#i legitimately have like three or four days post period where i feel like a Functional Human Capable of Achieving Things

[heart-bones]

guess who chickened out and didn't go to that club? me.

[thesassenachswiftie]

Lover - Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”

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Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 // Chapter 12

Summary: Claire and Jo go Christmas shopping; Claire gets a call at work that Lamb’s in the hospital in Boston where she fears she will need to spend the holidays without Jamie. In short: angst, but make it festive.

" This won't go back to normal, if it ever was It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because 'Cause I have to

Ooh-ah, you'll get better..."

CW: cancer, hospitals, illness of a loved one,

Notes: First of all, if you’re still here, thank you for reading, and thank you for bearing with me as I took a small hiatus. Hopefully I will be getting back to a more regular posting schedule, but work is really draining right now and it’s hard to find enough hours in the day to do everything. 

As you know, each Chapter of this fic is based off a Taylor Swift song by the same name. This one was particularly difficult to write/approach because I actually haven’t listened to this song in over a year. In early Summer 2019, a tumor was found on my grandfather’s brain. This was also the summer I discovered Outlander, and the summer Taylor Swift released Lover. The day after Lover came out, I broke down sobbing in my apartment listening to this song and thinking about my grandfather, knowing his condition was worsening. That night, I recieved the call that my grandfather had passed. He was the kindest, purest soul and I write this chapter in part as a tribute to him. Many of the experiences Claire and Lamb share are based on my own experiences with my grandpa that summer, and this version of Lamb is very much based on my Grandpa Jim. 

That being said, you may want to grab a box of tissues before reading, but hopefully not all your tears will be sad. I’m hoping to post again before Chistmas, but in case I don’t Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays--and Happy Hanukkah to any Jewish readers I may have--here is a Hanukkah present for you!

 Chapter 13: “Soon You’ll Get Better”  

         “All I want for Christmas is yooouuuuu” the sounds of Mariah Carey rang out throughout the small boutique gift shop in the heart of the village of Northport.

           “Good God, we’re only a week into December and I swear I’ve already heard this song three hundred times. I’m not exaggerating either. Two hundred and eight-four at the very least.” Jo scoffed exasperatedly.

           “Are you complaining?” Claire asked in reply. “It’s a great song--a classic really.”

           “Do you know how many incredible, amazing, beautiful, jolly Christmas songs there are in existence?” Jo was gearing up for one of their famous rants, “Yet, the radio stations only ever play the same eighteen songs, I swear!”

           “It must be more than eighteen.”

           “Fine. Twenty. Take this song for instance: Ingrid Michaelson has the most hauntingly beautiful cover of it--do you ever hear it? No! You only ever hear Mariah!”

           “I, for one, like Mariah!” Claire interjected, playfully defensive.

           “Who doesn’t? But she’s not the only powerhouse female vocalist out there! I’d just like to see a little diversity in my holiday music, is that so much to ask?”

           Claire giggled. Her best friend always had an opinion on everything and she loved them all the more for it. “Do you think Jenny would like this candle?” Claire unscrewed the lid a locally-made jar candle, taking a sniff before placing it under Jo’s nose. It smelled like Lavender and Sage with just a hint of Eucalyptus.

           “Does Jenny keep a lot of candles around, with all those children?” Jo chuckled back. “It does smell nice though.” Jo had only met Jenny a couple times when visiting Claire, but they had a knack for reading people and Claire was glad to have them along as a shopping partner.

           “I suppose candles aren’t really her thing. Jenny seems very practical, but I don’t know what she would need that she doesn’t already have, and Jamie’s been no help!”

           “I think you’re on the right track with the self-care/relaxation vibe, but maybe not something the children can use to burn the house down. What about an artisanal lotion set?” Jo inquired, gesturing at a nearby display.

           “Oh that might work!” Claire took a squirt from the bottle labeled ‘tester’ inhaling deeply as she rubbed it between her palms. “Ooo that’s nice, I would appreciate this if I were a hardworking mother.”

           “If things keep going the way they are with your man, LJ, you might just be before you know it” Jo made a lewd gesture with their hands, raising their eyebrows to make it clear exactly what they were implying.

           “Jo! You’re terrible” Claire shrieked, smacking her friend playfully on the arm. Besides, not much of that happening these days if you haven’t noticed, Jamie is literally across the ocean.”

           “Well, at least you can’t get knocked up from phone sex,” Jo replied. “What are you getting him anyway? I’m thinking something lacy and strappy, with little bows on it of course, to be festive. There’s a place down the street that might have something like that.”

           “Hmm” Claire exhaled. “We’ll see.” Claire knew lingerie was definitely going to be part of Jamie’s Christmas gift, one she would be most excited for him to unwrap. God, she missed him. It had been over a month and they were settling into a routine, video chatting every night, sweet texts back and forth throughout the day, the occasional phone sex when they were both sick with desire for one other--but nothing was the same as the feel of their bodies pressed against each other in the heat of the moment, chasing each other’s climax. Claire couldn’t wait to be reunited with him in every way.

           It was two days before Christmas break, only a few days left until Claire would find freedom for the next ten days and, most of all--the comfort of Jamie’s arms. Claire was sitting in her school nurse’s office, inhaling deeply during the first quiet moments she’d had all week. There was an uptick of student visits in the past couple weeks--a few were legitimate concerns tied to cold and flu season: students whose parents sent them to school when they weren’t quite well enough, overachievers who wanted to maintain their perfect attendance dragging themselves to school despite their bodies protestations. Most of her patients however, were suffering from something much more insidious: the eagerness to start their winter break early by skipping their classes. This time of year the air of the school felt different, students and teachers alike were burnt out, apathetic, and ready for a break. This attitude in the students fed into the teachers’ attitudes--overworked with the end of the marking period, trying to squeeze in Christmas shopping and decorating between grading. Claire did not envy Jo nor any of the other teachers during this time, but their exhaustion was so palpable in the air of the school that she was starting to feel it too. By tomorrow, most teachers would be shutting their doors and playing a holiday film, giving up on instruction all together--hopefully that would make for a quiet day for Claire. Really, if she could just get through the rest of the day it would be smooth sailing until Christmas--until Jamie.

           Her silent musings were broken by the blaring sound of her office phone. She was expecting a teacher, calling to send a student down, but instead it was the school clerk, Glenda. “Hi Nurse Beauchamp, we have an outside call for you, it seems like it may be a personal call so if there’s any students with you we can send someone down to watch them if you’d like to take it privately here in the office.”

           Claire's heart sank to her stomach. What could it be? She took a deep breath and swallowed to brace herself before replying “last student just left.”

           “Alright, I’ll transfer you now.” The click of the call transferring sounded through the phone.

           “Hello, this is Miss Beauchamp”

           “Hello Miss Beauchamp, I’m Tammy, a nurse at Mass General we’re calling because you’re listed as the emergency contact for Quentin Beauchamp” a nasally voice croaked through the phone speaker--the voice was impersonal like that of a cashier saying “have a nice day” for the thousandth time, not fitting of a potential harbinger of death.

           “Yes…” Claire replied, nervously, questioningly.

           “Mr. Lambert was admitted this morning after showing signs of cognitive distress. An initial cat scan shows a mass on his brain. He’s currently undergoing testing to see if it’s cancerous.”

           Claire’s lungs felt like they were about to collapse. Lamb had been diagnosed with prostate cancer several years ago, but had been able to live with it through treatment. Claire also knew that cancer was insidious and could spread throughout the body rapidly and without warning. She knew it was very likely that the mass was cancer. She tried to find her medical professional voice, but a diagnosis was different when it was someone you loved. Instead, she croaked out, “when will you know?”

           “We should have the results by tomorrow. He’ll stay here overnight for monitoring and we’ll decide whether to admit him long term from there.”

           “I’m on Long Island, should I drive up?”

           “I’m afraid it’s too soon to tell, it could be nothing, but--” Claire cut her off, knowing exactly how bad it could be.

           “I understand. I’ll drive up this evening.”

           “Alright, he should be back in his room by then, he’s out getting his tests done now. It’s room 713 when you get here.” Claire wrote the number on a bright blue sticky note on her desk as the nurse spoke. “Have a nice day Ms. Beauchamp”

           “Hmm” was all she could reply, as if she could possibly have a nice day. She hung up the phone, and finally let the deluge of tears she’d been holding back free.

She allowed herself to cry for a few minutes to get it out, but she knew she had to get to Boston as soon as possible. She picked up the phone again and dialed the main office.

“Hi Glenda, it’s Claire. I need to take the rest of the day off--I have to go to Boston, my uncle…” she couldn’t say it out loud for fear of unleashing the tears again “Is Principal Gowan there, I need to let him know.”

“Oh Nurse Beauchamp, I’m so sorry to hear that, let me know if you need anything. Mr. Gowan’s in his office, I’ll transfer you to him now, if he doesn’t answer just pack up your things and go, I’ll take care of it”

“Thanks Glenda, I really appreciate it”

----------

           After getting the ok from her kind and understanding principal, Claire rushed back to Jamie’s apartment, hastily packed a bag (likely forgetting several things), informed Jenny where she was going--which was met with sympathy and genuine concern--and hopped back in the car for the journey to Boston. She entered the hospital doors several hours later, the buttons of her coat were tangled in her hair as she rushed, breathless, to the front desk to receive her visitor’s pass.

           When she arrived at Lamb’s room, he was asleep. She didn’t want to wake him, but she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to let him know she was there before settling into the armchair beside him to await his awakening. He looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, not at all like the strong, spirited man who had raised her. He had left the television on--some sports channel was playing a highlight reel of various golfing moments. No wonder Lamb fell asleep. Claire was staring at the screen, but her thoughts were elsewhere: worried about Lamb, wondering if she’d remember everything when she hastily packed, wondering what the future held. Would she have to spend Christmas in this hospital room? A golf ball soared across the Scottish Highlands on the screen. Jamie. Jamie was coming home Christmas Eve, she was supposed to pick him up from the airport, supposed to spend her holiday break with him, experience her first Hogmanay with the Murray family, be surrounded by love and laughter and family. Lamb was supposed to be fine, he was supposed to take the train down, spend Christmas with them. Every plan they had made was shattered into a million pieces. Would she even be able to see Jamie? She thought about the presents she’d bought for him, not yet wrapped, piled in the closet but definitely not hidden, especially considering it was his apartment. Of course he’d understand--she could tell him where they were, but the magic of unwrapping would be lost, it would feel entirely unsentimental. It was bad enough that she felt her gifts weren’t sentimental enough--what could she possibly get him to show how special he was to her? How could she communicate that with an object? If she were a painter she would paint him a painting, if she were a songwriter she would write him a song, but she was simply Claire, and practical gifts were all she knew. She had purchased a cozy blue sweater to match his eyes and keep him warm in the brisk London winters, a cool multi-tool the size of a credit card that would fit in his wallet and help him solve a variety of problems, a protective case for his phone, and a box of artisanal beef jerky.  She had also procured a complicated piece of lingerie with a big red bow across the chest for him to unwrap the night of Christmas, which she knew he would enjoy. Everything was thoughtful enough and mostly practical, but she longed to be able to give him something truly special--a grand gesture to match her feelings for him. Claire glanced back at her uncle and immediately felt guilty being so selfish. I hate to make this all about me. Lamb always had a knack for helping her realize what was important when life’s situations overwhelmed her. She needed him for perspective, but how could she talk to him about this? How could she tell him how she felt? She knew it was wrong, but she was mad at him for getting sick so close to Christmas. Who am I supposed to talk to? What am I supposed to do if there’s no you? The tears were welling up in her eyes as she watched her most beloved uncle sleep--hooked up to machines, pale and listless in the hospital bed.

           Claire slipped into the adjoining bathroom to try to compose herself--she didn’t want her uncle to wake up and see her upset, she knew he would try to comfort her, to be the rock he always had been for her. She was here to be his rock this time, she needed to stay strong for him. She looked at herself in the mirror, telling herself it was going to be ok--her uncle was strong and he’d been fighting a long time--he’d continue to fight. Soon you’ll get better. She had to convince herself it was true, pretend it wasn’t real, it wasn’t so bad. She knew it was a delusion, she could see it all over her glass face when she looked in the mirror. She was genuinely afraid that this could be when she lost him, if not physically right away, he could be lost mentally. She’d been hoping for years he would get better, but now it seemed he’d taken a turn for the worse. She took a few deep breaths and offered up a prayer. She wasn’t usually religious, but they say desperate people find faith, so she decided it was time to try. God? Jesus? Whoever is up there. I know I don’t much deserve anything from you, I’m not sure I’m exactly on good terms with you, but I’m inclined to believe you care and you are good. Besides, I’m not really asking anything for myself, not really. I just pray my Uncle is ok, I pray he gets better. He has to. Please don’t take his brilliant mind away from him. Please let him be ok. Please, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever it takes to help him. Just please, please, don’t take him away from me. I need him. Please let him get better. Please let him get better. Claire continued to repeat the words like a mantra as she returned to her bedside chair. She stared at the collection of orange bottles on the tray table. Please let them help him get better. Please let him get better. Please, please, please let him get better.

           Claire had no idea how long she sat there, repeating those words to herself, but her silent appeal was interrupted when a nurse entered the room to check her uncle’s vitals.

           “Hi, I’m Brenda, I’ll be the nurse on duty tonight.” Brenda erased a name on a small whiteboard in front of the room and replaced it with her own.

           “I’m Claire, I’m his niece.”

           Brenda had made her way over to the other side of the bed and was checking the monitors beside the bed, making notes on the chart in her hand. “I hate waking them up, but I’m going to have to.” Claire was glad that she was much kinder than the nurse she had spoken with on the phone earlier—had that really been earlier? It seemed much longer since that phone call. “Excuse me, Quentin? Sir?” Brenda gently nudged his arm to awaken him. Lamb’s eyes fluttered open and he looked disoriented, Claire watched him carefully hoping that his disorientation was solely from being awoken mid-sleep and not from any neurological damage.

           “Hi Uncle Lamb” Claire stammered, hoping she sounded cheerful anyway.

           “Claire! My girl! You came all the way to see your old uncle!”

           “Of course I did! How are you?” she replied warmly.

           “Oh, I’m fine, they’re taking good care of me here.” Lamb’s voice sounded genuinely content and Claire felt comforted for the first time since the hospital had called her earlier that day.

           “Hello sir, my name’s Brenda, I’ll be your nurse tonight. I just need to ask you a few questions and check your vitals.”

           “What is your name?”

           “Quentin Lambert Beauchamp”

           “Good. When is your birthday?

           “March 23th, 1939”

           “Good, and who is the president?”

           “Well, unfortunately…” both Claire and Brenda giggled at how Lamb began his sentence. Claire was well aware of Lamb’s opinions of the current president of the United States, and was glad to see he hadn’t lost his sly sense of humor or his disdain for the man.  She was also glad he knew who the president was, hopefully his mental capacities were more promising than the worst-case-scenario her mind was conjuring.

----------

           Claire stayed by her uncle’s side for the rest of the night, only leaving the room twice, once to find something to eat from a vending machine, and once for her nightly call to Jamie. She allowed herself to break down when talking to Jamie, sobbing over the phone. Jamie did his best to comfort her through the speaker, desperately wishing he could be there for her in person. Claire wished the same, longing to curl up in his strong embrace, and bury her swollen face in his chest. She couldn’t bring up the fact that she might have to spend Christmas in Boston. She was enough of a mess without facing the reality that they wouldn’t see each other, and when Jamie promised they’d see each other soon at the end of their call, Claire hung up quickly as another wave of emotion overtook her and she buried her face in her hands to cry some more.

           The next morning, the doctor came in with Lamb’s results. Claire grasped Lamb’s hand, unsure of who was holding onto whom for comfort as the doctor explained that the mass on Lamb’s brain was in fact cancerous, but it was still relatively small and had been caught early. He explained that they could operate on it and remove it, however there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t come back or that they’d be able to get it all out. It was moments like these where Claire desperately wished she was already a surgeon, that she could feel in control of the outcome--though could she operate on her own uncle? Would she be able to hold her hand steady enough to do a good job? No, perhaps it was best left to the veteran surgeons in Boston.

           After discussing all the details and options with the doctor’s, Lamb decided to go through with the surgery. It was scheduled for the day after Christmas and Claire resigned herself to the sobering fact that she’d be spending the holidays in the hospital. As the florescent hospital lights lit the room with an unnatural glow, Claire couldn’t tell him she was scared. She had to stay strong, she had to keep it together and remain positive and supportive.

           ----------

           Claire spent the next few days devoted to her uncle, rarely leaving his bedside. Lamb had forced her to spend the nights at his apartment, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t sleeping well to begin with and the recliner at the hospital was only making matters worse. Claire was present and doting on him from morning to night though, helping her uncle order his meals, assisting him when he needed to use the restroom, adding and removing pillows and blankets as needed, or anything else he needed or wanted. Lamb had been moved to the cancer floor, and the window of his new room had a nice view of the Boston skyline. Lamb was making the best of a bad deal, he bragged about his ‘luxury accommodations’, he cracked jokes often, he liked the nicer nurses, he ordered extra dessert with all his meals and was in generally pleasant spirits. Claire could see the cracks in his cognition though. Sometimes he would change the topic he was discussing mid-sentence, and he couldn’t seem to keep time straight. Whenever anyone would mention Christmas, he would act surprised to know that it was coming up, and at one point he hinted at Claire that she might just get those roller skates she wanted for Christmas, a gift she had not asked for since she was eleven years old. He didn’t seem to know what year it was or how old Claire was. He did know who Claire was though, and for that she was thankful. He also knew who the president was whenever the nurses asked, always beginning his answer with a short preamble to make known his disdain.

Before they knew it, it was Christmas Eve and Claire couldn’t hide the sadness she felt on her face. She was glad to spend the evening with Lamb, but she had been looking forward to her first big family Christmas. She had filled in Jamie about Lamb’s condition and her subsequent stay in Boston over the course of their phone calls that week. She had also describe the Christmas gifts she had purchased for the Murrays, Jo, and Lamb, so Jamie would know the rest were for him. Jamie had agreed to put the Murrays gifts in gift bags and distribute them for her. They were meant to exchange family gifts that evening, the morning being reserved for Santa, and Claire was heartbroken to be missing out. In a matter of hours, and for the first time in two months, her and Jamie would be on the same continent, yet they wouldn’t be able to see each other. There was no way Claire could get into the Christmas spirit under these conditions. The hospital, despite being modestly decorated, was not the most festive atmosphere. Even a troop of Girl Scouts caroling their way through the hospital halls did nothing to assuage the weight of losing everything Claire had been looking forward to for the past two months.

           “What’s a matter, my dear?” Lamb asked, showing genuine concern for his niece.

           “It’s nothing, I’m fine, I promise, I’m just wishing things were different today.”

           “Why today? Is it something special? I can’t seem to remember.”

           “It’s Christmas Eve. You were supposed to come to Long Island and meet Jamie. We were going to spend the holiday with his family.”

           “Yes, I remember, that’s today? Oh dear, I haven’t gotten your gift yet I’m afraid.”

           “That’s fine, Lamb, I’m afraid I left your gift at home, so we’ll have to do that part later. We can take a raincheck on gift exchanging. I was just really looking forward to you getting to know Jamie.”

           “I’m sure I’ll meet the lad soon; he seems really special to you.”

           “He is; I know you’ll like him.”

           “I already do.” He patted the top of her hand and turned his attention back to the sitcom on the television, providing humorous commentary to try to cheer Claire up.

----------

It was late Christmas morning. Uncle Lamb was napping again and Claire had switched the television to the Hallmark Channel--usually her guilty pleasure this season, today it was simply reminding her of how her Christmas was proving to be less than magical. For her there would be no Christmas kisses, no magical snowfall, no saving the small town family business or learning to love Christmas again. All that awaited her this Christmas were fluorescent lights, beeping monitors, and nurses visiting every 6 hours to check her uncle’s vitals. This Christmas would be decidedly the most un-magical she had ever experienced. She had had her share of unconventional Christmases in the past, in fact, she never really was a Christmas person, but it had started to feel special to her when she was living in New York. This Christmas though--this was one she was looking forward to more than ever before. Claire spent most of the morning crying, grieving over all she was missing. She should have spent the morning curled up in Jamie’s arms, watching the children open presents. She could picture the Murray’s living room, trashed with colorful wrapping paper from end to end, each child in their own private world fascinated by their latest favorite toy, Jenny and Ian beaming through tired eyes.

Claire was surprised Jamie hadn’t called her to fill her in on the details yet. He had called yesterday when his plane arrived--groggy and jet-lagged, his communication skills were not the most eloquent, but he tried his best to make her feel better. She hadn’t heard from him at all this morning though, not even a Merry Christmas text. Surely the jet lag would have woken him up as early as the children, and they must have been done opening presents by now. Claire tried to rationalize that Jamie was just spending time with his family, but she couldn’t help feeling hurt and ignored. She thought she was important enough to him that he could take a moment away from his family to at least text her, or to find some way to make her feel included from afar. Had his feelings changed in their months apart? Did coming home to a messy apartment turn him off? Did she find his Christmas gifts and come to think she didn’t care enough to get him something more thoughtful? She thought about calling him, but a mixture of pride and fear kept her from acting first, not to mention she couldn’t stop crying over these sappy Christmas movies.

Suddenly, a voice from the doorway rang through the room, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” Claire looked up in confusion, momentarily unable to comprehend her surroundings and the disruption that had just entered them. Santa? No. The tall figure filling the door frame was dressed like Santa, beard and all, but the unmistakable Scottish burr gave away his true identity. If Claire hadn’t already been crying, she certainly was now. Jamie was standing in the doorway, dressed in a Santa suit, carrying a large, blue IKEA bag overflowing with wrapped presents and what appeared to be Christmas decorations.

“What?” Claire could hardly believe he was there, she rose from the chair and the couple met in the middle of the room for a hearty embrace. Claire buried her face in the soft, fluffy suit covering Jamie’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Perhaps the setting wasn’t a snow covered street in a small town, but this was her own Hallmark movie moment--and to be honest, those Hallmark guys had nothing on James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. Jamie held her close, and tight, planting kisses in her curls and whispering softly to her.

“I’m here, mo nighean donn.” He caressed her shoulders with his thumbs, not releasing his embrace in the slightest, breathing in her scent, trying to absorb her fears and pain.

All of the commotion had awoken Uncle Lamb and after witnessing the couples’ embrace for longer than was comfortable, Lamb loudly cleared his throat to remind them of his presence in the room.

“Uncle Lamb!” Claire unfolded herself from Jamie’s embrace, keeping one arm around his back. Jamie sheepishly pulled the fake beard down around his neck to reveal his face and removed his Santa hat, clutching it tightly in the palm that wasn’t holding Claire. “This is Jamie, my Jamie. Jamie, this is my Uncle Lamb.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad it’s not Santa Claus, or we’d have a lot of explaining to do to the lad!” Lamb chuckled back.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” Jamie reluctantly released Claire from his grasp to step beside the bed, extending a firm but gentle hand to Lamb. “I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.”

“Pleased to meet you as well, lad” Lamb replied, patting Jamie’s hand with his before releasing their handshake. “And don’t you worry about me, I have the best nurse there is taking care of me.” Two sets of proudly smiling eyes met Claire across the room.

“Oh I dinna doubt it for a second. Your niece is a rare woman.”

“Glad to see we’re in agreement. Now what’s all that?” Lamb gestured towards the large tote discarded near Claire’s feet.

“Aye, I thought I’d bring you two a bit o’ holiday cheer.” Jamie pulled a large cardboard box from the bag and extracted a small tabletop Christmas tree from it, unfurling each branch carefully and placing it on the countertop across the room, plugging it in to reveal fiber optic lights changing colors dreamily. “I usually insist on my Christmas trees being more, well, alive, but under the circumstances this’ll have tae do.” Jamie and Claire spent the next half hour or so festooning the room in garlands and placing tiny ornaments on the small tree. Claire tried to ignore that more than half of the bag was filled with brightly wrapped gifts, not sure whether she was hoping they were all for her, or hoping that they weren’t. After all, she didn’t have anything to give him and she didn’t know if he had looked through his gifts yet nor if he had appreciated them.

While they decorated, Jamie filled Claire and Lamb in on the events of the last few days. Jamie had called Jenny to tell her not to bother picking him up from the airport. He had planned on renting a car there and driving straight to Boston. Claire could hear Jenny’s voice loud and clear through Jamie’s imitation “ya clotheid! Have ya gone daft? Yer barely able to form coherent sentences amidst the jet lag from yer Christmas Eve flight, and ya wanna drive five hours tae Boston in that state!?! Claire willna appreciate ya ending up in a ditch on the side of the road as a Christmas present ya eejit!” Jenny had made a fair point, and Jamie had agreed to sleep at home and left shortly after he awoke that morning, staying only long enough for the children to open their stockings, and to watch their faces alight with surprise at the sudden appearance of piles of presents under and around the tree.

“I’m glad you took Jenny’s advice, but most of all I’m glad you’re here.” She embraced him again. “You didn’t have to do this though, Jamie, I know how important your family is to you.”

Jamie stepped back and lifted Claire’s chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes. “You are important to me, Sassenach.” he replied, with a sincerity that penetrated Claire’s heart. Claire responded by kissing Jamie chastely on the cheek, knowing her uncle was only four feet away--politely trying to ignore them and watch the television which he had flipped to an all-day marathon of A Christmas Story on repeat. Jamie’s welcome intrusion broke up the monotony of hospital life and seemed to give Lamb a better sense of what day it was.

“Now that we’ve got the place looking good and festive, I believe it’s traditional to exchange gifts on Christmas day.”

“Jamie, it’s too much, I--”

“Oh? Thought they were all for you, didja Sassenach?” he teased. Claire blushed. Of course; she hadn’t really--but who else would they be for? Surely Jamie wouldn’t spoil Lamb, a complete stranger to him, quite so much, and no one else was there. She looked dumbfounded as she tried to come up with a defense but Jamie stopped her. “Dinna fash, Sassenach, Jenny wrapped your gifts for me and Lamb before I could see and I bought them along too. She thanks ya for the wee lotions, by the way.”

“God bless Jenny! That woman is a Saint.” Claire also silently thanked God that she had left the present she was planning on wearing for Jamie that evening in her dresser drawer, that was not a gift she wanted Jenny to see, and was definitely not something she wanted him to be opening in front of her uncle.

The three exchanged gifts, save Lamb, who had nothing to give but smiles and approval for the young couples’ thoughtful gifts. Jamie was genuinely appreciative of Claire’s gifts, although she kept insisting that she hadn’t finished shopping and there was more to come; to which Jamie humbly rejected, claiming it wasn’t necessary. Jamie’s gifts to Claire were thoughtful and meaningful, the most touching ones being a print of a painting of the rose garden he had ordered from the Botanic Garden’s gift shop and a bracelet engraved with the words perennis amor, which caused Claire to tear up and embrace him tenderly in spite of her uncle’s presence.

The three enjoyed the rest of the day thoroughly. A Christmas Story played in the background and they laughed and shared stories with one another. Jamie was a born storyteller and Lamb was elated to have a fresh audience to recount his many adventures to, so conversation flowed naturally between them, with Claire occasionally interjecting. Claire mostly just sat back and admired the two men who were most important to her, filled with joy that they were getting along, that Jamie was there, that it was Christmas. For the first time in several days she had hope and peace. She was surrounded by love in that hospital room as well. She had all the things Christmas was said to bring, and for that she was grateful. Jamie had made her greatest Christmas wishes come true without her even asking and she felt lucky to be alive.

The hospital staff served their version of Christmas dinner for the small family, and while Claire was sure it paled in comparison to whatever Jenny had made, it was quite delicious, especially considering it was hospital food. Jamie ate in the armchair next to Lamb at Claire’s insistence, since the two were deep in conversation, and Claire sat in the chair on the other side of Jamie, taking in her magical Christmas scene, better than any Hallmark movie could depict.

After dinner, Jamie was fading fast, listening to one of Lamb’s stories with heavy eyes.  She took one of the spare blankets and covered Jamie. “Looks like you’re still not over your jet lag”

“Hrmmphh, I ‘spose not.”

“Do you want me to go get you a coffee? I doubt the cafe downstairs is open today, but there’s a cappuccino vending machine a few floors down that isn’t terrible.”

“Aye Sassenach, that’d be bonny. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, my love, I’ll be back soon.” Claire squeezed his hand before leaving the two men alone.

Jamie listened to her footsteps down the hall, and waited until he heard the ding of the elevator before he cleared his throat to speak frankly to Lamb. He sat up straight in the chair to ward off the sleepiness, having a few important things he wanted to say before Claire came back.

“Lamb, I need you to know, Claire is the most important person in my life. I love her sae much and I’d do anything for her.”

“I’m glad to hear that, I can see how happy you make her. She lights up when you’re around, it comforts my old heart to see.”

“I need you tae know, I’m very serious about her. I ken we haven’t been together that long, but I know--I know deep in my wame that I’m meant tae be hers. I want ya to know that I intend on spending the rest of my life making her happy, and while I havna bought a ring or ennathing yet, I wanted to ask yer blessing” Jamie paused for a moment before adding, “just in case.”

“Of course you have my blessing, son. I couldn’t be more glad to know that Claire will be so well cared for after I’m gone, truly.” Both men looked somber, knowing full well that this could be their last conversation, hoping dearly that it wasn’t. Claire returned with three cappuccinos in hand, surprised by the mood in the room.

“Everything alright, gentlemen? Don’t tell me Ralphie shot his eye out!”

“Och! Everything’s fine, Claire! I’m just tired is all, I’m sure this wee cappuccino will cure me in no time!” replied Jamie, eagerly taking a cup from Claire as she set another on Lamb’s tray table. The rest of the evening was quiet as Jamie took a nap, while Lamb and Claire watched A Christmas Story more intently then they had all day. Claire didn’t want to leave him alone so early on Christmas so she let Jamie nap until Lamb was asleep soundly for the night. The sense of joy she had felt all day was still present, but the nagging worry she felt about Lamb’s coming surgery was starting to settle in as well. Claire woke Jamie gently and Claire whispered softly to Lamb that they’d return in the morning, squeezing his hand before the couple quietly left the room.

----------

They walked out to Jamie’s car, since he still had his stuff packed in it, but Claire drove them back to Lamb’s apartment where she’d been staying. The cappuccino was helping Jamie stay coherent, but he was in no state to drive. They were quiet on the drive home, but kept their hands locked between the seats, grateful just to be in the presence of one another.

When they arrived at Lamb’s apartment, Jamie was so tired, he didn’t even want to brush his teeth, let alone do any of his usual nightly routines. However, he had spent the morning sweating in a polyester Santa suit over his clothes, and although he took it off shortly after his surprise arrival, he felt in need of a shower. Claire showed him where the bathroom was and made sure he had everything he needed, and got herself ready for bed.

Jamie showered quickly, not bothering to wash his hair, and only cleaning the parts of his body where any stench would be most concentrated, figuring the water would take care of the rest. A few minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, ready to collapse into bed, but not before embracing his sorcha. He scooped her into his embrace and she buried her face in his bare, firm chest, warm from the shower. He smelled clean, and fresh and most of like Jamie. “I’m so happy you’re with me, Jamie. You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here.” the emotions of the day hit her again and her voice caught at the end of her sentence as tears filled her eyes once again. Jamie kissed her forehead softly, down to her nose, and landed on her lips, giving her the firm, passionate kiss they’d both been longing for all day--and for months before that.

“Mo cridhe.” Jamie breathed when they separated. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll no’ leave you alone when ya need me.”

“Oh Jamie” Claire was still crying, “I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to stay strong for Lamb, but I feel like this won’t go back to normal--if there ever was a normal with him. I’m scared he’s going to get worse, or--” her sentence dissolved into a fit of sobs, which she tried to stifle on Jamie’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to stay strong when you’re with me. I’ll be here to help you shoulder the burden. I’ll be here to soak up your tears. There’s two of us now, Claire.” He pressed a kiss into her curls. “You can feel your feelings now, mo cridhe. Lay your cares on me. Come now, let’s get ya tae bed. I’m no’ sure how much longer I can stand myself.”

Claire fell asleep wrapped safely in Jamie’s embrace, free to be herself fully. Free to be vulnerable she felt safe, she felt loved, she felt comfortable, and most new to her--she felt she had the hope and strength that she could carry on, no matter what was to come. She slept better than she had in weeks, secure in the embrace of her eternal love.

End Notes: Thanks again for reading!! By the way, the Ingrid Michaelson song Jo mentions is hauntingly beautiful and you should listen to it. Also, I hope you liked Jamie's surprise. This was going to be a lot more angsty of a chapter but Jamie refused to let Claire suffer and had other plans. I know this was full of a lot of emotional ups and downs, and hopefully we can all find some comfort in the fact that just because Christmas/the holidays may look different for a lot of us this year, it can still be special, and there's still light, joy, love, hope, and peace to be found in the midst of the darkness.

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part Seven

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: *checks watch* Well well well, look at the time! Friday already?! I hope you're all doing well, and I hope you all like this installment. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst @lackofhonor @the-feckless-wonder @arrowswithwifi @fioccodineveautunnale @absurdthirst @cryptkeepersoul @fleetwoodmactshirt @88dragon06 @roxypeanut @walkerchick007 @peggers-n-beggers @robbinholland

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment deals briefly with perceived self-worth, and contains certain dialogue/terminology/viewpoints that may be detrimental to individuals who have suffered emotional, sexual, or physical abuse. Stay safe!]

Acquiring a first edition of anything in this day and age had never been a simple task, so it was awe-inspiring to have a book that was not only a first edition, but one that your artwork graced the pages of.

You stared at the cover for longer than you meant to, your fingers rubbing over the embossed name that sat small and unassuming beneath Ezra's lavishly showy pseudonym. With illustrations by…

You almost felt like your ordinary moniker was out of place, but after looking at it for a moment, you decided it was exactly where it belonged.

"I am about to be overcome with emotion." Ezra informed Thomas in a hushed tone. 

The publisher heaved a heavy sigh at the other man's antics before getting to his feet, his hand outstretched. A small smile played over his mouth, probably one of relief to finally be free of your companion. "You've done it. Congratulations. It debuts on the digital platforms tomorrow, and physical copies ship next week." 

Ezra shook his hand rapidly, then turned to you. "I...I am rendered speechless." He whispered.

"I don't know if anything could claim that lofty honor." You couldn't resist teasing him and he grinned broadly. 

He rested his forehead against your own momentarily, ever cautious not to crowd you. "I am truly a better man for having known you, gentle soul." He murmured fervently. He took your hands, the book clasped tightly between the two of you. "These hands that have helped me in the mornings, that have drawn the man I could have been, that have delivered me from my deadly trials...now, see the fruits of your labor."

"Pretty sure you mean your labor." You corrected him. "I had the easy job."

Ezra shook his head. "Our labor." He was looking at you so warmly, his brown eyes crinkled at the edges from how hard he was smiling-

Kevva help you, did you want to...kiss him?

You had no time to ruminate on the sudden thought. Mr. Anglio cleared his throat and the spell was broken, Ezra exclaiming in juvenile delight that this was cause for celebration.  

You nodded absently, feeling off-kilter. It was as though a switch of comprehension had been flipped in your mind. You did want to kiss him.

…

You wanted a lot of things, you were quickly realizing. 

You wanted to sketch every sleepy smile Ezra graced you with over his mug in the morning. You wanted to be the only one to make his tea just right. You wanted to sit with him for hours in the kitchen or living room, letting him bounce ideas off of you.

The two helmets perched on the mantelpiece taunted you every time you glanced at them because you wanted to be part of a pair, more than a simple partner or roommate.

And it was terrifying. 

You started searching for your own apartment even though the idea of living alone filled you with trepidation. He had said you were welcome for as long as you wanted, but now...the situation had changed. You couldn't handle living in such close proximity to him if your brain was hellbent on doing things like this. 

It wasn't fair to him for you to want something like...that. For you to want anything at all from him.

You were ashamed of the way you had to tear your eyes off of him. You felt like an intruder, a thief, a scavenging floater hoping for opportune jetsam. You hid away in your room whenever he was around, claiming that inspiration had struck and fumbling to dissuade his childlike enthusiasm when he asked to see your 'new works'. Little did he know that you erased most of what you drew.

You were infatuated with an idea, in love with the picturesque plastic pornography that your mind had conjured, you told yourself sternly. Life wasn't perfect, and no one, let alone someone who had endured as much as Ezra, would be interested in the pitiful gift of your affection. In your own eyes you were dirty, your body forever stained with the invisible mark of abusive handling.

You didn't even know if you wanted to be intimate with someone again! Worse yet, you were uncertain if you would be able to, or if Damon's treatment had so utterly broken you that you would be reduced to nothingness if you ever deigned to attempt.

You should have been happy. The book (Aurelac And I: An Audacious Tale Of Greed In The Green) was performing remarkably well. Ezra had woven a lucrative story with just enough realism, fact and fiction carefully melded into a seamless narrative that appealed to everyone from grizzled floaters to cushy Central socialites. You should have been happy. You were set financially for the rest of your life even without the book. 

You should have been happy.

Yet all it took was him giving you a tousled, sleepy smile over his morning cup of coffee or tea and discontent fairly devoured you, turning your insides to knots. Your longing was sharp to the point of agony, an ever-present ache in your chest that you weren't certain any amount of distance would quell.

But you could try. 

So you prepared to leave, wavering between resolute and terrified while you tried to articulate yourself.

You had survived the Green. You knew you would survive this. 

…

Despite his predisposition towards prattling, Ezra was remarkably perceptive. You sometimes wondered if he used his rambling nature as a screen to observe reactions, instead of to actually carry on a legitimate conversation. 

He didn't miss a trick, coming to knock on your door one afternoon as you finished packing up your meager items. Even though you had lived in this room for several stands, you had yet to clutter the space, really make it your own. Maybe you had always suspected this would be temporary, maybe...maybe you knew better than to assume you would be anywhere for an extended period of time.

Fantasizing about having a real life with Ezra...wishful thinking, indulgence of the highest caliber. You blinked back your tears, shoved the backpack off the side of the bed, and went to open your door.

"Gentle soul, I have brought you sustenance! Now please, I beg, unlatch from the fickle teat of your creative muse to indulge with me." The former prospector implored from the doorway of your room, shaking a small paper bag at you. 

The scent of the sopaipillas in the bag hit your nose and you heard your stomach roar in reply. Ezra quirked a brow as you flushed. "Well, I guess a...a snack wouldn't hurt." You mumbled.

"I have greatly missed your company these past days." Ezra admitted softly after the two of you had posted up on the couch (you clutching your small sketchbook like a shield), his words clawing at your heart. "I feared you must be growin' weary of the burden of my presence."

You nearly choked to death right there, coughing and sputtering. "What? No, of course not! If anything, I'm surprised you're not tired of me!" You replied once you managed to swallow, guiltily thinking of the small knapsack that you had thrown into the space between your bed and the wall. Your plan was to leave a little later this evening, slip out while he was occupied with Serv A/V correspondence. He dedicated a certain amount of time in the early evening to managing his business affairs, currently working to iron a few more things out with Anglio regarding proprietary Serv-reader programs that wanted to port his tale. Hopefully by the time he realized you had left, you would be checked into your temporary quarters.

Ezra opened his mouth to answer you, but a chime at the door cut him off. "Did you order somethin'?" He asked, his face lighting up when you shook your head. "Ah, it must be something of mine then! How tantalizing, I keep forgetting what I've purchased. I love the surprise every time somethin' appears on the stoop." He grinned like a child, bouncing to his feet.

Stay happy for a little while longer, you found yourself begging silently. His smiles warmed you from the inside out and you knew that you would miss them immensely.

You watched as Ezra popped the door open, the man signing for the thick envelope while the courier hovered patiently. "I don't recall…" he trailed off, hip-checking the door closed and ripping the envelope lip with a puzzled expression on his face. 

"Who's it from?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant. That's not supposed to get here until tomorrow, you reassured yourself. This must just be a coincidence. The envelope did bear a striking resemblance to the ones from your printer, but surely--

Oh no.

You felt your breath hitch as you spotted the return address. You had specifically requested that this delivery arrive tomorrow, you had planned to leave later tonight, oh no! You lunged to snatch the envelope from his hands. "Wait, wait, don't look!" You exclaimed sharply.

Ezra flinched in surprise at your abrupt change in volume, dropping the open envelope as his startled brown eyes flew to yours. Your hard copies spilled out onto the floor, pages flying here and there.

Shit.

"Gentle soul, what is...what is all this?" Ezra asked cautiously when you crouched to start picking the sheets up. "Are you workin' on a new project?"

Your hands trembled as you collected the sheets scattered on the floor at his feet. He knelt after a moment, but you knocked his arm away when he reached for a sheet. "I'm leaving." You whispered. "I made you this to...to try to explain." 

You pressed the stack of pages, now reorganized, into his limp hands. Ezra didn't even look down, his fingers automatically gripping the paper. "What?" His voice was hoarse.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I said, I'm leaving. I made you this to explain." Please don't hate me.

"Gentle soul, I...surely we can engage in some civil discourse about this? Have I done something to vex you?" 

"No, it's not you."

"You'll forgive me if I am not reassured by your statement." He muttered. "I can think of no other reason that you would attempt a covert exodus like a beleaguered Israelite. Should I investigate the kitchen for unleavened bread?"

"I...what?" You asked in confusion. "Bread?"

Ezra groaned, shaking his head. "Never mind." He then asked bluntly, "why are you leaving?" 

You tapped the sheets in his hands, smiling tremulously. "Goodbye, Ezra." With that, you got to your feet and bolted to your bedroom, your face burning with embarrassment. You hated that you anticipated an explosion even after all this time; this was Ezra, not Damon. You picked up your pack and slid on your boots, then hesitantly crept back out.

Ezra was still on the floor. He hadn't moved an inch, just staring down at the pages in his hands. You skittered past him tentatively, but he didn't so much as glance in your direction. This was what you had decided, you reminded yourself while depositing your fob to the apartment on the table next to the door. You had chosen this route. All you could do now was stick to it. The door clicked closed behind you but instead of relief, you felt gut-wrenching sorrow.

Ezra,

It's time for me to leave. I've never been good with words. They always get tangled up inside me.

You popped open the door to the complex stairs in the hallway, sniffling quietly as you began making your way down.

I wish I could tell you in a way that I knew you would understand. I wish I could articulate like you, but all I can do is draw.

You checked the time on your battered watch. You hadn't invested in a new chronometer yet, the bulky square still serving its purpose even with a cracked screen. Perhaps you were too hesitant with your good fortune, you mused, but after having spent so many years carefully scraping and budgeting for every piece of gear, there was bound to be an adjustment period.

So here it is. Ramshackle and hackneyed; everything that you hate. It's got nothing to do with you, so please don't be upset. I just know that I shouldn't stay here any longer. 

Your mind's eye ran through your sketches over and over. Weary, worn-out boots. A leaking mug, broken and poorly repaired, pieces that would never fit back together properly. Your helmet, the dome cracked, overgrown in creeping, mossy green. Alone. 

You should be able to get on with your life. You don't need me hanging around.

You rubbed your temples. It was too early for check-in, but you were certain that the hotel wouldn't mind you sitting in the lobby for a few hours. 

You reached the ground floor without incident, emerging onto the street and weaving your way through the crowded sidewalks of Puggart Bench. Maybe you would go off-planet, get away from the crush of Central's runoff. But that might mean a pod…

You could easily buy your own ship, though you would have to hire a pilot. Perhaps you could get your pilot's license? You would already need one if you wanted to have ground transport options, instead of being subjected to the mercy of the Pug's PTS. Of course. There it was, a plan. This wouldn't be so difficult. You had survived on your own for most of your life! 

You squared your shoulders, scrubbing at your face in an effort to shore yourself up. Of course you could handle this. "I can do this." You said aloud, clenching your fists determinedly. "I have four hours until check-in. Tomorrow I have my appointment slated to look at living spaces, and I'll stop by the registry to sign up for the courses. Then, I can go to the grocery depot-" You continued ticking off your objectives, searching through your pockets for your analog sketchbook so you could write everything down. Where is-?

You thought you were imagining things for a moment when you heard Ezra's voice. "The gentry will think you've gone lunar if you keep rambling to yourself, gentle soul." 

He sounded slightly out of breath. You froze when a familiar hand tapped your most recent sketchbook against your arm. You must have left it on the couch. For a split-second, you debated on trying to lose him again in the thick crowd. 

But then, "Wait, please. Just...permit me a moment of your time." He begged. You sighed and obligingly struggled along crossways to the general flow of pedestrian motion, following him to the sheltered harbor of a nearby doorway.

Ezra shoved his hands into his pockets, looking incredibly rumpled. You folded your arms over your chest, barely resisting the urge to hug yourself nervously. "Look." You said quietly. "If you saw the thing I gave you, you know why I'm doing this."

"I understand the trajectory, but I am still in the dark when it comes to the catalyst." Ezra muttered. "What brought you to such a conclusion? What scurrilous thoughts have flourished, propagated, conspired to usher you onto the path of solitude that you are so determined to float without me?"

I love you. I love you. I love you and I'm scared-

"I think I love you, okay?!" You exploded, flinging the words heedlessly as you finally dared to actually look at him. "I love you and I...Ezra, I'm-" Your lower lip began to quiver while you came to terms with what you had just done, your sentence drying up and your face flushing with shame. "I'm…"

"You're what?" He encouraged you softly, his eyes impossibly, infuriatingly kind. 

"Scared." You managed to get out, a raw hiccup catching in your chest. 

"Why?" You gestured vaguely up and down at your body, giving him a helpless little shrug. Ezra shook his head. "Attempt again. I want to hear what you have to say, but you must speak."

"I'm not...I'm...Ezra, I'm just-" Your voice dropped to a defeated whisper, tears beginning to roll down your face. "I'm broken."

"By whose definition?" He asked sharply, his visible bristling causing a spike of gratitude to nourish the flame in your stomach. "Who has planted these thoughts in your head? Because they are a bold-faced liar."

"I don't expect you to understand-"

"Oh certainly!" He interrupted you in that ferociously cheery tone, "Why would I, a simple floater that has been crushed under the monstrous heft of the Great Chain time and again, understand what it's like to feel worthless or used? Better yet, abandoned."

"It's different for me!" You cried, hating how pitiful your voice sounded. "You deserve--you deserve everything and I'm so...I'm dirty, I'm wrong and-"

"How the hell can you say things like that about yourself?" Ezra's large hands framed your face gently, his thumbs brushing away your tears. "How can you spout such untruths about the woman I love?" He murmured tenderly.

The woman I love. The woman I love. The woman I love.

You stared up at him, certain that your mouth was agape. "You speak of deserving with no regard for how little I deserve you, gentle soul. It wounds me that you think so low of yourself." Ezra breathed, his eyes flicking back and forth between your own. "All I can think about when I look at you is how much I do not deserve...any of this. The stability, the contentment. I am akin to a somnolent cat on a warm windowsill, gentle soul." His expression grew pained, clouded with thought. "My life has not been an easy one, perennially by the fault of my own hand. I did not anticipate such...fortuitously serendipitous circumstances, wherein I would be confronted with the task of engaging in mutual lodgin' strictly for the sake of enjoyment of another's company, you must understand."

"I uh." You swallowed, "I probably will once I figure out what you said, give me a minu-"

"Let me translate into the layman's vernacular then. To spare you the...intellectual toil." Ezra sucked in a ragged breath. "I would appreciate you giving me the honor of er, being able to pursue a relationship with you. I would like to kiss you. I would like to kiss...as much of you as I can. I would like to touch you, wherever and whenever you'll permit. I would like to know you...i-intimately."

His awkward little stammer at the end set you off, helpless laughter bubbling up in your chest. "Ezra-!" You sputtered, clinging to his hand.

"What?" He protested. "I am a loquacious fool, gentle soul! Simplicity undoes me, as sure as your tenderness undoes me! I am at a loss." He pressed his forehead to your own. "I beg of you, don't leave. Not yet. At least allow me to attempt to...to offer you something. Anything. Permit me to prove you wrong."

"I don't know if you can." You murmured sadly. 

"You have saved me time and again, gentle soul." Ezra reasoned. "With your permission, with your consent, I...martyr's malfeasance, let me help." His voice broke. "You nearly died, I nearly lost you in that Green Purgatory. I do not approach this task lightly, please understand. You are immensely precious to me, and I...I am afraid I am being too verbose once more."

You reached out to run your fingers through the blond patch on his temple, then checked your watch with a put-upon sigh. "Well, if we hurry home, I can cancel my reservations before they charge me." 

"Home?" He echoed hopefully, his eyes brightening as he nudged his head against your palm.

"Yeah." You nodded, allowing a little smile to curve your lips. "Home."

…

"I haven't done anything for months, so I…" you trailed off nervously, your hands clasped in your lap. "I don't know whether I even can anymore, you know?" You admitted.

Ezra nodded from his spot by the mantle, circling around behind the couch as he spoke. "I will not rush you, gentle soul. We focus solely on encouraging your relaxation." Your hands dropped to unbutton your shirt and a hand lightly tapping your wrist halted your motion. "Be still." He murmured. "You are safe here. Disrobing is not even on the itinerary for this week."

"The itiner…tell me you have a weird little chart somewhere." You snickered, faltering when his large palms pressed down on your shoulders and eased you back against the couch.  

"It is not little, I assure you." Ezra's thumbs slid over the back of your neck. "Rehabilitation is no laughing matter. I will speak throughout so you know that it is me here. If you wish to close your eyes, please do. If you wish for me to stop, simply raise your hand."

"Wh-What are you going to do?" You queried warily.

"Rub your shoulders." 

You blinked, confused but immensely relieved. You had thought… "You don't want to...y'know?"

"Gentle soul, never doubt my want." Ezra muttered darkly. "The quest for knowledge is one of eternal restraint, prudent temperance and mute burden." You hummed, not entirely sure what he meant by that. His palms were calloused and warm even through the fabric of your shirt, large fingers spread on your shoulders. Strong thumbs carefully worked into the nape of your neck, alternating in circles back and forth, back and forth. "What shall I speak of, gentle soul?"

"Hmm?" You were so focused on his hands you hadn't really heard his question. Ezra chuckled and repeated himself. "Oh! Um, I...well, whatever you can think of. I like hearing you talk. You could probably read the ingredients on a ration bar and I'd be invested."

Ezra sputtered, trying to muffle his laugh with his shoulder. "There's only so many ways I can expound upon such gripping topics as monosodium glutamate before it lapses into tedium, gentle soul." He hummed low in his throat, then opened with, "On a most divinely appointed day, when our beloved Screamer had been taken by tempestuous winds and scorching rains, I found myself as William Bligh."

"Oh, I love this one." You grinned, settling against the couch. "Favorite story, hands down."

"The increase of your inclination towards bias when I am involved is duly noted and immensely appreciated, gentle soul." You could hear his smile, picturing it in your head with ease. The way his eyes crinkled at the sides, his brows pitching slightly. "By the grace of Kevva I was tossed upon the mercies of fickle men who would not hesitate to slit my throat to save their own…"

...

The shoulder rubbing became a bi-nightly engagement. Ezra would recite a chapter from Aurelac And I, occasionally adding little bits in for flair as he went. Tonight was one such night, "She swaggered into the tent, braggadocious and bold, her hair immaculately coiffed under the dome of her helmet and it was then I knew my demise was encroach-"

"You are ridiculous, I am so far from braggadocious!" You interrupted him to protest. "And no one's hair ever looks good in those helmets. Plus, I was one hundred percent not in your book, thank Kevva."

"I confess I toyed with the idea of writing you in, but you struck me as an individual so fiercely private...I did not wish to remove you from such delectable obscurity." The man teased. "Aside from your name on the cover, naturally."

"I can't believe you wrote it so that you lost an arm-"

"How many times must I remind you that the protagonist of this tale is not myself? He is a man of unwavering moral fiber." Ezra groused. "A man of dubious, shaded past and impeccable integrity. Ambidextrous as well. Nothing like myself in the least."

You make me wish I was a reputable individual.

"Hey, Ezra." You craned your neck to look at him, his palm sliding to cup your ear automatically. "Can I do this for you instead?"

"Do what?" He asked blankly. 

"The whole relaxation thing. Like what you're doing for me, you know?" You extended your hands. "Can I do it for you tonight?"

"That's...it's not necessary, gentle soul, you don't-"

"I want to. Please?"

Ezra grimaced reluctantly, running a hand through his hair. "Well, if you are certain." You nodded enthusiastically and he sighed, slowly settling down on the couch as you climbed off of it. "I am unsure if I am quite so receptive to this particular tech-" His words hitched mid-sentence as your fingers slid up into the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. "-nique." Ezra squeaked. "Going in for the kill so quickly, gentle soul? I at least gave you the fair play of two nights before my digits even grazed your h-air-"

You laughed quietly, fingers raking through his short hair with something very close to greed. He tilted his head to follow the motion of your pulls, humming low in his throat. You contentedly basked in the feeling of his body under your hands, even for something as mundane as rubbing his shoulders or finger-combing his hair. "Ezra, you're so tense." you murmured.

"You cannot fault me." Ezra protested. "I have a lifetime of prospectin' that these shoulders have borne the burden of without complaint. It's a miracle I can still move, the foolhardy things I've done…" He flexed his right hand idly. "A miracle, facilitated in no small part by yourself."

Like always, you found yourself flushing at his praise. You bit your lip, a little hesitant to ask the question that had been plaguing you since that particular stormy night. You had your suspicions, of course, but you really wanted to hear it from his mouth. "So I don't know if you remember this, you were kind of half-asleep when you did it. You recited a poem to me and it started out something like…'you come to me in my dreams'." 

"Ah, hmm." Ezra coughed awkwardly. "Dare I ask why you enquire?"

You drummed your fingertips on his shoulders, then slipped your hands down to cradle his throat. Your fingers laced together just over his Adam's apple, pinkies resting on his exposed collarbone. "I was just wondering, what's the full version of it?" 

You felt him swallow convulsively. "I'm afraid I have not finished that one yet." He admitted softly.

"You wrote that?" 

Ezra nodded, chuckling, "Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Well uh, no, not really. I just...I guess I never thought about you writing anything else aside from the floater's rendition of Blood And Swash." You hummed as he laughed again, then asked, "What's it about?"

"It is poetry, gentle soul. It doesn't necessarily have to be about anything." He retorted a little too quickly. 

You gasped softly. "Is it about me?" 

Ezra froze. "What? No! As if written word alone would be enough to extol your virtues!" He snapped indignantly.

"It is about me!" You crowed triumphantly, the fire in your stomach blazing bright.

"Hush yourself, you contemptuously smug thing." The brown-haired man grumbled. 

"You're writing poetry about me!"

"I can do little else!" He exclaimed in exasperation, pinning your hands in place on his chest. "You demand it. You are poetry without a page, gentle soul. I have a responsibility to mankind itself, t-to document...such beauty must be preserved, lest it fade to the marches of featureless time." Ezra proclaimed staunchly, staring straight ahead. "And truly, what a disservice that would be."

You blinked down at the top of his head, tears gathering at the edges of your lashes. At your sniffling, Ezra half-turned to look up at you.

"Gentle soul?" He asked uncertainly. You shook your head, fumbling back over the couch to essentially tuck yourself into his lap. Ezra, to his credit, adjusted remarkably well to your sudden craving for closeness. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting on the top of your head as you hid your face in his chest. 

"I'm sorry." You apologized thickly after a while, certain that he couldn't be comfortable.

Ezra grunted, adjusting his posture beneath you into something that resembled a dignified slouch. "In my dreams you come to me, as timid and inexorable as the dawn." He muttered the words rapidly, rushing through the memorized lines. "In my sleepless hours you find me, tremulous and waning like the starlight. For I am a lost man who wanders bright and dark, all for the fleeting glimpse of youuuu-" He groaned the last word. "And there it stops. My brain, for all its magnanimous, expansive lexicon, falls utterly flat." His hands stroked over your head, fingers carding through your hair. 

"Maybe it is done?" You suggested timidly.

He scoffed. "No, I just...I have to come across the right turn of phrase. The whole thing is trite enough as it is. Hopelessly lovestruck. Never thought I would be the type. Truly, a horrendous conundrum." He lamented, his voice soft. He didn't appear overly distraught about the aforementioned horrendous conundrum.

"Is it making you feel querulous?" You jibed.

Ezra laughed ruefully, his eyes warm as he smiled. "It very well might be, gentle soul!"

"All for the fleeting glimpse of you, all for the…" You paused, your gaze falling to his lips. "A-All for the touch of your mouth on mine?" 

Ezra ran a hand through his hair, seeming a bit flustered as he tried to avoid your gaze. "We have not even-" 

"But we could." You whispered. 

"Could we?" He asked, his voice low. "Should we?" You cupped his jaw, your thumbs rubbing over the unruly stubble he permitted to grow there. "Do you wish to?" 

You nodded, smiling. "I do."

"Strictly to further research, naturally. To...facilitate my Byronic breakthrough." Ezra reasoned, his voice drawling lazily. You shook your head and his brows furrowed, drawing tight at the peak of his nose. "No?"

"Because I want to." You confessed shyly. 

Ezra cleared his throat, hoarsely rasping a single word. "Temperance."

"What?"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'm merely makin' a note of what to petition the saints for later tonight." A hand rested on the back of your neck, coaxing you in. His mouth was gentle on yours, tentative; lips moving with equal amounts of caution and curiosity. His mustache sent unfamiliar sensations racing across your skin, somehow coarse and soft all at once. You closed your eyes, whimpering quietly as you clung to his shoulders. "I must admit," he gasped into your mouth, "this is hardly conducive to my--"

"Shh," you hushed him, smiling when he chuckled. You bumped your forehead against his, nuzzling your temple over his Mallen streak. "Thank you."

"I believe that is my next line, gentle soul." He teased. "All for the touch of your mouth on mine. What a deliciously trite stanza." His brown eyes searched your own. "I am lost in impassioned rumination over it." He murmured, drawing you back for another kiss.

Part Eight

[brynnmck]

Today is @ajoblotofjunk‘s birthday, WHAT AN EXCELLENT DAY. Once again I have failed to actually complete fic in honor of the occasion (I have multiple ideas! Theoretically at least one of them will happen at some point!) BUT let’s talk about what’s really important, which is her fic. 

I am going with J/B recs because most people who follow me these days are in that fandom, and I’m leaving out some of her greatest hits here because I figure that if you read her fic you have probably read these, but definitely don’t miss the adorably soft Go On (aka Brienne With the Fish), the incredibly hot and feelings-y Working 9 to 5, and of course the glorious astonishing epic that is Heart Full of Gasoline. But besides those:

never far away (J/B, rated T, 6012 words) - This is a recent one and I love it SO MUCH. I adore a Brienne-centric story and this one is so beautiful; it’s J/B, and I love how much of Jaime’s presence and influence is woven into it, but it’s ultimately about Brienne and her mother, and Brienne and the way she navigates her loneliness and comes out the other side. It’s gorgeously written--lines like “‘Hush,’ her mother would say, the water clinging with cold fingers to Brienne's young waist” abound--and I would definitely recommend having tissues nearby for this one (especially if you are a mom or have strong feelings about your own), but for me it was a lovely, healing sort of weeping. Everything about this story just feels fresh and thoughtful and emotional and wonderful and I love it very very much. MY PRECIOUS GIRL.

I need your sway (J/B with a generous side of Brienne/Cersei, rated E, 38127 words) - Honestly a theme of this whole post is going to be “how the fuck is SDW so versatile” because it is SORCERY, and the fact that the same person wrote this fic and the one I just recced is pretty fucking (no pun intended) impressive. The premise here is that Jaime and Cersei own a club and periodically pick people out of the crowd for each other, and both of them decide that they want Brienne. (And just for clarity: Jaime and Cersei don’t touch each other but they do both have sex with Brienne at the same time at various points here, so. FYI.) This is both EXTREMELY HOT (seriously, SO HOT) and also very sweet as the story moves along, and I still think on a regular basis about Jaime’s ridiculously adorable texts in this. I also really love the portrayal of Cersei; she’s definitely very complex and she’s not nice but she is trying, in her messed-up way, and she does eventually get her own super satisfying happy ending in the Cersei/Margaery sequel I need your heart. I don’t necessarily mind a villainous Cersei but especially in a modern AU where things can be tweaked more, I do love when she has a chance at being healthy and happy, too, and the way this very unconventional setup is negotiated is extremely well done and demonstrates a lot of care for all three characters (four, including Margaery in the sequel). Plus did I mention this is all VERY HOT. Satisfying on so many levels!

When the Night Is Over (J/B, rated M, 1712 words) - This is a short and breathless fic that I love for just how effectively it achieves its mood. Every time I read it, I can feel my heart pounding with Jaime’s sense of urgency, and you can practically feel the humidity of the air and smell the swirl of scents and it’s all just lovely. Finishing it feels like breaking the surface of the water and coming up into fresh air. SO GOOD.

Shake me like a tambourine (Jaime/Brienne/Addam/Dacey, rated E, 4958 words) - I JUST LOVE THIS ONE A LOT. It’s an AU of the HFOG universe (although it definitely stands on its own too) and given that I was deeply in love with both Addam and Dacey in that ‘verse, I THOROUGHLY enjoyed the four of them getting to play together in this little side-trip. (This also has big Everyone Loves Brienne energy, which is another one of my favorite things, though Jaime certainly gets plenty of love--and lovin’--himself.) I feel like this is worth the price of admission just for Jaime amusedly/interestedly watching Dacey seduce his girlfriend, and it just gets more hot and delightful from there. The newness and discovery between Brienne and Dacey is fantastic, the history between Jaime and Addam is palpable (something about Addam commenting on how Jaime didn’t used to have a beard just SLAYS me every time, for a lot of reasons, and their snark is PERFECT). The Addam/Dacey has a great sense of fun and adventure to it, and the Jaime/Brienne is so steady and sure, and it’s all just balanced extremely well. LOVE. What happens in Lannisport may stay in Lannisport but it ALSO stays IN MY HEART AND LOINS, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. 

The Unicorn Incident (J/B, rated E, 14183 words) - I’m still so blown away by the fact that SDW wrote this in a day and a half, while feverish, and it’s SO FUCKING GOOD. Her signature worldbuilding is VERY much on display here--everything just feels so rich and so fully formed and it’s SO creative and fascinating and brilliant. This is also another amazing example of the world fully supporting and enhancing the feelings, AND there’s a road trip, AND there’s swimming, AND there’s delicious antagonists-to-lovers--”lovers” being a thing that factors SIGNIFICANTLY in the story, as the premise involves Brienne being a virgin and thus, presumably, able to find a unicorn. As Jaime and Brienne’s reluctant mutual attraction increases, they get progressively more creative in attempting to find loopholes (I LOVE a sex loophole tbh), and it is incredibly hot and also culminates an extremely gratifying exploration of what “purity” really means (spoiler: it’s not about penises in vaginas). So many parts of this story legitimately feel like being in another world; the descriptions are so lush and evocative and dreamy and entire end sequence fills my heart to bursting every time. It’s SO LOVELY, a beautiful comforting read for sunny days and rainy days alike. There are also some fabulous ficlets written in the same ‘verse here, which I also very highly recommend (the Jaime and Olenna interaction ALONE is well worth the click). IT IS ALL VERY MAGICAL.

I COULD GO ON, but this is a lengthy post already, so I will just say: happy birthday to SDW, my favorite, whose kindness and enthusiasm and sense of humor are as much a gift to us all as her incredible artistic skill. There’s no one I’d rather curl up on a couch and eat junk food with, or take a moderately ill-advised fannish trip with, or send all my pettiest grievances to, and there’s no one who’s more fun or more caring or more patient with all of my nonsense. I love you, SDW, and I regret to inform you that you’re still stuck with me forever, and thank you for giving us all so much to celebrate during this generally shitty year--I hope the universe brings all that joy back to you and more, as you deserve. ❤️❤️❤️

[copperbadge]

Taking this photo is the last thing I remember doing on January 5th, around 7:30pm. [Description: A picture of Polk on the Most Coveted Blanket, with one leg stretched out in front of her.]

Wanna hear about my concussion? Have a peep under the cut!

The morning of Monday, January 6th, I didn’t feel well when I woke up; when I actually got out of bed I realized I was dizzy, nauseated, and in pain, and my glasses weren’t on the bedside table where I always put them. When I looked in the mirror I had a black eye and cuts on the left side of my head, and I realized I didn’t remember how I’d gotten them, or when I’d put on my pyjamas and gone to bed the night before. I found my glasses on the living room floor next to the cat toy bin. 

One of the only good decisions I made the entire week was to get dressed and go to the walk-in clinic across the street and get seen for a neurological exam. 

One trip to the ER and several scans later, we determined that I had a concussion but wasn’t going to die from it. I had a lot of time to sit and stare at the walls while I was waiting for doctors to come and look at me, and out of sheer boredom I actually managed to reconstruct the rest of my previous night. Check this shit out, from my FitBit monitor: 

[Description: a line chart with a squiggly up-and-down line that peaks occasionally above 90 but mostly falls well below it.]

That’s a chart of my pulse over the course of the 5th of January. See where it says “fat burn”? My doctors and I are pretty sure that spike in my pulse is an adrenaline rush where I tripped and fell in my living room and bashed my head on something. Possibly the floor, more likely the ottoman of the chair where I found my glasses the following morning. FitBit’s timestamping is a little iffy but it was around 8:20pm when that spike hit. (I had thought it was 8 and I’ve told several people it was 8 but my notes from that day and the FitBit both say 8:20.)

And then I got up and went to bed where I fell asleep around 8:45, at least according to the FitBit: 

[Description: a FitBit sleep chart, showing sleep from 8:47pm to 3:27am, with various periods of deep, light, and REM sleep, and faint moments of wakefulness.]

Waking up at 3:30am is actually not unusual for me; in this case I eventually went back to sleep but FitBit recorded that as a second sleep event for about an hour, from roughly 6-7am. 

Here’s a fun fact: I know I sent this email to my boss and colleagues on January 6th, and for all of January 6th I clearly remembered sending this email, because I talked about it on the 6th. I remember talking about sending it. 

But I don’t remember sending it. 

[Description: an email sent at 7:07am on January 6th, which reads “Hi team, I’m not feeling well and I’m going to take a sick day- with any luck I should be back in tomorrow. Thanks for understanding! S.”]

A lot of my friends and family are significantly more freaked out by all this than I am, and honestly that may very well be the concussion too; there’s no emotional depth to the way I think about missing an entire evening of my life and having a fairly severe injury as a result. That part strikes me, and I know this is inappropriate, as mostly funny. It’s probably a coping mechanism, but might legitimately be a crossed wire somewhere in my already poorly-wired brain. 

I have a lot of feelings about the concussion’s impact, mostly frustration that I’m recovering slowly and sadness that I had to basically write off my entire January -- I couldn’t go on a trip I’d planned, and while I got to travel this past week, I’ve basically spent the rest of the month going between work and home without too many side trips elsewhere, even locally, like out to dinner after work or to the Target near work in the morning to get a snack. 

At this point it’s been weeks and I’m improving, but I still struggle with what I call the three Ds: Decision making, Depth perception, and Dialogue. I’m not crossing the street anywhere but a crosswalk and any time except when the light is green, because I’m afraid of making a poor judgement call and crossing too close to oncoming traffic. I’m mostly steady on my feet at this point, but for days I couldn’t navigate stairs easily, and steps-down and curbs still fuck me up; I’m only this week getting back up to the speed at which I normally walk when I’m going somewhere. 

And when I write I’m fine, but when I’m speaking I often grope for words, particularly proper names for things, and have to describe them through their association with other things. It’s gotten better, but I still sometimes occasionally have to go four or five steps away from something to get back to it.  

This is a literal example of something I said recently: 

“Who is the actor, he was on Doctor Who? After the bald one. That actor, only in the movie...I mean, it wasn’t a movie, it was a long movie...a series. That actor, in the series, where the guy who wrote Sandman co-wrote the book? The character he played.” 

Things I could not reference by name:

David Tennant or Chris Eccleston

The Ninth and Tenth Doctors by number

Good Omens

Terry Pratchett or Neil Gaiman

The character Crowley, which is what I was actually trying to reference

But I could get to a reference that would lead to David Tennant, and one that would lead to Neil Gaiman, and together those could get me to Good Omens if someone else filled in a few blanks. Why is Sandman, a comic series I haven’t read in ten years, still in my head, when Good Omens, a book I love and read semi-yearly and just watched the miniseries of, isn’t? Who fucking knows. 

At one point I also called a hammer and nails, “The thing you hit wall fasteners with.” It’s like playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon only with every proper noun. 

It is getting better, but I think the point of this post (other than sharing a funny picture of my cat) is that I just simply cannot recommend getting a concussion, especially at the age of forty. It’s no good, zero stars, would not concuss again. 

But if you do wake up with no memory of the previous night and head wounds, and you wonder if you should go to the doctor: YES. YOU SHOULD GO TO THE DOCTOR. 

PUT ON SOME SOCKS AND GO TO THE DOCTOR. 

[thatbanjobusiness]

Bluegrass Basics #1

WHAT IS BLUEGRASS?

I realize that, what with this being a bluegrass blog and all, I should probably start by explaining... this.

If you’ve hung out with me in the last year and a half, then you’ve been subjected (probably against your will, kicking and screaming) to a Haddock Talks About Bluegrass conversation. Within seconds, you may be bombarded to an inescapable wall of sound as I shriek about G runs, five-strings, and dudes wearing hats named weird stuff like Lester, Burkett, Arthel, Dorris, Junebug, Haskel, and Chi Chi. Understandably, to cope and survive, your mind might have blocked out the worst of the memories... leaving you now with the question, “Well, what is bluegrass? And why does Haddock find it so cool?”

At its simplest, bluegrass is a folk-inspired genre of music originating from the Southern United States that utilizes a core group of acoustic string instruments: guitar, banjo, string bass, mandolin, fiddle, and dobro. However, bluegrass is not a direct preservation of old folk music. Its biggest influences are Scots-Irish fiddle tunes, African-American blues, and gospel music, and in that you can hear a lot of "old" sounds. But bluegrass also began within a commercial setting. Most people date it to the mid-1940s—yes, it's that new!—and it not only integrated new compositions and contemporary songs, but it brought about innovative instrumental techniques that most audiences had never heard before. Since its inception, bluegrass has been a music of unique juxtaposition; it's simultaneously homespun and commercial, simple and technically complex, straddling tradition with truly progressive innovation.

Also. Unlike almost every other genre that exist out there ever, bluegrass can be traced back to and centralized around a *SINGLE* human being. Yeah. That’s right. ONE dude essentially started his own motherfucking genre.

Enter: the Father of Bluegrass. Mr. Bill Monroe (1911-1996). 

This guy.

1. HOW THIS SHIT GOT STARTED

Bill Monroe’s music at the time was considered hillbilly music. (“Hillbilly” was the name of the genre before we changed it to “country”). He was a radio star starting in the 1930s, and by the late 1930s, Bill and his band had become members of a popular, wide-reaching hillbilly music program, the Grand Ole Opry, whose radio signal stretched across the American South. Bill’s music wove together several influences: in particular, he combined the sound of old Scots-Irish fiddle tunes with the pitch bends, syncopation, and blue notes of African-American blues. For good measure, he chucked in four-part gospel songs, threw his singing into the high tenor stratosphere, and pushed the music forward with an urgent drive.

And the name of his act? Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys.

Hmhm... something sounds familiar here... something to do with “blue” and “grass,” maybe.

Bill’s music underwent changes, different personnel, different instruments. Every musician’s contribution is important and worth noting, but regrettably my post would be too long if I talked about them here. I will, however, mention what’s often considered the last piece of the puzzle. On December 8, 1945, Bill introduced a new musician he had just hired, a twenty-one year old banjo picker whose style of playing was so unexpected to audiences that you could barely hear the music above the amazed cheers and shouts from the live crowd. People who heard it on the radio talked about the banjo picker all week; some blokes debated about whether one person was playing or several, or if it was even a banjo at all. I know peeps today don’t tend to think of banjos as “cool” and all, but he was shredding up the instrument like some banjo Jimi Hendrix, as far as they were concerned. It was so exciting. Bill was already a popular performer; under this ensemble he had between then and 1948, he was launched to even more popularity.

I’m not trying to focus just on the banjo, but my point here is to emphasize how bluegrass did invoke monumentally new ideas.

That 1946-1948 group is what we usually consider the first-ever bluegrass band. They created the initial blueprint by which a unique band style emerged. Now, some standard musical features of the genre got locked in during the 1950s after several seminal Blue Grass Boys bandmates left and formed their own band. But this original group’s sound started A Movement™ that trickled down over the decades. New-budding musicians began imitating Bill’s sound in their bands. And also, Bill’s band had constant turnover, meaning that a ton of people went into the Blue Grass Boys, got influenced by Bill, then left to form their own ensembles, carrying with them the musical ideas they’d learned from Monroe.

(And by “constant turnover,” I mean—no joke—Bill had something like 200 official band members over the course of his career.)

^^^ The “Classic Band” of Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, c. 1947. From left to right: Bill Monroe (mandolin), Chubby Wise (fiddle), Birch Monroe (bass), Lester Flatt (guitar), and Earl Scruggs (banjo). When talking about the classic band, the bassist usually listed is Cedric Rainwater, but here (and legitimately part of the band at the time) is Bill’s older brother Birch.

In the late 1950s and 1960s, mainstream country music had to find a way to compete with the new and oh-so-frustratingly-popular rock-and-roll. Mainstream country music strayed away from scratchy fiddles and banjers and moved to smooth, pop-inspired, electric guitars and background orchestration. And if you didn’t sound like that, you probably weren’t going to be played on mainstream country radio. But there was a notable cluster of acoustic string band musicians who had been left behind... those people and groups who had branched straight off Bill Monroe. By this point, they were distinct enough that their music began to be regularly referred to as... yeah, you guessed it... bluegrass music.

Having been ignored by radio, bluegrass continued through other means, such as festivals that began in the late 60s and 70s. Many musicians brought their own instruments to jam, and to this day, bluegrass is a genre in which it’s common to both pick tunes with friends and family as a social event and go out to see professional performers.

As new generations have entered bluegrass, new ideas and sounds have funneled into it. However, I feel like the theme of combining tradition with innovation remains. For instance, in the 1960s with the Folk Revival, second generation bluegrass musicians simultaneously inserted more several-centuries-old folk songs into the bluegrass repertoire (ex: Fox on the Run), and brought in contemporary rock and pop elements to their bands’s sounds. And while today you may meet bluegrass purists who want to stick with what they heard in the 40s and 50s, you’ll see just as many if not more musicians continue to innovate and expand the genre.

And expand it they will.

2. WHAT MAKES BLUEGRASS MUSIC BLUEGRASS?

As I’ve said before, bluegrass is a somewhat progressive amalgamation and reformulation of older music styles combined with contemporary music. Bluegrass might have been based in part on ideas from British Isles fiddle tunes and African-American blues, but it’s certainly not regurgitating how people played in decades past. Familiar, old elements combine with new, creative, and original concepts. You keep a healthy dose of both old and new.

It’s because of bluegrass that the banjo was completely reformulated as an instrument: changed from a comedic prop that was strummed into an intensely-picked solo instrument. Within bluegrass, banjo performance technique has continued to evolve, new ideas and styles building on top of one another. And let’s not forget the other instruments! The first dobro in a bluegrass band went in extremely unique directions compared to what was heard at the time, taking influences from everything down to banjo technique. At the same time, bluegrass has provided the space for styles like the old-time hoedown fiddle in periods of music where fiddle was ignored.

But....... as you’ve probably been wondering this entire post.... what does this genre sound like?

^^^ The typical instrument set-up for a bluegrass band. In the back is a string bass. In front, left to right, is a banjo, mandolin, fiddle, guitar, and dobro. If you’re not familiar with how to distinguish instruments: basses are plucked and low pitch; banjos sound twangy and play short note values; mandolins are a high-pitched instrument with a mellower sound that often employ tremolo (quickly undulating notes by strumming the strings up and down rapidly); fiddle is... I mean, it’s a violin; guitar is a mellower acoustic instrument that blends sonically with everything; and the dobro (maybe you’ve heard it referred to as a “steel guitar” or “Hawaiian guitar”) has a... uhhh... it’s a unique hound dog tone I have difficulties describing but is very distinct to hear.

A typical ensemble consists of mandolin, guitar, banjo, fiddle, string bass, and sometimes dobro. On rarer occasions, you may see other instruments like autoharp or harmonica (drums are usually considered horrible, forbidden things, even though... for the record... some high-profile bluegrass bands have used them). You’ll notice bluegrass is a distinctly acoustic string band sound.

There are also, of course, vocals, and in bluegrass, there is notable emphasis on tight two-, three-, and four-part harmony. However, what’s interesting about bluegrass as versus, say, other strains of country, is that for bluegrass, it’s about the full band and not just the lead singer. It’s as important to pay attention to the technically-driven solos (“breaks”) that the instruments play between sung verses. Many bluegrass pieces are straight out instrumentals, too.

Every instrument has a role or roles it fulfills in a bluegrass band. In the background, instruments may play rhythm or fills. Rhythm keeps the basic beat. Fills are unobtrusive melodic-sounding fragments that hide behind the vocalist(s) singing the main melody. And when there’s no singing, instruments take turns in the spotlight playing breaks. You can hear any instrument play a break. It’s to note that breaks are often improvised or semi-improvised, which is half of the fun and skill of watching the musicians perform. Ergo, even if the song itself may or may not have simple chord structures and lyrics, it’s also technically advanced with an expectation that every musician can perform fast-paced solos they improvise on the fly.

There’s different types of guitar styles I’ve seen in bluegrass. I’m not a guitarist, so I don’t want to elaborate too far and share incorrect information. However, it’s fair to say that guitar can be anything from a backup rhythm chord strummer to a flat-picked, fast-paced, melodic soloist. There is a VERY distinct guitar fill that happens at the end of lines, phrases, or sections called the G run you’ll hear everywhere. Fiddle I’ve also heard a wide variety of styles. On the dobro side, the dobro tends not to be the “Hawaiian” sound you may be familiar with on a steel guitar, but more geared toward quick, technical, bluesy stuff. Bluegrass banjo has several styles, but the most prototypical is the Scruggs style, where the banjo does rapid-fire, ornamented, three-fingered picking in which a melody line is pulled out at the same time you’re also picking background chord notes.

To describe bluegrass vocals, you’ll sometimes hear the phrase “high lonesome” thrown around. I don’t hear anywhere as much high lonesome sound in contemporary bands as I do first generation, but the high lonesome sound is a description of piercing, high-range vocals. Bill Monroe would even take songs that were usually played in the key of G and pitch them higher into A or B, pushing his and the ensemble’s vocals into a higher range. I remember listening to Monroe and thinking to myself, “Even though it’s male vocals, why is it so easy for me to sing to?” Because I’m a fucking mezzosoprano, and there’s times Monroe hits and holds notes that are at the top of my range. Hot damn.

Rhythmically, bluegrass tends to be a driving genre of music. A term that gets thrown around a bit is “drive.” Even on the slow songs, you may hear the instruments push or strain forward. Beat-wise, bluegrass tends to emphasize both a strong downbeat and hit heavy offbeats in a boom-chick style. That last sentence might not have made sense to non-musicians, so I’ll explain...

When we listen to music, we can clap to it. We can also count along to any song as we clap. Music has an innate structure where, when we count, the sound seems organized in groups of two, three, or four. So, when we count to music, we’ll count repetitively. One song may be groups of two (you’ll count “One two, one two, one two”), groups of three (“One two three, one two three”), or groups of four. Every time you hit the “one,” it sounds bigger. It’s more emphasized. It’s restarting the pattern or unit of counting that’s inherent to the rhythmic structure of music. 

Now, you can subdivide those numbers between your claps. That means you’d count “One (and) two (and), one (and) two (and),” where the “ands” tend to feel smaller and less-emphasized. Those “ands” are called offbeats. In bluegrass, you’ll hear both the numbers and the “ands” clearly hit. The string bass will play the one’s and two’s, while perhaps the mandolin and banjo are emphatically hitting the “ands” in the background.

There are subgenres within bluegrass. You may hear people refer to newgrass, progressive bluegrass, jamgrass, punkgrass, etc. Put a word in front of it, add the word “grass,” and it probably exists. Jewgrass exists and it’s awesome. There’s fusions, too. The Native Howl is a band that combines thrash metal and bluegrass. Gangstagrass is a band that combines bluegrass with hip hop. It’s also to note that bluegrass has long since become international, and there are notable communities and bands of bluegrass from everywhere to Japan to the Czech Republic.

3. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR GETTING STARTED? 

Ummhmhmhm I honestly need a separate post to begin sharing videos, bands, periods of bluegrass, and more. It’s diverse and I love everything from the music coming out in 2020 to the stuff heard in 1947.

I realize that this post skews more toward first generation bluegrass and the starting bands in Ye Olde Days. Because of that, I’ll say this much: the Big Three bands of the early years were Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys, and the Stanley Brothers and the Clinch Mountain Boys. Bill Monroe’s music is “the original” and is based, at least in his mind, the most on the fiddle tunes he grew up with. Flatt & Scruggs skew somewhat more toward a popular culture sound with smoother vocals and instruments like the dobro that other early bluegrass bands did not use. The Stanley Brothers lean the most to mountain old-time music. Every band is wonderful in their own way and I love listening to all.

I’ll leave this post with what was my gateway song into bluegrass. This was the first song I listened to with the intent of experiencing bluegrass, not expecting to like it, but being pleasantly surprised. I fell in love with the song and... well... as you’ve seen... I’m a year and a half into the genre and still charging strong. 

I look forward to continuing to learn about bluegrass, refine my understanding of it, and share those discoveries with y’all in my future posts.

[a-world-in-grey]

Kings of Yore

Headcanons for the Kings of Yore. Some of this will be based off of this post which covers the linguistic evolution of Eos, so feel free to head over and check it out for more details.

I am going to go in the order I headcanon that they ruled, so I’ll also try to include why I picked that particular order.

Tagging @secret-engima

The Mystic, Somnus Lucis Caelum (~2000 years ago)

Don’t really have much to contribute here XD. I do headcanon that he was born in the Duscae region, probably not too far from where he was later buried. Perhaps from Old Lestallum- wait, no, that’s technically in Cleigne.

The Tall, Torvitas Lucis Caelum

I’ve got him as the second King of Yore because his tomb is also in Duscae. Southern Duscae to be exact, and I headcanon that the first Kings didn’t get all that Conquest Happy, more focused on securing their reign and territory, especially from daemons. I headcanon that he was a jovial and loud man. Quick to smile and laugh.

The Pious, Severus Lucis Caelum

Buried in Cleigne, and known for working closely with the Oracle and being extremely, well, pious. This would be pretty important in terms of spreading religion, and he probably brought in quite a bit of Tenebraen influence into the Lucian religious and upper classes. I headcanon he was also the one to construct the majority of the Havens, a practice later Kings continued.

The Fierce, Tonitrus Lucis Caelum

This big guy is known for being merciless to his enemies but kind and compassionate to his people. Personal headcanon is that this man was a huge family man - even by Lucis Caelum standards - and in order to offset his large and intimidating countenance he spoke softly and politely, because this man could have rivaled Regis in how much he adored children. Had a booming laugh like thunder. Was incredibly gentle, especially around children, and often skipped out on royal duties to play with all the nearby kids. Only had one child of his own that survived infancy - but oh did he name and mourn every child - but pretty much adopted half a dozen others, including his son’s eventual Sword and Hand (even though the positions hadn’t been officially established yet).

The Conqueror, Caligo Lucis Caelum (~1000 years ago)

Yes, I know it seems really late to have the Conqueror at, but this is about when I’ve got the Continental Lucian period, the beginning of which is marked by the Conqueror uniting the Lucian continent. He’s also buried at Keycatrich Trench, which is about as far from Duscae without getting into Cavaugh or Galahd, which none of the Kings of Yore are buried at (due to the constraints of the game). Hence, I headcanon that the Cavaugh and Leide regions had already been conquered by this point, but the Conqueror truly united them. He was buried at Keycatrich Trench in honor of one of his more famous achievements.

The Rogue, Crepera Lucis Caelum

Said to be Lucis’ first Queen, she ascended the throne after the deaths of her father and older brother from daemons. Due to her gender, her ascension was controversial, and Crepera ruled from the shadows through her Council. I headcanon that Crepera was one of the most terrifying Lucian Monarchs, and none of the nobles dared step a toe out of line after the first examples were made. I headcanon that Crepera’s older brother was named Luminis, the Herald (and in SoHL he’s one of the rare red haired Lucis Caelums, and the first to have the golden magic of the Healer King. Later, royal children who were red haired elder and dark haired younger would come to be known as Day and Night twins, regardless of the age difference. In these rare cases, the elder would always have weak, golden magic, and the younger stronger traditional blue, until the golden magic was thought of as a disability and the red haired royals excluded from the succession). 

I also headcanon that Crepera was originally going to be Luminis’ Sword (unknown to her father or the court), or rather her brother’s dagger, because her brother’s magic was significantly weaker than Crepera’s and Crepera was fiercely loyal to Luminis and didn’t want anyone getting ideas. And after Luminis’ death, the court got an assassin queen instead of a healer king.

The Wanderer, Inanis Lucis Caelum

The only son of Crepera, Inanis acted as his mother’s eyes an ears, wandering the world and acting on her behalf when action was required. He was the first Lucian King to travel to Galahd, which would become his favorite of all the places he visited. The Wanderer had one legitimate heir, and three bastard children, one who would die in childhood and one who would have children of their own.

The Wanderer never truly loved his wife and consort. No, his love was a Galahdian woman named Asteria with whom he had the second youngest of his children - a daughter with dark hair and blue eyes, named Sterope - but who he never married due to politics. Inanis would make frequent trips to Galahd to see Sterope and Asteria, continuing even after Asteria died and Sterope was left to be raised by her Clan, as Inanis respected the Clan and Asteria’s wish for Sterope to be raised with her people and culture. Sterope had two sons of her own, Helios and Nycteus.

Inanis’ youngest and only legitimate son, Piceus, would forever resent his half-sister for being Inanis’ favored and for the strained relationship between Inanis and Piceus’ mother. After his death, Piceus had his father buried in Cleigne near Crepera’s tomb, though Inanis had expressed wishes to be buried in Galahd.

Piceus would be the first Lucian King to attempt to conquer Galahd, and the first to fail as he was defeated by Galahdian forces led by his half-sister Sterope. Sterope’s children would have magic, but her grandchildren would not.

The Clever, Lividus Lucis Caelum

Established the first Lucian Council to help him rule. (Historians still debate whether or not it was so Lividus could also have more time to pursue personal studies.) Established the first public education system, if only to ensure a standard level of literacy among his subjects, and made it far easier for people to pursue higher education.

Also was the king to finally ‘conquer’ Galahd a la @secret-engima‘s hcs, because I find that hysterical. (Slight change in that it was Piceus who picked that initial fight, not the Warrior.) 

The Warrior, Nimbus Lucis Caelum (~850 years ago)

Began an era of global war after the death of his wife, queen, and Heart. Global conquest was strongly supported by the Oracle of the time, and Nimbus would later be buried in Tenebrae to honor that alliance. While he would not conquer the known world in his lifetime, he did conquer all of Niflheim barring Ueltham. His son and grandson would finish the conquest, bringing Ueltham under Lucian rule until the rise of the Aldercapt dynasty about 100 years later. Accordo would avoid Lucian occupation through alliance.

The Warrior also expanded his Council, adding two more positions.

The Just, Atra Lucis Caelum (~750 years ago)

Devoted to peace, Atra relocated the Lucian capital to Insomnia, adding two more seats to the Lucian Council to oversee the demands of urban development and establishing a foreign affairs department. It was during Atra’s reign that the four nations - Lucis, Tenebrae, Accordo, and the newly independent Niflheim - would decide on a universal calendar.

The Oracle, Agis Lucis Caelum (~250 years ago)

Responsible for sealing the first of the eight powerful daemons later known as the Menaces, Agis saw the Oracle of the time die in the process. With her daughter but a child, Agis took up the Oracle’s trident and duties until the Oracle Princess was ready. After passing on the Trident, Agis sealed two more Menaces, drastically shortening his life in the process. The remaining five Menaces would be sealed by later Kings and Oracles.

And though it contradicts the game, I headcanon that the Oracle King is entombed in Accordo, with the Trident kept in Accordo’s keeping until either the current Oracle or Lucian King claims it. Such an occasion is rare, as the Oracles have taken a less martial role after their occupation by Niflheim, and few Lucian Kings travel all the way to Altissia merely to claim one weapon. After Niflheim conquers Accordo, no Oracle or Lucian King would claim the Trident until Lunafreya and Noctis in 756 ME.

The Wise, Optimus Lucis Caelum (~150 years ago)

First king to raise the Wall, and King during Accordo’s fall to Niflheim. Buried in Keycatrich, where I headcanon Optimus’ Heart was from. I also headcanon that Optimus died at 40 years old, due to the Wall’s power demands. He left behind a 15-year old son, and Optimus’ Hand ruled as Regent until his son came of age.

The creation of the Wall marked the beginning of shortened life spans for the Lucian Kings. After Optimus, no Lucian King lived past 55 years.

[blueluneacy]

Personal Update

If you've been following me for a while, then you're probably used to this blog going through… Phases. I tend to have periods of high activity and low activity. It's a combination of both my mood and my schedule, but Recently, I discovered something that horrified me, my worst nightmare realized.

After staring at a page for over an hour, I realized I had burnout. I looked for other causes. Maybe I was tired, or sick, or just had writers block. I looked for legitimately any other cause, because the idea of not being able to write absolutely horrifies me. I've always been writing, always been a writer. It was a massive blow to me. I've always heard about burnout, but I thought, never me! Besides, I don't have the time to be lazy, all of you are waiting for my next post. If I don't post soon, people aren't going to care anymore. In a funny twist, I, the person who constantly preaches on how you need to write for yourself, was not doing that.

And it's not to say that I don't enjoy the requests I'm getting! Some of them can be very same, but I have the power to delete something already done! If I don't like it, I don't have to do it, right? Well, sorta. I've been forcing myself to do something… Weird. I've been making myself write requests in order of when I get them, as some sort of act of fairness. Which on the one hand, sounds fair, but on the other, has honestly made me hate some of my own ideas. I hate writing TA Jotaro now, because I'm constantly doing it, and I don't know why. I used to love the concept, hell, I came up with it! Is there something wrong with me? I don't know.

I started looking into cures for burnout, to try and get something, some pill so I could keep working. But, it doesn't work like that, unfortunately. The only way to cure burnout is… To change. To stop, take a break. But I took a short break before, and I'm still here, burnt out. Well, I never really solved the problem of before, I only prolonged the time it would take me to get here. I honestly don't know what to do other than wait. Even writing this feels agonizing to me for some reason. And it's not just jojo, either. I tried writing so much, from stuff with my ocs, other fandoms, even poetry, but nothing came out. I don't know what to do at this point other than wait it out, but that idea scares the heck out of me, if I'm not writing, what do I do?

For those who don't know, I work at a Bath and Body Works as well as go to school. My job isn't my passion, but it helps fund college and it's decent work. The people are weird, but that's not the point of my little anecdote. At work, part of what I do is sell candles. Massive, three wick scented candles, meant to last for over forty hours of continuous burning. But, I also do returns. About once a week, someone comes in and returns an empty candle container,all used up. While I think it's the stupidest thing, our return policy states that we have to take them, so take them I do, looking over the empty container, with metal prongs and char all along the sides. And God, I feel like those empty candle containers right now! And the problem is, at work, we throw them out. You get rid of them and get a new candle. But I can't just throw out my brain and get a new one. And writing is my outlet, my coping mechanism. I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not attempting to write.

A friend of mine told me to look at things from a different angle. To turn what I'm thinking on its head and work from there. So… I'm gonna try. I'm closing requests now, and I'm still going to attempt to work on them, but well… They'll get done eventually, I just don't know when. As for me working on my burn out… I'm going to try and work on something new. I want to finish Wrong with the Reaper, I want to write more Diavolo, I have so many ideas that I feel like could be interesting and outside my normal realm of what I do, and thinking about them does make me excited in this time where I honestly feel so… Dull.

They say burn out can manifest physically, in extreme exhaustion. I've been sleeping almost all the time when I'm not working, to the point where my dad asked if I needed to have a sleep study. In a way, this realization has made a lot of pieces in my head click.

The raffle is still gonna end at the same time. I'm gonna draw tomorrow still and make a post, and the raffle winnings are gonna take precedent over the requests, just because they're a prize and all. I'm hoping maybe these longer flics will help too, maybe I'll work more on prose or something.

If you want to interact with me, talk to me, or maybe see my wips (always lookin for proof readers lmao), join my discord server at https://discord.gg/gQEEVMf. While I'm still gonna check my inbox here, it's a much easier way to reach me and talk to me.

Thanks for reading. You guys mean so much more to mean than you could ever possibly know. In a way, my burnout has stemmed from my constant race of being up to my own standards, as well as trying to be something that uplifts your day in my writing. I don't know anymore. What I'm trying to say is, thank you all. I'm writing is at almost four a.m. when I couldn't sleep, and I'll probably post it when I wake up. I never thought anyone would like my writing, but people who I have considered fucking idols in the jojo writing section of tumblr have even complimented my work, and it just makes me so happy that people I adore like my work, but also terrified, horrified that I will sooner or later disappoint. But, I'm still alive, I'm still living, still going. And I know that if I keep going, eventually, I think I'll get through this.

[secondsightastrology]

The 1st Saturn Return

(Photo Credit:” Saturn or Saturn Devouring His Son” by Peter Paul Ruben)

Hello everyone! Thank you for visiting my page, Secondsight Astrology! Today, we continue Pt. 2 of the “Saturn Transits” series relating to the First Saturn Return. I will be sharing with you some of my personal experiences and lessons from my first Saturn Return. I will also be discussing its effect on the Saturn in Capricorn Generation. Later through this series, I will be discussing Pt 3, “The Saturn Return in the Aquarius Generation”. 

What is a “Saturn Return”? 

The Saturn Return is one of the three major human life transits to occur in the four planes (Physical, Emotional, Mental and Spiritual) of existence. 

(Photo Credit/Source: Chiron Rainbow bridge..., Barbara Hand Clow 1993)

At the time we experience our first Saturn Return is when we begin our own initiation into the adult maturation process. The Saturn return is when Saturn aligns itself with its own natal placement at the time of birth in the natal chart. The Saturn Return transit occurs approximately every 30 years. In Astrology, the birth chart is considered a “blue print” of our own current incarnation on Earth and serves as a unifying energy structure. It demonstrates where planetary energies exist within ourselves and how those energies relate to each each other. It also demonstrates how we relate to the influence of current planetary transits. 

Below, I have posted my own chart (via www.Astro.com) as a visual reference. As you can see, My natal chart has Saturn (♄ - The Cross of physical reality over the soul), in the 10th house (House of Career, Responsibility, and our Social Reputation and Standing).

Saturn’s Bitch

(Photo Credit: https://www.deviantart.com/qauz/art/Dream-of-Saturn-259783496)

To me, The Saturn Return is a time where we can expect ourselves to be, “Saturn’s Bitch”. Saturn is an outer planet yet it casts a very large shadow over our lives. Its effect is felt as far and wide to every aspect of our relationship with physical reality. This is a time for serious work, preservation, dedication and self analysis. Here we go deep, and do our “Shadow Work”. 

When we first encounter our Saturn Return, our time here on Earth slows down, life feels heavier and more burdensome. We are more aware of our limits. The events that occur during this time can challenge us so deeply and intensely that we can naturally experience melancholy or depression. This transit lasts for a little over 2 years, yet the purpose it serves is to prepare us to attain conscious alignment with the physical world. It prepares us for our next major life transit, Uranus Opposite Uranus. By taking the lessons learned during the first Saturn Return with us, having learned mastery of our own physical reality, we are then prepared to learn emotional maturity during our Uranus Opposite Uranus transit.

It is important to mention, that if by the age of 30, those who do not do the work of their Saturn Return and grow on the physical level, they cannot grow emotionally. These people are already beginning the process of death and experience disharmony within their own vibrational acceleration. To put it simply, they have a more difficult time with “adulting”, they lack awareness and understanding of their own limits and boundaries. They missed the lessons needed to be learned during their Saturn Return that would inspire emotional maturity and mental clarity. 

Saturn Return in Capricorn Generation

(Photo Credit: Pinterest.com)

When looking back at the transit of Capricorn in Saturn, I think it’s important to describe key attributes to Capricorn Energy. Capricorn embodies the values of: Prudence, Wisdom, Practicality, Resourcefulness, and Ambition. Those with heavy Capricorn influence in the natal chart ooze with an air of status and stability. The reason for Capricorn’s natural inclination towards these values is due to its planetary ruler, which is, you guessed it, Saturn.

For us who have experienced our own Saturn Return in Capricorn, we learned the heavy lessons of our own relationship to Physical Reality. We learned proper measurement of time. What to do with it, how to integrate discipline in a healthy way (which didn’t contradict our ability to focus on what really matters). We learned discipline to become less rigid(although we always assumed rigidity was helpful..it wasn’t), we learned to value integration instead of compartmentalization. To me, I felt the most important lesson was in understanding and appreciating the true value of our resources. If we learned the lessons our Saturn Return taught us, it was to know our worth, our time and effort and we in the Saturn in Capricorn generation refuse to undercut the value of our ability of being flexible in our methods. 

We learned to use our personal power appropriately.

That being said, those of us who have gone through our Saturn Return in Capricorn, should now be able to understand and relate to our friends who are experiencing their own Saturn Return in Aquarius. We can have a major influence on them by demonstrating integrity while expressing our personal power and if we choose to collaborate with our Saturn in Aquarius friends, in the physical world, there isn’t much we couldn’t accomplish in the realm of humanitarian efforts. This new generation are Visionaries. Period. If we folks who have done the work of our Saturn Return in Capricorn and have paid attention to what is beyond personal self interest, there can be major accomplishments carried out when we unify our two generations.

My Saturn Return

To describe my Saturn return, I feel the best place to start is when Saturn was transiting my 9th house and Midheaven in Sagittarius. I was offered a unique spiritual experience that changed my belief system (I'm a recovering agnostic). This was the time where I was being challenged to form a stronger relationship with my Trust in God in the physical world and to own my unique Psychic abilities. I sought after autotelechy and used that knowledge to heal outdated belief patterns that were distract me from my true life’s purpose. I practiced self discipline of my will power through Yoga. It was a time where I also began to travel more often. During Saturn in Sagittarius, I become engaged and then married to my husband. We bought our family home and I started my own business and went back to college.

On December 20th, 2017, the day before winter solstice, my Saturn Return in Capricorn began its transit in my 10th house. Saturn was transiting in conjunction with an orb of 3 degrees natal Uranus and 8 degrees Saturn. As I mentioned earlier, in reference to my own chart, The midheaven/10th house cusp symbolize our most public self. It is our career or “life path” - and it was where Saturn showed up to challenge maturity within my own social standing and reputation. 

It felt like everything that was possible and easy during the time Saturn was in Sagittarius became a true drudgery. I was challenged to limit relationships motivated by feelings of guilt, and in many ways I had to learn my limits with how much I was willing to allow others to influence my decision making. I was forced to get real about who I was and face the consequences of how I was giving people the wrong impression of me. I began to learn my limits when it came to just how much of my personal power I was willing to give away. Lastly, if I had to say what was the hallmark moment regarding Saturn’s lesson, was the experience of the death of my Father. 

These are just some examples of what I experienced and to be honest, every single lesson learned during my Saturn Return began with feelings of deep sorrow, disappointment and frustration. That is, until I realized that I had the power to make my own choices. My Saturn Return in Capricorn was an opportunity to find out what my time was worth. To find out where my limits were, and ultimately, know the value of all my resources. It was a time in my life where I felt called upon to act fearlessly. To find my way through the dark and persevere through everything that was coming my way. 

It is my opinion that the Saturn Return is not a frivolous life experience. It is a very harrowing time in our lives where we can legitimately feel victimized by its lessons. However, if we diligently practice discernment and self compassion, we find ourselves very blessed indeed. To me, the Saturn Return happens to assist us in seeing a balanced perspective of our own lives. We become more self directed and we take responsibility for ourselves and our choices. We are able to see the “big picture”, and we are no longer held back by emotional pain. We understand that emotional pain is just one aspect of self perspective and we learn to trust ourselves to feel own pain. We now know, it doesn’t last forever. 

Saturn teaches us that we no longer feel burdened by responsibility, we know we are capable of anything we put our minds to. We are understanding of the times where we felt powerless, confused and riddled with despair, was the fertile soil of creating a life of purpose. It is the Phoenix rising out of the ashes energy. We are no longer who we used to be and we feel a deep satisfaction where we no longer feel conflicted and ashamed for our immaturity. We have grown.

I hope you all have enjoyed this post. If you are going through your own Saturn return and have questions or would like to request a  birth chart reading, you can contact me at - secondsightastrology.slc@gmail.com

With Love,

B

“No one said it wasn’t going to be exciting...We eat tension baby! We eat it! Tribulation, shit lightning! That’s what we do.” - AlexisonFire, Live at House of Strombo

[ellynneversweet]

Ok, so I’ve finished Normal People and I have ... thoughts. Mostly about whether it succeeds or fails as a text, and what the relative metrics are by which success should be judged (it’s succeeded in getting me to think about it, for sure). This got long and a bit ranty, and does discuss the mental illness aspects of the book, so I’ve put it below the cut. Spoilers etc.

I haven’t watched the show or read any of Sally Rooney’s other books (book?) or reviews yet, because I wanted to get down what I took away from the book by itself, rather than what other people thought about it. I did see the headline of like, one review that seemed to think it was all about capitalism, which struck me as a significant stretch as a primary theme, but hey. My take was that it was primarily concerned with (many and various) degrees of mental illness and unwellness experienced by various characters, the causes and effects thereof, etc etc, and it’s really because of that that I don’t know whether or not I actually liked the book.

Ultimately I think my ambivalence comes comes down to how the narration is structured, and the way Rooney doesn’t at any point step in explicitly prompt the audience in one direction or another.

So what took me a hot minute to realise was that the book’s written in a very close third person narration, alternating between Connell and Marianne’s perspectives.The thing is, however, that this close third person isn’t immediately obvious, because Rooney subverts the whole ‘show don’t tell’ advice. There’s a lot of phrasing given as ‘she felt good’ ‘he felt anxious’ ‘then they had sex’ etc.  The most personal aspects of the plot are constantly elided with this flat, clinical, definitive language that sounds almost like a witness statement in a criminal case. That’s especially the case with Marianne, who disassociates a lot, and slightly less so with Connell, who’s anxious, but the flat description is pretty present throughout. There are moments when the narrative dips into describing sensation, but that seems to occur only with regards to things that are irrelevant and impersonal, like drinking a glass of (insert carbonated beverage here), or feeling the breeze from an air conditioner. The book is all about this very intimate, arguably co-dependant and unhealthy relationship between these two intermittently sexually involved characters, so the aforementioned flatness struck me as an odd choice initially.

However. There’s two things that this does. The first, and IMO more significant, is that is creates an illusion of the narrative voice as omniscient and impartial, rather than biased and unreliable as it actually is. The seeming authority of the definitive statements in the narrative is emphasised by the stock filler phrases that the each of the dual protagonists uses in direct dialogue, and which inevitably mean the opposite of what’s actually said — in the case of Marianne we get ‘okay’ (I disagree but I want this conversation to end) and ‘I don’t know’ (i believe this to be profoundly true but it makes me unhappy), and in the case of Connell we get ‘obviously’ (I’m not sure at all, what do you think?). So the upshot of this is that especially in the earlier parts of the novel the audience is led into thinking the description of a particular plot point is what objectively happened, rather than the biased viewpoint of one of two people who keep talking past each other (I’m thinking particularly of the part in which Connell moves home because he can’t make rent, and each of them was waiting for the other to propose his moving into her flat instead).

So it is really interesting on that level of language structure. I do feel that the section headings (‘two weeks later,’ ‘six months later,’ ‘five minutes later’) were a bit of a red herring — especially towards the climax of the book, when things became violent, I was frankly expecting it to take a schlocky turn towards one or both of the main characters being maimed or killed in a domestic violence and/or drunk driving accident, à la Jodi Piccoult.

It didn’t, which was a relief, but I didn’t subsequently find the ending satisfying, and I think that’s because the way that it ended — a breakup that’s not really a breakup, just a breather — felt like something that had occurred at least three or four times already in the text. It’s always tricky to write a satisfying ending when all the main characters are alive and young and (presumably) going to continue their lives. Why stop the narrative here, rather than there? I think for that sort of ending to work, a story does need to feel like it’s shifting into a different stage of the characters’ lives, one that can be inferred, however dimly, but is distinct enough from the part described in the text to form a natural break. This didn’t feel like a break from what had gone before. It felt like a groove in an emotional cycle that had already been repeated, that had been shown as being repeated, that gave every sign of being repeated again and again, forever and ever amen.

This leads into the part where I talk about what I didn’t like, fyi, and fair warning, mostly what I didn’t like was the characterisation of Marianne. Sorry if she’s your fave.

So Marianne gets the last word of the narrative, in which she thinks about how ‘they’ve [Marianne and Connell] been so good for each other’. And i would argue two things, which is that 1) unreliable narrator or not, this being the last part of the text gives weight to this being read as a true statement 2) this is, uh, pretty clearly not the case. Marianne’s still fundamentally the same, teetering on the edge of self-destruction, and Connell is still anxious (and being made more so by Marianne’s reaction to his small successes).

Now, neither character is perfect. They’re also not bad people -- but they are struggling people who use maladaptive coping strategies and don’t ever really appear to move past those.

At first glance, on a scale of quantifying unhappiness, Marianne gets the raw end of the stick. She’s a character who’s sympathetic and pitiable, because she starts out as the smart, bullied kid who turns out to have an abusive home life and who is brutally dumped by her first boyfriend. So far, so sad. Connell, by contrast, is much less upfront about the things that cause him trouble (although they’re very much there) and has the initial upper hand. Connell also comes off as much more self-aware than Marianne — the part where he’s lying on the floor in a post-shower depression slump reminds me of that piece that goes around tumblr occasionally, about lying on the floor sobbing about the state of the world, and simultaneously noticing that the last time you painted, you didn’t do a good job with the brushwork in the corner you’re looking at, and thinking about how you should re-do it once you finish crying.

But the thing I can’t get my head around with Marianne is how Rooney feels about her, and it boils down to this: what level of awareness and intentionality is Rooney operating at when writing about Marianne’s mental health arc? Does Rooney agree with Marianne’s self-assessment of herself as ‘better’ and ‘normal’ (ie still acting in more or less the same way as she did throughout the text, but no longer a subject of gossip) at the end of the book, or does she not?

As I mentioned, I haven’t seen the adaptation, but I’ve seen a gif or two, and what struck me as I was reading was that the way that Marianne is described as looking (and styled in the show) is reminiscent of the pop-culture caricature of Sylvia Plath — increasingly thin, indie-fashionista, bangs, statement lipstick, weird but precociously brilliant, magnetic, male muse and male victim, mentally ill in a way that is complex but always sexy and sexualised (of course she developed a cute, posh eating disorder that involved eating half an expensive sugary pastry and a sugarless black coffee every day. Of course she did).

Basically, what I want to know is, is Marianne someone Rooney wrote based on that image of Plath, or is Marianne someone cosplaying as that image of Plath, whom Rooney is consciously deconstructing?

See, I think writing Marianne as someone (possibly unintentionally) cosplaying Plath is interesting. The myth of the hot, damaged girl is pretty pervasive (Harley Quinn, the suicide girls, etc etc) and writing Marianne as a character who has legitimate issues that she has trouble facing, who then instead focuses her self-awareness into this trope of ‘acceptably damaged’ has potential. I feel like there’s an opportunity there to examine the line between struggling with a mental illness vs self-consciously performing that struggle in a way that’s socially acceptable, which is a topic that suits the period when the novel’s set.

Unfortunately though, I think Rooney is probably buying into that myth rather than  examining it, because the fact that no-one, in a book that starts in 2011 ever sits Marianne down and goes, ‘yes, I get that people have told you you’re mentally unwell as a tactic to bully you, and that was shitty, but you pretty clearly have a raging case of ptsd which is NOT YOUR FAULT, please accept some help’ — that is frankly hard to believe. Not Connell who seeks out therapy and takes some dubiously successful medication? Not Joanna, who is by all accounts well adjusted and who makes a point of caring in a friendship where she’s doing a lot the heavy lifting? Not Lorraine, parent of the decade? Not some random teacher or professor, looking out for an obviously promising student?  Really, no one?

Marianne is supposedly brilliant and a tireless researcher, but she apparently never becomes aware of the possibility that there might be ways to process her past experiences in a way that would allow her some measure of peace. Never wants it, even in the worst of times. Never ceases to wallow in her own unhappiness. And it’s relevant, I think, that in the period of the novel where Marianne is (kind of) happy, when she’s making a success of things at uni, the focus of the book is on how she’s making Connell jealous by dating an abusive man. The closes she comes to self-awareness is recognising her proclivity to seek out unhealthy relationships and decide to lean into that, in what is consistently the least unhealthy romantic relationship she has. That feels like a cop-out.

Like, I’m not suggesting that every story that features mental illness as a theme needs to show recovery. That’s, unfortunately, not always the case. Some people never get better. Some people can’t bring themselves to believe in the possibility of getting better. It’s not even the case that recovery is a straight line, when it happens. I know that. I’ve seen people I care about it struggle with a whole range of problems, I’ve struggled myself. But this felt like 13 Reasons Why for adults, like depression-porn, and I just...am a bit angry, I think, that I can’t tell if that was the intention, it that wasn’t the intention but was the outcome, or if that’s just my take and I’ve misread the thing entirely.

Obviously people can write whatever they want in fiction, but I do think that when you’re dealing with a topic that has impacted a lot of people, that’s been poorly handed in fiction in the past, you do have a responsibility to treat it sensitive and thoughtfully, and not glamorise something that is ultimately destructive under the guise of ‘this is interesting and cool, and a good way to treat yourself and others, actually.’ And I don’t know if that’s the case here.

[jobrosupdates]

The Jonas Brothers Are Getting Used to Being Interviewed Again | VICE

We met the brothers in a deserted London bar, to talk about the past decade and how they finally care enough about pop music to return to it.

The Jonas Brothers don’t know where to sit. We’re standing in a cordoned-off area in the sort of central London bar that resembles the results of a greenhouse and fancy department store’s brief fling. The three siblings eye up four identical green, lip-shaped couches in each corner of the room. “Maybe we should take one each and just shout at each other,” Joe says with a grin.

I laugh nervously, hoping he’s not serious, before suggesting that he and his older brother, Kevin, plop themselves on one sofa, while Nick, wearing a very noisy jacket made of plastic, makes himself comfortable on a red stool. Kevin settles in first, but not before moving four slightly lukewarm coffees onto a low table.

Joe seems buoyant; the other two not so much. “I got some good rest last night, so I'm doing pretty good,” he says, picking up a cup and taking a sip. “I don't know if they got the most amount of sleep. But I had a massage at the hotel and it just put me in a deep, deep sleep.” When I glance at Nick, his face is blank. He doesn’t seem as impressed with his brother’s gentle gloating.

Still, six years ago you might’ve thought that the Jonas Brothers wouldn’t ever trade brotherly jibes with each other in front of a music journalist again. But here they are, promoting their first album in ten years, Happiness Begins. In the US, its lead single, “Sucker” became not only their first Billboard Hot 100 number 1, but the first from a boyband in the US since B2K's "Bump, Bump, Bump" in 2003 ("Sucker" peaked at 4 on the UK charts). They’ve also announced a world tour, done the requisite carpool karaoke – they’re back back.

A newer band might be climbing the walls with excitement at such success. The JoBros, however, have been through this rigmarole of travel, promo, album, tour before. Not that they’re fully jaded – they tell me how happy they are that people still give shit about them – but, rather, they’re reserved. And given what they’ve been through over the past decade, I get it. Happiness might now be beginning, but it’s been difficult to find. A little hesitation is natural.

Now, for the story every super-fan already knows. After starting small, as a teen pop punk act in 2005, the band signed to Disney’s Hollywood Records in 2006 and immediately blew up. In the US, they were the teen pop phenomenon of the late 00s, starring in sitcoms, movies and selling millions of records. But slogging it as poster boys for Disney purity for seven years can leave you in pop purgatory, unable to evolve. In 2013, when they released “Pom Poms”, it was clear that the band had failed to mature with their fans. The song stalled at number 60 on the Hot 100, while its follow up, “First Time”, failed to chart in the UK overall.

Not that they seemed that bothered by that commercial plummet. What they had was broken and when I ask if they were disappointed that the rest of that material never got released, Joe and Kevin both give off something between a huff and a grim laugh. “Truth is, we weren't really happy with the material and didn't feel like we were artistically in sync,” Nick says quickly, his jacket crinkling as he sits forward on his stool. “It’s one of the reasons the group ended. And we were isolating ourselves and limiting our creative potential because we didn't know if we could really progress.”

"I think we were all in such different places,” Joe adds. “Kevin was starting his life with [his wife] Danielle. Nick and I were in and out of relationships. We'd get in the studio and we couldn't land on anything lyrically. I wasn't as inspired to be in there. It kind of felt like I was just going through the motions and I knew that the music would be created” no matter what, with or without passion. “So I'd come in when I was needed. I just wasn't connecting with what we were creating.”

Why not get new writers, you might ask? Well, the Jonas Brothers’ involvement in the writing process felt, to them, fundamental. Sure, their breakthrough hit was a cover of a Busted song, but “Burning Up”, “SOS”, “Love Bug” and “A Little Bit Longer” were legitimately strong pop songs, and their own. Anyway, their lack of musical progression had incubated a fear of rejection. “Knowing that things were on the decline,” Nick says, “I was afraid that we would ask to work with someone and they would say no.” Panicked, he called a meeting and in 2013, mid-way through recording a new record, he broke up the band.

The next bit is well-trodden. Nick buffed up, posed in his underwear and released one of the greatest post-boyband pop songs of all time, “Jealous”. Joe joined dance pop group DNCE. Kevin retreated into family life. He had two children, Alena in 2014 and Valentina two years later. It wasn’t that simple, though. “I didn't even know if I wanted to do music again,” Joe says now. The air isn’t tense but sombre and Nick’s eyes are cast to the floor. “I had to find my own place. I went on and worked on different projects, but it took time to get inspired. Nick had that all figured out. I just didn’t.”

Meanwhile, Kevin says that he was hurt. Joe and Nick had performed as the Jonas Brothers at a final gig without him and, after the birth of his first child, he felt like he didn’t have his best friends. “It's not that I said that I didn't want to do music anymore, but I think, looking back at it, there was some pain there. So I wanted to look at some other passions of my own and see what else was out there.”

As they talk, each brother is careful to allow the other to share their piece. Nick especially is quiet, often faced away from his brothers examining something off in another corner of the room. They’re respectful, almost detached, as if they’ve plodded through that murky period with the wounds, scars and wariness to prove it. The last six years, the brothers tell me, was about rediscovering their relationships as a family. Once Kevin's kids brought them together, “We made time where we could just rebuild as friends," Joe says," not even bring up anything music-related. We didn't really dive into that stuff. We just said, 'Let's just move on.'” Moving on, in this case, involved making 90-minute documentary, Chasing Happiness.

“It seems like a jump,” Joe agrees when I put it to him, before Nick cuts him off for the first time.

“We were made aware of some offers that were coming in for a Jonas Brothers reunion,” he says, carefully. “There was one at that point which could have made sense. Kevin flew out to LA and we talked through it but not everyone was on board.” He eyes Joe. “But it opened up a dialogue about what we could do together, to touch on that period of our lives.” Nick and Kevin flew to go and meet Joe while he was acting as a coach on The Voice Australia. Aside from a dinner in London a year prior, that meeting was the first chunk of time the three brothers had together, just as a trio. Nick, though, hankered after a reunion. And so, like any responsible adults, they decided a play a game where they got drunk and aired out their grievances to figure out their shit. It worked.

After ironing out the details, the Jonas Brothers were soon recording music as a group again, pulling in pop producer and writer names with the weight of a few tonnes: Max Martin, Shellback, Justin Tranter, Greg Kurstin and Ryan Tedder (Tedder executive produced the album). For Kevin, though, it was a learning curve. In the six years he’d been out of the game, a lot had changed. Session writing, streaming and the way that digital communication has opened up the songwriting process has altered not only how people make music, but how they consume it. “There's been so many times where I've asked them, 'Is this a good metric to look at?'” he says, almost sheepishly, “Streaming wasn't really a thing. The way, dynamically, you work with your label, to pretty much all of it has changed.”

Thankfully, the music on Happiness Begins is really good. “I Believe”, which Nick wrote with Kurstin, sits between “Jealous” and the slick romance of “Hold On We’re Going Home”, while “Every Single Time”, a reggae-lite bop produced by Tedder, could easily have belonged to DNCE. And unlike a lot of current pop, you really can’t imagine anyone else singing a song like “Only Human”, a wonky horn-filled track that, when pushed, could be described as baby’s first foray into ska, or lead single “Sucker”, that grabs those Jonas power chords and drags them into 2019. It’s the Jonas Brothers on a molecular level.

I catch their publicist waving at me to wrap things up. The band have a photoshoot next and then they’re playing an intimate gig for fans. But as we all stand up and exchange pleasantries, I tell them I’m glad that they’ll finally be able to spend a holiday like Thanksgiving together as friends. They all pause and look at each other awkwardly. “We do have a day off and we'll be in the New Jersey area,” Kevin says. “We could go to your house?” Nick asks. I turn to Joe. “Oh, we have no idea,” he shrugs. “We're still bandmates at the end of the day. We're just trying to figure it all out.” And with that they file out of the room.

Source: VICE

[welllpthisishappening]

The Period of the Long Change (14/15)

It’s quick. One second she’s standing there and everything is fine and then Emma looks up and it’s not. It’s awful. And the lights are too bright and there are too many rooms and too many opinions and her phone won’t stop ringing because everything seems to be changing all at once. She’s never been great at coping with change. But, maybe, if she can just figure it out and stay right where she is, with Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, at her side, it’ll be alright.

It’s slow. One second he’s standing there and everything is fine and then Killian’s breath catches and it’s not. It’s terrifying. And the noises are too loud and there are too many questions and he can’t find the right answers to any of them, not sure how to cope with everything changing all at once. That’s never really been his forte. But, maybe, if he can just figure it out and stay right where he is, with Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations, at his side, it’ll be alright.

It’s another season and another challenge and Emma and Killian are both struggling to get over the boards.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 8K and change AN: If you’ve been reading and sticking along and clicking on this, I really appreciate it a lot. We’re almost done. 

Also on Ao3 and FF.net and Tumblr if that’s your jam.

The ice didn’t feel any different.

He wasn’t sure what he expected it to feel like. Ice was ice. There wasn’t much give to it and it was cold and solid and it was ice. Nothing was different, but it kind of felt like everything was different and Killian’s skates felt far too tight.

That might have been his lungs, actually.

It kind of felt like his lungs were shrinking.

And expanding.

And just generically not working.

He hadn’t even skated away from the boards yet.

He wasn’t sure his legs would work either.

“Cap,” Robin called, standing at the far end of the rink with a stick in one hand and several blurs that were actually several different kids moving around him. “It’s not going to melt as soon as you touch it.”

“He’s touching it now,” Will reasoned. Killian turned to see him walking down the tunnel, a smile on his face and a bag of pucks in his hands and his skates probably didn’t feel as if they were doing permanent damage to several different toes.

Killian should have asked Kristoff about his skates. But that would probably require him to admit to several things he wasn’t sure he was ever willing to admit to and being nervous about skating was, easily, the most absurd thing that had ever happened to him.

“You going to move Cap or, like, what’s your deal?” Will continued, bumping shoulders with Killian when he tried to move over the boards.

“Can you control any part of your body? Or are you just trying to be a complete and utter asshole?” “The fact that you’re using all of those words gives me pause.” “And not your inability to get over the boards two weeks after the season ended?” Will shrugged and rolled his eyes and did something with his legs that could not have been good for his hips, but his skates didn’t skid when they landed on the ice and he stared at Killian like he’d just scored a hat trick and won another Stanley Cup.

They hadn’t.

Again.

And, really, that was the last thing Killian was worried about, but it had been a kind of strange last few months and not even making the playoffs was a strange change of pace for the New York Rangers.

That was kind of the subheadline for the entire season.

The actual headline was far less respectful.

There’d been questions and less-than-ideal Photoshops on the back page of The Post and Killian wasn’t ever searching out subReddit posts, but they was difficult to avoid when he spent so much time around recently-named Sergeant David Nolan and it seemed like every single cab driver he’d hailed in the last two and a half months had several, very vocal opinions to share on the state of the Rangers front office.

And its decision to send Husinger back to the AHL after the trade deadline.

They’d brought in a new guy and he wasn’t great, but Killian didn’t feel the innate urge to punch him every time he thought about him.

“I think you’re deflecting on things here, Cap,” Will muttered. He dropped the pucks at his feet, a sound that seemed to echo off the walls of the otherwise empty Garden and, possibly, in between Killian’s ears and this whole thing was actually pretty ridiculous.

He’d been on the ice before.

He’d stood at center ice, advised a power play that, despite the lack of a playoff berth, was actually pretty goddamn good by the end of the season, and followed a PT schedule with only a minimal amount of complaining. He and his kids had watched more film in the last two months than they had in the last four years, a jumble of limbs and thoughts on the couch and, more often than not, Emma came home to find all three of them tangled and asleep, with the tablet dead on the coffee table.

Killian could never remember to charge the tablet.

It was fine and good and as great as it could be when he wasn’t actually playing, but they’d agreed not to rush this and Ariel had done so much research about everything that sometimes Killian swore his head was spinning at even the mere thought of it.

And, naturally, Ariel had told Emma who made a schedule and made him promise not to push it and Killian had agreed to that willingly.

He knew he was coming back.

It didn’t matter when.

But when was now and now the ice didn’t feel different, but it didn’t feel quite like the home it had always been and that was an even more ridiculous thought than the rest of the absolutely insane thoughts he’d been thinking all day.

His skates were way too tight.

God, Will was totally right.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Will muttered, moving the blade of his stick under the closest puck so he could bounce it in the air. Killian arched an eyebrow. “It’s a nervous habit,” he explained. “Because you’re making me nervous. What are you thinking?” “That’s a very loaded question, actually.” “Yeah?” Killian nodded, cursing softly when Robin appeared in front of him and doused the front of his too-small skates with a fresh coat of ice. “What the hell, Locksley?” “You going to move or what are we doing?” Robin asked, but his eyes darted towards Will and Killian didn’t try to suppress his sigh.

“We’re moving. We’re just--” “--Thinking about it, apparently,” Will mumbled.

Robin made a noise, not quite an agreement and possibly a little mocking and Killian forgot he was holding a stick until he realized he was resting most of his weight against it. Kristoff would kill him if he broke a stick and complained about his skates.

And then Anna would kill him and that was just going to get messy.

He didn’t have time for that.

He had to move.

“And were we going to address those thoughts?” Robin pressed. He leaned forward to grab another puck, handling like he was moving between sixty-seven defenders and this all felt a little full-circle. Matt and Roland were yelling at Henry about getting in goal on the other side of the ice and Dylan kept shooting at the boards and they didn’t have a ton of time.

This wasn’t, technically, a practice or anything more than an optional skate that Killian knew Arthur had only scheduled so he could get on the ice. Arthur was probably lurking somewhere in one of the suites upstairs.

With Victor.

And Ariel.

And maybe Emma.

No, Emma had some season ticket thing to worry about – end of the season wrap ups and future outlooks and offseason events to prep for because they were all going to be a little busy for the next few days and Matthew Jones was graduating preschool.

That was way more exciting than events or not-quite legitimate practices.

“I guess not,” Will shrugged when Killian didn’t answer Robin’s question, and he sighed again.

“You’re the two most impatient people on the planet, you know that?” Killian asked, but his voice lacked the edge he wanted it to and Matthew Jones probably wished he could skip preschool graduation so he could stay on the ice for the foreseeable future.

They’d gotten Henry into the net.

“What are the thoughts, Cap?” Robin demanded. He flicked his wrists, a quick twist and turn and the puck didn’t quite slam into Killian’s skate, but it was awfully close.

“Are you kidding me?” “An answer to the question or I’m going to keep pelting you with pucks.” “That sounds ridiculous.” “And kind of immature too,” Will added, still bouncing his own puck and he must have taken an entire box out of equipment. They were never going to use that many pucks. There were three of them.

Robin shook his head. “You do not get to say those words, Scarlet. You were the one trying to get Matt and Rol to race before so you could win--” “--Ah, c’mon, we agreed we weren’t going to talk about that in front of Cap. He’s going to slam us into the boards.” “I made no such agreement and that’s just incredibly untrue.”

“Which part, exactly?” Killian asked, pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he was intrigued and it sounded like his kid had just scored. That was probably the reason for whatever he was feeling.

“You’re not going to slam anyone into the boards because you can’t even get on the ice. Also because you know A is lurking somewhere, watching this and you don’t want to deal with that.” “Ok, that’s just rude, Locksley,” Ariel yelled, a disembodied voice that probably would have been impressive if it weren’t also kind of terrifying.

“Oh my God,” Killian mumbled. He ran his hand through his hair, standing up straighter and glancing around like that would summon Ariel and it kind of worked. He heard her shoes before he saw her, a squeak and a bit of a stomp and the boards got in her way when she tried to launch herself at Robin.

Will caught her around the waist.

“Where were you hiding?” Killian asked. She stuck her tongue out at him.

“I wasn’t hiding. I was...” “Lurking?” Will laughed, an arm still around her and she’d somehow managed to perch on the edge of the boards, feet dangling over the ice and one shoe threatening to fall off.

“Screw you, Scarlet. I was not lurking either. I was watching and doing my job, which, incidentally Cap, it doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of.” “It’s the offseason,” Killian pointed out. “Technically speaking I don’t have a job. I am on vacation. This is voluntary skate.” “Have you ever not skated at a voluntary skate? Or an involuntary one?” “That sounds like torture skate.” “God, you’re annoying, you know that?” Killian grinned, turning a bit and the ice really didn’t feel different when he moved. His lungs were starting to feel a bit normal again. “And,” Ariel added. “Just because you’re cool to skate now does not mean you get to ignore me, you know that right?”

“I would never ignore you, Red.” “Do not lie straight to my face. Don't insult me like that.” “Is he totally cured if he can’t even skate to the circle?” Will asked, and they’d apparently moved out of the understanding portion of the conversation.

Ariel made a face. “He’s not ever totally cured. That’s not how concussions work.” “Don’t act like Scarlet should know that,” Robin muttered. Will flipped him off. And both Killian and Ariel mumbled there are kids here under their breath. He skated backwards, one hand held up in surrender and a knowing smile on his face. “Aye, aye Mom and Dad.” “Oh, shut up,” Ariel grumbled, another insult that lacked any sort of actual insult and they were all far too comfortable with each other. “I’m serious though, Cap. Walking and we’re going to do some of those balance things.” “It really does take away from the seriousness of it when you call it things, you know,” Killian said. Ariel tried to kick at him, but it only ended with her right shoe sailing across the entire goddamn rink and it was a miracle any of them stayed standing.

Killian was very thankful for the stick in his hand.

Ariel yelled a string of insults at them again, cursing them to several different hells and underworlds and none of them made a move to go get her shoe. “You guys are the worst,” Ariel shouted, trying to keep her bare foot away from the ice and Killian’s sides were starting to ache.

He was fairly certain Will had tears in his eyes.

Robin couldn’t even stand up.

“Will one of you seriously go get my shoe?” Ariel asked. “I”m not walking back to my office with one shoe.” “No one is kicking you off the ice, A,” Robin muttered, laughter clinging to the words he could barely get out.

“I’m going to tell Gina to lock you out of your apartment later.” “Nah, the kids are with me. She won’t do that. I win.” “Screw you, Locksley.” “Ariel,” Will gasped, a hand to his practice jersey and a scandalized look on his face. “The children! Your child! Think of the children!” It looked like she was trying to shoot lasers out of her eyes at them.

“Get my goddamn shoe!”

“This is why you shouldn’t resort to violence like that,” Robin grinned. He was still trying to stick handle against no one. Killian was going to tell Gina that later.

“We’re trying to better the game,” Will added. “Also, as an aside, where were you lurking?”

Ariel growled. “Stop using that word!” “Not an answer.” “I was walking here. There was no hiding. There was no lurking. I was late because, unlike you guys, I still have stuff to do in the offseason and things to get ready for later.” Killian blinked at the tone of her voice, Ariel’s eyes widening and her lips pulled back behind her teeth as soon as she realized what she’d said. Will whistled. “What does that mean, exactly?” Killian asked.

Her shoe was probably going to stick to the ice.

“Nothing.” “I thought you didn’t want to hear the lies.” “Only when it came to you and skating, which, you know, you’re still not doing.” “You’re a worse liar than Emma is.” “I’m going to tell her that,” Ariel warned, but Killian shrugged. Will whistled again. “It’s very frustrating when you won’t take my insults or threats seriously.” “It’s probably got something to do with us knowing each other for so long,” Will said. The puck on his blade fell back to the ice, another crash that sounded far too loud and this conversation was confusing. They needed to pick a lane – serious or teasing or something that didn’t affect Killian’s lungs quite so much.

He hoped Emma ate lunch. He hadn’t had to bribe Merida in weeks, had spent most of March actually eating lunch with his wife and hot chocolate dates turned into walks up Broadway and actually going to that Shake Shack a few blocks away and coming back to kiss her in her office and deserted hallways and they’d only been caught by Mary Margaret that one time, which was only kind of awkward, but Emma was right and she really should have called.

And Mary Margaret was right, Emma would have ignored her text messages anyway.

“Yeah, probably,” Ariel agreed. It sounded like the words physically pained her. “Seriously can I have my shoe back? It’s freezing in here.”

“Why aren’t you tying your shoes better, Red?” Killian asked, and he still hadn’t moved, which, honestly was only slightly troubling, but he was still kind of laughing and he hoped Arthur was in one of the suites if only he could witness all of this in person.

“Because I was trying to get down here. Obviously.” He stopped laughing almost immediately, lungs not entirely appreciating the distinct lack of oxygen he was providing them and if Dylan didn’t stop shooting at the boards, Killian was fairly certain he was going to go insane.

Matt was singing the goal song again.

He must have scored. Again.

“Yeah, got you know, don’t I?” Ariel asked, working a quiet scoff out of Killian. “You feel appropriately bad now?”

“Were you trying to make me feel bad?” “Nah, you’ve had enough of that this season, honestly.” “That was actually kind of nice.”

“We’ve circled right back around to cognitive balance. Assume that was my plan along. It makes me sound way smarter than I was planning on.” Killian grinned, digging the toe of his skate into the ice and the air was cold when he inhaled. That felt normal. That felt right. That felt the way it always had.

Because the ice hadn’t changed at all.

It was goddamn ice.

It was what it always was.

He moved.

And he’d never really been one for riding bikes – probably would have scandalized Mrs. Vankald if he’d ever suggested any of them rode a bike anywhere – but Killian assumed this whole thing was kind of similar, muscle memory and second nature and never being able to forget something that was so incredibly important.

The first time he skated on Garden ice he was fourteen and playing in some showcase and he didn’t score a single goal. Liam scored twice.

And he’d been so incredibly pissed off, he was still a little surprised he hadn’t tried to drop gloves with Liam in the middle of the visitor’s locker room.

They’d gotten dressed in the visitor’s locker room.

It was the only time he’d been in that part of the Garden.

He didn’t though. He walked out of the locker room with his skates tied together and hanging over his shoulder and his stick in his left hand, a scowl on his face that probably would have stayed there for, at least, several months if Mr. Vankald hadn’t been waiting for him at the end of the hallway.

Killian had swallowed, glancing up at the man in front of him and not arguing when he held his hand out, an unspoken command to give over the stick. “Let’s take a walk,” Mr. Vankald had said, and they probably weren’t supposed to be there, but no one was going to question them.

They’d ended up in section two hundred and eight.

They stood there for what felt like hours or days or another fourteen years of trying, desperately, to be enough and score enough and Mr. Vankald didn’t say anything at first.

He didn’t give Killian back his stick.

“You didn’t fall,” Mr. Vankald said eventually, not taking his eyes away from the ice.

Killian nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“There’s no guessing. You didn’t.” “I didn’t score, either.” “That doesn’t matter.” Killian glanced at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open and his lips went dry from breathing so heavily. “What?” he balked. “But, that’s...scoring is…” “Not the only part of the game. And not the only part of your game.”

He wanted to argue. He had every reason to argue. Killian scored goals. He skated fast and put the puck in the back of the net and Mr. Vankald still didn’t really understand what icing was at that point.

He didn’t say any of that.

“You think?” Killian asked instead, and Mr. Vankald nodded once. “Because Liam is--” “--Not you, Killian. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s a very good thing. It means you get to play your own game and decide if you even want to play.” “Of course I want to play!”

Mr. Vankald laughed, finally turning his head and Killian didn’t remember much about his dad, just knew he existed somewhere, but, in that moment, none of that really mattered because he was fairly sure the man in front of him was everything a father was supposed to be or could be and he’d figure out what icing was eventually.

“Then you will,” Mr. Vankald said easily. “And you’ll be as good as you can be. You’ll get back on this ice and you’ll skate as fast as I know you can and you’ll probably set some kind of scoring record for whatever team you play for.” “You think?” Killian asked again, voice a little softer and a little more cautious. Mr. Vankald didn’t blink – in the years after that was always the one thing that stood out the most, the easy sense of confidence that seemed to exist around him, as if he was just constantly certain everything would work simply because he deemed it so.

And because Matias Vankald may have been the single most stubborn person on the planet.

That was probably where Killian learned it from.

“I know,” Mr. Vankald promised.

He held the stick back out, lips quirking up when Killian had to shift the skates still hanging off his shoulder to wrap his left hand around it. “I think,” Killian muttered, staring at his feet, and Mr. Vanklad didn’t interrupt him. He waited. And believed. “I think I might want to play here.” “Here?” “Yeah. I mean...the Rangers haven’t won a Cup in awhile. It’d be kind of cool to do that and I know that’s not how the draft works or if I could even get there, but--” “--Hey,” Mr. Vankald cut in sharply, and Killian’s eyes nearly fell out of his head when he met the man’s gaze. Certain. Confident. And absurdly proud of his kid. His kid. “That might not be how the draft normally works, but if anyone’s going to take center ice at the Garden, it’s going to be you. I know it.”

“Not quite center. I play on the wing.” Mr Vankald laughed loudly, head thrown back and eyes closed and Killian stumbled over his own feet when he felt an arm around his shoulders. “That’s a very good point, my boy. Of course. Killian Jones, just right of center ice.”

It wasn’t the last time he’d hug Mr. Vankald – far from it, honestly – but it always felt like something changed then and there were some who said Killian was too confident, too sure of his own talent and his own scoring ability, but he never fell on Garden ice.

And this was no different, skating on ice that was the same as it always was because the game was the same as it always was and Killian wanted as much as he had when he was fourteen.

For his kid this time.

And his family.

And the gaze he could feel on the back of his head as soon as his fingers landed on the top of Ariel’s goddamn shoe.

She cheered when he picked it up, eyes bright and distractingly green and she wasn’t sitting in the seats, but Emma clapped as soon as Killian stood back up.

“Nice move,” she yelled.

“You impressed, Swan?” “If I tell you consistently is that going to do dangerous things to your ego?” “Undoubtedly,” Killian admitted, his lungs finally functioning like normal parts of a human body and Ariel was still shouting about her footwear and how cold the ice was.

“Ah, then better not risk it, huh?” “Probably not.”

Emma’s smile widened, shaking her hair back over her shoulders and it was a testament to everything that Killian hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t alone. Anna rolled her eyes from her seat, feet propped up on the row in front of her and a Rangers t-shirt on that she’d absolutely stolen from Kristoff.

No one except team members got those developmental camp t-shirts.

She was holding Peggy again.

“You didn’t fall over, KJ,” Anna said, not quite yelling, but not quite loud either and she had her phone out as well. He had some very strong suspicions about what Ariel absolutely, positively did not know.

“Yeah, that hasn’t happened in awhile.” “Seems like a good sign.” “Doesn’t it?”

Anna laughed softly, shaking her head like she couldn’t quite believe the scene in front of her and that was fair because she probably knew about that walk several decades before and he’d been blatantly flirting with Emma.

“You might want to give Ariel back her shoe though,” Emma said, nodding back towards the boards and Ariel groaned when Killian shrugged again.

“She can wait two seconds. How come you’re up there?” “I don’t think we’re supposed to be, if I’m being honest.” “Nah, that’s not what I meant. How come you’re not here?” “Where?” “Here,” Killian repeated, and he really should have been ready for it, but the very solid body colliding with his right thigh still managed to take him by surprise. He dropped Ariel’s shoe again. “You’re going to hurt your throat if you keep sighing that dramatically, Red,” he yelled, not bothering to turn around and Will chuckled when she inevitably stuck her tongue out at him again. Matt was already talking into his leg.

And trying to get him to move.

“Dad, can we race?”

“What?” “This is a very unorganized conversation,” Emma muttered, and he wasn’t sure how he heard her over the sound of pucks and Roland and Henry arguing about goalie interference, but no one knew what that was anyway and it probably had something to do with the flirting.

“That’s why we’ve got El,” Anna reasoned. Ariel sighed again. “Ah, damn. KJ, you better act surprised or I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“I mean…” “Do not do that, KJ. I’ll come down on the ice and challenge you to a fight, I swear.” “Please don’t do that,” Emma said. She pulled Peggy away from Anna, letting her feet rest on the ground and Killian resisted the very real urge to tell Ariel his seventeen-month-old daughter managed to keep both her shoes on at all times.

It didn’t matter anyway – Will was doing it.

“She’s not nearly as much of a threat as she thinks she is, Swan,” Killian reasoned, twisting Matt in front of him so he could rest both his forearms on his kid’s shoulders. “I’m serious, though, how come you’re up there? Is there anyone else lurking up there with you?” “Lurking?” “He’s got a very limited vocabulary, Em,” Will yelled. “But if you come down here, you think you can steal some more pucks? Little Vankald, go tell your boyfriend to steal more pucks.” “He’s in charge of the pucks, Scarlet. I don’t think he can steal them.” “Ah, yeah, that’s true.” “Are you telling me you stole pucks this afternoon?” Anna asked pointedly, an eyebrow trick that the entire Vankald family should probably have gotten patented at some point. They were all missing out on a very large residual income.

Will flushed, Roland laughing under his breath when he skated by to grab another puck. “I think she’s got you, Uncle Will.” “You are not the lawyer in this family, Little Vankald,” Will said, and the clack of heels coming down the tunnel was almost too obvious. “I don’t have to answer to you.” “Is that supposed to make a difference?” Ruby asked archly. “And should you be up there, A? That doesn’t look safe at all.” “I wouldn’t be if Cap would bring me my goddamn shoe,” Ariel hissed.

“Did you say shoe?” “It’s a very long story, Lucas,” Killian explained, and Matt was starting to get frustrated they weren’t skating anymore. “I know, kid, I know. We’ll move again in a second, once Mom gets down here.” He glanced up at Emma, her mouth open slightly and he was absolutely a selfish ass because he was absolutely trying to impress her still and always and indefinitely, but she knew that and knew everything and he had some suspicions about who planned Liam and Elsa’s flight.

Again.

Or always.

Something less dramatic than that.

“I really don’t think we’re supposed to be down there,” Emma said. “Technically.” “Technically.” “You’re an incredible rule breaker.” “Yes.” “Wow,” she laughed. “Not even like a little bit of an argument, huh?”

Killian shook his head, hair moving in the process and Matt was trying to stage a passing drill with Roland while also keeping himself plastered to his side. “Seemed kind of pointless, you know? Something, something open book.” “Does that work both ways?” “This is gross,” Will announced, Robin humming in agreement as he tried to get Regina on the ice. Her heels kept slipping. “See, I’ve got the majority, that’s how it works, right, little Vankald?” “You were very quick to point out my lack of law degree, Scarlett,” Anna said. “You don’t get to backtrack on that.” “Ah, worth the effort. I was serious about those pucks though.” “Do you own dirty work.”

Will groaned, but he didn’t argue anymore, skating back towards the far blue line so he could snap his stick against Roland’s ankles. That got him to stop arguing about goalie interference.

At least for now.

“It absolutely works both ways,” Killian guaranteed, suddenly remembering he hadn’t answered Emma’s questions and her smile was drifting away from amused and a bit closer to charmed and that felt like another hat trick and another return to the ice and he hoped he didn’t ever have to do the second one again.

“Good to know. Arthur’s going to be pissed if we take over his practice.” “It’s not much of a practice to begin with. No contact. Voluntary.” “And,” Ruby added, perched next to Ariel on the boards and she’d already taken her own shoes off to avoid a repeat performance. “He’s sitting in the team box with just a questionable amount of paperwork and plans and I think several dozen whiteboards. So it’s not like he’s not aware of what’s going on.” Killian’s laugh seemed to fly out of him, body sagging forward and the kid still standing there did not appreciate it much at all. He didn’t fall over either.

Trends or history or whatever.

It absolutely did not matter.

As long as it kept happening.

Indefinite sounded a lot better in that context.

“See, Swan,” he said, moving an arm around Matt’s middle and resting his chin on top of his head. Anna took a picture. “No reason to object now.” “C’mon Mom,” Matt yelled. “You can race too!”

Killian widened his eyes, skating backwards and he didn’t let go of Matt, pulling him across the ice with laughter ringing in the air around him. Emma bit her lip. “If we all get fined for this, I’m going to make Scarlet pay for it,” she said.

“That’s totally fair.” “That’s not fair at all,” Will argued, but Emma was already moving and Anna might have been cackling, thumb hitting against her phone screen so quickly it was almost a blur in whatever section they were actually standing in.

“I think you’ve just gotten lawyer’ed, Scarlet.” “And that doesn’t make sense!” “Too late, don’t care!”

It took less than ten minutes for Emma and Anna to get to ice-level, but it felt like several lifetimes and Killian was absolutely impatient and he couldn’t stop moving. Neither could Matt, a fact both Robin and Will made sure to point out several times.

“Is this what he was like when he was a kid?” Robin asked when Anna swung her legs over the boards. “Wow, that was actually a pretty impressive move.” “Do not go all prehistoric on me, Locksley,” Anna warned. “I know how to get on the ice. And yes, to answer your question. Although Matt’s way more adorable than KJ ever was.” “That’s rude, Banana,” Killian muttered, Emma swatting his hand away when she moved onto the boards. He grinned.

“Also your kid is a way better skater at four--”

“--Four and a half,” Matt shouted. He nearly lost his balance when he tried to jump on his skates, an indignant look on his face that would have made all of them laugh if they weren’t too busy trying to make sure he didn’t fall over.

Roland’s hand landed on his back, just under the name between his shoulder blades and it could not have been healthy for all of them to be this emotional. Or supportive. It was definitely supportive.

That sounded better in this context too.

“Easy, Mattie,” Roland muttered, Henry a few feet away with his gloves already off like that would make it easier to catch one or both of them.

Killian glanced at Emma, her lips pressed together tightly like she was trying to avoid biting them. He skated half an inch to his right, hand back out and she took it that time, fingers lacing through his at the same time both Will and Robin groaned.

“Aw, shut up,” Emma mumbled, squeezing Killian’s hand and Ariel hadn’t ever tried to put her shoe back on.

Killian was going to bring that up later too.

“Four and a half,” Anna repeated. She had to hold onto Will when she reached forward to brush the hair out of Matt’s eyes, a move neither one of them entirely appreciated. “And still a better skater than KJ was when he was ten.” “I’d been playing for two years at that point,” Killian argued.

“Your kid is four and a half.” “You are just a fountain of support today, aren’t you, Banana?” She flashed him a grin, pushing off Will to glide across the ice and she didn’t fall over either. “Someone better have recorded that, I want to make sure I can brag to Liam and El when they get here.” “You know, you are absolutely terrible at keeping secrets,” Ruby muttered. She had her phone out. Or what Killian thought was her phone. “And Scarlet’s going to get a ton of new followers for these painfully adorable Instagram videos.” “Wait, what?” Will asked sharply.

Robin answered before Ruby could. “Your password is the easiest thing to break into in the world. Rol figured it out in two seconds.”

“Aw, Dad, c’mon,” Roland groaned, backing away from Will before he could check his ankles again. “But seriously Uncle Will, back to back and your number is just…” “Really, really easy to hack,” Henry finished.

“Yeah, exactly.” Ruby was cackling, Ariel wiping away tears and Emma hadn’t ever let go of Killian’s hand, slumping against his side a bit until he was supporting both her and Matt and he couldn't come up with a single reason to argue.

“This is a good thing, Scarlet,” Ruby continued. “I’ve got the ability to fix your sometimes questionable Instagram choices, plus record things for you when your phone is--” “--In my locker,” Will growled. “This is practice.” “Ok, but voluntary. And now we can record for posterity and you can keep bragging to Cap about your social media influence. Plus it’s great for the fans, right Em?”

Emma shrugged. “She’s kind of got a point.” “I hate both of you,” Will mumbled. “You better not delete any of my photos, Lucas.”

“How come Belle hasn’t ever told you to fix your passwords?” Henry asked. “She’s in charge of all that research and everything uptown. She knows how the internet works.” “Because my Instagram password is not the most important thing she’s got to deal with,” Will countered. “And how come your Instagram is just pictures of you and that girl from Casino Night? Who, let the record show, I know you were spotted with in several dark corners after the season ender.”

The whole lot of them exploded into laughter and shouts and both Regina and Robin were already asking questions – any worry about her heels and their ability to stay on the ice forgotten as soon as Henry blushed.

“Ok, that sentence isn’t even grammatically correct,” Henry mumbled, but the words got a bit lost when he was clearly trying to stare through the ice under his skates.

Will clicked his tongue. “You picking up corner tips from Cap and Emma?” “Jesus, Scarlet,” Killian yelled. Henry’s face, somehow, got redder.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys don’t even have to worry about corners anymore. You’re just like...stupid into each other in public at all times.” “Sneaking out of Casino Night,” Ariel coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth for emphasis and smiling when Killian glared at her. “If you even think about telling me you’re going to blow off PT once this offseason, Cap, I’ll get on this ice and kick you the shins.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, Emma’s body shaking against his and Peggy was trying to get on the ice. Or at least on the ground. The wobbling and weebling were almost consistently confident steps now and the baby locks on the lower cabinets in the kitchen didn’t know what hit them in the last few weeks.

She kept yanking on them like she was offended they wouldn’t immediately do her bidding.

“We didn’t really sneak,” Emma admitted, Ruby’s eyes widening and Robin’s knees bending when he laughed. “It wasn’t really a secret.” Ariel hummed. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. At least your kids are super cute and social media ready.” “And your threat is empty because you won’t put your shoes back on,” Robin pointed out.

“Eh, yeah, true, I guess. But only one shoe.” “You all know this is incredibly strange, yes?” Regina asked, earning a general hum of agreement and acceptance and she rolled her eyes towards the scoreboard that was inexplicably on for voluntary skate. Killian was fairly certain Arthur had just told someone to turn it on.

“Can we skate now?” Matt asked again, standing at the red line with a stick that was actually made for him. “I want to skate.”

“Ah, well, who are we to argue that, huh?” Killian laughed. He tapped his thumb against Emma’s wrist, landing just above her laces, before pushing forward, another easy movement that felt a bit like breathing, but that metaphor lost some of its weight when his lungs had been refusing to work earlier.

“Who you going to race against, mini-Jones?” Ruby asked. She was already looking at Roland, an expression on her face that had him rolling his eyes and mumbling I know, Rubes, I know, don’t go that fast under his breath.

“Can’t I skate with you, Dad?” Matt asked, and Killian was not ready for that. At all.

He should have been, should have expected it as much as he knew his four and a half year old kid still couldn’t really stop and they’d get to that part eventually, but his heart didn’t care and his lungs didn’t care and his eyes darted back towards Emma’s as soon as the question was out of Matt’s mouth.

She smiled. Again. Or still was. And either or were both pretty goddamn fantastic options.

“Sure, Mattie,” Killian said. “Blue lines?” Matt scrunched his nose – a perfect imitation of Emma that had several members of the New York Rangers peanut gallery practically guffawing from the bench. Killian crouched down, steady on skates and breathing evenly and he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“You want to go fast, huh?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matt said, rushing over the words until they were one enormous syllable of excitement and a complete inability to stop. “Can we?” “Absolutely.”

“Killian,” Emma muttered, at the same time both Will and Robin groaned “Cap” and he shook his head deftly.

“It’s fine, love. I’m fine.” “Cap, you couldn't get away from the bench ten minutes ago,” Will said, but Robin narrowed his eyes slightly and Killian got the distinct impression he was trying to read his mind. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, slinging an arm around Regina’s shoulders and nodding.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” Robin promised. Emma gaped at him. “You can check me very hard if you’re wrong. No questions asked.” “Yeah, I will not just check you,” Emma said.

“I’ll probably help,” Regina admitted.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian said again, standing back up and pulling the stick out of Matt’s hand. “Alright, kid listen. You’ve got to hold onto the blade, ok?” Emma’s eyes widened, mouth opening to protest, but Killian shook his head again and she’d let Anna help Peggy stand on the ice at some point. “If this ends badly, I’m going to let David arrest you later on tonight,” she muttered. “In front of your whole family.” “That’s reasonable.”

She groaned, but kissed him back when he ducked his head.

“Ok, Mattie,” Killian continued, pulling the stick against his side and he wasn’t entirely sure this would work, but he was somewhere in the realm of hopeful and skating and Emma had gotten Elsa and Liam to fly to New York again. And he wanted to go fast too. “You hold onto the blade and don’t let go. Got it? We’ll go around the rink and then I will hopefully still be in shape.” “Oh my God, Cap, you are not helping your cause,” Ariel groaned, pulling Dylan closer to her.

He ignored her. “Got it, Mattie?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, let’s skate.” Killian nodded, gaze darting back towards Emma and she rolled her eyes when he winked, but he knew he didn’t imagine the hint of color in her cheeks or the way her fingers drifted towards her left wrist. He pushed off, a flush of adrenaline and experience and his lungs didn’t explode as soon as his skates moved over the ice, so he figured that was several steps in the right direction.

And it didn’t really take long to pick up speed – it never did at the Garden, moving over the emblem at center ice with practiced ease and years of doing just that and it kind of felt like his heart was beating in his ears, but he’d felt that way several decades before too.

Because it was the Garden and the taglines were there for a reason and the scoreboard was still kind of intimidating even after back to back Stanley Cups.

But it was also his and Killian had always been absurdly possessive of this team and this city and this ice and how easy it had been to find a rhythm on it. It didn’t take long to get back to that, legs moving and the stick was digging into his side, but pain was some kind of abstract concept at this point and they both kept their edge through the first turn.

It was the second one that did them in.

Killian turned, the back of his blade digging into the ice and that was not how that was supposed to work. His kid wasn’t supposed to slam into his back either and, really, they needed to pay more attention to stopping because the whole thing ended with the goddamn hockey stick digging into what might have been one of his kidneys and both he and Matt ended up in a heap next to an Enterprise car rental ad on the boards.

Killian groaned, head dropping back onto the ice and it was fucking freezing because it ice and there was a kid draped over his chest.

A laughing kid.

A very clearly happy kid.

“Killian,” Emma yelled, a note of terror in her voice that left several pounds of guilt sitting in his stomach. He couldn’t sit up, though, Matt still laughing in his ear with both arms wrapped around his middle and the stick was somewhere.

He hoped it was broken.

Emma couldn't really stop either when she slid towards them, hands flying up against the glass and body twisted above both Killian and Matt. Her shoulders heaved when she tried to take a deep breath.

“Mom, did you see that?” Matt asked, a knee in Killian’s hip when he moved. He was sitting on the ice. “We went so fast!”

Emma’s mouth dropped, more shouts coming and skates moving and Roland got there before anyone else did. “Are you ok, Hook?” he asked quickly.

Killian nodded, not able to stop the smile on his face and his eyes flickered towards Emma when she scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled, crouching down to try and make sure Matt’s limbs didn’t inflict anymore damage.

“Did we impress you, Swan?” “I hate you.” “I find that very difficult to believe.”

“You are the most stupid man I’ve ever met.” “Ask Henry about that sentence structure.”

“I’m serious about getting David to arrest you.” “Nah,” Killian argued, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and she huffed when one of her legs slipped underneath her. “I’m fine, Swan. We went very fast. Come here.”

Emma shook her head, lips a straight line and she was trying very hard to stay frustrated. Killian smiled and moved his eyebrows and Roland might have made some kind of noise of disgust. “I’m not sitting on this ice with you,” she said. “That’s not happening.” “Eh…”

She yelped when his free hand moved around her waist, pulling her onto his thighs and she wasn’t actually sitting on the ice, a fact he was more than willing to point out several dozen times if it got her to kiss him in the middle of the ice. “Lost my edge,” Killian muttered, pressing the words against the side of Emma’s jaw and she didn’t argue about the seating arrangements once. Her fingers moved into his hair instead.

Which, really, felt a little like cheating, but Killian wasn’t going to argue that and Ruby still had a phone in her hand.

“Eighty gazillion hits,” she said. “At least.”

“Is that the technical term for it, Lucas?” “You don’t get to try and charm me, Cap. I’m not married to you. You alright mini-Jones?” Matt nodded enthusiastically, already trying to get back up. “Did you see how fast Dad and I went, Ru?” “I did. And so did those eighty gazillion hits.” “Technical term,” Robin muttered. “Please don’t check me later, Emma.” She saluted, still on Killian's legs with an arm around her waist. Matt couldn’t find his balance again, feet slipping and sliding underneath him and the knees of his pants were probably beyond repair at this point.

He didn’t stop.

And that did something absolutely absurd to every single inch of Killian and every part of his soul and he felt Emma take a deep breath against him.

“One foot at a time, Mattie,” Killian said, holding his hand out and letting him use his shoulder as leverage. Roland kept hovering a few inches away. “You get back up and we’ll try skating again.” “Just maybe not that fast,” Emma mumbled.

“Mom,” Matt whined, but if Killian had some kind of pre-grounding face, then she had her own expression fine tuned and every single person in the Garden knew it.

“We’ve got to work on that one-timer anyway,” Roland said. That was enough to distract from racing for the moment. “Then you can brag to all those other kids at graduation tomorrow.” “Yes, that’s exactly what we’re trying to do,” Killian said.

“Are we not?”

“We absolutely are,” Emma answered, pushing against his chest to stand back up and he didn’t really need help getting back to his feet, but her hand felt incredibly good in his and he was definitely the most selfish person in New York.

Matt scored twice on Henry and three times on Will and only some of those were gimme goals and he absolutely bragged to the entire graduating class of Columbus Pre-School the next morning.

Or Killian assumed he did – it was difficult to hear over the cheering from the questionably loud and questionably large family in the back corner of the auditorium, all of them with phones out and Henry and Roland had made a sign and Emma might have cried, but she’d never admit to it and her hand didn’t leave Killian’s once.

“You know,” Liam said later, sitting on the kitchen counter in the brownstone with a drink in one hand and eyes that kept darting towards the door like he was waiting to be grounded. “I heard you couldn’t quite keep your edge on the ice yesterday, little brother.” Killian threw a pillow at Anna. He had no idea why there was a pillow in the kitchen. He was fairly certain it had something to do with the makeshift hockey game that was currently going on in the hallways and Mrs. Vankald might have actually been keeping score.

“It was on the internet, KJ,” Anna yelled. “You do not get to be mad about this.” “That is true,” Elsa added. She threw her legs over Anna’s outstretched ones, ignoring the cry of indignation it earned her and smiled like several metaphorical cats.

“She told you anyway, didn’t she?” Killian asked. Elsa nodded.

“Aw, c’mon, that’s not fair at all,” Anna cried.

Liam groaned. “You think you can bring it down, like, several decibels? Or is that just not part of your biological makeup?” “You’re just worried what Mom is going to say when she sees you sitting on the counter.” “That’s not true at all.” “Eh,” Elsa and Killian said at the same time. “Move over,” Killian added, kicking the refrigerator closed behind him and there wasn’t really that much room on the counter, but most of the chairs had been sacrificed to the hockey game.

They were probably all broken by now.

“You guys are all the worst,” Liam muttered. “And Killian was just trying to impress Emma yesterday, let’s not kid ourselves.” “It absolutely did not work,” Emma said, appearing in the doorway suddenly and Killian knew the tips of his ears had gone red. Elsa laughed.

“It’s wrong to just lie like that, Swan. It totally worked.” “You are way too confident for your own good.” “Nah, that’s historic KJ,” Elsa muttered as Emma moved across the room, tapping her finger on his knee so she could step between his legs.

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” Emma said. She didn’t turn around, didn’t say the rest of the words that loud, but they seemed to find their way into his very center and he needed to stop thinking about his soul so often. It was kind of morbid.

Or maybe a little romantic and that was probably more accurate where Emma was concerned.

He kissed her hair.

“Getting there though,” Emma added, and Killian refused to meet the gaze of anyone who grew up in that brownstone, far too certain of their expressions and their feelings and Anna sniffled.

“That’s absurdly emotional, Banana.” “Whatever,” she snapped. “Don’t act like you weren’t getting teary-eyed when Matt actually flipped his tassel.” “We practiced that.” “And that doesn't surprise me at all. You going to do the same thing for Pegs and all your inevitably cute kids?” “Are you aware of more?” Please,” Elsa said, waving a hand in Anna’s direction when her heel dug into her sister’s shin. “You guys are like....super parents.” “El, you’re, like, in charge of the entire state of Colorado,” Emma pointed out. Her voice shook a little though and one of her hands had moved back towards Killian’s leg, fingers gripping a bit tighter than usual. He rested his own hand on her shoulder.

“Only if she decides to actually run,” Liam mumbled. Elsa groaned.

“We were going to wait until later this week. We didn’t want to steal Matt’s thunder! This was not part of the plan, KJ.” “And what, exactly, was the plan, El?” She flushed, clicking her tongue, but she didn’t move her legs either and the footsteps in the hallway appeared to be waiting. Or eavesdropping. “To maybe run for the state house,” Elsa said quickly, and Emma didn’t screech, but Anna did and they both clapped their hands over their mouth.

“She’s definitely going to,” Liam said, a picture of certainty and support and they were all a bunch of stubborn idiots.

Elsa shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I am, but we weren’t trying to do this today. Anna and I had a whole announcement plan and...ah, damn.” “Remember this when you tell me I’m the worst secret keeper in this family, KJ,” Anna grinned.

“And that’s totally Reese’s,” Emma added.

Killian looked at her – both Anna and Elsa flushing red and tapping their fingers on the kitchen table and the floor creaked in the hallway. One of the kids shouted about offsides around the corner. “You’re staying aren’t you?” he asked, and she slumped in her chair.

“It’s no fun if you just know.” “Don’t ever play poker.” “Whatever.” “Honestly, Banana. Are you? For real?” “I mean, kind of,” Anna said. “I’m still going to be traveling, but Condé Nast is apparently defying the expectation of all magazines and actually hiring a staffer and you guys could probably use a babysitter and, so...yeah, I’m staying.”

He couldn’t move with Emma still standing in between his legs, but it didn’t really feel like that kind of moment and they all seemed to be blinking quite a bit.

Until Emma mumbled “I won the bet.”

Liam almost fell off the counter.

“How much?” Elsa asked. “And with who?” “Most of the first line. Rook got a little technical because he thought she’d stay, but wouldn’t say it until after the playoffs ended, and I thought that was stupid. Also I’d really like to take you up on those babysitting offers.” Anna beamed. “Deal.”

The floorboards creaked again, sure footsteps turning the corner and Mr. Vankald didn’t blink when he saw all of them sitting in the kitchen. “You two better get off of there before you do damage to the marble or your mother sees you.” And it wasn’t the first time that had happened – probably wouldn’t be the last, honestly, – but Emma’s hand moved back to Killian’s knee and he kissed her hair again and Liam nodded quickly, like that kind of thing happened every day.

Mr. Vankald was not the kind of guy who made mistakes.

He knew what he’d said.

And he’d meant it.

“Totally going to get grounded,” Anna mumbled, wiping under her eye.

“Also,” Mr. Vankald added, “your presence is all being demanded upstairs. The hallways a little wider up there, so we figured it was safer to start playing there.” “We weren’t worried about the stairs?” Liam asked, but his feet were already back on the ground and he was probably plotting plays and defensive schemes.

“Not if you lot make sure nothing happens.” “Sure, Mr. V.” Mr. Vankald nodded, the smile on his face feeling as natural as the pickup hockey game happening on the second floor and Emma smiled when she turned on Killian. “You want to go play?” she asked.

“Only if I can score on Liam.” Liam scoffed. “Yeah, I’d like to see you try.” He did. Twice. And Matt talked about nothing else for the rest of the summer.

[jonwongton]

KCON LA 2019 Recap

Wow what an insane three days. My expectations were pretty low from KCON NY but I was really impressed by some of the events they had at the convention.

I'm just gonna use everyone's real names in this because it's too hard to remember everyone's handles.

Thursday, August 15th

After work, I went home, made dinner, packed up, and then went straight to the airport. The flight from San Jose to Burbank is literally an hour gate to gate (45 minutes of flight time lol) so it was a super short flight. The only pressing thing was that some of my discord buddies were doing karaoke in ktown so I really didn't want to miss out on that. My mvp sister came to the airport to pick up all my stuff and I ubered straight to the karaoke place to see everyone (I forgot to take pictures though :(). Jordan started me off with Rough and after they sang a ton of other girl group songs, I did Red Flavor and Energetic. We didn't want to go too hard before the convention even started so we all decided to meet at the convention before noon. The izone fanclub meeting was at noon and the fromis_9 fanclub meeting was at three, so I definitely wanted to go to both (all six moderators for the two fanclub meets are in the group I went with).

Friday, August 16th

I woke up at like 9 and I went with Cyn to go get Trieu Chau noodles, which tasted even better than I remember.

Everyone wanted to get lunch in between the fanclub meetings but I don't trust eating in big groups and I'm pretty good at not eating for long periods of time in case anything happens.

I got to the convention at around noon, but it took me around half an hour to check-in because my dumb ass was so lost. I'm super glad the lady that gave me my wristband let me tighten it myself just so I could take it off freely between the three days. I also went to the merchandise pick-up and got my two fromis_9 slogans and a loona slogan. I ran over to the izone fanclub meeting right after.

There were a ton wizones there and they played three rounds of games through kahoot guessing these random ass facts I don't even think a hardcore wizone would know. We then did the Violetta and La Via En Rose fanchants and it ended there. After that I walked out with Nick and Danny and we went to the mob so they could try buying their izone and itzy hi-touches.

So the mob in LA was batshit insane and the hi-touches were marked up SOOO much higher than I ever would have guessed. An A1 pack is $170 and it comes with one hi-touch, two audiences, and a red carpet pass (ignore the red carpet pass I don't think anyone cares about that). Stray Kids/Ateez hi-touches were easily going for $300, and I heard someone got really desperate and dropped $700 for her Ateez hi-touch. Out of the nine hi-touches that happened (should have been ten but rip Chung Ha) my feel for the prices went something along the lines of (+ their average price from what I saw)

Stray Kids ($350) > Ateez ($300) >> Izone ($200) >>> Itzy ($150) >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> SF9/Mamamoo ($100) >>>>>>>> Momoland ($75) >>>>> N.Flying ($50) >>>>>>>>>>> Verivery ($40)

Yeah people are insane. And with the audiences I'm pretty sure you have a solid 7/9 chance to make a huge profit. If you posted in the Facebook group and did the "dm me your best offer" I'm pretty sure you'd be able to sell your Stray Kids hi-touch for $600+. People were even buying Stray kids audiences for $100 like are you serious...

The supply and demand was also super polarized. We waited for almost an hour and not even a single person had an itzy/izone hi-touch for sale, yet there were probably at least 10 people willing to drop a nontrivial amount of money for anyone that came up. If you're willing to pay this much money to touch a few groups, diamond doesn't sound that bad anymore (all-access hi-touch, plat only gets 2).

I stood around and talked until like 2:30 until making my way to the fromis_9 fanclub meet. I think loona was at star square at the time so the turn out was even smaller than New York imo.

(decorating the stage with my signs)

We played two kahoot games and I actually won the guess the song after only hearing one second of it. There were nine questions and I legitimately knew seven of them, but they used the same questions in New York so I knew the last two were Youth (Hayoung's cover)/From Now (Jiwon's and Nakyung's OST song). That won me a medium size KCON LA 2019 shirt, but that was just a consolation prize. fromis_9 hadn't even left Korea yet so there's no way we could get signed merch. We then did the Love Bomb/Fun/Love Rum Pum Pum fanchants. I didn't go that hard on Love Bomb, but MVP Danny helped me hold my phone so I went full blast on Fun and Love RumPumPum. Ngl the Love RumPumPum fanchant was literally impossible unless you already knew it because the timings are so strange and no one can actually read romanized Korean fast enough (the subs didn't have the hangul). I'm kinda the fanchant guy so I really wanted to drop all that Korean practice at this opportunity.

After the fanclub meet, I finally got a chance to walk around the convention. This was my first KCON LA, but I heard in previous rooms they only got half the expo hall but this year they got the whole thing. Everything was spaced out pretty well and there was a ton more to do than in NY.

I walked around for a bit, took some pictures, and then sat on a bench to hang out with Danny for like an hour since all the others went to go line up for KCON Rookies (there had to have been at least 1.5k people waiting).

(that’s half the line)

All memes aside, it's nice to actually get to know some of the back stories behind some other friends. Danny and I realized we both ulted GFriend and fromis_9 and how willing we are to just throw money at both groups lol. I gave the extra fromis_9 slogan towel I ordered to my new friend and he left for Rookies since he was plat and had priority entrance. I made one more lap around the convention, said hi to an old friend, and then called an Uber to get dinner with my sister and two college friends.

It was a pretty fancy Japanese dinner that was definitely not worth it, but we got Salt and Straw after and that was awesome.

We walked back to the apartment of two other people that joined us, and I left for Dan Sung Sa to meet up with the rest of the group after Rookies. I finally got to see my buddy Alex (he got diamond so he was busy milking the perks the whole day), ate some good food, and I drank a bit more than I should have.

After dinner #2, I ubered back to Cyn's and planned to wake up fairly early to go to LAX.

Saturday August 17th

fromis_9 took off on their flight from Incheon at around 8pm our time, so they would be landing at around 10am PDT. The izone artist engagement happened to be at around the same time (11am, a ton of people in the group at hard core wizones), so only a few of us decided to go to LAX. I took an Uber to the airbnb and then we all went to LAX together. We also heard Stray Kids, Mamamoo, and Verivery were on the same flight, so we'd coincidentally get to see a ton of idols. At the airport, I met some fans from other discord servers and we just sat around waiting for them to come out of the special exit.

A lot of the group went on Thursday to greet loona/izone at the airport, but a ton of them didn't even get to see them because they were waiting at the wrong exit. I kinda piggy-backed off their experience and made sure I was sitting at the right one.

After standing around for quite a bit, everyone formed two huge lines waiting to greet them. I wanted to stick out my hand for them to touch, hold up my Jiheon sign, and try recording it at the same time, but I only have two hands. I ended up placing my phone in front of the Jiheon sign and keeping my right hand free. They walked out super fast, but Jiheon pointed at me and laughed at my sign. It really only lasted 10 seconds, and I felt pretty mission-accomplished knowing Jiheon saw my sign at least once. Jiwon lead the line and I keep forgetting how smol she is. (I’ll post the video I got eventually).

The next artist that came out was Stray Kids, and they were super nice and waved at us. All hell broke loose When Mamamoo came out like I'm genuinely surprised the fans there were that crazy. First of all, they are SOOOOOOOOOOO short. I've seen pictures of Mamamoo standing next to GFriend and while they all tease Eunha for being 5'4", she's still taller then Solar/Moonbyul/Hwasa. The fans chased after the van and started screaming Mamamoo for a few minutes before dispersing. At this point, most people left, but out of no where, N.Flying also exited the airport. Ngl, I thought it was gonna be Verivery but when I only saw four members I made the connection. I was looking at the footage I recorded of fromis_9 that I couldn't record N.Flying coming out fast enough. There was nothing left to do so my group just ubered back to the LA Convention Center. Tbh at this point, this trip was already better than all of KCON NY minus what happened at Washington Square Park because I already got to see fromis_9 in person. They made 0 appearances at the NY convention and the day I went to the airport, they weren't even flying out so at this point, the trip was already worth it.

It was around 12:30pm when we got to the convention, and I was with all three fromis_9 fanclub moderators, so they got to go through the staff entrance while I wanted in the pleb line. Once I made it into the convention center, I rushed over to the KCON beauty station where loona was having a meet and greet (started at 12:40pm). There were SO many people and even on my tiptoes I could only catch the top half of the screen, though if I held my phone up I could record what was happening.

A few people moved out of the way and I could kinda see Haseul's and Choerry's faces but there were so many orbits. I couldn't really hear what they were saying, but every time Chuu said something, the orbits there were roaring (she is undisputedly the most popular member among the crowd). They ended up just talking about some beauty tips and how they do their makeup, so I kinda knew what to expect when fromis_9 were coming tomorrow.

The meet and greet ended on time around 1:10pm, and at this point, I was starving since I hadn't eaten the whole day. We were gonna go to the food trucks to get food but we got the inside scoop that izone was going to be making an appearance at the Olive Young booth. A huge wall of people were already forming, but I decided to wait on the left wing where there were still cameras but much fewer people. I ended up recording the entire segment. We were trying to not be obnoxious yelling their names when they were doing something, but the entire crowd would call a member in unison until they did a little dance for us. Chaeyeon really won my heart with her fan service and Yujin gave us a ton of attention too. The cameraman there actually told us to cheer for them louder so he could record us LOL.

It was around 2pm now, so we waited around for more people to gather and we all headed to the food trucks. The street food they had was obviously overpriced but pretty good compared to the normal food they'd have in the convention center.

There was nothing interesting left on the schedule for me, so I just walked around the convention center looking for something to do. I heard some screaming around the KCON stage, so I sprinted over and caught N.Flying's appearance. They were presenting the winner of some Cover Star K award, but the more interesting part is that they sang a snippet of Rooftop for us.

Kyla tweeted that she'd be at the convention center, so a group of us walked around to places we thought she'd be at, but we didn't end up finding her. I walked back into the convention center and saw another mob at the Star Square, and it turns out N.Flying was reading off horoscopes and taking pictures with the fans that won their meet and greet.

After that, I stood with James in the middle of the convention, and literally just so happened to bump into a group of maybe 30 people trying to meet up with Kyla (they nominated one person to DM Kyla on twitter). I followed this group around and we ended up moving to three different places until we found a spot that was fairly empty. I had a feeling Kyla was coming soon, and I made sure James and I were standing closest to the entrance. Kyla appeared with some other friends and when we formed a line get a picture with her, James and I were in front lol (I went second). She recorded a video message to a fan's friend that couldn't be there, and I told her she was amazing and such an inspirational figure in the kpop community. I got a hug and a picture with her.

It was like 5pm now, so I broke off from everyone and sat at a table to drink some water, recharge, and plan out my schedule for the rest of the day and for tomorrow. At around 6pm, I walked over to my friend's hotel a block away from the Staples Center, and we sat around just hanging out before the concert. Nick showed me his izone lightsticks (yes multiple, apparently wizones customize a lightstick for each member) and Brian showed me his entire kpop photocard set (there were so many holy shit). Since we were all seated tonight, we just left the hotel at around 7:15pm and got in around 7:30pm for the preshow. The free ticket I got was part of a set of three, so the two people I was sitting with were also friends of the person I knew.

The view I got was also amazing, I'm surprised at how good P2 was (I would have taken this over P1 because P1 is kinda lower than I'd like). I'm not really invested into AB6IX, Ateez, or SF9, but when Loona came out I lost my shit oh my god they were amazing. AND I FINALLY GOT TO SEE LOVE PAINT LIVE. One of my favorite songs of all time performed by OT5. I was kinda sad Nu'est did real love true love instead of look because look is my #2 song by them, but I guess they couldn't repeat the set list from NY.

After the concert, we split up into Ubers and went to BCD, which had a ridiculous wait because we were definitely not the only ones going after the concert. Everyone was starving and tired, but I'm pretty sure izone and loona knocked us all off our feet. 

We planned to line up for P1 GA at around 8am and all parted ways. I was already super tired at this point, but Saturday was supposed to be the easy day compared to Sunday when fromis_9 would be appearing

Saturday August 17th

I got up around 7:30am and ubered back to the convention center, though I was late as hell and had sprint to join my friends standing in line. Actually I was so late that I had to make up some excuse of going to the bathroom and returning to my "spot in line". I got 596, but my friends that did GA yesterday said they had 400 and still got an amazing view.

I wasn't too worried about it since I wasn't going to camp out overnight and I had buddies that knew what they were doing. It was around 9:45am, so David gave me his convention pass so I could get staff entry into the convention (he was going back to his airbnb to grab some stuff).

We had enough passes to go around so I think five of us entered the convention early and went to the KCON message board to write some nice things. I wrote something super similar to what I did in NY, and then wrote something for GFriend somewhere else.

(shoutout to Anh for spelling Gyuri’s name wrong)

While I was finishing up my message for GFriend, I saw people sprinting into the convention center and Jordan started screaming my name to come over. I followed my instinct and sprinted towards him, and we got front row seats at the KCON beauty station. There were around 20 other people sprinting too, and I was actually pushed to the side by two girls that got there first. I had no idea people would come three and a half hours for fromis_9, but I think it's because people figured out how to do it with Loona. I befriended the two girls next to me since we'd be stuck together for a while, and I realized they were angels.

I even got to push down other people's stuff so I could make room for Danny and Alex to sit front row with my group since they were plat/dia but didn't get early convention access. At around 11:30am, I left with Stephen to go get food, and I really got to know his back story too. It was mainly just sitting around until 1:30pm when fromis_9 would make their appearance. During our wait, we all signed Alex's sign which he was going to try and hand off to a member during the concert.

To fromis_9,

Thank you so much for coming to KCON LA 2019. Starting from last year until now, listening to fromis_9′s songs or watching your videos have given me a lot of strength. That motivated me to teach myself a new language and inspired me to always be a better person than I was yesterday. I’ll always cheer you on and love you. Shall we be together until the very end? Fighting!

- American Flover Jonathan

1:30pm eventually came around and fromis_9 made their appearance. I recorded the entire segment here, front row and dead center :). I was shaking before they came out, but if I hadn't seen them as close as I did in Washington Square Park, I think I would have been shaking even more. Saerom walked out and waved at me, Jiheon walked out, saw my sign, gave me the same reaction as she did at the airport (lol), and I was able to get waves from all the other members (Nakyung, Jiwon, Jisun, Gyuri, and Chaeyoung for sure). Throughout their entire appearance, we were calling them by their nicknames during their downtime, flashing hearts at them, smiling, and these nine angels did the same back to us. At the end of the performance, I jumped out of my seat seeing if I could hi-five them, but Nakyung waved at me, Saerom waved at me, I asked Hayoung if she remembered me from New York (she did!), and told Gyuri she was beautiful for Ice (and for me because she's gorgeous). Honestly, the convention could have ended there, but we still had a concert to go afterwards. It was around 2pm and people wanted to go get food, but we heard Mamamoo was going to make an appearance at 2:50pm so we stood around waiting for 50 minutes. They showed up, I once again confirmed they were super short and everyone left to go get something to eat. I already ate earlier and had no plans of eating for the concert, so I actually broke off from the group to go to a panel.

I was definitely chasing idols this weekend but there were some panels I was interested in. The one I wanted to go to at 3:30pm was the "how to study/work in Korea", so I recharged by myself for around 30 minutes and went there.

I asked the presenter a ton of questions (she was super nice), and then left a bit early to join a few others at the Verivery fanclub meeting (we had nothing else to do).

I tried meeting up with the guy which I reserved a banner from, but I couldn't find him around the convention anywhere. It was around 5pm, so I left the convention once and for all and went back to my friend's hotel to wait until the GA concert queue up at 6pm. At this point, I was tired as hell and somewhat scared my phone battery was gonna die because I was at 44% (I used 20% to record the 25 min fromis_9 appearance). Luckily he had a charger so I got up to 55%. We just chatted about how excited for the concert we were and where we were gonna sprint to.

At 5:50pm, we left to the GA entrance and tried cutting in line, but got caught because some girl snitched on us lol. The first security guard told us "we should go to the right place in line" but just left, but then his supervisor was the actual person that kicked us out. We had to go through security and get three additional wristbands before we could actually start sprinting toward the stage. The 10/10 spot we wanted was taken, but I was really happy with the final spot we got because any closer and I wouldn't be able to see over the stage.

The concert was absolutely amazing. I was familiar with every group that was performing so there was almost no song where I wasn't super hype. Miroh lived up to the hype and I think the entire stadium was shaking and yelled stray kids together. I did the entire Fun! and Love RumPumPum fanchants so loud people in the pit pushed my forward to the barricade and the guy next to me offered to hold my camera so I could finish off Love Bomb (my recording). Seventeen was also insane, we got Good To Me (I don't think non carats knew the song that well but I lost my shit because I loved it way more than Home), Adore U, Clap, and the infamous Aju Nice (which was insane). I think the third encore was a little unnecessary, but we were all losing our shit because it was so fun.

During the encore stage, I was waving my Jiheon sign, and Chaeyoung walked over and saw it. She had to tap Megan for a solid 5 seconds before she also noticed but I was already super content because they had seen my signs three times (LAX, at beauty, and at the concert). Once we gathered together, we all jumped on Alex because Jiheon had taken the sign we all wrote messages on and then took a group picture.

We were all super shook outside, and I was kinda ready for my KCON experience to end here so even if they wanted to go out to eat, I was ready to Uber back to Cyn's and call it a night. I said my final good-byes to everyone (everyone got a super tight hug) and headed back.

---

I can’t believe I got to see fromis_9 twice in a year. I’ve been a pretty big fan of kpop since 2015, but I’ve never materialized this hobby until fromis_9 summoned me to KCON NY a month ago, and there was no way I wasn’t going to LA to see them again. I already had some regrets not going to LA last year and seeing how much fun they had in their behind the scenes videos, so I wanted a story of my own. So I guess my identity as a fan is really as a fromis_9/GFriend ult now, but I still refuse to pick a bias (I was probably asked like thirty times who my fromis_9/GFriend biases were this weekend...). They really are angels, and while it wasn’t perfect (no artist engagement, messed up some recording etc.), I’m still so happy I got to meet them.

On a side note, loona is amazing. They were so sweet in person, their performances were incredible, and that’s really a reminder that I need to go through the rest of their pre-debut tracks I haven’t listened to yet.

I also did some math and I’m pretty sure if you like the groups on both days, platinum is definitely worth it (diamond if your thing is touching all the artists, but it’s hard to get your full money’s worth giving how fast everything goes and how bad KCON is at announcing everything).

Platinum was 1121.48, and if the regular GA is 462.98, the convention ticket is 36, KCON rookies is 45, the random swag they give you is 50, and the hi-touches are around 141.50 on average (use the 9 numbers I quoted above with Chung Ha’s being $50), then that only leaves 294.50 on the cost of the ticket. That buys you a dedicated pit so you don’t have to camp out overnight, getting to cut all the AE/entrance lines, and getting into the convention early (probably more worth it for NY since it’s two days and stuff actually happens Saturday, getting in Friday for LA doesn’t matter much, but then you could just have the staff pass). To be honest, the peace of mind that buys already sounds worth it to me, so if the line up is good enough, I’d definitely go for plat if I could get my hands on it.

We also realized we had been spelling 플로버 and 프로버 the entire time (confused the spelling with 프로미 which doesn’t have the extra ㄹ). I realized what I wrote for fromis_9 in NY has a typo and I made the same typo in LA. I fixed it on the sign before Alex handed it off, but I take that as a humble reminder that I’m still a foreigner and need to study a lot harder. :’) All kpop memes aside, some people are here just to chase after idols, but in addition to being a fan, I’ve been trying to embrace a new culture and language along the way. I’m still working really hard on vocabulary right now, and I still have every intention to pass TOPIK 5 by next year.

I’m also so glad I went to KCON LA with a group. Going alone would have been a terrible idea because you’d have no inside scoop on what’s going on, no one to switch off spots with, and no one to hang out with during all the down time. I’m really thankful to how much the discord group helped me out this weekend. I’m sure we’ll meet again.

To close it off, here are some of my favorite pictures with the friends I went with

[hisband]

3 , 8 , 9, 38 !!

 meme: carling shares her honest opinions. || status: no longer accepting.

3. what current rp trend do you hate?

   i find that the rpc as a whole has gotten a lot more… idk, picky & shallow about which characters they interact with? of course, no one is obligated to interact with anyone and i would never guilt-trip anybody for not being interested in specific muses of mine or not following me back. but i have notice a shift over the last four years that i don’t particularly like.

   to give you guys a better idea what i’m talking about, let me give you an example. i roleplay captain spaulding from r.ob zombie’s firefly f.amily trilogy on my multi @mnstrsqd. he’s currently my longest running muse; i’ve been writing him publicly since spring 2015 and have moved him across multiple blogs. spaulding, despite being a chubby, ill-tempered, unhygienic guy in his late 50s / early 60s ( what can i say, i have a type ), was once my most popular character. not because he was pretty to look at or digestible, but because i was told he was interesting. people were drawn to his personality. for that reason, i wasn’t afraid to approach people on him or to follow first ( though i tried to be mindful because he Is a clown character and there are people on this website with coulrophobia, which i completely understand ). it wasn’t difficult to get interactions on him at all.

   nowadays? i’m fairly reluctant to approach people on characters that are considered unconventional, like my main horror muse belial or half the roster on my multi or even murdoc himself, because it seems like the rpc has devolved in the sense that the majority of writers on here ( based on my Own Personal Experience, at least ) are looking for characters that are easy. easy to get along with ic, easy to ship with, easy on the eyes. my buddy ruben made a much more detailed post on that here if you guys wanna check that out, but yeah. shallowness ( or perhaps an extreme reluctance to go outside one’s comfort zone ) is a rampant problem on tumb.lr these days, and it wasn’t like that at all when i first started out. people were a lot more willing to give others a chance no matter how fucking weird or obscure their character was, and i miss that a lot. had the community not been so accepting when i first joined, i probably wouldn’t have stuck around.

8. name any three things about the rpc that bother you.

   besides what i mentioned above? let’s see…

here’s a controversial one: people who feel the need to go around blocks and demand to know why you cut them off. like, dude, all you’re doing is proving to me that i made the right call by removing you from my social sphere. i find this behaviour incredibly entitled & invasive and i don’t like it one bit. i don’t like the idea that you owe people explanations as to why you left, especially if the person in question has been exhibiting abusive or triggering behaviour ( unknowingly or not ). just accept you’re no longer welcome in that person’s life and move on. the length of time you’ve known that person - or favours you’ve done for that person in the past - should not be used as bargaining tools to keep them around. you can tell someone why you’re ending a friendship or writing partnership, but you shouldn’t have to.

on the flip-side of this, i don’t like vague-posting. i try not to follow people who vague-post unless they have a damn good reason to do it ( i.e. trying to warn people about a past abuser but not wanting to say the person’s name for the sake of their own safety, or somebody else’s ). i strongly dislike when vague-posting is done for the sake of guilt-tripping others or making them uneasy. that’s passive-aggressive, petty & not at all a mature way to deal with conflict. if you’re having issues with someone ( and yes, there is a Huge, Huge Fucking Distinction between miscommunications in a relationship and legitimately toxic and abusive behaviour ), talk to them or else the issue is never going to be resolved. don’t drag everyone else down because you’re feeling upset or frustrated with one person.

people making assumptions about other people’s characters seems to be a problem that’s on the rise. just… don’t do it, even if you truly believe you know the other mun’s character. even if you’ve been writing with that character for years. even if you’ve written that character before yourself. it’s really rude & disrespectful, and most writers i know don’t appreciate someone else coming in and telling them how to portray their own muse, or acting like they know them better than they do. if you’re not sure about something in regards to a partner’s character, just ask. it’s that simple.

9. what is your opinion on exclusivity? do you practice it? why / why not?

   i don’t mind exclusivity & have never seen it as a big deal! if you’re really attached to a friend’s portrayal ( and i personally get very attached to the way my friends write their characters ), i think it’s fine to stick with their interpretation and their interpretation alone. the only time it’s ever been a problem for me is when i’ve written in really small fandoms ( i.e. the fire.fly family trilogy ) and felt the need to give everyone a chance. i think that’s a little bit different than when you’re developing a whole ship or story arc with one specific character, y’know?

38. what advice would you give to someone new to rp?

   don’t make rp your only hobby - that can turn unhealthy super fast. if you rp because you like to write, as i do, find other ways to write if you ever reach a point where you don’t wanna rp but still need a way to express yourself artistically ( and believe me, this Will happen ). if writing isn’t cutting it, then try something new, like drawing, or podcasting, or scrapbooking, or arts & crafts, or even cooking. these are all creative hobbies with very similar pay-offs! 

   don’t become too emotionally dependent on rp. i understand getting invested in characters & ships - believe me, i do - but when it becomes your only source of happiness or when you can’t see yourself being able to function without these things in your life, there’s a problem. similarly, don’t become too emotionally dependent on your friends & writing partners. that isn’t fair to them; they aren’t objects or bots here to cater to you, they’re living breathing people, usually with multiple things going on at once. no one’s life should revolve around one thing or one person, period. that’s recipe for disaster.

   and please, please, don’t treat rp like a job. don’t beat yourself up over things like not writing fast enough, or not writing enough threads, or not writing with enough people or not being online enough. this is a hobby, and should be treated like a hobby, and should absolutely not take priority over things like finding / keeping a job, doing well in school, taking care of your responsibilities & spending time with loved ones. the sooner you stop taking tum.blr rp super-seriously, the happier and more fulfilled you’ll feel. promise.

[futuresandpasts]

Futures & Pasts | MRR #426

So you’ve probably heard by now that Maximum Rocknroll is going to be ceasing its print publication very soon (there’s two more issues left as of this month). Thirty-seven straight years of putting out an all-volunteer-staffed, internationally distributed punk zine EVERY MONTH is completely mind-boggling & I feel genuinely honored to have been a small part of that history for the past four years. They’ve given me a really important platform to write about all kinds of weird & obscure music on the fringes of DIY from all points in time, where I had a page or two in every issue to slip in feverish praise for forgotten Messthetics geniuses and early ‘80s one-single femme-punk wonders and contemporary mutant disco tape freaks in the midst of interviews with, say, any number of D-beat bands.

I'm hoping that if you’ve ever read my column, you’re not among the (many, many) people who dismissively say things about how they haven’t picked up an issue of MRR in years, or like to argue that MRR doesn’t cover anything interesting or relevant anymore, etc. If by chance you are, I’d like to recommend throwing MRR a couple of bucks for their final print issues as a small acknowledgement of the fact that I’ve made all of my columns available to read online free of charge, without you ever having to touch the smudged newsprint pages of an actual copy of the magazine. You can also still pick up back issues, including #426 (November 2018), where this particular column first appeared. 

I was struggling a little bit to figure out what truly new (as opposed to newly reissued) music to write about this month, but I got an email completely by chance from my friend Aubrey in LITHICS as they were passing through the UK on their European tour, and she recommended that I check out this band called HANDLE that they had just played with in Manchester. Totally serendipitous, because their six-song demo collection Demonstrations is so completely my thing—all sharp, clanging incantations built from bass, drums, keyboard, and voice, with rhythm at the forefront even as everything else is collapsing around it. “Rubber Necks” and “Step By Step” both lock into propulsive grooves from mutant disco beats and harsh metallic percussion that intersect with a deep, menacing bass throb and urgently yelped and chanted vocals to skirt the line between the deconstructed danceability of early ‘80s New York groups like LIQUID LIQUID or BUSH TETRAS, and the more abrasive, confrontational scratch and scrape of their No Wave cohorts in DNA or THEORETICAL GIRLS. HANDLE somehow manage to be disjointed and tightly-wound at the same time (think of the delicate balance that TRASH KIT and SHOPPING pull off, if you’re looking for reference points from the 21st century), crafting truly anxious sounds for uncertain futures. Can’t wait for them to take the steps toward a proper physical release, because it will absolutely set things on fire when they do. (Absolute Fiction, absolutefiction.bandcamp.com)

After a handful of cassettes that appeared over the last few years, Canadian oddballs TOUGH CUSTOMER recently made their vinyl debut with the four-song Darlene EP on Sweet Rot, in the “slightly less new by the time y’all read this” category. Their austere-yet-playful, bass-driven vibe recalls the effortlessly cool minimalism of early ‘80s art-schooled heroines like OH-OK and Y PANTS, with flashes of KLEENEX-esque free-associated absurdism—“Mash” seems to follow a fairly standard post-punk combination of needling guitar, steady bass pulse, and kinetic drumming, until you start to wrap your head around the fact that lyrics are basically all about potatoes. Each song ends up subtly bending itself into similarly unexpected forms and sometimes more than once, whether it’s via the band hopscotching through the sneaky, shifting rhythms of “Drum Farm”, or the structure provided by the significant negative spaces between sparsely struck notes in “Clean and Clear” (the highlight of their 2015 debut tape The Worst, presented here in an even more tightened up version), or when a legitimately wailing guitar solo in “Soul Patch” breaks up the otherwise taut push/pull that’s been constructed. I can’t really think of many other modern post-punk adjacent bands who are this deep into their own self-defined and uncurbed musical universe, and that’s definitely to TOUGH CUSTOMER’s credit. (Sweet Rot, actualtoughcustomer.bandcamp.com)

The one-off 1979 single from the HAND GRENADES was self-released and packaged in a minimalist sleeve with no personnel credits or identifying information, which posed all sorts of questions as to who was behind the record and where exactly they had come from. Going strictly from audio cues, both sides of the 7” showcased a ramshackle post-punk sensibility in line with the DESPERATE BICYCLES, the HOMOSEXUALS, or SWELL MAPS (not to mention some nasal and vaguely British-accented vocals that sounded kind of like a bedroom-recorded Peter Perrett of the ONLY ONES), which lead many people to understandably reach the conclusion that the HAND GRENADES must have been a product of the same “it was easy, it was cheap, go and do it” school of late ‘70s UK DIY. In reality, they were actually from Long Island, and by the early ‘80s, they’d transformed into the new wave/power-pop group the SPONSORS, abandoning any hint of scratchy Messthetics aesthetics to write songs with skinny-tied titles like “In and Out of Love” and “Love I Can’t Wait”. Truth is stranger than fiction, but despite geography, the lone HAND GRENADES record has rightfully been regarded as a touchstone of UK-minded shambolic late ‘70s/early ‘80s art-punk and also one that unfortunately tends to fetch collector scum prices these days, so praise be onto Last Laugh Records, who just reissued the single as a 12” EP (Demos to London) with the addition of two previously unreleased tracks. “Demo to London” and “Coma Dos” from the original 7” tick off seemingly every box on the UK DIY checklist—charmingly fidelity-challenged, treble to the extreme, shaky single-note guitar, BUZZCOCKS hooks thrown slightly off-kilter, plenty of FALL-worthy repetition. On the unreleased side, the scrappy pop of “Cocoon” could almost pass for the TELEVISION PERSONALITIES stripped of their more psychedelically mod leanings, while “Murder” repeatedly cycles through the phrase “murder in the U.S.” over some wiry econo-punk to a biting and almost RONDOS/early EX-ish effect. Beyond mandatory! (Last Laugh, almostreadyrecords.com)

With each new vinyl reissue sourced from the first half decade or so Flying Nun’s back catalog, I’ve been holding out hope that Auckland’s darkly angular post-punk poster children THIS SPORTING LIFE would be the next in line to have their long out-of-print records brought back into circulation. And this summer, at long last, it finally happened… well, sort of. We’ll have to settle for the new Alms for Children CD anthology, which collects the group’s two proper Flying Nun releases (1982’s Show Me to the Bellrope LP and 1983’s In Limbo EP), the debut 7” from 1981 that was issued under their original name of ALMS FOR CHILDREN, and a number of previously unreleased live tracks—digital is definitely better than nothing at all in this case. Along with Stratford’s NOCTURNAL PROJECTIONS and Christchurch’s the GORDONS, THIS SPORTING LIFE were a part of the early ‘80s New Zealand underground faction that fell more in line with the serrated nihilism of bands like the FALL and JOY DIVISION, in contrast to their jangly, SYD BARRETT/VELVET UNDERGROUND-worshipping peers. The FALL influence is particularly apparent in the tracks drawn from their mid-period, like “Wasting My Time,” where a rickety keyboard line fights for space on top the sort of stripped-down and flipped-out rockabilly rhythm that Mark E. Smith and company continuously revisited for a good forty years or so, with Gary Charlton’s vocals wavering between deadpan and desperate in equal measure. Other highlights of an already stacked compilation: the otherwise-unreleased “Suspicious of You,” with cavernous, razor-edged bass heightening the paranoid tension suggested by the title and lyrical content, and the frenetic, jagged pop sensibility of “Total Loss,” which features some unexpectedly chiming acoustic guitar that almost adheres to the general conception of the whole “Flying Nun sound”. I don’t think I’ve ever recommended a CD-only release in over three years of doing this column, but there’s a first time for everything. (Failsafe Records, almsforchildrenthissportinglife.bandcamp.com)

[skylersummer]

My Secret Phobia

Until I was eighteen years old, I kept a secret from every single person in my life. I didn’t tell a soul. Had I been brave enough to take to the internet and read about my secret, I would have realised that what I was dealing with on a day to day basis was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, in fact it’s fairly common.

My secret? I suffer from emetophobia.

Emetophobia is the fear of vomit; either physically being sick, seeing, hearing or smelling sick will send me in to a panic attack. Anxiety UK claims that 6-7% of women and 1.7 - 3.1% men will experience emetophobia in their lifetime. Had I known earlier that this anxiety disorder existed outside of my own personal life, let alone amongst thousands of people, I am certain I would have confided in someone about my fear. There’s only a handful of information on the internet (that I’m not too scared to read) about this disorder I’ve grown up with, so I would like to share my own personal experience in the hopes that it helps those suffering in silence realise that they are not alone and to help those who don’t have it, understand the complexities of the condition. I want to keep this as trigger-free as possible, as a lot of sources I have found on the internet I’ve found far too graphic to be of any help to actual sufferers of emetophobia, but bare in mind I will be continuously using the word vomit (a word which would make me flinch and feel physically sick until recent years.)

I am not aware of any one trigger for my emetophobia, there was no obvious experience that set off this whole disorder, all I know is that I have had it for as long as I can remember, from around the age of four.  

Here’s something I want to make clear now, to those who don’t have emetophobia. It is a phobia of vomit. When I’ve told people in recent years, I’ve had some laugh at me, Of course you don’t like sick, no one likes being sick. Emetophobics don’t just ‘not like’ vomit, or being sick. Of course, it’s not pleasant for anyone and no one particularly enjoys the experience, however this is a fear. We fear it on a daily basis.

When I was younger, and suffered with more severe symptoms of anxiety, the sound of someone nearby coughing would be enough to set me off into a panic attack. I avoided school trips for fear of anyone getting travel sick on coaches and I avoided places I couldn’t easily exit in case someone did vomit. For these reasons I found school, in particular, very troublesome as there were rules and regulations - you couldn’t just leave lessons whenever you felt worried.

No one could work out exactly why I was so scared of school trips, or wanted to sit by the door in assembly or in class. Age 11 I had my first counselling session with the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). I quickly came up with a lie, telling my psychologists that I had claustrophobia (ironically a phobia I actually gave myself), an excuse I deemed socially acceptable and far less embarrassing than the truth. I discharged myself within 6 weeks.

The fact that no one understand the root of why I was so scared of seemingly normal situations meant that no one could properly help give me the therapy that I needed, and I don’t want this to appear as a critique of CAMHS, or school, or my family who I know tried to do what they could, given the information they had.

As I joined secondary school my anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent. I would have to leave lessons almost every day, and would avoid the school toilets where possible.

Unfortunately one of the main symptoms that my emetophobia causes is nausea, and naturally this makes me worry even more that I will be sick. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Throughout my adolescent years I was in and out of doctors and hospitals multiple times as healthcare professionals tried to find the cause of my stomach pain and nausea. I had blood tests upon blood tests, I tried cutting out dairy, cutting out gluten, but nothing worked for me long term. The daily nausea persisted: from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I fell asleep at night.

During some of my worse periods I feared leaving the house entirely, in case I somehow became sick outside the safety of my home or in case I came into contact with someone else who was sick. I refused to go to school on a daily basis; until the age of 16 I would be dragged into school crying and screaming by my parents. By the time I was 17 and on study leave for my AS levels my school attendance had dropped below 50% and I was very depressed. My  claustrophobia had turned into agoraphobia and being home alone during study leave had me spiralling into periods of psychosis, imagining voices and seeing imaginary figures around my house.

My parents and sisters tried desperately to find the source of what we all knew was just pure anxiety. I persevered with CAMHS until an unfortunate misdiagnosis of my emetophobia as anorexia. Only recently have I started to realise how much the emetophobia affects the way I treat food. I’ve always been naturally slim but, I think, during my school years I was subconsciously eating very little, for fear of feeling too full in case it made me feel sick. Between the ages of 16-18 I had an average BMI of 13.5 which, upon discovering, doctors believed was caused by anorexia. I’ve read recently of emetophobics who’ve become hospitalised; their fear of vomiting making them too scared to eat anything at all. I only wish that the mental health professionals I dealt with at 17 had known about other atypical eating disorders instead of quickly trying to label me with anorexia, which ultimately led me never to return to them (I did a full on running-out-of-the-CAMHS-building and never looked back).

By the time I was 18 I thought I’d exhausted every way of getting better. I had heard the phrase ‘fight or flight’ in reference to my panic attacks (if you know, you know) too many times to count and I was begging for someone, anyone to figure it out, so I didn’t have to tell them. I legitimately thought my daily panic attacks were normal, and that this giant secret that was gnawing away at my insides was going to be something I dealt with my whole adult life. The thought of being stuck like this made me even more depressed and my body was struggling to keep me healthy at such a low weight - I had severe (and recurring) bronchitis during my final year of school which led to me getting post-viral fatigue; I was completely exhausted. I was so tired of being tired all the time, I really felt close to giving up.

Whilst my friends were out experiencing their adolescence as they rightly should, I was instead being picked up from parties at 9pm, too scared to drink alcohol in case it made me sick, too scared of someone else being sick from over-drinking as was so common at teenage parties - unfortunately something I couldn’t always avoid. I wouldn’t touch cigarettes as I’d heard so many people say they’d been sick after trying their first one. I couldn’t, and still can’t, go to the cinema for fear of an unexpected and graphic vomit scene, or go to fairgrounds or theme parks. I’m still petrified of flying in case myself or anyone around me is sick. I couldn’t enjoy anything a normal teenager was supposed to and I became somewhat of a recluse.

During my final year of school I was attending a private therapist with my mother and sister (I was too anxious to be alone with strangers by this point.) It was around then that I started to crack, and they began to notice how I reacted when the word ‘vomit’ was mentioned - I would immediately leave the room, crying in panic.  They’d always known I didn’t like being sick, but I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of the phobia, how it dominated my life each day.

At age 18, I was finally put on Citalopram to target my anxiety and panic disorder as well as the depression. I know that antidepressants do not work for everyone, but personally it changed my life. I’d been a shell of a person for the past 5 years, and I honestly think I would have just vanished had it not been for the medication. Alongside the relief of being honest with my family (and eventually friends) I dramatically became a fuller, happier version of myself. I finished school with three A Levels (something I am not sure anyone expected to happen only a year before) and even managed to go on holiday with my friends for a week (taking an aeroplane and even a dreaded coach!) Without the structure and pressure of school I really was a new person.

I started my Art Foundation at Oxford Brooke’s University in September 2015, and my exposure to lots of student drinking and therefore vomiting (other people’s as well as my own) dramatically helped me begin to overcome this phobia which has stolen half my life.

I’m in my final year of university now and living in London, and it hasn't been a completely smooth ride. I’ve had to switch medication twice now and I still struggle daily with public transport and the thought of being sick in public, but it’s definitely an improvement on where I was only 4 years ago, barely even living.

I still haven’t received any professional help or treatment besides my medication, for my emetophobia and that’s something I really want to do in the future, but I’m just trying to take small steps at the moment whilst I finish my degree. The thought of potentially having children (morning sickness, general kid sickness etc.) seems completely unattainable and terrifying to me, but one day I’d like to be brave enough to have the option.

I’m still recovering and I do have set backs, I’m still only just figuring out the extent of how much this phobia affects my daily life, but I do want to say that it is possible to get better. Age 11 I would have never dreamed of even telling someone about my phobia let alone be writing a public post on the internet like this, ten years later, but I think that’s probably why it’s so important that I do this. It’s not going to be easy, and I know the most obvious way forward for me is to get proper exposure therapy (gently exposing myself to sounds, television shows and movies featuring vomit etc.) but I do know for sure that I am going to beat this, one day, whatever it takes.