#upside is within the next week I am getting another tattoo and i have an interview for a summer job

[gem-in-the-horizon]

it's not even midterms

#blogging on the blog site #i will persevere but i AM going to complain about it #too many things and stuff going on rn. to start i have a dreaded appointment 5 months in the scheduling #i'm pretty sure i need to turn in timesheets before i leave so i can get paid. #there's TWO exams when i return from our long weekend. and i have two exam/quizzes TODAY #plus three different assignments. pain and suffering on planet earth #upside is within the next week I am getting another tattoo and i have an interview for a summer job #the incredible life of your average college student

[sanders-sides-fic]

We all pretend (to be the heroes on the good side)

So… This got real angsty real quick. I didn't intend for it to be that bad. But it went there… So… Yeah.

This is the prompt I was using

Trigger warnings: vaguely implied coma, vaguely implied character death, implied fall, abandonment, ability to move inanimate objects like they're alive

Virgil Sanders.

Most people didn't know that name. Some did, but not nearly as many as knew him. Weird, wasn't it? To be known, without your name being uttered. Maybe that was still part of his history.

He hadn't started out on this side of the fight. A few years ago he'd been feared beyond compare. "Nightmare", that's what they used to call him. Back when he'd been pushed into that role without a visible way out. He didn't have a choice back then, or, at least that's what he used to think.

Then, one night shit got down. He destroyed every connection he'd had, severed every bridge, left everything behind. "Nightmare" became "Anxiety" at that time. A villain-turned-vigilante, who didn't use his powers to terrorise his opponent's minds until they were unable to fight, but answered to the terror people around him felt instead.

Back then he'd started to work with some of his former enemies. They took him in well, everything considered. And he couldn't deny that they helped him a lot. He would sometimes join hands with "the brain", and occasionally even with his reluctant friend and Virgil's former nemesis "the prince".

There were a lot heroes with a "the" in their names, surprisingly.

Now, he couldn't tell anymore when it had happened. But at some time he found himself influenced by their heroic antics, and he took on the name of "storm cloud". His hero name. He teamed up with the brain in his mandatory probation, the so-called introduction phase before his official debut with title of hero. Sadly the name a common friend had offered for their team had been rejected by the hero in question. "Mind storm" would have been awesome, though, right?

And then things started to become brighter in his little world. Hell, his entire career was nothing more than a redemption arch.

That's why he was often times called "the light of hope" by the people. Light of hope, my ass! They were just relieved to see not every villain was beyond help. That was the only reason they liked him, if you'd asked him. Publicity.

That was what he kept thinking about in that moment, when he found himself facing off with his current nemesis. The golden snake was… an old acquaintance. A villain that'd only become a villain because of him. Or, because he wasn't a villain anymore. A villain that Virgil secretly couldn't bring himself to hate because of that, even after everything that had transpired between the two of them.

What even was this, really? A fight between a hero and a villain? If so, who was who? Virgil couldn't tell anymore. He didn't know who he was anymore. It was so… What was the word?

Ack! No time to think of it. He jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the snake's poisonous fang. Ja- the villain had become quite good at this by now. Virgil was really driven to the edge of the building. Luckily there were no more civilians around, but he could still see reporters, some persistent fans, and police officers taking away the snake's underlings out of the corner of his eyes.

The wind blew strong this night.

A bolt of purple lightning shot towards Jan- the villain. It was stoped by the snake of pure gold he controlled so delicately without ever reaching him. Of course. What had Virgil expected? This villain was outstanding. Like he'd always had been.

Virgil tried again, the lightning coming from his finger tips getting harder to control by the second. Too many people, too much fear in the air, too little time to concentrate. And the villain knew this. Virgil could see his smirk underneath the shadow of his hat.

"Just give up, dark and stormy night! You can't hang on for much longer."

Virgil gritted his teeth and fired another bold of lightning. "And let you escape when we got this far? Big chance." Though he did want to do that, if he was being honest.

A laugh so hauntingly familiar and yet a far cry from what he used to know resounded through the tense air. "Suit yourself, then!" Another snake, another step back, pushing the golden puppet away from him with his lightning, parry, attack, cutting off the escape route, damn it all and…

And there was no more building under his feet. His hand somehow managed to grip the edge of the building, fortunately. He would decidedly not look down. And if the people around him would kindly stop sending their fear about him falling towards him, that'd be great, thanks!

He could see the golden snake stepping forward leisurely. "Told you so, dearest." With a smirk the snake retreated.

Well, from the sounds of it, Ro would arrive any moment now. He could hear him in the distance. So he only needed to hand on. Just a bit more. Even though his breath was heavy, and his muscles ached, and there was so much fear it felt like his powers were going to explode, and he was tired, and…

At that moment Virgil realised for the first time how tired he actually was. And he started to wonder what would happen if he would let go of the edge. Five fingers desperately hanging on. Now four. For how much longer? How long until Ro arrived? How much longer did he have to hang on?

What would happen?

Well, he would probably die. Splash, unsightly and painful. Sure. But, aside from that? Who would care? Who would actually care about it? Ro, who only accepted him after fighting so much to prove he was even a bit trustworthy? Lo, who had taken him in because he wanted to prove the point of villains deserving a second chance?

Would there be an official memorial? Like with other heroes? Or would there be merely a single line in the newspaper, like with the villains? Maybe there'd be a few lights on the edge of the street in his colour, like some did for vigilantes they especially adored.

But that would also be the end of so much bad stuff, right? No more pressure, no more screams in his head, no more false smiles, no more… No more tiredness accumulating in his bones.

Was that what would happen?

"No!"

The sudden desperate cry from the villain's mouth startled him out of his thoughts. And, oh… Oh, fuck. Oh, shit! Oh, in that moment of sudden stupidity he'd actually let go, without even fully noticing, hadn't he?

And again, the voice he'd always be able to recognise, no matter where he would hear it: "No! Don't you dare die! Not here, not like this, not now."

It was too late, though. And had Ro arrived yet? He could still see the shocked fans, the officers, the people up there. Frozen. They didn't move as he fell down to his inevitable death. But the villain? He did, he leapt towards the edge, as though he was still within reach.

And Virgil, no, Storm Cloud couldn't help but let out a startled laugh at the irony of it all. How ironic it was, he thought just before his vision went dark, that the only hand reaching out to him, the hero, the so called "light of hope"… the only hand reaching out to him now was that of his nemesis.

Maybe not hating the villain wasn't that stupid of a secret, after all.

❦

"Oh? So how do your powers work, then?" Janus looked up at him through his thick eyelashes, a content smirk on his face as Virgil played with his hair.

"I can hear their fears. They scream in my head, and I can feel their anxiety on my skin." Virgil thought about how to best describe it, fingers changing directions to trial the snake tattoo Janus had on his left cheekbone. "It's like static in the air. And I can either wait until it explodes, or I can let it free. That's what those lightnings are, just… The tension from the air gathered into sheer fear. If I condense it enough, it makes them pass out from fear."

Janus sighed, mismatched eyes closed. "Mine's so stupid in comparison. So I can control metal that looks like animals, wow. It's useless, really. Like, what am I? A fucking jewellery box? Stupid!"

Virgil couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, yeah. But it's fine, isn't it? Since I was able to capture you that way. If you hadn't become my hostage, you wouldn't be with me right now."

"Like me!" The two of them startled, looking at the man hanging upside down from the ceiling. "Though I suppose I'm less hostage and more freeloader…"

"You both are technically freeloaders," Virgil corrected with a smirk "and I didn't kidnap you. You followed me and begged me to take you in because your brother's my enemy. What was it again that you said?"

"I'm leverage so you don't kill him! So I am a hostage. A willing one, though. And it's not bad, you don't torture me or anything. You're surprisingly gentle for a villain…"

"Yeah, well, I… It just happened. If I had had the choice, I…"

Janus sat up suddenly, a serious look on his dolled-up face. "But it did happen. And that's good, because there's no way either of us" he pointed between Remus and himself "will be on any other side anymore. It's too late for us, and we like it here. And you do too, right?"

Virgil looked at the eyes of the man he loved, the man who he pretended not to know had bought a diamond ring just a few days ago. And he couldn't answer. So he just sighed and kissed his forehead instead.

"If you ever change sides" Janus muttered as he snuggled back against Virgil "I'll come and terrorise the entire world to get you back. I'm no hero, but I'm on the right side." Virgil didn't see it, but he knew Janus' face got considerably darker during that last sentence. "So I'd sacrifice the world for you."

There was a beat of silence.

"I'll never forgive you if you leave."

And Virgil didn't plan on leaving. Really, he didn't. But the next night… It just happened. Like when he became a villain. A week later, when he finally managed to get back to their layer, everything was empty. But on top of the bar there was an empty bottle of wine and a black velvet box.

Virgil leaned back, sighing. He looked back up, tears in his eyes. He was too late, huh?

"I guess you saved me, Jan," he muttered to no one in particular "since this is a nightmare. Or maybe it's hell. Who knows." He chuckled, tears still streaming down his face. "I hope I wake up soon."

He sighed, sinking to the floor, trapped in the most painful memory he had. "But then again, maybe that's what I deserve for always letting go at the worst times…"

The scene started to replay again.

Taglist: @gattonero17 @alias290

#villain and hero au #sanders sides au #angsty fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #angst #anxceit

[just-some-fiction]

Just You and Me Part 39

This could be a possibility now that the feds are in town. We shall see. What does Rio get up to when he’s laying low?

Rio was always on the go, always busy and making money. However, there was some heat coming from the feds recently, which forced him to be holed up at home. He was not going to put his employees or family, or the higher ups in danger. The upside to his current situation though, was that it somehow coincided with Lucia’s maternity leave. 

Even though all of this was out of his hands, he still had to come up with a plan B. He had a family to feed and was the main boss. Within the first week, they figured out a system that ensured that one of their businesses was still generating a profit - herb would always be in high demand and it was as legit as they could be, without any extra interest from the FBI. 

Another part of laying low that he enjoyed was the time he got with Lucia. Yes, sometimes they'd need space, but they gave that to one another. With that being said, it was nice being in the same area as his wife for the majority of the day. They’d do their own thing while lounging on the couch, Lucia would read a book in his office while he went over his books or they’d spend time as a family of four, seeing as Marcus was off from school as well. Currently, Rio was on a phone call with Mike and Mick, while bouncing a cooing Alex in his arms. He was leaning back in his office chair, his feet propped up on his desk, with Alex laying on his chest, fascinated with his tattoo. The infant stared at her father with wide eyes, her hands tugging in his beard and lower lip. Prying her hand out of his mouth, he kissed her palm, causing her to laugh. 

A few minutes later Lucia walked into the office to get Alex for her feed. The infant showed her discomfort as Lucia plucked her off Rio’s chest and moved to the couch. Her fussing ceased when Lucia brought her to her chest. Rio finished up with his call and turned to his wife. 

"Hey," joining her on the couch he threw an arm over her shoulders as she nursed. 

"Everything ok?" he nodded watching his daughter feed. 

"Yeah."

The only downfall was the difficulty of sneaking away. For a sexually active couple as the two of them - they have two beautiful children as evidence - celibacy was not an option, however, with said two children constantly around, their sex life took a hit. Not able to handle it any longer, Rio cornered his wife in the pantry one afternoon, hoisting her against one of the shelves. 

“Gotta be quick,” he mumbled against her lips as he tugged her skirt up and pulled himself out of his sweats. Lucia said nothing, simply pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. 

Rio was thrusting into her at a furious pace, they had to be quick before either one of their kids needed them. Lucia was gripping onto his shoulders with one hand and the pantry shelf with the other. Her husband's face was buried in her neck, breathing heavily into the skin. 

"Si papi," she mewled, "just there," her nails dug into his shoulder, "I'm coming," her body shuddered, her hips convulsing. 

Before he pulled out of her, he growled, "Tonight, I'm hitting it the way I want, aight," Lucia nodded, pulling him in for a kiss, moaning as he pulled out, "ima hit it so good."

Later that afternoon, she jumped him in his office as he was finishing a call. Shutting the door, she made her way to his desk and sat in it directly in front of him. Their little tryst in the pantry opened a gate and Lucia was not going to close until they had their fill.

"Those products can be delivered through mail order," he placed the phone on the desk next to her, hitting the speaker button. Spreading her legs and seeing her bare pussy in front of him, Rio licked his lips. The man on the other side continued speaking, but Lucia was so far gone as her husband ate her, she wouldn't be able to tell you who was on the other end of the phonecall. 

Every now and then, Rio would pull away and answer the person, before diving back in. A few moments later the call ended and he sank his teeth into her inner thigh. Pulling away, he watched the skin turn red and smirked. In a flash he got up and positioned himself in front of her. Lucia moaned as he filled her and soon they were going at it on the desk. 

A few days later, Lucia tried something Chuck told her about, which was trending on TikTok. Marcus and Alex were spending a few hours with their Abuela so the couple were all alone. Rio on a  Zoom call with his crew about a new business venture when she entered the office wrapped in a towel. Her husband looked up and she saw his eye twitch slightly when he saw her. He kept his face neutral as she walked towards him, obviously she knew better than to sit directly next to him though. Standing out of the way, she pulled the towel off and threw it onto his lap. Suddenly, the sound of Mike choking on something came through the speaker, while Mick cursed in Spanish. 

"You two are grown ass adults," Jake groaned, it seemed everyone besides Rio, knew about this trend because he simply looked over at his wife then at his boys on the screen. 

"We'll finish this later," he signed off and looked at his wife, who was completely nude. Lucia, who didn’t expect the guys to react that way, didn't really know what to do next. Her husband got up, his brow furrowed and mouth slightly parted as he stalked towards her. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, his eyes focused on her body. He stood behind her and cupped her pussy.  

"Why you gotta misbehave?" he growled against her ear, "Interrupting my business to do childish things," he slapped her ass, "suppose to be my good girl," he bent her over the desk, "good girls don't get wet cos they misbehave," he dragged his fingers through her wetness, before sinking two fingers inside of her, "tell me what I'm missing about this whole lil act that everyone seems to get mami," she felt him spread her ass cheeks, the cool air hitting her center. 

"It's a TikTok challenge," she explained the trend to him while he fingered her from behind. 

"So you did this to get dicked down huh?" he chuckled, pulling out his phone, snapping a pic of his fingers inside of her, "My little exhibitionist, somethings don't change do they?" 

Lucia squealed in surprise as he lifted her up and onto the desk. The rest of the afternoon was spent wrapped up in one another. When they were done, somehow having fucked their way to the couch, Rio picked up the discarded towel and threw it over their waists. Lucia was laying on top of him, placing kisses over his chest, while he stroked her back. 

“You still ok being holed up in the house?” she looked at him, knowing full well her husband was not someone who could stay locked up. 

“I am,” he looked down at her, “the house helps,” he sat up slightly, resting his back against the armrest, “besides I get to spend time with my girl,” he smirked, “don’t get to do that too often anymore.” 

They both knew that was true. Since everything that’s happened, from the moment those housewives came into their lives, their time together has been limited. So they were gonna make the most out of this time and enjoy themselves. Lucia snuggled into his chest, her arms wrapped around him. Rio wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her gently, placing a kiss against her head. 

Outside of their sexual activities, Rio got to spend more time with Marcus and Alex, something he was grateful for. Most mornings the couple would be woken up by the seven year old wiggling in between them, just as Alex started to fuss in her crib. The family of four would spend the morning in bed, with Alex resting against her mother or father’s chest while Marcus played with her. They usually have breakfast and then Rio would disappear into his office to do some work, with Marcus following him with his own work, which consisted of colouring books and crayons, or something else to keep him entertained. 

They seemed to have a routine going. However, as life usually does, there were curveballs involved as well. One day, his mother, sisters and Chuck turned up at their front door and Rio had a deja vu moment. Lucia shook her head when she saw the ladies and the look on her husband’s face. 

“You not getting out of this one,” Gabby smirked, “he had enough practice with Marcus,” she jerked her head towards her brother, “he can handle two kids.” 

“It’s not that,” she sighed, sending her husband a look. 

“You can bang him when you get back,” Mia spoke up, earning her a slap upside the head, yet again, from her mother. 

“Amelia Ramirez,” Yolanda snapped. 

“What,” she looked at her mother, “mama they have two kids and had sleepovers since high school,” she raised her eyebrows suggestively. 

“Get out,” Rio groaned. 

Lucia kissed her husband, “See you later baby.” 

Just as the front door shut, Alex’s wail rang through the house. Rio made his way to the bedroom to check on his baby. Picking up the infant, he held her against his chest. 

“I gotchu princessa,” he swayed her gently and soon enough, she settled causing him to smile, “definitely your mama’s child.” 

Realising the house was a bit too quiet, he went searching for his seven year old, who recently started conducting unsupervised experiments in the kitchen. They were going to have to restrict some of the science channels Marcus watched on YouTube and TV pretty soon. 

“Pop no,” Rio groaned, walking into the kitchen and finding his son with vinegar and an entire contained of bicarbonate decanted into a vase. 

 Marcus had the decency to look guilty before he started pleading his case, “Jane’s mom let her do it and she said it was really cool.” 

Grazing over the fact that his son was not going to let go of his friendship with Jane Boland, Rio took stock of the items on the kitchen counter, “Pop we spoke bout this,” he sighed, “you need your mama or me with you when you try these things.” 

“Can we try them now?” Marcus grinned, knowing he had more luck getting ay es from his dad that his mom.

“Aight pop,” Rio placed Alex in her baby recliner and made his way over to his son. 

Two hours later Lucia walked into her house, relaxed and calm. Her day was stress free and she realised while she was thirty minutes into her neck, head and shoulder massage that she really needed the break. What she didn’t need though, was walking into her kitchen and finding green sludge splattered across the floor. Standing in front of her washer family who were all covered in the same green sludge, including her four month old, who was laughing in her baby chair.  

Rio looked at his wife and smiled, “Hey baby,” he tried to be as smooth as he could, “how was your day?” 

Deciding she was not going to deal with this and ruin her day, Lucia smiled at her husband, “It was lovely babe,” looking at her son, “did you and Marcus have fun almost destroying our home?” 

Before Rio or Marcus could say anything Lucia continued, “This kitchen better and my children better be spotless when I’m done with my bath.” 

A while later a very sheepish Rio into the master bathroom, “You ain’t allowed in here if your ass is still green,” Lucia spoke, her eyes closed and head resting against the tub, “and if your dick is green we defs not having sex baby.” 

“There’s no green anywhere,” Rio chuckled. 

“Where’s the kids?” 

“Mia came to pick Marcus up for a sleepover,” he knelt next to the tub, “then I fed Alex and put her down for a nap.” 

“Who said crime bosses aren’t great babysitters?” she teased. 

“I ain’t no babysitter,” he splashed her, “I’m a dad.” 

“Get into the fucking tub baby.”

#rio good girls #rio nbc #good girls nbc #nbc good girls #lucia solano #lucia x rio #mick good girls #mike graceland

[amandaray-nature-vs-nurture]

Take a Mosey on Down the Diagnosis Trail

Was I depressed? How depressed? Was it “clinical” or “seasonal” or “major”? From what I remember, at first I was clinically depressed. Sprinkle some Zoloft on it.

I didn’t like taking the Zoloft and whatever else I was prescribed; didn’t like the notion of having to take pills to be “normal”. As I know now, that is not an uncommon sentiment. I am pretty sure I was diagnosed within those same few years as having some anxiety disorder, but it was not an “official” diagnosis at first. I remember going back and forth with trying to accept this diagnosis and take my medication when I was supposed to. I had access to the internet back then, but it wasn’t like it is now. Not for most of us, anyway. We didn’t think of searching for things online and definitely couldn’t just type a vague idea in the web address bar and get anything other than an error message. Back then, free AOL CD’s were everywhere by the thousands and I began collecting them by the pounds in my bag and would just hide them in random places all over any house or place of business I found myself at.

Within the same year of being released after my first committal, my sister got arrested after snitching on her own damn self and my mom and I moved to a one road, one grocery store, no red-light town. We lived in an itty-bitty house, my window looking out onto a massive lot for semi-trucks to back up and turn around in (at least, that’s all they ever did right there) at the cotton factory. I could jump out of my window and be in said lot before I even completed taking a single step. There were adventures to be had there many intoxicated nights (one more serious than the rest), of the infinite types of adventures that would have resulted in death in most other instances. I’m lucky to be alive. “Lucky” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I hear stories about young women or men just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or making risky decisions, and not making it out alive -- and I feel like absolute shit knowing that I dodged so many bullets and they did not.

So, as I was saying, my mom and I lived in this house -- just us -- and things steadily devolved. Meaning: there was absolutely zero psychiatric care during that time. Loads and loads of self-medication, and lots of Live LiveJournal-ing (I have tried to recover the account, to no avail). Our house was the house for getting fucked up. It makes my heart palpitate and my guts twist to write this, so I am lucky (there’s that word again) that this is not a story detailing many of the happenings of that wretched place, or any of the wretched places that came after. This house is where my addict tendencies became known to me in a way, and where I developed an eating disorder.

I was never diagnosed with an eating disorder, but my best friend at the time Meghan and I would see who could go the longest without eating while taking fists full of diet pills (I always gravitated toward Metabolife) that we’d stolen up the street. We lived for the Pro-Ana sites/blogs that were around back then and used their tips and tricks and thin-spiration images daily. We ended up purging together after eating anything. We’d drink hot water and punch each other in the gut after jumping around for a while. We were competitive regarding things like who could get the next bone to be more pronounced, and how much we were able to purge vs how much we ate/drank, clothing size, weight, measurements, our side-effect symptoms of whatever we were taking or doing or just the whole mess in general, who bruised easier, who cut the most, the deepest -- who cut the most fucked up saying into which area of skin and using what -- and even our stools (speaks incredible volumes about your diet).

Meghan and I were extremely codependent. I spent those years with her cycling through an infinite amount of possible diagnoses, but I was never helped in any way. I remember a few episodes of psychosis or mania or whatever it was that are mixed with significant chunks of amnesia in my memory. When I think back on the few close friendships I had as an undiagnosed and untreated (or wrongly diagnosed and wrongly treated) person, I imagine that to the people who found themselves stuck in my orbit -- the people who found themselves hypnotized by my incredible vulnerability mixed with utter recklessness and abandon… it must have been awful for them. Especially when they eventually snapped out of their trance and saw what was happening to them because of my disastrous and dangerous ways. My willingness to go as low as one could imagine, at the blink of an eye. I annihilated souls one at a time -- but, for the very clear record, they were always willing participants. I never forced anyone’s hand. Maybe I obliterated the very essence of people, but by that point, they all chose their fates to be intertwined with my own.

In that itty-bitty house next to the cotton factory, my mom ended up abandoning me with a guy I had been dating for a couple of weeks, at most, and his mother ended up taking me in. I only have a few solid memories of that traumatic experience, as well as for the years that ensued at Robert’s house. I lived there, hurting myself in secret and having panic attacks and floating through the world only kind of remembering getting from one year to the next. There was more self-medicating and spiraling. Some cock fights. What I am saying is, there were a whole lot of years that I went untreated.

The next diagnosis that I remember is a Bipolar Disorder diagnosis. I have no idea if I was allegedly Bipolar I or II, but there were other diagnoses such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Generalized Anxiety, Panic Disorder, and PTSD. Everyone uses OCD so loosely, “Omg, I know; I’m (or someone else they know is) so OCD about…” That, or they think that everything I do is going to be immaculate and organized;  perfect. They don’t talk about the intrusive thoughts or the weird obsessions that no one can know about or the compulsive rituals we do that often have nothing to do with anything but if they don’t get done, something awful will happen and it will be all our fault. I remember when I was young I had the literal Fear of God in me. I was obsessed with death and Heaven and Hell. Thought about it all the time. I was told that God heard our thoughts and that he could always see us. Every night when I would lay down to go to bed, I forced myself to think of every single possible infraction I made that day and to beg God’s forgiveness for it while clutching my Precious Moments Bible. I lost a lot of sleep due to this and so it became increasingly more difficult to stay awake each night. I would pinch and scratch and slap myself to stay awake and beg for forgiveness. At some point I also began praying for the health and safety of every single family member I could think of and then for the health and safety of every person I could recall in my memory from being out and about during the day. I spent entire nights probing my memories for every possible soul who needed my prayers in order to be safe. I had to cycle through them, imagining God cupping his hand down around their home like a shield to keep bad guys from breaking in and to keep fires from happening or violent weather or someone from inside the home from hurting them or aliens from abducting and probing them (Fire in the Sky ruined my life that extra layer) or just whatever else my mind could come up with to be terrified of happening. I had to do this, and I had to do it as many times as humanly possible every night. I would, of course, pass out sometimes. I’d awake with a jolt and grab for my Bible. But, wait… what if it is upside down?! I would think. Surely there are crosses and other things within this Bible that would only invite evil and ensure my spot in Hell if inverted?!  And so I would get up, turn the light on, and check. Getting out of bed every time I was unsure whether or not the Bible was facing the correct way was exhausting -- more exhausting than this whole thing already was. I came up with a solution: tie a cord from the string on my light to the rail of my daybed. That barely lasted a night because I was convinced -- despite the cord being nowhere near slack enough -- that the shit would get wrapped around my neck and kill me (and I would likely die with an inverted Bible in my hands, before I could finish my prayers). Solution? Super-glue a penny into the top left corner inside the front cover of the Bible so that I could just feel in the dark which way the hateful thing was facing. Problem solved (still have the thing).

The next diagnosis I had was Bipolar with Rapid Cycling (maybe some of the readers can see where this is going at this point). Also, the PTSD was bumped up to C (complex)-PTSD. I was put on mood stabilizers, lithium, some new anti-psychotic that was promoted as something else through the commercials on television and anxiety medications. I was in my early twenties at this time. Maybe mid. No later than mid. I had lost my mind after the death of a loved one and uprooted my life with Aidyn to move to Savannah at the petitioning of a couple I had met while I worked at Taco Mac. The wife worked there with me, and the husband came up to see her a few times. He was a tattoo artist and had found work in Savannah. They had outed themselves as swingers to me and requested my presence in their bed more than once. Oh, and they were also the most intensely religious people I’d ever met in real life. I was told that I’d have a job in the tattoo shop so I talked a coworker, Christine, into going down there with me to scout an apartment and “interview” at the shop. Fast forward to meeting my husband and a while with him, having Shane -- There’s a whole lot of dirty and dangerous detail in there, with another couple of stints in hospitals, and a whole lot of Ambien being used for everything but sleeping before this point, but they’re not important to this story.

I have just brushed over something here that is a big issue: skin picking. Excoriation. That has been a daily habit ever since I can remember. I think I have glossed over it so far now because it is not an issue which we are currently dealing with and focused on, but it has gotten so bad on a number of occasions that we couldn’t even go in public. That is not specifically my thing and so I am not very familiar with it, but I do have access to some of the memories we have about it. 

After a couple of stays in jail and yet another hospital stay, I had the diagnosis of Schizoaffective Bipolar Disorder with Psychotic episodes. That one got me to the medications I am currently taking. All of my previous diagnoses still stand. I hit one of my bottoms during this time. There’s a whole lot more that I don’t remember than I do.

A few more stays in jail and a few years of sobriety later, and I had a diagnosis of DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. I am still navigating that one. I’ve definitely been back forth and all around with this. I have mapped out a timeline of sorts in a journal, and it’s astounding how much sense this diagnosis makes. Finally: A diagnosis that actually fits all the way around. It is still quite alarming, and I am still trying to establish good communication between alters within my inner world and be more okay with referring to us as us or we or a system. We know now that the path we took could have never led us anywhere but here. We understand that only due to our most recent move to a place where we are safe with the kids, were we able to come forward and be known.

DID is a disorder rooted in trauma, and usually only makes itself known after the system has moved away from the direct influence or vicinity of the family member, caregiver, or other person (or people) who make it unsafe for parts of the system to be known. They were birthed by severe trauma and have existed for strictly covert missions to protect the other parts. Walls of amnesia are typically built up around the fractured pieces of personalities (this is always done at a young age -- usually sometime before seven to nine years old -- before personalities integrate into one personality), and stay up and operational in order to keep awareness of the trauma from reaching certain parts. When there’s no longer present and persistent perceived danger, these alters are often left with not knowing what to do with themselves and questioning their own validity and justification for living in an environment where no one needs to be protected. They have been operating within the system for so long in their own way of doing so, and the reactions of parts and systems to no longer being actively life-saving vary widely. They will reach out knowingly or not, and sometimes a system will even break down. 

My story is not atypical. It is a classic story of a journey down Diagnosis Trail through the mental healthcare system. The average amount of time for people to get to a correct diagnosis of DID is seven years after initially becoming a patient  within the mental healthcare system. Finding professionals who are willing to diagnose and treat dissociative disorders is a challenge, because despite the presence of the diagnostic criteria in the DSM-5 and clear cut texts on the treatment of DID, there are many people out there who have so little experience and knowledge of our disorder that they don’t “believe” in it.

This was my diagnosis journey, made intelligible and digestible as I could manage. I know that I touched on several different stories, and I definitely had to skip over so many significant times that came up as I was writing. I mean, I summed up multiple years at a time with just a couple of sentences, some of the time without even one actual meaningful memory to go with them. That’s what this blog is going to be for, in part; though, most of the details of my life are going to be published in my Memoirs. Thank you for reading and feel free to email me with or comment below any questions, comments, or concerns. 

[timeagainreviews]

A Very Special Doctor Who

The title of last night's episode "Can You Hear Me?" was a bit of a misnomer, or rather, a misdirect. In the tradition of Doctor Who names, I expected it to have more to do with the function of a creature. Something like "Don't blink!" or "You've got two shadows." Instead, it acts more as a reference to representation. Can you hear my calls for help? Can you see the signs of poor mental health? In many ways, tonight's episode was merely a vessel to deliver a message than the story itself. But was that to its detriment? Let’s get into it, shall we?

The episode opens on Aleppo, Syria in 1380. An interesting choice considering the history of the Crusaders. But they never once touch on the subject, they instead lean toward a simple monster invasion. It's not exactly certain why Aleppo was even necessary other than the fact that it looks really cool on-screen. It never really plays into the storyline other than being another location for the story to take place. I am guessing that writer Charlene James has some sort of personal history with the location. Perhaps she studied it and wanted to incorporate it into Doctor Who someday. Considering this is her first Doctor Who, that seems likely.

Tahira, a young Syrian girl is running from the authorities. Evidently, she's some sort of adventurous klepto like Winona Ryder. She leaves the safety of the centre of the city to steal things for the thrill of it. If you don't remember this, don't fret, it has little to no bearing on the greater story other than informing us that she's a bit bored and looking for adventure. Her friend Maryam scolds her and they speak of monsters, in which Maryam does not believe. Later that night, we're visited by these monsters who take everyone but Tahira. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but it's still early on. My biggest bit of excitement came from the fact that the hand we see over Maryam's face was not the Slitheen. Having seen them in the trailer last week, that's who I was expecting them to be. You have to admit, their hands were very similar!

The Doctor drops all of her companions off so they can go touch base with their home lives. Yaz sees her sister, who seems a bit worried about her. Ryan reconnects with his mate Tibo. And Graham plays cards with the boys from the bus depot. I was happy to see the continuity of Gabriel returning as Graham's mate. That was a nice touch. Over the course of their revisiting their friends, we learn that things have been a bit off. People have been having nightmares. Tibo seems to have locked himself away in his flat and complains that at night he's visited by a bald man with tattoos on his head. Luckily, his mate Ryan has been travelling with the Doctor, which means that instead of being laughed at, he's taken seriously. On top of that, the trio of companions are also given visions of the tattooed man. Except for Graham who sees a woman with Storm from X-Men vibes trapped between two planets. That night, Tibo is once again visited by the dream man, whose fingers detach and enter his ear. I don't know why all five fingers detached as he only needed one. Ryan witnesses this just as the dream man and Tibo disappear.

The Doctor is also visited by this bald dream man which gives her something to do while dealing with the boredom of being away from her mates. The Doctor's own mental health has been a subject of discussion lately and it's apparent here as well. As she follows the intruder back to ancient Aleppo, she doesn't bat an eye at the fact that it appears to be ransacked. She's in her element. This is her bread and butter! The Doctor finds Tahira who alerts her to the presence of the monsters, as one is still present, hanging from the ceiling in a very creepy fashion. The make haste and give chase back to the safety of the TARDIS, but not before the Doctor finds a sample of the beast's fur. Strangely, the sonic picks up nothing. That's twice now in series twelve that the Doctor's sonic picks up no readings.

The Doctor picks up her companions where they've followed the source of Graham's vision back to a spaceship looking a lot like a Borg cube. The interior was like when you see a night club in the daytime. It's a bit weird. Also, there seems to be a network of fingers. Within this ship, they discover the bald man who calls himself Zellin. Apparently, he's some sort of Godlike immortal. For the classic Who fans, this was a treat as they name-dropped not one, but three different immortal species- the Guardians, the Eternals, and the Toymaker. I was especially excited over the Eternals, as "Enlightenment," is my favourite Fifth Doctor story.

The Doctor and her friends help release the woman from between the two planets, who turns out to be an immortal named Rakaya. It turns out to be a trick, as Zellin is unable to break her out of the prison himself. Through an unusually helpful bit of exposition, Rakaya recounts their story to the Doctor in a beautiful sequence of animation. I really loved the art direction of this scene as it was something you don't often see in Doctor Who. It was a nice way of illustrating what could easily have been something boring. Kudos to the production team for trying something new.

According to Rakaya, her and Zellin were both like gods, born into the universe and bored by their immortality. In order to entertain themselves, they pitted two planets against one another. But after a while, both species on each planet grew wise as to the nature of these gods and rebelled. They built a prison between their planets and trapped Rakaya there as punishment. I suppose they were done with their planets and decided they didn't need them anymore. I mean, after all, planets are a dime a dozen, right? The whole explanation is a bit hand-wavy, as is usual with god-like beings. The mythology trumps common sense. Zellin then set about using Rakaya's technology to free her while keeping her sane by feeding her nightmares he sourced from humans with his little flying fingers.

Having locked the Doctor and her companions up, they set about causing mayhem on their new favourite planet- Earth. Naturally, this being Doctor Who, they land in England. Meanwhile, the Doctor and her companions are kept as prisoners aboard Rakaya's ship, locked up and having dreams harvested from their minds. Ryan dreams of the Earth's destruction and sees the Dregs from Orphan 55 again. He sees Tibo as an old man. Just one more person he's failed. Graham dreams his cancer is back, complete with a vision of his lost love Grace. Yaz's vision is a bit more abstract as we see her sitting on the side of a stretch of country road while a policewoman looks on from a distance. And the Doctor's dream was a further glimpse into who I believe is probably the Timeless Child. Though we get about as much elucidation on that concept as we have in previous episodes. The only difference here is that we see the same shot for a few more seconds. Nothing new or surprising there. Clearly, that's series finale stuff.

What comes next is an absolute load of rubbish. The Doctor awakens from her dream, just because. After bumping her hip against her sonic, it flies up out of her pocket absolutely defying the laws of physics. For a second there, I wondered if she wasn't hanging upside down as that's the only explanation I could come up with for how the sonic was able to magically fly directly into her hands. While it doesn't ruin the episode, it was easily the worst moment. They don't even try and make it look believable. I'm not even sure they could have made it look believable. Had she dropped it, and then kicked it up into her hands, I could have maybe believed it. There's suspension of disbelief, and then there's just being stupid. In fairness, I'd be lying if I said this was anything new for Doctor Who. Who can forget Tom Baker's Fourth Doctor screaming at such a high pitch that it breaks a pane of glass to make an escape? That being said, it was still very bad.

Having escaped, the Doctor locks Rakaya and Zellin back into the planet prison. However, now they're joined by one of the beasties from Syria, which happen to be from Tahira's nightmares, hence why they never attacked her. The Doctor returns the ship's captive Syrians and Tibo. At this point, the episode still has a good ten or fifteen minutes left, but the threat has been completely neutralised. Or has it? Well, as it turns out, Zellin and Rakaya were not the biggest baddies this week. Instead, that illustrious title goes to none other than mental health issues! That's right, it's an awareness episode! This is why the entire story was so hand-wavy- it's just an excuse to talk about mental health!

I wouldn't say it was exactly shoehorned in, but it definitely was not subtle. Ryan talks Tibo into getting professional help for his issues. This one made the least sense to me because they gave literally zero indication that Tibo needed group therapy. Sure, he was locking his place like Fort Knox and becoming a recluse, but he was quite literally being visited by an all-powerful ancient evil. You get rid of the ancient evil and suddenly, his biggest problems are gone. Instead, it's inferred that Ryan just knows his friend well enough to say "Hey buddy, you need some help." Which is fine I guess, but they in no way illustrated this throughout the episode. Even Tibo's standoffishness toward Ryan could be explained by the fact that Ryan had not been returning his texts. And considering that by the end of the episode, he now knows Ryan has been travelling with the Doctor, even that issue is resolved.

Graham's own fears make far more sense as cancer was a very real part of his life. Of course, he's afraid of his cancer recurring. I did really love the conversation he has with the Doctor as she offers very little comfort. Watching the Doctor awkwardly meander away was funny, but also somewhat confusing. I found it a bit weird that the Doctor listened to Graham talk about cancer without mentioning that she probably has the cure to cancer in gum form or something. She doesn't need to say anything comforting when she can say- "Sure Graham, let's just go to Medicalus 9, the hospital planet! You'll never worry about cancer ever again!" If the Doctor can't cure cancer, then it's like Amy Pond said- "...what is the point of you?"

Yaz's story is easily the most welcome, as it offers up some much-needed backstory with her. We learn that Yaz had a hard time with bullies in school. After deciding to run away, he sister Sonya sends the police to find her. This is why Yaz's nightmare shows her on the side of a country road with a policewoman in the distance. Yaz's fear is that she will get to a point where she is unable to cope and needs to run away. Perhaps an even deeper fear is that her travels with the Doctor are one more form of running away. We learn why Yaz may have been inspired to become a policewoman herself, as the interaction between these two is a positive one. The policewoman makes a bet with her that in three years if things aren't better, she'll pay her £50, but if they are, Yaz owes her 50p. Remembering this bet, Yaz returns to give the woman her 50p, which you'll note was not a Brexit commemorative coin. Thank Zellin.

And that was it, really. There wasn't a lot of meat to this episode. The baddies were dealt with quickly, and the plot resolved before things were even over. Was I mad about this? Not hardly. In fact, I applaud the show for taking the time to talk about mental health. It was clearly the driving force behind the episode and I don't mind at all. Using the concept of bad dreams to represent bad thoughts made a lot of sense in context with the show. Even if the story was devised as a means to deliver a message, it was still a pretty entertaining story. I've always had a soft spot for the immortal baddies of Doctor Who, so adding two more in was a treat. I had even begun wondering if Zellin wasn't the black guardian pretty early on, so clearly they had done a good job paying homage.

The BBC even took the time to drop a hotline at the end of the story, which I thought was a nice touch. It's no lie that due to the current political and social climate of the world these days, mental health is at an all-time low. A friend of mine who is in school for counselling messaged me after the episode, ecstatic that they were addressing these issues, and I have to agree. Doctor Who spans a rather large audience, and it's good to see them trying to take that responsibility seriously. Where I've questioned the show's capacity to address bigger issues, it seems as though they've found a bit of a sweet spot with series twelve, give or take. Keep the messages broad and incorporate them into the story. If "Can You Hear Me?" caused even one person to reach out for help last night, then it's done its job well.

#doctor who #can you hear me #thirteenth doctor #Jodie Whittaker #yaz #yasmine khan #mandip gill #Ryan Sinclair #tosin cole #Graham O'Brien #Bradley Walsh #rakaya #immortals #mental health #bbc #tardis #Time and Time Again #zellin #charlene james

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, its-just-ellie-always!

Happy belated Birthday to @its-just-ellie-always! We hope you had a wonderful birthday back on the 11th, and celebrated in style. To bring the party back, the wonderful @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

For: Its-just-ellie-always - Happy Belated Birthday I hope you had a wonderful one. Special thanks to @Historywriter2007 fir her wonderful beta skills!

Prompt: Rival Motorcycle gang Everlark! In which Tattooed!Peeta and Katniss start off hating each other. The more sexual tension the better. As smutty or fluffy as you wish;)

Rated: M (smutty everlark scenes)

The bar was crowded. Katniss watched as Gale flirted with another buxom bimbo. Tipping her head back against the wall she watched her friends drink beer and laugh at Thom trying to dance to AC/DC. Closing her eyes she began humming Sia’s Chandelier.

Tonight was reminiscent of the Friday nights they used to have before Thread joined the gang a few months back. In the beginning she loved the guys,  they were like her big brothers, and she was under their protection. The bubble burst when Thread began to manipulate Cray. The guys he was bringing in were harder, menacing. There were rumors that Thread and his guys dealt in unsavory dealings  

As her sister got older Katniss wanted to keep her biker life and the life she led with her sister, it wasn’t an easy thing to do, but now that Prim was grown up Katniss didn’t want this lifestyle. She wanted a different life but getting out was near impossible. Her buzzing phone demanded her attention.. Taking it out she bit her bottom lip, when the name popped up she quickly scanned the room, to make she wasn’t being watched. Her legs crossed as she instantly became wet.

They were supposed to be rivals. They hated each other but one night nearly a year ago she got drunk and ended up kissing him. Kisses like she’d never had before, kisses that made her mouth water and her body craved like chocolate.

***

One Year Ago

“Prim,” Katniss shouted across the bar. The pumping music and wild dancing wasn’t her thing, but her sister wanted Katniss to join her for the  start of her senior year of college. Katniss begrudgingly made the trip out of state to help her sister move into the new graduate apartments and somehow she ended up in this pop-techno-nightmare of a club.

Her sister was a tall natural blond, she looked like a runway model, Katniss was a short, dark, and angrier version. Her gray eyes scanned the room.

“Hey,” Prim giggled as she shoved a green looking liquid at her.

“What is this?” Katniss demanded.

“Katniss, just drink it. You need to relax!” Prim stated as she swayed to the music.

The one thing Katniss could never, ever do was say no to her baby sister. It looked like a shot glass of nyquil and it tasted just as vial and it burned all the way down. “Blech,” she muttered right before she coughed.

“Here have another,” Prim urged.

Katniss grimaced, but took the next shot.

“Come dance,” her sister pulled her into the fray. Katniss felt stiff compared to the other people dancing, she was as graceful as an elephant during a stampede in water; while Prim spun and swayed with the rhythm of the music.

All the songs sounded the same to Katniss.the two shots were starting to take effect as the lights blurred and the pulsating music ground on her last nerve. Prim grabbed her hand and dragged her to the bar.

“Isn’t this great!” Prim ordered two more of those green shots, downing them quickly..

“How much have you drunk?”

“Like five of these, one beer, and a pink fruity drink.”

Katniss wasn’t a drinker so she was woozy, “I think I need to eat.”

“Okay, one more for the road.” Prim ordered two more and  shared one with Katniss.

They ended up at a local pizza joint filled with college kids. Katniss had her head against the back of the booth chair. Her senses were askew, like when she was in a fun house. She was humming to herself before she began singing, Sia’s Chandelier, low at first but then louder, until everyone stopped to listen her.

She spotted a blond man sitting across from her in a leather jacket, she began to sing to him. Her voice strong and sure. His blue eyes became wide with surprise. As if in a trance he came over to her. He kneeled on the booth chair, his face nearing hers, until his lips were upon hers his tongue slipping into her mouth tasting her, her arms went around his neck. She was a mess, she was glorious, she was drunk, and this was the first kiss that awakened in her a fire.  

Katniss was unaware everyone was listening, until she stopped singing and the place combusted into spontaneous clapping and whistling. The man pulled away and Katniss was out of breath, she was filled with the urge to keep kissing.    

“Everdeen.”

Katniss cracked opened one eye to see Peeta Mellark from rival biker gang just inches away from her face. Anger infused her actions, she slapped and pushed him off of her. He gave her that trademark dimpled grin. Peeta walked away from her, but her insides were a riot of emotions. The taste of cinnamon was etched in her mouth and she craved it once more.

Two weeks later she was back at home, at a concert with all of the guys in the meadow. The  beer was flowing, there was a sea of bikes assembled. Oktoberfest was always a fun day and they normally dedicated a day to the bikers in town.

Katniss was nursing her customary beer, bobbing her head to the music when the smell of cinnamon surrounded her like a warm sweater on a cool evening.

“Everdeen.” His voice grated on her ears.

“Mellark.”

“Sheesh so cold,” Peeta gave her that smile of his.

“What do you want?” Katniss wanted to sound angry or at least unaffected by him. After their drunken kiss at the pizza joint she had not been able to think of anything else, the way his lips pressed to her, the way her heart accelerated, the goosebumps that peppered her skin, that darned taste of cinnamon. Her eyes inadvertently drifted to his lips. He was worse than the piece of chocolate cake that tormented dieters.

“You know what I want,” he stepped closer to her.

Any normal rational girl would step away, but she didn’t she stood her ground. He and his friends drove bikes for pleasure, they were the geeks of the biking world. They held jobs and rode on the weekends when the weather permitted. Cray couldn’t stand them and therefore they were rivals.

“I wanna talk.”

“About what?” She hoped he didn’t want him to talk about the kiss. She would rather walk over hot coals.

“The kiss.”

“What’s there to talk about, I was drunk.” She shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Your thinking about it now.” That grin was back and she couldn’t help but notice.

“I am not,” she weakly said licking her lips

“Stop looking at my mouth then,” he challenged.

He stepped closer, she stepped back, and the dance began until she was pressed up against tree. She recalled the way he'd stared at her when she sang that Sia song, it was as if he was helplessly under her spell. She understood that magic since it was being applied. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes dilated, and she was panting, waiting for Peeta's drugging kisses.

“You look like a Kitten, who wants her cream,” he murmured.

Her eyes flew to his just as he stepped so close she could feel his body heat, his hand cupped the back of her neck, his mouth scant meeters away, she could feel that spicy hot cinnamon breath of his on her lips. His blue eyes bore into her grey ones. She gave him the slightest of nods before he kissed and the world was turned upside down.

***

One Year Later,

One of those kisses led to one night of incredible mind blowing sex, that set off the need for more sex, which included hidden rendezvous where they became a sweaty tangle of limbs. It was so against her nature to crave sex, until Peeta, there had only been two men she’d slept with. Sadly both were horrible experiences, neither one had made her orgasam. Peeta was attuned to her needs, he felt like home, she felt protected with him. Even amongst the boys she hadn't felt safe, only two men made her feel safe her father and Peeta.

By the end of the year they were a couple, Katniss was deeply in love with Peeta and it was scary. They wanted more but couldn’t because the people they trusted would never agree to let them live in peace.

Katniss quickly typed a line from the Chandelier song.

“What’cha doing?”

Schooling her features she watched Gale sit down, his arm a myriad of tats anything that meant something to him, including  his family's names, images the bikes he’s owned. He reached for her phone, but he was buzzed and she easily dodged his hands.

“Come on Catnip, let me see. What are you doing?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Ugh!” She pretended to puke, it had the desired effect to redirect Gale from seeing the phone.

He laughed. “Seriously.” He nodded at her phone.

Katniss couldn’t lie, it was a known fact like two oxygen molecules were needed to make water. “Just checking on a text message.”

“From who?” Gale asked as he looked around, “Everyone you know is here.”

“Not everyone.” It was true her sister wasn’t here, she was safely tucked away in school. Prim thankfully was not part of this world, a world that she and Gale were sucked into as kids to keep themselves out of Jail. Gale protected her from going to deep within the gang.

“How is Prim?”

“She’s got midterms coming up.” Katniss slipped the phone in her back pocket. She leaned forward clasping the tepid beer.

“She’s a good kid.” Gale’s eyes followed the woman he’d been flirting with earlier.

“Gale, don’t do it.”

“Do what?” He looked so innocent, like the young boy once who only wanted to put food on the table.

“When you get drunk you go after anything.” Katniss pointed at the woman with her bottle. “In the morning you’re going to regret it, because you’re going to see what a grenade she is.”  

“Yeah, yeah.” Gale stood up and walked away.

Katniss shook her head. Gale didn’t listen to her, she watched him hit on the woman once more. He was another one who wanted out of Cray’s gang. He was constantly complaining that he didn’t like the direction the gang was going with Thread manipulation. Katniss felt the same way but she kept her mouth shut. She quietly made her way out of the bar, hopped on her vintage Triumph and rode away.

***

An hour later she was mewling and gasping for air as Peeta rode her from behind.

“Come on Kitten, come for me,” he whispered in her ear, his thick length drove in and out of her tight pulsing channel.

She panted.

His fingers played with her clit, as thrusts became forceful from behind, and she snapped screaming his name.  “Peeta.”

“Baby,” Katniss whispered. Her body floating down from the high he sent her.

“I love it when you say that,” Peeta whispered into her ear. He lay on his side removing the strands of hair away from her face.  

Her lopsided smile was soft.

He picked up her arm, “I can’t believe you have the patience to do henna but will not get a tattoo.”

Katniss grinned, she wasn’t tatted. She didn’t like needles so she did henna, and changed the look of her images.

“I’m always surprised by what you put on your body.”

“My favorite is your dandelion,” Katniss traced her finger on his arm. It was the only one he had on his arm. He had a few but he’d gotten that one because she associated him with the dandelion.

“I want to tell the world about us, Katniss, I want to be with you.”

Peeta had separated from his group, even though they only were a social club. He quit frequenting the same haunts. He got a new life for himself because he wanted a life with her and he knew if they were caught Cray wouldn’t take it kindly.  Peeta had gone as far as leaving his job with the bike dealership.

Peeta wanted a life with her despite her fears about marriage and children. He loved her and simply wanted to be with her. His acceptance of who she caused her to want more from her life, than just existing. Prim of course loved him, Katniss’ fears lay with peers.

“Peeta...Gale,” Katniss began.

Peeta sat up he ran his hand through his blonde wavy hair. “Katniss, Gale isn’t going to leave until he’s darned ready.”

Katniss knew Peeta was right, as much as Gale complained  he wasn’t going to leave. She, on the other hand, needed to get out. She sat up dragging the sheet to her chest, this was the one thing they fought over.

“I’m sorry Katniss, I know you’re looking for a way out and you’re scared about what can happen to Gale. But what about us? What about the plans we’ve made.”

“I just need some more time,” Katniss whispered.

“For what Katniss? I’m out and I’m working at the bakery with my dad. He’s going to give it to me in a year.”

Peeta had gone back to his father and mother and asked for a job at the bakery. His mother didn’t want anything to do with him, as a fight between Peeta and his mother was the reason he left. However, since none of his brothers wanted to do anything with the family business he was allowed to come back. He’d worked hard these past few months and was happy to be back in the bakery.

“Look Katniss, I know it’s scary because it’s all you’ve known since you were twelve but you can leave. It’ll be you and me and Prim. We’ll be our own family. We'll live like the Sia song says…’like tomorrow doesn't exist’...”

His word family struck a deep chord within her, but she couldn’t speak about it. She wasn't living she was existing.

“Peeta, I.”

“Katniss I’m not going anywhere, but we can’t continue like this. Eventually they’ll catch on and even though I’m not affiliated with anyone, who knows how Thread will react. He's dangerous...gets inside Cray’s head and manipulates him.” He cupped her face, “I  want you to be free and safe, Thread joining the club made them more militant.”

Katniss didn’t know what to say, he was right, Thread was a bad addition to the club. He was mean and made others follow his dictates. It was only a matter of time before he took control, if she was going to leave now was the time but she didn’t want to leave without Gale. Conflicted she lay back down and curled into a ball, Peeta wrapped his arms around her body as silent tears fell down her face, until she fell asleep.

***

In the morning she found herself alone in bed. Her morning sickness hit and she ran to the bathroom, she threw up over and over until she weakly she leaned up against the wall. Replaying the conversation she had with Peeta the night before.

She was pregnant and she had to get out. Her and Peeta deserved a normal life. She got up  showered and dressed, but not in her customary jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket, instead,he put on a dress that belonged to her mother. A blue frock that was soft and feminine. She combed out her hair, leaving it lose and opposed to her normal braid. Taking her bag she got on her bike and drove back to the bar where she was sure she would find Cray this morning. Saturday morning everyone got together for brunch.

Taking a deep breath she removed her helmet, she was late but it didn’t matter, this was the last brunch she would ever have. The rowdy crowd became quiet when they saw her walk in and headed straight to the table whereCray sat.

She calmly put a picture of the baby on the table.“I want out.”

Cray looked down at the sonogram. His lecherous eyes focused on her midsection. “It ain’t mine.”

“Never said it was,” Katniss shot back.

This caused a chuckle in the inner circle, while the others in the group to paid closer attention to her.

“I'm guessing your baby daddy wants you to leave?”

“He doesn't know about the baby.” Katniss put her hand over her stomach protectively.

Cray lifted an eyebrow, as if waiting for an explanation.

“I am not going to deny I want to be with him, but he's not the sole reason. People come in and out of your life but a child is a lot of responsibility. I’ve raised my sister and I know what it is to be pulled in two different directions. I don’t want that for them.” She glanced Gale who looked shocked. “This baby is the real reason I want out.” Katniss took the key to her Triumph and placed it on the table. Her bike was something that she labored hard on growing up, she’d traded for it at a junkyard. Cray and Thread had offered her money for her bike.“I want you to have it.”

Cray leaned back in his chair he took the keys and swung the keyring around his finger. His brows furrowed deeply. Next to him Thread ogled the keys.

“Let the girl go, she didn’t have what it took to be one of us,” Thread urged.

Cray glanced at Thread.“You and I both know when we leave here, she won’t come with us to California.”

Cray gave Thread a sharp nod before speaking to Katniss, “Have a good life.”

The breath Katniss held in her chest was released in relief.

“Ah sir,” Thom and Gale came up behind Katniss.

“I can’t leave here either, my maw will kill me,” Thom spat.

Everyone in the bar started laughing.

One of the guys shouted, “Thom your mom would shoot me if you left her side!” This caused more laughter and more jokes hurled at Thom.

Katniss didn’t listen she focused in on Gale who stood before her scowling but his eyes were like that of a wounded puppy. She gave Gale a crooked watery smile,” Stay away from grenades.”

“That only happens when I’m drunk.”

“Which is every other night.”  

“Derrrr-funny,” Gale gave her a watery smile back.

“If this ever gets to much for you, you can come back home.” Katniss touched his arm, “Or you can head for Reno, Delly lives there.”

“Who?”

“Delly Cartwright, you called her the perky stalker because she had a huge crush on you?” Katniss took out her phone and showed him the picture, Gales eyes lit up with recognition. “She went to fashion school then moved to Reno and is a costume designer.”  

“Thank’s Catnip, you need a ride home?”  

“Thanks,” Katniss whispered.

***

Later that night Katniss sat wearing a t-shirt with a picture of the baby pinned in the stomach area. She was nervous as she waited for Peeta to return from the bakery. Normally he didn’t work on Sundays but today they were power cleaning the kitchen of the bakery and doing inventory.

The front door opened, she heard his familiar loud shuffle as he made his way from the entryway toward the kitchen.  Standing up she hit play on the song Chandelier. She didn’t know where to put her hands, so she put them behind her back when Peeta came in.

“Katniss, I didn’t think-” Peeta’s words were cut off as his eyes grew large. This was the beginning of their lives, they were going to live like tomorrow didn't exist

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaygifts #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #fan fic #by mega-aulover

[dontshootmespence]

A Promising Start

A/N: An anon request where Spencer meets a girl at a cafe and develops a bit of a crush. He only gets her first name and asks Garcia to look her up for him. Once he does, he runs into her again and wants to get to know her better. Again, he waits at the cafe to see if she shows up again - and she does. @coveofmemories

                                                       --------------

Why couldn’t he have Morgan’s confidence? Across the cafe, he saw a beautiful woman, who at the very least wasn’t engaged or married because she wore no ring. He wanted to go talk to her, but whenever he was in the presence of beautiful woman that wasn’t his friend, he stuttered like a fool. Then again, if he was ever going to meet someone he had to put himself out there and hope he wouldn’t get shot down. 

Get up, he said to himself, while his butt was still firmly planted to the chair. He pushed himself up from the table and shyly walked over to where the woman was sitting. “H-Hello,” he said shakily, taking in the different specks of color in her eyes as she turned toward him.

“Hi,” she responded, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ears. “Can I help you?”

“Possibly,” he said, trying to sound as smooth as he could, but feeling like a fool. “I was wondering if I could get your name.” Her shy smile was enough to make him blush.

“My name’s Y/N. I’m not used to men actually being forward with me. They normally use some cheesy pick-up line,” she said, extending her hand out to his. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Spencer Reid and I am definitely not cool enough or smooth enough to pull of a cheesy one-liner,” he laughed. He took a small sip of his coffee before speaking again. Having something to do in those moments of silence made it not feel so awkward for him. “I’m pretty sure I’m the complete opposite of cool.”

“Well,” she said, reaching into her pocket as her phone beeped, “It all depends on what one considers cool. I think the fact that you were straight up and just asked for my name was pretty cool.” She looked down at the message on her phone and grimaced. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. Duty calls. I’m in here all the time though, so if I see you or you see me, then maybe we can continue this conversation.” Within seconds, she was packed up and running out the door. He only had her first name.

                                                      --------------

Minutes after Y/N had been called away, or what he hoped was called away and not looking for an excuse to ditch him, he got called into the BAU on a case. After everyone was briefed, they had a few minutes to breathe before getting on the plane, so Spencer headed toward Garcia’s office to see if she could do him a favor. “Hey Garcia?” he asked, “Can I ask for your help?”

“Of course you can, 187,” she said cheerfully. “How can I assist thee?”

Rubbing the back of his head, he stumbled over his words. He wasn’t used to asking for anyone’s help when it came to women. “I was at the cafe down the block this morning and I met this beautiful woman,” he started. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” Garcia clapped excitedly. “What’s her name? How is she? Did you ask her out?”

Spencer could always count on Garcia for enthusiasm. “That’s the problem. I only got her first name. Is there any chance you can look her up somehow?”

“Is there a chance?” she said. “Do you know me? Of course.” She turned toward the computer and input her name. “Is there anything else you can tell me that might help to narrow down the search?”

“The only thing I can think of is that she probably works in the area, because when she got called, she ran out of the cafe and walked to wherever her job was. So I think she works within a few miles of the cafe.” With her name and possible work area in the search engine, a list of women came up, but on the second page, he recognized her. “That’s her!” he said, crouching down by Garcia’s computer to get a better look at her. 

“Pretty and smart,” Garcia said, looking between the screen and the shining smile on Spencer’s face. “She’s a forensic pathologist. Just graduated at the top of her class with a Ph.D. in Forensic Pathology. Impressive.”

“Very,” he replied, completely impressed by her resume. She just recently got a job as a medical examiner at a nearby office, so there was actually a possibility the he might run into her on the job. “Thanks, Garcia,” he said, kissing her cheek as he stood up and got ready to leave. “I’ll let you know if I see her again.”

                                                     --------------

Thankfully, the case was nearby, so after a five minute drive, they arrived at the station. “Okay, Morgan, you and Prentiss go to the first crime scene. Rossi, you go to the newest one. Reid, you and I will go to the medical examiner’s office, and JJ you can stay here and work on the profile.”

The medical examiner’s office was just down the road, so Spencer and Hotch walked to the end of the block and into the newly-equipped office. After introducing themselves and asking to speak to the medical examiner, they were ushered to the back room.

When they first walked into the room, her back was turned, but as she started o turn around, Spencer realized it was his lucky day. “Y/N,” he laughed. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Spencer,” she replied with a smile, “Who knew our paths would cross again so soon?”

Hotch looked between them with a barely discernible look of happiness. “You two know each other?”

“J-just met this morning,” he blushed. “I had no idea you were a medical examiner.”

“Only started a month ago. I already conducted the autopsy on your first victim. So you’re with the FBI then?” she asked, pulling one of the drawers open to reveal the victim. 

“Yup,” he said casually. “Profiler.”

“Very sexy,” she replied, before excusing herself at the other Agent’s cleared throat. “Sorry, sir. And you are?”

“Aaron Hotchner. Nice to meet you,” he said with a small smile. “What can you tell us about her?” 

As Y/N pulled down the sheet and grimaced, Spencer could tell that this was probably one of the worst autopsies she’d had since she started. “All of the bruising you see if antemortem. She went through a significant beating just before she died. Nothing on the tox screen.”

“What about these groupings of small cuts?” Spencer asked, examining them with one of Y/N’s magnifiers. “And the marks on her ankles?”

“The marks on her ankles were made by a common rope. Like the kind used to bind hay bales, and the groupings of cuts? Although I can’t be sure, they were made over major arteries. That along with the rope marks on the ankles lead me to believe that she was hung upside down and bled dry.” When Spencer looked up, he thought she might be sick, but when he looked closer he saw that it wasn’t that, it was a look of pity. “All of this was done before or as she was dying. Her official cause of death is blood loss.” After covering her back up and pushing the drawer closed, she turned toward the computer. “She came to me as a Jane Doe, but I saw a tattoo on her ankle.”

She clicked a couple more times to bring up a few screens and made sure to print everything out for them. As she handed each of them a picture of the woman’s tattoo, she continued. “The tattoo on the right ankle says Daddy Big’s Girl. I wouldn’t necessarily think anything of it, but my first week here, I had to do an autopsy on another young woman with the same tattoo. She was a prostitute whose pimp’s name was Daddy Big, so I assumed this woman was also a prostitute. When I did a cursory search through the system, I found a woman matching her physical description who’d been arrested on a number of prostitution-related charges. I compared the DNA and got the name of your victim - Farah Michaud. I don’t care what she did for a living, no one deserves this. I hope you find the f...bastard.”

“Us too,” Spencer replied, taking the information from Y/N to take back to the station. “Well, we have to go, but I hope we’ll see each other again.”

“I’m sure we will,” she replied with a soft smile. “As I said before, I am always at the cafe and unless murder and death became a thing of the past, I’m sure we’ll run into each other on the job every now and again.”

Once they left the office, Hotch and Spencer headed back down to the station. “So,” Hotch asked with a raised eyebrow, “A medical examiner, huh?”

                                                    --------------

Two days later, they had arrested one of Farah’s disgruntled johns for her and another sex worker’s murder. He was behind bars and there was no other case on the desk just yet. Just before work on the third day, he walked into the cafe and saw her sitting at the same table she was at when he first saw her. “Hello again,” he said, sitting down at her table before even grabbing a cup of coffee. “We caught the guy.”

“You did?” she asked. “Good. Now before we get interrupted again, would you like to exchange phone numbers?”

Happily, he pulled out his phone and they exchanged for a moment, so they could input their contact information. “Dammit!” she said, hearing her phone start to ring in Spencer’s hand. Reaching across the table, she grabbed it, made sure to save his information and picked up the phone. “I have to go again. I’m so sorry,” she said contritely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I completely understand. We get called into cases with very little notice most of the time.” Once again, she’d packed up her bag within seconds and gave him a simple hug before walking out the door. At least this time, he had her phone number. Right after she left, he texted her.

See you soon.

                                                   --------------

Despite their best efforts, Spencer and Y/N had a difficult time meeting up over the course of the next week. She was constantly at work, and whenever she wasn’t, he was called away on a case. Nearly a week and a half after they last met, Spencer and the team were called 3,000 miles away, so Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted her.

Hey Y/N. I’m sorry, but I’m going to be out of town for the next couple of days. If I am back by Saturday, would you be available that night?

Patiently, he waited for her text as the plane took off. Thankfully, she replied within a few minutes. 

Definitely. Can I make one stipulation about our first actual date?

He replied in the affirmative and waited for her to respond again. 

Can we please not talk about anything related to work? Not to be gross, but I have been neck-deep in dead bodies for nearly two weeks and I’d like to get away from it.

He laughed as he read her message. That was completely and totally okay with him. It had been a busy couple of weeks for them too.

I’m more than okay with that. If I won’t be back by that night, I’ll text you to let you know.

Spencer put the phone back in his pocket as they started to go over the case. This was going to be another bad one. Thankfully, she’d texted back while they were going over the case.

Awesome. I’m really looking forward to it. :)

He was too. More than anything. Hopefully, this case would go smoothly.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #dontshootmespence #a promising start

[lala-kate]

Pulse Points: Chapter 9

I can’t thank all of you enough for your lovely reviews and support of this story. I appreciate every one of them so very much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. 

You can read it here or on ff.net

The kitchen floor was cold. Thank God Robin was too numb to notice how uncomfortable it was or to worry about how his lower back would ache tomorrow when he forced himself to get out of bed.

No. Numb wasn’t the right word. That would imply that he felt nothing, and that wasn’t true, not in the slightest. The problem was that he felt too much.

His body had shut down, as if it had overheated while trying to absorb too much information at once or was trying to reboot with a system update gone horribly wrong. One moment he’d been rubbing his arms, trying to stop his skin from sliding off of his bones, reminding himself that he couldn’t leave Roland alone no matter how badly he wanted to run out into the frigid air and scream until he was hoarse. The next he’d plopped down on the tile, his back propped against his stove as everything around him seemed to freeze in time and place, including his insides.

The woman he was falling in love with was alive because his dead wife’s heart beat inside her body.

Of all the things Robin ever anticipated having to deal with, this assuredly wasn’t one of them.  How did one process this? What was the right response? Was he supposed to shun one woman because she lived while another had died? Would embracing a chance at happiness mean dishonoring the memory of the woman whose death had made it possible.

Marian. Her name pulsed a steady tattoo against his temples, and he closed his eyes, summoning up images of the woman he’d loved over half of his life, one who’d given him a son he loved with every bone in his body, a woman who’d been taken from him unfairly and left him to raise their child on his own.

He stared at his hands for no reason, hands that had held and loved two women, wondering what to make of all of this, of the fact that another child raised by a single parent was the one who’d written him that letter, that bloody letter that had just turned his world upside down. It had been Henry. Henry Mills was the child who’d thanked him for saving his mother’s life, who’d felt the need to reach out to the person who’d helped ensure that he hadn’t been left an orphan. It had been Henry Mills who’d benefited from his rather befuddled decision to donate Marian’s organs because he knew that’s what she would have wanted, Henry Mills who’d been given back his mother because of that action, the only parent he’d ever had. Marian’s heart had saved his mother--Regina Mills, pediatrician, adoptive mother, single parent, child advocate, new lover, bruised soul.

 Regina. God, Regina.

His arms almost hurt with the need to hold her, yet his heart cinched at the thought. What did it say about him that he was relieved she lived when the only reason her heart still beat was because Marian hadn’t needed it anymore? Was he betraying his wife’s memory if he allowed himself to pursue a relationship with the woman cradling her heart in her chest?  Would he see two pairs of deep brown eyes whenever he gazed into one?  Would their tastes and textures mingle? Would a ghost take up residence where uncertainty now dwelled?

 Would he be making love to two women as he broke apart and spilled out into one?

 Was he losing his fucking mind?

 He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his beard, reminding himself that he needed a shave even as he knew he wouldn’t touch a razor today. He needed to see her--Regina--to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her….to tell her what, exactly? What the hell was he supposed to say when he didn’t know how to feel? How was he supposed to comfort her when he feared that doing so would be a betrayal of his marriage vows?  He was thankful Roland was sleeping, then cursed himself for taking advantage of the fact that his son was sick. What sort of shit dad was he, anyway, sitting here, worrying about his love life when his boy was upstairs battling a fever?

 He jumped at the soft knock on the door, startled back into the present. How long had he been sitting here, he suddenly wondered.

 Robin adjusted his sweats as he stood, rubbing a hand over his hair, hoping neither his breath nor body stank as he paused to clear his throat before opening the door. Before him stood Alonzo, holding a silver pot.

 “Soup,” the older man stated. “For you and Roland.”

 Robin stood there, mutely staring at his father-in-law before shaking himself out of his stupor and motioning Alonzo inside. The cold followed him through the front door, chilled air stinging Robin’s face, a sensation he welcomed before he closed the door and locked it.

 “You didn’t have to do this,” Robin stated as he followed Alonzo into the kitchen. How had he missed the fact that the older man’s hobble had become more pronounced, that he favored his left leg over his right, that his spine seemed to curve inward at a more inclined angle than he had remembered?  But the man’s smile was as bright as ever, completely in synch with dark eyes he’d passed on to his daughter and grandson, and he fastened them directly on Robin after setting the pot on the stove.

 “Chicken and gnocchi,” he stated, touching the lid. “And you know I had to. It’s Roland’s favorite.”

 “Thank you,” Robin said, doing his best to smile, failing miserably. His voice was hoarse, ragged, even, and he cleared his throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

 Alonzo stepped forward, reaching into his worn, khaki overcoat’s inside pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Maker’s Mark.

 “I brought you something to drink,” the older man said, placing the bottle in Robin’s hands. “I thought you could use it.”

 Robin stared at the bourbon, craving its burn before setting it on the counter and looking back at his father-in-law. That’s when he saw it. That’s when he knew.

 “August told you?”

 The question tumbled out over his lips, the words chilled and uncertain.

 “About Marian’s heart?” Alonzo asked, touching Robin’s shoulder when the younger man nodded. “Yes, mio figlio.  He told me.”

 Tears pushed against his eyelids again, and he swallowed hard, trying his hardest not to break down yet again as Alonzo guided him wordlessly into the family room. He wiped his cheek, doing his best to remain quiet and not wake Roland, but self-control eluded him when they finally sat down on the couch and the older man put his arm over his shoulders. Something cracked open inside of him, something dark and misshapen, and he sobbed freely then, unable to help himself as Alonzo gathered him to his chest and comforted him the same way his father would have done when he was younger.

 “Let it out,” Alonzo whispered, cupping Robin’s head as if he were a boy. “It’s alright. It needs to come out of you, all of this grief. It only hurts you by staying inside.”

 It poured out of him as if a dam had been broken, all the grief and guilt he’d been keeping at bay for longer than he could remember, guilt for not being the one behind the wheel, for sometimes forgetting the sound of Marian’s voice, for wishing he could let go and move on even as he did his best to make certain her son never forgot her. Guilt for surviving when she--the better one of the two of them--had died. Guilt for craving the kisses of another woman, one who’d run out of this very house when she’d realized she carried a part of his late wife inside her body, guilt for needing to make love to that woman right now to somehow drive out the inner demons tearing both of them apart. Alonzo absorbed it freely, rocking him, holding him, giving him permission to feel emotions he couldn’t begin to label.

 He didn’t know how long they sat there, only knew that he felt both drained and cleansed when the tears finally stopped and his breathing began to even out. He blinked repeatedly, surprised to see that Alonzo had been crying, too, and he drew back from him then, taking the older man’s hand within his own and giving it a squeeze.

 “Thank you,” he muttered, his words barely audible. “I know this can’t be easy on you, either.”

 Alonzo shook his head then, squeezing Robin’s hand in return.

 “That’s where you’re wrong, figlio,” Alonzo returned, his eyes still wet. “I’m now more at peace than I have been since our Marian died.”

 Robin sucked in a breath, his eyes widening at the older man’s revelation.

 “You’re surprised?” Alonzo asked. “You shouldn’t be, you know. Knowing that my daughter’s heart lives on, that it gave another little boy his mother back, and that that mother is a good woman with so much love to give that Marian’s heart feels at home in her chest...yes, it gives me incredible peace. It’s exactly what she would have wanted.”

 He swallowed again, shaking his head, trying to process.

 “I’m glad for that, too,” Robin managed, withdrawing his hand to rub his face. “And I know...I know she’d approve of Regina, that she’d be happy that Henry still has his mother, that she’d want her heart to give another mother life, but…”

 He paused, seeking words that wouldn’t come.

 “But…” Alonzo prompted gently.  “What’s troubling you so much?”

 Robin exhaled through his mouth, blowing out air in place of words.

 “It’s...I…,” he began, shaking his head in frustration. “Can I love them both, Papi? Am I being unfair to Regina or unfaithful to Marian if I do?”

 Alonzo smiled before inhaling sharply.

 “You haven’t called me Papi in years, you know,” he said, eliciting a small smile from Robin. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until now.”  He then paused, looking up at the wedding photo that hung on the wall, the one Regina had stared at nearly a week ago when she’d come over for their date. Marian smiled down on both of them, looking radiant, beautiful, and so very much alive that it hurt. “As for your question, I can’t answer that for you, figlio. Only you can know the answer to that.”

 Robin chuckled, casting Alonzo a wry look.

 “Some help you are, old man,” he said, making Alonzo laugh out loud.

 “I prefer Papi, thank you,” he stated before looking back up at the picture of his daughter. “Robin, if you need my permission to love Regina, you have it, you know. You also have Frankie’s, Marco’s and August’s. We all want nothing more than for you and Roland to be happy.”

 His chest tightened, and he gazed into the eyes of the first woman he’d ever loved as he stood and walked directly to the photograph, touching the frame, stroking her face through slick, cool glass.

 “What about hers? Do I have her permission?”

 His breath was weighted as he considered his own question, and he wished she could speak to him, that she could tell him face to face that it was alright for him to move on, to pursue Regina, to love the woman who now carried her heart within her ribs. He heard Alonzo’s uneven shuffle behind him, felt the man’s soothing presence at his right side.

 “What do you think?”

 He could smell her then, the almond scented lotion she so adored filling his senses in a way it hadn’t since her passing. It caressed him, engulfed him, wrapped him up in a past life he’d treasured before vanishing just as quickly as it had arrived. His palm flattened against the glass as tears filled his eyes once again, forcing him to swallow and breathe.

 “She’d want me to move on, to find love again.”

 The words tasted both bitter and sweet, like spun sugar mixed with fresh lemons, like the promise of spring.

 “Yes,” Alonzo agreed. “She would.”

 He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the present as the past prickled his skin. 

 “She’d approve of Regina,” Robin continued, his brow creasing at the realization. “And of Henry.”

 “I agree,” Alonzo said. “I think our Marian and Regina could have been great friends had they ever met.”

 Robin smiled at this, thinking how odd it felt to consider both women breathing in the same lifetime. But they had--they did. One had just been taken away sooner than the other.

 “You know,” Alonzo continued. “I am remembering how long you and Marian loved each other, how you found each other at such a young age. And then, just how quickly you were attracted to Regina, how there was just something about her you had to know.” Alonzo paused, looking at Robin directly, his dark eyes sincere. “I am thinking that this heart--Marian’s heart, now Regina’s heart--that it was designed just for you, that it’s connected to your own heart in some way, like they’re two halves of a whole. Perhaps they’re soulmates.”

 A small laugh escaped him as the power of Alonzo’s words took root. Something popped then began to grow inside his chest, a warmth, a certainty, a sliver of hope that started to burn with possibility and promise. He looked back up at the photograph, at his younger self, at his wife, seeing a blessing in her eyes he’d never before noticed.

 “Thank you,” he whispered, feeling her again, understanding that moving on didn’t mean losing this beautiful piece of his past. Marian’s memory would always be a part of him, a beautiful, strong part that fastened him together and urged him to enjoy every aspect of life that he could. Life had never been easy for her, yet she’d embraced it through the pain, through the bad spells, had flourished both because of and in spite of her lupus. She’d taught him how to live, had made him a father, and would certainly be pushing him out the door right now if she were standing here beside him.

 Go, she would have said with that half-smile of hers that had always enchanted him. Get out there and live, Birdbrain. He laughed as her voice echoed in his mind, as the nickname she’d given him when he first tried to kiss her sang in his memory, as her touch reverberated through bone and marrow.

 “What do I say to her?” Robin asked, his mind clawing out of its muddled state into a brilliance that was somewhat frightening. “To Regina?”

 Alonzo smiled back at him, patting him on the back as a tear trickled down his cheek.

 “That’s easy,” the older man stated. “Just tell her whatever is in your heart.”

______________________________________________________________

 Her feet hurt.

 Regina slid her low heels off of her feet and massaged her toes, making a mental note to herself that tomorrow she was wearing her Go Walks, regardless of whether they matched her outfit or not. Her lower back grumbled as she made her way to the sofa and plopped down on top of it, too weary to think about eating even though she knew she’d skipped lunch.

 The truth was food wasn’t all that appealing at the moment. An unexpected encounter with a certain, bearded gentleman had left her stomach uneasy and her nerves on edge.

 An explanation would be lovely, too.

 The words echoed in her head as his face played across her memory, his blue eyes ablaze, his expression tight. He’d been angry--angry and hurt, and God, she couldn’t blame him, not one iota. She’d run out on him without a word right after they’d made love, giving him neither an explanation nor a true apology. She’d even been too much of a coward to answer his texts or calls, and now even those had stopped.

 He had every right to be angry. Christ, she was angry with herself.

 Her hands reached for her cell phone, and she withdrew it from her pocket, staring at the screen, clicking on his name, fingers trembling as she considered sending him a text. But her mind froze, and words escaped her, fleeing into a world that was far less complicated than the one in which she was living.

 Goodbye, Regina. His words still hammered inside her skull, making her ache all over, making her long for a man who deserved the woman he’d lost, not her. She was a poor substitute, and she knew it. She was weak. She was second best. Yet she was the one who lived because inside her chest beat Marian’s heart.

 Marian: Robin’s dead wife. Roland’s mother. It was that woman, the one who’d been everything to the man she was half-in love with, the one who’d given him Roland. She’d been the one who’d had to die in order for her to live. How the hell was she supposed to tell him that?  How was she supposed to handle the way he would look at her?  The disgust and disappointment? The outrage? The outright rejection she knew would follow?

 She couldn’t--she wasn’t strong enough. Her mother had told her as much all her life, that she was damaged, broken and weak. But Regina had rebelled against the notion of weakness, had balked at it, swatted at it, had shoved it as far away from her life as she could manage. But in times like this, when she felt naked and vulnerable, when her chest felt like a traitorous cavern, the words pushed back, like a hot air balloon inflating at far too rapid a pace and forcing her into a wall.

 Weakness is unattractive. Weakness is a defect. Why don’t you just accept your life as it is and make the best of it?

 She’d done the opposite of accepting limitations, however. She’d defied her heart condition, had gone to medical school, had finished head of her class, had adopted a son when her own parents questioned her sanity in doing so, and through that adoption she’d found a love like none she’d ever known, a love that bloomed inside of her and pushed her to keep going even when she’d felt like giving up. Henry was her everything. Henry was her life.

 If only she’d left things as they were.

 She should have been satisfied simply being a doctor and a mom. Things had been fine before Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples had shown up in her life and made her tingle in places she’d nearly forgotten. She should have fought her attraction to Robin, should have turned him down when he asked her out, should have never let herself kiss him, touch him, talk to him, or undress him and taste his skin. She shouldn’t have opened her legs to his mouth, shouldn’t have taken him inside her body, shouldn’t have allowed him to come inside of her, shouldn’t have allowed herself to come on his tongue. But she had, and now a part of her was his forever, a part she could never get back even though he had already probably discarded it as a worthless piece of garbage. He’d imprinted himself on her very soul leaving marks she wanted to trace and memorize just as he’d done her scar.

 God, she missed him. She missed what she could never have.

 Hunger began to claw at her, and she knew she should eat, so she pushed herself off of the couch and into her kitchen. It was then she noticed the half prepared salad that had been left sitting on the counter and a pot of cold spaghetti left unattended on the stove. She looked around, wondering just where Henry and Mary Margaret had gone, noticing the house was unusually silent. Mary Margaret was always methodical about cleaning up, and a stab of fear sliced into her as she called out their names to no avail.

 Her phone vibrated then, and she nearly cried in relief as Mary Margaret’s name flashed in her notifications.

 Henry and I decided to get some ice cream. Cravings happen at the oddest times these days.

 She laughed in relief.

 They must. You forgot to put away the spaghetti and salad. Tell Henry a two scoop minimum.

 She hit send before dumping the noodles into the garbage disposal, checking her new message as she closed the refrigerator door.

 Sorry about that! I’ll buy you some more pasta if it’s ruined.

 Regina leaned against the counter, her stomach prompting her to open the fridge and search for something for herself. She pulled out some leftover chicken and rice before moving to get a plate and answering Mary Margaret.

 No need. We have plenty.

 Before she could set the phone down, another text popped up.

 Henry wants to know if he can join me and David for an early movie. We’re planning on taking in the 7:10 showing of Zootopia. Okay with you?

 Regina raised her eyebrows, fatigue battling with her need to see her son as she texted her answer.

 That’s fine. Just no sodas since he’s having ice cream.

 She envisioned her son rolling his eyes at this, and she smiled, hoping they would have a good night out, knowing that the company of his godparents would be far better than her own tonight. But that meant she was going to be alone with her thoughts, and that wasn’t a pleasant prospect, not in the least, so she tossed her plate into the microwave before popping open a bottle of Malbec and pouring herself a generous glass. The wine tasted like heaven, smooth and rich, warming her empty stomach instantly as it made its way down her throat. She sighed in contentment and took another drink, knowing she really needed to eat something so one glass of wine wouldn’t have her completely snockered. But she stood there, taking sip after sip until her glass was empty and her body felt pleasantly fuzzy and weighted.

 Regina welcomed the buzz, the way it made her insides tingle and her thoughts just a little bit easier to stomach. She pulled her plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter, instantly popping a piece of chicken in her mouth before deciding on impulse to put on her pajamas before allowing herself to eat any more. She’d revel in her own private misery tonight, would drench it in wine and feed it with Breyer’s Vanilla Bean, would try to lose it in a rewatch of While You Were Sleeping while snuggling under her favorite quilt.

 She removed her makeup and her bra, glibly tossing the latter into the clothes hamper, realizing what a pathetic mess she’d made of her bedroom. This wasn’t like her--she knew this, and she closed her eyes as she slid on her favorite pair of flannels and pulled on thick, fuzzy socks, promising herself that she’d straighten things up tomorrow. Just because her personal life had come apart at the seams didn’t mean her bedroom had to look far worse than Henry’s.

 It was then that her doorbell rang.

 Her son must have forgotten something, she mused, and she tried to figure out just what he’d come all the way home to fetch as she made her way down the stairs. He had his phone, she was certain of that, and if he needed money, Mary Margaret and David would take care of him until she could pay them back. She unlatched the chain and opened her front door, her breath hitching in her chest as a half-formed question froze on her tongue.

 “Robin.”

 His name fell from her lips before she could stop it, and she stood there, frozen in time, staring at him as he stood on her doorstep, hands in his coat pockets, his cheeks red from the cold.

 “What are you….what are you doing here?”

 He took a step towards her as snow flurried around him. His breath formed an odd sort of halo around his head, and as he drew nearer, she saw that he’d been crying.

 “Oh, God,” she asked, her heart constricting. “Is Roland okay?”

 “Yes,” he assured her, his tone deep and raw. “Roland’s fine. He’s at home resting.”

 She nodded as her body began to shiver, and she clutched the door, wondering just what she should say next.

 “I’m not here because of Roland,” he added, looking at her in a manner she couldn’t read. Her mind ran in circles, making her dizzy as she stood there gaping at him.

 “Oh?”

 The word left her unbidden, and her gaze followed it to his face, all blotched from cold and recently shed tears. He could break her, this man, would probably do so tonight if he’d come to demand answers from her.

 “I’m here to talk to you.”

 Her stomach cinched, and she tried to swallow.

 “Regina,” he said, his chin quivering. “Can I come in? Please?”

 She nodded before she could think better of it, standing back to let him inside. The cold radiated off of him as he stomped snow off of his boots onto her rug before pulling them off of his feet. He set them beside the line of shoes by the door, looking to her to make certain he was doing the right thing.

 “I’ll take your coat,” she said, the sense of him overwhelming as he took off his coat and extended it in her direction. He wore a muted green Henley, one that accentuated his muscles, muscles she knew intimately, ones she’d kissed and caressed, ones that had held her tightly as she’d cracked open around him. She breathed in and out, willing her hands not to tremble as she hung his coat on a hook and turned to face him.

 He hadn’t shaved since last night, and he looked tired as his hands slid into his jean pockets.

 “We need to talk,” he said, and she closed her eyes, his words weaving around her in a gentle vice.

 “I know.”

 Her heart thudded in her chest, as if trying to break free of her body and return to its rightful owner. Her stomach growled then, and he paused, looking at her earnestly.

 “When did you last eat?”

 She actually laughed at this, consulting her watch before looking back at him.

 “About eight hours ago,” she stated, and he rolled his eyes. “It’s been a busy couple of days.”

 “Yes,” he agreed, his tone difficult to make out. “It has.”

 His demeanor was different than when they’d ran into each other at the hospital last night, far less hostile yet decidedly more nervous. Before she could ask him what had brought about the change, he was guiding her back into her kitchen and motioning to the plate she’d left sitting on the counter.

 “Eat first,” he instructed, leaning against her sink as if he belonged there. “Please.”

 Her stomach growled again, and he smiled, actually smiled at her in a way that made her knees practically melt. Shit. She couldn’t let herself feel this way about him, not when she knew she’d have to tell him the truth about everything, about her heart, about Henry’s letter, about the fact that she was alive because his Marian had died. Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, a piece of broccoli dangling just in front of her.

 “I’m not sure I can,” she confessed. She made herself look at him, trying to keep herself together as her heart raced ahead of them both.

 “You need to, Regina,” he stated. He was watching her as if he’d just met her, yet as if he’d known her his entire life. “Please. I won’t be comfortable talking with you until you’ve put something into your body.”

 She popped the broccoli into her mouth, turning away from him as she chewed, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a large sip before taking a bite of chicken.

 “What if I’m not ready to talk?” she asked, avoiding his gaze for a breathless moment as she took another bite. He stared back at her, inhaling audibly as he looked down at his hands.

 “I can’t force you to,” he said. “But I think it would do both of us a world of good. Don’t you?”

 She swallowed the rice in her mouth, grabbing her wine to wash it down.

 “I’m not sure,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up as the wine added weight to her limbs. “Last night, you were so angry, as you had every right to be, but…” She paused, swallowing as best she could as her tongue and throat thickened. “I don’t know if I’m up for this, Robin, for what I have to tell you.”  

Her fork dropped to the plate as her hands began to shake, and she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm nerves going haywire. He was in front of her before she realized he’d moved, taking her hands within his own, his own body trembling in time with hers.

 “Regina,” he whispered, and that did it, she couldn’t look at him, so she closed her eyes, trying to block out what was coming even as all of who he was held on to her. “Don’t be frightened.”

 She shook her head, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to focus, trying to swallow, trying to remain upright even though the room was spinning around her. Darkness was closing in, and she grew rigid, but his grip didn’t falter. It was just there, steady, gentle yet firm, almost burning her skin even as it soothed in a manner that made her want to cry.

 “You don’t…” she began, trying to put her words in the right order. “You don’t know, Robin. I....I…”

 He withdrew his hands from hers, and she missed his touch immediately. But then he was cupping her face with one palm, tipping her chin upwards, asking her wordlessly to look at him as he held something in his other hand.

 “Regina,” he breathed as her gaze focused in on what she now knew was a letter. “I do know. I know it all.”

 It was then that it hit her,that he held Henry’s letter, and she splintered apart from the inside out, shattering into a million pieces as tears spilled down her cheeks. Everything was black except for him, his face, his mouth, and she shut her eyes against him, fearing what she might find if she allowed herself to look.

 “I’m sorry,” she managed, her words slurring together in a sob she couldn’t contain. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 “No,” he breathed, his arms moving to her shoulders as her knees buckled. “No, Regina. You don’t need to…”

 “I didn’t know,” she interrupted, daring to open her eyes, his face a muted blur through her tears. “I swear to God, Robin, I didn’t...”

 She collapsed into him as her last word melted in her mouth, and he held her to his chest, easing them both down onto the kitchen floor as he made soothing noises into her hair.

“I know,” he whispered against her temple as his fingers stroked her scalp. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

A wail broke free, and she held on to him for dear life, too lost to let go, too broken to care. She barely registered the soft kisses to her forehead, the gentle patterns his fingers drew onto her arm, the whispered words of assurance that brushed over her skin. She only knew that he was the sole warmth in a room suddenly gone frigid, and she couldn’t lose him, not now, not yet, not like this.

 “Henry told me,” he muttered when her sobbing eased somewhat. “He found his letter in your pocket and somehow figured everything out.”

 She swallowed and turned to stare at him, trying to make sense of words floating haphazardly in her brain.

 “Henry?” she said, blinking repeatedly.

 “Yes,” he stated. “Your son. He paid me a visit this afternoon to return this to me.”

 She tried to sit upright, and he helped her maneuver until she was sitting next to him, both of their backs pressed up against the cabinets, their legs and shoulders still touching.

 “He found it?” she asked, still trying to re-arranging puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fit together.

 “In your pants’ pocket,” he added, wiping his own cheek. “He was smart enough to figure out that you must have found it at my place, and he somehow enlisted Mary Margaret, August and Belle to help him get it back to me.”

 “Belle?” Regina questioned, obviously confused. “Belle French? The nurse?”

 “Yes,” he said. “Evidently she’d come by the restaurant to eat when Henry and Mary Margaret came in looking for me. I was home with Roland, so August got dragged into their plan. The next thing I know, they’re all standing on my doorstep, asking if they can come in.”  

 She inhaled slowly, allowing her mind to sort through the details he was laying in front of her.

 “He’s very brave, your Henry,” Robin muttered, reaching out and taking her hand. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, strumming emotions laid bare just under her skin and making her shiver. “He told me everything, about your transplant, about how it wasn’t your real birthday last week, about how he wrote that letter without you even knowing about it because…”

 He paused, clearing his throat as his own voice thickened.

 “Because of how guilty you felt,” he breathed. “Because someone else’s heart allowed you to live.”

 She swallowed hard, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

 “Marian’s,” she managed, the name burning her tongue. She looked at him then, seeing a flash of something bruised yet beautiful as he gazed back at her.

 “Yes,” he whispered. “Marian’s.”

 “You were there,” she muttered, still wrapping this reality around her. “In the hospital, while I was in surgery. You were there grieving while....”

 She faltered, and he held her as she felt his own tears against her skin.

 “While your life was being saved,” he said, sniffing and wiping his face. “I know.”

 “You don’t care?”

 The question hovered between them, silent yet weighted as he slowly shook his head.

 “I care very much,” he answered with a slight shrug. “Just not the way you think.”

 “What do you…”

 “I’m glad it’s you, Regina,” he stated, his words coming out in an emotional rush. “That you’re the one who got a second chance at life, that you’re the one that Marian’s heart saved. I’m glad...” He choked on the words, inhaling sharply beside her. “And Marian would be, too.”

 Her head was swimming in circles.

 “I’m not her, you know,” she said, the words tumbling over each other as they came out. “I’m not as strong as she was, Robin. And I know you’d rather have her, I do. And I don’t blame you…”

 He silenced her with his mouth, pressing it up against her own, holding her face as he kissed her and stole her breath away. His lips were soft, tenderer than she remembered, and she allowed her lips to move against his, their slow dance as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. She gaped at him when he drew back far enough to touch his forehead to her own, her heart standing on tiptoe as his thumb caressed her cheek.

 “I don’t need you to be her, Regina,” he breathed. “I loved Marian with everything I had, and yes, a part of me will always miss her. That’s only right.” His breath was hot against her lips, his skin as warm as an electric blanket. “But I ache for you.”

 Their eyes met and locked, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She could only stare at him, touch him, wonder at the mystery of what was happening, revel in the frantic fluttering of her heart against her ribs.

 “What are you saying?” she asked, her words barely audible even to herself.

 “That we all deserve a second chance, Regina,” he uttered, his tone low and private. “And somehow, Marian has given us both one, together.”  His hand dropped from her cheek to her chest, pressing gently over her ribcage as she cradled his head to her shoulder. His tears dripped onto her flannel as a stray one of her own fell into his hair, and she kissed the top of his head, holding on to him with an urgency that half terrified her. “Don’t leave me again. Please.”

 She closed her eyes as she shook her head.

 “I won’t,” she whispered, pulling him closer as her heart thrummed against his palm. He planted a soft kiss to her chest, directly into the V-neck of her pajama top and on top of her scar. Its intimacy nearly shattered her, and she breathed him in, trembling as his breath and finger continued to stroke her ribcage. “I’m with you. Always.”

 “Always,” he muttered, holding on to her with a calm desperation she shared that somehow promised forever.

#Outlaw Queen #oq ff #Regina Mills #Robin Hood #Pulse Points #Laura writes

[kayntestblog-blog]

                                            𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀

                      ❝𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑙𝑓 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛 𝘩𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝘩𝑒𝑒𝑝.❞

HELLO EVERYONE! I AM TOO excited to be here, so I won’t ramble too much. But y’all can feel free to call me anything at all, I don’t mind, but my alias is M, and I live in the GMT time zone. If you’d like to plot, please give this post a little ♥ and I will hit you up to do just that! I appreciate y’all reading ♡

{ AKANISHI JIN, THIRTY-FOUR, MALE } ☾ - KAYN KIMURA has been seen walking around town. Hazelgrove is familiar of the THIRTY-FOUR year old ALPHA WEREWOLF OF THE TIMBERWOOD PACK as HE is IN FAVOR OF  restoring the town’s Glamour spell. The people of Hazelgrove can agree that the TATTOO ARTIST/PARLOUR OWNER can be PROTEAN yet still be VINDICTIVE. Let’s just hope something can be settled before the town is turned upside town. + messy man buns, ripped and worn jeans and the scent of sandalwood.

                                                                𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

TW: brief mentions of infidelity, abuse, murder & death

Kayn is the result of an affair, and was born and raised in Mizuho, Tokyo, Japan, on July 4th, 1984.

His mother Hana Okano, an Alpha and her husband Taizō Yamada, a human, met and married right out of high school.

His real father, Takao Kimura was a prominent business man in the area, and Alpha of his mothers rival pack.

Growing up, Kayn was constantly pitted against his older brother of two years, Kaito.

Taizō favoured his biological son over Kayn, and as a result, took every opportunity possible to torture him.

He would beat Kayn with silver chains, leaving scarring on his back that he’s ashamed of to this day. Poison his weakened body with wolfsbane and conceal him in his basement bedroom the second he returned from school.

His mother turned a blind eye to her youngest sons plight, believing the beatings were punishment for her extramarital affair.

His real father Takao, knew of Kayn’s existence, but not of his daily suffering. He also had a family of his own.

Everything eventually came to a head one evening when his step-father and brother—who was just as bad as his dad at this point—were beating Kayn senseless in his room.

Kayn was sixteen, and instead of cowering like he normally would, he lashed out and fought back.

Under a full moon, the purebred Alpha shifted, transforming into his lycan self and tearing the pair to pieces.

Taizō survived the attack and withdrew a gun containing silver bullets, aimed at Kayn and fired.

The shot missed by mere inches, and sent Kayn bolting from the room, still in wolf form.

From the very second paws met the sidewalk, he knew he’d been positively exiled from his former family.

Homeless and alone, Kayn went from day to day, scraping by on what little cash and food he managed to obtain.

He busked to get by, before eventually selling the art he’d managed to perfect in the countless hours he spent alone in his bedroom.

He did well too. Within weeks he was living between hostels and hotels, and actively seeking work.

It wasn’t long before he was offered an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlour, and began earning enough to rent a small apartment in downtown Tokyo.

On the day of his twenty first birthday, a card arrived in the mail, containing a cheque from his real father, Takao. He’d heard about the incident at the Yamada home, and wanted to help his son out in any way he could.

He wanted to tear the cheque up and forget all about his previous life, but he couldn’t, he needed the money. And it was a lot. More than he’d ever imagined seeing in his whole life.

Since Tokyo no longer felt like home, and after a little research, Kayn decided to leave him homeland in search of something better.

Through the grapevine, he heard about Hazelgrove in Maine, and set out to build a life for himself there.

Kayn settled in very quickly. His English, which was sufficient before, only grew better with time. Within the first year, he was pretty much fluent.

From there, he sought citizenship, purchased an abandoned and rundown building, and set up his tattoo parlour, Ink Addicts. He lives in the apartment upstairs.

Over the next couple of years, Kayn gained the respect of his fellow wolves, and was soon leading the Timberwood Pack.

He firmly believes that the glamour spell should be restored.

After living among mortals in Tokyo, he thinks supernatural beings should live in their own little world. It makes things easier for everyone involved, and Kayn is very much about keeping the peace.

He is a firm, but fair Alpha.

To this day, he is tortured by guilt over the death of his brother.

                                                   𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

If you don’t see a fitting connection, hit me up and we will create out own unique one.

BEST FRIEND: This person would likely be Kayn’s Beta. He’d have shared pretty much everything with them, and would therefore feel like he could trust them more than most. They would be more like the real sibling he never had, than a simple friend.

SIBLINGS: The biological siblings from his real fathers pack. They would be of Japanese descent.

CONFIDANT: Besides his bestie, Kayn feels like he can go to this person whenever he needs to talk about something personal, and knows they will listen, without judging him. He does the same for them in return.

BAND MEMBERS: More information can be found here.

YOUNGER WOLF: A wolf who isn’t pack, but that Kayn has taken under his wing, helping them find their feet and trying to guide them on the right path in life. It’s a possibility they currently live with him.

MATE: ( requires chemistry ) The one person Kayn knew was out there the whole time, but who he figured would want nothing to do with him. He’d be fiercely protective of his mate, going above and beyond for them, even while attempting to keep his distance. He’d hold off with them, until the very last second, the fear of reaching for something more and losing everything in the end, very strong.

FORMER LOVER/S: Someone Kayn dated at least a couple of years ago. Happy to plot this as a positive or negative connection.

RECENT ONE-NIGHT-STAND: He isn’t one for casual sex, but this happened after a heavy night of drinking. Open to starting this plot the morning after, as well as a good few days/weeks later. It can be as awkward, funny, embarrassing as you like. They can be friends, enemies, frenemies or strangers. Down for whatever here!

RIVAL: Whether it be as a wolf, a tattoo artist, or a performer, these two just cannot get along. They always have to try and outdo one another in every aspect of their lives. But despite everything, they both really enjoy the challenge.

EMPLOYEES: Staff that work here, at Ink Addicts with Kayn.

TUTEE: Someone Kayn is teaching guitar, piano or Japanese to.

GOOD/BAD INFLUENCE: These people are either good or bad for Kayn, and because of them he’s always making the best/worst decisions. They are the angel and devil on his shoulder.

NEIGHBOURS: The people who have to suffer through Kayn’s noisy lifestyle. Whether it be strumming, singing or listening to music at stupid o’clock in the morning, or the casual parties he has on occasion, these people really have to go through it. Maybe they’re friends, or perhaps mortal enemies.

DRINKING BUDDY: When Kayn needs to let his hair down, and get his party on, he goes to this person and the pair paint the town crimson. Sometimes the party lasts from the weekend, well into midweek.

GYM BUDDY: If he needs to get his workout on, Kayn hits the gym with this person, and gets the exercise with them around, encouraging him.

[gracewithducks]

“I am definitely loved.” - Josephine Bakhita (Philippians 4:4-13)

Last week, we started our series on modern-day saints with the story of Father Maximilian Kolbe, who chose to speak truth and work for justice during the Second World War. Rather than claiming the privilege of his German heritage, this Roman Catholic priest chose instead to shelter, feed, and clothe countless refugees, including many Jewish refugees – and as a result, he was arrested and sent to Auschwitz. Once there, Kolbe volunteered to die so that another man might live, and so he lived – and died – by the faith that challenged him to believe that God is always on the side of the hurting and the oppressed, and death is not the end of our stories.

 This week, we will hear the story of another saint – and while Father Kolbe reminded us that there are things worth dying for, Mother Josephine reminds us that there is beauty in surviving, in living, too.

 Josephine Bakhita was born in the Darfur region of the Sudan. Growing up in a loving family, the niece of the village chief, with brothers and sisters around her, she had what she called a “very happy and carefree life, without knowing what suffering” was.

 But when she was only about six years old, the family suffered a terrible blow, when an older sister was kidnapped, stolen away by Arab slave traders.

 Two years later, they returned. And at eight years old, this little girl’s life changed completely. She was kidnapped, taken away from everything and everyone she knew, forced into slavery half a world away.

 Eight years old. My daughter is almost that age; and my daughter has been through her share of tragedies and heartaches in her life. But I cannot even fathom what this other little girl went through, a lifetime ago and a world away from here.

 After she had been kidnapped, she was forced to walk, barefoot, for six hundred miles. By the time the journey was done, she had already been sold and bought twice. Over the next twelve years, she would be bought and sold three more times and then given away once more.

 Friends, I wish I could say that the world has changed; I wish I could say that this doesn’t happen anymore. But you and I know better: men, women, and children are still stolen away from their homes, forced into slavery, deprived of their freedom, their future leveraged for someone else’s gain.

 As for this little girl – the trauma of it all, losing her sister, being taken herself, the long hard walk, and the longer road ahead – caused her to forget her own name.

 Can you imagine? She remembers her family; she remembers being safe and happy and loved – but she can’t remember her own name; she can’t remember the name they used to sing to her, call to her, tell her that they loved her.

 The slavers gave the little girl a new name: they called her “Bakhita,” which literally means, “Lucky.” They called her the Lucky One.

 Bakhita’s life in slavery was difficult, to put it mildly. Though some were kind to her, she endured so much senseless and needless cruelty that any words I use today would fall far short. After breaking a vase, for example, she was lashed and kicked so severely she spent a month unable to get up from her straw bed. Under another master, she later said, “During all the years I stayed in that house, I do not recall a day that passed without one wound or another. When a wound from the whip began to heal, other blows would pour down on me.”

 For all that she suffered, for all the hurts she bore, Bakhita said the most terrifying were the times When, with the other slaves, she was scarred. There was a traditional practice in the Sudan, a cross between scarring and tattooing, which was used to mark a slave’s skin. Under threat of whipping, flour was used to draw patterns on the slave’s skin, lines which were then cut deeply with a razor, and then the wounds filled with salt in order to ensure that the scars will remain. Bakhita was cut and scarred this way one hundred and fourteen times: hurt just for the sake of being hurt, just so she never would forget that her life and her body were not her own.

 Most of us here in this room have never gone through anything like what Bakhita endured. But it seems to me that all of us, nevertheless, have shared elements of her story. We’ve all found ourselves far away from home, uncertain who we are any more, hurting, lonely and afraid. No matter how much love surrounds us when we’re born, sooner or later, we all start to be worn and beaten down. We are forced out of the comfortable and happy cocoon of our childhoods, forced out into the world – a world which reveals itself, far too often, to be unfair, unjust, harsh and cruel.

 And we can start to forget who we are.

 In so many ways, my own family really is fortunate; I don’t live with fear that my daughters are going to disappear in the night. But I still am anxious for the days when my little girls disappear: when the brave, and confident, and funny, and kind little girls they are, are replaced with angry, lonely, anxious creatures. I am so worried, because I know some day, our voices won’t be the loudest ones they hear… and I know, when your friends, when your enemies and your peers, start to criticize you, it’s so very easy to let those voices in; I know, when the images they see on TV don’t match what they see in the mirror, when the doubts and flaws start adding up, it can make a person feel so very small, so very broken… and that’s why I tell them, every chance I get, “You are loved; you are strong; you are kind; you are amazing; you are loved; you are loved; you are loved” – because I hope, when those hard days come, when the hard years find us, when everything starts whirling out of control – I hope and pray that they’ll remember. No matter what anybody else says, this is who you are, and this is who you always will be.

 And friends, I don’t know what labels have stuck to you. I don’t know, exactly, what scars you carry, what wounds in your life have never been allowed to heal. But I know we all struggle; we struggle with the voices inside and out that say we’re not enough, not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough; that we’re failing, and we’re falling short, and even God is disappointed and ashamed.

 And I know how persuasive, how convincing, those voices can be. Which is why, week after week after week, you will hear me say: you are beloved. You are God’s beloved. You are the creation in which God takes the greatest delight; you are the masterpiece God wants to show off. You are the person God loves so much that God would rather die than lose you. You are not nothing; to the Creator of the cosmos, you’re everything. You are loved. You are wanted. You are strong. You are kind. You are amazing. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

 That’s the promise that gives me hope, when I’m feeling so very small and it’s hard to keep going. And that’s the good news that, finally, set Bakhita free.

 After many years, many scars and many masters, Bakhita was sold to an Italian ambassador, who treated her kindly enough that, when the time came for him to return to Italy, Bakhita begged to go, too.

 Once in Italy, Bakhita was given away to another new family, serving as nanny to the family’s young daughter. When her new masters travelled back to the Sudan on business, they left Bakhita and their daughter behind, entrusted for a time to the care of a local house of Catholic nuns.

 While she was there, Bakhita started to learn about the good news of the Christian God, a God who loves each and every person, a God who doesn’t care what color you are, a God for whom there is neither slave nor free, a God who was willing to put on flesh like ours, to bear scars and beatings for our sake, and who would die to set us free. Bakhita found something familiar in this God; she said she felt as if she had always known this God, the creator of the sun and moon and stars, and wanted now to know even more.

 When her mistress returned to claim her and take her away again, Bakhita refused to leave. She had felt a call to follow Christ, and she didn’t want to be anyone’s servant but his.

 The case went all the way to court. And the Italian court ruled that, because Italy didn’t recognize slavery, and because even in the Sudan, slavery had been outlawed since before Bakhita was born – she was free. She had never legally been a slave, and she would not have to live as a slave any more.

 For the first time in her life, Bakhita was free to choose her own way. And she chose to stay with the sisters, and to dedicate herself to a life of faith, a life of serving in God’s name and on her own terms.

 Upon her baptism, Bakhita took a new name: Josephine, perhaps a nod to the biblical figure of Joseph, who was also sold into slavery as a child, taken far away from his family, and yet believed that God found a way to work even through his suffering in surprisingly grace-filled ways. And she was also baptized under the name Fortunata, the Lucky One, taking and claiming as her own the identity that had been cruelly and ironically given when she was young.

 The second chapter of Josephine’s life lasted much longer than the first. She spent her time cooking for her sisters, she did a lot of sewing and embroidery, and she served as doorkeeper, welcoming visitors and creating relationships between the sisters and the community around them. Josephine also worked to prepare missionaries on their way to Africa, sharing her story and helping them best share the good news in a world very different from their own.

 Josephine is one of those people who would have had every reason, every excuse, to give up on life, to hide away from people, to grow bitter, to nurse her old wounds and wallow in misery and self-despair. But that’s not who she was, that’s not the spirit that was within her – and that’s not who she felt God calling her to be. She forgave the slavers who had turned her life upside-down, finding joy and gratitude in knowing that, no matter how long and difficult the road had been, it had led her finally to God. And she longed for others to know this joy, this love, which had done so much and given her peace. She was beloved by the people around her; even as the bombs fell during the Second World War, her neighbors felt safe just knowing she was near.

 In her last years, Josephine suffered from horrible pain and sickness. Even then, she remained gentle and cheerful, with a sincere and constant smile. Even as the end neared, Josephine found comfort and courage in God’s love: “I am definitely loved,” she said, “and whatever happens to me – I am awaited by this love. And so my life is good.”

 Our scripture for today is one of my favorite passages, from Philippians 4, where Paul writes, “Rejoice in the Lord always; I’ll say it again: rejoice!” I confess, I still haven’t figured out the secret to rejoicing always… there are days when rejoicing is hard. But then I remember that this is one of Paul’s prison epistles; he was in prison, not knowing what his future might hold, when he wrote those words: “Rejoice in the Lord always! Let your gentleness be known to everybody. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious, but pray… and the peace of God, which is beyond all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ.””

 Paul and I may not always see eye to eye, but I respect him, because he was a man who really was prepared to sacrifice for his faith, to die for Christ or to live for him the same. Here in Philippians, he writes, “I’ve learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well-fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or living in want.” And the secret, he says, is his faith: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

 This is the context for that little verse that gets thrown around so often: they are the words of a man in prison, sharing how he is able to have peace, whether he’s locked up or set free, whether he’s full or whether he’s empty, no matter what his future holds: he knows he can make it through, not because he’s so strong, but because Christ is with him. As Josephine said, “I am definitely loved, [whatever] happens to me… And so my life is good.”

 Friends, last week we heard the story of a man who revealed his faith by how he died. This week, Josephine shows us that we can reveal our faith by how we live, too. There is power in dying for what we believe – but there is also power in living for it, in surviving, in keeping going even when we long to give up, even when it seems like hope is gone.

 Few of us will be called upon to die, dramatically, for what we believe. But we are all called upon to live by what we believe, day after day, even and especially when it’s so very hard to hold on.

 And we are also called upon to help others hold on, too. In a world where young people are still lost, where slavery is still real, where literal and figurative wounds and scars steal joy and peace away – we are called to not only have peace in our hearts and minds, but to be agents and instruments of peace in the world, to live in ways that reveal unconditional and unfailing love.

 You are definitely loved, whatever happens to you. May you live in that love, and may you live in a way that shares that hope with others, too.

  O Lord, we thank you for the life and witness of your daughter, Josephine Bakhita. We thank you for the strength that sustained her through dark and lonely years; we thank you for giving her hope to hold on even when she didn’t know what she was holding on for. We thank you for giving her freedom, for giving her the peace and the purpose that shaped her life.

Help us, Lord, because we need freedom, we need peace, we need purpose in our lives, too. Set us free from all the things that bind our spirits and hold us back; set us free to love generously and fearlessly, to be gracious and brave, not just for our own sakes, but for the sake of the world.

In the name of Christ, who knows our grief and who offers us strength, we pray; amen.

    A few places to learn a bit more about Josephine Bakhita’s amazing life:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Josephine_Bakhita

https://www.franciscanmedia.org/saint-josephine-bakhita/

http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=5601

[anavoliselenu]

Grounded chapter 16

He pulled a small ring box out of his pocket and I gasped on a sob. He opened it, showing me a ring with a large, princess cut diamond, surrounded by sapphires. I realized immediately that it must have been his mother’s engagement ring. It matched the earrings that he’d already given me.

“I’ll love you ’til I die, Selena. Marry me.” There was no question in his voice. It was all in his eyes, a vulnerability that was as hard for me to resist as his sure domination.

I had been both dreading and anticipating this moment. He had given me clear warning, because he understood me so well. Marriage represented so many scary things for me, it always had, and it was hard to change the way I thought about it. It was hard, but not impossible, not since Justin had entered my life, turned everything upside down, and changed my mind about so many things.

I was shocked at how quickly I held my trembling left hand out to him. “Yes,” I whispered. I spoke again, making my voice more firm, more sure. “Yes, Justin, I’ll marry you.”

I traced a tear down his cheek with my other hand while he slid the ring onto my finger. It was a perfect fit.

He stood and pulled me against his chest in one fluid movement, kissing me with rough tenderness. I kissed him back with a hunger that would never be slaked. There was no doubt in my mind that I would love him until my own death. How not?

We made love in the dirt, next to the great mountain’s crater, and with the glorious sunset still bathing us in its light.

I gave no thought to being seen as he tore at my clothes. The temperature had cooled as we climbed higher, and we had briskly layered up as we went. He got me out of those layers even faster. He tore off my pants, just opening my top. He did even less for himself, just pulling his stiff length out of his pants and impaling me with one rough stroke. He moved inside of me, a world of raw need in his eyes, need and gratitude. He must have been uncertain of my answer, and still he’d asked.

He moved inside of me with harsh precision, hitting every sensitive spot perfectly and repeatedly, and with merciless force. He had me on the brink before he spoke. “Say it, Selena.”

“I’m yours, Justin.”

“Forever,” he added.

“Forever. Oh yes, I’m yours forever, Justin.”

He came inside of me, arching high. His little movements inside of me as he finished, and a clever thumb on my clit, had me following soon enough.

We got dressed, smiling at each other like fools.

We found Clark and Blake pitching our tents a little ways down the trail, setting up the tents next to one of the small structures that dotted the surface of the top of the mountain.

Clark smiled the biggest smile I’d ever seen on him when he saw how we were smiling. “Congratulations,” he told us with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh,” I said suddenly, only loud enough for Justin to hear. “I need to tell Stephan immediately. He’d be crushed if he wasn’t one of the first to know.”

“We’ll let him know as soon as possible,” he responded just as quietly, tugging my hand to lead me over to catch the last glorious minutes of the sunset.

“He’ll be so happy,” I told Justin quietly, feeling a little sad. I didn’t want to see less of Stephan, but our lives were changing so quickly and in such strange ways that I couldn’t help but be afraid that things wouldn’t stay the same for us. He had been the most important thing in my life for so long…

“Selena, my love, let me make you a promise,” Justin said quietly, studying my face carefully. “No matter where we live, no matter what we do, we’ll keep him close to us.”

“You don’t think that he and I are hopelessly co-dependent?” I asked him. I knew the answer. We were, but no part of me was prepared to change that.

He just smiled fondly. “I know that you are, but I think that, just sometimes, like in a marriage, or with just the right people, that can be okay. You two aren’t toxic together. It’s not that kind of co-dependence. You two survive together; you thrive together. I wouldn’t dream of making you change that. I’m trying to join your family, not tear it apart, Love.”

I didn’t think he’d ever said anything that made me realize more profoundly just how much I loved him. Fear of what had happened to my mother hadn’t been the only thing that had scared me about commitment. Losing Stephan in even small amounts had been a fear there, as well. I was so grateful and relieved that I could just put that fear away forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Mr. Besotted

We went to a gala for charity the night news broke of our engagement, which was perhaps a mistake. The red carpet was pure chaos.

By sheer coincidence, the men’s health magazine had released their cover and spread of Justin that same day. It had all turned out beautifully, but they had used several of the pictures with the both of us. The cover picture they’d used had actually been from one of the shots where Justin had his back to the camera, and I was clearly giggling into his shoulder. My laughing eyes were visible over his shoulder, his face was bent down to nuzzle into my ear, catching the edge of his besotted smile.

Needless to say, the release of the romantic pictures, combined with the first appearance of his bat-shit crazy tattoos, and the announcement of our engagement, had gotten the attention of the media, and we were bombarded the second we stepped out of the car. We couldn’t even hear what the paparazzi were asking us, they were shouting so loudly over each other. Two overzealous male photographers even exchanged blows.

As soon as fists started swinging, our security ushered us straight into the party.

Jackie had picked out a long gown for me that I had to lift high in order to move swiftly as we were ushered inside. It had a fitted champagne silk bodice that hung artfully off my shoulders, but just below my br**sts it bled into a long, flowing crimson skirt. She’d paired it with shiny red patent leather shoes and I thought it might be my favorite dress to date. I felt feminine and sexy, and pretty enough to have the most gorgeous man in the world on my arm.

Justin wore a classic black tux, with a champagne colored shirt and a crisp black bow tie. He had a crimson handkerchief folded into his breast pocket. I wasn’t sure if Jackie or Justin had set us up to match for the evening. It was anyone’s guess at this point.

Inside was a bit of a crush, so much so that I hoped right away that we wouldn’t be staying long. Especially since the first person we sighted was an irate Scott. We saw him coming from across the antechamber into the gala, and I noted again that he looked uncannily familiar.

“Why does he look so familiar to me?” I asked Justin, who was studying the other man with sharp intensity.

Justin laughed. “He’s a very famous tennis player. I just assumed that you knew who he was. He’s highly recognizable. I’ll never stop loving the fact that you’re completely unimpressed with celebrities.”

I shrugged, thinking that it wasn’t so much about not being impressed as it was about not keeping up with current affairs.

“I hope you’re happy, Justin. Jolene and I have split up because of your porno,” Scott began loudly the second he was within earshot. It was a bad start to the conversation, and I couldn’t miss the fact that the entire room got quiet as they tried to overhear the two famous men having it out.

Justin stepped a little in front of me in an instinctive protective gesture. I didn’t imagine that I was in any danger from anything but words, though, with our security out in force for the event.

“That doesn’t make me happy, Scott, though I do think you can do better than a woman who’s only interested in your money, and likely isn’t even capable of fidelity. There’s no reason why that video should have ended your relationship. That was taken at least three years ago, before you were even seeing each other.”

Scott chewed on his lip, studying Justin intently. “You knew about that thing for three years, and never bothered to tell me?”

“No. I didn’t know about it until a few weeks ago. That was taped without my knowledge. I never would have consented to it. No one in my position ever would.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t stay married to a woman that the world has seen hav**g s*x with you. A woman who released a sex tape of herself with another man while married to me.”

“If it’s any help, I don’t believe that she had anything to do with the tape being released. She had nothing to gain from it, and everything to lose. All that video did was burn all of her bridges. Jolene is much too pragmatic to do something so emotional, and with nothing to gain.”

Scott eyed him with suspicion. “Who else could it have been?”

“I don’t know yet, but I am determined to find out. Would you like me to let you know when I have answers? Would that help?”

Scott nodded. “It’s tearing me up, and I know you don’t understand it, but I’m finding it impossible to just let her go. Knowing that she isn’t still so hung up on you that she would do something like that just for spite would help. I think that the idea that she would release it, not caring if it ended us, is what bothers me the most.”

“There’s no accounting for taste, but I can well understand being obsessed with a woman and not being able to let it go, Scott. I wish you the best. Perhaps she’s changed.”

“I know she’s no angel, but I like what she is. If I could only get her to care for me, as I do for her, I think that we could have a good marriage.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I clearly saw Justin shrug from behind.

“I’m not sure it works that way, but I do know that people are capable of changing, and I hope for your sake that she’ll change for you. I wish you nothing but the best, Scott. I always have.”

Scott hesitated for another moment, looking unsure, before finally nodding. “I think I know that. I guess I have all along. It was just easier to blame you, yanno? Let me know if you find out anything.” He was walking away before he’d even finished talking, his words trailing to us as he moved away.

It seemed to me that Scott could have apologized, being that he’d admitted that he’d been wrong about Justin, but I didn’t say anything. Friendships could be complicated things, and I wouldn’t dream of stepping in when I didn’t understand theirs.

I did think that Scott and Jolene might just deserve each other, but I kept that thought to myself, as well.

I was happy when the next familiar faces we saw were friendly ones. Both Sophia and Parker embraced me warmly, gushing about the engagement. I flushed in pleasure, and if I was honest, a touch of trepidation. Some part of me screamed that this was all too much too fast every time I was reminded of what I’d agreed to.

“Have you hired a wedding planner? Do you know the venue?” Sophia asked, beaming at me.

I thought she was adorable, with her blonde curls and her enthusiasm, but her question intimidated the hell out of me.

“No,” I said finally. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

Sophia seemed to sense my discomfiture. She touched my shoulder lightly. “There’s no rush. And you can have any size wedding you want. Just be sure to invite us.”

I nodded, my mind going a little blank at the thought of planning a wedding. “Of course. Small or large, you’ll certainly be on the guest list. I can’t say the same thing for your sister-in-law.”

She laughed. “I would hope not. She’d try to burn the place down, the crazy twit.”

That made me laugh. Crazy twit seemed like a perfect way to describe Jules, and I was sure that Sophia must have been even more fed up with her than I was, since she’d married into her family.

We mingled for a time, but I cut loose from Justin when I saw a restroom. Blake followed me in, even hovering outside the stall, but I was growing accustomed to it. Her relentless stoicism was even starting to grow on me.

I didn’t take long in the restroom, but I heard some sort of commotion outside of my stall right before I re-emerged.

Blake was standing so close to another woman that I didn’t even recognize her at first. I noticed that the bathroom attendant was absent before I caught enough of a glimpse of the woman to make out who it was.

“Jules,” I said coldly when I saw her. “Blake, you can let her loose. I’m prepared this time, and she didn’t bring her partner in crime.”

Jules was decked out in a black, one-shoulder sheath. She looked polished and beautiful, but looks meant nothing if your insides were spoiled rotten.

Jules was smiling, a sharp malice in her eyes, when I saw her fully. Knowing her, that meant trouble. “I just wanted a word, Selena. It’s really kind of pathetic that you’re so scared of me that you need a bodyguard now.”

Blake had stepped out of the way, but she was braced to pounce on the other woman.

I smiled at Jules. It was an unpleasant smile. It felt unpleasant. But I was done putting up with her crazy little scenes.

“Congratulations on the engagement. You must realize that it’ll never last with Justin. He’ll tire of you before the ink is dry, but good luck with that.”

“That’s what you wanted to say? What a waste of both of our time.”

“No. That was a side note, actually,” Jules replied, looking noticeably more agitated at my response. “What I came here to say to you is that I was the one that released that sex tape. I stole it from Jolene years ago, afraid she would do something crazy with it. She told me about it one night when she was hopped up on opiates, and so I knew she had a loose tongue. At the time, I wanted to save his reputation, as I couldn’t let my future husband be seen in such a light. I just wanted you to know that it was me that put that out there. If he’s going to go out of his way to be seen slumming it with you, then his reputation is already shit, so I wanted to make it shit.”

I was so disgusted with her that I felt my mouth moving into a sneer. I hadn’t even known I had it in me. “You’re pathetic, you know that? He was never even your boyfriend, let alone your future husband.” I held up my left hand, showing her my engagement ring. “Justin isn’t subtle. He would have made himself plain either way, if he had any intention of marrying you. What did you even have to gain with any of this?”

She shrugged. “I wasted a lot of my prime years—“

“On a delusion,” I interrupted her, unable to stop myself.

She looked ready to spit. “Revenge. I did it for revenge. It was that simple. And it felt good.”

She was so smug when she said it, as though she’d accomplished something great, that I just snapped. “Well, it didn’t work. He’s still standing. Now get a f**king life.” I was moving to her as I spoke. She and Jolene had caught me off guard when they’d cornered me before, and gotten the better of me in a physical altercation, but I’d been through hell and back, and I had no doubt in my mind that I could take the spoiled bitch.

I grabbed her by the hair before she saw my intent, and she barely even struggled as I dragged her across the room and into a stall. I dunked her head into the toilet while she pulled at my wrist, being very careful not to get my own hand wet. I held her there for one, two, three, four, five seconds before pulling her up and yanking her back out of the stall. I pushed her away from me, still only touching her hair.

She turned to me, looking shocked and scared and furious. “What the f**k is wrong with you?”

I smiled at her, showing a lot of teeth. “Revenge. I did it for revenge. It was that simple, and it felt good,” I said, quoting her own ridiculous words back to her.

“I’ll have you arrested! I’ll-I’ll sue you!” she sputtered.

I laughed. The bitch was an amateur. “You got rid of your only witness so that you could have it out with me. There’s not a mark on you, and do you really think that my bodyguard is going to act as an eyewitness against me? I’d suggest you leave as quickly and quietly as you can, so that I’m not tempted to do it again. This was a waste of your time and mine. So go, and get yourself a f**king life.”

She gave me one more hate-filled glare before she ran out of there like the place was on fire.

I glanced at Blake. She was smirking. It made me laugh again. “You think she’ll leave me alone now?” I asked her, wanting her professional opinion.

She nodded. “Walking through that ball looking like that is probably the most humiliating thing that princess has ever had to go through, so I’m going to say yeah, she’s most likely out of your hair now.”

I nodded. “Good deal. That was the point. Enjoying myself was just a bonus.”

Blake stifled a laugh.

I was still washing my hands, wanting to get all of the Jules off, when Lana and a frantic Justin burst through the door. I just raised a brow at them.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Justin asked, so obviously worried.

“We saw Jules tearing through the hallway, her hair wet, and her makeup a mess,” Lana added, studying me carefully.

I shrugged. “She stole that video from Jolene, and put it on the internet. She came here to tell me that. I didn’t take it well.”

Justin shot Blake a questioning glance, approaching me. “What happened?”

“I dunked her face in the toilet. She left. I don’t think she’ll bother me again.”

He reached me, running a hand over my hair with a soft touch. His brow furrowed for a moment as he processed that. He blinked a few times, then threw his head back and laughed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Mr. Wretched

Justin hadn’t wanted me to, but just a few days after I’d returned to Vegas, I went back to my old house to collect some things. Most of it would be packed away and moved to the bigger house, but I’d wanted to go through things myself before I let strangers tackle the project.

I shared a car with Stephan and Javier, who were giving Stephan’s house similar treatment. Having Stephan nearby for the excursion had gone a long way towards easing Control Freak Cavendish’s mind about the whole thing. Not that he could have stopped me, though he didn’t have to leave work to escort me once he realized that Stephan was going. I didn’t know what he thought that Stephan could do that my escort of armed guards couldn’t, but that was just the way it was. The two men had bonded on a fundamental level that even I didn’t fully understand. I could only be grateful for it.

I had tags to mark where I wanted my things to be moved to, since much of the household goods would be going into storage, and some to charity. Justin obviously had all of his properties stocked to the nines.

I only had a few small boxes for packing right away, and they filled slowly with small keepsakes and photographs.

Blake hovered in the house near me, Paterson patrolling directly outside, with Henry patrolling the neighborhood. Williams had a family emergency in California, and so was taking some personal leave. They hadn’t been able to find him a replacement with just one day’s notice, which was one of the reasons Justin had been so nervous about letting me come back to the house without him, even in the middle of the day.

Their boss’s nervous reaction to this mundane outing seemed to have Blake on edge. I got nervous just looking at her. She kept pacing the house, looking out windows for no reason that I could see.

“Is everything okay?” I finally asked her.

She nodded, but her mouth was tight. “Yeah, just antsy today, I guess. I don’t see Paterson out there, but that’s normal. It’s not even time for him to check in yet. I don’t know what my problem is.”

This was the chattiest I’d ever seen her, and it only seemed to make me more nervous, because it was a tell of her own nerves. Whatever strange mood had such an unflappable woman so anxious wasn’t good for my peace of mind.

I went back to packing up some old pictures, smiling when I saw some old shots of Stephan and me. There were several shots from my twenty-first birthday party, when we’d run around like fools on the strip. Someone had taken about a dozen shots of Stephan giving me a piggy-back ride through the fountains at Caesar’s Palace. We’d been dressed up, and we looked like crazy people, with the bottom of his pants wet, and my heels dragging in the water. I smiled at the picture. It was a fond memory, right around the time when things had really started to look up for us. The smile on Stephan’s face warmed my heart, both now and then. He was grinning at the camera, and I was smiling at him, the fact that he was the dearest thing in the world to me clear in every line of my face.

I took the stack of photos to my purse, thinking to myself that I had to give some of the photos to Stephan, and find a place of honor in my new house to put at least one of them.

I was just digging into my purse, still smiling at the memories, when my phone started to ring. I checked the screen.

It was Justin.

“Hey,” I said into the phone, still smiling. “How’s work going?”

“It could be going better, but at least it’s almost done. My lawyers and Tristan’s agent are making some revisions, but that shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes or so, and then we’ll be done, thank God. Tristan is trying to bankrupt the casino for some two-bit magic tricks.” Justin had gone into work to hash out some details in Tristan’s new contract, and I could tell by his tone that the other man must be close by and that he was trying to harass him.

“Tell Tristan I said hi,” I told him.

“Selena says hello,” he relayed on the other end.

“I’ll be heading over there when I finish,” Justin explained to me. “Are you about done?”

I glanced around the room. I was pretty sure that I’d gotten everything that I’d wanted to pack myself, but I wanted to give the place another once-over, to be sure. “Yeah. That should be perfect.”

“Tristan is coming over for dinner tonight. As if I’m not paying him enough to make rabbits disappear, now I have to make him dinner.”

“I have a new trick where I can make pretty boy CEOs disappear,” Tristan said loudly on the other end.

I laughed.

“Will you let the guys know that they’re invited, as well?” Justin said.

I could hear the smile in his voice.

“That sounds fun,” I said, meaning it. There was just something so playful and mischievous about Tristan. There was never a dull moment when that man was around. “I take it he got a favorable contract for next year’s shows,” I added.

“He signed on for another year, but we had to double the bastard’s pay,” he said without rancor.

He said something else but a noise outside distracted me at just that moment. What had it been? It hadn’t been particularly loud, just something slamming against the concrete, but it sidetracked me enough that I completely tuned Justin out as he continued to talk on the other end of the line for several pregnant moments.

“Selena?” he asked, snapping me out of my momentary distraction.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” I said, trying to focus.

It could have been anything. A neighbor had been working on building something on his back patio earlier, and that had been much louder than that single slam had been. What about that noise was troubling me so much?

I kept my phone to my ear as I moved through the house, looking for Blake. The noise was probably nothing, but I figured that we would both feel better if she checked it out.

I heard it again as I moved into the kitchen. This time it was louder, and I could have sworn that it was accompanied by a low grunt of pain.

“Blake,” I called out, sure now that something was wrong.

She burst into the kitchen right as Justin began to sound a little frantic on the other end of the phone.

“Selena, what is it?” he was saying. “Is something wrong? Talk to me, Love.”

I opened my mouth to answer, my eyes meeting Blake’s, when I heard a noise that made my blood run cold and my heart stop in my chest. It was a loud echoing boom that I knew all too well, and it made me freeze in terror. A gasp escaped my throat, my free hand flying to my chest.

Blake was moving instantly, pushing me to the ground, her gun already in her hand. “Stay down, Selena,” she said. “Don’t move, and whatever you do, don’t leave this house. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared towards the front of the house, though I thought that sound had come from the back.

I was listening so hard for what was going on in the back that it took me awhile to remember that Justin was still on the phone, which was surprising, since he’d been keeping up a steady, desperate dialogue the entire time.

“Tell me what’s going on, Selena? What was that noise? Why did Blake tell you to stay down? Where did she go? I need to know what’s going on!”

I blinked, my mind going very shocky in reaction to that noise and the memories it dredged up. How did he not know what that noise had been? Could it sound so very different across the line?

That dreaded noise sounded again, and my body jerked as though I’d been hit, even though I was safe inside.

“We’re on our way to you, Love, and we’ve put in a call to the police, but I need you to tell me what’s going on. What was that noise?”

I swallowed hard, trying to focus on that beloved voice. I closed my eyes tight. “I love you, Justin,” I told him softly.

I heard him take an unsteady breath. “What’s happening over there?” he asked roughly. His voice broke on the words.

I shook my head, but of course he couldn’t see it.

That noise sounded again, and I whimpered.

“I love you, Justin,” I said again, my cheek on the cool linoleum of my kitchen floor. I was so happy, so unutterably relieved that he wasn’t close enough to be hurt by whatever was happening in my backyard.

“Talk to me. I have to know what’s going on. We’re in the car now. We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes, but you need to talk to me. What’s all that noise?”

I didn’t want to say it. It was completely ludicrous, but saying it would make it more real. The noise sounded again and I shuddered helplessly on the floor.

“Are those gunshots?” Justin asked in the most wretched voice. I could tell just by his tone that he was already certain of the answer, had likely guessed it with the first shot.

“Yes,” I breathed. “In my backyard, I think. I’m scared, Justin. I need you to tell me that you love me back. Please. Just in case.”

“No,” he whispered. “I’ll be right there. Are all of your doors locked up? Just stay hidden, and stay down. You’re going to be fine, and I will be there so soon…”

I closed my eyes, just wanting to listen to his voice until the danger had passed. As though it would just magically pass after that many gunshots…

I was doing so well, just planning to stay right where I was, when I heard another sound that changed everything.

A rough shout sounded in the back. It was the shortest noise, and it should have been indistinguishable from all of the other sounds, but somehow I knew with absolute certainty just who it had been. I fought to breathe, because I suddenly felt like I was drowning. That shout had changed everything. I went in an instant from being a scared little cowering mouse to being so desperately terrified for someone other than myself that I began to stand on trembling limbs.

Another gunshot sounded, and then another. A rough shout that tore my heart into jagged little pieces was stopped short somewhere amidst those two loud bangs.

I began to move resolutely through the house. I didn’t forget that I still held the phone. I’d gone from being in shock and into a desperate kind of clarity.

“I love you, Justin,” I told him again. “So much. I’m so sorry.” I hung up the phone, feeling it drop from my hand before I’d reached my back door. I took one deep breath before unlocking the door and sliding it open. Resolutely, I stepped outside.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Mr. Tragic

STEPHAN - MINUTES EARLIER

I was getting a lot done in a short amount of time when it came to packing up my house, right until the time that I ran into a box of photos. Javier and I studied the first stack of pictures and laughed. It was a large stack of snapshots from a company Christmas party from maybe three years ago. They’d been taken on a super cheap camera, so they were grainy with a lot of red eye, but they brought back good memories, and we sat down on my bed and went through them all carefully.

Javier giggled, flipping a picture to me. I laughed so hard that I had to sit down. Murphy had his shirt off in the photo, and was trying to do splits, with absolutely no success. That was funny, but the highlight in the photo was by far the look on Damien’s face in the background. It was a mixture of admiration/horror/confusion. I must have been taking the picture, because Selena was off to the side, doubled over laughing, and I wasn’t next to her.

Javier flicked me another picturing, still smiling widely.

This one was a close-up of a still laughing Selena. Her eyes were twinkling as she looked directly into the camera. It was a great picture of her, though she wouldn’t notice or care how beautiful she’d looked in a bright green dress that night, her pale hair hanging smooth around her shoulders. I made a note to get a copy of it for Justin, who would love a picture of her laughing like that as much as I did. I sometimes thought that our fast friendship had been kind of like joining a club, one made up of men that thought that Selena Karlsson was the most perfect woman on the planet.

Javier flipped me another picture, giggling harder than ever. I joined him with one glance at the image.

This one was of Murphy lying on his back on the ground. He held his arms up straight in front of him. His suit jacket and tie were crumpled all over the floor around him. I remembered that they’d gotten that way during his impromptu strip tease.

Marnie stood next to him in the photo, caught mid-curtsy motion. Javier flicked me another picture.

Murphy was making a valiant effort at bench-pressing the tiny woman.

Javier flicked me another picture.

The same tiny woman had collapsed onto him, and they were both laughing at his failure. We laughed even harder at the memory.

“I’m going to miss that job,” I said wistfully.

“Well, we don’t have to miss the people, which were what made it great. What do you want to bet that Damien and Murphy will be regulars at our bar?”

I smiled at him. “You’re so right. We’ll probably have to kick them out at closing time every night.” The thought filled me with warmth. Our lives were changing, yes, but they were only getting better.

Javier was playing more than helping me pack, and I couldn’t have cared less. I didn’t mind doing it myself, and would have preferred his company, help or no.

I reached up to pull a box down from the top of my closet and felt his arms wrap around me from behind. He nuzzled into the middle of my back, purposely tickling me with his nose, and I turned into him with a laugh, pushing him until the back of his knees touched the bed. He fell back with a laugh, and I followed him down.

He tried to get up, but he’d started it, and I intended to finish it. I tickled him mercilessly, wrestling with him on the bed, pictures and clothes falling off with our exuberance.

“Uncle,” he cried, still giggling. “Uncle!”

I let up, kissing him. He practically melted underneath me. I loved it. I could feel how I affected him, and I treasured that. I pulled back, stroking his cheek as I gazed into his eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud bang made his breath catch.

I tensed for one long moment, still staring at him, before I sprang into action.

I stood up, pointing at him. “Stay here, and stay down, ok?”

He swallowed. “Was that a gunshot?” he asked in a very small noise.

“I’m not sure what that was,” I lied. “But I just need to go check on Selena.”

I was already striding to the bedroom door before he spoke again.

“Don’t go, Stephan. Please. I love you. Don’t put yourself in danger.”

I looked at him, my heart in my eyes. “I love you, too. Stay down. I have to make sure she’s safe, Javier. I couldn’t bear it if she were hurt.”

I tried to appear calm as I closed the bedroom behind me, but I was tearing through the house like a madman the second it closed. A second and third gunshot had sounded by the time I reached my back door. My heart was trying to pound right out of my chest with the fear. I couldn’t lose her. I was a survivor by nature, but I knew that I wouldn’t survive that.

I unlocked, opened, and tore through that door in an instant, fueled by blind terror. If that monster had hurt her, if he had so much as bruised her, I swore that I would tear him apart with my bare hands.

A fourth shot sounded just before I vaulted over the tall barrier desperately, scraping my hands with the effort. I landed on the other side, taking in the bloody scene before me with shock and horror.

Selena’s father straightened over the fallen form of Blake. His chest was bloody, bloody circles blooming on his chest, but he was still standing. He held a small pistol in his beefy hand. It was so small against those huge hands that it almost looked like a toy.

Another body lay in the yard. Patterson, I thought, but I couldn’t even spare him a glance as Sven Sr. pointed the gun at Blake, aiming to take another shot.

“No,” I shouted, rushing at him.

He turned impossibly fast for such a big man. He smiled at me through bloody teeth as he aimed into my chest and fired.

My last thought was one of relief. Selena wasn’t amidst the casualties.

SELENA

I stepped outside, into a bloody nightmare, my eyes going unerringly to the crumpled figure of Stephan. I didn’t make a sound, but my face was wet with tears.

He has to be okay, I told myself. I could survive a lot of things, but I knew that losing Stephan wasn’t one of them.

I was so intent on this thought that I didn’t even look at the monster amidst the carnage for long moments. I had made my way closer to Stephan before I raised my eyes to those pale blue ones that looked so much like my own.

It was like staring into the eyes of a rabid animal, his malevolence written in every tense line of his face. It was hard to imagine that he had ever been a sane person, looking at him now. But had he ever been sane? I couldn’t have said. Perhaps sanity had never been the question. He wasn’t even a human to me, but a monstrous demon that destroyed and terrified. And the only one who had ever been able to act as protection between him and me now lay crumpled at my feet, red circles on his chest. He had finally done it. The monster had broken me.

My instinct was to freeze, and so I watched without moving as he approached, some awful expression that was shaped like a smile overtaking his face.

I didn’t have that violent thing inside of me like my father did. I didn’t have an urge to hurt anyone, not for any reason. It wasn’t even an urge that I understood. Or at least I hadn’t—not until Stephan lay crumpled at my feet.

My eyes moved from that horrible face and to the tiny pistol at my father’s side. I watched it like a lifeline, letting him see what I was looking at—what I’d fixated on.

He laughed, a dry cackle, and the madness of the laugh made me note, in an absentminded kind of way, that he was on something. Some kind of drug was racing through him, making him crazier, making him stronger, anesthetized to both pain and fear. The man had been a beast without some drug jacking up his system, so it was hardly a reassuring realization.

“I warned you, sotnos. I warned you that if you went to the police, no one could keep you safe from me, but you didn’t believe me. And now your friend is dead. Was it worth it?”

I whimpered, a wholly involuntary sound. He can’t be dead, I told myself. I had to believe it, or I would just crumple into a heap on the ground myself, and never get back up.

My eyes were still glued to that little pistol in his hand.

He laughed again, waving it at me. “You can’t take your eyes off this. You think this will help you? You don’t have the nerve, just like your mother. You couldn’t hurt a fly. Worthless, mewling women.”

He held it right in front of my face, smiling grimly, his bloodshot, crazy eyes glued to mine, their maniacal gleam piercing me. “Take it, if you dare. See what happens, sotnos.”

I never looked away from his eyes. I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t hated him, but I felt it now like a fresh wound. I could kill him without remorse, I realized. He had done that to me, finally broken that part of me. I would not regret if he were dead, even if it was at my hand. I would be putting down a wild beast on a killing rampage. The only regret could be what he’d managed to do before he was stopped.

I wasn’t my mother, though I could wish that I had only taken after her. As much as I wanted to run from the notion, I had enough of my father in me at least for this. It wasn’t even a question, not even a split second of indecision, not with Stephan lying motionless at my feet. I had erred grievously, I saw clearly, in keeping his secret, in living in fear. Far better if he had killed me back then for turning him in than to let him wreak all of this destruction now. That was my regret, and I felt it keenly as I looked at him, surrounded by his victims.

If only I had looked beyond my own fear of what he had done, and thought about all that he was still capable of doing.

Yes, holding my silence for all those years was my regret, but it was my only regret. This thing I was about to do I would not regret, not for a moment.

I had no words for him. Nothing would do my hatred justice, and he wouldn’t hear them besides. He had never valued me, and you didn’t hear someone you didn’t value. My words couldn’t touch him. So I didn’t bother to tell him how I felt. I showed him.

He handed that gun to me with no hesitation, no fear, and I took it, turning it into him with the same motion. I shoved it hard into his chest, aiming for his heart. I squeezed the trigger, barely even feeling the gun’s recoil in my hand as it fired into him.

Foolishly, I thought that would be the end of it.

The monster laughed, wrenching the gun out of my hand. I’d shot him in his chest, a chest already red with his own blood, and he only laughed. I got this sudden crazy notion that he really wasn’t human. How was he still standing?

He opened his mouth, and blood sprayed my face as he spoke. “My turn, sotnos.”

He gripped my hair, pulling my head back, holding it immobile. I began to struggle, but it was no good.

He put the gun inside of my mouth with no effort at all, pushing my own hand over the handle, that maniac’s smile still fixed on his face.

I jerked my face from side to side, caught between his hand in my hair and the gun in my mouth. I was still shaking my head desperately when two simultaneous gunshots sounded. The world went black.

STEPHAN

My chest was on fire. Every breath was agony but I managed to open my eyes just a crack when I heard her voice. Of course she had come for me.

No, no, no, I thought in despair, as I saw her father approach her.

It took me an excruciatingly long time to turn my head to the side. Blake lay unmoving, less than four feet away.

I felt a huge wave of relief as I realized that there was a gun near her side. I knew I couldn’t make a sound as I dragged myself to it. It was a race, and I couldn’t let the pain so much as slow me.

Another shot fired before I’d made it halfway, and I had to keep from crying out in distress, or from looking to see what had happened. There was no time to look. I needed to get that gun and fire.

I grabbed the gun with a trembling hand as soon as I got within reach. I rolled onto my back, the agony of the movement making my vision go fuzzy for precious moments.

I sighted on her father’s head and fired.

No, I thought in agony when I saw that I was just a split second too late. Watching her fall at the same time as her father was a sight I’d never forget. No. Please, no.

I blacked out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Justin

JUSTIN - MINUTES EARLIER

Normally I thoroughly enjoyed a good negotiation. Even knowing the likely results, I’d been known to draw them out. Not today, though. I felt a strange tension eating away at me. I enjoyed giving Tristan shit, as I always did, but it was a little lackluster today.

“These had better be some extra fancy card tricks,” I told him as the lawyers were making yet another revision to the contract. It was pure cussed orneriness that drove me to say it to him. The man was a genius at his craft. In just a few short years, he had made his name in the world of big time Vegas magic shows. He had brought a stunning and gritty new flare to an industry that had desperately needed a makeover, and that was just with his sleight of hand alone. The best part was, I knew that he hadn’t even begun to show us all of his tricks. He was constantly coming up with something new to show us. And as expected, the man knew just how much he was worth, and we would be paying him accordingly.

Tristan grinned, flashing white teeth at me. He checked his watch with a raised brow, very obviously flashing my own Rolex at me. I looked down at my bare wrist and cursed. He was an entire table’s length away from me.

“How did you do that from over there?” I asked him.

He pointed at the lawyers that were currently haggling with his agent. “I believe it’s your contract that stipulates that I’m not allowed to talk about things like that. Trade secrets and all. Your lawyers would probably have to make a revision if I told you. Do you really have that kind of time?” He tapped my watch for emphasis.

I laughed. It was hard not to. He was an obnoxious son of a bitch, but an endlessly entertaining one. “We’ll have to revise it anyway, if you’re planning to give yourself a fifty thousand dollar watch as a bonus.”

He reached his hand across the table, the watch appearing in his palm in a blur. I reached to take it from him, and he had it on my wrist with the same blurring speed. I shook my head at him. Crafty bastard.

“Congratulations on the engagement. The news is everywhere. How did you get her to agree? I would have sworn Selena had more sense.”

I glared at him, but it was half-hearted at best. Just the mention of my upcoming nuptials only made me want to grin like a fool. “I begged her so pathetically that she finally just took pity on me,” I told him.

“That was nice of her. She could do way better. No offense.”

I just laughed, because he said no offense while so blatantly trying to offend. “None taken. Eventually she just found that she’d rather be able to keep track of the man who was stalking her so relentlessly. I promised her that she could put a bell on me.”

Tristan shook his head. “Poor girl. She never had a chance. You probably courted her with your hostile takeover approach.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t even do hostile takeovers. Stick to magic tricks, Tristan. Your knowledge of the business world is embarrassing.” I had found him to be uncannily proficient on the business end of his work, but this was just how we were. It was nice to be able to take shots at someone who was as insensitive as I was when it came to being insulted.

Tristan grinned. “Sure thing, Boss. Are you inviting me to dinner? If I’m gonna sign this paper for you, I expect you to at least cook me dinner. And I want to see your fiancée again.”

“Why the hell not? Sure, come to dinner, if you can restrain yourself from stealing the silverware.” I pulled out my phone. “Let me call Selena. We’ll invite the guys.”

Selena answered promptly. “Hey,” she said, a smile in her voice. “How’s work going?” That smile in her voice made me smile, and that voice made me hard between one breath and the next. Just one word from her, uttered in that steady timbre of hers, affected me more than any other woman had in my life. Images of all of the ways that I’d had her, all of the ways that I planned to f**k her mindless, flashed through my mind, distracting me like nothing else could. God, I wanted her. Just the thought of her was more erotic to me than actual sex had ever been with other women. I’d felt it from the start with her, and I was only falling deeper with time.

“It could be going better, but at least it’s almost done,” I told her, having to concentrate to do so. I made myself stop thinking about being inside of her for one innocent phone conversation, but it was a struggle. My c*ck twitched restlessly, and I was thankful that it was hidden under the conference table just then. “My lawyers and Tristan’s agent are making some revisions, but that shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes or so, and then we’ll be done, thank God. Tristan is trying to bankrupt the casino for some two-bit magic tricks.” I looked at Tristan, smiling as I said it.

He flipped me off.

[settoglow]

Eyebrow Feathering; Is it Worth It?

What Really Happens When You Get Eyebrow Feathering? Does it Hurt?

First thing first. Does it hurt? Yes. Yes it does. But is it worth it? One gigantic YES!

Obviously I like to look as natural as possible, however I am no stranger to small cosmetic procedures. Plus I think I have been dying my hair black for over 15 years now. Let me give you a little bit of background information first. I am half Ukrainian and my hair is actually brown with red through it that goes blonde at the front in summer. I tan REALLY easily. So it is not easy staying this pale. I take my sunscreen, hat and umbrella usage VERY seriously. If you read my introduction blog post Hello! Set to Glow? you would know that when I was a teenager I had acne. I also mentioned that I was pretty sick and as a result of taking medication my body didn't like, I got pretty severe pustular acne... This was the start of my obsession with laser. At first I wanted to treat my acne, then once that was dormant I treated my scars and then I moved on to treating my pigmentation. Now I use laser as a regular facial - I have sensitive skin that likes being burnt off instead of lots of product. Go figure.

So I dye my hair black, I paint my nails red, I get regular laser facials and (who knows since I am pushing the end of my 30s) I might decide I need more help eventually.

Since I regularly dye my hair back I also need to tint and shape my eyebrows to match. I remember when my eyebrow tinting obsession started. It is the one cheap thing that you can do that can totally change the way you look. I even persuaded my mum to start tinting and shaping hers. I can't remember when I started; I just know that every three or four weeks I had an automatic appointment. Yes had. Now I have my eyebrows feathered.

I had been thinking about getting eyebrow feathering ages ago, but I was worried about choosing the right person to feather mine. I was also worried it might hurt. Plus when I was looking at doing it years ago, it wasn't as popular and the inks weren't as advanced. There were just too many nightmare stories.

It was actually an offer from another business when I was running Fashion Blender that got me thinking about it again. No I didn't want free or cheap feathering. I wanted it done right first time around by a business that has ONLY 5 star reviews. This is your face we are talking about people!

I ended up choosing Kristin Fisher as I had seen some of the bloggers I knew using her. I went and had an initial consult and I felt comfortable with Kristin.

The initial consult was a brow tint and shape. We also discussed what sort of look I wanted. Kristin noted that my left eyebrow was my problem brow. It has always been holy. I just wanted to enhance my natural brow and reduce the amount of time that I spent on filling in my eyebrows every morning. We settled on deep brown ink; because even though I dye my hair black, black ink would be too dark for my fair skin. I paid my deposit and went away with a check list that I needed to follow for at least two weeks before. No Vitamin E tablets and no tretinoin application. Plus I wasn't allowed to spray tan 72 hours before the procedure. Don't worry Kristin, no fear of spray tan with me. Kristin is booked out for months, so I think I managed to secure an appointment with a two month wait only because they had a cancellation.

When the day arrived I was pretty nervous. I don't often drink alcohol but I made sure I hadn't had any all week. Kristin didn't tint my brows, however she mentioned she sometimes tints before feathering. She used a ruler, pencil and a clear sticky template to mark up my brows before we started. I didn't want thick thick brows - but it was a shock to see the outline so large. Kristin assured me she would be feathering within the outline so they wouldn't be as thick as I thought.

After I was lying down Kristin used a tool to prick my eyebrows all over within her guide. This didn't really hurt, it was less painful than an injection. Then she wiped numbing cream all over my brows and let it sit for a while. When we was ready to start, my brows weren't very numb. However they became more numb as she worked. Kristin did one brow after the other and followed up with touch ups on both. She used a tool with a row of needles to create tiny incisions in my skin and then wiped the dye over the area. By the second pass on the first eyebrow my brow area was numb enough for it not to hurt. However I did still hear the scraping of the needles. Which is kind of off-putting I must admit. Check out the left photo below - this was after the first initial feathering appointment. You can see the tiny strokes in my brow; they are most obvious towards my nose.

I really liked the look of them initially. However all I could think about was getting home and relaxing because I was sweating and sore! I bled a little bit apparently. And fair skinned people who bleed tend to make the dye change colour. So I would probably need a tint colour adjustment during my touch up appointment...

For the next 10 days I wasn't allowed to have any facial procedures done, I had to avoid washing my face for a whole week and I couldn't go swimming. For the first couple of days you need to avoid wearing makeup so that you don't change the colour of the dye. I spent the period washing my hair upside down in the bath. Which wasn't comfortable let me tell you. I also couldn't use AHAs nor have laser or peels for two weeks afterwards. I also needed to apply Bepanthen cream three or four times daily. I cracked with the face washing on the 6th day... I needed to have a shower and wash my face properly.

My brows went really dark on the third day and I actually wondered whether I had made a mistake. But after about a week I started flaking and then by the week and a half mark my brows were settled and looked great. It's amazing how quickly you get used to something new.

When I went back for my touch up appointment last week, Kristin said my brows had healed really well however they weren't the right colour. We spoke about adjusting the colour. She tinted my brows first this time and it was amazing how much of a difference this made. I didn't tint them in between because I wanted her to see them naturally so she could do her best work!

The fill in appointment went exactly the same as the initial appointment however since I knew what was coming it hurt a lot less. Kristin only did one pass and a few touch ups. We didn't go any thicker we just refined. You can see me during the touch up appointment in the above photo on the right. Your eyes water quite a bit - so my mascara has migrated in this one. Plus I am red and blotchy as I my veins are close to the surface of my skin. Hence the bleeding. Check out the video below which was taken right after the fill in appointment. Do you like my hair net mark?

Eyebrow feathering hurts initially and the fact that you can't wash your face nor wear makeup at the start is a big turn off for me. But is it worth it? It totally is. I have had so many compliments since I got my brows done. Plus I don't need to apply any products to my brows at all now if I don't want to. They are truely minimal fuss now. The price tag is another turn off - the initial consult was $100 and the feathering cost $1000AUD. Which included the touch up appointment. However you really can't put a price tag on something that when done correctly makes you feel better about yourself now can you?

I am told eyebrow feathering is dead and now freckle tattooing is in. This is totally weird to me since I spend money to get rid of my freckles...

Have you had eyebrow feathering? Where did you get yours done? Comment at the end of the post!

#Eyebrow Feathering #Kristin Fisher Eyebrows #Eyebrow Tattoo #Semi Permanent Makeup #Makeup #Beauty #Eyebrows