.. tar heart

[dasia mae knight]

From the perfect vantage point that was the breakfast bar of the Hudson family kitchen, Dasia watched her boyfriend's father (well, one of) as he prepared himself a snack, expert hands wielding a knife with absolute precision. This had been a fixture of the past few days in the Hudson household, the illegitimate member of the clan sat gleaning tips from Henry Hudson, who truly was an expert chef. Housekeeping tasks suddenly seemed of the utmost importance to the blonde, who was in absolute overdrive trying to turn herself into the perfect Suzy Homemaker, with varying degrees of success. Her eyes followed Henry as he worked, and a pang of envy seized her as she enviously eyed the runny yolk of his brunch. Despite being a former prostitute, Dasia had an oddly puritanical streak that pregnancy was only fuelling. Being confronted with a long list of prohibited foods and activities would seem a drag to most, but to Dasia, who thrived on swapping chips for almonds and a Netflix binge for a spin class, this fresh playground of prohibition was one of the key perks of her condition. Finally her morning sickness had abated, and in the last couple of weeks she was more energetic than ever - so energetic that she'd started a food diary, and when logging her own nutritional intake had become boring she'd taken to surreptitiously logging Desmond's too. Pouring over the marble patterned notebook that lay open in front of her, pastel coloured cursive sprawling across the page, she frowned slightly. "Henry," she started, glancing up at one of her child's future grandparents, "not to be a nag.." Ha. "But Des has eaten carbohydrates almost exclusively for the past week. Do you fancy teriyaki salmon tonight? Maybe with some raw spinach and lots of other greens? I'd be happy to make it." Rifling through the pages, she retrieved a small card that was paper clipped to a later section of the planner. It was a pregnancy approved recipe for salmon, one of dozens that she'd meticulously copied out from internet forums where fellow would be mothers had sworn by them. It was quite possible that she'd spent too much time on those forums, since she'd already achieved a virtual star for her contributions, and now felt a need to check in hourly to see how her new friends were getting on. It was also possible that she had far too much free time on her hands these days. Leaning back on the kitchen stool, she idly placed a hand on her barely showing belly, willing there to be some sign of movement though she knew it was too early for that. Disappointed yet again, she got to her feet, itching to check the Mumsnet app again but forcing herself not to. Surely nothing would have changed in this past twenty minutes? Unsurprised but nonetheless frustrated by Desmond's lack of interest in the forum, she blindly continued to try to get a reaction out of him. Plucking an orange from the fruit bowl that was sat next to her abandoned diary, she wandered over and sat next to him on the couch, sprawling out so that her head was in his lap and causing him maximum disruption. "Des," she said, her tone of voice making it plain that she was in no mood to be ignored. The smell of stale cigarette smoke clung to him accusingly, but she decided to keep quiet about it. For now. "Look at this. According to 'What to Expect.com', the baby should be about the size of this orange. Isn't that crazy? Do you think it looks more like you, or me? Do you think it's a girl? I think it's a girl. Feel my belly, I'm definitely officially pregnant now." .................... notes: pregnancy scares me. music: nothinggggg.

[desmond hudson]

Desmond Hudson hunches his fenced in balcony, the black steel is cool against his forearms. His eyes hover on his parent's backyard, his gaze full of disgust as he takes in the greed. The Boston yard is more suitable for the likes of Miami, the arrangement of it makes very little sense for such climate. Two weeks ago the palm trees were saggy and tired looking, the pool was covered in a thick layer of autumn leaves and the man made beach was dishevelled from winter. Thanks to Henry and George's team of landscapers and gardeners, the yard was now returned to it's former glory; just yesterday the bar had been opened. As Desmond takes his final inhale of tobacco, he makes a mental note of how plastic the landscape looked and how sometimes he expected to go downstairs to see Barbie and Ken making silicone eggs. As he snuffs the cigarette out, he then remembers how Dasia had fawned over the twinkle nights that were strung from the palm trees. He runs a shaky hand through his thick mop of hair, thinking, “this is how it'll end.” The twenty-five year old digs through his luggage, grabbing at a black tee shirt and pulling it over his head, then a pair of dark denim jeans are fitted onto his legs. His hands tense and he carefully stretches them before recoiling them into a tight fist. Downstairs he hears the soft buzz of the frying pan and the gentle lure of Dasia's voice, he contemplates locking the door and pretending he's still asleep for a moment. Instead he digs further into the bag, finding a curled up pair of socks and fingering out a baggy. He holds it in his palm for a moment, feeling slightly like a dirty criminal and more guilty every second that climbs by. But he puts the shame to rest by dropping a couple of pills in his hand and shooting them into his mouth. The three of them are very aware that Desmond is not a morning person. Henry's especially wary of this as his twenty-something son wanders into the kitchen, “fresh pot, Desmond.” Desmond nods, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he darts through them and heads to the cupboard. He peers at the available mugs, sliding them around the shelf in search of his mug. The large plain navy mug isn't in the cupboard but in the dishwasher, it takes him a half a minute of searching to clue in. “Looking good, Desmond, have you been working out?” George comments as Desmond pours his coffee and ignores him. “Out of razors, I see,” Desmond glances at his father, who strokes his chin and nods at his son's less than naked face. He chooses to ignore him once more, grabbing the full pot of coffee and wandering into the open living area. As he walks by he glances at Dasia, but looks away when her eyes meet his – not unlike a high school crush. Desmond grabs the paper and idly flicks through it to keep his hands busy. He sips at his coffee with thirst as he does so, blocking out the conversation in the background. But it isn't love before Dasia makes her way over to him, making her presence noticeable by curling herself into his lap like an attention starved house cat. Desmond only catches some of what she's saying, and grunts in response, his eyes crawling over the Sports section. Leaning forward (somewhat careful not to suffocate his pregnant girlfriend), he pours himself more coffee. “Desmond?” he flicks his eyes up to Henry, “I'm calling a few friends and we're having a last minute baby shower.” George is quick to pipe in, “Moulin Rouge themed, Dasia's idea, I think it's genius!” Desmond raises his coffee slightly in approval, dread filling his stomach. .................... notes: this is so bad. music: nada!

[dasia mae knight]

Quite accustomed to having the mornings to herself, Dasia usually used this time to indulge some of the habits she knew her boyfriend found particularly irksome. These included (but were not by any means limited to) spring cleaning things that were already clean, practising mindfulness, adding to Pinterest mood boards, Facetiming her mother with the daily baby update, or reorganising Desmond's clothes (sub-hobbies included burying particularly ratty t-shirts, rooting around for the diary she was sure he had, and checking to see if anything smelled of a perfume other than one in her roster). For a while many of her favourite activities had been disrupted by her fitful bouts of violent vomiting. It had meant and still meant the world to her that on those mornings, almost acting against nature itself, Des had dragged himself from slumber to check on her. In some ways she missed those little early morning glimpses of him. Not least because she'd been so tired that when he ambled back to bed she had joined him, and for a few weeks they'd truly been in sync.  But here she had Henry and George, and that was a new joy. Eyeing him as he slunk from the room like a surly teenage boy, Dasia's eye caught Henry's and they shared a small grin. Much to his chagrin, Desmond was surrounded by his fan club. Flouncing into the other room after him, Dasia matched his sour mood with inflated cheerfulness. From the comfort of his lap, she runs the side of her index finger idly across the black fabric of his shirt. He did feel in good shape under the dark cotton, and she could smell the unmistakable scent of her preferred detergent from him. It comforted her immensely. Undeterred by his lack of interest, she nestled in closer to him. Since the doctor had told her the good news she'd been extra clingy, and though she worried she was making him edgy, she couldn't be away from Des for more than a couple of hours without feeling like she might drown. Not that you could tell, from the cheery smile on her face, which seeped misleadingly into her tone of voice. "They love you so much," she said of his dads, her hand moving from his t-shirt to ruffle his beard. "Did you invite Mia? I'd hate her to miss out." It sounded more sincere than it was. Not that Dasia didn't like her baby's future aunt, but she was a bit intimidated by the girl, despite all efforts not to be. "I almost couldn't button my jeans today," she said proudly, lifting the flannel shirt she'd stolen from his wardrobe, "look." Sure enough, the smallest mound pushed at the waistband of her skinny jeans, though they weren't exactly straining from the pressure. It worried her when Desmond didn't engage with baby talk. "Look," she repeated, tempted to snatch the paper away. Perhaps it was the hormones-- no, definitely it was the hormones, but all of a sudden she wanted nothing more than to cry. But the entrance of George and Henry Hudson saved her the embarrassing emotional display, instead causing her to beam. Just like that her spirits were lifted, and she sat up on her knees to face Des, to study his reaction. Was she imagining things or had he gone pale? Still, this worried her less. Social interaction in general was not his thing, and themed social interaction was probably quite literally his idea of hell. But she was excited and George was excited and Henry was excited, and really, she wasn't nagging about the coffee or the cigarettes so she felt she deserved this. Shooting a wink to the two older men still hovering, she bit her lip. "I sort of promised everyone we'd do a rendition of 'Your Song'. Seeing as it so perfectly encapsulates all those feelings I know you have for me... deep down." .................... notes: pregnancy still scares me. music: alex turner.

[desmond hudson]

Excited was not close enough a word for what Desmond's parents felt. Overjoyed and thrilled didn't make the cut either. Henry Hudson was hysterical when he'd gotten a text from his son just three weeks ago and George was so incredibly delighted that he had cried to Dasia over the phone later that same day. They had long given up on both their children having their own, Mia having wrote that article on abortion and Desmond having made multiple speeches at the dinner about, “the selfishness of having our own children is what is going to kill this planet”, and just that Christmas, “the world has enough fucking Donald Trumps and Kardashians that Dasia and I see no need to add to them.” The news of Dasia's pregnancy had been an unexpected miracle, one which the couple had claimed brought a spark into their dull life. George and Henry both begged the expecting couple to visit, Desmond saying yes to the offer twice just to shut them up only to not show up on the day of arrival. It was finally Dasia who'd said yes when Henry forwarded her flight itinerary, along with the message, “don't tell Desmond.” Indeed Desmond was blindsided, he was sitting on the couch in his boxers and with his MacBook on his lap when Dasia rolled his suitcase in. He was flooded with complete panic when he realized she had picked through his clothes, then relief when he'd found his pills were where he left them, and then panic once more when he saw his stock of morphine was quite low. That dread still picked away at him so much so that he'd contacted his high school drug dealer, it was complete luck that he hadn't moved on with his life. Desmond could feel Dasia getting antsy, something she'd always been significantly more of since becoming pregnant. He took a long breath, his chest rising with some struggle from the weight of her head. Propping the mug on the arm of the leather sofa, he placed a cold hand on her and stroked her forehead gently. Look, he gave a courtesy glance and then a quiet nod, grazing his thumb across her eyebrow. When his parents entered the room he folded the newspaper and tossed it on the coffee table. Talk of a baby shower gave him the feeling of nausea but he was quick to hide it. “Fun,” he pursed his lips and turned to Dasia, his face mocking. “It will be! We've ordered a cake and the caterers.. you remember the one from my birthday three years ago? The one who had the broccoli casserole thing you couldn't get enough of? Who knew broccoli casserole could be so divine!” George's face lit up, and Desmond cocked his head slightly. “Oh right, I think you were away being a vaga-Bali!” Desmond thumbed the coffee mug next to him, lifting it and frowning up at his father as he took a sip. He had a craving for a cigarette, his head feeling heavy in it's company. Instead he put a hand on Dasia's thigh and gave it a squeeze, turning to her and giving a wink, “super fun.” squeeze, turning to her and giving a wink, “super fun.” .................... notes: love them music: nothing!

[

[dasia mae knight]

Gently his hand grazed her features, and the wave of relaxation that swept through her body was what she imagined taking drugs would feel like. Immediately calmed, she was able to go a few minutes without speaking, not even letting his barely-there glance at her belly drag her back into another anxiety spiral. It was noted, though, and as surely as night follows day it would be added to the mental list of his baby brush offs, a list that kept her up all hours with worry. He'd seemed especially listless lately, since the baby even, and Dasia had every intention of raising this with his dads. First she'd give them a chance to notice it on their own though. It was possible that she was imagining things, paranoid and deflecting her own mood swings onto her significant other. The other mums on Mumset certainly felt this was a strong possibility, though 'Bella90120' had commented that she thought he sounded like a sociopath, a sadist, or both. Ted Bundy had been mentioned. Instinctively placing a protective hand on her stomach, Dasia silently willed the unborn child not to turn out to be a serial killer, who could have been saved from killing tens of prostitutes if only his dad had been more excited about his birth. Oh god, she worried, what if her being a former prostitute herself only made that worse? It was like Oedipus on steroids.  About to ask him if he thought that maybe they'd sired a monster, Dasia was gratefully cut off. Nodding along with George's enthusiasm, her smile faltered at the word 'Bali'. Fresh panic gripped the blonde, the serenity of Desmond's touch washing away with that dreaded word. It was synonymous with abandonment as far as she was concerned, abandonment coupled with a book she was still secretly deeply offended by. It suddenly felt harder to breathe, her hand instinctively finding Desmond's and holding onto it as if she could stop him from ever going anywhere without her just by never letting go, starting now. Taking deep breaths that she hoped weren't noticeable under the dazzle of her full fake smile, she forced herself to calm down. For the baby. As Des' hand finds her thigh she gets ahold of herself properly. His wink felt conspiratorial and that calmed her too-- surely he would never go anywhere without her, not now? Breathing in through the nose and out through her mouth as subtly as she could, she nodded brightly. "You know me, any excuse to dress up," she agreed. "Not to mention be the centre of attention!" The smell of coffee was enveloping her now and she craved it desperately, thinking of her food diary with resentment for the first time. "George, I've synced our Google calendars so our schedules should match up. I'm going to go pick the cake up myself because there are a couple errands I'd like to run, and I need to Facetime my mum. Is that okay?" This was a lie, but she knew she'd need some one on one time with Desmond if she was going to survive the day. She hated being so dependent but failed to see another option, given how stressed being apart from him made her and how bad stress was for the baby. Glancing meaningfully at the man in question, she tried to convey as subtly as possible that he would not actually have to face the wrath of her mother. Not today. "D, do you mind coming with me? It'd be handy if you could drive while I call, and Lord knows she'd love to speak to you." She glanced at her watch. "Actually, now's probably a good time to call, she'll be out to dinner any later. So sorry to be so rude, but can you excuse us for a couple of hours? Text me with anything else I can pick up while we're out!" Air kissing the two men she loved more than her actual father, she started upstairs to grab her purse and keys. As she had done every time she passed a mirror for weeks, she paused and inspected herself, wondering when she'd be in whale territory. She'd chastised Des for smoking and lowering his libido, but deep down she was fairly convinced that she was no longer physically attractive to him, not now that she was a human incubator for a child she wasn't wholly convinced he wanted. Trying not to think about it, she slid a tinted balm over her lips, pausing before undoing another button of the shirt. She'd gone up a cup size and had tried to draw his attention to that too, with some moderately improved success rates. Meeting Des on the stairs, she nodded to the door. "Let's go." .................... notes: i am on a roll... of terrible posting, but still music: 'the tiny tots talent agency'

[desmond hudson]

Desmond watches Dasia with caution from the corner of his eye. Both his parents and her are very reception of each other, that fact comes across as obvious. This pleases Desmond, as growing up he always felt he would never meet his parent's expectations. Though it probably was unlikely, when he was both a teenager and in his early twenties, he always felt like a constant disappointment. They advised him to football in his early teens, as a result he felt the only way out of the sport was to endure a “career-ending” injury and paid someone to mess up his knee. As he graduated from high school, he felt obliged to study at an Ivy League school, which of course he ended up dropping out of. Though they never openly said it, they did not like Pearl, Henry once made a joke about how uptight she was. In this string of major fuck-ups, there are minor fuck-ups as well. Like his lazy habits, his procrastination, how fickle he was with his vegetables. Then there was Dasia, who they clearly adored. She exceeded their expectations in every way, her character so distinct and different. To them she wasn't fake, her flaws were charming and made her all the more real. Till this moment. Desmond (who has become a professional people reader after many years of narrating stranger's lives from the window of his apartment) reads discomfort in Dasia. The mention of Bali irks her, just like he could of predicted. His own heart drops low, he's overcome with the want to fold his arms around her and hold her. When her hands finds his, he gives it a squeeze and his thumb rolls over her slim knuckles. He's only slightly surprised with Dasia's next move. Surprised because she seemed so in her element before he walked downstairs, slightly because he is all too aware of how overwhelming his dads can be. “Of course, my love!” George looks a bit disappointed not to be invited, he looks to Henry who gives a shrug. “Maybe pick up some razors?” Henry says sarcastically, hand reaching for Desmond's scruffy face only to watch his son recoil. “Let me grab my wallet,” his hand gives hers one last squeeze before sliding from it. When back in his room (which has hardly been touched since he was a teenager) he debates whether or not to sneak a cigarette before heading back down, but decides against it. Grabbing his wallet, he flicks a round pill into the change section, telling himself that it's for emergency purposes. Desmond heads downstairs, and gives Dasia's back end a half hearted slap as he grabs the car keys, “I'll drive.” His dad's car is as obnoxious it gets, the Escalade SUV screams wealth and Desmond feels nothing more than a spoilt brat driving it. “You alright?” he glances over at her, offering the steadiness of his hands as she climbs into the vehicle. “Where's the cake place?” .................... notes: on a roll music: nothing still

[dasia mae knight]

The look of disappointment isn't lost on Dasia, who feels a fierce pang of guilt at having caused it. On any other day she truly would have been delighted to go anywhere and do anything with George in tow, but since arriving in Boston she and Desmond had been out of sync, tiredness taking her to bed early and insomnia keeping him up until the small hours. This wasn't too unusual, but when back in New York it was easier to steal short bursts of time together, even if they did sometimes end up being two ships passing in the night. Here her time was swallowed up by the Hudsons and she loved it, loved that she could be excited about the baby and so indulged and adored. She was truly grateful to Desmond's family, who had always been so welcoming to her, a girl who was an eight hour flight away from the mother she was previously so dependent on. She made a note to work extra hard to make it up to George later, deeply uncomfortable with the idea of letting him down. It was a small comfort that they had been familiar with her before now, back when she could go days without so much as a text from Desmond, and that their first impressions weren't of her as his shadow. She knew they'd understand. "You should consider shaving," she said the moment they were out of Henry's earshot. "It'd be a sweet gesture and you'll be hairy again in no time." She pauses in the grand hallway as she waits for him to reappear. Baby pictures of the twins adore almost every available surface, two little brunette terrors looking like they were up to no good. Her heart swelled as she picked up a picture of Desmond the toddler, again her idle hand finding her belly... when he does reappear she's caught off guard, blushing furiously at her own sentimentality. Thankfully she's sure he hadn't noticed. Finally having abandoned heels, she slipped her feet into ballet pumps, following Desmond out to the SUV that, whilst she knew it was gauche, she secretly liked. It felt very American. She also liked being helped into the car, secretly thrilled by every little masculine gesture that he unwittingly performed.  "I'm fine!" It sounds forced even to her, and she busies herself putting the address into the car's in built GPS. Then she busies herself fiddling with the radio buttons, tempted to let it settle on the station that's blaring Ariana Grande, but deciding the risk of Desmond ploughing them into a tree would be too great. She let it settle on some inoffensive alternative, eagerly awaiting his scathing verdict on whoever it was that was crooning away. Looking up at him, she was seized by a need that forced her to put a hand on his as he settled into the driving seat, leaning over to plant a kiss full on his faintly coffee tainting lips. It was a proper kiss too, deep and loaded with how much she wanted him, deepened further still by how much she needed him to know she wanted. It was the kind of kiss they used to share constantly, whether they were out to dinner or watching a movie or getting pizza, constantly unable to keep their hands off each other and always looking for the first opportunity to shake others off. She'd missed kissing him like that. Pulling away, she wiped the reddish smudge of lip balm from his naturally flushed mouth. Her eyes settled on his for a moment and she tried hard to read him. He'd been odd lately, distant... sort of blurred around the edges, more vague and certainly more pliable but in a way she couldn't quite place. "Are you alright?" she asked, her stare unwavering as she tried to detect any kind of microexpression that might give him away. .................... notes: SERIOUS ROLL. music: nothing!

[desmond hudson]

Desmond worries about Dasia. An already ultra sensitive girl, made more sensitive by her condition. He was caught off guard a few weeks into the pregnancy, when he found her crying over burnt toast. His reaction was no reaction. When he should have held her tight and said something about how toast is replaceable, he didn't even acknowledge the situation. He imagines her interior bruises more easily than the exterior of a piece of fruit and he constantly reminding himself to be gentle with the way he speaks. This of course leads to not speaking, which then effects Dasia more negatively than he realizes. While always more silent than not, he has become increasingly more withdrawn since she waved that little plus sign in his face. A hollow emptiness burrows deep within him, when he should be tittering with excitement. Listening as Dasia plays with the music, he hears hints of Bieber and is somewhat thankful when she settles on a rock station, which is predictably playing Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin. As he pulls himself into the leathery interior of the SUV he starts, “you seem a little..” Desmond's interrupted when her plump satin lips press against his more dry set. He's caught off guard by the gesture, it takes him a moment to react but when he does he just places a hand on the nape of her neck. Though it's not with ease, it doesn't feel natural for him. He's hit with an awkwardness, he's trying with her but it's difficult. His head is hazy with that unbearable nothing, his fingertips frosty against the warmth of her skin. When she pulls away he's hoping he doesn't look as jolted as he feels, his fingertips scratch lightly at her tanned skin as he removes it. He pushes the car keys into the ignition and the car starts with a soft hum, “never mind.” His mouth runs dry whens he asks about his state but he just shrugs, putting the car in drive. “I didn't get much sleep,” his foot steps on the gas pedal, and he pulls out of the gates of the Hudson estate. “Bit grumpy, not exactly thrilled about going to a party where my dads' friends pretend they give a shit about our life,” what he says isn't lie, it's just more of a filler than anything. He makes an assumption and makes a right out of the driveway, “now, are you okay?” .................... notes: i'm sorry for this hot mess music: nothing still

[dasia mae knight]

Her lips clash against his and it's just that-- a clash. Rewind six months and he'd have been tearing at the buttons of her shirt, she'd be clambouring into his lap, their movements would be fevered and clumsy with want. But his hand barely finds her hair, his lips meeting hers with minimum returns. It felt like her heart had plummeted into her stomach, and for far from the first time today, she wanted to cry. Instead, Dasia pulled back and pulled down her mirror, reapplying balm and running her fingers through her hair to comb it out, avoiding looking at him. Must keep busy. The skin of her neck still covered with goosebumps from where he'd touched her, she turned back and watched him as he turned the key in the ignition, his manly hands making her stomach flutter. Would she ever get those hands to herself again? Watching him as he claims to be suffering from sleeplessness, she studies his face for corroborating signs. He was certainly paler, shadows forming under his eyes, his facial hair even less controlled than usual... she resisted the urge to feel him under his t-shirt, to see if he'd lost weight. She felt deeply selfish for a moment - here she was, so preoccupied with her pregnancy that she failed to think about him in all this. No wonder he'd been distant, he was probably freaking out just as much as she was and then some, stuck with her clinginess and mood swings all hours of the day. Guilt struck her again and she brushed her fingers against the side of his neck affectionately. "You don't have to come. Really, Des, it's a girly thing, go to bed. I'll tell everyone you're sick and I banished you for the good of the baby." Then he turned the question back on her, causing her to recoil from him, busying herself by digging around her purse for something. She'd decide what when she found it. "I'm great," she said. "I love Boston, I love your dads, and you have no idea how much I want to eat this cake already." They came up to a crossing and she gestured for him to go left, not trusting herself to look at him as she glossed over everything. Running the tips of her beach blonde hair through her fingers, she tried to engage him in baby chat. Again. "I was thinking, what if I took Henry or George to the scan next week? That way they can know the gender and we can ask them if it really gets too much." She paused, turning to look at him, praying for a response other than a shrug. "Unless you want to know straight out?" .................... notes: this was dreadful. music: the bravery.

[desmond hudson]

No stranger to disappointment, Desmond can feel it through Dasia. A dry awkwardness clings to the air and when he peeks over at her she's preoccupying herself by dressing her plump lips. He feels sorry and a familiar lump forms in his throat. A bout of depression hasn't made itself this comfortable in a couple years, last he'd felt something at all comparable was back when he was in his college dorm room. At that point he felt suicidal but right now he felt worse than suicide - if at all possible - he felt utterly hopeless. And from the outside he's sure he appears malingering, like a grumpy old man. From the inside he's empty and brokenhearted, feeling as though a loved one has passed. He feels acutely alone as though he's been dropped into a fish bowl and left to view life, not to participate. Desmond also feels guilt, he is swarmed with it every moment he's around Dasia and right now is no exception. His left hand holds onto the steering wheel while his right hand drops onto her shoulder, his writer hand gently massaging her muscles. “It's fine, I'm just being whiny,” he offers a half smile before turning his eyes back to the road. Some idiot pulls in front of them without signalling and his foot is quick to slam on the break, “shit, sorry,” he looks back over at her, his hand instinctively taking a fist full of her clothing to prevent her from flying forward. Desmond releases his grip on her and places his hand back on the wheel, asking her more directly, “what's wrong?” In attempt to make her a bit happier, the scruffy brunette engages. Making a left under her direction, he taps the steering wheel with his index finger. “Sounds like a good plan... Probably wait, bit more fun in it,” fun is not what he means. He's delaying the inevitable, putting off the sex of the baby puts of the reality of it. Though Dasia's blooming and getting rounder by the day, he's mentally not prepared for the idea of fatherhood. “That it there, is it?” he nods at a bakery, the logo stands out to him – he's seen it before. “Or is this where we're going?” .................... notes: i love them so much. music: NOTHING

[dasia mae knight]

Realising she still had her hand in her purse after the earlier pantomime of searching for something, she slipped it out, running manicured fingers through her hair for what must be the millionth time that morning. She could practically hear her mother now, 'Dasia Mae, keep at that you'll make your hair horribly greasy, and that wouldn't be very attractive now would it?'. It wasn't exactly a warm memory of Cassandra, but all the same it made her wish that she could spirit her over the Atlantic and into the back seat of the SUV. That was another thing that had occurred since the pregnancy, or at least intensified - her longing for her family. Seeing George and Henry had certainly helped, but before the moment passed she found her phone in her bag, pulling it out to type a hello text to every blood relative she could think of. What a shame that they couldn't be there for her baby shower... would they be at the birth? Cassandra had sworn that she wouldn't miss it for the world, but what if something happened? A snow storm, a premature labor, a freak tornado hitting London just as she reached Heathrow... Leaning back into the plush leather of her seat, she sets about adding more 'what if's to what is already an exhaustive mental list of them. What else could possibly go wrong? Realising how dramatic her line of thinking had become and reminding herself that she had her health and that was what was most important, she offered him a tired, more genuine smile. "I'm tired too," she agreed, and as she said it her whole body felt racked with exhaustion. Not only had it been working overtime to cater to two beings, but she had certainly not helped with her obsessing. She'd really have to cut back on that. "And I love your parents, but I miss it just being us. I think your hermit tendencies have finally--" Before she can finish her sentence Desmond is forced to slam the breaks, throwing her against the seatbelt though he's there to catch her and hold her firm. The whole thing takes the breath out of her lungs, the shock, the moment of panic, the surge of affection as he instinctively reaches for her, it all hits her at once. Possibly to save herself from crying or possibly because she'd finally gone mad, giggles bubbled up and spilled from her lips.  "I'm okay. God, what a fucking maniac that guy was." She's still smiling faintly when he finally indulges her baby chat, not only answering her question but answering it in a way that pleased her. Positively beaming she nodded along, "I agree, so much more fun! But it does make it harder choosing names... we'll just have to have two lists. Did you get the ones I emailed you yesterday?" Eyes following where he's nodded toward, she realises they're already there. "The one and only. They won't actually have it ready for another hour or so, but I'm starving." As soon as they pull up she's practically already out of it, closing the distance between herself and a sugar coma with the enthusiasm of Augustus Gloop after he'd spent a summer at fat camp. Bursting into the shop, Dasia took in the glass case of deliciousness, everything pastel hued and oh so tempting. "I want it all." Catching the eye of the man behind the counter, she offered him one of her half sincere smiles.  "Hi. Can I get a red velvet cupcake, please? And do you have anything with pistachios, maybe, some sort of... oh wait, one of those whoopie pies please, yes, that one! And a chocolate chip cookie. Is that banana bread? Some of that too, please. Maybe... oh fuck it, a slice of apple pie too. And a coke. Diet, please." She glanced at Desmond, "do you want anything?" .................... notes: il them too much. music: beethoven.

[desmond hudson]

He's listening to her intently when the guy swerves in front of them; he's analyzing her words, listening to how smoothly they float from her mouth. She's not lying, but there's more to it and he senses that, more than she'd have given him even if she wasn't put off by the sudden halt of the SUV. Never the type to show his emotion, his face runs blank even when his mind runs tyrant. He's flooded with complete panic and there is a moment where he runs over the worst case scenario. Did she have her seat belt on? Dasia's laughter jolts him back to reality, and it is welcomed with a wave of relief. With the fabric of her top wrapped tightly in his hand, his hazel eyes run over the length of her body. His breathing regulates, she's strapped in safely and the horror of his imagination is snuffed. Desmond lets a short lived grin fix itself on his features, amused as her body shakes with laughter. Her hair fans over her bony shoulders as her head tilts make and as he watches her blare her perfect Colgate smile he feels his heart swell. But that grin is washed away with a stroke of nausea. The topic of babies is something he is so clearly not into and the more his girlfriend goes on about it, the further uncomfortable he becomes. He is trying to disguise that discomfort with a smile, but it's more awkward that genuine and she'll surely see through that. As she goes on about possible baby names, he thinks about the pill. It wasn't long since his last dosage but he's craving to be put out of his misery. “Uhm,” as he thinks about what to say, he grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning a ghostly white. He has never thought about baby names in his life, he has only thought about fictional names. In fact, tucked away in a drawer at home is a list of potential character names - the notebook would probably be Dasia's idea of the holy grail. “Haven't thought about it,” he admits, with a shrug. As he prepares for her disappointment, he pulls into an empty parking shot. He's quick to hop out and lock the car, hoping the question doesn't chase him into the store. His nostrils are hit with a pang of vanilla and fresh paint. If he'd paid attention at dinner last night he would have heard George's enthusiasm over the renovation of August's Bakery. Dasia's order bubbles from her lips, he could already hear the regrets she'd have later that evening. She'd be on that ridiculous website of hers, posting a thread on how guilty she felt loading her baby up with processed sugars. “Just a coffee, large,” he draws his wallet from his back pocket and as he leafs through the bills he thinks about the pill once more. "Desmond?" a raspy voice catches him off guard. He's only had three fan encounters, each having been more humiliating than the next. He glances at Dasia while handing the bill over to the cashier, his eyes say SOS and he waits for her to handle the situation. "Desmond Hudson, is that you?" as he looks over his shoulder, the face he sees isn't one of a stranger. It's that girl from the library, the one with the monarch butterfly on her neck and the one (who despite being four years older than him) who he'd lost his virginity to at a tender fifteen. .................... notes: this had potential. music: Jenny's Wedding. It's terrible.

[dasia mae knight]

Dasia was obsessed with names. Not unlike her food diary, she also had a notebook devoted exclusively to listing every one she took even a fleeting liking to, as well as people she knew with that name and its pros and cons. It was then assigned a score out of ten in each category (ease of pronunciation, meaning, nicknames) and given an overall score, which then led to a shortlist. It was the latest shortlist that she had emailed to her boyfriend, though the fact the subject line was 'names names names' had caused her to feel the need to turn read receipts on... of course, no such 'yes I've read this' acknowledgement ever came, and she'd been quietly irritated by it since. Still, she wasn't surprised, and nor was she deterred. "I actually really like Mia. Do you think your sister would be flattered or annoyed if we used it as a middle name? It sort of echoes Mae, doesn't it? Do you think that's narcissistic?" There are waves of awkwardness emanating off Desmond now, coming off in icy waves, and yet still she continued. "I really don't think we should use a 'D' name, that whole matchy matchy thing is so kitsch. What do you think? Are there any 'D' names that spring to mind that you'd be sorry to rule out?" She's pushing it and she knows it. Like how impossible it is not to bother a painful tooth with your tongue, Dasia couldn't stop probing him now that she sensed she'd touched a nerve. His salvation comes in the promise of some indulgence of her sweet tooth, however, and as soon as she's placed one foot into the bakery her name tangent is forgotten. As she rattled off enough sugary food to give an army a rush - she was eating for two, after all - she glances around for a spare booth, really hoping there will be somewhere with enough privacy to really allow her to truly stuff her face. Disrupted by a voice calling Desmond's name, she plasters her face in a smile and steps back, only offering him the slightest tilt of the eyebrow as he beseeched her. Really she liked the couple fan encounters she'd been privy to, and instinctively she was wondering if she had a pen (that was usually her role, the silently smiling pen-provider). She couldn't help but swell with pride for him. As controversial as his debut novel had been for their relationship, she couldn't deny that he was really very talented, and it humbled her to see the effect his writing had had on others. But this was no fan encounter. Watching a flicker of recognition cross his usually blank features, she glanced over the woman in question. She didn't look like a relative. Picking up the steaming paper cup of coffee, Dasia turned and closed the distance between them, forcing it into his hand and leaning her body against his possessively. A smile forced its way across her face. "Hello," she said, making it very plain that she wasn't about to be left out of this conversation. Besides, she did really want to hear more about Desmond's childhood in Boston, and whoever this person was must surely be in a good position to enlighten her. Not knowing how right she was, she laughed awkwardly, nudging him with her bony elbow. "Have you lost your voice? Sorry about him, he's a  bit slow on the uptake today. I'm Dasia, it's nice to meet you." .................... notes: il it. IL IT. music: silenceeee.

[desmond hudson]

She's picking at a scar and Desmond's becoming less generous with his efforts. His hands pulse their grip and one dares to ruffle through his thick mass of hair. As much as he loves her he can't smother the feeling of irritation. His teeth grind quietly and he shrugs. He's not the man she needs him to be, he wasn't before and he won't be post baby. The guilt of that very fact prods at him, as insistently as Dasia asks her questions. “She'd hate it,” he says in response to Mia. Mia hated sharing, even if her name was secondary to the child she'd despise it with her whole being. A vindictive person, she would fail to see the flattery behind it. But then, so did Desmond, they are siblings after all. Having successfully outrun the problem, he faces another. Rebecca Watson stands in front of them, her face gleaming as she looks at him. She looks different, she's definitely grown up out of whatever stage she was in as a nineteen year old. Her porcelain face holds barely any wear, though she'd dropped a significant amount of baby weight and there is the faintest of lines that run across her forehead. Her eyes are still big and brown, her hair longer but that exact hue of syrup, and she was no longer wearing those thick framed glasses. Her wardrobe has also matured but only ever so slightly, the parakeet threaded baby doll dress sits youthfully on her five foot four frame. As he studies her and begins making guesses about what she's been doing, he wonders if she's doing the same. Has she read The Yard Sale? Did she read the flop of a book? That feeling of nausea surpasses all. Desmond's grateful for Dasia's quick reflexes. He's horrible in public; a mix of low-key social anxiety, genuinely not giving a fuck about what others think, and being a genuinely awkward person. The coffee he's handed warms the palm of his hand and he takes a sip of it hoping it'll encourage thought – instead he burns his tongue. “Hi! I'm Rebecca,” he watches as the woman extends her hand to Dasia. Gently he clears his throat, “Rebecca worked at the library I went to as a kid... how've you been?” The brunette woman stands back and her cherry coloured lips smile, “I've been good, I'm actually just here picking up a..” her eyes widen and she steps forward to the counter, “oh, it's beautiful! You're too much, Robbie.” The cake is covered in blue and green icing, a dolphin jumps through the number two. “We're having a birthday party,” the woman beams, handing a credit card to the clerk, “you should both come, might help prepare you.” As she says this she gives Desmond a wink, her eyes leading to Dasia's tiny bump. .................... notes: music: Nothing!

[/quote]

[dasia mae knight]

irritation crept up on the girl, who could feel Desmond getting prickly. The same way you dipped a toe into water to check the temperature, Dasia liked to push the subject of their impending new addition on him to test is reaction. It turned out that the water was always too hot. His reluctance to consider the gender or name of the child were huge red flags to Dasia Mae, who completely understood that these were subjects that were much too real for him. However, any sympathy she felt was short lived. After all, it was her body this other being was occupying, her sleep that was so disrupted, her figure that was at risk, her lifestyle that had to be so severely compromised. Close to snapping at Desmond, she kept tight lipped about his reluctance, not wanting to spoil the trip. But what did he know? Not only was he still smoking and drinking, but he could eat whatever he liked. Resentment bubbled under the surface of her composed exterior. "She'd hate it, or you'd hate it?" she snapped, bitterness creeping into her tone. Hearing herself caused her to lose her nerve, however, and she slipped straight back into her false cheeriness. Mere moments later and she feels like a spare part again, caught between him and this new girl. There's a tension in the air and it's the nature of this tension that's familiar to Dasia... like the times she bumped into a former client in a bar, or Jerome passive aggressively liked a status of hers on Facebook. Sexual tension. Now that she'd picked up on it it was unmistakable, stubbornly clinging to the two of them like they'd been sprayed by Cupid's skunk. Her resentment deepened. Watching as her confectionary was brought to the nearest table and laid out, it took every inch of her willpower not to abandon the two of them to her million calorie buffet. Worse still, she was tempted to jog Desmond's arm, hoping that the coffee would end up spilling over him and her, scalding them hopefully to death.... She knew she was being dramatic, but being caught between the two of them was about the worst place on earth she wanted to be. And yet there she was, taking the whore's hand and shaking it warmly. Despite the ever constant smile on her face, Dasia's uncharacteristic jealousy is warping her usually pro-feminist ideals, and she's taking in every inch of the woman before her, comparing herself to her as favourably as possible. It was no use. She felt lanky next to Rebecca's petite frame, she felt overdressed next to her effortless outfit. She felt pretentious and attention seeking, as if she was putting her English accent on, as if she was only into Desmond for his relative fame. She completely understood what he saw in the other woman, and yet she couldn't help but feel deeply aggravated by it. At least Rebecca was saddled with a toddler. Feeling sour, Dasia looked dramatically at Desmod. "Oh gosh, I'd just love that. But Des here, he can't stand kids. Sucks to be me! Isn't that right, sweetheart?" .................... notes: i'm a bit drunk. pretend you couldn't tell? music: beethoven again.