#it not only provided comfort it also made me live and feel everything chief goes through like I was in his skin

[beastblade69]

tbh I'm avoiding rereading one flew because I'm scared I'll feel nothing when rereading. I cannot just feel nothing towards this book I swear. I'll be totally devastated

[andreafmn]

Running In Circles - Chapter 2

Word Count: 2,663

Characters: Female Reader Rossi Character, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ”Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

Story Description: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Criminal Minds, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and CBS Network. The only thing I own is Arden Rossi, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 2/?

Chapter Description: The team goes back to work as Aaron Hotchner considers retiring from the team and spend time with his son. (Y/n) can’t help but provide emotional support for the Hotchner boys.

A/N: I enjoy angst and slow burns way too much XD. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

<- Previous | Next->

Chapter 2

Once it was over, the interviews came. We knew the story. We lived it. The case was open and shut. They could try and make us pint it all on Hotch, the easy way out, but we knew better. And we would stand next to our unit chief whatever the price.

Haley’s funeral was no easier than being at the scene. It was a somber day and the sadness was imprinted in us. We all walked with dropped shoulders and a tight chest. I stood between Derek and Reid, using Morgan as support because I felt that my legs would give out at any moment. My father stood behind me rubbing circles on my back to comfort me. As we laid the roses on top of the casket, we laid to rest the life of Haley, a woman I only knew through the loving words Hotch spoke of.

The group did not know what to do to help the heartbroken man. It would take time to heal even just the smallest bit of his heart. All we could hope for was that he would come back to the team.

At the worst possible moment, the phone rings. No other team available and someone in need, we had to go to work. We all rolled our eyes or shook our heads; this was the job. But would it be the same without him?

I went to Hotch before we left and gave him a hug.

“Call me if you guys need anything,” he said.

“Just take care of your son,” I smiled, and he softly returned one of his own. I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and left to join the team.

On the plane, we were caught up with the case. We stored all our feelings and got the machines running. We needed to finish this quickly and perfectly.

Two women, both brunettes and young, high-powered executives, murdered in their own homes, the floor around them decorated with flower petals. After Emily and Derek visited the crime scene, we had another part of the puzzle, the unsub was stalking his victims. Everything just seemed so perfect and staged, there was no way he was not prepared.

I stayed with JJ in the station working on the announcement and trying to figure something else from the details provided and the crime scene photos, but JJ could see my head wasn’t in it completely for the first time.

“Hey,” she said, taking my attention from the piece of paper I had been eyeing for the past five minutes. “What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”

“Is it wrong that I feel bad for being here?” I sighed. “Working like nothing’s happened.”

“Of course not, we all feel a bit guilty,” she smiled. “I know you most of all.”

My eyes opened in shock.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). Everyone knows you have a not-so-secret crush on Hotch,” she laughed. “The only one that can’t see it is him. And probably your dad. Parents can be quite oblivious to their children’s feelings in this way.”

My head flew into my hands to cover the embarrassment that was flooding my cheeks. It was one thing to assume the whole team knew, another was to have it confirmed.

“It’s okay, (Y/N), we’ll see what comes of it. What I can say is that you can’t let this stop you from doing your job.”

She smiled one last time and it was all I needed to push Aaron Hotchner to the back of my mind and bring the case forward.

“Find anything?” My father asked entering the small room at the police station, Reid following behind.

“Several people had access to each home,” I said rubbing my temple. “Housekeeper, gardener, pool cleaner, dog walker…”

“Each with their own key and an alibi to match,” JJ added, an annoyed tone rolling off her tongue.

“Any crossover?”

“None. We even vetted delivery people and utility workers.” I sighed.

“Garcia, do you have anything?” Reid said, sitting down.

“There’s no hits at the prints at all. But I did what Sir Derek there asked, and I created a paper trail,” Penny explained. “There’s no cross-over between the two victims themselves in the weeks leading up to their murders, but they did run in similar circles.”

Penelope continued to explain how both victims lived quite a lavish and high-class lifestyle as Emily and Derek joined us. We figured this man would fit right in this crowd. Educated, intelligent, a gentleman. What we had yet to pinpoint was how the unsub entered the homes with no signs of forced entry. It was clear we were not going to make any headway tonight and Derek knew it too. So, he decided we should be done for the day and we would come back tomorrow well-rested and with fresh eyes.

That night I laid in the bed of my hotel room staring at the ceiling. All I could think of was Hotch and everything he was going through. I could only imagine.

And as if by fate, my phone rang. Aaron Hotchner.

“Hello?”

“Oh,” Hotch said surprised. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I guess I’m just worried about you.”

He chuckled softly. “You really shouldn’t.”

“But I do, Hotch.”

He stayed silent, only his slow breathing was heard through the phone.

“Did I fail her?” He asked after some minutes of comfortable silence.

“Absolutely not.”

“I promised her that I would catch Foyet and spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”

“And you still can.”

“But” he exhaled loudly. “How?”

“By being the best father you can be to Jack and continue living your life in the best way you can.”

“You know, Dave told me that I had to figure out what kind of father I wanted to be and then I’d know what to do. But I have no idea what that is.”

“Hotch…”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted. “I don’t know what kind of father I am. I catch killers. I save lives. I’m a hero until my key hits the front door, and then I’m just the father who’s never there. Haley was raising Jack all by herself and that was my support blanket. I was able to do my job because I knew he was cared for by another parent. A better parent.”

He sobbed softly as the last words escaped his mouth.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I said, trying my best not to sound angry. “To that little boy, you are the only real hero that exists. He knows that when you’re not home it’s because you’re out here catching the bad guys like Foyet and making the world better for his sake. He knows that everything you do is out of love for him.

You know, when I was little my dad was absent quite a lot because of this job, but there was one thing that I knew for sure, that he loved me more than anything and that he worked better and faster because he wanted to come back home to me. And never ever have I resented him for leaving and catching the bad guys. He’s the reason I became an FBI agent.

You are an amazing father and anything you choose will be the right thing for Jack.”

After a minute of sobs, Hotch started to calm down.

“Thank you, (Y/N). You have no idea how much I needed that right now,” he cleared his throat. “How’s the case going?”

“Nope,” I laughed. “Not going to talk about the case.”

“Really?” He chuckled.

“Yes, Hotch. Take a breather. You deserve it.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, and I could hear his smile through the phone.

We had been talking for about an hour when I heard him yawn.

“Seems you’re getting sleepy there, Hotchner.” I laughed. “We should both get some rest. If it’s 3 am over here it must be 2 am in Washington. So, good night and see you soon.”

“Good night, (Y/N). Again, thank you. Sweet dreams.” And he hung up.

And finally, I drifted to sleep.

The next morning, we were up and ready for business.

“We believe our unsub is already with his next victim,” my father started. “If he matches the patter, she’ll be a successful woman, probably brunette, early 30s to mid-40s. She’ll be at home in Nashville’s upper echelon.”

“This means that he fits in,” I explained. “He drives the right car, he wears the right clothes, he’s highly intelligent. He probably comes from a place of status.”

“This guy’s sociable and he’s endearing,” said Morgan. “You would never suspect that this man is capable of murder. But he will do whatever it takes to protect the fantasy that he’s trying to relive.”

“It’s this fantasy which fuels his drive. He’s reliving a romantic evening and recreating it with each of his victims.”

“He most likely had a relationship taken away from him,” Derek crossed his arms. “So, look at men who have lost loved ones or have gone through a messy divorce.”

After finishing with the profile, we set out to establishments that fit the criteria to possibly get a suspect. As we worked, we got a call. Another crime scene, but this one was different.

A male victim. Overkill on the female. Something made him change his M.O.

Out in the garage, Reid and I looked for any sort of clues and I noticed his sight direct to the car. There may be another way we could connect the victims and how the unsub made their way into their homes.

Finally, Garcia had something with the hunch Spencer had figured. She overlaid all the geographical routes the victims had taken against the geo profile to show what we were missing with any paper trail. Although it was not a clear answer, Erika Silverman was the only one that did not fit the extravagant lifestyle and she only went and came from her work or her home. Except on Tuesday, where she went to the Botanical Gardens, what was she doing there? JJ, Reid, and I left for the gardens to find out.

And just as we had suspected, there had been an event to which Erika had attended. And a puzzle piece revealed itself.

“An event up here would be a hard sell for women in heels,” JJ commented.

“Well, most of our private events hire valets to drive the cars down to the base of the park so they don’t have to hike it up the hill.”

“Who had access to your keys but goes unseen?” Reid asked.

“And to your GPS,” I added.

“Dealerships program your home address into the navigation system before your car even leaves the lot.”

“He had turn-by-turn directions straight to her front door and the keys to get him inside,” I pointed.

We now had how he got his victims and how he entered their house without force. Now, all we had to do was pinpoint his next victim and see who he was.

JJ was instructed to get dad and Prentiss to pick up the owner of the valet service used in the event, and Derek, Reid, and I stayed behind to canvass the employees. We could catch this guy in action unless he had already gotten his next victim.

Joe Belser. That was our unsub. With the profile, the owner was able to point out the suspect quickly. And off we were.

JJ, Reid, and I headed to the venue and the rest of the team went to Belser’s house. He wasn’t in the apartment, but they had found the meaning behind the roses and universal garage door openers. In the venue, Reid called Garcia to see which of the VIP guests could be the next potential victim.

Ann Herron was the next victim, and he was already at her house.

“FBI! PUT IT DOWN!” Derek screamed, blinding Joe with his flashlight. I walked in from behind Derek and kneed Belser’s stomach. He fell to the ground groaning and Emily grabbed the man by the throat to immobilize him.

“Fantasy’s over,” she spat. “Is that what you did to them? You hit them to shut them up and then forced them to play along with your sick delusion?”

 “I love them,” Joe said sinisterly.

“You’re finally gonna meet your soulmate, Joe,” I added from behind Prentiss. “In prison.”

“Only you’re not gonna be able to push him around like you did those women,” Emily continued. “And when he comes for you in the middle of the night, when you’re least expecting it, you do me a favor. Play along.” 

She stood the man up forcibly and put him in handcuffs and I went outside to check on the victim.

“How is she?” Derek asked walking out of the house with my father.

“She’s strong,” I said closing the ambulance door. “She’ll make it. But you don’t survive something like that without scars.”

“Scars remind us where we’ve been,” my father commented. “They don’t have to dictate where we’re going.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my head as we walked back to the SUVs, finally on our way home.

The next day, I called up my dad so he would accompany me to Haley’s grave. Something told me I had to go. At the cemetery, I saw what the pull was. Sitting in front of the headstone less grave was Hotch. I walked up to him first, my father close behind. Hotch lifted his head and stared into my eyes, sitting up slightly.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” I spoke softly. “Have you told her yet?”

“Told her what?” He mused.

“That you’re coming back to the team,” my father joined his left side. Hotch looked at him. “That fighting the bad guys is who you are.”

Hotch lowered his head and shook it. “I don’t have to tell her. She already knows.”

I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and gave him a soft smile. My father did the same and walked to my side, so we’d retreat, giving Hotch some space.

“So, do you want me to drive you back to your house?” My father asked.

“No,” I smiled. “I’m gonna stay with Hotch for a bit and then I’ll go home.”

“Okay, darling.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll pick you up on Monday then. Ciao, Mia Bella.”

“Bye, dad.”

Once my dad left, I sat down on a bench and waited for Hotch.

“(Y/N), you’re still here?” Hotch questioned with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, thought you might want some company.”

“Truthfully,” he chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“How about this, we pick up Jack, you guys come over and I crack open a present I had for Jack.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he motioned me to his car. “Let’s go.”

We drove quietly to his apartment, only the low volume of the radio and the sound of our breathing could be heard. It didn’t take long to arrive at the complex, where he opened the car door for me and led me upstairs. Inside apartment #121, was Jessica Brooks, Haley’s sister, and Jack playing a card game.

“(Y/N)!” Jack screamed as soon as I walked through the door, running to give me a hug.

“Hey, buddy!” I hugged back.

“Hotch, you’re back,” she exclaimed. “Good to see you again, (Y/N).”

“Good to see you, too,” I smiled. “How you holding up?”

“As good as I can be.” She answered as she began to gather her things. “Well, I’ll see you soon. Bye, little guy.”

“Bye, Aunt Jessica.”

“Bye, guys.” She said as she left.

“Hey, little man,” I directed to Jack. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“How about you to pack a go-bag and you and dad come over so we can open a present I have for you?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed as he sped off to his room to pack.

“I think you should go help him,” I smiled at Hotch. “If I have any memory of being a kid, they’re not very good at packing.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Maybe I should.”

I waited for both father and son to pack for the night asking myself why I was putting myself in this position. Growing closer to a man I had a 0% chance with. But I couldn’t help it. All in all, he was my friend, and he needed all the support he could get.

<- Previous | Next->

A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3

[thedragonnerd]

Fic: Love Languages

Headcanon suggested by a lovely anon, which spawned into a fic. Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Words of affirmation

Receiving compliments or words of encouragement are not uncommon for Namaari. She has gone through life aiming to be the best at everything she does – the best leader, the best warrior, the best Princess – and along with her success come compliments on her fighting techniques, her decision-making skills, and even her ability to look formidable in her formal attire.

As royalty, people lavish her with praises when they see an opportunity to get into her good graces, despite the obvious lack of sincerity behind their words, and it tires her to deal with fawning citizens. She loves her people, but she’d rather they’d love her back truly; false words mean nothing.

Chief Virana does not give out compliments easily, and is often faster to critique than to encourage. Namaari pretends her mother’s approval is nothing more than something important to receive from her Chief, but in reality, she craves hearing soft words such as ‘well done, Morning Mist’, whenever she is lucky enough to have them bestowed upon her.

As she grows up, she decides that sweet words are nice to have, but ultimately unnecessary – nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement is needed, before one can place it aside and move on to more important things. And then Raya comes back into her life.

Raya, who can flirt endlessly with elaborate innuendos until Namaari rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. Raya, who is quite happy to press herself closer than absolutely necessary in their sparring sessions, just to set out some unspoken physical challenge.

And yet, when it comes to providing a genuine compliment, Raya practically freezes.

‘I like…like your hair,’ she mumbles one day to Namaari, glancing off to the side in order to avoid making eye contact. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, even though earlier in the day she had made a lewd comment about a sword which didn’t even have her blinking.

For some reason, Raya’s lack of suaveness when it comes to providing true compliments delights Namaari, and she hoards each instance close to her heart, happy in the knowledge that every word spoken was genuine in its meaning.

In return, she starts to gift Raya with compliments of her own.

For Raya is not used to receiving compliments, at least not in a long time. Her Ba used to provide encouragement and compliments often, but that was many years ago, and now he hesitates to put them into words sometimes, unsure of how this new dynamic works when he’s looking at a grown-up daughter rather than a small child.

Namaari has no difficulty in sharing them though.

‘You look very beautiful today,’ she tells Raya softly one evening, when they are having dinner. Raya stammers out some incomprehensible response, and spends the rest of the meal staring down at her bowl, occasionally darting her eyes over to Namaari.

‘I love that hairstyle on you,’ Namaari says to her a few days later, watching as Raya braids her hair back with expert precision.

‘Umm…thanks?’ Raya squeaks.

‘Your techniques were excellent today,’ Namaari informs her after a sparring session. This time, Raya just nods, and clears her throat before trying to awkwardly change the subject. Namaari can still see the smile on her lips though.

Eventually, Raya becomes better at both giving and receiving words of affirmation. Namaari learns how true compliments can be more meaningful than expected.

It isn’t the most important aspect of their relationship, but they like to encourage each other all the same.

Acts of service

Raya sees how much of a burden Namaari perpetually takes onto her shoulders, in her duties for Fang. She is so focused on helping her people rebuild and expand, or going away on diplomatic missions to help form better relations with the other lands, that she forgets to take a moment to breath sometimes.

Raya wants to take some of her stress away, by helping her carry out some of her duties or at least be involved in organizing certain aspects of the expansion projects, but she discovers quickly that Namaari is somewhat of a perfectionist. It is almost more stressful for her to find herself out of the loop or uninformed about decisions, than it would be to allow her undertake the duties in the first place, and so Raya finds it more helpful to just back off from the work unless asked to provide support.

It’s also a way for Namaari to feel as if she is atoning for her past actions. Raya wishes she wouldn’t feel the need to do so, but it is something they’ve argued about before, and they always end up stuck in a perpetual loop.

One of the ways Raya can help however, is with her cooking.

Namaari is an awful cook (something Raya unfortunately discovers herself with one ill-fated meal), but she is fascinated by watching Raya conjure something up in the kitchen.

Gone are the days of living off jackfruit jerky; with so many fresh and interesting ingredients at her disposal, and with the occasional reminders from Ba when she is unsure about something, Raya makes a whole array of different foods over the months.

It’s one of the best ways of getting Namaari to relax, Raya finds. Every mealtime when Raya is behind the pot, Namaari will abandon whatever work she is doing, and will sit and watch Raya finish making the dishes. They’ll always eat it together, and for a short while, Raya can feel the stress lift free from Namaari as she laughs over Raya’s words and enjoys good food.

Gifts

The first gift Namaari ever gave Raya has almost become a symbol for their entire complicated history. It represents new friendship, betrayal, and after so many years…forgiveness and a fresh start.

Namaari gives it back to her not long after the return of Kumandra, before she can second-guess herself.

‘It was a gift,’ she says, half-expecting it to be thrown back in her face. But Raya runs her finger gently over the surface of the dragon pendant, and then sends her a small smile. The next day, Namaari sees it hanging around her neck once more.

Once they start dating properly, Namaari can’t get it out of her mind how much the gift seemed to mean to Raya, both times.

‘She still doesn’t have that many personal belongings,’ Namaari informs Sisu, as an explanation as to why she was forcing the dragon to accompany her around endless market stalls in Talon, looking for the perfect gift for Raya. ‘I figure it’s because she was on the move so much in life, she couldn’t carry a lot.’

Sisu makes an ‘mmm’ sound, clearly not buying her reasoning completely, but allows the topic to drop when she’s distracted by shiny objects at the next stall.

Namaari finds a small knife that can be strapped to a wrist and slipped up the sleeve. She knows how much Raya prefers to be carrying at least one weapon with her at all times, and this would be perfect for diplomatic meetings – subtle, and easy to hide. And indeed, Raya wears it continuously after receiving it as a gift.

On another visit to another market, this time in Spine, Namaari spies a comb with a beautifully carved handle.

‘For your hair,’ she says in an attempt to be casual, thrusting it awkwardly in Raya’s direction that evening. Raya loves it, and it is indeed used every night before bed to comb out her braids.

Every time Namaari has to travel on diplomatic missions, she now ensures that she brings back something small for Raya.

‘I love the gifts,’ Raya tells her one day. ‘But I love even more how it shows you’re thinking of me when you’re away.’

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, a small golden ring drops out of Namaari’s pocket by mistake.

‘Is…is that my old hair band?’ Raya asks, peering over the side of the bed as Namaari scoops it up in a hurry. ‘I thought I’d lost that years ago.’

‘I found it,’ Namaari says defensively, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘I guess…I never asked you if you wanted it back?’

Raya shakes her head with a smile, but the following evening, she steps up behind Namaari, sliding her hand into her pocket. Namaari watches as she pulls out the hair band and threads it onto a small gold chain.

From then on, they both wear a gift from the other around their necks.

Physical touch

Sometimes, everything can become overwhelming, the past traumas so great that it seems suffocating. And in that darkness, sometimes the gentle touch of another is the only thing keeping the world grounded.

Raya goes six long years without receiving a hug. At the time, she doesn’t see it as a big deal – she’s grown up fast, and learnt that the world isn’t the welcoming place her father once hoped it could be. Even moreso, her Ba was the last one to hug her, and she doesn’t mind keeping it that way.

Now though, she finds comfort in the small touches. It’s in the featherlight way Namaari’s nose brushes against her neck as they curl up together in bed, waiting for the morning sun to rise. It’s in the gentle trail of Namaari’s fingers across her back, as they stand talking to others, and Namaari absentmindedly reaches out for her. It’s in the soft kiss against her temple, when Namaari has to go back to work after lunch.

Occasionally, she will need to be encompassed by that comfort, and in this moment, she will go and find Namaari, stepping closer until her forehead rests on her shoulder. No matter what she was previously doing, Namaari will pause everything, wrapping her arms tightly around Raya, and they stand there until Raya can feel as if she can breathe again.

Namaari has a habit of falling too far into her own mind sometimes. She is an outwardly composed and pragmatic individual, but internally, all sorts of doubts and guilt still plague her, and there are days where she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t doing enough in her life to atone for her past, or that she is a fraud who has no right in stepping up and trying to lead her people when her previous actions cost them so much.

It’s difficult for her to ask for help in these moments. Raya learns instead to notice the signs of a bad day, or whenever Namaari gets trapped into a downwards spiral, and she will take Namaari by the hands and sit them somewhere quiet.

There they can actually talk, and sometimes Namaari feels comfortable enough to share her fears. But the most important thing, Raya finds, is to slide an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and peppering her cheek and bare shoulder with small kisses.

Raya refuses to let her go until she sees at least one small smile.

Quality time

In the early days of the relationship, there is still so much separation between the two of them. Raya is in Heart, helping her Ba welcome back everyone to their lands, fixing up the buildings, ensuring the harvest gets started…There are so many jobs to do, and Raya knows Namaari is undergoing the same issues back in Fang, coupled with an expansion of their kingdom.

On top of all of this, there are endless council meetings and diplomatic missions, so if it isn’t Namaari being busy with politics, it is Raya, much to her annoyance.

Whenever they do get to spend time together, they ensure no minute is wasted. They have meals together, and spar together, and find all sorts of random ways to entertain themselves. Namaari loves to go out in the evenings and watch the night sky, attempting to teach the constellations to Raya; but Raya decides that these constellations are ridiculous, and so they create their own. Raya meanwhile loves to go for hikes in the woods, dragging Namaari along to discover new plants and wildlife, and occasionally climbing the trees.

They both love to sit in bed next to each other, quietly reading their books, or discussing their day. Sometimes, Raya will lie sideways on the bed, her stomach across Namaari’s legs and her arms hanging over the edge, so she can carve pieces of wood into intricate shapes, with Namaari reads out loud for the both of them.

Even after several years, and living together permanently, Raya finds herself reflecting on the fact that she never gets bored as long as she’s with Namaari.

They are currently lying in a field somewhere in the depths of Heart land, enjoying the sun shining onto their faces and the grass tickling their skin. She lazily wiggles her hand until it makes contact with Namaari.

‘Dep la?’ Raya whispers, and Namaari grunts in response. ‘You don’t get bored with me, right?’

Namaari merely shuffles closer without even opening an eye, resting her cheek against Raya’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mumbles, and she’s curled up so close that Raya can feel the vibrations of her voice on her skin.

‘Didn’t think so,’ Raya says in satisfaction. They continue to enjoy the peace.

[gloriafc]

Single Dad

Paul never regretted having a kid at 21. He loves his daughter with his soul. He never had a relationship with his daughters mother, but he manned up and took responsibility for the baby. After a while the mother dropped her off with him and a letter. She gave him full custody and was never able to be contacted again. She sent child support, but she explained in the letter she didnt have what it took to be a mother but she'd be able to provide. It was later found out that she was doing drugs and was sent to a rehabilitation center.

You're a surgeon, you took a job as a pediatric surgeon at Forks. You only moved to La Push because your grandmother lived near the beach, leaving you her house when she passed away.

You met Paul when his daughter just turned three. Paul was lightweight scared, he never pictured having an imprint after his daughter was born. And he thought maybe the fact that he had a kid would scare you off, because he knew he'd never be able to pick anyone over his kid. He was relieved to find it didnt bother you one bit. "It kind of makes sense. Most guys I've dated tried to get me in bed on the second date. You didn't."

It didnt bother you that Paul was a few years younger than you, most people didnt even realize how old you actually were since you could pass as an eighteen year old if you did your hair a certain way. Paul was the one that had to keep up with your energy since you were used to working with kids all day.

After a few months of dating he finally decided to introduce the two of you and it couldn't of gone better. The two went to your house for dinner, your dog greeting them at the door. "Daddy. She has a doggy!" "His names Turkey, because he likes to eat a lot of Turkey." You left the screen unlocked knowing Paul was coming, he easily let his daughter in and helped her out of her coat as Turkey started sniffing her making her giggle as he licked her face in greeting. "Come on Letty. Y/Ns in the kitchen."

The evening went well in Paul's opinion. He watched as you listened to whatever story Letty was telling you as she played with Turkey. She made herself right at home, finding your movies, "You actually have happy feet 2?" You shrug and look at Paul, "I have a big family, and lots of nephews, a few nieces. Doesnt hurt that it's a good movie."

When Paul and Letty are back home and hes tucking her into bed she looks at him, "Daddy?" "What baby?" He smiles as she yawns and rubbs her eye, "I like her. Shes nice." Paul chuckles and smooths some hair out of her face, "I like her too." "I like Turkey too." Paul cant help but laugh, "I think Turkey liked the treats you kept giving him."

As a few more months have gone by you and Letty have gotten comfortable around each other, to the point where you'll watch her if Paul cant find a babysitter or if she just wants to play with Turkey.

When things start to get serious between you and Paul he decides to tell you about the legends and the imprint. You've been introduced to the pack, but you get overwhelmed with everything. You take a couple days to think about it, realizing everything makes sense. How nothing feels rushed or like it's wrong. You spent the few days you were alone baking, and baking, and even more baking. You knew you had to talk to Paul, but that he wouldn't find you to avoid making you feel pressured so you headed to his house.

After knocking you stare at the Tupperware of desserts over thinking how everything is gonna go. You dont hear the door open and jump when you hear, "What's that?" "I uh. I was thinking. And when I think I tend to bake and cook." You continue to stare at the Tupperware as he fully steps outside, "I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything, but I." You finally look up at him, "I know that I want to be with you." "Come here." Paul easily pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on your head as your arms wrap around his waist.

You don't know how long the two of you stay like that until you hear, "Are those brownies?!" You both turn and see Letty standing in the doorway, Paul grabs and lifts the Tupperware before Letty can grab it and run off, "Nice try kid. You gotta be quicker than that." Everything goes back to normal, besides the fact that you now know your boyfriend and his friends turn into giant dogs.

Paul can see Letty loves having you around, especially if she wants her hair done a certain way and knows hes useless with braiding hair, especially French braids. If you spent the night, Letty loves watching you do your makeup, even if it's just something super natural and basic. She also loves visiting you at work, the few days her and Paul would go to town theyd take a detour for lunch and bring you something. You had your own office, being the chief of peds, and Letty took any opportunity to spin in your chair.

When Letty starts school, Paul's absolutely bored without her there keeping him on his toes. "She's only gonna be gone for a few hours a day. Its preschool." "And then she'll be in highschool." You can only laugh, "And then what? Bringing home a boyfriend?" Paul can only groan making you laugh and shake your head, "Its preschool. You'll go to pick her up in a couple hours and you'll still be her favorite person."

After a couple years Paul and Letty move in with you. Your house was bigger and paid off, making it the best decision and Letty loved the idea of getting to decorate what would be her room. It took a couple days for you to get used to hearing cartoons in the morning and little hands pulling you inside after work to the kitchen where dinner is waiting.

By the time Letty is six shes calling you mom. You love her as if she was your own. The first time it slipped out of her mouth she got upset thinking you'd leave like her mom did. Paul talked to her and got her to tell you how she felt about your relationship with her. The next day you took her out for a girls day and she told you over lunch. When you returned home both exhausted, and after Letty showed everything she got to her dad, you were climbing into bed ready to knock out.

Paul slid into bed after tucking Letty in, pulling you into his arms letting you snuggle into the warmth his body provides, "How'd today go?" You yawn and let out a chuckle, "I think I became a mom today." Paul chuckles and kisses your shoulder, "Congratulations. It's a girl." You let out a laugh before rolling over and press your face into his neck before letting sleep consume you.

The next morning both Letty and Turkey jump on the bed to wake you and Paul up making you groan, "I didn't sign up for this." "You have no choice you're a mom now." You give Paul a death glare but he can't take you seriously with your bedhead making you roll your eyes, "Don't you have pancakes or some dad thing to make?" "Oh you're pushing it now." Before you can process what's happening Paul's attacking you in tickles and kisses, "Eww gross." You both stop and look at Letty before looking at each other. Paul shrugs, "Pin her hands, I got her feet." Not even a second later the three of you are laughing, even Turkey is happily wagging his tail and occasionally letting out happy barks.

When Letty is eight Paul asks you to marry him. Of course Letty is there to put her input on everything, especially the ring. "You know it's not for you right?" "Dad you don't have any style. Mom can't have an ugly ring. It has to be pretty just like her. She has to wear it everyday." "You don't think I don't know that? And shes beautiful not just pretty." "Dad. You're whipped." "Where'd you learn that?!" "Uncle Jared and Uncle Sam." Letty even tries to con her way into being there when Paul proposes, but luckily for Paul her uncles have super hearing, strength, and speed so she cant even attempt to escape Emily's house.

Occasionally Paul catches you and Letty cuddling on the couch as you watch a movie. He loves seeing Letty lay on top of you, no matter how big she gets she loves to have her head resting on your chest as you're both covered with whatever blanket you dragged down from her bed. Your hand is always on her back, rubbing soothing circles or just rested there depending on the day you've both had. Paul's heart skips a beat when he can see the engagement ring on your finger still unable to process the fact that hes going to marry his imprint and that you and his daughter have an amazing relationship.

[pathological-peoplepleaser-alert]

Hospital Playlist : Season 1

So, I recently re-watched season 1 of Hospital Playlist in preparation of season 2 that’s going to be released on the 17th of June, and I have a couple of thoughts that I want to share. Warning: It’s going to be filled with spoilers, so for those looking to avoid that, please don’t read more. Also, this is a looooonnnnggg one :)

“Hospital Playlist” is a Korean Drama that follows five doctors in their 40s who have been best friends since adolescence as they form a band together. While the log-line appears simple, the depth in the script and acting will enchant any audience. The narrative is free-spirited and quirky, reverberating friendships forged by love and time in a heart-warming style.

This slice of life drama realistically tackles what occurs within the white walls of the hospital. From ungrateful patients to the long wait for donors, it has it all. This drama covered plenty of cases, each of them as sad as the next. I recall when Yang Seok Hyeong, an assistant professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, had a patient who delivered a baby with anencephaly. He was considerate enough to not allow the mother to hear the baby’s cries by playing loud music in the delivery room and quickly escorting the baby away from the mother. I teared up during that scene, and I still tear up just thinking about that. I watched it as a case in a K-Drama, but it is many people’s gruesome reality, and all I can offer are my sympathies.

Despite zoning out during the technical aspects and elucidation of medical terminologies, I could feel the gravity of an operation and the burden of Atlas resting on the doctors when they held the scalpel. I liked the fact that there wasn’t any hospital politics. Rather, the show focused on the doctors, as they tried their best to save their patients. I mourned during the losses of life and celebrated with the characters after a successful surgery.

The ensemble cast for “Hospital Playlist” was flawless. The sincerity of the actors and the efforts they had put into studying and understanding their roles were clear as day. The chemistry between them was organic and the banters, natural. While they didn’t verbalise every emotion, the viewers could feel their familiarity, like they were real-life friends on screen. I was on an emotional rollercoaster as I watched this, rooting for them through hardships and cheering whenever they laughed.

“I wondered why my life was getting so difficult. It was really tough. But all of a sudden, one day, I realised how much time I was wasting. Wasting my life away like this because of what she did to me was doing a disservice to myself.”

Jo Jung-Suk did a flawless job portraying Lee Ik-Jun. This was my second time witnessing a drama with Jo Jung Suk, and while I wouldn’t applaud his performance in “Oh, My Ghostess!” (But in his defence, I found that script to be problematic) I absolutely loved him in “Hospital Playlist”. Lee Ik-Jun is an assistant professor of general surgery. He’s funny, sociable, laid-back, charming, and a dotting, single father to his son, Woo Joo.

The first time I, as the viewer, was introduced to him was gold. Naughty little Woo Joo had managed to put a blotch of super glue to a Darth Vader helmet, which was later worn by his father. During an emergency at the hospital, Ik Jun showed up decked in Darth Vader gear and bravely holding a light saber, demanding that the helmet was unglued from his head. He got his wish, but only after performing surgery while wearing the helmet.

Watching Ik-Jun and his son together is heartwarming, to say the least. You can tell how much he loves his son, as seen by the way he prepared meatballs from scratch, including the ketchup, excitedly for his son, only for the latter to claim he wanted meatballs, causing the former to trip on his way to the kitchen. I also adore how most of the bonding scenes we see between them happens over sandwiches. I find that very precious.

Ik Jun is also very friendly to everyone. He warmly welcomes the medical students, greets his colleagues with a smile, and most notably, plays as a matchmaker between Jeong-won and Jang Gyeo-wool, even if it is so the latter could assist him on more surgeries. His relationship with his sister is also beautiful. I love how authentic they are, from their bickering and the hidden ways they care for each other.

Ik Jun provides comic relief plenty of times— I nearly fell off my chair laughing when he mimicked a train, and also upon seeing how adamant he was to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation of Kim Jun-wan.

“I don’t deserve to be a doctor. I can’t control my emotions. I empathise too easily.”

I must admit, Ahn Jeong Won has a soft spot in my heart and is my favourite from the group of friends. An assistant professor of pediatric surgery, Jeong Won gets overly attached to patients and takes every loss personally. Due to his sensitive nature, he’s detailed in everything he does, earning the teasing nickname of “Buddha” from his colleagues.

Hardworking but overemotional, there have been many instances when Jeong Won swears to quit being a doctor after a patient has unfortunately succumbed, and it’s only through the insistence of his oldest brother does he continue his job. He’s immensely religious and has a close relationship with God, and considered being a priest until the season finale.

His interactions with his young patients tug on all my heartstrings. From the gentle way he gets the permission of small children to check their vitals, to the dedication with which he treats his patients and dissolves their fears.

One of my favourite quotes of this drama was said by him, “Do you know why doctors only give vague answers such as ‘We can’t be sure yet,’ ‘We don’t know yet,’ and ‘We need to observe a bit more?’ Doctors must take responsibility for their words, so we must be careful. There’s only one thing we, as doctors, can tell our patients with certainty. ‘We will do our best.’”

Despite being born from a wealthy family, Jeong Won is nearly broke, spending all his fortune anonymously covering the hospital fees of poor patients.

Chae Song Hwa summarised Jeong Won’s personality neatly in episode 12 when she said, “Lastly, there’s you (Jeong Won). Seeing others enjoy good food makes you happier than when you are eating it yourself.”

“If the doctor gives up on the patient, he isn’t a doctor anymore.”

At first glance, Kim Jun Wan appears cold and scary, but there are so many dimensions to his character. He’s blunt, assertive and has a reputation for telling his patients what they need to hear, not that they want to hear.

However, he’s possibly the most caring person, having allowed Jeong Won to, in his own words, “mooch” of him for years now. He was also always nagging and hovering over his friends, keeping a stash of chocolates for them. He stepped up as the Chief of the cardiothoracic surgery department multiple times, whether it was to act as a shield to his mentee or to reprimand his juniors about the importance of (a patient’s) life and how every single decision taken by a doctor has to be thoughtful and absolute because there’s no way to reverse such things.

A great example of his outer versus inner personality is when he’s questioned by a medical student on why he chose to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. While he claimed that he became a surgeon after asking his professor which job would allow him to get the most money, with a glimpse of a flashback scene, it was revealed that when back as a student, Jun Wan was given the opportunity to witness a surgery and then, to touch a beating human heart, and felt life, that solidified his decision to choose cardiology as his field. Recalling that scene gives me goosebumps even now. That was magical.

Jun Wan is also a huge foodie, his only competition being Song-Hwa.

“What have you done for yourself lately?”

Chae Song Hwa is an associate professor of neurosurgery. Discerning without being too critical, she is intelligent and is often the mother hen of the group. Respected by her juniors, she has also been fondly dubbed the ‘ghost’ due to her busy schedule that has left several of her colleagues wondering whether she has time to eat or sleep. She was everywhere and knew everything, which allowed her to quietly look after the residents of the hospital and the patients.

Despite being buried under piles of work, she still made the time to grade her juniors papers, and I’m reminded of one of the first instances the viewers were given of her, which was when she comforted a patient in the elevators of a hospital. The only female professor in neurosurgery, she is kind to her patients.

I adore how decisive she is, being extremely clear about what she wants, drawing boundaries while still being friendly and radiating professionalism to those around her, despite the hardships she might be going through. She routinely goes camping during the weekend and is the embodiment of positive self-love.

Some of my favourite moments in this drama was literally just Song Hwa and Jun Wan aggressively eating like they’ve been hungry since the dawn of time. Song Hwa might have claimed that the reason she ate so rapidly, so full of zeal was because of growing up with older brothers, but Ik Jun was quick to shoot her down and note that they all looked boney.

“My time is too precious for that. I want to live doing the things I like. And the things I want to do right now.”

Probably the most under-appreciated character, Yang Seok Hyeong is a treasure. My first opinion of him was ‘mama’s boy’ and while I was correct, wow, I had not expected the reason why. In his youth, Seok Hyeong was not close to his mother at all, and we could even see him ignoring her phone calls. But after everything that happened with his dad, he grew closer to his mother, developed a new sense of protectiveness and appreciation for her, and I adore that.

He was also the reason the band reunited in the first place, making that his condition for working at the Yulje Medical Center. Despite seeming aloof, he was an open book to his friends. He didn’t like to bother or intrude on people and usually kept to himself, gaining a reputation for being a loner whenever he was not around his four friends.

Throughout the season, he was trapped in a whirlwind of turmoil, from the news of his unexpected brother to his father’s death and his surprise succession to the company he wants no ties with. He maintains a calm exterior and braces through the troubles.

Seok Hyeong lives up to the sensitivity his job demands from him, softly informing expecting mothers about the risks of their pregnancies while encouraging and empathising with them when things get hard.

He prefers to stay in the shadows and allow people the opportunity to sort their messes out themselves, after reminding them that he’s only a call away if they need him. He’s an excellent confident booster and appreciates those who are responsible.

These characters stayed not only in my mind but also in my heart. Each of them has such vivid personalities I can’t entirely capture in words. Their insecurities, struggles, and feelings were so real and incredibly relatable and easy to empathise with.

As conveyed by the title, music plays an important part in this T.V. serial, by allowing the characters to reminisce their college days and also allowing them a breather from their stressful life. There are thousands of words in the English language, and yet, I can’t string together enough of them to express how I felt when Jo Jung Seok sang Aloha.

The doctors use music not only as an outlet to release their frustrations, but also to express their thoughts and feelings. To heal. Listening to the songs and the covers made by the band lightened my heart. The labour they put into practising the songs made the moments more precious.

Through the music sessions in this T.V. serial, I found my affection for each character increasing. I found myself surprised to recognise some of the songs considering they are quite old, but I hummed along and felt the air around me thrum with glee as they sang.

I also found it rather ironic that Chae Song Hwa is considered to be a bad singer (her pre-routine of gulping down raw eggs fascinated me on an odd level) although the actress who plays her, Jeon Mi Do is a talented singer.

Therapeutic and well-written, I marvel at the writer’s ability to weave together arrays of mundane subplots into endearing bliss, leaving lingering positivity after every episode along with a yearning to watch more.

I’m a huge fan of writer Lee Woo-Jung’s Reply series and was hesitant to start this drama, afraid that it would fall short of expectations. But having watched it, I can safely say that those concerns were unnecessary, and whatever expectations I had were only exceeded. I couldn’t recognise any leading plotline of this drama. To me, it simply showcased the daily life of five doctors.

As it is character-driven, there is a slow progression of the drama, which needs some time getting adapted to. It was also a little hard trying to keep track of the multiple characters initially introduced, but within three episodes, I was able to get a hang of things. The dialogues were witty, impactful and sharp, capturing my attention from the beginning to the end. However, despite containing a plethora of humorous moments throughout this serial, there was a subdued layer that focused more on the community than the plot.

I must admit, however, that I found the first episode to be subtly chaotic and slow-paced. I couldn’t grasp the concepts or connect with the characters until the second episode, after which I had no qualms.

I loved the character arcs in this story. It was a pleasure to observe their journeys and diligence as various storylines diverged or amalgamated, how they grew as individuals while maintaining their core values. The flashback scenes were fascinating to watch and compare how they are now to how they used to be.

The cinematography was stunning. I was in awe at how different shades and tones of light could impact not only the setting of the scene but also the mood of the viewers.

I recommend “Hospital Playlist” to anyone who likes to watch T.V. serials possessing the perfect amount of drama, laughter, angst, warmth and love. This serial is a truly rare gem in a basket of rocks where the storylines are solid without being too predictable.

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[princesssarisa]

Giving definitive MBTI types to fictional characters – an almost impossible feat

I’ve come to a realization this week: I don’t think it’s possible to assign a definitive MBTI type to Jean Valjean from Les Misérables.

I had thought he was an INFJ. I was comfortable thinking of him as an INFJ. But then Charity of @funkymbtifiction, whose typings and insights I generally agree with, typed him as an ISTJ. That made me stop, think, go back, and reread several of his key chapters in the novel. The more I reread, the more I thought to myself that yes, he’s most likely a Sensor, not an Intuitive. His focus is almost always on there here and now, not on abstract ideas. Abstract, Intuitive language that I had previously read as being his inner voice is actually more the voice of INFP Victor Hugo as narrator.

But is he really an ISTJ and not an ISFJ?

I might be biased as an ISFP, but I’ve never once viewed him as a Thinker. Of course he can be pragmatic, he has to be, but all his inner struggles and decisions seem to revolve much more around moral, ethical right and wrong than around pragmatic usefulness. He contrasts in this way with the very ISTJ Javert, who lives only to pragmatically serve the law. In the novel, at least, I think he also shows signs of high Fe in his interactions with Cosette – overprotective, yes, but in a very gentle, smiling, “let’s swallow all negative emotions and pretend everything is fine so we’ll both be happy” way, rather than in the overbearing, controlling TJ-ish way that some of the adaptations portray. (I fully agree with the ISTJ typing for the BBC miniseries Valjean.) And yet when we hear his inner voice, as @funkymbtifiction argues, his moral compass seems much more like Fi than Fe. He makes decisions based on what he personally feels is right and wrong, not on what others feel is right and wrong or on what will make everyone happy – he lets a whole town fall into poverty to save one innocent man from prison, and later goes against the will of all the barricade boys by secretly freeing Javert. Yet he doesn’t come across as an ISFP: he seems like an IJ, driven by principles first, emotions second.

This makes me think of another recent post of Charity’s, about the characters in Hamilton and how hard they are to type. She argues that because of the show’s rapid-fire pace, and because its focus is more on the way it tells the story than on deep characterization, the characters often become composites of different MBTI types. Hamilton himself feels like he should be an ENTJ (and most likely was an ENTJ in real life), but tends to be written more like an ENTP, probably because Lin-Manuel Miranda is an ENxP and projected a lot of himself into the musical’s Hamilton.

I think we see a bit of the same thing with Jean Valjean. He seems like he should be an ISFJ, but because he’s written by an INFP author, his moral compass seems more Fi than Fe. Or, alternatively, he seems like he should be an ISTJ, but Hugo’s own Feeling preference makes him more of a Feeler. As for my original typing of him as an INFJ, maybe that’s not just me mistaking Hugo’s narrator voice for Valjean’s thoughts: maybe it’s also Hugo’s Intuition sometimes creeping into a character he generally writes as a Sensor.

Maybe this explains some of the difficulties people have with typing other fictional characters.

I’ve posted before about how hard it’s been for me to type Musetta from La Bohéme. I’ve never been quite sure whether she’s an ExTP or an ESFJ. She seems like she should be an ExTP: a feisty, cunning, freedom-loving maverick, who defies the rules of how women are supposed to behave and who pragmatically leaves her charming yet poor lover Marcello for the comforts rich older men provide. But I can’t help but see her as too flamboyantly emotional and too obsessed with how other people feel about her to be a Thinker. I don’t think she’s an ESFP either, because none of the Fi-users I know are skilled manipulators or attention hounds the way she is.

Likewise with Belle from Beauty and the Beast: I’m still not sure if I agree with the INFP typing that most people assign to her, or if I think she’s more of an INFJ or even a reserved ENFJ. In the village she seems like an Fi-user, a solitary individualist who never tries to fit in. But at the Beast’s castle she seems more like an Fe-user, clashing with an Fi-user (the Beast) until he comes out of his moody shell and shows her the social graces she values.

Or what about that character whom Belle is often compared to, Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice? It’s astounding how many vastly different types fans have assigned to her: ENTP, ENFP, ESFP, ENTJ, INTJ, ENFJ, INFJ, or INFP. She’s probably most often typed as either an ENFP or ENTP, though, and again, the debate about which is the right typing mostly comes down to the Fi vs. Fe debate. Some insist Fi, because she so often defies others’ demands and expectations and because she refuses to marry a man she dislikes for mere security or for her family’s approval (although the idea that she’s only willing to marry “for love” is only in the adaptations). On the other hand, as with Belle and the Beast, her initial conflict with Darcy feels very much like Fe on her part clashing with his obvious Fi: she cares very much about social grace and manners, and she makes the mistake of judging others by their outward charm or lack thereof. Maybe some of these fans are oversimplifying what Fi or Fe really mean. Or maybe Elizabeth is another character who seems like she should be one type, but whose author subconsciously nudges her in another direction. Maybe she’s set up to be an Fe type (since her Fe-like traits are the source both of her main flaw and of her chief positive influence on Darcy) but INTJ Austen’s own Fi creeps through her.

None of these characters are badly written in the slightest. None of them seem inconsistent. But they defy easy MBTI typing.

Maybe this shows that while MBTI can be useful to help real people understand themselves and the people they know, and while it can be fun to apply to fictional characters, we shouldn’t assume that every fictional character has one true typing. If an author sets out to write a character very different from themselves, but hints of their own personality still manifest in that character, then typing is hard. Or if the author is more focused on plot than character and the character’s behavior changes to move the plot forward, then typing is hard. Even if we accept that every real person in the world is one and only one of the sixteen MBTI types, maybe the same just isn’t true for fictional characters.

[skincarebeautymakeuptips]

How Indie Beauty Brands Practice Inclusivity

In this edition of Beauty Independent’s ongoing series posing questions to beauty entrepreneurs, we ask 17 brand founders and executives: What is your brand’s approach to inclusivity?

KETHLYN WHITE | COO, Coil Beauty

Our brand was created to give a face to beauty that has not always been considered beautiful. When we create graphics for our marketing, we strive to look for the nontraditional beauties because we know how important representation is to everyone, even on a subconscious level.  

One of my favorite things as an adult is to be able to watch a show like "Insecure" or "Black-ish," and say, “Oh, there’s my hairstyle for next week.” As a kid, I was trying to use the Topsy Tail and, if you remember what that is, then you, my friend, are aging gracefully. So, for me, my brand aims to be inclusive of the people who weren’t always included, and I think our website and social media pages do a good job of that. Of course, we are always trying to do more. For us, this is a marathon not a sprint.

ADA JURISTOVSKI | Co-Founder, Nala

We strive to be inclusive of forms of sexual identification, body types, cultures and race. To us, it means being mindful of representation in our brand, but also being open-minded to continually learning about how we can widen that representation. It can be something as detail-oriented as updating our copy from “women” to “womxn,” or deliberate decisions we make such as intentionally having our packaging represent body forms that are fluid, androgynous and ambiguous with the hope that anyone can identify with it and see a part of themselves within the art.

KAILEY BRADT | Founder and CEO, OWA Haircare

Inclusivity has to mean something personally to a founder and, therefore, a brand. I've always been mindful of inclusivity because I've always felt a bit on the outside. It's important to think of inclusivity with a holistic perspective. It's not just about appearance. Inclusivity goes beyond age, gender, ethnicity. I always felt judged without saying a word. As I got older, especially when I first got to college, I felt even more out of place because I was studying engineering and my appearance didn't say "engineer."

My approach to inclusivity is to look beyond the physical attributes of a person and take into consideration their experience, education, career, etc. My approach with our brand is to give real people a genuine voice. I really enjoy working with up-and-coming professionals and giving people opportunities they might not have been given otherwise. I know others who have done this for me in my career, and I wouldn't be where I am today if people didn't believe in me and present me those opportunities that challenged the norm.

RANAY ORTON | Owner, Glow by Daye

My approach of being mindful of inclusivity in my brand is to try and create multiple physical avatars of my customers. Many books and experts say to have one exact avatar, an icon or figure that represents your key demographic. Well, the reality is that, yes, you can have a go-to person in mind for key decision-making on your brand and it's positioning, but all your customers do not look alike.

People want to see some physical resemblance of themselves when they see your website, marketing and social media. As a company, we have to be conscious of that as we serve many different people with different ethnicities, hair types/textures and/or complexions, but all have the same goal of achieving healthy, thriving hair.

PAAYAL MAHAJAN | Founder, Essential Body

Inclusivity is not just a term for me. I am a brown woman who has faced a lot of discrimination while living and working in the U.S. I have faced assumptions around my background with no thought or interest in where I come from or what my heritage is. I have dealt with the blows of white privilege in the workplace and personally. I was also judged for my size for a majority of my life. I am someone who has fought and continues to fight for the rights of the marginalized and oppressed.

I am not interested in tokenism. I smell it from a mile away. You can’t fake your way into being inclusive. My authenticity and my voice are the most powerful ways for me to communicate that my brand is me, and it espouses my values and my perspective on the world. It never was, and is certainly not enough now, to do a rainbow of ethnicities in your imagery. I see brands appropriating cultures, not giving thought to messaging and imagery. None of that is for me. You can’t be mindful of inclusivity unless you fundamentally shift your mindset. This is not something businesses can phone in.

ADA POLLACEO, Alchimie Forever

We strive to be inclusive in everything we do. From the people we use in our marketing materials (fun fact: They’re all family members, team members or friends.) to the way we train our brand ambassadors, we focus on skincare concerns rather than gender, skin color or other identifiers. We don’t say, “Hey, we’re inclusive." Rather, we strive to behave in a way that makes everyone feel welcome and comfortable, and that our products were made for them.

KATONYA BREAUX | Founder, Unsun Cosmetics

As a black founder and consumer, I have firsthand knowledge of what it feels like to not be considered by companies providing skincare and makeup products. I wanted to make sure that not only women that looked like me, but women in general had the benefit and knowledge that there is a product that is made with them in mind, and not only as an afterthought. In this very inclusive environment, the companies that aren't getting on the bandwagon are the ones that are standing out.

NISHA DEARBORN | Founder and CEO, Fresh Chemistry

I teach my kids that the only difference between skin of different colors is the amount of melanin in it. As a daughter of a dermatologist, I can attest to this very simple, yet still profound truth. So, when it comes to my brand, I choose models or repost user-generated content that represents who the freshly activated serums are best suited for: all skin types and colors.

JULIE PEFFERMAN | Founder, The Lab and Co.

We have always thought about inclusivity from the customers perspective and our employee perspective. In the near future, inclusivity won't be a buzzword. Instead, it will be something every brand must do. It will be the authenticity that inclusivity is delivered that will distinguish us from the rest.  

On the employee internal side, since we are a lab, it makes sense that our one-word company philosophy is "mix," which guides us as we grow. Mix in kindness in everything you do. Mix with other kinds of people/thinkers to expand your mind and life. When something isn't working, mix it up with a new approach. There is always a way. Work hard, take pride in what you bring to the mix. Take the risk, failure is valued, speak up and mix in your ideas, and see what bubbles to the top.

On the customer side, we try to rethink target customers and find meaningful ways to include others. Our brand, Cleantan, was the first self-tanning brand to showcase full-figured models of various skin colors. We encourage people to be as tan as they want to be with our color controlling concentrate. Our brand Equal By Nature was birthed out of inclusivity, encouraging everyone to celebrate their differences. We aim to create luxurious hero products that fit into anyone's routine at a reasonable price. We call it inclusive luxury.

AMBER FAWSON | Co-Founder, Saalt

Inclusivity is a central and all-important topic in the world of period care. It is actually one of the reasons we love period care. There is something about period talk that brings people together regardless of background or belief. We all share struggles with period management. We all agree that no one should feel confused and alone about their period and their body. We all agree that we want students around the world to have period care that allows them to attend school when they are on their period.

At Saalt, we believe in being period positive and, by focusing on period positive topics, we can do some incredible things with the help of our audience. Our audience helps us break stigmas and also connects us with impact organizations who are doing incredible work around the world. Every part of our brand is about being welcoming and adding people to our tribe regardless of any variety of personal backgrounds or beliefs.

MELISSA REINKING | Chief Marketing Officer, BioClarity

We always try to stay grounded in knowing that the consumers who discover us all have different starting points and skin goals in mind. Step one to being inclusive is being individualized. If we can help people get to where they want to be by understanding their individual needs, desires and starting points, and if we can customize their experience around these attributes, not some idealized version of what we think a consumer might need, this helps us remain not only inclusive, but also very mindful of the evolving needs of those who become part of our brand.

BRANDON GARCIA | Co-Founder, Mira

My co-founder Jay Hack and I wanted to ensure that anyone, no matter who they are, what they look like or what their interests are is able to find what works best for them. The incredible diversity of beauty consumers has driven not only the increased fragmentation of beauty products and trends in the industry, but also the heightened demands for personalization.

Diversity and inclusivity are not only baked into our very core, but they are also the primary factors driving the need for a platform like this. We've worked hard to build an expansive data catalog of over 60,000 products and millions of reviews and videos that can be leveraged to help consumers from all walks of life find what works for them.

In the long term, we hope that it becomes a platform for beauty brands, content creators, and consumers to engage in authentic, meaningful conversation. By doing so, we seek to help advance the industry in co-developing products that best speak to the amazingly diverse individuals that comprise the beauty community.

RENAE MOOMJIAN | Founder and CEO, NipLips

We are vocal in all touch points with our community that everyone is welcome. Whether it is a photoshoot, new brand ambassador or activity, we are continually looking for ways to bring diversity in race, ethnic background, religion, sexual preference, sexual indentification, age, size (large to small and everything in between) into our brand.

Our company tag line is “Beautiful, Authentic You!” and our goal is to help people look within to define not only their unique beauty, but who they really are at their core. So, for example, by using our app, doing a color scan of your nipples, and matching to one of our vegan, organic, lip colors, you are using your body to define what looks good on you rather than social media or celebrities. True beauty and inclusivity starts with embracing your uniqueness and, then, sharing it with the world. We work very hard to promote that message.

FEISAL QURESHI | Founder, Raincry

My personal view is that beauty is not real, it doesn't exist. It's all perspective. That perspective evolves, changes and means different things to different people at different times in our lives. Just look at the 80s. We looked ridiculous, but were full of confidence.

So, beauty is not about the things we buy or how we look, but rather how that thing makes us feel when we wear it, use it or experience it. Therefore, beauty is about emotions and, as a beauty brand, you become a custodian of those emotions to help better people's lives.

KRISTEN BOWEN | Founder & CEO, Living The Good Life Naturally

My entire life I have been on a diet or searching for the perfect diet. I just wanted to be skinny and equated that with being healthy. I will never forget the day that I was sitting in my wheelchair feeling pretty sorry for myself and wondering if I would ever feel good again. A friend walked up and asked me how I was doing. Instead of the usual, “Oh, I am fine,” I answered her honestly. “I am so tired of being sick and having seizures and stressing my family out.”

She looked at me and said something that would shatter and change the course of what I was searching for when it came to my health. She patted my leg after I told her how tired I was and replied, “But Kristen, at least you are skinny.” I had achieved my lifelong dream of being skinny, but it was not what I wanted. I wanted vibrant energy.

Now, when clients start to work with me, I ask them to write out what healthy looks like to them. That way they have a specific goal in mind of what they are wanting to create. Because of that one exchange, we make sure to include all body types in our marketing. Being healthy is so much more than being skinny.

JEAN BAIK | Founder and Creative Chief Officer, Miss A

One of our biggest missions as a business is to #justhavefun with makeup and beauty. So, we always offer as many shades as possible and offer products that would work for a young teen all the way into late adulthood.

JASMIN EL KORDI | CEO, Bluelene

Cellular health is gender, age and ethnicity neutral, and our brand reflects that philosophy. We ensure that our packaging and messaging appeal to a wide human audience, and that we incorporate that variety into the imagery we use.

Source: Beauty Independent  

[perriewinklenerdie]

I wish... (Ethan Ramsey x MC) part 5

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

Author’s note: Hello, hello, hello! Next chapter is here! I also have some one shots ideas swimming in my head, we’ll see how that goes! As for now, enjoy some quality time with our husband! As per usual, English is still not my first language, my MC is Clarissa “Claire” Herondale. Enjoy! <3

 Word count: 2067

 Chapter 5: Out in the open

He was stunned. She was here. Really here. He kept on pinching himself, unable to believe that it’s the reality and not another one of his dreams.

He couldn’t move. His muscles refused to obey his will. He tried to stand up but he felt as though he would fall as soon as he did stand up. He saw other medics tend to her, check her vitals, giving her food and water, cleaning her as much as they could without a shower and give her clothes to change.

Finally, she stood there. She looked lost, her eyes searching for something familiar.

Their gazes met. And he finally could move.

He ran. He ran to her, unable to stop himself, not caring about what others might think or say. She didn’t have time to start running, but she would if the distance was bigger.

They fell into each other’s arms with a force so big they had to support themselves on the wall to avoid contact with the floor.

His arms went securely around her, one of them circling her waist and the other holding her head to him. Her arms went around him, hanging on tightly. Neither of them wanted to let go.

He dreamed of having her in his arms a lot during the last month. He couldn’t believe that it was really happening. For once in his life, he wanted something and it was granted to him.

They were oblivious to the sympathetic looks they were getting from everyone around them. Harper had a huge smile on her face, not believing it either, but being extremally happy that Claire was alive, knowing that she was the only one who could open Ethan back up.

Detective Cordato stood next to them. They turned their heads towards him, not letting go of each other.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but we… we have a lot of questions, Miss Herondale. Would you mind answering them now or would you prefer to do it later, once you had a chance to sleep?” he asked, a smile on his face.

“I’d like it to be over, let’s go with it.” She said quietly. Ethan ran his fingers through her hair.

“Maybe let’s take it to my office? It would be quiet and peaceful and definitely more comfortable than the hall.” He proposed and everyone agreed.

Ethan, not letting go of Claire, started walking with the rest of them towards his office, opening the door and letting everyone in. He sat her down on the couch and turned to get her some tea and a blanket, but she grabbed his hand, panic all over her face, shaking her head vigorously. He looked over to Harper, she nodded her head wordlessly and fetched the two items. He covered Claire with a blanket and she snuggled into his side.

“Okay… Miss Herondale, if you don’t mind… can you tell us what happened here a month ago?”

“I was walking towards Lucy’s room. She was my patient. Just as I was entering the room, the alarm went off. I grabbed her in my arms and started running towards the emergency exit, but then she saw that man… she told me who he was, so I had no other choice but to turn around and hide. We went into the supply closet and…”

“If you don’t mind my interruption. Have you seen anyone else near or in the said closet?”

“No? Why? Anyway, we closed the door behind us, but I think he saw us running there, because the next thing I knew, he was trying to take the door down. He didn’t succeed so he decided to light the door on fire and leave. We managed to leave right before the door would be not able to open, I found emergency stairs and we went down and ran.”

“Why didn’t you go to all the other doctors and patients? What were you doing all this time you were missing?” detective Cordato asked.

“I knew that the man was not of good mental health. I knew he could hurt Lucy. I thought if I ran with her and hid somewhere until they found him….”

“That’s why you were gone? You were hiding? How did you provide for both of you for so long?”

“Yes. I was keeping tabs on the news, but I knew we couldn’t get back here unless he was found and locked. I couldn’t contact anyone because he could have been controlling my phone or other devices. My priority was to keep Lucy safe, wait until it was okay for us to come back and then get her here to check her condition. Nothing was apparent but I didn’t have equipment to be sure.”

“You were really brave, doctor. We already called her parents, they are on their way. Would you like to talk to them?”

“Please, I would like to be updated on her condition. And if her parents wish to speak to me, no problem.” She smiled softly, looking at her hands.

“Okay, I think that’s it for now. If we’ll need something more, we’ll contact you. You should rest, Miss Herondale. You deserve it.” He smiled down at her and extended his hand for her to shake. She did so with a smile.

“Thank you, officer. Goodnight.” Detectives left the room, leaving her, Ethan and Harper alone.

The chief approached them and kneeled down in front of her.

“I’d just like to say that I am proud of your work, dr. Herondale. I am honored to have you on our team, such a devoted doctor. Please, rest, take a few days off, let yourself get back on track.” She sent a small smile towards the young doctor, her eyes moving to Ethan.  

“Take care of her, okay?” Harper mouthed to him, he nodded. She stood up and left the room.

They were finally alone. She was still wrapped securely in his arms, his cheek pressed against her head.

“Do you want me to take you to your apartment? You should really sleep.” He murmured, his words hard to understand because his lips were buried in her hair.

“No. If I go there now, I’ll have to explain everything and I don’t feel like I am up for it right now.”

“Okay… my place then?”

“If that’s not a problem… yeah, that would be perfect.” Her voice was small and quiet, as though she was afraid he would reject her.

“Of course it’s not a problem. Come on, let’s go.” He stood up, keeping her in his arms.

They went to his car, he helped her get in and covered her with a blanket, getting in the car and starting it. His hand found hers, their fingers intertwining.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his grip on her hand tightening.

“I honestly don’t know anymore. I feel relieved that I can finally be back, I was so tired of running. Lucy is the sweetest girl I’ve ever met but she is a child, she has her needs that I knew I couldn’t satisfy, we didn’t have money or a place to stay or food… I felt so helpless, we found some good people, they gave us some food but we couldn’t stay there for long…”

“… You have no idea how happy and relieved I am that you are okay. That you are alive.” His voice was breaking, tears were forming in his eyes.

“Me too. For a second I thought I that it was the end. But then I thought of you and how you would be disappointed with me, not being able to save a patient…”

“No. No, no, no. You don’t understand…” he cut off; they have arrived at his apartment. They went upstairs, he helped her get comfortable, but before he could ask her if she’d like some tea, he saw her eyelids dropping.

“You’re tired. Come on.” He took her hand and led her to his bedroom, sat her down.

“You can sleep here tonight. I’ll take the guest room.” He turned to leave but felt a hand on his wrist. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide, looking nervous.

“Ethan…” his heart stopped at the sound of his name coming from her lips. It felt right. “… do you think you could sleep here tonight? With me? I just… don’t think I can survive the night alone.” Her voice was small, a little embarrassed, she hated showing her weakness.

“Of course, no problem” he smiled softly, going to his dresser to fetch her his shirt for her to sleep in. before he could leave the room, she already started changing. She took her clothes off and he really tried not to look, but he couldn’t look away, he was mesmerized with her beauty. He noticed she lost some weight, the consequence of not eating enough. She threw on his shirt, the garment too big on her, falling off on of her shoulder. He undressed to, both of them getting in bed.

They turned towards each other, faces closely together, breathing the same air.

“I missed you.” he whispered softly. His hand touched her cheek, fingers brushing her hair away.

“I missed you too. You have no idea how badly I wanted to reach out to you, but I just couldn’t risk it.”

“I thought you were…. You were dead. I never thought I could be so vulnerable, yet here I was, unable to get through my day without breaking down. I longed for one more chance to see you, talk to you, to tell you…” he stopped talking, his eyes on hers.

“Ethan… I had no idea you thought I was dead. I assumed you thought I was missing. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“It made me realize how fragile our lives are. With you gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I became even more rude than usual. I snapped at Harper, Naveen didn’t know what to do. But it was him that helped me realize something priceless and important.”

“And what is it?”

“Claire… I love you.” he whispered, his eyes full of emotions, sincere and true. “I know that’s not the correct order of things, and I know that you probably don’t reciprocate those feelings, but I just had to get them out. I felt horrible that I didn’t get the chance to tell you. You bring out the best in me, you marched into my life and took down my walls, that took years for me to build. You made me want to open up, talk about my feelings. You changed me, and like it or not, I cannot lie to myself anymore. I love you. That’s just a fact.” She looked at him with disbelief on her face. His thoughts were running wild, his mind thinking he crossed the line, he ruined everything they had. He didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t…

She kissed him. Her soft lips touched his, hesitantly at first. Then the initial shock passed and he felt as if he woke up. His arms went around her, bringing her closer, hugging her to his chest. Her fingers tangled in his hair, soft locks passing through them.

They lost the track of time, both comforted by the presence of the other. When the air was necessary, they broke the kiss, their foreheads touching, still holding each other close as if letting them get away for even a millimeter would make them disappear.

She laid on her back, his head on her chest, listening to her strong heartbeat, her fingers tracing mindless patterns on the skin of his naked back. Silence took over them both, only their breaths being heard in the room.

“I love you too, Ethan. I’ve loved you for a while now.” She whispered to him. He lifted his head to look into her eyes, his whole body visibly relaxing at her words.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that I love you too. I almost lost you, I’m never going to make that mistake again. I love you.” he kissed her again, softly, pouring all of his emotions into the kiss.

They embraced each other and fell asleep, as relaxed as ever, their bodies close together, everything around them peaceful and quiet.

It was the best sleep they ever had.

  Tag list:   @paleweasels, @lilyofchoices, @hopelessromantic1352, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer, @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @palestazure, @galaxiia-quean, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @fangirlingmum, @claudevonstruke, @punk_kaomoji, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @noneotherthanthejoker, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington

If you want me to tag you, let me know and if I forgot to tag anyone, tell me so I can correct that!  :D

[mattschues]

Discussion || Schanderson

Tagging: Matt Schuester and Blaine Anderson ( @doveportblaine​ ) When: January 6, 2020 Where: The parking lot and then Matt’s house Notes: This is a continuation from this text thread. 

A meeting was held at Matt and @jacienpuckerman‘s fire station where the Australian bushfires were discussed. The chief asked for volunteers and if any of them wishes to go they will leave Wednesday for an undetermined amount of time. As of now more than 100 firefighters have been sent from across the nation and more are desperately needed. 

In this para Matt and Blaine have a discussion about what’s to take place. 

For more information on ways to help, check out this link.

Matt

Ever since Matt became a firefighter he promised he'd be there to help people no matter the risks. Were there fucking scary situations? Uh yeah. Many. Most of those he didn't talk about with people outside of is work family because he knew it would worry others. Matt knew the trip his chief proposed would be one of the scariest things he's ever encountered but he still felt that pull to go. To do what he felt was the right thing to do. However, there was also a part of him that thought of Blaine. They were still so new to their relationship but he knew his boyfriend worried of the things he encountered in Doveport. The bushfires were massive and many people and animals have lost their lives due to it. Matt couldn't make this choice, not without talking it through with Blaine. He felt a terrible boyfriend for putting him in this situation. He never wanted to cause Blaine any worry and now he here was. Thinking about doing something insane. Matt drove his car to the front, as promised, and waited for B to meet him. He didn't know if they were to stick around here or drive to one of their houses. Or elsewhere.

Blaine

With his work apron neatly folded and tucked under one arm, Blaine squinted against the glare of the midwinter sun as he left work. He'd been operating mostly on auto-pilot for the last half hour of his shift -- taking orders and making drinks was mostly automatic anyway, and he'd been trying to ignore the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach ever since Matt's last few texts. He hadn't even fully gotten a handle on Matt running into burning buildings on purpose yet, but this? This was so much bigger than anything he could have ever imagined. Blaine spotted Matt's car right away, and crossed over to tap gently on the driver's side window. He managed to muster up a wan little smile as he wiggled his fingers in a silent wave.

Matt

Sometimes when Matt was able to come around and pick Blaine up, he’d have his 80s playlist on and singing to The B-52s or Mike and the Mechanics. Right now the silence weighed on him. When Blaine’s tap jostled him out of his thoughts Matt grinned. He unlocked the doors and motioned for B to come around.

Blaine

It was never going to feel normal, seeing Matt so subdued. Even with the grin there was an edge to the way he held himself, and that did nothing for the anxious little knot in Blaine’s gut. He skirted around the car quickly and slid in, leaning across the center console for a kiss as he pulled the door shut behind him. “Hey stranger – I think somebody promised me a hug,” he murmured.

Matt

Matt’s hand went to the side of Blaine’s neck and held on while they kissed. It helped ease him some but he kept with his lips against his a beat or two longer than usual. “Hey.” He said, kissing his lips again. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to get in stranger’s cars?” Matt teased. They have a heavy talk ahead of them and wanted to feel this small bit of happy before. “Let’s go to my place and I’ll hug you the whole time we’re there. How does that sound?”

Blaine

Blaine closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, grasping at that small little thread of normal. He gave a small huff of laughter at the joke, as mild as it was, and pulled back with a nod. “Sounds good. We can come back for my car later, but I’d rather be able to sit down and talk without interruptions.”

Matt

“If this was any other kind of talk I’d say I would struggle not distracting you. Even in public.” Matt’s hand went down Blaine’s arm and as soon as he reached his wrist he brought his boyfriend’s wrist to kiss. “I really am sorry about this.” There was some hesitation but Matt pushed through it. “If this feels like it got too real too fast I get it if you need space.”

Blaine

“I don’t need space, Matt. I need you to talk to me, so I can understand what’s going on and what your thought process is. But I’m not walking away from this, not now,” Blaine insisted, his fingers curling around Matt’s. “Just because it’s been easy so far doesn’t mean it’s less real — now we just have to figure out how to navigate the hard parts.”

Matt

He knew Blaine wouldn’t just up and leave, it wasn’t like him considering the talks they’ve had before. Something like this however was so damn heavy that not everyone can handle it. Especially with a semi new relationship. “We’ll figure that out. As best as we can.” Matt lowered Blaine’s hand and as soon as he was buckled in Matt took his hand once the drive started. Less than 10 minutes later they pulled up to Matt’s house and he let Blaine in. After a quick check Matt knew Evan was out so they were alone. But, before sitting at the kitchen table, Matt pulled Blaine into a hug and wrapped him tight within his strong arms. They may have been new but this man meant everything to him

Blaine

Being engulfed in Matt’s embrace made the anxiety in Blaine’s chest loosen just a little. He looped his arms up over Matt’s shoulders and buried his face against the sharp curve of his collarbone, holding on for dear life. He couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how this conversation ended, their relationship, new as it was, was about to change. Whether that was a good change or a bad change — Blaine was afraid to find out, but avoiding it entirely wasn’t an option.“Do you want me to make coffee?” he asked, his voice muffled against Matt’s shirt.

Matt

Matt hated himself in that moment for putting Blaine through this. It was easier before when he kept relationships at a distance. That being with him only caused pain. It caused people to leave and he knew if he chose a different career it’d be different. “You’ve been making coffee all day, baby. Take a break.” His lips, buried into Blaine’s hair, and did his best to try to save this memory in his head. That if he goes through with this that he’ll have one of this to think back to. Matt broke the hug and thought about talking at the table but changed his mind and went to the arm chair, where he encouraged Blaine to sit on his lap and keep his close throughout this talk.

Blaine

Blaine followed without resistance – Matt seemed to get a kick out of having him curled up in his lap even on a good day, and Blaine was reluctant to deny them both the comfort, even if it made it a little more difficult to watch Matt’s face. He settled himself sideways so he could tuck his head against Matt’s shoulder and just breathed him in for a long moment. “Okay. Let’s start at the beginning,” he said quietly, when he couldn’t avoid it any longer. “I’ve been watching the news – I have an idea of what’s going on, at least. How bad are we talking, and what exactly did the chief ask people to volunteer for?”

Matt

Matt was glad he went for the facts because that’s what it came down to. “Right now the priority is to stop the flames from spreading. Many people’s homes are ruined. Not many in the way of human casualties, which is good though there are millions of animals. There’s been some relief with rain, which is good but then you’ve got these fire storms that make it worse since the lightning from it sparks new fires. You’d think we’re in the middle of some insane disaster movie.” He said and took a moment to look at Blaine before continuing. The fire’s expected to worsen this weekend since temps are climbing fast. The need more manpower to provide relief to the men and women who’ve been fighting this things around the clock. Granted these bushfires have been an issue for months but it’s getting out of control. And the chief, well he wants to send us along with volunteers from Georgia, Tennessee and Kentucky to South Wales. It’s risky. All fires are but there haven’t been any reported death amongst the crews and they’ve got all the equipment needed to try to get the upper hand on this nightmare.” Matt didn’t know if this answered much but he continued. “There’s talk of volunteers staying anywhere from a week to a month. To give you an idea how long it can go for.”

Blaine

Whatever relief Blaine felt at the assurance that there hadn't been any reported deaths among the crews faded quickly at that last bit of information. "A month?" he echoed, lifting his head in shock. A month away would be... almost Valentine's Day. And how small and selfish did that make him, that his first thought was that Matt might not be around for their first Valentine's Day together? He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before refocusing on other things. "You said it's expected to get worse this weekend because of the rising temperatures. That means they need people before then, doesn't it?"

Matt

“I know. It’s a long time. But if the NIFC, which is the National Interagency Fire Center, keeps getting more stations involved it could be less time than that.” Matt didn’t want to miss Blaine’s birthday. He just started to plan it...If he decides to go he may need to find a way to make sure the plans keep going while gone. “Yeah. It does. We’ll have to fly out Wednesday.” Matt quieted after that and moved his head over to look at him. “I want to help. I feel that pull to go. They really need experienced fire fighters, especially those with wildfire experience. Which I have from when I volunteered in California.” Matt frown after he spoke and sighed. “I feel like shit for doing this. For even considering this. I get my family cares about me. After Betsy I didn’t date at all and then you came into my life one day and all I wanted was to see you laugh and smile whenever I’m around. And now, now we’re together and you’re learning about the hard part of my job. Or of me I guess because I can tell the chief no. It’s not like it’s mandatory.” A but lingered heavily after he spoke and Matt’s frown deepened. “Sometimes I hate this need to help.”

Blaine

"Don't hate that part of yourself," Blaine said quietly. He looped one arm up around Matt's neck, linking them together. "You can hate the decisions it forces you into, but don't hate something that's a part of you." He turned his face into Matt's shoulder with a shuddering sigh. "Wednesday. On the other side of the world." It didn't quite seem real, but he should have known things were going too smoothly. "If it weren't for me," Blaine murmured, "you'd already have your name on that list. Wouldn't you?"

Matt

He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell Blaine he would have talked it over with his family first but he knew the truth. He told them his plans but not as a means of a discussion. Matt nodded his head after a few passing moments and dropped his eyes from Blaine’s. “I love my family. But they’ve accepted this is how I am. It doesn’t mean they agree with it.” His eyes raised slowly to those hazel eyes that held such pain. “And I feel strongly when it comes to you and what we have. I couldn’t agree to it without talking to you. It wouldn’t be right.”

Blaine

Blaine leaned forward to touch his lips to Matt's gently. "If you ever agree to something like this without talking to me first, I will never forgive you," he whispered into the kiss. After a moment he pulled back, his eyes serious. "But I'm not here to change who you are or hold you back, either. If there's proper safety precautions, and the need is genuine and immediate -- if you need your name on that list, add it tomorrow."

Matt

This was different from when they talked about Bets and what happened with the little kids. Matt knew there will be other emergencies, it was his job to be there. Yes, this was something he had a say in but..but this was him. This will continue to be the man he is. Matt’s hand went to Blaine’s cheek and kissed him, just as gentle as Blaine was before. “I’ll check in as much as I can. And take extra precautions. I have to come home and annoy you after all. I can’t let you go too long without seeing my handsome face or feeling my lips against yours.” Matt’s forehead pressed to Blaine’s. “And please write me too while I’m gone. Even if it’s to tell me you’re worried or scared or you think I’m insane. I just want to know you’re thinking of me and not trying to find a way to end this.”

Blaine

"I'm always worried," Blaine assured him. "I'm definitely scared, you're almost certainly insane, and I will absolutely be thinking of you. But there's no way in hell I'm ending this." He tilted his head into Matt's as well, an uncertain look flitting across his face. "I'll try to message you. I don't want to distract you when you need to be focused on your job, and I can't be the reason you make a mistake, but I want to make sure you remember I'll still be here, too."

Matt

Was Matt scares about what he was about to volunteer for? Yes. Very. He was scared with all the dangerous calls he went into but his drive and heart kicked in, along with a surge of adrenaline, and he did his best. Blaine was so good to him, Matt lucky to have such an understanding man who he grew to love more and more with each passing day. How, especially now, he wanted to tell him. “I’m sure I’ll find a free moment where I’ll send you a video of me butchering another song.” Matt’s arms went around Blaine’s body and hugged him as his lips found his. “When I come home I may go to the coffee shop and throw you over my shoulder and tell everyone they’ll hear from you after a couple days.”

Blaine

"If you send me any song with the word 'fire' in the title, you'll live to regret it," Blaine countered. He snaked both arms around Matt's neck, fingers tangling in the back of his hair. "Big talk there, Schuester. Implying that you could actually throw me over your shoulder or keep me busy for two solid days."

Matt

Matt cocked his head to the side and grinned. “Don’t think I’m strong enough or you plan to fight me on it? Because I’ll have the element of surprise on my side.” He slid a hand underneath Blaine’s knees and wrapped his arm around his back before he scooted to the edge of the chair and stood with Blaine in his arms, shifting to get him in a proper hold. Never has he carried Blaine this way and such a proud looked crossed his face. “You’ve seen how I am after two days without you. My needy ass will need a minimum of two days with you when I get back. I’ll have no trouble keeping you busy.” He said as he headed to his room. “Besides, I doubt you’ll fight me too much if I lock us away from the outside world since I’m your favorite person and all.”

Blaine

Suddenly finding himself hoisted into the air startled a sharp cry out of Blaine, and his arms locked around Matt's neck purely out of reflex. He honestly hadn't thought that he was small enough or Matt strong enough to lift him -- there was only a couple of inches difference in their heights, after all -- but he probably shouldn't be surprised that Matt felt the need to prove it. He recovered quickly enough to crane his neck and plant a kiss on the side of Matt's neck. "I think I might need a preview. Just so I know what I'm in for. Since I'm your favorite person and all."

Matt

Blaine's surprise sound only caused Matt's smirk to grow. The countless hours at the station's gym kept him in awesome shape, as he'd had to carry people heavier than him on occasion and didn't want to be stuck in a situation where he struggled with someone in need of rescue. Matt looked to Blaine as he walked and said, "No duh, Anderson. Been telling you all this time you are. Glad you've finally listened to me." Matt joked, walking him to his bedroom. Matt didn't know what will happen during his time in South Wales but he'd do everything in his power. For his family and for this man he held to his body. Their story was just getting started and he intended to create more and more chapters with him; however long Blaine will have let him.

[joytoasheshq]

below is christine’s sample application for ned stark. applications won’t be posted in full with acceptances. this is to provide another example of what i’m looking for in applications. a big thank you to christine for providing this sample, and making me cry over papa wolf! hope this is helpful and enjoy!!

OOC.

name: Christine

age: 26

pronouns: they/them

timezone: EST

triggers: {omitted}

in the game of thrones you win or you die, would you be open to your character dying?: as much as the idea crushes me, it would feel DISHONEST to say no (and I’d be more than happy to play another character after Ned ofc)

anything else: n/a

IN CHARACTER.

full name: Eddard “Ned” Stark

gender + pronouns: nonbinary, he/him    it’s only recent that Ned’s felt comfortable exploring his gender identity and sexuality; raised in a family of cops, there were certain standards of masculinity that were expected of him and he never felt fully comfortable opening that particular box of worms. but within a supporting and loving relationship with a woman he trusts entirely, he’s felt better about exploring that side of himself and admitting that he never fully fit into the boxes he tried to fit into when he was younger.

age & dob: 35, July 21, 1983

faceclaim: Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

personality: + he’s reliable, above all: he can be counted on to do what he says he will do, no matter what it is. it makes him easy to trust, easier to understand. straightforward and loyal to those he’s promised his loyalty to. + a compassionate person, he has an understanding and empathetic soul. always willing to listen, to provide a word of advice. x being honorable is a double-edged sword, a coin with two sides: it endears him to some, makes him valued by those who have reason to value him. but it also makes him easy to manipulate – he is not playing the game that everyone else seems to be playing, which means that more often than not he ends up a pawn. x as a father, a husband, a brother, and a friend, he is protective; he’s lost too many people not to be. he’ll defend those he cares about as far as he needs to in order to keep them safe. - with all that, though, comes a naive optimism that can be dangerous in a world like this. it’s not that he expects anyone to be as honorable as he is, not that he doesn’t understand that people lie, and cheat, and steal, and kill. he knows this better than anyone. but he sees no point in going on if he can’t have some kind of hope, can’t let himself see the best in people. - his morality is inflexible, with no shades of gray: there is what’s right and what is wrong. and he knows the world is not so simple– knows people do wrong things for right reasons and right things for wrong reasons, knows there is always a way to blur the line. but that blurring is a slippery slope, and it’s easier to keep focus on that simple binary of right and wrong and let everything else fall into place around it.

headcanons:

( trigger warnings: pregnancy complications, death )

1. His father is a cop. His father is a cop, and his father’s father is a cop, and his father’s father’s father was a cop before that. He grows up in the shadow of it, never a question in his mind of what he would grow up to become: the men in his family, they protect the city, they always have, and so will he, when he’s old enough. Just like his father. Just like his older brother does, a few years before he can.

High school, college, the police academy. He is a star student. He prides himself on being a just and honorable man, just like his father. Just like Brandon. He models himself after them in every fathomable way. He admires them. His father, chief of police. His brother, charismatic and well-loved and engaged to a woman he so clearly adores. They are his heroes: he lives happily in their shadow, feeling a little like a child among giants, like he’ll always be reaching up to try to be as tall as them, like he’ll always be tripping over the shoes they leave to fill.

When they die– both of them, at once, as if one wasn’t enough to shatter him into pieces, as if one wasn’t enough loss to have him grieving for a lifetime– when they die, trying to subdue the riots, to stop the chaos, he tries to fill their shoes. He becomes a part of things, not just a rookie cop but a voice for the people, or, for Robert maybe, or– god, but he gets lost in it. The violence, the chaos, the city in turmoil. It is impossible to see a clear way out, through the fog and the confusion and the grief.

He’s not proud of it. But at the end of the day, all he’s got is the people he has left – Benjen, Robert, Jon – and a determination to never let it happen again.

2. She’s dying, when he finds her. His sister, little Lyanna. She’s always been little Lyanna but he feels it now more than ever, holding her hand in bed, thin and shaking. Complications with a pregnancy he had no idea existed. Complications that an adequate doctor could have fixed, if they’d gotten there in time, if she’d given birth in a hospital where the doctors would have had files about her history of blood clotting, if someone had been there to catch the signs of a pulmonary embolism, if only, if only, if only. If only she hadn’t felt the need to run away, when a pregnancy test confirmed her fears. If only she had felt like she could tell anyone. But she’s dying, already, and he’s not a doctor; he’s barely even a cop, 23 years old and only six months on the force.

There’s nothing you can do, she says, her voice weak. It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Just– promise me something, please.

And he’d promise her anything, in that moment, his little sister, promise her the entire world and do anything he could to deliver. When the doula hands him her son– premature, too small, tiny hands gripping at nothing, tiny mouth searching blindly in the air for a mother to latch onto– he promises.

He leaves Dorne with the baby in his arms, and when the baby starts to cry, he finds that he is crying, too. Can’t stop himself. He has buried too many people, for his age, and all in a year. A father, a brother, a sister. He knows it isn’t true– knows there’s Benjen, still, knows there’s Robert, knows there’s Jon– but for a moment it feels like his world has shrunk down, and the only things left in it are himself and this baby boy and the snow falling around them.

He is a good man. He will be a good father. He will keep every promise to his sister he ever made. He will keep her child safe, call him his own. Tell whatever story he needs to, so that no one knows what Lyanna didn’t want them to know.

3. Cat is… a revelation. An unexpected surprise. He knew her, of course, before it all. Brandon’s girl. He’d looked forward to calling her a sister-in-law, once. She is bright and she is clever and she is kind and she is too much, for him, too good to be true. He’s… trying, as far as fatherhood goes, but he never meant to be a father at 23, at 24. He’s quit the force, living off the meager inheritance his father left behind until Jon is old enough to go to school, because he can’t bear the though of leaving his son alone, of hiring someone else to watch him, of doing anything that might separate them. Because what if something were to happen? What if he were to lose Jon, too?

He agrees to dinner with Cat because he’s always liked her. He’s never thought of her as anything other than Brandon’s girlfriend, Brandon’s fiancee. Never wanted to: they were so in love. Brandon was so happy. Brandon would have done anything for her. He agrees to dinner with Cat because he needs someone who is sharing in his grief, and because she says she knows a great babysitter who can help out for the night.

He doesn’t mean to fall in love.

But she’s not Brandon’s anything, anymore. But Brandon’s gone. And they get along in so much other than their grief. More than he expects. And dinner one time turns into dinner once a week, turns into nights spent together, turns into moving in… and Catelyn makes him a better man. Makes him a better person. Makes him feel like maybe he can actually do it all.

She’s the one who encourages him to start something new. To build something from the wreckage. And so he starts Stark Security – he’s got the skills he needs, after all, even if he isn’t willing to risk his life anymore. Even if he isn’t willing to risk his family.

And they start a family.

4. Fatherhood suits him, it turns out. First Robb and then Sansa, and then the twins so soon after. And Jon, of course, a few years older than them all, and growing up so well. Just entering his moody pre-teen years. Stark Security means he can sit behind a desk, keep a regular 9-5, pick the kids up from school and be home in time for dinner every night. He takes up cooking, old family recipes. He reads bedtime stories and helps kids out of baths and into fleece footie pajamas. His face is sore from smiling, his voice hoarse from laughing. His chest feels warm, and large, and full, when he hears his childrens’ voices.

The loss still hits him, sometimes, like a wrecking ball. He wants to tell his father about something funny Sansa said. He wants to show Brandon a picture of the twins. He wants big family cookouts on warm June evenings. He wants someone to tell him they’re proud of him.

But there are better things to fill the gaps, better balms to salve the wounds. His kids, they give him purpose, give him a reason to get up in the morning and try to be a better person every single day. And his family gives him something to fight for, something to protect. They make him want to make Westeros a better place again.

INTERVIEW

vi. do you feel fulfilled in life?

    “I do. I really do. When I quit being a cop, I thought I might never feel that way again. You know how it is: you grow up around all that, you start to think there’s one right path towards fulfillment or whatever. But my kids– It’s worth everything else I’ve ever lost, just to have them.  They make me feel fulfilled every day, even if they’re a handful sometimes.”

vii. have you ever lost someone you loved?

    “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out more as an exhale than as a real word, hardly any voice behind it. Just the word is enough that he almost gets lost in it, the memories. Dad and Brandon’s funeral – one funeral, two caskets, and the way the sky opened up as soon as they’d been lowered into the ground like the world knew how impossible it would be to go on without them. Lyanna, and all the secrets she carried with her when she went, all on her own. Sometimes, he remembers it and he thinks for a minute it might break him. It might, except that he’s got people now who will help him keep going.

    “Yeah, a couple a’ people. It’s– it sucks, doesn’t it?”

ix. who was your last text to, and what did it say?

    “Let’s see,” he says, sliding his phone from his pocket and unlocking it with his thumbprint. Opens texts, scrolling back through one or two unanswered ones to the last one he sent…  CATELYN 😍 displayed across the top of the screen, and a few messages in a row below it, hey babe omw home / picking up dinner want me to pick up anything else? / 😉 /  maybe–

As he reads the messages that follow, he can feel his cheeks grow warm, blushing slightly. Maybe not the most appropriate series of messages to read out loud… He clears his throat, scrolls back one message father.

    “It was to Robert,” he says, before reading it out loud: “The good donut shop or the cheap one?”

EXTRAS (OPTIONAL):

x. pinterest x. inspo tag & edits x. playlist

[izayoi-no-mikoto]

Waiting for Someone to Come In

(For pyrrhical/anoyo.  Written for Not Prime Time 2018.  Takes place after Hisoka's Shikigami Recruitment Tour and contains spoilers for the entirety of the manga.)

Hisoka tumbles heels over head, his mind hazy, the world a blur.  But when he finally emerges from the wormhole, he falls straight into a pair of solid, welcoming arms, and he doesn't need his wits about him to know who it is; he can recognize the feel of those thoughts anywhere.

"Welcome home, Hisoka," Tsuzuki says softly, and his thoughts whisper, You're back, you made it, you're safe, you're here, you're back.

Hisoka's vision swims and his head spins.  "I did it," he says, but the words feel mealy in his mouth.  He swallows and tries again.  "I did it," he repeats, more loudly this time.  "Kurikara.  He's mine.  I did it."

"I know you did, Hisoka," Tsuzuki says, warm and comforting, and that's the last thing Hisoka hears before he passes out.

*****

When Hisoka wakes again, he's lying in a bed, the sheets warm from his body heat, the ceiling above him a bland off-white.  He blinks, slowly, with gummy eyes.  His mind is full of cobwebs and cotton; the gears in his brain are slow to turn.  How did he get here?  Where is here, anyway?

He's ended up somewhere unknown.  He goes stiff, his sluggish mind gradually awakening to panic, but he can't muster the energy for anything else.   The anxiety lasts only for a moment, though, because the room is full of gentle warmth, underlaid by a vague feeling of concern and overlaid by enormous affection, and Hisoka is safe here.  Tsuzuki, he realizes, and he instantly relaxes, his tense muscles easing, his head sinking back into the pillow.

"Hisoka?"

He turns his head, and yes, there's Tsuzuki, sitting in a chair next to the bed.  On the tray table beside him is a small plate, empty except for a fork and a few crumbs.  Of course, Hisoka thinks muzzily at him, you always need to eat sweets when you're nervous.  And then, Of course you were worried about me.  Even though you didn't need to be.

"You're awake," Tsuzuki says, relief apparent in his voice.  He rises from his chair and settles onto Hisoka's bed instead, close enough to touch.   "How are you feeling?"

Hisoka slowly pushes himself upright, taking stock of his condition.  A bone-deep exhaustion makes his movements slow and leaden, and his thoughts are still a bit scrambled, but other than that he feels, if not lively, then at least not terrible.  He's a far sight better than the first time he dared test Kurikara's patience, that's for sure.

"...I've been worse," he says at last.  He collapses against the headboard, his energy spent.  At least he's sitting up now; he feels slightly less helpless that way.   "I've also been better," he admits grudgingly.

"I was worried about you," Tsuzuki says--completely unnecessarily, because Hisoka can feel it.  "You were out for while."

"How long?" Hisoka asks.  "And where are we, anyway?"

"Back in Meifu," Tsuzuki replies, conveniently skipping over the first question.  "You completely passed out when you got back from Kurikara's test.  Seriously, you were out cold.  So I fixed things there and brought you back to Meifu."

Hisoka stares at him.  "You fixed things?" he demands.  "What, just like that?"

Tsuzuki's grin falters.  He fidgets, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.  "Well, no," he says at last, a hint of a pout in his voice.  "It's still kind of a mess, to be honest.  But Kijin and Kurikara aren't trying to kill each other, and Souryuu seemed halfway willing to listen for once, so I decided to leave it to them.  I think they've figured out that they have bigger problems."  He looks up at Hisoka again, his expression unexpectedly serious.  "It was more important to bring you back safe."

More important than the continued existence of Gensoukai? Hisoka wants to ask, but before he can speak, Tsuzuki leans forward and presses his forehead to Hisoka's, and the words stutter and die in Hisoka's throat.

I was so worried, Tsuzuki's thoughts say.  I thought you might not come back.  I thought I'd really lost you this time.  I thought--

"You don't have a fever," Tsuzuki murmurs.  "Good."

Hisoka swallows.  "Did I have a fever?" he asks.  His voice emerges hoarse.

"You were burning up," Tsuzuki replies, pulling away.  "I was worried that Kurikara might have burned you from the inside this time."

Hisoka shakes his head.  "He didn't," he says.  "That wasn't--that's not what the test was about.  You were right, Tsuzuki.  It wasn't about the shikigami.  It was about me.  I had to prove myself to him."

"And I guess you did," Tsuzuki says.  "You're amazing, Hisoka."  His gaze is warm, his smile soft and proud and edged with just a hint of pain.  Then he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to Hisoka's once again.   "Really, you're amazing," he says, and his emotions gently curl beneath the surface of his words--that same fondness that so often marks his interactions with Hisoka, but so much greater than it was before.

Respect, Hisoka realizes, he respects me now that I have a shikigami. For a moment, the thought makes pride unfurl in his gut, and he allows himself to bask in the sense of triumph.  He's earned Tsuzuki's respect as an equal, as a capable shinigami in his own right.  Tsuzuki respects him now.

But if that respect is new, then why do Tsuzuki's emotions feel so familiar?

Somewhere deep in the dusty recesses of Hisoka's mind, a flicker of memory emerges.  It was a few years ago, an eternity ago, back when Hisoka had only just become a shinigami and did not yet know the meaning of trust. A man had died in Kyushu, leaving his sister, a ballroom dancer, bereft and heartbroken.  She had been sick, dying herself, and Hisoka and Tsuzuki had been sent to see her to her fate.  Instead, Tsuzuki, bleeding heart that he was, had wanted to grant her last wish: to dance in the competition she had intended to enter with her brother.

Tsuzuki loved.  In the deepest, most humanist sense, he loved.  He thought nearly everyone deserving of love, and he acted as though it were his duty to provide it.  He loved Toujou Hisae, too, in the way he loved so many--whole-heartedly and earnestly, not as a man but as someone who yearned for humanity.  There were very few people Tsuzuki did not think deserving of love, and those he instead loathed with whole-hearted intensity.  Muraki was one of those people.

Tsuzuki himself was another, but Hisoka had not yet realized it, back then.

Toujou Hisae had been a tragic young woman, bright and vivacious and clinging to life by her fingernails, and there was no way Tsuzuki could not love her.  Chief Konoe had foreseen this and warned Tsuzuki off, to no avail.  Of course Tsuzuki had loved her.  It was in his very nature, to love.

Of course, Tsuzuki himself had claimed otherwise.  Perhaps he couldn't distinguish the different gradations of love, or perhaps he was being deliberately obtuse, the way he so often was.  Either way, he'd scoffed at the very notion that he might love her.  "Of course I feel something for her," he'd said.  "It's called respect."

Even then, Hisoka had known better.  "You can't read other people's emotions, so maybe you don't know this," he'd replied, "but it can be hard to tell the difference between respect and love."

Now, Tsuzuki presses their foreheads together and whispers, "You're amazing," and his emotions are a flood, irresistible and all-encompassing and heart-pounding, a lake, a sea, an entire ocean.  Now, Hisoka thinks, Tsuzuki respects me, and then he realizes, and his eyes go wide and the bottom drops out of his stomach, because it can be difficult to tell the difference between respect and love, but the feeling pouring out of Tsuzuki isn't respect.

Hisoka thought he'd known better, but he hadn't known well enough.  He could have realized.  He should have realized.  He should have known.

But he hadn't, not until now, and the only consolation is that Tsuzuki doesn't realize it, either.

*****

Hisoka pleads fatigue, and it isn't even a lie.

"I'm exhausted," he says plainly, his head lolling back against the headboard.  "I need to sleep."  It isn't like him to admit weakness so freely, but his mind is whirling, poring over the past few years in an entirely new light, and Tsuzuki's thoughts, Tsuzuki's emotions, Tsuzuki's--everything, it's too much, far too much.  He needs to escape.  He needs to be alone.

He needs to not look at Tsuzuki and think, You're in love with me.

A thread of worry slides across Tsuzuki's mind, echoed by the slight furrowing of his brow.  Hisoka can't help it; he snaps.  "I'll be fine!" he snarls, burrowing back down into the bed and yanking the blanket up.  "Don't you have work to do or something?"

Tsuzuki's anxiety fades but doesn't vanish completely.  Hisoka's typical peevishness is, it seems, only somewhat reassuring.  "All right," Tsuzuki says far too agreeably, standing.  "It's almost nighttime, anyway.  Get some more sleep.  I'll be around, if you need me."

He picks up his dirty plate and heads out, pausing in the doorway just for a moment to glance back.  Hisoka waves him off, and Tsuzuki flashes him a grin that's almost believable.  "Sweet dreams," he says, and then he leaves.

Hisoka waits until the door clicks shut, and then he lets out a slow, shaky breath and rolls onto his back, one arm flopped limply over his forehead.  He squeezes his eyes shut for a long, long moment, and then he opens them again.

He recognizes this ceiling.  He's seen it before.  It's the ceiling of Enma-cho's infirmary, and the last time Hisoka woke up in this room, he'd been suffering from burns and smoke inhalation that even his shinigami constitution had difficulty healing, and Tsuzuki had been lying in the bed next to his, unconscious but impossibly, miraculously, alive.

Hisoka is a fool.

He should have known then.  Even trapped amidst the flames, he should have known the moment Tsuzuki buried his face in Hisoka's shoulder and clung to his jacket, should have known the moment a flicker of light cracked through the fathomless night of Tsuzuki's psyche.  Hisoka had seen the darkness of regret and guilt inside Tsuzuki's heart; he'd tasted the bitterness of self-loathing and despair that swamped Tsuzuki's soul.  He'd watched Tsuzuki go over the edge, past any point of rescue or salvation.  And yet, when Hisoka had leapt into the inferno, Tsuzuki had come crawling back over the brink.  For him.  For him.

Hisoka squeezes his eyes shut.  His mind is scrambled, and his heart aches.  "Tsuzuki," he whispers, but there's no response.  He's alone, and the room feels strangely cold.

*****

He doesn't think it's possible, but at some point, Hisoka falls asleep.  What he said to Tsuzuki wasn't a lie; Kurikara's trial had been both physically taxing and psychologically draining.  When he wakes up again, he's still too discombobulated and lethargic to say he feels truly refreshed, but at least he feels halfway like himself again.

Hisoka sits up and stretches, arms extending over his head until his back cracks.  Then he rubs his eyes, blinking in the predawn dimness, and sees Tsuzuki lying in the next bed over, curled up on his side atop the blankets, his breathing slow and steady.

Oh, Hisoka remembers, and his face goes hot.  Tsuzuki--

He shuts down the thought before it can finish.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, the bed frame creaking loudly beneath him.  Tsuzuki's gentle snore hitches, and before Hisoka can even begin to panic, Tsuzuki is sitting up, yawning widely and blinking as though still half-asleep.  "Hisoka," he mumbles.  "You're awake."

Hisoka gulps.  "So are you," he says dumbly.  Of course Tsuzuki had to pick now to become a light sleeper.  He should have stayed asleep; Hisoka can barely look him in the eye.  Not that he can say that.  "What are you doing here?" he asks instead.  "You should have gone home."

"Someone had to keep an eye on you," Tsuzuki says.  He yawns again, not bothering to cover his mouth.  He's a mess; his hair is a bird's nest, his suit even more rumpled than usual.  But when he looks at Hisoka, his eyes are clear and his expression open and concerned, unclouded by the slightest hint of sleepiness.  "How are you feeling?"  The concern is all too real; it leaks out of him, so that Hisoka can feel it without even touching him.

"Okay," Hisoka replies.  It's a short answer, but he can't make his mind function properly.  How is he supposed to act around Tsuzuki?  He can't remember.

Tsuzuki frowns.  "You're a bit flushed," he says, standing up and approaching HIsoka's bed.  He bends down a bit, inspecting Hisoka's face.  Hisoka averts his eyes.   "Do you have a fever again?" Tsuzuki asks.

And then he braces one hand against the headboard and leans forward, as though to press his forehead to Hisoka's once again, and Hisoka doesn't even think.  "Don't touch me!"

He jerks a hand up, almost shoves Tsuzuki back, stops before he makes contact.  The rest of him is recoiling, shrinking away as though he could melt into the mattress, or perhaps just disappear into thin air.   It's the kind of reaction he hasn't shown Tsuzuki in ages (since Kyoto, some part of his mind whispers traitorously, or maybe even earlier, and this should have been a clue, too, he should have known), and it takes even Hisoka by surprise.

But it's even worse when he looks up to see that Tsuzuki's expression is crushed.

Guilt churns in Hisoka's stomach.  Sorry, he almost says, I can't bear to touch you, I can feel too of you much already and I can't take any more, but he can't say it.  He's hurt Tsuzuki enough as is.  "I'm not a kid anymore," he says gruffly instead.  "You don't need to worry about me so much.  And don't tell me you weren't worried, I know exactly how worried you were."  And he adds a pointed look, just to make sure Tsuzuki gets the message.

Tsuzuki gets it.  "Oh," he says, "your empathy," and then his expression goes sheepish, like it's his fault, and it only makes Hisoka feel guiltier.  But at least he draws back, sits back down on his own bed, withdraws to a distance that almost allows Hisoka to breathe.  "Sorry," Tsuzuki says.  He pauses, and then he adds, with a sincerity that makes Hisoka's heart ache, "I know you're not a kid.  But I can't help worrying about you.  You're my partner."

It's the truth; Hisoka can feel it.  Tsuzuki's emotions are muted--whether due to the physical distance or because he's trying to keep them in check, Hisoka can't tell--but he can't shut them down entirely, and Hisoka can still feel everything.   The concern is still very much present, but at least the stab of anguish he felt at Hisoka's retreat has already faded away, replaced by that same unbearable fondness, and flowing beneath it all, a steady undercurrent of--

Hisoka closes his eyes, just for a moment, and shields himself off as best as he can. It isn't enough; he can still feel Tsuzuki, can still feel the love pulsing through him with every beat of his heart.

"Hisoka?"

He opens his eyes, and Tsuzuki is gazing at him, his expression open and unguarded.  There is no lie in Tsuzuki right now, not the slightest shred of dissembling or deceit.  His heart and mind are an open book, no pretense or attempt to hide.

Hisoka had sensed it before, when he'd first realized, and now he has confirmation.  Tsuzuki is pure at heart; everything he feels, he feels earnestly, honestly, deeply.  But he feels so deeply that it wounds him, sometimes--beats him down, taunts him, destroys him--and that means he's also developed the ability to suppress it.  He can pretend to the world and to himself that he's nothing but a cheerful, oafish idiot; whatever he's truly feeling, he can batten it down, dredge up a vapid smile and deny it all, even as it's killing him from the inside.  But over the past few years, Hisoka has become attuned to what that feels like from the outside, and there's no sign of it now.  Tsuzuki is hiding nothing, and that can mean only one thing.

Tsuzuki doesn't know.

Tsuzuki is in love with him, and he doesn't even know it.

Hisoka can't wrap his mind around this.  He can't even think about it.   Desperately, he casts about for something to do, something to say, anything to distract himself.  Fortunately, he comes up with a topic quickly enough.  He's put it on the back burner until now, as it seemed absolutely insignificant compared to the bombshell revelation of Tsuzuki's feelings, but it's been niggling at the back of his mind ever since he woke up.  "By the way, where is everyone?"

Since he first woke up back in Meifu, he's seen neither hide nor hair of anyone but Tsuzuki, hasn't even felt the vague buzzing of people bustling around the office.  It's like the place is completely empty except for the two of them, and while he wasn't expecting the entire Summons Division to show up at his bedside or anything, he had been expecting some sort of welcome back.  He knows from experience that anyone who's laid up in the infirmary can expect at least an intermittent stream of visitors.

"Ah.  That."  Tsuzuki rubs the back of his neck.  "It's just the two of us right now.  Everyone else is busy."  He starts ticking them off on his fingers.  "Chief's meeting with the higher-ups. Tatsumi and Watari are out on a field mission.  The Gushoushins are doing tons of research for them.  Wakaba-chan is supposed to be taking caring of things here while Tatsumi's on the ground, but she and Terazuma have their own workload too, so--"

"Wait, hold on," Hisoka interrupts.  "Tatsumi-san and Watari-san are on a field mission?"

From the day Hisoka first arrived at the Summons Division, Tatsumi and Watari have both worked largely behind the scenes, Watari occupied with tinkering in his lab and Tatsumi managing the day-to-day affairs of running the Summons Division.  Now they're on active duty?  What caused that turn of events?

"It was a case that couldn't wait," Tsuzuki says.  "And we were busy in Gensoukai, and Wakaba-chan was too busy with her own assignment to open the gate for us anyway, so apparently Chief decided to have Tatsumi and Watari take care of it."

"Huh." Hisoka digests this.  It's not that he doubts either Tatsumi or Watari--they're both smart, capable men, each with significantly more years of experience as shinigami than Hisoka has years of life and death combined--but that doesn't mean field work is their specialty.  They spend most of their working hours in Meifu for a reason.

"We should take over for them," Hisoka says, getting out of bed.  "It's supposed to be our job, right?  Let's go."   And without further ado, he strides for the door.

"What?  Hisoka! You're still recovering!"  Tsuzuki scrambles after him.  "Let's leave it to Tatsumi and Watari.  They're handling it, okay?"

"Yeah, but we can handle it better," Hisoka insists.  "This is our job.  We should be doing it.  Besides, even if I am still recovering, I'm stronger than I used to be."

Instantly, Tsuzuki crackles with disapproval.  "Hisoka," he says reproachfully.

Hisoka stops, his hand on the doorknob, and sighs.  "I don't mean because of Kurikara," he says.  "Well, yes, because of him.  But it's not because I have a shikigami, it's because of what I had to do to get him.  I learned my lesson, Tsuzuki.  I wouldn't have Kurikara if I hadn't."  He turns around, intending to say something else, but then he looks up to meet Tsuzuki's gaze, and the words wither on his tongue, instantly forgotten.

Tsuzuki's amethyst eyes, always beautiful, are even more striking now.  He watches Hisoka carefully, as though from a great distance, pondering, assessing, judging, and Hisoka finds himself pinned to the spot, unable to breathe.

At last, Tsuzuki heaves a great sigh and closes his eyes in surrender, and the moment shatters.  "I'll acknowledge that you're stronger now," he says somberly, gazing at Hisoka with less intensity but greater concern.  "I don't think you were ever weak, but yes, you're stronger now.  But strength isn't enough.  There are things that no amount of strength can protect you from."

"I know," Hisoka replies, his voice just as quiet.  And he does know; Tsuzuki is the strongest shikigami he knows, and yet he has seen the limits of that strength, and he knows its brittleness only too well.

"There are some things that having a shikigami can't protect you from," Tsuzuki presses on.  "There are some things that getting a shikigami still doesn't make you strong enough to face."

Alarm bells go off in Hisoka's mind.  His stomach twists into knots, and his hands clench into trembling fists.  "Tsuzuki."   He speaks through gritted teeth.   "What is this case about?"

Tsuzuki's eyes narrow.  "It's Tatsumi and Watari's case, not ours."

"Answer my question!"

"It's not your case to worry about!"

Hisoka swallows, and a yawning gulf, half terror and half outrage, opens up inside his chest.  Tsuzuki's caginess is abnormal.  The edge in his voice is nearly eviscerating.  And he might have been able to hide his increasingly frantic desperation from someone else, but he can't hide it from Hisoka.

"Tsuzuki," Hisoka says.  Anxiety nips at his heels. He has to take a deep breath before he can continue.  "It's Muraki, isn't it?  He's back."

Even saying his name makes Hisoka shudder with dread.  He knows deep down that Muraki isn't dead--and he's not sure he'll ever really believe it possible for Muraki to die, even if he buries the body with his own two hands--but enough time has passed since Kyoto, enough time without a single whisper of that particular brand of evil, that Hisoka has allowed himself to relax, just a little. Muraki is almost certainly still around somewhere, but he isn't here, isn't pursuing them, taunting them, attempting to destroy them from the inside out, and Hisoka can live with that.  But if Muraki is back--

The thought makes his stomach curdle.  But though Tsuzuki's expression hardens at hearing Muraki's name, the bafflement that takes its place a second later is very real.  "What?" he says, drawing back in surprise.   "No.  Muraki's not involved."

Hisoka experiences a moment, just a moment, of relief.  Then the dread becomes flowing back, because if it isn't Muraki, then--"Then what is it?" he snarls, jabbing Tsuzuki in the chest with one finger.  "Why won't you tell me?  If it's not Muraki, then what are you trying to protect me from?"

Tsuzuki crosses his arms and lifts his chin.  "Isn't it enough that I'm trying to protect you?  Why can't you trust me on this?"

"Oh, so you are keeping something from me!"  Hisoka is the verge of hysteria, but he can't stop it, can't pull himself back.  "You can't protect me from everything, you know!"

"Why is it so wrong of me to want to protect you?" Tsuzuki shouts.  "You're my partner!  Of course I want to protect you!"

"You're not doing this because I'm your partner!" Hisoka shouts back.  "You're doing this because you're in love with me!"

Silence descends, but his ears are still ringing.  He pants furiously, gasping for air, his entire body trembling.

And then, too late, he realizes what he just said.

He looks at Tsuzuki, panic welling up in his chest.  Tsuzuki stares back at him, slack-jawed.  Then his eyes go wide, and he drops onto the nearest bed right where he stands, his back slumping, his arms hanging limp.  "Oh," he says.  "Oh."

Hisoka buries his face in his hands.  "I'm sorry."  The words are a rough whisper.  "I shouldn't have said anything.  I'm sorry."

Tsuzuki's emotions churn wildly, an overflow, an onslaught.  He leans forward, elbows braced heavily on his knees, hands clasped before him, head bowed.  He's silent for a long, long time.  Then he finally asks, his voice hoarse, "How long have you known?"

"Not long," Hisoka says miserably.  "I just realized when we got back to Meifu."

Tsuzuki absorbs this in silence.  He still doesn't raise his head.  "I didn't know," he says at last.  His voice is small.

Hisoka closes his eyes.  "I know," he replies.

Tsuzuki hunches over further still, curling up on himself, his hands clenched against his forehead. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm sorry," and he takes a deep, shuddering breath.

And then, abruptly, his emotions break off into nothingness, and he lifts up his head and smiles.

It's as sudden and complete as though a telephone wire has been cut.  The sudden emptiness leaves Hisoka reeling; he has to put a hand to the wall to steady himself.  "Tsuzuki," he chokes out.  "Tsuzuki."

Hisoka doesn't like swimming in other people's emotions, especially not when they're as strong as Tsuzuki's, but this--it's unnatural, it's wrong, it's dangerous.  It's a too-familiar hollow mask, a shield that was supposed to be broken and cast away.  He hasn't seen Tsuzuki like this since before Kyoto, and seeing it again, after all this time, terrifies him more than even the thought of Muraki coming back.

After all, they've escaped Muraki's clutches on more than one occasion, and Hisoka is sure they can do it again if they must.  But he doesn't know if he can talk Tsuzuki down from the ledge a second time.

"I'm sorry, Hisoka," Tsuzuki says, still wearing that awful grin.  "I'm more trouble than I'm worth, aren't I?"  He says this so blithely that Hisoka almost doesn't hear the cruel words themselves.   "You probably should get more rest.  I'll leave you alone now."

And he leaps to his feet and strides to the door, brushing past Hisoka without another word.

Hisoka's hand stretches out of its own avail; an instinctive reaction, but too late, too late.  Tsuzuki is already out the door, out of reach.   "Tsuzuki!" Hisoka shouts, darting after him.  He flings himself through the doorway, clinging to the doorjamb for support and reaching out for that retreating back.  "Tsuzuki, wait!"

A few steps down the hallway, Tsuzuki pauses.  He doesn't turn around, but the fact that he's still here, waiting, is enough of a shred of hope for Hisoka to cling to.

"You can't," Hisoka says, half command, half plea.  "You promised me.  You promised that you'd stay with me."  He swallows.   That was what it had meant, right?  That was why Tsuzuki had remained his partner.  That was why Tsuzuki had clung to him amidst the flames.   That was why Tsuzuki was still alive.  "You can't leave me now."

The words themselves are grand, but his voice is wretched and piteous.  Please, he thinks desperately, please.

At last, Tsuzuki looks back.  It's just a glance over his shoulder, but his expression is painfully sincere, too conflicted and tortured to be anything but genuine.  "Sorry, Hisoka," he says.  "I'm not--I'm not going anywhere, I promise.  I just," and he pauses there, uncertain.  "I just need to be alone for a bit."

Hisoka's outstretched hand wavers in the air, then falls.  He swallows his anxiety and nods.  "Okay," he whispers.  "Okay."

Tsuzuki turns away.  "I'll see you later," he says, and Hisoka watches him go, watches until he vanishes around the corner and out of sight.

*****

There's no one around to tell Hisoka that he needs to stay in the infirmary, so he decides he's fit to leave and discharges himself.  But he's only three steps out the infirmary door when he stops and realizes that he doesn't know where he's going.

His instinct is to chase after Tsuzuki, to find him and cling to him and say... what?  He doesn't even know.  All he knows is that he let Tsuzuki out of his sight, and it feels like a grave mistake.

He makes himself take a deep breath, lets it out slowly.  Inhale, exhale.  I'm not going anywhere is a promise.  I'll see you later is a promise.  He has to take Tsuzuki's words to heart.

So instead of looking for Tsuzuki, he goes home.

The fact that he'd considered going anywhere else is a sign of how unsettled he is.  He's still wearing the same jeans, t-shirt, and jacket that he'd been wearing when Kurikara had plunged him through the wormhole for his trial, and he and his clothing are both overdue for a wash.  He can't remember when his last proper meal was.   And even if he has spent the past however many hours sleeping, he's still too weary to be of any real use on the job--not that there's anyone around to assign him any work.  Really, he's in no condition to be doing much of anything; home should have been the first place he thought to go.

Home was the first place I thought to go, some part of his mind whispers, but it's talking about another type of home, and Hisoka can't think about that, not yet.

Instead, he ignores that voice and goes home.  To an empty house with an address and his last name on a name plate by the front door.  Home.

*****

A long, hot bath, a clean change of clothes, a nap, and two solid meals later, Hisoka feels mostly human again, or as human as he ever feels.  Unfortunately, his suboptimal physical condition had been the least of his dilemmas, and fixing it only makes him think about the things that aren't as easy to fix.

He prowls around the house for a while, an outward manifestation of his churning thoughts.  He's never been good at asking for or taking advice, but even he knows he could use some right about now.  He thinks about Kurikara, but dismisses the thought almost immediately.  Tsuzuki might be able to have heart-to-heart conversations with some of his shikigami, but Kurikara isn't Suzaku or Byakko or even Touda, and of course Hisoka isn't Tsuzuki.  And even if he could talk to Kurikara about this, he doubts Kurikara would have good advice to give anyway.  After all, Kurikara's idea of the right way to solve a problem is to take all the blame and wear the mantle of a traitor.  Rupturing the relationship is the exact opposite of what Hisoka wants to do.

But then what do I want to do? Hisoka wonders, and he has no answer.

He isn't angry at Tsuzuki.  Tsuzuki annoys and exasperates him with frustrating regularity, but this isn't--this is different.  It isn't Tsuzuki he's angry at.  He's confused, and embarrassed, and no small amount disgusted with himself for being so blind.  It's not that he thinks he should have expected it--Tsuzuki being in love with him is nothing like a matter of course, nothing predictable, nothing even remotely explicable, and Hisoka is baffled by the very fact of it--but rather that the signs were, in retrospect, right in front of him this entire time.  Hisoka is an empath, for crying out loud; Tsuzuki's inability to identify his own emotions shouldn't have stopped Hisoka from being able to do so.

But now he does know, and he still has no answers--not about why Tsuzuki is in love with him, or what he's supposed to do about it.

Walking and thinking in circles is of absolutely no help to anyone, so eventually Hisoka forces himself out of the house. For lack of anything better to do, he goes to the library.  He has no goal, no clear objective, but maybe he can distract himself with a book for an hour or two.

When he arrives at the library, though, he sees it isn't empty.  Behind the counter, the younger Gushoushin pecks frantically away at his computer keyboard, his brow a mass of wrinkles and his beak clacking irritably.  "This doesn't make sense," he mutters, his eyes rapidly scanning line after line of text on the screen.  "The numbers don't add up, only sixteen--"

Hisoka leans against the counter.  "Hi."

Gushoushin squawks in surprise.  "Hisoka-san!" he squeaks, his eyes widening, his voice even more high-pitched than usual.  "You're up!  You're awake!   How are you?  Is it all right for you to be out of the infirmary?  I thought Tsuzuki-san was with you!"

"I'm fine," Hisoka says, waving a hand dismissively.  "A bit tired, but nothing one more good night's sleep can't fix.  And Tsuzuki's not with me because"--because I scared him off--"because I don't need to be watched over.  I'm fine.  See?"  He gestures at himself, as though the fact that he's standing there is evidence enough of his health.

Gushoushin looks him up and down, patently suspicious.  Hisoka scowls, but he puts up with the scrutiny with what is, in his book, good grace.  "Well, as long as you're all right," Gushoushin says at last, though he sounds unconvinced.  Then he beams.   "Tsuzuki-san said that your trip to Gensoukai was successful.   Congratulations on acquiring a shikigami!"

Hisoka feels his cheeks go hot.  "Thanks," he mumbles.  Not that he isn't happy about having a powerful shikigami under his command, but accepting praise graciously is something he still isn't good at.  "I wasn't expecting to see you," he says, more to take the focus off himself than anything else.  "I heard everyone's busy.  Apparently Tatsumi-san and Watari-san are actually on a case?"  He cranes his neck, trying to peer at the computer screen.  "Is that what you're working on?"

"No!" Gushoushin flaps wildly and plasters himself to the screen.  "No, this is something completely different!  It has nothing to do with what Tatsumi-san and Watari-san are doing!"

Hisoka glares at him.  Gushoushin stares back, his eyes huge and his cheeks puffed out, and then he wilts.  "I suppose that wasn't very convincing," he says, then offers a weak, shrill laugh.

Hisoka doesn't laugh with him.  "No," he says, his voice flat, "it wasn't."

They remain staring at each other, Hisoka still leaning threateningly toward the computer, Gushoushin still glued to the screen.  At last Hisoka sighs and straightens, surrendering.  "Tsuzuki wouldn't tell me either," he says, looking away.

There are a lot of things about Tsuzuki that are amazing, but his judgment is not necessarily one of them.  If anything, Hisoka has had plenty of occasion to question Tsuzuki's judgment, especially where Hisoka himself is concerned (why were you so sure I couldn't handle Kurikara, why did you think I would let you die, why did you fall in love with me), and he'd thought Tsuzuki's current protectiveness was just more of the same.  But Gushoushin is equally unwilling to tell him anything about the case, and Gushoushin wouldn't unilaterally decide to withhold information.  Which means that this isn't just Tsuzuki worrying about him; this is a lot of people worrying about him.  And even if he is willing to question Tsuzuki's judgment on occasion... well, it's harder to do so when everyone else agrees with Tsuzuki.

A sudden chill sweeps through Hisoka, and he shivers.  "Gushoushin," he says, "what's going on?"

Gushoushin fidgets, his eyes darting this way and that.  "I don't know if I should be the one talking about this with you," he says, too diplomatically.

"Fine," Hisoka snaps, throwing his hands up.  "Fine.  I'll just go ask--"

Then he breaks off, because who is he supposed to ask?  Chief Konoe's out of the office.  Tatsumi and Watari are on a case.  The other shinigami are just as likely to be out of the loop.  And Tsuzuki is out of the question.

"Fine," he mutters.  "I guess I'll try to figure it out on my own."

And without another word, he stomps off to the office.

*****

Hisoka isn't really expecting to find any incriminating evidence at the office, but he'd hoped he could find at least some kind of hint. Instead, there's... nothing.

His own desk is just as he left it: generally clean and organized, a few papers set off to the side, nothing horribly neglected.  Tsuzuki's desk, by contrast, is more of a disaster zone--papers stacked haphazardly here and there, a pen left uncapped, a box of staples that turns out to be empty, a coffee-stained mug.  It could be worse, Hisoka supposes.

He delivers the dirty mug to the office kitchen, throws out the staple box, and starts going through Tsuzuki's papers.  There are dozens of printouts on A4 paper, take-out menus for cafes and restaurants from Fukuoka to Kagoshima, a handful of old receipts, a stern note written in Tatsumi's equally stern hand.   Hisoka pages through them all, skimming through everything that looks even remotely work-related, but they're all irrelevant to his current mission--nothing but meeting minutes, old case files, and overdue, half-finished reports.

With a frustrated sigh, Hisoka tosses the last take-out menu back down onto the desktop (La Boîte Prête--the best crepes in Nakatsu! it boasts, with shiny photographs of crepes piled high with strawberries, kiwi and whipped cream).  He throws himself into Tsuzuki's swivel chair and glares at Tsuzuki's desk as though it's to blame, then glances speculatively at the door to Tatsumi's office.  That would be the most promising place to check, but Hisoka knows better than to risk Tatsumi's wrath by nosing around his office without permission.  Chief Konoe's office, too, is a no-go.  The bulletin board has no new postings, the fax machine sits docile and empty, and the printer is turned off, no recent print-outs to be seen.  There's nothing.  Whatever case Tatsumi and Watari are working on, the office is determined not to let Hisoka find out about it.

Hisoka closes his eyes and leans back, letting the backrest take his weight.  He has to admit it: He's run up against a wall.  "Think," he mutters to himself, turning the chair in a lazy circle on its swivel.  "Think, how else can I figure out--"

And, out of nowhere, his empathy overwhelms him.

Hisoka gasps, jerking himself upright.  It's gone already, has vanished as quickly and unexpectedly as it came; it lasted for a moment, barely a heartbeat, and he feels nothing now.  But even that fraction of a second was more than enough, because even if it wasn't long enough for him to identify exactly what it was, it was long enough for him to identify who those emotions belong to.

After all, he can recognize Tsuzuki's thoughts anywhere.

Hisoka looks wildly around the office, but Tsuzuki isn't there.  He gets up and goes to the door, looking down the hallway both ways, but it's empty.  He looks out the windows, too, to the cherry trees in full bloom outside, but there's no one to be seen.

His brow furrowed, Hisoka stares at Tsuzuki's office chair, and then, tentatively, he sits back down, closes his eyes, grips the armrests, and turns the chair, slowly.

It's easier, usually, to pick up emotions and thoughts from people; they're brand new, fresh, uninterrupted by time or distance.  But he can pick up emotional residue on objects, too--something that's been touched or worn or used, something that might pick up the emotions and thoughts of the person who owned it.  He doesn't do it often, prefers not to use his empathy at all if he has a choice.  But he does it now.

He turns the chair, centimeter by centimeter, until again, out of the blue, his empathy reacts.

He spins past it, on instinct, and then he shakes his head at himself.   "Get a grip," he scolds himself, and then he takes a deep breath, corrals his own emotions, and spins around in the chair again.  He tests it, turning a bit more this way, then back.  Sure enough, he can pick up Tsuzuki's emotions when the chair is facing one direction and one direction only.

Hisoka's eyes are already shut, but he squeezes them tighter still, biting his lip and ducking his head.  He knows this feeling.  The warmth is familiar, the respect sincere, the admiration blinding, the fondness almost painful.  It swamps him, fills him up, makes his heart clench.  He knows it so well, and now he knows what it means.

So he isn't surprised when he opens his eyes and sees that he's angled directly toward his own chair.

He spins back toward Tsuzuki's desk, and the flood of emotion snuffs out. Then he hunches over, elbows resting heavily on the desktop, the heels of his palms pressed against his closed eyes.  His heart swells inside his chest until it aches.  "Tsuzuki," he whispers.

Then he sits up and turns Tsuzuki's chair around, once again, to face his own.

*****

He doesn't know how long he sits there, letting Tsuzuki's feelings seep into his skin.  But he doesn't move until he hears footsteps in the hall, at first distant, but approaching.

Hisoka gets up out of Tsuzuki's chair, sits in his own, turns to face his own desk.  He crosses his arms on the desktop, his heart racing, and deliberately does not look toward the door.

He knows who it is.  He can recognize those thoughts anywhere.

"Oh, here you are!"

Hisoka looks over his shoulder.  Standing in the office doorway is Tsuzuki, wearing his favorite black trench coat, his tie loose and his eyes sparkling.  He has a cardboard drink carrier with two paper cups in one hand and a white paper bag sealed with a bit of blue tape in the other. When he sees Hisoka, he beams.  There's a damper on his emotional output, so Hisoka can't quite pick apart and identify each individual emotion, but there's one he can't ignore, because the sweeping wave of yearning affection outpaces all of the rest of them combined.

Hisoka swallows.  "Tsuzuki."

"I was looking for you," Tsuzuki says breezily, striding into the office. He plops himself down into his chair, clears a space on his desk with an elbow, and sets down the drinks and paper bag.  "What are you doing in the office?  I thought you went home."

Hisoka's mouth is dry.  He can't remember how words work.  How can Tsuzuki act so... normal?  It's almost as if nothing happened.

He doesn't want to pretend that nothing happened.  He doesn't know the right way forward, but he does know that going back is not the answer.

Tsuzuki cocks his head.  "Hisoka?"

There's a hint of uncertainty, now, in his voice and his expression and his thoughts, and Hisoka instantly feels a worm of guilt gnawing at his insides.  He's sick of making Tsuzuki feel off-kilter and unsure of his place.  He knows what Tsuzuki looks like when he's on the verge of retreat, and he never wants to see Tsuzuki look that crestfallen again.

"I was trying to see if I could find anything about the case Tatsumi-san and Watari-san are working on," Hisoka says.

Tsuzuki's bright smile falters, and his shoulders sag.  He wrings his hands, obviously chagrined.  "Oh," he says, "about that," and then he visibly brightens.  "I brought us something!"

He gestures grandiosely to the latest addition to his desk.  Hisoka notices, belatedly, that the cups and the paper bag alike are emblazoned with a curlicue logo that reads IKEZONO-TEI CAFE & PATISSERIE.  Sweets.  Of course.

"Why don't we go outside for a bit?" Tsuzuki says.  "It's nice out."

It's always nice out in Meifu, Hisoka thinks, and don't change the subject on me, but Tsuzuki is here, making an overture, bringing a peace offering as though he's done something wrong.  "Sure," Hisoka says.

Tsuzuki picks up the drinks and the bag of unidentified snacks, and Hisoka falls easily into step beside him.  "I dropped by your house, but you weren't there," Tsuzuki says conversationally as they walk down the hall.  "Did you even go home?"

"Of course I did," Hisoka replies with a huff.  "I took a bath and ate real food and got some more sleep and everything.  I told you, I'm not a little kid, Tsuzuki.  I can take care of myself."

Tsuzuki grins at him.  "Good boy," he teases.  "If my hands weren't full, I'd pat you on the head."

Hisoka sticks a hand out.

Tsuzuki stares at it blankly, then looks at Hisoka.  "Um...."

"You just said your hands are full," Hisoka says.  "I'll hold something, if you want."

Tsuzuki blinks, as though he's not quite sure he's heard correctly, and then, carefully, he holds out the bag.  Hisoka takes it by the handles, their fingers brushing.  Tsuzuki's still staring; embarrassed, Hisoka turns his burning face away.

A moment later, Tsuzuki's hand settles on Hisoka's head.  It administers a few gentle pats before coming to rest, and then, almost timidly, Tsuzuki's fingers curl in Hisoka's hair.  His touch is feather-light, as though he can hardly believe what he's daring to do, and Hisoka closes his eyes and does not shiver.

"I'm glad you're taking care of yourself," Tsuzuki says softly.

"You should take better care of yourself," Hisoka replies, and hazards a glance up.

Tsuzuki's hand has gone still.  He's still looking at Hisoka with wide eyes, as though he's seen something incredible and precious, as though he's dedicating this moment to eternal memory.  There's a sliver of naked hope in his gaze, and it rings through his thoughts as well, desolate and small and fragile and beautiful.

Something flutters in Hisoka's chest.

Tsuzuki's fingers stroke Hisoka's hair, just once, and then he pulls his hand away.  "Let's go sit down!  The coffee will get cold if we keep dallying."  And he marches away, his free hand shoved in his pocket, whistling idly.

Hisoka puts his own hand to his head, as though to capture the shadow of warmth before it fades, and then he hurries after Tsuzuki.  He catches up just outside the front door, where Tsuzuki shades his eyes against the brilliant blaze of sunlight.  Yes, it's always nice in Meifu, but Hisoka has to admit that it's a particularly lovely day today; the sky is deep azure and completely clear, the air comfortably brisk.  The reflecting pool in front of the Ministry is utterly still, reflecting the marble facade of the building like a photograph.

There are a handful of tables on the strip of brick beside the reflecting pool, and Tsuzuki takes one that's half-shaded by the outstretched branches of a particularly impressive cherry tree.  He sets the drink carrier down on the table, peers at the two cups, then hands one to Hisoka.  "This one's yours.  Black."

"Thank you," Hisoka says, taking his coffee and sitting down.  He takes a sip.  No sugar, just as Tsuzuki said.  He drinks more.

Tsuzuki takes his own seat, plucks apart the tape sealing the bag, and pulls out a white paperboard box.   It's pretty sizeable, but then again, Tsuzuki can pack away sweets like he has a separate stomach for desserts.  He rubs his hands together in anticipation, and then he opens the box and folds down the sides to reveal a single enormous slice of cheesecake.

"Wow," Hisoka says.

Tsuzuki grins and scoots the cheesecake into the middle of the table.  Then he dives back into the bag and produces not one, but two plastic forks.  He holds one out to Hisoka.  "Here."

Hisoka can't help his expression.  "You're sharing?" he asks, surprised.  Tsuzuki is normally quite possessive of his sweets; Hisoka has never seen him share except under duress.

"You're still recovering," Tsuzuki says, his tone far too cheerful.  "You need all the energy you can get!  So I'll share this one time."

I'm fine, Hisoka thinks, but he keeps his mouth shut.  Tsuzuki is skittish, and the last thing Hisoka needs is to give him a reason to bolt and hide and pretend it all away.

"And it's not too sweet, so you should be able to eat it," Tsuzuki adds.  "I asked to make sure."

Tsuzuki chose a less sugary treat just because he remembered that Hisoka doesn't much like sweet foods.  Tsuzuki, who could devour the goods of every patisserie, creperie, cake shop, ice cream parlor, chocolatier, and candy store in Tokyo and still have room for more sugar.  If that's not love, I don't know what is, Hisoka thinks wryly, and he slowly opens the plastic pouch containing his fork.

Tsuzuki, of course, is way ahead of the game.  He stabs his fork into the cheesecake, pops a bite into his mouth, and hums and wiggles with relish.  "It's delicious!" he exclaims, then scarfs up another two or three bites before noticing that Hisoka hasn't started.  He pauses, then nudges the cake a bit closer to Hisoka.  "Seriously, Hisoka, I think even you'll like it."

Dubiously, Hisoka carves off a bite of cheesecake and slides the fork into his mouth.  Tsuzuki watches him expectantly, almost bouncing in his seat.  "Well?  Well?"

"It's good," Hisoka says cautiously.  Very good, in fact; deliciously creamy, smooth and light, just a hint of sweetness.  Not too sweet.  He eats another bite.  "Really good."

Tsuzuki grins, relieved and pleased.  He's happy to have picked something that Hisoka likes.  He's happy to be sharing with Hisoka.

Now that Hisoka thinks about it, this isn't the first time that Tsuzuki has willingly shared with him; it happened back in Gensoukai, too.  Hisoka had been laid up in bed, fresh off his first, disastrous attempt to claim Kurikara as his shikigami, wallowing in his failure and ashamed of his own short-sightedness and inferiority.  Tsuzuki had been watching over him, protective and concerned beneath his affable, silly act, and at one point he'd interrupted Hisoka's self-flagellation to say, "You can't share what you have with others until you're happy yourself."  And as if to drive the point home, he'd torn his mooncake in two and handed half to Hisoka with a grin.

The mooncake had been too sweet for Hisoka's taste, but he'd eaten his half down to the last crumb.

"You're happy," Hisoka blurts.

Tsuzuki jolts as though startled.  "What?"

Hisoka stares at their shared slice of cheesecake.  "You're happy," he repeats.  He feels awed by this, somehow.  Tsuzuki is happy. There had been a time when the very idea of Tsuzuki being genuinely happy seemed foreign, impossible.  But he's happy, now--not a fleeting happiness born of the moment, but a deep-down happiness born from within.  An imperfect happiness, perhaps, but a true one.

For a long moment, Tsuzuki is silent.  He looks down at the cheesecake, prodding it gently with his fork.  "You make me happy, Hisoka," he replies at last, his voice quiet.  "All I want is for you to be happy, too.  I hope you know that."

There is no lie in Tsuzuki's words; his emotions are painfully earnest, and they make Hisoka's breath catch.  He stares blindly at the tabletop.  I'm happy when you're happy, he thinks, but he doesn't know how to say it aloud.

"Why are you in love with me?" he asks.

Tsuzuki freezes, his fork halfway into the cheesecake.  He takes a breath, as though trying to steady himself.  Hisoka can catch brief flickers of his thoughts, mere glimpses, like molten sparks burning into nothingness, like summer fireflies vanishing into the night.  Because you make me feel human.  Because you give me a purpose.  Because you cared about me when I didn't care about myself.  Because you're vulnerable, and brave, and wounded, and strong.  Because you're the place I can always come home to.  Because you let me in, and taught me how to let you in.

 How could I not love you?

"It's you. Isn't that reason enough?" Tsuzuki asks.

Hisoka doesn't respond.  His heart is too big for his chest, and it thrums inside of him, pulsating to a rhythm that is terrifying in its newness and comforting in its familiarity.  How could I not love you?  The very idea takes his breath away.  He knows that feeling.  He knows it only too well.

Oh, Hisoka realizes, oh.

Tsuzuki resumes his assault on the cheesecake.  After another few bites, he sighs and sets down his fork.  "It's your family," he says.

Hisoka's head jerks up.  "What?" he asks stupidly.  He's still hung up on Tsuzuki's thoughts, the ones left unspoken; the sudden change in subject leaves him scrambling for purchase, and he can't keep up.

"The case Tatsumi and Watari are working on," Tsuzuki says.  His eyes are averted and his voice is low and reluctant, as though the words are being dragged out of him against his will.  "That's why I didn't want to tell you.  Because it's about your family."

Hisoka stares.  His family.  His family.

There are only two options: Either someone's dead who shouldn't be, or someone isn't dead when they should be.  Either way, by the time it's all said and done, someone will be dead for good.  Who is it?  His mother?  His father?  His uncle?  Some other relative?  Maybe an employee.  Maybe someone he's never even met.  Maybe someone who abused him, locked him up, and watched him die.

"Hisoka?"

"What happened?" Hisoka asks.

Tsuzuki slowly exhales.  "We got a request for an investigation," he says.  He balances a bite of cheesecake on his fork but doesn't eat it, just holds it up and stares at it.  "About your mother.  Rui.  But if Tatsumi and Watari's investigation is anything to go by, it goes a lot deeper than just her.  Apparently the Kurosaki family is," and he trails off, vacillating.

"Is what?" Hisoka asks.

Tsuzuki eats the bite of cheesecake, chews, swallows.  "Cursed," he says.

Hisoka's blood runs cold.  He knows what it is to be cursed; he still has the marks of Muraki's curse on him, and he probably will until the day Muraki dies.  He's not sure he would wish that upon even his parents--and he's wished a lot of terrible things upon them over the years.

His appetite is gone now.  He lays down his fork and clutches his cup of coffee instead.  "A curse," he says.  He's surprised by how level his own voice is.  "And we're sure Muraki isn't involved?"

"They're not convinced yet that it actually is a curse," Tsuzuki replies.  "But if it is, it's a lot older than Muraki.  Generations older.  We're talking about the entire family line."

The entire family line.  All of Hisoka's ancestors.  Hisoka himself.  He's long known the Kurosaki clan had something dark and rotten beneath the veneer of old family honor and tradition, but he hadn't imagined something like a curse.

He still isn't sure how to feel about this.

Hisoka takes deep breath, takes a moment to put his thoughts in order.  When he speaks again, his voice is dangerously low.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tatsumi and Watari were taking care of it," Tsuzuki says.   "On Chief Konoe's orders, by the way.  He didn't want to make you take a case involving your family."  He pauses, and Hisoka wonders just how much he knows.  Hisoka hasn't talked much about his life before death, and he doesn't want to start now; he's afraid to discover just how much Tsuzuki has learned from other sources, how much he's pieced together himself.  How much he suspects.  How Hisoka looks in his eyes.

"I agreed, when they told me about it when we got back to Meifu," Tsuzuki continues.  "You've dealt with enough lately, Hisoka.  You don't need to deal with investigating your own family."

"They aren't my family," Hisoka says quietly.

He can feel Tsuzuki's eyes on him, but he stares at the plastic lid of his coffee cup, seeing nothing.  "I was born into that house, but they aren't my family, not in any way that matters," he says.  "My family is the Summons Division."  And then he looks up, straight into Tsuzuki's concerned gaze.  "You're my family."

Tsuzuki had opened his mouth as though to speak, but at Hisoka's words he freezes, his jaw hanging.   He makes a strangled noise, but no words come out.

"You're my family," Hisoka repeats, and there's a lump in his throat now, but he pushes past it.  "You're the first person who's ever been family to me. I told you, back in Kyoto, that there's only one place I come home to, and that's here."  His voice cracks.  His eyes sting, and he squeezes them shut.  "I don't mean a place.  I mean you.  You're my home."

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki breathes.

With a growl of frustration, Hisoka hunches up, curling his arms over his head.  "I'm not," he starts, stumbles, tries again.  "You know I'm not good with people.  I never was.  Even with my empathy, I can't--I don't know how to interact with people.  I can't deal with their thoughts, their emotions."

Tsuzuki, for once, remains silent.

"I always hated my empathy," Hisoka continues, his voice barely rising above a whisper.  "I could always feel too much.  My parents thought I was a monster.  Muraki killed me because I found him murdering someone, and it was my empathy that led me straight to him.  Empathy, it--it's useful sometimes, yeah, but having this power isn't worth it.  You're lucky you don't have it."  He swallows.  "But I wish you could have it, just for a bit.  Just one minute, that's all.  Because then you could feel what I feel, and I wouldn't have to figure out how to tell you in words."

He takes a shaky breath, and then he peeks up.  Tsuzuki sits motionless, his chin propped up in one hand, gazing at Hisoka.  His expression... isn't stricken, quite, but it's pretty close. Hisoka can't read its meaning.  "Say something, damn it," he snarls.

Hesitantly, Tsuzuki reaches out.  His fingers brush Hisoka's wrist, then slide down to take his hand.  With his touch comes a surge of emotion--a wave of nervousness, a trickle of disbelief.  Stunned awe.  Hope against hope.   And, most strongly of all, with a pulse as warm and regular as the beating of a heart, love.

Hisoka wants to crumple beneath the onslaught.  He wants to let it flow over him until he forgets that Tsuzuki ever thought of dying and leaving him behind.  He wants to wrap his arms around Tsuzuki and never let go.

"Say something," Hisoka whispers.

"You're amazing, Hisoka," Tsuzuki replies.

That's not an answer, Hisoka thinks, but then he thinks of respect, and love, and the ways in which they overlap and blur, and maybe it's more of an answer than he'd thought.

Tsuzuki's hand tightens on his.  "Hisoka," he says, "Hisoka, is this okay?"

"Yeah," Hisoka answers roughly, and he squeezes back.

*****

When Chief Konoe returns to the Summons Division the next day, his brow even more wrinkled than usual, Hisoka and Tsuzuki go to his office, and Hisoka says, without preamble, "I want to take over the case."

Chief Konoe scowls.  At least he gives Hisoka a bit of credit; he doesn't patronize him by asking which case.  "Tatsumi and Watari are on it," he says gruffly.

It's supposed to be a dismissal, and a firm one at that.  Hisoka ignores it.  "They haven't been on active duty for decades," he says.  "Besides, if anyone knows the Kurosaki family, it's me.  Tatsumi-san and Watari-san had no idea what they were getting into--to be honest, I'm surprised Nagare hasn't chewed them up and spit them out already.  I know how this family functions.  I know what kind of people they are.  I should have been on this case from the beginning."

"You were in Gensoukai," Chief Konoe replies.  "And Kannuki-kun was busy, so we couldn't ask her to open the gate for you.  It was only to be expected that we'd pass the case on to someone else.  You must see the sense in that."

"Okay, so that made sense at the time," Hisoka allows.   "But I'm back.  I'm fully recovered.  And I've got a shikigami to boot, in case something goes really wrong.  There's no reason not to put me on the case."

Chief Konoe purses his lips.  "I think you'll be biased."

"Oh, because that's never happened before," Hisoka retorts.  "If you cared about that, you never would have let me and Tsuzuki stay on half our cases, what with Muraki showing up all the time."

By now there's a vein pulsing in Chief Konoe's forehead.  "Tatsumi and Watari can handle it," he grinds out.

"Probably," Hisoka agrees.  "But I don't see why we should make them handle it on their own when I could help."  He pauses.  "Or are you going to tell me that they couldn't use even a bit of help?"

Chief Konoe shifts his gaze to Tsuzuki, obviously disgruntled.  "Don't you have anything to say about this?" he demands.

Tsuzuki shrugs.  "We all should have known better than to think I could have kept something from my partner," he says cheerfully.  "And when Hisoka decides to do something, he's going to do it."

Chief Konoe glares at them both, drumming his fingers against his desktop.  Then he lets out an explosive sigh and leans back in his chair.  "Fine," he spits, throwing up his hands in exasperation.  "Fine.  Go to Kamakura.  But!"   He half-rises from his chair, wagging a finger at Hisoka.  "Don't you dare show your face!  We don't need your parents wondering why their son is back from the dead.  You're to work strictly behind the scenes unless Tatsumi says otherwise, understand?"

Hisoka nods.  "Yes, sir."

"All right."  Chief Konoe collapses back into his chair.  "Go," he says, "before I change my mind," and he tiredly shoos them away.

"We'll be off, then!" Tsuzuki announces, tossing Chief Konoe an insolent salute, and then he half-drags Hisoka out of the office.

Hisoka, of course, objects to this manhandling--"Stupid, I can walk on my own, let go!"--but he stops when, out in the hallway, the goofy grin slides off Tsuzuki's face.  "What?" Hisoka asks, suspicious.

Tsuzuki studies Hisoka, then says, "Are you sure?"

Hisoka barks out a mirthless laugh.  "About sticking my nose into this investigation?  No."  He scuffs one foot on the floor.  "I don't even really know what we're getting into, and I don't know how I can help.   But I am the one who knows the Kurosaki family best.  If there's anyone who should be there, it's me.  That's a fact, no matter how I feel about it."

"We don't have to go," Tsuzuki insists.

Hisoka shakes his head.  "We're going," he says.

Still, Tsuzuki hesitates.  "Will you be okay?"

"Will you?" Hisoka counters.

Tsuzuki's smile goes rueful.  "I will be if you are."

Hisoka swallows.  "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he confesses.

"I don't really know, either," Tsuzuki replies, his voice just as soft.  "But I think we can figure it out."

They're not really talking about the case anymore.

Hisoka swallows and nods.  "Yeah," he says, "yeah," and he reaches out, hesitates for a bare second, and then takes Tsuzuki's hand, lacing their fingers together.

Tsuzuki's smile is blinding.

Hisoka takes a deep breath, then squares his shoulders and lifts his chin.  "Let's head out," he says.  "We've got work to do."

"I'm right with you," Tsuzuki says.  His hand squeezes Hisoka's, and his eyes are full of all the love in the world.

[bigyack-com]

Abortion by Telemedicine: A Growing Option as Access to Clinics Wanes

Ashley Dale was grateful she could end her pregnancy at home.As her 3-year-old daughter played nearby, she spoke by video from her living room in Hawaii with Dr. Bliss Kaneshiro, an obstetrician-gynecologist, who was a 200-mile plane ride away in Honolulu. The doctor explained that two medicines that would be mailed to Ms. Dale would halt her pregnancy and cause a miscarriage.“Does it sound like what you want to do in terms of terminating the pregnancy?” Dr. Kaneshiro asked gently. Ms. Dale, who said she would love to have another baby, had wrestled with the decision, but circumstances involving an estranged boyfriend had made the choice clear: “It does,” she replied.Now, the coronavirus pandemic is catapulting demand for telemedicine abortion to a new level, with much of the nation under strict stay-at-home advisories and as several states, including Arkansas, Oklahoma and Texas, have sought to suspend access to surgical abortions during the crisis.The telemedicine program that Ms. Dale participated in has been allowed to operate as a research study for several years under a special arrangement with the Food and Drug Administration. It allows women seeking abortions to have video consultations with certified doctors and then receive abortion pills by mail to take on their own.Over the past year, the program, called TelAbortion, has expanded from serving five states to serving 13, adding two of those — Illinois and Maryland — as the coronavirus crisis exploded. Not including those new states, about twice as many women had abortions through the program in March and April as in January and February.To accommodate women during the pandemic, TelAbortion is “working to expand to new states as fast as possible,” said Dr. Elizabeth Raymond, senior medical associate at Gynuity Health Projects, which runs the program. It is also hearing from more women in neighboring states seeking to cross state lines so TelAbortion can serve them.As of April 22, TelAbortion had mailed a total of 841 packages containing abortion pills and confirmed 611 completed abortions, Dr. Raymond said. Another 216 participants were either still in the follow-up process or have not been in contact to confirm their results. The program’s growth is significant enough that Republican senators recently introduced a bill to ban telemedicine abortion.The F.D.A., which has allowed TelAbortion to continue operating during the Trump administration, declined to answer questions from The New York Times about the program.The F.D.A. rules, however, do not specify that providers must see patients in person, so some clinics have begun allowing women to come in for video consultations with certified doctors based elsewhere. TelAbortion goes further, offering telemedicine consultations to women at home (or anywhere), mailing them pills and following up after women take them.In interviews, seven women who terminated pregnancies through TelAbortion described the conflicting emotions and intricate logistics that can accompany a decision to have an abortion, and their reasons for choosing to do it through telemedicine.Ms. Dale, a single mother, was about to start a job at a storage center when she became pregnant last year. She would have had to fly to Honolulu, incurring expenses for travel and child care.“The alternative would be to wait for a doctor to come to my island in three weeks,” Ms. Dale, 35, told Dr. Kaneshiro during her consultation, which she allowed a Times reporter to observe. By then, she would be too pregnant for a medication abortion.But many TelAbortion patients live near clinics. Shiloh Kirby, 24, of Denver, who said she had become pregnant after being raped at a party, chose TelAbortion for convenience and privacy. She conducted her video consultation while sitting in her car in the parking lot of the hardware store where she worked.Dawn, 30, a divorced mother of two who asked to be identified only by her first name, was terrified that the debilitating postpartum depression she experienced after her children’s births would return if she continued her pregnancy. And she worried protesters at her local Planned Parenthood in Salem, Ore., might recognize her.“I just don’t want to deal with that ridicule,” she said.

Expanding across the country

Based on state laws governing telemedicine and abortion, Dr. Raymond estimated TelAbortion might be legal in slightly over half of the states, including some conservative ones. It now serves Colorado, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Maine, Maryland, Minnesota, Montana, New Mexico, New York, Oregon and Washington.The doctors (and nurses or midwives in some states) who do TelAbortion’s video consultations must be licensed in states where medication is mailed, but do not have to practice there. Likewise, patients do not have to live in the states that TelAbortion serves; they just have to be in one of them during the videoconference and provide an address there — that of a friend, relative, even a motel or post office — to which pills can be shipped.“We have had patients who cross state lines in order to receive TelAbortions,” Dr. Raymond said. More are expected to do so during the pandemic. This month, a woman from Texas drove 10 hours in snowy weather to New Mexico, where she stayed in a motel for her videoconference and to receive the pills.The organization that provides TelAbortion services in Georgia, carafem, has expanded recently to Maryland and Illinois, and it is running digital ads that are expected to reach women in some nearby states like Missouri and Ohio, which have more abortion restrictions, said Melissa Grant, carafem’s chief operations officer.In May, shortly after Georgia’s governor signed one of the country’s strictest abortion laws (which is now being challenged in court), Lee, 37, who lives near Atlanta, discovered she was seven weeks pregnant.Lee, who asked to be identified only by a shortened version of her first name, said the pregnancy had shocked her because she took birth control pills regularly. She decided to terminate the pregnancy because she had recently cut ties with her boyfriend after he was arrested on drug charges, she said.She kept her decision from her family members, who she said were strongly against abortion. And she feared protesters would castigate her if she visited an abortion clinic.“No one goes through life saying, ‘I’m going to grow up and get an abortion,’” Lee said. “So you’re already struggling with that and then to have someone tell you that you’re going to hell or that you’re killing babies, it’s horrible.”She found carafem, and videoconferenced in her office at lunchtime with a doctor in another state.During such consultations, doctors explain that most women do not experience discomfort from mifepristone, which blocks a hormone necessary for pregnancy to develop. Cramping and bleeding, resembling a heavy period, occur after the expulsion of fetal tissue caused by the second drug, misoprostol, which is taken up to 48 hours later. After several hours, bleeding dwindles but might continue for two weeks. In rare cases, women can develop fevers, infections or extensive bleeding requiring medical attention.Lee received a package marked only with her name and address; it contained the pills, tea bags, peppermints, maxipads, prescription ibuprofen and nausea medication.“Just everything you could need,” she said. “It was so comforting.”TelAbortion reports that of the 611 completed abortions documented through April 22, most were accomplished with only the pills and without complications. In 26 cases, aspiration was performed to finish the termination.Dr. Raymond said 46 women went to emergency rooms or urgent care centers with issues that appear just as likely to have occurred if the women had followed the common practice of visiting abortion clinics for consultations, taking the first medication there and the second at home. Two women went before receiving the pills and two before taking them, either because of morning sickness or because they thought they were miscarrying. Fifteen ended up needing no medical treatment. Some were given medicine for pain or nausea.Three were hospitalized, all successfully treated: two women had excessive bleeding, and another had a seizure after an aspiration, Dr. Raymond said.Eleven women decided not to have abortions and did not take the pills they were sent. Another woman continued her pregnancy after the medication failed, as did another after vomiting the mifepristone. Sixteen women have undergone two telabortions, Dr. Raymond said.Of the women The Times interviewed, only Dawn, who said she has anxiety, called the 24-hour TelAbortion line for emotional support.“It was after I took the pills,” Dawn said. “I felt like my body, my hormones essentially crashed. And because I suffer from mental health issues, just everything was just kind of out of whack and I started really panicking bad. I called the nurse and she just sat on the phone with me.”

Complex decisions

TelAbortion typically charges $200 to $375 for consultations and pills. Women must also pay for an ultrasound and lab tests, obtained from any provider. During the coronavirus pandemic, TelAbortion may waive its requirement for an ultrasound to gauge the gestational age of the pregnancy if women are unable to visit a doctor to obtain one, Dr. Raymond said. In some states, some or all of the costs are covered by private insurance or Medicaid. For women facing financial hardship, like Ms. Kirby in Denver, the program taps abortion grant networks.Some patients said the teleconsultations helped them navigate the complex feelings that abortion can evoke.Leigh, a 28-year-old construction inspector in Denver, who asked to be identified only by her middle name, said she considered herself “totally pro-life.”But, she said, she also has depression, which became so severe after she had a baby two years ago that she sometimes felt suicidal. Doctors, she said, “didn’t trust me alone with my baby.”Last March, after discovering she was pregnant and consulting her fiancé, she called Planned Parenthood. “I said, ‘I don’t want to be this person, but I need to abort this pregnancy,’” Leigh said.She chose the TelAbortion option. After taking the first medication, she attended a previously scheduled photo shoot for engagement pictures with her fiancé, then took the second medication that evening.Conducting her follow-up call from a field on a job site, Leigh told the doctor, Kristina Tocce, medical director of Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains, that she felt compelled to abort “no matter how much I hate myself.”When she sees a baby now, she says she still sometimes wonders, “‘Did I make the wrong choice?’”“I wanted to keep my baby, but I just couldn’t,” she said.During Ms. Dale’s videoconference in Hawaii, Dr. Kaneshiro spoke calmly.“It is pretty normal to pass some blood clots that maybe are even the size of a quarter,” she said.“I’m prepared because I actually had a miscarriage last year at four months along,” Ms. Dale replied.“This will not be that bad — I mean, at this stage of pregnancy, the actual embryo is smaller than the size of a grain of rice,” Dr. Kaneshiro said. “It’s very unlikely to see anything that’s recognizable as a pregnancy.”“OK, that’s good,” said Ms. Dale, then eight and a half weeks pregnant.“It doesn’t affect future pregnancies, so it doesn’t have any long-term effects,” Dr. Kaneshiro said.“OK, that was one of my questions, thank you,” Ms. Dale said.“Mommy, mommy!” called her daughter, Sophia, bouncing into the living room from a bedroom filled with Legos and a pop-up castle.“She’s beautiful,” Dr. Kaneshiro said.Ms. Dale’s consultation and lab tests were covered by Hawaii public assistance. The pills, which cost her $135, arrived by certified mail. She placed them on a table near two pregnancy ultrasound photos.“OK, this is happening,” Ms. Dale said she told herself. “I’m doing this.”Her reasons partly involved disagreements with her estranged boyfriend, the father of Sophia, now 4. Their strained relationship made Ms. Dale believe she would have to raise their second child alone.“I’ve got a beautiful daughter and I’d really love to have another one,” she said. “But it’s just not feasible for my sanity, and I feel like I’d basically be guaranteeing us to live in poverty.”On the back of an ultrasound picture, she wrote: “Never forget why you had to make the hard decision to let this baby go.” She swallowed the pill.She had Sophia stay at her mother’s house and took the other tablets, which she said felt like chalk in her mouth. To distract from seven hours of cramping and heavy bleeding, she watched back-to-back “Matrix” movies.“It’s not like it was easy,” she reflected later, “but at the same time it’s pretty clearly the right choice.” Read the full article

[footballghana]

FC Nordsjaelland: The Danish club doing it differently with 'youngest team in Europe'

Danish club FC Nordsjaelland are a club proud to do it differently. Before football's lockdown, Sky Sports' Johnny Phillips went to find out how their academy-led approach is paying dividends on and off the pitch.

Twenty years ago, at a disused football stadium in the town of Dawu, in Ghana's Eastern Region, the Right to Dream football academy was founded.

It was the idea of Tom Vernon, an English football coach and Manchester United scout working in the country, who believed that through sport and education children from extreme poverty could have the opportunity to build a better life for themselves.

"At first it was just money from my coaching salary and a few people helping out, but over 20 years we've managed to build Right to Dream into the most respected academy in Ghana," says Vernon, who now has a purpose-built facility housing 90 boys and girls on a residential basis.

It has been an incredible success story. Seven of the players who came through the system have been capped by Ghana.

"We have over 50 graduates who are professional footballers playing around the world, over 70 kids at universities in America, and it is the only girls' academy on the African continent. It's something that a lot of academies in Africa are looking to replicate."

[caption id="attachment_752548" align="alignnone" width="300"] The Right to Dream academy in Ghana[/caption]

Vernon is speaking from his office overlooking the stadium pitch at FC Nordsjaelland, the Danish Superliga club based in the small town of Farum, just 15 miles north of Copenhagen. Right to Dream bought the club four years ago, with Vernon becoming chairman and overseeing a partnership between the academy in Ghana and FC Nordsjaelland's own youth system.

'We believe in doing it differently'

The results have been eye-catching. FC Nordsjaelland now boasts the youngest team across all of Europe's top divisions, with an average age in league games of 22 years and six months. Sixty per cent of the first team squad is made up of graduates from both academies.

"We are the youngest team in Europe, but we don't want to be the youngest team and be relegated," Vernon explains.

"We have made the Europa League qualifiers in the four years we have been here and we are looking to build on that. The way we have developed players at Right to Dream we think is a globally relevant model. In many ways we think the European academy system has lost its moral compass, the way kids are picked very young and kicked out after a couple of years. Are we really investing in their education?

[caption id="attachment_752551" align="alignnone" width="300"] FC Nordsjaelland thank their away visiting supporters after a UEFA Europa League second qualifying round match against AIK in August 2018[/caption]

"We believe in doing it differently. We don't deselect players and we invest heavily in their education and their character development to create people who are fit to go out into the world, whether that's in our first team or not. None of our Ghanaian players come to Europe before our Danish players visit Africa. So all our Under 14s Danish players go to Ghana and spend some time living in the academy like the Right to Dream boys do. There's a lot of knowledge and learning that goes on both ways."

"We are not just focused on winning games in the Superliga, and those results making the day good or bad," says Under 19s coach Kasper Kurland.

"It is a project that goes beyond playing games. The more the players are engaged outside the pitch then the better players they will become. If it is only football each day then we are missing something."

"I'm interested in art, so I don't really spend all my time on football," says Ghanaian midfielder Abu Francis.

[caption id="attachment_752552" align="alignnone" width="300"] Abu Francis is congratulated by his FC Nordsjaelland team-mates. Pic: boesenfoto.dk[/caption]

"After games, I will go to my room and work on my drawings, which inspires me a lot. If football doesn't go to plan for me, then I know I have other skills that I can use to help myself progress in life."

Players are encouraged to take ownership of their personal development. Creating free-thinking footballers on the pitch is at the heart of the club's DNA.

"Two years ago we were third in the Danish Superliga, and we want to compete in Europe every year and long-term we want to win the Superliga," says head coach Flemming Pedersen.

"Our style of play is an analysis of the modern game at the top level. It is a complex style of play where the players must get used to making fast decisions. They are motivated to get out of their comfort zone. We have a vision where we want a self-organised team: not just 11 players on the pitch but 11 coaches."

"When you are academy-focused it sends a whole buzz through the club," Vernon adds.

"You've seen it at Chelsea this season with the players they have brought through, it means more. The youngsters come in every day knowing why they are here, they are not disillusioned. We also need to realise good transfer values for our players as that is part of our financing model. We've sold players really well every year."

The impact of the club's youth system is starting to create ripples across Europe, as the club provides a platform for its best players to move on and further their careers.

[caption id="attachment_752553" align="alignnone" width="300"] FC Nordsjaelland fans. Pic: boesenfoto.dk[/caption]

Brentford, fourth in the Championship, are one of those benefitting with two FC Nordsjaelland graduates currently in their first team - midfielders Emiliano Marcondes and Mathias Jensen.

"They made me a thinker," says Marcondes. "It's the structure and the culture in everything they do. They made it easy to adapt from going from a youth to senior team. The African players have done incredibly well, too. I still follow them now and like to go back home and see how the players from both academies are doing."

"I can't imagine a better club to develop you as a youth player," Jensen agrees. "They give the chance to you if you are performing, no matter how old you are. They develop the players in all the small details of their coaching. They are also focussed on the players as human beings, not just footballers. We had a lot of focus on character sessions, I had a great time there."

'Mata a role model for our players'

[caption id="attachment_752554" align="alignnone" width="300"] FC Nordsjaelland have joined Juan Mata's Common Goal project[/caption]

The emphasis on character development off the pitch is an integral part of the club's ethos. FC Nordsjaelland has become the first professional club in the world to join Juan Mata's Common Goal project.

"We donate one percent of our stadium turnover," explains chief executive Soren Kristensen. "We signed up on the pitch here with Kasper Schmeichel, who is one of their ambassadors. We also have over 50 players and staff who donate one percent of their salary."

"Mata is the footballer of the future, taking a stand for things, understanding that a 2020 sportsperson has to have a broader perspective," says Vernon. "When you meet Juan he is the kind of player you dream of producing in the academy system: a great player with a broader perspective of what he can give back to others. He engages with us here and we hold him up as a role model for our players.

"Goalkeeper Rúnar Alex Rúnarsson, who we sold to Dijon last year, said his motivation for playing has changed. Now he plays to motivate the kids in the projects he supports through Common Goal.

<blockquote class="twitter-tweet"><p lang="en" dir="ltr">🌍| FC Nordsjælland is joining Common Goal<br><br>It is with pride and honour, we can confirm, that FC Nordsjælland will be the first club in the world to join the global movement Common Goal.<br><br>Read the press announcement here 👇<a href="https://t.co/M1YHApro8R">https://t.co/M1YHApro8R</a><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/footballforgood?src=hash&ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">#footballforgood</a> <a href="https://t.co/0Yc4lx2XXa">pic.twitter.com/0Yc4lx2XXa</a></p>— FC Nordsjælland 🐯 (@FCNordsjaelland) <a href="https://twitter.com/FCNordsjaelland/status/998593758206857222?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">May 21, 2018</a></blockquote> <script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>

"Hopefully we are leaving the era of the hyper-individualistic footballer. Many of the negative aspects of social media reinforce individualism but they can also be a platform for sharing your purpose. We have taken a stand on Black History Month, International Women's Day and Common Goal. It's about understanding that you can use these platforms not just to promote yourself. You can stand for something more."

FC Nordsjaelland women's team is another positive story and have enjoyed three successive promotions. They train on the same stadium pitch as their male counterparts.

"The club are trying to give us the same opportunities, we have the same training facilities and the same gym rooms," says midfielder Esther Ronn. "We have almost as many physios, so we feel that we are a valued part of the club."

The path being taken at FC Nordsjaelland is at odds with so much of the modern game in Western Europe. This club is showing it is possible to thrive by taking a different route. And there is a belief that through the promotion of youth and character development, they can make their mark in a distinct way.

At the time of the lockdown, the club stood in fifth place in the Danish Superliga, just two points off third.

"The first team is our oldest academy team," Vernon concludes. "It is younger than many of the Under 23 teams in England. For us, it's about producing people we can be proud of who have come through our system and bought into our philosophy."

  Source//Skysports.com//Johnny Phillips

source: https://footballghana.com/

[writingguide003-blog]

When it comes to making TV writers' rooms better for moms, these bosses know best

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/when-it-comes-to-making-tv-writers-rooms-better-for-moms-these-bosses-know-best/

When it comes to making TV writers' rooms better for moms, these bosses know best

(CNN)This is the second and final part of a series on mothers in TV writers’ rooms. You can read the first part here.

Last year, when the writing staff reconvened to start work on the show’s third season, two writers had just given birth months before. In prior seasons, showrunner Aline Brosh McKenna recalls always having a pumping mother among them.

But with the two “little ones” among their ranks last year, Brosh McKenna knew what had to be done: They turned one of the writer’s offices into a nursery.

One mom brought in a rocker for the room. Cribs were moved in. Brosh Mckenna hung a picture that had once been on the wall of her own son’s room.

“I always want to create a comfortable environment for people where they feel safe and part of that is making sure that they feel like they’re taking care of their family obligations,” Brosh McKenna tells CNN.

Life in the writers’ room of the CW series, which is produced by CBS TV Studios, is a sort of glowing example of what life can be for the working parents who spend every day cobbling together stories in this age of Peak TV and is a stark contrast to the troubles, harassment and bullying being experienced by some working and new mothers in TV’s writers’ rooms.

The writers tend to keep reasonable working hours and parents are encouraged to be present for their families, be it at doctor’s appointments or first days of school.

“In addition to just being the nicer thing to do, it really affects how well people do their jobs,” Brosh McKenna says.

The stats on “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” speak for themselves.

The show has had almost the same writing staff since the first day of its first season, a fact Brosh McKenna is proud of because it demonstrates they’ve cultivated an environment that “can accommodate their lives.”

It all sounds so simple, but is rarer than you might think — and not just for those in the entertainment industry. Working parents everywhere find themselves in search of the elusive work-life balance. But it is possible to build models for pro-family, pro-mother work environments.

In Hollywood, doing so means making space for female writers who choose to expand their families, and ultimately, see their stories reflected on screen.

One longtime TV writer believes those in her industry have an opportunity before them to call for — or, if needed, demand — better treatment and policies in support of all working women.

“We’re not talking about people making $10 an hour. Most of us have a massive amount of privilege,” she says. “We should be using that privilege to say like, ‘Hey, let’s start making change so that change can trickle down to people where they really don’t have a choice.'”

Big little changes

Erica Messer has worked on CBS’s “Criminal Minds” since the show’s start in 2005 and has been its showrunner for eight years.

In the show’s second season, she became pregnant with her second child.

When she told the then-showrunner Ed Bernero, a TV veteran who also created the series “Third Watch,” of her plans to return eight weeks after her daughter’s birth in October, about midway through the show’s season, she was surprised by his response — in the best way.

“I remember Ed saying to me, ‘Don’t come back at eight weeks. Eight weeks is our Christmas break. Come back in January,'” she tells CNN. “[He said], ‘Don’t worry about it. We’re not going anywhere. We’ll be here for you and we know you’re committed to us.'”

To her, the simple statement was everything.

“I just remember feeling so relieved that I worked with someone who respected parenting and respected the choice that I was making to continue to be a working parent,” she says. “He also understood like I probably wouldn’t be my best if I came back too soon.”

In her role as showrunner, she’s tried to return the gesture to her staff, with flexibility and understanding about the demands of parenting.

“I feel like we need to change the narrative a little bit,” she said.

For those who come back to work before they are physically or mentally ready, the challenges can be overwhelming.

One writer who was nursing says a showrunner created such a culture of fear that she would delay pumping for hours if he was around, to the point of physical sickness.

“You’re choosing between doing your job and doing the right thing for your body and your baby,” the writer says.

Not all examples of pumping problems are so severe. In many cases, however, women face frustration over the lack of a clean or truly private space to pump while at work or on set.

Employers are supposed to make a “reasonable effort” to provide a space other than a bathroom to pump and new mothers given the time they need to do so, according to California state law.

Many of the mothers who spoke to CNN say access to an on-site nursery for very young children could be a significant step toward making their workplaces more mom-friendly.

Kerry Ehrin, a drama veteran who’s currently showrunning Apple’s upcoming series about morning news, says her access to a daycare while she was working on shows for David E. Kelley Productions in the early 2000s was “life-changing.”

At the time, Ehrin lived in Calabasas and worked in Manhattan Beach, where Kelley’s productions were based. In Los Angeles speak, that’s a roughly 90-minute commute, with moderate traffic.

When Ehrin’s twin boys were six months old, she and her husband split up and she became a single mother.

The fact that she could see her children from her window at work and visit them during breaks was “a great blessing.”

“It just made all the difference in that time in my life,” she says.

Rick Silverman, former chief operating officer of David E. Kelley Productions who recently retired, tells CNN he spearheaded the daycare’s creation after he was made aware of the need by a female staffer.

To get it up and running, a feat that took “quite a while,” the company signed a contract with a daycare provider to run the operation, obtained the necessary permits and the permission of the studio at which the production offices were housed.

The daycare, which was available to the more than 400 cast, crew, and corporate staff working on the shows, ran for about four years while Kelley had multiple shows on the air, including “Ally McBeal” and “Boston Public.”

The facility had a small playground and housed roughly five or six children at a time, Silverman recalls.

As shows went off the air, the need dwindled and the daycare was shuttered, but he tells CNN via phone, “I’m glad it did some good and helped some people out at the time.”

“That does make me feel very good,” he says.

‘Give us the tools to be empowered’

Before getting pregnant herself, “Casual” showrunner Liz Tigelaar, who will soon be helming “Little Fires Everywhere” for Hulu, could not have predicted the exhaustion that would lead her to sleeping on an egg crate foam pad in the back seat of her car during lunch breaks or that by the time she was in the late stages of her pregnancy, she would have trouble fitting into the port-o-potties on set.

She gets it now, but says, “when you haven’t been pregnant before, you don’t even realize all the stuff that someone goes through.”

For that reason, she suggests her showrunner peers make an effort to listen to the needs of those around them.

“Everybody — no matter if you’ve just had a baby, if you’re pregnant, no matter where you are — you want to do a great job at your job,” she says. “So just set people up to do that by communicating.”

Sometimes, says one pregnant writer, that means listening to an expectant mother who believes she doesn’t need to be told what she’s capable of.

This writer, who works on a cable drama, says she will be nine months pregnant when shooting commences for an episode she wrote. Filming for her episode is set to end ten days before her due date, and she’s prepared for the grind.

“If I can, if I’m able to, I don’t see why not,” she says. “I don’t want to be ‘other-ized.'”

This, one comedy writer says, is one way the stigma around pregnancy can be broken.

“The only way I think I can invoke change is being there and being the badass I am,” she says.

Another mom, who once flew across the country with her baby in tow to be on set for the production of her episode, welcomes the challenge of juggling it all.

“It can be so empowering to be a working mom if they just give us the tools to be empowered,” she says.

Being seen

Brosh McKenna believes a best practices course for showrunners could make a difference in making all these issues known to those who are “not in that phase of their life.”

All the women CNN spoke to also believe more showrunners who are moms would have a positive impact on the culture.

“[If] you say you want to get stuff done, ask a bunch of moms,” Tigelaar says. “They will get [it] done and it will get done quickly.”

Efficiency is a key word.

Among TV writers’ rooms, the hours can be long, depending on your place of employment and your showrunner, multiple women say.

It’s not uncommon to hear of some writers’ rooms running until the early-morning hours — an approach that can be difficult to contend with for working parents.

“I just think a lot of the ways things are run are just terribly anti-family,” Brosh McKenna says. “It’s one of those subtle things that just selects out women. If we want to include women and their voices and the only way to work on these shows is to prove you’re a machismo guy, staying until midnight every night, women are going to opt out of that. Parents are going to opt out of that.”

When that happens, we all lose — viewers included.

“Family is really, when you think about it, the basis of everything,” Ehrin says. “They’re a basis of every character’s psychology — how they grew up and what family they grew up in. So family has always been very central to the way that I think about story.”

Ehrin, who has worked on shows like “Friday Night Lights” and “Parenthood,” both from executive producer Jason Katims, says there’s an added “magic” when a story is infused with experiences personal to a writer — be it something that happened with their child in the morning or something they wish they said.

“There’s scenes in ‘Parenthood’ that are directly written to my daughter, and that’s the beauty of it. It’s the truth,” she says. “You never are going to do better than the truth.”

Tigelaar says the same is true of her upcoming series. “Little Fires Everywhere,” a drama that tackles motherhood and interracial adoption, based on the Celeste Ng book of the same name.

In staffing the series, Tigelaar says it’s “a humongous priority” to hire moms for its writing staff as well as department heads and directors.

“I know we’re just gonna crush it and get s**tdone and bring so much to it because we’re moms,” she says. “We get to have complex mothers who aren’t only defined by motherhood, but who motherhood is such a central aspect of who they are at this point in their lives. And that it does, of course, inform everything they do, just like it influences everything we do. So it’s exciting.”

Exciting, too, is seeing the industry move — however slowly — toward better practices, according to Ehrin.

“I mean you can imagine a world where female writers aren’t saying, ‘Oh, I have to ovulate during hiatus,'” she says, with a laugh. “It would be nice to imagine a world where that wasn’t such a huge deal because there were things in place to help you do that while you’re doing your job, and why shouldn’t there be that for women?”

She adds: “Because who else is gonna have the babies? Someone’s got to have them. So let’s help out.”

Read more: http://edition.cnn.com/

[ourmrmel]

Mel Feller Examines the Techniques for Meeting Sellers in the Real Estate Market

Mel Feller Examines the Techniques for Meeting Sellers in the Real Estate Market

 Two questions that I always include in my real estate sales program, Coaching For Success 360 – Real Estate Sales are “Who wants to sell?” This leads to the second question, “Which property can I list today?”  These questions remind us how important it is to prospect with a clear purpose, to focus on the result we are after, and not the activity itself.

If you find yourself getting plenty of future sellers but nobody who is selling right now,  you would do well to remember those two questions.

Before going too far, let us recap the first question again because it is important. It says, “Who wants to sell?” It does NOT say, “Who tells me they want to sell?” Try this quick quiz:

 What, in your opinion, is the purpose of a prospecting call?

To find somebody who says, “Yes, I want to sell now“, or

To find somebody who SHOULD sell, regardless of whether the client agrees with this or not?

 ‘Order Takers’ always choose option one. To these people, the client dictates the terms of the sales call. “No” means “No” to an Order Taker. To a winner, “No” means, “I must ask more questions.” A winner’s job is to find out what the clients should do; lead them to that understanding, and then influence them to do what is necessary.

 Winners probe for information, comparing what the clients tell them with their own life experiences. If the clients should sell, your job is to make them understand why. If they should not sell, using your skill to influence, you should recommend they do not sell. You make recommendations based on information gathered before you began presenting. Provided you lead them to a decision that is right for them, your influence is both professional and a great community service.

 At the end of each prospecting call, the winner has one of three answers to the question, “Should the client sell?” The three answers are “Yes,” “No,” or “I’m not sure.” If yes, list the property. If no, the client goes into your Contact List for regular follow-up every three months. If “I’m not sure,” more information is required. Both probe and get it now, or follow up every three months, each time receiving more and more information until you are sure about the best recommendation to give the client either to stay or go.

 You are the real estate agent. In many cases, you make the decision the clients should sell long before they do. You then, by way of a brilliant presentation, lead the client to the ‘sell conclusion’ that you reached. This is Salesmanship the right way.

 Example:

 Clients tell you they will sell soon, but want to wait until their daughter finishes her exams. Should these clients move?

 It depends on many factors. How old is the daughter? Is this a final high school examination, or a major university examination, or an end-of-year examination for a non-crucial year? Where will the clients move to locally, or out of the area?

 If the clients are moving locally, and if the exam is not a major examination, the next questions are relevant. What does the rest of the family want to do go or stay? Does the daughter agree with her parents?

 These questions not only help you uncover this family’s needs, they help the clients do the same. What is best for this family? Would the daughter be better off in a larger home, where there is more room to study? Perhaps. Ask the client.

 The point is that we should not believe everything we are told. It is our job to uncover needs. It is not the clients’ job to tell us. Judge needs for yourself, and then tell the client what you are thinking and why you came to think this way. Before presenting this concept, however, remember the clients’ need to save face. Do your best to lead the clients to understand your proposal, always make it their idea to take action; after all, it is their idea!

 “Your plans are probably sound, but something you said a little while ago makes me think that you’re onto something. You say that you don’t want to disturb your daughter while she is studying for exams, but you also say that you would like her to be in a larger and more comfortable home when she sits for the ‘big exam’ next year. Do you ever wish you could do both move, but not disturb your daughter’s study?”

 Such a question will get a loud “yes!” Now close, nicely, for the appointment:

 “How about letting me have a look at your place, talk to you, your husband, and daughter, and see if there is a way we could do both – get a larger home without disturbing your daughter’s study. I promise I will not waste your time and there will be no pressure. If I can help, I will. If not, at least I will be able to help you with some information that could save you a lot of money when you do move. Will you all be home today around 4pm?”

 Congratulations! You have just made an appointment few other real estate agents would have made. You have taken the first step toward creating a sale.

 This is the fundamental difference between a winner and an Order Taker. The winner asks more questions and looks for a way to help clients think things through in order for action to be taken. Order Takers ask questions. Winners ask the right questions.

 Why Use Mel Feller

Mel Feller is a business coach who helps individuals make the transition from full-time employee to successful entrepreneur.  A grandfather now, Mel Feller started his coaching business in 1990 to help other parents, employees and individual entrepreneurs deal with the sometimes-overwhelming prospect of starting a new business while still running a household or a job.   Prior to raising his family, as a single father, Mel Feller spent over two decades as Top Producing Real Estate Agent, corporate trainer and workshop leader and Chief of Staff to a United States Senator. Today Mel Feller offers a wide range of programs and services - from individual coaching, to seminars and keynote speeches. To contact Mel Feller, please visit his website http://www.melfellersuccessstories.com

 Mel understands how to help people create momentum for change in their life and how to break through the barriers holding them back.  He is a big believer in taking concrete steps forward every day.  Mel was stuck and more than once and so he knows firsthand how hard it can be to change your life to pursue your dreams, but he is living proof that it can be done.  

 It is his mission to help you get into the life you dream about, to convince you that you can make a living doing what it is you want to be doing, to help you feel like you are living your purpose and in congruency with your values.

 “Truth telling, honesty, and candor: I loved you Mel Feller! You have so much energy and knowledge! I truly hope I get another opportunity to be coached by you. I see myself a little clearer now, and it’s not so bad.”

Lisa Mathews

 “Mel Feller you added more value than we can possibly see right now. Mel Feller, you are warm, inviting, and accommodating. Thank you for coming alongside us in this transition!”

Vanessa Cavanaugh

“Mel Feller the best education session that we have attended in many years! Thank you so much — I am very excited to put everything you have taught us into practice!”

Michael Randolph

 “Mr. Mel Feller, Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving a marvelous keynote at our Symposium! While we have not yet collected the official feedback, the unofficial feedback was that You Were a Hit! I heard nothing but compliments regarding your presentations. Thank you for making such a positive impact on our attendees! ”

Lyle Cunningham VP

 "Mel Feller uses his humor, compassion, and direct nature to help bring out the best in me. Mel Feller is committed to helping me live...I mean, really live, life to its fullest."

Jose Rodriguez

 Mel Feller Links

 https://www.instagram.com/mel.feller  

 https://ourmrmel.tumblr.com/  

 https://www.pinterest.com/cfs360/  

 https://twitter.com/melfeller/following  

 https://wordpress.com/page/melfellerinternetbusinessinnovations.wordpress.com  

 https://dribbble.com/melfeller  

 https://biggerpockets.com/forums/79/topics/49008-larry-goins-bootcamp  

 https://txbusinessdb.com/p/mel-feller  

 https://xindex.com/c/12031660488/mel-feller-financial-services-group-inc  

 https://buzzfile.com/business/Coaching-For-Success-940-569-9260  

 https://melfellerrealestateinnovations.wordpress.com  

 https://myspace.com/mfcfs360  

 https://goodreads.com/user/show/86266194-mel-feller  

 https://mfcfs.contently.com  

 https://alignable.com/wichita-falls-tx/coaching-for-success-360  

 https://quora.com/profile/Mel-Feller  

 https://about.me/melfeller  

 https://independent.academia.edu/MelFeller  

 https://medium.com/@mfcfs360  

 https://melfellerentrepreneurialideas.wordpress.com  

 https://about.me/melfeller  

 https://thecoachingoffice.com  

 https://quora.com/profile/Mel-Feller  

 https://linkedin.com/pulse/reflections-journaling-mel-feller-mel-feller  

 https://creonline.com/finally-my-first-deal  

 https://etrainingguide.com  

 https://reitips.com/open-letter  

 https://thecoachingoffice.com/testimonials.html  

 https://fortunebuilders.com/student-success-old/testimonials/page/9  

 https://agrandpaslove.blogspot.com  

 https://plus.google.com/u/0  

 https://youtube.com/channel/UCk_zDXJgadnWwmab0PhaIkQ/videos  

 https://linkedin.com/in/mel-feller  

 https://challengesinlife.com  

 https://melfellersuccessstories.com  

 https://melfeller.com  

 https://melfellerbusinessblog.com