#and a combination of jet lag and having to wake up at six in the morning and a major change in environment led to a weakened immune system

[nagasakidivision]

Haruto: Oh, so when Descartes works until five in the morning, he's a once-in-a-millennia genius, but when I do it, it's 'clinically concerning' and 'probably going to lead to a nervous breakdown.'

[chromalogue]

Back, more or less recovered, and I might even be able to take a vacation for the first time in two years!

Notable features of the trip:

The flights

The flights were mostly splendid.  We did come prepared to spend the whole night in the airport, but they wouldn’t let us, so we had to find lodgings for the night quickly.  “The problems are all at Terminal 1,” they said.  “We’re Terminal 3.  If you show up four hours early, you should be fine.“  And we were. 

The only exception was Montreal, where they neglected to give Sarah the wheelchair service they’d booked ahead of time, and then, when we meandered our own way across the terminal to a mercifully two-hours-delayed flight and asked for help, they yelled at Sarah for not booking wheelchair service ahead of time. 

Other than that, though, it was great.  I haven’t always had good experiences with Air Transat--last time I flew with them the in-flight movie was a documentary about Nickelback--but this time they were fabulous. And it was great to fly with someone who was doing it for the first time, and LOVED it. 

The conference

It was a blast.  We all got to hear some amazing papers and stellar speeches, and we made a friend, Isana, who asked some pointed questions that did need to be asked.  The food was amazing, and there were like, little cakes and stuff.  It was a huge rush to get to my panel and be told both of the people I was presenting with, “Hey, yeah, I’ve read your work!”

You could tell it was planned by people who are used to ICFA, a hotel-based conference where you can stagger out of the events, stumble into bed, and wake in six hours to catch the morning panels.  As brilliant as everything was, it was a bit rough when I needed a break and the hotel was half an hour away. 

Completely losing my sense of direction for two solid weeks

I have a highly imperfect grasp of left and right (which was a bit nervewracking for both of us, when Sarah was using their walker up front and I was towing suitcases behind, shouting directions that were wrong about 25% of the time), but on this side of the ocean I make up for it with a really good sense of cardinal directions. For a long time I thought it had to do with some bizarre atavistic ability to sense magnetic north, except that my sense of direction reverses when I cross the ocean.  South “feels” north, and vice versa. It happens every single time, except when I get back I manage to convince myself that I was being silly and overstating it and it was really nothing like that, except that this time I had corroboration from someone who was seriously inconvenienced by it (but very kind and understanding about it). I ended up relying really heavily on Google Maps.  By the end of two weeks, it felt like I was starting to adjust, but then we went home. 

On the other hand...

Having a “normal” sleep schedule for two weeks

The way it always works is, redeye flight, I stumble into my accommodations in the middle of the next day, shove something in my mouth, and then sleep twelve to sixteen hours.  I wasn’t sure how it would work with Sarah, who can keep my hours but wouldn’t necessarily be able to marathon-sleep like I can, but they were okay with it, and we managed all right.  I won’t lie, getting up at seven always, always felt really rough, and it only got harder as the jet lag wore off, but once I was up I was mostly okay.  Then

Glasgow transit

Glasgow was much better than I remembered it, but the public transit was a dumpster fire, which was weird, because just over a decade ago I’d been impressed with how abundant and well managed it was in the UK in general. 

Eventually we figured out that it was a combination of factors. The first was privatization dating back to the Thatcher years: maybe a handful of different companies running their own routes and not taking each other’s tickets is workable if everything is running smoothly and you know the system really well, but that wasn’t the case for us.  Second, we were told over a lovely Indian dinner one night that a lot of bus drivers had been Eastern European and Brexit had forced them out, and they were having trouble filling the positions now.  And a lot of the remaining drivers were out with covid.

Finally, there are a lot of accessibility features that we’re used to from Toronto that either aren’t a thing in Glasgow, or are much more hit-or-miss.  Elevators.  Digital boards showing the stops, and voices announcing them.  Street signs.  I did ask, once, “Have we already passed X?”  And the person I asked chuckled, and said, “Oh, you’ll know.”  Well I didn’t, and ended up having to walk back three stops.  The only way we got out of the subway system at all was through the help of a lovely young man who went way out of his way to help us up the stairs and walk us to where we were actually going. 

After waking up two hours early the day of my presentation so that we could enjoy a full Scottish breakfast, and then spending an hour of it waiting for a bus that never came and the next hour walking to the conference from the place where the next best bus dropped us off and never actually getting breakfast, we just took cabs everywhere.  I am not a cab person, but they ended up being less expensive than all those return tickets we never got to use the other halves of, and they got us from door to door fairly easily. 

Glasgow proper

As I said, much better than I remembered it.  I didn’t see the best of it when I was there in 2011.  But this time I got to see gorgeous old buildings, parks and gardens, and some cool public sculpture.  And the food was much better.  It was still hard to find vegetables, but there wasn’t that thing where I’d order a meal and something on my plate would show up deep fried. And it was great to see the city with people who love it. 

The heat wave

We did like the trains, and the staff were always extremely helpful.  And it never occurred to either of us that the heat was anything unusual, accustomed as we are to Toronto (for a given value of “accustomed,” given that we have both been out of it for years at this point), but they kept giving us cold water bottles, and it was very kind of them.

The day we went from Glasgow to our next base of operations, in Luton, was day one of that two-day record-breaking heat wave.  We’d been told to avoid non-essential travel, and had spoken to the hotel in Glasgow about the possibility of another night just in case, but we still had our reservations in Luton, and when we heard the trains were still running, we went for it.  Well.  First we went for breakfast, and then we went to a little Scottish gourmet shop and I picked up some treats.  And then we were greeted by a line at Glasgow Station that stretched all the way to the street and out the door. 

We got onto a train two and a half hours after we showed up.  There was someone handing out water in the line.  Everything was running slowly, so some members of the train crew were missing, including the person who ran the dining car.  Which was just as well, because the air conditioning was broken in the dining car.  They kept announcing that they had water in there, but it wouldn’t be cold.  But we were amply provisioned already, and for dinner we split some of the airport snacks.

So, we were rather hungry when we got into London around midnight.  It was pretty warm, and we’d been told not to even try the underground.  We got a cab from Euston to St. Pancras, and missed one train to Luton but caught the very last one. I think it was about 2:30 when we finally staggered up to the hotel.  If I’d looked around more carefully, I’d have found a Wetherspoon and a couple of late-night eateries, but we were exhausted.  We ended up sitting on our beds in the hotel room, sharing out the stuff I’d bought at the gourmet shop in Glasgow.  Thus was our dinner a filet each of smoked mackerel, a pint of red currants, and an entire wedge of Stilton. 

The meat locker

Our hotel in Luton was a two-minute walk from the train station.  At first I thought Luton was a charming place; then I realized that we were in a carefully curated tourist area, and Luton was kind of like Mississauga.  But just about everything we needed was within walking distance, so I was happy with the carefully curated tourist area.

I thought I was being a princess, insisting on a hotel with air conditioning, but I was plenty glad when we got there.  Our room was in the basement, but it was palatial compared to the place in Glasgow.  Thing is, the digital readout said it was set to seventeen Celsius, which is a bit on the chilly side anyway, but it was MUCH colder than 17.  It felt more like 12.  We both had to swaddle ourselves in the duvets to be warm enough to sleep.  And then, because we both find Cecil’s voice soothing, we’d play Welcome to Night Vale to get to sleep. 

Thus it was that on the hottest day London has ever experienced, I was outside in my trenchcoat, at an “American-style” cafe, trying to warm up while I worked on an Irish course.  Meanwhile, Sarah had to come to the rescue of their mom, who had missed her connecting flight in Portugal and ended up spending two nights in two different airports in two different countries to get home.  They arranged it all huddled under the duvet, and when they emerged the coffee had gone cold.

Later, my mom said, “Why didn’t you say anything to the front desk?”  I told her, “It kept the cheese nice and fresh.”

The West End

We were there for Sarah to do some archival work in London, and the archives were gorgeous, a converted private home.  Neither of us could afford the nearby eateries, so we stocked up at the little convenience store every morning, with fruit and crackers and Ribena and cheese, the cheapness of which still astounds me. 

We also caught a production of The Phantom of the Opera, with Lucy St. Louis as Christine and Killian Donnelly as the Phantom.  I’m not quite the Phantom nerd that Sarah is, but I have to say they were the best I’ve ever seen.  Their acting made me feel better about a lot of narrative choices.  Them, and the guy who played Raoul. He actually made Raoul likeable, instead of drippy and overconfident. 

On Saturday, we met one of Sarah’s online friends for lunch at the Theatre Cafe.  Sat at the Phantom table, naturally.  We ended up hanging out until very late at night.  It was fun.  It was good to be out. 

The aftermath

One of my most treasured memories is the face of the security person at Gatwick who let out a single cry of alarm and then could only watch, dismayed, as I chugged a third of a bottle of undiluted Ribena, so as not to waste any. 

The original plan was for my mom to pick us up at the airport.  Then I would stay at my brother’s and Sarah would stay with relatives until I had my visa appointment on the morning of the 27th, whereupon Mom would drive us back up north. 

But Mom tested positive for covid on the second day of her vacation, and then Dad tested positive the day before he was supposed to start chemo, and I was considering cancelling my visa appointment to rush back up north as soon as we landed, so he’d have someone there.  Except the visa people said the only way to move my appointment was to push it back to September, and Mom was able to leave the place she was isolating in and get back to Dad. 

That left us to sort ourselves out in Toronto.  And that looked okay for a bit, but Sarah’s relatives ended up not being able to host them.  And my brother wanted me to get a covid test, which was perfectly fair because I’d been traipsing all over London (masked, but nothing is 100% and we did take them off to eat) and he has a child at home who is too young for vaccinations, except that if I tested positive I wouldn’t have anywhere to stay, and I wouldn’t be able to use any method of transport to get to where I could isolate.  For a little while I thought about walking the 400-odd kilometres back to Espanola, which would be unpleasant but doable in a few days as long as I stocked up on groceries and food before I took the test and didn’t get too sick, but then I realized I could probably ask to get into a government quarantine centre.  But then Will contacted his sister, who said I could stay with her.  And Sarah made arrangements to stay at a hostel.

Trouble was, after an eighteen-hour day of travelling, we got out to the hostel, and to Sarah they were like, “Um, we’re not saying you’re not welcome here, but we think as a disabled person you would be safer and more comfortable being oh, say, NOT here.”  For about forty-five minutes.  And at minute thirty-five, Will’s sister called and said, “Hey, I heard you’re travelling with a friend.  Do they want to stay here too?”  And we spent the next ten minutes extricating ourselves.  And then they offered us a free pastry and a drink by way of conciliation, and we were still steamed, but we were also thirsty and hungry so we took it, and I tipped them a couple of pounds.

So yeah, we stayed with Michelle, I kept my visa appointment, and we had to stay an extra day in the city after that because all the buses were full.  But it was a nice four days there, and we watched Ylvis videos and ate grapes and hung out, and my nephew told me at length about Digimon.  And then we caught two different buses home, having gotten THE last seats on each of them, only to wind up together again on the bus from Sudbury to Espanola. 

I returned to parents who had completely bounced back, my niece visiting, and my wonderful beloved.  And now, now I have to get ready to go away again, but I’m glad I had a little test run. 

[theseshipsshallsail]

The first time it hits him is over the garden table that first sun-kissed morning in B. A potent combination of jet lag and sheer exhaustion had kept him on autopilot the day before, capable of pleasantries and the occasional handshake, but one face had blurred into another midway over the Atlantic, and it took collapsing into a dead sleep to gather his wits about him.

Breakfast is laid out in an impressive spread, and the combined aroma of freshly baked bread and citrus in the air is enough to leave his mouth watering. It’s a feast for the senses in more ways than one, and from the corner of his eye Oliver watches as Elio leans back in his chair, fingers drumming out a rhythm he can’t quite place. Each tap finds its way to his ears, impossibly loud and clear despite the lively conversation, and just when he recognises a movement from Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Elio ups the ante by humming along under his breath. 

Oliver keeps up his end of the discussion with Samuel and Annella, but his sudden awareness of Elio as a whole - and not just the distantly polite teenager whose room he’s usurped for the next six weeks - is staggering. His brain feels full to bursting, absorbing every detail in a way he’s never experienced before. Or perhaps in a way he’s never dared acknowledge. He’s always had a type, and stunning green eyes in a face framed by dark curls tick all his boxes. He sits up straight, drawing the attention of that piercing gaze, and whereas yesterday he might have been able to brush it off, the certain realization that he finds Elio Perlman attractive is somewhat alarming. 

It would be easier, he knows, if it was purely physical, but the more time they spend together, the more he realises that Elio’s mind is equally captivating. He could have deduced that from his bedroom alone - the posters on the wall, the contents of his bookcase, the score sheets and cassette tapes that litter every surface - but there’s something else. Something deeper. More profound. He’s wise beyond his age - that much is obvious - but the teasing smirk as they banter back and forth makes Oliver suspect his thoughts are like an open book, no matter how hard he tries to cover the page. 

Human beings are capricious, and Elio is predictable in his unpredictability. He’s a force of nature, and loath as he is to admit it, Oliver knows that a boy seven years his junior is dangerously close to prising apart the ever-increasing gaps in his thread-bare armour. 

It’s fascinating, the way he wears his emotions so close to the surface, hiding nothing from his friends and family. The freedom to be who he is, without the weight of expectation bearing down upon his shoulders, is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. They’re on the verge of something he dare not approach, and each time he finds himself distracted by swaths of pale skin or softly spoken words, Oliver reminds himself that he’s here as a guest. Nothing more.

And he’s successful, for the most part. He holds his ground, not willing to retreat, but not ready to stand tall and accept the challenge, either. It’s safe, to a degree, the attraction he harbours, because regardless of the way his heart soars in his chest, Elio is too young, too straight, and entirely off limits. 

And then, a blush.

What started as a benign fantasy becomes something so much more as Oliver looks up from their shared notepad and notices the pinkness on Elio’s cheeks. He turns away quickly, but the expression on his face speaks volumes to the curiosity of someone who isn’t sure what they want - of someone who’s discovering something about themselves they’re not quite sure what to do with - and it’s revolutionary.

In the days that follow there’s a steady, orbital pull. A waiting game - the rules of which he’s yet to decipher. Their mutual interest is undeniable, and the growing itch in Oliver’s palms to reach out and touch is in no way helped by the mantra of want, take, have that dogs his every step. The slow burn of arousal makes it harder to control, but he manages. He does. And then -

“Just play it will you?”

“The same one?”

“The same one.”

Elio jumps to his feet and strides towards the house, and Oliver, powerless to resist, follows in his wake. He sits down at the piano, elegant fingers gliding over the ivory keys, and Oliver lets his mind wander as he coaxes the requested melody from the antique instrument. It’s different though - more frenetic than the gentle melody from the garden - and Elio explains that he’s playing it the way Liszt would if he played Bach’s version. The way his mind works is remarkable, and back and forth they go, flirting through the music, until he finally plays the same stirring refrain from outside.

So yes, his attraction is manageable. Right up until the night Oliver wakes with a gasp, his body wanting, and the memory of a breathy sigh causing the blood to surge in his veins. There’s a cold sweat on his forehead, and the phantom scrape of Elio’s teeth across his collarbone leaves him flushed and disoriented. Heart pounding, he stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, the knots in his stomach coiling even further as he slowly stretches out across the mattress, needing to confirm that he’s definitely alone.

He is - of course he is - and Oliver drags a hand over his face before bunching his sheets to the side, one hand sliding down to pluck the damp cotton of his boxers away from his leaking erection. His resolve to be good does little to stop the images playing behind his eyelids, and a shiver races down his spine as he pictures himself pinned to the bed, Elio moving slowly above him, the low growl of filthy promises urging him higher and higher. 

Again, he tells himself it doesn’t mean anything, that his physical desire is still on a tight leash. He can’t control what his body reacts to, or the direction his psyche chooses to steer his dreams, but he’s under no obligation to act on it. 

Not now. 

Not ever. 

“Completely harmless,” he murmurs, Bach’s Capriccio in B flat major ringing in his ears as he strokes himself to completion, Elio’s name caught in his throat in a last ditch attempt at censure.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, tabbytabbytabby!

For @tabbytabbytabby, who wanted alive Hale pack and anything alternative universe. MERRY CHRISTMAS AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!!!! I decided to go with a rock band AU because let's face it, they're all stupid hot and would look so good doing it. My headcanon for alive Laura Hale is the incomparable Katie McGrath if you want a visual. Those eyes, man. They make my little bisexual heart very happy.

Also everyone here is somewhere in the Kinsey Scale :)))) There will be smut and idiocy. Idiots in love has become one of my favourite tags!

The underage occurs when Derek and Stiles are in high school. Derek is a senior and Stiles is a sophomore.

Band line up is as follows:

Laura - lead vocals Derek - lead guitar Boyd - bass Erica - acoustic guitar and backing vocals Isaac - keyboard and backing vocals Cora - drums and backing vocals

Read On AO3

*****

Edge Of Seventeen

Chapter 1 - Say What Now?

‘Do you want to?’

It took Stiles a few moments to focus on the words, electricity buzzing under his skin and his mouth bruised and still wet with Derek’s spit. Two warm broad hands settled either side of his face and gently redirected his attention. In the dark of the Camaro’s back seat, Derek’s pale eyes glittered.

‘We can.’ His voice was low and rough, his breathing out of kilter. ‘If you want to.’

Stiles looked at him, his heart racing a thousand miles a minute.

I want to.’ he said and fell into another kiss.

The alarm woke Stiles with a start. He swore and leaned over to slide a finger across the screen and turn it off. He’d forgotten when he’d arrived the night before, still a little jet lagged and not quite with everything when he’d collapsed into bed and been asleep in what was probably a record time.

He lay still, looking up at the ceiling and getting his breath back. He hadn’t had a dream about Derek Hale in a very long time and he was chalking it up to being back in his childhood bed. Independence Day had been the one holiday he’d won in the field office lottery, and so Stiles had packed up and gone home for the long weekend, four blissful days off. He’d known going into the FBI would be hard, but he’d had no idea just how hard it would be. Noah was delighted. The last time they’d seen each other had been Christmas and Stiles had been morose after yet another break up. He’d spent an afternoon wandering around the preserve, ending up staring at the Hale house, still closed up and looking a little worse for wear, with nary a Hale in sight.

This time it was summer, the heat already making his room uncomfortable. Stiles grimaced and plucked his damp t-shirt away from his skin, sitting up and dragging a hand over his face as he tried to wake up properly, manfully ignoring his dream-induced erection that made him feel like he was a teenager all over again.

‘Stiles?’ Noah yelled from downstairs. ‘You up, kiddo?’

‘I’m twenty-six, Dad,’ Stiles muttered, standing up and stretching. ‘Not a kid anymore.’

He was feeling it too, the crashing realisation that those carefree days were far behind him. He had a job and an apartment in Sacramento, cacti that he had managed not to kill. All the cool stuff. It wasn’t hard to feel like something was missing but Stiles would never admit that the string of failed relationships he had accumulated were anything to do with what Lydia referred to as ‘the one who got away’.

Noah was in the kitchen as he predicted, sleep rumpled and unshaven in sweat pants and an old BHPD t-shirt. He’d been taking it a bit easier, giving Parrish more and more responsibility. Stiles was pleased and Parrish was both smart and sensible, a combination that Lydia had found irresistible. Their senior year fling had evolved into a long term relationship until Lydia had come home to buy them a small clapboard Victorian near the preserve and commute to the research lab every day where she had her associate professorship. Parrish had presented her with a simple solitaire ring at Christmas and she was very happy.

‘Are you going to see Mom?’ he asked and Stiles nodded, grabbing the orange juice from the ridge and pouring himself a glass, sniffing hopefully at the eggs Noah was scrambling. He noticed Stiles’ meaningful look and grinned.

‘I thought I would go after breakfast,’ He beamed at his father when he was presented with a plate full of eggs and bacon.

‘It’s turkey before you get on your high horse,’ Noah told him. ‘Get your own coffee if you want some.’

‘Not yet.’ Stiles made space for him to sit down and they ate in comfortable silence. Once finished, he did get up to make two cups. Noah accepted his gratefully and smiled at his son, grey eyes twinkling.

‘So…,’ he started and Stiles held up a finger.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t care who it is you want to set me up with, it’s not happening.’ His parents had a terrible habit of matchmaking.

Noah held up both hands in supplication.

‘Not setting you up,’ he protested. ‘Just thought I’d mention that when your mother went into the shop yesterday, she saw a ghost from the past. Several, actually.’

Stiles cursed internally. His dad knew he couldn’t resist a good mystery.

‘Okay, I’ll bite,’ he replied, starting to get up.

‘The Hales.’ Noah replied with all the smugness of a man who knew he had the scoop of the year.

‘Oh fuck.’ Stiles blurted and tripped over his chair.

-

It was the sneezing that woke Derek up.

‘Jesus fuck!’ Laura roared a floor below him. ‘How much fucking shit is in this place?’

‘Oh good, she’s awake.’ Cora muttered and turned over. They were in what had been the twins’ bedroom, each of them crammed into a single that was a little on the small side. The top storey of the house was still a burned out wreck and the furniture had been largely taken away over the years and so the pickings had been slim, with their merry threesome taking the scorched master bedroom and Laura camping out on the sagging couch downstairs. As Alpha, she always preferred to be on watch as it were.

‘This was such a bad idea.’ Derek borrowed deeper into his comforter. ‘We should have brought the bus.’

‘That would have given the game away.’ Laura replied, hearing them both perfectly even though she was now in the kitchen. ‘Which part of low profile are you two having trouble with?’

‘We could have always stayed in a hotel. Sleeping int the burned out remains of our family home is precisely the opposite of low profile. Lo.’ Derek pointed out, sitting up. There was no way he’d be going back to sleep. Not with his alpha on a mission.

‘Discretion is our watchword, Derek.’ Laura hissed and started banging pots and pans around with a maximum of noise. Derek looked over at Cora. Her dark eyes were just visible under the pillow she had over her head.

‘You’re her second.’ She bared her teeth at him. ‘You go deal with her.’

‘I hate you.’ Derek said flatly, rolling out of bed and onto his feet. He stumbled a little on the stairs, still half asleep. Laura had her head buried in a blackened cupboard when he got to the kitchen. It hadn’t been as badly affected as the rest of the house but it was still a health hazard as far as he was concerned.

‘Where the hell is the waffle iron?’ she demanded. ‘Mom said she left it here.’

‘Who the fuck knows?’ Derek yawned and went to the fridge. There was nothing inside except for a gallon of milk and the leftover Chinese take out from the night before. He sniffed a carton of lemon chicken, grabbing some disposable chopsticks from the small pile on the kitchen table, and started eating. Laura eyed him, one fang just visible.

‘We need proper food.’ She glared at the ceiling. ‘Everybody up! We’re going grocery shopping!’

‘Christ.’ Derek grumbled. ‘You think that’s low profile too?’

‘Shut up.’ Laura swept past him, nose in the air. ‘I’m the Alpha now.’

Derek sniggered and let her go, enjoying his leftovers while he listened to her rouse the threesome. There was a lot of complaining, and he couldn’t really blame them. Their schedule had been hectic, even for wolves, and they were all tired and the house wasn’t exactly welcoming. Laura’s plans to come home and reclaim their territory now she was an Alpha in her own right had seen them finish the final leg of their international tour in New York, a quick catch up with their pack and then flying down to Sacramento and driving the three hours to Beacon Hills all in twenty-four hours. They had barely had time to stop in at the small coffee shop near the Sheriff's station before coming out to the house, which had been shut up for the past ten years. Peter had intended to join them, but had been delayed in New York. As their manager, he was the one who took care of all the dealings with their record company. If it was left to him and Laura, they probably would have eaten every executive by now. He was worth every penny they paid him, even if the meeting had probably been manufactured as a way to get out of cleaning up the house.

-

Stiles pulled up at the cemetery, parking the Jeep behind the old truck that had parked off centre and across two spaces. Grinning, he got out and made his way through the iron gates, remembering Isaac Lahey, who’d been a couple of years above him at school. His father had been the groundskeeper before there had been an incident at their house and Coach Lahey had been found dead. He remembered Isaac being taken in by social services and a whole sordid story of child abuse and alcoholicism coming out. Isaac had stayed off school for a week and then simply vanished off the face of the earth. There had been a lot of theories as to where he’d gone, but the truth was he wasn’t the first person to do that in 2011.

Stiles got lost in thought as he meandered between the headstones, finally coming to a stop in front of one made of white marble and embossed with angels.

‘That’s new.’ he remarked. ‘Not sure about the daffodils.’

‘They’re so gaudy.’ The dark haired woman kneeling at the grave grinned over her shoulder at him, her eyes the same warm whiskey brown as her son’s. ‘I’m glad to see you made it out of bed. I was starting to think you’d spend the whole weekend hibernating.’

‘Funny.’ Stiles helped Claudia up and gave her a long hug. When she let him go, she stepped back and looked him up and down.

‘You look good.’ she said. ‘Dare I say, professional.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles settled his hands on her shoulders. ‘Dad said you saw the Hales yesterday.’

‘Oh.’ Claudia’s look of faux innocence was belied by the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘Is that why you came to see me. No ‘I’ve missed you terribly Mother’, but ‘You saw the fucking Hales’.’

‘Mom.’ Stiles narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Did you see him?’

‘Who?’ Claudia crinkled her nose in amusement. ‘The boy you’ve been literally pining for, for almost a decade?’

‘I’m sure he’s not a boy anymore.’ Stiles snorted. ‘And yes. Stop playing dumb.’

‘I might have.’ Claudia tilted her head. ‘What’s it worth?’

‘A double chocolate muffin and all the lattes you can drink.’ Stiles replied and she cackled and linked her arm through his.

‘Done.’ she declared. ‘And you’re right. He’s definitely not a boy anymore.’

-

Derek leaned heavily on the cart, eyelids at half mast and his senses muted. The store was fairly empty, the early hour on a Saturday meaning that most shoppers were yet to make an appearance. Next to him Boyd yawned and shifted on his feet, hands sunk deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

They’d been best friends a long time, playing basketball and baseball and getting into shit when they were teenagers and when things had turned bad and they’d had to leave, Boyd had been dogged in his refusal to cut ties and turned up at the pack house in New York a week after graduation with Erica in tow. They had walked right in and asked Talia for the bite and she’d given it gladly. Derek knew she was going to do it for Erica even before they had had to flee their territory and they’d settled in like they’d always been pack. Isaac had, of course, already joined them earlier and his delight at having them back had turned into a deep and abiding love that saw them forming their triad and becoming mates.

Erica was leaning on Isaac, her blond curls dragged into a messy ponytail and Cora was trailing Laura a few feet ahead. It always grated that she had inherited their mother’s early rising nature while the rest of them would have happily slept in and threw her weight around to get them out of bed when they most definitely didn’t want to. Even the fact that Derek was her twin didn’t let him get out of doing what she wanted.

‘Toilet paper.’ Laura turned and they all tried to avoid her eyes. ‘Derek. Take Boyd and grab some.’

‘But I’m minding the cart,’ he whined, clinging to it like a drowning man to a life preserver.

‘Go!’ Laura’s eyes flared red for just a second and Derek had to resist the urge to snarl back at her like he’d always used to. The whole alpha thing was new, the result of an overambitious alpha that had come into their territory planning to challenge Talia and ending up facing her daughter instead when they tried to take Cora with the intention of forcibly mating her and claiming rights. Talia had always taught them to solve their problems with diplomacy but Laura was headstrong and fiercely protective of her siblings, ever since Kate Argent had tried to use her to get close enough to kill them all. She’d almost succeeded too, that night of the party to celebrate the basketball teams’ victory for nationals providing the perfect distraction for them to be off their guard. Kate had struck in the early hours of the morning and she’d had them trapped, the beginnings of an arson that would have killed them all if Derek hadn’t come back and caught her. He’d ripped her throat out with his teeth, calling Deaton in a panic to come and break the circle of mountain ash that kept them trapped and they’d all watched their family home burn until the police and emergency services had arrived.

Talia had decided that it was too dangerous to stay, knowing the Argents would come for Derek, getting them all packed in a matter of twenty-four hours and away from what was left of their home. They’d gone to their father’s pack in New York State, leaving no sign of them behind. It was the way with wolves, always having a back-up in case something went wrong. The Argents were a large and powerful hunting clan and there would be retribution for the death of Gerard’s golden child, but when they came for the Hales they would find the place empty. Deaton stayed, both to protect the territory and report back to Talia about hunters coming in and not a month after it had happened, they had come. Thankfully the wards on the Hale land had kept the territory claim in place and the hunters had left with no satisfaction.

The rest had been a long and bloody fight between their respective Councils. Gerard had wanted Derek’s head for killing Kate and Talia had countered with the evidence that Kate had planned to kill a pack of law-abiding wolves along with their children. The matter had finally been settled when Gerard died of cancer and his granddaughter, by all accounts a level headed and honourable young woman about the same age as Derek, had taken over.

The music had started as a way to keep them all sane while this was happening, Talia more or less forcing them into music therapy as a way to deal with what had happened. It had been a bit of a shock to realise they were actually very good at it and they’d formed the band. Some minor success saw them moving steadily up the indie charts until it became their lives. Laura had named them Hale Pack 2.0 and Talia had laughed so hard when they’d told her that she’d shifted and clawed right through the cushion she was holding, feathers flying around them like a small snowstorm.

Derek hadn’t minded at first. The music was what he loved, the fame and money secondary. The Hales were already rich, but Peter had jumped at the chance to do something different and he drove their commercial success. They were in that comfortable zone of being middle of the road, not so successful enough that they were household names but it became hard in New York to go anywhere without being recognised.

Derek didn’t enjoy that part much. He was solitary and quietly sarcastic by nature, but unfortunately that just seemed to translate into brooding and mysterious in interviews and so he was plagued by a long line of would-be groupies that tagged along after him like a cloud of midges. Laura found it hilarious and basked in her own popularity. As an out lesbian, she had her choice of pretty girls to shack up with. Cora kept her asexuality to herself, just as surly as Derek was. The other three were not exactly open about their polyamorous arrangegment, but they didn’t hide it either. They were lucky, having found each other and being able to keep each other.

He often thought about that night, the one where the reason he’d been able to save his family was because he’d been in the back seat of his father’s illicitly borrowed Camaro with the boy he’d loved pretty much forever and indulging in a bit of mutual deflowering. Then he’d had to pack up and leave said boy without even saying goodbye or telling him where he was going. It had hurt more than he’d thought possible and if part of why Derek was so keen to come back to Beacon Hills was to try and track down that boy, then who was to know. The only people who knew what he’d been up to were Boyd (because Derek told him everything) and Laura (because she’d sat on him and tickled him until he’d confessed and then had to hold her while she cried, guilt and shame coming off her in waves). Derek hadn’t had the heart to complain when their very survival had been at stake because he’d killed Kate Argent, no matter whose fault it had been. Talia had said to make a clean break with the town and while she’d made allowances for their friends who were already in the know, that was as far as she was willing to push her luck.

Derek and Laura had finished out their schooling at home, Cora had gone to boarding school in South America with her Argentinian grandmother’s pack and the twins were still too young to be a problem so that was, as they said, that. Then had come college, followed by the band and the success and the travelling and before Derek knew it, it had been almost ten years and he was twenty-eight and still hung up on Stiles fucking Stilinski.

‘Hey.’ Boyd bumped him with his shoulder. ‘You alive in there?’

‘Not really.’ Derek surveyed the toilet paper and grabbed a couple of twenty-four packs. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Yeah.’ Boyd grinned, lighting up his usually serious face. ‘I can guess what about too.’

‘Not a goddamned word.’ Derek growled and then froze, his nose twitching madly.

It wasn’t exactly the same, a little deeper and a little thicker but he’d recognise that scent anywhere with his nose stuffed up and people throwing peppermint oil in his face. He shoved the toilet paper at Boyd and charged through the aisle, needing to find the source and skidding to a halt in the aisle with the candy and stared at the Sheriff, who looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In fact, as it was he had cookies in his hands which he quickly put back.

‘Derek?’ He looked pleasantly surprised. ‘Claudia said she’d seen you.’ He came over and Derek couldn’t help taking in a deep breath. The scent of Stiles was all over the Sheriff and it made his heart start thumping like a drum.

‘Sheriff Stilinski.’ He took the offered hand and shook it, gleeful when he could smell a little bit of Stiles on his own skin. ‘Yeah, we’re back. Laura said she was going to stop by and talk to you about the house. She’s actually around here somewhere.’ He couldn’t stop smiling. ‘I’m glad you’re still here.’

‘Where else would we be?’ The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at him. ‘To be honest, we never thought you’d come back. Any of you. The last we heard, you mom and dad had skipped town and taken you all with them after the fire and then five years later, you and your sisters pop up playing gigs in New York with the Lahey kid, Vernon Boyd’s son and Erica Reyes and since you hit the big times, you’ve been entirely responsible for provisioning this town with 90% of its salacious gossip.’

‘How did you know that? I mean, New York.’ Derek was completely bemused. They had started out small, playing tiny venues, still wary of being recognised. It had only been in the last couple of years that they’d made it big enough to be known internationally.

‘I kept track.’ The Sheriff replied. ‘The fact that you all pretty much disappeared overnight hit this town like a slap in the face. I called in a lot of favours.’ There was something in his voice though that had Derek frowning. ‘I had my reasons, son.’

Derek was about to ask him what those were exactly when Laura came barreling down the aisle.

‘There you are.’ She came up short when she saw who he was talking to. ‘Sheriff Stilinski?’

‘The one and only.’ The Sheriff tipped an invisible hat at her. ‘It’s good to see you, Laura. Derek and I were just catching up.’

‘Well, I have to steal him. Excuse us.’ Laura gave him a toothy grin that was not her usual smile and Derek wondered just what was happening. She caught his arm and practically dragged him away.

‘What the hell?’ he protested, trying to wriggle out of her iron grip.

‘Hunters.’ she hissed and Derek’s blood ran cold.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked and she nodded, her face grim.

‘The others are doing the check out.’ she said. ‘We need to go.’

-

Stiles parked on the kerb and got out. Claudia already had the front door open and was looking down the street.

‘Visitor.’ she announced and went inside, leaving him to stand and wait for the car to stop. He bounced in excitement, barely waiting for the driver to get out before grabbing her and squeezing her hard enough to make her squeak.

‘Lydia, my strawberry blonde goddess.’ He kissed her cheek soundly. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’

‘Stiles.’ Lydia had softened since high school, growing into her intellect and losing the hard veneer of extreme fashion that had been her armour in high school. She was still elegant, but the tan leather boots she wore under her long floral skirt were flat and her face was less determinedly made up, her hair a mass of loose fronds that framed her face. She was also as beautiful as she had always been but Stiles loved her for more than that. They had grown close in junior year when Jackson had moved to the UK and she’d been left bereft. Scott had been dating Kira that year and he’d had little time for Stiles so they’d drifted together and never really drifted apart, in spite of their physical distance. Now Scott and Kira were engaged, with Scott working for Deaton full time and Kira teaching martial arts with their first baby on the way and Stiles felt even more like he was lagging behind. Lydia kept him tied to Beacon Hills as much as his parents did.

‘So what are you doing here?’ He escorted her to the house. Lydia went in first, saying hello to Claudia as they went into the kitchen.

‘I have some news you might want to hear.’ she said, her eyes dancing.

‘’If it’s that the Hales are back, I already know.’ Stiles was smug when she pouted. He so seldom got one over on her so it was fun when he did.

‘Sorry.’ Claudia grinned at Lydia. ‘That was my fault.’

‘Dammit.’ Lydia folded her arms. ‘Well that may be, but I bet you don’t know that they’re going to be playing the Jungle tonight.’

‘No, that I did not know.’ Stiles was immediately hooked. He’d always wanted to go watch them, ever since they’d first popped back up on his radar after years of radio silence, courtesy of a discarded music magazine in the field office. He’d fantasised about meeting Derek’s eyes across a crowded venue but he knew that in reality, Derek probably didn’t even remember the boy he fucked in the back of his sister’s car and probably also had his pick of beautiful people to spend his time with. It hadn’t stopped him from following the band’s progress almost obsessively though.

He’d been distraught when Derek had gone, trying to find any trace of him online, but there had been nothing at all in the years just after the fire. Noah had been cagey about what he’d known and Stiles had been at a loose end, trying to fill in the gaps. When he’d rediscovered them, Stiles had followed them on every form of social media he could and tracked down every article about them. Derek still didn’t have any online presence apart from that and the music videos his band put out. Stiles had jealously hoarded every single tiny piece of information and downloaded every picture and video of him, seeing how handsome Derek had become, growing into himself in a way Stiles envied. He’d jerked off many a night, watching the stylised black and white videos that the Hale Pack 2.0 preferred. Derek was always dressed in black jeans and tight white t-shirts, the sleeves of his trademark leather jacket pushed up to his elbows and his broad hands drawing Stiles’ gaze in as he played his guitar, all precision and power that had Stiles breath coming short at the thought of them on him.

‘Danny told me this morning. He’s practically beside himself at getting them on his books at such short notice.’ Lydia smirked, knowing she had his full attention. Danny had made a ton of money in apps and bought his old stomping ground. It had had a makeover and was now a very stylish LGBTQ+ venue that he ruled along with Jackson as his partner in business and life, once he’d had his gay crisis while he was gone. Stiles knew from the Hales’ publicity that Laura was a lesbian and he was pretty sure Isaac, Erica and Boyd were involved in something that looked pretty polyamorous but Derek and Cora were notoriously private and there was never any suggestion as to who they might be seeing. It seemed the kind of place they would be playing.

‘Okay.’ He moved to the coffee maker, preparing for a long sit down. ‘Tell me everything.’

TBC on AO3!

[adrenaline-roulette]

Jet Lag

So, in honour of my 22nd Birthday which was on April 30th. I decided to gift myself some cute Ben Hardy x Reader fluff. This was originally going to be Roger Taylor x Reader, but I was craving some Ben (I mean, who isn’t?)

@not-the-cleavers​  (Because girl, we all need a little bit of Ben in our lives right now)

Story is based off of the song, Jet Lag by Simple Plan.

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Reader (Female) with friend Joe Mazzello Warnings: Pretty much just pure fluff and cuteness, there is a bit of angst though but nothing major! Word count: 5953

Jet Lag

You collapse on your bed, sinking into the plush blankets, and massive pile of decorative pillows, it had been a long, and lonely week. It felt as if the standard five-day work week you had just endured, had been going on for at least a month. Though according to the red crosses on your calendar, it really was Friday the 1st, and not in fact Friday the 29th like it felt. The lonely part stemmed from the lack of company in your apartment over this past week, your boyfriend/ partner in crime, Ben Hardy was currently on a press tour with his castmates from 6 Underground, somewhere in Australia. While he had been away, your old school friend had come to stay while you had the house to yourself, but she had left for a business trip on Monday leaving you once again alone. You settle yourself more comfortably against your pillows, tilting your head back and to the side, keeping your eyes on your phone on your bedside table, just waiting for it to ring. Any minute now, you knew it would ring, and the anticipation of who would be calling had your heart racing.

The cool metal of Ben’s watch lay in your palm, and you clasped your fingers around the gold, circular face, rubbing your thumb gently against the glass. He hadn’t intentionally left his watch behind, but by the time either of you had realised that it was still in London, Ben was somewhere in Japan. Just as you go to glance down at the time, your phone buzzes to life, before vibrating along to your ringtone. It was a stupid song choice for a ringtone, though Ben had changed it for you just before he left, and you didn’t have the heart to change it. The song in question was that ridiculous, Doug Dimmadome – owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome remix that had been going around lately. Every time your phone rang, it nearly gave you a heart attack, as after each conversation on it, you attempted to erase the memory of your ringtone.

You dart your arm out quickly, grabbing your phone and swiping your finger along the screen to answer, a wide grin spreading over your lips, showing off all your teeth. “Hello…” You ask softly with a bated breath.

“Y/N? Hi luv.” Ben’s smooth voice sends chills down your spine, goose bumps appearing over your arms.

“What time is it where you are?”

“I’m in Sydney currently, and it is 9:15am. How about you?”

“6:15pm here, I just got home from work.”

“God, trying to figure out these time zones is making me crazy.”

“Hey, at least we’re doing better than at the beginning of the week. You were saying good morning, when it was midnight!”

“I just hate the thought of you alone. Five more days then I’ll be home.”

As if on cue, a floppy eared beagle pup leaps onto the bed with as much grace as if she were a hippo. Sniffing around your toes, before galloping up the mattress, and butting her nose against your knuckles, then phone. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m alone. Frankie just joined me, I think she misses you too.”

You can hear Ben’s smile through the phone, and you grin softly yourself, scratching the fingers of your free hand against her head. “So tell me about Sydney, what’s it like there?”

Ben sighs deeply, likely a combination of still waking up, the desire for a smoke and coffee, and the desire to hold you. “It’s alright.  It’s really warm here, and the people are all nice. But it’s the same thing every day, we’re all a bit tired of it.” He pauses, and you can hear his bedsheets rustling as he gets into a more comfortable position. “Fuck, I don’t even wanna be in this town.” He grumbles.

“Sydney is a City…”

You know for a fact that he’s rolling his eyes on the other side of the world, you had known each other long enough to guess the other’s reactions without ever seeing them. “Oh yeah, thanks, go on and correct the guy running off five hours sleep!” He’s trying to sound stern, but there’s laughter peeking through his tired voice.

“Hey now, if I don’t correct you, then no one will!”

“I’m sure there’s at least one other person in the world who is game enough to pull me up on my mistakes.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk covering your lips as you watch Frankie toddle to Ben’s side of the bed. Circling three times, before curling into a ball. “Ben, you don’t exactly take constructive criticism well…”

Ben groans, and you’re half expecting him to argue, but it never comes. “Yeah, you’re right. Knowing my luck, I’d probably call Sydney a town in the interview, and never be invited back.”

“Nah, I’m sure they’d invite you back. It’d just be to make fun of you is all.” You shrug, grinning to yourself.

“Oi, be nice! You’re supposed to be supportive and caring.”

“Yeah yeah, you’re right. You know I love you.”

“Debatable.” Ben shuffles around again, and you can hear him stifle a yawn against his palm. “So what’s been going on in the world of you then?”

“Work, sleep, work. Nothing exciting really…. Actually, the most exciting thing to happen was on Monday last week.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“I was making dinner for me and Sophie while she was still here. I had just drained the spaghetti I had cooked, it was in the colander on the counter, and I turned around to finish the sauce. The next thing I know, there’s a massive thunk echoing through the apartment, I turned around, and Frankie has knocked down all the pasta, and is running off with spaghetti hanging out of her mouth!” You can barely contain your laughter, the memory of Frankie looking both guilty, yet extraordinarily proud of what she had just done seared into your brain. “She looked like one of those Ood’s from Doctor Who!”

Ben is howling on the other end of the line, the deep baritone of his laughter only causing you to laugh harder. “Yes! Good girl! Good Frankie! Dada loves you!” Frankie lifts her head, having heard her name being called from somewhere. You reach over and scratch her head again, making kissy faces at the cheeky beagle.

“You’re not supposed to encourage this sort of behaviour! You’re the reason why she still does this kind of thing. She thinks she can get away with it!”

“Of course she can get away with it! She deserves people food just as much as you do.”

“Ben! We had no more pasta! She took it all, and there was no more in the pantry to cook.” You whine, though you both know it’s all in jest. You could never truly be mad at Frankie. Despite the occasional theft of food, or shoes, she genuinely was a well-behaved pup.

“Aw come on, you know you’re not really mad at her.” You know for a fact that if Ben were here with you now, he would be pinning you with his best set of puppy dog eyes.

Your shoulders slump in defeat, there was no use in pretending to be mad, Ben would see through your lies instantly. “Okay fine, I’m not mad. But we did end up having to buy takeout for dinner, and that was not the plan!”

“Oh boohoo, you had to get tasty food delivered, what a tragedy.”

“Hold up! How come I have to be caring towards you, yet I don’t receive the same treatment?!”

“You raise a valid point. One which I do not care to argue.”

“Whimp.”

“That’s me! - Hold on a sec, I’m just putting you on speaker. I’ve gotta start getting ready sorry.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position, pressing your back into your pillows. “How long before you have to leave?”

Ben pauses for a few moments, likely to check his schedule for the day. “Um, first interview starts at half eight, last one is around seven-ish.”

“Shit, sounds like a long day, eh?”

Ben sighs, the soft sound causing your heart to ache. All you want is to wrap your arms around him, to make him feel comfortable, and at ease, but you can’t, not from the opposite side of the world.  “Yeah, but it’s been like this the whole time. So I suppose I’m kind of used to it by now.”

“Should I let you go now? To go and get ready and all that? I don’t want to make you late.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.”

“I know, neither do I. But- but you’ll be home soon! And you’ll be home for at least a couple of months, so we won’t have to say goodbye at all for that whole time!” You’re trying to reassure Ben just as much yourself. The beginnings of these phone calls were always amazing; however the endings were almost impossible.

“Next time I go on a press tour, you should just come with me. That way we get to experience the world together, and never have to say goodbye.”

This time, it’s your turn to sigh. A deep, prolonged sound which conveys just how tired of this particular conversation you are. “Ben, you know I can’t do that. I have a job, I can’t just up and leave. They need me.”

“You don’t need a job! I’ll always look after you! You know that right?”

You rub your hand against your forehead, smoothing the lines which had formed there as you frown. “Ben, I know you’d do everything you can to look after me. But remember, you haven’t always been in my life. I grew up needing to work to look after myself. And, I don’t actually have an issue with that way of life. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, you make more in one month than I do in six. But you have to look at this from my perspective, what if one day, we aren’t together anymore? What if that happens, and I’ve quit my job so I could travel with you for tours and for work. I’d be fucked….”

“A-are you saying you don’t think we’re going to last?”

You blink in surprise, eyes growing wide as you take in Ben’s words. “How is that what you’ve taken away from what I just said?”

“Well that’s what it sounded like to me!”

You can’t help but groan, this certainly wasn’t going the way you had planned. You were both too tired to be having this conversation, that much was obvious. “Look, let’s talk about this when you get home, okay? I’m not suggesting we end our relationship, far from it. I promise. Besides, having two incomes is probably a good thing for the time being.”

Ben’s silence is deafening, and for a moment or two, you almost think he may have hung up on you. “Okay, I’m happy to talk later. Do you, um, have any plans for the rest of the night?” He’s trying to sound normal, though you know his mind has jumped to the worst-case scenarios imaginable.

“Yeah actually, Joe said he was going to drop round for a bit. He’s been in town the last couple of days catching up with friends, then he’s heading off to see Gwil for a little while. But he said he’d swing by tonight. He claims it’s because he wants to make sure I’m doing alright without you, but I’m positive he is actually just looking for an excuse to see Frankie again!”

This earns you a laugh from Ben, a genuine laugh. You knew it would, but just hearing it allowed you to relax somewhat. Maybe he would forget about what you had said, and you would be able to start this conversation fresh, when both of you were more awake. “Maybe we should get him a carboard Frankie to go with Ben-Cardy?”

“No! That is probably the worst idea you have ever had!”

“What? No way! I think it’s brilliant!”

“Benjamin, Joe has only just stopped posting videos of Ben-Cardy. Do you really want all of that to start up again?”

“Hey, it was funny! Especially that one where I got to be in it too!”

“No, that was the weirdest one!”

“You’re only saying that because you walked in on us filming it.”

“Well obviously! Put yourself in my shoes. You’ve just finished a long day at work, you come home to hear giggling in your bedroom,  and your first thought is, fuck my boyfriend is cheating on me! But oh no, instead when you storm into the bedroom, you see said boyfriend in bed with his best friend, and a cardboard cut-out of himself!”

Yet another pause follows your outburst, before Ben begins chuckling. “Okay, yeah, I see what you mean. That probably would’ve been a little odd.”

A rattling of keys in the apartment door grabs your attention, and you peer down the corridor, keeping an eye out for who was coming in. You knew who it should be, but you could never be too sure. The door creaks open, and Joe pops his head in, grinning at you broadly. You had told him where the spare key was kept, so he could let himself in when he arrived, though you had assumed he may still knock to announce his arrival. “Hey babe, I should probably get going. Joe’ll be here soon, and you need to get ready. Like properly get ready, and actually eat something for breakfast. I know you’re back on the smokes…”

“How’d you know that?”

Joe walks further into the apartment, leaning against the bedroom door frame, a fond smile on his lips. “Ben, I know everything. I see all.”

There’s a smirk in his voice now, as if he’s challenging you. “Alright then Miss all seeing. What colour are the boxers I’m wearing right now?”

You bite your bottom lip gently, completely forgetting Joe’s presence for the time being. “You’re not wearing any.” Your voice is low and sultry, and you can hear Ben hiss out a sharp breath. “Have a good day babe, I’ll talk to you later.”

You swipe your thumb against the screen, ending the call before Ben has the chance to respond. “You’re early.” You smile, turning your attention to Joe now, who was intensely pretending to have not heard the ending to your conversation.

“Did you tell him?”

“And hello to you too Joseph.”

“Y/N, did you tell him?”

You sigh, pulling your legs up so you could sit cross-legged on the bed, facing your entire body towards your friend now. “I tried to, but it didn’t exactly go according to plan.”

“So did you or did you not tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him.” Your shoulders slump, and your chin drops as you scowl at the floor.

Joe steps further into the room, coming over to your side where he rests his palm over your shoulder. “You have to tell him, he needs to know.”

“I know that Joe. Don’t you think I know that?” You grumble, flopping your head back so you could look up at him.  “It’s just, every time I try to allude to it in one of our chats, it always gets twisted, and it becomes this big misunderstanding. I think telling him face to face would be best.”

“What do you mean, when you allude to it? Are you actually coming out with the words, or are you trying to skirt around the truth?”

“I mean, I’ll get there eventually. One way or another he’ll find out, I’m just having trouble saying it is all.”

“Y/N. If you don’t tell him, then I will.”

<<<--->>>

Just as Ben had promised, five days later you were waiting at the airport for him to arrive home. The plan had always been for you to be there when he arrived home, however Joe had also decided he wanted to wait for Ben too, as he still had another day before meeting up with Gwil. The two of you stood in the arrivals terminal, you with an A4 sheet of paper with ‘Hardy’ written in pink sharpie, and Joe beside you, with an A3 piece of paper which read ‘Ben Hard-On’.

“Could you stand over there somewhere? Like, as far away from me as possible please? I don’t want people to know that I associate with you.” You grumble, though you’re having an exceedingly difficult time not laughing at his stupidity.

“Hey, it was your idea to make signs!”

“Sign! One sign, as in singular!” You sigh, casting a glare at the grinning American.

Joe simply shrugs, knocking his elbow against your arm playfully. “Well think of it this way, he won’t be able to miss us. Not with a sign like this.” He grins, gesturing down to his crude sign with his chin.

“If anything, he may intentionally miss us after seeing that.”

Before Joe has the chance to reply, you let out a loud squeal, before darting off and leaving him far behind. You sprint forwards, pushing past the couple of people who had decided to stand directly in front of you, blocking your sign off from Ben’s view. “Ben!” You call, throwing yourself at him with as much force as possible.

Ben drops the black rucksack he had been clutching in his hand, allowing it to clunk to the ground. His arms wrap around you tightly, his fingers digging gently into your sides as he pulls you ever closer to him. “Fuck I’ve missed you.” He whispers against your ear, before nestling his nose against the crook of your neck, pressing tiny kisses to the exposed flesh there.

There are tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and you feel as if you’re about to sneeze as you hold the tears back. “I missed you too. So, so much.” You whimper, clutching your arms tighter around his torso. People moved around the two of you, pretending not to see the blatant display of affection, or just too tired to truly care. The flight Ben had just departed had flown from Singapore into London, and everyone who exited looked like zombies, your boyfriend included.

“Well shit, I hope you’ve got enough to go round.” Joe pipes up, standing just behind you and to the left, this way, when Ben looked up to see him, he was greeted with the charming sign he had made.

“I thought airports had rules as to who was allowed inside?” Ben smirked, slowly lowering his arms around you, so one arm now rested around your waist.

Joe simply shrugged, grinning like an idiot. “British airports are a lot more lenient with letting in riffraff like me.”

Shaking his head, Ben stepped forward just as Joe did, both wrapping each other in a one armed hug. “It’s good to see you mate.”

“You too Benny Boo.” Joe chuckled, earning an eye roll from the blonde, and a deep sigh from you.

Ben heads back to you, bending down to scoop up his bag, before swinging it over his broad shoulder. “Here, I have a beanie and sunnies for you.” You offer with a grin, holding the items out to him. The beanie was black, and hand knitted by the old woman who used to live in the apartment next to yours. While the sunglasses were the spare pair he always kept in your car. “Just in case you’re trying to keep a low profile.” You shrug lightly, shoving your hands into the front pockets of your jeans.

“Hey, actually Y/N raises an excellent point. You’re a big movie star now. Where are all the photographers?” Joe demands, his eyes scanning across the crowds of people in the arrivals terminal. Lo and behold, there was a serious lack of paparazzi. In fact, the closest thing which came to paparazzi, was the small huddle of teenaged girls who were gossiping amongst themselves, whilst attempting to take sneaky photos of Ben. One even went as far as holding her phone directly in front of her face, pretending to be taking a selfie, and it would’ve worked too, if it weren’t for her flash going off.

Ben smirks, lifting his brows at the girls as the three of you walk past them and towards the baggage carousel. “Well there’s two reasons actually.”

“Oh, and what would those be?” You enquire, keeping an eye out for the bags you know Ben had taken with him. Although you were positive there would likely be one or two extra, filled to the brim with gifts and souvenirs from each country.

“Well reason one, is that aside from you guys, no one else knew the actual date I would be arriving home.  In the last interview I did in Sydney, I said I would be flying out in a week. So there’s probably a heap of photographers around the lobby of my hotel asking where I am right this very moment.”

Joe turns and looks at Ben over his shoulder, brows creasing into a gentle frown. “You’re a cruel man Hardy.”

“I know, I try my best.”

You roll your eyes, nudging your arm against Ben’s lightly. “Alright, so what’s reason two then?”

At this, Ben’s face breaks out into a wide grin, as he looks between you and Joe. “I use a different name when travelling. One that’s less likely to have people catch on to it being me.”

Your eyebrows rise at this, this was the first time you’d heard of Ben going under a different alias when travelling. You had always assumed he used his own name… “What name do you use?”

“Probably something stupid, like Dinkleburg Flapjack.” Joe butts in, grinning childishly at his made-up name.

The carousel you were waiting at whirls to life, slowly chugging around as bags begin to appear along its tracks. One of Ben’s bags is one of the first to be spat out, and he walks backwards towards it, so he could answer your question. “I like to go by a name literally no one will ever now. Joe Mazzello is one of my favourites to use. Shockingly, no one’s ever heard of him?” And with that, Ben turns on his heel and darts over to grab his bag, as Joe stands stock still, his mouth opening and closing as if he were a fish out of water. As for you? Well, you’re struggling to contain your laughter, and doing a terrible job at it!

<<<--->>>

The three of you sat in comfortable silence as you drove out of the airport, you had requested everyone -namely Joe- be quiet while you attempted to find the exit to get you back on the freeway. You always hated driving around the airport, all of the exits looked the same to you, but you found it slightly easier when you had no other distractions at least. Both Ben and Joe had offered to drive, which although kind, you had declined. One, because Ben was dead tired, and you worried that he would fall asleep behind the wheel; and two, Joe had a habit of forgetting he wasn’t in the USA, and kept trying to drive on the wrong side of the road. All in all, you were the safest option when it came to driving, at least in this scenario.

Ben had his head resting against the passenger seat window, his eyes drifting closed periodically before he would snap them wide open again, as if trying to convince himself he wasn’t in fact about to fall asleep. “Are we dropping you off somewhere Joe, or did you want to come back to our place?” You glance up at the review mirror, catching Joe’s eye in the reflection.

You watch his reaction for a moment, before returning your attention to the road ahead. You knew what his answer would be, even before you had asked the question. He want’s you to talk to Ben, and he has no intention of actually being there when you do so. He just wants it to happen. “If you wouldn’t mind making a pit stop at that little café you showed me the other day, that would be great.”

You nod gently, flicking the indicator on as you make a left turn towards town. “Yeah sure. That’s no worries.”

“Shoot us through a message later on, and we’ll meet you up somewhere to grab dinner, yeah?” Ben grins, turning around and looking at Joe in the backseat.

“Of course, that sounds great!” Joe smiles, shooting Ben a cheesy thumbs up in order to prove his agreement with the idea.

<<<--->>>

After dropping Joe off, you make the short drive back to your apartment, still with Ben dozing off occasionally beside you. “Hey, what’s that?” He pipes up, squinting his eyes at the dashboard, his view obstructed by your hands on the steering wheel.

You cast your gaze down, searching for what had piqued Ben’s curiosity. “Oh, this?” You laugh softly, reaching one hand forward, and grabbing out the folded picture which had been jammed between the plastic dash covering. “I keep your picture in my car. I figure, if I can’t wake up next to you, then this is the next best thing.” You shrug lightly, embarrassment tinting your words.

Ben reaches forwards, taking the folded photo from you, rubbing his thumb over it gently before peeling it open so he could see both sides. From what you had visible; it was just an image of a bordering on tipsy Ben, his blonde curls tousled and unruly, and his ocean eyes shining brightly behind thick lashes. What had been hidden from view, was how on the other half of the photo, he had his arm wrapped around your waist, while your head was resting against his shoulder, an equal look of joy etched permanently upon your face. “Why’s it only me?”

You tilt your head slightly, looking down at the now flattened photo. “Because it’s a great picture of you, but not of me. Besides, I wake up to myself every day. It’s you who I’ve been missing.”  You shrug, pressing the button on the garage key, waiting of the automatic roller door to curl up, before driving into the underground carpark attached to your apartment complex.

“Well I for one, think that this is a beautiful photo. Of both of us.” Ben sighs, rubbing his index finger and thumb along the crease which had formed down the centre.

You pull the key from the ignition then unfasted your seatbelt, swivelling on your seat so you could face Ben properly now. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyes unblinking, and focused solely on you now. “Something’s up, isn’t it?” He sighs, a brief flicker of hurt flashing through his eyes.

You want to lie, to tell him that everything is fine, and that nothing had changed while he was away. Tell him that your lives weren’t about to head down a path neither of you had ever discussed. “Yes, but not in a bad way perse. Let’s get upstairs? You need to catch up on some sleep, and while you do that I’ll start getting you unpacked. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit more human, yeah?” You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes like usual.

You push open the car door, sliding out and stepping into the cool garage, the perpetually damp air clinging to your skin like a second layer. “Why are you avoiding having this conversation?” Ben groans, following you around to the back of the car, where you both begin to pull his bags out.

“And what conversation is that exactly Ben?”

You swing his rucksack over your shoulder, pulling a large rolling suitcase behind you. “I don’t know. Whatever conversation it is that we apparently need to have!” He’s exasperated, and honestly, so are you. The fact that he’s tired, and likely has no idea what time it actually right now either, doesn’t exactly help the situation.

“Look, yes there’s a couple of things I need to tell you, but it doesn’t have to be right this instant! It’s not some big dramatic thing, okay?”

Ben frowns, folding his arms across his chest, watching you with a stern gaze. “Well for something that isn’t dramatic, you’ve certainly been putting it off. We could’ve had this, chat, last week. But you decided you didn’t want to!”

“Ben, I am not going to fight with you. Not here, not now, not ever. I am happy to talk with you when you’ve calmed down a bit. But as for right now, I’m going to our apartment, and I’m going to make a pot of tea. I can make it for one or two people, the decision is yours.” You don’t await a reply, grabbing the handle of the suitcase, and wheeling it behind you towards the stairs that lead out of the garage.

For a few moments, you almost think Ben is going to stay and fume by the car, but soon enough you hear his heavy footsteps following you up the stairs, lugging his two other suitcases behind him. “Green or black?” His voice flows from behind you, he sounds nervous, almost as if he thinks he won’t be welcome into his own apartment.

“Black, if that’s alright? I just got a new tin of Russian caravan.” You smile over your shoulder, catching his eye and sending a wink his way.

A blush creeps up his cheeks,  one which you watch melt over his pale skin for the few moments it takes before you arrive at your apartment. You rustle around in your handbag for a few moments, before triumphantly retrieving your keys, shoving one into the main lock, and pushing the heavy wooden door open. Immediately, Frankie is bounding towards the door, barking happily at the sight of Ben. “Hey girl. Hey!” He grins, kneeling in the doorway, where Frankie stands on her hind legs, resting her front paws on Ben’s chest. “Oh I missed you so much! Did you look after Mama Y/N? Did you?” He’s speaking in his baby voice to the excitable beagle, and it’s honestly the gosh darned sweetest thing you have ever heard.

“Of course she did, she was an angel like always.” You call from the kitchen, smiling to yourself. It was the truth, aside from the odd hiccup or two -namely the spaghetti incident- Frankie had been on her best behaviour the entire time Ben was away.

“That’s my girl….” Ben’s voice is lower now, and you’re almost positive he’s bestowing belly rubs upon the spoiled pup.

Humming quietly, you busy yourself with brewing a pot of tea, taking far longer than strictly necessary to select which teapot to use. Reaching up to the top shelf in your pantry, you pull down the spherical BB-8 pot, blowing off the small amount of dust which had accumulated on its lid. As you pour the hot water over the loose tea, Ben heads into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his chin over your shoulder. “Hey – I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight with you before. I know it seems like it though.”

You replace the lid on the teapot, allowing the tea to steep for the necessary 3-5 minutes. “I didn’t mean to bite back. I think we’re both a bit on edge right now. It’s always like this when you’ve just come home, maybe next time we just need to try and remember that?” You half laugh, bringing one hand up, to stroke your fingers against Ben’s jaw. “If you’re ready now, we can talk?”

Ben lifts his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder before standing up straight, using his hand on your waist to turn you to face him. “I’m ready when you are.” He whispers, crystalline eyes boring into yours.

A deep sigh slips from your lips, a frown creasing between your brows as you attempt to form your next words. “Remember on the phone the other night, and I said that me leaving my job wasn’t such a great idea?”

You know that he remembers, how could he not? But this time you genuinely were stalling. “There’s a reason for that. No, not just because the pessimist inside of me is warning that one day I may not have your income to rely on. But because, having two incomes could be a really good thing right now. In fact, it might be for the best.”

Ben has one hand still resting against your hip, while the other is dragging his fingers through his overgrown locks. “What do you mean? I- I don’t get it?”

“What if, it wasn’t just the two of us here Ben?”

“There’s three of us. You, me, and Frankie!”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, a soft smirk on your lips now. “Right, of course. Well what about four then? What if there were four of us?”

“Do you mean Joe? Is that why he came to the airport today? Is he living with us now? Because if he is, he can bloody well help with the rent!”

“Whoa! No, not that! Not at all!”  Your lower lip presses between your teeth, as you shuffle your feet along the tiled floor. “Ben, I mean a baby. I- I’m pregnant. And I figure, babies can be hella expensive, so maybe the two of us working will make things a little bit easier?” You’re rambling now, you know that. And poor Ben seems to still be trying to compute the news you’ve just dumped on him.

“Y/N, can we just rewind for a second?”

Your mouth slams shut, eyes wide as you nod at Ben. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you another way. Ben, I’m pregnant. I found out I think maybe, three days after you left.”

“Holy fuck. I mean, holy shit! No, I can’t swear in front of the baby. Oh my god? Is that okay? Or am I not allowed to blaspheme around the baby either?”

At this, you can’t help but laugh, stepping forwards and throwing your arms around Ben’s neck. “I’m only six weeks along. I don’t think you have to worry about thing’s like swearing yet.”

Ben freezes, locking eyes with you as he holds both hands around your waist, pulling you closer against him. “So you’re telling me. You’re pregnant, and the number one take away you have from that, is whether you should keep working or not?”  There’s humour in his voice, and his eyes are sparkling with joy.

“Yep. I guess so.” You shrug, allowing your laughter to flow freely now, uncaring if anyone else heard you.

Ben shakes his head, grinning like a mad man. “Fuck, I love you.” He whispers, leaning in towards you. Your lips lock together, melding into one like the perfect match they are. Teeth knock against teeth for a few moments as you work to find a comfortable pace and position, though your lips never part once. His hands cling to your waist, fingers pressing into your soft flesh, as if he were your anchor to reality, while your hands tangle in his hair, fingers curling and tugging at his blonde curls. Slowly, Ben pulls away, his eyes opening just barely so he could look down at you. “I’ll need to stop smoking. I promise I will.” He whispers.

You smile softly, tilting your head up so your nose bumps against his. “Now that, we can agree on.”

If you enjoy my writing, feel free to check out my MASTERLIST. I write for a somewhat varied number of fandoms. My askbox is ALWAYS open, and I love taking requests! It just may take me some time to write up your request, but I will always get to it!

[canonicallyanxious]

passing impressions

on my way back to the train station i passed two men unloading a truck. one of them tripped over his own feet, nearly dropping his heavy load and managing to stumble out of his shoes in the process. the other looked on with alarm, making wordless noises of shock, but unable to help - otherwise he’d have to drop his own load. thankfully, the first managed to right himself at the last second. he turned to his partner, they met eyes and began to laugh; the second one said words to the first i didn’t understand; i walked past them and couldn’t see them anymore. the whole incident couldn’t have lasted for more than a handful of seconds. for some reason though this image has been stuck in my head. two boys working long and lonely hours together, bound by their shared solitude; the intimacy that would grow in the silence; wanting nothing more than to help each other with their loads, but paralyzed by a fear of dropping their own burdens, of touching where they were not asked to touch, of being something they were not asked to be; even as one falls, the other stands to the side, stunned, concerned, helpless. then the moment passes, and there is nothing left to do but laugh.

-

when i first got to tokyo it wasn’t necessarily the technological advances of the city that impressed me - though of course there are many that just do not exist where I live - but how old some of those technological advances feel. like the people who created them realized the need for them long ago, and they’ve been around for long enough now that people just take them for granted. the aesthetic of a time decades past combined with the convenience and ease of innovations that have not arrived to my part of the world yet. there’s something so charming about that to me, that strange contrast. it’s like living in the future, but a future that was carefully planned, nurtured, looked after, even loved. the juxtaposition between technological marvels and ancient history exists in many cities, i think, but there’s something about tokyo. just something. it’s so different from any place i’ve ever been, and yet i almost feel like if i only spoke the language it would almost feel like a home.

-

back at home, the sun rises around eight in the morning [probably later now due to the end of daylight savings]. here, the sun begins to rise around six in the morning. even as the effects of jet lag have worn off i’ve continued to wake up around this time - perhaps an hour or two past it at the latest - as my room begins to get lighter and lighter. in contrast, i almost never rise with the sun at home. either i wake up when it’s still dark for work, or i wake up somewhere close to noon on the weekends, when i have nowhere i need to be. i think it’s a pretty unique feeling to wake with the sunrise. more than any other time of the day, it really makes you feel as if you can see the whole day stretching out in front of you. you know it’s going to be something. but what that something is going to be is entirely up to you, the choices you make, the places you go. i could see someone out there finding that incredibly freeing. i could see someone else out there finding that incredibly terrifying. 

and i wonder what would happen if they fell in love.

[shesawriter39049]

|FAMILY TIES| M| MAFIA AU| 4|

SNEAK PEEK #2 1.1 K

Soo you've gotten 3k of the chapter between the two(It will be around 13 all together so there’s still a lot in between lol )

GENRE:SMUT/ ANGST

AU SUMMARY :  A powerful alliance made up of of 4 families spanning over a decade, is suddenly turned on its head when one family has a new leader after an unexpected death. Well let’s just say he’s not down to follow the somewhat civilized rules your families have inforced. Sooo now, it’s game on…

LOCATION: Shanghai Pudong International Airport 11PM Wednesday night

You were out like a light, not even bothering to wake you until, the cargo plane had also landed, it was pushing almost 11pm at this point. Waking up to the feeling of someone slipping your shirt over your head, in combination with the sound of thunder rumbling against the plane. Eyes slightly hazy as they fluttered open slowly….

“It’s pouring and barley 50 degeress, you’d freeze in that…” Gaze dropping down to silently  observe the way he delicately slid your body into your oh so subtle Gucci tracksuit. “Eww when did you get so sappy!” The playful tease rolled off your lips and against his tongue, not hesitating to let his hand make a firm imprint on your ass. Holding it in place so you felt the sting against your flesh, forever reminding you how instant his duality could be.

A whimper slipped past your tongue while he smiked into the kiss, “Who the fuck are you calling sappy?” a low growl left his lips, as he sunk his teeth into your bottom lip, before shifting your body beanthe him, flipping you over so you were straddling his waist. Lazy kisses and sweet nothings were brushed against each others lips as you waited to unload the jet. Jet lag was in full affect that’s for damn sure ,this was NOT a smooth ride at all.

It felt surreal yet so natural..the two of you..not holding your breath with how long it would last, well aware that you both had a lot on your shoulders right now. Emotions are at an all time high so you tried not to over analyze the affection he was giving you, no matter how much you loved it.

Upon stepping off the plane you were greeted by almost terrifyingly dark skies , I swear mother nature tries to drop hints….she tries. Thankfully the mood was brightened slightly by Lay’s deadly dimples noticeable even tucked under a hat making his rounds as he greeted you all one by one. While you all loaded a little car comparable to an oversized golf cart where he drove you all a little further down the lane where the freight plane landed. 

“Okay so I need a favor, I need every box counted and marked,as you guys load each one nto the truck I want them loaded in numerical order…tonight!” Smiling up at him doe eyed, his body just slumped at the sound of that. It was wet and cold, and late as all hell, due to the weather they probably weren’t even going to unload until the morning!  But he'd never question, or complain about anything you requested of him. Shooting you another charming smile before  bowing out, to instruct his men to do as you asked.

It took close to an hour to get through every box, stregicially placing them based on weight, size, and  if any of them were marked as “Fragile “  The seven of you waited in anticipation, as they loaded the last 3 boxes into the trailer.

“54!” You heard Lay's voice echoed through the wind...A combination of relief and confusion now danced through the atmosphere. 

‘Does this mean I could actually, possibly leave China for once without killing someone!? ’ Hoseok spoke up for the first time since waking up voice sitting extremely groggy.

A drowsy chuckle filled the space as you all stood under the awning of the building to avoid the rain. Back pressed  firmly against Tae for extra warmth, as you all started walking towards the terminals. According to Lay’s packing sheet the driver  left with 60 boxes...he claims they took six so, so far his “robbery”stories kinda  lining up...

“I don't know man, I just still don’t get how they got away with six freight boxes before he noticed...has the driver’s plane landed?” Taehyung’s eyes cut over to Jin, as he checked the airports stats on his phone.

‘Nope, the rain has him delayed , at least another hour or so…”

It was getting late and none of you had the patience to wait for him, also not wanting to ambush the driver, wanting to weight until you’d collected a little more info. 

“How about this, instead of him taking the semi home, and coming back in the morning for the trailer, have Lay take him home...just makeup some bullshit excuse. I want Hoseok to drive it in, tomorrow morning instead . Tell the driver he can come in at 8 with all the other shop workers…” Jin nodded, walking over to give Lay the new game plan, before descending into the chaos that was the airport.

As you lot trucked through, believe it or not it was still packed..regardless of the fact it was pushing midnight. The line for Customs & Immigrations was ungodly and the 7 of you definitely drew attention, some stairs lingered longer than others. Taehyung and yourself were strategically placed between the other 5 men, purposely shielding you from view. Yet the presentation felt natural, it didn't appear like a barricade to the naked eye, if you didn't know any better you’d just think you were walking in a group.

A good hour, and lack of patience later you were the last to get verified, you understood enough Chiness to gist that everything documentation wise was all good. Just as the smiling face in front of you handed back your passport a member of TSA steps into frame.

Almost snatching your passport right out of your hand “Rude…” Slipped past your lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head without even a second thought.

You could hear him mumbling something in Chiness to the other TSA the almost sounded like “Back room” 

“Ms. Sever-”

“Severiane’ ” Tone dry as all hell, you could tell he was struggling and you weren’t in the mood, already annoyed by this blatant attitude.

“Yes’ we need you to step out of line, and follow me..” First thing you noticed was how clear his accent was, as he spoke to you in English with no hesitation.

“For what!?” The words slipped past all of there lips simultaneously before you even had time to rebuttal, completely ignoring the men to your right as they chimed in. The lack of response clearly wasn’t working in your favor as both guards stepped from behind the counter,and just like clock work, Taehyung and Namjoon were at your side as the men started to invade your personal space.

Both of there faces screamed “Back the fuck up..now!”

“I’m only going to ask you one more time, as long as you cooperate this won’t take long..”

You could feel Tae’s grip on your waist get tighter, pulling you into his frame as he locked eyes with the guard in front of you. If looks could kill, this man's head would be on the other side of the airport right now . You swore you could almost hear Taehyung’s teeth grinding together his jaw was clenched so tightly,

“Yeah, okay, ,whatever…not like my bags and passport didn't already clear your system but sure..lead the way” Flagging your hand to gesture you were ready to go, nothing subtle about the attitude that dripped from your lips

As you went to walk off, the grip Tae held on the back of your joggers never faltered jerking you back into him. “I got this…” Brushed past your lips and you swore he growled in response, forgetting how possessive this man could get. His eyes cut from yours and over to gentleman to your right before nodding tentatively. 

Smiling faintly in Namjoon’s direction as well, knowing he was feeling all the same emotions as Taehyung! Wigging out of his hold, fingertips gracing yours until the last possible second, the final glare that shoot from their eyes into the Tsa was lethal….

Walking down a long hallway before finally being led to a room in the back corner. 

Upon taking a seat the gentleman that walked you in left without saying a single word….

“That’s a beautiful plane you guys have…” Another extremely clear American accent graced through the doors as a different agent walked in to take a seat in front of you. His name tag translating to “Han”.

“Thank you…”

“So what brings you to Shanghai at this time of night…”

You could tell he was just beating around the bush and you really had no patience for it whatsoever “I didn't plan to get here this late, but it’s a long flight and the weather sucks..” Shrugging nonchalantly as you crossed your legs, slouching back in your seat.

“Is it your first time here?”

Just shaking your head “no” in response, the utter lack of enthusiasm earned a chuckle from the gentleman in front of you.

“Ohhhkay..and what brings you here this time?”

“Food..shopping...aesthetically pleasing pics for my Instagram..shall I continue…” Crass nothing but crass…

“So your telling me you flew 16 hours to shop, eat and take pictures?” Brow arched at the implied question triggering a smirk to crawl up your face.

“Clearly you can tell I can afford it” Letting your hand trail up and down your body everything from your tracksuit, to the diamonds that danced along your body screamed affluent. “So yes, that is why I’m here..and if all you wanted was my itinerary can I go?”

“No, I actually called you in because  when your bag got checked.. We noticed your weapon wasn’t stored properly. But instead of just taking it, I decided to be nice and give you a warning,I even brought a pamphlet for the proper protocol when traveling  with a concealed weapon.

Bullshit, utter bullshit, there was nothing wrong with your gun and if it was it would've gotten flagged when they checked your bag…They don’t play around when it comes to weapons registered or not!

“Hmm, well aren't you a gem, thank you, I’ll be more careful next time..” Flashing him an Oscar worthy smile ...to go with his bullshit excuse for why he called you in here

“Anytime, make sure it’s secured when you leave though,  we won’t be as generous next time…” Slowly rising from his seat, just nodding in response.

“Enjoy Shanghai Ms. Sunjata…” You felt your spine go ridigit at the sound of that, completely readjusting in your seat. Footsteps rattled behind you, as you heard the door shut. Trying to run through any scenario in your head, that could explain why you were 99.99 percent sure this TSA agent just referred to you by your original surname!

That was all the conformation he needed...silently observing the obvious shift in body language.. 

And just like clock work you realized he wasn’t actually leaving, the door was never closed when he came in to begin with….

Soooo like….Ya’ll ready for part 4 or Nah? Lol lemme know whatcha think…This is the last sneak peek no promises but I’m thinking Next week it should be up! It’s almost done.....

Love you as always..

Rocki

[sleepguruin]

How to Induce Sleep Paralysis?

Most people who have experienced sleep paralysis want to eradicate such extraordinary dreaming experiences from their lives. But some courageous dreamers are always searching for a suitable answer to their quest for how to induce sleep paralysis.

Sleep paralysis is quite easy to induce as every person experiences it around four to five times every night, although most of them are not aware of it.

You can expect some level of success on your first attempt unless you are so tired that you keep falling asleep.

Sleep paralysis is the act of waking up your mind while your body is still asleep, and Rapid Eye Movement (REM) sleep is not yet complete. This is not considered a harmful medical condition and should pass in a couple of seconds, but it can be very frightening.

Ways on How to Induce Sleep Paralysis

There is a range of proven techniques that can help you understand how to induce sleep paralysis. You can follow anyone or a combination of these techniques to find out which one works best for you.

Learn The Signs And Working Mechanism Of Sleep Paralysis

One of the first steps to induce sleep paralysis is by self-research. You can start by reading the fundamentals and getting to know about the act. Find out

What is sleep paralysis all about?

What are the probable signs of it?

How to do it?

This will help you to get an idea of what you are going to experience and know whether it is working for you. Search for topics like ways to keep your mind and body calm during a lucid dreaming experience and how to center yourself before attempting to induce sleep paralysis.

The more information you gather about the topic, the better experience you will have.

Reduce Sleeping Hours During Night-Time

Disrupting the sleeping cycle with shorter sleeping periods is one proven way to induce sleep paralysis. You can do this by reducing the sleeping hours at night and taking naps in the evening.

Sleeping less at night means waking up early in the morning, which will help you to take a nap in the evening for a couple of hours. After the nap, you need to stay active for at least an hour before going to bed at night.

Lie On Your Back And Try To Relax

One of the crucial steps that you need to follow to induce sleep paralysis is to lie in a comfortable position. Lying on the back is the most common posture that people take.

Though researchers are not clear about the causative connection of such a position with sleep paralysis, a significant number of people have experienced sleep paralysis in such a supine position.

Work on keeping the body calm and focusing on things like releasing muscle tension and breathing in and out. The key is to make your body relax as much as possible.

Wake Up In The Middle Of The Night

An alternate way to potentially induce sleep paralysis is by waking up in the middle of the night. Set your alarm between four to six hours from your sleeping time.

Keep your mind active for about half an hour by reading books or journal just before going to bed. Maintain your awareness by focusing on a specific point in your body, such as the navel or chest area, while you slowly slip off to slumber.

Follow An Irregular Sleep Schedule

One of the proven techniques of how to induce sleep paralysis is by following an irregular sleep schedule. The underlying motive is to focus on attaining a state of mental and physical awareness while you drift off to sleep.

Some people already follow an irregular sleep schedule due to work or sleep-related disorders like insomnia, whereas others need to create such sleeping habits.

More About How to Induce Sleep Paralysis

If you are not satisfied with the tips mentioned above on how to induce sleep paralysis, you can follow some alternate solutions which are as follows –

Meditate

Through regular meditation, you can enhance your physical and mental awareness, which can help you in your act of inducing sleep paralysis. Find a quiet place, turn on some relaxing music, and open the doors to your subconscious mind.

Write down your experience

Noting down your experience in a paper after an episode of sleep paralysis can help you retain your induction and recall before your next session how you felt earlier. If you happen to identify any specific method that works for you, note it down so that you can use it consistently.

Have patience

Sleep paralysis is not an overnight act and might take days or even weeks to experience the desired result. Keep exploring different techniques on how to induce sleep paralysis until you can master the art of the art.

Sleep Paralysis FAQs

What Induces Sleep Paralysis?

Sleep paralysis is more likely to occur during adolescence. Conditions of jet lag, stress, sleep deprivation, or any other panic disorder may trigger such action. Factors that are commonly linked to sleep paralysis include –

Narcolepsy;

Sleeping on the back;

Irregular sleeping habits; and

A family history of sleep paralysis

Can You Get Hurt in Sleep Paralysis?

Although waking up with an inability to speak or move is incredibly frightening, sleep paralysis does not continue for very long. Moreover, it is not harmful and does not pose a threat to your normal well-being unless you are forcibly attempting to induce one. Normal sleep paralysis can, at most, lead to feelings of intense fear and increased anxiety levels.

Why Can’t I Enter Sleep Paralysis?

Sleep paralysis is considered a symptom of narcolepsy. But all instances of sleep paralysis are not an indication of narcolepsy. Most of these instances are a result of an inability to transition between different stages of sleep, particularly moving in and out of REM sleep. Inducing such habits takes a lot of patience and effort.

Why Is Sleep Paralysis So Scary?

Sleep paralysis occurs when the brain and the body are not quite on the same page during sleep. In rapid eye movement (REM) sleep, you tend to dream frequently. Your body muscles get relaxed to the point of paralysis, perhaps to prevent you from acting out your dreams. Such a temporary inability to move your body or speak out makes sleep paralysis a scary experience.

Bottom Line

Understand that there are severe impacts on your physical, mental, and overall well-being when you deprive yourself of normal sleeping habits. Make sure to get enough sleep and exercise caution if you want to experiment with how to induce sleep paralysis.

[imlostinatunnel]

Tapes (Day 2 of Mercy76 Week)

So, so sorry this is late, everyone. I’ve been without power for a couple of days and I’m having to travel around to find places with wi-fi still running. Again, I’m really sorry. 

The dirt roads were bumpier than Jack remembered. He slowed the car down, hoping he did not disturb Angela who was in the passenger seat.  It was too late though. She was already stirring in her seat.

“Hmm?” Angela hummed. She rubbed her eyes and sat upright. Her eyes were greeted by the evening’s sun. Unfortunately for her it was still too bright to take in. “Mm!” She whined.

“Good evening,” Jack said. “Sleep well?”

“I’m still tired.” She mumbled, starting to curl back in her seat.

He couldn’t blame her. After going from Europe to Indiana in a little under two days, he expected at least a little bit of jet lag. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.” He rubbed her shoulder. No response. She must have been making her way back to her dreams. Jack shifted his attention back to the road. The evening sky was still as breathtaking as he remembered. At least some things haven’t changed, unlike the roads.

The acres of hills and grass soon became acres of farmland with automated combine harvesters every few acres. The sun had set a little farther allowing the first stars become visible. Angela stirred in her seat once more. Her eyes opened to a more welcoming light this time. The vibration of the car moving along the road was enough to wake her to her senses. The first thing she saw was the car’s digital clock.

7:48 PM

Wait, she thought. I was supposed to take the driving over at six! She looked at Jack, who noticed her right away.

“Welcome back.” He said, looking back to the road. “It’s only a few more miles up the road. Good sleep?”

Angela sat herself upright. “Why didn’t you wake me to take over the driving?

“It’s been a few days since you had a good rest. You needed it. Plus, your snoring is cuter than mine. Probably.”

“I don’t snore.” She said, giving him a little punch.

“You weren’t awake. How do you know?”

She punched him a little harder this time.

“Ow! Ok, ok. You don’t snore. It’d still be cuter than mine though.”

He turned on to a road the split the corn fields. At the end was a house. The porch lights were on along with the first floor lights.

“There it is!” He said. Jack looked like he was on the verge of bouncing in his seat.

Angela wanted to be excited as well, but as soon as she saw the house thoughts ran through her head. She has spent almost an entire day in a car. What if his folks don’t like her? she thought. Her hair looked like a larger mess than usual and her attire felt too casual to her. She wanted to look like the best example of Jack’s girlfriend, but now she was having second thoughts.

“Angela, everything ok?”

She looked up. they were already in front of the house. Her breathing felt heavier than normal. She took a deep breath. “Just a little excited,” she said with a forced smile.

Her attempt to try and sound excited it did not fly over Jack’s head. He took careful hold of her hand on her lap.

Angela closed her eyes. She wasn’t fooling him. “What if I don’t live up to their expectations of the perfect woman for their son? I just-”

A hug from Jack cut her off before she could finish.

“I think you’re perfect. No matter what they say that isn’t going to change.” He withdrew from her and pecked her cheek. A soft smile spread across her face. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and stepped out of the car as Jack turned the engine off.

Both of them stood on the porch under the light. Angela took Jack’s hand as he knocked on the screen door. Her grip unconsciously tightened when she heard footsteps on the other side. The lock was undone and both doors opened. An older woman, a little shorter than Angela, stood in front of them. She smiled the instant she saw Jack.

“Jack?” she asked.

“Hi, Mom.” He said. He couldn’t control himself anymore. If he smiled any harder his cheeks would rip apart.

“My goodness, Jack!”

The two hugged each other with no signs of letting go. This was the proof that they had not seen each other for too long.

“I didn’t recognize you at first, you’ve gotten so tall.” She took a step back, but kept a hand on him as if he was about to run away. “But you still look like my little Jack.”

Angela nearly crushed Jack’s hand when his mother turned her attention to her. Stay calm, she thought. First impressions are key. Angela smiled.

“And you must be the Dr. Ziegler my son is always talking about.”

Angela felt a cold sweat run down her back. She braced herself.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, honey.”

Angela must have heard her incorrectly. “Um, th-thank you, Mrs. Morrison.”

“Oh, what am I doing? Please, come in!” She moved out of their way.

Angela was encouraged by Jack to go in first. The inside was felt so different than what she was used to. The light felt warm against her. Everything about it reminded her of Jack. It was all so welcoming. Many of the shelves had nostalgic items dating back into the late 1900s. Angela immediately spied a picture of a young Jack Morrison sitting on one of the automated combine harvesters. He could not have been more than seven, maybe eight.

“Darling, they’re here!” Mrs. Morrison called out from behind them.

Ahead of them was a hallway across from the entrance to the kitchen, just before the living room. An older man turned the corner of the hallway towards them. Angela recognized Jack in him before anything else, including the cane he walked on. He was a little taller than Mrs. Morrison, but still shorter than Angela.

“Oh my good lord. When did our son become a giant?”

“Dad, it’s good to see you!” Jack said as he walked up and gave his father a similar hug he gave his mother. His father returned the gesture with his free arm.

“It’s great to see you too, son!”

“Dad, what happened?” Jack asked as he released his father. He missed the cane at first as well it seemed.

“I’m old, Jack. I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the strange questions. You might end up with one as well when you’re my age.”

“Not if I can help it,” Angela spoke up, with more confidence than earlier.

Mr. Morrison turned towards Angela. He walked over to her letting the cane take the weight with every other step. “So this is the woman that chose our Jack out of everyone else.” He leaned forward but still spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ in to, miss?”

Angela smirked a little and looked at Jack who playfully rolled his eyes.

“Now you see what I had to deal with growing up,” Jack said with a smug smirk.

His father turned to Jack. “What you had to deal with? What about what your mother and I had to deal with? Don’t make me get the tapes.”

Jack’s smugness dropped with almost no transition on his face. “No, Dad.” Jack whined. “Please d-“

“Screw it, I’m gettin’ the tapes.”

“Dad, whyyy?” It was too late. His father was already on the move.

To Angela’s surprise, Mr. Morrison moved quickly despite his dependency on a cane.

“Mom, can you stop him please?” Jack was near to the begging stage. He might have started if Angela was not in the same room.

His mother walked to the entrance to the hallway. “Darling,” his mother called out. “What about dinner?”

“Dinner can wait!” Mr. Morrison said from down the hall.

“Sorry, Jack.” His mother smiled at Angela.

Angela wanted to see a young Jack in action. She smiled back at his mother. Somehow she knew it.

“Jack!” His father called. “Come in here and give your old man a hand!”

The whining noises Jack made were ones Angela had never heard before as he walked down the hall.

“Dr. Ziegler, would you like to sit down?” Mrs. Morrison asked from the living room.

Angela did not want to be rude. She nodded and took the couch on the far end of the living room. All around the walls and above the counter bar windowing the kitchen were pictures of Jack and his family. Angela looked down from them. She remembered that she would never have the chance to introduce Jack to her family.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” The voice of his mother was more than welcoming.

Angela smiled. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

Mrs. Morrison sat on a single sofa next to Angela’s couch. “I’m no fool, honey. I know pain when I see it. I’m a mother after all.”

Angela Looked back to the pictures on the walls. “I’m just- I can’t introduce Jack to my family the way he can. And seeing your pictures, it’s just...” A tear rolled down her cheek. It was not normal for her to get worked up over her parents anymore. She hasn’t in a couple decades at least. But seeing the pictures reminded her how much she missed them. Mrs. Morrison lightly rubbed her knee. Angela breathed a little easier.

“Dr. Ziegler, my son loves you very much. The way he spoke about you over the phone was the first time I have ever heard him speak that way about anyone, or anything.”

Angela blushed a little. She wondered what Jack had told his parents about her. Hopefully he left some certain details out.

“Now, if my son does give you any trouble that you can’t handle, and you look like you can firmly hold your ground, you let me know. I’ve had to teach him lessons the hard way through all his childhood. I’m not afraid to teach him some more.”

Angela’s laughing made Mrs. Morrison smile. She took a couple of tissue sheets from the stand next to her and dried Angela’s face. “You be sure to let my little Jack know just how lucky he is.”

“Oh, I let him know every time we’re out on the field.”

“You two keep each other safe out there.” Mrs. Morrison said. “I know it can be dangerous, what you two do.”

“Of course, Mrs. Morrison.”

“We found ‘em!” Mr. Morrison said, coming down the hall. He turned in to the living room and was followed by Jack who carried a box with the writing “Little Jack” on it. What he did not carry the same enthusiastic look his father did. “Set it there on the coffee table please, son.”

Jack set the box down and sat next to Angela. Something felt different to him. “Is everything ok, Angela?”

She took his hand and gave him a small kiss in front of his parents. “Everything is just fine,” she said with a smile. Angela got a look at the box’s contents. “Those are all tapes! Do your folks have a working VCR?”

“Indeed we do. Right over there under the shelf the TV is on.” Mrs. Morrison said.

Angela completely missed it. she had never seen one in working order before. It was bulkier than she expected.

“His father loved collecting archaic things from the past. God knows why. He insisted that we film everything on tape,” said Mrs. Morrison. “Until we ran out of his VHS stash.”

“I’ve told you, these are more than just things. These are relics! Ancient relics that hold the memory of Little Jack here.” Mr. Morrison said, rooting around through the box. “Ah ha! Oh, she’ll love this one.

The way the VCR ate the tape took Angela by surprise. Mr. Morrison turned the television on and sat down on the chair next to his wife. On the screen was the entrance to the living room. The camera was being held, judging from its unsteadiness. The stairs in the hallway were visible. Before anyone appeared on screen, the sounds of feet coming down the stairs were accompanied by the childish sounds of gunfire and explosions.

All of a sudden, a boy with blonde hair came from the stairs and ran in to the living room. Angela immediately recognized this boy from the pictures on the walls. Her Jack as a young boy! She leaned forward as much as she could, gripping Jack’s hand. The young Jack on the TV was holding something.

“What do you have there, little Jack?” asked his mother on the TV. Angela was about to ask the same question.

Young Jack acknowledged his mother holding the camera. “Commander Soft Bear!” He said, presenting the stuffed animal to the camera. It was a teddy bear about the size of his arm. It wore an outdated, early 21st century Army uniform. Complete with patches a uniformed hat.

“What does he do?” Asked his mother behind the camera.

“He’s in the military!”

“Do you want to go into the military too?”

“Yeah!”

“What do you want to do in the military, little Jack?”

The young Jack paused for a moment and looked down. After a few seconds he looked back up to his mother. “I’m wanna save the world!”

Angela could not stop giggling over how cute he was. She looked at Jack, who sat with a hand covering his face. She could tell he was holding back a few laughs of his own.

“What do the dog tags say?” asked his mother on the television.

“Huh?”

“Soft Bear’s tags. Can you read them?”

Young Jack turned the bear towards him and brought the tags close to his face. “Teddy 76!”

“And we have your room over here on the left,” Mrs. Morrison said. “This used to be Jacks old room, believe it or not.

Jack did not recognize it at first. The entire room had been re-fitted into a guest room. Jack and Angela set their suitcases on the bed. It was more than big enough for the two of them.

“You two sleep well. it’s a long drive you’ve got tomorrow.” She said before turning the hall light off. The stairs echoed as she walked back up them for the night.

Angela spotted something under one of the pillows. Before Jack could notice it, she removed it. It was the same stuffed teddy bear in the first tape his father showed.

“What’s that?” Jack asked.

Angela turned only her head to him. “It’s Commander Soft Bear!” she said, spinning around with the bear in front of her face. “Can I keep him for the night? Just to snuggle with.”

“But you already have a commander to snuggle with!” Jack playfully whined.

“Oh, I can snuggle with you both I suppose,” she said, hugging him with the bear behind his back. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of this new commander.” She teased.

“Yes I am!” He said.

“Don’t you worry. You’ll always be my Teddy: 76, Jack.” She gave him one last kiss for the night. “Let’s get to bed. I’m driving tomorrow.”

[hsalbum2]

Liability - Chapter Six

The Beginning

august 1, 2014 “Is every night this hectic, or are we all just getting the nerves out for the first show?”

I let myself collapse backwards onto one of the large leather couches in the dressing room as I watched Lou brush a matte finishing powder onto Harry’s nose. He was the last member to come through for hair and makeup before taking the stage, the other four rowdy One Direction boys had come and gone, wandering off into one of the multitude of backstage rooms reserved for us in Toronto’s Rogers Centre. I had never been part of a production this large, and was completely thrown for a loop when we arrived at the baseball stadium at the sheer volume of people involved backstage to make this tour happen. Wardrobe, hair & makeup, catering, security, and the opening band all had their own rather large designated rooms. They would filter in and out as they pleased, coming to Lou and I to fix them up just before taking the stage. I hadn’t realized that I had yet to sit down since arriving at the venue that morning until I had finished styling Niall’s hair and he bounded off down the hallway shouting something about having to finish a footy match Louis had started in another room. Everyone was high energy, zipping around backstage in a rush to complete their respective jobs. It was a bit like a circus, watching how this band operated. Everyone had their own set job and when completed seamlessly the whole act came together. Harry was the last one to come visit Lou and I because he had been on the phone with Gemma, grilling her about a date she had just gotten home from. Even from across the pond he was stepping into the role of protective brother. He whined to Lou and I, voicing his displeasure that Gemma had told us about the date before telling him. Based on Harry and Lou’s incredibly tight bond, I assumed he was usually the last one to come through and spent the remainder of his downtime before the show chatting with his hair dresser confidant. Lux was curled up on the couch next to me, eyes glued to a cartoon playing on an iPad. She seemed entirely unfazed by the chaos unfolding around her, way too focused on what I assumed was a rerun episode of Peppa Pig. Myself, on the other hand, I was completely wiped out. “Every night is this hectic, love.” Lou answered back with a laugh, glancing over at my collapsed body as Harry took a break to tussle his own hair into the style he preferred. “Plus this is far from the first show.” Harry chimed in. Of course. This was Trixie’s first show, but this was old news for everybody else. This tour was already halfway to completion and I was late to the party. Realizing that this world didn’t revolve around me was going to be an adjustment. “You get used to it, though. Makes home seem rather dull and boring without all this chaos.” Lou was back to trying to powder Harry’s nose as he continued to swat her hand away. “I’m sure once the jet lag subsides I’ll be back on my game.” It was nearing show time and Preston was sure to bound into the room to collect Harry for his call to stage any moment now. Other than that I had absolutely no concept of what time it was here or even back in England. Although Harry mentioning chatting to Gemma after a date led me to believe it was way passed my bedtime back home in London. “I think I live in a permanent state of jet lag.” Harry spun around in the chair in front of the vanity Lou and I worked at. “Might just register One Direction as its own timezone at this point because we never get to stay anywhere long enough to really adjust.” “You’re all doing an awful job of selling this tour to me.” I groaned dramatically. Lou let out a hearty laugh as she dismissed Harry and began to tidy up the mess that had been left in the wake of all of the One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer boys. No two members used the same hair products, each desperate for a style that they could brand as their own. Lou had ran me through what everyone liked, all of them tending to stick to a bit of a routine. But Harry was the outlier. Every night he was feeling something different. Sometimes he’d braid his hair, sometimes he’d let her put product in it to bring out the intensity of his natural curls, and on some nights, like tonight, he insisted on doing his own thing entirely. Tonight’s look screamed Keith Richards, with Harry dressed in a sheer black button up, and a bandana tied in his hair to hold back his wild curls. I could see all of his tattoos through the shirt and it took quite the effort to force my tired eyes away from his chest before he noticed I was staring. “You can’t possibly be hating this already, we haven’t even started yet!” Harry seemed distraught, eyes wide as he gawked at me. Without even having to look at her I could just feel Lou rolling her eyes. “Trix is just being dramatic.” “I’m not dramatic.” I crossed my arms defiantly in front of my chest, but I could practically feel my nose growing three sizes bigger over that fib. “I like the theatrics.” Harry’s eyes were wicked with a sparkle at his simple comment. I was unsure if he was referring to me or the theatrics of making this tour a reality. But suddenly my entire body was acutely aware that his eyes were still glued to me. God, did this boy ever have a power over everyone else in the room. He was humble and yet still just his presence in a room demanded all eyes on him. He was a showstopper. Lou paused her cleaning to lean up against the edge of the vanity for a moment. “I’m sure in a couple days you’ll be feeling alright again, you’ll be healthy and loving every minute of this.” I could just tell by Lou’s tone when she spoke she was in mother mode. That was probably the biggest difference between Lou and Sam. Sam was a little more laid back, but Lou was always watching out for everyone. Her words were more of a statement of fact than a suggestion. I knew she was trying to psych me up about this tour, offering a bit of motivation about moving on from Jacks and making the most of this opportunity. I knew this because it’s all Lou would yap about this morning while I tried to sleep in. She was still on the same kick, but she just wasn’t name dropping my ex-boyfriend in front of Harry. I wasn’t that concerned with this cold. I’m sure that tomorrow morning it would fully break and I’d be a right mess, sneezing and sniffling all over everything. Right now my body just ached and I was constantly tired. It wasn’t ideal, but I knew I could survive and keep working. “You’re still ill?” The way Harry scrunched his nose up in confusion brought on an irresistible urge to smile, so I focused my attention on my iPhone that I had left laying in my lap when I sat down. A few messages from Sam wishing me luck on my first show greeted me on the lock screen, as well as a few notifications for new voicemails from Jacks. I’m sure they were just drunken rants when he finally figured out my apartment had been nearly entirely emptied out of my clothes and belongings. When I failed to respond Lou jumped in for me. “Everyone gets sick on their first tour, Harry.” Her tone was strict, coming quick to my defence. “Jet lag mixed with all the recycled airplane air is a recipe for disaster.” I was far too wrapped up in the notifications on my phone to respond, the sight of Jackson’s name on my phone an instant distraction for me. I had never felt like this about Jackson before. I guess you were supposed to get a feeling of sadness or longing when your ex-boyfriend reached out to you, but today was more of just an annoyance. Travelling across the ocean couldn’t even put enough space between us to give me some breathing room. My patience was wearing thin with all of this. My life back in London was filled with daily harassment, and the constant dread of having to risk an interaction with Jacks. Combined with Sam and Gemma watching over my every move as if I wasn’t capable of handling myself. I loved them dearly, but I just wanted space. I was going to be okay on my own. Granted, their hovering was exactly what had taken me away from London and the life that I loved so much. As much as I was thankful for this experience and was going to make the most of absolutely every second, I was also a homebody at the end of the day. I liked my routine. I liked my flat and my short commute to Bleach every day. And now I didn’t have that because Jacks wouldn’t let me. My life recently felt like I was treading water in a storm and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep my head above water. Jackson was the hurricane. I found it interesting that the thing you once loved, that meant the entire world to you, could so quickly become the same thing that made your life a living hell. “On a serious note, orange juice helps, Trix.” Harry saying my name brought me back down to Earth, clicking the lock screen on my phone after I typed out a quick text to Sam. I promised I’d call her tomorrow when we figured out a time that worked for both Canada and England. I deleted the voicemail notifications. Maybe I’d listen to them later. Maybe I’d just let my inbox fill up until there was no more room for him to leave a message. “Orange juice?” I repeated in an attempt to make it seem as though I had actually been paying attention to the conversation at hand. Harry nodded his head to confirm, “with all the vitamin C, you know?” I remember my mum saying the same thing to me all the time when I was growing up. I’m sure Harry’s mum had insisted the same thing. “I’ll pop over to catering when you’re all on stage and see if I can find some.” “Absolutely not!” I was caught off guard by how violently Harry began to shake his head no. “You need the freshly squeezed stuff, not the sugary processed shit they’ll have there.” As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Lou’s hand made firm contact with the back of Harry’s head. “Watch the language, knobhead.” “Soz, Lou.” Harry mumbled, rubbing at the back of his head. We all glanced over at Lux briefly, but she wasn’t really paying attention to any of us with Peppa Pig still playing on the iPad. “I’ll put some on the rider for tomorrow’s show for ya.” “You really don’t have to do that, Harry.” I offered. I’m sure there was plenty of juice in catering already, or even just a grocery store near the venue. There was no need to make such a fuss over fresh juice just for me. “It’s fine, Trix.” Harry waved me off, just as Preston appeared in the doorway. “Showtime Haz, let’s go.” Harry jumped out of his chair, ruffling Lux’ hair as he passed the toddler on his way out. “Bye girls, thanks for everything.” He called over his shoulder as he followed Preston towards the stage. As soon as his curls had disappeared out of sight, Lou turned towards the vanity to begin the cleanup process. With the exception of a few essential items that we would use for touchups throughout the show, she began to pack up the rest of the mess that had been left on the vanity in the wake of getting all of the boys ready. Each 1D member had their own clear plastic case for all of their unique products, neatly labelled with their names. Lou had this whole crazy circus act down to a fine routine by now and it was fascinating to watch her. Back at Bleach, I only ever had to focus on one client at a time, most customers coming in with similar requests for platinum hair and pastel colours. “Mummy, I’m all done.” Lux announced, putting the iPad down as the episode she had been watching ended. “I just need to pack up and then we can go get some dinner, alright?” Lux nodded at Lou and then handed me the iPad to put away into her small backpack full of toys she brought with her backstage. She was probably the most well behaved toddler for this crazy situation, but I guess this backstage rockstar life was all she had ever known. Placing Lux’ backpack down on the couch next to her, I stood up to help Lou clean up. Lux grabbed the bag and began to clean up her own mess, placing stuffed animals that she had with her on the couch into the bag as well. “That boys taken quite the liking to you already.” I couldn’t see Lux’ face, but just by her tone of voice I knew she had a wicked smirk. I grabbed the clear plastic makeup bag with Niall’s name scribbled onto it and began to zip it up as Lou placed the last few bottles into Harry’s bag. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lou.” “Don’t play coy, Trixie.” “We were sat next to each other on the plane, so he just happens to be the guy I’ve gotten to know the most so far on this tour. I’m sure I’ll be close with all of them soon.” “But do you fancy him?” Lou zipped up the last bag, placing it back down onto the countertop. “It’s alright if you do, love.” I gave her the most stern look I could muster, trying to ignore the Cheshire cat grin sprayed across her face. “I’m just hear to work, Lou. That’s it.” “That didn’t answer the question.” She walked away from the vanity to pick Lux up from the couch. With her backpack on, the three of us were going to head down the hall to catering to grab dinner while the boys took the stage. “I mean, I’m sure if he likes you I’ll find out fast. That boy can’t keep a secret to save his life.” I rolled my eyes to brush off Lou’s comments. Harry was attractive, and from the limited interactions I had had with him, he was nothing but a sweetheart. He was also probably one of this most fit guys I had ever laid my eyes on, but he was an international pop star. Practically every girl on Earth fancied Harry Styles, so of course there was a bit of a crush there. But for Lou to insinuate that something was going on was just mad. In reality we barely knew each other and had only spent a couple days together. He had such a warm personality, I’m sure that he was this friendly and welcoming with everyone he met on these tours. There was no need to fuss over Harry and I. There was also no need for me to start overthinking. I had enough on my plate already. I wouldn’t even think of dating another guy until Jackson was finally out of my life, and I didn’t see that becoming a reality anytime soon. Harry and I were becoming friends. Just friends. “All I’m saying is don’t forget who invited you out on this tour when you’re sending out the wedding invites, babes.” Lou winked.

Chapter Five > Chapter Seven 

[bridgetbites]

Leading Up To Last Years VS Show : Hollywood Life

Wednesday 23rd

My husband and I travelled to central Pennsylvania (where his family is from) last night, and I love waking up in the country! Every morning I like to start my day with a fifteen minute, non-negotiable meditation, followed by a light yoga sequence. I find it centers me and gives me a little glow for my day. Today we are headed to some local farms to get super fresh vegetables for thanksgiving tomorrow!

Thursday 24th

Thanksgiving! Six days before the Victoria's Secret show I can indulge a little, but can't go too nuts. I like to start my days out here in the country with a four mile run through gorgeous country side. After my morning meditation I find the run centers me, and gets me excited for the rest of my day! 

Being a vegan my approach for all meals is to fill up on vegetables. So my contribution to our family thanksgiving is a few trays of roasted veggies. I like to make them with rosemary, thyme and olive oil. Then I follow them with a slice of my husbands grandmas apple pie - it's vegan and my favorite! 

Friday 25th

Back to the city we go. My beauty regimen is ultra moisturizing this time of year - my skin gets so dry otherwise! I like to cleanse and tone with Dr Hauschka, followed by mad hippie vitamin C serum, and then I moisturize with Rose Day Cream Light by Dr Hauschka. I finish with bio-oil. It's a lot, but I'm not taking any chances! Plus I'm not mad at the glow all this work gives me.

Saturday 26th

Today I am getting in my final workout with my trainer who i adore. I have been training at Body By Simone - they have gyms in both NYC and LA and I am obsessed. My trainer Alice and I do a combination of dance cardio and resistance training, and my body has never looked better. This year leading up to the show I have been focusing on more strength training than cardio, and I have really enjoyed the time and energy I have since stopping the hard cardio! I highly recommend checking out a class.

Sunday 27th

I am so excited! Today is the day that we all hop on the Victoria’s Secret jet and fly to Paris. I wake up at 4:30 from excitement, and can’t sleep another wink. So I start my hair and makeup a little early. Today I want to look natural and pretty - so I start with a Nars foundation, followed by a Charlotte Tilbury highlighter across my lids and cheekbones, and end with a thin liquid eyeliner and mascara by Shu Emura. Hair-wise I straighten the kinks out of the ends and add a little dry shampoo at my roots for texture. Then I am ready to roll! We all gather at the plane, take our photos, and fly to Paris.

On the flight I make sure to drink a lot of water to eliminate any bloating at the other end, and zone out a little watching the OC. Such a guilty pleasure of mine!

Monday 28th

Today I am jet lagged, and didn’t sleep well. We arrived late last night, and I was too excited to get a proper nights rest. So I take myself outside and do a light run along the Seine to wake myself up. Then I make myself a protein shake using the metagenics advanced protein shake, and have a soy latte to give me a little energy. Whilst traveling and working so much I make sure to keep my vitamin game strong. I take Triphala and probiotics for my digestion, and I also take Algae oil,  Bio-cell collagen and Dermaval supplement. I am pretty obsessed with this product; it really makes my skin glow and I make sure I take it every morning. I also take  ALA and vitamin C for the antioxidants whilst traveling. I normally don’t bother with these unless I know I am going to be exhausted. At night it is more chilled - I just take a magnesium and vitamin B complex. It is a lot, but I find it helps me stay on my game!

Tuesday 29th

I get a lie in and am so relieved about it. My husband arrived yesterday and we spend the morning playing backgammon and drinking coffee in bed. I then do a light workout in my room using ankle weights and resistance bands. I like to do Body By Simone exercises off their DVD whilst traveling; you can do it from your hotel room and they really are effective. I then go and get my oxygen facial and a light spray tan organized by Victoria’s Secret. Then it is rehearsal time. I like having a rehearsal the night before - it is a nice chance to get used to the runway and your shoes again. The set looks AMAZING - I am really starting to get excited now! 

Wednesday 30th 

Today is the day I have been gearing up for for the last five months! I am so excited! I let myself sleep in for as long as possible, then I do a light ab workout in my hotel room from my trusty BBS DVD. I don’t want to work too hard, I still want energy for the runway. I just want my abs to get some pump… The hours and hours in the gym has been done! Plus it helps my brain get ready for whats to come. 

We all pile into a bus and it is hair, makeup and media for eight hours straight. Two shows fly by in a haze of excitement. I mostly hang out with two of my close friends Keke and Kelly. We are all staying together in Paris after for a few days, for chilling, eating and drinking, and we are all so excited!

There is no other feeling in the world than doing this show. I have been modeling for a very long time, and it is a career highlight of mine for sure. I am so honored to be a part of the show again - it is so exciting! Onto the after party, and I enjoy the afterglow of such an exciting event. I am exhausted though and bail out after a few hours to our hotel, where my amazing husband has dark chocolate covered strawberries and vegan pizza waiting for me.

[moirakoro]

My gift for @getblacky95​, who was my partner in the @yuri-on-ice-valentine-exchange! :3 I went with the post-canon prompt and threw in Yakov since that’s what you asked for, but somehow it feels like it ended up being a Yakov appreciation fic so... hope you still like it?? Anyway, happy (very belated I’m so sorry omg) Valentine’s Day! thank you for being so patient orz

Title: Not quite the best idea Rating: G I guess, although there’s some swearing from our dear Yurio Characters/Ship: Victuuri + the entire Team Russia and Yakov Word count: 1'885

It’s on AO3 too!

It all begins with a simple question, really.

“Has coach Yakov ever gone on a vacation?” Yuuri asks out of the blue, as he and Victor are taking a short break on the side of the rink. Victor thinks for a moment; his eyes follow his fiancé’s gaze and land on Russia’s number one skating coach, who’s currently yelling at Mila and Yurio for almost getting in a (playful, at least on Mila’s part) argument in the middle of practice again.

Now that he thinks about it, Victor can’t think of a single time in his entire career, no, his entire life when Yakov hasn’t been by his side – or at least somewhere near a skating rink. He could live comfortably off his pension and savings by now, yet he’s 70 and still coaching; still coming to the rink every day, still arriving at six thirty precisely; still shouting at Victor, although now it’s because he’s mad that he and Yuuri are happier in love than he’s ever been, still begrudgingly patting Georgi on the back too, still getting annoyed at Yurio’s insubordination…

“I don’t think so,” Victor finally answers, arms crossed and a finger lightly taping his chin. “I guess he’s just as passionate about skating as all of us here.”

Yuuri takes a few more gulps of his water bottle, hands it to Victor and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “Even we took a few days off after the New Year, though…” Victor’s fingers linger on his fiancé’s for a little longer than necessary. Memories of the lovely week-end they spent together in Paris after (both Russian and Japanese) Nationals make his lips curve into a sweet, adoring smile. “I hope he doesn’t overwork himself,” Yuuri goes on. “I mean! I probably have no right to say that, but…”

“No,” Victor interrupts in a soft tone. His Yuuri is always so grateful and caring; he’ll never stop being amazed at how easy it is to fall in love with him all over again, again and again. “You’re right.”

It’s a bit weird, trying to imagine this rink without Yakov here to offer harsh (but always justified) criticism on his every move, or just yell at him when he’s fooling around – but having a coach like him is no given, and after more than a decade of making his life hell by never once listening to his advice, maybe it’s finally time Victor shows he cares for Yakov too. He’ll discuss this with the others after practice, he decides.

And that’s how a month later, right after Worlds, Yakov is presented with plane tickets and a one-week reservation at the best resort hotel they could find on the Italian Riviera.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he mumbles, unbelieving, (and perhaps a little embarrassed).

“It’s a gift from all of us,” Mila explains with a confident smile on her face. She’s the one who suggested the exact location, having made one or two trips there with Emil Nekola and the Crispino siblings in the past. Victor then chose the hotel, and Georgi took care of every remaining detail – including restaurant bookings and (for some reason) ordering the roses which Yakov doesn’t know yet he’ll find in his room upon his arrival. “Our treasured coach deserves a vacation from time to time, after all!”

“Your ‘treasured coach’? You think I’m going to fall for that? Stop trying to pull pranks on me and go back to practice, you’ve wasted enough time already!”

Oh. Well, they were prepared for many reactions, but for Yakov to think this all is just a joke… Victor, at least, is disappointed. Yuuri is quicker to speak up, though.

“Um… Coach Yakov, this is not a prank. I promise we all just, err, want you to take some time off and relax. We believe you deserve it.”

Yuuri is absolutely incapable of being dishonest; especially when he’s like this, with his hair down and an embarrassed look on his face, you can read him like an open book. Yet Yakov doesn’t seem to trust his words at all.

“Was this your idea, Vitya? What are you trying to buy my forgiveness for this time?”

“What? Yakov, I’m hurt. You know I would never-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Yurio suddenly intervenes, clearly sounding like he’s had enough, “I spent some of my money on this shit idea of a gift too, so just fucking accept it!”

Then he proceeds to turn around angrily and step back on the rink, sliding as far away from his coach and fellow skaters as he can manage on the ice. Everyone else remains in shocked silence for a few more seconds, but Yurio’s outburst has effectively ended the debate; Yakov mumbles a half-hearted thank you and they don’t talk about plane tickets and hotel reservations for the rest of the day. Victor guesses it’s fine. Their coach is only supposed to leave in two weeks, after all.

But two weeks really do fly by fast when you spend each and every day trying to put together the best programs for next season, and they only find the time to talk about Yakov’s vacation again once or twice. He ends up agreeing to go, although still somewhat begrudgingly; so on Saturday afternoon they all meet at the airport to see him off, and after making it clear that they’d better not use his absence as an excuse to slack off, he’s gone.

“I hope he’ll have fun,” Yuuri muses as they’re about to leave the airport, long after Yakov’s plane has taken off and they’ve all had a cup of coffee together.

“He definitely will,” Georgi is quick to assure him. He looks strangely pleased. “Italy is such a romantic country, after all. Maybe he’ll even meet someone who’ll make him finally discover the thrill of love!”

“Uh, yeah, maybe not,” Mila intervenes. “Still, will we be alright while he’s gone…?”

“Of course.” Victor puts on a reassuring smile. “It’s not like it’s the first time we’ll be training alone for a few days. Besides, since I’m an experienced coach now, you can come to me anytime if you-”

“Bullshit! You’re a shit coach, Victor, everyone knows that!”

And once again, it’s Yurio’s screaming that puts an end to their conversation, as well as washes away their doubts a little (not that they’ll ever let him know).

Sunday is a day off, so they don’t notice Yakov’s absence very much. At some point during the day, while Victor’s lying on his stomach on the couch and lazily scratching behind the ears of a rather enthusiastic Makkachin, Yuuri wonders aloud if Yakov ever suffers from jet-lag – to which Victor answers he probably doesn’t, and that’s it. They spend the rest of the day lounging around Victor’s (although it’s really theirs now, Victor insists) apartment, cooking together and watching TV together and doing the dishes together the very way that never fails to make Yurio mime the act of puking and say they’re a “couple of fucking disgusting dumbasses”, and overall just enjoying being around each other.

On Monday they’re back to the rink, though, and it soon proves kind of… unsettling not to have Yakov around. Yuuri seems okay, but it takes Victor a few minutes to remember that his coach isn’t there right now, and he doesn’t stop waiting for the lecture he knows he deserves every time he makes a mistake until late in the afternoon.

Tuesday goes by just fine, too; better, even, since Victor manages to pull off that combination that caused him trouble just perfectly not twice, but three times in a row. “It’s a shame Yakov wasn’t here to see this,” he complains, though, once he and Yuuri are taking a break. “You’ll show him when he comes back on Saturday,” comes the answer – and Victor frowns but says nothing.

It only starts getting weird on the following day. They’re training, as usual, Yuuri trying to remember the trickiest part of his free skate choreography and Victor working on his own programs, until their eyes meet and Yuuri smiles with a soft blush on his face, like he’s just that happy to be skating on the same ice as Victor. Which, to be quite honest, Victor can understand – he, too, gets overwhelmed with joy every time he thinks about his fiancé. Still. Yuuri skates up to him and their fingers brush, and the next thing he knows Victor is being pulled into some dance steps they’re only performing to the rhythm of the music seems to Yuuri as he moves. What’s weird is not that they’re dancing – they do that all the time, and it usually makes both Yakov and Yurio scream a lot – but rather that suddenly, it feels very wrong for them to be dancing right now. Victor stiffens; luckily, Yuuri notices and stops immediately to give him a questioning, worried look.

“We should be practicing,” Victor says without thinking. “Yakov would get angry if he saw us.”

Yuuri only blinks, although he doesn’t look like he understands, and nods.

And on Thursday, Victor looks more concerned than ever. He can’t stop frowning. “Yuuri,” he whines out of the blue once they’re back home; they’re on the couch watching TV and his head is resting on his fiancé’s lap. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

Yuuri raises a brow, but doesn’t stop gently carding his fingers through Victor’s hair. “Who’s not coming back?”

“Yakov. What if he’s having so much fun on vacation that he decides to retire for good?”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say. So he only promises Victor that won’t happen, trying to be as reassuring as he can; and Victor wakes him up in the middle of the night to ask him the exact same question. Twice.

So really, it’s a relief- No, it’s mostly a surprise, but it’s also a relief too, when they all suddenly hear a groan on Friday afternoon and they turn to the rink entrance to see Yakov. His plane wasn’t supposed to take off before Saturday morning, yet he’s here already – so Georgi asks how the essential romanticism of the Italian Riviera could have disappointed him, but that’s not why their coach came back early.

“Did you not like the place?” Mila enquires, biting her bottom lip.

Thankfully, it only takes five seconds for their coach to ease off all of their worries.

“It has nothing to do with the place! I could feel you slacking off all the way from Italy!” he almost shouts. “Have you all even been training properly?”

“Oh, Yakov!” Victor exclaims, and it’s the most energetic he’s been in days. “So you were worried about us, after all!”

“The only things I worry about are your performances. And you’d better go back to practice if you’re hoping to win anything next season!”

His declaration is instantly met with approval. And the next time Victor feels like thanking Yakov for all he’s ever done for him, he decides on just having a bouquet of flowers delivered to his apartment instead.

(It’s still far from anything the Russian coach even remotely enjoys, but at least it manages to make him feel more relaxed than a week away from his troublesome skaters.)

[goodgodbean]

Lost In Connection - Ashton Soulmate Au

Masterlist

A/N  This is a new Soulmate Au series, I hope you enjoy!

=======

Twenty one. You never thought you’d make it. Excitement bubbles in your stomach, and you don’t think that you’d be able to sleep tonight. Tonight is the night that you will meet your soulmate. Or at least switch bodies with him. Sure, it wasn't guaranteed to happen, since it depended on who was the younger of the two. There was something that made you feel like tonight is the night though. So at nine o’clock you climb into bed, so excited that you can’t sleep. Well, it was excitement or the fact that you usually go to sleep around two in the morning.

Ashton lays down to go to bed. For some reason tonight he seems especially tired, and he knows that he shouldn’t go to sleep for another few hours because of jet lag, but he couldn’t help but sleeping.

When Ashton wakes up, he is surprised to see tan walls. This wasn't the color of his room in the L.A. house. Along with tan walls there was another bed in the compact room. Ashton jumps back a little when he sees there is a human in the sheets. This must be some dream. Ashton decides. He gets out of the bed and looks at the clock that woke him. It says 6 A.M. Why the hell is he up so early. The girl in the bed besides him rolls over and Ashton watches her wake up.

“Hey, Y/N, what time is it?” She asks. Ashton takes another look at the clock, even though he already knows the time

“Six?” He responds, causing the girl to jump out of the bed.

“Six?” “Yes?”

“Six!!”

“Yes?”

“SIX! Y/N! I asked you to wake me up at five!” She hurries around the room, beginning to undress. Ashton slaps a hand over his eyes, as he hears the rustle of clothes.

“Actually, it’s not Y/N, although its a pretty name and all…” Ashton trails off. The movement in the room abruptly stops.

“You’re not Y/N?” She says scrambling over, she places her hands on the sides of Ashton’s face. “I forgot it was her twenty-first birthday!”  She yells. “I have to go to class! But meet me back here in like two hours?” She said. The door slams closed and when Ashton opened his eyes she was gone.

He looks around the room, unsure of what to do next. The only person he ‘knows’ in her life just left him stranded in a dorm room. Ashton searches around a little and spots a phone on her bedside table. He snatches it up and swipes to only be imprisoned by a lock code. Ashton tries a few combinations before trying 1 2 3 4 and the phone opens up. Y/N will have to get a stronger password in the future, Ashton thinks. He swipes through the few screens. There is a few crappy games, but nothing really interesting. He goes into the camera roll, and starts flipping through pictures, to try and find her. Nobody on her Camera Roll seemed to stand out to Ashton. Ashton stand in the room for a few moments before saying Fuck It, he walks out of the door and into the world. When you woke up it was by a giant boy flopping onto your feet, in a gigantic bed, nothing like the one in your dorm room. “Ash, you ready for band practice?” A blond hair boy asks. You are left stuttering and slightly confused, until i clicks. She switched.

“Um, I’m not ‘Ash’,” You say, gritting your teeth a little. The boy before you is very handsome. He had stubble and his car was flopping down onto his forehead. He also had piercing blue eyes.

“Really! GUYS!” He shouts and two more boys come stumbling into the room after a few moments.

“What?” Says the asian looking one.

“This isn’t Ashton,” The blond that is on the bed with you says.

“What the hell do you mean this isn’t Ashton?” The blond in the door says. “Guysss,” The blond on the bed sighs. “Don’t you remember school? Soulmates?” The blond says expectantly. The other Asian’s eyes light up and seems to understand, while the other blond is still looking confused.

“I barely went to school,” The blond in the door says. The other two begin explaining how you meet your soulmate to Michael, while you examine your body. Muscles on Muscles. Seemingly tall. You spot a mirror across form you and see shaggy, dirty blonde hair.

“What’s your name?” The attention turns back to you. Its the Asian one who says it.

“Y/N, what’s your names? Are you in a band? Where am I?” The questions spill out of your mouth. They jump to introduce themselves.

“Before you ask, I’m not Asian,” Calum says, “I’m Kiwi” He says firmly. You nod along, not wanting to get in his way.

“Yeah were in a band, Five Seconds of Summer?” Luke says, expectantly. You shake you head. You had never heard of the band before. The boys all sigh a little, knowing that you don’t know who they are.

“I don’t really follow celebrities,” You say truthfully. “So, I’m sorry but I don’t know who you are,” The boys give off another little sigh of disappointment.

“Would you like to hear some of our music?” Micheal asks pulling out his phone.

[ecotone99]

(MF) The Caller

“You barely made it out, didn’t you Gilt?”

“Who is this? How’d you get this number?”

“Pathetic, Gilt, really. You can’t even handle the booze you pay for. No wonder you’re fat and broke.”

“I’m going to hang up now. If you call again, I’ll find you, and when I’m done with you, you’ll have to breathe through a straw. Got it, pal?”

“Sure, Gilt. Sure thing. Just one question though, huh? How’d you feel when you came to this morning? Probably pathetic. Am I right? Yeah, definitely pathetic.”

“Wait, what happened? Where was I last night? Who is this?”

“Why don’t you look in the mirror, Gilt? Take a good, long look. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t leave the house. Don’t make any calls. And be good. Talk to you soon, Gilt. Very soon.”

Owing to a penchant of mine, this talent I have for blackouts, my memories get fooled around with, fanned out and then cruelly shuffled. I live in a daze of time-jump, of brain lag. I’m a joggle of clanking pasts. For instance, as I lay on the bomb-stained carpet there, nose-up and piteously wheezing, I remembered a breakfast I quaffed last summer: stiff shingle of toast (blowtorched, flinty), wet flop of egg, throat-scalding hell’s brew of frizzled black coffee, and a single, zigzagged cigarette, exhumed from an outdoor trash bin. Perfect, translucent clarity, everything summoned with ease. But the previous night was a wipe. Well, there was a shimmer of data: a cracked tooth and boggled eyes, a bruised rib and towelly tongue. I felt run over, totaled. Not much to go on really, but it was clear that I got into something. Or something got into me. The details were all smudged out. As a rule I don’t do deep dives, or plunges, into memory’s dark underwaters. I’m just not brave enough. You never know what’s lurking down there, in that gulp of time and squid ink.

So, about this problem I was having, spreadeagled and sweating on the stained underlay, laboring to remember what happened, to give some kind of form to the flicker. How did I come to be there, all bloat and pregnant pain, a burping, bewildered komodo, capsized on my silver shag? There was clearly some flash of violence, probably with my caller there, whose number was a string of sixes, whose voice went slithering across my nape. It was a sickly, heart-curling voice, a spasm of greenish disgust. What would I do if he knew my address? He might appear at my innocent door, his powerful neck all teeming with veins, his tight face and Adam’s apple, his rage dials set to maximum. Yes, what would I do? I considered a knee to the groin, a stiff thumb in his eye, a shock of knuckles to the valve of his throat. I had some real options here. It was violence a la carte, and that made me feel a bit better. The knee-to-balls route seemed best - the jelly maker, the maneuver with the highest payoff, the most grind and twang for the effort put in. I had a good knobbly knee on me too.

I noticed how my cell phone, the snazzy little two-way there, was now dark with battery death. I must have blacked out again: the device was lubed with slobber. (I mouth leak when I’m unconscious. It’s something I’m working on.) It may surprise you, I know, but I felt pretty shipshape. Passing out never felt so good. I sprang up and shuffled to the bathroom, to the glass and glare of my shame. The mirror said nothing as I streaked and splattered it. I howled and cursed while scalping my face. I combed and rinsed and tweezed and spat, but there wasn’t much I could do. The perma-stubble skin, the burglar mask eyes: I was faded, spectral, a washed-out shimmer, a grizzled fat spook with a vindictive bladder. But man, was I feeling good. I was ready for the mystery caller.

I watched myself in the stoic glass, rehearsing my chop and swing, my lunge-block combination, my crushing elbow thrust. Oh yeah, my blood was up, and I was crackling with hot fight static. But listen, don’t get me wrong - I’m a realistic kind of guy. I have a good meaty fist and a stony jawline, but I’m a bit doughy in the middle. I admit it. And there’s the issue of my guileless, side-parted hair, my stained glass style, my cotton candy heart: I have the menace of a snoozy koala. I’m practically made of sweater fuzz. But I’ve lived in some jungly places. Right now I sleep in a chintzy motel, this ruin at Thirteenth and Pike, a stripped slum where fear levels rocket from sensible precaution to diuretic retreat. You don’t stroll about down here, let me tell you, not without some good brass knuckles or a broken wine bottle. Yeah, I may look soft, but I’ve survived this city. I’m big too, bigger than most bounders out there. If my caller even tried to ghost my steps, he’d come to in a glass avalanche, a cataract of boom and shatter. Yes, I’d pick up his call. He would hear my answer all right, in tooth-rattling quadraphonic. I was so ready.

I had plans for a very big day. I assembled the sundries on the bedside table, including my cologne of choice (Bad Boy, a very respectable knockoff, quite close to some top-dollar scents). I rechecked the hair, had a no-show on the toilet, and drowned my uvula in a quart of orange juice. A spritz of Bad Boy on throat and nape - easy, not too heavy there - and a gruff hawk into a startled dishrag, and I was teetering out into the open air. My cab was late but I didn't mind. (My car wouldn’t start, that sly rattletrap.) I was firmly on mission, and that felt good. My first act of the day: to purchase a slick new talkie, since I couldn’t revive the dead one, not even with a thorough cleaning. It turns out cell phones aren’t droolproof. You know something? We should get the guys at NASA on that. They came up with space blankets and velcro, even the cordless vac, lots of terrific doodads. It would be an honor to shake their hands or give them a whopping tip. We thank you, and space thanks you, for the tiptop job and all the great doodads.

My cab arrived and I poured myself in. I was practically rosy, all spruce and twang and radiant health. But it was actually quite pallid, closer to anti-health, and it didn't radiate: it seeped out from my blazing armpits. Wow. It must have been the Good Boy deodorizing spray. I had gotten myself all shiny with it. I guess Good Boy and Bad Boy don't really mix. As we barreled and bounced over uneven streets, I stared out my window in a daze of preparation: duck, lunge, thrust - and kick! I hardly noticed the waking city, the sudden scrapers and blue vault of sky, the rounded back of my driver, who was slumped over the flummoxed wheel.

“Hey. Hey pal. You okay up there?”

He didn’t budge, not a twitch. Now there’s a guy who lives hard. I’ll bet he gargles jet fuel in the mornings, gulps pots of frizzled coffee, runs on track-lit dreams and deep money-need, the city’s blunt promise of more, more. Always more. We need it, don’t we? Time, hair, psychotherapy, youth, fuel, pleasure, analgesics, headspace, vitamins - and money. I was just happy we limped to a stop, at the corner of Veck and Main. I stepped out from the car and got ambushed by a lurking curb grate. I was okay, no problem, just face-down in the steaming street. I yanked myself vertical, found my bearings, and I tubbily bowled on through a dizzying crosswalk. We had stopped a block short of my destination, a gizmo emporium on Franklin Ave. Looked like I would have to walk it.

My strides were bold, no-nonsense, as I lumbered past the signs and shops, the grottoes, the clearinghouses, the eateries. Whatever you needed was there. You could buy it, trade it, hock it, consume it. And you could smell it too. Steam from the hot tarmac, with strong emanations of mineral and bad egg, blended vapors from belching cars and streetside vendors, went trailing into my nose - and into my hair, my clothes, my eyes. I walked upstream among the morning commuters, the frowning sidewalk tramplers. I rounded Ninth and Main to see the looming business district, a bar graph of square-top buildings and glassy towers, prisms of turquoise and white and mean money-green.

I stopped to breathe (I mean pant) by a display window, the lit stall of a ladies’ boutique. Within the bright cube was something strange, a rather unsettling scene: a pale gallery of tranced mannequins, misangled and leaning like the dozing dead, many of them armless, all draped in scalloped ghost-gowns or frilly white frocks. The whole thing frankly shuddered me, right down to my carking feet. I turned to march on but found myself fixed, eye-locked by a mustachioed kook, an arm-flapper standing in the baffled street.

“Gilt Hammer, the time has come to pay!” he screamed. Indeed it had. I knew that voice. Oh yes, I knew it, and the anger coiled up behind it. It was him all right, and boy did he fit the bill, a seven-foot, fizzing lunatic, a real yowler. I felt anchored to the earth, drilled in.

“Gilt Hammer, the time has come to pay!”

How did I know this guy? The rockets of memory all fired at once, twirling toward the distant past. Surely I would hit on something. Nope. Misfires, every one of them. He must have been someone I duped or swizzled that year when I tried out flimflamming. It turns out I’m a lousy grifter. You wouldn’t believe how tough it is, trying to get over on people. Most guys, most gals, they’re smarter than you might think, and they don’t see the joke or the value in getting themselves gazumped. And this guy must have taken it to heart. Yeah, most of that year is lost now, sunk beneath the booze and the tranks and those experimental nights with a whip-wielding vampire named Sylvia Six. (Don’t ask, because I’m not answering.) As I watched the burled barker doing his thing, yelping away in the street there, something unbelievable happened. No, I really don’t think you’ll believe it.

A sharp-nosed speedster came knifing in. It parped and hootled its way toward him, but he wouldn’t move, our man. I blinked to find the maniac, all seven feet plus hair, cartwheeling over the length of the car. With a bounce or two on the blacktop, and a fine impersonation of a thrown bowling ball, he barreled over the curb to clang his face against a pole. As onlookers swarmed to help or take closeups, I walked on toward the gizmo gala on Franklin Ave, feeling vindicated, weightless. I was old Buzz Aldrin there, doing my lunar lollop. I had never felt so fine. It was poetry, you see. I had poetry on my side. Or was it irony? Either way, it’s potent stuff, and that morning was all smeared and slathered with it.

submitted by /u/Keyboard_Komodo [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2HZpudj

[biofunmy]

Hut Skiing in the Dolomites: Storybook Scenery and Grappa Included

Every mountain is unique, sure. But, the rhythm of most ski resorts is predictable. So, when I heard about a “ski safari” in the Italian Alps, that involved crisscrossing the scenic towns and valleys of places like Cortina, Civetta, Val Gardena and Arabba, then sleeping at a different alpine inn each night (sadly, no tiger tracking), I was intrigued.

On top of appealing to my daredevil nature, there was another selling point: I am a solid intermediate skier. In the United States, hut-to-hut skiing is a backcountry endeavor designed for experts. Not so in the Dolomites, a UNESCO World Heritage site in northeastern Italy. This territory of jagged limestone peaks, dipping plateaus and terrifyingly steep World Cup descents, I discovered, actually, boasted manageable terrain; 86 percent of the runs are red (intermediate) and blue (the easiest), ideal for nonelite athletes like me whose slope preferences are wide and easy groomers to couloirs, the narrow, hard-core gullies for advanced skiers.

Even better, the traditional Italian mountain huts called rifugios bore no resemblance to the bare bones huts of North America. They were cozy, family-run establishments celebrated for splendid views and cuisine that integrates the heartiness of South Tyrol with the refined flavors of northern Italy.

Hopscotching through the Dolomiti Superski, which, with a single pass, allows skiers access to 12 valleys with 800 miles of terrain serviced by 450 lifts, is complicated. A skier must organize transfers by bus or car to individual resorts, which are tucked into narrow mountain passes. Local tour operators began designing ski safaris, multi-resort ski days combined with rifugio stays, so tourists could experience maximum terrain minus the organizational hassle. Though ski safaris may sound like a marketing gimmick, these packages are increasingly popular in a number of countries, from France and Switzerland to Canada.

I signed on for a five-night safari with Dolomite Mountains, a company that offered professional guides and the ingenious perk of luggage transfers with its small group safaris. (The company has multiple iterations of the ski safari from December through mid April starting at 2,660 euros, or about $2,935 per person for five nights, six days). My suitcase — minus the bulky ski garb that I would be wearing all day, every day — was left in town. A duffel bag was provided to pack essentials (pajamas, toiletries, jeans and a sweater for dinner) for the nights spent at high-altitude rifugios. This bag appeared, snow-dusted, in my room.

The trip began in the tony village of Cortina d’Ampezzo, where my plan for a post-flight nap was foiled by the heady scent of leather wafting from Corso Italia, the pedestrian shopping street that lured me with “saldi” (sale) signs.

Later, when the group assembled for dinner — three Americans, two Britons and a Brazilian — I quickly realized that I was the granny of the lot (though a chic one in my just-purchased, Shearling-lined boots). I smiled and gulped down some wine, trying not to panic over the obvious: I was going to have to keep up with nimble millennials.

After a fitful first night’s sleep (jet lag, wine and altitude are an evil combination), I thought it a good idea to loosen up with a practice run before meeting up with the mountain guide. The Tofana ski area was not difficult, I was told, mostly blues and reds with a few advanced black runs. What could go wrong?

That morning, as I ascended the Freccia nel Cielo cable car, a dense fog gripped the mountain. It was a total white out when I stepped out onto Ra Valles, with an altitude of 8,202 feet. The signs that I had anticipated with directions to an easy warm-up run did not materialize. There was a sign that I missed, however, which read “piste for expert skiers.” I had ended up on run #151- Pista Forcella Rossa, a 6,896-foot-long run between gullies with a steep 3,280-foot descent. Thankfully, a sweet Venetian in his mid-30s, took pity on me (rivulets of sweat streaming from my goggles may have tipped him off that I did not belong on this run) and guided me down Cortina’s steepest slope, stopping every few turns to make sure I hadn’t fallen. Next time I’m in Venice, I must look up Piero Paccagnella and buy him a beer.

Things got smoother once I met up with a guide later that morning. The sun burned through the fog and Cortina’s renowned landscape — the craggy, snow-capped spires of Col Rosà, Cristallo, Faloria, Sorapiss, Rocchette, Becco di Mezzodì — revealed itself. The carousel of pretty blue runs winding around the tracks of the 1956 Winter Olympics site in Tofana was a manageable pitch, much like the terrain of Vail, Colo., or Park City, Utah. Luckily, the ski safari has multiple guides so the speedier skiers could split off as I meandered at a slower pace.

After lunch, I was exhausted and would have loved to call it a day. Here’s the challenge: During a ski safari, you can’t turn back when you get tired. First of all, there is no “back.” You are moving from resort to resort. And, unless you have booked a private tour, you are with a group following a set itinerary. You’ll have to kick back an espresso or two and motor on (though if there were a serious issue, the company would send someone to fetch you). I popped a square of dark chocolate in my mouth (an essential always socked away when skiing) and punched through the fatigue, knowing that I could catch my breath on the upcoming taxi transfer to Cinque Torri.

A chairlift and short run later, the snow began to fall and we arrived at Rifugio Averau (elevation, 7,916 feet) as the peaks of Civetta and the Marmolada glowed pink in the sunset. Ski boots were swapped for slippers and I headed three flights up to my room, a no-frills situation with twin beds and a nightstand. No matter, I was delighted to get horizontal and massage Tiger Balm into my thighs. With such humble chambers, the polished, multicourse dinner that awaited was a delicious surprise: venison laced with lingonberry jam, roast deer with pine nuts and apples and potato gnocchi stuffed with ricotta and figs.

Waking up at dawn, I caught the breathtaking sunrise and, after a quick breakfast, popped on my skis and sailed out the door as fresh powder whispered underfoot. As we skied, the guide pointed out a rustic stone structure partially obscured by the snow. The Cinque Torri, he explained, was a defensive stronghold during World War I where the Italians had hewed bunkers into the mountains to monitor the Austrians and Germans. Thousands died in this “Guerra Bianca,” fought on mountain ridges in freezing temperatures. The building we had passed was a World War I bunker, one of many in the area.

We transferred over to the resort of Civetta, and after a few runs, I found my groove on the intermediate runs, bookended by snow-kissed pine forests. This area was my favorite, its stunning vistas (including fashionable prosecco drinkers perched on sun decks) and old school vibe (enhanced by creaky 1960s-era chairlifts) resembled one of the Slim Aarons’s glitzy photographs of beautiful people in beautiful settings.

We wound our way through the valleys of Alleghe, Selva di Cadore and Palafavera, and then down to the lost-in-time village of Val di Zoldo on creamy, untracked runs, bathed in splendid views of the Dolomites’ most famous peaks, Monte Pelmo and Monte Civetta.

Taking breaks was almost as much fun as skiing. On-mountain cafes brimmed with neon-clad skiers refueling with wine and hunks of Kaminwurz, a smoked South Tyrolean sausage. Grappa is part of the warming-up ritual. The rifigios blend their own elixirs, large anatomy class-like canisters with floating bits of fruit essence and herbs (juniper, pine, fir) knocked back as a shot. That afternoon in Civetta, I was informed that a shot of grappa could improve my speed. I think it worked.

A note on Italian ski culture: it’s strictly a D.I.Y. venture. The notion of a ski valet, as in the helper to hustle you into your prewarmed boots, bring your skis from storage to the snow and offer you a cup of hot chocolate as you step in from the cold (I’m talking to you, Aspen!) does not exist. The horror. After renting gear in town, you’ll be responsible for schlepping it everywhere — up to the gondola (there are many gondolas), onto the taxi roof for transfers, into the rifugio ski rooms.

There are also no roaming mountain “ambassadors,” a mainstay in American resorts, who assist with directions or help you get vertical after a face plant. But this is forgotten on the slopes. Enveloped in the storybook scenery, as lithe ski racers whiz by like birds in exotic Lycra plumage, you’re in the thrill of the moment.

The third night was spent at Rifugio Fuciade (elevation 6,502 feet), a former priest’s retreat in an alpine pasture so remote that it required transport via a military tank-like snowcat. From the moment I stepped through the doors, I felt the snug embrace of Ladin-style hospitality. What is Ladin, you ask? Until my visit, I hadn’t a clue that 30,000 inhabitants of the Dolomites had a distinct dialect and culture with Rhaetic (a pre-Roman language that is specific to the Eastern Alps) origins. This identity is expressed in Teutonic-influenced décor (think homespun curtains and pillows, lots of blonde wood, wood burning “stube” stove to keep the public rooms toasty) and a homey ambience communicated through a warm welcome from the owners, often attired in lederhosen (paired with a Patagonia jacket) or embroidered dirndl.

The vibe extended into my room which was spacious with a cheery duvet, sitting nook and infrared sauna. Just as I started to Tiger Balm my quadriceps, the owner, Emanuela Rossi, invited our group to the basement for cocktails. Down a stairwell oozing with the funk of brined cheese rinds and garlic-doused salami (the source: a dry aging room with cheeses nesting in hay and cured hams swinging from hooks) was a serious wine cellar tricked out with elaborately carved doors and wooden beams culled from centuries-old homes. Many proseccos and a Ladin-Moderne meal later, I dubbed Fuciade best in show for lodging with standout middle-of-nowhere charm.

By the third day, the ski areas — we hit three or four per day — began to blur; a continuum of dazzling slopes flanked by lunar-like rock formations that alternated in color from pale gray to fiery red as the sun moved overhead.

One spot, though, stood out. On a cable car to the popular lookout point Col Margherita, it looked as if smoke were rising from Pale di San Martino, the largest mountain range in the Dolomites. It wasn’t a fire. At 7,916 feet, we were above an inversion: ethereal cloud formations that occur at high altitude where colder temperatures gets trapped beneath warmer air. As I dropped from the lip of the summit to the piste, my head was literally in the clouds. Later, I took a black run by choice.

On that fine bluebird day, I came as close to “shredding the gnar” — ski parlance for speeding down the mountain — as a wobbly-thighed, AARP-eligible woman could, flying down the Ciampac piste as the Marmolada glacier glistened in the distance.

Lunch, on that fourth day and every day, was an hour-and-a-half feast. Meals kicked off with charcuterie boards laden with speck, Parma ham and soppressata. As dairy is the doyenne of the Dolomites, fragrant wedges of local Stelvio, Piave, Fodom and Bastardo del Grappa (accompanied by housemade jams) were essential to the antipasti course. Though this spread could have easily sufficed as lunch, it’s simply a precursor to “piatti tipici” entrees like pine nut-and-Gorgonzola-stuffed gnocchi; artichoke salad layered with walnut, pomegranate and Parmesan; and beef tagliata wrapped in speck. The saving grace of skiing six hours a day was indulgence without guilt.

The fourth night was spent at Rifugio Col Pradat (6,653 feet) which, at first blush, did not impress, its lobby doing double duty as a functional cafeteria filled with skiers from the nearby Sella Ronda circuit. At dusk, the cafeteria went dark and the adjoining lounge sprang to life, an alpine chic assemblage of pelt-strewn chill-out chairs and a roaring fire where I lazed with a glass of Sylvaner. My room had a boutique-hotel feel, cuddly blankets for sunset-watching on the terrace, a hot water bottle on the duvet and Villeroy & Boch fixtures in the sleek slate bathroom. Like the other rifugios, the dinner menu veered hearty. In tagliatelle with venison and smoky speck-stuffed “Knödel,” the region’s Austrian heritage was plain to see.

Admission: I have a mild girl crush on the double Olympic gold medalist Mikaela Shiffrin. So, when I realized that the FIS Ladies Ski World Cup in Cortina coincided with my dates, I felt compelled to tweak my itinerary on the last day of the ski safari to watch the 24-year-old tear down the Olympia Delle Tofane slope (the same track used in the 1956 Olympics). Happily, the owner of the tour outfit, Agustina Marmol, agreed to the change, but only if she could come along.

Getting to the venue in Cortina from Alta Badia was tricky. We woke up at the crack of dawn. Two hours’ worth of descents, taxi transfers, lifts and traverses later, we arrived to watch Mikaela crush the Super G.

The group spent its final night in the town of San Cassiano to catch early morning flights home. We assembled in the Finnish sauna of Hotel Rosa Alpina, as a sort of sweaty victory lap for our cardio marathon. Grueling at times, the trip had been an exhilarating fusion of recreation and alpine culture. Earlier that day, I had purchased some South Tyrol chocolate to plant in my jacket. On my next ski jaunt, it will be a treat to reach into my pocket and taste the Dolomites.

Amy Tara Koch, based in Chicago, writes about travel, style, food and parenting.

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Sleep – The Key For A Stress Free Living

Medical professionals and scientists have time and again stressed that it is crucial to get a minimum of seven to eight hours of sleep. Not getting enough sleep will have long term implications on physical and mental health.

Despite this insistence, many of us tend to compromise on a good night sleep thanks to the stressful and shift based working hours this lifestyle brings and other entertainments like late-night outings that we often priorities first over our mental wellness. [1]

All the aforementioned factors play a role in affecting our sleeping pattern. Our lifestyle choices have given rise to several sleep disorders in the recent past. In fact, occurrences of disorders like insomnia and sleep apnoea are now common among the younger generation. [2]

Well, before divulging into this article, let us give you a brief about sleep and what happens to the body when you sleep.

What is sleep and why it is important?

Sleep is an important biological process.

When we sleep, our bodies rest. It conserves the energy and decreasing blood pressure, heart rate, breathing and body temperature. Even while sleeping, our brains are active – preserving memory and daytime mental functioning and carrying out processes that are responsible for physical growth.

A night of good sleep is extremely important for functioning the next day. It keeps you refreshed and boosts your energy. Studies have shown that a well-rested mind has better focus and can solve problems more quickly than a sleep-deprived mind.[3]

The stages of sleeping

There are five stages in sleeping. It progresses from stage 1 (light sleep) through stages 3 and 4 (deep sleep) to stage 5 known as rapid eye movement (REM) sleep.

Sleep is of two main types: Non-REM and REM. Each type is linked to particular neuronal activity and brain wave.

stages of sleep

Non-REM

Non-REM has three stages to it.

In the first stage, your body enters ‘sleep-mode’ after being wakeful for the entire day. During this stage of light sleep, your eye movement, heartbeat and breathing will slow down. Your muscles will relax and will twitch occasionally. The brain waves will also slow down.

The second stage is also a light sleep stage that the body goes through before entering deeper sleep. Apart from the body relaxing further, body eye movement stops and body temperature drops. Brain wave will experience brief electrical activity in this stage.

In the third stage, the body experiences deep sleep. This stage is crucial for the body to feel refreshed after waking up. This happens for longer period and your body is totally relaxed. Waking a person in this stage is difficult.

REM sleep

It is the final two stages of your sleep. REM occurs in 90 minutes after falling asleep. There will be rapid eye movement and your brain wave frequency will be similar to that of being awake.

During this stage, your breathing will become irregular and faster, blood pressure and heart rate spike up as well. Dreams usually occur during this stage and the body muscles become paralysed temporarily so you don’t act out your dream.[5]

Benefits of sleeping

There are some important processes that body undergoes while sleeping.  Good sleep does the following:

Controls your body temperature, metabolism and energy use.

Ensures proper function of the immune system.

Controls the brain functioning and saves and restores your memory.

Keeps your heart and blood vessels healthy.

Controls your blood glucose levels and insulin sensitivity.

Repairs tissues and stimulates growth in children (growth hormone released during sleep is responsible for both). [6]

What are sleep disorders?

Conditions that interfere with regular sleep patterns are called sleep disorders. Though there are different types of sleep disorders, some of the major types are:

types of sleep disorders

Insomnia: This is a very common condition. You will find it hard to fall asleep or remain asleep during the night. Factors like caffeine intake, medications, stress, health conditions like depression and anxiety and jet lag play a role in this. Most insomnia cases can be cured by changing lifestyle and sleeping habits.

Sleep apnoea: While sleeping, breathing stops temporarily and forces you to wake up frequently during the night. Though you will not recall waking up, you will feel tired, depressed and irked the next day. Whilst this disorder is treatable, it is still a life-threatening condition. It is best to see a sleep specialist immediately.

Narcolepsy: Also called as ‘excessive uncontrollable daytime sleepiness’, Narcolepsy is caused by the dysfunction of the waking and sleeping mechanism in the brain. You may fall asleep suddenly in the middle of the day irrespective of the task you are doing. A combination of treatments may alleviate the symptoms. A cure has not been found for this condition.

Restless legs syndrome (RLS): As the name suggests, if you have RLS, you will have the urge to move your legs while sleeping. You will experience uncomfortable, creeping and tingling sensations in your legs.

Parasomnia: If you have this disorder, you may act unusually while sleeping, like sleepwalking or talking and waking up abruptly during the REM stage because of nightmares or night terrors.

Circadian rhythm disorder: If you have this disorder, you will encounter problems with your sleeping and waking cycles. This disrupts your sleeping and waking times.[7]

Causes and symptoms of sleep disorders

Though the actual causes of sleep disorders are not yet known, here are some of the factors that contribute to these conditions.

Too much of alcohol and caffeine intake

Irregular work schedules (night shift)

Ageing since older people do not experience the REM stage as their younger counterparts. Hence, they wake up quickly from their sleep.

Each sleep disorder exhibits different symptoms. Some of the common symptoms are:

Waking up often in the middle of the night and finding it difficult to go back to sleep.

Experiencing vivid dreams while sleeping.

Feeling drowsy and falling asleep at the wrong time in the daytime.

Tingling and creeping sensations in the legs during evening and night.

Experiencing sudden weakness in muscles when exhibiting an emotion like laughing or feeling angry.

Having difficulty in moving your body while waking up in the morning.

Taking more than 30 minutes to fall asleep during the night.

Your partner says that you snore, jerk your arms and legs, gasp, snort, choke while sleeping or stop breathing for a brief period.[8]

Sleep and weight gain

The human body is the most complex ever-evolving machine ever conceptualised. Any disruption to its natural cycle has multifold implications.

Less sleep or fragmented sleep affects a lot of things in our body that directly affect our weight. If you don’t sleep well, it almost directly affects your weight.

A study, cited by Harvard noted that there is a correlation between sleeping pattern and body weight.

According to the research conducted by the study, women who slept less than five hours are likely to become obese by 15% while compared to women who slept for 7 hours.[9]

Harvard study also observed that lack of sleep saps the body’s energy-giving little chance for incorporating physical exercises.

People who stay up at night for too long are hungrier and tend to too much food. Several studies also noted that sleep deprivation meddles with hormones that are responsible for appetite.[10]

Lack of sleep also affects a number of factors that are directly responsible for weight gain. These factors are:

1. Immunity

Sleep deprivation is linked with hormones that suppress the immune system. Researchers have found that a good night’s sleep can boost the effectiveness of certain specialised immune cells called T cells.

So, sleep loss not only plays a role in whether we come down with a cold or flu, but it also influences how we fight illnesses once we come down with them.

A large two-week study monitored the development of the common cold after giving people nasal drops with the cold virus. It was found that those who slept less than seven hours were almost three times more likely to develop a cold than those who slept eight hours or more.[11]

2. Hormones

Sleep deprivation affects your hormones.

When your body does not get enough sleep, your body has very little Leptin (a hormone that burns fat) and high Ghrelin (a hormone that promotes hunger). This causes the body to think that it is hungry and needs more food calories.

A study of over 1,000 people found that those who slept for short durations had 14.9% higher Ghrelin levels and 15.5% lower Leptin levels than those who got adequate sleep.

Also, Cortisol the stress hormone is higher when you do not get adequate sleep. Cortisol may also increase appetite.

3. Gut -Bacteria

Recent research shows that not getting enough sleep can quickly have a negative effect on gut bacteria health. In 2016, Swedish and German scientists conducted research on healthy, young, normal-weight men with no sleep disorders. After just two nights of partial sleep deprivation, scientists discovered:

A notable decrease in the range of good bacteria.

Changes to the composition of microorganisms in the gut that are linked specifically to obesity and type 2 diabetes.

Insulin sensitivity was decreased.

We have already discussed how important gut-bacteria balance is to maintain a healthy weight and body.

4. Metabolic Health

Poor sleep also affects your body’s metabolism. Studies have noted that very little or restless sleep leads to changes in body metabolism.

It has a profound effect on eating patterns that increase the risks of obesity, type 2 diabetes and other metabolic disorders.

In a study that was conducted on healthy young men, restricting sleep to just four hours a night for continuous six nights caused symptoms of prediabetes.

It is noteworthy that these symptoms alleviated just after a week of improved sleeping hours.

Poor sleeping habits are also strongly connected to adverse effects on blood sugar.

It is shown that people who sleep for less than six hours are at high risk of developing type 2 diabetes. Sleep deprivation also affects one’s immunity to insulin, thus causing weight gain.

5. Inflammation

New research found that sleep disturbances and long sleep duration are associated with increases in markers of inflammation.

Both too much and too little sleep seems to be associated with inflammation, a process that contributes to obesity as well as many other health issues.

6. Stress

You have probably experienced it yourself that sleep affects mood. After a poor night’s sleep, you may feel more stressed, irritated and short-tempered. After sleeping well, your mood often improves.

Studies have noted that even partial sleep deprivation can have a profound effect on your mood.

A study conducted by the University of Pennsylvania found that participants who were limited to just 4.5 hours of sleep per night for a week reported feeling mentally exhausted, angry, stressed and sad.

When the participants resumed normal sleeping pattern, they reported a dramatic improvement in their mood.

7. Digestion

Sleep deprivation also has significant changes in our body. People who do not get enough sleep are likely to complain about an upset stomach, diarrhea, body aches and acidity.

8. Appetite

Studies have shown that people who are sleep deprived will experience an increased appetite. It is believed to disrupt the regular functions of the appetite hormone.

Lack of sleep increases the Ghrelin hormone and suppresses the Leptin hormone.

9. Fix your sleep

You have your own Circadian rhythm. Your body will tell you when it wants to or rather needs to sleep.

Sleeping for around 8 hours at least every day is important for optimum health. You may be an early sleeper or a late sleeper, suit your schedule. But don’t ignore this very vital aspect of life.

The next important thing to learn is how to sleep better. There are various theories around this too. Some resort to light music, some aromatherapy, some reading, breathing exercises at the time of sleeping etc.

Here are some of the tips that you can adopt before calling it a night!

Prioritise Sleep: Lifestyle is a new religion, and when you start following it religiously, you do have to make sacrifices. Limit late night parties and movies. Prioritise sleep and plan the day accordingly. It also helps to have a family and social circle that sleeps early too!

Maintain Timing: We are creatures of habit and so is our body. Respect the timing. Feed your body the same information at the same time daily and it will love you back. Try going to bed at the same time every day.

how to improve sleep

Be active during the day: Lazing around the whole day will not help you get a good night’s sleep. It’s essential to keep your mind and body active during the day. Plan your day in advance and pack it up with meaningful things.

Practice meditation or deep breathing: This helps relax your mind and keep you calm. The 5-5-5 breathing technique is quite handy. Take 5 deep breaths, 5 times a day, holding for 5 counts each.

Eat 2-3 hours before bedtime: Eating 2 hours before going to bed will help release the right hormones and help you sleep better.

No electronics rule: Bright visuals and strong sounds right before bedtime tend to stay in your memories and haunt your dreams or nightmares. Avoid watching television right before bedtime. A relaxed steady mind before sleeping will lead to a relaxed steady sleep.

Put your phone away: Avoid using the phone right before bedtime. Put your phone in ‘night mode’ or ‘reading mode’. This silences the calls/messages and reduced the phone’s brightness making the device less exciting.

Keep a watch or clock handy: If for some reason, you get up in the middle of the night, you obviously want to know the time. Do not pick up your phone to see the time. Keep a watch on your nightstand and pick that. There is no temptation to check anything else. See the time and close your eyes right after.

Fresh air before going to bed: Try going for a stroll if it’s convenient and weather permits. Else, at least stand for a few minutes near the window or at the balcony/garden without your phone in hand. Take a few deep breaths and inhale some good fresh air.

Wash your feet: Before you get to bed, take 5 minutes to wash your feet thoroughly with cold water. This will be quite relaxing.

There is absolutely no denying the fact that Sleep plays a vital role in good health and well-being throughout your life. Sleeping for a minimum of 8 hours will ensure great physical and mental health, safety and improves quality of life.

Most of the ‘sleep disorders’ that we encounter these days are a by-product of a stressful lifestyle. Altering your lifestyle will dramatically improve your sleeping habits. Joining a yoga class or doing some stretches before bed can help you relax and calm your nerves.

So, make sleep your first priority and watch your overall health falling into place! Happy sleeping!

If you are not able to sleep due to mood disorders or finding it difficult to sleep despite altering your lifestyle, talk to a health professional or sleep specialist immediately to eliminate/treat any serious sleep disorder.

FAQs

Q: How to stop snoring?

A: Making lifestyle changes like losing weight, avoiding alcohol before bed time, getting enough sleep and clearing up nasal congestion can help stop snoring.

Q: How to sleep better?

A: Maintaining a consistent sleeping and waking time will improve your sleep. Similarly avoiding caffeine during the night and reducing napping will help you sleep better at night.

Q: How to cure a sleep disorder naturally?

A: ‘Curing’ a sleep disorder totally depends on the nature of the disorder. Disorders like sleep apnea needs immediate medical attention. Disorders due to poor lifestyle can be rectified by changing your lifestyle and sleeping habits.  

Q: Are sleep disorders hereditary?

A: Some studies have discovered that disorders like Insomnia, Parasomnias and Narcolepsy are hereditary. (https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19075715)

Q: Can sleep disorders cause depression?

A: Sleep deprivation can alter one’s mood and several studies have linked depression to sleep disorders. If you think you have depression or have shown signs of depression, it is best to immediately talk to a specialist.  

Q: How to overcome sleep disorder?

A: If you have trouble sleeping at night, it is ideal to talk to a sleep specialist. He/she will treat you or suggest changes in your lifestyle and sleeping habits to improve your condition.

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