#st: perfect for each other (derogatory)

[heavenstrvck]

🕯️ for erin

send me 🕯️to hear my character's inner thoughts about your character.

"i love her. i hope that she knows that i love her. that she knows how perfect she is to me. she's everything. no matter what happens, i can't leave her again. i'd rather lose my whole fucking job than give up on her again. i want to stay with her, like before. i need to tell her. she needs to know that i love her. that i always have. that i'm not going anywhere. not ever. not without her. fuck, unless she doesn't want this anymore."

[heavenstrvck]

she'd never expected to be welcomed back like this. for siobhan not only to actually talk to her when their paths had crossed, but to invite her out, to share with her one of her favorite places in the city. it feels incredible and precious - to know that the redhead still wants her around, still sees her as someone she wants to share her spots and secrets with. a sincere smile stays on her lips, wondering if she should start betting or buying lottery tickets with how lucky she feels right now.

erin almost expects siobhan to laugh at her offer and decline it. after all, why would she accept to have her over, to flirt like this when in the past few years, she had done nothing to actually fix what she'd broken. instead, she swallows back the doubts along with another gulp of the sugary and sweet drink, nodding with a playful smile as she shrugs. "plenty of things. none i can say in public." another teasing joke, though the way she's looking at siobhan shows that she's serious about it. all in good time though. doesn't want to push her too far too soon despite her own need to feel her against her after all these years, just to check if her lips feel the same, if her skin taste like it did all those years ago.

soft laugh passes her lips as she watches siobhan order another martini, using the opportunity to watch her once more. she nods, conspiratorially leans forward with a wink. "i won't tell your parents, promise." erin grins, remembering their illicit nights out, all hushed chuckles and careful touches not to make any noise. the idea that if they both got drunk tonight and went home, it would be to siobhan's place, without anyone to be careful about, anyone to stop them. it makes a slight shiver run along her spine, and she distracts herself with another sip before looking in the blue eyes again. "how's the teaching going then? hopefully not as traumatizing as whatever her name was you had to deal with back in high school."

she would love it, if things could be the same as they always were. it was so easy to think about before. before, before, BEFORE. before she was no better than dirt on the bottom of erin's shoes. she knew that she was being dramatic. there was no reason for her to feel that way right now. they were here, in her city at this bar that was HERS. erin was all over her territory, and ONLY because she wanted to spend time with her. so she's trying desperately to suppress the voice in her mind that makes it seem as though she was a pathetic, desperate shell of her former self, who can't handle any rejection and deserves for this to go badly, and just be here. after all, if nothing else, at least she could get some closure out of this. basking in the electricity between them is setting every nerve within her on fire. she wants to live in this feeling forever. if she could build her life in a moment, she'd do it here, in this suspended place between coming home and all of the fluttering nerves of meeting erin for the first time all at once. it was so RIGHT in her mind, but she can't possibly spend to much time thinking about it. because after ten years, screaming I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU feels like a dangerous way to break her own heart all over again. so instead, she does the only thing she can do. a well times smile, a twirl of her hair, and the flirtiest comments she can come up with (not that she had ever been any good at that). tomorrow, 5, martinis. the plans feel like they're coming from a whirlwind, like she never actually expected erin to try to make them. she could make that work, obviously. she could make anything work if erin had asked her to. "oh yeah?" she asks, blue eyes twinkling, "you got something in mind?" she smirks, trying her best not to show the mix of nervousness and excitement that's overwhelming her. hand in hand, and yet siobhan still wonders, she still lacks the confidence to know that erin really wants anything to do with her. after all, it's been a long time since siobhan's been with anyone who actually wanted to be with her, at least romantically. she didn't really date, too wrapped up in her little world of pirouettes and perfection. was it always like this? had she always believed so little in herself? maybe it was just because she knew erin was inevitable, like there was nothing that could ever sever the thread that drew her to erin. after all, how else could she explain exactly where they were right now? she orders another martini as soon as she finishes the first, and winks at erin. "no class tomorrow, feels like i should go a little wild." she winked, and hoped that she wasn't embarrassing herself.

[suzannahnatters]

TIME FOR MORE OF MY FAVOURITE WEIRDLY SPECIFIC TROPES

Love Is Not Enough For This Nonsense I see your "I can fix him" and your "I can make him worse" and raise you "I tried to fix him but he persisted in seeking his own doom so now I'm going to peace out and naff off to a beautiful little cottagecore life with the baby". (The Daisy Ridley Ophelia movie did this. The Revenge of the Sith probably should have done this.)

Moral Psychopath give me someone who was born to be a monster but isn't, give me a man without a conscience who does the right thing ANYWAY, give me a stone cold nightmare who chooses to be good even when it doesn't give him warm feels!!!! (there was a character like this in Zero Sum Game, there was a character like this in Forest of Secrets, our bb from Flower of Evil thought he was this - but nobody's done it properly yet)

Competitive Self-Immolation Two idiots, alike in nobility, do their darnedest to one-up each other in committing self-sacrifice. (I admit we do see this somewhat often - most recently in The Rings of Power with Miriel and Elendil - but I go feral for it every time).

Families That Are Actually Happy There's no skeletons in their closet, no twist in their plot. They really are that happy, healthy and supportive. (My bestie C does this in the Secrets of Ormdale series and we do not see it anywhere near enough)

Ruthlessly Gentle Scholar X Angry Guilty Knife Wife She's a stabby hot mess with so much baggage she's starting to shake apart at the seams, and he's cool-headed, warm-hearted, and absolutely inflexible when it comes to what he believes to be right. Somehow they are simultaneously each other's greatest need and worst nightmare. (See: the main couple in Rosamund Hodge's Crimson Bound. See also: the platonic version from The Rings of Power between Elrond and Galadriel that about once a season makes me scream/cry/throwup).

The Unprodigal Son He's never broken a rule in his life. He's the soul of duty. He's above reproach. He's also the worst person you know and needs a redemption arc so badly. (I am not sure I've ever seen this? like the eldest son in the parable, yes. Angelo in Measure for Measure, and 100% St John Rivers in Jane Eyre - except that they don't get a redemption arc. Somewhere there's got to be a Regency romance novel with this plot, surely?)

Head in Lap (Derogatory) Let me lay my head gently in your lap and roast you to kingdom come. (Hamlet, obviously. Also, and I squealed so happily, Luca with Viv in Splintered Life).

Born-Again Monsters Vampires, Tieflings, or just demon-themed mutants who respond to their fiendish nature by going super hard with religion. (Nightcrawler is the perfect example, but we're getting a vampire with religious scrupulosity in Claire Trella Hill's next vampire book and I am HAPPILY SQUEALING)

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E1

Previous season Prologue: Vlogs (1) - Vlogs (2)

°

Zaterdag 21:43

The time lapse already showing us a string of places that will be important later, like the dark alley, the Meir with Noor’s workplace, the university neighborhood, the Scheldt river where the boys hang out, ...

Perfect parallel: 

The second season starts Zoë’s POV with a (washing machine) door, whilst the third opens with a door to a party that Robbe attends.

Robbe glances back at Noor passing through the shot this episode, an action he repeats when he spots Sander in the second episode. - A very subtle hint to where his love life may lead.

The first one starts with two unknown LGBT+ girls kissing at a party, the last episode shows two known LGBT+ boys (Sobbe) kissing at their own party.

The aerial shot through the floor to introduce us to Robbe’s POV here and the aerial shot through the roof to say goodbye to him in the last episode.

Moyo saying “No one would do you” to Aaron in this episode, Aaron realizing “No one here wants to do me!” in the last.

Where’s Wally? Noor greeting Marie, accompanied by Jana and Britt. Max dancing with Keisha in the crowd.

How ‘meta’ of you: Newsflash, yes you are!

Nod to the OG: 

The deliberate messy POV: following everyone that we know already and then slowly settling on the Isak version in a tub.

Robbe saying Noor looks like ‘Natalie Portman’, which is what people said to the OG Emma when they flirted with her. Everyone, except Isak, that is.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo keeps pressuring Robbe into explaining what type of girl he likes. The boys laugh it off when he answers that ‘he doesn’t have a type’.

Lost in translation: Moyo mocks Noor’s Dutch accent, making his ‘g’ and ‘st’ sound harsher, while also adding ‘hoor’ at the end - a typical word used by the Dutch to emphasize a point.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is playing with the weed bag. Keisha is one of the girls that Moyo mentions as Jens’ ex-girlfriend or ex-fling. Not only did Noor nót flush the toilet, but she didn’t used any toilet paper either!

°

Zaterdag 22:44

C is for culture: 

Noor rescuing Robbe on her scooter - In Belgium, you’re allowed to drive a moped or scooter once you’ve reached the age of 16. Nothing is needed if the vehicle doesn’t go above 25 km/h. If it stays between the range of 25-45 km/h and max. 50 cc, you need to pass a theoretical exam, 4 hours of driver’s ed and a practical exam to get the license. Anything other than that, has a whole new set of restrictions, types of driver’s licenses and minimum ages.  Noor and Robbe are, however, still breaking the law. As long as you’re not 18, you’re not allowed to have an extra passenger with you. Especially if they’re not wearing a helmet. (Plus they ignored a red light. Those rebels!)

“You do know that you always have to have it with you?” - The Belgian law states that everyone above age twelve, has to get an ID to identify themselves. Some might have had a Kids-ID already - for travel purposes - but that’s not mandatory. However, once you're fifteen years old, you’re obligated to carry your ID with you at all times.

Perfect parallel:

Luca being all jealous whilst staring at Noor and Robbe making out in S3, her glaring at Maud and Robbe every chance she got in the last season.

Robbe and Noor having fun on the scooter while screaming and Robbe filming their adventure in this episode. Robbe and Sander doing a similar thing, but on their bikes in a later episode.

Wink to other remakes: Robbe sporting a brown jacket. (Eliott, anyone?)

Surprise bitch, guess who: It’s Willem Chanterie, the on-set costume designer and social media production assistant!

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has a ‘Fuck Trump’ sticker on her helmet. Robbe says “Hey, it’s red” in a very clear Antwerp accent. 

°

Zaterdag 23:11

Hello from the outside: The garbage truck they sprayed, still drove around the city regularly. The art piece itself is named ‘#Genoeg mama' (= ‘#Enough mommy’). It blames the consumer society as toxic, making young people its victim.

Oopsie: Inside the graffiti den, Noor suddenly sports a tote bag with supplies, even though we never saw her wearing that in the previous shots.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has black combat boots. The photographer is obviously Sander, in case you have missed that subtle clue.

°

Zondag 13:41

Lost in translation/Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: 

“Check die pekie’s”. The word ‘pekie’ is actually Amsterdam slang for ‘beautiful girl, girlfriend’. In recent years, more and more Dutch slang are making their way into the Flemish dialect, because of the Dutch rap songs gaining popularity with the youngsters.

“Vamos, flikkers”. The word ‘flikkers’ can mean ‘wussie’ as well as a derogatory term for ‘homosexual’. Again establishing the fact that the boys use a lot of homophobic or toxic words for each other.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +1, him tossing the bag behind Jens instead of into his hands.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: There is a football right next to the skateboards.

°

Maandag 16:04

C is for culture: “The whole art school was talking about it” - 

Secondary school is divided in four sections: general, technical, art and vocational. Which section you choose can have effect on further education. In one of these sections, you pick what you want to study from your first to last year (‘directions’). That means that you have some courses purely focused on the direction and others that are obligated for everyone, regardless.

Art high schoolers can choose to go to work or study a specialization afterwards. Their coursework isn’t solely art based, there are general required courses too. That’s why some foreigners - including the Dutch - come to Belgium, since they’ll get a more rounded and higher level of art education than in their countries. ‘de!KUNSTHUMANIORA’ is the high school in Antwerp Noor goes to and is known for having students with unique styles.

Perfect parallel: 

Noor waiting outside the school for Robbe and him reacting somewhat confused here, Sander doing the same and having an instantly happy Robbe in a later episode.

Robbe having no problem kissing a girl ‘as a straight guy’ in front of the gates in this episode and scared for what might happen if he kissed a boy ‘as a gay guy’ later on. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The insta caption underneath the art work says ‘An inspirational message on a Sunday! Just discovered this in Antwerp city today. Artist unknown... Can you remember when you last called on your mother?’ (That last sentence, oooofff, the symbolism!)

°

Dinsdag 14:57

C is for culture: 

“Yes, mini enterprises are so chill.” - Mini enterprises are often used as a tool for Economics in the fifth/sixth year. The goal of these is to ‘learn whilst doing it’. Like the name specifies, mini enterprises are actual miniature companies set up by a group of students. During the school year, they’ll try to work together on commercializing a product. All aspects of entrepreneurship are at play here: writing a business plan, holding meetings, doing bookkeeping, marketing the product, produce and sell it, ... If the enterprise idea is good or well executed, it might even win a national prize by the company making this education formula.

“What if he contacts child protection services” - Actually, those services doesn’t really exist in Belgium. There are, however, other youth organizations for these types of things, like JAC - Youth Advice Centre, CLB - Centre for Student Guidance and the Centre for Mental Healthcare.

Perfect parallel: The boys hyping Aaron up to walk over to Amber and talk to her - yet he fails in this episode, them doing the same and he succeeds (after some fails) in the last episode. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jens saying “Damn, seems like someone is on his fucking period”, after Robbe snaps at him due to the difficult telephone call with his dad.

Lost in translation: Jens saying “Mijn kop staat er niet naar” (= “My head’s not standing there”) can actually mean different things: I’m not in the mood, it’s not the right time, I don't want to do it, my head’s all over the place, ... It depends on the context, on which interpretation would suit the situation the best. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The girls are all fawning all over Britt’s cellphone, so there is a good chance that they’re discussing (pictures of) her boyfriend, Sander. Also, Jana’s braces are gone! 

°

Donderdag 17:13

Perfect parallel: Robbe stating that he can’t talk to his dad or he’ll fight and Zoë getting that, as she said a similar thing to an understanding Senne about her parents in S2. 

How ‘meta’ of you: Ah, yes, fandom ship names in SKAM. We applaud!

Oopsie: If you look really hard, you see that the body type and hair of Robbe’s dad, doesn’t correspond with the version waiting at the restaurant later on.

Wink to other remakes: This shot reminding you of a certain S3 trailer?  👀

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The numerous references to Zoënne’s relationship in their room (relationship pics, Senne’s guitar). The paper Milan gifts to Robbe is the written permission by his parent to live with them, as is obligated by law.

°

Vrijdag 20:04

Perfect parallel: 

Senne pulling Zoë up after a kiss here, just like with their first kiss in S2.

Robbe pushing Milan away after thinking he wanted to kiss him at the party in S2, them hugging it out in after talking about it in S3.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Milan making some healthy party snacks like cauliflower and cocktail sauce, cheese with tomatoes and salami squares. She pulls back the bottle of gin that Milan wants to steal. Senne also bought paprika and tortilla chips from Colruyt (a discount store).

°

Vrijdag 20:54

C is for culture: “Noor, Robbe’s girlfriend” - (Teen) dating culture is different in Belgium. Usually, if you have kissed, hung out, texted or just said/did something to show your mutual interest, you’d pretty much consider yourself in a relationship. It can go from 0 to 100 very quick. Unless there is, of course, an agreement that what you’re doing is no such thing. Also, nobody really ask you to be their gf/bf. It just implied or stated to their family or friends. 

Perfect parallel: 

A reluctant Robbe pushing himself to do stuff to Noor (playful dancing, kissing, riling her up) as far as putting his hands on her bra here. A totally different, excited Robbe not even thinking twice about doing these things to Sander, even licking his nipple during their reunion.

Noor pushing Robbe on the bed and climbing over him, whilst Robbe looks all sad in this episode. Him pushing Sander on the bed and being happy as Sander crawls over him during their reunion.

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe tries to convince himself into liking heterosexual sex with Noor and fake laughs with his friends about having it.

Where’s Wally? Keisha laughing with Amber and later dancing with Marie.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is talking to Senne. The decorations behind Milan saying ‘Welkom Robbe’ (= ‘Welcome Robbe’). Noor has a beautiful tattoo of a pin-up girl covered with butterflies on her lower arm.

[belphegor1982]

I'm just imagining a cross-over of two of your interests - Bertie Wooster hanging out with Jonathan Carnahan. I think they would get along well!

:3 

(BERTIE AND THE CARNAHAN SIBS WOULD BE BUDS. More on that later.)

I’d heard of Jeeves and Wooster a bit but never really got into it until last summer, when I basically fell in love with Bertie Wooster, and since The Mummy is one of those few fandoms that’s always in the back of my mind just waiting for an excuse for me to fall back in, I realised at some point that the characters of both fandoms are pretty close in age, or at least the same generation. (And then TM/TMR took over my brain and I put Wodehouse aside for a while.) Evelyn must be about 25 in the first film; there’s 8 years between Rachel Weisz and John Hannah, and she’s two years younger than Brendan Fraser, so in my head the characters’ ages in the first film go thus: Evy, 25; Rick, 27; Jon, 31 (because a 5/6 years’ difference is more fun to play with than 8 years). Which would make Bertie exactly Rick’s age and (again, in my head), Jeeves 6 years older than Bertie.

I was just throwing ideas together and summing up what might come out as vignettes one day in different characters’ points of view, but it got long, so I’m putting it under a cut ^^’ It’s mostly headcanon stuff, anyway.

So. The Carnahans are a moderately respectable family, even if a lot of the upper crust turned their backs on John Carnahan once he married Salwa al-Masri, and Jonathan and Evelyn (respectively 13 and 7) are deemed suitable playmates for 9 year old Bertie Wooster. Bertie is a little baffled by the tiny force of nature that is Evelyn Carnahan, who despite being a tiny slip of a girl with lots of curly hair walks with purpose and self-confidence. (And she can read almost better than he does.) They have themselves a little adventure, and the sibs conclude that Bertie Wooster is a good fellow. As for Bertie, he’s also looking forward to further lessons in picking locks, climbing down drainpipes, and other exciting endeavours Jonathan seems to know a lot about.

At some point he hears Aunt Agatha make… derogatory comments about the siblings and especially their mother, who is a very nice lady, and resolves to keep being friends, because aunts can in fact be wrong, no matter how scary they are.

When Bertie’s parents die, the siblings find a muted sunshine beam that doesn’t look like their Bertie. Jonathan sets out to cheer him up with Shenanigans, and before they know it all three have taken a tumble into the duck pond of Brinkley Court. It’s a warm summer, so they lie on the grass and wait for their clothes to dry, and Evy talks about Duat and the Weighing of Souls while the boys listen. It sounds beautiful and terrible and probably shouldn’t make Bertie feel better, but it does, a bit. Aunt Dahlia is a little horrified at the state of their clothes, though.

Bertie attends Eton, with Jonathan a few years above him, so they don’t actually see much of each other at school. When the war rolls in, Jonathan doesn’t enlist right away (he tries to finish his degree first - and fails) and so spends almost two years (early 1917 to late 1918) on the Western Front. Bertie, as expected of a young man of his class and education, joins up as soon as he turns 18, but just before he’s deployed he’s hit by the Spanish Flu and spends the last months of the war recuperating and stationed in the South of England. He and the Carnahans write to each other as regularly as they can.

When Evy’s and Jonathan’s parents die in a plane crash, they receive a long letter from Bertie. A lot of words are crossed out and corrected, and it’s meandering and sometimes a little nonsensical, but unlike most letters of condolences they received so far it was plainly written by someone who is 1) kind to the very core of his being, and 2) intimately familiar with that kind of grief.

At some point, Aunt Dahlia reasons that since Bertie and the Carnahan girl get along so well, she might make a fine match, and she tries to push them together. Bertie is awkward and low-key terrified, Evy is nerdy and nervous and absolutely unwilling to seriously consider marrying anyone. She ends up swearing solemnly that she’ll never marry Bertie, which he is considerably relieved about, and they part as friends before she and Jonathan leave for Egypt.

But where is Jeeves, you may ask? Well, he enters the picture just after the above paragraph. Which means that one day, a few months after the events of TM, Bertie tells Jeeves about this childhood friend of his who just got married to an American fellow and will be coming for tea to introduce him to Bertie, along with her brother, simply spiffing people, really, can’t wait for you to meet them, old thing.

…Jeeves is not impressed. Mrs O’Connell seems agreeable enough, prim and proper and quite an authority in her field, but her husband’s tie is a little too loose and it’s clear he has no idea how to wear a suit properly. As for her brother, he’s a foppish cad who makes Jeeves itch to count the silver spoons the second he walks out the door. 

Evy, recognising a fellow scholar from unlikely background, had a splendid time talking with him and Bertie, but Rick and Jonathan think Jeeves is stuffy and snobbish.

I think they’re all going to have a little adventure together, possibly with a slight supernatural twist, which will make everyone reconsider bad first impressions:

• From Jeeves’ perspective, Mr O’Connell clearly has more common sense than most of Mr Wooster’s friends and family, which is a refreshing change. As for his deplorable fashion sense (or lack thereof), allowances may be made considering the man’s history. (Though Jeeves privately thinks Mr O’Connell might benefit from having a proper gentleman’s gentleman to guide him down the path of sartorial competence.)

• Jeeves also mellows a little with regard to the Carnahan siblings, especially Jonathan (because he and Evelyn actually got on well enough). It’s transparent that both of them are genuinely fond of Mr Wooster, just as much as he is of them, and - unlike a number of his acquaintances - are just as quick to defend him and come to his rescue as they are to put him into what he calls “the soup” in the first place. 

• It’s also what endears Jeeves to Evy and Jonathan, actually: the lengths this frightfully intelligent man is willing to go to protect the young master and make his life pleasant. They’re both familiar with the concept of service in a way Rick isn’t, and they recognise how Jeeves excels at his job.

• Plus (personal headcanon here) Jonathan, not being adverse to putting the occasional toe - or foot - or his entire person - out of what is legal for two chaps to do together, didn’t miss the way Bertie’s eyes shine when Jeeves is in sight like he’s never seen them shine, how enthusiastic his descriptions of Jeeves’ brilliance, how he’s splendid and grand and a paragon and such a perfect gentleman’s gentleman. Whether Jeeves returns the sentiment, Jonathan has no idea, but he hopes so. Call him sentimental.

• (Rick also noticed, and he’s fairly sure Jeeves does return the sentiment. Not because he knows Bertie, or Jeeves for that matter, but because he saw enough of the world to know what love looks like. He doesn’t say anything, though, because it’s none of his damn business.)

So that’s it for the mo’! I wrote about 800 words of the first vignette, from Bertie’s PoV, before my mind focused on TM and its characters almost exclusively and I lost what little of Wodehouse style I had. Here’s the first paragraph, for anyone still reading this :o)

I don’t know what it is about getting on in years, but I find as they pass that one tends to look back on one’s childhood days with a somewhat fonder eye than one experienced while actually living them. St Whatsit’s summer, halcyon days, as the Bard wrote. Not that I have reached the point my nieces, if ever they should set foot in old Blighty again, might start calling me “aged relative”, as I am sometimes wont to greet my dear old aunt Dahlia with, but some of the misadventures of my mildly misspent youth do seem a lot funnier now than they did at the time. I suppose it’s the same for any and all misadventures, really, since faithful readers might recall that some of the more recent situations this Wooster found himself in are far more ridiculous than letting oneself be trussed up and mock-mummified.

Promising, what? :D Hope I can make something of it.

Thank you for giving me an excuse to be ridiculously wordy ♥

[davidfostercomedyblog]

My Trip to Paris: A Review

Like any typical heterosexual male the idea of engagement photos seemed as appealing to me as that of a fantasy football league might to most heterosexual women. Nevertheless, I am happily engaged to the latter, and in cliché fashion conceded to said photo shoot, and have never been so grateful for a decision.

It was a week before our European vacation, and our (French) photographer asked us: “Where will you be staying when you go to Paris?”

“We got a hotel in Nice, Airbnb in Paris.”

“Oh, you better make sure they have air conditioning,” she informed us. “Most Parisians don’t have A/C’s. The units are considered ‘unsightly.’”

Umm… seriously?

The forecast for our upcoming trip was to reach record highs in temperature. Not record highs for July or our particular dates. Record highs. It was going to be 109… degrees! The hottest two days in the history of Paris, on which we’d scheduled a walk to the Louvre, then down the Seine River, and up the gabillion steps of Sacre Couer, at the end of which I’d implicitly scheduled a good night’s sleep, which would be impossible without air conditioning.

I reviewed our booking on Airbnb, and sure enough there was no A/C. When I emailed our would-be host to confirm this preposterous notion she responded: “I have a great fan though.”

Good for you.

Our late cancellation was the happiest we’ve ever been to eat $240. We had a hideous air conditioner in our otherwise lovely, entirely red suede hotel room in Villa Opera Drouotin Montmartre. There was red everywhere. Red wallpaper, red blankets, even a 360 red velvet seat in the red lobby. But it was cool, literally. It was the greatest continental breakfast we’ve ever had in our lives, and we were happy.

The first thing I noticed upon arrival at the airport was the urinals. I’ve never seen bulls’ eyes of such small diameter. Do the French have better aim?

Second was the plethora of friendly assistants at the train station, all of them fluent in English, all eagerly awaiting the opportunity to help even the most dumbfounded of tourists, which pin-pointedly described us. Can you imagine such an experience with a New York MTA worker? They look at you like instead of “Excuse me,” you opened with a derogatory slur and are requesting they literally carry you on their back to your desired destination. Paris: 1. NYC: 0

Next we sat on the train, which was faster and cleaner than New York’s, though that goes without saying, as every train on the planet, I imagine including those of third world countries, is much cleaner than New York’s. Paris: 2. NYC: 0.

We sat next to college kids, two French and one British, who were making fun of American tourists’ stereotypical ideas of Paris being this “romantic town, where everyone just gets cheese and wine and a baguette and eats it all on the streets.” When we got off the train I swear to God all I kept seeing were locals walking along the sidewalk eating baguettes or sitting at outdoor restaurants drinking wine and smoking cigarettes.

Baguettes were everywhere. I saw old men walking along the street chewing away at them, sometimes plain, others with ham and/or cheese stuffed inside. I saw young girls with grocery bags full of baguettes, others with just the one long one they’d need for that evening, way too large to fit in the designer pocketbook held in their other arm. Older women, young men, apparently poor people, rich people, black, white and Hispanic people (just kidding, there’s no Hispanics in Europe) – it seemed everyone had a baguette. I digress.

We weren’t sure if the cliché college kid pontifications were for our benefit, but I chose not to respond, a) becausewe weren’t sure, b) engaging in philosophical debate with college kids makes as much sense as engaging in confrontation with the schizophrenic homeless guy on the 6 train, and c) I was so jetlagged that they probably could have spread brie cheese all over my face and put their cigarette butts out in the mush and I would have let it slide. Whoever can get more than a few hours sleep on those red eyes are as gifted in my mind as Michael Jordan or David Blaine. Finally, the kids’ insults were at “Americans,” which I don’t identify as anyway. We’re New Yorkers - not Americans. There’s a difference.

We were two hours early for check-in, so decided to maximize our tourist time by taking the 20-minute walk from Montmartre to Sacre Couer.

Jesus, was it hot. It was 105 degrees. The walk was perpetually uphill and when we finally arrived there were more staircases than in the MTA’s latest atrocity, the 86thSt. Q train. What a moronic architectural disgrace that is.

We bought water from a local store and the lady didn’t even offer us a plastic bag. None of the stores did for entire whole trip. They all had them behind the counter if you needed, but I never saw anyone take one. Paris: 3. NYC: 0.

I could feel sunburn setting in. I took off my long sleeve shirt and threw it over my head to protect myself. The Asian tourists kept their umbrellas up for protection (though when do they not?), and the Italians were next to naked (though when are they not?). The heat was inescapable. It felt like the temperature was climbing along with us up the steps. Instead of a church, it was as if we were making the pilgrimage in Egypt. We had to take regular breaks and be mindful to breathe and stay hydrated, and constantly remind ourselves: “This is vacation, we’re having fun. This is fun. It’s vacation. This is… this is… this hot as fucking hell. Let’s take a lap around this church and go home.”

Sacre Couer is gorgeous: Incredible view of the city outside, and even better art inside. A local came over and requested I remove my hat, and I wasn’t sure whether my Americanism or Judaism was more apparent. We put hats on intentionally in our place of worship.

Finally checked in the hotel, we passed out for two hours in the coolest bedroom in Paris and woke up rejuvenated. We had dinner reservations at Derriereat 19:30, which was the earliest possible reservation because 19:30 is what time Derriere opens, which is just about the fanciest thing I’ve ever heard of.

Our table wasn’t even ready yet, but the maitre’d was friendly.

“Please, have a seat, we’ll get you a glass of wine and let you know when the kitchen’s open.”

Lovely!

Even my fiancée, who is rouge-exclusive, opted for white because of the climate, and it was the best white wine either of us had ever tasted in our pathetic American lives. Pouilly Fumé, crisp, minerally, dry and perfect and it was 6 euro, half what it would be back home.

We waited and waited, watched a few other parties get ushered into the restaurant ahead of us, and wondered if we should say something. I got up to remind the host of our presence, and he was flamboyantly sweet, super pleasant and matter-of-factly excited to seat us.

Ahh, Europe. Is it possible for a constant intake of alcohol, tobacco, bread and cheese to be physiologically offset by a complete lack of urgency and adherence to time?

When we finally got inside we found an adorable, almost hipstery chic spot that had apparently been someone’s home converted into a restaurant. We each sat in our own cushiony love seat across from one another in a spread out living room/library/game room as an active ping pong table was set about three feet behind my head.

Our waiter, Tyler, was from Canada, hence boasted the perfect hybrid of debonair French style with a western work ethic. We were relieved that he spoke English, but soon discovered so does 90% of the country. Tyler was jovial and handsome and encouraging of our order choices. The duck was insane – the best we’d ever had – the braised beef with zucchini was even better.

“Fuck you,” my fiancée kept exclaiming at how blown away she was by the food. I was happy we were able to show the local Parisians how New Yorkers applaud quality – by cursing it out.

We could have returned the knives, as the meats would have fallen off their bones with even the side of the same soup spoon we used to eat the best Gazpacho I’d ever tasted. With dinner we had the best rouge in the house for only 14 Euro per glass, and as a reward Tyler and the sommelier came over and insisted we all do a shot of rum. We were adequately buzzed with bellies full of beef… and bread. The whole experience was magnefique.

We followed Tyler’s recommendations for the night (we would have followed Tyler into the gates of Hell), on to cocktails at The Little Red Door, and although neither my fiancée nor I are very much into cocktails you couldn’t help but trust in the elitist mixology menu. Drinks were fantastic. We ended up yukking it up with some gay New Yorkers coincidentally seated next to us on the couch, mostly over how superior the culture everywhere else in the world is to America, with the exception of New York – one of my favorite topics of conversation.

We walked the mile home because time flies while walking through any city. We stopped twice for some nightcaps and allowed the city lights to fuel our way. Although New York is the “city that never sleeps” Paris is apparently the city that always eats. 1:00 in the morning on a Wednesday night and it seemed almost every restaurant with outdoor seating was not only open, but practically filled with locals literally and figuratively chewing the fat. Any potential for jet lag and heat exhaustion had been instantly healed by meat and alcohol, but still we were spent, and a had a long next day ahead planned.

It’s possible I was woo’d by the air conditioning as I’m not much of a museum guy, but the Louvrewas great, definitely our favorite tourist attraction of the trip. We’d bought tickets beforehand and it took about 60 seconds to enter. Almost everyone there was quite pleasant, though the best part was the security guards at the Mona Lisa who were anything but. Groups of us at a time were being yelled at for not moving fast enough – like waiting on line to view the classic piece of art was a local crime and we owed a cowering apology while running and ducking for cover. They could have been instantly beamed to the central bookings jail in downtown Brooklyn and not missed a beat. One of them was the first white guy I’d seen in France with that pathologically rosy facial complexion that screamed alcohol, hypertension and New Jersey; and although it was clearly his job there to be an asshole we believed it to be a case of chicken or the egg.

I’d love to tell you it was beautiful, that Monawas beautiful and a magical experience of tourism, but I don’t think I ever got a good look. It was pure chaos, herded into a swarm of fellow tourists, and one of the only contexts where typical Asian good manners actually fell by the wayside as they refused to be denied the perfect photographs. Spun into confusion and shitted out the other side of the room we much preferred the rest of the less popular parts of the museum.

Before leaving my fiancée insisted on taking pics by the Pyramid outside and I… I just cannot tell you how hot it was. There were other people out suffering as well, but most were huddled in the shade, massaging their skulls with frozen water bottles and drinking from another. We muscled through it, took photos with fake smiles, feigning joy or even comfort so that everyone on social media could see that we had fun at the Louvre. Indoors we did. Outdoors was about survival.

Next door we passed by the other popular museum, D’Orsay (What is this, the museum district?), and fiancée asked if I wanted to go in. As I generally visit one museum per decade at home, my rule overseas is one per trip.

We walked along the Seine River,which was beautiful and I imagined on any day under 109 degrees would have been crowded with other cute couples cut from similar cloths. They’d be eating cheese and baguettes, as everyone had instructed us to do, but ours was a different kind of trip, and I’d surely have jumped into the river before sitting along it with quickly melting brie. There were benches where I could picture us sitting, but even the mental effort of creating said picture was burning calories at an alarming pace. We passed through the Tuileries Garden, got a croque monsieur and more gazpacho.

On the way home I bought a suit for our wedding! It wasn’t the plan, but hey… we’re just some hot shot New Yorkers flying by the seat of our pants in Paris. Beautiful pants as it were, as I never thought I could make such a baller move.

Of course going into the store was wifey’s suggestion, but I went along with it. “Should we go in and see if they have any nice suits?” she asked.

“We should go in and see if they have any nice air conditioning.”

They did.

And before we knew it we were whisked away into the back room as if we had a reservation for two. Everyone there’s faces were beautiful and their outfits even more beautiful. I felt a bit underdressed in my Marcus Camby Knicks’ throwback jersey (while sweating like Patrick Ewing) and my crooked Yankees cap, but before I knew it I was Julia Roberts with Roy Orbison blasting in my head, as one of the most charming men on the planet, Tomas, put together ensemble after ensemble, creating his own Mona Lisa out of me.

Me, the sweaty asshole who just walked in the door in his gym clothes. Instead of angry security guards yelling at us, Tomas took his time with me, like a true gentleman, never allowing me to put any of the jackets on myself. His assistant brought us bottles of water and suddenly I began to suspect I was on a hidden camera show and Richard Gere was going to come out of the back room and ignore my sexual advances.

One fabulous suit I tried on was apparently made of some high-quality but more delicate fabric that Tomas warned me of: “A suit like this – you can only wear this to work maybe two or three times a week… otherwise it will not last.”

Two or three times a week? Who the fuck does this guy think I am? I’m sorry, Tomas, I love you, but in case you haven’t heard it’s only about 1% of the professions in New York these days that even require a suit at work… and those guys can afford enough suits to wear them two or three times a year. I’m not worried about it.

After about an hour of trial and error, mixing and matching and texting photos across the pond to Mom and others for feedback, finally we came to a unanimous decision. Tomas even threw in the pink tie from his own personal stash, and when we said Au revoirI could feel that none of us really wanted to. What we really wanted was to buy four more suits, then two giant homes in New York and Paris respectively where we could all live out the rest of our years together as the most stylish commune of love. Unfortunately that’s not how life works. But I found more than my wedding suit in the Paris SuitSupply. I found one of my favorite people, one of my fondest memories from the trip, and finally, a hell of a deal! Weeks later my (Jewish) fiancée did her research and discovered after the conversion rate I’d gotten a $1000 suit for almost half the cost. Paris: 4. NYC: 0.

When we got outside it was still 109 degrees. We went home and hosed down in preparation for another night on the town…

Bofingerfor dinner: An apparently pork forward venue that seemed to specialize in shellfish and sauerkraut dishes. I’d never had to de-shell my own snails before, and if you would have told me at any point in life I would twice in one day feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman I would have at least figured one of the two would involve prostituting myself on Hollywood Blvd. Thankfully, none of the “slippery little suckers” went flying across the room into any waiters’ hands. A now experienced acupuncturist I figured I could successfully navigate this previously foreign task and eventually I was right (although two of them were stuck super deep inside and I resorted to simply brutally cracking them open). Absolutely drowned in the plate’s bath of garlic and oil they were delicious!  

The chilled cream of asparagus soup with mascarpone was the best I’ve ever had in my life. I understand this superlative is beginning to sound like a broken record, but hey, we’re discussing food and wine in Paris. It isn’t like I’m telling you I heard the greatest hip hop song of my life there.

Unfortunately the sauerkraut dish was anti-climactic in taste, overwhelming in size. A beast of a platter, and we figured the reason the runner brought burners to light underneath it must have been because no one could possibly finish this plate in less than three hours. Most of my family has hefty appetites and within my family I am generally the one most derided for overeating; but my fiancée and I couldn’t even make a visible dent in the dish. We left full sausages just hangin’ and neither of us even broached the monstrous pork knuckle that looked like too much to tangle with. What was most fascinating was the gentleman next to us ordered the same dish, had it arrive after ours, and absolutely demolished it before we’d thrown in our towel. “Was he overweight?” you ask.Absolutely not, he was handsome and slim, fit. This is Wonderland.

We had nowhere to take our leftovers, but figured better to gamble on running into a homeless person then just throw it out. We saw some poor man seated on the train station floor on our way to Latin Quarters, and bestowed him with what I assume was the best meal he’d had in years.

We passed by Notre Dame, and I felt kind of like an asshole - like the tourists in NYC taking pictures in front of Ground Zero before the new tower was built: Odd locational tone for a photo opp.

Latin Quarters sucked. Think Bleecker Street meets Time Square, and in case you thought bro-douchery didn’t exist outside of America think again. Lots of pubs and sports bars, novelty shops and loud partyers, and you could skip it. A friend of us warned it would be like this but was worth seeing once. Another friend told us of a cocktail bar there on the Holiday Inn rooftop, from which you could see the whole city. Sounds lovely!We passed by only to be told the roof was closed as a result of the heat. Night Deux was a bit of a letdown.

The next day was a more of the same, only to reinforce a lesson that as New Yorkers we should have already known: Avoid tourist traps. The elevator at the Eiffel Towerwas broken which greatly appeased my fiancee’s terrific fear of heights, however I’m still awaiting my refund for the aloof purchase. Champs Elysseswas… ehhhh… like Fifth Avenue meets Soho, but not even the nooks and cranny side streets of old Soho of the 1990’s – more like vomit-up-your-ass chain retail, Broadway Soho of 2019. My fiancée got to take some nice pics of that other humongous fuckin’ old thing, but besides that the marathon distance walking through the desert level heat was beginning to wear on me… and by this time my neurology had shifted to a degree of alcohol dependency which is not my norm. It was time to call it a day and begin the night.

We closed more similarly to how we opened, in a more cultured reverence for gluttony in a local spot we’d been recommended that happened to be right down the block from our red suede hotel room.

Le Bouillon Chartierdidn’t take reservations and had not one, but two lines wrapped on to the sidewalk of mostly locals waiting to get in. We wondered, with gratitude, why our wait was only about ten minutes, and were inadvertently given our answer once inside. It was packed and fast-paced, pretty noisy, though not much to look at. It had the gritty feel of Katz’s Deli or Barney Greengrass and the waiters were curt and void of pleasantries. Ahhh… we felt right at home.

The most expensive bottle of wine on the menu was 23 euro. And it was great! The prices of everything were dirt cheap – like fast food cheap - which only partially explained the line around the block. The duck confit was excellent, as was the whole sea bass (I felt I needed something just a touch lighter than incessant pork and red meat), and I think the whole meal with the full bottle of wine came out to 58 euro. I think it was during this meal that my fiancée began suggesting another “quick trip back” next month. “We can just come for a few nights and eat in places like this!”

We closed the night as we had every other, with drinks on the sidewalk at Café Le Brebant, which faced out on to the corner of the main strip, Poissonniere Blvd., constantly serving us a nice hybrid of the authentic Paris experience with familiar comfort of New York. Also, constantly serving us lovely wines until the early morning hours, though I always closed with a nice, cold IPA in a chilled glass, as I now suffer from alcoholism. The servers were still mostly God-awful and we always had to walk over to place orders, but they were all pleasant and we rationalized it was worth it to be absolved of gratuity.

The next day we took the train seven hours to Nice. It should have been six but Mercury was retrograde and shit was fucked. Nice was OK. Glad we did it – would never do it again. It’s a beach town, which in spite of its historically fancy reputation means the same thing it does anywhere in the world: More plastic surgery, less culture and nuance. Saw some boobs on the beach, but as is customarily the case, none of the boobs you wish to.

The water was beautiful but the rocks were painful and expensive. We had to buy special mats and shoes in order for the beach experience to be at all relaxing and I highly doubt I’ll ever use either again. From now on I’m sand exclusive.

We saw a great band one night, coincidentally named Bofinger, and had one amazing meal at Terres de Truffes, which translates as Truffle Land where they (predictably) put truffles on everything! White truffles over burrata cheese and sundried tomatoes as a “caprese,” summer truffles on the lamb confit and black truffles littered across the porcini mushroom ravioli! We downed a bottle of our new fave, the Margaux, and finished with the crème brulee with truffle infused caramel drizzle. It was fucked. Up.Suddenly we suspected maybe there was reason to come back to Nice after all. That was until my fiancée searched and found the spot had another location in Paris. So like, why ever go to Miami for a restaurant that exists in NYC?

To exhaust a cliché, we loved Paris. Who wouldn’t? Who doesn’t? I’ve literally never heard a negative report. It’s like New York but with its own twist and flare, and without our recently vampired cultural extraction by transplants only to be replaced with the vapidity of chain stores and pharmacies that once were implicitly prohibited from the once greatest city in the world.

It took me a full week to recover from the neurological storm of jet lag and alcohol withdrawal, though having to spend double the price for half the quality wine eventually ensured my sobriety. Sadly the same can be said for our food quality… even in New York! It’s an awful shame the farming practices our government permits in this country, and in my opinion reason enough to kneel for the Star Spangled Banner should you feel indifferent around the racial issues. Never say never, though I still doubt I could ever make a home across the pond, as I just don’t think anywhere in the world can offer the vibe of New York, nor our diversity. It’s possible that Paris and many other cities may come close in cultural diversity, though never in variety of style, subcultures and psychology. This was my one critique from an admittedly brief first visit – that Paris appears a bit more of a one-trick pony than NYC. In fairness, where doesn’t? They probably do their one trick better than anywhere in the world but it’s just not New York. The weekend after I came home I went out to dinner at Kyklades Greek restaurant in Astoria, then took the train uptown to the EPMD concert in the park in the South Bronx, where my boy, Ed and I were two of seven white people of the 800-1000 there. We watched the legends and devoured some dope, authentic Jamaican food for 8 euro (J/K, it was $10). Afterwards we got drunk at a bar by Yankee Stadium and watched the Yanks beat Boston. The next morning my fiancée and I had the best bagels, lox and cream cheese in town at the Upper West Side institution, Barney Greengrass. Our city is dirtier, as is our food. Our leader is dumber, our drinks are pricier. Still it’s always nice to come home.

[alj4890]

Chapter 50 A Night in Napa

The Royal Romance Fan Fiction (Liam x MC*Riley) (Maxwell x OC*Amanda) (Drake x Olivia) (Hana x Rashad)

These characters are from the amazing writers of Pixelberry's Choices stories: The Royal Romance and Red Carpet Diaries. The only character of my own is Duchess Amanda Bridgerton of House St Orella. 

Masterlist of The Other Friend TRR

Chapter 50 summary: Rashad takes Hana to meet his best friend and business partner, William Sloan.

Chapter 50

Rashad and Hana left their friends in Los Angeles for a quick trip to Napa Valley. Rashad's friend and business partner, William Sloan, had a vineyard and home there and he was excited to introduce Hana to him.

His happiness with Hana was reflected in everything he did. There had been many conversations with William about her and no end of teasing. From the moment he had bumped into her at the Derby, he had brought her name up in every conversation.

William had known Rashad was a goner after he volunteered to be Hana's suitor. Though he did not quite understand the noble dating process, he supported his best friend from afar with encouragement.

When they arrived at William's estate, Hana had nearly gotten her nerves under control. She knew how important William was to Rashad and desperately wanted him to like her. She fixed her face in her typical serene court expression.

When Rashad opened her car door and helped her out, he pulled her into a long, tender kiss. He smiled at having removed that calm expression from her face. She was showing her heart now with her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She had that special smile that only happened when he kissed her. This was the Hana he wanted William to see. His Hana.

William came running down the steps of his home to greet them. He smiled when he saw their kiss. His friend had finally found the love he always wanted. He cleared his throat, chuckling at tge fact that neither acknowledged his presence.

After the introductions were concluded, William took Hana by the arm and pulled her away from Rashad. "Forget about him for now Hana. I have a ton of stories to embarrass him to last us throughout the night. Has he told you his nickname from college? Did you, Shahzzy?" Rashad flushed at that name, causing William to tell Hana more about their college days.

After thoroughly causing Rashad to sputter at his past, William turned to Hana. "Shahzzy has told me about your cultured palette. I would love your opinion on some of the wines we have been creating here."

Hana could not stop giggling, becoming more comfortable with William. He was much more personable than she expected from the serious, business minded individual. He had a gentle humor that was neither cruel nor derogatory.

After touring his winery, the three of them enjoyed a casual dinner together. Hana listened, smiling as they shared with her the times they tried to be more crazy and spontaneous, only to usually end up back in their rooms with books.

William grinned as he watched Rashad reach over to hold her hand. They really only had eyes for each other. "So...have any wedding plans been made? I have a tux just waiting along with a prepared best man toast."

Rashad chuckled. "We have been playing around with some dates. Most of it will decide where Hana would like the ceremony. And wait...who said you would be the best man?"

William gave an overly exaggerated impression of pain. "Hana...his true colors are finally revealed! Don't marry such an evil man! There are too many others out there who wouldn't dare stab a best friend with a wedding shaped dagger."

Hana laughed as they continued to tease each other, trying to sway her to their side of the argument. When she was able to catch her breath she told him that she had decided to be married at St. Orella.

"Amanda and Maxwell's home gives us the best of everything. They have a beautiful chapel for the wedding and the estate is perfect for the reception. We can either have it outdoors or inside. That's one of the many things we need to decide."

"Sounds wonderful." Rashad said while gently toying with her engagement ring.

William was definitely feeling like a third wheel. He bid them both a good night and left them alone. Rashad stood up and pulled Hana along with him. "Let's take a walk."

He wrapped his arm around her as they walked past the vineyard. She cuddled against his side. "What would you think of an evening wedding?" She asked.

He looked down at her, imagining her lovely face lit with soft candlelight. It would take his breath away. All he could think of was finally making Hana his wife. He still felt that this life with her was a dream. How had he been so lucky?

"I think," his voice deepened with emotion, "that no one could plan a more perfect time for our wedding." He gently moved a lock of hair behind her ear, fingertips grazing her cheek.

Hana smiled and moved her arms around his neck. She looked up into his handsome face and felt a little bold. "I think there is something we need to practice."

Rashad was puzzled. "What needs practice?"

She smiled and pulled his head down while she rose up on her tiptoes. She paused right before their lips touched. "Kissing the bride."

@krsnlove @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @darley1101 @umccall71 @hopefulmoonobject @mynameiskaylabella @museofbooks @katurrade

[dragimalsdaydreams]

so I’ve been wanting to write up my take on ‘werefolk’ for a while, but haven’t rly felt the inspiration to do so until recently when a certain someone got me into reading Teen Wolf fanfic even tho I don’t watch the show lmfa o

my biggest problems w/ most interpretations of werefolk are 1) that the human parts of these creatures must constantly ‘battle’ their ‘primal’ sides (fuck anthropocentricism honestly), and 2) there’s usually very weak explanation for how werefolk came to be in the first place.

my take on werefolk is that they’re actually fusions of two separate, individual beings, rather than a human with nonhuman “side-effects”

~Table of Contents~

Terms

Initial Fusion

Species Involved

Melding

Reproduction and Inheritance

Shifting

Consciousness

Random Facts

~Terms~

Fusion- when used as a noun, this refers to an organism composed of two separate beings. this is the term I will exclusively be using here, though there are plenty of other terms for Fusions. “Werefolk” (singular: “Were”) is the next most common term, though it is more dated (not necessarily derogatory, merely old). older Fusions are more likely to embrace “Werefolk” as a label, while younger Fusions usually only do so ironically or among elders. more specific “Were-” labels like “Werewolf”, “Weretiger”, etc. vary by community, and some will prefer the broader Werefolk/Fusion over specific labels, or vis-versa. it all depends on the culture and history surrounding that particular Fusion community, as well as individual preferences. “shape-shifter” is simply considered juvenile and not taken seriously by most Fusions.

Meld- the level of metaphysical fusion between the two beings contained within a Fusion, ranging from, “two completely individual beings,” to, “one fully meshed being”. despite popular assumption, this term is used to measure mental ‘meshing’ across generations, not within an individual Fusion’s lifetime. this will be explained in more detail in the ‘Melding’ section.

Partners vs. Phases- these terms refer to each ‘side’ of a Fusion’s being. either term could be more correct depending on the generation of Fusion and level of meld (again, this will be elaborated on in the ‘Melding’ section). preferred term varies by individual, though most Fusions are fine with either.

Shift/Flip/Switch- the action of changing from one partner/phase in a Fusion to another. all three terms are used interchangeably by most Fusions, but here I’ll primarily be using “shift”. “in-shift” will refer to the phase/partner who is currently in primary control of the Fusion, while “out-shift” will refer to the phase/partner who isn’t currently in primary control of the Fusion. 

~Initial fusion~

the act of fusion creates what are called ‘initial’ or ‘1st gen’ Fusions. their offspring may be numbered by generation afterwards, and are automatically born Fusions (thus, do not participate in the act of fusion to come into existence).

fusion is the closest possible bond on a physical and metaphysical level. few are ready to undertake this intensive process, but the reward—if performed properly—is euphoric for both parties involved.

trust and determination are absolute requirements for this process to work. if these aren’t present, the process will not initiate. similarly, consent from both sides is required, or the process will not initiate—a forced fusion is utterly impossible. essentially, fusion requires equal spiritual energy given by both partners, and if this isn’t the case, it simply can’t work.

Pre-fusion

the act of fusion is an incredibly intensive process that requires much mental/physical prepwork. if done carefully and correctly, fusion shouldn’t result in much lasting injury beyond the act besides some unavoidable mental/physical bruising.

on the mental front, those participating in a fusion must meditate and calm their minds several weeks before the act, working on syncing their minds and souls all the while. physically, each partner must bulk up on carbs, protein, and iron for several weeks. while proper fusion shouldn’t leave scars, the process itself involves a lot of tearing, blending, and resewing of flesh and bone. this, inevitably, requires a bit of extra energy and material to work with, as a lot of blood and tissue is naturally lost in the process.

because of all this prepwork, a magical medium (typically one specialized in healing) is highly recommended to help the process along, but not necessarily required. mediums are especially useful considering how long the fusion can last, and the excruciating physical and mental pain involved in the act. it’s really no surprise that unsupervised fusions tend to result in longer recovery periods and lasting scars, despite the determination and intentions of the partners involved.

Fusion

fusion is an exhausting, terrifying, gory process. nothing can prevent this—not love, not gentle easing, nor even the help of a medium. these things can soothe the process, but can’t eliminate the consequences.

physically, every cell is in overdrive—DNA is unpacking, migrating, and repacking at unimaginable rates, cells in one body are accommodating for the space taken by the cells of another, and tissues are unraveling into impossibly thin strands only to whip back into new positions. bones break, muscles shake, and nerves alight into a frenzy as they try to keep up with new orientations.

mentally, two consciousness are shattering-- some fragments collide and merge, while others shift and widen cracks to make room for other fragments. the process isn’t perfect—the ragged edges of emotions and memories cut and tear at one other as they vie for prominent positions in consciousness—but this heals with time.

if blood, gore, and excess emotional energy paint the location of a fusion, then the process was likely a success.

Post-fusion

much like the pre-fusion prep, post-fusion recovery involves a lot of aftercare in the form of eating, sleeping, and meditation. many mediums are happy to help in this process as well, though most Fusions prefer family or friends at this point.

recovery can last several weeks, or even months in some cases. during this recovery period, the Fusion must shift between each partner every few hours (or however long it takes them to shift), gradually increasing the time spent as each partner until they can comfortably and safely spend more than a day at a time as each partner (and the shift time has decreased to at least an hour).

after the recovery period, most Fusions should be able to comfortably spend at least a week or two at a time as each partner before shifting. the shift itself also shouldn’t take much more than 30-60 minutes, or require as much bulking-up beforehand. shifting still results in some blood loss and gore, but barely enough to leave a dent in an overall Fusion’s mass (though that doesn’t necessarily make the cleanup process any more pleasant..).

~Species Involved~

fusion typically works best between those with similar minds (everything from temperament, interpretation skills, senses, neurology, etc. are considered) and similar DNA. thus, fusion between individuals of the same species works best, then gets more difficult with each taxonomic step away from one another (by genus, then family, then order, etc). phyla seems to be the hard cut-off between potential Fusion species, though specific difficulties in fusion between taxonomic levels below that are uncertain, and may well vary between different taxonomic groups.

the relative sizes of the partners in question are also critical, as the mass taken up by one partner must be used to build the mass of the other. while it isn’t impossible for partners with size differences to fuse (since the process of fusion is largely driven by metaphysical/neurological/genetic factors), it can be a highly risky process. there does come a point where the size difference is just too much, and the partners may initially fuse, but will eventually perish due to the inconsistent mass distribution during the shifting process. however, the cut-off in relative size difference varies depending on the precautions the Fusion is willing to take to uphold the larger phase/partner (to be discussed further in the ‘Shifting’ section). more careful Fusions of this type will last longer than Fusions who are less willing to make accommodations and/or do not have proper access to accommodations.

despite all this, fusion within the same species is exceedingly rare because most individuals are content with platonic/romantic bonds, and the resulting Fusion of same species doesn’t necessarily make for a more powerful/skilled individual (since the skillsets of each partner are typically on the same relative level compared to distinct-species Fusions). distinct-species Fusions, on the other hand, usually blend diverse skillsets, and help bridge the gap that tends to leave non-fused bonds between different species lacking (we can never truly comprehend other species’ experiences, after all). this is usually appealing to those looking to fuse.

while human/nonhuman Fusions are the most popularized, there have been plenty of examples of Fusions between nonhuman species, such as crow/wolf Fusions. however, since there is much less public interest in Fusions of this sort, research into nonhuman Fusions is sadly lacking. nonhumans may very well fuse among themselves just as often as humans do with nonhumans, but we don’t currently know for sure.

there is much debate over when the ability to fuse developed in evolutionary history, and what resulting clades of animals are even capable of it. current research suggests that any organism with at least a nerve chord is physically/neurologically capable of fusion, but some level of sociality is required on the psychological/metaphysical level in order to occur. thus, fusion is common in social species (of which, many are mammalian and avian), and much less common as sociality decreases.

as a sidenote, Fusion classification is kind of a nightmare and a subject of hot debate among taxonomists. much like lichen, there’s no real systematic way to classify a Fusion unless you break them down to their component parts and individually classify those parts. but doing so ignores the complex intimacy of the parts in question, and the effects these parts have on one another on even an evolutionary level.

~Melding~

again, melding refers to the level of metaphysical fusion between the two consciousness’ contained within a Fusion. 1st gen Fusions will always be two individual beings, no matter the circumstances. this is simply the nature of initial fusion. despite what the phrase implies, there are still two consciousness’ living in one being, each with their own goals, memories, experiences, etc. yes, the individual minds mesh intimately, but they are still individuals. fully-melded Fusions, on the other hand, are one wholly-realized being. they are one consciousness, and merely have different phases of self and body. there will still be things that either phase can’t access because of distinctive neural networks (explained in more detail in the ‘Consciousness’ section), but each phase is relatively easy to access and shift to when needed.

thus we see the need for both “partners” and “phases” as terms here— “partners” typically refers to early-gens’ individual Fusion sides, while “phases” typically refers to later-gens’ melded Fusion sides.

depending on the species and souls involved in the initial fusion, the level of meld can vary. the rule of thumb is that the closer the original partners are in terms of neurological mapping and DNA, the more fully they will initially meld, and the more quickly generations after them will result in fully-melded Fusions. typically, it takes around 4-5 generations for the descendants of a 1st gen Fusion to eventually result in a seamless fusion of consciousness. though this varies widely—Fusions of the same species can take as little as 2 generations to fully meld, while Fusions whose partners belong to completely different taxonomic classes can take as many as 8 generations. thus, each successive generation after gen 1 gets more stable until a plateau of mental/physical stability and melding is reached.

though this is only a simplified description of melding, when in reality melding can vary quite a bit across family trees. the offspring of a 1st gen Fusion and a fully-melded Fusion can result in rather unpredictable melding-- the offspring may be a mid-meld just as easily as a nearly-full meld or barely-melded Fusion. there’s no real way to predict the level of offspring meld when the level of meld in the parents doesn’t quite match up. 

~Reproduction and Inheritance~

all cells in a Fusion always contain the DNA sets of both a Fusion’s phases, no matter the phase they currently hold. the in-shift DNA is simply active in the bodies’ cells, while the out-shift DNA is dormant—bundled up tight in the nucleolus until it’s reactivated for shifting. thus, the same goes for gametes, which always contain both DNA sets for a Fusion’s phases. the successful production of Fusion offspring depends entirely on the couple in question, and how their respective gametes react to one another.

Fusion x non-Fusion

Fusions can reproduce with non-Fusions of either species they are composed of, so long as they physically are that species during the act. the respective DNA for the matching species involved in the act will carry out meiosis naturally, creating a new being for that side of the resulting Fusion. the parent Fusion’s other set of DNA, however, will carry over to the offspring fully intact. since there is no matching set of DNA from the non-Fusion parent to perform meiosis with, this essentially results in a clone of those genes for that side of the offspring Fusion. as an example, if a human produces offspring with a human/wolf Fusion, only the human genetic material will undergo meiosis and result in a fresh new human ‘half’ for their offspring, while the wolf DNA attached to the Fusion parent will simply carry over fully intact.

if the non-Fusion parent carries the offspring in this pairing, they may run into difficulties during the process of pregnancy/incubation, particularly if there’s a decent size difference between the offspring’s phases, as the offspring will shift frequently during development. this could result in dangerous health issues for the carrying non-Fusion parent, and/or miscarriage if the size difference is too large.

matching Fusion x Fusion

in a pairing involving two Fusions whose species both match, the genetic material for both parents’ Fusion species will undergo meiosis and result in fresh new phases for the offspring.

disparate Fusion x Fusion

fusion can only stably handle two partners at a time; any Fusion of over two individuals is impossible. thus, the 3-way competing species genes in this pairing would automatically knock out the two species that don’t match. for example, a human/wolf Fusion paired with a human/cat Fusion would simply produce human offspring resulting from the shared human genes of their parents.

it’s MUCH more difficult to produce successful offspring from these pairings due to several factors. for one, the process of “knocking out” the non-matching parental genes is extremely difficult, considering how intimately these genes are fused in the parents. thus, successful fertilization is a rare feat. then there’s the process of pregnancy/incubation, which can pose a special set of problems for Fusions with a decent size difference between phases (since the developing offspring obviously won’t be shifting to a phase they don’t have in the first place). this, then, can result in miscarriage if the size difference of the carrying Fusion’s phases is too large. 

even if the development/birth is a success, these offspring have to deal with a special set of social issues compared to their Fusion comrades, as they aren’t actually a Fusion, but they are related to and often intimately entrenched in Fusion culture/issues. plus, they can’t connect to their parents’ other Fusion species on as intimate a level as they would if they could also shift to the same species.

Fusion offspring will shift phases during development, and both phases will develop at the same relative rate (which changes between phases). this holds true for Fusions developing in eggs as well. the parent Fusions (particularly the carrying Fusion) will feel compelled to shift with their offspring throughout the process.

if the carrying Fusion has a womb in their conceiving phase, but not in their other phase, the womb will still carry over to their other phase, but will simply have no physical opening connected to the outside world. any physiological ‘plans’ for birth will be halted temporarily as well, if the carrying Fusion is near their delivery date. some of these Fusions near their delivery date are shocked to find that they immediately fall into contractions after they shift back to their carrying phase. these wombs are still connected to the carrying Fusion’s physiological state, though, and still receive nutrients and hormones from the parent’s body. 

Fusions of live-birth x egg-laying species work similarly, if one phase does not have a uterus. however, even if the offspring was conceived during the egg-laying phase, the live-birth phase will override this reproductive setup, and the offspring will fully develop in the womb of the carrying Fusion. if both phases are egg-laying, the carrying Fusion will lay an egg, but it will always be the larger egg of the two species contained in the Fusion. this “overriding” function of development allows the developing offspring plenty of room for both their phases to develop, no matter the potential size differences between phases.

Fusions are always born as the species their carrying parent was at the time of birth, and tend to follow a quick day-by-day shifting schedule for a few weeks afterwards. any nearby Fusions (particularly the parents of the offspring) will feel psychologically compelled to shift phases in tandem with the offspring; it’s theorized that this is a subconscious measure to allow each phase of the offspring to properly socially/psychologically develop with others of the same species. after that, as the offspring’s body adjusts to the outside world, their shifting schedules slow down to once a week. they can’t spend more than a week in either phase until they pass adolescence. 

since young Fusions must allow the neurological networks of both their phases to learn and develop individually, it typically takes born Fusions twice as long to neurologically develop compared to non-Fusions. this, unfortunately, results in stigmatization in certain human societies, especially within educational settings that expect faster results.

~Shifting~

most Fusions spend about an equal amount of time in both phases, as this is most healthy and fulfilling for both sides. this can be accomplished on any variety of schedules, from daily to weekly shifts. schedules also depend heavily on respective waking/sleeping cycles. for example, nocturnal/diurnal Fusions may compromise by sleeping for a few hours between each sunrise and sunset, then shifting to either phase for nighttime/daytime hours.

though it’s possible, it’s not recommended that Fusions remain in one phase for more than two weeks, as this can cause serious mental/physical health issues. more than three weeks, however, absolutely pushes the limit of healthy standards, and should be avoided at all costs. 

sadly, half-human Fusions are often put under societal pressure to spend most of their time as humans. Fusions pressured too heavily into this have even tried to keep from shifting for up to a month at a time—and worse yet, have only allowed themselves to remain nonhuman for a day or so. this treatment leaves their nonhuman phase agitated, damaged, and full of repressed energy, which can result in dangerous consequences for the Fusion and anyone nearby when they finally allow themselves to shift. such forced behavior typically results in a permanently damaged body and psyche, with Fusions unable to control their emotions and senses in either phase. this only further stigmatizes Fusions, causing more Fusions to repress themselves and break their minds and bodies. movements to change this perception of Fusions have gained traction in recent years, which have thankfully decreased the level of phase repression, but there is a long way to go before all stigmatization is gone.

pausing in a mid-shift form is also highly dangerous to a Fusion’s mental and physical health. if stopped mid-shift, the brain and body don’t know what to do and how exactly to orient themselves, causing disorientation and—at worst—a damaged psyche. for merely one example of any number of problems with mid-shifts, the throat of a human/wolf Fusion might be able to speak human language, but the brain might only be able to interpret wolf vocalizations, leaving the Fusion speaking gibberish as an attempt at communication. then there’s also the fact that shifting naturally involves the tearing of flesh, so pausing mid-shift can leave a Fusion’s body vulnerable to infection, or may leave vital internal organs ruptured. of course, most Fusions don’t purposefully pause mid-shift, but it is a common consequence of phase repression. some Fusions have been recorded stuck in mid-shift for days at a time after repressing their shifts, which in itself results in horrific, long-term mental/physical health effects.

Fusions with a large size difference between phases must take special shifting precautions compared to Fusions whose phases are similarly-sized. as mentioned in the ‘Species Involved’ section, there is a certain point where the size difference is too great to support a Fusion beyond the initial fusion, but it is certainly not impossible for size differences to exist. these Fusions can’t just bulk up on food when shifting from the smaller to the larger phase, since the smaller phase can’t realistically take in the amount of mass needed to uphold the larger phase. instead, these Fusions must lay near raw materials (proteins, irons, salts, and other important aspects of living organisms) during the shifting process, and the Fusion’s shifting body will automatically pick up and process any nearby materials from the environment to make up for the lack of mass immediately available within the body. the easiest source of raw materials is another body, which works out great for carnivores who want to use the rest of a recent kill for their shift. this is not a palatable solution for every Fusion, however, so other Fusions with a great size difference may instead save the excess flesh dropped when shifting from the larger to the smaller phase and use it for mass-buildup during the shift from small-to-large later on. these Fusions must also be wary of any potential passerby, because the process of shifting leaves the Fusion largely unconscious. thus they can’t control what their shifting body may pick up for use towards their shifting mass. unlucky passerby in these instances may lose a limb or two by accident...

~Consciousness~

due to the nature of neurological mapping and the intimate interplay between the body and mind, it’s IMPOSSIBLE for both phases of a Fusion to be fully conscious at the same time. in 1st gen Fusions this is much more distinct, as the partner whose physical body is currently in-shift is the one primarily “steering” the body, while the other partner is more-or-less a vague passenger, observing as much as they can comprehend through the neural map of a body that they weren’t born into. 

at the same time, no phase/partner’s consciousness can EVER be FULLY “locked out” when their partner is in-shift, though they can have highly varied levels/types of awareness. some Fusions’ phases will be barely conscious when out-shift, while others’ phases will still be highly conscious and exert much influence when out-shift. 

these varying levels of consciousness can manifest in different ways depending on the Fusion’s overall meld and neurological congruency. for example, early-gen Fusions whose out-partners are highly-conscious tend to experience more mental dissonance than fully-melded Fusions whose out-phases are similarly highly conscious. early-gen Fusions have to reconcile the opinions/goals of two individuals during every decision, which isn’t always easy, no matter how much the partners may care for or respect one another. fully-melded Fusions, on the other hand, typically experience their out-phases as subconscious drivers of certain actions and decisions rather than unique consciousness’, even if their out-phases are highly-conscious

there are also things that simply can’t fully carry over from one phase to the other. while the phases do mesh more soundly in later-gen Fusions, the distinct neural maps of different bodies still cause unavoidable schisms between phases. for example, the wolf phase of a human/wolf Fusion will keep some knowledge of human language from their human phase, but much will still be lost to the distinct neural map of the wolf brain, and they won’t be able to interpret human language in the same way or to the same degree as they will in their human phase.

this schism is even apparent in memory recall, in what many call “shift fog”. basically, certain memories of events during one phase are temporarily lost when a Fusion shifts to their other phase because the neural networks of one brain simply can’t comprehend what was experienced by the other brain. for example, humans can see more colors than wolves can, so these extra colors seen in the human phase of a Fusion can’t pass over in memory to their wolf phase because these colors are literally incomprehensible to the wolf phase. thus, human memories involving these colors are much more fragmented in the wolf phase compared to memories that feature much less of these colors. these memories are not lost forever, and will return in full once the Fusion shifts back to their human phase.

~Random Facts~

Fusion lifespans tend to range midway between the lifespans each species they consist of. human/wolf fusions, for example, tend to live up to around 40-45 years since wolf lifespans range from 6-8 years, and human lifespans range from 70-80 years. this can vary depending on the amount of time a Fusion spends in either form; a human/wolf Fusion who spends more time as a human will have a longer lifespan than a Fusion of the same kind who spends more time as a wolf. both phases age at the same rate, which changes with the phase in-shift. thus, a human/wolf Fusion who is a teen in their human phase will also be a teen in their wolf phase, despite how the difference in timespan needed to reach the “teen years” of each respective species.

gender expression among Fusions is just as diverse as that of any non-fused creature—if not more so. the majority of Fusions tend to identify midway between the genders of their phases. if both phases are girls, then the Fusion overall is typically a girl, but if the genders of each phase differ, then the most common genders seen are either agender or genderfluid (with gender switching between phases). while these are the most commonly seen approaches to gender, they hardly encompass the true depth and diversity of Fusion gender expression. there are Fusions who, for example, may be genderfluid in one phase, but very much male in their other phase. this isn’t even to mention the genders that arise from Fusions who are partially comprised of a species that has no concept of gender whatsoever.

names can be complicated for Fusions, especially 1st gen and young Fusions. early-gen Fusions tend to prefer two different names for each of their partners, while later-gen Fusions are happy with one name for their whole self. sometimes this even changes across a Fusion’s lifespan.

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Realistic Fiction

Image

Russell, H. (2013) Eleanor & Park. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press.

Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

Young love- whether it be a crush you had in high school, or perhaps your first boyfriend or girlfriend, most people have felt that rush of emotions that comes along with first love. In the book Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell, it is hard not to get trapped in the love story that blossoms, and even when you think their love story is about to end, you cannot help but still hold on to that string of hope.

Evaluation of Book

In the book Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell, the author explores various themes. One of the traits that the author is able to provide is unexpected insights. Throughout the story, the reader learns about both characters: Eleanor and Park. Park comes from a family that is loved and lives fairly well. Eleanor lives in a completely opposite environment. The author is able to give details as to exactly what type of environment Eleanor is having to endure through various times in the book. A statement in the book reads:

“Her headphones were snapped in half and hanging from the edge of the bunk. Her grapefruit box was at the end of the bed, and Eleanor knew before she headed for it that it would be light as air. Empty. The lid was ripped almost in half, and someone had written on it in bold black marker- with one of Eleanor’s markers.

“Do you think you can make a fool of me? This is my house do you think you can hore around my neighborhood right under my nose and i’m not going to find out is that what you think? I know what you are and its over”” (Rowell, 2013)

From this scene, the reader is able to take a look at exactly what Eleanor is going through. She is not safe at home and she does not have the same support as Park does in his home. These unexpected insights allow the reader to see the world from Eleanor’s eyes and her trying to make sense of it, as well as seeing the world from Park’s eyes and seeing what he thinks she deserves in the world.

Another trait that Rainbow Rowell’s Eleanor & Park novel provides is dialogue. The entirety of the book is written in dialogue. The chapters themselves are numbered but also named based on who is talking. One chapter will be Park, the other Eleanor. There is also no preset length. If the author wants the reader to know how the other character is feeling in the specific scene, the author ends one character’s dialogue and starts the other. Personally, because of how natural the dialogue is between the two characters, along with all the characters they interact with, this is a very easy book to follow. Through the dialogue the reader is able to get close and connected to the characters because the reader is able to learn certain aspects of who they are and they are able to connect with it.

Along with the previous two traits, a trait that is displayed in Eleanor & Park is precise vocabulary. I would have to go along and say that this is a trait that also goes hand in hand with the vocabulary also being able to bring the reader some type of connection or relatability. When reading this book, a lot of the dialogue and the words were interesting, but the actual content and the things they were talking about made it a fun read that I could personally relate to. There is a specific scene where Eleanor is grateful for everything Park has done, and she does not know how to repay him, however they she thinks of exactly how. She states “and then she realized that Park did now know about The Beatles” (Rowell, 2013). The way that the book is written is not in a fancy way, rather its in a very casual way that allows the reader that ability to feel connected to the text. The way it is written also allows the reader not to focus too much on the words, but rather what they mean.

Response

There are various emotions that Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell made me feel: happiness, anger, heartbreak, sorrow, etc. However, the one way I can describe what reading this book really felt like I was melting into the story. With every line and every phrase that Park would tell Eleanor and how kind he was, it made me remember of my first relationship and how kind the whole relationship was. The way each of the characters was developed was done in a way where it made me be able to relate myself to Eleanor as far as how she looks at herself and her body image. It also made me remember just how horrible high school really is and how thankful I am that that time has passed. While reading Eleanor and Park, there are definitely some scenes that would not be relevant now because we have other external factors that affect teens now a days, like technology. However regardless of actual things, there are several topics that are still problems in today’s society. One of the biggest one’s I saw was bullying. Eleanor is given several derogatory names throughout the book, such as “big red” and she is bullied by girls in her school. Unfortunately bullying is something that we still see in society today. Unfortunately children are bullied by other children for various reasons and while there are various programs in schools to stop this issue from occurring, it is still something you see happening. Perhaps the worst bullying scene in the book is when Eleanor’s clothes have been flushed down the toilet and she is forced to wear her gym outfit. I understand why Eleanor never decides to tell anyone about the bullying, but I do wish her character could have had the courage to tell an authority figure at school about them, perhaps a teacher she felt comfortable with.

Reading this book really made me enjoy it for both the literary content, and the work of art that it is. It is hard to be able to encapsulate two very different characters into one book, and make them seem so similar and so perfect for each other at the same time. Also with both characters there is so much development as far as who they are as individuals. There were times in the book where I was just holding on for dear life, hoping that everything would turn out for the best. There is a specific section within the book that is towards the end, which is a dialogue between Park and his father. Park is getting ready to take the car keys to take Eleanor to her uncle’s house, when his dad catches him. That specific dialogue made me feel so warm because I had seen their relationship progress throughout the book, and just when you think that his dad is not going to let him go, he tells him “I’ve got one condition- you’re taking the truck” (Rowell, 2013). This scene alone allows the reader to really picture how the dialogue happened- what their reactions were and how the scene progressed.

Conclusion 

After reading Eleanor & Park I can say firmly that this is one of the best books I have read. There were so many details that kept me engaged and the two characters themselves were developed in such a wonderful way that it allowed me personally the ability to connect with them. In addition, I was able to enjoy the format in how the book was written because it allowed for a more intimate type of storytelling. I would give this book five out of five stars.

Citation

Russell, H. (2013) Eleanor & Park. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press.

Rowell, R. (2013) Eleanor & Park. New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press.

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Social Media Diary: An Instagram Influencer with 55,000 Followers

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Social Media Diary: An Instagram Influencer with 55,000 Followers

My name is Sam. I’m 21 years old, a college student and a writer here at StyleCaster. But there’s one more thing that characterizes my definitively Gen-Z existence: I’m an Instagrammer. (Sorry, I just baby-barfed.)

For the record, I hate the word Instagrammer. (And don’t even get me started on the word influencer.) Like the B-word in its early stages, the titles are mostly used in a derogatory context; they’re employed to degrade the people who wear them, as if that’s all they are—and as if it’s not enough. But the truth is, there’s no better name for what I do (yet), so we’re just gonna have to roll with it.

I use my cell phone much the same way any college student does. Every morning, I scroll through one newsfeed or another until my eyes adjust to the daylight my shades unsuccessfully tried to obstruct; I listen to music on Spotify when getting ready for class; I text and call my friends to catch up while I’m commuting; and I navigate the twisted channels of Instagram, Snapchat, Facebook and YouTube when I’m bored. (I’m not much of a Twitter girl.)

My phone is my go-to travel companion, my avenue to information I might need, and my emergency lifeline in times of crisis (like, when I run out of St. Tropez—hello, Amazon).

But I also run this Instagram account.

Let me start with a disclaimer: I’m no Kylie Jenner. I have 55,000-ish followers (which, granted, is more than twice the number of people who can fit in Madison Square Garden). But I still qualify as a “micro-influencer,” meaning I don’t “influence” a proportionally large amount of people, in the grand scheme of things.

That being said, I run my account like a businesswoman. Every day, I receive upwards of 50 unique messages (DMs, emails, press releases, etc.) regarding my Instagram account. I spend time negotiating the terms and contracts of branded collaborations. I conceptualize, shoot, edit and post all my own content. I consult with my agent and mentors to discuss brand strategy and areas for improvement. I travel for shoots and meetings.

In short, I spend a lot of time on my phone.

Last month, I decided to embark on a little mission—one focused on self-awareness. I downloaded an app called Moment, which promised to track my iPhone usage over a given period of time. I chose a week where I’d be in office some days and out of office others; I wanted to see how my habits changed from a professional setting to an unrestricted one.

I figured the app would not only serve me a major reality check but also answer some questions I get from my friends and followers: How often do I post? How long does it take me to edit photos? Do I read all my DMs?

Scroll down to get the answers yourself—and to read a minute-by-minute account of my week on Moment.

Day 1: Tuesday, August 7

Courtesy of author.

10:15 a.m.: I arrive at the office, get settled at my desk, respond to some work emails and prepare for the day. I also turn on Moment for the first time.

10:15 – 10:47 a.m.: Over the next 32 minutes, Moment logs nine “pickups.” Kevin Holesh, the app’s creator, defines a “pickup” as any time your screen lights up for five or more seconds. (You’re probably wondering what happens if you get a text, which causes your screen to light up for approximately five seconds. Yup, that counts as a pickup.) My guess is that these nine pickups were thanks to my roommates—we were texting in a group chat and Venmo-ing each other for the previous weekend’s Ubers.

10:47 a.m.: I use my phone for two minutes. It’s more than likely that I was responding to a text (it’s also more than likely that said text was from my mom).

10:47 a.m. – 12:09 p.m.: Moment logs six pickups between 10:47 and 12:09. As the Internet wakes up, I begin receiving notifications from Instagram. I don’t get push notifications for likes or comments, but I do get them for direct messages.

12:09 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes, to briefly respond to a text or two and to resolve a conversation in my Instagram DMs.

12:09 – 12:16 p.m.: One pickup.

12:16 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes, likely to follow up on some texts.

12:16 – 1:50 p.m.: Eleven pickups. I’m popular today.

1:50 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes—probably exchanging Snapchats with friends.

1:50 – 2:51 p.m.: One pickup.

2:51 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes. This is when my lunch delivery arrives—I answer the phone, and use my time in the elevator to catch up on some Instagram DMs.

2:51 – 6:34 p.m.: I have an extremely productive stretch at work and barely touch my phone. Only three pickups in total.

“The app shows my numbers in the color green, which I interpret to mean, Hey, Sam—you’re not so bad.”

6:34 p.m.: I got to work a few minutes late, so I decide to stay a little late in return. At 6:34, I pack up, grab my phone and head out. I get distracted by a Facebook message and spend five minutes on the app. I get on the subway and lose cell service for the majority of the ride, so I’m not on my phone much.

6:34 – 6:50 p.m.: Three pickups.

6:50 p.m.: I get off of the subway and respond to the messages I missed during my subway ride. I schedule an Instagram to go up later that evening. I use my phone for five minutes.

6:59 p.m.: I get back to my apartment, flop on my couch and scroll mindlessly on Instagram for four minutes.

6:59 – 8:14 p.m.: I work on some contracts, send some Instagram-related emails and edit some photos and videos, all on my computer. My phone records three pickups, which must have been from texts I was receiving (even though I was responding to them on my laptop).

8:14 p.m.: I spend two minutes on my phone calling Caffe Buon Gusto on the Upper East Side to push my reservation back by 15 minutes—my roommate and I underestimated the amount of time it would take to get there.

8:18 p.m.: It starts to rain, so I spend two minutes on my phone calling an Uber.

8:31 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes in the Uber, mostly to determine why no one’s texted me in 13 minutes. I spend about 30 seconds posting my queued-up Instagram to my profile. It performed at average capacity.

8:34 p.m.: I spend eight minutes on my phone, checking up on my Instagram, responding to DMs and looking at celeb posts with my roommate.

8:34 – 8:52 p.m.: Three pickups.

8:52 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to take a Boomerang of my roommate and me cheers-ing to our last night living in the New York City for the summer. (We’re moving out of our apartment the next day and preparing for our return to Elon at the end of the month. We can’t believe we’re going to be college seniors.)

9:01 p.m.: I open up Instagram and spend two minutes getting the perfect photo of my pasta. It’s gorgeous, so I put it on my Story.

Courtesy of author.

9:01 – 11:09 p.m.: We have too much fun at dinner to remember our phones—Chianti Classico makes for a good substitute. My roommate orders the Uber home, and we practically crawl back to our rooms, exhausted by our own capacity to eat for two hours straight. Two pickups.

11:09 p.m.: I’m finally in bed, tired and full of pasta. I use my phone for nine minutes to gush about the restaurant (to Mom, of course) and take my final scroll through Instagram. I sleep. According to Moment, my phone sleeps with me, for eight hours and seven minutes.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 58 pickups and roughly an hour and a half of screen time. The app shows my numbers in the color green, which I interpret to mean, “Hey, Sam—you’re not so bad.” Normally, I’d be proud of this, but I know that the stats aren’t indicative of the truth. I was unusually productive today—plus, my phone didn’t account for the hour(ish) I spent working and texting on my laptop after hours. Regardless, I chalk it up as a win for Team Sam.

Day 2: Wednesday, August 8

Courtesy of author.

7:48 a.m.: I have to wake up unusually early this morning because I’m working the BlogHer conference with the team. I use my phone for 10 minutes to respond to some texts from the night before, check my work email and take a pass through my Instagram newsfeed. I check on my Instagram post from the night before, and am disappointed in its performance—that outfit deserved better.

8:06 a.m.: I use my phone for eight minutes—not sure why.

8:06 – 8:29 a.m.: Four pickups.

8:29 a.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to respond to the four texts I just received. Why is everyone up so early today?

8:29 – 9:11 a.m.: Nine pickups. These are texts from a friend, Slack messages from my editors at the BlogHer conference and Instagram DM notifications.

9:11 a.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to order an Uber to the conference. (I’m wearing heels.)

9:11 – 9:19 a.m.: One pickup.

9:19 a.m.: I use my phone for my entire 21-minute Uber ride, because my driver doesn’t feel like chatting. It’s too early for that anyway. My Instagram newsfeed is on fire today—pretty sure I like every picture I scroll past. I take a selfie to post on my Instagram Story, because I love my sunglasses.

Courtesy of author.

9:44 a.m.: I’m at the conference, but my laptop refuses to connect to the WiFi. I use my phone to scan the web for news, which takes about five minutes.

9:50 a.m.: Still no WiFi. I’m back on my phone for two minutes.

9:50 – 10:19 a.m.: The WiFi seems to be working, so I don’t use my phone for a while. Two pickups.

10:19 a.m.: WiFi? Never heard of it. I use my phone for eight minutes to respond to work emails.

10:19 – 11:42 a.m.: My editor and I figure out how to use my phone as a hotspot for our laptops. We work and work and work and work, but the connection is still pretty slow, so we don’t get much done. Moment records one pickup.

11:42 a.m.: I use my phone for two minutes to take and post a photo of a speaker to my Instagram Story.

Courtesy of author.

11:42 a.m. – 3:56 p.m.: My phone is low on battery, so I head to a staff room to charge it. I leave it there forever and use my laptop to respond to important messages in the meantime.

3:56 p.m.: My phone must be charged by now, and my laptop is almost dead. Without any electronics, I can’t work—or survive, probably. I head back into the staff room and spend three minutes checking my notifications. Moment recorded seven pickups while I was away.

4:01 p.m.: I pick up my phone compulsively, and check for notifications for two minutes. I have none—it’s only been a minute since I last used my phone.

4:01 – 4:09 p.m.: Two pickups. (Now I have notifications?)

4:09 p.m.: I resolve the notifications. It takes three minutes.

4:09 – 4:35 p.m.: Three pickups. All texts.

4:35 – 5:06 p.m.: Two pickups. Both Instagram DMs.

5:06–5:30 p.m.: We’re in the home stretch of workable conference hours. The WiFi cooperates long enough for me to build out most of a story, but not long enough for me to finish it. My phone records two pickups.

5:30 p.m.: I’m heading out because the wireless is frustrating, and I have deadlines to meet. Before I leave, I spend three minutes ordering an Uber back to my apartment.

5:34 p.m.: My phone notifies me that the Uber has arrived—go time. I use my phone for five minutes while I walk to the car.

5:34 – 5:43 p.m.: Two pickups. My mom is texting me to discuss the fact that I’m moving out of my apartment in NYC pretty soon. We exchange sad faces (:/).

5:43 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to continue discussing logistics with Mom.

5:43 – 5:52 p.m.: I briefly doze off in the car. There’s a lot of traffic, so the ride is slower than usual. Moment records two pickups.

5:52 p.m.: The Uber drops me off at my apartment, and I use my phone for 18 minutes. During this time, I’m editing some photos that I plan to post throughout the week.

5:52 – 6:15 p.m.: One pickup.

“I’m starting to feel like yesterday was a fluke, and I’m beyond sure tomorrow will only be worse.”

6:15 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes. I’m running late to shoot some content for a branded collaboration, and I need to let the team know I’m on my way.

6:15 – 6:25 p.m.: Two pickups. (Responses from the team saying they’re a few minutes behind schedule, too.)

6:25 p.m.: I use my phone for six minutes to navigate the rest of my way to the shoot.

6:25 – 7:16 p.m.: I’m on set, sans phone. Five pickups.

7:16 p.m.: I use my phone for seven minutes, to upload some of the RAW images from the shoot into my camera roll. There’s a lot.

7:16 – 7:44 p.m.: Two pickups.

7:44 p.m.: I’m on my phone for two minutes, swiping through the photos from the shoot. I “heart” the ones I like and immediately delete the ones I don’t.

7:44 – 8:02 p.m.: I leave the shoot—I’m eager to get into some air conditioning and to sit down for a while. The team packs up, I hop in a car and begin the journey from NYC to my hometown in New Jersey. One pickup.

8:02 p.m.: Since I’m not driving, I have some downtime in the car. I catch up on an entire day’s worth of Instagram DMs, Instagram-related emails, text messages and social tags. This takes me 27 minutes.

8:02 – 8:34 p.m.: I take a breather from my screen and look out the window for the rest of the drive. By the time I arrive at my parents’ house, Moment has recorded another pickup.

8:34 p.m.: I head inside and flop down on the couch. It was a long day. I mindlessly scroll through Instagram for nine minutes.

8:34 – 8:49 p.m.: I discuss the concept of dinner with my parents—nobody has thought of it yet. Busy day in the Feher household, I guess? We decide on pizza. Three pickups.

8:49 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to order said pizza. Dad heads out to pick it up.

8:49 – 9:06 p.m.: One pickup. Instagram DM.

9:06 p.m.: I’ve set the table (casually—it’s just pizza), and I’m waiting for Dad to return with the pizzas so we can finally eat something. I wind up on my phone for eight minutes.

9:06 – 9:57 p.m.: Dad arrives, and we feast. The pizza is gone in mere minutes, but we sit and catch up for a while. We’ve missed each other since I moved to the city. We have a lot to do tonight—we take off for a family vacation to Bermuda in the morning! Four pickups.

9:57 p.m. – 12:43 a.m.: I shower and start packing. I’m super productive—probably because I’m not using my phone. Moment records 12 pickups. They’re some combination of texts and DMs.

12:43 a.m.: I feel guilty for ignoring all the texts and DMs, so I spend 10 minutes responding to them.

1:10 a.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to set an alarm and do a quick scan on Instagram. I finally climb into bed, and it takes me all of two seconds to pass out—I’ve had a long day. Overnight, Moment records one pickup.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 97 pickups, as well as four hours and two minutes of screen time. (The app shows my stats in the color red—and that doesn’t include anything that happened after midnight, though I included it here for the sake of clarity.) I’m starting to feel like yesterday was a fluke, and I’m beyond sure tomorrow will only be worse, since it’ll be my first day of vacation. My most-used app of the day is Instagram (one hour and 24 minutes), and my least-used is Siri, which I didn’t use at all.

Day 3: Thursday, August 9

Courtesy of author.

7:39 a.m.: My attempt at waking up on time is unsuccessful (shocker), but I’m only nine minutes behind schedule. For two minutes, I scan my email for anything time-sensitive. My heart skips a beat when I learn nothing requires my immediate attention.

7:39 – 9:30 a.m.: I finish packing my suitcase and carry-on, and throw on some airplane-friendly clothes (read: sweatpants). I don’t lay eyes on my phone until the very minute we’re walking out the door: 9:30 on the dot. Five pickups.

9:30 a.m.: For the first 12 minutes of the ride to the airport, I catch up on Instagram DMs.

9:45 a.m.: Mere seconds after I last put my phone down, I pick it up again for another 12 minutes. I’m bored in the car, because Mom and Riley (my brother) are completely zonked. Dad is listening to Pearl Jam and is totally in the zone. Do not disturb.

9:45 – 10:06 a.m.: Two pickups, both texts from friends wishing me a happy vacation. (My friends rock.)

10:06 a.m.: I spend four minutes chatting with my friends.

10:14 a.m.: We’ve arrived at the airport. The security line looks long, but I know exactly how to distract myself. I’ve been meaning to download the Lightroom app for weeks now, and I just haven’t gotten around to it. I plan to launch a new Instagram theme this week, and this app will make it easier. I spend 16 minutes downloading and exploring the app.

10:14 – 10:39 a.m.: One pickup.

10:39 a.m.: I spend seven minutes on my phone practicing in the Lightroom app. It’s fun—either that, or I’m a total nerd.

10:39 – 11:10 a.m.: Three pickups.

11:10 a.m.: I respond to said pickups. Two minutes.

11:10 – 11:24 a.m.: We board the plane. The process is pretty quick, and I’m already excited to land in Bermuda. I get one text, which counts as a pickup.

11:24 a.m.: I use my phone for five minutes. During these five minutes, I open Spofity, scroll through my playlists, choose one and hit shuffle. I close my eyes and immediately begin to doze off.

11:24 – 11:46 a.m.: Six pickups. I’m asleep for all of them. Oops.

11:46 a.m.: I spend 15 minutes resolving my pickups—both texts and DMs.

12:02 a.m.: I look up from my screen and realize we were supposed to take off seven minutes ago. I wonder what happened, but I don’t care that much, and I use my phone for six more minutes.

“Though it makes sense that I’d use my phone more on vacation than at a work event, I feel like I made a concerted effort to unplug today (especially at mealtimes).”

12:02 – 12:23 p.m.: Four pickups. Random notifications. Why hasn’t our plane moved yet?

12:23 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes…

12:36 p.m.: …and two more minutes…

12:39 p.m.: …and two more minutes…

12:49 p.m.: …and then three minutes. We’re still on the fucking ground. Something’s up.

12:49 – 12:58 p.m.: I’m not on my phone much over the next few minutes, because I’m too busy trying to figure out why the heck we haven’t taken off yet. Eventually, I learn that a passenger asked to deboard the plane once we were already in line for takeoff, so we had to go back to the gate and let him off. (Which wouldn’t have taken too long, except they also had to find his checked bags in the cargo hold. Facepalm.) One pickup.

12:58 p.m.: I pop in my earbuds, throw on a playlist full of songs that calm me down and improve my attitude (which you can find here), and entertain myself by editing some old photos. I’m on the phone for 18 minutes before we finally take off.

1:18 p.m.: We’re finally flying, so my phone is in airplane mode. I spend 10 minutes playing around with the Lightroom app. I know that I’ll start taking photos pretty much as soon as I land, and I don’t want to waste any precious vacation time learning how to use it. Eventually, I get sleepy and doze off.

2:57 p.m.: I’m awake, but we haven’t landed yet. (Rude!) I use my phone for two minutes before giving up on it—it’s no fun without WiFi.

3:10 p.m.: We land and sit on the runway for a little before we’re able to deboard the plane. I use my phone for 11 minutes to view all my missed notifications while we wait for the green light to remove our seatbelts.

3:22 p.m.: We’re moving, people! I text my grandparents that we’ve all landed safely and that we’re in line for customs. Four minutes.

3:30 p.m.: I forget the “no cell phones” rule in the customs area, and spend two minutes on my phone before someone asks me to put it away. Whoops.

3:38 p.m.: We’re at baggage claim waiting for our suitcases when I realize that the time zone didn’t adjust on my phone. I spend five minutes trying to figure it out, to no avail. For the rest of the trip, my phone is an hour behind Bermuda time.

3:38 – 3:47 p.m.: Two pickups.

3:47 p.m.: We’re in a cab on the way to the hotel. I respond to my notifications, but put my phone down after two minutes, because our cab driver is the nicest human being I’ve ever encountered, and because I want to be present for the first part of our family vacation. 

3:47 – 4:15 p.m.: Six pickups.

4:15 p.m.: For three minutes, I respond to an urgent email regarding my Instagram. We arrive at our hotel.

4:15 – 5:09 p.m.: We check in, are shown to our suite and hurriedly change into some socially acceptable lunch outfits. We’re ravenous because we haven’t eaten since breakfast. Five pickups.

5:09 p.m.: We head over to a gorgeous oceanfront restaurant at the hotel. It’s happy hour, which means cocktails, sushi and tapas. I spend eight minutes editing and posting an Instagram from my archives so that I don’t have to post again until tomorrow. (Since we got in so late today, I won’t have an opportunity to take many ‘Gram-worthy pics.)

5:18 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to check on my post.

5:18 – 5:37 p.m.: Three pickups.

5:37 p.m.: I check on my post and respond to comments for another two minutes.

5:44 p.m.: I’ve been trying not to use my phone too much at the table lately, but we realize we’ll probably be hungry again late tonight, since it’s so early. Mom and Dad assign me the task of finding us a good restaurant for a late dinner. We spend 19 minutes on my phone, searching for options, discussing our cravings, reviewing menus and making a reservation.

6:05 p.m.: I use my phone to take some still photos, and my mom steals it to snap a pic of me. Four minutes.

6:22 p.m.: Two minutes.

6:33 p.m.: We’re back in the suite—everyone’s relaxing and getting ready for dinner.  Mom and I are ready pretty quickly, so we flop on the bed and look at some of the photos we took at happy hour. They’re cute, and we love the new editing theme I’m working on. Three minutes.

6:33 – 7:07 p.m.: The heat is starting to fade, so we sit outside on the terrace until Dad and Riley are ready for dinner. (Somehow, my brother takes longer than I do.) My phone is inside charging. Five pickups.

7:07 p.m.: It’s golden hour in Bermuda, so we decide to walk down to the beach and take some pictures. Two minutes of screen time.

7:11 p.m.: And two more.

7:16 p.m.: Lots of photos are happening. My phone is open for 11 minutes.

Courtesy of author.

7:30 p.m.: And literally 12 more. We’re obsessed with this lighting.

7:30 – 7:50 p.m.: Two pickups.

7:50 p.m.: We head back to the suite to grab our bags and call a car to take us to dinner. I use my phone for three minutes while Dad is making the call, put it down, and then use it again for five more minutes while we wait to be picked up.

7:56 – 8:40 p.m.: During this time, we’re in the cab with another extremely friendly Bermudian driver. We arrive at the restaurant, claim our reservation and are shown to our table. Moment records three pickups.

8:40 p.m.: The staff knows we’re celebrating my parents’ 25th wedding anniversary, so the maître d’ brings some champagne. I grab my phone and snap a Boomerang of my parents cheers-ing. Three minutes.

8:45 p.m.: Five minutes.

8:55 p.m.: Three minutes.

8:59 p.m.: Four minutes.

8:59 – 9:19 p.m.: No phone for a while—five pickups.

9:19 p.m.: Back at it. Five minutes.

9:19 – 9:42 p.m.: We’re eating, drinking and laughing. It’s not often all four of our schedules align for more than one meal, so we try to savor our time together on vacation. I manage not to touch my phone, and it shows five pickups. All text messages and Instagram DMs.

9:42 p.m.: The waitstaff brings out a slice of cheesecake that says “Happy Anniversary” on it—how could I not snap a pic? Four minutes.

9:42 – 10:08 p.m.: We enjoy the dessert and finish our drinks. It’s not often that other patrons outlast us at restaurants, but one couple is left when we head out. The maître d’ calls us a car, so I have no reason to use my phone. Three pickups.

10:08 p.m.: I respond to notifications for two minutes.

10:11 p.m.: Six minutes of phone time as the cab approaches.

10:23 p.m.: I use my phone for three more minutes in the cab. I’m watching my own Instagram Story, which I sometimes do compulsively. It’s weird—sue me.

10:53 p.m.: I haven’t responded to my texts nearly as promptly as usually do. I feel guilty when I realize some messages have gone unattended since morning. I spend four minutes catching up on my conversation. As I finish up, we’ve arrived at a beach bar. I hear live music in the distance, and sign off.

10:53 p.m. – 12:12 a.m.: We can walk to our suite from the bar, so we do. I get ready for bed and spend 11 minutes tending to my notifications before passing out. Two overnight pickups.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 131 pickups, as well as four hours and 53 minutes of screen time. Though it makes sense that I’d use my phone more on vacation than at a work event, I feel like I made a concerted effort to unplug today (especially at mealtimes), so I’m slightly surprised by my elevated stats. I’m definitely in the red. Better luck tomorrow.

Day 4: Friday, August 10

Courtesy of author.

8:31 a.m.: I wake up and immediately respond to some texts. Two minutes.

8:31 – 10:07 a.m.: We get ready and walk down to the beach. I lose my phone in the depths of my tote and forget about it while I enjoy the morning sun. Moment records nine pickups.

10:07 a.m.: I wonder if anyone’s texting me. (They are.) I use my phone for two minutes to respond and scroll through Instagram.

10:27 a.m.: I’m on my phone for 11 minutes, responding to a bunch of DMs. Some are recommendations of things to do in Bermuda, some are questions about my recent posts, some of them are brand outreach.

10:27 – 10:48 a.m.: One pickup.

10:48 a.m.: I scroll through my own Instagram account, and wonder if I’m going to like my new theme as much as I think I will. Four minutes.

10:48–11:06 a.m.: Four pickups.

11:06 a.m.: I use my phone to take a couple of photos. Well, Mom uses my phone to take a couple of photos as I climb a rock formation. It’s fun, but I don’t think it makes me look very sporty. Five minutes.

Courtesy of author.

11:12 a.m.: We get back to the chairs, and I use my phone for 10 minutes. I look at the photos, am surprised by how much I like them and edit a few.

11:12 a.m. – 12:11 p.m.: We head back to the suite to get ready for lunch. We’re eating at the tennis club where my mom and dad first met—the same one where they had their first date and their first kiss. I shower and change, letting my phone charge on the desk. Two pickups.

12:11 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes, and we head out.

12:11–1:21 p.m.: Our hotel isn’t too far from the restaurant, so we decide to walk. We arrive at the restaurant and my parents admire the way it looks exactly the same as it did 29 years ago. Nine pickups.

1:21 p.m.: I use my phone for two minutes to snap a shot of the scenery. It looks like we’re about to eat on the front of a postcard.

Courtesy of author.

1:36 p.m.: I use my phone for six minutes to look something up for my parents.

1:45 p.m.: I use my phone for seven minutes to respond to a text as we’re shown to the table. We usually spend a few minutes using our phones right when we sit down so we can try to put them aside for the rest of the meal.

1:45 – 2:06 p.m.: We order drinks and food and decide to head up to the clubhouse quickly to see if it remains the same. It does.

2:06 p.m.: Somehow, I’m “on my phone” for 15 minutes. But I don’t remember this, so I wonder if I forgot to lock my phone before I put it in my bag.

2:23 p.m.: Lunch is just as wonderful as we expect.

2:39 p.m.: I use my phone for five minutes to look at pictures we took of the plaques in the clubhouse. One shows my mom and her mom’s tennis victories. The other shows Dad and his dad’s. We text the photos to both of my grandmothers to brighten their days.

2:46 p.m.: We walk around the property and find a giant chess set. I snap a photo (one minute) and play against my brother until Mom and Dad are ready to leave. Six minutes.

Courtesy of author.

2:46 p.m. – 3:42 p.m.: We head back down to the beach so we can walk to our hotel. Upon getting back, I lie down to charge my phone for a few minutes—and end up spending 20 minutes on my phone.

3:42 p.m.: I wake up and check out my notifications. Two minutes.

4:10 p.m.: We decide to get some more activities in before dark. I already know what I’ll wear, so I relax while everyone else gets ready. I’ll change right before we leave. I use my phone for 14 minutes, mainly to scroll through Instagram.

4:10 – 6:43 p.m.: It’s time to head out. I throw on some clothes and call us a cab. It arrives almost immediately and takes us to an outdoor mall. The shopping isn’t fantastic, but that’s OK—we’ve found something more interesting: drunk mini golf. (Which, as it turns out, is basically just mini golf with a bar.) Moment records 16 pickups. Whoops.

6:43 p.m.: We’re finishing up the back nine, and I know I can’t keep my game under par. So instead, I have another daiquiri. Five minutes on the phone while I wait for my drink and bring it back to the course.

6:52 – 7:05 p.m.: The game is over, and Dad rolled an unexpected hole-in-one on 17, so everyone else loses. It’s OK though, because Dad rocks at mini golf. I use my phone for 12 minutes (to check the ferry schedule and then to browse the internet).

7:05 – 7:10 p.m.: We head over to the dock and board the ferry a few minutes early. It’s gorgeous outside, so we sit on the top deck. No pickups—I just wanted to talk about the ferry.

“Since it’s pretty much the same results as the day before, I figure this is my vacation norm.”

7:10 p.m.: I use my phone for 13 minutes because (a) I need to continue catching up on the notifications I missed while mini golfing, and (b) the boat has not left the dock yet.

7:26 p.m.: The ferry is finally in motion, and the sun starts to set. I snap some pics just before the last bits of light fade away. After that, everyone settles into their seats—we still have 15 minutes left. I use my phone for 12 of them.

7:43 p.m.: The ferry arrives back in town, but we still need a car back to the hotel. We flag one, get in and immediately feel exhausted. Mom and Riley doze off, and Dad is being friendly with the driver, so I’m lost in the Instagram Explore Page for a while. Five minutes, to be exact.

7:43 – 8:06 p.m.: The last few minutes of the cab ride, everyone wakes up and catches a second wind. The cab drops us off at the suite and we head inside to get ready for dinner. Two pickups, and then two minutes on the phone.

8:19 p.m.: Dinner isn’t until 9:00, so we get ready pretty slowly. I lounge in bed for about 10 minutes, using my phone before I even consider changing my outfit.

8:19 – 9:49 p.m.: Eventually, I join in the getting-ready effort; we make it to the beachfront restaurant only a few minutes late for our 9 p.m. reservation. We sit, order drinks and enjoy some appetizers. Our toes are literally in the sand, and the ocean is only a few yards from our table. Everything is perfect—I’m not on my phone. Five pickups.

9:49 p.m.: We’ve ordered our entrées, and are considering making reservations for dinner tomorrow. Eventually, we decide we should. I hop on my phone for 14 minutes while we choose a restaurant and reserve a table. I spend some of that time posting an Instagram from today.

10:04 p.m.: When my phone lights up, I don’t recognize the notification. Turns out it’s Moment, alerting me that my “daily stats” are ready for viewing. No freaking way. I use my phone for a few minutes, and eventually flip into “do not disturb” mode.

10:24 p.m.: I excuse myself from the table to use the bathroom. On my way back , I stop by the bar, because I literally can’t help but check my phone. That’s messed up.

10:54 p.m.: We’re finished at dinner, so I open my phone for 15 minutes while we eat the last of our dessert, pay the check and finish our drinks. Sometimes, we end up talking while I’m using my phone, and I leave it on the table while we chat. Then, when the screen fades, I tap it to keep it active. So I’m not really using my phone, but it counts as screen time.

11:10 p.m.: We head out. Two minutes responding to messages.

11:20 p.m.: Everyone’s exhausted. Today was packed. I use my phone for three minutes while we walk to our room. I don’t expect to pass out right away, but I do. Moment sleeps with me.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded only 90 pickups—but also four hours and 58 minutes of screen time. Yesterday, I had more pickups, but slightly less screen time, which means my phone sessions were longer today than they were yesterday. Since it’s pretty much the same results as the day before, I figure this is my vacation norm.

Day 5: Saturday, August 11

Courtesy of author.

9:09 a.m.: Mom and Dad have to wake me up. I passed out so quickly I forgot to set an alarm. I spend five minutes catching up on overnight notifications.

9:15 a.m.: I scroll through Instagram for two minutes to catch up on news.

9:24 a.m.: After discussing some potential plans for the day, I grab my phone and open Pinterest. We spend seven minutes looking up some information about the crystal caves, then decide to head to the pool for the first half of the day. We’ll hit the caves in the afternoon.

9:45 – 11:59 a.m.: We walk up to the pool and begin lounging. Fifteen pickups. Sometimes, when I’m off my phone for this long, my friends get worried.

11:59 a.m.: Two minutes, mostly spent ignoring my notifications and checking out my own Instagram account.

12:23 p.m.: Five minutes.

12:31 p.m.: Nine minutes, while I lounge on a pool chair.

12:42 p.m.: I look at my notifications for two minutes, and once again choose not to resolve them. We order lunch to the pool.

12:42 – 12:54 PM: We cool off in the water, then grab some lunch. Three pickups.

12:54 – 1:13 p.m.: A total of eight minutes on my phone, spread out pretty evenly while I eat.

1:13 – 1:42 p.m.: Four pickups while I eat (and subsequently doze off) by the pool.

1:42 p.m.: I decide it’s time to face the notifications. Twenty minutes spent working on my phone.

2:35 p.m.: Two more minutes.

2:52 p.m.: Ten minutes.

3:06 p.m.: We gather our things and walk back to the room, and I use my phone for the 12 minutes it takes to get there. Scrolling. Through. Instagram.

3:20 p.m.: We’ve gotten back to the suite and started to freshen up. I take a quick shower, and then I’m on my phone, sitting in a towel. I literally refuse to move. I’m so comfy—bye. I’m on my phone for two minutes before someone yells for me to keep getting ready.

3:30 p.m.: Another five.

3:36 p.m.: Three more. What could I possibly be doing?

3:41 p.m.: Three more. Ridiculous.

3:46 p.m.: Time to move—the last crystal cave tour departs at 5:00, so we need to get into town ASAP. We call for a cab but none are available. The front desk promises to call me back when they find one. I use my phone for three minutes while I wait.

3:46 – 4:02 p.m.: I still haven’t heard from the front desk. I start to panic and call again. They say they just found one and were about to call me. Four pickups, then two minutes on the phone.

4:06 p.m.: Eleven minutes on my phone as we wait for the cab.

4:19 p.m.: I use the cab time to edit some photos. I end up on my phone for, like, ever (30 minutes).

4:54 p.m.: We make it just in time for the last tour. The caves are cool AF, and I am definitely posting a picture of them this week (if I can work it into my social calendar). I use my phone for 10 minutes taking pictures and editing them on the spot while we’re in there. Efficiency is key.

“This is an improvement [screen-time-wise], and I also had a really awesome day. I wonder if the two are related.”

5:05 p.m.: My brother and I spend three minutes showing each other the photos we took on our phones. His Google phone takes awesome ones.

5:05 – 5:26 p.m.: Earlier, someone told us about a popular bar near the caves. We head out, use Google Maps to locate it and realize it’s within walking distance. Obviously, we head over. Eight minutes on the phones in total.

5:26 p.m.: We get inside, and it’s air-conditioned. Life is good. I use my phone for two minutes upon sitting down.

5:26 – 5:42 p.m.: We enjoy some frozen drinks, because, somehow, we haven’t stopped sweating yet. Four pickups.

5:42 – 7:00 p.m.: We head back home—we really want to catch golden hour at the beach. One outfit change later, we’re there, enjoying a flawless, 75-degree, cloudless, slightly breezy golden hour. It’s the most peaceful thing I can remember doing in years. Two minutes.

7:11 p.m.: I use my phone for four minutes to determine exactly when the sun will set. We learn that it’s soon, and my mom grabs the camera. It’s Christmas card time. (Apparently, you’re never too old to take Christmas card photos.) I quickly post an Instagram and toss my phone into my bag so we can take some pics.

7:11 – 10:47 p.m.: It’s not often I lose the phone for this long, but tonight is particularly fun, so I put it on airplane mode. We get a cab downtown and eat dinner at a super-casual pub in the middle of everything. We drink, eat, laugh and make plans to go dancing after dinner. It’s so fun I can’t even bring myself to touch my phone. The next time I look at it, we’re already at a bar.

10:47 p.m.: We’re in Bermuda—a whole different country. But there’s this boy staring at me from down the bar, as if he knows me. He approaches me: “I follow you on Instagram!” (Whoop, there it is.) We spend three minutes on my phone looking up his account so I can follow him back. I accidentally quit out of Moment, so nothing is recorded until the next morning. But when I realize this the next day, I work with my family to try to remember the rest of the night, so I can fill in the gaps on this article. The following are our best guesses.

10:47 – 11:46 p.m.: We dance. We laugh. We cry. We have a really, really, really good time. Eight-ish pickups. (Bonus points if you get this reference.)

11:46 p.m.: Another guy, around my age, approaches me. He’s from the area, and so is his sister, who dances with her friends about 10 feet away. He tells me she recognizes me and asks if I go to Elon. Why does everybody at this bar know me? I’m having a blast meeting new people. I leave my family for a few minutes to introduce myself, and then to subsequently make a fool out of myself dancing. Things are fine. I spend two-ish minutes on my phone to follow this girl on Instagram.

11:46 p.m. – 12:15 a.m.: Still dancing (surprise, surprise), but now I’m back with the family.

12:15 a.m.: This time, the people who approach me are two women. We’re all cracking up because my dad is absolutely killing me in a dance-off. I’m ashamed of myself, yet proud of him. One of the women tells me she has a 17-year-old daughter—one who’s applying to Elon. I gush about it for, like, 20 minutes, then give the woman my phone number, in case she has any questions about the school. I spend a minute or two on my phone making sure I have hers.

12:30 a.m.: It’s almost time for bed. My family decides we should definitely head back. (Blessed.) I use my phone for about two minutes to get a cab, only to find a taxi stand three feet away. I hang up, and we wait there instead.

12:45 a.m.: We’re home. I flop in bed and spend three-ish minutes on my phone before blissfully falling into a deep, deep sleep. I’m pretty sure nobody sets an alarm.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded only 81 pickups—and three hours and 54 minutes of screen time. This is an improvement, and I also had a really awesome day. I wonder if the two are related.

Day 6: Sunday, August 12

Courtesy of author.

10:40 a.m.: By the time I get up, everyone else seems to be awake already—though they’re moving pretty slowly. We decide to rent motorbikes (for later use) and chill by the pool. I spend one minute on my phone scrolling through my notifications, but that’s it.

11:46 a.m.: At the motorbike rental place, we sign some paperwork, grab some bikes and practice riding them. Nobody seems confident in our motorbike skills—including the rental staff. I use my phone for nine minutes, mostly to send some “I love you” texts to my grandparents. (Just in case.)

11:46 a.m. – 12:16 p.m.: We head to the pool. It’s a beautiful day, and my hangover’s making me hungry. Looking at my phone makes me nauseous. Two pickups.

12:16 p.m.: We order some food to the chairs (plus, like, three gallons of water), and while we wait, we catch up on our phones. Ten minutes for me.

12:26 p.m.: The food arrives, and it’s beautiful. Wings, burgers, flatbreads and french fries. I use my phone for four minutes to snap an Instagram Story of the spread.

12:26 – 12:37 p.m.: We feast. Four pickups—all responses to my food snaps.

12:37 – 1:12 p.m.: More feasting, plus four pickups.

1:24 p.m.: We’re done eating, and we feel much better. I peek at my phone and realize I have a few people to respond to. Moment logs 12 minutes.

1:38 p.m.: I use my phone for another two minutes before taking a dip in the pool.

1:38 – 2:38 p.m.: I let the chlorine wash away the memories of all those vodka Red Bulls. Six pickups.

2:38 p.m.: I emerge from the water and use my phone for two minutes to send some messages on Instagram.

3:05 p.m.: I get a notification that says I should post an Instagram right now—based on my engagement history, this is a good time to do it. I choose one from Friday, and it performs. Two minutes.

3:11 p.m.: I spend 14 minutes responding to comments and DMs, as well as scrolling through my newsfeed to catch up.

3:33 p.m.: I love this pool, but I hate push notifications. I guess if I’m sitting here I might as well be productive. Twenty-four minutes.

3:33 – 4:35 p.m.: Maybe my long phone streak satisfied people. Only one pickup.

4:56 – 5:31 p.m.: We head back to the suite, shower, throw on some real-people clothes and hop on the motorbikes. We ride them to a mini-hike that will eventually lead us to the top of the world. Seven pickups.

5:31 p.m.: The view from the top of this hike is unbelievable. It looks like a movie set. I pull out my phone to snap a photo or two. Two minutes of screen time.

“I definitely used my phone more today than I did yesterday, but I forgive myself—I was hungover all morning. Who can blame me?”

5:42 p.m.: While I’m snapping photos, I notice the notification buildup on my lock screen. On the walk down, I try to resolve the easy ones, so I don’t get too far behind. Two minutes.

5:42 – 6:53 p.m.: We ride to another little beach, enjoy the views and hop back on the bikes to our next destination—Horseshoe Bay. It’s beautiful (duh). Then we make it to our final destination, a gorge white lighthouse. Ten pickups in total.

6:53 p.m.: I take a panoramic video of the view from the lighthouse (one minute), and then scroll through all my photos and videos from the trip so far. So many times this week, Bermuda has taken my breath away. Nine minutes.

7:17 p.m.: We’re back in the room, getting ready for dinner. I use my phone for two minutes to resolve random notifications.

7:24 – 7:49 p.m.: We decide to head out for the restaurant early, to catch the sunset (our reservation is for 9:00). Dad calls a cab, and we arrive just in time. Seventeen minutes on the phone in total.

8:05 – 8:50 p.m.: We watch the sunset, grab a drink at the bar and are shown to our table a few minutes early. Six pickups.

8:50 – 9:36 p.m.: We eat dinner in yet another beautiful place. The food is delicious, and I hardly even think about my phone. Four pickups.

9:48 p.m.: Checking out my Instagram again. Two minutes.

9:52 p.m.: When our entrées are cleared, I excuse myself to use the bathroom. I bring my purse and use my phone in the lounge to check up on my messages before I return to the table. Two more minutes.

10:09 – 10:30 p.m.: We order and eat dessert (a selection of mini ice cream cones that I can’t believe I didn’t photograph, despite a few more minutes of active screen time). We use my phone to look up some information that will help settle a silly debate we’re having.

10:36 p.m.: We head out of the restaurant, and a shuttle takes us to the main hotel, where the concierge will call us a cab back to our hotel. I use my phone for three minutes to check on my latest post.

10:41 p.m.: Seventeen minutes of… I’m honestly not sure.

11:01 p.m.: The taxi picks us up, and during the ride, I use my phone. My brother has passed out, Mom is half-asleep and Dad is chatting with the driver. I scroll on Instagram to catch up on celeb news and my friends’ lives. Thirty-seven minutes of my life. I can hardly believe I looked at my phone for that long.

11:41 p.m.: We arrive back at the hotel. Another busy day. Nine minutes before bedtime.

Recap: Today, Moment recorded 93 pickups—plus four hours and 43 minutes of screen time. I definitely used my phone more today than I did yesterday, but I forgive myself—I was hungover all morning. Who can blame me? I’m certain tomorrow will be worse, because we’re flying home, and I forgot to bring a book. (In other words, I’ll be spending the entire day on my phone.)

Day 7: Monday, August 13

Courtesy of author.

9:09 a.m.: I wake up and can’t fall back asleep, so I scroll around on my phone for nine minutes. Then I lie in bed until everyone else wakes up.

9:26 a.m.: We get out of bed and begin to pack our things. Our flight is delayed. We’re thrilled—let’s eat! I use my phone for two minutes to check my email.

10:14 a.m.: We return the motorbikes to the rental place—but not before snapping a photo. Two minutes.

10:14 – 10:35 a.m.: We head back to the room to throw on some swimwear. Since our flight is delayed, we have some time to chill. One pickup.

10:35 – 11:45 a.m.: We head down to the beach and relax for a while. Eventually, we can’t bear the heat and opt to return to the air-conditioning. We have to check out soon, anyway. Eighteen minutes and three pickups, in total.

11:45 a.m.: We chill in the suite until someone comes for our bags—we’re going to leave them at the hotel while we get lunch and then grab them on our way out. I use my phone for seven minutes.

11:45 a.m. – 12:37 a.m.: Someone comes to grab our bags, which means we’re good to go. Thank goodness—we’re ravenous. We order a cab and it takes us into town so we can eat some lunch. I spend almost the entire time on my phone, which, in retrospect, is a little sickening.

12:37 p.m.: We sit in the restaurant and everybody takes a few minutes to themselves for phone time—this way, we can all be present during the meal. Mom and I are exceptions today, because we’re getting status updates about the flight.

12:37 – 1:44 p.m.: We enjoy our lunch, and my phone is active pretty much the entire time, so we can receive status updates in real-time from the airline. We learn that our flight is taking off earlier than expected. (Although we were kind of hoping we’d get stuck in Bermuda.) We hop in a cab and race to the hotel.

2:12 p.m.: We’re back at the hotel grabbing our bags, and the cab driver is kind enough to wait for us, so he can take us to the airport next. I use my phone for 18 minutes during the transfer.

2:12 – 2:39 p.m.: Another friendly cab driver. I love it here. We all chat and giggle about how wonderful it would’ve been if we got stuck in Bermuda. Two pickups. Eventually, my phone distracts me.

2:39 p.m.: I use my phone for three minutes to use my work email.

2:57 – 4:02 p.m.: We arrive at the airport, go through customs and security, and find our gate. Four pickups and 18 minutes in total.

“Today, Moment logged only 93 pickups, but a whopping seven hours and 22 minutes of screen time. I could die of embarrassment.”

4:02 – 4:53 p.m.: We hang out at the gate—I use this time to get work done. I make some progress on this article, respond to all my emails and plan out my next two weeks in my trusty agenda. Since I’m using my computer, I get a lot of my notifications sent there instead of my phone. Moment records very few pickups, because I’m resolving most of my notifications on my laptop. But I still spend 17 minutes on my phone during this time.

4:53 p.m.: Are we ever going to board this plane??? Dad is borrowing my laptop, so I move all my assignments to my phone. It’s a lot slower, but we only brought one computer, so we have to share. I spend over an hour on my phone, writing part of this article.

5:56 – 8:06 p.m.: Honestly, I can’t even tell you what happens during these few hours—I think my brain is blocking them out. All I know for sure is that we board the plane, sit on it for a while, and fly. I don’t buy in-flight WiFi, but like I said—I forgot my book. So I spend the relatively short flight editing photos, playing solitaire (on my phone) and listening to Spotify. We land around 7:30, but don’t get off the plane until 8:00-ish, so I spent two full hours on my phone. (Yikes.)

8:06 – 8:36 p.m.: We head over to baggage claim, grab our luggage and find the car. Notifications are pouring in, since I couldn’t access them on the flight. Ten pickups.

8:36 p.m.: In the car, I use my phone for 29 more minutes. I cannot imagine what the heck I could possibly be looking at after a flight full of screen time—except maybe all the messages I missed in airplane mode.

9:16 p.m.: We arrive at our go-to restaurant in my hometown. It’s two minutes away from the house, so we basically live there. We all use our phones to catch up on work stuff. Eight minutes.

9:26 p.m.: After ordering drinks, I hop onto my phone for two minutes to post a picture of that giant chess set we’d seen earlier.

9:26 – 10:12 p.m.: Another meal. We are blessed. Twenty-seven minutes on my phone, but I can explain—Nana had met us at the restaurant, and we spent the entire meal scrolling through photos from the trip on my phone. So it was basically the whole point of conversation.

10:12 – 10:51 p.m.: I accidentally close out of Moment, but I don’t want to keep getting notifications from it, because I feel sick about how much I used my phone this week. I just want it to stop. I jot down notes about my phone usage for the rest of my night to stay on track. The following information is taken from my notes.

10:51 p.m.: We pay the check and head home to greet our sweet pup, and to go TF to bed. We’re a hot mess. I use my phone for the two-ish minutes we’re in the car.

11:16 p.m.: I scroll on Instagram before bed and close out some conversations from earlier that day. This girl’s gotta sleep.

Recap: Today, Moment logged only 93 pickups, but a whopping seven hours and 22 minutes of screen time. I could die of embarrassment. If I didn’t have the traveling excuse, I wouldn’t even be telling you guys this. Of that time, I spend the most on Instagram: two hours and 34 minutes.

Day 8: Tuesday, August 14

Courtesy of author.

7:25 a.m.: Since I started this whole project when I got into the office last Tuesday, I decide to keep it going until I get into the office this Tuesday. I wake up and scroll for three minutes.

7:25 – 8:40 a.m.: I open up Moment again, because I’m ready to face the day. I get ready for work and head to the train station to catch the train from my hometown back into the city. Four pickups.

8:40 a.m.: I board the train and use my phone to catch up on messages and emails before work—I’ve been out of that mind-set for too long. Eighteen minutes.

8:40 – 9:13 a.m.: Four pickups.

9:13 a.m.: We’re about to pull into the station, so I resolve my notifications again before I have to get off. They end up being notifications that require a lot of attention. Another 18 minutes.

9:13 – 10:42 a.m.: I de-board the train, walk to the office and get a start on my day. In total, I spend two minutes on my phone. Moment logs 14 pickups.

10:42 a.m.: My work here is done. I spend three minutes deactivating the Moment app so it stops tracking my progress, and I hold onto the stats so I can analyze them later. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Final Thoughts

Over the last week, I picked up my phone 650 times and spent more than 32 hours staring at it. While the number of “pickups” I recorded didn’t surprise me too much (because, don’t forget—you don’t always have to use your phone to get a pickup), the 32-hour thing makes me want to cry.

I have some serious reality-checking to do. Regardless of my following on Instagram, I don’t think it’s practical, healthy or smart to spend more than one-seventh of my life staring at a screen—and that doesn’t even count my laptop.

This experience has definitely been eye-opening. But for now, I think I’ll close them for a while.

Source: http://stylecaster.com/social-media-diary/

[oddsfiche]

So, Die Deutsch Rock Szene, we’ve covered it before, discussed it, referenced it and even become a part of it but what is it and how did it affect the whole Prog Rock movement or at least a good part of it?

Personally I love, LOVE it because it’s so avant-garde and beyond left field at times you don’t know where you will end up and sometimes just be let off the cosmic bus somewhere to wander on your own. In the late 60’s music was too pop and bubble gum for a lot of German musicians and Berlin, Hamburg et al had had its fill of the Beatles playing and rehearsing. The Reeperbahn in St. Pauli’s district in Hamburg where the nightlife and red-light services collide and bands like the Beatles and Tony Sheridan made a name for themselves and in the late 60’s and early 70’s bands like Black Sabbath and The Pink Floyd began to start to wander over from the island and blast their monstrous sounds to the unknowing Deutsch publik. This was all well and good but the German music scene was still in it’s embryonic stages and fast evolving in to a cult underground scene that was growing out of control and with good cause to it as well. Bands like: Amon Düül, Can, Embryo, Faust & Kraftwerk were creeping through the vines of streets and playing clubs and venues bringing the people the “Die deutsche Rockszene” to life. Crowned as Krautrock by the English, the moniker stuck and that’s what it’s been since. ‘Kraut’ being a derogatory term for a German and just for the record, I’m not a big fan of the term “Krautrock”, a moniker invented by the U.S. and U.K. to reference the German bands that were evolving out of the 60’s and 70’s and was a slanderous term the US Army gave the Germans in WWII so yeah not liking that title at all. The German Rock groups weren’t the first to pull out the experimental card but they made it more well known and out there where musician artists like Iannis Xenakis from Greece was doing this type of music in the 50’s and American artists, Pauline Oliveros was expanding the musical spectrum in the early to mid 60’s but it was fashionable and hip to be German in the 70’s now that the whole Third Reich thing was long behind them and they were once again cool to hang out with according to the world and wars were being fought 10,000 miles away in Vietnam, so Germany, why not?!

A good number of German artists had by now left Berlin as it was becomming too much of a hot zone for commercialism and their identity was being lost to it so they moved out and scattered to other cities like Dusseldorf, Cologne, Hamburg etc to harness their raw energy and power of sound. Berlin was a touristy town for English bands and caravaning hippies to converge upon and take in the sites, sounds and smells of the great city of Berlin. Bands like Kraftwerk were hard at werk(!) designing their sound that would later become the grandfather of techno and electronica industrial music decades later through their genius and ingenuity of creation. Thought their first album when they were known as Organisation and the subsequent pylon albums referred to as Kraftwerk one and two (two, green pylon album is still my all time favourite record by them) were played with guitars, drums flute and keyboards and it wasn’t until 1973 where the two founding members Ralf and Florian branched off keeping the Kraftwerk name and the remaining members forming NEU! releasing several albums that was pretty much where KW would have gone musically had they stayed together as a band.

Most people associate the German rock scene with Kraftwerk because they became a household name by the mid 70’s with the huge impact that 1974’s Autobahn Lp made and they toured more extensively than other bands aside from Tangerine Dream throughout both Europe and North America. Tangerine Dream brought us the hypnotic sounds of what synthesizers can do and by having a massive rig to set up they brought forth an all encompassing sound that would have audiences in rapt attention with their looping riffs of four or five notes that were swallowed up by the swirling synthscapes that would go on for the entire performance making it in to one long piece for each show. No two shows are really alike and the bootleg series Tangerine Leaves is proof enough of just how different the band could be live every time. Very much like UK band, Gentle Giant, Tangerine Dream did release albums but they were a live band as opposed to a studio record experience but their albums were still a joy to listen to and escape in to the world of fantasy and make believe. Bands like Can and Amon Düül were tripping minds with their unique style of sound that had a variety of members and different musician styles brought in to one format creating music that was not even thought of overseas. Damo Suzuki was busking on the streets of Berlin when he was found by the band Can and asked to join them and for a few albums Can had some pretty notorious sounds to compete with and their iconic 1971 album Tago Mago is a perfect example of what it’s like to have a band stretch the limits and beyond of the conventional record you brought home from the shoppes. What also gave Can an edge was that Damo is Japanese and in those times it wasn’t very common to see a Japanese person in Germany let alone the lead singer of a band and he’s even mentioned it in several interviews over time how comical it was for people to stare at him whilst on stage because well he looked pretty different to them I guess! By the mid 70’s Damo had left the group and they petered in and out but didn’t have the same grip on sales and the audiences as they did in the early 70’s. but for German bands it was more about the music and not so much about the sales of albums they could do. The listening experience was what it was all about and not Ch’Ching! Though that did help along the way I’m sure.

Some bands never left their home turf like Kraan, a free form jazzy Prog band that again like a good number of their counterparts was more of a live act than an album’s band. They did do some minor travelling to Denmark and once to the USA for NEARfest in New Jersey in 2001 to much acclaim but it’s in their homeland of Germany that the band found their solace and stride. Being a four to three piece over the years they decided to call it quits last year but that was short lived and the band was back playing live again. Once you get bitten by the touring bug you can’t give up the ghost on it, it’s a part of you, in your blood and soul to the very core forever. As a musician I know that feeling of not wanting to stop playing even if it means playing the same thing twice which has happened a couple of times for me because people arrive late and wanted to hear a particular song so the audience was fine with hearing it again and you do that for your listeners when you can. Kraan pretty much is not a household name over here in North America aside from small clusters of people who venture outside the Top40 clap trap that plagues the airwaves. Speaking of Cluster, there’s another band that flew under the radar of North America and is relatively unknown but they released albums right in to the 80’s and one of them collaborating with Brian Eno which is no surprise as he is truly one of the more well known experimental musicians out there who has released albums on his own and with Robert Fripp as well as many other artists throughout the last few decades.

Some of the other lesser known bands like Eiliff that not a single live bootleg album can be found anywhere and all we have to go on is stories and two studio and two official live albums to their legacy leaves us thirsting for more of the band as they were that German Jazz Prog sound that was a blending of everything under the sun as far as song structure and style, sound and experimentation. Their albums are definitely well worth seeking out and played on a regular basis!

We could write an entire book on this of which there is a great one called Krautrock, Cosmic Rock and its Legacy which is worth seeking out! Of course the German Prog scene has continued to evolve and develop with bands like Traumhaus and Rotor to name a couple and still a lot of bands like Kraan still pack in places and give you your money’s worth in a show despite the fact that they tried to call it a day the other year but just couldn’t stay away and will play until they all drop dead on stage or something because once you’ve played live you can’t get off that stage, trust me I know! So many of the German bands tend to have to take a back seat to their UK and US counterparts globally I find but yet they still play and put out some amazing albums that you just cannot deny their brilliance and have last tried and true over the years.

Ideally I would love to see the remergence of the German Rock scene in North America like it partially had in the 70’s but sadly due to over saturated pop culture music making it more difficult for new and up and coming bands to get any headway through the market over here but at least in Europe and Asia bands have the ability to explore the masses and expose their music to a wider and more attentive audience base. Here there are of course the fan base that has allowed a small portion of the album sales to get through to our living rooms and with sites like Bandcamp helping artists, including yours truly, get exposure and albums and songs out there has been a great advantage to musicians.

Explore the world of German Rock and Prog Rock bands and discover what the Germanic countries have to offer because they’re well made, beautifully crafted musicianship and music that continues to take Deutsch Rock to new levels and keep the Old Guard well held high!  ~Enjoy

      ~fin

DEUTSCH ROCK and The Birth of Experimental Sound So, Die Deutsch Rock Szene, we've covered it before, discussed it, referenced it and even become a part of it but what is it and how did it affect the whole Prog Rock movement or at least a good part of it?

[heavenstrvck]

despite the whole act she's learnt to put on all these years, the charming, easygoing, laid-back facade, erin knows that, were this their first encounter, she'd still fall as easily for siobhan. whether it's their natural chemistry, the way the redhead flirts like she's not even trying or just the pull inside of her chest that tugs her ever closer to the other, erin knows that, even if she met siobhan for the first time right now, she'd feel the same. warmth, familiarity, need. three pillars of some deeper feeling that she's not ready to name yet - because she knows the second she thinks it, it'll slip past her lips, and that would be unfair to both of them.

doesn't allow herself to ponder the sentiment too long, because otherwise, once she's alone, it'll turn to guilt, self-hate and something deeper, something that tears apart at everything she's built, reminding her that it's worthless without someone to share it with. keeps her focus on the way siobhan's fingers still move like silk between her knuckles, like the most precious of cloth she wants herself draped in.

the hair twirl, the giggle - it makes her heart beat faster and erin grins, big and genuine and full of love. holds it back, eyes widening slightly as the word enters her brain and swirls around like she's in some stupid cartoon. focuses instead on the possibility of their conversation. makes a show of furrowing her brows, looking aside as if she's in very deep thought. mentally goes through her familial obligations, quickly, as if she's watching a film on ten times the speed.

brown focuses back on blue and she raises an eyebrow. "what about tomorrow at 5, your place ? might be a bit early for a martini, but i'm sure there's other things you can show me how to do." another push, and it feels like she's running towards the edge of a cliff. maybe siobhan catches her, stops her before she falls. or maybe the momentum takes them both down, precipitously, and it wouldn't even matter as long as siobhan's hand in hers. bites her lip, looks back up in sparkling eyes. a pause, her gaze saying - are you jumping with me?

it feels so unfair that they’ve spent more time apart then they ever have together, a doomed love affair from day one. she’s spent the last ten years tearing herself apart, trying to find every little detail that made her unworthy. unworthy of erin, unworthy of ballet, unworthy of happiness. she wants to beg and plead, to tear herself apart if only for a promise, a whisper, a chance at what they used to have. but siobhan has never been one for grand acts of self destruction in pursuit of love. it was always a quieter, a cold hand, a missed dinner resercation, an injury danced through. her mind was not unlike a stress fracture, so much pressure placed on it until it broke. so adding to that pressure, hearing erin reject her might absolutely shatter everything she has. she so badly wants to ask, to talk, to put everything out in the open, but the risk is too great. how is she supposed to say iloveyouimissedyoucomehome when if erin says she doesn’t want that everything will crumble around her. every tenuous thread holding her together will break.

she knew that everything was so fragile, that this whole moment could be gone in an instant. maybe that was the scariest part. she could feel herself slotting back into her old position, head held high with an air of confidence that nothing could touch them. and sure, that wasn’t entirely the case, there was so much that lurked below the surface of her pale skin, some sort of deep shame that consumed her flesh, tearing away at her until she remained frail, just a shell amongst man. and then she was alone. all at once, her entire life felt like it was pulled out from under her, hands grasping at sand that drained more and more from between her finger tips. it slipped and slid, no way of holding on to it despite her best efforts. a birthday voicemail, a text when things were exciting, all things she tried to make it happen for her. she remembered asking in the hospital room where erin was, only to have the memory of her loneliness confront her all over again. she remembered asking her mom not to call— she was too fragile to be told that she wasn’t coming. especially not when she knew the answer before ever asking the question. she wouldn’t answer, and even if she did, she wouldn’t come.

another sip of her drink burns on the way down, but she’s letting it anchor her here. she has to, otherwise she’ll get wrapped up in all of the flights of fancy she has about the two of them. about all the things they could have, all the things erin missed, were bound to run through her mind if she let them. but she can’t. so instead she’s sitting here, frail hand in hand with someone who she had always believed was the love of her life. the feeling of her calloused fingers had always been enough to drive her over the edge, from stability into bliss. “name a time and place, babe. i’m there.” she grinned, and if she could she’d desperately shove the term of endearment back in her mouth, never letting her affection slip. it felt pathetic, pining over someone who clearly didn’t want her for ten years. but she had always been a romantic, always wanted to be wanted. it was so frustrating, so exhausting. but maybe, this time, it could work out.

“what i’m hearing is you want me to make you a martini.” she giggles, free hand twirling her hair as she watched erin’s blush spread. god, she could stay like this FOREVER. she would, if she wasn’t worried about how much time had passed or how much erin wanted this. she WANTED so much, but when had that ever mattered. erin was like gravity, she could jump as hard as she wanted, but she’d always be pulled back down. and for as much as that hurt, it was also such a comfort.

[heavenstrvck]

would it be too easy? would it be unfair to just ask siobhan if they could pick up right where they left off? as if nothing else had happened? she knows it's impossible, but a part of her - who's still seventeen and enamored with the redhead - wonders if they're making it more difficult than it should be. tiptoeing around the subject, speaking in implicit promises when it feels like their eyes and bodies are screaming at them to just do it. be with each other.

erin shakes the thoughts away, finds herself absent-mindedly playing with soft, delicate fingers as she sips on the drink. she knows it's impossible. it's been too long, they've both changed and there's too much left unsaid. because of her. because she had cut off all communications rather than allow herself to feel pitiful and vulnerable and bombard siobhan's phone with i miss you texts. she could have said it a hundred times - a million times - and it still wouldn't have felt just as true as the reality of it was. waking up alone - or worse, with some stranger - fingers itching to find soft skin and a familiar warmth. at some point, it had felt like every nerve ending in her body was pointed towards home, tied to siobhan.

she had turned to work instead, wanting to become to best. if she had been the worst girlfriend then maybe making it up through professional success would balance it all out, right? it had, for a while. the hard work, the sweat, the physical exhaustion allowing her reprieve from her thoughts. but at night, if she wasn't out and pressing the off button in her brain thanks to some strong liquor, they came back. like a nightmare she loved, a dream she hated. always siobhan, always that feeling of home tugging at her stomach.

the burn of alcohol in her throat brings her back to where she is, biting her lip as she watches the pink of siobhan's skin turn darker. it feels like whatever she's doing to push against the redhead's barriers, instead of resisting, siobhan is reeling her in at the same time. she smiles, lowering her eyes briefly as she allows herself to continue, to take it as encouragement. "good. i prefer the physical application to the theory anyway." erin says, unconsciously licking her lips before her darkened brown eyes look up in blue ones again. "i'm sure you have. maybe you should show me what you've learnt." this is it. either she's been too forward and can expect siobhan to pull back any second, or the other understands what she's asking for. permission.

hides her nerves as she swirls the drink around with her free hand, watching it before glancing back at siobhan. "of course you have. why am i not surprised you're the type to try and make cocktails at home?" the chuckle that stumbles out of her lips almost surprises her, cheeks slightly flushed as she shrugs. "i'm sure you make a great martini though." she asks, eyebrow raised. anything to keep this easy conversation going, so she doesn't focus on everything else she wants to say, or the way she just wants to tug onto their joined hands to pull siobhan closer and kiss her.

it feels crazy to be sitting here, next to erin. it feels even crazier to be hand in hand, at one of her favorite bars. this feels like a dream, like any moment she’ll find herself waking up in her bedroom, with erin nowhere to be found. she feels like she’s begging any god who will listen to let her have this, to keep erin here. she doesn’t want to talk, she just wants to pick up where they left off. like no time has passed, like nothing bad has happened to either of them. and even if she knows it’s impossible, she can’t help but wish for it with everything she has.

she would love it if she knew erin was waiting for her, flowers in hand on opening night of the ballet season, but that was a fever dream. even if erin had never seen her dance in a real, professional ballet, siobhan wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to go back. another dream dashed right before her very eyes. and maybe that was okay. maybe if erin was here, if they were together, she could find a new dream. the thought of it hurts, but she’s trying not to get wrapped up in everything that erin missed right now. not when she’s finally HERE and they’re out together, hoping for something ANYTHING to make this feel permanent.

she knows it’s silly how easy it is for erin to make her blush, it’s even sillier that she’s so not used to attention like this. it’s been a long time since she’s let anyone truly see her. she wondered if in some warped way, it was a fucked up version of faithfulness, remaining strong in her fidelity to a relationship that was clearly over. it would’ve been easier if that was the case, she thought. it would’ve been easier to believe she was sure of herself, of them, of all of the promises left unsaid between them. but in reality, she knows that her decaying mind coupled with her broken body is much more to blame than she would like to admit. she feels embarrassed if she thinks about it too long, knowing that erin clearly found women better than her in her time abroad. she’s trying to remind herself that they’re just too old friends catching up, that erin isn’t going to fall right back into the way they used to be, but it’s so intoxicating to think she could. and siobhan is desperate for some relief, something good, after everything has gone wrong a million times over.

you know me i’ve always been better one on one. the words are ringing in her ears, and her blush is spreading impossibly further. she wants to tell erin to come home with her, to beg for everything she’s missed, but she’s so afraid of rejection. she doesn’t think she can handle another heart break. so instead, she steels herself against what may happen, and tries to open that door. “it does allow for more of a hands on approach.” a sweet smile, “i like to think i’ve only gotten better at tutoring.” that’s a lie, but it feels like the right thing to say. like maybe erin will pick up how she feels, that she wants to be asked if erin can come over, if they can keep seeing each other.

she may be oblivious. she may be naive. she may even be too wrapped up in herself to notice things. it’s something people have always criticized her for. but sitting here, watching erin’s face flash with a deep, exhausted sadness feels like something she never could’ve missed. in an instant, it’s gone, settling in her eyes and the way the corners of her smile are just a little bit lower, but siobhan can practically feel it radiating off of her, like heat from a sunburn. it doesn’t change anything, she just files it away in her mental notes on everything that’s happened today. she doesn’t elaborate on how much she missed erin, doesn’t ask any questions, because she can see the tenuous grip erin has on her own stability. and lord knows, if erin lost it, siobhan would be sure to follow. floodgates opening and spilling every one of her dirty, disgusting secrets in hopes that maybe, if she was smaller, if she was more beautiful, if she was the perfect ballerina, erin would still want her the way she used to.

her thoughts are interrupted by erin’s shocked statement about the drink, and she can’t help the knowing smile crossing her face. it was such a good drink, and if she were still allowed to, she would’ve ordered it in an instant. she can’t help but nod along at erin’s statement. “yeah i’ve tried to make it at home like a million times but it’s NEVER as good as it is here.” when erin’s grip gets tighter on her, she almost squeals from excitement. she knows she shouldn’t get her hopes up, but she can feel them rising in her chest, threatening to burst forward. maybe erin really did miss her. the destructive parts of her psyche threaten and scream that it can’t be true, but if the warmth of erin’s light keeps shining on her, maybe she’d be able to actually silence them for once.

[heavenstrvck]

it feels like she's slowly floating away, her only tether being siobhan's hand in hers. up there, where her mind is flying, she daydreams of being able to say everything she hasn't to siobhan for the past decade. she almost tastes the words on her tongue, the sorry, the i should have called, the i was too scared and alone but i couldn't come back home. the way it feels easy, in her head. to just pick up where they left off, to take siobhan out on a date, to wait for her to come home, to see her face on the side of the pitch.

god. for a moment she allows herself to imagine the redhead in the stands of the big stadiums she's played at. siobhan has never seen her play in front of a real crowds, surrounded by people who cheer - or boo - at every kick and pass she makes. it tugs at her chest, the idea of seeing her face painted with the colors of her team, and to rush towards her at the end of the game, to hold her tight and kiss her.

it's not real though, and her eyes focus back on the blush spreading along pale skin, her free hand itching to see how far it goes, to follow its path. erin chuckles at the easy flirting, nodding her head in admission. "well you know me. i always perform better one on one." her voice is light, teasing and yet she knows the other will pick up on everything underneath - a single word from siobhan and she'd be on her knees in front of her, like she had never left.

she recognizes the face siobhan makes and glances away, swallowing her own tears. she's seen the redhead like this too many times, trying to push the hurt, the pain away and she knows that the moment siobhan lets go, so will she. she's not even sure of how that would feel. it feels like she hasn't cried in years, not since she was on that plane and allowed herself to. or those first nights, alone in her dorm room at the training centre, sobs swallowed by her pillow. then she had started becoming this - this new version of her. the confident, charming erin who keeps her emotions at bay. had found refuge in the game, in parties, in anger and fists against walls rather than allowing tears to show.

if she started crying now, she doesn't think she'd be able to stop. so instead, she nods, fingers reaching to grab her glass as she finally tries her drink, the honey on her tongue mirroring how it feels to be facing the other right now. she almost blurts it out. almost says i'm sorry. but she doesn't want to ruin this, doesn't want to lose the hand in hers so she nods, putting the mask back on - though she knows that for siobhan, it's basically see-through. "okay, that's good. i knew i was right to follow your recommendation on this." she grins instead, taking another sip, fingers holding on slightly tighter, as if siobhan is going to slip from her grip any minute.

she feels more like herself than she has in a long time. it feels like when her brain stops worrying about the steps, lets go, and she gets to that magic place where it's just her and the music, like she's floating. she knows she hasn't felt this in a long time, to wrapped in the decay and the smell of dried blood, all the things that ballet has taken from her. it's like she's seventeen again, and they're both on the precipice of greatness. part of it is the way that erin brought out the nostalgia in her, like nothing had changed and everything was still perfect. she knew in the back of her mind that wasn't true, that she wasn't worthy. and that for as much as she didn't want to believe it, erin must have thought so too or they would never have drifted apart. but it doesn't matter – it can't matter. not when erin was a tide that had always threatened to pull her under, and siobhan would always be happy to drown in her. erin always threatened to pull her under, only the places where they touched tethering her to the surface. she didn't need to breathe air if she could breathe in erin instead, chest on fire and skin ablaze with everything she couldn't have. she thinks knows that if erin said jump, she wouldn't even ask how high before doing exactly what she was told. erin had always been able to charm her into doing almost anything, and as long as they were together she never regretted it. she took a sip of her martini, letting the burn of it remind her that she was here, that she wasn't circling the drain daydreaming of the other woman again. erin was here. she was sitting in front of her, her frail hand was enraptured with the warmth of the contact and the bitter cold in her extremities was being shoved out with each passing moment. in the back of her mind there's a small voice screaming SHE'S FINALLY HERE! TELL HER YOU LOVE HER! TELL HER NEVER TO LEAVE AGAIN! erin has always known how to paint her cheeks with a blush, and now is no different. she can feel the heat from her face spreading down her neck and too the tips of her ears, and she let's out a small giggle. god, she missed this. she wished she could say "come home with me and never leave." but she can't. she won't. because just like she had when erin stepped on to that plane, she knows there's no sense in putting herself in between erin and everything she's ever deserved. everything she's ever wanted. "oh really?" she smiles, "if i recall correctly you still always wanted private study sessions." was that even witty? if there is a god out there, she's praying he'll keep her from tripping over her words and embarrassing herself in front of erin, because she wants this so bad even if it feels forbidden. erin's voice cuts through her thoughts, like a hot knife through wax, with little resistance, as though it was the easiest thing in the word. and those three words she had yearned for across the last decade, i missed you. the cynical part of her mind wants to say you didn't have to, but cynicism has never been her style. so instead she smiles brightly. "i missed you too." she replies, scrunching up her nose as though it'll keep the tears that threaten to gather at the corners of her eyes from spilling. she blinks them back, as though they never existed, and looks up at erin through her full eyelashes.

[heavenstrvck]

the electricity that's sparking between them is unique. despite her encounters, whether they be quick hook-ups or crushes people had developed on her, nothing had ever felt like that. and if she's honest with her, she knows nothing ever will. it's them. it's the way the universe seems to stop the second their hands touch, like all of the stars light up despite it being a bright afternoon when she looks in siobhan's eyes. it's need, but it's not quite lust. at least, not the physical, easy type that erin has used as comfort for years, where she knows how to touch, what to say to ignite it. no - this always takes her by surprise. it's always stronger than she expects it, pulling her in like she's tunneling into a black hole, and it swallows everything that's not the places where their skin touch.

it's almost scary, the pull siobhan has on her. she knows she'd be powerless if the redhead just decided to lead her to the back of this bar, in some alley, god forbid to her place, she knows she'd just follow. and yet, erin remembers enough to believe that it'd be different. her touch wouldn't be mindless, brain on auto-pilot focused on quick and easy. she knows she'd take her time, worship every inch of pale skin siobhan would allow her to touch. learn her all over again as if it was the only chance she'd get to do it ever again.

all of this swims through her brain, a soft smile playing on her lips as their fingers tangle and she lets out a breath. something she's been holding onto since she first boarded that plane, just after graduation. her whole body relaxes and tingles, thumb gently stroking at soft skin, after all these years, she's home. she's emerged out of the water, she's survived the desert, she's made it through the snow storm.

yet siobhan pushes again, tugs at that warmth in her chest and lower that makes her want to get out of here, to show her. she chuckles, biting her lip to refrain herself from just reaching forward and kissing siobhan as she continues to play along. "i am. better at it than any other subjects i'm afraid. but that's probably because the curriculum has always been very interesting." it's teasing, but it's gentle. it replaces everything she wants to say - like, take me to your place or let's get out of here - because she doesn't want this to be quick and rushed. if she's lucky enough for it to happen again, with siobhan, she wants to take her time and savor every second. "i missed you." it tumbles out of her lips despite herself and briefly, fear flashes through her brain, tensing her fingers around siobhan's at the admission.

she likes the way that erin looks at her. she always had. and even with the loud critical voice in her mind, she still felt like she could finally relax. if she was interested in explaining herself, maybe she would tell erin that the hyper critical voice had only become more powerful in the years since she had gone. but she wasn't exactly going to ruin the mood by saying something stupid like hey i forgot how normal i could be. so instead she focused in on the way erin spoke to her, the way she blushes, and all of the times that erin had proved her earlier statement exactly right. it had been a long time since she was able to be that vulnerable, that comfortable with anyone. maybe that was why she hadn't had the kinds of escapades in erin's absence that the other woman had overseas. either way, it was something that she didn't want to confront. not when erin was here, and she could unpack all of those issues in therapy tomorrow. right now, she was locked in HERE. she refused to let the demons that lurked in the shadows of her mind take her out of this moment, when any time with erin was fleeting at best. erin was bound to leave again. so she DESERVED to actually enjoy it while she had it. at the beginning, when erin was gone, she had tried. anyone who expressed interest in her was someone siobhan would give in to. she had always heard the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. but it took almost no time for her mind to break, and for those experiences to end with her sitting under her shower head, clothing on, and sobbing. maybe it was the fact that none of them were erin, maybe it was the vulnerability of it all, maybe it was being confronted by a body she felt was CONSTANTLY failing. either way, it always ended the same. it felt like a broken aria, constantly repeating the same refrain, but never getting any of the steps right. siobhan's love life always felt like a pair of pointe shoes just moments from death, a shank about to snap. as the rot in her mind set in, she stopped trying. slowly those moments of reverent hands were exchanged for rough pinches of her own skin, and hollow eyes staring into the mirror. she wondered what erin remembered of the first time she fell from grace, if anything. she wondered, because for as much as she was there, she was out of her mind. sunshine to her core, but darkness constantly threatening at the edges of her periphery. erin's response is enough to send her into orbit, her mind running through their history of hushed breaths, rough hands against fair skin, erin's dark eyes fluttering closed, and the soft way her breath catches in her throat. and for an instant, she can keep her heart from dropping into her stomach at the thought of erin peeling off of her clothes, and seeing her for exactly how she's changed. because she would shove through all of those thoughts if it meant she got to see the way erin looked at her while she took her apart, or watch the way she trembled and mumbled how perfect she was. the feeling of erin's skin against her own bursts with warmth and electricity, and she doesn't even think before lacing their fingers together. it's automatic, like they were always meant to have their hands interlocked, and it was an affront to the universe that they spent so long so far apart. "if i remember correctly, you're a quick study." she grinned back, and maybe if she was smarter, or she wasn't so wrapped up in her own mind, she would notice the way erin's brown eyes locked on her lips. but she's focused on the way that her own breath catches in her throat, and her pale cheeks flush because she's really TRYING here.