#working by candle light and waiting for mail to be posted weeks at a time

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

we need more historical whump and we also need more non-American settings like why are we all sleeping on such gorgeous aesthetics for both worldbuilding and characters

[littlejuicebox]

My Sun, My Moon

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3 / Part 2 to my other fic Astarion talks in his sleep. Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / In game spoilers / Alludes to sexual encounters / Mentions of past trauma etc / Pretty much all fluff / It’s so sweet it’s going to rot your teeth Word Count: 2.3K Notes: This is 5/5 Days of "Star-mas!"

*takes a bow* Happy Holidays! Hope you all enjoyed!

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "twinkling lights."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

After Astarion’s sleep-talking gave away his little secret, you’d spent nearly every waking moment anticipating the rogue’s proposal. You were horribly, terribly wrong every time, of course. You began to think that perhaps your original assumptions were right, and that an engagement would come much later on. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready. Maybe he was just planning and thinking about the future… the frustratingly distant future. He’d ask the question when he was ready, you reasoned; in his own time and on his own terms. You could respect that.

But then, on the eve of the Netherbrain Battle’s six month anniversary, you came home to a dinner that Astarion had cooked (almost) entirely himself. Candles were lit, table settings were placed, and your lover chose an expensive wine pairing for the meal. His steak was, of course, entirely raw while yours was seasoned and cooked to perfection. You were certain you had Shadowheart to thank for your half of the meal, but you’d complimented your lover and all his efforts, nonetheless. At the end of dinner, you were quite confident that this would be the moment you’d been waiting weeks for.

“I have something to say.” Astarion murmured, lithe fingers rubbing circles on the back of your hand as he clasped it in his own.

You practically felt your soul leave your body in that moment. Oh gods, you knew what your answer would be, you knew this was coming, and yet here it was, and you were still wholly unprepared. You barely fumbled out a, “Y-yes, my love? What is it?”

“I read your mail.” Astarion responded, his eyes flooding full of guilt at the confession. He expelled a small sigh, flicking his gaze up at the ceiling and then back down to you. “Darling, I know we have been discussing this for months, but I really don’t think we should go to the Underdark. You’re getting so many outstanding offers that require you to remain in the city. You’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate, for god’s sakes. I know you want me to be safe from the sun… but I can’t, in good conscience, do that to you and rip you away from so many wonderful opportunities.”

“O-oh…” Your chest deflates and you catch yourself frowning for just a moment. Astarion’s brow furrows as he incorrectly interprets the cause of your sudden mood shift to be the current conversation and not the crushing disappointment you were trying to shove aside. You quickly try to move into a more neutral expression, but the rogue is already jumping into another worried explanation.

“Darling... Please hear me. I love you more than anything, and I know you better than anyone. You will not be truly happy there, of that much I am absolutely certain. These offers you’re receiving will give you multiple avenues to build the life you want…. the life we want. Imagine the good you could do with that level of influence, my love! Let me help you; I can review contracts, negotiate deals… whatever you need to ensure your success. Do not throw away so much potential on my account. I simply couldn’t live with myself if you did.”

He was right, of course. The only thing you wanted almost as much as you wanted Astarion was to continue the good work you two had been doing for Baldur’s Gate.

You sigh and nod your head, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re right, my love. I suppose it would be silly for both of us to throw away so much opportunity.”

Astarion beamed at your response before leaning over the table to plant a kiss on your lips. You smiled at the rogue when he pulled away to look at you with adoring crimson eyes. Perhaps it hadn’t been the conversation you were hoping for, but it had been a good and much needed one, nonetheless.

-----

Tonight, you and Astarion decided to take a stroll around the city. You were following the vampire’s lead, ambling around the streets as he pointed out more than a few of his old haunts. He revealed some of the difficult moments in his past as you two meandered about… more than one of the tales nearly made you cry with an overwhelm of sympathy for your lover. But you held back, knowing the elf hated eyes full of pity almost as much as he’d hated Cazador.

You noted that Astarion seemed to look back on his experience with more acceptance now. You knew, of course, that there were likely an infinite number of stories he had not yet revealed to you and perhaps never would. But you were still happy to see a bit of lightness in him as he spoke his truth. He hadn’t appeared to have one of his episodes on the entire walk, and as you pondered this, you also realized his night terrors had only occurred a handful of times this month. Such an improvement to what had been an almost daily incidence when you two originally moved in together.

Before long, you and your love arrived at the docks, where just over six months ago you’d felt as if you’d been stabbed in the gut as you watched the rays of sunlight scorch the vampire until he was forced to run for cover. But now, you two stood there hand in hand, resting in a pocket of comfortable silence. Both of you were admiring the twinkling starlight, full moon, and dark, mysterious expanse of the sea.

“The stars were so much more beautiful in the wilds… don’t you think, my sweet?” Astarion asks, his eyes filled with wistfulness as he ponders the sky.

You utter a little hum of agreement as your mind flashes to the first night in camp, when you caught Astarion reclined on his bedroll, stargazing. You turned your head to look at the rogue and remind him of the memory, but found he disappeared from your line of sight. Your vision wanders down and there he is, bent on one knee.

Oh this had to be the moment. Just when you were about to shout yes before the rogue even had a moment to say anything, Astarion looks up and smiles, a small pouch of gold coins in his hand. “Look! I suppose it’s our lucky day, darling. Their loss is our gain, would— are you alright, Tav? You’ve got this strange look on your face.”

Gods, not again. You feel your face flush with embarrassment. In your excitement and overwhelm, you’d almost ruined everything and let Astarion know that you knew his little secret. You made the decision then and there that this would be the last time you anticipated his proposal; let it happen when it’s meant to happen. You were done playing the guessing game. You couldn’t ruin everything with your big fat mouth.

You nod your head slightly before turning to look back at the stars once more, taking a deep breath and hoping to settle yourself.

“Yes, my love. I suppose I’m just thrilled by the beauty of the stars and the full moon, tonight. And by your beauty, of course.”

The rogue stands up, tucking the small sachet in his pocket. He smiles and places a soft, loving peck on the apple of your cheek before wrapping his arm around your waist. The two of you look up at the stars once more, and you spend a few moments pointing out some constellations in the sky. Stargazing had been one of the first things you two bonded over in camp.

Astarion is watching you with devoted interest as you ramble on about the planets and the mythological creatures represented by the patterns in the stars. Finally, there is a small lapse in conversation, and you want to take the opportunity to kiss him, but when you turn, the vampire is once again out of your sight line.

When you look down this time, Astarion is looking up at you, holding a velvet box in shaking hands.

“Tav—" He manages to choke out, but then his eyes fill with tears, and he stops to blink them away, chuckling softly at himself. You immediately come to kneel in front of your love, hands pressed to either side of his face, silently urging him to continue.

The vampire inhales shakily, suddenly quite overwhelmed by the extreme vulnerability he knows he’s about to lay before you. But the softness of your hands on his face grounds him in the moment and he smiles, admiring the look of utter adoration in your eyes.

A couple of tears fall over the edge of his lash line, and you immediately swipe them away with your shaking thumb. Another chuckle escapes the silver-haired elf, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

“My love… I’ve rehearsed this for weeks. I’ve said it all out loud more than a thousand times, I’m sure. I’ve spent almost every opportunity in your absence practicing this. One time I even had Shadowheart pretend to be you while I rehearsed my grand speech. But now that we are here… I’ve nearly forgotten everything I wanted to say.”

You move forward to press a kiss to Astarion’s lips, your hands still shaking as you run your thumb over his cheekbone. “It’s okay, my Star. Please continue, when you’re ready… rehearsed or from the heart… I want to hear it all the same.”

Astarion nods just a fraction and inhales. The shaking hand that is not holding the ring box comes to lay atop your own hand resting on his face. Your love slowly, absently runs his thumb along the back of your palm as he gathers his thoughts. He stares into your eyes with so much love that you almost kiss him again but hold yourself back to allow him to continue.

Astarion exhales a shuddering breath and then continues in a reverent tone, as if he’s whispering a prayer, “My darling. I have lived long life. Much of it was a sad and hopeless one. When we were walking through the city, I pointed out several places where I’d encountered horrible things. Many of those things are still hard to talk about… some of it, I don’t know that I will ever be able to.”

You are crying now, from the overwhelming blend of sympathy for your little Star and palpable feeling of love in this beautiful moment. Tears begin coursing thin streams down your cheeks. Astarion wipes away the tears as they fall, though his lips start trembling from your display of emotion.

“B-but what I do know is that… in many of the places I pointed out, there are also memories of us. Of our friends. Of the time we spent together before saving the city and of the six months we’ve spent here after that. Little by little, we are taking places that only held horrible memories for me and turning them into places that hold feelings of hope and happiness.

I guess what I’m saying is that… these past six months have been the counterweight to two hundred years of misery. And I do not think I deserve you, but I cannot imagine my life without you. You are everywhere I go, everywhere I look, and every happy memory I hold in my heart. If you’ll have me… I would like to spend the rest of our lives, however long they may be, turning this city into a place of hope for us and for the people we hold dear.”

Astarion opens the box, and you gasp in true awe as he reveals possibly the most beautiful ring you’ve ever seen. At the center is a beautiful moonstone, emitting an ethereal glow that shines brilliantly in the darkness of the pier. The setting is gold, and an intricate sunburst pattern made in smaller gems surrounds the center stone.

“Standing on the dock that day, after that long battle… I had the thought that my life was ruined when I realized I could no longer stand in the sun. I thought I might never know true happiness again. But it turns out, that was the moment my new life with you began… and you’ve opened the door to more happiness than I could’ve ever imagined for myself.

Even if I never see the sun again, I have made my peace. I would make the choices I made to be here with you, on this dock, in this moment, again and again in every lifetime. You are my sun and my moon. And my darling, it would be my honor to be your Star for the rest of time. Tav… will you marry me?”

As soon as the question comes out of your lover’s lips, you instantly push forward to crash into Astarion, enveloping the elf in an emotional kiss. You both topple over from the sheer force of your ardor, and as you do, the vampire deftly snaps the ring box closed to protect it from spilling out onto the dock.

When you finally break away, panting heavily, both your faces are thoroughly flushed with excitement. The vampire looks up at you, scarlet eyes filled with absolute devotion. You giggle and press one more soft kiss to the rouge before taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to his knuckle. “Yes, Astarion. Nothing in this life would make me happier than to share it with you.”

-----

Later that evening, the two of you are naked in bed after several rounds of vigorous celebration. You’re admiring your ring, which is still faintly glowing in the semi-darkness of your bedchambers. Astarion takes your hand and presses his lips to the ring with a small smile; his scarlet eyes closely examine the gem.

“I don’t know how it works… you would have to ask Gale. But the center stone glows when I think of you, you know.”

You blink, moving to touch the gemstone in the middle of the ring with curiosity. “But it hasn’t stopped glowing since we’ve been on the docks.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we’ve been on the docks.” Astarion replies simply, moving his hand to stroke your cheek as a gentle, good-natured laugh escapes his mouth, “Perhaps now you’ll have some insight into how often my thoughts revolve around you, my sweet.”

You feel your eyes welling with tears again. Damn this man and his beautiful heart… he truly never misses a detail when it comes to you. You move forward to pull his lips into another loving kiss, and when you break away this time, a thought crosses your mind.

“Astarion… did you really find that bag of coins on the dock?”

Your lover grins mischievously, his crimson eyes crinkling at the corners as he grabs your ring-clad hand and kisses it once more.

“No, my sweet. But I had to throw you off. Shadowheart told me about my mishap. I wanted to surprise you… but you know me far too well and you’ve never been easily fooled… and the sleepy confession didn’t help things at all. I just figured that you would never anticipate that I’d drop down on one knee twice in a row.”

Astarion knew you just as well as you knew him… and he had been right. He’d fooled you. You roll your eyes and chuckle as the rogue moves closer to you, nuzzling into the side of your neck where fresh fang marks throbbed.

“Now what do you say, darling? One more round of celebration before we go to bed?”

[tc-doherty]

Book One | Chapter Seven | Announcement

Announcement:

This will be the last chapter of Dragon's Daughter that will be posted for free on Tumblr, just due to the AI nonsense. I opted out, of course, but you never know.

There will be two free options available going forward. If you want to be on the mailing list, send me an ask with your email and you will receive the chapters that way every other week as usual (I will not answer these publicly). For the next two weeks I will also work on getting caught up on Substack and will be publishing there on the same schedule.

I know that makes it much more of a pain, and I appreciate all of your support! If you don't want to take either one of those options, Dragon's Daughter should still be publishing physical and ebook copies sometime this year so you can always wait for that ;)

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag List: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @did-i-do-this-write @marrowwife @muddshadow @outpost51 @full-on-sam @bluberimufim @unclear-contributions @talesfromtheunknowable @guessillcallitart @flowerprose

(Ask to be added or removed)

When Patrice returned to her room at the end of the evening, it looked as if a storm had hit. Most servants were required to return to their posts long before the festivities of the day ended, and hers hadn't wasted a second of time. Fabric, dresses, and accessories were strewn about the sitting room. Maria, Elaine, and Anna sat in front of the open window, chattering like birds as they sewed. They paused in their work as Patrice entered the room.

"Lady Patrice!" said Elaine. "We didn't expect you back yet since there is a formal dinner tonight."

Patrice looked over the mess and the three women perched in the center of it. She did not make a point of saying that she had never attended any of the formal dinners. Instead she said, "I came back to rest for the evening, you need not stop your tasks. And I do not require any help." She added the last bit as Maria began to stand up.

The maid settled back down, but didn't resume sewing. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"Yes," Patrice said, a little more forcefully than she intended to. Maria's mouth formed a silent 'O' at the rebuke, and she said nothing further. Patrice turned on her heel and picked her way across the fabric strewn floor to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

She gave a sigh of relief as the door shut behind her. She had stayed out in the stands until the end of the day's jousting, watching as Felisjyta moved up to the next round of the competition. It continued into Saturday, meaning another day surrounded by far too many people and far too much noise. Humans flocked together, as loud and gregarious as the crows that used to roost in the ruined castle. But she'd always been able to scare off crows when they became annoying. Humans were far less accommodating.

Patrice did not bother to light the waiting candles as she traversed her bedroom floor. The rising moon shone in through the windows, and provided more than enough light for a dragon to see by. She draped her mother's cloak over the bed, left the ruined dress on the floor, and used her claws to comb out her hair from the arrangement Maria had twisted it into. That done, she studied her reflection in the mirror.

No one would ever mistake her for human. Fancy clothing could not take away the scales that grew along her spine, and spread out like stars across her shoulders, hips, and cheekbones. Face paints and powders – two things Patrice intended to continue avoiding at all costs – would not be able to hide clawlike nails, or fangs, or amber cat's eyes. No perfume was sweet enough to entirely mask the spicy, coppery scent of dragon that clung to her, and no amount of courtly manners would cool her blood. And yet, something was different.

The reflection that looked back at her was not just her mother's daughter, as it had been before in the tower. Now there was some trace of Lady Patrice Drake too. Some small but noticeable change in attitude.

Patrice sighed. She had tried very hard to ignore the human half of herself growing up. She had tuned out her mother's stories and advice, had refused any suggestions that her future might be among humans. She could admit now, that her mother had certainly planned for this sort of event to happen and had tried to prepare her for it. It had been Patrice's own fault that she didn't want to listen. After all, if her mother had only wanted to fight human knights she could have done that by traveling to them. There was no reason to spread rumors of a maiden trapped in a tower if she had not wanted the maiden to leave the tower eventually.

She was the one who had never wanted to leave the tower.

She was the one who had always tried her best to only be a dragon, even if she was a poor excuse for one. But Felisjyta had given the human half of herself a name, and now Patrice could no longer ignore it. Her mother would probably be happy, but Patrice wasn't sure she could say the same thing about herself.

She turned away from the mirror and pulled the stone dragon from the dress on the floor. Even after a few days it was smooth and worn, the features and details disappearing. Without those, there was little to distinguish it from a statue of a human. Patrice threw herself onto the bed. She wrapped her mother's cloak around herself and reveled in the comforting and familiar scent of it. But she could tell that the scent of her mother was fading, and soon she would be stranded in a strange place, without even that small comfort. She buried her face in her pillow and did her best to sleep.

The second day of the tournament arrived with a heat wave that raised the temperature a full fifteen degrees higher than the previous day. Servants and nobles alike stripped off as many layers as they could without appearing indecent. The same tactic could not be used by the knights, who had to continue to fight and toil under their heavy armor and padded gambesons. Patrice alone seemed comfortable in her emerald kirtle and dragonscale cloak. Even better, Maria had managed to buy her a set of lady's flat riding boots in soft leather. She despaired over the look, but Patrice was overjoyed to be free of the pointless little slippers and uncomfortable wooden forms.

Only two Serzek knights had made it to the final twelve, Felisjyta and a giant of a man named Petrich. The two of them, and their horses, took the heat worse than the Runerian knights they were to face. Felisjyta sat on the ground by the arena trying to keep cool with the help of a parchment fan. Vasya stood with her head lowered, not even bothering to graze.

Felisjyta was riding against Sir Johan. He seemed to be doing better than she, for he still had the energy to flirt with the audience at the far side of the arena. His destrier showed the heat though, and did little except to flick his ears and tail halfheartedly.

"It's just as well the season is about to end," Maria complained, fanning herself off with her own parchment fan. "We can't take much more of this heat."

The maid had elected to sit with Patrice today, instead of running off to visit her friends and relations. Patrice was glad of her company, as Maria allowed her to ward off the attentions of the incorrigible Countess Elizabet. In fact, the two of them had not even chosen a seat until the countess was already seated and involved in a conversation with some other unsuspecting victim.

So today Patrice sat on the opposite side of the arena, far from the royal family and anyone of consequence. She did not mind that at all. She waved her silk fan, more for lack of anything to do than from the heat. The crowd around her waited in a sort of patient resignation, much too hot to be restless.

Maria seemed energetic enough. She attempted to start a conversation again. "I'm glad Sir Leroy didn't make it this far. How he even made it to the second round is a mystery to me."

"Luck," said Patrice. "His opponent's horse stumbled right as they came together."

Sir Johan had been the one to defeat the loathsome knight who had caused all of her distress, and Leroy had come out of the match with sore grace. Although Patrice naturally hoped for Felisjyta to win, she was still a little sad that meant Johan had to lose. He had done her a sort of favor, after all, and had come through the tournament with an amusing flare. Her mother would've loved him.

"He shouldn't have been able to get in at all," Maria said, "compared to some of the other knights who came here. The wandering knights have a harder time getting allowed to compete at all, and he wasn't even the best of them. But I guess killing a dragon counts for something. It's a rare accomplishment these days."

"Oh, is it?" Patrice asked, her voice cold. Maria wisely elected not to continue the conversation.

They sat in silence until the announcer stood up.

Now that the match had almost started, both knights perked up. The mood translated to the horses as well, they lifted their heads and pricked their ears. When the combatants entered the arena, it was as if the heat no longer existed. They bowed to one another as the announcer went over their names for the benefit of a crowd which no doubt recognized them already.

The match clearly showed the abilities of all the knights in the third tier of the tournament. Three rounds came and went without a clear victor. A fourth pass of jousting probably would've been easier, especially in this heat. But both knights decided on a duel instead. Patrice watched with her usual fascination. She had seen Johan fight before, though his style was much cleaner now that he was fighting in earnest and not for show.

Patrice had not seen Felisjyta dismount. Her style, the Serzek style, was based much more on speed than on power. Johan was all about power. His slashes and thrusts were delivered with considerable force behind them, but Felisjyta spun and twirled and dodged his attacks as if she were made of smoke. Johan was no slouch on speed either. He kept up the offensive, and Felisjyta had little time to do anything but dodge.

The duel ranged back and forth across the length of the arena. Felisjyta was at a disadvantage due to the heat, but Johan was larger and tired more quickly. Both were flagging by the time she managed to disarm him with an upward thrust of her sword, much to the shock of both. Both knights stared at his sword, which landed point down in the sand. Then Johan laughed and held out his hand. Felisjyta took it. The cheers of the crowd held for a second before catching on in earnest. The Serzek knights, and Felisjyta in particular, were doing much better than anyone expected them to.

Patrice and Maria both clapped without any hesitation. Felisjyta did not wait to enjoy her applause. She stumbled off the field with Vasya following after, head down and caparison soaked through with sweat.

Patrice rested her fan on her lap. "In heat like this, why bother to hold the tournament at all?"

"The tournament hardly stops for anything," Maria replied as two more knights took their places. "The matches have to be completed by the end of the season, which is only a few days from now. How well people do in the tournament determines who gets invited to summer court."

"So who goes?"

The two knights below began their first round.

"The top three knights and their ladies," the maid said. "This tournament is a way to honor those who serve the crown but don't ordinarily rank high enough to obtain such an award."

Something about this seemed off. "You said that female knights don't usually fight under a favor," said Patrice. When Maria nodded, she continued. "So if a female knight wins, who goes to the summer court?"

"Well…just the knight, I suppose. There aren't that many female knights anyway."

Well, perhaps it wasn't that odd. After all, Patrice hadn't even known that there were female knights until she came here. In all the time she had lived in Dragon's Keep, she had never seen one. She shifted in her seat. "Surely the Serzek duchess is going, so then Felisjyta must go as well, correct?"

Maria shook her head. "Felicity came as part of the duchess's retinue, but she's not one of her personal guards. So she has to earn it, like everyone else."

"And the members of the court who are invited to the royal estate have a higher chance of being involved in the politics of the upcoming season?"

"See! You're getting the hang of court after all, Lady Patrice!" Maria laughed.

"Somehow I think I'm still very far behind," Patrice replied.

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[harpywritesfic]

good news and bad news (and good news)

good news: the fic i've been working on for MONTHS is done!! it's my end of a snail mail fic exchange i'm doing with @space-mermaid-writing! we planned this LAST JULY. i got janora's fic in the mail yesterday and mailed mine out earlier today! she's posted the first chapter and EVERYONE GO LOOK AT IT RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW

bad news: i'm not posting it until it arrives, so you all have to wait on the postal system. hopefully about two weeks but who knows! could be a month. could get lost. everyone light a candle for my handmade book.

more good news: it's my longest fic to date! that's bc it's four chapters and they're each the length of one of my usual fics. it's 7k words which is like. i'm impressed with myself. it makes the time it took make sense when you consider how long it takes me to write one of my usual length fics. and also that the seasonal depression killed me dead again this year. i really gotta stop writing things with deadlines in the winter.

anyway! Occupational Hazards! finally done, and will be coming to your local fanfic archive site soon! trouble is, i don't know what to do with myself now that it's finished. i'm so aimless that i went back to my sex pollen wip.

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea would be lying if she said that it was easy.

The first year she spent abroad was rough. It was an effort to not reach out to Conrad every moment. Every time she turned the corner in Paris there was something new and exciting that she wanted to show him, something she wanted to scream about with her best friend. She had to get a new phone number when she finished making arrangements to permanently live abroad - a roaming plan wouldn’t work forever. But Dora had Conrad’s phone number etched into the shadows of her heart, having forced herself to memorize it one night in high school so she could call him from anywhere. 

She wasn’t expecting the degree of loneliness. Dorothea had her parents, who would call her once a week and catch up, and she had Connie’s mom, who would call once a day, but never provide any details about Conrad. She had Connie’s dad, who occasionally sent her bits and pieces of his drafts in the mail, who always had some piece of advice to provide about her articles, who always made her a better writer. A better person.

And she had her words. They have never failed her.

By year two, she started making friends. Other travel writers and backpackers who felt the same yearning she did to explore all the places of the world that felt bigger than herself. To soak in the steps at the base of Mount Vesuvius, or to laugh and cry at the karaoke bar at the small Roman cafe on Friday nights.

They were with her when she cried in front of the Notre Dame in Paris, on the day that it reopened. Her most popular piece to date, A History of Burning, was written that week as she sat among the pews and lit candles, under the rainbow-colored streaks of light that danced with the tinted windows. In it, she explored cycles of violence, the things that we burn for, the things we set fire to, the ways we rebuild.

By year three, she felt anew. Dora was louder, taking up space outside of the four sides of the paper. Her group of companions grew and shrunk as different people came and went and returned, sometimes she herself peeling away from them to go on a solo pilgrimage. She danced along the streets of Thailand, shrieked Happy New Year more than once from balcony buildings in Spain. 

But by year four, there were the occasional moments when she felt herself being pulled to a familiar place. The frayed bits of her heart, the ones that she kept boxed up and put away neatly in a corner, the wine-stained dress sitting at the bottom of her suitcase waiting to be dry-cleaned. She couldn’t escape the memories, was surprised to wake up one morning to a yearning to return home, was shocked to realize that she never stopped calling it home in the first place.

And then one day, she received a job offer in her inbox. 

That’s how she found herself back here, in the city she ran away from. 

The first day after she returned, she set out to explore. There were so many things that changed, but so many things still the same. Dorothea walked the entire day, finding new places in tucked away corners, scribbling in her notebook, her love renewing. The parts inside of her that she had set fire to were rebuilding.

That’s how she found herself standing on a familiar street, looking up a familiar window, wondering if there was still a splotchy stain of red wine on the hardwood floor.

That’s where she ran into James. 

Dorothea had met James during her second year of travel while he was on a business trip, and had clicked immediately. They had never taken their friendship any further because of the looming goodbye between them, and sure enough at the end of the two weeks, he had returned home and she was onto a different country.

But oddly enough, finding him in New York was…comfortable. And with him she could avoid the hurt, avoid the dread in her heart when she gave into thinking about the man she truly loved.

Conrad.

So when Dora spots him from the window to the fancy restaurant where she’s to meet James’ sister, she stops walking.

“What are you doing?” James laughs awkwardly.

“I need to go home. I’m-I’m not feeling well.”

“Don’t be silly, we’re here already. You were fine like two seconds ago, what’s the matter?” He doesn’t pause to listen to her answer, taking her hand and walking into the building.

Every step they took closer felt like someone was pouring fire down her throat.

Dora saw the moment when her husb- when Connie noticed it was her. The way his eyes flashed for a split second, and she swore that it was the same look he wore on a fateful night five years ago. 

Not quite having paid attention to introductions, Dora snaps her attention back to Ava, the person she’s here to meet. “Hi Ava. It’s nice to meet you.” Her chest clenched as shook Conrad’s hand, no words exchanged between them, wondering if he could feel the trembling of her hand. She forces herself to take a deep breath as she takes her seat directly across from him.

“James has been talking about you non-stop for the past few weeks. He says that you just moved to New York?” Ava says.

“Moved back.” Dora smiles at Ava politely, hoping that she can’t see the absolute terror in her face.

“Dora grew up here.” James chimed in from beside her where he’s already taking a look at the wine menu. “The great Dora Hawkins was offered a job at the New Yorker. Started last week, right babe?” 

“Yes.” Dora confirms, averting her gaze from Conrad, looking at anything but.

“Hawkins? Wait that’s so funny, Connie’s last name is Hawkins.” Ava places a hand on Conrad’s shoulder and squeezes. 

This causes Dora to glance over at Conrad, who is still staring at her. She can tell from here that his jaw is clenched, a flash of a memory dancing in her mind of the time he had to wear a mouth-guard for three weeks in high school from clenching his jaw so much.

“That is funny.” James half-heartedly replies before glancing up at Conrad from the drinks menu. “Conrad, you’ve been here before. What’s the best wine selection?”

Hawkins.

The word rang between the two of them like bells. 

Yes. She tries to whisper to him with her eyes.

When her gaze falls, she almost chokes on air.

A thin gold band catches her eye on his right hand. She would have noticed sooner when they shook hands if her fingers hadn’t been so numb with panic. Again, a flash of the two of them taunts her, Dorothea and Connie on their wedding day, the sight of his face crumpling with joy as she walked down the aisle, his nervous laugh as she slid that same ring onto his left ring finger. I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

Dora feels a sudden pull to run across town and show him the matching gold band that is meant for her finger, the one she carried with her across the world, the one she could never bear to part with, the one she looked at and would slip onto her fingers on long nights with a glass of wine.

I never forgot about you, either. 

[holisticsoulhealer]

Making Differences - A Spiritual Story

When it comes to being on purpose, simply making a difference in someone else’s existence is purpose enough, and good enough reason to show up on this planet.

I love the fact that I know this. I love the fact that you do too.

Some of the biggest differences I’ve made to others and they’ve made to me, have shown up as inclusive realities. When I’ve been invited to share with others, break bread, feel loved by them, it’s deeply touched me. We all wish to belong and these times have allowed me to feel valued by the World around me. We are extraordinarily valuable, and so it’s lovely when this is confirmed.

I’ve received the greatest acknowledgment from you, when you have felt seen and heard by not only me, also by the guidance from Divine.

One of my sweet stories happened while I provided totally affordable massage in a dripping, steamy room off the pool at one of Southern California’s YMCA.

The first client was a tough, matter of fact, unemotional woman, who had signed up for a session, had heard about my spiritual work, and especially asked that I do a straight massage, and none of that weird, woo woo stuff please. While she undressed and climbed on to the table, I stood outside and called in help to make whatever difference I could to her life, without stepping out of the boundaries she had set.

I stepped back in and simply loved her for an hour. I poured all the love and kindness into every muscle and through her skin, right down to her bones. She lay there silently weeping, while I worked without a word. I felt tears behind my own eyes and simply worked until we were complete. I thanked her and left the room.

When I got outside, I was a little overcome. I gently wiped my tears while waiting for her to come out of the room. She came out and immediately threw herself into my arms. She wept and spoke through the tears. She whispered into my ears, that she had been healing from a double mastectomy and had felt that Divine (God in her words) had forgotten her and moved on to more deserving other people. She shut off and stopped going to temple or lighting her sabbath candles.

In the session she felt the presence of Divine (God) inviting her back, telling her that her life continued. She had a whole conversation, while I worked. It was a private session for her and her maker. It had nothing to do with my experience. I was simply loving her.

She told me she was going to light candles again and that she realized she was connected and loved. She left tearful and at peace. I was stunned.

She felt Divine had noticed and loved her. She experienced the difference and I felt touched by her Divine experience.

As always, please share this post with anyone that you feel can benefit from it! Please like us on your social media channels and subscribe to our mailing list if you haven't already done so! We are mailing out a monthly newsletter and a recap each week of our blog posts and interesting tidbits! This is how you can stay informed with what is new in the world of The Holistic Soul Healer!!

Love & Blessings,

Ruth

Get personal with your Angels!! Connect with me and see what they have to say!!

BOOK NOW!

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Promised Prize

Dwayne x Reader

Word Count: 1,768

Summary: After final exams are over, Dwayne makes good on the reward that you guys worked out. 

A siren blared as a police car zoomed by your building, waking you from your impromptu sleep. Where the sun had previously forced its way through the gaps in the blinds, nocturnal darkness had completely taken over and doused everything in shadow. You stretched leisurely on top of the sheets, giving your eyes time to adjust as shapes blurred into focus.

Propping yourself up on your forearms you reached for your alarm clock, the glowing red numbers flashing 10:14 pm.

Well then.

It appeared that you had literally slept half of the day away and then some. You blamed it on your body’s post-finals bid to finally catch up on the sleep that you had been depriving yourself of for the past two weeks.

You also hadn’t seen much of your boyfriend during that period, although that wasn’t by your choice. When he found out how busy you were with finals prep he basically disappeared which was his way of giving you space so you could be productive. He didn’t even talk with you about it, he just straight up stopped coming to your apartment. 

It was a good thing you knew him as well as you did otherwise you might’ve taken his ghosting to mean something else entirely and you told him as much when you finally saw him over the weekend.  

You went down the hall, switching on lights as you walked by on your way to the kitchen. A cool glass of water from the fridge always hit the spot after waking up. The water was extremely refreshing and several large gulps followed the first.

You took the water bottle with you so you could continue sipping from it while you went outside to get your mail. The small metal door creaked open and you juggled everything in your hands you flipped through the stack of envelops and inserts.

Junk. Pizza coupon. Bill. Bill—oh! Something from the college!

Unable to wait until you were inside, you tore open the envelope with shaky fingers. The paper unfolded and you scanned over the typed font with nervous determination.

You lowered the grade report in shock. Did you read that correctly?

You held it up again and, sure enough, the verdict was the same—you aced all of your final exams! And in doing that, your semester grade point average was high enough to make the Dean’s list.

The whole apartment complex was treated to your victorious banshee yell as it echoed off the concrete and glass of the apartment complex. Even some of the wildlife scattered.

High with endorphins, you scurried back to your apartment, laying the paper smack dab on the center of the kitchen table. There was another person who needed to see it as well.

The sun had been set for a few hours, plenty of time to find a first meal of the night, which meant that he would be dropping by at any time.

You found it impossible to sit since you were still feeling the excitement so rather than sit around and wait for him, you decided to channel the energy into something productive.

Cabinet doors were opened and closed as you took out different ingredients that were all thrown into a mixing bowl and kneaded together with your bare hands. Some of the mix stuck under your fingernails but you were more than happy to suck it off your fingers.

Separating the tan dough into small balls you carefully placed them on a cookie sheet and stuck it into the oven. Ten minutes later and they were out, cooling on the counter.

Dwayne still hadn’t arrived even after your cookie quest. You blew a couple of strands of hair away from your face. Time to do some dishes.

You slipped a Ratt cassette into your boombox, cranked it, and got to scrubbing. In the middle of cleaning the tines on a fork, you heard him enter.

He was bent over, taking off his shoes when you met him by the door.

He stood up and leaned in for a sweet kiss, but you stopped him to wipe some stray blood droplets off of his lips before you allowed it.

“Come on, there’s something I wanna show you,” you insisted, pulling him to the kitchen.

He sniffed the air.

“Peanut butter?” he asked hopefully.

“Yep. Sit down and I’ll bring you some.”

He sat down obediently and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist reading the only readable thing in front of him. While you took your time with the cookies, you watched him out of the corner of your eye and saw the exact moment he took the bait.

He slid the paper closer with his pointer finger and read it silently. Even when he faced you there was no discernable reaction that most people would’ve noticed, however, you weren’t most people. The warmth in his brown eyes and the slight softening of his mouth were very clear to you.

“I aced everything,” you boasted, setting the plate pile of cookies in front of him.

“And the Dean’s list,” he added.

You were touched that he remembered that bit and gently scratched his scalp which had him rolling his head in a feline manner. “That means I get my reward too.”

He reached out and stroked the outer rim of your ear. “A promise is a promise. Wanna do it now?”

Back when you were stressing out all the tests and essays, and before Dwayne ghosted, he promised to give you a gift to keep you motivated. Anything you wanted. You told him you wanted a piercing done midway up your ear after seeing some people at school with them and he promised to do it for you.

You swiftly nodded. You really wanted the piercing.

Without another word, he shoved two peanut butter cookies into his mouth for safekeeping and tugged his shoes on. For being as old as he was, his inner child was always near the surface and you loved that about him. Most of the time.

“Heathen,” you razzed as you playfully hip checked him out of the way so you could grab your silver boots.

Opting not to retaliate, he merely winked and ushered you out the door, cookies still in his mouth.

The drive to the cave was short and uneventful. A benefit to the apartment being closer to the bluffs than it was the pier or the boardwalk. Dwayne expertly guided you down the rickety, wooden stairs and to the mouth of the cave.

Earlier in the relationship he always offered to fly you down so you didn’t have to use the stairs, but he respected the decision to do it yourself unless you were too tired or tipsy, in which case he made the final decision.

He prowled around the cave, grabbing supplied from seemingly random spots. “Do you still want it on the cartilage?”

You told him yes and sat on the cool edge of the fountain, noting how quiet it was with just the two of you here.

“What’s the rest of the crew up to?”

“I left the boys on the beach and Star wanted some more stuff for her bed. It’s not even midnight so they’ll be gone for a while yet.”

“I need to hang out with her more now that classes are done for now,” you said resting your chin on the tops of your knees.

“She’d appreciate any company that isn’t us at this point.”

You remembered the blood he had on his lips earlier. And the crumbs he left on them after eating the cookies. “I can’t imagine why...”

He plopped down next to you on the fountain and spread everything out, handing you a box full of earrings so you could pick one out.

“Fingers crossed you guys didn’t rip these off of your meals.”

Dwayne chose not to say anything, preferring to watch your squirm at the thought.

You did have to admit that there was quite a nice selection to pick from, no matter the source. There were shiny studs, pieces with all manner of materials dangling from them, and delicate hoops both decorated and plain. But a small, snug silver hoop with a pearl-colored sphere attached caught your interest.

Dwayne noticed and started rubbing your ear with alcohol to disinfect the area. Then he held the piercing needle over a small candle flame to sterilize it. Star had taught them a lot about piercing procedure and etiquette; not wanting to jeopardize your mortal health, he put her words to use.

Needle ready, he swung around with one of his legs resting in your lap.

“For grabbing onto if it hurts,” he offered and you settled your hands onto his jean-clad thigh. The needle was poised against the cartilage midway up your ear and you couldn’t help it when your heartrate sped up. 

The last time you had your ears pierced you were a little kid and you couldn’t remember the pain. You hoped this new one wouldn’t be too unbearable.

He nudged you gently to see if you were good to continue.

“I’m good. And you’d better not hit a nerve and paralyze me cause then I’ll have to beat you up.”

Were there any nerves to hit in that part of your ear? You weren’t sure but it came out of your mouth last minute.

“Good luck punching if you’re paralyzed,” he smirked punching the needle through the flesh as he spoke. He had a bottle cork pressed on the back of your ear so that the needle didn’t stab into your neck when it came out on the other side.

Your lids slammed shut and your finger nails dug into his leg. It wasn’t the worst you could imagine but it was still a sharp, noticeable pain.

Dwayne was quick with it removing the needle and dropping the cork in order to work the earring through the freshly made hole. He clicked the earring closed and gave the area one last wipe down with a water soaked q-tip.

“Well? How do I look?” You were impatient and he wasn’t moving fast enough for you. 

He held up a mirror so you could see it. You weren’t sure how he conjured it since none of the vamps in the cave used them, but you were more interested in seeing at your ear at the moment.

You gasped as you turned this way and that to admire it.

“I love it, Dwayne!” You peppered him with kisses.

Dwayne looked at you with evident pride. Pride in your smartness, pride in how you handled the pain, pride in the way the piercing turned out.

Beautiful, he thought.

_______________

Congrats to everyone that’s finished with finals and good luck to those who are still working through exams. Thanks so much for reading! 

[lacommunarde]

Charity: Water’s Give Guide (including non-monetary generosity)

Supporters like you have been so generous all year long. Even in a year like 2020, you’ve continued to show up when we’ve needed you most.

Tomorrow, on Giving Tuesday, we’re asking you to show up again—but not for charity: water.

We know firsthand how incredible this community is, and if there’s anything the world needs right now, it’s the pure goodness we’ve experienced from people like you. So here’s what we’re thinking:

Pick one way—any way!—to be generous tomorrow. Our whole team will be joining in on the fun with generous endeavors of our own. Here’s a

not-so-short list

to help you get started:

THE SAFE-AT-HOME

GIVE GUIDE

Send your sibling a photo of a puppy and tell them its unbearable cuteness reminded you of them.

Your fridge could almost definitely use a deep cleaning. Be the one who makes it happen.

Curate a playlist and send it to someone you miss dancing with—make sure every song is a banger.

Take a virtual yoga class with your most-stressed family member.

Save energy! Turn off a few lights.

Your friend shared an accomplishment on social media! Celebrate their hard work with an enthusiastic comment. (Emojis are not optional.)

Leave encouraging comments on social media, news articles, or anywhere they'd cause a smile.

Sort through your books and gift the ones you don't need anymore.

Throw an unbirthday party for one of your housemates or family members, complete with an unbirthday treat.

Collect all of the best instrumental videos and throw an in-house or virtual karaoke party.

Using reusable masks? Gather everyone's and put them through the laundry. Goodbye, germs!

Rent some movies from the library (the more obscure, the better) and throw an at-home movie night with everyone's favorite snacks.

Write to a long lost friend.

Invite a friend to join you for a virtual museum tour (like the MoMA or Musée D'Orsay).

Set up a video chat with someone who lives alone.

Call someone you haven't checked in on recently.

Leave your USPS mail carrier a friendly note.

Leave a glowing review for your favorite restaurant.

Propagate a plant.

Clean the bathroom. Someone's gotta do it, and today, you are that champion.

THE NEIGHBORHOOD MVP

GIVE GUIDE

Put your child back in that superhero Halloween costume and go door-to-door delivering candy like it's a backwards Halloween (neewollaH?).

Take your neighbor's newspaper from the driveway up to their door.

Dial up the happiest playlist you can find and have socially-distanced driveway dance parties.

Rake your neighbor's leaves.

Volunteer to walk neighborhood pets whose owners could use a break.

Have a new neighbor? Share a list of all the amazing local restaurants they should try and what to order from each. Bonus: send a pizza from your favorite local shop.

Leave a box of cookies on your neighbor’s doorstep, ring the bell, and get the heck out of there.

Put together a Creativity Box for a neighborhood family with kids. Fill it with coloring books, games, puzzles—anything that gives parents 20 minutes to make dinner without interruption!

Buy a bouquet of fresh flowers and put a single flower on each of your neighbors' doorsteps.

Slip friendly notes into your neighbor's mailbox.

Visit VolunteerMatch.org to get matched with a local volunteer opportunity—anything from delivering meal kits to putting up flyers for kitten adoption.

Clean up your nearest park.

Walk the dogs at your local animal shelter.

Deliver flowers to your local nursing home to bring joy to the residents and staff.

Say hello to your neighbors when you pass each other on the street.

Hand out a flyer with all of the special skills you're willing and able to share. (A+ cookie baker? Star virtual math tutor? Pro headlight replacer? All valid skills!)

Order takeout from a local restaurant you've never tried before.

Start a neighborhood activity swap. Every week, rotate a new activity (like puzzles, board games, books, movies) from one house to the next.

Offer to go to the post office or the grocery store for your elderly neighbors.

Know a neighbor who can't be with family this year? Invite them to share one of your family's traditions, even if virtually!

THE MONEY CAN'T BUY HAPPINESS

(BUT IT CAN BUY PIZZA)

GIVE GUIDE

Venmo the student in your life so they can order delivery while they study for finals.

Buy coffee for the person in line behind you.

Pay for a stranger’s groceries.

Pizza. Someone in your life needs a pizza delivery.

Take care of your neighbors and donate to a local mutual aid or food pantry.

Deliver a round of hot coffees to the women and men working at a nearby construction site.

Help someone pay rent.

Does a teacher in your life need school supplies? Send that hero a gift card.

Your family member deserves flowers. (You know which one.)

Pick up a surprise dinner for your roommates (or your family!) from a local restaurant.

Need to purchase gifts this holiday season? Shop from small businesses.

Create an "emergency kit" for a friend with a few of their favorite snacks and a gift card.

Gift a book to a student.

Tip your delivery driver 40%.

Count the number of tabs you have open. Donate that number of dollars to your favorite charities.

Ask the florist for a bouquet that would make someone's day. Then, buy that bouquet for the florist.

Give a parent a well-deserved night off. Deliver pizza and a movie to their front door.

Send a friend an IOU for a hot beverage to enjoy the next time you're together.

Send donuts to a local elementary school faculty room.

Support a friend who is doing good work in the world.

THE BROKE COLLEGE STUDENT

GIVE GUIDE

Leave a life-affirming note on a stranger’s car window.

Give a friend or neighbor a coupon for snow removal. During the next storm, show up with a shovel and a smile.

Marie Kondo your pantry and donate the excess to a local food bank.

Donate gently-used clothing and give someone else a chance to love the sweater that lives in the back corner of your closet.

Plant a tree.

Write a bunch of hope-filled messages and deliver them to an assisted living home.

Volunteer your time to do whatever it is you do best: review resumes, help form a financial plan, design a logo, organize a pantry, take photos.

Share a list of your favorite recipes with someone who has made way too many meals at home since March.

Share a funny memory with a friend you haven't talked to in a long time.

Set up a themed video chat with people you've been meaning to get in touch with.

Help someone do something they've been avoiding: clothing repair, shipping packages, putting up or taking down decorations. Team work makes the dream work.

Write thank you notes to hospital workers and encouraging letters to patients.

Ask a grandparent/parent/sibling about their favorite memory. Then record it.

Give someone the benefit of the doubt.

Write haikus about your favorite people and send them throughout the day.

Respond to your favorite newsletter writer and tell them how much you enjoy their writing.

Become pen pals with a senior citizen.

Share a compliment with a coworker.

Channel your inner gameshow host and plan a virtual game night.

Text an encouraging note to a friend, just because.

THE CRAFT QUEEN

GIVE GUIDE

Bake some homemade pet treats and drop them off at your local animal shelter.

Create a Powerpoint explaining exactly why your best friend is awesome. Present it to them via Zoom.

Make an old-school holiday ornament for a friend with that picture you took together in 5th grade.

Give the gift of not having to look for boxes of gift wrap in the basement. Drop off homemade wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows to friends and neighbors.

Present handmade awards to your quarantine pod. Options include “Best Quarantine Haircut” and ”Most Likely to Selflessly Wash Our Dishes."

Make encouraging bookmarks and give them to your local librarians.

Print out old (we're talking waaaay back) photos. Send them out in the mail so everyone can remember and enjoy happy times spent together.

Make a family tree. Instead of pictures, use hilarious memories or quotable moments.

Send a scrapbook filled with inside jokes to your siblings or oldest friends.

Make a Snow Day box (candle, hot chocolate, a good book, fuzzy socks) and send it to a friend.

Invite your favorite 5-year-old to color with you on a video chat.

Keep a running list (or a wall of post-it notes!) of all the awesome things you've noticed people doing recently. There's so much kindness in the world when we're looking for it.

Give people who walk past your house a reason to smile! Put colorful art or encouraging signs in your front windows.

Draw portraits of your neighbors' pets. Deliver them with a few treats.

Spruce up your housemate's work-from-home station.

Make handmade cards for residents at a local nursing home.

Bake your favorite cookies, package them up, and ship them to your parents.

Send brand new crayons, markers, and coloring books to a children's hospital.

Make a scrapbook of your family's favorite quarantine memories. (You have more than one, we promise.)

Build a free community "library" box and encourage friends and neighbors to take a book or leave a book.

No matter how you celebrate Giving Tuesday,

know that we will be celebrating you

. We can’t wait to continue in our mission together—and can’t wait to spend Giving Tuesday being as generous as possible alongside you!

– your friends at charity: water

[foxtophat]

HEY HEY HEY!!!!  hey guys. haha. um, idk what to say exactly and tumblr likes to eat my posts so lets see how long this lasts:

its’ only been a couple months but i have been frothing at the mouth trying to figure out what next part of mercy to put out. i have a lot of much bigger stories to tell than this one, but kim and john sharing insomnia felt sort of like the right segue into those bigger bits.  so for now, let’s just enjoy a 20k fic about Kim and John, and also a little about John and Nick, but mostly just about John and Jacob.

there are 3 chapters. i’ll post the 2nd one later this week (wednesday or friday i think) and the third will probably go up next monday.  YEAH THAT’S RIGHT i actually have most of this one finished right out the gate!!!

as usual, i’ll put the entire chapter under a readmore in case you don’t want to leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy what i’ve got for you this time -- if not don’t worry, there will be more dramatic bullshit later :)  comments, kudos, reblogs and likes are all the things that make ficwriting more fun than it already is, so consider helping me out if you enjoy what i’m doing. otherwise, have a good day!!!

Kim's dreams are normally composed of fleeting images in dark, monochrome colors. They're howling-wind nightmares or ethereal moments of peace, but they're short-lived and she's always disconnected from them. She hasn't had a real dream in probably nine years. She used to miss them, before John Seed reappeared with all of his night terrors, just in time to remind her of how good she has it. Now, she's glad that the most she has to contest with is a looming sense of dread that fades almost as soon as she wakes up.

But tonight, Kim is a long way away from all of that. She's standing at the kitchen sink in her childhood home, which is in full summer swing. The rosemary plant her mom keeps on the sill is in full bloom, thick green spikes dotted with blue puffball flowers. Beyond it, the Canadian sky is seawater green, and Kim marvels at the fluffy clouds drifting through the unnatural color. They seem to be floating by much faster than the still air outside would imply. It should rattle her, confuse her, but before that realization sinks in, her mom's voice distracts her away.

"Do you really think he's the one?" she asks, as skeptically as she had all those years ago when Kim first decided to move to Montana. Her mother had liked Nick, of course, because he was a likable guy, but Kim had known from the start that her parents were worried about her. They'd worried about her moving to a red state, about her trusting a man she'd seen a handful of times since they'd met. They hadn't understood the idea of purple pockets or internet dating, and while they supported Kim's love of rifle showmanship, they'd never trusted Nick owning more than three guns.

"What's the point, is all I'm asking," Kim's mom laughs in response to Kim's unspoken comment. "It seems strange to collect weapons..."

"Mom, he hunts !" she chides. "And anyway, he isn't the worst one out there."

"That's exactly what I worry about," her mom says. "What if something bad were to happen? His family is gone, and we'll be so far away..."

Kim sighs, the words stinging more than they should. The aqua colored sky begins to churn outside, the light filtering through a strange red haze. Inside, the sunlight reflects off the white counters, nearly blinding Kim.

"I'll be okay," she says, reciting an amalgamation of all her old defenses as her eyes readjust. "There are a lot of good people out there. They rely on each other a whole lot more than we do here."

"I worry about you, Kimiko. That's all." Her mother sighs sadly. "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"But mom..."

Kim tries to tell her that she already has a kid, but she can't muster up the words. After all, shouldn't she know? Wouldn't Kim have visited? Wouldn't she have brought Carmina into this very kitchen, all the surfaces glowing with light, and introduced them? Wouldn't her mom have been there when Carmina was born?

"It's unseasonably warm, isn't it," her dad remarks at the table. He's sitting there with a magazine as if he'd been there the whole time. He, like the rest of the room, glows from the inside, as though a flashlight were shining through his skin. It shines through the wood of the table, through her mom's curious smile, until Kim has to turn her face away. The room grows hotter and hotter, and in the far-off whistling wind she hears the first lonesome wail of an air-raid siren beginning to pick up. There's a blinding burst of light and howling wind, and Kim lifts her hands to her face, desperate not to look directly at the blast —

The bedroom is dark, warm and humid. At first, Kim doesn't know where she is, struggling to sit up, desperate to run, until all at once reality comes crashing back into focus. It doesn't help that she's pinned beneath Nick's arm and Carmina's full dead-sleeping weight.

Normally, moving would be out of the question. But Kim doesn't want this dream clinging to her memory, and she desperately wants to put some space between her and the nuclear glow of her mother's smile. Hell, maybe it isn't the dream at all — maybe it's the heat that's making lying here unbearable. Maybe it's the extra weight pinning her down, or a panic attack waiting in the wings — whatever it is, she needs to get up and run from it. As she worms her way out from underneath her family, Kim can feel the pressure building behind her eyes, fueled by the need to jog out the tension that will soon become unbearable. She needs to exercise the nightmare away before it sticks around and ruins the rest of her night.

It's probably already too late for that. The back of Kim's eyes are itchy with tears as she struggles to get free. She's already memorized her mom's smile, trapped forever in radioactive amber, and that alone is enough trauma to fuel ten more terrible dreams.

Nick and Carmina remain peacefully asleep, even as Kim extracts herself from the bed. That's good — the last thing she needs to do is worry Nick, whose own sleeping habits have just started to even out. He'll try to keep her company, and they'll just wind up keeping each other up, which wasn't ideal back in the day and definitely isn't ideal now .

Even though Carmina sleeps like the dead and Nick isn't likely to hear her, Kim is careful to watch out for the creakiest steps as she heads downstairs. Sunrise isn't for a few hours yet, but Kim isn't going to let that stop her from insomnia-pacing around her own home. It used to be that Kim would jog laps on the runway to clear her head, but that isn't going to work nowadays. She still wants to, of course; she's desperate to step out into the relatively cool night air and run herself ragged enough to pass out again, but that's out of the question. She's not about to break her own rule.

It's only once Kim is downstairs that she starts to relax, lighting one of the candles left out on the table. The light is just barely enough to see by, and Kim struggles to find something to clean up or organize in the half-dark. All of the coping mechanisms that got her through eight years of bunker living have fallen flat in the face of the apocalypse, but that doesn't keep her from trying them over and over again. Some techniques are more adaptable, but it isn't like she can dig into reorganizing the hangar for Nick at... whatever time it is now. Not without somebody catching her breaking her own rules about going outside alone.

If she had any books worth reading, she could throw herself into that, but she can't bear the manuals and children's books right now. Maybe if there was a radio station she could listen to... but no, she wouldn't want to risk burning out the radio after everything Nick and John went through to fix it. There's not going to be another Hail Mary when it comes to that kind of repair.

Her mom would probably use this time to make a series of endless lists. Grocery lists, to-do lists, lists of pros and cons for buying new appliances or inviting Kim's awful step-grandmother to her wedding... there was nothing that her mom couldn't organize into a column of bullet points or check-boxes. Kim could probably do with a few lists herself, but where is she supposed to get the paper? And even if a supply list wouldn't be a waste of resources, where would she go to fill it? It's going to be a while before they can pick up flour from the farmer's market again, that's for sure.

Well, at least wasting some paper will keep her mind busy. There's too much stuff they need, and she's going to drive herself crazy trying to remember all of it. Anyway, they've been using decades-old junk mail to prop up the radio desk — it can't be wasted if it was already trash, right?

She's careful in her search for a decent piece of mail, not wanting to tip the radio over as she jimmies a yellowed envelope from under the desk. It's only once she's back at the table with a worn-down nub of a pencil that she finds herself hesitating. After all, what is she supposed to write? What could they reasonably expect to get out here, with no supply chain to rely on? Everything that comes to mind is laughably improbable at best.

It doesn't really matter, though, does it? They're probably not going to be able to find anything besides what they can hunt and grow for themselves, so any food she writes down will be wishful thinking. John had offered to help their scavenging efforts, but it isn't likely they'll find working walkie-talkies or a new car. People who have been above ground longer than the Ryes have already taken over key resource points, and they'll be hard-pressed to give up things without a fair trade. And until they can reliably communicate with one another, trading is going to be nearly impossible. One day, maybe, they'll have trading posts and reliable supply chains, but like other pieces of their fractured society, that's not coming for a long time yet.

Staring at a blank piece of paper is worse than writing something stupid down, and so Kim quickly scribbles the word flour across the top of the envelope. She can't imagine that's going to be a reasonable expectation for a while, but at least it's on paper — and it's outlandish enough that it encourages her to continue, her thoughts darting between impossible dreams and honest reality. Salt , she thinks might not be quite as hard to find. Sugar, probably impossible. For now, they can hope for honey instead.

It goes on like that, growing more abstract as Kim lets herself dream. Milk, eggs, bread, twinkies , meat grinder, hamburgers, tomatoes, grains (seeds), grill (charcoal), gas, gas canisters (storage), duct tape, insulation foam (spray, sheet), toilet cleaner, toilet, hot water, plumbing, bathtub! , tarp, doors, ammunition, floodlights, security system, cans + string (security) —

Her flow is interrupted by a soft, distant thud somewhere upstairs. Kim listens for a few tense seconds, waiting to hear boots on the roof, the hiss of a walkie-talkie, or the slide-click of a gun being cocked. Without the cult, those fears go unrealized, and Kim slumps tiredly into her seat. She's just as paranoid about armed cultists tonight as she is about wild animals, although she's sure that's just her nightmare talking. Eden's Gate is nowhere near the threat it used to be.

The relief is short-lived, as is her solitude, when she hears an upstairs door click shut, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the landing. The house is too old for any real attempt at stealth, but John tries to avoid the worst offending stairs on his way down. He only realizes Kim is there when he notices the candlelight, coming to an abrupt stop on the last step, one hand clutching the banister tight.

He's sweaty and out of sorts as he wipes his limp hair out of his face. "Oh," he rasps. "Kim."

He's surprised to see her. Kim should be surprised, too — it's one thing to know that John wanders the house at night, but it's another to see it happen in real-time. Honestly, she's barely phased by his appearance. John's sleep schedule has been bunker-erratic ever since Nick brought him home, and no amount of diurnal activity has managed to change it. If anything, Kim suspects he gets less sleep now than he did underground. It isn't for lack of trying, she's sure, but this isn't the first time she's heard him stumbling around in the dark. It's just the first time she's been in the same boat.

"Late night?" she asks.

John struggles once more with the hair in his eyes before giving up. "Just needed some air," he rasps, minding his volume. "Some water."

"Don't mind me," she replies, surprising herself with her own ambivalence. Knowing he moves around while they're sleeping is one thing, but seeing it should be upsetting. It should bother her when he avoids creaky floorboards on his way to help himself to their fresh water. It should make her angry to see him using their resources; at the very least, it should have upset her back when it began normalizing. But, honestly, it hadn't. Kim had just been relieved to see John acting like a person, and not just a haunted shell.

John wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, regarding Kim with deep uncertainty that Kim mostly makes out from his hunched shoulders and tense posture. He tries to hide just how lost he is, but Kim never misses it when he slips. It's not that she's sympathetic towards him, exactly, but she knows just enough about his history to want to pity him.

He doesn't speak, not even after the silence stretches out. Maybe he's waiting for her to make the first move?

The thought almost makes her laugh, but she still cuts him some slack. "Can't sleep either, huh?" she asks.

"Hardly ever," John replies, although he clearly isn't looking for reassurance. He takes a step away from the kitchen, hovering in the nebulous space between the table and the stairs. He's usually quick to leave Kim alone — quicker than he is with Nick, anyway — and so she appreciates the fact that he doesn't run now.

His voice cracks on its low pitch as he haltingly asks, "What are you doing?"

For just a second, Kim imagines giving John the cold shoulder and telling him it's none of his business. But the thought fades as quickly as it comes; it's replaced by the knowledge that John is just as dependent on the family's supplies as she is. Anything she needs, he'll also need. And besides, she's almost positive he'd been in control of the cult's supplies, which means he might have an idea of what they should realistically be looking for. He would know what the cult had planned to do, and she could probably translate that into useful advice.

"Just making a list," she sighs. It sounds stupid enough to make her wince, and she concedes with a joke, "You know, for the next time we're at Wal-Mart."

John huffs in amusement and approaches the table. Now that she's got an audience, Kim wants nothing more to do with the list, and so she pushes towards him before slumping back into her chair. Instead of the quick, distracted glance she had been expecting, John leans over to read it in full. The longer he reads, the more embarrassed Kim is of her late-night daydreaming, but he finishes with the list before she can grab it back.

"Some of these are... more manageable than others," he says, using the same kind of diplomacy he utilizes whenever Nick makes a particularly dumb comment.

"Uh, yeah ," she says, embarrassed even if she isn't surprised. "I know. It was just... taking up space in my head. I needed to write it down, otherwise, I'm going to be up all night."

Kim runs her hand through her hair, waiting for John to retreat as quickly as he'd arrived. Instead, John rereads the list once more. Kim can see his amusement much more plainly as he leans into the candlelight. It highlights the deep bags under his eyes as well, but who isn't carrying that particular mark of exhaustion these days?

"Ammunition isn't as high on the list as I'd imagined," he comments.

"We're okay on bullets for now," she replies. "And it's not like there's much to spare."

Whether or not that satisfies John, Kim isn't sure. He only hums in response, eyes roaming down the paper.

"I see you didn't bother to add more guns."

"We don't need more guns," Kim insists, although it's not strictly true. She's just hesitant to overwhelm the house with firearms. They've been getting on just fine with what they have — any more, and they might turn into a target themselves. One day, sure, they'll need to find something for Carmina to carry on her own, but that day is a long, long way away.

She doesn't need to explain herself to anyone, let alone John Seed, but as he watches her and waits for more, she feels compelled to justify herself. "I don't think we're going to find spare guns or ammunition just lying around, and I'm not about to take them by force. We've managed just fine with what we have."

"For now," John points out. "Things could change. It won't stay this calm forever."

"Why not?" Kim retorts, feeling childish and petulant as soon as the words leave her mouth. "Why do you even care? You're certainly not getting armed."

John clicks his tongue against his teeth. "It's not that," he says, only to abruptly roll over with a muttered, "Never mind."

If John thinks he can avoid the conversation that easily, he has another thing coming. "No, what is it?" she asks.

"It's nothing," he sighs, as if arrogantly dismissing her will keep Kim from pushing. When Kim only frowns unhappily back at him, he reluctantly relents. "Joseph had said taking your weapons was the only way we could ensure you wouldn't use them after the Collapse. And if we didn't lock them away, it would be all you would look for." He stares at the list, although Kim imagines his thoughts are about fifty miles away. "It's stunning how wrong he was about everything. But there are reminders everywhere."

John rarely speaks about Joseph; Kim hasn't heard him broach the subject of his own volition before. The only person who ever talks to him about his brother is Jerome, and those conversations are private and short. Having John bring him up with almost no needling feels like a step forward, even if it's only a small one. Even though John is anxious saying Joseph's name.

It's so easy to forget how much control Joseph had over John. Kim has to make a concentrated effort now and again to remind herself that Joseph hadn't only brainwashed normal, desperate people, but his own family. She can't imagine doing anything to Carmina or Nick that would turn them into the angry, anxious mess John had been even before the Collapse. Not even if it meant they would always do what they were told and would trust her implicitly. She couldn't bear it if Nick ever talked about her the way John talks about Joseph. It's late enough that Kim finds herself wondering how Joseph can even sleep at night.

"It's stupid," John says, taking Kim's contemplative silence as disapproval. "I should have known better."

He inhales, letting out a shaky breath, and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they're suspiciously shiny in the candlelight. It sparks a genuine pang of sympathy in Kim, but there's nothing she can say or do to help him. Nothing she's done so far has made an impact.

"Some of this is reasonable enough," John says, desperately trying to redirect the conversation back to the list. It's an obvious, flat-footed attempt to avoid a tender spot in his psyche, but Kim is willing to let it slide.

"Sure, eventually . But we're a long way off from hot baths and backyard barbecues, much less flour and sugar."

"Those are... less reasonable," he admits, dragging his finger across one of the harder to come by items. Still, he isn't nearly as deterred as she is. "But not everything is impossible to come by. Insulation, for one. Tarp, duct tape. Components like that should be easy enough to find." He taps his finger against the envelope. "And there still places to investigate. Root cellars nobody bothered to touch. Caches you never found. Things hidden in places you wouldn't know to look, especially if you weren't in the Project."

Frowning, Kim rereads a few of the items upside-down from her side of the table. "It's been almost nine years," Kim points out, reluctant to get her hopes up so easily. "Isn't it more likely that everything good has already been discovered?"

Still... John's mentioned secret Eden's Gate supplies before. Given the size of the project and how long they were operating in the county, it's not impossible that some of their hidden stashes haven't been found yet. And they were planning for the apocalypse, right? They'd likely have saved things that could last for a long time. John isn't wrong — more ammunition and more weapons would be helpful. At the very least, they could help arm other survivors.

"It wouldn't hurt to have a look, I guess," Kim relents after thinking it over. "How good is your memory?"

That earns her a rare, quiet chuckle from John. "Middling to poor," he admits, "Although if I had a map, it would help. It would make it easier to mark what I remember."

"To think, it only took nine years and an apocalypse for you to finally hand over the intel."

John huffs, but his response is only mildly offended. "Do you want what I have to offer, or not?"

"Don't be like that," Kim says, placating him with a smile. "It would be a big help. It'll help me sleep better, anyway."

It seems there's more on John's mind than Kim teasing him, since he takes the non-apology and moves on without a fight. "Jacob had caches buried for after the Reaping," he says. "They'll most likely be weapons, but he was... hard to read. It could be that he stored survival equipment in one. There were a few in the valley, but most of them would be in the mountains."

Kim shakes her head at that. "As far as I've heard, nobody's made it very far north. And the stories I have heard aren't good. The dam broke, so a lot of the area is flooded, and supposedly the radiation is still pretty bad."

John hums briefly as he considers the facts. He leans contemplatively over the list, and for a moment Kim wonders if this was a common occurrence for him before the Collapse. How many late nights did he spend bent over a map while his brothers watched and waited for his decisions? She has to suspect it was a lot, because this is the first time she's seen John look even remotely confident.

That confidence is clear in his voice as he remarks defiantly, "I suppose the valley will do until we get airborne again. Let flooding stop us then ."

"Oh, okay," Kim laughs, checking her volume before she lets her amusement wake up the rest of her family. "You are just like Nick. Neither of you are going to give up until you get back in the sky, huh?"

"Exactly," John replies. "I won't trust anybody else to do it. Realistically, a helicopter would be the best option..."

"Oh, right," Kim chuckles. " Realistically ."

John taps accusingly at the list and raises an eyebrow at her. "Less realistic than hot water and iodized table salt?"

If Kim didn't know better, she might think that John is actually teasing her. He normally saves that kind of attitude for Nick, who prefers arguing through and around problems. Kim, on the other hand, rarely has the energy to deal with avoidance tactics, and so she tends to demand his sincerity. Thankfully, the liminal time of just-about-three has softened her stance on the matter.

"Okay," she relents with a smile. "Sure. Might as well add helicopters to the list." It would be a pretty big get for them, all things considered. And anyway, John's right — Kim wouldn't trust flying in a plane jury-rigged together by anyone other than Nick.

But that's a resource that will come in the nebulous future, and Kim's too realistic to worry years in advance right now. There are more pressing concerns to deal with, first — like food, water and security. Any caches John can find will at least fulfill one of those priorities, although Kim can't imagine the cult storing anything other than ammunition and weapons. But even if the caches don't pan out, they might find valuable scrap, like logs for firewood, furniture they can re-purpose, or even old survivalist caches that nobody thought to dig up after the world ended. And now that there are four of them, Kim won't feel so uncomfortable when Nick wants to drive to the middle of nowhere looking for supplies.

Kim sighs with relief, feeling a weight roll off her back that she hadn't been trying to remove. "Things will be a lot easier if you can help us with supplies. And I'll feel better about Nick going out if he has somebody to watch his back."

John pulls the same face he usually makes when someone implies they trust him. Kim could ignore it — after all, John doesn't need to believe they trust them for it to be true. Too bad for him, it's too late at night for her to turn a blind eye. "Oh, get over it," she tells him, unable to help a lopsided smile at his offended scowl. "I seriously doubt you're planning on murdering us at this point. And I know Nick is smart enough to knock the crap out of you if he thinks you've changed your mind."

"I won't," John immediately replies.

Kim believes him, if only because there's nobody left for John to rely on other than them. "Good. Because if I can trust you, that means I won't worry about Nick when he decides to go farther than town. It means we can spend more meaningful time with Carmina, too. Anyway, Nick likes bossing you around, and you like being bossed around, so everybody wins."

John ducks his head, embarrassed, but Kim laughs to let him know she's only teasing. "Seriously," she says, relenting for his benefit, "It does help. It's good to have somebody else to rely on."

"I... want to be helpful," John replies, although Kim suspects that he might be confusing his wants and needs again. It's not quite a compulsion anymore, but even John's most heated attempts to argue about a job end with him rolling over quick. He hasn't outright refused to do something, and Kim doesn't think he ever will, if only to prove to himself one more time that he might actually be capable of change.

It might get annoying one day, but for now, Kim can respect his intense desire to make amends. She just wishes he would accept some form of gratitude or praise in return, to make it less awkward on her end.

Kim rests her hands momentarily on the tabletop, tapping her fingers briefly against the wood. "Okay," she softly declares, "I think I'm going to try to get back to sleep." Whatever she winds up dreaming about now, she's pretty sure it won't be the same awful nightmare again — and that's at least partially because of John's intervention. She figures it's worth telling him as much. "You made a pretty good distraction, so thanks."

He nods immediately in response. "Of course," he replies, momentarily bewildered as he checks Kim's expression for signs of sarcasm or annoyance. His posture relaxes as Kim stands, although Kim imagines his relief is temporary. He's pretty good at working himself up into anxious frenzies — staying out of them is another matter entirely.

"Try to get some sleep yourself, okay?" Kim suggests.

There's no way John means it when he says, "I will," but at least he's willing to placate her instead of getting mad at her being concerned in the first place.

"And try not to wake up Carmina."

John nods affirmatively. Kim's positive that he'll sneak outside once she's gone upstairs, but at least he's waiting patiently for her to leave. If it weren't for her returning exhaustion, Kim might've used him as an excuse to do her own late-night workout, but it'll have to do to merely turn a blind eye to him edging around her rule about going out after dark alone. Kim and Nick have both been woken up by the exterior doors, but John never goes beyond the planters out back, and he always closes up when he comes back in. Kim could call him out on it, but... well, it seems like he needs the freedom.

Kim says goodnight and is mildly surprised when John returns it without any lingering sarcasm. He must be pretty tired, but that's not really a surprise. Hopefully, he'll try to take some of her concern to heart, or at least pretend for her sake.

Although Carmina is definitely still asleep when Kim returns to the bedroom, Nick is watching her with bleary-eyed curiosity. He waits until she's closed the door to speak up, and even then it's a dull, quiet whisper.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

He doesn't mind waiting for Kim to creep back to bed before she answers. "It is," she tells him, gratefully crawling into bed as he opens his arms for her. He folds his arms over her shoulders, letting her wiggle into a comfortable spot before she explains in a whisper. "I needed to move around, and John came downstairs. That's all."

"Hope he wasn't a creep," Nick mumbles into her hair. Kim sighs laughingly into his collarbone, which is already sticking to her cheek with sweat. There's no way she's going to be wrapped up in Nick's arms all night, not when it's this hot, but she'll appreciate it while she's got it.

"Not yet," Kim says. "Just talking about supplies." She presses a kiss to Nick's shoulder and whispers, "We'll talk about it in the morning."

Nick hums happily into Kim's hair. "Sounds good to me," he mumbles. The less they talk about John Seed, the better, after all. Especially right now, when they're tangled up in bed with their daughter snoring next to them; there's no room for serious conversation, and there's absolutely no room for John. There's no space for the nightmares that woke her, either; as Kim falls asleep, Nick's hand tangled up in her hair, she thankfully forgets everything save for a warm, melancholy amber glow.

[duckbeater]

Courtship, pt. 1

We interrupt the fantasy series Odd Frock to bring you the dystopian series Courtship, a reflection on life in the time of coronavirus (truly unprecedented, groundbreaking, up-to-the-minute content). Odd Frock will resume with its third installment, “No Oaths,” sometime next week! —The Editors

—

The Times recently ran an essay-review about the prevalence of “deception” as a theme in newish queer novels. A spate of gay writers have taken up the cause of lies again—lies for love, lies for survival, that sort of thing. I remember reading this description way too close to bedtime, becoming furious, posting a screengrab of the headline to my Instagram story, and then flinging myself to sleep.

Those nights, sleep was less a sheer cliff than a steep embankment, ending in a kind of gray-water ravine. The kind you sometimes find behind subdivisions, full of detergent bottles and half-crushed cans of Michelob Ultra. A lot of my friends—I mean, my coworkers—were describing this sensation: lying in bed awake, confused about the day (unremitting sameness) and confused about the prospect of waking up in a day exactly the same. “I have no reason to sleep,” said my friend Vadim, in his theatrically Russian accent, “and yet I have no better reason to wake up.” This from a man expecting his first child, a baby girl named Marta, in August.

When I tried to go to bed at night and couldn’t sleep, sometimes I punched pillows and blankets into a human-shaped substitute, and pretended to hold this cool lump’s hand. I missed holding a hand while I slept.

I was trying to be honest but not dire with my therapist. Our weekly, forty-five-minute phone sessions had devolved into weak-sauce temperature checks on my declining optimism, and whether my anxiety and boredom were putting me at an increased risk for “acting out.” I think by “acting out,” he meant drinking myself into a rage and dealing in criminal property damage, something I’d done back in October when I had, plausibly, fewer reasons for “acting out.” I’d been arrested and everything. It was a bad time.  

Dave kept offering platitudes taken from his decade working as a chaplain for a clinic in Chicago, during a different plague. I didn’t exactly rebuff his analogizing the wan present with his indelible past, but I didn’t accept these comparisons uncritically, either. “You have to make a lot more choices, more intimate choices, to contract HIV,” I said, after another riff about “needing touches” and “harm reduction” and “risk.” “But the choices I’m making right now are like, Should I Clorox wipe my mail? Should I pet my neighbor’s dog?”

“Evan, what I’m trying to tell you is, you’ll get lonely and start making decisions out of loneliness, desperate loneliness. And whether those decisions include an intimate encounter or a neighborhood walk or maybe a small dinner with friends, you’ll need to entertain the idea of exposure and infection.”

Despite the obviousness of his remarks, I felt pierced by their retrospective application. Pierced and humbled, etc. My life, the one I was leading by myself in my studio apartment, seemed entirely the product of decisions made out of desperate loneliness. The night before our session, I’d watched four hours of Bon Appétit content on YouTube, despite a very on-the-record hatred for cooking, and the night before that, I’d spent six hours spider searching a tiny desk lamp with a cement base. I needed a light feature in my bookshelf—a light feature that could double as a heavy, practical book-stopper. Its discovery engendered a sort of mania. My attention had become a hostage to material comforts. A fantasy I kept coming back to was of a tall blond, maybe from the professional-managerial class, walking into my confinement and being so taken with the objets d’arte and expensive candle glow, he’d shuck his pants off without my needing witty banter or, heaven forfend, making dinner to seduce him.      

What I wasn’t telling Dave wasn’t lying. I wasn’t contorting the truth per se, only under-reporting the meager life events taking place in quarantine, so that most of my hours were spent, it seemed to him, sitting on my couch trying to read. We’d already discussed how reading was impossible. I was too horny. I missed my ex a lot, who also seemed to miss me a lot—he called nearly every day. On one such phone call, I asked for sex by name. I said, “Let me into your bubble, and let’s just fuck it out, please.” I didn’t tell Dave about this. I wanted him to think the two years of hard work we’d put into the breakup was unshakable. That the work was in fact extraordinarily fragile demoralized me endlessly and was, frankly, too embarrassing to report. Besides, my ex didn’t so much decline as leave my request unanswered. Much the kindest thing to do.  

I didn’t tell Dave that I wasn’t eating. Or that I was eating, but like a varmint. A handful of blueberries in the morning, some Cheez-Its for lunch, coffee all day long. Every few days I’d get a hankering for potatoes and put a hurting on pound after pound of frozen microwavables, folding in expensive cheeses. What else. I had developed a compulsive mail habit—checking my mailbox up to five times a day. I ran during the afternoon, and every run, I loathed and cursed dog-walkers, who never broke rank and whose dogs kept them cheerful, glowing, vital, loved. I’ve never hated dogs more. I’ve never hated strangers more. I rarely wore a mask.

Wait. This is what I wanted to explain. It’s facile but that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel it strongly—that I don’t still feel it strongly. The whole of life, operating along its axis of normal, acceptable behavior, had become a massive con. Maybe what I mean is, the massive con, long evident but carefully ignored, was now fully exposed, or fully loosed, and terrorizing people. It was impossible to pretend that our political system, our economic system, our public health system, our way of organizing culture and society, hadn’t brought us catastrophic failure. And lying about this, deceiving ourselves to go on, was all we had left.

Lying was sanity’s saving grace. Deception, I did not tell my therapist, was become fortitude’s handmaiden. Maybe this entry should be called “What I Wasn’t Telling Dave,” but then it couldn’t have the title I’ve already pinned to the top of the page, “Courtship,” which to me is what this pandemic has really been about. Making overtures to beautiful, intelligent gentlemen, with scant certainty of any attentions panning out, to distract myself from the strange days and lonely nights. (I’m aware that for others this pandemic must be about “joblessness,” “stillness,” “conspiracy” or “annihilation.”) Anyway. I’m writing this in the past tense, I guess to occupy the narrative position of someone who successfully avoided death, the death of loved ones, and ended up, firmly, finally, not sleeping with his ex. It’s so sunny in the city today, it almost looks like the future.

When I broke quarantine, it was to give a beautiful, silly twenty-five-year old a haircut. Scotty brought over Cheez-Its and played over two hours of Mario Kart with me; we necked for two hours more and then fell asleep, entwined; in the morning he showered again, and I gave him a cup of coffee while he stood under the running hot water. “My hot water’s been out for a couple weeks,” he explained, after my asking if he’d passed out in there. Cutting Scotty’s hair was the romantic highlight of my spring. He sat on the toilet in my underwear and gabbed about going to med school in the fall, on some Caribbean island. He left hair everywhere, in every crevice of the bathroom, in the bar soap and spare toothbrush. In the weeks when I continued to isolate alone, I’d find more of him under the sink, under the rug, under the conditioner. Obviously, I didn’t tell Dave about this. I cherished it and didn’t want a lecture.

[clairenchanted]

the one about the pandemic. 

it was summer. i fucking hate summer. 

i don’t hate the earliest morning in summer -- when there’s still the faintest hint of a chill from the night. it’ll burn off in an hour, and i’m never awake enough to really appreciate it, but i can convince myself that the day won’t be so bad when it’s not that hot yet and i’m not sticky and burdened by the sun. 

i always remember the parts of the day when it’s an unseasonable temperature: spring nights that are too cold, winter afternoons that get too hot for layers of sweaters. the mornings in the summer when i can feel the breeze off the harbor. i felt it that morning and that’s why i remember it: that i had to get up, and when i did the light was at a strange, low angle, glittering around my ankles, bouncing against the buckles of my new sandals. 

people were out. it’s brooklyn; people are always out. they’re out when i get back from the bar at one in the morning, and at not-quite-eight in the morning they’re out. a few of them -- jogging, walking a dog, getting to the subway to go to work. i didn’t go to the subway. i went to the post office to pick up a certified letter that i was worried would be some sort of time sensitive thing i’d missed a deadline for. 

the whole walk, i worried. i don’t normally walk there -- it’s just a little too far and i have too little mail and even less that requires a post office. but i didn’t want to take a bus one stop. so, i walked. 

by my apartment, i can smell the honeysuckle. it grows a block down, by the shoreline, where there’s just a bike path and a park and the highway and then, finally, the bay. the further away i got, the less i smelled it, until it was finally gone and it was just the summer city awfulness: trash and exhaust and the ugly things i don’t like to think about. and weed. a lot of fucking weed. i’m extremely sick of the smell of weed. i walked away from the honeysuckle and through the trash stink and thought about the what ifs. 

it could be something about my employment -- a notice i didn’t give back in time. something disciplinary. did i do anything fireable? did i miss a class i was meant to teach? does a student hate me enough to ruin my life? i could be walking towards my firing without even knowing it. --- is it a letter from a friend that needs to be sent certified because it’s coming from far away? probably not. definitely not. that’s not something that could happen. i don’t get things in return like that, because i hold candles when i should be putting them out and saving them from melting. 

i worried, and i self pitied, and i wallowed. there’s some feeling that comes with the neighborhood’s familiarity -- some physical thing settling warmly in the pit of my stomach when i see the sights i’ve been seeing for almost all of my life, from when i lived with my family, what i see now that i’m grown and have a little apartment not a ten minute drive from my childhood home. i could walk these streets blindfolded, and on every block i see something: the bus stop i took to high school. the place i walked with my friend for hours because we didn’t want to go home and let the day end. where we got italian ices. where i got my first bike. 

the letter turned out to be a repeat of a confirmation e-mail i’d gotten a week ago, no action necessary. on the way back, i went half a block out of my way and got the largest iced coffee i could. it was sweet with vanilla and sweetener, and stayed cool in my hand even as the day warmed up. by the time i got back, my drink was melting and i could smell honeysuckles again, and it was only a quarter to nine. sunlight streamed through my window, spilling over the hardwood with a deep, golden glow. i had the whole day ahead of me. 

for fifty five days these past two months, i have not left my apartment building. it’s now day sixty seven, and i have gone on two walks in the past two weeks. after both, i had a panic attack. i scrubbed my hands until they bled. i took a shower immediately, and i have taken my temperature at least five times a day. i’ve been quarantining for over two months, completely alone. no roommates, no work, no family, and when i walk i wear my mask and gloves. 

when it started, i had at least three panic attacks every day. they ebbed off a little, then came back in my sleep. i haven’t slept more than an hour at a time in over two months. i wake up from my sleep gasping for air, crying and screaming as i try to force air into my lungs. i started throwing up again -- involuntarily. voluntarily, even though that, too, is fairly involuntary, because eating disorders are like that. 

i went out for an hour today, just to walk. i was thinking about last summer, with my dunkin’ donuts iced coffee and the golden early mornings, and i realized with a jolt that i had been inside so long that i hadn’t been there to see the trees go through their pink blossoms stage. i thought, just for a moment, that i could remember what it felt like -- to be out, when it’s not too hot yet. to feel the sun, to smell the honeysuckle. to exist, for a moment, in the person that i was last summer. in the world that person lived in. 

i have been so staunch in my convictions about how to live responsibly that i have gotten into a fight with my father every time we’ve been on the phone. don’t take your mask off and only put it on when you pass people on your walk -- you’re supposed to treat it like raw chicken and not touch it once it’s on. and birdseed’s not an essential item! you’re not going to the bird lady to buy seed! and our comfort isn’t as important as staying alive. i’m not coming home, and you’re not going out. i have showed my parents, over facetime, how to wash their hands. i have holed up in my apartment and have ducked out of the way of neighbors and people on the street. i have monitored my symptoms and have unfollowed as many news outlets as i can. i have muted anyone on social media posting about the deaths -- the destruction. the warnings. i am following them all and every time i see these things, i feel irresponsible and in terrible danger, despite the fact that i have been lucky and smart and terrified into behaving above and beyond what’s expected. 

it has kept me alive, probably, and maybe my family too. and it has eroded me from the inside out. 

this is not to complain. this is not to want something different or else. this is, singularly and only, the first time i have processed my grief. survival has been more important than my mental health, to me. this is what i told myself, over and over. this is what i remind myself when i wake up shrieking, convinced that i cannot breathe, pacing my apartment at four thirty in the morning, waiting until dawn so the sun can protect me from the shadows at night. 

i hadn’t thought, until now, about all the little things, because they weren’t important. smelling the honeysuckle and going to the post office and getting an iced coffee. these are luxuries -- but i understand now that they are also memories i cherish, because they are the small, merciful moments of happiness that i have built my survival upon like bricks shoring up a seawall. 

i am drowning. this is not a protest; i will give my life before i demand a country return to normal, when that normal isn’t real and the most vulnerable lives are at stake. but personally, quietly, with every passing day, i am drowning. i find other little things now: sitting by the window when it rains. lighting a candle. writing, here and there now. 

but the wall cannot be built up as quickly as it has come down, while i have stubbornly looked away from it, and the sea is rushing in. 

the tide is only ever coming in. 

[vintyvanora]

||A Hard Decision||

So, I was trying to get back into writing and I thought “hey, why don’t you look up writing prompts?” Because I’m lazy and don’t want to think for myself. I found one that said, “write a scene or story that includes a character confronting the decision to make a big change in their life.” And I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. So I started and two days later I have this thing. 

I haven’t proofread it, I haven’t even really read it through start to finish. I just wrote. And I kinda liked it? It’s not perfect, it might not even be good, but hey. It got me writing and I was excited to finish it. So here. Have this almost obnoxiously long post about Vanora’s life. Letters, angst, and a bunch of First World Altus problems.

It’s early in the day when Vanora leaves her rooms. Although she had slept peacefully through the night she woke before sunrise. She had tried to fall back to sleep, curling up against Maretus under the blankets, but sleep eluded her. Carefully she’d slipped out of bed, Maretus still sleeping peacefully, and left the bedroom. For a while, she sat on the balcony, an embroidered dressing gown wrapped around one of Maretus��� tunics that she had worn to bed. It was early enough that the stars were still out, dimming slightly with the approach of dawn. The world was quiet, and for a while, she thought she might doze off on the chaise. Now, as the tiniest sliver of dawn begins to creep up to the horizon, she returns to her rooms to change into something more appropriate for the world beyond their suite. When she is finished dressing she peers back into the bedroom. Maretus is still fast asleep and she does her best to resist the urge to slip back into bed and try to sleep once again. Satisfied that her activities haven’t disturbed Maretus’ sleep she exits their suite and heads downstairs.

With dawn approaching, there are a few slaves roaming the halls, en route to the kitchens for breakfast or heading to start their tasks for the day. They acknowledge her with a bow as she passes through, headed for her formal study on the main floor of the estate. The room is dark when she arrives, the hints of sunrise not bright enough to illuminate the study. With a wave of her hand the candles light, bathing the room in a warm glow. There are letters stacked on her desk, a few stray ones near one of the comfortable reading chairs, and she sets to reading through those first. The first few letters are benign salutations welcoming her back to Tevinter. Nothing particularly exciting. Those are set aside to be discarded later. Towards the bottom of the small stack, however, is an invitation to tea from none other than Silvia.

Her reunion with Octavian, and Lavinia after him, had been a surprisingly emotional one. She had missed them terribly, but with so many things to do the longing for home and her friends had abated and faded into the background. It made her feel guilty not to think of them more, but she knows that they had not spent the last 10 years mourning her daily. Life went on and old hurts turned to aches. But when she’d finally seen them again the old hurt and the longing for her dearest friends hit her full force. Tears had not been expected, but there were plenty of them between the three of them.

Silvia, however, was another matter entirely.

They had never been particularly close. Silvia had been a part of their group of companions during their time in the Circle of Minrathos, but she had never been what Vanora would consider a friend. In all honesty, Silvia had been more of a burden to Vanora than anything else. It was a constant game with her. One day she was friendly, the next day she was gossiping about them. Vanora had learned early on not to trust her but always kept her near enough to keep an eye on.

Turning the letter over to look at the seals affixed, Vanora sets the invitation aside, separate from the pile of letters to be disposed of. She supposes that eventually, she’ll need to accept. It would be rude not to acknowledge Silvia. She was, after all, supposedly a friend. But for now, Vanora has no interest in entertaining the woman and dealing with feigned niceties and whatever mundane gossip she wished to share.

The sun has risen by the time she is finished reading through the pile of letters next to her armchair. Vanora blows out the candles and pulls open the curtains, allowing the sun to light the room. From her study, she can hear the voices of the slaves outside and the smell of baking bread in the kitchens wafting through the window. She expects that Julia will turn up soon with tea and something to eat once she discovers that Vanora had begun her day so early. Maretus too is bound to show up once he wakes up. It is, after all, a routine of theirs to check in with one another if the day has started early for one of them.

It is Julia who finds her first, and Vanora suspects that Maretus is still asleep, or only just getting ready for the day. Sure enough, she has breakfast in hand, a tray filled with food and tea for Vanora.

     “Good morning, domna,” she greets, the door closing behind her, “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Vanora replies, moving her next stack of letters to the other side of the desk, “I woke early and thought it prudent to finish reading through my mail.”

Julia smiles, the gesture almost sarcastic, as if to say “of course you started working early.”

     “Don’t give me that look.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, domna.”

The tray is set down in the center of the desk, Julia gesturing to the food.

“The bread is fresh from the oven, so you better eat it while it’s still warm,” she informs Vanora, pouring a preemptive cup of tea.

“Shall I let the Captain of the Guard know where you are when he comes downstairs?”

Vanora settles into the chair at her desk and takes a sip of tea, one eyebrow raised at Julia’s question. The woman takes her meaning and laughs.

“Very well. Do let me know if you need anything else. I will return to take the dishes away when you finish.”

With a bow she heads from the room, leaving Vanora to her breakfast and letters. She isn’t alone for long, a knock on the door drawing her attention away from her tea.

     “You know you don’t have to knock, love.”

The door opens, Maretus standing at the threshold with a hint of a smile on his lips. Vanora ushers him in, gesturing to one of the armchairs closest to the desk.

     “Julia brought breakfast. There’s an extra teacup for you.”

He sits down and pours himself a cup, eyeing the stack of letters at the corner of her desk.

     “Did you sleep well? I thought I heard you leaving before dawn.”

“I slept fine,” she assures him, tearing off a chunk of warm bread, “I woke early and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I sat and watched the stars a while.”

     “And then decided to go downstairs do work?”

Vanora gives him a pointed look. They both know that he’d done the very same thing several times before. Why sit around and waste the day when you could get a head start on work and have more time to relax in the evening? He hides a guilty smile by taking a sip of tea. They chat while they eat, the tea finished off well before any of the food. Eventually, Maretus leaves to start his workday and Julia returns to take away the remnants of breakfast.

Alone once more, Vanora sets to work on the stack of letters waiting on her desk. They are, on the whole, somewhat more interesting than the letters she had read earlier in the morning. Only a few are set aside to be discarded, nothing more than a polite welcome home. The rest are invitations. Some to informal events, teas and the like, others are to larger formal events. A friend of Octavian is hosting a ball in a fortnight and she would hate to pass up a party of that scale.

Midway through her pile of letters she freezes, the familiar crest of House Valerius embossed into black wax. It was only a matter of time before Lucius managed to corner her into some social event. She had done all she could to dodge him in her first weeks back, a desperate attempt to avoid him leading to her first kiss with Maretus, but just like Silvia, she would need to deal with him sooner or later. And with his impatience and a well-concealed temper, it was better to deal with it sooner. Sighing, she sets it aside, unread, to deal with when she’s finished reading all her other letters.

Unfortunately, the next letter is no better than Lucius’. It takes a moment for Vanora to recognize the seal on the letter, that of House Darinus. When the seal finally registers in her mind, she leans back in her seat and stares at it. A quiet voice in the back of her mind whispers what she already knows what the letter is for, but she cannot bring herself to open it. Not yet.

So instead, she gets up from her desk and exits her study. The sun has fully risen now and the entire estate is awake and going about their day. Despite the hustle and bustle beyond Vanora’s study, the garden is quiet and peaceful. It’s too early for mid-day tea with Maretus, so he is doubtlessly hard at work doing...well, whatever it was he did on a daily basis. Writing reports or training or something of that ilk. For a while, she is completely alone, laying on a chaise in the sun, only just resisting the urge to fall asleep. The only thing that keeps her from dozing off is the threat of sunburn as it nears noontime. It would be a pity to have sunburnt skin with so many social engagements to attend.

Julia inevitably finds her in the garden with another tray of tea and fruit in hand. Setting the tray down on the nearest table, she sets to work pouring tea.

“Don’t you have something more interesting to do than track me down with tea?” Vanora asks, one brow arched as she straightens up in the chaise.

“You’re right...it would be much more interesting to wash that gown of yours from high tea with Lavinia yesterday.”

Her tone is sarcastic, she and Felix the only subordinates in the household that would dare talk like that to one of the Tiberius’, but Vanora laughs.

“A fair point. Why don’t you sit and have some tea with me? I’m tired of reading letters and invitations.”

“Such a burden you bear,” Julia teases, sitting down near Vanora, “I’ll sit a moment, but I do have to deal with that gown. Anyone else might ruin it.”

They chat for a few minutes before Julia leaves, Vanora alone in the gardens once more. She isn’t disturbed again until after the tea has gone cold. One of the slaves approaches her with a deep bow.

“Forgive the intrusion domna Tiberius,” he says, eyes cast downwards, “but the Captain of the Guard wished me to inform you that he has been held up by work and requests you do not wait for him to eat.”

It isn’t entirely surprising to hear that Maretus has gotten caught up in work, it’s happened to her plenty of times, but it means that she really should head back to her study and finish up her tasks before evening falls. Thanking the slave and sending him away, Vanora departs the gardens.

When she returns to her study she heads straight for her desk and the letters left unopened from that morning. The letter from Lucius begins as a welcome home but quickly turns into thinly veiled irritation that they have yet to spend time together. He has the decency to at least mention that he is married before inviting her to lunch with him at the Valerius estate. The response she writes out is polite, if not a little brief. An apology that she has been so terribly busy and not able to meet with everyone, followed by an acceptance of his invitation and a pointed declaration of how she is looking forward to meeting his lovely wife. Knowing Lucius, Vanora suspects that his wife will conveniently be away that afternoon. People could certainly change, but nobody changed that much.

With Lucius’ letter written and sealed Vanora can no longer avoid the correspondence from House Darinus. Taking a deep breath she breaks the seal and opens it up. It is, predictably, from Magnus, an Altus and magister, as well as the head of House Darinus. Theirs was an ancient house, older even than those of her friends. They could trace their ancestry back to the formal founding of the Tevinter Imperium. Even Lucius couldn’t deny the power and influence of their house. So when Aurelia had reached out to as many single men from worthy houses as possible Vanora had been shocked when Magnus had responded and come to the Tiberius estate.

There had been several men, or suitors as her mother like to call them, who had visited the Tiberius estate in the weeks following Vanora’s return. Though it had been awkward initially, knowing that Maretus was very likely not too far away and knew full well what Aurelia’s intentions were, it had turned into a source of amusement for the two of them. Maretus found the suitors’ peacocking distasteful but was equally prone to laugh at them with Vanora once they’d left.

She was grateful that on the day Magnus had come to visit Maretus had been too busy to see her until night had fallen and she was in bed. Even now she isn’t entirely sure what to make of the man. He is the epitome of what a Tevinter Altus should be, calm and composed, holding himself as if he owned the world. In some ways he did. There’s something beautiful about him with his high cheekbones and full lips, a far cry from the rugged handsomeness of Maretus. She decides later on, once he’s gone, that he is beautiful. Smooth skin, features that are somehow both masculine and feminine, and long, ink-black hair pulled out of his face with golden combs. It’s almost alarming.

The afternoon he had visited was mundane enough. They exchanged pleasantries over tea, Marcus even turning up to greet the young man. Aurelia had managed to, of course, slip in a few subtle references to marriage, which both Magnus and Vanora had both ignore. Though her mother was driven to get her married, Vanora found the whole ordeal rather distasteful. It made her feel more like a slave for sale in the markets than anything else.

Still, it had gone well enough that he had visited again a few days later, Aurelia conveniently forgetting she had plans and leaving the two of them alone. Despite feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the situation having her mother out of the picture proved to be something of a blessing. The conversation felt less restricted and overly polite. And then he’d brought up the topic of marriage. Vanora thought she’d be ill just thinking about it, but she’d smiled and answered his questions. The conversation turned to a different topic quickly and Vanora put the discomfort to rest.

But now he’s sent her a letter and based solely on appearance it looks like a long one. With her stomach in anxious knots and a heart heavy with no small measure of dread, she opens the letter. It is two pages long, front and back, written in immaculate, flowing script. Before she reads anything else she flips to the end, double-checking that it is in fact from Magnus and not some other member of House Darinus. Of course, it is and so, with a sigh, she starts reading.

Admittedly, it isn’t quite what she’d expected. Although it isn’t exactly a proposal it’s clear that he is inclined to marry her. Vanora’s stomach churns at the very sudden realness of the situation she finds herself in. It was all well and good to talk about the expectation of marriage, but it is another thing entirely to find herself in the thick of an almost-proposal. At the very least there is absolutely no talk of love or feelings, just the language of a business deal made between two powerful Altus.

She almost can’t believe it, that someone from such an ancient and powerful family would actually think of marrying her. Not that she was by any means unworthy but after a decades-long absence it made sense for people to be wary of how capable she was. And yet here she is, alone in her study with an almost-proposal sitting in front of her. At first, all she can do is stare at the letter, brain processing what exactly she’s just read. It’s surreal, and she almost pinches herself to make sure this isn’t some strange dream.

A hundred questions are swimming through her head. What would he expect of her if she did marry him? Beautiful as he is it still makes Vanora nauseous to think about consummating their marriage and having his children. Which is, of course, what would be expected. It was the entire point of marriage. Political alliances and perfect children.

It would get her family to leave her alone, to free her from the near-constant nagging of her mother. The fact that he was so powerful, so influential in society and politics, would instantly make reclaiming her station in life much easier. Nobody would dare turn away or snub the wife of Magnus Darinus. Every door would be open to her with a few simple words. If she was being brutally honest, there were a hundred reasons why she should marry him. Ten years ago it would have been a non-issue, she would have said yes immediately.

But now things are different.

At the end of the day, even with a hundred reasons to marry Magnus, there is one reason not to.

Maretus.

If their roles were reversed, if he married someone else, even if there were no feelings involved...well, Vanora would certainly be crestfallen at best. It already has to be hard, spending their spare time with one another, sharing her suite, and then pretending not to be romantically involved outside the estate.

     What if he left?

The thought sends a lance right through her heart and she drops her head into her hands. What if this engagement, this eventual marriage, political or otherwise, was the last straw. Maretus was resilient, level headed, logical. Things never seemed to get to him easily, but this very well might. Would he feel betrayed? Angry? Sad? Disgusted? Maybe it would prove to him just how far people in power would go to maintain that power. He’s always known that she intended to come back, to take back her place in Tevinter society and replace her father as a magister. But he’s never had a particularly favorable view of Altus, of the lengths they go to in order to climb the social ladder. He might have been able to get past those feelings with her, probably solely because he’d gotten to know her so far from home, but marrying someone solely for political gain and respite from her family might push him over the edge. Maybe it would prove to him that she wasn’t actually any different from people like Lucius, willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted.

Maybe it would be just enough to make him stop loving her.

A lump forms in her throat and she can feel the telltale sting of tears in her eyes. Vanora takes a shaky breath and straightens up. She stares up at the ceiling, blinking several times until the feeling passes. Despite the fact that it would be much easier to force down all the feelings that have bubbled up due to the simple letter on her desk she resists. For once in her life she lets herself feel the anxiety, the sadness, the guilt.

Because, ultimately, she already knows what she has to do, what she’s going to do.

And so, heart heavy with all her fears, she picks up her quill and starts to write.

[queenmylovely]

Just My Luck; Part 2

Summary: John deacon x fem!reader. John and Reader send each other letters. Reader and Jeanne delve deeper into Queen.

Warnings: Cussing, slow burn

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: So, I think there was a malfunction or something because all of the sudden, none of my links to this post had any text, just tags. Hopefully this fixes it. Anyway, more Queen and John in this as well as a get-to-know-you for Reader and Jeanne. Let me know if you like it!

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14 (Epilogue), Masterlist

🍀🍀🍀

John had much less autonomy than you did when writing his letter. With Roger and Freddie taking over the pen, and Brian’s editing skills, basically all John actually wrote was his name, using the nickname you had given him when you were younger. Luckily, all of the boys had used some restraint as well as information about y/n that John provided them, and the letter was mostly believable. John was pretty happy with the result.

Dear y/n,

I am so glad that you reached out to me, love, it has been far too long. I feel the need to apologise to you as well for not finding a way to write you sooner. Though I do thank you for the effort you put into your research. It is very flattering to have someone like yourself go to any lengths just to write to me. I have missed reading your letters and knowing about your life greatly, and would love to stay in touch. You can send letters to this address: 836 Bonfield Ave., P.O. Box 74, London, England, 02519, and it will get to me.

How are you? Did you enjoy your time at the University of Washington? Are you still pursuing teaching like you wanted to back when we were younger? Your passion for learning and education never ceased to amaze me. Where in Europe are you spending time? I have done some extensive travelling in Europe myself, so I could be pretty familiar with wherever you are staying. I look forward to hearing from you again.

Ever Yours,

        Johnny

The letter didn’t mention visiting each other because, as Roger said, “You have to play hard to get, Deaky. Always leave ‘em wanting more.”

Although John wasn’t so sure, with Freddie, and especially Brian, agreeing with Roger, he consented.

John mailed the letter as soon as it was written, which meant the very same day. Everyone accompanied him to make sure that he actually went through with it, as well as making sure he had the correct postage. But he would have been fine without them. As soon as it was actually written, John was sure that he wanted to send it, and nothing would stop him. He scoured his flat for stamps and finally found a couple in the bottom of his desk’s lowest drawer. He quickly pasted them on, addressed the envelope to you, and was out the door, boys following close behind. Knowing exactly where the closest post box was, he walked with purpose and long strides. When he got there, he paused, waiting for the other boys, the slightly shorter Roger and Freddie trying to catch their breath in the interim. All of the sudden, he turned, lifted the flap of the slot, and pushed the letter in without a second thought. John spun around and smiled at the boys, receiving grins back from the three. They walked back to John and Brian’s flat, joking and giggling all the way.

_____

Back in Seattle, you were trying to busy yourself as much as possible during the unbearably long wait. This meant throwing yourself into work and school. This actually worked in your favor, receiving the first A+ in your most difficult class. Your boss at the coffee shop also noticed that you were taking on more at work and coming in for extra shifts, so she promoted you to a shift lead. Even though you would be leaving for three months pretty soon, you were happy for the raise.

Jeanne was also a welcomed distraction. She and you would gossip about people at the café and friends from undergrad. The two of you also loved watching TV, catching reruns of “The Brady Bunch” that reminded you of childhood memories and watching this new comedy show with that guy from National Lampoon magazine called “Saturday Night Live.” Jeanne had a deal with you that she would watch the show live with you every other week as long as you went to bars, discoes, and clubs with her, with the stipulation that she would watch the taped show the next day with you.

It was on one of these nights back in November that you had really taken notice of the band, Queen, in the first place. Jeanne and you had been sitting at the bar, drinking wine and a gin & tonic, respectively, when all of the sudden Jeanne started freaking out.

“Oh my gosh, y/n, this is it, this is it!” she yelled at you over the music.

“This is what, Jeanne, the night that we realize we’re wasting our time here and should probably just stay at home?” you quipped, having already fended off the advances of some unsavory dudes, you were done being at the bar.

“No, no shut up. This is the song I was telling you about, Bohemian Rhapsody, so be quiet and listen!”

And you did. You listened for the rest of the 5:55 song. It wasn’t enough. How were you supposed to grasp the entirety of the song in just one listen, in a crowded and loud bar? That’s exactly what you told Jeanne.

“And another thing, how have I not heard this before? And when can I hear it again?” you urgently asked Jeanne.

“See, I told you you’d love it. And it doesn’t get played very much on a lot of radio stations because it’s so long,” she explained to you.

“It was long, but that’s a stupid reason not to play a song as good as that. Who’s it by?” you inquired.

“That band, Queen. They have another song we like, “Killer Queen,” do you remember?” Jeanne prompted.

“Oh yeah, when we heard that we couldn’t stop singing it at each other. I guess I really like their music,” you replied, laughing. You normally relied on Jeanne to relay the music facts to you. Liking the songs and knowing the lyrics was one thing, but knowing the titles and band names, not to mention band members’ names is too much for your brain to keep up with.

“And to answer your other question, I guess it’s our lucky day, because I heard that Wall of Sound just got in the single the other day, and I’m going to buy it for the both of us to share,” Jeanne said, smiling and giving you a “you’re welcome” look.

“You are the best friend I could hope for. You’re amazing. I’m eternally grateful,” you piled on the praise, knowing she was never one to turn down a compliment.

At the record store on Monday, Jeanne bought the precious single. It was all the both of you could do not to run to the car and speed all the way home to listen to it as soon as possible. Once at your apartment, you got ready for the listening experience by closing the blinds, turning off the lights, and lighting all the candles the two of you had. Then, you laid down of the floor so that your heads were right next to each other but bodies going the opposite way. Jeanne had to sit up slightly to actually put the needle on the record, but quickly moved back and took a synchronised deep breath in with you.

The song played through and there was nothing to do but play it again. After the second play-through, you both knew it was okay to talk. Jeanne restarted the song and the two of you discussed your favorite parts, what gave you chills, and how good each part of it was.

“That guitar solo, fuckin’ out of this world,” Jeanne said straight-faced. That’s how you knew, to her, it was a fact, not merely an opinion.

“Agreed. I still can’t get over how they layered their voices in the middle section. Just thinking about it is giving me goosebumps.”

The song came to an end for the third time, but this time Jeanne’s and your voices joined Freddie’s own once he sang “nothing really matters, anyone can see...” until the end.

“What’s on the B-side?”

“Um, I don’t know, let’s flip it over and check it out,” Jeanne replied. “‘I’m in Love with My Car,’... that sounds… interesting.”

“Put the needle on, I want to see what the hell that even means,” you laughed as she put it on, with a confused look on her face. That laugh continued throughout the song and was joined by Jeanne’s as well. But, much like ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ the car song got multiple plays, and by the beginning of the third time, you were both jamming out to it.

“As funny as the lyrics are, it’s actually a good song. I really like this guy’s voice,” Jeanne said as she nodded her head and hummed along with the music.

“Yeah, it’s really different to whomever sings ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’” you agreed.

“Mercury.”

“Huh?”

“Freddie Mercury. That’s his name, the one that sings ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ He’s the lead singer of Queen. And, let’s see...” she said as she grabbed the record’s sleeve. “This says that the car song is sung by a Mr. Roger Taylor.”

“Hmmm, interesting.”

“Uh-huh. You’ll forget their names as soon as this song ends,” Jeanne said, rolling her eyes. She didn’t really care that you didn’t know their names, but that wouldn’t stop her from mocking you.

For months after that, the two of you would have at least a weekly listening of the two singles, and would cheer and sing along anytime they came on in your car. Though it wasn’t until three and a half weeks after you had sent John the letter that you got anything new to freak out about.

_____

“Why hasn’t she replied yet? It’s been ages.”

“It’s been a week and a half, Roger,” Brian replied without looking up, sitting in the armchair of his living room, reading a book.

“Well it feels like ages,” Roger mumbled back from his spot laying on the couch.

“In any case, you need to be quiet about it when Deaky gets here, he’s goin’ out of his head enough without you complaining too,” Brian warned Roger with a stern look.

“I know, I know. I’m just really curious about this whole ‘thing’ Deaks has with y/n. I don’t quite understand it,” Roger relented.

“What? You don’t understand how someone could have any sort of a relationship with a girl without sex?” Brian scoffed at Roger.

“No! Well, sort of. Okay, listen, I’m not a complete arse. I know men and women can be just friends. I just don’t know why he would choose to be. Especially with someone 8000 km away,” Roger said, bewildered.

“Darling, you don’t choose who you love. You just do,” Freddie interjected, walking into the living room from the kitchen with a bag of crisps. Brian started to correct him but Fred stopped him before he could, “I know, I know, no ‘love’ talk around our dear Deaky. But you know it’s obvious he is in love by that look he gets in his eyes everytime he thinks of her,” he emphasized the end of his sentence with the raising of an eyebrow and the crunch of a crisp.

The next moment, Deaky walked in the front door, finding his three bandmates lounging in his shared living room. They were all oddly silent, which was too suspicious for his liking.

“Were you guys just talking about me?”

“No, I have no idea what you mean. But, now that you are here, I’d love to catch up. Take a seat, love, have a crisp,” Freddie tried to brush off his accusations.

“Okay,” John said, taking the bait. “Well I just got back from the studio. No mail. I’m pretty sure that’s only the fourth time I’ve checked since Monday, so that’s good.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Roger said incredulously.

“Pretty sure?” Brian asked at the same time. They exchanged looks and shared a quick exhale of breath.

“That’s perfectly fine, Deaky. Progress, really. Just try not to worry, y/n’s letter will be here before you know it,” Freddie reassured, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.

“Thanks, Fred. I just can’t wait to get to know her again.”

_____

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Jeanne. Happy birthday to you!” Your mom and you sang to her, belting out the notes together and trying (but failing) to add some harmony at the end. Jeanne blew out the candles and quickly closed her eyes, making her wish.

“This cake looks wonderful!” she beamed at you both.

“It’s your favorite, chocolate cake with chocolate filling, chocolate frosting, and chocolate flakes!” you smiled back at her, laughing.

“Thank you both, so much. It means a lot to me that you’re both here since my parents couldn’t fly out from Montreal.”

“Of course, sweetie. You know we love you like family,” your mom said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

While they were picking out the candles and chatting, you ran to your room and grabbed her present, wrapped up in a colorful scarf you knew she would also love.

“Alright, here’s your present, Jeanne!” you held out her present, tilting it back and forth in your hands to entice her.

“Ooo, I’m so excited!” she said, grabbing it from you. “I love this wrapping. Is it a scarf?” she said with a little gasp. After struggling for a second with the fancy knot you had tied, she pulled off the scarf with a flourish and her jaw dropped. “You didn’t!”

“I did.”

“Oh. My. Fuck!” she exclaimed, eyes still glued to object before her. It was Queen’s entire new album, A Night at the Opera, to which the beloved songs “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “I’m in Love with My Car” belonged.

“Safe to say you like it?” you asked as you laughed at her reaction to the gift and your mom’s reaction to her choice of words.

“Like it? I love it. I love you! You have my eternal gratitude and I’m playing this right now,” she responded as she hopped up and ran over to the record player.

“What is it, honey?” your mom asked, still confused at her strong reaction.

“It’s a record from a band we both really like-”

“-Love-” interjected Jeanne.

“love. They’re called Queen.” you informed your mom, knowing she preferred disco to rock and her favorite was the new song, “Fernando,” by ABBA. You couldn’t fault her for her tastes though, as you also loved disco and ABBA.

“Oh, I see. They’re the British ones with the long hair and funny clothes,” she replied.

“Um, yeah, that’s right.” She wasn’t wrong, as that description matched most rock and roll bands you could think of. You heard the telltale sound of the needle touching down on the vinyl and stopped talking. Your mom got the memo and also stayed silent as you three moved into the living room with the cake platter and three forks. Luckily, your mom could appreciate great music when she heard it and understood Jeanne’s and your commitment to listening with full attention and was content to sit silently and eat cake throughout the entire 43:08 of the album.

After the last notes of “God Save the Queen,” played out and the arm of the needle clicked, coming to a stop, the three of you let out a long breath.

“That was incredible,” your mom was the first to form words and Jeanne and you just nodded.

Before anything else, Jeanne flipped the record back to the side one and started it again, at a lower volume. Finally, she reacted, “I think this is the best present I’ve ever gotten for my birthday.”

“Hell, I think it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten on your birthday,” you replied, earning laughs from both women. You continued, “Let’s look at the album art.”

“Good idea,” Jeanne and your mom said simultaneously as Jeanne reached for the album cover. She placed it in front of the three of you facing up, and you all leaned in for a closer look.

“Are those… fairies?” your mom questioned.

“Yeah, and two lions and a swan and a crab,” you confirmed, a puzzled look on your face.

“Well, whatever they are, they’re far out,” Jeanne designated, getting nods of agreement. After another second of staring, she grabbed it back up and felt inside, pulling out the record sleeve she had carefully placed inside after removing the record. She set this thin piece of paper down on top of the cover for the three of you to look at. It consisted of one large picture of the band posing on the front side and multiple smaller pictures of them performing on the back. You all had (well, at least Jeanne and you) seen pictures of Queen before. But something about their unique image and to be honest, stunningly good looks captured your eye. Staring at the pictures you didn’t notice Jeanne squinting her eyes trying to remember something. She reached for the album cover, letting the record sleeve slide off it onto the floor, but your eyes didn’t move except to flick between the different pictures of the performances, paying special mind to the boy holding the bass guitar.

“Here they are!” Jeanne exclaimed and flipped over the record sleeve, receiving a small glare from you that she didn’t notice, “I remembered Freddie Mercury’s name of course, and Mr. Taylor, but the last names of the other two escaped me.” She pointed at each one as she went on, to clarify for you and your mom, “This is Freddie Mercury, he’s the lead singer. This one’s Brian May, the guitarist. This guy is John Deacon, the bassist. And last but not least, this hottie is Roger Taylor, the drummer,” she said with a smile and look of appreciation. You had to admit that Roger was quite handsome, beautiful really, as were Brian and Freddie, but there was something about that bassist, something that caught your attention and wouldn’t let it go. Just like my John had, you supposed, your mind racing back from one John to the other, to the boy you hadn’t heard back from yet.

_____

That was remedied the next day, when Jeanne came traipsing in the front door, swaying, and saying in a sing-song voice, “y/n! Look what I found, a nameless letter made out to you!”

You walked out of your room to hear her better and gasped when you saw what she had. The two of you opened the letter right there in the entrance way and quickly read it over.

“Ooo, this John of yours seems like a real gentleman. I didn’t know it was actually possible to have such proper grammar,” Jeanne said in an austere voice.

“He’s not my John,” you replied, rolling your eyes, despite what you had thought to yourself last night. “Must be an English thing.”

“Do you think calling you ‘love’ and signing it ‘ever yours’ is an English thing too?” Jeanne retorted, raising her eyebrows and smirking.

“Actually, yeah, I’m sure it is. Anyway, onto a more important topic, what do I say back?”

“Go grab a couple pieces of paper and we’ll get started,” Jeanne said, grabbing the letter and moving to sit at the table in your kitchen. You rushed into your room and got the paper as well as three pens and four pencils.

“You’re really prepared,” Jeanne noticed, seeing all that was in your arms. You smiled sheepishly and sat down in the seat next to her.

“How should I start it?”

“Probably with his name, and then go from there,” she answered, teasing you for your own good. After writing your nickname for him when you were younger, like he did, you answered his questions and then finally asked him some of your own. Finally, you proposed meeting. That was the most difficult part.

Dear Johnny,

To answer your question, I’m doing good. I graduated from UW with a degree in Communication, and I’m currently enrolled in their graduate studies program for the same. I hope to be a professor someday, so yes, I still love teaching. That is actually why I will be going to Europe. I’m spending the summer teaching English in Tournai, Belgium, if you’ve ever been there.

What about you? Did you enjoy Chelsea College and engineering? Are you an engineer now? Speaking of being amazed, the way you understood all of that technical stuff is pretty incredible too. What led you to spend so much time in the rest of Europe? Is it work?

I was thinking, that since I’ll be pretty close to London while I’m in Tournai, we could meet in person. As kids, that never seemed possible with me in Belleview, but it would be much easier now. Let me know what you think.

Very Truly Yours,

        y/n

🍀🍀🍀

taglist: @eylulclsr @roger1na @deakyfordays @painkiller80 @sunflower-borhap-boys @awkwardangelshezza @obsessedwithrogertaylor @bensrhapsody  @tardisgrump @ahsoknarwhal @fatheadtheroger @happy-at-home @achallsplants @red-firelight @marvellouspengwing @randompotato1234 @windmeupandletmeplay @ixchel-9275 If you’d like to be on the taglist, just send me a message or ask!

[cravingmarvel]

Apartment - Chapter Eleven (End)

Sebastian Stan AU

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None I think?

Word Count: 3185

Summary: You just moved from Germany to New York, working as an editor at a newspaper. So what happens when you find out your favourite actor lives in the apartment across from yours? And how will people react when you share your story on your Blog dedicated to him? What will you make of this situation?

A/N: This is the last Chapter of this series! There’s going to be an epilouge and I’m probably going to be writing some drabbles! I’m going to upload a little ‘Thank you’ post in the next few days so keep an eye on that! 

Enjoy!

Tags: (Please be gentle with the criticism I’m still not confident with my writing. Also, you are not obligated to read this, if you don’t want to)

@sgtjbuccky @whyisbuckyso @jurassicbarnes @softlybarnes @spideywhiteys @buckybarneshairpullingkink @buckystan-plums @v-2bucky @buckisthatyou

Masterlist // Sebastian Stan Masterlist

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven // Chapter Eight // Chapter Nine // Chapter Ten // 

I settled into my new life pretty nicely, the two months since I moved here went by quickly and I was able to reconnect with everyone I left when I packed my bags and took off a few months ago. The uncomfortable thing though were the questions like; why did you come back again? I was never able to give a good answer, always saying that I missed home, which was a big, fat lie. I miss nothing about my old life, but there’s no going back now.

My mother had a lot of questions, she wanted to know everything. Not about me living in NY, but about Sebastian. And it hurt like hell, so much I just wanted to light myself on fire to get away from the conversation.

I sat on my couch eating dinner, being absolutely drained of energy from the day. Life appeared to be more difficult these days and all I want to do is hide in my bed while watching Netflix. But life goes on, with or without you.

With Guardians of the Galaxy in the background playing, while I’m consumed in my thoughts, my head took me back to when I used to live here, before I decided to take the job in the States.

With my head bopping to the song playing I made my way to the bathroom. I took my clothes off and let the water fill up my bathtub. I put a bath bomb in and lit some candles, to set the mood. I was ready to wash off the day and to relax.

I noticed my fingers pruning up and got out, drying my body with the towel I hung on a rack. I jumped slightly as someone knocked on my front door. I couldn’t think of anyone wanting to see me and I still haven’t reconnected with my old friends and I don’t know if I want to. I don’t need to answer more questions about why I left New York and what happened with Sebastian.

I contemplated whether I wanted to open the door or not, pacing I my room. They would knock twice if it was important. As I heard a second knock I quickly put my robe on, sprinting to the door.

I opened it revealing a man I’ve never seen before holding a bunch of pink roses.

“Good evening, miss.” He gave me a wide smile and handed me the flowers. “These are for you and I wish you a good night.”

And with that he went back down the stairs, leaving me with a thousand questions. I went back inside and looked for a card, but there wasn’t one. I put the roses in a vase and placed the on my dinner table.

--

I hurried into the kitchen to get my water, almost knocking everything else over. My bag falling off of my shoulder and onto the ground. I picked it up groaning at my own stupidity. I should’ve woken up earlier or skipped one cup of coffee, no that’s not an option. I should have thought about what I want to wear yesterday, so that I didn’t have to cover my bedroom floor with piles of clothing.

I sprinted to the door, running out and down the stairs. It didn’t bother me before that the elevator is broken, because I’m not too bothered by walking up the stairs. But now I’m cursing at that godforsaken thing for letting me down and making me run even later for work.

I finally reached the bottom of the stairs, stopping right in front of the door to try and catch my breath. I reached my hand out to open the door right as the door swung open and the same delivery guy from yesterday appeared in front of me. He held out a small cardboard box for me to take, but I hesitated before taking it, I still have some questions about yesterday’s delivery.

“Who is sending me these?” I tried to give him my most intimidating look to get him to reveal the name of the anonymous sender.

He just shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, really.”

He was about to walk away, when I followed closely behind him. “I know that you know who’s sending me these and I demand to know who!”

He just laughs and turned around to face me. “Look, I’m just delivering these, maybe you have a secret admirer?” He turned away again, got into his truck and drove away.

I got into my car opening the small package. There was a red box inside and the golden letters that said ‘Cartier’. I lifted the lid and inside was a ring. The band silver and a small, teardrop shaped diamond adorned the ring. I knew I looked ridiculous, but I couldn’t help my mouth falling wide open. I looked around me to tear my eyes away from the diamond ring. Whoever send this, definitely got the wrong person, but there was no way for me to know who I should sent it back to.

I took the ring out to examine it, the quality is astonishing and I could imagine the price of this small object could cover my rent easily. I stumbled upon some letters that have been engraved into the inside of the band that said; I’m still into you.

Reading the words only made me more confused as to why someone would send me a ring with a literal diamond and saying they’re still into me.

My confusion didn’t fade away for the entirety of the day and focussing on work was impossible to achieve with the expensive ring in my purse.

I finally arrived at home, happy to relax and on a mission to find out who has sent the ring to me. I quickly looked into my mailbox and took all my letters with me upstairs, where I threw them on my dining table.

I took of my clothes and slipped into my pyjamas to start my relaxing evening. Walking into the living room, I took my mail with me to the couch to see if I got anything important. A few were normal, adult life letters and some were advertisement. But then one thing caught my eye, a post card. The front picture showed a helicopter view of Central Park and on the bottom stood: Manhattan, NY.

I don’t know why anyone would send me a postcard from there, since I don’t know anyone who lives there. For the whole time I’ve lived in NY, the only person I got close with was Sebastian.

Sebastian.

That’s impossible, why would he send me a card from Manhattan? I turned the card around to see the address and whatever’s written on it. The only thing it said was; when I close my eyes, it’s you in my mind.

I wondered if it was him, but the address isn’t his. It wasn’t even sent from Manhattan, it was sent from Queens.

--

It’s been a week since I got something from my weird ‘anonymous’ Santa Clause and I have to admit, I miss it. Even though the things I got were pretty random and made no sense, I still kind of liked it.

Baking has never been something I’ve been good at. Everything comes out of the oven either burned or just tastes bad.

I danced around slightly to the music playing, spilling the batter I was mixing all over the place. But I didn’t care, I was happy to be dancing freely again, letting the music take over my body completely. I’ve always loved music but with what happened the past months, it was hard to focus on anything else.

I heard a knock on my door and whipped my head around, letting go of the whisk I was holding. I got overly excited about the thought that the delivery guy finally came back after a week without a word. I practically ran to the door stopping myself as I was about to whip the door open, holding the door handle firmly in my hand.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, hoping it would calm me down a bit. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and be disappointed if it wasn’t him.

I opened the door and behind it stood my now favourite delivery guy, I like him so much I should ask for his name. I tried to hold back a big smile as my hopes weren’t let down and I got excited. He handed me a box and I took it without hesitation.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” He laughed lightly, making fun of my excitement.

“No, what are you talking about?”

“You’re trying not to smile, but it’s so obvious.” I couldn’t hold back anymore and let my face light up.

He was cute, kind of. I mean he’s average looking, but not in a bad way. His brown hair matched his eyes perfectly in colour and he seemed to be at least ten centimetres taller than me. I wondered if he’s my destiny. What if all these deliveries are supposed to bring us together? I knew I would be taking a bold move and probably regret it after I ask, but I had to. “Are you- uh- single?”

He giggled and looked down to the ground. “Uh- yeah I am, why?” He looked up again to meet my eyes and smiled sweetly.

“Maybe we could go out sometimes?” I knew he was shocked by the look on his face and I already regretted opening my mouth.

“But what about your secret admirer?”

“If they’re not revealing themselves, I don’t want to have anything to do with them.” I gave him a reassuring smile and waited for his answer.

“Yeah why not. How about This Saturday?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“I’m Alex, by the way.” He extended his hand and I took it, shaking it a little.

After exchanging numbers I closed the door suddenly feeling an uncomfortable twist in my stomach. Am I ready for this or did I just make a bid mistake?

I got my scissors out and opened the box. Inside was another box and the contend of that, made me tilt my head to the side in confusion. It’s one of those Funko pops. It was Bucky Barnes in his green uniform.

No matter how confused I was, I still placed it on my shelve, above the TV.

--

Saturday finally arrived and I was ready for my date with Alex. I wore a simple, skin tight, blue dress and black heels. He told me about this restaurant that opened a few weeks ago and wanted to take me there. I still had the same uncomfortable feeling in my stomach and it didn’t seem to fade only getting stronger as the minutes passed.

I heard a knock on the door, assuming it’s Alex, I went back to the mirror checking if I look good or not. I didn’t feel as comfortable as I wish I did, but there’s no getting out of it now. I asked for a date and it would be rude of me to cancel when he’s literally at my door.

Opening the door, I was greeted with Alex in a blue suit and sadly it reminded me of someone else’s suit from a certain wedding.

We exchanged our hellos and he led me to his car. He opened the door of the passenger seat for me and as I sat down on my seat an all too familiar smell of leather hit my nostrils. The car ride wasn’t as fun as with Sebastian. Either Alex doesn’t to listen to music in the car or even worse, doesn’t listen to music at all.

“Can we put some music on?” I turned my head to look at him. He just nodded and turned the radio on. I decided to ask a risqué question, one where it determines whether this would work or not. “Do you like Panic ant the disco?” I bit my lip and waited for his reaction.

He laughed and shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t. I’m not into those emo bands.” He looked at me and from my expression, it was clear I was very offended. “OH- sorry.”

I just turned my head to the other side, looking out of the window.

To say that our date was a total failure would be an understatement. I’ve been on quite a few dates before, I’m not that lonely, but none of them were this stale and plain boring. I’ve never met someone with as little interests as Alex. This dude doesn’t have any hobbies or things he likes, none. I couldn’t even start a conversation about dogs, because guess what? He doesn’t like dogs.

We went our separate ways right at the restaurant, I had no interest in sitting in his car for another minute.

After getting out of my dress and heels, it was time to lounge on my couch to watch every movie in the MCU, except the ones Sebastian is in, those are banned in my apartment.

--

None of my Mondays been ever this bad. First, I spilled coffee all over my outfit this morning so I had to change again. Then my phone decided to die in the middle of the god dammed day and last but not least, to put the cherry on top, my car ran out of gas so I had to walk home for twenty minutes. And now someone’s knocking on my door and I hope it’s not a package.

I opened the door and a delivery guy stood there with a cardboard box in his hand, but it’s not Alex. I started to feel guilty that he changed his rout or even quit his job after out disastrous date. He just handed me the box and left without a word. Maybe word spreads fast in the parcel delivering world.

I put the package down on my kitchen table and went at it with my knife. Beneath the bubble wrap laid an item I wasn’t expecting- a Tupperware container. I was confused at first, but then everything seemed to click. All the packages were probably from the only person I wasn’t expecting to get them from

Sebastian.

But why would he sent me those? Last time I checked, he hated me and made that very clear by kicking me out of his apartment and never talking to me again.

The thought wouldn’t leave my mind and I couldn’t stop tossing and turning in my bed.

--

I didn’t get another package for a week and I was growing impatient. If Sebastian really was the one who send me the gifts, he would make it clear sooner or later. But the impatience was eating me alive from the inside out. I started to rush home after work to see if I got another clue. I wanted to stay home so I wouldn’t miss it, but I never did because there weren’t any deliveries.

I sat in my bed watching Netflix to distract myself, but my mind was still running a marathon. I wondered what the next package would be and if he would finally say it’s him. But what if it’s not Sebastian who did that? What if I’m just getting my hopes up, only to be let down? What if someone’s playing a prank on me?

I jumped up as I heard a knock on my door almost falling off my bed, possibly breaking my neck. But I didn’t care as long as I’m still able to get the door. I sprinted down my hallway slipping on the tiled floor. My hands reached the door as another knock echoes through the apartment. I opened the door and froze on the spot.

“Sebastian?”

“Last one, I promise.” He held out a cactus, but not just any cactus, the one I gave to my neighbour when I left.

I was both happy but also confused as to why he’s here.

“So it was you who send me all those things.”

He laughed quietly and looked down to the floor. Oh how I missed his laugh.

I stepped away from the door to signal him that he can come inside. He slowly walked into my apartment and looked around. He suddenly walked over to my shelf where I had placed the items he sent me. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at me. Sebastian lifted the plant to put it on the shelf next to the other items. I sat on my couch and waited for him to join me before talking.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I should’ve never let you go.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought it would be better for us not to say anything, but I realized that I miss you. God I miss you so much.” I saw tears forming in his eyes and I could no longer hold mine back.

“I know, I thought the same thing, that’s why I left.” I wiped away the tears that started to fall down my cheeks. He suddenly pulled me into a hug that lasted so long, it slowly placed the pieces of my broke heart together.

I pulled back to wipe my nose with the sleeve of my sweater. “But what about the post card, it was send from Queens.”

He kissed my cheek softly, the contact igniting a fire in my heart, slowly welding the seams of my heart together. “I send it in the name of my friend.”

“And what about the ring. I mean- you’re not proposing, are you?” I placed my hand on my chest and knitted my eyebrows together.

“No-“ he took my hand away from my chest and started to draw tiny circles on my palm. “It’s a promise ring. To promise you that I will never let you leave my side ever again.”

“Not even when I have to pee?” We laughed through our tears. He took his other hand and place it on the back of my head, pulling me closer until our foreheads touched.

“Move in with me.”

I pulled back a bit, shocked at what he had just asked me. To be honest, I didn’t even need to make up my mind. I wanted to leave Germany as fast as I could and I wouldn’t just move back to my favourite place, I would also move in with the man I love.

“I would love to.”

He pulled me closer by my waist, sitting me on his lap. He gently placed his hand on my cheek stroking my skin with his thumb, making me smile. I moved my face closer to his, taking in his scent that I’ve missed so much. His lips brushed against mine and finally after all those months, I felt his lips gently move against mine. I forgot how perfectly they moved with mine.

Finally, my heart was reassembled, completely complete.

And I couldn’t wait to move into my new apartment, with the love of my life.

Apartment Taglist: @funkenniffler @ghostbusterkevin @anxietyrosee @nikolett3 @rex-orange-baby @mightiestheroes @letsbestupidforever 

Permanent Taglist: (OPEN) @fuckthatfeeling @funkenniffler @void-imaginations @dewy-biitch @7kindsofpurgatory

[mrs-yamada]

Coping Mechanisms

I realized I’ve posted a lot of stories about abuse, but none of the things I’ve learned over my 40+ years to cope with or lessen the everyday pain one goes through. It’s so hard to struggle through each day all by yourself by sheer will - as it certainly feels like, somedays.

You need to find some ways to deal with your pain! No matter how silly something may sound, if it works it’s not silly at all.

Obviously these won’t all work on everyone and some might irritate the heck out of you, because we’re all different. But if you put your own spin on them and think of what you enjoy to do, they could be helpful. 

I’ll add to these if I remember more, since I’m in sort of a downward spiral (parents visiting soon) myself...

Onward, under the break...

Sleep when you need it

If you can, that is. I have too many issues to work and luckily we’ve managed so far with one income, although it sucks. This does mean that I can cater to my individual sleep schedule, however, and I use that to my advantage. 

Don’t listen to neural typicals when they say “go to bed at the same time every night”. They’re normies! We’re not! Our bodies differ. You may actually benefit from doing as everyone will tell you, but a lot of us with mental differences benefit much greater from setting our own, very different (and rapid cycling) sleep cycles. I am currently sleeping from 6 am until 1 or 2 in the afternoon. I simply cannot sleep until then no matter what I do - and in a few weeks, I know this will change and I’ll be back to 10 pm or maybe 12. The difference is I get the sleep my body so desperately needs, and it helps greatly. I know not all of us can do this, but if you can - go for it. Try it out. You’d be amazed how good you feel after actually sleeping.

On the flip side, though:

Don’t oversleep

No, seriously. We all have the urge to “never get out of bed”, but you’re just gonna feel like crap and get a headache. Sometimes it’s cool to do this but, you know. Don’t abuse the treat.

Clean up (yourself & the home)!

Yeah. This is another one of those “you see it everywhere” tips, but that’s because it does work. Even if you can only manage to brush your teeth, change your undies, whatever, you’ll feel a bit better. Same goes for your house/apartment/room. Clean a tiny space if it’s all you can do - you’ll feel like you’ve got more breathing room.

Don’t EVER want to shower/bathe?

We’ve been there. It stinks, no pun intended. Personally, I had to think of a great way to encourage myself to get the heck out of bed and bathe - bath bombs.

And not just the regular kind! Glitter, rainbows, especially the ones with little toys inside, those are the best for days I don’t want to wake up and shower. You can even use them (as I just said) in the shower. They act like shower steamers and smell the rooms up nice, too.

Make a “Power Outfit”

It could be a comfy sweatshirt, or animal pajamas (kigurumi). Maybe it’s a really wacky pair of socks or a shirt that features your favorite TV star or character from a series. This could include accessories, like a fun hat, headband, furry tail, superhero cape - whatever will make you feel great. Don’t overthink it. It’s not “weird” to wear what makes you feel better, no matter what.

Hide/buy surprises for yourself!

Again, this is one I absolutely love to do. I scroll around through etsy and eBay a lot as another numbing yet engaging brain exercise, and I look for the cheapest “blind boxes” and/or “surprises”. Blind boxes are packages where you don’t know what’s inside until you open it, just like the name suggests. If this doesn’t bother you, it’s great for buying yourself a surprise. I use this as stocking stuffers for myself, too. Ha.

Of course this works for things like a book you want to read or a puzzle you’d like to do. Maybe even wrap it and leave it in the “gift pile”. Gift yourself when you need a pick me up!

Another of my favorite things are called “surprise balls”. They’re balls of crepe paper strips you unravel, and each layer has a surprise in it. You unroll the rainbow-colored strips, dropping toys, novelty items, etc, as you go. You can unroll one layer at a time or all of them! Find them at etsy, you can even get them customised. 

Eat better. Exercise.

Trust me, I used to hate exercising (and when I say “hate”, I mean it). But it makes such a complete difference that I actually miss it when I skip on the weekends! Eating right (whatever is right for you, allergy-wise, dietary preferences, etc) also makes a huge difference. My mood lifted so high without the use of mind-altering drugs at all (societal approved medicine or otherwise).

Aromatherapy 

I’ve seen so many people FREAK OUT about this.

Relax. It’s not meant as a “cure-all” no matter what the MLM pushers say, it simply helps a little. And for those of us with a lot of problems, “a little off the top” is really a big help. There are different types of scents for different mood enhancers, but my favorites (bubblegum, lemon, orange) are citrus based because that lifts depression. (Google this if you’re want - there have been tests done researching depression & aromatherapy).

Use wax melts, incense, whatever - and remember that candles can be bought on etsy & elsewhere that have surprises in them, too! You take out the charms and gems and such as the candle burns. Win-win for a little pick me up!

Rainbows

Yeah, I know. I have little crystal rainbow catchers in my windows so that my rooms fill with rainbows throughout the day. You’d be amazed at how many times a surprise rainbow from one of them lifted my heart and made me smile. 

They’re not expensive, either. You can pop down to your local craft store and buy them in the beading section. Thread the bead with string or fishing line and hang it up on a suction cup or - really, wherever you can where light will catch!

Wait, did I mention craft stores..?

Arts & Crafts

I may be biased here, but there have been a lot of people that benefit from coloring books and crafts. They’re soothing, but be warned - they’re sometimes not good for mind-wanderers. If you’re “dump-trucking” bad thoughts, a mindless task will NOT be a good thing to do. I sometimes pair crafts and such with watching TV so that my mind and hands are busy at the same time.

Distractions!

Writing

*looks at self in reflection of monitor*

...yep.

This can help not only you, but others. It’s a relief to feel that you’re not alone, and when you come across something that helps you in a moment of need it’s awesome. It feels just as good to let it all out.

Write about your day, your past experiences, your hopes - anything. Heck, write fanfiction where the guys or gals or beings of your dreams help you get through things. Work it out. You don’t have to publish them. It will still feel good. And if you want to record your own in one area, or read specific fics, especially fanfics, I recommend the Archive (and not simply because I write there, ha)! 

Television/Movies/Games

Same thing for movies, games & TV. They may distract you, but that means you may get the odd, sneaky thought that creeps in. We all hate those. Oh, and watch out for triggers! Good flipping butt, so many triggers!

There’s a site that helps for tons of triggers (including books, games, etc) called “Does the Dog Die”. I use it constantly when watching new programs or movies. 

I personally do toon-fests where I watch so many cartoons, especially kiddie ones like “Molang” (so cute)! And I love using Minecraft for chilling out, game wise. Just, again... watch out for games. Man, they can be a pain sometimes if you’re getting frustrated. Stick with ones that you know are relaxing or you can play on “safe mode”. Don’t try to do a complicated campaign or grab that rare trophy/achievement when you’re stressed.

Music!

Yep. Music lifts spirits. And did you know if you search Google Play they’ve got free stuff? Like, a lot of it you might not want and there are a ton of religious readings, etc (if that’s your thing, then hooray)! But often I’ve found some really nice relaxing music with wave sounds, thunderstorms, etc. Of course you can buy albums too.

Voices

The same goes for voices. They can be very soothing and help you relax. There’s a whole bunch of Play apps where anime dudes and/or chicks talk you to sleep, or say comforting things. Well, technically, they’re real people speaking but there’s images of anime guys and gals. There are all types, so look around.

You could even ask your loved one to make a recording of them speaking to you or reading poetry, etc. It’s very helpful to hear a beloved voice - no matter who it is for you -- in times of need. 

Cuddles

Pets, stuffed animals, blankets, fellow humans... hugs help sometimes. Sometimes you really don’t want to be touched, but that stuffed animal or pillow can give you just the right snuggle to lift your mood.

Free stuff!

Every once in awhile I use a throwaway email and go freebie hunting on the internet. A lot of places will give you stickers, samples, and all sorts of stuff for free. If you have a PO Box or don’t mind giving out your address, this works so well. Mail surprises are the awesomest.

[sabrinaprotectionsquad-blog]

AU Yea August Day 1 - Soulmate

@auyeahaugust

A semi-long sweet fluff story about Sabrina and FtM Nathaniel going on a kind of sort of date. Also there’s a bit of teenage witchcraft that Chloé found on the internet, some coming out stuff and some general sweetness.

This Au Yea August thing is quickly turning into 20 or so stories about Sabrina for me (to the surprise of no one), and I find it both funny and a little sad that I think I may double the number of fics focused specifically on the sweet ginger child if I manage to post all the way through August.

You can find the fic here on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526593

Or read it here, fair warning though, it’s a little long for the tumblr format.

A match struck through the darkness, lighting two large candles for the seventh day. The candles stood, side by side, close enough for their sides to touch. Every day, they had been meticulously moved 10 centimeters closer to one another, and now their pairing was complete.

An image of Chloé was fastened to the left candle, a picture unlike any she would allow to see the light of day. In this image, her hair was down and uncombed, her lips, eyes and skin devoid of any trace of makeup, and she made no attempt to flirt with the camera. It was simply a natural expression on an all natural girl, except for her hair color, but Sabrina had made sure to not point that out.

 The other candle was adorned with a wooden heart which Chloé had painstakingly carved herself, refusing both Sabrina and Jean her butler. She’d barely even complained about how tedious it was, not until she cut herself anyway, but she went back and finished the task the next day anyway, showing a kind of devotion Sabrina couldn’t remember having ever seen from her. The heart was pretty easily discernible as a heart, at least when you knew what it was. It was good for a first try.

 The candle flames lit up the complete darkness of the room, just enough that the two girls could see one another, just enough that they could read the letters and words on the wooden board before them. It wasn’t called a spirit board. It had been branded and sold as an “angel guidance board”, but aside from the imagery, it was very evident what it was.

 Sabrina looked over at Chloé, she couldn’t help but smile seeing the intense stare in her best friend’s eyes. She was looking into the fire of the heart locket candle, as though the boy of her dreams would actually emerge from its light and proclaim his undying ‘burning’ devotion to her. It was really sweet that Chloé believed in these things.

 Sabrina looked at her watch. “That’s almost seven minutes now, Chloé. Are you ready?”

Chloé swallowed, her entire body tense like a loaded spring. She nodded, taking Sabrina’s hand firmly.

 The two girls spoke in unison for the seventh and final time to complete the ritual. The first time had been a bit rocky, but now their voices chimed together perfectly uniform.

 I am here, find me, in the entire world, there is only one me. I am perfect for you. Find me, there is only one you, you are perfect for me, I will find you. I am worthy of your perfect love, you are worthy of my perfect love, we will find one another.

I am here, come to me, you are there, I am coming to you… Make yourself known to me, and I will make myself known to you!

 The two girls held their breath and both placed their hands on the angel board. Chloé’s lips were pressed into a thin line, a small line of sweat beading down the side of her cheek, Sabrina could almost hear her thoughts going ‘please work’ over and over again. She knew better than to ask her friend if she was ready, or to break her concentration.

 There was nothing more she could really do, except move the Planchette softly along the board to ‘build up the energy’. They allowed it to find the four corners and the four sides, and then let it rest, at the center of the board.

 Sabrina waited patiently, looking at Chloé whose face was bathed in sweat, her eyes staring at the board with enough intensity to burn a hole through it. Sabrina could see her friend’s hands tremble slightly, her lips moving as she tried to find the words.

 “Is there… someone here?” She asked hesitantly, hopefully.

 The silence of the room was deafening. Sabrina swore she could practically hear Chloé’s heart beating. She waited until the moment Chloé’s eyes lost focus, the moment she lost faith that this would work for just a second, and then Sabrina moved the planchette, slowly over to the ‘yes’ indicated on the board.

 Chloé practically shrieked with a mix of emotions, she looked up at Sabrina who was doing her absolute best to look just as shocked as the blonde girl, which wouldn’t be possible. Chloé truly looked like she’d seen a ghost, which she thought she’d had.

 Sabrina looked at Chloé wordlessly, her eyes guiding Chloé’s down to the board again. Chloé had let go, but Sabrina hadn’t, which was good cause according to the website at least one person always had to be holding onto it, or the energies were lost or whatever.

 Chloé took a deep breath through her nose and once again placed her hands on the wooden puck. She swallowed and looked into Sabrina’s eyes. She looked at her with such hope, she really trusted that Sabrina would never lie to her. Sabrina felt a twinge of guilt for faking the ritual, but she couldn’t let her find out it was fake, not after all the pain and effort Chloé had put into it, it would break her heart!

 Chloé wet her lips, staring down onto the wooden board, holding her breath between every question, as though breathing or blinking would make the magic disappear.

 “Are… are you an angel?”

 ‘Y E S’

 “Do you know me?”

 ‘Y E S’

 “Do I have a soulmate?”

 ‘Y E S’

 “What is his name!?”

 Chloé bit her lower lip; she glared up at Sabrina for a second, as if warning her against moving a muscle and ruining the angel’s answer. Sabrina swallowed. She barely had to pretend to be as nervous as Chloé, though she was more nervous about being caught than about if the ‘angel’ would confirm Chloé’s crush.

 Sabrina allowed the board to stand still again for a few moments, letting Chloé once again to get to the brink of her patience before she moved it to the A, causing Chloé to gasp audibly, smiling up at Sabrina and down at the board, wordlessly saying “You see!? You see!?”.

 A small mischievous urge tickled at the back of Sabrina’s head as she moved the planchette past the D without resting on it. She savored the look of utter disbelief in Chloé’s eyes as it came to rest on the G. She let it painfully slowly dance across the board, R, E, S, T and finally E.

 “AGRESTE! That’s Adrikinses last name! He IS my soulmate, Sabrina! I knew it, I knew it!”

“That’s so great, Chloé! I never had any doubt!”

 “Well, of course, it’s like, obvious that we’re perfect together, but it’s nice to know that it’s totally meant to be!”

 Chloé laughed, the relief and worry leaving her quickly. The tension she’d been building up to this moment for an entire week had finally been released and she couldn’t be happier. Sabrina was surprised to notice Chloé’s hands still firmly planted on the plachette, it looked like it had taken all of Chloé’s self-control to not jump up to run a victory lap.

 Sabrina braced herself for what was bound to be an hour of her coming up with answers about their first date, how many children they would have and what flavor their wedding cake should be. She tried hiding her sigh from Chloé.

 She knew that all the answers had to be correct, and knew some of the more immediate answers given would possibly require her to pull some stunts. Like the time she stole a letter from the mailman and put it with Chloé’s mail so she’d think a letter was brought to her accidentally and gave her a chance to talk to her crush. She wondered if everyone who truly believed in destiny and higher powers actually just had a great friend like her working behind the scenes.

 Chloé looked dreamily at the board, the intense stare having been washed away by satisfaction, leaving only curiosity. Sabrina could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to figure out what about her destiny she wanted to know. To Sabrina’s surprise, Chloé looked up at her with a soft smile.

 “What about Sabrina? What’s the name of her soulmate?”

 Sabrina felt a cold knot gripping her stomach. She was not prepared for that question and she did NOT know what to answer. If she gave a name, Chloé would spend the rest of eternity chasing away any guy who didn’t happen to have that name! Sabrina didn’t even like anyone like that, what was she supposed to say!?

 She swallowed, realizing it had already been a while without an answer. She had to come up with something. Maybe if she just spelled out ‘none’ Chloé would believe that she wasn’t destined to be with anyone. That might be for the best. The thought of saying she wasn’t supposed to be with anyone made her a bit sad though.

 Sabrina suddenly felt the wooden instrument moving under her fingers, she immediately yanked it back to the middle.

 “Quit it Chloé!” she said, looking up at Chloé with a panicked expression. Chloé looked up at her, confused and a bit worried.

 “I didn’t move it, did you?”

 “Uh… not before of course, but… just now I panicked.” Sabrina swallowed. She’d messed up. If Chloé found out she’d faked the whole thing there would be hell to pay. Chloé’s eyes weren’t accusatory though, they were playful and happy.

 “Aww, you’re nervous about knowing who you’re going to date? I understand, we can’t always end up with someone amazing like Adrikins, but I’m sure you’ll be happy, even if you’re destined to end up with someone who is fat or has glasses or whatever.”

 Sabrina shrugged, letting Chloé think that she’d hit the nail on the head. She decided to ignore people with glasses being pitted with fat people, for the sake of her glasses-wearing sanity.

 She concluded that Chloé must have never taken it as seriously as she thought. She was messing with her, she must have known the whole time. Well, whatever answer she was going to come up with was fine. Maybe Chloé was trying to set her up on another date. It couldn’t go worse than last time, but it was nice that she tried.

 The two girls returned their focus to the planchette, which began moving in the same direction as before. Sabrina definitely wasn’t moving it, but it worried her that it had started moving while Chloé looked like she was about to say something. It really seemed neither of them had been paying attention to the board until it moved. Chloé might be a better actress than Sabrina usually gave her credit for.

 N A T H A N I E L was spelled out on the board as the two girls watched it wordlessly.

 “Nathaniel! Your future husband’s name is Nathaniel!” Chloé beamed at her. Sabrina couldn’t remember ever having seen Chloé so enthusiastic about something that didn’t have to do with herself. It was hard to imagine she wasn’t scheming something.

 “Haha… great! So, um… do you know anyone named Nathaniel?” She asked, expecting Chloé to pull out a photo of her next blind date. Instead, Chloé shook her head.

 “No one comes to mind. It must be someone we haven’t met yet. You seem like the type who would meet your future husband in college.” Chloé said matter-of-factly. Sabrina tried not to equate that with Chloé saying she was undesirable right now.

 “Maybe,” she smiled “let’s talk about something else, ok?”

 “Oh! How many babies will Adrikins and me have?” Chloé’s attention shot back to the board as she asked with eyes that gleamed with excitement. Sabrina sighed, smiled at her friend, and began answering question after question, from the theme of Chloé’s wedding to the number of vacations she’d have to Hawaii.

 After Chloé’s barrage of questions finally ended and Sabrina had a moment alone, she meticulously wrote down every answer she gave Chloé in order to make sure nothing proved them wrong.

 She got all questions down except one, which she deemed unimportant because it wasn’t about Chloé. She later half forgot the answer but remembered that Chloé had for one moment thought of Sabrina instead of herself, which was an amazing feeling.

 It was almost a year later when Chloé called Sabrina in the middle of the night, practically shrieking excitedly into her ear.

 “You’re a lesbian!” Chloé shouted excitedly.

 “I’m… what…?” Sabrina sat up in bed, still half asleep, her ears ringing from Chloé’s shrill voice. She squinted through her half-blind eyes at the time, little past 2. What kind of game was Chloé playing?

 “You’re a lesbo!” she said again. Sabrina was trying to comprehend what Chloé could mean. Maybe her outfit or haircut had suddenly been claimed by Ellen or something like that. Sabrina didn’t really like anyone, but she was pretty sure she was straight.

 “Why am I a lesbo, Chloé? And why can’t it wait until morning?” She asked exhaustedly. They’d done fitness during the day so her body was sore, and she’d spend the rest of the day working out two separate science reports, one for Chloé, one for herself, so her mind was sore too. She was very much not in the mood for Chloé’s mind games or teasing.

 “Check Facebook! Laura from class just made a post that you HAVE to see!”

 “Does it have to be right now…?” Sabrina rubbed her eyes, already putting her phone on speaker and opened facebook, knowing there was no arguing with Chloé when she was like this. Heck, there was no real arguing with Chloé regardless of what mood she was in.

 Sabrina found the post Chloé must be talking about. She sighed, it was pretty long. It had a picture attached. At a glance, it looked like it was a long post explaining her new shorter haircut and profile pic. She did look a lot like a lesbian. Black hoodie, t-shirt, and boyish haircut.

 Was this a coming out post? Could be. Laura had always been a bit… queer. She always changed by herself for gym class for some reason. Maybe this was why, though Sabrina would think a lesbian would LIKE being in the shower with her classmates. But what would Chloé think that Laura being gay had to do with Sabrina? Oh god, she’d better not proclaim her undying love for her or something in this post. They’d never even spoken more than a few lines!

 “So, did you read it!?” Chloé asked excitedly.

 “Not yet, my glasses are in the bathroom so I have to squint.” She’s also gotten distracted, but as far as lies go, at least this was half true.

 “Why wouldn’t you have them next to your bed?”

 “It’s… a long story” Sabrina would occasionally flail in her sleep. She’d lost a few things from her nightstand which she’d apparently picked up and thrown violently while asleep. She only had to lose one pair of glasses like that to stop keeping them near her bed.

 “Whatever! Just read it!”

 Sabrina sighed and started reading the small text on her phone so close to her face her nose occasionally pressed against the glass.

 Hey everyone!

This will be a surprise to some, some of you already know. You might be surprised by the name of this profile, I used to be named Laura. I hope no one will be too surprised though. Big things out of the way first. I’m a boy, I’ve known it for a while and I’m finally ready to say it out loud to everyone. My name is Nathaniel, but you can call me Nate. I’m what they call Transgender (not transvestite grandma) and that’s pretty much it.

So I’d really appreciate it (especially @chloébourgeois ) if you respect my pronouns (he/him) and called me Nate from now on.

Anyway, I love all of you and I hope you’ll all love me!

 Sabrina squinted. She realized the profile name had been changed to Nathaniel as well. She hadn’t noticed that before. It was a lot to take in during her still drowsy state. With all of her questions, one was much more dominant in her mind than any other.

 “What does all of this have to do with me, Chloé?” She asked exasperated, wishing desperately to fall back on her pillow and catch the last few sweet hours of rest before tomorrow’s German quiz.

 “Uh, hello!? Don’t you remember! Your Soulmate! Laura is totally the love of your life! Nate, I mean!”

 Sabrina remembered the night of their little séance and simply groaned. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

 “Can we talk about this tomorrow…?”

 “Of course! I’ll get things ready!” Chloé’s voice was replaced with a beep and then silence. Sabrina looked at her phone for a moment, worried about what she could mean by that, but then decided to not worry about it now.

 She checked to make sure her alarm was still set and slid the phone back under her bed, where hopefully Sleepybrina wouldn’t be able to get to it, then fell mercifully quickly back to sleep.

 Chloé looked a bit messy the next morning. Not messy the same way Sabrina did on her bad hair days or days off, but still less on point than usual. She was noticeably excited as she pulled up in the morning next to Sabrina.

 “Morning!” She greeted Sabrina.

 “Morning, Chloé.” She smiled back.

 “So, I stayed up late and looked stuff up! I’m sorry about what I said last night. It turns out you’re not a lesbo.” She tapped her phone and found an image which she showed Sabrina of a hunky looking model. He looked rugged and handsome and probably late 20’s, not at all Chloé’s usual boyish type.

 “Who’s this?”

 “This is Aydian Dowling! He’s like Nate, FtM they call it. Female to Male. This guy used to be a girl too, or… you’re not supposed to say that, he was… mistaken for a girl? Something like that. Point is, Nathaniel will probably look like him one day! He just needs to start hormones and stuff.”

 Sabrina looked at the pictures of the shirtless man. He looked like a total hunk like he was sculpted in marble. The kind of guy who could play a superhero. “No way.” She scoffed up at Chloé, she had to be playing something. There was no way a girl could ever end up looking like that.

 “Way! So, I totally understand why you like him. You can get to him before he starts looking like a hunk, that way no one else will snatch him up! It’s like an early investment!” She smiled.

 Sabrina felt like her head was spinning, trying to keep up with Chloé’s train of thought.

“Why do you insist that I need to love him?” She said defensively.

 Chloé gave her a sly smile. “Well, anyone could say that Adrien was my soulmate. AND anyone could have made it up! I know you wouldn’t cheat, but I’ve heard that sometimes if you want it enough, you can actually write out what you want. Subconsciously or whatever! BUT! None of us could have known this would happen, let alone the name he’d choose, so if you and Nate are meant for one another…!” Sabrina felt her stomach sink, Chloé really believed that it was likelier that she cheated herself than that Sabrina cheated.

 “… then that would prove that you and Adrien were too…” Amazing, Chloé had somehow managed to make Sabrina’s love life about herself. Just great. It almost erased the feeling of guilt she had for having actually cheated that night. She couldn’t believe Chloé trusted her that much.

 Chloé smiled at her and winked.

 “I don’t know about this… I haven’t ever even really talked to Laura-“

 “-Nate”

 “to Nate… What if I don’t like him?”

 Chloé shrugged. “I’m sure you will! But if you don’t then you don’t. Just please promise me to give him a chance? For me? Just go on a date with him! Just one date!” Chloé looked at Sabrina with pleading eyes usually reserved for Adrien and asking her dad for ludicrous sums of money.

 Sabrina was so used to just doing what Chloé said that she wasn’t used to actually being asked. It was really nice.

 She sighed. “Of course, I’ll go on a date with him. But I doubt he’d wanna go with me anyway.”

 Chloé smiled smugly. “You just leave that to me.”

 Chloé skipped towards the school entrance, practically walking on air. Sabrina scratched her neck worriedly. This could only end badly.

“NATHANIEL!” Chloé burst into the classroom where everyone was already surrounding the red-headed artist, on his first day of school as a boy. Everyone turned to Chloé and Sabrina and everyone’s faces were painted with worry, the worry of what Chloé might do or say to Nate, who was clearly still not completely confident about his new identity.

 “Um… morning, Chloé.” He said hesitantly. Sabrina noted that he was trying to make his voice deeper and smoother sounding. It was kind of working, kind of. He wore a baggy hoodie, but the curve of his chest was still mildly visible under his clothes. Still, he looked quite good. Not much had changed except the hair and the clothes, but somehow he felt completely different.

 “Frankly I’m hurt, Nathaniel! That you felt the need to call me out specifically on Facebook like I wouldn’t be supportive!”

 Nate stood stunned, scratching the back of his head nervously, trying to think of an answer.

“Well, can you really blame him?” Alya came in from the side. “You don’t have a great track record with supporting your classmates.”

 Sabrina swallowed, whenever Alya and Chloé talked it always seemed to end in high tempers, and often with Sabrina having to listen to a rant about how right Chloé was, she wondered if maybe Chloé would be better at admitting when she was wrong if she wasn’t always called out by the journalistic hothead.

 She wondered if maybe she should step in to defuse the situation but she didn’t know what to say and she felt like stepping between them would be like jumping in between a lion and a tiger.

 “I am SO supportive! Right!?” She looked at Rose and Juleka expectantly, catching the two girls off guard.

 “Uh, well…” Rose started, thinking over her interactions with Chloé. “I guess you’ve never been UNsupportive of our relationship?” she shrugged.

 “That’s right! We might not always get along, but that doesn’t make me a monster! I’m none of the phobes, homo or trans!” Chloé crossed her arms and looked accusingly at Alya.

 Alya sighed. “I guess that’s true… but you don’t get points in my book for not being THAT much of a monster. Being supportive is not the same as simply not attacking people for being themselves.”

 Chloé nodded. “Of course! And I think we could all stand to be more supportive. That’s why I’m taking Nate shopping for a binder after class.”

 “That’s nice of you Chloé, but I can’t afford one right now.”

 “Nonsense! I’ll pay for it of course! It’s the least I can do!” Chloé gave Alya an obvious look which conveyed something like ‘how’s that for supportive’.

 “You don’t have to do that-” Nate started, but Chloé made it clear that she would hear nothing of it. It took Nate less time to come around than Sabrina had expected.

 It seemed like getting a binder was like a big transgender ritual. It was rare for Sabrina to be in a situation where Chloé apparently knew a ton about something she knew nothing about. She hadn’t felt that way since Chloé first showed her how to do makeup.

The school day felt like it was over quickly. Only one of the day’s four teachers apparently hadn’t gotten the notice about Nathaniel and called out the wrong name, which Chloé immediately pointed out and berated.

 The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The German test was a breeze and Nate, Chloé and Sabrina soon found themselves on their way to shop for binders.

 “Oh, I just remembered I have to go!” Chloé suddenly chimed up as they neared the outdoor mall.

 Nate looked a bit disappointed. “That’s alright, we can postpone.”

 “Nonsense! Here!” Chloé handed Sabrina one of her credit cards and winked at her. “You guys just go without me. Buy yourself a new wardrobe while you’re at it! You look like you’re wearing your grandfather’s clothes!”

 With that Chloé ran off, leaving Nate and Sabrina awkwardly on the sidewalk.

 “So, um… should we go buy some binders?” Sabrina asked, giving him a nervous smile.

 “I guess?” He smiled back just as awkwardly.

 The two of them made it to the mall. Sabrina looked around for what store to visit first.

 “Can I ask you something?” Sabrina asked.

 “Of course.” He said nervously, clearly guarded and expecting something terrible, which Sabrina hoped her question wasn’t.

 “What does getting a new binder have to do with being trans?”

 “Oh… well isn’t it pretty obvious?”

 “I mean, I guess there’s gotta be a lot of paperwork involved, changing your name and such?”

 “What do you mean..?”

 “You know, so you’d put your trans-papers in… your new binder…?” Nate’s eyes grew wide and he soon let out a soft chuckle. It occurred to Sabrina that she’d said something dumb. She could only stand and watch with an increasingly red face as Nate laughed at her.

 “It’s not that funny!” She said defensively, trying to save her pride. “I don’t know anything about this stuff!”

 Nate finished laughing, looking at her with a wide grin. “It’s ok, honestly I’m just glad you didn’t ask me about my…” He gestured at his crotch area.

 “Ew! Why would I!?”

 “I don’t know! But it seems like everyone has questions about it!”

 “Ew! Well, I can assure you I couldn’t care less about your… stuff!” She gave him a disgusted look. “Wait… does that make me a homophobe? If I don’t ask?”

 “God no! Maybe the opposite actually. And it’s transphobia if it has to do with trans people. I’m not gay, I like girls.” He smiled at her.

 Sabrina had to turn the sentence over in her head a few times.

 “That makes sense, I guess. So ok, teach my apparently ignorant self, what pray tell IS the binder for?”

 He chuckled again for a moment, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll show you.” He smiled.

 A few moments later the world made a bit more sense as Sabrina was watching Nate try on t-shirts equipped with a new binder. Turns out it was a special bra that smushed his chest area completely flat.

 Seeing him in a t-shirt, now completely flat chested it made a huge difference. She could see why it was important to him. She wouldn’t be able to pick him out as the transguy amongst the guys in her class, not when he was wearing that. It was kind of amazing.

 “Does it hurt?”

 “It squeezes the area a tiny bit, but it’s nothing really. It’ll lessen when it expands a bit. I can only wear it for like eight hours at a time though, tops. So I don’t expose my chest to too much strain, ykno?”

 “I don’t, but I can imagine.” She smiled, picturing the pain of mashing her breasts into nothingness.

 “I’m really glad to start out with a proper one of these… A lot of guys like me start by compressing their chest with various types of bandages and sports bras that are too small and it’s supposed to be super unhealthy for your ribs and back.”

 “Why wouldn’t they just get binders too?”

 “Price for one thing and they aren’t available everywhere. We’re lucky to live in a big and open-minded city like Paris where they’ve started having them in normal stores, but you used to have to order them online. Some people still have to.”

 “Well, it suits you a lot better than that hoodie.” She smiled at him, which he didn’t see. He was completely caught up in looking at his chest from every direction in the mirror, looking over the new him. He looked completely enthralled, so she gave him a moment to get used to it.

 “What do you think?” He finally asked her, motioning down at the clothes he was trying, clearly not very confident in it.

 Sabrina shook her head. “Gray on gray on black? Come on, you’re an artist, right? You know that’s just boring.”

 He scratched the back of his head apologetically. “Haha… I just… every colorful thing I see, I can’t help asking myself ‘is this a girly color?’”

 Sabrina scoffed. “Please! Boy and girl colors are for baby showers, everything else is context. Besides, there’s nothing manlier than…” She looked around the store, picking out a t-shirt, “fire red”. She held the shirt up against him, gauging if it would look good on him. “It matches your hair.”

 “I don’t know… isn’t red kinda girly?”

 Sabrina scoffed again. “Just put it on macho man, just to try it, for my sake at least.” She did her best pleading Chloé impression. It felt forced and unnatural, apparently to Nate as well.

 “Ok ok, sure I’ll put it on, just stop making that creepy face!” He chuckled.

 “Shut up!” She laughed as well, punching his arm softly.

 Nate got changed and emerged wearing the red shirt.

 “I don’t know about this, I feel kind of exposed.” He looked in the mirror, checking to see if any curves bulged through.

 “Just don’t go on the Enterprise, you should be alright.” Sabrina chuckled, then bit her lip. She’d buried Geekbrina a long time ago and she hated when she dug herself out.

Nathan gasped. “You like Star Trek!?” He asked, eyes practically sparkling.

 Sabrina looked away defensively scoffing. “As if! Not even, like… I just watched like one episode! What even is Star Trek!?”

 Nathaniel excitedly walked to his bag, Sabrina was about to tell him not to dare write anyone about her being a huge geek, but instead of his phone, he pulled out a sketchbook.

 He flipped through to an amazing pencil sketch of the Enterprise. The next sketch was the deck with all the characters drawn. Kirk and Picard were having an argument around the captain’s chair. It made Sabrina giggle.

 “Admit it, you’ve watched more than one episode.” He smiled broadly at her.

 “Ok, maybe a little more than one episode! My dad loves it so…”

 “So you love it too?” He asked teasingly.

 “Alright, yes! It’s great! It’s so dumb and I love it!”

 Nate laughed. “Yes! Kirk or Picard?”

 “Picard obviously! The real question is USS Enterprise or USS Enterprise-A?"

 “How can I possibly choose?!”

 Sabrina chuckled “well that’s the point of asking questions like this right?” Anyway, the shirt looks good on you. Way better than the plain gray one. The symbol is cool too.”

 He looked in the mirror again, contemplating. “I still feel kind of exposed…”

 “You look great! But if you feel exposed, wear the jacket from before?”

 He grabbed the gray jacket and threw it on. He looked into the mirror, checking himself out. He looked pretty happy, but then a melancholy look came over his face.

 “Oh no, you don’t like it after all?”

 “No, it’s just… I was so scared to come out… Heck, I was the most scared of Chloé and my parents and Chloé’s funding my binder and my parents are really supportive. It just… It feels so dumb! I should have come out two years ago when I first knew for sure…” He looked sadly at his reflection. “I could have been this guy instead of being completely miserable… Seriously, what’s wrong with me?”

 He tried laughing it off but it was clear that he was upset.

 Sabrina wasn’t sure what to do, part of her wanted to hug him, but that might be really awkward.

 “I think I know what you mean…”

 “No, you don’t… How could you?”

 Sabrina looked around, making sure Chloé wasn’t spying on them from somewhere. She sighed. “I’ve been doing everything Chloé told me to do for almost 5 years now. My entire life revolves around it. I think this is the first time pretty much ever that I’ve been out with someone who wasn’t Chloé.

I didn’t have any friends before her, and I’m so terrified of telling her how I really feel that I never even try. Everyone’s afraid of what Chloé might do, but I don’t think anyone’s more scared of her than me, because if she decided I wasn’t worthy of her friendship anymore I’d be all alone again.

So, I think I get living in fear of not being able to be the way you want because of what others will do or say… Unlike you, I just haven’t had the courage to be myself yet. I gave up everything I liked so Chloé would like me. Video games, Star Trek…” She looked up at Nate, unsure if she could bring herself to say the last one. His sympathetic eyes made her feel comfortable, she wanted to tell him. “… fanfiction…” she whispered.

 Nate walked over and sat down next to her. He tapped his fingers together contemplatively. “Maybe you do understand a little. I think I understand you a little too. I’ll tell you this though, if our situations are alike, then you’ll feel a hundred times better if you ‘come out’. It’s never worth it to live a lie because you think that’s what other people want.”

 Sabrina brushed her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, holding back tears. “What if she hates me?”

 He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Then you’ll have me. And everyone else in class will love you too. You might have to say sorry to a few people, but I’ll help you.” His smile made her believe him, believe that he really would help her stand on her own two legs. She became intimately aware that the two of them were sitting very close. She could feel her heart beginning to beat faster as she looked into his eyes. She realized she was close enough to lean in to kiss him.

 Sabrina flew up from the seat, taking a few steps away from Nathaniel, feeling the redness beaming off of her face. At least she could blame the almost crying. She stood with her back to him, hiding her face, unsure how she was feeling.

 “Is everything alright?” He asked concerned.

 “Yes! Yea, I’m great! I just realized this was supposed to be your day and I made it my personal pity party!”

 He chuckled. “It’s alright. I’ve gotten a lot of pity since I started coming out to my close friends. You don’t treat me like a porcelain doll, it’s really nice.”

 “I guess, ‘cause I’m a porcelain doll myself.”

 “That’s alright, you just need someone strong to protect you then.”

 “You?”

 “I don’t see anyone else around.”

 Sabrina scoffed. “Not with those noodle arms of yours.”

 “Hey, I’m training! I’ll get real buff, real fast!”

 “I’ll need to see it to believe it.”

 “At least I’m stronger than you.”

 “Doubt it.”

 “Oh yea!?”

 Way to deal with your feelings Sabrina, now you’re arm wrestling the guy you probably like. Correction, she was beating the guy she almost certainly liked in arm wrestling, 5 times in a row.

 “How are you so strong!?” Nate asked bewildered, looking at Sabrina as though looking for the place where her super-strong-robot-arm began.

 She smiled. “My dad’s made me take a few self-defense classes since I was 8. It's a dangerous world for a small girl and as a cop, he’s seen some of the worst. I could probably kick anyone in class in hand to hand. Not that I’d ever want to, I know that’s weird…” She smiled apologetically.

 She expected Nate to look at her like Chloé did when she first saw Sabrina without her layers, disgusted and confused. Instead, Nate was looking at her in awe, like he’d seen Wonder Woman.

 “That’s so cool!”

 “I don’t know, Chloé says guys hate girls that are stronger than them.” She shrank.

 “Are you kidding!? I think it’s amazing! And super hot!” Nate put a hand over his mouth, a strong blush appearing quickly on his face to match Sabrina’s own.

 The two of them wordlessly went looking for a few other things for Nate to try. They met moments later at the same sofa, mutual silent agreement to reset the conversation, smiling sheepishly at one another.

 “I’m surprised at the way Chloé reacted though,” Nathaniel noted, trying on a flannel shirt and deciding against it.

 “Yea…” Sabrina looked away, unsure what to say.

 “For real, is she trying to pull something? Is this going to come back to bite me in the ass?”

 “No no, nothing like that,” Sabrina assured him.

 “It’s just… it feels like a scheme.” He showed off a black leather jacket to Sabrina who shook her head. He looked like he was trying to join a gang.

 “I mean… it’s not… not a scheme. In a strange sort of way.” She admitted.

 “Should I be worried?” He asked, half-jokingly.

 “Maybe.” She chuckled “I should probably be too.”

 “Come on, I’m not gonna be able to sleep if you say that!”

 She chuckled. “Alright, I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, ok?”

 He nodded, sitting down next to her again, smiling with anticipation. Sabrina ran her fingers through her hair, figuring out where to begin, and decided to start with Chloé asking her to look up spells that would find your soul mate, and then she told Nate everything from then on.

 When she finished Nate was stunned with emotions, his hand covering his mouth and his eyes amused.

 “And, yea, that’s pretty much it…” She said, waiting for him to berate her or something.

Nate sat barely containing his laughter. “So, Chloé thinks I’m your soulmate?” He asked amused. Sabrina nodded, smiling. “And the whole reason behind this is so she could get us on a date and prove that she’s meant to be with her Adrikins?” She nodded again. “But you cheated to get her Adrien’s name?” He burst out laughing.

 “Shush! Chloé can NEVER find out about that part! I shouldn’t even have told you!”

 “But you just couldn’t help it. Must be because I’m your soulmate.” He smiled cockily.

 “Shut up!” She smiled, punching him in the arm again.

 “For real though, do you think I’m your soulmate?” He asked. He sounded like he was joking, but his eyes were genuinely curious.

 “You wish lover-boy! We make our own destiny!”

 “Well…” He went quiet, rubbing his hands together and swallowing a lump. “Can you make a destiny where we go on a date?” He asked, his eyes were hopeful for just a moment as he looked up at her surprised face. Meeting her eyes it was clear that he immediately regretted asking her out like that. “I mean… like… um… more of a friend type… um…”

 Sabrina blushed, but his nervousness somehow made it easier for her. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Depends, how do you plan to woe me?” She asked jokingly, but his eyes darted back to hers with more seriousness than she’d expected.

 “A pretty girl like you? You deserve only the most high class of dates! We’ll meet at my house, make popcorn, and watch the episodes of Star Trek you are missing because of Chloé. Then we can talk about our favorite pairings.” He smiled.

 Sabrina could feel her heart melt. She half-heartedly punched his arm again, accidentally using more force than she wanted. He rubbed the sore area. “That… sounds alright…” She said, trying to make sure to keep away from kissing distance.

 She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to manage a whole date on a couch if they sat even a little close. But ending up kissing this dumb dork might not be the worst thing.