#i am determined to make everyone cry - evelyn

[sansukhcomic]

Me out loud: I'm fucking ready for this!!! Yeah!

Me internally: I love you guys but the fic made me cry and I am n o t ready

Me out loud: BRING IT ON!

haha! we’re glad that you’re so excited!

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!Reader)

A/n: this chapter may be a little gory for some people. It contains lots of blood and angst and tears, broken bones, and the like. If you are uncomfortable with it, you can read until bold words after the cut. That’s when the gore starts. Then it ends at the highlighted, bold word, you got me?

Present Sebastian means the adult Sebastian, orite? In this time frame, everyone will be aged down, so here’s a headcanon of their ages. All the ages of bachelors and bachelorettes have been taken into account by their appearance, current height, personality and maturity.

(Y/n) and Abby: 6 years old (currently 23) Sebastian: 8 years old (currently 25) Sam: 7 years old (currently 24) Penny: 7 years old (currently 24) Maru: 3 years old (currently 21) Emily: 9 years old (currently 26) Haley: 7 years old (currently 24)

Lewis, Evelyn and George: mid Forties Robin, Demetrius, Caroline, Jodi, Pierre, Gus: late twenties to early thirties Pam, Marnie: late thirties

CHAPTER FIVE

‘Where am I?’ Sebastian wondered to himself. It was bright all around him, but it was quite cold. He looked around him, trying to figure out where he was. 

‘The bus stop?’ he concluded as his eyes landed on the meter that stood at the side of the road. The foliage around him was somewhat similar to what it was now, but the trees were bare of their leaves and if they did bear any, they were orange and yellow.

But he knew this wasn’t in present time. 

The bus that stood idle on the tar road was gone, most probably still up and running in this time frame. But if it was, then, this must be pretty far back. But when exactly was th--

“Sebby! Wait up!” his train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a little girl. Instinctively, Sebastian turned his head around, accustomed to the nickname he had been called by people closest to him.

But it wasn’t regarded to him, well....not the him now.

A young black haired boy in a dark colored, sleeveless hoodie was in his sight, despite the cold autumn wind, was running towards him. He flinched, as if preparing for the impact from collision.

But it never came.

He slowly opened his eyes and chuckled to himself. The boy had run through him, telling him that this wasn’t reality, despite how real it looked. 

He turned to see a little boy, before his right hand unconsciously grabbed his chest. Right above where his heart was. It hurt. But why? Was it this child? The child that was without a doubt, him?

The same thing happened when (Y/n) first moved here. The same feeling before his vision temporarily swapped with an old, worn-out memory, too muddled for him to even identify who was who in it. And suddenly he had a small horrible feeling in his chest.

He decided it was nothing though, and just shrugged it off.

The boy turned around, his bright black eyes glimmering with joy and innocence of a child as a large smile had taped itself permanently onto his face.

“Abby! _____!” Wait, what was that? He heard Abigail’s nickname, but the next was just plain white noise. And all noise disappeared when her name was spoken. As if a chunk of sound was extracted from a record and was left empty before playing the next part, leaving it incomplete.

But before he could think any further, two more figures came running over, hand in hand. Two little girls. A girl with wavy chestnut hair in a frilly blue dress and another with long (h/c), hair reaching her waist who wore a white turtle neck and (f/c) cotton skirt with flower patterns. 

“What are we going to play today?” the (h/c)-haired girl asked, hand still lingering in the girl who is apparently Abigail’s past self. Young Sebastian thought, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Let’s play tag!” he suggested, but Abby refused. 

“No! It’s no fun with three people!” Abby retorted, sticking her tongue out. The other girl remained silent, as if she were thinking up a better solution.

“Well, Sebby, if you still want to play tag, lets invite the others, then! At least, if it’s four people or more, it would be more fun!” she offered, her sweet voice sounding outstandingly familiar.

Sebastian had no idea why this girl was radiating a strong sense of nostalgia. And he was heavily confused why he had proposed the game of tag. For as long as he remembered, he hated the game tag. All this was surely just a dream.

“Okay then,” Abigail agreed. “Let’s bring Emily and Haley and Penny and Sam, then!” she said happily, looking at the other two who nodded their heads.

“Abby, since you suggested Penny and Sam, you go get them!” Sebby said. But Abby refused, stomping her small foot on the ground. “No! Then _____ has to come with me!” she protested, grabbing hold of the confused girl’s hand.

“No!” Sebby said, grabbing the other (s/c) hand. “She stays with me!” he shouted back, tugging her arm. “_____! You’re staying with me, right?!” he asked, but Abby shouted back. “No! She’s coming with me, right? _____?!”

“I’ll go with Abby! Then, I’ll come back Sebby! How about that?” she asked, “I’m still gonna come back to you anyway!” the little girl spoke boldly, making past and present Sebastian’s face redden. Who was this little girl?! Why is she so determined? Why does this feel so familiar? It was starting to mess with him. As if the white noise whenever the little girl’s name was spoken wasn’t already bothering enough.

“Fine! You two better come back, got it?!” Sebby gave in, letting go of the small wrist with a red face. Sebastian chuckled. His imaginary younger self had a crush on this unknown girl? This dream really was something.

Or so he thought.

Abby grabbed little _____’s hand, as the two departed. As they were out of sight, Sebastian heard his younger self say, “I wanted to tell her something. And this was her last day here! Why does she stick to Abby so much?!” he grumbled, kicking a nearby stump. Sebastian chuckled. Was this dream to fulfil his unfulfilling childhood?

Cliche. A young boy wanting to confess to his childhood crush that was going to move. But was she really a citizen here in Pelican Town? Abigail told him, well, Sam, at the Saloon, that there was a little girl that visited during a certain season. Was this it?

Moments later, the two came back with another four in tow. Young Sammy, Haley, Emily and Penny. And the game of tag began.

“Remember! Avoid the road!” was the only rule little Abby stated before all of them scampered around, avoiding the first person tagged. Little Sammy.

The game went on, each child successfully tagging another. Sammy, Abby, then _____, Sebby, _____again, Penny, Emily, Abby, Haley, Sammy, Haley and the list kept going on.

Until Sebby was tagged again by Abby, he ran to tag someone else. Of course, it was common sense to avoid everyone, right? And little Sebby was chasing the closest person to him, their blonde blue eyed boy, little Sammy. 

Sammy was cornered and the only way he wanted to evade the dark haired boy’s attack was to cross the road, even though it was considered out of bounds. He ran and crossed the road, ignoring all the cries and shouts from his friends and stood triumphantly on the other side. 

Sebby wasn’t about to give up though. He was going to chase Sammy and tag him next. So the black haired boy ran right after him. But from all the noise and excitement, he never realized an incoming vehicle from the tunnel. And Sebastian had heard it even when Sam was crossing.

Sebastian felt himself calling out his own name, repeating the same words, ‘No’, as if his younger self could hear it. Tears began running down his face for no apparent reason. His chest hurt so much, despite not knowing why. This was bad. The horrible he shrugged off earlier was growing in him rapidly. 

~Something bad was going to happen.

Despite all the shouts, little Sebby ran to cross the road, before a large blue lorry entered his sight. He stopped in his tracks, too afraid to move. His black eyes watching as the large vehicle was going to hit him.

Everything happened so fast.

“SEBASTIAN!”

Sebastian felt a hard push in the back and he stumbled to the ground. 

Screeching tires. Panicked yells. Scrambling on the grass. A loud colliding sound between metal and something hard. A dull, sickening thump on the ground. Horrified screams and wails. 

He remembers everything. Everything came back to him in that small instance. Despite looking at the ground, he can see everything that happened. He lifted his head, wishing that what he’s about to witness wasn’t what he hoped to be.

“No...no it can’t be! NO!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet as more tears ran down. 

The children around him were screaming, crying, wailing, in fright, horror, sadness, pain. 

For the one that laid still on the tar road.

A pool of blood circled the head of the young child, it’s long (h/c) strands mercilessly disheveled and painted in the warm liquid beneath, staining the white shirt she wore. Her clothing was slightly torn and dirty from rolling on the ground, but that didn’t conceal the horrifying angle her right arm was. 

Her left side was vulnerable to the lorry, but when she rolled, she used her right arm to stop herself. And that horribly failed. Her shoulder was completely shattered, but bits of bone were poking out of the tender flesh and white cloth. Her face wasn’t visible. But he knew there was a horrible gash across her forehead.

The children were calling her name out repeatedly, running over to their fallen friend. Calling her name to get her to respond. Kneeling by her side as the lorry driver came running out. The cries of the children bringing attention to the townspeople. All of them came running to see the commotion. 

“No....” Sebastian whispered once more, tears endlessly dripping from his eyes. “No! No! No!” he stood there, too shocked to even move. What was all this?! What was happening?! What was--

“(Y/N)!!” 

He shot up, sitting up, tears running down his face from the dream. He was in the safety of his dark basement. He looked at the time. 2 AM. But he knew it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. A trauma that left him trembling for years. That locked itself up in his mind. Too shocked to remember.

The dreams before this were just snippets and altered versions of the real event. The more twisted, but safer version that never disrupted or triggered his memory in any form.

He remembered everything that happened.

When he ran to chase Sam, he froze in the middle of the road. Young (Y/n) moved fast enough to push him out of the road. But in exchange, she got herself hit. And that horrible event brought despair upon the children, to the point where they grew up completely opposite of what they were during children. Closed off to their memories due to trauma, unnerving and odd feelings towards childish things like the game tag.

He remembered all the adults that rounded them. First it was Jodi and Caroline who were chatting in the town square and heard the collision. Then, it was Robin who was taking a break from her blueprints. Being the adventurous and boisterous female she was, she immediately bolted down the mountain, through the Farm. 

She called out the old man that resided there, asking about her child and his grandchild before the two ran off to the bus stop. Evelyn with George outside together on the bridge near the empty lot Joja was on now. Even George was worried, so he asked Evelyn to push him over.

Demetrius had to stay with Maru since he saw his wife bolt in front of the house in a hurry and panic. Lewis was out tending his garden when he heard the shrill screams.

All the adults began to run over and Lewis immediately dialed the ambulance when he arrived. All of them were shocked, shook by the gruesome scene before them. But only (Y/n)’s grandfather didn’t freeze in place. Instead, he ran straight to his beloved granddaughter.

The old man broke down crying, holding the limp left hand of his precious but unconscious little girl, too afraid to move her. Robin next to him, grabbing her son, checking over for injuries before pulling him to her chest, weeping silently from worry and sadness. Pained, from the broken shouts of her son who still scream the little girl’s name before evidently breaking down.

Jodi stood pale before bolting over when she heard her son’s cries pulling him into her arms. Caroline and Pierre cradled little Abby in their arms, shutting her eyes as she continued to weep on their embrace, her throat too hoarse and dry to call out her friends name anymore. Emily and Haley’s parents turned their children’s head away from the bloodbath scene, the image of the limp girl burned permanently into their memory core. Pam ran to Penny, who refused to turn away from her friend, screaming out her name none stop between her wails.

All of it returned to him. The most impacted one, was undoubtedly him. The one he loved being run over from trying to save him. She was taken away by the ambulance and he was brought along with the rest for a check up. 

It was blurry when they had the check up, but they stayed the night. (Y/n) was wheeled into the ER and brought into the room when they were all fast asleep. Her head and arm were all wrapped out, her left ankle was bandaged.

When they woke up, (Y/n)’s parents had come and had a huge fight with her grandfather, his mother, Abby’s, Sam’s, all while cradling their unresponsive child in their arms.

Remembering all that in an instant took a heavy toll on Sebastian. His tears never stopped falling, and brought his knees to his face. He muffled his sobs that were filled with guilt and pain, but relief that the girl was still alive, and came back like she promised.

He had to make things right. 

But with the way he is now, he’s a little uncertain how to approach her. And the crush thing was long gone. Perhaps already replaced with Abigail over the emptiness. 

Maybe he should just stay quite and let time work its wonders.

[megaphonemonday]

but everyone notices

@hermiginnyharvelle​: I may or may not have been rewatching Deathly Hallows and now I reeeeeally need a "help I can't zip up my dress/oh shit I'm zipping up her dress and I'm in love with her oh noooooo"

like i needed any more reasons to get emotional staring at kylie bunbury red carpet pictures...

read on ao3

Intellectually, Ginny understands why the ESPYs always come the Wednesday following the All-Star Game. It’s pure practicality. No one’s playing any games. Baseball's in its midseason break. The NBA, NFL, and NHL are all in their off seasons. High school and college athletes are on summer vacation. 

Everyone’s schedule is wide open; a true rarity in the world of sports. 

The logic of it all is easy. She’d never argue otherwise.

That doesn’t mean she has to like it.

Because on this particular Wednesday following the All-Star Game, Ginny Baker is exhausted. 

Right now, nothing sounds better than going home to her condo—sparsely furnished as it is, it has her own bed, which is really all she wants. Doing nothing but sleep and have food delivered to her for the next 48 hours sounds too good to be true.

Because, of course, it is.  

It doesn’t matter how much Miami had taken it out of her. 

True, there wasn’t much work for her to do during the All-Star Game itself—she’d considered herself lucky to stay on the mound for a whole inning—but the media circus leading up to it was a grind all its own. (How’s her arm doing? Is she feeling 100% again? What does she think of the trade rumors? How does she like the Padres’ shot at the postseason?) Between Work Out Day and the Home Run Derby and the interminable red carpet before the game even started, Ginny’d been interviewed and filmed and photographed until she was sure she was more soundbite than real person.

Suffice it to say: if she never sees another camera or microphone or tape recorder in her life, she’ll die a happy woman.

But try telling her agent that the media market is fully saturated when it comes to the Ginny Baker Brand™. Going to the ESPYs—even if she is nominated—and walking the red carpet—posing for the flock of vultures and their flashbulbs—isn’t going to change that. Anyway, surely there was such a thing as too much press coverage, right?  

(When Ginny hopefully offered up this argument, Amelia stared at her for a full minute, like the suggestion was so utterly foreign she couldn’t begin to wrap her mind around it. It’d been enough to get Ginny to reluctantly backpedal and agree to go.)

Well, there’s no pulling out now. Not when she’s already all made up, hair done, requisite Instagram post already making the rounds on the internet. It hardly matters that she won’t win. There’s nothing Ginny can do to get out of this now.

Although, she thinks, considering the height of the heels she’s supposed to put on, maybe I can fake a rolled ankle...

Ginny sighs and sluggishly pulls her dress off its hanger even as she tells herself it’s better not to get any of the club’s trainers involved in a lie to the entire sports media industry. Her fingers skim over the dark fabric at the waist, and she regrets that something so undeniably pretty only fills her with annoyance. She can’t count the number of times just today she’s shaken her head at the body-hugging number, but Ginny’d bowed to Amelia and Evelyn’s superior fashion sense before. There's no reason not to do it now. 

At least Evelyn had made most of today pretty fun. Even if it wasn’t being back home in San Diego, pigging out on Postmates-delivered Korean barbecue in bed, Ginny had to admit her friend had a knack for making the most out of a less than ideal situation. They giggled and gossiped and goofed off, fitting in the necessary beauty routines in between pitchers of bloody marys and terrible pay-per-view movies. Almost before she even realized it was happening, Evelyn had transformed her into the Red Carpet Ready Ginny Baker™ it seemed like everyone wanted to see. 

Now that Ginny was alone again, having sent Evelyn off towards her own room, tipsy and belting out “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” it was a little harder for her to be caught up in the moment. 

All Ginny had now was her exhaustion, general annoyance with the situation, and this ridiculous dress to put on. 

It would be a shame to miss out if Blip and Mike end up taking home the award for Best Play, she tells herself, stepping into the mostly unzipped dress and tugging it up her body. 

Idly, she wonders what they’ll think when they see her in this. Well. What one of them will think.

It’s an intrusive thought, but similar enough to the kind Ginny’s gotten pretty used to dealing with over the past months. Her inconvenient attraction to Mike Lawson hasn’t gone anywhere. Not over the offseason, not during Spring Training, and certainly not over the front half of the regular season. Going to Miami with him, the only Padres reps for the All-Star Game, certainly hadn’t helped. 

The fact that he hadn’t asked any questions, hardly even complained, when she—more than once, too—used him as a human shield with the roving pack of reporters didn’t make Ginny any more aware of what she feels. She’s been uncomfortably aware of that since before she got that text on her first date with Noah. His teasing grin, even as he kept shifting to provide her with better cover, however, was enough to make her seriously consider actually doing something about it, damn the consequences. 

In return, that was more than enough to send Ginny into something of a tailspin. She’d done her best to avoid him while she recalibrated, but it was an essentially impossible effort. She and Mike share pretty much everything, even when it’s not just them stuck in Miami together. Dugout, hotel, rides to the airport; avoidance wasn’t in the cards. Then, of course, their seats on the red eye into LA were right next to each other. Ginny hadn’t let herself fall asleep for fear she’d wake up propped against Mike’s shoulder just as she has on so many other flights. Hell, only a hallway separates their rooms here in LA. 

And now, not even two days after that realization, she’s got to go walk the red carpet with him.

All right. Maybe her reluctance isn’t just media-induced. 

Ginny holds the neckline in place and admires the effect in the full length mirror. It’s a little difficult since a certain amount of her brainpower is currently dedicated to thoughts of dark beards framing pink mouths. Still, she soldiers on. Amelia and Evelyn had definitely known what they were doing, picking out this dress, even if it’s a little racier than Ginny usually wears for public events. The lack of straps is worrying, but the sheer determination of the elastic in the fabric should be protection enough. Once it’s zipped and in place, she’s been assured, it won’t go anywhere.

It better not, at least. The last thing she needs is a very public wardrobe malfunction or someone to start the rumor that Ginny Baker doesn’t believe in bras. It’s not her fault the scant material at her chest won’t allow for one.

Reaching around for the zipper, Ginny resolves to go to the ESPYs and have—if not a good time—at least an okay one. If she can make it through the night without embarrassing herself, she’ll call it a success. Then, she can go back to San Diego and cry with relief when the only journalists she has to talk to are the familiar Padres beat reporters. 

But first, she really needs to get dressed. 

Which, she realizes with a frown as she tugs again at the zipper to no avail, might prove harder than she’d first assumed. 

There aren’t any buttons or snaps or ties to hold the thing closed, after all. Just a long zipper from the hem all the way up the back of the dress. Ginny is fully capable of handling a zipper on her own. 

Or she’d thought she was. 

Struggling to crane around and catch sight of where she’d gone wrong, Ginny huffs in frustration. At least Amelia wasn’t wrong when she’d said the stupid thing wasn’t going anywhere. She can’t get the fabric to stop clinging long enough to shimmy it around to get a better view of the problem. Even if she does manage to get the zipper somewhere she can see it, there’s no reason to believe she could get the damn thing turned back the right way once she fixes it.

Why did she ever agreed to wear this dress? 

Flopping in defeat onto her suite’s couch, Ginny picks up her phone. 

please come help me, she types to Evelyn, willing to take a little teasing if it means arriving to the ESPYs fully clothed, zipper stuck

Since Evelyn had only departed the suite to, “Make sure my husband isn’t going to embarrass me,” Ginny’s sure she’ll be rescued in no time. It’s not as if Blip, who loves clothes and getting dressed up as much as his wife does, is at risk of embarrassing anyone.

Then again, Evelyn had been belting Whitney as she left, and while Ginny would never admit to knowing this, she has it on good authority that Whitney is a foolproof way to get her friend feeling a little frisky...

Shaking off any consideration of Blip and Ev’s sex life, Ginny tells herself that any minute, Evelyn will be at the door. She’ll fix her dress and reassure her that everything is going to be be fine like the perfect fairy godmother/best friend she is. 

And she won’t be at all annoyed because Ginny definitely hadn’t interrupted her debauching her husband.

When the knock comes, Ginny bounds up from her slump, softly sculpted curls bouncing against her bare shoulders. 

“Jesus, Ev. Why would you let Amelia pick this thing? How am I supposed to keep my tits in here?” Ginny’s complaining before she even opens the door. When she does, though, she halts in her tracks, blinking in disbelief and feeling like the floor cannot swallow her whole fast enough. “You’re not Evelyn.”

“Uh, no,” Mike replies after a long moment in which his gaze rakes over her, more than a little dazed. He shakes himself and continues, “But she did brief me. Some sort of fashion emergency?”

Belatedly, Ginny’s hands fly to her chest. Jesus. How close had she come to flashing whoever was in the hall? Never mind that the hallway beyond her team captain is blissfully empty. It’s easier to worry about that than the obvious.

“So she sent you?”

What was Evelyn thinking? Sending Mike over to Ginny to deal with a wardrobe malfunction? She knows—

It dawns on Ginny. She knows.

He rolls his eyes, clearly taking her emphasis for disdain. If only it were that simple. “I’ve been told I clean up pretty well.”

Mike certainly isn’t wrong. He fills out his light gray, summer-weight suit to perfection. The crisp white shirt beneath his jacket stretches ever so slightly across his broad chest, a blue tie concealing whether or not the buttons are under any strain.

A little—large—part of Ginny thrills at his appearance. It isn’t just that the gray of his suit picks up on the lighter strands shot through his beard—is he going gray?—or that the subtle plaid of the fabric is practically begging her fingers to trace over each and every line. 

No, it has far more to do with the fact that they match. They go together, even. Sure, Ginny’s heels—still sitting neglected in their box—are a much darker blue than either Mike’s tie or pocket square, and his suit is closer to monochrome than the ombré effect on her dress, but who cares? They complement each other. They match.

Or, they will once Ginny’s actually dressed.

“So,” he drawls, shifting a little awkwardly as the silence stretches out, “what’s the problem?”

Ginny would gesture if she weren’t worried removing her hands from the top of the dress would treat Mike to an eyeful. 

And if Mike ever does get an eyeful, it certainly won’t be because of a wardrobe malfunction, she thinks. Then, tacks on more honestly, Or when we have to make a public appearance within the hour. 

Without betraying that bit of inner monologue, she keeps both arms clasped over her chest to hold the fabric in place, and steps aside to let him in. Better to discuss this out of the hallway, where anyone could overhear and leap to conclusions. 

“The zipper’s just stuck,” she says, keeping her back to the wall as Mike comes inside and closes the door. Ginny is suddenly and entirely too aware of just how much of her bare back is exposed and how unprepared she is for Mike to see it. She’d managed to get the zipper up over the curve of her ass, but not much further. “No big deal. I can wait for Evelyn.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle a zipper,” he replies, sounding far too amused for her comfort. 

Ginny doesn’t chew on her lip as she thinks, but only because she doesn’t want to reapply her lipstick when she inevitably scrapes it all off. This is decidedly not how she’d pictured Mike first helping her with her clothes. 

For one thing, she never imagined him helping her put them on. 

Mike lifts a brow and all bets are off. She’s never been able to back down from a challenge. Even when she knows she should.

“Okay,” she agrees, nodding decisively and taking a step toward him. She can’t quite keep the bait out of her tone. “If you say so.”

With that, Ginny closes the distance and turns her back on her captain. She doesn’t think she imagines his sharp inhale or the long pause before his fingers brush across the top of her shoulders, sweeping her hair out of the way. Ginny doesn’t complain even though there’s nothing for it to get in the way of. 

If anything, she wants to beg for more.

So, of course, his hands disappear from her skin. The disappointment that crashes through her is nearly physical, but thankfully brief. Ginny has to brace herself when they reappear at the small of her back, where the two sides of the dress refuse to come together. It’s just a slight pressure, the faint suggestion of warmth through fabric, but it’s enough to tell her where all of Mike’s attention is currently focused. 

Her eyes flutter closed at the slightly too sharp tug down that dislodges the zipper from where it’d gone astray. How far did he unzip? Can he see the top of her underwear? Ginny thinks the ragged exhale she hears is answer enough. 

At least it’s nice underwear, she finds herself thinking, aiming for detached but veering dangerously close to giddy.

She breathes deep, more than a little disappointed, when Mike rights his course and slides the zip up its track. One knuckle drags featherlight along her spine before, the cloth closing together behind. 

Finally, though it really can’t have taken that long, he reaches the end of the line, just below Ginny’s shoulder blades. His knuckles brush against her skin and over the fabric, making sure it lays flat.

His thumb sketches a gentle arc, just where her skin disappears beneath the dress. Ginny can’t help but shiver, toes curling against the soft carpeting. 

Nonetheless, Mike doesn’t pull his hand away. 

Nor does he when Ginny turns, stepping into his bulk rather than away as she should. His hand remains high on her back as she tips her face up to him, lips parted and eyes wide. 

Suddenly, Ginny’s not too worried about reapplying her lipstick.

Mike looks back, a flush riding high on his cheekbones. His gaze roams hungrily over her face, the hand on her back encouraging her closer. 

Ginny feels like she can’t breathe. But unlike her panic attacks, she leans into this dizzy uncertainty. She lays a hand on Mike’s arm, sliding up the smooth arm of his jacket and coming to a stop at his brawny shoulder. 

Just as she’s resolved to rock in and snap the thin thread of her self-control, code and potential lipstick smudges be damned, three sharp raps sound at the door. 

Mike and Ginny don’t move. Aside from the slight widening of their eyes, both remain stock still, breath mingling in the scant space still separating them. Even after another flurry of knocks, they stare at one another, far too aware of the line they’ve nearly crossed. 

Still want to cross, in fact.

Just as Mike’s eyes dip back to Ginny’s mouth and he leans in, though, the knocking graduates to yelling through the locked door.

“G?” Blip calls, sounding only slightly harried. “Ev wants you to know the car’s downstairs, and if you’re not in the lobby in five minutes, she’s leaving without you.”

It’s enough to pop the bubble.

Ginny clears her throat, and locking eyes with Mike—her friend, her teammate, her something—she takes a step back. 

They can’t be doing this. Not now. 

Not for a long while, yet. 

Disappointment flashes through his eyes, but he still nods and takes his own step back, too.

“Got it, Blip,” she calls back. “Meet you down there.”

He must agree because Mike and Ginny are left in her too quiet suite with nothing to distract them from what they’d nearly done.

Well, Ginny can’t have that. Not if she’s going to spend the evening being filmed and photographed in this man’s company, her every move picked apart and dissected by morning. It’s bad enough that she’s got her own intrusive thoughts, but to know that Mike’s got them, too, that there’s some serious overlap between his and hers, it’s too much.

So, Ginny does the only thing she can; she pretends nothing’s happened. 

She whirls through the suite, collecting her clutch and phone and emergency snacks, checking over her appearance one last time as she fastens the buckles of her shoes, puts on the loaner jewelry Amelia’d scored, and generally pretends Mike isn’t even there. Which is difficult when he insists on staring after her in amused befuddlement. If Ginny spends any time appreciating the adorable little frown furrowing his brow, Evelyn and Blip really will leave without them before she gets her mind back on track.

When she feels prepared to do more than steal glances at him in the mirror—as prepared as three minutes will buy her, at least—Ginny turns back to Mike and pastes a bright smile on her face. 

“Ready to go?”

His eyes sweep over her form, but it isn’t the reckless perusal it’d been when she first opened the door. No, this is slightly more concerned, a cautious once over to make sure she really is all right, and not just faking it. It’s the same look he sometimes gives her on the field, when he thinks she’s lying about having more in the tank. Ginny allows her grin to turn a little more sheepish, uncertain. Mike softens. 

“Yeah, Baker,” he replies. “Let’s get outta here.”

They manage to put up a fairly normal front for their fellow passengers, not that Blip and Evelyn make it hard. They squabble good-naturedly about who deserves to win which awards, seeming to draw both Ginny and Mike into the conversation effortlessly. 

Maybe it even is effortless. Maybe it’s just unthinking and automatic, their desire to engage with their friends on their way to what should be an exciting night.

Ginny, however, has her doubts. 

She knows Ev’s calculating face—has been treated to it more times than she can count over the years—and her expression the whole ride is awfully familiar. Evelyn definitely clocks Mike’s lingering frown, and the way she’s eyeing the careful space Ginny’s left on the bench between her captain’s thigh and hers isn’t comforting. If Blip notices anything, he’s got a better poker face than his wife. 

When Ev ushers her husband out of the car first claiming she wants, “A few goddamn shots of just us before Lawson the camera hog makes an appearance,” and Blip doesn’t complain, though, Ginny knows Sherlock Sanders has struck again.

She tries to appreciate the sight of her friend cowing the photo pool into turning their attention away from Michael Phelps and onto some Blip Sanders, but it’s hard when she’s entirely too aware of the man sitting next to her. He’d slid an inch closer to her when the limo stopped, so now she’s viscerally aware—just like she’s aware of the exact feel of his jacket beneath her fingertips and the way his cologne still lingers in her nose—of his warmth radiating into her. 

So why are her arms covered in goosebumps?

“Hey,” he murmurs, nudging her softly with his elbow. Ginny frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He nudges her again, and she shifts, cocking her head to show she’s listening, even if her eyes are still focused out the window. She doesn’t think she can look him in the face and not kiss him, now. Not with his warm arm pressed against her and his dark eyes looking at her with such genuine concern. 

Damn it. Even the reflection is too much. 

Mike sighs, not quite loud enough to cover the faint rasp of his hands smoothing over the legs of his pants. “Talk to me, Baker.”

If it’d come out any less pleading, Ginny wouldn’t turn around. She would keep her attention on the mayhem outside, and pretend she’s just trying to center herself before wading in. It isn’t even completely untrue. 

As it is, she turns to face him and can’t help but remember that the angle had been a little different back at the hotel. They’d faced each other head on there, and her eye line had been a little lower, level with the ticking tendon in his neck rather than the hints of gray framing his mouth. 

But this is still too similar. 

“What’s there to say, Lawson?”

“Don’t play the avoidance game. Not now.”

“Avoidance game?” she hedges, fingers worrying the hem of her dress. For all its cling, it sure can ride up her thigh. 

Mike just shakes his head. “I know when you’re avoiding me, even when you’re right here. You’ve been doing it since Miami.”

She doesn’t protest. “Yeah,” Ginny agrees. Would it really help to tell him that she’d thought about kissing him, or more, in Miami? Will that make it easier on either of them? It seems unlikely. Nonetheless, she can’t stuff the words back into her mouth once she says, “Maybe today wasn’t the first time I thought—”

His eyes go wide even as his lips part in a disbelieving, reckless grin. His hand lands on top of her own, almost on the bare skin of her thigh, but that’s nothing compared to the way Mike’s looking at her right now.

Ginny swallows and forces herself to go on, “I thought about it. This. Even when I know we can’t.”

His smile doesn’t dim, but that seems to knock the air out of his sails. For a moment, Mike just studies her. Ginny can’t help but stare back, cataloguing every arch and curve of this face she already knows like her own. His hazel eyes caress her face, more tender than any touch. Finally, satisfied with whatever he’s seen, he blows out a long, unsteady breath. Ginny can certainly sympathize. 

His head tilts a little to the side and his eyes go soft as he asks, “We’re good?”

“We’re good,” she promises, gaze dropping to her lap. To his big, callused hand covering hers. 

This thing with Mike is hard and sometimes it’s scary as hell, but Ginny never doubts that their friendship, their connection on the field, comes first. It’ll take more than a few charged moments to throw them off their game.

Then again...

When Ginny finally looks back up at him, it takes a moment for his concern to dissolve away, but Mike is nothing if not excellent at hiding his misgivings. Sure enough, he smirks, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his eyes. He gives her fingers one last squeeze before letting them go. 

“Good,” he drawls, making Ginny roll her eyes. If anything, his smirk just grows, which does nothing to dissuade Ginny from the dismaying opinion that smug looks really good on him. “I know we’re not talking about, well, any of this, but I’ve got something for you to keep in mind.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, she arches a brow and demands, “And what’s that?”

He leans in and brushes a rasping kiss against Ginny’s cheek. She freezes, too aware that all she needs to do is turn her face a few inches and she could be kissing Mike Lawson. Stubbornly, she remains stock still.

Ginny can feel, more than hear, his responding chuckle. “Any time you need some help with your zipper?” he murmurs, right into her ear and making goosebumps erupt across her skin. “I’m your guy.”

With that, he opens the car door and climbs out onto the red carpet, leaving behind one stunned teammate.

Alone in the back of the car, Ginny can’t help dissolve into laughter, maybe a little hysterical. Could anyone blame her, though? 

Once she manages to reel her mind in from the tangent Mike has inspired, she sucks in a deep breath. She doesn’t bother convincing her lips to drop their grin, though. Much as she loves to imply otherwise, Mike’s outrageous self-confidence is irresistible. It's one of the things she—

Well. If she can’t even kiss the man, yet, she probably shouldn’t be thinking that.

Anyway, if he thought he’d gotten the last word in, he has another thing coming. 

Stepping out onto the red carpet, making sure to shake her hair and smile dazzlingly only once she’s positive she has Mike’s attention, Ginny is very sure of that.

[ernmark]

Fragment of Memory (part 3)

That’s right, folks, we’ve got another one.

Remember, this is a horror story, so things get intense. 

Part 1 | Part 2

That night, Juno dreams about hallways. 

Not marble and wood, but red stone worn smooth by ten thousand years, lit up on all sides by glowing hieroglyphics that seem to whisper and move as he walks past them. Between steps, the scene shifts, and he’s walking past riveted steel and the pale circle of a flashlight on poured concrete floors. The smell of burnt flesh and wet earth shifts into the oily stench of diesel fumes and then back again. 

There’s someone beside him, but he can’t see their face. 

He’s looking for something, but he doesn’t know what. 

And just past the edge of his vision, something is watching him.

“Well,” Ramses says at their next meeting. “You’re looking better.”

“Not a lot to do besides play dress-up,” Juno mutters. After he found his way back into his room last night, he locked the door behind him, and then locked himself in the bathroom for good measure, clutching the straight razor from the medicine cabinet like it was a dagger. At some point after its angles left indentations in his palms and his hand started to cramp, he started feeling a little ridiculous, so he started actually shaving with the damn thing like an adult. It helped, actually: there was something grounding about working a hair treatment into his scalp, shaving his legs, brushing his teeth, scrubbing the accumulated oil off his face. He even considered putting on a bit of cologne. He might not remember the last time he groomed himself properly, but the actions were comforting in their familiarity, too mundane to exist in the same world as invisible monsters. “Would it be the end of the world if I got a book to read or something?” 

Ramses chuckles. “Starting to regret your bare bones decorating?” 

“I’m sure it came in real handy when I actually had things to do with my time,” Juno says, trying not to sound testy. “Speaking of which, any idea how long it’s gonna take your people to get my memories back?”

“It’s going to take time.” Ramses’ answer feels a little too rote, a little too practiced to be sincere. He mulls over his next words before he lays them out. “Juno, are you sure that would be wise?”

What kind of a question is that? “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

Ramses folds his hands over the desk in a motion as ritualized and familiar as shaving had been for Juno. “Because you took the Lotos for a reason.”

The words hang in the air, thick enough to crush Juno in their gravity. “Do you know why?”

“No,” Ramses says. “But I know you were determined to forget or die trying.” He steeples his fingers. “You’ve always been reckless, Juno, but in the weeks before you took the Lotos, your behavior turned erratic. You were a danger to yourself and everyone around you. You turned off the extraneous functions in your eye to reduce some of the stress, but it didn’t help.” Ramses sits back, distancing himself from the words. “Whatever it was that pushed you over the edge, I believe it’s better forgotten.”

The haggard face from the video flashes back into Juno’s mind. 

There are some things you’re better off knowing, okay? Just… trust me.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” Juno asks. “How am I supposed to do my job if I don’t remember a goddamn thing about my life?”

“You were my employee, Juno, and you were hurt in my home. I’m not about to leave you out to dry.” 

“And what am I supposed to do about that thing in the hallways?”

Well, that’s not a look he was wanting to see on Ramses’ face. “Juno, what are you talking about?”

“The thing!” Juno’s voice rises. “The invisible thing with the cold hands that keeps following me around. The one that disappears when the lights come on.”

Ramses has one hell of a poker face, but it still takes him a second to put it on. That’s plenty of time for Juno to recognize concern and dismay on his face. “Juno, there’s nothing out there.”

“Yes, there is,” Juno snaps. “It keeps saying my name. It keeps trying to grab me.” 

“Juno--”

“I know what I heard.”

Ramses takes a steadying breath. “I believe you, Juno. But you have to understand, the things you feel and hear might not be real.”

“I’m not crazy--”

“I never said you were,” Ramses says, so firm that there’s no room to argue. “The drug you took was designed to interfere with the workings of the brain, and your body is still processing it. What you’re experiencing might be no more than a few misplaced fragments of memory without context to tether them to.”

Some of the fire goes out of Juno. “I... guess that makes sense.”

“It’s not an uncommon side effect with Lotos,” Ramses says, softer. “If it’s more intense than usual in your case, it’s only because of your dose. But this is normal, Juno.”

This is normal.

“The things you’re seeing aren’t real.” 

It isn’t real.

“It will go away on its own if you give it time.”

Juno keeps walking. His eyes are fixed straight ahead. His pace is slow enough that he’s never too deep into the dark before the motion sensors light up the next patch of hallway. He marks his trail by opening every door he passes and leaving them ajar, taking mental note of the things he finds inside: bedrooms, drawing rooms, utility closets, more branching hallways. He’s going to figure out his way around this goddamn mansion, and no stupid hallucinations are going to get in his way. 

Even if he can hear footsteps creeping up behind him, irregular and eerie. 

“That you, Evelyn?” he calls over his shoulder without looking back. If it’s really her, then she’ll  answer him. If it’s not, then it isn’t real.

It doesn’t call back.

“Juno...”

“You’re not real,” Juno calls over his shoulder, and he keeps walking. There’s a darker patch on the red marble; in the dim light, it looks too much like a pool of blood. He steps around it, just to be safe.

He must be getting closer to the kitchen or something, because a smell hits his nose, faint but unmistakable. It’s familiar, but he can’t place it. Not quite floral, not quite food. A spice, maybe, but he can’t place what it is or where it’s from. It feels familiar, though. Maybe he’s eaten it before. Or--

No. No, that’s not food. That’s cologne. But not Ramses’ cologne, or the stuff that Evelyn wears. 

Someone else. Something else.

He pushes open the door. Maybe the kitchen was a better guess, because in place of the red marble and dark wood is an expanse of riveted steel. 

He frowns and starts to step through when a hand closes on his shoulder.

“Mister Steel,” says Evelyn. “I need to ask you not to go down there.”

“Jeez,” Juno mutters, trying to uncoil his fingers from their fists. He almost slugged the woman. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, will you?” 

Evelyn’s expression is unreadable “You need to stay away from there,” she repeats. “We have a lot of complex machinery down that way, and you no longer have the proper safety protocols. You could get yourself hurt.”

She’s close enough that he can recognize notes of cinnamon in her perfume. It’s ordinary. Familiar. Not the same scent he caught before.

“Sure. Whatever you say. By the way, was there somebody else down here a minute ago?” Juno asks. 

“There shouldn’t have been.”  She frowns. “But I can check the schedule if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” Juno says distantly. “That sounds great.”

The dreams keep coming back. 

The hallways stretch on forever, miles upon miles of steel and stone and sewage, the mixing smells so thick they leave him nauseous.  

There are people beside him, until he turns around and they’re gone, snatched into the dark while screams echo around him.

He sees monsters at the edge of the light-- the features of an old woman sliding haphazardly over a boneless form-- his own face leering back at him from the body of a shark-- a little girl crying into her hands until she looks up at him with a mocking smile. 

Every morning Juno wakes drenched in sweat.

He keeps trying to tell himself it’s just a dream. Just a dream.

But dammit, he can’t make his heart stop pounding. He tries to huddle under the shelter of his blankets, but they feel impossibly restrictive and constraining, less like a shield and more like something trying to squeeze the life out of him. Frustrated, he throws them over the edge of the bed.

Just a dream.

The clock on his comms says it’s two in the afternoon, and Juno’s just gonna have to take it at its word. With nobody around and no windows to let in natural light, it might as well be two in the morning. He keeps darting from one pool of light to the next, clutching his comms and hoping that the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall are his own.

“Might as well be wearing a lacy nightgown,” he mutters to himself. 

The echoing hallway catches his words and throws them back to him, sound uncannily like a chuckle.

It’s just a memory, he tells himself. Just a scrap of an old memory, bubbling to the surface He pulls open the next door he comes to and pokes his head inside. 

It’s library, from the looks of it. The hallway light glitters back at him like stars, reflected in the crystals hanging from a flight of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Beneath the chandeliers are dozens of tall freestanding bookshelves, arranged around reading desks and chaise lounges, and each chair has its own personal reading lamp. On the other end of the maze is a second doorway.

He weaves his way through the shelves, glancing through the titles. Maybe he’ll grab himself something to read while he’s here; he could use a way to pass the time that doesn’t involve wandering through the dark like an idiot. He’s thumbing at a volume on the history of organized crime in Hyperion City when he hears a sudden knocking.

He freezes, grabbing the book off the shelf. It’s large and heavy; good for blunt force trauma. He casts a glance over his shoulder. The door he came through is wide open. The hall behind it is empty.

“Hello?” he calls.

The only response is another knock, louder this time.

“Evelyn?” He tightens his grip on the book. “Ramses?”

The next knock is so loud that it sounds like the wood might crack. 

Over the vanilla smell of ancient paper, he catches the faintest hint of cologne. 

He takes another step, then another, slowly reaching out. The instant his fingers brush the doorknob, the heavy wooden door swings open with a long, agonized creak.

On the other side of the door, the hallway light flickers on. 

And... and he knows this hall. He’s been here before. There’s the dark patch on the marble floor, like a pool of blood. Immediately across from the library there’s another door. 

The knock comes again, and it echoes through the wide hallway like thunder. There’s no question about where it’s coming from: the door across the hall bulges with every blow.

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang.

He steps closer, and it grows louder. More insistent. 

Bang. 

Bang.

And with an almighty crash, it bursts open. 

There’s nobody on the other side. Just a staircase heading down, and a wall covered in riveted steel.

For a long moment there’s nothing but silence. Then a sigh.

“Juno Steel,” says a muffled voice. “If you don’t know, that’s your name. If you do...”

He blinks, staring at his comms. The recorded video is on, playing under his sweating palm. But he didn’t turn it on. He didn’t open the file. He didn’t--

He frowns at the image in the video. Not at his own face, but at the wall behind it. 

Riveted steel.

“I know how you feel about puzzles,” his past self says. “But this is one that needs to stay in the box. There are some things you’re better off not knowing, okay? Just... trust me.”

Juno ends the video before it can make another sound. 

It doesn’t have to.

“Juno...”

He swallows, but it catches in his dry throat. There’s movement in front of him: a shadow stretches out across the red marble, reaching out for the open door.

Panic rises in his throat, but he forces it back down. That’s his own shadow. The library lights must be motion activated, too, because the chandeliers and reading lamps have all flickered to life in unison. They’re obviously old, and they get brighter as they warm up. Brighter than the dim light of the hallway. Harshly, painfully bright.

He grabs for the light switch, but nothing happens. Maybe the lights are wired to a different switch, somewhere on the other side of the library. He turns to look, but before he can get two steps, a pair of icy hands close on his shoulders. 

The lights behind him are growing brighter, and his shadow is twitching and dancing on the floor.

No. This is normal. This is just a bunch of mixed up fragments of old memories messing with his head. It’s not real. Ramses said it isn’t real.

“This isn’t real.” He grabs the library door and slams it shut, cutting off his view of the steel wall. “You’re not real.” 

Forget the light switch. He needs to get out of here. He drags himself out of the icy grip and toward the other door, to the trail of open doorways that will lead him back to his room. He just needs to get back, and this will turn out to be just another nightmare. He needs to--

“Don’t walk away from me!” 

Overhead, the chandeliers explode with a sharp crack and a shower of glass. He throws his hands over his head, shielding his face with the enormous book. Around him, the reading lamps burst, one by one, flaring once and then plunging into the dark. 

Juno scrambles for his comms. The screen is cracked, liquid crystal still glowing in the distorted image of his face. 

The library door slams with a deafening crash, locking him inside. 

The cologne smell is so strong he might choke on it-- or is it burning flesh-- or is it diesel smoke-- or sewage--

Are those icy hands grabbing at his clothes, or are they metallic teeth, or tentacles wrapping around him, choking him, crushing him--

And all the while, he can hear it, its voice cracking like static: Juno-- Juno-- Juno--

“Mister Steel?” 

Juno gasps. The icy grip is gone, and the overwhelming darkness is gone right along with it. In its place is the blinding beam of a flashlight. She lowers it, and its brilliance is reflected like starlight off a thousand shards of glass. 

“Evelyn?” Juno coughs around the taste of blood. Was he screaming?

“It’s still happening,” she breathes. her face twisted in horror and pity. “Mister Steel, I’m so sorry.”

[jess-oh]

Reflection

hey journal!

i had an off day today. i woke up early, showered, cut and prepared my lunch for the day, packed grapes to snack on, and was overall in a pretty good mood. i even stayed awake for the entire train ride up north and while i did run into the homeless guy again, he didnt recognize me this time. phew. but i started it off well! i did! but then i preceeded to feel very overwhelmed and I can’t tell if im just being lazy or if today was honestly an off day or what. i think it’s bc i do have a tendency to work fast in general but bc of that, i usually have a lot of free time and a lot of time for a break but today, i didnt feel like i had a break. it was just one thing after the other and all so fast! And I’ve been getting more “fire drill” requests recently where clients need something ASAP. Which haven’t been too hard. It’s just a lot to take care of I guess. And it could just be that it’s a busy season right now. But it was just today and I do feel like tomorrow will be better. I just need to come up with a few different drafts for the one pager and the company map. I’m thinking of looking into flow charts? Or an organizational map? Or maybe it’s a chart? Anyway, I did one for ITM that came out pretty nice so maybe I’ll mimic the style. I think I’m just having such a hard time bc I don’t exactly know what they want whereas my work for the clients have been pretty straightforward. 

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too “perfect” and because of that, I lack a personality.

I didn’t actually tell anyone the above thought bc I thought it’d just come off as cocky but it was an actual concern! but I don’t think it’s true, haha. I’m passionate, loyal, determined, and hardworking. I’m not as goal-oriented as I used to be and I’m a lot more open to mistakes bc I know it’s not the end of the world. I’ve been able to overcome my fear of failure and it’s been immensely helpful. Although sometimes, I do still wonder if I’m not putting my best foot forward because I’m not a perfectionist anymore and worry if I should revert to those old habits. But I was so unhappy then and I’ve been able to do a lot more now without making every draft a “perfect” draft. 

I didn’t realize the people in my class from Sa-Rang went on their road trip recently and it looks like they had a good time and I was actually not at all worried about missing out. In fact, I think if I went, it would’ve just been awkward. I’m glad theyre having a good time. I just don’t think my personality fits in with them. Everyone is so competitive and I’ve tried to play those games before and I feel like if I called them out on it, they’d just chalk it off to me overreacting and they just dont trust me bc of the game and not bc of the past. But I feel like it would be bc of the past. I just wish they’d give me a chance. I actually feel like a real, decent, valid human being with my D&D friends and co-workers and peers out here. And with them. I always felt like I tried to speak up but they would ignore me. I was a voice always unheard and it made me feel invisible and like less of a person. And it felt like a norm so whenever people did acknowledge my existence, I was so touched. So touched to know that at least someone could see me. But how sad is that? I know who I am and I know the good that I have done and I know my place in God’s Kingdom. But whenever I’m with them, everything just falls apart and I question my identity and I just really don’t want to go back and face that again. I only have a month left before I have to. I want to make the most of my time here so that I’m not so afraid when I go back there. I do need to stand my ground with them and I know that I shouldn’t be this afraid to go back to my home church but I am just so afraid of how they’d react and judge me bc they’re the people I call “home.” And if that falls apart, then what. I do have Lakeview here and I’m glad but it’s still a work in progress for sure. I also want to make sure I’m doing things to help and invest into others because I genuinely care for them and not so that they’ll be grateful and thankful towards me later. I do want to genuinely serve them. I do. And I know that I can get into my own head a lot but I do want to really care for them on a deeper level. I also worry that whenever I reach out to guys, they think I’m asking them out on a date but I’m not. I actually just perceive them as I perceive girls—as hurting people and I want to be there to help them through it. 

I have “Jessie’s Girl” stuck in my head and as catchy as it is, it’s distracting my writings.

I’m really excited to sing karaoke with my friends on Friday and I just belt out my horrible horrible voice. I am totally prepared to lose my voice, HAHA. 

I’m just really conflicted, I guess.

On the one hand, I do really want to go home and just be home and not have to worry about anything but to just be in the presence of my parents and sister and to have the opportunity to go out on more late night adventures with Andrew, Aurora, and David. Those are always fun! And admittedly, forcing hangouts with Jeanne, Grace An, Tina and David Kang were always kind of awkward and I shouldn’t force these things. If people want to hangout with me then they can hit me up. But I’m only in town for so long and I would much rather spend time with people who actually genuinely care about me. 

I’ve also been so busy with my internship and havent had time to work on my coding skills :( And I want to start designing my D&D character too! Maybe I’ll start sketching on the train tomorrow or something. 

I need to do my dishes and practice my VBS dance moves too! Hopefully Saturday? :/ I want to be prepared and ready to teach 2 more dances that I’m confident in on Sunday! And then...I’m not sure what we’ll do for the rest of the time. Maybe we can all work together on the fifth dance and just keep practicing every Sunday. I do need to make sure they can confidently dance on their own without watching me. I’m worried about one of the bigger girls because she is me. She’s not bad at dancing. She’s just not confident in her skills and I want to make sure she knows that she is seen. She is real. And valid. And so important and perfect in God’s eyes. I know I was pretty nervous last Sunday but I do want to really pray for them and be a sort of mentor figure for them. We just started training and I already love all of them so much. It was also pretty disheartening when I asked for fun facts about them and they just resorted to being a PK, as if that’s all they’re good for when in reality, they are so much more than that. I can understand why and how I got and get left out a lot more now. I’m that bigger girl bc she wasnt as enthusiastic or excited. She was just shy and quiet. And I feel like there have been moments when I’ve been really enthusiastic but no one else agreed with me and I ended up just being the odd one out and felt like such an outsider and like I didn’t belong. :/ I want to really do my best and try my hardest. I do.

I’m also worried that by the time I come back during August, I won’t have grown that much and nothing will feel like it’s changed. I’m just trying to prepare and think as much as I can until then. I almost don’t want to go home at all. I’m so scared that what awaits me is just me feeling like I don’t belong. At first I was sad that I’ll only be home for a few weeks but now I’m thinking that’s all I can handle. I am so afraid that I won’t have grown or learned enough. So much happened this past year that it feels like nothing happened at all. I struggled with alcoholism, depression, anxiety, I lost Marlena and Jakob, I made new friends like Sara and Evelyn too. I had trouble coming to terms with my dad’s mom’s death, my mom’s dad’s death, my whole family dying and everything we own being burned to a crisp. All of my family members and friends getting seriously injured and everything they know and love being destroyed in a great blaze. And hardest of all, I had to come to terms with the very real reality of Robbin passing away and honestly, I still can’t fully believe it. I think once I see his grave again, I’ll actually begin to fully accept it. I really still can’t believe that happened and that’s definitely been the most impactful part of this past year. I knew that this year would be tough but I thought in terms of persecution and that’s something I overcame. I didn’t care about how others would judge me at church or on the streets anymore because I know who I am in God’s eyes. Or at least I’m trying to learn my worth in them. But this? This was on a whole different level. I went home in February for the weekend to attend Robbin’s funeral. I know it was so expensive but it was so worth it be there. It was much needed closure. I remember seeing my dad cry on our way from the airport to his mom’s place. We were both so upset, knowing what a great person Robbin was and how short his life was. He was ten years older than me when he passed away. It’s been over five months, nearly six, since he had a heart attack and I just. Sigh. I really miss you Robbin and I am so sorry that I didn’t do more for you while you were still here. I know it wasn’t my fault but I still can’t help but feel partly responsible and wonder if anything would have changed had I said something. I know what depression feels like and it sucks and I could’ve been there for him but I wasn’t. 

But anyways,

I’m here now and I am doing good. I know I am. I am happy that I can. I need to stop procrastinating and be more pro-active and get everything done sooner so that I have more time to relax and not have to worry about things to do the next day. I don’t even feel like typing anymore but I’m not tired either. I might just watch videos because might as well. I’m really not in the mood to shower or was dishes. At least tomorrow is my last day for the week! Woo! I could just take care of those things tomorrow, I suppose. Sigh. I know I shouldn’t be lazy and I definitely have the means and ability to get up and do these things and just get it over with my but I’m really not in the mood. I just want to lay on the floor and cry and wallow in my sorrow. Sigh. 

On a brighter note, I saw the Incredible 2 yesterday with Tykira and Jordan and it was so good! I predicted the plot pretty early on so I was worried that that would be the whole movie so I was pleasantly surprised when it wasn’t! C:

I read some old posts in the Guat Squad group the other day while looking for old VBS dance moves and I told Judy that I missed everyone. But honestly, I don’t know if I do. I posted so many times and was so excited to post about reminders and I honestly did trust them and have a good time but not everyone, I guess. Even on the mission field, I was a lot more comfortable talking to Judy, Grace, and Gladys than anyone else on the team. There were moments during training where they did acknowledge me and I felt accepted and like I belonged but for the majority of the time, I don’t think I actually really got along with them. I need to stop trying so hard to fit in and just saying what everyone else is saying and speak the truth instead. It might be “not the right move” but it’s much better to be me and honest than to spend so long trying so hard to fit into a group that will never accept me anyway. I think this is a new goal that I should be working towards. Using my observations to just be blunt and straightforward and honest. I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job doing that with my family and P. Josh so far. I just can’t be afraid to be honest to those around my age either. 

I also need to stop judging people for being wealthy and well off. And also for complaining or being greedy or doing a better job at fitting in than I do. I’ve been really frustrated towards Jane recently bc I feel like she just complains all the time and tries so hard to fit in and it annoys me so much bc I try to fit in too. So why does it work for her but not for me? And maybe it’s because I’m fat or not as pretty. Maybe it’s because of what happened in the past. But regardless, I am here. And I want to be unapologetically me. 

[junker-town]

I went to Disney on Ice and witnessed the evolution of the Disney Princess

I also maybe cried.

BROOKLYN — A tiny princess is wailing inside a giant plastic teacup. Her mother leans against it with one arm akimbo, mirroring the handle, and beams into the camera. The photographer waves a rattle behind the lens in a futile attempt to coax a smile out of the miserable toddler.

Zoom out, and you’ll see a sea of miniature royals, all pale pinks, blues, and yellows. Disney On Ice’s Dare to Dream show is about to start, and Barclay’s Center is packed for 11 a.m. on a Thursday. The entire pre- and elementary-school age population of New York seems to have skipped school to “celebrate what’s possible as five Disney heroines spark the courage inside us all.” Disney tells us we’re here “to find our inner hero.”

My seat is next to a woman named Tyra Brooks and her daughter Sanaa. It’s Sanaa’s third birthday, so Brooks and her husband, who live in Brooklyn, took the day off work to be here. Sanaa is obsessed with Moana, the lead character from the movie by the same name. On my other side sit Stacy Cruz, 27, and her little brother Wyatt, 9, who’s been begging to go to the show since he saw ads for it on TV. Cruz monitored tickets until she found these, which, at $15, she could afford. Wyatt skipped school in Manhattan, and Cruz took the day off from her two jobs nannying and working in retail. In front of me, Natalie Nunez from Queens and her daughters Melinda and Evelyn, who are four and nine, cheer as the lights dim.

Our master of ceremonies is a relentlessly positive woman on skates in a purple figure-skating dress and a blazer. She seems adamant that nothing has ever gone wrong that can't be made right. Happily Ever After is a destination, and this woman is on a mission to make sure we all end up there.

She announces Minnie and Mickey, and the place erupts. These kids scream for the two famous mice the way teens would react to Harry Styles, or whoever the Cool Teen Celebrity Du Jour is. Melinda, the four-year-old ballerina in front of me, grips the armrests of her seat, sways her torso back and forth, and shakes her head so violently that I think there’s a chance she’ll launch herself out of her chair.

Minnie and Mickey leave, and the Beauty and the Beast segment of the show begins. Gaston, the blow-hard who always made me uncomfortable as a child, shows up. He declares himself a handsome hero. None of these kids give a shit about him, but they go nuts when Belle glides out onto the ice holding a book.

You know the rest of the story; at the end, Gaston falls off the set in dramatic fashion, the Beast takes off his Beast costume under a cloud of dry ice and turns into a handsome man, and Belle finds true love. She closes her books and glides around with her prince to a love song that sounds like a Belinda Carlisle B-side and definitely wasn’t in the original movie.

The kids get a real kick out of the lifts and spins that these skaters are doing. Most of the performers were professional figure skaters; some Disney On Ice dancers have been Olympians. The actual athleticism on display here is impressive, beautiful.

Charlotte Wilder with a shakily-held iPhone

Cinderella’s story begins. She does her thing, and eventually the clock strikes 12. She skates away, thanks to the arbitrary curfew her asshole Fairy Godmother set. Our friendly MC — who’s been hovering at the edge of the rink while interjecting life lessons throughout the show — skates around to see if the glass slipper fits any little girls in the front row. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t fit the Ugly Stepsisters.

Did you know that in the Grimms’ Brother’s version, the Stepsisters cut off their heels so the shoe would fit? My mom used to read me the original fairy tales, peeling back the layer of frosting with which Disney coats these mostly-terrible stories. I loved them. They terrified me, but I was fascinated by the vivid descriptions, like the ones of the sisters’ mutilated feet bleeding all over the glass shoe. I couldn’t believe women would hurt themselves like that to be beautiful or loved. Or both.

Cinderella gets her prince. They dance around to another song that sounds a little bit like off-brand Tina Turner.

“No matter how mean, mean, mean everyone was, she was able to rise above bullying and bickering to be kind and hopeful,” says our MC. “She found her happily ever after, plus a cute new pair of shoes.”

“That’s bullshit!” I want to yell to the children around me. “Don’t just roll over when someone’s a dick! Stand up for yourselves! Buy your own shoes!” But I stay quiet.

We move on to Rapunzel from Tangled, a movie that came out after my childhood and which I haven’t seen. Rapunzel is still pretty damsel-in-distress-y, but she does whack a dude on the head with a frying pan in the first scene, which the kids (and I) get a total kick out of. There's also a horse comprised of two people — one for the front legs and one for the back legs. I’m not sure how they can see anything.

“There's a horse with two people and it's working?” Cruz marvels beside me. “Pretty cool.”

Rapunzel is sassier than Belle and Cinderella, but the story still ends with her skating off into the sunset with a prince.

It’s intermission. I leave my seat and pass a guy hawking lemonade and sno-cones instead of the usual beers Barclay’s sells. The floor is sticky with various forms of spilled sugar. I wait in line behind tens of princesses to use the bathroom, then go buy some cotton candy. The man asks if I want one with or without a crown. I say with, but it’s too small to fit my head, so I go back to my seat and give it to Melinda. It falls over her eyes and she giggles. Her mom takes it and puts it on.

Someone starts a chant — Elsa! Elsa! Elsa! — as the lights go down, and, indeed, here comes Elsa from Frozen. I haven’t seen this movie either (I should babysit more, or, like, have a child if I want to stay up to date), but I think the gist is that Elsa’s pissed at her sister for wanting to marry someone she’s only known for one day. In retaliation, Elsa turns all of Norway or wherever into a hellish winterscape using her magical powers. Then disappears and her sister has to find her.

It’s finally time for “Let It Go”, the hit song from Frozen which I somehow know all the words to. The crowd of children is singing along almost louder than Elsa is through her mic. Melinda and even little three-year-old Sanaa beside me know all the words.

Let it go, let it go That perfect girl is gone Here I stand!

Frozen’s abridged version ends and the MC spews a message about how truly loving someone means sacrificing everything you have for them, which, I mean, let’s all relax here, okay? Then Moana skates onto the stage and the screaming is more intense than it’s been for the whole show. I haven’t seen Moana either, but Google tells me it’s about a Polynesian girl whose grandmother has tasked her with saving her island and finding herself. The kids sing along to every word and dance in their seats. They — okay, I — take particular delight in a massive, sprawling crab with a sparkly shell whose costume seems impossible to skate in.

Charlotte Wilder

Sorry this picture is so shitty, but it was the best I could do

We meet a dude named Maui, who is not Moana’s love interest. I don’t think she has one, as far as I can tell. She’s just a determined girl who’s scared of the responsibility placed on her but willing to rise to the challenge. She overcomes her self-doubt as she sails around the ice rink on her motorized boat. Kids are screaming, “I AM MOANA!” as she sings, “I am Moana!” There are fireworks inside Barclays when she finally saves her island.

But hold on. I have to take you back to the first part of the show for a second, when Belle comes out and floats around the outer edge of the rink. She flips through the pages of her book, ignoring Gaston (and his puffed out chest) as he tells her he’s going to marry her. She begins to sing: “I want so much more than they have plaaaanned.”

Children are cheering, reaching toward the stage, and I, a full-grown woman, break down into sobs. I’m crying because these shows are money-grabs designed to make you feel. They are operations that strike at the core of your being with surgical precision: Turn the lights down here, crescendo up to a chorus and strike a soaring note there, insert a key change, spin some spotlights, make the heroines reach toward the sky with longing. Each element must’ve been focus-grouped and tested within a billion-dollar inch of its life to tug at specific ventricles of your heart. I am powerless against Disney’s execution of this emotional warfare.

But I’m also crying because I’m looking at all these little girls around me — earnest, excited, hopeful — and I want them to have more than anyone has planned for them. I want them to glide off into the bright lights with a prince the way Belle does, if that’s what they truly desire. But I also want them to throw an encyclopedia at the Beast’s head and start their own bookstore, if that’s what they’d prefer. I want all the Gastons of the world — because I know they’ll meet more than a few of them — to be taken down before they encounter them. I want this world to be more fair than it currently is.

And it must be said that Disney is, in its own way, changing.

Whether it’s because feminism sells these days, or because it’s what Disney thinks is The Right Message, the company seems to be Leaning In. The 30 minute cliff-notes of stories, and the order in which Disney On Ice chose to present them — from oldest to most recent— made Dare to Dream feel like a trip through the brand’s feminist awakening. We started with women whose only rewards are finding men, then moved on to a woman whose primary complication is her relationship with her sister, and ended with a girl who literally saves her entire people with the help of her badass grandmother.

“She persevered and never lost sight of herself,” says the cheerful MC of Moana, after praising Cinderella’s ability to land a man and new footwear an hour earlier. “That's what inner strength is all about. Be yourself!”

The princesses come out to take a bow. The kids give all of them, especially Moana, big cheers, but save the biggest for Mickey and Minnie. Then the skaters disappear. Melinda is clapping. Sanaa grins. So do their mothers. They’re in the Happily Ever After for a moment. But then the lights come up.