#whole time is something that has like. rearranged my brain. i am very grateful for him. its made me feel better about the steps i need to

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!

thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^

It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.

So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.

Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.

Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”

“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.

“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.

Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.

It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.

Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”

Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”

Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”

Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”

Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”

Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”

Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.

“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”

Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”

“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”

Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”

“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”

“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”

Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.

“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”

Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.

He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.

Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.

Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”

“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.

It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.

Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.

He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.

It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.

Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.

[spectrumed]

5. sleep

It hardly gets dark in the Swedish summers. Between dusk to dawn, you’ve got about an hour to fall asleep before the sun rises again. If you struggle to fall asleep that fast, you can invest in some good window blinds. Or you can do as I do and place one big pillow over your face. Then the birds start singing around three o’clock in the morning. You can practically hear the sounds of Edvard Grieg’s Morning Mood playing at around four o’clock in the morning. Around five o’clock in the morning, it is as bright as midday. Did you have a good time sleeping? Or did you pace around in a circle having one hell of a panic attack? I thought you took some of those sleeping pills you got prescribed, they should have helped you fall asleep… wait, you did take them? They didn’t work? Oh, they did work, you just felt your body falling asleep while your mind stayed awake? That sounds terrible, real terrible. Very well. It’s morning now. Want some coffee?

You could form a religion out of sleeping. Let’s have sermons where we fill a whole auditorium full of beds and have our congregates take a big collective nap. Sleep for the sleep god! Pillows for the pillow throne! Sleep is a billion-dollar industry, there’s a plethora of handy products you can buy that promise to send you on a luxury liner to dreamland. Pills, mattresses, dreamcatchers, whatever your snoozy heart desires. You can go to a proper doctor and they might help you, or you can settle for the placebo effect and go to some fraudulent quack, instead. He might make you swallow some pills that contain arsenic, but hey, arsenic is a naturally occurring element. It can’t be all that bad for you if it is natural. And you do want to sleep, don’t you? If you take this pill in your mouth and swallow it with a glass of water, I promise you, you will sleep for a very long time.

The esteemed former president of the United States of America, Donald Trump, claims that he only needs four to five hours of sleep every night. While Mr. Trump is well-known to be a paragon of honesty, I do doubt he’s telling the truth. No, I actually do believe him when says that he only gets about four or five hours of sleep each night, I just don’t believe him when he says that is all he needs. He doesn’t look very well-rested, does he? And Margaret Thatcher, the similarly adored former prime minister of the United Kingdom, claimed that she also only needed about four hours of sleep every night. Yes, while researching the sleeping habits of famous monsters, I’ve come to the conclusion that amongst powerful individuals, not getting enough sleep has become a proper badge of honour. The belief is that if you don’t get enough sleep, that must be because you are living such a vibrantly successful life, and are so career-driven, that you simply haven’t got enough time to sleep for the full eight hours. People who sleep for more than four hours are lazy liberals. Go-getters like Trump has got to be out there, working, making decisions, raping women, and showing daddy what a good boy he is. Sleep is for the weak. But maybe I am weak. I sure like sleeping.

It’s the cultural hangover our society has had since the 80’s. Back when the yuppies wearing jackets with obscenely padded shoulders would happily chuck down eight to ten espressos in one go while A Flock of Seagulls was playing on the radio encouraging everyone to go running. And to be fair to them, with the constant fear of the doomsday clock hitting midnight, they really had no reason to think that they’d survive the decade. The new millennia, it seemed, would have no cities, no nature, no humans, only radiated mutants scouring the rubble that remains of civilization for cans of preserved something edible. Self-destructive behaviour was in. It was fashionable. Doubt people got enough sleep back then, between snorting coke and wondering if the next pandemic that hits the night clubs would start killing as many straight folks as gay folks. Well, here we are in the new 20’s, and we’ve got a pandemic that does appear to kill people regardless of sexual orientation. Sure, the looming threat of nuclear obliteration has been lessened dramatically, but we’ve largely come to exchange that anxiety for the fear of total environmental collapse, instead. No wonder 80’s nostalgia is a big thing right now. History doesn't repeat itself, but It often rhymes, said Mark Twain (supposedly.) I wonder how much coke Mark Twain would snort if he lived in the 80’s.

I notice a palpable difference in my mood and mental state when I’ve been getting good amounts of sleep. Lack of sleep results in lack of clear thinking. Caffeine, though it is something I am chronically addicted to, does not help fix a sleep-deprived mind. There are no tricks of revolutionary “life hacks” one can employ to get out of sleeping. To recover from depression, one has to sleep. Sleep often and sleep well. I cannot understate the importance of being well-rested. You cannot process information if you are tired. I am reminded of my teenage years seeing friends of mine who’d stay up all night, then come into school shuffling like agonised zombies. They got so frustrated when the teachers reprimanded them for snoozing in class. Well, dummies, it is your fault for drinking several dozen cans of Red Bull every day! I know that sleep does not always come easy. I know the terror of insomnia. But, c’mon! At some point, you’ve got to realise that sleep is essential. Maybe most of your problems stem from the fact that you refuse to get enough of it? Here’s where the tough love comes in. If you wanna get better, kiddo, then listen to me. It’s bedtime. Yes, I know you’d rather stay up late playing monopoly with your friends, but I’m confiscating your dice and I’ll only give it back to you when you’ve gotten some good sleep. Okay? You hear me, missy? You listen to your daddy now, and go to bed. No ifs or buts about it, princess, I’ve made myself clear. I know what is best for you, and you know that I am right. I’m your daddy.

But what if I can’t seem to fall asleep? Normally, it takes a long time for me to fall asleep. It is not uncommon for me to stay awake for two hours, maybe more, before I finally begin to sleep. Fearing that I won’t fall asleep gives me anxiety. That anxiety keeps me awake. I turn my body. I try lying on my side. First my left side, then my right side. I then try to lie on my back. I’ve got a song stuck playing in my head. Not even the whole song, just a ten-second segment of it. It’s playing over and over. I’m worried about the future, will I ever find security, will I ever find a wife, will I get to grow old? I worry about death. I keep hearing the music playing, it’s grating. I rearrange the pillows, in hopes that will make me feel more comfortable. But no, I keep tossing and turning like a fish caught on land. I’m getting frustrated. If only I could shut off my brain. I’m constantly thinking. I turn to my side again, but now I notice I’ve moved arounds so much that now the bed has shifted away from its position next to the wall. There’s now a gap between the bed and the wall. I almost fall down that gap. I get up and I push the bed back against the wall. I lay down in bed. The song is still playing.

How am I ever going to become a successful businessman if I am wasting so many hours just trying to get to sleep? This is the time I should be spending on the phone, yelling at people and making inappropriate sexual comments to my female employees. That is what good executives do. I need to get my life in order. I need to exercise more. I should practice mindfulness. I should get a life coach, a personal trainer, a stylist, an accountant, an assistant, a trophy wife, and a mistress. I need people in my life to take care of me. It’s funny how rich people create the sort of environment around them where people will take care of all their needs, effectively infantilising them. These people don’t even get to decide how to dress themselves. They’ve got fancy apartments, but they don’t choose any of the furniture. They’ve got art on the walls that they don’t like, but the art looks expensive, and that is all that matters. They’ve got kids, but they don’t raise them. Their spouses are cheating on them, but in fairness, they are cheating on their spouses. They don’t really even know what their jobs entails, as they’ve gotten promoted so many times that they’ve ended up in a position that is totally outside their realm of expertise. But they’re so powerful that no-one is able to fire them over their pretty blatant incompetence. They’re successful. They’ve made it. But they still can’t sleep at night. They only manage to successfully fall asleep at night after swallowing a fistful of pills along with a swig of vodka.

It must be easy being a self-help guru. Well, what I mean to say is that all you really need is charisma, which is something you need to be born with. But you don’t need to do any actual studying, any real research, or any kind of soul-searching or deliberation. All you need is to state what is obvious. You go on stage in front of an anxious audience, mostly composed of middle-class salesmen and miscellaneous white collar ghosts. You smile, show off your eerily bright teeth, and they clap. You tell them to go take care of themselves, to eat more healthily, to take walks, or go swimming, and love their partners. You tell them to drink less, or maybe, if they feel like it, they could drink more. I am sure you could spin alcohol as a positive or a negative, depending on what crowd you’re talking to. Tell them to appreciate family. Tell them to appreciate others. Live, laugh, but most of all, love. Tell them to go clean their rooms. Tell them to remember that if they’re on an airplane that is about to crash land, they need to put their own oxygen mask on before they can help others put theirs on. If you don’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else? Now, go to bed!

You know all this stuff. Me telling you that you should sleep more doesn’t really help you. You know that you should sleep more. It’s not like as if you’re too dumb to realise that. And it’s not like as if you’re too dumb to realise that it is better to drink in moderation, and that you should smoke less weed. There are many small little things you can do to improve your life, to stop being a terminally unemployed slacker. It’s like your grandpa who tells you stories about life after the war when you could walk into the biggest building in town, slam your fist against the table and demand to be given a job and a house and a wife and a couple of kids, and that was all you needed to do. He can’t comprehend the fact that society doesn’t work like that, any more. Most people my generation have given up hope of ever owning a home, at least if they happen to live in the vicinity of a larger city. It seems that, no matter where you live, the cost of homes has risen to an impenetrable degree. It seems just as likely that you will be able to afford your very own genetically-engineered pet dragon before you will get to be a house-owner. It’s the fault of those damn boomers, why bother changing your ways, when the boomers are still in charge? Others may accuse you of wallowing in your own depression, but you are perfectly aware that this is exactly what you are doing. You are self-aware. But self-awareness on its own is not enough to motivate anyone. You still can’t see the point in doing anything constructive with your life. Life just feels so aimless. It’s easier to sit, smoke weed, and watch cartoons.

Pop psychology is problematic. To say the least. Take all those self-help gurus suffering from their messiah complexes and put them through the shredder. Don’t buy books thinking that they’ll offer you the kind of treatment you would get from an actual psychiatrist. I know that, depending on where you are in the world, treatment can get very expensive, but you’re not going to get better reading the book of some self-aggrandising narcissist’s collection of wishy-washy platitudes. Dr. Phil has done great evil pretending to be a therapist on the TV, and Jordan Peterson (despite having once been an esteemed scholar) has turned a generation of young internet-savvy zoomers into proto-fascists obsessed with the monogamy of lobsters. Pop psychology has become a guise for cult leaders to reap new followers. Getting treatment should not feel like joining a new religious movement. Maybe I’m just one of those annoying atheists, but I dare say, psychiatry works at its best when it's secular. You should not look at your psychiatrist as a prophet speaking to God. They’re just a doctor, and you need treatment.

I do not aspire to create a self-help blog. I do not promise that reading this blog will help you in any way. I would be overjoyed if someone came up to me and told me that I had inspired them to seek help. You may tell me that reading my words have made you feel less alone, knowing that others have gone through all these things that you are going through. When I felt at my worst, I remember reading the memoirs of people I admired who had similarly struggled in their lives, and I felt less alone. But none of those books pretended to exist principally to help others. Those books did help me, through the candid descriptions of struggles that I thought I was alone in experiencing. Knowing that some people had pulled through, managed to find a light at the end of the tunnel, it made me think I could one day be like them. The books didn’t seek to fix me, but they offered me a perspective that came to be very valuable later on, when I started going to therapy, and when I later started taking medication. Sometimes that is all you need. Not someone standing over you and telling you to go to bed, or to clean your room, or to stop drinking. You know all that, already. What you really need is the reassurance that things can indeed get better. Sleep will come.

[separatist-apologist]

Speak Now

I can't justify this at all.

I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. But you are not the kind of boy who should be marrying the wrong girl.

“Elain,” Vassa hissed from behind a heavy velvet curtain. “If Ianthe sees you—”

“I know, I know,” Elain whispered back, letting Vassa use her body like a shield. “I just need to see Lucien.”

Vassa smoothed out the skirt of her hunter green dress. “Jurien is back there…I could send him a text?”

Elain nodded, her eyes sweeping through the room. She’d picked the worst possible moment to lay her feelings on the line. She’d had yearsto do it, to just come clean and tell Lucien she was in love with him, but every time she tried, she got tripped up. The words got lost in her throat. Elain had hoped Lucien might tell her, but he never had. She’d thought, for a time, that he might love her back, might want to be with her the way she wanted to be with him.

They’d kissed one summer right before Tamlin introduced Lucien to Ianthe. Elain couldn’t see Ianthe, hidden behind the curtain at the very back of the massive church, but she didn’t need to. Ianthe was everything Elain was not; tall, a society woman, and someone who could move through the same circles as the Vanserra’s. Elain was the girl who’d accidentally met Lucien at school while on scholarship. Her family didn’t have money; no one was impressed by the last name Archeron.

Elain assumed Ianthe and Lucien would burn out but Lucien proposed and now Elain was skulking through a church so she might beg him to reconsider. She was terrified he’d tell Elain it was too late, and he loved Ianthe now, the simpering, stupid blonde that didn’t love Lucien in return. She loved his money, his family name, and the thought of someday raising future Senators. If Ianthe found out Elain was here, she’d probably kill her.

The people sitting in pews were a veritable who’s who not just of the state but of the country itself. Elain slid out of the church back into the vestibule where Vassa was waiting. Vassa shouldn’t have been allowed either despite also having money and status. Vassa and Ianthe hated each other. Vassa was loyal to a fault and Elain would forever be grateful for her friendship. Vassa was also dating one of Lucien’s best men, Jurien.

“I texted Jurian but he’s not responding,” Vassa muttered, grabbing Elain by the arm and pulling her through the vestibule and up the stairs. “You should hide up here in the balcony until I can figure out how to sneak you past Ianthe and her bridesmaids.”

Elain nodded, her shoes clacking loudly on the marble steps. Vassa took one last look at Elain with pity in her wide, blue eyes.

“You just text him too, you know,” Vassa offered but Elain shook her head no. What if he didn’t see it until after he said his vows? It had to be now, and it had to be in person.

Vassa vanished through an archway, leaving Elain a phantom overlooking the ceremony. She caught sight of her sister Feyre, mulling about and talking to people Elain only vaguely recognized, her husband Rhysand by her side. She spotted who she assumed must be Ianthe’s family, judging by their pale skin and blonde hair, dressed in shades of pastel that washed them out. Lucien’s family, on the other side, easy to see with all that red hair. Beron seemed pleased enough in his tux, but Lucien’s mother’s face was unreadable. Elain imagined she didn’t approve, though it was possible she was just bored of waiting.

Elain was, too. As quietly as she could, Elain slipped back down the stairs into the vestibule and then down a hall where the bridal party was finishing up. Elain could hear Ianthe, her voice raised.

“We agreed to heeled Manolo Blahniks so why are youin flats that look like they came from Target?!”

“Ianthe, I’m pregnant, my feet are swollen—”

“How is that my problem? You look disgusting and I’d make you leave if it wouldn’t throw off the balance of the ceremony—” Elain slid past the half open door, catching sight of Ianthe as she did so. Ianthe was in a huge tulle grown that Elain supposed Ianthe thought made her look like a princess. It made her look like a cream puff. The thought gave Elain some small measure of joy, knowing that for all the money Ianthe had spent on this monstrosity of a wedding, Ianthe still couldn’t buy herself any taste.

Elain slipped into the room that should have belonged to Lucien only to find it empty. His regular clothes were sitting on a chair, marking that he’d been here at some point. Elain slid into the hard piece of furniture, pulling off the jacket hanging off the back and pressing it into her face. This was her fault. She’d been a coward, too afraid to tell the man she loved how she felt and now he was waiting on another woman. She took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of chestnuts and warm apples. Lucien somehow always smelled like a crisp, fall day. Elain took a breath and looked up in the mirror. She looked plain compared to Ianthe, even if Ianthe was more pastry than woman. Brown hair cascaded down bare shoulders and her dress, while long, was hardly the right dress for begging a man to reconsider his whole life. Off shoulder and dusty rose, it was the dress he’d kissed her in the summer before everything went to shit. One drunk kiss, a kiss he’d hastily told her the next morning meant nothing.

It meant everything to her.

Elain stood and replaced his jacket so she could make her way back to the curtain she’d been hiding behind. She wanted to see him, at least. Just one last time before he was lost to her forever. She’d leave, then and let him have happiness.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back behind the curtain and take one last look around. Lucien looked magnificent in his tux. He stood just off center, broad hands clasped in front of him, his russet eyes far away. He hadn’t cut his long, ruby hair though he had tied it off his face. He was every inch the prince she’d always imagined him to be, even as a gangly, awkward fourteen-year-old girl moving through the same private school as him. Lucien had always seen her, even when she couldn’t see herself.

Elain turned to leave when the music began. She froze, equal parts horrified and terrified as people began to stream down the red carpeted aisle one at a time. His parents and then Ianthe’s, followed by a long stream of groomsmen and bridesmaids, all in ugly, unflattering pale blue gowns. Elain caught sight of the pregnant one, her eyes red and face puffy, arms linked with Jurien. If that’s how Ianthe treated her maid of honor, how would she treat Lucien?

An adorable copper haired flower girl began tossing red petals on the floor to general awws, while a stoic, blonde boy marched to the front of the room with a little pillow.

Walk away. Don’t watch this, her brain screamed at her, but Elain couldn’t stop herself. Everyone stood, all eyes on Ianthe when Ianthe appeared, her arm linked with her father. She was floating somehow, like she was some sort of pageant queen. Elain turned her head to see Lucien. She didn’t know what she thought she’d find when she looked in his face. A smile, certainly. Tears, even. Some show of emotion that would let her finallyleave.

His face was unmoved, stone in the face of his soon to be wife. Lucien looked miserable. She was tempted to try and convince herself that was how he expressed himself, how he showed emotion, but she knew better. If he’d been overcome, she would be able to see it. She knew him better than that.

At least Ianthe’s face was hidden beneath a veil that trailed for miles behind her. Her pregnant maid of honor crouched to rearrange it when Ianthe made it to Lucien, her face a grimace. Elain took a look around at the ornate church, her eyes lingering on the stained glass and the marble arches. Had Lucien wanted this? Had he picked any aspect of it out? Lucien, the man who spent days camping with nothing but a pop-up tent and the same blue sleeping bag he’d been using since he was sixteen?

The preacher began speaking words of love, commitment, and forever. Elain kept her eyes on Lucien’s face, begging him for even a hintof emotion. Her hands shook violently, her throat dry. She had never meant to watch him get married. She’d just wanted to tell him how she felt. Lucien’s face didn’t move, betrayed nothing. He didn’t shift his weight from one foot to the other, didn’t itch, didn’t do anything. It was as if he’d grown roots right there on the dais.

“If anyone has any reason these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Elain willed herself to stay put. To say nothing. Silence filled the church and a few people looked around as though they expected an outburst.

Elain stepped out of the curtain, a ghost to the room. No one was looking at her except the preacher, who hesitated when he saw her quietly begin to walk forward. Vassa turned first, her red curls easy to spot in the middle of the crowd.

Lucien turned next. Their eyes met though his face was exactly as it had been a moment earlier.

“I object,” Elain said, her voice wavering.

“Oh thank God,” Rhysand muttered from somewhere close by.

“I uh…I’m not the girl who just…objects to a wedding, but they said speak now…Lucien, if you marry her, you’ll be marrying the wrong girl. It should be us. I love you, Lucien. I’ll…I’ll wait outside for you if you want to change your mind.”

“Get her out of here!” Ianthe screamed. Elain took one last look at Lucien’s face. His eyes shifted, the ice vanishing into something warm. Soft, even. She wasn’t sure if she imagined it; perhaps she only wanted to see emotion.

Vassa rushed forward, her dress swishing around her softly. She looped her arm through Elain’s and walked her out. Neither of them said a word until the warm sun hit their skin. Elain nearly collapsed onto the pavement in the parking lot.

“That took guts,” Vassa told her, walking her quickly towards the back of the church where Elain had come in.

Elain couldn’t speak. She sat on the edge of a concrete step and shook out her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that; I should have just let him marry her.”

Vassa shook her head. “Don’t torture yourself. You made a grand gesture and even if it didn’t work out, at least you tried.”

Elain exhaled. “I should go. I am going to go. I…I don’t want to see them walk out together.”

Vassa nodded. Elain stood, steadier this time and let Vassa hug her tightly. “I’m proud you tried. Plus, you made that wedding fun for the first time.”

Elain nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She took off, walking through the parking lot quickly until she hit the sidewalk. She’d walked seven blocks from her apartment to get here; it wasn’t far. Elain tried to think of what she thought he’d say. She hadn’t planned it out, had never gotten that far. She supposed she always knew, deep down, that Lucien would never walk away. He’d proposed, hadn’t he?

Elain pushed the button at the streetlight, wondering absently if those buttons made the walk sign come faster or if they were a placebo when she heard a voice scream her name.

“Elain!”

Elain turned, expecting to see Vassa again. It was Lucien, in jeans and the jacket that had been hanging from the chair, running towards her. Elain took two stumbling steps, half certain she’d had a mental break, and this was all a very vivid hallucination.

On the third, Lucien caught her, arms around her body as he lifted her off her feet. His mouth crashed against hers before she could say a single word, warm and inviting just like she remembered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the hair tie from his hair. Lucien broke the kiss, eyes shining setting her back to her feet. He looked perfect, his hair framing his beautiful face, his eyes sparkling, and lips swollen from the bruising kiss he’d just given her. He reached for her face, holding it between his broad hands. “I didn’t say my vows,” he told her breathlessly, as if he felt as dazed as she did. “I…I love you too. I never thought you cared, I…thank God you said something.”

He kissed her again, softer this time. Elain was shaking. This wasn’t real, couldn’t be real.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he repeated as though she’d asked something as simple as his name. “Since the first time we met and if I’d been smart, I would have told you that day. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to lose you. It was better to be your friend than to not have you at all but Elain, God, I love you. I love you so much it makes me feel crazy, and right before you came out of that curtain, I was standing up there pretending it was you. Wishing it was you.”

Elain swallowed and then she laughed, unable to stop herself. Lucien grinned.

“Come on, let’s run away before Ianthe comes looking for us.”

“Where will we go?” She asked, taking his hand, and jogging back towards the intersection.

“Anywhere we want.”

[dailyaudiobible]

03/18/2021 DAB Transcript

Numbers 26:52-28:15, Luke 3:1-22, Psalms 61:1-8, Proverbs 11:16-17

Today is the 18th day of March welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian it's wonderful to be here with you today as we do what we do, which is take steps forward. Kind of hard…I don’t even know how we would take a step backward and read the Bible in reverse or something but we’re here to take steps forward. The only way is forward. So, let's dive in. We’re reading from the God's Word translation this week and we’re in the book of Numbers chapter 26 verse 52 through 28 verse 15 today.

Commentary:

Okay. In the book of Numbers today we have begun a transition and it’s gonna take us a while to get through this transition. But it's a major major transition, a transition of leadership, a passing of the torch as it were from Moses, who we've been traveling with so long…like a long time now - many many miles together with Moses, many trials and many of…of God's miraculous deeds and provision for His people. So, that transition is…is beginning. It will take us a minute to get there because we’ll conclude the book of Numbers less than a week from now but then we will enter the final book of the Torah, the book of Deuteronomy. And, so, we won't be leaving Moses. Deuteronomy really is the last speeches or discourses of Moses to the people, to the people that he's been leading before he dies. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll talk about that when we get there. But there is a transition beginning here now, where God is instructing Moses that he will leave…leave the scene basically, leave the stage, die, join his ancestors and then we will continue to move on without Moses. Joshua is being commissioned to take the place of Moses in the future when Moses is gone. Ironically, Joshua or Yehoshua, or Yeshua in Hebrew might sound familiar because it's the same name as Jesus and this name means God's salvation. And, so, we see connecting threads and ironically they’re very…they're very connected in our reading today because when we turn to the book of Luke we are at the very inauguration or consecration of…of Jesus who is at the Jordan River being baptized by John and he comes up out of the water and the Spirit comes down on him and says, “you are my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.” The irony is that Joshua is being commissioned to lead the people forward. Jesus is God's son, leading the people forward and we have shared names with shared meanings with redemptive threads with stories of redemption kind of tying a thread between the two today. And we’ll be able to watch both of those stories unfold before us in great detail as we continue our journey forward.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for all these connecting points that connect over centuries in the Scriptures of an ongoing redemptive thread that winds its way into our lives as well as we carry the story forward. And, so, come Holy Spirit into all that we've read today. Plant it into the soil of our lives. We continue to open ourselves to You fully inviting You to rearrange our lives, shape us, conform us to Your image we pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com, that's home base, it’s where the Global Campfire is burning, it’s where we all come together in this virtual community. And, so, be familiar with that.

Check out the…the Community section. Of course, on the web or in the app you can do these things. So, on the web there's like, you know, a navigation up at the top and you’d be looking for the Community section. If you’re in the app you would just push the Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner and look for the Community section. But this is where the different links to get connected on social media are. This is also where the Prayer Wall lives. And, so, we are a community of prayer and we have done a really, really beautiful job of praying for each other over these years through…I mean…we have brought each other through some really, really difficult things over these years. And God has honored that and been in it with us. And, so, Prayer Wall is always on. You never have to be without. You got stuff going on, you can poste it on the Prayer Wall and brothers and sisters will pray.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com as well. There is a link on the homepage. If you are using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart or the top of my heart, from a full heart, from a heart that’s in awe that this is even happening. I’m grateful that we’re in this together. Thank you for your partnership.

And, as always, if you have prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

DAB family Kathleen Mount Zion IL I am calling today…I tried calling earlier on my way to work and for some reason I just kept redoing and redoing these recordings. So, I finally just stopped and said I will just wait till after work. But I just wanted to pray. I…I read something about Nigeria again and Nigeria’s always been dear to my heart. I have called in the past. It's been a couple of years at least calling for Nigeria and every once in a while, I call in about that. But I'm just asking you to pray with me right now because there was another recent kidnapping of Christian children right out of their school. They've done this before. The last time the girls came back many of them had children they had been forced into marriage with Islamic extremists. And, you know, I just…it's just awful. Anyway, just pray with me. Lord Jesus I pray for Nigeria. I pray for this country Lord. There are many many Christians in Nigeria. Lord you are the King of all, you are the one’s…with you we can walk on water we can move mountains and I pray that the people of Nigeria the Christians of Nigeria will bind together, they were bind together and they will force Boca Ram out of their country and they will first however retrieve what has been lost, their lost children, lost young Christians. I pray this in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

Hi this is Gloria calling from Florida. This call is for Tammy from the Adirondacks. She is in remission from ovarian cancer. I don't know what you're going through, but I want you to take comfort in a God who loves you. He has healed your cancer and He can also heal your heart and your mind in what you're going through right now. Jesus came to bind the broken hearted. Take heart that He has overcome. I pray that you would wear the full armor of God, the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, the belt of truth, the shoes of peace, the shield of faith and yield the sword of the Spirit of the word and pray. I pray that you reach out to those that are close with you, that you share your burdens with them so they can help you carry this burden. I’m so glad that you called so that we could pray for you. In Jesus’ name. Amen. We love you.

Hey DABbers, this is Keira from Denver I am so grateful to God for everything He’s done for me. And y’all I would like continued prayer for my son, Nish. Tonight…today was the second day this week that I had to call the police because…because I had concern for my own safety in regards to my son. The earlier one last Tuesday they took him to the hospital and they…he went to the psych unit but then he got released the next day. Tonight, they took him to the hospital again and this time they took him to this city detox place. And I know this place is not that great. It’s not a rehab and it’s not a lockup. He can leave anytime. But I pray that he stays till…until tomorrow and I pray…I pray and I would like for you…you guys to stand in prayer with me that he…everyone he comes in contact with…with is Spirit filled and Christ filled and can give him guidance. And I pray that maybe this is…this is the moment, this is the moment that Nish makes a decision to change and that he can actually go into a rehab and get the help he needs. And he’s had these issues of psychosis ever since 2012 but he’s continued using drugs this whole time. So, it’s just a compounding of problems. And please pray, please pray everybody with me. Thank you. I love you DAB…

Good morning friends and family this is Justified Smile I am a new listener from late last year and this is my first time calling. It is the morning of March 16th and I just heard C’s prayer request about her postpartum depression and her feelings of worthlessness. And also, just last night dear friend and sister of mine that I’ll call M texted me last night about suicidal thoughts asking for prayer. I’ve seen in the past year that a spirit of death haunts this world. So, I ask you all to join me in prayer. Jesus, teach us to pray. Lord You are King, comforter and shepherd. You are goodness and life. And in Your name, we repel death from the hearts and mind of C and M and all Your children who it attacks along with its every backup replacement and contingency. Let Your life and joy rule in the lives of Your children. Protect those who pray for retaliation and comfort, those who have been hounded and antagonized. Keep us good Shepherd. All this for Your glory oh God my sovereign King.

Hello everyone, I wanted to ask for some prayer today. Been listening for a while and this is…Daily Audio Bible’s really been an encouragement to me. Last year I had a…a pulmonary embolism and it’s kind of been…otherwise been really healthy but it’s kind of since last year seem to have gone downhill. So, I had this embolism and then about…about a month ago I started getting these really bad migraines and…and some double vision. Went to the doctor and he told me to get an MRI. It came back with a…a…a…s brain tumor that’s 3.4 cm. It’s called an acoustic neuroma that kind of grows in my ear next to my brain but it’s pushing against my brainstem. And, you know it…it…it…it…it would be pretty dangerous. They’re gonna have to take it out in the next couple weeks. So, I am praying for obviously as a successful surgery but I’m also praying…there’s…there’s two risks. They…they have already told me I’ll probably lose my hearing in my right ear but also the…the risk that…that…that is possible is kind of almost permanent, is Bell’s palsy because it’s right there on the facial nerve as well. So, just praying for that, praying for my family. I can’t drive right now because…because my double vision and so my wife’s having to take me around everywhere and we have three small boys. So, I really…I pray…I pray for the prayers. I have lot’s of people praying for me but if, you know, more…more people going to the Lord on my behalf would be amazing. The only last thing I pray well…

[gallifrey1sburning]

My Heart Saying Hi

The idea of a genderqueer Ginny Weasley has been floating around in my head for awhile, but J.K. Rowling's horrendous transphobia rearing its ugly head once more made it feel all the more imperative. Many thanks to @mxmaneater for the quick beta and to my discord full-o-queers who encouraged me to finally remove this from my brain and put it onto the internet.

Rating: Teen Words: 1,756 CW: gender dysphoria, coming out Pairings: Ginny/Luna, Ginny/Harry, Ginny/Dean Author: GallifreyisBurning / @gallifrey1sburning AO3

In the beginning Molly Weasley had always wanted a daughter. Ginny knew this from when she was old enough to understand things like that; boys were different than girls, and Ginny’s mum had wanted a girl. Ginny didn’t really get why it made a difference, why it mattered, but she was glad she made her mother happy.

Age 8 “What a pretty little girl!” The exclamation came from a shopkeeper in Diagon Alley while they were out buying her older brothers their school books. Ginny tried to hide behind her mother, still clinging to her hand. She cringed at the endearment, as she did every time a stranger commented on her appearance. She hated when strangers called her things like that. She didn’t know why, but it made her insides squirm. Her mother apologetically told the stranger that Ginny was just shy before calling her boys back to her so that they could move on to the next shop on their list. 

Age 11 When she started at Hogwarts, some of the kids at school called her “Girl Weasley,” and it drove Ginny spare. She wasn’t sure quite why it grated so much; she only knew that she hated it. She quickly became proficient at bat-bogey hexes, and, in turn, her classmates quickly learned to address her by her proper name.

Midway through the school year, Ginny got her first period, and with it came a crippling shame and a sense of wrongness that she couldn’t bear. She had begrudgingly gone to see Madam Pomfrey for “supplies” at the insistence of her dorm mates, but had been unable to look the kindly matron in the eye. When Pomfrey reassured her that this was a normal and healthy part of becoming a woman, Ginny felt something crawly make its way down her spine. She muttered a thank-you as quickly as she could and rushed back to her dorm.

Age 13 When she received her dress robes for the Yule Ball in the mail from her mother—frilly and pastel and dainty and everything she was not, did not want to be—Ginny cried. She’d teased Ron about his robes, but now she regretted it. She hadn’t realized how much she loved wearing a uniform every day; the ability to blend with the rest of the student body, with no differentiations but the crest embroidered at her lapel. The thought of donning this… thing made her nauseous. But she thought of her parents, and how hard it must have been for them to get together the funds to buy this for her—her, the only daughter, whom no hand-me-downs would suit—and she dried her tears and put it on, cleaning up her face with a quick charm so that no one could see that she’d been crying. Her dorm mates oohed and ahhed and told her how beautiful it was and how lucky she was that Neville had asked her to go to the Ball with him. 

Age 14 When Ginny’s breasts began to develop, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She’d known, in the abstract, that it would happen; it had happened to all the other girls, after all. Somehow, though, she’d managed to ignore that fact until the reality was upon her. They were sore, and they were visible, and she hated them. Her friends thought that her displeasure was because they were so small, and she didn’t know how to tell them it was because she didn’t want them to be there at all. She took to wearing sports bras daily to better hide them beneath her robes. 

Age 15 Dating Dean Thomas had seemed like a good idea, at first. He was a good friend, and funny, and a good kisser. The longer they were together, though, the more he wanted to touch her. He didn’t pressure her, of course; he wasn’t a monster. But she could see it in the careful, tentative wandering of his fingers from her back to the sides of her ribcage, in the light press of a palm on her thigh. He treated her differently, too; as a friend, she’d been an equal, but now he was… solicitous. Chivalrous. Carrying her bag, placing a gentle hand at the small of her back to guide her through a door ahead of him. When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she’d broken it off. 

Dating Harry had been different. For one thing, his hands hadn’t wandered. For another, other than the snogging, he didn’t treat her any differently than he had before. Sometimes, she thought that Harry didn’t much care that she was a girl. He looked at her, yes, but she’d seen him look at boys, as well. Harry appreciated people; it didn’t matter what kind they were. It was why he was so popular—he liked people for who they were. He collected the Hagrids and the Lunas and the Nevilles of the world, and he wrapped them around himself like a blanket of reassurance. 

Age 16 In her sixth year, Ginny didn’t think of anything but survival.

Age 23 Ginny had only been dating Luna for a month or so when they went out with a group of Luna’s art school friends for the first time. Luna easily integrating into the Muggle world had surprised many of their Hogwarts friends, but Ginny hadn’t thought it odd at all. Someone as unique as Luna was an oddity everywhere, and therefore fit anywhere. It was one of the things Ginny loved about her.

As Luna made introductions, one in particular stood out: “This is Jack,” she said, gesturing to a tall, thin person with shaggy black hair that reminded Ginny a bit of Harry’s. “They’re in my experimental film seminar.”

Later, when they were curled up together in bed (Ginny found that she felt more comfortable in her body with Luna. Luna only touched Ginny where she wanted to be touched, and never asked “why” when Ginny said she didn’t like certain things. She didn’t complain or comment when Ginny left her sports bra on while they had sex. She made Ginny feel safe) Ginny asked about Jack. “Is Jack a boy or a girl?” she asked, her stomach fitted to Luna’s soft, smooth back, her fingers playing with her girlfriend’s wild blonde hair. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Neither,” Luna answered blithely, “they identify as genderqueer.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Ginny confessed after a moment.

“It means they aren’t either,” Luna reiterated patiently. “They aren’t a boy or a girl, they’re just Jack.”

“But they must be something,” Ginny argued, feeling off kilter.

“Not really,” Luna said. She turned in Ginny’s arms, trailed her fingers over her lover’s face, tracing the freckles there. “I don’t think that what body someone has defines them, really, do you?”

When Luna’s fingers retreated from Ginny’s face, they were damp with tears.

When Gin was 23, they realized, with the support of their girlfriend and a transgender support group that they’d visited for the first time at the invitation of Jack, “just to see,” that they had never been a ‘she’ in the first place. All of the little broken pieces inside of them rearranged themselves into something new, and they felt whole and seen and right for the very first time. 

Age 24  Coming out was a slow process for Gin. The name was the easiest part; people had called them Gin for short from time to time anyway. The pronouns were a bit harder. The Wizarding world was small and sheltered and slow to change. Still, Gin pressed on, telling first their closest friends, and then their Quidditch teammates, and then their brothers. A few people were shitty about it, but Gin had never expected anything else. They’d heard many coming out stories in their support group; they knew that not everyone would understand. “I don’t need you to understand it, I just need you to respect it” became their armor. Luckily, most of their friends didn’t seem to care at all. They’d lived through a war, after all. Many things didn’t seem as important as they once would have, after that. The general response seemed to be “whatever makes you happy,” and it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t hateful, and for now that was enough.

Gin put off the hardest conversation for last.

Molly Weasley had always wanted a daughter. Gin had known this from when they were old enough to understand things like that; boys were different than girls, and Gin’s mum had wanted a girl. Gin hadn’t really gotten why it made a difference, why it mattered, but they had been glad they made their mother happy.

When Gin came out to Molly Weasley, they cried. “I’m so sorry, mum,” they said, wringing their hands in front of them on the worn kitchen table where they had shared so many family meals; so many happy memories. Their eyes were trained on the warm, honey colored wood, unable to face the disappointment, the heartbreak that they were sure they would see in their mother’s eyes. “I tried so hard, I really did. It just never fit. I didn’t… I know you wanted a daughter. I don’t want to let you down. But this is who I am. I’m sorry.”

Molly was quiet for long enough that Gin couldn’t help but glance up. Their mother looked sad, but not disappointed. “Oh my dear,” she said, reaching her hands—hands that had begun to wrinkle with countless loads of laundry and sinks of dishes and years of life—across the table to grasp those of the child she had once thought was her daughter. “Oh my sweet baby. You could never disappoint me.” Tears filled the warm brown eyes; eyes framed by crinkles formed of laughter and grief and so, so much love. “You’re perfect as you are. You will always be perfect as exactly who you are.”

When Gin began to cry in earnest, Molly got up from her seat and rounded the table, wrapping her youngest child in the tightest hug that she could manage. “I did think that I wanted a daughter,” she murmured, resting her chin atop fiery red hair, “but I suppose I was wrong. It’s happened before, though don’t you dare tell your father I said that.” Gin let out a wet laugh, and Molly ran a hand up and down their forearm comfortingly. “I might not have gotten a daughter,” she continued, “but I got you, and I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else.”

[ahtohallan-calling]

chapter 18 of don’t read the last page is here!

masterpost

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

“Did you ever really expect this to happen? Like, back in high school, if someone had told you this was where we’d end up, would you have believed them?”

“No, but I would have wanted to, more than anything.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged as he finally pulled into the diner’s parking lot. “Like I said when we ran into each other again last summer, you were always the prettiest girl in the room, and I was just me.”

“Nothing,” she said, echoing what he had told her that morning, “has ever, ever been ‘just you’.”

chapter 18: difficult conversations

“You’re taking the back way on purpose, aren’t you?” Anna accused him.

“You just now figured that out?”

She giggled and set her hand over his where it rested on her knee. “Why? I thought you were really excited to show me this place.”

“I think we’ve made a lot of good memories in cars. And I want this to be another one, so I’m making it last as long as possible.”

“Like what?”

She remembered well enough, but he grinned because she wanted to hear them all from his mouth, know that he looked back on them just as fondly. “Like in high school, when I got my license first, and you would get up super early to ride to school with me even though I had to drop all my siblings off first.”

“And we’d get breakfast at the gas station, and you’d always say--”

“‘Seriously, Anna, where do all those Little Debbies go--’, and you’d say--”

“‘In my mouth, dumbass’,” she finished, and threw her head back with a peal of laughter. 

Kristoff grinned, wider than he had in weeks. “And remember this fall when we went to the beach, but it started raining, so we, uh…”

“Fucked each other’s brains out?”

He swallowed hard. Keep your eyes on the road, Kristoff. “Right. Yes. That time.”

“Oh, I definitely won’t forget that any time soon. Remember when you picked me up from the airport, and how we were both just, like, giddy? Oh, my god, I was just, like...you have no idea how much I rambled to Honey about how cute you looked when you had dropped me off, and how excited I was to come back…”

She trailed off, turning to look straight at him as his thumb gently circled over her knee. “I wish you could drop me off this time.”

“I can,” he said, surprising himself; she was supposed to be taking a taxi there so the paparazzi who always lurked at LAX wouldn’t see them, but if it really meant something to her--

“You would risk that for me?” she asked, suddenly shy.

“Well...yeah. I’m not gonna get to see you for three weeks. And if it means a lot to you...then yeah.”

“There’s, like, a really good chance someone will see.”

“I know.”

He glanced over and saw as she bit her lip before speaking again. “Are you...do you...do you think you’ll ever want to go public?”

“I mean...I don’t know that I’ll ever want to have a bunch of strangers take my picture and speculate about us, you know? But if we’re gonna get married and stuff, I don’t want to spend my whole life hiding. So...I don’t know. I don’t want to just drop that bombshell right this second, but at the same time, if it happens now when I drop you off...at least I’m getting it over with, you know?”

The hand that she had set over his began tracing up and down the inside of his wrist; he shivered but didn’t pull away. “I...I don’t know what to say, Kris. Just...thank you, I guess. I know all of this has been crazy, and I’ve been a shitty girlfriend for the last couple months--”

“Not shitty, just busy.”

“Shh, let me finish being sappy. Anyway, I...I’m really glad it’s you. That I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with.”

He was half-tempted to pull over on the shoulder and kiss her then and there and not stop until she felt the same rush of happiness that was sweeping away any thought of the next three weeks. “I’m glad, too.”

She sighed, contented, and settled back against the seat, though her eyes didn’t move from his face. “Did you ever really expect this to happen? Like, back in high school, if someone had told you this was where we’d end up, would you have believed them?”

“No, but I would have wanted to, more than anything.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged as he finally pulled into the diner’s parking lot. “Like I said when we ran into each other again last summer, you were always the prettiest girl in the room, and I was just me.”

“Nothing,” she said, echoing what he had told her that morning, “has ever, ever been ‘just you’.”

He did kiss her then, long and slow and sweet, and when they finally got out of the car one of the cooks who was out for a smoke break raised an eyebrow. “Newlyweds?” she asked, a faint smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

Kristoff felt himself blush beet red, but Anna just grinned. “Close enough.”

---

The work itself was what made it worthwhile. She never felt more herself than when she was someone else. Even with Kristoff, sometimes she still got so self-conscious and tangled up in her own thoughts she just froze up. It was weird, she knew, and she had heard from so many people that for them it was the opposite, that it was a fight to get past the barrier of nerves even when they’d been doing this for years.

So she was lucky, she supposed, even if she didn’t feel like it right now in hair and makeup at six A.M. waiting for her phone to ring. 

“What if they forgot?” she asked, tapping her fingers impatiently on her knee. 

“Quit frowning. You’re making the foundation crease. No talking, either.”

Anna sighed and rearranged her face into a carefully neutral expression. She knew Honeymaren was eager as well for the call; they were both horrendously homesick. But Honey, at least, had something to focus on, namely putting enough powder on her face that the makeup would hold up for the most obnoxious filming schedule of all time; her first scene was supposed to start at eight, and then she was on and off and on again throughout the entire rest of the day, until half-past five. Hans, meanwhile, got to do all his parts with Michael, the man playing Vladimir, all in a row between ten and two.

As if she could sense Anna’s thoughts, Honey said softly, “You can ask them to change your schedule, you know. It really isn’t fair they��ve got you off and on like this.”

“I don’t want to cause another fuss.”

In the mirror, she saw Honey nod, more out of understanding than agreement. On the flight over, as she had still been trying to stop the fat tears rolling down her cheeks after saying goodbye to Kristoff, she had found out that someone had sat her next to Hans for the entire flight. “Absolutely not,” she had insisted, and literally put her foot down, but nobody had really cared about what she had to say until Hans himself swooped in. “

“Of course you don’t have to sit by me, Anna,” he had said soothingly. “I know things are still very awkward for you. I’m sure whoever arranged the seats just did it thinking maybe it would give us a chance to sort things out for the movie’s sake, you know. Just thinking of the best for everyone. But if you’re uncomfortable…”

She had nearly given in, feeling shamed as everyone had sat in silence and just watched, but then he had set a condescending hand on her back, right where Kristoff’s hand had been when he had hugged her goodbye, and she had jerked away. “I am uncomfortable,” she said, “and someone else can have this seat.”

She’d ended up sitting next to one of the screenwriters who, mercifully, had turned out to be completely lovely and blessedly quiet for most of the flight, chatting only to ask if Anna would mind looking at a few tweaks she had added to some scenes.

Later, when they’d been rolling their suitcases to the hotel, Honey had squeezed her arm and said, “He’s a jackass, Anna. Seriously, everyone knows it.”

Evidently they didn’t, because Hans was still king of the set in every way. No one cared when he was late or took too many sandwiches from craft services or complained about the lighting and how it hurt his eyes. Everything was “of course, Mr. Westergaard, right away”; meanwhile Anna was having a hard time getting her coffee the right way in the morning. It wasn’t that she wanted to be one of those bratty divas who insisted on no foam, boiling hot, exactly the right shade of brown almond milk lattes; she just wanted some sweetener in it, that was all, and every day the intern who brought it to her conveniently forgot and was too busy fawning over Hans to be called back over.

Not that that had happened again today. For the sixth day in a row.

Before she could get herself irritated about it again, the phone rang, and she lunged forward to grab it, nearly losing an eye in the process as Honey jerked an eyeshadow brush out of the way just in time. She swiped it up and found herself face to face with Kristoff.

“Hey,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, yourself,” she replied, wondering why her eyes were watering.

“Hi, Anna!” called an unfamiliar voice from the background, and Kristoff shifted the view so Ryder could come into frame. “Nice to meet you! Where’s my sister?”

“Right here,” Honey said with a bright smile of her own. “How are you holding up?”

“We’re good! Well, I’m good, at least. I think Kristoff is going to kill me if I start humming one more time.”

“By humming, he means he starts singing every part to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ under his breath. And very out of key. And it turns out that’s the best way to make someone lose their place in the middle of reorganizing patient files.”

Honey laughed. “He’s your problem til I’m back. Good luck with him.”

Each of them resumed their work as they chattered on, but Anna, despite being the only one sitting still, was quiet for once, unsure of what exactly she wanted to stay. Instead she kept her eyes on Kristoff’s the whole time, grateful he was the one holding the phone so he was never far out of view, while Ryder, it seemed, was incapable of sitting still.

After half an hour, though, Honey cleared her throat as she put the finishing touches on Anna’s lipstick. “Well, anyway, Ryder, can you do me a favor and go call Mom to check on her?”

“What? Why? I can do that after we--”

“Ryder.”

“...ohh. Yeah, yeah, be right back!”

Honey rolled her eyes. “Men. I’m gonna go grab some more coffee. I’ll bring you some back, Anna. Sugar included this time.”

“Thanks,” Anna replied, and both of them knew she meant it for more than the coffee.

She looked back at the screen and saw that Kristoff’s smile had dropped, as had her own. He looked exhausted now that she could actually get a good look at him, shadows under his eyes that were only barely hidden by his glasses.

“How are you holding up, baby?” he asked her, his voice soft.

She bit her lip. “I...okay. I know we said we’re gonna work on being like, totally honest about our feelings, but if I start being whiny...”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m just happy to hear your voice.”

“It’s just...I don’t know. In Romania, we all got along, and it was fun. Busy, obviously, but...it always felt like I was with friends. Here it’s like...I’m an afterthought in my own movie. It’s just kind of Hans everything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. It just...I don’t know. It sucks. But we did the scene with my big song in it yesterday. That went good. They had me sing live, and I didn’t fuck it up.”

“Knew you wouldn’t,” he said with a faint smile.

“How are you, though?”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m...fuck, Anna.”

To her horror, his voice broke on her name. “Kris, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just...I miss you so goddamn much. And you’re worth it, but somehow that makes it worse.”

Her hand started shaking as she held the phone. He was trying to hide it from her, but she knew by the way he had pushed up his glasses to rest his hand on his forehead that he was fighting back tears. She longed to reach out and hold him, to run her hands through his hair as she let him lean against her, to do anything that might soothe him the way he always soothed her, but there was nothing she could do but sit and watch and try to think of something to say that might somehow make it easier on him.

“It’s okay, baby,” she said softly, “I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I know, it’s just-- fuck, now that I know what it’s like to have you here with me, it’s just so much harder this time, and I’d already barely seen you since New Year’s, and I just-- I just--”

“Have you been sleeping?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows as he pulled his hand away enough for her to catch a glimpse of the gray-blue shadows under his eyes.

“No,” he admitted, somehow looking even more defeated as he did so. “I just...I don’t know, there’s been stuff at the clinic, and then you’ve been gone, and I just...I know it’s safe, but if-- if something did happen, you’re so far away, and what if I wasn’t able to get there in time? And I just keep thinking about that, and then I dream about it, too, and then I wake up and you’re not there and just...fuck, Anna, I don’t know what to do. And I’m sorry I’m telling you all this, I know you’ve got your own shit going on--”

“No, don’t ever be sorry for telling me things like this,” she said quickly. “This is exactly what I asked you to do. And I just...I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Just...hearing your voice, that’s making the biggest difference right now,” he said, and she noticed his voice didn’t sound quite so strained anymore. “And saying it out loud...fuck, that helps, too.”

“Do you think you need to talk to someone? Like, a professional someone?”

He was quiet for a long moment. “I...I used to when we were kids. To help me with, y’know...being adopted, and then other stuff, and...maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go again.”

“It would make me feel better if you did, too,” she said, knowing that that was probably her best shot of convincing him. 

“Okay, I’ll-- I’ll call someone tomorrow, I guess. I...thanks for listening, Anna. I know you’re busy with the movie and--”

“Kris, this is my job,” she said gently. “To listen to you and be here for you. And I’m happy to do it. God knows you’ve done it for me plenty of times before.”

He sighed. “I know, I just...it’s nice, knowing that I can tell you everything, and it doesn’t change stuff. I’ve never really had that before.”

“Well, you’ll have it from now on,” she said firmly. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He managed to give her a weak smile. “Well. Apart from Romania. And Russia.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m taking a break from location shoots for a while. I just want to be home.”

“Wish it were easier than this. Wish you could just come back for the weekend or something.”

There was a way. It would require her to quite probably humiliate herself all over again, but he still had that strained set to his jaw, and his eyes still looked sort of damp, and that was all she needed to make her decision. “Let me see what I can do.”

--

It had been three days since he had admitted to Anna how much this was tearing at him. It had embarrassed him at first that he was so distraught over only three weeks like some clingy teenager, but he’d spoken to her more since and she had reassured him it didn’t feel that way at all. “Still,” she’d said gently, “I hate that you’re feeling so anxious. Did you get an appointment made?”

He had, and he’d gone this afternoon. It helped to hear someone else tell him the things Anna said, to know it was coming from an unbiased source, to know that he wasn’t losing his mind for being stressed about it. “Your whole life has changed several times over in the last year. Be gentle with yourself, Kristoff,” the woman had said, her eyes solemn.

That was easier said than done. Currently he was fuming at himself for thinking it was a good idea to watch Anna’s Netflix movie again to get a glimpse of her. Now he was lying awake in bed at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling and trying not to wonder what bullshit Hans had pulled today. Then, suddenly, his phone rang, making him jump.

“Anna?” he asked as soon as he accepted the call. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, hi baby, I’m-- I’m fine. I just...wow. Um. I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Did what?”

“Well,” she said, her voice trembling, “I figured that if I’m the main character of the whole movie I’m entitled to at least one diva moment on set. So I used it on this. I told them I was coming home early whether we filmed all my stuff or not, and uh-- it worked. They changed my bullshit schedule, and so we’ve been doing stuff the last few days, and I manage to get the flight set up and now the day after tomorrow I’m gonna be home. I’m sorry, it’s only like a week early, but--”

“You’re-- you’re really gonna be here?”

“Uh-huh. Sorry my flight lands at like, five A.M., I can get a taxi or--”

“I’ll be there, Anna,” he said, suddenly breathless although he hadn’t moved an inch since she had started talking. “I’ll be there to bring you home.”

[avelera]

Well...I do have an angst idea for Newmann. It's really great that the precursors are gone now and the world is safe and he's working to get his life back and he's very happy about that! But somehow after ten years with the collective, even though it was horrible, Newt's finding himself lonely in his own head.

OK so it’s like…. waaaaaay less angsty than I think you meant but I just couldn’t do it without there being some kind of positive ending. That said, THANK YOU for such a fascinating prompt!

–

Newt snuffled awake at a hand on his shoulder, and only then realized he hadn’t really been “asleep”, just sitting on the couch, staring at a black television screen. Again. Dammit.

“Newton?” Hermann’s voice was soft, concerned. Which, double-dammit, meant he’d figured out what was going.

Newt was usually better at hiding the episodes. By his calculation, Hermann had only caught a few of them over the last year. There’d been over five times that number. At least once a month he’d catch himself doing it again, and when he felt the vagueness coming on, the sort of blankess combined with a nameless swell of dread in the pit of his stomach he tried to go somewhere a little more plausibly deniable than sitting up on the goddamn couch. Like the bed, lying on his back with his eyes closed like he’d gone for a midday nap, or hunched over at his desk staring at some random email without seeing it.

This episode had caught him by surprise.

“Hey, sorry bud, did you say something?” Newt said. His voice was muzzy and he dragged his hands over his face to try to add the whole charade, make it look like he’d fallen asleep. Sitting up. With his eyes open.

Hermann grimaced and Newt didn’t need to hear what he was thinking to recognize that tight expression of exasperation mixed with fear for him. But god, it would have been amazing to hear what Hermann was thinking just then.

Because that was the problem: the silence in his head.

“Dare I ask this time what is going on, or am I going to need to stumble upon you frothing at the mouth from a stroke or, heaven forbid, frozen in the middle of traffic before you finally talk to me?” Hermann said and there’s was a grate of irritation in his voice. The hand on Newt’s shoulder tightening compulsively.

“Can I get a raincheck on that one?” Newt quipped, or tried to, if only his voice hadn’t cracked mid-word.

“Newton.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Newt huffed and threw his hands in the air.

“If not me then a therapist then!”

“I don’t…” Newt snarled to himself and twisted to look up at Hermann. “I mean…” He gestured towards the air. “I don’t want to talk…about it. Do you get it? I don’t… I’m so fucking sick of talking to you!”

“Well, that would be a first,” Hermann said dryly. He didn’t even look hurt. Fuck. Maybe Newt should given Hermann credit for having a thicker skin than him. Hermann only raised an eyebrow. It was infuriating. And just like that, Newt could feel the words building up behind his teeth just breaking free, which was probably exactly what Hermann intended, the bastard.

“I never had to talk to them! They were just in my head,” Newt exploded. “And you, you were in my head, and then you weren’t and I… what’s the point of talking, huh? It’s so fucking messy and imprecise and fucking… unscientific. We can do so much better than talking, we’ve got the Drift! Just fucking… download this shit into our heads, no more peer review, no more meetings, nor more fucking small talk. We’ve got the technology, why the fuck are we all still stuck in our own heads, why are we still in the goddamn dark ages with all this silence?”

Hermann’s lips thinned and he contemplated this. Newt found himself leaning forward, hungrily, despite himself. No one got it, no one understood what it was like after the Precursors, but at least sometimes Hermann would surprise him with some little gem, some insight that cut right through the tangle of bullshit and PTSD and fear when Newt got too wrapped up inside his own head.

“Did you know…” Hermann began, and paused as if considering his words, “… that you sometimes slip into an Eaton accent when you’re complaining?”

“What?” Newt gaped and barked a laugh despite himself. “The fuck does that have to do with anything? And fuck you, I’m not complaining!” Hermann’s other eyebrow rose. “I’m not!”

Hermann held the look for a moment, then sighed and took the seat on the couch beside Newt, and placed his hand as if unconsciously on Newt’s knee. “It has to do with the fact there’s still remnants of our Drift that are still there, even after all these years. I myself am still hopelessly stuck drinking that disgusting black coffee that was your preference, even now that you’ve switched to tea.” 

Newt grimaced and looked away, ignoring the little swell of warmth in his chest at the thought that he carried those bits of Hermann around with him still, like mementos, and that bits of him were irritating Hermann to this day. But it wasn’t enough. “Yeah, well…” 

“Do you miss them?”

There was no clarification needed on them. The Precursors. The assholes who had kept him a prisoner inside his own head for ten fucking years. “No!” Newt spat. Then hesitated. “Yes. Maybe? Fuck I…” He wiped a hand over his eyes, was a little surprised they weren’t damp. He’d always cried easily. Huh. Maybe that alone was progress, that he didn’t fall apart into a sobbing mess anymore when shit got real and they came up. 

“It’s just so fucking quiet, y’know? Sometimes I just… I can’t believe they’re not there, telling me what to do next. And I… I don’t know what to do. Simple shit like go take a shower, shine your shoes, eat something…I got so used to them telling me and… and if I did something they didn’t like it… it got bad, ok? I’m not gonna elaborate, you don’t need to know that shit, but sometimes it was just safer to wait until they told me to do something. And sometimes, now… when it’s quiet and I’m just, fuck, just going about my day it’ll just get quieter and quieter and this… this fear just comes out of nowhere, y’know? Like, ‘did they tell me to do something? Did I forget?’ And there’s just this… this fucking dread like, fuck, I need to time out for a second, just sit here until they tell me what to…what to do.” His jaw clenched and he stole a look at Hermann, terrified he might see that sorrow again, or worse, pity. But Hermann’s face was blank. It was his ‘reading’ face when he was just sitting there, taking information in, digesting it. And try as he might, Newt couldn’t see beyond it.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

“You know, Drifting has come a long way since the first war,” Hermann said conversationally and Newt blinked at the apparent non-sequiter as Hermann continued. “In no small part thanks to your innovation. Drifting with the Kaiju fetus, followed by your paper on the subject, allowed enormous leaps in the field. Why should humans be limited to Drifting with only maximum compatibility, when one of our numbers was able to establish contact with an entirely alien species? I confess with you… off, in the private sector, I took it on as something of a side project. The pursuit of lowering the barrier of compatibility necessary between two pilots.”

“Man, the romance novelists must have been so fucking pissed at you after that one,” Newt croaked. The Drift Romance genre was its own goddamn shelf these days.

Hermann smiled thinly. “What I mean is, if you would like to Drift again, perhaps with… with someone else,” and here for the first time, Hermann’s voice faltered, “there… there would be no reason to fear repercussions to your health.”

Newt snorted. “Yeah, right. Who the fuck is going to want to Drift with me? You’d get like… like brain rabies or something, you’d have to be crazy…” He trailed off. There’d been something there, a flicker of desolation on Hermann’s face, quickly swallowed by that mask of good humor. “Unless...do you want to Drift again? ‘Cause that would be nuts man, like literally an insane thing for you to want to do.” 

Hermann’s hand tightened on his knee. “God, yes,” Hermann breathed, then caught himself, and looked stricken. “I… that is, I don’t imagine it’s an experience you’re eager to repeat, so I haven’t asked, but it’s really very unusual for.. for Drift partners to only go about it the once. There are negative effects, indeed, I thought for some time that the nightmares were a product, and…”

Newt’s breath left him in a rush and a bunch of thoughts in his head rearranged themselves like free-moving Tetris blocks as Hermann’s nerdy eagerness shivered through that good nurse routine he’d learned to slip into ever since he brought Newt home. Hermann wanted to Drift with him. Hermann wasn’t afraid, like any normal person would be, that some trace of the Precursors was waiting in Newt’s head like a dormant computer virus. Hermann wanted to jump back into the deep end of Newt’s brain and it wasn’t just Newt uselessly, hopelessly pining after those swirls of blue and numbers and shitty childhood loneliness and prissy self importance mixed with aching insecurity that was the inside of Hermann’s head. Pining that sometimes hit him so hard it made him miss, just a little bit, the rush of Alice. Of just not being alone in the silence anymore.

“I still have the blueprints somewhere,” Newt said slowly. “I could probably build another Pons without breaking too many international laws.”

Hermann startled. “Build one? My dear, do you honestly tune out entirely when I talk about my work? I have at least three models sitting idle at the university lab.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “Field trip?” he said, and the devilish grin that spread across Hermann’s face was all the answer he needed.

[nomorelonelydays]

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

 -

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

 The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

 The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

 The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

 He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

 “I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

 Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

 Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

 He’s not jealous���or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

 He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

-

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

 “How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

 “I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

 Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

 Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

 “No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

 Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

 “No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

 “I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

 “I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

 “Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

 “Maybe I call tomorrow.’

 “I won’t go anywhere.”

 “Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

 Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

 “Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

 -

 Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

 “I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

 “She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

 “Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

 “I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

 “Dee, you didn’t.”

 “I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

 He thinks about it.

 At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

 Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

 “No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

 Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

 “What?”

 “Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

 Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

 “What?”

 “I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

 It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

 “They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

 “Sid, wait—”

 He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

 -

 I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

 Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

 I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

 Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

 Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing. 

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

 He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

 -

 It snows a little mid-December.

 He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

 The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

 There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

 “They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

 He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation. 

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

 But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

 “I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

 She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

 @DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

-

 Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

 He misses skating.

 He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

 He’s not jealous. He is not.

 But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

 He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

 “It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

 “Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

 The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

 “Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

 “I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

 “Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

 His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

 She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

 The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

 (Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

 After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

-

 “I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

 “Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

 “I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

 “You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

 Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

 “What’s the handle?”

 He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

 “Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

 Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

 “No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

 “Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

 “No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

 “I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.  

 “Maybe.”

 Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

 -

 Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

 “Hello? I’m look for—”

 Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

 “Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

 Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

 “How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

 “Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

 “What about—”

 “No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

 “What post?”

 Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

 @DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

 “Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

[rkxsungwoon-blog]

☆ mga5 callbacks; june 27; interview !

once the performances are over, the ceos retire to discuss the results of the day and, subsequently, the eliminations. letting out a sigh, sungwoon slumps forward in his seat and fiddles with the loose zipper on his keyboard’s cover. the day’s exhaustion slams into him in the span of a few seconds. after four odd hours stuck in these uncomfortable chairs, he thinks he might be ready to go home. but the most important part of this whole ordeal is yet to come: to see who actually makes it onto the show as an official contestant and who will have their journey cut short. the worried frown on sungwoon’s face is more for woojin, kenta, and minhyun than himself. they did amazingly well and deserve to make it through. just this round, he thinks, wringing his hands together. just let them get through this round. let us all get through this round.

he hasn’t really considered what he would do if he gets eliminated here and now. laugh at himself, maybe. go through another crisis of ability? sungwoon made it past this point last year, and he’s much better now than he was back then. he wants some sort of acknowledgement of his skills and his growth, but he knows just as well that the universe doesn’t owe him anything. with everything empty enigma has already accomplished, maybe he’s reaching for the stars. however, sungwoon has never been okay with just being content. if he can push forward for more, he’ll take it. so he wants to survive today, and next week, and the week after that. sungwoon refuses to let himself consider the alternatives. 

the staff call individuals out one by one while the ceos deliberate. he’s a little confused until someone lets it spill that they’re doing more interviews. frankly, it’s unexpected; sungwoon can only remember doing one interview last year, and it wasn’t until episode seven. this is a holdover from earlier seasons, apparently, so sungwoon is happy to just roll with it. interviews don’t phase him, and he certainly has a lot to say about the performances he’s watched so far. some of his friends are… not as forthcoming, and he is absolutely thinking about woojin here. god, he hopes woojin will be okay during the interview.

“ha sungwoon!” he’s deep in conversation when he hears his name and nearly jumps in surprise. after asking keta to watch over his keyboard, he follows the staff to get his hair and make-up retouched. in spite of his tiredness, he chats amicably, gently prodding them for any idea of what to expect during the interviews. one of the make up artists laughs at his attempts and says, “you’ll do just fine, sungwoon.” he takes her reassuring words to heart and heads into the room ready to get through this. all he has to do is remember to reign in a few of his more passionate opinions, but if there’s one thing sungwoon does feel confident in, it’s his ability to know what is appropriate and what isn’t. 

“welcome back, sungwoon. this isn’t your first time on the mgas, but we’re still curious to hear how you felt when you received news of the callback.” 

after greeting the interviewer and taking a seat, he ponders the first question. “honestly? i didn’t think very much of it when i first got the email. i was busy making kimchi, which is just about the most korean thing i could be doing.” the chuckle comes easily as sungwoon recalls the rest of the band bothering him to abandon his work and check his goddamn email. they’d been so excited to hear they were going through to the next stage of auditions… their reaction to the news sticks with him more than his own. “i think i was happier for my friends than i was for myself.” especially for kenta, minhyun, and woojin. “some of them are getting to experience all this for the first time and it’s fun to see them go through the whole spectrum of emotions, you know?” 

he didn’t get to experience it with the whole band last year, so get the opportunity to now means the world to him. “their enthusiasm is infectious, though, and they ended up getting me excited too.” especially daniel, whose been the whole group’s champion from the start. “i guess aside from that, i was a little relieved as well; i felt like i should be able to do this much.” especially after his showing last year, to not even make it to callbacks would’ve been awkward. not that he’d ever expressed his doubts to his friends—or to himself. “i wasn’t ready for my journey to be cut short, though, so i’m grateful i got a chance to perform today.” 

“were you surprised when the judges were revealed?” 

“yeah,” he says immediately. even amidst everything else going on, the arrival of the five ceos caught sungwoon off guard. he understands the reason behind their presence here; it makes sense that they’d want to be involved in the selection process for the show itself. and to see how potential contestants react to their sudden appearance—whether they can keep their composure or fall apart in a bundle of nerves—is equally important, in his opinion. the live shows aren’t easy; not everyone can handle the kind of pressure that comes with it. “i might’ve blacked out for a few seconds in shock,” sungwoon laughs. “they are a lot more impressive than i remember. i mean, their collective aura is no joke. did you see so jisub? and katie lee… wow.” the ceos radiate power and prestige. it would bowl a lesser person over. 

“i was looking forward to performing for them again,” he continues after a small pause. “but if i’d known they would be here today, i would’ve done something different.” it’s hard to imagine what else he might’ve performed off the top of his head, but sungwoon knows he probably would’ve taken a risk and showcased a skill they wouldn’t expect to see from him. “but hey, that just means i have to live to fight another day.” he scratches his neck. “regrets and i aren’t good friends. i don’t want to go home and think, i should’ve done this or what if i’d done that. hopefully i won’t have to. hopefully the universe will be kind enough to give me one more opportunity to perform for the judges.”

“so how do you think you did with the performance you prepared?”

“there’s always room for improvement.” no matter what he feels about his performance right now, sungwoon knows he’ll discover a million things he could’ve done better once he stops and really thinks things through. it’s not in his nature to be complacent; the nagging voice in the back of his head criticizes more easily than it compliments. “i’m never fully satisfied with anything i do, but i think that’s a good thing. it just means i’ll keep pushing myself and keep try harder next time.” rather than being a burden, he thinks the attitude is a healthy one to carry into a competition like this one. 

“that being said…” the corners of sungwoon’s lips curve up, his previous serious expression fading. “this performance was representative of who i am. i worked on the piano rearrangement myself, and i really wanted to showcase a combination of my vocal and instrument skills. and i sang from the heart—which might not count for much, but that might be the most authentic performance i’ve given in my life, so how can i not be happy with it?” he’d left it all out there, bled himself dry, and he hopes at least a fraction of that came across to the ceos and to his audience. “my answer might be different tomorrow, but for now, i think i did alright.” 

“what did you think of joohyun’s performance? she sang a song by your band, empty enigma.” 

ah. surprise briefly flickers across sungwoon’s face before he can cover it up with a smile. it makes sense for the staff to ask him about her performance out of the other ninety-nine, but he can’t say he’s prepared to answer. “i still can’t believe it,” he chuckles, fingers idly picking at the stray threads sticking out of his pants. “my brain stopped functioning for a while. like, i actually thought i might’ve died and entered nirvana. for someone to perform our song on a stage like this one is… unreal.” his jaw dropped when he recognized the familiar music, the lyrics he’s come to associate with daniel pouring out of joohyun’s mouth. 

sheer shock eventually gave way to gratitude and confusion—why empty enigma? they’re not exactly… mainstream. it has to be a big risk doing one of their songs. sungwoon wonders if she did for daniel’s sake. he’s not sure what to feel about that, but now isn’t the time to unpack it either. instead, he presses both hands to his warm, pink cheeks as he thinks about the viewers hearing empty enigma’s music. joohyun’s done more to promote them than any of the band members have. “i’m thankful joohyun liked our music enough to do our song, and i think she did it beautifully.” he turns to the camera and sinks into a small bow. “thank you, joohyun! i hope someday we’ll be able to perform this song together!” 

“and what were your thoughts on your band members’ performances?” 

his face splits into a wide grin. “i thought you’d never ask.” sungwoon can talk about his friends and their performances for hours, but he tries to keep it brief. “all of them did a great job. i know i sound biased, but i didn’t realize how good most of them are, so actually seeing them up on stage was a shock for me.” he dives into woojin’s performance first since it’d left the strongest impact. “woojin… i didn’t know he could dance like that. i mean, we live together, but he’s a private person—so seeing all that charisma and raw talent come out? i’m proud but also slightly offended he didn’t tell me he could do that.” similarly, he didn’t know the full extent of kenta’s dance skills, though they’d come as less of a surprise than woojin. “kenta was also amazing. doing a jun song isn’t easy, but he pulled it off with elegance and charm. he’s truly a talented performer.” 

talking about minhyun is a lot easier when sungwoon doesn’t have to do so in front of him. “i knew minhyun could sing, but his dancing skills were a bit of a mystery to me.” pausing, sungwoon bursts out laughing as a thought hits him. “i guess that’s how you can tell we’re in a band, huh? none of us knew the others could dance.” he takes a brief moment to collect himself before continuing. “anyway, i really applaud him for showcasing both his singing and dancing today, and i love bruno. minhyun really did him justice.” god, he hopes this doesn’t air; sungwoon isn’t sure how he’d explain gushing about minhyun on camera to the man himself. “i believe minhyun has the confidence and talent to be an idol, so he’s definitely one of my top picks out of today.” 

finally, he comes to daniel and his eyes light up. “daniel… he’s polarizing. i’ve heard a lot of people say he isn’t talented, but he did an original song today. that has to count for something.” he loved daniel’s performance, but he’d probably love anything daniel does. the faint pink from earlier is still in his cheeks, and he hopes it isn’t obvious just how much he cares. just in case, sungwoon cuts it short. “his singing and stage skills have improved immensely, so i hope people recognize that and support him a lot this year. he deserves it.” 

“were there any performances you liked?”

there were a few sungwoon paid attention to aside from empty enigma and joohyun’s. “eunji—she did boa’s woman. i thought her voice and her presence were both commanding. i’m a fan. i enjoyed jeonghan’s song choice and vocal color as well; he’s a potential contestant i would definitely keep an eye out for.” he should probably diversify and mention more than just vocalists, but as one himself, sungwoon tends to focus on the competition more than the rest. “i heard someone sing day6’s shoot me—sihyeon, i think? i thought her song choice was very bold. i liked it.” day6’s music is some of his favorite to listen to, and he almost wishes he’d done of their songs as well. “hyojin’s acoustic cover was really good too. i wasn’t familiar with the song, but i like how he performed it.” 

this is harder than sungwoon anticipated; a lot of the performances that came first have blurred together in his mind. “some of the mash ups were very clever. i can respect the skill that goes into making them.” there were a few others, but he can’t remember them off the top of his head. “oh!” sungwoon says suddenly, smacking his palm with his fist. “the guy who did the trot version of lc9? i kinda enjoyed that. though my grandfather loves trot so i might just have a soft spot for it.” the name of the performer slips his mind, but the song itself is stuck in his head. 

“were there any performances you didn’t like?” 

sungwoon wonders how many people have actually answered this question. nobody wants to be edited as the designated asshole, so he imagines the answers have been safe so far. sungwoon isn’t eager to shoot himself in the foot either, but truthfully, there were a few he didn’t care for. “i think there are some performers who could probably benefit from a few years of experience,” sungwoon says carefully, his expression controlled into one of bland interest. “but shows like this have ways of making you grow up fast, so i don’t know if it’s all that important.” 

he wonders if he should just list the performances he didn’t like—the kid on skates, for one, because this is an idol competition. the one who’d done the baby shark remix didn’t seem all that serious either. “i also hope more contestants take the competition seriously moving forward.” sungwoon could rip into a few vocal performances if he really wanted to, but he eventually shakes his head and flashes the interviewer a smile. “i don’t think my opinion matters much, so i’ll leave it there.” 

“is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next phase of the mgas?”

“mason,” he says bluntly. “but everyone can probably see that coming.” it’s wild to think a debuted idol is on this show, and such a high profile one. his sheer wealth of experience both terrifies and inflames sungwoon; he doesn’t want to just roll over and lose to someone like that. “he’s a former idol with a fanbase, with the skills and training, and with the prior experience to kill it in this competition. i believe he’ll make it to the finale.” is it unfair? maybe. if sungwoon’s worried about going up against him, he wonders how some of the green newbies feel. “i hear there are a few other debuted idols here too. junhee—he did jonas brothers? i heard he was an idol as well, so he’ll probably have an edge over the rest and make it through easily. you can’t deny that people who’ve experienced this lifestyle, whether as idols or trainees, have a distinct advantage in this competition.” 

other than that… “i think moonbok might move onto the next phase; he was on the mgas last year. i hope joohyun goes through since she deserves it the most, probably.” for fairness’ sake, he should mention people he hasn’t spoken about yet. “i’m confident minkyung will, and likely chan as well. i remember being impressed by him.” and last season didn’t have many rappers, so sungwoon is positive at least a few will go through now. “if any of these predictions come true, maybe i can see the future?” he breaks off and laughs at the thought. him, a psychic? “i hope that’s true! it’d be cool.”   

“some would say you also have an advantage over others as a member of a band.” 

some? sungwoon would like to meet them. “maybe? but performing as part of a band and as an idol are two different things.” he’s not sure how to explain this to someone who hasn’t experienced the energies for themselves, but you can’t compare the two. “the way you play to the crowd—and play off them—differs when you’re in a band. it’s a lot more casual and fun and intimate in some cases.” personally, he thinks it’s freeing; there are less rules and restrictions, no illusion of perfection to maintain. 

“as an idol, you need to be more poised and precise with everything you do. i mean, i can’t say for sure, but from what i experienced during the mgas last year, it was… nothing like i was used to. the expectations for idols are sky high.” sungwoon shrugs and claps his hands together. “i don’t think my band history gives me much of an edge over anyone.” his fellow competitors don’t have to agree, but at least sungwoon made an attempt to clear the air.  

“is there anyone you are certain will be eliminated today?”

he grins slowly and shakes his head. “that’s not for me to judge, is it?” no way is sungwoon getting caught out on that question. but privately, he thinks skater boy is probably a goner. 

“thank you for your time. you may now return to your seat.” 

“thanks for all your hard work.” exchanging farewells with the interviewer, he heads back to his seat, eager to discuss with his friends as they wait for the eliminations to take place. maybe the interview could’ve gone a bit better, but sungwoon is glad he didn’t say something dumb. it’ll have to do for now.

[urgirlc]

WELCOME TO MY SPACE!!! hahaha someone give me a name pls Here are my top 10 ways to handle stress (the video was 12 mins long and i was too lazy to edit) 1. Change of Environment 🚘 This could mean go for a drive, go to the park, go eat, socialise. I find that this really helps (momentarily) as it takes your mind off the stress and gives you something else to put your mind on. Sometimes I find zoning out whilst driving really does help (wind in my hair and music haha) 2. Stretch 🙆🏼‍♀️ I think stretching is so therapeutic, sometimes after a long hard day you want to undo all the knots in your body from tension. Stretching is also important and should be the first thing you do in the morning (to prevent injuries from dumb things.. like hyper extending your legs??) I take stretching to like a whole new lvl.. literally groaning whilst i stretch may be one of the best things i have uncovered. 3. Journaling 📝📚 For me, journaling is the best method to relieve stress. I’d like to think telling a friend or family member about my problems is helpful but sometimes I enjoy writing. It helps clarify the situation and make it more clear. Sometimes the thoughts in our head maybe unclear and jumbled, being able to write it down lifts a lot of weight off my shoulders. Not only that, there are a lot of personal things that I think about it and I sometimes am uncomfortable telling others and journaling really does help me express the things that I am not able to say. 4. Hanging out with pets 🐶 5. Gym 🏋🏼‍♂️ Nothing better than turning frustration, and stress into motivation to gym. As well as keeping yourself fit and active, you can unleash a lot of the suppressed emotions inside at the gym. 6. Wake Up Early ⏰ I find that waking up earlier makes me less stressed. Back when I was only doing one shift a week I felt like the biggest potato and i mean this in the most negative way. All my friends were working full time/part time.. and I did nothing. It made me feel very stressed out that people were moving on with their lives and I wasn’t amounting to much. Getting up early allows me to have a productive day and achieve more things. 7. Go Beach 🏖🌊 Once again, the idea of change of environment, as much as I hate waves and sand, I love the beach. Mainly because it’s so calming and relaxing, I enjoy being tanned and taking in all the sun and being nice and crispy & sleepy haha. The air is clean and I think that’s when I’m really feeling like I am in my element. 8. Cleaning/rearranging your room 🛌 I am all for rearranging my room, buying new furniture. I believe that your bedroom is your temple, where you sleep/eat/spend most of your time. I like to have good energy flow through my room and have it lively and spacey. Designing it the way I like it makes me incredibly happy. I think coming home from a long day to your bedroom is the most satisfying feeling and it’ll be even more spiritually filling if you are in love with your room. 9. 3 Things you’re grateful for today 🍃 I picked up this method in primary school where my counsellor would make me write about the three things I was grateful for, every time I felt sad. I didn’t understand the psychological part of it until he told me this; whilst thinking about the 3 things you are grateful for today it takes your mind off your worries and concerns. It fixates and concentrates on the three things you’re grateful for. Therefore I find this a good way to keep my humble and at grace and a friendly reminder of why I shouldn’t be too stressed out! 10. Candles/Baths/Long showers 🕯🚿🛁 People really underestimate the use of candles, it is actually so therapeutic and good for you spiritually. Unwinding after a long day may be as important as sleep. Your brain has been at work for so long during the day and sometimes just having a long bath or shower is good for you (mentally). It’s important to take care of yourself, no one else is going to do it better than you. You know yourself best! I hope some of these tips are useful for you guys, like I said I am probably the most stressful person but here are some things I really think works for me when I’m stressed or having a long day. All my love.

[skipzujinskip]

goals for july 2020

In order for me to be on a roll, and get usual indecisive and messy ass together. I am gonna just set some goals and try to be a better person than I was yesterday. Aye it’s never too late to start a new beginning and its never too late to start on these goals and work hard for the results. In a perfect time to occupy myself in a lot of things and keep myself busy due to the COVID-19 situation, it’s time to be properly committed. 

JULY 2020 GOALS

Get my STUDYING ON A ROLL

NO MORE LEAVING SHIT LAST MINUTE!!!!! Being a Fashion Marketing Uni student is NO FUN AND GAMES! 😭There is a whole lotta madness and elements to it all and let me just say, I WAS NOT PREPARED THIS YEAR TO EXPECT ALL OF THIS. So far I am lucky this trimester after the first set of assignment, the weight of all the assignments are a lot lighter since the first of assignments were kinda hectic but you know, you gotta channel that inner phoenix rising from the fire. The current set of assignments are more group-based and more creative and fun:

Fashion Blog - The most creative yet challenging assignment for the Fashion Influencers class. I am still yet to decide what platform to really but this blog through, we already have a name though 🤪, ‘CrazySweetSavage’. I still need to decide what to post and what kind of direction I am heading with the blog. I just believe this fashion blog can be more than just an assignment for me, it can be something I can really air out my creativity without feeling any pressure. Instagram is great but I feel so iffy for some reason and I don’t know why. Maybe with this fashion blog it can get me outta my comfort zone and I can really gain more confidence in showing off my creativity cause I am still timid about it I guess?! 🤨

Marketing Plan - Aye, we just finished the first assignment for the Marketing class. I am yet to expect what there is to this but WE WILL BE ON A ROLL FOR THIS ASSIGNMENT. I swear on my knees I will slay it. 😊

Group Projects - The last two classes which are Critical Survey and Business Strategy and Design Thinking are both group efforts. I am happy to work with two of my closest friends in uni for both assignments but I am questioning if I am making enough effort 😔. In both assignments, we are exploring the topic of size inclusiveness and innovations we can come up with to meet problems of the topic. 

Hopefully I CAN ALSO GET MY NOTES DONE! 🤬I have been slacking off it so we better get a move on. I got my whiteboard so I can organise what days and the time to do it all. Even with the second lockdown in Melbourne, I got less shifts at work and there is NO EXCUSE not to do it all. 😤

Getting my BODY ON A ROLL

I have been slacking off of Chloe Ting’s workouts after a while... Well 2 weeks and a half to be exact 😳! Ever since I lost my last pair of contact lenses I have not been able to do my workouts. I know, I know!! EXCUSES, EXCUSES. Really, I cannot workout when I am blind and I rely my workouts on my flatscreen with Chloe Ting on there. I should memorise the workouts after a while of doing them but I have a pint sized brain and memory 🙈. 

Along with the absence of working out, my eating habits have become worse. It became Maccas, HSPs and a whole lotta pure junk. I also HAVEN’T BEEN DRINKING THAT MUCH WATER, which is UNBELIEVABLE 😑.  Back then, I was eating good, I needed at least some veggies every meal along with a protein, and on mornings I would enjoy a nice warm sweet bowl of oatmeal, honey and sliced bananas 😔. 

Here are the fitness/body/lifestyle(?) goals I need to keep up with in order to achieve my body goals before this year ends:

WORKING OUT -  I am giving my self an hour a day or at least three days a week depending how intense the workouts I follow by Chloe Ting are. I trust Chloe Ting cause it seems like I can actually see results since other people has done them. I had seen a difference til those tragic last 2 weeks happened 😤.

EATING HEALTHY - I need to go back to my diet of having protein with veggies and portion off some carbs. I also need to aim for a least a day or 2 for cheat meals. 😩MY HABITS WERE TERRIBLE THOSE 2 WEEKS. Also, I am going to need a list of fruits and other stuff to satisfy my deadly sweet tooth 😁. I also need to get my water consumption ON A ROLL. 2L a day, let’s get that bladder moving per usual. 

I need to also remember that - IT IS NOT A RACE, IT IS A MARATHON 😉!! Nothing comes overnight and that I need to earn it just like what I did with my job at work. 

Have my room/home-life ON A ROLL

I live in a pigsty 😕... I come home to mess and shit all around my room and it is seriously and unbearable. Happy home = happy mood. I don’t know how I can get my lazy ass to get up and clean around. However with all this goal setting, hopefully I can pick myself up and get to it. Even after cleaning, I NEED TO MAINTAIN HOW NEAT IT IS 😩!! Not to worry, I just gotta channel my inner Monica Gellar and we will get there. 

The To-Do list for my room:

Re-do closet: I have a lot of clothes that are just lying there and have not been worn once this year and yet I still keep buying and buying 🤡! I might create a sack of of unwanted clothes and ship it off my relatives to the Philippines or to a charity store. Even with my retail job, hopefully I can rearrange my closet nicely. 

Clean up my desk: Arguably the easily messiest part of my room. I am not really satisfied with my desk and every time I clean it, I still feel just BLEH about it. I might revamp it and just order some desk decor so hopefully that is better. 

Find some storage for OLD UNNECESSARY SHIT: They may be unnecessary but these things can at least help someone or just be put away or burnt. I have no idea. I got old school books under my bed and in my closet and that shit needs to go!! 

As I said before with LOCKDOWN 2.0 being around, there are no excuses not to clean! 👺

WORK & MONEY ON A ROLL (🤔)

I don’t know LOL 😂!! Like I said before, I don’t have much shifts due to the current situation. Therefore, I see less $$$ going into my account. However, once again, MY LAZY ASS needs to apply for youth allowance. The whole application takes ages and I understand! Ever since I have gotten this new Macbook AKA my beautiful Ramona, I have became so broke like I NEED TO GET THIS stuff outta the way.

The priorities right now:

GET THAT DAMN APPLICATION DONE. 

However I need to check if the place is still open cause the documentation that I need to supply, I cannot provide proof for some reason so I gotta get there myself. 😫THE STRUGGLES ARGHHHHH!!

Me needs to be ON A ROLL. period. 🤭

In order to get myself on a roll, thus this far, the goal setting and this blog will hopefully put me on a right track. I have been doing really shitty things to cope with it all, I don’t wanna go in depth cause I am gonna get all these things coming on to me like:

“WTF DON’T DO THAT”

“THAT IS STUPID”

“WOW SO DRAMATIC, IT ISN’T THAT DEEP” 

Honestly, my mental health has been all over the place this year. I mean last year was when I was on my lowest of all lows. With so many things arriving to me, it gets too much sometimes. I mean, I would have never expected the things that happened this year to occur. Was I prepared for this new chapter of life? Absolutely not!! I have gotten new friends, a new job and new perspective in life. Life is a complete 180 compared to the messy year previously. 2019 was NO JOKE. I am grateful for 2020 and the new blessings I was offered. 

Somehow I feel like I have gotten it all in this life right now and it seems like I got myself together. That is not really the case though 🧐. Just like that song that Britney Spears sang, “Lucky”:

“If there is nothing, missing in my life then why do these tears come at night?...”

It’s obvious that I am not satisfied just yet. I still have a lot to go. There are so many things I need to work on and that is on my self esteem, my confidence and really trusting myself and being able to forgive myself from past experiences. Most of these are due to because I do not have a significant other or nobody “hitting me up”. I know, why the fuck do I honestly need someone to satisfy myself? I just feel the pressure of being that 19 year old that has not really fell in love with anyone yet. I mean my lucky 13-15 year old self had experienced what it was like to fall in love for the first time. In all seriousness, being in love in your early teens is way different to falling in love in your late teens to young adult ages. In that late teens to young adult stage - love is strived for a long term. Maybe I strive for a longterm relationship and that is why I am very careful with who I fall for and let in. 

Nowadays love has no limits in terms of everything for me. Let it be a guy or a girl. Maybe I am not in a relationship yet because I am not ready for it and I just need time to really focus on myself and really heal whatever is hurting. I have all these amazing opportunities that the universe has provided me, maybe love is not what I need right now and I need to understand that. The thought of not having anyone hitting me up or not being in a relationship has really made me insecure. I always thought I was either too fat, too ugly or too “out there”. At the end of the day, that person would love me for who I am and the way I am, that person would not want me to change a damn thing about myself. It’s all a matter of just waiting. The universe is really taking its time for the person that will soon reach out to me and who I will reach out for. 

I often put myself down because of this but at the end of day, this is my life and that I cannot keep putting myself down. I need to be more kinder to myself and really give myself credit. I am progressing myself through just accepting the past for what it is and really becoming a person that i’ve always wanted to be. I want to be someone that is caring, someone you can rely on, that is there for a fun time. I am reaching the path of wanting to become someone that is passionate and committed for what they wanna do for the future and really pave a way for people. I am so much different from the past but there are still things I cannot accept but I will get there hopefully. 

I also need to trust the universe and its magic. However, those pick-a-card readings and horoscope readings have given me more of an understanding why I am feeling this way and to understand myself better. So to simplify, patience and trust is what I need to build on and equip and just believing in myself and what the universe has to offer. I believe the universe is crafting something for me that impactful and hopefully just beautiful. 

Basically I need to work on:

Being more kinder to myself

Being more patient with myself and the universe

Believing and trusting the universe and what it is doing

Forgive yourself from past mistakes

Be grateful what 2020 has given you. 

I also need to work on stuff that will make me less lonely when I have those days or those moments. I feel like my worst enemy when I am by myself. So I need think of ways that will uplift and brighten me up and can improve in taking care of myself better. 

Watching more anime - Let’s try and get through Sailor Moon and all of those Netflix animes and other people’s recommendations 🤩🤩🤩

Being committed to my daily and night skin routine - Just because I feel depressed or sad does not mean I cannot do pamper up!! GOD DAMN ZU! 🤨Since we are not able to go to the city which where I get all my skincare goodies from, we are going to need to research and choose wisely products that are accessible around me and MAYBE find something online. I don’t trust online stuff but whatever. 

It’s gonna take a lot of time and there is a lot of things on my plate clearly. All of these goals will hopefully get me on a roll to a more HAPPY, POSITIVE AND BRIGHT direction in life. I always have to remember to be grateful for the blessings that have been provided for me and to really work hard for more blessings. I never deserved what I have, I always had to earn through working hard for what I always want in this life that is the way of the knight. 

This is the knight signing off, heading to getting myself and my “all over the place” ass on a roll ✌️!!

- Zujin De Torres

[anavoliselenu]

Heart of stone chapter 23

Justin and I stepped out of my apartment building and into the foggy night. The storm had fully passed, leaving a damp feel to the air in its wake.

 “You were really great with my mother and Allyson tonight. Thank you for that,” I appreciated. “Those two can be tough. The fact that you got them laughing within twenty minutes was no small feat.”

 “Piece of cake, angel,” he told me with a wink. “Besides, Allyson made it easy when she spilled her drink all over your stepfathers lap.”

 “That was funny,” I agreed. I was grateful for Justin’s ability to diffuse the precarious situation with my mother. He even managed to put Allyson’s watchful eye at ease.

 However, none of it negated the fact that my head was still reeling from what I had discovered earlier in the day, and I contemplated how or if I should bring up what I had learned of his mother. I had hoped to figure out a way to approach Justin about it when I got home, but in all the chaos with my mother I never had the chance.

 Justin opened the passenger door for the Tesla. Once I was securely buckled, he went around to the driver’s side and got in.

 “Do you have any preference in music?” he asked, navigating expertly through the elaborate touch screen of the car.

 “No, you pick,” I told him absently.

 “Uh-oh,” he said shaking his head. He stopped tapping on the screen to look at me. His face appeared troubled. “You’ve got that tone.”

 “What tone?” I asked defensively.

 “The tone that says you’re thinking seriously about something.”

 “No, not really,” I lied, but only because I hadn’t had a minute to process my thoughts.

 “Is it the club?” he pushed. “I thought that you wanted to go, but if you’re having second thoughts then we can always do something else.”

 “No, I want to go. But I have to ask – what made you change your mind about taking me?”

 “A couple of reasons actually,” he admitted. “For one, you seemed like you could use a distraction. I’m not sure what was going on before I arrived, but it didn’t look pretty.”

 “It was just my mother being…well, my mother. I don’t feel like rehashing it.”

 “That’s okay. I’d rather you didn’t, at least not tonight anyways. I don’t want to see you get all worked up again.”

 “So what’s the other reason?”

 He sat back in his seat and stared thoughtfully out the windshield.

 “You gave me a lot to think about last night. Your opening up made me realize that I needed to give you something in return. And while I can’t give you the truth that you’re after, I can give you this. You were right, Selena – there is a lot that we don’t know about each other. If going to my club gives you better insight into my life, then we’ll be better off for it.”

 I sat there quietly and contemplated his words. My instinct was to confront him about what I heard his sister talking about at the Mandarin, but what he had to say made me think twice about doing it. In his own way, Justin was trying. It may not have been in ways that I envisioned, but it was something at the very least.

 Respect his limits. Let him be the one to tell you.

 However, there was another thing that left me wondering as a result of my eavesdropping.

 “Who is Suzanne Jacobs?” I asked.

 Justin turned to look at me peculiarly.

 “She’s a friend of my sister’s. Why do you ask?”

 “I stumbled upon an article about you and the redhead online,” I told him, deliberately evading the whole truth.

 “Oh, yes. That’s right. I remember you bringing this up once before,” he recalled with a frown. “I can’t imagine that the article was very lengthy. There isn’t much to tell. She accompanied me to a couple of political functions a while back. Long story short, she read too much into it and wanted things that I couldn’t give her.”

 Justin turned his attention back to the car and started the ignition. The car hummed quietly to life.

 “So that’s it?” I pushed.

 He pursed his lips in mild annoyance.

 “That’s it,” he said, looking pointedly at me. “Now, we can do one of two things. Either remain sitting here at the curb so that you can continue with this unwarranted cross-examination, or you can pick out music for the drive. You choose.”

 “I didn’t mean to sound like I was giving you the third degree. Just go ahead and pick out a song. Something upbeat,” I conceded. Until I could wrap my head around the events of the day, it was better to just let it go.

 A punchy drum pattern combined with a bluesy guitar riff filled the quiet space of the car. Justin tossed me a roguish smile before pulling out into traffic.

 “You can never go wrong with The Black Keys. Cause, baby – I’m howlin’ for you!” Justin said and then followed up with a long wolf cry.

 I busted out into a fit of laughter.

 “You’re crazy!” I exclaimed. Justin grinned and rapped his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat of the music.

 “Angel, you bring out sides of me that I never knew I had.”

 I laughed again, and then sat back to appreciate the tune that was sure to lighten my dismal mood.

 When the car came to a halt a short while later, I was surprised to see that we were in front of Justin’s penthouse.

 “Why are we here?” I asked in confusion.

 “You’ll need to change. You can’t go to the club wearing jeans and a sweater,” he paused to give me a devilish look. “And I have just the thing for you.”

     ****

     Selena looked nothing short of amazing in the outfit that I had bought for her, and I was glad that she didn’t protest over wearing the black leather pants and emerald green silk halter. The thin top was cut low in the back, forcing her to go braless. When she moved the right way, I could see just a hint of her nipples swaying beneath the shirt, something that was sure to drive me insane with lust for the rest of the night.

 She had taken it upon herself to touch up her makeup, darkening her eyes and donning siren red on her lips. Although the shades were darker than what I was used to seeing on her face, I couldn’t say that I didn’t like it. In fact, she was downright sexy as all hell, with her mane of curls cascading down her back. I had half a mind to turn the car around and bring her back to my place.

 However, I noticed the way she kept looking at her reflection in the side view mirror as we made our way to the outskirts of the city. It was if she wasn’t confident in her appearance. Her hands hadn’t stopped fidgeting since we got back into the car, and they would move up to needlessly rearrange her hair every thirty seconds. She seemed nervous.

 “You look beautiful, angel,” I told her. “Just relax.”

 She gave me a small smile.

 “Am I that obvious?” she asked wryly.

 “You can’t seem to sit still.”

 “I’m just anxious, that’s all,” she admitted. “I’ve been pushing you about this, but…”

 “But what?”

 “It’s nothing. My imagination gets the best of me sometimes. I’m just hoping that this place isn’t too terribly scary,” she admitted with a halfhearted laugh.

 “You’ll be fine.”

 I hope.

 We pulled up to a black iron gate, and I lowered the car window to insert my key card into the access slot. The gate opened and we drove through.

 “What’s with the key card?” Selena asked.

 “It keeps out voyeurs.”

 “Voyeurs?”

 “Yeah, you know – Peeping Toms. Everyone who comes here has to go through screening in order to be allowed admittance,” I told her.

 “What about me? I haven’t gone through any sort of screening process.”

 “You’re with me. That’s all the screening they need,” I said, not bothering to disguise any arrogance in the matter. I flashed her a cocky grin and circled the car around a long and winding bend.

 When the massive stone building that housed Club O came into view, Selena gasped in astonishment.

 “Wow!” she said in awe. “From the view of the street, I would never have thought that this would be hidden here. You weren’t kidding when you said that a person couldn’t accidentally stumble into one of these places.”

 I pulled into a parking spot and stepped out of the car. I surveyed the lot as I walked around to the passenger side of the car, and took note of the long line of expensive cars that filled the parking spaces.

 It’s a full house tonight.

 It wasn’t unusual for the club to busy on a Saturday night, but the number of cars in the lot was well above the norm. It had been a while since I had last visited the place, and I wracked my brain trying to think of a particular event that may be going on. Considering that it was nearing late October, there was a good chance that the club was hosting its annual Halloween party. Uneasiness seeped into my bones when I thought over the potential risks with that.

 I stretched my neck from side to side in an attempt to shake off my apprehension.

 Selena’s nerves must be wearing off on me.

 I opened the car door and made room for Selena to step out.

 “You ready?” I asked, extending my elbow to her.

 “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

 She took hold of my elbow, and we made our way up the stone walkway to the mansion. Pushing through the massive wooden double doors, I motioned Selena inside.

 Here goes nothing.

Justin stepped aside so that I could enter into an elegantly decorated vestibule, complete with a breathtaking rock garden and tranquil waterfall. It was not at all what I was expecting. I had envisioned pulsing neon lights for a place like this – certainly not the aristocratic interior that was before me.

 The walls were covered with varying shades of blue and green mosaic tiles, giving the entire entryway an almost underwater effect. Next to the waterfall, there was a marble statue that looked as if it had been transported in time from two thousand years ago. The statue was of a woman wrapped in a loosely draped cloth, with one breast revealed. Her sculptor was able to capture an alluring expression of mystery, presenting a certain degree of erotic beauty.

 “That’s a beautiful statue, Justin.”

 “It’s a rendition of Venus, the goddess of sexuality,” he told me.

 “I thought that Aphrodite was the goddess of sexuality.”

 “Aphrodite is a Greek. Venus is Roman, even though some people consider them to be virtually the same. I prefer Venus because I find her attributes slightly more appealing – beauty, persuasion, seduction, and sex,” he explained.

 “That’s interesting. I didn’t know that,” I mused, reaching up run my fingers over the cool marble arm of the statue.

 He chuckled at my fascination and took hold of my elbow.

 “This way, angel.”

 He ushered me ahead into another room, where the old world feel flowed seamlessly from the entryway. Except in here, it looked like a Halloween cocktail party was taking place. Everyone was stylishly dressed in costume, conversing casually and sipping fancy colored drinks.

 “It looks like a Halloween party in here.”

 “That’s because it is. I had forgotten that tonight is Club O’s Annual Halloween Masquerade,” he paused and frowned. “But even if I had remembered, I’m not into the costume thing. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

 Justin led the way over to a long mahogany bar at the far side of the room. While he worked on getting the attention of the bartender, I surveyed all the people that were present. Every last one of them was in a costume of some sort. It made me feel self-conscious about my very normal, yet extremely provocative attire.

 “Are you sure that we won’t stand out? I mean, look at everyone,” I whispered.

 “Grey Goose with a splash of cranberry and a glass of Chateau Ste. Michelle Riesling. I’ll also need a red bracelet.” Justin told the bartender before turning back to me. “Don’t worry about it, Selena. This is only a small part of the club. I’m sure that there are people without a costume downstairs.”

 “Downstairs?” I asked.

 “Yes. Now here, put this on your wrist,” he told me, handing me a red silicone wristband that the bartender had passed to him.

 “What’s this for?” I asked.

 “The red signifies that you are strictly here for observation and that you are not available.”

 “Available for what?” I asked in confusion.

 “For another Dom. The club utilizes a color system as protocol for their guests. Red means that you are only available to me, and will prevent any unwanted advances,” he explained. “If you were wearing blue, it would mean that you were available with my permission. Those wearing green send the message that they are free to any Dom.”

 I considered his words as he handed me the drink that he had ordered.

 “Would you ever have me wear another color?” I asked in honest curiosity.

 “Let’s just get through tonight, shall we? I know you have questions, but be quiet for a few minutes. Right now, I just want you to just watch.”

 “What am I watching?”

 “The people.”

 I scanned the room. There was a soft, almost whimsical, sort of music playing overhead. Some people were standing and talking, others mingled together on various settees and chairs.

 My gaze moved to the right and settled on three people sitting on a leather couch. There were two women dressed as sexy felines and they sat on either side of a man dressed as a vampire.

 His costume was fitting for him because he looked as though he wanted to take a bite out of one or both of the women. I watched him place a hand on the side of one women’s neck, while the other woman ran a hand suggestively up his thigh. She didn’t quite reach the mark, before moving her hand back down towards his knee. I felt myself blush, suddenly realizing why Justin told me to watch. The scene that played out before me was one of seduction.

 I brought the glass of wine to my lips and took a long swallow.

 I could feel Justin’s eyes on me as I watched them. After a moment longer, the three people got up and left through a side door.

 “Where are they going?” I asked.

 “Either upstairs to the common room and private suits or down to the dungeon.”

 “The dungeon!” I exclaimed. I had read about what went on in BDSM dungeons. Images of women and men dressed in skintight vinyl, all tied up and gagged in cages popped into my head.

 “Shhh, Selena! Lower your voice. It’s not what you think.”

 “Well then, what is it?” I hissed.

 “It’s like a dance club down there. Sort of. Come on, I’ll show you,” he said, taking hold of my hand.

 He led me to the door that the three people went through, taking me down a long narrow corridor. The lighting was dim, but I thought it was meant to give a cozy and inviting feel to the hallway. I knew that the sinister feel was strictly conjured up in my own head.

 We rounded a corner and I stiffened in my tracks. The hallway had split. To the left, there was a staircase that I could only assume led up to the private suites that Justin had mentioned. Several people were traveling up and down the wide set of steps. To the right, there was a black door with a massive gargoyle head above it. A sign that read “The Dungeon” hung over the monster’s head.

 I was seriously starting to get creeped out.

 “Do you want to go down, or do you want to go back to the lounge?” Justin asked.

 “What about the common room that you mentioned?”

 “Oh, no. You’re not ready to go up there,” he paused and looked thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t think you’ll ever be ready for that.”

 “Why not?”

 “Trust me on this one. Unless you have a sudden interest in orgies, I don’t think you’d like it.”

 “Ah, no…um, we can go on ahead…to the Dungeon I mean,” I stumbled in my attempt to mask the hesitation that I felt. I didn’t want him to think that I was a chicken. After all, I was the one that pushed to come here in the first place.

 “You’re awfully skittish tonight, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m here with you,” he said reassuringly, rubbing my shoulders. “But I have to warn you, just about anything goes down there. I’m not sure what we’ll find here tonight.”

 “I’m good. Let’s go.”

 He opened the black door and a set of long winding stairs came into view. The pulsing base of house music assaulted my ears. It was shocking loud actually, as I hadn’t heard a single trace of it when we were in the hallway or back in the subdued lounge area.

 When we reached the bottom of the staircase, an entire new world opened up before me, revealing a twisting sea of dancing bodies. Some were in costumes and, just as Justin had predicted, some were wearing normal attire. I saw a few individuals dressed in leather and studs, but I knew enough now to know that those people were not dressed for Halloween fun, but for the lifestyle.

 My gaze traveled up from the dance floor to the high vaulted ceilings. The ceilings were extremely high for a basement, easily eighteen feet tall. Around the edges of the room, there was a caged platform that was filled with more dancing men and women. My foot started tapping in time to the pulsing music. The urge to dance swelled in me and I reached for Justin’s hand.

 “Let’s go dance,” I said, urging him towards the dance floor.

 “Definitely not. You are not going out on that floor to dance.”

 “Why not?”

 “A girl like you won’t be doing much dancing out there,” he said dryly, nodding towards the dance floor. I pinched up my face in confusion.

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Never mind. We can go up there instead,” he said, pointing to the caged platforms.

 We made our way up the short metal staircase that led to the platform. Justin elbowed his way through the crowd of dancing people until we reached a place that was a little more secluded. He turned me around, and pulled my back close to his chest. I thought he wanted to dance with me from behind, but when I started to grind myself against him, he made me be still.

 “Hang on. I want you to see something first.” I could barely hear him over the music and I reached a hand up to my ear, gesturing for him to talk louder. He leaned down closer and said, “Look down there. Do you see why I didn’t want you to dance there?”

 I looked to see where his finger was pointing. I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped me. Down below, in the middle of the dance floor, there was an elevated stage of sorts that I hadn’t noticed before. A naked woman was being strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross by two men.

 Once she was secured, one of the men leaned in to say something to her. Whatever it was, she nodded, and the man stepped back to speak with the other man. They moved out of my line of sight for only a second or two before the crowd separated to create a large circle around stage and the woman on display. The music was suddenly lowered to a dull background noise, and replaced by a booming male voice.

 “Ladies and gentlemen! In honor of the Halloween festivities, Kendra’s Master has decided to grant her wish of a public flogging!”

 What? Is this actually for real?

 The crowd cheered, while I stood there feeling like I had just gone back in time to Colonial America. I scanned the room, half expecting to see stocks and pillory at the ready.

 “Justin, this is really messed –,”

 SMACK!

 I jumped mid-sentence, as the first lash of the flogger reined down on the woman.

 “It’s all just part of the show, Selena.”

 “Yeah, but…” I trailed off as another thought occurred to me. “Have you ever participated in something like this?”

 “Me? No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I told you – I’m not an extremist. Some people get off on public displays. To each his own, I guess. But that’s not my style.”

 “Then why do you come here?” I asked.

 “I come for the social aspect of meeting like minded individuals. Dramatic scenes of this magnitude don’t happen that regularly. The club usually reserves them for special occasions, like tonight for example. If I had realized that today was the Masquerade, I probably wouldn’t have brought you here. It can be a little intense, especially for a newcomer.”

 SMACK!

 The sound of another lashing forced me to look back at the bound woman. I was curious to learn why someone would want to be whipped like that in public. I tried to keep an open mind rather than view it as nothing more than a crude spectacle.

 After every few lashings, the man that I assumed to be her Dom would pause to massage oil over her reddened backside and limbs. She would thank him profusely, and then he would resume again with the flogger.

 SMACK!

 The woman threw her head back and let out what I had initially thought to be a cry of pain. However, after seeing her expression, I realized that the woman was actually crying out in pleasure. It was fantastically absurd, in a twisted sort of way, yet there was something unbelievably erotic about it as well. Eventually, I lost count of how many lashings she took, but by the way she writhed on the cross, it was apparent that she was desperate for release. I wondered how long the man would make her wait.

 “How long will this go on for?” I asked Justin.

 “It depends. Only her Dom knows her limitations. Although, I expect that he’ll most likely push her close to her breaking point.”

 “And then what?”

 “If he thinks she’s earned it, he’ll either allow her to orgasm in front of the crowd, or he may choose to take care of her in a private suite,” he told me with a shrug. His indifference to the scene baffled me.

 Heat moved into my cheeks.

 “In front of everyone?” I asked incredulously.

 “You’re blushing, Selena. Are you enjoying this?”

 “I don’t know…I mean, an orgasm is so personal and intimate. I can’t imagine having one in public,” I said honestly. “And I can’t say that a public display of dominance does anything for me either.”

 I heard the woman cry out again, and simple curiosity had me turning to see what was happening. She had been repositioned while I was talking to Justin. She was no longer strapped to the cross, but bent over an elaborate spanking bench of sorts. Her ass was high in the air, exposing her sex for all to see. I should have felt embarrassed for the bared woman, but the reverence that her Dom showed her made me feel differently. It was if he were worshipping the sexuality of the female’s body.

 He ran the flogger up and down her back, slowing over her sweet spot to graze it softly. Occasionally he would lean down to whisper words that only she could hear, and her body would twitch in response. This went on for what seemed like eons, but it was probably only a few minutes before he finally showed her some mercy. For when he leaned down to her ear for the final time, he reached beneath her to pull at her erect nipples. That simple action sent the woman reeling.

 Her orgasm rocked her entire body, and the air seemed to hum. Every individual that was present in the Dungeon could feel the sheer magnitude of her pleasure. My surroundings seemed surreal. I looked back to Justin only to see his eyes full of concern.

 “Are you okay, angel? You have a strange look on your face.”

 I wasn’t sure what to say, unable to find the words to describe what I was thinking. The scene that I had just witnessed left me feeling relatively stunned. Yet, I was turned on in the most indescribable way. The intimacy and trust shown between the couple on the platform was at a level of epic proportions. She was the definition of the ultimate surrender, and had given complete charge of her body over to the man in ways that I had never given to Justin. And for the first time, I realized what Justin meant about trust being the root of BDSM.

 “Honestly, Justin? I think it’s just the environment that we’re in. It’s muddling my thoughts. The whole place reeks of sex.”

 He laughed and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

 “I was a little nervous, but you handled that better than I thought you would,” Justin admitted. He pulled back to look at me, only a slight hint of concern still visible in his striking blues. “Why don’t we get down from up here and go grab another drink? You look like you could use one.”

 The loud music of the club returned, the sound almost deafening compared to moments before.

 “That sounds like a good idea. I think one show was enough for me.”

 We headed down the steps to the ground floor of The Dungeon and made our way over to the crowded bar. There was a wooden sign above the bar that read “Obsequious Cantina”. However, we bypassed that particular bar and went on to the next. This area was by far the more swank of the two, with plush furniture and mini tables that were cordoned off into more private sections with billowing black sheers. This bar had a metal sign that read “Sovereignty Cocktails”.

 I snickered after realizing the meaning behind the signs.

 “What’s so funny?” Justin asked.

 “The names of the bars in this place,” I told him and laughed again. “They have one bar for the master, and another for the servant. I just find it funny.”

 “Don’t forget that one over there,” he said, pointing another bar across the way. I looked over and saw a sign that read “Queen’s Landing”. After looking at the patrons, it wasn’t hard to figure out why it was called that.

 “You don’t want to go over to that one?” I asked with a wink.

 Justin mouth turned up in a crooked smile at my teasing.

 “Angel, there are just certain things that I don’t do. Now, go see if you can spot an open table while I try to track down a bartender.”

 I scanned the area for available seating, but given the crowd in the club, there didn’t seem to be anything open.

 When Justin returned with our drinks, I told him as much.

 “We can go over to the VIP lounge?” he suggested. “It’s a bit quieter in there.”

 “That’s okay. Standing is fine with me. Besides, this way I can dance with you.” I wiggled my eyebrows and swayed closer to him. Placing one hand on his hip while balancing my drink with the other, I moved my hips in time with the music. “Thank you for bringing me here tonight. This place is definitely…well, different. But I think I’m starting to understand what you mean about trust being the foundation for everything.”

 “Hmm,” Justin murmured into my ear. “I’m glad about that. But personally, I can’t wait to get home and get your swivel hips tied down.”

 I shivered in anticipation.

 “I hope you don’t expect me to call you my Master,” I joked. “We still have a long way to go before I can do that.”

 Justin’s hand suddenly stiffened on my shoulder, making me thing that I had said something wrong. I stopped dancing to look up at him. Whatever was behind me had caught his attention, and his eyes flashed angrily. I turned to see what it was that he was looking at, and saw a beautiful red head walking towards us. I groaned inwardly.

 Ugh! Another redhead?

 “Hello, Justin,” she purred when she reached us.

 “Beat it, Sasha,” Justin snapped. I could feel his tension mounting, his grip becoming tighter on my shoulder.

 The girl circled slowly around me, sizing me up. I felt like I was being stalked. Her hand reached up and wrapped around my neck, taking me by surprise. Her grip was soft, yet firm at the same time.

 She’s a Dominant.

 I stood frozen, not sure what to do. I wanted to slap her hand away, but I certainly didn’t want to make a scene. From what I saw on the dance floor, it was quite possible this was just another normal behavior in The Dungeon.

 “That’s enough,” Justin said, pushing her hand away. “We’re not here for this. We are only here as observers.”

 “Justin, don’t be rude. She’s clearly your Sub. It’s only polite for you to share her with a fellow Dom,” she said sweetly, reaching to cup my breast. I let out a gasp of surprise when she pinched my nipple through the thin material of my blouse.

 My breathing sped up and my cheeks flushed, shocked by her brazenness.

 “No,” he reaffirmed through clenched teeth.

 I looked back and forth between the two of them. She looked like the cat that swallowed the canary, while Justin looked as though he might rip the woman’s throat out. I had never seen him look so visibly angry.

 “Why don’t you let her decide? Look at how flushed her cheeks are. She seems to be enjoying herself,” she challenged.

 Justin looked at me, his blue eyes silently questioning. I wasn’t sure what to do. My sudden arousal was unexplainable. Maybe it was from watching the woman on the cross. Or perhaps I was hyped up from the blatant sexuality that was prevalent in every corner of the club. Whatever it was, there was no denying that Sasha’s touch was a complete turn on for one reason or another.

 I returned Justin’s stare, trying to decipher what he was trying to tell me, when I suddenly remembered a certain word that I had once highlighted in red.

 Threesomes.

 It felt like a lifetime ago that Justin and I had sat in his office and went through a list of limitations. Having a threesome was among my list of hard limits. But then again, so was anything anal. It was unsettling to realize how quickly I changed my mind about things that I had once said I would never do.

 “Have you shared a submissive with others before?” I asked. His eyes seared into me, but I could feel his hesitation. He looked conflicted, as if he were deciding on how much to reveal.

 “Yes,” he finally responded.

 I took a closer look at Sasha. She wasn’t as pretty as I had initially thought. Her natural hair color was blond, as I could see the roots beneath the artificial fiery red. Cold gray eyes sat too small in her face, and were smudged heavily with liner that was black as midnight. Her mouth was turned up in an arrogant sneer, giving her an air of malevolence.

 I turned back to Justin, conflicted about the unexpected and not so welcomed proposition.

 “Do you want me to do this?” I asked him. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. I could see the burn in his eyes.

 “Since this is her first time, I’ll go easy on her,” she said smugly to Justin. She grabbed hold of my shirtfront and pulled me close. I briefly caught the triumphant gleam in her eyes, before her tongue swiped up my neck. Her teeth grabbed hold of my earlobe and her breath was hot in my ear as she whispered, “So fresh…what shall I make you do?”

 Suddenly, I was afraid. Very afraid.

 Oh my god. I didn’t agree to this! How did it get to this point?

 It had all happened so fast that I had little time to process the situation, but I knew that this woman was not messing around.

 Before I could even think of how to react, she was abruptly pulled away from me. Justin stepped between the two of us.

 “Get the fuck off her, Sasha. You’re not going taint her with your twisted ideas about domination,” Justin growled ominously.

 “Such a spoil sport,” she pouted and tsked at him. “And here I thought we could have a little fun with this one.”

 “Go find someone else to harass. We’re done here.”

 “Oh, Justin. Haven’t I taught you anything?” she purred.

 “You taught me enough,” he spat out. “And some lessons I’ll never forget.”

 What are they talking about? Who is this woman to him?

 A knowing smile was plastered on Sasha’s face. I, on the other hand, felt like my head was spinning and I could barely keep up.

 “Oh, come on now!” she went on. “Don’t tell me you’re still sore over that whole thing with Will.”

 Will?

 Justin took a step closer to her. He was mere inches away from her face, jaw twitching and fists clenched tight in anger. His eyes flashed with pure loathing, and for a moment I was scared. I thought he might actually hit her.

 “Don’t push me,” he hissed. “I told you to get lost. I’m not going to say it again.”

 “Very well then. It’s your loss. Maybe next time,” she stated matter-of-factly.

 Seeming completely unruffled by Justin’s wrath, she easily sauntered away with her hips swaying seductively in her wake.

 “What in the hell just happened here?” I demanded, alarmed after witnessing Justin almost lose total control. He was raking his hands through his hair, appearing thoroughly rattled by the confrontation.

 “I’m sorry, Selena. Sasha’s a sadistic bitch and I shouldn’t have let it go that far.”

 “It’s not hard to imagine that woman with whips and chains. With all that leather she was wearing, she looked like she could be the poster girl for Dominatrix R Us,” I said sarcastically.

 “Actually she’s a flipper.”

 I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

 “I don’t even know what that means!” I shouted, completely incensed over everything that had just happened. I lowered my voice to a level that could be barely heard over the loud music. The last thing that we needed was to draw any more unwanted attention. “Explain please.”

 “It means that she can play both. I told you about my first submissive. Well, Sasha was the one that filled the role.”

 “Okay, so what does that have to do with Will? I’m assuming she was referring to Will Murphy.”

 “Yes,” he said in a resigned voice. “Will used to be her Sub, at least until she got bored. Then she planned a little ménage a trois, completely without the knowledge of Will or myself.”

 My eyes grew wide as the pieces of the puzzle began to come together.

 “You and Will? Did you…um, you know,” I started.

 “Hell, no!” he exclaimed, sounding completely aghast. “It never went that far. Didn’t I just say that there are certain things that I don’t do?”

 “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”

 “Yeah, well…William Murphy on the other hand, he’s a switch hitter. And I also happen to know that his Irish family is hardcore Catholic. His bedroom antics are not something that he wants made known. Needless to say, things have been very awkward between us ever since. Plus, he blames me for Sasha leaving him.”

 “Gotcha,” I said, having a better understanding as to why things between Justin and Will had been so tense.

 Justin pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his had back and forth in aggravation.

 “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough for tonight. I’ll be right back. I’m just going to hit the restroom and then we’re leaving,” Justin announced.

 I couldn’t agree more as I watched him walk away. The atmosphere had become strained, and I grappled with trying to absorb the completely obscure turn of events. I was beginning to question why I ever wanted to come here in the first place.

 I looked around at the people in the club. Some were dancing, mingling, and talking, while others groped and fondled. Most were scantily dressed. Whether they were in costume or normal attire, there was no modesty whatsoever amongst the crowd.

 I noticed a man seated with two women at a table that was not more than ten feet away from me. One of the women wore a masquerade mask and corset that left her breasts completely exposed, showing off nipples that were pinched tight by jeweled metal clamps. The other woman wore devil horns and sat with her legs apart. The table hid very little, and I was able to see that the man had his hand shoved up her tiny excuse for a skirt. Having noticed that I was watching them, the horned woman’s eyes locked on mine and she smiled suggestively.

 I quickly turned away and began to feel sick to my stomach.

 Why am I here? This is not who I am.

 “Well, well. This is the last place that I thought I would see you,” said a familiar male voice from behind me. I froze at the sound.

 It can’t be. No…please no.

 I turned around, praying that I was mistaking the cocky, assured voice. But I wasn’t mistaken.

 It was Trevor.