#and waking up how i was trying to convince myself i knew a sidney but that his last name was freeman instead of freedman and that made sense

[bardengarde]

I'm still missing my friend Sidney

[kirby0strombolli]

Ghostface | Matt Sturniolo Part 8

'What's the matter Sidney? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

ghostface!matt x reader

Chapter 8 - The Night of terror.

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

warnings: swearing, chasing, fighting...

a/n: PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!!!

The night of terror.

It was some sort of repeating dream that had occurred every night.

A lucid dream.

But this was no false dream- no.

It was as if I wasn't in control of my own body, every step feeling like I'd disobeyed myself. Every breath that I took wasn't my doing.

Every time I had tried to convince myself that it wasn't real, there'd be a niggling sense of doubt, hiding, in the corners of my mind.

~

The setting was always the same; a mirror maze, eerie and disorienting. The walls were lined with countless mirrors, each one reflecting an endless corridor of twisted images.

Dim, flickering lights cast long, distorted shadows, and the air was cold, carrying a faint, metallic tang.

Everywhere I looked, there was a mirror.

My reflection stared back at me from every angle, eyes wide with the same fear I felt in my heart.

Then, without warning, a sharp crack appeared in one of the mirrors, spider-webbing across the surface and shattering the eerie silence.

The sound reverberated through the maze, jolting me from the dark depths of my 'dream,' bringing me back to the very real sense of pain throbbing in my chest.

To my horror, when I look down, there is a knife piercing the flesh of my chest. I cry out in pain as I attempt to grasp the hilt, trying desperately to stem the flow, but my body resists as my eyes lock on the intricate designs of the hilt of the knife.

A haunting vision of swirling spectral figures glares up at me, complete with the crest of the menacing Ghostface symbol. With a deep breath and a surge of determination, I pull the knife from my chest.

As soon as the blade was free, the world around me shifted violently.

Back to the mirror maze.

Back to the nightmare.

I was no longer in control, swept away by an unseen force.

Was this even real? Was it yet another nightmare, or the grim truth of real life?

I had been transported back to the heart of the mirror maze, the familiar terror gripping me once more.

The mirrors were intact again, the labyrinth stretching endlessly before me.

The whispers returned, louder and more insidious, echoing in my mind. I realized that the knife had not only wounded my flesh but had also bound me deeper into the nightmare.

I knew I had to find a way out, but every step felt like a journey deeper into the abyss. I stumbled through the maze, unsure of what set apart reality and nightmare.

Each step echoed with the doubt that I might never wake up, that I might be trapped in this hellish labyrinth forever.

Suddenly, I heard a muffled cry. My heart raced as I turned a corner and saw y/n.

Terror gripped me as I saw the spectral figure of Ghostface looming behind her, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle her scream.

"Don't scream," he whispered, his voice chilling and hollow, echoing throughout the mirror maze. The sight of y/n's wide, terrified eyes galvanized me into action.

I had to save her, but how? My mind raced, searching for a solution in the chaos.

Then, a memory surfaced—a fleeting, half-remembered thought about how to kill a doppelganger.

The key was the mirrors. I needed to use the mirrors against him. Why hadn't I remembered?

With renewed determination, I lunged at Ghostface, forcing him away from y/n.

We struggled, our movements chaotic and violent, smashing into the mirrored walls. Each impact sent ripples through the reflections, distorting the images further.

In a desperate bid, I managed to shove Ghostface directly into one of the mirrors. The glass shattered on impact, and for a moment, he seemed to disintegrate, his form breaking apart into thousands of tiny fragments.

But he wasn't gone yet. The pieces of his reflection began to reassemble, pulling back together.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a shard of broken mirror and held it up. As Ghostface reformed, I drove the shard into his chest.

The mirrors around us began to crack and shatter, the labyrinth itself breaking apart under the force of his demise.

His scream echoed through the maze, a sound of pure, otherworldly agony, as I am wrenched from the lifelike dream, my own scream fading in my throat, eyes flying open.

'Shit, I'm alive?' I rasp out, sitting up in the familiar kitchen of y/n's apartment, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

Next to me, I hear Y/n cough out what sounds like a laugh before turning to me and saying, "Probably…" before slumping down to the ground, her chest heaving as she overcomes a fit of giggles.

To my surprise, I find myself joining in, rolling over to her and enveloping her in a tight embrace, feeling her stomach heave with laughter as mine does, too.

As the laughter subsides, the halloween decorations catch my eye, strewn around the place.

"Fuck, still Halloween, huh?" Y/n smirks, glancing over to see what I'm looking at and catching sight of the Halloween decorations that still adorn the kitchen.

'Impossible.' I furrow my brows, the expression suddenly serious.

'What the shit actually just happened?', y/n asks, her voice full of panic now. I shake my head before getting to my feet, and helping her do the same.

Pulling her close, I hold her tightly as if the embrace alone could anchor us to this fleeting, perfect moment.

Our laughter slowly fades into a tender silence, and we bask in the warmth of each other's presence.

But then, the doorbell rings, its shrill chime slicing through the calm and jolting us back to reality.

The doorbell rings.

A chill runs through me as I recall the faint, ominous words: "Don't Leave The House, Don't Answer The Phone, Don't scream..."

The memory lingers, a whisper of dread that underscores the urgency of the moment.

"But most importantly," I remember with a shiver, "don't answer the door."

I dismiss my fears with a scoff as I glance again at y/n. Her face was a deathly white, eyes wide with a mix of anxiety and dread. Ignoring my surroundings, I stride toward the door, my hand lingering on the doorknob.

This was it.

It was going to be the police. We were going to be safe. I wasnt going to keep having these nightmares.

~

I am shocked when I open the door to see myself standing there, a twisted grin on my face. "Trick or treat, bitch," the doppelgänger sneers, holding a bloodied candy bag.

a/n: FINALE NEXT!!!

taglist: @lexisecretaccx @itssophiasstuff @junnniiieee07

[sc0tters]

How does pre-NHL baby Nate MacKinnon meeting his namesake Nathan Crosby go? I can picture him absolutely terrified to hold him then when Celine teaches him how to hold a baby and baby Nate settles into big Nate’s arms, he MELTS

also he def showed up with a teddy bear and a bouquet of flowers that he proudly tells Celine he bought and picked himself

Nate was so confused when it was Celine who showed up at his door in Cole Harbour with a baby in her arms “it isn’t mine right?” Was his first question which resulted in a glared and a kick to the shin as Sidney followed her up “unless you’re referring to him being your godson then no.” He laughed seeing Nate’s eyes go wide.

He swore they were lying but as Celine grinned he knew they weren’t “Nate Mackinnon meet Nate Crosby.” She blurted out trying to hide her amusement as Nathan blinked waking up from his nap.

Nate swore he was going to cry in that moment “you wanna hold him?” That was when the moment burst for him “what if I drop him?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

It took days to convince him but eventually he was back in the Crosby’s house with his godson “I’m holding him!” He squealed all proud of himself as he watched Celine smile as she held the teddy bear he got her “you know I picked that all myself right?”

[miriyos]

toothaches (reverse)

Geno is pretty sure that his nurse is some kind of angel sent from above. 

However, the man’s angelic appearance isn’t enough for Geno to remember himself. He’s only a man, and a man currently high off anesthesia at that. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be caught dead being so crass to someone he feels he barely knows.

“So beautiful!” Geno says barely coherent, eyes bleary and his neck stiffly kept in its brace. “Show me that ass!”

The nurse blushes, ducking his head. Geno isn’t sure what the nurse says in return but Tanger, amidst his snickering, apologizes for Geno while Flower catches all of it on his phone.

“He’s usually not like this,” Flower adds in disbelief since Tanger’s apology is said too lighthearted and in disbelief to be serious.

“It’s alright,” the nurse replies. He tops off Geno’s ice chips then straight up kills Geno by smiling at him. “Just rest up, okay? The team wants you back in one piece.”

Geno smacks his lips together. It took ages to be convinced to get the surgery he recommended for his knee. The crosscheck into the boards really was the push over the edge, and frankly, he can call himself lucky that he’s in pain because otherwise he fears Sully being the first person to visit to give him the old “I told you so” bit.

Now though, he might want to stay a bit longer. He works hard. He’s earned a few days of a silent hot nurse fantasy. Usually, he’d keep that information to himself but—

“Will you marry me?” Geno blurts out, wanting the nurse to stay longer.

The nurse laughs. Not meaningly though and still with the same blush that would’ve knocked Geno on his ass had he been standing. Adjusting the stethoscope hanging around his neck, the nurse gently reaches out to put his hand on Geno’s shoulder. “I’m already married.”

Geno blanches. He already checked. No sight of a wedding ring. Does his nurse hide his ring? Take it off? Did his nurse’s idiotic, undeserving husband not buy him one?

Distantly, Geno thinks Tanger’s cackling is back just as his heart goes into his stomach.

“Then I’m be your second husband,” Geno persists confidently, a bit weaker this time.

He’s the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins. Two time Stanley Cup Champion. He basically has a mansion and a hot car most people—not that this beautiful nurse would be most people—fawn over. He’s totally a catch.

“I’m not sure how that would work,” the nurse admits. Geno feels the nurse stroke his arm. He totally doesn’t flex in an attempt to seduce this gorgeous man whose ID is hidden behind an ugly sweater two times his size. “You’re already my first husband.”

Maybe, just maybe, Geno woke up in an alternate universe.

“What?” he deadpans, feeling confused. If the universe if playing a trick on him while he’s in the hospital, then, that’s just cruel.

“You shouldn’t have told him so soon!” Flower interjects.

“That would’ve been such a good joke,” Tanger laments.

“You guys are cruel,” the nurse accuses Geno’s friends—former friends. They’re only teammates now.

Geno would definitely wholeheartedly agree, if only he was following their little conversation. He’s still stuck on the husband thing. He’s a romantic. Hot nurses can’t just go around telling people they’re married and not mean it.

“Get some rest,” the nurse advises Geno kindly. “Maybe when you wake up, you’ll feel more like yourself. You can always press the button if you need me.”

The drugs the doctor gave him must be really good. He’s been a bit out of it the entire time. Getting permission to close his eyes is just what he needs.

He ends up dreaming of a male nurse with slight curls and flushed cheeks. Geno thinks the blush might have been caused because of him. Because he called the man sweet things. Because he kissed the sweet nurse’s cheek and held his hand. (The rock on his finger was a nice addition.) 

He’d expect nothing less of a perfect dream.

*

The second time Geno wakes up, he’s more aware of the whiplash as well as the fact that he can’t move his right leg very much.

Grumbling, his first instinct is to try to get up. He’s got things to do, but a hand comes down onto his shoulder and holds him back. It’s the nurse again.

Sidney.

Of course, his name is Sidney. Geno finally remembers because Sidney is his husband and most likely exasperated at that.

“I can’t believe you forgot how strong Shea is,” Sidney comments absently as he scans Geno’s hospital wristband.

Geno grimaces. Why he pissed Weber off in the first place isn’t that hazy anymore. He can still see Sid lightly buzzed, hanging off Shea Weber’s arm as the man shows of his Olympic medal. At that point, he was less mad about losing and more caught up keeping his jealousy in check. Not that people could blame him back then. He and Sid had only just been getting serious and he wasn’t about to let Shea Weber take Sid away from him.

Now, it’s mostly just a one-sided rivalry that Weber not might even be aware of. Even Geno can’t always tell when that side of him comes out. One moment, he saw Jake be pushed and the next thing Geno knew, he was shoving Weber aside. He wasn’t expecting retaliation, but really, he’s never not heard of Weber stepping down from a challenge.

It all feels silly, really, but it’s also somewhat of a second nature. Geno can’t help himself between the latent jealousy and the obvious competitiveness.

“He catch my blind side.”

Sid hums thoughtfully. “Well, at least this means I get you all to myself for the next couple of weeks.”

Although still on the clock, carefully, Sid looks into the hallway briefly, then kisses Geno lightly on the corner of his mouth. He’s blushing when he pulls away and smiling.

“It must be nice having your own live-in nurse. I should start charging you,” Sid jokes.

Geno smiles. Peeking out from his husband’s collar is a gold chain with his wedding ring attached. He has it pretty good. “You want sugar daddy?” he teases. “You never tell.”

Sid laughs, pushing Geno’s face to the side lightly. “Shut up.”

“You still marry me,” Geno replies in a sing-song voice, still a bit heavily drugged and openly honest.

Sidney smiles, squeezing Geno’s hand.

It feels nice to remember.

[justanoutlawfic]

Resurrected: Part 2

AnnyR said: Is there gonna be a second part to this story? I would love to see the kids reactions. :)

@queen-of-the-merry-men​ said:  Um... there’s a follow up to this right? PLEASE TELL ME THERE’S A FOLLOW UP

So...here it is.

Also on AO3

Regina didn’t sleep that night after she left the home she once shared with her husband and children. The truth was, she had barely gotten any sleep over the past 3 years. How could she knowing what she had done to her family? Wondering if she’d ever be able to return to them, if she’d ever get to see how they were doing. She had a P.I on them, who would deliver pictures, but those were all from a glance. She didn’t get to hear their voices or get filled on their days from their perspectives.

 As she settled into her room at Granny’s, she pulled out the most recent pictures that Sidney had sent her. They had all gotten so big. Henry was 11 now, in junior high. She could still remember when he was a baby, with that sweet smell coming from his head. Roland was 8 and played soccer. He had once been the toddler that stumbled when he took his first steps.

 And Margot. Sweet Margot. All of the kids had inherited her dark hair, but she had gotten Robin’s eyes. She teased him that one day they’d turn hazel like Henry’s or brown like Roland’s. Yet, it seemed that they had stayed the same. She had his nose too and his chin.

 Unlike her boys, she knew very little about her daughter. At least she had raised them for 5 to 8 years respectively. Margot had only been 10 months old when she had to go away. Just a tiny baby that was babbling, clearly trying to make out words. She had to leave before she could say “Mama” and she always wondered how sweet that name would sound coming from her little girl’s mouth.

 She knew deep down that Robin owed her nothing. She had disappeared and while her reasons were good, she had missed 3 years of their children’s lives, of his life. She was lucky that he hadn’t moved on int that time, so they still had a chance. It was so far off, but she prayed it could happen. Still, he could very easily have told her to get lost and never speak to him again.

 Instead, he had asked her to meet him for coffee the next day, once he dropped the kids off at school. She knew she had to be careful about hiding her identity. The last thing she wanted was for them to see her or for someone else to and let it slip.

 Reaching for her suitcase, she pulled out the disguise that had served her well for the past 3 years. Zelena had never been the wiser, completely convinced that she was dead. She had no reason to leave Storybrooke, systematically killing off men was all she needed. Taking out the wig, Regina began to brush it, hoping for the day that she could finally take the mask off.

 Robin entered the diner the following morning, exhausted. He hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. A part of him had wanted Regina to sit down with him and talk about where she had gone, how they would move forward but he knew that they risked one of the kids waking up. Luckily for him, he had been able to force a smile and fake his way through breakfast with them before shuttling Henry off to the library to study and the younger kids to Mary Margaret Nolan’s for a playdate with her children.

 He had received a text from an unknown number, that he later realized was Regina’s. She explained that she wouldn’t be looking how she did the night before, that she had to keep up the façade in order to make sure that no one knew that she was back before the kids did. Robin felt that was a bit extreme at first, but looking around the diner and seeing all the familiar faces…she had a point. Storybrooke was a small town with well meaning but very nosy people. A great place for raising kids…not the best place to keep a secret.

 Robin scanned the booths and located a woman that he would recognize almost anywhere. Her disguise was good, definitely no Hannah Montana job. Her wig was realistic, straight auburn locks that cut closely to her chin. She was wearing thick coke bottle glasses and a black tank top that showed off a tattoo he wasn’t sure was real or fake.

 Making his way over, he slid into the booth.  He could see through her glasses that she was also wearing colored contacts, changing her eyes from brown to green. “So…what’s your alias?”

“Roni, Roni Ramirez.”

He flinched, not used to Mills not being part of the equation. When they got married, they had both changed their last names to Locksley-Mills, their kids had it too. “You look…different.”

“I look weird, you can say it.”

“You risked driving around town last night without it?”

“Everyone was in bed, nothing goes on after 9 in this town.”

A small smile tugged on Robin’s lips, that much was the truth. “Where have you…”

 He trailed off when Ruby Lucas approached the table, filling their coffee cups. He gave Robin a strange glance, but then grinned. She had been bugging him for over a year to move on and start dating. He could tell she assumed this was a date. She took their orders before slipping back towards the kitchen.

 “Where have you been?” Robin asked, his voice lowering

Regina dropped the milk into her coffee, swirling it around a bit. “I was sent to Seattle, Washington.”

“You’ve been that far away this whole time?”

“I had to make sure that there was no chance she’d run into me. This disguise is good, but…”

“Not entirely fool proof.”

Regina sighed, running her fingers through her wig. “I got a job at a bar, kept to myself. I barely spent any money, I know you had to take care of the kids on your own there for a bit…”

“I don’t want your money Re…Roni.”

“What do you want?”

 He was silent for a few moments, not sure of what that was. In the back of his mind, he wanted to take his wife into his arms and never let her go. To resume their lives as if nothing happened.

 Robin couldn’t do that, though. He had spent the last 3 years thinking that she was dead. He had to console his children, console himself. He was still adjusting to the fact that all of it was real, that the woman sitting before him was the one he had fell in love with. Not only that, but she had betrayed him.

 “I don’t know how to explain this to the kids,” he mused. “I mean, Margot is still so little, she’ll probably move on pretty quickly. Roland and Henry, though…”

“I want to go off their lead. It’s going to kill me if I see them and they want nothing to do with me, but I’ll understand. Same with you.”

“I need time, Regina. I know you want to work on our marriage and I do still love you, but 24 hours ago…things were different. I was a widower, a single father. We had fallen into a routine. I was planning to take the kids to the cabin. Now…you’re alive and you’re telling me you faked your death to protect you, protect us. It’s all just too much. I need to focus on them, before I can think about our future.”

Regina nodded. “I get it, I do.”

“I think I’m going to tell Henry tonight and then Roland. I still don’t know how to best handle this with Margot, maybe I’ll talk to Archie.”

“Just let me know.”

Robin picked up his son that afternoon, driving him to the beach. It had always been his spot with Regina when he was younger. She’d take Henry for long walks in his stroller and take about a million pictures of him. There was a playground area that Henry used to pretend to be his castle, where he and Regina would bring wooden swords and “duel”.  They even fed seagulls a time or two, though 5-year-old Henry had been deathly afraid of them.

 After Regina “died”, the beach had been a place of solace for Henry. He had run off from the funeral and Robin knew he would find him there. Ever since, it was where he brought Henry when he was particularly missing Regina or just having a bad day.

 He didn’t want to ruin the memories Henry had with his mother, but he hoped that bringing him to the beach would help a little bit. At first, neither of them said anything. They walked through the sand, kicking it a bit as they went. Henry fished through his bag and found some snacks to toss in the seagulls’ direction. Pretty soon, they had reached the playground and sat in it. No one was around, it was a fall afternoon, not many that brave to go to the beach.

 “What’s going on?” Henry asked, his legs swinging. “I’m usually the one that asks to come here.”

“I needed to talk to you about something, kiddo, and figured it’d be best if we did it in one of your safe places.”

“What do we need to talk about?”

 Robin let out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked into Henry’s eyes and wanted to wrap him in his arms already. He tried to act so grownup at times, but really he was still just a kid, a little boy. How was he supposed to do this? Regina had offered to come, but he knew that would only make matters more confusing.

 “Henry…your mother’s alive.”

Henry tilted his head. “That’s not funny.”

“Because it’s not a joke. She…she had to fake her death, to protect us. I didn’t know about any of this until last night.”

“How do you know it’s really her? She could have a twin or it could be a prank…”

“Henry…it’s her.”

 A silence fell over the two of them, Robin clearly didn’t have to say anything else. The only sounds that could be heard were the waves crashing against the shore and the seagulls screeching every so often. Henry gripped his jacket closer to himself and Robin moved closer, to offer some warmth.

 “Why would she do this?” He whispered.

“Do you remember Mr. Gold? He used to be a judge, a friend of your mother’s.” Henry nodded, Mr. Gold had came by their house often with his wife. “Well, when his son died, your mother really wanted to help make sure the person who killed him was put away. However, she wasn’t and she didn’t like that your mom kept poking around. She wanted to hurt her, so your mom had to leave so it didn’t happen.”

“So, she left…so we wouldn’t really have to experience her dying.”

Robin flinched. “Yes.”

“Where is she now?”

“She’s staying at Granny’s. She’s back for good, now that the murderer is locked away and can’t hurt, can’t hurt us anymore.”

 Henry nodded and swallowed, staring out at the waves. Robin wished he could read his mind, ask him what he was thinking. He found himself paralyzed, not wanting to push him one way or the other. He had a right to want to see her, he also had a right to be angry.

 “She’s not going to leave again?” Henry asked.

Robin shook his head. “No, son.”

“And she really only left to protect us?”

“Yes.”

“Is she going to move back in with us?”

“Not right now.”

“But…you’re married. You said you loved mom, you never wanted to lose her.”

“That’s true, but a lot has changed, Henry. She may have left for good reasons, but I’ve spent the last 3 years thinking she was dead. It’s not easy to just jump back into our marriage and pretend like nothing ever happened.”

“You could do it if you tried,” Henry mumbled.

“Hey,” Robin tilted his chin up. “I am trying. I am willing to hear your mom out and work things out with her. Right now, my main priority is helping you kids adjust. Right now you may be okay with it and that’s great. Anger might come later and that’s okay, too. Your mother and I are worrying about you kids first, the way it should be.”

 Henry was silent once more, but only ever so briefly this time.

 “Can I see her?”

“You want to?”

Henry nodded. “I have to make sure this is real.”

 Robin texted Regina to prepare her before heading over to the inn. He knocked on the door and when it opened, Regina was out of her disguise again. She looked down at her son and tears sprung to her eyes. Henry starred up at her, his lip quivering.

 “Henry,” she whispered.

“Mom.”

 His voice broke and he threw his arms around her. Regina hugged him tighter, kissing the top of his head and inhaling it as she did.

 “I’ve missed you so much,” he choked out, as the tears fell down his face.

“I’ve missed you more, my sweet prince,” she said, softly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

[your-dietician]

Leave of Absence: A Business of Law Editor's Story of Postpartum Depression in Unprecedented Times

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/leave-of-absence-a-business-of-law-editors-story-of-postpartum-depression-in-unprecedented-times/

Leave of Absence: A Business of Law Editor's Story of Postpartum Depression in Unprecedented Times

Editor’s Note: As The American Lawyer continues its focus on mental health and reducing stigma, we aim to share our own stories and highlight the many life experiences that can impact one’s well-being. 

Some say artists create their best work when they’re in the depths of a depression.

If that’s the case, my daughter is my masterpiece.

I knew motherhood was something I wanted, but selfishly I hurtled into it unsure of whether I really would be able to do it.

When a pandemic set in, 10 weeks before my due date, my first instinct was to scold myself for starting the family I wanted. “You should have known better,” rang through my head. But who could have known? So, given no other choice I rolled with the punches, retreating into the bubble and tricking myself into thinking I had done so of my own volition. I convinced myself that a baby shower would have been a needless hassle, and that time alone was what my husband and I truly needed in our last few months before becoming parents. It’s for the best, I lied.

As my belly expanded to full capacity, I was still unsure whether I had what it takes to parent a child, let alone in a public health crisis. We’ll be all alone in those first two weeks. What if we didn’t study enough and we make a grave mistake with nobody here to correct us? Even after I birthed her in June, I asked the nurse, what if we get home and I forget what to do?

Then, in the darkest moments my mind has seen, a mother emerged from inside me, held her close and kissed her head. I realized in my deep loneliness that despite it all, I had found this one thing I was capable of doing, at least for now. To her, Mommy and Daddy were everything. Accompanying that sense of accomplishment and gratitude was an ever-present drumbeat of potential doom: don’t you dare mess this up.

My baby was a good baby. She slept when she was supposed to, ate plenty—even too much sometimes—and brightened each day with her developmental leaps.

I hope she will forgive me for letting others believe differently. For not correcting them when they blamed her for my exhaustion. “I remember those sleepless nights,” the veteran parents would say, and “I just can’t imagine,” said the empathetic non-parents. Nodding, I would answer with a smile, “she’s worth it.”

Little did they know, my baby slept soundly through the night from just a few weeks old, my perfect soldier. But I never did. I would lay awake and wonder which disaster would consume us first, knowing I would most certainly be to blame.

Mornings were the best part. As the sun shined in through the windows, I and the rest of the world were for a brief moment in sync. This feeling of stupor in which I existed full-time was shared with every human just now waking with the sun. And, reflecting my joy at that moment of solidarity, the baby too was at her best in the morning, cooing and snuggling in her early weeks, then smiling as she learned how. “It’s another great day to be Sidney!” I would tell her. In these moments, I believed perhaps it would be a great day for me too. I would get some exercise during her first nap, and maybe make myself some coffee and breakfast. Maybe today I’ll have energy to read during her second nap, or go for a walk with Sidney when she wakes up, I would think to myself.

But that little bit of alone time during the first nap flies quickly by, especially in those first few weeks.

It starts with an unsatisfying workout—actually physical therapy to help my body heal from pregnancy and childbirth. I was a gym rat before getting pregnant, but now I’m limited by the fear of pushing my postpartum body too far. With each movement, I imagine the awful things that could happen. If I throw my back out, how will I lift the baby? If I overexert, could I damage my fragile pelvic floor? If I drop something and break my foot, it’s back to the hospital, where I could be exposed to the virus, and two weeks of isolation starts again.

My session of underwhelming physical exercise and overwhelming mental exercise is followed by a shower and getting dressed—a once-simple act that is now tedious. Knowing that any second my daughter could erupt into a cry, it feels as though I can’t move quickly enough. Nothing really fits, and there’s no use in buying clothes that will just end up covered in spit-up, milk stains and a whole lot of sweat. So it’s another day, another old t-shirt and shorts. I fold my wet hair into a braid, and that’s it. I consider, for a moment, some mascara. But I quickly abandon the thought. It’s not as though I’ll be leaving the house anyway. I catch a peek of myself in the mirror and try to remember what it was like to get dolled up and go see friends. The only new things I’ve worn recently are the additional wrinkles I’ve grown around my eyes.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m in awe of my body for what it did during 40 weeks of pregnancy and the first months of motherhood, and gratitude runs deep in my soul for the science that gave me a child.

But this person I see staring back at me doesn’t feel like someone I’ve known all my life, let alone somebody I’ve been.

It’s not long after my shower that the baby wakes—in those first few months, her naps were scattered through the day, but the longest ones weren’t much more than an hour. If I’m lucky, I was able to eat some oatmeal or peanut butter toast before her cries traveled down the stairs, and the second part of our day began.

Days of maternity leave during a pandemic are consumed with so much “no” that saying “yes” to the options that remain feels like a chore. Evading the monotony becomes futile. Isolation is a responsible choice, not a red flag for depression. Withdrawal from your usual hobbies is a requirement. Friends can’t see over a phone call, or even a video chat, that showing interest in anything has become a performance. Connecting with other new moms, which was once done at Mommy and Me classes or library read-alongs, now takes place in group texts or Facebook groups. It’s a safe space where funny anecdotes and joyful updates are punctuated by posts that cry out in desperation and run-on sentences, as mothers of all experience levels reach their breaking point and grasp through the socially distanced safety of cyberspace for understanding, even if what they need is an actual shoulder to cry on.

New activities of maternity leave include diving into a rabbit hole when a notification pops up on your phone, warning about another development in the virus nightmare that could be a danger to your family. This hones your mental math skills, as you quickly calculate the probability that this newest danger will come to affect your home. That activity pairs well with another: shutting your eyes when the baby sleeps during the day, not so much for physical rest but in an attempt to leave this dark reality for a moment.

But, be warned, reopening your eyes and leaving that respite when she wakes feels impossible. So you let her dad, who should be working, take a turn at caring for her while you sink further into the cushions, shutting out the light shining in from the windows. It’s another reminder that unlike in the early hours of the morning, everyone else is up and operating. But you, you are useless.

For those first couple of months, I existed in roughly the same way each 24 hours, quickly depleting my emotional energy and sputtering through the rest of the day. My engine got a jumpstart, a momentary high, when I nursed my daughter, as oxytocin rushed through me. Conversely, I came to despise pumping, when I was flooded with a strange sadness. Sitting there, alone and stationary, looking down at the bottles pulsating, I felt like a machine.

Evening was the worst. Each day the cumulative exhaustion paired with a sense of no accomplishment. The conclusion: you are pathetic. Looking across the room at my husband I’d remind myself that he spent the whole day working, then immediately pivoted to help me take care of the baby. I’d convince myself that he probably wishes I hadn’t insisted on starting a family when I did. That he probably feels like I forced him into this life. That he probably would be happier if he had married someone else.

But, like the wonderful person he is, he clearly loves the baby despite all of that. So maybe I should just get out of the way, I tell myself. That way, he can find someone new, beautiful and energetic to be with while he’s still young, instead of being stuck with me. And the baby will have a new, beautiful, energetic mother figure.

One evening, as these thoughts cycled through my head again, it became too much. The thoughts poured out of my mouth, and even though my ears heard them and my brain quickly rejected the twisted logic, my heart ached as the sadness that had plagued me wrapped itself up in a declaration—you and Sidney would be better off without me.

My six-week postpartum doctor visit was the next day. My husband called my doctor as soon as I left the house.

I started therapy, not for the first time in my life. But unlike in previous iterations, this therapist saw me over video call. There was no secret formula to fix this feeling, but I saw this as a step in the right direction.

One way or another, around 9 or 10 weeks I began to see a flicker of myself again. I started wearing my hair down once in a while, instead of yanking it into a wet, knotted braid. I thought about my job, to which I’d be returning in a couple short weeks, and though I couldn’t fathom making it through a day of work and childcare, the thought of speaking with adults about something other than babies and housework thrilled me.

Since my leave ended and I began working full-time again, albeit from my home, I’ve shared baby care shifts with my husband, as well as my father-in-law who comes over a few afternoons a week. On days when it’s just Mom and Dad on duty, we pow-wow in the morning, comparing calendars to see who might take the morning feed and the afternoon playtime, who will be on standby in case naptime falls apart, which meetings are casual enough for a baby guest to join, and what actual work we can squeeze in.

The nice thing about multi-tasking in this way is that there is no spare moment to realize just how tired you are. My worries about getting through the workday without collapsing quickly dissipated in the first week. Surprisingly, the days I noticed my exhaustion most was when I had a several-hour stretch with no meetings or impending deadlines. This was my time to “think strategically,” as my boss encourages us to do during downtimes. I even blocked it out on my calendar. But in all honesty, my strategic thinking usually drifted toward how nice it would be to just close my eyes for a few minutes.

The less-nice thing about multi-tasking in this way is that, despite the distraction, the exhaustion eventually catches up. The breakdowns still happened in the evening every few weeks or so, usually at times when my to-do list lengthened and another unexpected addition caused me to spiral. There are times when I think I can’t possibly do this one more day, especially now that my mini-me naps much less and wants to be on the move constantly.

But, now, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Sidney’s 11 months old now, and her parents will be fully vaccinated soon. We secured a spot at the daycare—the same one we visited and loved two weeks before the world abruptly locked down in 2020. She’ll start there just after her first birthday. Instead of worrying about whether the other parents are isolating safely, or whether the building is properly ventilated, I’m just excited to think that my daughter might play on a playground, learn some silly songs and make new friends.

Maybe she’ll get a sunburn or a stomach bug, and we’ll have to go to the doctor. And that will be OK.

For the first few weeks of my working mom life, I woke up at 5 a.m. a few days a week to pump and get in a workout before the baby was up. I was determined to have that alone time, get back in shape so I could enjoy exercise again, and get an early start at work once the baby was fed.

But eventually, I realized that rush to start my morning didn’t make the rest of the day any less stressful. I started sleeping in later and later. I beat myself up about it at first, having been an early riser my entire adult life. But beating myself up didn’t make it any easier to get out of bed.

So I leaned into it and implemented a new, cozy routine. When Sidney woke, I’d shuffle over to her room and bring her back to mine, where she would have her morning milk in my bed followed by snoozy snuggles. The snuggles only last about 60 to 90 seconds before she wants to bounce on our mattress and step on my chest to look out the window. But for a brief moment, it’s quiet. Then I sing to her, “you are my sunshine.”

In that moment, I try to remind myself that these are the things I’ll look back on in a few years and yearn for. A baby who lights up when I pick her up from her crib. A little one who fits easily in the crook of my arm. The sounds she makes that aren’t quite words, but hold a great deal of meaning.

I never want to forget all of these feelings. And I never want to forget the depression either.

Because someday, I hope, if my daughter chooses to be a mother, I’ll share this with her. I’ll tell her all of this, so when it envelops her, she won’t be as afraid.

Instead, I pray, she’ll see herself in the mirror and know that while the pieces of her have scattered a bit, she is still there. And she is still my greatest masterpiece.

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[nomorelonelydays]

Last night, I was lying down in my pile of garbage and I thought to myself, 'hey, self -- what about hockey players as various mythical creatures?" So if you're down to indulge the idea, I've got a couple thoughts? Like, for one, Nephilim Sidney, AKA: angelic strategic/militaristic leadership capabilities, devotion and loyalty, strong moral compass, and unbelievable beauty, BUT human goose honk laugh, sense of humor, occasional lack of gracefulness, and fully functioning sex drive, all (1/11)

More under cut. Like a lot more. But it’s an epic so highly recommend

rolled into one. Ever since he was just a kid, people have debated whether being a Nephilim means he gets some kind of unfair advantage, or if it just means he's got a huge, self-righteous stick up his ass -- disregarding the fact that, even if he does have angel blood, Sidney is still partially human, with fully human feelings. Then, because I am the Angst Gremlin, Gremlin of the Angst, Geno, with his relaxing charm, easy confidence, clever hands, even cleverer tongue, and, quite frankly,(2/11)

really big dick, is an incubus. While technically still a demon, he's not really into filleting the souls of the innocent or any medieval shit like that, he just gets laid a lot and needs sex energy to stay alive. Regardless, everyone is on edge for Sid and Geno to meet, hoping beyond hope that the two young men the future of the Pens Organization is riding on don't want to kill each other on sight. So, people take it as a pretty big surprise when they get along fine. Sid keeps his cross (3/11)

necklace on under the collars of his shirts (just in case they'd bump into each other), their hotel rooms are always on opposite ends of the hall (because Geno would like to be respectful and he knows that his post-game feedings can occasionally be a little loud), Sidney keeps a special lid on his water bottle so it doesn't get confused with anyone else's -- especially Geno's (we'll say that holy water is basically the electrolyte-infused gatorade version of water for Sidney, so that's (4/11)

what he drinks), and, Geno does all pre-game snacking in locked, empty training rooms (because "pre-game snacking" usually means calling one of his routine hookups and making them orgasm via phone sex, and even if he sometimes does it in Russian, it'd be rude to do it in front of everyone, and extra rude to do it in front of Sid). The first time they're so hyped from a victory that they spontaneously hug each other while undressing in the locker room, they both worry that they hurt each (5/11)other somehow, before realizing that they're fine, and Sid's just like, "It felt really good, actually. A lot of the time, people hold me at a distance to be respectful -- and I appreciate it -- but it's nice to just feel normal." However, Sid didn't realize that Geno was holding back with physical contact as much as he was, that saying what he said would mean G would start touching him as much as he touches everyone else, or that, when allowed, G wound up touching people /a lot/. Or, how (6/11)

all of the little casual touches would drag the whole "being in love with Geno" thing to the forefront of Sid's mind. Eventually, when they're squeezed next to each other in a booth at a club, and G clasps his hand around Sid's thigh while laughing at a joke he'd made, Sid cracks. In a voice more nervous and less seductive than he was intending, he asks Geno if he likes touching him, and when Geno responds with, "Why you ask, Sid?" he powers on to say that if he doesn't mind touching him, (7/11)he's in his mid-twenties and has never been able to go through with losing his virginity because he just gets so worked up about it and freaks, but he trusts Geno more than anyone else, and, "if you'd be okay with it... you could make it easier for me to, well... you know... and you'd get a meal out of it?" But then G just looks at him sadly and shakes his head, and Sid feels more and more broken and nauseous by the second -- only, the hurt fades into confusion when Geno amends, "Not (8/11)because I don't want, Sid. Just... afterwards, for me, trying to feed... it would be like swallow sewer water after drinking champagne from Stanley Cup." Geno pauses, giving a wry smirk, before adding, "You're like 'Holy Grail.'" And Sid's in shock, but musters every last ounce of angelic bravery to say, "I've been in love with you for a really long time, so maybe, if you feel the same, it wouldn't be just once." And cue amazing sex. Sidenotes: Flower is most certainly a lovable, trouble- (9/11)

making imp, Tanger's the vampire who's low key really grumpy over the fact that he'll never get to see how hot he is, Olli owes all of his height to the human side of his family, because the other side are all haltijas (a type of helpful finnish gnome that needs to be treated with love and regularly fed), Conor gets pouty about having a mix of pixie and leprechaun blood, because he's just short and with how often he's accidentally walked in on Sid and Geno boning/nearly boning, no way in (10/11)hell is luck on his side, and Jake's usually cool about being an elf until the holidays come around and every chirp he gets is a quote from the 2003 Will Ferrell movie. (11/11)

Also, I have been acting in the manner of an anon-ask spiders georg, and have already harassed you with enough content for an eternity, but... a Nicky/Ovi Footnote: Ovi is a Russian species of yeti, and he sites his lineage whenever an annoying interviewer asks him about the streaks of grey and white in his hair, "You know Russia -- there is much snow, so yetis are grey. Is fine," (only, while grey is normal, white coloring for Siberian yetis is a sign of stress and premature aging, (1/7)y'know, like what happens when someone is repeatedly blamed for their franchise's inability to win things, but that's none of my business *insert the meme of kermit drinking tea*). Nicklas Backstrom is not publicly known to be a non-humanoid, however, from the second Ovi saw the lively, mesmerizing green of his eyes, and heard the musical lilt to his voice, he knew, there was just something about Nicky. Even after multiple incidences of Nicky scoring a goal in a game, Ovi definitely (2/7)

seeing Nicky present in the locker room, Nicky conveniently disappearing right as the media comes to talk with him, and Ovi running into a decorative ficus, thinking, 'when the fuck did this tree get here?' he doesn't register what's going on, but whatever, because after convincing Nicky to go out to dinner with him once a week, they work up to eating together five nights a week, then to gentle, nervous kisses, followed by not-so-gentle-or-nervous making out, and by the time his first (3/7)

sight upon waking up every morning is the bare expanse of Nicky's back or his head of golden hair resting easily against a pillow, there's so much love in his heart that there really isn't any space left to wonder what Nicky is or isn't. However, it takes one incident of Nicky practically jumping his bones while they stumble into the hotel elevator, both of them not realizing their teammate TJ is in said elevator, and TJ commenting, "Nicky the nympho, way to get it," for Alex's brain to (4/7)

put the pieces together and start screaming, "holy!!! fucking!!! shit!!! nicky's a nymph!!! of course he's a nymph!!! the world makes sense again and this doesn't do a single fucking thing to change how intensely i love him, but it was an astounding epiphany!!!" (or something like that) while he just gets this look of amazement on his face and silently mouths, "Nymph?" to Nicky. When he stops wanting to die from embarrassment, in the privacy of their hotel room, Nicky confirms it, and (5/7)

begrudgingly agrees to stop turning into a tree to avoid media scrums, so long as Alex swoops in to guide the attention away from him if it goes over three minutes. After the “conclusion to a healthy relationship conversation” sex (there’s breakup sex and makeup sex and mid-fight sex… let me have this) Nicky settles his back against the warmth radiating from Alex’s chest, and as Alex tucks his chin against the crook of Nicky’s neck, fondness blooms in his chest as he notices that Nicky (6/7)smells like a freshly cut bouquet of roses, and a forest after everything has been dampened by the rain. (7/7) I'M THE WORST FUCK THIS IS A TOTAL OF LIKE 20 FUCKING ASKS OH MY GOD I'M SORRY I NEED TO GET OUT OF MY GREMLIN CAVE AND STOP BEING A STATISTICAL OUTLIER AAAH GOD I'M SO SORRY DUDE