#and jon getting barfed on by a baby

[mkstrigidae]

tried to post a future APWH WIP scene here but tumblr is being STUPID and won't let me??? Anyways look for something tomorrow on the off chance this hellsite decides to work

[seiya234]

For a few years, even after they opened the Library, Stan still ran a carnival of extremely dubious legality on the grounds of the Shack. The return on investment, Stan always said, was worth the lawn getting torn up and stupider than normal questions.

Mabel wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth because in those weird growing pain years, between moving back and graduating high school, those were some of her favorite times and memories.

Maybe because it was something that was unequivocally hers. Dipper would come out, and Stan would let him con some rubes, little baby demon training wheels-

(though Dipper got big mad when she called it “little baby demon training wheels”)

-but it wasn’t anything that Dipper particularly looked forward to. It just wasn’t his thing, which was fine!

Because it was very much MABEL’S thing. And considering her life, it was nice to have a thing that was just Her Thing.

Stan wouldn’t let her have free rein of the fair- she still had to pay for her food and tickets. But the end of the world, plus all the unpaid labor she did at the Library, had made him a little soft, and she got a 50 percent discount, which was all she needed to eat herself sick on cotton candy and hot dogs, followed by barfing after riding the ferris wheel ten times in a row.

There was something incredibly magical about the very fact that there was a festival set up in her back yard! If she could go back in time and tell Little Mabel that, Little Mabel would literally explode. There were also probably like, other things Mabel should tell Little Mabel but two episodes had convinced her that time travel was nothing to mess with.

No but it was magical, to see trucks roll up and unload the pieces of rides onto the lawn, the RVs pulling out of sight behind the Shack and Stan greeting carnies he had known for almost forty or fifty years. Jon showed Mabel how to put together the Ferris Wheel and let Mabel operate construction equipment with five minutes of training. She learned how to make cotton candy, how to beat the rigged games, and from Stan’s ex-girlfriend Allison, how to read Tarot…. which half was just reading people.

The night before it began, when everything had finally been put up, she laid in the warm grass, smelt the hot summer air, and marveled at the cliffs that towered over the Shack and the little carnival.

She also kissed like, a LOT of guys, gals and non-binary pals in the Tunnel of Love and Corndogs, which was always a nice bonus.

(to be honest, Stan always just barely broke even on the carnival. but it was worth it to see Mabel smile like a loon for three to four days)

[captainjunglegym]

WIP Wednesday - 31/01/2024

Tagged by jon @bigassbowlingballhead <3

Uhhh so much in my brain here's a few things. Once I've finished my groundhog day fic, Henry Fox is Alive (which shall b soon) I'll do another long form firstprince fic AND some other short smutty ones too i believe

Untitled 'Other Woman' Fic (Firstprince, AU, chaptered)

Alex isn’t a detective. In fact, Alex is oblivious to most things. He didn’t know that his sister and his best friend were dating until Nora (the best friend) and June (the sister) were practically dry humping on his futon after his birthday party. He didn’t know that one of his law professors was part of a scheme that was laundering money for a corrupt business, even though the signs were there in hindsight. And his parents divorce? Well that certainly caught him off guard. But he isn’t stupid. Despite the aforementioned corrupt law professor, Alex does actually have a law degree from NYU and he does work at a very prestigious law firm in New York City. So, when the guy he’s been seeing, Marcus, accidentally texts him using the wrong name – well, he knows how it goes. Guys are cheaters. The texts say the following: Marcus 🍆 H, I’m going to be out of town thurs – Sunday for meetings (Lie, he's going upstate with Alex for a vacation.) Marcus 🍆 I love you and I’m kissing you (Barf) Marcus 🍆 Also remember the plumber is coming Friday to fix the sink in our ensuite (Oh, goodie they live together, and they have an ensuite. Pretentious pricks.) It takes Alex too long to realise, after he’d received these texts, that if Marcus lives with this H person, then it's Alex who is ‘the other woman.’ Fucking shit. And so, the detective work begins. He ghosts Marcus’ cheating ass, then sets about to find H and tell him he’s living with a lying cheating piece of shit. What could possibly go wrong?

No pressure tags for a few moots but it's late in the game y'all probs already been tagged! @eusuntgratie @sunnysideprince @nocoastposts @anincompletelist (and @ anyone who wants to get tagged! Again i've barely had this blog two minutes so let me know if you wanna get tagged in this stuff!)

other (more depraved) wips under the cut:

Untitled watersports fic (firstprince, canon, oneshot) 😵‍💫😳

Alex’s depraved mind lights up. “Get your cock out baby.” “What?” Henry squeaks. “Get your cock out,” Alex commands. “Let me get you hard so you can hold it better.” And Alex really is a certified freak, getting so much enjoyment out of this. But Henry, forever his good boy, does as he’s told and lets out little breathy moans as he pulls his cock out of his pants. He’s already a little hard, chubbed up from the pressure, and Alex wastes no time in getting his hands on it. He squeezes Henry’s cock in a way he knows feels good when you’re dying for a piss. Henry lets out a punchy little ‘uh’ and lets his head flop backwards onto the headrest. Alex begins pumping Henry’s cock slowly as it hardens, and it’s a little dry, but Alex has a feeling it won’t be dry for much longer.

An Invitation to fuck my mouth (Nick/Taylor RPF, oneshot, part of a series)

He finds himself staring. Any and all opportunity, Taylor will stare slack jawed and dumb, captivated by Nick’s elegant neck and those ridiculous lips. Nick could be talking to someone, a friend or something. He could be just sat there watching his dumb Arsenal on tv and Taylor will have to pinch the skin of his thigh to stop staring, to stop getting hard just from looking at him. But those lips. Taylor knows they feel good on his cock. And that neck. Well, Taylor isn’t unused to wrapping a hand around it. He wants more though. He wants to choke Nick with his cock. He wants to see his big dick fuck that throat raw. It’s depraved and dirty and a little scary. Nick’s not a delicate flower, but Taylor doesn’t want to hurt him. Wait. No. He kind of does. “Fuck.” He says out loud. “You alright darling?” Nick asks, oblivious. Yeah, he wants to fuck this man’s throat.

[hotforharrington]

Strangely Complicated (Pt. 5)

If you haven’t read the first 4 parts, here is the Season 1 Masterlist!

—

Setting: S2•E1 [MADMAX]

Warnings: swearing

Notes: I’m so excited to start season 2!! Bringing Billy in is going to spice things up ;) enjoy you guys!!

—

It was that time of year again. The leaves changed from green to variations of orange, red, and yellow. The air was cool and Halloween was nearly upon us.

The fall season meant that it had been nearly a year since Will Byers went missing. Nearly a year since me, Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve fought an otherworldly creature. Nearly a year since Steve kissed me outside the hospital.

But that exciting time of my life was now only a vivid memory. I figured the thrilling moments of my life were now just a part of my past, and that I should accept my normal reality. But that all changed in the fall of 1984.

I began the dreaded school day sitting on the hood of my car, my favorite novel in my hands. Jonathan had left only moments ago to head inside, but I was lingering. I couldn’t stay focused on my book and I didn’t mean to stare, but I noticed Nancy and Steve kissing in his car just a few yards away from me. It made my heart ache.

I fiddled with the pearl bracelet that Steve had given me last Christmas- a soothing technique I had acquired over the last several months. I locked my eyes at the ground, hoping they wouldn’t notice that I had been staring.

Just then, I heard a loud car engine coming up behind me. I turned my head to see a blue Camaro pull into the parking spot next to mine.

I didn’t recognize the car, so I figured it was someone new. The driver’s door opened and a boy with curly dirty blonde hair, who I assumed was about my age, stood next to his car. He had a cigarette between his fingers and took a quick drag before scanning the area around him. He was extremely attractive, and the looks of him made my heart swell in a way it hadn’t since Steve and I had our little affair.

Everything about him screamed ‘cliche bad boy’, and that honestly made him a bit more intriguing.

Meanwhile, a redhead girl got out of the vehicle and rode away towards the middle school on her skateboard. I assumed she must be his sister.

I didn’t want to be like all the other dimwit girls in my school, gawking at the new guy, so I redirected my focus on the book that was in my hands.

I could tell the mysterious boy was staring at me, but I refused to lock eyes with him. My eyes stayed glued to the page, although I wasn’t actually reading the words, until he walked away.

As he turned away from me, he flicked his cigarette and strutted towards the building. I couldn’t help but bite my lip and stare at how nicely his ass fit into his tight jeans.

I shook myself out of the daze and packed up my things to head inside.

—

Nancy, Jonathan, and I were walking out of our classroom as Tina handed out some orange flyers.

“Thanks!” Nancy said to her before turning back, “Could I get two more?”

Tina handed her two more of the flyers.

Nancy skipped towards us and handed us each one of the papers.

“You guys are coming to this.” She said.

“‘Come and get sheet faced’” Jonathan read off the page.

“No we’re not.” I said with a chuckle.

“I can’t let you two sit all alone on Halloween. That’s just not acceptable.”

“Well you can relax. We’re not going to be alone.” I said to her.

“We’re taking Will trick-or-treating.” Jonathan explained.

“All night?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah.” Jonathan said.

“No, no way. You’re gonna be home by 8:00... listening to the Talking Heads and reading Vonnegut or something... and (Y/N)’s going to be reading that same book she always does.” She said, gesturing to the book in my hands.

Jonathan and I looked at each other and shrugged, “Sounds like a nice night.” We said in unison.

“Guys... just come! I mean, who knows, you guys might even, like, meet someone.” Nancy said before Steve swooped around the corner and lifted her around by her waist.

She hit him playfully, “Oh my god! Take those stupid things off.” She said referring to his sunglasses.

“I missed you.” Steve said to her.

“It’s been like an hour.”

“Tell me about it.” Steve said before pulling her into a kiss.

It made me sick to my stomach. Jonathan and I stood there awkwardly for awhile before moving along down the hall.

“God I’m so sick of those two.” I said to him.

“Tell me about it.” Jonathan replied. “She’s so dumb for wanting to be with that Harrington guy.”

“Hey, it’s not the Harrington guy that’s the problem.” I said defensively.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still into him.” Jonathan said, annoyed.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be. Besides, it doesn’t matter. He’s too obsessed with your ‘Little Miss Perfect’.” I sighed before continuing, “C’mon Jon, let’s just stop with this... “

He agreed and the two of us continued on to our next class.

—

At the end of the day, I walked outside to meet Jonathan and Will at my car. I had my book in my hand and gazed off to one side, my eyes locked on Steve who was getting to his car. Then, Nancy showed up.

Barf I thought to myself right before bumping into a firm body.

I dropped my book on the ground and before I could bend to pick it up, the person in front of me grabbed it off the concrete and handed it back to me.

“Thank you.” I said in a sweet voice, before looking up to lock eyes with a pair of sparkling blue ones.

A sly smile swept across the face of my new parking spot neighbor. “No problem. I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove.” He said, grabbing my dainty hand to shake it. “You got a name?”

“Um, I’m (Y/N).” I replied.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N). Hopefully we’ll get to see more of each other.” He winked before walking off to his Camaro.

—

Like most every evening, I spent my time at the Byers house with Will and Jonathan.

Jonathan and I stood outside Will’s bedroom and Jonathan gave the door a few knocks before going in.

“Hey bud. I didn’t know what you’d like so I got a variety.” Jon said to his younger brother, showing off the videos in his hand, “Take your pick.”

“Whatever you guys want.” Will said to us.

“All right...” Jonathan said before the both of us moved to sit on his bed.

“Whatcha workin’ on, little man?” I asked Will, noticing his drawing, “Zombie boy? Who’s Zombie Boy?”

“Me.” Will said meekly.

“Did someone call you that?” Jonathan asked him. There was no response, so Jonathan continued, “Hey, you can talk to us, you know that, right? Whatever happened.”

I playfully nudged him and said, “Will, c’mon, talk to us!”

“Stop treating me like that.” Will said looking from me to his brother.

“What? Like what?” I asked him.

“Like everyone else. Like there’s something wrong with me.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonathan questioned him.

“Mom. Dustin. Lucas. Everyone! They all treat me like I’m gonna break. Like I’m a baby. Like I can’t handle things on my own. It doesn’t help. It just makes me feel like more of a freak.”

“You’re not a freak!” I said, resting my hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I am. I am.” He said looking at me, then looking back down at his drawing.

“You know what? You’re right.” Jonathan said.

I was confused but curious to see where he was going with this.

“You are a freak.” He stated.

“What?” Will said.

“No, I’m serious. You’re a freak. But what? Do you wanna be normal? Do you wanna be just like everyone else? Being a freak is the best. I’m a freak. And (Y/N) is a freak, too.”

“Is that why you guys are each other’s only friends?”

“We have other friends, Will.” Jonathan said with an airy laugh.

“Then why are you guys always hanging out with me?”

“Because you’re our best friend.” I chimed in, “And we would rather be best friends with Zombie Boy than with a boring nobody. You know what I mean?”

“Look... who would you rather be friends with? Bowie or Kenny Rogers?” Jonathan asked.

“Ugh.” Will said, displaying a look of disgust on his face.

“Exactly. It’s no contest. The thing is, nobody normal ever accomplished anything meaningful in this world. You got it?” Jonathan said to his little brother.

“Well...” Will started, “Some people like Kenny Rogers.”

“Kenny Rogers?” We heard Bob’s voice from the hallway. “I love Kenny Rogers!”

The three of us chuckled, causing Bob to ask, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Will said.

Bob examined the movies sitting on the bookshelf, grabbing one from the stack. “Mr. Mom! Woo! Perfect!”

The three of us died in laughter on Will’s bed after Bob left the room.

—

Not wanting to get stuck watching Mr. Mom while Bob laughed at every little thing, I decided to head home for the night.

As I drove in the darkness, I bopped along to What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner as it played on the radio.

I was a few miles from my house when I heard a loud pop come from one of my tires.

Great. I thought to myself.

I pulled to the side of the road to hear a loud hissing noise coming from the front tire. No one had ever thought to teach me how to change a tire, so I decided to walk on home.

I’ll just have to call Jonathan to pick me up in the morning and help me change the tire another time. I thought to myself.

I was casually strolling and enjoying the crisp night air when it began to lightly rain.

Of course. I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes.

A few moments later, the sound of a loud car engine came up behind me. The car’s distinct revving sound was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

That was until the blue Camaro pulled up beside me. The passenger window rolled down and I looked over to see none other than Billy Hargrove in the driver’s seat.

“Need a lift?” He asked me.

I kept moving forward and said, “No thanks. I’m not trying to owe you some sort of favor.”

His car rolled along side of me, “C’mon, I hear standing in the rain will give you a cold. Just get in, no favor required.”

I hesitated, but decided I would rather take my chances with Hawkins’ new bad boy than walk the rest of the way home in the rain. I opened the passenger side door of the car and slid into the seat.

He asked, “Where to?” And I gave him directions to my house.

The car ride was awkwardly silent until Billy spoke up and said, “So are you and that Byers kid a thing?”

I rolled my eyes, “What’s it matter to you?”

“Just curious.” He answered with a smirk.

“If you must know, Jonathan might as well be my brother. And if you try anything, he’ll kick your ass. Should’ve seen what he did to Harrington last year.” I softly chuckled at the memory of seeing Jon beat Steve’s face in as I ran from the cops.

“That Byers kid beat up Steve Harrington?” He asked, in shock.

I nodded and noticed we were pulling up to my house.

“Well, either Byers is less of pussy than I thought, or Harrington is more of a sissy than I realized.” Billy said as he put the car in park.

I glared at him while saying, “Okay, if you’re going to talk shit about the two of the most important guys in my life, I’m gonna go.”

Billy looked at me in confusion, “Harrington’s important to you, too? I thought he was with that Nancy girl.”

I gulped before saying, “Well he is...” I looked down at my hands that sat in my lap, fiddling with my bracelet once again. “But we’re just friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see.” Billy said with a sudden realization, “You’re hung up on him while he’s in love with someone else.”

“Shut up, Billy. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. You’ve been in town for like one full day and you think you have everyone figured out.” I replied sharply.

“I don’t see you denying it.” He said.

I scoffed and gathered my things before getting out of the Camaro.

“Bye, Billy. I’ll hopefully not be seeing you around anytime soon.” I said before getting out and slamming the car door shut.

He rolled town the window and shouted, “See you tomorrow, angel!” He winked at me before speeding off down the road.

Who does he think he is?! I thought.

As my eyes followed the car down the street, I was caught off guard to see Steve, who was leaving Nancy’s, staring in my direction.

It felt as though time stopped when our eyes were locked. Then, he seemed to shake himself out of the trance and get in his car to leave.

I was curious if he recognized the vehicle or heard the words Billy shouted just a moment ago, but I decided to brush it off. I’d had enough bullshit for one day, so I decided to head inside, get some dry clothes on, and relax.

—

Part 6

—

Tags: @hargroveshoe @strangerliaa @maggiesblogsblog

[jupitermelichios]

Not-Fic Amnesty: Rorschach Kid-Fic

About 3 years post the Keen Act, and the Roche case, and everything going so wrong, Dan’s at home one evening by himself (as usual) when he hears a noise from the basement.

He goes to investigate, expecting rats, or raccoons, or a pigeon. Instead he finds a kid, scrawny and ginger and ugly as sin, wearing a man’s dress shirt that reaches nearly to his knees and nothing else.

Dan has no idea what the hell’s happening, but the kid is clearly cold and scared and hungry, and he’s not a monster, so obviously he takes the kid up and feeds him, and tries to get him talking. The kids not chatty, but he warms up a bit when Dan doesn’t stopping him having 8 sugars in his coffee, and the more he says, the more the suspicion grows in Dan’s mind.

He puts the kid to bed in his spare room, and calls Jon who confirms what Dan’s been fearing. The kid sleeping upstairs is Rorschach, somehow de-aged to 9 or 10.

Dan has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He knows what Rorschach would want him to do, but Rorschach is an asshole and sometimes an idiot, and Dan’s not going to abandon the kid to fend for himself just because Rorschach doesn’t trust Dan to know his secret identity.

Jon comes to examine the kid, and try and figure out what’s happened, and of course when she hears what’s happened Laurie insists on tagging along, because this is way too good to miss. Except that it turns out Rorschach as a kid isn’t prime teasing material, it’s just fucking tragic. He’s so small, and so scared, and so desperate to find anyone he can trust that he’s imprinted on Dan like a baby bird, and he’s awkwardly polite to her and so worried when Jon’s teleportation makes her barf like it always does, and godamnit it she hates Rorschach but it takes all of five minutes for her to decide she would die to protect baby Walter.

Jon can’t figure out what’s happened to Rorschach, something is blocking his future vision, and that’s unusual enough that he actually engages with the problem, promises to investigate. He suggests that Dan speak to Adrian as well, but Dan’s wary to when Rorschach always disliked Adrian so much. (He would never admit that it’s also because Adrian has a tendency to take over any situation, and he’s guiltily enjoying being the one in control for a change.)

Laurie agrees to go shopping for clothes for Walter, since he won’t let Dan out of his sight, and Dan’s wary of taking him outside when he might suddenly revert at any minute, and she tries to pretend that she’s just helping because of how pissed Rorschach will be when he comes back and realises what happened, but really she’s just gone all in on being Walter’s cool vodka-aunt.

After a week of not much happening, they realise that this might be a long-term thing, and people are going to notice that Rorschach hasn’t been out on the streets. They debate just leaving it, but even though they’re both retired and legal now, it feels disrespectful to retire Rorschach even temporarily.

Dan would never pass as Rorschach in a million years, but with a binder and a little strategic planning Laurie is surprisingly convincing, and Dan is very confused by how ridiculously hot he finds that fact. They fall into this domestic routine, Dan home-schooling Walter in the day, then Laurie giving him boxing lessons and having dinner with them before she goes on patrol, and Dan isn’t surprised in the least at how damn happy he is, even though he’s desperate to be out on the street with her, but it comes as a shock to Laurie. She hadn’t even realised she was miserable, but suddenly everything is so much better that it’s been for years. She’s missed being out on the street, but more than that she’s missed having people who actually pay attention to her. Jon cares about her, but it’s all so distant and abstract, but Walter thinks she’s the coolest person in the world because she showed him how to throw a proper punch, and Dan is a perfect gentleman but she’s not an idiot and she can see he’s falling in love with her, and she almost hates how good it all feels.

Eventually Jon admits he’s not getting anywhere, and Dan has to suck it up and go talk to Adrian. Naturally Adrian thinks it’s all hilarious, but promises to look into it.

He’s Adrian, and he’s a dick, so he doesn’t update them, or tell them what he’s doing. They say goodbye to Laurie and go to bed one night, and the next day Dan wakes up to find the spare room empty, and a note in familiar handwriting that just says “don’t look for me”.

When Adrian phones later to say that it was an accident resulting from an experiment he was running involving tachyons. Rorschach must have been close to one of his research labs during one of the test runs, and somehow been exposed.

Dan’s too fucked up to be suspicious. When Laurie turns up the night after Rorschach’s disappearance, he just fucking collapses, sobbing his heart out. She does her best to comfort him, but there’s not much she can say, and when in a moment of emotional weakness he kisses her, she stops coming visiting him, too guilty over how much she wanted him too to see him again.

He spends weeks drifting, feeling like a ghost in his own home. It’s not even the loss of his almost-kid. He’d never really forgotten who Walter was, had never let his feeling get more paternal that strictly necessary, as opposed to feeling like an older brother. What’s fucking him up is realising how pitifully lonely his life is. How he has no friends who aren’t superheroes, and now even they aren’t talking to him anymore.

He doesn’t let himself hope when he hears noises from the basement, he honestly feels like he’s beyond hope that this stage, but he still nearly fucking breaks down crying when he finds Rorschach waiting for him. Not Walter – real grown up Rorschach. His Rorschach.

Turns out he’s been investigating Adrian, trying to figure out what the fuck really happened because he didn’t believe for one second that his de-aging was really an accident. And he’s got proof.

Dan pretty much started suiting up as soon as he saw him, because he’s spent 3 years benched while people he cared about fought crime with no protection and no back up and he is done, okay, he is totally fucking done with that. But he nearly gives himself a concussion that would have benched him for another month when Rorschach casually mentions that they need to go get Laurie first.

Jon doesn’t seem surprised to see them – Walter is the only thing that’s managed to surprised him for decades – but does seem real sad. Laurie takes one look at Rorschach and goes running for her costume, because in some ways she’s been even worse of than Dan. She’s had a taste of it again, a chance to do what she was trained from birth to do, and then had to give it all up to go back to playing house with a man who barely speaks to her.

She tells Jon she’ll be back later, and he just says “no you won’t” and goes back to his work, and she doesn’t press it.

In Archie, Rorschach tells them what he’s figured out – that Adrian is behind a series of death of retired superheroes and villains. That he’s been building a secret base in the arctic. That he’s been doing experiments in ways to block Jon’s vision. That he knew Rorschach’s identity.

Put like that, it’s pretty clear what’s going on, if not the reasons for it, but Dan doesn’t want to believe it. Yes Adrian’s weird, and intense, and thinks he’s smarter than everyone else just because he’s better at math, but there’s a big gap between that and full on supervillain. But Rorschach is sure. And Dan has been following this man’s hunches into certain death for a decade, and just because they’re all old enough now to know better isn’t going to stop him.

They go to confront Adrian in his penthouse. He’s ready for them of course, is sure he’s planned for every circumstance. But he never expected them to be a family. He understands comradeship, even friendship of a sort, but he’s never understood family. Laurie has spent weeks using all Rorschach’s signature moves, Walter spent weeks studying Laurie’s style, both of them know Dan inside out. They work together seamlessly, and for a moment it looks like it’s going to be enough. Adrian’s good, but they’re spectacular.

But Adrian really doesn’t plan for everything, and they’re in his property, in the middle of New York. The highest paid private security in the US are only a button push away, and there’s only so much even the best spandex can do again machine guns.

That’s when Jon shows up.

It only takes him vaporising a couple of guards to make the rest of them realise no paycheck is worth this. Adrian tries to play it innocent, but it doesn’t matter. Rorschach’s return hadn’t been part of Adrian’s plan, for all that he’d been happy to take credit. He’d assumed the affects would be permanent, or at least long term enough to keep everyone distracted.

When Rorschach came to Manhattan’s labs to get Laurie, Jon had been able to trace the tachyon field around him, unravel it, undo it’s affects on his abilities. He can once again see all the branching realities, and he knows what Adrian is planning. How he was experimenting with ways to block Jon’s vision, to cover up his plans for the world. Mass death, destruction on a terrible scale, as a way of preventing nuclear war.

He tries to convince Jon that it’s the only way, but this Jon hasn’t been driven to the drink by a campaign of psychological warfare. He atomises Adrian, and then for good measure, he atomises every single nuclear weapon in the world.

Even with the horror of what Adrian was planning, and seeing their old friend killed, there’s still the elation of having won. Having saved the day. This time when Dan kisses Laurie she doesn’t stop him, and before Rorschach can edge away from the display of affection, she grabs him and kisses him too, right on the mask.

They all go still, waiting for the violence, but to their surprise it doesn’t come. The mask patterns move very fast, like maybe he’s blushing, but he doesn’t do anything more than adjust his hat and move a little closer to Dan. And when Dan takes his hand, he doesn’t pull away.

Jon is by the window, looking out at the city he just saved. Laurie comes over the join him. She hadn’t know she was making a choice, but she can feel the finality of it now, and she doesn’t regret what she did. They’re better together, the three of them, they’re a family. She and Jon were never a family, just two lost souls clinging to one another because the familiar is less frightening than change. “I’m leaving,” he says eventually.

“I know. I’m not coming with you.”

“I know that too. I’m glad you have them, Laurel. They are good for you.”

“Yeah. I think they are.”

They keep watching for a while after he’s gone, but he doesn’t come back, so all that’s left is figuring out to get back out without being seen, and figuring out what to do with the rest of their lives together.

[qualeesi]

I have no idea why anyone gets upset when the actors/actresses comment on Game of Thrones with their opinions on the characters regardless if it supports their ship or not. I don’t even agree with what Maisie said and it’s not a big deal to me. People want her head on a spike for what? They give opinions on the show all the time lmfao. Folks act as if they’re the writers.

Why Jonsa or Jonerys fans are acting as if the words of the actors are sufficient evidence as to why their ship is supposedly superior or better than the other is beyond me. Because if we wanna go there, Sophie Turner said she would barf if ANYTHING were to happen between Jon and Sansa does not support the Jonsa ship and she said she wants Jon and Dany to have targaryen babies. Maisie said Jon’s thinking with his dick even though in the leaks, Arya seems more supportive of Jon.

Quit attacking the actors/actresses for giving their opinion on the show just because it doesn’t support YOUR argument.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 47

We stood outside the Paddle Room after texting Sammy to let him know we’d arrived, waiting for him to give us the okay once he’d gotten everything in place for our entrance. The makeup Veronica had so artfully applied was gonzo, replaced with what amounted to a hack job in comparison, courtesy of yours truly. The bun had drooped considerably so I’d abandoned that as well, leaving my hair hanging in loose waves that brushed my collar bones. Tom and I kept glancing each other and shaking our heads in disbelief, then smiling, then frowning. We’d decided that we should use this opportunity to share our news, as a sonogram to determine how far along I actually was would happen as soon as I could get someone in LA to fit me into their schedule, at which point a leak would likely be inevitable…thus, it seemed to be a ‘better they hear it from us’ scenario. WHEN to share it was the question, and we were concerned that those closest to us might be offended they hadn’t been told first. Tom’s phone chirped, and we opened the doors to listen for our cue. The low tones of something classical I couldn’t quickly identify faded, followed by Sammy’s voice booming over the sound system.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for…allow me to introduce, for the very first time…MR. AND MRS. HIDDLESTON!”

We’d requested La Roux’s ‘Tigerlily’ be played as we came in, starting at the first chorus, but instead, there was silence. Everyone was standing around the outer edge of the dance floor, facing us, but there was no applause, no congratulatory shouts…nothing. I turned to Sammy’s DJ station and noticed he wasn’t alone…next to him was Simon, microphone in hand, and I heard music start and he began to sing ‘Stand By Me’. After the first verse, the entire room joined in, and it wasn’t until they'd almost finished that I comprehended why they were doing it. Even though we’d practically just done a shoot for the media as a result of the Claudia debacle, it had completely slipped my mind. Honestly, yesterday felt like a lifetime ago from where I stood, but the sentiment was so beautiful and having the support of so many people, many of whom had either just met or barely knew me, fostered such a sense of belonging, of family…and so, of course, I fucking cried again. When I looked up at Tom he, too, was bawling, which made me feel that my tears were seemingly justifiable. Either that or we’d just morphed into a new phase of our existence, wherein if we were a band I’d christen us The Weepers. We’d play totally emo stuff, with songs like ‘Cry, Cry, Cry’ and ‘All Day Sob Song’. The applause began once the song ended, accompanied by whistles and cheers. Through my tears I raised my left eyebrow at Tom, and he responded with a shrug, then nodded as he darted over to Simon and snatched the microphone from his hand. He walked back to my side as he began to speak.

“Thank you all so much for that, and for being here with us. Maude and I are so very, very blessed to have you in our lives, and sharing this day, one which I wouldn’t have thought could possibly be more meaningful, more joyful, or more…more…” Watching him, I could tell he’d totally lost his train of thought, so I reached out and touched his hand lightly. He turned to look at me, and when I smiled, he smiled, and resumed. “Anyway. Since we’re all here in one place, gathered together in celebration, we’d like to share some news with you, if you don’t mind. Mrs. Hiddleston, would you like to do the honors?”

He handed me the mic, which left me no way out, and my eyes moved from one side of the room to the other, noting the varied expressions of our guests and imagining how they’d change in a matter of seconds. I swallowed, then cleared my throat.

“Well, this is totally out of line as far as decorum goes, probably, and it’s still really early in the game, but we wanted you to hear it from us before it leaks…so…” Another swallow, followed by a very long, deep breath. “I…I…uh…I’m…um…” Tom’s lips grazing my cheek, while a well-intentioned act, only served to make things worse. I met his gaze and mouthed the words ‘help me’, and the grin that lit up his face as he leaned down toward the microphone was both ridiculously sweet and disturbingly sexy.

“What my radiantly beautiful wife is attempting to tell you is that…” He paused, taking the mic from me as he stood upright. “She’s pregnant.”

A chorus of ‘oh my gods’, some peppered with profanity, rang out, as well as more ‘I knew its’ than I would have expected, two of which I recognized as Simon’s and Anne’s. We were quickly surrounded by well-wishers, Simon being the first to reach me, latching on to my forearms and literally jumping up and down with glee.

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!” He stopped jumping to embrace me, then leaned back to give me a once-over. “Luke told me you barfed yesterday, you thought you were going to barf on our way to get dressed, and then you barfed again in the grass and I was like wow, she’s been a little nutty lately, I wonder…”

He escaped a punch to the gut only because Anne shoved him aside side in order to place a hand on either side of my face and add her two cents. “I knew when you thanked me for praying.” I sighed, and she smiled widely. “I jest, my dear. I just…knew, as soon as I saw you. I can’t explain it, but I did. The throwing up after the ceremony was confirmation. I remember that feeling.”

I shook my head. “Soooo…am I the only one who, like, had no fucking clue? Because it’s starting to seem that way.”

Simon side-eyed me, lips pressed together tightly. “Are you trying to tell me you DIDN’T KNOW?” Haven’t you been tracking this minute by minute? How could you not know?”

“No, I’m not TRYING to tell you…I AM telling you. It didn’t even enter my mind as a possibility. Because I put April’s info on the May calendar and…”

He crossed his arms, an open-mouthed smirk upon his face, well aware that there was some piping hot tea about to be spilled. “Oh Maude, honey, this is too GOOD. If you had no idea…how did this whole finding out thing, you know, happen? And more importantly, WHEN?”

Next to me Diana, Emma, and Sarah had been congratulating Tom, but were now standing and listening, along with whomever else was within range of my voice. Tom was trying to suppress a grin and failing epically. I rolled my eyes.

“Weellll…my incredibly perceptive husband totally knew and…”

Tom interjected. “To be clear, I didn’t know. I suspected.”

I flipped him the bird, which elicited a deep chuckle. “He suspected. For quite some time, apparently. And after my most recent regurgitation spectacle, he decided to broach the subject, since, you know, I hadn’t. I was all NO WAY DUDE NOT POSSIBLE YOU ARE INCORRECT then I pulled out my phone and suddenly it WAS possible so we sent Melanie out to buy a test while we did photos and a test wound up being six tests and we couldn’t make ourselves wait until after the reception so we literally found out twenty minutes ago or something and here we are and please tell me I didn’t miss the pizza bagels because I’m starving and I NEED the pizza bagels.”

Simon took my hand and began to lead me to our table. “Out of the way, people. Ravenous pregnant lady coming through.”  Tom had followed and pulled out my chair for me, then pushed me in as I sat down. He ran off, and Simon sat down in the chair to my right, teary-eyed and smiling. “Well, I think you’ve outdone MY wedding, which is incredibly rude and I hate you for it. But seriously…I am so, so happy for you. Beyond happy. How far along are you, do you think?”

“Six or seven weeks? That’s just a guess…I’m going to see someone as soon as we get to LA to confirm, though.”

He counted on his fingers. “So you’re due mid-to-late February, then. Fuck me, we’re actually going to have babies together. I can’t. I need more booze for this. You stay here while I hit up the bar, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

As I waited, I glanced around the room, the decorations reminding me that I was sitting at the head table at my wedding reception. My ability to focus had been rendered to near zero, and I hoped I wouldn’t be left alone for too long lest I accidentally set something on fire or inadvertently destroy the universe. A plate of at least a dozen pizza bagels magically appeared on the tabletop before me, the bright silver band on the purveyor’s left hand spurring a stream-of consciousness recognition – this is my husband, who has brought me food, and we are having a baby. He sat in the seat to my left, and I turned to him, smiling, in all likelihood, as if I were a complete moron.

“Hi. I love you. You brought me pizza bagels. We’re having a baby.”

He grinned. “Hi yourself. I love you too. I did. Yes, we are. Have I mentioned lately that you’re alarmingly adorable?”

I shook my head as I snatched a bagel off the plate. “I don’t know. I’m like…” My snack-less left hand rose to ear-height, then flung up and outward with fingers extended as I mimed ‘mind blown/vacant’ as best I could. “None of this feels real. Maybe I need some coffee. Shit, can I still drink coffee? My condolences to all of you if I cannot. Also, I’ve been drinking it the entire time…is that bad? Good lord…I know nothing, Jon Snow. I need a tutor. Send in the moms.”

He grabbed my right wrist gently, guiding my hand to my mouth. “Eat, love. What you really need is fuel to burn.”

As long as I live, I’ll never forget that first bite of wedding-day pizza bagel. On a scale of one to Carnegie Deli Cheesecake, it was Spinal Tap crank it to eleven delicious. The rest were gone in just a few minutes, and as I opened my mouth to ask Tom if he’d go fetch me a few more along with an ice-cold soda, Sammy announced that everyone should proceed to their tables as dinner was about to be served. One by one the members of our wedding party stopped to congratulate us before they took their seats, and Diana paid me a visit before she joined her own table. She leaned down to embrace me, bursting into tears as she began to pat my back.

“The day I get to officially welcome my new daughter into the family, I’m blessed with the news that the family is expanding even further. What an incredible, wondrous thing…and how lucky we all are to have you, Maude.”  

I squeezed her tightly, crying as well. “Thank you, Diana. You’ve all welcomed me into the fold, and I’m so grateful for it. Thank you, again.”

The staff arrived, carrying trays of drinks, soup and salad. By the time they returned with the family-style main course I’d begun to feel more like myself, grounded and present as opposed to being off in la-la land. The initial conversation had revolved around our announcement, but gradually shifted to more everyday things…a bright spot of normalcy in a week filled with chaos. When I realized that it had been only yesterday morning that the Claudia story broke, and that the insanity was not far beyond thirty-six hours old, I felt like I’d been caught in a time-stretch because it seemed that the duration had to be vastly greater. I took my first bite of fettuccine Alfredo at that point, which rendered everything else moot, and the noise I made when the sauce hit my taste buds prompted Tom to slide his hand up my dress under the table, stopping just short of the danger zone when the sound of clinking glasses all around the room demanded that we kiss. Again. For like, the fifteenth time. I shifted forward, hoping to connect and get some quick hand action in, but the bastard pulled away, trailing his fingers slowly down my inner thigh as his tongue exited my mouth.

I pointed my fork in the air, at no one and everyone all at once, voicing my displeasure loudly. “If you all want the bride and groom to hang around past the cake cutting, you need to STOP. DOING. THAT.”

Robert shouted from two tables over. “A toast to Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston, whom I predict will wind up needing the third-row-seating SUV model in order to transport their brood in its entirety in the not-so-distant future. Or maybe a mini-van…and if that van’s a rockin’…”

Tom yelled back, with a bunch of other hooligans joining in. “Don’t come a knockin’!”

I leaned forward, head in my hands, but was soon disturbed by a tap on my shoulder. I turned and glanced up to discover Melanie, fulfiller of wishes great and small.

“Speaking of cake cutting…would you like to do that now, or should we wait a bit?”

The woman left no stone unturned, and I was touched by her thoughtfulness, taking into account that my digestive system was essentially an active volcano at this juncture, prone to erupt with little to no warning. Admittedly I was nearly full, but…cake. There’s always room for cake. Or any other food from the dessert category. As I imagined the sugary goodness that was buttercream frosting, I rose from my chair.

“Now, please and thank you. Cake. Yes.”

Tom had been engrossed in conversation with Luke, and my sudden movement startled him. He peered up at me, eyes wide. I leaned down, my nose nearly touching his.

“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkkeeeeeeeeee.”

He laughed as he stood, placing a hand on my lower back as Melanie ushered us to the cake table, which had gone unnoticed in the whirlwind of our entrance. “You know I’m picturing that cartoon panel you’ve shown me right now, the stick-ish figure in the pink dress with the yellow hair?”

“Allie Brosh. Mmm hmm. The woman’s a comedic genius. Did I ever show you Simple Dog?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Really? My god, how could I be so negligent? Those are laugh until you can’t breathe hilarious. Next plane ride, that’s what we’re doing, m’kay? We can probably wade through her entire repository travelling back and forth to Australia over the next few months, and…holy fuck, look at the CAKE.”

It was exactly how I’d envisioned it, and as I examined the text on the spines and worked my way to the middle I was floored by the fact that Tom and I had not only combined our own stories, but as they’d merged we’d begun to write the very first chapter in the book of someone else’s life, a brand new someone else whose life had sparked into existence within…me. I looked to him, shaking my head.

“Dude, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this whole pregnant thing.”

He laughed. “Maybe you should give it more than a few hours to sink in?”

“Excellent advice. But still…it’s BANANAS.”

“Agreed. I must admit that I feel a bit like I’m on a movie set today, because this day has simply been too extraordinary to be reality. You always hear people pinpointing their wedding as one of the best days of their lives, but I couldn’t quite buy into it, and yet…as of now, it’s an indisputable fact. For me.”

I slipped an arm around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder. “Me too. It’s over-the-top schlocky and romantic, but I am SO here for it. Which I will vehemently deny if questioned. Just so you know.” I poked him in the ribs with my free hand. “You gonna cut that cake or what?”

Tom took the silver cake knife from its spot on the table, grabbed one of the white plates, then carved a slice from the left tier and handed it to me. That was my side, his was the right, and he cut himself a piece from there next. The room had gone quiet, all eyes on us, wondering if we’d play it safe or start a cake-smearing war. We each broke off a small piece of our slice with our fingers, and I concluded that the places I’d most enjoy smearing things on him were currently off limits, so simply feeding it to him would have to do. He opened his mouth like a baby bird, and as I placed the cake on his tongue I thought I’d chosen wisely until he curled it around my fingers, covering them with cake which he proceeded to lick off. Slowly, eyes locked on mine the entire time. I mouthed the words ‘you fucker’, then pulled my hand free.

He grinned at me as he licked his lips, then raised his hand and moved it toward my mouth, which I opened, intending to return the favor and make things worse by sucking on his fingers. The opportunity did not, however, arise, as he ‘dropped’ the piece of cake onto my cleavage and then…ate it off. When he finished and stood upright, I pointed down at my boobs.

“Hold up…I think you missed some.” Loud raucous laughter filled the space, and I broke off another piece of my slice and popped it into my mouth. The buttercream frosting was ludicrously tasty and caused an immediate sugar rush to course throughout my body. A member of the waitstaff handed Tom and I forks while others began dismantling the tiers so they could be cut and served to our guests. We ate our first slices standing, then helped ourselves to another and went back to eat them at our table. Coffee and tea were offered, but I was still unsure of the caffeine situation so I had water instead, which was precisely as lame as it sounds, but my brain had still been too addled to think to ask for milk or juice. As folks began to mill about, Luke stood up from his chair next to Tom and clinked his glass with his fork loudly. Sammy ran over to hand him a microphone, and Luke cleared his throat loudly, then began to speak.

“Hello everyone. I’m reasonably sure you all know who I am.” He paused amid lots of nods and soft chuckles. “Tom and I have been part of each other’s lives for almost a decade, both personally and professionally. He’s been, in both those arenas, an inspiration to me and his success has motivated me to work towards achieving my own goals. No matter what I’ve ever needed, he’s always been there, ready and willing to help in any way he possibly can. He’s a gifted performer, a humanitarian, incredibly witty, generous, loving, kind, and he possesses a wickedly delightful sense of humor. Within our business relationship, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we always try to value one another’s perspective. One year ago today, we were at an impasse with no solution in sight. I’d accompanied him to Kauai as he was due to begin a shoot and there happened to be a seminar taking place here that I’d been trying to fit into my schedule for a few years, and after attending I contacted the speaker because I thought perhaps she might be able to set Tom and I on the path to an equitable solution. To make a long story short, she did, she came to work with me and propelled Prosper to a level I might otherwise have never reached, and, most importantly, she’s made my best friend a very, very happy man.”

Simon clapped loudly. “That she has, my sister from another mister. She delights me endlessly.” He leaned forward and looked up at Luke around Tom and me. “OHHHH, you meant TOM. So sorry. Do go on.”

Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “Anyway. Over the course of that day, one year ago, I watched two people falling in love, right in front of me. Two people who’d been made to be together, but had yet to cross paths. It was such a beautiful thing to behold…and here we are today, celebrating not only their marriage, but the beginning of their journey into parenthood. Please, do join me in a toast to two people I love very dearly, two people I am blessed to have in my life. To Maude and Tom!” He raised his glass, as did everyone else while echoing his words.

Simon was on his feet before Luke even sat down, waving to everyone with both hands. “Hi hi hi. So. I met Maude Gallagher in the living room of a gorgeous beach house here on the island, and I knew straight away that we were going to be the best of friends. Speaking of straight…if that’s what I happened to be, I would have beaten Tom to the punch and asked her to marry ME. The woman is a force of nature…she’s a genius, she’s hilarious, she’s snarky, she’s sarcastic, and she’ll gleefully verbally eviscerate anyone and everyone who stands in her way, the way of those she loves, or those she’s contractually obligated to represent.” The crowd laughed. “Now this bit, she won’t appreciate at all…she’s also giving, loving, thoughtful, empathetic, and…kind.”

I yelled, hands cupped around my mouth. “Shut the fuck UP, Simon. You’ll ruin my rep!” Another round of laughter ensued, continuing even as he started speaking again.

“We are kindred spirits. Our birthdays are one day apart, and we were born in the same year. You’re going to have to guess which one because I am NOT telling you. Anyway. I just love her to pieces, and I’m so grateful that she chose me to be her Person of Honor, and incredibly humbled that I was the one who came to mind when she was in need of someone to walk her down the aisle.” He’d begun to sniffle quietly. “I’m such a lucky, lucky man to have her…oh, and Tom! Tom! Beautiful, wonderful Tom! You’re doing AMAZING, sweetie. Both of them. I’m so lucky to have both of them in my life, to have their love…and they have mine, forever. Cheers, my friends, as you embark on this journey you’ve allowed me to share. May each day going forward bring you more joy than the one before. To Maude and Tom!”

After the applause concluded, Sammy announced that it was time for our first dance, and we took our place out on the floor, singing loudly to each other as ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’ played. A third of the way through people began to join us, and by the end everyone was singing and dancing like fools, which became the theme of the evening. When the festivities began to wind down and it was time for Tom and me to make our great escape, I was both exhausted and elated and unsure of which state would win out once we got back to the room. When he picked me up and carried me over the threshold, I knew it would be the former, and we both barely had enough energy to get ourselves undressed. He pulled back the covers and we flopped into bed, snuggling into spoon position, falling asleep with both our left hands resting on my lower belly, his on top of mine, fingers notched in an attempt to sate the overwhelming desire to connect with each other and the tiny miracle we’d made together.

****************************************

The entirety of Thursday had been spent lazing around and hanging out with friends and family, as most were heading out on Friday. Checkout time was eleven AM, and we both wanted to be present to extend our thanks and say goodbye. Tom had gotten up at eight-thirty in order to squeeze in a run, but my body said ‘bitch, stay down’, so after he kissed me goodbye and left the room I set my phone alarm for ten-fifteen on the off chance that he got caught up chatting and didn’t come upstairs to wake me. Going back to bed had always been one of my favorite things to do…it’s like the ultimate fuck off to the world and all the responsibilities it holds. Granted, I didn’t think I’d ever done it as well as Peter Gibbons in Office Space, but it always felt enormously satisfying. Today had been no exception, other than that I’d woken up at nine-thirty after dreaming I’d heard sirens. There hadn’t seemed to be any here in the real world, so I got up to pee and hoped I’d remain groggy enough to get at least another half-hour of sleep. Passing the dresser, I noticed that there were two keycards on top of it, Tom apparently having forgotten his. I sighed as I entered the bathroom.

“Yeah, that half-hour is so not happening. But, bright side – breakfast!”

As I was washing my hands, there it was…the knock of the keyless husband. I yelled that I’d be right there, then slipped on my robe. He hadn’t responded, which was unusual, but it was still on the early side, so perhaps he was just being considerate. Unlike me, loud shouty woman in room 203. I turned the handle downward and pulled the door open, smirking widely.

“Forgot your key again, did you? You’re going to have to make…”

The person waiting in the hallway was…not Tom. It was a woman with long, straight dark hair. She was very thin, much taller than me and wearing a UNICEF T-shirt with khaki hiking shorts and white Keds. As my focus shifted to her face, it dawned on me precisely who I was looking at...in spite of the dyed hair, there was no disguising those eyes and that perfect Cupid’s bow mouth. Claudia. In her left hand was a medium-sized gift bag, and in her right, a small semi-automatic pistol. I watched, time slowing down to something akin to frame-by-frame as that hand rose and the gun moved up and up until it was pointing at me. I heard a voice inside my head screaming ‘close the door, close the door’ but I was frozen in place, the thought ‘she’s going to shoot me now’ eclipsing all other internal messages, and then I heard a man’s voice yelling for her to drop her weapon. That broke the spell and I began to push the door shut, but she charged forward and slammed her body weight against it, knocking me back a bit, but I knew if I didn’t engage the lock this was all over…I was all over…so I pushed back with all the force I could muster, leading with my right shoulder, bare feet planted apart, toes digging into the carpet. Whichever emotion was propelling her was no match for the adrenaline of my own fight or flight response, nor the thirty pounds or more by which I outweighed her. I heard Sharon Carter in Civil War quoting Aunt Peggy, something that had brought me to tears in the theater, and in this horrific instant it gave me the momentum I needed to get the job done. No. YOU move. The door shut with a click, and as I heard a scream of frustration from the other side I fastened the bolt, and just as I stopped to catch my breath the sound of three shots fired in rapid succession followed by another single shot shortly thereafter made my ears ring. I waited for pain, looking down and expecting blood flowers to blossom in the white silk of my robe, and when none appeared I glanced up at the door there were three dents, but that was all…no holes in it, or in me. Steel. It was steel, and I almost collapsed in peals of hysterical laughter until I heard more voices calling for an ambulance, and that’s when I realized I had no idea where Tom was. That, as logic demanded, rolled over to ‘he should have been back by now…did she get to him first?’ and my vision dimmed, followed by a quick descent into unconsciousness.

Simon calling my name was the first thing I heard as I came to, and as my eyes fluttered open his fully-dilated pupils and panicked expression caused me to panic as well…I sat straight up from where I’d landed on the carpet, and he reached behind me to assist me as I sank back down, paralyzed by dizziness.

“Easy. Easy. Take it slow. You’re all right, I think you just fainted. It’s okay. The paramedics will be here soon to look you over.” I knew what he meant, and though I had no idea how much time had passed, his words comforted me…as did the fact that I didn’t feel anything abnormal going on down below, no cramping, no bleeding…nothing had changed. “I’m not certain how long you’ve been out for, but it took me ten minutes to argue my way through the fucking crime scene to get to you…”

I reached out my hand, and he took it in his own after placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. And then, once again, Tom’s absence was all encompassing and my words caught in my throat as I spoke, then finally burst out, my intonation wildly off kilter. “T..om. Whe…re…”

Simon’s face fell, expression darkening until he realized I’d zeroed in on his face with my gaze, at which point I could clearly see him trying to force the mask back in place. I sat up again, fueled once more by pure adrenaline, my voice my own again.

“Tell me. Just tell me, Simon. Don’t fucking sugarcoat it. Don’t lie. Just tell me.”

He swallowed hard. “Luke’s with him. I don’t have any updates on his condition other than he was still conscious when they arrived at the hospital. Two bullet wounds, right side of his chest.”

I could have never, ever envisioned hearing those words spoken about someone I loved. But, that’s likely how anyone who ever does hear such a thing feels…even those whose loved ones put themselves in harm’s way each and every day to keep others safe. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t, that I was mistaken, because it was too…too much, too awful, too terrifying…a cascade of emotions washed over me, and I began to wish that the earth would just open up and swallow me. A brief bout of déjà vu followed…I’d been here before, when Erik had died…and in that, I found my strength, because now, hope still remained. I latched on to the word ‘conscious’, made it my mantra, and rose from the floor just as the paramedics walked in, gurney in tow. The one in front was a young man, twenty-five at most, and while I figured he’d seen his share of awfulness, something had clearly disturbed him as he was white as a sheet. Behind him was a woman, early forties if I had to guess, slightly on the heavy side, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that swung back and forth as she quickly shut the door behind her. I remembered there’d been four shots in total and that only three had hit the door, and the words were out of my mouth before I could even consider not speaking them.

“Did they shoot her? I hope they fucking shot her. I hope she’s dead. Is she dead? She should be so lucky…because if anything happens to my husband I’ll kill her myself, and…”

Simon stepped in front of me, shaking his head slowly, hands held up in front of him. “Please understand that she’s not herself right now…” Which was utter bullshit, because I’d meant those words, and he knew it, but it dawned on me that saying such a thing was decidedly unwise and I hopped aboard his train of lies, lowering my head and covering my face with my hands.

“I’m so sorry…” The woman came over and asked me to please sit on the bed so she could take my vitals, but I refused, and then signed a release indicating that I was refusing all treatment. Simon side-eyed me as they left the room, but I ignored him, instead rifling through my suitcase to pull out undergarments, shorts, and a T-shirt, then dressed right in the middle of the room. My Birkis were under the desk, and as I slipped them on Simon cleared his throat.

“Maude, don’t you think you should have…”

“No. I’m fine. I need a soda, but other than that…fine. I’ve had a miscarriage. I know what it feels like. All I can do is try to stay as calm as possible, and even with that…it’s beyond my control. But if I’m going to stay calm…I need to get to Tom.” I turned to face him. “In order to do that I’m going to have to get past whomever and whatever’s outside that door without incident. Is that a reasonable scenario, in your opinion? Or should I start tying the sheets together so you can lower me down from the balcony? Because getting arrested at this juncture is unacceptable.”

He stared at me, and I figured he might be having one of those ‘wow I thought I knew this person but fuck me not so much’ moments, but then the corners of his mouth turned up just the tiniest bit for a fraction of a second and I knew that even if it did come to sheet tying, he was there for it. The corners took a downturn and remained that way as he answered.

“Claudia’s dead. When I came through everything was still…still…there and I know what you said but it might make you uncomfortable if you see it because…” He paused, face contorting as he carefully considered his next words. “I can’t be positive, but it sure looked to me like she did herself in.”

I ran my fingers through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame it, grabbed a Coke out of the fridge, picked up my bag, dropped the soda inside it, then slung it over my shoulder as I headed for the door. “Okay. We’re good then. I’ve got keys for our rental, but you should probably drive.” Saying ‘our’ almost stopped me in my tracks, but I took a deep breath and started to open the door but was held up by Simon grabbing my wrist.

“Are you sure you’re all right with seeing this?”

Shrugging, I opened the door the rest of the way to discover the hallway that had been, in my mind, a portal to a personal paradise, now resembled an episode of CSI: Kauai written by Uncle Steve. Claudia’s body lay prone on the carpet parallel to the walls, her back to the floor, lower half twisted so her knees were pointed in my direction, right arm extended with the gun half-on and half-off of the palm of her hand. Beneath her head was a pool of blood that extended more than a foot toward me and to my left in an oval shape, which, in conjunction with the splatter pattern on the far wall, helped me understand why Simon was under the impression that she’d killed herself. Her eyes were still open, fixed upon the ceiling, and in all of it I was numb until it occurred to me that what she’d done to herself she’d wanted to do to me but had failed, and had tried to do to Tom but had only partially succeeded. As far as I knew. And with that, I turned away and began to walk toward the stairwell, not even bothering to check to see if Simon was behind me. I’d barely made it six feet when a police officer ran past me on my left, then spun around and attempted to block my path.

“Ma’am, this is an active crime scene investigation. You need to return to your room…the front desk will call you when it’s okay to exit the premises.”

I said nothing, instead stepping sideways and around him, continuing to work my way towards the stairs even as he called after me.

“Ma’am, you need to stop right there. No one is allowed to enter or leave the premises at this time.”

After that, Simon called my name. I kept going. The officer shouted.

“MA’AM, I AM ORDERING YOU TO STOP. YOU NEED TO…”

Another voice, one I didn’t recognize. “Carlisle! That’s the wife! The friend came up here to get her. They’re both cleared to leave…Detective Frye’s orders!”

And on I went, registering that Officer Carlisle had fallen into step with me on my right but not giving a remote shit about it whatsoever. His voice was subdued and laced with concern, but I couldn’t tell if that concern was for me or for himself since he’d apparently fucked up quite thoroughly.

“Ma’am…Mrs. Hiddleston. I’m very sorry. I didn’t see you coming out of your room and I assumed…and let me be clear that this time that only makes an ass out of me, and a huge one. Your husband is at the Wilcox Medical Center, it’s about seven miles from here. Do you need transportation? We’ve got a car waiting…”

That gave me pause. I turned to him, my eyes narrowed. “Can you get me there faster than if I were on my own?”

He nodded. “Absolutely, ma’am. Or we can escort your vehicle if you want…lights, and sirens if we need to.”

I was unable to process whether or not I should be pleased or horrified, so I let it go and looked back at Simon, gesturing in his direction. “He’s coming with us. Your car. Thank you.”

Simon ran to meet us, and Officer Carlisle clicked the mic button on his radio. “This is Carlisle. Guests need a lift. Still good on the location?”

It was challenging to make out the reply, but I managed to pick up a ‘entrance well shielded’ and ‘the media’. We walked down the steps and as we entered the lobby the three hotel employees present started at me, mouths agape as if they’d seen a ghost. I elbowed Simon, who shook his head and whispered that he’d tell me later.

An undercover police cruiser was waiting outside for us…a black Dodge Charger, the kind with black rims and trim…and I knew I’d made the right choice. Carlisle apologized again as he held open the door for us to enter and introduced us to Officer Moran as we sat down, whom I hoped had a lead foot even heavier than mine. I fastened my seat belt, noting that screens had been placed between the entrance and the parking lot, and there were at least five squad cars and three undercover and/or government vehicles that I could see. As we pulled away I peered through the back window and caught sight of the parking lot, which was jam-packed with media trucks and curious on-lookers. When I glanced at Simon he was scrolling away on his phone, and he looked up at me, brow furrowing.

“Sorry, nothing to report…I was just…” The vehicle pulled onto the highway and both of us were pushed back into our seats as Officer Moran hit the gas and got rolling down the highway, lights flashing. “Guess I should probably tell you before we get to the hospital…you know, that thing I said I’d tell you later. There’s been some incorrect information circulating, probably because you have dark hair, and…well, some major outlets have been reporting that…”

“I’m dead?”

“Well, yes, but that hit while I was in the room with you. Initially, the story was that…it was…that you...you were the shooter.” He bit his lower lip. “I shouldn’t have told you until it was addressed. I’m sorry, this is outside my…”

I reached into my bag and searched around for my phone but came up empty, so I snatched his.

“Maude, come on, don’t do that to yourself…give it back…”

TMZ’s headline read ‘Honeymoon Horror – Maude Hiddleston dead at 38, kills self after shooting husband Tom Hiddleston on beach where the couple wed just two days earlier’, and finding out where it had happened, another place that I held sacred, that WE held sacred, threatened to break me. That was where we’d first spoken aloud how we felt about each other, where we’d acknowledged that while we had no fucking clue where we were going, nothing was going to stop us from taking the trip. I reminded myself it was just a place, and that it didn’t matter, that the only thing that DID matter was Tom. And if he was awake and aware at the hospital, I didn’t want him catching wind of this, be it via the sound from a distant TV or staff members chatting amongst themselves. So, I decided to do the thing that I always advised clients to do…put the truth out there, right from the horse’s mouth. Simon attempted to pry his phone from my right hand, but I slapped him away, then logged into Twitter. Staring at the blank space where I was supposed to type something short and informative made me realize that I…couldn’t. If it was written, if I shared it with the world, that would make it real…it would make all of this real, and in my heart, and my soul, I wanted it to never be real. I wanted to wake up in my bed back in the room right now to the sight of Tom’s face hovering over me, smiling as he trailed his fingers up and down my arm to rouse me from slumber, and for this to have all been a bad dream and nothing more. I licked my lips, nausea creeping up on me as my body prepared itself for its daily purge, and I dropped the phone on the bench seat and began to sob. Simon unbuckled his seat belt and slid over to me, folding me into his embrace gently, one hand stroking my hair.

“Oh honey…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s okay. He’s going to be okay, he is.”

My voice was ragged, muffled by the closeness of my lips to Simon’s chest. “He has to be. How am I supposed to do this without him, live this life? Raise this child? I can’t, Simon. I can’t. He’s everything. I don’t want to be here if he’s not, but I’ll have to stay because it’s not just me anymore…I just…I…” The words were gone, and all I could do was weep. Simon began rubbing my back.

“I know. I know. I’m here. It’s okay. You need to be calm, lovey. You’ll see him soon. We’re almost there…”

Officer Moran cleared his throat. “Med center is the next left. I radioed ahead, and they’ll bring you in through a side entrance instead of the ER. Detective Frye just announced there’ll be a press conference at eleven-thirty. That should take care of all the misinformation out there.”

As we pulled up to the building a sort of calm did, in fact, come over me. It didn’t prevent me from throwing up on the sidewalk as soon as Officer Moran opened my door, but I felt like I’d regained some control of the situation, as if the power balance had shifted in my direction just the tiniest bit now that even though we weren’t together, I was in the same place as Tom. We were escorted inside by two security guards, then taken down the hall to a private waiting area. Luke was intermittently visible through the partially-open vertical blinds, pacing back and forth. When we walked through the door, he ran to me and pulled me into his arms, which made me think the worst. I leaned back to examine his expression, and I must have looked like I was completely over the edge because he shook his head quickly and began to ramble.

“Oh good lord I’m a fucking idiot I’m sorry I was just so glad to see you because of the news reports and I knew they weren’t true but…” I just stared, silent, having noticed that he was wearing a greenish-blue V-neck scrub shirt. I gazed downward, and when I saw he was still wearing denim shorts, I knew he hadn’t put it on as a means of infection protection. I swallowed so hard it hurt, unable to look back up at him, and he released me in order to take my hands in his own, speaking softly and slowly, as if to a small child. “Maude, it’s all right. Let’s sit down together and talk. Come along with me to the couch.”

He led me across the room to the maroon leather sofa that was flanked by two maroon leather recliners, all opposite a set of maroon fabric-covered interconnected chairs. Maroon, maroon, maroon. Never was a fan. There was a blonde wood rectangular table in the middle of the room, with a landline phone in the center and various magazines placed strategically around the edges. They were neatly, perfectly arranged, and I got the feeling that most who wound up in this particular space had little appetite for whiling away their time with celebrity gossip or the hottest global vacation spots. There was a TV on one wall, but it was dark. And so was I, as I lowered myself in slow motion onto the sofa next to Luke. He was still holding both my hands, and I turned sideways to face him, the seat cushion creaking as Simon sank down behind me. Luke peered around me at him, nodded, then spoke…still slowly, still softly.

“Tom’s in surgery now. They took him in about ten minutes ago, and it will be a few hours before we have any additional information. We can leave it at that, or I can tell you what I already know about what’s happened…whatever you’re comfortable with, all right? Take some time, think it over…”

Much to their surprise, I actually did pause to consider my options, and decided to take things a step at a time. “Simon said he was shot twice in the chest and was still conscious when the ambulance got here. Let’s start with that…the extent of his injuries. Do you know?”

Luke nodded. “Two bullet wounds. One here…” He pointed to the top of his right pectoral muscle, near the center. “And one here.” He pointed lower, just underneath the muscle, but further to the right side. “He lost a lot of blood, and the paramedics suspected his right lung was collapsing. The on-call physician confirmed that, and by the time they prepped him for surgery it had collapsed fully and they were concerned that the left lung might have begun to collapse as well. He was still conscious when they moved him out of the emergency bay and into the operating room.”

“Okay.” I’d acquired enough second-hand knowledge over the years to fully fathom the seriousness of what I’d just heard, and I let go of Luke’s hands, shifted so my knees were facing forward, then leaned back into the cushions, eyes closed as I struggled to triage my thoughts and rein in my emotions. As I ran my tongue over my teeth, I couldn’t recall having brushed them, so that slipped into slot number one and my eyes flew open. “Do either of you have any gum or a mint or something? I forgot to brush my teeth.”

Simon placed a hand on my knee. “You should drink your soda first. And then you need something to eat. I’ll go see what I can find for you.” He rose and left the room, and I took the soda from my bag and cracked it open, taking several sips that I used as improvised mouthwash before swallowing. After a few more, I leaned forward and set the can on the table between a pile of Newsweek and Country Living magazines, the returned to my resting position. Triage wasn’t working…all I had was a war waging between ‘I need to know everything’ and ‘maybe ignorance is bliss’. I let the pot simmer for a while, watching the wall clock tick off fifteen minutes, but it didn’t require a detailed statistical analysis to predict what would rise to the top.

“Luke? I’m ready for the rest now.”

His voice firm, questioning. “You’re certain?”

“I am.”

A deep breath, followed by an exhale of tentative resolve. “All right. I…I’m not sure I can look…”

“It’s okay. I don’t think I can look at you, either.”

After a moment of silence, he began to speak, rambling as before. “I’d been up since before five because I needed to Skype with the office, and it was just after nine when I heard what I thought were firecrackers…which wasn’t exactly surprising considering the mischief makers who’d been here all week, so I essentially rolled my eyes at their foolishness and got back to work. About ten minutes later Simon and I were discussing what to order for breakfast when we heard noise out on the patio, like chairs moving, then pounding on the glass doors. We debated whether or not to open the blinds and see what was going on or just call security when I heard a male voice saying my name. It was barely audible, and it sounded strange, and of course I thought someone was playing a prank so I pushed the blinds aside and whipped open the slider ready to chastise the moron responsible and…and…” He paused for a solid ten seconds, then continued. “I didn’t see anyone at first, but then I looked down and there was Tom, on his hands and knees, and there was a trail of blood on the stone behind him and he was having a hard time talking. I knelt beside him and tried to help him shift to a sitting position but he tried to stand instead, so I helped him up. I could see where…I realized he’d been shot, and he grabbed my forearms and said you were next and that he needed to get to you before Claudia did. He took four steps through the doorway and into the room, but then he went back down on his knees, and his breathing was very quick but he wouldn’t stay down. He kept getting back up, and he kept saying he needed to get to you and all I knew was that he needed to stop moving, for fuck’s sake, and Simon and I tried to hold him and keep him still but then two police officers stormed in though the open door with their guns drawn and telling us to get our hands in the air. We did, and Tom got up again and shouted…I don’t know how…’UPSTAIRS. SHE’S HEADED UPSTAIRS. ROOM 203. GO. GO!’ As they turned and ran off he went back down on his knees, and we were trying to get his T-shirt off so we could maybe stop the bleeding when three ambulance workers came barreling inside with a gurney. We just, you know, tried to give them some room and they had to put him in restraints because he kept trying to get away. They finally had him all packaged and ready to go when we heard the shots from upstairs, and…and…the sound he made, I…I…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get it out of my head.”

And then, for the first time ever, I watched Luke fall completely and utterly apart right before my very eyes. When he tried to apologize, I reached for him, wrapping my arms around him as he leaned his head on my left shoulder and cried, his body shuddering with each breath he took between sobs. I rubbed his back, hoping to console him, to ease his pain even just a little bit, and in the process momentarily forgot about my own.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. Thank you for helping him, and for being with him. He wasn’t alone, he was with someone he loves and…”

Luke’s head nearly caught my chin as he pulled up and away. “Maude, oh my god no, I’m the one who should be sorry. I should be comforting you, not the other way around.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m grateful you were there, if that makes sense.” I shifted back to my spot, numb again, and trying very, very hard to not allow what he’d just said to take form as a short film in my head. My spur-of-the moment choice for a distraction? Ask for more. “Did he know that I was okay? Before they took him in?”

“I wasn’t allowed in the back. The desk nurse had me fill out some basic paperwork when I got here, and I didn’t know anything else about his condition until they had me sign consent forms. Simon had texted me as soon as he’d reached you, so I asked the ER nurse who’d brought them out to me to please get word to Tom that you were fine, and that everything was okay because I didn’t want him...thinking… and…anyway, the ER nurse stopped back right before you got here to let me know he’d gotten the message through, and to fill me on how Tom was doing.”

Another thing for me to cling to…that Tom had known I was alive. And hopefully that was something to live for, a reason for him to fight, to hold on. When I put myself in his position, if I believed that he’d gone before me, that I’d lost him…it would be all too easy to give in and give up. The tears returned, and I got up and squatted down in front of Luke, taking his hands in mine. He stared, confused.

“Luke, I can’t even begin to explain what that means to me, and I can never thank you enough for doing it. But I’m going to say thank you anyway. So, thank you. Tom and I are so lucky to have you and Simon in our lives. It’s a huge relief, you know? On the way over, before I…knew…how things happened I was so afraid that he’d heard or seen the news reports and…”

He stood, pulling me up with him and embracing me again, and we remained that way, silent and still, until the door opened and Simon strode in with a push-cart of food, trays and utensils.

“Sit down, you two. Time for breakfast. And, no arguments. Especially from the pregnant lady. I had to turn on some serious charmalarma ding dong in order to get the kitchen staff to allow me to raid the place…we have waffles, scrambled eggs, toast, bagels, oatmeal…though I don’t know who in their right mind would actually want to eat that…Frosted Flakes, Fruit Loops, Cheerios, cherry Jell-O, orange Jell-O, milk, chocolate milk, orange juice and grape juice. I even scored you a toothbrush and some toothpaste, Maude. So, who wants what? I’m Simon, and I’ll be your server this morning. Tips are encouraged but not required.”

It seemed strangely disrespectful to stop to eat in such a situation, and I wasn’t anywhere near hungry, but I knew I’d be far worse for wear if I didn’t consume some calories. I ate slowly, feeling as if my hands were moving through sludge…scrambled eggs came first, followed by toast, Fruit Loops and chocolate milk. Simon collected my tray when I was finished, and I stayed glued to my spot on the couch, eyes fixed on my hands as I ran my right index finger back and forth over my wedding band, then twisted it round and round over and over again. I could hear Simon and Luke talking quietly by the food cart, discussing the upcoming press conference and debating which one of them should leave the room if they decided to stream it on their phone as neither had earbuds with them. I looked up, my gaze shifting to where they were standing.

“You can watch it on the TV if you want. I don’t mind. None of it’s going to be news to me. At least I don’t think it will be. And if it is, it can’t be worse than what I’ve already heard, right?” I’d intended that last bit as a humor, but instead of smiling I started crying again. Simon began to walk toward me, but I waved him away. “Not necessary. I’m cool. I mean, I really have not the slightest fucking idea of what I’m supposed to do right now, and my emotions are like one of those automatic bingo ball things and it’s a mystery as to what’s going to pop out next, you know? But that’s kinda been me for the past month and change so it might not be situational. Anyway. Go ahead, put it on. Is it eleven-thirty already? That would be good, because I was pretty sure time had, like, stopped. If it freaks me out, I’ll ask you to turn it off.”

Seeing the Marriott as the backdrop for a press conference was bizarre, but that I was watching it and it was about me and Tom was some fucked-up Inception kind of shit. There were police, and some suits, whom I guessed were management or attorneys, and when a very tan man with light blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail dressed in a black blazer and jeans approached the podium I didn’t expect him to be Detective Frye. But unless he was fibbing when he introduced himself, that’s who he was. When he spoke, I noticed faint remnants of a Southern California accent.

“Good morning. I’m Detective Frye of the Kauai Police Department, and I’m here working with the officers from the Kapaa Substation. Be advised that we no longer have an active shooter situation here. The suspect has been pronounced dead at the scene. I’m aware that there’s been a great deal of misinformation presented by the media regarding this incident, and I’d like to give you some clarity and request that you remove any information that’s not factual from your publications and broadcasts effective immediately. Most importantly, the suspect has been identified as Claudia Heidrich of Los Angeles, California. From what we can piece together so far, she arrived at the hotel at approximately seven o’clock this morning and approached the desk clerk in or order to obtain Thomas and Maude Hiddleston’s room number. It was not provided for her at that time. She exited the premises, and the parking lot security footage shows her walking to and entering a red Subaru Forester, where she remained until Mr. Hiddleston exited the lobby at approximately eight forty AM and began to jog toward the beach. She then exited the vehicle and proceeded to walk in the same direction. We received a call reporting shots fired at approximately five minutes after nine, and the Kapaa officers arrived on scene six minutes later. The details surrounding Mr. Hiddleston’s shooting aren’t yet clear, but he sustained two gunshot wounds to the right chest and is currently undergoing emergency surgery at a local medical center. Security footage shows Ms. Heidrich returning to the hotel lobby at nine twenty, approaching the desk, then removing a .22 caliber automatic pistol from a gift bag and pointing it at the clerk. Additional footage tracks her as she ascends the stairs to the second floor, then walks down the hallway and knocks on the Hiddleston room door. The door is shown opening briefly, then beginning to close as Ms. Heidrich propels herself forward. At this time, two officers approached and instructed her to drop her weapon. She did not obey their command, and instead fired three shots into the door, paused, then turned the gun on herself. Mrs. Hiddleston was uninjured, though she was in an unconscious state when police entered the room. She regained consciousness with no intervention, refused medical treatment, and was transported to the medical center where Mr. Hiddleston is being treated. Updates will be provided when we have addition information. Hotel manager Leonard Schmaltz will take it from here.”

There were some questions shouted, but Detective Frye ignored them and disappeared off camera. As I watched a few blurbs scroll across the bottom, I remembered that Tom’s family existed. I practically leapt up off the couch.

“Luke. What about Diana? And Sarah? And Emma and James and…”

“They’re still here. Sarah and I have been texting…they were finally allowed to leave the hotel a few minutes ago, so they’ll be here soon. Is it all right if they wait with us?”

My brow furrowed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they felt you might want privacy?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, no. Pretty sure I’d lose what’s left of my shit if I was alone.” He’d begun typing with his thumbs. “You can quote me on that. Also, anyone know where the closest restroom is?”

Simon nodded. “It’s right across the hall. Come on, I’ll take you.”

He held out his hand, and as much as part of me wanted to roll my eyes and tell him I wasn’t a child, majority ruled and I accepted his offer, albeit grudgingly. The restrooms were singles, and I considered inviting Simon inside but decided that was probably weird and left him standing in the hallway. I moved as quickly as possible, knowing it would be just my luck for someone to show up with word about Tom while I was taking a piss. As I was washing my hands I heard voices, and I flung the door open without bothering to dry off. Simon was across the hall, ushering Tom’s family into the waiting area. Tom’s family…they had become my family, too, but at that moment I felt strangely detached…which made me understand the whole wanting privacy thing. They were father, mother, sister…and I was wife. We had love for Tom in common, but I was odd man out, in a way. When you find a partner, it’s inevitable that your relationship with that person takes precedence over that of those established with your biological familial unit. I appreciated that they possessed respect for those invisible boundaries, but at the same time, I felt guilty, like I’d stolen him away. And then I wondered if they blamed me for this, for what Claudia had done. I had been the one, after all, that stood behind that podium and threatened her with financial ruin and incarceration while the entire world looked on. Not Tom. Me. I’d poked the bear again. And this time, she’d raged. And it was all my fault. How was I supposed to face them?

There were guards posted to either side of the waiting room, making escape impossible, so I went back into the bathroom, locked the door and sat down on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. When he woke up, if he woke up…would Tom blame me as well? How could I have been so thoughtless, blind and stupid? Why didn’t I just say fuck her, fuck the videos and let it ride? Tom was so personally invested in it all, he couldn’t have been expected to be rational about it in any capacity…and he’d trusted me to be just that, rational. Logical. Factual. Had I been? Or had something else motivated me…jealousy, maybe? Revenge? Anger? All of those things rolled into one? The sound of Simon’s voice disrupted my hate spiral.

“Maude? You all right?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” He tried the door handle. “It’s locked. Can you let me in? Do you need a doctor?

“No.”

“Maude. Talk to me. Let me in.” I didn’t reply. “Maude. Open the door.”

“I’m fine.”

“Woman, you literally just said you aren’t all right, and now you’re fine? Don’t make me trudge my ass all around this hospital looking for someone with a key…”

I stood, unlocked the door, then sat back down. The handle jiggled, followed by the door opening outward. Simone came inside, closed and locked the door, then sat down across from me.

“Well, this is disgusting. Germ central station.” I just stared at him, at the line of his jaw set in anger. “You know you scared the fuck out of me, don’t you? Are you really okay?”

“Physically, yes.”

His face softened. “Well then…what’s going on inside your mind, honey?”

Shrugging, I leaned my head back on the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Dotted acoustic tiles, just like every other medical facility. “I can’t go in there. This is all my fault. They must hate me. I can’t face them.”

“Maude. The fuck are you talking about? How is this your fault? Where are you even getting that from?”

I shifted my gaze to meet his. “Simon. She did this because of what I said at the press conference. I threatened her with jail time and insurmountable debt. I demoed her life in the space of a few sentences, and she tried to take mine in return. And she may have succeeded in taking Tom’s. All because of me, because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut. I fucked with her, and she came for us. Every bit of it, my fault. Every. Bit.” The shaking intensified, and Simon scuttled closer to me and placed his hands on my knees.

“Her actions belong to HER, Maude. Her alone. She made her own choices, every step of the way. You taking responsibility for those actions and choices allows her to become the victim…and she’s NOT. She WASN’T. You and Tom are the victims. End of story. You were just doing your job after she purposely broke the law to hurt you both. When that didn’t pan out, she tried to hurt you even more. She tried to KILL you. BOTH of you. How is that your fault?!”

Leaning forward, I rested my hands atop his. “Are you sure I was just doing my job? Are you sure I wasn’t trying to get even with the woman who wronged the man I love? Make her feel like he did, like the sky was falling, like there was no way out from under it all? Tit for tat, vengeance, manufactured karma…whatever you want to call it. Because I’ll tell you what, I’M not fucking sure. Not anymore. I think I fucked up, Simon. I think I crossed the personal/professional line. And it was the catalyst for this. What I did. MY. FAULT.”

Simon said nothing at first as he removed his right hand from my left knee and placed it gently on my lower belly, then whispered two words. Firmly. Separately. “Maude. Stop.”

I had forgotten. In all of it, I had forgotten that there was someone else in the room, someone who would be with me every second of every day until he or she emerged from what was supposed to be a peaceful cocoon and into the harsh but wonderous world. I burst into tears, and Simon slid beside me and pulled me into his lap, once again offering me sanctuary and serving as my voice of reason.

“You didn’t cross a line. And if you think you did…ask yourself this question. Would you have done that exact same thing for any of your clients in that situation? You don’t really have to ask it, though. Because I know the answer, and it’s yes. You’re the Credible Hulk. That’s why people HIRE YOU. Claudia…clearly, she had issues. But issues don’t justify being an evil fuck, and that’s what she was. It’s not only abnormal behavior, it’s inhuman. In this life, you can never really tell how far someone is willing to go until after the fact. That’s just the deal. You aren’t Miss Cleo. And hell, I’m sure there’s shit even she didn’t see coming. Didn’t she get hit by a truck or something?”

I hiccup-giggled in the middle of a sob. “That was awful. And no. Cancer.” His mouth opened and I knew what he was going to say next, so I interjected before he could even make a sound. “Son, just don’t.”

He sighed, then kissed the top of my head. “We should go now. And…this is a huge, traumatic thing. You’re going to have ups, and downs, and everything in between. Both of you will. But you’ll navigate it all together, and I’ll be there to do whatever you need me to. Focus on now, then one step at a time. That’s how we get where we’re going.” He stood up, then reached for my hands to help me rise. As soon as I was on my feet, I embraced him again.

“The sense of guilt is overwhelming, and I really don’t ever want to leave this room, but if I don’t leave the room I don’t see Tom, so…let’s get on with it. And, thank you.”

I released him, and he opened the door and we walked hand in hand into the waiting room, my guilt mostly assuaged by the depth of love and caring I felt as Sarah, Emma, James and Diana embraced me in turn. They’d seen the news, and while they hadn’t believed I was the shooter, they had feared I’d been shot and killed. We cried together, then waited together, and three hours later, shortly after I’d resigned myself to the fact that I was, in fact, dead and that this was purgatory…this waiting room where I’d remain for all eternity without Tom…the door opened and a woman in green scrubs walked through it. She was slightly built, but I could see the strength in her forearms as she reached up to remove her surgical cap. Light brown hair spilled downward, straight and shiny, the ends resting just above her collar bones, her dark brown eyes large and expressionless. I tried to discover even just the tiniest flicker of emotion that would tell me whether things had gone well or, not well, but failed miserably. Those dark eyes scanned the room until they came to rest on me, and I rose from my spot on the couch as she began to walk toward me. She held out her right hand.

“Mrs. Hiddleston, I’m Doctor Anya Salinas.” I wanted to return the gesture but found myself incapable of making my arm move. I was paralyzed with fear, both anxiously awaiting and dreading the words that would come next. The hand moved upward, eventually gently gripping my left bicep. “Your husband is out of surgery, and while we’re going to be watching him very closely over the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, I see no reason why he shouldn’t recover fully from his injuries.”

Around me were cries of thank god and gasps of relief, and I could see in my peripheral vision hugging and kissing and back clapping as I sat back down on the couch, the black spots appearing before my eyes alerting me to the fact that I was probably going to pass the fuck out again. I leaned forward and put my head between my knees, and I could hear Dr. Salinas asking me if I was okay, but her voice sounded like it was coming from another room. I felt hands on my shoulders, and I lifted my head to find her face directly in front of mine. She’d squatted down in order to connect with me, her eyes attentive and very kind, and I realized this was the person who had just worked tirelessly for hours on end to save Tom’s life, the person who had given me back the other half of my very self, and given him the chance to be a father to our child. I sat up, still slightly dizzy, and placed my right hand on top of hers, which was still resting on my left shoulder.

“Dr. Salinas. Thank you. Thank you.” My tears this time were those of relief and gratefullness, and I knew no matter which additional words I spoke, they would never be quite enough so I repeated the two that seemed to convey things most simply one more time, my voice almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly, nodding. “He’s in recovery now. Before you see him…mainly before he’s awake, actually…there are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, if you’re up to it.”

Was I up to it? Who the fuck knew, but this human-turned-fainting-goat was willing to do whatever was necessary in order to get in that recovery room, even if it meant they’d need to schlep my ass there in a wheelchair. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Okay.” She stood, and I did as well, surprised at how I towered over her. “Does walking and talking work for you, or should I clear the room so we have some privacy?”

“Walking, please.” I hadn’t been paying attention to anything that was going on around us, and that continued as I followed her to the door and out into the hallway. Her pace was slow, possibly because she was physically spent, but most likely for my benefit. She handed me a small container of orange juice, which she must have snagged off the cart on the way out of the waiting room.

“This should help with your blood sugar levels.” I thanked her, and again she nodded without saying ‘you’re welcome’, instead getting right down to business. “If at any time I’m making you uncomfortable, let me know. If you need to take a break, of if you need to sit down and rest, we can do that. Your husband is likely to remain unconscious for at least another forty-five minutes. I was the on-call surgeon today, and I was already here when he arrived…they always bring us in quickly for potential mass-casualty incidents. From what I’ve been told the paramedics had restrained him, but he broke free in the ER and tried to get away. They got him back under control, and as soon the ER doc examined him and diagnosed a pneumothorax we started getting things ready in the OR. Normally a sedative would have been administered, but since the need for surgery seemed imminent we wanted to avoid it if at all possible. Whoever sent the nurse back to us with word you were okay…that made all the difference.” She paused as we turned a corner. “Still with me?”

I nodded, sipping the juice through the absurdly tiny straw I’d pulled off the back of the box.

“There were no exit wounds, which meant the bullets needed to be located and removed and any damage repaired. We discovered that the cause of the collapsed lung wasn’t actually due to projectile penetration, which is what we expected to find, but instead a small tear that resulted from a rib broken upon impact as the bullet entered just below the pectoral muscle. Typically, it would take hours, sometimes even days, for a lung to collapse fully from a tear that size, but the intense level of physical activity Mr. Hiddleston experienced after being wounded escalated the process. We removed the damaged rib to avoid further injury, inflated both lungs fully using a chest tube, applied a doxycycline treatment to aid adhesion of the right lung to the chest wall, then removed the bullet and repaired damaged tissue. The wound just above the pectoral muscle had no muscle or tendon involvement, but a nick in the interior thoracic artery caused a significant amount of blood loss and necessitated the administration of two pints of donor blood. The chest tube will be in place for at least four days, and upon removal the incision will be stitched closed. There will be some scarring, of course, but the extent is always dependent upon genetic inheritance and immune response so I can’t really predict an outcome along those lines.”

Dr. Salinas stopped, and upon seeing that the door to our right read ‘Recovery Room A-1’ I took a step toward it. She shifted, placing a hand on my forearm to halt my progress. “Mrs. Hiddleston, most patients who experience a near double-lung collapse…well, let’s just say they don’t usually fare this well. I’m sure Mr. Hiddleston’s exceptional level of overall physical fitness is a significant factor, but…this is difficult for me to say, as a physician…I honestly can’t explain why he’s not in ICU right now. Not scientifically. His blood oxygen was so low he shouldn’t have been conscious, but his blood pressure leveled off at 80 over 50 and his heart rate remained steady the entire time, an even 55 BPM, and it never skipped a single beat. I’m going to be evaluating every step for quite some trying to find an answer, that’s a certainty. One more thing before we go inside…now, he knew prior to surgery that you were alive, but anesthesia can cause patients to temporarily lose memories of what happened immediately prior to being put under. This is a concern because if he regains consciousness and is still under the impression that you are not alive, he may react negatively and the potential for a re-collapse of the lung is very high at this stage. The nurse-anesthetist is inside, and he’ll help you…”

Her head cocked to one side, listening, and what began as quiet murmuring quickly turned to loud talking, and even though it was hoarse and muted by the door between us, there was no mistaking whom the voice belonged to. Tom. He’d cranked up the decibels to the the point that I could now clearly make out what he was saying.

“NO! Why am I here? I don’t want to be here. She’s gone. I told you to let me die. Why didn’t you let me die? I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE.”

I pulled away from Dr. Salinas, pushed the door inward and was at his bedside before her or the nurse-anesthetist could utter a single word. His eyes were wild, full of agony and despair, and he was attempting to sit up when I reached down and took his left hand in mine, squeezing hard. He yanked it away and began clawing at the nasal canula, so lost inside himself and left confused by the drugs they’d administered that he had not the faintest idea who I was. I leaned forward and grabbed him by the jaw, and when his eyes met mine I thought for sure he was going to hit me…but I refused to let go, instead using all the power I could channel to force him to look at me and nothing else. I saw anxiety, then rage, followed by bewilderment, shock and, finally, recognition. The fingers of his left hand grazed my wrist, and as they connected with my rings he glanced downward, then back up at me. His expression conveyed that he wanted to believe but couldn’t quite bring himself to trust in what he was experiencing…not completely. I released his jaw and brought his hand to my lips, kissing it softly, having difficulties of my own in regard to believing that this was genuine, that he was here, and that he was alive. His voice was little more than a whisper when he spoke, and his words made my soul ache for him.

“I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d lost both of you. It was the end. Of everything.” A pause, and when I saw his sorrow shift to panic as he said the word ‘both’ I shook my head and interjected, hoping to keep him calm. The word of the day…calm. Keep calm and carry on, in spite of the beast within who wanted nothing more than to kill Claudia over and over again for what she’d done, like Dormammu and Doctor Strange. I leaned in close to his face until our foreheads were touching.

“I’m here. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. We’re okay. It’s okay.” He began to cry, and I nuzzled his cheek. “I know you’re upset, and confused, and that shit is FUBAR right now, but I need you to try and relax, my love. Be still. You have to give your body a chance to heal, and the more relaxed you are, the faster that will happen. I’m here, I’m fine, the baby’s fine…and you’re going to be fine, too.”

He was at peace briefly, scarcely more than a minute or two passing before I felt him tense up again. “Maude. It’s not safe. She’ll come back. She won’t stop until…”

Pulling back from him, I followed his eyes as they darted back and forth, then reached out to grasp his chin again, though far more gently this time around. “We’re safe. She’s dead, Tom. Claudia’s dead.”

“She is? Are you sure?”

The scene from the hotel hallway invaded my inner space, and I nodded. “Saw it with my own two eyes. Trust me, she is NOT coming back. For me, for you, for anyone. Ever. Okay?”

“Okay.” A tear tracked downward from the outer corner of his left eye and landed on the sheet beneath his head. “I’m sorry you saw. But I’m glad she’s gone. I love you.”

“And I love you. Don’t be sorry. I’m glad too. Which seems to be my default setting when people die lately. What that says about me, I don’t know…that my moral compass is a roulette wheel, maybe?”

He smiled…a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty smile, and it was one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever had the good fortune to witness. Dr. Salinas witnessed it as well, from a distance, and realized we’d turned a corner. She joined me at Tom’s bedside to let him know she’d be checking in on him later in the day, and that Gerald, the nurse-anesthetist, would help him with some breathing exercises. We both thanked her, and I though I released Tom’s hand so I wasn’t in the way, I remained where I was while Gerald raised the head of the bed and had Tom breathe into a meter repeatedly until it reached an acceptable level. Once that was over and done with, we were advised that the staff was readying a private room and a team would be in to move Tom when it was good to go. Gerald showed me how to use the emergency call button, just in case, and then left us alone.  A minute later he was back, a Ziploc bag in hand that contained Tom’s phone, his iPod, and his wedding ring. He passed it off to me, smiled, then left without another word. Tom frowned.

“I didn’t want them to take that off. I think I may have raised a bit of a ruckus over it.”

I undid the slide zip and fished the ring out of the bag, hooking it on my right index finger. He lifted up his left hand, then rested it on the bed’s side guardrail, too exhausted to hold it aloft. Another tiny smile greeted me when my gaze met his.

“Will you put that back where it belongs for me, please?”

“You betcha.” I slipped it onto his ring finger, a soft sigh escaping him as he took hold of my hand.

“Much better. Thank you.”

His eyes closed, and I ran my thumb back and forth across his wrist, the constant beeping of monitoring equipment the only sound in the room, tethering me to the present, driving home what had happened and how our lives hand changed so quickly in the blink of an eye, and how lucky we’d been that the change was this and not something else.

“Maude.”

His voice startled me, so much so that I twitched with such violence that my feet nearly left the floor, which set alarm bells ringing in my head and caused me to assume something had gone terribly awry while I wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Should I call someone?”

He squeezed my hand, now-open eyes full of concern. “I’m fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I’m, like, jangly. Sorry for overreacting.”

He smiled softly in return. “It’s okay. I’m sorry you’re jangly.”

My left eyebrow rose as my smile turned to a smirk. “Well, someone’s going for gold in the Apology Olympics.”

“Please allow me to apologize for my intensely competitive nature, Mrs. Hiddleston.” And with that, I knew he was fully here again, and though I’d been saying it to myself all morning and to him since he’d woken up, I finally believed…everything was going to be okay. The future, our future, was visible again. Not in a Miss Cleo way, but in a we’ll heal, we’ll move forward, we’ll get through this way. The only guarantee life comes with is that it eventually ends…but now wasn’t the time for that. Not for us. Not today. And I wondered if there was a way to express my gratitude for such a gift, the gift of time…and when I felt Tom’s fingers turning my wedding ring in circles as I had in the waiting room as I sat unsure of whether or not I’d ever see him alive again, the answer to my question was blatantly obvious. The answer was…live.

He bit his lip, his own left eyebrow far higher than the right, then spoke again. “This ceaseless beeping is driving me mad. I don’t suppose I could coax a song out of you as a distraction, could I?”

“No coaxing required.” I took his iPod out of the Ziploc, turned it on, then scrolled to find the song that had come to mind. I put one earbud in my my right ear, the other in his left and hit play – Deathcab For Cutie’s Soul Meets Body.

I want to live where soul meets body And let the sun wrap its arms around me and Bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing And feel Feel what it's like to be new

'Cause in my head there's a Greyhound station Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations So they may have a chance of finding a place where they're Far more suited than here

I cannot guess what we'll discover When we turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels But I know our filthy hands can wash one another's And not one speck will remain

I do believe it's true That there are roads left in both of our shoes But if the silence takes you Then I hope it takes me too

So brown eyes I'll hold you near 'Cause you're the only song I want to hear A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere

We both wept quietly after I finished singing along, still holding hands, me leaning down and in so our cheeks touched. I wanted nothing more than to climb into his hospital bed and hold him, to feel him against me and hear his heart beating, to inhale the scent of his warm skin, and never, ever let him go. But this, this limited contact…it was what we had for the moment, and something I might have been permanently deprived of if things had gone differently, so it would do. It would absofuckingloutely do.

[thejonzone]

Jon Writes a Year-End List

My favorite songs of 2020, alphabetically by artist

Bedouine (Margo Guryan cover)- The Hum

The original Guryan version is good but Bedouine’s take is cleaner, all the better to emphasize Guryan’s blissful songwriting. I could listen to the chords in the chorus forever.

Bob Dylan- I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give My Heart to You

It’s nice to hear Bob sing a yearning and clear-eyed love song. And the way he stretches out his words gives the whole thing a confidence that’s easy to get lost in. 

Boldy James- Giant Slide

Boldy had a great year, and it’s The Price of Tea in China with Alchemist producing that stood out to me. 

Empty Country- Becca

I don’t go to music festivals anymore, but listening to this album makes me dream of hearing it live, while being dehydrated, sweaty, feet hurting, holding in a p*op, a late afternoon sunburn loading. I want the whole thing!!

fawning, Rui Gabriel ft. Jack Riley- God

Toss it on the cloudy day walking playlist!

Frances Quinlan- Went to LA 

Great cathartic yell in this one. Quinlan builds up a palpable tension here. It rocks.

Judy ft. Jack Dolan, jommis- Say What U Mean

You’ve got to imagine these fellas knew they had put a few catchy melodies down while trying to out-croon each other.

Kurt Vile ft. John Prine (John Prine cover)- How Lucky

A Prine acolyte with a feature from the man himself. RIP.

Lala Lala, Grapetooth- Valentine

Kind of like a slow-dance song at nightmare prom. I love the percussion and Frankel’s villainously-low voice.

Lil Durk- Street Affection

The range of emotions Durk can access and scroll through is impressive.  

Miranda Winters- Little Baby Dead Bird

Scuzzy guitar and violin create a hypnotic effect in this evocative dirge. Miranda Winters is such a good singer. Check out her main band, Melkbelly-- they put out a great album this year!

Nap Eyes- Mark Zuckerberg

Two guitars: one is pointy, the other is chugging. That is the correct way to do two guitars.

Noname- Song 33

This song is 70 seconds. 70! Noname casually negates J. Cole and the song isn’t even about him. She’s so great. 

Ratboys- I Go Out at Night

Julia Steiner is on her The Hours shit in this melancholic fantasy of leaving and not returning. 

Rio da Yung OG, Lil Yachty- 1v1

I like how Yachty comes in on his verse! It’s been fun to see him back in action with his new Michigan friends. Rio is the star here, though. And Enrgy too. 

Soccer Mommy- yellow is the color of her eyes 

Sophia Allison’s delivery of “The tiny lie I told to myself is making me hollow” might be my line of the year. 

Swamp Dogg- Memories

The whole of Sorry You Couldn’t Make It is great, but for Swamp Dogg, who has covered John Prine, to work with the man before he died is a special accomplishment, and we’re better off that it’s recorded. 

Tall Juan- Irene

One of my favorite 2020 releases. And I’ll be a bit vulnerable here folks….when I am walking outside and this song comes on, I push my butt out a little bit and walk like I have rhythm and purpose. 

Tierra Whack- Dora

I’m so excited to see what Tierra Whack does, from her beat selection to how she jumps between flow and cadence. She understands herself so well. 

Non-2020-specific Music I Enjoyed, in Superlative Form

Group Vocal Performance Most Likely to Pierce Your Heartless Facade

Yesu Ka Mkwebaze

Best Song to Listen to if You are an 1850’s-era whaler in Your Feels

Mary Ann

Favorite Duet (Not Blood-Related)

Emmylou Harris and Herb Pedersen (but mostly Emmylou) create such an intricate and gorgeous melody on “If I Could Only Win Your Love”. Pedal steel heads and mandolin freaks, eat up.

Favorite Duet (Blood-related)

The Louvin Brothers- When I Stop Dreaming

Any longtime friends of the show know I’m a big fan of the singing duo The Louvin Brothers. They’ve got that golden country tone but it’s the blood harmony that turns these guys into something else entirely.

And here’s the kicker, folks. Emmylou covered When I Stop Dreaming! How coincidental for all of us reading this End of Year list…. The Louvins are my preferred version, but Emmylou, that you could help me make this connection is enough, dayenu!

Most Surprising Use of a Song in a Network TV Show

"Yama Yama" by the Yamasuki Singers, Fargo Season 2

When I was a dishwasher at St. James Cheese Co., late 2016ish, this CD was in our back of house music rotation. It is a magical album-- a Japanese children's choir with French pop production (think a bunch of bells and shit). I never learned the name of the album while working there and it fell out of my mind until years later when, after remembering how much I loved it, realized I had no idea how to find it. The pain of typing different spellings of “japanese children’s choir” into google for days on end.....I literally yelled when Fargo used this in its Season 2 big boy shootout. *chef’s kiss*

Best Album by a Spiritually Hungry Musical Genius, Lapping Her Contemporaries in Arrangement, Theme, and Songwriting, Gone Before Her Time

Judee Sill’s self-titled debut. 

Best Use of a Second Keyboard in A Keyboard Solo

Fountains of Wayne’s Red Dragon Tattoo

Do I mean to say synthesizer? Not sure. RIP Adam Schlesinger and long live FoW. What a loss.

Best Vibes/ Song I’d Most Want to Show Ezra Koenig so That We’d Bond & Become Friends

Zibote

Best Lyrics Written by a Jew in 1920’s NYC Being Sung by Willie Nelson

Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea / to the open arms of the sea

Favorite TV Shows

Ramy

-Second season shook its focus on the titular character and oh am I thankful. Not that Ramy himself isn’t great, he is, but the entire cast here deserves attention. The Uncle Naseem episode. The Uncle Naseem episode. Ahem. The Uncle Naseem episode.

Joe Pera Talks with You

Lovecraft Country

-Small gripes and complicated plotlines aside, this anthology connecting gothic horror, racism, and American history is phenomenal. 

Small Axe

-The second installment in this series, Lovers Rock, which takes place at a party, is the vicarious shot in the arm you deserve, you little extroverted thing you. 

I May Destroy You

Betty

The Last Dance

-The first Bulls game I ever went to was the first game *without* Michael Jordan, at the beginning of the ‘98-’99 season. Bad timing.

The Chi

Schitt’s Creek

-This show was never about the plot. Am I allowed to say that? I’ve never cared less for a plot and more for a cast. Catherine O’Hara is in her own league above us all.

Jon Writes a Year-End List

In 2019, my roommate June and I took a road trip through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I was out of a relationship, happily or unhappily I wasn’t sure yet, but along the way I downloaded Tinder hoping to meet a local who’d be excited to make out with me. There wasn’t much bite on my line, but by the time we reached Marquette, largely due to my good looks and charisma I’d orchestrated some type of group date with June, me, a girl from Tinder, and her friend. 

We met at a dingy karaoke bar and drank for cheap. Nobody wanted to hear me sing, but I got on stage anyway and gave “Willin” by Little Feat a go. Some guy at the bar in a maroon work shirt looked at me, scoffed, and left to smoke outside. The four of us weren’t hitting it off, even with alcohol. I and the friend made a plan to sing “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up to Be Cowboys'', but she quickly abandoned the duet after we had begun, citing a lack of vibes.   

But we kept singing and drinking and hours later I was leaning against the bar, waiting to order, standing next to maroon-shirt guy who had so easily shrugged off my existence earlier. What caught my eye as I stood next to him was a Star of David tattoo on his forearm. And sure enough, the name tag stitched onto his shirt identified him as “Isaac”. Well I’ll goddamn be-- this guy was frickin Jewish! I was shocked-- I assumed he was goy in the same way I assumed everyone I ran into up there would be. 

For just one unconscious assumption (I’m the only Jewish person in this Marquette karaoke bar) to be wrong felt great. My assumptions are really awful. I assumed maroon-shirt hated my guts. I assumed these two girls we were drinking with thought I was a loser too. I assume people don’t like me or respect me or have any interest in getting to know me. I tell awful stories about myself to myself, and my assumptions about the world are limiting and boring! With patience, “guy at bar who kinda scowled at me” had all of a sudden turned into “my new friend Isaac” who, after a few minutes of conversation, I “asked to bum a cigarette from.”

One of my favorite shows of 2020 was Joe Pera Talks With You. I still remember watching Joe Pera’s stand-up for the first time, and then rewatching and rewatching, savoring his cadence. He dressed and spoke like a grandpa, replete with pitch-perfect, kinda-gross mouth sounds, stutters, and low-but-driving energy. It’s a good bit, and Joe has morphed it into probably the funniest, sweetest, and least-pandering show of 2020. What I love about this show is its foundational belief that anyone can surprise you, you just need to give yourself time to notice.

I didn’t end up making out with anyone but I did wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life. Wake up, barf, whimper. As June drove us out of Marquette, I could barely keep my eyes open. I did notice, however, a massive, wooden structure jutting out into Lake Superior.

It is this same Lake Superior structure that Joe Pera Talks With You fixates on for its first shot of Season 2. Yes, this is an Adult Swim show that takes place in none other than Marquette, Michigan! Which is weird. Think about other movies, shows, or books that take place in the U.P. You can’t! Even zooming out to include the larger Upper-Great Lakes region leaves us with an almost-empty net: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot and titular Gatsby’s origin story on Lake Superior. These are stories of hard living and life and death on the dangerous Great Lakes. But neither of those are specific to the Upper Peninsula.   

Regions are an easy if reductive lens with which to attempt to view and understand people. In 2020, broad and sweeping generalizations about large swaths of people continued to gain power. There was the movie adaptation of JD Vance’s ahistorical Hillbilly Elegy. Woolly-eyed liberals trotted out fake maps of a preferred America that holds only the “good” blue states, not at all engaging in the history of racism and voter suppression that got us here. Besides the fact that Georgia went blue. And Democratic strongholds like California, New York, and Chicago betray any notion of a “better” America. The sins of this nation are not cordoned off into one section or time zone, no region is monolithic, and most importantly, no person can be explained away with a quick sentence.

There is no regional monolith more widely misunderstood than the Midwestern gestalt. Fargo (the show) does a great job of serializing this one type of Midwestern character-- they say “oh sure, happy to help” and they’re murderers. So for Joe Pera to settle his show in the U.P. is a fun choice. Most Americans are probably hard-pressed to conjure an accurate mental picture of who the U.P. is, so Pera creates his own flavor of a seemingly-recognizable small Midwestern town.

In the first episode, Joe walks us through the bean arch he’s growing. Why grow snap beans? “Beans are straightforward.” Straightforwardness, or the appearance of, is central to Pera’s charm. Pera’s shtick is walking the audience through a basic task that can serve as a metaphor for a larger existential question. This conceit isn’t new to Pera, but it has been en vogue recently, with shows like Andy Daly’s Review and the new HBO show How To with John Wilson. These shows present a simple stated goal that obfuscates a larger, more complex grapple. 

Joe Pera Talks With You is incredible and endearing because of the genuine tone Pera gives his tight-knit Marquette. We’re getting deranged lunatics like Conner O’Malley and Dan Licata to write jokes for 70-year old Michigan grandmas at a salon. The show trades in the perceived Midwestern folksiness for a punchline, yet doesn’t lose itself in irony or resentment. 

Every character in the Joe Pera universe has the opportunity to be profound. Pera gives every character the patience they deserve; even O’Malley’s berserk Joe Rogan listening-caricature Mike Melsky gets incredible moments of vulnerability. It’s a rare comedy: self-aware but not self-obsessed, sweet but not gross, and uniquely funny.  

Nowhere else on TV are you going to see such consistently great acting. Some of the best working comedians are in this season. Conner O’Malley has found a way to tap into his unsettling grotesque that is a pleasure to watch, playing characters at the ends of their ropes, shrieking. Jo Firestone is hilarious and essential as Joe’s doom-prepper girlfriend Sarah. We get guest stars like  genius Carmen Christopher. Even one-line role players like Joe’s teacher-coworker, who says Joe and Sarah go together “like desk and chair,” knock it out of the park. 

The questions at the heart of Talks With You feel more pronounced in a year of death and isolation. How do we connect with people? How can we really be there for our loved ones? How can we feel comfortable in our own skin? The show came out pre-pandemic but Pera’s touch and pacing is universal.

It’s difficult not to compare Talks With You to How to with John Wilson. The two shows have a lot in common. Both protagonists are soft-spoken, and speak at an arrhythmic clip. John Wilson’s voice is affected just like Pera’s; both vocal deliveries are meant to engender trust by signaling to us that they’re lacking some social confidence. But I don’t buy Wilson’s shtick as much as Pera’s.

John Wilson’s show is not straightforward in the same way Pera’s is, and the show suffers under the added weight of pretense. Wilson’s tangents lead us to places that barely fit under the established thematic umbrella and feel forced. On memory, Wilson’s adventure with the Mandela Effect turns from fascinating to boring as the truthers devolve into sketch characters, viewing simple spelling errors with magnifying glasses. “How to Cover Your Furniture” spends an upsettingly long amount of time with an anti-circumcision advocate as Wilson works through the question of how much we are allowed to change parts of other people. Meant to appear as if they effortlessly fell into place, these characters feel shoe-horned in.

Both characters and shows are performative authenticity, and Joe Pera and John Wilson’s whole deal is their status as observer. This year, many of us have become observers. I know I have: unemployed, unable to see people, watching death counts climb, sending money to various bail funds and rent relief to people and organizations near and far. There is a responsibility to being an observer. It is not some callous task. Being an effective observer means allowing your subject the space they need to be as they are and not foisting your own nonsense onto them.

In Joe Pera’s America, it’s understood that everyone is weird. By virtue of being human, we are all weird, off, we do confusing things, and say dumb stuff that doesn’t make sense. Even you’re a weird freak. John Wilson’s subjects seem like circus animals, squeezed in front of the camera for their fucked-up little flip. I can’t shake the feeling that John Wilson is making fun of the people he’s observing. Pera’s observations are rooted in the fairness that comes from seeing humanity in people-- every person has an equal chance of surprising you with how weird they are if you just make them comfortable and let them talk. We owe that to each other.

To be fair, these shows are also very different. Wilson’s found-footage, documentary style is ingenious, hilarious, and completely not the vibe that Pera and Co. are going for at all. And region here is everything. Wacky stuff happening in NYC? Eh, isn’t that par for the course over there? Wait, a show set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula? Ok...now that I’ve never seen. 

Obviously I was wrong about Isaac in Marquette, just as any broad assumption about a region and its people will be. I actually learned that Jews have a significant relationship to the U.P. And I found similarities between my own Jewish history, covering a similarly nebulous area of the Rust Belt/Midwest, and my U.P. cousins. Yes, home was closer than I thought, even across the length of Lake Michigan. Yes, people don’t just hate my guts. Yes, we can overcome lazy assumptions and we can even connect with people. We can make a better world. It just requires patience and listening.

Now, on to my thoughts regarding Fiona Apple’s landmark album Fetch the Bolt Cutters...

[apfrey]

i... cannot remember when it was the last time i was so disappointed in an episode. like, not even 6x08 did to me what this episode did. probably because i actually had some expectations for the supposed “replacement of episode 9 as the big pre-finale episode” thing. 

i’m completely livid at the arya and sansa thing, even when i tried giving the show the benefit of the doubt. i liked their first dialogue that scene since AT LEAST it wasn’t a case of bad communication and arya confronted sansa about it and all the things i wanted to be said were said. but to make arya legit threaten to skin her sister’s face off ??? what the fuck what the actual f

unless they’re trying to make a point that arya’s some coldhearted psychopath now (which i don’t buy but OKAY) this is the dirtiest they’ve done arya since the mess of a “plot” that she was given in s6

and BOY OH BOY here comes the best part of all: jon fucking snow, my prince, my wolf, my son, my absolute treasure and how they’ve fucking ruined him.

man, i used to be so on board with j*nerys. like, WAY before they ever met in canon. i was so excited for this. but what they’re feeding us is lazy, untrue to characters, and even downright insulting if i am to be honest. like, i wasn’t surprised he bent the knee. it sounds like the kind of thing he’d do regardless if it was a “push comes to shove” situation or something done out of his own volition. but...... it’s...... so random...... it’s so out of the blue it’s so ??? what ???? why did dany suddenly care for jon more than jorah last episode ??? what the fuck did dany do or show to get jon to fall in love with her already ??? all he’s seen is dany the rampant dragon queen with an obsession for the throne who has her walls built high and some serious god complex issues. he’s only seen her cruelty, selfishness, and arrogance. all of these are primary flaws that ygritte had as well. it was all he saw from ygritte at first as well. and while it took him quite a while to start feeling for her, we’re supposed to believe that it was instalove for him and dany? did he binge the first six seasons before going to meet dany to know what lies beyond that completely unflattering facade she’s been putting up all season? i’m just so livid. livid. d&d have been butchering jon since s5 onward, though. they completely reduced his character to being the dumb action hero who only thinks with his heart (and dick apparently) and it makes me SO. SAD. jon’s entire thing was that he was different from robb and ned, a lot more rational, constantly having this clash of “ice and fire” in him: of ration and of heart. he’d chosen duty over heart countless of times. sansa’s specifically warned him against not making ned’s and robb’s mistakes, yet they’re giving us a jon repeating robb’s mistakes? 

like ???? jon was there ???? when lord glover talked about robb, saying he lost his kingdom because he was fucking “a foreign whore” and he goes and does the exact same thing ??? are d&d seriously trying to make us believe jon didn’t learn ANYTHING from literally being murdered by men he had too much blind faith in ??? for him to say “oh, whatever, they’ll see you for your precious self” it’s downright disrespectful and renders jon’s entire experience in the night’s watch useless. well, they’ve done that already tbh. what was the fucking point of resurrecting jon again? but whatever. it’s another rant for another time.

i’m just so mad. again, not because of WHAT jon did but because of HOW he did it. it makes sense for him to reward her loss and effort with some faith, but he can’t force the entire fucking north to do the same. he should’ve spoken only on his behalf for now and tell dany that he’ll try to convince the north AFTER they win the war that she might be worth following. by that point, she theoretically should have contributed to the salvation of humanity. does he think they’ll tell her to fuck off after that? don’t even get me started on the fanfiction level of their dialogue. that dany bullshit which came out of nowhere. the “my queen” bullshit that had me barfing on my keyboard. it’s so fucking obvious that d&d absolutely do not care at all about building a proper relationship. there’s gotta be some sort of consequence important to the plot, similar to robb and talisa. robb and talisa were a crappy and rushed love story because they didn’t care about the characters, they only cared about what this relationship caused: aka the red wedding. and jon and dany feel the exact same. they don’t matter. natural buildup doesn’t matter. jon’s characterization doesn’t matter. they need to fuck. probably for some magic baby (by all the gods, i really hope this isn’t true). and they were probably like, “WELL, they ain’t gonna fuck without some feelings, so better go through this checklist of ‘stuff that people who fall in wuv wuv do’ first.” it’s SO painfully obvious by now that this is the case. especially when you take the time to compare it with jon and ygritte, a relationship that didn’t necessarily have a plot-affecting outcome, but which shaped jon as it developed. when he and ygritte first have sex, jon’s not in love with her. far from it. their relationship continues to grow beyond that. it’s so clear which relationship is carefully crafted because it matters to the characters and which is rushed through because it serves a purpose to the plot.

ugh. it’s just so unfair to both a jon snow lover and someone who’s had high expectations for a ship very dear to me, knowing they really ARE kindred spirits who can make their differences into their strengths and who can understand each other on a deep level. but the show just doesn’t give a shit about any of that. they’re either simply fanservice-ing this shit, either skimming through for whatever purpose j*nerys will serve to the plot. i’m just beyond pissed. jon’s not that fucking stupid. i’d even be willing to accept that he somehow managed to fall in love with dany in such a short time after seeing nothing but her bad parts. but to accept that he’s actually letting his boner get in the way of his responsibility as king? i don’t want this garbage, thank you. go rewatch your own fucking show, d&d. remember when jon took three arrows from the woman he loved because he chose his duty over his feelings? they clearly don’t. 

[doubledaffy]

January, 2017. Daisy and I went to Japan to visit Kevin and Shoko. I wrote a lot about it and made this little video. XO.

1-5-17 Thursday

Kyushu island

Hippo Bakery

Beach walk. Bread. Blendy Stick. Laundry mat. Itoshima - wife and husband. I forgot my back pack on the beach it so happens. Moto guys. Daisy thought Japanese surfers were big water turkeys. Ancient pine forest. Karatsu burger. I hated. Aka egg and cheese. Kagamiyama mountain. Body move move. Karatsu castle. Ripped the cube into traffic towards Akasaka station to meet Tsuyoshi. (We got the laundry while I sat in the car). AirBnB guy. Boom box grocery store. Dars. Wasabi potato sticks. Crying toddler. Google translate sucks. Shoko made hot pot meal. Nummy. Kevin whipped his chocolate pops.

Fun fact. The man who invented Tenga, has the Guinness world record for longest JO. How fitting.

Gross airbnb hair on comforter and towel. Do not want to stay there. Wasting more money. :(

1-6-17 Friday

Big dry heave last night. Woke up at 1am thinking "oh boy, something's going on. Whoops!" Ran to the bathroom, felt the heat rise up my body. Was it the broth? The chicken? The Sake? I placed my hands upon the electronically heated seat of the Japanese washlet and began to dry heave. No barf. I felt like Barfing. But nope. My body wouldn't let me. I felt better though and went back to bed. Daisy told me in the AM that they made the HotPot with pork broth, thought of me, and then decided not to tell me. Maybe it was that. Who cares. I feel better today. Kev made Spanish French toast (torijas) for us. It was lovely. Daisy said the shower she took was the best she's ever taken. That's because there's a huge window looking out in the the sea. It's magic. Daisy and went to 7-11. Big presence here. Kev fully loves it. Apparently they make great stuff and the ATM is reliable. Located right next to the "Titty mags" as Kev explained. I took out Shoko's penny board and we stopped at HIPPO tiny surf bakery and got some snacks for the house. No salty bread. We showed up too late. I left the penny board outside and no one stole it! --- Shoko drove us to a special lunch and snack spot. Snack spot was very Japanese and cute and had weird dessert stuff. Lunch spot was closed at 3pm! Great shoe horn though. I Bought the best spoon ever. White metal. Feels like stone. Expensive ceramic gift shops. Hotto motto dance and curb eat. Sake factory great traditional architecture. Drove to muji and inkcube in the mall. Went nuts at Muji. And stuff. Daisy neck hurt. Back home. Cream soup. Organize pack. Test journals and pens out. Daisy in bed by 9. I stay up and eat cream soup and some dars. White chocolate. Do some photos and stuff. Kev teaches himself Japanese on laptop then plays StarDewValley.

1-7-17 Saturday

Woke up early. Beach walk. Big shell find. Hippo. Too early for SheoPan! 9:30 is the best time. Come back. Blendy stick with Scones and Cream Soup left over. Computer time clicky and and work / taxes shit. Shower ocean view. Skate to Hippo at 9:30. got the SheoPan. Groin pull fall on the way back. Saw Osky and the Corgy photo shoot. Kev takes us to train. I dropped 40 on the train card by mistake. Taking photos on the train is illegal, Kevin explains. Photo sound on iPhone mandatory. Unpack at AirBnb. Then Bounce to Lunch at crazy under ground mall. Green noodle soup. So many people. So many things. So many structures. So much lighting. So much movement. No white people. Babies dressing nicely. Cool gear. Women in mens wool long straight overcoats. Tan and black. Big buttons and ties. Underground mall culture. Walk tour through FuK with Kev. Side of building greenery stair case hike to views. Photo shoot women and man.  Stop at Julette’s letters. Got a CLIP and stuff. Wooden baby toys nice. Japanese Love Pop and cool pencil, etc. Walk to DONUT spot. Lots of walking. Donut spot in crazy OTHER mall under ground. Madness. Hot down there. Amazing donuts. Weird that in a mall though, but maybe that’s great. Mall Mall Mall. Energy to go to MUJI. Big walk again. Lots of stores and big streets. Mega complex. Water light projector show. Muju is calming. Hot in there. Got more shit. Wanted everything and a new house to decorate. Book for Ben. Meet up with Shoko at Hippo and crazy recycling bear. Walk to restaurant called CHIKEN. Allow smoking, but place is cool and hip and nice. Light beer life. Moscow mule. Was off, from walking and hunger. Kev big adventurous eater. Raw Chicken - SASHIMI. Crazy. Got a little buzzed and let go. Crazy smokey chicken dish. Tasty food overall. Walk back in the Rain. LAWSON Dars and purple gummy candy and Crunky! Shoko peeled off before the AirBnB after party. Incense at the Airbnb made it smell better. Muji lights. 1/4 xanax or whatever to sleep. Pushed beds together with D and passed out.

1-8-17 Sunday

Woke up. Jon Bellion hate listen. Shower in tiny shower. Trying to meet with Kev at Eggs and Things. Big American style food. Just love the American food. Not so much THAT< I love knowing what I’m eating because I have a special little diet that doesn’t really include meat or fish or pork or anything, and here in Japan that’s hard. Kev showed up. After Eats and Things we popped on the train(s) to Dazaifu - a very old (16th century) Shrine (or could be a temple, hard to remember which is which) about 1hr on the localish trains. People on the trains sleep a lot. It’s nice. Also, no one is loud. Very quiet and respectful. Trains are on time and the stations are clean. One train we took was just the loveliest color scheme - light green/blue and red. V. calming. Tons of people in the terminals at times. Felt like Grand Central Terminal. If I ever felt like wanting to go to a Bigger Japanese city, nope - this amount of people is fine. Dazaifu is amazing. Tiny village full of a billion people swarming up to see the shrine, but it was oddly peaceful because no one is rude and it’s generally quiet. Tiny shops and people cooking meat sticks and shit on the sides on the way up. At the end, before the gate, there was a naturally formed single file line just to take a pic with the whacky animal statue. Formed by the people in a simple organized way. Not like the monster americans at Disney. Just a nice simple civilized line. Inside, we had to do a special hand and mouth wash routine to cleanse ourselves a the water zone. I touched my lips to the water bucket stick because it’s hard to know the customs in other countries. A million Japanese people cycling through there each day, and Jeff touches his lips to the community water bucket. We hiked up into the woods and saw an amusement park on the other side which seemed weird being so close to a shine or whatever. We got soft meatless sweet pucks and sat at a low table. Very relaxing stroll. Felt bad that Kev was in the Glum zone not knowing if his relationship is in the pits. Train back Komono woman sleeping among all the other sleeping Japanese people. Kev bounced, had to work and wanted to be home for the night. We wish we could all just stay at the house. Going back to the AirBnB and not having family dinner with the homie was bumming us out. I was excited to take the reins and figure out where to go in the new city. Apple Maps is great for walking directions on this trip. Great UI. Google Maps looks like garbage. Daisy found a place that has burgers and veggy options called Brooklyn Parlor. No shame in just going to a cool hip place that I know I can get something I like. The thing is, the Japanese food I have eaten is amazing. But when you’re without your Japanese speaking friends, it’s very hard to make sure you aren’t eating shell fish or meat. We saw some other cool small restaurants we’d thought looked nice on the walk. 7-11 stop after dinner to get snacks. The Titty Rags had censorship thingies on the genitals and they also had tape on the pages so you couldn’t open em. Old man barfing at the bus stop, but overall we’re getting a friendly vibe from the city. Plans to watch Finding Dori on the lappy, but might just crash. Trying to plan what to do tomorrow with the rental car with Kev. Hard to plan sometimes! We’re living out of a backpack now because of the AirBnB and would like to re-up / swap out our gear.

(First horn sound we’ve heard here. Wow. Just now as I was typing this entry, just goes to show you, why honk, when you can be patient and kind?)  

1-9-17 Monday

Giants

Eggs and things iced coffee?

Train to Kevin's

Rental car madness - couldn’t find Nissan. Goosechase.

Senyoji temple - Magic. Soft. Quiet. Milltion Monks on hill. Old artifacts. Incense. Chanting on Mic.

Everyone backs their car in to the parking spot.

Ichiran Noodle Factory - ticket system. Rice and Egg and cold Mushrooms. Put the plate on the sound thingy and it makes a big sound all across the restaurant signifying that you want your next little order.

Tea Garden Madness - Light up trees across this huge empty yard with pop music blasting from a ton of speakers hidden all over the grounds. I did a BodyMoveMove, naturally.

1-10-17 Tuesday

Tried to go to Hippo today. It’s hard to go there, apparently. Closed on Tuesdays. Whoops! Came back with no pastries, so Kevy Cab hooked up the Pancakes and I took care of the Blendy Sticks. Grabbed the laundry and popped out to the long driving day through windy roads in the beautiful Japanese country side. First we stopped at the big Caldera overlook where a volcano made a blast hole a very long time ago. Then we popped down more windy roads to see the Aso Volcano. It was cloudy, but you could see a massive mountain with a big hole in it smoking underneath sets of ominous clouds. The museum center looked like something out of a Russian Post Apocalypse B movie. Drove to the wrong hot springs, I was getting car sick, so moved up front. The steering wheel is on the right side here, so sitting up front is a treat cuz you feel like you’re just controlling the car with you mind. Finally made it to the real hot springs. It’s a 24hr spot and it’s magical. You pick your favorite little hot spring house for around 1500 Yen (15 bucks). Then you pop in there, shower off, put your coins in the slot thingy that makes hot water blast out of a long tube into a beautiful wooden tub. We would have splurged for the rock tub for an extra dollar. Yup, a dollar for the upgrade. Daisy and I never felt so relaxed. I bought some sheepy slippers at the gift shop and am wearing them now. I also bought a sprite type drink that was about 1/4 size of a glass coke bottle, with a label designed to win design awards. Shoko is now getting car sick, so it’s me and her up front, with her driving. She drives very fast. On the highway she was passing mother fuckers with ease. I was nervous. Grabbed our laundry from the trusty laundry mat (drying only for us). I lay down on the bench while Daisy read Japanese Nylon. I was trying to still my body. Bopped over to the UDON noodle place and got some Tofu Noodle Udon and white rice. It was simply great. Ate at the counter and took some iPhone vids of stuff. At home raging on some 7-11 snacks we got at some point today. 7-11 here is what I want a convenience store to be. It has lots of shit I like and cheap. Daisy in bed now cuz I feel I owe it to myself to document these trips. They’re super important to me and special and I’m lucky to go on them.

1-11-17 Wednesday

Woke up at 8am and popped out to the ocean magic tree zone to dance in public for my BodyMoveMove & Exquisitemovement project. Dancing really gets the heart pumping. Daisy said she wanted to go for a run on the beach but where is she now? Face down in bed, that’s where. I can’t seem to sleep past 8 and I’m loving it. Slid over to Hippo for a pastry run. Scored that ShioPan which is very rare and special, as we all know. Came back and missed the “let’s go” and rushed to get ready. Everyone was making fun of me for being a space cadet on this trip, but I kinda like being loose and spacey when I’m not at the wheel. Most of my life is dictated by me and only me so it’s been really nice that Kev and Shoko are handling everything and being great tour guides. We zap over to Shoko’s parent’s house which is a traditional Japanese magical tiny compound. Garden’s and outbuildings and paths tucked and squeezed into the tiny suburban hillside. They have another house that they open as a cafe and art gallery and everything is as you’d expect a modern day / ancient Japanese house to be. They have a fucking COY POND in the middle of it all with lots of buddies swimming back and forth. Their toilet has a button that lifts and lowers the seat - no touch lifestyle. That sums up the house and how rad it is. We jammed over to a fast food Sushi Roll place that uses a conveyer belt system to deliver your food and you pay per plate. You order on the touch screen and it makes a lot of loud chimes and screams at you, which is the only downside. All this annoyance is overruled by the convenience and novelty. I ate no fish because fish grosses me out and I feel bad for them. They say fish is good for you, but not for me because it’s disgusting and smells like low tide. Your kid isn’t dressed up like he/she is headed to fashion week? Don’t bring them outside then. That’s the rule. Tolls here are very expensive, but the roads, even though I can’t read a god damn word, seem to be great and tight and efficient and clean. Next, we bopped over to the largest bronze Buddah that is laying down. It’s magnificent and peaceful. Snagged a Bodymovemove before going inside and praying at all the little pray stations. Then we got little balls with feathers on them to toss into the tiny buckets but none of us were successful. Guess what? This place is manicured to perfection and has a very hand made feel. Lots of paths into the forest and mini shrines and stuff. Even a tiny Torii Gate you can crawl through. Whoops, sun is setting, so we blast off to another Temple Shrine they’re calling Hay something. It has a lot of stairs and you can see the ocean and whatever. Big hay knot thingy you can pray to. We got gas and stopped at Aeon for food and snacks for gifts. The Nissan March really gets good gas mileage. I can’t find my lens cap, but who cares, I already got the good Bokeh shot on the highway. We’ve been using a “Shared Wallet” System, which is neat. You all put in the same amount of $ at the beginning and when you do group activities you all take out of that. At the end if there’s any left, you split it up. It works well or whatever. Back home Shoko made hot pot - no pork so I don’t need to dry heave over the wash-let again! Beers for everyone but me and desserts and funny convo on the futon and stuff. I took a bath listening to the ocean waves pulse. So nice. That pulsing really does wash away everything bad.

(so that’s it for what I have written. I know we stayed in Japan longer, maybe I wrote the rest of my thoughts in an actual journal? Hard to care to search for it right now. Maybe the video above will do the trick closing that gap. I’m updating this blog right now and it’s 5/11/19 10:07AM)

[themomsandthecity]

How 1 Mom Suddenly Knew She Was Done Having Kids

Last week my sister-in-law and her husband brought their newborn baby over for a visit. They were about an hour and a half late, because newborn. I mention this only because it will be an important part of the story later. "Do you miss this?" my brother-in-law asked, his glassy, sleep-deprived eyes shifting to his 3-week-old baby in my arms. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or looking for me to reassure him that it gets better. Either way, maybe I should have taken longer than half a second to give my answer, and maybe that answer shouldn't have been, "GOD no! You couldn't pay me enough money to deal with this sh*t again." I laughed, the baby barfed on my shirt, and then we all had dinner. My response to this question wasn't always so emphatic. When I was pregnant with our third baby, my husband was on a mission to convince me to get my tubes tied after she was born. I was scheduled for a C-section and his argument was: "They're all up in there anyway. What's two more little snips once they're already elbow deep in your guts?" The truth was that 99.9 percent of me was positive I was done having kids, but that 0.1 percent was a powerful sumb*tch. For me, that tiny percentage reasoned that closing the door on my childbearing years meant closing the door on my youth. Graduation, then job, then marriage, then babies, then old. After you're done having kids, all that's left is to sit around and wait to get old. I wasn't ready to do that. However, the novelty of staying forever young wore off about a week into my daughter's life, when I realized that having multiple babies doesn't stave off old age - it accelerates it. My physical and mental boundaries were pushed to their limits trying to manage two toddlers and a newborn. I was 35 going on 116. I remember placing her hospital photo on our wall next to her sisters' and feeling complete. I heard a small voice in my head say, "This is what my family looks like. That's it. I'm done." My mind then wandered to a new thought - a sense of finally moving forward. It was a different feeling than I'd ever had before. Almost a feeling of relief. With each baby I felt as if we were being pushed back to the starting line, and for the first time it felt as if life could at last "begin." And just like that, I knew we were done. No questions, no regrets. "You can go ahead and make that appointment for your vasectomy now," I told my husband the next morning at breakfast. "I'm good." He let out a noise that sounded like a cross between an annoyed sigh and a death rattle. "The doctor was right there. Already in there. Inches away," I heard him whisper through clenched teeth as he tightened his grip on the butter knife and gazed sadly at his balls. He LOVES when I talk about his vasectomy, by the way. Our youngest is 4 now, and I must say, not once in four years have I wistfully looked back. I shot off fireworks the day I sold my breast pump on Craigslist. Instead of spending a small fortune on diapers and formula, we go on vacations. We're not an hour and a half late to things anymore. Everyone in my family can wipe their own ass - I can't remember the last time I touched someone else's poop. And sleep . . . oh, the sleep. It is glorious. The night my in-laws visited with their newborn, my brother-in-law asked me a question as they packed up their screaming baby and headed for the door. "Does it get any easier the second time around?" The look on my face must have told him he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted to hear because before I could say anything he said, "And just so you know . . . you can feel free to lie to us any time." He was right. I realized I needed to reel in the newborn horror playing out in my head or he might go out for formula one night and never come back. But my mind flashed to the year they had ahead of them. The sleepless nights. Diaper changes galore. Relentless crying. Poop blowouts up the back. Taking two hours to get out the door. Then just when you feel like you can crawl out of your hole and take a breath, another one is born and you're dealing with all of that plus a temperamental 2-year-old she-devil. I felt like I owed him the bitter but hopeful truth. "It does get better," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "But first it's gonna get a lot worse." Hannah Mayer is a nationally award-winning blogger, humor columnist and exponentially blessed wife and mother of three. She would trade everything for twelve uninterrupted hours in a room with Jon Hamm and two Ambien. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter or at her blog, sKIDmarks. http://bit.ly/2otP8fB

[themomsandthecity]

How 1 Mom Suddenly Knew She Was Done Having Kids

Last week my sister-in-law and her husband brought their newborn baby over for a visit. They were about an hour and a half late, because newborn. I mention this only because it will be an important part of the story later. "Do you miss this?" my brother-in-law asked, his glassy, sleep-deprived eyes shifting to his 3-week-old baby in my arms. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or looking for me to reassure him that it gets better. Either way, maybe I should have taken longer than half a second to give my answer, and maybe that answer shouldn't have been, "GOD no! You couldn't pay me enough money to deal with this sh*t again." I laughed, the baby barfed on my shirt, and then we all had dinner. My response to this question wasn't always so emphatic. When I was pregnant with our third baby, my husband was on a mission to convince me to get my tubes tied after she was born. I was scheduled for a C-section and his argument was: "They're all up in there anyway. What's two more little snips once they're already elbow deep in your guts?" The truth was that 99.9 percent of me was positive I was done having kids, but that 0.1 percent was a powerful sumb*tch. For me, that tiny percentage reasoned that closing the door on my childbearing years meant closing the door on my youth. Graduation, then job, then marriage, then babies, then old. After you're done having kids, all that's left is to sit around and wait to get old. I wasn't ready to do that. However, the novelty of staying forever young wore off about a week into my daughter's life, when I realized that having multiple babies doesn't stave off old age - it accelerates it. My physical and mental boundaries were pushed to their limits trying to manage two toddlers and a newborn. I was 35 going on 116. I remember placing her hospital photo on our wall next to her sisters' and feeling complete. I heard a small voice in my head say, "This is what my family looks like. That's it. I'm done." My mind then wandered to a new thought - a sense of finally moving forward. It was a different feeling than I'd ever had before. Almost a feeling of relief. With each baby I felt as if we were being pushed back to the starting line, and for the first time it felt as if life could at last "begin." And just like that, I knew we were done. No questions, no regrets. "You can go ahead and make that appointment for your vasectomy now," I told my husband the next morning at breakfast. "I'm good." He let out a noise that sounded like a cross between an annoyed sigh and a death rattle. "The doctor was right there. Already in there. Inches away," I heard him whisper through clenched teeth as he tightened his grip on the butter knife and gazed sadly at his balls. He LOVES when I talk about his vasectomy, by the way. Our youngest is 4 now, and I must say, not once in four years have I wistfully looked back. I shot off fireworks the day I sold my breast pump on Craigslist. Instead of spending a small fortune on diapers and formula, we go on vacations. We're not an hour and a half late to things anymore. Everyone in my family can wipe their own ass - I can't remember the last time I touched someone else's poop. And sleep . . . oh, the sleep. It is glorious. The night my in-laws visited with their newborn, my brother-in-law asked me a question as they packed up their screaming baby and headed for the door. "Does it get any easier the second time around?" The look on my face must have told him he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted to hear because before I could say anything he said, "And just so you know . . . you can feel free to lie to us any time." He was right. I realized I needed to reel in the newborn horror playing out in my head or he might go out for formula one night and never come back. But my mind flashed to the year they had ahead of them. The sleepless nights. Diaper changes galore. Relentless crying. Poop blowouts up the back. Taking two hours to get out the door. Then just when you feel like you can crawl out of your hole and take a breath, another one is born and you're dealing with all of that plus a temperamental 2-year-old she-devil. I felt like I owed him the bitter but hopeful truth. "It does get better," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "But first it's gonna get a lot worse." Hannah Mayer is a nationally award-winning blogger, humor columnist and exponentially blessed wife and mother of three. She would trade everything for twelve uninterrupted hours in a room with Jon Hamm and two Ambien. You can find her on Facebook, Twitter or at her blog, sKIDmarks. http://bit.ly/2lvZ9di