😊

I wasn't planning to answer this ask but I am in an odd mood tonight and felt it might be beneficial for the both of us. 👍

I'm also autistic, but I think my paranoia also mixes with my OCD, so that may make my experience appear different. I also have never been diagnosed with paranoia, but it is a symptom I've often discussed with my therapists over the years.

For me it has been present since I was around 12, when I would struggle to take the dog for a walk because I feared the air was poisonous or a sniper would shoot me down. (I live in a country that's not had any kind of shooting for decades.) Honestly I'm not entirely sure what caused those, besides the fact I had a lot of unchecked anxiety. I started going to Therapy at age 13.

A lot of things happened between then and age 15 or so. Including my OCD manifesting and a few years of emotional abuse inside my home.

Since then my paranoia has fed my OCD many ideas to use to cause me compulsions. Possibly more relatable-- it has also turned into periods of hyper-vigilance, which is a state where a person is hyper aware of their surroundings and constantly looking for threats and escape routes.

Thankfully all of the above mentioned symptoms have gotten better for me with years of therapy and hard work. Although I will likely be living with them for the rest of my life, it's more like a bad roommate than a danger.

Some advice I can give to anyone who relates to what I've said here is to research things, especially hearing personal accounts can be a huge relief. Another thing is to not ask yourself "What's the worst that could happen?" but "Whats the most likely thing to happen?" It's simple but very helpful.

But yeah, my understanding is that it's more of a symptom alongside other disorders, but I'm not a professional nor have I studied this stuff. My sources are experience and 10 years of therapy. I highly recommend seeking out a professional who gives you a good vibe with their presence.

Also others are free to add to this! ✌️ I'm sending my support to anyone reading this.

[zuzsenpai]

more thoughts on getting screened for autism

I see my psychiatrist next Monday and my therapist next Wednesday, and I want to ask either or both about the process for getting screened. But I've read stories about mental health professionals outright refusing to help someone get screened. They either don't believe their patient is autistic because of X reasons, they think they know better, or don't believe it should matter in the first place. I don't know how to qualify for a screening, tbh. I don't know how it works. Does my insurance even cover it? I'm worried I'm going to have to work really hard to explain myself and my case for getting screened, and I'm going to fuck it up so badly. I'm notoriously TERRIBLE at advocating for myself, and I back down pretty quickly from arguments about myself because I can never find the words to say and I get too emotional. I'm going to stumble on words and my hands are going to shake and my throat is going to close up while I try to read aloud from my Notes app. I'm SO scared I'm going to be denied right from the beginning. I'm going to be told I don't "look" or "act" autistic and that everything I'm describing is because of depression and anxiety. I don't know where to turn if my psychiatrist and therapist deny me. Do I try my primary care doc who knows next to nothing about me beyond my physical health? All three of them are women, so I'm really hoping at least one of them will understand what I'm going through trying to get screened.

I truly just want to know. Even if the screening says I'm not autistic, I am desperately searching for answers about myself right now and I feel like it would help me either way. I've been thinking about this almost every day, and have been dipping my toes into the community. It's been helpful, but I don't know if a self-diagnosis is right for me.

Meanwhile my burnout is not getting any better, and I'm almost certain it was triggered by Zuko's emergency and recovery. Just like all the weeks since that happened, I did exactly zero relaxing things/hobbies/entertainment while on vacation last week. I could not focus. I could not relax. I could barely switch my brain on to go for a walk. I was pretty dang miserable and probably shouldn't have wasted the PTO days honestly.

Anyway, I'm going to write something concise in my Notes app to list off to my psychiatrist on Monday.

[manicpixiedreamguy]

The trans man's guide to singing (on T and other things)

Introduction:

First things first: I am a trans man on HRT who's studying to become a professional singer (not opera lmao, I'm studying modern singing) and all the information I'm providing comes from my personal experience and what my current teacher, who's been teaching me since I started T, taught and told me during my voice change. This is directed towards people who want to go professional because, again, that's my personal experience, but if you're reading this because you like singing as just a hobby, most of what I'll be talking about applies to you too. I might overexplain things because I want this whole thing to be understandable to everyone, including people who barely know what vocal cords and the diaphragm are; on the same note, I hope I don't end up sounding condescending and if I do, just know that's not my intention at all. I won't be saying anything about pre-T voice training because I never did that and giving the wrong advice when it comes to these things can lead to serious damage to people's vocal cords and throats, so this is strictly a singing through and after a voice change post.

The Basics:

The first thing you have to do is talk to your teacher and explicitly tell them everything about your situation (this applies to anyone, cis or trans: you've worn a back brace during your whole childhood? Tell them. You've had any kind of surgery on your nose? Tell them, and so on; they'll probably ask anyway). I know it can be hard and even scary when you're trans, but if you don't do it you won't achieve your goals; I remember going to another teacher when I was a semi-closeted teenager without disclosing I wanted to work more on my lower register and it made my dysphoria so much worse that I just quit after a few months and didn't try taking singing lessons again for years. And being straightforward helps with both finding a good teacher and finding a safe and positive environment by avoiding bigots (sad, but true). Being honest with your teacher is also crucial because when it comes to singing, it's very important to find positions that feel comfortable and don't physically hurt your throat and vocal cords (or any other body part that's involved in singing) in order to not train your muscle memory on movements that are detrimental for your body, and while no one can find them for you, you need to tell your teacher when something your muscles are doing hurts or feels uncomfortable. Singing is almost like doing sports as the vocal cords are muscles that can and do get hurt, and adopting the wrong positions can result in a less than ideal performance at best and in injury at worst. I can't really help with this though, because I can't tell someone else how to move their own body and how to flex their own muscles and I am not a teacher, I can just tell you to take it slow and that when something's right you'll feel it and when something's wrong you'll also feel it. And remember that something not working for you doesn't make you a failed singer or anything like that, it just means you haven't found what works for you yet.

Singing while wearing a binder:

I wanted to start with this first because I think it's very important. Back in the day I've read posts on the Internet saying you should not sing while wearing a binder and while I do get where those posts are coming from, not everyone can afford to not wear one, myself included (before getting my top surgery last year). At first I tried going to my singing lessons with a sports bra under a loose flannel shirt (that kind of pattern, along with checkered patterns, helps hiding curves) but honestly it sucked as I felt too dysphoric, so I had to come up with a solution. At the time I happened to have an older, more stretched out looser binder that I decided to relegate to the role of singing binder because it didn't do its job properly anymore as an every day binder, but if worn with looser shirts in warm weather and layers in cold weather, it was perfect for singing. It still hid my chest fairly well and wasn't as constrictive as a newer and tighter binder would have been. One important thing to keep in mind is that while wearing a binder your ribcage doesn't have as much freedom as it would have without one and while that does suck, don't beat yourself up if you notice that it's difficult to do some things. I've sung while wearing a binder for most of my life and you can make it work, it just takes time and patience. If you can/want to, you can just not wear anything underneath your shirt to sing, but personally I tried doing that like once and felt awful. And if you wear tape, I guess that would be the best option; I never figured out how to wear it so I have no experience with it, I watched video tutorials and stuff but for me it never worked and I still don't know what I did wrong, but if you do wear it, try going with that.

Singing after top surgery:

I'm sorry for what I'm about to say, but after top surgery you'll have to forget how you sang while wearing a binder and start learning (almost) all over again because it's a whole 'nother story: your posture will be better and your ribcage will be more free, making you able to hold notes for longer and breathe in more air, which means you'll have to do some adjustments. First things first, you'll have to wait at least a month after your surgery to sing again (that's what my surgeon told me but you should still talk to yours, even though I'd say that as long as you'll have to wear the post surgery tight thing I forgot the name of you should avoid singing) and you'll have to take things slow. I got my surgery in August 2023 and I'm still (re)learning stuff, so be patient because it's worth it, my ribcage feels so much better now and my posture has improved, making singing overall better and easier. The most important rule when it comes to singing is listen to your body. If something feels weird or wrong, stop, figure out (with your teacher if you're taking lessons) why it feels like that and try to fix it (again, with your teacher); don't push yourself too far/too hard, otherwise you could get hurt. This applies to singing with a binder, singing after surgery, and just singing in general. Trans, cis, doesn't matter: listen to your body. I can't say anything more about this because everyone's different so I don't think I should be giving tips as what works for me might not work for you, you have to figure it out yourself. Having a teacher helps and there are some things that are pretty much universal, but their body is not your body and there are multiple ways to do the same thing based on each individual's preferences, needs, and bodies.

Can I/should I take singing lessons while my voice is still changing?

Yes, it's actually recommended! I've already said it here, but a couple months before going on HRT I found out through another trans man singer's website that taking singing lesson during your voice change helps a lot, both with your technique and with your voice is general. For your technique, it's beneficial because otherwise you'd end up with a completely different and untrained voice all of a sudden, making it harder to get back into singing and harder to find new positions that work for you, and for your voice in general, it just make the change easier. I have recordings of me singing and talking that I made each month as my voice change progressed and while my singing voice was a mess, some months literally changing every week (not necessarily going lower and lower each time, one week I'd be a baritone and the week later I'd be a tenor for some reason, then back to baritone and so on), my speaking voice rarely cracked. No idea if it's related to me taking singing lessons since the beginning but I'm saying this regardless just in case. For reference, I started T on August 4, 2021 (on this exact same day three years ago!) and started taking singing lessons the following month, so I've basically trained my voice during its entire journey.

Oh no, my voice change is a mess!

Worry not! It's totally normal and there will be lots of adjusting to do and what works for one week or one month or any other period of time probably won't work anymore as your voice keeps changing (especially when trying to switch from your regular voice to your falsetto, as your muscle memory was trained to switch at/on a different range), that's frustrating but, again, normal so don't panic if a position you adopted for a few weeks suddenly doesn't work anymore and you'll end up sounding like a hairdryer with no sound coming out of your mouth. Actually, sometimes what my teacher and I call the hairdryer effect isn't even a matter of positions, sometimes during your voice change you just won't have some specific notes and your voice will break instead but again don't panic, the notes will come eventually. While my voice did drop pretty fast, it took me around two years to finally get a full range (in my case the missing notes were exactly in between my regular register and my falsetto register, making switching between the two a pain; I think it's actually how it is for everyone in general but I'm not sure as I am just me y'know). Also my teacher told me most guys' voices will drop very low for a while and then stabilize themselves on a higher speaking range and while it kinda didn't happen to me according to her due to me being a bass-baritone and my voice stabilizing itself on a much lower speaking range, that's the average experience. Anyway don't worry, your lower notes aren't gone, you still have them but you'll have to work a little more than you used to to hit them.

Figuring out your range and type:

I'll have to tell you about voice types, ranges and classifications first. There are many different voice type classification systems, none of which universally applied (music is messy), so I'll go with the basic operatic six types one that I grew up with and that most people use. From highest to lowest: soprano, mezzosoprano (also known as just mezzo), contralto, tenor, baritone, bass. Those are the main groups, but there are subcategories as well, such as countertenor (sometimes considered a main group for some reason, no shade though) and bass-baritone (my voice type! 👋). If your voice's done changing or if you are pre-T, figuring out your range and type will be quite easy but if your voice is still changing, don't worry about it, you'll just have to check what it's up to from time to time until it'll be done and it'll settle on its final range and type (me and my deep ass voice had to go through almost the entire male range spectrum in like a year and a half so I'm speaking from experience here). An important thing to know is that pitch isn't everything as there are many other characteristics that together define and categorize a person's voice, and that voice range and voice type are two separate things as well; your vocal range doesn't define your voice type on its own because voice types are more about where you feel more comfortable singing rather than what notes you can hit (which is what defines the range of one's voice). To have an idea of what you'll probably sound like after your voice's done changing, you have to see what you sound like pre-T. The length of the vocal cords plays a huge role in this: the longer the vocal cords are, deeper the voice is; testosterone puberty results in elongated vocal cords, so if you've always had longer vocal cords like in my case, your voice will be on the lower end of the spectrum. As I just said, I had a pretty low voice pre-T, as I was a contralto as a preteen (I sang in a choir from age nine to twelve, started as a mezzo but then my voice started dropping around eleven years old), and therefore have a pretty low voice now, as I am a bass-baritone (a subtype of both the baritone and the bass types; the term refers to a lower baritone or a higher bass that can sing both and I am a lower baritone but usually sing bass because it's more physically comfortable for me), because I have long vocal cords and that's it; and while there aren't many studies about the exact role of genetics in the developing of the human voice, I sound eerily similar to my father so here's that.

Don't think that starting T sooner would have given you a deeper voice because I started it at twenty and while I acknowledge that's still fairly young, my first puberty was (sadly) already done and yet my voice is deeper than most cis men's (both statistically and anecdotally speaking). You can start whenever and it won't impact how your voice turns out. And if you're thinking about starting to smoke to make your voice lower: don't. I'm a former smoker myself and while I don't make a fuss about people smoking because I'm European, it's just counterproductive from a logical standpoint. Though one thing about singers is that, just like doctors, we smoke; when you meet a singer there's a high chance they're a smoker and if they aren't there's a high chance they used to be, no idea why. Anyway, don't smoke because it's not worth ruining your voice and lung capacity over and it's also not recommended at all while on testosterone (I smoked very little, like a few cigarettes every two weeks or sometimes even once a month, and my endocrinologist still told me to quit because my blood tests were a little messed up because of that). While it's best to go to a professional, there are YouTube videos that illustrate how to find your vocal range if you want to do that on your own or only plan to sing as a hobby, so I won't say anything about that. What I will say though, is that you should warm up first (always warm up first at least a little no matter what you do, especially if you plan to sing in the morning; even just talking out loud for a while can count as warming your voice up) and if you want to find out your range on your own please use the aforementioned YouTube videos, I've watched and even used a few back in the day and they'll tell you exactly how to do things right, don't just start belting out note after note until your voice is straining and uncomfortable because you'll get hurt (I want to make clear, as I've mentioned the possibility of getting hurt in the previous paragraphs, that getting hurt when it comes to singing ranges from having a bit of a sore throat for a while because you didn't drink water before performing to permanently ruining your voice and losing parts of your range because you tried metal screaming with no training so yeah, be careful).

Useful exercises:

In my experience the most useful exercises to do during a voice change are interval slides with the classic, iconic brrr (that I had to look up the name of because I swear no one, not even one singer, in human history has ever called it by its proper name: lip roll; I'm leaving the brrr thing instead of editing it out because it's funny) and some basic hear it and sing it. Also my teacher and I found out, during a phoniatrician check-up I did while my voice was still changing, that singing big jumps between notes helps a lot, even though I have no idea why. Basically, get a piano or keyboard (here's a link for a virtual piano if you need it), play random notes, and sing; it's important for you to switch between your modal (what I've been referring to as "regular" in this post) register and your falsetto register. I suck at explaining things, but this is what you have to do: play one note, sing it, then play the next, and so on. Additionally, I went through my text conversations with my teacher back when my voice was at the beginning of its journey and found the links to three videos we used a lot at the time, so here they are: this 10 minute vocal warm up, some beginner bass vocal warm ups, and some other bass-baritone vocal warm ups. If you go through these channels you'll find other exercises for other voice types and ranges as well. I recommend using jazz singer Judy Niemack's recordings (playlist linked in the above paragraph) because those are the one I used and still use. Your range and voice type don't really matter, you can either harmonize with her or sing in your comfortable range (in tune!) (or not in tune if you're doing this as a hobby I guess, I'm a singer not a cop) (but ear training is fundamental if you want to go professional, so: in tune!).

Alright I think I explained pretty much everything, but if you have questions don't hesitate to ask! I'll be more than happy to answer.

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly, a thing I've kind of started to realize within both our proper involvement within trauma / mental health care spaces and within our own healing, a large issue (not bad or derogatory, but rather a "flaw" and an obstacle that gets in the way from the most effective condition) is that a lot of DID / OSDD / CDD spaces are heavily built with a large atmosphere and focus on trauma, trauma labels, terms, the nuances of what is and isn't possible, and just largely a lot of the talk and engagement is about sharing one another's trauma stories and explaining How The Trauma Happens and the details of how Trauma Has Affected / Impact / Forever Changed You and that is COMPLETELY expected and understandable

Trauma is an incredibly harmful, incredibly hurtful, incredibly impactful thing to go through and it can very very easily make you feel EXTREMELY stuck in the place you are. It's not something that can easily swallow your existence - especially if you have DID and even more so if you are specifically a part that got the misfortune of having the role of holding trauma or being explicitly stuck in flashbacks. There is nothing *wrong* with the community being like that, it's completely expected and there is nothing *bad* about it. I think it is incredibly more helpful and better than everyone being isolated, uninformed, unsupported, and having *nothing* to help them through what is often an unsafe environment or the challenges of early recovery.

That said, both of those values / beliefs / mindsets are incredibly trauma-driven focuses that - in the process of helping meet needs, a sense of community, and safety (things individuals with a trauma history have a lot of a need for), reinforce the building of one's sense of self and identity AROUND and on top of the trauma and thus also kind of reinforces the idea that someone is defined, forever stuck, and distanced from other people based on their trauma.

And I think that is a key thing thats a difference between peer survivor groups processing things together and proper professionally guided group therapy of survivors. I'm not saying that professionals and group therapy is "good", because I have had a number of really negative experiences with it myself and as a person with a trauma background myself (even if I talk like this, I'm not immune) I both distrust "officials" and instictually would very much prefer if people who have not experienced extensive trauma stayed out of my trauma spaces.

What I am kind of trying to say is that in the former, there is an issue of the blind leading the blind as everyone involved is more or less stuck in that trauma space / mindplace that makes it hard to see the avenues of healing that go BEYOND trauma and are not something that individuals who are still deep in the trauma sauce are not going to really be the most open to. In the latter, in theory, there is a heavy trauma-responsive and trauma-informed professional who is both able to understand, empathize, be attuned to, and respond positively to traumatized individuals and the frequent challenges; and that not "In the Trauma" view provides a lot of essential and helpful opportunities to challenge (positively) some of the largest generalized trauma views / values and help in developing and builiding a sense of self and a life that is not as heavily built upon the basis of "Trauma being Defining" to who you are.

And as someone who was there before, its totally fine if you have a problem with me saying that "Trauma does not have to define your entire existence and doesn't make up everything of who you are" because 1) I don't know your story and 2) You don't have to trust me, you have no reason to trust me on that; but as someone who went through a shit ton of trauma and recovery myself, I hope that its something you would at least humor that I strongly believe that and have seen it multiple times - both in human and nonhuman experiences.

I just really say that because in my experience, the most important belief and self concept to challenge that REALLY changed how I felt about myself, my disorder, and my symptoms was the development of the belief that "I went through a lot of trauma and it greatly impacted me, but trauma isn't all of who I am and with every day I live outside of it, trauma becomes a smaller and smaller portion of who I am"

I think its important to hold discussions on how healing doing things and engaging in conversation AWAY from trauma can actually greatly help develop a sense of self apart from trauma and paradoxically greatly help in recovering from it. It sounds very anti-intuitive and against what might feel right / productive in the moment, but it's honestly really just such a powerful thing in my experience.