#and it's been a slow progress of unpacking while also studying

[theheroheart]

As an adult who celebrates (heavily secularised) Christmas, including now actually inviting people over for dinner and stuff, I now understand the reason behind going overboard making the house look nice.

It's not about appearances or upholding tradition or anything like that. We're only inviting people who don't really care, and I only care about traditions that make me happy.

HOWEVER

A) It's fun to decorate and do something a lil fancy once in a while!

B) It's a good fucking excuse to actually make yourself clean the house properly, after putting it off all year.

#real life maybe #i moved back in with my housemates in September #and it's been a slow progress of unpacking while also studying #the living room was so full of boxes stuff for a while #esp since we were also doing a BUNCH of house cleaning and getting rid of a load of things #and then we were getting new closets for storage space #and in general it's been like non-stop low-level chaos since summer #now we've FINALLY got almost everything worked out #and like yes. everything not perfect? it's fine. no one cares. #but it feels so good to get stuff done!! #also pls note that one of us has ADHD and apparently just fucking permanent iron deficiency fatigue (me) #another also has ADHD and is super busy. and the last one is autistic and is disabled with chronic pain #so it's frankly amazing when we do make the house look great

[benlaksana]

2021

It's been roughly a year and a half since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic here in Indonesia, and I've recently been trying to understand where I'm at. Not physically, as in physical space, but mentally and probably existentially. What is the state of my mind? I am aware that I've become somewhat bitter, my late nights are sometimes riddled with anxiety for what the next day may bring and reoccurring personal-collective grief has at times, and recently more often than I would like to admit, numbed me.

This may probably be my mind's automatic coping mechanism seeing all this death mainly as a result of how my government has failed us, its citizens, especially during a time of crises. And I really need to stress this point: how my government has failed us Indonesians during the times we need it the most and I very much believe that it is because of this why many of us Indonesians are in constant misery and haunted by that feeling of despair. If chronic physical pain causes constant daily anguish, I am not surprised if chronic physical and mental pain caused by structural violence causes persistent misery as well.

I'm somewhat fortunate in this regard, I'm grateful that I've learned ways to keep my sanity in check. My contemplative practice is key for me. Honestly, I wouldn't have gotten far in life without it. I have many people to thank, but Art Buehler especially, my former professor in esoteric contemplative/meditative practices who reminded me and pointed a certain possible direction of where I should head when I sense a lost in my life's direction, is one those I should thank the most. I know this seems like an individualized response to structural oppression, and I don't intend to paint such a picture, but I do believe we need some kind of mental stability to keep on going. To survive if not thrive.

Art sadly passed away in 2019. I received an email about his passing. And come to think of it I never really did allow myself to properly grieve for his passing. I don't know why. To be told through a short concise email that someone you cared for died, without having the opportunity to properly say goodbye feels like that person never really passed away. It is horrible way to end relationships. A sudden cut, nothing finalized, and since goodbyes are relational, now nothing can really ever be concluded. I have to make amends with myself and only with myself. If I said goodbye yesterday, or if I say goodbye today or perhaps tomorrow, will it ever be enough for me?

Life is individual yet also relational. It's good to have friends, family, people that care for you or the odd mix of all three to get you through life. So although I have these array of tools to possibly help get me through life but if the people whom you look for some kind direction is no longer present, I'm just not sure for how long I can maintain it if I'm doing all this by myself. Will a breaking point come to me?

The mind is a fickle thing, and the mind is as strong as its habits. Bad habits, bad mind. Good habits, good healthy mind (no habits, no mind?). They also say that things that might happen, will indeed happen. It is just a matter of time. If so, how will I break? To what extent? For how long? What will change? What will I lose? Will there be something renewed? Will I come out the same person? Will I come out changed but for the worst?

This is one of the things that worries me. That certainty of uncertainty. The certainty of breaking, the uncertainty of when and of its form. Will I explode in sudden exasperation, engulfed in madness? Will it be a quick balloon pop yet a slow descend into meaninglessness? An unabashed diatribe rant towards someone I care? Something that's just a twitter post away from me on actually doing it. Will this be an opening, an opportunity for 'satori', a sudden lift of the 'veil', bringing about comprehension and understanding of the true nature of things? Questions, questions, questions, not much when it comes to answers, is all I have for now. To be hopeful is hard these days and with the wavering hope, very much coming and going like waves, it has become incredibly hard to even retain any semblance of kindness. That is something I do not want to actively become a habit of. Without hope, comes the cold embrace of fatalism that many on the 'left' are guilty of. Clutched by fatalism, empathy becomes harder to come by. I've seen it, and I have felt it.

I know that my eroding sense of hope is connected to my personal dreams. Specifically how it has become very hard to actualize it. Rara and I never really planned on staying in Indonesia for long. I was confident enough, a bit too confident come to think of it, that we will be out of Indonesia by 2021 the latest. A mere 2 1/2 years after our last stay in New Zealand. The plan was for me to continue my studies, getting into a Ph.D. program and of course a scholarship. That was our ticket out. Hoping that we'll be back to our old routine in Wellington, in and out the university's library, my head in books, loving our 'flatwhites' while regretting having too much of it, the usual stint doing some university tutoring, community organizing stuff, lazy gardening, out and about on the weekends tramping around Wellington and if Covid did not happen or/and maybe if my government handled things much, much better I think that would've been the case. Or at least I constantly would like to imagine that would be the case.

Yet here we are still in Indonesia, me struggling to do my Ph.D. through this wretched distant learning, initially in the comfort of my home yet steadily devolving into cabin fever. And Rara with her own struggles trying her best to get back on her feet as an aspiring musician. None of it is going as well as we had hoped for. All this while juggling trying our best to keep ourselves safe and our families and friends safe. Both of us have become direct witnesses how challenging this has been, physically and mentally. Both of us slowly grappling with the continual kick in the gut, the never ending structural absurdity, violently absurd.

That slow grueling realization of how fragile our lives are. Not just existentially. It is existentially precarious yet at the same time understanding that precariousness in many of its aspects is structurally and politically maintained. It is this political construction of precarity, which Isabell Lorey elaborates in her book State of Insecurity: Government of the Precarious, that angers and saddens us the most.

Lorey provides a nuanced approach in unpacking and differentiating this thing called being 'precarious'. The three dimensions of being precarious: precariousness, precarity and then precarization. On precariousness, Lorey draw's on Judith Butler's conceptualization of precariousness which she sees as existential, relational and inevitable. I'll insert my existential philosophy and Buddhist values here, to help me see and more importantly accept the transient nature of life and that impermanence or change is the only constant. Our lives, our bodies are destined to die and wither away. We humans are fragile mortal beings. The loss of life, the loss of one's identity, the loss of everything that makes us, us is unavoidable. It's also a 'relational' thing, as in it is also a shared experience. Everyone will experience it. It is the great equalizer some say.

Then we have precarity. Yes everyone dies, but the process of dying or even the process of grieving someone's death is dependent on what Lorey see as the “effects of different political, social and legal compensations of a general precariousness”. Some die at young age due to starvation, riddled with poverty and disease and have nothing or no one to ease their pain, others die surrounded by family and friends in a well-cared for hospital. Some have days or weeks to grieve, others have to go back to work the next day as she or he have no luxury to stop working even just for a moment and simply grieve. To stop working even for a day draws some closer to the possibility of death for the person or those dependent on the person working. This is the inequality of dying and grieving due to our social hierarchies. How fragile we are, is dependent on those social hierarchies.

And last we have Lorey's third dimension, governmental precarization which is the instrumentalization of insecurity by the government. In other words, the government using the idea and the reality of insecurity as a tool or device to control its citizens. The calculated, deliberate attempt by the government in destabilizing our lives in order for us to be easily governed. Insecurity, be it real or due to perceived constructed fear of insecurity is an effective governing tool. The fear of being labeled "useless and lacking in contribution to the nation-state". The genuine insecurity of not being able to get a job due to the false understanding that it is simply a result of an individual's laziness rather than due to systematic government policies. The deliberate attempt in making our lives constantly insecure, constantly on the edge, without us initially knowing it and when we do come to understand, the blame is on us. It is normalized and it is internalized.

This is not simply a social issue, it is a deeply existential one as well. We Indonesians have very little to make us feel safe at the moment. Covid and the government's response to it has severely limited our movements and it's not simply physical immobility, but also an existential one, the inability to even have the imagination that our lives are actually "going somewhere", towards a forward direction. Perhaps some sort of minute incremental progress, but progress nonetheless. This imagined mobility is what Ghassan Hage calls as "existential mobility" and this immobility suffered by many of us is what he also calls as "stuckedness".

Turning an often momentary or the ephemeral nature of a crisis into something prolonged and perhaps even permanent is another part of the strategy of governmental precarization. Our lives or jobs are always on the line and again coupled with the sick prevailing idea that we only have ourselves to find the solution. The crisis is permanent, we don't know why but we've been told that way, if we fail to overcome it is because of our personal inabilities thus proliferating and intensifying this sense of stuckedness.

Forcing us to accept whatever solution the government-messiah presents us with in order to relieve us from this suffering. From labour laws that normalizes precariousness even more, to oppressive new laws that limits our desire and ability to dissent, to including who or how our enemies are defined, easily accepting who is to blame for all this insecurity we are all suffering.

Be it the long dead Indonesian communists, the Chinese Indonesians and the racist perception of them being "selfish and greedy", the Indonesian Islamists - the kadruns and their conservatism, the "foreign forces" whomever they may be constantly trying to take over Indonesia, anyone or anything is to blame. Anyone but the Indonesian government and its affluent patrons. Insecurity and the fear that rises from it renders many of us easily governable and compliant.

This governmental precarization and this 'stuckedness', which Hage sees no longer as a possibility that may or may not happen but an "inevitable pathological state which has to be endured" is how Rara and I feel at the moment.

Rara and I feel our lives are going nowhere. We feel that our lives are stuck, constantly rotating in a hamster wheel trying our best to overcome our precariousness. No progress, no forward movement, no growth, just trying our best to survive from this sustained uncertainty. It's an awful feeling, paving way to existential dread. We are very much looking forward to moving back to New Zealand as soon as possible but with the conditions right now, that is something I can't even dare to imagine.

And although I am grateful that the weave of our privilege with at many times just pure sheer luck has kept us alive and physically well for the time being, we both now realize that we have hit a proverbial concrete wall here. Adding to the already precarious nature of life here in Indonesia, our line of work as a fledgling social science academic and aspiring artist and what Rara and I aspire to do socially, what we aspire to become, easily ends in stagnation if we intend to continue to live our lives in Indonesia. (I want to direct you to Social Science and Power edited by Vedi Hadiz and Daniel Dhakkidae to get the gist of what I'm trying to get at here.)

This is a hard pill to swallow, harder to write and even more so to act upon. I am existentially tied to Indonesia, my family and friends are here, my father is buried here and so will my mother. Memories of the distant past, the colloquial language when shitposting on social media, my mind and body have been shaped by Indonesia in ways I possibly do not even fully realize. This is why I oscillate between guilt towards others and guilt towards the self. I feel guilty for simply having an exit strategy when many others don't, I have the luxury of choice. Yet I also I feel guilty for feeling guilty about this, as it means I am also neglecting the well-being of myself, now and in the future. I need to work on this and find my bearings, being stuck in a guilty limbo won't get me anywhere.

And the future is far from stable, I wonder what is on the other end of surviving this pandemic? There is so much collective grief, collective anger and of course personal anger. All this will amount to something, I'm sure of that. Although I don't know what exactly, I'm not entirely confident this something will be good. John Keane's new book 'The New Despotism' comes into mind.

What do I personally do with all this anger? I’ve noticed how anger, especially when it is on the verge of hatred, morphs itself and easily descends into madness, into aggression and often showing itself, unawaringly to us, when the act of expressing anger happens. Your mind becomes instantly clouded, ending in mindless action. This inability to have control over oneself terrifies me. I already have so very little semblance of control over life in general at the moment, if I truly have no control over myself whatsoever, what then do I have?

And I wonder if it is a waste of time asking these pseudo-intellectual questions? I don't know, yet I do know I live in a society where it hones aggression and hostility, whether it be in physical and digital spaces, and I would like to draw myself away from all this at the moment before I transform myself into something I do not wish to be. Anger I can fully understand, and it is needed and useful. Yet to actively transform it into deep blinding hatred and sustain it daily, is something I feel psychologically destructive for me and I'm trying my best not to go on that path.

I rarely update this blog I know, but this blog has always been used as a personal chronicle of how much I have progressed, digressed or both. And I needed to write all this, because I've never been this least sure of what my life should be like and where it should go. I know I am not alone at this. This pandemic has destroyed the lives of many, our futures, our dreams, our sources of love and I hope that anyone of you reading this finds a way to get through it, doing anything you can do day in, day out.

I'm not sure it if amounts to anything. Maybe it won't, maybe it will, or maybe it has but maybe we just can't see it. All I can personally do for now, is to hold on to these 'maybes', and maybe, just maybe I'll get through this too.

“Where must we go...

We who wonder this Wasteland

in search of our better selves?”

- The First History Man, George Miller

[eleanorbloom]

When You're Ready Ch. 25

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 6.3k

Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, innuendos and Spanish dirty talk (with proper translations 😂) oh and lots of fluff   Rated: T

Taglist: @utterlyinevitable @binny1985 @shanzay44 @choicesficwriterscreations @starrystarrytrouble @lahellacute @lucy-268 @cinnamonspongecake @romewritingshop @freckles-spangledvampire @mercury84choices @curiousconch @thegreentwin @openheartfanfics

----

Chapter 25. 24 Hours

It's a little soon

But I wanna come home to you

It had been forty days since she last put a foot in Edenbrook. Forty-six since the incident.

Memories of that day floored her mind as she was standing in front of Edenbrook Hospital looking for the strength, the bravery to come in.

The trauma about that place wasn't as big as it was in the first days when she couldn't even conceive being alone in a hospital room, worried that something could happen and she would be trapped there alone again; but was still there, leading her to catastrophic thoughts from time to time.

What if something happens again?

Eleanor couldn’t stop that question from popping up in her mind over and over again, but she’d reassure herself, over and over again, that anythingcould happen anywhere. It could've perfectly happened at the airport, on her way to Ohio, on her way back to Massachusetts. On her way to the hospital, even.

Anywhere.

So after a long, deep breath and ignoring her mind trying to trick her for the umpteenth time, she headed toward the entrance.

The hospital inside was with its usual hustle. People in and out at every moment; nurses, doctors, and other professionals deep in their work, some of them recognizing her and stopping to greet her, some others just giving her curious glances when she'd walk by their side.

Despite feeling overwhelmed by the amount of prying eyes and people inquiring about her state, she felt content with being back at Edenbrook. She’d been missing the familiarity of that place.

Banerji was as welcoming as she thought and happy to see her back at the hospital, though he didn't hesitate to tell her she could take more time if she needed. Eleanor thanked him for being so understanding during her time away but assured him that she was ready and therapy would help her in case things take a turn for the worse.

After chatting with Banerji about the hospital and life in general, Eleanor sauntered towards the Diagnostic Office, hoping she’d find Ethan to inform him personally about coming back to work the next day.

When she reached the glass walls, she found Ethan alone, deep in concentration reading something from his computer.

Her heart felt weird at the sight of him. The man she used to be in love with. It seemed almost impossible to think her heart belonged to him two months ago.

“Hello,” she said softly, standing at the entry.

His blue eyes widened by the sudden appearance, but quickly softened into a warm look when he recognized her, “Eleanor, what a surprise,” he said, standing and walking towards her, “How are you?”

“I’m doing better,” she shrugged, and both stared silently, awkwardly, unsure what to do next. But after everything had happened, there was no need to pretend anything, nor accentuate fondness when there wasn’t such or conceal coldness to not expose her feelings.

She wanted to believe they were already past that point, even if they only had two, almost three (normal) days to deal with the aftermaths of the end of them, and forty days apart seemed a good amount of time to do some healing.

So, she simply went for it and gave him a friendly greeting hug. They hadn’t seen each other in a while, so she greeted him just as she greeted her friends, just as Naveen greeted her that morning. Ethan was also her friend, despite everything, and maybe this was a way to show him she’d buried the hatchet after everything had happened between them.

Briefly stunned by the gesture, Ethan returned the embrace patting her gently in the back, "Are you visiting?" He asked while both were taking a seat at the circular table.

“Not really, I came to inform Naveen, and now to you, that I’ll come back to work tomorrow.”

“That’s good to hear. The Team hasn’t been the same without you.”

There was a tint of sadness in his voice and eyes when he said those words. There was more to it than the explicit meaning. It wasn’t just the Team, it was him he hadn't been the same without her, but that information didn’t mean anything to her. Maybe in another time, or another life, that would make her change her mind, would make her quiver and see hope in the hidden messages.

But not now.

At this point in her life, she was completely over him, and head over heels for Bryce Lahela and nothing could change that.

“And I’ve been missing using my brain for more than follow plots in my series,” she teased, trying to conceal the fact that she still could read him like a book, “I suppose I have a lot of journals to catch up with, too.”

Ethan chuckled, seeming a lot lighter than a few seconds ago, “Oh, yes you certainly have to.”

After catching up for an hour with Ethan about the team’s work, Eleanor headed to the cafeteria to have lunch with Bryce and some of her friends.

*

Late in the afternoon, after cleaning up last night's party and unpacking her suitcase, Eleanor took the T to Bryce's apartment.

There was still one person she needed to talk to.

When Eleanor stood outside the apartment door, loud music was heard inside, and a really passionate voice reciting a rap song with perfect speed and lyrics. Chuckling, she waited until the song was over to knock the door.

“Are you practicing for America’s Got Talent? 'Cause girl, you’re killin' it” she asked when Keiki opened the door, wearing Bryce’s red Stanford hoodie and a messy bun tied over her head.

“Ella!” she sighed before engulfing Eleanor in her arms, “Ohmygod, hi! What a surprise!”

"Hey, Keiks…" Eleanor replied, fighting back the tears. She didn't expect such a warm welcome from her at all, much less another spontaneous hug from her, but she returned it enthusiastically, "Oh, I missed you, kiddo, how are you?"

“I’m doing fine,” she assured, inviting her to come in, “I’m finishing my homework before studying for my history test tomorrow.”

“Woah. Bryce told me you had a test today too.”

As both approached the living room, Keiki grabbed a mix of notebooks, papers with concepts and diagrams, and some flashcards scattered all over the couch and piled them in the coffee table to let Eleanor take a seat beside her, “Yeah, Chemistry. Next week I’ll have my last two exams and I’ll be up to date with my curriculum.”

“Keiki, that’s amazing!” Eleanor congratulated, sitting on the couch, “And really impressive. Doing two months of exams in three weeks it’s a lot, I hope you get to learn well, though.”

“Oh, yeah. I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it, but I’ve got mostly As, so it was totally worth it the hard work.”

“It clearly paid off, you must be so proud! And Bryce too!”

"Yeah, he is, though it annoys me sometimes that he's so… nosy, like, he sits beside me to know what I'm studying, and he starts questioning me, and argh, you know how he is."

“Aww, but he’s trying to help you!”

“I know, it’s just…” she sighed, looking a bit conflicted, “My mom never sat beside me to study with me. Never. Only to ask me if I was doing good at school, etc, but she never actually cared about my… learning process, so I guess the whole thing it’s kind of new for me. I know I said I wanted him to show he cares about me, but sometimes it’s like.... too much…”

Eleanor nodded, encouraging her to keep talking. She knew how contradictory her confession was, even Keiki seemed to see it that way, but it was understandable. It wasn't easy to adjust to a new life where she had attention and genuine care, and that amount of worry, considering how independent Keiki was for being a fifteen-year-old, was certainly too much for her.

But she was happy for what that implied. Keiki was openly recognizing Bryce cared about her and was trying to give her as much time as he could, and that was progress compared to what she had felt a month ago.

She also felt happy Keiki still trusted her to share those things with her.

When Bryce arrived home, he was beside himself with happiness for having the two most important people in his life together again, joking with each other as Eleanor was finishing making dinner, and Keiki was setting the table.

He knew Keiki was over with whatever conflict she had with Eleanor, but seeing it materializing was different.

However, Bryce and Eleanor took things slow. She just stayed for dinner and before Keiki went to bed, she returned home to prep for her first day back at work. And the following weeks she didn’t spend more than two nights a week with Bryce to not alter the dynamics Bryce and Keiki were establishing since she started school.

Apart from the whole ‘over-worried Bryce about her studies’ thing, and the typical fights every adult has with a teenager, things ran smoothly between the Lahela siblings.

Both were doing their best to make it work.

Keiki had found a good group of friends at school with whom she used to spend her free time, and who had her back when some classmates tried to bully her when they found out about her family name. The first time it happened, she didn’t let them get under her skin and called them out and stood up for herself instantly, because there was nothing, and no one, who could ruin her peace now that she finally had a place to call home and people to call friends. She was done with the bullying.

One day, though, that attitude turned into suspension because she punched a boy who crossed the line with her, but Bryce, instead of scolding her, congratulated her by inviting her dining out for being so badass.

No one dared to talk about her after that day.

*

The first day back at work wasn’t easy for Eleanor. Nor the following days. From time to time certain things would trigger her trauma, making her remember painful details about that day, and consequently, cause panic attacks that would force her to lock herself in supply closets until the irrational fear was over. Luckily for her, some of those times happened when Bryce wasn’t in the OR, so he would sit on the floor with her to try to ease her mind or at least distract her until she was feeling good enough to come back to work.

Sometimes it happened out of nowhere, but most of the time it happened when she was walking outside the DT's patient room, or when she saw Danny attending his therapy sessions.

It overwhelmed her to see how weak he still was compared to her and even compared to Rafael, but Danny reassured her that he was doing fine, that he knew recovery would take him some time, but he was thankful for being alive and having another chance.

Sienna was happy with this second chance too.

Therapy helped her a lot, though. It helped her to unload the baggage she'd been carrying for so many years, and to not let her most recent trauma do more harm than it already had done. She was fighting hard to have her life back but to also be able to let all those fears in the past and give Bryce everything he deserved in their relationship.

She wanted to give him everything she once promised.

Between work, therapy, and trying to find ways to save Edenbrook, weeks happened in a blur, and before knowing it, the first days of snow arrived, and with that, the gift of a night of celebration with her friends, the Hopeful Hearts Gala.

“Why the smug smile on your face?” Eleanor asked, her arms locked around Bryce's neck as their bodies swayed to the beat of the music.

“Are you kidding? I’m the luckiest person here, dancing with the most beautiful woman in the whole world,” he said, grasping the fabric of her astonishingly beautiful red gown before lifting a hand to swirl her in one swift motion.

“Aw, mi amor. I have to disagree with you,” she said, placing both hands over his chest, feeling his warmth through the silky fabric of his blue floral button-up shirt, “I am the luckiest for calling the most handsome and loving man in the world my boyfriend, beat that.”

Bryce grinned before biting his lower lip “Okay, that’s really hard to beat, lots of people would kill to have your position.”

“Oh, I know, but you’re worth the fight, though I’d prefer not to fight at all, you know?”

“You don’t have to. I’m yours forever,” he whispered, and not missing a beat, Bryce leaned to brush his lips in her ear and added in a sultry voice, “and I’m counting the seconds until I take this dress off you and I make you mine.”

Eleanor lolled her head to the opposite side reflexively, feeling as a shiver was electrifying her entire body.

More than intoxicated with his innuendo, she turned to him and gave him a suggestive smile, “A couple more rounds with donors, and I’ll be all yours. Well, I am already yours, but I’ll allow you to use your prerogatives on me.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you could do fancy dirty talk too.”

“It comes with the dress,” she purred before drawing her face an inch away from his lips, her eyes still fixated on his, “Once you get rid of it... te hablaré sucio como tanto te gusta.” (I’ll talk dirty to you just as you like it.)

“Oh, please stop it,” he growled, pressing her body against his, his now dark eyes gazing hungrily at her cherry lips.

“Cállame,” she challenged, arching a brow and parting her lips invitingly. (Shut me up)

“Gladly.”

Bryce didn’t hesitate a second and captured her lips on his, kissing her with eagerness for a brief two seconds. The place didn’t allow for more, but it was enough to leave her cheeks flushed and her eyes ignited with desire.

“Stop it or I’ll drag you outta here and we won’t get to talk with more donors for the entire night. I mean it.”

“Alright, seré una chica buena,” she said with her best angel face before taking his hand and leading him to a group of philanthropists standing by the drinks table. (I’ll be a good girl).

Suddenly, she felt his hand pinching her waist with deliberate force, “You’re gonna pay for this, Andrea,” he mumbled discreetly in her ear as both were walking between attendees and colleagues with perfect smiles on their faces.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said sweetly, before extending her hand to a posh couple debiting with a glass of champagne in their hands, “That’s precisely the point.”

*

When Eleanor opened her eyes the next morning, Bryce was already looking at her, his bare arms loosely tangled over her body.

“Good morning,” she said sleepily, tilting her head to kiss him.

“Morning gorgeous, how did you sleep?”

“Amazing, but…” A yawn interrupted her words, making her stretch between his arms, “I wouldn’t mind staying with you for another three hours.”

“Mmmmh, me neither,” he said softly, smiling pensively before embracing her.

After a minute of silence, Eleanor narrowed her eyes, stranged by how oddly quiet he was that morning. Bryce normally was noisy and chatty rather than pensive, much more considering the amazing and well-spent night they just had.

“Is something the matter? You’re kinda quiet this morning.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Love…” she stared at him, serious, waiting for his answer.

Bryce looked at her silently for a second, stroking her hair before answering, “I was thinking… Ok, I know this might be too much but I…”

Yeah, something was definitely happening because Bryce didn’t use to babble.

“I watched you sleeping for a while, you know? And I couldn't help but think how beautiful it would be to wake up like this every morning.”

She felt her chest swelling with a very well-known warmth at his words and the yearning smile he gave her.

“Oh, I see” she sighed, grinning nervously at him.

“And go to sleep every night with you by my side…” he continued, his hand now resting over her face, his thumb caressing her cheek, “And go to work together and… just live with you, babe.”

And her stomach fluttered with the images that started forming in her mind with every idea he was disclosing, and her whole body felt like melting, melting with that familiar warmth Bryce used to cause on her. With wonder.

As she wasn’t able to say a word, Bryce's smile faltered instantly, “Oh, babe, I’m sorry, it was just an idea, I didn't mean t-”

She shook her head, “It’s not that, I’d love to live with you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, that would be… god, perfect.”

“Then why don't we do it? I spoke to my landlord the other day because I wanna move to a bigger apartment with Keiki, and he let me terminate my lease early if I move between Christmas and New Year… ”

“Bryce… ”

She didn't know what to say. She loved the idea but a part of her was terrified about it. It terrified her she could screw it up again with Keiki. Or with Bryce.

But she knew she had to be braver than that. She’d been working on that in therapy and this was her first test.

“This could be our chance...” he persuaded, careful not to sound too insistent.

“Love, it’s not that simple.”

“Babe, if you don't want to do this just tell me, I won’t get mad because you don't feel ready.” His tone was earnest and there was no doubt he meant it.

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to, I do, but there are a lot of things we should consider before making that decision. The most important of all, Keiki. Have you even asked her what she thinks about this?”

He shook his head.

“Then you should start there. It took you a long way to get along with her, and making a decision like this without asking her could really damage her trust in you.”

"Mmm, you're right. Not because everything is okay now, it means she'll be okay with you moving in."

“Exactly. But even if she agrees, don’t you think it’s kind of… weird that we move together considering Edenbrook is closing and probably we’ll have to finish our residencies somewhere else, probably in different cities?”

Bryce furrowed his lips, thinking, “Not really? I plan to stay in the area, mostly for Keiki. I wouldn't like to force her to start over again in a new place and school. Salomon Kenmore and Mass Gen have great surgical programs so I’ll send my applications there as my first options. And… well, you told me the other day you were planning to apply to Mass Gen and BWH because those were your second and third options if you hadn't got admitted to Edenbrook. ”

“It's true. But what if I'm not accepted? If I end up, I don't know, in New York, or Cleveland?”

"Who cares? I mean, of course, it would be sad if we had to go to different cities, but is it really a reason to not take the chance now? We'd still have full five or six months ahead of us. Whether we end up here or not, we could enjoy this time while we can, and if in the end we both stay in Boston, much better."

Bryce was right. It didn't make sense worrying about something that wouldn't happen in several months when they had the chance now to live together for at least five months. All this, in the hypothetical case Keiki would agree to Eleanor moving with them.

“You’re right. It’s better five, six months than nothing.”

“Exactly, it’s making the most of our time together.”

Eleanor bit her lip, her eyes sparkling with excitement as new ideas started popping in her mind, unleashing all kind feelings and plans, "Awww, that would be so amazing! Having breakfast together before going to work, making groceries list, planning menus for the week…"

“And fighting who does the dishes or cleans the bathroom,” Bryce added, with the same excited tone Eleanor was using.

“Oh, and I’d yell at you every morning because you’re taking too much time in the shower.”

“And I would yell at you that you could join me instead of complaining.”

“But you can’t do that! Your sister’s here!”

“But it’s just a shower!”

“We both know it’s not just a shower, Bryce Lahela.”

“Damn, that’s true, but if we move to a bigger apartment with an ensuite bathroom,” Bryce gave her a mischievous smile, pressing her tightly against his warm body, “She wouldn’t even notice.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes, suppressing the smirk forming on her lips at his insinuation, “You’re impossible.”

Ignoring her feigned glare, he continued, “And we’d have dinner the three of us every night, and we’d brush our teeth together before going to sleep, and then you’d snuggle up to me every time you have cold feet…”

“My love...”

The sole idea was enough for her to say yes, but she knew, she knew she had to think about it seriously, even if Keiki agreed. Moving together carried a lot of responsibilities, with their relationship and also with Keiki, so she couldn't make the decision lightly.

“I’ll talk to Keiki about this,” he assured as he saw the mix of hope and concern in her eyes.

“And I’ll think about it and… probably start my applications to secure a spot here in Boston.”

“Deal.”

They sealed the agreement with a soft, lingering kiss before getting up to start the day.

The proposal kept ringing in her head for several days. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to move in with him, but she knew there were a lot of obstacles to make that come true.

Keiki was one, but also the uncertain future about where she’d be next year. But even without the idea of moving in with Bryce, it was about time she did something about her residency.

She started looking for places besides her two first options. New York and Baltimore had good programs too so those could go in third and fourth place considering closeness with Boston. Cleveland was another, but mostly because it was in Ohio.

Once she had a secure list of hospitals, she decided to discuss her options with Ethan and see if he could write a recommendation letter to incorporate in her application.

However, part of her was worried he would question her choices, probably the fact that her first two options were unmovable partly because she wanted to stay close to Bryce and Keiki.

With the whole hospital working for the free clinic, it was hard to find free time, so as soon as she saw Ethan was taking a break to have lunch, she followed him to his office and explained the situation.

“Your list of preferences is fine in my opinion,” Ethan said after both discussed the programs she had chosen, “but I don't understand why you're so adamant with Mass Gen and Brigham in the first places. They are great, but John Hopkins has a better Diagnostics Department.”

“I know, but I'm trying to prioritize options that let me stay in the city. Good options. Mass Gen is second nationwide.”

Ethan nodded, his gaze pensive. He was fighting hard the urge to ask further, but he did it anyway, “Are you doing this for Lahela? Because I assume he’s planning to stay in the area for his sister.”

Eleanor was expecting the question, but that didn't make her feel any less startled. She knew that 80% of her decision was professional, that she chose those places because they were her options two years ago, and still were one of the best options in the rankings, but for a moment, his words made her feel like she was actually making it just for Bryce.

Was that inherently wrong? Probably so, but she knew herself enough to tell she'd never make a professional decision onlythinking about someone else.

“I’m not, but what if I was?” she asked, trying to placate her defiant tone.

“I just want to make sure you're making the choice that's best for you.”

Eleanor begged internally he wasn’t going to come with his paternalistic attitude as always.

“And this is, Ethan. As I said, I came up with my first two options because those were the places I would've gone if I hadn't been accepted here. But yes, I also have personal reasons for wanting to stay here. Bryce and I are considering moving in together, so it would be ideal if we stayed in the same city.”

Ethan looked baffled for a brief second. At the next, he was the same stoic Ethan she knew.

“If you're sure that's the best for you, I support your decision.”

But she could tell it was hard for him to say those words.

“You really mean that?”

He sighed.

"Look, if I have to be honest, I don't agree with you at all. Personally, I would never let anyone or anything interfere in my career, so my choices would be different from what you made…"

“But that's you…”

“Exactly, that's me, so it doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what you want, and if you're telling me this is important to you, that these are the best options to you, I have to respect that.”

Eleanor was agape. That was something Eleanor would've never seen it coming in a million years.

Ethan chuckled, amused by her reaction, “I know I spent a lot of time questioning your decisions, both professional and personal, but that time is over. As a colleague and friend, I can tell you're doing what's best for you, so I cannot do anything but support you.”

Yeah, it seemed the time apart, and all the time they had been spending since her returning had done something to mend their relationship. Three months ago Ethan wouldn’t have hesitated for a second to question and criticize her decisions and would’ve mocked her for taking Bryce into consideration, but instead, and for the first time, she was surprised in a goodway by Ethan.

"Thank you, Ethan, it makes me really happy knowing you're on my side."

“You’re welcome, Eleanor.”

Eleanor left his office, happy and more sure than ever about her decision.

When she was expecting the worst, ready to set boundaries and fight for her decision- even if she knew she didn't owe him any explanations about her decisions-, Ethan was surprising her with empathy and support.

They'd come a long way and finally, they were finding the balance.

*

A couple days later, the morning of her birthday, Eleanor was clocking out after a long shift. The idea of going home and having a nap before getting ready for her lunch date with Bryce was the only thing on her mind.

However, as soon as she got out of the hospital, the figure of a familiar teenager approaching made her stop in her tracks.

Keiki.

Eleanor almost didn't recognize her as her face was hidden under a light-blue parka and a white scarf tied around her neck. It was freezing outside.

“Keiks? Hey! What are you doing here? Bryce isn’t working today.”

“I know, I came to see you actually. Happy birthday!”

"Oh my god, Keikiii! You're too sweet! Thank you!" she squealed as Keiki was crushing her with a warm hug. "Aw, you might not want to hear this but you're almost as much of a good hugger as your brother."

Keiki blushed, “As long as you don't tell him, it's okay.”

“It'll be our little secret.”

“Great, now come with me, I have a surprise for you,” she said in a confidential tone before taking her hand and leading her to the parking lot.

“A surprise?”

“Yes, but it’ll take us a while to get there, so you have to be patient.”

After a short walk, they found Bryce waiting for them in the car. As soon as Eleanor sat shotgun, Bryce wrapped her in his arms instantly, peppering her with kisses over her lips and cheeks and down her jaw, “There's my birthday girl! Happy birthday again, beautiful.”

“Mmmh, you’re in the sweetest Goldie mode today, uh? I love it.”

“Hope this day is as good as you dreamed.”

“Well, with Keiki's surprise visit and the surprise that's coming, I'm sure it will be!”

Bryce stared at her silently for a moment, his gaze charged with hope and something hidden she couldn't quite decipher, but it made her more excited about the surprise.

Suddenly, the door of the back seat opened, “Are you two done? I’m freezing out here.”

“No, but you can cover your eyes if you can’t stand watching some innocent kisses,” Bryce teased, kissing Eleanor once again.

“I’ve seen more than enough between you two too many times.”

“It’s not like you’d get a disease if you watch us, you know?”

“Bryce!” Eleanor giggled, “Leave her alone! We are done, Keiks. Get in here! I cannot wait to see my surprise.”

After a ten minutes ride by the snowy streets of Boston, Keiki tied her white scarf around Eleanor’s head, covering her eyes as Bryce started slowing down the speed, “Okay, we’re closer to your surprise.”

“Oh man, I’m getting nervous now.”

“Don’t be, it’s safe and I’m sure you’ll like it,” Keiki assured softly, a tone she rarely used, as she helped her get out of the car.

As they began walking, Eleanor hooked her arm around Keiki's so she could lead her to their destination. Keiki didn't let her go any second, guiding her through the entry of a -she guessed- building, helping her to get into and out of the elevator, and then leading her through a hallway until a door closed behind them. Seconds later, Keiki untied the scarf.

“Surprise!”

After trying to adjust her eyes to the bright light, Eleanor found herself and Keiki alone in an empty room. It was an empty apartment, actually. White immaculate walls, big windows, a new, shiny kitchen, and a spacious living room.

“Keiki, wha...?”

The teenager bit her lower lip as she started to shorten the distance between Eleanor and her, “Bryce talked to me the other day about the idea of you moving in with us. I must confess at first I didn’t like the idea, thinking I’d feel the same I felt… well, you know when.”

Eleanor nodded silently.

“But then I thought… There’s nothing wrong with you, or with me, or with Bryce. We only had problems communicating, and thanks to you and the way you’ve cared about Bryce and me, we could solve those problems and now we’re both trying to make this work.”

“I’m glad you can see it that way now.”

“I know we never talked about it after what happened, but… I wanna apologize for being so unfair with you, for kind of blaming you when it wasn't your fault, and…”

Eleanor could sense Keiki it wasn't easy for her to speak so earnestly, but it was clear she meant every word and every feeling.

She breathed in deeply.

“And at the same time, I wanna thank you for always taking care of me. For always taking me into consideration and trying to do what's best for me, since the first day we met. You… You've become like a sister to me, Ella, the sister I didn't know I wanted, so thank you for being there for me.”

“Oh, Keiki, please, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Sorry not sorry,” she teased, her cheeks profusely blushed.

Her heart was so warm, she thought it would melt any second. And she was so happy, she thought she could fly any instant.

“Keiks… I had no idea you feel that way about me,” Eleanor hugged her, “Thank you for telling me.”

"Everything is true. I know I'm not the kind of person who says these things, but I really mean it. And I'd be so happy if you move in with us. And of course, my brother would be happy too. The happiest, actually."

Eleanor grinned broadly, her eyes glistening with joy. “You're like a sister to me too”, she confessed, throwing her arms around her again.

As if he knew it was the right time to get in, Bryce opened the door, and poked his head inside, “Can I come in now?”

“Yeah, weirdo, come in,” Keiki allowed, as Eleanor freed her from her embrace.

After drying her tears of joy with the back of her hand, Eleanor turned to Bryce, who was looking at her, expectantly.

“So, what do you think? I hope you don't mind spending the morning of your birthday looking for the perfect apartment to move in.”

Eleanor looked at Bryce, his eyes charged with hope and possibility. It was a possibility what she couldn't read early that morning. But she could now because her head and her heart were full of possibilities too, full of plans and a beautiful, bright future together with Bryce and Keiki.

And when she turned to Keiki, her smile was welcoming and her eyes sparkling with the same possibility. For once in her life, she wasn't hiding any of her emotions.

She thought about the things that had been holding her back. Right there, there was none.

Her heart wanted this. And she hadn’t realized how much she wanted it until that moment.

She was ready.

Ready to fully commit and take this new step with Bryce.

Ready to take this new responsibility with Keiki and try to give her the love and care she'd been lacking her whole life.

Ready to be part of this pretty little family.

Feeling an outburst of joy, Eleanor ran and clung to Bryce to smooch him sweetly, “I love it! I love it, I love it! And I love you!”

Bryce encircled his arms around her to lift her from the floor, his gaze devastatingly tender, “And I adore you, baby,” he whispered.

She rested her forehead against his, feeling the warmth of his breath before kissing him one last time. This was a moment she was sure she’d remember her whole life.

“Fun fact number one about domestic Eleanor,” Bryce said once Eleanor’s feet were back on the floor, “She’s actually a koala.”

Keiki, who was looking at the windows resisting the urge to laugh at the clingy scene, turned to her brother, “Oh, just as you’re a Goldie?" she retorted, mischievously.

“Exactly, Keiks! Exactly!” Eleanor said, chortling at the remark.

Grinning, Bryce approached his sister and rested an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side “Keiki needs a pet name.”

“Oh, no, no, no no, you leave me out of this,” the girl said, trying to get rid of her brother’s grip, to no avail.

“I agree with Bryce. You cannot be the only one in this family without a pet name.”

Keiki’s eyes widened at the mention of the word family. Forgetting completely the annoyed act, she smirked fondly at her and then to Bryce, realizing what she had in front of her.

Her family.

“Keiki is totally a cat,” Bryce stated seconds later, “She likes to be left alone, and only likes love when she asks for it, but not when you give it to her, and she hates me, just as cats hate dogs.”

“Oh my god yes! You'll be Kitty, then!”

“No, no way you’re gonna call me Kitty, anything but that,” she refused, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Grumpy Cat then.”

Eleanor cackled, and even Keiki couldn’t help the laugh.

“Love, Grumpy Cat? She’s not that grumpy.”

“If Bryce’s around, I am. So, as you'll only call me that way when we’re at home, it will totally suit me. Anything is better than Kitty at this point.”

"Grumpy Cat, Koala, and Goldie, quite the zoo, uh? Does this apartment allow animals?" Bryce asked.

“Bryce, don’t start with your dad jokes already!” Keiki scoffed, finally freed from Bryce’s arms, and sauntered towards one of the bedrooms, leaving Eleanor and Bryce alone in the empty living room.

Sharing a hopeful smile, Bryce took a few steps towards her and rested his hands over her hips, “Did you like the surprise? I hope this isn’t forcing you to make a decision.”

Eleanor encircled her arms around his neck, thoughtful.

“No, no, love, it was perfect. I’m actually… still a bit incredulous about what Keiki said and… well, that she agreed.”

“There's no way she wouldn't feel that way about you, babe. You've been so supportive and just… good and caring with her.”

“She's a good kiddo too, a girl that has been through a lot and didn't deserve any of what she had to live.”

“Lucky for her, her brother's girlfriend has the biggest, warmest heart this planet has ever seen, so she'll get all the love she deserves.”

Eleanor gave him a sweet peck on the lips before looking softly at him, eyes conveying nothing but adoration.

“Just as you will.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, my love. Every morning and every night of every day.”

-----

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. With the mess book 3 has been, this kind of fluff has been really therapeutic to write. Even the bit with Ethan helped me to recalibrate, because he's been insufferable in this book. Luckily, here I could portray him more as he actually is.

A big hug to everyone of you, and thanks again for reading ❤️

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #playchoices #open heart #choices stories you play #oh choices #open heart choices #oph fic #open heart fanfic #open heart fics

[meliaaizawa]

HOT SPRINGS TRIP

I mean, honestly, every anime needs a hot springs episode, so this is mine. May do a part 2, because this was so fun...

Word count: 2,632

(This is all from Oboro's POV)

It was finally summer break of our second year of school… It has been a particularly tiring year so far, as we had started work-studies with real hero agencies. I guess that’s why I was especially excited for this vacation. My parents have a timeshare at an inn on some hot springs, and we travel there every summer for a week. My best friend Mei has come with us nearly every year since elementary school, and this summer since my parents aren’t able to go, we got permission to invite a couple of my buddies from high school to come with us. I approached the apartment that Mei lived in and gave a light knock before letting myself in. I was over a lot throughout the years, so I was perfectly comfortable of making myself at home. “Hey there, Oboro! You hear to pick up Mei? I think she’s almost ready!” Mrs. Amiyagi said as I walked in. “Heya, Momiyagi! Yep! Here to pick up Mei… Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” I asked, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m sure! I don’t want to get in the young people’s way! I want you kids to have fun,” she replied. I chuckled and said, “Don’t worry… I’ll keep an especially close eye on Mei this year,” giving a light wink as I said it. Her eyebrows raised. “Oooo is one of the guys you invited that boy she likes?? What’s his name again??” Mrs. Amiyagi began. “Don’t you dare say anything, Obo!!” I heard the voice of Mei cry from behind me. I turned to see her standing there with her bag around her shoulder and her face red from embarrassment and aggravation. “Oh, heya, Mei! You ready to go?” I said, changing the subject. She rolled her eyes and replied, “I was born ready!” After we both said goodbye to her mother, we walked together to the train station where we were to meet our friends.

“You know for having a quirk called ‘trust,’ I usually expect you to trust me in return… You know I wouldn’t dare reveal your secret love to anyone!” I said to Mei as we walked together. I am certain that she has been in love with our friend Shota since day one, even if she didn’t necessarily notice her own feelings until later on. I also have a feeling that he feels the same way, though he has yet to admit it. “Obo, you know for a fact that I trust you… More than anyone. And besides, it’s hardly a ‘secret love,’ in fact, it’s hardly even ‘love,’” she defended herself. As we approached the meeting spot, I saw that Shota had already arrived. He was sitting on a nearby bench, wearing his usual casual long black clothes, reading manga. I could feel Mei slow down a tad as we approached, so I looked down at her and could tell that her eyes were sparkling at the sight of him. “’Hardly even love,’ huh??” I said, elbowing her with a smirk before we approached. “Heya Shota! You been here long?” I asked him. He looked up at us from his manga and shook his head. “No, but I was starting to think I was the only one going to show up,” he said. “Ooo!! Is that the latest volume??” Mei asked excitedly, seeing the manga he was reading. He nodded. “Just came out this morning. I had to leave early to pick up a copy,” he said, placing his bookmark and closing it. These two were huge dorks when it came to manga, it’s cute.

“Yo yo yo! I hope I’m not late!” I heard the voice of Hizashi coming from behind us. “Are you excited for our vacation party extravaganza, my dudes?? And dudette?” he asked, putting his arms around me and Mei’s necks. She sarcastically replied, “well with you wording it that way, who wouldn’t be?” “Me,” Shota said with his usual demeanor as he stood up and slung his bag around his shoulder. “Well let’s get going then! Don’t want to miss our train!” I said, leading the way to where the boarding was to take place. We loaded our luggage and hopped on the train, taking our seats. I sat in the window seat next to Shota, and across the aisle was Mei and then Hizashi. The ride was a few hours long, and for the first bit we all talked. I know Mei well enough to know she would fall asleep within the first hour of the journey, and I was right… it’s something about a smooth moving vehicle that puts her to sleep. I tried to close my eyes and take a nap, but ended up just pretending to sleep, as I kept getting distracted by Shota next to me. I could tell he wasn’t actually reading his manga, but instead was taking frequent glances across the aisle to see the sleeping Mei curled up in her seat next to Hizashi. I knew I could tease Mei all I wanted to about her crush, but I’m afraid that if I did that to Shota it would only slow things down… and I wanted him and Mei to get together. Honestly, most of our class did too, though Mei and Shota have no idea. We even have a ship name for them that we reference whenever secretly discussing them… Meizawa. Anyways, I was just gathering more intel on Shota and Mei, trying to figure out how I could subtly continue to get this ship sailing.

We arrived at our destination in the evening, and soon after getting off the train, Mei and Shota both went to use the restroom, leaving Hizashi and I together. Hizashi stepped closer next to me, with his shoulder touching mine. He spoke in a low and serious tone. “It may be nothing… but I think I have some intel on Operation: Meizawa,” he began, speaking in almost a whisper, looking down at a newspaper, trying to act nonchalant. *Where’d he even get the newspaper?* I wondered. “Alright, what’s the scoop?” I asked, looking nonchalantly at the people walking by. “Well, while Mei was asleep next to me, she was kinda leaning up against me, right? I didn’t see for certain, but I could feel the icy death glare of Aizawa looking at me, as if he were jealous,” Hizashi said. I nodded and replied, “I think I also caught him watching her sleeping.” At that, Hizashi folded up the newspaper and stuck it under his arm. “Copy that,” he said, before stepping away. Once our two friends joined us again, we walked out of the station and into the little town. The hot springs inn was on the other side of the town, so we had to walk through it.

Tonight was Mei’s turn to choose where we ate for supper, but as usual, she had a hard time making a decision. “I’m fine with anything! I just like food!” she kept saying. “Let’s just do ramen, then…” Shota said calmly as Hizashi and I eyed each other, knowing ramen was Mei’s favorite. After we finished eating, we made our way to the inn, where we checked into our timeshare room and brought all our stuff there. It was a pretty nice room, with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large open room that included the kitchen, table, couch, and tv. Mei took the room that her and my mother usually shared, and the three of us guys were going to bunk in the other room. Hizashi dove onto the bed and said, “ahhh, the bed is as comfy as it looks,” as he turned around and rested his hands behind his head. I jumped onto the bed beside him and wrapped an arm around him. “We’ll be sleeping good tonight, boys! I’ve been excited to have an excuse to cuddle,” I joked as Hizashi laughed. Shota, standing at the doorway watching us with an annoyed look on his face turned around and walked out to the couch, simply saying, “nope.” Hizashi and I continued to laugh as we got up, proud of our accomplishment of making Shota uncomfortable yet again. Once we were settled and had our things unpacked, we decided to go to the hot springs for a bit. “Alright, we’ll see you back in the room!” I said as she headed in the opposite direction towards the women’s hot springs.

We headed to the men’s locker room and undressed before heading into the springs. As soon as we entered, I could feel the immediate relief of stress as the steamy water relaxed my sore muscles. “I’ve been needing this soooo badly… I can’t remember the last time my muscles weren’t sore because of all this hero work!” I said as I closed my eyes and relaxed. “Well, now that it’s just us guys we can have guy talk!!!” Hizashi spoke up. “Ok, fair enough… let’s see,” I said, thinking about what we could subtly talk about that may lead to Shota admitting his feelings. “I’ve got it! If you HAD to date anyone at U.A., who would you choose?” I asked. Hizashi was of course the first to answer. “Well if I HAD to… I would choose Nemuri Kayama from the year above us. SHE’S JUST SO HOT!” Hizashi said, getting heart eyes just from thinking about her. I laughed and then gave my answer. “WELL, because of the bro code I guess I have to choose someone else… Hmm… I guess I would go for Tamashi. She’s always so nice to our other classmates, and she’s awfully pretty,” I said, shrugging. “You wouldn’t choose Mei?” Shota asked to my surprise… surprise that he was actually engaged in our conversation and surprised he thought I would choose my best friend.

I shook my head wildly. “Nooooo, that would be the pinnacle of weird… I love Mei, but I’ve always seen her as the sister I never had. I could never like her that way,” I explained. “Hey hey hey, Shota! You haven’t answered yet, bro! Who would you date??” Hizashi asked. “No one... dating is irrational,” he said before putting his hot, damp towel over his eyes and leaning back as if to sleep. It was apparent he was using this move to get out of the conversation. Though we did our best, “Operation Meizawa” was not making the progress we were hoping for. We relaxed for a while longer before getting out and taking showers. When we made it back to our room, Mei must’ve already been asleep, as her bedroom door was closed. I noticed a folded blanket and pillow on the couch, both of which I could tell came from Mei’s bed. “She must’ve heard you say you were sleeping on the couch,” I said to Shota as he noticed the pillow and blanket. He just shrugged and began to fluff up the pillow, getting ready for bed. We were all soon in bed, and as soon as my head hit my pillow, I was fast asleep.

Woke up the next morning to the smell of eggs and rice. I opened my eyes and saw that Hizashi was already awake, so I dragged myself out of bed as well. When I entered the main room, I saw Mei and Hizashi cooking together in the kitchen, and a bundle of blankets on the couch that I assumed to be Shota. “BROOO I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE AWAKE! BREAKFAST IS ALMOST READY!” Hizashi called across the room, causing the bundle of blankets to shift around, revealing a tired and angry looking Shota now sitting up. “Ah, look… Shota is awake now too,” I said with a laugh as I made my way to the kitchen table. Shota wrapped himself in his blanket and dragged himself to the table also before Mei and Hizashi came and brought the food. As we ate, Hizashi asked, “so what is on the schedule for today?” “I was thinking we could go on this one hike that’s just outside here… It leads up to these waterfalls and it’s super pretty! I don’t remember how long of a hike it is though, but it should be fun!” I answered. I nodded and added, “yeah, then this evening maybe we could just take it easy and watch a movie here! There’s a movie rental store in town.” Everyone seemed to be in agreement as we finished our breakfast and then got ready. The hike wasn’t too strenuous, and we made it to the falls at a decent time. We stayed around the falls for a good while, just sitting and talking, until we decided to hike back into town. Mei and Shota went to pick up some food while Hizashi and I were entrusted with the task of getting a movie for us to watch. “OBRO! We should totally watch a scary movie!!! Imagine. We just gotta get Mei and Shota sitting next to each other… then Mei will get scared out of her mind and will have to cling onto Shota! THIS PLAN IS FULL-PROOF!” Hizashi said, reaching out for one of the scariest looking movies on the shelf. “The plot thickens,” I said, rubbing my hands together in a scheming manner.

We met Shota and Mei and walked back to the inn. We all fixed supper together and devoured it before taking turns to shower and put on comfy clothes. Hizashi and I were sure to go first so we could claim the two edge seats of the couch, forcing Shota and Mei to sit next to each other in the middle. We fixed some popcorn and had other snacks at the ready as our two other friends joined us. Mei wrapped herself up in a blanket and sat cozily in between Shota and Hizashi. *They suspect nothing* I thought to myself, trying not to smirk. Hizashi put the movie in and as it started, it didn’t really seem all that scary… but then it got TERRIFYING. At every jump-scare, I found myself clinging onto Shota and screaming, and based on Hizashi’s screaming, he did the same. The movie ended, and it was already past midnight. “Uhhh yeah, I am going to go ahead and go to bed,” I said, my heart still racing from all the jump-scares that happened in the movie. “Yeah, me too…” Hizashi said, following me to our room. We both sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, not sure whether or not we’d be able to sleep tonight… then I remembered the issue at hand. “Did you notice Mei grab onto Shota any?” I asked. Hizashi shook his head. “That girl must have nerves of steel… I don’t think she jumped once… In fact, I think she was just laughing at me the whole time,” he replied, laying down and staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open. I followed suit and laid on the opposite side of the bed, staring as well, both of us not sleepy at all. “Mission failed,” I said, simply.

#shota aizawa #aizawa x oc #aizawa shouta #bnha #oboro shirakumo #hot springs #vacation #meizawa #rooftop gang #hizashi yamada

[recallingrealities]

Aligned - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Grounded

Zelda x Reader

For Chapter 1, click (here)

You were growing comfortable in the days following that evening. It was as if the rarity of your circumstance with Zelda Spellman had been an omen to the unexpected tranquility you'd come to reside in. Especially in these days to come; you felt as though the exuberance of exploring new spaces was literally intoxicating.

You had spent the first several days unpacking your belongings. Feathering your nest was a task you found pleasing. Having spent so much of your introversion and contemplative meditation in a familiar space, it only seemed right to transform your new one to embody such comfort. In arranging, you were getting to experience the conceptual process of embodying the divine self; the you, deep down, you yearn to become. You were getting to create the optimum space that your optimum self would reside in. Every second of that felt fantastically exciting and magic to you. This would become a space where you'd find peace and safety, let alone every intuitive realization that would change yours and others experiences henceforth. In fact, you were sure  it had already begun.

Once preened, you felt it dutiful to explore the grounds. You had already known you would be teaching at the academy, so your lesson plans were completed long beforehand. You found in accomplishing tasks in honor of the Goddess, you often exceeded every expectation you would have thought to set for yourself. Lately you’ve formed the habit to carry this practice into space for yourself as well, for taking time to honor yourself, honors the Goddess.

At the time, you had no idea what you were doing. As like most things, tasks as the Goddess intended would align at their exact right time for a most bountiful fruition. In this case, that included your early preparedness, and complete trust in her control. It was not necessary for you to understand.

With your lesson plans pre-executed, you became momentarily separate from most of the other faculty. They were huddled in their offices, in nose-pressing dedication to reference whatever relevant studies were to be taught this coming semester. All the while, you were free in joyful meditation; able to explore the grounds and many halls of the Academy of Unseen Arts.

 You had recalled Ambrose mentioning the rumours of it's infinite corridors. It didn't seem to you, an impossible concept. With an open schedule, and mind however, you could take this chance to implore those which rooms appeared to you. What better time would there be to familiarize yourself with what you were aligned to discover?

The first hall you seemed to walk down, felt as if it was ever stretching. In exiting one of the doors, you were sure you were across the hall across from where you entered. Most of the doors looked the same, and you found  a martyr any witch knew where to be at any given time. Then again, perhaps the proper door you were meant to enter would be that which you opened, or willed to enter. As an establishment for exploring and practicing magical arts, willing your experience to your pleasure would be a valuable asset to have familiarity with. It would certainly be interesting that the room held before you would open to you based upon your intention. You had even made an attempt to open the same door twice, but upon finding the same place, you weren't sure if that meant each room simply was it was, or that perhaps that was the one you were meant to, willed to open. After a third attempt, finding the same room as the two beforehand, you leaned your forehead against it's frame. You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, not knowing what it was you had expected. You weren't sure if you were easing into a migraine from thinking too hard, or had just been ignoring your bodily need in thirst. You decided to take a break before continuing this conquest. To be fair, you had been exploring the corridors  alone for at least an hour or two, you were surprised you hadn't decided to take a break earlier, especially with the hall's resemblance to an optical illusion. 

As you made your way back towards the center of the rotunda, you held the corner of your cheek in a half smirk. You couldn't help but laugh at yourself. It seemed very characteristic that you not only indulged in the rarity of breaking meditation, but had done so to fixate on something so silly. Of course taking a break had been more of a revelation than an answer to alleviate you. Ambrose had said they were infinite, but you certainly wouldn't be yourself without questioning someone wiser on the subject. 

When you finally made it to the hall's opening, you spotted the High Priestess discussing something intently with a young witch. Your eyes drew to hers, almost instinctively. After a few words into the discussion's progression, her eyes caught yours, passing over the witchlings shoulder. She gained that same glint in her eye as when you watched the crackling embers burn in their reflection that night; especially upon realizing it was you she had locked eyes with. You felt your pacing slow if only to keep your gaze on her a little longer. You gave her a soft smile, wanting to bid her a silent hello before you met the juncture of the rotunda, where she was standing, distanced from you. You also did not wish to distract her, but a silent greeting felt fitting for you, words unspoken had already become a kindling of a sort to your relationship - new and budding the flames. Her lips didn't smile at that moment when she brought her eyes back to her conversation, but her eyes did seem to gleem in reply. After half a moment, she returned, lifting her eyes to you again. Only this time, she let them travel wantonly over your figure. They seemed to trace the shape of your legs, the hem of your dress, your abdomens subtle contour, and across your collar. She had lingered on your neck for just a moment as the student spoke, before locking her eyes with yours. This time, she did smile. You felt a shiver pass over you and your heart was now at a steady gallop in your chest. You realized she had looked at you this way before. And this time, she meant for you to know it. You felt your cheeks burn before you let a soft smile lay upon your lips. You closed the end of the hall before tracing your steps on the rotunda's border, feeling her eyes grace you, as your own traced the floor. Then, lifting them in satisfaction, as to not be ashamed of this silent attestment. As you moved up the stairs towards your chambers to retrieve your intended glass, a warmth blanketed your entire body - and you felt as though all the air in the Academy now glowed with embracing affirmation.

 When you finally arrived there, your heart was still racing, shaking slightly in the fingers you poured your glass with; able to unravel in the vulnerable privacy of your own quarters. You could hardly believe she had just… raked her eyes over you with such want and lust. Shamelessly, at that. If that student had turned around they might have noticed… or perhaps they had been too engaged in their conversation. 'Praise Lilith' you thought, before lifting the cup, sipping hard, generous gulps. Your mind now danced between a myriad of things to think about. How hard she had pressed you for your intent and position, how you had felt her unfold your insides without preface as you had done hers, how she had unwinded, unraveling like dark smoke in your office, enveloped you with heat and genuity with just a glance. You were bewildered.

You’d decided you would transition your plans to traverse the forests depths. The mossy, twisted green, a home for settling your wandering mind. Though your meditation typically held you securely in listening, Miss Spellman was beginning to have a knack for tipping your scales a hair beyond alignment. You felt yourself rebalancing as each step synchronized you with the hum of Earth beneath your feet. You had taken off your shoes, placing them on the ground, near a tree back towards the Academy. There was no reason for separation between you and the Earth here. Your shoes had only protected you from the toils of manmade forgings. 

You need not understand why, but as you drew towards the beating heart of the forest’s web, the trees showed you small visions of things to come. Mother Lillith kissing your hand, and greeting the High Priestess, unholy mass and ritual movement, the dance of the Litha fires during a Summer’s Solstice. The visions overlapped, moving in no particular order to envelope your mind, keeping it bidingly occupied in your quiet admiration of each wood and wise elder tree. It was then you approached a large, mothering tree. She called to you with waves of unseen light, shimmering leaves illuminating the grey and mist of the forest surrounding you. Her branches towered above you, seeming to everstretch, interweaving between the other neighboring trees. You felt drawn to kneel before her. Bowing your head you touch a gentle root, birthing from the ground before you. As your fingers grazed the fine seems of the bark, you felt a sudden luscious warmth again. A premonition of desire. 

When you’d hear the Goddess’ voice, it wasn’t in a way literal or sensory, it was like that you would note in your mind’s eye. A humming resonance that your body translated for you - far more intimate, it felt than even Lillith gracing you in human form.

“Your untouched desires are known, and are granted, awaiting you. 

Your deductions manifest with every changing present. 

You are so loving to me, dear one.”

Tthe words surrsurate through you, feeling yourself overwhelmed by her praise.

“My love, my dear sister, my daughter” She called “I have drawn you towards the trueness of your desires, the silent call of your yearning.

You have not asked, you have not begged, only weaved and devoted every moment of yourself to the seeds I’ve had you sow and tend to.

This is life’s purpose. To find the light of what is desired, and tend to it lovingly unbridled.

In turn, I reveal to you what is to come. 

What is true and intended for your awareness.

Embrace it shamelessly.

 Let me dissolve your fear, and allow you to embrace divinity in ecstasy”

Though the voice was not tangible, every beat, every syllable felt like a swell of overlapping, unwavering love. Beyond what the stimulus of your mind could find imaginable, your body had never experienced such richness, as this experience. You became aware that though your coming to the Academy was a part of her plan, it also was an unhindered gift for your dedication. It had never gone unnoticed. Something you were already recognizing, but felt unwaveringly humbled to know she was intending to please you. She wanted you to be happy in every moment, and not only wanted it but willed for your deepest pleasure. Intended to forge towards your every subconscious desire. She formed time and your world’s exactness to shape to it.  It was then you understood this was what made the universe. She shaped the web this way, for everyone. It was in your dedication to truness, to embracing and shaping towards light and love, that made you able to relish in the rewards of what was meant for you. 

You felt a tear stream down your cheek and nose, as your head craned in gratitude. Like a vision, but less tangible; you felt the school, your teachings, a home where you could exist in joyful solitude but also feel surrounded and safe. A teacher, a priestess who would guide you and draw you closer to magic and law than you had ever been taught before by any mortal or woman, and now you were realizing, this was whom you were willed to love. You felt her touch, her eyes, her smile, you felt her laugh and warmth, and  your stinging thigh all at once. You received waves of unbridled pleasure quake heavily throughout your entire body - and as abruptly so, you realized the voice had gone.

Your hand still touched the root of the mothering tree. Your skin dewed with sweat, your breath quietly labored. You had felt as if you had dreamt something beyond an Earth shattering orgasm. You had experienced your Goddess, the embodiment of all desire. You took a few minutes to regain yourself, catching your breath. The cool breeze of the forest floor calming you. You felt its radiating purity in the dancing leaves, twirling down towards the forest’s floor. It blew like a soft, intimate breath, cooling your skin. 

You had felt as though you were waning an intangible sunburn, the healing energy of the forest regaining you to stand and steady.

 As you made your way back to the school, you felt weighted, grounded with ease. It was a sturdiness that held you with every fiber of your awareness. You were content and exhausted from the communion, unable to question what had been revealed. The Goddess had not intended you to fear it, what was to come. Instead of foreboding thoughts of questioning, how and when what would happen, you found yourself budding with blossoms of that residual warmth. In gratitude you were reminded that everything was as it was meant to be, and always would be. No matter what level of consciousness or chaos you’d feel.

(( Authors note: oh goodness!!! There is SO MUCH TO COME! The next chapter is already in the works so you won’t have to wait so long!  Thank you so much for tagging along with me for this ride. I love a good slow burn. The intertwining of each relationship is what makes each scene and relation so much richer, especially that of the Goddess. I hope you don’t mind the contextual aspect of the story so far, because it is so important in how it will be told! This is one of my absolute favorite personal projects and I am so excited for you to see what unravels <3 Blessed be, lovelies! Love & Light! ))

#zelda spellman x reader #zelda spellman #CAOS fanfiction #Zelda Spellman fanction #CAOS #the Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #miranda otto #self insert #reader insert #slow burn #aligned fic #mine

[alllwritenow]

Boom, Boom, Boom of Your Heart

Chapter One

Chapter Two

“Bonnie!” Elena exclaimed, wrapping her arms around her best friend and squeezing as tight as she could. “I missed you so much.”

Bonnie squeezed her right back, resting her head against Elena’s shoulder. “I missed you too. I am never going on tour again.”

Elena laughed and pulled back, studying her friend’s tired, but glowing, face for a moment. “I don’t believe that for a second, Bonnie Bennett. You cannot deny the masses the wisdom of modern witchcraft’s brightest star. Your instagram would riot.”

Her best friend made a face. “Yeah, well, the money’s nice, but if one more Karen treats me like her personal Tituba, I’m going to riot. Giving them tarot readings on instagram is a lot less work than pretending I care about their ‘traumatized auras’ in person.”

Letting out a cackle, Elena hugged her again. “I love you. I’m so glad you’re home. Caroline is just too high-energy to help me keep perspective.”

“I thought you had Lexi for that,” Bonnie teased, shooting a wink at the blonde who was carefully guarding their reunion scene in the middle of the airport.

Elena flapped her hands dismissively. “She’s too chill. I don’t think she understands the concept of stress.”

Lexi chuckled. “Trust me, Elena, I understand stress. But I’m definitely glad you’re back, Bonnie; I’m less likely to catch this one pacing at three in the morning and yelling at her laptop.”

Elena grimaced. “Sometimes the story won’t cooperate with me and I have to make it see things my way.”

Her best friend giggled, and looped her left arm through Elena’s, picking up her bag with her other hand. “I feel the same way about the tarot deck, except there is nothing I can do to make it see things my way. I don’t tell the Karens that though.”

“And that’s why you are the darling of the mystical-obsessed masses who have no idea how actually awesome you are.”

“Speaking of obsessed people,” Lexi said dryly, interrupting their moment. “Can we please get you out of the middle of a crowded airport? You’re supposed to meet Elijah back at the house to go over security there and show him the footage of the nights the notes were left.”

“Elijah?” Bonnie asked curiously, looking up at Elena as they started to walk toward the exit. “Who’s that?”

Elena scrunched her nose up. “He’s the security expert Lexi recommended, the one that will hopefully hunt down that asshole and get rid of them once and for all.” He was also incredibly handsome, charming, and made her stomach flutter when he said her name. It was very inconvenient.

“Good,” Bonnie said sharply, squeezing Elena’s arm with her own. “I want to see the sick fuck burn in whatever hell exists for putting you through this.”

“Me too,” Elena murmured. “Me too.”

“If anyone can do it, Elijah can,” Lexi told her in a reassuring tone, though her eyes never stopped scanning the people around them. “He’s relentless and very good at his job. You’re in good hands.” She grinned. “I’m only worried you’ll replace me when he gets done.”

“Never,” Elena said with a renewed smile. “You’re family now and you’re stuck with us, high stress levels and all.”

~

Elena ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into a high ponytail she knew she’d end up taking down and redoing at least half a dozen times in the next hour. Now that she was actually doing something proactive about this damn stalker, she was restless and impatient and just wanted to get it done. She felt like she hadn’t had a life since that first note appeared on her doorstep, and she was tired of feeling suffocated in her own skin. No one had that right to take her sense of freedom and security away like this, to make her feel fear in her own home. She growled under her breath and then looked up in surprise when she heard an amused chuckle.

“Is this part of the creative process that Alexandra was telling me about?” Elijah Mikaelson asked her from where he loomed in her office doorway, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

She chuckled ruefully and shook her head, already reaching up to fidget with her ponytail. “No, that’s part of the process I like to call ‘Imagining 1000 Ways for my Stalker to Die a Painful Death.’” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Maybe Jenna will publish it if I pitch it right.”

Elijah smiled at her, a crooked thing that lifted only one side of his mouth. “I’d read it.”

Struck with the sudden urge to ask if he’s read any of her books, she bit down on it, not sure if she actually wanted the answer, and waved a hand in a general encompassing of her home office. “You wanted to walk through the house?”

He nodded, smile fading into a professional mien that was no less attractive but helpful for calming the roiling stew of her emotions. “Yes, and review your security footage for the twenty-four hours before and after each incident.”

Elena grimaced. “I hope you don’t want my company for the full watch, but you’re welcome to review it here or take copies with you. I still have a guest room available and you can use my office if needed.”

Lexi stayed with her, and had a room although she only used it when Caroline was on duty. Bonnie had moved in with her when all this started, moral support and a transition phase between the end of her last lease and her inevitable move-in with Vincent. Well, Elena thought it was inevitable, the two of them, while adorably in love, were agonizingly slow when it came to official relationship milestones. Not that Elena was going to complain about living with her best friend for as long as she could keep her.

Elena didn’t like being alone. And not just because of her stalker. Even as a child she’d hated being the only one in a room, always seeking out her parents, or Jeremy after his birth. Her early years had been plagued by nightmares whenever she had to sleep alone at night, although therapy and time had helped. But then her parents had died in high school and it all flared back up again. She’d put off college until Jeremy graduated, and gone to the same university he chose. Moving to California had only been partly about her career and living closer to Aunt Jenna, and more about following Bonnie, since Jeremy had gently but firmly made it clear that she couldn’t be his big sister shadow for the rest of his life.

Getting her own house had been one of the bravest things she’d ever done, and she deeply resented the stalker for stealing all her progress and pushing her into a life controlled by fear.

Elijah shook his head, bringing her out of her funk. “I won’t impose on you for that long, copies will be fine.”

Elena nodded and then pushed her chair back, finally standing up. “Well, let’s get the tour started.”

It didn’t take long, her house was nice, but far smaller than the colonial home she’d grown up in. Technically only one story, and only four bedrooms because she’d converted the attic into her room. While her books sold well, it was her and Jeremy’s inheritance that enabled her to be a homeowner at twenty-seven, particularly in the expensive suburb she called home, and she hadn’t had the desire for extravagance.

Elijah was professional throughout, kindly taking no notice of the mess her bed was in after the nightmares that had ruined her sleep. He seemed to approve of her security precautions and promised to have an update soon after she left him in Lexi’s hands for the security footage transfer and so the two old friends could catch up.

Leaving them to it, Elena wandered toward Bonnie’s room, relieved to see her door ajar in symbolic welcome. She sprawled onto her best friend’s bed, watching as Bonnie carefully unpacked all of her witchy tools.

“So he’s hot,” Bonnie said casually, not even looking in Elena’s direction as she sorted through a bag of crystals.

Elena flushed, rolling over on her back to stare at the ceiling rather than letting her best friend see by her expression how much she agreed. “And still in the house, so hush.”

Bonnie chuckled, not changing her volume at all. “I’m sure he’s aware of his attractiveness. You should ask him out.”

Reaching for a pillow, Elena blindly tossed it in Bonnie’s direction. “I should let him do his job and you should tell me when Vincent is coming over for your reunion so I can make sure my noise-cancelling headphones are charged.”

There was no audible answer, instead the pillow thwacked against her face and Elena spluttered, grabbing it in a defensive stance as she sat up, only to almost collide with Bonnie’s grinning mien.

“Those are the words of a cornered woman, Elena Gilbert. You think he’s hot, you think he’s capable, and he is literally your knight in shining suit right now. And I’m pretty sure private security doesn’t have ‘don’t date your client’ clauses like bodyguards.” Bonnie arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “And while I know you’ve had cause, it’s been like, two years since you last got laid which is just tragic.”

Elena buried her face in the pillow and groaned. Okay, yes, it had been a while, and Elijah Mikaelson was the first person in a long time to make her libido and her interest take notice. But clause or not, she thought it was a spectacularly bad idea to ask someone out you’d just hired to catch a stalker. Especially for some casual sex after what amounted to only three conversations.

“If you stop talking right now,” she told Bonnie, lifting her head back up. “I promise to ask him out after this is all over.”

Bonnie grinned and offered her a pinkie. “Deal.”

#vampire diaries #elena gilbert #elejah #fanfic #my fanfic #boom boom boom of your heart #rebloggable #bonnie bennett #bonnie/vincent #bonnie bennett x vincent griffith #elijah mikaelson

[mommymooze]

Write me a fic about Claude helping Dimitri get through his PTSD post War.

Healing Dimitri

This is my best answer. It took a while, I tried from several directions, finally settled on this.

Warning: dealing with post traumatic stress. 

The war is over. Healing must begin. Claude must leave for Almyra. Byleth leads the church and rewrites the doctrine to right the millions of wrongs.

Claude worries most about one thing. Not about claiming the throne to Almyra, he has to do it himself and he has been planning this for years. Not Byleth in fixing the church. He has Seteth and Flayne and many good clerics to help fix it.

 His biggest concern is Dimtiri. He’s seen the slow progression into the beast as he called himself. Claude watched as Dedue returned and Rodrigue worked with his friend.  Dimitri clawed his way up from the hell his mind had sent him in and became more human. Claude could see that his royal friend is better, but not always well.

His friends are good for him, but not enough. None of the friends that grew up with him deal with trauma well. From the Blue Lions, Mercedes would provide the most help, however she has her hands full with her brother and working with Byleth in the church.

Claude is a firm believer in the best person for the job. Whenever one of his team fell in a battle, he sent a cleric. Sure, he watched around them, shooting down enemies trying to attack an injured friend, but he didn’t run over, he sent the healer. His job is to take down the enemy, keep track of everyone on the field, keep everyone alive. His thoughts keep bringing him back to Marianne. That woman’s been through some trauma. Some of it outside, some self-inflicted, however she has grown past that to a beautiful functioning person who is so much stronger and better. Hmm. Not unlike Dimitri’s in some ways.

Claude reaches out to her. She meets him in Derdriu, they talk. She’s willing to go to Dimitri but she wants Dorte and she wants the cleric from Garreg Mach.

Byleth complies with the request sending the cleric and Dorte as well as a small regiment of soldiers to ensure safe passage. They arrive at the castle shortly after Marianne. They are greeted and ushered into an audience chamber. Dimitri welcomes them warmly.

“What brings you both all the way up to Fhirdiad?” The King asks, his eye bright and a smile on his face.

“We go where we feel we are needed most. At the moment, we feel as if we are needed here. That, and Marianne missed Dorte. Besides, who would not want to spend summer up here where it is cool and pleasant?” You smile widely, happy to see your old friend.

“True. We have the best weather for summer on the continent.” Dimitri agrees. “What can I get for you both?”

Marianne smiles softly, “I think we would like to have a place to stay and clean up. Would you like guests for dinner, Dimitri?”

“It would be my honor. Please, both of you join me for dinner. If you require anything special, please let me know. I do have some work to complete, however I will happily join you later.” The King takes his leave.

 You are shown to your quarters which are next to each other down one of the many corridors of the palace. You cleanse the dirt of the road from yourself, putting on clean robes, a balaclava and hood.  Once dressed you knock on Marianne’s door. She bids you to enter.

 “I don’t think Claude told him anything as to why we are here.” The bluenette says softly, her shoulders drooping.

“Claude doesn’t fill anyone in on his plans. He executes them first then confirms that was his intent from the beginning. Claude is aware that Dimitri is still not recovered from the war. He is leaving it up to us to see that the King regains his health and doesn’t let himself spiral into despair. I think Claude has been planning this for a while. There is so much turmoil with settling the lords of territories down, establishing his household, getting the government re-established. For Dimitri more things are in place, and now he can begin to start routines. We can work on his healing. Incorporating into those routines methods for recovery. He may look better on the outside, but inside he is still a very broken man. We need to support him, but not be a crutch.”

“I understand.” Marianne looks the cleric in the eye with renewed resolve. “Part of him still feels he is a beast. Part of him feels unworthy of anything. We must remind him that he is human. Help him through his pain, lead him away from self-destruction and punishment.”

“You understand. So do I. It is one thing to help, it is another thing to have been there and fought through it. Knowing first hand the fear, the self-loathing, the pain. We are here for him, and for each other.”

“Exactly.” The fellow healer smiles. “I will check on Dorte and then unpack.”

“He is going to be so happy to see you. He had a pleasant boring ride here. I think he loves the area and now that you two are together he will be spoiled rotten!” You laugh.

“He was my best friend when I needed him the most.” Marianne reminisces.

  Marianne, Dimitri and you have a quiet dinner in a smaller dining area in the castle. There are grand dining areas with fine silver and chandeliers and multiple crystal goblets but dining with good friends calls for more intimate surroundings, and much, much less glamor.

Dimitri is dressed in a white dress shirt, black leather belt with a buckle of the Lion of Faerghus, crisp, starched black pants and shining black boots. Marianne is wearing a modest dress that is Faerghus blue, necklace and earrings that Hilda made to accompany the dress. You are wearing your usual healer robes, never changing.

Dinner is pleasant and there is plenty of small talk. Dimitri is pleased to hear any news about others that he worked with during the war and those he went to school with. He listens intently to Marianne’s stories of what has been happening in the alliance. Ignatz stopped by her residence a few months ago to paint the growth of spring in her area. She recalls how beautiful it is that he can take something as simple as a few buds opening on a tree and turn it into something wistful and serene.

You provide the gossip of the monastery. How Flayne shocked Seteth one day to say she was going to visit Raphael and Maya and see the world. The day she left Seteth had cried for hours and how you were there to reassure him that his baby sister is fine and all guardians need to let their little fledglings leave the nest someday.  Byleth is doing well and has been working in Abyss when he doesn’t have his hands absolutely full with the Church of Sothis.

 Dinner is finished and Dimitri must return to his duties. The work of a King is never done. He sits at the desk in his office writing correspondence. He is left to his work until he calls for tea service at 10:00 pm. Instead of a servant or kitchen maid, you bring the tea, along with a cup for yourself.

 “This is a pleasant surprise.” Dimitri greets you.

“I wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay and also speak with you about a few things.” You say pouring Chamomile tea into both cups.

Dimitri’s eyebrows furrow just a bit. “I think I know.”

“Well then, please tell me.” You ask, reaching for the honey to add to your tea.

“I have been telling everyone I am fine. But it is not the truth. The war is over, but it is not over inside my head.”

“That is one of the things. There are others. You and I have known each other for a long time.” You begin.

The two of you speak of thoughts going back further and further in your memories. It is completely understandable that he does not remember much after being freed from the prison in Fhirdiad until a time after Byleth’s return.

“What about the voices of the dead?” You softly ask him.

“They are still there, not as loud. Still angry and judgmental.” He admits.

 After your session, Dimitri must attempt to sleep so that he can work the next day. You instruct him to get into bed and you will remain with him, sitting next to the bed in a chair.  A lamp is on a low flame placed on a table behind you, blocking the light from falling on him and illuminating your paper. Quietly you sketch on your paper. He watches you at first, the scratching on the paper is soft and repetitive.

Hours pass, when he is long asleep you have switched papers to making notes of the conversation you had with Dimitri earlier.

Dimitri begins to stir, his eye rapidly moving around under his eyelid, his legs twitch and his hands open then go into fists. He wakes, sitting straight up in the bed with a terrified look on his face.

“Dimitri.” You speak softly. “I am reaching to touch your hand. Please allow it.”

You stand beside his bed, gently running a finger along the back of the hand closest to you that is fisted in his sheets. You run your fingers along the back of his hand until it relaxes. Once it is relaxed you lay your hand on top of his.

“Talk if you would like.” You encourage him.

“Enemy soldiers. I tore them to pieces.” His voice is quiet and trembling.

“How did you feel about them then.”

“I was angry and surviving and they were terrorizing my people. They did not belong here. I wanted them gone by any means.” His eyes are closed, brow furrowed.

“Seeing this now, how do you feel about them. “

“My anger was too much. Too vicious.” Dimitri almost sounds angry with himself.

“To be able to look back and reflect, it is good.” You answer softly rubbing on his hand. “If you could go back and talk to yourself what would you say?”

Dimitri looks a bit surprised. “I don’t know. I have never thought of that. “

“I think you should try to go back to sleep.” You tell him. He is significantly calmer, more relaxed. Instead of concentrating on the nightmare, he is concentrating on his thoughts about it.

“Perhaps.” The King says, stifling a yawn. “What have you been drawing?”

I show him a sketch of his hand, clenched in a loose fist.

He studies it in the low light. “Is that my hand? I recognize that scar there. Am I angry? “

“Not at all.” You reassure him. “I will show you again once I have finished it.”

Dimitri closes his eye as I again work on the drawing. The scratch of my pen on paper is now more familiar to him and he relaxes.

  You and Marianne both write to Claude/Khalid about working with Dimitri and the progress you have been making. He sends back encouraging letters hoping that in the fall, before the snow blocks all of the roads that perhaps Dimitri can take a vacation in Derdriu? After discussing this with Marianne, it sounds like a fantastic reward for the King’s progress.

 Daytime Dimitri is Marianne’s specialty. Having come from a Noble house, she is much more accustomed to working with nobles and political persons. She can put on airs and suppresses much of her fear and tension. She teaches Dimitri some of her coping mechanisms. Marianne is also good at making Dimitri take breaks. The weather is beautiful and they both love horseback riding. They leave for a picnic away from the palace every few days. This gives Dimitri some down time to just be calm and centered.

 Consulting with each other you discuss the words that make Dimitri react negatively, discussions that seem to be more difficult for him than others. Those are saved for you to discuss with him in your nightly chats. You work with him developing skills to deal with the more difficult situations and conversations. Both of you teach him breathing techniques to deal with stress and uncomfortable situations, bad feelings. He diaries every day about his thoughts and feelings. It is discussed with him how he feels about everything in the past, how best to deal with it for his future.

 After weeks of conversing with him, watching over him as he sleeps you give Dimitri a small present. He opens the rectangular package. It is the drawing of his hand, a daffodil is held in his grip. The flower is healthy and not damaged.

“Daffodils mean forgiveness, correct? Dimitri asks.

“Yes. An appropriate gift.” You smile.

Dimitri stares at the image. “I have forgiveness in my hand.”

“You do. You have the ability to forgive yourself.” The cowled cleric smiles at him.

“Do I deserve forgiveness?” The King asks out loud.

“I believe you do. But only you can forgive yourself. The flower is also a symbol of rebirth. After the cold harshness of winter passes, it is one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring, even blooming after late snows. It perseveres through all hardships to spring forth and share its beauty and happiness, letting us know that spring is here.”

“Truly inspiring. I hope I can live up to this challenge.” He says modestly.

 Dimitri is improving. He has is good days, he has his bad days. The clerics remind him that everyone has some days better than others. The good days are appreciated. The bad days are left behind. This year he is without Dedue on the anniversary of his parent’s death. The day is spent in remembrance. Food popular in Duscur is served at meals. Quiet meals are enjoyed with those that recall Lambert and Patricia, they share some fond memories of the now King when he was younger. Dimitri’s face lights up on occasion when he remembers bits and pieces of his own past.

 You talk with Dimitri about the ghosts. They are still around. Not all of the time. Yes, he had mistakenly thought they would go away once the war was over. Discussing his taking on the blame for things that are well beyond his control. Working on small steps, ways to move forward, to remember the past, yet leave it behind. Helping him to understand that he has a future, he deserves a future. Helping him to reveal what he wants to see, setting goals and working toward them.

 The weather is getting much warmer. This is a good year for farms and crops. A bit of prosperity is returning to the land, which greatly helps with the healing for everyone. Dimitri is adding more and more items to his list of things that make him happy, that make him feel peaceful and relaxed. Marianne goes riding with him more frequently, she has been assisting him with delegating some of his work. They are working very well together and have positive body language between them.

 The three of you are sitting in one of the rose gardens enjoying afternoon tea. A young cat, perhaps 5 or 6 months old wanders to your area. Marianne of course must pick up and cuddle the soft fuzzy creature, immediately making it purr happily in her hands. She hands it to Dimitri, who is always hesitant with delicate things. The kitty walks from her hands over to his, sitting in his large palm and looking up into his smiling face, purring happily. As the friends chat, the cat climbs up his shirt to sit on his shoulder, rubbing it’s face on his neck. Dimitri laughs heartily as the fuzzy friend bats and plays with his hair that is not pulled back from his face.

 More frequently Dimitri sleeps through the night without any dreams wakening him. When he does waken due to a nightmare, he is able to recognize that it is his mind trying to deal with the issues of the past. It is not a punishment, it is nothing he has control over and he is able to get himself back to sleep without major interruptions.

 Dimitri is setting many excellent goals. Not only regarding his self-care and self-reflection but in other areas of his life. Goals for restoring the city, goals for working with the different areas of Fodlan and goals in restoring some of his friendships.  He has been dealing better with talking about the traumas. Identifying where his fears are coming from. Showing less symptoms of depression, not being as withdrawn as he had been just a few months ago. He feels better about asking for what he wants, saying no to something he does not wish to do. He begins to live for himself and for the future.

 Finally the time has come. Marianne and Dimitri head out to Derdriu while you stay up north, the hotter weather does not agree with you.

Dimitri greets the fellow king confidently and warmly. Claude is happily surprised. While Marianne is there to see the interactions between the friends, Claude wants to share with you his gratefulness. Dimitri is more of his old self, able to laugh and freely speak his mind without apologizing for everything that doesn’t go perfectly smoothly. He recognizes that his friend is so much more relaxed and feeling confident.

 A few weeks later a slightly tanned and still relaxed Dimitri greets you upon his return. The vacation and diplomatic meetings were just what was needed. When the three of you sit down together for dinner, you do not mention to either of them that perhaps they sit a bit closer to each other than they had in the past.

You announce that you will pull back on your sessions with Dimitri. He needs to keep focused on his recovery, it is a long hard road but he has been led by the best down this path. You have found that there are others that may be in need of some assistance working on their coping with the past.

[southeastasianists]

In Malaysia, the ‘deep state’ is a shorthand for the perceived institutional inertia exerted by the 1.6 million strong civil service (see here, here and here) to undermine the newly elected Pakatan Harapan (PH) government, which was elected under the promises of weeding out state corruption, revamping the previous regime’s race-based policies, and improving civil service accountability and efficiency.

When juxtaposed against discussions of the deep state in the United States (US), it is interesting to see how the same concept can take on utterly divergent meanings. From a Democratic Party supporter’s point of view, the ‘deep state’ symbolises institutional integrity, in which bureaucrats and civil servants took measures to resist, moderate, and even compromise the actions of a capricious Presidency in the name of safeguarding constitutional provisions and national interest.

In other words, while in both cases ‘deep state’ theories depict a scenario where an elected executive is pitted against unelected bureaucrats and civil servants, the propriety of the enterprise-if such an enterprise exists at all-is very much in the eyes of the beholder. Given the highly polarised environment in Malaysia (and the United States), it is unsurprising that the rhetorical device finds its purchase. The moral ambiguity surrounding the term suggests it has a political, instead of scholarly, genesis.

The Deep State as Conspiratorial and Ideological

In places such as Pakistan, Thailand, or Turkey (where the battling of one ‘deep state’ is said to have instituted another), the term ‘deep state’ is often used to signify a parallel state consisted of a politically influential military elite. This is not the case for Malaysia or the US, given their tradition of having effective civilian control over the security forces.

This makes the search for a fixed definition for the ‘deep state’ elusive. Nevertheless, I argue there are two dimensions in its current rhetorical employment: the conspiratorial and the ideological.

Its conspiring side involves collective, tactical, and coordinated efforts by the civil service to undermine the government. Its ideological side means such efforts are geared towards specific goals, such as the protection of ethnoreligious hegemony, special interests, or cultural normative positions. The two sides work in tandem in that the conspiracy connects ‘deep state’ actors, while the ideology guides their strategy and actions.

Granted, this definition does not confirm the existence of a ‘deep state’, but rather how conspiracy and ideology are salient features in the conceptualisations of political actors. For example that is certainly the image of the deep state’ President Trump evoked.

Yet, transpired events in the form of media leaks, paperwork removal, information “slow-walking”, and resignations calls to mind, instead, the “foot dragging, dissimulation, desertion, false compliance, pilfering, feigned ignorance” described by James Scott in his seminal study of everyday forms of resistance in Malaysia instead of serving as proof of grand conspiracy.

In Malaysia, it is entirely legible that similar forms of resistance are present, and reasons for it can range from personal misgivings to institutional culture, the latter a barrier for any civil service reform. Nevertheless, the imagined conspiring cabal remains to be found.

Besides, to think about the ‘deep state’ meaningfully, the parameters of it must be defined first. Where does it begin and where it ends? When is it just the state and not the ‘deep state’?

In the case of Malaysia, the federated state structure (which is also found in the US) makes this a challenging venture, given the multi-tiered separation of powers between federal, state, and local governments. Malaysia’s hyper-centralised federalism does allow for centralisation of power and resources in Putrajaya at the expense of subnational governments. But considerable constitutional autonomy is still afforded to subnational polities, such as those associated with the administration of Islamic affairs. This signals that, for some issues, it can be federal-state tensions at play instead of the ‘deep state’ lunging forward to stymie the federal executive.

Measuring the Depth of the Deep State Theory in Malaysia

The claim that the ‘deep state’ has arisen at the critical juncture of PH’s election also bears scrutiny. Compared to the vast information leaks following Trump’s election (which has resulted in at least two high-profile books about the cacophonous Oval Office), the inner shenanigans of Putrajaya remain relatively obscured.

If a ‘deep state’ is present, it is difficult to imagine that conspiring actors will not capitalise on the newfound media freedom to further undermine a government struggling to deal with a ‘post-truth’ media landscape

Yet, there are more headlines generated by the inner schism of one political party as compared to bellows from the so-called ‘deep state’. The very few collectives representing the civil service, such as Congress of Unions of Employees in the Public and Civil Services (CUEPACS) and The National Union of Teaching Profession (NUTP), are relatively moderate in articulating group interests. Discussions about staff welfare and material benefits rarely venture into the ideological.

The leaks associated with the 1MDB saga, many of which would not be possible without government insiders, also suggests that if there is indeed a ‘deep state’ in Malaysia, its allegiance is not necessarily with the Barisan Nasional either. Stories of individual heroism that surfaced (not unlike those reported in the US) further illustrate how broad-sweeping views of the civil service are untrue, as much as they are unfair.

On the ideological front, Malaysia’s longstanding ethnocratic regime does provide some ammunition to the idea that the civil service serves ideology first before the elected government. And there are reasons to believe that some degree of socialisation has allowed ethno-religious supremacist to entrench itself, given the progressive ethnic homogenisation of the service as well as records of indoctrination programmes (such as the now-defunct National Civics Bureau, BTN).

Yet, even if a significant quarter of the civil service panders to the overarching Malay-Islam supremacist ideology (which is by no means confined to the civil service), it is far from certain that we are seeing a case of ideological homogeneity. At least not one that enables collective political mobilisation. The very fragmented nature of intra-Malay, intra-Islamist politics reflects this.

One must also bear in mind that the vote swing that propelled PH to power did contain its fair share of civil servant votes. Just because there is an overarching ideology, it does not mean convergence in political allegiances will automatically happen.

The fact that a group of prominent, high-ranking former civil servants, the G25, has been acting as a liberal-leaning pressure group also challenges the idea that the service is only occupied by those holding conservative beliefs that do not align with PH’s reform agenda.

Other Motivators of ‘Deep State’ Behaviours

My argument here is not that there are no internal state actors that seek to undermine the current government. That is a realistic possibility for any government, more so for one with dwindling popularity, especially among the majority Malay-Muslim electorate.

Nevertheless, it is equally valid that many of the ‘deep state’ characteristics decried in Malaysia are just the results of individual overzealous officials, institutional (in)capacity, or embedded, unthinking bureaucratic norms.

In Malaysia’s modern, hierarchical, and largely compliant civil service, careerist goals instead of ideological pursuit are more likely to be the motivator of bureaucratic behaviour. No doubt, such goals are informed by institutional culture; but institutional culture, even if underlined by ethnoreligious-centric norms and values, is still a long way from morphing into a conspiring, ideological ‘deep state’.

In some instances, professional ethics will prevail. For example, following the outbreak of the coronavirus, health professionals in the public sector are seen speaking out in social media against the fearmongering and xenophobic rhetoric of the opposition.

Ironically, the efforts that look very much like the ‘deep state’ came most prominently from academia, the field where discussions of institutional autonomy and intellectual objectivity are the most active. This suggests that the former regime may have left its ideological imprint deepest in Malaysia’s higher education (especially so in the humanities and social science) following decades of political domestication.

For example, an unpublished paper by a group of academics was reported to have been instrumental in derailing the government’s plans in ratifying the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. Social media postings from an academic, including one that listed 365 failures of the PH government, have also generated heated debates about the ‘deep state’ on one hand, and academic freedom and rigour on the other.

What to Make of Malaysia’s ‘Deep State’ Obsession?

The more intellectually productive way to think about the ‘deep state’ discourse is by engaging with the socio-political context from which it arises. Malaysia’s (as well as the United States’) grapple with the term unfolded within a setting where a political outsider came into power under the promises and expectations of profound change. To put it simply, ‘deep state’ theories embody anxieties of coming changes as well as failures to realise them.

Complicating Malaysia’s situation is its untested governing formula. In stark contrast to the years of the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO)’s hegemony, Malaysia is now governed by a coalition of five parties (inclusive of Sabah Heritage Party, WARISAN), each nominally having equal say. Not only that, the coalition also sits on an uneasy power transition plan with a definite successor but no definitive deadline.

Given the multipartite nature of the cabinet, the civil service is now stretched between parties and politicians that are engaged in considerable politicking. The collateral of politicians conspiring against each other can easily be mistaken as ‘deep state’ manifestations.

The recent resignation of a Minister, for example, contains traces of both intra– and inter-party contentions. The issue, which unfolded around a fracas surrounding the teaching of Jawi, is more convincing if read as politicians mobilising civil servants under their portfolios (and the larger society) instead of being a case of the proverbial tail wagging the dog.

It goes without saying that civil service reform is imperative for Malaysia, but ‘deep state’ theories remain superficial as guiding principles for such projects. Nonetheless, if there is a reason why imaginations of the state as ‘deep’ and ‘conspiratorial’ resonates with Malaysian society, it could be because this is how Malaysians generally feel about the mercurial yet highly consequential power play within the PH government: out of sight (and their control) but not necessarily out of mind.

#Southeast Asia #Malaysia #Deep State #Politics

[awadalmurisi]

Language is Political

As I was exploring a flea market in Kuala Lumpur, I found myself hearing conversations in English. Given the setting, such an encounter would have not left me slightly disturbed if it was not for the fact that the conversations were exchanged between the Malays, who you would normally expect to speak in their own mother tongue. There I was, being reminded once again that there seems to be a cultural shift among some urban Malays in terms of their language of choice. A reminder because I have witnessed some of my family members exclusively speaking to their children in English. I myself sometimes use English when I speak to my Malay friends, normally out of habit, but mostly in the presence of our non-Malay friends. However, to remove myself from the setting and simply witness Malays speaking to one another in English in Malaysia made me uncomfortable and this essay is an attempt to unpack my unease and concern.

English is taught in Malaysia as a second language so that we would be able to access the world better and to facilitate the world to approach us. While it is commendable that we acknowledge the importance of English as a global language, I cannot help but feel a sense of panic that our openness to the world would eventually lead to us losing ourselves. It would be alarmist to say that Malay is at risk now because there are still schools that use the language as a medium of instruction and the public sector still mostly operates in Malay. However, it would be silly not to pay attention to the apparent cultural shift among urban Malays who now first prioritise English in their daily life, even in settings where they can choose not to, and second to raise their children to only be an English speaker. In other words, English was supposed to help us communicate with the world but many have allowed English to take over our world, one generation at a time. Why would any Malaysian move from being a relatively good bilingual, trilingual or polygot to only be fluent in English? Especially when chances are we would have to sit for an English proficiency test every time we want to study in an English-speaking country, even when we graduated from a renowned university in one of those countries.

To add to the worry, the shift does not stop at English. Many Malay parents are also sending their children to national schools that use Mandarin as their language of instruction, understandably to prepare them for a global economy that is further characterised by the prominence of China. Some jobs in Malaysia already require applicants to be fluent in Mandarin so they are simply ensuring that their children would not find themselves failing to secure employment due to their insufficient linguistic capabilities. Given that English is the de facto office language for many jobs in the private sector in Malaysia, not being fluent in English is a common cited reason explaining Malaysian graduates' failure to get a job. The problem with emphasising on a dominant global language too much is that we would potentially dismiss many local talents who actually have the skills just for their lack of  language skills, especially if those jobs do not actually involve interacting with foreigners.

Even though Malay is the national and official language of Malaysia, its position in the country definitely does not go unchallenged. The language has been a lingua franca in maritime Southeast Asia, which includes Singapore and Indonesia, for hundreds of years but many Malaysians still doubt that it could and should be a language that unifies the country. Some seem to favour English to perform the role of a unifying language on an argument that it is a neutral language. But no language is neutral, language is always political. Besides that, it is common to hear criticisms from the Malaysian public that the country's education system is performing poorly based on the standard of English language education but criticisms based on the standard of Malay language education are rather rare. In other words, there is a bias towards promoting English under the guise of economic development and progress. In fact, some would go to the extent of calling it racism if one argues that all Malaysians should be fluent in Malay. Even though expecting fluency from every Malaysian can be problematic, expecting all Malaysians to at least learn Malay should not be controversial. Even more unfortunate, some would contend Malay is not a useful language to learn because only Malaysians speak the language, which is untrue, and that it is not commercially beneficial. Once again, Malaysians are found trapped prioritising to be global and economic progress before an inherited language that prospered in the land we now call home. 

Many intellectual discussions and events that take place in Kuala Lumpur also tend to be conducted in English. Even though I am fully in favour of language diversity and freedom, I sometimes question the rationale of using English for certain events, especially those of nation-building importance. I recall attending a panel discussion at a bookshop discussing the history syllabus taught in Malaysian national schools that was fully carried in English. As I listened to the panellists, I asked myself who the discussion was even for because these schools teach history in Malay, Mandarin and Tamil, but not English. Even when Malay can perform a useful role that many Malaysians keep on denying that it can, it is sidelined.

Perhaps my anxiety of the Malay language losing its place in Malaysia over a slow and long process is rooted in my immigrant heritage. While my paternal grandfather still speaks Arabic fluently when he wants to, I have yet to master the language. My disconnect with what could have been my mother language is a pain that stabs me every time I listen to Arabic songs, feeling the words but not understanding them. And this pain would be even greater witnessing Malay, which my family readily takes as our first language too over the generations as we call this place home, losing its touch like a pen running out of ink. This possible loss would be a great shame to be regretted in the future because this is a country where the language could and by extension should thrive. To think of future Malaysians, especially the Malays, being incompetent in the language and worse dismiss it is heartbreaking. The language is one of the few links that connect us together, to the land and to its past.

As a country, Malaysia is full of contradictions, or rather, it keeps on challenging whatever biases that you have or conclusions that you want to make. The country's older generations and its rural areas remind me why despite the many heartbreaks that it gives me, Malaysia is a love that I keep on holding on to and nurture. In Kuala Lumpur, some Malay shopkeepers speak to me in English even when I start responding to them in Malay but in my hometown in Johor, which is the country's southernmost state, there is no second thought about which language to use to communicate, regardless of our backgrounds. While many friendship groups in urban areas in the country prefer English, I still see older Malaysians communicating with one another in Malay every day. Some would argue that this shift is a natural outcome of Malaysia marching towards being a developed country. But it is a choice, a choice that could have political and economic consequences.

In a discussion with a fellow traveller from Spain when I was in Bangkok, I explained the simplicity of Malay. The verbs in Malay do not change in respect of gender and time, pronouns do not have genders, plurals are formed by duplication, and pronunciations are mostly phonetic, to name a few features of the language. It is an accessible language, even much so after a conscious effort was taken to shift from mostly using the Jawi script, which is a Perso-Arabic script, to the Roman alphabets commonly used today in acknowledgment of the country's multi-racial population. He casually retorted "maybe we should make Malay the international language then" to my explanation. I snickered. My wish is much simpler, I want the language to survive in the presence of bigger languages. I hope for a time when promoting the importance of Malay is not called a racial supremacist act. I long for Malaysia to remain as a multilingual country, with fluent speakers of global languages, but without relegating the national language as a language that is no longer relevant in the contemporary world. 

(Written in March 2020)

#essay #malaysia #malay #malay language #language #sociolinguistics #sociology #cultural shift #national language #bilingualism #global language #arabic #english #mandarin #tamil #politics of language

[ericxanders]

Kiss Me Slow || ROYALTY

WHO: Eric Anderson and Kurt Hummel ( @pearhipshummel )

WHERE: Eric’s Apartment

WHEN: January 19th 2019

NOTES: There’s some bacon. There’s some flirting and then there’s some kissing.

Eric

His room was definitely in a state of disarray; and he'd planned on getting up early on Saturday morning to organise it more but he hadn't got up as early as he'd planned. The place was slowly coming together and by the time he heard Kurt knocking at his door, he didn't feel so embarrassed to have guests over. He answered the door and looked him over with a bright smile. 'I knew it; twice as pretty in person.' he winked, stepping aside to give him space to enter. 'I hope you'll excuse the state of the place. It's still a work in progress.'

Kurt

Kurt clutched one of his favorite cooking pots with different spices hidden inside as he left the switch dorms to make the short travel towards Eric Anderson's suite. When the door opened to accommodate him, he flashes a bright grin and tentatively enters. Off the bat and he was already blushing. How he should've expected anything less was silly of him, but he can only give a small tut. "Oh, please. I'm not that naive to think a new place is suppose to look as dashing as the new owner that's occupying it." He returns the wink as he moves into the kitchen, setting his pot down. "You should've seen my place after I moved in. Majority of the boxes were clothes. Took a while to get everything in closet space and dressers."

Eric

‘I suppose I should have known as much. Best dressed person in the school right?’ He echoes, recalling the conviction with which Kurt had shared that particular fact. ‘I have a pet hate about living in clutter honestly. I would have had most of my stuff put away but there was a whole mix-up with the airline and most of my luggage was sent on another flight.’ He explains, opening the fridge and ducking to properly root through it. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything?’ He asks, speaking into the fridge. ‘I’ve got lemonade, soda, milk, coffee, tea.’ He lists off, straightening up and turning to look back at him. The other man is both attractive and interesting; for right now, he can’t really ask any more of his company.

Kurt

"Oh that sounds like an irritating situation, Monsieur. I'm sorry to hear that." Kurt offers as he starts taking things out of his pot to set on the counter space beside the stove. The question coming about needing something to drink does perk an ear, but he goes for a different tactic. And as he had been this independently willed into serving Sebastian upon meeting him for the first time without prompt, he gently waves a hand to beckon Eric away from the fridge as he takes his place at the cool opening. "Now, now. I know my way around a kitchen. Let me get you a drink. You've just got here, so you have two options. You can either sit and relax and talk to me while I make us, or really moreso you, food. Or you can continue unpacking, with an occasional question directed my way. Either way, let me get you a drink, Monsieur. What would you like?"

Eric

He’s pleasantly surprised when Kurt takes his place. It’s an interesting show of submission; briefly taking charge so that serving becomes an option. Obviously, his Switch mark fits him rather well. ‘I’ll take a lemonade.’ He answers after a few moments of though. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he only plans to make a meal for one. ‘Why aren’t you making us food? Maybe I should have specified that. I’d definitely like you to stay and eat with me.’ He explains, as he lifts himself up onto the countertop; a decent distance away from where Kurt has started to unpack his things to ensure he has plenty of room.

Kurt

On the beverage request, Kurt locates the lemonade and a glass to pour it in as smoothly as if this kitchen was his own. His head cocks slightly from the next question, as he hands the glass up to the Dom. "Oh, well if that's the case, I'd be honored to actually join you, Monsieur." Another small smile as he sets the lemonade back in the fridge and goes snooping through the food items he had to work with. Locating some potatoes, whipped cream, garlic, and bacon he returns to the stove and sets the items next to the settled seating area of the Dominant. "Now, usually this dish is best served with wine. White wine to be specific. But as we're not permitted to have alcohol and we're still on a lockdown, I suppose I owe you that drink when we're able to go off campus."

Eric

‘More time with the charming and beautiful Kurt Hummel; I’m almost glad for the lockdown.’ He teases. He wouldn’t describe himself as a flirt but he definitely enjoys it. He was being quite serious when he expressed his desire to see Kurt flush; his mind had instantly drifted to every other way he could make his skin turn. ‘Until then, we can always add a little fizzy water to this and call it bubbly.’ He laughs. It’s definitely thrilling to have someone outright want to serve him. ‘Tell me about Kurt.’ He requests. ‘I’m not going to ask you questions. Letting you talk freely about yourself is the best way to get to know you.’ He nods.

Kurt

Kurt can't help but to laugh, as he holds up a spatula as if he is fanning himself. "Oh, you flatter me, Monsieur." He chimes in from the statement of getting to spend more time with him. Something he wouldn't mind, as so far the company was nice and this Eric guy wasn't pulling the Dominant card at every turn. Or really at all so far, which was always something Kurt could get on board with. Starting in filling his pot with water to boil, he starts peeling his potatoes while jutting his bottom lip out in thought. "Alrighty, I can do that until I feel like I'm being a little too conceited." He adds a nervous laugh and then takes a deep breath. "But I am the eldest triplet of three, to a sister and a brother. Both, of whom, are also here. But uh, my mother passed when we were 8, and she was my hero. Plus she and I share the same hair type, so I think I got the better half of the gene pool." He gives an exaggerated hair flip which barely moves his coifed hair with a laugh. "Kidding. Sort of. But after she passed, I kind of took to caring for my dad until he found Carole, so now I have three more siblings brought in by marriage. It was a full house, and it took some getting used to." With his potatoes peeled, he cuts them into four sections and sets them in the pot of heating up water. "It definitely helped that my step brother, Finn, was good looking and I kind of fell hard for him. It was very embarrassing, because I wasn't subtle about it either." He feels his face go red, but he quickly shakes it off, searching for a skillet. "I obviously moved on after he used a slur towards me, and my dad chewed him out. But we've moved on since then, and on better terms with one another." Finding what he's looking for, he sets it on another burner, and goes to open the strips of bacon with a hum. "High school was uneventful...uh...and here I am!"

Eric

Asking him to just talk about himself isn’t a cop out or a way to ensure he doesn’t have to answer questions. Eric has always liked people and he’s always liked getting to know them; his friends used to joke that he could go into a bathroom on a night out and come out with a new friend who had divulged their life story. When Kurt starts to talk and share, he’s genuinely interested in everything he has to say. ‘I think I’ve spoken to your brother actually. Teddy right? No sign of your sister but by process of elimination, she must share my mark so no doubt we’ll run into one another in class or in the building.’ He can’t hide his delight in the way Kurt’s face reddens. ‘I was definitely right; you look gorgeous when you get all flushed.’ He teases lightly. He doesn’t want to comment on specific events; Kurt doesn’t need a stranger’s condolences on his Mother’s passing or that’s the assumption he makes. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a rather eventful time of it up until now.’ He remarks. ‘And now you’re here, cooking for a stranger.’

Kurt

Kurt ducks his face some from the compliments. Though he never actually minded in being called nice things, blushing or not, he always took a bit of embarrassment from letting himself show any sign of vulnerability. Even if the guy was good looking as Eric was. Laying strips side by side on the skillet, he bites his lip and offers the Dom a side long glance. "Well, I'll let you in on a secret." He holds his free hand up to cup the side of his mouth as if he's actually telling a secret. "I only cook for good looking and charming strangers off the bat." It comes out as a whisper, playing on serious though he has a playful twinkle on his eye. "But yes, Teddy is my brother. And my sister, Nora, will also probably charm your socks off when you do run into her." With the sizzling of the bacon, he flips each strip to ensure proper cooking and checks on the potatoes next. "What about you, Monsieur? What is your life story?"

Eric

'You think I'm good-looking and charming?' he echoes, a smirk playing on his lips before he takes a long drink of his lemonade. He pushed himself off the counter and went about setting the table for two. 'My life story? I'm also the eldest of three but I'm the second oldest in my family. My brother Cooper is seven years older and he was a single birth. He's an aspiring actor out in LA now. Blaine's the only sibling here and given what happened to him recently, was the inspiration behind my transfer. We're a pretty close-knit family; my Mom's the Dominant, Dad's a submissive although they were both Switches once. Growing up was interesting because we were exposed to the lifestyle pretty regularly. My Mom's big on open communication with all of us; and I'm not ashamed to admit I'm a total Momma's boy so we're really close.' he explains, gesticulating as he does so. 'I lived in Chicago after high school; studied there actually and got a nifty little degree in photography and fine art. I graduated early and was deciding what I should do when everything happened with Blaine. It made the decision of where to enrol really fucking easy.' he laughs. running his fingers through his hair.

Kurt

Kurt listens intently, offering Eric his actual gaze when he's not doing something with the food that requires his focus. Which he does give once the potatoes soften, and the bacon is done enough to set it aside on some paper towels to soak up any left over grease. Draining the potatoes, he starts mixing in the whipped cream and spices in a separate bowl, cutting the bacon up into tiny pieces lastly to set in the mixture. "Oooo, a photographer, huh?" Kurt hums, holding a spoon up for Eric to test taste the concoction of bacon and whipped cream first. "Tell me with your fine artistic tongue of yours if you want me to add anything or if it's fine or anything." Cups his free hand under the spoon, holding it up.

Eric

He steps forward, resting a hand on Kurt’s hip as he does so before parting his lips to take the spoon between them. A satisfied hum leaves his lips and he flicks his tongue to the corner of his mouth to catch the cream that was left. ‘Maybe a little black pepper. A little heat is always a good thing in my humble opinion.’ He muses. He’s reluctant to pull his hand away from the other’s hip but he does so he can return to putting the final touches to their meal. ‘You’re going to have to teach me how to make that.’ He grins.

Kurt

The touch is nice, and Kurt finds himself leaning into it as he watches with interest as the spoon disappears between the others lips. His face ultimately flushing further once his mind goes to a whole other realm of thinking which he chastises himself silently for. "Black pepper it is!" He nods, grateful for the opportunity to pull away and add more black pepper to the cream, giving it a mix and a taste for himself. Though he does laugh. "It's not that hard, Monsieur. It's a French dish actually." Carefully pouring the cream mixture over the potatoes, he mixes them together. "So a photographer's eye means I require your advice on the best angles and lighting options for shooting video myself."

Eric

‘Normally, my subjects don’t ask too many questions but I’m sure I can lend my expertise to your cause.’ He winks. ‘I say that because photographing people, taking portraits is only something I’ve started to explore seriously more recently. I normally take landscape shots.’ He clarifies, nodding his head towards some of the shots he’s already got framed and hung on the wall. ‘What are you shooting a video for?’

Kur

"You're still more of an expert than I am, darling." Kurt muses, setting the potatoes aside to search the fridge and freezer for a vegetable next. Locating a bag of broccoli, he grabs another pot to set the vegetable in with some water and starts to steam it. "I'm not totally at liberty to say, Monsieur. But it's for a good cause." While waiting for the broccoli, he goes to grab some butter. "I'm guessing you're still one for lemonade to drink with this?" He asks, tilting his head. "And while usually we have dessert right away, I'll have to ask your assistance to make it. So the question is, is if you'd prefer we do that now or eat first. Would hate for you to die of starvation, Monsieur."(edited)

Eric

'A secret project? How intriguing Kurt Hummel. You're a man of mystery. I like it.' he grins, although his curiosity shows quite clearly on his face. 'I'd be able to help you much better if you could divulge a secret or two.' he winks. 'Lemonade is good for me. Honestly, you'll find I drink gallons of the stuff. Help yourself to whatever you fancy.' he offers, gesturing towards the fridge. He thinks for a minute before nodding. 'Let's eat first; we can let our stomachs settle while we put dessert together.' he decides, pulling out a chair for Kurt to sit in.

Kurt

Kurt gives a teasing shoulder lift. "Well, I don't like giving everything away on the first date, darling. That's more of a third or fourth date kind of information." Carefully draining the broccoli and adds the butter for flavor, and carries to the the table. "Oh, quite the gentleman," the porcelain male grins as he takes the seat when it's offered. Honestly he couldn't remember the last time he had that done for him, and he was going to soak in the attention as much as he could. It was enough for his cheeks to turn red again, as he lets Eric help himself first before doing the same.

Eric

'If I'd known this was a date Kurt, I'd have brought you flowers.' he remarks, sending a wink in his direction. 'I suppose we can call this a taster date.' he allows, reaching across the table to fill his plate. The meal looks and smells incredible; and it's considerably fancier than anything he would have managed to cook up for himself. 'You keep blushing gorgeous.' he points out, resisting the urge to touch Kurt's cheek. 'It's attractive and adorable but I'm at a loss to figure out why.' he confesses.

Kurt

"Flowers?" He feels his chest flutter, and he has to pause in pouring himself lemonade so he doesn't drop it out of pure shock from someone actually offering. "I mean, I'd never turn down flowers, Monsieur. Unless they're being thrown at me. Because I read once that someone threw some roses with thrones and it unluckily got caught in the girls hair and scratched her eye. Total accident, but can't take a chance." He finished pouring finally, setting the bottle aside with a small shrug. Taking a small bite of the food as it was something heavy and his empty stomach wouldn't be able to handle too much of it at once. "Mmm...can't a boy blush when the company he's keeping is being sweet to him for no real reason?"

Eric

'Yes Kurt, flowers. Romance is important. I'm all for keeping it alive however I can.' He can't deny the flutter he feels at seeing the surprise on Kurt's face. That suggests he isn't being romanced and there's nothing Eric enjoys more than throwing a little love around. 'I promise I will never throw flowers at you and if roses are ever being exchanged, they'll be thoroughly dethorned.' he promises, making a show of crossing his finger over his heart. 'You can blush all you like but I'm not being sweet for no reason. You're interesting, you're kind and you're attractive. Any one of those alone would be enough to draw out a little sweetness.' he insists, sending a wink in his direction. He takes a bite and groans around his fork. 'Holy shit, this is fucking delicious.'

Kurt

The mention of romance being important brings a dubious eyebrow lift from the switch. Silently wishing everyone had the same outlook on that way of thinking. But he doesn't comment, just bites on his bottom lip as the blushing continues. "Well, then I expect flowers for the first official date, Monsieur. Don't let me down now." He teases with a point of his finger, and a small teasing chuckle as he takes another small bite of the food. "And you're going to make a boy explode over here if you keep making me blush like this. Then you'll have yourself to blame afterwards when there's a mess to clean up." Setting his fork down, he picks the drink up and takes a long drink to cool himself down and to fill the void in his stomach. "I told you, I know my way around the kitchen. Next time I'll make something more challenging for you to enjoy."

Eric

'All you have to do is tell me your favourite and I'll make sure to have them on hand.'  He scoots his chair a little closer to Kurt and can't help but push the flirtatious boundary by leaning in and whispering against his ear. 'I can think of at least one other way to make you explode and I suspect we'd both thoroughly enjoy cleaning up the mess.' He turns his attention back to his meal as though he hadn't just alluded to something filthy and continues to eat.  'I'll happily play the taste tester for anything you feel like putting together for me. It'd be entirely my pleasure.'

Kurt

The sudden invasion of personal space was unexpected, but not unwelcome. His entire body tingled with anticipation as the warm breath ghosted against flushed skin. He wasn't sure what he was anticipating, but the flirtatious words went right to his groin forcing himself to sit up a little straighter. Not even having the words to reply, as his jaw goes slack as he keeps his focus directly on his plate of food when Eric pulls away. He can feel he's completely red from head to toe at this point, as everything feels heated and he can hear his own heartbeat inside his head. When he does come back down from wherever he had gone to, he clears his throat. "Well, that's good to know! Because I may just have to put a lot of things together then. You'll probably have to get a gym membership to ensure I don't accidentally fatten you up or something."

Eric

He watches the way he responds to his whispered words. He doesn't interrupt his thoughts and despite his curiosity, he doesn't ask about where Kurt goes in his head. He knows it was forward of him and he's thrilled it seems to have been well-received. 'You know, there's worse things that could happen to me than a little fattening up.' he grins before he pats his stomach. 'I've long given up hope of ever being someone with a six pack. I enjoy my food too much and I don't have the discipline to work out too much.' He keeps his chair in the new position, close enough to be in touching distance of the other although he remains careful to allow him to keep his space. 'What do you have planned for dessert?' he asks.

Kurt

"Such a shame," Kurt muses as he picks at his food again, taking another small bite, "I could use a yoga buddy over the weekend mornings." Giving a small grin as he bites on the fork and sets it down, patting at the corners of his mouth, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Strawberry shortcake, except, not with angel food cake. A lot of people think angel food, but sometimes that a little too sweet. You know? And as you're sweet enough to cause a cavity, we don't need that." With a wink, he pushes himself up from the seat and goes snooping for flour. "It's similar to a biscuit, like with biscuits and gravy? But instead of gravy, it's strawberries and whipped cream."

Eric

'That honestly sounds delicious. I have a terrible weakness for strawberries.' As he's gathering up their dinner plates, he can't help but notice the fact that Kurt has only really picked at his food but he doesn't comment on it. He rinses the plates and loads them in the dishwasher while directing Kurt on where he can find ingredients when necessary. He rolls up his sleeves and takes a position next to him. 'Alright then, you're the boss. Tell me what you need me to do.' he grins.

Kurt

Kurt smirks, grabbing a bowl to start making the dough as Eric cleans up the plates.  Letting himself just stare, maybe get ahead of himself with the fantasizing about enjoying this view a little too much for the moment. He could come back down to reality later. "Well, can you start kneading this and then roll it out to your desired thickness, please? I'll handle the strawberries." Sliding the bowl over towards Eric, he finds a knife to start cutting the stems off first, then slicing them in half. Picking up a pretty juicy half of one to slip between his lips, and offers the other towards Eric.

Eric

He works the dough, concentrating a little more than he probably needs to. He's just about finished rolling it out when Kurt's hand appears near his face. He turns and offers a grin at the offered strawberry. Much like he had when tasting the sauce earlier, he parts his lips and leans forward. This time, he makes a point of sucking Kurt's fingers between his lips long after he's tasted the sweetness of the strawberry. He pulls back with a pop. 'Delicious.'

Kurt

Both of Kurt's eyes widen a bit, and he sucks in a breath to hold it until Eric is done being is total tease. He definitely feels a twitch between his legs this time, and he gives a little giggle from the delicious comment. "You, Monsieur, are ridiculous." He shakes his head, returning to the job at hand to blend the strawberries together and get the oven turned on. "Just got to cut those bad boys into biscuit shapes, put them in the oven, wait for them to rise, cool off, and then we can eat them. Go team!"

Eric

'Ridiculous maybe, but it's making you grin.' he points out, although his eyes definitely flicker south to gauge any other potential reaction. He does his best to cut neatly but the dough is a little sticky and this isn't something he has a great deal of  practice with. His circles are all mostly the same size and all the same thickness. Once the oven has heated up, he slides the tray in and closes the door. 'So how long do we have before we need to take them out?' he asks, returning to the edge of Kurt's personal space. 'I mean, the kitchen already smells fucking delicious so I'm impatient to get eating them.'

Kurt

Sucking some of the strawberry juice off his own fingers as his personal space gets invaded somewhat again. Deciding to up the playful teasing as he looks at Eric through his eyelashes and removes his finger from his mouth, sticking one hip out more with a soft hum. "It takes twelve minutes to bake, and then about twenty minutes to cool down enough to eat. So, that's 42 minutes to do as we wish." Head tilting, he closes in the distance between them for a second, eyes dropping to Eric's mouth before he swiftly moves away. "So I suggest we finish getting you fully unpacked!"

Eric

He reaches out and catches Kurt's hand, giving him a quick tug to pull him back against his chest. 'I've been unpacking all day.' he laments, resting his head on the other's shoulder. 'It's absolutely the last thing I want to do.' He enjoys the tease; it's reassuring to have Kurt respond and play along. It lets him know he wasn't the only one wanting to push boundaries. 'Give me another suggestion.' he demands, sliding his arms more securely around his waist. 'Unpacking my shit can't be the way you want to spend a Saturday. What do you want to do? Or make a suggestion as to what you'd like me to do.' he winks.

Kurt

Another giggle, an actual genuine giggle, escapes as he's pulled back as his hands find a resting place on the Dominants arms. Comfortable to keep the closeness between them. Head tilting back for a moment as he just radiates total amusement. "I don't know, Monsieur. I think I'd be very, very good at unpacking what you brought." Waggles his brows suggestively, and brings a hand over to trace along Eric's bearded jaw. "But then again, this isn't a third date. Can't rush too fast into unpacking all of you just yet. So I'll settle for you kissing me. If you want." He leans in a bit closer to whisper. "Truth be told, I haven't kissed anyone with this much facial hair and I'm highly curious."

Eric

He nuzzles his chin against Kurt's hand, giving him a taste of how scratchy his beard can feel against a person's skin. 'It's not for everyone.' he admits. 'Some people love the sting of a little beard burn and some people hate it but it would be my absolute pleasure to kiss you Kurt Hummel.' he nods in agreement. He's gentle when he presses him back against the kitchen counter, light when he leans in and catches his lips in a smooth kiss. His hands remain tight around his waist and he leans a little of his weight against him. Twelve minutes before the biscuits need to come out of the oven; time he can very easily fill by kissing the Switch. He kisses him deeper and nips at his lower lip. He's languid and lazy and he takes his time in exchanging chaste kisses lightly pressed to his lips, to longer, more insistent kisses that suggest he wants so much more than he currently has.

Kurt

"Lucky for you I keep my face moisturized for such harsh elements." Kurt teases, following the movement so he can be pressed against the counter. His natural instinct to let the Dominant to take control for this first kiss of theirs. His eyes fall closed, and his arms slip around the other man's neck. It's a different feeling, with the rough feeling against his sensitive skin, but it's not all that unpleasant. If anything it's just a solid reaction to set the butterflies insane in the pit of his stomach bringing a small yet sharp inhale. His lips follow every swipe and nip, chasing Eric's lips down in refusal to let them break apart just yet. Even with his head going light, and his hands feeling shaky, he doesn't want it to stop.

Eric

In Eric's opinion, kissing can exist entirely on its own. It doesn't have to be leading to something more because there's something so wonderfully intimate and intense about it alone. Kurt responds to him perfectly; he follows rather than leads and it's a huge ego boost that his lips seem to chase after him to keep a solid connection. He brings a hand up to Kurt's face, stroking his thumb over his cheek as he pulls back just enough to suck in a breath. 'Don't forget to breathe gorgeous.' he murmurs, giving him the opportunity to do so before he's kissing him again. He's more insistent again and he trails his lips from Kurt's to mouth along the smooth line of his jaw, very aware that his beard will scratch at the otherwise flawless skin as he goes.

Kurt

As the Dominant pulls away so they can both catch their breath, Kurt exhales shakily. He doesn't want to open his eyes though, as he's swimming in the feeling. The feeling light as a feather that was doing wonders and he was floating in it, never wanting to come back down. He feels so needy and vulnerable, and it has only been a kiss. A good kiss. But he wanted more. As much as he could get. As the others lips find his again, he feels himself smile into it this time. When was the last time he had smiled? He couldn't place a time or place beforehand. And things only escalated when the rough feeling traveled down to his jaw, which Kurt gives him total control in doing. It feels heavenly and he can't help but whimper.

Eric

The whimper sends sparks throughout his body. Kurt sounds so delightfully needy and he's only too happy to be the one to take care of that need. He nips at his jaw and slides his hand up into his hair. His grip isn't tight enough to cause him real pain but it's enough to be felt, it's enough to be able to tug his head to the side which gives him greater access to his neck. He continues his assault there, carefully altering the amount of pressure he replies and never doing one thing long enough to allow Kurt to completely adjust to it. He can feel the steady thump of his pulse and that's the exact spot he chooses to kiss over. He bites down, he sucks and hollows his cheeks; anything he can do to pull blood to the surface of his skin and ensure he's left with a vivid bruise. The timer on the oven goes off and that's the only thing that forces him to pull back. 'Stay right there.' he instructs. giving his waist a squeeze. 'Don't move a muscle. I'm going to take the biscuits out of the oven and then I'm going to come right back here.'

Kurt

Usually Kurt hated when his hair was messed with. But in this moment, he was far too gone. His body was on fire and wanted for Eric to be as close as possible and touch everywhere he could reach. If anything he gives an even more needy moan as his hair is gripped. His fingers twitch where they're grasping at each other from behind the Dom's neck to keep the closeness. His breath is catching in his chest, and he can't help the eye roll into the back of his head as he feels the pained pinch to his skin. A mark he'd definitely wear with pride. The timer causing him to jerk with surprise. Having totally forgot that they had been baking, as he got himself carried away under Eric's control. Curling his bottom lip into his mouth to bite, he withdraws his arms to keep himself propped against the counter as he's given the order. Or at least, it comes across as one, and he feels goosebumps as a result of it. With a nod, he lets out a shaky: "As you wish, Monsieur."

Eric

The praise falls from his lips without a second thought. 'Good boy.' He couldn't pinpoint exactly the moment things had shifted, or perhaps their roles had always subtly been in play but it isn't a shift he wants to complain about. He slips his hand into an oven glove and removes the tray. He carefully lifts the biscuits with a spatula and lays them along a wooden chopping board to cool down. When he turns back to Kurt, he grins, taking note of the fact that he really didn't move. 'That was a much better way to spend twelve minutes, don't you think?' he remarks, coming back to stand in front of him. 'Are you feeling okay?' he asks next, resting a light hand on Kurt's waist. 'That got to be a little more intense than I planned.' he admits as his eyes search the other's expression.

Kurt

The corners of Kurt's mouth twitch upward in a small grin from the praise given to him as he downcasts his gaze in a bashful manner. But as a good boy, he doesn't move. Just breathes. Breathes in the freshly baked biscuits. Breathes in the faint scent of strawberry stems that were left untouched for now only a few feet away. Breathes in the view of the Dom who had just had his mouth on Kurt's neck and making him melt in his arms. He even takes in another deep inhale as Eric returns, and he easily leans into the touch with a nod. "Just, you took my breath away. Haven't been kissed like that for a while, Monsieur. I let myself enjoy it." He offers another grin. "Was it okay for you? Am I first date material?"

Eric

'To play on a quote from Gone With The Wind, I'm of the opinion that you should be kissed like that often.' he hums, bringing his thumb up to swipe across Kurt's bottom lip. The question is light but it reminds him that perhaps Kurt needs to hear some verbal reassurance. That was his Mom's number one lesson; tell your submissive how you're feeling, what you're thinking. 'I can safely say that your any date material gorgeous.' He takes his hand and draws him through to the living room. The couch and the floor around it are clear; he immediately takes a seat but gives Kurt the option. 'You can sit where you want, or you can kneel if that's where your head's at right now. My preference would be for you to come sit here,' he indicates, patting his lap. 'Or to kneel there.'

Kurt

Kurt is one for having his mind eased before his paranoia gets the better of him. Something he knew he had to work on in his own personal time as it wasn't anyone else's problem but his own. But even so, the reassurance had him relaxing his shoulders from tension he hadn't even realized was there. Keeping his bottom lip caught between his teeth, he takes to following the other into the living space without question. While he personally hated being seen as a submissive usually, as it meant he was expected to serve. Expected to be respectful. Expected to do things against his will just because a higher mark demanded it of him. But right here, right now, he doesn't mind. It's coming easy and he's finding himself trusting quickly. Possibly something he'd kick himself for again, as last time he did that he got hurt. "You want me to kneel in your lap?" Kurt can't help but ask with a teasing grin, though he makes to settle on sitting in Eric's lap without question. "Because kneeling in your lap sounds uncomfortable."

Eric

‘Not necessarily.’ He slides his hands back and forth over Kurt’s thighs as he speaks. ‘It would be as simple as having one knee here and one here.’ He explains, gesturing to the space either side of each of his legs.  He leans up and pulls Kurt down into another kiss. He’s happy to keep this up, to let his lips meet with Kurt’s over and over again; exploring a little further every time. He pulls back and lightly trails his finger over the skin reddened by his beard. His eyes light up with curiosity. ‘Still feeling good?’ He prompts, squeezing his thighs lightly.

Kurt

One delicate eyebrow arches as he presses his tongue along the inside of his cheek with a little smirk. "Oh, you do have a point with that, Monsieur. If you put it that way..." He makes an easy shift to straddle Eric's lap, gently cupping the Dominants face with both hands as he returns the kiss when it's offered to him again. Something he'd never be able to say no to at this point. Not when it was helping him feel so good, like nothing else mattered so long as he had those lips pressed against his. Resting foreheads together the moment the other pulls back again, feeling breathless all over, Kurt smiles. "Oui 'Monsieur. I feel amazing right now. And comfortable. And sated. And...mmmm, so good." Bringing a hand up to twist one of the loose curls around his finger. "Can I ask a favor of you, Monsieur?"

Eric

He realises he needs the reassurance too. It’s not enough to assume Kurt’s enjoying being kissed or that he’s feeling good. He needs to ask and hear the Switch answer him. ‘If at any point you’re not feeling all those good things, I want you to tell me.’ He requests, enjoying the feeling of Kurt’s hands holding his face. ‘Of course you can ask a favour. What’s up buttercup?’

Kurt

"Cross my heart," Kurt promises, making the crossing over the left side of his chest with his right hand, "hope to die or something. Except let's be real, I'm too pretty to die yet." Ducking his head with his own cackle at himself. But once he's given the green light to ask, he lifts his head again as he sits up a little bit straighter. "I would like to request more of your company, if I may? Like...May I spend the night?" He quickly holds his hands up. "And not in a sexual way, I promise. I can even crash on the sofa. I just...have this thing about being by myself for too long. And I can make you breakfast, if you'll let me of course, Monsieur."

Eric

If he hadn’t already thought him adorable, his request and more specifically the way he presented it, would have nailed down that description in his head. ‘You can definitely spend the night gorgeous.’ He agrees. ‘And you definitely won’t be crashing on the couch. I have two spare bedrooms and a bed more than big enough for two so you can take your pick.’ He offers. There’s a sexual joke on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t make it out of a desire to ensure Kurt feels comfortable. ‘Whatever you want Kurt. I’m happy for any extra time spent with you.’

Kurt

Relief is evident as it washed over his features as he's granted his request. Grinning, he caresses Eric's beard with his thumbs. "Thank you. I really appreciate it, Monsieur." Leaving back in, he presses another kiss to the Dominant's lips, taking a deep inhale as he does so. This time breathing in Eric. Wanting to just remember this moment for a while. "I'd love to spend it in your bed. Though I tend to enjoy snuggling, I hope that's okay?"

Eric

Instinctively, his lips chase after Kurt’s, exchanging several more kisses before he manages to form a response. ‘Snuggling with an incredibly attractive human? Oh, I don’t know. However will I be able to live through something so traumatic.’ He teases, a warm smile firmly in place on his lips. ‘Snuggling, kissing, touching, cuddling; all more than okay things to share when you’re in my bed.’ He promises with a wink.

Kurt

Kurt mirrors the smile, resting his wrists on the others shoulders as he presses in closer. "Sounds promising to me, darling. Perhaps I'd like to kiss you to sleep and then wake you up with one too then." Rubs his fingers through the loose curls a second time, grazing the tip of his nose down the Dom's cheek, over his jaw where he pauses. "Do you have clothes I could sleep in? Because this isn't even our third date, so you can't possibly see me naked yet."

Eric

‘You mean I have to share my bed and I don’t even get to enjoy you nude?’ He feigns disappointment but his smile gives away the fact that he’s not speaking seriously. ‘I’m not as tall as you or as slim so I don’t know how well they’ll fit but you can have your pick of anything in the drawers: feel free to have a good look through for something suitable.’ He invites. ‘Fair warning, the top drawer in the bedside dresser is socks, underwear and sex toys so you might want to avoid that.’

Kurt

"In due time, darling." Kurt hums, pressing a few kisses down Eric's neck. "Everyone is eager to get naked for everyone. But I think I want to make you work for it, Monsieur. Though I do promise, you won't be disappointed." Another soft kiss and he's again lifting his head. "Oooo, sex toys? That just spikes my curiosity with what you're into, actually." Wiggling free from Eric's lap, he jogs to the bedroom and locates the dresser and goes immediately into snooping.

Eric

He waits for a beat, amused at how fast they seem to have connected and how much it doesn’t bother him before he pushes himself to his feet and follows Kurt through to his bedroom. ‘You’re not really going to get a full picture just by seeing a few dildos and a vibrator.’ He points out, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Those are just things it’s useful to have on hand; you never know when you might need to spice something up. The fastest way to find out what I’m into would be to just ask me.’

Kurt

Offering the Dom a raised brow as he holds up one of the dildos and starts to wiggle it out of his own amusement to watch it dance in the palm of his hand. "Spice things up. Do I get to know what you're into, or is that also saved for later?" Setting the dildo back in the drawer, he closes it and squats to open the bottom drawer first. "Which will be fair, but my interest is piqued."

Eric

‘I’d be very into bending you over the edge of my bed and seeing if I can make your other cheeks turn as red as your face has been.’ He teases. ‘Orgasm control is a big thing for me. I think it’s an insane turn-on when someone willingly hands over their pleasure to you. I’m good at denial; I’ve been known to make it last for days. I supposed forced orgasm would be in the same vein as that again, there’s something incredibly hot about someone tied down and forced to cum over and over and over.’ He explains, crossing the room to perch on the edge of his bed. ‘I like short term TPE and I’m really into pain play. Electro play is fun too; you’ve not lived until you’ve orgasmed from electricity.’ He lists off the first few kinks and interests that come to mind. ‘What about you? What are you into Kurt Mystery Hummel?’

Kurt

The mention of being bent over anything sent another shiver down his spine and he feels himself harden in his pants. Keeping himself distracted by locating some sweat pants and a plain tank top. Glancing back at Eric, knowing his face is yet again blushing red. He can't exactly find the words, as he closes the drawer and stands up, purposely holding the two items of clothing in front of himself. His brain had short circuited for a moment. "I—uh. Totally just blanked for a second, um." He Shakes his head. "I'm into a lot of things, Monsieur. I'm definitely a brat, so I'm into being put in my place. Anything rough. Putting my entire control in the hands of someone else." He steps in closer, biting his bottom lip again as his nervous tic of feeling bashful and aroused. "I'm into anything aside from breath play and anything involving the bathroom activities, to be honest. So, I definitely like spankings. In fact, my brat side always misbehaves just to get a few of those."

Eric

He can see Kurt’s mind whirling behind his eyes and he doesn’t do anything to pull him out of it. They’re not in any rush and whether he’s thinking about the information Eric had shared with him or pondering his own answer to the question, he’s entitled to the time it takes to do that. His fingers twitch at his sides; knowing Kurt enjoys a good spanking only increases his desire to give him one. ‘I hope, when we get to know one another more, you give me a reason to take down your pants and pull you over my lap in a very public setting. You’re so sweet I didn’t have you pegged as a brat but now my curiosity is piqued and I can’t wait to see that side of you.’ He closes the little distance left between them and selects the clothes in his left hand. Wear these.’ He instructs; taking the opportunity to exercise his role.

Kurt

Standing in close to Eric, he shrugs slightly. Resisting the urge to just spill he'd let the Dom in front of him do anything he wanted, so long it was to him and for him. His vulnerability and insecurity of being replaced was trying to deep through and he was pushing it down forcefully. "I would love for you to see my bratty side, Monsieur. I only hope you can handle me." He offers a little grin, following instructions by hugging the clothes close. "Yes, Monsieur. May I dress in your bathroom?"

Eric

‘My ex was a brat through and through. I handled her just fine.’ He shares. He lets himself linger in the closeness for a while. ‘But there’s no pressure. Just because we’re talking about sex and kink doesn’t mean I’m expecting that from you. You can decide to pursue or not pursue whatever you want. Regardless, I think you and I are going to be friends.’ He waits a beat before he nods. ‘You can get changed in here. I’ll go back and give you peace.’

Kurt

"Definitely no pressure." He bites back an'i trust you' since it was far too juvenile to jump into that ship. No matter how he was feeling in that moment, he knew in the long run he'd kick himself. He always did. Even so, he grins at the mention of them being friends and his heart flutters. "Thank you, Monsieur." He hums, stealing one last kiss from Eric, and steps back, waiting for the Dom to grant him privacy first so he can change.

Eric

He takes a moment just to look over him; and slowly exhales. ‘I hope you know I’m going to consider breakfast tomorrow our second date.’ He announces before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. He ponders his reasons for coming here and he can only come up with one; Blaine. It was potentially a foolish move but the people he’s met, Kurt Hummel included, are leading him to believe that regardless of his reasoning, he’s made the right choice. While Kurt changes, he sets about whipping a fresh batch of cream for their strawberry shortcake and he cuts up a few extra strawberries just in case.

Kurt

The blush is back, and Kurt can only watch as Eric leaves him alone to change. With the amount of layers he put on to keep the cold on, it would take a while to slip out of the tight jeans, his body singing with praise at the release as things were starting to get very uncomfortable. A feeling he wasn't not used to, as he was human and very much reacted in a physical manner to any attention thrown his way. Similar to a dog salivating at a presenter treat. Something he did feel pathetic about, almost guilty. But he manages to get the sweats on and tie the string to ensure there'd be no slipping off. Sure they were a bit on the 'shorter' side, but they still reached his ankles and kept things loose and comfy. And the chosen sweatshirt fit like a charm, even hanging off of one shoulder slightly as Eric was more broad than Kurt hoped to be. Slipping out of the bedroom, he prods into the kitchen behind Eric and slips his arms around his waist, propping his chin atop his should to peer over at the whipped topping. "Oooo, look at those skills." He teases, stealing a swipe of the sweet fluff to taste with a soft approving sigh.

Eric

'If you're lucky, you'll come to learn my whipping skills are second to none.' Flirtatious banter comes easily and it's evident that it's going to be one of the main ways they communicate. It's a very comfortable position to be in and it's almost as though he fits against Kurt. He continues until the cream is whipped perfectly before turning in Kurt's arms. 'Well, take a step back. Half the fun of you wearing my clothes is me getting to appreciate you in them.' he insists, gesturing with his finger for Kurt to give a little twirl. The pants are definitely too short and the shirt doesn't fit right but somehow Kurt stops the look from being comical. He looks hot. 'I'll be honest, you wearing my clothes just makes me want to take them off.'

Kurt

There's a warm laugh as he steps back as instructed, and gives a pose. Hands on hips, and then one on his face as he gives a slow turn, only to look at the Dom over his shoulder as if to appear sultry, but laughs it off as he turns around fully to face Eric again. He can see how those eyes look him over, and the words that follow are tempting but he slows his roll and awards himself a mental point for resisting. "''Tis only our first date, and apparently me making you breakfast is the second. Patience, darling. The third will be upon you quickly enough." Going for a flirty and bashful pose, as he pretends to bite his pointer finger, twisting back and forth where he stands. "And oh the things we'll do, darling. I'll be a whimpery mess and be begging for you to never stop. And begging you please, oh, yes. Right there." He adds a moaning sound, rubbing his hands together, tilting his head to the side. "Please, Daddy, please. Need you so bad." Being the ultimate brat now, as he grind mischievously and starts Wiggling his hips from side to side.

Eric

Kurt's playing a game and it's one he's only too happy to engage in. 'I'm real happy to accept your boundaries Kurt.' he points out, as his hands find purchase on his waist. He holds him tightly and his mind wanders for a moment thinking about how satisfying it would feel to leave finger shaped bruises on his pale skin. Kurt's words and his actions are going straight to his crotch and he makes absolutely no attempt to disguise his reaction; making a point of holding Kurt still so he can rock his hips forward and grind against him. 'Please keep being a brat gorgeous.' he requests, nipping at the other's earlobe. 'Give me a reason to take your pants down right now and toss you over my lap.' He's itching to do it. 'Don't you forget that third date is coming and when it does, I'm going to pay you back for all your teasing tenfold. You're going to be crying for my cock Princess.' he grins, punctuating his sentence with a quick nip against the bruise he'd left earlier in the evening.

Kurt

Giggling as he presses in as close as Eric invades his personal space again. Something he'd be all too welcoming to without question for a while, as he curls his fingers into the Dom's choice of shirt. Another whimper escapes, though he's unsure if it's because of the grinding happening and the overall friction doing things to him, or the words being promised against his ear. "I don't cry easily, Daddy," Kurt purrs back in response, "but I'll sure enjoy watching and feeling you try." He wraps his arms back around Eric's neck.

Eric

'I have ways of making needy boys like you cry Kurt; and it's all about denying you want you want. You'll be overwhelmed.' The teasing is fun; the banter back and  forth is satisfying in itself but out of a desire to respect Kurt's wishes, he knows he needs to nip it in the bud. If they keep going, they'll both reach a point where waiting for a third date doesn't seem all that important and right now, it seems to be important to Kurt. That's something he plans to respect. He leans down and kisses him soundly. 'But I think we both need to cool off a little because we're not going any further than this tonight. As much as I want to turn your ass red for being a brat, I'm not going to.'(edited)

Kurt

Kurt knows he's right. As he personally is holding out for a reason. Everyone jumps everyone's bones, and it was a reason he was getting hurt by his own intended in that everyone else's bones were getting jumped by him first before Kurt could get a toe dipped in anymore. He wanted to know he was more than just a fuck, fifteen minutes of feel good moments, only to to be pushed off to the sidelines for the next ass to walk by. It doesn't stop him from pouting though, as the brat within never liked being told no. "You'll do it later though, right?" He asks instead, still pouting. "By the third date that is. Pretty please, Monsieur?"

Eric

A smirk curls his lips and he shrugs his shoulders. 'Well, would you look at that? I already have you wanting. I wonder how needy you'll be by the time this elusive third date rolls around.' he winks. If that's a taste of how Kurt's going to plead with him, he can already tell he won't be disappointed with the final product. 'Right now, I'm going to go change out of these jeans because you've made them rather uncomfortable. I want you to take a minute, collect yourself and finish putting our dessert together. You can bring them in the living room when you're ready; we'll eat in there together.' He waits for confirmation Kurt understands, suspecting his brain might be as hazy as his own is, before he heads off towards his bedroom to wriggle out of jeans that are too tight for how hard his cock currently is.

Kurt

The pout is replaced quickly by a small scowl, a playful one anyway, and he's giving a little whine as his head falls back with a long and drawn out sigh. But as he resumes his regular body posture, he nods. "Okay, Monsieur. As you wish." He brings his hands away from the Dom, taking in a deep and calming breath to reel back in before going to picks the biscuits apart and set them in two separate bowls. Drizzling the strawberries on top, even sneaking in a taste now and again when getting the red juice on his fingers, he adds the whipped cream to top it off and carries it to the living room as requested.

#para: Kiss Me Slow #para: Kurt Hummel

[ninzied]

Blame It On the Mistletoe [OQ]

Robin searches for the perfect way to earn a kiss from someone special while Regina glowers her way through the holiday, pretending not to care who that special someone might (or might not) be. A Missing Year Christmas. For @onceuponanadvent. [ffn | ao3]

It’s almost Christmas, she’s forced to remind herself for no less than the tenth time that evening. It’s time for tinsel and holly and good will towards others, not for simmering tempers or the plotting of multiple deaths in the castle – well, just the one. She’d happily settle for one at the moment.

Christmas, Regina.

She takes a deep breath.

“Not a creature was stirring,” she carries on reading, more firmly this time as she flips to the following page. “Not even a—”

There’s more muffled giggling from one corner of the drawing room. The same insufferable corner that’s been trying on Regina’s last nerve for the better part of her evening, with all that maddening cheer and those secretive grins about whatever the hell they’ve been whispering away to each other.

“Regina?” pipes up a small voice by her ear, and the tension snaps between her shoulders, sapping right back out of her. “Not even a what?”

Big brown eyes blink expectantly up at her as she tilts her head down toward the boy – something creaking with the effort – and gives him a full-watted smile, as though she hasn’t just been glaring most murderously at his father on the other side of the room.

“Not even a mouse,” Regina tells Roland in a theatrical hush, and he looks rapt at the idea, wiggling closer to examine the book’s illustrations, a whole family of mice fast asleep in a tiny plaid mitten. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care…”

Another bit of stifled laughter, and any hopes of St. Nicholas soon being there are ground to a halt as Regina clamps her teeth together, endeavoring not to explode.

She’d tasked the thief with stringing the garland – what should have been a quite simple thing, considering his qualifications as a forest person with some presumed knowledge of trees. She’d told him as much when he questioned her confidence that he could be something of use for a change, and she’d even been gracious enough to ignore him when he had the audacity to smile at her answer.

He was right, as it turns out. She should have known better than to trust him with this.

He’d apparently enlisted some help in one Belle and a Ruby, the three of them disappearing shortly after supper and returning long after what seemed entirely reasonable to Regina, looking flushed from the cold but pleased with their fresh armfuls of pine. They’d sat themselves down on a set of cushions closest to the hearth, and there they’ve been cozily huddled ever since, the box of ribbons and bells Regina had brought them forgotten on the floor as they sip on warm drinks and laugh about some story Robin’s just told them.

Belle’s response has Robin’s eyes crinkling with a half-held smile, and then he’s turning an ear toward Ruby as she chimes in and places a familiar hand on his knee, squeezing affectionately there.

“There’s a special plant for that, you know,” Ruby is saying, with a suggestive arch of an eyebrow at him, and then she seems to realize too late how loudly she’s just spoken, shrinking slyly into her mug with a not-so-sorry grin to match. Even Snow glances up from her knitting – an assortment of red woolly stockings already piled high by her armchair – and looks at her curiously, to which Ruby winks back before mouthing a mischievous Later that has Belle fighting a grin of her own.

Robin, however, is looking thoughtful all of a sudden, biting his lip as though he would have quite liked to know more if not for the audience they’ve made.

It would take almost no effort at all, thinks Regina, a mere flick of her wrist and those pointy pine needles could inflict some real damage, remind him of the work to be done instead of all this shameless flirting, ruining storytime with Roland and – speaking of Roland—

The boy is not so subtly craning his head over the book in her lap, in a clear attempt to see for himself what all this fuss with the “sugar plums” must be about, and Regina feels the anger leak out of her again, a nagging guilt filling up in its place.

“Here, why don’t we try this.” Regina scoots Roland back a little, liberating the book and standing it onto its spine for a second. With a wave of her free hand, the book gives a rustling shake before bouncing to hover mid-air in front of them, blocking the rest of the room from view. Its pages flatten of their own accord, and the sugar plums begin to dance a jerky stop-motion dance around slumbering children’s bonneted heads.

“Whoa,” says Roland a moment later when the book, quivering again, turns the page onto an open window and blows out a dusting of snowflakes at them.

He dabs a finger delightedly at each glittering clump on his clothes (“Look, Regina, it’s gone!”), and she smiles, feeling pleased that they finally have this small bit of space to themselves. She simply can’t be bothered with anything else, really, beyond the approach of St. Nick’s miniature sleigh, and the whoop Roland makes at the sight of his eight flying reindeer.

He nestles himself more snugly into the crook of her elbow while she narrates their little movie to him. It’s easier now to imagine those coy murmured sounds at the other end of the room as nothing but meaningless noise, and more than once Regina even almost-smiles to hear Leroy’s voice booming nearby, tipsily heckling Friar Tuck over a half glass of sherry and what otherwise would have been a rather solemn game of chess.

The animations have slowed their progress considerably, but Roland doesn’t seem to mind – quite the opposite, in fact, requesting that they turn the same page back several times to see St. Nick get stuck partway down the chimney yet again before tumbling out with a comical thunk!, like a plunger losing its suction, spraying up soot and spilling his satchel of toys.

“One more time?” Roland asks with hopeful, pleading eyes, and Regina looks apologetically at St. Nick as he stops brushing flecks of ash from his beard and sags his shoulders resignedly at them.

The reindeer, in their restless trotting along the roof of the book, eventually discover that they can leap right off the edge of the cover and into Roland’s lap, cantering about and thoroughly distracting the boy for a while, leaving St. Nick to unpack his toys at his leisure.

He’s looking quite jolly, smoking up a storm with his pipe and helping himself to another chunk of cookie when Robin’s silhouette looms into focus overhead. His expression is rueful but knowing as he gazes down at his son, and surely enough, Regina glances at Roland to find him blinking blearily up at them both, looking a bit sleep-dazed as she sits him upright. The reindeer, dozing in random folds of his cloak, stir drowsily, ears twitching as they stretch out wobbly legs.

“No, not yet,” Roland protests when Regina signals a hand for the book to close and stow itself away, and it might have sounded halfway convincing if not for his poorly stifled yawn punctuating the end of it.

St. Nick gives Roland a wave of goodbye before corralling his reindeer back to their sleigh, and they’re about to take flight – hooves scraping over the parchment, kicking up the last bit of snow – when the covers fold closed, tucking them all out of sight.

Roland looks despondent until Regina taps him gently on the nose, promising to pick up where they’d left off tomorrow, and then she’s scooping him onto her hip as she stands.

“Thank you, for spending the evening with him,” Robin tells her, and it’s then that she notices the full ropes of garland twined in one hand, fragrant branches of pine festooned with her bells and fastened together with red satin bows. Burrowed amongst the needles are tiny pine cones she hadn’t seen them bring in, suspended in place by drizzles of wax that could only have come from a drawer in her study.

Behind him, Ruby and Belle are nowhere in sight, but the chairs they had occupied are overflowing in wreathy mounds of garland now, looking half-alive in the crackle of firelight, and Regina lets the memories wrap around her and tighten for a moment, the scents of spiced apple, warm laughter in the kitchen, hot cocoa dashed with cinnamon as the whipped cream sinks and melts away.

“He’s quite fond of your company,” Robin continues, and Regina’s gaze snaps back to his with what she hopes is an indifferent expression. “He has also wondered on several occasions why no one else can tell a story quite like His Majesty can.”

“They can’t,” says Roland, turning round solemn eyes on her, and she feels herself crack open with a smile at that.

Robin is delicately setting his whorls of garland onto the end table next to her, arms held out for his son as she passes him carefully over. Roland immediately tucks his head beneath Robin’s chin, face pressing into his neck with a deep, sleepy sigh, and Regina, feeling slightly chilled without that warmth bundled into her side, fights the instinct to cross her arms over her belly instead.

Robin catches her glancing toward the garland again, his smile going crooked with something like shyness as he asks her, “How do they look?”

“Passable,” she says stiffly, closer to the truth than she might have allowed had Roland not been curled up in his arms, blinking those heavy eyelashes at her.

“I confess I had help,” Robin explains needlessly, scratching a hand over the back of his head with a sheepish expression.

“I can see that.”

“Actually I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter,” he goes on, even managing to look halfway chagrined about it, and she wonders why he’s telling her this. She couldn’t possibly care any less who he consorts with in his spare time, but she would prefer he not insult her intelligence about it.

Not that she’d ever grant him the satisfaction by admitting such a thing out loud.

“I’m sure,” she replies, toneless.

He seems to be waiting for something else – something more – from her, watching her with those relentless blue eyes, his patience unfathomable when all she can do is try not to set herself or any other part of the room on fire.

Her gaze wanders pointedly away from him until he’s caught on, politely clearing his throat. “We’ll take our leave for the night, then.” He nods his head to her, careful not to jostle Roland awake with the movement. “Your Majesty.”

They’ve gone from the room by the time she looks up again, seeing nothing but empty doorway ahead, and she stands there a moment longer before her attention is drawn back to the mountain of pine and red ribbon beside her. Ignoring the feel of Snow’s too-meddlesome eyes on her back, she trails a finger over the soft bed of leaves, feeling their needle-like tips and wishing, inexplicably, for an entire forest of pine to open up out of the ground and swallow her, soothing, into darkness.

…

Regina doesn’t have time to dwell on the thief in the days that follow, the castle a bustling racket of last-minute things and an air of general disorder that tends to precede such a large-scale event.

The garland, on her part, already hangs across every inch of available surface, spun around banisters and draped across curtains and hearths, everything sprinkled with tiny twinkling lights that brighten from afar and then gutter out whenever somebody gets too close. The lights are particularly baffling to all parties involved – “But how can a flame be so small?” and “Where’d you manage to find a plug in this joint, sister?” – with the small exception of one, Roland’s simple but enthused “It’s magic!” putting everyone else’s questions to shame.

To her everlasting exasperation, Regina gets placed on lighting duty as a result, her scowling refusal met with an equal resistance from Snow.

“I can ask the Merry Men to put up some torches instead, that might look nice,” Snow suggests, with an alarming gleam in her eye. “Or—” she adopts a tone of innocence that Regina has never found remotely convincing “—maybe there’s time for them to get us a tree? I know you would have preferred not to—”

“I’ll take care of the lights,” Regina snips, earning a radiant smile from Snow that makes her feel as though she’s lost yet again. She’s already humored her enough by agreeing to this whole heinous affair; after all of Roland’s beaming at the prospect of “Christmas,” which Snow had most deviously planted into his head, Regina simply couldn’t find it in her heart to refuse.

So she’d gamely thrown up a few festive twigs here and there, but she’d drawn the line at a fifty-foot tree, and it grates on her still that Snow could be so oblivious as to not understand why. It simply feels wrong that Christmas should not only go on as planned but do so in such a grandiose fashion, when there will be no cookies to put out before bedtime, no gifts to uncover with a jubilant “Santa was here!” while bacon sizzles on the stove…

Regina is finishing up in the ballroom, lost to her thoughts as she sends the last of the candles floating toward the ceiling, its flame safely cradled in a thin orb of glass.

“That’s quite a sight to behold,” comes a low rumbling remark from below.

His presence had come entirely unannounced, and she’s so startled by it that she loses her footing on the ladder, slipping down and landing – most mortifyingly – into Robin’s arms with a small noise of surprise. They circle around her as he stagger-steps backward, bracing her fall with the front of his torso, and she feels cold and unusually warm all at once.

She shoves him away the moment her heels touch the floor, irritated that he should look so smug when it was his fault to begin with for disrupting her balance.

“Have you not seen a candle before?” She straightens her garments, brushing out barely-there wrinkles with an affronted look in his direction.

“I have,” he says, maddeningly, his gaze never straying from hers.

“Then I fail to see why you had such a need to make a fuss,” she tells him repressively, flipping her hair back over one shoulder and folding her arms across her chest, fingertips tapping out an impatient rhythm.

“You missed a bit there,” says Robin, entirely unfazed by her grievance with him, and before she can put a stop to it he’s moving forward to catch a stray lock by her ear with his thumb, brushing it carefully back.

He drops the offending hand casually down to his side the next instant, as though nothing out of the ordinary has just happened. He smiles at her, and she stares at him, unsure how she ought to be feeling about this sudden liberty he’s taken with her.

Regina looks him up and down as though he’s hidden the answer from her somehow. He’s just come from outdoors, she realizes; there’s a rosy nip of color to his cheeks, a faint chill still clinging to his clothes that she can feel from where she stands. He looks refreshed from his walk or whatever the hell he’d been up to out there, content and untroubled by all the commotion around them, and perhaps it’s that which has made him so bold.

God knows she could do with some fresh air herself right about now, away from this place with its cloying good cheer and its sparkling resolve to forget.

Robin shifts just a little, his other hand slipping back into his cloak with a studied nonchalance that can’t go unnoticed, and the seconds seem to slow into something interminable as she stares at the glossy spiked leaves in his hand, the winking red berries as he disappears them out of her sight.

Her vision tunnels black at the edges for a long, peculiar moment.

She thinks she might be furious with him.

She’s all too aware of the fact that this thief is – admittedly – not a half-terrible one; he’s pulled one stunt too many right under her nose for her to blame it on sheer luck or coincidence alone, and she knows that he could have plucked those leaves straight out of her hair and made it look halfway convincing, had he desired it.

That he should have wanted her to see this, his badly feigned stashing away of something meant entirely to provoke a reaction from her, has her bristling with a dark need for him to look foolish for once.

“Do you have big plans for that holly?” she inquires, tone mocking.

Much to her satisfaction, a genuine flush creeps up his neck, his gaze dropping away on an abashed sort of chuckle. “Not precisely, no. It was not what I’d originally had in mind.”

“I imagine not,” she says sneeringly, and the image of him arm-in-arm with Ruby and Belle presses its way into her mind unbidden, a dangle of mistletoe and a too-innocent Well what do we have here? as he smirks and they giggle, leaning in for a kiss.

Regina thins her lips together, wishing she could have been spared the unpleasantness of having to think up such thoughts. Where Robin must’ve gotten the impression that she could care in the slightest about his romantic entanglements is, quite frankly, a mystery to her.

“I suppose I’ll just have to keep trying, then,” he says lightly, with a playful sort of resignation that grates on her all over again.

She scoffs out a harsh-sounding laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Any last semblance of levity seems to withdraw from Robin’s features, something cautious taking its place. He peers carefully up at her, brows knitting together as though he’s puzzling over what could have gotten her riled up in this way.

“Will I see you at the ball this evening?” he wonders after a moment, his tone now one of polite curiosity, and she blinks at him, derailed by this new line of questioning.

“Regrettably, yes.” Her hands curl around her elbows, pulling them closer without any conscious thought for this sudden need to hold herself in.

She can’t read the look in his eyes as he asks her next, “And the odds of you favoring me with a dance?”

He’s stretched back up to his full height, but still she manages to look down her nose at him as she replies stonily, “I don’t know what would possibly compel me to do something like that.”

He nods his head to her. “I understand.”

There doesn’t seem to be anything left for him to say beyond that, and after another few heavy seconds of silence that sit strangely in Regina’s chest, he excuses himself with a final, courteous tilt of his chin.

She watches him, motionless, as he makes his way across the hall, pausing near the door when Leroy hollers his name and gestures for some assistance with a lopsided wreath that he can’t quite reach on his own. Robin’s face splits into a mischievous grin at that, and he taunts him with something good-natured that has Leroy throwing his head back, laughter all but roaring out of him as Robin kneels and pretends to offer a shoulder to spot him.

It feels cowardly, somehow, like running away by resorting to magic, but Robin and Leroy are still by the door, and – damn it – there’s Charming too, walking in now with a look like he might get ideas about coming over to make conversation with her.

Grabbing the flame from a torch as it bobbles by (“Hey!” says Happy in protest, before catching the razor-sharp edge in her eye and beating a hasty retreat), Regina pulls it to pieces with her fingertips until three dozen flickering lights are half-bursting out of her palms. She wraps them in their little glass orbs, and just as Charming has lifted his hand to her in greeting, she lets go, scattering them everywhere with a tinkling brightness that briefly shields her from view.

The air around her smokes purple, churning, and as the hall spins itself out of focus, she thinks she sees movement by the door, a flash of deep green and a head turning back, before she looks rigidly away.

…

As evening approaches, a dread she can’t place takes root in her belly, turning over and over with alarming intent until there's hardly room left for anything else.

“I shouldn't be the one reminding you to eat something,” Snow scolds her during their midday meal, piling a sizable mound of peas onto her plate. “There. Finish your vegetables, Regina.”

She might have thought to refuse her had Roland not been dragging his father toward them at that precise moment, coming to an energetic halt with the top of his head barely visible over the edge of their table.

Robin hangs behind with a perfectly bland expression while Roland grins a toothy grin, faces Regina and asks in a manner he’d clearly rehearsed, “Will you please save a dance for me today, My Majesty?”

There’s an amused little humming from Snow, and even Charming on the other side of her appears to be fighting a smile.

Regina glances up at Robin, unable to contain her surprise. He’s grimacing an apology to her, as if to say he hadn’t been the one to put his son up to this, but he needn’t have gone to the trouble of making that clear; considering the cold way she’d treated him earlier, she can’t imagine why he would want her anywhere near his child.

“Only if it’s all right with your father,” she turns back to Roland with a kind but firm voice.

Roland rounds on him in an instant, clasping his hands dramatically together and wheedling, “Please, Papa? Please?”

“Of course it’s all right, my boy,” says Robin, looking mildly taken aback that it’s even a point worth debating, and his eyes alight on Regina’s again with a bright, piercing blue she hadn’t prepared for, taking her in for a moment. His forehead creases, gaze going soft, and his lips part like he might have something more he wants to say before they’re sliding into a lopsided smile instead.

“Okay,” says Roland with a pleased air of finality, pulling Regina back together, and her eyes move away from Robin’s. Roland is looking very serious, informing her in a solemn voice, “Papa says vegetables have magic too, and they will make me tall and strong just like him someday.”

Robin clears his throat. “Perhaps we’ll let Her Majesty finish the rest of her meal in peace, yeah?”

Roland beams. “See you later, Regina!”

“I look forward to it,” she tells him, feeling Robin’s gaze on her again.

“Bye, Princess Snow,” Roland adds with a wave, proceeding down the table, “Bye Mr. Charming, bye Mr. Grumpy,” and then Robin’s nudging him gently along before they wind up saying a personal goodbye to everyone at court.

“Looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,” Snow murmurs slyly under her breath once they’ve headed back to their own table. She turns to side-eye Regina in a way that's not at all subtle, a knowing smile playing outrageously at the corners of her mouth.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Regina says shortly, pricking a single pea with her fork and raising it up to her lips. She takes a bored little nibble, pointedly reaching for her water glass next when Snow opens her mouth like this conversation is anything but over.

Charming comes to her unwitting rescue then, drawing Snow’s attention away with a query about caroling selections to go with dessert at the party (Regina bites down too hard on a pea at that, her teeth clacking painfully together).

They’re still in a heated debate over sing-alongs – “Is it really necessary to write out all of these lyrics?” and “They’ve been living in the woods for the last thirty years, David, of course they won’t know the words to ‘Carol of the Bells’” – when Regina slips quietly away from the table with an empty plate in her hand.

She takes the long way back to her bedchambers, avoiding the ballroom and all its festive reminders of what lies in store for the evening. Any lingering thoughts she’d entertained of skipping out on the ball altogether are rather pointless now that’s she promised Roland a dance, and the reality of it begins to settle like a deep ache in her bones, that Christmas is happening whether she likes it or not.

…

One dance. She’ll dance the one dance, and stay long enough to turn Robin down when he invariably tries to cut in.

That is, if he were anywhere to be found at the moment.

She’d seen him only briefly at dinner, glancing toward his corner of the banquet hall just in time to catch the Merry Men welcoming their two newest members, installing a rosy-cheeked Ruby next to Robin with Belle bouncing a joyful Roland up and down in her lap one bench over. They’d all clinked out a boisterous toast, goblets overflowing with the mulled apple cider that Granny had coerced Regina into whipping up last-minute when Leroy’s “special home brew” failed to pan out.

She’d picked at her roast quail, the butternut squash and the stuffed sweet potato, tightly smiling her way through conversation with Snow and Charming whenever they thought to pause in their murmuring sweet nothings to one another. She’d occupied herself by toying with the centerpieces, leafy red and white poinsettias that she painted gradients of pink with a bored little swirl of her fingertip. Her own goblet had sat untouched, irritation prickling her whenever her eyes fell to the sprig of holly someone had tied around its slender glass stem.

By the time Regina looked up again Robin and his party were already halfway relocated toward the ballroom, wielding a variety of instruments that she couldn’t recognize apart from Friar Tuck’s lute and Little John’s set of what looked to be matching mini-tambourines.

A concert of sorts is well underway when Snow and Charming eventually head into the ballroom themselves, Regina trailing begrudgingly in just behind them. The twinkling garland and the ceiling of candlelight have cast everything in a soft, hazy glow, the sharp scent of pine all around them.

A makeshift campfire sits in each corner, their flames childproofed with voluminous bubble-like shields that shimmer and bob upon contact. Small dessert tables have been set up nearby, each one manned by a dwarf in charge of distributing speared sticks of marshmallow for toasting over the fire.

“Regina, this looks amazing,” says Charming while Snow’s mouth drops wordlessly open, and it doesn’t feel quite like work this time when Regina graces them both with a smile.

She’s loitering by the refreshments when Roland comes to cash in on the dance that she owes him. She thumbs off a smearing of chocolate from his cheek as he chews on the last of his marshmallow, explaining to her in detail how perfectly roasty and brown it had gotten on the outside.

Little John, she’s noticed, has ambled up to the table while keeping an eye on the boy, and when she nods that she’s got him he salutes to her with one of his jangling tambourines, shuffling off to rejoin his band.

Once she’s gotten Roland suitably cleaned up, she lets him pull her by the hand to the middle of the floor, curtsying gamely when he nearly doubles himself over in a very grand bow. They’re surrounded by a blur of couples, dancing out the intricate steps to folk songs that Regina finds just as foreign as the rustic contraptions strumming them out.

Immune to the rush of movement around them, Roland tugs her gleefully about in spirited little spins, looking thrilled when she does a showy sort of half-crouched twirl beneath his arms. She’d forgone her usual leather and velvet specifically for this purpose, dressing instead in something soft and breathable that tumbles down in an ankle-length flourish.

“That’s a handsome dance partner you got there,” Ruby’s voice rings out, and there’s a sparkling swish of crimson as she whirls past them on Will Scarlet’s arm.

Regina is turning around on instinct, only half-aware of what’s she doing until she’s skimmed over the crowds and not found him. Belle is fairly easy to spot, currently being spun by another one of the Merry Men nearby, but their leader is conspicuously nowhere in sight, and that pit of dread flares up full-force as it occurs to Regina that she knows exactly what he must be doing out there.

She’s passed a blissfully wiped-out Roland back into Little John’s care, tended to the fire bubbles, and endured several awkward civilities with Snow’s dwarves in the process by the time Robin finally reappears.

He’s been in the woods again, just as she’d suspected, untying his cloak and draping it over one of the hooks by the door as Ruby and Belle shimmy over to greet him. He smiles at them, but it doesn’t touch his eyes in quite the same way as it normally does, something disheartened in it as he turns up empty palms at them.

There’s a collective swell of sympathy around him, Ruby touching his arm as Belle rubs a hand over his shoulder, and then Ruby is raising her goblet with a coyly arched eyebrow, standing on tiptoe and laughingly pressing a kiss to Robin’s cheek.

They’ll be making their way onto the dance floor soon enough, Regina thinks, shifting grimly back toward the refreshments with half a mind to rip the stupid holly from every last goblet and burn them all into crisps.

She’s endeavoring to curb her more violent impulses when she hears him, the sound of his voice alarmingly close all of a sudden, and she turns to see him approach with a full, easy smile for her.

“It appears that I’ve missed the big dance.”

She glances away. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”

He helps himself to a drink, and she stiffens when his arm brushes past hers for a moment. He leans his back against the table, resting his hand but a hair’s breadth from hers as he surveys the crowd and she continues to glare at the goblets in front of her.

When he speaks again the words come from low in his throat, pleasantly rough around the edges as he inclines his head toward her. “You look unspeakably lovely tonight, by the way.”

She touches a hand to her hair without thinking, feeling a traitorous warmth open up in her chest. She’d left it all down in waves for Roland, knowing how he likes to play with the ends whenever he can get close enough to reach, and she’s absurdly grateful for the way it curtains around her now, obscuring the flush in her cheeks from view.

“Well,” she recovers quickly, making a vaguely disdainful gesture at him, “you look…barely recognizable.”

Robin chuckles at that. “The Prince was kind enough to lend me some of his things.”

“‘Kind’ is one word for it.”

“You don’t approve?” He sounds amused.

“I see no need for costumes,” she tells him curtly. “All Hallows’ Day has already passed.”

It doesn’t quite land like the insult she’d intended it to be, Robin only “Ah”ing with that unshakeable smile of his, and she’s at a loss for what else to say. She tears her gaze away again, trying not to observe too closely how Charming’s navy-colored doublet folds flatteringly around Robin’s form, or how it brings out all that blue in his eyes when he looks at her the way he is now.

He twists toward the table, leaning into her ever so slightly to set his glass down, and she catches faint traces of Charming’s scented oils on his clothes, bergamot and some rich kind of spice that threatens to overpower her senses. When he straightens back around, however, he smells briefly like Robin again, and she simply breathes in all that fresh air and pine for a moment, almost forgetting herself as he bumps their shoulders together.

But then he’s gazing back out at the dance floor, and she doesn’t have to turn to know that the other girls can’t be far off, perhaps wondering themselves why he’s chosen to linger as long as he has with her when they’ve clearly been waiting for him.

Her fingers inch toward a goblet, letting the spike-tipped holly dig into the pad of her thumb.

The movement catches his eye, and there’s a playful lilt to his tone as he confesses to her, “I thought I may as well make some use of them, considering how spectacularly they failed me in other regards.”

The words are exploding from her before she can smooth out the anger in them. “You do realize that mistletoe doesn’t actually grow here, don’t you?”

There’s a pause as he absorbs the heat of her outburst, his voice perfectly even when he replies, “I hadn’t been aware of that, no.”

“Well now you are.” She rips the holly clean off its stem, crushing it into a fist. “So you can stop with your sad little attempts at wooing everything female in sight – it’s become rather tiring to watch, quite frankly.”

Robin is no longer smiling when she’s managed to summon another scathing look in his direction. He sounds oddly pained as he asks her, “Is that what you think this was about?”

“On the contrary,” she all but snarls at him, “I don’t make a habit of wasting my time thinking things about you and your…urges,” that last word spit out like it’s something unsavory to her, and Robin stares at her as though she’s grown two extra heads, his mouth opening in a sort of speechless disbelief before clenching shut.

“I’d presumed no such thing,” he says at last, his tone cooler than she’s ever heard it before, and it numbs something inside of her, everything turning to stone. “But thank you, for the clarification. You’ve made your thoughts more than apparent on the matter.”

Regina squares her shoulders at him, willing her tongue to unstick and scorn him some more, but she can’t seem to call up any of her earlier rage, not when he’s looking at her as though she’s someone he can hardly recognize either.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Robin bows at her, all the unreserved warmth of his features drained into blankness as he rises and captures her gaze with his own. “I won’t take up any more of your time.”

She whirls back to the table, gripping blindly for those torn bits of holly and wishing, with a desperation she’s not sure she’s ready to understand, that she could un-see that empty look on his face as he turned and walked away from her.

…

She hasn’t made it far from the ballroom when she hears the soft padding of footfalls behind her, and something sprouts wings in her chest as she spins around to face him, an apology already half-formed on her lips.

“Hey,” says Snow, and Regina swallows it back, features hardening to hide the disappointment that must have been showing.

“Yes?” she asks, tone clipped.

“You’re leaving?”

“Your powers of observation really are nothing short of astounding.”

“Because in that case,” Snow carries on without even batting an eye, “I have something I wanted to give you, for tomorrow.” She shrugs when Regina blinks incredulously at her. “There was no Christmas tree to put it under, so…”

“Can you please be done bringing that up?” Regina’s biting tiredly out as Snow takes a step forward, pressing a cushiony bundle of fabric into her arms. “What is so important that it couldn’t wait until—”

Never, is what she’d been about to say, but the words drift into a bewildered silence as Regina untucks a corner, slowly folding it back.

A large, blanket-like square comes tumbling out of her hands, stretching nearly to the floor as she lifts it up by the edges. It’s patterned with wide stripes, red alternating with grey, the wool thick and terribly soft as Regina touches one side to her cheek, her mouth, the tip of her nose.

It smells like coming home.

“I thought it might be a good addition to storytime with Roland,” Snow is saying, her voice barely audible over the swelling ache in Regina’s chest, rising up to her ears and blurring out the corners of her vision. “Speaking of which…”

Regina is busily gathering the blanket back into her arms, trying to blink away that burning sensation in her eyes. “What?”

“I also wanted to ask if you were okay,” Snow tells her, in that tone of heavy gentleness Regina so usually loathes to hear out of her, though she finds she doesn’t have the heart to feel bothered by that at the moment.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I saw you and Robin talking, back there.”

Regina sees that once-molten blue, taking all the warmth with him as he turned his back to her, and she shifts the blanket a little closer, tightening her grip. “What about it?”

“I don’t think Roland was the only one pining for a dance with you.”

Regina shakes her head. “You must be confused.”

“I think we both know that’s not true,” Snow admonishes lightly, “and we both know a certain someone who would agree with me, if he were here.”

After a long, miserable pause that Regina makes a point not to fill, Snow sighs and concedes for the time being. “Anyway. Merry Christmas, Regina.” She squeezes her arm before turning to go.

Regina fingers the yarn work, tracing its loops and thinking of another life, another Christmas, where her heart is whole and it wouldn’t be wrong to hope for these things that Snow seems to believe should come so easily to her.

“I didn’t get you anything,” she hears herself saying.

Snow looks back at Regina, with a slow-spreading smile that makes her face glow. “Just think about what I said,” she offers, eyes too kind and too knowing at once. “That can be your gift to me.”

Regina continues to stand there long after she’s slipped out of sight down the hallway. She gently touches the blanket to her face again, her world a sea of red and grey for a moment before she folds it carefully back up in her arms.

…

It occurs to her that she has no earthly clue where Robin has even been staying these past many months in her castle. He and his men have laid claim to the lower quarters, she knows, those rooms that her servants had once occupied what feels like another lifetime ago. Beyond that, however, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to tell any of the rooms apart, and it seems highly unlikely his men would’ve thought to label their doorways.

Robin had explained it to her once, when she questioned their choices, how they preferred the simplicity of these quarters – the welcome bareness of all this space without any of those additional luxuries he’s certain none of them would know quite what to do with anyway.

“Besides,” he’d leaned in with a smirk, “that way you needn’t worry about any of us helping ourselves to your things.”

(She’d never worried, but it seemed unwise to correct him when he was already so determined to show his amusement with her.)

Regina had insisted that he at least consider one of the upstairs chambers, with a terrace garden Roland could play in during the summertime, and a separate bath to afford them some privacy, which Robin had politely declined (“We are greatly indebted to you, Your Majesty; this is already more than we ever could have asked for”).

She’d renewed her offer of the upper floors when winter began to settle around the castle, pointing out their superior heating, but still he continued to refuse her – “It’s not so terrible down there,” he’d said, tone winking, “if you wanted to stop by and see for yourself some time” – and so here she stands now, helplessly glaring as a corridor of identically unmarked doorways looms into darkness ahead of her.

She’d waited for the sounds of the ball to dwindle before venturing back out of her own rooms – not for fear of being discovered by someone else on the way, not quite that, but of some truly distressing notion that she wouldn’t find him alone.

Still, the prospect of making door-to-door inquiries after Robin, particularly at this late an hour, is less than appealing to her. Not to mention the fact that all the things she needs him to hear have, inconveniently, eluded her as to how exactly she plans on saying them.

Regina takes a step forward, grimacing to hear how it echoes off the damply chilled walls. She loiters at each door, scrutinizing them as though some sign will appear if she stares hard enough.

She’s strongly considering the use of a quick locator spell when she nearly walks right into it – a little white spruce that comes barely up to her knee, tucked back against the wall beside an otherwise unremarkable doorway.

It’s a spindly thing with short, stunted limbs, sparsely covered in yellow-tipped needles – rescued, she thinks, from a winter it would not have likely survived – but there’s a charm to it too that Regina couldn’t deny if she tried. A knot of small gifts lies crammed underneath it, brown paper packages with To Roland From— scrawled onto their sides. A menagerie of small wooden animals has taken up residence between the branches, whittled out lions and foxes prowling about while barn owls and doves soar around them.

And there, at the top of the tree where a star should have been, someone has thought to place a single shoot of holly.

She knocks on the door before she can talk herself out of it.

There’s a pause, her heart thundering madly, and then she hears a shuffling sound from within. The door cracks open, spilling out a dim candlelit glow into the gloom of the hallway.

“Regina?”

Robin is suddenly standing before her, his everything silhouetted in light, and she has to blink several times before her eyes can fully adjust to him there. He looks mildly astonished but not, she thinks, displeased to see her, shoulders loosening as he lets the door swing back a bit further.

He’s changed out of his ballroom attire into a simple cotton tunic, its neckline opening into a deep vee down his chest, shirt cuffs rucked carelessly up his forearms. He doesn’t smell all wrong anymore, though she can still see Charming’s clothes hanging from a rack just inside, and she’s sorely tempted to dispose of them in a way that may or may not involve fire.

There’s a hint of movement deeper into the room, and she spots a Roland-sized lump in the shadows, slumbering soundly away on one of the bed pallets.

“I’m sorry,” says Regina, feeling appropriately dismayed, “Roland’s asleep, and I – I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Robin cuts in immediately, and he slips through the doorway, gently latching it closed behind him. His forehead wrinkles with concern while he looks her over, as though he can’t fathom why she would turn up like this short of some life-threatening event, and, well, she supposes she can’t fault him for that. “Is something the matter?”

She shakes her head, unsure how to answer that question.

Robin frowns. “You’re trembling,” he states, and his hands flex ever so slightly down by his sides, a strained sort of movement before going still again, as though he’d been about to reach for her.

“It is a little chilly in here,” she tells him, feeling a peculiar leap in her chest when Robin’s eyes crinkle at her.

“Now where have I heard that one before?” he teases her lightly, crossing his arms and leaning his weight into the door.

She rolls her eyes, glancing away before she can smile back at him. “I wasn’t wrong.”

“I think that’s debatable,” he counters easily, dimples deepening when she huffs out a small exasperated noise.

“Well,” she says in a quiet, stilted voice, “I suppose not all of us can be warm-blooded like you.”

Robin seems perturbed by her admission, brows drawing together as that smile of his flickers out. “That’s not how I see things, Regina.” He waits for her to look at him again, voice low and firm as he tells her, “Not from where I’m standing.”

Regina can only stare at him, overwhelmed for a moment, at a loss for how she can even respond. She’d come to apologize, but here he is with all of his kindness instead, his warmth and his nature to be uncommonly gentle with her, as though she deserves nothing less.

She stands rooted there, gazing up at him with something like shyness and something like shame, and then she gives the tiniest shake of her head again when words continue to fail her.

Robin seems to read her struggle without comment, clearing his throat to casually relieve all the silence. “So,” he says, something mischievous in his tone as he uncrosses his arms to gesture toward her. “Are you going to tell me what you have planned for that holly you’ve stolen off of my tree?”

He’s biting back another smile – he seems to have some never-ending supply of those, with her – as she blinks down at the holly in her hands. “Yes, actually.” The words have to scrape their way out, and she swallows before going on. “I wanted you to have this.”

She holds out her hand to him, and the fine-pointed leaves begin to round out their edges, their glossiness fading into a fuzzy-soft texture. The holly berries lose their bright red hue, a pale yellow-green coloring their surfaces instead.

“Mistletoe,” Regina explains to him needlessly, everything inside of her giving a lurch that’s not altogether unpleasant when Robin stares back at her, wondering.

She presses her hand into the space between them, indicating for him to take it, but still he doesn’t move, only gazing down at the plant again before fixing her with those blue, depthless eyes.

Her throat is dry as she tells him, “Now you can go and kiss whomever you like.”

Robin tilts his head interestedly at her. “Anyone?”

She’s finding it increasingly difficult to read him.

“Yes,” she says, feeling rigid all over, “I believe that’s the idea.”

The air has thinned, and she can’t seem to quite catch her breath as he takes a step closer to her. He guides his palm beneath her hand, gently cradling there, bringing his thumb around to touch one of the mistletoe leaves.

“You know,” he says then, his tone unbearably light, “I’m not actually sure how this is supposed to work.”

Regina glances up at him, too flustered to pass it off as something else, but then the look in his eyes is making it hard for her to feel anything but warm, so warm, and so terribly endless.

His voice is slightly hoarse as he tells her, “You may have to show me.”

She’s swaying forward without any memory of losing her balance, her head more than dizzy when he places a hand at the small of her back to steady her.

“It’s not meant to be difficult,” she hears herself say, half-scowling, half-breathless already, her hands now caught rather uselessly against his chest to keep from leaning any further into him. “You stand under it and—”

“Like this?” he husks, and he shifts over her until the bridge of his nose is just grazing her eyebrow.

“Not…no, not exactly,” she says, barely above a whisper, and her eyes flutter closed.

She’s not sure who moves first, but his mouth is on hers the next moment, a tender press of heat that seems to last only seconds, pulling away from her much too soon. He drops his forehead to hers, and she feels his shoulders rise and fall with a ragged exhale before he’s gathering her back to him, as though unable to keep from kissing her again.

He captures their lips more firmly together, holding her steady as he kisses and kisses her, deep feverish things that feel like a promise to carry her away. The ache of their burn shudders through her, and she opens her mouth to his with a sigh, losing her breath and perhaps another small shard of her heart to him each time he draws back and looks at her like he may never let go.

He drags his fingers through her hair, cupping the side of her neck in his palm and angling her closer. His mouth slants over hers, moving with a scorching intensity as their tongues slide together and tangle. His thumb sweeps with an exquisite tenderness over her jawline, her cheek, and the way that he’s holding her, the intimacy of him wanting to know her like this, is almost more than she can bear.

They’re both more than winded by the time they part again, lips hovering back together as the sharpness in their breathing starts to even out into something not quite so dizzyingly shallow. Robin nuzzles his nose into her cheek with a quiet little groan, his stubble scratching over her skin as he ghosts another kiss to the shell of her ear.

Her hands tighten their grip on his tunic collar, where the sprig of mistletoe has been all but crushed into one of them, drooping and half-forgotten.

“I think we’d better try that once more, don’t you?” Robin murmurs, his voice a bit raw, and she shivers into him. “To make sure it’s still working properly.”

“I think it worked just fine,” she says, not without her own touch of eye-rolling playfulness. He grins a bit naughtily at her, and the swooping sensation that tugs at her belly in answer makes her feel impossibly young.

“Do you, now?” he wants to know, with a boyish sort of smugness that somehow makes him all the more desirable to her.

Her heels rise off the floor as he pulls her back into him, hands spreading heat up and down her spine until she can’t help but shiver again. The lower half of his body is pressed invitingly against hers, but still she braces her arms to his chest, not willing – not ready – to let herself have all of him, all of this, in the way that she so dangerously wants.

She’s wandered too boldly to the edge of some precipice, daring to know what happiness feels like, but she can’t bring herself to think on how she will pay for this later. Not yet.

Not now.

Robin’s smiling down at her with a sky full of blue in his eyes, looking very much like he wants to kiss her some more – and oh how she would let him – but as she brushes her mouth against his, there’s a distant scuffling behind the door, followed by a sluggish yet plaintive “Papa?” that makes them freeze together, chagrined.

Neither of them seem willing to move away first, but then Roland is calling out sleepily again, and Robin concedes with a sag of his shoulders, stealing one last kiss before releasing her from him.

He rests against the doorjamb, taking a minute simply to soak up the sight of her, and Regina looks away when she can no longer contain her smile from him, feeling warm in more ways than one as Robin gives the door a reluctant nudge open.

“Good night, Regina.”

“Thief,” she returns, and his teeth dig enticingly into his lower lip before he’s slipping back inside, carefully shutting the door behind him.

She’s turning to go when the tree gives her pause. It looks a little more melancholy now without that wink of holly up top, and she tilts her head, considering what else it might be missing.

She breaks off a needle of spruce when she’s finished, lifting it gingerly up to her nose and letting the scent of the forest accompany her all the way back to her rooms.

…

Breakfast in the dining hall the following morning is – as to be expected – an elaborate retelling of the prior evening’s events, how Little John misplaced a tambourine bell, and how Leroy had the misfortune of finding it, after nearly cracking a tooth on a marshmallow.

How one very elated Roland had woken to find a “real life star” on top of his tree, not to mention the gift a “Mr. St. Nick” must have left him on his chimney travels, as it was the only one that hadn’t been labeled, and how he couldn’t wait to show his new book of stories to Regina.

And then Robin, looking entirely too handsome for his own good, gazing warmly at her over a cup of freshly brewed coffee, a world of unspoken things in his eyes meant only for her to know.

She must be gazing just as distractedly back, because Ruby is suddenly sauntering by with a brassy-loud “Well, it’s about damn time” and a look of sly comprehension at Belle.

Regina senses Snow straighten at that, but before she can get any ideas about prying for more – already raising a hand with a soft “Shush!” at an oblivious Charming beside her – Regina raises her own mug and takes a studious sip, feigning ignorance while Snow beams aggressively in her direction.

She keeps her eyes trained on her plate after that, though her mind wanders and wanders to join him again through the rest of the meal. She excuses herself from the table when she can no longer stand to hold back any longer, feeling Robin’s gaze swing around to follow her careful departure out of the hall.

She’s chosen to linger by a stairwell when he comes in search of her, pretending to fuss with a bit of garland that’s come undone from the banister.

“Your Majesty.”

Regina smiles without turning, idly plucking up a loose pine cone and melting its wax with a fingertip before pressing it back into place. “Robin.”

She doesn’t hear him approach, but the new warmth that surrounds her is unmistakably his, and it would be such a waste, really, not to bask in it for a short while.

“Can I help you?” she inquires, all lofty innocence as she turns to address him.

His attention has caught near the side of her head, brow furrowing slightly as he murmurs to her, “You’ve got a bit of something right…” He lifts his hand with a May I? expression before reaching just past the line of her vision, fingertips grazing her hair. “There,” he breathes after a moment, and a familiar spray of round, green-berried leaves blooms into view as he pulls his hand away.

Regina blinks accusingly at him, feeling quite nettled at how thoroughly she’d let herself walk into this. “You—you stole that from me!”

“Begging your pardon,” says Robin, in the tone of one deeply wounded, “but how could I have stolen something that was intended for me as a gift?”

Her lips thin disapprovingly at him, but she’s charmed in spite of herself, that treacherous thing in her chest taking flight as he snakes an arm around her waist and tugs her against him, looking triumphant.

Still she refuses to fully soften for him until he’s pointedly directing her gaze to that plant, and then she can no longer not kiss him, it seems, when he’s smiling like this, just for her.

She’ll blame it on the mistletoe later, she thinks, relaxing into him with a content little sound as he touches his lips back to hers.

Later. Yes. Perhaps then.

#outlaw queen #oq ff #oq fic #oq advent #missing year #my scribbles

[thezeekrecord]

GAGEGN ch5

[index/summary]

REPORT: Regarding D.Pepper's experiences with reality and employment with Black Mesa

“Um.”

Darnold’s voice echoed across the massive stadium, hundreds—no, thousands?—of expectant eyes on him. He tugged at the collar of his nice button-up shirt he’d been careful to iron before putting on, only for it to be covered by his shitty, low-budget, fraying graduation robe. He forced in an anxious breath, looking down at his speech cards. He’d poured so much effort into this speech; it was a high honor, after all, to be valedictorian, and he should have a speech befitting of the role.

It wasn’t like he’d been competing for the spot. Or like he was particularly prideful of his school, or cared about his graduating class or anything like that; he was just too anxious to let anything go. Any opportunity to slack off in favor of doing something more fun with friends, he had to pass up, because the very second he would step outside his house with his jacket, it was like the world fell apart around him, and he’d have to go right back upstairs and do his stupid homework and study until he fell asleep. Truth be told, he was just excited to be done with high school and move on with his life, throw himself into a new school situation instead for the next 8-12 years. Great.

His speech said otherwise, though. He’d written something one would expect; “I love this school, I love my classmates, I love my teachers, it’ll be so sad to move on,” whatever—that kind of thing. Now that it was time to finally say it out loud in front of real people and be completely done with it, though, his voice was caught in his throat.

Darnold opened his mouth again. Then he closed it, dropped his cards, then walked right off stage. He could hear muffled laughter behind him, but he really couldn’t even be assed to care about that; he was just relieved to be out of the spotlight.

“Darnold, are you alright?” His old chemistry teacher asked him. “You don’t wanna do your speech?”

“Nope.”

The rest of the graduation went okay, at least. You don’t need a whole lot of willpower to walk across the stage and accept a piece of paper; Darnold got his diploma after lengthy speeches and headed on outside. His mom couldn’t make it to the graduation—that was fine, she had work, so they were going to do something to celebrate later. He instead stood awkwardly off to the side of a friend group he normally would hang out with whenever he didn’t happen to be busy. He didn’t know them super well; in fact, he’d been skirting around the fact that he didn’t even remember a single person’s name for the past couple of years, but that was also fine. He’d be moving onto college soon anyway, it wasn’t like he was probably going to be seeing much of these people ever again.

“Darnold!” One of them greeted, once he was finally noticed. “Hey, did you hear our plans?”

“Uhh—no, sorry, I was spacing out.” Darnold replied sheepishly. “What’s going on?”

“We wanted to go on a road trip. There’d be enough space for you, you should come with!” They suggested excitedly, nudging him a little closer to their circle.

“Huh? Road trip? To where?” Darnold asked.

“We wanted to go to Colorado. My grandparents are gonna be gone on a trip for the next couple weeks, and they said we could borrow their house.” They explained. “You wanna come?”

“Uhhh...” Darnold fiddled with his graduation robe uneasily. “I don’t know, I guess I’d have to ask my mom.”

“Come on, you just graduated high school! You don’t have to ask, you can just go. Besides, the house’ll be fully stocked already and everything, and we can take care of gas. You wouldn’t have to worry about anything.” They went on, nudging him playfully. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Darnold made a worried noise. “I’ll think about it.”

“Alright, well, you know where I live. Just meet us outside my place at 5 tomorrow morning if you wanna come.” They said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Darnold nodded, made his excuses, and broke away from the group to head home. He’d never been on a road trip before—his mom was always too busy to take him anywhere. Not that he was too eager to go anywhere too exciting; he was usually too busy himself these days. In fact, he was particularly worried about taking off on a road trip when he should be considering university, maybe getting a summer job, all that sort of thing. Being gone for “a couple weeks” didn’t sound like it was worthwhile when he was on the cusp of a massive life change.

Then again, Darnold thought as he lied awake that night, right after celebrating his graduation with his mom, wasn’t that the perfect time to go? He hadn’t done anything too exciting with his life up to this point. Maybe this would be his last chance to drop his responsibilities and go have fun for once, without fucking things up too badly. Besides, it was two weeks out of an entire summer—what harm could that do?

Darnold made his decision at about 3am. He spent a little while getting ready, making sure his suitcase was properly packed, and wrote a note for his mom to find when she got up. He was certain she was going to be furious with him, but hey, that was a problem for two whole weeks down the line, he forced himself to think as he headed out the door.

After all that time he’d spent writing and rewriting his note, he didn’t have much time left to get to his friend’s house. He ran through his neighborhood and across the street, into his friend’s neighborhood. He recognized the car as it approached to leave, stopping right beside him as he stood on the sidewalk. His friend rolled down their window, smiling at him excitedly.

“Hey, Darnold!” They greeted. “Throw your bag in the back. Let’s go.”

Darnold did as they said, tossing his suitcase into the trunk and climbing in beside another one of his friends. Would now be the time where he finally bit the bullet and asked their names? He wondered.

Nah, he thought as he settled in. It was way too late for that.

Darnold stared out the window, the dark town he grew up in rushing past. He’d never been to Colorado; he wondered how different it was going to be. He pictured a bustling touristy mountain town—the type right by a ski resort—busy and crowded, full of noise and intrusive smells and sights. It was a lot more exciting to imagine than he’d expected—he didn’t actually hate crowds that much if there was a purpose to it, and this would be something new to try out. It’d be fine, he reassured himself.

“Okay guys, we’re coming up on the city border.” His friend announced. Darnold looked out the windshield, and sure enough, a sign was posted up announcing the arrival into the next town over. Darnold sat up, smiling at everyone else in the car hyping it up. “Aaaaand...we’re o—”

Darnold felt it again. His friend’s voice almost seemed to cut out as his brain shifted into a panic. He was never sure how to describe these “episodes” when he’d gone to doctors to talk it over; it was like everything just stopped existing all around him. He knew that couldn’t be the case, though—if he reached out, he could touch things. If he listened close, he could hear things. If he squinted, he could see in front of him; he simply seemed to lose his grip, and it became a conscious effort to experience what came naturally to everyone else.

“Stop the car!” Darnold shouted.

Darnold felt the momentum ease up until he was pretty certain the car had stopped. He squinted, struggling to get a grip on the world around him, but it just wouldn’t ease up; it never did, in his past experiences, until he took several steps back and abandoned what he had been trying to do. He had to backtrack if he wanted it to go away.

“Are you alright?” One of his friends asked gently.

“Umm—I don’t—I might have to go back.” Darnold replied uneasily. His voice shook as he felt the slow progression of a pressure change begin; it was like what he imagined it would feel like if he was scuba diving and began resurfacing too fast. His ears began to ache, and the air around him seemed to loosen until his chest was hurting as well.

“Uhh, okay. Do you want me to just drive you back home?”

Darnold nodded, closing his eyes tightly. “Y-yeah. I’m sorry.”

Darnold relaxed significantly once they turned around, seeming to cross that threshold his brain had decided was safe. The pressure change went away instantly—everything around him just seemed to snap back into place, as if nothing around him had begun to disappear at all. Darnold let out a relieved sigh once he could breathe easily again, leaning his head back on the headrest.

“Are you alright?” His friend asked again.

“Y-...yeah. I’m alright.” Darnold reassured them. “I have, uhh, I have an anxiety disorder, I guess.”

He didn’t say it with much conviction. His doctor hadn’t said it with conviction at the time, either; whatever it was that caused this, “anxiety” was probably just the easiest diagnosis to throw him. It at least made some sense—he could usually trace it back to something he was worried about. Leaving the state for the first time without his mom’s permission would be a big one for sure; other times, it could usually be said he was just worried about homework, or too nervous to try out a new restaurant or something.

On the other hand, he’d never heard anyone else talk about how it felt like reality just began to disappear around them whenever they were nervous.

Darnold gave his friends hasty apologies as he climbed out of the car and collected his suitcase. He stood in the driveway awkwardly as he watched them pull out and drive away, undoubtedly about to have the time of their lives. Just without him. Darnold sighed and headed back inside to unpack his suitcase.

****

It wasn’t too hard to pick the university he ended up going to. He didn’t want to go too far from home, and there was only one university about two hours away from him that didn’t give him that horrible, world-ending feeling when he tried to step inside. His friend who had tried to drive him to Colorado ended up going to the same university, along with pursuing the same degree; meaning he didn’t really have to branch out into the sea of unfamiliar, indistinct faces to make friends. That was a bonus. After graduating, they even ended up working in the same small lab in the area; it wasn’t great—he didn’t have much room for real, interesting research, but hey, it paid his bills, at least. That’s all he could really ask for in a shitty capitalist society, right?

They were in the lab together working late one night, his friend playing some Daryl Hall & John Oates song on loop now that it was just them. Darnold tuned it out, focusing on work until his friend rolled their chair right next to him and tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey, Darnold, I got a secret for you.” They said with a smile. “I got an offer from Black Mesa.”

“Whoa, really?” Darnold asked in awe. “How’d you manage that?”

“I was just sort of sending out applications to random places, not really expecting anything to come out of it.” They replied, waving their hand dismissively. “But they actually responded to my application! I’m taking Monday off so I can drive out there for an interview. They’re pretty much building an entirely new department right now for mixology, so they said if I know anyone I’d like to work with from my current job...”

Darnold stared at them blankly. They nudged him playfully.

“I want you to come with me!” They said. “We’d get our own dorms, really nice benefits, way better pay...”

“Oh! Oh, wow.” Darnold smiled anxiously. “That’s really cool. I mean—that sounds like a really cool opportunity. I don’t know, though, I feel like I’ve already got a good spot here.”

“Come on, this job sucks.” They complained, leaning against the counter. “Don’t you wanna do real research?”

“I do.” Darnold muttered thoughtfully. “I...I’ll think about it. Thank you, really, that’s super cool of you to offer.”

“I hope you come with me, Darnold. It’d be awesome if we could keep working together.” They said kindly. “It’s been, what, ten years since we first met? I mean, not that I think we’d just stop being friends altogether if we don’t work in the same space, but y’know.”

Darnold maintained his anxious smile, a lot more forced now as it hit him just how long it had been. Ten whole years?

“Uhh...hey, can I ask you a super weird question?” Darnold asked nervously.

“Yeah, sure.”

“...What’s your name?”

They stared at him dubiously before laughing. “C’mon, man, what kind of joke is that?”

Darnold frowned uncomfortably, not responding.

“...Dude, you don’t know my name?”

“It’s not that I didn’t care to know.” Darnold explained, leaning back from his work and pulling his goggles down to rest around his neck. “It’s just—I don’t know, you get that thing where you feel like you should know, you’ve been talking for forever, but now it’s too late to ask.”

“For ten years? In ten whole years, you never actually tried to find out my name?”

“Exactly! It’s been years! But—all that about how long it’s been and how you see us being friends even if you move on and all that, I feel bad not knowing.” Darnold went on guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

His friend responded. Darnold saw their mouth move, he heard the sound, but he couldn’t make it out.

“Uhh, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“My name. It’s—”

Darnold paused. “...S-sorry, one more time?”

Once again, he couldn’t understand their name. Darnold chose to nod, giving them an understanding expression.

“Okay. Got it.” Darnold replied. “Thanks. I’m sorry about that.”

His friend snorted, rolling away from Darnold to get back to work. “It’s fine. I know you don’t mean anything by it.”

The rest of the night went by quietly. A little uncomfortably quiet—his friend normally would be goofing around a little bit, but they just focused on their work. Darnold wondered if there had been some better way of handling that, especially considering it apparently hadn’t even worked. Now they would be paying attention, wondering if he remembered, right?

Darnold tried to plunge himself back into work to avoid the guilty feeling washing over him, but he couldn’t stop stressing about it. He liked his friend. And they seemed to like him, apparently enough to go out of their way to keep spending their time with him, but he really didn’t even know that much about them. They seemed to share his passion for science, at least, but that was all he could really definitively say about them. Was he just not paying close enough attention? He wondered. Or did they just not talk about themself a lot?

The rest of the night went by without incident, and things seemed to go right back to normal the next time he saw them on the following Tuesday. They gave him a Black Mesa business card with the hiring number on it, telling him they’d gone ahead and suggested him for a position. He laid it out on his desk when he got home, right beside his phone, and stared at it, chin rested on his fists as he weighed the options. Black Mesa was a highly pursued company with incredible pay—he’d had a professor who worked there who heavily recommended students try to get in. The dorm situation didn’t sound great, but based on what his friend had told him, it would cut down on the cost of living immensely.

He didn’t know if it was safe, though. He hadn’t had one of his episodes in a while, and that was purely because he’d learned to go out of his way to avoid any unsafe zones. His days became just a single, highly traveled line, going into work and back home without detour. It didn’t leave room for exploration, but at least it was livable.

Darnold let out a sigh, pushing the business card away and standing. His friend would just have to move on without him, he decided as he turned to go make dinner.

The second Darnold took a step, the room around him shifted out of focus. He yelped in surprise, taking a step back and falling back into his chair.

“What the fuck?” He breathed. He stood shakily, taking a tentative step away from his desk again, only to get the exact same result. No matter what angle he tried to leave at, he was left trapped in a tight circle around his desk. He buried his face in his hands, turning back to his desk and propping his elbows up on the surface.

Something did feel wrong, he thought as he sat there miserably. Maybe he was supposed to apply to Black Mesa after all...?

Darnold picked up his phone and dialed the hiring department.

****

Transferring over to the newly formed mixology department at Black Mesa turned out to be a pretty good change. Black Mesa seemed to be safe for him—in fact, entirely safe. Darnold had a tendency not to get too lost, just due to the fact that unsafe zones were always guaranteed to be where he didn’t need to go—making it easy to find where he actually needed to be. Black Mesa, on the other hand, was a completely safe, massive labyrinth; Darnold got lost a number of times during his first few days there, until he was able to settle into his new routine.

Darnold and his friend spent the first few years working closely together with the assistance of a couple other people—one of the infamous Dr. Coomer clones, along with a Bubby prototype—but as other departments began to get more funding, slowly, their department shrank. The Dr. Coomer clone was the first to go, then the Bubby prototype, and then his friend, who had been pulled into a supervisor position overseeing a couple different departments. That left Darnold alone in the mixology lab, reporting his findings to his friend rather than working by their side. It was sort of sad to lose that consistent contact, but nice in its own way; he didn’t have to deal with the anxieties of talking to other people. He could just put on music and work on his own time. He got a sense for when the tram system was busy, so he cut down on his crowd anxiety immensely by timing his trek to the lab right before and after everyone else was flooding in to get to or from work. He reduced uncomfortable human contact pretty much as low as he could possibly get it—truly, a very on-brand Darnold achievement.

It was comfortable at first, sure, but then it hit him one night just how lonely it was. His friend was always busy these days, and he’d pretty much wrecked his own chances of easily making new friends with his new routine. So, instead, he began to get on the tram while it was crowded again. It felt so different now than it used to, when he would take the bus to school, for example; these people were a lot more...vital, maybe? On his first day on the crowded tram again, he crammed himself into the corner—they were really packed in, but he didn’t mind too much—and stood there in silence, just staring out the window, listening to the many different conversations happening around him.

“No, we already tried that.” One of the voices said. Darnold turned, picking out the source of it. The man speaking was about his own age—sort of rare, actually, usually other employees were at least a couple decades older than him—talking to one of the Bubby prototypes. Or perhaps Bubby himself? He could never be too sure about that. “It’s just that—I mean, the cameras are, uhh, pretty much guaranteed to be destroyed. We can’t account for everything that could happen. We’re just using a bunch of cheap ones, now.”

“That fucking sucks.” Bubby replied. “How high is your budget that you can afford to order so many cameras?”

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I just—I just ask, and my request always gets filled.”

“I guess that’s the Lambda team for you.” Bubby huffed, crossing his arms. “I have to practically get down on my knees and beg if I even want a decent pen in anomalous materials.”

“I can get you a nice pen, if you want, we have lots of them in my lab.”

“No, it was just an example, Tommy, it’s fine.”

Darnold wondered what sort of project would require cameras like that. It was interesting, he thought, the way he could just passively listen and get the tiniest peek into a whole different life from his own; if he picked out any conversation on this tram right now, he’d probably have no idea what they were talking about. He never really appreciated how fascinating that was back during school; maybe he was just too wrapped up in his own world, he thought. One of the Coomer clones was talking to someone else about Dexter Jettster from Star Wars, another Bubby prototype just seemed to be saying random numbers at someone for some reason, and someone he didn’t recognize was talking about the importance of good quality paper, with a particular fondness for “that thick kind that feels almost powdery”. It was fun, Darnold thought—he finally understood why people watching was a thing.

Maybe the next step was to start talking to people, he thought. He didn’t want to bother his friend if they were busy, so maybe he could make some sort of tram acquaintance, someone he could talk to on the way in to his lab. The next day on his way in, he looked around at the people close to him. The Coomer clones always seemed nice, he thought; maybe he’d talk to one of them?

“Uhh—hi.” He said to the closest Coomer clone to him.

The Coomer clone turned to him curiously. “Ah, hello, Darnold.”

“Oh—are you the one who was working in mixology with me?” Darnold asked.

“Oh, no, I’ve worked in the Gamma labs for quite some time. I have access to all clone memories, though.” He explained sort of dismissively.

“Huh. That’s pretty cool. That must come in handy, right?”

The Coomer clone shrugged. “It’s really sort of neutral. It gets in the way sometimes when I’m trying to focus.”

“Oh, yeah, I can see how that could be an issue.” Darnold said awkwardly, tightening his grip around the handrail he was hanging onto. “So...how long have you been at Black Mesa?”

“The original has worked here for, let’s see...somewhere around 35 years, I believe.” He replied thoughtfully. “The cloning program has only been in effect for maybe 20, though. So I’ve been here for 20 years.”

“Oh, so...hm. I guess I never really thought about that.” Darnold muttered. “What happens with your vacation time? Do you all like, go visit family on your own?”

“We don’t leave the Black Mesa facility.”

Darnold frowned. “...Oh. That sucks.”

The Coomer clone shrugged, looking back out the window.

Darnold bit his lip. Maybe talking about the cloning was a bad idea. Or maybe it was a good idea, and he should be doing something about how miserable that would be? No, he’d volunteered to be cloned, right? Darnold was a little out of his depth with that.

“Where did you work before Black Mesa?” The Coomer clone asked.

“Oh, umm, I worked for a small company a few cities over.” Darnold replied vaguely. “It was nothing like this. Black Mesa sorta feels like its own city.”

“It certainly does.” The Coomer clone nodded knowingly. “What did the company you worked for do?”

“Ummm...” Darnold paused. “I was...doing some chemistry work. Y’know. That sort of thing.”

The Coomer clone tilted his head curiously. “Was it research like the mixology lab, or...?”

Darnold frowned. “No, not like here, it was—uhhh...y-y’know. I was sorta just doing stuff they asked me to do.” He said uncertainly. What did he do while he was there? He wondered to himself. Did he just have a really shitty memory?

“What about you? Or, I guess, the original.” Darnold opted instead to ask.

“The original Dr. Coomer nearly had a very promising career in boxing.” The Coomer clone said fondly. “I recall it must have been a lot of fun. He gave it up for science, though, and ended up working here.”

“Oh! I love boxing. Or—I love the idea of boxing, I guess.” Darnold said with a smile. “I always wanted to get more into it. It seems like fun.”

Darnold paused as the tram announced the stop to the section of the facility his lab was in. “Oh, I guess I’d better go. Umm—thanks for talking to me, Dr. Coomer.”

“Of course. Have a good day, Darnold.”

“You too! Thanks.”

Darnold nudged his way off the tram, heading deeper into the facility. He’d successfully managed to have a full conversation with someone about something not work related, initiated by himself, he thought proudly. Even with his friend, they were always the one to start their interactions—and they always felt...different than his conversation with the Coomer clone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it; as cruel as it would sound to say it out loud, his talk with Dr. Coomer felt almost more...fulfilling? Purposeful, even though it was just something to keep him busy on the tram to work?

Weird, Darnold thought as he stood on the elevator down to his lab. Well, regardless, all that would have to wait until later. He had some work to get through.

****

Darnold spent pretty much all of his time in Black Mesa, just like most other employees. This made for an incredibly boring routine after a couple of years; no amount of interesting conversations on the tram would keep things exciting. At least he was lucky enough to be passionate about his job; mixology was a lot of fun, and Black Mesa let him do incredibly wild research he never would have been able to do at his old job. Plus, with nobody else in his department, he could usually just play video games without consequence whenever he got too frustrated or bored with work, so long as he still produced good results. That was something—but he was starting to wonder if he was missing out on the excitements of life by living where he worked. Maybe he just needed more friends? He considered as he settled into bed for the night one evening.

He felt...odd the next morning, to say the least. It wasn’t necessarily bad; just different. In fact, maybe it was sort of perfect? He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but as he stood there in his lab, he felt like he was in his place in life, and nothing could ever be more perfectly in order.

That feeling changed a little bit when a blood-soaked group appeared in his lab. He knew Dr. Coomer and Bubby—and they were the Dr. Coomer and Bubby, he couldn’t help but note—along with that one guy he saw on the tram sometimes, and a man in an HEV suit he knew. He wasn’t sure how he knew him; when he announced his name was Gordon Freeman, it sounded right, even though he’d never met him in his life. Maybe he just seemed like a Gordon, he thought.

For however perfect his lab felt at the moment, the prospect of joining the group sounded even better, somehow. Maybe it wasn’t just the lab that he belonged in; maybe he belonged at Gordon’s side? That sounded right. They’d surely get up to some exciting things, he thought as he got ready to depart with the group—things he’d never gotten the chance to do before in life.

Except, well, having to fight soldiers ended up being a lot more terrifying than he’d thought. In his panic, he ended up deciding to stay behind, kicking on his jet shoes and waiting on the upper level until he could no longer hear the explosive signs of Gordon’s group. Darnold could return to the safety of his lab again, and he could have a nice cold potion and wait for all this to blow over.

He didn’t, though.

Darnold was already outside of the lab, heart racing at the sight of all the trip mines. Jesus Christ, who put those there? Was it a trap for that weird group? Darnold floated over them carefully, touching down on solid ground where he was certain he’d be safe. He should really go back to the lab, he rationalized to himself, but something was...off. He tapped his dress shoes against the metal floor experimentally. The resulting sound they made wasn’t right, but for the life of him, he couldn’t put his finger on why. He patted himself down, expecting to feel the hem of his lab coat, the buttons on his dress shirt, the soft fabric of his tie—but he couldn’t feel where each different piece ended and began. Almost as if it was all painted on, just one large, professionally decorated onesie.

Darnold’s head felt fuzzy. He pressed his fingers to his temples and moved forward.

There were very clear telling signs of what paths that group had taken, blood stains and corpses littering the floor like a grotesque trail of breadcrumbs. Darnold followed along it for a little while, the hallways eerily silent as he walked. His mind wandered to something a little bit easier to consider than the strange thoughts that were threatening to send him into a panic right there next to a strange, humanoid-ish alien corpse. That one guy—Tommy? He was pretty cute.

Yeah. That was much easier to think about than literally anything else happening in front of him. He’d just think about that for a while.

He had been quiet—understandable, when everyone else in the group made so much noise—but really seemed to have an interest in mixology. He’d already been sort of interested, hearing him talk to his friends on the tram some mornings, but actually talking to him for once was sort of sealing the deal for him. And he could remember the name Tommy...Coolatta? Was that right? On some sort of HR directory when he first joined Black Mesa. Tommy was sort of a common name, but he got the distinct feeling that had to be the same guy.

Darnold eventually found himself outside in the canyon between buildings. It was a real mess out here—more traps set up, more bodies, more blood. He was certain he must have made the right choice in staying behind. Whatever they were doing, it felt less like escaping and more carving an incredibly violent path through the entirety of Black Mesa. Why didn’t they just...go up the canyon, hitch a ride to the next city over? Sure, that had its own risks, but it sounded infinitely less dangerous than constantly facing down against aliens and soldiers.

Darnold kicked on his jet shoes again and started to scale up the canyon wall. He was getting close to the top when out of nowhere, it all disappeared entirely, now faced with pitch black darkness. Darnold blinked a few times, immediately jumping to the conclusion he must have randomly gone blind, but when he looked down, he could still see his hands, his lab coat, and the canyon below him, Black Mesa buildings nestled between the walls. The canyon walls just sort of...ended, leaving sharp lines slicing through the endless void. Darnold took in a harsh breath, looking around himself frantically. That was it. That was all there was—just that small part of the canyon, just Black Mesa, and he could see inside the buildings, there weren’t even any ceilings! Darnold gritted his teeth and closed his eyes tight, panic beginning to flood him to his very core.

Holy shit.

None of this was real.

The next thing Darnold knew, everything, even Black Mesa, even himself, disappeared. There wasn’t a sound, no flash of light; it was just gone. There one second, gone the next. Not only could he not see it, but he could feel the lack of existence quickly seeping into his head. He was going to be gone in a second as well, he thought as he could feel some other world being built in place of it all. A world he didn’t belong in, because he didn’t follow Gordon Freeman. Maybe being confronted with your sudden, possibly permanent death does things to your priorities—your brain probably can’t catch up in the mere moments you have left, so the last thing you were really thinking about comes back—leaving him with a strange final thought.

He didn’t even get to show Tommy the evil Powerade.

****

Darnold hadn’t thought he would ever open his eyes again. That would be it; he would just blink out of non-existence, and nothing he ever did or had the potential to do would ever matter.

He did open his eyes, though. He was passed out on the dusty ground, and had to lift his hand to block the sun from his eyes. God, his head hurt. He dragged himself up off the ground, glancing around. There was a putrid stench—he got the feeling he knew exactly what it was, what with all the bodies still littered around, but he wasn’t too excited to think about that very hard, so he just began heading back into Black Mesa the way he had come.

By the time he got back to his lab, he was at a loss for what to do. Things felt...different, now. He was fully capable of removing his lab coat and tie again, and left both behind on the table as he rolled up his sleeves and sat down in his desk chair. He wondered briefly if he had simply had a weird dream, but the soldier corpses were still just outside his lab—so, what? Things were real, then not, and now they were real again? Was it ever real? Was he actually even there, or was this some sick trick his mind was playing on him?

Darnold jumped in surprise at the sound of the intercom crackling to life.

“Attention. All remaining Black Mesa employees.” The robotic intercom voice said. “To those who are still alive, please make your way to an emergency phone to report your presence if you are able, and a rescue team will be at your location to help you exit the facility. Please provide your full name and employee number to the rescue team. If you are unable to reach a phone, please wait while the rescue team performs a sweep of the facility.”

Oh, fuck that. By the sounds of it, last time they were apparently going to be “rescued”, the soldiers had begun killing everyone in sight. Darnold picked up the gun he had left behind with a shaking hand and started down the hallway Gordon Freeman and his friends had left through. He didn’t know what had happened to them, but he had a pretty good feeling they probably made it out okay—right? He could just follow the path of destruction, and maybe possibly make it out of the facility without trouble.

There was a little bit of trouble after all, but eventually, Darnold managed to claw his way out of the Black Mesa facility—not entirely unscathed, unfortunately; there didn’t seem to be any soldiers or aliens left, but he received a couple nasty shocks and fell down dangerous heights a few times, but he managed. The sun was setting behind Darnold by the time he got out, but he was out—right? He tentatively took a few steps out towards the highway. No random dark void yet. He let out a tense breath. It was fine. Things felt normal, just the same as they had always felt throughout his childhood, and he’d never stepped out into a void back then. So it would be okay, he reassured himself as he took another few steps. Except, of course, it wasn’t just the void—there was that strange anxiety response he got, too. Darnold’s head began to swim with panic. Any second now, any further, he was certain he’d either hit that void again and rediscover nothing was real after all, or his brain would simply decide the outside world wasn’t safe, and he wouldn’t be able to leave. He took a few long steps back, struggling to get his breathing under control.

Darnold sat down on the ground, then clumsily laid down flat on his back. He felt exposed on all sides, if someone was going to kill him it’d be easy—but it felt like reality was beginning to close in on him. If he moved, if he did anything, would that shatter the illusion?

Darnold wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, he was met by someone wearing all kinds of protective gear. She knelt over him, two fingers already on his neck to check his pulse. Darnold yelped in surprise, scrambling back and shakily pulling out his gun. He didn’t have the heart to even point it at her, but she took the hint, holding her hands up.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” She reassured him nervously. “I’m just search and rescue, I’m here to help.”

Darnold let out a breath, setting the gun down on the ground. “Oh, thank god.”

Darnold was sat in a strikingly empty van with only a couple other search and rescue volunteers and one other Black Mesa employee: Dr. Breen himself. God, he looked like shit—though Darnold wasn’t one to judge. Neither of them bothered to say a word to each other as Darnold was handed a blanket and a bottle of water. He just set both aside, burying his face in his hands as the van started down the highway.

They were almost back to the city when Dr. Breen finally spoke. “What department did you work in?” He asked.

“Mixology.” Darnold sighed.

Dr. Breen nodded. “So, you wouldn’t know about what happened in anomalous materials.”

Darnold shook his head. “I met, uhh...Gordon Freeman, though. He...worked in anomalous materials, right?”

Darnold wasn’t sure how he knew that. Well, he wasn’t really in the mood to question it.

“Ah. Yes. Gordon Freeman.” Dr. Breen sighed. “I’m sure that man’s alive out there, somewhere. I get the feeling he’s not that easy to kill.”

“That’s a really weird thing to say.”

Dr. Breen didn’t reply.

“Uhhhh...what do I do, now?” Darnold asked.

Dr. Breen leaned his head back. “If you have nowhere to go, I can get you a hotel room for a few days, while I get everything sorted out. Not like I’m going to be able to sleep after all this, anyway.”

Darnold nodded. “Okay.”

Dr. Breen put him up in a really nice hotel, at least. He could’ve been put in the shittiest hotel in the state and he wouldn’t complain, but he got to sit there in a hotel bathrobe after a much needed shower, staring out the window at the lights of the city with a glass of wine, contemplating everything that had just happened. It was picturesque, really, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully enjoy it. He couldn’t help but look out at the still dark sky, wondering if the total blackness was just due to light pollution, or...

If there was nothing there at all.

[previous | next]

[reflectivejournalbymyy]

ENRICHING THE POINT LIGHT EXPERIENCE WITHOUT COMPROMISING IT

INTRODUCTION

In most electronic devices today you can find simple indicators, they could be small point lights that inform you about the state of the system. The lights come in different colour intensities and arrangements but mostly in the same packaging, a small light with a plastic cover that you can use as it is or cover with different materials to enhance or change the appearance. They are there to give you information about the device, if it’s on or off, when a battery is charging or is fully charged, when something is wrong or working correctly etc. A point light is most of the time a small light emitting diode (LED), they are used because of their low energy consumption, small size and long lifespan. Harrison, C., Horstman, J., Hsieh, G., & Hudson, S. (2012) talks about reigniting our imagination when it comes to these lights, how they have been underestimated for their richness that can be extracted by working on the arrangements and patterns of the light. Is this something that we really want to do? Keeping it simple, universal and easily understable keeps the design from becoming interpretable. Throughout this essay I’m going to argue against their claim, I’ll unpack why and how these lights and their patterns can be interpreted differently based on certain factors. How we can work with lights in other ways to enrich the expressivity among them without confusing the user or observant. This will be done by using the insights gained from experiences in my own design work where we worked with only one pointlight and expressivity, and other papers. 

 LIGHT PATTERNS

In their paper, Harrison et al. show us 24 light patterns they have created that can be used for various things. 

 Figure 1:  Image Patterns.  source:  Harrison et al.(2012)

Some of these patterns are fairly similar and could easily be perceived differently depending on the observant. We can not with certainty say that these light patterns will be interpreted the same way by everyone. Our personalities, previous experiences, and knowledge differentiate from person to person. (Lenz et al., 2013) One person can look at the Twinkle for example, and imagine it looking like a candle burning which could evoke a calming feeling, while someone else with let’s say, anxiety could see this as something unsettling or unstable which could potentially increase their anxiety. I have recently been working on expressivity with constraints, the constraint in this case was that the only output source I was allowed to use was a one coloured LED-light. When showing our light patterns to peers they perceived the light as something completely different than we wished for. We were working with expressing calm-playful-aggressive behaviour but when this was presented our vision did not reach the crowd as intended. The calm state was a slow pulsing light pattern, the playful was a faster pulsing light pattern and the aggressive was something similar to the bright flash. (see Figure 1) Some saw the whole behaviuor as an increasing strain because of the accelerating pulse ending up in the bright flash. They saw it as a progression towards an outbreak, according to their perception this light was something negative, something to avoid. Other peers saw this as a positive progress, like a file transfer, something getting closer to the finish line.

 Harrison et al have, based on popular use today, come up with 11 states, these states were then put in 5 categories, notification, active, unable, low-energy state and turning on. A design team also created the 24 light patterns that were mentioned earlier by brainstorming and exploration. People, through a survey, chose what light pattern they thought fit best with each category. They argue for a richer and more expressive set to make the communication from device to human more effective and while they do act critically to their own work, they are not critical enough. They show the results in charts that are illustrated in the paper, on each chart the light patterns have received an overall score. Yes, there is always one pattern that has gotten the highest score, but there are also many patterns that follow shortly after, the top one isn’t as distinct as it should be. Even if there always is a “winner” for each category most of the light patterns never reach above 3 for an average score and the difference between the top rated one and the lowest rated isn’t always that big. What this tells us is that the people who participated in this study are not certain that there is one specific pattern that is optimal for a specific category. It could easily be two completely different ones. This is especially clear in the active and turning on category. They act critically to the unable category  because of its overall low score, it’s a hard category to get a feeling for because  it’s not a self-explanatory category and errors can often look the same as notifications, they are both attention seeking categories. Many of the patterns have, along with this, gotten similar scores in more than one category. From this we can see that for example, an equal amount of people have thought that Transmission Random Brightness could mean both that a device had received a notification and that it is turning on. (Harrison et al., 2012) This can easily cause confusion and irritation when using a device. 

 ENRICHING THE LED LIGHT

We have to remember that with the options that are regularly used today, there is a lot of information to get out. For example, the LED lights are available in different colours and with these we can send out messages about the state of the device. Designers are known to work with different colours to send out the appropriate message. They are called signal colours and an example of this is how red is interpreted as something wrong or something that is not ready yet. When the light is green though, it means that everything is okay or the system has started up and is ready to be used. A device that acts exactly like this is a sandwich grill. So think of all the colour options there are, if we then add pulsating, blinking or on/off we get a whole lot of messages to send out. On a router or a modem they often make use of this. There are lights that can change between colours and these different colours have different behaviours and meanings that tell you the state of the system. If it is starting up, if everything is working as it should or if there is something wrong. If someone would ask you right now what your modem looks like when everything is working correctly, would you remember it? Probably not, because it is something we just walk by everyday without thinking about until it doesn’t work and we have to actively go and investigate. However, when you look at the lights you will probably notice immediately if one of them is acting abnormal. It is such a simple little light, yet you notice as soon as something is wrong. What would happen if we were to add patterns then too. Like I mentioned before the light would then turn into something that is interpretable. A light that is constantly changing is also something that could potentially turn out to be too intrusive in your home. Our eyes are drawn to movement and with this constant stream of decreasing or increasing light shimmer it is too eye catching. With this universal language of colour and simple light patterns we can convey the messages we need, add to it a small icon and it’s very hard to misunderstand. 

 By adding other material to them you can notably change the look of the light. During our work process there were other groups working with the same instructions as well. All of us were in some way exploring the expressivity with just the one LED light. Unfortunately, I never tried this out myself but other peers started to make constructions around the light. One light could be surrounded by mirrors and have a completely different look than one surrounded by a thin paper material, creating a faded matte look. On the modem we previously mentioned the lights are very undressed and used as they are but you can change the perception of the light just by thinking of the placement. In some dishwashers you have an indicator light aimed towards the floor to tell you when a programming is running. This is placed in a way that isn’t intrusive but clear enough to send the message of a program currently running. Thinking of these things can change the perception of the light and by that get a richer experience of simple LED indicators.

CONCLUSION

When designing with indicator lights we have to keep in mind that people and cultures have different experiences in their past and therefore interpret things differently. By keeping a simple, universal light language and just working more with what we already have we can convey all the necessary messages that need to be sent to the observer or user. In their paper, Harrison et al try to develop a more complex light language by doing different light patterns to enrich the design field. In a survey they asked people to give each pattern a score on how well it fit the five categories they had assembled. The scores for the patterns and communication categories in their paper are far too even to declare it a clear-cut  solution. Instead of making the current communication more complicated and opening it up for interpretation we can work with how we are showing the simple language that we have today in various ways to enrich the experience. We can think of our colour choices and placement choices. Putting other materials and constructions to the light is another way to add to the richness. I’ve based these insights on design work I’ve executed and a second paper. When trying to create a more complex expression from a LED light, peers did not receive it like it was intended and misunderstood or got a different comprehension of it. The results of people's observations got concluded in opposite directions, which told me that this was not a clear way to evolve point lights. 

REFERENCES

Harrison, C., Horstman, J., Hsieh, G., & Hudson, S. E. (2012). Unlocking the expressivity of point lights. Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems - Proceedings, 1683–1692. https://doi.org/10.1145/2207676.2208296

Lenz, E., Diefenbach, S., & Hassenzahl, M. (2013). Exploring relationships between interaction attributes and experience. Proceedings of the 6th International Conference on Designing Pleasurable Products and Interfaces, DPPI 2013, 126–135. https://doi.org/10.1145/2513506.2513520

[aureafaepoetry-blog]

The Remedy: A NaNoWriMo Novel

Yasmine Grey is a college freshman who struggles with depression as she finds the confidence to start and finish writing her first book.

I’m really excited about NaNoWriMo. This is my first year participating and even though I started late I feel like I’m making great progress. I mean, I wrote 17,751 words in 14 days!!! I know I’m behind but that's ok. Because life happens and I believe I will catch up and reach 50k before November ends. Anyway, here is an excerpt from my novel.

Chapter One:

You could tell me that the sky is a beautiful shade of orange and blue hues, but all I will see is this suffocating fog. That’s all I’ve been seeing for the past few years. A muted reality. No light at the end of this long, dark tunnel. An empty glass. Sad brown eyes holding oceans of tears that may never fall staring back at me every morning. I wonder if all my dreams are stored in these bags under my eyes. Is that why they get darker after every sleepless night?

Monday, August 21st Feeling Words: Sore and Fatigued.

I promised Julie, my high school counselor, that I would start writing in a daily journal again. Once I entered my senior year I got way too busy to write every day. And besides, I found myself feeling a lot better just talking to her during lunch break. The cafeteria was way too loud. I hope life is quieter in college. I doubt it. From what I’ve seen in the movies it’s worse… But I could always eat in my dorm room… I also promised her I would keep in touch. Were going to skype either once a week or once a month depending on how crazy classes get.

I was going to buy a new journal and school supplies once I settled in but my dad gave me a going away present. He brought me this beautiful light brown leather journal that looks like an envelope. It has this long thin matching leather string that wraps around three times. I don’t see a point in having just one string. I would rather have two strings so I can tie a nice bow. Not that I can tie a fancy looking bow or anything. I like the idea of being able to tie a nice fancy bow. I love the smell of it. It’s earthy yet sweet. It kinda smells like I’m walking through the woods after it rained in the spring. I love it. So… I tried to write this fantasy story I’ve been thinking about. It’s based on this dream I had a few weeks ago. I was in a forest alone with a white horse waving a wand trying to cast a spell on the horse but it didn’t work. Eventually, I threw the wand down in frustration and cried. Then my parents came and comforted me. They told me it was okay and that they still loved me. But I felt like they were disappointed in me because I wasn’t as strong as my sister. (I don’t have a sister in real life but I wish I did. I always wanted an older brother and a younger sister. But I’ll probably be an only child forever…) Ever since then I wanted to write about this girl who would do anything to be just as strong and vigilant as her sister and win her parents love. But when I sit down to write I can’t find the words. The world is so vivid in my head but I can’t find the words. I’ve been up since five this morning thinking about this story. I got one of my old journals out of the box and sat there for three fucking hours. Three fucking hours and this is what I produced:

She stood there swinging her wand wildly and yelling the chant over and over. But no matter what she did the horse didn’t sprout any wings nor even a feather. “I’ll never be able to go to witches school like my older sister,” She thinks to herself and sits on the tree stump behind her. She scans the forest for signs of her parents coming to look for her. Nothing but green and orange specks of sky peeking through the thick forest trees. She sighs. The horse snorts and moves closer to her bending his head down enough for her to rub him as if trying to comfort her. She rubs his snout and fishes for a few sugar cubes in her pocket. Before even getting them from her pocket the horse sticks his mouth down to chomp. She giggles “Can I at least get them out my pocket first?” The horse nods and backs away waiting patiently for his treat. She rewards him for his patience and he munches away with excitement. She lies down on the over-sized tree stump, watching the clouds go by and the sun dips below the horizon. Thinking of all her sister was able to accomplish before her age. Thinking of the high expectations she was supposed to meet before today. Thinking of her parent’s hidden disappointment behind their encouraging voices.

“Witches school… bending his head down for her to rub… sticks his mouth down to chomp… munches away with excitement…” this is shit. I know this is just a first draft but I feel like I could do better than this. I kept reading it over and over and over again trying to find better words to replace that garbage. But nothing. And I still can’t think of anything. Maybe I should just do what my mom says and focus on graduating college and starting a career. Working nine to five would be a lot easier than waking up at five in the morning to write bullshit for three solid hours and regret every word. I know if I told Julie any of this she would say something encouraging. I wish she could come with me. She could probably get a job as a counselor at this college. Do colleges even have counselors? I guess I’ll find out when I get there. My parents and I are taking turns driving to the campus. It’s a five-hour drive and I’m due to drive in three hours. I should take a nap until then.

We arrived at the campus at three pm. My parents and I finished unpacking my things and organizing my side of the room within the next two hours. It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be. Two long twin beds were on opposite sides of the room. One against the wall next to the window overlooking the student parking lot. The other a couple feet from the door. And two desks beside each other against the wall across from the bathroom. And next to the bathroom was a shared closet. I think it should be big enough for two. I can probably put a divider in the middle so we could have privacy while getting dresses. Since I arrived before my roommate I got to choose which side of the room I want to live in for the next four years. I chose the side with the window. I kept the bed where it was but pushed one of the desks in front of the window. My mom insisted that we go shopping for curtains and carpet to add some color to the room. As much as I want to I would rather wait until my roommate gets here so we can pick colors and patterns together. For once she agreed with me. Speaking of roommates, I should be meeting with my roommate after orientation. All I know is her name is Melody King and she’s an Environmental Management major. I keep reading roommate horror stories to prepare myself for the worst. I thought it would help with my anxiety but it just made me more anxious to meet her for the first time. What if she’s a bitch or a slob? What if she’s inconsiderate and parties while I’m trying to study? What if she’s pushy and annoying? So many what if's and not enough time to prepare myself for the worst…

I can’t stop thinking about that story. I can’t stop thinking about those hours I wasted writing bullshit. I could have gotten a good night’s rest. But I didn’t and now my body feels like lead and I just want to lie down in my nice new bed and pretend that I don’t exist. My body has felt heavy all day. I’m not sure if it’s because I only got three hours of sleep or if it’s the depression.I have this feeling even when I get a full eight hours of sleep. It feels I have this wet wool blanket wrapped around me. It’s so heavy and slows me down. I feel like I’m moving through syrup or something. I can see my parents are worried about me because I’m moving slow and not talking much. They’ve been giving me the look. They want me to talk to them about how it feels and why I feel this way. They know how hard it is for me to explain to them. At least they got over the “it’s my fault you’re like this” speech. Or at least I think they did… I don’t know why I keep trying to write. I wish these ideas would stop coming to me. I hid my box of journals under my bed. Mom suggested I do that so it won't distract me from my studies. But now I can’t stop thinking about how she used to love when I shared my fantasy worlds with her. She used to be proud of my writing. But since I told her that I wanted to write books for a living she changed… I don’t understand it… I don’t understand her… Did I lose my talent? Did she lose faith in me? Did I have real talent or was she just being nice to me because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings? No… That can’t be because dad still loves my writing. I can always go to him when I’m inspired to write. I’m going to miss our late night chats about our favorite fantasy novels over hot chocolate. I’m going to miss telling him about the fantasy world I dreamed about. I can’t believe I’m saying this but… I’m actually going to miss my mom…

After walking around campus for an hour my parents and I grabbed an early dinner, late lunch before they drove back home. I finally have an hour to myself before orientation. I’m exhausted and I just want to sleep. I’m tired of being around so many unfamiliar people trying to make as many friends as possible. But the day isn’t over yet. I have orientation at 8:30 and I’ll be alone with my new roommate. Not looking forward to that but I just want to get it over with. Not exactly sure what I should do with this new freedom. No mom hovering over my shoulders making sure I’m keeping my grades up. No dad to share my stories with or discuss books we like. No more homemade meals. Although mom promised to drive five hours just to bring me leftovers once a month I highly doubt she’ll keep that up.

So I overreacted. My roommate is nice. Although I regret telling her about my depression I feel like we bonded a little. She has kind eyes and a soft voice. She looked a lot different than what I imagined. I thought she would be taller than me but were about the same height. I saw her unpacking some books that I have read and talked about with my dad. I’ll have to use those as icebreakers someday. She also seems to be keeping her side tidy so far. She threw away all her trash and laid out her textbooks on her desk with her spiral notebooks on top. Everything is color coded. I’m kinda jealous I wasn’t that prepared. I was going to go pick up my textbooks tomorrow and then get supplies. We made plans to explore the campus before classes start next week. So we know all the shortcuts in case we miss our alarm. I’m going to turn in early. I had a long day and I need to be well rested to take my ID picture tomorrow. Good Night…

#NaNoWriMo 2017 #NaNoWriMo Excerpt #Novel #writing #writer #My writing #writing a book #writers on tumblr #Literary Fiction #Depression #Feeling Words #Anxiety #My first novel

[the-colony-roleplay]

CALLUM “WES” WESLEY | THIRTY SEVEN ;  ELITE

House: Delma Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Senior Medical Physician & Psychiatrist Alignment: New Age Rebels

HISTORY

From the moment he turned fifteen, Callum’s parents knew he was going to be trouble. Partying, drinking, getting into fights—it was a quick, downward spiral and it was one they saw coming. For the most part, there seemed to be little hope of him finishing high school, let alone becoming a doctor. For most of his teenage years and the start of his early twenties, he was a coke-junkie and a local menace. Petty theft, burglary, vandalism… acts that never landed him in any serious long-term trouble, but were the markings of his immaturity nonetheless.

However, after his brother died of a drug overdose, Wes’ life did a one-eighty. Feeling somehow obligated to make something of his life, he applied to medical school, drowned himself and his remorse in his studies and whether it was guilt, determination, or both, four years later he was graduating at the top of his class. He’d always been bright, filled to the brim with potential and possibility—he’d just never had the ambition to put his intelligence to any use. That is, until Wyatt died.

Confident, qualified and self-worshiping, Callum (or “Wes” as most people call him) did another three years of residency training in the psychiatric unit of a hospital on UK soil. Originally from Chicago, he’d taken the opportunity to go overseas in a heartbeat. He didn’t talk about it, but London was where his brother had died, and so it was where he felt he needed to be. Another private, unspoken way of paying tribute. His sweeping reputation had him picked up by a local mental health centre—Ripkin and Roth Rehabilitation—with a generous job offer. And so there is where he finished his fourth year of residency, and where he worked diligently the following years until D-Day.

Wes’ style developed into one uniquely his own and something you could call an ‘acquired taste’. He was upfront and brutally honest, believing that professionalism was overrated and took second to being straight and simple with his patients and fellow staff. The nurses, when not batting eyelashes, were often flustered and nervous around him, as he was sharp tongued and intimidating, sarcastic and crude. The general public of the hospital knew better than to get on his bad side or in the line of fire when he was in a foul mood, but that being said, he had an entertaining and goofy side to him that came out mostly with the patients and people he was closest with.

Wes was inarguably a good doctor with good intentions. But where consistencies began to crack was in the well-kept secret of his taboo love-affair with one of his patients, Jasmine Young. Sweet, impressionable, innocent and completely off limits, the girl spent more than nine months as a deliberately resisted temptation in Wes’ thoughts. But not to be confused with all sugar and no spice, Jasmine perused rather insistently what Wes was trying so hard not to. Fast forward about six months and what started as a behind-closed doors romance had turned into a rather unexpected engagement. But being that she was only 18 at the time, not to mention a patient under his care, proposing didn’t change the reality of their complicated situation. Incredibly conflicted and feeling guilty, Wes was trying to figure out how to be a good doctor, while also being a good man.

The day he decided to resign in order to be with her, was the day the asteroids fell.

Jasmine and many of the other patients survived that day but most were shipped off to be reunited with family, and whatever homes they had left. Jasmine was among them, and though Wes longed to go with her, when the reality of their relationship had come out, her parents had politely and firmly suggested he refrain. Now was a time for family, and with a hallucinative disorder as significant as Jasmine’s, now more than ever, the quality of her medical attention was crucial. So conflict of interest no longer an issue or not, Wes was an unhealthy distraction from her health that she didn’t need. Really, it was a demand thinly disguised as a request.

The most difficult part was that as a man of medicine, he agreed with them. And so, loving her as he did, he let her go.

WES TODAY

After the rise of the Colonies, Wes spent most of his time as a psychiatrist and senior medical attending at Colony 4. With his M.D. and experience working with cases of varying disorders, he was an invaluable asset.  And though he treated everyone, he took special interest in working with the Deluded. Certainly, the ‘evolution’ of the Infected status made things disastrously more complicated, but he believed that the way to get to the bottom of these ‘Delusions’ was by treating them not as alien, but as human.

However, it was this very experience that made him such a point of interest with the rise of the NWRF government; his work with disorders and the delusional would be an asset to the progress of their research and goals. Wes, though adamant he would never and could never support the NWRF, was transferred to Colony 22 by their request. Though it was never made clear as to why, Wes gets the impression it’s to do with the smaller Colony being an easier place to infiltrate his work. Less people to resist their power.

Nonetheless, Wes is stubborn and refuses to be intimidated out of doing the work he believes is truly important. His resistance of working with the NWRF has never flagged and he does not share with them any information gleaned from his treatment. But not wanting Wes to stop working entirely, the NWRF pretend to support his decision. Meanwhile, they intend to wait out his resilience—or until such a day they have the power to make the choice for him. For the time being, however, considering the ‘for everyone’s benefit’ mantra the NWRF still put forth to the public, they are not at a stage where complete annihilation of free will is an option.

Despite his less than professional ways, Wes takes his work very seriously. He wants the best for his patients and works hard to see to their proper care. Naturally, working with Colony citizens is very different form his time at the institution—no one is specifically here for the purpose of rehabilitation—so his work involves more exploration and slow unpacking. As a Physician, he works closely with the Head of Medical and other doctors, medics and nurses on the premises. He also works in tandem with the CISM team and therapists, technically the only one qualified to administer legitimate prescriptions. Though he does have one on one sessions with his patients, he is quite adamant that he is not a therapist. From a medical background, he is of practical approach and study and prefers to leave the"fluffy stuff” as he crassly calls it, to the trauma therapists and “glorified counsellors”.

The byproduct of a combination of an inflated ego and genuine concern, Wes often feels that no one can do a job better than himself, and during his time at the rehabilitation centre, if he was truly concerned about someone’s case, he’d often step in where he didn’t otherwise need to. This habit remains consistent with who he is now, and as such he has a habit of stepping on other people’s toes. That said, his reputation from Ripkin and Roth has also carried over into his work at the Colonies: many of his patients express positive feedback about him, finding that once they get past his candid ways, his reliable honesty is refreshing and easy to trust.

Having arrived at Colony 22 only a month ago, Wes is already known for his obsession with his miniature dachshund, Yaxley, his suffering penchant for Scotch in a post apocalyptic world, and his (frankly inexplicable) use of doughnuts to lure citizens into his office.

The NWRF are currently working towards making Wes’ treatment of Infected part of the official mandate; for the time being it remains ‘highly encouraged’. 

CLOSED NPC

#ian somerhalder #ian somerhalder fc #literate rp #original rp #para rp #male #elite #uninfected #delma #callum wesley #rebels #psychiatrist #physician #npc #closed

[sustainability-organicproject-aa]

Single Use Plastics – A Disaster for Our Environment and Our Health

Single use plastics have turned into a nightmare for our environment. Not only because they take hundreds of years to disintegrate, but also because they are causing great peril to our planet, animals, marine life, and humans.  

The number of whales that have died due to ingesting plastics and garbage has increased substantially.  This year, in March 2019, a whale showed up at the Gulf of Davao in the Philippines with 88 pounds of plastic in its stomach (40kg), a month later another one died in Sardinia, Italy with 48 pounds (22kg) of plastic. Last year, one died in Murcia, Spain with 64 pounds (29kg) of plastic, and another in Indonesia with 13 pounds of plastic (5.9kg).  The latter had 115 disposable cups, 25 bags, bottles, and flip flops, among other wastes. Sadly, this list of dead whales is not exhaustive.  

We have also witnessed several videos and photos on social and traditional media of turtles, seals, whales, and other animals tangled with plastics and fishing nets. Moreover, of dead birds with their stomachs full of plastic pieces even from remote and uninhabited places like Midway Island in the north Pacific. The plastic invasion is so pervasive there, that Albatross birds feed their offspring with plastic pieces because they confuse it with food. There is also evidence of high concentrations of plastics in pristine areas such as the arctic and even the deep ocean, which is testament that plastics have polluted the whole planet.

I think that nobody imagined that the damage caused by this material would be so much and so extensive. But now we are seeing it.

Each year between 4.8 to 12.7 million tons of plastics are thrown at sea, according to Science Magazine. Consequently, an estimated 5 trillion plastic pieces are present in the ocean. A lot of this garbage has accumulated in 5 areas or gyres. The biggest one known as the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, located between Hawaii and California, is more than twice the size of Texas and has an impressive amount of plastics, many already turned into microplastics, which are pieces 5mm o or smaller.

A report from the World Economic Forum from 2016 forecasts that if we continue with current practices by 2050 there will be more plastics in the oceans than fish.This is terrible! Even worse, according to various studies plastics have already entered our food chain and thus we are ingesting microplastics through the fish, shellfish, and the salt we eat.

And it does not end there, microplastics have been found in many other foods such as honey, sodas, beer, processed foods, bottled water, and now tap water!

A scientific study commissioned by Orb Media found that 83% of the water samples taken from 5 continents had microplastics fibers. The United States was the country with the highest concentration, a total of 94%. Samples were taken from places like Congress buildings, the headquarters of the Environmental Protection Agency and the Trump Tower in NYC. European countries like Germany, United Kingdom, and France obtained the lowest percentage, 72%, yet this amount is still high. In other words, more than a billion people in the world are drinking water with microplastics. Unfortunately, used water treatment systems do not have the capacity to remove microplastic particles.

There are various companies which claim that they can remove microplastics from your drinking water and accordingly sell these products. This is a better option, since the above-mentioned study also reported that bottled water contains twice the amount of microplastics than tap water, on average 325 particles per liter.

What implications does this have on our health? Scientists are still evaluating the possible consequences, but it is known that plastics are not biodegradable, they simply break into smaller and smaller pieces and persist in the environment. Plastics can enter the human body through the air, water, soil, and food in microscopic amounts or as nanoparticles. It is also known that this material has a great capacity to carry toxic substances and pathogens, and that nanoparticles can enter the blood, cells, and organs.  

Many of the additives that are added to plastics like Bispehenol A (BPA) and phthalates can be harmful to our health. Phthalates are endocrine disruptors that can also cause certain types of cancer. Studies with animals have revealed that these can be detrimental to their health. Thus, plastics can affect animals not merely by physical obstruction but also because of the harmful effects of these chemicals.  

Based on this evidence and terrible scenario, we must ask ourselves: Is it worth it to continue using a product that has been designed for human convenience but that is causing so many problems? In my opinion, the answer is simply, NO. Then, what solutions do we have?

The best solution is to significantly reduce the use and production of this material.

In the latter years various initiatives have been implemented towards this end.

Raising Awareness: Is the UK a model?

Educational and awareness campaigns are a great way to bring attention to the negative effects of plastics.The best example is the campaign led by the British Sir David Attenborough, who with his Blue Planet II series, raised the conscience of British people to the point that its Prime Minister at the time, Theresa May, announced at the beginning of 2018 a 25-Year Environmental Plan, which in spite of having no legal backbone, focuses greatly on plastics.

It has been called the “Blue Planet Effect,”since British people were so impressed by images of birds affected by plastics and whales trying to eat plastics, that only two years after this series was released, 82% of consumers in the United Kingdom think that the amount of plastics used for food and drinks should be reduced drastically. As well, 57% of British people consider that plastic pollution is the biggest threat to life and the environment in modern history (Ubamarket Survey).

The furor and public pressure have influenced businesses in the UK and in particular supermarkets. Big supermarket chains such as Iceland, Aldi, Marks & Spencer, Tesco, Waitrose, Morrisons, Coop, Sainsbury, and Lidlhave all began reducing their plastic footprint. After all, a study revealed that the grocery retail sector was responsible for 40% of plastic waste from packaging. Part of the problem is that supermarkets in general have been using plastics in excessive and even ridiculous manner. Is it really necessary to wrap bananas and other vegetables and fruits in plastics? The British public has started to get tired of these practices and is demanding a change. The same should occur in other countries.  

These changes have also been the result of the work performed by non-profit environmental groups like Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, and A Plastic Planet.  Greenpeace, for example, with its Checking out on Plastics report, unveiled the initial slow progress and piecemeal approach carried out by British supermarkets. This same organization was also able to convince, US supermarket Trader Joe’s, through an internet campaign, to reduce its plastic packaging.

A Plastic Planet worked with Ekoplaza, a Dutch supermarket, to be the first to open a plastic-free aisle in Amsterdam last year. Since, the supermarket has replicated the concept in all of its 74 stores. This aisle has a total of 700 products packed with alternative materials such as compostable bio plastics, carton, glass, and metal. A Plastic Planet believes that this initiative provides customers with the choice to buy plastic-free and shows that change in food packaging is possible.

It is true that there were already other plastic-free stores in the British market and Europe, such as Original Unverpackt in Germany, which offers a wide range of products in bulk, such as milk and pasta. The difference now is that the big supermarkets are starting to implement the concept. An important step to win the war against single use plastics.

In the UK, each supermarket has implemented different programs. Iceland, which specializes in frozen foods, was the first to announce the elimination of all plastics from its own brand while simultaneously declaring that they would become plastic-free in 5 years.  Waitrose launched in its Oxford store, Unpacked, a bulk system by which customers can refill their own, or for purchase, containers with up to 200 products such as fruits, vegetables, grains, beer, wine, and house cleaners. This program has been successful. Therefore, the chain has announced its expansion to other stores. Morrisons now sells 127 lines of fruit y vegetables without plastic in 3 stores and it will expand the concept to 60 stores. Its goal is to reduce 9,000 tons of plastic a year.

Marks & Spencer this year began a pilot program in its Tolworth store throughout which 90 lines of fruit and vegetables are sold loose or plastic-free and it will expand to other stores as part of its goal to become zero-waste by 2025. Tesco and Aldi have launched similar programs. Aldi just launched a new packaging for meats that will reduce 240 tons of plastic a year.

Are these efforts enough? These initiatives are positive and certainly commendable. They serve as models to big supermarket chains in other countries. Furthermore, they demonstrate progress in the UK’s grocery retail sector and a unique dynamism since these supermarkets are continuously innovating to reduce their plastic use. The work is nevertheless not finished because the presence of plastics is still significant in these supermarkets. I really like Marks & Spencer, but I am disappointed by the strong dependency of plastics in their stores and the fact they sell almost no organic products. I am eager to see their progress as they unfold their zero-waste plan. While I wonder if they will adopt a model similar to Ekoplaza, or simply expand its bulk refill system, develop a combination, or if other innovations will be developed.  

Experts in the UK estimate that in order to further reduce plastic use in the country and to achieve more ambitious goals in this and other sectors, the approval of legislation will be necessary.

What are other countries doing? Is it enough?

If we consider that 85% of marine litter is composed of plastics it means that there is still a lot of work left at the national and international level to prevent this material from reaching the seas. UK is one of the pioneers, but there needs to be similar efforts in other countries.  

Aware of the threat posed by plastics, other countries have adopted legislation to prohibit microbeads and plastic bags. Microbeads are pieces of plastic added to cosmetics and cleaning products since the 90s that significantly harm marine species. As a result, these have been prohibited in the United States, Canada, New Zealand, United Kingdom, Sweden, Taiwan, France, and now the European Union will ban them starting in 2020.

A total of 127 countries have prohibited or regulated plastic bags. Notwithstanding, these steps are merely the beginning, to stop this crisis there needs to be a greater adoption of legislative and educational measures worldwide. France and the EU have taken the lead adopting progressive legislation, both of which will be examined in my next article. Canada just announced the adoption of a law similar to the EU that will prohibit certain single use plastics by 2021.

In general, to overcome our plastics addiction, massive educational campaigns will be necessary at the national and international levels. This feat is very challenging because: 1. It is about educating to inspire a change of attitudes, habits, practices, and models of consumers and businesses. 2. Rapid action is required faced with this imminent threat. 3. Developed as well as developing countries are still very attached to the daily use of disposable plastics. A tour through any local supermarket is enough evidence to show the omnipresence of plastics. 4. A greater commitment is required from businesses, government, and individuals. 5. Some countries do not have the appropriate laws, enforcement capacities, and infrastructure to reduce their plastic footprint.

This latter is the reality faced by the 5 countries that throw the most plastic into the oceans. A study determined that China, Indonesia, Philippines, Thailand, and Vietnam are responsible for 60% of all plastic garbage that enters the seas.  However, this is a global problem since for years western countries have been exporting their recyclable items to these countries.

Thus, any educational campaign or legislative proposal must consider the challenges and idiosyncrasies of the country to be successful. Nevertheless, there are certain simple actions that can be adopted anywhere. To educate the public regarding the harmful effects of plastic is paramount. Likewise, it is essential to educate to reduce its use otherwise we will never escape this vicious cycle.  

Physical Cleanup of Oceans

Based on the overwhelming amount of plastics in our oceans, and those that continue to enter, projects to physically clean the oceans have been developed.

One such projects, The Great Ocean Cleanup, was created by Boyan Slat a 24-year-old young man from Holland, who since he was 18 has raised millions to build a 2,0000 feet tube to clean the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. In October 2018, the first cleaning expedition was launched but it encountered some technical difficulties and it should be relaunched again in the near future.

A Norwegian millionaire, Kiel Inge Rokke, is building the greatest yacht in the world, called the REV, to remove plastics from the oceans. Once the REV is operational, it will be able to collect 5 thousand tons of plastics daily and melt them aboard.

These projects are necessary and important, but they are not the panacea since efforts need to also greatly focus on preventing plastics from entering the oceans in the first place.  

Recycling

Recycling plastics is a viable solution that saves energy and natural resources, but it has limitations. As evidence, of all the plastic that has been produced since 1950, 8.3 billion metric tons, only 9% has been recycled. Plastics contrary to aluminum and glass cannot be recycled indefinitely. Each time these are recycled its quality downgrades. Moreover, the process is complex due to all the different types of plastics. It is also expensive. The US and other countries were able to make it cost-effective by exporting it to China.

Yet, since China put limits to the imports of plastics last year (January 2018), now all materials need to be 99.5% pure or they are not accepted, a global crisis ensued. Cities and municipalities from exporting countries such as the USA and UK began accumulating recyclable materials and in many cases these had to be thrown into landfills or incinerated. Other Asian countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, and Vietnam, started accepting these materials, but it has been difficult for them manage the great volume previously handled by China.

In other words, in spite of the fact that many entities are still betting on recycling as the solution, it is not ideal to handle this crisis. Plastics recycling methods can be improved, and this is the approach taken by the new European law, but the best solution is to significantly reduce the use and production of single use plastics.

Reduce, Reuse y Refuse

In the case of plastics, it is better to reduce, reuse and refuse. Each one of us can refuse a straw at a restaurant, choose to reuse our ceramic plates instead of serving dinner in disposable ones, buy products that contain no plastic packaging, go to the organic market, bring our own reusable bags to the supermarket, and more. Individual efforts are very important, and they do make a difference. But the load cannot totally be left to consumers. Companies and governments have to assume their responsibility. It is very difficult for individuals to change their habits if there are no options available.

Businesses and governments need to take a more active role to provide options based on a circular economy model. As long as the economy continues to base itself on a linear model in which we take natural resources, make products and then convert them into waste, society will never escape its plastic overproduction.

A circular economy, on the other hand, facilitates the role of all actors since residues at the end of the cycle are reused and reinjected into the economy.  

Will we need to go back to the milkman? Maybe, but what is important is that businesses see this paradigm as an opportunity to innovate or change their business models and in this manner obtain a competitive advantage.  Companies should not wait for legislation to oblige them. Governments in any case will have to legislate to force those that preferred to remain in the status quo and only thought about their profits and not the costs or benefits to society and the environment.  

In sum, it is clear that a tripartite alliance is essential to win this battle and that the approval of national legislation and international treaties will be crucial to move all stakeholders in society. The United Kingdom, even with the absence of legislation, is one of the most advanced in this topic and serves as a model to other countries. 

In our next article we will analyze the reach and effectiveness of the new plastics law in France and the European Union, plus the recently amended Basel Convention signed by 187 countries to combat illegal plastic waste exports or dumping to developing countries.

This article is the first of a series which analyzes the Invasion of Plastics in Our Environment and Our Lives. These will study the efforts and solutions adopted and suggested by different countries, international organizations, NGOs, businesses, environmentalists, scientists, and other experts.