#on a side note in that first bit discussing parents part of me was hysterically shouting ‘someone please ask Kaeya about his parents’

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 15

first time reader - click here

TW/SUMMARY: Is bad humour a trigger? Cards against humanity. Loki in the wild. Chaotic Tony, chaotic Reader. Team bonding, a gag chapter lmao

My beta is babey 🥺 @miscmarvelwritings

If someone had bothered to ask me what kind of relationship I had with Tony, it would've made my brain glitch. In the weeks we spent fucking, sciencing and hanging out with the Avengers, it never once crossed my mind. We had fun and it was easy. Unlike both of our lives, it didn't require much mental energy for us to get what we wanted from each other. For me, it was easier to ignore my skin aching for Tony when he was already spending so much time on me. I wasn't sure if it would ever be enough, really, so taking exactly as much as he was giving was my best bet.

We built things in his workshop with Pete by our side and it wasn't awkward. The spiderling said he was happy as long as we were happy and didn't mind it too much when Tony got handsy. The man had at least some morals and stuck to kisses, ass-slaps and lewd comments which made Peter snort and fake-retch sure, yet the boy never displayed any real discomfort. It was endearing. He really became the little brother I never thought I would have.

The sex was fantastic, to say the least. We fucked on just about every flat surface on the residential floors. Steve caught us once, although I am almost hundred percent sure Tony staged it all on purpose. The good Captain didn't even blush, instead just silently closed the door behind him as I stared in his face, gripping Tony's head with my thighs.

The weather grew dreary yet both of my parents still stayed out of New York. Mother went back to Canada and dad continued his never-ending party on the West Coast, conquering California and living his best life. My house was dark and cold, and I started hanging around the tower more often than ever. If I wasn't with Tony, I was busy catching up Wanda and Bucky on pop culture, teaching Thor how to bake cakes and doing other meaningless, domestic stuff. The Avengers tower bustled with life at all hours and there always was someone...

I never felt lonely. It was such an unusual experience. Comfort and reassurance was always one room away. Be it Thor with his gratuitous amount of physical affection or his brother's incredibly witty, dark humor, I never had to stay one-on-one with my thoughts for too long.

Personally witnessing Bruce's coming out of his shell was the highlight of my life, no lie. I was so used to the quiet, mousy Banner that my brain refused to acknowledge his amazing sense of humour at first; I wasn't sure if he was joking or ... Or what? Truth to be told, Brucie-bear was as snarky as Tony,Loki and Stephen. The sorcerer had started visiting more often too, under the guise of tutoring Wanda, but all of us saw the way he lingered in the communal areas after their study time came to an end.

If loneliness was a sickness then the tower's inhabitants and frequent visitors were beginning their recovery journey.

"Have you guys heard about Cards Against Humanity?" I asked one evening once the movie credits began rolling. Wanda was squished into my side with her legs in her brother's lap; Clint laying atop both siblings like the trash bag that he was. And I meant it fondly.

On the other side of me, I had Bucky and Loki, who had begun to discuss their respective collections of sharp and pointy things once they deemed the movie lacked action. Legally Blonde and action, did they really think..? Nevermind.

"Yes, and if you're offering, the answer is yes," Clint mumbled, reaching for his second pack of Cheetos.

We gathered in a circle as I brought the shoebox that had the original deck plus a couple of expansions. This was beginning to look interesting. "So, I have the special Avengers edition right there..."

"Say no more," Clint even abandoned his snacks. "But I'mma put on the episode of Lucifer I missed. Multitasking," He winked, wrestling the remote from Pietro. We waited patiently as they finished the obligatory round of horsing before settling down for the game.

I explained the rules of the game, choosing to disregard Loki's scoffing and Wanda's doubt about the quality of the humor in the game. We played a few rounds with me explaining some of the deeper pop culture references. At a point where all of us were engrossed, laughing and poking fun at each other, more of the Avengers parked themselves on the couch.

Stephen, Tony and Bruce evidently had been sciencing, all three men having had their safety goggles perched forgotten atop their heads. Sam, Natasha and Steve - probably sparring. All three of them brought the smell of soap and laundry detergent to the room. All of the newcomers observed us with mild interest, periodically glance at the TV.

It was Wanda's turn to be the card Czar. I had to take a moment to finish my last giggling fit.

"Okay, the white card goes..." She paused dramatically. "I never truly understood blank until I encountered blank." With that, she poked the timer app on her phone. The sixty second countdown began.

I did a quick inventory check. Then I snorted. I had to quickly stuff two knuckles in my mouth, biting down, to attempt to silence the hysterical fit of laughter I was on the brink of. Loki was definitely going to stab me but the opportunity was too good to pass. No fear, we die like men.

"Ooh, she's got something," Clint teased, having noticed my shaking shoulders.

The timer beeped. Naturally, Loki went first. He wore a mildly disgusted smirk. "I never truly understood parting the red sea until I encountered third base," The trickster caved and began chuckling.

Somewhere behind me, Sam and Tony began cackling while Stephen and Steve groaned loudly in mild distaste.

"Press F to pay respects," Pietro clapped Loki on the shoulder with a sympathetic chuff. "I raise you - I never truly understood licking things to claim as your own until I encountered the clitoris," The young avenger struggled through laughter, followed by everyone else this time.

"That's a keeper, ladies," Sam's rich baritone quipped.

I laughed along, inwardly preparing for the inevitable. "Yikes," I whispered, side-eyeing Loki. "I never truly understood daddy issues..." I trailed off, hearing Bucky and Steve beginning to tease Tony. "... Until I encountered Loki, the trickster God."

The room drowned in a sea of laughter, Tony and Clint busting a gut so hard they fell over. Said trickster God was less than amused, however, glaring in my direction with the force of a pissed off bee swarm.

"Ow, that's cold, Princess, that's just cold," Clint squeezed out.

"Loki," I abandoned my stack of cards, crawling over Pietro and Bucky on all fours, settling prettily on my knees in front of Loki. Making my very best puppy eyes. "I love you, with all my cold black heart. And you're technically the patron saint of fun and shit, so that means you must approve of this very clever joke," I pouted, batting my eyelashes.

"Baby girl, I think you're laying it on too thick," Tony gasped, slumping on the couch, holding his sides. Everyone kept laughing, now at my feeble attempt at placating the upset Loki.

Who, by the way, looked a bit spooked. Subtly but surely, the raven-haired Asgardian leaned away from me.

"Don't be mad, I'm too cute to be mad at," I finally snorted, pat-pat-patting him on the shoulder. "It's okay, you can join my club. We have hot old dudes and cookies."

That broke it. First, the corner of his mouth twitched. Then, Loki looked away. I saw the storm before it crashed; with a weird noise of his own and his cheeks puffed out, Loki joined in on the shit-fest, howling full volume and doubling over. I followed suit, until all of us were writhing around on the floor. We'd stop and then someone would make another remark and it would go into another round again.

"Menace," Loki scoffed at me, smiling. "And for the record, the hottest old dude, as you put it, would be me." That said, he went back to calmly waiting for his next turn. "I'm about a thousand years old."

"Thor's older," Bruce noted thoughtfully.

Loki scoffed. "That man cannot chew with his mouth shut. If that's considered attractive, I'm leaving this forsaken planet."

That struck a thought within me. One that was brewing a long time, to be honest. "Thor is the god of himbos," I said with the same tone as "Eureka!".

"Shit, you're right," Sam exclaimed, following with another, weaker fit of laughter meanwhile Bruce had to be the one explaining the term to the poor, poor, clueless members of the Avengers.

I need to find a way to award them some kind of points for learning the gen-z lingo. "Patrick" stars maybe, since they lived under a fucking rock?

"Princess, never a boring day with you around. You don't half-ass this shit," Tony's warmth reached me as he shuffled around on the couch, sitting directly behind me. I leaned my back against his legs.

"I'm not a clown," I shot back. Tony stiffened. Dramatically flailing my hand I announced: "I am the whole god-damn circus!"

As the game progressed, we found out that Clint was That Guy - meaning, the dude every CAH group had, the one who grossly overused the "Bees?!" card and made Star Wars references whenever humanly possible. The only even slightly funny joke was about a lightsaber up the ass, in the end all of us finding out that Bucky knew a little too much about modern sex toys - "Hey, I saw one on Amazon, I'll send you the link, Birdman" - to Steve's open-mouthed horror.

What Loki lacked in references he made up in wit. The play on "During sex, I like to think about genetically engineered supersoldiers" had Bucky scrambling to switch places with Wanda whilst Loki himself was attempting to shoot bedroom eyes at Steve. It was a mess.

Bucky's own play had Steve abandon all pretense at being in any way appropriate as he struggled for air. "The Avengers new rules prohibit using Mjölnir as a dildo." Me and Tony became somewhat of a messy guffawing octopus of limbs for a moment after the super-soldier said it.

"Don't. Tell. Thor!" Strange gritted out, hiding his laughter behind a palm, uncharacteristically having lost his stuffy attitude. By god's will the man was attractive when he smiled.

As time ticked, each one of the starting players had attracted a newcomer. There weren't enough cards for everyone to play (Tony had, of course, ordered additional ones but they wouldn't arrive until the next day) so people kind of whispered and pointed at what they thought would fit.

Natasha conspired with Wanda, Sam went to his bird-bro, Bruce was forcefully dragged by Bucky to his side. Surprisingly, Steve teamed up with Loki which made Pietro stick his nose up in the air and promptly declare he needed no backup.

I already had Tony on my side. The genius wasn't of much help, however, he simply annoyed me out of my skull by randomly giggling and making immature jokes. It should've alarmed me that Stephen was eager to join me and Tony - usually he just butted heads with anyone who had any opinion whatsoever.

I was left bewildered upon discovering the wizard liked drama as much as the Kardashian clan and was quite competitive at causing the most shit.

My clown crown felt threatened.

"This one," Tony poked at a card in my hand.

"If you think that's funny, your intellect is obviously overestimated." Stephen dismissively waved a hand. "This one," It was unmistakable whom the trembling finger belonged to. It pointed at a card on the other side.

"Wizards are just hilarious," Tony seeped sarcasm.

"Try me, Beyonce," Stephen murmured darkly.

That was just background noise to me. I had all my undivided attention on the TV, my last two functioning brain cells focused on the scene unfolding right in front of me. The Lucifer episode, the devil and his insatiable thirst for honey. The timer buzzed but I was still drawn towards Tom Ellis dipping two of his fingers first in the honeypot, then in his mouth, all the while looking like a damn snack himself. Illegal. I've never simped so hard for a fictional character.

A golden glow snatched a card out of my grasp, levitating it.

"Girl, what the hell?" Wanda saw my face and attempted to revert me back to earth. "Someone turn off the TV, there's not enough water in the tower to quench her thirst."

"Hey, did you two just - don't ignore me!" Tony whined, managing to tug on my hair and attempt to reach for the card now held in Stephen's grasp, simultaneously.

"I don't blame her," Clint mused. "That right there is one very fine dude."

I shook my head, clearing any untoward thoughts. Focus. "First of all, Bird, you're a dude. That there," I pointed up at the TV. "Is a man. A Man." I emphasised, getting a jealous poke in the back from Tony. "Second of all..." I turned towards Stephen. "The quaffle, the snitch and the AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH!" The last of my sentence was pitched. The sorcerer had raised his arm, clutching the card, and I struggled to reach it.

"What... What did you just say?" Stephen was laughing, not at all phased by me climbing him like a tree to take hold of what's mine. Tony was actively helping - or, trying to. One-handed. The other hand attempted to snatch the rest of the cards from my grasp.

"And that's an F on teamwork," Bucky's sarcasm was complemented by Steve's famous Captain America Is Disappointed In You look.

"Uhh... Guys? What's going on?" Peter's timid voice leaked confusion.

"Hello, friends," Thor boomed, drowning out the boy's questioning noises.

"We're playing a game. Cards Against Humanity."

Wordlessly, Peter towed Thor along with him to find a spot amongst us. And even if Thor didn't get any of the references, he still was good fun. His laugh was infectious. The way he cheered for every winner was incredibly wholesome. Golden space puppy. The urge to immediately pet Thor and give him endless pop-tarts was strong in me.

Loki was one dramatic, vengeful bitch. "Women get turned on by the Devil himself"? I was ready to throw hands with the trickster. Everybody's laughter drowned out any cursing I might or might have not directed towards Loki who looked far too satisfied with himself. I was going to substitute the sugar for his tea with salt one day, mark my words.

I wouldn't admit it over my dead body, but the way he got back at me for the daddy issues joke was kinda funny. Okay, very funny. It was fucking hilarious. I admire a clever man.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

[edie-k]

Title: Worth the Work

Pairing: Romione

Summary: AU continuation of Section 2 of Four Times Ron and Lavender Broke Up. Hermione and her mom chat on the drive home from King’s Cross.

Notes: This is nothing more than a shared vanity exercise to 1. make me more comfortable with drabbles (my asks are open btw) and 2. giving me an excuse to ease into writing Hermione’s parents again.

You may want to read Section 2 again but if it’s TLDR, Lavender just called out Ron for dumping her and kissing Hermione on the train home for Christmas in 6th year.

Judy Granger slid into the driver’s seat of her car, closing the door to keep some of the chill out and popped the bonnet.

After the big revelation on the platform, Hermione had quickly bid farewell to Ginny and Harry, telling them she hoped to see them soon. Ron, his face bright red with embarrassment, had told his mother that he was going to help Hermione bring her trunk to the car but would be right back. Molly had looked like she might object but one of her twin sons’ cracked a rather crude joke in response to Ron and she turned her attention to him. Judy had led the two silent teenagers to her car in the parking lot.

As she rubbed her gloved hands together, she could hear muffled voices talking quietly outside. Voices belonging to her daughter and her daughter’s… well, what he was was unclear.

The words they were exchanging were also unclear but Hermione’s tone had that slightly hysterical aspect to it that she got when she was upset. Ron’s, however, seemed steady and reassuring and she could sense Hermione calming in their exchange.

Judy felt the car dip slightly as Hermione’s trunk was loaded and felt the lid of the car shut with a thwump. She glanced in her rear view mirror to see the two hugging before drawing apart. Ron leaned down to kiss her on the forehead and as he turned to walk away, her daughter grabbed his wrist to stop him. She saw Hermione rise up on her toes to press her lips to his. She glanced away, smiling as she started the car.

A minute later, Hermione opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

“So,” said Hermione with forced cheer. “How are you? It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s wonderful to see you too, darling. I’m doing well.”

“Good, good,” Hermione said, twisting her hands.

“Presents are wrapped, house is decorated, food is bought… really, only one minor annoyance.”

“Oh?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, you see, I missed part of my favorite drama.”

Hermione looked at her like she was crazy. “Really?”

“Mmm,” Judy said. “It’s this great teen drama. The last I saw, my favorite character was devastated that the best friend she had a crush on was dating another girl. But suddenly, in the newest episode, the girlfriend is yelling at her for snogging the best friend on the train. And behind her mother’s car.”

“Mum,” Hermione sighed, clearly irritated.

“I feel like I should be scolding you but I am endlessly entertained that you, the girl that once made me immediately return to a bookstore when you realized there was a bookmark shoved in your novel that you didn’t pay for, has stolen another girl’s boyfriend.”

“I did not steal him. He has agency.”

“Yes, of course. I also suspect he was probably more yours than hers to begin with.”

“Quite possibly,” she said primly but the upturn of her mouth gave her away.

“So when did all this happen? Recently, I imagine. Harry looked very surprised.”

“Yes, Ron was going to tell him later,” she said. “Harry didn’t even know that Lavender and Ron broke up this morning.”

“This morning! Hermione, you did steal that girl’s boyfriend!” Judy exclaimed.

“Stop! I did not! I just… we had a conversation last night and I was very clear about my feelings and Ron decided to break up with her.”

“Why was he dating her in the first place?”

“I think it was… I don’t know. Maybe to make me jealous,” Hermione said.

“Oh,” said Judy. Her stomach clenched a little. Not ideal behavior from a suitor.

“I-I might have done the same to him,” Hermione admitted.

“Your date last night?” Judy asked knowingly.

Hermione groaned. “Yes, that was certainly stupid. And… maybe a little bit with Viktor. Not anything specific really but I could tell Ron wanted to know if we were dating last year but he never directly asked me and I never told him one way or the other.”

Judy let out a deep sigh. “Can I give you some advice?”

Hermione groaned. “Really?”

“Yes! You need to talk to him about these things. I know boys don’t always want to discuss things but - ”

“No, he does. We will. He wanted to last night.”

“And you didn’t?” Judy asked, eyebrows raised.

“It just didn’t make sense when he hadn’t broken up with her yet.” Hermione was now blushing furiously.

Judy nodded, suspecting Hermione was leaving something out. “I just imagine that moving from such a strong friendship to a relationship isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know,” Hermione replied. “When we were on the train this morning, making plans to tell Harry and all, I said the same thing. That it’d be a lot of work.”

“And did he agree?”

“Yes. He said… that I was worth working for,” she said quietly.

Judy took a deep breath and stole a glance at her daughter. Hermione was looking back at her with shiny eyes, biting her lip.

“Absolutely,” said Judy. “I always hoped you would find a boy as clever as you.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione said, a bit flustered. And we agreed to discuss it if I get to visit him for New Years,” Hermione hinted.

“You want to go to his house to have lengthy conversations, huh?”

“There'll be at least 9 other people in the house!”

“You’ll save it for the train then?”

“Mum!”

“Oh, let me have my fun,” she laughed. “But I mean what I said. Have the conversation.”

“I promise.”

“Talk about the physical part too.”

“MUM! It’s been less than a day.”

“And yet I suspect that you’ve managed to get your fair share of kissing in,” Judy said pointedly. “All I’m suggesting is that you discuss your expectations when you aren’t in the heat of the moment.”

“Noted,” Hermione mumbled.

“I can’t wait to tell your dad that our little rule follower is snogging on the train.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“I’m so happy that Molly told me that Arthur and Ron would pick you up on New Years Eve.”

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Six: Sensory Integration 2

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: It’s a fine night for a walk by the water with a handsome vet holding your hand. I think that says it all.

Behind on your sessions? Want more from the author? Click Me

Word Count: Almost 1.9k (a bit shorter, hopefully y’all don’t mind by the end!)

Warnings: Basically still fluff, but also some saucy morsels near the end…not full on smut, though, so don’t get too excited. We aren’t there yet, my little lovelies. Soon, though…soon.

Author’s Note: As I said before, this date totally got away from me, nearing a whopping 6k in total. Thanks again for all the love. And in other news, I told a couple of my PT friends about this story, and one of them agreed to be my official technical consultant on the project for future chapters and even if I wanna flesh it out, modify it to include strictly “original” characters, and eventually take it to a publisher! I sent what I’ve done so far to her just before I started drafting this post, so hopefully she’ll have good insight for me! She said it was about time someone wrote a story like that! Lol! (She reads  a lot, so I guess people really don’t think of PTs as the heroines of love stories. Sad, really! Most of the ones I know are lovely and loving people!) The other was just instantly excited and can’t wait to read it.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland

@speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby

@suavechops

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although...their lackadaisical notification system might...sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

The lake was fairly near her clinic, not two blocks away. He wasn't wrong about her feeling up to a walk when the time came. She was looking forward to the fresh night air near the lake. It was a deep-seated part of who she was to love the water.

He'd pulled into the small, empty gravel lot at the head of the paved walking trail. It was well dark since it had just turned 10:00, and the moonlight danced off the water, calm, but with a faint shimmer from the light breeze. The stars danced, winking at them as if they knew the romance that surged between the couple was burgeoning right here below them.

"Now, last time I walked this trail, I'll warn you…I got approached by a gang. And they were…pretty vicious. I had to resort to some guerilla tactics that I'm not too proud of to fend 'em off."

"Oh no!" she wasn't aware of any gang crime in their fairly peaceful city! "What kind of gang?"

"A goose gang." He looked at her gravely. Before they both burst out laughing in hysterics.

"I thought you were serious!" she wiped tears carefully from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I was! They are stupid territorial! I had several of them tryin'a bite at my legs at once. It was quite the ordeal, I assure you!" he said, serious, but still laughing.

"Well, you'll save me if the Ya-Gooz-ah descend on us tonight, wont you?" she teased, clutching at his arm in mock fright at the thought of a band of Yakuza Geese being an actual thing, but thinking it was a great way to keep him touching her.

"As long as you stay real close to me, sunshine. I'll protect you from the devil himself." He kissed her on the top of the head, sealing the promise and warming her from the point of contact all the way to her toes.

As they traipsed along the pavement path, they talked about everything and nothing, the gentle night wind a whisper against their skin, which had been made slightly dewy from the walk and the humidity. They had made two laps around the small body of water when they came back around to one of several benches placed at intervals on the trail running its perimeter. Without breaking their conversation, she pointed to the nearest one, indicating her desire to sit, which he understood and lead them there.

“See, the problem I have with sports at that level, especially football is the harm I’ve witnessed it do to a kid’s body. We’ve treated athletes in high school and as early as 7th and 8th grade that the coaches are completely obsessed with getting them out on the field or court again. These kids are taking more impact than their bodies are ready for. They can’t miss a game, or even practice for therapy even if they’re just riding pine. And the parents are so laser focused on that potential college scholarship for that sport that they can’t see that if their child doesn’t get better, no scout is gonna want to dole out a free ride. Not to a broken-down athlete. Did you feel that kind of pressure when you were playing football? Because I don’t remember it at my school.” She went off a on bit of a tangent because she’d just been told by Heather before she left that her torn meniscus, Jason couldn’t get in for several weeks because of his practice and game schedule limiting his availability.  

“I mean, I felt pressure, I guess, but not outside of practice or the games. I’d hurt my knee my junior year early, same one we been workin’ on, and they just had me sit out a few weeks and work with a PT, but I don’t remember it being a problem to miss out on anything related to football if it was because of my health.” He sat down next to her on the fiberglass bench, which was molded to have the look of fine blonde wood, and put his arm around her shoulder. No pretense of the reach, no awkwardly sitting for a while beforehand, just continuing to touch her as he had been their whole walk.

She leaned into his shoulder, comfortably, as if they’d done this a thousand times and this wasn’t their first date. And continued their discussion.

“What has gotten into people these days? It’s like they’re not satisfied with anything. Nothing is ever enough for a single person on this good earth!” She sighed, frustrated by the neediness of people that seemed to come with her own job and projecting that on to the world…not that there wasn’t at least a measure of truth in it.

“Personally speaking, I think you’re wrong.”

“You don’t think that the world is full of dissatisfied Karens?” She laughed.

“Oh I do. But it’s not every person. You’re sitting next to one very content man right here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” He confirmed.

“Was it the steak, or the lobster mac?” She’d be fantasizing about them both until the next time they went there. Yeah, she was already thinking about “next time” and “they.” She was in trouble.

“Not to knock either, but I’m a hun’ert percent sure it was the company.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

She smiled, nuzzling into him, feeling the downy softness of his shirt again and smelling his intoxicating cologne. She suddenly remembered a promise from their session.

“Oh, hey. I was gonna have a response for you…to your 'question' from earlier.” She said, mischief burning in her eyes. She kneeled up on the bench and turned his face to hers, brushing a hand against his impossibly soft beard before descending slowly in for a kiss.

It started sweet, a few languid, full pecks, then she parted her lips barely enough for her tongue to venture out to explore his full mouth. They were met after several attempts with a reciprocal openness from him. She dared, then to search him with her tongue. It was simply browsing now. Feeling no rush to complete its quest. Only a sense of the need for due diligence. She was surprised at the flavor she'd encountered. She hadn't seen him pop a mint, and she hadn't left his side all evening. He was sly. It was a sweet and strong taste. Wintergreen on steroids, with the mildest hint of vanilla. She wanted more. Of the flavor. Of him.

She let her tongue find his, knowing what would happen, somehow, even though they had never kissed like this before. Never when it wasn't rushed and needing to be…PG. Here in the dark of night, with no one but the celestial bodies as witnesses, they didn't have to worry about her job, or the public. The judgement of the outsider's gaze.

She knew, by instinct alone, that this would spark him into more than latent participation. And that's exactly why she did it. As previously stated, she was definitely an intentional beast when the occasion called and mood struck.

He did as she'd expected, his own tongue waking, beginning a playful dance with hers, exploring her mouth with more urgency and desire, pulling a ragged gasp from her lungs. She broke away to give some attention to his neck. She held him by the base of his head, thumb playfully brushing into his thick facial hair. A breathy moan that sounded very much like her name escaped his lips. This was the reaction she had been dying to get from him for so long. A surrendering bliss that only came from this kind of personal, intimate, and one-one connection. She'd gotten hints of it when she'd helped him stretch, when she heard those stifled groans he felt at the good hurt she brought him with her expert touch.

She bit his earlobe, and sealed her fate. He growled and pulled her up to his lap in an immodest straddle. Not that she cared in the empty dark. He seemed to need her lips back on his, desperate to find a purchase that would never present itself. The paradox of a kiss.

His hands roved over the back of her from neck to behind, very much favoring the latter. It was an odd sensation. Most of her experience with ass-grabbing had been less than pleasant. Either dirty old men had touched her without consent, or boyfriends had done essentially the same thing as a show of their dominance over her, also without her strictest consent. The way Sy held her was tender, exploratory, and…she couldn't help but think the word loving. "Love" wasn't a word they were ready to even bring up. But she thought he was showing it in his feather touch and hungry kiss.

The breeze was cool, and felt extra cold where she seemed to be warmest. Her position had her…very exposed to the elements, covered only by the fine layers of her underwear at some angles. She was suddenly very aware that they were on a precipice here. If they carried on much longer like this, she wasn't going to want to stop. She already didn't. And she was just out of practice enough to be unsure of where her point of no return was. Dammit. She broke away, in agony from it.

"Sy, I…I think …you should take me back." she stuttered.

"Okay." he pulled her back in for another kiss, pretending to misinterpret,which she indulged a moment but quickly escaped.

"No, sweetie." she chuckled. "You know what I mean."

"Or…I could bring you home with me." It was only a suggestion, but there was a plea in his eyes that pulled at her guts. He wanted her. And she wanted him. With every single cell in her body, she wanted every singe cell of his. But she truly felt that taking things slowly was the best option given the complexities of their situation.

"You don't know how badly I want to accept that invite, Sy." she rested her forehead on his. They were both breathless.

"It's just two little letters, sunshine. O. K. Easy as granny's peach pie."

"I'm terrible at pie crust." they laughed.

"Let's go." he said, helping her off his lap, and preparing to stand, but sitting back down immediately.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned. "Is it the knee? Did I hurt it?" she was already mad at herself, and at him a bit, if this indiscretion had caused him a setback…how ironic it would be!

"Nope, knee's great. Dandy."

"Did you get lightheaded?"

"No, but uhh…it's definitely SOME sort of blood flow issue. Gonna need a minute." he explained without explaining with a sheepish expression on his face…it hit her like a speeding bus.

"Ope." she looked to his lap without thinking, and immediately averted to the water again, as she sat beside him, hands clasped over the seat of the bench. His hand found hers, and covered it, asking to hold it, and getting its way.

"I had…the best time tonight, Shane." he told her, staring at the opposite bank where the maple, oak, and sycamore trees swayed to the tune of the gentle night's breeze.

"So did I, Sy."

"You free tomorrow?" he asked, hopefully.

"You tell me!" she replied…hopefully.

Up Next: Chapter Seven: Non-Productive Time

[the-darklings]

—𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒆 [01];

—PART I. | GASOLINE GIRL

pairing: santino d’antonio x f!reader

word count: 6.2k+

summary: “Carry that ice in your heart, always.”

warnings: mentions of: child abuse, drug abuse, death/torture; swearing, typical mafia-related situations/discussions so take heed because this is a mature read for sure. But we gotta be realistic, this life ain’t pretty. 

notes: so this can be read as a standalone though I do consider it a sort of mini sister series to COA. This will be short (no more than 5 parts) and only updated when I have free time. That being said, I do hope you enjoy. I even flexed my none existent photoshop skills to make the header pic lol. Get ready this one is going to be a ride. 

You don’t become a part of Camorra by choice.

No one sane enough would.

Your parents simply got involved with people who would have had you killed if they stepped out of the line. You know because that was a threat made with you in the room and a cold, merciless barrel of a gun pressed to your head.

Giovanni D’Antonio’s men came at night, dragging you and your parents out of bed in nothing but your nightclothes. They made you kneel on the dusty floor, your knees aching against the hardness of the wood.

The man himself is as awful as you heard people on the streets whisper. Everyone fears him. Fears him and Camorra and the terrors they unleash onto anyone who doesn’t fall in line.

“Such pity you didn’t have a son,” the head of Camorra notes dispassionately as he scrutinises you, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your cheeks. “What am I suppose to do with a girl?”

The man tsks as if some grave crime has been committed against him and takes a long drag of his cigar, turning your head from side to side. Your squirm, knees knocking, your lips trembling, but don’t let him see fear. You can’t afford to let this vile, cruel man who asked his men to beat your father to a bloody heap on the floor to see you weak. You can’t show predator fear if you want to live. Not when your mother is already a sobbing mess on the floor, clutching onto your father in despair.

You wonder if he’s alive. A part of you—

A part of you doesn’t care to know because the man before you stares at you with such finely veiled disgust, you can’t help but know that he will kill you all regardless. He might even enjoy giving the order. And your father is to blame for that.

“Are you at least smart, girl?” he demands and slaps you lightly on the cheek when you don’t respond. “Answer me. Or I will cut your tongue out, and then you will know what it’s like not having the gift of speech. Or maybe I will start with your parents instead.”

Your mother cries harder, practically hysterical and you feel a sting of bitterness, of anger, deep in your chest. She should be strong.

She should be defending you.

But she isn’t. She’s just crying. As if that’s going to save you, protect you, keep these men away.

“You will kill us all anyway,” you whisper knowingly, your words hollow as you stare into those dark, cold eyes that have no end. “They stole from you and you hate thieves.”

The man exhales smoke directly into your face but you don’t flinch—not even as your eyes water from the sting of tobacco, not even when he leans his malign, handsome face closer.

“But I reward loyalty,” he tells you, now almost pleasant, and his thick fingers tilt your chin up as he regards you critically. “Do you understand what I’m saying, hm?”

You nod once.

Giovanni is quiet and thoughtful but then a slight smile creeps across his face.

It’s the most awful sight you have ever seen.

“Then we are done here,” he announces and his hand drops away from your face, his dark gaze lifting over your slight frame and towards the men hovering in the shadows, awaiting orders.

Two shots follow.

You don’t flinch.

The sobs cease.

Giovanni’s grim smile widens, pleased.

“Come along, girl. You no longer have family here.”

. . .

Camorra is a pit.

A pit of betrayal and blood and drugs and more blood.

The first four months are near unbearable.

You’re younger than what they usually recruit and it shows. You don’t know how to navigate this world. You’ve been dropped off at a “care home” that operates more like a drug house but has to keep up a front for the public. Which, in itself, is hilarious because you doubt there is anyone in the nearby province who doesn’t know what this place is.

But it’s survival of the fittest here.

And it’s not a game you know how to play well.

Each person is given a task, a job, and you must do it or you will be punished. Severely.

Giovanni left you here, in this hellhole, with a dismissive hum and a harsh pat on the head, “Let’s see what you make of yourself, gasoline girl.”

Gasoline girl.

Because he didn’t bother asking for your real name. Because he gave you a canister of gasoline and told you to pour it through your house, onto your dead parents, and gave you the remains of his cigar, his order clear.

You watched your home go up in smoke, your parents’ bodies still inside, with gnawing detachment eating away at your heart, your soul.

The flame was hot and bright and Giovanni made you watch till there was nothing left but ash and ruin.

“Little gasoline girl,” he had said then, even more pleased. “Carry that ice in your heart, always. It will take you far in my family.”

The care home, however, is a desolate place that lacks warmth your home had—that lacks anything resembling anything humane, in fact. The only reason why you’re not drugged that very first night is because Giovanni told his men that you are too young for such a thing. Because he wants to see if you can be useful, your mind as sharp as he hopes it is.

But if you disobey…

It doesn’t frighten you, not at first, not until you see them. Those with sunken eyes and pale skin. Lips cracked and limbs trembling. They no longer have wills or dreams or aspirations. They are tools, shells, empty of everything that once made them human. Riddled with pain and despair that plagues them till their next fix or death.

They frighten you so much you hide away in the attic. You’re not sure how you find your way up there but you curl on the floor—in the darkest, deepest hole you can find—and sob and sob and sob into the dust and the dirt. Sob till your eyes are swollen and your throat is raw.

You rip and tear the girl you once were to shreds that night. Because even then, you know, that you will not survive long like this. That this dark pit will consume you unless you find a way to survive, to fight back.

Carry that ice in your heart, always.

You intend to.

You will.

. . .

Next four months are consistent of a few things: death, blood, drugs and violence.

It’s everywhere you look, all you hear at all times of day and night, and you can’t escape it.

There is nowhere to go, nowhere to hide—not when Camorra owns this city. Not when Giovanni knows you by face, if not by name—something that’s a rare honour, you learn later, seeing the Boss in person. Being handpicked by him.

Money laundering, sex, drug distribution, torture; the care home cycles through it all on a daily basis.

Hunger becomes part of the routine, the attic your new home.

You exist in the shadows out of fear, at first. Then, you realize how much power comes from being unseen. If you are unseen, then you can never be hurt, never be abused.

Not like so many—young, so young—always are.

There is nothing glorious about this life. It’s just survival.

Ugly and filthy and dangerous.

So you listen and hide and learn.

The staff—mostly men who are loud and rowdy but follow the rules because they fear the Boss too much, and few older women—start calling you a ghost.

You don’t mind. Not even at all.

It’s better than being actually dead.

. . .

The first time you meet him, you’ve been at the care home for little over a year.

The sounds of pain, pleasure, and death no longer scare you at night.

They have become your reality. Your own twisted, lewd lullaby in a way.

Violence and hate. Pleasure and pain. Greed and death.

They have become levers and cornerstones upon which you have built stability and routine.

Giovanni is coming tonight, the people in the hallways whisper in hushed breaths that morning though, and if anything is out of place blood will be shed.

You haven’t seen him in a year.

You’ve grown and hardened, killed as many soft parts of yourself as you could since the last time you saw him.

You have also become useful.

So normal, so sweet-looking, so unassuming.  

Like a ghost the staff compares you to, you haunt the streets and collect information for Camorra; the perfect little spy.

You nurture that ice in your heart and project it outward, and when Giovanni comes and calls forth everyone at the care home, you hold your chin up; unmoving, stiff-backed, and defiant.

Much to your surprise, his dark gaze snags on you and he pauses in his step, recognition reflecting back at you.

The leader of the care home pauses too, hesitating, clearly unsure if he should comment until Giovanni speaks.

“So you lived.”

He sounds surprised, pleasantly so.

You don’t so much as blink.

“Santino.”

It is then, from the folds of Giovanni’s guard, that a boy steps through. He’s barely taller than you and clearly you are close in age, if not the same, you conclude as he steps beside his father.

His hair is dark and finely combed, his clothes neat and expensive, and he reeks of privilege even more so than his father.

He’s also terrible at hiding his thoughts. He’s repulsed to be here, he thinks it beneath him and being faced with this—grim, hungry faces and grime—he’s balking under the stark contrast to his no doubt princely life at home.

He is the prince of Camorra—every bit as spoiled and arrogant as you expected him to be.  

You hate him on sight.

“What do you see?” Giovanni asks his son as the two stand before you.

Santino’s dark brows furrow and he blinks slowly, looking you up and down. There isn’t much to you. Your clothes are dirty and worn, your features no doubt hostile and your gaze even worse. It’s how you keep yourself safe. Snarl and bite first. Some men like to mutter “rabid dog” under their breaths as you pass in the hallways, but you’re fine with that, too. Even when they make offhand comments that only one thing happens to rabid dogs eventually.

“A nobody, father.”

Oh?

Giovanni sighs, disappointed, and Santino sees this, scrambling for something else to add, “She’s—she’s a girl.”

“Obviously,” the man says, his voice bored, dismissive, and Santino’s expression falls, his eyes lowering. But the older man is still staring at you. “Keep that ice in your heart, gasoline girl,” he reminds you, mild but stern.

He walks away without another word, going back to business in a blink.

His son lingers for a breath, his eyes jumping up and finally meeting yours.

He looks resentful. He’s blaming you for his father’s disappointment in him. He thinks that you are to blame for the failed test.

He looks at you like you are beneath him, like you are less, a nobody he accused you of being.

His eyes are vivid green.

Green as your mother’s garden. Green as the oak that used to sway outside your window.

Green as the grass you used to roll around in when spring flowers bloomed behind your house.

You hate him even more, then.

For the reminder.  

Santino D’Antonio stares at you for another long, hateful moment until his father calls him.

He surprises you by hesitating, still staring, but you only glare at him. Openly, without fear and with clear contempt.

I hate you. I hate you and everything you stand for—everything that you are. You will never know what it’s like to be hungry or cold or scared. What it is to kill and survive.

You dismiss him. A simple sweep of your eyes over his shoulder.

He exhales sharply at your defiance.

You wonder if anyone has ever defied him before and not been severely punished for it.

It makes you feel alive, for a moment, that spark of disobedience.

It’s perhaps the most real you have felt since that night with your knees in the dirt.

The weight of his stare is suffocating and you feel seen, beheld in a way that strips you down to your core.

“Santino.”

Giovanni’s voice is a subtle, cutting blade and his son jerks after him like dog on a leash.

You hope you will never see him again.

. . .

Days turn into weeks, into months, and then years.

With each new day at Camorra, your heart ices over and over.

You meet people, and you lose even more of them.

It teaches you a lesson of not getting attached, of not caring, of things outside of yourself being fragile and breakable.  

First there’s Nari. Too sweet, too kind, and with circumstances that are a bit too similar to your own. Is it any wonder he seeks you out? Any wonder that you let him close? Becoming his friend seems inevitable when you’ve been lonely for so long.

He gets shot on a drug run gone wrong six months after meeting you. There is nothing left of him for you to remember him by. There’s only memories of dark, midnight hair and his wheezy, shrill laugh that you always told him was annoying.

Then, a few years later comes Lucie. You’re a part of the home by then. There is a place for you here; a strength and a steadily rising reputation attached to your person. The pain-soaked hallways are familiar and your own now because you claimed them as such. Attic is no longer a hole to hide in but your home, your sanctuary, your dark throne.

She’s too beautiful and too gentle to survive this place. You know it from the moment you see her. It takes one look to know that this place will gobble her up and spit her back out, crushed and broken.

But there is something about her. Something about the ring of her laughter and the spark in her eyes. The shade of her long hair that reminds you of your mother. Something about the way she trusts you, relies on you, and believes in you. Looks at you as a friend, as a companion, salvation. How during the cold, bleak nights she seeks your warmth and dreams out loud of the life you will have once you both break free of Camorra. Once you find a way to make an honest living. She dreams of a world far bigger and grander than you’ve ever had.

Your dreams are simple: survive, become a nightmare that sweeps through the ranks of Camorra.

Lucie dreams of a home by the sea with three chickens, a cow, and a loving family.

“I want a big one,” she reveals one night, turning to face you with a serious frown. “At least four kids.”

You suppress a shiver. Seeing what you have seen, living through what you have, you can’t imagine having a family. Not one that big, at least. But perhaps it’s because you haven’t felt safe in so very long that any extension of yourself will always feel like a weakness opposed to strength.

“Sounds painful.”

She laughs; a soft, soothing sound as she rests her cheek against your shoulder with a faint smile. “They will have an amazing, scary aunt to look after them. I’m not worried.”  

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “What about you?”

Noting your blank stare, she adds, “Don’t you want a family? Or at least someone to call your own?”

“No,” you shoot back stiffly, and take another deliberate bite of your soggy bread. “People you love can be used against you. Hurt because of you, or by you. If I love them,” you pause, the word foreign on your tongue. “I won’t want them to suffer because of me. If I’m hurting them, then it’s not love at all.”

It’s silent for a long time.

“Sometimes,” Lucie whispers eventually with a sad, quiet sigh. “I can’t help but think that they’re one and the same.”

You think about that for a while.

Think about how her father used to beat her mother but they still stayed. Think about how that takes a special kind of bravery and strength. How despite that, he was a loving father to Lucie. How sometimes humans can be ugly and awful but have some semblance of good in them, too. How good can be done by bad and bad can be done by good.  

“I suppose.”

She blinks up at you. “Well if I have a family, then you have to have one as well.”

Your lips curve and it feels strange on your face. “Is that so?”

She nods but her eyes are full of mirth. “We’re both going to be fat and pregnant with swollen ankles and awful cravings. Promise?”

Her eyes are full of dreams, full of light you have never seen before.

You try to protect that light, try to hide her away from the men who would hurt her, from the women who would drug her and bargain her away.

It’s foolish and reckless of you but you are almost frenzied with the need to keep something good alive. For once, you just need—

She gets taken.

It’s planned in advance, you learn later.

They had to get you out of the house first. They lied—a job straight from the high tier of Camorra, from the elite itself, no refusals—and used that time you were away to take her.

What they did—

They pay for it.

Everyone in the care home that had anything to do with it, anyone who knew.

You tear ten people apart. Slowly; piece by piece, muscle by muscle, sinew by sinew. Over the years you have found new talents, new hobbies. Ghost is an old name they called you around the house.

But you have others you prefer now.

When it’s done, you stalk through the too silent house, covered in cooling blood and—

You’re not sure how much of it is from the people you just killed and how much is from—

Lucie is where you found her.

Your eyes sting as you gaze at the sight in front of you. You gather her in your arms gently and even if it’s a slog, slow and painful, you take her to the tiny bathroom down the hall.

You wash her hair of dirt and blood and—

Tears fall heavy and hot the entire time you work and you have to pause in-between, choking down your sobs.  

Her body is next. Wetting a cloth in your hand, you clean her skin, fold her hands over her chest, ignoring the broken bones and broken skin.

You’re glad it’s late spring.

The ground is softer, more pliable.

Despite that, it still takes you four hours to dig a grave deep enough. Your hands are numb, bloodied and blistered by the time you’re done. The stench of sweat and death mixes with the blood but you ignore it.

Lowering her takes time—time and care and self-control. Because she’s so cold, so stiff, and it’s awful knowing that you will never see her again after this.

You bury dreams and hopes and aspirations with her—both hers and yours. A handful of dirt at the time. Your hands are raw but you force yourself to keep going.

And when it’s done, you collapse beside the grave and stay there for hours, days, maybe weeks.

It starts raining and you let the freezing spring rain wash over you. The smell of wet earth and grass drags you into hazy dreams. They transform into feverish nightmares eventually, haunting you and killing you over and over again. You failed. Failed to protect something good. Maybe saving Lucie was only partially about saving her—an innocent—from this awful fate, and more about…

More about some vague, distant belief—hope—that you could be saved, too.

Grief splits you apart and suffocates you with every breath as you lay beside the fresh grave.

Grief. You’re not sure if you even grieved your parents. Not really. Because they were dead and you still had an uncertain future ahead of you. You grieved a life you could have had. But it’s been so long. So very long now.

Time is not a concept you can understand any longer.

By the time they find you, a part of you wishes they would just let you die and bury you beside your friends. Let you rest at long last.

But there are voices.

A foot nudges you as you roll over onto your back with a heavy thud. Dark sky stretches out above you.

Then, through a haze, a face appears, peering down at your with mild disinterest.

Recognition; it comes fierce and sharp and you know it’s the same for him.

Urgent, angry voices blur together as everything fades away into nothing.

You fucking hate those green eyes.

. . .

When you wake up, the Devil is standing over you.

Giovanni D’Antonio lifts a single eyebrow, not bothering to mask his cool distaste at your wheezing, delirious state.

You scramble upwards anyway, wincing at the ringing in your head and the popping in your ears.

You feel heavy and fuzzy in the worst way possible—the way that makes one slow and vulnerable. Nausea rolls your stomach, mixing with the instinctual fear of seeing who is standing above you.

“What a mess,” Giovanni drawls and hitches his trousers up as he sits down on a creaky chair beside your cot. “What a mess, gasoline girl.”

You’re sweating but feel so cold your body trembles and you can’t hide it. This man should never see you vulnerable but he is right now and you hate your own weakness.

“Who knew you had such a gift for death,” he continues and you swallow, your throat raw—from crying, from screaming and howling at the sky, you recall through your delirium—and you tremble again. “Ten dead. So easy, too. And such…brutality.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say he’s paying you a compliment—that he’s impressed.

The man reaches into his pocket and your bandaged hands—why are they bandaged, what—constrict around the fresh, cotton sheets covering you.

Cotton. You haven’t touched something as soft, as luxurious, as cotton since that last night you slept in your own bed years ago.

But Giovanni pulls out a cigar holder from his pocket instead of a gun, offering it to you. You don’t move, hardly breathe, as you stare at him through your watery eyes. Your ears are still ringing.

“I asked others about what happened,” he begins after lighting his cigar. He rolls it between his thick fingers, his golden rings gleaming and you shudder. “What justified ten of my own slaughtered like barn animals. So rethink lying to me, if that was your intention, girl. Let me start with something easy, though: was the girl your lover?”

Your eyes find his and perhaps it’s the fever, or the hole in your soul, but you don’t look away even when his eyes narrow on you.

He doesn’t understand. Of course, he doesn’t. As if a man like him could ever understand what it’s like to be so lost and raw with loneliness your heart is ready to crumble away at the gentlest of touches. As if everything in this world has to be about physicality and desire. As if care and loyalty can’t come from a place of love that has nothing to do with gratification of the body.

“No.”

“Then why did you kill them?”

“Because they deserved it,” you croak out, and your voice cracks as you pant for breath. Your head spins and you drop back against the wall even as your chest rattles with a loud, wet cough. Giovanni waits, expectant, and your eyes narrow. Let him kill you after. But he will hear this, if he wants truth so badly. “They deserved it for what they d-did to her. It—those m-monsters. She was sixteen. And they did it on purpose. Because they enjoyed it. I would—I would do it again gladly. Over and over again till there is nothing left of them to bury. Till—till only pieces remain and even then it would be too kind.”

The bloodlust is surging through you like a river after the fresh spring rain, untamed and wild, and you struggle for breath. The regret that you didn’t take longer, hurt them more—

And perhaps that makes you a monster. No—you know it does. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Better to be a monster than a coward. Better to be alive and hated than loved but dead.

Giovanni exhales, his lips pressing into a displeased line. “So naive,” he mutters and takes another drag. “I figured the home would have eroded that away by now. Shame.”

You gape at him, shivering but silent. It’s like he’s reached down your throat and robbed you of speech.

“What do you think happens to people like that girl, hm?” he wonders out loud, slanting his head just so. Even with his hair starting to grey, he’s still handsome, still electric to look at. It’s the coldness of that dark, bottomless stare that sets him apart from others you have met. “She was no better than your parents. Weak. And weak do not survive in this world, they are used and that’s how we live. You could have been like her, but you fought back. That’s why I told you to keep that ice in your heart, yes? There are thousands like that girl and there will be a thousand more, and a thousand more after that. It is the way of the world. I am simply…reaping.”

His cigar flares at the tip again as Giovanni takes a steady drag, savouring the burn of it against the back of his throat.

You want to cry and scream and tear at him. This world—his world—is wrong and twisted and—

But you have chosen it, haven’t you?

Better than being dead.

And you’ve killed and stolen and lied and cheated for years now. You’ve gotten good at it. Better than most. Better than anyone in the home had been.

“Did it break you?”

Your eyes drag back to him, and you realise that you’ve been silent for so long, you’ve started to doze off. Laying in the rain for god knows how long didn’t do you much good. You feel worse and worse with every second that stretches by.

His emotionless question clatters through you though, settling in the pit of your stomach.

Lucie.

Her happy smile flashes through your weary mind and you try to draw breath into your wrecked lungs.

“No.”

It has only made you colder and emptier, you realise. You had laid next to Lucie’s grave because you had hoped for a quick end. But—

But no.

For the second time in your life, you lift your head and look the Devil in the eyes as you choose life.

Whatever form it comes in.

Regardless of what else it will demand of you.

Perhaps, you should be thankful for this lesson.

The head of Camorra nods once, considering you, and then asks a serious, “Do you remember what I told you about loyalty, gasoline girl?”

I reward loyalty.

“Yes.”

It’s an effort to keep your eyes on him. His features are blurring, and you can’t even smell the thick cloud of smoke in the air anymore.

“Who were you loyal to when you killed my people? Your people?”

You don’t hesitate, spitting out a vicious, “To myself. Just as you wanted me to be.”

For a moment, you think that Giovanni D’Antonio will smile at you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the shadows of the room.

“What do you see, Santino?”

You still. You’ve been so preoccupied with keeping yourself awake and lucid, with keeping your whole attention on this man without scruples normal people have that—

It comes rushing back.

The grave, the smell of dirt beneath your cheek, rain, the coldness sinking deep into your bones, green eyes—

He was the one who found you. You have no idea how; a part of you doesn’t want to know, either.

He’s changed as well. His frame stretches taller, leaner, than the last time you saw him. His hair is slightly longer but still curly and neatly combed. That boyish roundness still holds his features, giving him an appearance of a youth instead of a young man and you stare at him with open, dazed animosity.  

But there is something about the way he watches you from the shadows.

His pupils are blown wide open when he steps closer into the light, his shoulders coiled with tension that you have no name for.

He gazes at you like he is looking at something beautiful, something terrible, something—

Something he admires and hates and doesn’t understand.

No one has ever looked at you like that. Like they’re seeing right into you, through you, pulling apart every weakness and every strength.  

That anger in your chest ignites at the sight of him, washing away the emptiness and the loss.

“A monster.”

It seizes a part of you. Cracks it to pieces.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate the fact that he—

That he sees you. Just like last time, just like now.

Giovanni’s eyebrows rise slowly at his son’s blunt assessment. He peers at Santino for a pensive moment before the boy finally drags his eyes towards his father, almost reluctantly so.  

“Loyalty to yourself, was it, girl?” the man wonders calmly and takes another drag of his cigar. It’s almost gone now and black spots dance in your vision as you watch him tilt his chin upwards and exhale another lazy puff of smoke. “Give me your hand.”

You stare at him blankly, uncomprehending, almost nauseous now.

Giovanni turns his stern face back towards you and holds out his own large hand. “Your hand.”

His voice is eerily serene but it locks your muscles with fear. Like an animal being hunted down, even with your hazy, sluggish mind you still recognise the danger crowding in.

But what’s the alternative?

Your hand shakes but you hold it out, setting your jaw taut.

“I reward loyalty,” Giovanni reminds evenly, grasping your hand in his. His hold feels so cold you shiver. “But you still killed ten able bodies. Bodies I will now have to replace.”

“Father—”

Giovanni jerks your hand, palm up, and sinks his cigar right into the skin of your palm, burning right through the thin bandage.

Agony.

Splitting, sickening agony—

A sound that tears out of your throat is hardly human but the man has your arm in an iron-like grip; unmoving, bruising. You collapse face-first onto the cot, your scream growing silent and choked as you jerk weakly, unable to swallow your own spit.

Your hand is numb from a piercing, acute sort of pain.

Giovanni hums under his breath, and you feel him turn the cigar into your skin, making you yelp and twitch. “I hope you live,” he states coldly and pushes the cigar deeper into your palm, just once, before he drops your hand back onto the sheets. “There are a great many things I can do with that ice in your heart, gasoline girl.”

You don’t hear him rise over the sound of your pain. Your hand is spasming but you can’t look at it, can��t focus—

The door slams shut with a deafening bang and then—

Someone is speaking; hushed and soft, their hands on you, almost—

You barely manage to pull yourself over the edge of the cot and throw up before everything goes dark.

. . .

You’re burning.

There is a raging fire in your lungs and veins.

Your head is being held under a liquid flame, and you inhale it as it slithers down your throat, suffocating you.

You want to drag your nails down your body to get rid of the burn but you can’t. Someone—

Someone is holding you down and your lips part, a wounded sound slipping free. Why can’t you just be free?

A heavy weight pushes down on you and you try to fight it off, try to—

“Stop moving,” a voice urges, breathless but annoyed. “Stop—”

You think that you might be crying or screaming or both.

You’re burning.

There is no relief.

Not for a long time.

. . .

“Will she live?”

“It’s hard to say right now. The infection—”

An inpatient exhale. “I know what her condition is,” an irritated voice snaps. “I want to know if she will live.”

“I will try my hardest to save her.”

A lengthy pause follows. “No,” the voice speaks again, but this time with such soft malice that you shiver again. “My father wants her alive and so she will live. Or you will find yourself without a head, dear doctor. As will your family.”

. . .

Cool fingers brush against your hair.

“Lucie?” you rasp weakly and try to open your eyes.

Everything blurs around you so you let them close again.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you shiver for what seems like the hundredth time.

Still, the sensation of a glass pressing against your lips registers. Urgent, insistent. “Drink.”

It’s an order. Spoken by someone who is used to being listened to, obeyed, heeded.

You don’t want to but you’re so thirsty. There’s a painful itch in your lungs and you inhale again, deafened by the crackling in your lungs. Whatever it is that you’re wearing clings to your body in a sweaty, uncomfortable mess and you almost sigh when those cool fingers return. They press against your cheek, turning your head and the glass returns.

This time, you force your cracked lips to part and refreshing wetness slides down your throat seconds later. Flinching, you force yourself to swallow. The sensation is like a knife being forced down your chest but you bear it.

The fingers tilt your chin. “Slowly.”

You manage another few, shaky mouthfuls before your strength escapes you.

“Are you—”

The fragility of your own cracking voice might have disgusted you once. There had been plenty of times in the past when you had seen and heard Fredricko peeling back peoples’ fingernails to get the information he needed. That often resulted in such weakness—such fragility. Now though—

“Are you…”

Something freezing cold and wet comes to rest against your forehead and you sigh, gasping slightly. A wet cloth. A miracle, perhaps. It soothes the burning and the itch. It trails down your forehead and jaw and neck. Brushes over your dry lips, too. You almost sob in relief, making a miserable little whine at the back of your throat.

“Are…”

A quiet hum. “Am I what?”

“An angel?”

The cloth disappears for a few moments and you curl into a ball, silently willing it to come back.

A few moments later, mercifully, it does. As does the voice. “No.”

You lean into the refreshing cold again. Try to hide your disappointment, too.

The cloth presses against your forehead and stays there. A beat. Then, fingers ghost over your tightly clenched hand. Your other hand—

There is only numbness there.

An odd sense of fear follows that foggy observation. Like you’re forgetting something you shouldn’t—something important.

The fingers are delicate and careful but they help. They pacify that nameless, gnawing dread.

“Would you like me to be?”

There is a long moment in which you have no idea what the voice is asking. But your muddy mind finally manages to claw back a recollection of your earlier question.

An angel.

You think that the owner of this voice is an idiot.

He no doubt thinks that you mean a guardian angel. Something holy, fierce, and divine.  

But you had meant the Angel of Death. Finally here to take you. Finally here to reunite you with those you have lost.  

But is there any difference anymore?  

You’ve been half-dead and half-alive for years now.

A foot on the doorway to death ever since that fateful night. You have embraced it though. Bargained and stolen and killed. What you did for Lucie was just a fraction, you think through the delirium, just a fraction of what you can do.

You will turn that ice in your heart into a blade, and that blade you will use to cut down anyone in your path.

No half-measures, no mercy. You will be as terrible as they want you to be.

You will be the most terrible thing they have ever seen.

And when it’s done.

Oh, when it’s done.

You will set it all on fire and watch it burn.

“Yes.”

The fingers pause, hovering. Then they wrap around your still clenched hand. Slow but purposeful.

And the tightness of that grip makes you think that your hand will never be your own again.

. . .

an: wellllllllllllll, here’s that! Warning you all now that, yes, this story will get even more twisty and Santino/V will be hate-to...uh...love? We’ll see, I guess lol. Some familiar faces will appear in the future, too. And, uh, maybe some smuttiness is on the cards as well but you know how I roll - nothing too wild or explicit because this clown sucks at nsfw. 

Also because I have no idea when or how often this mini-series will be updated, I will be opening up a tag list for this series ONLY (I rarely do them because they’re often more work than they’re worth). So please feel free to comment or send me a message and I’ll add you. Thank you so much for reading!! Any feedback would be swell. <33  

[draqcnheartstrinq]

Hate That I Want You (Part 3)

Sirius Black x Pure-blood!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: At first it’s hate, then it’s confusion. It grows into a healthy amount of curiosity until it turns into hate once more. But not towards each other, more towards the idea of wanting what you’ve tried to avoid all your life.

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: angst, bad family relationships, mild fighting?

Note: So very sorry for basically not updating this story for over two months. That’s just bad even for my standards I hope you enjoy this one though!

HTIWY Masterpost | Part 4

James loves his quidditch, everyone knows it and nobody is surprised when they see him on the quidditch pitch flying along the field. There’s no match planned, no training on the schedule and still Potter is there on his broom whilst his friends sit in a group on the stands.

Occasionally Remus, Lily, Marlene and Sirius have a go at flying themselves. They’re all good, but of course nothing like quidditch king James Potter.

When the five of them are up in the air, the others cheer and watch from down below. Other students sit in the stands too, watching them or just discussing some of their classes, catching up or admiring the Hogwarts Grounds.

The quidditch pitch isn’t only James’ favourite spot, but also that from many others.

You heard a few fellow Slytherins whispering in the library about how amazing it was to just sit there, reflect, watch the clouds go by and do nothing but breathe. Whenever they felt threatened by the copious amounts of assignments and tests they would go there to unwind and relax.

And so, you were now walking up the wooden stairs, towards the seats and the beautiful autumn sky, trying to finally find a way to ease your mind.

You brought a book, one that you had read a thousand times before but couldn’t get enough of and clutched it between your arms until you found a place to get comfortable. The stands weren’t anything fancy but they gave off a cosy pine smell, the sky wasn’t clear but the sun shone through the clouds in a most beautiful way and most of all… Even though you were alone, you didn’t feel like it.

Clusters of friends were scattered around the pitch, chattering along and filling the air with happiness. In a place like this you could never feel alone because of all the friendly faces around. It didn’t matter what name you were given or the blood you were born with. The quidditch pitch was a safe place and thanks to that one Slytherin in the library you now knew that.

Focussing all your attention on the book in your hands, reading every word as if it was the first time, you didn’t realise the giggles zooming through the air above your head were ones you knew. Until the person flew so close you could basically feel the breeze flying over you and messing your hair around.

Lily was trying her very best to lose James who desperately chased her, in a friendly attempt of course. Her laugh pierced the air and brought a smile to many others’ lips. Even to yours without realising it. James, of course, was much faster on his broom and caught up with her in less than thirty seconds. He reached out grabbing her arm in the air, making Lily scream out of joy and also maybe a little because she didn’t like losing.

Her scream brought your attention upwards, away from your book and towards the duo who hysterically laughed at one another. After a while Lily averted her attention to you too and waved with such a happy smile, you felt your heart grow. You waved back, a little more shy than her but at least just as joyful.

As Lily turned her attention back on flying alongside James, you averted your eyes higher up. Remus was there chatting with Marlene about who knows what, both several feet in the air and dangling their legs off the sides. You couldn’t possibly imagine looking that relaxed while sitting on a hovering stick, being a little scared of heights yourself, but they didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Realising you were staring by now you turned back towards your book but something seemed off.

Not the book, there wasn’t a problem with the book.

You felt off, like something was trying to catch your attention but you couldn’t make out what.

Your eyes roamed back over the stands, catching a few Hufflepuffs sitting in a circle, a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw holding hands whilst whispering to each other. You smiled at that, not caring if it made you look like a lunatic.

But what kept you on the edge of your seat like this? What was making you this uncomfortable you could barely concentrate on one single word of your forgotten page?

After several seconds you realised, much to your displeasure, that the “what” was actually a “who”.

There he was once again, with his long messy black hair and his piercing grey eyes, looking right at you as if it was his favourite occupation. Honestly, as of lately you couldn’t tell if Sirius did it on purpose or not. Contrary to the other years at Hogwarts when he used to only give you attention in the form of barking remarks and swift hateful glances, now for almost a week he had seeked you out in any crowd. You did the same to him you had to admit, otherwise you wouldn’t even have know about his prolonged stares.

His looks weren’t friendly, but they weren’t full of hatred anymore either. They were more like a gaze, as if he was looking at you but at the same time right through you, lost in thought.

Right now, even as you were looking right into his eyes, it was as if he didn’t realise what he was doing. His head didn’t turn or even move an inch to the left or right, his eyebrows didn’t knot together like they did up until a week ago…

Something had been going on inside his head and obviously you couldn’t complain. If Sirius could finally stop holding a grudge against you, purely for the family you were born in, then anyone could right?

Or so you were trying to tell yourself. But you were smarter than to keep on hoping it would get better, it never did in the last six years.

*~*~*~*~*~*

His mood had been swinging from left to right, from cheery and upbeat to plain out irritated by the most insignificant matters.

James talked too loud, Peter chewed with his mouth open, Marlene’s high pitched laugh pierced his ears, professor Mcgonagall called him out for every joke he pulled no matter how subtle they were,... Nothing was going his way.

On top of all of this, there seemed to be an itch in his head he wasn’t able to scratch.

Everywhere Sirius went he saw two particularly unwanted eyes reading a book or concentrating on ink spilling out of the tip of a quill. Green accented robes and an obnoxiously neat skirt flowed around knee length socks, also accented by that same deep colour of emerald green. It’s the kind smile, though, that makes him hate it all more. It’s out of character, those lips aren’t supposed to look that innocent and friendly.

Sirius hasn’t been himself ever since the encounter with you after potions class. He’s tense, stressed even and he doesn’t get why. Was it because you called him out on his obvious ignorance? Maybe because the words that left your mouth that day were both filled with obvious anger but also hurt?

You had genuinely sounded hurt, Sirius now realises that. You looked at him as if he had grown two heads, opening your mouth just slightly before closing it. The corners of your lips turned downwards and your eyes lost the sparkle of that always present wit. Your shoulders had slumped down and you made yourself as tiny as you could without being too obvious about it.

The conversation still rang inside his head every time he so much as caught a glance of your silhouette.

“You honestly still believe I stand for what my family stands for?”

Your voice was so small, you had almost whispered it and if his attention wasn’t solely focussed on you he would have probably missed what you were saying.

He knows his reaction to your fragile demeanour made you stand up straight again. As if seeing his perplexed eyes was enough to remember what you were dealing with. He could see it in the way you pulled your books against your chest, how you twisted your face into a scowl.

That angry look, that was the one he recognised.

It made him snap back at you, like he always did, trying to put you back into place. But your answers…

They weren’t what he expected, they weren’t what he wanted to hear. His plan was to confront you, to finally get the hateful words to spill from your mouth and proof his friends wrong, so he could tell them how wrong they were about trusting and defending you.

“Do your family’s actions reflect onto you? Have you ever considered I could be in the same bloody situation as you are, or is the hate towards Slytherins just so damn huge it doesn’t even matter what my opinions are? You’re just going to keep accusing me of sh*t I’ve never done, or better, never even said!

“I never shared their love for our bloodstatus let alone my whole opinion on who’s worthy and who is not! It may be a surprise to you, Black”, you made sure to spit out his surname as if it was a pawn on a chessboard, “but I consider someone worthy as soon as they step foot in this world, from there on it’s up to themselves if they deserve to walk among the others or not.”

Those definitely weren’t the words he expected.

That night wasn’t one where sleep found him quickly. Questions kept sliding through his mind, all basically asking the same damn thing.

“Some people don’t wish to be disowned and thrown on the streets, Sirius! Of all people I would think you would be the most understanding of that!”

Was he wrong all along?

Now he sat at dinner, three weeks later, with a fake smile plastered on his lips. Irritation, rage, frustration,... Confusion.

All those years he had known you, walking along with your parents at King’s Cross, not once had you stepped out of line with them. When they grimaced at muggleborns, you turned your head the other way. When your parents talked to his you made sure to get as far away as possible. He always held that against you, believing you wanted to get away because he, a friend of muggleborns, was there right next to them.

Were you just scared?

He had heard stories from his parents, from before he ran away and left them for good.

“The (Y/L/N)s had a particular encounter with a mudblood, Walburga, have you heard?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Don’t worry though, they put the vile bastard in it’s place.”

He remembers conversations like that too vividly, vulgar and sickening details following suit.

How you hadn’t left after all that your family had done, said and inflicted upon innocents… It remains a mystery to him. It’s why he always saw you as one of them. You didn’t seem bothered or even fazed by all of it. You never talked back, never gave a kick.

When someone asked you about it you just ignored the question and went on with your day.

How could you? Why would you?

Sirius questions everything, sitting there whilst shoving potatoes around his plate.

You remain a mystery he can’t seem to solve.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When the owls come flying through the Great Hall the next morning, you expect to see grandma’s tiny brown one to land in front of you, lay down a letter and ask for some petting. It’s routine by now and it’s what keeps you grounded, makes you realise there’s someone outside of these school walls that still cares.

This time that doesn’t happen, though. You see other people receiving The Daily Prophet, others get letters from their parents and family at home.

Grandma’s owl never appears.

Instead you see a black one, as dark as the nights on Hogwarts grounds, fly towards you. It lands gracefully and for several seconds you can’t help but stare.

This isn’t what’s supposed to happen, grandma never forgets to write.

Even though this isn’t the owl you expected, you still recognise the stark yellow eyes that contrast with the deep feathers. It’s your family’s owl.

The loud screech of the bird takes you back to where you are, momentarily pushing down the panic away from your head. It settles deep, making you feel nauseous as you take the letter from the sharp beak. Your owl flies away without any hesitation.

Other people around you have been alerted by the loud noise coming from your place as well. Of course they have to keep staring, making your nerves even more prominent. You do as you do best, though. You plaster a fake not bothered look on your face, lay down the letter next to your plate and keep eating like nothing had happened, like your stomach wasn’t refusing every bite you took.

As you tried to calm down, over time you were able to make out the details of the letter. The handwriting of your mother on the front, the big black seal known to be your family’s,...

And then you noticed the obvious red colour of the envelope.

The letter was a Howler. You were definitely not opening that in front of everyone, it was staying shut until you were in your room, alone, with no roommates to disturb you.

For the remaining time of breakfast you kept your eyes on your plate, anxiously thinking about what could be written inside. You dreaded having to listen to your mother’s voice, most probably screaming at you for some unknown reason.

But most importantly, why didn’t grandma write?

Why did it have to be your parents instead?

Lost inside your own thoughts, leaving breakfast on auto-pilot and with a blank stare in your eyes, you just forgot

You didn’t even realise you  left the Howler right next to your still half full plate.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Sirius saw everything, never diverting his eyes away from you for more than ten seconds.

He saw your hopeful smile when the owls started flying in, saw how that smile slowly turned into a frown the longer you waited. Your lips had fully fallen open when a black owl landed in front of you.

He saw your hesitation, heard the loud shriek that made you jump in your seat.

He saw the red envelope.

And there it was again, that unbothered look you always glued onto your face, the one that makes him angry every single time he sees it.

He always addressed it to you actually not caring, but now he just couldn’t. You had looked so devastated and almost terrified just a second ago.

Were you hiding what you were feeling?

Was that what that look was? You just didn’t want others to see what kept going on inside that confusing head of yours?

That would be exactly what Slytherins were good at. Sirius now sees the sly move, realises how good you are at lying. Not with words but with your demeanour.

He definitely doesn’t miss you leaving, head down shoulders slumped because even you aren’t that good at telling lies. He spots the red paper still on the table, left and forgotten about.

There’s a big decision now, right in front of him. Is he stooping that low?

“You okay there, Sirius? You’ve been awfully quiet”, Lily remarks and everyone turns their heads his way.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just not been feeling too well since waking up.”

“Have you guys gone partying without us again?” Marlene asks with a pout hanging off her lips, big round puppy eyes following not long after.

“We wouldn’t dare”, Peter answers before everyone chuckles at the thought of that happening last time. The girls had been mad for weeks.

“I’m done here, I’m full as can be”, Remus says after a while, standing up and pushing off from the table, “If anyone feels like joining me before having to leave for class-”

He can’t even finish his sentence before basically everyone at the table follows his lead and leaves their plates for what they are. All except Sirius.

“Aren’t you coming, mate?”

“I’m going to talk to my brother first, it’s been a while”, Sirius responds, not lifting his gaze from the Slytherin table. Unbeknown to his friends it’s not because his brother is sat there.

“As you wish. Let’s get going, guys!”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Just when you’re about to turn another corner, you snap out of it.

Emptiness is refilled by panic and you’re running before you’ve even realised you were standing still.

The letter! How could you forget to take the stupid letter?!

Your heart beats like crazy and your breathing is deep and irregular. How much more could go wrong today? It’s only half past eight in the morning, classes haven’t started yet and here you are, running your lungs out of your body because of a Howler your family left you.

When the entrance of The Great Hall comes into sight you finally let yourself slow down. Still your legs move in an obvious fast pace, stressed and rigid with your hands fidgeting in front of your stomach.

Just as you reach the grand doorway Sirius Black walks through. You see him hesitate for a second, locks eyes before he quickly gathers himself and walks the other direction. You couldn’t care less at this moment. He’s not what’s concerning you right now. It’s that bloody red letter right next to your plate.

You enter, scan the Slytherin table trying to recall the exact place you sat at.

Penny still sits there, the fifth year Slytherin you know from spending too much time in the library. She sat not too far away from where you had been eating only minutes ago.

As you pass seat after seat, even passing the one you could swear you had been seated, you didn’t see a single letter. No Daily Prophets, no regular white letters,...

Not your very prominent red letter.

“No”, you breathe out. No one hears you.

“Please, it has to be here.” This time you speak louder.

“Everything okay, (Y/N)?”

You look up, silently thanking Merlin for this sweet girl, Penny, for at least caring enough to check on you. You’re quite sure you look like you’ve seen a ghost, figuratively speaking of course.

“No, I-I’m sorry for bothering but have you seen an envelope lying right at this spot? A red one?”

You wait as she looks down to where your letter should’ve been. The longer she takes the more you lose hope.

It’s been several seconds now, you’re almost sure she’s going to ignore your question and get on with her day but then she speaks up as if she only just realised what you asked.

“The Howler you received?”

Of course she knew you received a Howler, Penny was known for being an observant girl, still you had slightly hoped she didn’t notice. You had hoped no one noticed. Obviously that wasn’t the case.

“Yes, Penny, the Howler”, you answer slightly annoyed she had to bring it up in front of her friends. She seems to realise her mistake, though, and looks at you with apology written across her face.

“Actually, yeah we saw”, Duncan who sits in front of the girl answers, “Sirius Black picked it up and left.”

That’s when everything starts to spin. The words have barely reached your ears but you know enough, he’s going to ruin you. This is going to ruin everything.

You swear tears are starting to form in your eyes but rapid blinks keep them from rolling down. You can’t lose it now, not in front of everyone. The breathy voice that leaves your lips is a dead giveaway of what is going through your head right now, though.

“And you just let him take it?” It’s barely a whisper, but you know Penny heard well enough. She turns her head down to her plate, guilt prominently edged onto her features.

“We thought he was going to bring it to you”, Duncan answers, also slightly taken aback by your demeanor.

You shake your head, not believing what’s happening still. “Oh yeah, because we all know Sirius Black is such a good friend of mine.”

The response is filled with frustration and most probably a lot of obvious resentment, but you can’t get yourself to care about that right now. You’re running again, this time out of The Great Hall, trying to catch up with the guy who has your whole future on this school right between his fingers.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He feels wrong. The red envelope clutched in his right hand is burning into his skin. This doesn’t feel right, no matter who the piece of paper belongs to. Why did he do it? Is he so desperate to make your life hell? Is he so set on proving you’re a horrible person?

Sirius doesn’t have the answers to his own questions, he regrets taking the letter and it’s now stressing him out.

This isn’t about doing the right thing anymore. Now he is being the horrible person out of the two of you. He debates walking back to your spot and laying it right where he had picked it up, but it was too late for that. Everyone would’ve seen what he did, if he went back they would only confront him about it.

The more distance he puts between himself and The Great Hall the worse he feels. He takes steps by two, looking down at the red letter in his hand with your name elegantly written on the front. It’s definitely a Howler from your parents, he recognises the black stamp that seals the lid from the many letters your family had sent to his parents.

Why would they send you a Howler?

Maybe they were going to praise you? That could be it, they were only trying to brag about how good of a Slytherin their precious daughter is. Amazing grades, never out of line, always proper and prim,...

But the more he thinks about it the more he starts to question whether his friends were right.

Howlers weren’t sent by loving parents, they were always sent by people who had some bone to pick. Sirius remembers the time Martha, a Hufflepuff, received a Howler from her grandparents, yelling at her because apparently if she didn’t start studying for her OWLs she would be in big trouble when she got back home.

Or that time when Kyle tried to pull a prank on one of the professors but injured a student instead, his parents were livid.

Sirius stops walking, now taking that bloody letter into both hands, staring at it as if he wanted to burn it right then and there.

Anger fills his head as he focuses on your mother’s handwriting. What could your parents possibly be humiliating you for? There was not a chance you were doing anything wrong, anything against their standards. You studied hard, got amazing grades, were good at pretty much anything that involved magic.

The fact he was becoming concerned for you, a (Y/L/N), confuses him to no end and it makes him even more livid.

Nothing made sense anymore.

“Sirius Black!”

Your loud voice echoed through the halls like never before. Not once has Sirius ever heard you scream in all those years he knew you. It takes him back to reality, out of his thoughts and into the world where he can feel nothing but loathing at your mere presence.

After the initial shock he turns around, a prominent glare is fixed onto his face.

And there you are, getting closer with every second, walking with loud steps but still as gracious as ever.

Before he realises it you’re right in front of him, eyes wide and deep breaths filling the air between you. You’re seething, staring daggers at him. If looks could kill, Sirius would be lying on the ground with a cut open throat right now.

“If you give it back I won’t speak a word about this to anyone, Black.”

He expected you to make a scene, but you surprised him with an almost gentle voice, a whisper so no one else could hear but him. It’s a big contrast to your body language.

Your outstretched hand is patiently waiting for him to lay the letter on your palm.

“No can do, (Y/L/N).”

He turns away from you, trying to walk away as quickly as possible but you don’t let him.

Sirius feels his hair being tugged backwards, his scalp stinging from the pull. You know it’s a low blow, almost childish if this was any other situation but you’re so angry, so furious, so full of hatred right now that it’s the only thing that makes you feel satisfied.

His guard is down as he is too distracted and startled by the move you just pulled, literally, that it’s easy for you to grab for the envelope in his hand.

When he feels the paper slipping between his fingers he grips on tight, refusing to let go. He’s in too deep by now, he’s not giving up on that letter.

Sirius never meant for you to be humiliated, as nasty as he could be sometimes, never once did it cross his mind to harass or demoralize you in front of everyone at school. His hatred was private, he made sure only you knew about his distaste. Yes, others picked up on the grudge between you two after a while but never was anything said in full public view.

Never, absolutely never did he mean for this to get so far.

One of you must have pulled too hard, maybe the stamp was weak from the beginning,...

When the black seal broke away from the envelope there wasn’t enough time to realise what was happening.

Before either of you could react your mother’s loud voice filled the hallways and you were there in the middle of everyone listening.

Sirius stumbled back out of pure shock, eyes wide pleading for something to stop this.

Had he gone too far?

Yes, he did. He realised it as soon as he saw your face.

Your tears dripped and hit the floor right between your feet.

TAGLIST:

@iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire​​ @wangmangagavroche​​ @songforhema​​ @fortisfiliae​​  @the-apple-princess​ @youlook-likehell​ @oliviaharddyy​ @slytherpuffgal​ @supermassiveblackhope​ @this-silent-area​ @madmaiden2890​ @simply-hamilton​ @cindywayne​ @aikeia​ @coffeeismylife28​ @remusandsiriusxreader @evolutionofkatep

[chimswae]

BTS Caretaker Ch2

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,332

- Author Note: Pure cliche~

Previous | Next

Chapter 2

Summer has finally come to an end. Fashion enthusiast like Ji Seul’s colleague, Ahn Hyejin or famously known as Hwasa, was all ready to get rid of her summer clothes and to replace it with new one matching this new season. Hwasa was one of few friends that she made before she dropped out from college a year ago. She did not work permanently there unlike Seul, since she’s in her final semester. Working part time was the only way to get away from her tiring student’s life.

Hwasa came from a well-off family therefore money was not an issue to her. She could afford her college fees and other miscellaneous expenses. In fact, she once offered to pay Seul’s college fees however she politely declined Hwasa’s kind gesture. Not that she felt offended, Seul did not want to live off by other’s money or even worse being pitied by people around her. Her family could only afford Ji Hoon’s school fees, it was not her choice at first place.

On side note, she performed super badly in her first semester maybe she was worrying too much about her family or she wasn’t ready to further her studies. Anyways, she was used to live like this. Nothing could change the fact that her life was fated to be this way unless miracle happened some day later.

Seul wiped the last part of the glass window with a content smile. She stared blankly outside the window watching different people passed by the area. Some were too preoccupied with their smartphones, some were running with all their might maybe they had something important to attend and some high schoolers were fooling around happily with their friends. Her heart felt warmth just by witnessing it. How she wished she could turn back time and worry nothing but her mathematics test. Back then, everything flowed smoothly. Zero worries, no dramas and her father was still there with them.

The happy ending that was still far ahead.

Sighing softly, Ji Seul tore her gaze from the high schooler across the road “Seul-ah!” her ears caught Hwasa’s cheerful voice behind her.

“Oh, Hwasa! You are here early” she smiled genuinely.

“I have to change shift with Krissy so I come earlier! I have projects to be completed in a week, things are quite crazy” she puffed her cheeks earning a lower chuckle from the smaller girl in front of her.

Ji Seul giggled “Get the degree and never look back once you graduated” she gave her friend a small pat before them both moved behind the counter getting ready to start the second phase of the day.  

It usually packed after two in the afternoon. The only time they could rest was in the morning, people rarely came early in the morning except for takeout. It was less hassle during that time so they would have time to fool around.

“JI SEUL GET THE CUSTOMER’s ORDER! I need to clean this” shouted Hwasa. Seul strutted towards the counter with a polite smile, apologizing before she took the customer’s order.

 -------------------

“Rock paper scissors!”

“ROCK  ROCK PAPER PAPER PAPER ROCK PAPER!” their shouts could be heard across the hall.

The hyung line laughed hysterically teasing the maknaes “How can three of you think alike and be so unlucky!” exclaimed Jin.

The youngest one mewled “Hyung! You plan this out, the four of you planned to bring that rock out!” his hand moved along with his explanation. Crossing their arm together, Jimin and Taehyung frowned in denial.

“Are you blaming your unlucky charms on us?” Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Three of you quick! The loser needs to buy drinks for us with your own money” Hoseok smug as his body move side to side feeling a little giddy. Of course, they were into the moment of truth between the youngest in the group. It never failed to amuse the hyungs.

“But I forgot my wallet” said Taehyung with a pout.

“I saw it in your pocket don’t lie Kim Taehyung” Namjoon’s brow quirked up in curiosity. Taehyung might be an actor but he’s bad in lying when it came to lying to their members. Come one, they had been living together for six to seven years to be exact. They could read each other like an open book.

Taehyung shook his head showing no sign of giving up however as he was about to open his mouth “No special treatment for anyone” Seokjin warned sternly.

“You are rich, Gucci boy. Can’t you even afford drinks for your hyungs?” upon hearing Yoongi remarks, Taehyung immediately pursed his lips showing his silent protest. Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung started over with their rock-paper-scissors game until it was decided, Jungkook as the black sheep among the three.

Jimin and Taehyung hopped in sheer happiness “I just spent money for my games” Jungkook scratched the back of his head in hope others would show their empathy on him. As cruel as it may sound, the members wouldn’t care as long as it was not them who needed to chip in the money for this betting.

“Come back safely Jeongukkie!” Namjoon ruffled his hair showing off his dimple smile. Yoongi rummaged through his back, tossing the black mask to Jungkook’s direction “Wear this, you don’t want people to catch you roaming around the city at this time” Jungkook’s eyes glimmered in happiness.

His hyungs really took good care of him in any situation minus the bullying part. Nowadays, Jungkook had step up his games and in return the hyungs got bullied quite often by him. It was no doubt that the members were the one who raised him to be this kind of man. Oh well, he was aware his parents played important role in his life too but when it came to the members, he couldn’t express how grateful he was to have them as his family.

“I will be back soon” putting on the black mask, he exited their practice room. He hated to go out because it made him feel lonely. At this moment, he really wished Jimin were here right now with him, at least he could have a decent and silly conversation with that small guy.

Jungkook pushed the main entrance opened only to come at halt, as a pair of small hand wrapped securely around his wrist. He snapped his head to the person behind him “Hyung? Why are you following me” he gave Jimin a questionable look.

“Do you want me to come with you?” the latter grinned cutely looking a little flushed. Did he really run all way here just to catch Jungkook?

Blinking his eyes in confusion, Jungkook chewed his lower lips doubting his own decision “Hmm, if you are fine with it then I could use a company?” he muttered lowly.

“THEN IM COMING!” Jimin threw his arm around his neck, tiptoeing a little to match Jungkook’s height.  He squealed softly showing off his excitement. Not that he cared, Jimin could be too adorable for anyone to handle even for him. The two boys walked casually side by side making their way to their favourite café. To their dismay, the café was closed earlier than their usual business hour.

Jimin glanced around looking for the sign of any closest coffee shop in the area but there was nowhere to be found. They caught the sight of bubble tea shop across the road “Shall we get tea instead?” he tilted his head to the direction.

“It should be fine, let’s go before they close down” Jimin pulled Jungkook with him upon witnessing the worker inside looking a little busy cleaning the shop. It was a sign that they would close soon.  

 ----------------

“Im so sorry Seul, I really need to go now, I have group discussion in thirty minutes. Will you be okay closing the shop alone?” Hwasa bit her lower lips in guilt.

“Just go Hwasa. I will be alright, don’t make them wait for you! Wongeun oppa is still here through” she signalled to Wongeun direction.

Hwasa cussed under her breath “Oh god I totally forgot about him! Then you will be fine since it is Wongeun oppa” she took off her apron, hanging it neatly inside the rack. Wongeun looked up “Be careful girl” Hwasa gave him a thumb up before ran to Seul side giving the clueless girl a quick hug.

“Whoops sorry, see you tomorrow Seul-ah!” the girl grabbed her stuff before pushing the door opened.

“Aish be careful Hwasa!” she shouted after her as the girl disappeared from her vicinity in flash. Ji Seul shook her head with a soft sigh as she continued doing her works silently. Wongeun was another friend that she made there, and he was also the manager. Being a manager was just a mere title for him, instead he worked hard like others. In all honesty, Wongeun was a down to earth guy.

Sound of the entrance door being opened making Seul jolted in her position. She thought it was Hwasa since she tended to leave her things behind most of the time. “AHN HWASA WHAT NO-“ she didn’t finish her words as she was taken aback to see two men stood in front her in a black mask.

Were they playing ninja? Seul cussed in her head.

“I am sorry, are you still open?” said the shorter guy. His eyes penetrated hers making her numb for a second, why would she react so strangely in front of these strangers? These two men before her triggered her curiosity. Were there celebrities? Why would they covered themselves as if someone might catch them wandering around the area.

“Ah..We are actually about to-Okay never mind, I can prepare your order. It is not that late” she gestured them to follow her to the counter. Jimin and Jungkook smiled in unison following Seul as their eyes darted towards the menu board.

Seul took their orders patiently, keying it into the system. She took the card from Jungkook completing their payment “Please take a seat, your beverages will be prepared in 10 minutes” she bowed politely.

“Thank you” Jungkook muttered softly under his breath averting his gaze from Seul. He was just being conscious in case Seul is one of their fans or sasaeng fans? Judging from her appearance, she seemed to cause no harm. Again, appearance can be deceiving.

Jimin and Jungkook took a seat at the corner and continued to chatter. Occasionally, they would glance at Seul who seemed engrossed preparing the drinks. They felt bad for making her work extra hour considering they were about to close. Nevertheless, Seul didn’t recognize them it was enough for tonight. They needed a break from screaming fangirls. Tonight, was one of the nights that they yearned to be peaceful and calm.

The ring came from Seul’s phone echoed throughout the room. Jungkook and Jimin were baffled at the familiar music, like they heard it somewhere before. Their brow quirked up in question “Hyung isn’t that our song?” he leaned over whispering lowly.

“Do you think so?”

“It is Young and Forever”

“She is a fan?”

“Since she uses our song as her ringtone, she might be one?” Jungkook sounded positive with his assumptions. Their eyes trailed along to her figure as Seul quickly answered her phone “Hey, Hoon. I’m coming home in a bit. Do you want me to buy you something?” she used her free hand to scoop tapioca pearls inside the drinks.

“Nuna… mom.. she collapsed.. we..are…in the hospital.. I don’t know what to do” she heard Ji Hoon sobbed at the end of the line. Her heart practically stopped beating when she received the news. The drinks in her hand slipped caused Wongeun to run to her side panickily.

“Ji Seul are you okay?” Wongeun flinched looking extremely worried. He saw her hand shaking furiously clutching on the counter for balance.

“Nuna..are..you there…Please..im scared.. what if something happens to mother” Jihoon pleaded frantically. His voice brought her out of her trance, and she managed to reply her little brother “Wait for me I am coming. Text me the address now!” she hung up, taking off her floral apron in hurry.

Flabbergasted Wongeun was waiting for her answers and he inquired her again out of curiosity “What is happening? Did something happen to Hoon?” he watched her grabbing her stuff. Seul shook her head with a small smile “It is my mother. She collapsed, I don’t know. I have to go” the man gasped.

“Seul go, I will take care this thing so do not worry!” he gave her an assuring smile.

Jungkook and Jimin witnessed it all. The moment when she dropped the drinks on the floor, it caught their attention. The boys could tell how worried she was even though she seemed to appear strong on the outside, however the corner of Jungkook’s eyes caught her tears started to cascade down.

It ached his heart.

Odd.

Seul gave a quick bow to Wongeun and not to forget Jimin and Jungkook who had been waiting for their drinks there. She dashed out like a flash leaving them breathless. That was quite a scene for today.

“I am sorry, I will get your drinks prepared really quick” said Wongeun breaking the silence. Jimin and Jungkook only nodded in response as them both exchanged a meaningful look.

Jimin was the first one who broke the silence “Will she be okay?” his fingers fiddle nervously at the hem of his shirt. Deep down inside he really hoped everything would be fine. It was not his business anyways yet since it came down to this he couldn’t help but to sympathy her.

The younger guys threw his glance outside the glass window staring into the darkness with a heavy sigh “I really hope she is okay” he was being sincere.

Jungkook felt himself being overly upset over her situation when he barely knew her.

What was that for again?

This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2020. All Rights Reserved.

[secondgenerationnerd]

Snowy Days

This is the request I promised earlier! a little bit of plot to move things along, but for the most part, it’s just some cuteness.

----

Milagro Reyes-Wilkes knows better than to think she can sleep in on vacation. 

“Mom! Dad! It snowed!” 

“Mami...” Milagro jerks awake as her sons burst into the room. Ten-year-old Ben dances around the bed while four-year-old Max climbs up the sheets. She shakes her head, smiling softly at her pouting baby, nudging her husband with her foot.

“Babe, the boys are up.”

Colin groans, pulling his pillow over their head, grumbling, “We agreed: before eight a.m. they’re your boys.”

Milagro rolls her eyes as Max climbs into her arms. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

“Esta muy frio, Mami,” Max shivers, clinging to his stuffed monkey. Milagro kisses his dark hair, cuddling him. “No le gusta.”

“Si, Mami lo se. But it’s going to look so pretty soon.” Milagro lets him cuddle into his arms, loving her cuddly, pouty boy.

“Dad!” Ben jumps onto Colin’s back. That wakes him up. Colin rolls onto his back, clearly groggy as hell. “You gotta get up! It snowed!”

“‘For sale: one jumpy kid, will take the best offer.” Milagro kicks him under the sheets. “What?”

“No selling my boys.” Ben crawls over to his mother, mismatched eyes shining at her. She can already tell what he’s going to ask, in the way only a mom can, “Breakfast first and then we can go out in the snow, ok?”

“Ok, Mom!” Ben bounds out of the room. 

“I’m telling you, Mil, that kid is part speedster.” Colin rubs his eyes. Milagro gets out of bed, passing him their younger son. He carries Max to the already bustling kitchen. 

“Hi, Auntie Milly!” Two little girls race past them to the kitchen table. 

“Baby Dolls!” Jai comes running down the hall, chasing a dark-haired little boy in monster jammies, “No powers inside!”

“Good morning,” Damian yawns, scratching his head, “I see your children woke you up as well.”

“Your kid is 13.” Milagro points out.

“She was complaining about her cousins.” 

“Definitely your kid.” Colin yawns. The Wayne Winter lodge is large enough that the adults get their own rooms, with a few rooms to split their kids into. Ben’s already at the breakfast bar, happily chowing down on a bowl of grits Jon made, chattering away at quiet Peter Kent. Damian’s daughter, Asha, sits with Charlie Kent, discussing the logistics of the superhero movie they’d watched the night before. Lily and Milly Harper-West giggle with M&M Kent. Their little brother, Luke, tugs on Lian’s sleep pants. Lian scoops him into her arms, kissing his little cheek.

“Welcome to the chaos.” Irey laughs into her coffee mug. “I think we all told the kids the same thing.”

“Breakfast before fun?” Milagro gratefully takes another cup of coffee from her friend. 

“Still not fair, Mama.” Asha pouts. Irey kisses the top of her daughter’s head.

“It’s my job to ruin your life, kiddo.” Irey teases. “Also, that movie didn’t take into account the fact most heroes don’t run in a straight line when something’s falling.”

“Three steps to the left and you live.” Lian laughs. 

“Asha, did you see the video with the baby elephant--”

“With its teddy bear?!” Asha squeals with Charlie about the cute animals. Damian yawns as he takes a cup of tea from Irey. Asha makes a face as her parents kiss good morning. “Mama! Baba! That’s gross!”

The adults can’t help but laugh. Mar’i makes her way into the kitchen, carrying her youngest daughter. Laney sneezes, whimpering in mar’i’s arms.

“Is Loo Loo ok, Momma?” Charlie’s dark brown eyes flash with concern for her baby sister.

“She’s ok, starling.” Mar’i runs a hand through her oldest daughter’s blonde pixie cut. “She doesn’t like the cold, remember?”

“Me too...” Max pouts at Colin, who had set him at the breakfast table. Colin chuckles at his pouting son. 

“I know, bud. Dad’s completely unfair.” He sets a bowl of grits in front of the toddler, “Eat something and then you can have all the cuddles you want.”

“Remember the last time we were here?” Lian asks her friends. “Don’t think we were up this early?”

“After the space juice the night before?” Irey laughs. “Heck no.”

“Mommy?” Lily tilts her head.

“Yeah, baby doll?”

“What’s space juice?” 

“Something that you aren’t allowed to drink until you’re thirty.” Jai tells his daughter. 

“I think it’s a grown-up thing,” Milly whispers to her twin. 

“Like when Momma and Daddy wrestle in their room?” M&M asks. Jon turns dark red while his friends and wife laugh. 

“I thought you said that’s how Lukey got in your belly, Mommy?” Milly asks her mother. “You let Daddy--”

“Who’s ready to go outside?” Lian asks. The distraction works, sending their kids flying to their rooms to change. “Jai, remind me to never let you near me again.”

The next forty minutes or so are filled with kids changing into snow clothes and searching for missing clothes.

“Mom!” Ben shouts from the front room, “ Donde estan mis botas y mi abrigo?”

“Boots are in the garage and coat’s hanging up in the front closest, mijo,” Milagro smiles down at Max, pulling on her sweater. “Don’t you want to play with your cousins, Maxie?”

“Later...It’s too cold...” Max might share more of her features but the look he gives her is pure Colin. Of course, she has to pick her sweet boy up and carry him out to the porch. She joins Lian and Irey on the porch swing, watching their husbands play around in the snow with their kids. Mar’i brings Laney out, the little girl wrapped in an extra blanket. 

“Come on, Pete!” Ben shouts to his cousin. Peter laughs and helps Ben throw snowballs at the girls. Asha and Charlie take cover, retaliating in turn. “Give up! You girls don’t stand a chance!”

“Never!” Asha shouts back, pelting him with a snowball. While the older four battle it out, the middle four are hard at work making snow babies. 

“Look, Daddy,” Luke points to the little pile of snow with two stones on it, “Look what I made.”

Jai kneels down, smiling warmly at his son, “Looks great, Little Man.”

“Daddy! Daddy! Come see our stuff,” Jai’s pulled to the side by his daughters, laughing as he goes. Jon helps M&M finish her snow baby, giving her a high five. Damian and Colin have joined opposing sides to the snowball fight.

“Some things don’t change,” Milagro notes. Laney starts coughing in her mother’s arms. 

“Loo Loo?” Max looks over at his cousin. He crawls across his auntie’s laps, patting her back. “It ok. You be ok soon.”

“Tanks, Maxie.” Laney snuggles closer to Mar’i.

“Poor thing. Is she ok?” Lian asks.

“Yeah. I mean, she was a preemie so her immune system isn’t great.” Mar’i kisses Laney’s ginger curls. “My sweet starling.”

“Uh-oh.” Milagro gestures to Colin, Damian, and Jai huddled together while Jon helps the all the kids build a giant snowman. “They’re plotting.”

“Ok, guys, let’s see who can find the best arms for the snowman,” Jon tells the gaggle of children.

“I  can!” 

“No, Milly, I can!”

“I’ll beat all of you!” Asha shouts, running ahead. Jon watches the kids head to the edge of the woods, still within sight. He doesn’t see Colin, Jai, and Damian sneak up behind him. They tackle him, which is no easy feat when dealing with a half- Kryptonian. 

“COLD!” Jon yells as his friends shove snow down his pants. Once he regains his footing and pushes them off, Damian, Jai and Colin fall to the side, laughing. Jon glares at them, “V-Very fu-funny.”

“Hey!” M&M shouts, runnning towards them, “You can’t do that to Daddy!”

“I-It’s ok, honey.” Jon heads towards the house. “I’m going to change my pants.”

The mothers notice their older children huddle together, conspiring, as their husbands stand up, still laughing.

“Daddy!” Luke starts towards Jai, before tripping. Jai’s posture immediately changes when the little boy starts crying. Ben and Asha start wrestling, too violent to be for fun.

“Hey! Ben!”

“Asha Nuri!”

The men run over to the kids, Jai stopping to pick Luke up as Colin and Damian pull their children apart. That’s when Asha shouts, “Attack!”

“AAAAGH!” The seasoned heroes are genuinely caught off guard as the eight children wrestle them to the ground, shoving snow down their fathers’ pants. Once the kids get a fair amount down, they race towards the porch. Their laughing mothers will protect them. Laney and Max giggle hysterically in Mar’i’s arms.

“Oh my god,” Lian snorts. Jai, Colin, and Damian make their way to the porch. “I’ve never been prouder as a parent!”

“Aren’t you going to punish them?” Jai grunts.

“No!” Irey laughs, “You all totally deserved that!”

Jon comes out with new dry pants as the other guys go inside. He raises an eyebrow at the women on the swing, “Do I want to ask?”

“The kids just got revenge for you.” Milagro kisses Ben’s head. “And our husbands are pouty because they deserved it.”

———

“Asha, come snuggle us!” Milly moves her stuffed puppy to the side. Sitting crossed legged between Milly and M&M, Asha smiles up at Irey, who hands her a cup of cocoa.

“Thank you, Mama,” Asha sips the cocoa, getting whipped cream on her nose.

“I supa man!” Max jumps off the armchair and onto the pile of pillows. Colin’s never looked more offended in his life. Laney jumps after Max, squealing as she lands.

“Cha-Cha,” Laney toddles to Charlie, pulling her sister’s hand, “Wights? Wights?”

Charlie looks over at her parents, a silent request for persmission. Jon chuckles, “Go ahead, cowgirl. I’ll get the lights.”

The kids squeal when he turns the overhead light off. Charlie’s dark brown eyes start to glow, changing color as she opens her hands. Sparks from the fireplace turn to flittering fairies flying across the living room. Luke giggles as a little fairy pulls on his sleep shirt. Laney and Max toddle after a pair of fairies, Charlie keeping the illusion just out of reach. 

“Ok,” Colin nods, “I’ll admit, your kid’s powers are pretty dope.”

“This is nothing.” Mar’i watches her daughter with a loving smile. “Starling, do you want to tell a story?”

“Can I, Momma?” 

“Of course.” Jon and Mar’i take pride in the way their daughter stands in front of the fire. Charlie’s gained so much confidence since they adopted her seven years ago. The living room fades away, leaving them all in the middle of a forest, trees higher than any they’ve ever seen before.

“Once upon a time, in a far off land overrun by bandits and outlaws, there were eight misfits.” Charlie retells one of her parents' old missions in the fairytale setting. Her powers allow them to see exactly what she describes. Her cousins and siblings watch in wonder. Even the adults get lost in the story.

“Alright,” Milagro notices Max yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I think it’s bedtime.”

There’s gentle whining from the kids, but for the most part, they go without too much of a fight. Milagro tucks Max into the bed he’s sharing with Luke. Lian kisses Luke’s head, chuckling. “I see Max sleeps just like Luke.”

“Butt in the air?” Milagro laughs softly as they tiptoe out, “He’s just like his father.”

“Same.” They meet their friends in the kitchen to have a small nightcap. Mar’i hands them each a glass of whiskey. “I forgot you have a thing for hard drinks, Princess.”

“Blame my parents.” Mar’i shrugs. 

The conversation isn’t like the ones they used to have. When their lives were a balance of civilian vs. hero, all that mattered was school work, bets, missions, training, and whatever weird turn their conversation took. Now, they talk about work lives, new recipes, suggestions of new places to visit, and their families. But it’s so much easier now for them to appreciate everything they’ve gone through. 

Days like today remind them why, nearly 20 years ago, they formed their ragtag team to save the world. So they could one day have them

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

For your svt prompts: please can you do coups, A 26 bc you’re an amazing writer and I’m a slut for your angst :)

Seungcheol | A.26 “I can’t just sit by and do nothing while you’re suffering so much!” 

Words | 5,640

Warnings | TW; Domestic violence (results), heavy angst, blood, derogatory name-calling.

Notes | So the prompt was make your own, and the requester is supposed to make their own but I JUST WENT AHEAD and picked this since it wasn’t specified and woooo boy. It’s pretty angsty so I hope you like it! Please check the status of the game in my blog’s description before requesting!

Send a bias, a section, and a number and I’ll write you a thing!

The moment Seungcheol’s clenched fist made bone-crushing contact with the side of your now ex-boyfriend’s face; you stood by in awe, wondering how it even got to this point. In the misty recollection of your memory, you’d hardly dredge up telling Seungcheol anything about what was going on between the two of you. Maybe it was that intuition he was always praised for having. Not much of it mattered as you stood there, horrified, with a hand cupped over your mouth as you watched the boy you used to care so much about, tumble to the ground as a direct result of forced contact from a boy you currently care so much about.

It all seemed to come rushing back to you the second Seungcheol looked over his shoulder after the follow through of his strike, heaving for air after they had been pushing back and forth, tugging at collars, name-calling, yelling profanities, saying all kinds of nasty things you’d never be able to wash from your ears—nasty things about you that drew the final blow in the first place.

Seungcheol’s eyes seemed to glitter, even considering the aftermath of events, as he looked at you and retracted his fist to stand upright. He turned to you, but you were wary of him—your hand was still cupped over your mouth and you matched his step forward with a step back. Only the soft shake of his head, the concerned look in his eyes, had you even considering letting him approach you at this point. Were his hands not turned palm skyward and outstretched to you, perhaps you’d have been a little more cautious, but he was showing no signs of being menacing to you, despite the crazed look in his eyes when the whole scenario finally went down.

Your hand had shifted from your mouth and down to the pendant dangling around your neck, a pendant of Seungcheol’s; it almost burned in your palm as your feet continued to shuffle back. Almost silently, you heard him call your name, cooing gently to you in a velvet tone to reassure you it was going to be okay. The tears had cropped up to your waterline, tickling your lashes, more than ready to streak down your face and did so without much more hesitation.

The quivering of his bottom lip as he searched for something to say, his brow drawing together in disgust with himself and concern for you was overwhelming, even as he had finally closed the distance enough to touch your elbow with his fingertips. Part of you begged to tug away, but the desperate plea from his lips kept you stationary enough for him to envelope you, to bring his strong arms and broad body around you to crush you into him, cradling your head against his shoulder as you finally were able to let all of the tears out and into the fine knit cotton of his shirt.

“It’s over,” he whispered.

_______

In the beginning, you hadn’t noticed just how badly you were fading away from Seungcheol, your childhood best friend who had been your day one. The two of you grew up together, in each other’s households—your parents knew him well and vice versa. It took a little more than his gruff voice almost growling your name to bring you from the trance you’d put yourself in, thinking about your situation as you tugged rye grass by their strong roots from the ground, chucking them any which way in a failed attempt to distract yourself as the only distracting it gave you was from Seungcheol.

He’d been a bit different with you as well, getting a little more impatient with how much of a space cadet you’d become recently, especially as he lay in the grass, collecting a number of your tugged rye roots on his body while you mindlessly tossed them in his direction.

The look on his face wasn’t happy as he had called your name repeatedly with no response. Finally, when he’d had enough, he covered your hand with his and just short of barking it, called your name to bring you back down to earth.

“Are you going to ignore me all day?” he asked you.

Guilt boiled in your stomach, a knot tying itself in your throat while your instincts begged to tear your gaze away from his. You knew that would be the wrong thing to do, so you stuck it out and stared back at him, despite how uncomfortable it made you because you knew things were bad between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, Cheol, I don’t mean to ignore you,” you finally replied after he had been searching your eyes for the answers, finally having been granted the ability to do so from this once-in-a-lifetime chance that your gaze actually stayed on his, instead of darting away like it usually did.

“I have always said you can tell me when you’re comfortable… I’m not about to go back on that, but what’s going on?” he asked, in no mood to be playing around anymore, and he made that very apparent with the way his hand clenched around yours when you tried to tug it away. Your gaze finally cast away from his eyes and down to your hands, his hand engulfing yours as you thought about what to say, eventually but inevitably coming up blank.

You weren’t about to discuss with him anything that was going on with your no-good boyfriend; the exact one that Seungcheol had warned you about in the first place. Thoroughly, but not without a lot of persistence, you had convinced Seungcheol that he was wrong about this boy, that he treated you right, and he did… in the begging. But the male in front of you was no fool; he had known you much longer than you gave him credit for.

With your response incredibly delayed as you tried to search for the perfect lie, Seungcheol’s brows rose to create knowing and expecting wrinkles in his forehead that prompted for your answer, an answer he knew he wasn’t going to like. He cleared his throat, prompting you again as it drew your attention back to him.

“I’ve just got a lot going on.”

It was the same excuse you used time and time again. It really just meant you weren’t comfortable talking to him about it, which he tried to respect, but eventually enough was going to be enough.

_______

After that, it wasn’t him asking you what was wrong.

It was you showing up at his door unannounced with tears streaking down your face, a frantic and hysteric mess as you stood on your quivering legs outside his front door. The first time, his throat was knotted so tight he felt like he could barely breathe. Having never seen you like this, it definitely was a wake-up call. His hands shook at his sides, unsure of what to do as he stood there in front of you, watching you stand there in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest, shivering in the rain of the monsoon, makeup messy across your high cheeks and hair plastered to your face.

A solid few moments passed before he regained semi-consciousness, at least enough to drag you through the front door of his home and wordlessly find you a towel as you stood on the tile of the entry way; at least his place was warm.

Of course, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen you cry, but it certainly was the first time you’d come to him completely unannounced, hysteric beyond control with nothing to say as only violent sobs and hyperventilation were able to make it out of your mouth leaving no room for an explanation. Part of him didn’t really need one right now, he just wanted to make sure you were okay as he toweled you off, drying your soaking wet hair before disappearing to find you some clothes to change in to; he knew you probably wouldn’t be leaving.

So after he gave you some privacy to change your clothes, he gathered the big Sherpa blanket that lay across the back of his couch and wrapped it over his back before collecting you on your way into the living room. The fire that had already been built illuminated the slightly russet tinge in his skin, but had his dark brown eyes glowing a beautiful deep amber as he looked at you. He took you into his arms, plopping the two of you on the floor in front of the fire as he cradled you between his legs, wrapping the large blanket around the both of you to keep you warm. Maybe it wasn’t a good move, but with zero protest from you, it couldn’t have possibly hurt.

When your tears had subsided and your breathing had returned to normal, he still didn’t ask you. Maybe now was the time you were comfortable enough to tell him, so he tried to wait patiently. The fire hissed and popped, flickering light throughout the living room, but the warmth from the fire seemed to pale in comparison to the warmth of the body against your back and the breath against your neck. He tilted his head against yours, rocking the both of you soothingly side to side as the tears dried on your cheeks.

“Are you okay?” he asked you quietly. You were shocked by the question, not anticipating that would be the one he was going to ask, but you relaxed into him none the less, without an answer. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to answer him, you just weren’t sure how, so you felt it best to answer simply.

“No,” you replied just as quietly. It was honest, but didn’t give too much away. The truth of the matter was, you weren’t okay, but you were in an indescribable predicament that made it hard for even you to fully understand what the implications of your answer truly meant.

Your answer tightened his grip around you, his chin sinking deeper into the crook of your neck as he held you close. He could still feel your faint but still only occasional shivers, your hair still damp but at least you were in dry clothes. You were soaked to the bone, no doubt, as he had no idea how long you had been wandering around in the rain.

Time continued by without explanation, and you put up a vain fight when he prompted you to stay. With uncertainty about where you were going to go or who you were going to stay with, he thought it better that you were with him, so he offered you—and tucked you into—his bed for the night and took his place on the couch, the large Sherpa blanket keeping himself warm with the displacement to the living room.

_______

It had gotten to the point where even your mother got involved.

In the form of a phone call, Seungcheol was informed that you’d basically fallen off the map. It wasn’t unusual anymore for you to not answer his texts for days at a time, so he assumed you’d get back to him when you could. But when your mother called on him to ask if you were doing okay, he became frantic.

A heartbeat against the cage of his chest felt like it was about to burst through his ribs, his hands shaky on the phone even as he managed to keep his tone flat and even with your mother, informing her that he hadn’t heard from you in a couple of days but wouldn’t mind going over to check on you. What she couldn’t see, behind the phone-call, was the fact that his fist was clenching at his side, couldn’t hear the grinding of his teeth as he tried to be civil with your mother.

Seungcheol had a hunch and a pit in his stomach, neither of which he was very fond of. The situation became a little more urgent when your mother informed him that you were supposed to go over to her place for dinner the night before last and that she hadn’t heard from you since before then, when the plans were made.

Finessing your mom off the phone was a different story—he was trying his best to hang up so he could head over to your place to make sure you were okay. He was seeing red as he made his way, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of his car as he drove next to mindlessly to your apartment, with one thought coursing through his brain.

He begged to catch him there, your boyfriend. He begged to catch him doing some whack shit that earned Seungcheol’s clenched fist on the side of his face, or square between the eyes, anywhere he could reach. Only in passing a couple of times had you mentioned that your relationship was slowly falling apart, but every time Seungcheol even thought about trying to pry it out of you, you shut down; he took that chance less and less because he was already losing the you he knew from before and was going to cherish what he had left as you slowly faded away from him.

His ears were lit on fire with the pounding in his head, his heart racing in his chest as he approached the door of your apartment, noticing it was already slightly ajar. The beating just increased, almost deafeningly pounding in his eardrums as he took the knob of your door and simply pushed it open. Upon first inspection, he was already calling your name. A nice porcelain lamp that normally adorned the end table to the couch in your living room was shattered on the floor, the lampshade not unscathed and immediately he was calling your name.

Carefully stepping around the shards on the floor, he worked deeper into your apartment, silencing the pounding in his ears to listen for you, like listening for the rustling of leaves in the forest looking for prey; Seungcheol was alert. Faintly his ears caught the nearly silent sobs muffled by the sweater sleeve dangling over your hand while you sat on your bathroom floor, legs splayed out to the sides of you, and it wasn’t long before he froze in the doorway after having processed the total destruction of your bedroom.

He pushed aside the images of your bed a total mess, dresser drawers pulled all over the floor, clothes everywhere, closet nothing less than destroyed, your nightstand and accompanying lamp and photos toppled over and scattered about as he looked at you.

Your name came as an inaudible stutter from his dry, cracked lips. Erratic shaking from himself was the least of his worries as he watched you shake on the tile floor, your hair a complete mess, makeup all over your face as you continued to sob into your hands as if you hadn’t noticed his arrival. Tentatively, he stepped into the bathroom, shuffling across the floor with one question on his mind, but it didn’t come out as a question.

“If he so much as laid an aggressive finger on any part of you…” Seungcheol trailed off, squatting in front of you to give you a quick inspection, but he couldn’t see anything on the surface. His voice was calm, collected if it could be called that, though his words implied something sinister if there was an affirmation to follow. You refused to acknowledge either way, a sob choking in your throat in surprise at Seungcheol’s gentle touch to push your hair away from your face, gingerly tucking it behind your ear so that he could get a better look at you.

“Did he hit you? Did he grab you, did he assault you in any way?” he asked, delicately pushing your hand away from your mouth so that he could tilt your chin up, bringing your swollen and glossy gaze to his.

The unnerving shake of your head wasn’t convincing enough as your head barely moved enough in his grip to be considered a negative response.

“Don’t… don’t lie to me,” he almost growled, having a good idea where to look first. Again, you shook your head, this time with a bit more conviction than the first, but gave yourself away as you tried to scramble away from him the second his fingertips touched the collar of your turtleneck sweater.

“Seungcheol,” you barely squeaked, pushing against the tile floor until your back was up against the bathtub with nowhere to go. You yelped, and hissed in pain, when he wrapped a hand around your upper arm, hardly aggressive enough to be considered a grab, and he flinched away. His blood was boiling again, even though he looked at you with nothing but pure tenderness, knowing you desired his comfort—he made it clear he didn’t need an explanation, knowing that it was that good-for-nothing boyfriend of yours causing problems as if that was the only thing he knew how to do.

It wasn’t a good idea to push it any further, so he didn’t. He just slithered fully onto the floor and up against your bathtub to gather you into his lap and wrap his arms tight around you as if to protect you from everything bad in the world. Silently, the tears continued to fall from your eyes to soak into his shirt as they did so many times at this point.

All he could do was sit there and soothe you, rub your back and tell you everything was going to be okay, even though he knew it was never going to be okay until something was done about it. Despite the abuse, the cold shoulder that you gave Seungcheol, he would never leave you.

_______

Turns out, Seungcheol did have a breaking point.

After another situation turned disaster at your apartment when your boyfriend showed up unannounced and things got out of control again, as they normally did, Seungcheol offered you to stay with him for a few days to get yourself together and hopefully make a decision he long awaited for. He knew your place wasn’t safe, and neither was your mother’s—he was the only option you had and he basically begged down on his knees for you to come stay with him.

But the situation turned sour pretty quickly.

Accidentally, you’d left the bedroom door cracked while you were changing and Seungcheol, who would be the absolute last person to intentionally peep on you, caught a glimpse of some things he wished he never saw—things he wished were never there. Splotches across your upper arms, your torso, some dark, some fading and greenish-yellow, some big, some small, stains of pain and anguish littering your skin and not even Seungcheol had it in him to ignore it. He’d seen the bruises occasionally, but you always reminded him of what a klutz you were, and blamed it on bumping into things. You knew he had his suspicions, but he never fought you on it, until now.

He wasn’t sure whether to be infuriated beyond fathom, or be hurt for you. Either way, he made his presence known pretty quickly when he cleared his throat and knocked on the frame of the door, not really caring that you were standing in the middle of a lit room half-naked under his gaze. Immediately, you were less concerned by your distinct lack of a shirt than you were about his scrutinizing gaze upon all of the marks of physical abuse across your skin.

“I can explain—”

“You have quite a bit of explaining to do, starting with why you haven’t left that son of a bitch knowing you have two perfectly safe places to stay,” he barked back, short and stinging, you almost sunk away from him as you finally pulled a loose-knit sweater over your head.

“Seungcheol,” you tried, but he was quick with something else to say.

“I’m going to fucking kill that piece of shit for thinking he could ever get away with this!”

His voice was loud, cacophonous as it boomed through his small apartment. He didn’t want to hear your explanation anymore with every intention of grabbing his coat and heading out the door to give that guy what was coming to him. When he turned away from the door, electricity shot through you, knowing you had to stop him.

“Don’t, please!” you cried, light on your feet out the bedroom door after him, clinging onto his left arm with dear life when that was the only thing you could get a hold of. He whipped around to face you, the rage in his eyes palpable through the tense air as he stared you down.

“Why?” he started quietly, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t go down there and give him the ass kicking of his life? Give me one good reason why he deserves to get out of this when all he has done is abuse you!”

It took everything you had not to shrink away from his rough voice, from the venom he spat in your face even if it wasn’t directed at you. Firmly, you held on, tugging at his arm. Tears stung your eyes, cropping up against your lashes and threatened to spill over in less than an instant. It hardly smothered the crimson rage dusted across Seungcheol’s cheeks, but even still his eyes began to soften on you.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered, almost as a plea to keep him there with you, instead of abandoning you. “I’m sorry for making you angry, I’m sorry for putting you through this.”

The lump in his throat doubled in size as he listened to you speak, apologizing when there was nothing for you to apologize for, particularly for taking blame for things that weren’t your fault. He reeled back from you, violently tearing his arm from your grasp as if he was disgusted, as if you had insulted his family with your apology.

“I can’t just sit by and do nothing while you’re suffering so much!” he retaliated, volume at max once more and you swore it rattled the pictures on the end table of his living room. “I have kept my silence, time and time again, with the hope that you were being honest with me! Only to find that my gut feelings were right the whole time, that you were in danger and screaming out to me the more you pulled away and I should have listened! I should have done something sooner!”

Tears were pricking at his eyes now, which was quite rare—you were fairly certain you’d never actually seen Seungcheol cry, much less in front of you. He was always the rock, the constant place of assurance and stability, the only source of that you had in your entire life and here he was, crumbling because of you.

“I can’t stand by anymore,” he replied, volume toned down, voice rickety and weak as he clenched his jaw, trying to pull those tears back from falling down his cheeks. He reached over to the chair to tug his leather jacket off of it and throw it over his shoulders—his destination not far; he knew where to go.

“Seungcheol, please!” you begged, finally finding life in your feet as you lurched to him, tugging at his arm once more before he turned to you, tugging the necklace off of himself to place it over your head and around your neck.

“I should have done all of this a long time ago,” he muttered to you as you dropped his arm, anticipating he was going to stay, but what came next you just about least expected.

Seungcheol’s dry, cracked, angry lips pressed against yours, begging to transfer emotions he couldn’t quite display through words. Despite the complete surprise, your eyes were quick to flutter closed and savor the way he tasted against your mouth. With enough mind, one of your hands grabbed the opening of his jacket while the other clenched the pendant around your neck. His soft fingers carded through the hair on the back of your neck as he tilted you back just a tiny bit until he broke the kiss, his warm breath against your lips.

“Don’t follow me,” he begged you, coaxing your hand to unclench his jacket. There wasn’t enough time to squeak out his name before he was gone, but you’d be damned if you were just going to let him go.

A disgustingly cocky laugh rang through Seungcheol’s ears as he came upon the group he was just looking to see, along with a couple of your girl friends who often hung out with the group since they all somehow seemed to be affiliated. It never swayed his firm pace though as he approached the group with such fervor, unbridled rage and determination.

“Get off the bike,” he called to the group calmly, pining our now ex-boyfriend who just looked over his shoulder, removing the helmet from his head as he did just that, dismounting the bike. That nasty, cocky laugh filled his ears again, but it just drove him further as he clenched his fists, white-knuckled by his sides as his pace appeared to have no intention of slowing. Some of the girls gasped, mentioning your name, while the boys were getting ready for what was undoubtedly coming.

“Well, if it isn’t Seungcheol,” he laughed, well aware that the match was unfair with his posse to his back and Seungcheol just by himself.

He gathered the front of your ex-boyfriend’s shirt in his hands, roughly tugging him to himself, the taller of the two, “You must think you’re so fucking clever, but I’ve been on to you since day one. I hope my face is the last thing you see before you hit the floor.”

Two firm and strong hands hit his chest, pushing him away from your shorter ex-boyfriend. He laughed again.

“You can have my sloppy seconds, if that’s what you want,” he told Seungcheol before his eyes shifted over the taller male’s shoulders. “Well, well, if it isn’t the slut herself.”

“Fucking excuse me?” Seungcheol growled, launching his hand up so fast there would hardly have been any time to react even if he saw it coming to wrap fingers around the smaller boy’s throat. He slapped Seungcheol’s hand away and pushed again. Many of the girls who were hanging on the arms of their man held them back at the sight of you—supposedly some of your closest friends—to stay out of the scuffle between the keeper of your heart and one who claimed at some point that he would keep it safe, just to trample all over that promise.

“You’re really going to do this, get your ass beat, all for that little tramp?”

“The only piece of shit whose ass is going to get beat is yours,” Seungcheol replied as he shrugged his jacket off.

And there you were, stuck in the middle of all of this as you watched the smooth leather of Seungcheol’s jacket hit the asphalt; suddenly your feet were glued to the floor. It all seemed to be in slow motion, the way your ex-boyfriend chested up to Seungcheol. Your throat was drier than the Sahara, killing anything that could have possibly thought about coming out. For certain, your heart was pounding against the cage of your chest as you watched the tussle unfold in front of your eyes. There was a lot of yelling by not only the boys, but the group in the back. Many sympathetic looks came from the girls, but you felt you couldn’t even look to them anymore for anything. You were so far removed from the group at this point, and by the time it was over—could you even call them your friends anymore? They did help Seungcheol, holding the crew back, exclaiming it wasn’t their fight and they needed to stay out of it. At some point you’d moved far enough to snatch his jacket from the ground, clutching it to your chest, drowning in his scent.

The crunch of Seungcheol’s fist, once so restrained, against the cheekbone of your ex-boyfriend drew a hand up to cover your mouth, the subsequent gasps ringing through the air didn’t even seem to faze you as you watched the bloodied face of a boy you once loved tumble to the ground. You were sure the ground was shaking under you, but it was just you, quivering on your two legs as you stared at Seungcheol, at the way he shook out his hand after the follow through, pained from the contact.

It was hard to look at him the same anymore, after all of the things he said to his fighting counterpart. Nasty things you were certain could never fall from his mouth as they tussled, small punches here and there, but none wound up quite like his.

The breath you were about to take hitched in your throat the second Seungcheol looked over his shoulder at you. His face was slightly bloodied, but you were one hundred percent certain it wasn’t his own blood. His eyes seemed to glimmer, despite the situation as his shoulders heaved, lungs searching for air that you seemed to take away from him. Part of you was concerned he wasn’t finished as the shorter male groaned and writhed on the ground, but he retracted and stood upright, allowing for the crew to come collect the boy on the ground.

Over his back, his heaving shoulders, the back of his dark head of hair, your eyes traveled everywhere until he finally turned to face you. You were sure he called your name by the way his mouth moved, but you couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in your throat. Confidently, you could say in that very moment, you feared Seungcheol in a similar way to your ex-boyfriend. He stepped towards you, and cautiously, you stepped away.

The glossy finish that covered your tear-ridden eyes drew concern onto Seungcheol’s face. He drew his bloodied fist behind his back, as if that was to absolve everything that had already happened right in front of your eyes. He watched the way you gripped the pendant around your neck, the way your breath choked in your throat, the way you looked over him—cautious of him. He shook his head; this was exactly why he didn’t want you to follow him, the fear you would see him differently after everything was said and done.

When you finally were able to speak out his name, he already had something to say to you in reassurance.

“I will never do anything but passionately defend you until my last breath. Watching you stand here and look at me like this… with that hint of fear in your eyes…”

You shook your head, not wanting to hear anything else as your tears finally trickled down your cheek, stepping back when he stepped again.

“I knew you would see me differently after this. I begged you not to follow me. These hands would never touch you anything other than tenderly, but I can see the fear, the hesitation I knew would be there and if I lost you because of it, at least I defended what was right.”

During his small speech, he’d managed to make it within arms-length of you, both of his hands out to you, turned skyward to reassure you there was nothing there, nothing but openness, nothing but affection, nothing other than the Seungcheol you always knew. He touched your elbow, coaxing you towards him until he was able to cradle your head against his shoulder, feeling the tension leave your body as you were finally able to cry into his chest.

“It’s over,” he whispered. “You never have to go through this again. You’ve been so strong and maybe I was rash—I never want to see that level of hurt on you, physically or emotionally, ever again.”

“Please, take me home with you,” was all you could muster as a response against his chest.

His heart panged for you, the desperation in your voice crushing him on the inside. There would be a lot of talking to be had, probably a couple of late nights as you sorted everything out. Seungcheol had saved you from the worst, there was no disagreeing with that, but it would definitely take some time to associate everything you witnessed today with that as something positive instead of something negative. It would take a while before you didn’t flinch anymore, before he could touch you tenderly as promised and have you lean into it instead of check him every step of the way.

He was the boy you should have been with the whole time, from the beginning; his heart had always belonged to you. You hated that it took so much for you to see it, for you to be on the verge of losing him entirely to finally realize your rightful spot all along.

Seungcheol was nothing but patient, kind, and loving as he helped you through the recovery process. He kissed your bruises every day until they were gone, and even after, kissed against your skin to reassure you that he was passionate about you. He held you close when you’d wake in the middle of the night with nightmares of the past. Never did he lift a finger to you that wasn’t tender. He loved you properly, avidly, hearteningly. You were open with him again, his again, the way you should have been, the way you were before.

He wanted to give you the world, but his world was you.

[3laxx]

Confession training

Older Oneshot I wrote about 2 years ago and never uploaded because... Don't ask me. Have fun reading!

After a long and cold analysis, Alya comes to terms with having a crush on her best friend Marinette. And as the right moment comes, Alya acts as we know her - not hesitating to take actions into her hand.

Ao3 / FF.net

Alya didn’t know what hit her when she stared after her best friend.

It had been a normal school day, Marinette had talked normally to her, Alya had been doing the exercises – everything had been normal.

But then her best friend, her bluenette, had waved her goodbye and walked down the stairs in front of the school. She knew the bakery was right over the street, as was, of course, Marinette’s home.

Alya’s way back home was always in the opposite direction and normally they would have said goodbye at the end of the stairs, but today Marinette was in a hurry.

Mumbling something about a big order in the bakery and she had to help her parents, softly hugging Alya and waving, then storming off.

Something had caught Alya’s interest.

Was it her deep-night-blue hair? Her adorable pigtails?

Alya honestly didn’t know. She shook her head and headed home without a second look after her best friend.

The next day she was even more confused.

Something about Marinette had kept her restless the night before and she couldn’t, she couldn’t figure out what it was. It drove her insane.

She was a reporter, kept the Ladyblog updated with news only minutes after an akuma attack shook the city once again. Holy, she even made a live blog of literally every. Single. Akuma. Attack.

It was her job to figure things out.

It was her freaking job to know what’s going on.

But her own behavior was a mystery to her. Her own feelings made her question her talent of reporting. She was confused.

Coming to school, being near to Marinette, talking like everything was normal, this day it was a mess. Just sitting next to the bluenette made her hands act weird, sweating and trembling. She was constantly adjusting her glasses, tensed up when the girl turned to her, stuttered when her best friend talked, breathed heavier when the bluenette laughed and felt her stomach flutter when Marinette touched her.

At lunchbreak, Alya was a mess. Not visibly, she was quite capable of holding her poker face, but on the inside, everything screamed at her in high alert. Something kept her being tense at any minute and she didn’t know, what it was, she didn’t. Freaking. KNOW!

As Marinette and she walked to the bakery of her parents to eat there, Alya thought of everything she could to explain her sudden jumpiness around Marinette.

Maybe she had forgotten a bet? Maybe she still had debts to pay off? Maybe she was pissed at her best friend but had forgotten why? Or maybe she was going through a weird phase in puberty?

No, there had to be something else… Maybe she was jealous of Adrien for spending more time with Marinette?

In an instant, Alya shook her head, denying her thoughts.

Her? Jealous?

The brunette almost laughed.

Jealous at Adrien? Yeah, right. Nobody spent as much time with Marinette as she did, because obviously they were best friends! Adrien had Nino, after all, and a pretty packed schedule because of his father. He kept him busy with fencing, Chinese and piano lessons and on top of that modelling. After all, his father was a famous designer and so his son had to model for him.

Poor Adrien, Alya thought.

Marinette and she walked through the side door, climbing up the stairs to the flat of the Dupain-Cheng Household right after greeting the parents of the bluenette.

Upstairs they prepared a few sandwiches which they would eat in Marinette’s room while discussing the homework for their lessons after lunch.

After being alone in Marinette’s room for almost an hour now, Alya felt like a nervous wreck.

Finally, finally she had been able to understand what has been going on with her.

She had a crush.

A totally awkward crush on her best friend.

And being alone with her that long did nothing to make Alya feel better because her stomach gave her a hard time. Even eating was stressful, because oh holy shit Marinette looked so damn cute as she nibbled at her sandwich looking at her notes taken in class.

Alya looked away, almost throwing up because of the many, _many_ butterflies in her stomach.

A distraction, a distraction… Quickly!

She pulled out her phone, laughed at a cute kitten Nino had sent her and checked their classes for the afternoon. She raised her eyebrows at the surprise the internet held for her.

“Hey, did you know our afternoon classes were canceled?”

Marinette looked up, pretty surprised herself, and went to sit directly next to Alya and holy mother of god her scent-

“No, I didn’t!”

“Hold on, I’ll text someone and ask if they knew.”

She quickly got an answer of Nino who was with Adrien and Kim at a café at that time. They apparently knew.

“Huh, weird. How could we miss this?”

“Hm, dunno…”, Alya shrugged, “But they’re cancelled and we got free time, that’s for sure.”

They smiled at each other and Alya thought she might go crazy because oh my freaking god Marinette looked at her and holy she had butterflies in her throat by now-

“Alya, you alright?”, Marinette, naive and young Marinette asked her.

“Uh-… Huh-… Yeah. No worries.”, she grinned.

The bluenette repeated her grin and then looked down to her sketchbook. There was a short silence between them but Alya made sure she soon broke it.

“Hey, Marinette?”

Her best friend looked up and Alya grimaced on the inside, praying not to fall unconscious.

“Yeah, Alya?”

“I-… Uh-… You like Adrien.”, she could’ve slapped herself. Way to go, Alya…

Marinette thought about that for a while. Alya almost died as the bluenette spoke again.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, he’s a great friend and all… But I’m over the crush I had on him. Why would you ask?”

“Haha, uh… Nothing. I mean-… I noticed…”, the brunette suddenly found a great interest in her fingernails.

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing. I just-… I think you still like Adrien.”

“As a friend, Alya.”, Marinette slightly touched her hand, making her jump, “You seem weird lately. Haven’t seen you that strained before…”

Alya laughed too loudly at that, too hysterical, too long. But as she shook her head, Marinette was beside her once again.

“You sure? ‘Cuz I’m worried…”

“Ah, no need to be worried. I just-… I noticed I like somebody.”

Marinette’s shoulders slumped a bit at that but Alya hadn’t seen it.

“Oh, okay then… Who is it?”

Suddenly, Alya had an idea. Quickly she straightened her back and found the gaze of her best friend, even though she totally died while doing so!

“I wanna tell her that I love her, Marinette.”

“Well, then… Just tell her.”

“Just like that? No, I’m too unsure of how to tell her. I need practice first.”

Marinette laughed at that, being a bit uncertain at what Alya wanted to do.

“Well then…”

“Can I practice with you?”

“Uh-… Yeah? Of course…”

“I love you!”

“Good god, you’re just gonna blurt it out like this? Heck no. Do it a little softer.”

Alya tried again.

And again.

And again.

Until Marinette looked satisfied.

“Now you got it. I think that’s perfect.”, she laughed, “So now, go on and tell her!”

Alya leaned in.

Now was the time and even though she was nervous as hell, she had to do it now.

Carefully she took Marinette’s hand from her knee, interlocking their fingers, just as her best friend had instructed her to do while practicing.

“Marinette…”, she began, her eyes as wide of excitement as the eyes of the girl in front of her of surprise.

“Marinette, I love you.”

She slowly leaned forwards and brought her other hand to Marinette’s chin to guide her to where she wanted her to be. The bluenette’s eyes fluttered lightly before they closed, giving Alya the permission to continue to lean in.

Their lips lightly touched, as if it were only a little blow of summer wind, but soon Alya claimed her best friend’s half open mouth as hers, with newfound confidence in Marinette’ silent agreement.

The bluenette’s lips were soft as a pillow and tasted like her strawberry lipstick that Alya had bought her just the week before. Breathless, they parted, but held their gaze as they gasped for air.

“I just did.”

“What?”

“I just told her.”

Marinette seemed to need a little moment before she realized what Alya was aiming at.

“Oh you-…”, she threw a light punch at Alyas arm, before grinning like crazy.

“You planned that!”

Alya laughed but shook her head.

“I’m sorry to pop your bubble but no, that was 100% spontaneous.”

Her best friend, no, girlfriend, laughed and kissed her once more.

“You are unbelievable!”

“And you are unbelievably cute.”

Marinette blushed but laid her hand over Alyas.

“Glad you think so.”

Alya smiled as they shared another kiss.

Without her noticing, between sweet kisses, Marinette winked at a little Kwami hiding at her desk, with one thumb held high up.

And the Kwami cheered in silence as she watched the girls enjoying their free time.

Let me know if you liked it?

[neothebean]

Oh, yeah, almost forgot to post a segment of my writing haha. Here you go (it’s long):

Yuma Tazino was a decidedly intimidating woman. Even in her raging panic over Miu’s sudden attack, Filly had hesitated to send for her. She knew from talk that the Tazino family had no insignificant amount of wealth—hell, everyone in Bergard had heard it by now. It was one of the major talking points whenever people discussed the “Kidamari ladies,” as they were generally called, at least in Filly’s circles. Judging by Yuma’s behavior—and even Miu’s, sometimes, Filly thought—that wealth had come with a social status to match.

So it was with some trepidation that Filly Roan led Mrs Tazino into her own cluttered office. At least she would be in control there, being in her own field. The cramped office usually made visitors a touch uncomfortable. That would even the game a little.

But, as Filly took her seat behind her desk, Yuma continued to stand, staring her in the face. She had impeccable posture, that woman. And a tall, lean figure that would have perhaps drawn in the men if there wasn’t a dangerous sort of power lurking behind her every movement. And though Yuma wore a modest Highlands dress—hardly any fancier than ones Filly herself owned—and had braided her hair to match Highlands fashion, they couldn’t cover the sharp look in her eyes or the hard set to her jaw. 

Miu resembled her mother a lot, Filly thought. 

“I thought the girl’s parents would be here,” Yuma said. Her accent, like Miu’s, was clean and clipped. Unlike Miu, Yuma had a certain command of the language that made Filly think she must have learned it from a native speaker. Hardly noticeable, but since she was used to listening to Miu, Filly had noticed almost immediately on their first meeting.

“Couldn’t make it,” Filly answered, her eyes flicking to the empty chair. Why wasn’t she sitting? Couldn’t she just sit? “Her mother will be here in an hour or so to take her home. They work long hours, that’s as soon as either can make it.” Might be better, anyway. (Name) could get hysterical, at times, especially over Carcajou. Who could blame her, with two dead sons and even more stillborn children before them? An unlucky woman, and plenty old before her time, too. No, it was certainly better that she and Yuma Tazino not have this meeting together.

“Please, sit,” she added, gesturing toward the chair. Spirits, this woman made her nervous standing there like that. “Might as well get comfortable. Much as you can, anyway. Hopefully this won’t take long.”

“I’m sure it won’t.” Yuma finally sat, settling into the chair with perfect poise. She crossed her legs and placed her hands carefully on her knee. 

“Well, let’s, eh, get to it, then.” Get it together, Fils, she told herself. When was the last time she was this unsettled in front of a parent? Probably the last time Boar Sower had stepped into her office, drunk off his rocker, screaming about his boy’s grades. That had been quite some time ago, fortunately; all staff was now required to report his appearance as soon as it was noted. “The simple fact of the matter, ma’am, is that Miu handled herself quite inappropriately this afternoon.”

“Indeed,” Yuma said, the word dropping out of her mouth as if it tasted bad. “She was not raised to behave in such a manner.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t.” Filly nodded, buying herself a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’ll go over the incident as quickly as I can, Mrs Tazino, and then we can discuss what to do about the, eh…problem.”

Yuma made no response, only sat in silence, her eyes locked on Filly’s face. Cripes. So that was where Miu got that cool look she was so good at. She put on her best no-fuss voice. “Right. From what I’ve gathered—from witnesses, mind you, Miu doesn’t care much to speak on her own behalf—Miss (Surname) and Miu were engaged in a verbal argument. Cari—Miss (Surname)—said a few rude things, what children don’t, of course, and then, suddenly, Miu leapt on her.”

“What sort of rude things did this Miss (Surname) say?”

“Nothing she hasn’t said to Miu before,” Filly said quickly, trying not to let that commanding tone get to her. She shifted in her seat anyway, just a little, hopefully not enough to be noticed. “You see, Cari thinks a little highly of herself. She’s been told off a few times for her outward thoughts, but I assure you, Miu has never given her much response in turn. They’re rarely even near each other. The way your daughter acted today, ma’am…I’ve never see her like that. I don’t know what came over—”

“What were the words, exactly?” 

Filly couldn’t find her voice for a moment, Yuma’s tone was so cold. “Eh, I don’t have the exact words, I’ll admit. The girls who were there were a bit upset over the whole thing, and Hart, well…it’s hard to get him to say a bad thing about anybody, even if it’s true. Not even to protect Miu, I guess, though he usually tries to.” Then again, considering he’d been at the receiving end of Miu’s blows, too, perhaps he wasn’t too keen on her protecting her this time.

One eyebrow went up slightly at the mention of Hart’s name, but it returned to normal just as quickly so that Filly had to question if she’d really seen it or not. “Surely you can tell me something.” Calm but unrelenting, demanding an answer. “I’d like a little insight into my daughter’s situation here. She’s never told me of any problems in her classes, but there must be something, if she’s settling things with her fists. That’s not the way she was taught to conduct herself, and Miu is usually a good student.”

“You’d probably get a clearer version from Miu herself, ma’am.” Was Yuma really not aware of the obstacle course Miu had been traversing since entering her class? Perhaps she should have another meeting with her sometime. Or write a letter. That was easier.

“As you’ve said yourself,” Yuma replied, the sharpness in her voice hinting that she was getting tired of the current direction of the conversation, “Miu is a bit stubborn when it comes to telling her side of things. She’s no different at home, I assure you.”

“Well, then, eh, let’s see…” Filly shuffled through some papers on her desk as if looking for notes. Truth be told, she was stalling. She knew the sorts of things Cari had said—they were the same as the others, she could be quite certain of that—and they were damning things, indeed. That didn’t make Miu’s behavior any less egregious, but it might in a mother’s eyes.

She finally picked up the master copy of her syllabus and looked at it as if reading notes off it. “Looks like Cari called Miu a name, no one would tell me what it was.” That was a lie, but she didn’t care to repeat the word in front of Yuma. It wasn’t awful, not as bad as things Peccary had said, and not even specifically a slur against Kidamari. But it wasn’t anything that should be repeated in polite company, anyway. “Cari was being, eh…generally mocking. That’s a Cari standard, ma’am, nothing new. And then…eh, Hart wouldn’t tell me the exact words, but Cari said something rude concerning Miu’s father. That was the end of the words and the beginning of the fists.”

There was definitely a reaction this time, no mistake. Yuma’s face darkened like sudden storm clouds, her mouth stretching into a hard, thin line. She sat mutely for a long few seconds, her eyes fixed on Filly but not seeming to see her.

“Thank you for your elaboration,” she said finally, her eyes still a little distant. “Let’s discuss Miu’s punishment.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Filly floundered, taken aback by her sudden shift of interest. It made her wonder what had gone on with Miu’s father. Of course, that was an even more common discussion topic than the Tazino’s financial status. “Eh, usually, I try to make students who get into fights work together somehow, make them seek a common goal. Sometimes it eases tension for the future.”

Yuma finally moved her gaze off Filly’s face, instead staring past her shoulder, out the little rectangular window high up on the wall. She seemed to be thinking, though if it was about the current topic or a more personal one, Filly couldn’t be sure.

“I did have an idea, if you’re agreeable to it.” She was feeling a bit more confident now that she didn’t have that chilly gaze fixed on her. She hoped Yuma would acquiesce to her suggestion; she’d be glad when this meeting was over with. 

Yuma’s eyes returned to her, a silent gesture of interest.

“You see, Cari is quite…industrious. She works odd jobs around town to earn spending money. I thought maybe Miu could help her during the summer break. Might even be good for Miu, get her out and about in town, you know.”

Yuma glanced away again, as if considering. It was only for a few moments, but it felt incredibly long to Filly. She really couldn’t wait to be out of this room, away from this woman’s overbearing presence.

“Yes, I think that would be suitable. No pay would go to Miu, of course.”

“Well, I should think that would be up to Cari’s em—”

Yuma shook her head in a way that prevented argument. “No, no pay, I’ll have to insist on it. She’ll help the whole break?”

“All six weeks.” If they could get through it without another incident, that is. “Plus an essay from Miu about the experience. You know, what she learned, how she feels, has she learned her lesson. Standard stuff.”

Yuma nodded once, curtly, and began to stand. “Very good. I think it will serve its purpose. If you don’t mind, Miss Roan, I’d like to see my daughter now.”

“Sure, of course.” Filly nearly fell scrambling out of her chair. Yes, please, madam, let me hold the door for you! “I’ll lead you to the office.” “I can find it, thank you.”

Yuma waited for Filly to open the door, then stepped through it as if she was as glad to quit the meeting as Filly was. She watched the woman go, walking down the hallway as if she owned it, and let out a sigh.

And she’d thought the heat would be the most uncomfortable part of her day.

[cult-of-kai]

The Sword of Swift Justice

Thoughts on episode eight, ‘Winter of Our Discontent’:

This episode was like the ghost of predictions past for me…

The promo picture called Cheyenne Jackson’s character ‘Dr. Rudy Vincent’, but his name in the show is Dr. Vincent Anderson. Surely this was done to preserve the surprise reveal. Right away, we find out that Vincent is innocent of all but being a lousy shrink. But even then- wait. Is he a lousy shrink? He’s exasperated by Ally, to be sure- but so were we. So was Ivy, for all that she had other issues as well. Rosie, beaming, said that Vincent cured her and he responded by praising the work she’d put in. I thought he had to be loading Kai up on Adderall if nothing else, but nope. Kai steals prescription pads from him. Vincent’s eventual fate stings because it comes right when he’s trying to atone for mistakes he is just realizing he made. I reasoned early on that Vincent might not actually be involved in the cult, but I kind of assumed I was overthinking the whole thing. Nope again. Although… there was something a little creepy about the description of “pinky power” (which sounds even sillier than pinky promise), in my opinion. At any rate- RIP, Vincent.

I guess Bebe Babbitt… went missing? I don’t know, but the ladies of the cult are still pissed about being pushed aside. It’s gotten worse, actually, because now they’re stuck cooking for and serving Kai’s army of blueshirt drones. Ivy mentions The Handmaid’s Tale, which I’ll get back to later, and Beverly relates how Kai is manipulating the city council into going along with his decisions. The bit about the gated community is decent class-war commentary. Then it’s time for story time with Winter.

How did Kai-That-Was become the Kai we know? I think it was after the trailer’s release that I called Kai a manipulative whackjob with a messiah complex. But then back in ‘11/9′, we were given the impression of relative- if perhaps dreary- normalcy until Ms. Anderson commits a murder-suicide. This definitely effects him. A mutual of mine (@loonyloomis) pointed out that this was when Kai stopped cutting his hair- Adam Sheppard tease!- and he later gets into peddling fraudulent prescriptions. But he seems to bounce back for the most part, despite living in a house with two rotting corpses. Then the two younger Anderson siblings go to Judgment House on a lark, which Winter presents as the defining turning point in Kai’s life. Symbolically, it makes sense. In a twisted parody of a church, a horror *house of judgment*, Kai is stripped down to his essence- and found wanting. His first instinct upon realizing that Pastor Charles is torturing and killing people is to rescue them, which he does while Winter runs to save herself. This is Kai at his most genuinely heroic. He saved four people, including Winter, from terrible torment and death- not to mention any other victims Pastor Charles would have found. Now just take a minute to imagine how differently things might have gone if Kai had done as the female victim suggested and called the police. But he didn’t, because the better angel of his nature fails. Instead of shining a light on a great evil, he becomes it. He denies Pastor Charles’ victims the justice they choose to do as Winter suggests and kills him, becoming a killer. This- not his parents’ death- is the crack in Kai’s soul, the fissure in his mind. Everything since has been psychodramatic fallout and Kai bringing others down with him. He’s trying to convince himself and everyone around him that he’s on the rise when he is in free-fall.

I’m not sure how prevalent they are overall, but (fake!) Judgment Houses do definitely exist in the South. I specifically remember going to one that was split between heaven and hell. Everyone kept wandering back to hell because the heaven side- white sheets with scripture written all over them- was boring. Parts of Judgment House reminded me of ‘Se7en’, specifically Sloth. That’s undoubtedly deliberate, especially since Winter already name-dropped Fincher last episode. And randomly, AHS co-creator Brad Falchuk dates Gwyneth Paltrow. Others have mentioned similarities to the ‘Saw’ series, but I’ve never seen any of those. Rick Springfield was fine, but Pastor Charles would have been a nice little role for Denis O’Hare.

Anyway. Winter wants to try to reach Kai, because she believes that can happen. They’re all members of a murderous clown cult, but what do I know? Ivy and Beverly agree to give her some time. Winter and Kai meet, and we learn that Kai definitely knows how Harrison died and doesn’t care. They do a pinky power session and shit gets strange fast. Kai has decided, apropos of nothing, that they need to have a messiah baby. And for whatever reason, Winter has to be its mother. Logically, one’s mind goes to incest. But no- it’s going to be so much weirder than that! Kai says they’re going to have a threesome with Detective Samuels but somehow Winter will remain pure. At first I thought maybe Kai was just looking for an excuse to have sex with Samuels, but later events in the episode turned that idea on its head. Winter eventually calls the whole thing off because it gets to be too much nonsense for her. (I mean, it wasn’t until then?) Between the robes and the song and the behavior of all involved, it was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre AHS scenes ever- cringy as hell, but also hysterical and… oddly fitting in a satirical way? In the popular imagination and in reality (to a lesser degree), cult practices are often oddly sexual, cobbled together, and perversions of religious rituals. Kai has a degree in religious studies. Is he trying to sanctify what he and the cult are doing? His opening salvo during pinky power might lead us to believe he’s simply testing Winter, but I don’t know. The whole scenario also evokes ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’, a modern classic about women’s disenfranchisement via reproductive slavery.

As for Winter, what’s her deal? Why was she trolling “social justice warriors” with Kai? Sibling bonding? She seemed to be enjoying it. Was she perhaps also changed by Judgment House? Was her response to the trauma a hard left turn? But she swears to love and be loyal to her brother, who is politically on the opposite shore. In ‘11/9′, she told Ivy she wants to serve someone powerful. It’s all rather baffling. Regardless, Winter wearing a dunce cap and throwing recycling on the side of the road because Kai “doesn’t believe in global warming” is one of the funniest damn things I’ve seen all season. The following confrontation between her and Samuels- especially the line about losing when Hillary did- might suggest she would get more radical and truly join forces with the other women, but that’s not what happens. Instead, she… sells Beverly out? What? In turn, Beverly reads both Kai and Winter for filth.

We *finally* get a little backstory on Samuels, which I’ve been waiting for despite not caring about the character. I suspected he was a Nazi type way back in ‘Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark’, and I was right. He was also a dirty cop pre-cult, although it’s a little rich for Winter to accuse him of being a criminal when- once again- they’re both members of a *murderous clown cult*. He life is complicated by being gay and internalizing homophobia. Kai sees this and immediately goes to work, feeding Samuels a line of misogynistic bullshit and then fucking him for good measure. Kai seems particularly into it as well, which is interesting. I rather wonder how Evan would describe his character’s sexuality. So did Samuels just not care about Harrison at all? It didn’t seem like their involvement was only physical. I specifically remember them cuddling on the couch and discussing their favorite housewives. Eh. RIP, Samuels.

Finally, we have Ally to consider. We see her holding one of Oz’s toy trucks before inviting Kai over to rat Vincent out. She claims to be afraid of nothing now, and that’s after Kai has already noted a change in her. Their little exchange about Manwich is cute, as is her deliberately calling Speed Wagon ‘Aerosmith’. (Seriously, where did the drones’ names come from?) In the final scene, we see that that some drones have taken to wearing the masks of fallen clowns. Ally, staring Ivy down, is wearing the mask of Kai’s former “favorite”- the only one who impressed him. That’s no coincidence. Rise, Ally.

[hysterialevi]

In the Smoke pt. 4 (Cobblebats)

From Thomas’ POV

Exiting my office, both Hamilton and Carmine hastily made their way out of the manor while I stayed behind, contemplating everything they just told me. No one was 100 percent certain yet, but if the rumors circling around were true, then this “Penguin” figure that Hill encountered was actually Oswald Cobblepot in a mask. 

I dragged a hand through my hair, gazing out a nearby window in thought. I had to admit, I was more than a bit surprised when I heard the whispers. Oswald had always been known as a trouble maker anyways, but I never expected his “trouble-making” to reach this level. Illegal boxing, arms dealing, murder, drug abuse--to be honest, I didn’t even think that the boy was still alive. 

After his parents had been dealt with, and he was forced out of the country, I expected the same thing as anyone else. Without the support of his parents, it only seemed logical that Oswald would eventually die off somewhere, unable to sustain and raise himself at such a young age. What else would a child like him be able to do? Well, whatever he went through, he was obviously stronger than I anticipated. 

Moving away from the office, I began aimlessly pacing around the manor, and eventually found myself staring at the door to Bruce’s room with regret. The last thing I wanted to do was keep secrets from my own son, and I wished that we could have a normal relationship, but after what happened with Martha, I could never be too careful. 

For the past twenty years, I had already been strangled with the constant worry about Bruce’s mental health after witnessing a murder--of his own mother, no less--and now, I was concerned for his safety in general. I didn’t care what Hamilton or Carmine thought about my decisions. Bruce was my number one priority, and I would do whatever I could to keep him alive.

Walking up to Bruce’s room, I stopped in front of the closed door and paused for a moment, my hand hovering above its surface as I debated whether or not to talk to him. I sighed to myself. I was a horrible father, wasn’t I? Any normal parent wouldn’t have hesitated speaking to their own child, and yet, here I was, thinking about turning back.

Before I could make any sort of choice though, the door swung open by itself, revealing Bruce in the entryway. He jumped slightly at my sudden appearance.

“Oh!” He blurted out in surprise, “--um, hi. Dad.”

“Heh, sorry,” I replied. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s...it’s fine.”

We both stood there awkwardly, surrounded by uncomfortable silence as Bruce tried to avoid eye contact with me, practically squirming in place while he waited for me to say something.

“Um...” I tried initiating any sort of conversation, “I...just wanted to check up on you. You...doing all right?”

Judging by his fidgety temperament, I could easily tell there was something on Bruce’s mind, though he said otherwise.

"...yeah, I’m good,” he answered. “Just a little...nervous, I guess, about the debate coming up.”

He clearly wasn’t, but I went along with it.

“Hill’s been the mayor of this city for quite a while, Bruce. He’s always had Gotham at his back. I’m confident he’ll win again.”

Bruce was quiet in response, but the look on his face said, “I hope he doesn’t.” Not that it was unexpected. He never told me flat out, but I knew he truly wanted to support Dent in the election. He had expressed his dislike for Hill more than a few times in the past, and on top of that, he and Dent were good friends. Bruce had no reason to support Hill. 

Well, except for the fact that, if he wanted to, Hill could’ve killed all of us with a snap of his fingers--but that was just another secret Bruce didn’t know.

Bringing my eyes downward, I noticed that Bruce was holding something in his hand. I gestured to it.

“What’s that?” The question was meant to be casual, but it seemed to trigger a defensive mode in him, and his grip on the mystery item only tightened.

“Nothing,” he quickly said. Maybe a little too quickly.

Before I could even open my mouth to ask anything else however, the sound of someone calling my name averted my attention.

“Master Thomas,” Alfred announced, humbly standing off to the side, “Mrs. Zellerbach is here to see you. She says it’s a rather urgent matter, and she wishes to discuss it with you immediately.”

“Ah, thank you, Alfred. I’ll be right down.” Bruce and I exchanged looks. “Well, I suppose I should head down and see what Regina wants. We can talk some other time.”

He was a lot less wound up now, probably due to relief, and smiled. “Sure. I’ll see you later, Dad.”

Heading downstairs and away from my son, Alfred followed me from behind as I went to greet my guest, promptly keeping up with my pace and diverting his direction once we passed the kitchen. I decided to throw a glance back at where I had been talking with Bruce, only to find that he had already disappeared from sight. Well, he was certainly in a hurry for something. I only wondered what.

From Bruce’s POV

7:02 - COBBLEPOT PARK

Cautiously stepping into the ruined park, I checked the time Oz had written on the card and then looked at my watch, thoroughly searching around for him. The park was completely empty, just like it had been for the past two decades, save for a homeless man sleeping on the pavement, and there wasn’t any clear sign that Oz had been here. 

I let out a breath of disappointment. I was hoping that he would wait for me, despite being seriously late, or even leave another note, but maybe the invitation wasn’t even real to begin with. Maybe it was just a prank like I suspected, and Oz never contacted me in the first place. 

I headed deeper into the park, examining different areas. There was graffiti staining the walls, dead leaves littered the cracked ground, and the rusted gate creaked weakly in the wind. If I didn’t know what this place was, I would’ve never been able to guess it was Cobblepot Park--a location that was once considered to be one of the most beautiful tourist attractions in Gotham. 

After a few more minutes of pointlessly poking around and hoping for Oz to step out, I decided to abandon this wild goose chase and turned around to leave, only to find a man creeping directly behind me. He glared at me aggressively, switchblade in hand. Shit.

“Watch, wallet, cash,” he ordered, raising the knife, “or this...goes through you.”

I put an arm up in defense, steadily backing away. “You’re making a mistake.”

He ignored the warning and only continued to prowl towards me, cornering me against a bust of Oswald’s father, his eyes never leaving mine. He didn’t look too hard to fight, but I was still careful. After all, regardless of how weak this mugger was, I wasn’t the best when it came to violence either.

Suddenly though, out of nowhere, a smile grew on his face, and that smile eventually grew into hysterical laughter, echoing throughout the empty park. I didn’t know how to react.

“Woo!” The man exclaimed in amusement, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. “The look on your face...!” He wiped a fake tear from his cheek. “Man, I wish I coulda caught that on camera.”

I was dumbfounded. “S-sorry--what?” I stuttered. “Do I know you?” The man frowned in a saddened manner, offended.

“You...you don’t recognize me, do you?” He crossed his arms. “Well, I guess that only makes sense. It has been twenty years.”

What?

My jaw fell open and I took a closer look at the man, my eyes popping open once I realized exactly who he was.

“...Oz? Is that...is that you!?”

He grinned with that famously mischievous expression of his, putting the knife away. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Without saying anything, I ecstatically threw my arms around Oz and pulled him into a tight bear hug, the two of us laughing out of happiness as he patted my back. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I honestly couldn’t believe it. The letter was real all along. Oz really did send it, and now he was actually here. Right now. With me. Alive.

We separated after what felt like an eternity, still unable to contain our excitement as we continued to giggle at each other, just like when we were kids.

“It’s so good to see you again, Oz,” I said. “Truth be told, I thought the whole thing was a prank. I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“Well, I’m glad you actually showed up. For a while there, I wasn’t sure you would.”

I scratched the back of my head. “Yeah, sorry about that. I got your letter kind of late.”

“No worries.” He sighed. “God, it’s been what--two decades?”

I playfully glared at him, crossing my arms. “And you know what? I haven’t been mugged once that entire time.”

He chuckled. “Oh, that wasn’t why I brought you here, mate. I actually got somethin’ else in mind--somethin’ you might be interested in.”

“Oh?” I quirked a brow in curiosity. 

“Yeah. I wish I could say I came back to Gotham for the sake of visiting, but...” Oz examined the bust of his father, “I’m on a job here, you see. A rather dangerous one. And I’d really appreciate it if you joined me. I’d hate to see you caught on the wrong side.”

I grew slightly suspicious at the abrupt change in tone. “And the job is...?”

Oz scoffed. “Look at this city, Bruce. Look at who’s at the top. Hamilton fucking Hill.” He nearly growled his name. “Wish I could punch that posh grin into the back of his throat for what he did to my family--and to yours.”

I felt my smile disappear. “You...you know what happened to my mom?”

“‘Course I do. It was a part of his big plan all along. He had to get rid of the snitch first, and then come after my parents later.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean ‘snitch?’ What was my mom doing?”

He paused. “You don’t know?”

“No. No one’s ever told me anything, and I haven’t been able to find any sort of evidence. I mean, I always  suspected Hill had something to do with my mom’s murder anyway, but I never learned how.”

“Shit. Well...this may be hard for you to hear.”

I looked Oz directly in the eye. “If you know what happened, please tell me, Oz. I need to know.”

He thought for a good moment, trying to think of the easiest way to deliver the dreadful news. Oz exhaled.

“...Bruce...Jesus, how do I say this--listen, your dad...he’s not who you think he is. Neither is Hill, or Falcone. They’re all criminals--gangsters--and they all control Gotham. Hill is the brain, Falcone the muscle, and your father legitimizes the whole thing with his name. It’s why they’ve always stuck together. How else do you think they stole my family’s land?” 

Oz sat down on a bench, taking a flask out of his coat. “Back when your mum was still alive, she really didn’t like what they were doing, and she planned to turn ‘em in to the police. Well, before she could...Hill found out. That’s why he had her assassinated.”

I nearly fainted on the spot, just trying to take all of this in. As much as I trusted Oz, everything he was telling me was literally unbelievable, and I didn’t want to believe it. My father? A criminal? And he had been defending Hill this whole time--the man who murdered my mother and his own goddamn wife, for chrissakes. What the...what the hell was Dad thinking? Had he lost his mind?

I looked away from Oz, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. He had to be making this up. This had to be another one of his jokes. He was just messing with me again...right?

“Bruce?”

I broke away from my thoughts. Oz was staring at me.

“You all right?” He checked.

I brought a hand up to my head. “It’s...it’s just...a lot to process. But I’m glad you told me. I needed to know the truth.”

Oz nodded in approval. “And that right there, mate, is exactly what I’m here for. To expose the truth.” He walked up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Your father ain’t the only one of his type, Bruce. Gotham is filled to the brim with liars, murderers, and hypocrites--and they’re the ones running this city. If you have any decency left in you, you’ll know why it has to stop.”

His grip tensed up. “You and I were like family once, Bruce. It was us against the entire world...I miss that. And I want that again. I want my friend to be there when I fight against Gotham’s corruption. That’s actually why I asked you to meet me today.”

Oz held a hand out. “Now that you know the truth, will you join me?”

Glancing at Wayne Tower, which stood proudly in the distance, I felt a new type of anger growing inside me the longer I stared at it, and it made me hate my father. He had lied to me all these years about my own mother’s death, just to protect the very man responsible for causing it. And for what? Money? Power? Well, whatever his reasons were, my father--and all men like him--were going to pay for what they had done. 

Taking a leap of faith, I turned to Oz and shook his hand firmly. 

“I will.”

He smirked, a twinkle flashing in his eyes. “...I knew you’d see reason. Welcome to the Children of Arkham.”

[pearcar93-blog]

SIBO Made Simple | EP 14 | The Sleep-Gut Cycle: How Improving Your Sleep Can Heal Your Digestive System with Jennifer Hanway

Want to know one of the most popular SIBO treatment recommendations on this podcast? Stress management and sleep. Yes, low FODMAP foods and anti-microbials are only one part of the picture. In reality, our on-going gut health has everything to do with the simplest, most common sense lifestyle choices. And today’s episode is all about how to change your everyday habits to foster better rest and more of it.

Jennifer Hanway is a holistic nutritionist with practices in Boston and New York. More importantly, she’s a fellow gut warrior, who’s seen first-hand how sleep can impact daily stress levels and digestive health. If you’re looking for tangible ways to drastically improve your sleep, or just want to understand how our time under the covers effects intestinal motlity, today’s episode is for you!

A Quick Taste of What We’ll Cover:

Why sleep is so important for gut healing and why a damaged gut might hurt our ability to sleep

How hormones play a part in our circadian rhythm, preparing us for or precluding us from sleep

How melatonin works as a sleep aid and as part of our hormonal system

The best practices from morning to night for hacking our sleep cycles

How temperature and light can affect our ability to sleep

Tips if your main problem isn’t falling asleep but staying asleep

What your chronotype means about your sleep profile

What people dealing with SIBO should keep in mind about sleep

The best gut-friendly supplements to promote better sleep

How to navigate a partner’s sleep schedule if it’s much different than yours

Resources, mentions and notes:

This episode is brought to you by Butcher Box, a service that curates a selection of the best tasting, healthiest meat and poultry delivered to your door every 1 to 3 months. Their animals are grass-fed, organic, always free of antibiotics and hormones, AND a fraction of the price of what you would pay at Whole Foods for a comparable selection. I’ve been a subscriber for over a year and it’s been a game changer for my low FODMAP cooking. Use code SIBOMADESIMPLE at checkout for free shipping, a FREE package of their sugar-free bacon, AND $20 off your first order. Or simply go straight to https://www.butcherbox.com/sibomadesimple to take advantage of this offer.

WHAT DO SLEEP AND GUT HEALTH HAVE IN COMMON?

PHEOBE: Tell everyone a little bit about your story. I have listened to past interviews with you, obviously, and I feel like you said something to the effect of that you’ve made every mistake in the book when it comes to gut health.

JENNIFER: Yeah, I mean, I am the poster child for poor gut health. I was born in the 80s. That was the revolution for convenience food and TV dinners, and actually, having been married to my husband, I realized that in the UK we actually got away with it way more lightly than you guys did here in the US. I was a terribly unhealthy vegetarian from the age of 12 to the age of about 21, 22. I was on every antibiotic you could possibly imagine. I was on the contraceptive pill. I actually lived in Mexico for a while and got typhoid. Everything that you could possibly put in a box for gut health, I had that tick in a box.

I remember suffering with poor digestion and bloating and gas and everything as a child, and actually, the first time I got taken into hospital, I was 6 years old. I remember I’d been out for the day, and I had a McDonald’s. Later that evening, I got rushed into a hospital with a suspected appendicitis, and they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. It was just all of that through my childhood and my teens and my early 20s to the point where, in my 30s, I got to the point where my digestion was so bad. My system just stopped working. I got put on a morphine drip in hospital, and that was the point where I said enough is enough. Conventional medicine is not helping me.

I tried all of the testing. Nothing had come back conclusive. No one had ever mentioned anything about diet to me. Then as the universe does this wonderful thing of your two worlds colliding, it was at this point that I started working with my mentor who was a BioSignature Modulation practitioner. That is, of course, a certification that doesn’t exist anymore, but basically, it means that we look at the body a little bit on the side of stress and sleep and gut health and hormonal health and how your hormones relate to what’s going on in your blood, and all of that wonderful stuff, which is what put me on this path. As a mentee to her, she was my practitioner, and I think the two things that we put in were – I think it wasn’t even a probiotic at the time. It was take out gluten, and take some L-glutamine.

I was like I am willing to try anything at this point. The differences that that made just – it turned my life around, and it was just these – it was these two super simple things. It made me realize how great I could feel, and I was like I want to be able to do this for other people.

PHOEBE: What do you think your root causes were? Did you ever come across or ever get tested for celiac or anything like that?

JENNIFER: I come back as a – what they say is a false positive celiac. I get celiac type reactions, but I’m not a full-blown celiac. Really, it’s I’ve had the SIBO testing. Thankfully, I’m not SIBO. Put that out there. The doctor’s diagnosis was IBS, which, as we know, is really a blanket term for we don’t know what’s wrong with you. I really think it is a combination of poor diet and medication and stress and possibly genetics and epigenetics and, as I say, all of those ticks in the boxes of processed food, poor diet, stress, medication, a ton of antibiotics as a kid. I used to have really back ear and throat infections, so every other month, I was on antibiotics. I don’t think it was one of those things. I think it was a combination of all of those things.

PHOEBE: Just like macro damaged gut.

JENNIFER: Mm-hmm, I’m like tick, tick, tick all of the boxes.

PHOEBE: Oh, my goodness. It’s so funny about the appendicitis because you just helped me remember one of my own health memories and connect a dot that I haven’t thought about in years. There was a time I was at a dude ranch with my family in the middle of nowhere Arizona. I woke up in the night. My abdomen hurt so much, stabbing pain. I was hysterically crying. My parents had to go wake up the head of the ranch, and they called an ambulance.

JENNIFER: Oh, my goodness.

PHOEBE: It turned out it was gas.

JENNIFER: Yeah, that pain is like nothing else.

PHOEBE: Yeah, I’m like, oh, my gosh, I guess I was having acute issues even back then to the point where ambulances were being called. Oh, my God, I was so embarrassed.

JENNIFER: At least they didn’t throw you on the back of a cowboy, and you rode off on a horse.

PHOEBE: Yes.

JENNIFER: That would be an awesome story.

PHOEBE: I know. I mean, I wish that it had happened. I didn’t really need to be in a hospital, so that would’ve just been a fun ride. It might’ve taken my mind off of it. Okay, so today is a conversation. We are talking about the gut and sleep and why sleep is so important for gut healing but then also why a damaged gut might hurt our ability to sleep. Just give us the 411 on that.

JENNIFER: Yeah, so I started looking at the sleep research when I was really working with athletes and bodybuilders, and it was how to get the best rest and recovery for these athletes. I looked at it, and I was like this should be knowledge that everybody needs. Everybody needs to improve their sleep. Again, at the time, I was doing crazy early mornings and crazy late nights, so I wasn’t managing to get a lot of sleep. The sleep that I needed – it was a time when I was working in London and crazy schedule, doing the long distance relationship. It was a time when, if I only had six hours of sleep that night, that sleep needed to be a really great quality.

I started to look at the research and started to understand not just the link of why we need great sleep but how we get that great sleep. I think a lot of the times we think about getting great sleep is, oh, it’s what we do before we go to bed. We know the basics. We know we shouldn’t be scrolling on Instagram and Snapchat at 10 o’clock at night. We know we probably shouldn’t be watching Game of Thrones just before we go to bed, guilty.

PHOEBE: Guilty.

JENNIFER: Right, how can you not? We kind of know that screens are not a great idea. We know we should be going to bed earlier, but it’s really flipping the script on that and going, actually, it’s not what we do in those two hours or even that hour before we go to bed. What do we do from the minute that we wake up actually has such a knock-on effect on our stress levels during the day, and that in turn affects our sleep at night. I’ll scooch back a little bit, and we’ll tie it in with gut health. Really, our sleep is regulated by our circadian rhythm.

HOW THE CIRCADIAN RHYTHM AFFECTS DIGESTION

JENNIFER: I promise you, circadian rhythms are going to be the new celery juice, and you heard it here first. One of the most recent Nobel Prizes for science and health has gone to work in circadian rhythms, and what we used to think was that the body had one circadian rhythm. There’s 24-hour circadian rhythm. What the research has actually shown is that it’s not just our body that has a circadian rhythm, and it’s not just our organs that have a circadian rhythm. Every cell in the body has its own circadian rhythm. I’ll tell you how that was found out, and it’s quite gross but quite interesting.

PHOEBE: Every organ does have its own circadian rhythm in addition.

JENNIFER: Yes, every organ does, but then even on an even more micro level, every cell in the body has its own circadian rhythm.

PHOEBE: So interesting. This is something just for all of you out there that we discuss briefly in Episode 5, which is all about intermittent fasting. Dr. Amy Shah discussed how the idea behind it really has to do with the circadian rhythm of various organs in our digestive system and not actually meaning skip breakfast, basically. It really has a little bit more to do with our natural rhythms and eating according to that, but that was just a digression. Go back to how the gut plays into all of this.

JENNIFER: Exactly as you said, that every single organ has its own circadian rhythm, and we can think of it like multitasking. We know these days that multitasking doesn’t work, so if our bodies were trying to rest and repair and detoxify all at the same time, it wouldn’t happen. It’s like when we’re – let’s say we’re driving, and we’re trying to drive and eat our breakfast and drink our smoothie and drink our coffee and put our makeup on and check our Instagram and check Google maps all at the same time. We can’t do it. It’s a mess. That’s the reason why our bodies have different functions at different time, so they can prioritize that healing and that detoxification.

We know that when we’re sleeping, that’s our prime time for repair and detoxification. Whilst we’re sleeping should not be a time for digestion, so we want to have digestion finished way before we go to sleep. We don’t want our bodies to be digesting. There’s a million reasons why it’s very, very hard for us to digest whilst we’re asleep, and those two systems battle each other. We can’t digest while we’re sleeping, and we also can’t sleep while we’re digesting. Also, we want all of those nutrients from our food to be well into our bloodstream to be able to do the repair and the detoxification processes whilst we’re asleep.

PHOEBE: Very interesting. What happens when someone eats dinner at 9 o’clock and then goes straight to bed? Maybe in parenthesis, (what happens if someone with SIBO does that)?

JENNIFER: Don’t know who we could be talking about in this instance. What happens is that you’re going to have a few things. Our digestion actually slows down really between about 10 and 2 a.m. If you’re going to bed at 9, you’re still going to be in that process of digesting by 10 o’clock. What’s happening is that you’re doing that mechanical digestion, and you’re doing the chemical digestion. Then there’s also the electrical and the nervous system digestion as well, and that’s that motor complex. That’s what we have to be really, really careful with with SIBO.

What we’re thinking about is when food gets digested through the GI tract. Obviously, it’s going through that small intestine first. Now, we need to get that cleared out as quickly as we can so it doesn’t sit in the small intestine, and then encourage that bacteria to grow. For everybody, I would say we really want to stop eating at least two hours before we go to bed, but with SIBO, it’s especially important because we want that food to clear out of the small intestine so it doesn’t promote that growth of bacteria.

PHOEBE: That’s great. Then what are the downstream consequences of that? Obviously, eating too close to bedtime can cause SIBO, but then how can perhaps the impaired sleep compound everything?

JENNIFER: Our body has this wonderful system of feedback loops, and in this case, it’s more of a – we want to think of it more as a negative system of feedback loops. We have this wonderful symbiosis of, if our sleep is off, our gut health is going to be off and vice versa. If we have poor sleep, we’re going to be producing too many inflammatory compounds, which is then going to affect our gut health, which then in turn is going to loop back and affect our sleep. We have to think that these two things play hand in hand.

PHOEBE: Are the inflammatory compounds because our livers set – our liver’s work session is also in the middle of the night, so if that’s not working properly, then we’re sending things back out into circulation?

JENNIFER: Yeah, it’s one of the reasons, but we have to think of these inflammatory signals throughout the whole of the GI system. They’re coming from the GI tract, from the large intestine through the small intestine. Obviously, we want our liver to work. Our liver’s prime time is around that 1 o’clock and night. Since our liver’s having to work extra hard, that’s going to cause inflammation. All of these things are causing the inflammatory response in the body, which in turn then stops us from sleeping.

PHOEBE: Everything’s a viscous cycle. That’s what I’ve learned from my SIBO journey.

JENNIFER: It is.

PHOEBE: It’s just all one big feedback loop.

JENNIFER: I think that can really – if any of us have had any kind of gut health issues, I think that can be really – or any kind of health issues, that can be really challenging. I also think that we have to flip it and look at it as something that can empower us, and think that, well, if I improve one thing, it’s going to improve the rest of it. That’s how I look at holistic health. If I improve my gut health, it’s going to improve my sleep. If I improve my sleep, it’s going to improve my energy levels. If I improve my energy levels, I can work out more. If I can work out more, I can recover from stress better. On a positive day, I try and look at it from the positive side.

PHOEBE: Where do you start? I know that you think of health in terms of these pillars, which is one of the reasons why I like you so much and your philosophy. That’s essentially what I was doing with my year of health is really trying to focus in on what the pillars were, and obviously, I had a whole month dedicated to sleep. I’m curious and I guess it was one of my ongoing issues when I was designing my curriculum of where do you start? Is sleep your number one pillar?

JENNIFER: Sleep is my number one pillar, and I think that, if you can get sleep down, it really helps you look at those other pillars such as a great diet and exercise. If we’re not sleeping well, we’re not going to have the energy to work out. If we’re not sleeping well, our hunger hormones are going to be all over the place, and we cannot stick to a healthy diet. For me, if a client comes in to see me and they really are starting from scratch, number one is getting that sleep dialed in because it’s going to empower them to be able to do everything else.

VITAMIN D, MELATONIN & FIXING YOUR HORMONE IMBALANCES TO FIX YOUR SLEEP

PHOEBE: Absolutely, so I want to get into some of your really practical tips on this in a second, but you just brought up hormones. Before I did all my sleep research when I was a real layman layman, I didn’t really realize how much hormones play into the entire circadian rhythm and how all the fluctuations throughout the day prime us for sleep or preclude us from sleep. Can you just explain that pattern to people?

JENNIFER: You are speaking my language. I think one of the biggest things about hormones is people don’t actually realize what hormones are. We think of hormones.

PHOEBE: Yes, that too.

JENNIFER: We think of hormones. Especially as women, we think of estrogen and testosterone. We don’t think of hormones as in cortisol, our stress hormone, or insulin, our hormone that regulates blood sugar, or even melatonin, which is the hormone that regulates our circadian rhythm.

PHOEBE: Vitamin D.

JENNIFER: Vitamin D.

PHOEBE: We think of that as a vitamin, but really, it’s kind of a hormone.

JENNIFER: It is a hormone.

PHOEBE: It is a hormone.

JENNIFER: Our neurotransmitters that work as regulators for mood in the body, those are hormones too. I think, when we think of the endocrine system, we tend to just think in terms of our reproductive system, but actually, the endocrine system is – it really governs everything that we’re doing. Then when we talk about that governor, what we really want to think about is our circadian rhythm. Our circadian rhythm is – you can think of it as the conductor of your orchestra. Your circadian rhythm will design everything for you from when you’re energized, to when you wake up, to when you want to sleep, to when you want to eat, to when you want to socialize, to when you want to have sex, everything. That’s what our circadian rhythm governs when we secrete hormones. Now, one of the main regulators of that is melatonin. One of the issues of just flipping back to SIBO, the majority of our melatonin production happens in the small intestine.

PHOEBE: Oh, man.

JENNIFER:  You’re like hell yes, so when we’re not producing enough melatonin, that’s really going to affect our sleep-wake cycle. That’s something that you really have to think about with SIBO, and it can be something where melatonin supplementation can come in useful. We can talk about that a little bit as we go along. We talk about the circadian rhythm, and it really drives everything that we do throughout the day, but just like any kind of rhythm, we have to think about – I almost think of it as a watch, an old fashion watch that you have to wind up. By winding your circadian rhythm, what you’re doing is regulating it by regulators of what we call zeitgebers or zeitgebers. These are things like light, heat, food, temperature, mental stimulation, social interaction, exercise, and all of these things help us keep our circadian rhythm on track.

PHOEBE: Yes, I thought it was one of the most interesting aspects of my sleep research, the temperature and the light. Actually, since it ties into the melatonin-Vitamin D relationship, can you explain how light affects our sleep routines, sorry, our sleep cycles?

JENNIFER: It’s the light and temperature are the main regulators of our circadian rhythm, which makes a lot of sense because we didn’t used to have iPhones to help us wake up in the morning. When we’re exposed to light, what that does is that suppresses our melatonin production, which then sets off this wonderful cascade of hormones that tells our body, okay, it’s time to upregulate body temperature. It’s time to upregulate digestion. It’s time to upregulate our metabolism. Basically, it’s time to wake up and get up and go. Then the other way is that when we stop getting this light stimulation. That increases our melatonin production, which makes us feel sleepy and puts us into that cascade of going to sleep. If we’re not getting that light, we’re not regulating that melatonin production.

PHOEBE: How much is the light – I know, obviously, there’s a whole conversation about blue light giving our brain false signals. How much of it is the Vitamin D we’re getting from the light, and how much of it is the blue light itself? I assume we’re not getting Vitamin D deposits from our iPhones.

JENNIFER: We’re not getting Vitamin D deposits from our iPhones, and actually, we’re not getting that much Vitamin D from sunlight these days, especially not – we’re on the East Coast, most of my clients from the East Coast or London. The Vitamin D that they’re getting from the sunlight isn’t really out there. What it really is is that we don’t just want to think about banishing blue light or limiting blue light in the evening. We want to be thinking about that exposure to daylight during the day. That, actually, in my opinion, has more of an effect on our sleep-wake cycle than limiting the light. Actually getting outside and getting out into daylight is probably more important than banishing that blue light in the evenings.

We’ve seen people go to – we know this in the wellness world. If something is good, then more must be better. I’m not just going to have one green juice a day. I’m going to have a bucket of green juice a day. Now what we’re seeing with people stopping the blue light coming in is that they’re wearing these blue blocking glasses throughout the day.

PHOEBE: Because they look cool?

JENNIFER: They look cool, and they like #biohacking. What they want to do, what we really need to do is get as much blue light during the day as we can. Then stop it coming in from sunset. We need that blue light exposure to tell our bodies it’s daytime. We have to be energized. We have to think. We have to move. We have to eat. Then only after sunset do we need to think about putting our blue light blockers on because that’s the time that we should be winding down.

PHOEBE: Oh, my gosh, I didn’t know that people were just wearing them around, just like less blue light, less blue light. That’s so funny. I feel like the flipside of that is people supplementing with Vitamin D, and I know people who will just take it at any which time of the day. One of the things that I always tell people because I do actually weirdly get asked about this a lot is to take it in the morning to facilitate the wakeup process. A lot of people who will just – maybe they take their supplements at night and not first thing in the morning, or take them several times a day. If you’re taking Vitamin D right before bed, that’s going to affect your sleep.

JENNIFER: Right, and number one, we don’t want to be – unless it’s a specific sleep supplement, we don’t want to be taking our supplements before bed because they’re not going to digest and absorb. The other thing about Vitamin D is we can be taking all of this Vitamin D. Number one, are we absorbing it? We know with most people with gut health issues malabsorption is a huge part of that. My clients come to see me, and they’ve got gut health issues and malabsorption. I’m not going to throw a million and one horse pill size supplements at them. At best, they’re not going to just not absorb them, and at worse, it’s going to affect their digestive system. I think number one is making sure you are actually – you’re optimizing your gut health. You are actually digesting things.

Number two is maybe getting your Vitamin D tested and finding out actually where your levels are. Although, as I say, most people from the East Coast or – we know that they’re going to be in the tank. Number two is maybe thinking about can I do my Vitamin D as a liquid supplement rather than as a capsule?

PHOEBE: Okay, so we’re starting in the morning. We’re getting outside. We’re getting some sunlight. I know you have lots of tips for what to do throughout the day. Where do we go from there?

JENNIFER: Okay, so let’s go back even further to that, and let’s talk about how we actually wake up. Most of us probably wake up with our alarms on our phones, okay? That’s a number one no-no, so we really want to prioritize how we’re waking up. When we wake up, we wake up because we naturally have a spike in a hormone called cortisol, which is – it gets a bad rap because it’s a hormone that we produce when we’re stressed out, but we also need cortisol to live. We need it for energy. What we want to do is we want to naturally wake up rather than being jerked out of a deep sleep by some awful screeching noise. Then the first thing that we do is check our emails or our Instagram because our phone is there, and that is now becoming human nature. I really am a huge advocate for daylight alarm clock, which let’s say you have to get up at 7 a.m. You set the alarm for 7, and around 6:30, it starts to emit this bright light, which stimulates your pineal gland, which tells it to suppress melatonin, so you don’t feel sleepy. The suppression of melatonin upregulates the other hormones, which makes you wake up, and you have this wonderful feeling when you wake up of, oh, I’m awake rather than, shit, I’m awake.

Flipping back, so we’ve woken up with our daylight alarm clock. We’re going to get up, and we’re going to expose ourselves to as much natural light as possible. I know, being on the East Coast in the winter, sometimes that’s a little bit challenging, so we can flip on all of our lights as well. If you’re someone who’s low energy in the morning, the last thing you want to do is crawl out of bed with one eye closed and keep the lights down. You want to wake up, and you want to open all of the curtains. You never want to hit snooze. That’s just going to mess up sleep cycle. If you set an alarm, you set the alarm. You wake up. You turn the lights on. You open the curtains, and you expose yourself to as much light as possible.

It’s going to suppress melatonin. It’s going to start to wake you up, and you’re going to feel ready for your day. Then what’s going to happen 12 to 14 to 16 hours afterwards, it already sets off the circadian rhythm telling you when you’re going to start getting sleepy.

PHOEBE: Yeah, I think that’s something that becomes a really tricky part of the cycle of insomnia.

JENNIFER: Exactly, and then there’s that whole part of anxiety around sleep is that let’s say you go to sleep. You’ve had a bad night of sleep before, or you are going through a bout of insomnia, or you have to get up early the next day. You lie in bed, and you start to get stressed out, and you start to count the hours. In that case, what you really want to do is not associate your bedroom with not being able to get to sleep. You try to get to sleep. It’s not happening. Maybe after 20, 30 minutes, get out of bed. Go to a dimly lit room, read, meditate, hang out with your animals. Don’t put the internet back on again, and then go back to bed. You don’t want to associate your bed and your bedroom with the place that you cannot get to sleep.

PHOEBE: Yes, no, that’s a very important point.  Okay, so where are we, mid-morning?

JENNIFER: We just got out of bed.

PHOEBE: We still just got out, okay.

JENNIFER: We still just got out of bed. It’s a long morning. We’ve got out of bed. We’ve exposed ourselves to daylight. Let’s say that we’re maybe going to have some coffee. I’m okay with coffee for about 95% of my clients. If you’re having real adrenal issues or real thyroid issues, that’s when we really want to say, okay, let’s give the coffee a break, but for most people, one or two cups of low-acid organic coffee if it doesn’t give you too much stomach upset, and especially if you’re going low acid, it’s not going to be the end of the world.

CORTISOL, ADRENAL FATIGUE AND SLEEP ISSUES

PHOEBE: Just to explain the cortisol again, when does it hit the peak again?

JENNIFER: Everyone’s going to have a slight outline, and then we can also talk about something really fun, which is chronotypes as well. Going back to our cortisol, cortisol should raise naturally in the morning. It’s around its peak about 12 o’clock. You will have a natural dip about 3 o’clock. That mid-afternoon slump is normal, but it shouldn’t lay you out. Then around 6 o’clock in the evening, then it will start to taper off to around about 9 o’clock in the evening when it really starts to come down for sleep.

PHOEBE: People with “adrenal fatigue” have just basically used up too much of their cortisol resources. Their graph will look just like flatlined throughout the day, right?

JENNIFER: Yeah, so there’s a lot of – so adrenal fatigue is this blanket term that we use for something that I prefer to call HPA axis dysfunction, which basically is telling us that we are either – usually before we get to that flatline, we see dysregulated cortisol, so we’ll see cortisol spikes and dips at times during the day where it shouldn’t be. Let’s say, for example, I know when I struggle with my thyroid issues, I would get this real surge of energy about 1 o’clock at lunchtime and then a real big dip in the afternoon. Then I would try to go to sleep about 9, 10 o’clock, and I’d have this huge surge of energy. We call it a cortisol curve. That’s my cortisol curve being dysregulated, so my body is pumping out cortisol at the wrong times. Before we get to that flatline, we’ll find that we pump out too much cortisol because it’s our stress response. We’ll pump out cortisol at too – after, not too much.

Then we get to the point which makes people consider as adrenal fatigue or what we also know as burnout where we’re not producing – and it’s usually a combination of the two. We’re not producing any cortisol, or the cortisol receptors on our cells have been desensitized. This is the same thing that happens with insulin resistance is that we’ve just been pumping out cortisol all of the time, but the receptors in the cell just say hang on. There’s always cortisol around. I’m not going to recognize this. That’s where you start to see people really flatline and really have no energy because cortisol is also our energy hormone as well as our stress hormone.

PHOEBE: Right, okay, cool, I’m so glad you clarified that. Okay, so where are we in the morning again?

JENNIFER: In the morning, if we have great thyroid and adrenal health, we’re going to have a cup of coffee. Yes, coffee, caffeine raises cortisol, but in the morning, that’s okay. What I would say is that, if you are someone like me who’s a real morning person, you don’t need your coffee first thing in the morning. Leave it for a few hours so when you might need that little bit of an energy boost. The other thing that we can do in the morning to really support our adrenals is Himalayan salt and lime in some warm water.

PHOEBE: Yes, love it.

JENNIFER: It’s taking that lemon and warm water that we’ve all been doing for years, adding in the lime, which is slightly more alkalizing, and then adding in some Himalayan salt, which is really, really supportive for our adrenals. I think we all worry about our vitamin status. What we really should be worried about is our mineral status. If we’re eating a generally healthy diet with some fruit and vegetables, some great protein sources, we’re not going to be super low on some of our vitamins. However, most of my clients that I see are super low in really, really important minerals, and that’s because the minerals have been farmed out of our diet. It’s because we’re not eating mineral rich foods, so we’re not eating those kind of foods that we would consider gross like liver and, I don’t know, oysters and mussels, the foods that are really, really mineral rich. Then, also, when we’re super stressed out, our stress hormones steal those minerals from our body to make them. For example, cortisol, when we make cortisol, it will steal magnesium from other bodily processes to make cortisol, so we’re really, really mineral deficient.

PHOEBE: Interesting, I thought it had more to do with the fact that there’s a dance with cortisol and our kidneys. I feel like it’s the old adage, the nervous person who has to pee all the time, and in the process of flushing the pee, we’re flushing a lot of minerals as well.

JENNIFER: Exactly, one, it’s getting the minerals to stay in our body, and sometimes that has to do with an electrolyte balance. Getting in this Himalayan salt could really help balance out our electrolytes, which obviously has to do with our minerals as well, and it can help support our adrenals. We’re mineral deprived, and also, most of us don’t put salt on our food these days because we’ve been told that white table salt is bad. We’re not getting sodium and potassium, which help that electrolyte balance, which actually help the minerals stay in our body.

PHOEBE: How does that affect sleep?

JENNIFER: What’s that going to do is that’s going to help support your adrenals, so you’re not going to be pumping out too much cortisol when you don’t need to. We know that if we have that dysregulated cortisol, that’s going to affect our sleep patterns.

PHOEBE: Okay, awesome.

JENNIFER: Yeah, either the pink salt or the gray salt, they’re going to be the ones that are most rich in minerals. We’ve had that. We may have had a little bit of coffee. We’re going to have our breakfast. Breakfast, really, it’s dependent on – for me, if my clients are insulin sensitive, then I say go ahead and have some carbs at breakfast because that’s when most people are insulin sensitive. If they’re dealing with any kind of blood sugar swings or insulin resistance, that’s where I say we have our smoothie. We have our eggs. We have whatever we’re having, that protein-based breakfast.

WHAT IS THE BEST TIME TO EXERCISE FOR SLEEP?

JENNIFER: In an ideal world, we’re going to do our cardio workouts in the morning because cardio releases more cortisol than strength training. Now, I say that with, excuse the pun, a pinch of salt. A lot of people, you will say, ideally, you do your cardio in the morning and your strength training in the evening. They’ll take that as, oh, if I can only do my training in the morning, then I’ll only do it in the morning, and I shouldn’t train if I can’t train in the evening. Number one is move your body, and we know that for so many reasons, for gut health and motility, for stress levels. Number two is, if you can choose, ideally you’re doing your cardio, your running, your boxing, your spinning, your barres, whatever that is in the morning, and you’re doing your strength training in the evening, in an ideal world.

PHOEBE: I mean, I always wonder this. Most yoga, I suspect it’ll fall into the evening, but CorePower yoga, does that go in the morning?

JENNIFER: Exactly, it’s that type of yoga. If you’re doing your Ashtanga, or your CorePower yoga, or your super sweaty Bikram yoga, anything that’s really going to get your heartrate up, that’s going to come in the morning. Anything that’s your Hatha, your more relaxing, your more balanced yoga, that’s perfect for the evenings. I always want to just put that with a caveat of it’s really important to move your body, so do the best that you can.

PHOEBE: Great caveat.

JENNIFER: It’s with all of these things. It’s like I’m going to give you the ideal, and if you can meet me somewhere 70 to 80% of that, we’re all good.

PHOEBE: Awesome, okay, so are we at lunchtime yet?

JENNIFER: We’re at lunchtime. We are at lunchtime, so for most people, if you have a desk job, this is the time that we don’t do that side desk lunch. That is the time that we have to get up, and we have to move around. We have to get outside, and we have to make sure that we’re eating something that’s nourishing to our body. We have to get away from that computer screen. We have to get out. We have to get moving. We have to remind our body that it’s still time to be awake.

If you’re working in an office with no access to fresh air, or to daylight, or to social interaction, your body’s going to start to feel sleepy because it thinks it has no reason to stay awake. This is the time that really, really, really get away from your desk and go out. Walk around for 20 minutes. You might not be getting your Vitamin D, but you’re exposing yourself to daylight, which tells your body, okay I’ve still got a few more hours to keep going.

PHOEBE: Yes, love that. Okay, so progressing into the evening.

STRESS MANAGEMENT AS A NATURAL SLEEP AID

JENNIFER: Yeah, so I think really looking at – the other thing that we really want to be thinking about during the day is managing and mitigating our cortisol response. As we know, when we’re faced with a stressful event, we produce cortisol, and cortisol is catabolic to the body. When we say something is catabolic, it means breaking down, so in terms of gut health, we so often see stress and gut health in the same person because stress breaks down our tissues, which increases our intestinal permeability, which then increases leaky gut, which then increases inflammation, etc., etc., etc. What we want to be thinking about is how do we manage that stress throughout the day rather than waiting ‘til 8 o’clock when we get home, and we sit in front of the couch with a glass of wine? By that time, it’s too – and there’s nothing wrong with that. That time, it’s too late to lower your cortisol levels before we go to bed, so we have to be thinking about managing that cortisol throughout the day.

What I ask my clients to do is to come up with a toolbox of things that help them de-stress. That could be anything from a simple breathing exercise to help get us into rest and digest mode rather than in fight or flight. It could be listening to their favorite piece of music. It could be eating two squares of dark chocolate, which is my personal favorite.

PHOEBE: Me too. (and you can take out the laughing)

JENNIFER: Right, I say two [0:41:13]. It could be just lying – it could be lying with your legs up against a wall. It could be anything that just takes you out of fight and flight and puts you into rest or digest, so you’re calming down your central nervous system. You’re activating your parasympathetic nervous system, and we need to think about doing this at certain points during the day rather than just waiting and letting it all build up until we get home. If we’re thinking about managing our cortisol levels at 8 o’clock at night, it’s too late. Our hormonal balance is all off. Really, it’s just finding those little simple things during the day that can help us manage our stress.

PHOEBE:  I love that. I started a meditation practice. Vedic meditation, they say, ideally, you do 20 minutes in the morning and then 20 minutes around 4 p.m. For me, it’s like I have trouble fitting everything in the morning. I have trouble if I want to work out. It’s like an either or for me. You’ve actually just freed me to think about, well, maybe the afternoon session is the more important session for me, and it’s usually the one that I skip.

JENNIFER: Right, probably, in the morning, you’re still energized. The day hasn’t got a –the day hasn’t got to you. You’re not too stressed out, but also, it’s just knowing that even any breath where your exhale is longer than your inhale is going to calm down your central nervous system. I work with a lot of corporate clients, and they’re running in between meetings. They don’t have that time to sit and meditate for 20 minutes, but they do have time to take a deep breath before they go into that meeting. They do have time just to take a second and maybe do a box breathing exercise, or run to the restroom and just take a few breaths. Just knowing that it seems so simple but it really can help balance those cortisol levels and help them dampen down.

PHOEBE: Yes, I love box breathing. For those who don’t know, you’re basically just doing a count. Let’s say it’s four, four breaths in. Hold it for four, four breaths out. Hold it for four, right?

JENNIFER: Yeah, so it’s inhale for four. Hold for four. Exhale for four. Hold for four. It takes 16 seconds, and if we can’t find 16 seconds in our day, we’re in trouble. No one knows you’re doing it. You don’t have to be sat cross-legged at your desk holding a mudra and Oming. You can just breathe deeply, and I think that’s really important for people to understand is that we can make this look like everyday life.

PHOEBE: Yes, so I feel like we’re now in the evening, and this is where a lot of people make their mistakes. It’s also where there’s room to hack our cycles and prepare ourselves for sleep. What can we do to set the stage?

JENNIFER: You want to think about your evening routine as it’s really the opposite from your morning routine, and what I ask a lot of my clients to do is to find a transition sequence between work and home. We all know that we may leave the office. We may leave work. We know that we’re probably going to be working on a project or at least checking our emails, or we’re going to have some interaction with work during the evening. Whilst we try our hardest not to, real life is real life, and I always want to meet people where they’re at. What I suggest to them is to – even if they know that they’re going to be working from home, is to create a transition sequence. This could be something like listening to your favorite podcast on the way home. It could be changing your clothes the minute you get in. It could be taking your dog for a walk. It could be having your favorite cup of herbal tea.

Whatever it is that signifies to the body that just tells you, okay, now we’re in a safe space. Now we can calm down. Now we don’t’ have to be in that fight of flight mode. Then we’re just in a much better space to be able to relax in the evening. Then if we have to check an email or we have to work a little bit on a project, we don’t feel that we’re fully in work mode. It really doesn’t matter what that transition sequence is. It’s more doing it every day, so it tells your body, okay, it’s time to relax now. I don’t have to be so stressed out. That’s how I would start my evening.

If we’re going to work out in the evening, strength training or yoga is a great thing to do in the evening. The absolute worst thing that you can do in the evening is go to your 8:30 p.m. SoulCycle class, and have your instructor shouting at you, and the lights are flashing. You’ve got your music on, and your body is like, all right, let’s go. I’ll take a SoulCycle class maybe once every few months when I’m traveling. I really have to be in the mood. I put my earplugs in because I’m an old lady. If you think of everything that you shouldn’t do at 8:30 at night, you shouldn’t be going to a SoulCycle class.

PHOEBE: I want to talk about travel, actually, in a second, but just to close the loop on the nighttime stuff– so light is, obviously, you want to wear your blue light glasses. You want to avoid really close face-to-face contact with devices like an iPhone.

JENNIFER: Yeah, you can hack those things as well. Everything that you do in the morning, you do the opposite at night, so when the sun starts to set, that’s when you turn off your big electric lights. That’s when you put your lamps or your candles on. You put your blue blockers on. You make sure that you have your phone set to night mode, and that’s a really easy thing to do. I’m someone who’s super stimulated by blue light. When I put my phone on to – I usually do it about 6 o’clock at night. It takes out any blue light in the device, so the device has a really warm color. You can do the same things to your laptop. There’s a program called f.lux or flux, which means that we do have to work on our devices in the evenings. It just makes it a little less stressful for us so blue blockers, dimming that light, and then really thinking about what and when we’re eating in the evenings, which is super important for everyone. It’s super important for people with the issues of gut health but even more important for those with SIBO.

WHAT IS THE IDEAL TEMPERATURE FOR SLEEP?

PHOEBE: Yes, absolutely, I’ll just add a temperature thing. It’s been really helpful for me is I’ve never been a nighttime showerer because I don’t like to go to sleep with wet hair, but I am now a nighttime bather. It really helps my relationship to sleep. I’m lucky to live in a state where there’s not a water shortage yet but even just running that bath and hopping in there for ten minutes. To me, there’s always time for a bath. Even just that ten minutes of relaxation is just such a game changer and then adding some Epsom salts in there. I love it.

(you can cut out her laughing if it’s weird)

JENNIFER: What you’re doing with that is, yes, you’re giving yourself time to relax, which is wonderful, but you’re actually doing what your circadian rhythm naturally does. This taking a hot bath and letting yourself cool naturally actually mimics what happens with our temperature regulating with our circadian rhythm. In an ideal world, what happens is just before we go to sleep our body temperature rises, and then it drops. By taking a hot bath, you’re telling your circadian rhythm, okay, my temperature’s going up, and now it’s dropping. You’re doing that exactly right, and then leading on from that, we should be sleeping at temperature around about 65 degrees at night, which is a lot cooler than most people sleep.

PHOEBE: Yes, that’s cold.

JENNIFER: A little tip for that is I have a husband who I swear is part werewolf, and even in the dead of winter when there’s six foot of snow on ground here in Boston, he’ll sleep with no covers. I have learned to sleep in the cold, and actually, it’s the most restorative – we sleep in the cold because it’s very restorative for our bodies to sleep in that cold temperature. It can take a little getting used to. What I’d say is make sure you’re wearing socks. The best way for us actually to sleep is to sleep naked with a pair of socks on. It isn’t the cutest, but we can make it work.

PHOEBE: Wait, naked but with the socks. Why naked?

JENNIFER: Aha, naked but with the socks. Naked with the socks is naturally going to lower your body temperature, but if you’re cold like a lot of us are, then wearing the socks helps regulate your body temperature a little bit so you don’t feel freezing. That’s one way of doing it. Then the other way is that we have something called a chilly pad because my husband likes to be freezing when he’s sleeping, and that’s just almost the opposite of an electric blanket. He has that on his side. I don’t have it on my side. Really, we want to be – between 65 and 67 is really where we want to be sleeping for restorative sleep.

PHOEBE: Oh, my God, a chilly pad, my other nightmare. I’m always cold.

JENNIFER: Yeah, I couldn’t do it. I can sleep in the 65 degrees. I actually sleep so much better. I understand why it’s important for me to do it, but yeah, I can’t do the chilly pad. That’s his thing. If you do have problem sleeping, have that hot bath. Bring your body temperature down. It’s also great for women that are going through menopause. If you’re having the night seats or the hot flashes, that’s a really good thing to do as well. Yeah, just number one thing is you want to be sleeping in a cool room.

PHOEBE: Love it. Okay, I wanted to talk about travel and napping. You got a lot of listener questions, so I want to jump to those really quick so that we get through them. One person said help. I have no trouble falling asleep, but waking up at 4 a.m. is my biggest issue. What can I do?

JENNIFER: This would be to do with – if you’re waking up at 4 a.m., it could be one that she is naturally – so let’s talk about chronotype. This could be two things. This could be that she naturally wakes up at 4 a.m., and that’s her genetic type or her chronotype. Now, chronotypes are the times that we naturally wake up, go to sleep. It’ how our circadian rhythm works a little bit more on a genetic and personal level. That’s four chronotypes, lion, wolf, bear, and dolphin, and you can find those out by – it’s thepowerofwhenquiz.com. I’m a lion, which means that I naturally wake up around 5 a.m., and I am good to go. Now, what that means on the flipside, it means I have to be in bed by about 8:30, 9 o’clock in order for me to get good restful sleep. It could be that she’s naturally wired that way. If so, she needs to make sure that she’s getting to sleep nice and early, or it could be a spike in cortisol that’s coming a little bit too early, so she’s the type of person that really needs to take care to regulate that circadian rhythm. What’s probably happening is that it’s – what’s waking her up is that her cortisol is spiking at 4 o’clock, and that’s a little early for most people.

PHOEBE: What besides just generally balancing your blood sugar – what else can she do in order to help the cortisol spiking issue?

JENNIFER: Number one, it’s finding consistency in our routine. We should be going to bed at the same time every night and waking up at the same time ever morning seven days a week. Our bodies and our sleep and our circadian rhythms love consistency. The other thing is really thinking about managing our stress during the day so really thinking about keeping our blood sugar balanced during the day, as you said. When we have blood sugar swings, we have cortisol swings as well. If she’s experiencing a stressful moment at work, it’s time just to take a step back and breathe, and not just try and get over it and think about – worrying about it later. It’s creating a regular exercise routine. It’s really thinking about what can I do to get my cortisol curve regulated throughout the day so it’s not going to spike at weird times during the night? It’s not something that we can change in a couple of days, but being really, really consistent with managing stress throughout the day can make a change in a couple of weeks times.

PHOEBE: Could it also be – I know our organs all have their own circadian clock. Let’s say the time is super consistent every night. Would that point you to maybe a specific organ that’s off, or is it usually the cortisol spike?

JENNIFER: It’s usually a mixture of both. With something about 4 o’clock in the morning, that’s really – by that time, our bodies really have done all of their repair and detoxification. Usually we see things like – usually, if my clients are awake between 1 and 2 in the morning, I usually know that’s related to liver function, but 4 o’clock in the morning to me sounds like a little bit more like a cortisol spike than an organ function.

HOW TO WORK AROUND YOUR PARTNER’S SLEEP SCHEDULE

PHOEBE: Got it, okay, second question, how do you get better sleep when your partner’s late work hours interrupt your schedule nightly?

JENNIFER: Okay, so I have a partner who – he’s my husband. Sometimes I call him my boyfriend. We’ve been married for years. My husband has a very opposite schedule to me, and so he comes to bed around 11, 11:30. I’m usually in bed asleep by 9:30, so I have to make sure I am fast asleep and in a deep sleep. Bless him, he’s twice the size of me, and he’s like Shamu the whale when he gets into bed. He will get into bed, and he will toss and turn.

I have to make sure I’m in a really deep sleep, and to do this, I have to wear what I call my face bra. It’s my eye mask. I’m not sponsored by them. I think they’re the best eye mask in the world. They’re called Bucky. You get it form Amazon. You can get it form Bed Bath & Beyond. They literally look like a face bra. What they do is that they give your eyes space. They really are a little bit more stuck to the face around your whole eye socket, and they really, really work as an eye mask.

Then the other thing you need to think about is silicone earplugs. These are the ones that swimmers use, and you don’t want to jam them in your ears because that’s really dangerous. You want to create a seal with it, so you seal off your ears. Then make sure you’re going to bed at least 90 minutes before he is.

PHOEBE: Hmm, good tip. Yeah, I struggle with that too, and I’m always tired before my husband. He usually has nighttime events that maybe will keep him in late, and it’s so disruptive for me because I have trouble falling asleep. It’s always that wiggle room between – oh, so we actually – we set a rule. If you’re home later than 11 p.m. on a weeknight, you’ve broken the law. It’s like I text my husband. I’m like are you going to break the law tonight? At that point, it’s already 10:30, and I’m trying to decide. Do I even try and go to bed because I know I’m going to be disturbed, or do I just wake up because that’s just, honestly, the more productive thing to do? Then I’ll be really tired when I go to bed.

JENNIFER: I mean, for us, really, we’ve had to understand that – it’s hard. I want to see my husband at the end of the day. Literally, 9:30 is my cutoff. If I don’t start going to sleep by 9:30, then I’m a wreck in the morning. Actually, we know it’s better for our relationship and for the health of our marriage for me to get a good sleep than for me to see him for five minutes in the evening. I’m even an advocate of, if you’re not going to get to sleep, you guys can sleep in separate rooms.

PHOEBE: I know.

JENNIFER: I honestly think that is more important for a good marriage than for seeing your partner when you’re tired and cranky. You’re always pissed at them because they’ve come in late, and you want to get to sleep.

PHOEBE: Oh, I’m pissed. You’ve broken the law.Okay, that’s great advice, the 90 minutes before. Okay, one more, any supplements besides magnesium that are gut safe and promote better sleep? Maybe this is one we can talk about, melatonin supplementing for SIBO peeps.

HOW TO USE MAGNESIUM FOR SLEEP AND STRESS + THE BEST GUT FRIENDLY NATURAL SLEEP SUPPLEMENTS

JENNIFER: Yeah, so I like to supplement with melatonin on a short-term basis. It’s interesting. In the UK, you can’t get melatonin over the counter, which is crazy because it’s…

PHOEBE: Wow!

JENNIFER: Yeah, so if I go back, I have to sneak in my melatonin. I don’t think melatonin is something that we should be – we shouldn’t depend on it, so we can use it as a short-term fix. Quite often sometimes, it’s about retraining the circadian rhythm. Especially with SIBO, it’s about making sure that we have enough melatonin in the system, but it’s also about taking that anxiety away from sleep as well. I do find that I think 5 mgs of melatonin is quite a lot for people, so 2 to 3 is a good amount. Then we can soften that out with some herbs and some adaptogens as well. This is your things like – something like some reishi or something. Maybe doing a smaller amount of a melatonin supplement and putting in some calming reishi, some CBD oil, if that works for you. Whatever those things are that help soften and take the edge off it as well.

It’s interesting that you mentioned magnesium. Magnesium actually isn’t a sleep supplement. Magnesium we should think of as a stress supplement.

PHOEBE: Is it better to take magnesium earlier in the day?

JENNIFER: Magnesium you can take throughout the day. What’s important about magnesium is that you’re, A, digesting it, and B, that you’re making sure that you’re taking all different four types of – so there’s four different chelates of magnesium, and we want to be finding a supplement that has all of those chelates. Quite often, I’ll have clients come to me, and they’re like, well, I have to take my magnesium because it makes me poop. I’m like, A, you shouldn’t have to take a magnesium supplement to make your poop, and B, if that’s all it’s doing, it’s not doing anything other than making you poop. It’s finding a great magnesium supplement that has the different types of magnesium in it, and also, I really love to do a topical magnesium. For my clients that have gut health issues, I know that anything that I can do transdermal, so on the skin, can make a really big difference. They’re actually getting it straight into their bloodstream rather than it going through their massive digestive system. Magnesium lotion behind the – you put it behind your elbows and behind your knees can be a really great way of upping your magnesium. We are all deficient in magnesium.

PHOEBE: Oh, I didn’t know that about the elbows and knees. I actually started using the – I think it’s Dead Sea company, the oil spray. I just spray it on myself right before I get in the bath.

JENNIFER: Do it after you’ve had the bath.

PHOEBE: Oh, after, okay.   Just omit this

JENNIFER: Yeah, that’s when your pores are most open. Then the skin behind elbows and our knees, that’s the thinnest, so it’s the most absorbent.

PHOEBE: Okay, one more reader question. One is how do I start taking Ambien and actually sleep through the night? We’ve answered the second half. Do you have any tips on weaning off of Ambien?

JENNIFER: As a nutritionist and not a medical practitioner, I cannot comment on medications. What I will say, though, is something I do love to do is help to empower my clients, talk to their physicians and their PCPs. A lot of the times, especially gut health and especially my young women, I’ll ask them if they’re on any medication, and they’ll say no. Then I’ll have to ask them, well, are you on any antianxiety or birth control? They’re like, oh, yeah, I’m on this. I’m on that. You’re not the only one is number one, and number two is having a conversation with your PCP about it. Is this the lowest effective dose for me? Is this the right brand for me? Is this the best one considering my health history?

When we’re on a medication and we want to come off it, it needs to be a conversation with your healthcare practitioner, and if you can’t have that conversation with your healthcare practitioner, you need to change your PCP. We spend more time shopping for shoes than we do for our healthcare team, so that should be a conversation that you should be able to have with your healthcare practitioner. It may not be something that you go off straightaway, but it may be, okay, what’s still going to be an effective but lower dose for me, or is this the right brand for me? Really, I think it’s more about empowering people to be able to talk to their practitioners about the best option for them. Sorry, I got really passionate about that.

PHOEBE: No, that’s great advice. Okay, then the next question, do benzos damage the gut and sleep cycle in any way?

JENNIFER: Yes, blatantly yes. Again, it’s that conversation of speaking with your healthcare practitioner, finding those different options that work for you. For me, it’s always – if I’m working with someone on medication, it’s how can I support what you’re going through with nutrition and supplements, but how can I partner with your doctor? If you are on medications – I’m going to say this a million times. If you are taking medications and you want to start a supplement regime, you have to check those with your doctors first.

PHOEBE: What do the benzos exactly do to the gut?

JENNIFER: Again, they’re going to have that destructive effect. Anything that we’re doing that we are knocking off any of the cell signaling. A lot of the time when we take any kind of medication, what we’re doing is stopping any parts of our systems signaling to each other and communicating with each other. When we’re looking at anything like that, we’re stopping signaling which is affecting our HPA axis, which is affecting our cortisol production, which is affecting our circadian rhythms.

PHOEBE: Yeah, that’s a good explanation. Oh, my gosh, I don’t know where the time went. I just love sleep conversation so much. We need to do a Part 2. Just to end for today back on the subject of SIBO and for those gut people like ourselves, what should they keep in mind about sleep besides the fact that it’s essential for recovery? Is there anything else you want to add in terms of SIBO specific things?

JENNIFER: Yeah, with the SIBO specific thing, I think, number one, it’s that making sure you have that gastric clearance before you go to bed. Sometimes we look at this, and I flip intermittent fasting on its head. I call it time restricted eating because it feels a little bit more manageable for people. If we can do a 12-hour window between finishing our dinner and starting our breakfast, that is – it’s going to get great results, but it’s also really manageable. If you finish eating at 7 o’clock at night, you start eating at 7 o’clock in the morning. Don’t try and jump into that straightaway. If you’re someone that finishes – usually finishes eating at 10 o’clock and has your breakfast at 7 o’clock, bring it back half an hour and half an hour and half an hour. I really think in terms of if there was a number on tip is to finish eating earlier if you can and then thinking about managing your stress response. If you can manage your stress response during the day, you can’t help but get great sleep.

PHOEBE: Improve your gut at the same time.

JENNIFER: Improve your gut because those things go absolutely hand in hand. If we’re not sleeping, we’re not repairing any of our bodily systems, especially not the gut.

PHOEBE: This has just been such a delight on the subject of the time restricted eating. A reminder for you guys, if you’re curious about how to go about that, we have a whole Episode 5 that gives even more tips on the subject. I will put in the show notes also where you can find Miss Jenny. She has an entire course dedicated to stress and sleep, and I hope that you will continue your relationship with her on the Interweb, or if you’re in Boston or New York, maybe in person.

JENNIFER: Come and see me.

Disclaimer: The information in this podcast does not provide medical advice, professional diagnosis, opinion, or treatment. The information discussed is for educational purposes only and is not a substitute for medical or professional care.

Source: https://feedmephoebe.com/smsepisode14/

[studiomaya]

Introducing Meg

You know how little kids say whatever they want, whenever they want? They aren’t self conscious. They aren’t worried that the world won’t like them if they mess up.

I spent my elementary school years in and out of school. My parents were pretty careless about pulling me out if they were traveling, and sticking me back in when we got back. They liked to do their South Asian travel during the winter, which allowed them to miss monsoon season, but wasn’t really ideal for my school year. I really don’t think it mattered much, and maybe because I was in public school in New York City, I don’t think anyone at the school cared. I had some math workbooks that my mom picked up at the grocery store, and I did those off and on. I was pretty good at math and it was kind of fun to finish the books. And I read. I read and read and read. So whenever I got back to school and suddenly had to draw a bean plant and name the parts, or had to do long division on the blackboard, it was never a problem. And I was a real talker, so if we had to discuss poetry or a book, you could hardly shut me up.

In sixth grade, everything changed. My parents decided that I needed something more rigorous and that they would be more careful about snatching me out of school to go on long trips to weird places. I still went on some pretty strange trips, but they were a little less scattered, more concentrated during the summer and school vacations. My dad teaches South Asian history at the New School, my mom runs an antique shop, and both of them thought that it would be better for me to have more challenging schoolwork. They have some friends who somehow got me an interview at this fancy school on the upper East Side—not one of the crazy elite schools, but it was still posh, compared to what I was used to. I remember the interview well—I wore these dusty brown Doc Martens and cotton harem pants that I had made myself, and I must have looked a sight! The headmistress was almost like a cartoon character, she was such a type—poofy white hair, pink sweater, pearls—and thought I was hysterical. I found out later that I was getting a big scholarship. I don’t know whether it was because we couldn’t afford it or whether they thought I needed to be rescued from the perils of public school.

The kids were pretty nice but I had a hard time getting to know them. They did soccer together after school, or dance, or music lessons. They all knew each other, and their parents knew each other. My parents were not really in the loop on school, and since everyone lived all over the place, there wasn't a neighborhood you could draw on to meet people. But everyone was well-behaved, polite, and seemed to care about school and grades a lot more than they had at my old school in Greenwich Village. I knew that I wasn’t like them, but it didn’t bother me terribly. I wasn’t like the kids at my old school, either, and it had never caused any problems for me.

But things took a weird turn at some point that first year, when we were supposed to do a research report on a foreign country. It was an oral report, but we also had to put together some sort of illustrated brochure thing to turn in. I was super excited. I mean, this was my life. I had been to so many different countries, I could speak a few different languages, and dinner at home with my parents was all about which tribal motif was embedded in what carpet from which village in Afghanistan. This was my thing and I was so excited to share. And I was excited to hear what everyone else had to say. You didn’t exactly discuss foreign countries when you went out for recess. I don’t think anyone knew much about the stuff that lived in my head. The girls talked about pop music and movie stars, and I was okay with those subjects. The boys talked about sports, which I knew nothing about, but that was okay because anyway the boys and the girls were starting to separate and do their own stuff that year. Everyone knew that my family and I had traveled a lot, but everyone was so polite about it, as if it would be rude to pry. So I was thinking that standing up in front of the class would be my chance to tell everyone about things that were so important to me.

I remember what I wore the day of the presentations. I was doing Pakistan, a country where we had spent a lot of time, so I wore a shalwar kameez, which are these baggy pajama pants and a tunic and a scarf. It’s what girls wear in Pakistan every day—it’s not some kind of dress-up thing or special occasion get-up. When I walked into the classroom, everyone stopped talking and turned to stare. These were all kids that I had been friendly with since the start of school, kids that I ate lunch with and compared notes with during math class. I didn’t think wearing a shalwar kameez was such an earth-shattering thing, but everyone looked amazed. I started to feel a little funny. I heard one guy say to someone, “Is there extra credit for wearing a costume?”

I sat at my desk, flipping through my notes, but I wasn’t thinking about my presentation. I was suddenly thinking about the last time I had worn that shalwar kameez, running around the gardens of Shalimar in Lahore, surrounded by cascading fountains and apricot trees. I had a friend in Lahore, a much younger girl named Rihana, the daughter of one of the caretakers at the house where we usually stayed. I was always put in charge of Rihana so I had to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid, like fall into a fountain or slip and break her neck on the wet marble. She talked a mile a minute in Urdu with an adorable lisp, switching into accented baby English when I complained that she was going too fast for me to catch everything she said. I had not seen her in a couple of years and I wondered what she was doing. I thought of the sunset’s glowing reflection in the pools at the park, the evening call to prayer, and the scent of jasmine at night, which is always so much stronger than in the day, and to my surprise and dismay I could feel tears in my eyes. It was like being homesick, except that I was homesick for a place that wasn’t home.

I tilted my head back so that the tears wouldn’t actually run down my cheeks. I could see the other students milling about. The girls with their flat-ironed hair and perfect manicures and Ugg boots, the boys with their Under Armour and their crew cuts. The girl who sat in front of me was digging around in a Louis Vuitton briefcase. I suddenly felt quite bizarre, sitting in a classroom on the Upper East Side in my shalwar kameez. Maybe I’m exaggerating how weird it felt, looking back on it now. When I think about it, it’s like I’m floating above the class and looking at this one weird girl with her dark green tunic and pajama pants and frizzy red hair in a scrunchy, in the middle of a sea of perfect straight hair and Abercrombie jeans. I look so strange. And I think that was the first day, ever, that I felt as strange as I probably had always looked.

The first student to present her country was the girl with the Louis Vuitton briefcase, Alexandra. Her country was Egypt. I had been really looking forward to her presentation. I had a lot to say about Egypt—I knew Egypt really well. I even spoke some Arabic, although it wasn’t as good as my Urdu.

But as the presentation unfolded, I became increasingly dismayed. I think she must have lifted the whole thing from Wikipedia or the CIA fact book. Facts and figures galore and estimated GDP. A long, tedious discourse on the pharaohs and the pyramids. I bit my lip, trying to keep the expression off my face. How does anyone make pharaohs boring, I thought. Alexandra continued on, pushing back her smooth, blonde hair repeatedly with a practiced gesture. A sparkly bracelet slid up and down on her wrist.

After she had said the word “Muslim” and “Islam” about ten times, I raised my hand. Alexandra stopped speaking, clearly startled.

“There are Copts, too,” I began. I stopped. I hadn’t meant to stop her in her tracks, but I had feeling in my chest as if I would burst—and maybe she was getting to the Copts and wouldn’t mind some engagement with the class.

Alexandra shot a look at the teacher, who had retreated to the back of the room to listen and take notes.

“Copts,” she repeated.

“Coptic Christians?” I added helpfully.

“Oh. Right. Um, Christians in Egypt,” she nodded. She looked again at the teacher for help. The teacher remained impassive.

There was a silence. I felt eyes on me. I didn’t dare turn to see the expressions on the faces of my classmates. I knew instinctively that I had done something very wrong by speaking up.

But I couldn’t stand it. This was no introduction to Egypt, a country I had loved for as long as I could remember. Egypt was the land of pyramids, it was true. But it was also the land of so much more—Muslims and Christians, a huge entertainment industry that delighted the entire Arabic-speaking world, a Nobel-prize-winning novelist. It wasn’t this dry, boring place that she was describing, and if all you could say about the population was the name of the majority religion, you were entirely missing all the energy and conflict that made it such a dynamic, passionate culture.

“Thank you for your question, Meg,” the teacher said in a carefully neutral tone.

I felt sick. I had done something wrong, and I honestly had not meant to. Everyone was going to hate me now. At the same time, I felt angry. There was nothing wrong with my intentions. I wasn’t trying to make Alexandra look foolish, but she apparently didn’t have anything in her speech about the real Egypt.

My palms were sweating. I felt like I couldn’t move in my seat.

As other students got up one by one to give their presentations, I got to work on my own script. I had written it out in outline form on note cards, but I now took a pencil and started to draw lines through parts of my speech.

It was bad enough that I was going to have to stand there in a shalwar kameez. There was no way I was going to give the delighted description of the Lahore of my younger years that I had planned.

They would never understand the people are the heart and soul of a culture, of a country. They would never understand. I had to just try not to be laughed at, try not to upset the balance.

So my speech was shorter than planned. I started with a casual reference to my clothes and made a joke about pajamas. The class chuckled politely. Most of what I said was not actually written on my cards. I made up some facts and figures about population and chief industries, and then recited a brief history of the partition of India and the creation of Pakistan in 1947 from memory. I didn’t say a word about the labyrinthine alleyways of the market in Lahore, or the jasmine vines in Shalimar.

As I spoke, I looked around the room, but I didn’t see the faces. They were a blur. I could have imagined anything I wanted on those faces—disgust, contempt, amusement—but I don’t even remember them because I was just trying to get through the five minutes that I was standing up there in that outfit. Here’s something really strange—I could still smell jasmine. And I could feel my eyes filling up. I was sniffling and tossing my head because I didn’t want the tears to run down my face. I think maybe this would have qualified as some kind of panic attack, because I was imagining everything—the jasmine, the reaction of the kids, all of it. It wasn’t actually real. But everything, the emotions and the blurry audience, felt so REAL, and my stupid speech felt like something out of the dictionary.

There was polite applause when I sat down. My stomach still felt funny—when I get that angry, burning feeling inside, sometimes it feels weird in my stomach for days afterwards.

I actually got a B+ for that presentation. The weird feeling in my stomach came back when I saw the grade. I saw the brief comment on the front page of the brochure, something mildly critical about my artwork, before cramming the pages into my folder. I couldn’t stand to look at what exactly the teacher had said, but I am a pretty sucky artist, so I told myself that since my parents weren’t helping me to illustrate my work like the other parents did with their kids, I was obviously not going to get a top grade for that assignment. I buried the sense of disappointment and frustration, thinking that I was just glad to get out of that project without further embarrassment. No one had ever mentioned my Pakistani “costume” that day, and Alexandra remained carefully friendly, although she and the other girls remained a little too polite and a little too cordial—I knew that I wasn’t ever going to be their “type” anyway.

On my way out of the classroom on the day that we got our papers back, the teacher stopped me and waited until everyone had exited the room. He spoke kindly.

“You know a lot about foreign countries,” he said to me.  I nodded.

“You’ve had an interesting life. You know much more than other kids your age.”

I nodded again.

“You know, some people study foreign cultures their whole lives.”

“I know. My parents—“ My voice suddenly choked on me and I stopped. I tried to clear my throat.

The teacher smiled and cocked his head. “You’re way ahead of most of the kids. But eventually you’ll be able to find people who share your interests. You’ll get there.” He patted my shoulder.

I really appreciated his kindness. And I understood what he was saying. That I was only weird—among my classmates. They were the normal ones, I was the weird one. I was going to be okay if I stuck to weird people like me.

[ritikabhateja]

Dec 30th 2016 8 P.M.

Sister: What are you doing for New Year’s?

Me: I haven’t really decided yet. I have my office tomorrow, perhaps party with people from the Office. You got plans?

Sister: Yes I’d be celebrating with Kanav’s Family.

(For people who are not familiar with the name, Kanav is my to-be brother-in-law.)

Me: Wow! Sounds great! Have fun.

Dec 31st 2016 2PM

Me: Guys, what are you doing for New Year’s? Let us go somewhere?

Naren: I’ll be partying with my roommates.

Suraj: I have to come to the office tomorrow, so I don’t have any plans as such. I’d go with Harish, take a shot or two and sleep.

Manyu: Nothing much. My girlfriend has demanded for a party as most of her friends are going. So, I’ll be taking her somewhere. Let’s see. Anyway, I don’t understand one thing, tomorrow, if all her friends start using the salutation ‘Dr’, will she also start doing the same?

Me: Nevermind (he could have created his own PKP saga)

Nayan: I’m going to my cousin’s place in Rohini.

**Everybody is doing something, they all got plans. What the hell am I going to do? Why on Earth do I not have plans ready, ever? **

Before any of you have any second thoughts, let me replace the doubts with clarity.

It’s not that people didn’t ask me for the New Year’s Eve, many did but I refused. My refusal was based on two grounds;

First, I am not really a good friend with them that I give them a passing score of 5+ on the scale of 0-10 in terms of reliability and safety. Second, I just didn’t feel like going with them. I suppose, that’s a reason good enough.

With my eyes staring at the walls and sliding down to the Laptop screen, and thoughts swirling, in fact, eventually storming inside my head, one thing was certain; I wasn’t even tad bit sad or gloomy. I was in a perplexed state, trying to figure out a way of the ‘What will I do’ dilemma; but even if I had to spend the New Year’s Eve alone at my PG, I was fine with it. I was absolutely comfortable with the thought of not having anything to do on New Year’s Eve and it didn’t invoke anger or anxiety in me. I was cheerful and contended; maybe it was supposed to be one of my happy days and not amongst the ones when my mood sits on a seesaw and abashedly slides up and down, exploring the extremes of mysterious island.

Throughout the day was filled with laughter, and excitement of the weirdly complicated year ending and a new journey on the verge of beginning.

Note: New Year’s Eve Celebration Images are shared at the bottom

Dec 31st 2016 6.45 PM

Everyone started to wrap things up to rush to their New Year parties. I was in no mood to leave early, so I continued my work until the phone beeped.

*One New Message*

Himanshu: What’s your plan for the evening?

Me: Nothing just sitting in the office.

*Message Received*

Himanshu: Why don’t you come with me?

Me: To where?

*Phone Ringing*

Himanshu: Hey, will figure out something. You’ll have a wonderful end to the year, you have my word. Chalo?

Me: Okay. I’ll take an hour’s time as I am still in the office.

Himanshu: I’ll come to pick you up. Be ready by 8.

NOTE: Again, for the ones who don’t know Himanshu (name changed), he’s the most reliable man I know. Therefore, there were no second thoughts.

I wound up all the work and rushed to my place. In a jiffy, I washed my face and the search for the answer to “What should I wear” began. Replicating the same Scenes as Bollywood shows, I found myself digging through my cupboard and throwing the clothes, though not on the ground, but on the bed. Finally, I found the perfect LBD (Little Black Dress). All dressed up and dolled up, I wore the LBD with Boots and Overcoat, along with my favorite Fuchsia Pink Lip color.

Dec 31st 2016 8P.M.

*Phone Ringing*

Himanshu: Hey, I’m downstairs. Are you ready?

Me: I’ll be there in 5minutes.

I walked downstairs and stepped out the main gate. Himanshu was waiting outside his car with his face on the opposite side of me.

Me: Hey, unlock the door.

Himanshu: Hey, you are so dressed up and dolled up. You look so pretty.

Me: Thanks *blush*

Started our journey on the unromantic, brimming roads of Gurgaon to find a place that could accommodate us in the rush hour of the last date of the year. Travelling through the roads of Sector 17 to Sector 30 and then, finally entering the jam-packed roads of Sector 29, we were pretty certain that we won’t get a parking spot. Thanks to Himanshu’s driving and parking skills, he nailed the spot, just right.

Dec 31st 2016 8.30 P.M.

Himanshu: Will you be able to walk till the market? It’s a few steps away.

Me: Of course. I’m not in heels.

Himanshu: I mean you are wearing a dress, anyway.

Me: Don’t worry. Let’s go.

Ten minutes after entering market, we found ourselves hopping different clubs with the motive of being able to hit upon one that could serve us with good food, good booze and good music. After taking almost half a round, we shortlisted two – The Factory and Sasural. Those of you who have been to Sector 29 would understand the contrasting options we had. With countless thoughts and discussions, we obviously made the wrong decision. Yes, Sasural it was. Since, it was a pre-paid entry we had no choice but to stay there. The first thought that came to me was “It is exactly like aj mere yaar ki shadi hai”. There was an indoor floor and also an outdoor one, which was indeed the element that triggered our decision in favor of Sasural.

The music was strictly Bollywood. No, wait. It was accompanied by the Bhojpuri ones. Let me list a few songs to give you an unmistakable picture of my excitement on the dance floor:

Tune Maari Entriyaan toh dil me baji ghantiyan

Munni Badnaam hui Darling Tere Liye

The Lipishtik Song – Jab lagawe tu lipishtik, hillela saara district

And the epic, Tinku Jiya

There were Punjabi songs playing as well. Considering my Punjabi background, and my incessant enthusiasm for dancing, this had been the craziest dance party ever, although, I feel Tinku Jiya could have been omitted from the playlist. Nevertheless, I was enjoying thoroughly.

From decent boys seeking the pleasure to dance with me to putting down their offers, exchanging eye-contacts with the NSPs (Nain Sukh Prapti) to shouting and dancing my life out on the most hysterical dance numbers ever, I felt absolutely elated with every single part of the evening. It was turning out to be a great end to the year, plus it was the first time in 22 years that I was partying outside on New Year’s Eve.

Happiness is partying on New Year’s Eve

Dancing As Hell!

Just Posing!

Who cares about the Broken Goggles?

We kept hopping into the indoors and outdoors of Sasural party zones, laughing at some and adoring others for their fanatical drunk behavior. The dinner was delicious and so was Gajar Ka Halwa. We were on the dining tables when the countdown began.

Among the countless screams and yells, I heard 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!

Everyone started to exchange greetings in the forms of hugs and kisses. Himanshu and I hugged and wished each other a happy journey for the New Year. We ran to the dance floor as it was supposed to be the last song of the night, “Bappu Zamindar” it was.

I called my sister and parents and wished them a beautiful year 2017. Himanshu dropped me home at 12.40 A.M. I was so drained out that I rushed to the room and slept.

It was the most perfect end to the New Year’s Eve.

      This Was Just The Perfect New Year’s Eve Dec 30th 2016 8 P.M. Sister: What are you doing for New Year’s? Me: I haven’t really decided yet.