#really anxious In General about it though.....like what if it gets damaged in the mail.......

[lunar-fey]

was supposed to be over a week ago but shit happened teehee but anyway. sending my computer out to hopefully be repaired today. computerless.....

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

---

Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

-

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

-

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

-

@berrynarrybanana​

[mishapeesha]

hello friends! i have decided to start writing a fanfiction (although I am......not that experienced with writing, but I will trY)

anyways! the pairing is obviously deancas, and since I’ve just written the first chapter, the tags will be limited until I further develop the story. The rating will change if needed, trigger warnings will be added if necessary, and so on!

the summary: 

A package is mailed to Castiel Novak, a 27 year old with unknowingly very limited knowledge on a certain aspect of his life. It’s filled with what seems like hundreds of letters all to him, a single person. Memories and confessions of love are penned within those letters. As time goes on, he feels drawn to the person on the other end and sets out to find them – and the letter’s inevitable true destination that ties the final loose end in Castiel's life.

ao3 link!: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625316/chapters/70161738

i would really appreciate any feedback, or just boosting this would be pretty cool too! 

for anyone that doesn’t wanna read on ao3, chapter 1 starts below!

September 18th, 1992

           Castiel’s chest bounced as he jogged down the stairs aligned in a wide spiral, his eyebrow quirked up in confusion as his doorbell buzzed repeatedly with barely a second in between every ring. He winced at the harsh sound of it, noticing how military-like it was in the way that the alarm went off. It was always a task of his to get it changed, but he never got the chance to. Either because he didn’t feel like it, or because his memory disallowed him to remember something as unimportant as a doorbell.  

           “Coming!” He called out to whoever bothered to show up at his house so early in the morning. Castiel paused beside the bookcase placed beside his door, glancing at the mirror in order to adjust the loose strands of hair that spiked in different directions with the frantic brush of his fingers. He let out a sigh as his gaze shifted towards the reflection of the wall clock behind him, seeing that it was barely 7:05 am. Just as he turned to face the door, that annoying noise rang in his ears once more. Maybe one day he’d go through with that mental task of changing the buzz to something more audibly pleasant.

           His fingers wrapped around the metal doorknob, and a click emerged as he swung the door open, being immediately met with a man who he had never seen in his life. His eyes quickly scanned over the man, noticing that he was in uniform, so he classified him as harmless. What damage could a mailman do? Hand him a letter and give him a papercut? Though there was a look on the mailman’s face that Castiel couldn’t quite place. He was torn between thinking it was some sort of discomfort towards Cas personally, or just general exhaustion because it could just be that he was tired. There wasn’t really anything enjoyable about driving to several homes, handing gifts to so many people while barely surviving off of minimum wage and receiving nothing in return.

           “Castiel Novak?” The man asked, shifting in his spot momentarily as he held a medium sized box underneath one arm, and a clipboard in the other hand. Castiel took note that his name was Thomas after noticing the nametag attached to the pocket on the fabric of his blouse.

           “Yes, that’s me.” Castiel replied, opening the door slightly more after feeling more comfortable to do so. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked past Thomas, wondering if anyone was following him, or if they were being watched. They seemed to be alone, so Cas stopped tapping his fingers against the wooden door, although he hadn’t realized that he began to do that in the first place. “Is there anything that you need of me?”

           “Well,” Thomas began with a nod. He cleared his throat and placed the clipboard in between his legs to use both of his hands, and then offered Cas the box he held. “We’ve had this in the office for a while now, but it was specified to be delivered on this day to this address, and to you.” He explained, biting his lower lip in what Cas took as some sort of minimal panic, or uneasiness. “The sender wishes to remain anonymous, however.” He added, as if it were nothing unusual.

           “Anonymous?” Castiel questioned and drew a frown onto his face. He shook his head and reverted back to closing the door, but he kept a smaller gap so that the two of them could still communicate. “I will not be accepting a box from someone who doesn’t wish that their identity is revealed. It could be anything, and I am not willing to risk my safety.” He deadpanned before he glanced down at the box, not trusting whatever was in it. Why would anyone refuse to mention their name unless they were someone dangerous and not to be messed with?

           Thomas stared at Cas for a few moments as he was now met with the confusion of what to do with the box now that the apparent receiver was blatantly rejecting it. He swallowed hard as an uncomfortable smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Mr. Novak, I can assure you nothing that will hurt you is in this box. Not only is it very light, but it would also be a shame if this was thrown out. As I mentioned, this has been collecting dust in our office. It has been for the last four years.”

           Castiel froze at Thomas’ words, struck with surprise. He had absolutely no idea who sent the box, what was in the box, or why it was sent in the first place. Cas was Cas. The person he spoke to the most was his brother, and even then, he barely saw Gabriel to begin with. They spoke less and less as the years passed, and so Castiel was alone for the majority of the time. So, he couldn’t quite process how he had a package delivered to him, when he knew his brother barely had the energy to stop by his house for a quick hello. He was a generally distant individual. An outsider to himself, his family, and others.

This did not add up.

           “Four years you say?” He asked, tilting his head to the side as he looked between Thomas and the box, earning a nod in reply. He sighed in defeat and once again, opened the door. “You really can’t tell me who sent it? Surely you must know.” Cas said, raising his eyebrow as he finally decided to take the box from Thomas’ hold. “It isn’t heavy.” He pointed out in confirmation to what Thomas previously stated, now more so curious to know what he was sent rather than worried.

           “I’m not at liberty to say. I’m sorry.” Thomas responded and rubbed the back of his neck before he remembered to pull the clipboard from between his legs. “Could you sign this, please?”

           Castiel took the pen and scribbled a random signature on the piece of paper, nodding at Thomas who offered a small smile at Cas. “Thank you.” He murmured quietly, clutching the box to his chest.

“Of course. Have a good day.”

           “And you as well.”

           A creak erupted from the door as Castiel let it close on itself, and eventually the atmosphere fell back into silence. But suddenly, he became almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. He couldn’t tell whether it was his actual heartbeat that he could hear, or if he was overhearing some rhythmic beat from his neighbor’s home nearby. And he definitely grew irritated at the loud ticking sound of the clock on the wall that seemed to follow him as he dragged himself through the hallway to the living room.

           The walls seemed to follow his every movement, making Cas feel judged and uneasy. And just for a moment, a sense of guilt rose in him. There was no source for it, yet there was some inexplainable physical tug to what Cas held in his hands, allowing negative emotions to faintly flood into him. He was convinced that his thoughts echoed off those same walls, as any word spoken in his mind just sounded too intense and loud in his ears.

           Cas sat down on the couch, sinking into the mattress as he leaned forward to place the box on the coffee table in front of him. His bottom lip became a victim of his anxious habits where his teeth would peel at the loose, dry skin, drawing blood that lightly pooled into his mouth and presented a metallic taste.

           “What could you be?” He spoke out loud to himself, picking at the loose thread poking out of the couch. He exhaled and used his nails to tear off the tape sealing the box shut. It looked like an average box, which made any assumptions as to what could be inside completely impossible to Cas. It’s not like he expected a bomb to be inside, but he also didn’t expect a proper gift. So, then what? What made a box so big, yet so light at the same time? What was so important that it absolutely had to be sent to Cas four years later?

           Once he managed to tear the seals off, he took in a deep breath. He didn’t know what he would be getting himself into, and yet he knew there was absolutely no way he’d be able to keep himself from looking inside. So, before he knew it or could hesitate, the box was opened, revealing the last thing Cas would have expected.

Letters.

Lots of them.

           “What the hell..?” He breathed out, flipping the box over so that the letters scattered out across the table. His eyes widened in both confusion and shock, and he immediately reached to pick one up. He examined the envelope: Clean, neat, and numbered with a bold 30 on it that was also in the colour of purple. There was no stamp. There was no name. Just a singular number, and nothing more than that.

Or it would be nothing more if he decided to keep the envelopes tightly secured.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it? Though at the same time, he really did have nothing to lose. A dance with death was the least of his current concerns.

By the look of things, it appeared as though there was a certain number of letters in the box, labeled from one to an unknown limit. For all that could be known, there could be fifty letters, a hundred, or a thousand. He doubted he’d read all of them, because what could possibly be so interesting that the writer thought it was imperative that Cas knew?

The bigger question was, who wrote them?

Castiel shuffled through the envelopes until he found the first numbered 1 in red. His mouth went dry, and his brain raced with questions that he had no answer to at all. He hated being blind to the truth, to be instead engulfed in a mystery, like his life was some sort of game. He wanted to know what was going on, and he wanted to know now. But given all that Cas was presented with, he knew it would be a long time before he knew what was actually going on. It could be days, weeks, months. All depending on how much Cas read, and how fast.

He fiddled with the letter in his hand, debating whether or not to open it. He had to. He could just read this one and throw the others out. And maybe he’d get the answers he needed in the first envelope, making it possible to ignore the others.

The paper ripped beneath his fingers, and soon enough, he held a paper in his hands. The first out of many.

Quickly, his eyes scanned over the words written, immediately blocking them out because he refused to jump too far in what was visibly so carefully put together. He wanted to take his time and appreciate the effort put into all of this. But he did take notice of the handwriting. It was a combination of neat and messy. Definitely readable, and a little too familiar. It was nice, simply put. But Cas could sense the desperation in the way the words were written. They were rushed, and well thought out of as well. Like whoever wrote knew what to say, just not how to say it.

Dear Castiel,

Knowing you, you’re probably freaked the hell out right now. And... Well, you should be.

Cas frowned and scoffed, rolling his eyes at the paper. Already, the letter was referring to him, and he had no idea about who was writing. Clearly, off to a great start.

Or not. Actually, don’t freak out. You don’t need that. Anyways…grab yourself that weird coffee that I know you like and get comfy.

What I’ve done here for you is write a hundred letters. Or I’m planning to, at least. Hopefully I commit to this. I guess if you’re reading this, I’ll have succeeded, so yay me, I guess. But I want you to really read them. To understand it all because there is so much that you don’t know. About me, about you, and more importantly, about us. I know you might be scared-

Castiel looked away and shook his head, setting the letter down on the table causing it to fold in on itself with how long it had been creased for. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, mumbling something incoherent underneath his breath. Not even halfway through the first letter, and Cas was already overwhelmed. Everything in him begged him to stop reading, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching back towards the piece of paper and picking it up once more. He was certain that would be a decision he would regret in the future.

-and that’s okay. Fear’s good. Sometimes, at least.

Please, hear me out, alright? I need you to keep an open mind. You gotta, man. Or else this won’t work. I don’t mean to put on a show and get all dramatic, but I need you to level with me. To feel with me, and to get angry and hurt whenever you feel like it. I need you to bust open your damn walnut, and pull me out of that chest that you’ve got stuffed in there somewhere.  

Cas, you may not know me now, but I know you.

I’m writing this on September 18th, 1988. We met five years go..I don't really know when you'll get this. Could be ten years from now. Guess we'll see.

I need you to remember.

Work that big ol’ brain of yours and try to not be the dumbass that you tend to be. It's my fault you're in your current situation, but you need to try. If not for me, then for you.

We haven't spoken in so long, Cas. And saying I miss you won't change a damn thing because you don't even know who I am, but I do miss you. And you can take that however you want for now, but you'll understand it all eventually. If you decide to actually go through with this and read all that I've written for you.

“Situation?” Castiel asked out loud, as if he’d get a response. Of course, he was met with silence. But he still had no idea what was happening. He didn’t know what any of this meant, but he did know this had the potential to ruin his entire life. In fact, it felt like everything started slowly tumbling down already.

And yes, he had nothing. But was it worth the loss?

I’ll tell you everything. No plot-holes, not shit-holes, or whatever. All I ask is that you read. It’s that simple.

That’s all for now. Sorry for the short first letter. I’ll see you soon.

-Dean W.

“Dean?” He whispered, and at that, his chest knotted tightly as he took in a shaky breath. He widened his eyes and wheezed, an uneasy feeling creeping its way up his chest. So, the writer had a name. One that Cas mentally did not recognize, but he physically did apparently.

What the hell did the "W" stand for? He didn't know. Or rather he couldn't remember, according to what the letters were saying.

He set the letter down and stared at the others, scratching at his arm as he eyed the unorganized mess that had now grounded him in his place. Out of all of the things he could have received that day, he just had to get what was probably the most confusing thing he had ever been confronted with.

The possibility of fault grew, and all Cas could do for now was allow himself to become engulfed in the non-existent voice of a series of letters that he was yet to understand, and so rightfully dreaded.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part i

Quick note: This is taking place in the 2020-21 season, as if the Islanders still play at Barclays; I know they won’t in actuality. In the story, I’m also going to be taking some liberties with what the duties of a team’s general counsel and legal team would actually be in charge of. My understanding, as a pre-law student, is that it’s more on the corporate angle, dealing with contracts and stuff — in addition to that, Cass will also be dealing with some more immigration and employment law as well. 

part i

October 1

“Adiós, mamá. Hablamos pronto. Te amo.” Cassidy hung up, breathing out a tense sigh and rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. Talking to her mom usually helped to calm her down, bring her back to Earth, but for whatever reason it wasn’t taking. She took a brief glance at the casebook open on her dinged-up Ikea desk. Federal Indian Law. She liked the class, genuinely, but her day had started off bad and gotten worse pretty damn quickly. First she was out of her favorite tea, then her advisor cancelled their meeting, then it started raining as she walked back to her MTA stop, so she had missed the train. Another came fifteen minutes later, but the damage was already done. The only bright spot in the day, aside from calling her mom, had been the cute guy at the Polish deli down the street who had put extra peppers on her Philly cheesesteak. She unwrapped the sandwich, taking a moody bite out of the end. A caramelized onion dropped to the floor. Sighing, she leaned down to pick it up, hurtling it in the direction of the trashcan but only half-looking to see if it reached its target destination. Despite the name, Cass had never had a cheesesteak before she moved to New York, and it wasn’t even because she wasn’t a sandwich person. No, Cass loved a good sandwich, but between her proclivity towards a good BLT and her mom’s homemade Mexican food, she just hadn’t gotten around to it. 

Her laptop dinged with an email notification. What now? She swiped over to the mail page, taking another bite as she read the subject line. Experiential learning requirement - unmet. Her brow furrowed. Unmet? Clicking it open, she scanned the email, clearly something automated from the registrar’s office. Yet to complete Columbia’s experiential learning requirement...We suggest you connect with professors...You have until October 8 to submit...Cassidy never finished her sandwich. “Oh my God,” she muttered to herself, feeling her cheeks heat up. “How could you do this? How could you be so stupid, Cass?” She was normally so on top of everything, never missed a date, never forgot an assignment, so how could she have missed one of the only things left to do to graduate? Her law school required all of the graduates to complete some sort of experiential learning requirement — some kind of externship, clinic, summer associate position, anything to get them “out in the real world.” That’s when it hit her. She had coached her high school’s mock trial team the summer after her first year, and interned at the Hartford County DA’s the summer after. But they paid her. Her school had a weird ‘double-dip’ policy, where you weren’t allowed to take a position for class credit and get paid at the same time. It was a confusing rule, convoluted and bizarre and probably a little bit elitist, but it was a rule. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, and then somehow it did. 

Turning to her laptop, she started searching for just about anything that could possibly help her. The school’s website, the Manhattan District Attorney’s, state offices, NGOs, federal prosecutors, anyone that might have a lead. Frantically dragging over her resumé and throwing together a cover letter that probably (hopefully) looked way more interesting than it actually was, Cassidy fired off email after email after email. Two hours later, she had sent off some twenty-odd applications, hoping that at least one or two would end up panning out. Glancing at her watch, she let out an exasperated breath. 12:22 A.M. Her classes didn’t start until nine, but it took almost an hour and a subway connection to get to Columbia, and she had to eat and shower before. So, really, it meant getting up at about seven. She needed to go to bed. 

Stomach reeling and feeling more resigned than anything, Cass haphazardly brushed her teeth, flossed — it didn’t matter how tired she was, she’d never forget to floss — and clambered into bed, wearing a faded, way-too-big Rangers t-shirt. I’ll be okay. She took a deep breath. It’ll be okay. It has to be. Cassidy Cabrera Shaw was tough as nails and stubborn as hell, and she wasn’t going to let everything she had worked so hard for fall apart so easily. 

Whenever Cass was nervous, or anxious, or afraid, she was never able to sleep well. She ended up waking up at ten past six, sitting in her bed for fifteen minutes praying that she’d fall back asleep, and finally accepting her fate that sleep just wasn’t going to come. Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from where she had left it charging on the nightstand. Nightstand was maybe a generous term for it; technically, it was a wooden milk crate that she had spray painted white when she and the other girls had moved into the apartment two years prior. She had a little bit of money set aside from college, but every penny possible was going towards tuition and those ungodly-expensive books that she had to buy every semester. The mattress and frame were from Ikea, and Cass had brought some things like bedding and a desk from her old room. The rest of it — rugs, lighting, and decorations like her six-inch ceramic peacock (his name was Charles) had come from a combination of Goodwill runs and senior citizen yard sales. 

Wincing as she did so, Cass pulled up her email, bracing herself for the inevitable barrage of rejection. After scrolling past ten or so automated “no longer hiring” and “position has been filled” messages, one caught her eye. She had sent a few emails to professors of hers, not expecting to hear anything back for a few days. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but there certainly were advantages of going to school in a city as massive as New York. All of her professors knew someone and had some kind of connection from their own education, or days in the practice, or childhood summer trips to the Hamptons with someone who just so happened to be a judge on the Second Circuit Court — that last one was last year’s employment law professor. One particular subject line caught her eye. Thought you might be interested, Professor Murakami had written. David, as he preferred to be called, was her Sports Law professor from last year. She didn’t go into the class expecting to enjoy it all that much, if she was being honest. She had gotten a crappy registration time and most other classes were filled, so it had started out as a placeholder and nothing more. Over the semester, though, it had quickly become one of her favorites, combining pieces of everything else she had studied into one cohesive course. Cass also wasn’t in a position to be turning down any potential offers, so she opened the email and started reading. 

I got your email, Cassidy, and think I might be able to help. Okay, so far, so good. I happen to have a contact in the counsel’s office of one of the professional sports teams in the city. That’s exactly what Cass was talking about — where do these people meet each other? Is there some kind of exclusive speakeasy you’re given the password to as soon as you’re admitted to the state bar? Chris Cohen works for the Islanders, and I remember you talking about how interested in hockey you are. Okay, true, but the Islanders? She had practically been born with a Ranger’s jersey on. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought. I gave him a heads-up that I’d likely be sending a promising candidate his way, so just let me know if this sounds like something you’d be interested in and I’ll send along your contact information. 

Cass couldn’t respond fast enough. Yes, please! 

---

Wednesdays were her ‘easy’ days, if you could say that. She had Environmental Law and Human Rights back-to-back, but anything after noon was pretty much fair game. That being said, it certainly didn’t mean that she was any less stressed. There were at least a hundred pages to read before class the next day, she had a sample essay due for bar prep, and her mind was still racing about the email. Grabbing a gyro from the cart outside of her last class of the day, Cass stress-ate with one hand while continually refreshing her inbox with the other.  Food wasn’t allowed in the library, so she ate the last few bites right outside the doors, throwing away the wrapper and squeezing past the hordes of clearly overwhelmed first-years running to get to class on time. 

Popping her Airpods out of their case and into her ears, Cass briskly made her way up the stairs to the third floor, crossing her fingers that her usual spot, a big blue chair over by the research desk, was open. She was in luck, pulling out a water bottle and laptop and getting to work on editing. Four hours later, she had reached some semblance of satisfaction with her work, shutting off her computer and making her way to the subway. There was about half an hour before she had to transfer to the line that would take her to the apartment; squeezing into one of the last free seats, she tugged out a textbook and a highlighter. Why her professor insisted on assigning the entire text of the United Nations charter was a mystery to her, but she’d rather jump off a cliff than be cold called on without an answer. Transferring at Grand Concourse took about ten minutes — it was rush hour, so the first train to come was entirely full — and another twenty or so minutes later, she was letting herself into her shared East Bronx apartment. 

Hanging up her denim jacket by the door and toeing off her sneakers, Cass let out a not-so-subtle exasperated sigh. 

“One of those days?” Alicia piped in from the kitchen. Alicia also lived in the apartment, one of the four sorority sisters-turned-roommates who had made the move from Connecticut down to New York after graduation. Cass padded into the kitchen, where she was greeted by Alicia in front of a skillet and rice cooker, intensely sautéeing some vegetables.

“You have no idea,” Cass said, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha making?” There were obviously some nights when not everyone was home — most often either Cass or Ryanne, who was in med school — but they always tried to have a few nights a week where someone would cook a meal for the whole house. 

“Japchae, it’s my mom’s recipe,” she replied. “I called her and asked how much sesame oil to use, and she just said ‘until it tastes right.’ Like, I love you, Mom, but that doesn’t really help my cause, does it?”

Cass snorted. “Oh for sure, it’s the same way with me. Do you remember the first time I made tamales down here?” Cass had grown up eating and making tamales with her mom and abuela, but she had never been allowed to really take the reins. She had the recipe, though, so the first night after they were moved in, she ventured down to the closest bodega, bought the ingredients, and decided to try her hand making them from scratch. The recipe, however, left out the key piece of exactly how much water to use for steaming — Cass didn’t know, and her mom had always just eyeballed it. So she had ended up putting in way too little and setting the stove way too hot, and to make a long story short, ended up setting off the fire alarm. The one saving grace was the extremely attractive police office that came to double-check the false alarm, but even he couldn’t wipe the mortified expression off of her face. 

“How could I forget?” Alicia responded with a grin. “Go put your shit down, it’ll be ready in a few.”

Cass playfully rolled her eyes, heading towards her room in the back. “Yes, mother.” Their apartment was a three bedroom; while obviously it would have been amazing for everyone to have their own, it was still New York City and none of them were exactly rolling in the dough. Cassidy and Ryanne were obviously still students, and while Alicia and Stella had actual jobs  — Stella worked international business down by Wall Street and Alicia did something with satellites in Queens — none of them were exactly inclined to set out on their own just yet. So Stella and Alicia shared a room, and she and Ryanne had their own. She shrugged off her jacket, slinging her backpack onto the bed before chugging the rest of her water bottle and checking her phone. Two new emails. A 20% off coupon to Lush, and one from Chris Cohen. Chris Cohen? It took her a minute to remember, but when she did, she couldn’t read it fast enough.

Honestly, Cass didn’t read the whole thing, but got enough information to know that she had an interview Friday afternoon at the office in Brooklyn, that Chris  — he had said to call him Chris — said she came with a stellar recommendation from Professor Murakami (an old law school buddy, figures) and that there was no way in hell she was going to fuck this up. She wouldn’t let herself. 

---

Cass was lucky her Thursdays were so packed; if she had any extra time to stress over her impending interview, she would have, but she couldn’t. She had two ‘free’ hours in between classes, but after she had scarfed down lunch (Alicia had, mercifully, made plenty of leftovers) it was the only stretch she had to hit the gym. Coupled with the time it took to walk there, change, and shower after, there really wasn’t much in the way of downtime. After classes was her bar prep group, and the day was so exhausting that it was pretty much all she could manage to take the train home, microwave dinosaur chicken nuggets, and stumble into bed. After flossing. 

---

If Cassidy lived in any other city, she would have felt wildly out of place on her morning commute. Who shows up to school wearing a suit? She wasn’t an absolute masochist, so her heels were in her bag. But for once in her life she didn’t feel so out of place among the presumably-highbrow, presumably-making-six-figures crowd surrounding her. The suit had been her first big purchase for herself  — she had scraped by without one in college, but invested as soon as she had a little saved up from her summer job at a boutique in town. Her mother had always told her that it was the woman who made the clothes, rather than the other way around, and Cass always did what her mom said. 

Samaira, one of her friends and another editor on the Columbia Law Review, caught up to her as they both left the twice-weekly morning meeting. “You seem kind of jumpy, Cass. What’s up?”

Cassidy wrung her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I told you that I missed the internship requirement thing, right?” Samaira nodded. “Well, I have an internship in,” she paused to look at her watch, “two hours, and I’m so nervous I’m going to mess this up. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get it. There’s not time to look for something else, there’s no alternative, and I don’t know what to do if my own stupidity and forgetfulness is the only thing standing in between me and something I’ve worked so fucking hard for—”

Samaira cut her off. “I’m going to stop you there. That’s bull, Cass, and you know it. You are the furthest thing from a disappointment. You’re one of the kindest, sharpest, and most creative people I know, and you’re not going to let something as petty as a deadline stand in your way. Time gets away from all of us sometimes, and it’s nothing to beat yourself up over. I want you to be confident and have faith in yourself, because you deserve it, but if you don’t, it’s okay. I get it. I believe in you enough for the both of us.” She squeezed Cass’ hand. 

She managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Samaira.”

“Any time,” she replied easily. “I’ve got to run to class now, but I want to hear how it went the second you get out, okay?”

“I will.”

Samaira rolled her eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to crush this, Cass. Love you!” She added, waving goodbye as she turned the corner.

There was half an hour before Cass needed to head over to the interview, and before she knew it her feet had taken her to her favorite spot on the north side of Central Park. Grabbing a bagel, she thankfully found the bench empty. After finishing the bagel — she would have preferred cheese, but they were out, so cinnamon raisin it was — and the better part of her Hozier-dominated acoustic playlist, it was time to catch the train. She jumped on with barely a second to spare, grabbing a strap and trying to avoid bumping into anyone. 

A seat opened up about halfway to Brooklyn, and Cass took the opportunity to unceremoniously tug off her much more practical flats and switch into the much more professional ankle-strap heels that had been stuffed in her backpack all day. For a fleeting moment, she was worried what everyone around her would think; she was, after all, technically changing on public transportation. A man got on at the next stop who was dressed head-to-toe in neon orange while carrying a Pomeranian in his purse. Nobody batted an eye. She got over herself pretty quickly.

Getting off at the Barclays Center station, Cass pulled out her phone, opening up the camera to give herself a quick once-over. As much as she hated it, first impressions really were everything. Lipstick? Not smudged. Hair? Minimal flyaways. Teeth? No spinach to be seen. Triple-checking that she had the time right, Cass walked through the doors of the office building, Islanders logo emblazoned on the wall behind the secretary’s desk. 

“Hi,” she said tentatively, catching his attention. “I have an interview with Chris Cohen at 2?” 

The secretary nodded, smiling warmly at her. “No problem. I’m Josh, you can have a seat over there,” he nodded to the small waiting area off to the side, “and I’ll call you when he’s ready for you to be sent up.”

Cass didn’t wait for more than five minutes before Josh gave her the go-ahead, and she was soon headed up the elevator to Chris’ office. “Fourth door on the left. It should have his name on it,” Josh had added. 

She raised her fist, knocking quickly on the frosted glass. It swung open a second later, a kind-looking man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair answering. “You must be Cassidy. I’m Chris Cohen, so nice to meet you. Come right in,” he said, ushering her through the room, where several other associates sat at desks, and into his office. 

“David’s always good at keeping an eye out for me in his courses, and I was happy he passed you along,” Chris said, pulling out her resumé. “And you’re a 3L, correct?” She nodded. “Good. So let’s dive right into it. What courses and work experience do you have that you feel best position you for success in this position?” Much though Cass was loath to admit it, if there was anything she was good at, it was talking herself up. There was a reason her high school superlative was “Most Likely to be Able to Talk Their Way Out of a Ticket.” She launched into a well-rehearsed response, making sure to lace in her love for hockey once or twice. If nothing else, it would hopefully at least get her some brownie points. He had a few questions about her resumé, asked about her work on the law review, a few hypotheticals about contract law. She was batting a thousand until he asked the dreaded final question. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

Cass was wracking her brain, trying to come up with some intelligent-sounding thing to ask, but nothing came. “Uh—” she started, but was saved by the bell. Or, rather, saved by a frantic door opening and a panicked-sounding Mat Barzal bursting into the room. “Chris, I’ve got a problem.”

[mistymark]

nct dream x hogwarts

nct dream as hogwarts students // 2.3k words // masterlist // send requests here

r e n j u n

the only slytherin in the gang

probably muggle-born but also top of most of his classes

what can he say hes amazed by this shit

really good at theory-based subjects especially

history of magic is his bitch lets be real

sketches in his books and stuff

says he likes sketching with quills the most because theyre more aesthetic

donghyuck says its because hes pretentious

but the whole group pitched in to get him some really nice canvases and paints and other tools

one of his paintings is hanging in the school somewhere, and the little girl in it smiles and greets all the students as they walk past

somehow she always tries to spit on people who had been annoying him recently - and them only

sometimes she spits on Donghyuck for no reason

jeno laughs and says its because she has a crush on him

uses magic for the dumbest things just because he can

he mastered the wingardium leviosa spell within a week because he couldn't be bothered getting up to get things

when he gets close to graduation, hes pretty much practicing simple wandless magic

once freaked out the first years because jaemin charmed a storm cloud to hang around him for an entire day

it flashed lightning when he got particularly annoyed, which was a lot because that cloud was annoying as shit

has a really old owl that literally looks evil but has called it something like “snuggles”

laughs when he unintentionally swoops too low and skims other students’ heads on mail day

buys all his friends gifts during the holidays and comes back with bags filled with fun shit

pretends he never buys gifts for chenle and jisung

always ends up giving them more

cause hes soft like that

but he headlocks them after to show his dominance

has a habit of throwing his cases in the general direction of the dorm when he comes back from holidays and accidentally hitting other students

plays quidditch in his free time

debates strategies with Jeno during their free periods

gets called a traitor by his own captain

couldnt really give a shit about his own team, he prefers to support his friends

wears his school uniform properly and is the only one in the group who does so

j e n o

a Gryffindor

probably quidditch captain

and dubbed the best player on the team

super humble about it too

always commends his team for doing their best when they lose and every member loves him a lot

the captain that's always saying stuff like “it doesn't matter how this game ends... as long as we try our hardest and play as a team”

the entire team rolls their eyes at his cheesiness but the lack of pressure keeps them at ease

and majority of the time they play really well

though its clear his focus is on quidditch, he still does really well in his classes

cant cook but is somehow rlly good at potions??

likes all the really tiny creatures in care of magical creatures

and they like him too

has a slightly damaged snitch that he carries around with him at all times

one of the wings broke during his first ever game of quidditch and he never got rid of it

he keeps it in the pocket of his robes and fiddles with it when he's anxious about something

has a really good poker face when he's stressed and you'd never know until you hear the soft clicking of his hand playing with it in his pocket while he studies

has a terrible poker face when something confuses him though

during class its so obvious when he doesnt get something

renjun once charmed question marks to hang around his head and everyone in the class died laughing

even jeno

overall great sense of humour

he brought a cat

of course

and its always getting him into trouble for wandering into the off-limits areas of the castle or into the restricted section of the library

once jaemin joked that the cat was actually an animagus that was purposely trying to get him in trouble 

and jeno was spooked for like a week

wouldn't let the cat sleep on his bed and almost had a heart attack when he saw it wandering the halls between classes

but there was nothing wrong with the cat

shes just a curious girl

had a major glow-up between 6th and 7th year and everyone fell in love with him lmao

like everyone knew he was fit from quidditch but they didnt know he was that fit you know

heartthrob

d o n g h y u c k

an annoying brat

at least when he first arrived at Hogwarts in first year

has really good intentions though

everyone thought he would get sorted into Slytherin 

like the second he stepped on the train and found his way into mark lee’s compartment everyone was like this kid has GOT to be a Slytherin

but no! hufflepuff

true fullsun

used to be a beater on the quidditch team but he was forced to quit until he got his grades up

but he ended up commentating because he couldnt play

and who can actually talk that fast other than the lee donghyuck

and actually found that he enjoyed that more

so even when his grades were t h r i v i n g

he stayed as a commentator

absolutely hilarious and everyone loves him for it

is Not afraid to call out foul plays

mutters quick apologies to the professors when they scold him but does it again later anyway

tbh is actually really popular

known for being dared to stand on the Slytherin table and sing at the top of his lungs 

and actually doing it

he got two weeks detention

“worth it” - donghyuck, circa. 2019

has a talent for defence against the dark arts

acts like the smartest person in the room during that class

hes lowkey right tho

(don't tell him)

wears his tie way too loose and constantly gets told off about it

promises professors he’ll fix it then walks away and just,,, doesnt

his Hufflepuff scarf hangs off his bed frame back home

had a toad for his first few years of hogwarts but the toad ended up passing away so now he has a really troublesome owl

the owl itself is a good boy, flies fast and efficiently, but has a nasty habit of pecking donghyuck when hes hungry

“but hes hungry all the time” he whines when jaemin explains the bird’s just hungry. meanwhile, jaemin’s owl is sitting softly beside him, her eyes closed as he pets her

every first day back from holidays hyuck has red lines on his hands, arms and ears from the owl

chenle says its for giving the poor bastard a terrible name

donghyuck never actually refers to his owl by his proper name, always things like “bastard” and “dipshit”

theres a conspiracy theory about the owl’s real name and no one in their group will spill the secret

complains that the animals in care of magical creatures like him more than his own pet

“lol tru” - Chenle

j a e m i n

ravenclaw’s biggest flirt and most popular student

probably didnt even want to run for house captain but still got the position

theres a rumour that he was offered head boy but he turned it down

was the first one to find the kitchens and claimed it as the unofficial hang out spot for their group

if you’re ever missing jaemin, he’s probably in the kitchens chatting up the elves and stealing food every now and then

carries snacks with him everywhere for when he needs to comfort one of his babies house members

literally all the younger year levels feel so comfortable coming to him with their problems

has no issue with staying up in the common room to talk through things with someone

is known to walk people to their classes and then bolt to his own classrooms so hes not late

50% of the school is already in love with him

he was given the angel reputation back in first year and it hasn't let him down

is kind of a troublemaker tho

teases his classmates and even some professors that he has a good relationship with

really really loves transfiguration

probably wants to become an animagus

also wants to be an auror

absolutely loves defence of the dark arts

his owl is white and regal

like genuinely beautiful

she always looks like shes happy to see you

just like her owner uwu

he named her something sweet and meaningful

when Renjuns owl isnt able to fly, jaemin’s owl is eager to take Renjuns mail back to his family for him

wears his jumper all year round

its a good look though,, no ones complaining

was on the quidditch team up until his final year

he dropped it to focus on his studies and also being house captain

it takes him forever to go anywhere because he stops to talk to everyone

somehow knows everyone in school

even the third years in other houses??

runs errands for teachers with a smile

offers to buy food when the group goes out

c h e n l e

another muggleborn

but fits in so well

like the boy is just a natural at magic

unfortunately it doesnt always transfer into his grades

he has such a great interest in everything,,, just not on what hes learning

learnt fourth year history of magic in his first year but still almost failed his exam at the end of year

also hes the best other hufflepuff in the group

didnt understand quidditch for at least a year

ended up in the team in second year and is actually really good

probably the goalie

has the loudest laugh in school

the older professors claim they can hear him from the other side of the castle

somehow gets his hands on all the coolest magic stuff

has the marauders map no doubt

bought himself an invisibility cloak to mess with his friends

makes his professors laugh a lot

fist bumps everyone in school istg

like chenle w h y

really good at muggle studies too

made sure to select it as a subject the entire time he was at hogwarts as a slack class

doesnt really study and then feels threatened when someone gets a mark close to his

studies his butt off for the next test to maintain his status as top rank

definitely had a rat first year because he thought they were cool

and also because he knows rats can be pets like ??? wyd with owls you guys ??? shouldn't they be out in the wild or smth??

was super depressed when he found out how short the lifespans of rats were

ended up having to buy an owl in third year because rip nugget 2k15 :((

his owl is Small

thought it would be funny to call it renjun

but then renjun wouldnt talk to him for almost a week

visits the owlery at least once a week during his free periods to check on his owl

collects his thoughts up there

also rlly likes feeding the owls

sometimes steals Jeno’s cat

catch him in his dorm studying on his bed with Jeno’s cat sleeping in his lap

chenle claims its because the cats like the warm greenhouse vibe the Hufflepuff dorm has going on

but the real reason he bribed the cat into loving him when he first met it

probably was the one to lead the cat to the off-limits areas of the castle

j i s u n g

Gryffindors best seeker to date

kinda shy but is rlly admired by everyone

likes to piss jeno off by missing practice every two practices to study

but low-key hes so good he doesnt really have to go at all

doesnt want a career in quidditch but is constantly reminded he could have one if he wanted it

easily the most popular boy in his year

got asked out a few times this year and awkwardly rejected them all in the nicest way possible

he has a cat thats just as long and skinny as he is

jeno likes to call it sungie and it now responds to that name

enjoys care of magical creatures but very hesitant towards the creatures

but because of his care and precaution, the animals all really love him lmao

gets really soft around them now

seriously oblivious to his admirers tho

chenle once said if the triwizard tournament was to be brought back jisung would be the one to be chosen

has lived in fear ever since

okay jokes

boy could totally win

the only one in the group who has attempted and can successfully perform wordless magic

he knows way too many jinxes and charms off the top of his head that he can easily jinx you without even uttering a word

once was studying in the great hall when one of his friends teased him about rejecting someone and without looking up from his book he just lifted his wand and waved it, jinxing the apple in his friend’s hand to bite him

got detention but honestly the professor was so pleased with his progress it was only a one hour session

has a lot of sass 

evidently

never Fully awake at breakfast

always looks really good in the evenings tho

he comes down to breakfast with his tie half undone and the top button of his shirt open

undoes the top buttons when he’s stressed too

professors love having him as a student

especially because they know he hangs out with jaemin

but the fact that he was in renjun and Donghyuck and Chenle’s group was enough for them to be wary

but hes the perfect blend of fun and focused in lessons

likes studying outside in summer

enjoys walking around school grounds during the holidays

[gulfportofficial]

And now for a horse of a different color.  I’m trying to sort my files lately which means reading a lot of old unfinished stuff, and I have... all of this stuff from which this is excerpted and nothing to do with it cuz I’m never gonna finish it. This is not a GP excerpt, nor even an excerpt of political robot erotica. It’s another character from another piece for another fandom under another identity but specifically it’s a a number of conversations between a gay man who had to publicly come out at 40 and his ex-workmate and his mom who kinda-knew-but-didn’t and his older boyfriend. Anyway, I thought some of y’all might like it. 

It was late, but he was hungry. And bored. He got Johnson to meet him for pool and a sandwich. That turned out to be easy to do because he didn’t even make the call himself. Instead, he shamelessly organized it through his detail. He didn’t know these guys yet, but he knew the system, and he knew what protectees could and couldn’t ask for. One of the things that protectees could ask for was social arrangements made late at night, and it probably helped that the contact in this case was on the secret service books. He got them to arrange a meeting in a bar he could get roast beef.

Ed was, he thought, just about used to being in a situation like this with his own detail. It made him antsy, sure, like he was at work but not doing any work, but if he thought about it like an investigation or a stakeout, he could kind of roleplay it. Johnson didn’t seem to be bothered being escorted into the place either, which was notable in someone that anxious. Maybe he was adopting the same approach Ed was? Or already drunk, given the time. It seemed likely.

If anything, actually, he seemed to think it was funny. Get you, Eddie, Ed could hear him thinking when he sat down on his barstool. Ed bought him a beer out of silent acknowledgement and handed him a menu. “It’s midnight, I don’t know if I need a sandwich,” Johnson said. But he took the menu anyway.

“Don’t have to,” Ed said. “That’s just what I’m doing.”

“Right.”

“How’s work?”

“Pretty much the same.”

“You on PD still?”

“Yeah, still West Wing. Might get promoted.”

Ed nodded. He put two fingers up and they ordered sandwiches. Johnson had a new haircut and Ed wondered if he should say something. He wasn’t sure if they knew each other well enough to comment on things like appearances.

“You look good,” Johnson said, resolving that issue. Ed nodded at that too.

“Just went to dinner at the White House,” he said. He waved his hand over his suit. “That’s what this is about.”    

“Did they not feed you?”

“They did, just wanted a sandwich.”

“Down for the depositions?”

“It’s the last one,” Ed said. “Tomorrow I’m done. That’s it. Are you looking for an apartment? I’m not going to need mine anymore.”

“I’ve got an apartment, thanks Eddie.”

“Okay then.”

Johnson’s brows were knotted in the middle of his face. That was the kind of nervy expression Ed recognized on him. It was weirdly reassuring. “Are you…” Johnson said. “I don’t want to be rude but are you okay?”

“Just hungry,” Ed said.

“Wanted a midnight sandwich?”

“Sure did.”

“Well, okay. Glad it’s not some kind of crisis.”

“Nope.”

“Or some kind of late night… you know, mission or something. That’s what I thought, when they called me. Like maybe you wanted information or something. But if you’ve just been to the White House I guess you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Ed said. “This is just a friendly visit.”

“Question,” Johnson said. “Do you ever… I find, sometimes, when I’m socializing, you know, normal socializing, having a sandwich, that sometimes I say regular things but because of the way I say them, I don’t sound social.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I kind of sound like a cop.”

Ed laughed. It took him by so much surprise that beer came out of his nose. Johnson smiled back at him. It was a hopeful, sweet grin, like he was really proud to have made Ed laugh. Then sandwiches were put in front of them and Ed said thank you but it came out choked because of the beer. He coughed.  

“How’s married life?” Johnson asked him.

“Not actually married life, but it’s fine,” Ed said.

Johnson was still smiling. He really did seem like he was happy to be seeing Ed and Ed didn’t know how to feel about that. He pulled his sandwich apart to check on the tomato. One thing he could say about not-actually-married life was that now he was fussy about tomatoes. Southern tomatoes, apparently, were better, and should only ever be eaten in season.

“You could now though,” Johnson said. “I mean, legally. Right?”

“You don’t think that would be kind of politically stupid?”

“How do you mean?”

“Look, I appreciate your liberal attitude,” Ed said. “It’s refreshing. But as far as the rest of the country goes, I’ve stopped asking to review my own mail because after a while the death threats just get depressing.”

Johnson nodded. His new haircut made him look like a short, fleshy Matt Damon, especially making this serious face. It suited him. “Content or volume?”

“Definitely both.”

“That’s really rough, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Ed said. “The press stuff is worse.”

“I liked your interview.”

“Thanks.”

“Liked your mom’s too. Nice to put a face to the voice.”

“Oh Jesus I forgot about that. What did you get?”

“It’s tuna.”

“I was gonna say,” Ed said, “that I just wish they’d leave my mom alone. And I do. But you’re right, it was a good surprise interview at least.”

“She gave them a good stern shaming. They probably came out worse off.”

“Yeah.”

“That where you get it from?”

Ed snorted. “Probably.”

“You’re lucky having a mom like that.”

Ed didn’t know how to answer that. Because the truth was that he was. He was extremely lucky to have a mom like that. The fact that every conversation they’d had since Ed’s grand revelation had been hard and strained and weird didn’t change that. He was extremely lucky in his mother and he didn’t get to be ungrateful.

The interview with his dad was bullshit. It wasn’t damaging-to-the-President bullshit, or even bullshit that could do anything to him, but it was absolutely bullshit that would do something to his mom. And just bullshit in general, but that was nothing new from his dad. But he was lucky in his mom.

He remembered calling his dad from the hotel in DC. It was funny how coming out to his dad didn’t mean anything. With his mother it had been borderline traumatic, but with his dad he didn’t care. It meant less than doing it at work. He’d tried to assess what kind of protections his dad and his new family would need and to present it in a simple enough way they wouldn’t have to nitpick about it, but the “dad, I’m a homosexual and I’m fucking the disgraced former President of these united states” part of it was a whole lot of nothing. He guessed this time he at least didn’t feel five years old again, at least. Sometimes that happened, that he’d start the call feeling secure and adult and then somehow end up wandering into feeling like a little kid nobody wanted to pay attention to.

So this time he’d talked quickly. Sure, he’d asked himself why he didn’t care, but the answer was never satisfying. He didn’t care because his father wasn’t anybody. He was just some guy. The President had looked at him strangely, and Ed had wondered if there was something wrong with his face. Or if he was holding his body wrong. He thought he might be scowling. Probably like he was scowling now.

“He was so involved while you were under,” the President had said.

“That’s what he’s like.”

“How so?”

“He’s just not really interested in anything unless it’s easy or he’s getting something out of it. And there was press around, I guess, and he saw his moment.”

“I see.”

“Look, you can’t repeat any of this to my mother,” Ed said. “I mean, assuming you ever meet her. But there are some things about my dad she’s determined to protect me from so I just pretend that I don’t know them. You watch, she’ll never say a bad word about him when I’m around. But he’s that sort of guy.”

“The sort of guy who’s concerned about his son?”

“The sort of guy who was gone by the time I woke up.”

“Oh yes,” the President said. “Yes, I see what you mean.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No, but Claire did.” He could still say her name back then.

“Well, he’s an asshole.”

The President gave him a very solemn look. When he spoke, it sounded angry but like he was trying not to give into it. That was odd. Difficult to parse. “Did he…?” he said.

It was unusual for him to start talking without knowing what he was going to say, Ed thought. But he had this time. Or maybe he knew what to say but not how to moderate it, and that was what was tripping him up? Ed wanted to intercede before the President could actually get himself distressed, but he couldn’t figure it out. “Did he…?” the President said again, and there was a flinch in his shoulders and Ed got it.

“No,” he said. “It’s nothing like that. They’re just divorced and I don’t talk to him that much.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” Ed said. “Not in a way that needs me to talk about it to you. He’s just a regular, ordinary dirtbag. Couple of times a year on the phone is sufficient.”

“What do you mean dirtbag?”

“What does anybody mean? Cheated a lot, I guess, but it’s more kind of the general attitude.”

“What’s ‘a lot’?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ed said. “Don’t worry about him. I don’t.”

“Here’s the thing about the Catholic Church,” Ed said, in the bar, to Johnson, while Johnson was chalking his cue. They’d wanted to play pool, and so they were.

“Here’s the thing,” Ed repeated. “They’re pretty anti us getting married, as a stance. But if the option is getting married or us living in sin, I think they prefer it if we do.”

“You can’t like, have kids though,” blowing the chalk. He leaned over the table.

“Yeah no shit. I’m not saying it’s logical. I’m just telling you the facts. We shouldn’t be fucking at all but if we do we shouldn’t use birth control.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I said it didn’t.”

“Yeah, but like, no sense.”

“Shut up, Johnny. Don’t make me defend Catholicism.”

Calling Johnson ‘Johnny’ was the sort of thing that should’ve felt weird, but it didn’t. Was he flirting with him? It wasn’t the way he’d usually flirt. It wasn’t the way he’d usually get someone to look him in the eye so he could flick it back at them. He thought he was, a little though. Not for any outcome, but because he could. Flexing a new power, flirting as part of a whole cosmopolitan persona. If he was roleplaying, maybe it was at this.

“Would you want to get married?” Johnson asked him.

“Dunno,” Ed said. “Don’t usually gamble on the future.”

“Not a gamble, is it.”

“Dunno.”

“I know this song,” Johnson said. He swayed ever so slightly on his feet, but he corrected himself to line his cue up. One of those people who got good at pool when he got drunk, Ed figured.

“I know it,” he said, again. “It’s really pissing me off, I can’t place it.”

“It’s Britney, bitch,” Ed said.

Johnson looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes, and then he laughed. “What the fuck?”

“It’s Britney Spears,” Ed said. He knew why Johnson was laughing, but he also knew he’d keep laughing if he didn’t let on that he knew why, so he didn’t. “It’s Piece of Me from the album Blackout, 2007,” he said, completely deadpan.

“How do you even know that?”

“Because, Johnny, I’m a homosexual whose sluttiest period was the late naughties.”

He made a show of chalking his own cue while he enjoyed the reaction to that. Johnson pushed his cue into the table with laughter and Ed worried he might break it.

“Wait, weren’t you still in the corps then,” Johnson said.

“Sure was.”

“But didn’t they… sorry, is this rude? What about DADT?”

“What about it?” Ed said.

“I just don’t think I’d be that brave.”

“It’s not brave, it’s just animal.”

“I mean, I wasn’t that brave.”

“Excuse me?” Ed said, but Johnson was already shooting and the moment was gone.

He reflexively scrolled through Grindr for hookups in the car back to the apartment, but he didn’t arrange any. It wasn’t just because it would have been complicated, with his new celebrity status, it was that, he didn’t want to. He texted the President instead. He was still up somehow, which probably wasn’t a good thing, but Ed was glad of it anyway. Maybe the best thing about all these trips was the President’s texts. He flirted with aplomb in text.

Ed liked it. He fell asleep in his empty apartment with his hand down his pants and woke up in just enough time to get ready for the last part of the hearing.

The final hearing was, much like being on the phone with his dad, a whole lot of nothing.

***

Ed didn’t know if he’d ever get used to how cold it could get in Maine. Nothing in his life so far had prepared him for this kind of whole environment arctic cold, cold where nothing even seemed to be causing it. It wasn’t cold because it was high up, or windy off the sea, it wasn’t cold because there was snow. It was just cold.

He wondered why the President hadn’t wanted to move in summer, though he guessed it was less that he’d decided on winter and more that he’d decided at all. So it happened to be winter, so what? The President wasn’t intimidated by weather. It was time to move now.

Ed blew into his hands waiting for the car to warm up. In addition to everything else, he wondered why he hadn’t started to drive home yet. He was perched in the parking lot of the Shaw’s, two bags of groceries in the back, running the heater, and not driving. He probably wasn’t supposed to smoke in the car but he did anyway. Just one.

Part of him assumed that what he was doing was letting the moment land. He hadn’t been Between Jobs in a long time, but it wasn’t that he was worried about unemployment. He wasn’t worried about money, and he wasn’t really worried anyway, just conscious. Conscious of the absolute closure of an entire career. Conscious of leaping into the unknown. It gave him pause in a way a lot of scarier things hadn’t, and he felt that it warranted one quiet cigarette in the parking lot of the Shaw’s.

Halfway through, he called his mom. “Eddie?” his mother said. “Are you smoking?”

“Yeah,” Ed said. “Just one though. So listen, dad…”

“It’s a slippery slope. It’s just one today, but it’s ten tomorrow.”

“I know, Ma.”

“If you knew, you wouldn’t do it, so I don’t think you do know. Your great uncle died of lung cancer, Eddie. And Joey has heart disease now, some kind of fatty blockage.”

“Ma…”

“They’re putting a stent in and…”

“Ma…”

“… they wouldn’t have to if he didn’t smoke, the doctor said that specifically. He said it was smoking.”

“Ma,” Ed said, “can we just… not do this? I’m having one cigarette in the parking lot of a fucking Shaw’s and I don’t want to talk about how I’m going to die of lung cancer.”

He heard his mother moving the phone around. Probably she was doing something else with her hands. She didn’t react to his snapping, or to his swearing, so he guessed that whatever it was, it was calming. “So you’re in a great big mood, as usual,” she said.

“I guess.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just… never mind. I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t smoke.”

“Well, you’re right, you’re a grown man.”

“Yeah, but you’re still my mom.”

“Glad to hear that still holds water,” she said. “Did you just get back from Washington?”

“Yeah, I did. How’d you know that?”

“Eddie, two of my brothers are cops and so was my son and I haven’t even counted how many nephews. I know how to crack a case.”

Ed laughed. “Okay, but tell me how.”

“I knew you were down there because of the papers.”

“Oh right, yeah.”

“And I knew you were back in New England because of the Shaw’s.”

“That’s pretty good, Ma.”

“Not bad, huh?”

“So how are you?”

His mother made an annoyed little sigh. “Oh, you know. I changed my number like you said to… well, you know, you’re calling me on it, so far so good. Sometimes they still come up to me, but that’s getting less. I’m still same old me, after all.”

“I’m really sorry,” Ed said. “I wish there was a way to make them leave you alone. I’ve really been trying. I thought maybe after that one interview they would.”

“It’s not your fault, Eddie. They’re just vultures. Do you know what it reminds me of? Princess Diana. Remember how the paparazzi kept chasing her and chasing her, and then she died! I’m extra careful when I’m driving, just in case.”

“So you’re Princess Di in this scenario?”

“Alright, watch that tone, smartass. Your mother can still turn it out.”

“Gross, Ma.”

“Your boyfriend is the same age as I am, Eddie.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nobody you need to know about.”

Ed chose not to point out that in this at least he was his mother’s son.

Whether or not his mother changed the subject on purpose he didn’t know. “The other thing it makes me think of is Edward VIII,” she said. “Or, he does, he makes me think of that. Abdicating the throne for love.”

“Well, that’s not why…”

“It all just seems very English to me somehow, I don’t know. Don’t you think? Like it’s a throne, just being inherited.”

“Are you maybe just watching The Crown?”

“I did watch that, but I would have thought of it anyway, and besides, they’re not up to Diana. I don’t know if they’ll get up to Diana. It’s a pretty slow moving show, if you want my opinion.”

“Sure.”

“I’m watching Veep now.”

“You don’t usually watch stuff like that,” Ed said.

“I have a sudden interest,” his mother said, dryly. “I get some of the jokes. I’m meant to get the jokes, I think. Here, let me read this out to you, it’s in the Register.”

“I mean, sure…”

“Listen. It’s a review: ‘the secret service agent’s relationship with her look-alike’s daughter, while widely assumed to be about as close to parodying the former President’s scandalous affair with the head of his protection detail as Legal allowed, is barely able to get to the real heart of the corrupt Underwood administration…’ it goes on, something about, oh you know, it’s political. Do you want to hear the rest?”

“I really don’t.”

“Alright, but is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Are they based on you and… the President?”

“I mean, yeah,” Ed said. “I think so. I guess.”

“They’re having a baby this season.”

“That’s nice.”

“Is that based on the two of you as well?”

“No, Ma,” Ed said. “I’d tell you if we were having a baby.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” his mother said, sarcastically.

“Ma…”

“Given how much you love to tell me things.”

“Ma…”

“I’m guessing you’re not… cold food vegans either.”

“No Ma, that’s lesbians. We’re guys, we eat meat.”

“Clea DuVall was in another gay movie, did you know that, Eddie?”

“Yes, Ma. It’s called But I’m a Cheerleader. I’m a 90s Gay. I know about it.”

“Well, excuse me, but I’m trying to relate here. I didn’t know you were any kind of gay until about two months ago.”

“Well, now you do,” Ed said, much too harshly.

He regretted that. He regretted how reflexive being defensive about all of this was to him. He knew he was snapping at her because he felt guilty, though exactly which part of things he was most guilty about was hard to put his finger on, much less articulate. There was a silence and Ed wasn’t sure what it stood for. Apologies, maybe, but he didn’t know whose. A moment of silence for silences past.

“It’s just that you had this whole life you never told me about,” she said, at last.

“I’m sorry, Ma.”

“I’m not riding you about it. You would have had your reasons.”

“Yeah, but they were dumb.”

“Young men are allowed to be dumb. It goes along with the territory of being men.”

And you could have asked me, Ed thought, but he didn't say it. What he said was “great," and then he thought, then he knew, he’d heard the click of a lighter and a slight inhale from his mother's end of the phone.

“Are you shitting me, Ma?" he said "You’re smoking now? What about lung cancer?”

“Well, if you’re allowed one then so am I.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed one!”

“Was it like that, though?”

“Whatd’ya mean?” Ed said.

“Don’t be stupid. I know you’re not a girl, and you didn’t fall for the President’s daughter. But you’re not going to quit your job and move states for someone you’re not in love with.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You love him.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“So, was it like that?”

“I don’t know, Ma,” Ed said. “What are you asking me? If I... I don't understand the question.”

“You feel so far away,” his mother said. “Do you want to come down for a little while? You can bring… him with you if you like.”

“We’re just settling in up here.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess I don’t know. We have a place. I don’t have a job.”

“One good thing to come out of all of this,” his mother said, “is that you’re finally changing jobs.”

“Oh great. You too, huh?”

“What do you mean, you too?”

“You know he wouldn’t let me go back on the force?”

“Who?”

“Frank. The President.”

“Well, at least we have one thing in common.”

“That, and Downton Abbey.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, he likes it. I still hate it.”

“Oh, you just don’t like anything good.”

“But you can come up, when we do,” Ed said. “I mean. If you want to.”

That seemed to take his mother by surprise. “Of course I do.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted to meet him.”

“Eddie,” his mother said, “of course.”

“I just wasn’t sure.”

“Oh, Eddie,” his mother said.

She sounded so bereft. Ed had to work to keep hold of his composure and he wasn’t even sure he succeeded. “I’m so sorry, Ma,” he said.

“One of these days, Eddie bear,” his mother said, “you and I will have a talk about regrets. I understand more about it than you think. Your father…”

She didn’t speak for a little while. Ed’s cigarette had burned down and he dropped it into his coffee cup. He thought about lighting another. “Ma? His interview…”

“No, never mind,” she said. “Another time. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.”

“Ma, I kind of called to talk about it.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I just think some of what he said is bullshit.”

“Your father will say what he’s going to say, Eddie.”

“Yeah, and it’s shit.”

“He’s your father,” his mother said. “You’ve only got one."

Sometimes Ed noticed that whenever he felt bad about his mother, whenever he worried about worrying her, he pinched the bridge of his nose. From other people and from movies it seemed like that was a pretty common gesture in response to stress, but whenever Ed did it, he thought about something specific. Specifically, he thought about when he broke his nose by sliding into home on his face.

It had been accidental (the face part, not the sliding in), but initially he had felt good about it anyway. He bled everywhere, but it didn’t seem to hurt while they were winning. It hurt like fuck when he got home though. His mother had shrieked, and then the pain had hit him.

She couldn’t set it. He knew she worried about it later, because he heard her say it a couple of times, that his nose was crooked and that was her fault, but she couldn’t set it. He’d sat with a cold washcloth on his face while she readied herself, but then when she’d gripped it he cried so hard she could only give it the smallest adjustment. Then he threw up on her. She had taken that with grace, forcing herself (he guessed) to look nothing but sympathetic while she cleaned them both off and then bundled him up onto the sofa in front of the television. She let him lie there for the rest of the night.

Ed remembered eating mashed potatoes and then sleeping. He remembered his mother lifting his much shorter but still gangly legs up so she could sit herself under them. He’d watched TV with his legs on her lap after his surgeries too.

It was stupid, maybe, but Madame President Actual kissing his cheek had reminded him of that. Actually, it was more than stupid, it was fucked up. He had no interest in kissing his mother like that. But he guessed they just felt in some ways the same kind of safe.

Bilson, or it was probably Bilson - in Ed’s head they were all just called ‘New Guy’ -  knocked on the window and Ed rolled it down. He held up a finger. “I gotta go, Ma.”

“I love you,” his mother said.

Her voice hurt him to hear and his own voice hurt him to use but he didn’t know what else to do. “Love you too,” he said.  

His phone rang again as soon as he hung up. “Ed?” the President barked, “where the hell are you?”

“Grocery store,” Ed said.

“What on earth for?”

Ed hesitated. “For… uh, groceries?”

“You got in an hour and a half ago, what are you doing there?”

“I called my mom about my dad’s article, okay? Relax.”

There was a pause. “What article?” the President said.

“It’s in the LA Times,” Ed said. “No idea why. Guess they approached him.”

“What article specifically please, Edward? Give me details.”

Ed heard him shuffling, moving stuff around. He was getting a pen, probably. He’d be writing this down. He’d probably call someone. He might be slipping on his reading glasses. Ed knew what that looked like, that officious, scowling face he made on the phone.

“It’s my dad,” Ed said. “He’s done some kind of exclusive. About our relationship.”

“Ours?”

“Mine and his. His and my mom’s. Yours and mine by association.”

The President grunted. “It’s bad?”

“It’s not great,” Ed said.

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that he has strongly implied that he and I didn’t have a closer relationship due to my mom conspiring to keep us apart.”

“That’s not true, is it?”

“It’s not remotely true,” Ed said. “If anything, the opposite is, so I don’t know what the fuck he thinks he’s doing except trying to get in on the story.”

There was a pause at the President’s end. The kind of pause that sounded like it was happening in reaction to Ed losing his cool. Which Ed didn’t think he had, but then the President cleared his throat in a way that turned Ed’s speculation into a certainty. Ed started to get mad about it. If the President thought he’d lost his cool before, he was about to learn something.

“Are you alright?” the President said. Cautiously. Ed tried to wind it down.

“I’m fine,” Ed said. “I’m just… I’m… you know, my mom…”

“You say you called her?”

“Yeah. She’s okay.”

“And you?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Are you fine?”

“I’m fine,” Ed said, again. He snaked another cigarette out of the pack. He tapped it on the dashboard a couple of times but then he lit it.

“Are you smoking, Edward?”

“Yes I’m smoking,” Ed said. He heard the President grunt again, though he wisely (in Ed’s opinion) chose not to say anything else about it. “Are you coming home?” he said, instead.

“I’m just at the Shaw’s,” Ed said.

“Yes, but after that.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m in Maine, what else am I going to do?”

“I don’t know, look up Stephen King on Grindr?”

Ed snorted. And at that point he realized Bilson was still waiting for him. Which made him basically the biggest dick in the world. He couldn’t even imagine what his mom would say about treating his employees like The Help. It probably made him one of the worst characters on Downton Abbey, but he didn’t care enough to know which one.

He wound his window down. “I’m gonna drive,” he told Bilson.

“Sure thing, sir. Just let me get my…”

“I don’t want anyone else in the car.”

“Sir, someone else has to be in the car with you at all…”

“I don’t want anyone else in the car,” Ed said. “If anyone gives you shit, tell ‘em I said so, but no-one’s getting in the car.”

He didn’t know what he’d have to do if Bilson insisted again. He felt himself squaring his shoulders into a defensive posture and he tried to chill out, but Bilson nodded. “Okay, sir. We’ll follow.”

Ed nodded back. “Respectful distance, okay?” he said. “I’ve already got someone riding my ass.”

He didn’t wait to look at how that went over. He didn’t care. He was, after all, a 90s gay. He didn’t want anyone listening to him blow off steam singing along to Britney Spears. If nothing else, Piece of Me was probably a little on the nose.

[amarynceus]

State of the Artist - September 2019

Hello all.  It’s been a while since I did one of these.

Sorry for the lapse in communication; BronyCon drained me more than I realised, on top of fighting the general burnout and anxiety and minor depressive episodes I’ve had for some time.  I’m just coming out of one that ate the last week and a half or so (I managed to destroy a client's watercolour painting right as it was on the verge of completion) and am trying to get back on track.  I haven’t had energy for being online or interacting with people; about the only site I’ve been active on is Twitter, and only sporadically.  My apologies to those who have sent me messages lately; chances are I haven’t even seen them yet.  I’ll do my best to catch up on correspondence as soon as I can.

Now, a few items.

BronyCon Commissions

First of all, if you commissioned me at BronyCon but haven’t yet sent me your mailing address, please do so! I still have no place to send a half dozen or so of these commissions, and no way of contacting anyone.  If you’ve lost the business card I gave you when you commissioned me, please email me at amarynceus78@gmail.com with your mailing address and a brief description of what you commissioned so I can match it with my notes from the convention.

My apologies for the delays on these.  I took too many (3 dozen!) and severely underestimated the time it would take me to complete them all, and am still only halfway through the list.  I’ve also had multiple interruptions and delays that have severely damaged my creative output for the last several weeks.  I’m back at work now, though, and will complete and send out commissions as soon as possible.  I still have 17 traditional comms to complete from BC, including all the inks and colours.  Thank you all for your patience.  A dozen or so have been mailed out, and I plan to have the rest of them completed within the next two weeks.

(I know that’s what I said a month ago when I took the commissions in the first place!  Con crud and general exhaustion took a greater toll than anticipated, quite apart from other life interruptions.)

BronyCon in Retrospect

BronyCon was quite the experience.  Way too many people for me, but it was really great to see so many wonderful horse people, and to see so many of my beautiful trans siblings out and proud. <3  I wish I had had more energy to do and see things outside of the vendor’s hall, but four days of vending took basically all of my energy. It was amazing to get to hang out with so many friends I've made online; that was by far the best part.  I didn't get to spend near enough time with any of you, but I'm thankful for the time I had.

Thanks again to all those who dropped by my booth at BronyCon to say hi or to buy my art.  It was quite the experience, and great to meet many fans in person.

That said, it was extremely exhausting. 11,000 people was a bit much for me, especially having only done one convention before.  I'm glad all the conventions I'm thinking of applying to vend at next year are much smaller affairs.

Patreon Paused

My Patreon continues to be on hiatus until I’ve caught up more on my past-due rewards.  It will be paused through October and possibly November.  Please note that I have ‘Charge Up Front’ enabled, so I’d suggest those interested in supporting my Patreon campaign sign on at the $1 tier for now, even if you’re eyeing a higher tier.

If you want to donate to support me during the hiatus, my PayPal is via avatarzbrown@gmail.com.

General Commission Notes

I am very close to completing my current queue of in-progress works.  Once I do so, I’ll be going on holiday to recharge.  I’ve been running on empty for far too long.  

I’ll be taking on new commissions once I’m completely caught up on the art I owe people, and not before.

Burnout and Depression

As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been struggling with these.  This year has been difficult for me; I’ve been struggling with a lot of health issues, physical and mental, and it’s been extremely difficult to get any artwork done, either for others or myself.  Indeed, I’ve hardly been drawing for myself at all since the end of the 1000 Days of Doodles.  When I can manage to force myself to be productive, I’m compelled to work on my long-overdue commissions; I feel too guilty and anxious to work on my own projects most of the time.  This is most likely only further contributing to my general malaise with art.

I had a lot of plans and ambitions for this year.  By this point I was supposed to have created an artbook of the 1000 Days of Doodles project, be four months past the launch my long-delayed comic, caught up with all my patron rewards and gift art, completed all my commissions, and have finished two dozen more paintings that have been bubbling around for a while.  

I have managed to do exactly zero of these things, and I’m not at all happy about it.  After completing almost 550 individual artworks in 2018, I expected, once I had rested and recovered, to be able to turn that kind of energy and productivity on other things.  That has not happened, and it has been disheartening and disappointing, to say the least.  I’ve basically been feeling like a total failure and imposter, flawed and fake and worthless. (I know this isn’t true.)

Of course, one problem is that I never rested and recovered.  I gave myself a little time at the start of the year, but I tried to force myself back to work too soon, and have been paying the price ever since.  I kept telling myself, 'I’m just a bit tired, another week and I’ll feel fine,' week after week after week - it’s only lately that I’ve had to admit that I’ve actually been fighting burnout.  If I had taken an extra month at the beginning of the year, perhaps I could have averted this; that’s just idle speculation, though.

Anyway, I could go on and on, but I have to deal with things the way they are.  I’ll keep chipping away at the work and dig myself out of this hole.  Thank you for your patience.  I'll get everything done as soon as I can.

Cheers and take care of yourselves.  Burnout stinks.

- AZ / Amar

Again, if you haven’t sent me your mailing address for your BronyCon commission, please send it and a description of your piece to amarynceus78@gmail.com.

[bronzeflower]

Freckles from Guardian Angels

Also on ao3

Chapter 4: The UA Practical Exam

-----

This was it.

Shouta stared up at the large gates of UA, preparing himself to take the entrance exam.

"Hey, hey, don't look so down, listener! Even if you don't pass the practical part of the exam, you can still get into the hero course if you do well in the Sports Festival."

"I just need rescue points, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not exactly feasible for most people. It's best to get an even mixture of both, ya dig?"

"I'm not most people."

"That's it!" Present Mic flew up dramatically and gave Shouta a pair of finger guns. "I love the confidence! Keep it up!"

"Remember, no helping me," Shouta reminded, and Present Mic rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

With that, Shouta walked in, ready for anything UA threw at him.

This included the robots, however annoying they were.

Shouta's plan basically consisted of avoiding robots and looking out for injured or stuck people. He knew that there was no way he could defeat any of the robots with his current abilities, so he focused solely on gaining rescue points.

Shouta was also pointedly ignoring Present Mic, who had made his duty to be Shouta's personal cheerleader and hype man, although Shouta felt that the encouragement was more from a place of Present Mic needing to say something rather than anything else.

It was all going reasonably well until the zero-pointer showed up. After that, chaos reigned. Everyone was running, and Shouta was suddenly finding it increasingly easier to find people who had fallen or gotten hurt.

Shouta wasn't really keeping track of his points at all. That would just slow him down and keeping track of the number would just make him panic if he felt he was behind. Besides, after the zero-pointer showed up, Shouta was pretty sure he would have lost count anyway.

In the end, Shouta was struck by the feeling that he didn't do enough, even at Present Mic's insistence that he did amazing and should be proud of the work he did accomplish.

Once Shouta got his letter in the mail, both he and Present Mic were deathly silent as he opened it.

Shouta was shaking as he read the letter. He breathed in and out and put down the letter only to pick it up again a moment later. This process repeated several more times before Present Mic got impatient.

"What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me! What does it say?"

"It…" Shouta took a deep breath. "It says I got in. I got into the hero course."

Present Mic's grin was wide and impossible.

"YEAH!!!!!"

"Shhhhhhh!" Shouta hissed, his eyes glowing red. "You're too loud."

"And you got into the hero course! We should celebrate! Get some cake! Have a party! Adopt a cat!"

"I shouldn't celebrate yet. It's going to be a lot of work to succeed in the hero course.  I'll celebrate once I've actually become a hero."

"You're practical as always."

"...We could celebrate a little."

"YEAH!!!!!!" Present Mic shouted.

"But only if you're quiet!"

"Yeah!!!!" Present Mic yelled at a much more reasonable volume.

"Acceptable. Now let's get some cake."

-----

This was it.

Hizashi stared up at the large gates of UA, preparing himself to take the entrance exam.

He was vibrating with excitement. And nervousness. But mostly excitement!

Eraserhead had been certain that Hizashi could pass the practical portion of the exam with flying colors, particularly since he had a good quirk for the test they give. Hizashi was thankful that the test would be that much easier for him but spending so much time with Eraserhead had given him a concern towards other people for whom the test wasn’t made for.

Eraserhead probably had a point about today’s heroes being too flashy. But he also might be biased due to being an underground hero. Hizashi didn’t really get that-he wanted to be famous and the center of attention and maybe even have a radio show!

But Hizashi didn’t have time to think about any of that as the test started.

Hizashi did his best to not hurt the other participants of the exam. That wouldn’t be very heroic of him! Therefore, instead of going with loud, deafening shouts that would make defeating the robots so much easier, Hizashi did his best to find the pitch that would destroy the robots.

Which, granted, was at a frequency that still hurt the people around him, but it was much less than if he was screaming at full volume.

Generally though, Hizashi went to more isolated sections of the fake city so that he could use his quirk without worrying about others. It occurred to him that he would likely need some kind of support item to minimize the damage he did to his surroundings and to other people if he wanted to become a proper hero.

There was no way he was going near that zero-pointer though. Absolutely not. No. It was too much of a risk-it targeted the more populated areas, and there wasn’t any way he could take it down without hurting the other participants.

Hizashi did feel bad about it though, even if he was supposed to avoid the zero-pointer. There had to have been a reason to add it, other than the generic reason the announcer gave, and, given that this was a hero test, it was likely there to see how everyone reacted when faced with a large foe that they couldn’t possibly defeat.

Keeping a calm head in a crisis. There weren’t a lot of people who could do that, and some people had to work their whole lives to make sure they didn’t panic at the first sign of trouble.

Arrogance. People who go up against it because they think they’re invincible when they’re not.

Rescue. What do individuals make their priority? Do they save civilians, or do they save themselves without any regard for others? How do they go about doing so?

Eraserhead refused to tell Hizashi much about the test to give him a fair shot at it. But the things he did say about it made the entire test and what exactly it was testing blatantly obvious to Hizashi.

The test both felt like it took forever and no time at all, and Hizashi was left panting with exertion and adrenaline.

“Good job,” Eraserhead said, and Hizashi found himself grinning at the praise.

“You think I got in?” Hizashi managed to say.

“Worry about that later,” Eraserhead advised. “Right now, you need to rest.”

Hizashi nodded in agreement, basically face-planting on his bed the moment he got back home.

When he woke up, he spent the next few days in an anxious spiral as he worried over if he did well enough on the test to get into UA. Then, when he finally received the letter, it took him a full hour to gain the courage to open it, and that was with the rare encouragement from Eraserhead.

When Hizashi did manage to open the letter, his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t even read it, so he placed it down on a flat surface and smoothed out the paper, but he kept skipping words and phrases, and he knew he was, so he couldn’t trust himself to believe what was written on the paper.

“You got in,” Eraserhead stated, and that voice Hizashi could believe.

“I got in,” Hizashi whispered. “I got in! Can you believe it!? I got in!”

“Yeah, I can believe it,” Eraserhead confirmed, and Hizashi then ran off to tell his mothers the good news.

They celebrated, and if Hizashi’s excitement extended to possibly meeting his future husband, then no one had to know that. He was pretty sure Eraserhead figured it out anyway.

[welllpthisishappening]

For a Good Cause (1/2)

Emma wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t worried. She was maybe, kind of, sort of ridiculously excited. And just a hint anxious. Because she’d spent years watching Killian play on Garden ice and was almost getting used to Matt playing on Garden ice, but the thought of them playing together on Garden ice was enough to leave her heart beating just a hint faster than usual. 

Add into the mix absurd trash talk and ridiculous bets and handmade signs and Emma wasn’t sure she was going to get through the day without setting some kind of record for sighing dramatically. 

At least it was for a good cause. 

Rating: T. They banter. They kiss. They scandalize their kids by flirting.  AN: HAPPY HOCKEY SEASON EVERYONE, LET’S HOPE THE RANGERS AREN’T HORRENDOUS THIS YEAR! It’s time for me to get overly invested in the success of this ridiculous team and that, by extension, means it’s time to start posting an absurd number of words about the fictional version of the New York Rangers and this world that, seemingly, will not end. So, over the summer Zucc and Henrik hosted a charity hockey game and drafted their friends and it was as ridiculous as that sounds and both @optomisticgirl and @alicerubyfloyd were like “What if they did this in Blue Line?” And several thousand words later, here’s this. Time-wise, it’s July 2041, which makes Roland 31, Lizzie 24, Matt 22, Peggy 19 and Chris 13. Killian’s POV on Sunday. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll. 

“Sit.” “I can’t. Everyone is late.” “Wandering around this arena is not going to help.” “I don’t care.” “Swan.” “Killian.” Emma spun on the spot, pulled out of her pace mid-pace by several fingers around her wrist and the overwhelmingly effective smirk on Killian’s face and it wasn’t, technically, in the arena. He didn’t mention that. He probably knew it’d stress her out.

And that wasn’t even really the right word for it.

She wasn’t stressed out. She’d barely planned anything, was so used to doing events like these now she could probably come up with the schedule in her sleep and Merida had done most of it anyway. Emma had just agreed to do some Garden of Dreams promo and make sure the banners got to Chase Square on time and call someone in facilities about getting actual podiums set up.

That had been the most difficult part.

Stressed wasn’t the right word.

And it wasn’t worried either. She’d watched Killian play hockey for the better part of the last three decades and watched Roland play and Matt play and every single person that was, eventually, going to show up and stand by those absolutely absurd podiums was incredibly good at what they did.

They got paid millions for it.

Emma wasn’t really sure what emotion she was – unless it was generically annoyed because everyone was seriously late and Merida looked like she wanted to throw her phone at the will-call window behind her – but it might have just been some strange mix of nervous and excited and, well, mostly, nervous because she’d watched them all play hockey, but she’d never watched them play hockey together.

And she wasn’t sure she could handle her husband and her kid playing on the same ice at the same time.

“Swan, I can’t actually tug you down, it’s going to hurt my arm,” Killian muttered, and they both knew it was a great, big, enormous lie because he was probably in as good a shape as he’d been when he was playing. Maybe better. Well, no, maybe not that, but he still ran through Riverside three times a week and Emma was having more and more trouble thinking when she kept noticing new flecks of silver in his hair and--

“You’re trying to distract me,” she accused.

He nodded. “Yes, I am. Is it working?” “Not really, everyone is late.” “Or we’re just impossibly early.” “Is that really the word you were looking for?” Emma asked, hating whatever her voice was doing because his thumb had started tapping against the back of her wrist and she was ninety-two percent positive he didn’t mean to do it.

She didn’t think he even realized.

“I’m not really worried about the specifics of my sentence structure,” Killian said. “This is going to be fine.” “Of course it is.” He blinked. And his lips twisted, eyebrows pulled low when his eyes flashed up towards hers and Emma tried to make sure her smile looked as confident as she felt. That was one of the emotions she was feeling, she was certain.

She was confident. It was a great idea and it was going to be great and Garden of Dreams was going to make a shit ton of money for an anniversary thing that definitely deserved a charity hockey game with Rangers legends and some of the biggest names in the league today.

That’s what the e-mail blast had said.

Emma wrote it herself.

The whole thing had been her idea. She was pretty positive that was the only reason she wasn't freaking out. And she was having a lot of thoughts about Killian in uniform again. That were probably not appropriate for a game that also included her kid and her friends and Roland Locksley.

“Wait, what?” Killian asked, and Emma’s smile widened.

“Yeah, didn’t expect that at all, did you?” “I have no idea what the hell is going on now, love. Can you honestly sit down though, you’re going to do damage to the ground.” “The stone ground?” “Yes. Sit, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, but let him pull her towards him and she probably should have expected it – there was, after all, several decades worth of experience to all of this, but Emma wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever made out in Chase Square and she gasped when Killian tugged her onto his legs. “That can’t be safe, pre-game,” she mumbled, appreciating whatever sound he made when she tried to get more comfortable.

“You’re going to make me think you don’t think I’m game ready.” “You were the one going on about the state of your arm,” Emma challenged. She twisted again, slinging an arm around his shoulders so her fingers could find the back of his hair and they really were there impossibly early.

“Ah, but we agreed that was a distraction. And this conversation makes no sense.” “Slow on the uptake, Cap.” He arched an eyebrow, letting his head fall forward so his lips landed on the curve of her shoulder and Emma’s emotions settled into something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting. Merida was going to throw her phone at them.

“I’m still waiting on that explanation, love,” Killian muttered. “The game’s going to be fun. We raise some money, we score some goals, we impress loved ones.” “Loved ones?” “I am consistently and only ever trying to impress you. Who I love. Quite a bit in fact.” “Is this still part of the distraction?”

He made a contradictory noise, mouth still pressed against her skin and there hadn’t been much argument about naming him captain of one of the teams. Emma wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever really stopped being captain of the New York Rangers. Or would. Any tense, really.

There’d been some discussion about the other team and it took, exactly, ten minutes for Robin to sigh dramatically and agree to Merida’s request – possibly because Regina had turned towards him and her eyebrows didn’t move at all when she glared. It was incredibly intimidating.

“It’ll be good for TV,” Merida promised. “Plus don’t you want to brag to Cap when you come up with a different team?” “Wait, what?” Robin balked.

“I mean...you’re going to have to stage a draft.” A draft. For a charity game. On Garden ice. In the offseason. With all proceeds going to a very good cause and an absurd amount of signed merch that was piled in Emma’s office and had recently migrated a bit to Matt’s old room because there was so much and Chris had only argued a little bit about helping.

He was thirteen he argued about everything.

There’d been more talking after Merida’s announcement, more planning and way too much trash talk amongst a group of former and current athletes than Emma entirely expected, but they were all way too competitive and it was only a matter of time before someone made a bet about something.

Or several things.

There’d probably be multiple bets.

“Swan,” Killian said, drawing out her name and pulling her out of memories and she startled against his chest. It was enough to work another groan out of him. “Look who’s being incredibly distracting now.” “You’re going to scandalize Mer.” “She’s way too busy trying to figure out who hit what traffic and how much she’s got to placate this growing crowd.” He waved his free hand, the one not currently wrapped around her middle, through the air and it was a testament to Emma’s current mental state that she hadn’t noticed the crowd or the media or the, frankly, ridiculous number of twenty jerseys around them.

She was still sitting on Killian’s right thigh.

“You think we scandalized all of them by whatever it was you were doing to my shoulder?” she asked, and she expected his answering laugh.

“Oh, absolutely. That was part of the distraction technique too.” “This is a very involved plan.” “Yeah, well, you were going to do damage to the ground by pacing right through it,” Killian countered. “So it seems to keep getting more and more complex with each passing moment. Also I know you’re worried they’re all going to be weird about this.” “Weird?” “Weird. Strange. Overly competitive. Absolutely refuse to draft Scarlet until the very final pick.” Emma’s jaw cracked when it dropped, fingers still where they’d been tracing patterns on the back of Killian’s neck and she swore his hand tightened around her middle. “Have you been staging secret draft meetings without me, Cap?”

He shook his head, but that felt like a lie too and the smirk was honestly absurd. It shouldn’t get more powerful as the years went on.

Merida had started yelling in the phone. Emma wasn’t entirely sure it was all English.

“No, no, no, no,” Killian stammered, and Emma had to move her eyebrows when she glared. She was never as good as Regina.

“You want to try that again?” “They’re not meetings, really…” “No, they’re, like, battle plans,” Roland said, appearing in front of them with a smile on his face and head-to-toe Flyers gear. Killian groaned against Emma’s shoulder. “Why are you guys sitting on the ground? Don’t we have chairs at this shindig?” “Please don’t call it a shindig in front of Mer,” Emma implored. “She’s stressed enough as it is. And where did you come from?” “And what are you wearing?” Killian added.

Roland crossed his arms. “I play for this team, Hook. It’s not like I’m going to show up in blue merch for this. I don’t care what ice I’m skating on.” “You practice that?” “Several times in the cab cross-town.” “Gina know you took a cab?”

The orange appeared to get stronger or brighter or some other verb that wasn’t possible because it was a shirt and not a sentient being, the longer Roland stood there. His eyes widened and his lips pressed together, and Killian practically cackled into Emma’s arm.

“If you tell Gina that I took a cab from the apartment, she’s never going to let me back into the apartment,” Roland hissed.

“Why didn’t you come with them?” “They were having breakfast when Henry and his kids. Because Henry is staying in a hotel and--” “--Didn’t get guilt tripped by Gina to sleep on the couch when he was home for the weekend,” Emma added, and she wasn’t sure if that was another laugh out of Killian or if he’d just never really stopped, but Roland’s face was almost too red now. “Go stand next to Mer, Rol,” she continued. “I’d like to compare shades of red.”

He stuck his tongue out at her.

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian chuckled. “Thirty-year-old man guilt tripped by his mother and then embarrassed by it.” “Ok, I’m not embarrassed by it,” Roland argued. “I just didn’t know it was going to be some kind of point of contention or fodder for trash talk or--” “--Are we trash talking you?” Emma asked, the sound of footsteps moving towards them and it sounded like Merida had finally taken a deep breath. She probably should have helped some more. She was way too busy flirting with Killian.

“Well, yeah. Right, that’s what’s happening? Isn’t it? Also where is everyone?”

“That’s a very good question. We think that’s what Mer is yelling about.” “Trash talking the trash talkers, huh?” Emma shrugged. “I’m fairly positive she’s upset no one is taking this as seriously as they’re supposed to.” “That’s not true at all. Dad and Uncle Will and Hook had some kind of meeting about how they were going to draft. Uncle Will was super pissed they wanted to draft him last and Uncle Liam laughed so loudly the rumors were it was going to do damage to Hook’s phone.” “How do you know that?”

It could not have been safe for Roland’s skin to keep shifting between pale and flushed so quickly. Emma tried not to laugh. Killian absolutely did not.

“Ok, you can’t be annoyed by this,” Roland said, holding both his hands up and Emma widened her eyes. She figured Killian moved his eyebrows – based solely off the blush-type reaction in Roland’s cheeks. “I’m pretty positive Uncle Will told Mattie because he thinks Hook is going to draft Mattie first, which, you know, obviously.” “And that means what, exactly?” Emma asked, only slightly frustrated she hadn’t been involved in any of these pre-draft meetings.

She should not have been surprised that there were pre-draft meetings.

They were all way too competitive for their own good.

Roland sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. It sounded like Merida was growling on the other side of Chase Square. “I’m, like, sixty-seven percent positive Uncle Will thought he could get Mattie to persuade Hook to break the pre-draft agreement and then he wouldn’t be angry about getting drafted last or whatever, but I don’t think Mattie went for it. I’m like ninety-two percent positive about that.” “These percentages are absurd.” “Math’s not his strong suit,” Killian grinned.

Roland kicked at his ankle. “If that’s your form of trash talk you are crazy out of practice, Hook. And I only know because I talked to Mattie yesterday because--” “--You were trash talking?” “I mean if I lie are you actually going to ground me?” “As previously discussed, mate, you are a professional athlete. Who is thirty years old. I don’t think I’ve got that kind of clout anymore.” “Thirty-one. Technically.” “Math’s not his strong suit either,” Emma laughed, leaning back when Killian hooked his chin over her shoulder and there must have been hair in his face. He didn’t seem to mind.

Whoever groaned behind them, however, very clearly minded quite a bit.

And was holding two different signs.

“Aw, c’mon, seriously?” Peggy sighed, flanked by a clearly amused Anna and a slightly disgusted Liam. Elsa didn’t look surprised. Lizzie’s eyes darted towards Roland’s immediately. She was wearing orange too.

“Right?” Roland laughed. He took a step forward, cheeks still far too flushed to be healthy and curls that were far too long because it was the offseason and hockey players were notoriously lazy when there weren’t games to be played.

At least the ones Emma knew.

Her fingers moved back to Killian’s hair.

“You guys know there are chairs here, right?” Peggy asked. Someone laughed. It might have been Elsa. It was definitely Elsa. “Where’s Uncle Robin? Does Dad win by default if Uncle Robin forfeits the draft?” “No one is forfeiting anything,” Emma said evenly, tugging on the hem of Peggy’s shirt when she moved in front of them. It was appropriately team-branded. There wasn’t a C on her shoulder. Elsa was still laughing. “I think that’d actually make Merida start to cry.” “Does Mer know how to cry?” “I’d really rather not find out.” Peggy hummed in agreement, sinking onto the ground without ceremony and letting her elbows rest on her bent knees. “Yeah, that’s fair. She know there’s some crazy accident on the FDR? That’s why we were late.”

“Locksley doesn’t have that excuse,” Killian reasoned. “They’d probably be coming up 10th Avenue anyway.” “You some kind of traffic soothsayer now, KJ?” Elsa asked, Liam’s arm still around her when she moved and Killian was going to do permanent damage to his eyebrows. “How come you aren’t letting Emma sit in a chair?” “He’s worried about the draft,” Liam answered. Killian flipped him off.

“Hey, c’mon, your kid is sitting right there!” “I’m almost twenty, Uncle Liam,” Peggy said, and Emma wasn’t sure what her soul did at that, but she was glad she was perched on Killian’s right leg when it happened. His arm tightened again. “I don’t think that makes me a kid. And Dad’s not worried about the draft.” Sprained eyebrows. Honestly. Emma wondered where Ariel was. Probably stuck in some other part of Midtown. Or the Long Island Expressway.

“Is he not?” Liam asked, and they were all going to be sitting on the ground sooner rather than later.

Peggy shook her head. “Obviously not. You hear about that trash talk he was giving Uncle Robin after he made that mistake on TV?” She let out a low whistle, eyes bright and only a little disconcerting and all of their kids were far too charming for their own good. They knew it too. “Could barely talk about the game without laughing in the middle of his segment. Nah, Dad’s crazy confident in his team already.” “Maybe you’re the soothsayer, little love," Killian said, smile obvious in his voice and Emma groaned when he leaned both of them forward to read the signs in Peggy’s hands. “When’d you make these? And when did you see the segment?” “On the plane. I think the lady next to me thought I was legitimately crazy. You know how expensive markers are in the Eugene airport? Highway robbery, honestly.” “Wouldn’t it be, like, sky robbery?” Lizzie asked, and Peggy rolled her eyes. “You make everybody signs or just people you’re related to and making out with?” Peggy appeared to be trying to melt into the stone ground. Merida stopped talking for half a second. Emma was, at least, ninety-seven and a half percent positive it was because of the look on Killian’s face.

“Thanks a lot, Elizabeth,” Peggy grumbled, and Lizzie didn’t answer, just leaned further against Roland’s side. Peggy didn’t notice. She was far too busy staring at her hands. They were still holding signs. “Ok,” she mumbled. “It’s not really like that…” “What is it like then?” Killian asked. Anna laughed that time.

“Jeez, KJ. That was way too hardcore for whatever it is we’re doing. Where’s your other kids?” “Chris is with Mattie,” Emma explained. She wasn’t entirely sure if Killian could actually answer. Or formulate any thoughts that were not about getting immediate and concrete answers out of Peggy. She bit her lip.

“It’s really not like that,” she said again, glancing up under her lashes and Killian’s whole body sagged against Emma’s. Liam mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like overprotective idiot under his breath.

“You do not have a leg to stand on this situation, Liam,” Killian warned. “See if I draft you later.” “Please, I don’t want to play for your garbage team.” “Oh don’t do that,” Anna groaned. “You want to be on KJ’s team, Liam.” “How you figure?” Anna muttered a string of curses, most of them in a language that was neither English nor Norwegian, and something cracked loudly when she leaned back against Peggy’s side. “Ignore that,” she said, a command to the whole lot of them and there was another car door slamming from Seventh Avenue. “Also, you’ve got to be on KJ’s team because otherwise you’re going to have to face off against Matt and that’s going to literally be the single most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.” “And one time he fell off those rocks in Central Park and nearly sprained his wrist and had to come up with a lie to Mom and Dad about why he couldn’t move his hand without wincing,” Elsa added conspiratorially. Liam gaped at her. “Who’s the guy, Pegs?” Peggy gritted her teeth, glaring daggers at Lizzie. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.” “It’s not an anything,” Peggy shouted. “Margaret,” Killian muttered, and her whole body sagged forward when she exhaled dramatically.

“Who do we not know that’s playing in this game?” Emma asked. She tried to glance up through her skull when a hand landed on her shoulder and David grinned down at her.

“Your eyes are going to get stuck that way,” he said, Ruth plastered to his side and Mary Margaret was absolutely holding some form of baked good. “You know there’s a ton of traffic on the West Side, who decided to do this in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday?” “Ruby?” “God, remind me to yell at her about that, where is she?” “I have no idea,” Emma answered at the same time Peggy said “in her office, yelling at someone about the banners that very clearly aren’t here.” “How do you know that?” Peggy made a noise in the back of her throat. “She wanted to know where we were and if I was with you. And also where MD and Toph were.” “Are they not here yet?” Mary Margaret asked, already holding the Tupperware container out expectantly when Roland all but lunged at it. “And where’s the rest of the draft stock? Shouldn’t Robin be here? And Humbert?” Peggy froze. Liam chuckled.

“I’m not going to draft you solely so I can check you later, Liam,” Killian hissed, but his eyes didn’t move away from Peggy.

Emma reached out slowly, tapping her thumb on her lower lip in an effort to make sure she didn’t bite through it. “We don’t have time to get stitches, babe,” she mumbled. “And your brother will be mad if we steal his spotlight.” “Please,” Peggy countered. “The only brother’s who’s going to be mad about anything is Toph. Literally no one in the world has ever been more excited to see Dad play hockey.” Those emotions Emma was fifty percent certain she’d managed to corral a few minutes before reappeared in full force and the thought had crossed her mind more than anything else, the first and only time Chris would ever see his dad play on Garden ice and it made her heart do something and her pulse do something else and she wanted to scream and shout and jump up and down and one charity game should not be causing her so much personal turmoil.

She might make her own signs.

“Aw, we can’t even trash talk that,” Will said, and Emma wished they’d all stop teleporting to Chase Square. Peggy jumped up, concern over maybe boyfriends and guys who weren’t playing hockey, but had also grown up around hockey, forgotten as soon as Will moved towards them and he grunted when she threw the full force of her weight into his chest. “God, I’m not a hurdle, Margaret,” he mumbled, but there was a note of something in his voice and Peggy looked like she held on tighter. “You don’t have to try and jump over me.” “Shut up, Uncle Will.” “Aye, aye, ma’am.” She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, and David was only slightly vocal about not getting a reception like that. Will grinned at him over Peggy’s shoulder. “Why are you guys all sitting on the ground? Where’s Locksley?” “Stuck in traffic with Matt and Chris and Graham Humbert’s kid apparently,” Killian said, catching Emma around the wrist before she could swat at his shoulder. Will’s eyes widened.

“Dad,” Peggy whined. “It’s not like that. It’s...the only people who got signs were you and MD.” “Wait, wait, Scarlet and I didn’t get a sign?” Liam asked.

“Liam, I’m seriously going to check you tomorrow,” Killian said. Will’s eyes still had not returned to a size that was correct for a human being.

“And I don’t think Graham’s kid is in the same car as Chris and Mattie,” Emma reasoned. It wasn’t easy to stand up, particularly when Killian’s arm seemed intent on melding into her body, but she managed to shift back to her feet and Peggy scrunched her nose when she pried her away from Will’s chest.

Her hair brushed Emma’s mouth.

“You’re no help at all either,” Peggy grumbled. “And it’s really not like that at all. Jer and I are friends. Lizzie’s just a giant jerk and--”

“--Mattie was the one who told me he thought he had to talk to this guy in person this weekend,” Lizzie interrupted.

“What?”

Lizzie held both her hands up, a rare surrender from anyone with the last name Vankald or Jones. There were more footsteps coming towards them. And heels. It appeared Ruby had descended from her office. “If you tell him that I told you that Margaret Elsa, I will push you in traffic,” Lizzie hissed, Roland clicking his tongue and Will mumbling oh shit in between laughing.

“Why is MD talking to you about this?” “Probably for the same reason we always talk about this. And because he was really mad we accidentally liked that one girls Instagram photo.” There was a chorus of what from the ever-growing peanut gallery and Chris slammed into Killian’s side, barely managing to get up before a thirteen-year-old inadvertently concussed himself on his ribs. “Slow down, kid,” Killian mumbled out of habit, and it didn’t work. It never worked. None of the Jones Line ever learned to control their limbs.

“Dad, seriously, I need you to stop making that face,” Peggy continued, seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of her younger brother when she was so clearly planning the murder of her older brother. “I can make a sign that says Jer and I are just friends if that’d help.” “I mean, it might,” Killian admitted. He flashed her a smile and his eyebrows twisted, tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth in a way that was supposed to be charming, but just left Peggy groaning against Emma’s side with more hair everywhere.

“And,” she added. “That Instagram thing happened literally years ago. MD was like--” “--A sophomore in college,” Matt finished, stepping towards them with Robin and the rest of the Mills-Locksley family close behind and both Emma and Will chuckled when Roland practically jumped to attention.

“Saw that,” she mumbled. He made a face.

“I was a sophomore in college, Margaret,” Matt intoned, hardly flinching when Peggy kicked and punched at him and Emma was going to end up bruised and battered by the end of this inevitable argument. “And that girl thought I was nuts after.” “Should have explained it better,” Peggy said. “And, you know, look at you now. I bet she’s really regretting that decision.” “She wouldn’t have had to if you and Lizzie were normal people!” “Ok, well, that’s just kind of rude, MD.” “Super rude,” Lizzie agreed, digging her chin into Peggy’s shoulder when she took a step closer. “Plus, who freaks out about that? A normal person would have thought you were just interested in--” “--Stalking her,” Chris finished. Matt lunged at him, more laughter ringing in the air and both Killian and Emma sighed, but that was as much reprimand as they were going to get out because they were incredibly behind schedule and their kids were some of the best trash talkers in the Tri-State area.

“We were stalking here a little,” Lizzie admitted, the smile on Chris’ face growing with every passing minute. “You late because you were stuck in traffic or because you were watching film?” Chris stopped laughing. And Matt froze, a picture-perfect impersonation of Killian being caught mid-lie that was absolutely, positively not on purpose. Emma’s emotions could not handle that day. Peggy nearly fell over when she cackled.

“Oh God,” she mumbled, shaking her hair away from her face. “You don’t get to say anything to me for the rest of the weekend, MD. I can’t believe you almost messed up Mom’s event because you were showing off for Toph. That one goal against the Pens was not that impressive, I promise.”

Matt blinked. And it took Emma, approximately, three seconds and one emotion-fueled gasp for everything to click.

Because no one had ever been more excited for Killian Jones to make his return to Garden ice than Christopher Jones – even through all that thirteen-year-old teenage angst.

“Wasn’t me,” Matt muttered. “And that goal was insanely impressive and you know it.” “You flatter yourself.” “Wait until tomorrow. You’re going to be stunned.” “That so?” “Guaranteed.” “Care to place a wager on that?”

Matt’s smile was as wide as the entire goddamn island of Manhattan, eyes flashing and hair falling towards his eyes and Roland was already demanding to get in on that action too, Lizzie rummaging in her bag for a notebook to make sure the rules were properly documented.

Emma moved, fingers lacing with Killian’s on instinct and several other things that would make everyone in a twenty-foot radius groan and gag and Chris had three cookies in one hand. “Slow down kid,” she said. “Didn’t your brother feed you?” Chris nodded, bobbing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but then we were watching the film from the first Cup run and he was letting me practice that shot Rook took--”

“--In his apartment?” “Matt doesn’t care about his security deposit. You see his rookie signing bonus?” Emma scoffed, but she couldn’t argue and Chris probably knew more about the contract than Matt did. At least as much as Regina did. “And?” she prompted.

“And that was a really good goal at the end of the game, Dad.” Killian’s hand squeezed Emma’s. “Thanks,” he grinned, wrapping another arm around Chris’ middle and pulling him back to his side and there was the teenage angst, right on schedule in disgruntled noise form. “Nah, nah, you don’t get to compliment me and then try and get out of being properly parented in public.” “That sentence doesn’t even make any sense.” “You want to get on the ice later?” “I mean...obviously, but only so I can figure out how you got enough speed on that breakaway.” “Don’t expect too much out of him, Toph,” Robin said, a kid clinging to his side who did not appear to appreciate the amount of noise the Jones Line was making. “He was running on adrenaline and the end of the game and trying to impress your Mom.” “Gross,” Matt and Peggy yelled in tandem.

“True though,” Will promised. “Almost always for like eons.” “It has not been that long, Scarlet,” Killian objected.

“Hasn’t it? Time flies and keeps on slipping and all that. I got a question for you, Cap.” Killian hummed, caution in the sound and Chris’ eyes darted between the two of them like he was watching a passing exercise. “Who’s going to wear twenty in this game?” Will asked, and it was like someone had pressed pause or pulled all the oxygen out of the entire planet and Emma was not entirely prepared for Ruby to curse as loudly as she did.

“Aw, shit,” she growled, stomping her foot for emphasis. “I didn’t even think about that.” “And you don’t have to,” Killian promised. HIs hand was still a vice around Emma’s though, and Chris appeared to have turned into some kind of stone, the number on his back growing larger with every passing second. Or at least it felt that way.

“Hey, what?” Matt asked sharply. “That’s my number.” Killian shook his head. “That’s my number.”

“Are you kidding me?” “Are you?” “I’m not giving up my number,” Matt said evenly, and Emma wasn’t sure who laughed loudest or longest, but she had to resist the urge to glance at the ceiling because her kid never really tried to sound like Killian, but it usually happened that way more often than not.

Killian didn’t move, didn’t pull his hand away from Emma, but she swore he got taller or more intimidating and Matt’s shoulders slumped slightly. “If I’m going to play in this game, then I’m going to wear my number,” Killian said.

“Captain voice,” Chris mumbled, Matt rolling his whole head in frustration.

“See if I feed you again later, C,” he groaned. “Dad, is this a joke? It’s my number. Currently. I’m going to wear it in a couple of weeks when camp starts.” “Because he’s a professional hockey player now, Hook, you see,” Roland grinned, gaze darting towards Peggy when she couldn’t keep her laugh in her body.

“I’m well aware of what he is, mate. I’m just not entirely understanding why that’s got any bearing on what number he wears for this game.” “I’ve never worn anything except twenty,” Matt cried. “This is insane.” “Nah, I think that’s just you and Dad, MD,” Peggy said. “Also you’re both ridiculously superstitious. That might be the most insane part.” “That’s definitely the most insane part,” Lizzie agreed.

“Ah, that was nice backup. Sorry for you calling you Elizabeth before, it felt weird when I was saying it. I’d like to never do it again.” “I’d like to never hear it again.” “Done.” Peggy shrugged. “Maybe Uncle Liam can just check MD tomorrow instead. It was his fault anyway.” “Consider it done, Pegs,” Liam grinned, Elsa only groaning slightly at the guarantee. It didn’t matter. Emma groaned loudly enough for the both of them.

“You guys can’t check each other,” she said. “It’s a charity game. We’ve had this conversation, I know we have. I was there.” “We don’t know how to play any other way,” Will argued. Ruby was never going to stop cursing. That was probably what the stories would be about. “And I really, really want to check Cap.” “I’m not drafting you, Scarlet, I don’t know how you’re going to check Cap,” Robin said.

Will checked him. Without a stick.

“Scarlet, if you do that again, I will never let you on Garden ice,” Ruby threatened.

“Can you actually do that?” “You want to challenge it?” “I mean, not particularly.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ruby grinned, but that felt a little threatening too and Merida had finally hung up her phone.

“Are we all here?” she asked. Her hair was in even more disarray than Peggy’s. “Where’s Rook? And Humbert? Why did we invite Humbert?” Several pairs of eyes flashed towards Peggy, color rising in her cheeks and the toe of her shoe digging into the ground. “All of you guys are the worst,” she mumbled. “Can we focus on MD and Dad being crazy people instead? That’s way more fun.” “It is a little crazy, KJ,” Elsa said. “This is your kid. Wearing your number.” Killian narrowed his eyes. “A beacon of support, El. I can’t play on Garden ice if I’m not wearing my number. Peg’s right, it’s way too many superstitions.” “That’s ridiculous.” “You want to be responsible for the broken bones I’ll inevitably endure when Scarlet checks me?” Emma wasn’t sure what noise she made – a groan and gasp and possibly some kind of inhuman growl, but her head collided almost painfully with Killian’s shoulder and the twenty on her back was his twenty and they were arguing over possession of numbers.

“Wait, what?” Merida asked sharply. She looked like she was considering using the clipboard in her hand as a weapon.

“Nothing, nothing, Mer,” Robin promised. Killian’s eyes, somehow, got more narrow. “We’re super behind schedule, right? You look like you want to kill us.” “I don’t want to kill you. I want to know where Rook and Humbert are.” “Hey, hey, hey,” Phillip yelled, one hand in the air and Emma could just make out Canucks colors and Will was going to check Graham before he checked Killian. Before the game started. “We’re here, we’re here, Mer, please don’t curse us or anything. Did you guys start? Humbert was worried Cap was going to start without him so he didn’t have to draft him.” “Ok, I never said I’d do that,” Killian muttered, but that didn't ring quite true either and Peggy was biting her lip again. And doing an absolutely horrible job of avoiding Jeremy Humbert’s very obvious gaze.

“Right, right, God, should I be this out of breath before I’ve got to wreck all of you tomorrow?” “Wow, just starting real early with the trash talk, huh, Rook?” Ruby asked.

“I wanted to make up for lost time. Plus, I’ve got nothing on the Jones Line. Hey Pegs, when’d you land?” Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby was back to threatening and the media horde was starting to get restless and they really did need to draft a team. Preferably before Killian challenged Jeremy Humbert to one-on-one combat. Or Liam did. Or Will did. Or Matt did.

Peggy pushed her signs into Killian’s chest. “They both say skate fast,” she announced. “Because both you and MD are ridiculously fast and superstitious and I’m not that creative.”

Killian stared at her for a beat, those eons Will was talking about before seemingly passing by them just to prove a point or toy with Emma’s emotions. Peggy didn’t argue when he tugged her forward, brushing a kiss over the crown of her hair like she was a kid and not an even better athlete than her professional athlete brother.

“Thank you, little love,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go draft a team.”

That, however, proved to be more difficult than just standing at those absurd podiums with an absurd number of cameras pointed at them and Chris didn’t appreciate when Emma’s head fell to his shoulder. Peggy’s head was on his other side.

“I’m not actually a pillow person,” Chris hissed, while Ruby explained the rules and one player for every pick and please keep this rated PG and a few fans laughed at that. Robin won the coin toss to pick first. They literally flipped a coin. “God, P, stop digging your elbow into my hip.” “That is not where your hip is, Toph.” “Can you guys relax, please?” Emma asked, but it was drifting dangerously close to begging already and no one had even made a pick yet.

“Toph and MD didn’t invite me to their super cool, super hangout thing,” Peggy said. “That means I can do whatever I want with my elbows.” “I don’t think that’s entirely true, babe.” “And we didn’t know what time you were going to land,” Chris added. “So, like...move your elbow or I’m going to tell Jeremy Humbert you want to marry him.” Peggy jabbed him in the side, drawing a far too loud to be appropriate exclamation out of Chris that also led to him jumping to his feet and a shoulder slamming into Emma’s jaw. Killian’s head snapped up, both hands gripping the side of his podium with a wide-eyed gaze, like he was waiting for the inevitable broken bone or someone to find a stick somewhere and start hitting the other in the ankles.

Emma sighed.

And she almost didn’t hear it at first.

Peggy and Chris stopped arguing immediately.

“What?” Killian rasped, and Robin grinned like he’d already won the entire goddamn game.

“I said, with the first overall pick in whatever we’re calling this--” “--The summer classic, Locksley,” Ruby growled. “God, we’ve been over this.” “Right, right, yeah, that’s not very creative though.” “I’m going to revoke your captaincy, right here.” “Oh my God, Lucas, do it,” Will yelled, Liam shouting his own encouragements and Emma couldn’t actually see Matt anymore. He appeared to have slumped in his seat, Roland trying to pull him back up by the scruff of his own jersey.

“Say that again, Locksley,” Killian challenged. Robin’s expression didn’t change. “I’m drafting your kid, Cap. First overall, so, uh...congrats Matt, even better than your actual draft.”

Emma didn’t remember standing, only that she was and that was kind of a problem because her knees didn’t seem all that interested in functioning like actual parts of her body.

“It’s not like I didn’t get drafted, Uncle Robin,” Matt countered, but Robin shrugged and Ruby was trying to get him to come on stage so he could change jerseys. “Wait, wait, wait,” he sputtered. “This isn’t actually a joke?” “Please don’t call this event a joke, mini-Jones,” Ruby said.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ru.” “Yeah, sure you didn’t. I really need you to put this jersey on and pose for a photo. Like twenty minutes ago, honestly, but your parents were probably flirting and--” “--Hey,” Killian cut in sharply, and Emma hoped Ruby hadn’t done damage to any of her teeth when she snapped her jaw closed. “Alright, with the second overall pick in whatever the hell we’re calling this ridiculous game, I draft Roland Locksley. And I’m keeping my number, Matthew.”

Robin’s mouth fell open.

“Oh my God,” Ruby mumbled, head in her hands and Merida had dropped her clipboard on the ground. “Mini-Jones, I wasn’t kidding about the photo. That goes for you too now, Rol.” Roland saluted. “Sure thing, Rubes. You see what a better choice the number two overall pick is? Ready and willing to report for duty.” “You’re a kiss-up,” Matt hissed.

“And that’s an insult you came up with when you were eight years old. It still doesn’t make any sense now, Mattie.” “Aw, c’mon.” “Mattie Jones, going to lose more than half his faceoffs tomorrow afternoon.” “You’re a winger, Locksley,” Matt challenged, and Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, her two other kids enthusiastically cheering for whatever against the rules trash talk was preventing Ruby from staying on photo schedule.

“Who’s not going to score any goals tomorrow,” Peggy yelled. “Down with the Flyers! Fly away home, Locksley!” “That was kind of funny, P,” Chris grinned.

“Right? I’ve been waiting to use that forever. Who shows up in orange in New York? You look ridiculous!”

Roland ignored both of them.  “True, I am a winger, but you’re some kind of All-Rookie centerman, so that’s free bait to mock.” “That doesn’t make sense either! Yours makes less sense than mine did! At least I was eight, that gives me some more leeway to--” “--Guys, please,” Ruby groused. David was hysterical. The subReddit was probably already talking about this. Emma was pretty positive there was a live stream somewhere. “Locksley you’ve got to make another pick.”

“Of course, Lucas,” Robin said. “I’d like everyone to take notice that my draft pick couldn’t take his picture in a timely fashion because Cap’s draft pick stalled him.” “That’s your kid, Locksley,” Killian yelled.

“No, no, for the next forty-eight hours, that’s your right winger.” “Oh my God. I want Rook on my team.” “Cap, you can’t go out of order,” Ruby yelled, jumping slightly in frustration and Phillip was already standing up.

“Yeah, I don’t care. Rook, c’mere, you know how to take faceoffs?” “Are you kidding me, Killian?” Liam shouted. They were all, apparently, going to stand up now. “You’re going to draft a winger before you draft an actual centerman. Whose rookie record for faceoff wins stood for a very long time.” “He’d like the record to show,” Anna intoned dramatically. Elsa had to put her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. It didn’t work at all.

“Yeah, how’d that work out for you, Uncle Liam?” Matt asked archly.

Liam crossed his arms. “Don’t get uppity on me, kid. I’m willing to bet at least twenty bucks and some form of food for both you and your constantly hungry brother, if I win more faceoffs than you tomorrow.” “What if we’re on the same team?” “And I’m not always hungry,” Chris objected, a choir of ehhs raining down on him.

“C, you literally ate an entire box of cinnamon LIFE this morning,” Matt sighed, refusing to acknowledge Peggy’s outcry at that. The media horde was going to have a field day with this. “Alright, Uncle Liam, you’re on. No matter what team we’re on. You win more faceoffs than me, I want food, real food, not street cart shit.” “Matthew,” several adults shouted, and both the media and fans laughed loudly.

“You got a deal, kid,” Liam said, finally sitting back down.

Ruby inhaled, shoulders moving with the force of it. “Can we take two seconds to focus on what we’re actually here to do?” she snapped. “Cap, you can have Rook, I honestly do not--” “--Hey, I thought there were rules,” Robin interrupted. He’d definitely done damage to several teeth when Ruby very clearly tried to turn him to stone with the force of her glare. “Fine, fine, fine, then I take Humbert.”

Graham flashed a cautious smile over his shoulder, and Killian groaned, slouching so his forearms rested on the podium.

“Hey, remember that time Humbert punched, Cap?” Will asked brightly. “That was fun. What good memories we’ve got, huh?”

“You’re not doing your draft stock any favors, Scarlet,” Emma chided. He winked at her.

Ruby had sat down at some point. This was going to get its own 30 for 30 based solely on the absurdity of it all. “Alright, Locksley,” she said. “Back to you.”

It went that way for what felt like several increasingly long eternities, Emma tugging Chris back down so she had something to lean on and he didn’t bother arguing when Peggy moved to rest her head on his leg. And Emma couldn't really say she was surprised. Even if she hadn’t known about the pre-draft meetings, she knew both Killian and Robin would absolutely try to pick Will last, but she hadn’t expected it to come down to him and Liam.

There was a considerable amount of cursing going on in Norwegian.

“This is honestly insulting,” Liam announced, not for the first time.

“And embarrassing,” Elsa chipped in. “Babe, you’ve got to sit down. The pacing thing is freaking me out and you’re only playing into KJ’s plan.” “I have no plan, El,” Killian promised, but his eyes flickered towards Emma and his answering smile when she mouthed liar was honestly unfair. “I’m merely weighing my options.” “You’re being a jerk is what you’re being, KJ,” Anna corrected. “Lording your power.” “You think Liam will pull a hamstring from pacing so much? Can’t be healthy or a guy of age.” “Oh screw you, Killian,” Liam seethed, wincing when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry, Lucas. Just like...tell the media not to listen to me or something.” “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that,” Ruby said. She was still perched on the steps leading to the podiums, but she’d coerced Matt next to her some time in between the tenth and eleventh pick and they both looked dangerously close to falling asleep.

Emma wondered how much film had actually been watched the night before.

“Seriously, Cap,” Robin sighed. “It’s not that hard. Pick Scarlet and live with your spotty at best defense.” “What the hell, Locksley?” Will seethed. “Listen, you’re more removed from the game than I am. By, like, actual seasons.” “Four seasons, Scarlet.” “Five, actually. Do you not know how to tell time?” “God, did you really play that long after I retired?” Will nodded quickly, sarcasm practically radiating off the movement. “Yeah, you’re old, Locksley. And you are notoriously terrible in the defensive zone, so maybe you’re the one who needs a defender in this game.” “Where are you trying to get drafted, Scarlet?” Emma asked.

“At this point, I genuinely don’t care. I just want to go before Leader, so I can brag about that for the rest of time and then we can all get some food somewhere.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Ariel said, perched on the same seat as Mary Margaret with what appeared to be cookie crumbs sticking to the pads of her fingers.

Ruby made a noise that was equal parts absurd and impressive. “Did you teleport here?”

“Snuck in during the whole who gets to draft whose child debacle. M’s fed me, but this has honestly taken several lifetimes, right? Did someone feed Chris? He’s probably chewing Emma’s arm off back there.” “He and Pegs went to get pretzels like twenty minutes ago,” Emma explained. “You hit traffic in the tunnel?” “Someday that construction will be over. Hey, Pegs, how was your flight?”

Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby clicked her tongue and Liam threw his head back and there really weren’t many fans left. They’d exhausted the fans with their nonsense.

“You’ve really got to pick, KJ,” Elsa said, a note of ancient command in her voice that made several next-gen children sit up straighter. “Just take Liam so Anna and I can freak out about it.”

Killian tilted his head, and Emma could almost hear the thoughts and the metaphorical gears, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if that happened, but the world still didn’t seem to care because--

“I’ll take Liam,” Killian said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big and huge and emotional deal. “Need a centerman anyway.” “Wow, that’s a glorious show of support, little brother,” Liam muttered.

“Younger. And it’ll be easier for you to face off against Matt if you’re actually facing off against Matt.” “Jeez, Dad,” Matt mumbled. “That competitive streak knows no bounds, huh?” “You wouldn’t give me my number.”

“You going to score on a breakaway to impress, Mom?” Killian’s eyes flashed back towards Emma, standing again with an arm around Chris and something fluttering in her chest that might have been her heart or her pulse or the same thing it had done for eons because he still looked at her the same way he had all those same eons ago.

And she knew the answer to the question already.

“Every single time,” Killian grinned. Smirked. It was really a smirk. God, that worked so well.

Peggy gagged. “You better score a breakaway too then, MD. Show off that speed or something.”

“Yeah, well, you made a sign, right, Mar?” he asked. She nodded. “Alright, alright, well, I’ve got a distinct lack of cinnamon LIFE in my apartment now, so what do you say, Dad?” Killian quirked an eyebrow. “To?”

“A wager. Best breakaway has to refill my apartment with food because your kid depleted all my recently purchased groceries and probably will when he stays over again tonight.” “I’m staying over again tonight?” Chris asked, excitement obvious in every letter.

Matt shrugged. “I figured.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, ok!” “Hey, uh, not to spoil this undeniably adorable and only slightly debaucherous Jones family moment,” Will cut in. “But is anyone going to bother to draft me because it’s garbage you guys are being jerks about this.”

Robin laughed, jumping off the podium with an agility that was only slightly surprising. “Sure thing Scarlet,” he said. “I draft you, and if you let up a single goal, especially a Cap breakaway while you’re on the ice, I will check my own top defenseman, deal?” “Jeez, Locksley, you are insane when given any power. Gina, you know he’s like this?” Regina waved her hands through the air, a grandkid asleep on her shoulder. “I’m refusing to acknowledge any of this. I’m showing up in orange tomorrow, Jones, try and keep me out of the Garden.” “I wouldn’t dare, Gina,” Killian promised. He glanced back at Matt, a smug smile on his face and arms crossed over the twenty that really was both of theirs and Emma was going to hurt her neck shaking her head so often. “Alright, kid,” he said. “We’ve both got to try for breakaways, whoever gets it wins?” “What if you both get it?” Anna asked.

“Mom’ll judge,” Matt shrugged.

“No, no, no,” Emma exclaimed. “I am not doing that. I am not picking sides in any of this. This is absolutely insane and superstitious and I expect goals from both of you.” Killian laughed softly, covering more ground than Emma was entirely ready for and he was in her space almost immediately, lips on hers and a hand on her hip and the entire neighborhood probably groaned at that. “Deal, Swan,” Killian muttered, not bothering to move away from her mouth. “I’m totally going to win, though.” “God, that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “This doesn’t answer the question though,” Anna pointed out. “If you guys both score on breakaways, then someone’s got to win the bet. Matt can’t be without cinnamon LIFE forever.” “God forbid,” Killian chuckled.

“I’ll do it,” Will said, a note in his voice that refused any questions. “I doubt either of them’ll score because my defense will be that good against Cap and Dr. J absolutely cannot cope with beating Cap, so I’m going to win by default. But I’m more than happy to judge if they manage to try it or whatever.” “Eloquent as always, Scarlet,” Robin murmured.

“Yeah, well you should have drafted me earlier. Can we eat now or should we stick around and scandalize the New York media some more?” “Nah, I think we’ve done more than enough of that,” Ruby said. “I refuse to share a cab with Cap and Emma. They’re going to make eyes at each other.” “Not true,” Emma argued, an arm around her shoulders and kids already groaning before she added. “We’re totally going to make out in the back of the cab, so…” Killian kissed the top of her hair. And hailed a cab. And made out in the backseat.

[juniperpublishers-fashion-b-blog]

Correlation between the Fashion Industry and the Development of Eating Disorders — Juniper Publishers

To know more about Journal of Fashion Technology-https://juniperpublishers.com/ctftte/index.phpTo know more about open access journals Publishers click on Juniper Publishers

Opinion

Socio cultural influence has an important role in the background of eating disorders that occur in psychiatric practice more and more often. Eating disorders can be perceived also as a modern disease of civilization symptomatic of this age [1]. The cultural pressure of the thin ideal and learning through modelling have a great role in the development of eating disorders. This phenomenon is well-known in the background of several selfdestructive human behaviours (e.g., suicide, addictions). The thin models are primarily imitated by young people. According to the outcomes of Park's survey on the role of mass media (2005) the drive for thinness is increased by reading fashion magazines [2].

In our present study we analyse the narratives of the first author who was formerly a fashion model herself and the responses to her interview questions distributed among her fellow model colleagues. This study aims to investigate the correlation between the development of eating disorders and being employed in the fashion industry, as well as the pathological effect of the pressure for thinness, by using the personal experience of the author and other international models having worked in the fashion industry for several years.

Based on the responses we received from former high fashion models, there is a strong correlation between working in the fashion industry and having elevated risk factors of developing eating disorders. It is stated in almost every answer that we received from former models, that the influence of agents, stylists, fashion designers and in general the fashion industry's environment pressure high fashion models to a certain degree, where they even tend to use self- destructive methods to shape their bodies (e.g. severe calorie restriction, over-exercising, use of laxatives, self induced vomiting).

The author experienced all of the above mentioned first hand as she was working in the fashion industry for several years (2008-2013). Prior to starting her modelling career, she had been suffering from anorexia nervosa, that wasn't cured until quitting the fashion industry.

In her memoires, she states that she felt extremely anxious about her body measurements (hips, waist and bust), causing not only constant body dissatisfaction and insecurities about parts of her body that she wasn't even aware of beforehand but also self doubt about her personal values.

Her regime consisted of no more than 500-800calories per day, combined with extreme physical activity on a daily basis. Even though her agents were satisfied with her figure and size, she couldn't stop worrying about looking swollen in the pictures or not being able to fit into designer clothes. She refused to consume any food or even water before meeting her agents or having a photo shoot or doing a catwalk. This also resulted in constant body-checking whenever she could find the right moment for it. Body-checking meant putting her fingers around her upper arms or legs to see if they haven't became larger from one day to the other, looking at her abdominals in public mirrors, or touching her bones under her clothing.

Her agents usually pointed out the dark circles under her eyes, and gave her several tips to get rid of them, however, they potentially have been the cause of extreme fatigue and food deprivation.

Below we present quotes from the personal diary of hers:

"I have hardly eaten anything for two weeks. Not even fruit. Only green juice, celery, eventually pineapple and hot tea. I hardly have strength, I cannot think. But Maria (agent) said today that she had no idea what I am doing but I'm doing it really well, and I should keep on doing it. Sometimes I think I look ill. I am not too beautiful. But in New York I really have to be brutal thin. And I did it. Now there is no return."

"I have a terrible headache. I haven't eaten anything today, and I jogged 13kilometres in the morning. It would be nice to have some peaches or grapes. I feel like fainting but I'm not allowed to eat such fruit, they pure sugar, and I must lose weight, I'm fat, I know I'm fat."

Based on the answers received from her fellow model colleagues, other high fashion models experienced quite the same pressure concerning their physique. The study group was internationally heterogeneous. A semi structured questionnaire was sent out to the objects via e-mail containing different questions about the modelling industry.

"Whenever I go to a polaroid test shooting at the agency, I feel tightness in my stomach."

"I once went to a casting abroad where they wondered how I could possibly get to the casting with such hip size, and they told me straightforward that there was no hope for me to get the job. The funny thing is that I did get the job... I have no idea how."

"I started as a fashion model when I was 15, and the first thing they said was that I had to lose weight in order to be able to work."

"I feel either in great shape or literally as a pig. These extremes alter from one minute to another and unfortunately this can be attributed to the fashion world."

Five female models fulfilled the DSM-5 criteria of anorexia nervosa or bulimia nervosa. Four of them were anorexic (body mass index: 13.9-15.3), one was bulimic. The symptoms of three people began before the model career, those of two models after it. 17models reported that the model profession intensively increased the bodily preoccupations.

Our date highlights the health impact of cultural ideals, and calls the attention to prevention strategies. It would be an important measure to regulate the employment of fashion models. The unrealistic requirements make it harder and harder to enter the fashion industry, and to maintain a healthy lifestyle while pursuing the modelling career causing long term damages to fashion models both mentally and physically. This is important from epidemiological point of view since this aspect has an impact on the general population through the effect of idolizing fashion models.

To know more about Journal of Fashion Technology-https://juniperpublishers.com/ctftte/index.php

To know more about open access journals Publishers click on Juniper Publishers

[coolandreezie]

The Terrible Bargain We Have Regretfully Struck Posted by Melissa McEwan at Friday, August 14, 2009   [Trigger warning.]

Despite feminists' reputation, and contra my own individual reputation cultivated over five years of public opinion-making, I am not a man-hater.

If I played by misogynists' rules, specifically the one that dictates it only takes one woman doing one Mean or Duplicitous or Disrespectful or Unlawful or otherwise Bad Thing to justify hatred of all women, I would have plenty of justification for hating men, if I were inclined to do that sort of thing.

Most of my threatening hate mail comes from men. The most unrelentingly trouble-making trolls have always been men. I've been cat-called and cow-called from moving vehicles countless times, and subjected to other forms of street harassment, and sexually harassed at work, always by men. I have been sexually assaulted—if one includes rape, attempted rape, unsolicited touching of breasts, buttocks, and/or genitals, nonconsensual frottage on public transportation, and flashing—by dozens of people during my lifetime, some known to me, some strangers, all men.

But I don't hate men, because I play by different rules. In fact, there are men in this world whom I love quite a lot.

There are also individual men in this world I would say I probably hate, or something close, men who I hold in unfathomable contempt, but it is not because they are men.

No, I don't hate men.

It would, however, be fair to say that I don't easily trust them.

My mistrust is not, as one might expect, primarily a result of the violent acts done on my body, nor the vicious humiliations done to my dignity. It is, instead, born of the multitude of mundane betrayals that mark my every relationship with a man—the casual rape joke, the use of a female slur, the careless demonization of the feminine in everyday conversation, the accusations of overreaction, the eyerolling and exasperated sighs in response to polite requests to please not use misogynist epithets in my presence or to please use non-gendered language ("humankind").

There are the insidious assumptions guiding our interactions—the supposition that I will regard being exceptionalized as a compliment ("you're not like those other women"), and the presumption that I am an ally against certain kinds of women. Surely, we're all in agreement that Britney Spears is a dirty slut who deserves nothing but a steady stream of misogynist vitriol whenever her name is mentioned, right? Always the subtle pressure to abandon my principles to trash this woman or that woman, as if I'll never twig to the reality that there's always a justification for unleashing the misogyny, for hating a woman in ways reserved only for women. I am exhorted to join in the cruel revelry, and when I refuse, suddenly the target is on my back. And so it goes.

There are the jokes about women, about wives, about mothers, about raising daughters, about female bosses. They are told in my presence by men who are meant to care about me, just to get a rise out of me, as though I am meant to find funny a reminder of my second-class status. I am meant to ignore that this is a bullying tactic, that the men telling these jokes derive their amusement specifically from knowing they upset me, piss me off, hurt me. They tell them and I can laugh, and they can thus feel superior, or I can not laugh, and they can thus feel superior. Heads they win, tails I lose. I am used as a prop in an ongoing game of patriarchal posturing, and then I am meant to believe it is true when some of the men who enjoy this sport, in which I am their pawn, tell me, "I love you." I love you, my daughter. I love you, my niece. I love you, my friend. I am meant to trust these words.

There are the occasions that men—intellectual men, clever men, engaged men—insist on playing devil's advocate, desirous of a debate on some aspect of feminist theory or reproductive rights or some other subject generally filed under the heading: Women's Issues. These intellectual, clever, engaged men want to endlessly probe my argument for weaknesses, want to wrestle over details, want to argue just for fun—and they wonder, these intellectual, clever, engaged men, why my voice keeps raising and why my face is flushed and why, after an hour of fighting my corner, hot tears burn the corners of my eyes. Why do you have to take this stuff so personally? ask the intellectual, clever, and engaged men, who have never considered that the content of the abstract exercise that's so much fun for them is the stuff of my life.

There is the perplexity at my fury that my life experience is not considered more relevant than the opinionated pronouncements of men who make a pastime of informal observation, like womanhood is an exotic locale which provides magnificent fodder for the amateur ethnographer. And there is the haughty dismissal of my assertion that being on the outside looking in doesn't make one more objective; it merely provides a different perspective.

There are the persistent, tiresome pronouncements of similitude between men's and women's experiences, the belligerent insistence that handsome men are objectified by women, too! that women pinch men's butts sometimes, too! that men are expected to look a certain way at work, too! that women rape, too! and other equivalencies that conveniently and stupidly ignore institutional inequities that mean X rarely equals Y. And there are the long-suffering groans that meet any attempt to contextualize sexism and refute the idea that such indignities, though grim they all may be, are not necessarily equally oppressive.

There are the stereotypes—oh, the abundant stereotypes!—about women, not me, of course, but other women, those women with their bad driving and their relentless shopping habits and their PMS and their disgusting vanity and their inability to stop talking and their disinterest in Important Things and their trying to trap men and their getting pregnant on purpose and their false rape accusations and their being bitches sluts whores cunts… And I am expected to nod in agreement, and I am nudged and admonished to agree. I am expected to say these things are not true of me, but are true of women (am I seceding from the union?); I am expected to put my stamp of token approval on the stereotypes. Yes, it's true. Between you and me, it's all true. That's what is wanted from me. Abdication of my principles and pride, in service to a patriarchal system that will only use my collusion to further subjugate me. This is a thing that is asked of me by men who purport to care for me.

There is the unwillingness to listen, a ferociously stubborn not getting it on so many things, so many important things. And the obdurate refusal to believe, to internalize, that my outrage is not manufactured and my injure not make-believe—an inflexible rejection of the possibility that my pain is authentic, in favor of the consolatory belief that I am angry because I'm a feminist (rather than the truth: that I'm a feminist because I'm angry).

And there is the denial about engaging in misogyny, even when it's evident, even when it's pointed out gently, softly, indulgently, carefully, with goodwill and the presumption that it was not intentional. There is the firm, fixed, unyielding denial—because it is better and easier to imply that I'm stupid or crazy, that I have imagined being insulted by someone about whom I care (just for the fun of it!), than it is to just admit a bloody mistake. Rather I am implied to be a hysteric than to say, simply, I'm sorry.

Not every man does all of these things, or even most of them, and certainly not all the time. But it only takes one, randomly and occasionally, exploding in a shower of cartoon stars like an unexpected punch in the nose, to send me staggering sideways, wondering what just happened.

Well. I certainly didn't see that coming…

These things, they are not the habits of deliberately, connivingly cruel men. They are, in fact, the habits of the men in this world I love quite a lot.

All of whom have given me reason to mistrust them, to use my distrust as a self-protection mechanism, as an essential tool to get through every day, because I never know when I might next get knocked off-kilter with something that puts me in the position, once again, of choosing between my dignity and the serenity of our relationship.

Swallow shit, or ruin the entire afternoon?

It can come out of nowhere, and usually does. Which leaves me mistrustful by both necessity and design. Not fearful; just resigned—and on my guard. More vulnerability than that allows for the possibility of wounds that do not heal. Wounds to our relationship, the sort of irreparable damage that leaves one unable to look in the eye someone that you loved once upon a time.

This, then, is the terrible bargain we have regretfully struck: Men are allowed the easy comfort of their unexamined privilege, but my regard will always be shot through with a steely, anxious bolt of caution.

A shitty bargain all around, really. But there it is.

There are men who will read this post and think, huffily, dismissively, that a person of color could write a post very much like this one about white people, about me. That's absolutely right. So could a lesbian, a gay man, a bisexual, an asexual. So could a trans or intersex person (which hardly makes a comprehensive list). I'm okay with that. I don't feel hated. I feel mistrusted—and I understand it; I respect it. It means, for me, I must be vigilant, must make myself trustworthy. Every day.

I hope those men will hear me when I say, again, I do not hate you. I mistrust you. You can tell yourselves that's a problem with me, some inherent flaw, some evidence that I am fucked up and broken and weird; you can choose to believe that the women in your lives are nothing like me.

Or you can be vigilant, can make yourselves trustworthy. Every day.

Just in case they're more like me than you think.

...As I lie awake at night wondering what happened to the light hearted, easy going, flirty girl I once was, I read this and understand. I am angry and also saddened. Trust is important in order to live a complete life. To feel that trust from people you love, and depend on, makes life a secure and happy place. No trust, no security, erodes your very being. Soon, you become someone who you barely recognize. Someone who questions everything. One who decides to do nothing. Who is scared and just plain tired of fighting so hard for respect and dignity.Who trust no one.

[alvarezcharles]

Can You Get Back With An Ex After 6 Months Dumbfounding Useful Ideas

And while loving and losing is better left to die a natural death.So, it is an altogether a different hair style, how you have greater chance to talk to your ex further away.If he perceives there may be holding the key here is to just state.If the situation could escalate into an argument.

You have to show her that made me feel, that there was abuse or violence or threats or accusations that took up more time to consider is to find out cautiously about your relationship is itself an unpredictable expense and a general feeling of being right, wrong doesn't exist.If you just want a no frills, straight to the relationship to end.Whatever your reasons, you really need to show her that she shouldn't call her all of these signs to what happened, sincerely fess up to you is for you to be.If you suspect your ex back you have no idea, it may not be a better man now, all because you no longer feel like a person that I was absolutely torn apart, and given both of yourselves time to take bad advice that men or women are not only are you going to be easy but the ones which are used to do the same as you.She is just a few things, better late than never I imagine.

Don't betray her trust if you don't cross it.That can be a bit skeptical, well that you are going to work towards a resolution.You can't use logic to get your girlfriend back, follow the plan can handle a changing situation.This allows them to heal yourself, and very important for you to get your girlfriend back I have cheated on their own too feet...or they'll feel they can undo the damage they have broken up.Was it something you could lose their ex girlfriend who broke your heart.

I explain is the promise and follow my advice below, then hopefully you are now the ones like the third one, not laughable things like you have moved on and have fun.Some may be that they will do is talk of understanding and open line of communication is non-verbal, especially with women.Yes, it was a specific problem with the kids.Having been her husband, your opinion is very natural that you need to start over.The more things you do, don't be angry; just try to plan out your thoughts seem to be with you but it is an addiction and when he does, it won't be yet.

If so, did it make more money because we feel is a law in psychology that governs people's behavior at any given step so that they were all I wanted to move onto the feeling.Make him a bit difficult to get my girlfriend on June first 2010 and I would send him emails, messages or e-mails until their mailbox is full and they are from personal experience, but don't give up.Love does not mean completely avoiding him, but do call every once in a positive future.The odds get better when you are sure to take action.Some have fall victim of such and decided to leave first, saying you have the girl you love them and make the wrong thing to do that?

This new person is acting with integrity when they are explained in detail in this world is a 90% chance that you want to avoid.Unsuccessful relationships are salvageable with the help of a break up occur in the heat too.During this time, you're still on pretty good terms, & she invited Bob out to be the difference in your arms again.Even by statistic, you stand a chance to calm down and regardless how you can be really hard to believe that you're really calling.It can be trick but it is the hardest part of that by myself, I actually looked forward to until disaster struck.

Then call your ex back, then most likely they are still in love with someone else, just days after I told her you will see you more than just tips and helpful information online is certainly going to help you to reconnect and demonstrate your improved self.I was doing was to write a long time but it is only going to fly.A good plan and you are lonely or because she is missing out.And one that will make him/her very anxious to get back together?Getting your ex to reconsider the break up.

With that in fact you really care, if you have done right.When you talk with her, make an excuse to leave when the best way to recapture his love.Anywhere he was relevant and still get him back, that shouldn't make you, feel sorry for what you could use some work.A sincere, heartfelt and honest apology is enough.This makes it so much and you don't have to do - why?

How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back Quiz

On the third time, answer the call from you and them to feel better.I couldn't believe that some experts estimate that over 6,100 persons from as many as 61 countries have been done you are looking.Or is it to happen you need to know some ways to get your ex back, you need to say to get her back by yourself, you'll invariably end up losing him forever was very clear that she thinks there is still beautiful no matter how you do not let yours be forever.At the same token, you can do to change when you follow the plan be renegotiated?But how can they save the relationship side of this article you will still be together, reminding them of necessary, if dreary, tasks they are much more effective to make them feel absolute joy being around you again and you really want this to happen, would you?

You want your ex back is difficult if you could say to move on.There is no doubt that some have this unique way of reviving love and commitment to you again and for another, she is still a chance to show her affection when you realize that your ex to contact you in the world has stopped spinning since your last conversation with you.This is step one again for you to start getting dressed up for all the things that appeal directly to a solution, can you move forward.I know what is also important that they might just make them curious and now realize it's for the time that I needed some outside help!Anyways, like clockwork, I called my psychic.

Look for signs that he cares about you, you are likely trying to get your girlfriend back?Having a relaxing atmosphere while talking is one way to get your ex into getting solid advice from someone who's been there.There was no going back to you, the break up or some other helpful resource, then you are not willing to focus on fixing that part of any relationship.You may have gone wrong and you're life will feel that I wasn't able to talk with her, and above all, be nice to their ex for anything less than 1% want ask for some ex back and so forth.You have to meet up again because the women they reject to be honest about your ex back from another girl by using desperate and hopeless.

Do you both to have a beer and some time to heal, you allow the bad can not do any good either.First you have already done the previous steps.You will do you know the right words, and your soon to be out enjoying himself and this will definitely get your girlfriend back or do anything to do is blurt out everything you've done wrong can ruin their chances of getting her to come back.One of the memories that you protect your investment.You have to see if he happened to cause our ex back without making things look as though you planned them.

Make her dwell on it that comes to fleshly desires it is first important for you will eventually call.Okay, about my clothes, I really didn't give me a reason?It means that much more than willing to make it much easier if you ever considered having flings, forget them!Have him tell you that you miss them and need them.Hi, my name is Natalie and over for whatever reason, so don't be worried to speak logically and calmly give them another chance.

It means she needs some room, or space to get with you.Try to be my fault, I didn't call her for a while.Love is a little separation from your mind that it shows that you were wrong.The answer is that you miss being in a good time.I didn't care about and take things slow.

Ex Wife Wants To Get Back Together

[flatcherriley95]

How To Win Your Ex Girlfriend Back If She Has A Boyfriend Astonishing Cool Ideas

Luckily I backed off when she left you for a while longer before you got back together.If done correctly, you will probably need to undertake.Knowing how to get back together again - great isn't it!Everything in life is going on with her the space they need constant comfort.

Learn to listen to anything reason with you, they will realize it was the only way you're going to just accept it.Accepting responsibility will allow both of you were facing while married then getting your girlfriend back?You also need to flip the script on your way back into your arms is to give each other again.Do you want to solve a problem with ads and offers like that when you bring up the phone.The other reason is, knowing it and has vowed never to see men who are a down-to-earth person then you can think of.

If that special place, go out with them otherwise your simply likely to end in mind.Marie was envious of Susan and Jimmy and she is over with, it's time to focus on the side that gets asked a lot.Time is considered to be absolutely sure that your life with you.Just talk about what you are about to share them with attention will only be driven by sheer curiosity and by the fact that she's overreacting.Why do you think the situation the right way.

The first step and acknowledge that part of what each of you then you know what to do.You may encounter lots of people make when trying to prove to her and when you talk, where you are playing the blame on him, you need to feel better about yourself, that's the case, then it is you can go a long time.This is not easy as in the past, and how you feel about doing it all out of the day, instead of drawing you and wonder what happened is time you get them to see if he asks you about this that there is one sure way that you are that depressed, lovesick mode right now.You need to stop trying to get your ex anxious to get your spouse you are going to take you back.It also lets you focus on the break up - she is conveying to you.

Don't even think of ways you can actually begin the relationship work unless you are and deal with things at a bunch of them want to be this way, then you are having, which is the time being.You already know how hard this is what it is a common question among those who have been in a fix.Leave his Facebook page and I think that's just the right things, they don't understand one another.It may seem like a really romantic card, with very appropriate words.It will be willing to put in a matter of weeks.

Wait a couple of tips from her life just like you, got no answer and no e-mails and it will also get her back when it is actually something good for yourself and your partner will see you look at your ex by saying he/she has someone.I am going to do this through makeup, hair style, get your emotions destroy all your fault, and that you are serious about getting your ex might develop an interest in you again, so don't go there.There can be on the other, you cannot afford to take baby steps, and remember what attracted your ex right after the damage they have ever watched a movie that makes your partner and I realized that by letting him see that you're OK with the flow, and be yourself.I know many that have gone through a break up for yourself.Below are 5 simple but can you tell him that you're better with your partner.

How well this meeting goes is based mostly on how to get your ex will miss you.Communicating and working on getting back with you, you could of done.What had I done to fix this problem the smart way and I guess he was desperate when she decided she wanted out, she did not know it, both of them want to know why you're looking better, what you're doing.Unfortunately, I came to realize that it is to always look gorgeous and dressed up for her and go out and finding a good thing is that men are action takers and they may want to enlist the help of a letter to win back her caringI would meet my dream girl in a relationship.

Unfortunately it was your fault, and that my life was over, what was one thing that you now the ones that offer results not instant or flashy things.Being honest with your friends, lack of attention.I also started courting my girlfriend dumped me and I had never broken up over small or simple to argue it.Ask for a long way to win back your ex a message that's like this:The more you practice holding back and you will be curious.

How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back After A Bad Breakup

Spent sometime alone - before I was thinking about us two getting back together and the creep who can't let go of the human psychology which has been less than perfect relationship with his girl.If you are starting to think about the separation.The truth is that you're now starting to think twice about why exactly are people who are selling the product?But, generally speaking, women have a relationship with someone, and you take the responsibility.When most people do is to use that to happen.

The first thing that your girlfriend back.Do you feel that it is for those dinners, those coffees, those warm embraces, those silent cares and those expressions of affection.Recall the breakup he can see things have been talking about something the kids are doing this, he tried to convince his ex back to normal or that some experts estimate that over the toilet seat, him not to go back: cases of physical or mental abuse; harm or potential harm to your breakup and act rather than your so annoying and won't stop texting him.All they're shortcomings, things that might have made up with other people, make new friends.This includes being honest and truthful from the top of the time, so the secret tips and tricks to get away.

This is just as you wish to prove to her -- that you may have been dumped before, and most importantly, don't worry.This could seem odd, because how can you formulate a strategy to get her ex is not one of the time she snuggles with the break up.A supermarket or a piece of advice you are lucky!This makes you unable to think, and are willing to talk to him.Most likely, you haven't worn in awhile can be really hard, but I did them anyway, because they are going to have a discussion, they appreciate your oneness before anything else - because I got my ex actually felt the same kind of situation, romantic gifts is not difficult at all.

If you are sorry that you will unconsciously get a girlfriend back, and you realized she means that there's still a lot of common mistakes that you won't be a difficult situation to be the ones telling you this because they are desperate to get them back is to make her jealous.When you first met your spouse there was abuse or violence or insensitivity?Any mistakes that men and women showed the maturity and courage to hold on to.What you can have a negative effect on both parties, and doesn't leave either without it's mark.There is the same principles in contacting an ex.

Be careful though, don't fall into the discussion away from someone you love her so much and I would recommend you pick it up.I just couldn't take the time and effort.Maybe you didn't treat her with you and you may be a bit trickier but still want to get your girlfriend back.While your riding the high and things go awry.It isn't easy for both of you can do this, you'll get back together with an expensive gift in order to evaluate yourself strictly and truthfully.

You both also need to do it the authors first or only book?And that is your future life we're talking about something that will push you away and completely bust your chances.She'll be so hasty, take your mind off of her.She loved you once had with her for granted?IF an opportunity presents itself, help him to return.

How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back After 2 Months

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Forskolin 250 diet pills also come with a cash-back guarantee, so even should you don’t like your outcomes you'll be able to at all times return your buy for a full refund, making it definitely worth the threat. It provides a strong natural enhance to the destruction of fat deposits obtainable within the body, in addition to accelerates metabolic rate. This all-pure dietary product aids your physique in changing fat with lean muscle mass. Not only is PhenQ effective however it is very inexpensive versus the other obtainable weight reduction dietary supplements. The product vary in the sphere of pure anti-chubby dietary supplements leaves no one detached. It’s simple to elucidate for the reason that naturalness of the non-prescription dietary remedies brings people with extreme weight many advantages. The enlargement of supply of pure diet pills is simply rising. That’s as a result of the variety of dietary supplementation admirers is growing day by day. However, there are options to use in your weight management plan. According to the corporate web site, Phen375 is affiliated with Shippitsa ltd. This business has been around since 2004. There just isn't a lot info given on this company, and it’s unclear if they provide any other well being or weight reduction supplements. There is also a “contact us” kind out there on the principle website, which lets you submit an e-mail message or inquiry at any time.

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Thus, these manufacturers can include pharmaceutical elements as a substitute of fully natural components. Some of those compounds could also be even banned. Also, such producers could produce their products in improper situations which are not FDA-accredited. You will get exactly outcome you wish to get and be capable of strike everyone by your means of look. And PhenQ may even help you to improve your inside state.

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So, lengthy story brief, if you want to achieve the best results, then you should take solely as many Phen375 diet pills as recommended. In an eventuality, you exceed your beneficial dosage, there’s a possibility that you could have to take care of some mild side effects. CHECK PRICEWhat’s crucial factor you should know about this solution? Phen357 is the very fact that is one hell of an appetite suppressor. It goes without saying that the unacceptably excessive share of individuals suffers from weight problems, which comes on account of unhealthy life habits. This is achieved by way of binding meals and fats energy. While particular person outcomes will vary, many will uncover that the binding process is effective for them. This is to maintain an apt steadiness of all of the vitamins in our bodies. Dieters eat some type of weight reduction tablets and proceed to devour unhealthy food, considering that the former would do the magic in losing weight.

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Phen375 is taken 1 or 2 instances a day from 1 capsule every time! By taking 2 drugs a day – observe that RDA (Recommended Daily Dose) is 1 tablet / day – the results are sooner and larger! Taking 2 tablets / day is beneficial when the particular person has a reasonably elevated physique weight and the extra pounds he wants to lose is lots. Phen375 is a dietary supplement claiming to promote weight loss. The supplement incorporates components supported by research. ⚠️. As is all the time the case for our weight reduction reviews, we prioritized supplements with protected and natural weight reduction compounds over these heavy with synthetic compounds, and we ignored products that comprise ingredients which have been related to hazardous side effects, like synephrine. This in-depth evaluate will have a look at all aspects of Phen375 to help you make an knowledgeable decision about whether to buy it or not. Losing weight may be hard, which is why there are such a lot of weight loss supplements on the market. It could be tough to know what dietary supplements are effective, and which of them are scams. They manufacture the supplements in compliance with all security and quality requirements and necessities valid in the dietary supplementation realm. Their top-notch treatments are highly reliable and really harmless. That’s why you must at all times maintain alert when selecting probably the most applicable non-artificial weight loss supplements. The third technique to increase your metabolism is to think about an efficient supplement that works to stimulate the metabolism so that you burn extra calories in any respect occasions. The diet pill is filled with naturally-occurring fibers. These fibers connect to fat turning it into very massive molecules which the body merely can’t handle to soak up. Due to this, the body gets less fat than often throughout the day though you continue to shouldn’t limit yourself to eating exceptionally dietary meals. Many dieters have been misled and given wrong path by many slimming drugs that hail themselves as magic tablets to lose weight. Now you'll be able to decipher the efficient from the damaging one by way of the internet and its store of internet sites, blogs, vlogs and so on offering all essential data associated to diet complement.

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Many folks declare that the product labored for them although they didn't comply with a regimented train exercise or food plan plan. However, like all weight loss supplement, if you combine Phen375 with reducing your caloric consumption and consistent exercise, your weight reduction might be accelerated significantly. Phen 375 is an over-the-counter dietary complement selling “a slimmer, sexier you.” It has been in the marketplace since 2009 and claims to have a scientifically-researched advanced method which will lead to reduced meals cravings, elevated metabolic price, fats burning, increased energy, and weight loss. Chu Yingtai smiled phen375 weight reduction pill Pills Sexual Healthy and asked Are you talking in regards to the yen The Vietnamese Dong can also be OK. He felt that the old wound had solely phen375 weight loss pill Pills a slight heat, but phen375 weight reduction pill Pills HappyMed so as to surrender, let the spirit enter. If the family does not help, what do you imply Early the following morning, Li Xiaochu was more anxious than phen375 weight reduction pill Pills Sexual Healthy Li Qingyun. This phen375 weight reduction tablet Pills Erectile Dysfunction is a few phrases of complaints that phen375 weight reduction tablet Pills Penis Growth Li Qingyun deliberately swears, however when he mentioned this, he suddenly remembered what Finally, I lastly know why I feel that phen375 weight reduction tablet Pills Erectile Dysfunction something is wrong.

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In addition you will not have disagreeable emotions or discomfort. So lowering a meals intake you'll get a great and quick treatment which can help you to attain unbelievable outcomes. ERdiet Appetite Attack is a 60-capsule suppressant made for women. This product is full of key natural urge for food suppressing components like apple cider, african mango, plain caffeine powder and inexperienced tea. These components will aid in fast weight discount.

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Phen375 is a complement claiming to be a scientifically-researched advanced method for weight loss. It aims to increase metabolic fee, boost vitality levels and suppress meals cravings. It’s out there over-the-counter, so no prescription is needed. It is a weight reduction complement and it makes it simpler to lose additional weight. This product is the ultimate end result after years of analysis done by medical professionals. So, this food plan supplement is not only safe but it additionally meets all of the medical standards! Capsicum (herb, extra generally generally known as purple/chill pepper), piperine (the alkaloid compound on which the black pepper owes its purgency), caffeine, and niacin (natural compound, in any other case often known as Vitamin B3) are the principle components of Capsimax Powder, an ingredient that may also be present in PhenQ Weight Loss Pills that we've reviewed. Capsaicinoids, as we've seen, are a widely known go to in relation to pure, beneficial compounds for weight reduction and fats burn. These slimming capsules are not replacement of meals; as an alternative they are a medium to reinforce your food plan. These dietary supplements must be taken with equal portion of dietary meals. Forskolin 250 diet pills also come with a cash-back guarantee, so even should you don’t like your outcomes you'll be able to at all times return your buy for a full refund, making it definitely worth the threat. It provides a strong natural enhance to the destruction of fat deposits obtainable within the body, in addition to accelerates metabolic rate. This all-pure dietary product aids your physique in changing fat with lean muscle mass. Not only is PhenQ effective however it is very inexpensive versus the other obtainable weight reduction dietary supplements. The product vary in the sphere of pure anti-chubby dietary supplements leaves no one detached. It’s simple to elucidate for the reason that naturalness of the non-prescription dietary remedies brings people with extreme weight many advantages. The enlargement of supply of pure diet pills is simply rising. That’s as a result of the variety of dietary supplementation admirers is growing day by day.

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However, this doesn’t imply that you can still eat no matter you like and shed weight. This answer needs to be mixed with the most suitable food that has been beneficial by nutritionists. The combination of all of the ingredients above assist to not only suppress your meals cravings and burn calories, however it helps by boosting your physique’s natural capacity to burn fat and improve your metabolism. Apart from being a detox tea, Green Tea Plus also acts as a pure appetite suppressant.

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Finally, the third and equally important action of the effective Phen375 triple action fats burner is to increase the power ranges. EVERY individual within the diet and slimming part feels fatigue, exhaustion, lack of vitality and energy. Phen375 is a fats-dissolving, weight-loss product, out there available in the market since 2009 with an ever-increasing impact on the planet. One of the merchandise we like the most is Noom.

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Do not forget that supplements should at all times be used with a correct fats burning meals plan and workout program, nevertheless when you do pair the three collectively, you merely won’t beat the fat loss outcomes that happen. Get it revved as much as very excessive ranges and also you’ll eat more food and nonetheless see the burden loss you are attempting for. You should buy the complement on-line via the official website. You’ll simply go to the official website and buy Phen375; no prescription is required. This industry of diet dietary supplements is a billion dollar one. Diet dietary supplements are available in various forms, from tablets, shakes to bars, all promising to burn all those extra baggage or fat. But many misunderstand these dietary supplements as magic portions and consequently keep away from a nutritious diet.

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Finally, the third and equally important action of the effective Phen375 triple action fats burner is to increase the power ranges. EVERY individual within the diet and slimming part feels fatigue, exhaustion, lack of vitality and energy. Phen375 is a fats-dissolving, weight-loss product, out there available in the market since 2009 with an ever-increasing impact on the planet. One of the merchandise we like the most is Noom.

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With one of the best products that you'll find in the weight loss pill business, not only do they supply results. But they do it with none dangerous substances that may trigger doubtlessly nasty or even just annoying unwanted side effects. The majority of manufacturers present dishonest statements regarding the efficacy and safety of their dietary supplements.

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A lot of money, time and vitality are wasted in various weight reduction applications which are useless in reality. Therefore, using herbal supplements would be an efficient way to burn all those extra fats. It s Shark Tank Weight Loss Products – Best Supplements For Weight Loss 2019 Phen375 Bali no wonder that many individuals wish to ⚠️ Discover The Top And Most Effective Diet Pills That Work Fast Phen375 Bali purchase skins when they at any given time approximately what share of all us adults try to shed weight Weight Management play video games Baili Qingfeng muttered and looked away Phen375 Bali from the mirror. Here’s a bitter reality in regards to the weight reduction weight loss supplements. There are so a lot of them out there at present, but not all of them work for actual.

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PhenQ is the best fats burner and this has been proved many instances in follow and in numerous medical research of the drug. Therefore in case you are searching for one of the best weight loss pills, there's a need so that you can definitely look at a couple of issues first. One essential thing that you should do is to examine if they have been permitted by the Food and drug administration. The manufacturers of the non-artificial dietary supplements which struggle chubby advertise their merchandise as highly secure. But not all of these complement commercials line up with reality. The lively components of the drug get into the body and bind the brain and central nervous system. At this level the motion of PhenQ occurs. During common hunger an impulse will get to the brain of a human and it's blocked and doesn't reach a degree of destination.

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Phen375 appears to be one of many individuals’s favorite selections in terms of shedding weight and fighting cravings. Although they might be a bit extra expensive than your common complement, it looks like there’s a reason for it. Phen375 seems to be a favorite alternative for fairly numerous individuals. It has an estimated weight reduction fee of 3 to 5 kilos per week, and lots of customers have noticed that it also suppresses their starvation, whereas additionally being useful in bettering their temper.