"Simon! I was just about to call you. Did you get the chicken for stew?" B grabs the plastic bag you barely noticed from his hand and hums. She turns to head back to the kitchen, calling, "Perfect, perfect. Come in, don't leave my door open or the damn cat is gonna run."

Bump, B's ancient tabby, hasn't moved from his spot on the armchair in your living memory, but you let Simon in and shut the door. He looks even bigger this way, surrounded by your aunt's old and eclectic stuff. He watches you look him over for a moment before toeing off his sneakers, setting them aside, and making his way to the kitchen.

You trail behind him to find B puttering around with the kettle and the good tea. Who is this guy?

“Simon, this is Necie, my sister’s daughter,” B says when Simon pulls a chair out to settle his improbable bulk into it. “She lives in town. Having some man troubles-”

Your jaw drops. “Auntie!”

“- so she’s staying the night,” she continues right along. “Simon’s my neighbor, since Robert and Delilah got divorced and moved out. Simon doesn’t know the story, but he doesn’t need to, I’m no gossip.”

Simon makes deliberate eye contact with you, then says, “’S not gossip if it’s jus’ the facts.”

“That’s true,” B snickers, pouring three cups of tea and bringing two to the table, “Necie, get the meat started. Cookies first! And where did you put the grocery - oh, here it is. I don’t need any of these for dinner, dear, but it’ll be a couple of hours. After tea, you can get these for me. But for now, Robert. Bless him, he put up with too much-”

***

Simon is a soldier, B tells you when he leaves for the groceries. He’s gone for weeks to months at a time. When he’s around he restocks her heavy groceries and does anything around her apartment that needs doing. He’s a bit of a homebody. He likes to read on the couch while B watches Family Feud.

“Why do you have a white man hanging around on your couch?” you ask while you stir the rice and peas before covering the pot again.

B scoffs from where she’s sitting at the table. “You keep a man on the couch, you don’t have to go looking for him when you need him. I don’t have to go calling after him at all hours-”

Oh here she goes. “Auntie, I’m not trying to keep Brandon.”

“And that’s your problem,” she counters. “If you’re not trying to keep him, then you need to get rid of him.”

“Those are the two options, huh? We can’t just want to be together, with out trying to “keep” each other? Or even just because we have fun together.”

“There’s plenty of men to have fun with. It doesn’t have to be that one.” B stands up to check on the stew again, even though you just stirred it. Her bony fingers grab your elbow with surprising strength as she turns you to face her. “You know I’m not going to tell you what to do. But you and I both know that bumbaclaat man-”

A knock interrupts her, and she gives you an irritated “tuh!” as you go to open the door. The sight of Simon on the other side nearly evaporates your irritation. You hate to admit it, but you can see the appeal of a man at the door with three full grocery bags and two cases of water bottles. Convenient indeed.

He doesn’t even let you take a bag, just toes his shoes off and strides into the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Necie’s a decent cook,” B says. “Burns the rice every time, though.”

“Take it off the heat!” you yelp, dodging around the big man to turn off the burner. Luckily, it’s not actually burned, just a bit brown at the bottom. “Why do you try me? Next time don’t tell me to make dinner.”

“Set the table,” she says imperiously. “Simon, put the groceries away and go wash up.”

“Yes’m,” says the giant. And then he just does what she says.

Whatever. You clear the table enough for three place settings and set to serving up dinner. Auntie B gets a couple of Red Stripes from the fridge and pours you a lemonade, then sits and waits for you to set her plate in front of her. You grumble when she pulls your face close to press a hard kiss to your cheek, but return the gesture anyways. Simon reappears from where he’d taken a case of water into the hall and washes his hands before sitting to B’s right, leaving you to sit at the head of the table.

“So, how long do I have you this time?” B asks.

Simon reaches out to pop the top of B’s bottle, then does his own. “Couple ‘f months, maybe. Not sure. Goin’ back to Hereford tomorrow, be back by midweek.”

“They shouldn’t have you runnin’ around.”

The conversation goes like that, B asking questions and imperiously declaring the answers unsatisfactory. Simon, for his part, answers direct questions but mostly just eats. You try not to stare at his scars, his crooked nose, the tattoos you didn’t see earlier because of his jacket. He looks like trouble, bent low over his plate. He must fall somewhere between a guest and not-guest, though, the way B keeps poking fun at him. That makes it easy to fall into the easy banter that make up evenings with your aunt.

Simon is solidly not a guest, you realize, when he stands to take your plate when you’re done eating. He arches an eyebrow at you before taking the dishes to the sink and cleaning up. When you look at her with your eyebrows raised, B smirks and sips at her beer.

“Family Feud tonight, Simon?”

“Don’t ‘ave a choice, mu’m,” he says, like he’s said it a million times before.

“Come sit when you’re done,” B says, standing and pulling you from your chair. “You work too hard.”

And the rest of the evening is… easy. Simon sits at the end of the couch, pulls out his phone, and reads, just like B said. B makes almost raunchy comments about Steve Harvey and his male guests, like she always does. And you… relax. The tension in your shoulders lessens with every survey, and you find yourself leaning into your aunt by the end of the first episode.

Of course, that’s when you make the mistake of looking at your phone. Or maybe the mistake was not looking before now. You have two seconds to realize how many texts you’ve missed before a call from Brandon lights up your screen. Cringing, you stand and slip down the hall to the guest room.

“Hello?”

“Hello?” your boyfriend mocks. “Why the fuck aren’t you answering my texts?”

You rush to speak before he can get any more worked up. “Sorry, I’m sorry, my aunt has a guest over, I was making dinner, we just finished eating a little while ago-”

“Oh, you make dinner over there,” he scoffs.

“My aunt wanted me to make brown stew, you don’t even like it,” you point out. “Last time I cooked-”

“Whatever,” he interrupts you. “When are you home? We’re out of papers, pick some up on your way.”

“I just bought those,” you protest. “And I told you, I’m staying here tonight. Literally just go down the street and get some.”

“You’re coming home tonight.”

The audacity of this man. “No.”

“The fuck d’ you mean, no?” His voice gets quiet.

Your stomach drops. “Sorry. I mean that I can’t tonight, my aunt still needs my help cleaning up. It’ll be late by the time I can get out. I can grab papers on the way tomorrow.”

“Not much fuckin’ use to me now,” Brandon grumbles. “Whatever. Tell your aunt I said hey. If she’s got any more of those chocolate covered biscuits, you should bring a pack home.”

A pack? You can hear B’s voice cussing him out in your mind. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, distracted. “See you tomorrow, yeah? Love ya.”

He hangs up before you can reply, which used to hurt but now just makes you roll your eyes. You send him a heart emoji, then step back out to the living room.

***

When you climb out onto the fire escape around 2am, you’re surprised to see Simon already out there, sitting on the steps across from his window. He salutes you with his cigarette, then watches silently as you settle on a throw blanket with your e-reader and a bottle of soda.

“Can’t sleep,” you explain, though he never asked.

“Me neither,” he says, exhaling smoke. “Better’n usual, though. Good food.”

“Thanks.”

“Mm. What’re you readin’?”

“Oh,” you say, hugging the e-reader to your chest. “It’s just a, uh, romance novel. Stupid.”

“If it helps you sleep, it’s probably not that stupid,” he surprises you saying. “Romance is probably better than… horror.”

“The story doesn’t usually make me more tired,” you admit. “Usually I would be having a glass of wine with it, help me relax, but… I’m trying to cut back.”

Simon nods. “Fair.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so you tuck your head to start reading. When you sneak a peek at him, a few minutes later he’s looking out over the city. Eventually, you stop expecting him to talk again, and it’s easy to fall back into the easy drama of romantasy land.

Eventually, he stands, startling you to almost drop your e-reader. But he just nods at you before ducking back into his apartment.

***

Simon leaves the next day, and so do you. After breakfast, you make sure you have everything you need for work and slip on your shoes. B makes the usual noises about being left alone like she doesn’t have two boyfriends, a “close friend,” and a spades club to keep her busy.

“Oh, and this is for your library,” she says, slipping an old paperback into your purse. “Let me know what you think of it.”

“Okay, Auntie, but I have to go or I’ll miss my tram.” You press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Next week,” she commands.

“I’ll try,” you say, slipping into the hall. The elevator is out, again, and the landlord still hasn’t fixed the top stair on the landing, so you call back to her, “Don’t try to take these stairs by yourself!”

“Then you better come back!” is her retort before you hear her door shut.

Getting to work is fine. Brandon keeps getting on you about getting a car, but you don’t need another bill and you like taking the tram and the bus. You like the five minute walk from the bus stop, the local bakery on the way. Having a car would be more convenient, you can’t deny it as you open your umbrella, but a part of you loves the romance of the rain.

When you’re staring at a positive pregnancy test in the bathroom, later, you wonder if you’re too much of a romantic. Pram on the tram, your mind says, making you huff an almost amused breath from your nose. The levity is short lived. Being pregnant is… less than ideal. Brandon isn’t exactly going to be over the moon. Things have been better between the two of you, but if the last pregnancy was any indication, the next couple of months will be miserable, unless you’re lucky enough to miscarry again.

That thought makes your whole body freeze up and go cold. You barely have enough time to get down so you can vomit into the toilet instead of onto yourself. It’s so abrupt that you can’t stop yourself from sobbing.

Your aunt, your friends, everyone had assured you that it happens. Still, losing the baby had been so scary. You had been heartbroken and ashamed, had cried non-stop for days, hadn’t been able to really smile for weeks. It had been one of the worst experiences of your life.

And in the context of Brandon? Lucky.

Flushing the toilet, you wrap the pregnancy test in toilet paper and stick it into the pocket of your purse. A part of you is kind of grossed out, but a bigger part of you wants to keep the reminder so you can look at it again. Because you have to break up with Brandon if he’s going to make you think like this, feel like this. Positive. Lucky.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Spreadsheets, a late meeting, cake for someone’s birthday. You almost miss the bus back to your place because you decide to walk to a further stop, give yourself some time to move.

When you finally arrive home, you’re equal parts relieved and frustrated to see Brandon in his usual spot on the couch, playing video games. His eyes are bright when he sees that you’re home, and he hurries to tell his friends he’s logging off.

“Hey, babes,” he calls, tossing his headphones on the coffee table and standing for a hug. “So glad you’re finally home, I got good news!”

“O-oh,” you say, going with it when he rocks you from side to side.

“Yeah, I got that promotion I was tellin’ you about,” he says, and his grin gets bigger. “Retroactive, a bit of extra money on the next check. And I got a call back from that place I applied, Cloudstone? They like my portfolio, I’ve got an interview next Tuesday.”

“What? That’s amazing,” you cry, throwing your arms around his neck. “Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you!”

His happiness is infectious, and when he suggests takeaway and a movie to celebrate, you can only agree. It’s not until he’s cracking a beer for himself that you remember - you shouldn’t… you can’t have any wine. Because you know you’re pregnant, it’s not just a possibility anymore. Thankfully, Brandon doesn’t notice you biting your lip through the entire movie, just laughs and jostles you the way he does when he’s excited about something.

Near the end of the movie, he puts his hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck. Your heart jumps, and suddenly your stomach is in your throat. You push his hand away and run to the bathroom just in time for the palak paneer and and Sherry’s cake to evacuate your stomach.

“Ugh,” you groan.

“That’s the second time you’ve thrown up this week,” Brandon says, from the doorway. It’s actually the fifth, but he hasn’t been around for the other times. “Do you think you might be sick?”

“I’m…” God, you’re too tired for the fight you know would come with the truth. You rest your forehead on your arm. “I think I ate something bad with lunch. I thought it was a one off, last time, I’m not going to that cafe again.”

“Can I get you anything? Pepti-calm?”

Can you take that when you’re pregnant? “No, I’ll be okay. I just need a minute.”

He murmurs something else, shuffles his feet, and walks away. In a few moments, you hear the Duty Calls startup theme. That’s fine. You need space, time to think. You decide to take a shower and wash off the stress of the day.

Brandon doesn’t hear you crying.

You’re exhausted when you climb into bed, half an hour later. Your eyes are hot and swollen, but you’re all out of tears for the day. Everything feels heavy. So you lay in the dark and just breathe for a while.

When Brandon comes to bed, he climbs in behind you quietly. His hand, when he touches you, lands on your hip, then creeps toward your inner thigh. You catch his wrist before he can get very far.

“I still don’t feel good,” you croak.

Ballora is Mrs. Emily's personal guard and companion.

Initially, Mrs. Emily was against Henry creating an animatronic guard for her, especially after the incident with Eclipse and Charlotte's hand. She's always been distrustful of 'those machines' and never really wanted them in the home to begin with. Henry tried to convince her for two years to let him build a guardian for her and she refused.

Then, when Charlotte was around four years old (two years after Eclipse's creation,) Henry was contracted by the Radio City Music Hall to create a line of animatronic dancers to join the human Rockettes on stage. After the project's completion, the Emily family was invited to attend a private performance of the show, and Mrs. Emily was so smitten with the design and grace of the animatronic dancers that she conceded; Henry could build her a companion as long as it looked and acted like the animatronic dancers.

Of course, this was meant to be a guard for Mrs. Emily, not just an ordinary servant or companion. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Emily, Henry programmed Ballora to be a skilled swordswoman in the event that she needs to protect her charge. The jewels on her right palm, when pressed in the correct order, would reveal a telescopic rapier (housed in her right forearm) with which she can defend Mrs. Emily from any would-be attackers.

Although she is equipped for defense, Ballora is primarily utilized as a stand-in for Mrs. Emily when it comes to managing the Emily family household. Mrs. Emily's health is declining, so she often delegates her wishes to Ballora who in turn delegates those wishes to the rest of the servants in the mansion. This frequently causes her to butt heads with Eclipse who has a tendency of going directly against Mrs. Emily's wishes, particularly where Charlotte is concerned.

Personality wise, Ballora is strictly business. She is very serious and can at times seem callous, though she doesn't view any clashes with the other servants as personal. It's just another part of managing the household in Mrs. Emily's stead.

She does have a particular soft spot for Mrs. Emily herself, although the woman is rarely warm toward her in return. She understands Mrs. Emily's fear and distrust of the animatronics and doesn't hold it against her. She views her role more as a "motherly" caretaker for the woman rather than a servant, and enjoys the rare occasions when Mrs. Emily asks for her to brush her hair or read to her when she's feeling unwell. She is fiercely loyal to Mrs. Emily and would do anything to keep her safe and well... which makes watching the woman's health deteriorate before her eyes extremely difficult to bear.

I was taking a break from this blog for a while when the Junhan Bubble controversy happened last year. Everything has been thoroughly hashed out, he has given multiple apologies, and this post feels pretty futile. However!!!! Considering my other posts on the crossover of disability and kpop it would feel weird not to cover this incident. So, take my hand, if you will. I’m dragging you back into the hell of 2025.

For the context: Junhan is on Bubble talking about what everyone is studying when a fan mentions her major. She ends up bringing up gene editing, a minefield, and Junhan accidentally shows his ass.

I still find it hilarious that all us white folk got was ability to tolerate lactose. It’s better than commending our colonialism skills, so I’ll take it.

To disclose my biases first as I write this (besides anti-ableism), I am a big fan of Xdinary Heroes now and really like Junhan. At the time this scandal happened, though, I was a pretty casual fan of the band and didn’t even know his name. I didn’t care for “Happy Death Day” when it dropped but continued to listen to their music video releases and it wasn’t until “LOVE and FEAR” that I really became a fan of the music. Still, I was busy with school and so they were on the backburner, something I’d get into eventually. Imagine my shock when I open TikTok and everyone is talking about some guy Junhan supposedly supporting eugenics. It honestly shocked me.

The ableism scandal with the IU music video didn’t surprise me that much, so why did this eugenics one? Well, as someone involved in the whole disability rights sphere, the general public does not call out or notice eugenics often. Ableism is one thing that is extra recognizable when it targets deaf/Deaf or blind folks (such as in IU’s video). Eugenics, though, is something most people forget exists outside of the context of genocide. Eugenics is the belief in propagating “good” genes and eliminating “bad” ones. Sometimes this means ethnic cleansing and eliminating “bad” racialized genes. Other times it means sterilizing deaf people so they can’t have kids. People tend to believe eugenics isn’t going on anymore outside of the ethnic cleansing context, but eugenics is still kicking. The fact that gene editing is happening at all is an ethical minefield that no one wants to touch with a ten foot pole.

So why was what Junhan said bad? Well, firstly it propagated misinformation and common racist misconceptions about both black and asian people. The fact that these stereotypes are seen as “positive” doesn’t really make it any better. Particularly with the black race being strong and athletic part- something that is undoubtedly one of the factors that has historically led to medical malpractice that continues into today. Black people are subject to myths of a higher pain tolerance, having thicker skin (literally), being more violent and/or dangerous, etc. But even more tellingly, Junhan heard gene editing brought up and immediately jumped to racialized traits on his own accord. I can’t excuse this nor forgive it, really. It’s not my place.

What I can speak on is the actual ableism and eugenics part itself. Eugenics is a shit concept but I don’t think a lot of people outside the medicinal sphere understand that there’s a very thin line between eugenics and what is considered “neutral” medicine. Gene editing therapy to prevent conditions like Down Syndrome is pretty uncontroversial to the public, yet it is pretty much the textbook definition of eugenics. Back when the eugenics organizations here in the US existed they could only dream of technology like that. They just had to do it all the good old-fashioned way- through selective breeding (and violent sterilization). Now it’s becoming far more efficient and eugenics is normalized- insofar as long as it’s not racialized. Eugenics seems to fly under the radar, simply seen as technological and medicinal advancement- until race is uttered in the same breath. People most likely wouldn’t have rang the alarm if Junhan had just kept with the preventing diseases bit. This is one reason why I was so shocked he was being called a “eugenicist” instead of just a “racist.”

I’ve actually got some bioethics books on my reading list because I don’t know how to feel about the direction we are heading in societally. Instinctually everything about it rubs me the wrong way- it’s eugenics, after all. Gene editing just sounds like playing god, a horrible idea. Preventing disease is cool but I don’t want entire disabled populations to cease to be, nor the slippery slope to designer babies real quick. People have been trying to wipe out d/Deaf people for forever and that’s an entire fucking culture and language that would cease to be. It is a sort of genocide in itself.

Because of World War II, eugenics is now heavily associated with the concept of ethnic cleansing, and they can even be conflated for one another. But actually, these are separable ideas. Some Korean netizens particularly were really mad at the statements and tore into Junhan, and it makes sense. The Japanese government abducted, tortured, and experimented on a lot of Koreans during WWII in the very name of eugenics.

The other reason I was so surprised was that the people calling Junhan out are kpop fans. Kpop itself is super eugenics-y when you think about it, something that has slowly eaten at me for years now. There’s the more obvious surface level stuff- everyone is able-bodied, has the same slim body type, the beauty standards and plastic surgery engineering… But it doesn’t really end there. The kpop industry runs at such a rapid and unhealthy pace that only the strongest can even survive all the training, nonstop promotions, dance practices, etc. Its selective- just look at survival shows.

But to circle back to Junhan in particular… Do I personally hold this mistake against him? No. I’m not really the persecuting type. His mistake seemed to be parroting myths he heard uncritically rather than anything with genuinely mean-spirited intent. People will inevitably take that as me being some sort of “apologist” and that’s alright. I’m soft and merciful, hold it against me. He apologized and hasn’t repeated the behavior since. I’m actually thankful that his moment of ignorance opened the door to the eugenics conversation to a lot of people and gave me the opportunity to speak on it, even if only a little.