#i know many of you hate pond but he’s gaining points with me recently

[nattaphum]

New updates on MileApo and Man Suang

Today it's been announced (with a new pic) that Mileapo’s interview in Paris will be released at the end of the month! 😍

Another interview is coming soon. This time with PoohChaiKonNun.

Yesterday a big group of fans started a campaign to “protect” Apo because they think he’s being mistreated by BOC since the only poster to appear outside of movie theaters was the Mile-centered one.

They flooded the IG accounts of Man Suang but also SF cinema and Major Group with angry statements. The DISASTER they caused looked like this:

It turns out that the panels outside of the movie theaters are supposed to change every day. Today, in fact, it's the turn of Apo-centered poster.

Yesterday vs. today

I think the red one is more eye-catchy btw... but that's only my opinion!

As a result of all this unnecessary drama, Apo deleted all his IG stories where he was enthusiastically promoting the movie and today he has been offline all day :(

Pond made an indirect statement on the topic without causing more drama but still addressing the issue:

👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

[nugnthopkns]

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence. 

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something. 

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place. 

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more. 

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy. 

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain. 

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus. 

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over. 

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at. 

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why. 

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck. 

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste. 

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault. 

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize. 

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals. 

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things. 

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting. 

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person. 

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe. 

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better. 

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water. 

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands. 

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats. 

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program. 

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating. 

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack. 

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you. 

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked. 

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything. 

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home. 

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days. 

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice. 

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs. 

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts. 

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly. 

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight. 

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat. 

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment. 

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. 

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching. 

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode. 

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.” 

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself. 

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase. 

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting. 

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble. 

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.��� 

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed. 

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to. 

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home. 

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate. 

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year. 

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters. 

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone. 

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask. 

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping. 

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat. 

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches. 

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors. 

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates. 

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time. 

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score. 

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended. 

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him. 

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah. 

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head. 

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel. 

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up. 

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom. 

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair. 

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump. 

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip. 

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps. 

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey. 

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you. 

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake. 

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye. 

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep. 

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel. 

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you. 

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before. 

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice. 

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves. 

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates. 

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet. 

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone. 

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd. 

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals. 

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features. 

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda. 

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point. 

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

 It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase. 

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him. 

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months. 

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received. 

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper. 

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about. 

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list. 

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship. 

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them. 

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights. 

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.  

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop. 

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.” 

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience. 

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around. 

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door. 

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles. 

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years. 

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall. 

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut. 

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?” 

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall. 

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?” 

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is. 

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete. 

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly. 

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction. 

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well. 

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much. 

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal. 

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror. 

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger. 

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates. 

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch. 

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city. 

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile. 

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift. 

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible. 

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable. 

“Good morning,” he repeats. 

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities. 

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off. 

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals. 

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine. 

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep. 

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front. 

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly. 

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay. 

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse. 

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.” 

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you. 

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself. 

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms. 

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot. 

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down. 

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help. 

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there. 

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater. 

“That’s not guaranteed,” you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain. 

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength. 

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. 

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again. 

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[lgcalex]

∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹Now Loading⊹ — Kim Alex: Updated Profile

ooc note:

so, as i said the other day, this is just a small post showing sort of an update on alex with how he is now compared to when he first joined the company. whether it's changes to his personality or even connections and even his deepest inner thoughts (maybe lol). me being the lazy person that i am, these will all be just listed in bullet form because in my mind that's "easier" than making this into some long paragraph post.

the updates:

when first joining the company, alex could care less about debuting and even didn't care much for his training. now, he's come to realize that he actually does want to debut and doesn't find the idea of being an idol that unbearable. he finally started realizing this during his star quality portion for Future Dreams ( see this solo here for that moment ) of course we have to thank Kim Hyuncheol, Park Jeongan, Lee Iseul, and Roe Kangdae for helping him realize this 100% as well ( see this here where he gets called out for his bs which was 100% deserved ). he was also super confident in his own body at the time ( still is actually but he doesn't brag as much now. don't get me wrong, he would upload gym photos of himself if he could lol ).

many may not have known this ( in character or ooc ) but he was once a university student (doesn't seem like a dummy like him would even be a student right? lol), however, when he began filming for Future Dreams he decided to drop out and put a pause on his studies ( see this solo here ). the decision to do this wasn't really something he had thought that he would ever do, especially since he never imagined the day would come where he actually wanted to take being a trainee seriously, but it wasn't a hard decision to make. he figures that if he fails at debuting through the show then he can just return to his studies.

in the beginning, he would take on things such as Date Lottery or even auditioned for one of lgc's opportunities to do one of their OST's for Cram School S1 ( too lazy to find this ), and he only would do such things because "it will gain me publicity and help me debut sooner so i can win this bet". though, after filming for his first CF with Royal Canin ( he's always had a soft spot for animals tbh ) he realized that he actually didn't mind being on shows for the enjoyment of it rather than just doing it 'because'. there was one point where he was a guest on The Kim Family and claimed he only was doing it for the publicity, though he actually did it because he wanted to see what acting was like. now he's someone who will sign up for shows such as Masterchef Legacy because he actually wants to and not just to gain a few fans from it all.

he used to hate things like vlive shows, he just didn't like the idea of being live and having to fake some smile or laugh. now, he doesn't mind them at all and has even appeared on a couple vlive shows such as Hot Spot, did the vlive for his Favorite Fall Recipe, he did the Q&A with fans, and recently was on Jaesun's EAT WITH JAE. ( notice how these are all mainly about food... ) i don't ever see him having his own vlive show, maybe in the future it's a possibility, but he sure doesn't mind at least guest starring on some shows every now and then.

something that hasn't changed is his love for his car and that probably will never change no matter how much time passes. Stella ( yes, he named his car ) is still his pride and joy but so is his Pomsky Luna ( she's now known ooc atm as the little matchmaker who caused Alex and Ichika to end up in a pond at the park. Ichika is the only female that Luna even likes which surprised Alex because puppy doesn't like other females and will usually growl at them unless they're family or close friends of Alex. )

his hate for things like aegyo is still the same. that probably won't ever change really. during one of the missions for Future Dreams he was sort of forced to do aegyo while meeting with fans and he's still cringing over that.

nothing has changed about his workout habits really. he still goes to the gym and has the usual workout routine he does, along with still eating healthy (because gotta keep them abs in check just in case the company ever makes him show abs again like in his teaser for Future Dreams).

the relationships/connections:

first, let's start off with the reason why he used to be cautious about relationships or even feeling something towards others in a romantic way. for those that truly know him, you know that he had an ex back in the states that he loved at the time and put his all into that relationship with her, that is until she told him that she wanted to not only see him but others on the side as well. you also know that he ended up telling her more or less to f off. ( /claps for him/ ) because of this his heart basically froze over and the word 'love' didn't even exist in his dictionary. afterwards, any kind of 'relationship' he had wasn't exactly something he really even put his all into anymore and just sort of dated here and there out of boredom ( he has a few exes because of this ).

now on to the reason why he had trust issues even more with letting people in past the walls he had built up. he felt betrayed due to seeing that ex of his with someone he thought was his best friend. basically, boy broke the 'bro code' and alex started having a harder time trusting even those who wanted to be his friend and he became closed off/distant with others that he didn't trust fully.

fast forward to more recent times, he's grown quite a bit and has started to slowly let others in a bit more. he's made some new friends within legacy that he actually does seem to care for, even if he won't admit it out loud but he does. he's also started catching feelings for a specific person ( /cough/ ichika ) but if you've been sort of keeping up with that, or even haven't, well they're both in denial but improving little by little. lol

his family has always been the number one priority in his life, and always will be no matter what. even now he still does get embarrassed by his sister Mia quite a bit, though he still loves her and it's just always been the sort of sibling relationship where she embarrasses him and he acts like he's bothered by it ( he's a faker tbh ).

his cousins, Jueun and Hyunbin, are still two of the family members who he will always be protective of, even if he does tend to mess with them just for the hell of it at times.

before, when meeting new people, alex would be cold and very distant (he still sort of is but not as much anymore). now he's less cautious with those he's meeting for the first time but he still does keep that bit of distance until someone has gained his trust fully. those that he's been friends/aquaintances with for a few years he's super close with and will still tease/mess with them occasionally for shits and giggles or whatever.

[sablesides-writing-corner]

Mulan and Loceit!

Sorry if it's not what you expected, havent seen any Mulan movie since I was little so I dont remember much about it ;-;

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

Logan was quite content with his life, and he was rather smart for someone of his social status. But of course there was only one thing anyone ever seemed to want from him, a husband. He'd just never seen the point in love, or feelings in general for that matter, it all seemed pointless. Yet there he was, getting ready to see if he could ever land the husband his family so desperately wished he would. Make-up itched, and clothing to, everything itched and he hated it. He hated these pointless rituals and matchmaking, hated love, hated feelings. But he sat and smiled, because that's what a good son does, sits and smiles and gets a spouse to carry on his family's legacy. His grandmother had given him a cricket, he never understood how that was going to help him, it was highly unlikely that such superstitions were actually true.

But Logan found himself hoping his grandmother was correct in her assumptions as he walked to the matchmakers house. He hoped he wasnt sweating, makeup ran when in contact with liquids, he thought about how stupid makeup was again.

He wasnt sure when he'd been called, he barely remembered it, but next thing he knew he was sitting on the floor, pouring tea for matchmaker and pretending to have a genuine smile. He didnt have to pretend for much longer, the tea stains on the matchmakers face made her look almost as if she had a beard. She reached for the teacup, and Logan noticed the cricket his grandmother had given him poking its head out from the cup.

"Let me refill that for you-" he said, taking the cup quickly and trying to stall for time. The matchmaker eyed him suspiciously. Logan felt beads of sweat on his forehead and began to panic. This was a bad course of action.

Next thing he knew, or at least wish he knew, the matchmaker was on fire and screaming at him to get out.

"YOU WILL NEVER FIND A HUSBAND, YOU WILL BRING ONLY DISHONOR TO YOUR FAMILY!" the words cut through Logan like a knife. He didnt care about finding a husband, or feelings, or love. But he did care about family, and the disappointed looks from his own haunted him.

It seemed like the day couldnt get worse. Yet somehow, it did. Logan's mother was told she would be sent off to war, and there was nothing Logan could do to stop it. He'd stayed up for hours thinking and devising plans, watching his reflection in the pond, wondering what he'd done to become such a terrible son, when he came to a realization. He walked to the wardrobe his parents had always told him to stay away from, that it was for his mother only, he shouldnt touch it. But when he opened the wardrobe and took out the armor inside, he couldnt see why. Perhaps they thought him to fragile for war, but he disagreed. As he put on the armor and took the sword his mother used to show him when he was little, he felt stronger, smarter, even. He hadnt thought it possible for him to get any smarter than he already was, he suprised himself every day now it seemed. He raced to the stables and found his personal favorite horse, a tan palomino.

"You think you can handle a journey like this? It'll be a while before we can get back," Logan didnt know why he talked to the horse, it was such a stupid thing to do, but it seemed to understand him, he could have sworn he saw it nod. No matter the reaction, he climbed onto the horse's back and set off for the army, completely uncertain of whether or not he would return.

About half way through his journey, as Logan slept one night, he heard something moving in the field. He blinked his eyes open and looked up to see the shadow of a dragon on some stone. "What the-"

"GREETINGS MORTAL- IT IS I- REMUS!" said the dragon. Logan looked around, and noticed a small green dragon with brown lines on its nose nearby, the cricket was holding a torch toward it. "IM HERE TO TELL YOU TO-" the dragon seemed to notice Logan staring at him, "Oh-"

"You're here to help me." said Logan, who quite frankly was not expecting much from the dragon.

"I know more about this than you do, violence is my thing," said Remus the dragon, who was small and nonthreatening.

"I'm sure you do," said Logan sarcastically, but he decided to e

accept the dragon's help anyways, he supposed a talking dragon for company was better than no company at all.

He hadn't expected this to be an easy feat, not remotely, but the addition of General Deceit was something he absolutely couldnt wrap his head around. The general had scars all along one side of his face, he almost looked like he had scales. The rest of the army found him intimidating, Logan found his pushing frankly annoying.

Logan would make one mistake and hear "I've seen better from a servant," behind him. It was, to be frank, a drag. Remus tried to help him several times, but that only seemed to get him into more trouble.

"Alright, I think I've seen enough from you," Deceit's eyes were cold and unforgiving as they bore into Logan's own, he'd never been scared of the general, but this particular instance was an outlier. "Your time in this army is done, I expect your things and you to be gone by morning, Logic," the name had been used on a whim, Logan frankly didnt understand how anyone bought it, but that wasnt his place to say. He watched as Deceit stormed off to watch the other recruits, and he made a decision. He was going to practice until Deceit had no choice but to let him stay.

It worked like a charm, Logan would never forget the look on Deceit's face as he gaped at Logan, sitting atop the log that so many others had desperately tried to scale the previous day. He took great pleasure in Deceit's revocation of his previous command. But this was a war, he had to remember that.

It hadnt really felt like a war, hed been having so much fun talking with the other recruits, and been so caught up in hiding his identity that he had almost forgotten. Which was why when they came upon the decimated remains of another village, Logan didnt know how to cope. They were overtaken soon after, and amid the confusion Logan had managed to screw something up that he couldnt repair.

"What, exactly, is this?" Deceit had his hand wrapped around Logan's arm, despite the opposing armies supposed defeat, Logan had made a grave mistake. He had forgotten all about the markings he'd left on his arm the day of his matchmaking, he'd hoped they would have come off by now, he wished they had. "So you're not even a soldier, then?" said Deceit, the hiss in his voice clearly audible. Logan tried to sputter out a response, but to no avail. He was left there, in the cold, as the rest of the army fled back home. Remus tried to console him, but it was no use. He'd failed to gain honor in any situation, he wasnt a good husband, he wasnt a good soldier, and he wasnt a good scholar. He wasnt good enough at anything.

Logan's horse whinnied, he turned around to see his enemies rising out from where he'd thought they'd disappeared. Frantically, he got back on his horse, Remus latched onto his shoulder, and fled back home, hoping to warn Deceit before it was to late.

The journey seemed endless, but finally, Logan made it. He searched the crowds and streets for Deceit, catching a glimpse of his yellow eyes withing a parade.

"Deceit!" he rode up beside him, the man ignored him. "Deceit, the armies didnt die back at the mountains, we're all in danger! You have to listen to me!"

Deceit turned to face him "I dont take orders from a low-class man who couldnt even land a husband, you are not a leader, and you are not a soldier, stay in your own line." he growled. Logan glared and lead his horse away.

"How dare he! Well if he doesnt want to listen then we can just watch everyone die from out here!" said Remus angrily. Logan ignored him, he was to busy trying to formulate a plan so his idea wouldnt come to fruition. He finally landed on something, but it still required Deceit's help.

By the time he'd returned to the palace however, enemy forces had already arrived. He enlisted the help of some of his army friends as a distraction and ran off to find Deceit.

"Do you believe me now!" he said, halfway sarcastically. Deceit through him a sword and rolled his eyes. Together they fought through the army. Logan had never really noticed it before, but Deceit's intimidating demeanor was actually very pleasing to him, and he fought quite well for someone with so many injuries so close to his eye.

Logan hadnt expected any rewards, he'd expected a reprimand, punishment, maybe even death for what he'd done. Yet as he faced the crowds of people cheering for him, he felt happier than he ever had in his life, he watched Remus giving him a thumbs up, watched his parents beaming up at him from the audience, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned to face Deceit once again. The man rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "You uh, fight, well, for someone-"

"So nerdy?" Logan finished his sentence for him. Deceit flushed and Logan laughed. He said his goodbyes and headed back home.

He'd fully expected there to be no more suprises in his life, fore everything to go back to normal as soon as he put everything back in place. He should've known better, his life had been nothing but surprises recently, but at least this surprise was a pleasant one. Deceit's smiling face was a sight Logan had only ever dreamed of seeing again, and his words were something that caused even more joy.

"I'm in love with you, Logan, I dont know how or why, but its true," Deceit had told him. And Logan had smiled, hed felt it to, he'd never known what the word meant before, hed always thought of himself as a glitch in that particular system, yet here he was. Young, clever, and in love,and what a set of things to be indeed, he wouldnt change any of it for the world.

[leepace71]

LEE PACE AND HIS NEIGHBOR, JESSICA LANGE, CATCH UP ABOUT WILD FANS, THE WILDERNESS OF EMPTY HOTEL ROOMS, AND NATURE ITSELF

The first time I met Lee Pace, we were outside, next to the East River in Brooklyn, and I was a little stoned. We had just been introduced through a mutual friend, and within minutes of speaking to one another, he invited me up to “the farm,” a country house with five fireplaces, about two hours north of the city. The farm has played an important role in Pace’s life, offering him a retreat from Hollywood, but also purpose; there, with his own hands, he built a rustic barn, in which he lived until he bought the property adjacent to his from his then-neighbor, the two-time Oscar-winning actor Jessica Lange.

It makes sense that Pace feels at home outside of the city; the actor, now 40, was born in the small town of Chickasha, Oklahoma. He gained a modest, albeit devoted following by appearing on two beloved but short-lived TV series: Wonderfalls, in 2004, and, three years later, Pushing Daisies. His star, however, shot into a whole other orbit beginning in 2012, when he joined what seemed like every franchise at the time by starring in The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 2, all three of the films in The Hobbit series, and Guardians of the Galaxy—as the hooded, blue-faced villain Ronan the Accuser. His recent role as the closeted Mormon Joe Pitt in the Broadway revival of Angels in America was magically exhausting and eloquent, and it coincided with a public truth of his own—or, as a headline in The New York Times put it, “Lee Pace Came Out Seven Times a Week. Then He Came Out for Real.”

The actor’s two upcoming projects reemphasize his dual—perhaps dueling—interests in entertainment and art: He reprises his role as Ronan this spring in Captain Marvel and, later this summer, he’ll play John DeLorean, opposite Jason Sudeikis, in Driven, a biopic about the controversy-courting automobile tycoon. In anticipation of both films, Pace invited Lange to his apartment in New York’s West Village to talk about moviemaking, marketing, and, yes, the farm. She did a slight twirl upon entering the main room and, as one might expect from the queen of elevated shade, said, “Not bad, Lee—for a pied-à-terre.” —NICK HARAMIS

———

LANGE: Should we jump into acting?

PACE: Let’s start with the farm.

LANGE: I remember the first time I saw you, I had walked down to the pond and I looked across, and I saw somebody in that next field over there to the right. And I thought, “Fuck, I’m going to have a neighbor.” But then it turned out to be you, and that was swell.

PACE: I can’t imagine what you saw because those first few times, I was camping out there in a tent to try to figure out where I was going to build a house. I remember that first night, it was about four o’clock and it must have been early March or something. I had made camp, but I didn’t have enough time to make a fire before it got dark. I got into the tent, and I opened up my roast beef sandwich and start eating it, and then all around the quarry I heard the coyotes. I swear I heard one of them sniff the tent just right outside that nylon. So I made a ton of noise and ran back to the car.

LANGE: The land up there is haunted, but beautiful.

PACE: One of the things I’m most proud of is building that old frame out of raw timber on the edge of the woods. Then, right before Thanksgiving, I got a bunch of my friends together to push it up.

LANGE: It was like an old Amish barn raising. I remember because Sarah Paulson was staying up with me that weekend. I baked a pie and walked across the field with it wrapped in a linen basket, thinking, “This is something from another time.”

PACE: That farm has become such a big part of my life.

LANGE: As an actor, most of the time you’re staying in a hotel room in some strange city somewhere.

PACE: I do love seeing the world, and being in those hotel rooms. It’s such an incredible thing playing a character all day, and then at night you go home to this hotel and you wake up in the morning and you don’t quite know where you are.

LANGE: I think the part of it I’ve loved the most, and the part that’s been most difficult, is that nomadic life. When my kids were little, we were like a caravan. We moved dogs, birds, cats, kids, tutors—and that was great. But when you’re by yourself doing it, it’s incredibly lonely. Being an actor is an inherently lonely life.

PACE: It really is, isn’t it? It’s kind of disorienting in that way. It’s like having this sheet of thick glass between you and everyone else.

LANGE: Do you think in some way actors are already lonely people, who are then drawn to this life more than others?

PACE: There must be something.

LANGE: That and a traumatic childhood make a good actor.

PACE: Check.

LANGE: Tell me about Captain Marvel.

PACE: I’ve never read the script. I was doing Angels in America when I shot it.

LANGE: How in the hell did you do that?

PACE: That whole time of my life was insanity, so it just added to it. I basically did a matinee on Sunday, flew out to L.A., got painted blue, and put on a costume. Then I stood in front of a blue screen, and they’re like, “Okay, there’s a hologram in front of you and they’re saying this.” It’s so surreal in a way. I did two days of that, and then I was back onstage playing Joe Pitt in Angels in America.

LANGE: Well, that kind of covers acting A to Z, doesn’t it?

PACE: So many people see those movies and they entertain so many people, and I guess I’m an entertainer, so I embrace that. But if I’m being honest, it’s disorienting.

LANGE: When you were in Angels in America, you stepped in for another actor, right?

PACE: Yes, they had rehearsed it and had a whole run in England, so when they brought it back to Broadway, I was the only one who was new, so I was playing catch-up. As with all big experiences, life informs the situation, and it informed the interpretation of the character. When I read the play in high school, I understood this cognitive dissonance of Joe feeling like an alien in a world full of humans. I wanted to advocate for his point of view, because as a queer person, I’m seeing everyone behave as human and I feel like I’m painted blue. And the character really just goes through hell. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done because there was no pulling the punch going onstage. I was terrified about it every day, about walking through those shoes in that public way, because the character has just stripped off his skin.

LANGE: Sometimes those are the best acting moments, don’t you think? It confirms all the reasons why we do this. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but in that production your performance was by far the most moving.

PACE: That means so much to me. I just felt so cooked by it, do you know what I mean? I think Tony [Kushner] knew it was coming to me, because I ran into him in Provincetown and he was like, “Hey, would you consider doing this?” I think he knew it was coming, and I’m glad I didn’t know.

LANGE: You don’t have to answer this, but how does it feel when there’s a certain discord—and I’m putting it lightly—with an actor opposite you. How do you find your way around that?

PACE: Well, I guess you’ve just got to show up for that first moment, right? You make your entrance, and that’s all I could do, really. I had to love this woman deeply, profoundly, unconditionally, and I did not. But the play does the work, really. Some nights, it hit such beautiful notes. Then there were times when I would look across at her, and I was like, “This isn’t the play we’re doing. You’re angry at someone else right now.” But there’s no redoing it, so yeah.

LANGE: This summer you’re going to star in a film as John DeLorean. How is playing an actual person different than playing a fictional character?

PACE: I love playing real people. You just get so much more color. The thing that was so fun about learning about John DeLorean is that no one has the same story about him. He left such different impressions on everyone he came into contact with. There are people who thought he was a visionary of a certain time. There are people who thought he was a crook.

LANGE: What ever happened with that car company of his?

PACE: There was this whole house of cards where he needed money to keep the business running, and so he got involved in a coke deal. But the FBI was setting him up, and they got video of the whole thing.

LANGE: If you could play anyone in the world, who would it be?

PACE: Putin? Trump? Let’s stick to mega-villains. I don’t know. I want to work with a good director who will pick for me.

LANGE: Is there a part you want to do onstage again?

PACE: I’m not 25 anymore, but I would love to have played Romeo. That’s a character I find so interesting and contradictory. I would also like to play Uncle Vanya. I think I could still play him.

LANGE: I think you could, too.

PACE: I can’t wait to get onstage again.

LANGE: I’ve found that with series, you get to have longer to develop a character. For all the disadvantages of doing a series, that’s one advantage.

PACE: There’s also the writers. I loved our writers on Halt and Catch Fire, because they watched us and saw things in us that they brought out of the character.

LANGE: They see you and know your strong points.

PACE: I think the writers in our room were like, “He’s going to hate this,” because my character gets dragged through hell. For the first few seasons, I was like, “This isn’t fair.”

LANGE: How much do you think an actor owes his fans? Is that even part of the way you think?

PACE: I think that’s a very contemporary view. Social media creates this call-out culture where people can view something as being problematic. But I don’t really consume a lot of media, so I don’t really pay attention to it much.

LANGE: Do you have—what are those sites called? Twitter?

PACE: I have Instagram. But it’s not really the media outlets on it that I find interesting. I just find cool people doing interesting stuff. To be honest, I look at very dumb memes.

LANGE: What’s a funny anecdote you remember from a fan approaching you?

PACE: I once went up to the farm—this was after I bought your house—and I saw this rotting bag of dumplings outside, along with a ticket to Shen Yun. Do you know that Chinese dance?

LANGE: Yes.

PACE: And there was a note that said, “I know you like dumplings, please come with me to Shen Yun. I’ll be waiting with a ticket for you. By the way, you have a beautiful farm.” [Laughs] I’m so grateful that people like the work that I do and that they respond to it. Twenty years ago, I never would have dreamed that people would have felt strongly about the work that I do. But one of the lessons I learned playing that role in Angels in America is that approval is really not what it’s about. Understanding is what it’s about.

LANGE: I’m so far outside the realm of social media, but from what I’ve heard people say, your presence—or following, or whatever—now adds to your bankability. It’s insane. I passed by somebody on the street today who was talking on her phone, and she said that she had 20 million followers.

PACE: I wonder who has the most. Would it be Selena Gomez? Let’s see how many she’s got—145 million followers.

LANGE: What does that even mean?

PACE: If she posts a picture, 145 million people will see it on their feed. I mean, that’s more than a movie.

LANGE: That’s a lot of people. It feels dangerous to me. I don’t mean to be a conspiracy theorist, but do we really understand what any of this stuff is? It makes you want to retire to the farm.

LEE: I love those days when you wake up and just make coffee, then walk out into the fields.

LANGE: Do you remember that one beautiful coyote that used to cross the field?

PACE: Yes.

LANGE: He was gorgeous!

PACE: I remember one time, the pond had frozen over and these coyotes chased a doe out onto the ice and then she slipped and fell, and they ripped her up. There were tracks going back into the woods where they took a piece of her. The next day, it thawed and it all disappeared like it had never happened.

x

[fapangel]

SO what do you what will happen now with the whole fake Bomer guy supposedly be a trump supporter? Do you think the blue wave will restart or is it too little to late?

The most significantrevelation of the mail-bomber incident was that the Republicanmainstream – not the usual fringe kooks, but the levelheaded,respected commentators – immediately suspected it to be amanufactured “October Surprise.”

Some of those knee-jerktweets have since been deleted, likelyfor the same reason that I was more alarmed that I could entertain a“false flag” theory in the first place than I was by the possible“false flag” itself. Embracing asinine conspiracy theoriesis, to me, a hallmark of left-wing agitprop, an indelible impressionfrom my formative Bush-era youth when ~Halliburton~ and~Bush’s cabinet of puppeteers who have Jewish last names~was unceasingly invoked in anypolitical argument. And yet, despite knowing theoverwhelming odds of a lone lunatic being the perp (as indeed theywere) and my own decades-old biases against conspiracy theories, Istill found myselfmuttering dubiously.

Iwasn’t alone in that impression – the NewYork Times picked up on it too, and as is their wont managed todisclose their unique myopia as well. In their effort to equate allright-wing media to Alex “Lizardman Chemtrails” Jones’s usualconspiracytainment bullshit, theydrop this revealing paragraph:

Mr.Jones has been largely pushed tothe fringes of the internet — kicked off Twitter, Facebook and adozen other services — and his cries for attention now seem mostlypitiful. (This week, he was filmed yellingat a pile of manure outsidea rally for President Trump in Texas.) Buthis spirit lives on in the larger universe of pro-Trump media, whichhas fused the conspiratorial grandeur of Infowars with an unshakablefaith in Mr. Trump’s righteousness.

Theyautomatically equate media exposure of an idea with how manyviewers believe the idea. The thesis of the article lies inthese two sentences; Alex Jones has been silenced, but the moremainstream right-wing media has picked up his ideas, and that’s whythey’re still alive.

Thisalone speaks volumes about the media’s worldview, but to reallydrive it home see thisarticle wherein the reporter blames Trump’s attacks on themedia for their plummeting popularity, as if the Great PresidentialPumpkin can sway millions of Americans into hating themainstream media via his eldritch mind-control rays. This is why theyspeak of “an unshakable faith in Mr. Trump’s righteousness-”leftists view the world in terms of stupid mobs and the influentialdemagogues that sway and lead them. They simply cannot comprehendthat their own actions have shattered the public’s trust in them,despite the problem long predating Trump (one of my Journalism 101professors cited trust polling that consistently put Journalistsbelow used car salesmen back in 2007!) They find it easier tobelieve that their vast media empires’ combined megaphone is beingdrowned out by RumpleTrumpskien pied piping on his magical racistdogwhistle than to admit that people might think for themselves longenough to call them out on their egregious lies.

Thisdovetails nicely with recent revelations thatthe FBI leaked information to the press, then cited said “reporting”to the Justice Dept. as justification for further investigations,including FISA wiretapping warrants. Whilethe media’s lunacy is frequently amusing – reporters leaningdramatically into nonexistent wind, CNN’sfit over a panel truck blocking their stalker peephole in the hedge,or going bugfuck insane because Trumphad dinner without informing the media – nobody’s laughinganymore. And it’s precisely because of the growing understandingamong the populace of how the media has wantonly abused its power toaid the abuse of Federal power to nullify the results of a democraticelection.As Ian Miles Cheong said; “if the media can lie about somethingas insignificant as a koipond feeding ceremony, what else are they lying about?”

Well,now we know – and the people don’t seem amused.

I’vecovered the media’s worldview and demonstrable myopia before; Iaddress it in this instance to show thatthe media simply cannot adapt their message. Indeed,the NYT article on fringe-to-mainstream cites the mocking/pol/ “suspicious devices” meme without apparentunderstanding of how it undermines their implicit assumptions mereparagraphs prior of deplatforming speakers equalingthe silencing of their ideas. Theleft-wing “mobs and demagogues” is more than theory to them; it’show they organize – which is why John Oliver’s sick Friday nightburns are being repeated ad nauseam on Facebook by early Saturdaymorning. Theleft truly cannotmeme;it’s simply how they function. So when RumpleTrumpskien needles themedia into talking All About Themselves instead of the issues at handyetagain, iteffectively makes the mediathe issue at hand – and given that pollingconsistently shows that many Democrats are coming to distrust themedia of late, that’s not a strong issue for the DNC.Conversely, right-wingers will be shitposting the latest dank memeswith or without Alex Jones’s Twitterfeed, comehellor Maxine Waters.

Thusly,I conclude the mail bomber incident won’t have a significant impacton the electoral map – notjust because of widespread cynicism engendered by constant mediafalsehoods, but also because the structural problems that producedsuch alsocripple the media’s ability to exploit such incidents. In fact, themedia’s incredible blindness makes them likely to harmthe left-wing’s cause by doubling down on narratives that wereasinine the first time around. There is no bad news for the DNC thatthe media’s mental illness cannot make worse. Takethe latest example of thesynagogue shooter thatturnedout to be a Trump-hater who thought POTUSwas controlled Jews. Theusual hate-mongeringWaPo crowd actuallydug up the “star-shapedbackground graphic in a campaign ad” gem that was laughablelunacy beforeTrumpmoved the US embassy to Jerusalem and made defending Israel in the UNa cornerstone of US foreign policy. Thisis placed at the topofthe article, as if it’s a powerful and convincing lead-in to thelong-winded paranoid rambling of “troll armies” motivated by theusual mystic ~coded signals~ mentioned later on. Eventhe more sober-sounding takes likethis NYT hit-piece must open by blaming Trump for the crimes ofTrump-supporters andTrump-haters,which obliges the author to afascinating attempt in pissing up a rope without getting wet.

Itnaturally follows, then, that breathless media polling reports citing85% and upwards chances of a “blue wave” retaking the House areabout as trustworthy as similar polling in 2016. Even Nate Silver’smuch-vaunted “538” polling agency has come under prettypointed criticism for the number of times they’ve shrugged offsimilar “80%” predictions that haven’t come to pass – froma Harvard professor, no less. Furthermore,midterm elections are different in many ways – local issues oftenhave people more fired up (read, pissed off,) especially regardinggubernatorial elections. Since midterms are traditionally very lowturnout, a popular gubernatorial candidate can have a huge impact on“down-ballot” races – i.e. people show up to vote for thegovernor, and vote straight party ticket for alltheother candidates, US House included. In short, the polls mean jackdiddly squat, soeveryone’s simply reporting what they want (if you don’t believeme, look no further than Fox News’s reportinga nail-biting dead heat currently, then thisSeptember 22ndarticle on how dismissing “blue wave” rhetoric as the bullshit itis could suppress the Republican vote via overconfidence.A “dead heat” narrative is the safest way to turn out votes; norisk of overconfidence or hopelessness keeping people away from thepolls.) Soto evaluate the potentials, we must turn to the murkiest of allpolitical-forecastingcrystal balls - “energy levels.”

There’sbeen multiple media-exacerbated own-goals for the left in thatregard, most notably the mind-blowingly vicious smear campaignagainstJustice Kavanaugh that only managed to rile the right wing via sheeroutrage even more than the left. I could roll this one around fora while – talking about the surprising pluralities (note therelatively high numbers of Democrats and low numbers of Republicans“Very Angry” over Kavanaugh’s suffering; a surprisinglycenter-right plurality,) or how big the Republican benefit really was(Republicans being moderately more outraged than Democrats amounts toa low gain if Democrats enteredthe fray with high outrage already; but it’s likely that manyRepublicans who didn’t care at all before are outraged now).Butthere’s a larger factor to contend with – the historical realitythat the party controlling the Executive usually loses seats in theHouse in midterm elections. It happens with regularity for the samereason PoliSci101 shows you a “standardized plot” of Presidential approvalratings over time – human nature. Whoever’s in charge gets blamedfor everything bad, simply enough – so even popular Presidents willshed a few seats in the mid-terms. Combine this with the importanceof turnout in midterm elections and the oft-lamented anti-Trumpobsession on the left, and everything seems to point to Democratsbeing more motivated.

However,I’m not so sure they are.

Youtuber“Aydin Paladin,” an advanced psych student who usually talksabout psychology in a political context, did a video 11 months agotitled “LeftistLethargy and Low Energy,” specifically addressing how aconstant state of horror and outrage at every single damn Trump tweethas the inevitable consequence of emotional burnout. One cannot stayoutraged forever. At some point, you simply stop caring. Onecould debate Ayadin’s point that the left was demonstrablyhittingthis point a year ago, or posit that they’ve had time to recover –but I personally believe the lethargy lingers. Myevidence? A quick jaunt through the New York Times’ editorial page:

*A Halloween op-ed about Trump literally being worse than the fuckingbogeyman (“WhenNightmares Are Real” by Jennifer Finney Boylan,)

*An article begging Democrats not to take a usually-safe votingdemographic for granted, Native Americans

*An article on “how to turn people into voters,” featuring a modelspecific to “black Southerners,” who are a safe Democraticdemographic – but only when they actually turn up to vote,

*Andmost tellingly, an article titled“You’redisillusioned. That’sfine. Vote anyway.”

Blindand narcissistic they may be, but I trust the media to know their owntribe – and theiroutlookon the base’s revolutionary fervor looks rather dim. Once again themedia’s endless talent for own-goals is apparent. The continuingdemonizingof Trump as theworst nightmare ever onlyensures that a choir that tired of the preaching a year ago willremain so. The struggle to get black voters to actually turn out isan old and ongoing one, but pissed-off Native Americans isn’t justElizabethWarren’s fault – it was mostly the media that accepted her DNAtest showing some squillionth of a percent of native DNA asvindication,andthen gallopedover to Trump to triumphantly flaunt it at him, giving him a goldenopportunity to mock it on national TV – on their own live networkbroadcasts, even.

You’llnote that the point regarding the media’s self-sabotage of theleft-wing movement was made many paragraphs ago, but it continues torear its awful head as a salient factor in almost every exampleillustrating any otherpoint in this article – this is how pervasive it is.

There’smore to Democratic lethargy than the media pissing off key left-wingDemographics in western states with important House races, however –there’s also the overall lack of a message. Instead of coalescingon a single one, Democrats appear to be taking a local-issuesapproach, which is rather awkward given they – and the media –have spent the last two years making absolutelyeverything aboutTrump. They’re stillmaking everything about Trump (e.g.synagogue shooter) even now,inthe eleventh hour. Thenthere’s the notable and growing strain between old-schoolblue-collar union Democrats and the “progressive wing” (viz.privileged wealthy white socialists) whichdivides their messaging on the economy – especially tellingconsidering the record-low unemployment and rapidlyrising wages. (It’s hard to tell people they’re living inObama’s economy whenyou were telling them it was Trump’s climate a few months ago.)

Andof course, the cherry on this shitstorm sundae is the latest greatestmigrant caravan advancing through Mexico – seven thousandstrong, originally – which took Trump’s single greatest electionissue and slam-dunked it in the middle of the debate again. Thecaravan is significant because it tangiblyprovesTrump’s long-standing point regarding immigration problems, and isexactly the kind of thing a big wall would hinder – awall Trump can’t build if he can’t get a funding bill through theHouse.

Insum, the left still lacks a coherent message, is still desensitizingtheir electorate with constant panicked screeching, is frequentlypissing off their own key constituencies with their ham-handedagitprop, and are helping to suppress their own vote by portraying anelection that’s all but won. Meanwhile the Republicans have aPresident who’s actually delivered on many of his promises, has agreat recent event to showcase how delivering on the rest rides onthis next election, and, in general, have optimism.Somethingabout Kanye West’s recent visit to the White House stood out to me– he saidhe had nothing against Hillary’s campaign slogan, but when he puton a MAGA hat, he “felt like Superman.”

“Feltlike Superman.” That’s a sentiment of empowerment.Obamaunderstood the power of positive messaging – it’show “Hope and Change” swept him into office in his first term.Democratsthis year simply don’t.

Ican’t call it either way. But I cantell you that anyone who thinks this election is all over but for thecounting isnuts. The battle lines of 2016 have only been dug deeper, and thesimple truths of human nature make for an uphill fight – but by thesame token, Democrats have badly misplayed the hands they have, arecompletely incapable of real self-reflection on any significantscale, and Trump’s been President for two years with realsuccesses, with the much-ballyhooed Trumpocolypse yet to descend.

Insofaras I can call anything, I’d say this election is going to be close.I’d tell you to go out and vote, especiallyif you don’t want to see the party encouraging mob intimidation andstoking racial hatred controlling the House – which they’ll useto launch endless sham investigations of Trump long after Mueller’scharade finally gives up the ghost, in addition to impeaching himjust for the hell of it. If Trump loses the House he- and his agenda- will be a lame-duck for the next two years, because any seriousbill needs to be passed by both House and Senate.

Onceagain, everything is on the line.

I’mnot sick of winning yet.

[geordiesaffer-blog]

What day is it again? If you're like me, the days seem to be simply running into each other--one day seems just like the one before to the point where I really have to stop and think, "Is this Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... ???" This seems to be our "new normal" for a while--quite a while, I think. This COVID-19 pandemic has me unable to settle--I flit from one thing to the next and I can't maintain my focus on anything. I haven't left my house in two weeks since self-quarantining after our plane flight on March 21st. I've walked out onto my patio a few times on the rare occasions when the sun was shining, but that's it. We are not supposed to be out at all in our area except for "life-sustaining" purposes (getting groceries, visiting the doctor, etc.). How are you all coping? Thank goodness I have my stitching and other hobbies to enjoy at home and keep my mind off the increasingly dire reports on the spread of the virus. I try not to look at the news, but, it's hard not to be drawn into it at the same time. As my youngest son said, this is probably one of the few times in history that the entire world is on the same side, fighting the same battle.I thought you might like to see a couple "pretties" today to give you a break from dwelling on that "thing" that has consumed our lives... I actually finished this piece in early March, before things got so worrisome. "Be Happy, Humble, & Kind" is a design by With Thy Needle and Thread stitched on 40 ct. vintage country mocha using a variety of overdyed threads from my stash.  The colors were what first drew me to this piece along with the sentiment. "Be Happy, Humble, and Kind" finishI changed the color of the man's face, hands and legs to DMC 950.A beautiful, big white house, but I'd hate to wash all those windows! Being "happy" may be a bit more difficult these days, but better days will come again!Be Kind:  one thing we can all practice--no matter what is going on around us!The latest issue (Spring 2020) of Punch Needle and Primitive Stitching" Magazine has so many adorable charts. I was immediately drawn to this robin sitting on his beautiful blue eggs. It is designed by Subrosa Designs and is called "Bless Our Nest." The original design contained the words "Bless Our Nest" below the basket, but I left them off.  One of my favorite linens, 40 ct. Woodland Newcastle was used--love the way the white shows up on it! I changed all the suggested colors except for the brown on the robin's body, which is Weeks Dye Works "Cocoa." The blue eggs are stitched with Dinky Dyes silk in "Aquamarine"--aren't they lovely? I so enjoyed stitching this one and see more robin stitching in my future!I changed the color of the flowers to white and added yellow Rhodes-stitched centers using Dinky Dyes "Aussie Gold." I also wrapped the vine around the basket handle rather than stitching it all behind as was charted. And here is my final finish--cording made of the same blue silk, a gauzy bow held together with a strip of the aqua blue gingham fabric that I backed it with. I stuck in a few berries in yellow and white, too.I just haven't been motivated to get out any of my stitched bunnies this year--hope I can make myself do so this week. This is ordinarily one of my favorite months to decorate with the pretty pastels of Easter and Springtime. I think if the weather warms up and the sun starts coming out, that will help immensely! We had horrid thunder/rain storms pass through on Saturday! Torrents of water coming down into our yard (which is on a low spot in the neighborhood) with overflow from our pond created this "river" in our side yard for a while and ruined some newly planted landscaping. Sigh... not what we needed right now!A big storm turned our normally grass-covered side yard into a raging "river" last week!Unfortunately, some of the new landscaping we had just put in last fall was damaged, too.How are you managing your grocery shopping? We've been ordering online and picking up in the parking lot of the grocery store, but that is getting increasingly difficult. And you know the one thing we've had the worst time finding (no, not toilet paper!)--flour! Simple baking flour! I guess everyone is engaged in comfort baking these days--I know I am... Cookies, granola, and a new recipe for banana-carrot muffins have been baked here recently. We do have baking flour for bread so I plan on making some in my bread machine this afternoon.  I've included links to the banana-carrot muffin recipe and our favorite chocolate pudding recipe that also made an appearance last week (just click on the name of the recipe below each photo). If this keeps up, I'll come out on the other side of the pandemic having gained 20 pounds!Easy Banana Carrot MuffinsQuick Creamy Chocolate PuddingIt was such fun reading your answers to my "Getting To Know You" questions last week. It appears that the great majority of cross stitchers are introverts (which didn't really surprise me!).  And it was nice to read how many of us take refuge in our other "hobbies" of listening to music, exercise, working puzzles, reading, and gardening when trying to de-stress. So, what question do I have for you today? As always this is just a fun way to get to know each other better--no pressure to participate. Right now, the last thing we need is more pressure, right? 1) What is your favorite comfort food?  Without question, mine is homemade bread with butter--more than chocolate, more than soup, more than macaroni and cheese casserole. I think part of the reason is that the thought (and that wonderful smell!) of just-baked bread takes me right back to my childhood. My Dad used to bake the most wonderful rye bread (two kinds, actually) as a form of stress-relief after long hours spent in the operating room (he was a surgeon). Simply imagining that bread brings instant comfort to me. (He eventually had to stop making it, though, as he was gaining way too much weight!). The days seem to be dragging on and on for me lately. Does anyone else feel that way? I hope that by the next time I post, we will be finding better ways to combat and contain the pandemic. I'm so sorry I haven't responded to your many emails and comments--just haven't felt quite like myself lately, as I'm sure you're feeling, too. I keep seeing scenes on fictional television shows and in movies of people doing "normal" things like eating in restaurants, going to movies and plays, and gathering with their extended families and I find myself feeling quite envious of the way life used to be! I know those days will come again sooner or later...  Take care now, my friends,  and thank you for your condolences and sweet comments in my previous post--they meant so very much to me. Bye for now...  https://www.patternspatch.com/blog/the-end-of-a-month-like-no-other-2/ https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-end-of-month-like-no-other.html

[the-extra-space]

hey @abandoned-monarchy, since we’re still here and I’ve come across a few new things, I thought I’d go ahead and share them while I have a moment.

most of these things just reinforce some points I made in my last reply, but I feel like they’re far better examples than the ones I had at the time, such as;

how apparently, in the UK, where they still have and use things like titles “lord, duke, ext) a first born male child who transitions will not lose any inheritance or title that are their birthright as the first born son, but will also gain anything given to the first born daughter (robbing the actual first born daughter of anything she would have gotten or already had), as by transitioning they become legally the first born daughter, and a female child with no older male relatives will not become the (legal) first born son and not gain any titles or inheritance.

I firmly believe there is no better example of identity being meaningless when it comes to privileges. I mean, this pretty much speaks for itself. male individuals regardless of identity never have to give up anything, while female individuals not only can never gain anything, but have what little they do have taken from them simply by the whims of others. it doesn’t get any more cut and dry than that.

but on top of that, I also want to share how a women’s only pond is being attacked for being women’s only, as including transwomen wasn’t even actually enough. if you read to the bottom, the actual end goal is for there to be a “gender fluid” pool, a mixed pool, and a men’s only pool, the “gender fluid” one being what was once the women’s only. this pool was used as a space for women to be completely free of the male gaze, used by movie stars as well to help them unwind from the harsh male-dominated and controlled world we live in. to attack this bathroom and want for there to be absolutely no space for women by themselves (regardless of who you include in the definition of “women”) is...well, once again it speaks for itself.

these also better illustrates our point that we feel much of trans(women’s) activism is entirely based on male people not wanting anything to exclude them, and not wanting females to have anything to ourselves, or really, ever being denied anything they want, or ever being told no.

you can also see this in how we’re not allowed “cis women only” or even “afab only” groups where we’d be allowed to talk about things like periods, FGM, abortion rights, ext, in a space away from those whom such topics might “trigger” (quotes because I don’t believe they really do) all because everyone else finds the very concept questionable, believing that a space without men/males is inherently “transmisogynistic” and that those involved could only possibly be involved because we collectively want to undermine transwomen’s rights, while there’s plenty of trans-only events, such as how the original “cotton ceiling” event was a male-only event hosted by PlannedParenthood in Canada (notice how the big story states it was bringing “cis and trans women together” but the original invite lists it as exclusively for “trans women and MAAB genderqueer folks”) to discuss ways to get around the “cotton ceiling”, aka the cotton panties of lesbians in particular, but women in general who would dare deny these “non-cis” males sexual access to our bodies (it was originally started when a “cis” lesbian porn actress declined making a movie with a transwoman, who became enraged at a woman daring to say no, and starting this entire thing)

another great example of all of these things, men never losing their male privilege, wanting no space to be free of them, and homophobia/woman-hating being a large part of all of it, I want to share these three links, and I want you to take a close look at the number of notes, and also remember this any time you see a post about “cis” lesbians, if you even find them. provided you don’t, I’ll point this out. every time someone makes a positive post about “cis” lesbians, it ether A) only gets about 300 notes, which is the number of lesbians in the circle those posts are made, B) gets taken over by everyone else and completely derailed (most recent example), or C) someone comments ether asking if it includes transwomen, or deciding regardless of the OP’s intent, it does now, and only that version gets reblogged however many thousands of times.

(also, a little something further on that last point)

anyway, I digress, I have two last things to share:

this....is something particularly scary. remember when I said a lot of us are scared of transwomen, because of how common male violence is among them? how common fantasizing about harming us is, along with actually doing it? well....if the comments on that post isn’t warning enough...it’s hard to read. hold off if you’re not in a good mental place or don’t want to have a good mood ruined. it’s...intense. I only read little snipits, and that was all I could handle, so no shame if you can’t ether. I only link it because I hope it helps you understand why we’re afraid. it isn’t because we just think transwomen are inherently evil rapists by virtue of being trans, or whatever BS anti-terfs can come up with, but because..well, have you ever heard the phrase “when a man tells you what he is, believe him”? it’s a feminist phrase referring to how often people claim men as a class don’t actually hate women, that it’s only a few, and yet the internet and other spaces are overrun with men who literally say “I hate women” and go on to explain why and how much they want to hurt us because of it. “when men tell you they hate you, believe them the first time”. it’s also intended to help women escape abusive relationships before they get too far into them, as most abusers have early tells that women are groomed to ignore (”when you’re wearing rose-colored glasses, all the red flags just look like flags”). we believe firmly to take what men/males say at face value, and believe them.

and then, this.

it’s a sort of master post of all the lesbians who died this year. from my count, as a few are repeated, it’s about 120.

now, as I know this could be seen as me trying to rub it in, like ‘oh look, ya’ll only had 23 deaths and we had 120, who’s the most oppressed now’, but that’s not at all why I bring it up. (the closest thing to that would be looking at the notes compared to posts about the deaths of transwomen/people, it’s another example of no one giving a shit about “cis” lesbians except the rough 300 of us lesbians in this social circle)

the reason I share this is because it’s New Year’s, and I want to share their names with those I believe care, so that they will be remembered into the next year, as all our dead deserve to be remembered.

though this is all very dark, I post it now in the hopes that, with this knowledge, we can start the new year putting all this darkness behind us and start the new year fresh, focusing only on the things that will actually help both our communities, and ending the policies that harm us.

Happy New Year🎉

[chiefbeck]

ACT 1: The Early years  Chapter 3: The kid

This is the part of every transgender book that I am tired of; so, I will make this short. 

This background is important in a way, as it lays a foundation. It gives a blueprint of where I have come from and things that have influenced me early on in my life. I would like to think that as we grow older, our childhood has less of a hold on us as we gain new knowledge and experience things first hand. There is no need to dig around for some nugget of gold that will explain the end all, be all of our existence in the past because we no longer live there; we are creatures that live in the present. I don’t say this to be flip, but the search for an answer as to why anyone is transgender is going to be made in vain. There is no moment in time, no sequence of events, no light bulb going off on top of my head, and no switch that was flipped that made me transgender. I know that there is a desire for people to wonder why something happened. But being transgender isn’t like a battle scar where I can say, yes, this is where I got shot. Nor is being transgender like some philosophy that you model your life after. It’s not like being a born again Christian where you say, this is the day I became transgender. There are some things you have to accept as a fact of life, like a person born with extreme intelligence or a learning difference.

The question that seems to pervade everyone’s mind is why or how did you become the way you are today?

The short answer is that I have been transgender all my life. From the moment I took my first breath or perhaps even while I was still in the womb, I have always been me. I lived as I could to coexist with my family and community and hid my identity under layers of whatever information was gathered at the time to make my disguises and armor.

Sometimes, the best defense is to not be seen at all. In order to cloak my true nature I camouflaged myself in a facade of ultra-masculinity to keep those around me from getting at the truth or getting past the disguise. The more layers of disguise I could stack upon me the safer I was; at least that is how I felt. The layers I sometimes compare to an onion and the real me was the center; no one ever gets through all the layers and I constantly work on the layers to make them thicker and stronger. No one will ever know me.

I have hundreds of stories while growing up that I could draw upon to prove my point. I can talk about buying a motorcycle and living in the woods in a pine branch lean-to, crashing on bicycles, drowning in a pond, falling through ice when playing hockey, getting stabbed by pitch forks. I can go on at length about playing house with my sisters, boxing with my brothers. There are tales of tea parties and baseball. I lived fully as a "regular" boy and escaped sometimes into my femme world when the climate was right to do so, and the risk was minimal. My gender was fixed at birth in my soul and in my mind; it was also fixed in my body that I was given at birth. I lived in two worlds, and that is not saying it is good or bad, just that it is, and it isn’t accepted as the norm. I did not become transgender because of religion or because of my dad paddling me as was insinuated in a recent book. No one becomes transgender, just like no one becomes white or Asian or left-handed. I am transgender, and it is something that is deeper than societal or learned behavior. I was never trying to escape from anything, and I think after 40 years, we can discount that I was going through some sort of "phase" in my life. I cannot turn it off. It would be like turning off blue eyes. There is nothing to find from my past as a cause; I am transgender just because that is what I am.

Children are born as blank slates to a degree. There are things that just are, and there is no way to change that. You are born Transgender, that’s just the way it is. In the same way a child is born a piano protégé. Though you are born a certain way and that is hardwired into your brain, at the same time you learn things like hate, taste in art, prejudice, and so on. We are a blank slate and hungry to start our journeys into this world, to learn everything we can. Sometimes the world teaches us love, and sometimes it teaches us hate. We can live in bounty or we can suffer famine. Along the way we are taught a myriad of lessons, and sometimes we are taught to hide just to survive and make it to a brighter day.

I was born in 1966 in Long Island New York. It was around 10:23 am, just in case anyone wants to do some star charts on me. I had a reading once for the time of my birth; the person that did the reading said a few things, mostly positive. I always wonder how accurate stars charts and astrology really are. I don’t know, but I am not closed minded about it. I do believe there are many things in this universe that we cannot comprehend. I want to study some astro-theology and maybe decide for myself rather than jump on a “for or against” band wagon.

Back to the story; I was born in New York to a very average family. My grandfather on one side was a football coach and my other grandfather was a NASA engineer. The engineering side is a direct descendant of Abraham Lincoln, which is pretty cool. One of my Great-grandfathers was the founder of Uppsala College and a Lutheran minister. I think much of my family history ended up in me in one way or another. So what does that make me? A confused liberal republican engineer who wants to be a Lutheran minister? Maybe not.

The day I was born, the struggle with my gender began. It started with a lie. Perhaps not a lie but a mistruth. It wasn’t a blatant lie, it wasn’t spoken out of malice or ill will towards a seconds old infant. But the doctor looked at me, red and shivering in the cold of the new world that I just entered and announced quite confidently, “It’s a boy.”

The doctor didn’t know any better, neither did my parents. During the time there was no widely available knowledge that gender was more fluid than previously imagined. The parents took that information and did the best that they could with it. The doctor said I was male and by the looks of my physiology, I appeared as a male, so they would raise me on the assumption that I was male. Unfortunately the information they got was wrong, and I was set on a course that was not right for me. We all did the best that we could with the information that we had. My parents would raise me as a boy, and even though I had a suspicion that things were not quite right with that Y-chromosome that got in the way of the truth, I would do my best to live up to societal pressures of what being a male was. At least, when people were watching.

I was born into a very straight-laced, middle of the road family in Long Island, New York. My parents were very religious; belonging to an evangelical church, they were also from the generation of world war two, the fifties, where everything was conservative, and there were firm divisions between everything. That division was not just about gender, but right and wrong, American or Communist, Catholic or Protestant. To them all things functioned in the binary. I’m not saying that it is right or wrong, it is just the way things were. As we grow in a culture that starts to blur the lines with everything, sometimes I can see the appeal of the binary system, but in all things moderation is the key, and knowing where to apply that binary system is vitally important.

My parents missed out on the free love of the 60s and the new way to raise kids; they followed the biblical proverb that says spare the rod, spoil the child. Sex or any discussion of your body were simply not polite and were frowned upon. So, I grew up never even knowing what the birds and the bees were or that they even existed. I grew up in the dark when it came to dating, sex, gender. I hadn’t an inkling of anything of the sort. I also learned that there were things that you kept to yourself. If you had an erotic dream and messed the sheets you didn’t discuss it, you just did the laundry and no one questioned why. In the same vein, you didn’t bring up the fact that though you had a penis between your legs that you knew you were female. It was not my parent’s fault. That was how they were raised, and that is how they raised me. It was how the culture was back then, it was what was considered the norm, and everyone wants to be viewed as normal.

I had one older sister and one older brother and two younger sisters. I was smack dab in the middle of five kids. My mother was a homemaker and a dedicated and dutiful wife as required in the years before the feminist movement. My dad was a football coach, very tough and slow to show affection, especially to his sons. He made it onto the New York Jets back in the Joe Namath days. He was very religious and taught me a lot of lessons, usually the hard way. I was a stubborn kid, strong willed and at times, a troublemaker, very much the typical middle child.

I was the one in the family that always got caught doing something wrong, even if I didn’t commit the offense. If there was a broken lamp or something was out of line, I was to blame, or maybe I just took the blame as I could handle it. I became a good lightening rod for anything that went wrong in the family; at least that is how I saw it from my vantage point.

There are memories you have as a child, good or bad, that you remember certain instances of them and not all the events that led up to them or that followed them. When I was eight, one of the ways that I would play with my older sister was by dressing up in one of her outfits and jumping up and down on the bed. I loved watching the skirt flair out around my legs and feeling the fabric swish around me. It was fun, we were laughing, and I was able to be the real me. Kristin didn’t have a name back then, I didn’t have some kind of epiphany about who or what I was. All I knew was that I was happy and nobody seemed to care.

I can’t remember how the game started. I don’t know who suggested that I put on dresses and jump around. My sister was older than me, but I was beyond that gullible point in life where I would do something just because someone older than me suggested it. Whoever made the decision to allow me to put on a dress was neither here nor there, it just was. It would be kind of asking who made the decision to sit by the window or sit in the back of a station wagon, it is immaterial.

Unfortunately the game was short lived. One day we were playing and I was wearing one of my sister’s ballerina outfits. I don’t remember whose idea it was that day, my sister’s, or mine, but again, that is not an issue. The game had been established, and it was one of the things we did, good, bad, or indifferent. It was right; it was fun; I was me; and the world was spinning around the sun. Only this time, my dad walked in on us, and I was taught that it was wrong to gender bend, that it was wrong in some way.

I got the paddle.

Out of all the times I was punished as I child, this one is the punishment that bothers me most. If I had broken a window or stolen a cookie before dinner, I wouldn’t have cared. I would have known that was the risk, and I would take what I had coming to me. But not this time. This time I did nothing wrong. I didn’t break the rules. I was just being me; I was only having fun. Perhaps if I had snuck into my sister’s room and took things without asking or if I was sneaking around, being clandestine, I would have understood being punished. But I wasn’t doing that. I was just being me and having some fun as myself.

From that day on I hid the wishes and dreams of being what my spirit was telling me. Was it my spirit talking? I don’t know, but it was something very deep inside of me that was telling me who I was; the outside world said NO.

It would be wrong of me not to put this here. Times were different back then; a swat on the ass with a huge two handed paddle was an acceptable form of punishment. I never questioned my dad, the school, the church or anyone using corporal punishment, because in the culture of the day, it was normal. Nowadays, you give kids a time out, and they play video games in their bedrooms and laugh about how difficult it is being punished.

Contrary to popular belief, my dad never beat me. He didn’t pound the transgender into me. I am not transgender because this is my way at retaliating against my dad’s discipline. Even now he is a huge part of my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There just wasn’t the kind of information going around back then about gender variant children, and he didn’t know any better; none of us did. It was the seventies; he worked as a football coach, and showing love by not sparing the rod was the credo of the day. Enough said. Though he may not have been affectionate toward me like he was toward my sisters and though it may have been a double standard that the boys would get the paddle when the girls got sent to their room to get all weepy, I never doubted my dad’s love for me, and I always wanted to make him proud of me. Outside of this one time disciplining me, I most likely deserved more whoopings than I got for doing a lot of stupid things like children were known to do. He was always fair, and anyone that played football for him will say the same.

My dad said a prayer and then kissed us on the forehead every night for bedtime. He was a great dad, and I wouldn’t have any other father in the world. He was doing the best that he could and provided for the family, and that’s all you can ask for from a man. I look back and wish I was half as good of a father to my own children; that is another story that we will get into later.

My Mom was a good mother; she took care of us and I don’t know how she did it. Five kids running around like crazies back in the 70s. She had her hands full. I remember once I climbed a stepladder to look in a bird’s nest up in the rafters. I wanted to see the baby birds. The nest and rafter were covered in lice. I didn’t know and was there peering inside. I started itching all over – itching real bad. I looked and saw my skin crawling. It was scary. I ran screaming into the house. Without missing a beat she said, “Go up to the bathtub and start the water.” No yelling, no fusing just started vacuuming and then cleaned me up. My mom was selfless and dedicated to the family.

Like I said, my family was very religious and kept the line, adhering to church doctrine; the “NO Kristin”, may have been rooted in religion, or it could have been our family’s social construct. It is hard to say. Children of today have a much more fluid view of gender and many other things that would have been prison offenses in my day. With the

advent of the Internet and social media, things are not as easily kept away from the inquisitive nature of kids.

[geordiesaffer-blog]

What day is it again? If you're like me, the days seem to be simply running into each other--one day seems just like the one before to the point where I really have to stop and think, "Is this Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday... ???" This seems to be our "new normal" for a while--quite a while, I think. This COVID-19 pandemic has me unable to settle--I flit from one thing to the next and I can't maintain my focus on anything. I haven't left my house in two weeks since self-quarantining after our plane flight on March 21st. I've walked out onto my patio a few times on the rare occasions when the sun was shining, but that's it. We are not supposed to be out at all in our area except for "life-sustaining" purposes (getting groceries, visiting the doctor, etc.). How are you all coping? Thank goodness I have my stitching and other hobbies to enjoy at home and keep my mind off the increasingly dire reports on the spread of the virus. I try not to look at the news, but, it's hard not to be drawn into it at the same time. As my youngest son said, this is probably one of the few times in history that the entire world is on the same side, fighting the same battle.I thought you might like to see a couple "pretties" today to give you a break from dwelling on that "thing" that has consumed our lives... I actually finished this piece in early March, before things got so worrisome. "Be Happy, Humble, & Kind" is a design by With Thy Needle and Thread stitched on 40 ct. vintage country mocha using a variety of overdyed threads from my stash.  The colors were what first drew me to this piece along with the sentiment. "Be Happy, Humble, and Kind" finishI changed the color of the man's face, hands and legs to DMC 950.A beautiful, big white house, but I'd hate to wash all those windows! Being "happy" may be a bit more difficult these days, but better days will come again!Be Kind:  one thing we can all practice--no matter what is going on around us!The latest issue (Spring 2020) of Punch Needle and Primitive Stitching" Magazine has so many adorable charts. I was immediately drawn to this robin sitting on his beautiful blue eggs. It is designed by Subrosa Designs and is called "Bless Our Nest." The original design contained the words "Bless Our Nest" below the basket, but I left them off.  One of my favorite linens, 40 ct. Woodland Newcastle was used--love the way the white shows up on it! I changed all the suggested colors except for the brown on the robin's body, which is Weeks Dye Works "Cocoa." The blue eggs are stitched with Dinky Dyes silk in "Aquamarine"--aren't they lovely? I so enjoyed stitching this one and see more robin stitching in my future!I changed the color of the flowers to white and added yellow Rhodes-stitched centers using Dinky Dyes "Aussie Gold." I also wrapped the vine around the basket handle rather than stitching it all behind as was charted. And here is my final finish--cording made of the same blue silk, a gauzy bow held together with a strip of the aqua blue gingham fabric that I backed it with. I stuck in a few berries in yellow and white, too.I just haven't been motivated to get out any of my stitched bunnies this year--hope I can make myself do so this week. This is ordinarily one of my favorite months to decorate with the pretty pastels of Easter and Springtime. I think if the weather warms up and the sun starts coming out, that will help immensely! We had horrid thunder/rain storms pass through on Saturday! Torrents of water coming down into our yard (which is on a low spot in the neighborhood) with overflow from our pond created this "river" in our side yard for a while and ruined some newly planted landscaping. Sigh... not what we needed right now!A big storm turned our normally grass-covered side yard into a raging "river" last week!Unfortunately, some of the new landscaping we had just put in last fall was damaged, too.How are you managing your grocery shopping? We've been ordering online and picking up in the parking lot of the grocery store, but that is getting increasingly difficult. And you know the one thing we've had the worst time finding (no, not toilet paper!)--flour! Simple baking flour! I guess everyone is engaged in comfort baking these days--I know I am... Cookies, granola, and a new recipe for banana-carrot muffins have been baked here recently. We do have baking flour for bread so I plan on making some in my bread machine this afternoon.  I've included links to the banana-carrot muffin recipe and our favorite chocolate pudding recipe that also made an appearance last week (just click on the name of the recipe below each photo). If this keeps up, I'll come out on the other side of the pandemic having gained 20 pounds!Easy Banana Carrot MuffinsQuick Creamy Chocolate PuddingIt was such fun reading your answers to my "Getting To Know You" questions last week. It appears that the great majority of cross stitchers are introverts (which didn't really surprise me!).  And it was nice to read how many of us take refuge in our other "hobbies" of listening to music, exercise, working puzzles, reading, and gardening when trying to de-stress. So, what question do I have for you today? As always this is just a fun way to get to know each other better--no pressure to participate. Right now, the last thing we need is more pressure, right? 1) What is your favorite comfort food?  Without question, mine is homemade bread with butter--more than chocolate, more than soup, more than macaroni and cheese casserole. I think part of the reason is that the thought (and that wonderful smell!) of just-baked bread takes me right back to my childhood. My Dad used to bake the most wonderful rye bread (two kinds, actually) as a form of stress-relief after long hours spent in the operating room (he was a surgeon). Simply imagining that bread brings instant comfort to me. (He eventually had to stop making it, though, as he was gaining way too much weight!). The days seem to be dragging on and on for me lately. Does anyone else feel that way? I hope that by the next time I post, we will be finding better ways to combat and contain the pandemic. I'm so sorry I haven't responded to your many emails and comments--just haven't felt quite like myself lately, as I'm sure you're feeling, too. I keep seeing scenes on fictional television shows and in movies of people doing "normal" things like eating in restaurants, going to movies and plays, and gathering with their extended families and I find myself feeling quite envious of the way life used to be! I know those days will come again sooner or later...  Take care now, my friends,  and thank you for your condolences and sweet comments in my previous post--they meant so very much to me. Bye for now...  https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-end-of-month-like-no-other.html https://stitchingdream.blogspot.com/2020/03/the-end-of-month-like-no-other.html