inspired by this post by @onadarklingplain, alex pov. my hand slipped.
Alex and George were already debating what to order in for dinner when the green whatsapp banner flashed across Alex's phone. Morning in California. It was the hardest part of having to be in Monaco while Lily was in California, preparing to play the next round of the LPGA: the spending an entire day with George, eating breakfast, watching tennis, watching the replay of Doriane's race-- like Alex would have needed an excuse to follow George home, like he had anywhere else to be on this continent-- and then the bubble popping just before dinner, an entire day wiped away because Lily was beginning hers.
He swiped away the notification. He'd sat on the floor when they came in, because having his center of gravity closer to the ground felt good when he was off-kilter. Sitting on the floor, instead of next to George, made it easier to remember that his center of gravity was supposed to be inside himself. He wasn't looking at George, but he felt the way his body went too still. Freeze was always George's favorite nervous system response.
“Are you okay?” he asked. Yours is fawn, he heard his second-to-most-recent therapist say. Like there was something wrong with keeping an eye on the people you care about, noticing how they were doing, seeing if there was a way to put them at ease. He'd stopped seeing her shortly after that conversation, started seeing someone who asked him where he felt things in his body and didn't seem pressed when he couldn't give an answer.
At least he hadn't asked George are you mad at me. George had no reason to be mad at Alex for having gotten a text from his-- the word fiancée still felt like a LARP, like he was still a teenager trying to convince the social workers he was an appropriate guardian for his siblings. The thing about taking on adult responsibilities before you were an adult was there was nothing you could do, later, to feel like you'd really become one. The thing about meeting your girlfriend at 23 was that you blinked, and then you were 30, and she was your fiancée, and you still felt like the same asshole who'd ditched George on your boys' trip to hang out with her.
“What do you mean?” George asked.
Alex could hear how much effort he was putting into sounding casual, the way his vowels stayed too level. Hypervigilance, his therapist said in his head, and in his head, he told her to fuck off. She didn't get it, didn't understand why you always needed to be vigilant, didn't know how easily everything could slip away. A second of attention lapse and you're in the barriers instead of on the podium, and the missed podium is how you lose your seat, and half a decade later you're still not where you'd meant to be, just like that. Or you wake up one morning, and there's a knock at your door, like something out of Kafka. Or you ask your girlfriend to marry you, and your best friend stops mentioning her, for months.
Alex tipped his head back so he could see George properly. His nose was red from the sun, the bridge white where his sunglasses had blocked it. Carmen would have remembered to tell him to reapply suncream, even though she tans even easier than Alex, because she's responsible like that. She'd take care of George, when he finally married her.
“I meant — with the wedding. Are you going to be okay?” George isn't the type to not mention things. George is an open book, usually. It's been so long since George hid anything from Alex that Alex doesn't know whether he chooses not to or whether he really, truly, just can't. George wears his ambitions, and his desires, and his hungers, so close to the skin that Alex thinks he can see his heart beating in his chest sometimes. George has told Alex about his doubts about Carmen, about his feeling like it all fits too neatly, like he wonders sometimes if he's capable of feeling more, and Alex has laughed, and told him to grow up. Carmen and George work, like he and Lily work, no drama, no chaos, no big feelings. Life throws enough shit at you as is.
George still hadn't said anything. Alex felt his stomach in his throat, the feeling he gets when he's painted himself into a corner and the only way out is to keep painting. “We were thinking — well, neither of us see much sense in drawing it out. So maybe during the summer break," he said. He hadn't even wanted to do the whole thing, the proposal with the ring, the hullaballoo, but Lily was chill, but she wasn't that chill, or at least her family wasn't, so: not the whole thing, but some thing, at least. The minimum amount of necessary thing. "But I don’t want to — if I’d be a distraction, you know.”
George has a car that could win the championship. George paid the right dues to the right people, ate the right shit at the right time, got himself into the right position in the right car. Alex has been in this sport long enough that he doesn't believe in merit-- Lando Norris is the first of their cohort to win a title? Be so fucking for real, as Chloe would say-- but George deserves this, and Alex wouldn't be able to live with himself if George got anything less than what he deserved because of Alex's choices. If Alex getting married would fuck up George's championship battle, that's reason enough not to get married, in his book.
“Summer wedding, then?" George asked, smiling. "Just so long as I’m getting an invite.”
Alex forced himself to smile, even though the idea that he could get married and have George not be there, as if anything he does in this life would be real without George there to witness it, was unbearable. Alex's wedding could sooner go off without Lily-- Zoom her in from whatever hotel room, if you have to, she'd probably prefer that anyway, she hates big parties-- than without George.
“Course you’re invited you twat, you’re my best man. I thought that was obvious. I’ve said it enough in Grill the Grid videos, haven’t I?” They've been asking him enough variants of the question, for years, that at some point he half expects them to cut the bullshit and just say it. If you had to shag someone on the grid, who would you? Not that Alex would shag George, really. That word's too simple, too easy, for what it would be like with him. Not that Alex has thought about it, really.
“That doesn’t count as asking,” George said, in his buy a girl dinner first, voice, and Alex felt a laugh shatter its way out of his ribcage. Proposing to Lily had been simple, easy. There's a script for asking a girl to marry you. You buy the ring, and you kneel, and you don't even have to say anything, just her name, that's it, no reason, no justification, no need to explain why you're doing it, everyone knows, they've done the whole thing for you in their heads before you even get there. There's no script for asking someone to be your best man, or. There is, but Alex hasn't wanted to, hasn't been able to bear the way that saying it out loud would put George in a box, forever, demoting him to Best Supporting Actor. Every time he said on Grill the Grid that he wanted George to be his best man it felt like a lie. He can hide things from George, but he can't lie to him.
“I’m asking now,” he said. It was as close as he was ever going to get. He could feel his heart in his chest. It was pounding, and aching. He would tell his therapist that he identified a feeling in his body. She would be proud. “And I mean it.”
Some part of him thought that George would say no. The part of him that would be relieved when the last shoe finally dropped, when everything finally fell apart for good, because then there would be no more waiting, no more wondering how, or when, or why, wondered if this was it, if this would be the end. If he would finally lose George for good, or else. Be asked to choose, maybe. He'd spent enough time wondering which of them he would choose, if he had to, and now, facing it, he knew that he had always known.
“Okay,” George said. Alex felt his heart pound, for another few seconds, and then he couldn't take the feeling of George's eyes staring into him, searching, and had to look away, back to the TV, where somehow, Doriane was still driving.
So it was settled. Alex would marry Lily, and George would be there, Hollywood-handsome in a tuxedo, and Alex wouldn't be able to look at him once he'd walked in, because he would have to face away from him, toward Lily, but Alex would feel George behind him, and knowing that George was there, would always be there, would give him the strength he needed to face the rest of his life.
hello good morning, i'm here to humbly ask for any alex feminisation thoughts you may have
sometimes for the bit you ask your mate to do your slap-dash drag make up and then halfway through you realise you've made a terrible mistake and that you do actually sort of want to be his girlfriend.
[top 5/10] thank you so much for asking @onadarklingplain and @janinaduszejko, here are four of his modelling shots and then one candid for realism (my leg is his favourite scratching post and yes he does love biting my feet).
in these trying times (George Seen With Baby), if you have any scholarship and/or wisdom to share about single dad george, please know i am sitting here with open ears
It's the sound of the door opening that wakes George up, and by then it's already too late.
"Dada," Penny says in a wobbly little voice that’s thick with sleep. Her feet are heavy on the hardwood floor, gait ungainly as she stumbles across the room. George is already rolling over on instinct - she likes to sleep with her head planted on the join where his chest meets his shoulder, which means he's forced into sleeping on his back to appease her - when he wakes up enough to remember.
Besides George, Alex is awake. Is looking at him. George opens and closes his mouth uselessly. "Daddy," Penny says more insistently, because he's normally answered by now, and then she flings Dolly up onto the bed and it hits Alex square in the face.
"Jesus Christ," Alex says, flinching back in surprise. He'd said it differently earlier, when he'd been pressing George back against the kitchen bench. They're dressed still, both of them lying on top of George’s made bed; George's belt is still on, digging into the folds of his stomach. He doesn’t know when they fell asleep, can’t imagine what possessed him - it’s not like him to slip up this badly, to let this stupid thing he likes to pretend is happening with Alex brush up against reality.
"Sorry," George says, "sorry, it's - the new bed, she doesn't -"
“I bring my Dolly,” Penny tells George.
“I saw that,” George says. He’s still seeing it - Alex is holding the rag doll up, inspecting it with a perplexed sort of look about him.
Penny wrestles her way up onto the mattress and George wraps her up instinctively, settles her in against him. She sighs, content, eyes already most of the way closed. The soft, warm smell of her is so familiar; he noses at her hair so that it’s all he can smell, because it’s better not know what his bed smells like with both her and Alex in it.
“Sorry,” George says again. He doesn’t know what to do, how to fix it, frozen in a panic muted by having just woken up. Alex looks from the doll to Penny, and then away to the bedside table, rolls partway over so that he can check his phone. George can’t see the screen properly past Alex’s head, can just see where the light catches all the sticky-up parts of his hair. The glow of it lights up the far side of the room and George can see a shirt hanging out of the laundry basket, one of Penny’s plastic horses and a little model race car on the floor. It must be early - Penny normally comes in after midnight if she’s going to. George could get up and carry her to the door, probably, without upsetting her too much, could be polite about letting Alex out. And then tomorrow, once Penny’s with his mum, he can be properly angry with himself for fucking everything up, for not even having sex with Alex this time and now throwing away the chance of ever getting to have it again.
“Alex,” Penny says and Alex’s shoulders go rigid at the same time George’s jaw does.
“Shh no, come on, sleep time,” George says gently, rubbing his hand up and down her back like he did when she was just tiny and he was out of other ideas.
“Alex,” she repeats insistently, her little hand shooting out stroppily to grab at him. The way she says his name - Ah-lux - makes George want to cry all of a sudden. It feels tawdry, having Alex see this part - the fact that George can’t make her stay in bed now that she’s out of the cot, the messy way he’s been parenting all the way around the world.
“Right, sorry Bub,” Alex says, rolling back and handing over the doll. Penny thanks him and then nestles up against the crook of George’s arm. In the semi-dark, George can’t interpret the look on Alex’s face.
“Honestly, you can - you don’t have to stay, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You should - you can go, don’t worry about this,” George says. His voice sounds stupid and thick; he blinks to stop his eyes stinging. He hates this about himself - the way he wants things. Penny should be enough, his career should be enough, having Alex as his friend should be enough. Alex letting him go to his knees or bending him over the back of the couch sometimes is more than he thought he’d get.
Alex hovers for a second. “Can I-?” He starts and then stops, makes a complicated sound that George thinks is meant to be a laugh. “I could, um. It’s late - or, you know, early but like late, and it’s. I could just, um, stay?”
George blinks. Alex has never stayed over before.
“You don’t have to,” George says, trying to suffocate the flickering, traitorous thing in his chest. Penny snuffles in her sleep and her breathing evens out. Her head is heavy against him, grounding.
“Yeah, I know but,” Alex says, his lovely mouth pulling into a wry smile. “Night, Georgie.”
“Night, Alex,” George says, letting Alex wrestle the blanket up over them and tangle his cold feet in between George’s.
oh god kay the way the answer truly is ALL OF THEM.
this rhaphidophora tetrasperma which is at the ceiling and so brutally dug in with it's roots, like i need to attend to it but it's hit the ceiling sooo many times and i'm only one person who can't possibly be expected to climb up so many chairs to try to bushwack
and then a bonus for this philodendron atabapoensea right in front of it, which is also at the fucking ceiling for at least the fourth time
2. this monstera dubia that i have already woven up and down the mount like three times and is still desperately trying to escape confinement
3. this philodendron splendid that is at the ceiling again even though i just cut it a couple months ago
4. this brazilian rain tree that i was supposed to bonsai .... 👀
5. this rhaphidophora hayi that grew from the bottom shelf up the back of my plantshelf all the way to the top of the window before i finally cut it down
for this post i was mostly just focused on plants that are super horny for the ceiling, but there are also so many plants that have gotten too big in other ways, like this domino peace lily that's on the cusp of being too big to fit in the shower. don't be taller than me and don't be wider than the shower, i feel like those are reasonable rules and i don't know why we're having so much trouble achieving them????
4. a story idea you haven’t written yet & 16. favorite place to write pleaseeeee
4. a story idea you haven't written yet
so I was obsessed with rapunzel as a child, and then as a teenager watching the barbie one with the kids i was babysitting, and I keep being like, guys, guys, we were all obsessed with this, right? universal experience? but like crickets. i was chatting with @selfsong and finally realized that, in fact, that fairytale is not as brilliantly juicy just in itself, but because i spent way too much time thinking about it. most of the unhinged implications actually just came from my brain. you know just the girlish daydream of locking a beautiful woman in a tower. we’ve all been there. honestly, it was quite funny because i just went back and reread the story and firstly, rapunzel gets pregnant. LITERALLY ZERO MEMORY OF THAT. just full and complete erasure in my mind. and then secondly, the stuff about the sorceress visiting her in the tower is like 1/2 a line and not the entire novel i had imagined.
so i was thinking of writing a rapunzel/evil sorceress story. it would be very rancid. 😈 very very very.
16. favourite place to write
ideally i'm just at home, in my office, on my iMac, with a keyboard, but i will also write on my phone literally anywhere if required. i'm like a zero stimulation writer, so i want it absolutely silent. i never listen to music, i don't want to be in public, i don't want any distractions. i keep my gdocs open in a separate browser, like i do my internet living in firefox but then i have gdocs in edge. often like half a dozen open. me in my separate browser, so there are no distractions, but still lots of open tabs because i cant function without my multiple emotional support tabs.
i want to hear your answer to all of these questions but, 22. Favorite place you visited this year?
end of year asks
God so boring, i didn’t really go many places this year as in like TRAVEL but i did go to a lot more restaurants this year!! We went to a brand new Japanese one which I think was my fave, but i was so one-drink charming at one of the other ones that the head chef emailed me the signature recipe for the dang place so here is a photo from that:
happy birthday!! i hope you had the best day. your birthday queue has been a delight 🤍
aaaah, thank yooou 🫶
btw tomorrow morning (wine headache allowing 🙏) I plan to boot down the door of the bare bones chocolate shop in town for birthday treats. I'll report back!
