#trust this lion with your credit card number

[stuffbymail]

happy thistle tuesday

#dungeon meshi #thistle #thistle dungeon meshi #winged lion #mails art #fanart #trust this lion with your credit card number #dungeon meshi spoilers #mildly??? I guess????? not really tbh but #I don’t want to get yelled at

[thesecrettimes]

Is It Safe to Buy Stuff From TikTok Shop?

What is TikTok Shop? Seemingly every other video on the social media platform has a button that appears right above the caption; when you tap on it, it takes you to a virtual store where you can order crop-top bras, Lion Latches or personalized tumblers without ever leaving the TikTok app. It’s easy to use — but is there a catch? As with any online retailer, you should know what you’re getting into before you type in your credit card number. According to the company, TikTok Shop is very much still in a development phase. It soft-launched in November and moved to beta testing this past April. Since its inception in 2016, TikTok has proven to be so much more than a silly dance app — it’s a business powerhouse where users love to discover, review and share products. (Need proof? The hashtag #tiktokmademebuyit has over 64 billion views.) Is TikTok Shop safe? TikTok says merchants are vetted before they can launch on TikTok Shop, and once they’re live, they must follow a set of guidelines that prohibits fake, fraudulent or misleading content. When someone makes a purchase, the company collects data “to provide our shopping features and facilitate the purchase and delivery of products, goods and services,” according to its privacy policy. But TikTok doesn’t actually handle the payment itself — it uses the third-party services PayPal and Stripe to process the transaction. PayPal and Stripe are considered relatively safe; they both use encryption to guard folks’ financial data. TikTok also claims it doesn’t store customers’ personal information after they buy an item. Even so, Don Grant, a certified financial planner, says to proceed with caution. “Those who post on TikTok want something from you,” he points out. “The TikTok platform wants something from you. If that ‘something’ is of value, viewers may only know it once it’s missing.” How does TikTok Shop make money? Here’s the rub: TikTok takes a cut of shop sales from merchants, so it has a vested interest in getting you to shop — and splurge — in the app. The company has big plans for expansion, too. The Wall Street Journal reported last month that the social platform is gearing up to launch a marketplace called the TikTok Shop Shopping Center. The Atlantic wrote that “TikTok’s turn to e-commerce, in theory, has the potential to be massive, capable of competing with the likes of Amazon.” How to shop responsibly on TikTok The TikTok Shop interface is so smooth that “you can basically click on something and buy it in a matter of seconds,” says shopping expert Trae Bodge. It reduces the pain of paying, a behavioral economics concept that refers to the unpleasant feelings a person gets when they spend money. That “pain” is important because it regulates people’s desire to buy stuff. When it goes away — say, because you’ve seen 50 increasingly convincing bra videos and the button to buy one is right there — so is that self-regulation. “Because of the ease of shopping, people don’t take the time to read reviews or look for ways to save more,” Bodge says. “That ease is a gateway for potential overspending, or less informed spending, on the general internet.” She recommends slowing down and pausing whenever possible. Sure, TikTok Shop might be convenient, but it means you might miss out on discounts and coupons offered by other vendors elsewhere online. Before mindlessly throwing things into your cart on TikTok Shop, Grant suggests you ask yourself two crucial questions: 1) “Do I really need this?” and 2) “Is there another platform that I trust from which I can purchase the same product or service?” The answers will guide you. More from Money: The Best Deals Around Are in Your Local ‘Buy Nothing’ Facebook Group How to Protect Yourself from Identity Theft Is It Risky to Give My Phone Number to Stores and Restaurants? Read the full article

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Wednesday, 24 May 2023:

She Who Dwells Sinéad O’Connor (Vanguard) (released in 2003)

This past Friday, 19 May, Smiths bassist Andy Rourke passed away.  So why isn’t this a Smiths album?  Well, I’m not the biggest Smiths fan in the world.  Sure I have The Queen Is Dead (and I used to have everything else before I traded it all away) on vinyl and any number of compilations on CD, but I remembered that Andy Rourke played bass on three tracks on one of my all time favorite albums, Sinéad O’Connor’s I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got.  I love that album so much that it came in at Number One on my Top 125 Favorite Albums of the 1990s.  (I even wrote three versions of this list and each time, Sinéad landed at Number One.)  Rourke plays on The Emperor’s New Clothes, Jump In The River and You Cause As Much Sorrow. 

I ended up watching a video to The Emperor’s New Clothes the next evening after Rourke passed away and once again I was besotted by the song and subsequently other songs off the album.  I ended up listening to something like eight different live versions from Sinéad’s killer The Last Day of Our Acquaintance, a song which never fails to give me chills.  (I even found a version performed live by Michael Stipe!)  This led me to her discography and suddenly I began fretting all the holes I have in her catalog. 

Sinéad was an artist I bought from the get-go with The Lion and The Cobra (thanks to Musician magazine) and I bought her in real time all through the 1990s.  I gave up on her work after 1994′s Universal Mother and then I foolishly traded away 1992′s Am I Not Your Girl, 1991′s My Special Child EP and Universal Mother and never bought her work again. 

Cut to 2010, I’m in Davenport, Iowa.  Mrs Echo is at a convention for card design (this is 2010 BC, mind you) and I’m wandering the city in search of a record store.  I stumble upon Zzz Records and go inside and find a 2005 release from Sinéad, Throw Down Your Arms which is a reggae covers album she made with Sly Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare.  I was seriously into reggae at the time (and not Bob Marley, mind you, I was into Culture, Joe Gibbs and The Professionals, The Congos, The Abyssinians, Burning Spear and my namesake, Lee “Scratch” Perry among others) and I thought surely this must be a sign to listen to Sinéad again.  After that, I bought everything else she released in real time (I bought 2007′s Theology shortly after buying Lay Down Your Arms) and fell back in love with her voice. 

It took Andy Rourke to get me to pay attention to the five Sinéad albums I either had or never bought and barely paid attention to.  I always believed that She Who Dwells was a lengthy two disc live album but it is more than that.  Disc 1 is all studio tracks, which I did not know until today.  Five of those tracks have never been released, the others will have to be researched to understand where they originate from (the credits are sorely lacking in the booklet).  Disc 2 is the live album.  I feel better about this album already! 

Above you see that I bought this still sealed.  There was a price tag on the hype sticker that I had to peel off.  It came from CDepot and sold for $15.99.  I bought it for ten bucks which is substantial savings from what the vampiric Zuber is asking for a sealed copy on eBay: $88!  (And trust me, it won’t even be in stock, the vultures will have to find it and take four to eight weeks before they do.)  The second photo shows you what this looks like opened up.  The third photo reveals the second disc which is in one of those swing inlay trays.  The fourth photo above is of the back of the CD.  The fifth photo shows us the title strip which record companies in the US invented out of fear people would steal the CD inside the jewel case.  Remember, in the UK, CDs were never sealed.  Good old American capitalism. 

Back in the old days, when this album came out, the internet was so new, that companies were still using antiquated feedback systems such as postcards via the US Postal Serivce!  Below you can see the front of the postcard included inside this CD, followed by the back of the postcard.

Here is a close up of the hype sticker.  I’m not sure it is necessary, but I took the photo and cleaned the hype sticker up so nice and neat, I want to show it off. 

Here is a shot of the cover without that hype sticker.

Although I’m not certain it is even needed, I close this entry with shots of both the compact discs.

You can certainly count on more Sinéad O’Connor clogging up this tumblr! 

[ziptonki]

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Safari for Mac is faster and more energy efficient than other browsers. Apple Pay in Safari lets you shop safely and simply. You can stream and search smarter with handy tools that help you save, find, and share your favorite sites. Built-in privacy features keep your browsing your business. Opera 9.62 Released: Size: 13.46 MB Downloads: 2,686 Rating: Tested: Free from spyware, adware and viruses Download Safari For Mac 10.5.We built Safari to be the best browser for your Mac, iPhone, and iPad.

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[pierce31galloway]

Don't Worry, Online Shopping Is Easier Than You Think

Not long ago, people who needed to purchase holiday or birthday gifts had to get dressed and go to the store in order to do their shopping. Getting ready to go shopping and having to deal with crowds can literally drain all of your energy. Fortunately, online shopping is now an option. Read here for great advice on how to shop online. When shopping for a product online, take the time to read reviews. Try finding the same product on different sites to read as many reviews as possible. Reading many reviews will help you get a more general idea of whether or not the product you are interested in meets high standards of quality. Call the online company before you make a purchase. If you have some kind of problem with your purchase, you want to be able to know that you can reach customer service easily. That's why it's a good idea to call before you give them your credit card information. If you can't get anyone on the phone, steer clear. Try to make online purchases only with companies you are already familiar with. Chances are, a store you go to on a regular basis probably has a safe website. But, if you go to a website you know nothing about, you are putting your personal information, like your credit card info, at risk. When you are shopping online, use reviews and ratings to your advantage and make smart purchases. If you are buying a rug and 10 out of 11 reviewers say the item was not the correct color, you probably want to look somewhere else for the item. Also check to verify that a customer had to purchase the item in order to make the review. If you shop with particular online dealers, try planning your purchases around the times when they offer free shipping, if they have it. Shipping is a major cost when it comes to online shopping, and sometimes that can make a cheaper order much more expensive. Getting free shipping on your items can save you a lot of money, which you can use for other items, so you should take advantage of it when it's offered. Do not be swayed by anonymous or excessively emotional reviews when shopping online. When https://lionsbreathstore.com/product/buy-lions-breath-blue-dream/ have a bad experience, they may come and put a overly negative review before they even try to find a resolution with the company. If you see multiple anonymous reviews, you cannot verify they even purchased the product in question. Never pay full price online. Sales are bound to happen. If you time things right, you can save anywhere from 10-15 percent off full price. If waiting is an option, the savings can be tremendous. Surplus inventory is sometimes referred to as refurbished in item descriptions. Though an item is marked refurbished, take a good look at its description. Either it was fixed for resale or it was an overstocked item. You can score lower prices on refurbished and surplus items. One site which offers great deals every day is Woot.com. At midnight central time they post an item at a super discounted price, and you have to grab them while they are available. Not only is this fun to do, it can save you a bundle on electronics and computer hardware. If you shop online, keep the data from credit cards safe. Always use secure shopping sites. Find the padlock icon, which indicates that a site is secure. It's normally found on the URL bar of the browser, normally around the top right area. Trust your instincts when it comes to shopping online. If you do not feel comfortable, leave the site immediately. It is better to pay a little bit more for an item than take the chance on giving your personal information out to a site that may not be legit. Be careful with online stores asking for too much information. You only need to provide a store with your name, address and payment information. You should never give your social security number or driver's licence number to an online store. Choose another store if you are prompted for personal information when ordering a product. Fortunately, shopping no longer requires having to drive or walk yourself to the nearest store and endure huge crowds. You can now shop from the convenience of your own home by shopping online. You are now aware of excellent advice on shopping online, so utilize them in order to enjoy the best deals.

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[notveryglittery]

birthday prince (3)

summary: virgil decides roman deserves a day off.  words: 2,100 / ship: prinxiety (roman/virgil) author’s note: this is part three of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts)  read on ao3

— — —

“Best two out of three.”

“I thought this was a birthday gift!”

“Yes and?”

“So why don’t I automatically get to pick the first movie?”

“Because I know you’re on a princess kick and full offense, if I have to deal with a talking animal as the comedic relief sidekick, I might actually die.”

“... Okay. Fine, okay, that’s fair.”

“On shoot.”

One, two, three, shoot — Virgil’s scissors versus Roman’s paper meant that the birthday boy did, in fact, not get to pick the first movie. He feigned upset for only a few moments longer before flopping back into their pillow fort. He supposed, given all the hard work Virgil had put into this, he could put up with one non-princess Disney film.

Earlier in the day, Virgil had rather unceremoniously kicked Roman out of his own room, claiming he had something important to do. Were it not for how close they’d grown, Roman would have been upset and suspicious; he trusted Virgil now, though, and knew that nothing would go wrong. He’d spent an hour playing cards with Logan and Patton before Virgil shouted for him from upstairs. When he’d arrived back to his room, it looked almost unrecognizable. It was mostly illuminated by fairy lights, providing a cozier feel than what he was used to; the floor to ceiling windows looked out into a rainy forest instead of the usual rolling hills; his bed had been turned into a truly impressive collection of blankets, pillows, cushions, and stuffed animals. The canopy had been removed which bothered him a little but only until he realized the projector that had been set up, pointing at the ceiling. There was a basket at the foot of the bed, filled with snacks and bottled drinks. Roman figured they could stay here for the next twenty four hours and be perfectly fine.

Surrounded by what was possibly every soft thing to be found in the Mindscape, Roman clutched Mrs. Fluffybottom to his chest as Virgil got the movie set up. She’d been his favorite plushie for the entirety of his existence; he’d taken her on many adventures over the years but she’d comforted him through a number of breakdowns too. He swore there was actually something magical about her.

Virgil threw himself down next to Roman; he had swapped out his usual hoodie for one that was fully dark purple and had even longer sleeves. After Roman had stopped gawking around his room, Virgil had tossed a sweater at him. It was so bright it was practically neon but it was rainbow print and he loved it. He’d immediately changed out of his t-shirt and had grabbed Virgil in a tight hug. Roman definitely intended on starting a sweater paw fight at some point during their movie marathon.

“You good with Hercules?”

“No comedic relief sidekicks, huh?”

“Phil is not a sidekick!”

“What? Are you trying to tell me right now that Philoctetes is a main character? You can’t say he isn’t comedic relief! He gets hurt just for laughs way too often!”

“No! I mean. Maybe?”

Roman laughed, bumping his shoulder against Virgil’s. “Whatever, you dork. Of course I’m good with it. You could have picked The Black Cauldron and I would’ve been good.”

“Talking animal. Comic relief. Sidekick. Gurgi checks all of those boxes. I would’ve been going against my own word.”

“Hmm, fair,” Roman said, humming a little.

As the Muses began singing them through the opening, Roman took a moment to appreciate everything Virgil was doing for him. The basket of goodies was stocked with every one of Roman’s favorite snacks, including enough chocolate to make him sick. In fact, it’d been the first thing he’d decided on, before Virgil could even tell him what the plan for the day was. Not that it was really much of a plan, anyway. Today specifically had been set aside just for Virgil to spoil Roman however he wanted. That apparently meant marathoning Disney movies, napping as much as they pleased, and eating all the junk food they wanted. It was a far cry from how Roman usually spent his time; what with all of the projects he was constantly juggling, or the content he had to help Thomas produce, or the issues to take care of in the Fantasy Realm. He didn’t really realize even how hard he was always working.

Apparently, however, Virgil had.

Something was shoved into his face, startling him out of his thoughts. He shot a glare at Virgil, who was watching the movie and acting totally inconspicuous. The item turned out to be a stuffed dragon, one he didn’t recognize from his usual pile of plushies. The scales were shimmery, a nice ombre of purple and blue shades, the wings were tucked against the body, and… Holding his hand against the stomach was warmer than the rest, as if it had a belly full of fire. That was so cool! He squeezed it tight in his arms and went back to watching the movie, feeling even comfier than before.

With the credits rolling, Virgil ushered them both out of bed and into a couple minutes of stretching.

“I’m not having you complain to me later on when your bones start creaking.”

“You make it sound like I’m so old, Virgil!”

“Older than me,” Virgil teased. He ducked out of the way of a thrown cushion. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?!”

Roman took a face full of pillow and suddenly it was on. He couldn’t begin to guess how long they fought for, darting around the room and over the bed, swinging their feather-filled weapons at each other. He did know that by the time he collapsed on the floor, he was breathless with laughter. Virgil was so far gone that he’d dissolved into alternating between wheezes and complete silence. Eventually, they did manage to get back into their nest of blankets, though there was plenty of shoving, poking, and tickling as they did so.

“I dunno if I’ll make it through this next movie so pick one that I won’t mind falling asleep during.”

“You besmirch the name of Disney if you think there’s a single film boring enough to allow that!”

“You dozed off the first time we watched The Good Dinosaur.”

Roman spluttered. “I had just come back from a week-long quest! And that’s Pixar!”

Virgil actually cackled. “You can’t pull that excuse! Disney owns Pixar!”

“Stop bullying me,” Roman cried, “it’s my birthday!”

“It’s two days before your birthday, actually, so I can bully you all I like.”

“I’m picking The Black Cauldron, then! See how you like dozing off during your favorite movie.”

It perhaps hadn’t been his best choice. With Virgil snuggled into his side, warm and soft, the sound of his even breathing accompanying the utter lack of any songs… Well, Roman really didn’t last much longer. They found each other in the Dreamscape. Edges were fuzzy, sounds were muffled, and touch was electric. The Dream Palace was a blurry shape in the distance, attracting his attention every so often when its crystal spires caught the light. Virgil sort of just appeared, as if created from the colors of the setting sun. Roman had a feeling he was made of the field of flowers he’d woken up in.

“I like it here,” Virgil said, sitting down next to Roman.

“Remy does a nice job with it,” Roman agreed, slowly picking daisies and dandelions to weave into a crown.

“You do, too,” Virgil argued. “You have a hand in almost everything, you know.”

Roman frowned at him. “I do not.”

“Yes, Ro,” Virgil insisted, “you do. The Memory Archives look the way that they do because you and Logan watched one episode of Doctor Who together and had the inspiration to redesign.”

Roman chuckled, a little nervously. “I guess.”

“Memory Lane doesn’t hurt Patton because it knows better than to hurt anyone you love. It might be connected to him and his room, but you’re the one that created that safety net.”

“Virgil…” Roman tried, voice slightly strangled.

“I just need you to know how important you are. You aren’t told enough.”

“It’s fine—”

“You’re important, Roman. You matter. You make a difference.”

Roman finally stopped trying to tie together the stems of the flowers. Virgil took his shaking hands into his own and held them tightly. It was just enough that Roman could actually feel it versus the tingly sensation that the Dreamscape normally worked with.

“We love you. We appreciate you and your hard work.”

If it weren’t for that everything around them was already blurry, Roman might not have noticed his vision swimming when tears filled his eyes. It was hard to not know suddenly that he was crying, though, regardless of how physically present he was in this space.

Virgil let go of his hands and instead, cradled his face gently. “I know I go against you sometimes but in the long run, I want you to be just as happy as you make the rest of us.”

He waited a moment longer before smiling and squishing Roman’s cheeks. Roman giggled a bit in response. Virgil gave him two careful pats before pulling away. Picking up the flower crown Roman had abandoned, he set to work on finishing it. Roman wiped his tears away and sat still in the sunshine, content to simply let himself soak it up until he was completely warm from the inside out.

When they woke, the screen projected onto the ceiling was displaying a screensaver of 3D pipes. The forest outside the windows had been replaced with a cliffside view of the ocean. Virgil stirred next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He absentmindedly pressed a kiss to Roman’s cheek before getting out of bed. He was gone for a little while, during which Roman found two more plushies that he didn’t recognize. They were a gryphon and a lion, both extremely soft to the touch, and with fierce expressions that reminded Roman of how Virgil looked when he was in fight mode. He wondered how these new stuffed animals kept sneaking into his collection but he certainly wasn’t complaining.

When Virgil returned, Roman burst into laughter, because yes, he supposed there was no chance of sneaking that one into the pile.

“There won’t be any room for me in bed, Virgil!”

“Guess you better get used to sleeping on the floor then,” Virgil said, dropping the massive Simba plushie on top of Roman.

This just made Roman laugh harder. The fabric on this one was fluffier than on the others, something he could sink his fingers into if he wanted. It was nearly as big as him, or maybe it just felt like that right now since it was smothering him. Before he could move it, though, Virgil sank himself down onto it as well.

“Virgil!!” Roman gasped between snickers. “Get off, you fiend!”

“Hmm…” Virgil hummed, pondering. From where he was laying, he could just barely look directly into Roman’s eyes. This made it all the funnier when he finally decided, in the most deadpan tone, “nah.”

After some wrestling, which led to them both falling out of bed and Roman bumping his elbow and howling for five minutes about his funny bone before Virgil kissed it better, they were finally settled back in to continue their movie marathon.

They watched Moana, Tarzan, and, Mary Poppins before sleep began to take them once more. Seeing as the sun had sunk below the sea quite some time ago, it was safe to assume it was late enough to call it a night.

“I got you…” Virgil paused to yawn. “Got you one more thing…”

“Vee—”

“‘S not much.” He held out Mrs. Fluffybottom for Roman to take. “I just… I made it so that she can never be hurt.”

For a moment, Roman’s lethargy was chased away by astonishment and surprise. He could feel the enchantment just from holding her, though it was passing by the second as the magic was fully absorbed.

“I know you… take her on adventures a lot. Fightin’ bad guys ‘n stuff.” Virgil shifted further into the blankets as sleep continued to take hold on him. “Wanna keep her safe. Know you will, anyway. But jus’ in case.”

Roman rolled onto his side so that he was facing Virgil. He kept the bunny plush tucked between them and took one of Virgil’s hands in his. “Thank you…”

“Love you. Happy birthday, princey,” Virgil told him, papping him once more on the cheek.

Sleep settled over them quickly after. Roman would wake in the morning, feeling more secure and warm than he had in quite some time, surrounded by plushies and Virgil’s arms, and know that he had so much to be grateful for.

#sanders sides fan fiction #prinxiety #prinxiety fan fiction #roman sanders #virgil sanders #gifts for roman's bday #dani writes

[loadedtoast]

36/F/NZ

I have grown weary of social media as of late. The kind of social media where everyone has an opinion regardless of its impact on others, where people can type things they wouldn’t say in person and perpetuate misinformation (I am pro-vaccination). I am also growing tired of the (barely) subliminal messaging I receive about diets and body image that troll my feeds.

But I am a social creature by my very nature. Aren’t we all?

My first blog title is a nod to my ASL (age, sex and location). It’s an ‘early internet thing’.

If you are my age, you will recall (hopefully) the advent of ICQ and MSN… The patience of waiting for dial up to connect – god forbid someone else was on the landline – after school so that you could connect with friends, strangers, potential cuties… The potential cuties however were (and still are) not always what they appear to be.

But I am not here to blog about dating. Or house prices. Or global warming, avocados or other woes facing the younger generations – am I still young?

I never thought I would say this. I want to talk about having kids.

I will declare upfront that I want for nothing. I am a reasonably successful, professional woman without kids. I own my own home (or at least half of it). I live a city lifestyle, am fit, healthy and have a wonderfully loving and respectful partner (you know, one of the types of guys that speaks up and isn’t threatened by independent and successful women) - A rarity for which I cherish more than the rest of the stuff I list above. I am sure I will write about it at some point, but he is the product of a single mother doing a fucking incredible job in the most challenging of circumstances. Hats off to her!

As I was saying. I want to talk about kids.

I have never wanted them. And now we (not I. We) want to dip our toes into the pool that an increasing number of 30-somethings decide to jump into …

I am grappling with so many things. Things that are unique to us females.

I spent my teenage years being actively taught more about how to cook, clean and be a good girlfriend than I did about my own body – stuff I am learning now in retrospect (also a probable, future blog). I went onto the pill as soon as I got my period. It was a ‘precaution’ (for whom?). I learned about my vagina because I suddenly needed to put something inside it (not for pleasure) to stop my monthly bleeding from causing me more shame than I already felt – because periods are a woman’s burden to be carried in secrecy, and to be joked about by guys when the emotions get the better of us… “on the rag?” “must be that time of the month…”.

I am now 36 and just starting to become woke (as the kids say it now).

My teenage years, I imagine, were not unique. I recall one sex ed class at high school (yes, just one hour) where we learned about sex leading to STIs (previously called STDs) and pregnancy. Pregnancy was the devil and needed to be prevented at all costs (health, time and concern - which the female generally absorbed).

We skipped the bit about consent, respect and two-way intimacy – I found out about those by trial and error.

I got through to my mid-20s and the rhetoric changed. Instead of those I looked to telling me babies were bad, suddenly, babies were all the rage. I had come out of university with my two degrees, ready for that promised career, and to travel and build the life I wanted.

I felt confused.

Now, I was never the ‘maternal type’. I wonder now if there is such a thing or if its just something that we are carefully manicured into thinking that it’s what we want all along. I never wanted baby dolls and prams as play toys. I wasn’t into pink and pretend kitchens. Instead, as a kid, I was into sports, horses and motorbikes. I climbed trees and played games that used my creativity and imagination.

So, when I reached my mid-20s and people started to ask me about when I wanted to ‘settle down and have kids’ I rejected the entire notion of it. I said I didn’t want kids. In fact, I was well known amongst my peers for saying I didn’t even like kids. Which to a point is true. I don’t like ALL kids. Some kids will not grow into good adults and I place the responsibility for that on nurture not nature. This may be controversial; however I wish to believe that we are all born into this world with the potential for good.

New-born babies were thrust into my arms, because you know, I will need practice… How come boys don’t have to hold babies? I felt awkward. Like I was rejecting something that I was ‘born and bred to do’. But I didn’t want it. Not then.

When I told people I didn’t want kids, they were shocked. Kind of like the shocked face of people when I tell them I don’t drink alcohol anymore – you know, culturally unacceptable behaviour by any Kiwi’s standards. This was quickly followed by, “Oh, you will want them one day… it will all change. Trust me”.

Patronizing much?

I can now say that I felt harassed in those moments. Let’s label it.

The questions and opinions I would get were unnecessary, unprovoked and unhelpful. I honestly wondered why everyone was so invested in my interest in procreating – more so than being interested in me as a person with my own wants and needs. I guess this was part of my training for being a mum. A call out to all the mums who work tirelessly – yes, work (you have a job and it’s the hardest job of all).

I stayed the course and purchased my own home, got a great job that I worked hard for (don’t we all work extra hard, ladies!) and I prepared myself for a life with no legacy (legacy, I learned from those closest to me, is achieved though children, not a career, when you are a woman).

And then I met this guy.

He wanted kids. I kept true to my long-held comms line (like the ‘no comment’) and said I didn’t. And then he did something that I will never forget…

He said it was my choice. My choice.

He asked me why I had made that choice – his right to do after disarming me. I said, without thinking, and for the very first time… “I’m scared”. Shit, no backing out of it now…

I was scared because alongside all of the rhetoric that is forced down our faces about motherhood were the truths. The home truths. The ones I had witnessed in person. I had seen and heard, that taught me all about the value of a woman when she becomes a mum.

Now – disclaimer – I am not saying that I never seen or heard good things about being a mum. But hell, I did see and hear more average things than good things.

I saw and heard about how all the females in my immediate sphere of trust had given their careers up (in the current trajectory that they were on or entirely) when they became mums. If they didn’t choose being a mum, they were falling short of society’s expectations. If they became a mum and chose a career over full time parenthood, they were ‘outsourcing’ their most important role - as a mum.

I saw and heard my mum take the lion’s share of parenting, putting herself last. I saw and heard her play the part of mum and dad while my dad built his career – for us. The career that was really for him – let’s be true, it was his dream he was pursuing, not mine and not hers. I saw and heard her be proud of others but not of herself. I saw and heard her cry, a lot.

FYI I am very proud of my dad and I love him to bits. He is human. So is my mum. They made choices, together, in parenting us, but those choices were not made by people with equal power in the relationship and subsequently the choices did not always (actually, very rarely) benefit mum as a whole person.

I saw and heard my mum find ways to make herself feel better. She was good at buying things she did not need or want.

I saw and heard my mum largely unsupported, doing a thankless job. A job that society places no tangible value on. If you become a mum, and take time out of the workforce (i.e. you leave your job) to raise a child, you are considered unemployed (i.e. you are negatively placed on the ‘books’ aka GDP – not an investment, not a value-add activity, but a cost – you know, that the Government carries).

Funnily enough, ‘unpaid work’ of which parenting falls into, is the single largest sector of our economy but it is unpaid and therefore under-valued. Mums and dads who parent, are not seen as contributing to the nation’s economy. Where does our future workforce come from again?

And then once my last sibling left home, so did my dad. My mum was alone.

Due to her lack of ‘work history’ she could not apply for a credit card – dad could. Mum oversaw the family business finances and ensured we were looked after but did not ‘take home a wage’. Dad did. So, as usual, mum missed out and just kept on missing out. I can’t help but feel incredibly shit for mum. For all women.

These things shape my views on becoming a mother.

As do my own personal experiences.

As bad as this sounds, mum made sure I was better off. I got an education; a good career and I was raised to be independent and to ‘hold my own’. Funnily enough, I don’t recall ever ‘learning’ to hold my own. It wasn’t a session at school, or a mother-daughter discussion. It wasn’t a workshop or a coaching session at work.

Sarah Everard.

I have been following, as many women are, Sarah’s story in the news right now. Well, I correct myself – it’s not her story. It’s the story of her demise, chosen by a man she did not know or chose to know. There is an international groundswell of rage erupting from women around the right to be safe.

I saw an article written about this, and I thought, “shit, me too” (excuse the pun). A woman had put words to all of the ways in which we just know how to ‘hold our own’… the keys between the fingers when walking to the car late at night, the text to a friend “text me when you get home”, the pretending to be on a phone call, or the running without music to keep vigilant and at the ready. And the worst… Literally having an escape plan in your head as you walk down a dark street, or past a pack of guys.

This is an everyday experience of practically all women. Everywhere. I don’t know how we know it; we just do. But we shouldn’t have to.

These things are relevant and ever-present when I think about and talk about motherhood. It is ingrained in me, and has been from a young age, to be prepared for the worst, to take personal responsibility for what could happen to me, and to be prepared for things that men don’t have to worry about (it’s not their responsibility after all).

The reality is that my partner and I bring a completely different world view into a conversation about having kids together. How could it not be?

I am honest with him. I am scared. I have so much to lose – things that I have fought so hard for. On balance, I know there are gains, but one tends to focus on the things familiar and previously experienced.

I have a career built on proving myself. I once spent three months (I was an HR Manager and not a shit one) negotiating with my male boss for a salary increase to be on par with my all-male leadership team colleagues, whose roles were not as large as mine. I had to prove why I ‘deserved it’. I got it in the end. And my male colleagues successfully argued for their salary increases directly afterwards as well… sigh.

I am scared because I don’t want to lose my career. I don’t want to fall behind, and I know I will.

While I have children, my peers will continue to work, earn money, earn Kiwisaver for their retirement (and therefore increase the interest accrued), be rewarded and promoted (and increase their salary)… I will not accrue any leave. I will not get a salary increase or increase my retirement savings. I will not get promoted.

I will more than likely come back to work part time, because my partner and I will make choices and my job is the more flexible of the two. I will start earning again – but less. I will increase my Kiwisaver and get rewarded again – but at a pro-rated rate. I will probably work just as hard squeezing a full time job into fewer days for less money, while also trying to be a mum (also a 1 FTE job).

I worked it out. Furthermore, I will be reducing my in-the-hand income while on maternity leave by 82% while receiving the Government’s maximum paid maternity leave allowance (while I can).

I work extremely hard, but I am privileged. I can see why mums feel torn. I can see why there are massive impacts down the line for gender equity. And I can also see how we have missed a beat here around putting families and children first in NZ and our stats show this… Check out our OECD education stats, our wellbeing stats, our child welfare stats etc… Having working mums is not the issue. It’s the lack of choice driven by negative financial outcomes that makes being a full-time mum the poorer choice (pun intended).

I am scared because I may find it too hard. I am 36. My energy is not what it was. I hear new mums don’t get much sleep. I currently work between 50-80 hours a week. I am not sure how to do both, well. But I am unsure how to be happy, just doing one of these things.

I am scared because I may change. I will have a new focus – this could be amazing, it could also be hard. My friends are career focused. Not baby focused. Will we still have the same relationships? Will I become boring? Will we have the energy to go away with friends on weekends? Who will babysit?

I am scared because my body will change. My body is 36. I look after it. I exercise and eat well. I am not ready to look at myself in a mirror and feel mournful antipathy. Ouch. I know. Women are great at self-loathing and body-shaming ourselves. We learn it from the media. And men. And sadly, also from other women.

I don’t have many friends who don’t hate some or all of their bodies. We are told and shown what we should look like – and men are also shown what we should look like. Porn has its place, but it is not real. Unfortunately, these images require personal trainers, personal chefs, fake tans, implants, botox, fillers, makeup, hairdressers etc… Women don’t get paid as much as men. It is expensive being a woman.

Babies can mean stretch marks, fat that doesn’t go away, sags and hormone driven changes that you cannot explain. It impacts your pelvic floor.

I have heard from other women these things negatively impact on intimacy in the bedroom. How could it not if you are feeling like your body has been replaced with one you don’t know how to rock? And if we don’t rock our bodies, how will our men get off on it?

I am scared that my relationship with my partner will become secondary to the needs of our child… and our individual needs to sleep and have ‘me time’. Our relationship is strong. It is built on respect, communication and trust. I know this after years of relationships where these things were in part or fully absent.

Are helicopter mums born that way or does a switch flick when they have kids?

I want my relationship with my partner to be #1, always. Of course, it is our choosing to make it so. However, I also know what it’s like to put in effort when you’re both tired. Our relationship functions now around shifts, commutes and long work hours. We have it sorted. Add a child and less sleep into the mix and I honestly don’t know how people do it.

We are best friends who talk a lot. So, I hope that’s enough.

I am scared because I don’t want to fail. I am a high achiever. A child is something you don’t want to fuck up. I haven’t done it before and yet I have no interest in having all of the women in my life (or as I have heard, also those not in your life) tell me how to do it. Advice on ‘breast is best’ is unwelcome, Karen… I see and hear how women are given advice. Often entwined with judgement. I then also see and hear men get praised for ‘doing it alone’.

I am scared because after all of this time, if I choose the title ‘mum’ over all else, what if I cannot even become one? This is a real fear and nothing is a give-in. Wanting it, does not make it so.

I am scared because I don’t want to find myself alone at the end of it. This scares me the most. I have seen how the most important woman in my life sacrificed everything and then when it was her turn, it turned out she was the sacrifice.

...

When I write this, the Devil’s advocate voice plays out in my head. “Oh, she is a feminist”, “she is just insecure” “is she really thinking of starting a family with a partner if she thinks he will leave her?”, “she’s a but angry – old chip on the shoulder”.

I am secure in myself. I have done stints in therapy – it’s a gym membership for the soul. I am liberal, yes. And a feminist – name a sound-minded female who isn’t pissed off about the additional hurdles in her lane on the track. My partner and I are solid, or we wouldn’t be talking about having children – talking is what adults do in a healthy relationship.

I am scared. In a way, it is healthy. If I was going into it thinking “I have this nailed” then I am probably delusional, naïve or just plain arrogant.

I am writing this because it is cathartic. It is a way to express the things I feel. And to share them as I expect so many other women (and men – yes, two men can have babies together too) feel.

#mum #parenting #newmum #career #firsttimemum #startingafamily

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Being Simon

Chapter 2: The Present

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 9856

Chapter 2/2 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon is back in his own time, but all he can think about is the man from his past.

Read on AO3

AN: Time for some pining!

———————————————

I wake up on Sunday feeling just as shitty as I did Friday night. No amount of comfort food, hitting my punching bag, or mindless TV have helped. And sleeping it off has done jack shit, because all I could dream was Ty’s soft looking black hair and pretty eyes.

I barely know who he is. I don’t even know his bloody last name. Yet I desperately want to see him again. How that’s going to happen is...well, that’s something I haven’t figured out yet. Every time I’ve opened a door, I’ve hoped I would walk into Dr. Margaret’s office. She can time travel and teleport, surely she’ll know something about one guy I talked to. Right? Right...

I throw off my blankets, sitting up and staring out at the London skyline, lit up in violet and gold by the rising sun. I wonder if he’s out there, looking at the same horizon I am. I wonder if he’s working at his mother’s law firm, or if he’s reading forever like he truly wants. I hope it’s the latter. I want him to be happy. Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about him. The urge to see him again is burning in my chest and gut and everywhere. I’ve never felt like this before; so intensely focused on one person. If only I had looked at his bloody number!

“God,” I groan, “I want waffles. At least I can have that.” I get up and stomp to my door. The second I walk through, I stumble onto a cold stone floor, bright lights flooding my vision.

“Nice pants,” Dr. Margaret says. I pull the hem of my shirt over my Monty Python boxers.

“Seriously, why do you always get me at literally the worst times?”

“Not my fault you never have a good time.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I sit heavily on her couch with my arms crossed. “So what happened? You usually do the post-regret session earlier than this.”

“Time is an illusion. Stop stalling. What did you learn?”

I sigh, sinking further into the cushions. “Well, I learned that Agatha and I didn’t just fall apart, I let it fall apart. I put myself and my own stuff before her time and time again. And I’ve done the same with everyone else after Agatha because I refused to see my part in our relationship ending, so I never tried to fix it. I need to actually be present in and put the work into my relationships. That’s the lesson, right?”

Dr. Margaret scoffs and laces her fingers together, elbows on her desk. “What the hell am I here for?”

I shrug with a little smirk. My ego feels way too inflated right now. “Dunno. You got something else to add?”

“Hm.” She leans forward and pins me with her intense eyes. She’s really good at that. “You’re too scared of being alone to end things when they’re not going well. Why you get dumped every time. See that?”

And pop goes my pride. My face heats up, most likely turning an impressive shade of scarlet. I sink into my seat. “Okay, yeah, you’ve got a point there...”

“Simon.” She moves even closer with a kind smile. “Don’t feel bad. Not a bad person. Were alone most of your childhood, don’t want to be alone again. But can’t keep making choices from fear. Have to make them for the right reasons.”

“What are the right reasons, then?”

“Happiness, growth, all that good shite on greeting cards.”

I let out a small laugh. “Okay, I’ll go pick some up at the corner store.”

“Get some ice cream too. Deserve it after such a long regret.” She leans back in her chair, strong arms crossed behind her head. “Maybe give Agatha a call on the way there. Might know something about a raven haired bloke.”

My pulse goes into double time. I lean forward with eyes wide. “Wait, you mean-”

“Have fun.” 

Dr. Margaret nods, and the world spins into a blur of colour around me. Then I'm stumbling through my bedroom door like I haven’t been anywhere at all. Fuck, I hate when she does that. I have to stay against the wall for a few seconds, just until I don’t feel like I’ve been on a bloody tea cup ride for a million years. Part of that might be caused by Dr. Margaret said. My heart is still beating like mad. It’s bruising my fucking rib cage, I swear. Holy shit. Holy shit.

I scramble to grab my phone, half charged on my bedside table. Fourth in my contacts is one Agatha Wellbelove. It’s relieving to see for so many reasons. The phone rings three times, each one making my anxiety ratchet up, until it finally cuts off.

“Hello?” Agatha answers.

“Aggie!” I say a bit too loudly.

“Simon? What are you doing? It’s four in the morning here.”

My stomach sinks. Right. Major events don’t usually change after a regret. “Oh my god, you’re in California. I completely forgot about the time difference, I’m so sorry. I’ll go-”

“It’s alright, I’m already awake now. What’s up?”

“Um...this is going to sound random, but do you remember Ty? Your friend from third year uni?”

“Wow,” she chuckles, “that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. “Have you, uh, seen him since uni?”

“A little, but not in awhile. We only had a couple more classes together before exams started. We had drinks a few times after, then I went to California right after graduation and he went to Oxford. Both of us were too busy to keep in touch, I guess.”

“Oh. Okay...” I lay down on my bed, Part of me just wants to curl up under my blankets forever. Another part wants to stuff my face with pastries. (Maybe both.) (Both is good.)

“What’s up with asking about Ty?”

“I dunno. I was just thinking about that time we talked. It just, uh, popped into my head” Because I literally just lived it a couple days ago while in time travel therapy, but I can’t say that. I learned a long time ago that no matter how rationally I explain it, no one will believe me.

“Right, you talked to him after our breakup.”

“Yeah. He helped me a lot. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still be friends without him. He was nice. In his own weird way.

She laughs quietly. “Yup, sounds like Ty. He acted all haughty but he was such a sweetheart. Wish I had kept more in touch with him more.”

“Me too.” I hug myself, and it helps a little. “Me too.”

“Oh, I think I might still be Facebook friends with him.”

Almost all my despair washes away in an instance and I bolt upright. “Really?!”

“Lemme check.” She makes little contemplative noises through the phone. “Okay, yeah, there he is, Ty Black.”

“Black? That’s his last name?”

“No, he told me he had a crush on Sirius Black and wanted to pretend they were married.”

“Oh...okay.” I start to deflate again. I feel like a leaking balloon. “Does it say anything?”

“Looks like he hasn’t used it in awhile. His last post was a couple of years ago. Says he made partner at a law firm.”

“Does it say which one?”

“No, just that it’s in London. Not surprised, he always wanted to be in the big city.”

I’m grinning ear to ear. He’s in London, my city. He’s here with me. I can find him. “Cool, cool, good to know. Um, anything else you can tell me, Ags? Like his full name?”

“No idea, Si. I actually didn’t know much about him. We spent most of our time gossiping about our classmates or getting shit faced. If I asked him something about his family or past, he’d always change the subject. So I just don’t know.”

I’m not sure how to feel about that. Ty told me things about his family, about his past. But was that because he trusted me instinctively, or because I was just some random bloke who probably wouldn’t remember? Was I convenient? Well, he gave me his number, so he must’ve seen...something in me. Not sure what though. I've never seen much in myself.

“Okay,” I sigh, “makes sense, yeah. Thanks, Agatha.”

“Welcome, and good luck. From what I remember, he was really cute.”

My face turns a bright shade of scarlet. Luckily Agatha can’t tell over the phone. (I think.) “Um, I’m not sure-”

“Please, give me more credit, Simon. I’ve known you for most of your life, I can absolutely tell when you're smitten. Not sure why you’re thinking about him over ten years later, but I support you. I hope it goes well.”

I smile, and I kind of hope she can hear that. “Thanks, Ags.”

“Welcome. Now I’m going to go back to bed. Love you.”

It’s impossible to describe the utter joy and relief I feel at those words. I’ve got Agatha back in my life. Hell, as far as she knows, we never lost touch to begin with. I’m so, so happy.

“Love you too, Ags. Night.”

“Night,” she yawns. The phone clicks off, but I keep grinning. Well, even if I can’t find Ty, this is absolutely a victory. But I’m going to damn well try.

My stomach growls louder than a lion. Waffles first, though. Definitely waffles.

———————————————

“You don’t remember anything about him?” I ask through my mouthful of sweet, delicious fried batter and syrup.

“No, Simon,” Penny sighs. “I don’t remember the guy you mentioned, like, once in the few weeks before our third year exams.”

I grumble. Stupid past me, not saying more. It’s not his fault though. Past versions of me only remember bits and pieces of a regret, just enough so they don’t seem like total weirdos who blacked out and can’t remember a big chunk of time. So it's more like stupid time travel shenanigans.

“Damn, okay. I’ll just keep looking.”

“Are you really going to scour all of London looking for one bloke you met over ten years ago?”

“When you say it like that it sounds stupid.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

“Bye, Penny, got more work to do.”

“Simon-”

I hang up before Penny can talk me out of this. She absolutely will, and I don’t want that right now. I want to find him, no matter how impossible it seems.

First stop is the alumni website, obviously. We went to the same uni, he has to be somewhere in the system. My fingers fly like lightning across the keyboard. No one in the political science or English departments that looks close to him, just a lot of uptight white dudes or hippie looking magazine writers who probably smoke too much weed. None of them have his gorgeous skin or dreamy grey eyes. (God, I want to see those eyes again.)

Next, I try the Oxford law school site. It’s even more impossible to navigate than most uni websites. There aren’t even any pictures of their alumni, just a list of stupidly posh names. Lewison, Pemberly, Grimm, Fairchild, Abbot, Harrington, none of which have a first name resembling Ty. That’s another issue. His name could be a nickname for so many other names. Tyler, Tyson, Tyrell, Tyrone are all possible. (Hope it’s not Tyrone, bloody hell.) Or maybe his name is just Ty, for some reason.

That’s why London 411 is absolutely no help. Apparently there are literally thousands of Ty's living in my city. I narrow it down to people my age, plus or minus a few years and there are still hundreds of Ty’s and Ty adjacents. I groan and rake my fingers through my hair, nails digging into my scalp. Why the fuck didn’t I get his last name? I want to scream at myself but all that would achieve is getting noise complaints from my neighbours.

Eventually, I resort to just straight up Googling. I try everything I can think of. “ty university of manchester,” “ty university of manchester english,” “ty university of manchester politics,” “ty university of manchester english politics,” “ty oxford law,” “ty london lawyer,” “ty london,” “ty sexy hot university of manchester student ashwerhuertjwerh.”

I faceplant my keyboard for longer than I would like to admit. “This is hopeless,” I groan into my table. I lift my head up to the ceiling. “What’s the point of this, Dr. Margaret? Is this some sort of test? Are you trying to give me a bloody ulcer?! Cause the last one is absolutely happening!”

Of course, there’s no answer. I’m not even sure where Dr. Margaret’s office exists relative to myself, or to our reality period. Trying to figure that out makes my brain hurt. I look at the clock, and it’s already seven. Christ, have I really been at this for that long? I should be grading homework like a good teacher. I need to stop. I’m a thirty three year old person, dammit, not a love struck teenager. (Okay maybe I’m both.) I slam my laptop shut and go on a hunt for food.

I heat up some frozen macaroni and take out my munchkins’ worksheets. Okay, these are easy. Math tests are universally understandable and simple most of the time, unlike stupid time travel therapy tests. I shovel bad pasta in my mouth as I fly through grading. 

“Good job, Matt,” I mumble through my shitty food. “Got the formula right.”

This is easy. I can do this. And I’m not thinking about Ty. Not at all. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it will come true.

———————————————

“Nice job there, Roy,” I say. “You summarized the text wonderfully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He beams at me with his gap toothed grin.

“You’re very welcome, bud.” I turn to Sufia, who seems to be stuck on the second question. I get down on her level, making my knees ache in the process. It’s worth it. “Need any help, Sufi?”

She holds up her worksheet to me a little too close. “What’s this word mean?”

I gently push the paper back so I can actually read it. (My vision isn't bad enough for that yet.) “‘Ascend,’ it means going up. For example you can ‘ascend the stairs.’”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Why doesn’t it just say go up then?”

“Well, that involves a longer discussion about poeticism that we’re going to have next week, alright?”

“Okay.” She goes back to the worksheet, sticking her tongue out in concentration. I chuckle under my breath. The strange and hilarious things kids do, gets to me every time.

I wander around the room, helping any kid who needs it and giving suggestions when asked. Teaching is less about telling and more about guiding children. It makes me wish a certain someone would guide me instead of leaving me to suffer for the last week.

I’ve still got nothing on Ty, no matter where and how I search. Everyday my hope gets whittled down bit by bit. I’m this close to giving up. There’s only so many hits one person can take, really.

“Yes, that’s a good point, Maeve, I like where you’re going with that,” I say. “How do you think that fits with our earlier readings?”

Maeve scratches her head with the top of her head with her pencil eraser. “Um...I don’t know...”

I crouch down near her. “Well, is there a way for you to remember? Do you have the books on you?”

“No, but I have something better!” She reaches into her absolutely massive backpack (I’m surprised she doesn’t tip over wearing that thing) and pulls out three notebooks. They’re all labeled with divider tabs. It’s insanely organized for a nine year old. “I keep a lot of notes.”

“Wow, I can see that. You like doing that?”

“Yeah! I keep all my notebooks, I like to read them.”

“Smart plan. Wish I kept-”

My mouth snaps shut. The gears are turning in my head. Creaking and slow, but still turning. I’m flung back to a vague memory of being 24, moving into my current flat from my old uni one, and Penny sorting through my random crap. She stood over a mess of all my uni papers next to my desk. Literal years of collected worksheets and notes that I never got around to throwing away.

“Why the hell do you have all these?” Penny asked.

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need for later classes,” I’d said, “then it all just piled up...”

She shook her head at me. “Well, you can’t keep all of it. Pick some stuff you want to keep and we’ll donate or throw out the rest.”

I nodded, then sat cross legged in front of the anxious student hoard. I tossed all the random papers profs handed out but I never read, along with most of my notebooks. But I remember one moment, a single instance that might change everything, when I decided to keep the notebooks that looked nice. Like the green one with vines on it I used in third year. I always kept it in my book bag. I liked the pocket just inside the front cover.

Holy shit.

“Mr. Snow?”  I’m snapped out of my weird memory trance back to my reality as a teacher who needs to, y’know, teach. I smile down at Maeve.

“Sorry, mate, spaced out a bit there. Anything else you need help with?”

Maeve points to a new question. “What does this mean?”

I explain the question to her as calmly as I can, not showing how I’m simultaneously panicking and ecstatic inside. Like a fireworks display in every lobe of my brain. Holy fucking shit.

———————————————

The second all the munchkins are out the door, so am I. Luckily I’ve been distracting myself from the Ty search by furiously doing all my lesson planning. I’m set for the next week. But all I’m really thinking about is where I put my bloody notebooks.

I slam my door shut, only vaguely wondering what my neighbours would think. My office (really a repurposed storage room) is a huge mess of textbooks and lesson ideas, like a tornado tore through a Michael’s and a college book store. I make it even worse by throwing object around, searching for one stupid thing. I have to have it, I need to have it. It’s my last chance, honestly. Please, universe, let this go right.

Under my Teaching Theory 5th Edition textbook is a pile of old notebooks, including a green one with vines on the cover. I scramble to open it. My heart skips a beat when I feel a piece of paper. Slowly, I pull it out, and gasp under my breath.

023-345-9876 Give me a call sometime, Snow - Ty

I’ve never typed a number so quickly in my life, though I have to keep hitting backspace because my fingers are shaking so much. And I’m even more nervous as I bring the phone to my ear. Fuck, this is so stupid, but I’m not turning back now. The phone rings three times before it finally gets picked up.

“Basilton Pitch,” a smooth, strong, most likely male voice replies. Well, that sort of sounds like him, but wrong name. My stomach sinks a little.

“H-Hi,” I squeak. I clear my throat so I don’t sound like I’m going through fucking puberty again. “Um...”

“Hello? May I help you?”

“Uh, possibly.” I rub the back of my sweaty neck. “I don’t know if you can help me, but I’m looking for someone who gave me this number a long time ago. Do you know a man named Ty?”

There’s a long, extremely awkward pause on the other side. My face gets more and more red each passing millisecond. I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I? I should just hang up-

“No one has called me that in ages,” he says. “Who are you?”

I gasp very audibly. Holy mother of all fuck. It’s him. I’ve found him! “It’s me!” I shout far too loudly. “I-It’s Simon. We met once in uni, after your friend Agatha broke up with me. I’m not sure if you remember-”

“You’re...you’re Simon Snow.”

“Yeah! That’s me! And you’re Ty, the really nice posh gay bloke who was getting his degree in politics and English then went to law school, right?” I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning.

“Holy shit, it really is you.”

“Yeah, and you’re you!”

He chuckles, and his voice sounds even brighter than it did all those years ago. “Yes, I am. Though I’ll admit, I’m a bit...confused. Not that I’m ungrateful, but I gave you my number over ten years ago, and you’re only calling me now?”

“Um, yeah...” I scratch my blushing face, quickly concocting up a reasonable story that lacks time travel. “I got caught up in exams, then I, uh...kind of lost the notebook where I put your number. I was so pissed at myself for awhile but what could I do, y’know? Then I was, um, going through my old uni stuff today and take a wild guess at what I found.”

“A notebook with an ancient piece of scrap paper.”

“Still pretty smart, huh?”

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, but I’ll take the compliment.”

My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling. I don’t mind at all. “Happy to give it, and that you haven’t changed your number in over a decade.”

“Thank God for being loyal to a mobile carrier.”

I’m about to say something else, anything to keep talking to him. But then there’s commotion on the other end of the line, and Ty (Basilton?) moves away from the speaker.

“What?” he says. “Yes, I can take a look at your notes, Vadoma, give me a moment.” His voice becomes louder again. “I’m very sorry, I wish I could keep talking, but I have end of the week work to do.”

My shoulders slump. “Oh, okay.”

“From your area code, I’m guessing you’re in London too, so how about we have coffee tomorrow and catch up? Around noon good?”

“Yes!” My voice squeaks again, fuck. Calm down, Simon. “Yeah, that sounds great. Any suggestions?”

“I know a nice little place in Camden if that’s alright.”

“Yeah! I actually live in Camden.” 

“What a lovely coincidence. I’ll text you the address?”

“That would be amazing.”

“Great, I’ll see you then, Simon.”

“See you.”

The phone clicks off, but it stays by my ear for another long moment. My brain is still playing catch up.

I found him. I actually found him. My stomach is filled to the brim with a thousand butterflies. I’ve never been this excited about...anything, really. How is it that one guy can make me feel like this? I have no clue, but I don’t care. I’m just looking forward to tomorrow so much.

———————————————

My leg won’t stop bouncing. No matter how deeply I breathe or push down, it just keeps jerking around like a hyperactive toddler. I’m somewhere between excited and completely, utterly terrified. What if he doesn’t show up? Worse, what if he does show up and he doesn’t like me anymore? It’s been over ten years, I definitely don’t look like I did when I was 21 anymore. He could be horribly disappointed with 33 year old me, with my dark circles and crow’s feet and only marginally better fashion sense. I would be.

Fuck, he’s going to laugh in my face isn’t he? My leg bounces even more. I stuff the last of my scone in my mouth then wash it down with strong coffee. Unfortunately that does nothing for my anxiety. I’m stewing in so much worry and fear that I don’t notice a shadow over my table until it decides to speak.

“Hello,” the same smooth, strong voice from the phone and from ten years ago says. I look up, and my heart skips more than one beat.

He’s just as beautiful as he was back then, but in a very different way. Same reddish-gold skin, same deep sea grey eyes, same raven black hair. But instead of looking like some preppy statue, he looks, well, human. He’s dressed in a tucked in white button down with a soft floral pattern. His collar is open, the sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, and it’s even wrinkled in some places, but none of that seems to bother him. More astounding, he’s wearing distressed black denim that hugs his legs in all the right places, a thumb casually hooked in one pocket. Never would I have imagined the uptight bloke I met in jeans. His hair reaches all the way to his shoulders now, falling in a lazy wave that softens the sharp lines of his face. His kind smile absolutely helps too. 

This isn’t the same Ty from twelve years ago. This guy is a lot more grown up, and looks so much happier.

“Hello?” he says again. “You there, Snow?”

I shake off the second Ty induced pan-panic of my lifetime. “Uh, yeah. H-Hi, Ty. Oh, wait, you go by Basilton now, right? Or do you like something else?”

He chuckles as he takes his seat across from me. It’s a simple movement yet surprisingly graceful. “Just Baz is fine. It’s less of a mouthful than Basilton.”

“Okay. Hi, Baz.”

“Hello again, Simon. How have you been?”

“Good, good. How about you?”

“Alright. Honestly, I’m still in shock that I’m seeing you again.”

I chuckle and rub my neck nervously. “Yeah, me too. But, uh, you look good. Twelve years later and you’re still stupidly attractive.” My face immediately heats up. “Sorry, that’s weird-”

“I don’t mind. Not at all.” He leans back, arm casually slung over the back of his chair. “You’re still cute as ever, though I am glad your fashion sense has improved.

I must look so ridiculous right now, a thirty three year old man blushing like a smitten schoolboy. How can I help it when he talks like that? “T-Thanks. Your clothes have definitely changed too. What happened to the tweed jacket?”

Baz groans and hangs his head over the back of his chair. I like the way his hair falls. It’s pretty as hell. “Please don’t remind me. God, I don’t even know what I was trying to do back then.”

“Be some posh and professional prat while also being gay as hell?”

His head moves back up and he snaps his long finger and points at me. (I still want to know if he plays piano or not.) “Yes, that sounds right. Conformity and rebellion all at once. I had such insane cognitive dissonance back then, god.” He leans his cheek into his palm, pretty eyes fixed on me. “So what do you do now? Still attacking random men then stealing their cigarettes?”

I chuckle to try to hide my utter embarrassment. “No, but if I remember correctly, you offered me the cigarette.”

“Touche. You still haven’t answered though. What’s your life like?”

I shrug and sigh. “It’s pretty normal. I live in a tiny flat and I alternate between box food and take out, but I’ve got a pretty great job. I teach little kids.”

“So you did end up going into teaching like you wanted?”

“Eventually, yeah. I got sidetracked for...well, until a year ago. But I’ve finally been getting my life together lately. I do my laundry once a week now instead of once a month.”

He laughs, head bending back over the back. It’s so free and open, I’m amazed. “Yes, truly a sign of adulthood, I agree.” Baz sighs and runs his hand through his hair. I like how the black strands fall over his fingers. “I understand being derailed all too well. You should’ve seen me six months ago, I was a train wreck.”

“Really?” It’s hard to imagine Baz as a train wreck. He was so pristine in uni, and even now he still looks absolutely perfect.

“Oh absolutely. I’m humble enough nowadays to admit that you were right, Snow.”

“About what?” I don’t mind being right, but I’m not really used to it.

“About me.” He leans forward, arms crossed and elbows on the table, offering more but still a bit closed off. “All those years ago, you asked why I couldn’t just do what makes me happy. And I said that what I wanted didn’t matter. I had many reasons back then, but in the end they were all bollocks. I learned that the hard way. So, you were right.”

Is it strange that I’m both happy and sad that I was right? It’s absolutely a bittersweet taste on my tongue, like figuring out a lesson about myself from a therapy session. “Well, uh, thanks, I guess. But that sucks. Was the hard way, y’know...really hard? I hope it wasn’t.”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair again. Honestly, he looks like some romantic hero when he does that. And I didn’t think he could get more attractive. “Well, it wasn’t fun, I can certainly say that. I did what I was supposed to do. Went to Oxford, became a lawyer at the family firm, fought all the cases the way I was supposed to. I kept waiting to not feel like shit every single day, but that never came. Nothing ever got better, and bit by bit small things piled up, completely crushing me. Then, well...” He winces, like someone has kicked them in the shins. “I did something pretty ridiculous.”

My head fills with a flurry of probably insane ideas. I only now realise that I’m leaning a lot closer, entranced and nervous for what Baz has to say. “How ridiculous are we talking?”

“Well,” he bites the corner of his lips (it looks way sexier than it should), “one morning over six months ago, I was looking over my case for the day. Checking notes and arguments, drinking too much coffee alone, smoothing out my suit, the usual. And for some reason, in that moment, a realization hit me; This was going to be the rest of my life. Reading cases, arguing for clients I hated, feeling completely numb all the time. I had been doing all this bollocks for almost ten years, and realistically I would be doing for decades to come. The thought sent me into a terrifying meltdown thanks to years of untreated mental health issues. I didn’t know what to do so I sort of ran away.”

“Ran away?” I chuckle. “In your thirties, I think they usually just call that a vacation.”

“It would have been, if I had told anyone I was leaving and hadn’t stopped answering my phone for weeks.”

My eyes go very, very wide. “Wait, what?!”

“Yeah...” It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but I think Baz’s cheeks turn red. Embarrassment looks cute on him. “After pacing around my flat for hours, I decided to simply leave. Packed a small bag, grabbed my car keys, and just started driving north with no destination in mind. Of course my colleagues started blowing up my mobile, then later my family and friends joined them. I couldn’t bear to answer because I didn’t even fully understand what was going on. I just needed to get far, far away from everything I knew and hated.”

“Where did you go then?”

“To a lot of places,” he sighs. “Mostly bad bars though. I basically drank and danced my way up the British Isle. I think. Honestly, I barely remember that time. It was an alcohol laden haze with brief moments of sober lucidity when I drove. And when I was lucid, I got depressed about my life again so I would drink more that night and pass out.”

“And you did that for how long?” My heart is beating a bit too fast. I know he’s fine, yeah, but still, the worry is eating away at me.

“Only a month,” he says, like that’s in any way a relief. “At the end of September, I stayed at a shitty inn in Scotland. I remember walking down the hall, and the next thing I knew I was in a hospital with my aunt by my side. She equal parts screamed at me and was relieved I was okay. Turned out I had fallen down the stairs while severely hungover like a bad Monty Python skit.”

He laughs, but there’s sadness behind it. Just like his smile over ten years ago. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I guess.

“Obviously I was fine.” He waves dismissively. “I spent two weeks recovering in the hospital. Which gave me a lot of time to think about myself and my future. By the end, I had decided to take an actual leave of absence from my work to focus on my mental health. And I did. Started therapy, stopped drinking, bought some clothes that weren’t bloody lawyer suits.” I can’t help but giggle. Baz’s smile has no sadness behind it this time.

“So I guess you’re not a lawyer anymore?”

He shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I quit a week after I got back to London, then started applying for book editor jobs.”

I grin wide. I can’t stop grinning. “Reading books forever.”

There’s a lovely glint in his eye. Like someone ripped Polaris from the heavens and put it in the deep sea grey of his eyes. (God the poetry unit is getting to me.) It’s a kind of playful happiness that I really, really like.

“You remember,” he says amused.

“Of course!” He smiles wider, eyebrows raising up. Now it’s my turn to blush like a teenager. I sheepishly rub the back of my neck, thinking of a reason that doesn’t include time travel. Or obsessing over our one conversation for a week. “Well, I-I’ve remembered some stuff. You just kind of, uh, y’know, stuck in my head.”

“Hence why you still called me ten years later.”

“Yeah.” I tilt my head down a bit, uselessly trying to hide how ridiculous I look. “I mean, I’m not really sure why. You were just...really different from anyone I’ve met. You were so, pretty and posh and smart, and at first I found it annoying. But the more we talked I realised you were nice, in your own strange way. And without your help I would have lost Agatha in my life forever. I dunno. You made an impression. You’ve come up in my head from time to time.”

Technically that’s not a lie. By time to time I just mean all the time for days. Though I have a vague feeling, a whisper of a half memory, that past me may have thought about Baz too. Some things always stick post-time travel no matter how much past me is supposed to forget. Usually it’s only the super important, impactful things. Looking at Baz’s incandescent smile, framed by wavy black hair, I think he might count.

“Honestly,” he says, his voice low in a very private way that I like, “you’ve come up in my head too. Especially during my crisis. I thought about how right you were back then, how I should have listened to you and maybe wouldn’t have wasted so much of my life if I had. But I was too stubborn and blind back then to” 

“Hey, stop that.” I somehow lean even closer. I’m this close to actually getting out of my chair. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. Remember that you had good reasons back then, and yeah it really sucked to go through all that, but you learned stuff right?”

“I suppose...”

“Then it wasn’t a waste.” Baz’s eyes narrow. A softer version of a glare, but he's still not totally happy. “Yeah, I know that’s easy to say, but I do kinda get it. Working in jobs I hated, never dating, never really doing anything for years, that all felt like a total waste. Sometimes it feels like my life is only just starting now at bloody 33. But I think struggling also gave me the drive to work harder now, live better. So did being a lawyer give you anything good?”

Baz looks really cute when he’s thinking. I like the way everything in his face pinches up, from the furrowed manicured brow to the slight pout of his bottom lip. (Don’t think about kissing that pout, do not think about it.) (Fuck I’m thinking about it.) Slowly, his expression softens.

“I learned,” he starts, “that I can’t force myself to love something. I thought if I was a lawyer long enough, I would at least learn to tolerate doing it, but I still hated every moment. I can’t keep living for other people’s expectations. At least that’s how my therapist puts it. Maybe I’ll fully listen to her one day.”

I let out a laughing snort and immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. I hate when I do that. But Baz grins at me. The amused, affectionate glint in his eyes makes me want to blush even harder. My stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and butterflies all at once. It’s so overwhelming and wonderful.

“Took me a while to listen to my therapist too,” I say. “Actually fixing yourself is hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Baz groans, hanging his head for a moment, hair like a wavy curtain around his face. “It took ages for me to realise that I didn’t know everything that was wrong with me. Instead I had to actually listen to someone else’s assessment of me and not interject my own thoughts every time. Do you know how frustrating that is for a know it all like me?!”

“I can only imagine,” I giggle. My thoughts immediately go to Penny and the first time she got drunk. My ears rang for hours from all her yelling about not actually being drunk. She and Baz might get along. (Maybe a little too well. God, could I deal with two of them together?) (Hopefully, because I want Baz to stick around for awhile.)

“I live in absolute agony.” He puts the back of his hand against his forehead like a dramatic Victorian maiden. I’m about to call him that when my stomach decides to rumble louder than a bloody earthquake. The corner of Baz’s mouth quirks up. “You hungry there, Snow? I can get us something.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m always hungry. But I can buy it, don’t worry.”

“Nonsense. I was the one who asked you out and picked the place, I’ll happily pay.”

“Out like a date?” The words spill out before I have a chance to stop them. 

I’m pretty sure even the tips of my ears have turned bright pink at this point. Shit, why did I say that? Calm down, Simon. This is (technically) the first time we’ve seen each other in twelve years. No need to make this something it may not be. I expect Baz to be shocked, or confused, or annoyed at worst. But once again today, Baz surprises me. All he does is smile, looking at me with such kindness, far more open than I remember he was back at uni.

“Would you like this to be a date?” There's no pretense or implication in his words, he’s legitimately asking me. I don’t feel pressured, but luckily I already know.

“Yes, yeah, I-I would. I’d like that a lot.” I reach my hand forward across the table and just barely brush our fingers together. The tips of his are rough. Maybe he plays guitar or something, not piano. Doesn’t matter. I like the way he feels anyway.

Baz grins pointy ear to pointy ear. He flips his hand over, long callused fingers pressing into the much softer skin of my inner wrist. He can probably feel the way my pulse jumps. Luckily, I can feel the way his own is hammering. “Me too, Simon.”

We spend a bit too long just staring at each other before my stomach grumbles again. Baz chuckles and flags down the very nice waiter. I get another cherry scone and hot chocolate (yes I am 12 on the inside), and Baz gets something called a pumpkin mocha breve.

“What on Earth is that?” I ask when Baz gets his drink. It’s pale orange with a mountain of whipped cream on top.

“Try it.” He offers the cup to me and I take a sip. My tongue is immediately assaulted with more sugar that I’ve ever tasted at once. I blink rapidly from the shock.

“It tastes like a candy bar.”

“What can I say, I have a sweet tooth.” He licks the whipped cream off the top like a toddler with ice cream. A dollop gets on the tip of his nose.

“You’ve uh, got something right...” I flick the cream off with my thumb, “there.”

He laughs quietly. “Thank you. Allow me to return the favour.” Baz brushes some scone crumbs from my cheek. My skin feels like it’s on fire.

“T-Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

We eat and drink and talk in between. Baz tells me about his work at the publishing house. It’s a small place that does mainly e-books and a few print ones, focusing on indie LGBT+ writers. He’s currently working on a book he describes as “gay polyamorous steampunk pirates,” which honestly gets me way too excited. I plan on pestering him for more details in the future. He looks animated the whole time, so passionate about what he’s doing. It makes him more beautiful.

He asks about my teaching. I tell him about my students, how incredible they are no matter how much they drive me crazy. I describe my lesson plans and all the new things I’m trying. Structured word inquiry, collaborative maths work, mixing subjects together to get kids engaged with stuff they don’t like. Luckily my principal is in favour of more out there ways of teaching too. Baz pays attention, asks questions and listens raptly. I can’t tell if he’s faking it. Most people do. I can’t blame them, it’s not very interesting. But as I go on and on, Baz never tries to change the subject or stares off into space. It’s not like he’s an angel for paying attention to me. It’s just nice that he’s making the effort. He’s really, really nice.

We eventually move off the topic of work. I tell him about my fencing class, something I haven’t done since I went to Watford. Baz calls me a bronze haired knight. I’m not too proud admit that made me blush. In turn, Baz tells me about getting back into playing the violin since he quit being a lawyer. (So that’s what the calluses are from).

“Cold I hear you play sometime?” I ask.

“My skills are still rusty,” he says over his near empty mug.

“Is that a no then?”

He sighs, but it’s with a small smile. “More like a ‘listen at your own risk.’”

“I can live with that.”

“Alright, another time then.”

I grin. Another time, I really like the sound of that.

Eventually, we somehow get onto the harder topics. I tell him about being in group homes, not having friends until Penny and Agatha, still feeling out of place and worthless sometimes. Baz talks about growing up without his mother, trying to live for her instead of himself until recently. Turns out we’ve both had a lot of hardship. We understand each other. We sort of match, I guess.

“I did like being with my younger siblings,” Baz sighs. “No matter how much I pretended I didn’t. Part of me felt like I was betraying my mother if I loved her husband’s children with another woman. But they were still my siblings and good kids, though I’m glad they’re all mostly tolerable ages now.”

I chuckle, leaning my cheek on my fist. “Mm, understandable. I always wanted siblings. Other kids to play with, y’know?”

“Group home kids didn’t play with you?”

“Nah, I was the weirdo who preferred punches over talking. No one liked being around me.”

Baz reaches out and brushes against my forearm. How can someone make me feel like I’m going to melt with just a touch? “If it’s any consolation, I certainly like being around you.”

I grin and touch his arm in turn. “I’ll certainly take that.”

We get away from all the dark shit, turning back to happier things. Baz describes the techniques and difficulties of the violin with dramatic gusto. I relay some of my worst customer service work experiences. I’ve never been good at talking, never liked it much. But I like it with Baz. He feels easy to talk to. I barely feel scared or awkward. We talk so much that we don’t even notice the sun setting on the horizon.

“Holy shit what time is it?” I say.

Baz looks down at his fancy leather watch. (A leftover from his prep days.) “Much later than I think either of us realised.”

I laugh and run a nervous hand through my hair. “Damn, sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Snow, unless you regret being here?”

“What?!” I gasp. “Of course not!”

He grins cheekily. I grumble and glare at him. Teasing bastard. Baz grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. Any bad will immediately vanishes. “You said you lived in Camden. How close are we?”

“Uh, not that far. I walked here.”

“Wonderful. How about I pay then walk you home like a gentleman?”

I hope my face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. I squeeze his hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

He squeezes back. “Good.”

Baz does just as he says, and soon enough we’re strolling down the streets under the dimming London sky. We chat some more, but also occasionally just walk in comfortable silence. I don’t mind either, because Baz doesn’t let go of my hand the whole time. I’ve never felt so excited just from someone holding my hand. I don’t know why. I don’t care, really. I just want to bask in it forever.

Unfortunately though, we do reach my building. Never have I hated my own home more. I consider not telling Baz so we can keep walking, but then I remember all the homework I was supposed to grade yesterday while I was too excited about Baz to focus. I’ll need a good night’s sleep to survive. Life is too cruel sometimes.

“This is me,” I say.

“Nice place,” Baz replies.

“You don’t need to lie.”

“I’m not, I promise.” His head tilts to the side, a smirk on his lips. “Maybe I could see if your flat matches up sometime.”

I swear to god, my face is going to melt off from how much I’m blushing today. Baz laughs at my obviously flabbergasted expression. I playfully smack his shoulder. “Haha, very funny. Buy me dinner first, arsehole.”

He tugs me a bit closer by our joined hands. My nose is almost touching his. The smell of his post coffee peppermint gum hits me so hard I’m afraid I’ll stumble from the wonderful shock. “Are you free next Friday?”

I gulp, then nod slowly. I can’t look away from his mouth, fuck “Y-Yeah.”

“Good for you.” He takes a large step back, snapping me out of my daze. He’s got a cheeky little half smile on his lips. “I’m not, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy the free time.”

I gape at the absolute bastard. I shove his shoulder a bit harder this time. “Arsehole!”

Baz throws his head back laughing. It’s the most beautiful sound in the noisy London night. He takes my other hand and runs his thumb over the back of it. “Unfortunately, I am actually tied up for the next week, but I’m free the week after. Any ideas, Snow?”

I grin at him. “How about a scenic walk in Hyde Park?”

One of his eyebrows goes up in playful confusion. “Not dinner?”

“We’ll get to dinner eventually. I expect to be romanced a bit more first, Basilton.”

He smirks again and pulls me closer again “That doesn’t sound bad at all. Hyde Park will be lovely this time of year.”

“Agreed.”

Even though by all rational logic we should let go, our hands stay linked. Neither of us make a move to get away. I can smell the peppermint again, every time his hot breath brushes against my face. It’s somewhat shaky. But I imagine mine is about the same. I’m not sure. I’m too focused on his sharp cheekbones and blown pupils and pouty mouth. Mostly his mouth. Before I know it, we’re nose to nose. I’m getting whiffs of something other than his gum. Cedar, maybe, and bergamot. It’s perfect for Baz. He moves his face slightly, and our mouths almost touch. A spark still runs through my veins.

“Simon,” he sighs, and the sound of his voice hits me in so many places. Baz’s head moves again, brushing our noses together. I watch his eyes flutter like a pair of butterflies until they fully close. Mine follow suit. I’m overwhelmed by the smell of cedar and bergamot as I press my mouth to Baz’s.

He’s colder than I thought they would be, colder than anyone I’ve kissed before. Yet I like it so much more. Baz’s tepid mouth sends a calming wave through my constantly overheated body. He’s soft too, like how I imagine a cloud could feel if I was ever able to touch one. Our lips slot together so easily. His hands clutch mine tighter, nails even digging into my skin. Not good enough. Not close enough. I let go of Baz, but only so I can slide my arms up to hold his shoulders, pressing our bodies together. Baz immediately winds his arms around my waist, getting us even closer. He’s all lovely lean muscle pressed against me. And I fit into his arm so well. My lips fall open and Baz quickly follows. His tongue slowly over my back teeth, making stars explode behind my eyes and in my brain. I kiss him more fervently. Baz groans into my mouth. 

Part of me can’t believe that we’re doing this. Two thirty three year old men, snogging like stupid teenagers on the steps of my apartment building. Sounds so embarrassing. The other part of me really doesn’t care. I’ve never felt like this just from a kiss. Like I’ve left my body and entered another dimension where all there is happiness and pleasure and Baz. Is this how all kisses are supposed to feel? Or is it because of Baz? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just weave my fingers through his silky smooth black hair and keep kissing this wonderful, wonderful man.

Baz pulls away, and I nearly whine. Luckily I still have a bit of dignity. (Just a bit.) He doesn’t let go of me, thank god. He keeps his lovely hands on my waist, eyes still half closed, bright red lips pulled into a grin.

“Do you always kiss on the first date, Snow?” he whispers playfully.

“No, you’re the first.” I twirl a bit of his wavy hair around my index finger. “Feel special?”

“Extremely.”

I lean forward and kiss him again for a moment. Just a quick, hard press against him. Baz leans forward slightly when I pull away. My heart flutters happily in my chest. “As much as I’d like to keep doing this, it’s late, and I’ve got grading to do.”

He makes an over dramatic groan, leaning against my hands. “How dare you be a responsible teacher who is truly committed to educating the next generation?”

God, he’s making me want to kiss him again. He does it so easily. “I know, terribly inconvenient. We’ll figure something out, yeah?”

“Yes, give me a call. And don’t wait twelve years this time.”

I sigh while Baz smirks at me. I’m about to retort when he leans down and kisses me. My head is spinning like a tumble dryer. I don’t want this day to ever end. Unfortunately, reality is a thing that exists. And because of it, Baz has to pull back, leaving me wanting more.

“I’ll text you when I get home,” he says, “alright?”

“Alright. Have a good night, Baz.”

“You too, Simon.”

He pecks my forehead, and I nearly melt into the pavement. We then slowly disentangle ourselves. My fingers trail on Baz’s as he lets go. He waves one more time. I smile back. And I keep smiling as I watch him walk down my street, only going for my keys when I lose sight of him as he turns the corner. I literally skip up my steps to my door. I’m so dazed with happiness that I barely notice that I walk into Dr. Margaret’s office instead of my dingy lobby.

“Snogging in public?” she says. “How very adolescent.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “That’s what you say after abandoning me for a week?”

She snorts, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t abandon you. Just let you figure things out on your own. Point of therapy, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I know that. A little heads up would be nice though.”

“Not my style.”

It’s my turn to snort. I plant myself on her couch. “I know, you’re more of the ‘toss in the deep end and yell swim’ kind of therapist.”

“Mhm. And look how it turned out. Found your Baz.”

My eyes narrow even more. “How do you know his name?” Dr. Margaret just keeps smiling at me like a cat who’s caught a canary. The realisation slaps me in the face. My jaw drops open. “You knew exactly who and where he was the entire time, didn’t you?” No change, still smiling. “How?!”

“Though about him. Saw his whole life in my mind’s eye.”

My jaw falls further. Holy shit, how powerful is she? “Really?!”

“No.” She pulls a plastic card out of her pocket, holding it between her index and middle finger like a throwing star or something. “Swiped his uni ID and Googled him here. Much faster than powers.”

I can’t help but burst out laughing. Godlike abilities have nothing on a good search engine, it seems. “Of course you did.”

She shakes her head sarcastically. “Can’t believe you. Send you back in time, and you wonder how I know about one bloke?”

“Uh, yeah. Knowing everything is a bit different from time travel.” I lean forward with elbows on my knees. “Why didn’t you tell me about him then? Why make me suffer for a week?”

“Suffering now?”

“Well, no, now that I’ve found him-”

“And what made you want to find him?”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to coax the words out from my brain. “Uh, I dunno. I know we met only once, but he just stuck in my head. He was interesting, smart, funny and nice in his own way. And I wanted to talk to him again, learn more about him. It was overwhelming, really. How much I wanted to be around Baz again. I-I’ve never felt something like that so strongly before.”

“Exactly.” Dr. Margaret picks up a pen just to point it at me. “Felt strongly for the first time ever. Made you determined even to find him when it was hard. And never felt this strongly because you always settled for okay. Felt okay with Agatha, with Todd, with everyone. Need better than okay. Need to want someone more so you can build more. Make a relationship that’ll actually go somewhere.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I thought I needed to focus on the present more.”

“You do. In the present, desire Baz right?”

I think about Baz’s pretty eyes and his pretty laugh and the way he made my head do somersaults when he kissed me. My flushed face splits into a grin. “Yeah, I really do.”

“Good.” She leans back again with her hands linked behind her head. “Build from there. Put the effort in like you did searching for him. Will want to put the effort in, because you actually want him, not just because he’s nice and you should like him.”

The puzzle pieces start to slide into place finally. It was all one big, weird life lesson, of course, like everything Dr. Margaret gets me to do. Looking back, I cared about Agatha, and I did love her as a friend. But I never desired her. I never desired Todd or any of my other exes either. They just seemed like the kind of people you should date. They weren’t even bad, they just weren’t for me, weren’t who I wanted.

But dear lord, do I want Baz.

“You couldn’t just tell me I was dating people I wasn’t actually attracted to?” I ask. “That I was actually supposed to feel more but I was settling for nice people I didn’t really like instead?”

Dr. Margaret shakes her head. “Not how therapy works. Supposed to guide you to find the answers, not tell you outright. Where’s the fun in that?”

I cross my arms and smirk at her. “Since when is therapy fun?”

She glares at me hard. “Brat. Lucky that I like you.”

“Aw. I’m touched.” My voice is sarcastic, but my bright smile is genuine. I’m glad she likes me. I’m glad she’s here to help me finally live my life. I hate to think where I’d be without her help. From her returning grin, I think she knows that.

“Go do your grading. Be a responsible teacher. See you next time.”

“See you later, Dr. Margaret.”

She waves her hand, gold rings flashing in the light, and the world spins like a cyclone. I yelp as I fall flat on my arse on my apartment floor. Well, at least she didn’t put me back in the lobby so I had to climb all those stairs. Small blessings, take 'em where I can get ‘em. And Dr. Margaret herself is already a huge one.

After getting out of my day clothes and into trackies, I set about to my teacher's work. It’s not the most fun part of the job but it’s certainly the most important. I’m lost in a haze of spelling tests and math activities when I feel my phone buzz. There’s one text on the screen, and it makes me smile instantly.

Baz Hey, made it home safe. I had a lovely time today and can’t wait to see you again. Call me tomorrow at lunch?

Is it possible to die from such pure happiness and excitement? I hope not, because I’ve still got so much more of my life I want to live. And I want to see if Baz will be a big part of it.

Simon  me too. call you at noon <3

———————————————

AN: Mushy ending, as usual for me haha. I really hope you all liked that! Even if you don't know the original show, I hope it was good. I really liked the idea of Simon in time travel therapy, it would be good for him. Tbh I thought about making Ebb his therapist because she was such a mentor for him, but I wanted to try out Margaret and she ended up being a lot of fun. I may write more in this universe. There are other Being Erica plotlines that could be fun. And exploring Baz and Simon's relationship in this AU further could be great. We'll see. I'm taking writing day by day due to my health. Anywho, thanks for reading!

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #being erica au #time travel #time travel therapy #fluff #angst #first meetings #mysnowbazfic

[barondoctor]

I'd planned it out perfectly, minimizing my presence in the world over the last several years.  It wasn't that hard if you made an effort.  You stay quiet.  Pay your bills on time, use self checkout, cook at home.  No unnecessary contacts.  Hurt as few people as possible.  A little bit of thinking ahead and you could fade away, scarring nobody. They'd miss me at the freelance programming office, but they'd find another one easy enough.  Other than that, I was an account number.  An online handle who went weeks without posting. I'd made a few inquiries about the train scheduling going through town, digging through databases and making sure I could find the sort of train I wanted.  Empty freight train heading back for maintenance.  Nothing that wouldn't be missed for the few hours it would take to investigate whatever mortal remains I left behind. That was the plan, after all.  Guns made a mess, blades were painful and you could get stopped, and chemistry was too unreliable.  I wanted something that would be quick and reliable and preferably didn't hurt anybody.  I was watching an old western in a drunken stupor when I saw the villain tying a person to train tracks.  Quick and reliable, and the best part was if I did it right they wouldn't be able to recognize me.  I'd just get forgotten. It would be rather ironic that the one thing I managed to make work properly would be my exit.  Nothing else in my life had gone right.  I was making just enough to keep myself alive but not enough to get a leg up.  I wasn't going to get better work, because no employer with a respectable job would hire someone like me.  Sure, my projects came in on time and they worked just fine, but I wasn't exactly a "team player".  I hated group projects, always ended up taking the lion's share, couldn't trust anybody to do the job right so I'd do it myself. I'd burned my credit cards and my driver's license, carrying just my wallet with a little cash and my phone.  "If I changed my mind," some twisted part of my mind said. So here I was.  The train was coming and I was hiding out behind a tree.  Five good running steps.  I'd paced it out a few times, disguising it as developing a running habit.  I hated running, but I had to sell it.  Make it look like an accident. Five steps, I told myself.  Five steps and I'd be free from all the failures in one last brush with perfection. Bzzzzzzz. Who the hell would be texting me now?  I didn't exist!  I'd made sure of it! You failed. Again.  You might as well face up to it and deal with whoever it was that still remembers you. I pulled out my phone, read the text. Unknown number: "Don't do it." Now I was really puzzled.  I hadn't told anybody of my plan.  I didn't know who would know.  Especially the timing. Bzzzzzzz. A second text came through from the same number. "Instead of jumping in front of the train, jump on it.  A boxcar door will be open." Okay.  Now I had a reason to pay attention.  Something was going on.  Someone had noticed me, in spite of my attempts to vanish, and they'd taken enough interest in my life to save it.  A thought came to mind, unbidden: It all comes down to putting your ass on the line to learn something. I saw the open door, waited, timed it out, took the five steps and leaped, protecting my face with my arms and rolling on the floor of the boxcar. I looked up and saw a face I didn't know, but whose relief was visible.  "Eagle Two, this is Eagle One.  The Ghost is in the building."

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[daniel16montana]

Total Football Corners Betting Tips & Predictions by Betzoid

Corner prediction tips - Football corners predictions for Today - corners tips and stats | AFootballReport

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Explore the unique corners stats on our page. Always streaks of teams that have more than 8, clrner or more corners in a row lead to same orediction larger amount tils them in future games. Those teams are basically that use offensive tactics and use wingers heavily when they attack.

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Full Time 1X2 Corner prediction tips Football Predictions First Half Goals Second Corrner Goals Both Teams To Score Corners Cards Goals Handicaps Win Draw Lose Back Corners predictions are one of the trickiest tips you can bet on. Top 5. Italy Serie Website here. Premier League.

Serie A. Ligue 1. La Liga. Real Madrid. FC Barcelona. Manchester City. Borussia Dortmund. Marinos Show More. Matches with High Corners Potential. Gallen Over 9. Team 9. Leagues with Most Corners. Liga U19 Deild Liga Women First-Half Corners Top 20 Competitions. Second-Half Corners Top 20 Competitions. Team 7. Loading Stats. Melbourne City FC.

Wed - May 5. Lech Poznan. Lommel Corner prediction tips. Accrington Stanley. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent.

Corner prediction tips also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. Queen of South. Inverness CT. Mladost Lucani.

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FK Pohronie. Spartak Trnava. FC Vion Zlate Moravce. Gangwon FC. Daegu FC. FC Seoul. Pohang Steelers.

CornerProBet – Soccer Stats for +2000 competitions worlwide!

Seongnam FC. Gwangju FC. Seoul E-Land FC. Chungnam Asan FC. Gimcheon Sangmu FC. Bucheon FC Cape Town News. Supersport United.

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Like a sudden death version of team with most corners in preditcion football match, with the ability to heat up the beginning of a game like corners in first ten minutes. Corner handicap — While both European handicap and Asian handicap marketswhere a team is given a goal handicap to even the betting playing field, are well known, fewer people know the exact same kind of rules can be applied to corners too.

First corner — The team corner prediction tips takes the first corner of the game is your winning pick, simple, and another great way corner prediction tips kick-starting your interest in corner prediction tips game, just like corners in first ten minutes.

This corner prediction tips the key reason why so many punters are willing to keep practicing corner betting, and many of them are looking for trusted predictions on different events that can all be found on our website. Bet Credits available for use upon settlement of bets to value of qualifying deposit. Min odds, bet and payment method exclusions apply.