#wait also we should be talking about this year actually the cutoff was like three days after volume 1 so when i talk about it i mean had

[maddy-ferguson]

Genuine question is a non-rude way, how did sadie get robbed off from a nomination? most of her nice acting happened in vol1. both sadie and millie were already eligible for vol1 nominations as far as i know, but they still did not get nominated. there is just no way for them to be nominated especially when you put them in a competitions against other actresses like Julia Garner and Patricia Arquette. ST is just not that great of a show to be nominated for anything anymore aside from editing/sound/stunt double stuff that are side-nominations rather than main. And it certainly doesnt deserve to win even in editing department with that shitty cgi, sorry not sorry.

well i said she could've been nominated not that she would've been and idk i think the piggyback is a really good episode for her acting too

[aspenflower17]

Finding You (Part Nine of ??)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone (even if you don’t live in the US)! Here is the update for this week :) This chapter was a little self indulgent. I do talk a tiny bit about music theory and Jane Austen in this chapter. If you have questions about either, just ask and I can try to explain/direct you to some good sources on what I’m talking about 😅 

Edit: Totally forgot to mention! The whole Pride and Prejudice HC about Lucifer is not originally mine. I believe I read it on one of the Beel blogs. I think it was @taco-beel :)

For anyone new, here is the link for Part One. I hope you enjoy 😁 

Tags for the Lovelies:  @simpingforsatan @naimena @hachimochi @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia @a-dream-at-night @chloelikesobeyme @getbehindme-satan (If you’d like to be added to the tags list, just message me or comment below!)

Satan/ F!Mc

Trigger Warnings: possibly for depression?

Word Count: 2,322

After Mc shut the door, she slid down the door to the floor, head in her hands. Well, that couldn’t have gone worse. I would’ve rather had him ignore me or not remember me at all. I could’ve figured out how to interact with him in those situations. But what was with him being sweet in the beginning, and then just seizing up? Then he grabbed my wrist and seemed super worried about me leaving and then didn’t even say anything the whole walk?! That goodbye too! What was that?! 

The more Mc thought about the whole thing, the more upset she got. She leaned her head back against the door, her brain replaying the beginning of the conversation trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Remembering the look in his eyes as he had fervently declared he remembered her. The warmth of his voice.

Then the progressive unease as she had continued talking until the abrupt emotional cutoff. He had obviously been uninterested in talking with her any longer, though she really couldn’t figure out why. He had been so dismissive. But when I tried to leave… She looked down to the wrist he had grabbed. He sounded so… desperate. Like he truly didn’t want to let me leave. So, why didn’t he talk to me?

“Mc? Are you alright?” Michael asked, stepping into the entrance hall with Diavolo.

“I’m… I’m fine. Diavolo, do you have a music room?” Mc asked, standing up as nonchalantly as she could.

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you have a piano, or similar instrument?”

“Yes…”

“May I use it for the rest of the day? I need to compose.”

“I… Sure. I’ll have Lil’ D No. 2 show you the way,” and as he said that, a small demon appeared and beckoned her forward, and she promptly followed.

“Oh dear,” Michael sighed, eyes following Mc.

“What’s wrong,” Diavolo asked, thoroughly confused by the whole encounter.

“She is definitely not alright. She can only compose when she’s really emotional about something.”

“I… Wait, is she going to let us hear it when she’s done?” Diavolo asked, eyes lighting up.

Mc sat down at the piano. It was an almost pure black grand, and the key colors were reversed, which was messing with her brain visually. The piano bench lid was made from a beautiful dark red wood, the rest the same black as the rest of the piano. The piano did not look worn, but it was obviously old. 

Mc started playing her normal warm up scales, but quickly stopped when she realized they didn’t sound right. She tried again with the same result. It’s in minor…

Trying out all the keys, she realized the whole piano was in minor. You could play major chords, but it was like making minor chords on a normal piano. Interesting.

Mc continued playing and getting warmed up, wanting to explore the amazing opportunity that had presented itself. She started playing some of her own creations, marveling at how different her songs sounded. As she was playing, she remembered a song she had abandoned a long time ago. Though it should have sounded correct, she had never been able to make it sound correct. I wonder…

She started playing the song, and was amazed to find just how perfect it sounded. It was the same song, but it now sounded perfect. Encouraged, Mc tried to continue composing, but she couldn’t get past where she had already composed, no matter how much she worked on it. Discouraged and a little frustrated, Mc look at her DDD and was surprised to see it was almost time for dinner.

Standing up, she promised herself she’d come back later, and work on it more.

“I’ve decided to throw a ball in Mc’s honor!”

Michael and Mc looked up from their dinner at the proclamation from Diavolo. Luke seemed unphased by the announcement.

“A ball? In my honor?”

“Yes! You’re my honored guest after all.”

“He also loves throwing balls,” Luke added.

“Also that,” Diavolo admitted.

“Well, I’d be honored. Thank you.”

“Perfect! It’ll be held a week from today. Barbados! Make sure invitations are sent and food is ready.”

“Yes sir,” Mc jumped, not realizing Barbados was in the room, turning around to see him exit. She was starting to notice the butler seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Is a week too fast?” Mc asked worriedly.

“Nonsense! This is a lot more notice than I usually give if I’m going to be honest,” Diavolo laughed.

“For a whole ball to be planned?”

“Yes! Barbados is one hell of a butler,” Diavolo grinned over his teacup, before taking a sip.

Mc sat in her room and mused over the events of the day. Now that she had calmed down enough to think rationally, she started analyzing Satan’s behavior, and found she really couldn’t make sense of it. Unless he thought I was someone else… Wait. That makes a lot of sense actually. Like not a ton of sense, because he should have realized I wasn’t them before I started talking about meeting him before, but more than anything else I can think of. He may have also been a little… unhinged. He did look like he hadn’t slept in three days…

Satisfied enough that her brain could rest, she snuggled down into her blankets. Every time she closed her eyes however, all she saw was Satan’s face as he had grabbed her wrist. She brought her other hand up to her wrist and grabbed it. Now smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

Mc snorted, shifting a bit as she read. The bed was comfortable, the scent of its owner making her feel safe and comforted. Classes had been long and when the demon that sat behind her had gotten up, they had accidentally hit her in the head with their bag pretty hard, which had made Mammon nearly kill them. She had narrowly saved their life by assuring him it had been an accident and somehow calming her guardian demon down. This then had resulted in her being called into talk with Lucifer about what had happened, and so she had missed her Devildom History course.

She had come to Satan’s room to grab the notes he had thoughtfully taken for her, but when he saw how worn out she was, he had offered a quiet evening of reading and tea. She hadn’t been able to refuse, seeing as how she relished anytime she could get with him. The scent of old books and their caretaker was a surefire way to help her unwind from the day, the stacks of books throughout the room making her feel like they were in their own little world. The outside world glittered in the perpetual darkness through Satan’s large windows.

“What’s so amusing?” Satan asked from the armchair he had moved over by his bed once their reading sessions became a normal occurrence.

“‘We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him’” Mc quoted.

“Ah! ‘You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’” Satan said, a cheeky grin on his face.

Mc’s brain stopped functioning for a second, “Wai… Wha…?”

“Pride and Prejudice right?”

“Oh, hehe, right,” Mc laughed, trying to hide behind her book as best she could as all the blood rushed to her face, “It’s a good quote.”

“You know, when it came out, there was a rumor going around that Mr. Darcy was based off of Lucifer.”

“Wait… You’re joking.”

“No. He had been spending a lot of time in the human realm. Sometimes we wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. Then, he just stopped going up as much. About a year later, Pride and Prejudice was released. After the rumor started, Lucifer would not allow it in the house for the longest time. He even went so far as to ask Diavolo not to allow it in the Devildom at all.”

Satan had Mc’s full attention at this point, “What was his excuse?”

“Something about a stupid romance novel ruining his reputation, and how we needed to be the voice of reason for the lower demons if they were going to allow themselves to be so easily swayed to believe the nonsense.”

“You had a copy though, right?”

“Oh, of course I did. I still do actually. First edition. I even went up to the human realm to get it.”

“Wow… That explains so much though. Lucifer is like the epitome of Mr. Darcy.”

Satan shifted in his chair, and looked down at his book, “You think so?”

“Yeah. Tall, dark, handsome,” Mc watched as Satan sunk a bit lower in his chair at each word, seeming to get fairly upset, “Standoffish. Rude. Conceitful. Overbearing.”

“Ah, so you’re not a fan of Mr. Darcy?”

“Hmmm… I wouldn’t say that. He is her most popular leading man for a reason. But…”

“But?” Satan was looking at her now, his eyes probably larger and more insistent than he meant them to be. 

“He’s far too prideful in the beginning for me. We probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere,” Mc watched Satan relax visibly before continuing, “While I enjoy Pride and Prejudice, I’d rather read Sense and Sensibility or Northanger Abbey. I would rather have a Mr. Tilney or possibly even a Colonel Brandon. Someone who I could sit and make jokes with. Someone who would read to me. Someone I could go on adventures with and who could tell me all about this or that because they’re so well read,” Mc was looking down at the cover of the book now, and she could tell her face was heating up, “I’d much rather have someone like that.”

There was silence after Mc stopped talking, and she dared not look up. She’d basically just confessed to Satan, and she hadn’t even meant to. She kinda hoped her words went over his head, but also hoped they didn’t. The silence stretched longer than Mc would’ve liked before the bed shifted.

There was another few moments of silence before Satan spoke, a bit haltingly, “Mc, will you look at me? Please?”

Mc lifted her eyes shyly looking a little sheepish. She only had a moment of Satan’s shocked look before there was a flash of gold and his lips were on hers. She was so shocked she couldn’t respond for a second, but then she returned the kiss, melting as her body was on fire. Completely focused on the moment while soaring through the clouds. Perfect. It was perfect.

Mc came back to consciousness, her alarm playing soft piano music. She reached out her arms grasping. Searching. Coming up empty, she cracked an eye open, disappointment flooding her body when all she saw was her own arms. Her vision blurred as a strong wave of loneliness washed over her. She blinked a couple times to clear away her tears, feeling them slide down her face. She had had mornings like this in the Celestial Realm, though this was the first time she had remembered the dream that preceded it. She hadn’t really felt lonely since coming to the Devildom, and hadn’t registered it. Now though, it felt debilitating. She sent a text to Luke explaining she probably wouldn’t be down for breakfast and asking him to apologize to everyone for her. She then turned on some soft music, and dropped her DDD on the bed.

She lay quietly, the tears falling openly. This is what she had to do those terrible mornings in the Celestial Realm when she felt like she couldn’t face the day. Eventually her tears gave out, and she was left with an apathetic empty feeling. She continued laying in bed, not remembering a bout this bad in any recent history. After a while, she drifted off to sleep again.

“Hey. You awake?”

Mc groaned, sore from not moving in awhile, “Is that you Luke?”

“Yeah. I got a bit worried when you also missed lunch. You okay?”

“I think I’m okay now. I just got a bit too upset this morning.”

“Are you sure? I can tell Michael you’re caught up in an artistic frenzy or something.”

“Nah. Thanks though,” Mc smiled, still sleepy.

“Okay. As long as you're okay,” Luke was looking at her worriedly, but leaning down and kissing her forehead anyways, “I’ll make sure some lunch gets saved for you.”

“Thanks Luke,” Mc sighed, sitting up.

“Anything for my little sister.”

Over the next week, Mc continued trying to work on her song, though she didn’t get any further, along with her other art. She also read all about the Devildom’s history and visited some historically significant locations to put a name to a place. The whole time, her mind worked on the enigma that was her dream. She supposed it was a product of her brain trying to work through the disappointment of how her first meeting with Satan went, along with how active she had been since coming down to the Devildom. She tried to convince herself of this anyways. The truth was, it felt exactly like she was reliving a memory. It felt real, and nothing about it had been weird, all details clear, nothing out of place. It even felt familiar, she’d even go so far as to say worn, like some of her favorite memories did.

She blushed even thinking about the dream, clearly recalling the warmth and softness of his lips. The feeling of his hand on the back of her neck....

“Mc, are you almost ready,” Luke called from the other side of the door.

“Give me a couple more minutes. I’ll be down soon.”

“Okay. The guests are starting to arrive.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me know,” Mc took one last look at herself in the mirror before nodding and getting up, “Let’s do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Like, comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love discussing Obey Me so feel free to chat with me 😁

Part Ten

[writethehousedown]

Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

[peacefulheartfarm]

Prepare for Disaster

Prepare for disaster is a motto I grew up with living in rural Michigan. Back in the day, when the power went off due to a winter storm, it could be off for several weeks. Today we have much better electrical systems and our current provider has kept us in good shape. We have never been without power for more than a few days. But even that can be disastrous if we are not prepared. Today I want to talk about how we prepare for disasters that may or may not happen.

First, let me take a moment to say welcome to all the new listeners and welcome back to the veteran homestead-loving regulars who stop by the FarmCast for every episode. Thank you so much for your time and attention. I appreciate you all so much and I couldn’t do it without you. It’s midwinter and life goes on here at the homestead.

Our Virginia Homestead Life Updates

The cold weather has been consistent for weeks. Not too cold, getting just below freezing at night and 40s and sometimes 50s during the day. This is a typical Southwestern Virginia winter. I look for a few days of freezing weather sometime in the near future. A typical winter will have at least four or five days when the temperatures drop all the way to the teens and occasionally single digits overnight. That four or five day stretch usually happens at least once and sometimes twice, usually in January. It hasn’t happened yet. Still waiting for that shoe to drop. We did have some unseasonably cold weather in December, but January is proceeding right long the normal line.

Cows

The cows are handling the cold weather as they always do. It amazes me that these animals can go through the winter without seeming to notice it too much. I go out there and the cows are moseying around, eating grass and/or hay looking like they don’t have a care in the world. If they are eating, they are laying down, relaxing and chewing their cud, again, like they haven’t got a care in the world. Personally, I don’t handle cold very well, but I’m so glad they do.

Donkeys

The donkeys handle the cold very well also. Their coats are full and thick. Just about everyday they come up to the milking shed looking for a treat. Scott or I will give them a small handful of sweet feed and a petting. When they are finished, they head on down to the creek and out to pasture with everybody else. Our donkeys are the friendliest animals on the homestead.

Sheep and Goats

The sheep and goats always prepare for disaster in winter. They have really thick coats. Our goats are cashmere goats. They have a really thick undercoat of cashmere that they shed in the spring. Our sheep are hair sheep which means they also grow a thick coat of wool and shed it in the spring. No shearing for these sheep. I was watching the ewes graze in the front pasture. Just like the cows, not a care in the world.

Quail

The quail are even more amazing to me. They have feathers and I can’t see that they have any extra feathers for winter. Whatever they have is what they have and that’s it. My ladies and gents have it better than they would out in the wild. There is a box shelter where they can get completely out of the wind. They can huddle together for added warmth. Sometimes I go out there and they are kind of fluffed up, but other than that, not a shiver. Nature is amazing.

Garden

This time of year is the time to plan for the spring garden. What plants will we grow? How many? What will be rotated to another location? And so on. I’m a bit behind on getting started with that but I just can’t seem to drum up the energy. It’s too cold and I don’t want to think about going out in the garden when it is cold. Anyway, I’ll get to it in the next couple of weeks.

Creamery

The creamery roof is nearly complete. Scott is putting the finishing touches on the peaks. He spent much of the day yesterday rigging up a way to safely move around up there. Today he is full steam ahead getting those ridge caps completed.

Still to come is all of the ends of the building above the ground floor. I think they are called dormer walls or something like that. It’s basically the area from the top of the block building to the peak of the roof. All of that will be covered in the same metal as with the roof.

It’s cold out there every day. And every day Scott is out there working in it. He doesn’t mind the cold and he prepares for it with layers of clothes.

Preparing for Disaster

Speaking of being prepared, let me get into how we prepare for disaster. Some of it anyway. I could probably talk all day long about how we created and executed our plan. Some of it is still in progress.

No matter where you are in the world, there is always something you can do to prepare for disaster. You simply never know when power is going to be out or something disrupts the flow of goods. For instance, I got caught short this summer because there was a shortage of canning jars and lids. In the end, I did have enough for what I needed to save our harvests, but it was touch and go sometimes. Recently I came across canning jars while in town and I purchased just about everything they had on the shelf. Still no lids but I got a better stock of jars than I have had in the past. We learn from our mistakes.

Let’s start at the beginning. The first thing to stock up on is water.

Water

You should always have water on hand or access to clean water. Making this happen doesn’t have to cost a lot of money. Today, we have a hand pump connected to our well so we can always get water when needed whether we have power to the well pump or not. Still, we keep water on hand in the house. While it’s easy to go out there and hand pump some water, it is still easier to reach back in a closet or go into the spare bathroom and get some water for cooking, cleaning and flushing.

The recommended amount of water you will want to store is 7.5 gallons of water per person per month. A family of four would have 15 gallons of water stored if preparing for a short-term disaster lasting a few days or weeks. That’s where you always start. How much do I need for 2 to 4 weeks? Then get it done. You have the blue 5-gallon containers at Lowe’s, Home Depot, the grocery, and so on. Invest in a few of those and you are good to go. Strapped for cash? Buy one a week or even one a month. Your stored water will need to be refreshed regularly. Either use it or pour it out, but replaced what you have stored in the containers every 6 months or so. You don’t have to get there all at once. But you do want to get your water situated first.

Food

The second item is food. This one is a little trickier and takes quite a bit more time. So, start now. There are many methods for building up your food stores. Set several goals with this one.

How Many Days to Prepare for Disaster?

First, how many days of food do you need to store? That depends. Start with a week, then go to a month, then three months and so on. Ideally, you get to a place where you have a full year’s worth of food stored for your entire family. That may seem like a lot and it actually is a lot. But for my peace of mind, I wanted a full year of food. You may make your cutoff date sooner – and some even plan for longer.

What Food Should Be Stored?

Second, don’t store anything your family won’t eat. What are you eating right now? That’s what you want to stock up on. Forget the MRE’s and whatever else might sound great or someone might try to sell to prepare for disaster. What you want is food that your family regularly eats. Most foods have a shelf life of at least a year. If you rotate what you have saved, using the oldest stuff first and adding back what you have used in the back of the shelf, you can come up with a system that keeps you stocked up at all times. This is the first in, first out method. Instead of having one box of cereal, you have 12, or whatever you determine is the right number. Buy an extra box or two whenever you shop, or whatever you can afford. Build up slowly. You’ll be there before you know it.

Bulk Foods

One of the best ideas for food is to store some products in bulk containers. I’m talking about beans, rice, sugar and wheat or flour. You can live a long time on beans and rice. And if you are into making your own bread, having wheat or flour on hand at all times is a great idea. This is another place to build slowly.

The pieces you need to do this part effectively are: 5-to-6-gallon food-grade plastic buckets, mylar bags, oxygen absorbers and a standard household iron. The mylar bag goes in the bucket. The beans, rice, wheat, or flour go in the bag. Toss in a couple of oxygen absorbers and seal the bag with your iron. The oxygen absorber will suck out all the oxygen in the bag, And the sealed bag without oxygen will keep the food fresh for up to 30 years. I said 5 or 6-gallon buckets, but you can use smaller buckets. I like the larger buckets because I can buy 40 or 50 pounds of beans or rice and it fits in the larger bucket.

Canned Goods

Let’s talk about canned goods. These can also last for a very long time – not so much as the beans and rice, but still a long while. Those “use-by” dates on the can are not expiration dates. They are CYA dates for the manufacturers. As long as the can is not damaged and the seal is in place, canned food in jars and metal cans will last for years. Food in jars needs to be kept out of the light. And all canned foods need to be kept at room temperature or lower. Keep that in mind when you are planning where to store your stuff. Strapped for space? Under the bed works pretty well. Use that cabinet space up high that is empty because you can’t reach it easily. Find used shelving at yard sales and put it up in your garage. Lots of ways to make the space you need.

And don’t forget the can opener. Not one of those electric ones. No! a hand-operated can opener is needed.

Self-Protection

I’m not going to talk about this one because I’m not educated enough to know what to say. We do have weapons and ammo and such but Scott handles all of that. I’ll just mention it here and say find someone who knows what they are talking about with this and follow their podcasts or YouTube videos. It’s definitely important. And don’t forget to get the proper training. It’s no good to have weapons you don’t know how to use safely and care for properly.

Energy Needs

This is the last piece I’m going to touch on today. There is so much to cover on this topic I couldn’t possibly do it justice. So, I’m just going to give you a bit of information to get you started. Every person’s situation is different and your energy needs are going to be different.

Gasoline

Keep extra gasoline on hand. That’s an easy one. We try to keep 12 containers at all times. I must say, we are not as efficient at this as could be desired. If you have 12 containers of gasoline labeled one each month, rotate through that stock at a particular date in the month. In other words, in January, you empty the container labeled “January” into one of your car gas tanks. Pick a day of the month that you do this. The first, 15th or last day of the month are good choices. Take the empty container and refill it. That newly filled container won’t be emptied for a year and it will require a fuel stabilizer to keep it fresh and usable.

Generator

Having a generator that has enough power to run your refrigerator and freezer is a great tool. Again, add these things as you can afford them. Get your food stores up to a couple of weeks at least before moving on to a generator. Your generator will need to be started once a month to keep it in tip-top shape and so you know it is in good working order. You don’t want to be without power and find out that your generator is no longer working.

Living off the Grid

You may decide to go completely off the grid – or at least be prepared to go completely off the grid. That takes a great deal of planning and the choices are endless so I’m not going to go into that topic. But I will say keep in mind that, while solar sounds really good, if you don’t live in a really, really sunny place it may not be the option for you. There are other options.

Having a wood burning stove is always good. At the very least you can use your gas grill to cook meals – if you have planned ahead and have an extra propane tank or two. We took out our electric stove and put in a gas stove. The oven won’t work but the surface burners can be lit with a match. Keep some of those on hand. I like using what I’m used to using for cooking, so this works for me. We have the wood burning stove as well – complete with an oven. I really should learn how to cook on that thing in the event we run out of propane.

Communication

This is the toughest one to get prepared for in my opinion. How do we communicate? As long as the cell towers are up and running and your phone battery is charged, we can communicate. Well, we would have to climb way up to the top of our property and then maybe, just maybe, we would get a cell signal.

Right now, we have all sorts of social media where we can find out what is going on with family, friends and co-workers. But what if you didn’t have that? How would you get in touch with people? Could you get in touch with people? This topic requires some deep thought, lots of planning, and practice sessions to make sure your plans work. You don’t want to be isolated.

There is a significant amount of banning of communication going on in the large tech communities. They have a great deal of power. Indeed, more power than the US government. They can turn off anyone with the push of a button. They can make you disappear. You might want to consider broadening your reach to smaller platforms if you can find one that works for you and your family.

I have created a page on a site called Locals. You can find me on locals by searching for peaceful heart farm. Once you’ve joined my community, you can post whatever you’d like on my page. We can have a conversation and share insights.

I think I’m going to end there.

Final Thoughts

The animals go on and on and don’t give a thought to whether there is power to heat the house. And as long as the grass and hay keep coming, they are good to go. For us, it’s more complicated. As I said, I don’t like being cold. I’m grateful for our wood burning stove. It saves on electricity in the winter and is quite useful in a pinch for cooking.

I’ve spent years gathering food, both for ourselves and now saving up in case our neighbors are not prepared or not financially able to make it happen. And our water supply will also help out – and indeed has – helped out our neighbors. There is so much more to prepare for disaster but these two pieces are key. Water and food. Start today. You just have no idea when the power lines are going to go down with a winter storm, a hurricane, tornado and so on. It may be only a couple of days but it very well could be weeks. Remember hurricane Sandy and what a disaster that was and not so long ago.

If you enjoyed this podcast, please hop over to Apple Podcasts or whatever podcasting service you use, SUBSCRIBE and give me a 5-star rating and review. If you like this content and want to help out the show, the absolute best way you can do that is to share it with any friends or family who might be interested in this type of content. Let them know about the Peaceful Heart Farmcast. And please give locals.com a try.

Thank you so much for stopping by the homestead and until next time, may God fill your life with grace and peace.

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Check out this episode!

[forever-more-never-again]

Scales and Scars (Part Four)

Aizawa-Yamada [Y/n] - Given quirks through experimentation, thus their quirks are ‘Artificial’ and not considered ‘true’ quirks

First Quirk: Shadow Manipulation

Uses: Shadow manipulation allows the user to travel almost like teleportation from shadow to shadow by ‘sensing’ the shadows around the user. User is able to control the shadows and form objects. User can change the density of shadows. user also has excellent night vision.

Drawbacks: User experiences flashes of coldness from the presence of shadows, and if holds onto a shadow for too long will begin to develop frost bite.

a/n: That’s one of your quirks explained but there’s more to come! 

Word Count: 1849

Pairings: Eraserhead(AIzawa) X PresentMic(Hizashi), Reader X Class1A (Will have multiple endings for pairings)

Warnings: violence against robots

Prologue / Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Masterlist

When you stumbled from a shadow cast by a nearby dead robot, you quickly scanned the area.

“Come on…come on…” you muttered anxiously as your eyes tried to find the person that was in danger.

“Help!”

The hoarse cry caught your attention and you immediately began sprinting towards the sound.

Skidding around a corner, way to close to where the Zero Pointer was steadily toppling buildings for your taste, you found him.

A Teen looked to be stuck under a pile of rubble where a building once stood and his quirk seemed to be out of control.

“Dark Shadow! Control yourself!” The black headed avian boy shouted at the strange bird like shadow that was coming from his chest, before buckling over in pain.

You ran towards them, silently swearing at the other students who were running away and not helping the injured boy.

Upon reaching where the boy was stuck, you smiled calmly at him, despite your heart racing as you heard the machinery of the Zero Pointer growing louder and louder.

“Hi, my Name’s [Y/n]. I’m going to help you get out of here, okay?”

You thought the teenager would be glad if someone stopped to help, but instead he just squinted at you in pain and growled out, “Get out of here! I can’t control Dark Shadow!”

Sparing a glance at the bird shadow thing, you saw in wonder that it seemed to have grown larger, it’s piercing yellow eyes gleaming with promises of darkness and pain.

“I’m not scared.” And you weren’t.

The kid seemed to pause as he took in your confidence and then with a grimace, he whispered, “Tokoyami.”

Smiling again, though more strained as you caught the gleam of metal glinting off sun as the Zero Pointer was barely a mile away now.

“Okay Tokoyami. I’m going to need you to trust me. I can’t dig you out fast enough, so I’m going to have to use my quirk. I’m guessing since you called your quirk Dark Shadow, that they are something to do with shadows and that’s why they are getting out of control, right?”

The Avain head teen nodded. 

You looked down to where his legs were pinned and took a deep breath, “Okay. I’m going to get us out of here, whatever happens, don’t let go.”

And before he could ask you what you meant, as the building next to you began falling as the Zero Pointer plowed through it, you grabbed his hand and pulled you both into a shadow and out of danger.

In the split second of traveling from shadows, you could feel the immense power from the dark teen’s quirk as it reigned without any restraints.

The scream of pain from Tokoyami pierced your heart but you made sure to keep ahold of him.

And then you were near the entrance gate and you yanked the kid out of the shadow, his quirk hissing from the bright sunlight and getting absorbed back into the kid’s chest.

You gently helped the kid down to the ground, his legs were pretty bad.

“That was quite the Quirk, [Y/n].” Tokoyami managed to get out between pants.

You managed a short laugh, “Yeah. Yours is pretty powerful too, Tokoyami.”

Before you could say anything else, a familiar voice called out, “Yamada! You can’t just run off like that on me!”

And then Shinso was there, looking more harried than when you left him, a short elderly women following behind him holding a cane shaped like a syringe.

“Yamada?” You heard Tokoyami’s whisper but ignored it in favor of greeting Recovery Girl.

“Hi Obaasan.”

The elderly woman who you regarded as your grandmother after spending countless nights being looked after her as a young kid right after being rescued and adopted, gave you a suffering smile.

“Always getting into trouble Young Yamada. Just like your Pa.”

Shinso gave you a strange look, “Obaasan?”

You grinned sheepishly, not saying anything, and just rubbed the back of your neck as Recovery Girl walked past you and gave a wet kiss to the Avian kid’s legs.

Shinso came up and offered a hand to the kid, who took it and climbed back to his feet.

Turning to you, his eyes shone with confusion, “Is Yamada your given name?”

Shinso’s eyes widened slightly and watched silently as you coughed in sudden embarrassment.

“Uh..yeah…[Y/n] is my first name.”

Shinso choked on a laugh, “He’s been calling you by your first name without realizing it?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you began waving your hands in front of you erratically, as if you could wave off the embarrassment, “No! Wait! It wasn’t like that!”

Tokoyami watched with amused eyes and muttered, just loud enough for you to hear, “What a mad banquet of Darkness.”

At that Shinso completely lost it and began laughing so hard he almost fell over.

Once you managed to calm him down, all three of you realized the test was now over. Walking out of the Battle center, you felt the adrenaline wear off and the bruises and exhaustion settle in.

“Hey guys...let’s exchange numbers so we can let each other know when our letters come in.”

Both boys agreed and soon you were waving goodbye to your two new friends with a smile as you headed to the house, as agreed with your dad’s beforehand, that they would be at the school for a while after the tests ended.

Once home, you wanted to just collapse onto your bed, but knew you needed to take a shower.

Inu greeted you with a loud meows and began his many attempts at trying to trip you by winding around your legs as you got out of the shower and into your room.

“Inu!” You chuckled, reaching down, you hefted the giant black fluff ball in your arms and settled him on your bed as you crawled on it as well and opened your phone.

Future Hero Chat!

17:00 - ForeverTired: Are you guys as sore as I am? I swear I’m in pain in places that pain should never be.

17:05 - Birb: The complexities of the human body never ceases to amaze me as the vessels they are for our meager minds.

17: 08 - ForeverTired: Alright there Socrates. Yamada, you there?

17:10 - YaMad?: Yeah. You guys can call me [Y/n]...I don’t mind and would actually prefer it. Plus Tokoyami already has :)

17:12 - Birb: I should let the void eat me

17:15 - YaMad?: NO! Bad ‘Yami! 

17:19 - ForeverTired: Yami? You are a strange person [Y/n]. You call out Mr. Roboto, you talk to the kid with a villain's quirk, you help me get points, you call Recover Girl your Grandmother and you like being called by your first name.

17:22 - YaMad?: Yeah..haha...I guess I’m just ...Quirky..

17:25 - Birb: That hurt me to read...please never pun again.

17:27 - YaMad?: Aw...you guys know you tolerate me :)

17:30 - ForeverTired: I should have left you in that auditorium when I had the chance…

17:31 - YaMad?: But Ya didn’t!

17:35 - YaMad?: But seriously, if you guys don’t want me to call you Yami or Toshi I won’t…

17:37 - ForeverTired: When did I say I Cared?

17:38 - Birb: Your jokes and sweet manner are the light in the worlds’ darkness.

17:45 - Birb: Plus Fumi thinks you’re cute!

17:47 - ForeverTired: Uhhh…

17:48 - YaMad?: …

17:51 - Birb: I apologize, Dark Shadow took ahold of my phone.

17:53 - YaMad?: Oh! Isn’t Dark Shadow your quirk!? That bird shadow that you were having trouble during the exam?

17:55 - Birb: Yes. Dark Shadow is a living entity within me, and grows stronger and more hostile if exposed to darkness.

17:57 - ForeverTired: That explains so much about you…

18:00 - YaMad?: Toshi! Don’t be rude!

18:02 - Birb: I take it as a compliment [Y/n]. Do not worry.

18:05 - YaMad?: Oh! That reminds me that I never really explained my quirk! I have shadow manipulation! I can control the density of shadows, form them into weapons or anything else really, and I can travel by them, as well as an increase in Night Vision as a perk!

18:10 - Birb: That is a powerful quirk.

18:11 - ForeverTired: …

18:13 - YaMad?: Come on Toshi…

18:16 - ForeverTired: Brainwashing.

18:20 - Birb: Your quirk is quite amazing Shinso. I would assume it would be great for Heroics.

18:26 - ForeverTired: uhh…

18:29 - YaMad?: See! That wasn’t so bad! :) 

18:31 - YaMad?: Oh! My dads are home! I’ll talk to you guys later!

With a smile on your face, you exited the app and stretched your arms as you stood up, scooping up Inu who only meowed in slight irritation at being woken from his spot, you walked into the main room where you could hear your dads.

“This year’s candidates are so good! They make me want to scream!”

“‘Zashi… I will knock you out if you do.”

“Aww! Come on Shou! Don’t be like that! And [Y/n] was ama-”

Your eyebrows pinched together at your Pa’s abrupt cutoff, but rounding the corner told you the reason why.

Sighing, you scratched Inu behind the ears as you caught your dads attentions, “Dad...let Pa out of your gear before he suffocates.”

Hizashi was turning an alarming shade of red.

Grumbling something about ‘idiot loud blonde husbands’, Aizawa retracted his scarf.

Hizashi sucked in a large gasp of air and then dramatically ran to you, leaning on you like he was going to faint, “Can you believe your father!? He just tried to kill me!”

You smirked as you shook off your pa and walked to stand by your Dad, handing him the cat which he immediately put around his neck.

“I would too if you were just about to talk about the entrance exam that just happened and your kid just finished...who is not supposed to know the results until next week.” You quirked a brow.

Hizashi whined, “Traitors. My family is full of traitors.”

You giggled, “Alright Pa. What’s for dinner?”

As your parents began changing and preparing dinner, you took out your phone and sent a quick message to your two new friends…

18:56 - YaMad?: You guys want to meet up tomorrow?

Walking into the kitchen, you watched your dads bicker about what to cook before you interrupted with a cough.

With their attention on you, you suddenly felt nervous and glanced to the side so that you weren’t looking right at them, “Is it okay if I go hang out with friends tomorrow?”

Silence.

Your nerves built up.

And then… “SHOUTA! OUR KID MADE FRIENDS!” A blur of yellow and suddenly you were swept up and smothered in a hug as your eardrums were ringing from your Pa’s Quirk Outburst.

Despite the deathgrip Hizashi had on you, you managed to catch a glimpse of Shouta’s soft smile from where he stood.

FOREVER Taglist:

@sxph-t @mialeelavellan @rainydaysrnevergrey  @platonic-plots @sociallyawkwardcircus-freak-hi @ayyidkeither @queenbbarnes @mythixmagic @chas-z @thefridgeismybestie @strangersstranger @princess-evans-addict @rororo06 @timelordhunterandmysterysolver

Scales and Scars (BNHA) Taglist:

@multi-fandom-trash-uwu @darkfaethedestroyer @foxinaforestofstars @axolotl-of-evil

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (14)

Out of the womb wearing a tweed vest

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, one VERY steamy scene, around 60 diamonds :D. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 3,850 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up right where we left off, during Maxwell’s revelation, with Amara’s POV. I got carried away and wrote more about that one day than I intended to, so next chapter I’ll try to cover the beach party and the beginning of the Applewood Manor debacle!

*****

Amara’s eyes widen. ‘Do you know where she is?’

Maxwell looks around once more, visibly stressed. ‘No. I really don’t. But...I’ve been in contact with her.’

Amara sits up and wishes that beer had arrived already. ‘What? Does Drake know?’

‘That’s the thing. He doesn’t, and it’s killing me. The night I heard you guys, I was actually going to tell him, but with everything that’s been going on, I’ve lost my nerve since…’

Oh shit. Amara doesn’t want to keep any secrets from Drake. It’s already hard enough to keep secrets WITH him. ‘Alright Max, talk to me.’

He takes a deep breath and starts talking. ‘You know Sav and I were close, right?’ Amara nods. ‘About two years ago, she disappeared and didn’t give me any news for a few weeks. We were all worried, and Drake and I looked for her everywhere. But one day, she emailed me from a new address, telling me she had to leave, because she was really ashamed and couldn’t tell her brother. She swore me to secrecy.’ Maxwell lowers his voice. ‘Amara, she was pregnant…’

Amara’s wind gets knocked out of her. Damn. Drake would be heartbroken that his little sister didn’t confide in him. Her mind wanders to her own big brother, and how supportive he’d always been. She could tell him anything. He was the one who had bought her her pads and tampons when she started her period, since their mom was gone. She feels bad for Drake who, without a doubt, would have loved the same closeness with Savannah.

Maxwell continues. ‘She told me that she had to go to the Netherlands to terminate her pregnancy. I begged her to let me go with her, but that’s when she stopped responding again, for a while. When she emailed back, it was weeks later, and she told me she was broke, and that the abortion left her with significant health problems. So, I started wiring her money every month.’

‘Damn Maxwell. This is intense...is she okay?’

Max scoots closer to Amara and lowers his voice some more. ‘That’s the thing. I tried to find her, hired a private eye, looked her up through abortion clinics in the Netherlands. Nothing. All I had for over a year was her account number, for the money transfers. I was constantly worried about her. And then…’ His eyes well up. ‘She emailed me a couple of months ago. Telling me she’d been lying about everything. She never terminated her pregnancy, Amara.’

Amara’s head starts spinning. ‘She...she has a baby?’

Max nods. ‘Yes. She emailed me on his first birthday. I guess she’s overwhelmed, and wanted to come clean so she’d have some support. I don’t know.’

‘Maxwell, I know she’s your friend, but so is Drake. You owe him the truth. He is imagining the worst. I don’t think I can keep it a secret…’

He takes Amara’s hand. ‘I don’t want you to keep it a secret. I want us to find her.’

Amara nods. ‘So, we can tell Drake together?’

‘Yes. I was thinking maybe tonight?’

‘I’m in. Thank you for telling me, Maxwell.’

‘I hope Drake doesn’t hate me for all these months of lies…’

Amara wonders the same but chooses to reassure her friend. After all, he’d done the right thing eventually. ‘He won’t hate you. If anything, he’ll be heartbroken, but you guys will be ok.’

Maxwell nods, his eyes wandering on the horizon. ‘That’s not all, Amara… there’s one more thing.’

‘Oh God...tell me.’

He gulps down hard. ‘The baby...his name is Bartie. Barthélémy.’

Oh...Amara is afraid of asking the next question. ‘After your father… Oh my God Max, is the baby...yours?’

Maxwell bursts into a fit of nervous laughter. ‘No hun, the baby’s not mine. Sav and I are just friends, believe me…’

Suddenly, it dawns on Amara that there is not just one Beaumont. ‘Oh...oh right. Holy shit.’ Her eyes are wider than they’ve ever been, and she can’t say anything else. She did not want to picture Bertrand as a person who can reproduce.

Maxwell nods, still holding her hand. ‘Yep. Drake and I share a nephew, who probably came out of the womb wearing a tweed vest.’

*****

Drake waits at the bar for the bartender to come back so he can order the beers he promised Max and Amara. Why is he in such a good mood? Probably because he’s hanging out with people he actually likes, and doesn’t have to pretend around them. Then, right on cue, along comes Madeleine, holding what looks like a mimosa. Fuck, he thinks. She’s walking straight towards him, and looks ready to talk to him, which is never good news.

‘Hello, Mr. Walker,’ she smirks. ‘How are you doing today?’

‘Lady Madeleine. Great, how are you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

Thankfully, the bartender comes back, and Drake orders 3 beers as fast as he can, hoping it will discourage Madeleine from talking more. But, alas, he underestimates her.

‘I’m glad I ran into you. I just wanted to apologize for the other day in Lythikos, I didn’t mean to offend you with what I said about your sister.’

Drake opens his mouth to say something, but he knows better. Anything he says to Madeleine can be used against him later. So, he simply replies, ‘No worries,’ with a faint smile.

‘That’s a relief! Well, you seemed to have recovered quickly, so I wasn’t too worried. Once upon a time, it would have been this poor Kiara running after you. But you’ve found a strong protector in that cute Hispanic woman.’

Oh, here we go. At least Madeleine wasn’t calling her ‘exotic’ anymore. ‘Amara is a good person, and a good friend.’

Madeleine smirks. ‘Is that how you call it these days? Oh well, enjoy your three beers.’

As she walks away, Drake hates himself a little for not standing up to her more. Why was she so scary? She was small, obviously insecure, and Drake could probably drive right through one of her insecurities. Off the top of his head, her abandoning father, her abandoning ex-fiancé, Liam who preferred Amara (although that wasn’t a victory for Drake either, at least it would probably keep Madeleine silent for a hot minute), anything, really. But Drake had insecurities too, and he wore them on his sleeve. Madeleine could easily rebut and do something to hurt him, or worse: hurt Amara. So, whatever, he’d have to live with being a pushover for today.

He didn’t care, though. As he approached the little cove where Max and Amara were lying down in the sun, his worries went away. He could spend time with Amara, and that’s what matters. He hands both of them their beers, and lies back down between the two of them.

‘Thanks Drake!’ Amara shouts, a little too enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, thanks Drake!’ Maxwell chimes in. ‘I’m gonna have to get going after this one though, because Bertrand wants to see me, but I’ll be back. Oh and Drake, Amara and I were thinking, before tonight’s beach party, how about we have some drinks in my room, just the three of us?’

‘Sounds great, I’m in. Any news from Hana, guys?’

Amara shakes her head. ‘Nothing. But maybe in an hour if we haven’t heard back, we can go find her.’

He nods. He doesn’t want to reveal too much about why they’re so worried about Hana in front of Maxwell, although he’s pretty sure that Max would be more than understanding, and that Hana will end up telling him before too long, too.

They enjoy the sun together some more until Maxwell has to meet with Bertrand. Alone on the beach with Amara, Drake feels blissful, almost forgetting everything else going on. Amara lets out a long sigh. ‘This feels nice. No other suitors, no Liam, no press...it’s like we’re--’

‘Normal?’ he interrupts, a smile on his face.

She nods, turning to look at him. ‘Yeah. Exactly. Some days I kinda just want to run away, you know. With you.’

‘I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way every single day. Before meeting you I already had that urge, to drop everything and go live either in my cabin here, or go to Texas. But, since I’ve met you, that urge has become constant.’

‘What stopped you all those years?’

He sighs. ‘Honestly? A sense of duty towards Liam, mostly. But also, and I hate to admit it, fear. I’m afraid that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself outside of court, even if I bitch about court a lot.’

Amara nods. ‘I understand. The fear is totally unfounded, but I get it. Same happened to me when I left the NYPD. I was paralyzed with grief and fear. Even if I had been well enough to leave New York and see the world, I would have been too scared to.’ She holds his gaze, he can see her eyes through her sunglasses, she doesn’t break eye contact. In this moment, pretty much as always, he finds her irresistibly attractive. Her resilience, her self-awareness, her benevolence… Had he ever met anyone like that? No, never.

He closes the distance between them and kisses her deeply. She kisses him back. A jolt goes through his body, and he has to get closer to her. He holds her tight, their half-naked bodies pressed against each other, their lips intertwined.

Finally, she interrupts the moment. ‘Drake, someone could see us...should we go somewhere else?’

She’s right. The other suitors are everywhere, and Hana is still supposed to come back to this exact spot, possibly escorted by Liam. They can’t risk being discovered like that. Not yet.

‘You’re right. Wanna go for a swim?’

She nods enthusiastically and gets up, chugging the rest of her beer in one swig.

As she walks away ahead of him, he catches himself watching her figure intently. In this bikini, her curves are absolutely perfect, and they’ve been taunting him all day. ‘Come on, Walker!’ she calls for him. He follows her to the water.

As they walk into the Mediterranean, the water quickly envelops their bodies, up to their waists. Drake guides Amara to the nearest creek, where they can be away from prying eyes. ‘This is so beautiful,’ she says.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he replies, kicking himself for the corny response. He’s never been much of a flirt, and his inexperience shows.

She chuckles. ‘Smooth operator.’

‘Heh, I know. That was bad. But it’s true.’ He takes her hand as they start going into the water and swim to the creek. ‘I’m proud of being with you. I’m a little tired of hiding, even though I understand why it’s so crucial to keep it a secret for now. But I want to shout it from the rooftops. I want people to know how much I--how much I care about you.’

Amara turns to face him. Her eyes glisten. ‘I care about you too, and I completely agree. I don’t like to hide. Every time Liam approaches me, I want to tell him how much he sucks, how he doesn’t hold a candle to you, and how much he’s been taking you for granted.’ She stops in her tracks. ‘Is it obvious yet that I kinda hate Liam?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Tiny bit. I swear, he didn’t use to be like this. Well, maybe he did? Not as much, anyways, not as visibly entitled. Maybe I’ve just idolized him for years…’

‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ Amara adds. ‘I don’t mean to minimize your friendship with him at all! I really didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is that right now, in this competition or whatever, he behaves like a kid who wants a toy, the toy being me, and he doesn’t even realize that the toy wants to play with his best friend. I wanted to go with a Toy Story metaphor but now I don’t know which one is Woody and which one is Buzz.’

‘Woody, baby. All day, every day.’ Amara laughs heartily. God, he loves her laugh.

He pulls her close to kiss her, their mouths almost underwater. ‘You’re so fucking handsome,’ she says, interrupting their kiss. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you all day.’

He puts his lips back on hers and his hands roam on her body. His swimsuit feels tighter, and he’s glad he doesn’t have to get out of the water now. They float around, touching each other’s bodies hungrily, as their mouths explore each other. Amara’s hands wander lower, until they reach his crotch, and her right hand disappears in Drake’s swimsuit. ‘God, you’re so hard…’ Drake groans as she strokes him underwater, freeing his cock from its prison. He feels her ass, and makes his way back up to her breasts, which he caresses under her bikini top, as she moans against his lips. The movements of her hand get faster and faster, and Drake moves one hand into her bottoms, where he finds her pussy and touches it lightly, before pushing one finger, then two, inside her. ‘Mmm Amara, I want you so bad right now,’ he groans.

‘Me too,’ she replies, ‘let’s get closer to the shore.’

They swim to the edge of the creek where, still protected from view by the rocks and the water, they can touch the bottom of the ocean with their feet. Amara’s legs latch onto Drake’s waist, and she swiftly pulls her bikini bottoms to the side. He enters her slowly, as they both gasp for air, eager to get more of each other with every movement, with every kiss, with every stroke.

They make love in the water for a while, until waves of pleasure invade them, and they remain enmeshed in each other for what seems like hours before resurfacing and going back to the world.

As they swim back to the cove where they left their towels and clothes, Drake stops in his tracks and grabs Amara by the waist. ‘Before we go back… Amara, thank you. For being with me.’

Her eyes widen. ‘Are you kidding me? You don’t need to thank me, the moments I spend with you are the best, well...really, the best I’ve ever had. And I’m not just talking about the mind-blowing sex, you know that. It’s everything, every little moment with you.’ She runs her hand through his wet hair and plants a kiss on his lips. ‘Drake, I--’

‘I’m falling in love with you,’ he blurts out, interrupting her. He finally had the courage to tell her, and it’s as if his lips could not contain the words any longer. ‘It’s true, I am, and it’s never happened before, and I just wanted you to know.’

He’s not expecting an answer. But deep down, he knows what she’s about to say.

She smiles brightly and says: ‘I'm falling in love with you, too.’

*****

Amara was nervous. She was happy that she and Drake had talked about their feelings earlier, but she was also very scared that his feelings might change after knowing she’d been sitting on Maxwell’s secret for the whole afternoon without telling him. In front of her mirror, she adjusts her flowy white dress, the one she would wear both at Maxwell’s revelatory drinks and at the beach party later. The dress hugged her hips and breasts, and was loose everywhere else, with a long skirt and wide short sleeves. She wonders if it’s too much, if it would send Liam the wrong message with such a deep cleavage, but the truth was, she didn’t give a shit. He’d behaved well with Hana earlier, and the two women had met for a beer after Hana’s lunch date. She was in good spirits and felt good about telling Drake and Amara about her sexual orientation. She felt like it was time, and she feels close enough to both of them to share the news. Plus, she added, it couldn’t hurt to have people looking out for her in case Madeleine hears about it and makes her life hell. Amara couldn’t argue with that.

Maxwell had texted that the bar was already in his room, and that they were welcome at any time. Amara walks out of her room to go get Drake, and he opens the door right away.

‘Wow, Suarez, you look spectacular.’

‘You too, Walker!’

She wasn’t lying. He was wearing a white linen shirt, just open enough to reveal some of his glorious chest hair, and dark green khakis that hugged his thighs just right. If she could, she’d just rip his clothes off right now.

Once in Maxwell’s room, they have a couple of drinks and make small talk, until Max gives Amara the signal they had previously discussed. Once he puts an olive in his martini, it’s on.

‘Drake,’ Maxwell starts, ‘I have something important to tell you. It’s good news in and of itself, but you may not like the circumstances around it.’

Drake looks panicked, and turns to Amara. ‘What is it? Is everything ok?’

Amara takes his hand and says ‘Max told me about it earlier, just keep an open mind, ok?’

Maxwell fills Drake in, tells him everything he had told Amara earlier that day, all in one go, as if he was too afraid to breathe. When he’s done explaining the facts, Drake’s face falls, and fat tears form in his dark eyes. Amara’s heart beats faster, and, still holding his hand, she says, ‘This is a good thing, Drake. We have ways to find her, now, you know? I can find her with an email address and an account number, no questions asked. I promise.’

Drake pulls his hand away, and Amara’s heart falls through her chest. She hears Maxwell let out a trembling sigh.

When Drake grabs his face in both of his hands and starts sobbing, Amara covers him with her arms, and Maxwell comes to join them on the couch, taking Drake in his arms as well. They comfort him until he’s ready to talk.

Finally, he says ‘I’m such a dick.’

Amara shakes her head vigorously. ‘No no no, Drake, why are you saying this?’

He snorts. ‘My sister was clearly afraid of my reaction. She couldn’t come to me when she was pregnant and scared. She was scared of my reaction, on top of it all. I’m such a shitty brother…’

Maxwell chimes in, still wrapping Drake in a hug. ‘Not at all, oh my God, you’re the best brother! Sav loves you so much, she just didn’t want to disappoint you! I promise, she wanted to reach out and I told her to, but she was just so far gone in her lie. I mean, she lied to me too, telling me she’d had an abortion. She was clearly not comfortable with sharing the news.’

Drake shakes his head. ‘She didn’t want to disappoint me? What am I, a moral compass? What the fuck? Why wouldn’t I be happy for her, why wouldn’t I be thrilled to be an uncle?’ He lets out a faint laugh and wipes away his tears. ‘I mean, Max, we’re co-uncles. I wanna meet the little guy, I don’t want my little sister to be afraid of my reactions.’

Amara breaks her silence and says ‘Sibling relationships are complicated. With your dad gone, Savannah was probably looking up to you as more of a protective figure, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t trust you…’

Drake takes Amara’s hand again, and she lets out a relieved sigh. He continues. ‘I’m sorry guys, I didn’t mean to break down like this...it’s just...the idea of my little sister being alone somewhere with a baby, and not even turning to me, I--’

‘Hey,’ Amara interrupts, ‘please don’t apologize to us, right Maxwell?’ Max nods in agreement. ‘We thought you’d be upset with us for hiding it from you, and you are entitled to have any reaction that you’re having. Just take your time.’

Drake wipes his eyes. ‘Upset with you? Amara, you’ve known for less than a day, how can I be mad at you? And Max, you did what you had to do for your friend.’

‘You’re my friend, too, Drake,’ Max replies. ‘I should have told you earlier.’

Amara gets up and grabs another cocktail. ‘Well, you told him now. That’s what matters, right, Drake?’ He nods. ‘And Max, I’ll find her. I have the skills, I have the contacts to back me up back in the States. And there’s something you should know.’ Maxwell raises his eyebrows, his arm still wrapped around Drake. Amara takes a deep breath and says, ‘I used to be a cop. In the NYPD. I was a detective, I solved cases, and now I’m gonna solve this one.’

‘WHAT?’ Maxwell yelps excitedly. ‘Are you kidding? You were a badass cop? Holy shit Amara, this is so cool!’

Amara laughs faintly, not wanting to rain on his parade with the next tidbit, but she has to, so he can get the bigger picture, and she owes him the truth, just as he had told her his secret. ‘Max, listen, I don’t want to be a bummer, and I’ll only tell you once. Then, we can go back to being excited about me being Detective Suarez again.’ She glances at Drake who gives her a supportive nod and smile. ‘I left the NYPD two years ago, because my brother, who was also a cop, died protecting me from a bullet on the job.’

She realizes that she said all that without breathing at all, almost too fast, to get it all out before she changes her mind. Maxwell’s face changes from excitement to horror, and Amara quickly says ‘Look, don’t be sad for me, ok? I’m slowly healing, and--’

Maxwell gets up and interrupts her with the biggest bear hug she’s ever gotten. ‘Amara, I’m so sorry. Thank you for telling me. What was your brother’s name?’

‘Sergio,’ Amara says, muffled by Max’s hug.

‘I’m so sorry about Sergio,’ he replies. He turns his head towards Drake. ‘And Drake, I’m so sorry for hiding the truth from you for so long. But we’ve got each other now, right guys?’

Drake and Amara look at each other and nod, a smile on their faces. Maxwell pours a drink for himself, and one for Drake. He raises his glass. ‘Thank you, both of you, for being amazing friends and badass human beings. To Drake and Amara! To--’ he gasps excitedly, ‘To Dramara! Holy shit, best couple’s name ever. Dramara! Sounds like something you would say to a dragon if you wanted him to burn everything, like on Game of Thrones.’

‘That’s Dracarys,’ Amara corrects him knowingly. She didn’t get HBO Go for nothing. This knowledge was going somewhere.

‘Well, same shit,’ Maxwell says. ‘Still badass.’

They clink their glasses together, and Drake takes Amara’s hand, intertwining their fingers tenderly. She gently kisses his cheek.

Drake sniffles and says ‘Alright guys, are we gonna talk about the fact that there is a mini-Bertrand somewhere in the world?’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis , @drakewalkerwhipped , @drakxwalker , @drakewalkerrosenberg , @drakeswalkers , @drakelover78 , @silviasutton1989 , @jovialyouthmusic , @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal , @nikkis1983​ , @simsvetements , @alesana45

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[kissykiwi]

money, money, money (pt. 2)

(part one)

wherein things progress, and harry makes a bit of an ass of himself.  (mamma mia au, 4700 words)

Y/N got to sleep in the next day by just a bit.  Her Big Ben alarm clock, a gift her grandmother had picked up in a thrift store somewhere in Cheshire, rang furiously as soon as eight o’clock rolled around.  The day was to begin.

“Good morning dear.  Mr. Styles has asked for breakfast at 9 o’clock -- a pot of tea with the fixings, some toast, and a bit of fruit, if you please -- so you’ve got a bit of time to get ready and have your shower before I need you going,” her mother said, opening the creaky, light blue door to her room.  Y/N paused, frozen in her morning stretch, to stare at her mother.

“Mr. Styles?  You mean Harry Styles?  The travel writer?”

Dee sighed, and suddenly Y/N understood why this information had been so carefully hidden from her.  Harry Styles was her favorite author.  He’d been around half the world and had quite a knack for colorful descriptions and vivid storytelling alongside a cutting humor.  Though she’d never gone farther than a bit into the mainland, his work made her feel like a proper globetrotter.

“Yes, that Mr. Styles.  And you are absolutely forbidden from badgering him about his travels.  He’s come here for a respite from all that, and I won’t have you stressing him out and running him off the island,” Dee said warningly, shaking one beringed finger.  Y/N tried not to pout.

“Okay, heard.  Toast, tea, and fruit, and absolutely no mention of the fact that he’s been to every place I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Exactly.  Now, up!”

Y/N watched her mother go, and then rolled out of bed.  Today wouldn’t be too much of a day, overall -- a few check-ins who would probably fall straight into bed from jetlag and Harry fucking Styles were her only priority.  She might even have time to read on the stairs or make it down to the beach in the slow moments.  A pair of old cutoffs and one of her tee shirts should do the day.  One quick shower later, and her neroli scented soap had her feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day.

“Gooood morning, Helena!” she sang, throwing herself around the doorframe into the kitchen of their main guest building.  At the stove, the lady who did the cooking for the Muse turned to grant her a smile.

“Can you believe this new guest, huh?  Toast and fruit!  Is he a traveler or a hummingbird?” she said, half to Y/N and half to herself.  Helena believed strongly in meals that would stick to the ribs, and clearly their new guest was already not quite up to snuff.

“We’re only here to provide what they ask, Len.”

“Well he had better start asking for a proper breakfast before he wastes right away.”

Y/N laughed and picked up the tray of food.  Helena had been careful to set out cream and sugar alongside the teapot, and they’d even gotten out the nice jadeite tea set that grandma had sent her mom from Myanmar (it had still been Burma at the time).  She’d also sliced apricots nectarines and thrown a few cherries onto the plate, even added a little pot of lemons in case that was how he preferred his tea.  A few slices of Mr. Alexandrou’s local whole grain bread had been toasted to a perfect golden brown and were placed delicately to the side with a small pot of local butter.  Despite it not being Helena’s preferred fare, it really seemed to represent the best of Kalokairi and her environs.

“You’re an artist Len.  I’ll be back for my coffee!”

Y/N trotted away as quickly as she could with a tray full of food (and alright, so maybe it was a bit more of a slow walk), headed to the stairs that carried the kitchen up to the dining balcony.

The dining balcony.  That was number two out of Y/N’s eleven favorite spots on the island, with a view that could almost rival the staircase.  Though it was just a little rectangle sticking out from the second level of the cliffside building, it had always made Y/N feel like a princess staring over her ocean kingdom.  The far left side of the building, facing the north of the island, peeked out upon Calliope’s Beach where this side of the island went to swim.  If you faced the building on that side, you could see just past into the citrus orchards where Y/N had spent her childhood munching on oranges and reading fantasy books, and even further in, the houses of some of the locals.  Though almost no one who ate up there knew it, the entrance to Euterpe’s Grotto was hidden at the very end of the beach where the island curved northeast.  The west view, looking straight off the cliffside, was more of the dazzling blue of the Aegean Sea, and the east peeked into the docks and the little markets that sat behind them.  It felt as though all of Kalokairi was encapsulated in a single turn.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said cheerfully as she came up upon the curls she had seen the night before.

He looked up, eyes even greener than they had looked on his book jackets and framed by angirly furrowed brows and purple bags.

“I was told my privacy would be respected when I came here,” he all but snarled.

Y/N tried not to visibly recoil as she set his tray down, though she heard the clink as the tea set jerked slightly.

“Well of course, I mean-- we’re not going to go about on social media screaming that you’re here.  But all the same, I’m the daughter of the woman who checked you in last night, and we make a point of greeting our guests by name.”

He stared at her a moment more, gaze both analytical and totally disinterested, and she wondered for a moment if she was actually a ghost. She took a deep breath.  He grunted dismissively.

“I did want to ask, Mr. Styles, if you had any questions about the island or what we have to offer here.  If you don’t mind me saying so --”

“I do mind, actually,” he started, cutting her off.  “Can’t a bloke get some bloody peace around here?”

Y/N’s jaw snapped shut so hard that the canals of her ears hurt faintly.

“Of course.”

She was not ashamed to say that she fled the space after that, taking the stairs in a sprint with cheeks burning like the cherry of a cigarette from sheer fury.  It was only the telltale cadence of Georgie’s footfalls at the bottom of the stairs that kept Y/N from running face first into her.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Georgie asked, grabbing her by the elbows to steady her.  Y/N rolled her neck.

“Haven’t had it yet.  Did you know we have Harry Styles gracing our humble establishment?” Y/N laughed, clenching her fist.

“You mean your favorite author?  The guy whose books I’ve bought you for the past three out of five Christmases?”  Georgie asked.  Y/N could tell she was confused.

“The guy’s an asshole.  Steer carefully around him,” Y/N scoffed.  Georgie was frowning at her, face clearly sympathetic, and Y/N wanted to scream.

“I’m so sorry rosie,” Georgie said, stroking her hand softly down Y/N’s arm.  Y/N frowned.

“I’m only warning you George.  We’ve got him for three months, and whatever his books were like, he is not.”

There was more Georgie wanted to say, that was certainly visible on her face, but she nodded instead.

“Wanna talk about this over coffee?” she asked softly.  Y/N didn’t, not really, but it might be easier if she did, so she turned to the worn wooden table and chairs for employees set up in the kitchen.  A steaming cup of coffee was set in her usual  place, alongside a plate of Helena’s breakfast hash.

“So Harry Styles sucks?” Georgie prompted, taking a mouthful of potatoes.  Y/N took a bracing drink.

“Of course he does.  He’s massively rich and has met a million interesting people and seen half the world.  What time does he has for us small folk?”  

Georgie’s eyebrows raised high.

“Not that she’s bitter.”

Y/N glared.

“For the past six years I have lived the rest of the world through him and how funny he is.  Now he’s here to stay with us and I find out it’s all an act.  Forgive me for my sour grapes.”

Georgie waited for the next shoe to fall.

“It just feels like...” Y/N scrubbed her hands through her hair.  “I don’t know.  It just feels like everything happens outside of Kalokairi.  And when it happens here, it can never be the same.”

“Oh c’mon Y/N.  I’d bet you half my paycheck that he’s like that everywhere.  You know how rich people are, they forget what it’s like to be ordinary like us.  The ants can’t help but bother him,” Georgie pointed out.  She poked Y/N’s plate, trying to remind her to eat for the rest of the day, and Y/N managed a morose forkful.

“It’s to be expected.  Here I am working my ass off just to keep the walls of this place upright and he’s too high on the fumes of a few euros to be nice to people around him.”

“Never meet your heroes.  By the way, he’s already sent down some laundry to be done,” Georgie replied.  Y/N groaned and laid her head next to the plate on the table.

---

So Harry may have been a little mean to the cute girl who brought round his brekkie.  In his defense, he certainly felt bad about it.  He was just feeling so rotten between how tired he was and the start of the morning.  There’d been this stunning sunrise he saw lighting up his balcony, and when he went out to watch it he felt so young and inspired and ready again.  He’d grabbed his typewriter (which was a bitch to lug around, but always worth it) and set up on the little wrought iron table, and-- nothing.

It was like a million different words were pounding on his chest, begging to be let out of a door that his fingers could no longer be.  It was infuriating.

So he’d gone to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling again, and by the time he’d marked down for breakfast, he was properly full to the brim with ire.  And then the girl had known his name and he was just so bloody sick of being Harry Styles, Travel Writer that he’d snapped at her.  He’d been even angrier when she’d had a reason for knowing it and he realized how rude he’d been.

He rather wished he’d let her speak too, because he didn’t know a stitch of Greek or where he ought to go now the day had begun, and he was a bit too afraid to risk running across her in the registration house.  For now, he thought, he’d explore the resort.

It was a precious place, he had to say.  The hotel complex itself was basically a square of buildings around a divided courtyard.  The structures themselves were all very Greek, covered over with a pale stucco and roofed in with terracotta tiles.  All of the doors were a soft shade of blue that matched the walls of the rooms.  He was in the building to the north, the longest one, which connected to a dining balcony with one of the most breathtaking sea views he’d ever seen -- and he’d seen a few.  The north building turned an L, so that it covered a half of the east side.  There was a wide gate heading out of the courtyard that led onto a small, red dust lot, and that was where he’d entered the night before.  The other east building on the lot had a spillover of more rooms (the least expensive ones, he assumed, since they looked out on trees and the road down to the markets and the docks).  What must have at one time been a goat house was now a bit of storage for food and miscellany, according to the owner, Dee.  

Beautiful though the buildings were, Harry could see the wear.  In some places the stucco was chipped, and it was more of an off white than the pure, bright white that most Greek tourism brochures tended to picture.   On the registration house he’d started in the evening before, on the very south side of the square of buildings, he could see tiles missing in the roof and how nearly all of the blue paint had peeled off the attic window shutters.  Nevertheless, every worn patch had a cheerful flower to match it, and the food and comfort of his surroundings was undeniable.

Harry had already gone to inspect the flowers crawling the walls (he was almost fitfully delighted to see that it was an old, lovingly cared for bougainvillea plant), and noted with joy that the little box under the attic window was decorated with a carving of all of the muses and bursting with brightly colored blooms.  

The courtyard had a slope to it, and it split like a step in the middle.  Dee had explained to him in the ride up to the place that people had kept tripping over the damn thing, so she’d built a wall to make it safer because she wasn’t about to be liable.  Then she’d found out that if you closed the gate and it made a suitable dance floor that went well with the courtyard’s outdoor bar, and it had kind of gone from there.

Though there was something almost magical about sitting under the clotheslines heavy with laundry on the east side of the gate, he’d seen stairs on the cliffside as the ferry came sailing in, and he thought that the gate on the southwest side of the courtyard may lead to it.  It’d been closed all day, but he didn’t think that meant it would be locked.  Those stairs, he thought, would probably be a good place to crack open the book of Ginsberg poems he’d grabbed as he was leaving New York.

To his surprise, the door of the gate he had seen was now open.  His hunch had been totally right, he saw.  There were the stone steps, and he could smell the faint aroma of cypress on the otherwise salty sea breeze.  

He started down them, already thrilled by the view expanding in front of him, but froze when he noticed a head of familiar hair.  It was the girl.  She had a book in her lap and another stack to her side, and he noticed with a start that one of his was atop the stack.  

It was a paperback version of Haggled History: Viewing Europe’s Past on a Budget, one of his prouder works.  It was rather dense since it covered quite a few countries, chapter by by chapter, and how best to learn their histories with only a few euros in pocket.  It was also less trendy, he supposed, than much of his other work.  Apparently, his usual reader wasn’t much for history reference based jokes.  He very rarely found himself signing it on his book tours-- and yet there was her version, tattered and well loved.  Pages were marked with washi tape, seemingly in the place of a dog ear, and just about a whole pad of post it notes had found their way into the four hundred odd pages.  As the gentle wind coming off the water blew her copy open, he could see it was highlighted and marked with a heart next to whatever city it was open to, margins crammed with notes.

Feeling suddenly vaguely ill, Harry turned around and decided that maybe sleeping off his jetlag would be the best use of his afternoon.

---

Georgie, the traitor, had told Dee how Y/N’s meeting with Mr. Styles had gone.  Y/N tried not to be too irritated by the fact that her mother was largely unsympathetic -- “he’s just another guest, my rose, and his euros have the same value as anyone else’s.  I don’t care what his personality is like.”  Still, Dee knew how much his books meant to her (even now, having met the asshole), and Y/N would have liked a smidgen of understanding.  Unfortunately, her mother was right.  Harry Styles’ money was metaphorically green and all that, and he was giving them quite a bit of it.  So Y/N could be nice.  Or polite, at the very least.

Alright, she could prevent herself from being openly hostile.  Y/N really thought, though, that that should count for something!  It wasn’t as though he was being a peach.  He’d been here two weeks, and the entire time he’d been surly and frowning.  He’d even had the audacity to ask Dee to switch his mattress, as though that was the reason he was sleeping poorly.  It hadn’t helped, either, because every time Y/N brought his breakfast (or any other meal.  Or an extra pillow.  Or had the nerve to even look in his direction), he was still as nasty and short as he’d been that first day.

The worst part though, easily, was the fact that she seemed to be the only person gifted with his special attentions.  Her mother had insisted that he’d been a total sweetheart about asking about his bed, Helena declared that she liked him, despite whatever his breakfast choices might be, and even Georgie said that he really wasn’t all that bad.

Y/N was reeling with enough betrayal that this Thursday already felt pretty sour.  But then the morning had started unpleasantly, moreso than usual.  Big Ben had decided to take a day off (looked like she would have to bring it round to Mr. Hatzidakis to fix, again), so she’d awoken to her mother yelling through her door that she had 15 minutes before Mr. Clark would like his breakfast at 7:30.  The food had been ready since Helena worked like an atomic clock, but Y/N’s hastily dealt with hair and puffy eyes were still a dead give to her own tardiness, and Mr. Clark was kind enough to let her know as much as she set down his cuppa and two eggs, scrambled, with sliced tomato and cottage cheese to the side.  From there she’d been dashing up and down the service stairs to fill every ridiculous request from the latest batch of uni kids (and who on earth could drink three frappe’s in the space of an hour without their heart beating itself out?), never having time to eat or even get a sip of coffee in, until suddenly it was nine.  The worst part of her day.

“Good morning Mr. Styles,” she said breathlessly, setting down his usual plate in front of him.  She didn’t have his paper yet (they tended to get a variety of english options sent in for the guests, but this morning’s ferry was running late), but it would be on the way just as soon as she got that damn uni student his fucking Lucky Charms.

Styles grunted in response.  “You forget I asked for the Guardian?” he asked mulishly, picking up the container of cream.  Y/N sighed, feeling the simmer of anger in her chest roar to a boil.

“No, I-”

“Oi!  Miss Waitress!  I asked for that cereal,” called one of the Chads from the next table over.  His friends snickered, and Y/N felt her fingers twitch at her side.

“-have to do that.  I’ll bring the paper with his cereal,” she ground out, wiping an errant piece of hair from her forehead.

“Don’t see why it would have been so hard to do now, but alright,” Harry muttered, and Y/N felt the angry blood in her stomach crawl up her neck.  She turned and left.  Georgie grabbed her on the stairs.

“Listen, I know you don’t like Styles, but if you’re going to push any of them over the cliffside, pick the frat boys.  They keep talking to me as if I don’t know english, and they say it’s because I ‘have an accent’.  So do they!  It’s just one of those English ones!”

“Duly noted.  Have the papers come in yet?”

“Nik is running them up now, should be within five minutes,” Georgie answered as she jogged away.  Well, Mr. Styles wasn’t going to love that.  Now that the school groups were coming and going, Y/N found that he made a concerted effort not to linger over his breakfast.  Helena, with her usual artful arrangement, had set out the cereal and milk alongside a bowl on a tray for Y/N to take, but Nik was nowhere in sight.  Unfortunately, the food really couldn’t wait.  The university boys seemed to get a kick out of complaining to her about every little thing, so the less room the better.  Y/N turned and hauled herself back up the stairs.

“Cereal for you boys,” she said, voice distinctly more cheerful than she was feeling.  She set the tray down and was ready to head back to see if Nik was around, but one of them grabbed her wrist.

“Pour the milk, won’t you?” he said, grinning, and Y/N heard her own knuckles crack.

“Of course.”

She poured the milk, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were now literally shaking with suppressed rage, and was once again ready to leave the balcony and maybe punch a wall, when she heard her name being called.  It wa by Mr. Styles, who had a face like a thundercloud.

“Thought you said you were bringing my bloody newspaper up.  I’ve been waiting all morning, and I understand that you might be busy flirting with England’s finest over there, but I would think you’d still be able to do your job,” he hissed as she drew up near him.  

Oh, that was it.

“Listen.  I know that in your tenure as one of the unnecessarily rich and stupidly famous airheads that wander this earth of ours, you’ve forgotten that the sun does not, in fact, revolve around your inflated head.  Let me remind you though, that you are a guest here, just as they are -- in fact, very much like them since you’re in the running for ‘who treats the service workers worst’ -- and I am only one person running about to help just under eleven of you, all making rapid fire requests.  So you’ll forgive me for not pulling the newspaper out of my own asshole just because you request it, but I’d just like to let you know that even if I could, I wouldn’t, because I’ve never had a guest who was less pleasant to be around and a greater disappointment of a person.”

By the end of her monologue, she knew, she was yelling.  She just couldn’t help it.  Two weeks of berating at the hands of someone she’d admired, someone who was regularly listed as one of the kindest celebrities in his tax bracket, and three days of those fucking university students (which, frankly, was enough).  She was just so sick of being kind and amiable and patient with people who treated her like shit.  From behind her, a throat cleared.

“Brought the paper up, Y/N.  Nik rushed it since the boat was late, but I that didn’t really help,” Georgie said, voice torn between laughter and concern.  Y/N turned around, snatched the paper out of her hands, and slapped it in front of Harry Styles so hard that the table shook.

“The Guardian, as per your request,” she snarled, and then she was gone.

---

Harry may have deserved it.  “It” being the dressing down he got in front of two amused couples, four first year frat boys, and two lone guests at full volume at 9:10 in the morning.  He knew he’d been pushing her, he supposed.  But wow, had she gone off.  Harry couldn’t help but be angry that she even looked good when she was screaming at him.

Still, it was a pretty shit way to start the day.  He’d been unfair to her the entire time he was here, but again, Y/N could have let him know the ferry was running let.  She didn’t have to make an ass of him.  Although he supposed, again, that he hadn’t really given her the room to let him know.  Whatever.  Whatever, it had happened, and he planned to relax on the beach to soak it all off, since writing seemed as though it still wasn’t an option.  (It was possible, he thought, that the persistent writer’s block was probably a big part of his shit attitude.)

It was only much later that evening, as Harry went to sit on the steps in the dying summer sun and read with ouzo and two small glasses (Helena had insisted, saying it would keep him from looking like an alcoholic), that he realized how different Y/N’s life really was.

There was a little landing in the stairs, just a storey below the resort itself, that had a pathway to the cellars.  Harry knew from the chats he’d had with Helena in the courtyard that the little door on the side was rarely used thanks to the stairs from the kitchen, but now he could hear voices from where it was hanging ajar.

“... cannot believe you would ever speak to a customer that way!  As a hotelier, you know better than that!”  was the first thing Harry heard, Dee’s voice angrier than he had ever heard it.  There were muffled sniffles in the background, and not for the first time, Harry felt like a proper asshole.

“I’m not a hotelier mom.  I live in a hotel and I help, but I’m not a hotelier.  That’s what you do.  I’m just here.  And I’m sick of being treated like it.”  That was Y/N talking, so lowly that he could only barely hear it above the sound of the waves on the rocks below.

“Well while you’re here, a hotelier is what you will act like,” Dee responded, tone unforgiving.

“And how long is that mom?” Y/N was yelling back now, and Harry realized quietly that she had quite the temper on her.  “How long am I here?  Because I have begged until I was blue in the face to go to college, or Italy, or even Athens, and you’ve never let me!  How long do I have to pretend like Kalokairi is all I’ll ever want when we both know it’s not?”

Harry held his breath.  There was a long moment of silence.

“Y/N, you know that I don’t have the money for that --”

“I will take out loans for school.  I will hitchhike, I will stay in hostels or camp illegally, I will sell everything I own, I don’t care.  I just want to see -- fuck, something!” Y/N gasped, begging now.  Another long moment.

“Y/N, I need you here.  And I need you to do your job, the way I know you can.  I’ve told you so many stories, dear.  It’s not that much different out there compared to those,” Dee tried to be light in telling her story, but the tone was obviously clipped.

“Mom, I want to explore.  I want to meet people, and see things.  I want to make my own stories,” Y/N pleaded.  Dee sighed.

“And you’ll have them, my rose.  One day.”

“When?”

This time Dee didn’t respond.  After another long period of quiet, Harry heard the sound of steps walking away, followed by harsh sobs.

Harry felt really, really awful.  Here he’d been, so trapped by the weight of his job, that he’d forgotten how much it was that he got to do.  Just like Y/N had said.  So lost in his own thoughts, Harry didn’t realize that the door was opening on a tearful Y/N until they’d looked up and made eye contact.  The anger he’d become so used to settled in on her face.  Oh boy.

[samsuelu]

I recently took a cruise aboard Royal Caribbean’s Grandeur of the Seas to the lovely Bermuda.  I thought I would give a little review of my experience on the high seas.  I’ve been on several cruises, one of which was on this very same ship, so I thought my perspective may be helpful to some. Or maybe it won’t be, but I’m going to do it anyway!

I went on the Grandeur of the Seas a loooong time ago. I was still in high school it was at least ten years ago.  I remember the experience being amazing, so much so that I was depressed when it was time to disembark.  Seriously, I was ready to chain myself to a railing or something so I wouldn’t have to leave. Unfortunately I did not have the same experience this time.  Bermuda was amazing, I’ve been there before and it’s one of my favorite places on planet Earth. I have no complaints about the Bermuda experience and would gladly go there a thousand more times. Or a million. Or I could move there.  The actual cruise ship experience itself proved to be a bit disappointing. This is crazy to me and not what I expected at all. I’ve never felt “disappointed” with any cruise, which is why I decided to write this. It wasn’t entirely negative, not at all.  It just did not live up to the cruises I’ve taken in the past. When you take into consideration how much money you spend, they should all be incredible.

One of the things that bothered me the most was how most of the activities seemed to be a ploy to get you to spend more money. I’ve already spent a ton of money to get on here, I don’t want to pay for a bunch of stuff that should have been included. When you think of a cruise, you think all inclusive for the most part, right? Me too. And that has pretty much been my experience in the past. Now let’s clarify, I’m not talking about shore excursions and soda and things like that. This isn’t my first rodeo. I knew those would be extra. I’m talking about activities like jewelry making. You would think that could be included, right? You’d be wrong. Cost extra. Making your own sushi? Cost extra. It goes on and on. Though the group that went to the make your own sushi class did say it was tons of fun and the staff teaching it were fab.

The stuff that was free was often geared towards getting you to buy something, like spa treatments or fitness consultations. I just wanted to do something without being accosted for more money. Oh, and if you book a spa treatment you better be sure you actually want it. My sister found out the hard way that if you make an appointment and cancel less than 24 hours ahead of time then you still have to pay half of the cost. This was not communicated to her at any point when she booked. She also booked the appointment on the first day for that same night, so how she was supposed to cancel 24 hours ahead of time I don’t know.  She went to the salon (connected to the spa) to get her hair done later in the trip for formal night and said she saw a small, out of the way sign posted about this policy. Seems a little fishy to me.

Four of us actually ended up getting our hair done at the salon for fancy night and let me tell you, it was really nice. The people working in the salon were super sweet and personable and we were all pleased with the finished product.  My sister and I both have mega thick hair that can be hard to work with but they were total pros.

There were some fun, legitimately free things to do. The movies they played on the top deck were awesome.  It was a cool atmosphere to kick back, have a fancy drink, and watch relatively new movies. They even played the second Guardians of the Galaxy! The rock wall was super cool but it was only open for about two hours a day, if at all.  They had shows every night but I never made it to any of them, for one reason or another. Most of the time the reason was that the shows were at 7:00pm so if you wanted to go you would have to eat crazy early or crazy late because dinner in the dining room took quite a while (but was totally worth it). They had a really fun dance party with a DJ at the club on board. It may have been all the alcohol in my system but I thought the fella played a great mix of music and everyone seemed pretty hyped.  My sister participated in a cute “Finish the Lyric” game put on by the Cruise Director which had the whole audience into it (see my upcoming vlog for this).  We missed the Newlywed Game when they did it but it was recorded and played on the TVs in our rooms. Watching cruise guests play this classic made for fun viewing!

You could also turn to the pools for some free fun. The issue was that they were very often filled to the brim with kids and the adults only pool was rarely open.  They did all this advertising for this adults only oasis, that was legitimately beautiful, but it was a real crap shoot to catch the pool open. Kids weren’t supposed to be allowed in the hot tubs anywhere on the ship either, but the lifeguards didn’t enforce this. My aunt had to ask lifeguards twice to say something because the hot tubs were full of kiddos.  On one of these occasions, the lifeguard’s first response was to ask what she wanted him to do about it. Um…your job, perhaps?

The bar situation proved to be a challenge at times, as well. Listen, I like to drink sometimes and I feel like it’s not unreasonable to want a buzz from time to time on vacation. I think many people are of that mindset. But jeez, the bars frequently closed at like 10:00pm or 11:00pm. When you want to let loose on your vacay and are at the mercy of the bar staff on the ship, this presents a problem. Then there were the drink packages. My Aunt and Mom usually get some kind of wine package for the trip so they can save a bit. They planned to do the same on this trip until they found out that the wine package only provided like three options for wine. It also felt like the only advertised packages were the ones they wanted you to get.  I found out about a package on like the second to last day of the trip, ten drinks for $80, that I would have totally purchased if I had known about it earlier on. Yet they were still advertising drinks out of pineapples when they were out of pineapples at all the bars. That’s right folks, all the bars. It’s okay though, the dining room staff saved the day by giving us a pineapple to physically walk to a bar to get that drink.

The night we docked overnight in Bermuda, my group boarded the ship after spending some time on the island and we were looking for something to do. It wasn’t that late but the bars on the ship were closed, of course. There were staff cleaning in a lot of places, which I totally get needs to happen, but some of them acted as if we were in the way as we tried to navigate around the ship.  That’s a bit problematic when we effectively live on the boat, are on vacation, and it’s like 11:00pm.

Let’s talk about something positive. That food! So amazing! The dining room service was on point.  I definitely recommend doing the formal dining room and not the stuff on the top deck. I feel like this is where most of us were able to get our money’s worth.   We ate like kings and queens every night. The menu included a wide selection of dishes from beef, to chicken, to fish, to vegetarian. The dining room staff worked so hard and tried to give us everything we wanted. Want two entrees? No problem. Three appetizers? They didn’t even bat an eyelash. Here I found that incredible customer service I had grown to expect from cruise vacations. Lunch in the dining room was fantastic as well. That salad bar they had, I dream about it.  We also ordered room service for breakfast one morning and the person who brought us the food was so sweet that it added some positivity to an early morning.

There were a few things here and there that were a bit questionable. For instance, there was a crab dish one night that had some imitation crab meat in it. It didn’t bother me so much, I had two, but for the money we all spent I can see where that would be a problem. There was also no bar staff allowed in the dining room for some reason, so if we wanted a drink at dinner we had to bother our already busy wait staff with it. No fellas carrying around drinks of the day or shooters for us. I would have also loved to go a day without being hounded about making a reservation at a special restaurant that, of course, cost extra. I’ll stick with the mountains of free food, thanks.

I felt like the dress code wasn’t enforced enough in the dining room.  Now I realize this makes me sound like a snob, but they have a classy vibe going on in there. I don’t particularly like to dress up myself but I do it because it’s what’s appropriate and it’s kind of nice for vacation. If most of us can follow the rules and look presentable, why can’t you? I get the first night when everyone’s luggage might not have been delivered on time or maybe you’re new to cruising and didn’t know. After that, I feel like it’s disrespectful to come into the dining room in your cutoff shorts and tank tops.

Our second day docked on the island, the dining room was closed for lunch. Everyone had to be back aboard about midday as we were pulling out. This meant we all went to the top deck to eat at the same time and it was miserable. We had to awkwardly hover and monitor tables so we could pounce when someone got up.  The lines for the buffet style food were insane and slow moving. I just feel like this was something they should have anticipated and prepared for. I don’t understand why the dining room was closed when reason would say there would be a flood of people looking to get their grub on all at the same time.

Our room attendant was great, especially having to deal with how messy our room was. I have no complaints about the room situation. I knew it was going to be small and cramped. Like I said, I’ve done this before. I actually felt like there was a good amount of storage space for how small it was. The other folks in our group also told me they had good experiences with the room attendant and that he was very attentive.

We had a very helpful and informative shopping expert who did seminars and information sessions on the shopping on Bermuda. She had lots of good info on where to go and lots of deals for money off or free stuff when you got there. She was frequently in the stores on the island and was very present around the ship.  The stores on board the ship also had a great selection of stuff. They did free alcohol tastings and there ain’t nothing wrong with some duty free shopping.

We all enjoyed our shore excursions, mostly because we were in Bermuda (duh).  There was a good range of excursions to choose from by activity and by price.  I always feel safer when I’m doing something that’s affiliated with the cruise line and I don’t have to worry about getting lost or being late to the ship.  I felt especially good about this when we went to book our excursion the first day and they told us the one we had chosen had been removed as it no longer met their standards. Whether it was a safety thing or an issue with it not being worth the money being charged, I appreciated that the activities were scrutinized in this way.

A lot of the problems we had came from little things that kind of added up. I just feel like every time I’ve been on a cruise the level of customer service has been impeccable. On this trip I often felt like I was a bother or that things were just falling through the cracks. For instance, we paid $80 for birthday decorations and cake for my cousin in our room.  Though I had chosen chocolate cake for her, they brought vanilla. I know that’s not a huge deal but dang, that setup was expensive so to get it wrong is a bit frustrating. There was also stuff like cups, plates, trash, etc. being left all over the ship without being picked up.  Now keep in mind that there aren’t trash cans anywhere that guests can get to so we can’t throw stuff away ourselves. It seemed to just sit around and accumulate. One night a gentleman was cleaning the top deck by hosing it down, sending the cups and garbage flying all over the place. Super swank.

I certainly don’t want to give the impression that I had no fun at all. That’s simply not true. We all definitely enjoyed ourselves. I’ve just never been on a cruise before where I felt the customer service was so lacking in certain areas and that they were after my wallet so hard. I wonder if maybe the Grandeur is a training ship now or if Royal Caribbean is putting more money and effort into their newer, megaships. Maybe they were short staffed or something. My previous trip on the Grandeur went so differently that I have to wonder what changed. I personally feel that the experience shouldn’t suffer because I can’t afford to cruise on one of their floating cities.

At the end of the day, I believe a lot of the experience will be what you make it. My family, friends, and I had tons of fun despite these issues and it hasn’t changed my outlook on cruising. What is has done is taught me to do research and read recent reviews before booking.

Keep your eyes out for my cruise vlog and pics, they’re coming soon! Also, check out my previous blog post where I talk about 10 things you absolutely need to pack for a cruise vacation (“Essentials to Pack on a Cruise”).

Thanks for visiting! Don’t forget to subscribe!

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Getting ready to board

Docked in Bermuda!

That waterrr!

    Cruise Review: Royal Caribbean Grandeur of the Seas to Bermuda I recently took a cruise aboard Royal Caribbean's Grandeur of the Seas to the lovely Bermuda.  I thought I would give a little review of my experience on the high seas. 

[flauntpage]

Actually, the Wild Card Format is Bad

Yesterday, VICE Sports Canada published a piece extolling the virtues of MLB's Wild Card format. It's great, you should go read it. Today we offer a counterpoint.

My issue with the one-game wild card playoff in Major League Baseball is not that it’s bad or boring—it is demonstrably neither of those things. I don’t even care whether or not it’s a “fair” representation of which team is necessarily better—if we wanted to reward the team that prevailed over the long run we would simply crown the city with the best regular season record as champions, 19th century style. My problem with the one-game wild card playoff is that it is a flawed solution to a nonexistent problem. It takes a perfect system and mucks it all up.

If you watched last night’s game between the Cubs and Rockies, you probably think this is indefensible, and even though it’s a hill that I am willing to die on, I see how once you get into the weeds of what is “necessary” or “not” in sports, you run the risk of sounding like someone who takes the whole thing a little too seriously. For six years and also last night, the one-game wild card playoff games have been great! Super exciting. I watched the Giants beat the Mets at Citi Field in 2016 and it was one of the most electrifying sporting events I’ve ever seen live. It was also entirely contrived.

Just because something is good, doesn’t mean it’s the best way to do it. (This is neither a moral argument nor a defense of stodgy baseball traditionalists who decry bat flips.) I just mean, like, literally, when it comes to entertainment, it’s all added value and yet we instill arbitrary parameters that curtail the net value of fun. If you like football, why not have 18-week seasons? Or hell, year round! A slip-n-slide between third base and home plate sure sounds like a hoot and yet the basepath remains dirt to this day! If the World Series was nine games long, I would tune in for those extra games and someday find myself marveling at how wacky and wonderful that comeback from a four-game deficit was.

So the question is not whether these games are enjoyable—baseball is awesome, as is deviation from the norm, even when contrived—but whether this is the optimal system for MLB’s playoff structure. Which, it’s not! In fact it is a shift away from the optimal structure, when we had one wild card team.

The single wild card team, introduced in 1994 but first implemented the following year after the strike-shortened ‘94 season, solved the problem introduced by the expansion from two divisions per league to three. In doing so, it also accounted for the possibility that a second place team might have a playoff-worthy record but be denied a spot in October on the virtue of playing in an especially strong division. That these teams are better than the first place teams in other divisions despite playing against such strong competition is a reason to reward them. This reward, as far as I’m concerned, does not need to come with a corresponding punishment. But more on that in a moment.

This is an elegant, airtight solution. It introduced a whole new round (hell yeah, ticket sales) and four more teams into the playoffs while preserving baseball’s superlatively exclusive postseason. And that’s where it should have ended. What baseball failed to realize is something the NCAA has similarly grappled with while selecting the field for its basketball tournament: the cutoff point is always going to be hotly contested, regardless of whether four teams or five from each league ultimately advance to the postseason. But that’s what makes getting to the postseason so special. It’s hard. It’s supposed to be hard. There is a cut off and if you don’t make it this year, you have to wait a whole other year to try to get back. I’m not saying having two wild card teams is like giving everyone a participation trophy, but I’m also not not saying that.

That second wild card team was added in 2012 to solve amorphous, situational ills. It was believed that an extra pair of playoff berths would encourage competitive balance; more teams with their eye on October would result in better regular seasons. This is a reasonable assumption but six years into the experiment and more teams than ever are tanking. The Cubs and Astros are largely to blame for this, existing as ringing endorsements of leaning into the rebuild, but if not for parity’s sake then what?

There’s a line of thinking that if wild cards are treated the same as division winners, it dilutes the value of winning the division, but that just doesn’t make any sense. First, a wild card team would still always have to play the best division winner, and second why risk getting into a slugfest with as many as 12 other teams for one spot, when you can battle it out with four others (realistically more like two) in your own division? As a result of this needless fix we now find baseball in a situation where it simultaneously rewards and punishes objectively playoff-caliber teams for having the misfortune of playing in a strong division.

The single most compelling part of the wild card showdown is that it’s one game long—despite everything so deeply entrenched in baseball’s slow-and-steady legacy—but that’s only because that’s all they have time for. There’s a Division Series to get to. It’s a side effect of the constraints, rather than an endgame in and of itself.

Of course, the excitement of a win-or-go-home game is undeniable. That’s what’s so special about Game 7s or Game 163 tie-breakers. Trying to recreate that atmosphere absent the context feels a little like the proposals to start extra innings with a guy on second base. Sure, that’s an exciting scenario, but that doesn’t mean we should necessarily skip the build up. If you want the playoffs to feature all win-or-go-home games then we can just… do that (We can’t, there would be riots, not to mention a massive loss in revenue.) But the one-game, winner-take-all format is merely incidental to adding a second wild card team—it’s a problem born of an unnecessary situation.

MLB is selling a product and of course they want every postseason to be the best one ever but fans should be frustrated by that even if they are benefiting from the experience of these weird-by-design single game series. Last night, people kept talking (OK, tweeting) about various firsts or mosts that the 13 innings between the Cubs and the Rockies represented but it seems odd to marvel at a stat that is largely just reflective of a shift in the overall system and that will be necessarily diluted by the very perpetuation of that system.

All sports drama is contrived but with the one game wild card playoff the machinations of catering to an impatient, short-attention span audience feel especially heavy-handed. It’s arbitrary, not in result, but in design.

Actually, the Wild Card Format is Bad published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[sexoffenderswholookfamous-blog1]

shouldn't your battery have at least two?

Let us see whether you're able to reply this pop quiz: How much ability fade can you bear on your battery until you think about it "dead"? The response (as usual) is determined by the program. With some notebooks (the one which springs to mind is created by a firm whose name begins with a D and finishes with a L shaped and contains four letters) becoming one year from the battery is thought to be very good. But notebook batteries are 50.  And many customers are most likely going to return and receive their next notebook based on cost anyway, thus there isn't any long-term impact of giving somebody a bad battery.   But in case you had an EV which operate's 200 miles and when in, say, 3 years then you begin to receive 160 miles, then you can be certain that you will sitting at the dealership demanding that they change the battery to you.   And directing your vehicle with a very long cord attached to a socket can be a little problematic. However, as definitions go, many producers will think about a battery to be in the end-of-life if it's lost 20-25 percent of its capability.   This signifies is that if your EV battery is deemed dead, it still has 80 percent of its capability left. Regardless of the fact that you're reading this site, I will head out on a limb here and assume that you're a wise person.  Right around now, you ought to be thinking to yourself that it's dumb to call something lifeless whenever there is 80 percent of it's left. Can you get new tires or brakes when they've depleted by 20%? You wait until your tires are bald and you slip into your vehicle mechanic and then stop the vehicle by stepping into something tender. At this time you're, ideally, using this epiphany that there might be a hidden small business idea here.   Maybe send it to another state where they might not be as picky about the amount of miles you'll be able to get? Or perhaps in the event that it is possible to get an application where energy density weren't significant, you are able to repurpose these batteries to market it to get all these programs. As you chew on this, allow me to change matters. Were you aware that as countries like California opt to enact renewable criteria, utilities businesses will have an issue?  California claims that by 2020, 33 percent of the nation's power will come from renewable resources.   .  But even at the middle-of-nowhere sunlight doesn't shine at night time. Just enter storage because the savior.  You control the battery through the day and release it to power the towns at night.  Transmission enabled us to space-shift the power (create in stage A, utilize it at Point B); storage makes it possible for us to time-shift.   And just how much power are we speaking about saving?   Thus a lot! A number of you might have known of AB2514.   The utilities will have to keep 2.25 percent of their day peak electricity by 2014 and 5 percent by 2020.  This is just about the very first explicit mandate calling for storage for a region of the grid. For those veteran battery people who believed the community didn't understand how to lobby, take center.  We might be nowhere near to what the hydrogen men have done, but it's a start! But let us back into the storage problem. Thus storage is your DVR of this grid.  And since your DVR isn't moving, it could be large (and awful if it's similar to my DVR). However DVRs price more cash and they expire every couple of decades.   Meaning, the power density of the battery life isn't so important for this particular application.  The excellent thing about middle-of-nowhere is that there's a good deal of it on the market.  What's vital, however, is that the price tag. Thus the interest in choosing "used" automobile batteries and utilizing it in grid software.  Another lifetime, if you may. Consider the possibilities: If your battery lasts state 15 decades rather than 7 decades, then you just doubled the opportunity to amortize the upfront price.  It's possible to request the utilities to purchase the car batteries and let it to the customer.   The user doesn't need to be concerned about paying $15,000 additional to your battery or fear about it dying on them.  Someone else owns it; all I want to be worried about is making sure I do not get to a wreck and destroy my guarantee.

This is sounding so good that I am considering sending an email to my managers telling them exactly what I actually consider my occupation. This entire site survives simply because we despise our energy storage apparatus.  How many cases can we think about because of our batteries lasted over a couple of decades?  My car battery, that expired after 7 decades, has become the only battery that's done me proud.  And I had been lucky to find anything near that! Most of us spend an excessive quantity of time babying our batteries and inquiring how we could prolong the life, and here I am asserting that we're able to find another life out of our batteries.  There has to be a reason why my article "pull the plug, your battery will probably thank you" gets the maximum hit among all of the articles.

Turns out that people aren't overlooking anything.  The next life concept has been pushed by business-types.  To get a biz.  dev.  Man that makes great sense.  

Should you plot the ability of a battery versus cycle number you may observe that distinct batteries fade otherwise.  Some batteries fade quickly from the 1st few cycles and then the potential stabilizes.  Others grow in power from the 1st couple cycles then level off and then begins a linear fade. And in certain batteries, even as you continue biking them there's a place where the curve begins to "roll over".  To put it differently, what started as a linear fade begins to quicken.  While this happens, you're a couple of cycles away from a whole dead battery (i.e., you can not even power your view with it!) . Lets talk somewhat more specialized for a moment.  Individuals not interested, proceed a few sentences over. Let us have a Li-ion batteries using a NCM cathode using 14 percent 1st cycle lasting loss and a graphite anode with 8 percent 1st cycle reduction.     But then let's presume that the cathode works really well.  Even the anode, as anodes have a tendency to perform, nevertheless has a little side response since the SEI (that is a passive coating on the anode anticipated to safeguard it) isn't quite as shielding as we hoped for. As every cycle continues, the lithium comes from this cathode and a little part goes into producing a brand new SEI and doesn't intercalate in the anode.  As you release, you begin to gradually deplete this anode buffer.  Each cycle gradually pushes the anode possible greater and greater.  Sooner or later, all of the buffer is totally depleted. Earlier this buffer was depleted, in the event that you looked in the chart of ability vs bicycle amount you wouldn't have noticed any capability fade.  When you reach this stage, you will begin to find the fade and what you see is just like a roster.  The incline of this capacity fade curve shifted. In some instances, this shift begins to quicken the fade due to the positioning of the cutoff possible from the battery.

It's a cathode which has less lasting reduction when compared with the cathode.  So that you do not have exactly the exact same chemical issue. But perhaps you've got a mechanical degradation issue. As every cycle continues, you're gradually swinging the loudness of the battery.   Fatigue starts to install.  After continued biking, at some stage cracking and breaking begin to turn into a issue.  Today we've got a certain capacity fade. Since a number of the particles burst and stop engaging in the response, the remaining particles need to spend the load and those particles are worried farther and this hastens their fade. And these impacts are contingent on the type of biking that's been conducted.  A three hour release (similar to that at a EV) will have another fade attribute in comparison to some 1/2 hour release (such as at a 10 mile PHEV). Let's attempt a third instance.   Now, its sort of difficult to create all of the batteries exactly the same.   But batteries aren't binned for constant life, since there's not any means to do that.  Rather they're binned to get self-discharge, which doesn't tell us much about the lifetime. So let us state that as the package is cycled, you begin with a few cells evaporating at a quicker speed.  Then the cells which are great are likely to work that much more difficult and therefore they will begin to fade longer.  This may also bring about an acceleration of this fade.  And since its impossible to predict a priori at what speed every single cells will be evaporating, its not possible to forecast how long the entire package will last. If this seemed complex it was a desperate effort to hide my insecurities by attempting to convince one that I understand something about batteries. The brief overview: Battery fade is complex and hard to forecast. Nowadays, not all of batteries are likely to do so.  Some battery chemistries are far better than others.  And a few businesses (that will make constant cells) will probably be greater than many others.  However, the question remains: Just how can we forecast what will occur in 15 decades, once the weather report looks so far away to the following moment? However forecast.  Why don't you just cycle these batteries; wait patiently for them to expire; and utilize this information to learn how to price the battery and amortize it; and then settle back and see the moolah heap up. Since it requires... 15 years to receive this advice and we do not have yet another 15 years with this company plan to come in to effect.  To be honest, we've been analyzing these batteries for a couple of decades now and have a few info.  However, this is nowhere near the amount of years of information required and so we still can not say for certain how a lot more cycles/years the batteries will probably survive. Since one isn't certain if the procedure used to quicken the fade (e.g. raising the temperature) results from the various fade mechanics becoming dominant.  Chemistry has this horrible habit of becoming challenging! Thus all of the biz dev kinds have an issue: If you can not predict just how many cycles/years the battery will continue how can you cost the batteries now? As well as the technician man in the rear of the area doing all of the testing is perspiration because he/she understands the sophistication and understands that it's really hard to predict the way the battery will act up to now in the long run. Personally, I feel that the idea is excellent and in time we'll understand how to make this a rewarding business program. However, for today, I am not likely to send that email for my managers.  I am considering purchasing a home and I want the paycheck!

[isaacscrawford]

Health Care Needs Its Rosa Parks Moment

BY SHANNON BROWNLEE

On Wednesday, October 25, 2017 I was at the inaugural Society for Participatory Medicine conference. It was a fantastic day and the ending keynote was the superb Shannon Brownlee. It was great to catch up with her and I’m grateful that she agreed to let THCB publish her speech. Settle back with a cup of coffee (or as it’s Thanksgiving, perhaps something stronger), and enjoy–Matthew Holt

George Burns once said, the secret to a good sermon is to have a good beginning and a good ending—and to have the two as close together as possible. I think the same is true of final keynotes after a fantastic conference. So I will do my best to begin and end well, and keep the middle to a minimum.

I have two main goals today. First, I want to praise the work you are doing, and set it into a wider context of the radical transformation of health care that has to happen if we want to achieve a system that is accountable to patients and communities, affordable, effective — and universal: everybody in, nobody out.

My second goal is to recruit you. I’m the co-founder of the Right Care Alliance, which is a grassroots movement of patients, doctors, nurses, community organizers dedicated to bringing about a better health system.  We have 11 councils and chapters formed or forming in half a dozen cities. I would like nothing more than at the end of this talk, for every one of you to go to www.rightcarealliance.org and sign up.

But first, I want to tell you a bit about why I’m here and what radicalized me. My father, Mick Brownlee, died three years ago this Thanksgiving, and through his various ailments over the course of the previous 30 years, I’ve seen the best of medicine, and the worst.

My father was a sculptor and a scholar, but he was also a stoic, so when he began suffering debilitating headaches in his early 50s, he ignored them, until my stepmother saw him stagger and fall against a wall in the kitchen, clutching his head. She took him to the local emergency room, at a small community hospital in eastern Oregon. This was the 1970s, and the hospital had just bought a new fangled machine—a CT scanner, which showed a mass just behind his left ear. It would turn out to be a very slow growing cancer, a meningioma, that was successfully removed, thanks to the wonders of CT and brain surgery. What a miracle!

Fast forward 15 years, and Mick was prescribed a statin drug for his slightly elevated cholesterol. One day, he was fine. The next he wasn’t, not because his cholesterol had changed, but the cutoff point for statin recommendations had been lowered. Not long after Mick began taking the statin, he began feeling tired and suffering mild chest pain, which was written of as angina. What we didn’t know at the time was the statin was causing his body to destroy his muscles, a side effect called rhabdomyolysis. Even his doctor didn’t recognize his symptoms, because back then, the drug companies hid how often patients suffered this side effect.

The statin caught up with Mick at an exhibit in Seattle of Chinese bronzes, ancient bells and other sculptures that my father had been studying in art books his whole career. Halfway through the exhibit, he told my brother to take him home; he was too tired to take another step.

Three days later, he was in the hospital on dialysis. The rhabdomyolysis had finally begun to destroy his kidneys. Three weeks later, he was sent home alive with one kidney barely functional. Soon his health would begin to deteriorate at a steady pace.

Fast forward another 15 years, and my father, at 84, was frail, falling down repeatedly, intermittently incontinent, and mildly demented. He had been hospitalized several times over the previous decade for a kidney stone, intractable constipation, dizziness, a small stroke. He was sleeping much of the day and was, as he would tell anybody who would listen, ready to die. He would walk into the ocean, if only he could get to the beach. By then, my stepmother had hidden the gun.

Just before Thanksgiving, Mick was taken by my brother to the local hospital with severe abdominal pain, which turned out to be a volvulus, a twist in the gut that if left untreated can lead to sepsis and a painful death. He was whisked off the hospital in Portland, a two-hour ambulance ride away. Knowing how frail Mick was, and how done he was with being hospitalized much less alive, I told my brother to ask the hospitalist for a palliative care consult. My brother did as instructed. The hospitalist said no, he wasn’t going to call in palliative care, because, and I quote, “We’re not there yet.” In that hospitalist’s mind, palliative care was for those at death’s door, and my father was only in the waiting room.  You won’t be surprised to learn that nobody asked Mick what he wanted, or what course of care he preferred.

By the time I could leave work and get a flight from DC to Portland, six days later, my father’s various doctors had managed to give him a pre-op cardiac stress test, and put him on total parenteral nutrition, a sort of food that goes straight into the blood stream. Only then did the gastrointestinal surgeon see him and pronounce him unfit for surgery; Mick was obviously so frail he would likely die on the table or if he survived the surgery, he would spend the rest of his short life in a nursing home.

Finally, we got our palliative care consult, which allowed us to take Mick home, where he was able to die surrounded by his beloved collection of art and his family.

***

I suspect that each of you has experienced some aspect of my tale. We all have stories of being misdiagnosed, ignored, not listened to, and maybe most important of all, not being heard. Of having to fight to get the comfort your child, father, sister needed. We’ve all had to seek out the right care, and be vigilant to avoid the wrong care, too little or too much care. Which probably should not even be called care at all, since if it’s unnecessary, it’s not very caring.

Anatole Broyard, an editor at the New York Times, wrote about the patient’s plight in a brilliant essay he published in August, 1990, 3 months before he died of prostate cancer. He wrote, “To most physicians, my illness is a routine incident in their rounds. For me it’s the crisis of my life. . . I would feel better if I had a doctor who, at least, perceived this incongruity.”Later in the essay he says, “I just wish my doctor would brood on my situation for even five minutes, that he would give me his whole mind just once. I’d like my doctor to scan me, to grope for my spirit as well as my prostate. “

What Broyard so eloquently expressed can be summed up as a crisis of relationship—a fracturing of the therapeutic alliance that we know is essential to offering comfort to patients, but is also part of healing. We all know implicitly, that healing involves far more than the physician’s knowledge and skill. It is more than making a correct diagnosis and delivering the right treatment.

True healing, as journalist David Bornstein writes, “is the process by which a doctor helps a patient accept, recover from, adapt to, or endure a serious illness, and it is full of nuance and mystery.  .  . I was often moved by how much my father-in-law — an actor who died from a form of leukemia — drew comfort and even inspiration from the relationship he had with his hematologist (who requested a Shakespeare recitation at each visit).”

Or as my colleague Vikas Saini says, hope and healing come from the companionship between doctor and patient in facing an unknown future together. The therapeutic alliance is a two way street, whose destruction also harms those who sit on the other side of the stethoscope — you in the white coats, you have stories, too.

Of being burned out, and chewed up by the system. Nearly half of medical students report feelings of depression, burn out, cynicism. Medical education has been characterized as being akin to living in an abusive and neglectful family. It places unrealistic expectations on students, keeps them sleep-deprived, overstressed, hypercompetitive, and in a state of fear of making mistakes. It sends a message that doubts or grief should be kept to oneself.

Worse yet, young clinicians perceive the gap between what is formally espoused — the proclaimed ethic of medicine’s empathy, compassion and altruism — and what they are actually learning through the “hidden curriculum.” This hidden curriculum is the socialization process that increasingly teaches them detachment rather than connection. The hidden curriculum says money is what matters in the system. The hidden curriculum instructs young clinicians to see patients as “customers,” and to view the doctors with the biggest incomes as the happiest and most admirable.  It is even teaching residents to do rounds at the hospital by standing in the hallway looking at their laptops rather than gathering at the patient’s bedside.

What the explicit and hidden curricula are not doing is teaching young nurses and doctors to listen without interrupting much less share decisions. Young clinicians are not even learning the ancient and powerful art of taking a history and physical. The novelist and physician Abraham Verghese is doing a booming business at Stanford medical school running remedial courses for young doctors who are coming to their residencies without those essential skills.

So how can we expect such an education system teach clinicians to “perceive the incongruity” of what it means to be sick versus well? Or to take five minutes to “brood” on their patients’ situation?

It should come as no surprise that five out of six doctors say that medicine is in decline. Close to 60 percent would not recommend it as a career for their children.

And as the work speeds up, and clinicians are treated more like assembly line workers than healing professionals, there is less and less time to grope for the spirit of a patient, to serve as a companion in the face of an uncertain future. There’s no time for such niceties when “productivity” is measured as throughput of patients, and when burnout has reached fever pitch.

What all of this means is the topics of today’s meeting strike at the emotional and spiritual heart of what it means to be a doctor, or nurse, or physicians assistant. This gathering also speaks to the deep need of a patient or family member to be heard, and to be cared for as fellow human being who is suffering.

And what you are all doing today, those of you who have spoken before me or are sitting in the audience, Randi Oster, Geri Baumblatt, Tom Delbanco, Harlan Kumholz, and all of the researchers and physicians and patients who have been laboring in these fields for so many years — every single one of you deserves a medal for making these deep and important issues rise to the surface. For giving a voice to patients — and likewise to the clinicians who care about them as well as for them.

***

And yet . . . here we are today, struggling to make those voices be heard by our colleagues, by our regulators, and our politicians.

Why has it been so hard to get Tom Delbanco’s Open Notes implemented? Why doesn’t every medical and nursing school in the country teach real history taking? How is it that shared decision making has been an idea whose time has been coming—for more than 20 years? Why doesn’t every medical and nursing school in the country teach shared decision-making?  Hundreds of studies, thousands of decision aids later, and we know that shared decision-making is a vast improvement over the misinformed consent that so often occurs. Why are these ideas still lurking at the fringes of medicine?

Why do so few hospitals have family advisory councils, and even fewer have councils with real power? Dig even deeper, and we should also be asking why so few communities have any real say in how hospitals allocate resources.

Where I live, in Washington, DC, three hospitals already have a proton beam machine. A fourth is being built. Each one of these machines costs $100 million— and each one is unnecessary. They get built not because they will benefit the DC community, but because they are good for the hospital’s bottom line. And if shared decision-making were actually practiced, and adult patients were actually informed of the fact that there’s no valid evidence to suggest that their cancer will be helped by using this incredibly expensive machine compared with standard therapy, there would be no reason to build another one.

The building of more proton beam machines holds a good part of the answer to why shared decision-making, and family advisory councils, and Open Notes, are not standard practice in every hospital and clinic in the country. And that answer points to the two reasons there are no community advisory councils to prevent every hospital in the country from wasting $100 million on a useless machine.

Those reasons are money and power.

As individual patients, we don’t have much power. It is incredibly hard to advocate for ourselves. Even doctors who become patients find themselves feeling nearly powerless in the face of their fellow white coats.

This idea that the patient/consumer is going to change the system, one transaction at a time, has become part of our national religion of the free market, and the neoliberal catechism we’ve all been absorbing for the last 40 years. That doctrine says that patients can fix the system — if only they would behave the way they do when purchasing other goods. High deductibles will make sick people and their frightened families more “prudent consumers” of health care, and when all those prudent consumers begin to vote with their wallets, the system will be transformed.

Right. How’s that been working out so far?

Here’s an alternative. There’s only so much we can do as individuals, especially when we are sick enough to be under a doctor’s care. Maybe it’s time to think about a different “theory of change.” Maybe it’s time to stop pretending the “market” will fix health care, and start recognizing that we have to pursue a different path. We need collective action.

***

This December, it will have been 62 years since a seamstress named Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a bus. Her refusal and subsequent arrest is just one of many iconic acts of defiance that have come to symbolize the civil rights movement. That movement is ongoing and its business is unfinished, as recent events in Ferguson, Staten Island, and around the country are making clear. But think back to the 1950s and 60s. What an extraordinary distance we’ve come because of collective action by the civil rights movement.

It’s tempting to imagine that all of what has happened since that December day in Montgomery was triggered by a seamstress who was tired and fed up and decided on the spur of the moment to sit in the front of the bus. But that’s not really what happened.

Rosa Parks’ pivotal act of defiance was carefully planned, and it was preceded by years of grassroots organizing that came before. In the first half of the twentieth century, African Americans and their allies mostly fought discrimination through litigation and lobbying, and they set important legal precedents. Yet victories in the courts and legislatures were not enough to change a deeply entrenched culture, and the dream of civil rights only began to make real headway when the activists shifted tactics to real movement building and organizing.

And that organizing began not with a pivotal moment on a bus, but in the black churches. It began when people talked about the lived experience of racism. It was in those churches that people began forming the bonds that made them brave enough to register to vote in the face of police intimidation. Those relationships gave them the courage to face down dogs, and water cannons, and imprisonment for their cause.

It was grassroots organizing that created the bus boycott that followed Rosa Parks’ arrest, and organizing that brought white students from the North to register black voters, and to join marches.  It was the endless press releases sent by organizers that made those marchers impossible for the world and the White House and the U.S. Congress to ignore. If the civil rights movement had stayed in the churches and not moved to the next phase, of organizing and mobilizing, just imagine what our world would be like today.

Make no mistake, what we are doing at this meeting serves the same purpose as the years of discussion that happened in the black churches before the movement truly began.  But now it is time to consider the next step for our cause, which is real organizing and mobilizing.

Getting shared decision making standard of care, fostering a true therapeutic relationship, giving patients control over their own records and communities control over their hospitals are not technical problems, with technical solutions. They are natural outgrowths from a health care system that has become another business, and a powerful one—one that does not want to change.

In other words, this is a fight about money and power, and in the history of the world, very few people and virtually no institutions have given up either willingly just because it’s the right thing to do. Maybe George Washington really did refuse to become King of America because he believed so fervently in the experiment of democracy. But he is the exception that proves the rule. To change the flow of money and power, we the people must take them.

We need a real movement. A movement that is willing to break glass, step on toes, and picket hospitals to force the deep change that is necessary. Health care needs a Rosa Parks moment.

So here comes my pitch to join the Right Care Alliance. We are just beginning to build our ranks of providers, patients, lawyers and community activists.  Our steering committee has started to lay out our strategy for the coming years.

But I have to be honest: We are hardly the only grassroots healthcare movement out there. You can join the National Physicians Alliance, or one of the single payer organizations that exist in every state. It almost doesn’t matter which group you get involved with, because we are eventually going to have to come together to pool our efforts. And our first step will need to involve going into communities and helping Americans understand how bad our health care system really is and what it will take to have a great system. For those of us who are old enough to remember the 60s, you’ll know what I’m talking about when I say we need a strategy for teach ins across the land.  Every one of you can be involved in that effort.

Getting to a system that opens the door to patients being active participants can no longer be left to the health care industry, or even to health care professionals. And it cannot be accomplished by patients acting as individual “consumers” in the clinic and hospital. The demand for change must come from the American people, from students, workers, community activists, business leaders, the clergy — and clinicians and patients, all those who are affected by health care’s failure to deliver.

In closing, I want to pay homage to the incredible work that all of you have done. You are testifying to the lived reality of the need for care that makes patients and families true participants. But to achieve our goals, we must take the next step towards activism and organizing.

Shannon Brownlee MSc is Senior Vice President at the Lown Institute and author of the classic Overtreated

Article source:The Health Care Blog

[aquotidianoddity]

Hey! I was scrolling through the Helsinki tag and saw your most recent answered ask. I'm a uni student in the US and want to apply for a Masters at Helsinki (I have Finnish friends there who can help me), and their course requirements just to be considered as an applicant seem super strict. Based off your post I'm assuming that you're not at Helsinki, but I was wondering if you knew much about the application/selection process as a US student and can expand a bit on it? Kiitos :D

Hi there! I’m happy to be of help. I’ll post this publicly in case anyone else has a similar question, but let me know if you’d like me to take it down and send it private…I’m not a popular blog, so it shouldn’t spread around too quickly or at all.

Of course, everything I say may be different depending on the specifics of the degree you’re interested in and whether it’s an “international” or “non-international” degree. Seems like you’re already checking up on your program specifics, so hopefully I can give you a general foundation to build off of, and you can fill in the rest with your personal situation.

First of all: DEADLINES MATTER. Ironically, when you’re a student turning in an assignment or taking a test they pretty much don’t, but anything official like this is no joke. I discovered the MA I originally wanted to pursue three days after the deadline and emailed them asking if I could still apply, assuming the answer would be yes like it normally is in the states. Not the case…apparently the first step of applications is handled by the state and centralized in some office in Helsinki. Once it gets past that stage, things get more flexible, as the admins in the universities don’t care as much, but to be safe, know your deadlines.

Second most important thing: all throughout the application process, both on the state websites and university websites, I noticed that the information on the Finnish version and on the English version was sometimes different. If you’re applying to a program specifically advertised or targeted toward international students, this shouldn’t be a problem. However, I applied to a “non-international” program, and administration generally assumes that only Finns will apply to these programs, so I often had to read each web page twice, once in each language, and synthesize the information personally. If it sounds like this may apply to you, you could ask your Finnish friends for help.

In terms of the application process: in Finland you apply to specific programs, rather than to the universities (much like you would for an MA in the US anyway). However, there is only one centralized application for ALL programs. On the application you put your personal information, educational history etc, and then you rank all of the programs you’re interested in. The order you list them in DOES matter. It’s a huge numbers game, but essentially they do their number-magic about who’s most qualified and how many spots there are available and then out of whichever programs want you, you are offered a spot ONLY in the program you ranked highest. You will not be offered a spot in all of the programs you are qualified for or in all of the programs that would like you to attend. You will not be given a chance to choose between the different programs that want you…ranking them on your application is your only chance. Of course, if you’re only applying to the one program, then all that doesn’t really matter.

You said that the course requirements seemed strict. I assume you’re not sure if you’ve taken the right courses or somehow you’re not sure if you qualify? My suggestion would be to find the program coordinator in the directory and email them your questions. Actually, I would suggest you do that anyway…make up some questions…introduce yourself…get in contact in some way or another with them. I wouldn’t email the department secretary, as in my experience they aren’t as well-versed in the ins and outs of the program and are often really busy with a lot of the most stressful administrative tasks that fall on their shoulders. The program coordinator/advisers/whatever-they’re-called are typically also professors in the program. The general student-teacher relationship in Finland is flipped from how it is in the US: professors often feel an obligation to go out of their way to accommodate, please, impress, or generally help the students with anything they need (within reason). Of course, every individual is different, but if you’re not unlucky then the person you contact may have some useful hints, tips, or insider knowledge of their own university to give you. I ended up emailing my coordinator about 27 times and he was such a big help.

Whether or not you can be accepted to a program without the proper qualifications is another question, and it really depends on the program itself. Departments/programs in Finland are given funding depending on how many students they have, and they are given extra funding depending on how much coursework those students take (It’s possible to move at a snail’s pace in school, so the cutoff for the extra funding is even less than a full-time enrollment–no worries that you’ll be pressured into overworking yourself). If your program has less applicants than open spots, they will be more likely to consider you if you do not have the proper background or experience. If there are more applicants than study spots, your chances will go down. I believe there’s no longer an application fee? But at any rate, if it won’t cost you too much to send in all the application materials, you might as well apply and see what happens. Of course, your application still needs to be quality (good grades, all the required materials, good recommendations if required, etc.).

Some other random stuff:

An application to an MA program typically requires you to send a copy of your Bachelor’s degree (usually this is sent directly to the university and not the centralized application office and often has a much later deadline). They don’t really understand or care that due to university processes in other countries (i.e. the USA), we don’t have access to that for several months after graduating. There is often an exception for students from the USA that if your transcript specifically states certain degree information, then it can be accepted in lieu of the actual diploma itself (see: http://universityadmissions.fi/?page_id=24#USA). You should:

1. confirm with the institution you are applying to that they will accept a transcript with the degree information in place of the diploma itself, 2. confirm with your current institution’s registrar office that your transcript will contain the required degree information after you graduate, and 3. check with the registar’s office (or possibly your academic adviser depending on your university’s policies) when the degree information will be posted to your transcript. If the information isn’t posted in time, ask if it can be expedited somehow. My university wouldn’t rush the printing of my diploma (and were quite rude to me when I asked), but it wasn’t a problem for them to get my degree information posted within a week after final grades posted (this was something my academic adviser had to do, so check with whatever equivalent your uni has in addition to the registrar’s office).

Lucky for you, all application material may be submitted in either Finnish, Swedish, or English, so you won’t have to get anything translated. Unlucky for you, programs starting August 2017 and later now charge tuition fees for non-EU students. However, these are often much cheaper than US programs (my two-year MA apparently costs 8,000eur in total) and there’s likely to be scholarships to apply for (not sure how they work because I don’t have to pay). The dollar is actually quite strong against the Euro right now (1USD == 0.95EUR).

When will you find out if you were accepted to the program? If you’re applying to an “international” program it will likely tell you a date by which you’ll find out if you’re accepted or not. If you’re applying to a “non-international” program then all results are announced on July 1st…this will put you into a bit of a crunch trying to get all of the immigration stuff together and may be annoying if you want to consider any other opportunity that will likely require you to accept or decline before July 1st. Luckily I had no other prospects in life, so I had no trouble waiting.

If accepted, you will be required to get a residence permit (when you’re communicating with the embassy, don’t call it a visa. if you do, they’ll have no idea wtf you’re talking about.). When I applied in July of 2016 the only two places you could apply were the embassy in DC and the consulate in LA, so hopefully you don’t live in Kansas or something. It costs ~300eur. I was confused about the passport photo because there are a lot of strict requirements for how it should be taken, but the embassy just told me to go to CVS and get a normal US passport photo, just be sure not to smile at all.

You also have to purchase insurance. The immigration website suggests a particular company to use, and I used it…costs again about 300eur for an entire year. As a two-year student, you exist somewhere in this gray area of permanent and not permanent. You qualify for free health care through student health services and for some public health services. The insurance is to cover whatever else the public health services won’t cover.

99% of people here speak English, so that’s not a problem signs/automated announcements are usually in Finnish, Swedish, and English. If you don’t have US citizenship or you have dual-citizenship, you may check any sort of requirements or benefits your other citizenship will grant you. If English is not your native language, check the language examination requirements…however, a degree from a high school or university in an English-speaking country is usually enough to exempt you.

Some useful links:

https://studyinfo.fi/wp2/en/: this is the website for the universal application (called opintopolku Finnish). Here you’ll find information about applying to universities in Finland and you can search for programs and read about their requirements. You will also apply on this website. Unfortunately, you cannot create a My Studyinfo account (Oma- Opintopolku) without a Finnish bank account, Finnish phone number certification, or Finnish electronic certification card. However, you can apply without registering so long as you have an email address.

http://universityadmissions.fi/: this website has a lot of information about submitting application materials and what sort of documents are required from students from different countries. Of course, the advertisement for your program is the #1 source for information on what is required and how it should be submitted.

https://www.helsinki.fi/en/studying/how-to-apply: you may have seen this already…I didn’t use it because I go to the University of Eastern Finland, but it may have useful information. At the very least I see a link to a page about scholarships at the bottom…

Other websites where you may find help or information on programs, scholarships, or migrating:

http://cimo.fi/frontpage

http://www.studyinfinland.fi/

That’s all I can think of at the moment. If there’s anything that was unclear or another specific question that comes to your mind, feel free to ask!

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (10)

Especially when it comes to your heart

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, some steamy flashbacks. This is NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 3,850 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This relates the aftermath of Drake and Amara’s (Dramara? I’m taking a page out of @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria ‘s book for couples’ names :)) first time having sex. It starts with Drake’s POV, the next morning.

Also, I’ve been writing like a crazy person this weekend but, full disclosure, I’m about to have a pretty insane work week, so it might be a few days until I post Part 11. That being said, I have a very precise plan for it, so stay tuned! The next episode is also when shit gets real, so...there’s that :D

*****

‘Earth to Drake?’

He shakes it off, and realizes Liam is offering him another croissant. ‘Oh, yeah, thanks.’

Liam was right. Drake hadn’t touched Earth ever since last night. He couldn’t stop thinking about the amazing night he’d had with Amara, and flashbacks were populating his mind, preventing him from being a functional member of this group breakfast. He thought of the closeness they’d shared the night before, when they made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms, spent and satisfied. He thought of Amara’s alarm waking them up at 5.30, and how they’d made love again, lazily, all the while waking up together. He thought of the taste of her kiss, the touch of her hands, the feel of her body against his. He thought of her, persuading him to take a shower together, to prolong their togetherness. He thought of how they had made love again in the shower, Amara bent over against the wall, and Drake sliding inside her, again and again--

‘Walker, wake up. People are trying to talk to you.’

Olivia’s curt wake up call had shaken him back on track. He passes the jam to Hana, as she had been waiting for it for a good two minutes, while Drake was replaying his and Amara’s double morning sex in his mind. He blushes, acutely aware of the inappropriateness of the situation, but as soon as he makes eye contact with Amara, he realizes she is probably feeling the same way, as the embarrassed but cheeky look on her face betrays.

They all share breakfast, coffee, and stories in the grand salon, by the fireplace. This place is nice, he thinks. Luxurious, yes, but rustic. Everyone is in good spirits, except maybe Maxwell, who seems less enthusiastic than usual. Drake feels grateful for him today though, since his text telling Amara that he’d meet her directly downstairs this morning allowed them to have extra time together.

‘So,’ Olivia announces, ‘today I would like to take everyone on a tour of the grounds, and then I would be happy to invite Prince Liam to a private lunch with me, before we all reconvene to ski a bit more in the afternoon. Tonight, I have a special wine tasting and dinner planned for all of us. While Liam and I are at lunch, my staff will be at your complete disposal should you need anything.’

Everyone thanks her and agrees to the plans, except Liam, who interrupts: ‘Thank you, Lady Olivia, I gladly accept your lunch invitation. However, as far as the tour goes, I’m going to need a raincheck. I need to speak to Drake, maybe the two of us will go for a walk. But please, everyone enjoy the tour and I will see everybody on the slopes.’

Uh oh, Drake thinks. What is that all about? Maybe Liam just needs a breather, but somehow, he has trouble believing that things would be exactly like they used to be.

On their way out, Drake wonders if Liam can tell that he just spent the night with Amara. Does he smell like her? No, he showered. But, he showered with her, so… But how would Liam know Amara’s smell? After all, given his obsession with her, he had probably sent someone to steal one of her shirts to smell as he falls asleep at night.

Alright, he needs to play it cool. He already had growing feelings for Amara the last time he had a heart to heart with Liam, and it went ok. Well, he had called Liam out on his entitlement, but he had kept everything else together. But now, the stakes had skyrocketed since last night.

He realizes he was stuck in his head again, and Liam waves in his face for him to start listening.

‘Drake, is everything ok? I just wanted to make sure you and I were good. You’ve been acting weird.’

Oh, so that was that. ‘I’m fine, Li. I promise.’

‘Good. I’ve been doing some thinking. You were right about me being pushy towards Amara. She did seem distant last time, on our one-on-one, and I guarantee you that it’s because, well...you were right. I summoned her, and that was wrong of me. So, I’m gonna try and play it cool.’

‘Good. I’m glad to hear this.’

‘I mean, I said I’ll try. I’m crazy about her, Drake. She’s...something else, you know?’

Oh, he knew. ‘Yeah. She’s pretty cool.’ Understatement of the year. He tries not to think of her arched back, as she was riding him slowly, this morning.

Liam pauses for a long time, and seems to be looking for the right words. ‘I heard that you two are getting to know each other.’

Drake’s heart threatens to jump out of his chest. Holy shit. ‘Um,’ he hesitates, ‘what do you mean?’

‘Oh, just that Bastien saw you two at a bar a few days ago. I’m glad she is surrounded with people who are making her feel welcome.’

Drake gulps. This is not the moment to fuck up. ‘Yeah, she was bummed out when I bumped into her that day, she missed New York and her family. She asked if I knew of any bars, so I took her to one.’ He’d made this sound as natural as possible.

‘I’m glad. She is not used to this setting, and you are probably the one person who can understand this the most. I’m glad you guys are friends. You’d say you’re friends, right?’

This felt like a trap. ‘Yeah. She’s nice and really funny. I could see us becoming friends.’ Friends who go down on each other, maybe.

Liam smiles. ‘That’s great. Just one thing, Drake.’

Uh oh. ‘Yeah?’

‘Next time you sneak her out, don’t keep it a secret. I’d rather hear it from you than from my bodyguard.’

Drake wanted to open his mouth and say a whole bunch of things. Like, what the hell, Liam. She doesn’t belong to you. She’s a grownup and she doesn’t need anyone tracking her movements. Or maybe, fuck you Liam, I’m falling in love with her and we’re gonna run away together. But he knew that House Beaumont was on the line, and that Amara felt guilty enough about deceiving Maxwell in particular. This was not the moment to blow up. If he stayed quiet for a little bit longer, they could find a way to be together, maybe. So, he kept his mouth shut, and once again, nodded at what his childhood friend wanted him to do.

*****

‘How do you like Lythikos, Suarez?’

Olivia and Amara had stuck around after the tour, sipping on another coffee on the patio, wrapped up in their winter coats and hats.

‘It’s gorgeous, Olivia, really.’

Olivia gives her a knowing smirk. ‘Did you guys bone?’

Amara nearly chokes on her coffee. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh please, cut the crap. I’m the one who arranged for the isolated rooms. I deserve some details.’

Amara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looks around, making sure no one can hear, and whispers, ‘It was fucking amazing.’

Olivia smirks some more, and says ‘Glad to hear that. How many times?’

‘Oh, come on. You can’t be serious.’

‘Do you want me to take your lock away?’

‘Three.’

Olivia nods in sign of respect. ‘Good. Enjoy the privacy tonight, too. I suppose Drake told you about my reasons? I don’t want you to believe I’m just doing this out of the goodness of my heart.’ She uses air quotes around the words ‘goodness’ and ‘heart’, which Amara finds very much on brand.

‘Yeah, he did. So, you want Liam that bad, huh?’

Olivia remains silent, looking at a distant point in the sky.

‘Olivia? Do you have feelings for him?’

She snorts. ‘As if I’m going to tell you that.’

‘Come on. If you tell me, I’ll give you one more detail about last night.’

‘Oh please, I’m not that desperate. Plus, I don’t want any graphic details about Walker’s dick, thank you very much.’

Amara laughs, and is immediately transported in her daydreams again. Oh, she’s got graphic details for days.

Olivia gives in and continues: ‘Liam has always been there for me. I’ve always envisioned myself with him, that’s all. When my mind is set on something, I don’t let it get away from me. I don’t give up.’

Amara doesn’t know what to say. She understands what Olivia is saying, of course. Plus, she’d heard from Maxwell about her tragic childhood, with her parents dying when she was five. Of course she would value her relationships with the people who’d supported her. But it broke her heart to think that Liam was visibly taking Olivia for granted, when she was a complete badass and a stunning woman. ‘I get it. But, forgive me for saying this, have you thought of, you know, meeting other people, and seeing what your options are? Anyone would be lucky to have you, Olivia, so I don’t think you should limit yourself to waiting for one man.’

Olivia looks straight in her eyes, and Amara feels like an icicle is burning through her skull. Shit, she should have kept her mouth shut. ‘What do you think I am, a pathetic virgin waiting for her prince? I fuck my bodyguard every day,’ she says while gesturing to the hunk of a man who’s sitting in the next room, at a safe distance.

‘Oh. Um, good, he’s, um, very hot. But that’s not what I meant. You make yourself available for Liam, when he’s holding a competition for his hand. Men should be lining up for your hand, Liv.’

Olivia pauses, seemingly taking in what she’s hearing. ‘Touché. You’re right, they should.’

They drink their coffee in silence, until Olivia breaks the ice and asks: ‘Why do you dislike Liam so much?’

Amara, slightly taken aback, replies: ‘Oh. I don’t dislike him. I actually really liked him when we first met, I thought he was genuine, nice, and funny. I was not attracted to him, but--’

‘So, why are you here?’

Oh, the million dollar question. ‘Olivia, I--’

‘No, that’s ok, don’t answer. As I told you before, I know it’s complicated, I can tell.’

Amara takes a deep breath. ‘I liked him in a genuine, friendly way, and the night I met all of the guys, I felt really good, really alive for the first time in...two years. Max inviting me to Cordonia was the push I needed to leave my shitty life behind. I can’t even call it my old life, because the life I was living in NYC for the past two years wasn’t even my life, it was a fabricated, shell of a life I had imposed on myself. Meeting the guys shook me out of it a little. Showed me I was still fun, still spontaneous. Showed me I could turn my life around if I wanted.’

She realizes she had said all that in one single breath. She finally exhales.

Olivia gives her an honest smile, and Amara wonders if she’d ever seen her really smile before. ‘I get it, Amara. Now, the circumstances are different.’

‘Exactly. In New York, Liam was a nice, potential friend I had just met. He was fun, friendly, and pleasant to be around. But here, I don’t know. He’s very pushy with me, tricks me into meeting him in the gardens, and I feel very guilty every time I push him away. I also think he acts in a very shitty way with you and with Drake, taking both of you for granted. So, yeah, maybe I’m growing to dislike him, in his natural habitat.’

Olivia chuckles. ‘He’s not always like that, you know.’

‘Oh, I can imagine. I trust your judgment, and Drake’s. If you both see something in him, I don’t doubt that he’s a good guy. I’m sure he’s under a lot of pressure right now. I’m also aware that I’m not being honest with him, and if I could tell him the truth, maybe we could be actual friends and bond in an honest manner.’

Olivia nods and ponders. ‘That’s fair.’ She looks at her watch. ‘Oh, I have to meet him soon, I need to go reapply some lipstick, if you’ll excuse me.’

‘Of course. Thanks for the chat.’

‘Anytime.’ Olivia pauses, walks away, and turns back around. She grabs her cup of coffee, and puts her hand on Amara’s arm. ‘I enjoyed our talk, Detective.’

*****

Amara was still shaking. How much did Olivia know? Had she just googled her quickly and found her NYU Alumni page, or had she been digging deeper? Knowing Olivia, it was probably the latter. Amara wasn’t ready for everything to come out; she had considered talking to Drake about it, especially since he had seen her cry and knew more or less about Michael, but talking to other people, no, that was not an option.

She was walking aimlessly through the hallway when she saw Maxwell heading to the dining room.

‘Hey Maxwell!’ she says, trying to forget about the end of her conversation with Olivia.

‘Hi, Amara’, he said flatly with a weak smile.

Huh, she thinks. This doesn’t look like Maxwell at all. ‘Are you ok, Max?’

He opens his mouth, but then closes it.

‘Max, you’re scaring me. Are you feeling ok? Did you have another fight with Bertrand?’

He looks around, seems to ponder a response, and asks ‘Is it just a fling?’

Boom. Second hit of the day. And to think she had been actually excited to get up this morning, after the amazing night she’d had. She didn’t feel like playing coy with Maxwell, who had been such a strong support, on all fronts. ‘No. How about we get some food and go talk in my room?’

Maxwell nods, and they head to the kitchen.

Once safely in Amara’s room, they plop down on the bed and on the loveseat respectively, and as Maxwell pecks timidly at his food, Amara goes for it. ‘How do you know?’

He sighs. ‘I came to talk to Drake last night and um...I heard you guys.’

Amara’s eyes fill with tears. She feels bad for her friend, who had trusted her. ‘I’m so sorry you had to find out like that, Maxwell. Truly.’

‘How long has it been going on?’

‘Um...I’m not sure, but about a week, I’d say.’

He nods, and offers a faint smile. ‘Do you like him?’

Amara’s face instantly lights up. ‘Yes. I really, really do.’

‘So, I suppose the competition is over for you?’

‘Maxwell, that’s not what I said. I don’t want to let you down--’

‘I’m gonna stop you right there.’ He comes to sit right by her on the bed and takes her hand. ‘You have zero obligation towards me, especially when it comes to your heart. I have no intention of pimping you out to Liam against your will, Amara. It actually hurts that you’ve been thinking that I would.’

‘I didn’t think that exactly, but I have to admit, what prevented me from being honest is that, well, you and Bertrand especially have been telling me that I’m House Beaumont’s last chance, so--’

Max interrupts, his head in his hands. ‘Oh my God, I had no idea we were getting into your head like that. Of course you have no obligation, Amara. If you want to withdraw, you can, and we’ll find a solution for House Beaumont.’

‘Actually, I think withdrawing would be a mistake. Hear me out.’

Amara explains everything to Maxwell: how she doesn’t want to ruin Liam and Drake’s friendship, and how she believes that everyone will benefit from Liam choosing someone else. If she just keeps a low profile, maybe Olivia, or even Madeleine, can be Queen, but House Beaumont’s sponsored suitor remains respectable and she can help Maxwell and Bertrand raise funds when the competition is over. She lays out her plan, explaining to him that Drake has a business degree and could take a look at their finances even, but Maxwell refuses point blank.

‘Ok to a low profile. I’ll stop pushing one-on-one dates with Liam. If he chooses you, you turn him down. That way, maybe we can play on a loophole, and the Crown can still sponsor the House. If he chooses someone else, then you’re free.’

‘Deal. And I promise I’ll help you guys out. What matters now is that we keep playing along. Now that I’ve gotten to know Olivia better, I can even help her have alone time with Liam, kind of like sabotaging myself by allowing her to tag along. What do you say?’

Maxwell regains his composure, or rather, his usual excitedness. ‘That would work. OMG Amara, I’m loving the scheming! I have to say, I was really hurt that this all happened behind my back, but I understand your reasons. One more thing though, um… I don’t know how to ask you this…’

Amara laughs heartily, and hugs her friend. ‘Don’t worry Max, I won’t say a word to Bertrand.’

He hugs her back, sighing with relief. ‘Oh thank God.’

*****

Drake had always enjoyed the outdoors, especially on a gorgeous day like this one. Hard to believe there was a blizzard just yesterday; now the snowy clouds had given way to a beautiful blue sky. He was trying to relax on a quick hike and get all of the day’s stressful interactions out of his head. Amara had texted him earlier to say that Maxwell knew and was supportive, thankfully. But now, he had no idea how to handle the rest of them.

He almost turns around when he sees Liam and Madeleine talking together, walking in the opposite direction. But it’s too late, Liam has seen him. ‘Drake! Where are you headed?’

‘Oh, just stretching my legs before the wine tasting. Is it time to head back already?’

‘No, you’ve got time.’ Liam flashes a smile. ‘Where’s everyone else, do you know?’

‘Yeah, I was just with Max and Amara, they’re skating with Hana I think, she’s teaching them some moves.’

‘Good, let’s go see what they’re up to, shall we, Lady Madeleine?’

Madeleine plasters on a fake smile and replies ‘Of course, I’d be delighted to.’

Ugh. He waves goodbye and continues walking away. He truly cannot stand Madeleine. He’d always known that she was a fake friend to Savannah, who looked at her like she was a fucking work of art and a fabulous mentor. Of course she would never listen to him when he told her to watch her back. Although it was obvious that he hadn’t told her in the most diplomatic way... Drake was convinced that Madeleine had been the worst to Savannah, among the fake people at court. Plus, the very fact that she was here, competing for Liam’s hand when, just last year, she was engaged to be married to his brother, showed that all she cares about is the crown. And yet, Liam had to entertain her and act as if he were into her. Well, ‘had to’... Liam liked pleasing people, which Drake had never understood, but of course it came with the job description; you can’t be a prince and tell people to fuck off.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He removes his gloves to retrieve it, and sure enough, a text from Amara.

Oh no, Madeleine is coming my way. Send help.

He chuckles. He imagines her sneaking away to send an illicit text, and this little forbidden gossip session feels incredibly warm and intimate.

He replies promptly.

Uh oh, that one might be on me, Suarez. I bumped into her and Liam and told them you guys were skating. I owe you big time…

The dots appear. She’s typing. God, this feels nice. Drake finds a small boulder to sit on while he’s waiting for her message. He takes in the gorgeous view. Things could be a lot worse.

OMG Walker, you DO owe me big time. I’ll think of a way you can repay me…

Heh, he thinks. It took only two texts for their exchange to become suggestive. They truly were still enmeshed in one another, even in the middle of all these people, with all these responsibilities… He had thought of her all day. He had loved every interaction with her, even pulled off some sneaky hand holding at times. Easy to do when you’re skating.

I’m sure you’ll find a way. I’m at your entire disposal, Detective.

The dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again, and vanish one more time. Oh no, had she gotten caught by Madeleine? That one was always on the prowl for some scandal to reveal, they would have to tread lightly. Finally, a message appears.

Speaking of Detective...I forgot to tell you with all that Maxwell drama, but Olivia knows about my old job. I don’t know how that might affect me, but it freaks me out.

Shit. Liv might have been super understanding about the two of them, but he knew how private Amara is with her past. This can’t be good, right?

Damn, I’m sorry. Are you ok? Any idea how she found out?

More dots.

No clue. I’m assuming she googled me, Madeleine asked me what I studied in college and where, so maybe she found me on the NYU Alumni network?

Shit. If Olivia was digging dirt, then maybe Madeleine was doing the same? There was nothing wrong with Amara having been a part of the NYPD, but she didn’t want to talk about it. And it was stressing her out. So, he types one last message.

On my way back, Suarez. I’ll be here soon, don’t go anywhere.

*****

Amara was grateful for Drake rejoining the group. She felt bad about cutting their sexting short, but when he called her Detective, she suddenly remembered Olivia’s revelation that she knew about her past. She had to remain calm about it, though. No need to freak out. It was Olivia, who had never done anything against her. She didn’t call her ‘Detective’ in a threatening way, just a playful throwaway at the end of a conversation. Did she aim to throw Amara off? Absolutely. But did she mean her any harm? Amara highly doubted it; she had come to trust Olivia’s judgment, so she would have to continue trusting it for now. Nothing she could do. She also didn’t want to ruin her last night in Lythikos with Drake.

Speaking of, here he was, walking back quickly towards the frozen lake. Amara gestures for him to join her on the side, where she was watching the others from.

‘Hey,’ he says, slightly out of breath from power walking in the snow. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah, don’t worry. I just wanted to keep you in the loop. I’ll figure it out.’

He smiles at her, almost leans in to kiss her, visibly forgetting their surroundings. He catches himself and awkwardly runs his hand through his hair, removing his hat. ‘I wish I could kiss you,’ he whispers.

‘Me too. Later, though. I’m excited about the wine tasting.’ She inches closer and whispers ‘I’m very uninhibited when I have wine.’

He looks at her hungrily and smiles. ‘Good. Me too.’

*****

Taglist:

@andy-loves-corgis , @drakewalkerwhipped , @drakxwalker , @drakewalkerrosenberg , @drakeswalkers , @drakelover78 , @silviasutton1989 , @jovialyouthmusic , @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal , @nikkis1983​ , @simsvetements , @alesana45

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

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Actually, the Wild Card Format is Bad

Yesterday, VICE Sports Canada published a piece extolling the virtues of MLB's Wild Card format. It's great, you should go read it. Today we offer a counterpoint.

My issue with the one-game wild card playoff in Major League Baseball is not that it’s bad or boring—it is demonstrably neither of those things. I don’t even care whether or not it’s a “fair” representation of which team is necessarily better—if we wanted to reward the team that prevailed over the long run we would simply crown the city with the best regular season record as champions, 19th century style. My problem with the one-game wild card playoff is that it is a flawed solution to a nonexistent problem. It takes a perfect system and mucks it all up.

If you watched last night’s game between the Cubs and Rockies, you probably think this is indefensible, and even though it’s a hill that I am willing to die on, I see how once you get into the weeds of what is “necessary” or “not” in sports, you run the risk of sounding like someone who takes the whole thing a little too seriously. For six years and also last night, the one-game wild card playoff games have been great! Super exciting. I watched the Giants beat the Mets at Citi Field in 2016 and it was one of the most electrifying sporting events I’ve ever seen live. It was also entirely contrived.

Just because something is good, doesn’t mean it’s the best way to do it. (This is neither a moral argument nor a defense of stodgy baseball traditionalists who decry bat flips.) I just mean, like, literally, when it comes to entertainment, it’s all added value and yet we instill arbitrary parameters that curtail the net value of fun. If you like football, why not have 18-week seasons? Or hell, year round! A slip-n-slide between third base and home plate sure sounds like a hoot and yet the basepath remains dirt to this day! If the World Series was nine games long, I would tune in for those extra games and someday find myself marveling at how wacky and wonderful that comeback from a four-game deficit was.

So the question is not whether these games are enjoyable—baseball is awesome, as is deviation from the norm, even when contrived—but whether this is the optimal system for MLB’s playoff structure. Which, it’s not! In fact it is a shift away from the optimal structure, when we had one wild card team.

The single wild card team, introduced in 1994 but first implemented the following year after the strike-shortened ‘94 season, solved the problem introduced by the expansion from two divisions per league to three. In doing so, it also accounted for the possibility that a second place team might have a playoff-worthy record but be denied a spot in October on the virtue of playing in an especially strong division. That these teams are better than the first place teams in other divisions despite playing against such strong competition is a reason to reward them. This reward, as far as I’m concerned, does not need to come with a corresponding punishment. But more on that in a moment.

This is an elegant, airtight solution. It introduced a whole new round (hell yeah, ticket sales) and four more teams into the playoffs while preserving baseball’s superlatively exclusive postseason. And that’s where it should have ended. What baseball failed to realize is something the NCAA has similarly grappled with while selecting the field for its basketball tournament: the cutoff point is always going to be hotly contested, regardless of whether four teams or five from each league ultimately advance to the postseason. But that’s what makes getting to the postseason so special. It’s hard. It’s supposed to be hard. There is a cut off and if you don’t make it this year, you have to wait a whole other year to try to get back. I’m not saying having two wild card teams is like giving everyone a participation trophy, but I’m also not not saying that.

That second wild card team was added in 2012 to solve amorphous, situational ills. It was believed that an extra pair of playoff berths would encourage competitive balance; more teams with their eye on October would result in better regular seasons. This is a reasonable assumption but six years into the experiment and more teams than ever are tanking. The Cubs and Astros are largely to blame for this, existing as ringing endorsements of leaning into the rebuild, but if not for parity’s sake then what?

There’s a line of thinking that if wild cards are treated the same as division winners, it dilutes the value of winning the division, but that just doesn’t make any sense. First, a wild card team would still always have to play the best division winner, and second why risk getting into a slugfest with as many as 12 other teams for one spot, when you can battle it out with four others (realistically more like two) in your own division? As a result of this needless fix we now find baseball in a situation where it simultaneously rewards and punishes objectively playoff-caliber teams for having the misfortune of playing in a strong division.

The single most compelling part of the wild card showdown is that it’s one game long—despite everything so deeply entrenched in baseball’s slow-and-steady legacy—but that’s only because that’s all they have time for. There’s a Division Series to get to. It’s a side effect of the constraints, rather than an endgame in and of itself.

Of course, the excitement of a win-or-go-home game is undeniable. That’s what’s so special about Game 7s or Game 163 tie-breakers. Trying to recreate that atmosphere absent the context feels a little like the proposals to start extra innings with a guy on second base. Sure, that’s an exciting scenario, but that doesn’t mean we should necessarily skip the build up. If you want the playoffs to feature all win-or-go-home games then we can just… do that (We can’t, there would be riots, not to mention a massive loss in revenue.) But the one-game, winner-take-all format is merely incidental to adding a second wild card team—it’s a problem born of an unnecessary situation.

MLB is selling a product and of course they want every postseason to be the best one ever but fans should be frustrated by that even if they are benefiting from the experience of these weird-by-design single game series. Last night, people kept talking (OK, tweeting) about various firsts or mosts that the 13 innings between the Cubs and the Rockies represented but it seems odd to marvel at a stat that is largely just reflective of a shift in the overall system and that will be necessarily diluted by the very perpetuation of that system.

All sports drama is contrived but with the one game wild card playoff the machinations of catering to an impatient, short-attention span audience feel especially heavy-handed. It’s arbitrary, not in result, but in design.

Actually, the Wild Card Format is Bad published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/