i am keeping both freminet and chongyun on my team and using them both as dps i do not care that they are both cryo claymore characters (so less capability for elemental reactions) cause they are my silly little autism children and i love them and i will protect them with my life and nothing that anyone says can stop me

oh yeah also i pulled the bell for the first time today and yes apparently it is by far not the best weapon for chongyun but it FITS HIM SO WELL so i simply do not care

like look at my boy 🥹 it matches his belt 🥹

I'm actually so curious about that whole interaction in the first chance encounter story with johnny and the girl in the green dress

This was fun to write. Dare I say I'm actually quite proud of this one. This Johnny is almost entertaining to write and I think my amusement shows. Thank you for this ask so I could explore this entire thing from his perspective. Fun fun fun.

Warnings: Smut, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Penetration, Impulsive decisions.

WC: 2.6

___

"Johnny, you're staring at her." He turned away at the words, the light laugh in Sofia's voice making him unknit his brows. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Just someone Ten introduced me to." Johnny lied with ease. "You know how he is. Dangling temptation in front of me for his own amusement."

"I'm trying to recall if I've seen her before." Sofia turned to assess (Y/N) like she usually did with a potential prospect, "She's cute." She added with a shrug.

"It's her first time." Johnny stated, lips tugging when Sofia turned back to him with a smirk. When she raised her brow at him expectantly Johnny bit his cheek, giving her a shake of his head.

"I'm not sure if I'm up for a new one. They're always a little too shy for my taste." Johnny looked away from the woman to call the bartender over.

It wasn't an outright lie. While he had his own more pressing reasons to not even entertain the idea, the ones he voiced were also on his list. Johnny never really did gravitate towards the occasional new faces despite the club's overall fascination with them. New ones needed to be taught, and Johnny didn't come here to be a guide.

It was also the truth that he did not like shy people, especially women. The coy type didn't suit his purposes. When he ended up in the club, it wasn't to have an invisible dance of wits with someone. He came here to fuck.

"It's always the shy ones that surprise you." She added with the same knowing glance Ten gave earlier. "But sure, have it your way." She flicked her wrist, turning her attention to the approaching bartender Sofia wouldn't admit she had a soft spot for.

"I always do." Johnny smiled, grinning when she slapped his arm with a light laugh.

It was her words though that had him thinking about (Y/N) again. Truly, Sofia was right about that. This shy one had done nothing but surprise him all evening.

An inadvertent grin lifted his lips as he thought about the comments she made at his expense. He'd be insulted if he wasn't so surprised by how the person he usually saw dutifully nodding to anything he or Kun asked of her had that it in her to even voice grievance at all. Nonetheless so colourfully. Johnny did always enjoy a good wit almost as much as he enjoyed being surprised.

It was terrible, he realised. He had seen the woman by the elevator just before he left for the evening, to come here nonetheless. She gave him a cursory update on his looming IPO and he sent her off with a request to have a good weekend.

And now Johnny wanted to take up that task himself.

He turned in his chair, to look at (Y/N) again. Despite knowing better. When he did, she seemed to be looking in their direction.

Except she was certainly looking at Sofia instead of him. And it made Johnny feel the need to make her look at him instead.

Another terrible thought.

Then she turned to do the very thing he wanted and the surprise from that made his heart pick up in pace. He couldn't help the grin that tugged on his lips. Her smile in return was an unsure one.

"Just go fuck her." He heard Sofia scoff.

It was an image he didn't need, no matter how irresistible it became the longer it played out in his mind at the mention. He shook his head, turning back to her.

Johnny traced the low collar of Sofia's emerald green dress with his finger, the ghost of a smirk twitching his lips.

"Trying to get rid of me?" He looked away from her chest slowly, raising a brow when his eyes met hers.

"No." She swallowed, shaking her head. Johnny wondered if he'd ever get used to the immediate rush he got from flustering otherwise confident women. The confusion from the nerves they weren't used to feeling never failed to arouse him.

"You know how I hate it when you try play hard to get. We both know I don't have any patience for games." He licked his lips when her otherwise confident indifference fought to seep back into her now fidgety gaze.

"The more you say that the more I think you secretly beg for some rattling." She gave him a knowing smirk, "But of course. You know how little I care for feigned modesty."

"What makes you say I want to be rattled?" Johnny practically taunted the woman.

"You're a man after all, Johnny. Even you're predictable sometimes." She turned in her own chair, crossing her legs and leaning over. Johnny's eyes shifted to the cleavage she put on display for him.

"Trying to rile me up, are we Blondie?" He questioned with a lowering voice.

"She's here with the rockstar, isn't she?" She changed the topic without any care for his words, "I've heard he gives the best head in the club." She clapped her hands together. "I've also heard he's a formidable kisser." She taunted him back. "Something you're never willing to offer."

"You can try with the rockstar. I don't think you're his type." Johnny shrugged.

"I'm everybody's type, Mr. Suh." She sat back, clicking her tongue. "Come on, let's go give you what you want. You're so rude when you're horny." She rolled her eyes, blinking almost apologetically when she realised her folly.

On a different date he would have pointed it out. But when he turned his gaze, he saw the rockstar making his way to the back of the club with (Y/N). Probably to where Ten sat with Taemin.

"Come find me a little later?" He turned back to Sofia, "I have to talk to Taemin once before he leaves." He told her, picking up his untouched drink as he strode through the room with the intention of getting to his destination before the both of them did.

___

Johnny should have exercised more caution when he realised he was very visibly sizing her up. But he was sure he'd stopped caring the moment he realised that she was in the same clothes she had left work in. Instead of it being the warning that he desperately needed, the thought only made an unprecedented itch settle that he was dying to scratch.

Johnny knew that his impulse would one day get him into trouble. For now, he reasoned that on the weekend he was nobody's employer. Instead he was an increasingly horny man.

Maybe he had actually stopped caring when her appeal to Taemin reiterated that this fiercely competent woman was always around him and his boundaries were the sole reason he kept his notice away.

When his blood pumped a little faster from the determined professionalism in her voice, Johnny knew he was in trouble. As he watched her back straighten, she gave Taemin a clear list of reasons to join the label that even Johnny could tell he found worthy of a second thought.

Somewhere along that, he had also found his gaze lingering on her lips. He was almost stumped by how he was literally seeing (Y/N) in a way that was so very new to him. The women he otherwise only knew for her excellent contracts and terrible taste in coffee he would now know her having lips that almost demanded attention.

___

Johnny had always been told his own lips were worth notice, but he took the words to be a trick to give up his one rule. As he watched her tap her wine glass against her ruby red mouth, Johnny truly understood how distracting a good set could really be. Johnny never cared for kissing enough to indulge in the act with most people.

So maybe it was when his thoughts circled back over and over again to how her lips would feel against his that Johnny should have taken a step back.

Instead he saw her give a small pout as she told him her desire to experience the notes of the wine. Johnny decided that it was almost his duty to help her out, his only payment being the way he did it.

With her eyes closed and lips parted, Johnny formed his words precisely to prolong the excruciating moment. He told himself that this much he'd allow himself to have. The shallow breaths that made her bottom lip quiver occasionally, the way the rapid rise and fall of her chest brought his attention to the three undone buttons and the teasing peak at her chest. It also bought his attention back to the chain around her neck, almost taunting him with a promise of more surprise.

Johnny wanted to be a good man, at least at his place of work. To live up to being a decent man who did not fraternise with colleagues because with his penchant for getting bored of partners it would certainly spell disaster.

But the chain around her neck was like a secret that was begging to be uncovered. How could the obedient one in front of him wear anything but gold? What was it that he was missing and how could he find out?

Johnny suddenly did wish that (Y/N) was just another new face in the club. But a smaller part of him knew that most of his undeniable attraction came from how wrong the need to scratch his irrefutable itch felt.

When she opened her eyes, the dazed blur in her gaze made him think that he'd almost do it too. Especially when her gaze settled on his lips and he had to bite down on them in case something spilled.

The way his stubborn dick twitched when she bit down on her own though, made him realise that he wasn't thinking with his mind at the moment. So he sat back and loosened the grip of his tie.

A compromise was what he decided to come to by himself. So he just silently, almost expectantly watched her. He reasoned that a clear sign from her would be all he needed. When her gaze didn't waver from him, Johnny almost gave in to his desire to ask her if she wanted to ride him into the weekend. The thought made him take a soft breath as the image infiltrated his mind and refused to relent.

He almost grabbed her by the wrist when someone called her name and whatever trance they were in broke. Johnny tried to hide his irritation but he was sure he failed when her gaze lingered on his face. To his agony, it looked more intrigued than cautious.

He tried to be nonchalant, when he offered her more wine later. What he wanted her to know was that he was available at her one call. Johnny suddenly wanted nothing more than to give his brain the night off.

Once she left, he thought he'd do himself a favour and look for Sofia. He speculated that a good fuck would do something to ease his impulse and clear his mind.

"Are you playing hard to get?" Sofia frowned at Johnny when he pulled her away from a man she was speaking to.

"No, I told you to come find me later." He ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't mean me. I mean with the new girl. I thought you were already christening that pretty face."

Johnny frowned at the crude words but kept his offense to himself. He was the one that knew her, to Sofia she was just another face.

"I told you I don't care for the new ones. Come on. Don't tease me, I'll make it worth it." He tugged her green dress towards him.

"Fine. But she can watch me fuck what she's missing. I'm bored." She shrugged.

"I sometimes forget what a bitch you are." Johnny scoffed with a humorless smile. "Fine, let's see how she feels about that." Despite himself, the prospect amused him.

___

Johnny knew it was a mistake the moment he opened his eyes and found hers on him. Her cheeks were the same irresistible colour as her full lips as she sat with frozen intent. Eyes still so infuriatingly curious more than anything else.

Johnny should have taken Sofia upstairs if he wanted this to clear his mind off the woman that was out of bounds. Instead the swirling mix of his growing pleasure and the undeniable arousal in (Y/N)'s gaze made him almost certain of how this was going to end.

He reasoned again that if he did something about this itch immediately then it wouldn't grow into what would most certainly ruin a professional relationship.

Johnny's thoughts came back to the present when he felt Sofia's expert pace falter. Looking up he saw her turn back to look at (Y/N) with another knowing look. In his state, Johnny was more impulse than he was a man. It made him jerk her head back swiftly.

"Not yours." He warned her, jerking his hips up to make his point. She laughed haughtily despite the way her body tumbled into his.

"Alright. You can have her. I didn't think you could be possessive." She groaned when he thrust up again. "Especially for the new shy one." She added before he tore a moan out of her.

Once satisfied by the exchange, Johnny turned his eyes back to (Y/N).

Despite what Sofia just said, he wasn't prepared for the surge of heat he felt when the rockstar leaned close to her ear. The smirk on his face seemed to be suggestive and Johnny had to tighten his fingers on Sofia's waist to resist the urge to lift her off him and walk across the room, to do what he really wanted. He raised an irate brow at (Y/N), daring her not to look away from him.

When she obeyed Johnny felt his dick tighten and he looked back to Sofia more out of courtesy than anything else. Within a few thrusts though, his eyes closed and the face he saw told him that Johnny had absolutely set himself to be screwed. His release didn't even feel satisfying.

___

Johnny sat at the bar still replaying the way the rockstar had cupped (Y/N)'s cheeks like it was a proposition. In truth, it was absolutely his fault for thinking he would even be a viable alternative when she most definitely thought of him as her difficult boss.

But it was also his fault for taking so long to come to terms with his shortcomings. Johnny was never going to be a person who wasn't impulsive. It just took him till the moment he saw (Y/N) follow the rockstar up the stairs to realise that his discomfort could have ended a lot sooner.

Johnny turned towards the room, wondering if he had it in him to go look for someone in hopes of a more satisfying end to his evening.

When he spotted (Y/N) approach him, his breath faltered.

Asking her about the rockstar was as petty as it was unnecessary. Either way his resolve had solidified the moment his gaze settled on the sway of her hips as she approached, only furthering when she admitted that she wasn't going to be going upstairs with anybody. And confirming that it was all his fault.

When she called him out on his disingenuous apology he made one last compromise with himself. Still it was like the surprise he got from the sudden shift in her disposition was a taunt.

The sharp jabs that came from her soft lips finally gave him a hint of the secret she had wrapped around her neck in copper.

He still wanted more. And he braced himself for his next words carefully, trying to put aside the dreadful outcome it would bring to this chance encounter.

He took a slow breath, "I have a proposition for you."

Character from: Chance Encounter

Mini Masterlist

Fic: Love in the Highlands

Summary: In Lochdubh, Hamish acts as self-appointed matchmaker to newcomer Belle as she tries to make sense of her feelings for taciturn landlord Gold. Hamish Macbeth/Once Upon A Time fusion: rumbelle, bellish / Isobel&Belle broship.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “AU: Fusion”

Rated: T

=====

Love in the Highlands

Small, isolated communities like Lochdubh were naturally suspicious of incomers, especially if they came from anywhere further afield than Glasgow and even more so if they came from the other side of the world entirely. Belle had been prepared for more than a few strange looks when she had first moved to town and started to work at the newly opened bookshop slash library slash local information office slash community centre slash back-up post office. 

Once she’d made it clear in a firm but friendly manner that she wasn’t going anywhere and that she was going to try and fit in with the local customs as much as possible, people started to be more accepting, and now the locals would smile at her in the pub and would only express incredulity that someone would ever want to move from somewhere like Australia to the middle of nowhere in the Scottish Highlands. 

There was only one person left in the town whom Belle had yet to win over, and, considering the way that the rest of the locals gave him a somewhat wide berth, she thought that this was something to be proud of.

Ciaran Gold was Belle’s landlord, and he owned the village antique shop; how he managed to stay in business in a place as small as Lochdubh was anyone’s guess and theories among the town varied wildly: from him being a vampire, to him being a mob boss, to him running an underground moonshine operation to rival Lachlan McCrae’s. 

He was also the most reticent and surly man that Belle had ever met, keeping to himself for the most part and barely ever leaving his dusty shop. He hardly spoke two words together to her when she ventured into his lair to bring him her rent, and although she would have loved to stay a while and browse the veritable Aladdin’s cave of treasures in the shop, she always received the impression that her presence was unwelcome, and he was shooing her out of the place with his aura alone. 

“He’s like that with everyone,” Hamish assured her when she was lamenting her lack of cordial relations with her landlord in the pub one evening. The local policeman and his girlfriend had welcomed her from the very first and it was largely due to Hamish and Isobel’s practical common sense that Belle’s popularity was increasing, and the library was gaining in foot traffic daily. (The fact she’d started bringing in cake probably helped as well.)

“But why?” Belle pressed. “No one’s naturally that miserable, something has to have happened to make him that way.”

Hamish made a face and pointedly changed the subject by announcing that he was going to get another round in. Belle waited until he was out of earshot and turned to Isobel. 

“There is a reason, isn’t there?”

Isobel nodded and leaned in over the table. 

“It’s a bit of a local gossip legend,” she said. “Gold left Lochdubh for the bright lights of Glasgow, married a city girl who then left him and took their wee son with her. He came back to Lochdubh a broken man. Hamish doesn’t like it talked about; Gold’s a cousin on his mother’s side and even if they’re not incredibly close, he’s still family.”

Now that Belle knew the connection, she could see the resemblance. Gold’s face was older and worn with life’s hardships, his hair greyer, but the familial traces were there. Isobel’s words had only served to make him seem even more mysterious in her eyes, and she wondered if perhaps she could be the one to bring him out of his shell of hurt…

X

Armed with the admittedly scant knowledge that she had gleaned from Isobel, Belle decided that she would take a different approach the next time she tackled Gold. She would simply refuse to be cowed by him. If he wanted to be left alone, then he shouldn’t have a shop open to the public. 

So, on the next rent day, when Belle went into the antique shop with her cheque, she didn’t go up to the counter straight away. She was determined to look around and browse with the proper respect that a lifetime of collecting all in one place deserved. 

Gold was watching her as she moved around the shop taking in the veritable Aladdin’s Cave of treasures there, and occasionally, their eyes would meet. At first he seemed to be in just as much of a foul mood as usual, but the longer that Belle stayed, the more he seemed to become used to her presence and relax in it. When he finally spoke, Belle was so surprised that she startled out of her perusal of a delicate tea set. 

“Do you see something you like the look of? Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he added when Belle jumped. 

To Belle, those few words - spoken in complete earnest, she could tell - were incredibly revealing. He didn’t mean to scare her. All the other times she had been in the shop, something about him had given off a fearmongering aura. Now, he was a little different. As she glanced over at him, she saw that there was a slight shy smile on his face. 

She pointed out the tea set. “This is beautiful.”

He came around the counter and crouched down beside her to open the display cabinet, taking out one of the cups and handing it to her. This was certainly unprecedented. Everything about the shop had a general air of ‘do not touch’ around it, and now Belle was being allowed to handle the goods. 

The bell over the door went, and this time they both jumped, with Belle losing her grip on the cup. Gold’s hands shot out to catch it and ended up cradling hers as she regained her hold. She looked up at him, suddenly aware that she was blushing furiously, and noticing that Gold had gone distinctly pink around the ears as well. 

Belle glanced over her shoulder to see who had come in, finding Hamish standing in the doorway. He was looking rather amused at the scene he’d just interrupted. 

“Can I help you?” Gold asked coolly.

“No, no. As you were.”

Hamish backed out of the door and closed it behind him, leaving Belle and Gold standing in the middle of the shop. The moment had become awkward now thanks to Hamish’s inadvertent intervention. 

“I think you’d better take that back,” Belle said hastily, handing over the cup. “And this.” She put the rent cheque down on the side and almost ran out of the shop, glad to be out in the cold air so that she had an excuse for her flaming cheeks. Oh, this was bad. She definitely wasn’t supposed to be developing a crush on the landlord when she’d set about trying to ingratiate herself with him. Now what was she supposed to do?

X

Ever since Isobel had moved into the police house, she’d extended an open invitation to Gold to join her and Hamish for Sunday lunch, doing her best to give him some familial contact. So far, she’d been incredibly pleased with her efforts. He generally came about once every two months, which was about as much as his introversion could handle. When he came this week, however, Isobel was quite certain that he’d never come again. 

Ever since Hamish had walked in on Gold and Belle’s ‘little moment’ in the antique shop, he’d been determined to matchmake.

“Hamish, you know your cousin better than anyone else in the village, but even I know that he’s not going to welcome you interfering in his love life, no matter how honourable your intentions might be. Besides, you don’t even know that they like each other, let alone want to get to know each other more intimately.”

“Iz, if you had been there, you would know that they definitely like each other. I think ‘smitten’ is the word.”

When Hamish, on learning that Gold would be joining them on Sunday, had suggested inviting Belle as well, Isobel considered putting her foot down for all of ten minutes before she realised that if she did, Hamish would simply resort to more drastic measures to get the two of them in a room together. His enthusiasm was borne out of a simple desire to see his closest relative happy, and all Isobel could do was try to temper him for fear of him doing more harm than good. 

Although she wouldn’t interfere in Hamish and Gold’s relationship more than she already had done by extending the lunch invite in the first place, Isobel felt that it was only fair to let Belle know what she was letting herself in for in accepting Hamish’s invitation. 

On learning that Gold would be present, Belle had just given a little smile, quickly covered it with a cough, and said that it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Reluctantly, Isobel had accepted that maybe there was something in Hamish’s observations. 

Now Sunday was here, and they were all sitting around the table with anticipation hanging heavy in the air. So far, Belle and Gold had been perfectly civil to each other and shown no signs of mutual attraction, and Hamish was thinking of increasingly ridiculous methods of trying to leave them alone together. It was painfully obvious to all parties what he was trying to do, and now he’d dragged Isobel into the kitchen on the pretence of getting her to help make custard.

“Hamish, if you keep this up then neither of them will ever come here again.”

“We have to give them a chance!”

“We’ve given them several chances, now be reasonable. These things don’t happen overnight. Look how long it took us to get together.”

“That was different.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Whilst this argument was continuing in the kitchen. Belle and Gold were still left to their devices in the other room. Belle couldn’t help continuing to sneak little glances at Gold. She’d been doing it ever since she’d arrived, and sometimes she caught him doing the same. This was one such occasion. He gave a little smile, although it was becoming clear that he was getting increasingly stressed by the whole situation. 

Figuring that conversation was better than awkward silence, Belle decided to start talking. 

“Are they doing this on purpose?”

Gold shook his head. “No. Hamish is doing this on purpose and Isobel is probably giving him grief for it as we speak.”

“I think he just wants us to get to know each other a little better.” Belle inched her chair a little closer around the table. Since she’d been given this opportunity, however contrived, she might as well make use of it. “I mean, I’d like to get to know you better, if I can.”

Gold’s expression was a strange one, part hope and part disbelief. “There’s not much to know,” he mumbled. “Not much good, at least. I’d rather talk about you.”

“If that’s what you want, I’m sure that I can be persuaded, Mr Gold.”

“Please, call me Ciaran. If we’re getting to know each other better then maybe first name terms would be a start.”

“As you wish, Ciaran.”

She didn’t realise how long they continued to talk for, but by the time Hamish, looking somewhat smug, and Isobel, looking somewhat exasperated, returned to the room, the custard was stone cold and had set into a solid lump in the jug, and the apple pie that it was supposed to accompany had burned to a cinder. Isobel got out some ice-cream instead, and the ruined dessert was tactfully not mentioned in the hope of avoiding breaking the proverbial fourth wall that had sprung up around the table and Hamish and Isobel’s prolonged absences from it. Still, conversation seemed to flow much more easily now that Hamish had achieved his goal, and Belle was almost disappointed when the time came for her and Gold to leave. Not too disappointed though. They walked along in the late afternoon sun together until it was time for them to part and go their separate ways to their respective homes. 

“It was nice to get to know you, Ciaran,” she said. “Perhaps we could get to know each other a little better over lunch again. Without an audience, this time.”

Gold smiled, and his ears had gone rather pink again. 

“I would like that very much, Belle.”

“I could bring a picnic to the shop tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect.”

As they said their goodbyes and continued down their different roads, Belle couldn’t help but grin. It turned out that Hamish’s interference had done the trick after all, and if he was attempting to play matchmaker like this, then he obviously approved of her interest in his cousin. 

Belle couldn’t wait for their next date. 

(But she probably wouldn’t tell Hamish about it.)

Part 1 Episode 3 thoughts

The scene in the bathroom, where she appears suddenly behind an upset Sabrina, the paper towel she holds out is so scrunched and she holds it out so awkwardly, that it tells us how fake this all is, even if it’s not currently visible to Sabrina. Combined with the purposefully licking her thumb to wipe away a mark from Sabrina’s face which is a very typical thing of the archetypal Mother, shows that she’s generally and actively trying to be maternal, that’s the angle she’s using. She knows Sabrina is without an official, biological Mother in her life, and Lilith is perhaps hoping that being maternal is the way in. And this does, in time, work (but as a lot of people have said both in headcanon posts as well as joke ones, Lilith narrative as regards Sabrina is essentially ‘I will fake caring for her’ and then her constantly fighting genuinely caring before finally being like ‘fuck it, my plan has backfired on me terribly’)

After Sabrina leaves, as she turns to the mirror and checks her lipstick, Lilith looks a mixture of smug and fucking tired of this shit. There’s the smugness that she has ensured Sabrina knows she’s there to help, she’s there caring about her, a maternal hand reaching out, but she also seems so fucking done with the shit she has to do. This could also be her thoughts on Sabrina’s reaction to the visit from Satan in Hawthorne’s office, like ‘well fucking done, Lucifer. You’ve just sent her running a mile. She’s not going to sign any book when you’re freaking her out at school’. Lilith may be abused and conditioned to follow the Dark Lord without question, to do as he asks her, do his bidding, but that doesn’t mean she can’t still think he’s an idiot man-angel whose terrible tactics she’s going to have to fix. 

When in Blackwood’s office, the phrase ‘The girl is my charge’ is an interesting one. The term ‘charge’ as well as the possessive ‘my’ implies that Satan has not just told her to get Sabrina to sign the book, but also to watch over her, keep her safe. Lilith, at this point, is presuming that reason is because Sabrina needs to be alive to sign the Book (and as I said above, she’s conditioned not to question him), but we, now with retrospect and hindsight, know the real reason he wanted Lilith looking after Sabrina; both because he intended the girl to be his Queen and because he intended Lilith to be her ‘satanic fairy godmother’. 

When she flicks Blackwood’s pages without looking at them, this has such a vibe of being the taunting child here, as she is deliberately messing with his stuff and deliberately losing him his page. It just really reveals their dynamic and what she thinks of him, how dismissive she is and how much she wants to irritate him at best and get rid of him entirely at worst. He is literally so beneath in her view that she doesn’t even have to pay full attention. 

“As is my way. A hand on her shoulder, a whisper in her ear” tells us not only that Lilith is the queen of subtle manipulation and corruption, but that this hasn’t been the first assignment of this kind. The fact she doesn’t think his obsession with getting Sabrina to sign the book makes her anything special, implies Satan has had others he’s focused on for one reason or another and that Lilith is often the one sent in to sort it. Also the fact she goes straight for the booze shows us that not only does the woman need a drink, but there’s at least one thing about the mortal realm she actually likes. 

“But she was at the altar; you failed to get the signature”; Lilith is already well aware of who the more capable of the two are. It’s that thing where she doesn’t think there’s a competition because she doesn’t consider Blackwood to even be in her league. 

“My dear demoness” seems to imply that while Blackwood knows what she is, he might not know who she is. Lilith is quite a renowned person within their world (obviously, but it’s also shown by Edward mentioning her in his manifesto and Faustus giving her a co-starring role in his play) so I can’t help but feel a warlock would be a bit more respectful to the Mother of Demons. But I don’t write Blackwood and I’ve never done on meta on him, so I wouldn’t like to say any of that is definite. 

Lilith glares one flash of a sharp glare when he says her methods are weak, because that’s offending her tactics and she’s damn proud of the way she works and knows it gets the job done, so she’s professionally offended here. But when he adds ‘your will is womanly’, she rolls her eyes, because this isn’t professional, this isn’t constructive criticism to be taken seriously, this is the same old male refrain she’s heard a thousand times before. 

"Yes, you’re blunt like a hammer, that’s true” Implies they’ve spoken quite a few times before we see this meeting, though how much I don’t know, but there’s a familiarity here, that perhaps she even went to the Academy the night she arrived (after she killed Wardwell, because...first things first)

Her eyes flicker with thought when she says ‘But don’t underestimate her, warlock’, as she thinks back on her own interchanges with Sabrina. It’s less warning him here and more a case of Lilith thinking aloud. She is consciously realising how clever and determined Sabrina is, how much more complicated this task she’s been set will be, and perhaps there’s even a flicker of admiration there (though it’s quashed by Lilith’s current ambitions, intent and where her then loyalties lay).

The true warning to Blackwood comes when she adds ‘and don’t disrespect me’. She loses her thoughtful gaze here and turns to look at him with something that is sharp and dangerous. There’s no doubt she is deadly serious here. Emphasis on deadly. 

“High priest or not, you’re still a man. And I feast on male flesh” This is an epic implied threat, heck it’s barely implied, she will eat him if he doesn’t get in line, but it’s hysterical how you see his smile fall of his face suddenly like ‘wait, what?’. 

When we go to the school and Lilith is all ‘You’ll never guess, Sabrina’ she totally ignores Harvey until she is forced to acknowledge him. But even then her wording ‘That’s W.I.C.C.A to you, Mr Kinkle’ is distancing language. Whereas she’s shoulder to shoulder with Sabrina, close, implying allies, two women working together on the same side. But when she adds ‘making their voices heard’ she seems to genuinely smile and it’s possible that there’s something that even in mortals she has to admire; women taking charge. 

Lilith takes far too much time and detail and attention in making that scrapbook of newspaper cutting. She even hovers pieces over the book to check it’s the right place and it will be aesthetically pleasing before she sticks them down. Lilith basically went all out on that Blue Peter project (and she does it again with the Gingerbread house in the Solstice episode. Lilith puts her heart and soul into magic art projects)

Also, as a side note, I’m not quite sure how taunting the lawyer with the image of his dead daughter was supposed to change his mind about helping Sabrina. I mean, Lilith, what are you doing? That’s only going to motivate him to fight the devil even more, surely? She definitely did a better job trying to break the team up by giving Sabrina the book of news articles, but in the end, it merely led him to telling her the truth about his devil deal, as well as the tragedy of his daughter’s death, and basically Lilith inadvertently made the team stronger. Or it might be a subconscious level of self-sabotage. Unlikely, but a nice thought. 

“Have you come to congratulate me?” “No. And congratulate you on what?”

The no, is a simple, pfft, of course I haven’t come to congratulate you. But the added ‘and congratulate you on what’ seems to be like ‘wait, what the fuck would I even be congratulating you for?’. And as she says ‘a half victory is no victory at all’ she literally frowns at him like ‘are you an actual idiot? You want congratulations for....you’re confusing me with your idiocy’. She’s also messing with his stuff again as she talks. These two needed more scenes, because it could have been really fun...just with her taunting him really, haha. 

“It’s always brute force with you men, isn’t it?” 

This heavily implies Lilith’s experiences throughout her life. She had brute force from Adam wanting her to submit to him, brute force from the False God who kicked her out of the garden to die when she didn’t follow his rules, brute force from Satan who has made her in his serving handmaiden with his abuse. And of course there will be other instances with other men, mortal and demon, that we haven’t heard about specifically from the show. This is Lilith’s established base line for men, it’s always about brute force. It’s why Adam 2.0 is such a shock for her, because there’s no brute force, no physical violence there. 

“But real corruption is a thin, subtle blade”

Yes, this is Lilith’s tactic, but I think it’s also reflective of what Satan did to her. To change her from human/witch to demoness, woman to handmaiden. I don’t believe either of those things happened over night, and I don’t believe her character, her nature, changed that completely and suddenly either. It was slow and subtle, all with Satan’s easing and encouragement, his abuse, both mental and physical, and then his rewards, taking and giving as he saw fit, his talks with her....all of it a thin subtle blade until Lilith didn’t realise how deep it was and she’s lost to it. 

“I am quite good at tearing souls apart. One piece at a time” Everyone needs a hobby and apparently this is Lilith’s. 

Yet, despite that, what is her plan for tearing souls? It’s a freaking bookclub. That we see do nothing in the series except give them great books to read, forbidden books that allow them to rebel against the establishment, to bond over said rebellion, to explore their true selves...and basically all become a lot more learned and self-actualised and confident because of it. She freaking improves their lives here. Is this subconscious sabotage? Or is Lilith just really bad at trying to corrupt young woman because her own experiences just make her natural instinct to free them? Or is that we’re in such a horror of a male patriarchal nightmare that Lilith is needed?

Theo is, of course, smiling constantly throughout this scene. They look directly at Lilith, smiling, and then they smile and everyone else. They’re constantly right at Lilith’s side. They laugh at her saying ‘Juicy, forbidden novels’. This is either a crush of all crushes, or Lilith is just giving off a vibe that Theo is loving. Or maybe it’s both. Both is good. 

Also the juice forbidden novels line is a totally mirror to the juice forbidden apple which Eve ate. 

“A little something for each of you” She says menacingly, looking at them all with silent, evil plot face. You gave them a book club, Lilith. Of banned books. You’re becoming their dream teacher, not their nightmare. This is not evil. This is brilliant. 

Meeting Hazel - Part Two

Word Count: 3,199

AO3 link here

Part One here

For my wonderful wife @vckaarrob, and everyone else who requested a follow up to the Aaron/Hazel drabble I did a while back

Aaron felt a little apprehensive as they approached the Mill, although he didn’t really know why.

Something about his past colliding with his present, most likely.

It made him a little uncomfortable; anxious

Hazel had managed to fill the air between them with inane conversation on their walk from the graveyard, and Aaron couldn't deny he was grateful for once for her ability to chatter away so effortlessly. He'd found it quite grating, once upon a time - when he'd just wanted to spend some time alone with Jackson and she'd insisted on hanging around, unable to gauge when she was no longer welcome - but he welcomed it now. He quite liked it actually, hearing all about what she'd been up to in the years since he'd last seen her. She'd been travelling, and had spent some time working at an art college in London, until she'd met a guy and moved up to Manchester where she now lived.

She was halfway through explaining to Aaron all about her new love of street art after discovering how much of it was dotted around Manchester when they reached the top of the driveway to the Mill.

"Down here," Aaron told her as he pointed down the path to their home. He looked up at Hazel, who raised her eyebrows and looked over at him, suitably impressed and – if he could believe it would be possible – a little lost for words.

"What? I told you I was living at the Mill," he retorted casually, despite being unable to ignore the little drop of pride he felt at the look she was giving him. "Well, I forgot which one the Mill was," she smiled back at him, waving her arms to dismiss her lack of memory. "And I thought to myself it was this one, but I said to myself Hazel, that place is huge and he's only a mechanic you'll have got your quaint Emmerdale cottages confused." He narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, struggling to keep up with her stream of consciousness.  "But I was right, wasn’t I?” she beamed back at him. “Oh, Aaron I'm so proud of you, you must be doing well to afford to buy this place." She reached out and squeezed his arm, and he couldn't help the smile that played out over his face, even if it was one-sided. "Is it your fella?" she asked, oblivious to the slight insult. "Has he got a bit of cash has he? As well as being gorgeous?" Aaron sighed, shaking his head. He didn't really want to go into the specifics of how he'd managed to afford the place - that was a whole conversation for another day – so he decided to give her a half truth and hope she’d leave it at that. "Just...come into some inheritance," he murmured as he approached the front door and pulled his keys from his pocket. Her face paled and a look of horror washed over her. "Oh my god. Is it Chas? Is she o -" "She's fine," Aaron interrupted her, assuring her before she got too carried away with herself, not realising what the mention of inheritance would cause her to assume. "Oh, thank god," she let out the breath she’d been holding along with what seemed like genuine relief, bringing her palm to her chest as if to steady her heart rate. They might have had a weird relationship, but Hazel knew better than most what Aaron had been through, and he knew she'd not want him to have endured any more loss than he already had done. He took out his key and unlocked the porch door, walking in first before gesturing to welcome her into the corridor.

“So was it your Dad?” Hazel asked, nosy as ever. “Who passed?”

Aaron didn’t like referring to him as that – made his cheek twitch at the sound of the word – but he wanted to change the subject so he nodded and hoped she’d drop the subject.

She didn’t.

This was Hazel, after all, and Aaron seemed to have forgotten her knack for inadvertently sticking her foot in it.

“That explains the arrival of the sister,” she smirked, appearing pleased with herself for working it out. “Oh, Aaron, it’s lovely that you’ve taken her in when she’s grieving – ”

“Just, don’t mention him, yeah?” Aaron stopped her in her tracks, needing her to drop the mention of him before she came into contact with Liv.

Hazel went wide eyed and pulled her finger and thumb together in the corner of her mouth, swiping them across her lips as if to zip her mouth shut.

“Liv – my sister – she doesn’t need reminding about it right now,” he added the half-truth, well aware it was himself who didn’t need reminding more than anyone.

He waited for her to nod, before jangling his keys and opening up their front door.

“Oh my word, Aaron,” she marvelled as she stepped inside and let her eyes travel around the expanse of the room – taking in how it looked so well-put-together in a way that she’d never expect from the Aaron she knew – and gravitating towards the mantelpiece, littered with photo frames of happy memories and smiling faces.

“Blimey, even you’re smiling in this one, Aaron,” she noted with a chuckle, picking up the frame and thrusting it in Aaron’s face.

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a half smile as he looked at the photo.

It still made his heart skip a beat, even now.

“Wedding day,” he added, by way of explanation. “Well, the first one, anyway.”

She frowned and gave Aaron that look that told him she needed more of that story.

He winced, unsure whether he really wanted to rake back over the times that hadn’t been perfect for himself and Robert; why they’d needed two wedding days in the end.

There was a part of him that only wanted her to know his successes, for some reason.

He heard footsteps down the metal staircase, and welcomed the distraction of Robert’s arrival to put her off course.

“Ooh, hello,” she smiled shamelessly as Robert made his way to the bottom step. “You must be Robert,” she continued, shuffling her way past the furniture to make her way towards Robert.

Aaron laughed as he saw his husband’s outstretched hand, well aware that Hazel would swoop in straight for the hug.

He was right, and he bit on his lip and let out a laugh at Robert’s alarmed expression over her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around him, his arms outstretched to his sides, unsure where to place themselves.

“Hazel Rhodes, you can call me Hazel,” she beamed as she finally pulled away from him, holding onto his elbows as she held him at arm’s length to inspect him properly. “Well, I thought you looked good on that photo, but it doesn’t do you justice, does it? Haven’t you done well, Aaron.”

Robert raised his eyebrows and looked over to his husband, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face.

“Well, thank – ”

“Aaron said you were a looker,” she continued, interrupting him, “of course he said not to let you hear me say it, but I couldn’t stop myself, although he says you’ve got a bit of an ego.”

Robert laughed in Aaron’s direction.

“Oh, he does, does he?” he teased, taking the opportunity to wriggle out of Hazel’s grip on his elbows as Aaron approached them.

“She’s making it up,” Aaron rolled his eyes as he leant in and placed a chaste kiss against his husband’s lips.

Hazel looked on, beaming smile taking over her face, before she noticed Aaron’s glare towards her and snapped herself out of it, making her way to the other side of the room to explore a little further.

“Good day?” Aaron asked his husband quietly, slipping into the usual routine.

“Fine, you?” Robert replied, almost at a whisper as he eyed Hazel manoeuvring around their front room, intrigued by their pool ball feature on the wall. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he added, concern seeping from his expression as he locked eyes with Aaron.

He offered his husband a grateful smile in return; still wasn’t sure how he’d quite got this lucky, to be able to know this side of Robert so familiarly.

“She’s helped, actually,” Aaron admitted, looking towards Hazel as she glanced back over to him. “In her own…Hazel way.”

“I’m guessing your Robert’s the interior designer, Aaron,” she called over, gingerly trying to work out the lighting contraption in the fire place before giving up and moving back to the photographs.

“How did you guess?” he replied sarcastically with another roll of his eyes.

“Well, you were never into making things look nice, were you?” she carried on, oblivious to his sarcasm as she flicked through a pile of letters kept in a letter rack on the mantelpiece.

“Wow, stained glass, too,” she marvelled as she ran a hand over the front door. “Definitely not your work, Aaron, I would put money on it.”

“Yeah, well, Robert did most of the decorating when I was – ” in prison – “away.”

No harm in keeping those particular details hidden, was there?

Not when she seemed so impressed with everything else Aaron had got right since she’d left.

“Drink, anyone?” Robert swiftly changed the subject, as aware of his husbands almost confession as he was of his growing unease at this stranger rifling through his worldly possessions without inhibition.

“You read my mind,” Hazel tore herself away from prying to give Robert her full attention. “Where’s this booze fridge Aaron’s told me about?”

“Right this way,” Robert encouraged her, waiting for her to follow him into the kitchen and sighing with a modicum of relief that she’d stopped rifling through his stuff.

“Tell me you’ve got something better than the lager he’s just made me drink,” she pleaded as Robert gestured towards their drinks fridge, aware of the way her eyes lit up as she saw it.

“Nowt wrong with that lager,” Aaron grumbled as he made his way into the kitchen behind them.

“You drink it then,” Hazel teased, before pulling out a bottle of wine and thrusting it in Robert’s chest. “This one’ll do. Where are your glasses?”

Robert widened his eyes, still a little perturbed at her forthrightness.

Aaron smiled to himself, aware of all the parts of Hazel’s personality that would be rubbing up Robert the wrong way.

“Above the sink,” Aaron informed her.

She opened up every cabinet door anyway, before finally producing two wine glasses and placing them onto the worktop next to Robert.

He filled them obligingly, before beckoning Hazel back to the front room, joining Aaron as they sat on the sofas and waited for tea to cook.

Hazel filled the space with an endless stream of questions, eager to know how they’d met, and who had proposed, and what the wedding had been like.

Robert did most of the talking, Aaron grateful that he managed to give the rose-tinted account of their history and to keep alive this strange sense of pride that Hazel seemed to beam with on hearing how well he was doing.

It was the version of their story that was suitable for small talk and dinner guests.

It was the version without manslaughter, kidnap, prison and unwanted pregnancies.

The version Aaron needed reminding of, on today of all days; Robert filling in their love story with little details that made Aaron’s heart race, no matter how many times he heard them.

“We couldn’t stay away from each other.”

“Of course I chose him.”

“I realised he’s the only person who’s ever made me truly happy.”

“I knew I couldn’t live without him.”

Each new line got Robert a flicker of Aaron’s gaze in his direction, and a small smile playing across his lips, and more than likely a taste of Aaron’s gratitude later on, as soon as they’re alone again.

Hazel lapped it all up, cooing in all the appropriate moments, and Robert had her eating out of the palm of his hand.

Liv appeared briefly at one point – frowning in confusion at the sight of the strange woman sitting on her couch – before Aaron introduced her and Liv offered nothing more than the slightest flicker of recognition at the name Jackson.

She plated herself up a portion of the dinner and took herself off to her room after offering an awkward Hi in Hazel’s direction.

“She’s your sister, all right,” Hazel commented, nodding playfully towards Aaron.

He felt compelled to apologise on Liv’s behalf, but he couldn’t help but find himself agreeing with Hazel, well aware it was exactly what he would have done at having found himself in that situation at Liv’s age.

“You’re not wrong,” Robert agreed with her, breathing out a laugh.

They sat and ate dinner, Robert and Aaron able to make it through barely saying a word as Hazel managed to chatter away, telling tales about her travels and slipping in snapshots of memories of the life she lived in the village.

Snapshots of her and Jackson, before everything happened.

Snapshots of her time with Aaron and Jackson, in the beginning, and in the end.

Robert noticed every uncomfortable moment flicker over Aaron’s expression, and he brushed his foot up against Aaron’s calf under the table each time, Aaron offering a gentle smile in recognition of his husband’s strong and silent support.

Aaron found himself wondering how he ever got so lucky.

He wondered whether the version of himself that Jackson knew could have ever dreamed of finding what he had now, with Robert.

He’d probably barely recognise himself, he mused.

::

Two bottles of wine and an overstayed welcome later, Hazel finally made tracks to leave.

Robert made his excuses, retreating back into the kitchen under the guise of washing up as he let Aaron walk her back up to the village for her taxi.

“Bye, Robert. Lovely to meet you,” she called out as she pulled on her boots and threw her coat around her shoulders.

“You too,” he called out back to her. “Safe trip home.”

“Just look after this one, he’s not as strong as he looks,” she smiled as she made her way out of the door.

Aaron frowned, about to enter a protest when Robert replied to her.

“He’s the strongest man I know, Hazel.”

Aaron’s insides melted, and he swallowed down and bit at his lip to stop the smile from spreading.

“Blimey, he’s a proper Prince Charming, ain’t he?” Hazel joked as Aaron manoeuvred her out of the flat and down the corridor.

“Wouldn’t go that far,” Aaron huffed with a hint of amusement.

They walked in an unfamiliar but amiable silence into the village, almost as if they’d said all they could say to one another, and that the rest of it needed to remain unspoken.

They’d always have a connection, Aaron and Hazel – would always have been through what they went through together – and it gave them a deeper level of understanding between them that didn’t need words to express it.

It was in the silence that the most was said, sometimes.

“Taxi’s here,” Aaron noted, pointing across to the car parked up with its headlights on.

Aaron spotted Finn waiting in the taxi parked up outside the pub, and felt a slight wave of relief that it was him and not Ross who had the pleasure of Hazel’s company all the way into Hotten.

He faltered as Hazel grabbed him and pulled him into a hug – hesitant at first, before he let himself relax into it, aware that she was squeezing him a little tighter and as if she never wanted to let go.

He knew why she was doing it.

He knew it made her feel closer to Jackson, somehow.

He gave into it, and squeezed her back a little, too.

He saw Jackson’s face as he shut his eyes, and he clenched his teeth together as that flash of pain he’d gotten so good at supressing coursed through him once again.

It was rare for him to feel it, these days – now that he had everything; now that he was finally happy. But it was still there. It never left him.

It never would.

He pulled away, needing release from it.

He noticed the track of a tear down Hazel’s face.

“It’s been good,” Aaron admitted, his words a little reluctant in his usual way. “Seeing you, today, it…I dunno, it helped, I guess.”

Hazel nodded back at him, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” she agreed, with a smile full of melancholy. “Yeah, it helped me too.”

Aaron rubbed his face with his hands, aware of the tickle of a tear as it passed down his cheek.

“You better get going,” he nodded over at the taxi. “These cabs don’t like waiting, y’know.”

Hazel smiled back at him.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it, knowing you,” she started, protesting at Aaron’s rolling eyes as he realised what was coming. “Oi, look at me,” she pleaded with a smile, repeating it until Aaron relented and met her eyes with his. “I’m really happy for you, Aaron. I can tell you’re happy, and you’re settled, and you’ve got a family who love you. You deserve it, Aaron, you really do – ”

“Shut up,” he muttered under his breath; embarrassed.

“No, listen,” she pleaded back at him. “You do deserve it, Aaron. I’ll never forget what you did for me, and for my son.  All I want for you – and all Jackson would want for you – is for you to be happy, and for you to find someone to love you the way you deserve to be loved. And your Robert,” she widened her eyes as the smile grew over her face, “well, he’s enough to keep anyone happy, I’d imagine, ego or not.”

Aaron couldn’t help but smile, despite his eye roll.

“Look after yourself, Aaron,” she urged him, squeezing at his arms as she pulled herself away. “It’s all he would have wanted.”

Aaron nodded.

“You too, Hazel.”

He watched her smile, then turn to make her way towards the taxi, waiting for Finn to pull away and giving her a quick wave before making his way home.

Robert was waiting for him, perched on the edge of the sofa.

He stood up as soon as Aaron made his way back through the door, saying nothing as he walked towards his husband, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, and pulled him in close.

Aaron let himself be held; let himself feel the safety of his husband’s embrace as his love encircled him; let himself wrap his own arms around Robert’s waist, fingers grabbing onto the material of his shirt and squeezing with everything he had.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Robert’s chest as they swayed together gently.

Robert kissed against his forehead.

“I’m always here, you know,” he whispered the words into Aaron’s skin.

Aaron nuzzled further into the hug, then pressed a kiss against the underside of Robert’s jaw.

“I know.”

Newport Marathon - 5th May

Third marathon of twelve! 25% there!  The weeks after Brighton I was fairing better than I did after Manchester. My recovery and mental health seemed pretty steady and have friends to thank for that. A lot of encouragement, praise and reminders to eat properly/drink water went a long way.  Going to Cheddar Gorge the weekend after and just chilling out in nature just settled me I think. Followed by a training run and supporting the CALM runners at the London Marathon the following weekend definitely got me back into the routine and prep for Newport the week after. 

Heading to the station immediately after work on the Friday night, I was early yet again but treated myself to the usual sushi but this time with a prosecco (interesting mix) and settled into “Outrunning the Demons”, the second book from Phil Hewitt about his running, this time including a collection of stories from others who have found comfort, healing and a future in running. Thoroughly inspiring, all the more so because fellow CALM runner and friend Paul Shepherd’s story is included. 

Very grateful that in my planning for all the races I’ve managed to reserve a seat each time so I knew I had somewhere to sit on a weirdly busy train on an 8pm train to Newport. 

I arrived into Newport gone 10pm and was a short walk to the airbnb. Thankfully, my host had been in touch to confirm my arrival and was so lovely when I arrived! Airbnb have been redeemed after the Manchester debacle. 

The room was gorgeous and warm and even included some breakfast snacks which were very welcome when you’re on a budget. 

A very lazy day on the Saturday but got out and took a trip into Cardiff for a wander around and to give my legs a good stretch ahead of the marathon the following day. It was beautiful! I love Cardiff and Newport, even more so when the sun is out! 

Back at the flat early and settle in for the night with some documentaries and some decent food. 

The morning comes and the short walk into Newport central was easy enough. There wasn’t much signage at that time of the morning but found myself inadvertently following some runners who looked like they knew where they going. Thankfully they did. 

I hadn’t received my number in the post as expected but a quick phonecall to the organisers in the week had it sorted without issue. On the day it was as simple as heading to the race organisers desk and getting a replacement number. 

Although it was only 8:30am the day was warming up and after the variable weather of Brighton, I learnt my lesson. Strip back and take an extra layer in your saloman bag in case. I’m not in it for speed. I just need to finish the race so carrying the extra weight of a top won’t make any odds. 

My running gear sort and bib number pinned, I head over to the bag drop which was the smoothest and most thorough I’ve seen at a race, checking bags through by security before runners leave their bags in their allotted area. 

As I was coming out and heading to the start line I saw the familiar flash of neon orange. Another CALM runner! I went over to say hello and introduce myself. We got talking and I found out this was Simon’s first full marathon. He asked if it would be okay if we ran together; I was secretly quite flattered.  

We head to the start line and the nerves are starting to creep in. It only dawns on me as I’m in the crowd of runners that I’m setting off on yet another 26.2 miles. It should feel routine by now and to a degree it does...except the run itself! It’s still a huge physical challenge but Newport just surpassed all expectations and realities. 

3, 2, 1 *gun* Here we go on another mission, this time with Simon alongside me. 

The crowds were just so amazing and seemed so genuine too. The TV presence and radio interviewers up and down the route for the first 2km definitely added extra hype to what we were doing. 

The route was exceptional too. Flat as a pancake bar a couple of railway bridges. With Simon alongside me too it was lovely to have some company along the way and be able to chat. 

Around the mile 9 mark a fellow runner came alongside us to thank us for running for CALM. He told us that he’d lost his dad to suicide and the realisation of why we’re doing this. For those we’ve lost and for those we can save.

Mile 11 and the final half a mile where by far my favourites of the course. An entire village it seems turned out at mile 11 to cheer you on. The enthusiasm and genuine joy from the crowd as you pass them gives you such a high. 

It was shortly after mile 11 that Simon and I parted company, he was in fine shape but I think my pace was slightly outside of what was comfortable for him but made a promise to see him at the finish line. We start together, we finish together. 

The rest of the race seems a bit of a blur, not for any bad reason at all but more in the way that it seems like it all fell into place this time. My pacing was good, my nutrition was on point, my mental block seemed far away and I felt like I just floated. 

Similarly to Manchester, I didn’t have anyone there to cheer me on specifically but the crowds were so genuine that everyone who called out willed my, fairly sore, feet on to the finish. 

4:23:47

30 seconds slower than my Manchester time but another time I am so absolutely proud of. In my head I wanted a personal best but running with Simon for the and hearing his story was a far more moving experience than any PB could have done for me. 

I got my bags, had some snacks to fuel up and head back to the finish line, as promised, to see Simon over the line which he did in 5:15:33: a thoroughly respectable time for his first!

We went and grabbed a Nandos to decompress and recover ahead of catching the train from Newport at around 5pm. Simon was my godsend that day, just such a genuine guy and has opened his home to me ahead of the Yeovil Marathon in June and will also be joining me for his second full marathon, my seventh marathon of my challenge, in the New Forest which just so happens to be the day before my birthday  

We head to the station and departed company, my train arriving just a few minutes before his own. 

Newport got it right and everything feels like it fell into place this time. The organisation, the hype, the crowds, the route, just everything about this one secures it as one of my favourites so far..... there’s still 9 left to do so will be interesting to see how it compares at the end. 

So thrilled with finishing Newport, that the future marathons ahead are met with excited anticipation, rather than nerves now.  Onwards to Edinburgh. 

“Tonight, we are graced by the presence of a very special guest,” a voice boomed from the stage, “the former president of the United States, Mrs Marissa O’hary-Adler. Welcome, ma’am.” A woman in her late fifties with salt and pepper hair emerged from the backstage and, smiling at the audience and the host, glided towards the seat. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Now there is only about a thousand and million things I want to ask you and talk about,” opened the host after she settled in, “but let’s start with the obvious elephant in the room that everyone is talking about nowadays – your biography, that is coming out next week. Where did that come from?”  “Probably out of being the President of the United States for eight years,” the woman turned to the laughing audience and joined quietly. “Besides, I am nearly officially retired now, so it seemed like a logical step,” she continued. “There is only as much holiday-ing and gardening and knitting I can take, and as you maybe know, I have some background in writing, so there’s that. I guess I am just closing my professional circle, coming back to my roots in a way,” she trailed off and the host chuckled.  “By ‘some background’ you of course mean the fifteen years you spent as a journalist.”  “A reporter,” she corrected lightly, “but yes, that. Like I said, I had quite a lot of ground to cover” the chuckle was easily returned. “I started out as a photo-reporter though, mind you,” she added as an afterthought. “So there is still some way to go before you close that circle fully?” the host cast a line,  “No, I don’t think so, not publicly, anyway. This will be it, I should think,” the woman smiled easily.

“Now about the book itself,” the host moved forward, “About Time, it’s called, and I must admit I got my hands on one of the early release copies and I read it in one sitting, and then I wanted to start again. My wife complained about not seeing me for twenty hours, but it was so worth the cold dinner and colder shoulder I got.”  “Well thank you,” a smile appeared on her face again, “and apologies to your wife, I guess, you should always remember to read responsibly. Yes, the early release came out I think four days ago...you paid for it, I hope?” she added with a smirk.  “Absolutely, and thank you for that segue – you have made it very clear that all profits from the sales will go to a number of organisations and charities that are, I think, even listed in the book?”  “That is correct. I called in a couple of old favours to get the expenses down and covered the rest myself, so as of now, we are in black numbers – so every cent of the sales will be distributed among the organisations listed. This was not a story I wanted to sell, it was a story I wanted to tell. The monetary aspect is a side-effect that I would have no benefit from, so to speak, hence the decision to donate it.”  “It is definitely a story that will sell, I dare say,” the host offered.  “I guess,” she thought for a moment, “but I think it sort of comes from my nature as a reporter, you know. We report, we make sure people know, not that they pay. I am not saying you shouldn't pay for it, or that you shouldn't pay reporters, heavens no,” she straightened up and laughed a little, “but it lies in the philosophy of the act itself, you know. We don’t report for our benefit.” 

“Probably the strongest topic of the book," the host moved on, “one that was not at all prominent, I think, during your time as a president or generally during your time in the professional and public spotlight – some what, past twenty, thirty years,” he waited for her to nod in thoughtful confirmation, “was your relationship with your late wife. I don’t want to repeat myself and ask where did that come from again, but I sort of really want to know,” he chuckled somewhat uneasily.  “Well it came from marrying the woman, I suspect,” his counterpart fired shortly and icily. “It might not have seemed as a prominent part of my life, but it is, it was, always has been,” she added after a beat, more softly. The host did not look entirely relieved nor convinced about the safety of the road he so inadvertently and suddenly stumbled upon, so he decided to lay some foundation first, to test the waters.  “Your name is quite a mouthful,” he fired into the dark, trying for a joke. “Try having to sign it tens of times every day for twelve years if you think it’s mouthful,” she laughed, openly and easily again, and his eyes lit up. “Fair enough,” he conceded, mirroring her laughter, “but I did some math as I was reading the book,” he started carefully and his eyes flickered to her, pausing for a beat to allow her to intervene, but only got an encouraging nod in reply. “And I cross-checked it with what I knew about you from before and what other people told me, and you did not start using it until you entered politics and started your presidential campaigning, which must have been well after your...wedding,” he ended clumsily, suddenly realising he was back at the beginning of the same road and it somehow looked even less inviting the second time around. The woman across him clearly gained her composure back since, however, because she only nodded slowly.  “Yes, I got married in 2016, but went by my maiden name,” she confirmed. “I only officially hyphenated after I decided to enter politics.”  “Which was in —?”  “Mid-2023,” she blinked and went on to accuse him playfully, “You are making me give the whole book away here, no one will buy it now.”  “It’s only cliff-notes,” he returned the chuckle, “but fair enough. Why did you decide to do that, though?” he didn't let up entirely. The bright blue eyes flickered away from him for the first time and when they returned back, there was a slight airy quality to her voice as she replied. “It wasn't something I wanted to do alone,” she said, and he was experienced enough to recognise when a wait-out was better than frontal attack. But she surprised him and picked up. “Marissa Jeanette O’hary-Adler is my official full name, but I mostly go by O’hary still. I was President Marissa O’hary-Adler, but my kids are O’hary, the name on the book is Marissa O’hary,” she trailed off a little, “like you said, it’s just less mouthful,” she finished with a small smile, looking to the side again.  “And quite international, too,” the host prompted. “Irish, right?”  “Correct,” she confirmed, “I was born in the States, but my father was originally Irish and my mother was French, and I spent my time growing up both here and in France.”  “And you went to university there, too,” he offered.  “I got my bachelors in Paris, at Sorbonne, yes,” an affirmative nod accompanied the reply, “and then Georgetown, in D.C., for my masters. And that was as far as I got in formal education,” she ended with a chuckle.  “And Adler?” The host apparently wasn't quite done with the onomastic excursion.  “Adler is,” she hesitated slightly, “quite a common European name. Spread across the continent with diaspora, I guess,” she finished. “No, I meant where did she go to school,” he turned the tables boldly. “Oh, my bad,” the woman smiled unaffectedly. “Well that list is quite more impressive than mine,” her smile turning cheeky at the cue, “let me see, she did her undergrad – bachelors – at MIT and in Oxford, then went back to England to get both of her PhDs at the latter, nerd,” she chuckled appreciatively.  “Both, you mean like—” the host left the sentence hanging, not quite knowing where it ended himself.  “Like two, yes,” she laughed in understanding, her eyes catching a proud gleam. “Like I said, a huge nerd. Her undergrad was physics, and then she went for psychology and anthropology for doctorates. I didn't know her then, mind you, but she was every single bit as crazy when I met her. Did both of them at once, within two years, too. I'm told they still have her dissertation framed in gold and show it to the freshmen both as a motivation and a don’t ever dare try pulling something like that off sort of thing. Ca–Ray never was very good at following rules, but she was very good at them – she figured very early on how to break them...elegantly, without people even noticing or realising.”  “You said you didn't know her then,” his brows furrowed in thought as he tried to visualise the timeline in his mind and settled for ending with “so when exactly did you meet?”, after realising he couldn't.  “Summer of twenty-ten,” came immediate reply. “I was having an exposition in Paris with the UN and she was in the building for work so she stopped by to look at the photos. I saw her talking, or rather being talked at, by this guy and she looked so adorable and so horribly bored I took it upon myself to rescue her,” she laughed. “It turned out she was anything but that and I totally blew her gameplan of getting some intel out of the guy, so she ran out on me to chase after him, but then she came back later with flowers and asked me out for dinner.”  “Wow, she worked fast,” noted the host with air of esteem.  “That she did,” the woman laughed again. “And her friend,” he shot into the dark again, “I remember there was quite a bit about her as well in the book—”  “Charlie, yes. I learnt about Charlie the next morning. Imagine meeting the person of your dreams, having mind-blowingly amazing time with them, falling asleep with vague, unabashedly romantic thoughts of French breakfasts in bed and slow strolls on the river banks in the Parisian rain...and the next thing you know she’s nudging you awake, the clock is showing something that looks suspiciously like seven in the morning, and she’s explaining about leaving her number on the table and having to go get a friend from the airport and calling you later, and she was out the door before the words even registered in my mind. To say it took me off guard would be quite an understatement,” a warm laugh followed. "And then some time passed and we kept on meeting up—”  “And you never wondered about Charlie?” the host interrupted,  “Oh like hell I did,” the woman laughed again. “But Ray was always so perfectly light-hearted about it, only casually mentioning a Charlie, mostly in the context of “Charlie and I” every now and then in the conversations about her work and personal life, which were pretty much classified and non-existent respectively, especially at the beginning, and I thought maybe it’s like her guy friend, you know. Then Charlie decided it was time we met and to my horror, he was a she and she was one of the most devastatingly beautiful, terrifying and intimidating people I have ever met to this day.”  “But they were just friends?”  “No,” she hesitated slightly, “I wouldn't say that. I mean, yes, their relationship was absolutely platonic in that way, but they were by no means just friends. They were more like...is there something more than twins...but yes, they were extremely close, I don’t think I’d ever call it just friends. They were...just them, I guess.” But the host found his gold mine and would dig until he hit the bottom or woke the dragon.  “And you never worried about them being just them.”  “Of course I did,” the former President answered thoughtfully, “All the time, although in many different ways. After a while, when I grasped their dynamics a little better, I no longer felt threatened by it per se, but you know...” The host didn't and expressed as much.  “They had this weird psych connection,” she tried again. “Like...this one night she woke up screaming, covered with sweat, and started rummaging through the room, shouting orders at her phone to locate things and dial people, like in some kind of frenzy, finally finding the phone she only used with Charlie, trying to call her, falling through. Then her other phone finally connected and Ray started yelling something at the person on the other end, in Swedish, so I didn't understand anything but Charlie’s name and an awful lot of “snälla”. Then she paused to take a breath and I heard a voice from the speaker and it was her boss, general Weström, barking into the room in English if I was there too. Which freaked the hell out of me even more, because I was frankly quite terrified of her. But I confessed that I indeed was and she informed me in her own delicate way that my nap-buddy has gone nuts and if I could kindly calm her the hell down.”  “Did you?” asked the host, enthralled.  “No way,” she replied, mirthlessly. “She started going on again, switching through like all the languages she knew, it was the most distraught I’d ever seen her. Then Weström finally seemed to have caved and said to hold the line, she’d get back to her in a minute. Half an hour later, Ray was on her way to the airport and Charlie was getting a medevac from wherever she was, critical but stable. Turned out she got into a sticky place and the rescue team pulled her out literally a couple of minutes before it all blew up. And it went both ways. Weström never questioned them about it again.” “This is of course General Kerstin Weström, who was your advisor during your time in the office, correct?” The host decided to branch out somewhat. “The very one. She worked...for the UN and Ray and Char worked for her. She was the second person in Ray’s life I got to meet, and I am not sure how did I ever survive that combo,” she laughed. “Ray nearly never got nervous, it took quite a bit to set her off, and one day she informed me that her boss requested a meeting, that she needs to approve me. And it made sense in the context so I didn't really think about it as being an overly big deal, but then I was sitting in an office, vaguely registering Ray standing off to my shoulder, paralysed into perfect attention, feeling the waves of nerves coming out of her. And I was sitting there for good quarter of an hour in complete silence and this unreadable, unthinkably imposing woman said nothing and just stared into my soul, for fifteen endless minutes.” She laughed. “And that was the beginning of a beautiful alliance. Even years later though I was every bit as cowering before her as I was then, though out of pure respect rather than anything else. When we would have senior staff meetings, the rest of the people who didn’t know us were just sitting there, flabbergasted, and watched the President of the United States calling some retired foreign general ma’am and snapping to attention on cue. It was hilarious.” The host obediently laughed. “ This all sounds horribly intense,” he noted.  “It was what it was,” the woman replied gently, “it was all we knew, you know. It was a norm for us. Things like this,” she gestured vaguely around the room, or maybe around her, or the world, “were completely unthinkable. But people are unbelievably adaptive creatures.” “Did you ever just kick back and have fun at all,” he tried to challenge her. “Oh that was all we did,” she laughed, but then grew serious. “But I know what you mean. Let’s see. Do you remember the Correspondents’ Dinner of 2019?” His brow furrowed, trying to recall.  “Wasn't it the one, everybody got mad with the host, I think,” he tested slowly.  “No, no, that was the year before, completely uncalled for, too,” she smirked darkly. “So 2019 was the year after I did this big investigative piece and I was starting to get recognised beyond just risk zone reporting, it was my second time being invited but first time I could actually go, and I thought I would take my wife out, you know. And it was an official function, so Ray had to dress up in her blues and she looked mighty sharp and she hated me for forcing her to go, because she hated socialising. And we are sitting there and the speaker is speeching on, the jokes are flat and not really funny; it was during the Trump administration, so of course no President, overall a complete bore compared to the year before, Ray is fidgeting to not fall asleep and the host is calling out people that were present on this and that because apparently that’s now funny, and suddenly I catch my name being said. And it was something frankly fairly uncreative, objectively not funny and actually quite offensive, not really to me, but to the piece I wrote and mostly to my sources, but still. And I felt Ray next to me go stiff and I knew stuff was gonna go down. But I decided I’ll be damned if I'm held responsible for whatever my wife does on my behalf and figured I’d rather use plausible deniability than take the fifth, or simply play the spouse privilege card if it came to it.”  “Oh, I think I know where this is going,” the host giggled gleefully.  “Oh no, you don’t,” she assured him with a grin. “Then I felt Ray relax a bit, she started breathing in time with the host, and I though cool, false alarm, and she pulled out her phone and started playing with it and I thought, you know, at least she’s not causing havoc. And the host was just in the middle of telling another weak joke, took a breath, to make up for the bad delivery maybe, punchline was coming up – and we never got to hear it because the mic went off.”  “She didn't,” exclaimed the man, astonished, clearly having the time of his life.  “Oh she did,” laughed the ignorant accessory, “she hacked into their sound system and spent the next forty minutes just mercilessly messing with it. And she was so good at it, too, turning random mics on around the room in perfect sync, so at some point when the main mic turned off and drowned another punchline, another mic turned on in front of one of the WH representatives just as she said to her neighbour “Well this is awkward.” Best joke of the evening hands down. And man was she having a blast, it was like sitting next to a kid who’s at a funfair for the first time, jumping up and down in her seat and going every thirty seconds “watch this” and “hehe, wait for it” in my ear in complete glee. Then she grew silent and the interruptions lost on intensity a bit and everyone was calming down, so I turned to her and saw her sitting there, deep in thought. So I asked if she was alright, worrying something unrelated happened, and she looked at me, face as serious as death, and just murmured I can’t decide what am I gonna play. And I knew that was my plausible deniability cue again, so I turned back away, only with the corner of my eye seeing her fumbling with some wavelengths on her phone a couple of  minutes later.”  She paused for effect, the audience and the host hanging on her words.  “And then it’s over and everyone is getting up for the National Anthem and it starts playing, first two or three notes. And then it seamlessly transitioned into the Mexican anthem. It took a moment before people realised, but then it was instant panic. People torn between honouring an anthem and putting an end to the mayhem, this all in the context of what was happening then with Mexico and all, it was beautiful. And then, you know, there is this place where the piece goes a bit more quiet, almost morendo. And in the anthem of the European Union, there was this place where it goes subito forte fortissimo, all the woodwinds and the brass section and strings picking up in a roar and just thundering in – and that’s what happened, again so perfectly seamlessly and absolutely in the beat. Half of the hall lost it and started roaring, the other half lost it and started tearing out cables and kicking things, and there stands Ray, the eye of the storm, the perfect statue of military and protocol awesomeness, not moving a muscle. It was a glorious sight.” She leaned back, smiling faintly, waiting for the host to get his bearings back. When he did, he conceded, still a little breathless.  “Now I think we will break the most searched video, because I must see this and I can’t be alone.” The former president smirked smugly. “It won’t show the best part though,” she enticed. “The show peaked when it was all officially called a failed evening and everyone started going home. Ray got up, put on her game face, strode over to one of the main organisers, shook his hand and said excitedly, in complete seriousness, “Well done, this was so much more fun than I thought it would be, thank you so much. We should totally do it again.” and then she turned on her heel, offered me an arm and walked me out. Needless to say it was the last CD I was invited, and the last I attended as a press rep.”

“And then they never invited you again?” questioned the host, bewildered.  “I think, yes,” the woman thought for a bit, “I mean a lot of things changed the year after that and the years following, and if I got invited I might have just missed it, but I don’t think so, I never particularly liked the whole concept and I guess they didn't bother with an accessory to a crime of humour, I mean I walked out with someone who blatantly laughed into the face of WHCA. They never knew the full scope, but what they did know was enough.”  “And when you say a lot of things happened after that, they really did, didn't they – I mean that was the time you got your children, you entered politics, ran for a president eight years later...I mean I did read the book, but you really have a lot to look back at.” The woman across from him laughed a trembling, full-bodied laugh.  “I indeed do, don’t I,” she let out. “And yes, I ran for the senate in '24 and for the president four years later, the kids were just turning eight and seven...”  “That would be Stella and Sebastian, your children,” the host picked up after a second of lull. “Yes, Sebastian and Stella though, not the other way around,” she laughed. “They loved it when they were little, but Stella very quickly grew out of the enthusiasm over the idea of being the dog of the scenario. And Seb is older, too, so it makes more sense anyway.”  “You adopted him first, then Stella, right?”  “Yes, they are a little over a year apart and I got them pretty much straight out of the hospital, It’s crazy how many children are in that situation, I never really realised before that – how many children are just...left straight after being born. And they go straight into the system. And, yeah...” she trailed off again, “But yes, I got Seb in 2022 and Stella the year after, they’re twenty one and twenty two now, god, time really flies, doesn't it,” she laughed disbelievingly. “And then the whole political wind-whirl happened and well, here we are now. It would be cool if I could say I did it aaaaall on my own,” she drawled out with a wide smile, “but really, I was never alone, and thanks heavens I had so much help from so many great people, so far we've been managing quite ok. My life in a nutshell,” she finished and laughed lightly again.  “And just in time for a break,” the host consulted his watch.  “Oh, you mean there is more?” the woman questioned jokingly, “What are we gonna talk about next, the future? I know nothing about that, contrary to popular belief,” she jested and he laughed.

“So back to your book,” the host opened after they settled back in. “The subtitle is How I Woke Up To Find Ten Years On The Nightstand And What I Did With The Change. What did you mean by that?”  “It’s a pune, or a play on words,” she chuckled. “You know, how people leave money on the nightstand in the morning, and well, change...bottom line it’s a joke and if you don’t think it’s funny now, read it again after you've read the book, or later still, it might get better. I hate explaining jokes, sorry, Ray always said that explaining jokes is like dissecting a frog, very few people actually care, you never really know what you’re gonna find inside, and ultimately all you’re left with is a dead frog that don’t jump; and I completely second that motion,” she laughed again.  “Ray,” he reacted, still trying to figure out how to approach the subject and not get burned again, “what’s that short for? I'm assuming Charlie is a short for Charlotte, but Ray?” The woman paused in hesitation and blinked a couple of times before answering. “Ray is sort of a short for Rachel, I guess, but I think it started out as something completely different, I don’t actually know, I never questioned it,” she explained, sounding perfectly content with the answer and he knew he’d have to try another door. 

“We have a hotline and people are sending in their Qs,” he switched gears, remembering. “Maybe we could go through a couple of them?”  “Of course,” the former president perked up excitedly. “As long as it’s within reason though,” she remarked with a smirk.  “Of course ma’am,” the host assured her with a smile as he was scrolling through the poll. “Here’s one, from a Rick, Kansas – You have always been very open about suffering from PTSD, but you never extend such courtesy to the gay community – until the pre-release of your book, few people actually knew you were gay, why?” he read out. The woman exhaled in thought and her brow furrowed slightly. “First of all, when I was running for the first time, it became public knowledge that I’d been married to a woman, so it wasn't as if I was hiding anything. And before I answer, I want to preface it by saying that all I say are my inner personal beliefs and experiences, and I am not saying they are the only ones or the best ones, they are just mine, ok? Ok.” She took another breath.  “The difference between those two groups for me, the main difference, is that I do suffer from PTSD. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see gay. It is not something that defines me. Hell, I wouldn't even say I am gay, necessarily – the person I ultimately fell in love with was a woman and that was it, you know. When I was active in politics and policy-making, I was, at least I hope, always very supportive – I see myself more as a supporter of the  LGBTQ+ rights rather than a member of the community, you see? Now people who suffer from PTSD, that is a group I can relate to. That is something I do see in the mirror every day, it is personal to me. I take a very public stance on it because it is still such a taboo – and that very fact is one of the most destructive problems of it. People who suffer from PTSD often feel alone and isolated – and suffering from PTSD leads to other people not really knowing how to treat you, leaving you – you guessed it – feeling alone and isolated. See the vicious circle of it? And it is something I had to be very open about because it affected so many people working with and for me and I needed their help to not let it affect the people I was working for. I was running a fairly transparent administration, at least when it came to say my expenses,” here she chuckled, “and if you say you’re using the taxpayers’ money on a therapist, you might as well tell them why. Because it sends a clear message that it is not something to be ashamed of. I am extremely anxious around drawn weapons, I have night terrors, sound sensitivity, I get panic attacks when I see people kneeling, I have trigger words. These were all things that directly impacted the life in the White House during my administration. At meetings, when I arrived late or had to leave for a moment halfway through to take a breather and calm down. My security detail was around me 24/7 – and that means always – they saw it all. We had to figure out a protocol for them to handle my nightmares and night terrors, because their automatic, and admirable, initiate reaction to me screaming in horror in the middle of the night was of course to burst through the door with their weapons drawn, which did nothing to help the situation. We had to plan ahead for meet-and-greets to make sure no one would be kneeling – which sounds ridiculous, but it is possibly one of my worst triggers and once it really happened. And we worked with it and around it and I have learnt to live with PTSD actively, you know, but I had – still have – an impressive and competent support system made of people who understand. So few people are as lucky. And because my experience with it is so, so present all the time, I am very outspoken about it and actively extend the courtesy to it, as Rick called it.” Her voice cut into the silence that befell the room and she looked around curiously.  “Thank you,” said the host. “If you don’t mind, you of course don’t have to answer,” she nodded to him, prompting him to continue, “but the kneeling incident at a meet-and-greet?”  “Oh, yes. It was during my first year. It was pretty cosy environment, really nice and all and there was this young man and suddenly he sort of abruptly knelt in front of me and I lost it right there and then, to his complete horror, of course. One of the men on my security detail that day was a man whom I had known for quite long then and he handled it all beautifully, but since then we always had to plan. And you know, it was a little funny, figuring out how to go about it, imagine the signs – meet-and-greet with the President, don’t bring weapons and refrain from kneeling, thank you,” she laughed. “It became a real problem a couple of times, especially when I was meeting like heads of churches, or religion figures, because that environment is quite rich on that gesture, but my people always talked to their people and nearly everyone has been incredibly accommodating and kind about it.”  “Ok, for the next one,” the host started shuffling again, “Georgina from Wisconsin wants to know how many languages do you speak,” he laughed and she joined him.  “Oh, nice one, I get to gloat,” she chuckled, “I am fluent or semi-fluent in like five, I think, English, of course, and French. I can get by nicely in Spanish and Italian and I can hold my ground in Arabic. And then some very basic conversational topics in German and some Slavic languages, and some very basic Mandarin, although I can’t write. And bits of Swedish.”  “That is impressive indeed,” the host nodded, looking it. “How about your kids?”  “They are both fluent in English, French, Spanish and Russian, that was me. And Stella picked up Japanese and Bastian is big about Latin, for some reason, although you don’t really speak that. And they both can hold decent conversation in Swedish, which they abuse often, as I only know a few words,” she laughed.  “That’s a bit of a random language,” the host offered, “how did they come across it?”  “Well gen Weström is Swedish, and they spend a lot of time together. And Ray and Charlie always spoke Swedish with her, or amongst themselves sometimes, so it just sort of happened.”  “What other languages?” he asked vaguely, fishing for reaction.  “Ray?” She didn't miss a beat. “Oh, did I mention the word genius nerd when it comes to her?” She laughed with him. “So many. English, French, Latin, Italian,” she started ticking off with her fingers, “Turkish, Arabic and Farsi, Japanese, Russian, Swedish, Czech, Slovak, decently German, though she pretended not to, some Greek and Hebrew, but that was more Charlie’s domain,” she paused, “and she was picking them up at an insane speed, too. Once we were in India, and neither of us spoke Hindi, and we’re there for a couple of days, and next thing I know I am struggling through yet another edition of Marissa vs street vendor and Ray just swaggers over and bolts out explanation in nearly fluent Hindi. The woman even scolded her for using the wrong accent and Ray went beetroot red, because that was so embarrassing to her. I could have killed her then. She spent an hour talking to the lady, trying to perfect what was supposedly the right accent for this neighbourhood. A neighbourhood we would probably never go to again and the whole thing was likely a sham, but she just had to do it.”  “Oh, wow,” was all the host said. “Ok, for the next one–”  “We could take questions from the audience, too,” she suggested. “To get some balance.” “Sure, sure,” he agreed to an uproar coming from the subject of the conversation.  “Just stand up and ask, let’s show everyone how civil we can be,” she addressed the audience daringly, with a smile on her face. After a packed moment, a couple of people stood and looked at each other hesitantly. A short, soundless agreement was reached and a young muscular man in the fourth row spoke.  “Hello, erhm, madam ex—” “Oh no, no,” she cut him off gently, “Ms O’hary or Marissa or whatever, don’t worry about it, please. No need for any of that –” she paused, prompting him, “James,” he offered, “No need to worry about any of that, James. Go ahead and ask,” she shot him a warm smile. “Ok, thank you. You have mentioned that Ray, your wife, she was a soldier? I was just curious where she was deployed and if she also had PTSD?”  “You’re in the military?” She asked. “Army, MP, ma’am, currently on leave from Fort Stewart.” She laughed kindly. “Oh, some habits never die, do they. And...well, yes, Ray was...she was an officer in the RAF, but not really on active duty. But yes, she was deployed five times, I think, to Iraq and Syria, three and two tours respectively, But she was mostly doing...response and rescue and strategic ops. And yes on the PTSD, too. Hers was...much more subtle than say mine is, in a way, I said about the nightmares, but it was much less pronounced, usually. I guess it is also quite common, so I will elaborate, if you want,” she looked up at James, who nodded adamantly. “For her, it was a more about...exhaustion, I guess. Not physical, necessarily, but mental. She was incredibly good at compartmentalising and coping, I only ever really witnessed a couple of really bad episodes, but she got quite severe depression periods, even though they were always very short. Like one night I came home, to our apartment in New York, and I knew she would be there, because she texted me a few hours earlier, saying she was on her way, only making a pit stop at the hospital – that was something you never really get used to, but learn how to read, I guess – and the apartment was all dark and silent. So I went in, wanting to call for her, and saw her sitting at the table, in nothing but a t-shirt she must have arrived in. So I turned all the lights I turned on back off and just sat on the couch, you know. For like an hour. And she was all bruised – like so badly bruised, all over, her arms, her legs and thighs, her face, it was like she got hit by a truck and it then reversed to run her over again. And for that hour, she never moved, she was just alternating between hyperventilating and getting it back under control, looking at her hands, watching them shake. Then when she finally moved, I asked what ran her over, because humour always worked with her, and she sort of laughed and said it’s a funny story actually, I tripped and fell on a grenade, it was hilarious, I will send you the footage once I have it. And that was it. Over the course of the next couple of days, she would tell me what happened, in bits and pieces, how they were investigating this arms trafficking ring, and how she found out it was so much bigger than they initially thought, dabbling in child trafficking and slave trade, too. Which was the most heinous of crimes, in her eyes. So she probed deeper, and ultimately it led them into a safe-house where they were keeping some of the children. Her unit started organising evac, the people who ran it, or their goons, whatever, came in, hell broke loose, grenades flew, one landed in a room Ray was in, along with some thirty kids. So she jumped it. They were just testing this hi-tech carbon full-body armour – it’s a standard issue now, but then it was stark new, so all she got was concussion, couple of broken ribs and bruising that wouldn't go away for like a month. But yeah, at least they now knew the material was grenade-proof, too, she said. And the part that shook her to the core was the kids, the conditions they were kept in, the cruelty of the whole situation. After she was cleared again, she went ballistic on the ring and brought them down, but it always took a toll, no matter that she saw it time and again, never backing an inch away from it, it always took a toll. It was just...even less obvious than it usually is. But you need to pay attention and make sure you, or someone, is always there for them, that really is the only thing you can do. And it needs to go both ways – it took a while for her to swallow her pride and all that, but eventually she was able to say “next time don’t do this”, or “this helped, let’s keep that”. Like in everything, there needs to be a conversation about it, verbal or not.”  “Thank you,” James nodded respectfully and sat back down from where he was standing in his parade rest. The woman on the stage nodded to him with a smile and turned to the host. “Your call,” she said gently and he nodded. “I found an interesting one, here – a Karen, Washington, D. C., is asking about your career as a reporter and what did you like about it.” “Good one,” the woman agreed. “It was quite colourful,” she smiled. “At school, my focus was primarily on third-word and developing countries, and I got my first job in the business in this small international company that covered the former Soviet block. After I graduated, I stayed there, got involved with Reporters Without Borders and rest was mostly natural development. I spent most time covering Africa and Middle East, as a photo-reporter for the first couple of years, freelanced for various papers and organisations, UN, among others, then slowly started branching away from behind the camera. That was around the time I met Ray and Charlie, and that sort of roped me into more serious business – although there was a massive Chinese wall between their job and mine, had to be – and I started doing investigative reporting. That went on for a couple of years, then I went into politics. I did coverage in Tibet, Kenya, Syria, Libya, Mali, Liberia, I was in Egypt during the Arab Spring, in Zimbabwe during the uproar of early 2018, in Gaza like five times, you name it. What did I like about it...what didn't I. I loved – love – reporting. It felt like I was doing my piece, you know. A bit by bit, I was a channel to the rest of the world, making sure people have access to information, as truthful as I can get, it was my way of making people stop and think and form opinions and maybe act, my way of making the world better a story at a time. We were calling people out on their b–nonsense, not allowing them to get away with stuff...that answer the question?” she turned to the host with a smile.  “I would think so, yes,” he smiled back.  “Back to the plenum then,” she smiled and her eyes skated over the audience, stopping on the people who started standing up. Another voiceless discussion ensued between them and one spoke.  “Melissa, ma’am, hello.”  “Hi Melissa,” the former President chuckled.  “I wanted to ask,” the girl went on, “How did you wake up to ten years on a nightstand?”  The host froze. Leave it to the masses to shoot the horse in the face, he thought. But as his eyes moved to look at the woman questioned, he realised he’d been royally played. She knew and she knew and she decided to spare him. And he couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. She smiled at him and turned back to the audience, looking at Melissa, then through her.  “By a sound of a gunshot,” she said softly and her eyes refocused back on the girl. “My wife died,” she clarified simply, her voice even and clear as crystal. “Charlie was gone and Ray was shot and the world we had been trying to make better didn't stop spinning. Our world lost its axe, though, so I decided to pull back, regroup and start from a different direction. Simple as that.” 

And everybody knew it was everything but, but that was all there was to be said about it.

Angry Boys pt. 2

I’ve actually been to two classes since I last posted, one last Wednesday and one last night.

Last Wednesday we added a couple of tools to the arsenal: Fenzi’s two-treat method and touch. Luca knows touch already, so I just practised that and added a moving target. I don’t find it’s very effective with Luca’s brand of reactivity because it requires a lot of focus and when he’s anxious he needs easier moves, like sit and ‘watch me’. But I will try it out.

The two-treat method is great because it’s a quick and positive way to move the reactive dog away from the trigger. If you are still below threshold and get a look back, treat that and move backwards immediately for the second treat. I find this works really well.

During that class we also introduced distractions. My instructor placed down some stuffed dogs near our areas to practise being calm. I did not think Luca would care about this, but I was shocked that he cared a lot. So I was unprepared for that and he reacted to a stuffed toy. I also didn’t feel like I was getting a lot of direction on how to deal with the toy at first and I confused myself by allowing Luca to get close to it and realise it was not a real dog. So yeah that was kind of botched.

Between that class and last night I had barely any time to practise. The day after class I was on a shoot for 12 hours and did no training when I got home at 9pm. Friday I took Luca to the beach with his friends instead of doing a reactivity session walk, because we both needed a breather. Saturday morning I was busy doing things before I worked another 9 hour shift at a music festival, which meant by Sunday I was so tired and lazy I did nothing until a leashed walk in the evening. My hands-free leash had arrived, so I took that out hoping to test it out on other dogs. The reason I got it is to eliminate any tension I might be adding to the leash inadvertently. We didn’t actually pass any dogs though, so I didn’t get to really see if it made any difference (probably wouldn’t have anyway because Luca was still getting used to it).

So! By Monday I arrived to class and admitted I had done no practise at all. But the class went surprisingly well. We brought them in one by one as usual, passing by the people and rewarding for no reaction. Luca is not people reactive in the slightest, so he was fine there, but I still felt awkward “performing” in front of everyone, I suppose.

We added a new tool to the belt last night too: go sniff. This is essentially the method of tossing treats on the ground so the dog has to sniff and find them, then slowly adding a cue with the goal later being that you can just say the cue and have the dog sniff around regardless of treats. My cue for this is “sniff sniff” because I already use “go” in a different cue, but “sniff sniff” is surprisingly difficult to say consistently! It’s almost a tongue twister. I thought about using a cue he already has which is “What’s this?” but that really means “I have a treat for you” when “sniff sniff” is supposed to just mean “go sniff”. Anyway so I’ll be practising that one.

The biggest success of last night though was that we took the leap and worked out where the threshold is exactly for each dog. We did this by having one dog at one end of the building, focused on its owner with its back to the room. Then the other dog would be led slowly toward the trigger and rewarded for calm behaviour. This was an exercise I’d been wanting to do for a long time and this controlled environment was perfect. On his first go, Luca reached his threshold at around 10m, but he was never actually completely over because his bounce-back time has improved dramatically. I was able to lead him away, reward him and try again a little while later. He got within 2m of another dog without a reaction! I was so proud. He did so good.

Apart from general improvement, I think a big part of last night’s success was due to the rewards I had. I had bacon on me last night and while he probably ate too much overall, his interest in the reward was always greater than his interest in the triggers. So that really confirmed for me that I have to have really good rewards at this stage and I’d been skimping and expecting better results. That’s one of the key things I’ve got from BAT 2.0 so far (gosh I’m behind on reading it. I haven’t passed chapter 4 yet, I’ve been so busy): We want our dogs to change their behaviour without changing our behaviour or their environment. I can’t go around expecting Luca to just be better, I have to be better first.

Term 3 Reflection

For your comfort, here is a summary of the stuff I done did this term, and a bit of last term because I can’t remember when exactly Term 2 became Term 3.

Learning Objective 1: Increased awareness of your own strengths and areas for growth

Activity: Going to India for my Duke of Edinburgh award was such an eye opener into just how beneficial doing Bukit Shahbandar is for endurance. Although the altitude was definitely a bit of an obstacle, all those weeks of hiking up and down hills meant that I wasn’t sore after any section of the final expedition. Whilst my fitness was good and the trekking was fine, I noticed that strength is definitely not my strongest (haha, pun intended) asset. Lugging mud bricks to and from the greenhouse made me realise that I was getting tired more quickly than others; if I want to grow in this area, I’d need to start doing more physically straining activities in the future.

Service: I think that by putting in that little bit extra effort, I’ve shown that I am able to make Blackeye have more House spirit. Just by showing enthusiasm with the face paint and sliced oranges, or actually showing up to support the house can have a huge effect on morale, so I want to keep this up next term as I think I can improve it even more and hopefully get the girls in the house to feel a bit more closer to each other. 

Learning Objective 2: Undertaking new challenges

Creativity: Singing has definitely been my biggest challenge this year, and I think that I’ve tackled it head on. Grade 8, as the highest level, is naturally difficult, but I passed with merit whilst balancing my workload and other activities. Although I’m still not sure I could get up and sing solo in front of an audience just yet, doing Showcase put me on stage for the first time; at first I was getting anxious over singing one line for a mic-check but by the end of it I wasn’t nearly as bothered.

Activity: Endured an 18 hour bus ride with the same 30 people? Check. Travelled along the Rohtang Pass, one of the most dangerous roads in the world? Check. Adjusted to lower levels of Oxygen? Check. Trekked to the highest post office and beyond? Check. India was full of challenges, and I like to think that, given that I’m alive today, I overcame every single one. As I mentioned earlier, the altitude was the hardest thing to adjust to, as every single action required more effort. Nonetheless, once the initial headaches and queasiness passed, the high altitudes were just part and parcel of the whole expedition, and we just got on with it.

Service: Planning and executing the Shoebox drive had its challenges in organising the school. We relied on the houses to read our emails and follow our instructions, but inevitably there were some hiccups, and things didn’t go to plan. I had to go out and buy extra supplies which could be used to pad out boxes which were looking a bit sad, or the items were inappropriate. The challenge, essentially, was dealing with a large group of people, and we overcame it by using their contributions as a base point before adding our own items to fit the specifications.

As part of the upcoming House Council, it was also a bit of a challenge to step into the shoes of our predecessors - especially as they’re still at school to judge us. Fortunately the council was very supportive and gave us advice on how to be effective in running Blackeye; they agreed that we needed more House spirit, and so that was my challenge. As said in the bit above, I think I successfully achieved this given that it was the end of the year and everyone’s already pretty tired!

Learning Objective 3: Planned and initiated activities or part of an activity

Creativity: One of the best things about Showcase this year was that one of our songs was effectively directed by the girls. As it was inspired by Pitch Perfect, we did it acapella - although we had Miss Marieta there to play supplementary chords in rehearsals so that we could stay in tune. We wanted to make it as true to the original as possible which involved tediously rewinding videos on Youtube after every action and watching so many choreography tutorials. Eventually we figured that the original was too complicated and set about improvising; every girl paired up with another to produce a sound, and it actually turned out pretty good! We also had to choose costumes, being mindful of Brunei’s censorship laws, which was a challenge in itself because everybody needed to be able to bring something appropriate. The final performance did have some errors (like people holding their microphones upside down) but all in all I’m really proud of what we did.

Service: The shoebox drive was an amazing success that we organised ourselves. It was raised that the kids didn’t have basic toys, supplies or hygiene products, and we in the Penan Support group found a way to help alleviate the problem. Collecting over 200 boxes shows that what we did was well received by the school and involved a huge number of people - I definitely think this should be at least an annual if not regular thing that we can do.

Learning Objective 4: Collaborate with others

Creativity: Almost everything in music requires you to work with other people. For my exam, I have to be mindful of the piano, and to make sure that I’m not stepping out of time or pitch. For Showcase, I had to take on parts of songs that I wasn’t all that familiar with so that we produced a good sound when all the parts were put together. It’s not just singing, either - the orchestra, sound technicians and backstage people all work collaboratively to make Showcase such an amazing event.

Action: Duke of Edinburgh hits every single LO. For LO4, it happened on both the expedition and in the residential. In the expedition, it was us against altitude fatigue. I think everybody was empathetic towards anyone who was feeling a bit off, and so we were able to support them through copious amounts of panadol, rehydration salts, and snacks. At the residential, we all had a role to perform with the intention of constructing a greenhouse. The teamwork needed us to communicate with each other so that the work was evenly divided and everybody was comfortable with their job.

Service: The house council is a mix of lots of different people, and we need to be able to work together if we want anything to get done. It’s not just the Blackeye council either: we worked with Ibis for the Leadership training and every other House council to plan for Peace Day. 

Learning Objective 5: Shown perseverance and commitment

Creativity: The fact that I was staying at school until 7 on some nights doing Showcase rehearsals, or having extra lessons on weekends in preparation for my singing exam is a testament to the commitment needed for this activity. I think a lot of people assume that, providing you know the song, you can just walk on stage on the day of the performance or the exam and just sing, but there’s a lot more behind the scenes that isn’t appreciated. 

Action: The Duke of Edinburgh award requires you to do at least an hour of a Skill, Service and Activity every week; luckily this fits in quite nicely with CAS. I log my activities each week with a little paragraph detailing what I’ve done - this usually includes what I did, what I learnt, and what I’d do differently next week. 

Learning Objective 6: Global significance of activity

Action: Stepping out of Brunei and into a remote Himalayan village is already pretty global, as my action was not focused on the local. I also think that by participating in the Duke of Edinburgh international award I’ve been supporting a global cause to get kids outside and doing things that are beneficial to their own communities. 

Service: There are hundreds of tribes that are facing or have faced similar issues like the Penan: the Iban, the Ibequois, etc. All of these societies have been or are at risk of being eroded due to other civilisations encroaching onto their land. By being part of the Penan Support group, I would hope that I am showing that these tribes are not facing the struggle alone: there are people who care about their cultures. In the future, I think that we can make this support more public, possibly through the use of social media.

Learning Objective 7: Ethical implications of your actions

Creativity: The ethical implications of my creativity has stemmed from the local customs of Brunei. With fairly strict censorship laws and rules on how to dress and behave publicly, I had to be aware of how I was presenting myself when performing; how I dressed, what I said, how I behaved. In short, the ethical implications of performing were in cultural sensitivity, so as not to offend anybody watching.

Action: At first, I thought the ethical implications of going to Spiti Valley would be ensuring that I behaved appropriately and didn’t inadvertently offend the homestay hosts. Whilst this was true (and I made sure to familiarise myself with local customs, such as leaving some food on my plate to show I was full), there was also the ethics of actually going there. Tourism has had a bit of a negative impact on Spiti, as they cannot cope with the waste generated by tourists. We started to be part of this problem in the amount of bottled water we consumed daily - where do the empty bottles go? Thankfully, Ecosphere had a solution: Lifestraws!

Service: When dealing with the issues of the Penan, it becomes a bit paradoxical: we want to preserve their culture whilst at the same time we are introducing our own ways and products to do so. For the shoebox drive, we made the decision that any items donated should have minimal knock-on effects on the tribe: for example, giving spray deodorant would pollute their environment and mosquito spray would make them less resilient to the bugs.

Learning Objective 8: New or extended skills

Creativity: In doing my Grade 8 singing exam, I had to make my voice familiar with the technicalities. I had to increase my stamina and improve breathing techniques so that I could be strong on long notes, whilst also taking into consideration the general feel of the pieces. I have a tendency to be quite impassive about most things, so one thing I had to improve was the way in which I expressed the piece I was singing. I also think my pronunciation in German, Italian and French has improved.