#and that’s heartbreaking. i’m so so dissatisfied with myself. with my every day life

[ddaengju]

currently daydreaming about living in manhattan again. about how my free time could be spent wandering around window shopping or reading at a park. finding cute cafés and bookstores. just really absorbing the sounds of the city finally feeling content.

#i’ve got to start playing the lottery or something because that is the only way achieving my dream of living in nyc is going to be possible #i’m so fucking sick and tired of living in delaware. of feeling stuck and tied down to this place #i am so exhausted of living this life #i don’t even care if i have to work several jobs in the city. living there is my only dream #i want to make it happen but the only way is to become rich #i’m never going to be able to afford living there with the way my life is going right now. #i have hospital debt and i’m living paycheck to paycheck #idk what the fuck i’m doing with my life and there’s nothing i can do to change it. #no amount of budgeting is going to make affording a place in manhattan possible #and that’s heartbreaking. i’m so so dissatisfied with myself. with my every day life #i can’t stand this anymore #i hate it here. i hate the person i am here. #i can’t stand the thought that my life will only ever be visiting the city #mahattan is the only place i’ve ever truly felt at home #a place where i truly belong

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Hiccup's "Don't worry, Dagur won't hurt me" in DoB: The Night and the Fury is quite ominous after reading yours and evilwriter's ideas 👀

Which post was that again? I might have to search through my blog to find it. :’D

Anyway, it’s always been a very ominous line. Especially considering Dagur’s actual dialogue and behaviour and what it leads to throughout the entire episode.

It’s obvious that Dagur has a love for tormenting Hiccup and anybody else that’s easy to prey on, or that’s what Hiccup’s and Fishlegs’ dialogue in RoB’s episode fifteen ‘Twinsanity’ seems to tell us.

Hiccup: “Cool?! Last time he was here, he used me as a knife throwing target.”

Astrid: “That guy should be locked up in a cage!”

Fishlegs: “That’s what he did to me! He wouldn’t let me eat for three days!”

Snotlout: “*laughing* then he force-fed you rotten cod heads!”

Fishlegs: “Thanks. I almost erased that from my memory.”

So it’s obvious from the start that Dagur just likes tormenting everybody he finds an easy target, notice how Astrid most likely had no idea, judging by her angry comment.

What’s interesting is that this thing, this obsession didn’t start until after Hiccup saved his life and we see him again in DoB’s third episode ‘The Night and The Fury’.

Dagur: “Hiccup, old friend! You’re alive!”

Hiccup: “Uh, last time I checked. So… Haven’t seen you since-”

Dagur: “Since you saved me from that dragon attack back on Berk. You fought off a Night Fury!”

I especially love his face here, look at how touched he is that Hiccup saved his life.

Dagur: “And you were like - WHAM, WHAM- *swings sword* “Dagur! Save yourself!” And I was like “what?! Okay, I’m outta here!” But you stayed!”

Dagur very clearly has a sort of fondness, maybe even an infatuation, with Hiccup at this point, stemming from Hiccup rescuing him heroicly from a Night Fury.

Something that might back this up is the ‘Twinsanity’ episode.

Dagur: “Ah, Hiccup! There you are!”

Hiccup: “Dagur! Was just thinking about you! Hey, remember that time we went swimming and you tried to drown me?”

Dagur: “*laughs, a lot* Oh, the laughs we had. Bored again! *pushes Hiccup aside*”

Dagur: “Just a moment. Something is going on here.”

Hiccup: “I can explain.”

Dagur: “Where is it?”

Hiccup: “Look, it’s just one drag-”

Dagur: “Your leg.”

Hiccup: “…”

Dagur: “Nevermind, I heard all about it.”

Hiccup: “You heard all about what?”

Dagur: “You. The Red Death. Defeated it all on your own.”

Hiccup: “Wha?! Me?! Look at me! How is that even possible?”

Dagur: “Right? That’s what I thought too! But then I heard about the trained dragons and it got me kind of… tingly.”

This could, of course, just be Dagur feeling “tingly” about the possible dragons on Berk, but what could also have Dagur feeling “tingly” is that Hiccup really did fight and defeat the Red Death. He is missing a whole foot and part of a leg, after all.

And like, he gets all up in Hiccup’s personal space when Hiccup explains that the Night Fury got away and Dagur suggests hunting it down together.

Clearly, Hiccup is having none of that. Look at how scared the poor boy is. That isn’t just discomfort, that’s straight up worry and fear.

Then there is this piece of dialogue as he does this.

Dagur: “Come on! Howl with me! It feels good.”

And let’s not forget these golden lines.

Dagur: “Hiccup, every since I left Berk, I haven’t been able to stop… thinking about you.”

Hiccup’s reaction is a very appropriate “O_O” as Dagur, of all people, almost seems to be confessing to him. And it looks genuine too judging by his expressions. I’ll be getting back to this again soon.

And Hiccup seemingly knowing the Night Fury he fought is the very reason Dagur is on Dragon Island in the first place! Hiccup inspired him.

Hiccup: “Well, that’s kind of strange… Well, I’m flattered!”

Dagur: “Not you personally, you and that… Night Fury! It’s like you knew that dragon! You were inside its head, rattling its cage! And that, my muscularly challenged friend, that’s when I knew I needed to know about dragons too! So I came here and I learned about them. One. By. One.”

So Hiccup definitely served as an inspiration for Dagur to come to Dragon Island. And let’s not forget, Dagur doesn’t even know at this point whether Hiccup survived his “attack” on the Night Fury or not.

It does seem like Dagur was using this dragon hunt on Dragon Island to bond with Hiccup. Confessing about being inspired by him, talking dragons, talking personal weapons of choice, even telling him about his sister, who was already missing for a long time now at this point and probably even a heavy subject to just casually mention like that.

Hiccup: “Whoa! Nice crossbow…”

Dagur: “My hunting weapon of choice. You carry… Hmm, just a shield?”

Hiccup: “Yeah, yeah, just-just a shield. Just a plain old shield.”

Dagur: “Very… ornate. My sister had one like that. I myself have never felt the need to hide in combat.”

Besides bonding with Hiccup, it’s also like Dagur seems to be testing him too.

Assuming that Hiccup is there to hunt dragons, questioning him about the Night Fury’s fate, sounding dissatisfied when he tells Hiccup about never having the need to hide in battle.

Definitely feel like Hiccup is being tested by Dagur during this episode. Nevermind how he treats him.

Look at Hiccup in that second pic. Dagur’s grip on him was clearly hard enough, painful enough, to get him to sooth or feel that spot once he finally let go.

Dagur: “I know it’s on this island, Hiccup. I can feel it right here.”

Look at that face down below, just before Dagur decides to invade Hiccup’s privacy again.

Dagur: “You can feel it too. Don’t you, Hiccup?”

This counts as unwanted touching.

Also this:

Hiccup: “Ah no, I just feel really awkward.”

Dagur: “*laughing maniacally and pushes Hiccup to the ground, hard* You bring the funny, Hiccup! I’ll give you that!”

And!

Dagur: “I’m gonna grab my gear. Then, we’re gonna get us that Night Fury… Brother.”

Hiccup: “… Brother?”

Dagur: “That’s right, you and me.”

So yeah, we can tell from this one scene alone that Hiccup’s “Don’t worry, Dagur won’t hurt me. I’m his brother.” has always been very ominous and Hiccup basically put himself in a very precarious situation by separating from Astrid, Snotlout and Fishlegs.

I get it, they had to find their dragons and stop Dagur from hunting down and harming Toothless, but that is still quite a risk Hiccup took, considering Dagur’s current behaviour and their shared history.

Like, look at Dagur’s face when Snotlout pops up and he realizes Hiccup isn’t alone.

Clearly an “explain yourself” type of expression. But whether it’s a “my newest bestest friend is a liar” or a “my new crush lied to me and isn’t alone” type of expression, I don’t know. And that while it turns out that Dagur didn’t exactly come alone either later in the episode.

Like, Dagur gets obviously pissy when he discovers Hiccup’s friends are on the island with him while knowing that he had a whole armada there with him.

AND LET’S NOT FORGET DAGUR JUST CASUALLY BRINGING UP THAT HE WOULD GLADLY OFF STOICK SO HICCUP CAN BE CHIEF.

Dagur: “You know, we’re a lot alike, Hiccup.”

Hiccup: “Really? How-how-how is that?”

Dagur: “Well, we’re both born leaders.”

Fishlegs: “Oh yeah, he’s right about that.”

Dagur: “Sons of chiefs.”

Hiccup: “Yeah, that’s true.”

Dagur: “Who had to be eliminated so we could gain control.”

Hiccup: “Yes,- Wait, what?! No. No! My dad hasn’t been eliminated from anything!”

Dagur: “But he could! Easily! Just say the word and I’ll- *fires his crossbow, aiming between Fishlegs and Snotlout*”

Hiccup: “…. Yeah, that’s… something to think about.”

So Dagur has definitely offered Hiccup to kill his father for him so they could both realize their respective birthrights to be chief. And at this point Fishlegs and Snotlout, while previously disturbed by Dagur’s want to hunt dragons, are now downright fearful themselves.

To the point that Hiccup feels the need to try and reassure them that Dagur won’t hurt him because he’s his “brother.”

Then there is also Dagur’s line. “Oh Hiccup, don’t you know that a trapper’s trap can trap the trapper?”

How big of an impact didn’t this one night have that Hiccup not only repeats this line three years later, but that he somehow manages to say the exact same thing word for word.

I wouldn’t be surprised if this night had an impact on Hiccup, Astrid, Fishlegs and Snotlout.

But that one scene that I was discussing in great detail pretty much only sets up Dagur’s infatuation with Hiccup, which apparently also includes a series of tests so Hiccup would need to keep proving himself as the object of Dagur’s fascination, whether he wants to be or not.

It’s that final scene from this episode that actually turns Dagur’s unhealthy crush into a full-blown obsession. When it turns out Hiccup didn’t actually save Dagur’s life and has been lying to him ever since that day on Berk.

Dagur: “Your father lied to me- YOU lied to me!”

Hiccup: “He was trying to keep the peace between our tribes. So was I.”

Dagur: “By making a fool?! Out of me?!”

Hiccup: You don’t really need a lot of help with that, Dagur”

Dagur: *attempts to draw his sword*

Toothless: *snarls*

Hiccup: “Your move.”

And not only does it turn out that Hiccup has been lying this entire time, but then he proceeds to call Dagur a fool and, in a way, threatens him with Toothless.

Look at these faces. When he states that Hiccup “could’ve been his brother” and is now his enemy instead and Hiccup not only just accepts it, but also threatens him again? Look at that heartbreak! Look at that anger! This is just before Hicctooth tries to fly away and Dagur immediately flings a bola at them and then proceeds to try and kill Toothless, even with Hiccup in the way.

In a way, Dagur had hoped for this night to turn into something.

And it did, just not in a way Dagur would’ve wanted.

And it’s basically because of this night not turning out the way Dagur would’ve wanted it to that he decided to go to war with Berk. He just focussed on hurting Toothless because hurting Toothless meant hurting Hiccup. Just like at the end of DoB, when Dagur took Stoick away and tried forcing Hiccup to choose between two of the most important people in his life.

So yeah, sorry to go so ham on your ask again, but these are the reasons why Hiccup’s line is as ominous as it is.

There are several red flags all over the place that aren’t just making him uncomfortable, but his friends as well.

And it basically only grows worse from here.

^^^^^ Hiccup doing a double take to make sure they’re not being followed.

@evilwriter37

#rob #dob #riders of berk #defenders of berk #hiccup haddock #dagur the deranged #hiccup whump #dagcup #asks #kunstvogel

[fikfreak]

New Amsterdam One Shot...

Alright, so I couldn’t let this go...i couldn’t! I had to write this tiny little one shot for my new fave show New Amsterdam. I might write more as the mood hits, but this is what i was able to eek out while still working on my Richonne FF No Ordinary Love. 

so i hope y'all like this little tiny peek into Max and Helen, and if you guys do like it, i might do a few more. 

@akarensilla @100kindsofblake @commacommacommachameleon @rwtl2016

Max... 

I don’t know why I can’t look away. Stop myself from gazing at her lips instead of her eyes. Watching the way they pucker and pout to form those sophisticated medical words that we all initially stumbled over in medical school, but finally mastered by residency. The bronze gloss slicked across them stealing my focus more often than not.

 She��s my doctor. I’m her boss. I’m a married man. Kind of. With Georgia leaving me, absconding away to Connecticut with our baby, I have no way of knowing where our relationship stands. And now my heart wanders, wonders, rapidly bruising an anxious rhythm against my chest…for another. A woman who is not my wife.

Her dark eyebrows raise high on her forehead, signaling that she’s waiting for some verbal response from me. “Did you hear what I said, Max?”

 “Huh? Yeah. Yes, I did.”

 “Remission. For now. That’s good news.”

 “Yes, Helen, I know that.”

 “Then why aren’t you smiling?”

 Inching my arms from the sleeves, I toss my white coat across my desk, and I wearily drop on to the couch behind me and lean back, my arms crossing my chest. The stress of the day is still heavy in the strain of my muscles, my bones. But her question, posed in that sardonic, British lilt of hers, instantly lightens the weight of everything. Catching the gaze of her dark amber eyes dancing over my face, a slight frown dipping her full lips, I tilt my head a little. “Am I not smiling enough for you, doctor?” I ask, grinning now, wide, wanting to please her for some irrational reason, to obey her obvious desire for a smile. From me.

 Pulling her head back a little, fighting a grin of her own, she points her index finger my way, zeroing in on the tilt of my lips. “Well now you are positively grinning. Cheshire Cat has nothing on you, eh?”

 Dropping my head bashfully, then raising my eyes back to hers, I can feel a blush coming on as her eyes travel the planes of my face again, studying me. Looking for something that I hope she finds pleasing. Lasering in on my lips. “Just giving you what you want. Er- asked me for.” I stutter, keeping my head angled slightly away as I rub my hand nervously across my neck. Could I be any more transparent? I assume it’s obvious that my affection for her lives and breathes in my every moment with her. Why should I even attempt to conceal it any longer?

 “Max, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile. Genuinely smile. A smile just for you. The chemo, the radiation, your personal trials-”

 “You can say it, Helen. My wife leaving me.”

 “It’s just good to see you happy, like you were when your baby was born. You deserve that kind of joy, simply for what you mean to everyone you’ve impacted. You change so many lives for the good. I’m- I’m just glad I could help put that smile there.” She advances on me. Two short strides bringing her to standing in between my wide stretched legs. Helen gestures to my lips again, one red tipped, manicured finger, just a hair’s breadth away from me being able to kiss it. Suck it gently into my mouth. The thought ambles in the forefront of my brain before I get a chance to tuck it away with the rest of my secretly held desires for her.

 This time is different though. Something unnamable between Helen and I has changed. After the many early mornings and late nights of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Of her bringing me back to my empty apartment, to feed me, care for me, make sure I am resting before I charge back to the hospital to change the world. Unable to even change the trajectory of my hopelessly broken marriage. There were so many late nights spent with me witnessing her triumphant return of Helen’s emotional investment, and relentless drive back to the profession we both love, that bolsters the brilliance of her mind, and the earnestness of her will to make a difference. Countless days have passed with me listening to the sadness lacing her soft voice as she ruminates about the lack of love in her life, and her dwindling prospects for parenthood. Together we have unwittingly knitted from the remnants of our past lives, a new one together, interwoven with pieces of heartbreak and latent desire for more. For a connection.

 I cannot discount that I owe my recovery and my health to this woman, who has asked for nothing in return, no promises I cannot fulfill, no broken vows of forever. No dissatisfied grimaces followed by a retreat to the wealthiest of Connecticut’s gated enclaves. With Helen, there has only been the simplicity of an ear to listen, and a broken body that I allow her to heal. Perhaps in this moment, when the air is charged, positively crackling with this unacknowledged energy arching between us, we can both finally admit that this unspoken thing simmering between us, is simply everything.

 It’s been there for over a year now. Since I walked through the door, full of hubris, and armed with an unflinching desire to fix things. Something. Myself even. Over time maybe even her. The slight melancholy that always swims in the veins, dragging down the spirit found underneath the silky covering of her mocha tinged skin, urging me to make right whatever it is that rides her, bars her from joy. I know what it is. What I can do. What I can give her. Would I dare? Would she ever accept that it doesn’t come from the same place my work here at the hospital does? That it’s not conditioned by my oath to do no harm, to treat and care for the sick. This desire that pools in my heart for Helen is more urgent than anything I’ve ever felt. Even my feelings for Georgia.

 Leaning up, straightening my back, I’m brushing my thumb across the apple of her cheek, and down, a feathery graze over her lips and chin. “Helen?”

 Slowly, almost as though she’s in pain, she drops her eyelids, the lashes delicately resting, sweeping in a gentle blink the tears that leak in tiny pulses down from her eyes. “Max?”

 “I can make you happy too. If you let me.”

 “Max…”

 “If you let me, I would make us both happy. We can make each other that way.”

 “You’re not ready. Take this gift of remission first. Use it to fix what’s already broken.”

 “I am. I’m ready for this, for you. For remission. To move on. To be happy again. For real this time. If you will let me. You and I are what’s broken.”

 Helen doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. With slender, trembling fingers she reaches for me. It’s not foreign to me. Her touch is welcoming, emitting a warmth that has comforted me as she has helped to treat my cancer over the last year. There is a tentative hesitance in the way her skin grazes mine. Haltingly approaching my cheeks as though to cup them, then dashing away, unsure of herself. But I’m not unsure. I’ve thought of this many days, many nights. Sometimes of nothing else as our friendship has blossomed over the last year. As she watched on as Georgia delivered my child, then summarily snatched her away from me, relegating me to an every other weekend parent.

Helen was there when the dean of the hospital finally, grudgingly, but with a modicum of pride, admitted that the changes I have made here at New Amsterdam have worked. Have positively altered the trajectory of the lives we touch, our own getting better, more fulfilled in correlation. So here we are in my office now, prepared to jump into the abyss of what this could mean for us. How this choice as well, might simply change everything.

Something in me wants to push her to choose me. To move aside the cloud of doubt that hides her feelings from me, to forge ahead and claim her. To pull her smaller form down onto mine, and shield her from her uncertainty. Cloak her in the absolute rightness of us. But I don’t.

She’s like a deer, a bit skittish. Unsteady even. A colt on new legs, but somewhat eager to rush ahead into the unknown. Instead I turn my head into her restless palm that hovers against my feverish skin, and allow my lips to settle there, placing delicate, encouraging pecks along the life lines that traverse her skin.

“Max, I do want…that.”

“Me too, Helen. Me too.”

#new amsterdam #helen and max #i hope y'all like this #i love them so much #trying not to become obsessed #sharpwin

[endlessly-elizabeth]

I came across a video on YouTube tonight that put something important into perspective for me. The video asked strangers a simple question: “What’s the most painful thing you’ve been told?” I watched the entire video, equally intrigued and pained by each person’s story. Many of the stories were common--loss of love, criticism of one’s appearance, and/or intelligence..which I found to be relatable. I found an odd sort of comfort in hearing about these struggles, knowing that some of mine have been similar. I was most surprised by a couple people who voiced that the worst thing said to them involved their mental health and how it somehow made them less lovable as people. Who says that? What kind of mean-spirited, heartless person says that to another human being? 

It got me thinking--what’s the worst thing someone has said to me? I thought the answer would be “easy.” I thought I would immediately have some kind of flashback to a moment in time when someone said something so rude and careless to me, but I actually found it difficult. Not one specific instance jumped out at me, I was a victim of bullying throughout my middle and high school years. I was made fun of for my weight, for my level of attractiveness, for being “too weird.” I was terrorized by one kid in particular who had a sister in my brother’s grade when he was going through some serious medical problems. He told my classmates that if my brother had as many problems as he did, I must have them, too. The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, right? 

Those years were hard. They undoubtedly caused a lot of unhealthy thoughts to fester in my brain, some of which are still heavily ingrained to this day. I felt less attractive and less special than girls who were my equals. Those insecurities helped prevent me from truly branching out and meeting new people, because I always doubted whether or not they would like me. I avoided men and male contact in general, fearing that I wasn’t pretty enough to keep one genuinely interested in me. And honestly? It hasn’t completely gone away, even though I am many years removed from that time of my life.

So, I continued to ask myself: what is the most painful thing someone has told me? I had been called fat. Ugly. Weird. Annoying. I have experienced unrequited feelings with people I was interested in, just like everyone else. That’s when it hit me. The end of 2017 was the start of what I call: the year of the downward spiral. I had recently gotten out of a... let’s just call it a relationship. After years of having feelings for someone and getting to a place where we gave our feelings a shot, shit hit the fan. We just couldn’t make the other person happy anymore, despite our feelings. It’s true what they say--sometimes love just isn’t enough. 

So two or three days before Christmas, my family got into a huge fight. And I mean HUGE. It ended with me in tears, grabbing my car keys and getting drunk and staying out until I could reasonably drive myself home safely, easily at 2-3 am. I can’t remember exactly what sparked the controversy, but I remember distinctly standing in the kitchen and my brother said, “You’ve never been in a relationship or been in love. You don’t know anything about those type of feelings.” I felt my forehead wrinkle, my lips get tight, and my eyes well with tears. What did my brother know about my love life? What could he possibly know about my feelings, their strength, and the history I had with people? He didn’t--my brother and I aren’t close. I didn’t share much with him other than things he might have overheard me talk about with my mom or things he may have heard when I’d been on the phone with friends.

He said it to be mean. He knew I just got out of a situation with someone, who I was very much still in love with. In the three or four weeks after the breakup, I had stayed home significantly more, locked in my room, and basically shut everyone out. He knew I was in some kind of pain, but he took advantage during an entirely different argument to break my spirit. It took me weeks, maybe even months to talk to him about anything after that. I hated how condescending he was acting just because he was in a relationship. While he might have more experience in being in a relationship, I knew that I had “dated” more than he had. More people of the opposite sex were interested in me. At times, there were guys who fought with eachother over their feelings for me. Did I feel the need to remind him of those facts? No. I didn’t feel the need to tear him down. I think it hit me so hard because that was my first time really dealing with heartbreak and trying to figure out who I was again, and during a time when someone would normally lean on family members, I just wasn’t expecting to hear those words. My brother’s words cut deep, and stung in a way that I’ll likely never forget.

What it also put into perspective for me is just how mean we can be to ourselves, as well. Just because someone called me a “whale” one time, why do I still think about it to this day? Why do I strive to be thinner and wear more makeup because someone said I was ugly ten years ago? Why do I tell myself I’m not good enough for a new guy I’m talking to, and wind up talking myself right out of pursuing things? Sometimes we have to realize that we are part of the problem. We give into the negative comments which leads to negative thinking, and negative thinking can lead to permanent thought processes. Negative talk is a form of self loathing. And negative talk is one of the most painful things we can say to or think about ourselves. What good can come from it? Every time I look in the mirror and am dissatisfied with one part of my appearance, I’m condoning the negative thinking. I’m being mean to myself and putting myself down for no reason, and I know I’m not the only one who does this. We can do better. We need to BE better.

But that video just made me realize that people can be downright cruel. And for what reason? Does it honestly make someone feel better if he or she puts down another person? It CAN feel good, I know that. No one is immune to making rude comments about others. I’m guilty of it myself, from time to time. But I’ve also been in a position where my reputation has been challenged due to other people talking poorly of me, and that was tough. It taught me how to be the bigger person and to take the high road--not to tear others down just because they were trying to hurt me. It made me want to be a better person. To judge less. To love more. Judgment is taught at a young age and it’s something that will always be a part of our society. I guess you could say it’s just human nature. But it doesn’t have to be. We don’t have to put others down. We don’t have to be mean just because we have the ability to be. Kindness is a choice. And I never want to be the reason why someone is dissatisfied with him/herself. I never want something that I’ve said to be the most painful thing ever said to someone. I refuse to be.

#personal #me #late night thoughts #kindness

[radiobust]

Goodbye.

It’s the next day after I finally broke up with my boyfriend of three years. It was civil... calm... mature. It still doesn’t feel real yet but I am restraining every bit of my being from taking it all back just because I don’t want to deal with the pain of officially letting go of someone who genuinely loves me. It’s so brave for women to end things and cut their losses, and admittedly, I haven’t been very brave until yesterday. No one really talks about good breakups. It’s always the messy ones that get some air time, even if it’s the same old story. No one talks about how simply loving do not excuse incompatibility.

I wake up to a day older version of myself, feeling dissatisfied with just an OK life. It’s more of a me problem, I keep telling everyone. Because my desires aren’t met. Maybe my desires are also too grandiose for reality. Still, I’d like to imagine that it’s somewhat attainable. I remember what triggered it; I offered to cook some porridge and he asked me to pay for the ingredients. There’s almost ten people in his household and I already covered some of the food expenses to indulge them. His ask was just off-putting to me. I couldn’t conceal my disappointment. And then it hit me: this is what my life will be like as long as I live, if I stayed. Watching him be pushed over by his dad as he carries the burden of his half-siblings’ education and needs, while he actively lies to his mother abroad about it; I’m clearly not his endgame. And now, neither is he mine.

I keep trying to remind myself that I’m breaking it up not just for me, but also for him. I cannot give him the same love he gives me. I’m not interested in his stories, I actually feel like they’re bothersome most of the time. I am repulsed by his touch. And it’s going to continue to be heartbreaking for him if I stayed. So I have to remain brave and firm with my decision, no matter how much it hurts right now. Maybe I’m wrong to let go of the only person in this world who will love me for who I am, but I’d rather be wrong than to continue to break him because of how difficult, demanding, and draining it is to be with me. I loved you, Kevin. And I don’t regret our time together. But it’s time for us to go our own way. I truly hope you find another soul who has a heart as big as yours. You deserve to be loved, cherished, and cared for. I’m sorry if this is the end for me. It’s hard for me to admit that, too. But I don’t want to lose myself trying to cower in the security of my safety net that is you. Goodbye.

[misterclandestine]

My Favorite Stuff from 2017

It’s been a tough one, but there was a lot of awesome stuff that made it easier. Here are some of my favorites in no particular order.

DAMN by Kendrick Lamar, Album - The World felt different once this was in it. Kenny’s 4th release proved he’s just as thoughtful, agile, and hungry as ever.

everyone’s a aliebn when ur a aliebn too by Johnny Sun, Book - You can go through this hybrid graphic novel/picture-book in one sitting, but there’s so much to chew on here that I recommend taking time with this story, which follows Jomny, a misspelling aliebn sent to earth to study human behavior. The brief, direct interactions simply, & hilariously reveal everything beautiful and tragic about what it is to be alive.  

Abstract: The Art of Design, Series - This Netflix series drops you into the lives of 6 masterful creators moving through subcultures of artistry (i.e Footwear Design, Illustration, Stage Design). Each revealing their varying methods, ideas, and joys about creativity. The standout episode follows Christoph Niemann, an illustrator for the New Yorker, and his blue-collar approach to his work.

Game of Thrones: The Spoils of War, TV Series - Though this season was rushed, clumsy and arguably unrecognizable from the compelling and prestigious drama that has unprecedentedly impacted our culture, you won’t find a more gripping hour of television. You know a show is wilding out when you don’t know who the hell to even root for anymore (Get em, Drogo! Wait, not Bronn! Wait, not the incestuous child killer!)

Insecure: Season 2, TV Series - The show you didn’t know you needed. Issa Rae’s hilarious dramedy paints a picture of what it’s like to be young, ambitious, unapologetic, lonely, intelligent, sexy, successful, and losing.

Last Week Tonight with John Oliver: Season 4, TV Series - Oliver’s weekly recap simultaneously manages to be enlightening, funny, depressing, and hopeful. His takedown of Alex Jones was one of the most satisfying things I consumed all year.

Do Not Disturb by Drake, Song - the final track of More Life, a surprise ‘mixtape’, samples ‘Time’ by Snoh Alegra, and is one of his most personal songs to date. Without a chorus, he raps for 3 minutes about not needing romance, fear of irrelevancy, and the quickening passage of time. Gracefully shifting between insecurity and arrogance with dizzying fervor, Aubrey continues to capture the emotional woes of an entire generation.

Get Out, Film - Jordan Peele’s directorial film debut is the rare instant classic, and it’s not because it has one of the most crowd-pleasing endings of all time. The satirical, social commentary cloaked in the guise of a horror comedy, refuses definition, and peels back layers of race, and class previously untouched in cinema.

Melodrama by Lorde, Album - With a kajillion pounds of pressure on her shoulders to follow up one of the best pop debuts of all time, Ella delivers. She croons on top of Jack Antonoff’s unruly production about heartbreak, fame, and the feeble impact of acclaim. As one Twitterer put it “I gain an extra chromosome when the beat drops in ‘Sober II’.

mother!, Film - I can’t say I enjoyed this movie because it was the second most excruciating sit I had at the theater all year (kudos to Justice League), but it left me SHOOK. It’s clearly allegorical, but what makes it masterful is that the way you take this movie in is colored almost entirely by your own personal experiences.

Master of None: Season 2, TV Series - A perfect double-feature to Insecure (give me a shared universe where Dev and Issa are a power couple). Ansari’s relentlessly entertaining series accomplishes what every second season strives for. It tops the first, while redefining and expanding itself. The show is tirelessly committed to the experiences of ‘others’ (a deaf person, a lesbian, a non-believing muslim, service workers in NYC etc.) It’ll leave you crying, laughing, and hungry.

Split, Film - When we’re lucky, films hit ya with “SURPRISE, muthafucka” moments that Jesus himself would not see coming. Shyamalan’s second hit in a row (after a run of all time duds) ends with one 17 years in the making. The iconic villain terrifyingly played with razor-sharp swiftness by the world-class James McAvoy is the icing on the cake.

Isaiah Thomas, Athlete - If not for Russell Westbrook’s record breaking response to Kevin Durant’s betrayal, the “King in the Fourth” takes home the MVP. Watching him play through tears the day after his sister died in a car accident will stay with me forever. His 53 point performance on her birthday a few weeks later starkly reminded me of the unifying, powerful spirit of sport.

Moonlight’s Best Picture Win - I’ll begin by saying that I really liked La La Land. A month after we swore in Don, we got it wrong again… psych! I’ll never forget the roller coaster of emotion that came over me in this moment. Barry Jenkin’s tale told through 3 untraditional acts (titled ‘Little’, ‘Chiron’ & ‘Black’) was gorgeously shot, flawlessly acted, and supremely helmed. It arrived at a time we needed it most and Mahershala Ali FINALLY got his shine.

Coco, Film - We got one shot this year, and we NAILED it. This breathtaking portrait of Mexican culture demands to be seen on the big screen and illuminates the importance of dreams, family, and tradition. No manches!

‘No Man’s Land’ scene in Wonder Woman - There were two times in the theater this year that I felt that sinking drop of a roller coaster in my belly, this was one of them. Gal Gadot and Patty Jenkins must be emboldened and protected at all cost.

Woody Harrelson, Actor - The rare movie-star actor quietly had a phenomenal year, further etching the grooves of his name into Hollywood lore. His turns in The Glass Castle, The War for the Planet of the Apes, and Three Billboards in Ebbing Missouri prove he’s STILL at the top of his game. I’m shocked that his heartbreaking portrayal of a drifting, alcoholic yet whimsical and passionate father in The Glass Castle hasn’t gotten more attention.

S - Town, Podcast - The colder you go into this one, the better. All I’ll say is that you’ll step away from this one feeling some type of way about people, the feeble sustainability of the planet, and clocks.

The World Series, Sports - The. Best. Ever. After being devastated by Hurricane Harvey, the Astros grant Houstonians some restoration via their first World Series Championship in a thrilling 7-game series that was literally witnessed by the World.

The Keepers, Documentary Series- This 7 episode series documenting the varying controversies surrounding the Catholic Church left me epiphanized about what it means to remove the seemingly impenetrable powers of institutions. Targeting one single individual, or a group of individuals or an organization won’t get it done. We must take down the viral ideas themselves.

Bladerunner 2049, Film - Aside from being wondrously constructed technically (you won’t see better production design or cinematography - give Deakins his Oscar now dammit), this story about a robot serves up a surprising amount of soul. Denis Villeneuve, solidifying his auteur status, delivers a nostalgic yet entirely unique follow up to the beloved sci fi classic.

‘Throne Room’ scene in The Last Jedi - This was the other time I felt like I was falling in the theater. Despite considerable problems, Rian Johnson showed us stuff we’ve never seen before in the SW universe. It’s the showdown you dream about as a kid.

The Big Sick, film - Kumail Nanjiani’s autobiographical story of how he met his lover is sorta the woke edition of Meet The Parents. Like Dev on MON, Kumail struggles to blaze trails while upholding loyalty to family and falls in love for a white girl along the way. Ray Romano and Holly Hunter turn in a pair of the year’s best performances.

Big Little Lies, Mini Series - I resisted the marketing for this one initially: dissatisfied, rich folk in Monterey. But the re-teaming of Jean-Marc Vallée (Wild, Dallas Buyers Club, Demolition) & Reese Witherspoon seemed promising. Momentum grew with each weekly installment (I overheard people theorizing whodoneit in restaurants), which is refreshing in the Netflix age. The leads are all stellar (believe the hype about Kidman) and Zoe Kravitz proves she should be working more.

Creature Comfort by Arcade Fire, Song - A painful examination of youth that’s equally heartbreaking and melodic.

Homecoming Season 2 - The fictional podcast about the remnants of a government coverup of a failed rehabilitation program for distressed veterans makes some questionable narrative choices in it’s second season and Oscar Isaac is absent throughout most of it (likely due to a loaded schedule). He does “appear” at the end of the second episode ‘CIPHER’, in a brilliant usage of audio storytelling, and it left me in puddles.

Mindhunter, TV Series - We all know Fincher is a technical maestro, but I don’t think he gets enough credit for being a complete storyteller, which he clearly is. The 13-episode made-to-binge Netflix series based off the book by the same name follows Holden Ford, an idealistic FBI profiler, and Bill Tench, played by Holt McCallany subverting every macho character role he’s ever taken on as a highly intelligent, hardened fed, as they attempt to break ground on our understandings of serial murderers. All of Fincher’s trademarks are there with sprinkled elements of Seven, & Zodiac.

Tyler the Creator’s Tiny Desk Concert, Podcast - I enjoyed ‘Flower Boy’, but didn’t find myself returning to it. That all changed after this. In a year of fantastic TDCs (i.e: Thundercat, Chance the Rapper) Tyler’s stands out. With help from a pair of stellar background singers, his array of talents are on full display, namely: composing and orchestrating melody and harmony.

Colin Kaepernick, Athlete - it’s not about the flag or the military don’t @ me.

20th Century Women, Film - Released wide in January, it remains one of the year’s best. Set gorgeously in 1970′s Santa Barbara, Mike Mills’ deeply personal tribute to motherhood, women, & outcasts overflows with heart.

Kamala Harris, (D) CA Senator - She is so bad, can we get started on the 2020 bumper stickers now?

What Now by Sylvan Esso, Album - ‘Hey Mami’ from their 2014 debut popped up on my Pandora one day and I was IN. Amelia Meath’s angelic vocals layered over Nick Sanborn’s unpredictable production is sublime. The “Echo Mountain Sessions” include dope af live recordings of the album’s standout tracks.

Logan, Film - The Wolverine movie we deserve also features a star-making performance from Dafne Keen and an unrecognizable Professor X. With a decade between the last time he inhabited his iconic portrayal of Charles Xavier, Sir Patrick Stewart strides (wheels?) back into the role with award worthy tact.

Fargo Season 3, TV Series - The best season yet and that’s really saying something. David Thewlis is haunting as Varga, the creepiest, most frightening villain in the series’ history and a collection of top-tier thespians rounds out the rest of the cast. There’s also a moment in one of the later episodes similar to the ending of ‘Split’ that’s a real delight.  

Mr. Robot Season 3, TV Series - Showrunner Sam Esmail moves us through this complex dystopia, which has begun to bear resemblance to our reality lately, with complete CTRL. We see Mr. Robot AND Bobby Canavale like never before. That oner episode is pretty cool too, but it’s not even the season’s best.

Other Notables: Patton Oswalt: Annihilation, Girls Trip, The Leftovers Season 3, Glow, Twin Peaks: The Return, Ingrid Goes West, BEAUTIFUL THUGGER GIRLS by Young Thug, Add Violence by NIN, Good Time, Stranger Things: Season 2, Legion, Dunkirk, Crashing, NO ONE EVER REALLY DIES by N.E.R.D, 4:44 by Jay-Z, Dirty John, Wind River, Dear White People

FYI: I still haven’t seen/listened to a lot of stuff, namely all the big award contending films.

[alexsfictionaddiction]

'It is not enough to be the non-racist. We must be anti-racist.’

I don’t think I need to explain too much about what has prompted this post. There may be readers of it who will feel that my sudden creation of it is performative and that I don’t REALLY care all that much about what’s going on. That I’m simply jumping on a bandwagon and cashing in on some internet clout amidst the horrors of what is happening in the world. Hopefully my regular readers will know that I actively seek out Own Voices books and that I’m constantly reviewing them or recommending them on this very blog. Hopefully my regular readers will know that this post is very much in line with my inclusive, diverse ethos and that I am simply using my white platform to amplify those of the unheard.

It’s true that I’ve never written a recommendation post dedicated to one particular marginalised group. I think this is because I’ve always felt like these are not my areas to sway into. That these posts would be better written by bloggers who have direct experience with what these books talk about. Honestly, I’m shocked and incredibly upset with myself for having long harboured this mentality. Yes, these books will affect readers who can directly relate to the characters in a way that they couldn’t ever affect me but why on Earth should that mean that I can’t give them a platform in the first place?  

Of course, I’ve always known about white privilege and I’ve always used it to take down racists both on and offline. In fact, the events of the past few days have caused arguments within my own all-white British family. There are currently protests happening in central London and Manchester but we are not allowed to use public transport at the moment and we don’t have any local demonstrations, meaning actively protesting just isn’t a feasible option for most Brits right now. It does feel like movements such as Black Lives Matter are ‘an American thing’, despite the huge amount of all types of racism in the UK. 

I had never realised (or perhaps never wanted to realise) the amount of extremely questionable attitudes within my own family until very recently. I have had to explain white privilege to my parents, who have actually always been reasonably liberal in their political views, so I was astonished by exactly how much they didn’t know. There is an essence of ‘things aren’t anywhere near as bad as they used to be’ and ‘the police don’t arrest or kill innocent people’. It’s honestly only in the last few days that I’ve realised and therefore had to address the internal racism within my own family and therefore in my own origins and so I think that, as well as what is happening across the Atlantic, is what has really triggered this post. Despite considering myself an ally, I can do so much better than I have been and chances are, you can too. 

Because it is a global pandemic. It’s not something that is only happening in the US, it’s happening here just without the guns. It’s happening in every country of the world and I (and my fellow white people) should not be leaving it up to the victims to sort it out. We have the power to boost their blatantly unheard voices and there is so much we can do, in order to do that. 

Sign petitions, donate money and help in any way you can right here. Buy from Black-owned businesses, read all you can about the Black experience and above all, call out your friends and family on their racism. Of course, if you don’t want to take the advice of a white person like me, I’d recommend you check out these fantastic Black BookTubers and book bloggers:

LaRonda @ flyingpaperbacks

Madeline @ madelinewilsonojo

Jazmen @ lit-erally black

Nox @ noxthereader

Myonna @ myonna reads

I'mogén @ Peace&Cookies

Ben @ Benreadsbooks

Lauren @ The Novel Lush

Jo @ Jo The Great

Ella @ ella’s novellas

Keeana @ Reading in the Clouds

Francina @ Francina Simone

Lucie @ LucieReads

Jesse @ Bowties & Books

Joel @ fictionalfates

Ane @ Ane Adores

Olivia @ Olivia’s Catastrophe

Cecilia @ thatdisneychik

Taylor @ PageScreenTaylor

Tori @ Medusa Reads

Justin @ Ghost Reader

Seji @ The Artisan Geek

Mina @ Mina Reads

Of course, this is not an exhaustive list and I encourage you to please search for and support more wonderful Black bookworms and creators. They will give you more insightful reviews and recommendations than I would ever be able to, so please check them out and show them some love. 

Here are 50 books by Black authors that deserve your attention. While I have read a good chunk of these, I will admit that I have not personally read all of them. This list was compiled following a deep scouring of the internet and reading countless reviews and synopses. I believe I’ve found some incredible hidden gems in here that you will love and pass on to those who need them. Each of them have a link to an online retail outlet that isn’t Amazon, so you can buy these books in quarantine without lining Bezos’ already over-filled pockets. Enjoy! -Love, Alex x

NON-FICTION

1. Stamped From The Beginning by Ibram X. Kendi. This history of racism in America seeks to completely rewrite the way we think of racism and encourages change in the every-day assumptive white ally.

2. Between The World And Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. Told in the form of a letter to his young son, Coates attempts to convey what it’s like to be black in America, using history, personal experience and the hope of liberation.

3. Redefining Realness by Janet Mock. An unapologetic powerful memoir from a trans mixed-race working class woman in America that will teach you how to be undeniably real.

4. Why I’m No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge. Possibly the most widely-read non-fiction book on racism in the UK, Reni Eddo-Lodge’s book explores its links to class, white feminism and the black history we were never taught.

5. So You Want To Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo. Highly relevant to the current situation in the US, this book talks about police brutality, BLM and the N word, answering the questions that no one ever dares to ask.

CONTEMPORARY FICTION

6. An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. The winner of last year’s Women’s Prize, An American Marriage is the heartbreaking story of newlyweds torn apart by a wrongful rape conviction. Devastating, urgent storytelling.

7. Queenie by Candice Carty-Williams. Searingly relatable and timely, you will fall madly in love with Queenie. She is flawed, overlooked and underestimated. You will laugh, cry and scream as you spend a year inside her life as a British-Jamaican.

8. Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert. When straight-laced nerd Chloe Brown almost dies, she vows to start living in the moment. Enter bad boy Red and you’ve got the perfect ingredients for a sweet, sexy rom-com.

9. Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo. Joint winner of 2019′s Booker Prize and shortlister for 2020′s Women’s Prize, this is the combination of 12 very different Black-British characters that paints a very real picture of contemporary British life.

10. I Almost Forgot About You by Terry McMillan. When Georgia Young begins to feel dissatisfied with her seemingly perfect life, she decides to shake things up. It’s the perfect reminder that it’s never too late to make big changes and start living your best life.

11. Well-Read Black Girl by Glory Edim. Showcasing some of America’s best black female writers, this anthology explores the importance of finding yourself in books. Glory Edim is the founder of Well-Read Black Girl, an online book club exclusively for black women, which you can check out here.  

12. The Girl With The Louding Voice by Abi Daré. At 14, Adunni is a wife and commodity within her tiny Nigerian village but she is determined to get her education and her voice. Original, powerful and unbelievably inspirational.

13. Such A Fun Age by Kiley Reid. When Emira Tucker starts dating someone with a direct historical link to her boss, things get more than complicated. This is a very clever contemporary, driven by racial differences, that is completely unputdownable.

LITERARY FICTION

14. The Sellout by Paul Beatty. Winner of the Booker Prize 2016, The Sellout is a black comedy ringing with social satire about one man’s deceit having knock-on effects for an entire community. Controversial and weird but incredibly unique.

15. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Morrison’s debut novel focuses on our obsession with conventional beauty, fitting in and being accepted. Wonderfully written, it addresses race, gender and class in a truly captivating way.

16. Stay With Me by Ayòbámi Adébáyò. Amidst the social and political turmoil of 1980s Nigeria, Yejide's husband takes a second wife when she fails to fall pregnant. It is a heartbreaking portrait of grief, fractured families and motherhood.

17. Sing, Unburied, Sing by Jesmyn Ward. An epic road-trip novel with hints of supernatural and magical realism, this is the story of a young boy’s coming-of-age within a broken family told in a gorgeously lyrical style.

18. Half Of A Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Set during the Nigerian Civil War, three very different characters are entwined in a story about colonialism, class, race and love. You’ll want the tissues for this one!

19. Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi. This strange unique novel focuses on the split selves of Ada and their gradual rise to power within her. It’s one of the most unique mental health books I’ve ever come across and will resonate with anyone who has ever struggled with finding their own inner peace.

SCI-FI AND FANTASY

20. Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James. Dripping in African mythology, the first in the Dark Star trilogy gets off to a gripping start with plenty of unique characters, as hunter Tracker searches for a missing boy. 

21. Kindred by Octavia E. Butler. When aspiring writer Dana is pulled from 1976 into 1815, she is assumed to be a slave. After saving a young man’s life, the mystery of their connection kicks off and takes them both on an incredible emotional journey. This is an amazing time travel story that is thoroughly unputdownable.

22. Rosewater by Tade Thompson. Rosewater is a town on the edges of a strange alien biodome which is rumoured to have healing powers but former criminal Kaaro knows the truth and is in no hurry to revisit it. Whilst making subtle digs at contemporary culture, Rosewater offers a fascinating view of the future.

23. Do You Dream Of Terra-Two? by Temi Oh. Ten astronauts leave a dying Earth to find another habitable planet. Set entirely aboard the ship, it’s a coming-of-age story that reaches beyond the sci-fi boundaries and focuses on human relationships and emotions. Brace yourself for tears!

24. Children Of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi. Inspired by West African mythology, this magical adventure tells the story of Zélie on a quest to restore magic to the kingdom of Orisha. At the end of every chapter something happens that makes you want to keep reading, making it highly addictive.

25. The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor Lavalle. Hidden dark magic in the depths of New York is awakened when hustler Tom attracts its attention. With elements of classic horror and mysticism, this is one for lovers of weird speculative stories.

26. Riot Baby by Tochi Onyebuchi. This touching story is a searing reminder of systemic racism and the violence that black Americans face at the hands of the law. When Kev finds himself in prison, it’s only the visits from his magically-gifted sister Ella that keeps him sane and gives him hope of revolution.

27. We Cast A Shadow by Maurice Carlos Ruffin. Desperate to protect his son in a profoundly racist America, a man embarks on a mission to get his boy a ‘demelanization’ to make him white. It’s an original and edgy satire full of suspense and heart.

MIDDLE-GRADE

28. Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson. This poetic memoir charts the story of Woodson’s own childhood, growing up as an African-American in 1960s and 1970s. These are truly beautiful poems that sing a young girl’s desire to be heard and to know who she is.

29. Ghost by Jason Reynolds. Ghost is a sprinter but it’s only when Coach sees his talent that he really starts to chase his dream but his dark past is hot on his heels. Full of Reynolds’ signature humour and heart, it’s highly relatable to almost any kid from around the age of 10.

30. The Jumbies by Tracey Baptiste. This creepy magical middle-grade adventure sees fearless Corinne on a dangerous mission to save her home from dark forces. Steeped in Caribbean folklore, The Jumbies is a fantastic gateway into eerie fantasy.

31. The Crossover by Kwame Alexander. Twins Josh and Jordan are basketball stars, following in their father’s footsteps but hardship tests their brotherly bonds. Merging basketball and rap, this verse novel gives us a stark reminder of what really matters.

32. Ghost Boys by Jewell Parker Rhodes. Get set for a truly heartbreaking but horrendously timely story. Jerome was shot dead by police at the age of 12 and his ghost wanders the Earth in search of answers as to why he was killed. Not sure I need to say anymore as to why this is a highly important tearjerker.

YA

33. Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo. When a plane crash brings two sisters on either side of the Atlantic together, family secrets unravel. Exploring sacrifice and identity, this verse novel is a stark reminder that most losses and tragedies are felt only by the families they directly affect.

34. Orangeboy by Patrice Lawrence. Marlon has promised his mum that he won’t follow the path of his gang leader brother but when a date leaves him a hunted man, he has some impossible choices to make. Laced with musicality, this pacy urban thriller puts you directly in the shoes of an ordinary boy caught up in very real danger.

35. The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta. Struggling with his identity as a mixed-race gay teen, it’s only when he starts university that Michael gains his wings through the power of drag. Tackling both racism and homophobia, The Black Flamingo teaches acceptance and self-love.

36. The Sun Is Also A Star by Nicola Yoon. Natasha and Daniel meet on the same day that Natasha’s family are about to be deported to Jamaica. Cue an epic quest for love to overthrow the authorities! It’s a sweet romance about fate and taking the future into your own hands.

37. Dear Martin by Nic Stone. When Ivy League-destined Justyce is arrested, he turns to the lessons of Martin Luther King to help figure things out but then shots are fired. Undeniably relevant to today’s America, Dear Martin confronts the blatant racism and injustice within the justice system.

38. On The Come Up by Angie Thomas. Aspiring rapper Bri is desperate to make it to help her family, despite all the odds being against her. Better known for her break-out debut hit The Hate U Give, Angie Thomas’ follow-up is an equally hard-hitting story of standing up and speaking out for what’s right. 

HISTORICAL 

39. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Escaping an extremely violent and abusive past in the 1930s American South, Celie finds the strength to be her true wonderful self. The Color Purple is considered a staple of black literature and considered one of the most mind-opening books in existence.

40. Roots by Alex Haley. Tracing the story of his own ancestors, Alex Haley’s Roots is a highly educational documentation of African American history during the Slave Trade. Published in 1976, it made a massive impact on the world and Kunta’s story is just as urgent and vital today.

41. Freedom by Catherine Johnson. This historical middle-grade story follows Jamaican slave Nat as he makes his way to London, where he has heard that slavery doesn’t exist, which he soon finds to be false. Freedom is a moving, action-packed look at British slavery that is the perfect starting point for educating pre-teens.

42. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. This classic tale follows wrestler Okonkwo, who returns from exile to discover his village has been taken over by colonials. It’s a difficult read that captures powerlessness and pain in a short, impactful burst and will no doubt force white readers to look at their own behaviours.

43. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Exploring bigotry and racism across the US, our protagonist tries his best to play by the rules but continues to be knocked down. Despite being published in 1952, Ellison’s arguments are painfully relevant to today, indicating that not much has changed at all. 

44. The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead. Life as a slave in Georgia is hell for Cora but when new arrival Caesar tells her about the Underground Railroad, escape plans are hatched. Cora’s determination and courage are hugely inspirational and her experience, which mirrors that of many real slaves, should never be forgotten.

45. Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi. This epic story of two sisters’ very different experiences of 1800s Ghana sprawls across generations, clearly showing how history resonates and the ripples are felt long after the original event. A stunning captivating read.

THRILLERS

46. Catherine House by Elisabeth Thomas. Highly selective, isolated academy Catherine House sees teenage runaway Ines join its ranks and a strange Gothic mystery unfurls. This subtly unsettling chilly novel is a brand new debut that I devoured earlier on this month and I’m sure you will too!

47. My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite. Korede is used to clearing up her younger sister Ayoola’s messes -and disposing of the bodies she leaves in her wake! There is a wonderfully dark tongue-in-cheek tone that makes this fast-paced thrilling celebration of sisterhood truly delightful.

48. They All Fall Down by Rachel Howzell Hall. Seven strangers find themselves in a mansion on an island with no contact with the outside world and no escape. With strong Agatha Christie vibes, it’s a highly entertaining mystery whose pages you’ll keep turning.

49. Devil In A Blue Dress by Walter Mosley. When a war veteran is pulled into a search for a mysterious woman, murder and lies are uncovered. Set in 1940s LA, Walter Mosley expertly weaves the natural fears of a Black man of the time into the smoky intrigue, making it extremely immersive.

50. Hollywood Homicide by Kellye Garrett. Broke former actress Dayna didn’t mean to solve a hit-and-run but the reward money would definitely come in handy. Once she starts digging, she becomes determined to find the killer. I love cosy mysteries with amateur detectives and this more than fits that bill.

#black lives matter #black authors #black books #anti-racism #social justice

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Out of Office Drama: Goto and Miho

Under normal circumstances, all meetings aside from the date scenario were conducted at MJS headquarters – so this one should have been no different.

However, Miho, in her infinite wisdom, made an exception.

Shouldn’t have for a great many reasons – some her own, some not – but did just the same.

The hotel bar was not of her choosing, but it was familiar enough for her to feel comfortable waiting on her own. In the early evening, she could take small sips from her shiraz and not seem like a complete lush; she definitely looked like a woman there to meet someone, though her attire and the presence of a laptop and manila folder peeking from the top of the handbag beside her, suggested at least it was not a social rendezvous.

This is a really, REALLY bad idea.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

She’d seen him enter of course, watched him glance around before spying her. His stride was purposeful but unhurried, and though he’d attempted to maintain eye contact as he approached, Miho had glanced down into her drink in a rather uncharacteristic display of cowardice? Bashfulness? Awkwardness?

Something like that.

“Just long enough for the wine to warm to the perfect temperature,” she responded lightly, finally lifting her eyes to his.

Inhale before the perfect storm – silver lined clouds threatening to break but not yet broken, gentle and controlled, power and potential evident but held in check.

“Are you all right?” he frowned, ducking his head a little to peer more closely at her expression, and Miho flinched.

“Distracted, sorry,” she apologised, shaking her head, and hopefully the stupidity from it. “Shall we grab a table?”

“Yes,” he nodded, motioning with a gentlemanly sweep of his hand that she lead him.

Just not on.

“Is this a usual haunt of yours?” she enquired, selecting a booth over a table.

“No, I rarely get time to enjoy places like this,” he admitted, waiting for her to be seated before doing the same, settling opposite, “and as you already know, I’m not much of a drinker.”

“I take it, then, I’ll be drinking alone?” she smirked, finally finding mirth, even if it was wry.

“Would you feel more comfortable if I ordered something?” he queried, but before she could answer he’d waved for a waitress who came over with a smile. “May I get a glass of…”

Goto looked to Miho’s glass, and she filled in the blanks.

“House shiraz,” she declared.

“Of course,” the waitress smiled, scribbling a couple of words down, before departing.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Miho told him.

“If we only ever did the things we needed to do, life wouldn’t be all that interesting,” he philosophised.

He seemed completely comfortable.

It was not uncommon for clients to act different following a test drive, but Goto showed no signs of awkwardness; in fact, he was, Miho thought, unusually cool considering what she knew of his rather bashful nature.

This did not escape her notice, and she eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, before she retrieved the folder from her bag and handed it to him.

“Here’s my final profile,” she explained, and he flicked it over. “Please read it carefully to ensure you’re happy with my evaluation, and the wording; semantics can sway, so it’s important to be particular.”

The document was not a short one, and while Goto read in silence, Miho sat doing her best to show no interest in his reaction to any of what she’d written. Though he did seem a little different today than their last meeting, and in all those before that, she could tell when he reached where she’d detailed his romantic style and sexual performance – colour dappled his cheeks faintly, and Miho trapped a sigh in her chest until it dissipated.

Still, she remembered writing that section intensely, and the urge to cross her legs made her weight shift.

When the waitress arrived and put down Goto’s glass, he had still yet to look up from the paper; but he hadn’t turned the page in some time either.

“Problem?” Miho enquired, leaning forward a little.

Goto cleared his throat.

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t both confronting and embarrassing to read about myself like this,” he admitted, glancing at her but not making eye contact this time. “Flattering too,” he added. “You have quite a vivid way with words.”

“It’s crucial clients are able to get a clear idea of all aspects of their potential partner,” she expounded, falling back into practiced professionalism. “It’s how we’ve been able to enjoy the success rate we have.”

“And this is all your thoughts on me?” he prompted, closing the folder over.

“Actually I was so inspired, and sure you’d agree with my assessment, that,” she began, leaning down grab a thicker folio from her bag, “I’ve already selected three clients who are compatible.”

He looked at it, the black folio hovering across the table between them.

“That eager to get rid of me?” he questioned, eyes wandering up her arm, across her shoulder, but he stopped short of reaching her face.

His brows twitched, and he seemed transfixed by her throat. Neither of them had mentioned meeting in the supermarket day before last, and sure as hell had not uttered Subaru’s name – but Goto’s stare lingering there reminded them both.

Finally, he managed to refocus his gaze back into her face.

Then there was his tone. It lacked all humour, it lacked everything; and an emotionless mural painted over what Miho had seen happen several times before in this very situation.

Jazz’s voice rang in her ears – how sometimes clients, having enjoyed their time with them after long spells of loneliness or romantic disconnect, thought they felt more than they truly did.

“At MJS we pride ourselves on being both thorough, and efficient,” she responded – the line from their glossy brochure.

“Ahh, yes,” he nodded, still looking right over the folio Miho refused to lower. “You satisfy your clients, 100% guaranteed.”

“Mr. Goto,” Miho levelled, “if you are in any way dissatisfied with my service up until this point, then please say so. Only then can I do my utmost to correct the problem, and meet your expectations. Before that, however, all I ask, is that you at least glance these profiles.”

At this he frowned, his gaze diverted, and she saw him inhale a breath of strengthening resolve before he asked his next question.

“Which one is yours?”

“Excuse me?” she blinked once, the weight of the folder she held now causing her extended arm to tremble.

“Profile,” he clarified, and though she could see he wanted to avert his eyes, he did not. “Which one is yours?”

The sigh from earlier was suddenly resurrected, and had escaped from between Miho’s lips before she could clamp down. She couldn’t reward the courage it had taken him to ask that question, to convey to her in not so many words he wanted her among those prospective brides.

“Look,” she exhaled, finally placing the folio to the side and returning her hand to the base of her glass. “Sometimes during this process, that does involve the exposure of deeply personal…”

“Is that the MJS handbook speaking?” he interrupted, and Miho’s response was quick.

“Yes,” she said sharply, and a little louder than she had intended, “but also me, from experience. And every single client who thought they’d fallen in love with his or her representative, is now in a very happy relationship of our design.”

“You’re that good a profiler, you know exactly how I feel then?” he pressed, body completely still.

“You were bonded with someone with whom you had an absolute trust,” she articulated clearly. “Shared interests and lifestyle and occupation, by all accounts what should have been perfect, but it was taken from you. By your own admission, you blamed yourself and became convinced you were therefore not worthy of being loved again. You isolated yourself, and then here I am, sifting through all the dirty and unpleasant secrets you knew you’d need to face if you ever wanted to be happy again, and of course I accepted them.

“It’s my job to know you well enough to accurately find you a match so heartbreak, external factors aside, doesn’t visit you again – but asking me that, suggesting that…”

Shaking her head, Miho took a sip of her wine, but it was tasteless now.

“… It may seem harsh to say it so bluntly, but any affection I showed, was necessary to coax out how best you respond to intimacy; like our one-day marriage, it wasn’t real, merely a facilitator.”

Ice formed in her alcohol.

In her head the words were clear and definitive, to her ears, sure, stalwart.

“Your hands are shaking,” he pointed out.

“No they’re…” she began, but again he cut her off.

“You may be some manner of relationship profiler, Miss Fujiwara,” he said evenly, firmly, “but I’m a detective, and a highly trained one at that. I know lies when I hear them. I know lies when I see them. And I know dirty and unpleasant secrets that haven’t yet been faced, when I see them. For a woman who said she would own every word she speaks, I think you’ve strayed a little.”

A sardonic chortle sounded, and Miho shook her head again.

“We’re going to start parroting one another again?”

“I’ll look at your profiles,” he declared, “if you tell me why you’re so desperate to convince me I’m not truly attracted to you.”

Forget crossing her legs, Miho really wanted to get up and run, but that was not how one did business, and above all else, she was stubborn.

“This… isn’t about me,” she managed, but her voice was far thinner than she’d have liked.

“Correct,” he agreed. “It’s about a customer, and unless I’m mistaken, they are always right.”

There was a corner, and though Goto not once raised his voice, not once moved a muscle toward her, Miho felt herself backed more and more into it – not a feeling she enjoyed one bit.

“What I hear,” he continued, gesturing now with his hand as he spoke, “is a lot about me. Wouldn’t it just be simpler to say, I’m sorry Mr. Goto, but I’m not interested in you? Why not just say that, if it’s true?”

How the hell was she supposed to answer that?

“I…”

… am really glad neither Jazz or Selina are here to see this?

“You will look at the profiles?” she said finally, changing direction.

What does it even matter if he knows?

“Yes,” he agreed, watching her indeed like a cop just waiting for a suspect to crack.

“I was married to a police officer who spent much of his career undercover,” she revealed in more of a rush than she’d meant. “He was betrayed by his comrades and murdered, leaving behind a wife who couldn’t identify his body, and a family who didn’t care for justice, just wanted to forget.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he pointed out, a little more gently.

“Of course it does,” she chuckled, but it was an empty sound. “You told me yourself you’d often taken reckless chances in your work; should I encourage you to believe your feelings for me are real? Should I set myself up to…”

Miho bit her tongue – she’d said enough.

“That, answers your question, I believe.”

Nodding slowly, Goto took up the black folder and opened it, and Miho inhaled very, very slowly, counting in her mind to find some semblance of calm.

Then Goto closed the folder, and pushed it over to her.

Swapping upset for exasperation, she scowled from it to him.

“You said…”

“I said I would look at them, and I have,” he responded, “but what I want isn’t there.”

“I, will… take this under advisement and provide you with more suitable ma…”

“Actually, I think I have decided this marriage set up thing isn’t for me,” he announced. “Of course you’ll be paid everything you’re owed, but this process has helped me see love can’t be subcontracted.”

While Miho just stared at him with her mouth slightly open – a dumb expression no doubt – Goto glanced at his watch.

“We should get going,” he prompted. “The restaurant is only down the corridor, but we’re already five minutes late.”

Pursing her lips, and fighting down the heat of frustration that he wouldn’t just let it go for both their sake, Miho stuffed both folders back into her handbag and slid out of the booth.

“We’re not having dinner together, Mr. Goto,” she told him stiffly. “I have other work besides…”

“Another client?” he asked, standing also, though never getting in her way, never blocking.

He could see she was fixing to bolt, see how she struggled to keep it beneath the thin veil of her job, and knew his question was a mean one; so very not like him to be spiteful, to find himself submitting to his own frustration.

“You really shouldn’t ask questions to which you already know the answer,” she told him thinly. “Since we’re in the game of quoting past me, I’m sure you’ll recall I said I wouldn’t lie about what my work entails, you know perfectly well, and in fact you agreed no man in his right mind would dedicate himself to a woman who does what I do.”

Before he could respond, she held up her hand.

“And don’t say you, because we both know how much seeing me with Mr. Ichiyanagi pissed you off.”

By this time, a number of other patrons’ curiosity had been piqued – the standing pair seemed unhappy with one another, shrouded in thick tension: she like she might like to slap him, he like he would let her do it and go back for seconds.

“It did,” he admitted quietly, reaching for her collar that only partially hid the little red welt.

The sound of Miho snatching Goto’s wrist before he could reach his target was quiet, but their audience was attentive. They saw it came as no surprise to him, but to her…

Even after several meetings of deep discussion about the most intimate parts of a client, even after test driving, Miho had managed thus far to see them as words on a page, one part of a product requiring her to find the other in order to be successful in her work. This disassociation allowed her to enjoy the time she spent with them, but to cleanly let go at the end of the day – no baggage, no emotional attachment, because her job was to make them happy with someone else.

She’d been pushing so hard to see him as ‘client’ and not ‘man’, that the warmth of his skin actually surprised her, but before she could recoil, he deftly slid his hand through her hold and laced their fingers together.

A woman across the room audibly gasped.

Despite his audacity, Goto blushed; this was so far outside his comfort zone he barely knew himself; but at the same time, he knew he’d regret letting her just walk away before he was absolutely certain what he saw in her eyes was just his own wishful thinking.

“You’re going to make someone very happy one day,” she told him, a whisper so slight Goto had to strain to hear it.

“Give me a…” he began, but Miho was already pulling her fingers free and making good her escape.

She shouldered her bag and he watched her weave through the tables and exit before another female voice actually startled him, the woman who had gasped, a foreigner by appearance.

“Shouldn’t you go after her?” she half questioned, half suggested.

With a decisive nod, Goto left the bar, calling a room number out to the bartender as he left in order to cover his untouched drink.

“Miho!” he barked, seeing her enter the elevator at the end of the hall.

She turned to the sound of her name, scowled and shook her head, and even as Goto jogged toward her she pressed furiously against the ‘close doors’ button.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Goto, can you just let it the hell alone?” she growled, but closed her eyes, closed them, closed them tightly so she didn’t need to see his face that split second before the doors came summarily between them.

Despite appearances, Miho was relatively rational. She had come to a foreign country alone and now was part owner in a successful, lucrative business. Educated and worldly, financially secure and not at all bad on the eyes, she was ‘a catch’ – though we all know her attitude could use a little adjustment. The point is, it wasn’t as if she thought herself unworthy of a man like Goto.

Fear, is perhaps the most difficult thing to rationalise.

And so if Goto, being all other things the same, was not a police officer, this narrator can safely say you’d be thigh deep in smut again by now… or more likely still thigh deep in smut.

Miho knew he was being the honest one, watched him hedge his way out onto an ever narrowing limb in an attempt to get her to do the same; and she shook it furiously trying to dislodge him – not because she didn’t feel the same, but because the acuteness of burying a casket of ‘remains’, nothing even remotely resembling her husband, made her want to curl up into a ball and sob like a frightened child.

“It’s easier to be a bitch,” she shuddered out, trying to catch elusive breath and even more elusive calm.

No one would argue she wasn’t good at it.

It provided armour, and though she hadn’t truly ever had to use it against a client before, it had saved her many times when she’d felt her strength wane; but all she could see when she looked at her reflection in the elevator’s ear glass wall, was Goto’s face, and the expression he wore after her sucker-punch.

Ding.

The doors rattled open behind her, and the face she saw in the glass changed.

His hair was dishevelled, his posture slumped, his suit jacket askew, but he looked up from where he’d skidded before the doors to catch his breath, to see her turn: bewildered.

“Did you just… run, thirteen flights of stairs?” she murmured in shock, several hotel patrons and a couple of staff wondering something similar.

“You’re so… stubborn,” he panted, swallowing as he straightened and wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

“Says Mr. Won’t Take No For An Answer!” she exclaimed, vexation emerging out the other side of shock.

“You haven’t said no,” he pointed out.

The doors began to close, but Goto pushed them back again, filled the space between them with his determination for one, last, attempt.

“Tell me plain, say no,” he told her, dark eyes serious and impossibly frank, “and you get your cheque in the mail and that’s the last of it.”

Just one syllable.

Almost as if searching for help, Miho peered beyond him at the various and sundry trying to look like they weren’t looking at the curious and dramatic scene. Her lips moved, they opened but seemed to lose their sense of language.

Goto stepped into the elevator and turned to the foyer.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologised, bowed, then allowed the doors to finally shut.

Miho turn back to the rear of the elevator and glared at the ground floor garden through the glass.

“Drama isn’t in your profile,” she said, her voice small – far too small for the likes of her.

“It’s certainly not my preference,” he responded, hitting the button for the top floor, perhaps to buy them some time, “but when necessity calls.”

“Ha, well,” she chortled thickly, “I’d make some revision, but you said you’re done.”

“I can’t and won’t force anything on you,” he scowled over her shoulder, there mere thought of that terrible thing.

He remained at what little distance the confined space allowed, despite his pursuit not wanting her to feel boxed in.

“But,” he continued, combing fingers through his messy hair, “I also don’t want you to refuse yourself the possibility of… love… out of fear I might be hurt, that I might leave you.”

“So you’re on a crusade to save me from myself, huh?” she snorted self-deprecatingly.

“You’re not the only idealist here,” he stated. “I don’t like to let go of the things that are important to me.”

“I’m not an ideal… anything,” she choked out, shaking her head, perhaps to hide the red creeping into her eyes.

Finally, Goto stepped up to her, and when she didn’t move he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.

“Fine,” she inhaled sharply, dropping her chin. “You’re in my head, you’re under my god damned skin, hell I even…”

Before she could say something in breach of contract, she chewed off the end of her sentence and started fresh, digging out the strength she knew she had to turn and face him.

“But none of that changes why I have to finish this job and forget you.”

Ding.

The doors opened at the top most level, revealing the entrance to the dimly lit rooftop bar. Once more, Goto slipped his fingers in between Miho’s, and with gentle encouragement she followed him out.

He waved away the waitress that drew close when they approached a table, pulling out one chair for Miho before settling himself, their woven grip remaining throughout.

“When Natsuki was killed,” he said, his voice low causing the small candle between them to flicker, “the world I knew, cared for, ended.”

Miho didn’t want to hear this – it just made fighting the burn of ugly tears that much more difficult; but it wasn’t like she could tell him to shut up right there when he was sharing arguably his most painful memory.

Well, she could, but even for Miho it seemed there was a limit to how horrid she could be.

“I’ve already told you how I took stupid risks, not caring if I lived or died because, what was life without her? The one person I could trust without any doubt.”

He didn’t move to wipe the tears away as Miho finally blinked them free, just squeezed her hand and continued.

“I took my frustrations out on the criminal world, and it didn’t matter if I was hurt because, there was no pain more acute, than losing her,” he elaborated. “And I had even convinced myself it would have been better if I’d never met her, or been partnered with her at all. It took a long time, but I finally realised that was a terrible thing to think about someone who’d meant so much, and who had had such a positive impact on my life.”

That was quite the monologue, and Miho just stared at their hands entwined on the tabletop, trying not to sob.

“I know your pain,” he told her more softly, thumb grazing over the back of her hand, “and I would never wish that on you again, but I would gladly accept all that hurt myself… for just one day with you.”

“I hate you,” she muttered under her breath, words tangled in her throat. “You make it sound so god damned simple, but you can’t… promise you won’t…”

“No, I can’t,” he agreed, weathering her defensive abuse. “Some things are beyond my control. But give me a chance to make you some promises I can keep.”

“And if I do?” she murmured, and when she looked up, Goto was struck by the open vulnerability in her swimming eyes.

But he smiled a warming, penetrating smile.

“I’ll make you happy, for as long as I’m able to,” he replied, “and you’ll make me happy by allowing me to.”

“You know what I do,” she pointed out thickly, her fingers twitching in his.

“And I love that your job is about making people happy,” he nodded, then tilted his head a little to one side, hair sliding across his forehead. “Though… when I saw you with Ichiyanagi, knowing why you were with him…”

He paused, his scowl drawing his eyebrows right down over his eyes.

“I could barely stop myself from pulling you away.”

Miho’s lips pursed and her eyes drifted back down to their hands.

“Work is work… but… I wanted you to,” she admitted, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling a slow, calming sigh. “So, you’d ask I give up my career, my business?”

“Mm, no,” he answered, finally leaning across the table to gently wipe the watery drip of tears and mascara from the point of her chin. “Like I said, I like that your work is about helping others find love; but the whole sexual test drive part…”

He winced – was he asking too much already? It was clear in his expression he wasn’t sure, but at the same time, he had to think that client, ex-client of man she met in the street, ultimately to be with him completely she would surely have to give up sleeping with other men, even if it was part of her job.

“But,” he went on, obviously steeling himself, “until you’re sure, about me – us – I know I don’t have a right to ask you to give up anything, other than some time for us.”

“Really?” she sniffed a little incredulously, taking up a napkin from the table and dabbing under her eyes. “Hm, that’s generous and all Mr. Goto…”

“Seiji,” he corrected with a somewhat diffident smile.

“Seiji,” she managed, though even she felt a little self-conscious saying it now, even though she had moaned it during his date scenario. “But if I was going to try my luck with a man, seriously, there’s no way I could even think about intimacy on any level, with another.”

“Um, so?” he frowned, not quite sure what that meant exactly, whether it was a she would stop because she was going to try her luck with him or if she was just posing a hypothetical.

“I don’t know, what Jazz is doing and Selina…” she began, lolling her head back to look up at the clouded Tokyo sky, “but I guess, if I can get her to finally realise she and Aikwara need to get it together then we’ll have to employ some new staff for test driving.”

She had stopped crying, and seemed to be in serious thought.

“I should get onto Kyobashi about that,” she mused, chewing her lower lip.

“Kyobashi?” Goto questioned, trying to draw her back to the table.

“Oh jeez, forget I said that name, that’s, that is not supposed to be common knowledge,” she rushed, blinking back to the moment at hand.

Finally Got felt like he could relax a little – she wasn’t crying, she wasn’t fighting or defensive, and he thought she was already thinking of a strategy that meant she wouldn’t have to do client test driving anymore?

“So, you want to try for dinner?” he offered tentatively, giving her hand another squeeze to ground her further. “Or maybe just… room service?”

“Room service?” she repeated slowly, narrowing her eyes at him, and instantly he was rubbing the back of his neck in that embarrassed gesture becoming more and more familiar to her.

“I wasn’t going to give up,” he told her after a few seconds of squirming. “So, I banked on success, but… we don’t have to of course, we have a reservation at the restaurant and you’ve no obligation at all to…”

“Courage,” she sighed, really looking at him properly, her shoulders slumped as if really exhausted. “I’d add a note to your profile about how it’s one of among many of your admirable qualities, but I guess that’s a bit redundant.”

“It is,” he agreed with a smile, and stood from his seat. “So… which is it?”

“Room service,” she declared, also getting to her feet, but she remained where she was, with their hands still joined but a little stretched. “But, before that could you show me, that courage, just one more time… so I can, borrow, some of it.”

Kindly he smiled at her and in the faint candle lit night he stepped against her and cupped one side of her face.

“I will show you as many time as you need me to,” he whispered, before lightly touching his lips to hers, no matter who or how many were watching.

And when they parted, he was heartened by the soft, relaxed expression on Miho’s face, and the gentle pressure of her free hand against his chest.

“Come on,” he urged with a slight tug on her hand. “No one else needs to see that face.”

“Possessive?” she smirked, bumping into his side.

“Maybe, just a little bit,” he admitted, touching her collar to the side, and this time she didn’t stop him. “It’s hard not to be, when I know he’s marked you like that.”

“Mhmm,” she murmured, cringing a little when she thought her throat was only the tip of the iceberg. “Yeah well, I’m not with him now, am I?” she tried to reason.

“No, you’re not,” Goto agreed, and urged her back in the direction of the elevator.

SUGGESTED LISTENING for this scene - CLICK HERE Goto and Miho’s theme song - ‘Flames’ by VAST

Miho remained quietly at his side as they rode down to the seventh floor, following along to his suite without protest, but deep in thought.

“I feel like we’ve done this kind of backwards,” Goto chuckled nervously, looking back at her as he swiped the hotel card to open the door.

“You mean, we got married first?” she sought in clarification, her voice a little sheepish.

“Perhaps I need to carry you backwards over the threshold to undo it,” he suggested. “Though, if I’m honest, I don’t really want to.”

“I always thought I’d only get married once,” Miho admitted with a reserved shrug of her shoulders, following him into the suite. “Life, doesn’t always give us what we expect.”

“Nope,” he agreed, tugging her hand sharply and drawing her into his arms, “but it sometimes gives us second chances.”

Miho’s brows twitched, even if she hadn’t meant them to.

“And every single time you get that frightened look in your eye,” he said, brushing her hair back and holding her face, “I’ll kiss you, so you remember it’s worth being brave.”

“Please kiss me,” she begged in a whisper, and there was nothing in Goto’s expression that suggested he had any intention of non-compliance.

The slide of his hands into her clothing was slow and unhurried, like the gentle trace of his tongue between her lips and breath that sighed her name. Piece by piece their attire was cast aside, until Goto pushed Miho back to arm’s length and looked her up and down.

“Would you hate me, if I was to replace all these marks with my own?” he asked with a scowl, glossing his fingertips over each mark Subaru had left on Miho’s body.

“No,” she answered simply, turning her head to expose the first he’d spied on her throat.

With painstaking dedication, leaving no part of her unsearched, Goto applied adequate pressure with his mouth to renew the vitality of each palling welt, signing purposeful ownership over her flesh in a way Subaru could not have. And when he’d laid her down and suckled over the last against her right breast, he returned to her lips as if for reward.

“Feel better now?” she smiled dreamily, looking up at him, carding her fingers through his hair with one hand, stroking him lazily from base to tip with the other, until he had readied the condom to protect them both.

“It’s going to take a little more than that,” he told her honestly, walking fingers down her abdomen, and Miho closed her eyes.

This time she didn’t need to imagine it was him touching her, parting the slick warmth between her legs and working her clit so desperate for his ministrations alone. And she remembered every ridge, each standing vein that caused Goto’s shaft to pulse with the racing of his heart.

She believed it raced for her – but while hers pounded against the confines of her chest as she rolled, straddled him and looked down into his face her fears bubbled… bubbled… bubbled.

“No,” he hissed, rocking up, crushing is already ridged cock between them and bringing their lips together once more. “Right now it’s just you and me and how I feel about you.”

“You hardly know anything about me at all,” she frowned, arms wrapped around his neck loosely. “I could be an axe murderer for all you know; shit have one conversation with Jazz and she’ll tel…”

He cut her off with the surprisingly fierce thrust of his tongue into her mouth, and the clamp of his arms, hands that slid down her back and lifted her ass up from his lap, just enough to position the standing call of his length against the dripping welcome of her core.

On her knees, she hovered with him just resting there, looking into his eyes with growing determination – she didn’t want him to have to keep telling her to stop being pathetic, even though he’d never say it like that.

So she pushed him back until he flopped down on the pillow.

“I, on the other hand, know more about you than anyone else in the whole world,” she told him, her eyes rolling upward as she slid herself slowly down onto him. “Including how, perfectly you stretch me.”

When she focused again, it was to find Goto gritting his teeth a little, lying still, but the tensing in his thighs told her he badly wanted to move.

“If anyone else knew that,” he groaned as she leaned just a fraction and dug onto him even more firmly by digging down with her hips, “I’d be… upset.”

“You’re normally so composed… Lieutenant,” she grinned, rolling forward, undulating her body and squeezing tightly each time she drove against him, “I can’t quite imagine you, upset.”

“You nearly didn’t have to,” he hissed, digging his fingers into her thighs, aching to make her move more swiftly. “If you’d turned me away, I… I don’t know…”

Miho smiled, falling forward against his chest to speak against his hungry lips.

“You don’t need to know, Seiji,” she exhaled, nibbling, pecking, teasing until his grip tightened and he bought his body up to meet hers.

Amid gasping breaths, the slap of bodies meeting in the middle, and the heightening frequency of deep throated moans and passionate utterances comprehendible only by them, Miho and Goto found equal ground.

In the physically intense union of flesh and sweat, and the surrender of fear and baggage, both let go what tomorrow might bring – even if only for that night.

“You cum first tonight,” she declared, leaning back and supporting her body with her arms, bucking vigorously, bringing them as close as unreserved penetration could – and it had the desired result.

“Gah… Miho that’s…” he growled, strong hands clasping her knees urgently, until he forced the fingers of one hand to relax and release her, then applied them where they’d bring her the most pleasure.

“Think I’m… going… to let you get the… best of… me twice in one night?” she snarled, slapping one hand over his where he’d begun rubbing it against her clit.

“Hey!” he barked as she tried to pull his hand away.

The fight became so spirited in fact, Goto sat up again, and together they toppled right off the bed onto the floor – where he pinned her down.

“Best you know I’m trouble now,” she laughed, fighting the good fight, actually struggling with all her skill, but Goto’s strength and ability at subduing felons won out until both Miho’s hands were pinned either side of her head.

“Trouble I can handle,” he breathed against her throat, wetting it with his saliva, speaking cool against her flaming skin.

“You sure?” she scowled, snapping her teeth, then sinking them into his shoulder when she couldn’t capture his lips.

This did not deter his zealous efforts to thwart her plan, the depth of his plunge far and beyond their mere bodies. Legs clinching and trembling, fingernails digging and scraping, toes curling, and short, desirous breaths, intermingled with the profound longing for a peace both had told themselves was beyond their reach for too long.

It crashed together in a furious crescendo, the twist and grasp and ardent, uninhibited exploration of bodies holding nothing back, until both laid draped, content and spent in an embrace finally made tranquil by two hearts slowly resuming their normal rhythm – as one.

“You hoped that I’d remember,” he whispered against her brow, her head resting on his shoulder, “then told me to forget – that was never going to happen.”

“I’m sorry I said that,” she murmured, one finger outlining his nipple lightly. “It was selfish, and unfair.”

“I know why you did,” he smiled, kissing her lightly, enjoying the ache in his legs and the warm dampness of their interwoven limbs. “It actually gave me hope, that you felt more for me than just as a client.”

“Need to work on my poker face I guess,” she chuckled wryly, kissing his chest to the point where he let out a little noise of surprise at the sting.

“Did you?” he blinked, tilting his head to look down.

“Think you’re the only one who gets to leave marks?” she smirked, thumbing across his lips but refusing to kiss them.

“I suppose you haven’t looked at my back and shoulders?” he snorted, shrugging a little for emphasis. “I’m not going to be able to take my shirt off at work for weeks.”

“I don’t have issue with that,” Miho laughed, kissing against the various red impressions of her teeth across his broad shoulders. “This body is… perfect,” she added with a sigh, and Goto looked away, actually embarrassed. “Really?” she chuckled, wrapping her arm over him and squeezing him tightly. “You’re getting all embarrassed about how insanely sexy you are after what we’ve gotten up to?”

“For all you have difficulty saying, what comes to you easiest is what affects me most,” he grumbled, but it was an affectionate sound that lingered lovingly in Miho’s ears.

“And this is why women secretly rule the world,” she grinned, scratching her teeth down his right pectoral.

“Hungry?” he questioned.

“Well, this is the second time you’ve made me miss dinner,” she pointed out cheekily, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head.

Goto’s hand flat against her spine, ghosting slowly down its length, caused her to shiver and look back at him.

“I’m hungry too,” he told her frankly, index finger gliding slightly into her rear crevice before falling away, and Miho’s eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Nothing, I ahh, just didn’t really peg you for an ass man,” she snickered, purposefully shimmying back and sitting right on his hand, much to Goto’s surprise.

“Peg… ass…” he repeated, turning this over in his mind, and as he did, he looked a little more panicked. “Wait, you don’t think I was suggesting that I, that we…”

“So that’s a no?” she questioned airily, wriggling against his trapped hand.

“It’s not a… no,” he frowned in consternation, a little confused perhaps and a whole lot unsure. “It’s just not something I’ve really, ever thought about or – would ask a woman to… you know.”

“God you’re precious,” she gushed, rolling on top of him just long enough to kiss him firmly, before continuing on her way off the bed.

“I’m going to end up with a complex,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead, but Miho only laughed and strode over to snatch up the room service menu.

“Okay, my ass aside, what else are you in the mood for?” she teased, flopping back down on the end of the bed.

 They ate, drank, and watched half of Madagascar before a tickle war devolved into another round of passionate exchanges that stretched well on into the morning.

Goto couldn’t remember the last time he woke up with a woman in his arms, let alone one like Miho.

Beautiful.

Successful.

Opinionated.

Fearless, and yet… fractured.

Forthright and formidable, but… fragile.

“I want to protect you,” he whispered into her hair, kissing against her temple lightly.

“Mmm,” Miho murmured sleepily, turning her face against Goto’s skin. “I will bite you again.”

“Please do,” he challenged, lips moving to her ear.

“Calling my bluff?” she grumbled, words muffled against his chest, dragging her leg up over him until her knee was bent against his stomach.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he chortled, tracing up her shin, then along her thigh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t swallow, no matter how hot you are,” she snorted, giving his cheek a solid pinch.

“Vulgar,” he quipped, turning his face into her hand snatching a couple of her fingers between his lips.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she smirked, allowing him to suckle for a few seconds before she drew her fingertips down his stubbled chin.

“I’ll learn,” he smiled, genuine and determined. “No regrets?”

“No,” she smiled back, her expression serene, her heart calm. “None.”

“Okay, then go have a shower and I’ll order us some coffee,” he prompted, throwing the blanket off their naked bodies.

“Ughh, you know, the last time you told me to take a shower, I got out and you were nowhere to be seen?” she pointed out with a pout as he lifted her up, and actually set her on her feet.

“But you remember what happened after that right?” he pointed out, tucking wild wisps of her hair back over her ears. “And, you trust me?”

Miho turned her head against his palm – warm and wide, skin firm and manly, not too rough, not too soft.

“I will start calling you Aladdin,” she warned, kissing his hand before backing away.

“I could see you as a princess,” he mused, then suddenly looked a little abashed, perhaps realising he stood there totally naked before Miho’s open and obvious appraisal.

“Cuuute,” she grinned impishly, then ducked into the bathroom.

 Miho didn’t loiter in the shower very long, and was actually a little disappointed Goto didn’t join her. Still, it gave her some space to process what she’d done and mull over her feelings.

The death of her husband had ruined her - this was a truth she had spoken to herself over and over like a mantra meant to save her life – but with Goto on her mind somehow those words didn’t have as much power.

If she was so defeated, then how did she have the close friends she did? How had she built a successful business with them? How had she not shoved out of that elevator, and stomped the hell away with that mantra ringing infallibly in her ears?

“Back to being spoiled instead of ruined?” she asked her reflection, smiling though her body was dotted with little marks… some not so little.

To her surprise, that question’s first answer was not to run the fuck away and hide, even though she’d had her fears, fears that could not be erased completely in one night, but had been at the very least weakened.

“Of all the men you’ve come to know,” she exhaled. “A lot of men, you never felt like this about any of them since...”

There was no way for her to pinpoint when she’d crossed the line between seeing him as a client and fighting against seeing him as more. All she had was where she stood now, with a pleasant fatigue still lingering in her muscles, pleasant memories of the night just passed, and a tentative hope those were not the last they’d make together.

Eventually, fighting a sense of déjà vu, Miho exited the bathroom.

There were no candles this time, but a spread of delicious breakfast goodies on the table.

What was familiar, was the lack of Goto.

“Seriously, if he went to shower somewhere else this time, I’m going to be really pissed,” she muttered, drawn by the small of strong coffee to the table, where her gaze perused what was on offer.

Fruit, muffins, cereal, miso, salad, various warm dishes hidden beneath silver lids, and a curious white box with a blue ribbon tied around it, accompanied by a little card instructing her to open it.

Suspicious, Miho looked around, expecting Goto to jump out and scare her – not that she thought he was really the prankster type. Apprehension still twisted in her stomach; she wasn’t a huge fan of surprises, but she picked up the box and tucked away the bow, inhaling and holding her breath as she lifted the lid.

Within was a tiny piece of folded paper – certainly not what she had been expecting – not that she had been expecting anything!

“What are you up to?” she whispered, smoothing out the paper to find a short note written inside. “I hope you’re at least a little bit disappointed,” she read aloud, “because that will make this a whole lot easier on me. Huh,” she frowned, staring down at it like there was more to glean from just those words alone. “The hell is that supposed to me…”

“Miho,” Goto said to her left, and Miho’s head snapped in that direction.

He was perfectly groomed.

Expression unflinchingly attentive.

Dressed in a tuxedo and positioned beside her chair on bended knee.

“No… way,” Miho exhaled, staring.

“Despite coming to MJS without expectation,” he told her, serious beyond measure, “I did so with every intention of finding that woman with whom I could share the rest of my life.”

“You’re really-” she began again, eyes wide, but got no further when Goto placed a finger against her lips.

“I had my doubts about the inorganic nature of the process, but every time we met I realised more clearly, something very natural was developing despite us. And when you left the other night, when I saw you with… at the grocery store, it hurt so much, I had to face the fact I’d fallen in love with the one person you wouldn’t offer in your meticulous profiles.”

The little diversionary note fluttered forgotten from between Miho’s fingers to the carpet, settling in the small space between them.

“And I’m amazed that you’re here with me now,” he pressed on, gaze undaunted despite the weight of each word, “grateful, blessed… and hopeful.”

The cry of tiny, old hinges called Miho’s attention to the scuffed wooden ring box that was pinched between Goto’s thumb and forefinger, and the very obvious symbol nestled in the black cushioning within.

Miho’s next breath entered her lungs as a gasp, a half-sob, and was imprisoned there as the world ground to a vivid halt. There was no sharper focus than that moment, nothing else around them but the hum of sincere emotions limited only by the frustrating constraint of verbal language.

“Please,” he entreated, and yet it didn’t sound like he was begging, just expressing not desire, but need, “let me be a support to your triumphs,” he went on a little breathlessly, but his offering did not waver in the slightest. “Please, let me stand beside you and face your challenges, as our challenges. And when this indomitable woman - who has dominated my affections so completely - finds her strength failing, please let me be the one to hold her safe until she finds herself again.”

There was no thought.

Amazement wasn’t thought.

Bewildering, unrestrained, unbalanced, shuddering, rocking, wonder wasn’t thought.

“There isn’t a single woman,” she managed shakily, hands twitching unconsciously where they rested across her knees, “in the world,” she continued, “straight, gay, undetermined, who could say no to that.”

“But I only need one, to say yes,” he pointed out solemnly, but his lips finally upturned, just slightly in an optimistic expression that shattered whatever reserve of resistance Miho had reflexively been clinging to.

“Let me be your husband,” he whispered, gently taking up her left hand and kissing the place where he’d already placed a ring once.

Not be my wife – let me be your husband.

“Yes,” Miho uttered, the last of the air she’d been holding in her lungs, but the purest response possible.

With audible relief, Goto plucked the ring from its moorings and put the box aside, before settling the antique polish of the ring just over her fingernail.

“You… you’re sure?” he asked again, and Miho slid off her chair to bring herself to his eye level.

“You really want me to change my mind?” she chortled thickly.

“I don’t think I could survive that,” he admitted sheepishly, pushing the ring onto her finger, before entangling their fingers.

It was a little big, would need to be resized, but that was hardly a consideration for that moment.

“When my grandmother died,” he said quietly, resting his forehead against her lightly. “My grandfather gave me her engagement ring, pretty uncommon for their era, and told me I wasn’t to part with it for anything less than the love he’d felt for her.”

“How long were they married?” Miho asked, tilting her head up, desperate to kiss him.

“Over seventy years,” he replied softly, sliding his hand into her robe to pull her against him. “A pretty impressive record.”

“We got this,” she smiled, claiming what was of him, hers, allowing him to claim what was of her, his.

And thankfully, reverently, together they once more indulged in what was theirs.

@hifftn @nitelotus @smutmylifeup @smile-smile-ichthys

#Voltage inc #voltage fanfic #voltage smut #voltage smuff #voltage angst #mjs #mjs marriage matchmaking agency #miho fujiwara #seiji goto #her love in the force #hlitf #hlitf fanfic #goto is so precious

[palace-of-freedom]

Satisfaction vs Happiness

Do happiness and satisfaction always go together or can you have one without the other? I think being satisfied with where you are in life increases your chances of being happier, and vice versa, but not always. I think there are exceptions to the correlation and I'm pretty sure I'm one of them.

Around 3 years ago, I was pretty satisfied with my life. There was very little I wanted to change about it, and I was content. I wasnt over the top happy, at least I dont think I was. I smiled a lot, I wasn't very sensitive and I was just there - living my life as it was, and took on whatever came at me.

During the past year and a half though, I've felt more happiness but I'm also more dissatisfied. If you ask me what I would change about my life, I can list out at least 10 things at the top of my head. I wish i didnt have to deal with conflicts. I wish i didn't have arguments with friends. I wish I had never been hurt. I wish I had a healthier family. I wish I had never experienced heartbreak. There was a time, a few months ago when I wished I wasn't born. These feelings are scary because then i wouldn't be who I am today - I would be what I was 3 years ago, but even I dont know who or what that was.

What I feel today is chaotic. I can't sleep at night without my brain going into an overdrive. I'm hypersensitive. In the past, there were only a handful of people capable of hurting me. Today almost anyone can and I hate it. I feel weak and unacceptable. Earlier, I was someone everyone could love. Today, very few people can tolerate the real me - the person who says what she feels and wants; who has thoughts, feelings, opinions and a voice. Everyone loves people who are puppets. Why wouldn't they? They're easy to play around with and manipulate and they bend to your will. A person with a backbone is a problem.

Having a backbone combined with a need to please and make people happy is a huge issue though. How do you balance it? There are so many times when I want to tell people around me that they're stupid idiots (and I do sometimes). I want to be selfish and dissociate from the world (but that doesnt do much - at the end of the day, either I feel guilty or people feel like they cant talk to me, or I do it, feel better for a day and then go back to feeling like I'm on the verge of insanity). I want to scream my feelings out to the universe but I just can't.

Despite this, I still feel happier. I like myself more. I like standing up for myself and what I believe in rather than cowering. I prefer voicing my opinions and feelings rather than bottling them up. I like having a low bullshit tolerance. I feel more like a real person this way. I feel every emotion fully - be it happiness or sadness, anger or love. I feel happier. I laugh and I smile more without having to fake it. The old me was like a middle ground of emotions. Today, I feel all the extremes.

But at the same time, having feelings is just a pain. there's no other word for it. If you cant feel anything and its all just empty and numb then its a problem and at the same time if you feel everything also its a problem. Thats not fair. And I know life isn't fair and stuff but that's not the point. The point is how do you deal with everything and maintain a balance. How do you stop from disociating? How do you maintain friendships? How do you stop pushing people away? How do you shut off your brain and just sleep?

I may feel happy more, but I'm not satisfied. I want too much out of life. I have more hopes and expectations from friends, family and the universe and that has always been my downfall. My wants, my needs, my thoughts, my feelings, my opinions - they're things that no one but me can tolerate and experience. And for a person who's self worth has always been measured by people around her - its painful. the backbone keeps breaking because of how weak and incapable of dealing with stress it is. Hopefully time will strengthen it but lets see. I dont want to put that expectation on myself because if I fail and if this is all I am, the only person who'll end up upset and disappointed is me and I don't want to put that pressure onto myself.

[mothergoddessslut]

My first love.

This is not about sex. This is simply about love.

I told others I loved them before he came. But I didn’t. I probably thought I did in the moment when they said it. But I didn’t.

I had not loved a man until D.

I was 16. He was 21.

We were introduced via three way phone call. A hook up. My friend Chanel said I have a perfect match for you. Her boyfriends best friend.

We connected immediately. Talked for HOURS. I wish I could remember what we said. How we said it. But I do know I told him I loved him before I even met him. And when I met him I loved him even more. Deeply.

His smile. His teeth. His lips. Almond complexion. The way he stood , Like his dick was big. The way he smiled while whispering nasty shit to me. He made my entire body tingle. I never experienced that.

We stared at each other. We couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We had sex on our first date. It was a tad awkward. We shared space with Chanel and her boyfriend. We were on the floor. They were on the bed. We tried to use a condom (one of two times in our history). Tried not to make too much noise. It wasn’t our best. But we knew the potential.

We saw The Blair Witch Project. I don’t know what happened in that movie.

I loved him. So much. Only wanted him. Forever.

The next day he came to my house. We fucked. All day. We showered together. I let him mess up my hair.

Soreness after sex is gratifying. And exhilarating. Vagina feeling tender. Thighs and hips stretched out and aching. Flesh stinging from bites and slaps. Always memories of a great time. This was every time. For us.

My first love was the love of a lifetime. All began and ended with him. I found myself obsessed. Only wanting him.

Nearly every day. After school. Weekends. We saw each other. We laid up. We fucked. We argued. We gave each other silent treatment. We made up. We loved. And we fucked some more. Always late to get somewhere. Always an excuse of why we couldn’t make it somewhere. Just to be under each other.

At the climax in a journey of conquering men, he was the first to conquer me. Before I knew what a submissive was , I became that. Allowing him to dominate my body , plan for me, guide and lead me. I enjoyed it. His power made me cum.

With him I explored the ways in which people express love physically. Nothing was off limits. Love meant he could have any and everything.

With him I played house. I took care of him. I nurtured him. I shared the most intimate parts of myself with him. I cried with him. And I don’t cry.

Why didn’t I marry him ?

Well. I’m no good. I’m scared. I’m a mess.

He scared me. And I scared myself.

When faced with the next step of life being college and then in turn making decisions that would shape my adult life ... I began to question whether this love could sustain us for a life time. Was I enough ? Was he enough ? Did he need me more than I needed him? Or did I need him more? Did I want to need him ? Could there be somebody else ? What if there were somebody else ? What if we have kids and we have to struggle? I don’t want to struggle.

My mother and father were deeply in love. And they struggled. And they were both hurt. And I didn’t want that. I wanted to be normal. Have a normal life.

We were not normal. We were out of this world. Intensely infatuated. Jealous. I couldn’t handle him and other girls. He couldn’t handle me and other guys. But we handled each other well.

I’ve always struggled with depression. I watch movies and I spend days envisioning my life to be the story line. And I would be sad. That my life was my life and not the one in the movie. No matter how tragic the movie was.

It brings me to bouts of sadness. Numbness. I explained that to him once. And he got it. And he tried so hard to keep me satisfied.

I’ve always been dissatisfied. With life.

His trying made me feel unworthy of him. His trying made me feel like one day I would lose myself completely and he would leave me. He made me feel like this can’t last. Because things like this just don’t last.

I cheated. I broke his heart. I chose another path. I never forgot him.

On a summer night. While on a break from my college boyfriend. 24 years old. And back at my moms. We reconnected.

He had a whip. He was grown. And so fucking sexy. And that smile...

We rode around. Smoked. We stopped. I wanted him and I let it be known. I sucked his dick because I missed it. In the back seat we used a condom for the second and last time. I came like rivers. I went home wanting him more and forever. But I stopped myself from starting something that we couldn’t sustain. Another heartbreak probably.

That was then.

But now he remains. The greatest love. This chapter is about love. How even when it pauses it remains pulsing and thriving. Waiting for a phone call or a text or dream to revive it.

It doesn’t take much to carry on. Even when you’ve chosen a different path.

Note: each love is unique. And cannot be duplicated. I’ve tried replicate what I’ve had with D. I’ve failed and been left yearning.

[thenerdytacosuitworld-blog]

Dream to nightmare

               Let me preface this by saying I love bowling and I love to bowl. I will bowl for as long as my life allows it and will continue to compete at the highest level. My life and everything in it has been built around the passion to toss the ball. I’ve met some amazing people and life-long best friends because of this sport. And I will continue to do so for many years, as long as my body allows it.

               The point of this is reflect on a year. My first year as a “full time” player in the PBA. As represented by the title, it didn’t exactly go by as planned or hoped. I think if any of you have talked to me candidly about my season, you’ve probably heard some of the negative comments I have about myself and performance. But nonetheless, it is important to write down thoughts and observations, to better understand the process and understand from an outside perspective the internal struggles and remedies to that.

               I will start all the way back in January. The winter of 2015 was incredible. I was coming off an emotional high, winning my first regional, then winning my first title at the 2015 Qatar Open, and had a really good WSOB. After winning the title and seeing success at the WSOB, I was thinking that maybe this is possible, maybe I could be a professional. So come January, the train kept rolling. I was officially signed as part of Brunswick Pro Staff. Then, I went on to win the Seattle Masters and an entry into the USBC Masters. Awesome, right?

               Then came the three PBA majors swing. The ToC, the Masters, and then the TPC. All in a row. Traveling to OKC was something not high on my list. But I felt obligated to bowl. It’s the Tournament of Champions. Unfortunately, I was traveling alone. This meant no car, no roommate. The hotel offered no airport shuttle and I had to scramble to get a ride to and from the bowling center. Just dumb. Long story short, I ended up bowling decently, but missed the cut which was also the cash line. Frustrated, and a little annoyed, I ended up changing my flight to go to Chicago early for the Masters.

               Masters was fun. I’ve had success there the previous two years, making cut both years. This year, couldn’t get anything rolling. I ended up cashing, but missing cut was again, another disappointment. The trip was better, as I had friends and roommates to have some fun with. It’s amazing how something like that could change the attitude of a trip.

               Off to the TPC. My mom came with me on this trip. I’m always happy when my parents want to come watch me bowl. Something I forget more times than I should is how my bowling is bigger than just me. It was very nice to have her there with me, same as when we were together at the 2015 US Open where I also had some success. However, things just never seemed to pick up. This tournament was definitely one of the low points of my season. Out of all the players competing, only a handful didn’t average above 200 for qualifying. I think less than 10. And I was one of those players who did not. So for me, those three tournaments really put the brakes on the train that was rolling so smooth before.

               After a short turn around, it was time to head back the Middle East for the Emir Cup and the Bahrain Open, along with the Euro Challenge in Munich. Coming off such a rough couple of weeks, it was nice to head back to a place where I had success just a couple months before. And even better I would get to travel with friends and make a great trip out of it off the lanes as well. I ended up bowling pretty well in Qatar again, but didn’t reach the finals. I was ok with that. Bahrain was a different story. I had to re-enter, which in those tournaments was expensive. Bowled bad both squads and more disappointment.

               Euro Challenge was more of the same. Bowling pretty well, but not well enough. Coming up short, I eventually had a great block towards the last day to help get me into the cut. I even made it past the first step, which was awesome as I’d never made it that far before. Once again, bowled mediocre in the semi’s and couldn’t keep up with the scoring pace. I was fighting thumb pain but still. all in all, had another disappointing trip, but it was an improvement.

               You start to notice a trend and may ask “well Cameron, what would you need to happen for a trip that’s not full of disappointment?” My answer to that is I’m there to win. That’s the end game. But realistically I can’t win every single event. To not be disappointed, I want to walk away from an event and feel good with what I did. If I made confident moves and they didn’t work, so be it. But to not make a cut or even be close to one, especially with the level that I feel I can compete at, is almost an automatic disappointment.

               Lets keep moving forward. A little time off after the Euro Challenge and that whole trip, with an OBA Doubles and some local stuff. The next trip was Hawaii. I was looking forward to this trip, as it’s freaking Hawaii. Staying with some friends in the downtown Honolulu area, it was going to be a good trip. And it was. One of the few bright spots this season was that trip. Ended up cashing in the first tournament, finishing 3rd in the second event, and capped it off with a win at the JBPH weekend regional. All in all, got to spend 9 days in Hawaii, made a fair bit of money, and got to be around some friends. Also took home a neat trophy!

               It seemed like those Hawaii regionals really energized me, as going forward after that I had high finishes in following regionals and the OBA Grand Finals. Also successfully defended the Mt. Vernon Open. Went down to Houston for the Doubles and even bowled well down there along with my partner. Overall the summer was actually a decent stretch of tournaments.

               So far, there seems to be somewhat of a pattern. There’ll be stretches of rough bowling, and then there’ll be stretches where momentum is in your favor. Is there any basis to it? Could be. It’s like seeing your ball strike. Once you see it, you will relax and know it’s possible to bowl well. Similarly, seeing a strong finish position in a tournament opens up the confidence to do well in coming events.

                The start of fall had me in Thailand. I was so excited for this trip. It wasn’t quite a sure thing I was going, as flights were expensive and roommates were on the fence. Whatever, I said screw it im going. The format sucked. Yes it was re-entry, but you bowled 3 game sets and had to bowl at least three to count for a 9 game total. Oh, and all three games were on the same pair. And you got to choose the pair you wanted to bowl on. OOOOOKKKKKKKKKK… I was not sharp, but was able to sneak in to the cut, then continue to sneak into the final step before the TV finals. I didn’t miss by much actually. Wonder what would’ve happened if I felt I was throwing it good?

               Thailand was awesome. Would love to go back, but that format sucks. Did I mention you had to pay to bowl the finals too? I ended up getting upgraded to business class on the way back to Seattle which was a pleasant surprise. I love traveling and bowling these events, but some of these formats are ridiculous, especially for a PBA/WBT title. But I digress, I will continue to bowl what I can. Why? Cause I love bowling and competing. (see paragraph one.)

               Fall Swing was next on the list. I wasn’t too happy about having to compete in this one. The formats weren’t in my favor and they were on patterns I’ve bowled on only a handful of times. Long story short, I didn’t make any cashes, even though I was plus on every pattern. More mediocre bowling where I was just a bit short. Probably an extra couple strikes each block and I’m in. A positive part of that trip included a trip to Muskegon where I got to see the Brunswick facilities and even bowl on the famous video pairs. So that was great, and I can’t wait to go back.

               After Fall Swing I was a little bummed to say the least. Where is my career going? Am I really cut out for full time professional bowling? Never thought I’d have to be one of those people who has to consider they are in over their head. I’ve always been at a top level, so accepting mediocrity wasn’t possible. But when reality swings by, how can I deny it?

               Anyway, there was more bowling to do. I bowled the Xtra Frame event put together by Sean Rash in the Chicago area. Awesome event. He worked hard and it certainly showed. This is a tournament I will bowl every year. But bowling wise, more of the same. Squeezed into the cut and absolutely (figuratively) tripped over myself in semifinals. But it was a strong field and I can’t be too dissatisfied to make it as far as I did.

               As the year winds down, the prestigious U.S. Open rolls around in early November. Preceded by an Xtra Frame event and the Team Event, I was there to bowl all three. During the Xtra Frame event, I already had the mindset there is no way I can keep up. It was on Cheetah and after having mediocre after mediocre tournament where I couldn’t string strikes, I was already in panic mode. Oh well, I put on my striking shoes and, strangely enough, managed to grab one of the last cashing spots.

               I was reluctant to bowl the team event from the beginning. It was $500 entry fee and all the people I had in mind for teammates were already taken. But was asked to bowl by a ragtag group and used that “screw it, why not” attitude. 5 bowlers from four different countries, we ended up missing cut by 17 pins. It was heartbreaking. We made a killer run during bakers and to come up short like that was a punch to the gut. Oh well.

               Finally, the real deal. The US Open. The previous year saw me lead the first day, qualify third, and hold on to make match play. This year, I had confidence. Love the longer format and with the 8 ball limit, felt like that helped me in relation to the field. Bowled fairly well through qualifying, even with a disappointing double burn block. Fast forward to the last couple games of semis, I was right in position to grab one of the last spots for match play. Unfortunately, a game with a combination of bad shots and wrong moves ultimately cost me a chance.

               That trip was a success in my opinion. I cashed in 2/3 events and made money overall. Which is always the goal to an extent. Naturally, I can look back and say “well I should’ve done this and I’m in no problem.” But in the moment, bowlers have to do what they think will work. Sometimes it doesn’t, though. Still, finishing that high in that tournament with an extremely talented field is something I’ll take every time.

               Coming down the home stretch. At this point of the year, with only the WSOB and Qatar Open left, my consensus was that I’ve had a very poor year. Just not happy with my finishes, the way I approached certain situations, and my general attitude. But nonetheless, I pushed along. I knew that these tournaments I did very well in last year. And my game is usually sharpest in winter time. With these positive things in mind, I was fairly confident.

               Unfortunately, what could go wrong did go wrong. I don’t want to say I was fighting ball reaction, as I had decent looks to the pocket on all the patterns. But, I couldn’t strike. I felt like I had so many missed opportunities. For example, during the Cheetah Championship, I had at least 5 games where I could’ve had at least a 7 bagger. But every time a ten pin broke up the string. Granted, I shot 160 game 4, but only missing by 20 meant that if just one more ten pin fell, I was in the cut. I don’t want to sound like a scrub, but I couldn’t carry. And it cost me.

               To put in another perspective, I only had 5 opens during the Scorpion block. However, I was only 81 over. I’m not trying to sound like I’m complaining, but at a certain point I need to throw strikes. Especially at this level. My high game during the WSOB was 243. Statistically, over the 32 games I would’ve got lucky enough to carry and shoot a 250+ game. But I didn’t. Looking back, it was the most painful grind I’ve ever had. Why? Because I felt like I was throwing it pretty well and got nothing to show for it. No cashes, no cuts.

               So, at this point in the year, which as of right now just a few weeks ago, I’m sitting there thinking to myself “What the FUCK?” How could I feel like I’m throwing it well, and not even be close to doing anything relevant on tour? Am I that bad of a bowler where my mediocre feels great and is leaps behind my fellow competitors? Certainly, depressing to think about.

               So now, closing the year is the Qatar Open. The one, hopefully, saving grace of the season. A center I’ve had most of my professional success in. Naturally I felt a bit better about going there to bowl. Until I saw the scoring pace. Lawdy, the scores were high. So already now, I’m pressing for some score. Before I even throw a shot, I’m panicking. Pretty crazy, huh? Regardless, I’m there to win. I put my money down, throw on the shirt, and get ready to defend my one and only title.

               I bowled twice the day after I arrived. Was a little groggy, but knew I should push through it and get some rhythm. I didn’t expect to throw a huge block but sometimes it happens. I actually bowled a decent block, but again, not enough score. Bowled again, very subpar, that night. Next morning, another very subpar block. Now I’m in straight press mode. So going into my fourth block, I had a new gameplan. Knowing I needed at least 1400 for cut alone, I started with 190 and just lost it.

               So the next game I had a sort of epiphany. I stopped trying to be a bowler I’m not and just went out to be myself. Then it happened. A trip 4 in the middle of a string. I shouted “about fucking time” (in my head) and then said to myself “this is it. This is the block where it’s my time.” I just knew. I went on to lead the block and actually hang on for a bye out of all of that.

               I’ve told that story to a couple people. That one shot, where I rolled that 4 pin, changed the entire tournament direction for me. Unfortunately, I struggled a bit in step 3, and finished 18th. But for that one block, I bowled incredible and had “it.” Now I have to figure out what that was and how can I bring it out every tournament, in every block. I don’t know. That’s something I need to keep working towards.

               That’s it. That was my year. It is technically my second year on tour, so call it a sophomore slump. Unlike other professional sports like hockey, or basketball, where they still get paid on an off year, we don’t. I really thought I could do this for a living. I’m single, still live with my parents, and have very few responsibilities. I knew I wouldn’t make a killing, but enough to pay bills and continue traveling the world was the goal. Was I delusional? Some people (aka haters) would say absolutely. Others will, and have been all year, applaud me for stepping up and committing to it. Chasing a dream, some would call it.

               Like the title claims, my dream turned into a nightmare. Yes, I will go the extreme and call it that. However, all I can do is keep working and move forward from it. I have tremendous support, from friends, family, and fans. I was told I would never let them down, unless I quit. And I believe that. So, I will say that I will never quit. That’s not part of the dream.

               With all that being said, how can I improve for next season? I think setting expectations lower, in an attempt to quell panic or pressure, is the wrong way to approach it. Instead, I’ll look at preparation and thinking in an attempt to alter goals positively and improve outcomes. I’ve already got a few in mind, but will save that for another post down the line.

               As always, thanks for taking the time to read this. A lot of my supporters want to know some of my internal thinking while bowling, so hopefully this gives some insight. And hey, maybe you learned something that can help you in the future. As I stated before, I’ll never quit. It isn’t the right thing to do. But there will be some changes soon, and look forward to competing at a high level next year.