#I need to hibernate and not be bothered for at least the next 8 weeks

[waugh-bao]

*

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (8/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 3.3k words. So you know how my summary has always referred to a “terrible tragedy”? Ummm... here we go.   (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

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Chapter 8

Spring arrived in New York on muddy, wet feet, pouring down from the sky in day after day of rain. As David dragged himself from his empty apartment to his empty gallery and back (when he bothered opening the gallery at all), he found the rain to be perversely appropriate. The grayness, the lack of sunshine for days at a time fit his mood perfectly.

He knew he needed to stop hibernating alone, that he needed to put himself out there — go to a bar or at least open Tinder and swipe right on someone. But it felt like more than he could possibly handle, and so he stayed in his solitary cocoon. Friends would call or text sometimes, telling him to get his ass down to this or that party, but that too felt like it would require more energy than he could muster.

He rewatched Downton Abbey during those weeks, starting over with the first series as soon as he came to the end, and when he didn’t have the TV on, he wrote and wrote in his journals, filling two full books in February and March. He wrote about the way he was feeling, the heaviness on his heart that he couldn’t explain, and the way the thought of resuming his old dating habits, with its revolving door of shallow people, made him feel like crying. He wrote about the fact that his entire professional life had been a lie, propped up by his deceitful parents. And he wrote about Patrick.

There was a part of David that wished he and Patrick had never met. It was unfair that a person who’d been in his life for not even 36 hours could have made such an impression, could have left him feeling so abandoned when he had absolutely no right to feel abandoned. Patrick didn’t owe him anything, and what else was he supposed to do other than go back to his small-town Canadian life? But David couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop unlocking his phone and looking at the few texts they’d exchanged, couldn’t help wondering what would happen if he texted Patrick now. He was too afraid to find out.

~*~

“Patrick, would you like some eggs?” his mother asked as he descended the stairs.

“Mom, I’ve told you that you don’t need to cook for me. I’m trying not to be an imposition,” he said, sitting down at the kitchen table to put on his shoes.

“You’re our son, not an imposition. And I’m making eggs anyway.” She gave him an exasperated but fond smile. “Where are you headed so early on a Saturday?”

“I’ve got more apartments to look at.” He’d been staying with his parents for several weeks and trying to find a more permanent place when he had the time and energy. So far the apartments he’d seen had been nice, but out of his price range, since he was still paying half the rent at the apartment where Rachel was living.

Marcy shot him a sad look. “You don’t have to run out and get another apartment; you can stay here for as long as you need to, until you and Rachel have a chance to work through everything.”

“I’ve told you that’s not going to happen.” When he’d shown up on their doorstep, teary-eyed and exhausted, his parents seemed to have resolved to let him figure things out on his own without commenting on his personal life. Apparently that resolve was crumbling as the weeks stretched out and he wasn’t reconciling with his wife.

“What’s not going to happen?” his dad asked as he came in from the back door, where he’d no doubt been up early trying to get a jump on preparing the yard for spring.

Marcy pulled an egg carton from the fridge and cracked two more eggs into a bowl. “I was just saying that Patrick doesn’t need to rush out and get another apartment. He has an apartment with his wife.”

“Which I’m going to be moving out of permanently once I get my own place,” Patrick said, picking up the newspaper to give his hands something to do. Every article on the front page detailed another horror. The rise of a new extremist sect in Syria that even ISIS was afraid of. Drought in California that threatened the world’s food supply. A mass suicide in China by some group called the Acolytes of King Yan. Bushfires in Australia. Patrick pushed the paper away.

He could see his parents exchange a look in his peripheral vision. “Patrick, I’ve spoken to Rachel a few times,” his mother said, and Patrick’s heart began to race. Had she told them what he’d done?

“What did she say?” he asked, terrified of the answer.

“She won’t say what happened, but I’ve never heard her so convinced that things aren’t going to work out between you two.” His mother abandoned the eggs she was whisking and sat down at the table next to him. “But for as long as you’ve been together, I can’t imagine that there’s no way to work things out. Whatever happened—”

“We aren’t going to work things out because I never should have been with her in the first place. Because I’m gay,” he blurted, his hands clutching together. Patrick sat there in the moment that hung silently after those words had left his mouth, in utter shock at himself.

“What makes you say that?” his father said and then chuckled uncomfortably.

Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Patrick thought. “There was a guy I met in February, and if love at first sight were a real thing, then I swear that’s what I experienced. I cheated on Rachel. And I realized the reason things have never felt right with her. I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out, but I’ve spent a lot of time soul-searching the past few weeks, and thinking about my past and some of the… some of the other men I’ve known, and… this is who I am.”

His parents were looking at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes. The other thing Patrick had thought a lot about over the past few weeks was whether his parents were homophobic. He didn’t think so — he knew they were good people — but the fear of rejection clawed at his throat as he sat and waited for them to react.

The first thing that happened was that his mother reached for his hand. “Oh, sweetheart. First of all, know that we love you.” She looked up at Clint, who nodded. “And second of all, this must be very difficult and very confusing, so know that we’re here for you.”

“This man you mentioned, are you… still seeing him?” Clint asked.

Patrick looked down at the table. “No.” He wished he could say yes. He still thought about David every day.

“Rachel knows?” Marcy asked.

He nodded. “I told her everything.”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’ve been struggling with this alone. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been pushing you to patch things up.”

“Yeah, you did that a lot over the years,” Patrick said, and then immediately regretted it as Marcy’s face fell. “But you didn’t know. How could you? I didn’t even know.” He stood up, anxious to put an end to this conversation. The best thing he could probably do at this point was to give his parents a little while to process. “I’m going to be late for my first appointment, but I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Oh!” Marcy looked at the clock. “What about breakfast?”

“Sorry, I’ll grab something later,” Patrick said, and then found himself pulled into a hug by his mother before he quite knew what was happening.

“We love you so much, sweet boy,” she said. “That will never change, you hear me?”

Patrick nodded. He felt his father’s hand, a comforting weight on his shoulder, and Patrick sagged with relief. He’d told them. He’d come out, and his parents had taken it pretty well.

Once he was sitting in his car, he pulled out his phone and sent Rachel a text.

I came out to my parents. You don’t have to keep it a secret anymore if you don’t want to.

The receipt appeared, indicating she’d read the text, but she didn’t respond. Not that he deserved a response from Rachel — it was enough to know that the message was delivered.

He then switched over to a text chain with Stevie. Her deadpan jokes and the occasional stupid meme she’d send him had been getting him through the last few weeks.

I told my parents I’m gay, he wrote. It was getting a little easier each time he said it. She didn’t respond immediately, so Patrick put his phone in the cup holder and started his car, backing out of the driveway to drive to a block of apartments on the other side of town. When he arrived, there was a message waiting from Stevie.

how’d it go?

[Patrick] Not bad, considering.

[Stevie] i’m proud of u 🌈

Smiling for the first time days, Patrick got out of the car and walked up to the apartment building with a bit of a spring in his step.

~*~

David winced as he walked into the club, the thumping techno beat and strobing lights already giving him a headache before the night had even started. Attractive men and women filled the dancefloor and clustered around the bar, an orgy of attempted human connection. Immediately regretting his decision to leave his apartment, David made his way to the bar and ordered a martini, the most efficient vehicle for feeding alcohol into his bloodstream short of an IV. While he waited, he looked around the room, automatically cataloging the designer clothes on display. Seeing a few interesting pieces that he didn’t recognize, David made a mental note to do some serious shopping soon. His hibernation meant he’d fallen out of the loop on a number of fronts, and fashion was foremost among them. He nodded to himself; a day of shopping on Fifth Avenue was perhaps just what he needed to shake himself out of this funk. His drink arrived, and he handed over his credit card, telling the bartender to open a tab, before he set off toward the back of the club.

“David, darling!” A tall woman in a black jumpsuit was waving him over to one of the large roped-off booths. “I told you I could get him to emerge at last.”

He went where he was being summoned, giving her a tiny wave. “I can never pass up an invitation from you, Diana.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve passed up a few, David, but I suppose I’ll forgive you. What have you been up to this season?”

“Just taking some time for me, you know?” He didn’t have to tell her that ‘me’ time was bingeing on Netflix and junk food and sleeping ten hours a day.

David fell into the rhythm of meaningless patter that this crowd of people required: name drops and salacious gossip and loudly proclaimed, buzzword-filled opinions about art or books or film. He bought rounds of drinks for the group, more rounds than anyone else paid for, because he was David Rose and that’s what David Rose did. That was why he was invited to things, he suspected. Not because any of these people gave a damn whether he lived or died.

“David!”

He knew the voice before he even turned around, the raspy scrape of it was like a sharp stick between his shoulder blades.

“Sebastian,” he said, trying to keep his own voice even and unaffected by the presence of his ex. “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

“I wasn’t until recently. Vanity Fair hired me to photograph Jack Dorsey’s spiritual awakening in Tibet, so I was out there for a while. Really beautiful, haunting stuff,” Sebastian said as he plucked an olive out of David’s drink and put it in his own mouth.

David narrowed his eyes. “Can a person have a spiritual awakening when it’s being documented for Vanity Fair, though?”

“How are you? People are saying you might close the gallery.”

David’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not closing the gallery,” he said. Surely the fact that his father’s business manager had advised him to do exactly that couldn’t be public knowledge.

“Okay, good.” Sebastian put an arm around him in a possessive move that made David cringe. “You know how these rumors get started. Must be because it’s been closed a lot lately? That’s what I heard. And that you haven’t hosted an opening in a while.”

Sebastian Raine may have only been back in town for a short time, but apparently it was enough time to collect a whole set of sharp darts for him to throw straight and true into the heart of David’s insecurities.

“Can I get you another drink? Sebastian asked.

David looked down at his mostly-full glass. “No, I’m good.”

He thought about Patrick suddenly, and how refreshing it had been to talk to someone whose every remark wasn’t calculated to cut him down and play on his weaknesses, or to just get him wasted. The gnawing empty hole in his heart that he’d been living with for weeks widened a tiny fraction.

“I spent a lot of my time in Tibet just, feeding my soul, you know?”

“Mm hmm,” David said.

“It made me see a lot of the things that happened in the past in a new light. Us, for example. I want you to know that I care about what happened between you and me. And while my therapist said I should never feel sorrow, I do appreciate your pain.”

“I’m not feeling any pain about the past, Sebastian,” David said. “Not anymore.” Not about you.

“That’s good, David, that’s so good.” He felt Sebastian’s hand slide down his back. “It really frees you to… pursue your desires without baggage.”

David almost laughed. Sebastian’s attempt at seduction was so obvious, and it made him wonder if he had always been this stupidly transparent. What exactly had he seen in this self-important douchebag?

Nodding, David took a large step away from Sebastian, shaking off his arm. “It really does. It makes a lot of things very clear.” Looking around at the other people whose drinks he’d been buying all night, David frowned. What am I doing here?

“Diana? I’m gonna head out,” he called.

“Oh, David, the night is so young!” she said with a fake pout, but then someone else lured her attention and she appeared to immediately forget he existed.

“Can I walk you home?” Sebastian asked.

“Nope.” David said as he pulled on his leather jacket. “I’m good.”

The look of confused disappointment on Sebastian’s face would keep David warm for weeks, he thought as he went over to the bar to close out his tab, a half-smile on his face. Traversing the few blocks back to his apartment, David held his head higher than he had in months.

As he unlocked his apartment door, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. Dad, it said on the screen. Why on earth would his father be calling him at midnight, he thought with annoyance, answering the phone.

“Hi, what?” David dropped his keys into a bowl on the table in the foyer and began shrugging out of his jacket.

There was a pause. “David, are you at your apartment?”

His father’s voice sounded weird. “Yeah, I just got home, why?” He could hear what he thought was his mother in the background, but it was almost like a whimpering, keening noise. Then it faded, like his father was moving farther away from her. “What’s wrong with Mom now?” David asked, figuring she’d failed to get cast in a role she wanted, or that the cleaners had ruined one of her favorite outfits.

“David, can you sit down? I need you to be… I need you to sit down.”

David stood in the middle of the living room, looking out the dark windows of his apartment. “I am sitting down,” he lied. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Alexis.” He swallowed so loudly that the phone picked up the sound. “David, she…”

“Oh my God, spit it out!” David’s pulse had started to race. Surely she was fine, though, right? She was fine. She was always fine.

“She was on a yacht with some friends, and… they don’t know how it happened, but she fell overboard and no one realized it. It was dark, I guess, and people were drunk…”

David’s vision started to narrow, whiteness filling his periphery. “Is she…?”

“She drowned, David. Alexis… she drowned.”

His body was breaking out in a cold sweat. It felt like a sudden onset of the flu. Or like he’d felt when he was thirteen and had broken his nose, the blood pouring down onto his white T-shirt.

“David, did you hear what I said?” His father’s voice sounded like it was coming to him from the bottom of a well.

“What do you mean, she drowned? Are they sure, or can they just not find her?”

“They found her.”

Her body, that’s what he wasn’t saying. They found her body.

David sagged, catching himself with a hand gripping the back of the sofa. His eyes followed the zig zagging pattern on the rug under his feet. back and forth and back and forth and....

“David?” Johnny said softly. “Are you there?”

“I think I might be sick,” David whispered.

“Okay. That’s okay, son.”

Still holding the phone to his ear, David stumbled into the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He knew it would be better to kneel down next to the toilet, but he felt like if he got down on the floor he might just never get up again. “What do we do?” he asked his father.

“We have to arrange to have her…” Johnny paused and cleared his throat. “We have to have her body flown back to the States, so I’ve been on the phone with the U.S. consulate in Mexico, and also with the airline—” Johnny seemed to lose his voice on the last word, like he’d suddenly been sealed under a bell jar. David looked up at his face in the mirror. His stubble stood out harshly against his over-pale face, the mole on his chin that he’d nicked shaving dozens of times even more noticeable than usual.

“Is Mom…?” David asked.

“She’s taken a sleeping pill.”

“I’ll come up there… now. I’ll come up there now.”

“I can send a limo to get you,” Johnny said.

David considered refusing that offer, but he imagined getting on a train and just the thought brought him closer to vomiting. “Okay.”

He hung up the phone without saying goodbye, setting it carefully on the vanity before finally sliding to the floor.

~*~

“Stevie?” Patrick said into the phone. “I’ve literally never seen you use a phone as a phone, what’s wrong?”

“Remember when you told me to google that guy? David Rose, right?”

Patrick’s eyebrows shot up, and he paused midway through pouring himself a cup of coffee from the office coffee pot. “Yeah?”

“To be honest, I forgot immediately and never did it. But I just saw something online, and… this is the David Rose whose sister is Alexis Rose, right? The socialite?”

She said that like he should have heard of Alexis outside of meeting her, but he never had. “Yeah, his sister is named Alexis.”

“It’s all over twitter. Patrick, she died in a boating accident.”

Chapter 9

.......

I know, guys. I know. Just repeat to yourself that this universe is wrong, and please don't yell at me too much!

[calleo-bricriu]

Sometimes I start to think I might read a little too much.

So, I found this particular Muggle author in one of those, "It looked weird on the shelf and why not?" sort of ways that I often find books in Muggle shops.

Did a little bit of digging in to the author, William Lee Howard; apparently he was a fairly widely disrespected doctor that most other doctors viewed as a joke but that people who were not doctors thought was somehow brilliant.

Off to a good start.

The majority of the guy's books have to do with--not so much medical things but more, "Why everything is your wife's fault, trust me, I'm a doctor,” and by occasionally shouting in text about how he’s not a quack.

There were also two aimed at teenagers and I found a few chapter names completely self aware in one of them:

"Self-Abuse--How to Stop it--The Quacks" - Written as though he wasn't one.

"Environments and Diseases Which Rust Brain-Tools" - I'm going to start using Brain-Tools, I don't care that it's ridiculous. I like it because it's ridiculous.

Anyway, onto the book I'm mostly through.

It's the only one he published that wasn't--well, probably wasn't--intended to be some kind of medical book and it's the first one he had published.

No, it’s a story. A rambling, poorly written story.

The Perverts, 1901.

It's a bit difficult to read, not because it's as shocking as claimed but, because this guy just...rambles in a horribly disjointed manner that makes it difficult to follow what the hell is going on in his little story.

But, fine, I've read worse, just needs more focus; about halfway through, I stopped because it struck me that I've read this before.

Not this book specifically, the story, the entire plot, only the version I've read, while still written by a prose-y, rambling whackjob, was coherent and had much better flow to it.

Also, you could pretty easily follow the plot, as flimsy as it was.

In fairness, that one also probably could have been accurately titled The Perverts but there's always been a lot of unnecessary filler and prose in de Sade's writing (and he was at least self aware to the point that the last page of one of them essentially invites you to throw the book into the fire if you found reading it unenjoyable; tempting, but it's a heavy book and makes a good paperweight).

This man clearly read Justine (or The Misfortunes of Virtue) at some point; some similarities between bizarre things like that are bound to happen, pun intended given the topic, but this? This was very close to being the exact same book, just with renamed characters and a different time period setting.

de Sade wrote his in two weeks while in prison (and it shows) and this idiot somehow made it worse in terms of readability.

Oh, and the dedication? "To the memory of Edgar Allan Poe as a tribute to his genius, and in recognition of his struggles with a psychic incubus."

Okay.

I'm most amused by the fact that his last book was a book on "how to live long" and he died before he was 60. Must not be very good advice in that book.

And then I started skimming his other books and this has got to be one of the most unintentionally funny things I've read in awhile, "It has been my fortune――for so I consider it――to have been brought into intimate relations with men who are failures."

Good way to start.

"Many of these despondent and useless men have been guided into places where they fit." He's stopped using his brain-tools and it's not even chapter 8, which is where he talks about not letting your brain-tools get rusty.

(( Just a warning, there’s a short excerpt from the book that has some very literally, direct, and violent homophobia in there. ))

"teachers forced much useful and also useless stuff into unwilling brain cells" - I'm not entirely sure a man who blatantly ripped off one of de Sade's shortest works should be speaking poorly of teachers.

"How frequently have I heard the remark, after explaining to a young man who came to me a complete failure: “Why didn’t my father see all this?”" - You know, at this point, I'm almost certain that the only patients he'd ever seen were ones he made up or, more likely, ripped off from other case files and just changed the names.

"THE OUTSIDE LUNGS――THE SKIN" ...no.

He seems to think the skin does the same thing as the liver? What in the hell kind of medical school did this man attend?

"If a healthy boy should have his body――up to his neck――wrapped in tin foil, or any similar substance which would completely close the pores of the skin, he would soon have headache. This would become very severe, followed by loss of consciousness and finally convulsions――fits followed by death. Now this would occur even if he were in the open air. You can see by this fact that the lungs cannot alone cast off the poisons in the body" - First, weirdly specific scenario. Second, what he's describing is heat stroke not poisoning.

If people were listening to ridiculousness like this and taking it as valid health advice, no wonder so many died before they hit 30. I just went through an entire chapter of this idiot explaining how the skin is the body's main detox organ with only passing mention to things like, you know, your liver and kidneys, and that everything is caused by your dumb ass poisoning yourself by not bathing three times a day, constantly drinking water, then "exercising violently".

"Now it may sound funny to you, but the truth is, that if the boys in the past had really known as much as the chipmunks, we should have very few asylums for the insane or hospitals for the horrible diseases." - At this point I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually reading this or if I'm hallucinating it.

"About fourteen years of age you may feel a gradual soreness in the nipples. This will increase and sometimes be a little annoying. Now don’t become frightened and try to recall some blow you have received there." - This feels like a very, very specific panic that I'm pretty sure only happened to the author.

"Of course the HABIT of self-abuse means ruin to both brain and body. It is degrading to your true self, causes a loss of self-respect and makes a coward of every boy and man." - I get the feeling, by this point, that everything this person writes is just projecting.

"[...] bubbling spring of manly life." No.

"So never sleep with a man, except your father." - How is that less weird?

And we go from, go ahead and sleep with your dad to, "If you should be so situated that you find yourself in bed with a man, keep awake with your eyes on something you can hit him with. At the slightest word or act out of the way, HIT him; hit him so hard that he will carry the scar for life."

Just sleep on the floor if you're that damn paranoid.

"Keep your goat by and in you always." ...what? There are no circumstances whatsoever that would result in me wanting any part of a goat in me.

"CHAPTER VIII ENVIRONMENTS AND DISEASES WHICH RUST BRAIN-TOOLS" - I'm definitely stealing brain-tools. Based on everything else, I'm pretty sure mine are considered rusty somehow.

I don't think I'd take advice about brain-tools from someone who spent entire paragraphs talking about how he thinks people who live in far Northern climates hibernate.

What else have we got here? Dance hall women will ruin your life, you might be a man but you'll be a MAN in big letters if you go into the navy somehow, the navy should be bigger so it can consume more lower case men--I guess that makes sense as this was written in 1911.

"Don’t think that you know more than your mother about what is best for you. You don’t." - Wow, okay.

"I saw the girl, or rather woman, when she was twenty-four years of age, and recognized her by the peculiar conformation of her face. It was the face of a girl giggler. Her facial muscles had become so developed by her uncontrolled girlish habit that nothing could be done for her. " - What on earth is the "face of a giggler"?

"Don’t kiss anyone but your mother and father." - ???

"Don’t use arsenic in any form for your complexion or to give your face a plump appearance. Some of you will tell me of a girl you know who has a nice plump face from the use of arsenic wafers." - Maybe don't eat rat poison. Eating rat poison seems like a bad idea just in general.

Apart from don't giggle, don't kiss anyone, and don't take arsenic what is wrong with you? The entire book aimed at women seems to be a lot of, "For the love of everything don't touch ANYTHING without wearing gloves and also maybe burn your gloves every night and just use new ones the next day, the world is made of filth and full of diseased people. Try to stay outside in the sun without touching anything instead."

Interesting to read in the context of not having vaccinations available for all of the diseases mentioned; I don't know why it bothers me to see tuberculosis written as consumption though but I DO know why it bothers me that this idiot keeps saying sunlight will cure all of those diseases.

It really won't, you'll just die in a brightly lit room instead of a dark one.

"Don’t try to keep awake either by mental effort or that injurious resort of drinking coffee." - Well, I've been failing at that since I was about 15.

"Sleep always alone. Sleeping with another person is unsanitary." - ...uh huh.

"The hair should be washed frequently in water with a little powdered borax, but remember you wash the hair only to clean the scalp, nothing should be applied to the hair directly."  - Borax is corrosive, and how in the hell do you clean your scalp without also getting something on your hair, you can't just remove your hair and put it back later.

"Cold baths will keep your flesh firm and hard; will take off fat if you are too fat, and put on flesh if you are too lean." - Cold baths just sound unpleasant. There was also this whole section where he talked about how women specifically sweat fat out through their hands. I don’t have much for formal medical training but I’m confident that that’s not a thing that happens.

Speaking of, I particularly like that, in the book aimed at women, he's very adamant about daily bathing and in the book aimed at men it's more, "Eh, once per week is probably fine."

"EAT PICKLES AND CANDY IF YOU CRAVE THEM." - Unnecessarily aggressive sounding there, "Doctor". All I can picture is this quack screaming that in someone's face.

I guess it's kind of good to know that I have more extensive and accurate medical knowledge than someone who somehow got through school and earned the title of Doctor.

Oh, and I'm most amused by the fact that his last book was a book on "how to live long" and he died before he was 60. Must not be very good advice in that book.

Kind of want to read that one next.

[princessofthedarkrealm]

Dark Phoenix Rising- Chapter 8 (part 1)

I decided to do this one in two parts

Walter opened the door to his bedroom. He quietly set the platter of food on his desk. She was still sleeping. She had been sleeping a lot since she had lost Pennywise’s spawn, he’d noticed. He hated to wake her, if her body was still trying to catch up on getting rest, but he decided to anyway. Now that she was with him, things were going to be totally different. Regular, healthy meals, hot baths, rest. As little stress as possible.

He sat on the bed next to her. She was lying on her side, facing him. He gently shook her shoulder.

“Time to wake up, pussy cat,” he said softly. He shook her a little more. “Y/N,” he called a little louder.

She didn’t move. He pushed her hair aside, and rubbed along her jawline. She groaned and moved a bit, but then settled back down.

“Y/N, your food’s going to get cold.”

He shook her some more. She didn’t respond at all. He gave her a slight push and she fell over onto her back, her hair spilling off to the side. He leaned over her and grabbed her face with both hands. Something wasn’t right. He tried to probe into her mind. All he got was haze with just a few scattered thoughts. She was in a deep slumber. Deeper than any human should have been.

A feeling of coldness seeped into Walter’s chest. No. He had cleansed all of Pennywise from her. Y/N must have lost more of her humanity than Walter realized. How long had the demon clown been awake for? And how much longer did that mean she had? Should Walter wake her? Would it hurt her?

“Fuck!”

He hated this. Hated how out of his control it was. He cradled her head in his hand, lifting it. He had to wake her. And he would have to delve deep to do it. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. Right away, memories assailed him: Y/N’s family, her job, the theatre group she was a part of. He saw her with Pennywise, talking, fucking. Normally Walter would have clung to those images if only out of pure lust and jealousy, but today he just pushed them aside. Then something stopped him short.

It was a little girl. Her hair was a long, rusty red with just a hint of curl. She must have been about five years old. Her skin was so pale, it was almost translucent and her eyes were a golden yellow.

Y/N’s miscarried child. It had to be. Y/N had seen her. But how? And how had Walter never felt or seen the girl in her mind before? Walter tried to dig in deeper to get a closer look around the child, but felt a pain in his head as he did so. Y/N started moaning. Finally some kind of response. Walter searched a little more. There. He mentally pulled on Y/N’s consciousness and when he heard a gasp, he opened his eyes. She was awake. Her eyes were hooded and she moaned softly. Walter removed his hand.

“Wha’s going on?” Her voice was groggy, but she was definitely awake.

Walter breathed a sigh of relief. “Nothing, sweetheart. I just wanted to tell you your breakfast is ready.”

Y/N gave him a sleepy smile. “Good. I’m sohungry,” she slurred.

She tried to sit up, but fell back again. “I can’t wake up this morning.”

Walter gave a nod. “You were sleeping hard. But don’t rush yourself.” He kept his voice calm.

Slept hard? She just had soon been in a coma.

“I’ve slept that hard before A few times.” She pulled the covers up to under her chin. Her voice was more alert now. “But usually it was because I was unconscious. But this…” She shook her head. “It was different.”

“Different how?” Walter rubbed the sheets over her chest.

“I didn’t even dream at all. But it was more than that. It was like I wasn’t here. Like I was in a coma or…”

Y/N sat up. Walter didn’t like the look that had come over her face. And sure enough, a wave of fear washed over him.

“What’s wrong?” He leaned in towards her.

“Walter…how hard was it to wake me up?”

Walter took a deep breath. “I couldn’t. I had to use my mind to pull you out. It was like you were almost dead.”

“Like I was dead…” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Or that I was hibernating?”

((((()))))

You had been told before of how difficult it was to wake you up when you were in the Tower. It was impossible. You had to wake up on your own. Astral projecting into the Tower was dangerous as your vitals would become very light, almost unreadable. You would eventually die if you stayed like that for too long. But you hadn’t been in the Tower this time. At least not that you had been consciously aware of. And then when you had finally started to wake up, you had to fight tooth and nail. And if Walter couldn’t even wake you up without using his powers…

“Y/N?”

Your eyes met Walter’s.

“Sweetheart, I don’t frighten easily, but you are really starting to scare the fuck out of me. What do you mean, hibernate?”

“I need to talk to Pennywise.” You started to pull the covers back, but Walter put his hand down, holding them in place.

“Pennywise? What does this have to do with Pennywise?”

“You asked me about hibernating,” you shot back. “Pennywise hibernates. Before we ended up in Mid-World, he was planning to go into hibernation. He said he was going to take me with him.”

“But he’s not going to do that. I am not letting you anywhere near him!”

“You don’t have to! Walter…me and Pennywise are mated. And you said over a week ago that you had purged all of him from me. Right?”

Walter made a fist. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face was murderous. Your throat tightened.

“Walter…please tell me that you took all of Pennywise out of me. I mean, I don’t even crave blood anymore. You had to have-”

“You’re not completely human anymore, Y/N.”

“But I don’t…My eyes are back to normal. And like I said, my blood craving is gone.”

He leaned in towards you. “Your blood craving is gone, yes. But you’ve still been…changed. You are what is called a hama-demon. A human who has been turned demonlike by a demon.”

You slowly shook your head. “No.”

“Yes. You are not human anymore, Y/N.” Walter knelt on one knee next to your bed. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I never tried to kill our child like I did Pennywise’s?”

“Often.”

“Your daughter would have been like her father. She would have fed off of fear, and eventually she would have fed off of you. Your blood, your nutrients. Everything would have gone to her until you were nothing left but a dried up husk.”

You took a shaky breath. Walter had never explained to you why he had thought it would have been bad for you to continue to carry Eleanor, although you had eventually figured it out yourself.

“And why haven’t you tried to kill our son?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He rubbed your belly through the blankets. “Because he is mine. And because you are a lot stronger than you were months ago. Or even a couple of weeks ago. Plus being part demon yourself…”

“Shit.”

“Y/N you had to have known-”

“I didn’t think of myself as an actual demon alright?” you cried. “I know a couple of people called me demon whore, the preacher and Sheb. But I thought it was because they could tell what Pennywise was. I never thought…” You shook your head. “I never thought of myself as a demon,” you whispered. “Just that I wasn’t completely human anymore. Like I was more of an…” you shrugged, “alien. Maybe even some kind of vampire because of the blood. I don’t want to be evil. Maturin doesn’t see it that way. He even made me a guardian. And now I feel like I fail him every time I turn around.”

((((()))))

“Maturin.” Walter stood. Just saying the Turtle’s name felt like acid on his tongue. He turned his back to Y/N. “You’ve spoken to Maturin?”

“Yes. Do you know him? Or know of him?”

“I have never met him personally.”

So it was confirmed now. She was a Guardian. Had she seen the Turtle in person? Or any of the other Guardians? Had she actually been to the Tower? Is that where she had been just now?

((((()))))

Walter stood with his hands on his hips, facing away from you. You had taken a huge risk mentioning Maturin. But you were tired of secrets. There had been nothing but secrets between you and Pennywise. And even though you knew that there was plenty that Walter was keeping from you, maybe if you opened up to him, he might start being able to open up to you. You drew back the covers and climbed out of bed.

“Walter…I know what this sounds like. But I am not your enemy. You have to believe that. But of course I don’t want the Tower brought down. I mean, sure there are a lot of assholes and all-around bad people out there, but there are good ones too, plenty of them. But that doesn’t bother me right now. What happened in here just now does. I don’t want to be Pennywise’s mate anymore. I don’t want to be like him at all. I’m worried, Walter. I’m worried about my baby. I’m worried about myself.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I can’t live being afraid to fall asleep.” “No, that’s not gonna work.” “So what do we do?” You shrugged one shoulder. “We need to talk to Pennywise. And I need to end things with him.” You placed a hand on Walter’s arm.

((((())))) What do we do? We. A war raged within Walter. Why, just why did he have to fall in love with her? He could have just stuck to his course, worked on destroying the Tower, but no. Maybe he should just let her fall asleep. He felt her hand on his arm, and it was enough to help him decide. He would find Pennywise. And he would force the demon clown to relinquish his claim on her. It was the only way to free her. “Walter?” Her soft voice was almost enough to undo him. “Please say something.” “You’re going to stay here. I’ll take care of Pennywise.” “What?!” Walter turned. “I told you I don’t want you anywhere around him.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “But it’s my problem.” “I’m not saying it again. Stay here. Find something to occupy your time.” He moved past her, but she grabbed at him. “Walter, you can’t just-“ “Find something to do, Y/N. Eat, read, talk to yourself, pleasure yourself. I don’t care what, just do not let yourself fall asleep.” (((((()))))) You dropped your arm. You felt your chest tighten as Walter opened the door and left. You had never been so afraid to be left alone. What you wouldn’t give to have Roland to talk to. He had become a master at helping you to stay calm. You glanced over at your tray of food. It was covered, so you couldn’t see what was under the shiny silver lid. You couldn’t eat just yet. And pleasure yourself? Leave it up to Walter to throw that in there as a suggestion. The only other option was reading.

You decided to peruse the shelves. The books were all leather bound. You picked up one of them. It was on teleportation. Another was on necromancy. Yikes. A third one you picked up piqued your interest right away. Astral projection. You could do that. You had to be deeply unconscious at the time and you had no control over it, but still. Your stomach grumbled. You sighed. You needed to eat something first. But at least you had found something to occupy your time until Walter came back. If he ever came back. You could only imagine the conversation he would have with your mate.  That was one situation you would not want to be a fly on the wall to witness.

@pixxie-princess  @booklover2929  @messoria109  @allkundsofwrong  @grotesquegabby @pinoflicious  @syynnaah  @tomuchofaclownlover  @smileysam13579  @mummerthemimo

[aceofaces20]

What would be a valid thing to submit as evidence for adhd? I feel like my teachers never noticed anything, all it ever says on my report is 'quiet', and im in the uk and you need school reports for diagnosis, and i feel like i wont be taken seriously cos they dont say 'bouncing off the walls' or something

I feel you, nonny. I wasn’t diagnosed until college because I was just “quiet.”

Odds are, if a lot of the symptoms add up enough to make you SUSPECT you have ADHD, you probably have it. But more research is always good!

So like many things, ADHD is a spectrum. The two ends of it are Inattentive to Hyperactive- and then you have people like me, in the middle, with the Combined version. Some people have more Inattentive than Hyperactive, some have more Hyperactive than Inattentive. Everyone who has ADHD experiences the symptoms a little differently.

You can find about six thousand symptoms lists online, but here I’ll tell you things that usually don’t end up on those lists that my therapist told me a lot of her patients ended up experiencing aside from listed symptoms.

(Note: Initially I tried to keep these short. Yeah, that didn’t work. I bolded the important parts.)

1. Insomnia, or at least a super screwy sleep schedule. No joke, this can be super detrimental and will only serve to exacerbate your symptoms. “Just set a sleep schedule!! You’ll feel better!” they all say- Thanks Barbara if I had any control over when my brain chooses to sleep at all I wouldn’t have this issue, ok?

-a solution to this is to, in all actuality, condition yourself. Start ONLY using your bed for sleep. Get a little chair or something in your room if you’re also a hermit like I was growing up (mushroom chairs are gr9) and once you get out of bed, don’t let yourself get back on it for more than a few minutes unless you’re going to sleep.

Some nights it’s not enough, but in general for me personally this has been an actual lifesaver- I can go from being not tired to exhausted at the drop of a hat in normal life anyway (another symptom they don’t usually tell you about) so it’s nice to be able to make it work for me for once- I get into bed, maybe spend 30 minutes restless and then I’m out.

2. On the subject of sleep. You kids ever heard of the sleep of the dead? Because guess what, I have ignored literal fire alarms in dorms because of it. About 1-2 hours into my sleep I enter a state akin to a bear hibernating. I have slept through wake-up alarms, slept through emergency alerts, slept through FIRE alarms, slept though friends and family attempting to wake me… you get the picture.

3. On the note of the hibernating bear. You constantly wake up angry (or at least disgruntled) at the universe and take a really, really long time to power on. No, I’m not talking “a case of the mornings.” I’m talking it takes me until noon some days to actually feel somewhat alert. I’m talking feeling nothing but seething rage at anyone who tries to engage you in higher brain function before you’re fully awake.-the seething rage is more personal to me, but, every single last one of my friends who’s ADHD has issues getting up in the morning. There’s hating mornings, and then there’s hating mornings.

4. About mornings. You’re constantly late to anything in the morning because you just couldn’t “get going.” i.e., you knew and 100% wanted to get up and get moving but your brain said “nah, let’s just sit here on tumblr mobile for a while k?”-it’s very difficult to describe this part of executive dysfunction with words, because it comes off as laziness to a lot of neurotypicals. It’s not laziness. It’s having the motivation and and will and the drive to do something and not forgetting about it and it still doesn’t get done.

“Why didn’t you do x?” they’ll ask. And you just sit there thinking shit, you meant to, really, honest to god meant to, it was on your brain to do and yet all you could actually do that day was sit around and watch terrible TV. And then you feel terrible because YOU think you’re lazy.It’s not laziness. It’s executive dysfunction.

5. Another not so well known EXDYF fact: Mental math or memorization for you will always be the literal bane of your existence. Teachers always told me I was a “smart kid” in school (I am, but not the point) and then they’d wonder why I couldn’t memorize a five line poem.

Or I’d start off with a 60 on a math test, until my teacher would comb through my work by hand (only useful math teacher I ever had in high school tbh) and I’d end up with a 92 because nearly all of my mistakes involved basic arithmetic errors. Even though I was able to use a calculator on the test.

(One time I decided 21-19=14. To this day 8 years later I still do not know from what abyss my brain pulled that info from.)

“You’re smart! Just focus!” I can’t choose what my brain decides to focus on that easily, Sharon, not without a lot of crying and panicking.

6. But wait! You say. I have really obscure information from a fandom that I can infodump on someone at a moment’s notice! Surely that means I’m just Lazy and Unmotivated, right? I guess I just can’t be bothered to memorize the important stuff.

*Loud buzzer noise* Stop right there. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

I will take you by the shoulders and look deep into your eyes and make you realize that guess what? If you have an ADHD brain, you have NO control over telling your brain what is important and what is not. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Your brain decides, and you usually get no say in the matter.

This sounds bad, I know. And in terms of school, birthdays, appointments, it’s terrible. But you’re not helpless. It sounds trite, but, get a good goddamn calendar app on your phone and use the hell out of it for appointments and birthdays. And for school? Find those fandoms and use mnemonics. No, seriously.

7. Also on school: You procrastinate the hell out of everything. And I’m not talking normal “haha I’ll do it later!” procrastination. I’m talking serious, problematic, REPEATED “why the fuck can’t I just do it on time like a normal person” procrastination where you start blaming yourself for not doing it sooner like a neurotypical.

Listen, buddy ol’ pal (or however that goes), you’re not neurotypical. But listen- there’s actually a medical reason why you do this.

So everyone’s brains have reward systems, right? Your brain gives you the feel good when you do something you think you should. And later, a brain remembers that it got the feel good for doing the thingy thing.

In a brain with ADHD, that reward system malfunctions. Sometimes critically. Your brain chucks so much stuff it deems “unnecessary” out the window it chucked out that feel good you got when you turned in that homework on time, or cleaned out your car, or did some pilates for 30 minutes.

8. You want to know what doesn’t help with number 7 there? Another thing that won’t show up on symptom lists but that virtually everyone I know with ADHD (quite a few, actually. Turns out we hang out in packs because we’re usually the only people who can understand each other) about ADHD is how daunting large tasks or projects seem to an ADHDer.

So listen, more medical talk here. Remember that EXDYF thing? Yeah, this is part of that.

EXDYF makes it very, very hard (almost impossible, sometimes) to break down large tasks into smaller, more feasible tasks. You get nervous the longer you put off that paper (“this isn’t something you can spit out overnight!”) You’ve been sitting in front of your computer for hours, and the only word you have written down is “The”.

Honestly, I’m not sure why it’s actually super hard to break down large undertakings into smaller tasks for the ADHD brain. But! Solution.

-if you’re having a problem breaking down ANY sort of task, I promise there’s someone else who’s done it online.

Need to write a paper? Use a template. Need to clean out your car? Find a checklist, or have a friend make you one (cause Lord knows I can’t make one on my own). Need to make a presentation? Find a sample one online. Hell, this even works for taxes. (Gasp!)

Do NOT be afraid to ask for help with even personal large undertakings. If your friends are actually your friends, then they’ll relish the chance. Especially when you can turn around and blaze through a quarter of the important project you two (or however many) have due next week in four hours because of hyperfocus.

9. So, your focus. Totally trash, right? That is, until you hyperfocus.

Hyperfocus, to a neurotypical, probably sounds great. Tune out all distractions and get shit done, right?

Sure, Linda, if you can call being able to ignore things like the need to sleep, eat, and use the bathroom “tuning out distractions.” Time becomes a literal illusion. And damn do you pay for it later by your brain not wanting to do anything at all.

On the flip side, this is why ADHD people make fantastic emergency workers like EMTs and firepeople. If you learn what to do with adrenaline when you start feeling it, you feel like you could punch Satan himself when you’re riding an adrenaline+hyperfocus high. Combine that with the fast-paced, unexpected nature of such jobs and and you have a happy ADHD brain because it’s never bored.

10. Because boredom feels like death. No, Cheryl, I’m not being overdramatic. Yes, Becky, I recognize everyone has to deal with boredom.

A neurotypical’s boredom and an ADHDer’s boredom are two very different levels of boredom. Ever heard the phrase “bored to tears”? Now imagine every time you get even a little bored, it’s like this.

And of course, the ADHD hell brain remembers the bad feels of being bored but can’t recall how nice it was to remember all of the answers on a quiz that one time you paid attention in class.This is why I have the worst problems doing homework and housework, or in general anything with serious repetition (exercise, cooking, driving, tidying up etc.). I can do it for maybe 10-15 minutes, and then my brain’s like “k I’m good. Next source of input please?” like, brain, I’m only like 3 feet into washing the kitchen floor. P l s.

11. Speaking of tears. Has rejection by someone you value ever felt like you wanted to quit existing on the spot, or at the very least wanted to move to an ice cave in Greenland and cry for the rest of your life? Even if the rejection was just perceived rejection and your friend was just expressing grumpiness at something else?

Even if your logic says “they didn’t reject you calm down you’re overreacting?”

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. It’s a newer term, but honestly, once I found out about my own ADHD and this bitch of a symptom a loooooooot of my weird habits started making a lot of sense in my head.

It doesn’t have to be actual “rejection”. It can get set off from stuff like awkwardness (hence my personal resistance to making Adult Phone Calls) to disbelief (a huge, huge reason so many people go undiagnosed), to personal judgment and/or criticisms (oh, ok… I guess I’ll never mention my love for X ever again) to even just indifference (no one noticed I mopped all the floors in the house… guess I’ll just go die!).

Basically, if you perceive that someone you care about has dismissed you in some fashion, you literally just want to quit existing. On the spot. Because the feeling of it makes you feel sick, your chest gets tight, you can feel it in your hands, and it makes the rest of your day miserable.This variant is more likely with people you care about, but can definitely 100% happen with strangers too.

Another variant is this: if you perceive that someone (whether you care about them or not) has dismissed you in some fashion, your first instinct is to attempt to disregard and discard them completely. It usually doesn’t work like you want it to.

I’m pretty sure this is another reason why ADHD people hang out in packs. We always have a line in our head we’re terrified to cross with our friends. It makes us seem like we’re emotionally unavailable- but in reality we’re just terrified of being dismissed by our friends for showing our true geeky, infodumping, hyperfixating selves.

(Listen. If a friend mocks you for your true self they weren’t your friend in the first place.)

12. But in terms of crossing that line… Social cues? What are social cues?

Normal people can infer a lot from body language. With a lot of ADHD people, we tend not to notice. Or we notice too much and overanalyze. There’s no in between.

On a side note, your best bet for flirting successfully with an ADHDer is to just come out and say it. (Talk like an elcor. “Flirtatiously: I want to hear more.” or whatever innocent phrase it is you’re using to flirt. If they’re into Mass Effect, this will make them laugh, which means bonus points for you in their eyes.)But seriously, unless you’re making obviously romantic overtures we’re usually pretty sure you’re just being nice.

Back on topic: lack of social ability is a massive, massive reason people with ADHD are usually bullied growing up. If there aren’t any other ADHD people around, it usually feels like no one “gets” you. I was bullied horribly enough during junior high and high school to the point where I still have to repress the urge to automatically assume someone being nice to me means they’re plotting something behind my back. (Didn’t help that my hs was basically the Korriban Sith academy without most of the death. Culty, religious, nepotism ran rampant.)

13. Woe betide thee who angers the ADHD. It's not a problem with everyone, but... We’re like volcanoes. Awe-inspiring to watch in action, but God help you if we explode in your direction. And if it’s righteous anger there is almost literally no stopping us.

Anger has its uses. Our problem is that, like a volcano, we always have a lot simmering under the surface. We tend to hold onto it for ridiculous amounts of time until one day, boom. Yeah, I know, Kathy, that happens with everyone. Delayed gratification and all. The difference with ADHDers is that we usually don’t wait.

ADHDers’ anger will come out initially, because we can’t suppress it. We’re impulsive as fuck. We don’t think before we leap (our brains probably wouldn’t let us anyway). And it will seem like we are flying off the handle for no reason whatsoever. But we also have a tendency to unhealthily hold onto it afterwards even once the initial burst has happened. It’s like a (bad!) positive feedback loop.

14. Gotta bounce the leg. Gotta rock. Gotta fidget. Shit, I’m sorry, were you talking?

So one time I made it through 40 minutes of a math class actively suppressing the urge to bounce my leg… and then my leg twitched of its own accord. Freaky as shit, 0/10 recommend.

Sitting still is physically impossible for me, and for a lot of ADHDers. Lack of impulse control + lack of social cue knowledge + lack of ability to decide what’s important to our brains = Fidget fidget. Fidget fidget. Twitch. Fiddle with paper. Hey, my backpack has a fun texture by the zipper. Oh my God, that lady on the TV is wearing the best shade of blue ever! I wonder where she got it. Shit, I need to go shopping. Wait, why did I need to go shopping again?

“Hey I asked you what you got for number 7.”

Fuck.

15. Depressive episodes. For me, these usually happen after a major hyperfocus where I taxed my brain for all it was worth, especially for long periods of time.

If it lasts for a long time or starts seriously affecting your life, get it checked out. If your doctor gives a damn they’ll be happy you came in to get it checked, even if it was the wrong diagnosis, because if it had been then at least they were there to help you. And they’ll always be happy to sit down and figure out what’s wrong. I know they have to watch out for hypochondriacs and whatnot. But if a doctor really cares about helping people they’ll listen when you say something’s wrong, because they know that you’re the one in your skin, not them. Which means if you really think something might be wrong, something probably is.

More evidence: justexecutivedysfunctionthings here on tumblr. Contains people’s experiences with EXDYF, which is a huge red flag for ADHD.

The Wikipedia article on the subject. There’s a nicely organized chart. (Or at least there was when I looked at it.) Remember, you don’t have to identify with all of the symptoms to be ADHD. Even if you only identify with a few, if they’re significant enough that they are seriously impacting your life and existence, it’s worth getting checked out.

I may add more to this later/change some stuff as my memory allows.

[floraexplorer]

Three Months as an Orphan, an Ice House and a Search for ‘Home’

In January, I came home to a broken boiler.

After celebrating the New Year in Cuba, I’d spent two straight days flying from Havana to Toronto to London – and I was exhausted. Moreover, I was more than a little worried about how it would feel to be at home at the beginning of this new year.

The first year I’m facing without either of my parents alive.

It’s been three months since my dad passed away, and in that time I’ve had a rude awakening into what my new life looks like. Suddenly I’m the sole person responsible for the house I grew up in: I’m responsible for every physical object which represents the life I once shared with my mum and dad. It’s a huge realisation, and it’s utterly terrifying.

In a purely practical sense, I’ve also been forced into adulthood in the most mundane of ways – something which became rudely evident when the boiler began to flash an ominous red light on December 26th.

“At least it was working on Christmas Day!” my boyfriend said brightly, while I immediately panicked and tried to find a repairman. Luckily my dad, ever the pragmatist, had already paid for a year of insurance cover for his three year old boiler, and the plumber who eventually arrived to check it out told me that the replacement part would be ready in three or four days.

Great news, right?

Except a fortnight later, we got back from Cuba and walked into a freezing house in equally freezing winter temperatures, and so a boiler nightmare began.

The prospect of a month without heating

Over the next few weeks, I had five different boiler appointments which were booked then cancelled at the last minute by the repair company – and my confidence was repeatedly chipped away each time. My vague plan for the first months of 2018 had initially been to slowly and calmly begin ‘Working On The House’: namely, sorting through drawers and cupboards, bagging up unwanted clothes for the charity shop, re-organising the layouts of furniture and knick-knacks, and generally navigating how to find comfort in a space which is suddenly unfamiliar.

Instead, thanks to a mysteriously hard-to-obtain replacement boiler part (and a company who didn’t seem too bothered about it), my house was destined to be bone-cold and virtually uninhabitable for four straight weeks.

So I did the only thing I could. I wrapped myself in every layer of thermal clothing I owned, clambered into bed beneath three thick duvets, and I hid.

What makes a place ‘home’?

In May last year, before we knew my dad was going to die, I’d planned to move to Scotland and live with my boyfriend. Jamie’s been based in Glasgow for the last six years, and I was excited to explore a country I’d always adored but hadn’t spent much time in.

Except that after Dad’s death, the idea of relocating suddenly became much more overwhelming. His house had always represented long-term permanence and security, but now that’s been shaken. Suddenly London, and my life within it, feels acutely vulnerable.

And yet, mere months before, I’d been so keen to leave London! I’d wanted to break out of the city-wide suffocation and breathe properly in the open countryside. I’d wanted to have a fresh start in Scotland. I’d felt ready.

So a few weeks after my dad’s funeral in mid November, Jamie and I drove northwards: up through snow-laden fields and into the Scottish countryside. During a fortnight we visited a dozen properties, some for rent and others for sale, in the hope that we’d chance upon a place we might want to live.

We met most of the owners of these properties, and I was fascinated to see how all these people had decorated their homes to reflect their lives. There was the man with a thimble collection whose children had all emigrated to Australia and who’d hung his garage with Australian flags; the woman who worked for years with a camel rescue centre in Syria and filled her house with green palm fronds; the house with the bright orange conservatory, a gaggle of inquisitive geese, and a cat tunnel dug into the wall.

These families were relocating because of many reasons: illness, old age, an increasing need to be closer to loved ones. Some seemed more resigned than others to be moving on – and I understand why, because leaving a familiar way of life behind you can be terrifying.

But while we were far away from London, I began to have uneasy nightmares about my dad’s house. Each night my mind filled with scenes of break-ins, spontaneous fires, unlocked doors and a confusion of visitors arriving for unexpected house parties.

When I eventually came back to London in December, it was with a bitter sense of relief. I wanted to embrace a new life in Scotland – but I needed to be in my family’s house. After so many years of wanting to keep moving, all I want to do now is stay very still in a place of comfort, and wait for this grief to wash over me.

Life inside an ice house, and a sense of reclamation

Of course, a broken boiler made the grief process a lot more stressful.

Jamie’s job called him quickly back to Scotland, so for four weeks straight, I was suddenly isolated by myself in a strange nothing-space. I spent all my time in a living room stronghold of 10’C, warmed only by two electric space heaters and a hastily constructed fire; my body dressed in leggings and tracksuit bottoms, thick HeatHolder socks, thermal long sleeved tops, a woollen black turtleneck once belonging to my mum, and an Ebay-purchased heavy knit jumper.

Under my multiple duvets, watching my breath mist above my head, I thought long and hard about what this house signifies.

It’s a safe space for me to actively feel my grief at losing both my parents, sure: but it’s also filled to the brim with them. Every picture I didn’t choose to frame or hang on the wall is a reminder of them. Every colour of carpet, every curtain pattern, every lampshade, every decoration is proof that I’m living around their memories.

For better or worse, this house is mine now – and these reminders, which have the ability to be both positive and negative, aren’t going anywhere until I decide they should. And I get the strong sense that part of my healing process is to reclaim this house so it feels like it belongs to me.

So I began to think about lampshades, wall murals, framing my own pieces of art I’ve bought around the world. Changing the curtains. Buying a good mattress for the first time in my life.

And with this thinking came a sense of proactivity. After what felt like months of passive hibernation beneath the covers, I began to actively preserve myself against the cold.

I used towels from my dad’s scarily organised airing cupboard to cover the gaps at the bottom of each door in the house. I spent an evening clumsily sewing up an old sweatshirt of my mum’s, filling it with rice to make a draught excluder.

Copying what my dad did years ago with the draughty front door, I hammered pins into the doorframe of the living room and hung a scratchy mohair blanket to stop any cold air from getting in. My fire-laying and lighting skills improved with every evening’s attempt.

By the time the boiler was finally fixed by a fantastic engineer named Errol, I’d worked out the best methods to preserve what little warmth there was in my house. I’d also begun to understand the myriad of triggers for my grief.  

As Errol stood on his ladder and peered inside the boiler, we talked about what it’s like to lose our parents. Errol’s mum had passed away the year before, and he knew exactly what was racing through my mind.

“You can’t get on with grieving your dad properly,” he said. “Not while you’re freezing by yourself in this house! You’ve really been through the wringer, haven’t you?”

Errol understood why this situation was so upsetting, and why my house felt so strange.

“You need to feel at home here,” he said, waving a screwdriver in his vehemence. “This needs to be your place. It’s your home now – even though you’ve lost your mum and dad.”

This house has always been my home

What does ‘home’ mean to you? Mine may no longer have my family in it – not physical people, at least. But there’s still heating and hot water (occasionally!), and there are all our familiar possessions. Belongings.

This is a place I belong to.

Regardless, sometimes this belonging feels a bit like being under house arrest. I’ve begun to have too many anxieties about a building I wasn’t really supposed to be living in right now. In the same way that I’m fascinated by people’s life stories illustrated in their houses, I’m scared of establishing my own story right here. I’m nervous of creating my own life inside a house which used to hold three people’s lives, intertwined around each other.

But then I remember there are almost thirty years of memories with my dad in these six rooms. Twenty of those years still involved my mum.

And without sounding trite, my parents didn’t raise me to crumble.

They raised me to be strong.

This time last year I could never have imagined where I’d be right now. But it happened. My dad died, and so my world shifted. Now, I’m spending a quiet Christmas Eve in my family house, without any surviving members of my family apart from me. And yet? That shifted world I inhabit is still beautiful. Different, yes – but undeniably beautiful. The dusk sky still shines with ethereal colours dancing through the clouds; traces of seawater still reflect smudges of fading light along the dappled sands, and it’s utterly mesmerising. I’ve been reflecting so much the past few weeks. I know my life has changed forever, but it’s still mine. I’ve spent the last decade since my mum’s death living fiercely: I’ve been experiencing everything I can of this beautiful world, and I won’t let that change. So merry Christmas, folks. The tide might be out in southwest Scotland, but soon it’ll come back to life again. And so will I ❤️

A post shared by Flora The Explorer (@florabaker) on Dec 24, 2017 at 8:29am PST

There’s no doubt that the grief process is going to be hard. I’ve already done it once before, and I’m not looking forward to it. But just like last time, I know that grief at its highest intensity doesn’t last forever. I can get through it, and with some self-care I know I will.

For now, I’ll be living mainly in London, visiting Scotland as often as I feel able, and spending time on short-term pursuits of happiness around the world. London is where my friends and community and familiarity are, whereas Scotland holds the promise of new horizons: a new life, when I’m ready for it.

So. I’ll reclaim this house to be my home. I’ll nurse my grief and regain my strength. I’ll find out what it means to be an adult orphan, and I’ll come to terms with it.

I’m battered, bruised and so very vulnerable – but I’m still here. And that’s a start.

Have you ever felt unsettled about your own home? Does moving house always contain emotional baggage for you? What does ‘home’ mean to you? 

The post Three Months as an Orphan, an Ice House and a Search for ‘Home’ appeared first on .

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[lunaircinderella]

Getting Back On The Diet Train

So I usually have off and on diets once every few months. Sometimes I stick to them for a few days, other times a few weeks(which is rare for me). I hope by posting a weigh in and diet plan on here will keep me on track. Rules: 1.Sweet drinks are limited to two a day, such as juice or smoothies. Water down juice, especially if it's filled with added sugar such as apple and cranberry juices.If it's soda(I don't drink soda a whole lot, once in a while I do otherwise I avoid it), frappe, cappuccino, etc it's one of them once a day. 2. I can have unlimited water and tea(green or Lipton tea specifically, boba/bubble tea does not count!). Fruit water is also unlimited as long as it's actual fruit in the water and not the "fruit flavored" kind. There can be two coffees a day since for me it's like a diuretic, I only drink iced coffee so I probably won't be having it too much. 3. Less pasta and sweets, more veggies and fruit. If it's pasta make sure it's a little less than the size of your fist and that it's whole wheat. I can eat as much rice, especially if it's brown rice, as much as I want. It fills me up pretty fast anyways. Veggies don't have to be eaten raw, I can always cook(with olive oil or coconut oil) and season them to be tasty. Certain fruits do contain more natural sugar than others so just be wary of that and don't just eat fruit and not veggies. Having a sweet treat once in a while will not kill me as long as I don't make it an everyday thing. 4. Choose leaner meats. Fish and chicken are great options, avoid having too much beef and pork seeing as they can be really greasy and filled with fat. I don't really eat too much meat especially beef and pork so I'm good in that department. I can also substitute meat/meat dishes for tofu and or veggie versions of them, hey I've never tried tofu but there's a first for everything. 5. Don't get takeout​ so often. Make it a once a week to once every two weeks thing. If I go out I have to choose the healthy option, if I don't choose it I can only eat half the dish I order. 6. Exercise in the morning on my days off. Get at least an hour in or half an hour if I don't have time/get up late. Walk wherever I go to(if it's in walking distance), shouldn't be too hard since a walk everywhere I go to. Listen to some tunes to keep me pumped up. Workout with videos from my favorite exercise YouTuber, remember to always stretch properly beforehand. Learn some kpop and belly dances. 7. I don't have to have three meals a day everyday. Sometimes two meal are enough to keep me full for the rest of the day. If I snack throughout the day I don't even bother to eat proper meals...which brings me to my next point. Don't snack throughout the day! Three small healthy snacks are enough. 8. Smaller plates equal smaller portions. Plus certain colors can affect how much or how little you eat, most fast-food places use red and yellow in their restaurants to encourage people to order and eat more. Blue and green can encourage a person to eat less. Make the food presentation look pretty, neat, and or fancy. You feel more satisfied abd full when your meal is visually pleasing. Eat and chew slower, actually savor the foods taste. 9. Don't just downsize food portions dramatically at once. The body will think it's starving and start to go into what I call "Hibernation Mode", it'll hold onto fat more easily. Steadily decrease portion sizes into a proper amount. 10. There are many people who have a bad day where they just binge eat. It's fine, I don't need to blame and put myself down if that happens, I just need to remind myself of my goals and get back on track.

[cookiemonsterindisguise]

the whole thing .__.

“Oh great, you’re back! Get dressed; we’re going out in half an hour.” My roommate’s sister and temporary roommate, Olivia states matter-of-factly, as soon as I enter my shared flat, completely ignoring my wrinkled work clothes, wind-blown hair and weary eyes.

“I’m sorry but I can’t, not tonight.”

“Did she just say she can’t?” My roommate, Grace pops her head in from the kitchen, looking at Olivia.

“Yes, she said she can’t because she cannot be bothered to drive you bitches around until 3 in the morning when I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.” I mutter as I make my way to the couch and flop down on it.

My friends look a fraction more sensitive upon acquiring this new piece of information.

“That asshole is making you work early again? After making you work until –” Olivia pauses to check the time, “like 8 tonight?! What’s he playing at?”

I shrug my shoulders, dejected.

“Why don’t you just quit? What he’s doing is so unfair.” Grace huffs angrily.

“Because I need the money.” I say, “I really need the goddamned money.” Even though I’d be happier if I was mopping floors than I am at my current job.

Olivia puts a hand on my shoulder, bright green eyes boring into my coffee ones with concern.

“Listen Alex, I think it’s time you leave this job. Grace and I’ll help you find another one and do the rent and groceries and stuff until then.”

“I agree. You’re miserable and you’ve been complaining about this for months – it’s time.” Grace adds, picking up the house phone and holding it out to me, “Call the scumbag and tell him you’re done, say you’re not coming in tomorrow.”

I look at both of them and I know they’re right but the idea of sitting around all alone, doing nothing makes me worry.

“Go on, call him.” Urges Olivia.

“But I can’t just be a potato watching you guys work and pay for things!” I murmur.

I’m met with expletives from both sides of me and then Grace says, “You can pay us back later, okay? Now for fuck’s sake, call him.”

I tentatively take the phone and stare at it for a couple of seconds, before dialing my boss’ number.

“Um hi Nathan, it’s Alexandra.” I say quietly and wait for him to respond until Grace says, “Cut the niceties. Just tell him he’s a dick and you’re quitting.”

“Yeah, what?” He replies brusquely and it gives me the courage to say what I was afraid of.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat and begin, “Do you know what Nathan? I work for your company; I wasn’t employed to answer to your individual becks and calls or to get your coffee or your lunch. I’m a well-qualified and honourable human being who will not put up with your shit any longer. So yeah, I’m officially quitting and I won’t bother with writing a Letter of Resignation because frankly, you don’t deserve it. I expect you to pay me for this month’s work by the end of the week and I’ll be around sometime tomorrow to clear my desk. Bye, I hope I never have to see you again.” And I hang up.

Both my friends look at me with shocked but satisfied grins on their faces, thoroughly impressed.

“Didn’t know you had it in you Alex,” Olivia compliments, walking towards her bedroom, “now get your butt off the couch and put on that grey skirt. We’re getting shitfaced tonight!”

~~~~~

It’s been nearly two weeks since I quit my job. So yeah, as of now, I’m unemployed. I’ve applied to several places but haven’t heard back from any so I’d say my current state of unemployment is here to stay. I get off the Underground and make my way to the shop to get groceries because while my roommates are decent with money, they suck at domestic stuff. They wouldn’t know they’re out of food until they’re starving and realise their fridge is empty. Naturally, stocking up is one of my responsibilities. As I’m filling my cart with cereal and grains and vegetables, my phone pings. Since I’m not the kind to text for idle chat, I’m slightly taken aback but I take it out anyway.

It’s an email and on seeing Farley Media as the sender’s name, my heart skips a beat since it’s one of the companies I’ve applied to. I quickly open it and upon reading through the first paragraph, I’m disappointed. They don’t think I’m right for their organisation and blah, blah, the usual excuses you make when you don’t want to hire someone. As I reach the end though, my heart starts to pound again.

Apparently, Farley Media works really closely with Parlophone, the record label, the huge ass record label that The Beatles, Coldplay and Paul McCartney are signed by. Turns out they’re looking for someone to handle the website management and other related stuff of one of their wings – I’m a web developer by the way –  and that I’d be perfect for them and they’ve recommended me to Parlophone and there’s a number that I need to call to schedule an interview and I might actually get this job. AM I DREAMING OR WHAT?!

Breathing heavily, I grab whatever food I can see and quickly rush to the checkout. Once I’ve paid for my groceries, I make my way back to the underground station and as I wait for the Tube, I call both Grace and Olivia, telling them about the email. They urge me to contact Parlophone instantly and after arguing for about two minutes, I give in. The number from the email belongs to some guy named Jackson Grier and he asks me when I can meet up with him, which frankly surprises me because they’re the big guns, I should be the one asking when they’re free because I’m just begging them for a job. Anyway, because I didn’t want to sound rude, I told him that anytime next week would be fine with me so he suggested Wednesday and obviously, I agreed but I honestly don’t know what a record label is looking for in a web developer (especially me) and what the protocol to interview with them is.

Once home, I fire up my laptop with the intention of thoroughly researching every possible scenario.

~~~~~

It’s Wednesday.

I’m stood outside the Parlophone headquarters in Brook Green, London, dressed in my best black, formal dress that hugs my slight frame in a sort of flattering way, along with a coat and I. Am. Shitting. Bricks. Not literal bricks, of course, but you get my drift. Although I am curious about how that works.

Mr. Jackson Grier told me to get here by 2 o’clock and it’s only half past 1 right now, because I left early to avoid traffic. Even though I mostly travel on the Tube. But hey, if I had a car, I would be stuck in traffic, wouldn’t I?

I walk into the building which is all sleek, shiny metal and contemporary design and glass and it seems so detached and far away from the real world, it scares me a bit and I wonder how on earth I’d fit in here. If I get the job, that is. I walk to the reception where there’s a smartly dressed man sat, engrossed in his Mac screen and I feel a bit rude interrupting him but then I remind myself that I was invited here by someone who is most likely his boss, so I go ahead.

“Excuse me?” I try to sound confident and I think I succeed to some extent.

He looks up, annoyed but I’m far too nervous of my own accord to dwell on his demeanour.

“I have an interview with Mr. Jackson Grier scheduled for 2.”

“Well it’s not 2 yet, is it?” He speaks in an irritated voice. I’m slightly affronted but I power on.

“No, it isn’t, but I was wondering if you could let him know that I’m here anyway?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at me for a second before picking up the phone.

“If you could just wait over there, that’d be great.” He says, pointing to the couches off to the side of the lobby.

“Of course.” I smile at him, trying to be polite and move to one of the couches. I pull my phone out and check to see if I’ve missed anything.

I haven’t.

Of course, it doesn’t surprise me since I’m rather antisocial. I’m usually very reserved and quiet, don’t have a lot of friends but do have a more than mild case of agoraphobia, general anxiety disorder and OCD. Yeah, I’m just your usual dork who hibernates in the comfort of her home in her spare time.

I wasn’t always this nerdy. There was a time when I tried to channel my awkwardness into being a rebel, trying to be different while still being ‘acceptable’ to others. Clearly, it didn’t work out. I grew out of it soon enough and realised, gradually, who I am.

“Mr. Grier is ready for you!” The receptionist calls out, breaking my chain of thoughts.

I get up, smooth down my dress and am about to ask him where to go when he states the answer anyway.

“Straight down the corridor, last door on the left.”

Hurriedly thanking him, I walk towards Mr. Grier’s office, trying to calm myself on the way.

I knock on the last door to the left that has his name on it.

“Come in.” He calls out and I walk in.

“Ah, Miss Mason! We spoke on the phone, good to meet you.” He gets up from his chair and shakes my hand, smiling kindly.

He is middle aged and looks experienced, but humble. He doesn’t have that obnoxious quality about him. Or at least it seems that way.

“Do sit down.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. We saw your work samples and my team and I honestly feel like you’re very good at what you do. We just need to make sure that you’re a right fit for us because as you know, we’re rather big and we need to be overly precise with all our operations, leave no room for second guessing or doubts.”

I nod along.

“So, can you convince me that hiring you will be the right decision?” He asks, and since this is the most commonly asked interview question in the history of interviews, I launch into my well-rehearsed answer, careful not to make it sound too practiced, speaking slowly but thoughtfully.

~~~~~

“Alright, do her eyes.” Grace calls out to Olivia, who is standing in front of a mirror, putting on lipstick.

It’s Saturday night and I’m being passed around, courtesy of my best friend and her sister who completely ruled out a quiet night in. They know no such thing. As a result, I’m being slathered in makeup and made to wear high heels and a short dress.

“Do I need all this?” I ask, knowing fully well that it’s pointless to try and refuse their orders. It’s just not worth the fight.

“If you want to go out, yes.” Olivia says, stalking over to me in her scarlet dress and easy, confident elegance.

“But I don’t want to go out!” I whine, once again knowing it’s pointless but trying to find an out anyway.

“No one asked you, love.” Grace flashes me a smile and proceeds to curl her shiny blonde hair into pretty beach waves.

I exhale a loud sigh and surrender myself to Olivia and her makeup skills.

Minutes later, I’m hauled up to my feet and am standing in front of a mirror. Much to my surprise, I don’t look bad at all.

“Can you believe how good this bitch looks dressed up when she just lazes around in baggy clothes?” Grace asks Olivia, both of them staring at me with an adoring expression.

I frown at them.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Olivia yells, ignoring me.

The three of us pile up in Grace’s car with Olivia choosing to drive. I’m in the backseat and once we’re on the main road, Grace leans back to look at me.

“I’ll give you 10 to get drunk and pick up a guy.” She says.

I laugh. She always tries to get me to drink.

“Not enough money.” She opens her mouth to retort but I cut her off.

“Besides, who’d drive you lot home?” I add.

“I could. I’ll be sober if you want to have fun Alex.” Olivia volunteers but I shake my head.

“Hey, I can have fun without alcohol okay? And I don’t mind it guys, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

Yeah, I’m one of those no-alcohol freaks, or teetotalers. I’ve had no problems with it in the past and there are no alcohol related issues in my family either but I abstain from it nonetheless. The truth is that I just don’t like the idea of voluntarily inhibiting your senses and doing stupid things under the influence of alcohol. Where’s the fun in that?! My friends gladly provide me counterarguments from time to time but still respect my decision at the end of them all, so it doesn’t really matter.

We reach our regular bar and my friends order vodka shots to ‘get in the mood’ while I order a Coke. When we’ve downed our drinks, I check my phone but my friends drag me over to the dance floor. The track is an upbeat dance number and I can’t help but move in time with the beat. As soon as the next track starts though, my phone starts to buzz in my hand and I move away from the dance floor.

“Hello?”

“Miss Mason, this is Jackson Grier.”

It’s hard to hear anything over the loud music but I make out his name.

“Oh, hello Mr. Grier. How are you?” I speak into the phone.

“I’m very well Miss Mason, but I was hoping to speak to you about some things. Is now a bad time?”

“Um, no. Just give me a minute.” I say and make my way out of the bar and onto the sidewalk where the music can still be heard but is not as deafening.

“Yes Mr. Grier, you were saying?”

“I just wanted to inform you, on behalf of Parlophone Records that we would be thrilled for you to join our team, should you so wish. You don’t have to give me an answer right now, take your time and if you do decide to take up the job, we can discuss the specifics whenever it is convenient for you.”

I open my mouth a couple of times, my mind reeling from this news and despite not having done anything all day, I feel exhausted. One million thoughts run through my head and I try to come up with some appropriate response, but I suspect I stay quiet for longer than I’d assumed because Mr. Grier speaks again.

“Miss Mason? Are you still there?”

It pulls me back down to the Earth.

“Yes, sorry, I’m here.”

“So, are two days enough for you to decide if you want to do this?”

“Actually, Mr. Grier, I’d love to do it.” I say, a grin creeping its way on to my face.

“Are you sure, Miss Mason? We’re willing to wait a couple days?” He offers but my mind is made up. Who says no to Parlophone anyway?!

“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you so much for the opportunity, I’m really excited about working with you.”

“As are we.” He says and I hear a hint of a smile in his voice, “Just to let you know, we’ve decided to hook you up with Coldplay. Have you heard of them?”

My eyes widen and my hearts pounds louder than the bass in the bar.

Are you honestly joking?! I love Coldplay’s music.

“Yes, I do like them a fair bit.” I lie, containing my delight.

“Then you’d love it at The Bakery. I’ve forwarded your details to their creative director, Phil Harvey, to whom you’d be reporting and he’ll take it from there.”

“That sounds wonderful! Again, thank you so much, Mr. Grier.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Mason. Good luck.”

Grinning, I thank him and head back to dance the night away.

~~~~~ 

"Why is it that I've nothing to wear?!" I exclaim, slamming my closet shut with a bang.

I'm supposed to be meeting with Phil Harvey from Coldplay in two hours and I. Don't. Have. Anything. To. Wear!! A tad dramatic but I'm very nervous so I think it's acceptable. Barely. But still acceptable.

Since my conversation with Mr. Grier a week ago, I’ve received several emails from Mr. Phil Harvey, Coldplay’s ‘creative director’ – his words, not mine – and he’s informed me that I’d be working under him and another man called Dave Holmes, who is the official manager.

Grace walks in my room, mouth set in a thin line and arms full of a mountain of formal dresses. She glares at me and sets them on my bed.

"Pick one so I can iron it for you. I can't take anymore tantrums, Olivia is already throwing one because I'm making tacos today." She throws up her hands as if she cannot quite understand why Olivia would do that.

To be honest, I'm glad she was the one to take the fall this time. Grace's tacos are a bit... Well horrible, if I'm being kind.

I make a big show of deciding but actually, I randomly pick two dresses and hold them up, "Which one's better Grace?" 

She looks convinced enough as she considers both of them.

"The peach one makes you look too pale, so not that. The emerald one's good enough I suppose. Give it here, I’ll iron it out and then you can put it on, we'll see then.”

I nod and hand her the emerald green dress. She takes it and then re-emerges with the smoothed dress just a minute later. Complimenting her efficiency, I head into the changing room. When I walk out, Grace is smirking lightly.

"What?" I question gruffly.

"You can keep that dress Alex. It was a little too tight on me anyway." She answers simply and it makes me smile. 

I thank her, quickly putting on a pair of moderately high, black heels because I hate wearing heels. I'm much better off in my Vans. I sling my bag over my shoulder, run my fingers through my hair to make it look a little less like… I don’t know, a bird's nest, to put it simply, and am almost out the door when I hear Grace call out my name.

"Yeah? What is it?" I question from the doorway.

She appears in front of me and takes me by surprise as she wraps her arms around me.

"Good luck." She says once she has released me.

I grin at her and run out to the elevator.

I reach "The Bakery", apparently the headquarters for all things Coldplay, with ten minutes to spare. After about two minutes of debating whether to wait or not, I walk in to the visitors lobby and I'm immediately struck by how different it looks from the Parlophone HQ. If that was cold and detached, this is incredibly homely and welcoming. 

A young man, not more than twenty five years old, sits at the reception and he smiles as I approach him. I'm about to introduce myself but he beats me to it.

"Alexandra Mason, isn't it?" He even sounds smiley and it’s kind of contagious.

“Yes, I hope I’m not too early?”

He smiles widely at me.

"No, you’re right on time. Dave isn't in today but Phil is and his office is just down the corridor. He told me to send you right in when you came."

Oh.

"So I can just go in, then?" I ask stupidly, still a bit unsure if I've heard him right.

He nods enthusiastically and I have to suppress a laugh. This guy is way too joyful.

"Oh, okay. Thank you."

Giving him a genuine smile, I walk to the only corridor that's connected to the lobby.

Once I reach the door that says Phil Harvey, I take a deep breath and knock.

Several seconds pass without any action and then I hear footsteps descending towards me.

A tall man opens the door and as soon as I make eye contact, I feel my face heat up because this man in front of me is wearing an emerald green shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the top. And yes, the emerald green is the exact same copy of the colour of my dress, in case you were curious. For a couple of seconds, I just stare blatantly, forgetting all my manners along with the fact that he's my boss to be.

Then, a slow, understanding smirk spreads over his face as he gives me a cool once-over and my cheeks flush. I look down on the floor.

"Alexandra Mason, right?" He asks, jolting me into consciousness.

"Uh, yes. Mr. Harvey, I presume?" I question stupidly, offering my hand.

He takes it and shakes it firmly.

"Call me Phil." He beams, then gestures to a chair inside. "Come on in, let’s discuss your work."

I walk in and just stand in front of the table, feeling a bit frazzled at our first interaction. When he stalks over to his own chair on the other side of the table and gives me an expectant look, I sit.

Phil Harvey is a well-built man with spiky yet shiny brown hair and warm, brown eyes. His cheeks have a pink tinge and I would have thought he was blushing if his eyes weren't so full mirth, telling me otherwise. In fact, he's rather handsome and seems very charming but he's more Grace's type than mine. If I have one, that is and I really don’t think I do. He also looks quite young and although I’m not aware of his exact age, I suspect he’s at least in his thirties because Coldplay has been around a long time –this, I know for a fact.

"So I'm sure you've heard of us?" He asks me, still smirking.

"Yes I have, and I must say, I'm rather thrilled to be working with you." 

His smirk grows bigger and I find myself smiling at him.

"Very pleased to hear that. Now I'm sure Joe has already told you that Dave isn't in today, but you don't really have to worry about him. You'll mostly be working with me and the rest of the team. Dave has very little involvement in that."

"Okay." I nod my head.

"You'll find out the absolute specifics of your work once you start but it's mostly to do with our website maintenance and such, so I hope that's clear enough?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"There is one little thing..." He says and pauses for effect and it makes me want to laugh. But of course, that'd be inappropriate, so I control myself and look at him in anticipation, instead.

"If you're okay with public attention, it won't be a problem but if you're keen on avoiding it, I'd suggest you come up with an alias because our social media and website posts are written by the web team and we believe in giving credit where credit is due. So all our posts have some initials or aliases at the end of them to indicate who created that particular one. Since there is always media attention surrounding these things, and mind you there would be lots of it once the album comes out, I want to make sure if you'd be comfortable under the spotlight."

"No I'm not comfortable getting that kind of attention, I'll come up with an alias." I respond without a second thought and my promptness makes him smirk again.

"Alright then. Glad that's sorted. I believe that is all, unless you have some questions?" 

"Would I be working here at The Bakery?" I ask.

"Yes, for the time being you'll be here. But once we go on tour, depending on our requirements at the time, we might need to take you with us." He grins. I have a feeling that it’s either at my expense or he’s enjoying some inside joke.

"Oh. Okay. And when do I officially start?" 

"When do you want to?" He asks, still smiling charmingly.

"Soon?" I say uncertainly, making it seem like a question.

"How about next Monday? I'm leaving town for a few days but I'll be back by then, so I’d be able to brief you and make sure you settle in okay.”

“Sure, that sounds good.” I smile.

“That’s great then. I look forward to working with you, Alexandra.” He says, his shining eyes boring into my soul, it seems, and I flush.

“Likewise.” I force a smile and within a couple seconds, the atmosphere gets awkward.

“Uh, I’ll see myself out.” I mutter, hastily getting up.

Phil Harvey jumps to his feet and ambles towards the door, opening it for me.

“Here, let me walk you out." He says.

I arch a brow at him, wanting to snap that I'm perfectly capable of walking out by myself but I bite my tongue.

We walk silently to the main door until I turn to him.

"Monday, 10 o'clock, then?" I ask tentatively.

"Monday, 10 o'clock." He nods with a smile.

"It was nice to meet you Mr. Harv-"

"Phil, please." He cuts me off and then apologises for interrupting me, making me laugh.

"It's alright Phil." I emphasise his first name and he grins at me.

"Goodbye then." I add with a small smile.

"Goodbye, Alexandra." He says my name slowly, deliberately, making me uncomfortable and for a split second, I'm almost tempted to be that open and tell him that I prefer Alex, but that moment passes as soon as it arrives and I turn, bow my head and walk out.

I walk a few feet and when I turn around, I see Phil still standing at the door, watching me. He waves when he notices me and I smile at him, then turn back around and march on.

~~~~~~

"Did he say anything about your dress?" Olivia asks through a mouthful of pizza.

I bestowed kindness upon myself and Grace, and decided it better to simply buy a pizza than to bear Olivia's cooking. As a result, we’re sat in the middle of my bed, surrounding a box of pizza at dinnertime.

I shake my head.

"He's my boss, Liv. What would he say about my fucking dress?" I say rolling my eyes, but as if on cue, my cheeks redden as I remember the… um... incident. 

"Oh my god! What happened?" Grace shouts mid chew, forgetting all her manners and successfully deciphering my expression.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant as I take a bite of my pizza.

"The shirt he was wearing was the same colour as my dress." 

"Aw, that's so cute!" Olivia jumps in.

I glare at her and with narrowed eyes.

"Was he handsome?" Grace questions excitedly.

"Very, but he isn't my type. You'd like him though Gracie." I say, ruffling her hair.

"What do you mean he isn't your type? Does your type come with wings or something?" Olivia snaps, unable to understand why starting something with my boss would be a bad idea. Not to mention, to get into anything, the other person needs to like you back as well and I don’t think Phil Harvey would go for someone like me but I don’t say this out loud.

"No, but my type doesn't pay me a salary." I mutter.

"Why would I like him?" Grace pops up.

I shrug again.

"I don't know, he was the tall, fit kind you know. Shiny hair, shiny eyes, doesn’t that describe your usual type?" 

Grace blushes a little and ignores my dig.

"Sounds like you're rather taken with him." Olivia comments, no doubt still stuck on some idea of me and Phil, but when she notices the thunderous expression on my face, she wisely adds, “I mean in a completely platonic way, like ‘he’s your boss, so you respect him’ kind of way.”

“You could say that, he wasn’t intimidating or bossy, as I expected but he still had that no-nonsense attitude with just the right amount of nice.”

I pop the last bite of the pizza in my mouth and grab another slice.

“It seems like he’s a far cry from Nathan, so at least you’ll be happier here.” Olivia states and Grace nods her head solemnly.

“Yeah, there’s that. Along with the fact that I work for Coldplay now!” I squawk, finally letting my excitement show, and it earns me smirks from both my friends.

“What?” I question, rather abruptly.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re gonna be a sort of a celebrity now.” Grace says dreamily.

“Yeah, in no time, people will be coming up to you for pictures in the streets and whatnot.” Olivia adds, widening her eyes for emphasis.

I shake my head violently, confusing them.

“That’s another thing we talked about. He asked me if I was comfortable under the spotlight.” I explain.

“And you obviously said no.” Grace concludes, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and so I need to come up with an alias to put at the end of the things I post and manage and basically, the fan base, and the world in general, will know me by that name and hence, Alex Mason will be safe.” I smile smugly and my friends have identical, understanding though slightly disheartened looks on their faces.

All of us chew our pizzas in silence. Olivia looks up at me after a beat.

“Have you thought of anything yet?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it that much but as soon as Phil suggested an alias, all I could think was ‘Cookie Monster’.” I roll my eyes at my own immaturity.

“It’s not that bad.” Olivia suggests.

In a rare show of extreme coordination and solidarity, Grace and I cock our heads to one side, and give her looks as if saying, ‘Really?’ Olivia throws up her hands in response.

“Geez, sorry for trying to make you feel better.”

“Eh, don’t worry. I’ve got until next Monday to figure something out. In the meantime, I need you two to take your butts along with the rest of the pizza to your respective bedrooms and let me sleep.”

They grumble in annoyance at their abrupt dismissal but eventually get up and stalk out of my room. Grace even flips me off before slamming the door shut and it makes me grin.

My friends, I fondly think to myself, are dicks.

~~~~~~

I rip open a packet of Lays and pop a couple into my mouth, making a loud munching noise. Olivia and Grace turn as one to glance at me, frustrated knits of their brows clearly revealing their inner thoughts of wanting to murder me, but then they look away, knowing that it’s a waste of time to bother with me.

I stare moodily into the distance and am aware of my friends pushing a shopping cart around me while saying my name but the thoughts in my head are too overwhelming so I ignore them and fill my face with more crisps almost unconsciously.

“Why can’t we just leave her here to brood?” Grace’s voice floats into my ear, sounding really far away.

Suddenly, I snap out of my mind as an overwhelming sense of panic grips me and I feel my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.

“What if he fires me?!” I yell in alarm and turn around to find my friends.

Thankfully, they’re right behind me but the roll of Olivia’s eyes and Grace’s continued engrossment in the shopping list tells me they’re impassive to my outburst.

I widen my eyes for emphasis and repeat myself, stressing on the enormity of the situation.

“Guys! What if he fires me?! I have to go and face him tomorrow!” I wave my hands around.

Grace finally looks up from the list and stares at me for a second, before turning to face Olivia.

“Can you believe how dramatic she is?” She asks, as if I throw a fit every damn day.

“Dramatic?! Dramatic?! I’m serious; this is my job I’m freaking out about, for god’s sake!” I shout in a louder voice, perhaps proving her point.

Olivia rolls her eyes again and walks over to me.  She looks me straight in the eye and I get a little worried that she’s going to slap me, but she puts her hands on my shoulders and shakes me forcefully.

“He is not going to fire you just because you can’t come up with an alias Alex!” She tells me through gritted teeth.

“But what if-” I begin but Grace cuts me off.

“From what you’ve told us, he seemed rather impressed and he’s going to help you come up with one, if anything.”

I had more than a week to find an alias that works for me – that was my only job and I couldn’t even do that, so I don’t think Phil’s going to be impressed with me any longer. I want to voice these perfectly legitimate thoughts but the looks on my friends’ faces shut me up.

“We, on the other hand, might just end up snuffing you out if you don’t help us find Nutella. You’re the only who eats most of that, anyway.” She adds in a threating tone and it makes me smirk.

“Eats most of that? She’s like a crack addict for it!” Olivia snorts.

“If I found it for you, it would just defeat the whole purpose of getting you guys to do it.” I say, acting all high and mighty because I know not only the exact aisle that contains Nutella, but also the shelf, although I would rather just stand and watch them struggle. Partially because I’m a bitch, but also because, and this is the more important reason, they might have to live without me for extended periods and they need to know how to shop, in the least. Ever since my conversation with Phil the other day, Grace and Olivia have constantly been stressing over what they’d do when I’m not around, so I have decided to make sure that they learn the basics of survival, like grocery shopping and making dinner, and don’t starve to death while I tour across continents with the biggest band in the world.

“You’re a right ho, you know that?” Olivia says and I fake a bow, graciously accepting the compliment.

They push the cart past me and head into another aisle as I munch on more Lays, chomping over the music playing in the store. I start to follow them but my phone pings with an email.

When I open it, I realise that it’s from Joe, the receptionist at The Bakery and it’s my schedule for the week. I smile to myself, remembering his enthusiasm and in that instant, I feel an unexpected rush in my body and with it comes the Eureka moment I’d been waiting for.

“GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!” I shout and run into the aisle Grace and Olivia disappeared into, accidentally pushing some people and their carts in the process. They tut loudly but say nothing else as I skid in front of my friends with a face splitting grin.

“Guys, I found it!” I manage to huff out, still out of breath from running. That’s what happens when a potato tries to run.

“For the last time, Alex, Cookie Monster is not the best choice for a twenty-four year old grown woman!” Olivia mutters in exasperation.

I try to ease my breathing.

“It’s not Cookie Monster!” I throw my hands up and roll my eyes.

“What is it then?” Grace asks, scanning the shelves.

“Zephyr.” I declare with a triumphant smile and both Grace and Olivia turn to me immediately, eyes wide in shock or horror or joy, I’m not entirely sure.

Then, as one, they start jumping up and down and squealing like they’re four year olds in the middle of a relatively crowded aisle in a grocery store. It was joy, that much becomes clear, so I grin and they tackle me into a hug, shouting things like, ‘That’s brilliant’ and ‘we’re proud of you’ and blah blah. It’s kind of hard to decipher what they’re saying because both of them are speaking at the same time and for some reason, the music has also gotten louder now, making it increasingly difficult to hear anything over it.

Once we’re all done celebrating, Grace looks at me with a serious expression.

“Listen, there’s still a ton of things on the list we haven’t found. Could you please help? We’ll watch and learn?” She suggests tentatively and Olivia flashes her baby blue eyes at me accompanied by the most sincere look on her face.

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. Their faces light up and they know I’m a given.

“Last time.” I say sternly, jabbing my finger threateningly at them and they nod heartily in agreement.

“Last time.”