#prioritised my things to do (: got easy meals (: and if i get everything done i can work on my sketchbook zine yippee! (:

[b-blushes]

time to have a very beautiful very powerful friday~ 😤💪🙌👍😎😌

[cat-induced-fever-dream]

I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

Genre: Angst if you squint really hard. Fluff to make up for Marvel reminding me that Nat is dead.

Description: The falling in love of Wanda Maximoff and you. (If anyone has a better description please hit me up.)

Notes: Was going to be a one-shot and then it didn’t happen so there’s going to be a second part. It’ll probably happen in like a month though since I have a trip. Comments always appreciated. :)

- - -

You’re not sure when it happened. To be fair, neither is Wanda.

You had just started with SHIELD, and were there for the battle with Ultron, and then when Wanda became an Avenger. You remember the admiration you held for her, for her powers, for her determination to do what was right, her grit. Now, it was more of a well-deserved respect. Her strength when everything else in her life seemed to be gone, her brutal honesty regarding matters important to her, and her loyalty to those she cared about.

Maybe that’s when it started. As an exemplary agent, you could handle most things Fury assigned you, but being an Avenger? That was a whole new battleground. One that Wanda had your six on. From simple things, like showing you around the compound, and looking for you when you inevitably got lost (again). Wanda with her no frills attitude and sharp tongue, lashing out at Fury himself when he assigned you your 6th mission in 4 days. Wanda with her soft smiles that made your stomach flip and whispered jokes when she noticed your anxiousness on a mission. It wasn’t easy, keeping up with super soldiers, spies with years of experience on you, actual gods, but Wanda made it simple.

- - -

Wanda sometimes wondered if she could really be a hero. She wasn’t a good person. She had done terrible things. Then you stumbled in, a fresh agent and an even fresher Avenger, but you looked at her with no distrust. A little lost perhaps, but no malice. That confused SHIELD agent? It reminded her of, well, her. It may have been under different circumstances, but in essence, they were the same. Thrust into a world of avenging, knowing no one, knowing nothing. So she threw you a line, offered her support when you looked like you needed it. Wanda expected a bite, but she didn’t expect a tug back. The way you offered to help her practice her powers (a little naively), and then when you realised your mistake, your offer to teach her the hand to hand combat you had learned from SHIELD. The way you always looked back for her on a mission, even when you knew she could protect herself with said powers. You were on her team, a comfort she didn’t have since Pietro died. Okay well the Avengers were also her team, but you were her person, always in her corner.

- - -

It shouldn’t be this easy. Sometimes it felt like you could read each other’s minds. To be fair, Wanda could read your mind, but you knew she wouldn’t do it without your permission. Still, there was something about your unspoken agreements that came so naturally. Where everyone else was on comms, it was like the pair of you were tuned to the same wavelength, communicating in a code not even Natasha could decrypt.

“You just get me, you know?” Wanda says, as the two of you are sprawled on her bed after a mission. “It’s like our brains are, I dunno, smooshed together or something. Not even Vision feels like this, and we’re literally connected by an Infinity Stone in his head.”

“Smooshed together?” you laugh. “What an insightful description. And I can’t believe you just compared me to that toaster. I’m obviously way better than him.”

“You realise he can shoot lasers right?”

“And I can turn on a laser on the sights of my guns. Sit down, you’re not special.”

This earns you a giggle. “But it’s like you’re in my brain.”

“Oh so I’m always on your mind?”

“Shut up Y/N/N.”

“Maybe your powers are rubbing off on me,” you joke, wiggling your fingers in her face.

“I do not look like that,” cries Wanda indignantly. “And if you have my powers, what am I thinking about right now?”

“Stealing Sam’s cupcakes,” you reply with no hesitation.

“I was actually thinking about how I hope Steve never reassigns mission partners,” she says pointedly. “But now that you mention it, I could really do with a cupcake.”

“I was right then?” you tease, tugging her towards the kitchen with a cheeky grin.

Wanda rolls her eyes at you, but she mirrors your grin and your stomach is swooping again.

“For the record, you’re my favourite mission partner too.”

- - -

Wanda didn’t expect to call the compound home. She stayed because she had nowhere else to go. And with her differences with Stark and the friendly but still guarded manner of the other Avengers initially (though she didn’t blame them), she kept to herself. But you were different. She noticed the way you prioritised her, looked out for her, to the best of your ability.

She’s shaken from nightmare and automatically, her feet lead her towards you. It’s late, she knows, but when she knocks on your door, you open with an easy smile and open arms that envelop her gently. When her sobbing subsides, you break away, wiping the tear tracks with your thumb.

“Dick van Dyke?” you ask.

Nodding wordlessly, Wanda lets you lead her your bed and settles in beside you.

That’s when she notices the stacks of files illuminated by your desk light.

“Sorry,” she sniffles, throat raw from crying, “did I interrupt you?”

“Oh those?” you say, waving dismissively at your desk. “Maria’s just been on my back lately to get those done, but it’ll be fine.”

With a stab of guilt, she makes to move of the bed, but you grab her wrist before she can. “Don’t worry about it, those can wait.”

As the TV murmurs softly in the background, you wrap a comforting hand around her, and she begins to drift off, nightmares warded away by your presence.

And she wakes up the next morning with the duvet pulled over her, and you slumped at your desk.

- - -

It was an easy mission. Most missions are when you and Wanda are paired together. Get in, get the data, get out. But then HYDRA agents were swarming the building, and intel definitely didn’t mention this level of security, and the exits were blocked off.

“I’m definitely gonna punch Tony later for this,” you groan, and Wanda shoots you a smile before returning to the approaching soldiers. Silently you whip around, firing rounds at the agents on the other end of the corridor. This was one of the many “plans” you had with Wanda, the endless missions allowing you to familiarise yourself with how your two fighting styles complimented each other. Being the enhanced out of you two, Wanda would push forward, handling the bulk of attacks with a flick of her wrist. You had her back, shooting at the stragglers who came from behind. Spotting something that resembled a server room, you gave a tug on her sleeve and she nodded, reassuring you that she had it handled.

Not wanting to leave Wanda for longer than necessary, you plug in the drive to do its Stark-tech thing and bolted back outside. To find the bodies slumped en masse on both end of the hallway.

“Guess you did have it handled,” you say, waving at the uniformed soldiers.

“Oh my god that isn’t even a good pun,” the witch replies, before continuing with a smirk. “But yes, I am way more powerful than you.”

“Don’t think that was ever in question,” you say, but then alarms were blaring, and the building plunges into a red glow and then oh my god there’s a gun behind Wanda and before you knew what was happening, a shot had fired from your gun and there was a burning pain in your shoulder.

The brunette whirls around just as you collapse into the wall. “Guess you’re not as an amazing shot as I am though,” you mutter, before blacking out.

- - -

To say Wanda was in a state of panic was an understatement. It was more like a whole damn continent. As much as she reassured you before missions, your easygoing, playful attitude was her anchor  in these intense situations. Everywhere felt like home, like you two bickering on the couches. Your constant presence was like bringing a piece of the compound with her. And regardless of her experience as an Avenger, as an ex-agent, you were undoubtedly better with running missions. Not everything was a save the world type threat after all.

Eyes darting around, Wanda noted that you had indeed shot the last agent, before skimming across your bleeding out form.

The training doors opened with a bang and Wanda turned to the noise. Then she found herself pinned to the floor.

“Stay focused on the mission,” you scolded, before helping her back up.

The drive. You’d be pissed if she didn’t get it. Sprinting into the server room, she rips it from the port.

“Okay don’t laugh at me, but this is my hierarchy of the 3 Is.”

“Eyes?” Wanda asks.

“No, like the letter I. At the top is innocents, and they’re my priority. Steve says you can’t save everyone, but I can damn sure try. Next is the idiots. That’s the mission. ‘Cause I’d say you’re pretty damn stupid to go up against the Avengers. And finally we have Iron Man, or the heroes. As much as it’s going to hurt, we can’t let the sentiment get in the way. We all knew what we were signing up for, and I’m pretty sure all of us would rather it be us than someone else.”

“Thank you o wise one,” she mocks.

Wanda smiles a little at the memory, but tears pool at her eyes. Then she hears it, the faint footsteps pulling her back from her daze.

“Damn you and your stupid heart of gold,” she whispers, before flying the two of you back to the ship.

- - -

The steady beeping tugs you from slumber.

“Oh you’re up.”

You strain your neck to see Tony walking up with a bowl in his hands.

“You don’t sound very excited to see me Stark.”

“Not when I have to bring meals up here every day for Maximoff,” he says, pointing at the sleeping girl on the chair. “Hasn’t moved for days. Figured I’d hand deliver as an apology.”

“Aw did she punch you for me?”

“Worse,” he chuckled. “Gave me an earful.”

“I’d say you deserve it after that.”

He rubs his neck sheepishly. “Really, I’m sorry though. That was on me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. And thanks for looking after her.”

Tony nods politely before leaving the meal and you two alone.

“It’s good to have you back kiddo,” he calls, before shutting the door.

Reaching an arm through the railing, you poke Wanda’s elbow.

“Meal delivery for Miss Maximoff?”

The curled up form stirs a little, rubbing her eyes, before freezing in shock.

“You’re back!”

“Apparently so,” you reply with a wry grin.

Wanda leans over the hospital bed, green eyes searching for any injuries.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

“And you missed one-“

A slap hits you on your injured arm, and you hiss in pain.

“I’m not apologising for that one,” she glares.

Raising your good arm up in surrender, you pout. “Don’t I get a pity pass?”

“Not for worrying me like that.”

“But it wasn’t even my fault!”

She rolls her eyes (she seems to do that a lot at you some reason).

“Wait,” you frown, “we broke our perfect mission streak.”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Then she’s hugging you, her nose pressed into your neck. Her soft brown hair cascades over your face like a waterfall, tickling your chin. Through your gown, you’re hyper-aware of the cool metal of the rings which adorn her fingers, how nice she smells, how right it feels to be held by her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she mumbles, her breath warming your neck, and your stomach is doing acrobatics. Even with the meds, you’re aware that this feels familiar, like something.

Pulling away, she studies your face. “Never. Do. That. Again.”

You laugh. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

It must be the meds, it must be.

[script-nef]

Compensation | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

3k words; Dinner date [5/6]

← Previous chapter | Masterlist

The door clicks behind you as you retire into your room after another day of work. Fatigue aches at your bones and the bed is soft underneath as you flop onto it. Investing in a cushiony blanket and mattress is probably one of the best decisions you made in your life. If not the best. 

Drifting away into dreamland sounds amazing. If not for All Might.

“A text is here!” 

“Toshinori…” Even though your favourite character is Hawks, there’s no way you’re not setting Yagi as your ringtone. Groaning, you blindly reach for the phone while not moving your smushed face. Comfort prioritises over the ability to breathe. 

Gojou: Hey! T minus an hour to our reservation! Get ready!

Ah, this. Gojou has made good on his promise to make up for the dinner you missed thanks to his theatrics. Something bubbles in your chest.

Since the beach incident, which ended fine with everyone happy and well-rested, something shifted. In the relationship between you and Gojou. Tensing in the neck, quicker palpitation sometimes. Like the feeling you had when you went on that flight to Shinjuku and also at the beach. Repetition is making it concerning. Maybe a trip to Shouko is overdue.

Gojou: Wear smth nice! Me: ? What? Gojou: They have a policy about ties n dresses or smth. Or we can show up in jeans n see how they react! Me: Let’s not. Gojou: K then! C you in 56 mins ;)

There it is again, the bubbles. Shaking your head to dislodge the feeling, you get ready for dinner.

Joints pop as you rise, lazily gathering towels and clothes. Something nice. If it’s a place with attire regulations, it must be pretty high-class. Or maybe he’s just messing with you to see what you would wear. Better not take any chances. 

Thirty minutes and your muscles are much looser thanks to the hot water. The fragrant smell of your shampoo and body wash puts you in a good mood as well. You quickly slip into a dress, a present Gojou got for you some time ago. It’s a soft and flowy one with intricate snowflakes decorating the ends. It became one of your favourites pretty quickly. 

Rhythmic knocks on the door alert you of Gojou’s arrival just as you’re done drying your hair. After checking in the mirror to see if everything is fine, you open your room door.

The only thing same about him from his usual self is the hair and smile. His casual outfit is replaced with a black suit, presumably the one he bought weeks ago when he tagged along with you to buy Ken-chan a present. Somehow it looks better on him now than it did before. Probably the antique hallway lighting than the department one, it just gives him a more cozy vibe. The blindfold is gone, replaced by sunglasses. His gorgeous irises are still hidden from your view. He cleans up well. 

“M’lady.” Bowing slightly, he stretches his hand out for you to take. You oblige with a giggle. The whole gentleman thing is cute.

“You’re on time for once! No, wait, you’re early!” Time seems to elude Gojou all the time. In the years you’ve known him, he’s never come to a meeting on time, let alone early. Especially ones about him by the higher-ups. There was one time where he didn’t even bother to come but Masamichi-san dragged him by the ear. Unfortunately, there’s no photographic proof which could have been used to mock him with.

“Of course I’ll come on time. Oh, you’re wearing the dress I bought you!” Gentleman vibe goes out the window, him returning to his hyperactive self. It’s still pretty cute. Where the hell is this coming from? There’s a constricting feeling in your throat. 

“Oh, you’ve never seen me wear it. It’s one of my favourites now, and I thought you’d like to see it. What do you think?” By now you’re out in the courtyard, illuminated under the moon. Skipping up ahead, you spin a bit, letting the dress flow out. He doesn’t say anything for a while. “Gojou?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Eh?”

“You look… beautiful.”

The softness in his voice catches you off guard. You stop in your track, the clothing falling and resting against your legs. This is a Gojou you haven’t met before, one with such sincerity and tenderness. He steps up, taking one of your hands in his. Something tingles inside your stomach, like fireflies buzzing around and lighting it up with warmth. What’s happening right now?

“I mean it. You’re dazzling.” 

Fire burns under your skin, originating from where he’s holding you and threatens to consume your entire body. The flutter in your stomach is nothing compared to this. Time stops. The only thing you can hear is his breathing and your heart beating. 

Moonlight cascades over him, showering him in an ethereal glow. Snow white hair shines brilliantly and something seizes at your throat. He slowly lowers his lips to meet with the back of your hand, pressing a light yet somehow heavy kiss. 

You're not moving. Not breathing. It feels like you're standing on a sheet-thin glass, a bottomless abyss underneath you. If you move even a centimeter, take even the slightest of breathes, the moment will break and you'll plummet down. 

Lungs scream at you to breathe. You can't. Not while he's still holding your hand with such gentle sincerity. Heat travels to every cell in your body and the flicker inside your stomach gets unbearable. 

The moment finally ends when his lips detach from your hand. Air slowly returns as he runs his fingers over your knuckles. When he peers down at you, there's just a momentary flash of piercing blue behind his sunglasses that makes your breath hitch. 

"Shall we go?" 

Shooting you a sweet smile, he doesn't let go of your hand and marches on forward. You barely remember to keep up, brain scrambled and chest exploding.

“This is an exclusive place. How did you get reservations this fast?”

“My stunning good looks!”

“Gojou.” 

“Apparently someone cancelled their reservations. Looks and luck. What don’t I have?”

“Humility.

“That cuts me, [Name].”

Stifling laughter, you look out of the window and onto the street. A few weeks ago the view would have been amazing, but now that you’ve experienced flying, nothing measures up to it. There hasn’t been another flight break as you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for one, since he was so busy, but the exhilaration of the trip never quite left your body. 

When you turn your attention back to him, there’s a lit candle on the table and Gojou’s resting his head on his hand, staring at you. The intensity can be felt over his sunglasses.

“What’s up with the candlelight?”

“No idea.”

Attempts for small talk are useless. A silence sits in the air. Not the comfortable kind that you normally have with him, working in your office while he takes a nap on the sofa nearby. Or the one when he unceremoniously interrupts a break in the garden by coming up and resting his head on your lap, enjoying a soak in the sun with you. Or when you’re eating in the cafeteria together.

Something is just off here. It might be because of… his act earlier. Just thinking about it is enough to bring the blush back. But no, it's more to do with this place. It's much nicer than your school, expensive chandeliers and tablecloths, the air of refinery that everyone else naturally oozes. But it’s distant, detached. It doesn’t suit you or him. Eventually, you break.

“Why did you bring me here?” The smile disappears off of Gojou’s face and his brow scrunches in confusion.

“I thought girls liked this kind of thing!”

"Well, yeah, it’s exclusive for a reason. But I… don’t feel comfortable here. I’m grateful that you brought me here, and I appreciate all the effort you put into this to secure a place for us. It’s just that this feels way too serious to make up for a missed meal. I feel terrible that you went through all that trouble for me. I’m fine with somewhere more casual and comfortable, not the most expensive place you can take me.”

“You think this is the most expensive place I can take you? I’m wounded.” Gojou grips at his heart but the easy-going smile tells a different story. You give him a tentative smile back, worried he might be offended underneath his smile.

“Unless you want to stay here? I’m fine with that as well, this is completely up to you.”

“Nope, it’s up to you. Wanna head out then?” He holds his hand out again. You take it without a second thought. 

“Where is this?”

“My favourite restaurant! They have the best dango for dessert. And of course, the main menus are good as well.” He’s so consistent. 

Customers and chefs alike stare at you two when you walk in. Which is expected when Gojou’s dressed in an immaculate designer suit that’s in complete contrast to the humble and cozy interior of the shop. Some avert their gaze when they realise they’re being rude, but you can see them sneaking a peek from the corners of their eyes. You’re not dressed up as Gojou is, but mortification still flushes your cheeks. It gets worse when he guides you over to a table, leading you to a table by hugging you from behind. This never bothered you before so why is it affecting you so much now?

“Here you go.” He pushes a chair back for you to sit in. A server greets you with a smile, handing over the menu then disappears again. “Is this place better?”

It really is. Spices and the smell of broth leak into the eating areas, triggering your taste buds and causing you to salivate. People chatter and yell and cheer, the cacophony of noises filling the place with livelihood unlike the cold silence of the previous restaurant. This is somehow more peaceful. A smile blooms on your face. 

“This is perfect.” 

The rest of the night is smooth sailing. Gojou knows your taste in food perfectly, expertly recommending which ones to try out. The food is impeccable and the dangos are exquisite, the perfect blend of sweet and chewy. Conversation flows easily once you’re comfortable and blocking out whatever the courtyard thing was. 

He's been away for a while due to a sudden influx in curses so it's nice to have some quality time together like this. With your belly full and warmth spreading over your body, you were ready to hit the sack. 

That is, if he didn’t offer sake to end the night. 

“Hmmm sleepy…” Alcohol doesn’t taste nice. Fuzziness takes over your brain, like thoughts are all mixing with each other and the room is spinning weirdly. Closing your eyes helps. Lights are way still way too bright and it feels like sweat is pouring off you by buckets. Someone’s calling your name but the wall is so nice and cool against your blazing skin. 

“Didn’t know you’d be this much of a lightweight. Hey, hey, you with me?” Gojou’s blurry face comes into view when you open your eyes. Giggles escape you for absolutely no reason. 

“Gojou!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. I think you need to stop drinking. Nanami might never let me see you again.” 

“Your cheeks are so squishy!” It’s soft and smooth underneath your fingers, like he doesn’t have pores. Maybe you can’t feel pores with fingers but his skin is just that flawless. “Drop your skincare routine, baby skin.”

“You had like three cups, how are you this drunk? I already paid so let’s go back to school. Lift your arms?” You obey obediently and something warm encases you. A familiar and delightful scent assaults your nose. There’s a click, a lot of clicks, like someone’s taking a photo. You can’t be bothered looking to check. “Can you stand?”

“Mm…” 

“Guess that’s a no. Keep your eyes closed.” 

Your stomach lurches as you’re pulled onto your feet, supported by something under your arms. Cold air rushes onto your face and makes you whine. There’s a call of “thank you” which you reply in your drunken stupor with “I’ll be back!” Laughter comes somewhere from above. 

It’s dark enough outside that you can open your eyes again. Everything’s still a bit hazy but you can find your balance now.

“You think you can handle flying?” There’s really no way to tell other than to try it. So you nod.

There’s a blank memory between that decision and the moment you arrive at your doorsteps. Literally nothing. You blinked after making that choice and now you’re standing outside your room door. You would have fallen thanks to disorientation if not for Gojou supporting you by the small of your back.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” 

He stands around while you get ready to sleep, helping you tie your hair and catching you when you lose balance. After washing, you stare at him and he stares right back. The stare-off continues. He finally gets the message when you point at the dress and walks out. It’s a struggle to get out of clothes in an inebriated state but after much wrestling, you manage. 

Climbing into the bed, you’re about to actually fall asleep when there’s a knock on the door. Groans answer it because it’s way too far away. The person opposite seems to get the message and comes in. You peek and it’s Gojou with a plastic shopping bag. Sitting down and making himself comfortable on the bed, he ruffles through the bag.

“Hey, you have to drink this. It’ll help tomorrow.” He helps you sit up but pauses for a second. Your eyes flicker open. He’s looking at your body. “Are you still wearing my jacket? After you’ve changed?”

“Yup! Smells nice!” You bury your face in the lapel as if to prove a point. The grip on your arm tightens and he looks down. 

“It smells nice?” 

“Mhm. It's you. I feel like I'm being protected." He lets go of you, instead choosing to cover his face in his hands. His ears look red. Flicking it looks fun. "Gojou? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Drink the medicine." Even with your messed up, alcohol-ridden tongue, it tastes bad. Attempts at whining and escaping is futile because he's stronger than you. "There you go. Now sleep."

He helps you down this time, brushing your hair with his fingers and cleaning up after himself. It's nice and fluffy inside the covers. Gojou takes your hand again, pressing another kiss on the back of it. Shorter than the last time but the intensity hasn't changed. 

"Don't leave." It’s basically a whisper, but Gojou freezes immediately. There's no sound for a while and you can't see what's happening because of your drooping eyelids. Alcohol is great at inducing sleep. A rustling sound and his fingers interlocks with yours. 

“You want me to stay? I’d almost say you like me.” His voice is low as well, but still with a teasing lilt, like he's trying to help you fall asleep. So considerate. Always so considerate.

"Maybe." The word trails off into a mumble. Alcohol also gets rid of your filters and the understanding of when to stop talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"Dunno… You're making me feel weird things…" Digging yourself further into the covers, you try to block out even the faint lamplight. Having none of that, Gojou pulls you out from the blanket cave, ignoring your whines.

"You'll suffocate in there. I'm fine with doing CPR but Nanami might not. What do you mean by 'weird things'?" 

"I don't know… There was like… this thing inside my stomach when you did the thing out in the uh… place. My insides felt itchy and weird thanks to you. Take that!" It probably could not have been more easier to catch your fist. "Noooo, you deserve to be hit! You did something to me… That's why I feel so weird when I'm around you. Ever since the beach trip… I sometimes get heart thumps when I see you… It doesn't make sense why I'm feeling this… I don't feel it with other people…" 

In an attempt to show how annoyed you are, you try to flail around on the bed but it comes out more as a tiny jiggle. Like a caterpillar. Gojou lets out a chuckle. It sounds like he’s laughing at you. Smacking him comes to mind but you’re comfortable right now so you’ll forgive him. By now you’re just mumbling into the blanket.

"Because like… it's the same. You know? This, this… whatever this is… Like in the movies, the fluffy ones. When the girl falls in love with the guy. They show like the whole thing with like the thingies… The close up, the blush, heartbeat getting quicker in the background… Thump thump, yeah? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Silence is his answer. You know he's still there because his hand is still connected to yours.

Sleep addles your mind. There's a whole lot of words popping up, like "Gojou" and "dinner" and "date" for some reason. But it's too late and everything is shutting down. Softly, slowly, you sink into slumber.

"Gojou?" Still nothing. "Hmmm you're asleep as well, huh? That's fine, that's good. You do so much to save everyone, you deserve a break. Like a hero… So brave, so selfless… Really stupid as well, so immature… Hn, maybe I do like you…"

"Say that again?" Oh, he's back. And he's gently shaking your hand, trying to keep you awake. But your consciousness is slipping away and soon everything turns into a pleasant hum.

The last thing you feel is something soft pressing against your forehead.

Next chapter →

[dearmrsawyer]

it may appear that i finished my spn rewatch and promptly ceased to exist (emotionally? maybe so!). I have been missing you all DEEPLY but had no time for anything because we have been moving! My brother and I have successfully moved into our new house and brought our grandparents with us, officially 2 weeks ago today! I can’t express the utter... magnitude of this task 😅 The combination of moving 2 houses, one of them belonging to a pair of Italians who arrived in Australia in 1971 and promptly never threw anything away (we found a box of nonna’s empty asthma prescriptions from the ‘90s under their house, in case the gravity of this isn’t clear), and during a LOCKDOWN. It took us a week to move because we first had to clean the new house and have some emergency work done on it (electrical safety things and some set up downstairs so nonno and nonna wouldn’t feel like they were camping when they arrived), and then a separate day for moving each house. even though we’ve been sorting through the 50 years’ worth of stuff at nonna and nonno’s house for a year, we in fact did not get through it all before we had to move. we had to bring half of it to the new house with us dkjkjdfkjdfgfkjjdfk our double garage is completely full of all their stuff we need to sort LOL it is chaos. our removalists passed severe judgment on us. because of the lockdown we haven’t been able to help mum sort through their stuff for the past 2-ish months, so 🤷‍♀️ nothing we could do about it.  

our plan was to set up nonna’s space asap so that we could surround her with all her familiar things and make the transition as easy as possible. she has dementia so we wanted to mimic her old surroundings with all her same furniture and frames and clutter, give her the same mug and bowl for every meal, but omg because we had to bring all the unsorted stuff we couldn’t FIND ANYTHING, mum specifically packed a couple of boxes we would need to access straight away but moving week was UNBELIEVABLE and by the time we got here we couldn’t even find the emergency boxes dsfkjlkjfdl. we spent the first week prioritising finding them and so everything else in the house remained a disaster. last night was the first night i didn’t sleep on a mattress on the floor 😂 (my brother still is, and mum is still sleeping on nonna’s lounge) it has been!!!! something! anyway we’re now at the end of week 2 in New House and actually starting to make progress! i think nonna and nonno’s space is almost fully set up, all their actual belongings have been separated from the mounds of to-be-sorted stuff still in the garage. our part of the house is also starting to resemble a house! 

New House still needs some work, but i LOVE her. it is a genuine miracle that we were able to find a house that actually does everything we need it to do. we started house hunting in August 2020 and i have spent the last few months feeling like life was honestly too much to handle, i have wanted to escape this situation we’ve been locked in, this NEEDING to move as a matter of safety for my grandparents because it seemed like it actually just was not possible, we’d be searching for the rest of their lives. and then we managed to find a really beautiful (albeit arguably cared for) home where we can take care of our grandparents and also live comfortably. we paid through the teeth but the longer i’m out of the housing market the more i am happy to have paid to the very limits that we could collectively afford. i’d like to thank @god specifically for getting us here. the housing market was horrible, the sellers of the house were horrible, but by god’s grace alone i am delivered from ALL OF THEM lol. now if he could just find a way to prevent our cats tearing up the carpet 😁

[niccirobertson]

Why are We so Sleep Deprived?

If you are one of the billions of people who battle to get at least 8 hours of sleep every night, you are in a high risk group for dementia, heart disease, diabetes and obesity.

Not being able to sleep is a big deal for many people. It is a source of distress and physically impacts our brains and bodies. From long term brain health and mood regulation to managing blood sugar levels.

The regulation and metabolism of hormones are affected by the interactions between sleep and our internal clock known as the circadian system. Growth hormone, melatonin, cortisol, leptin, and ghrelin levels are highly correlated with sleep and circadian rhythm. Simply put, if you do not prioritise sleep, over time every system in your body will suffer and ultimately be more susceptible to disease and demise. There is no other way to put it.

All species on earth live according to a circadian rhythm. Including plants, animals, fungi and even certain forms of bacteria. This is an internal clock that controls how our body functions and is influenced by sunlight, temperature and even food. Your mental health and ability to lay down memory, create hormones, as well as metabolism all follow this circadian rhythm. At the core of this clock is the hypothalamus, keeping track of time though tracking light intensity, physical activity, and digestion. Maintaining consistency is critically important for just about every biological and mental function. Yet many people disregard the need for adequate sleep and meal times, resulting in poor immune health, mood swings, anxiety, irritability, poor concentration and memory retention. It really is a big deal.

Unfortunately so many of us are used to living with suboptimal energy levels, low productivity and high levels of anxiety that have begun to accept this as a normal part of life.

I would also go as far to say that not getting enough quality sleep is possibly the most fattening thing you can do. When your base-line state is that of someone who is tired or generally energy deficient, your ability to regulate moods, cravings and hunger is blurred. Cravings for sugar increase. Need for stimulants for caffeine increases which in excess is disregulatory. Leading to increases in cortisol and imbalances in insulin and other hormones.

At certain times of our lives, such as childhood and old age, there is a tendency for many people to need to get to bed earlier and rise earlier. While teens and younger adults seem to naturally go to bed later and get up later. This may be regulated by hormones but it is also largely a function of habit. Not enough emphasis is placed on the restorative importance of sleep. And few people really understand how deleterious not getting the right amount of restorative sleep is for your health and longevity.

My daughter was born a deregulated sleeper. Even in the womb I could feel her getting up to party at all hours of the night. As a baby she never went longer than 3 hours before wanting to wake up and play. As a result I decided to keep her in my bed and kept to very regimented sleep hours. It took a bit of time to get her into a healthy sleep cycle and as a result I got used to going to bed at 7pm and waking at 5am. To this day, the routine of early to be and early to rise has enabled me to function very efficiently. It taught me to respect my own down time boundaries. On the occasion that I get to bed late, I can literally feel my productivity diminish. It simply took a reorganisation of priorities. Getting up very early enables me organise my day and get the bulk of work done before distractions happen. In modern society most families eat late, which is a disaster for digestive health. We work thought the night and then fall asleep in front of the TV. Somewhere along the line, this became a social norm. Kids do their homework well past 10pm only getting home from school in the late evening.

I can promise you that if you reformat your sleep hours and simply change around your sleep/eat/work and play times, many of your health issues will simply disappear. Imagine waking up with energy and getting everything organised early in the day, leaving your brain free to solve problems more efficiently. This creates more of the one commodity most of us believe there isn't enough of - TIME.  Try getting to bed just one hour earlier, four nights a week. As you get used re-jigging your routine it will be really easy to go to bed early.

Tips to help you build better sleep habits:

Don't drink any alcohol before bed - it disrupts your circadian rhythm.

Get exercise done in the morning.

Stop drinking caffeine by midday.

Shut off all devices, including WIFI an hour before bedtime.

Journal before going to be, get everything that could possibly keep you awake down on paper.

Make sure your bedroom temperature is around 20 degrees centigrade, we sleep better when it is cooler.

Take magnesium citrate to assist with sleep.

Make sure you are hydrating during the day.

Finish dinner at lest two hours before bed.

Find out more at www.reinventhealth.co.za

[kiruuuuu]

Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion meets someone important during his first mission and then realises he was horribly wrong over the course of a few years. (Rating T, culture clash + hurt/comfort, ~9k words) - written for @yovelie! I can’t thank you enough for this commission and all your encouragement 💞💞 You continue to be a delight! Find my commission info here!

This fic has been posted to AO3 as well!! Read it here :)

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His presence alone demands respect: he has the aura of someone who turns heads unconsciously, who parts a crowd with no effort and without realising, of a man used to making himself heard. Tze Long inadvertently holds his breath as the broad-shouldered, imposing European paces the room, studying the papers handed to him upon entry and not yet having directed a single word at anyone. He oozes confidence and competence, a good mixture as far as Tze Long is concerned, and despite the circumstances, he’s calmed down considerably. With this fortress of a man on their side, he has nothing to fear.

The man’s companion is less impressive, reminds Tze Long more of an aged schoolkid, sitting the wrong way around on a chair and resting his chin on his arms, eyes lazily trailing after his superior. If anything, he’s an apprentice, for some reason deemed worthy enough to follow this legend around despite proving himself lacking in several aspects – physical appearance is just one of them. He merely scanned the report Tze Long neatly put together before switching to playing with a lighter instead, face bored and impassive.

Indonesian weather doesn’t agree with either of them and yet Tze Long can’t pretend he minds, not when it forces the two to expose their toned arms and causes sweat to bead up on their foreheads enticingly. This is a moment in which he stops wondering why he’s got it so bad for Westerners.

Paper rustles and restless footfalls stop. The tall man fixes Tze Long with a level gaze which shouldn’t cause his heart to skip a beat like this. “Your name is…?”

“Liu Tze Long, sir.”

Two pairs of eyes drill into him yet he returns the stare without blinking. “You know who I am?”

He nods. “I do, sir.” How could he not? Operation Nimrod gained international fame and besides, all special forces have their own celebrities, pass on gossip just as swiftly as the Hollywood scene. Vineyards work fast, especially concerning the British SAS, most acclaimed organisation worldwide. Tze Long has been following this man’s career for about a decade now, hungrily devouring every tasty piece of information he could find. This is his idol before him, in the flesh, and he still has trouble believing it.

“Good. This is James Porter.” The sidekick gives a half-hearted wave and a half-hearted smile. “You’re the one who interpreted the files on the laptop found in Macau?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Fucking bubonic plague”, Mike Baker mutters with a shake of his head, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. “What do you reckon, Jamie?”

“Complete neutralisation asap”, comes the reply without hesitation, yet delivered like a disagreeable school report, “the files didn’t indicate the existence of more than one lab, so only one infiltration necessary. We’ll have the SDU assist us in gathering intel and coordinating the whole thing, go in, destroy the prototypes and samples as well as all data and leave.”

Tze Long nods mutely. They’ve identified the location of the extremist’s laboratory already which is why his superiors deemed it necessary to ask the Brits for help – their expertise in storming a building riddled with mercenaries and equipped with a worryingly potent biological weapon is limited. He doesn’t let his surprise over James’ astute observations show. He should’ve figured every member of the SAS has been recruited for a reason.

“Almost.” Mike leans against a table and Tze Long’s eyes drop lower all by themselves. “There’s no need to ask more people for help. We three are more than capable of taking down this megalomaniac – the fewer people can alert these terrorists to our plan of attack, the better. We don’t need the SDU’s fancy gadgets if we can help it. Right?”

The last word is directed at Tze Long who nods automatically. He indubitably knows best, seeing as how he’s not only still alive but also in active duty after all this time. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“See? Even he agrees with me.” James simply rolls his eyes, visibly exasperated, but doesn’t dare object. If he had, Tze Long would’ve been appalled with the blasphemy. “You’re both knowledgeable in toxicology, so you better figure out how to get rid of this nonsense while I do observation and planning. Also, if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m gonna personally feed you my badge.”

Tze Long opens his mouth, throws a glance at an extremely amused-looking Porter and decides against speaking up.

“Alright, let’s brainstorm on how to neutralise this plague without causing a medium-sized epidemic”, Porter turns to him with a cheerful grin. “Or, as I’d like to call it: the fun part.”

.

~*~

.

Macau has never held any fascination for Tze Long for as long as he could think – the old Portuguese buildings, yes, but once he’d seen them, there was only glamour and glitz to discover, new ways of relieving encumbered tourists of their money and the vice-like grip of the Chinese government tightening on a city doomed to be a one-trick pony forever. He never bought into the explosive potential of the casinos, prioritised work over luck and ended up in a respectable place as a result. Things work out eventually, but always through hard work and not unnecessary risk-taking. He prefers necessary risk-taking.

This day, however, he’s come to experience it through someone else’s eyes and allowed the city to dazzle him as if he was a toddler experiencing the Lunar New Year fireworks consciously for the very first time. Everything is bright, loud, inviting and affordable, even for his wallet, and he takes great pride in explaining all the local delicacies, the colonial history and differences between Macau and Hong Kong, as well as Asian customs in general. Most Europeans he meets either already know their fair share about the region or are much more interested in an entirely different thing, so it’s with childlike wonder that he accompanies Mike and James traipsing through Asia’s Las Vegas.

They’ve washed up in a Din Tai Fung purely because Mike knows the restaurant chain and was thirsting for a little bit of familiarity after an entire day of concentrated culture shock – but not familiar enough to allow them to forget they’re in another continent, like one of the many American fast food chains might’ve done, even given their differing menu.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a gambler”, Tze Long chuckles in between dumplings and marvels not for the first time at the fact that conversing with one of the most renowned blades has become this easy over the course of a singular mission.

“Me neither, but results don’t lie.” Mike frowns at the cup of green tea before downing it in one go. He doesn’t look like a fan. “If you hadn’t dragged me off, I might be a few thousand quid richer.”

“If we hadn’t dragged you off you’d be on your fifth Singapore sling and probably hitting on a coat rack”, James states drily.

“A miracle – the man who bets on everything shies away from roulette.”

“Not everyone has your kind of pocket change. And besides, I only bet on meaningful things. Like the fact that I’m gonna eat more than either of you of these – what are they called again?”

“Xiao long bao.” Tze Long pokes at one of the steamed dumplings filled with pork and hot soup. “And don’t bother betting anything, my stomach becomes bottomless when it comes to them.”

“You look like you don’t have them very often, in that case”, Mike interjects with a grin and definitely did not expect Tze Long to mirror his expression and retort: “You look like you have them a little too often.” He’s come to learn that friendly banter is not only viewed favourably but also generally expected, and not for the first time he’s grateful for his extended interest in expats.

Once James is done laughing (which takes a while and is made worse by Mike’s glare), he suggests: “These things are bloody delicious, so I’m definitely not gonna lose. Let’s bet on a dessert.”

Tze Long agrees, and their banter continues. An outsider might not identify them as extremely recent acquaintances, not with how easily Tze Long laughs, not with how naturally James elbows him in the side, not with how nonchalantly Mike overlooks their antics. But near death experiences have a way of forming unbreakable bonds, invisible strings tying near strangers together and inspiring them to treat each other almost like family: an involuntary gathering of people who share a fundamental trust. It’s easier to ignore shortcomings or differing opinions when they’ve had each other’s blood on their hands, and never before has Tze Long felt this connection as strongly as with these two Englishmen. They will stay in contact after this, that much is obvious, and maybe he’s made friends for life.

Maybe he’s made more.

Mike was the first one to ask him for his number, and if he noticed Tze Long’s fingers shaking, he didn’t comment on it.

.

As expected, both of them end up too full to even think about trying the molten chocolate-filled dumplings nor the matcha cake, so they agree on a draw after probably having miscounted anyway. Tze Long shows his gratitude for Mike’s winnings paying for their meal by gifting him a charm for his phone, one that’s not too tacky and meant to bring good fortune, and because he doesn’t want James to be empty-handed, he buys one for him too. They walk off the food coma by one of the beaches; it’s cooled down a little over the course of the evening and so neither of them takes their shirt off. Shame.

They linger outside of the hotel.

“You’re going back to Hong Kong tonight?”, Mike inquires, stretching in the humid night air and displaying his long limbs like an unconcerned predator knowing it’s at the top of the food chain.

“Yes. I sleep better at home and the ferries go regularly even at this hour. It’s a shame about your flight, I would’ve liked to show you my home.”

“And I’d like to show you ours”, James replies, sounding surprisingly genuine. Usually, half of what he utters is sarcasm and the other half jokes – if he hadn’t displayed professionalism and competence during their mission on top of that, Tze Long might’ve refused to work with him outright. “If you’re ever in Europe, call.”

“And if you’re ever in Asia again, let me know.” He fidgets. His throat is swollen with all the half-sentences threatening to burst out, all the confessions he’s suppressing… but there’s a foreign body in the way and he’s not willing to lay himself bare before these attentive eyes which have been following his every move for days now. He’s long understood that laziness and disinterest are a cover to hide a sharp sense of observation as well as a keen mind. James prefers being underestimated. Mike, on the other hand, is as authentic as it gets – he never holds back, sees bluntness as a virtue and wastes no time in hiding. Enviable. Tze Long wishes he could do the same.

“I forgot to buy smokes, be right back”, James announces into the short silence and disappears as if he’d read Tze Long’s mind. The opportunity is perfect, made even better when Mike addresses him directly.

“I’m serious, it was a pleasure working with you.” His chest swells at the genuine compliment. “Even if you’re as suicidal as Jamie. You’ll get far. Do you have a lot of experience under your belt already?”

He omitted this fact as to not spark any doubts, but now he might as well admit it. “Actually, this was my first mission.”

Mike’s brows lift, just like the corners of his mouth. “And you waited this long to tell us? You son of a bitch, I don’t believe it. I have even less doubt about your future now. I hope to see you again soon.” He holds out his hand and Tze Long takes it, feels a warm palm against his own, a strong grip, melts under approving eyes. “You did well. I mean it. Take care of yourself, will you?”

Please, he thinks but doesn’t even dare finish the thought let alone allow his tongue to betray him, dumbly repeats the word in his head over and over like a mantra, like a spell he’s trying to weave. Please. Please. “Yes. You too. Have a safe flight.” And with those words, Mike Baker seemingly vanishes from his life. Silhouette starkly visible against the bright light of the hotel lobby, the embodiment of everything Tze Long wants and wants to be, he leaves, in his wake the hot night air clogging lungs and airways and hearts.

When Tze Long turns, James is silently offering him a lit cigarette. They share it without a word, just like Tze Long often enforced an awkward quiet between them through non-committal replies or flat out ignoring quips despite their wittiness. Looking back, he feels bad about it.

“Wanna join me upstairs?”, the Brit asks as he extinguishes the mutual vice and leads the way when Tze Long nods. Mind and expression carefully blank, they ride the elevator up and enter the luxurious room after James has unlocked it. It’s about the same size as Tze Long’s apartment in Hong Kong. “Shower? Your preference.”

He shakes his head and watches the other man approach him, closes his eyes only a second after their lips touch.

It’s always so obvious, with Europeans. They make no move to hide their interest or curiosity, seem to have no off switch whereas Tze Long has stumbled over vague acquaintances, locals whom he’d never have suspected in the past. James telegraphed clearly until he knew he was understood, and then continued unintentionally.

He’s a good kisser, at least. Considerate, adaptive, even playful – he manages to coax a few smiles out of Tze Long as they just stand there and kiss, despite him feeling like the entire last week didn’t even matter. He wouldn’t have felt like this even if they’d failed. But James is more and more successful in taking his mind off it, and for that he’s grateful. He does have a nice build, favouring the torso over legs but Tze Long doesn’t mind, not when he can run his hands over hard muscles and feel them dance below his fingertips.

They crawl onto the bed, James shirtless and unreasonably attractive-looking, dark mane fanning out on his pillow and ribs expanding prettily with every deep inhale over Tze Long toying with his tongue. He’s hard, both of them are, and it’s no surprise that the first piece of clothing James tries to undo are Tze Long’s trousers.

“I top”, he whispers against a swollen mouth and slides lower to capture an erect nipple with his lips.

James picks up on his phrasing. “Exclusively?” He doesn’t sound like he minds and lets out a beautiful little moan.

“Exclusively Westerners.” Tze Long doesn’t mention he rarely sleeps with locals as it is – many of them are a mirror to his own insecurities and remind him of the endless questions about his marital status. He’s met wonderful local men, yes, one wonderful woman too, an outlier who sadly didn’t stay by his side or else she could’ve made most of his life a lot easier, but when it comes down to it, he prefers the natural demeanour, the surprise over him having to hide, the cheerful forgetfulness concerning their cultural differences. It’s easier to not be reminded than to overcome.

“Had enough of white guy machos who come to the ‘land of the bottoms’ expecting everyone to fall at their feet?” He’s amused yet not mocking.

“Not far off”, Tze Long admits with a smile and leans up for another kiss which is eagerly accepted. He’s starting to get the impression James would be content with nothing but snogging the entire night and the thought makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s not a race thing”, James mutters, hands gently stroking over Tze Long’s body, “I just like pretty people.”

And I like people who take what I’m willing to give without much fuss, Tze Long thinks and marvels over how the body below his comes alive at his every touch. He’s a magnet and James made of metal, has no choice but to strain towards him, intense gaze fixed on his face. Somehow, it hurts looking at him. “What else do you like?” Tze Long parts legs with a soft push to an inner thigh and settles between them.

“Anything. I’m not picky.” Coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but it rings true for James. “Live out your fantasies.” He smiles and means it, despite his next words. “I know I’m a substitute.”

Tze Long’s mouth goes dry. His cheeks burn, actually feel on fire. Restless digits roam over exposed skin but none of its warmth manages to penetrate his own. He feels cheapened, caught. He knows James noticed. He just thought he’d have the decency not to mention it.

He tries to save it with a kiss, but it’s sticky, sickly sweet like too much candy, the taste clinging to the roof of his mouth. Like Macau itself, a pretty façade and nothing more. James can tell he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s sure.

“You don’t have to”, James says, so full of understanding Tze Long’s stomach is in knots.

“I want to”, he lies. Kind eyes blink up at him. James really is handsome, at third glance. He imagines what it’s like to actually fuck him. He wonders what he’d feel like afterwards. The thought is sobering.

“How about we walk around the city some more instead? There were other places you mentioned we didn’t get to see. I’ll just skip sleeping.”

Tze Long doesn’t ask whether it’s really alright with James. He just nods and gets up.

.

~*~

.

Confrontation goes against his nature. He’s always cultivated a healthy mix of empathy and disillusionment with humanity as a whole, both to understand other people’s actions as well as not care too much – he’s self-sufficient, needs little to be content, is ambitious without being overzealous, and he believes that everyone eventually gets what they deserve. Picking fights, holding grudges, none of it appeals to him, instead seems clunky, awkward, unnecessary. He lives and lets live, expects others to show him similar courtesy but doesn’t cause a fuss when they don’t.

This, however, is different.

“I’ve been working on this for two months, as you’re well aware, and now you’re saying I won’t be permitted to bring this mission to its conclusion?” His tone is even but his fingers flex, betraying his anger, even resentment.

Mei Lin had to pull him aside so they don’t have this conversation in front of the rest of their team, for which he’s grateful, though he hopes it doesn’t appear as if he’s questioning her authority. She’s gotten enough shit as it is. “Yes”, she replies curtly. “This is non-negotiable. Leave.”

Tze Long catches his fury before it breaks out of him. He respects her like no other, and unlike his peers, doesn’t hold her to higher standards just because she’s a woman. She’s had to work twice as hard to receive half as many commendations. No, this isn’t about her. “You know my work is important to me”, he appeals to her sense of duty, but he’s got the impression he’s not talking to her in her function as his superior right now, despite all.

“This isn’t your call to make either way.” He believes it. If their roles were reversed, if he begged her to exclude him from the mission yet she deemed him irreplaceable, she wouldn’t allow it. “I will bear the consequences. I am aware of what I’m doing. And you need to go.”

He sincerely hopes she’s not committing career suicide, not after she’s fought her way into the SDU, clawed her way up with iron discipline and excellent results. She could have him officially rebuked for insubordination if he refused and stayed. So he doesn’t.

.

A few hours later, he feels his father’s pulse fade under his fingertips.

.

Tze Long feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s a singular grain of sand, mercilessly and relentlessly being tossed around by the tide, ground up against his brethren over and over again until they’ve all lost their edge, become smooth and round and compatible, until they make up a pretty picture as a whole, with their personal identities vanishing in favour of making up a greater good.

A metropolis like Hong Kong seems to have this effect on people – at least on most of the ones he’s met. They turn into exchangeable faces, rehashing the same conversations over and over, fulfilling their purpose and causing no ruckus. Oiling the machine. On bad days, this impression weighs him down amid the traffic noises, the daily rush to work and back, the desperate attempts to take the mind off everything. On good days, he manages to spot beauty wherever he goes, smiles and small gestures of kindness, the shocking diversity of the city representing unification and celebration of life in all forms. Hong Kong is colourful in more ways than one, if he dares to look.

Today is a bad day.

He’s frantically chewing on a toothpick while tonguing the sore spots in his mouth where he poked himself before. A friend suggested replacing cigarettes with something else to keep his mouth occupied and help suppress the addiction, and after dismissing chewing gum and carrots, he’s landed on this. So far, it does nothing to quell his anxiety.

When Mei Lin leaves the building, her expression is unreadable until she’s stopped right in front of him, blinking up into the painfully direct sunlight. They study each other, both looking for signs of weakness not to exploit but to encourage. Eventually, she nods. “We’re good”, she announces and both of them slump a little in relief.

What she really means to say is: I’m good. But Tze Long doesn’t correct her. “What did he say?”

“He was understandably upset I would force you off the mission after you’ve been the most involved op in the whole thing. He blamed me for being soft, for endangering the rest of the troop by replacing you. And he told me I shouldn’t have let you know about the call.”

Tze Long nods silently. It’s what he expected.

If she’d told him of the call afterwards, he wouldn’t have been there to witness his father’s last breath.

“But there was someone else there. SAS. Apparently a friend of yours.”

His stomach flips. Did he really come? He wouldn’t have thought – he messaged him that day, late at night, not expecting a reply as usual. Responses were scarce, have always been, so he figured he’d get a supportive text back in a week or two. Not this. His heartbeat quickens and he has to hold himself back to let Mei Lin finish instead of charging the building.

“He wanted to know what happened and then offered his own advice. I’ll spare you the details, they argued a bit, but he held the opinion that amid our discipline and rigorous training, we mustn’t forget we’re also human. Because this humanity is the entire reason we’re doing any of what we’re doing. And in his opinion, I acted according to this ideal and therefore shouldn’t be punished.”

“That does sound like something he’d say”, Tze Long agrees quietly.

Both of them turn to the busy street as if on signal, take a deep breath, compose themselves. He wants to embrace her, wonders whether she’ll take it the right way. Everything is impermanent, he recently received a sharp reminder of this, and his need to cherish everything he still has left throbs behind his temples. Instead, he settles for an earnest: “Thank you. I didn’t agree in the moment, but I do now. You made the correct call.”

“I know.” She fixes him with a gaze so full of sympathy that it paralyses him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nods again. Despite all, he wants to ask her about him, what he was like, whether she liked him, whether she understood who exactly he is. The realisation of how much he cares is frightening, even more so when he hears footsteps behind him, clearly approaching the two of them. He’ll never be ready to face him, never has been, and so he takes the plunge without hesitation and turns around, turns to -

“It’s just me”, James states almost apologetically the moment he must notice the disappointment in Tze Long’s expression.

Whatever it is, whether it’s the uncomfortable vacuum Tze Long has been carrying around with him for a few days already, hindering his ability to feel anything, whether it’s the relief of seeing a familiar, friendly face, whether it’s the fact that James just helped Mei Lin – it’s not nearly as big of a letdown as Tze Long would’ve expected. Yes, he’d hoped it’d be him. But after a second, he’s already come to terms with the fact that it isn’t, and if he’s completely honest, he doesn’t even mind that much. “Good to see you”, he says and means it.

James’ face lights up with a smile. “Good to be here.”

.

Their dynamic is different.

Tze Long fails to pinpoint why, whether it’s the long months – years, he realises – of constant communication, the fact that he’s not looking over James’ shoulder for most of the time, or the sad circumstances. He’s sociable enough, always enjoys making and keeping friends from all over the world which has come in handy not only at his job but also in his spare time, so he kept up the steady stream of messages between the younger Brit and himself. It wasn’t like they texted every day, yet he expected a message at least once a week and wasn’t ever disappointed. Usually, it was either a world event which occupied them, a remarkable injury on either side (like when Tze Long broke his toe by demonstrating his lack of skill on the tightrope, or when James dreamt bad, flailed around in his sleep and punched himself in the nuts), an entertaining story they came across or just a simple checking in. Casual, pleasant, inconsequential conversations.

Now that they’re face to face once more, James is much more tangible, with that singular dimple he actually pointed out at some point, the laid-back attitude which puts Tze Long at ease immediately, filled to the brim with terrible ideas and even worse jokes and never turning down a challenge. He’s a painting which has come alive, surprising in its actuality yet its core still intact. It’s not like meeting an entirely new person, more of… seeing a whole.

In the half-day they have available, Tze Long shows him Hong Kong. The flight leaves late at night and James bemoans the fact that he’s got trouble sleeping on planes as it is, so the jetlag will kill him, and Tze Long doesn’t ask whether he was in the area anyway, doesn’t ask when he arrived in the first place, why exactly he came.

He suggests Din Tai Fung once more but James shakes his head, inquires about other local specialties and trails after him until they reach the night market on Temple Street which isn’t as crowded as usual seeing as it’s only afternoon. Like in Macau, Tze Long revels in his position as tourist guide and points out miscellaneous facts, tells a few anecdotes and buys a chocolate-flavoured egg waffle as well as milk tea so James can munch and sip on something while marvelling at the colourful trinkets and embroidered clothes offered en masse. In order to get him to try as many stalls as possible, they share portions of dim sum, grilled squid and braised meat, and it delights him to see that James is willing to try basically everything – except for stinky tofu, which is understandable. Tze Long barely smells it at this point but he knows it’s quite off-putting to people not used to it.

Before they head to visit the nearby temples, he purchases fresh fruits to complete the culture shock: some lychee-like longans, a shockingly bright pink dragon fruit and a sweetsop, Tze Long’s personal favourite with its creamy, aromatic flesh. James’ curiosity knows no bounds and, very uncharacteristically, he doesn’t treat Hong Kong with his usual biting sarcasm. It’s not reverence he shows either, and Tze Long would be hard pressed to describe his attitude as anything more precise than simple enchantment.

They barely manage to get to Victoria Peak before sunset. Just like the rest of the city, the mountain is flooded with people, all trying to get the best selfie before moving on, whereas James leans against the railing on one of the viewing platforms and merely looks. Tze Long steps up next to him, close enough to touch, forcing the bustling activity behind them to the back of his mind and tries to see his home through James’ eyes. Below them, countless skyscrapers stretch upwards like fingers, reaching out for infinity.

“What about where you live?”, James wants to know after a long while. “I want to see where you used to work. Where you grew up.”

He shakes his head after some deliberation. “We don’t have time for that”, he lies when in reality he’s not ready to face this part of his life again, especially not show it to a stranger of sorts. His past feels deeply personal somehow, his struggle to end up where he is now like a secret he’d better keep. Part of it is simple vanity – he wouldn’t like to imagine James telling his colleagues, telling him. And of course, the one person who shared this history with him has now passed away.

James’ eyes are on him, attentive, almost waiting. “Next time?”, he asks, sounding hopeful. Tze Long wonders what kind of impression he’ll take away from this short visit.

“Yes. Next time.” He’s not sure if there will be one, but he hopes he’ll feel differently about himself by then.

“What was he like?”

A deep breath. How is he meant to answer this question? “Kind but firm”, he offers and puts a new toothpick in his mouth. “No time for nonsense but always willing to listen if something was on my mind. Distracted, at times. Whenever he found a gift for me, he’d present it so proudly. He was happiest when he could teach me things, show me the world. When he couldn’t work anymore, he -” His voice breaks, so he stops talking. Despite it not being his fault, guilt had plagued his father for decades. Having to rely on his only son, witnessing Tze Long’s struggle took its toll on him just like on Tze Long himself, though it changed into fierce pride later on, once he became a Flying Tiger. But he remembers the forlorn stare into their empty cupboards, the reassurances of being able to mend clothes, shoes, self-image.

James is going to get a sunburn and it’s not going to be pretty. He hasn’t tanned much this summer yet and Tze Long wants to reach out to protect his skin from the merciless rays. To maybe run fingers through his luscious hair. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He was.”

And despite the serenity of the moment, James actually goes there: “Your description of him reminds me of someone.”

Tze Long fights down the urge to simply leave. He’s better than that. “I bet you won’t drink a whole glass of durian milk”, he switches topics and earns a side-glance he’s incapable of deciphering.

.

“- you should’ve seen his face when I told him to shove it, pure comedy, this dude was not used to anyone saying no to him, not with him built like a bloody fridge and that stupid fuckin’ tattoo on his forehead, something daft like carnivorous or edgelord, I don’t even remember, I only remember thinking: this lad must’ve randomly picked a word from the dictionary that sounded cool.”

Tze Long moves his own drink out of the range of James’ flailing arms but makes no move to interrupt him.

“And me, a foot shorter and seemingly harmless, refusing to budge? Well, you can imagine what happened.”

“I do hope you wiped the floor with him.”

“First he punched me in the throat, but yes, afterwards I most definitely wiped the floor but only because he tripped over some barbed wire, nearly shredded his entire dick and bled all over the fucking linoleum. That was the last time he tried to sell some fake insurance, I’m sure.”

Drunk James is adorable. He’s become a waterfall, largely unaware of himself not in an inconsiderate way but an endearing one, speaking his mind openly and demanding Tze Long’s full attention. He fills silences with anything and everything, after two cocktails already, and he goes deaf when Tze Long tells him that going on a plane while intoxicated might not be the best idea. They’re perched by the bar, sipping bitter liquor because today is just one of those days and let the soft pop music relax their muscles.

While he prattles on, rants about the next odd encounter, Tze Long gets distracted by the curve of his eyebrows and the hard jaw and he wonders whether he’s still interested. What he’d say to the suggestion of dipping into a hotel real quick. It’s less than an hour until he has to be at the airport, however, hardly enough time, but idly toying with the idea is fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for coming”, he eventually manages to interject while James takes a breath.

“Aye. Mike relayed the message and it sounded like you might get in trouble, or your colleague might. He’s off gallivanting around the Middle East somewhere I think, claims he’s busy doing recon or whatnot but I bet he’s lazing in the sun and resting his bones. Soon he’s gonna be the oldest bloke in the SAS, did you know? Fucker’s immortal. Some of the lads who bet on his retirement are gone themselves by now.”

Tze Long did not know this. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Mike. “I appreciate your help, in any way.”

“Believe me, your boss didn’t.” James grins and it makes him look years younger. “I might get shit for it but my major has my back. And I got yours. If anything else is up, let me know and I’ll travel half the world again.”

He has no doubt James would, and he tries to identify whether it’s a snipe aimed at him for texting Mike only, not him, but isn’t sure. His brooding is interrupted when he spots a familiar figure at the other end of the counter, glancing over and flashing him a wide smile. “Oh no”, he mutters to himself.

“I swear though, that bloody rotten egg fruit, whatever it’s called, I’m never touching one of those again, I still wanna throw up every time I burp.” James interrupts himself to follow Tze Long’s gaze. “What, someone making bedroom eyes at you?”

“Yes. He’s very charming, to be honest.” He sighs, shaking his head. Should’ve known better than to drag James to his usual club. “And very married.”

“That happen often?”

It’s too complicated to go into detail, so he nods. Having grandchildren continues to be one of the highest priorities in the life of a parent, and Tze Long has met many, many guys living a double life – one for society and their family, one for themselves. He’d rather not get involved with these men even if it means limiting himself.

“Want me to take care of it?”

The seemingly innocent question makes him huff in amusement. “Please don’t start a bar fight, I’d hate to get banned.”

“More than one way to show you’re not interested”, James mutters and true, he’s right.

Tze Long doesn’t even mind. He puts his toothpick aside.

They meet halfway between their chairs and James’ corners of his mouth are turned upwards when they do. He tastes of rum and tobacco and the tendrils of addiction pull at him enticingly at the reminder of what he’s given up; the background noise fades in favour of his own heartbeat and James is still smiling, never once stops. His smile feels like a thinly-veiled accusation and a self-satisfied victory simultaneously and yet Tze Long can’t get enough. James switches to his chair, actually settles on his thighs without breaking the heady touch of lips on lips, clearly uncaring of the spectacle they’re putting on. Tze Long’s hands stray to his sides and for once, he’s not picturing a different body between his palms.

“I think we’re good”, he murmurs after a while, after all decency is long overthrown.

“Hmm, no, he’s still looking”, James hums back without even opening his eyes once, smile widening, but when Tze Long withdraws, he relents and instead pulls him into a hug.

And it just overwhelms him. The rare feel of a warm body makes him realise he hasn’t deliberately, consciously touched another human being in days, reminds him of the empty apartment he’ll return to, chock full of memories and shards which don’t cut deep by themselves yet make up a fearsome blade as a whole; reminds him of the desperate loneliness which creeps up on him now and then, whenever he’s weak, whenever he lets it. He thinks of the eternal double check mark, message received, thinks of his colleagues’ triumphant faces as they recounted the successful mission without him.

He clings, hard, and only notices the supportive arms wrapped around him once his fingers have stopped shaking. He’s breaking down in the middle of the bar, visible to everyone, to people he knows, and the shame burns almost worse than his grief.

Regardless, James is still there. Whispering nothings, stroking his back soothingly, acting as if none of this was out of line. His warmth is painful because he’s unsure how to repay it, but right now he has no choice but to accept.

“It’s okay”, James tells him like he really believes it. “You’ll be alright.”

.

~*~

.

He turns out to be correct, even if it takes some time for Tze Long to wholly believe it.

A piercing stare accompanies the realisation together with a suffocating amount of information he’s expected to digest and memorise, and yet he couldn’t be happier. The office is nondescript and icy for his standards and he can already tell it’ll take some time to get used to this part of the earth.

“I am very happy to know you in our team”, Six finishes with a seriousness Tze Long respects. “Welcome to Rainbow.”

“It is an honour.” He matches her tone. “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.” He knows when he’s dismissed, gets up and ready to start this new chapter of his life, but curiosity gets the better of him: “May I ask – am I the only one of my unit you’ve recruited?”

Six’ expression softens. The formal part is over, she can rest assured all her points have come across and therefore she allows herself some friendliness. “No. One of your colleagues will join us as well – Mei Lin Siu.”

He finds himself smiling. “That is an excellent choice, ma’am.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

.

~*~

.

England is cold, empty, quiet and boring. And Tze Long is surprisingly fine with it.

He traded comfortable warmth for considerably less rain – even if the Spanish operators give him an odd look over this statement – and exercising outdoors is less suffocating, less of a chore. Admittedly, he could do without winter but after having been enlightened about layers, sealing gloves and sleeves and other tricks which Mira and Jackal divulge gladly, it’s not that bad. Even if summer has him a little homesick now and then. Sometimes he also misses the liveliness of his home, the many faces just like his, the natural way people accept each other as an inevitability. Here, it happens that existing in a space earns him disapproving glances.

But it’s quiet. He sleeps like the dead, hasn’t been this calm in decades and finally finds enough time to really pursue hobbies he had to neglect previously: he reads for days on end, dabbles (and generally fails) in a few crafty endeavours, follows the news from the silence of his apartment, feeling secure, comfy, safe. He picks up cooking, much to James’ delight, and together they spend a weekend on xiao long bao, having to re-do the dough several times and despairing over the soup gelatin only to give up and attempt it again a week later, nailing it first try. And whenever the muted quality of this country threatens to overwhelm him, he puts on some music, a film, or simply invites James over.

He doesn’t have many complaints, not when he spends most of his free mornings in bed with a steaming cup of coffee by his side and phone in hand, the world under his fingertips. Still, it required some getting used to the way people treat each other, the blunt and direct style of communication, the many gestures which would be deemed horribly rude in Asia.

Tze Long idly ponders cultural differences while Mike hands him a bowl of rice, chopsticks simply stabbed into it.

Next to him, he can sense James’ eyes widening before he quickly snatches the utensils and holds them out to Tze Long instead. They share a secret, slightly embarrassed smile, just like they did when Mike presented him with four sample bottles of whisky from his favourite distilleries – he can’t expect everyone to be aware of common superstitions, but he would’ve guessed the social stigma around the number four would’ve been widespread enough to have reached Mike’s ears. Even Mark pulled a face in the background, and James elbowed him, accepting one of the bottles gratefully.

Mike is trying, that’s the part which counts, and Tze Long is fiercely appreciative: he hasn’t celebrated his birthday properly in an eternity, certainly not with colleagues which have become more than that over time, and certainly not with gifts as thoughtful as the ones he’s received (like the high quality tea from Mei Lin, and an entire book series of English classics from James). Mike is trying, and as he’s come to realise over the years, this doesn’t always amount to much. But it doesn’t matter, provided he manages his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he’s stopped drinking up literally every single word dripping from his lips, stopped blindly accepting, stopped the worship. Mike is a friend. Mike is even a bit of a shit friend a lot of the time, yet his heart remains in the right place – which is a little distant, a little distracted, and far, far away from Tze Long’s.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked”, he informs his gracious host matter-of-factly, and can spot the flattered happiness through the ensuing modesty. It’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but his statement remains true nonetheless. Aniseed in curry is courageous and the result a little odd yet edible, and so complaining is the furthest thing on his mind.

When Mike is back to bustling around in the kitchen, Mei Lin quietly asks the other guests: “He really went all out. Does he do this often?”

“Never”, replies Seamus, sounding amused. He looks a giant next to Tze Long’s comparatively dainty teammate, though they seem to get along well. “He’s forgotten Mark’s and Jamie’s before, and gave me out-of-date rum truffles for my birthday.”

“Aren’t you on a diet?”, she asks, prompting a meaningful nod.

“He really cares about Tze Long, even if he’s not sure how to show it”, James interjects, sounding bored. “They’ve been friends for a long while, after all.”

“We have been friends for a long while”, Tze Long feels the need to point out. James’ eyes slide over to him, bore into his skull, almost intense enough to cause him to lower his gaze – but he doesn’t. He knows what it’s for, all the dismissive replies in the beginning, him acting as if the clown (whose humour meshed surprisingly well with his own, who was willing to undertake the same risks as him, who watched his every move) was invisible. If he could go back, he’d act differently. If he could go back, he wouldn’t spend a significant amount of his life chasing after a castle in the sky.

But he did, and now it’s done.

“We have”, he affirms, and instead of agreeing, James gets distracted by Seamus addressing him, and this simple fact shouldn’t bother Tze Long as much as it does. He doesn’t have a monopoly on him, he has to regularly remind himself of this. He didn’t earn the right to have one.

.

Joining Mike in the kitchen feels less like a conscious decision and more of an escape. “I can’t thank you enough”, he begins and is immediately interrupted by a scoff.

“You could lie and tell me this blobby pudding isn’t the most sorry-looking excuse for custard you’ve ever seen.”

“This custard looks delicious”, Tze Long lies smoothly and Mike’s gruff laugh mends his brittle soul a bit. They’ve learnt to interact with each other without any of the awkwardness prevalent in the beginning of Tze Long’s time in Rainbow.

“Good lad. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. For once, you could shut up and accept people being nice to you.” It’s ingrained in Tze Long to fight for the bill, react modestly to and dismiss compliments rather than accept them, refuse gifts a few times when receiving them. He opens his mouth to object, but once more Mike is faster: “I’ve received complaints about you, you know. You’re being too bloody nice – people just need to mention a book and you’ve already promised to let them borrow it, you give lifts to unsuspecting whiners and generally are too friendly. We’re in fucking England, no one knows how to deal with that shite here.”

Tze Long grins, even if he’s aware Mike isn’t purely joking. “Are you suggesting I’m not already playing my part in making our work environment… more toxic?”

The eye roll he receives is inordinately satisfying, yet his triumph doesn’t last. “No, lad, I’m telling you to go out and bloody take something for yourself. Something which you’ve wanted for a long, long time. You’re allowed, you know? You’re allowed to demand things.”

And this strikes a chord. The smile on Tze Long’s lips fades the further the words sink, float down, down, down into the murky depths of his subconscious which reacts with instant, intense panic. Because they only become louder the deeper they reach, their echo reverberating and creating a cacophony making it impossible to think straight. Unhelpfully, his conscious mind provides a solution, the one suggestion which he’s carried on his tongue for years, wrote on his forehead, the one truth he thought irrevocable: “Are you telling me to ask you out?”

The awkwardly-shaped sentence lodges in his throat, causes the gears in his head to grind and shriek, and it’s wrong, so wrong, if Mike says yes he’s never setting foot in his flat again, fuck the idolising, fuck professional relationships, he’ll curl up in ball and shake and shiver and shudder because no, it’s not what he wants, maybe something he never wanted in the first place.

While he’s still reeling from what’s raging on inside him, Mike throws him an almost pitiful glance. “Not me I’m talking about”, he grumbles. “I mean the one bloke whose friendliness you’ve always accepted without any protest.”

And isn’t that the fucking point?

It’s the one person who consistently made him lose face, no matter what, humiliated him with his displays of adoration Tze Long could never hope to repay, proved him unworthy with every breath he takes, and his presence burns under his fingernails, a constant itch chipping away at his honour because he deserves none of it and yet he wants. Oh he wants. He’s humbled by every easy laugh following disrespect, and the more this shadowy figure was pushed away, the harder it tried to keep up, and keeping it hazy is so much easier than allowing its entire being to invade every nook and cranny of his life.

Only -

That already happened a while ago, didn’t it?

James is outside, an unopened beer in his hand and smoking by himself because Seamus doesn’t endorse his addiction and Mei Lin and Mark hate the smell. He’s glowing in the setting sun, illuminated almost from the inside and Tze Long viciously wishes his brilliancy was contagious. “What’s wrong?”, he asks, unaware of the storm raging behind Tze Long’s unchanged exterior.

“I’m cold”, he replies, earning furrowed brows.

“It’s July.”

“Yes.”

They look at each other. James’ lips purse around the cigarette and Tze Long wants to grab the bottle and smash it on the asphalt, just to expend some of the energy throbbing through him. “Did Mike say anything? Are you okay?”

“I bought two tickets to Hong Kong.” And it’s out. With this, he’s handed himself over and there’s no going back.

“You’re going with him?” Carefully neutral. James stubs out the cigarette and takes out his key ring with its bottle opener attached. There’s a piece of string, too, displaying some of the decorative beads Tze Long recognises easily. The charm must’ve fallen off or broken after extensive use over the years.

“I wouldn’t want him to come along.”

Busy hands pause. He still doesn’t understand. “Mei Lin is accompanying you?”

“No.” They don’t have leave at the same time anyway. But he and James do. Always had.

Fingers twitch. Then slowly set the beer down on the stone steps behind them. He’s looking everywhere but at Tze Long, long hair falling into his eyes. “So -”

“I’ve been buying two ever since I joined Rainbow.” They both know how conscious he is of spending money.

“Jesus”, says James.

Tze Long is dizzy. He expected this moment to taste half-fermented, almost rotten, like a fruit ignored for too long, but instead it’s an explosion of refreshing flavour and pleasant sweetness, horrifyingly addicting. His face hurts and he realises that he’s grinning from cheek to cheek, must look like a lunatic if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Come with me. Please.”

And James seems to understand what he means, even if a frown tugs on his mouth and the face he makes is one of sorrow and not happiness, yet when Tze Long steps closer, James latches onto him like a drowning man.

His turmoil is far from appeased, but one thought prevails above all, forces his emotions to simmer down: I might not deserve this, he thinks, but he certainly does. He holds James until he’s shaking only with laughter, nothing else, the half-suppressed bouts of relief convincing him more and more of having made the right decision. They’re each other’s anchors, unwilling to let go, and beam at each other so brightly it blots out the sun.

“I’d love to”, James tells him in that rare, genuine tone of voice Tze Long has never heard him use with anyone else. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.” His lack of hesitation only increases James’ luminosity. “I’ll show you everything, James. I’ll show you all.” This seems to convince him, no doubt due to the far-reaching implications.

This time, when they kiss, Tze Long knows for a fact he won’t feel his stomach drop afterwards. And it’s mostly because he knows it won’t be their last one.

[joythea]

Random thought on why Wei Wuxian is always so positive

Had a discussion on the MDZS network discord and rereading clockworkspider’s post on WWX, Wei Wuxian had to remind me of a psychological theory I studied briefly. Spoilers for those who have not read the novel. Please take this with a grain of salt because I can’t 100% guarantee what I’m writing makes sense as I’m too lazy to reread the novel (I hate the ToC for not having the names).

Why is he always so positive? From canon, he has been told by his mother to always remember the good done to him, so he often selectively forgets the bad things that happen to him. In psychology, this is known as the positivity effect, where you tend to focus more on positive things and not think of negative things.  According to the study by Kennedy, Mather and Cartensen (2004), they found that “older adults have a positivity effect in long-term autobiographical memory and that a positivity bias can be induced in younger adults by a heightened motivation to regulate current emotional well-being.”

What did Wei Wuxian do after being expelled from the Yunmeng Jiang and living in Burial Mounds? That’s right, live as though the world was going on as per normal. He tried not to get agitated, and still focused on the things that mattered. So what if he is demonised by the whole world? He’s got a one-month celebration to attend, he isn’t going to let that stop him. When he met with Lan Wangji, he still offered to have a meal with him, laughing at Wen Yuan calling Lan Wangji his father. As though the darkness in the world didn’t matter. He knew how easy it was to be consumed in negativity, so he made an effort to regulate his emotional well-being so that it doesn’t deteriorate. Of course, nothing could have helped him when Wen Ning stabbed Jin Zixuan due to his agitation...

Now the theory I’m going to talk about is known as the SST, or the Socioemotional Selectivity Theory created by Laura Carstensen. This theory states that how time is perceived will affect how you determine your social goals. The social goals fall under two categories, one related to gaining more knowledge and the other is more towards emotional regulation. When a person believes they have enough time, they will prioritise the former, and on the other hand, they will prioritise emotional goals when they see themselves as having less time (Carstensen, Isaacowitz, Charles, 1999).

To compare, Jiang Cheng had the goal of rebuilding his sect, which is an open-ended goal. He knows he’s got plenty of time, so he’s going to focus on that. He isn’t going to bother with an emotional goal or learn how to cope with his trauma. He ain’t got time for that; he’s got to make sure his sect is rebuilt. In comparison, Wei Wuxian’s goal was to shelter the Wens. He didn’t have a plan, he didn’t really know what he was going to do, but all he knows was that he was going to shelter them as long as he could. Keyword, as long as he could. Also, aware of the consequences of demonic cultivation, which I theorize that it’s necessary to keep a stable mind, he has to increase his focus on positivity.

The Socioemotional Selectivity theory is usually associated with older adults; they are known to have more positivity and better emotional regulation compared to younger adults (Kennedy et al., 2004). This is because they are nearing the end of their life and they have to shift their goals from their youth to match with their life stage. They also remember their memories with a positivity effect, in which they don’t think much about negative ones or the negative implications if any. This theory is also used on patients who are terminally ill; with no time left, they naturally gravitate towards emotional goals. Basically, this theory means if you have lesser resources, you will not waste them on negative ones.

In canon, Wei Wuxian barely survived Burial Mounds after giving up his core to Jian Cheng. He seems fine on the outside, still able to keep up with the mainstream cultivators. As clockworkspider mentioned, he’s actually well-adjusted, similarly to the older adults who recall their memories fondly. Wei Wuxian does not focus on the negative things. He never blamed Jiang Cheng for anything and just continued to live as per normal. However, that near-death experience did lead him to focus on more emotional goals; namely living a simple life in Yiling/Burial Mounds.

With no golden core, it equates to lesser resources. There’s really no other way he can keep up with a normal cultivator anymore, so Wei Wuxian had to tap into demonic cultivation. It’s a resource as well, albeit not really the most stable in my point of view. I’m not saying he was suicidal, but I suspect that Wei Wuxian did not think there would be much of a future ahead. He knew that what he was doing was leading to a dead end, as shown that he literally cried and wondered what the hell did he do all this for when Wen Qing and Wen Ning went to surrender themselves. With the lack of a golden core, he was definitely going to die earlier than the others since it implies that having one means you live longer.

Everything he did was a gamble. The Stygian Tiger Amulet was to act as a deterrent so that no one would fight him and realise the farce he was putting on. He didn’t wear a sword not because he was arrogant, but he couldn’t use it. So he had to keep wearing this arrogant face. Leaving the Yunmeng Jiang, cutting himself off from his social networks for a goal he believed in that he still wanted to focus on and believed he could do. Lesser resources? Well, he has got to focus on those that he can still do until the end of his life comes. He has no core anymore; how can he possibly think about a future in cultivation aside from demonic cultivation?

tldr; Wei Wuxian focused even more on positive memories and emotional goals because losing his golden core has led him to potentially shorten his life or saw that his life has shortened immensely like a terminally ill patient.

References:

Carstensen, L. L., Isaacowitz, D. M., & Charles, S. T. (1999). Taking time seriously: A theory of socioemotional selectivity. American Psychologist, 54(3), 165.

Kennedy, Q., Mather, M., & Carstensen, L. L. (2004). The role of motivation in the age-related positivity effect in autobiographical memory. Psychological science, 15(3), 208-214.

[jeremystrele]

Emmylou Maccarthy Takes Motherhood’s Invisible Labour And Makes It Visible – And Paid

Emmylou Maccarthy Takes Motherhood’s Invisible Labour And Makes It Visible – And Paid

Family

Ashe Davenport

When you live your job on the Internet, everyone has their say. ‘People criticise me about not spending enough time with my kids.’ Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Sage, Vida and Camellia. Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

‘The camera doesn’t change how I do things. I’m the same way whether I’m being recorded or not.’ Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

‘I was pretty single minded in the beginning if I’m honest. I think I’ve got a better balance these days. I put my career first for about 24 months, but man, did I see that affect my family.’ Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Making the switch from the primary to secondary carer doesn’t come easily. Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Emmylou, Aaron, Sage, Camellia, Vida and their two pups! Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Emmylou’s nominated Sunday activity is a morning spent at the South Melbourne Market. Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Happiness (as well as confidence) in the kitchen, always! Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Emmylou’s dream dinner party would be alfresco, with bifold doors folded in so she can cook but still hear the chatter. Photo – Sarah Collins of Work + Co.

Emmylou Maccarthy carved out her media career with nothing but an Instagram account and a dream. Her story is the digital equivalent of rubbing two sticks together to make fire – seemingly impossible at first, but ultimately achievable with time, dedication and the right hashtags and/or wind conditions.

The term ‘influencer’ has become somewhat of a dirty word, but in Emmylou’s case it’s simply an accurate description of how she got her start. Her audience is astoundingly engaged. If Emmylou so much as mentions a brand on social media, product sales tend to skyrocket. Her Instagram stories are a seemingly endless tangent on domestic life, with over 50 instalments a day. She might be making hummus, plaiting her daughter’s hair, waiting for an Uber, applying or removing her makeup, but the activity is irrelevant. Emmylou’s charisma is undeniable. Why else are tens of thousands of people tuning in to watch her do a fishtail braid? She’s luminous. She makes mistakes often and genuinely laughs when she does. She’s a comfort to people at home on their phones, craving connection with a real human person, with the emphasis on real. 

We talked over coffee at St Ali in South Melbourne. In person, Emmylou was shorter than I’d imagined and significantly more professional. My instinct was to greet her with a hug, my bestie, the person I’d watched cooking in her pyjamas, but she held out her hand as she approached the table, establishing a boundary in the process. It was a gesture she seemed to have had some training in, a gentle reminder to people that they were, in fact, strangers.

She gets a bit of flack – for not spending enough time with her kids, not having a ‘real job,’ for not fitting the traditional moulds/straight jackets of ‘wife’ and’ mother’, you name it. The reason is obvious. She’s a self-made woman who doesn’t play by the rules. People don’t know what to make of her. I stan. 

What do you say to people who question whether or not you have a ‘real job’?

You can let the opinions of others feed into how you see yourself, but at the end of the day, it’s just a career, and it’s mine. It’s driven by joy and excitement. Everything I’ve done, I’ve loved: beauty therapy, skydiving, working in hospitality, working as a receptionist. I’ve done it all with a massive smile on my face. So I just try and not let it affect me. People don’t see the emails and hundreds of DMs. I’ve got staff members now, a legal team, accounting, the whole thing. Emmylou Loves is a business, no question.

You’ve taken a lot of the unpaid invisible labour of motherhood and made it paid and visible, it’s hugely impressive, actually.

People criticise me about not spending enough time with my kids. They say: ‘Oh! Her poor husband is stuck with everything.’ And in fact, he’s not the poor husband, he’s their dad. When he did fly-in-fly-out he was away for four weeks at a time working in the mines. Four weeks! Then he’d be home for five days, and he’d be knackered because he’d have worked 12 hour days for weeks on end, and never once did I hear how lucky he was that I was doing everything at home.

How do you share the parenting load now that you’re so busy with work?

For the last six months, Aaron’s been a stay-at-home dad. He’s the primary carer. He does all the school drop-offs and pick-ups, kinder drop-offs. I often do them with him, then I’m off working every day. I’m home in time to cook dinner. We all pitch in for the housework. We wanted to have one of us as the constant figure at home, so the kids would feel more settled in a routine. It makes the most sense for us right now that Aaron is that person.

How’s that going?

It was hard at first. It doesn’t matter what your situation is, if you’re changing things, it’s not all going to click straight away. You have to give it a trial to see if it’s going to work, and to allow for the icky, uncomfortable part. With any job you have a three month trial, it’s exactly the same as changing the roles up at home. After three months have a sit-down with your boss, or partner in this case, and see how you’re both feeling. Discuss what’s working and what’s not, where the gaps are and how you can fill them.

How did you build your business while being the primary carer to three young kids?

I was pretty single minded in the beginning if I’m honest. I think I’ve got a better balance these days. I was starting late in life. I wanted to go for it, and I did, I really went for it. I put my career first for about 24 months, but man, did I see that affect my family. It impacted our happiness, my personal happiness too. Aaron and I weren’t together during that time, we were co-parenting, so that didn’t help. We were living in the same house, but we were emotionally disconnected. I was prioritising emails at the dinner table over enjoying the meal with my kids. I was so focussed on keeping the momentum going with Emmylou Loves, sometimes it felt almost like the kids were impeding on that. I had to take a good hard look at myself. Like, they’re my kids! What am I doing?

What was it like not being in a romantic relationship with Aaron, but still living in the same house?

Man, did it hurt. Did I spend a lot of time crying? Yes. Did we go long periods of time without speaking? Yes. But did we try to fill that silence with nasty hateful things? No. Sometimes couples will come upon a time in their family life where things are silent. Not much is going on. It’s a bit fucking boring. So what do we do? We get snarky, we get restless. We think, hmmm there’s not much love happening here, let’s try and get a spark going with a bit of hate. That was the one thing Aaron and I decided not to do. We didn’t fill our silence with nastiness. We were just silent for a while, and we were okay with it. I just kept pointing out that it was the hardest time in our lives.

My partner and I have two under four, and our relationship has been hanging on by a thread at various stages since becoming parents. How did you guys get it together?

We let go of expectations and the fantasy that we should still be in the honeymoon period. My advice to any couples going through a tough time is to not under any circumstances compare your relationship to anything you think you’re seeing online or in the world. Aaron and I completely understand that romance can die, and die in a scary way, where you think it’s not going to come back. Make a conscious effort to lead with respect, which is easier said than done when you’re new parents, underslept and stretched so thin.

Is it hard to stay present when so much of your life is on camera?

The camera doesn’t change how I do things. I’m the same way whether I’m being recorded or not. That’s why I muddle up my words, they’re just flying off my tongue. That said, I’ve had to work at staying present with my kids. It doesn’t come naturally to me. When they want to do a jigsaw puzzle for example, the easy part is saying yes, but I have to make a conscious effort to sit down and bloody enjoy it. My instinct is to be in 100 other places in my head, whether it’s what I’m cooking for dinner, or replying to emails, or whatever it is that needs to be done. Being present is a discipline, it’s a muscle that needs building, and I’ve had to work at that.

Describe your perfect dinner party…

Hmmm… An open alfresco area with bifold doors going inside. I don’t know much about interior design, but I know about bifold doors, because I want them. Then I could be in the kitchen cooking, but still be able to see out and hear the party going. I’d want cool beats playing in the background, hip hop or funk or something chilled out like Erykah Badu. I’d make a communal feast with some of my mates helping out. We’d bring out big bowls of gorgeous food and people would be drinking gorgeous wine. It could be anytime of year. Summer, Winter, don’t care!

What can people expect from your upcoming book Confidence in the Kitchen?

It’s a collection of really easy recipes, but tasty, with beautiful imagery. It’s a happy book, one you can flick through and smile. You don’t have to be a wiz in the kitchen to follow the recipes. The point is to give you some spunk and vibe in the kitchen. It’s food that’s meant to be enjoyed with people and that’s enjoyable to make. That’s what food is all about for me. It’s about the experience.

Family Favourites

Activity or outing

Definitely movies. Colouring in. Nothing better than a fresh batch of play-dough. And cooking!

Sunday morning breakfast?

South Melbourne market to shop, coffee and a quick bite. Almost every Sunday we have my sister and her family over. She and I will cook up a storm while the kids play.

Date night?

We’re more into date days! We’re so tired at night and we just want to watch a movie and not talk. But date-days are great. A walk, a swim, just simple things together.

Desert island album?

If I could cheat and say my Spotify playlist…. Oh my God… This is the hardest question I’ve ever been asked… Okay… breathe… okay. Mama’s Gun by Erykah Badu.

Family getaway?

Torquay. We love love love the beach.

‘Confidence in the Kitchen’ will be available from all major retailers in June 2020. You can pre-order a copy here.

[travelteatv]

I adore Split. I went there a few years ago on the first of many road trips with my friend Hamilton (blog post here). We travelled from Zagreb, down to Plitvice, then onto Split and Hvar before finishing in Dubrovnik. It was out of season, just before everyone and their Mother started planning trips and the entire trip cost us £300 each (car rental/food/accommodation/activities – everything), it wasn’t too busy and we had a blast.

Cut to a couple of years ago, when my boyfriend and I were planning our summer trip and Split was high on our list of where we wanted to go. Unfortunately all of the flights were around £300/£400 each. In fairness, we had left it very late to book and so all flight prices were extortionate but considering I had paid £300 all in for a trip a few years before, I wasn’t ready to dish out more than that on the flight alone (we ended up going to Corfu that summer, if you’re wondering).

So, how did we end up going to Split this time?

Well, one of the many problems that come with forgetting/not bothering to unsubscribe from mailing lists, is that sometimes companies send emails with flight sales, and sometimes those flight deals are actually very good. Then, all of a sudden, you find yourself booking flights when you hadn’t really planned on it.

In other words, my boyfriend and I ended up going to Split because we saw crazy cheap flights and had a bit of a mad moment. We went in September (out of season again, like the first time I went) and it was still warm enough to walk around in a t-shirt/shorts but not so hot I got sunburnt – perfect weather for me.

I think our flights cost us around £65 return with Norwegian – one of my favourite airlines, fyi and our accommodation was £120 each. I think we ended up spending more like £350/£400 in total but I wasn’t surprised by that, seeing as Split has become so much more popular in recent years.

As with most trips recently, this was more of a relaxing getaway than a busy trip trying to fit everything possible in. Nonetheless, I would say we did a lot – the perfect amount for the duration of the holiday, in my opinion.

Having been before, we ventured to do things that I generally hadn’t already done, which meant we explored a few options which were a bit off the beaten track:

  What to Do 

We only went for four nights/five days but I think still managed to fit a lot in, without being stressed about cramming in too much (especially as I had been before). Here’s what we prioritised:

Beaches – oddly I’ve never been a big fan of beaches but when in Rome (/on a summer holiday), it makes sense to. Within Split, my favourite was Kasjuni Beach, which has a beach bar and curves around slightly, meaning it was a bit less windy than some other places. We also went to a lot of beaches on Hvar, my next point.

Visit Hvar Island – (This is actually deserving of its own post, which I will write next and link back to here). There are a few islands off Split – I would say Hvar is the most well known and if you only have a short amount of time, it makes the most sense to visit. Having said that, if you’re there for longer then definitely island hop. They’re stunning and each have their own character.

Get lost in the Old Town Streets – I have an awful sense of direction so this was very easy for me. Genuinely though, they’re lovely walkways with lots of twists, turns and hidden surprises (the surprises are mostly restaurants but still). If you’re into Game of Thrones, I’m aware they filmed some of it there and even if you’re not, it’s crazy walking along knowing that the streets you’re walking have stood the test of time of real life history (I don’t think GoT is based on fact, I just mean it’s set in the past FYI).

Rub Gregory of Nin’s Big Toe – I won’t lie, I know nothing about this statue other than it’s meant to be lucky to rub the big toe. You can tell immediately which one based on how much shinier it is than the rest of him! I don’t know if I got any luck per say but how often do you get to say you rubbed a giant big toe on holiday? (Maybe don’t answer that)

Go to Krka National Park for the day – Krka is absolutely stunning and not that far from Split. It’s not as big as Plitvice Lakes but still beautiful, and unlike Plitvice you can swim in the water there, which is pretty fun. Also, they call waterfalls ‘Slaps’ which is pretty enjoyable to say. I’m going to write a separate post on how to get there/what to do because I personally found it a bit excruciating working out the best value way of doing it within a day. It was a bit of trial and error but I really wish I knew at the time, what I know now. Basically, if you want an easy but pricey day then book a day trip otherwise, I’ll do a post on how to get there by public transport to save some money (I personally found a few things I read online while trying to figure things out a bit convoluted and unclear – things that should seem simple like how to get on the boat, actually could have done with some slightly clearer instructions on the National Park’s website).

  Processed with VSCO with p5 preset

Separate to what we did this trip, I would also recommend the below from my previous trip (post here):

Froggyland

Split Tower

  Where to Eat

This time, I found it harder to find affordable food – when I first went most meals were around £5-£7 but this time I noticed that a lot of places looked a fair bit fancier and upon closer inspection, the prices reflected this.

Out of where we ate, these two places were the most memorable:

Pizzeria Portas – recommended to me by a friend who had just been to Split, it’s a super cosy place with a lot of variety on it’s menu. It’s also in a gorgeous location and pretty damn romantic (if you’re into that).

Bepa! – you know a place is good, when you go there multiple times on holiday. Ok, in fairness it was right below our apartment which made it very easy. But also, the food is good and the people are lovely.

  Where to Drink 

Marvlvs Jazz Library Bar – again, if it’s good then it’s good and judging by the amount of times we visited here in a short space of time, we were basically in a committed relationship by the end of the trip. It’s rare to find a bar that feels like home but this one really pulls it off – amazing music (jazz of course, at just the right volume), perfect lighting (not pitch black but also not bright lights stolen from Greggs) and a great selection of whisky (and everything else). We ended up here during a rainstorm which was incredibly lucky, as it’s a delightful place to wait something out. Unfortunately, the storm didn’t end for a few hours until after we had run through the flooded streets and got completely soaked through, which was slightly less lucky I guess.

  Where to Stay 

Personally I prefer to stay in an apartment when I’m away, I just feel that it gives me more space and freedom to relax. I like to be able to get up when I want, without being interrupted by room service and then keep whatever I want in the fridge (mostly milk for a tea because I’m super cool and crazy like that).

Below are the two apartments I stayed in while visiting and I highly recommend them both as they’re affordable and in good locations; the top one is right in the centre of the old town and the other is slightly outside. Nevertheless, they’re a short distance from one another and you’ll still be able to explore the neighbourhood with ease.

Old Town Square Apartment (Link)

Apartments Tea (Link)

  Of course, Split is also a bit of a party city and you’ll find a lot of stag/hen dos running around but don’t let that put you off. They’re easy to avoid (if you want to) and generally if you spend a trip in the way we did, it’s unlikely you’d have a reason to bump into them anyway!

  I’m aware it’s likely I’ve missed some glaringly obvious places off my list but the above are what I would genuinely recommend to friends and strangers alike, so I hope they come in handy.

  Abi

X

@travelteatv

  An Offbeat Weekend in Split, Croatia I adore Split. I went there a few years ago on the first of many road trips with my friend Hamilton (blog post…

[meditationsinausterity]

A Little Goes a Long Way: SO MANY MUSHROOMS

Here we are at mid-week with what seems to be becoming a regular round-up of what I've been cooking to make sure I use literally everything in the fridge. As per my last post I have decided that the best way to structure the way I note my week in the kitchen is to start with a master list of the foods i bought home from the trash cafe, so as to avoid continually repeating myself in the smaller run-downs at the beginning of each dish, and make plain the cyclical nature of my cooking week and how I play around with different combinations of the same produce.

I have to say, the trash cafe has yielded a lot of fresh produce recently, so my hauls have been very heavily canted in favour of that. Great for me because I do prioritise cramming in as many nutrients as I can when I cook, but it does put a stricter deadline on what I make and when. I think writing this master list is actually going to be useful in terms of documenting the varying trash cafe hauls, as well; as I've worked with the project I've been fascinated to see the ebbs and flows of what we get through the doors, depending on what businesses we're working with and what they've had an excess of.

I'm also noticing my week changing as I work more. I'm on about 50 hours a week on average at the moment, so I have less time to be in the kitchen, but also, I have to think about bulk cooking things I can take to work with me when I'm on a double shift. I do have the option of a free sandwich and chips when I work a double (I usually rack up two of these a week), but I don't often take the chefs up on it, which my coworkers think I'm crazy for. I'd rather just have it as a backup for if I've forgotten to bring food, or not been staying at mine, because I don't like being too carbed out at work, and lately, where I've been taking in leaner, more vegetable driven food and fresh fruit, I've been really feeling the difference in my body after my long days and walks to and from work.

To kick things off then, let's start with that big old list:

Things I got from the Trash Cafe:

a packet of six chicken thighs (These had been defrosted to use in the kitchen, but I got through four packs during service and still had leftover stew to send to another cafe, so I bought these home)

2 1/2 punnets of chestnut mushrooms

2 punnets of plum tomatoes

1 bag of lemons

1 bag of limes

1/2 pat of salted butter

A block of mild goats cheese (it behaved similarly to a sharp cheddar in texture and flavour)

A packet of mint

Rye bread with sunflower seeds

A bag of red onions

A bag of broccoli florets

A bunch of asparagus

A white cabbage

Half a bag of mixed salad leaves

2 pots of prepped pineapple chunks (I tend to just eat these as they come, with breakfast or at work, so they don't get photographed)

2 pots prepped mango chunks (likewise with these)

Now onto what I made with my bounty:

Mushrooms on toast a couple of ways

Way One:

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had for this meal:

Eggs, from the previous week's trash cafe haul

Ciabatta bread, likewise, and I keep my bread frozen, as I always eat it toasted, so it keeps indefinitely

Garlic, always in my storecupboard

So I am not going to patronize you, this was literally just mushrooms, panfried in garlic and butter, with scrambled eggs. I do not need to tell you how to do any of that. i do need to emphasize, however, a belief I hold that cooking does not have to be overtly technically skilled to be good. granted, I know some amazingly creative and talented chefs, and what they do is mindblowing, but by the same token I know if they came over for breakfast, they wouldn't turn their nose up at this because it's still good food. one of my pet peeves in this life is the attention seeking cook, who only ever makes masterchef-esque showstoppers for the drama and attention of it. Sometimes life is literally just a low key breakfast while chilling with a magazine before work, and sometimes that low key breakfast may be the best thing you could eat in that possible moment. A true love of the kitchen and feeding yourself involves care and attention applied to even the quotidien dishes.

Way Two

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had for this meal:

Marmite; an absolute store cupboard necessity for me. This yeasty little umami bomb is one of the very few things that will make me misty eyed and patriotic (the other two are Barbara Windsor and Kate Moss, in case you were wondering)

So this was perhaps a slightly more elaborate take. Inspired by a breakfast dish I had at The Garage Lounge in Southsea, which was mushrooms in a white wine cream sauce, on marmite toast, with a poached egg, and was amazing, I decided to work with what I had (SO MANY MUSHROOMS) to channel similar vibes.

I pan-fried the mushrooms with garlic, and parsley, and finished with creme fraiche, piling onto rye and sunflower toast with marmite, and added some bagged salad dressed in oil and lemon to mop up the juices,because I like raw food with my meal, and i do like something acidic to cut through a rich dish. This was incredibly satisfying in the eating, and felt far more indulgent than the small amount of creme fraiche I added would have suggested it would be.

Leftovers from these meals:

None

Baked lemon and oregano chicken with goats cheese and tomato couscous

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Pesto: there's almost always an open jar of pesto in my fridge. Like any ex-student I've done my time eating pasta with pesto at least once a week, but now I use it as quick flavour for grains and dishes when i don't necessarily have fresh herbs.

Couscous: another storecupboard stalwart. Really good for quick, cheap, light dinners and salads. Also, call it the Ottolenghi effect, but I'm never averse to any form of grain salad at lunchtime, so having enough of a grain to bulk batch them is always good.

Oregano: From last week's trash café haul 

This was a doddle to make. I put the chicken thighs in a pan with a handful of whole, unpeeled garlic cloves, squeezed the juice of two quartered lemons over them and chucked in the lemon pieces themselves. I added a handful of oregano stems, some oil, salt, and pepper, tossed it all to coat, and left to marinade for a few hours, before baking in a gas mark 6 oven for about 45 minutes-1 hour, turning occasionally.

The couscous itself was easy, I diced onions, mint, tomatoes, and goats cheese, and tossed it together with a huge bowl of couscous i'd made up with boiling water and a glug of olive oil. lemon juice, salt, and pepper to dress.

The pesto cream was easy, I think I got this idea from one of those little booklets you get with cooking magazines, a little '30 low carb recipes for January' thing. it's just one parts pesto to two parts creme fraiche, and it's a pretty good, lazy way to perk up chicken. it's banging in sandwiches with leftover chicken as well.

A nice light meal, that was, I grant you, a bit late 90's housewife, but nonetheless, I'm always here for dishes that fill you up without bloating, and this was up there. Not to mention the flavours involved aided me in my current project to deny the fact that the weather is getting colder and winter is coming (other allies involved in this are the crisp blue skies Portsmouth is giving me, and largely being inside most of the time).

Leftovers from this meal:

4 x chicken thighs: Taken to work on two days to get me through double shifts.

About 4 portions of couscous: Taken to work alongside the chicken and some fresh fruit, because it does feel good to be smashing out your five a day even when you're working 13 or so hours of it. Also eaten upon returns home, in a bowl, in bed, while reading in my pyjamas. I guess most people have the luxury of being able to not eat late at night, but consider the humble bartender, doing a physical job until the witching hour, coming home shattered and grabbing the first thing they can find before they collapse. At least, in this instance it actually had some nutritional content. Back in my early twenties it would have been fried chicken, or spinach pastries from the 24 hour turkish supermarket at the bottom of seven sisters road (shout out to the lads at Akhdeniz, absolute fucking legends)

Tomato and mint Bruschetta with goats cheese:

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Salt, pepper, oil

I know, I know, another 'things on toast' moment. it probably looks like I eat far more things on toast than your average bear. I don't think I do, but actually,as a nocturnal worker, I tend to have more time in the morning to take care over what I eat and cook something from fresh.

This was a straightforward chopping of tomatoes, red onions, and mint, and tossing it with oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, allowing to steep for a little while to draw out the juices of the tomato. then just piled onto crisp rounds of toast and topped with thinkly shaved goats cheese.

Another breakfast that allowed me to stave off the winter sads, whilst also getting the nutritional benefit of raw vegetables (I do, really, find any excuse to pack raw fruit and veg into my diet). Also, given how many tomatoes I actually had to power through this week, a raw dish of them was somewhat inevitable.

Leftovers from this meal:

Enough tomato mixture to fridge and repeat the exact same breakfast the next day before work. It was actually better the next day after the tomato mixture had time to mellow and marry.

Sweet Potato and Mushroom Frittata with chilli and soy green salad

Items purchased for this meal:

None

Items already had:

Sweet potato: from a previous trash cafe haul

Romaine lettuce leaves: from a previous trash cafe haul

Eggs: from a previous trash cafe haul

Birds eye chillies: from a previous trash cafe haul

Garlic, paprika, salt, pepper, soy.

The salad for this was simple. I snapped the asparagus tips at their natural bending point (the best way to make sure you're not eating them stringy, which is what puts most people off asparagus) and steamed them with the broccoli florets for a few minutes. I sliced white cabbage and red onion, and tossed the lot in a mixture of oil, soy, diced chilli, and lime juice, leaving to chill out in the dressing.

For the frittata I roasted diced sweet potato in oil and paprika until soft, before frying the mushrooms in garlic and oil, and adding the sweet potato to the pan. I added five beaten eggs to the hot pan and swirled over the heat to cook the base, before using a plate to flip the frittata,as I would with a spanish omelette, and cooking the other side. I left it to sit on a plate for about fifteen minutes to set fully, and then sliced it and served it with the salad, served on romaine lettuce leaves.

An odd jumble of flavours here, but it worked really nicely, and left me feeling really full up without any carbs to speak of. i ate it as a kind of hybrid breakfast/lunch situation, which is a pretty key mealtime on my days off where I don't have a strict deadline on my time.

Leftovers from this meal:

2/3 frittata: Taken to work with me to eat cold. Ideal take-to work food because you actually don't want it fridge-cold, so you can leave it in tupperware in your bag, as I did, and it's at room temperature come your break.

2 portions of salad: again, boxed up and taken to work. I find spicy food on my break means I don't so much get that just-eaten, sleepy bear feeling when I have to return to shift. That plus filling up on food that isn't carb driven means when it's time to go back on shift I've got a spring in my step.

Another week then, another series of purchase-free meals. This was the week before my first set of wages landed as well, so the purchase-free thing was still pretty key. I have, since, been buying spices and seasonings and storecupboard things, which will probably change the face of my cooking even more, but I think I'm really getting into the swing of making diverse meals over the course of a week that fill me up, are tasty, and are nutritionally pretty sound. I'm equally pleased that I'm managing to fit it around work, and that I'm also, despite being much busier these days, NOT THROWING ANYTHING AWAY. I thought for sure that being at work would mean I'd be busy, and neglecting the fridge, and ending up wasting food, but I've actually been so organized and on top of my shit that I've used up every last scrap of what I have, and I'm feeling super proud of that.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #30 (09.02.2017)

Thursday 9th February - 10:05 a.m.

I am actually writing in the a.m. now, I know! It has been a while, I know. Yesterday was a very taxing day though, so I fell asleep almost immediately. The only issue was that I got home to Anthony’s parents having dinner with my parents, and whenever they get together, the meal always takes place at a quarter to midnight (give or take a half hour), so I ate a few of their appetizers before the main meal despite the fact that between the hours of 11 a.m. and 10 p.m. yesterday, I had literally nothing to eat at all. I survived off of some warm garlic bread until my parents were ready to serve the dhosa and the eggplant and potato curry, which was just the most warm and sustaining meal I’ve had since Gong De Lin, considering how long I had to wait for it. That and the eggplant curry is always just magical going down your throat. It’s generous tomato texture, and the warm flavour of the spices, and the delicately lingering chilli to top it all off, all carried by the smooth, milky dhosa - simply put, it was the right thing to be eating at that given time.

But enough about my meal! My day was astounding. The meeting with Marcus went very well, with cameo appearances from Mark and Hector. Hector arrived at around 3 p.m., I should say, and immediately went upstairs to have a shower because it was excruciatingly hot yesterday. Then he hung out whilst Marcus and I caught up (after the business of the day was done). I told them both about Ikaros and I, and confided in them that not only had Ikaros called me and asked me to come and see him later that day, but that I was going to use the opportunity to come and see him, to tell him once and for all what I really needed from him right now. Which was plenty of space. I told Marcus and Hector that neither of us were getting what we needed from the relationship and that we had both begun to realise this over the past four months in particular, but that I still wasn’t sure how to make the break-up seem official to either of us, considering that counting yesterday, Ikaros and I have broken up four times over the span of four months. Three of those times were in January-February alone. It’s chaotic. But now it’s over. It was incredibly emotional, and I’m not entirely sure why because I feel like the drama has passed for me. I already went through my heartbreak, and now I’m on the other side. It’s his turn now. He was in denial for this long, otherwise he would’ve gone through this with me. Then again, he has been infamously emotionally immature. I shouldn’t talk about him like this, but these pages are for honesty.

Ikaros also admitted yesterday evening that he knew he’d been treating me badly. Even though he swore he would protect me from my family abuse, because he said he didn’t want anybody shitting on me, he admitted to shitting on me himself. Then he asked me again, if I didn’t want to keep trying with him. I simply said that he had just admitted he had been treating me badly, so what would it say about my self-respect if I were to allow him to be with me after all of this. Thankfully, he understood this. He also began to (for the first time in a LONG TIME) regret the way he had treated me. He was the one who would say no to plans, who would end phone calls and skype calls and days spent together. He was the one who didn’t buy presents and didn’t offer emotional support when it was most needed. He was the one who was keen for an open relationship before it was even appropriate, like three months into our dating! He was the one who made comments about other people, and made deprecating comments about me, and thus, made me end up being very unhappy in my own skin (an insecurity only often softened by him subsequently fucking me and then me being glad that somebody could possibly be attracted to me at all enough to fuck me). He was the one who didn’t say ‘I love you’ back! WHEN HE DID. And even though he failed to do all of these things, it was at least nice to hear that he was aware of this. Even so, I felt really bad for him when he was sitting with his hands on his knees in the Rosanna Parklands, saying ‘I fucked up’ over and over again to himself or to me.

This shouldn’t be important anymore, though. I should start thinking about other things. And I have. For instance, Marcus really loved my script, and so did Mark and Hector. Marcus said it was very ‘non-white-male’ which made me quite happy, and he also said that with a little fine-tuning, he doesn’t doubt that we can get funding from SBS. He just believes that Kali should be given a more concrete goal, to juxtapose her life with her mother’s. Vini’s dream was taken from her, so Kali should be shown making full claims to her passion and achieving everything her mother was forced to let go. I totally agreed with this, and my current task is to rework the script a little to place more emphasis on Kali achieving her dreams. The beach trip scenes between Kali and Adam are growing less and less prevalent with every draft, and I love it. The whole idea of the ‘rock pool’ is supposed to be more symbolic than literal anyway. My only qualm with this is purely that I feel like the beach scenes would be so beautiful to shoot. But after seeing Assassin’s Creed, I guess I am now more than aware of the dangers of prioritising cinematography over the actual plotline when one is tasked with making a storyboard.

I will say this though. I have never felt more of a writer than I have over these last two months, and this is making me increasingly excited for the rest of 2017. I also feel like these pages have had a lot to do with that too, and of course my time in Northcote too. I’ve been thinking about my time in Northcote, and have realised that it has drastically improved my life for the better. Not only did I come across ‘The Artist’s Way’ and begin on my creative rehabilitation, but I was also given time away from everyone and everything and was just allowed to be a human existing alone. Taking care of the cats also kept me anchored, kept me waking up at a sensible hour every morning and returning home at a sensible hour too (except on weekends). Furthermore, living in Northcote and being that close to everything, allowed me to go out on weekends in a way that I’ve never gone before. It allowed me to meet Evan too. Evan asked me, I think on Monday, whether or not I would’ve gone to Laundry if I hadn’t been living in Northcote. I answered very honestly, saying that I actually might not have gone out at all if I had never taken the housesitting job. Because I had gone out alone that night, and the only reason I felt safe enough going out alone that night was because I knew it would be easy enough for me to get back home to the apartment (one tram for like fifteen minutes, it was too easy). I feel like maybe I should tell Emily exactly how much minding the boys has positively impacted me. But she might stop paying me to do the job if she knows how fantastic it’s been for me! No, she wouldn’t, that was a joke.

I really miss Evan right now. My phone plan just ended and I’m switching to something a little cheaper ($5 cheaper a month, yet still way out of my budget), hopefully today. I don’t know what to do if he texts me though! I don’t know if it’ll send. I was tempted (I still am, actually) to send him the photo that was taken of us at Laundry the night that we met. Actually, fuck it. I’m going to do that right now. It’s only 10:36 a.m. and I am probably more than a quarter of the way through this final page. I am making excellent time. I am, however, a little nervous about getting started on the next draft of my script. It’s just been endless, and even Marcus said that it’s SO SO tight as it is right now, like it’s going to take a lot of frustration and editing to get it to where it needs to be. That, and screenwriting is so weird! It’s a very new medium, naturally, and nobody really knows how to do it as Marcus said (but regardless, my uni course was very focused on teaching us the layout and formatting of film scripts over actually writing them), but I feel that it’s infinitely harder for people who are actually traditional writers, or come from a writing background. It’s odd, but I think it’s safe to say that I feel like it’s easier for actors to write screenplays than it would be for writers. Marcus also noted that I had a tendency to indulge in description when I was writing action in my script. He said that sometimes my inclinations to write prose seeped through, and made my script naturally a lot more lovely to read, but a lot less easy to be interpreted by directors and actors, and everyone else who must work off of your script. It is a deceptively simple medium, I’ll just leave it at that. I can’t wait to be finished with this project! And it really hasn’t even started yet!

Okay, I sent the photo. He’s at work right now. Sometimes I worry about him being at work, honestly. Like whenever the weather’s bad. Yesterday, for example, was ridiculously hot, and I was only really only outside in the high sun for about an hour or two. But for him, it would’ve been all day! Even today, it’s supposed to be quite hot and ALSO quite windy too. And I know he finished up early on Monday because some equipment wasn’t available or something, so I can assume that the rest of this week or at least the next few days after Monday, would’ve been a lot longer and a lot more productive. If he’s been working hard both yesterday and today, I can’t help but imagine he’d be feeling rather physically exhausted by the end of today. I know that he really can’t wait till school starts again for him, but honestly neither can I. I’ll be glad to see him taking it easy for a while and studying something he’s passionate about rather than spending all of his time landscaping, waking up at ungodly hours and working in extreme conditions for so long. Goodness, I think I really like this boy.