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queerbutstillhere · 4 years

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Hey prompts lover, how about Jon gets turn into a toddler and Damian has to take care of him. Cue baby Jon letting his feeling out from in his little toddler way and Damian thinking they are just baby talk although he wants to believe them + batfam finding this situation hilarious

(Well hey ;) lol, your prompt is my command! This one ran away with me, so it's pretty long lol. So long, in fact, that I had to edit it bc Tumblr told me it was too long. Enjoy!)

"This is why i don't hang out with you, Batson!"

"Robin, look, I'm. Sorry!" Billy whined, trailing after him.

"DD!"

"Shush, Kent."

"Me hungry!"

"I understand," Damian bit out.

Then he yelped as a sharp pain came from his scalp. He shot a glare over to the toddler on his hip.

"Do not pull on my hair."

The toddler pouted, leaning in and pushing his face against Damian's neck.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

"I don't know, Billy, you're the one with the magical powers, you figure it out."

"Damian, that's not fair."

"Not fair?! Billy, my best friend has just been turned into a two year old!!"

The teen caped crusader flinched away, looking away from Robin's deadly glare.

"Go figure out how to fix this, Batson," Damian grumbled, jumping in the batmobile which he had just summoned.

"Damian-"

Billy's protest was shut down when Damian snapped the lid of the car and zipped away. Jon was sat in the passenger seat, gripping tightly to the door and staring out the window.

"Wee!!" He exclaimed, looking back at Damian with this huge grin.

Damian almost smiled back, but instead focused on the road. He was headed to the batcave as he tore through the late night traffic, keeping an eye on Jon at all times. When he got to the cave, he hopped out, picking Jon up and balanced the Supertoddler on his hip. One think he had learned through his years of being Robin was how to handle kids. He wouldn't say he liked it, but he knew how to do it.

"Oh god, he's becoming you," a voice came from across the cave.

Damian looked up, searching for the voice and found Tim on the platform by the batcomputer. Jon pointed and made a high pitch noise that caused Damian to flinch away.

"Damian. What is that."

He looked even further up and found Bruce hanging from the rafters, sealing a hole in the wall.

"It's a toddler, father. I thought you of all people would know what a toddler was," Damian snarked back.

He pulled off his mask as he walked up the steps towards Tim. Jon whined and wiggled, chubby arms wrapped around Damian's neck.

"Where's my phone?" He asked Tim, walking over towards the table they usually left things on.

"I think you left it upstairs to charge, didn't you?"

Damian grumbled in response, grabbing Bruce's instead.

"Hey-" Tim started to protest.

"Batman!" Jon squealed, pointing as Bruce dropped down near them.

"Shh," Damian gently shushed him, bouncing him slightly to adjust his position on his hip.

"Damian?" Bruce questioned.

Damian just found the proper contact and was preparing to call it when Jon started floating out of his arms. With a sigh, he reached out, grabbing the red cape still attached to the toddler.

"Oh my God. Is that Jon?!" Tim exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Hi Tim!" Jon said in that little toddler voice of his, waving from his now upside down position.

"Kent. Come down," Damian ordered.

"Me fly!"

"I see that. Come back down here."

The toddler just stared at him.

"Jon."

When he still didn't stop floating, Damian reached out, grabbed his little legs and pulled him back down.

"What happened?" Bruce asked cautiously.

Damian sighed and began to explain how they were helping Billy and then something to do with magic happened and next thing Damian knew, Jon was a baby.

"And he still has his powers."

"Some of them, at least."

Tim was snickering, shoulders shaking, hand clamped over his mouth.

"You think this is funny?" Damian snapped, staring at him.

"I think it's hilarious!" Tim busted out laughing, which caused Jon, still floating to start giggling.

Then the toddler started falling. Damian easily caught him, pulling the toddler to his chest as a surge of fear shot through him.

"Well, you should probably call Clark."

"I was going to."

"Other then that, uh? Just keep an eye on him I guess."

Damian shot Bruce a glare. "I do know how to handle toddlers, Father."

Damian ended up changing and taking Jon upstairs after he started whining about being hungry. Alfred was in the kitchen, already informed of the situation. He handed Damian a vegan grilled cheese and had a PB and J ready for Jon.

"Alfie! Hiiiii!" Jon said eagerly, waving as he toddled into the kitchen.

"Hello, Master Kent," Alfred greeted, picking Jon up as putting him in a chair at the island.

"Me hungry!"

"Yes, and I have a fine meal prepared for you," he said, putting it and a glass of milk down in front of Jon.

The toddler grabbed the sandwich and began shoving it into his mouth. Damian watched with mild horror before beginning to eat his own sandwich. He still needed to call Clark.

"How old are you, Master Kent?" Alfred asked.

"Uhhhh," Jon frowned at him, peanut butter all over his face. "Dunno!"

"He still has all his memories and such," Damian commented. "As far as I can tell, anyway."

"Me like Dami!" Jon exclaimed, grinning at him with his peanut butter face.

"I- okay. I'm going to call your father."

Damian shoved the last bite in his mouth and then walked out, running up to his room and grabbing his phone. He called Clark and discovered the man was in Japan and simply got a "you'll have to watch him". So Damian went back downstairs to collect his toddler-bestfriend. Jon was getting tired and clung to Damian tightly, wrapping his arms around his neck, nearly choking Damian. The toddler yawned as Damian held him, chatting with his brothers, who had made their way upstairs, still in their uniforms.

"Dami," the toddler mumbled, his forehead pressed into Damian's cheek.

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"Me sleepy."

"Okay, you can go to sleep."

"You sleep with me?"

"I have work to do," Damian said, gently rubbing his back.

The batsiblings had gone quiet, watching them.

"Noooo," Jon whined, pulling away, grabbing Damian's cheeks. "You sleep with me!"

"Jon, no. I have to work."

The toddler stuck out his bottom lip and made a little sobbing noise.

"Uh oh, Damian look what you've done," Dick said, grinning.

"You-" the toddler broke off, whimpering as his eyes tearing up.

"Oh no," Damian said, just seconds before Jon started crying.

"Damian, you monster!" Tim exclaimed. Both brothers busted up laughing.

Jon, crying loudly, pushed against Damian, trying to get out of his arms.

"Jon quit!"

A loud wail met his words.

"Jonathan you're being unreasonable!"

Another loud wail. Jon shoved so hard he almost slipped out of Damian's grip.

"Damian, he's a toddler, that won't work," Dick told him with a headshake.

Damian adjusted Jon, balancing him on his hip.

"Okay! Okay! I'll go to bed with you, okay? Just stop crying! I'm sorry, okay?" Damian exclaimed, desperate to get the shrieking to stop.

Jon sobbed again, blinking at Damian through his tears, giving him the biggest puppy dog eyes ever.

"Okay?"

The toddler nodded, shoving his face into Damian's neck, hiccuping lightly. Damian sighed, looking up at his laughing brothers.

"I guess I'm going to bed."

"Night, baby bat!" Dick called as Damian carried Jon out.

Jon hiccuped all the way upstairs. Damian walked into his room, kicking the door shut behind him, flicking on a light.

"Okay, Superkid," Damian said, plopping the tiny toddler on the bed.

Compared to him, at 18, this toddler version of his best friend - normally 16 - was absolutely tiny. Like, just reached his knees. He was absolutely terrified of accidentally breaking him.

"Me no Superkid," Jon sniffled out, rubbing his snotty nose.

Damian made a disgusted nose and grabbed a Kleenex, wiping the snot. Jon just looked up at him, that bottom lip stuck out.

"Me Superboy."

"Yes you are," Damian said with a sigh, throwing away the Kleenex. He crouched in front of Jon. "We're gonna figure out how to get you changed back, okay? And hopefully before school on Monday."

Jon nodded.

"I'm gonna go brush my teeth, okay? Stay here. Play with Alfred."

The mentioned cat sauntered over, rubbing against Toddler Jon.

"Dami," Jon sniffed out.

"Yes?"

"I luv you."

Damian blinked at him, straightening.

"I. Uh. Okay."

His heart was pounding really hard. And he didn't know why. He escaped to the en suite bathroom, starting to brush his teeth. He could hear toddler Jon chattering to Alfred. Damian hastily scolded himself. He was a toddler at the moment, probably no more then three. He was just being a toddler, and toddler's didn't understand love like teenagers did. He shook his head and brushed it off.

Not that he didn't want it to be true.

After he washed his face and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in, he walked back out, finding Jon slumped on his side, tiredly patting Alfred's head. The cat just blinked up at Damian.

"Okay, Jon. Time to go to bed," he said, ruffling the kids hair before going to turn off the overhead light.

It wasn't the first time he had shared a bed with Jon. Just usually, Jon was larger then him. He got under the covers, and toddler Jon wiggled his way up to the top of the bed, crawling under the thick blankets.

"Good night, Jon," Damian said.

He fully intended to slip away once the toddler went to sleep. Instead, Jon crawled over and flopped on top of Damian's chest, getting comfortable. Damian groaned slightly, confused.

"Me sleep here."

"Jon, that can't be comfortable."

"Me sleep here!"

"Okay."

Who knew a toddler version of Jon could be so convincing. Jon reached up, squishing Damian's cheeks again.

"Dami, I luv you," he said again, looking sincere.

"Okay," Damian breathed out, reaching up and ruffling little Jon's hair. "Go to sleep."

The toddler scowled at him but laid back down, his little arms hugging Damian's chest. Damian sighed, placing a hand on his back, holding him still while he reached over and flicked off the bedside lamp. Then he settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Toddler Jon loved him. But did Teen Jon?

Why were emotions so complicated?

Damian eventually drifted to sleep, an arm wrapped protectively around toddler Jon. This was a horribly weird situation, but he supposed they could figure it out in the morning.

He woke up to a sudden massive increase of weight on his chest. He groaned in pain and shoved at it.

"Quit pushing!"

Damian snapped his eyes open, finding Jonathan Kent, sixteen, mere inches from his face.

"Kent!"

"Well duh, who else?" Jon grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

"You're back!"

"Yeah?"

Jon crossed his arms on Damian's chest, resting his chin on his forearms.

"And you're incredibly heavy," Damian said, scowling now.

"Rude!"

Jon grinned at him and Damian glared back. Then he became aware of Jon's lower half laying in between his legs, his stomach pressing on-

"Okay, get off!" Damian snapped, easily flipping his weight to one side and throwing Jon off.

Jon laughed as he was tossed onto his back.

"Aw, come on, Dames, admit it, you're glad I'm back."

Damian just grumbled under his breath. Jon grinned, reaching over and pinching his side.

"Don't be a butt."

"You need to call your father."

"Hmm. What if I'd rather talk to you first."

"Kent."

"What if I start crying? That seemed to work so well the last time."

Damian tensed. "How much do you remember?"

"Oh, quite a bit," Jon said, his voice dropping. "I remember your heart going crazy when I said I loved you."

Damian was opening his mouth to respond when the door slammed open.

"Damian! I think the spell wore- oh."

Both teens snapped their gaze over to Billy Batson, in Shazam form, staring at the two of them, laying in bed together.

"Well... i guess you already knew that," Billy said, stepping backwards.

"Good assumption, Batson," Damian said coldly, eyes rolling.

"I'm just. . . I'll go. Hey Jon."

"Hi Billy," Jon said, laughing to himself.

Billy quickly retreated.

"Have I ever told you that i like him?"

"Go back to sleep, Jon," Damian grumbled, kicking his shins.

He rolled onto his side, glaring at the wall. Jon laughed, and then suddenly pressed himself against Damian's back, an arm slipping over his waist.

"I meant it," he murmured.

"Wait, what!"

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alesbiancowboy · 4 years

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Aight my loves, here we go, #4, and the first of the deleted scenes that I had to get a VPN so I could watch it (damn you PBS American Cut!!!) I love it, you love it, it is just so beautifully done and is a lil spicy for these wee lesbians: the kitchen scene. (please disregard the poor photo quality. had to make it work to the best of my ability)

This is just adorable. We see Patsy walking in tired. The way she just kinda huffs, takes her hat off, puts the bag down, it’s adorable. THEN she sees Delia and everything about her body language changes and perks up. This is just such a sweet moment where she gets to see her partner doing something very domestic (which is something we can infer she hasn’t been able to see before thanks to the friggin bike accident throwing away their dream of the flat), this was their dream, being able to wait up for each other and help them unwind from a long day of saving lives and delivering babies.

Okay, the look Delia gives Patsy at this moment is too much for my little gay heart. It goes from surprise to happiness to something a little more heated (ma’am I saw that lil once over you did looking at Patsy) and we get that perfect “there’s no one here. Nobody watching. Nobody but us.”. Not only is this a little flirty moment for Delia, but that’s what Patsy needs to hear so she can feel safe enough to act the way she wants to with her partner.

As this is happening we get them actually moving towards each other, something they wouldn’t really be doing if they weren’t alone. Of course, Patsy is Patsy and her self-preservation instincts kick in, checking over her shoulder before she is the one to initiate the touching (that’s a big deal for Patsy that we see start during the Christmas special after the accident).

Everything about this little embrace is perfection. Patsy reaches out first, then literally grabs Delia to pull her in closer and I’m only so strong. Something that I think is very interesting is that we see Delia talk about the accident and Patsy’s face automatically drops. Of all the things they could be doing right now, talking about the accident and their lost time is on the very bottom of Patsy’s list — and we see her automatically change the topic.

“In my whole life I never once had anyone wait up for me”. This line is honestly so so sad. No one ever waited up for Patsy because she hasn’t had anyone truly there for her in her life. Her family life is nearly non-existent, and her overwhelming need for self-preservation and being a lesbian in the 1950s and 60s probably meant that she wouldn’t let people in. She still really hasn’t let people in, even at Nonnatus, at least not to the extent that she has let Delia in.

Also, something that’s interesting is Delia’s hair in this scene. As far as I can remember we only see her hair down once before this when she’s comforting Patsy that first episode she was introduced. I honestly think it’s the hair and makeup team giving us the little hint that this is the hands down real Delia. She isn’t trying to hide anything, she isn’t putting on any sort of airs, she’s just a girl in love with someone who makes her feel truly comfortable.

Anywho, the little smug look Delia has before she checks over Patsy’s shoulder and takes control in this conversation is just perfect.

okay this moment is everything. The way that they’re looking at each other and touching each other (oof that hand trailing up the arm and collarbone and the way she leads Patsy backwards by her waist... I can’t), makes it feel like they may be talking about something very romantic or sexual, but no, Delia is flirting by talking about wanting to take care of Patsy. She’s doing something that she knows Patsy doesn’t let anyone else do, she’s taking care of her by making her a drink to help her unwind from an emotionally and physically taxing day.

This is so important because Patsy has been on her own most of her life. She said so earlier in this scene: no one has ever waited up for her. So, what is the ultimate way for Delia to show that she cares and loves her? Waiting up and helping her the best she can.

It says a lot that the one thing Delia has been thinking about is letting Patsy’s hair down. I can’t think of a scene where we have had both Delia and Patsy together where Patsy hasn’t had her hair up or done in some way. So, it makes sense that this is what Delia is thinking about, because this would mean that they can truly be themselves, alone, without any airs or walls between them. Letting Patsy’s hair down is them being able to just be Deels and Pats and being together. Also the fact that Delia says she wants to run her hands through Patsy’s hair is 1. very gay and 2. an extremely comforting gesture. It’s another way of Delia saying that she’s there to take care of Patsy and that she’s safe to be herself.

Also, the way the scene ended with them laughing is just too perfect. We don’t get to see them laugh often, and every time that they do it just cements how comfortable they are with each other where they can go from a heated moment like this was ramping up to be, to a light hearted, fun one.

Anywho,

Hope y’all enjoyed this one. Lemme know if you want any scene breakdowns in the show. (also if you wanna reach out and come be my friend, I would love that big time)

#Call the Midwife #patsy x delia #patsy mount #delia busby

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ao719 · 4 years

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Do you think that new picture of the royal heir 2 with the baby means we can’t choose the baby’s sex? I had a headcanon that Liam and my MC had a son first 😔 the baby girl looks absolutely adorable and I know that Liam with a daughter would be amazing but I will still be a little sad since I had a boy name picked and everything.

Hi anon! I headcanon the same thing! So I hear ya!

My thought: If PB has taught us anything, it’s to not judge a book by its cover 😂

I’m hoping they let us choose, like really hoping 🤞I don’t think it necessarily means that just because it’s a wee little princess on the cover (even though she’s flippin’ adorable) that it means we won’t get to choose. I don’t recall them saying anything on the matter, so I can’t say for certain though.

#anon #asks #trh #the royal heir #choices trh #choices the royal heir

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lonlinesshurtslikelove · 5 years

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Lying here staring up at the ceiling thinking how cliché my life has become. The low hum of the fan sounds like helicopter propellers when I get like this.

I glance out the window into a black, blue sky with tiny dots of glitter. Phhhfft GLITTER! My brain is so weird. I’m too old to think about stars being glitter like. I pull myself upright and immediately I’m disgusted by my stomach and the way it sits there between my chest and thighs like a baby being cradled. I stretch because it feels good to my back but I won’t pretend it isn’t also for the momentary look of my stomach appearing flatter.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I think ‘If I smoked I’d light a cigarette now.’ For some reason that makes me softly snort as I contemplate going to the kitchen for cookies or a health shake. I grab my husband’s shirt, now it’s my night shirt. I use the moonlight to see while I button a few buttons. Such a clear night. I wish it were warmer and I could go lie in the hammock in the back yard. Hell, I wish I had a hammock in the backyard.

I make my way towards the kitchen being as quiet as possible even though I’d like some company. I pour milk into a wine glass and squeeze chocolate out of a bottle. As I lick chocolate sauce off my finger I glance up and notice how the night looks different when you are in the light. It’s a void and it feels as if it could just gobble you whole and *poof* you’d be gone, absorbed into non-existence. Empty windows always make me feel exposed, like all my fears were watching me. Well, now I’ve added a new problem to the anxiety so I move out of the kitchen away from the windows.

I’m sipping chocolate milk out of a wine glass ‘Maybe I should post that on Twitter...’ nah what would HE think if he knew how much I posted just hoping he will see. I hold my breath for a minute ‘Don’t do it, you’ll regret it!’ Too late, I’m on his page, I’m on her page. So cliché. I give myself an A+ for not physically stalking him, though. My best friends don’t even know that struggle. They look so fucking happy. *throws phone to other side of the couch* I love him but I just threw a match on the dry kindling of my bruised emotions.

I want him to be happy, I want to be happy, but I still want us to be happy together. ‘Selfish, egotistical, pouting?,...honest.’ I’m too old for this, it’s been too long ago for this. Almost four years. Feels like yesterday.

I decide to scroll through old messages and conversations between us from years ago. A tear slides down my che... nope, the whole flood. Sobs silently and chastises myself. I go to check and see that the front door is locked. I feel a pang of guilt when I realize tears about him constantly wet my husband’s shirts. The sky has gone to a blue, grey, inky color.

I plop down in front of the TV. TV always feels so different if you are up in the wee hours. It’s like you are catching the dress rehearsals or something else not quite finished. I scroll through and find a good educational show on PBS. It’s historical and casts a light on the horrible things America has done. Now I’m scrambling to find tissues again. There is enough hurt built into life, why are people so cruel?

I take my glass and place it quietly on the sink and my stack of crumpled, sopping wet, fast food napkins to the garbage. Noticing the sky is several different shades now, one layer a lighter shade than the next.

I yawn, I stretch, and I notice my eyes feel itchy and warm. ‘Maybe I can go to sleep now’. I slip back into the bedroom, truly hoping I don’t wake anyone this time. From the doorway I can see the brightening skylight reflecting off the mirror. I climb back into bed with my new anxieties tucked in neatly beside me.

I get my pillows situated and take one last glance out of my bedroom window, as the stars go home. I drift off to dreamland with less irritating anxieties to chew on my fragile sleep time. Deep breath. ‘This is a group of new, less rattling anxieties so I should be thankful.’ I’m not convinced, so I check my heart rate on my Fitbit, it’s not convinced either. As my eyes blur out of focus I watch as the stars go home for the day. @starlitpoems

#starlitpoems #poetry #longing #insomnia #lonliness #missing him #missing Us #missing you #as the stars go home

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takingcourage · 6 years

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Five O’Clock Shadow

Pairing: Liam x MC

Word Count: 3,330

Summary: Liam faces his worst nightmare as the lives of his wife and child are threatened. Miles away and powerless to help, he considers the fate of his future.

Note: I’m not sure where this story came from. I had a very uncharacteristic panic attack a couple of weeks ago and it made me start thinking about what drives characters to their breaking points. Poor Liam is the target of my thought experiment. As such, this is a fair bit angstier than my typical work, but I promise all is resolved by the end. I blame PB for making Liam repress so much in canon.

Anyway, this story can be read independently, but follows Three Questions and 4:00 AM. Feel free to groan at the atrocious sequence of titles. I know I have...

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Growing up, he’d heard the platitude. He’d adopted it as a kind of mantra years ago, especially after his brother’s abdication had signaled his impending doom. On days when he’d struggled to come to terms with the responsibilities of being king, he’d used the words to drive out fear. Repeated them over and over in his head until repetition led to understanding -- the understanding that he was just one in a long line of kings. His forebears had served. Now, it was up to him.

But to Liam, the crown had never felt heavier than that night. He couldn’t make sense of why, for the accident had nothing to do with his status. Perhaps it was because the event felt all the more cruel in light of the measures he had taken to prevent any harm from coming to his wife and child. After redoubling security and insisting on additional training for members of the guard, a car accident came like a punch to the gut. It was senseless. Commonplace.

It had upended his entire world.

In what now seemed like another lifetime, he’d been in his office drafting a speech for the opening of a new tourism center in the capital -- an addition that had become increasingly necessary since his marriage almost three years ago. Visitors had been flocking to the small country in the wake of the royal wedding, especially American tourists who had been charmed by Eliza’s tale of rags to riches. In large part, they had Maxwell’s book series to thank for the influx of attention.

It is my great honor to give my blessing…he faltered over the words for a moment, considering his choices. It is a tremendous privilege to be here with you today... Liam wasn’t certain that was right either. With his fountain pen, he scratched a line through the second attempt. He was just shifting his hand to the blank space below when he heard his cell phone ring. Mara.

“Your majesty, there’s been a car accident. The queen is alive, but she’s being taken by ambulance to Lythikos Medical Center.”

A vice clenched his stomach. For the space of several moments he forgot to breathe as a sudden nausea suppressed all else. “I’m on my way,” he responded finally, voice steady despite the frenzied beating of his heart. As the phone dropped to his side, the palpitations became even more pronounced, echoing against the cavity of his chest. Erratic. Uncertain. Beyond his control.

Liam stood, shoving his phone into his trouser pocket as he wrestled with the loafers he’d kicked off an hour before. Forgetting his speech, he flew out the door -- his mind occupied with one task only.

“Your majesty,” Bastien’s voice halted him as he rounded a corner in the hall.

At the preoccupied nod from his king, he continued, “I’ve heard the news. Your car is being brought around as we speak.”

“Flying is out of the question?” His target defined, Liam kept walking, making his way toward the circular drive in front of the palace.

“With the storm system that’s brewing, it’s inadvisable. Driving is the most certain way of reaching her without further delay.” Bastien matched Liam’s stride with ease.

Liam swallowed, mouth thickening at the thought that he was still hours away. It was already well into the evening, and by the time he reached Lythikos it would be the wee hours of morning. “I’ll leave right away.”

“Let me drive. Even if we weren’t driving into the dead of night, you’re in no condition to be behind the wheel for hours straight,” the older man insisted.

“I can’t lose any time, Bastien.”

“You have my word.”

The twisted roads to Lythikos were treacherous, even when it wasn’t the middle of the harshest winter Cordonia had seen in a decade. Bastien navigated capably and with as much speed as prudence would allow, but Liam still felt as though the journey was taking far longer than ever before.

Useless, Liam alternated between refreshing his phone screen, mouthing silent prayers, and taking deep, deliberate breaths. Sometimes he disrupted the rhythm to do all three at once. He was desperate for some notification to light up the pitch blackness that surrounded him -- aching for any update about Eliza’s condition. He’d worried for her safety many times before, but he had never felt so powerless. In spite of their haste, he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to correct what had happened. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t call in a royal favor to amend the past. This was set.

A shaky breath passed his lips as he stared out at the darkness. Tremors vibrated his chest, seizing and releasing in a sporadic tattoo. Trying to even his breaths only made the racing of his heart more pronounced.

Uneasy, uneasy, uneasy… The word became a revolving loop -- no longer a mantra, but a taunting reminder that he was not in control.

“Your majesty?”

Bastien’s voice was collected despite the inclement weather and the hour of the night.

Liam cleared his throat with a low cough, pressing the button on his phone again. “Yes, Bastien?” The device in his clammy hand remained blank.

“You seem ill. Are you all right?”

Liam resisted the urge to curse. He was ill. He felt certain he would remain so until he was satisfied that Eliza was well. “Just take me to her, Bastien.” He uttered finally, afraid that saying more might lead to further delay.

“Of course. Your majesty?”

Liam’s eyes flicked upward at the rising intonation and he met Bastien’s gaze briefly in the rearview mirror. The man was intent on his task, but there was a level of concern that Liam hadn’t seen in years.

“We should be moving within range of a phone signal shortly. Perhaps you’ll hear something then.”

Liam’s heart flipped, and the accompanying thud resonated through his sternum. He wanted -- no, needed to know what had happened to his wife. More than that, he needed her to be okay. She had been alive three hours ago when Mara had called, but that was all he knew.

If the worst had happened, how would he go on without her? It was a horrifying prospect, but one that he probably should have considered before now. Having seen his father experience the same kind of loss, perhaps he ought to have done more to protect his own heart from that particular strain of vulnerability. But he’d given himself to Eliza completely. For three years now, she had been working beside him, encouraging and helping him to be a better king as she shared his dreams for the future.

Their future. Inhaling sharply through his teeth, Liam realized that Eliza was not the only one in danger.

It was entirely possible that their baby’s health could still be threatened even if the accident had caused his wife no permanent damage. He didn’t know a lot about the specific risks that car accidents posed during pregnancy, but he did know that even at thirty-eight weeks, the baby was still extremely defenseless.

Uneasy. This time, the word was punctuated by a pit that shot through his stomach like a dart. With it came the image of his wife weeping in Bossina Cathedral at the sight of a tiny closed casket.

“No!” he whispered forcefully, refusing to allow his mind to travel that path. He tried to counter the image with the memory of two nights before. He’d lain beside Eliza in their bed, one of his large hands pressing back against emphatic kicks from his son.

“He’s quickly outgrowing my stomach,” Eliza had told him, eyes alight with anticipation.

“I can’t blame him for being eager to meet you,” he’d replied, rubbing a gentle hand against the stretched skin.

“I’m even more eager to meet him.”

“Three weeks.” He knew she hardly needed the reminder. They’d taken great delight in counting down the time together.

“Unless he’s late -”

Liam had become too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that several minutes had passed without checking his phone. When the blue light suddenly assaulted his eyes, the meaning took some time to register. With a frantic finger, he unlocked the screen, jabbing at the voicemail notification as soon as he was able.

“You have 2 unheard messages.”

The first was from an unfamiliar number. As the automated voice parroted back the date and time, Liam’s heart climbed his throat until it nearly choked him. He uttered an unintelligible sound as the message started:

“Liam, I love you. I want you to know that I’m okay. Our baby is too. He’s so beautiful, Liam. He’s perfect.” There was a sort of hiccuping choke before the message continued. “I know you’re on the way, but I can’t wait to see you, my love. I need you here.”

Click. “Next message.”

The phone fell to the floor as a hot flush stole over Liam’s arms and chest.

She’d had to do it all without him. His blood boiled at the thought of everything she must have gone through. Head pounding furiously, he thought of their planning and all of the practicing they’d done over the past months. Even now, he could hear her giggling at his fervent attempts to perfect Lamaze breathing techniques. One finger moved subconsciously to his breast pocket and the small folded paper that he’d been using to write down affirmations to encourage her with. He’d been collecting them as he thought of them over these last weeks.

He had done everything he could to prepare, but it hadn’t even mattered in the end.

There was a strange, muffled noise coming from his feet. In a daze, Liam lifted the device to his ear, barely able to discern Mara’s voice in his jumble of thoughts. He only made out fragments of her message: placental abruption...the accident...emergency C-section.

In less than a minute, he had shifted from prospective devastation at the loss of his wife to the revelation that he was now a father.

“She’s fine,” he muttered to Bastien hoarsely against a thick tongue. “They’re both fine,” he corrected, feeling an unmistakable prick at his tear ducts.

“We should be there within the hour.”

Liam was out of the car before his bodyguard had even come to a complete stop under the canopied entrance. The stunned looks on the tired faces he passed in the surgery waiting room did not register in his mind at all. In a fog, he turned the corner and saw his destination. From her place beside the door, Mara tipped her head in recognition.

“Good morning, sire. The queen is still under observation, but they’re hoping to move her to the postpartum ward soon if all continues to go well. She may still be awake after the shift change a few minutes ago.”

“Thank you, Mara.” He offered a strained smile, but said no more. Instead, he lifted a knuckle to rap on the door before turning the handle and stepping inside.

The room was dark, save for the lights of the parking lot, which filtered through the cream-colored curtains. Liam latched the door behind him purposefully, trying to discern whether his wife was awake as his eyes adjusted from the brightly lit hallways. The attendant at her side looked up and quietly inquired, “Shall I leave the three of you alone?”

Three. His whole body warmed at the word.

“Thank you,” he articulated quickly, stepping forward to get a better view of his wife. Behind him, the door clicked shut -- a stark contrast against the quiet of the room.

“Liam!” Eliza was barely awake, but still very much alive. In two strides, he was beside the bed, clasping her hands in his and drinking in the sight of her. Tears spilled as he pressed her fingers to his dry lips.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, turning one hand to cup his jaw. He looked up at her face, still the loveliest sight he’d ever seen in spite of the nasty cut that spanned her forehead, part to eyebrow. Lifting a finger, he gingerly moved the hair away from her eyes so that he could see her clearly.

“I haven’t even seen the scar yet. Is it bad?”

“It will heal,” he promised, relief filling his throat with tears. “I was so worried for you.”

“I’ll be fine -- just the cut and quite a case of whiplash. Besides, I’m on so many drugs at the moment that I hardly feel anything. But I was terrified for our baby, Liam. I knew something was wrong as soon as the car stopped. I’m just so glad they were able to get us here in time.”

“As am I.” He spent much of the past several hours agonizing over the alternatives. He didn’t want to think of them any longer.

“He’s perfect, Liam. Is he still sleeping?” With great effort, she lifted herself enough to look into the bassinet to her other side.

Liam’s gaze followed hers, falling on the tiny baby across from him. “He’s so small.”

“I know,” was her whispered reply. “If he’d come any earlier, there could have been all sorts of complications. But he’s perfectly healthy -- just not quite as big as we were expecting.”

Liam had seen so many pictures of newborn babies over the past months that the reddened, wrinkly appearance came as little surprise. He’d been warned that the baby might look like a wizened old man, but it was not this quality which captured his attention. Watching his son for the first time, he took in the the perfectly formed lips, parted and full as the air slipped between them in an even tempo. Hypnotized by the rise and fall of the baby’s chest, the beating of his own heart settled and slowed for the first time in many hours.

Looking further, he could just make out the wisps of fine hair that shot out from under the loosely-woven cap. One little hand was held beneath the chin, fingers tightly curled in the smallest fist he’d ever seen. This was his baby. His and Eliza’s. Liam’s heart threatened to burst at the thought.

“You can hold him,” Eliza suggested, tenderness evident in her voice.

Liam stood reverently and removed his jacket, his eyes still on the bassinet. Moving toward the sink, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to his forearms. He scrubbed his hands and wrists under the water thoroughly, catching his appearance in the mirror as he reached for a paper towel. Choosing not to dwell on the circles under his eyes or the dark shadow across his jawline, he went instead to his son’s side.

His wife’s eyes were on him as he regarded the sleeping child. Lifting his gaze to meet hers briefly, he was startled by the sudden appearance of tears. At the furrowing of his brow, she shook her head. “I’m fine, Liam. Just relieved.”

She didn’t add for now, but he knew that she must feel it. The night had been hellish for both of them, and he expected it would be at least a matter of weeks before either of them was truly fine. Still, he flashed her a heartened smile and turned his eyes back to his son.

He hated to wake the child, but the urge to hold him close was overpowering. With an exaggerated slowness, he lifted the swaddled baby into the crook of his arm. The tiny face contracted at the change, and eyelids fluttered open cautiously to reveal gray-blue eyes. Liam settled his son against his chest, struck by the expressive yawning that was taking place before him.

Feeling Eliza watching him again, he peered over to catch her staring. “I just can’t believe he’s ours,” she whispered through a tired smile.

“And I can’t believe how calm he is after everything he’s been through in the past several hours. It doesn’t seem to have fazed him at all.”

Liam looked up again to see that his wife had not been so fortunate. Although she tried to hide it, her strength was fading fast. She made an admirable attempt to stifle a yawn, but he’d seen similar displays often enough not to be fooled. “If you’re able to, you should rest while you can,” he encouraged, walking back to the chair at her side. He’d seen enough of hospitals to know that they would be afforded little time without interruption, especially as long as she remained post operative.

“I don’t want to,” she insisted, fighting back a second yawn.

“We’ll still be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, leaning forward to meet her lips in a kiss. Her skin was cool and chapped beneath his, but he savored the intimacy in the gesture nonetheless.

Yet again, her presence had brought him back from the brink of uncertainty and despair. More than just possibility, she was the fulfillment of everything he’d ever needed in a wife. He pressed a tender kiss to the hair at her crown. “I’m so proud of you, Eliza."

Liam sat down on the firm cushion of the chair, shifting his weight so that he could lay his son down on the flat surface of his thighs. The child was awake and still plagued by incessant yawns, although they had grown less frequent.

“Liam?” the question came through the croaky voice of sleep and he turned his focus once more to his wife.

“Yes, my love?”

“Next time Olivia wants my help planning an event, I’m doing it over Skype.”

He chuckled in spite of himself, “I’m sure she’ll understand.” In truth, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight for quite some time.

“Good.” This final word was scarcely audible as Eliza’s heavy eyelids sank with sleep.

Silence prevailed for several moments. Liam was lost in thought, his mind running over the events of the past five hours. He wasn’t sure how something which had been so excruciating only an hour before could feel so perfect now, but his joy in meeting his son had quickly struck all other experience from recent memory.

The baby grew increasingly active, fighting the constraints of the tight blanket with growing agitation. “You don’t like being trapped, do you?” Determining to solve his son’s dilemma, Liam drew one hand away from the child and began unfastening the buttons of his shirt until his chest was exposed. Then, with slow, careful movements, he tugged the outer corner of the blanket and began the process of unwrapping the tightly-bound cloth that held the baby in place.

“I’ve been waiting so long to meet you,” he confided in hushed tones. The unfocused eyes regarded him seriously as he pulled away the final layer of fabric. “If I’d known you were coming tonight, I’d have at least put on fresh clothes and shaved this day-old stubble.”

The bowed legs extended to stretch as they were freed from the confines of cloth. Smiling at the jumble of activity, Liam paused in his own movement. “Still, you don’t mind seem to mind seeing me this way.” His son gave no answer, but cocked his head to one side, staring upward. “And that is a very good thing. I don’t usually look such a mess, but you should know what you’re in for.”

He lifted the baby to his bare chest, leaning back so that the infant could rest at a comfortable angle against him. By the time he’d pulled up the blanket to cover them, the child had become content with the new position, stilling his movements as he relaxed against his father’s skin.

Liam cocked his head to see that the baby had returned to sleep, his even breathing barely perceptible against his chest. He rubbed a steady circles against the child’s back, inhaling the strangely alluring scent of downy hair.

Tears welled in his eyes, not for the first time that night. “Sleep well, my son.”

Uneasy. The word came back to him in the quiet of the night, but it no longer had any staying power. Here, with his wife resting beside him and his newborn son respiring steadily against his skin, Liam was lulled into peaceful sleep.

#playchoices #the royal romance #trr #liam rys #liam x mc #playchoices fanfiction

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francescavodanovich99 · 4 years

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LOCKDOWN DIARY

Lockdown Diary, Auckland New Zealand 2020

I started this note-taking type diary when I came back to Auckland for the Covid-19 Lockdown to record moments from my everyday life in a different way. My everyday life changed dramatically on a day to day basis as I slipped into my parent’s daily routines. However, I stopped this diary thing at day 5 because the things I was recording were starting to become very repetitive; wake up, walk, have breakfast, activity, have coffee, activity, have lunch, activity/exersise/swim, snack/have a drink, have dinner, have tea and baking snack, bed. I have now decided to start making collages of my everyday life (at the moment) to create a more visual diary. I’m also going to record my parents a bit more and myself and maybe do some digital self portraits.

Day 1 - Thursday 26 March 2020

Got up at 8:40am

Did les mills The Trip (virtual reality cycling class) on desktop mac computer

Had my coffee and hot cross bun in my studio FaceTiming MIng - caught up on all the goss

Got a FaceTime call from Zoe and had a nice chat, got the latest news from my flat which I miss so dearly

Lay down on the grassy noel in mum and dad’s garden to have a little read of ‘Big Kids’ (illustrated book by Micheal de Forge - one of my fave illustrators). Accidentally fell asleep

Made Kasaundi with mum which was fun and delish! Talent in the kitchen!!

Made a wee cheeseboard for the rents and I with a side of Kasaundi. Livin up my Boujie Baby lifestyle

Dad made us fishcakes for dinner to which I made a salad. Cute family dinner

Had a bowl of my all time favourite ice cream: Kohu Road Dark Chocolate

Had a cup of tea and some more choccy

Went to bed with my elecie blankie warmed up waiting for me he he he.

Day 2

Got up at 8:16am

Went to in-home gym, did half an hour ab class and some stretching

Washed face and put deodorant on

FaceTimed Addie (flatmate) and we attempted to both make “Japanese” pancakes which are supposed to look like this:

Suffice to say they didn’t quite get that puffy due to the fact that I don’t own a crumpet ring. It’s a work in progress. Addie and I both had pb and golden syrup on them and they were delish.

Did some drawing, just of some random instagram model’s face

Went back into my studio and mucked around for a bit longer. Wrote in my mood journal so I don’t go insane (going to keep this up)

Mum and I went out into the wild for a nice walk. There were a few people out and about with their kids. People with kids must be going insane during the lockdown.. fuck

I shared an after dinner cone with mum (hehe, cute mother daughter bonding)

Day 3

Set alarm for 8:22am but turned it off and slept till 9am (oops) (but not really oops)

Went for a walk in Western Springs park with dad

Had avo on toast with a poached egg and some baby tomatoes

Listened to Beatport livestream DJs throughout the day. V sick!

Made a small painting of Addie for Addie’s Birthday this Sunday even though I won’t be able to give it to her for a month :(

Went into the garden and had a lie down on the grassy noel while mum did some gardening and Mario (my cat) kept us company

Mum and I listened to ‘Together at Home’ of Chris Martin from Coldplay playing requested songs on instagram live

We went for a walk round Ponsonby, through the neighbours which was lovely

Dad made me (what is now) my favourite cocktail called “Wild Kitten” :))))) (a gnt with a splash of aperol)

Mum made us zucchini and feta fritters for dinner - delish!

I shared another cone with mum (hehe, cute mother daughter bonding)

Mum, Dad and I sat down to finish ‘Knives Out’ - great ending

Day 4

Woke up at 9:16am

Did Les Mills The Trip

Feeling particularly fragile due to my period so I had a shower instead of a swim and had a cry

Hid in my room for a while, caught up on social media for the morning

Dad and I made cheese scones for morning tea

I went onto my old Tumblr account (foreveronedirectioner101) and found lots of 1D content ahah

Set up a digital workbook for Art StudioIIA

Finished Tiger King - fucked shit my friend. There are 5000-10000 tigers in captivity in the US and only 4000 left in the wild

Had a pretty boring rest of my evening other than starting a new TV show called ‘Counterpart’

Day 5

Woke up at 8:30am

Went for a short walk with mum in the sunshine then came home and did Les Mills Sprint

Had a boring yet satisfying bowl of cereal

The councillor called me at 11:30 for 15mins (not as long as our usual appointments) which was good to chat to someone who is slightly removed from my current situation

Made a bomb diggity frittata for lunccchh

Made cookies in the afternoon and had a little meltdown initially because the chocolate melted in the cookie dough and then for no reason at all :))))))

Cookies were super delicious

Did more of my workbook blog

Unfortunately, cried 3 times

Had cheeseboard and gnt’s on the deck with my rents

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karenemilne · 5 years

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I’m baaaack!!

Happy Easter everyone! Thank you all for being understanding and supportive last week when I decided to not weigh myself or post a blog. My Facebook post got quite a lot of ‘likes’ and I’m thinking that could potentially be because people were like ‘thank fuck she’s not posting another long essay this week’ (I get it) but I’m hoping it’s more because you guys got where I was coming from! I had the best time away with Ross but I found myself getting dead anxious on the train home at the thought of having to weigh myself and then embarrassingly write a blog about how I gained 5 pounds (rough estimation). The big worry for me that if I had gained 4/5 pounds then that would be nearly half of what I had lost already and to be honest I don’t think mentally I would have dealt with that very well. It would have felt like an impossible task to lose it and although you would think that that would push you to go to the gym more, I think it would have made me dread the gym. The other reason I didn’t want to weigh myself was because I didn’t care what I ate and drank in London. I thoroughly enjoyed myself going out for meals, eating things I wouldn’t normally when I’m at home and having prosecco/cider/beer/gin (had them all) without feeling guilty. I knew as soon as I weighed myself and saw the damage I would start thinking ‘I shouldn’t have had that extra bag of sweets’ or ‘I should have stuck to gin and slim line only’ and I just didn’t want that to happen. I didn’t want to turn something so enjoyable into something I felt guilty about. So instead I stuck my head in the sand and worked extra hard the past week. If I’m honest I weighed myself on Monday morning (a few days after I had been back to clean eating and the gym so I thought it wouldn’t be too horrific) and I was up to 74kg and thought right okay, I’ll just need to accept a weight gain this week (I was 72.7 in my last blog). But by some miracle, I have managed to get down to 72 on the button!! I mean I say some miracle but I’ve worked out almost every day and been really good diet wise. You may have already seen me gloat about this on Friday but 72 is the lightest I have been in around 4 years! Over the moon! Still a long way to go but as of this week I am down 5.25kg (11 ½ lbs). Only 2 more kilos to go until I reach my first target of 70kg and I cannot explain how excited I am to stand on the scales and see a number below 72 (hopefully this week)! I am so happy that I had a weight loss this week because it taught me something so important. Yes for someone who’s writing a blog on weight loss I probably did take it too far over my two weeks off but that’s okay!! It’s okay to enjoy yourself as long as you’re willing to get back to it once the holiday it over!

So, usual drill! Here was this week’s gym/eating schedule-

Sunday- I had every intention of going to the gym but Ross was a hungover mess who just wanted a lazy day and I couldn’t possibly have gone to the gym and left him in alone…

Monday- Back to work so back to clean eating during the day! I usually just buy lettuce/tomatoes/cucumbers and some form of meat and make salads up in work. I also drink a lot of water when I’m in work but during the two weeks off I hardly drank any! Went straight to the gym from work- I have just discovered ‘Red Zone Running’ on Instagram. I really enjoy their workouts (although even the beginner level is too fast for my little legs) so I did one of their sprinting sessions for 20 mins and the worst thing happened. I fell on the bloody treadmill!!! Thankfully didn’t come flying off but you know that way when you watch someone running down a hill and they can’t stop and they start to fall and it’s really funny? That was me! I didn’t think my face could get any redder but oh it did!! Anyway, a few people have mentioned that I should try to incorporate more weights into my workouts so I’ve been trying that this week. Again I’m useless and don’t have a clue what they’re all called but I did some weights, 12 reps x3.

Tuesday- Gym again- cross trainer for 10 mins, 8 sprints on the curved treadmill, 10 mins constant fast pace on the stair master, deadlifts (I am so weak so only manage like 20kg haha), barbell extension and I achieved a new PB of 80kg on the leg press! I’m still not very confident doing free weights by myself so tend to only do deadlifts etc when Ross is with me.

Wednesday- Gym AGAIN for a wee cardio session. Managed 20 mins intervals on the stair master (1 fast, 1 slow), 10 mins walking fast uphill, 10 mins running and 10 mins random hill setting on the bike.

Thursday- I am going to go as far as saying Thursday was my biggest diet achievement EVER! I bought my fourth years dominos as it was my last lesson with them (and I am the best teacher ever). I sat with 4 large dominos pizzas in front of me and did I eat them? Not even a slice!! Even when there were leftovers I stuck to my shitty boring salad! So proud of myself for this but I had in my head that Saturday was my cheat day and I was sticking to that! I had a busy night so didn’t fit in a workout. I met Baby Toal (congrats again Karen, she’s beautiful!) and then went to Ross’ gig and I was the designated driver so no added alcohol intake there!

Friday- Off work again (teachers and their holidays eh?!) so forced Ross to come on a big run with me. Managed to run 8.7 miles and for once my leg didn’t hurt!! I mean it hurt in a way that it would if you had just ran 8.7 miles but no worrying aches! I found this run really really hard to be honest. It was 21 degrees so I felt like I was going to die and I had a really big mental battle throughout the full run, fighting with myself about whether I could finish it or not. Poor Ross had to deal with many full-blown strops (threw my hands down like a 4 year old and I would have stomped if I wasn’t mid-run). But hey, we got there! I am the slowest runner and if you don’t believe me maybe this will put it into perspective. I am so slow that Ross went out and did a 6.5 mile run BEFORE our run because he knew he could basically walk alongside me and wouldn’t break out in a sweat- fit bitch. I also threw up in the car after this run too, mainly because I was very dehydrated and instead of having sugar or protein after the run, I had a babybell – idiot!

Saturday- I could hardly walk never mind run so I took a well deserved day off and went out for a wee date day with Ross (had a lot of wine and prosecco- earned it!!)

Meals this week are-

Sunday- having a BBQ at the maws

Monday- PON Cajun dirty rice

Tuesday- L15 Tex mex corn and sweet potato salad

Wednesday- PON Mediterranean chicken orzo

Thursday- L15 Satay sweet potato and kale curry

Friday- PON Honey chilli chicken.

You all NEED to go and buy the Pinch of Nom cookbook. It is so good! Last week I made 4 meals from it and all of them were so tasty, quick and easy!

So yeah! A good week with a lot of hard work put in! Var said something to me this week when I told her that I had got down to my lowest weight. She said, ‘look what a little bit of fear can do for you!’ and it is so true. I was so worried about gaining loads of weight that I pushed myself extra hard and it’s all been worth it! Long may it continue! Let’s hope I see 71 on those scales next week! Thanks as always for reading! X

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lindyhunt · 5 years

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Does Bryan Singer’s Film Bohemian Rhapsody Deserve to Get Awards Love?

The ranks here at FASHION are not filled with men. Shocking, right? But there are one or two (there are actually, literally, two). Naturally, when a question about male/female dynamics arises it’s only fair that one of them stand in for the members of his gender and provide some insight. Our last topic of conversation was about controversial Christmas song “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” and today we’re discussing whether Bryan Singer-directed Bohemian Rhapsody should be snapping up any prizes this awards season. Two of our staffers—from the men’s corner, Greg Hudson, and from the women’s, Pahull Bains—talk it out.

PB: When Bohemian Rhapsody won the Best Picture (Drama) award at the Golden Globes last weekend, in addition to perplexity from critics who had largely panned the film, there was a fair bit of outrage on the internet. Evan Rachel Wood tweeted, “So we just..we are all still supposed to be pretending we don’t know about Bryan Singer? Cause it worked out really well with #Spacey and #Weinstein.” Now, I’m all for men finally getting their comeuppance but I also think it’s unfair that the entire cast and crew of a film be punished for the misdeeds of one person, whose shadiness wasn’t known until the #MeToo Flood of 2017. Or so I thought.

Yes, in 2017 Singer was fired as director of the film partway through shooting for causing “on-set chaos”: showing up late, being unavailable for days at a time, disappearing without the studio’s permission. Just a few days later, it emerged that Singer had been accused of rape by Cesar Sanchez-Guzman, who had been 17 at the time of the assault in 2003. So, I thought to myself, production on this film began before this news came out, so we can’t blame the team for working with him. I’m no fan of the movie, but let them have their moment of glory, thought I, wee innocent one.

As it turns out, allegations against Singer—who has directed films like The Usual Suspects and X-Men: First Class—go way, way back. In December 2017, IndieWire published “The Bryan Singer Timeline: a History of Allegations and Defenses, from Troubled Films to Sexual Assault Claims,” and lets just say it’s not a short list, going as far back as 1994 and ranging from allegations of sexual assault and rape to accusations of filming minor boys naked without their permission.

So, now that we’re caught up on Singer’s problematic history, what does it mean for Bohemian Rhapsody as an awards contender? No one was expecting it to win two big awards at the Globes, which has led understandably to increased scrutiny as we make our way through awards season, with the Critics’ Choice Awards, the SAGs, the BAFTAs, and of course the Oscars ahead of us. Do you think the film’s shot at these shiny statuettes should be diminished because of Singer’s involvement?

FIRST REFORMED, but about Ethan Hawke struggling to find hope in a world where Bohemian Rhapsody is probably gonna be nominated for Best Picture. pic.twitter.com/dI4D7kxfJ7

— david ehrlich (@davidehrlich) January 4, 2019

GH: Before I single-handedly bring down Bryan Singer with my rhetoric and rage, I just want to point a couple of things out that are probably not all that relevant. Why do this? Because I’m a man, and we enjoy talking like experts on subjects we just did some half-assed internet research about.

Point 1: The Golden Globes matter to the Oscar race about as much as the Iowa Caucuses do to the Presidential election. You’ll recall, being the astute political observer that you are, that the Iowa Caucuses happen early in the American election cycle. That’s really the only reason they are covered so closely every four years. Sometimes they are a predictor of who the eventual nominee (and president) will be, but often not. Just ask Mike Huckabee, Rick Santorum, and Ted Cruz. And, similarly, the only reason the Golden Globes seem important is that they happen early in award season. But they are judged by such a niche group that their picks can seem downright baffling at times. Remember the 2010 flop The Tourist starring Johnny Depp? That was nominated for best picture at the Golden Globes. Have you ever seen Mozart in the Jungle? No! No one has! And yet, it’s a Golden Globe-winning television show.

So, do I think Bryan Singer’s creepiness will effect Bohemian Rhapsody’s Oscar chances? No. I think the fact that it’s a paint-by-numbers musical biopic will hurt its chances. (Seriously, the movie could have been called Walk Hard 2: This Time the Rockstar is Gay). I mean, Rami Malek and his mouthguard might still get a nod, but if you want a good Oscar predictor, the TIFF People’s Choice selection has a better track record. (So, get ready for a lot of Green Book hot takes!)

Point 2: Though she has already addressed and expressed regret about it—and she did so even before #MeToo made it a thing—Evan Rachel Wood starred in a Woody Allen movie in 2009. As with Singer, the allegations against Allen were pretty well-known even back then, but she still worked with him.

I’m not saying Wood is a hypocrite, or that her outrage is disingenuous. Not at all. I bring it up only to say that Wood clearly understands that sometimes actors work with gross directors, even if they should—or at least realistically could—know better. So maybe cut the cast a break when they celebrate what was clearly a huge surprise.

But 2009 was a very different time. And that’s good! If Bryan Singer never works again, that’s awesome. (Even if he happens to be innocent of all the many, many, many allegations–no one should be able to make the garbage Superman Returns and escape with their career). The real problem that’s complicating how we view Bohemian Rhapsody is that Singer is trying to get attention from it. If he didn’t rear his Botoxed head to claim credit for the Golden Globe, we might all be cool with forgetting he was a part of the film at all. Even if he kept the directing credit.

My question that rises from all of this is: why haven’t there been the public apologies and disavowals from actors who have worked with him in the past, the way there were for Woody Allen? So many of Allen’s former collaborators spoke out about how much they regret working with him, and how they’d never do it again. Actors who didn’t, or who expressed ambivalence toward Allen earned their own blowback. But no one is reaching out to Oscar Isaac or Jennifer Lawrence or, I don’t know, Stephen Baldwin, and asking them how they feel about having worked with an accused sex offender.

My theory: it’s because he, and his alleged victims, are gay. After all, it’s easier to ignore crimes in marginalized communities. Maybe there’s some discomfort because straight folks think they don’t understand gay sexuality in the first place—isn’t that normal for the gays—which, yes, is totally a homophobic holdover from when homosexuality was unfairly associated with pedophilia. And while I tend to think the retroactive shaming of actors is mostly performative, it’s still fucked up that we let Singer be Singer for so long.

PB: Hmm, I don’t know. Kevin Spacey’s accused of similar crimes and he’s been getting plenty of heat. I mean, he’s basically radioactive to anyone in the industry now. (Just for the record, though, Singer is married to a woman with whom he has a child, and has said publicly in interviews that he’s bisexual.)

I think maybe the reason Hollywood was slow to cool on Singer is because some of the allegations against him were dropped. As TIME notes, “he has faced two civil suits alleging sexual assault, one of which was dropped and one of which was dismissed.” In the wake of those lawsuits though, a bunch of stories began coming out about sordid “sex parties” Singer either threw or was present at but nothing was ever conclusively substantiated. A Buzzfeed story from 2014 details how Singer was brought “into regular orbit with 18- to 20-year-olds at parties sustained by large amounts of alcohol and drugs — edging precariously close to the line between legality and illegality,” but most of the sources quoted in the piece are unnamed and Singer wasn’t directly accused of misconduct. I think that sort of gave people the license to pull the whole “but nothing was ever proven” card.

Thanks to this latest lawsuit from 2017, though, which is ongoing, people are being denied an easy out. There is now a young man on the record claiming that he was raped by Singer, so there isn’t really any room for equivocating. Also, like you said, the climate has changed a lot in the past couple of years and stories that have been circulating on the whisper network for decades aren’t quite as easy to ignore anymore.

I know you brought up how Globe results aren’t a good indication of what’s coming down the pike—mainly because there’s no overlap between HFPA voters and Academy voters—but the film is still getting a lot of recognition from prestigious awards bodies. BAFTA noms came out yesterday and Bohemian Rhapsody features prominently on the list. So I’m just wondering—what’s an organization to do? I don’t think the film’s going to snag any more big prizes going forward; the backlash from the Globes has been substantial and other awards bodies probably don’t want to be tainted by a similar response on their big night. (By the way, did you see how poor 15-year-old Elsie Fisher, star of Eighth Grade, was dragged on Twitter for congratulating the team on their win?)

Why is everyone being so mean about this? I’m genuinely sorry if I did something wrong :(

— Elsie Fisher (@ElsieKFisher) January 7, 2019

Anyhow, I think what’s going to end up happening is: Malek’s going to continue getting recognition and maybe even some awards for his work, and the rest of the film is going to be shut out from any major wins. It’s the easiest way for them to award the film without really awarding the film, you know? And I don’t think anyone’s going to begrudge Malek a win. He’s got a ton of goodwill in the industry as well as critical praise for his portrayal of Freddie Mercury.

What I do hope for though—especially because we still have many, many awards shows and appearances ahead of us—is for everyone involved to get together and figure out how they want to address the elephant in the room. At the press conference after their Globes wins, the team flat-out refused to answer journalists’ questions about Singer. “That’s not something we should talk about tonight,” said producer Graham King, while Queen member Brian May quipped, “Good question though.” Malek then stepped up, saying, “I will take this one. There’s only one thing we needed to do, and that was to celebrate Freddie Mercury. Nothing was going to compromise us and giving him the love and celebration he deserves.”

They’re going to have to do a bit better than that. Don’t you think?

GH: It always baffles me when public figures don’t have thoughtful, satisfying answers to obvious questions. What are their publicists doing? Actors might not be the best at answering thorny ethical question on the spot (who is?), but they are pretty great at memorizing a script. Someone write that cast some talking points!

Having said that, I don’t really know what the satisfying answer would be. Because I realized, too, after you challenged my interpretation of the case, another reason why there hasn’t been the same retroactive hand-wringing from actors about having worked with Bryan Singer as there was about Woody Allen: It’s because it’s Bryan Singer. Woody Allen is an auteur—being in one of his films was an honour, a sign that you had arrived, or were at least arriving. Bryan Singer made some crowd-pleasing pictures, but no one is calling him an auteur.

I can’t decide whether that makes crafting an appropriate response easier or more difficult. On the one hand, because “working with Woody Allen” was such a cliche Hollywood status symbol, it was easy to understand when actors worked with him, despite credible allegations. Singer doesn’t have the same reputation. No actress has gushed about being granted the opportunity to be in an X-Men reboot. In that light, working with Singer seems less understandable.

But, that also could make it easier. And this seems to be where the cast is headed: you lean in on the Freddie Mercury Tribute and imply that, in the shadow of such an amazing performer, the director is practically immaterial. Bryan Singer? Who’s Bryan Singer? This was basically directed by the spirit of Freddie Mercury!

Also, lingering in the back of my mind, there’s that nagging concern that being fired or denied work because of an unproven allegation is a little dangerous as a precedent. After all, some of the rumours around Singer aren’t about illegal activity so much as being gross in a decadent, predatory, Hollywood way. Of course, the “nothing has been proven in court” defence is the least satisfying argument.

So maybe honesty would be best. Something that says they understand why people might feel ambivalent about the film, because of the director. That that is something, as a cast, they are dealing with, too. But, while we don’t want to shut down the conversation about how we should feel about problematic artists, the opportunity to celebrate Freddie Mercury is an unalloyed good. Then go on to talk about all the things Mercury did for human rights and the LGBTQ community.

And then just ignore the fact that the movie changes so much of Mercury’s story that it’s questionable whether it celebrates the real Freddie Mercury, or some postmodern, nostalgic construct we call Freddie Mercury.

But hating on Elsie Fisher? Let’s get some perspective people. The Oscars have a way of bringing out the darkness in people. That can be good (holding Casey Affleck to account for bad behaviour) and some can be not so good (rage-tweeting a teenager you don’t know). What should award bodies do to mitigate this? Should they vet nominees? And if so, what behaviour is disqualifying? What’s the statute of limitations? Or do problematic award winners just need to give better answers?

PB: Award bodies haven’t had to deal with a lot of scrutiny until fairly recently, so they’ve been able to skirt some of these issues without really shouldering any blame. Now though, their feet are being held to the fire and it’s not going to be as easy to just sit by and say nothing. It’s tricky; there’s certainly no one-size-fits-all solution but in my opinion, nor should there be. We’re dealing with complex issues here and I think everything needs to be addressed on a case by case basis. I really appreciate the diversity requirements the BAFTAs put in place last year: for the two awards categories specifically for British films (Outstanding British Film and Outstanding Debut by a British Writer, Director or Producer), they’re only accepting films that meet two of the British Film Institute’s quartet of core diversity standards.

But of course, different award bodies have different nomination processes. The Academy, for instance, has over 8000 people who submit their nominees for various categories, which then cycle through some complicated process before the final nominees are selected. Because there are so many people involved, it’s easy to play the avoidance game. Who do you hold accountable? But if the final list of five or ten nominees includes some problematic faves that have been in the news for x or y reason, I think it’s the award body’s duty to call for a meeting of their board to figure out the steps forward. Interestingly, I just Googled “Who is BAFTA president” and it turns out it’s Prince William, since 2010! Obviously he can’t weigh in on this stuff but there are other people who can, namely the VPs for film, television and games (?). The Academy, meanwhile, has a Board of Governors that includes Whoopi Goldberg, Laura Dern and Steven Spielberg.

Whatever these governing bodies decide, it’s something they should be able to defend when asked about it. Because they will be asked about it. Sorry guys, changing the subject isn’t an option anymore.

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jessicakehoe · 5 years

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Does Bryan Singer’s Film Bohemian Rhapsody Deserve to Get Awards Love?

FIRST REFORMED, but about Ethan Hawke struggling to find hope in a world where Bohemian Rhapsody is probably gonna be nominated for Best Picture. pic.twitter.com/dI4D7kxfJ7

— david ehrlich (@davidehrlich) January 4, 2019

Why is everyone being so mean about this? I’m genuinely sorry if I did something wrong :(

— Elsie Fisher (@ElsieKFisher) January 7, 2019

They’re going to have to do a bit better than that. Don’t you think?

The post Does Bryan Singer’s Film <em> Bohemian Rhapsody</em> Deserve to Get Awards Love? appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Does Bryan Singer’s Film Bohemian Rhapsody Deserve to Get Awards Love? published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

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wesonerdy · 5 years

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When Bree learns the extent of Jamie’s and Ian’s actions as a result of Lizzie’s mistake, time is of the essence to save Roger. Our review of this week’s Outlander, “The Deep Heart’s Core.”

After last week’s episode (“The Birds and the Bees”), several secrets have taken residence up on Fraser’s Ridge. And in “The Deep Heart’s Core”, they all came tumbling out.

The episode begins with Bree (in the aftermath of confessing that Stephen Bonnet is her rapist) and Jamie (in the aftermath of beating Roger to a pulp and sending him off with Ian). Claire has already told Jamie that Bree was raped and is pregnant. Jamie approaches Bree as she’s tending to the livestock. She takes notice of his bandaged hand, and Jamie attributes the injury to a “wee” accident near the still. He then tells Bree that Claire has told him about the rape. Bree denies knowing who her assailant was. Jamie then invites Bree to join him as he checks on the snares to see if anything has been caught.

As they walk, Bree asks her Da if he hates her. An unmarried, pregnant daughter can’t have been what he hoped for. But Jamie tells her immediately that he can’t think less of her for something she had no control over. Besides, Jamie is confident that they can find Bree a husband. She responds that she has no interest in being married… Bree already has a love, back in her time. Even so, Bree doesn’t think “the historian” will want her now that she’s pregnant with another man’s baby. But Jamie assures her that, if he’s a decent man, one who deserves her, he’ll still want Bree: “And I will travel through time, myself, to tell him.” 🙂

It’s clear that Bree feels some responsibility. Just as she tells her mother, she tells Jamie that she shouldn’t have followed the man to a dark room by herself, should have fought him off harder. Bree dismisses Jamie’s attempts to ease her guilt, that she couldn’t have stopped her rapist. Then Jamie tries some reverse psychology. He seems to agree with Bree’s assessment… maybe she even wanted the man’s sexual advances and made up a story about rape. Bree gets angry and attempts to strike Jamie. She fights him, even has he grabs her and holds her by the neck… demonstrating his point. Bree could NOT fight back, then and now. If she tried, her rapist would have killed her.

Bree then asks Jamie about his own rape, whether he fought back against Black Jack Randall (OMG). Jamie tells her that he promised not to fight back at Wentworth Prison, for the sake of Claire’s life.:“I would do the same again.” (*WEEPING*) Bree asks whether Jamie eventually killed BJR. She wonders if killing the man who raped her would help. When Jamie questions Bree about her motive, she pivots again to Jamie and when he tried to kill BJR in the duel in Paris. What did he try to get back? Jamie replies that he fought for his honor. Bree thinks fighting for her honor might be worth it, but Jamie cautions her that it would be foolish to seek out her rapist. Interestingly, Jamie confirms to Bree that he did kill Black Jack at Culloden. (A huge departure from the books… as of A Breath of Snow and Ashes, Jamie has no memory of the events that took place between him and BJR on Culloden Moor and has never confirmed that he did kill the man.) Bree: “I keep thinking, if he was dead, maybe I could forget.” Jamie: “Ye wilna forget but time will let you heal.” This is something he knows firsthand.

Later, Claire talks to Bree about her options. She would be able to give Bree a surgical abortion (any herbs that would claim to do the same are unreliable and risky). However, Bree would have only whiskey to help with the pain. Bree asks Claire if she ever considered an abortion, but Claire denies it right away. Her situation was different. Both she and Jamie were in love and wanted their child (Bree). Bree asks her mother about the potential for Roger to be the baby’s father, after all, withdrawing during sex isn’t foolproof. Claire agrees that it’s possible. If Bree wanted to keep the baby and go back to Roger in the 1970s, it would be best to do it soon. A pregnant woman can go through the Stones OK (Claire has done it), but a woman with a baby in her arms… who knows what could happen, even possible separation. Bree’s choices aren’t optimal, but she has to make her decision soon.

Life continues on Fraser’s Ridge, their daily chores and nightly dinners with stories and laughter around the table. Murtagh is there, too. Ian is clearly smitten with Bree, and while she’s fond of him, the feelings aren’t romantic. In a separate conversation between Jamie and Bree, she tells him that she’s glad her mother came to find Jamie. And the truth is, Bree came back in time to find Jamie, too. Claire and Bree play a game about what they miss from the future: burgers, PB&J, aspirin, Led Zeppelin and music, toilets. Regardless, mother and daughter are glad to be together.

Courtesy of Starz/Sony Pictures Television, Inc.

Bree’s nightmares also continue. This time we see the source of her anguish. Bree dreams that Roger returns for her. When she confesses to being pregnant and not knowing if it’s Roger’s, he morphs in Bonnet. Bonnet says that he hopes the baby has his eyes and then attempts to rape Bree again. She fights him and cries for help… Lizzie is there to wake her up and offer a glass of water and consolation. Lizzie assures Bree that the man who assaulted her cannot hurt her again. How is Lizzie so sure? And so Lizzie makes her confession… that the man came looking for her at Fraser’s Ridge, that Jamie beat him, and Ian carted him off. But, wait. How does Lizzie know what her rapist looks like? Lizzie tells Bree that she saw them together in Wilmington, outside the tavern. It all clicks for Bree then. UHOH.

That morning, Bree storms into the cabin and demands to know what Jamie has done with Roger. Claire is confused by the question, hasn’t Roger gone back? Bree has thought the same, but Lizzie’s confession has made her realize the truth. Claire asks Jamie about his hand… this was not an accident with a tree. When Murtagh and Ian try to leave the room, Bree tells Ian to stay. He’s part of this. Jamie confesses to giving a man a beating, but says he had no idea it was Bree’s historian. Besides, Lizzie confirmed it was Bree’s assailant. Bree interrupts to say that Lizzie was wrong. The man she saw Bree with in Wilmington is Roger, and they slept together after being handfast. Jamie interrupts Bree’s explanation and accuses Bree of making up the story of her rape when it seems that she bedded a man from lust: “To think I was defending your honor, and now I come to find ye claim yourself violated upon finding yerslef w’child.”

Bree gives Jamie a well-deserved slap for saying such vile things. Claire rushes to Bree’s side as she finishes her explanation. That she was in fact raped, but by someone else, not Roger. Jamie, Ian, and Lizzie all recognize they’ve made a massive mistake. Jamie: “I’ll make it right. You have my word as your father.” Bree: “My father would never have said the things you said to me. He was a good man. You’re nothing but a savage.”

Claire tries to comfort Bree as she weeps. Ian asks the question they’re all wondering–if it wasn’t Roger, then who? Claire answers the question by pulling out her old wedding ring from Jamie and putting it on the table. They all know who had been in possession of that ring. Bonnet.

Ian then tells them that he sold Roger to the Mohawk, who were passing through. That warrants him a slap from Bree, too. When Jamie expresses his anger by knocking over dishes and chairs, Bree stops him: “YOU DO NOT GET TO BE MORE ANGRY THAN ME!” Realest of real talk, because there’s no way Jamie’s feelings get to be centered. This is about Bree.

When Bree asks how they can get Roger back, there’s no good news. The Mohawk live in upstate New York, 700 miles away. And they’ve already gotten over a week’s head start. That night, they strategize. Ian doesn’t believe the Mohawk will kill Roger, but might adopt him into their tribe. In exchange for Roger, the Mohawk gave Ian a necklace… his “price”. But Ian believes it can help them find their village. Jamie suggests that he and Ian go after Roger, but Bree disagrees. They’ll all go. But Jamie is worried that if they have to go all the way to New York, it could take four months or more. Bree is pregnant and making the trip could be dangerous, as well as slow them down.

Claire asks for a little alone time with Bree, where Bree confirms that she will keep the baby. The slightest chance that the baby could be Roger’s is enough of a reason. And regardless, Bree will love her child. Then Bree asks Claire to go with Jamie and Ian to find Roger. He will need to see a familiar face, especially after what Jamie and Ian did to him. Claire refuses to leave Bree alone at Fraser’s Ridge when she’s pregnant. Jamie interrupts to make a suggestion… Murtagh will take Bree and Lizzie to Auntie Jocasta. It’s settled. And in a separate conversation, Jamie asks Murtagh to find Bonnet and bring him to Jamie so he can kill him.

Courtesy of Starz/Sony Pictures Television, Inc.

The next day, Claire assures Bree that Jocasta will make sure Bree is well-taken care of. Bree gives Claire a drawing of Roger she’s made, maybe it can help find him. Bree also tells Claire to tell Roger everything. He came back for her and deserves to know the whole truth.

Before they part ways, Ian gets on his knee and pledges to marry Bree if they’re unable to find Roger. Jamie tells Ian to stop being an idiot, but then makes his own pledge to Bree, promising to bring Roger back. “I’ll hold you to that vow.”

Bree offers her own apology to Claire: “I’m so sorry Mama.” “For what?” “For making you leave me.”

The two groups part ways.

Upon arrival at River Run, Murtagh presents Jamie’s letter to Ulysses, who takes him and Bree to see Jocasta. Murtagh interrupts Ulysses’ introduction to introduce himself. Jocasta smiles because she recognizes Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser. She takes his hands… hands she says she recognizes from being so close to Ellen. Murtagh then presents Brianna, Jamie and Claire’s daughter from Boston. She tells the remainder of the letter… that Bree is pregnant and unmarried. That Jamie requests Jocasta look after her despite the mark it will bring to her good name while he and Claire search for the man Bree has been handfast to. Ulysses confirms that that is the gist of the letter. Without reservation, Jocasta agrees to help Bree, “my dear, sweet girl.”

Courtesy of Starz/Sony Pictures Television, Inc.

Elsewhere, we see what it’s like for Roger after he’s been sold to a group of Mohawk Native Americans. As they ride on horseback, they drag Roger and another white, male captive behind them by rope. The walking is long, arduous, and exhausting with little rest or respite. When the other man falls down, barely able to walk, it’s Roger who has to help him up. Roger asks for water for the man, and one of the Mohawk, Kaheroton,(who speaks English) slaps him and tells Roger, “you do not speak!” The walking continues for days. At night, the group stops and tells their creation myths and stories. Roger and the man sit in the background. The man observes Roger with a bit of rope and asks what he’s doing. Roger says that he’s keeping track of each passing day (it’s been a week since he’s been sold), noting the general direction they’re heading (north), and landmarks. When the time comes, he’ll be prepared to make an escape. Roger is determined to survive and get back to his wife. The man tells Roger that he’ll need more rope, and they share a laugh.

Courtesy of Starz/Sony Pictures Television, Inc.

Later, we see that the man has died. Kaheroton separates Roger from him and they continue their journey north. Roger grows more and more exhausted and walking becomes difficult. One day, as they pass by a small waterfall, Kaheroton collects water and offers some to Roger. They stop him from drinking more. They keep riding, with Roger walking, and he falls, sliding down a hill. The Mohawk stop and try to pull Roger up, but he’s able to work the rope around his wrist off. Roger rolls down the hill and takes off running. Kaheroton and another Mohawk chase after him, but Roger is able to stay hidden behind some shrubs. When the Mohawk go off in the other direction, Roger tries to gather himself and decide his next steps.

As he’s walking, Roger hears a familiar buzzing. He’s found the American Craigh na Dun! Roger approaches the stone, but hesitates as he looks at the two gems in his hand. What about Bree?! Roger starts to weep. He moves to place his hand on the stone… and the episode ends.

Courtesy of Starz/Sony Pictures Television, Inc.

Sassenachs, just THREE EPISODES LEFT!

Make sure to live tweet with us each Sunday and come share your thoughts with us during our WSN REVIEWS series on YouTube after each episode!

REVIEW: ‘Outlander’ Season 4, Episode 10 “The Deep Heart’s Core” When Bree learns the extent of Jamie's and Ian's actions as a result of Lizzie's mistake, time is of the essence to save Roger.

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seniorbrief · 6 years

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The Unexpected Life Lesson This Grandmother Learned While Writing Her Memoir

Joana Villez for Reader’s Digest

A note about the author (by her granddaughter,  network news producer Allison Arlene Hansen):  Not long before she died, I sneaked away for a Grandma sleepover. A character who was always full of surprises, she motioned me to her beloved writing desk—black with gold chinoiserie and a white leather top. “That’s yours,” she said. “You’re a writer, like me. You get the purple box  inside too.” I opened the box to find stacks of her stories, some sweet, some adventurous, some droll—just like her. This one, an amusing look back written when she was in her 70s, shows her fondness for the unexpected path.

Dear Children,

As you know, for years I’ve planned to write up the memories I’ve been saving on scraps of paper since you were young. I’ve kept them put away in safe places, like memory hooks holding on to funny remarks and actions.

“Guess Who Gets to Keep the White Rat for the Summer?” was one of my favorites.

And the one about the frog we planned to train for the Frog Jump at the Calaveras County Fair until your father hit it with the lawn mower while he was mowing the backyard.

(My training as a nurse came in handy when I was called to splint  its leg with a Popsicle stick.)

And the one about the baby alligators who lived in our backyard pond.

We do have an interesting history with animals, don’t we?

Now that you are grown and off having adventures with your own children, I’ve enrolled in a memoir-writing class. You know what? It’s such a struggle!

I wake up in the middle of the night with just the right thought in my mind. Grabbing notepaper and pen, I go in the bathroom and write it down. Great! I don’t want to lose that, and in the morning it may be gone.

But I’m having trouble getting back to sleep these days and find myself nodding off in my chair after dinner.

I also tend to pick at a certain area of my head when I’m searching for exactly the right phrasing. It seems  to me the hair is a little thinner now in that one area.

I spend a great deal of time staring out the window in contemplation. I’ve noticed I’m having a wee bit of trouble sometimes getting my eyes to focus again, and once in a while, I get a little twitch in the left eye.

I also carry around a notebook in my purse to capture the thoughts I’m coming up with during the day when I’m driving around or at the grocery store. The notebook takes up so much space in my purse!

It’s great to have pictures to illustrate the writings—they add so much. But in finding just the right ones, I have to search around through all the boxes, and the house is in disarray. In fact, I’m becoming  a little bit absentminded, I have to admit, from all this creative concentration. I forgot to turn on the coffeepot the other morning, and yesterday the potatoes burned when I was  writing down this great description that came to me out of the blue at dinnertime.

Your dad is supportive, but it’s  a mistake to let him read my articles while I’m composing them, I find. Last week he very nicely said,  “I don’t like the way this sounds. Why don’t you say so-and-so?” and  I didn’t handle it too well. In fact, I said, “Please! I read this in class,  and they thought it was good. I’m not changing it.”

We are encouraged to be original, so instead of writing “I remember,”  I said something like “The long-dormant brain cells were activated again,” and he said, “That’s corny. Why don’t you say ‘sweet memories’?” To which I replied, “We’re supposed to be original. ‘Sweet memories’—that’s so everyday.” Later I  decided it sounded  ridiculous. But the right expression came—during the night. Naturally, I jumped up and got  it written just the way I wanted.

It’s all sort of an exquisite torture, as the expression goes. I’m walking around with dark circles underneath puffy eyes.

So, my dears, I’ve decided it’s fun  to write and relive all the memorable times I’ve enjoyed in my life and to share the happy days of your growing-up years. But I think at my age, I need my rest. And frankly, I think your  dad misses me watching those great PBS shows and National Geographic  specials on TV with him. He says he’s lonesome. Enjoy the ones I’ve written because I’ve decided not to write any more memoirs.

Love, Mom

Stephanie Bletzacker/Courtesy Allison Arlene Hansen

Epilogue When Grandma gave me those stacks of handwritten stories in the magic lavender box, many of which I’d never read, on  top was a letter addressed to “Editor  of Reader’s Digest.” Grandma explained that she had written that letter a hundred times. But she’d never sent it, and though many of her stories made it into her local paper, her life’s dream remained to be published in the magazine.  After she passed away at 94, I made  it my life’s dream, too, and sent her work to Reader’s Digest. You made  it, Grandma!

Next, read more heartwarming stories that will restore your faith in humanity.

Joe McKendry for Reader’s DigestArlene Aikins was a proud mother of two, grandmother of six, and great-grandmother of 12, and a lifelong writer.

Original Source -> The Unexpected Life Lesson This Grandmother Learned While Writing Her Memoir

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/the-unexpected-life-lesson-this-grandmother-learned-while-writing-her-memoir/

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