@dreamsofalife said: Dear past me
Dear... | Accepting
Dear past me,
I know what you’re going through right now. The demons of the Nightosphere talk about you behind your back, making you think that there’s something wrong with you. Whenever your dad has that stupid Nightosphere Amulet on, he takes his anger out on you. He never hit you but the verbal attacks are just as bad. Even worse. You had no constant support and that sucks. Trust me, I know what it’s like.
I would tell you that things will turn out fine in the end, but I would be lying. Things are going to get worse. I’m not even sure when things are going to get better. But whatever you do, don’t listen to the voice in your head. She’s trying to lead you down a dark path. A path where you want to hurt everyone that they convince you is to blame. That includes your dad and I know that deep down, you still love your dad and you really don’t want to hurt him.
Down the line, you will meet people who like you for who you are. People who don’t see a problem with your girly interest or your fondness of softness. Down the line, your dad will see the damage that he’s caused and he will want to fix it. Let him. No matter how much he has hurt you in the past, don’t forget the good times. Don’t forget all the times he picked you up, or the forehead kisses, or the bedtime stories, or the raspberries he blew into your tummy in order toget you to laugh. Don’t forget. Never forget. The voice in your head will try to make it sound like no one likes you or even wants you around. Don’t listen to the voice.
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@cadcnce said: 💏
50 ways to kiss someone
17. ...to distract (with a side of 9. ...in public)
In general, Sonia embraced new experiences. But if she had any more surprises that day, she wasn't sure if her poor heart, or nerves, could withstand them.
Dinner had been delicious, and their time at the Sahara would have been quite perfect if their server hadn't happened to be a Novosonian who nearly fell over backwards when they realized whom they were waiting on that evening. Promises, begging, and, hopefully kept discreet from Wylan, outright bribes had to be taken to keep her face and name (and his) off of social media. It brought her enough anxiety that, with little regard to her heels and how impractical it was to walk in them for long periods of time, she'd insisted taking the taxi only as far as the Venetian and that, at least for part of the way, they'd walk through the hotels for a suitable distraction.
"That was quite a coincidence,", She finally said, just as they'd arrived at the myriad of shops that lined the man-made canal made to resemble the real one back in Italy. One she'd traveled plenty of times before, but never in the comfort of air conditioning and tourists, plenty of them more than intoxicated, taking selfies with the hotel's employed gondoliers. "My country isn't terribly big and besides Japan and areas of Europe, the people do not often immigrate elsewhere, at least not permanently. So it's a bit shocking that at the Sahara, of all places, we met a Novoselic citizen. But I'm sorry about how it unfolded: It could have been made very inconvenient for the both of us, to be publicly recognized there."
She'd had a sense of curiosity about the Italian-themed hotel anyway. Rather like the French one, she wondered how much it compared to the place that inspired it. It was the sort of thing that would interest her mother (or at least lead her to remark about how its European counterpart was better. Everything, according to Queen Valentina, was better in Europe and Japan). Eventually, when the time was right, she'd share her thoughts on America's interpretation of Italy with her: her mother's family hailed from southern Novoselic, close to the Novosonian and Italian border, and thus her upbringing was far more akin to upper class Italian lifestyles.
But just as she'd paused to examine one of the artists in residence, like plenty of other passersby on the fake Venetian streets, Sonia froze. Her face went pale, even more than what her copious usage of sunblock and hats gave her when facing the Vegas sun and heat. "Jesus. Shit. Son of a bitch." She hissed, her eyes locked on the slender figure of a young woman, with bouncy, wavy chestnut hair, hazel eyes, clad in a cocktail dress and surrounded by half a dozen other elegantly-dressed cohorts. They weren't like the other tourists that swarmed the shops, restaurants, and performers: they had an air of importance about them and the fine clothes and black credit cards to prove it.
"Princess Madeline of Norway...of all people, is there nowhere I can go that's entirely anonymous!?" She muttered. The Norwegian Princess had yet to forgive Sonia from a social slight from six years ago and was terribly proficient in getting the right gossip to the right people. If she saw them, their holiday, an escape from her world and his to something that was uniquely, strangely theirs would be all over. There would be so much to explain she wouldn't know where to start, with whom and what: her choice of attire, her choice of city to run away to, her choice of man by her side. But the media would treat it as Christmas coming early and her family would treat it as the arrival of the apocalypse. Of those two things, Sonia was sure.
This wouldn't just be a Royal Collision, it would be a Royal Catastrophe. She had to act. And fast.
A dash through the growing crowds would make too much of a scene. Politely it would take too long and impolitely, there was the risk of tripping over someone or herself and it would give Madeline enough time to grab a picture of her face.
Her face. She needed to hide her most identifiable feature: her attire was completely different than the norm but her face was a dead giveaway for those who recognized it. Glancing quickly around them, taking in the various excited revelers eager to indulge in the Vegas nightlife, Sonia swallowed and took a deep breath. Placing herself between Wylan and the approaching Royal Problem, Sonia had no time to hesitate as she reached up to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.
"Please don't ask questions. Not here," She whispered quickly before doing something she'd only, embarrassingly and if asked directly she'd deny it, dreamed of: Sonia Nevermind, Princess of Novoselic, closed her eyes and kissed him squarely on the lips. In the crowd, she now just looked like another young woman swept away in the glitz and glam of Las Vegas, taking a risk: not at a slot machine or a card table, but with her friendship, her heart. Just like the gambling the town was known for, there was the possibility of losing everything if she wasn't careful.
And there was nothing quick nor brief about how she kissed him: Sonia had kissed Wylan with purpose, with enough passion that to anyone around them they just looked like any other couple creating memories that would never be spoken of once they left the city limits.
God help her: liquor aside, she'd not only had a change of a dress but an entire set of principles, her entire fucking mind. Sin City, indeed.
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