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laurenwritesfics · 3 years

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Untidy Lives (Preview)

YEAR ONE:

There was only one person April Kepner could truly count on to brighten up a dull day – her mother, Karen, and it seemed she had taken that duty literally. Crunching up the driveway in white heels and a sunshine yellow dress, she greeted April with a screech, enveloping her in a tight hug.

Today, Harriet Kepner-Avery was turning one.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, honey.” Karen pulled back, holding April’s wrists. “Let me look at you.” Her eyes drifted from her daughter’s warm cinnamon hair to her loose blouse, jeans and white sneakers. Throughout April’s adolescence, people had gushed over how much she looked like her mother. Now, she was an entirely separate person. No longer her mother’s shadow. Karen tutted. “Is this what you’re wearing?”

April sighed. “I didn’t have time-“

“Nonsense,” Karen wafted a hand, “your father’s getting the gifts from the car. Go freshen up. We’ll keep the birthday girl occupied for a little while. Besides…” she trailed off, miming a gagging motion and nodding towards the stain on her shoulder. April pulled at the soft cotton and frowned. How long had that stain been there? She didn’t know. The discovery of the stain had diverted her train of thought. She leaned over Karen’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of the familiar blue Volvo.

“Wait, Dad’s here?”

Karen was interrupted – a rare occurrence in their almost forty year marriage – by her husband, Joe. He ambled towards the two of them, lugging a stack of immaculately wrapped gifts.

“Well, hello there Little Miss!”

“Dad! I thought you were working on the farm?”

“What, and miss my granddaughter’s first birthday? Not a chance!” Joe chortled. Karen took two boxes from the top of the pile when Joe arrived at the doorstep. “And I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to this one.” He inclined his head, his voice soft and peppy as he reached past April to tweak Harriet’s nose.

April whipped around to see Matthew bouncing a half-asleep Harriet in his arms. “She’s supposed to be napping for another hour.” She chided.

“I know, but it’s her first birthday. I don’t want her to miss it.”

“She’ll miss it when she uses her ice cream cake as a pillow because she didn’t get a whole nap.”

Matthew huffed. “I think Mommy underestimates me.”

April ignored him, one foot in the doorway. “I’m gonna go change my shirt. You can put the gifts in the living room.”

Karen followed her inside while Matthew, Harriet and Joe moved to the back yard.

As much as she hated to admit it, her mother was right. Changing into a floral blouse and a pair of flats – and at Karen’s insistence, some light makeup – although April felt tired, she didn’t look it anymore. With a final scrunch of her hair and a pop of her lips, she peered out of the bedroom window. Harriet was sat in the grass, her tiny fingers wrapped around the string of a pink balloon. Jackson was pulling the string, making it bob up and down, much to Harriet’s delight. Shit. Jackson. She had assumed he would be late, fresh from the hospital. She blinked rapidly, taken aback, and rushed out of the room. Karen found April with her head in the refrigerator.

“Mom, can you get the candles?”

“What’s the rush?” Karen exclaimed.

April tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning back to meet her mother’s baffled gaze. “Jackson’s here.”

“Oh.” She replied flatly, rifling through every drawer in the kitchen island. “Where are the darn matches?”

“I’m married to a First Responder, remember? They’re in a super-secret safe place that nobody on Earth can find.”

“Of course,” she shook her head in amusement “I’ll go ask him.”

“No,” April stepped away from the refrigerator to block her path “I’ll go. The paper plates and napkins are in the-“

“Third drawer, I know.” Karen pressed a hand to her cheek. “Take a breath. Go out there and enjoy it. I can take care of everything.”

Karen Kepner was a woman of her word. She had fussed over Harriet from the moment she was born. April would usually have found this irritating, but losing Samuel, her first-born, changed that. Karen dropped everything to be with April and Jackson while they grieved. While Jackson worked and April sat sobbing on the couch in their cramped condo. When April got up in the middle of the night, convinced she could hear his cries and Jackson couldn’t console her. What might have seemed like interfering before was now a blessing. Harriet was a blessing. And April was going to experience every moment with her to the fullest extent.

Outside, Joe and Matthew were hunched over the barbecue.

“Mommy’s here!” Matthew hollered, a few whoops and cheers sounding behind him. He sauntered over to April and wrapped his arms around her, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper. “And Mommy looks hot.”

April pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “I should go and say hi to everyone before the cake’s brought out.” Her hands slipped from his chest. It wasn’t hard for Matthew to work out that by ‘everyone’, she meant Jackson. She mingled with family and friends, ate one of Joe’s famous almost-cremated burgers, cuddled and cooed at Harriet. From the outside, it looked easy for her. On the inside, it took every ounce of strength she had.

The moment her eyes locked with Jackson’s, Matthew strolled over, one hand placed protectively on the small of her back. Her past and her present stood before her, and the only similarity between them was the brand of beer they were drinking. Jackson removed one hand from the pocket of his grey hoodie to offer Matthew an awkward handshake.

“No Maggie?” April probed.

“We broke up.” Jackson rubbed the back of his shaved head. “A while ago.”

“Oh, sorry.” April scrunched her nose and inhaled sharply.

“Yeah. I was seeing someone, actually – a paramedic – but we, uh…” He glanced at his feet.

“Ah.” April nodded.

“That sucks, buddy.” Matthew smacked Jackson on the arm. It was like this every time Matthew and Jackson met. Awkward. Stunted. A sterile attempt at civility.

Harriet toddled over, held up by Joe. He wiggled her arms to make it look as if she was waving. “Little Miss was chewing her fist, so I think it’s time for cake.” Jackson bent down as Joe handed her over. “I’ll go help your mother in the kitchen.” He smoothed his shirt. “At least I won’t have to call 911 in an emergency.”

“Good luck.” April quipped.

Jackson’s eyes popped, making Harriet giggle. He, April and Matthew burst into laughter. She was the glue that held their paper-thin relationship together.

A discordant rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ drifted from the kitchen as Joe and Karen emerged with a large pink ice cream cake. Jackson bounced Harriet and kissed her wispy hair. A single candle wilted, unlit, in the center. Still, they mimed blowing it out. Matthew stuffed the candle in his pocket before the cake was set down on the patio table. April held Harriet to her hip and pulled up a chair.

“Everybody grab a plate!” She yelled, and the crowd scattered. They returned to the sight of Harriet happily digging her fist into the cake.

When the time came to open Harriet’s gifts, everyone gathered in the living room to watch her grab and teethe on the corners of the boxes. The first gift was from Matthew’s mother, Patricia, who Harriet had dubbed Tee-Tee. Her relationship with April was complicated, but not complicated enough to stop her from spending time with her second granddaughter. Harriet already owned a sensory play set, but still they appreciated the gesture, thanking her with kind eyes.

“Say thank you, Tee-Tee.” April encouraged Harriet, pointing to Patricia.

Harriet’s lips grappled with the word for a moment. Then, an outburst of “Tee-Tee!”

Patricia smiled, walking over to the couch to sweep her palm across Harriet’s hair and press a kiss to the crown of her head. The next gift came from Jackson’s mother, Catherine, and step-father Richard. A beautifully engraved silver piggy bank with a dollar tucked into the slot.

“It’s never too early to start saving. Especially if she’s going to get into Harvard.” She quirked a perfectly curved eyebrow and smiled.

“Catherine!” Richard playfully chided.

“Thank you.” April said again, beginning to feel the words lose their meaning.

Joe and Karen had bought an assortment of farm-related toys and books, which made April roll her eyes. Harriet immediately shoved the rubbery head of a cow into her mouth.

Matthew and April’s gift, a sit-to-stand walker, was yet another addition to Harriet’s collection of pink items. When they had decorated the nursery, Matthew’s only comment was that it looked as though someone had poured Pepto-Bismol over everything. April countered this with the argument that it would encourage Harriet to unapologetically embrace her femininity. Besides, she was sharing the room with Matthew’s daughter Ruby. As usual, he was out-voted by estrogen. So, he buckled under the weight of his love for his three favorite girls.

April heard the subtle hitch of Matthew’s breath beside her. He was smiling, but it was a tight-jawed, forced smile. She knew exactly what – or rather, who - was running through his mind. Karin. Sometimes at night, when April tucked Harriet and Ruby’s blankets into their cribs, she would stare at Ruby, examining every detail of her face. Every faint line on her palms. She felt guilty. Sitting here, watching her own daughter celebrate the milestone that Karin never would. A lump formed in her throat. She reached for Matthew’s hand, but he pulled away. He harrumphed, shifted against the cushions and promptly excused himself. He returned ten minutes later with a glass of water and puffy eyes.

“If you need to take a minute, it’s okay.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Matthew,” April rubbed his arm “take a couple minutes. Get some air. Please?”

He chugged the last of the water and wordlessly agreed, slipping out into the garden. He watched Jackson present April with a hefty 3-in-1 stroller – the one she’d been lusting after for a month. He watched her fumble with its clips to detach the balance bike and plop Harriet onto the seat. He watched another man be the father he would never be. A deep ache spread through him and he leaned against the cool fence, glancing up at the nursery window. He took a long moment to forgive himself for the act of betrayal he was about to commit, then he headed back inside, softly thudding up the stairs. He sat with Ruby for, well, he didn’t know how long, but it was long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Karin. For him to apologize to her with a prayer. Long enough for him to feel guilty for disappearing.

Downstairs, Jackson grabbed another beer from the refrigerator. He turned to April, who was mixing a rum and coke for her mother, and pulled an envelope from his pocket.

“April?” He tapped her on the shoulder. “I know I’ve already given Harriet a gift, but this is something extra. Just a small thing, I promise. I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it back there.”

“Why?” April ripped the envelope open and her lips parted in confusion. Inside was a receipt for a monthly toy box subscription. “Jackson, what is this?”

“I’m not around all the time. I don’t get to take her to playgroup every week or build blocks with her or read The Velveteen Rabbit. This is my way of being there. I don’t wanna be that guy. The father who slips in and out of his child’s life. I can’t do that to her.”

“Jackson,” April gazed up at him, sharing the sadness in his eyes “you are not your father. If you wanna see her more often, we can work something out.”

Matthew entered the kitchen, dropped his glass in the sink and glared at the two of them. “Sorry for interrupting.” He slunk away.

“Can we?” Jackson quipped.

April rubbed her face and placed the envelope on the kitchen island. “I should get back out there before Dad has another beer and starts doing impressions of farm animals.”

Later, when the house was empty and Harriet had been put to bed messy-mouthed and content, April and Matthew were left to pick up the discarded pieces of wrapping paper and conversation. They sat the dining table, each waiting for the other to speak first. Matthew rolled a beer bottle between his palms as he tried to organize his thoughts. April traced the patterns in the wood-grain, eyes darting up to meet Matthew’s.

“Wanna talk about it?” She prompted, met only with silence. She leaned forward, palm pressed against her cheek. “I know it’s hard, but it would be nice if you let me in every once in a while.”

He replied with a non-committal grunt.

“Say something. Anything. Please, Matthew.” After a beat, she pushed back from the table and walked away. Then, just as she reached the kitchen archway –

“My wife died. What am I supposed to say?”

April’s next breath drained from her mouth. “I’m your wife, Matthew. You’re blinded by grief, not blind.”

Matthew’s head was in his hands, his voice muffled. “I lost Karin, and you saved me, April. You saved me. You know that.”

“Well, it sure doesn’t feel like it.” She snapped.

Every time they fought, April would end up sleeping in a half-empty queen size bed. She woke with a jolt when she felt a cold arm drape across her stomach. They didn’t apologize. They were long past that. They locked eyes and April grazed his cheek with the back of her hand.

“We’ll get through this together. We know each other’s pain, remember?”

“I know.” He pulled her into his chest and hummed against her lips.

That night, in spite of everything, they slept peacefully in each other’s arms.

Read the full story on AO3

#Japril #Jackson Avery #April Kepner #Grey's Anatomy #Lauren Writes #laurenwritesfics #grey's anatomy fanfic #japril fanfic #angst #drama #japril angst #greys spoilers #greys anatomy

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catherinequeenie-benstridge · 5 years

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What if - Chapter 4

SO CHAPTER 4 IS HERE! Well, we are having a HUGE surprise in this chapter. Steve didn't show up, the memeber of the BRF who will visit the museum is revealed AND maybe we find out something else about the so-called Steve...😏

Enjoy yourselves!

💙👑

17th June 2005

Two weeks had passed since that day. Steve hadn’t shown up at the museum and Kate had an awful amount of work to do so at least she had her mind occupied. With the upcoming visit of a royal family member, the museum had to be at its finest and bests moments. The brunette didn’t know who was the visiting member yet, for some reason, her boss didn’t want to tell her.

Kate just carried on with work. It was Friday so she had lots of school groups. When she lead a group of teenagers in one of the biggest rooms, she instantly froze, recognizing a leather jacket walking to the following room.

-Miss?-One of the students called for her.- Excuse me, miss?

She came back from her shock to attend the young man who had a question about a painting. After going through the most important things in the exposition she let them wonder around.

-Now you can be on your own, this and the next room. I'll be there if you need anything.-She then let them walk alone through the rooms.

Kate went straight to the next one, trying to find him, she needed some answers. Once she got there the room was empty, no one was in there. She checked all over, stopping her eyes on the two pieces of Queen Victoria and Queen Alexandra, when she first met Steve. She got closer, looking at of the benches that were in the middle of the room, finding a white envelope. Catherine frowned her eyebrows, picking it up. It had her name on it. <<Steve…>>, was her first thought. A feeling of anger ran her body from head to toes, she was about to open the envelope but she was stopped by some voices.

-Mummy, mummy come see this, hurry.-A little girl.

-Dad, here, come on, look.-A little boy.

-Mo...Da…-A baby, trying to babble.

She immediately turned around, putting the envelope in a pocked, trying to find the source of the voices, not finding anyone. They were very familiar, like she had heard those children before but she wasn’t able to figure out when. Shaking her mind, she got back to the group, finishing the tour for the day.

Steve was hidden behind a door frame watching all her movements. God, he made a huge mistake. The young man also heard the voices, and moved his head around also trying to find where they came from but having the same result as Catherine. A hand touched his shoulder.

-Sorry Your Royal Highness, but I was informed to take you home.-His bodyguard informed him.

-Yes, of course Jack.-They started walking out when he realized.-You were behind me all the time, right?

-Yes, sir, I never left your side.

-Did you hear the voices?

-Voices? What voices?-Jack asked.

-I heard three voices: a little boy, a little girl and a baby.

-I’m sorry sir, I didn’t hear anything. There were just the lady from the museum, you and me in the room.-He opened the door for him, heading to the car.

-Oh...Well, maybe it was all in my mind…-But he had heard them so clearly, like they were even talking to them, to Kate and him. All the way home, he couldn’t stop thinking about the brunette and the voices. It had been such a strange moment.

He didn’t know what to do. On one hand he wanted to go back to the museum and talk to Catherine again, on the other hand he wanted to wait four more days to tell her the hole truth. Steve closed his bedroom door and screamed, how on earth did he get to this point.

------

-Miss Middleton, do you have a minute?-The head of her department asked Kate when she had already finished.

-Yes, of course.-The brunette followed him to his office, closing the door after her and sitting on one of the chairs.

-Well, as you may remember, next Tuesday a member of the Royal Family will be visiting the Gallery and will be given the patronage. I never told you the name, only that you would be giving the tour through the exposition.-He smiled, the young woman was a very hard worker and proved she was very intelligent and resourceful. He could tell she wanted to know who was going to come.-Okay, I’m not going to delay it anymore, Prince William will be visiting us on his 23rd birthday next Tuesday.

-Wow…-Catherine face was a poem. She got up.-You won’t regret choosing me to tour him through the exposition.

-I know I won’t. You can go now, I know you don’t work this weekend so try not to tell too many people.-He laugh when she was leaving the office.

Kate got home that night with a big blur on her head, she could still hear the voices in her head tho she didn’t found any source. When she entered her room, she dropped dead on her bed mentally exhausted.

-Prince William...Wow...

Pippa had a birthday party that night so she wasn’t expecting her anytime soon. When the brunette started changing her clothes, she found the envelope she never got to open. Holding it between her hands was doubting whether to open it or not. She finally did.

“I feel I have not apologized enough, not for the awfully way I have treated you. I know you will not understand but I cross my heart when I say I did it to keep you safe. I am really sorry, Catherine. Yours, Steve.”

A tear ran down Kate’s cheek. She didn't want to think about him, about that rose she still had on her night table, about his scent. She shook her head, left the note in her jacket’s pocket and turned on the TV, trying to set her mind into something else.

------

Pippa was drunk, very drunk. She said goodbye to her friends in front of Buckingham Palace once the party was over and all of them took different ways to go back home. The young Middleton was walking down the Mall to Trafalgar Square thinking whether to go home by taxi or underground. She was so drunk she didn’t see the young man she crashed into. They both ended up nearly falling, but he managed to grab Pippa by the waist to avoid the rough landing.

-Oh, god, I’m so, so, so, so sorry.-The brunette tried to talk and looked up, finding a leather jacket, a cap and a pair of sunglasses. <<Sunglasses at night…? How weird…>> She didn’t gave it too much importance, thinking he could be someone famous and didn’t want to be recognized.-Thank you, I...I was tying...trying to get hommmm.-Pippa started laughing due to the alcohol and stretched her arm to shook his hand.-I’m Pippa..

-Don’t worry, I’m W...I’m Steve. Are you okay to get home safely? Isn’t there anyone you could call to pick you up?-Steve had decided to go for a walk alone, without guards, and was already heading home. But after Pippa crashed into him, he wanted to make sure she got home safely.

-Well, I may call my s-sister she might be home…-She grabbed her phone from her purse and dialed Kate’s number, grabbing Steve’s arm trying not to fall.

Catherine was watching some random movie when her phone rang, strangely, it was her sister.

-Pips? Is everything okay?-She was worried because when her sister went out, she only called her when something was wrong.

-Everying is okaaaaay, I’m jssst a little drunk….-Pippa started laughing and could sense Kate’s eyes rolling.-Could you come pick me up, please? Or I can take a taxi If it’s too much bother…

-No, where are you? Are you alone?

-Uhm…-Pippa turned around with Steve’s help.-Right in front of Clarence Hus...Hose...h-o-u-s-e. Yep. And no, I’m with this night knight I crashed into some minutes ago. He’s staying until you arrive.

-Okay, I’ll be there in ten.

-Thank you Squeak…-She hang up and looked at Steve.-She will be here in about ten or fifteen minutes.-Pippa tried to relieve the pain her heels were causing her but it made her lose balance, falling again to the ground. Steve tried to grab her but this time they made more of a fuss. No one or nothing fell to the ground except for Steve’s sunglasses and cap.-God, I’m sorry really, gosh I’m embarrassing myself.

Pippa grabbed the glasses and the cap from the ground and went to give them to Steve who forgot to turn around. Pippa gasped realizing who he really was, still with the young man’s arm around her, feeling incredibly sleepy.

-You...You’re…-She fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder, not being able to finish the sentence. Steve put back his cap and sunglasses right before a car stopped in front of them and the woman who had been in his mind for weeks appeared.

-Catherine…?

-Steve...What..-Her heart skipped a bit and then she saw Pippa.-Is she okay?

-Yes, yes she just fell asleep. She is pretty drunk.-Kate got close with the intention to get her sister into the car.-Don’t worry, I’ll do it.

-Okay, I will open the door.

Neither of them said a thing about the previous weeks, using the situation to avoid the subject. Steve managed to put Pippa inside, leaving her head resting on the copilot’s seat. Once Kate closed the door and turned around she faced Steve, too close. They hadn’t realized how close they were until they both stared in each other’s eyes. Quickly, Kate managed to find some strength to move and walk away from him, just a little distance because all she wanted to do was pull his body closer. The same sensation that Steve was feeling, wanting to just close the air between them.

-Catherine, I…

-No, please, I have too much in my head right now.- She noticed the envelope in her jacked and pulled it out.-I...I can’t do this Steve…-Kate closed the distance between them and put the paper in his hands, taking them.

-I…-The young man looked through his sunglasses into the brunette’s eyes, realizing she was about to cry. She was beyond beautiful. They both had the feeling as if they had already hold their hands, maybe in a past life.-Kate, please…

She had no idea how but when she started to feel the urge to kiss him, she walked back and got into the car, driving away and letting her tears fell free. The man stood there, looking at the envelope. When he entered his home and got up the stairs, someone called for him.

-Hey you.-His little brother, with his pyjamas and a cup of tea.

-Hi you. What are you doing still awake? Babies and gingers need at least 9 hours of sleep.-The younger man laughed sarcastically, always teasing each other. They started to walk to their rooms.

-You know, at first I thought it was weird that you got out wearing a cap and sunglasses but…after witnessing what I just saw...there was quite a big tension between you and that woman, wasn’t it?.-The stood in their own doors, facing each other.

-Yes...Yes there were.

-Does she know your name?

-Yes.-His brother opened his eyes.

-What?!

-No, not my real name, I told her...I said my name is Steve.-Laugh, that was the response of the other man.-Of course I couldn’t tell her my real name.

-I know, I know. Look..-He leaned on the door frame.-all I’m saying is that there is something there, worth looking into.-The so-called Steve rose an eyebrow.- And no, it is NOT a sexual reference.

-It may be too late...Good night.-With that he turned around.

-Good night William.

------

Pippa woke up the next morning feeling her worse self. With a groan she stepped into the kitchen just to find her sister making breakfast. She had the tv on, watching the news.

-God, the light is killing me. And the noise. And life.

-Well, you were pretty drunk last night sweetie.-Kate placed an orange juice in front of her.

-I don’t remember anything.

-Not...not a single thing?-Pippa looked at her after listening the tone in which she was speaking.

-Don’t tell me I did something really stupid. I just remember walking down the Mall and nothing else.

-Well you crashed into Steve actually, the guy from the museum I talked about and the one who didn’t showed up to our date, so I…-Kate was interrupted by the the tone of breaking news from the TV. Both sisters centered their attention to the screen.

-Next Tuesday, Prince William will visit the National Portrait Gallery and will be named patron for his 23rd birthday.- Kate smiled at Pippa.

-I found out yesterday. And guess who will be giving the tour that day.

-No way! Way to go Squeak!-The news then showed some footage of the last speech the Prince made and Kate’s smile fade away. PIppa looked at her.-Hey, something’s wrong?

-That’s…-The elder sister realized as soon as she heard the Prince speak, that voice had been stuck in her days for weeks now.-Steve…-Kate pointed the TV.-That’s Steve.

-What do you mean…?

-Steve, the man you crashed into yesterday, very, very drunk? The guy with the cap and the sunglasses from the museum? The jerk that didn't show up to our date?

-But...That is not Steve, that is…-Pippa opened her mouth in surprise, remembering the previous night and...-Prince…

-William.

👑💙👑💙

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

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stopandimagineloveforever · 5 years

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Few TV shows have arrived as confidently as Schitt’s Creek did when it premiered four years ago; after all, the pilot took under two minutes to introduce its four main characters in instantly striking ways. We open in a palatial estate, where members of the filthy rich Rose family are reacting to news they’ve been defrauded by their business manager and left with nothing. Well, except the titular town, which Rose patriarch Johnny bought for his son as a joke birthday present years before. Immediately, there’s Moira (standout Catherina O’Hara), wailing to her husband about how she’s been “stripped of every morsel of pleasure I earned in this life.” In reply, her husband Johnny (Eugene Levy) complains about the shady business manager that landed his family in this mess. Nearby, their daughter Alexis (Annie Murphy) alights from a stately staircase while desperately trying to get the boyfriend she’s on the phone with to step out of the club he’s in and listen to her problems. And by the door, her brother David boldly berates a government official, calling him a “sick person” that “wants to get paid to destroy another person’s life.”

Dan Levy, who plays David and co-created the show alongside his father and co-star Eugene, is far less confrontational than his character, but no less animated. When I meet him in January for a late lunch at a sparsely populated restaurant in Rockefeller Center, the 35-year-old is upbeat and personable, despite the packed schedule he’d been navigating for the previous few days while doing press for the show’s fifth season.

The entire process is somewhat new to the actor, since Schitt’s Creek kept a relatively low profile in its earlier seasons. But as the show’s popularity has grown — with critics now hailing it as “the funniest show on TV right now,” a “gem of a sitcom,” and an “amiable and deliriously funny series” — so has Levy’s. After serving as the official showrunner for four seasons, he’s become a celebrity in his own right. Yet in midtown, as he makes his way through a grilled chicken caesar salad and a Diet Coke, Levy doesn’t appear to exhibit any of those expected pretenses; he’s quite laid-back and surprisingly gregarious, eager to talk about the little show he made which blossomed into something much bigger than he could have ever imagined.

Before Schitt’s Creek, Levy says he spent some time “figuring it out.” Growing up as the son of a comedy legend, it was nearly a given that he would do theater in high school. But when he graduated and actually tried to pursue acting as a career, Levy was held back by the nervousness he routinely felt at auditions. “As you can imagine, that was quite awkward for me as an actor,” he jokes. Instead, he landed at MTV Canada, where he cut his teeth recapping The Hills on the popular The After Show. That experience, he says, was where the idea for Schitt’s Creek was planted. “I was fascinated by these people who were raised around so much wealth,” he tells me. “And I wanted to know what it would be like if someone like that were to lose everything.”

He eventually took that inkling of an idea to his dad, and together, they fleshed it out into the show it is today. In the earliest stages, Levy recalls looking at “sexy and stylish” series like Sex and the City for inspiration, which ultimately lead to his decision to build each character around a distinct style that mirrors their personality type. Artsy David would be into neutral tones and architectural Rick Owens; business-minded Johnny would always wear classic tailored suits; histrionic former soap star Moira would have a flair for the dramatic silhouettes of McQueen; and boho-chic Alexis would be ready to jet off to Coachella at a moment’s notice.

To this day, Dan still takes the lead on much of the show’s wardrobe. It’s one of the most rewarding parts of his job, he tells me, and it’s a good excuse to indulge his shameless shopping addiction. He sources most of the garments seen on the show online, perusing for new duds on designer resale apps like The RealReal and Grailed, but it’s clear that his sartorial eye is just as keen in person. Upon arriving to the restaurant, the first thing Dan does is compliment my sunglasses, which were sitting on the corner of the table. “Congratulations on those boots,” he told me as we left, pointing down at my footwear. The only apparent downside to his side gig as a personal shopper is that it can be difficult to stop himself from getting too out of control. “I just keep buying for future seasons,” he jokes. “If the show ends, I’m just going to have all these random Alexander McQueen pieces in my room! I’ll have to call up some of my friends and ask if they want to come buy some.”

Hopefully, we’ll never reach that point — at least not for a while, now that the show is finally getting the respect it deserves. Days before our lunch, Levy and his fellow cast members had experienced their first A-List red carpet event when they attended the Critics’ Choice Awards, where they were nominated for Best Comedy Series. “It’s so crazy to think that this little show was there amongst all these real celebrities,” he says, emphasizing the word real in a way that lets you know he still doesn’t understand just how famous he actually is — or does a good job pretending not to, at least. The performer says he was most excited to meet Jodie Comer, but in retrospect, he wonders if he maybe went overboard when he approached the Killing Eve actress to “fan out” and enthusiastically tell her how much he loved her.

Schitt’s Creek didn’t win that night. But it’s not difficult to imagine the show becoming a serious awards contender in the future, especially now that it’s established a real audience. Levy and the entire team are rooting particularly hard for Catherine O’Hara, whose indelible, no-holds-barred performance as Moira has rightfully inspired a few internet campaigns to get The Television Academy’s attention.

Yet it’s probably Levy himself who has galvanized the most fervent response from audiences. His character is one of the only pansexual men on TV today, and in the show’s currently-airing fifth season, his same-sex relationship with newly-out Patrick (Noah Reid) is one of the biggest ongoing plot points. As a gay man, he says it was always important to him to bring positive queer representation to his show — which is ironically why he had David sleep with a woman (sardonic motel owner Stevie) before he ever got with a man. “I did want to play with people’s expectations a bit,” he admits. “David is flamboyant and I knew people would assume he was gay, so I wanted to subvert that and show that you can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

Nevertheless, Levy is now fully invested in exploring the much-beloved relationship between David and Patrick, which he’s made a deliberate effort to ensure is not met with any homophobia in the titular small town. It’s what he would’ve done anyway, but it doesn’t hurt that he’s seen firsthand just how much their relationship means to the fans at home watching. When I ask about the response he’s received from the queer community, it’s the first time during our meal that he seems to get really emotional. “I got a letter recently that made me cry,” he begins, tearing up ever so slightly. “This woman wrote to me and told me that her son had just come out. She didn’t have a problem with it, but she was scared about what other people would think. She told me that my show made her feel a little more comfortable.”

It’s surprising how novel it seems to create a show where homophobia is just... not allowed to exist, but it’s comforting to see how normal it actually looks in practice. Just people being themselves without judgment: It’s all part of this world that Dan Levy was inspired to create after watching too many reruns of The Hills. Back then, he set out to create a show that uncovered what would happen when the self-obsessed wealthy wake up to find themselves penniless. If the series’ first five seasons have offered us any sort of answer, it’s that they will learn and grow, facing truths about themselves and their privilege that will only benefit them in the long run. They will form stronger bonds with themselves and with each other. Hell, they might even find true life-fulfilling happiness.

That is, as long as they find their way to Schitt’s Creek.

Schitt’s Creek airs Wednesdays at 10:00pm on Pop.

#schitts creek #dan levy #david x patrick #them.us #lgbt #march 2019

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

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Sticking with the Schuylers (29)

(Expect slow updates this week-I’m just getting into a massive workload for my course, plus my birthday trip to NYC with my sister is THIS WEEKEND and then I have about 5,000 things to do when I get back from sherking all my responsibilities off. C’est la vie, right?)

But seriously, thank you for all of your love. It’s amazing and I appreciate it so much!

( @ellzabethschuyler it’s the weirdest thing I can tag you on my laptop just fine but whenever I’m answering things on mobile it gives me the hardest time)

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Phillip Schuyler is not a man of many words; not in conversations other than political debate. Even then he’d hang back, letting his collected tone of voice and fact-backed opinions make his argument for him. He’d spent much of his life attempting to placate two older brothers and a father that hadn’t accepted his lack of sport ability. Peace-making with a grouping of old white men was just about the same level of weary stress he’d dealt with in practiced reserve his entire life.

He wasn’t prepared for the level of conversation that came about with three daughters-three beautiful daughters who’d begun bringing boys home far sooner than he’d expected. And when the first prospective boyfriend did come to meet him-Jeremy Atkins, whose father was a surgeon and mother ran in the political circle as well-he hadn’t been as well-prepared as he’d liked. Phillip had lectured that fourteen year old boy until he was red in the face with embarrassment, keeping his head down to his shoes as Angelica looked on with the same mortification.

His tactics hadn’t been the best back then, when dating just meant a trip down to Serendipity for a frozen hot chocolate with two straws, coming back far before the sun would set with a hug in the doorway under his hard stare through the window.

It hadn’t been particularly difficult yet, either; Angelica had dated only Jeremy before she’d met John, and then although they’d had a father-daughter struggle within that relationship he’d always been a part of their family. It was with an unpleasant air that he’d accepted him, only after his doubts had circled into harsh exchanges and words that could never be taken back. Phillip was used to keeping calm but the fear of losing his daughter had driven him to a level of protective anger he’d never felt before.

Angelica left for a weekend when she was eighteen, a long-winded note left on the California King being the only knowledge he’d had of where she’d gone and why she’d done it. It was then that the severity of his words and the lack of others had become increasingly clear. Angelica had chosen John, even when Phillip had worked so hard to provide for his family. And so he’d taken stock of his actions, the entire weekend spent in suspension between worrying for his eldest daughter and wondering just how he’d be able to turn himself around. He wanted to make them happy.

Years after the theatrics between Angelica and John, Peggy had a few dates here and there. There was nothing she’d constituted serious enough for an introduction. That left only Eliza, the most gentle and demure of the three. She had brought nearly every potential suitor to her father, even when he had insisted it not absolutely necessary. She hated hiding things from him, even when the conversations were far too drawn out for a date to homecoming who’d chosen her as the only single member of her friend group. There was a necessity in it for her, where she’d discussed honesty and open conversation while Phillip nodded in understanding, telling Catherine she’d be the soundboard for all of those talks.

“She’s very mature,” He’d mentioned one night after another attempt at open conversation from their middle daughter. “What other sixteen year old would come to her parents about her first kiss?”

There were things he knew his daughters would keep from him, details he’d rather not hear. But for Eliza to be so upfront and honest about every aspect of her life was refreshing, especially between Angelica’s jaunt at eighteen and Peggy’s newfound freewheeling spirit at the same age. Eliza had always been a separate entity, between her more outspoken older sister and wild-natured younger. And even when she had met James Reynolds, and their relationship had progressed faster than Phillip would have liked, she was always cautious. There were moments of time where she’d come to visit alone and perch herself on the couch across from his armchair, eyes wide and waiting for him to look up from his work. And then she’d smile. He’d always been a sucker for her sweet and honest turn of lips and lift of cheeks, the expression that seemed to brighten the room no matter the circumstance. And no matter what she was asking, or talking about, it was with great difficulty that he ever said no to her.

Her honesty made it hard to say no.

Now, she wasn’t being honest.

Philip Schuyler sits in the parlor drinking a small cup of French press coffee when his wife comes from the kitchen with her hands folded neatly in front of her. Even from his place at the table on the opposite side of the room he can tell that she’s waiting to speak; hands fiddling with miniscule movements and breaths coming long and calculated. When he looks up at her fully she glides across the room to him, holding out her phone.

“Before you say anything I want you to take a breath and keep an open mind.”

“Okay…”

“And just…keep a level head.” Catherine is speaking in a tone so much like Eliza’s level-headed, gentle voice that he sits back in his chair, noting the similarity as he lets her words sink in. She’s attempting to calm him, to pacify him before showing him whatever it is she’s seen. Phillip is not sure he’s too happy about that notion. He follows his wife’s instructions anyway, nodding before taking the phone from her hand.

A picture of a man is the forefront of attention; hair long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail, facial hair slightly unkempt. He scans the picture first with curiosity, until Elizabeth’s Instagram name come into his line of vision. Then, he’s even more curious. There is a caption below the picture, a few short sentences to sum up the invasion. And then, his eyes shoot immediately back up to Catherine.

He can barely discern the feeling that’s found its way to the pit of his stomach. First there is anger, bubbling and rolling along in his veins at this face he’s never seen before-the first name he’s never heard, even in the multitude of passing conversation he’s had with Eliza. He’s unsure whether the anger is aimed at her or at this man; it seems to inhabit him in an even layer, festering without any direction to go. It’s accompanied by an upset, and a curiosity that takes over completely. The new feeling pushes his anger aside, to the pits of his stomach where it covers them almost completely. Instead of festering he is only slightly upset. Most of all, he needs answers.

Phillip looks up at his wife, who is watching the flickering of emotions on his face with patient readiness; a wonder of which reaction will settle dominant within him. Catherine is met with simple eyes and an even tone. Her husband asks if she can get his phone for him. The level of his placidity alarms her but she says nothing, taking careful steps to and from the kitchen where he had left his phone.

“Phillip,” Her voice comes out in a careful warning without having to say the words. The slight tilt of her head and lowering of eyes says enough. He shakes his head at her before pressing the phone to his ear.

“I’m just going to call her.”

…

The first day of a new week typically brought about a lot of things for Elizabeth Schuyler. First there was a renewed sense of optimism; of a hope in the chance to repeat a weekly routine over again. If there were changes she was often more than happy to implement them, embracing the possibilities that came about with a new step in her plan. Monday was a good day because although it meant the end of a weekend, there was always something to look forward to.

This Monday is particularly wonderful, she decides when her alarm goes off. The sun is not yet up, the room cast in the darkness of a bitter winter morning. December is not her favored month by any means but she would give up the beauty of the spring for the serenity of this moment without as much as a second thought.

Eliza shifts slightly, reaching one arm to her nightstand with careful precision to mute the blaring of her alarm. A glance at the time shows that she should probably be getting up soon. The barely audible chatter from beneath her quiets that notion in an instant. His lips are moving just slightly, enough to make incoherent words Alexander mumbles under the guise of a deep sleep. Half of her body is on top of his; legs slung over his legs, arms around his waist. And her head rests on his chest so peacefully that she can hear the thrumming of his heartbeat, the deep and gentle breaths that are an accessory to his sleep. Her alarm goes off again, a reminder to get her day in motion, and she groans. There is a movement underneath her, the shaking of Alexander’s silent laughter, and she lifts her head from his chest to frown at him.

“What?” She questions him as he opens his eyes, a hand finding the small of her back and pulling her to rest against him again.

“Your refusal to get out of bed-it’s cute.”

“Will it still be cute when I fail all of my classes because of you?”

“Can it still be considered my fault if you’re the one who slept on top of me the entire night?” She smirks then, shaking her head as sleep-mussed waves fall into the frame of her face. Eliza leans in, pressing her lips gently to his once, twice before casting her shining eyes on his. She reluctantly rolls out of bed, sitting on the edge before moving to the closet.

“Maybe I only slept on you to stop your sleep-talking. Do you always have so much to say?”

“Only when it’s a good sleep; trust me, I’ve never slept so peacefully in my life.”

It’s a truth that rings clear for both of them; Alex shifts in her plush queen bed, stretching his rested muscles and watching her move around the room. It has been so long since he’s felt this rested, eyes without their dark circles, a smile upon his face when greeted with a new day. There is no rush-no sense of concentrated anxiety rushing though him. There is only a simplistic sort of peace. His first class is in two hours so he’s taking his time, chatting with her while she bustles about, getting her things ready for the day. When she steps into the shower he turns the coffee on, a mug for her and a mug for him, and settles himself at the kitchen island with a copy of yesterday’s newspapers.

If the sight of Alexander first thing in the morning through sleepy eyes and tangled bodies wasn’t enough, there was this. He has one elbow propped on the counter, the other hand with his mug of steaming liquid pressed to his lips. His favored old t-shirt hangs loose around his body, soft cotton framing his relaxed posture. She grins. The picture of Alexander settled neatly at her counter, as if he’d been there his whole life, was enough to bring Eliza across the room to him. She settles her head behind him on his shoulder, arms wrapped light around his neck as her damp hair brushes against his cheek before her lips replace them.

He hands Eliza her coffee and she crosses the kitchen for something to eat, rifling through the cabinets. Alexander looks up at her in curiosity, watching her purposeful actions with contented silence. She has two bowls settled on the counter along with a plethora of ingredients, which she mixes without measuring before plopping spoonful after spoonful of pale batter onto a pan. The sizzling is not all that breaks the silence; Eliza’s humming through her work, dishes clattering in the sink and fingers drumming on the countertop. When she turns he’s still staring, mirrored grins on both of their lips as she notices. And then she’s sliding a plate over to him, pulling the newspaper from his grasp.

“Pancakes?” It’s half of a question, the way his voice is slightly inflected upon the surprise.

“Don’t get used to it.” Eliza winks before turning back to her work. The morning comes easy to her, when the sun is just beginning to show itself. Even through the snowy, damp winter it feels bright. She’s opened every curtain, even cracked a window in the bathroom to let some fresh air in. It’s all so much; the domesticity, that he rises from his chair to wrap his arms around her while she cooks the last of the batter. And then he’s peppering soft kisses on her neck, where he predicts her bell-like laughter before it has happened.

“Stop,” She wheels around to occupy his lips with her own, an act of defiance unable to go unnoticed. He moves in to reciprocate before he adds a slight tilt to his head, finding the soft skin below her ear.

“I have class in twenty minutes, I’d like to get there in one neatly represented piece and you know how difficult you’re making this.”

“Do I? I had no idea.”

She shakes her head, letting shower-dampened waves be invaded by his hands as she accepts her fate. There’s a realization not only that she’ll definitely be late, but that in no shape will she let herself regret it. There’s too much here, home, to give up for a lecture on child safety. Those thoughts go flying out the window as his hands are on her waist, pressing her up to the kitchen counter. The proximity is a much welcomed wake-up call, her brain becoming muddled with the sound of her name tickled against her ear in a gentle release of air from Alexander’s wandering lips.

That whispering is joined by a chirping, electronic and disruptive.

“Leave it,” He pleads as her body stiffens against his. But the ringing of her phone comes through a specific sound, set to only one phone number. She pulls away from him, nose crinkled and all desire suddenly dissipating as she shakes her head.

“It’s my father.”

He nods then, clearing his throat and smoothing his t-shirt out before trailing back to the island. He plops himself on the barstool with a certain hesitant air, as if Phillip Schuyler himself is able to see him through the ringing phone. Alexander’s eyes are cast back at the newspaper, any hint of concentration badly feigned as his ears zero in on their conversation.

“Elizabeth, sorry to bother you so early in the morning but your mother,”

“-Don’t drag me into this, Phillip.”

“I saw your wonderful post on your picture-sharing account this morning.”

She had known that this was coming, had thought about it as she’d closed her eyes last night with her head on Alexander’s chest. That photo, as kind and beautiful and protective as it was, would have reached thousands of people by now. The only foresight she’d forgotten was the one that included letting her father know about Alexander before the rest of the general public. Sure, she’d mentioned seeing someone new. But not once had she brought him over, or mentioned a name. In any aspect of the dating conversation she’d simply brushed it aside, heart racing, and moved on to a new topic.

With her father on the line she could not avoid the contradiction settling in her nerves any longer. Eliza had so desperately wanted to share her happiness with her parents; to let them meet Alexander, and see how good he was. But then there was the crossing thought of her father, tight-lipped and stoic, possibly being unaccepting. Throughout her life she had known him as loving, and kind, but to his family. In the real world, in front of his friends and the company they kept at brunch, there was a boundless need to share each opinion with unfiltered pride that seemed to fester inside of Phillip Schuyler with no sign of disappearing. And that huge opinion, the constant inability to see the grey areas within an argument…there was a red flag in weighing the differences between Alexander and her father. While she loved her father’s consistent opinions she treasured Alexander’s swift arguments, backed by changing facts and an ability to switch sides with a compelling opposing statement. And if the choice was presented, she knew she’d make the same choice that Angelica had made all those years ago. Eliza didn’t want to do that to her father again. Avoiding the subject was easier.

“I’m so sorry about that, dad. There was somebody who was bothering me, and Alexander wasn’t too happy about it, so it kind of just happened. I promise you I was going to tell you soon.”

“How soon, Elizabeth? How long have you been seeing this person without saying so much as one word to me or your mother?”

“Almost four months.” Her voice is squeaking now, soft and reserved as she envisions the hardened expression he’d be holding by now. He was probably on the other side of the phone pacing, making a case for himself.

Instead, she hears a collected sigh; a whisper muffled by what she supposes is his finger covering the receiver. There’s a pause, lengthened by the heightened anxiety that’s begun to take over. Alexander watches her lean on the counter with a hand on her mug, tapping and tracing until finally he’s pulling it away from her, holding her hand in his instead.

It’s alright, he mouths the words to Eliza as her eyes raise to meet his.

“Elizabeth,” She can barely hear her father’s words, only his tone. He’s not angry-deciphering his timbre she decides he’s not being terse or quick with her. He’s careful, as if he knows the wrong words will hurt her feelings.

“I’m bringing Alexander to brunch this week.” It had already been decided, but when she interrupts her father’s words with her own the weight of the situation sits heavily on her shoulders. She’s excited, yes, but the nerves of the two parties meeting nearly drowns that anticipation completely.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Elizabeth,” Phillip stops-looks at his wife for support. She nods, a smile of reassurance on her beautifully made features upon the way he’s handled himself. He clears his throat. “I want nothing but happiness for you.”

“I know.”

When she hangs up the phone she falls into Alexander’s support, hugging him before grabbing her bag to head out the door. Checking the time, she realizes she will in fact be late for her class-just not for the reasons she’d hoped. The anxious anticipation for Sunday brunch sits heavy in her stomach as she begins to count down the days to Alexander meeting her father.

#hamliza #hamilton au #mine: SWTS #I mean #I could write domestic hamliza for the rest of my days #isn't that what we're all here for anyway #but eliza never has it that easy #my poor cinnamon roll

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thepdvblog · 6 years

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Dandelion - Chapter 2: Daffodil Bouquet

Dandelion Directory

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: She gives him a bouquet of daffodils before they drive off, telling him these are his favourite flowers and that he now needs to move on. Isn’t this the meaning of daffodils? I think you once told me that when you picked them as your symbol or something.

Notes: I should precise beforehand this story (just like all my original work) is set in an alternative France where technology and society are more advanced than their IRL counterparts. This is why Florian has access this early to hormone blockers and hormones, when this story is set in anno domini 2003 for the moment.

AO3 version available here.

Finding a name to refer to himself is a life changer. Roxanne calls him “Flo”, Juliette, who is still struggling coming to terms with this but is trying her hardest, calls him insists on “Florian” because she is still not used to it. And yet, she gives him some advice to look more masculine, basing herself off things she has seen among male soccer players: how to make his voice sound lower, how to present as confident and self-assured when he truly isn’t, somehow provides him with brand-new male clothing and underwear he could not have wished for more.

Juliette once told me, when visiting me in this hospital years later, that her mother was a cashier at a local Carrefour, and that she could easily access unsold products that way. Barely legal, but I doubt much of my early transition was condoned by most of societal conventions.

Mrs Flamand tells him, during a session where she finally realizes this has been illegal all along, that she will only give him the green light for the next step once he is an adult in the eyes of the law. This makes Florian realize a few things, starting with what legally being an adult is going to allow him to do. He will finally be able to change his name to the eye of the world, go on what seems to be a dangerous therapy, stop being himself only around Roxanne and Juliette, stop being “Catherine” around the teachers and the classmates who know he is supposed to be a girl.

Florian makes a third friend who does understand who he is, but he is an online buddy. He lives in the south of the country, kilometres upon kilometres away from Colombes, living under the Mediterranean heat, near the Rhône’s delta. Their friendship is unlikely, considering this friend is already in college, yet feels natural: Lilian is trying to understand his little sister, Florian is just trying to get his voice somewhere where he won’t be targeted by the crude remarks of people reminding him, “you looked better when you weren’t pretending to be a boy”.

Yet, anxiety remains in his veins. The more his birthday nears closer, Roxanne swearing to buy him the best she can for this important occasion, Lilian thinking of a thousand ideas for a drawn present, the worst it gets. His dysphoria is rushing him to finally take the goddamn hormones before it threatens the remainder of his mental health, so he focuses on books and flowers to pass the time until it gets better.

He remembers an old thing his eighth-grade Literature teacher said once during a class, that there are birth month flowers just like there are birthstones, albeit there is no universal version of it. Searching in the local library on a free Wednesday afternoon where he does not feel like going back “home”, he finds out his assigned flower would either be a narcissus or a daffodil. The latter resonates so much, once he looks into the symbolism behind it: new beginnings, unrequited love, respect. The daffodil quickly becomes his personal symbol, the flower he likes to draw on science lessons instead of actually listening.

It is every time he goes home from school that he remembers why there is still so much fear inside his heart. He is not afraid of the decision to start HRT: it only feels like the next step on his journey. However, he is terrified of the reactions he will get when he will have to eventually come clean about it, about the fact he is a he and not a she, about how his parents are going to disown him quicker than lightning. Considering their rampant racism and internalized classicism, there is no way they will accept their daughter to actually be a son.

Phrased like that, I almost sound like I’ve once enjoyed being born to them.

Even then, Florian presses on. He has no time to lose worrying about his parents’ reaction when he can spend said time researching where to live in case the worst happens and he gets kicked out from home. He has no real way to gain money until he is out of high school, but he still tries: he applies for holiday jobs for the Easter and summer breaks, he sells some old belongings like most of his female clothes, he still abuses of his parents’ lack of concern and constant arguing to steal a few bucks every week after school. All flats he could possibly get in at the last minute are too expensive for him to afford until his first jobs, so Roxanne finds a solution of him: he can live in an abandoned flat the owner, a man living in Calais named Norbert Leeht, has forgotten he was still paying for.

When she brings him there for the first time, he discovers why someone that guy has forgotten they he was paying for it until it was rented: it is incredibly small, just enough for one person with a ridiculously tiny bathroom and barely any other furniture than a bed that was left there years ago and a small kitchen. It is still much better than he expected to get: at least, he does not have to pay for anything not additional furniture or food.

The premise being this eerily advantageous, Florian looks more into it and into its owner. Norbert Leeht is known online for his abandoned flats people love to occupy illegally when in a pinch, flats he has forgotten he owned and had not rented, too busy counting the amounts of money he gets from villas he actually cares about. In order to receive his mail properly, he decides to make his address Roxanne’s, the easiest option he has considering this flat will never have his name on it.

Furnishing the flat is harder than he wishes it was. He needs to move most of his room’s furniture without being spotted by his parents, for which the ideal time is on Wednesday afternoons where his father is at work and where his mother is out shopping for groceries. Roxanne, Juliette and he always strike around his time and, soon enough, only the bed and a dresser he plans on replacing anyway are out of there. After a while, the flat feels more like home than his supposed house has ever done. Everything is in place for the final revelation.

On March 20th, 2003, a warm Thursday where spring is just around the corner, he decides to let his plans finally play out, hoping for the best like the young and optimistic boy he has been ever since seeing things go forward. His therapist hands him out a strange box after his session of the week. Upon opening it, he sees a small recipient and a syringe. He does not need to read the label on the former to have a smile invade his face and his eyes tear up.

“I figured you’d be mature enough to handle these by yourself, Florian,” she tells him as she looks at the box. “And since I know you’re rather shaky on your finances, I’ve paid you the first dose and the syringe with it. You told me you didn’t mind needles, right? I can provide you with pills if you do.”

His voice catches up in his throat, and even he wants to be a man and not cry, his thankfulness eventually explodes.

“I… Thank you so much, I… I don’t know what to say…”

Dr Flamand then spends some time explaining him how to inject himself, and even if his fingers are shaking around the syringe as if it could break under his touch, it feels like the best piece of news in the latest year. It is finally in his hands, the way to break away from womanhood even more, to provide his body with what he is missing: his facial hair, a lower voice, a better repartition of his body fat.

Of course, he does not go blind into hormone reassignment surgery. He has researched its symptoms, asked high-school science major Juliette if she can clear up things, eventually blesses Lilian for being a medical student in an internship. He knows he will look very… teenage-y for a while, with a lowering voice, potential skin issues, possible hair loss, a risk to get excessive body fat he does not really want. After all, he is wearing a binder to hide his chest, no need for it to get bigger. And yet, he feels more than ready for it, already eyeing the syringe in desire.

I remember being terrified of this decision, when I first found out about HRT and what it was about. I kept asking to the mirror, “What if this isn’t what I am? What’s going to happen to me?”. I have to say, I regret not having started it before, even if I know I had to be mature to handle it correctly.

Everything is set in stone in his eyes when his eighteenth birthday rolls around. It is a time of truth, his moment to come out, to tell everyone “Catherine” is dead, to welcome Florian, the one he has been all along. It is exciting, it is terrifying, like his first rush of injected testosterone, the fear of the needle and the euphoria from the hormone he has craved for years. He already thinks of all the pros and cons of coming out, having studied the matter for the past months and having talked about it with Roxanne and Juliette for days on end. He prepares himself for school, gazes into the mirror wishing for facial hair to come soon, puts on his needed outfit and heads to school, both terrified and ecstatic.

I’d define myself as a careful and prudent man, but it wasn’t the same when I was a boy. It’s difficult to see what discrimination you are about to face when it’s invisible to most people due to how rare this all is.

For the first time ever, Roxanne and Juliette call him out by his real name instead of “Cat” as they are used to around his class. They help the anxious, now tetanized boy to ask his homeroom teacher, the Literature one, if he can make an important announcement. Of course, this makes the old lady be suspicious, but she accepts nonetheless, and he mentally prepares himself to break Catherine’s shell once and for all, never to be seen again, so ready to reject her for the last time and never look back on it. Looking at his entire class, all there for once, taking his proudest stance despite the sheer terror stacking in his throat, he takes one deep breath in, one out, and stares at everyone though his clear, “enticing” irises.

I remember by heart what I said on that day, fifteen years later.

Everyone, listen. It’ll sound weird, I know, but I’ve never been a girl. I’m a boy, a boy in a girl’s body. It’s a rare case, a mental disorder if you want to call it that. Please, even if you don’t believe it…

Don’t call me Catherine.

Call me Florian.

The surprise it drops onto everyone’s shoulders is mind-blowing. Most of them stare at each other, bewildered, and the fear rises inside his chest at an alarming rate. Roxanne is not in his class, and so is Juliette, so he is all alone in a class who barely knows him anyway. Some start to laugh, others seem to remember some sex education lessons provided by Planned Parenthood during their earlier school years, or by that one Biology class from last year, and in the end he is torn between people not taking him seriously and others trying to understand. The teacher stares at him, at loss for words, so she gulps and just politely, almost quietly, tells him “please take your seat again, Ca…” and she stops herself.

Acceptance does not come easily after this announcement. The mockeries start even more, saying he is just “playing pretend” and “a tomboy who takes it too far”. The jokes are common and start almost immediately, but some classmates really show empathy and a will to understand, so it is all fine. Well, the mockery does remind him of the risks he has read about online all that time and how dysphoric they all are, but it is nothing compared to the last straw.

His parents.

For the first time in years, Florian goes up to his parents as he wants to be, rather than what they would have him rather be so they would have no more issues.

It may sound strange to the outside ears, but I was an undesired child. They were just against getting an abortion for me and too uneducated to know they could put me elsewhere, although I have to give them kudos for trying to raise me and always feeding me. I suppose routine and familial allocations helped me being more helpful than they had expected.

In fact, he almost shows it heavily on purpose, binder on, hair freshly cut by Roxanne’s sister Solange, dressed in all dark blues and men’s apparel, in a spirit of provocation and spite he did not think he had before this day and preparing it for it. His heart still tries to break out of his ribcage, smashing itself against the bones in his chest, but he keeps it together and mans up.

The reaction he gets from them as soon as he says “Mom, dad, I’m a boy” is baffling at best. They stare at him, asking him why he is saying that, how it is “just a phase” and how “he’ll see that he’s gonna know he’s a girl soon again”.

What a joke.

Florian arguments back, pulls together all the ideas and explanations he has ever done, while not even hoping to get their approval. It seems counterproductive, he knows how this is all going to play out. He has nothing to lose, so he puts between his parents and him the paper officially diagnosing him with gender dysphoria, another with all the actions he has taken to “fix” the issue. The eyes of his father shoot through his irises, rage burning in that stare, barking following.

“You’re no daughter of mine.”

“And I’m no girl,” he replies.

“Fuck off, get out of here, you fuckin’ crossdressing fuck!”

“I guessed you’d ask me to do just that.”

“Why did you tell us then?!” his mother asks him through tears he can tell are fake, the way to bribe her way out of divorce threats.

“Because I’m no dishonest man. I waited for this day for so long.”

“Fuck off.”

“Farewell.”

Taking the remainder of his bedroom’s things, Florian sets off, leaving nothing behind him but a few unsold girly clothes and a rotting flower which died before seeing spring come back. Roxanne is waiting for him outside, a warm smile and welcoming arms he still loves despite the split-up. Despite how ready he felt he was before, tears come to his eyes and he abandons himself in his best friend’s embrace.

Eighteen-year old me would have liked to know how painful being rejected by your own family can be painful, even if you know the end result isn’t going to be pretty.

Roxanne invites him to come in her car, saying she would drive him back home, putting the last of his belongings into the chest of the vehicle. She lied: minutes later, she tells him she is paying him a good dinner in a not-so-expensive restaurant, “because he deserves only good things when he’s been that brave with this”.

She gives him a bouquet of daffodils before they drive off, telling him these are his favourite flowers and that he now needs to move on. Isn’t this the meaning of daffodils? I think you once told me that when you picked them as your symbol or something.

“Thank you so much” escapes in a sob from his mouth before he takes off his glasses and wipes them with his arms. To all the preparation he has made for this day, and to all the better days to come.

#DCMC #RC #florian moinot #roxanne roturier #juliette soissons #dandelion

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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We Tried the Reverse Holiday Diet

http://fashion-trendin.com/we-tried-the-reverse-holiday-diet/

We Tried the Reverse Holiday Diet

This piece was originally published in December 2015. Can you even freaking believe it? An oldie but a goodie, we wanted to share our joint holiday extravaganza. Honestly, it’s all for you, Seth Cohen.

Amelia is Jewish only when it is convenient. That is, if you call her on Yom Kippur, you can rest assured she is eating a sandwich and reminding you about her baptism. When Purim rolls around, though? She’s the queen of costumes and alcoholic beverage consumption. Eating at a restaurant and the special is tender pork belly? She’s on it! And then as though it never happened, there she is, smearing white fish over her bagel, gossiping about the girls from Bridge club.

But I’ve had it, you know? She’s never even attempted atonement. So this year, at the intersection of our faiths: she put on her Hanukkah hat, I test drove (without a license!) right down St. Nick’s lane. There was only rule, which was that Amelia would write a diet for me and I would write one for her.

Here is what she put together, annotated with my reactions.

1) You’re going to need some sort of tree, or a wreath, or at the very least something to decorate.

I cannot commit to bringing Christ into my home, but I will happily pose with a tree on 1st Street, which is close enough.

Leandra: 1, Christmas: 1, Amelia: dead.

2) You will exclusively play Christmas music, and it has to be playing non-stop.

This was absolutely no problem whatsoever — I listen to the Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald holiday stations on Pandora almost exclusively, which I mentioned in a post that went live on December 11th. Two for me, Glen Coco. But I hate peppermint.

3) Throw/Attend at least one ugly sweater themed party.

Does claiming ownership over a photo of Beyoncé in the ugliest sweater party sweater count as having completed this task?

4) Drink eggnog

No.

5) Watch: Love Actually, It’s a Wonderful Life, Elf, Home Alone (or please refer to this list)

I watched Home Alone at least six times. Catherine O’Hara has one of the craziest faces I have ever seen on television. It is so underrated that she asks a flight attendant at the airport in Paris if they could help her charter a private plane home to Kevin for Christmas. Also, here’s a fun fact: John Candy improvised that entire scene where he talks about leaving his kid at a funeral home in the polka polka van when they’re getting O’Hara home to Kev. As you can see, I murdered this movie dance floor.

6) Send at least a few Christmas cards.

I did you one better and sent Christmas gifts. Each came with a card, and every single one said the same thing:

Dear Recipient,

Merry Christmas!

Your Jewish friend with a soul made of gelt,

Leandra

And then I attached a phone number for the orthodox Jewish conversion hotline!

7) Bake festive cookies and bring to office

I defer to you, Amelia, to tell the community about the vegan, gluten free cookies that I made for the office. Leave all tales of chipped teeth out — thx.

8) Order/drink a holiday special at Starbucks. Here’s the 2015 lineup:

Caramel Brulée Latte. Chestnut Praline Latte. Christmas Cookie Latte. Eggnog Latte. Gingerbread Latte. Honey And Almond Hot Chocolate. Peppermint Mocha. Toffee Nut Latte.

Leandra and Christmas: 2, Leandra’s waist line: 4777387219.

9) COUNT DOWN THE DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS.

No. Why would I count down the days until the end of my favorite Pandora stations? You are a masochist and I won’t engage with your antics.

10) Dress festive (red/green/sparkly).

I defer to this.

And this.

And this!

And here’s an outfit I wore last Sunday night.

Johanna Ortiz polka dot top and pants

And now, for Amelia’s diet.

So I grew up half-Jewish.

The entire world seemed to buy this or at least let me live until I met Leandra Medine about six years ago and she told me this made no sense. Technically, I understood her reasoning. Theoretically, however, I understood mine more. Dad: Jewish. Mom: Catholic. Me: Guilty.

But whatever, it meant I did a little bit of it all: a first communion here, a cousin’s bar mitzvah there, Easter, Passover, Christmas and Hanukkah. I’ve got about 10% of the prayers on both sides memorized and mumble along with the rest, just like how I sing along to the 2nd verse of Brandy and Monica’s “The Boy is Mine.”

When this holiday season rolled around and Leandra and I decided to swap customs, I secretly assumed I’d win. Channukah was only 8 days long — Christmas starts the second Thanksgiving ends so technically, she was already behind.

But that right there was first mistake. Not assuming I’d win, of course, but in spelling Hanukkah. Chanukah. Ḥanukah. חנוכה. I mean how the fuck do you spell this word if Google gives you 8234567 versions?! Watch me explore the variety in my diet below.

Next came Leandra’s insane assignment list that was designed to raise my cholesterol, get me arrested for cocaine consumption and make me broke.

Behold — her instructions, copied & pasted verbatim, in bold, followed by my results and notes:

1) You must consume at least one powdered jelly donut every single day. You must also make sure that powdered residue remains above your top lip for at least 20 minutes post consumption.

Finding traditional powdered “sufganiyah” with strong-enough Yelp reviews in New York City proved more difficult than one might imagine, especially considering that I am lazy and hate walking into stores.

I ended up spending 20 excruciating minutes on the phone with Doughnut Plant to confirm that their Hanukah doughnuts were legit and another 20 excruciating dollars to have them delivered.

They sent me the wrong ones (these were covered in peanuts as opposed to powder) so unfortunately, no Pablo Escobar ‘stache. They were, however, filled with blackberry jelly. I ate both of course and consider this a win.

Also of note: Leandra baked cookies, and they were actually good. Since she’s Jewish, I now consider these Jewish cookies and give myself an extra credit point.

2) Light the Menorah every night starting tonight and recite the prayers.

Arguably the most important part of this holiday, I only lit the candle once.

And on the 2nd day. However, my excuse is that upon calling my (Jewish) grandmother to wish her a Happy Hanukah, she told me that lighting candles was very dangerous and not to do it ever again.

2a) You should also tell everyone Kendallabra is trying to steal Hannukah’s thunder.

No, Leandra.

3) Give up meditation for a week and instead play dreidl (basically the same thing)

I don’t meditate (can you tell?!?!?!?!? EIieoSIHG OSHOUh!! ! ! ! !) so this was easy to give up. Meanwhile, dreidel — the 10th word in this “diet” with 100 different variations on its spelling — became my new favorite way to make noise in the office.

4) Eat potato pancakes for breakfast, tell people they’re latkes and that eating them sure beats doing homework.

Another culinary fail. The restaurant “ran out.” I was mad but I’m also half-Irish so I know the struggle of a potato famine well.

5) Buy me a gift every night for all eight nights

It’s the thought that counts?

6) Whenever asked how you’re doing this week, you must answer, “Wonderful! I am celebrating the miracle of light!” — and then go into the extensive Biblical narrative wherein the Maccabees light a menorah in the holy temple and the light lasts for eight days. Then interrupt yourself and say that this is just one of the stories we tell ourselves in order to live.

I opted out and wore a menorah hat instead.

6a) Remind people that though Joan Didion is not Jewish, her birthday does overlap with Hanukah this year.

Mostly I just reminded people how Thanksgiving coincided with Hanukah last year and repeatedly brought up Seth Cohen’s creation of Chrismukkah.

7) Learn to say “suvganiyot,” which means jelly donuts in hebrew.

Easy like the Internet.

8) Memorize the lyrics to this song, become a pubescent boy with the vocal talent of an angel on acid.

I remain a post-pubescent woman. However, I also much prefer the Maccabeats:

9) Stop spending US dollars, force vendors to take “gelt” (it’s gold coin chocolate)

Uber loved this!!!

10) Commit an orthodox conversion

Awkward…Christmas is coming soon, so no can do.

But you didn’t think I’d let myself lose, right?

Just like the Maccabees said — it’s a miracle.

Feature illustration by via The Miami Herald/MCT via Getty Images; collages by Krista Anna Lewis and Emily Zirimis.

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