#looking forward to working the day before my appointment so it can be especially busted when they look at it lol

[nerice]

successfully making doctor's appointments is such a rush like. look at my wrist boy

[uswntxfootball]

Working Overtime (USWNT x Reader)

request: @ko5-greyson​ ; You could do a uswnt x reader where they are overworking themselves with soccer and staying up to late with school work. they don’t notice cause she doesn’t have a roommate and stuff. Everything else is up too you if you want. (This post is way to long sorry)

word count: 1368 ish

the team was prepping hard for the upcoming olympics, including extra practices and trainings every week. for the other players, it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but for you, the 20 year old forward who is also currently attending stanford university, that means staying up until 4 am for classes. 

a/n: for anyone that’s confused, your classes are all online! (also i’m kinda a very big press stand if y’all haven’t noticed :D) also this is a pretty bad imagine so just bear with me here :/

----

“Shit.” You mutter under your breath as you check your watch. Your chemistry lecture had started twenty minutes ago, and you were just now getting out of training. You run out of the weight room as fast as you can, cursing under your breath when you forget your bag, coming back to pick it up, then sprinting out of the weight room and across the street to your hotel. Your teammates stared at you with heavy interest, no one daring to stop you. When you’ve made your way out of the room, it’s Pinoe who’s first to break the silence. “What’s with her?” Everyone shrugs and shakes their head in an “I don’t know” motion. ~~ Everything for the first two years had been smooth sailing, but with the additional practices and trainings for the upcoming Olympics, your life quickly began to spiral out of control. You take a glance over at your clock, sighing when you realize it’s already 3 am. You were thankful you didn’t have a roommate, as your late night study sessions would most likely be of annoyance. You had yet to figure out the last few chemistry problems assigned that day, but unfortunately for you, you had training the next morning at 8. Vlatko would kill you if you missed practice, and your professor would kill you if you didn’t finish the homework. You set an alarm for 4 am, promising yourself to work just one more hour, so then you can arrive to practice with...a healthy...3 hours of sleep..? When 4 am hits, you (thankfully) finish everything, and as soon as your back touches the mattress, you’re out. You arrive to practice the next morning with heavy bags under your eyes, religiously chugging coffee in an attempt to make up for the lack of sleep you’d gotten the night before. Practice was a mess, you were a clumsy mess around the ball, missing shots you’d normally never miss. The team could tell you were off your game, but they just assumed you were up partying and were hungover or something, and so no one commented anything on it. When you’re dismissed and practice ends, you feel like you’ve just run a marathon. You’re ready to pass out from exhaustion, and you want nothing more than to lay down and sleep. But as soon as you step into your room and lay on your bed, you suddenly remember that it’s finals week in two weeks, and you had a lot of catching up to do, after missing your bio labs and physics labs during the time of olympic qualifying matches. You let out a groan and shove your head under a pillow, cursing the gods for making your life so miserable. ~~ With finals week approaching, your life has just gone from busy, to I barely have time to breathe. You got 20 hours of sleep total in the next week, with you pulling all nighters here and there. And as a result, you started arriving to morning training later and later, with a cup of coffee in hand and heavy bags under your eyes. By this point, the team began to worry about you. You were always very adamant about being on time, as you always chided them (particularly Ash) for being late, saying, “Early is on time, and on time is late.” So Friday morning when it’s 8:35 and you still haven’t shown up to practice, the team began to panic. “Do you think she’s okay?” Kelley asked Mal, who gave a halfhearted shrug and whispered, “I hope so.” “She doesn’t have a roommate does she?” “No she doesn’t.” “Should we go check on her?” The duo brought up their request to the team, the team nodding and let them go as they were equally worried about you. And so here they were, Kelley and Mal making their way up to your room, keycard in hand. ~~ What greeted them was the sight of you passed out on your desk, textbooks open and pencil still in hand. The sound of the door closing is what wakes you from your sleep, your eyes widening when you see the two girls standing in your room. You glance at your watch and realize that practice is over. You weren’t just late, you had missed it. “Shit.” You muttered, trying to pack your bags to maybe talk to Vlatko and somehow make up your missed practice. “Y/N.” Kelley says, bringing you out of your desperate scrambling. You pause your efforts and look up. In your hurry you had completely forgotten about the two girls standing here before you. “I’m so sorry.” You stammer apologetically. “I stayed up late studying and I just lost track of time and I j-“ “Y/N.” Mal says sternly, cutting you off. “What’s keeping you up anyways?” Kelley inquires. “I’m studying chemical engineering at Stanford and finals week is coming soon and it’s kicking my ass.” You say with a sigh, missing the way Kelley’s jaw drops in amazement. “You’re studying chemical engineering.” “Yes.” “At Stanford.” “That would be correct.” “While training for the Olympics.” “Yup.” “You’re insane.” “Trust me I know. I just didn’t want Vlatko or my professor or you guys to treat me any different so I haven’t told you all anything...” You look off to the side awkwardly. “Oh Y/N...” Mal moves to give you a hug, with Kelley following suit. “We’ll figure something out okay? We don’t want you killing yourself over this.” You nodded into the hug, unable to keep a tear from falling out. You were so tired and so stressed, it was a miracle you hadn’t fallen apart (completely). You stayed there for a little bit longer, reveling in the warm embrace of your friends. ~~ “You’re studying WHAT?” Vlatko exclaims in surprise. “Chemical engineering” You say softly, worried about his reaction. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?? I mean you’re in your junior year already.” “I just didn’t want to be benched or taken off as a starter because I was in school...” You trailed off. “Especially not for the Olympic roster.” You add. “I see..” Vlatko states, fingers gently drumming on his chin. “Well, I’ll figure something out.” “I’m sure you will. Come to me if you need anything.” “Will do, coach.” ~~ “You’re WHAT??” Your professor exclaims in shock. “I’m a forward for the USWNT and I’m training for the Olympics currently.” You say softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want any extensions or extra credit just because I was on a national soccer team..” A similar conversation with Vlatko happens with your professor, and you’re thankful that both your teacher and your coach were so understanding. ~~ “I’m rooming with you now.” Christen declares, bursting into your room at 4 pm. “What? Chris?” You ask, taking your earbuds out. You were in a lecture currently, and you certainly didn’t expect someone to bust into your room. “Oh and me too” Tobin waves from behind Christen. “As your appointed team moms it is our job to make sure that you’re sleeping well and eating well and are healthy so that is exactly what we are going to do.” Christen states, dragging her suitcase through the door. And do that she did, for the next week up until finals, Christen made sure you slept at 11, so you would have enough energy for practice. She made sure you drank plenty of water, and managed your time efficiently to get everything done. With Christen by your side, the next week was a breeze, and you felt less stress than you ever had in your life. Tobin of course, sat around doing Tobin things, playing ping pong against a wall whilst juggling a soccer ball non stop (though Chris would push her out of your room whenever you were in need to study). So when finals week hit, you were more than prepared, all the while tearing up the field during practice. And a week later when you saw the Olympic start up with your name on it, you squealed and hugged Christen and Tobin tight, muttering a million thank yous. You were glad that you had people that cared about you.

[wordynerdygurl]

Sticky, Sweet

Author’s Note:  I’m so pleased to tell you that this is the first of my 1000 Followers Requests!  Again, how do 1000 people like me enough to read my words?  I don’t know!!  But I love you all!   Also, bless my beta - @sammy-jo1977​ ... she lets me drag her to hell and back, and goes willingly.  Lots of Love, lady! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader, appearances from many of the Avengers Tower residents Summary:  This was requested by the amazing, adorable and always supportive @alexakeyloveloki​ ... As I hit my milestone, she was having a birthday, and this, I hope will be a gift she’ll enjoy.  You deserve it girl! The request was:  One with Loki and a Curvy Reader where she works in the Tower, maybe the canteen, and people are mean to her and Loki likes her for some odd reason and... smut ensues. I did make some changes, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way, @alexakeyloveloki​ !! Warnings:  This one might give you a toothache!  There’s smut, but it’s sweet!

“Uh, yes.  Might I trouble you for a chocolate croissant and… a cappuccino, large, please.”

You knew the owner of that voice without raising your eyes.  Today he was wearing charcoal grey slacks with straight creases all the way down.  A shirt, starched, bright white, with rolled back sleeves revealing the articulate length of his forearms.  All of his dark locks were gathered over his open collar in a low man bun, which is something you had laughed at other men for doing.  Somehow, the tall, trim man in front of you was making it work in a way that made your mouth water.

Flashing him a megawatt smile, full of promise, “My pleasure!  Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“No.  Thank you, though.”, warm and caramel sweet, his response made you melt.

Clearing your throat, struggling to maintain some sense of composure, “A name… for the order?”

“Loki… that’s L, O, K, I…”, his own grin widening at the request.

You knew his name.  He’d been coming to your little dessert cart for months now and every time you asked, just like you did for all of your customers.  And each time he spelled out the letters for you, as if you were taking his order for the first time.  Handing back change only for him to drop it into the tip jar, you let your eyes linger over Loki just a moment more, enjoying the view.

Most of the visitors to Avengers Tower paid you little to no attention.  Outside of offering a cup of joe and a giant cookie, you had no bearing on the day to day business of the super hero syndicate, and that was just fine by you.  Everyone else?  They all had important things to do.  Meetings and appointments were near constant as apparently saving the world took a lot of planning.  And, thankfully, a lot of coffee, danish and muffins.

Of all your customers, the actual, swear to God heroes were the most colorful.  They were also the most loyal of your clients, stopping in at least daily, although, there were occasions where you would see Wanda two or three times in a day.  Especially if you had made those little mille-feuille stacks that reminded her of home.

Thor would buy out your stash of jelly donuts, to the chagrin of the office workers in line behind him, but then divvy them up as a way of apologizing.  Ms. Romanoff had a tendency to whisper her order, lest anyone realize her secret desire for a sinfully sweet White Chocolate Mocha with whipped cream.  Captain Rogers?  His routine was the most straight-forward.  Black coffee, ma’am, Blueberry muffin, thank you so much.

Loki, from the start, had been different.  Unlike Mr. Stark, Loki looked you in the eye when placing his order.  He never seemed distracted by the technology buzzing around or the high ranking officials clustered in these hallowed halls.  Loki also didn’t order 12 shots of espresso, steamed skim milk, no foam, and one donut hole.  No, that was Tony to a t.

But Loki?  This giant guy, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, always ordered your daily special.  Frilly pink cupcakes, jam filled eclairs, fruity hand pies, Loki had tasted them all.  And he still turned up, day after day, eager and kind.  That had to mean something, right?

Honestly, it was the pinnacle of your day when, looking up from the grinder, you’d see him towering majestically over the office drones all in a row.  Knowing that smooth voice would soon be speaking to you, even if it was just to get a snack on the run, was almost enough.  Almost.

Letting your gaze linger after Loki’s retreating figure, you got lost in a daydream, one where you were making Loki coffee in your kitchen.  His lengthy legs tucked under your tiny table, a tray of fresh cookies in front of him as he read, sometimes with his shirt on… sometimes without.  Feeling your cheeks warm up at the image, you shook your head, ready to refocus on the caffeine craving customers still in line.

As closing time drew near, you began the daily task of cleaning up your cart.  Sweeping, wiping, sterilizing, washing, drying.  There was a rhythm to it all and you often found yourself entrained in the work, as usually there were few distractions at this time of day.  

“Excuse me?”  

Spinning, surprised, you barely kept hold of the carafe in your hands as you spotted Ms. Pepper Potts standing at your kiosk, “Oh gosh!  I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

Waving away your worry, Pepper took a moment to introduce herself properly before getting down to business, “I was wondering if you had ever considered catering before?  You were highly recommended by a colleague and I am looking for assistance with an event we're hosting in a few weeks.  What I really need is someone to help with an after hours sort of thing.”

Your heart leapt in your chest, thumping wildly, threatening to bust out of your chest.  Now, you’d be lying if you said that expanding your business wasn’t part of the dream.  Always hopeful that your little cafe cart could somehow be expanded into a little sweet shop or bistro bakery, you had been hard at work for the last two years, slinging lattes and refining recipes until the right moment arrived.

When you said as much to Ms. Potts, her gracious smile lit up, “Then this, my friend, is that moment.”

Details were exchanged, pricing negotiated, plans put in place.  In ten days you were going to be providing The Avengers and their guests with pastries, cookies, coffee and tea.  There was a select menu so that you wouldn't be running around like crazy, which would make prep time easy, but Pepper had told you to be creative.  In short, you were getting your shot and the excitement of that put you on cloud nine.

As you had arranged with Ms. Potts, while the guests attended one of Mr. Stark’s lavish galas downtown, you were given access to the Avengers Suite near the top floors of the tower.  Seeing the building, well past your normal 5:00 pm, was energizing.  Getting to sneak a peek at where the most important people working here spent their days was overwhelming, but you were giddy at the prospect.

In a sweet spot, just inside the expansive glass doors which led to the sky rise patio, you set up your display.  Feeling pretty proud of yourself, you only had to wait a few minutes before the elevator dinged on the first arrivals, including the host and hostess for the night.  "Here we go!", whispering to yourself, you took an anxiously excited breath.

It was hard not to get wrapped up in the glitz of it all.  Tony Stark, wearing a plum colored tuxedo, had his Rolex draped arm around Pepper.  She was stunning in her black column gown, purple jewels at her throat and ears, the perfect counterpoint to Tony’s ensemble.  You struggled not to stare.

More people filtered in, some went to the bar, where champagne popped regularly.  A few grabbed frosty glasses of fresh beer.  And for a time you thought you were invisible among all the glamour around you.  Honestly, you were surrounded by the type of people who graced magazine covers and had in depth chats with Oprah.  That wasn’t you by a long shot.

Then, of course was the difference in your shape and size compared to the elegant group assembled for the evening.  You certainly weren’t as stately as Ms. Potts, nor as thin as Ms. Romanoff because she was trimmer in hip and bust.  Carol, stately and graceful, was a sheet of well hewed muscle.  All of them shone tonight, regal and lovely, while you wore your best black pants and white button down, the uniform of catering professionals world wide.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, temping your coffee pot, your mind churned.  There was no shaking the idea that even though you had been invited here, hired to be here, you were woefully out of place.  And just as your confidence was at its lowest, you heard it… or rather, him.

"Um… yes.  May I have… well… I don't know what to have.  Normally you have something special prepared."

Even over the din of chatter and softly played music you heard his baritone register.  A little flustered, disarmingly charming, Loki’s buttercream smile triggered your own.  Laughing, lifting a small tray towards Loki, "I am keeping it simple tonight.  These here are individual peach melba pies, topped with homemade whipped cream."

"And, what’s that?"  Looking like a little kid, ready to tear into a birthday present, Loki's face lit up with anticipation of what you might be hiding under the cover of a chafing dish.

"Mocha mini-cheesecakes, or-" Here you lifted the silver lid of your best party dish, "-my grandmother's chocolate chip cookies!  What would you like, Loki?"

Hearing his name in your lilting voice, Loki couldn't avoid the hot blush that rolled over him, turning his cheeks pink.  As if your delicious snacks weren't enticing enough, the way your shirt buttons could barely contain the bounty of your bosom made Loki's hunger real in a different way.  It was true that Thor had plied him with a great deal of Asgardian mead at the gala, even as the others drank up the less potent Midgardian spirits, all getting well past tipsy.

And maybe that's why he felt so bold, flirting with you casually, teasing you about your treats.  Also, he was shamelessly ogling your rounded ass in those tight black pants as you bent to retrieve a napkin.  Deep down, Loki longed to know if you tasted as sweet as your sugary confections.  Would you be slick like syrup?  Sticky like cinnamon buns?  Dark and delicious like chocolate fudge?

Shaking those long locks, which you couldn't help noticing were down and free tonight, Loki was struggling to decide among your snacks.  If his thoughts were lustful, your own weren't too far behind, because it was hard not to appreciate the fine figure in front of you.  At some point Loki had shucked his tuxedo jacket and the slim black bow tie that accompanied it.  Again his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows making him casual and cool, red cheeked and rambunctious.  Never had Loki seemed so at ease.

There was virtually no one else around, most of the remaining people were clustered by Clint at the piano singing show tunes, oblivious to you and Loki.  Looking from left to right, leaning in conspiratorially, "Ya know… I could let you have one of each, then you wouldn't have to decide."

Those dark brows arching, bright eyes smiling shrewdly, "You'd do that… for me?"

“That and more.”  It tumbled out of your mouth unbidden, your eyes widening in surprise at your own admission.

Leaning against your table, a lascivious smile on his face, “Do tell.”

And in the low light of the Avengers’ loft, with the soft smell of sugar filling the air, you felt yourself drawn to Loki’s aura.  Biting into your bottom lip, looking at him through your thick lashes, “Um… well… I could make you a little snack bag.  Ya know for later tonight…”

“Later tonight… I really like the sound of that.”  And to his unending surprise, Loki really did.  Maybe he’d find out about your favorite flavors in the dark of night, under the covers in his bed.  And if not, if he was somehow mistaken about your interest in him, then Loki would welcome some little cake that would make him think of you while he sat in his solitary room, brooding over you.

He shouldn’t have worried.  Genuinely smiling, Loki was beyond grateful to see the same look of desire reflected in your own face.  As you busied yourself packing up the little box of selected snacks for the sweet toothed stud, a voice called out, "Lokes!!  Get over here!!  Thor says you can dance and I need proof!"

Wavering slightly, Loki ducked his head in the direction of Sam Wilson's shout, not entirely eager to end your chat.  He was worried that somehow the sugar spun bubble you two were in would burst, and that, well that just couldn't happen.  Conspiratorially, invading your space across the narrow table, "I will be back.  Please, don't go away?"

Feeling like a movie heroine, you felt yourself nod, giggling a little at the spectacle of Loki's clear need.  In the glimmering low-lights, under the clink of champagne flutes and husky hum of conversations, Loki wanted to spend his time with you.  It was surreal and surprising, but you wanted him too.  There was no shame in that, right?

Glued to the spot, feet unmoving, Loki wouldn't leave until you said, "Go on, then.  Show me what you've got.  I'll be right here."

With a cocky grin, Loki loped toward the waiting circle of people and the makeshift dance floor.  Tinny, tinkling piano music was replaced by electronica, pumping through Tony's beyond state of the art sound system.  It felt like you were inside the speaker, thumping and bumping, in time with the dance hall beat.

What a sight!  You guessed it shouldn't have been so surprising, but seeing Loki, normally so reserved in your daily interactions, grinding and bouncing to the rhythm… it made you feel things.  Pulse pounding, deep sighing, clenching your muscles things.  Sexy things.

You could have stood there, enchanted from afar, for hours.  And you would have too, if Thor hadn't stumbled to your stand, nearly toppling the table with his unsteady bulk, "Oof!  A thousand apologies, my dear sweet bakery maiden."

Diverting your attention, you quickly stepped back into vendor mode, "No trouble!  No trouble at all!  What can I get for you?"

"Well, I have been wondering, what did my brother get a taste of that made him smile so wide?  It must have been a truly delicious nibble."  Thor, mimicking a mouse nibbling at cheese, was clearly past the point of sobriety.  

Turning thoughtful for a second, you realized Loki hadn't eaten anything of yours tonight… at least not yet.  So it had been your easy back and forth that made the frosty boy happy.  Smiling secretively,  suddenly supremely pleased, "Um… I have some special items this evening.  Would you like to try a peach pie?"

Blowing a raspberry, rolling his eyes, "Did Loki like it?"

"He hasn't tried it yet!  You'd be first!"  Trying to redirect the sloshed slab of man in front of you, offering the pastry up on a dainty napkin, it’s funny how quickly he snatches it from your hand.  Looking tiny in Thor's enormous paw, he devours it whole, swiping at the leftover crumbs on his chest.

"Delicious!  Another!"  Even shouting, Thor's voice doesn't crack through the party goers busting their moves. Sighing, you hand over another, only to watch it be gulped down without thought or consideration.

Spitting crust at you, Thor bows over the display you painstakingly built to showcase your wares, his weight making the table creak, "You know, my brother normally likes little women."

"Excuse me?"

Waving his hands, pontificating, "Small, shapely… you know the type!  Waifs.  Skinny, like him.  Narrow hips and-" attempting to whisper, "-tiny breasts."

Clearly, Thor was hammered, you knew that.  But what he was saying was just hard to hear.  You didn’t want to be compared to other women Loki had known, and you certainly didn’t want to hear that they were prettier, or smaller, or skinnier than you.  But your roller coaster ride of emotions was derailed when Thor slapped his hand on your table, making you jump.

"Now, you… you're a woman.  Strong, sturdy.  Could really ground him, you know?  Give him children worthy of Valhalla."

In his stupor, Thor couldn't read the warning in your expression.  Willing him to stop, shut up, go away with just your monosyllabic responses wasn't working.  But, alas, the Space God continued on, "It's all your sweets, you know?  Candy and cupcakes and… all those little��� What do you call them?  The circles, fried and filled with jam?"

Flat, without feeling, "Donuts."

"Donuts!  Yes!"  Pausing for a breath, which you hoped would last all night long, Thor caught your eye.  "I approve.  Of the match… that is.  Loki has been alone too long.  He needs a thick woman to warm his bed, a fair, faithful filly to take-"

Thor's voice cut out, a thin line of shimmering red glowing around his throat, stopping his words.  You could still see his mouth moving but the sound was, thankfully, muted.  It was then that Wanda slunk close to Norse God, wide orb-like eyes full of knowledge, "I'm sorry I didn't get here sooner."

Mumbling, struggling to sound bright as you gave too much attention to arranging cookies on the tray, "It's ok."

Her delicate hand rested on your own, "No it isn't.  Thor's a buffoon when he's downed too many bottles of mead.  I hope he didn't say anything too… unpleasant."

Waving her off, working hard to regain your composure, "Naw… it's fine… Thank you, though."

Thor, shrugging off Wanda's limited charm, "What's the big idea?  I was telling this lady that my brother likes her!  Her ample bosom, her gracious bum… and he always talks about her tasty cakes!"

Steve, sidling up at the first sign of trouble, grabbed Thor's arm, "Come on buddy.  Time for bed."

"But!  I am not tired!  I want more pie!  And mead!"

Wanda, rolling her eyes, "May I have another?  For the road?"

Quickly wrapping up a few of your crusty delicacies, you handed them over, now eager for the night to end.  It seemed tarnished somehow, spoiled by Thor's observations, like an unrisen souffle.  Glancing at the clock, you were amazed at the time!  It was late even for a late night event and you began packing up regardless of the people still partying their evening away.

You were hoping for a quick departure.  Seamless, silent, without distracting anyone, including a certain raven haired hottie.  No one would notice if you snuck away now, you were sure, and you had already fulfilled your obligation to Pepper.  In fact, with Thor's little outburst, you were well over your allotted time.  And, you reasoned, Loki could find some small little twig, more to his taste, if you weren't there to distract him.

That thought made your throat burn and your eyes water as you quietly broke down your area.  Even now you could see him, a head above everyone else, spinning with a smile on his face.  Loki looked so at ease, you refused to be the wet blanket on his good time.  Besides, flirting was one thing, but Loki wasn’t yours and you were old enough not to be crushed by a crush.

With one last, longing look over the assembled Avengers, you bumped your bottom into the exit door, shuffling toward the service elevator.  As the doors closed, shutting out the jubilation inside, you slumped against the wall.  How could you think Loki would want you?  

Having spent a significant amount of the late evening busting a move, Loki had managed to keep one eye on you most of that time.  Noticing Thor bumble your way, he was nervous about what his brother might say, but Natasha had challenged him to a dance off.  How could he resist?

By the time Loki stopped to catch his breath and collect his cookies, you were gone.  Vanished.  The only trace of you?  A small, golden box, stuffed with your divine delicacies.  Loki needn't see the name scrolled on the label to know it was for him.

But like Cinderella, you had fled and Loki had no way to find you.  Sinking his heart, Loki clutched the box, padding away to his room and the solitude of silence.  At least he had your thoughtful gift of goodies to keep him company.  It was almost enough.  Almost.

For all the numerous things The Avengers were good at, it was a non-hero who observed Loki slide away, sad and silent.  Never one to let a party end on a low note, a new plan was formed to unite the Trickster and the Treat Maker.  But it would need time to rise, like decadent cinnamon rolls, and like those sticky sweet buns, would be totally worth the wait.

When Monday dawned, you loaded up your goods and trudged to work.  For the first time since starting your business venture your heart wasn't in it.  Not when you plated blueberry buckle with lavender scented whipped cream, not when you swirled almond milk into fresh brewed coffee, not when you bagged cheesy bagel bites.

And it was, apparently, to be a day of firsts.  Because this was the only day that Loki failed to make an appearance at your stand since you’d opened.  Thor, pushing people aside, had made a point of apologizing for his behavior.  It was kind and honest, yet, hollow since it didn't make Loki materialize in your line.  But you appreciated it, nonetheless.

Before long, the day was done, your cleaning ritual initiated, your mind wandering.  That it circled back to a certain blue eyed mischief maker over and over wasn't shocking.  Where had Loki been?  Had you driven him off?  Would he come back tomorrow?  

"Ahem… Excuse me!"

Squealing, you dropped the tray you'd been wiping with a clanking clatter, "Miss Potts!  You startled me!"

"I didn't mean to!", stooping to hand you back your platter, she lifted her smart eyes to yours.

"I know… I'm so sorry!  I've been… a little off today."

Shrewd, searching, Pepper looked you over, "You're not the only one."

Laughing nervously, “Oh?  Who else is having a tough Monday?”

“A friend… listen, I wanted to thank you for the other night. It was really wonderful having your exceptional snacks at the ready.”

Allowing yourself a small smile, nibbling your lip nervously, “The pleasure was all mine.”

Pepper, shifting on her high heels, “I’d like to hire you again.”

“Really?”  Snapping your head up at the offer, you were a little surprised by her request.  Even though that night hadn’t ended the way you had hoped, necking with Loki like a teenager after prom, it had still been a lucrative evening for your little start up company.  But so soon?

“Yes! This is a smaller event.  Actually, more of a date than anything.  This Friday evening.  Would you be free?”

Grabbing your phone, confirming the date on your calendar, “It works for me!  What time were you thinking?”

Blinking, Pepper took a minute to contemplate before answering, “Let’s say seven.  Upstairs, on the outdoor deck?”

“That sounds great, Ms. Potts!  How many people are you expecting?”, making notes, head down you missed her gentle smile.

“Just two.”

That made you giggle.  So, it was a night of romance with Tony she was after.  Flashing your benefactor a knowing smirk, “Sounds lovely.”

“I hope it will be!”

You didn’t see Loki all week.  There was rumor going around the tower that he was off on a mission somewhere, very hush, hush.  Your limited intell was gained only because of Thor’s inability to lower his booming voice while waiting for a croissant on Tuesday morning.

It got easier.  Not seeing him in your daily line, not giving him his cappuccino, not buttering his scone.  By Friday you finally felt like Loki was out of your system, which was a good thing, because you knew Ms. Potts was expecting you to knock it out of the park tonight.

“Things are going to be a little different for this evening, if that’s ok.  I thought you could set out your dessert courses here, on the counter, and we’d have someone bring them out to the patio area.”

Unafraid to go the extra mile, you were quick to volunteer, “I’d be more than happy to act as a server if-”

Talking over you, “Oh no, dear!  I have someone for that already.  Really, all you have to do is make sure your treats are in order.”

Slightly crestfallen, but always a good sport, you agreed.  As she’d requested, you had prepared three special desserts for the night, hoping you covered all of Tony’s favorite flavors.  First, lemon cake with a cracked sugar glaze and fresh raspberry sauce to garnish.  Next would be the white chocolate cheesecake studded with plump blueberries and piles of fresh vanilla flavored whipped cream.  Last, and perhaps most importantly, was your personal favorite, tiramisu.  Simple, delicious, and perfect with a strong cup of espresso.

Clapping her hands, Pepper was so pleased at the thought you had put into each plate, “Wow, does this look amazing!  There’s really only one other thing that we need for this.”  

Wiping a stray stripe of sauce from the plate, a piping bag cupped in your hands, you lifted your head, “What’s that Ms. Potts?”

“Why, you of course.”

Stalling in midair, you slowly lowered the tool of your trade, wiping your sugary fingers on the seat of your jeans.  “I’m right here!  What can I do to help?”

Coming around the island now, Pepper drew close enough to take your hands in her own, “You’ve already done it.  Tonight is my way of saying ‘Thank You’... and I hope you’ll accept a small gift as a token of my appreciation.”

As the last word hung in the air between you, the lift doors parted, and Loki stepped into the room.  

Pepper had summoned him, asking only that he arrive on time and not “look a mess”.  Since Loki had never been anything less than elegant in all things, he had no intention of breaking that streak this evening.  If only he knew what to dress for?

So, he split the difference, going for casual cool.  A jet black polo shirt, unbuttoned, clung to him like a second skin, caressing every muscle.  Black trousers and a black belt made him look dangerously seductive as he sauntered closer with each step.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him.  Missing Loki all week made seeing him like this stupefying.  Fuzzy brained and dull minded, you weren’t capable of wrapping your head around what was happening.

“Pepper?  What… what is all this?”  Loki’s husky baritone questioned the set up, your presence, the pretense.  At least you weren't the only one who was confused.

Pulling you along, Pepper maneuvered you next to him, “Loki, It’s all arranged.  Dessert by candlelight, under the stars… FRIDAY, start my Date Night playlist.”  The strains of “In the Still of the Night” by the Five Satins filled the air.

It was right then that Loki got it.  The strange summons, the dress code, the secrecy.  He knew why you were here, with your bespoke baked goods, looking like a snack yourself.  Pepper had listened when Loki recommended you for the first gig, and somehow she had heard the unspoken recommendation of his heart.  A rush of feeling flowed over him at the idea.  

Looking sheepish and flustered, Loki caught your eye, “Hello.”

“Hi…”, bashful yourself, you struggled not to look too giddy.

“See, you’re already on your way.  Have a good night kids!”  

You and Loki stood there, staring, until the click of Pepper’s heels on the marble had faded away.  This is  awkward, you thought, unsure of what to do next.  Here with the man you wanted, you weren’t entirely sure what to do, but luckily for you, Loki knew how to take charge, “Shall we?”

Lacing his fingers with yours, Loki led you to the open deck where a small bistro table was waiting, already set for the two of you.  Pulling out your chair, Loki made sure you were comfortable before taking his own seat at your side, as opposed to across the table.  It was a cozy and romantic scene.

The song shifted.  Now The Platters crooned, “Only You”, and your hand was itching to grab Loki’s under the table.  Before you could, Pepper’s hired server for the evening brought your first plate, and a bottle of Prosecco.  

So far, neither of you had really spoken.  Words seemed too difficult to use when the situation was so formal.  And yet, it really was lovely of Ms. Potts to do this for you… and for Loki.

“Did you make all of this?”

Picking up your fork, giving Loki a small nod, “Yea… I thought Pepper was planning a date night with Tony.  I had no idea that this… any of this… was happening.  Did you?”

“No.  But, I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.  She did hire you because of me.”

Taken aback by his admission, “Really?  Care to elaborate?”

Tucking into the lemony piece of heaven in front of him, Loki closed his eyes in bliss, “Hmm… that is delicious.  You are really so good at this!  And that, my purveyor of pound cake, is what I told Ms. Potts.”      

“Well, thank you!  I mean, I knew you liked me!”  

Hotter than opening your oven, a blast of heat swept over you, reddening your cheeks in shock.  Flustered now, you could barely speak, cursing yourself for letting your real feelings slip out like that unfiltered.  Mortified, you grabbed your glass, slugging half of it down in a second.

Loki’s fork froze, almost to his lips, as his own eyes widened.  Sighing, he placed the utensil, covered in lemon and raspberry deliciousness down gently.  Feeling his scorching gaze, you sat stock still, Loki’s wry whisper reaching you, “I do.  And I should have told you that before… before Pepper had to go to such great lengths to prove it.”

“But Loki… I’m just… I’m not…”  Stammering, you couldn’t quite find the best way to explain the reservations you had been carrying, the reasons Thor had so clearly defined.

“You are though.  You are so kind hearted… to everyone.  Even the dullards and bores.  I hear you, you know?  What you say, how you say it.  No one leaves your little station without being complimented, enlightened, enriched.  It is the best part of my day, coming down to see you… and taste whatever marzipan masterpiece you’ve graced us with.”

Starting to feel the bubbles of Prosecco in your brain, your lopsided smile spread at the emotion Loki expressed, “Loki… it’s the only thing that gets me through sometimes.  Seeing you, knowing that you’re in line.  And how cute you are when you spell out your name, like I haven’t written it a hundred times before.”

It was his turn to blush, “I knew that.  I knew it was adorable.”

Playfully pushing against his shoulder, you chuckled, “Loki!  That’s not fair!”

“Then you won’t like this, darling.”  

Catching your arms in his firm hands, Loki tucked your body into his, finding your mouth as you laughed at his antics.  Using his top lip to trap your own, Loki’s bottom lip gently parted, as the softness of his kiss blended into the lemon scented sweetness of his sigh.  His tongue, probing slowly, pressed between your lips stealing a shaky breath for Loki to treasure.

Rising, Loki’s hands cradled your cheeks, ensuring that you couldn’t break away from his kiss.  As if you wanted to!  Your own hands wandered, with one resting on the warm slope of his wide thigh and the other pressed against Loki’s broad chest.

Deepening the kiss, you pushed forward, nestling between Loki’s spread legs.  Trailing a hand along his hip, scooting closer, you moaned at the luscious texture of his tongue on your own.  When Loki pulled back, you followed, unwilling to break the beautiful bond your mouths had sealed.

Swallowing hard, unable to believe that he was really here with the flavor of your candy kisses filling his senses, Loki shook his head.  Seeing your own dazed expression made his heart soar.  He was going to have to write Pepper a thank you note or have you bake her a cake, because this was the best thing that had ever happened to the Prince of Asgard.

“Are you ready for the next course?”  The server, having popped out of the compound, was struggling to hide his own smug smile at the sexy little show you two had put on.

A new song started, the notes drifting through the air, making you smile.  Sam Cooke’s eternally youthful voice sang, “Cupid… draw back your bow…” and Loki slowly stood.  “Uh, please, hold the next one, if you don’t mind.”

Coming around behind you, offering you his hand, “Loki?  What are you doing?”

“What I should have done last week… Ask you to dance…?”   Voice brimming with hope, Loki quirked an eyebrow, anticipating your acceptance.

“About time.”  

Rumbling through Loki’s solid torso, his laugh greeted you as you fell into his arms easily, chuckling yourself.  It was so familiar and yet so different.  His hands rested over the curve of your back, pulling you tighter, controlling the sway of your hips.  Circling the delicate strength of his neck, your fingers teasing into those long locks of tousled hair, you let Loki take the lead.  

Tipping you back, over balancing you but still in control, Loki’s look was pure lust, “I apologize for running late.  I should have-”

Cutting in, husking into the shell of Loki’s ear, “Don’t.  We’re here now.  And besides, you were worth the wait.”

Squeezing you, putting every ounce of feeling into his hug, Loki found it hard to loosen his grip.  Now that he had the thing he wanted, he never wanted to be separated from it… you… ever again.  

Twirling you out, tugging you back in, as the song came to its close, Loki took the opportunity of dipping you low enough for your head to graze the ground below.  Breathless and giddy, you were lifted back to standing, clinging to the demi God before you.  Parting your lips, anticipating another of Loki’s kisses, your eyes fluttering closed, “Sir?  Madame?”  

Shifting his focus from your glossy, eager mouth to the server once more, Loki’s own giggle shining in his face, “My good man, please… just pack it all up!  We’re not staying.”

“We’re not?”  A hint of surprise colored your tone as you took in the ecstatic look on Loki’s face.

Nodding at you, “Nope.”

Waiting only a moment or two for a bag stuffed full of your goodies, Loki slung it over this wrist before taking your hand and leading you through the Tower’s maze of floors.  Of course, he stopped at almost every corner to sneak a peck, pat your tush or cage you against the wall so that his hips were flush against your own as he licked the soft spot under your ear.

“Hmmm… Loki… That feels so good.”  Mewling softly, your nails scratching into his scalp, as he swung open the door to his room.

Ushering you inside, Loki paused only to set his blistering, needy eyes on you once more, “We are not children, you and I.  If you want to wait, I will be patient… but, believe me, my darling little patisserie, when I say this:  I want you.  I want to devour you… I want to know if you’re as sweet as strawberry shortcake or tart like key lime pie.

“I need to see if you-” here he swallowed so hard his Adam’s Apple bobbed, “-sigh when I kiss you the same way you do when you slide a hot cup of tea over the counter.  Or how you’ll sound when you call my name in ecstasy.  Because I’ve already thought about these things a hundred times over.  While I wait in line for a moment of your attention or when I taste those lovely delicacies, you fill my thoughts.

“Do you always smell of vanilla and butter, I wonder.  Will my sheets be scented with marshmallow and marzipan?  Almond and cherry?”

Advancing on you now, hunger heating his look, “But just know, little one, if you do come to my bed, I will make sure it’s the last one you’ll ever need.”

Stepping closer, baiting the bear in him, you bit into your bottom lip, “Are you saying that everyone will know I belong to you… L, O, K, I… Loki?”

“My sweet, sweet thing.  That is exactly what I mean.”

In a flurry of movement, Loki swept you against his kitchen table, the wood strong and sturdy behind you.  Kisses, hot and happy melted you like butter, as Loki spread your legs to stand between them.  When you heard the sound of paper crumpling, “What’s that?”

“Oh!  Our to-go bag!  Your luscious desserts!”  Sounding slightly panicked, Loki quickly removed the items from inside the bag, before turning to you with a look that said trouble.

“What?  What’s that face?”  

“I’ve told you how much I fancy your food… and now you know how much I adore you... “

“Uh huh…”, still unsure about where this was going, your eyes followed Loki as he pulled your tub of whipped cream from the ruined sack.  Snapping off the lid, his long finger scooping out a big glob, only for Loki to brush the airy confection over your mouth.  

Licking the cream from your lips, Loki tongued the seam of your pretty pout, moaning at the burst of vanilla he tasted there, “I don’t know what’s more delicious, your frothy garnish or this mouth.”

“What if I want some, huh?”  Grabbing at Loki’s finger, the one he’d used to snag the sample with, you pulled it into the warm inlet of your mouth, sucking lightly.

Growling low in his throat at the erotic scene before him, Loki issued a command, “Bedroom.  Now.”

Sliding off the table, right into Loki’s space, “Bring the whipped cream though, ok?”

Clothes were shed in a rush.  Each piece unveiling soft skin and new places to explore, reminding you of a creme brulee’s hardened caramel layer.  The way you crack it open, revealing the cool custard beneath the scorched sugar crust, a gift unwrapped for all your senses.

By the time Loki lowered you onto his bed, he had already sampled swatches of your skin, leaving behind the marks of his possession.  His hands never seemed to stop.  First they were dusting over your shoulders, then across your thighs, next on your generous bottom, squeezing hard.

Sighing in contentment, you closed your eyes, lost in the moment of making love to Loki.  As he lay down over you, the press of his rigid planes met the soft curves of your figure, you wrapped yourself around him.  Tangling those rich, dark locks in your hand, forcing your mouths together, panting with shared passion.

Connecting with his hip, you slid your palm over the rise of his bottom, squeezing just a little, “You know, you have a great ass, right?”

Sucking against the ridge of your clavicle, Loki kissed over your jaw, “I do?”

“Oh yea… I watch you walk away everyday thinking, damn.  That ass.”

Brushing stray strands from your face, “That’s funny, because I think the same thing every time you bend over to get those little swizzle sticks for stirring coffee!”

Setting off a fit of giggles, the pair of you with arms and legs akimbo, laughed like children.  There was something so freeing about being naked and comfortable with the man beside you.  Quieting only when you heard the pop of the frosting bowl's lid coming off, you sucked in a breath as Loki lowered his lips to your waiting nipple.  

Playful and pleasing, he released you just long enough to sit back on his heels, surveying the state of you.  "Now, It's my turn."

"Your turn to what, exactly?"

"Decorate!"  Producing an assortment of sprinkles and frosting, sanding sugars and coconut shreds, caramel sauce and raspberry coulis as if from thin air, Loki grinned at you wickedly before setting to work.

For every place that was home to a dollop of icing or a squirt of sauce you were licked, nibbled, nuzzled or bitten.  As Loki worked lower, you squirmed in anticipation, as your pastry chef in training sucked your inner thigh free of chocolate fudge.  Before you could prepare, Loki's tongue parted your slippery center, making you call out, "Oh!  Yes, Loki!"

Parting your swollen sex, circling your stiffened bud, Loki lapped at your sensitive skin gently.  His fingers, long and reaching, stroked into your sticky channel, stretching you sweetly.  Rocking against Loki's oral affections, the beginning of bliss burning in your belly, you gripped him tightly seeking release.  

For his part, Loki needed no encouragement.  Bringing you to the pinnacle, alternately sipping at your slick core, and sucking on your sweet pearl was making Loki ache with want.  Even when you pulled at his onyx locks, inner thighs trembling, struggling to stave off your peaking pleasure, Loki only worked harder, "Don't hold back.  We've already wasted too much time!"

"Uh huh… um… shit… Loki…"  mumbling was the most you could do as you felt a third finger enter you, widening you, readying you.  It was enough.  Cumming hard against him, stiffening and then softening like taffy, you gave yourself over to the pleasure Loki provided.  

Smacking his lips lewdly, licking his fingers, "I knew it… I knew you'd be delectable."

Grinning broadly, happy and satisfied, "Am I gonna get a taste?  You're not the only one with a sweet tooth, ya know!"

"Only when I've had my fill… and I'm not close to being finished, darling!"

Sticky, sweet and satiated, you and Loki lay in each other's arms smiling.  He'd asked about a gift for Pepper and you were already planning a cupcake basket for your matchmaking mentor.  You had just licked the last of your lemon curd from his abs, curling into his side, "I need a shower."

"Oh, yes!  Let's do that!"  Rising, dragging you with him, Loki could picture you under the steaming water, begging him to please you.  He liked that idea!

"And after…"

Pausing to look at you, "After?"

"Can you find me something salty to snack on… ya know, for a change?"

Pressing a kiss to your hand, Loki flashed you that megawatt smile, "Absolutely, darling.  Absolutely."

~~

My Minxes:  @alexakeyloveloki​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @iamverity​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @wolfsmom1​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @mizfit2​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @jessiejunebug​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @capcapcapsicle​ @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @thenatilie @sammy-jo1977​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ 

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 14

Read on ff.net

Read on AO3

Zelda and the others were transfixed as they looked up at the spirit of Calamity Ganon writhing around the castle. The anguish of all Hyrule hung stagnant in the air along with the ambient gurgling sound of malice.

"It's here…" Impa was the first one who managed to speak. "The Calamity has already begun…" She said, at a loss.

"No, No…." Zelda gasped when she noticed malice enter one of the nearby Guardians and became animate. It made a horrible mechanical sound as it turned its 'eye' towards the princess, a red laser appearing on Zelda's chest. Link immediately sprang into action, deflecting the Guardian's blast back at it in a brilliant flash of light.

"Calamity Ganon is taking control of the Guardians!" Zelda lamented. "It's going to turn them all against us!"

"It can do that?" Said Revali in surprise, realization starting to dawn on the Rito champion, as well as the three others. The Calamity was far more cunning than any of them had imagined.

"There are still more on the castle grounds. It's too dangerous. Everyone, protect the princess as we make our retreat!" Impa called.

"But…"

With that, Link grabbed Zelda's hand, pulling her roughly behind him as he ran down the brick path away from the Castle, which didn't go unnoticed by Astor, feeling an intense wave of sullenness he couldn't shake. They disappeared down the path and the Champions and Sheikah aide followed, no one paying him any mind in the frenzy the Calamity had created.

Astor remained, feeling out of sorts and alone, but determined to fully embrace his new destiny. Hyrule really was on its knees… Especially Zelda, who was being crushed under the weight of her duty. How had he ever been so blinded by Calamity Ganon to want this? To want to harm her? He had almost killed her for the sake of Calamity Ganon… HER! He was barely aware that his fists were clenched, wanting to make her his and spare her all this pain and suffering. The back of his neck was becoming sore as he glared up at the beast he'd once dedicated his life to serving. Calamity Ganon opened its maw to a right angle, and a thunderous roar of rage issued forth as if demanding the prophet make a blood sacrifice of himself to atone for his disloyalty.

Astor smiled up at the beast spitefully.

I wasted so many years of my life on you…. But serving you led me to her… I must thank you… I'm going to live on and create a legacy for myself, and you… You're going to be sealed away… Forever perhaps.

Astor's smile faded as he noticed King Rhoam emerge from the castle's sanctum.

"You're coming with me…" Rhoam said in a stern, matter-of-fact way., The King wielded a huge claymore single-handedly, flanked by three knight attendants.

Astor scowled at the older man, raising his hand to summon his orb, but then thought better of it, giving only a huff of defiance.

"I'm glad I have your cooperation, Astor," Rhoam said, coming close as he brandished his claymore in a vaguely threatening way. The sword was almost as big as he was.

Confident that Astor would not run or fight back, Rhoam nodded to his attendants. "Alright men, retreat!"

"Yes, Sire!" The three knight attendants said in unison. They were looking around wildly, in horror at the destruction the Guardians were bringing and a bit miffed that their king had apparently decided to take a prisoner at the worst time possible.

The five quickly, but carefully made their way down the path, Rhoam staggering a Guardian that blocked their path with a single swing of his sword. Astor could almost feel the brunt of that swing.

"Astor, I'm afraid we're going to get to know each other whether you like it or not. Had the Calamity not happened when it did, you would be in lockup now. However, since my castle is currently overrun with Guardians and all manner of Ganon's monsters, I will be keeping an eye on you myself. Suffice to say, I am not in a good mood."

Astor kept his gaze forward as they moved forward. The king's tone did not bode well for him. It wasn't lost on him that he was in a precarious situation. Still, this could be amusing.

"I know I'd rather not," King Rhoam continued, "but given that I fear you are encroaching on my daughter's divine duties, I must go above and beyond to perform mine as her father and as king." Rhoam noticed Astor's attention was elsewhere. "Look at your king when he's talking to you, you piece of filth!" Rhoam raised his voice, finding the younger man infuriating, despite knowing so little about him. The prophet had already left the worst impression on him, not that he stood a chance in hell of making a good first impression all things considered. Why would Zelda consort with this man, let alone trust him? He was scrawny, deathly pale, and dressed in rags. Everything about Astor was… off-putting. How had he and Zelda even met? Was the young knight he'd appointed to Zelda slacking off?

Astor turned his attention to the older man slowly, giving him a look of intense spite. He then saw the king's eyes widen, looking at something beyond him. Astor turned to come face to face with a Guardian's laser trained on him.

Rhoam and his men stood back, apparently obliging the Guardian to make short work of Astor.

The Guardian's laser rested on Astor for a moment, moving over the malice eye on his circlet before fading and readjusting to focus on the king.

Rhoam wasted no time in raising his claymore and bringing it down on the Guardian, giving a grunt of effort. Bolts and gears flew out of the busted machine, littering the brick pathway.

"Why did the Guardian disregard you?" Rhoam mused aloud. "How disappointing..."

"Thank you for looking out for me, Rhoam. Such a caring king and father, too… You're going to make a fine grandfather someday..." Astor said darkly, facetiously.

"How dare you!" Rhoam bellowed, giving the young man a ruthless slap across the face, causing Astor to stagger and fall. Astor simply returned a perverse smile despite the stinging sensation on his cheek. Astor began to laugh, chuckling at first and then breaking into an intense round of laughter, his yellow eyes going wide in a way that unsettled the old king - as if seeing beyond. "Yes, my children. Go harass King Rhoam and do not disappoint me!"

Rhoam was fuming. Astor was either very insane or intentionally provoking him, perhaps both. Either that or he had injured the prophet's mind when he struck him. Astor's antics were making it very difficult for the king to maintain his composure.

"You're very fortunate I am not a crass man, or I'd tell you what I think you deserve… Now tell me, how well do you know my daughter?"

"Well enough to know she is terribly lonely." Astor replied. "She despises you."

"What nonsense… Everything I've done has been for her! She was supposed to be Hyrule's pride, but it seems that the gossipmongers' words are coming true... Look around you. Hyrule is on fire. What sort of future does she have? 'Heir to a throne of nothing' if she does not awaken that power very soon. I can tell you're a lousy prophet by that alone."

"Bold words from a king who does not carry the blood of the Goddess."

"I may not carry the blood of the goddess, but I am still the rightful king of Hyrule in my late queen's stead. I was born into a noble family and my union with her was arranged by the former king and queen. The only thing I'm going to be arranging for you is an execution. Know your place, Prophet."

"An execution?" Astor almost laughed. He couldn't imagine what Rhoam's reaction might be when he learned he had formerly been trying to bring about Calamity Ganon's revival. "On what grounds?"

"Interfering with the Princess awakening her power to seal Calamity Ganon away for one. Also because it would bring me personal satisfaction. Now, get up, before I change my mind and grind my boot into your head. You're slowing down our escape."

Slowly Astor got up, dusting himself off, raising his chin to the older man in a testing manner.

"Wipe that smirk off your face. Move!" Rhoam said, giving Astor a shove with the side of his claymore.

oOo

Zelda looked back over her shoulder, her hair whipping in the wind as she ran. "Wait… Where are Astor and my father? We can't leave them behind…!"

Nobody seemed to acknowledge her question or nobody heard.

They ran through the chaotic town streets, witnessing horrifying scenes as the Guardians wrought havoc upon Hyrule's capital. Guardians were climbing the walls of houses and shops alike, some not being able to bear the weight of the mechanical wonders and the rooftops beginning to crumble.

They finally reached the main gate, crossing the threshold into Hyrule Field, as the Guardians had completely overtaken the castle and even the surrounding town. They stopped to look back, now a safe distance away. Zelda's eyes widened in horror when she realized more Guardians were appearing, being methodically ejected from the five columns that had suddenly risen out of the ground to surround Hyrule Castle. The same columns she had tried so hard to locate just days ago.

"Where did he go…?" Zelda said out of breath and sick at heart, but trying not to break down again. Hadn't she already cried all the tears she thought she had at the realization of her failure? She knew the Calamity was eventual, but experiencing it was beyond her worst nightmares.

"Little bird… How do you know he wasn't the one to summon the Calamity himself just by being present?" Said Urbosa.

"T-that can't be… " Zelda said, exasperated, not even willing to entertain the idea.

"His Majesty is missing as well… Did he remain behind on purpose?" Impa mused.

"The two are probably still bickering for all we know…" Revali quipped. "Hylian males…"

It would have been a humorous mental image in any other circumstances: Astor and her father too entrenched in their argument to notice as Guardians flooded into the Sanctum, but Zelda was vaguely aware that Astor had at least left the sanctum when the Calamity appeared.

Zelda turned her gaze elsewhere. Watching Castle Town burn was too much to bear. She happened to catch Link's eye, the boy wearing a severe expression.

You're fated to unlock your power because of him.

Zelda looked away from him and then at the back of her hand, giving an inaudible sigh, doubts about so many things clouding her mind.

This didn't go unnoticed by Urbosa, who came to stand behind Zelda, placing her hands on the princess's shoulders. "Don't give up! It's not too late."

"I know… We can't let the Calamity win. No matter what…" Zelda said, sounding downtrodden, but resolute.

"All is not lost. As long as I live I will fight. Just as you must." Impa reassured Zelda.

All the champions agreed one by one.

The group lifted their heads when they sensed others making their escape into Hyrule Field and out of Castle Town. Zelda's breath caught in her throat when she saw Astor standing in the shadow of her father's sword. He was unbound, yet it was clear from their expressions that he wasn't standing there on his own volition. Astor held her briefly in his gaze and then looked away, in shame. His face was more bruised than before.

"Champions, go to your Divine Beasts!" King Rhoam called in an official tone. "Astor will be coming with me, lest he interfere any further. Link… You are the knight to Princess Zelda. I trust you understand your duty." Rhoam said, shooting a disapproving look at Zelda.

There was a flicker in Zelda's eyes as they began to sting. "Where are you taking him?!"

Suddenly their hands held her back before she could rush forward. Zelda cried out for Astor as Rhoam and his attendants turned to leave, giving Astor another shove in the direction they were going.

A million horrible possibilities rushed through her mind. She was under no delusion that her father would deal with Astor kindly, especially if he were to ascertain Astor's former ties to the Calamity.

"What are they going to do to him?! Please, Someone, do something... Don't let them take him away!" Zelda implored pitifully, despairing because she knew none of them were going to defy her Father. Zelda dropped her head. "He's all… He's all I have…"

It was very soft, but everyone heard. Her pleas sounded all too familiar.. Rhoam halted, just for a moment to look back in irritation instead of pity as he had when she was young.

"Dammit, Zelda, show some self-control!" Rhoam said, angrily. "Your whining didn't work back then, what makes you think it will work now?"

Zelda looked hurt by his response, her shoulders shaking. Rhoam wondered if she remembered when he had confiscated the little Guardian she had named Terrako in a bid to get her to focus on her training. A decision that regrettably hadn't borne any fruit. Rhoam had almost cursed the late queen. Damn her for instilling such a love for Sheikah technology and relics in her daughter, which only proved to be a distraction for Zelda in awakening her divine power. That had been the most grievous flaw Rhoam saw in his wife.

Astor knew this was his moment to act. While the king was distracted, Astor phased past Rhoam like a restless spirit, knocking Rhoam off balance for a moment.

Zelda looked up and exhaled in surprise.

Astor came to a stop in front of Zelda, making a show of pulling her close. She clutched tightly to his robes, and for a moment everything else ceased. She was his and he was hers. She would have given much to live in that moment forever, relieved tears cascading down her cheeks.

"Her Highness is mine now. Have fun fighting the Calamity, Rhoam. You don't deserve her."

"Hylia on her throne! Stop him!" Rhoam ordered his knight attendants.

The men hesitated, fearful of the prophet's magical abilities. And in the blink of an eye, Astor raised his orb high, vanishing with Zelda in tow. Those that remained looked on in silent disbelief.

A short distance away, the scene was reflected in the 'eye' of Harbinger Ganon. Ganon knew it was winning, though that did not satisfy the being's intense all-encompassing rage. Its plans had still been disrupted. The weak-minded, disaffected Hylian man it had chosen to do its bidding in this age had somehow seen beyond the illusion of importance and power it had engineered for him. High above, the spirit of Calamity Ganon gave a shattering roar of detest for the goddess it knew was at work. And because of that vile goddess, the foolish bag of flesh was stepping out on him, even after all the power it had bestowed upon him. Ganon would simply take the man's ability to wield malice away. It would make sure the seer suffered tenfold for betraying him and choosing the girl who bore the goddess's blood. That pathetic mortal was supposed to remain loyal until his dying breath at its hand, for Ganon hated all life and showed no partiality even towards those who swore allegiance to it. It had been over ten millennia since Ganon had been mortal, and any memory of its past humanity or semblance of understanding human emotions had long perished. Calamity Ganon's inhuman hatred burned against the Hylian seer, rivaling its hatred for the hero and the young woman who bore the blood of the goddess. And so, the corrupted Guardian began to plot.

[angelsonthesideline]

Tales From the Ex-Crypt Vol. 9

Wow.. volume 9.. I'm going to wrap it up with this one because I really don't want to live in the past or think about any of these people any more. I'm happy, even if Mr HTG is still not officially mine, I only want to look forward and these crypts will be closed. There are definitely more stories than the ones I've written here.. but this is the one that people are like "NO.. that only happens in movies!"

So, I was minding my own business at work when one of my regular customers walked in with a friend. They had been at a dinner party, and started talking about winter tires, and my customer said that the friend had to come see me for tires, and proceeded to bring him in. His friend wasn't someone who really stood out to me, there was nothing remarkable to me about him. He was nice enough, mild mannered, tall, blue eyes, great smile (I'm a sucker for eyes and smiles) and we went over some tire options. I sent them on their way with the friend having his quotes in hand.

I didn't really think anything more of it, it was busy (snow) season and I was plenty busy. A week or so later, the friend comes back, he had decided on some tires and steel wheels and put his deposit down on the order. I wrote up the order, and handed him his copy, when he asked "so when do I get to see you again?" and my smart ass responded with something to the effect of when he got his tires on.

I hadn't really paid any attention to him prior to that moment, and he wasn't my "type" at all. I went home, and something kept nagging at me about him, so I sent him a text after getting his number off his order slip. This is not something I generally do, but since he'd already asked me out, I didn't feel like I was overstepping. This was also 10 years ago.

I didn't hear anything back until the Monday, when I got a profuse apology for the delay, and the excuse that he had had his phone stolen while having lunch on a patio over the weekend in a busy tourist town.

We started talking regularly, he came in and got his snow tires in the meantime, and we hung out for our first "date". He told me he was on a joint task force for terrorist threats between the FBI and CSIS and had to travel often as the supervisor of his unit. He said he would try to see me as often as possible but that it wasn't always a lot of time. I didn't mind, as I was busy and we facetimed and talked by text and phone. I never felt neglected.

We dated for a year, our relationship was amazing, we got along so well, and he made me strive to be my best self. I lost a ton of weight, was eating well, and made an appointment with my doctor to get my mental health in check.

We never had sex, we just had incredibly hot makeout sessions. I always thought it was odd that he didn't want to go any further, but he said he had had a bad experience and wanted to wait until we were married. As he was on the smaller side, I figured that had something to do with it, but I was so absolutely in love by that point it didn't really matter.

He had all sorts of pics of him in his flack in his suits, in the cars, with the guns, or just in offices. I'd get a text or call saying he was flying in and was driving to see me, but would only have about an hour or two to spend with me before he had to get back to his team and back on the road. It kept things exciting, and I loved surprise visits when he'd text me at work that he was outside.

I wanted to see him more, of course, especially as things got more intense between us. But it was always a matter of time for him. No matter how awful other things in my life were going, whenever asked how things with him were, I would immediately brighten and say they were amazing.

My anxiety was getting to a very dysfunctional level, and I was struggling hardcore to manage it. I went to the doctor, he arranged for me to begin therapy. He was supportive when I told him. This was around our 1 year together. But the next time I got to see him, I got doused with ice water, when I gifted him with an expensive watch and he told me he wanted to take our relationship back a step because of his schedule. His reason was that I was amazing and I deserved to be able to pursue someone who could give me everything he wasn't able to due to his job. I was blindsided and devastated. Because I loved him so much, and was dumb, I agreed to try. I'm an absolutely all-in or all-out type of personality, there is no grey middle ground for me. It is why I do struggle with FWB and casual arrangements, unless I have mentally steeled myself to be all-out and just enjoy the moment without feelings.

My first year of therapy and into my second was almost fully dedicated to dealing with this trauma. I have never had a break up so devastating. I am pretty sure most of the damage came from the shock, but also from the "trying" to move forward with him flitting in and out of my life instead of just cutting clean ties.

I cried a lot.. I was so stressed my cortisol levels caused my body to produce more than double the healthy level of reverse T3, completely messing up my thyroid and metabolism, I gained weight, lost energy and all the other fall out. It took me years to recover, and moving to NS and stumbling upon a doctor who treated the thyroid issues (which seem to be back in working order now after some thyroid hormone therapy).

I have never ever let someone have so much impact on my life, and the only reason I can ever explain it with was just the depth of love I had for this man. I don't even know why or what sucked me in, beyond his confidence and charm. He was one of the many devil Aquarius that I dated, always trying to prove the zodiac/astrology stuff was absolutely wrong (because I am generally SO drawn to Aquarius and have dated that sign more than any other). The zodiac definitely kicked my ass with Aquarius to show me that I fucked around and found out the hard way for sure.

We did the on and off/casual thing for 6 months before it was too toxic and messed me up too badly and I cut him off. It was about 6 months later he crawled back, and we tried it again for about another 6 months before I broke again and cut him off permanently.

I tried to not think of him, and started trying to move on with dating. My longterm ex and I had become gaming friends again by this point, in a mostly healthy and functional way. He had asked me to get an app called Voxter so he could send me voice messages (pre-imsg) and I had. You have to make an account to use Voxter though, and then the app itself didn't pick up my soft voice so I deleted it. But the account remained.

One day, I get an email that I have a new suggested contact/friend on Voxter. I open the email, and low and behold, it is Mr Aquarius Devil... and I'm like "hmm.. I don't have any of his new contact information in my phone" so I go to my computer and open my gmail.. start typing in his name and up pops this picture:

The fucker was MARRIED... and had a KID.

I will say, that was the BEST closure ever.. I was INSTANTLY over his ass instead of lamenting WHY it hadn't worked and what I had possibly done wrong. What I had done wrong, was fall for a fucking dirtbag.

Now, I work with the public.. and I had lots of regular customers that would ask me how I was and what was going on with me, and share what was going on with them. I was angry, and I showed a few of them this pic and was like "look at this fucker, he has a WIFE and KID" and I think it got back to him.

Two weeks after I stumbled upon this picture on his gmail, I got a full confessional email from him.

Turns out, he had been married for 12 years, and his son was 7 at the time I found out. Not only that, but he wasn't in law enforcement, HE WAS A PASTOR.. He had also gotten busted for sleeping with two women in his congregation, and fooling around with two others. He had lost his congregation and his church was sending him out west to some rehab. His wife was staying with him, and moving out there with him. He basically said it was all a lie (everything) and that his therapist said he had to write apology letters and explain himself to his victims (like myself). He said it was an ego trip to compensate for low self esteem. So basically, I was just an ego boosting toy for him.

A year later, I received a random text message from a southern Alberta phone number. I am guessing it was his wife, as all it said was "Have you been in contact with J***?" and I was like "J*** who?" and never heard anything ever again. But I am sure he was already back to his old tricks.

[kayteewritessteve]

Beautifully Unfinished - 5/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 4,580 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Lots of angst. But if you’ve read my stories before, then you know how this will end.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

First Careers.

You quickly make your way down the busy sidewalk, trying to make up for the few extra minutes it took to get out of work. You’d been working for Avengers Publishing House for 3 weeks now, and were loving it so far. Though it was a lot of work and you didn’t really have much free time anymore. You barely got to see your best friends lately, you all just starting on your career paths and slowly figuring out your own lives and new jobs.

Bucky had just passed his bar exam, and had started at a prestigious law firm about 2 weeks ago. You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you kept each other informed on your day to day lives via text. He was enjoying the new job, but made it very clear that it was a learning curve and very draining work. Going from school life, to the working force was a shell shock for sure. Yes, you had all the book knowledge, but none of the real word experience, so new jobs were a lot to take in at first. You all figured they would be, but not to this extent. But he was happy, and thriving in his career choice, so that’s what truly mattered.

Steve had gotten a paid intern position at the MoMA, it was a once in a lifetime experience and he was over the moon for being chosen for the spot. But he had busted his ass to get it and you couldn’t have been prouder of him or his accomplishments. This was a huge stepping stone for him and his career, and from here more doors would be opened for him, and he’d have many more exciting and fulfilling opportunities in the future. He’d been there for 3 weeks now, having started damn near directly after leaving school.

And you, we’ll you’d been offered a Junior Editors position with Avengers, a very well known and reputable publishing house in Manhattan. It was the first stop on the climb to your dream job, and you were overjoyed with the opportunity to join their team. You’d always loved reading, and at a young age you’d figured out that being a publisher was right up your alley. And now that you had your foot in the door, you’d been entirely right on that thought. But it was a lot of work, late hours and spending your weekends at home and making your way through the stack of manuscripts you’d been given on a deadline.

So you had barely seen the guys over the last few weeks, you’d have the odd small coffee meets on rushed lunch breaks. Or the odd night you’d get together for your traditional weekly BFMMN™ (Best Friend Movie and Munchie Night.) But lately it was less of a tradition, and definitely not weekly. And when you did manage to come together, you’d all usually be out of it and exhausted, so the conversation was non-existent or minimal, at best. You all just being happy in the presence of your best friends, even in utter silence. It was better than nothing.

But today, you were all meeting for dinner, going out to finally celebrate your new jobs and your introductions to the working force. And in Classic You form, you’d lost track of time and were now running late. As per usual.

The restaurants sign finally comes into view and you pick up the pace a little, maneuvering through the swarms of people that always seemed to crowd the city sidewalks. But especially directly after working hours, all the people moving to and from their jobs, their homes and various businesses along the streets. Going to meet friends, to grab coffee or just take a leisurely stroll.

You weren’t taking a leisurely stroll currently though, you were damn near throwing elbows to get to the restaurant in a timely manner. You weren’t super late, by any means, but late was late, and awarded you less time with your best friends. Which wasn’t okay, at all. Not lately at least, not with how little you’d seen either of them the last few weeks.

You’d planned this dinner with them a few weeks ago, to make sure you all were free and clear, and wouldn’t miss it for anything else. You’d made the guys swear to set reminders in their phones so no one forgot or made other conflicting plans tonight. Come hell or high water, you were having dinner with your friends, and then the three of you were returning to your place after, for a few drinks and a movie. There was no getting out of it this time, you needed a fun, relaxing night with your guys, desperately.

You reach the entrance to the restaurant and quickly pull open the door, finding a beautiful young woman standing behind a podium. She asks for the reservation name, and you give her yours as you’d set it up. She smiles, informing you that only one other person has arrived so far and then leads you to the back where the table is.

As your eyes scan the room quickly, they land on a glorious head of blonde hair and a large involuntary smile takes over your face. Stevie, you should have guessed he’d be here first, he was always on time, or in most cases, early.

You also shouldn’t have been so worried about being a few minutes late, as Bucky always showed up last. You were positive that the guy treated being fashionably late like it was a dang character trait. He took it seriously, and never showed up on time, not even remotely.

He ran on his own clock and you’d actually lied to him a few times over the years, giving him incorrect early start times for important things, so that he’d end up late for the fake start time, but right on time for the real one. He’d always chuckle the second he arrived and saw the smug and satisfied expressions on yours and Steve's faces at him accidentally, yet strategically, arriving on time. Though you couldn’t pull that trick too often, or it would cease to work, so you had to pick your battles, and only use it in important or dire situations.

You make your way towards the table, and Steve, admiring the unfairly beautiful angle, even if it was the back of his head. But that wasn’t a shock, the guy was gorgeous and looked outstanding from all sides. It was wholly unfair and a rather large piss off, if you were honest, the guy didn’t have a bad angle anywhere. All hard lines, muscles and taut tanned skin. Then his perfect blonde hair and mesmerizing deep blue eyes, he was the walking embodiment of perfection in your eyes, and probably in many other people's eyes as well.

As you get closer to the table, you notice he is hunched forward a little and looking down, and it doesn’t take a rocket doctor to guess that he probably has his illusive sketchbook out. You have always known, from early on, that Steve loved to draw. He took his sketchbook everywhere with him and pulled it out whenever he was waiting, or no one was watching. But you’d only ever seen a few of his sketches, he was very secretive about his artwork. He didn’t like to show it off and the odd time he did, he was always humble yet embarrassed by it. Saying that it either wasn’t finished yet, or wasn’t that good.

You’d praise the artwork every time though, and not because you were his best friend, but because it was genuinely always amazing. He had a real talent, if he could just get over his insecurities and actually show his work off to the world, he’d see just how honest your praises really were.

But he’d always shrink away at the mention of showing people, saying he didn’t draw for recognition, but instead just for him. It was his stress relief and he only drew whatever caught his eye or inspired him that day. Like little snapshots of his life that were just for his eyes, and his eyes only.

You gave up trying to persuade him to share his art with the world, hell, to even just share it with you and Buck. And instead you’d just leave the topic entirely alone, it wasn’t your place to demand anything from him, especially if it made him uncomfortable. Or felt like you were pulling teeth. So you’d dropped the whole art thing completely, and instead just left it up to him to decide what, and when, he shared it with you. And each time he’d show you a little something, you lapped it up with eager enjoyment and locked away the mental snapshot forever. Taking any little morsel he offered and loving it as brightly as you could.

The fact he even showed you anything, spoke volumes to you. Made you feel so immensely special to be one of the select few who got to actually set eyes on his artwork.

“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” You asked abruptly as you reached the table, pointedly not looking at his sketchbook out of respect for his art privacy. You quickly took your jacket off, hanging it on the back of your chair before taking the seat across from him.

Steve calmly, but promptly, shut the book and glanced up at you, no matter how many times you tried to startle him, it never worked. The guy had eyes on the back of his head, you swear. He smiled at you, before tucking the book and pencils away in his messenger bag. “Just the things around me. Ya know, the usual,” he shrugged.

You just nodded, averting your eyes to the menu in front of you, as you picked it up and glanced over the options. “Sorry I’m late, got tied up at work,” you pause, glancing around the table playfully before locking eyes with Steve and smirking. “But I see the Jerk is keeping up his personally appointed job of making me always feel on time,” you chuckled, and Steve did as well.

“Well, you know him, he always has to arrive last so we can all fully appreciate his outfit choice,” he grins and shakes his head, picking up his own menu also.

You both fall into a silence, it’s not exactly awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either. You and Steve have sort of drifted since he started dating Hailey, not so much physically but more mentally. You still hang out as a group, but no longer just the two of you. And you still talk, but no longer as deeply, it’s mainly surface stuff now. Your jobs, your families, your day to day lives.

He doesn’t talk about Hailey with you often, if at all, he keeps pretty mum about her actually. Barely even saying her name in your presence unless he absolutely has to. No lie, you're thankful for that, but also not at the same time, especially since their third date they’ve been damn near inseparable. Spending almost all their free time together, but he still makes the effort to join in on the group stuff. And luckily for you, he’s never once brought Hailey along, he’s never even asked, not once. He seems to understand and respect that your group time is just for your little circle of 3.

But it’s not that she wouldn’t be welcome to join, every once and awhile. You’d suck up your stupid jealous bullshit here and there, if you had to. She made Steve happy, from the small things you’d heard, and could perceive in your childhood best friend. So having her around the odd time, you could deal with, you weren’t a complete asshole. But yet you liked that he never brought her around, for the sake of your heart, but not that he did it for that reason. God no, he still had no clue of your feelings, and to this day, you’d still never voiced them aloud.

You guessed he never invited her more for the sake that you and Bucky were his friends, his best friends, and sometimes he just needed time away from Hailey. Time to just be a party of one, with people who truly knew him. He had his separate friends that he shared with Hailey, and she had her own friends that were entirely her own. It was a mutual thing for them, their own ways to escape and get the time they needed away from each other, so that the relationship didn’t feel smothering or overbearing. Little spaces here and there are so important, and needed to keep a relationship healthy and thriving. To keep it from turning toxic and becoming too codependent, because that was never a good thing.

Plus you figured he kept her separated because the three of you had so much history, that Hailey may have felt left out or like an outsider to, as she wasn’t around for most of your friendship. Nor was she present for many of the big, and memorable moments that you all reminisced about or brought up often.

Whatever his true reasonings were, you were just secretly thankful for them. And for the fact you had your guys entirely to yourself, whenever you got together. Yes, it was selfish, but most humans hate change, and with certain things, you weren’t any different. You were entirely human, after all.

“Works going okay?”

“Hmm?” You hum, lifting your eyes to find Steve studying you now, his focus no longer on his menu. How long was he staring at you? You have no clue. Are you positive that your slightly disheartened thoughts were clear as day on your face, and that he probably saw them all? Oh 100%, judging by the concerned look on his face currently. You clearly really needed to work on your poker face, it had obviously deteriorated in the last few weeks, what with your lack of needing to use it. “Oh, yeah,” you plaster on your signature fake smile. “Work is going great. How about you? How’s the prestigious MoMA treating you?”

His eyes light up, like they always do when he is excited about something. “It’s amazing, Y/N. Everyone has been so helpful and very knowledgeable. I’ve learned more in the last 4 weeks than I did in my entire time at school.” He chuckles, “or at least it feels like I have.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Steve. I’m so happy you are enjoying it so much,” you smile fondly at him. This one a real smile for once. “No one deserves this experience as much as you, as you busted your ass in school.” You grin cheekily at him, “and I’d know, I was the one who had to drag you out of the library weekly, to force you to eat a real meal.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” He laughs at that, “did I ever properly thank you for single handedly keeping me alive back then?”

You place a finger on your chin as you hum, in feigned deep thought then shake your head. “Not that I can remember. But I take praise and apologizes in the form of baked goods, if you forgot.”

He smirks and shakes his head, “oh, I didn’t forget. Not for a damn second, not when a dozen cookies saved my ass more than a few times with you, throughout the years.”

“That they did,” you laugh, nodding in agreement to his words. “How’s Hailey?” The words slip from your mouth unfiltered and you want to kick yourself. Yet, you are curious how things are with them, you just should have waited till Bucky was here to act as a buffer. Because your conflicting thoughts on the topic of Steve's relationship caused you to do and say the dumbest things when she was occasionally brought up.

You were happy that he was, you truly wanted the best for him. But you still carried this ridiculous torch for him, and it hurt a little every time she was brought up. You were selfishly jealous of her, or maybe less of her, and more of the man she got to call her own. The one man you always wanted that privilege with, but would never get. You knew that, but just couldn’t fully come to terms with it. Maybe one day you would, maybe one day she could be brought up and you wouldn’t cringe internally and feel your heart crack a little more each time.

“Ah, good. She’s good,” he nods, focusing back on his menu. “What looks good here?”

You take a silent deep breath in, your abrupt question luckily not sullying the mood. “I was thinking the Cordon Bleu Chicken Burger sounds fantastic,” you hum, glancing over the options, “but then the Teriyaki Chicken Rice Bowl looks amazing as well.” You groan, “ugh, why can I never just pick one? Why do I always get stuck between two choices, and then literally have to decide when the waitress appears and asks what I want?”

Steve chuckles, “and then you instantly regret your choice the second the waitress walks away.”

You are just about to refute that, but a new voice joins the mix. “But then once the food arrives, she goes on and on about how good of a choice she made. And how great the food is.”

You snap your eyes over and see a grinning Bucky walking towards your table. He takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of his chair before taking a seat in the spot beside Steve.

“Okay, I’m not that bad,” you defend and playfully roll your eyes at the guys chuckling and shaking their head in disagreement of your words.

“Oh, you totally are,” Bucky reaffirms for good measure.

Which causes you to laugh, “okay, fine, maybe I am. But just a little.”

“Try a lot,” Steve corrects and you sigh deeply, jokingly. Which causes you all to laugh before exchanging your fond hello’s, and asking Bucky the basic life update questions, before you all focus on the menu to make your selections before the waitress appears.

Once the food is ordered, you having once again left the choice to the last minute and then just threw your pick at the waitress like always, the three of you fall into a comfortable and familiar conversation. Taking about the ‘good old days’ and the more in-depth topics.

The food arrives and you all enjoy it, immensely. And once again, you are completely happy with your choice, like the guys mentioned, and your momentary panic for possibly ordering the wrong thing, also like they mentioned, flies out the window. Like every other time, which is so Classically You—as Bucky had pointed out directly after you’d all finished eating. Causing Steve to laugh and you to glare fondly at the large brunette.

Dinner goes well but just as the three of you are paying your separate bills, Steve’s phone rings and he pulls it from his bag, apologizing for forgetting to put it on silent. As was the Rule for group night, that being put in place back in high school when Bucky’s phone had gone off damn near the entire night and he’d ended up essentially ignoring you and Steve to reply to all his ‘fans’ as you’d dubbed them. So you’d implemented a silent phone policy, which basically meant no phones allowed on BFMMN™.

He steps away for a moment, saying it’s Hailey and promising to be quick. You sigh quietly to yourself and stand with Bucky, waiting for Steve to return.

“Hopefully everything’s okay,” you comment softly, slightly irked for the interruption to group night, but also a little worried as Hailey is usually super respectful of your group time. She normally never bothers Steve while he is with you, another thing you are really thankful for. You’re happy he found someone who isn’t overly intrusive or overbearing, she is good for him, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s the truth.

“I’m sure it is, she probably just can’t find the TV remote again,” Bucky shakes his head and his words cause you to furrow your brows and glance up at him.

“What?” You ask confused. Why would she call for something like that? “What do you mean?”

Bucky purses his lips, looking like he just realized he said too much. But why would he feel like that? “Ah, it’s nothing, really. She does it all the time,” he shrugs it off.

What the hell? “Does what all the time? Loses the TV remote?”

“No,” he sighs, scratching the side of his head, it’s a nervous tick of his, he does it whenever he is trying to find the right words. Which only intrigues you more. “Constantly calls him for silly little pointless things. I think she does it to ‘check in’ on him. Make sure he is where he says he is. I’ve mentioned my thoughts about it to Steve, but he just waves them off and says she is just forgetful.”

“Wait, wait,” you put up a hand as if to pause the conversation. “What are you going on about? She doesn’t call all the time. She’s never called him on group nights in the past.”

Bucky gives you a weird assessing look, “yes, she has. Every time, and multiple times per night. But Steve is usually really good with shutting his phone off before he joins us, so that it doesn’t go off constantly while we are all together.” He grins and in Classic Bucky form, he tries to fix the strange awkward atmosphere with humour. “I think you scared the Jesus out of him—or into him, whichever, when you snapped at me that one time for my phone going off all night. Since that night, he’s made it his life’s mission to never be on the receiving end of your cranky outbursts about phone etiquette during group time,” he chuckles. Then jokingly cringes, “You’re scary as hell when you're mad.”

“I had no idea,” you say quietly. Here you’d just finished praising the woman in your mind for her ‘respect’ for group night. When really, that clearly isn’t the case. How did you never know about this?

“I think that was kind of the point.”

“Why does she check in on him so much?” You ask curiously.

“I don’t know. I suspect it might have something to do with you, though.”

“Me?” You quickly ask, “what the hell? Why?”

“She has always had this weird fixation on you, for some reason she thinks there is something more between Steve and you.”

Leave it to Bucky to always give you the real tea, he may not come out and say it right away, but if it ever comes up and you ask him about it, he never lies or avoids the truth. He always tells you how he sees it, how it is, and you’ve always adored that about him. There’s no sugarcoating, and no bullshit, it’s just his own honest opinions on things.

“But we are just friends?” You asked confused, though it’s less a question and more a statement. “What could she possibly be worried about? There are no feelings like that between us.” Which is partially true, from Steve’s side at least. However it’s a complete and blatant lie from yours, but no one knows that—for sure—aside from you. Bucky raises a disbelieving brow at you, but doesn’t comment on your words.

“She seems to think otherwise.” He shakes his head, “But don’t worry too much about it, it’s always been this way and her insecurities are her own. Ya know, since both you and Steve have always been so adamant that you’re just friends.” He pauses, giving you a little side eye before continuing, once again making you aware that he probably does know of your true feelings for Steve. “She’ll either come to realize that, eventually, or she won’t, but that’s on her. Not you. And at the end of the day, it’s between her and Steve, they have to work it out themselves. Don’t stress too much about the things you can’t control.”

You nod, feeling a little guilty for possibly causing an issue in Steve’s relationship. But also slightly irked at the fact you’re just finding out about this now. And at the new realization that she doesn’t come around because she most likely doesn’t like you, when you’ve never done a damn thing to her. Or to warrant her disliking you that much. How fucking rude is that? You may not exactly like her either, but at least you’d suck it up and be civil, you do respect her and Steve’s relationship, and would never interfere with it. Ever. In any form.

Yet, she doesn’t seem to hold those same sentiments, as it turns out, and she tries to interfere with your friend time often. Go figure, you’d have never known that, if it weren’t for Steve forgetting to turn his phone off this time. Before you can think any further on this all, Steve returns looking for a split second like he is exhausted.

But the second his drained eyes meet yours, a light flickers in them and he smiles at you. It almost looks fake at first to your knowledgeable eyes, but you shake your head and ignore that thought as he approaches you both.

“Sorry about that, Hailey just had a quick question.”

Bucky scoffs quietly and you elbow him, giving him a warning look to zip it. “All good, Steve,” you smile at him. Deciding to not pull on this proverbial string for once, because you may not like where it ends up, and you fear that bringing this up to him will only stand to put more of a riff between you two.

“Should we head out?” You ask, glancing between the two guys, receiving nods then the three of you exit the restaurant and head towards your apartment.

Throughout the night, you keep your mouth shut on the topic of Hailey, Steve is never really forthcoming with you about her, and you’re realizing that it’s probably because of her insecurities about you. About your friendship with him, and you can’t be sure of this, but you're willing to bet that anytime you’re brought up, she probably has something to say about it. Or maybe he doesn’t bring you up at all, he’s never been dumb by any means, and he is probably aware of her feelings towards you. And maybe because he filters you out of his conversations with her, he just unconsciously does the same in reverse. Filtering out her from his conversations with you.

Shit, but who honestly knows? You’re so sick of overthinking every little thing in your friendship with Steve, solely because you refuse to ask him about it. You refuse to bring any of it up. But also mainly because you refuse to add anymore stress onto him. Especially this sort of unnecessary and pointless stress.

The last thing you want to do, is to drive him away, or push him away, because he can’t handle the questions and issues from both sides. Do you deserve more answers? Of course. Are you going to press Steve for them? Fuck no. So instead, you’ll just harass Bucky about it later, privately. But Steve will never know any of it, he’ll never know that you know about any of this.

Cause he’s the one that you can't lose. But he’s the one that you can't win.

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

@caps-lockdown @boxofteenageideas @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @viarogers @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @cjhorseback @jessiedaeum @capricornprince118 @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99 @patzammit @cs-please @troublermalik @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt @rynabarnesrogers

[soysaucevictim]

Week 5.

-

Jan. 30

I woke up a bit before 1PM today.

Did some dishes before I started on my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 1′ tucked side star plank hold (30″/30″). This was certainly an interesting challenge. One thing that helped my orientation was getting the top leg tucked before fully extending the same side’s arm upwards. I... kinda liked this one.

(After updating/posting last week’s logs...)

Last, Chapter 25 of the AoP. First segment was traveling again, 18TP. Done at Level 2, as high knees, and one go.

Workout proper was pretty much pure cardio and a lot of fun. I did it at Level 3, max rest. It went fairly smoothly - though there was one dodgy, but not painful landing on right ankle during one of the side-to-side jumps. I did like the moments where I locked in rhythm to the music I was listening too - that’s always satisfying.

Spent rest of night on a bit of the usual and some writing.

Went to bed obscenely late again, a bit later than yesterday.

-

Jan. 31

I woke up after 11AM.

One of the first things I got done today was exercise.

First, today’s DD. 10 cross body push-ups, done without EC. I SORT of manged EC, but deemed my form too sloppy to earn that. Did not go as deep and low to complete it with optimal form. Did try to get more out of it and compensate a little by doing it again at an incline again my bed. Felt slightly better about the form/loads.

Last, Chapter 26 of the AoP. First segment was more traveling, 42TP. Level 2, as high knees, and split into 12+10+10+10.

Did the workout proper at Level 3 (5 sets; 3x5 pushups + 2x10 squats + 10 jump squats per set), max rest. I chose to step into/out-of planks to dial down the aerobics a bit. Push-ups were so-so. But it was acceptable.

I then got to making today’s Hello Fresh Meal. Cavatappi beef ragù, It was okay. I wound up having to eat most of the leftovers. Might not be high on reprisal list for it.

Did some dishes and did another movie night with a friend. We watched Iron Man 1 & 2, tonight. It was a fun romp.

I did a bit of the usual and some writing, too.

Still got to bed obscenely late, but earlier than yesterday.

-

Feb. 1

I woke up after 10 AM.

Took a shower, did some laundry, made a phone call to fix my drug plan information (procrastinated on that one, lead to a couple days’ lapsing off my meds this week,  bleh), and washed some accessories (face and night masks).

Then I got into today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 80 side leg raises with EC. Dis one side first and then the other here.

Last, Chapter 27 of the AoP. First bit was a very short amount of traveling, just 3TP. Did at Level 2, as high knees, in one go.

Did the workout proper at Level 3, max rest. I’m glad that no matter what level it’s done at, that there was just one plank jump-in per set (at Level 3, I had to do 20 reps of each of everything else for 10 sets.) Doing the cross chops made me almost want to do those with my bokken (but I’m pretty sure I’d bust something in my room... Doing Katana Week again is sounding like a lot of fun, down the line.)

Did most of the usual and a little bit of writing stuff, for rest of night.

I got to bed in the red zone still, but more than an hour earlier than yesterday.

-

Feb. 2

I woke up after 10AM.

Did some writing, dishes, and played some games of rummy with grandma and Dad. Then I did today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 30 split lunges with EC (15/15). Manageable work.

Last, Chapter 28 of the AoP. Look, I was NOT looking forward to doing this. Because balance work - the last set BLIND.

Had one brief drop in my last sighted set - #4 - but I quickly strung together that side’s 10 reps for the balance knee-to-elbow crunches. Set #5 pissed me the fuck off. Managed to string the first side on right foot okay, SECOND side I had to fucking try what felt like over 10 gawd damn times to string it. I HATE blind balance work so fucking much. =_=

But I know in my heart of hearts, that’s more reason to actually practice this skill set. It can be invaluable to try to practice balancing work without visual cues - great for injury prevention especially as one gets older and may experience failing vision and generally worse recovery times from injuries.

One of these days, I’ll learn to be less salty about it. Today is not and was not one of those days.

The usual and some writing happened. So did our microwave deciding to die on us (will get a new one to replace it soon).

I got to bed in the red zone still, but about an hour earlier than yesterday.

-

Feb. 3

I woke up after 10AM.

After a bit of the usual, did today’s exercise.

First, today’s DD. 20 W-extensions with EC. Very doable. Still stuck my desk at least once, but never dropped/stopped for this.

Last, Chapter 29 of the AoP. First part was some travel - 15TP. Done at Level 2, as high knees, in one go.

Second part was a very doable cardio workout, done at Level 3 (15 sets, 1′ rest). Enjoyed doing the jumping jacks. Worked up a bit of a sweat, too.

Last part was 100 climbers, specified in one workout. I did this in one go. Pretty manageable work, for current level of fitness.

Spent most of day chatting and the usual. Did make dinner, but I was so out of it due to med lapse that I did document a pretty bad BFRB spell. (Microwave situation not helping matters.)

I managed to get to bed in the yellow zone, tonight. Partly in consideration for me needing to be up earlier enough to prepare for tomorrow’s appointment.

-

Feb. 4

I woke up after 10AM.

Spent some time logging and preparing notes for my appointment today.

Then, I only got in today’s DD for exercise. 50 plank leg raises with EC. New formatting choice on DAREBEE’s side made me wonder if I should do 25/25 or alternating - chose to do the latter.

Then went to my psych appt. It was kind of a mixed experience that I don’t feel like getting into.

After some of the usual... another family blow-up occurred. I lost all motivation/energy to WO. Yeah, not going to get into it over here... vented on the personal twitter enough.

I got to bed in the green zone. I felt like shit.

-

Feb. 5

I woke up around 7AM, today,

Had a dental appointment to get to. Which went alright. Nice to swing by the Starbucks afterwards, before getting taken home.

Was exhausted enough by the time I got back to take a nap for a couple hours.

Went into my exercise after that and a small snack.

First, today’s DD. 50 jumping jacks with EC. Very doable work. Would be tempted to do more, but I had a brutal workout ahead of me to be contending with, today.

Last, Chapter 30 of the AoP. First segment of things was traveling again. 57 TP. Done at Level 2 as high knees. Split this into 17+4(10).

Workout proper kicked my ass, but I still managed to get through Level 3. Probably the least fun and most dodgy aspect to it was the jump knee tucks part. I pulled in my planks for transitions with a jump, but mixed it up between stepping/jumping out into planks. Mostly to moderate intensity levels a touch - especially some sources/loads of impact.

Opted to pick the option to continue the story.

After that, made today’s Hello Fresh Meal. Za’atar crusted grilling cheese with sumac roasted veggies and couscous. I liked this pretty well, first time I’ve tried sumac before. I’m kind of proud of myself for thinking of cherries/plums when I tasted that spice (as it turned out that those were related fruits.) Probably coulda went a bit easier on the overall oil usage and grilled the cheese at a lower level (to have better integrity).

I spent rest of night on the usual stuff. I got to bed barely into the red zone.

[thisartemisnevermisses]

Suburban Life  12/13

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: angst, fluff,

Summary: Steve had his daily run every morning. While running through the streets he noticeds a house with it’s lights on. A woman is dancing to the music, while making breakfast. Two childeren join her and they start eating. Steve is fasinated with the life of this little family and even stops to withniss this suburbane life every morning during his run. Feeling the need to settle down and the one question remaining Where is the man beloning tot this family?

A/N: Almost done, after this chapter, only the epilogue remains. Enjoy!

Chapter 12: A family again

When you come downstairs, you’re met with two pair of sad eyes. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” the concern in your voice. “It’s just..today you have….It’s teacher/parent conference day at your school. We have to stay at school until you’re done”, Isobel pouts. “Oh, Honey, I’m sorry, but you know it’s twice a year”, hugging Isobel thigh, you look at Alex, who’s grinning mischievously. “Alex, whatever you’re thinking, just don’t”, you warn him, giving him the ‘eyes’. Alex shrugs his shoulder, “I was just wondering if Steve could watch us, while you have those conferences”, his smile brightening. “Alex, Steve’s got other appointments and besides you can’t ask such things from him”, while lecturing your son, you see the smile on Steve’s face brighten, oh no, he’s going to do that, you fist palm yourself internally. “I can’t find a reason why not”, Steve smiles, “It’s the same as this morning, right?” he reassures you. “Well, kind of... they need to do their homework to and…” starting to explain the things that need to be done, Isobel interrupts you, “Mom, we know what we need to do, just let Steve try okay? We’ll behave, I promise?” putting on her puppy eyes, soon to be joined by the eyes of Alex and Steve standing behind them. You look at Steve, “Traitor…”, you whisper, sighing you give in, “Fine, but one wrong move and…”, you start, “It’s going to be okay, let it go, we’ll manage”, Steve lays a hand on your shoulder. “Give me your number, I’ll text you when I’m in the building, so I can pick up the kids”, handing you his phone. Internally you held your fingers crossed, hopefully your kids would behave. You knew what kind of monsters they could be after a schoolday, especially Isobel and her homework.

……….

“You look nice today, Miss y/l/n”, a student greats you, while entering your classroom, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Thank you, Sarah”, you smile, hopefully nobody noticed your absentminded behavior. Trying to finish your notes from last period, you smile thinking about your encounter this morning, it felt so natural, your kids acted so natural and reacted so grown up to the situation. They took your anxiety away and made you realize this relationship didn’t have to end badly. As usually you were overthinking.

Continuing your lesson as usually, you tried as focused as you could. It was like you were a substitute teacher again, searching for the worksheets, constantly losing your pen and the questions from your students seemed for some reason difficult today. Surely some of your students had to notice your behavior today, thankfully none of them made a comment about it.

Even the parent/teacher conferences went by quickly. Deciding to check your e-mail one more time, you log in to check your e-mail. Seeing the amount of new e-mails you sigh and decide to reply the urgent ones, the other e-mails have to wait until tonight, just like your lessonplan. You really want to go home on time, you want to save Steve before those two take advantage of the situation. The screen of your phone lights up and catches your eye when you see Steve’s name in the corner. Looking at the message you smile to yourself, ‘Still at work?’, reads the message, replying with a quick ‘Yes’, you continue your work, only to be disturbed by another message, ‘How long will it take, diners ready…:9)..’, it reads, you smile at his failed attempt to send an emoji. ‘I’m coming home, don’t let it burn :p’, you chuckle at your own message, hopefully he didn’t burn down the house. Closing the door to your classroom, you can’t help but enjoy the warm feeling Steve’s message gives you. You had someone to go home to and it felt good. Sure you loved coming home to your kids, but this made you feel you like a woman again, not only mom and teacher.

 Stepping out of the car, you walk towards the door. Expecting noise or shattering things you approach your house with caution, hearing nothing. Looking through the kitchen window, you see Steve standing by the sink doing dishes, it warms your heart seeing how big of an effort he’s making. But where are your kids? You can’t seem to find them and get a little anxious. While standing in front of your door, you search for your keys. It feels like forever to find your keys, hearing Steve call out towards your kids, calms your nerves. Walking inside your welcomed with warmth and a smell off something delicious cooking, “I’m home” you yell, feeling awkward at the gesture. Remembering this feeling when you got home to your husband, makes you a little sad. Hanging up your coat, you look at the picture at the wall. A picture off the four of you, at an amusement park, happy smiling, all three engulfed in the big arms of your husband. Caressing the picture absentmindedly, you don’t register Steve standing next to you. “Are you okay with me starting over?” you ask the picture, “I promise I won’t forget you, I just can’t take it any longer being alone. I need someone at my side and I think…he’s the right person”, you smile towards the picture, a single tear rolling down your face, “The kids, you got to see the kids, their so happy around them. Like when they were with you, so careless and free”, you sniff and wipe away the tears. Just now registering Steve in the corner of your eyes, startling you a little. Without any words he takes you in his arms, hugging you tight. “It’s okay, don’t feel embarrassed, you two need to talk sometimes, even if he’s not there. I don’t feel offended”, he smiles into your hair. You nuzzle a little closer to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, he was warm and comforting, just the things you need after a hard day of work. “I’m sorry Steve, It’s just coming home like this, it made me remember all those evenings I got home, when he was still around. It made me sad, but I don’t want that anymore. I want to come home to you and feel happy, looking forward to those warm hugs from you”, looking up you smile at him. He bents down and gives you a quick kiss, “ueew!”, Isobel giggles, “hi mommy”, Alex greets you, we behaved, giving you the brightest smile possible. “Hello you two”, opening your arm so you can hug them.

During dinner the conversations are light and cheerful. Enjoying the dinner Steve had cooked, you offer to clean up for him, but he declines. “Well, Isobel let’s get started on that homework of yours”, you motion for your daughter to get her backpack, seeing her smile wide, you look at her questionly. “I already did my homework, while Steve was making dinner”, she smiles smug. “Did you make your homework, or did you ask Steve questions and he made it for you?” eyeing her, trying to figure out if she lied. “y/n, she did it all by herself. She only asked for my help when she didn’t understand”, Steve answers for Isobel. Looking from Steve to your daughter and back again, squeezing your eyes, were they lying? “Isobel you sure?” asking her, seeing her nod and shrug her shoulders, “Really mommy, what do you think of me?” trying to smother her smile. Starting to say something, Steve gives you a quick kiss, “Let it go, she did it all by herself. I just gave instructions. She didn’t trick me into making her homework”, kissing you again. Seeing Isobel stare at the both of you, you sigh and give in, “Okay, I’m proud of you, you’re taking responsibility”, you compliment her. “Thank you mommy, but I only did it because Steve promised me the bigger desert. I’m swoon easily”, she giggles and runs of into the living room. You look at Steve who’s looking for an exit, busted! “So, you bribe my kid, that’s not so very Captain America of you” you smile, walking towards the tall Avenger until his back is against the wall. “Steve, what’s true of what Isobel said?”, you ask standing on your toes, so you can level a little with Steve. “I just…uhm..”, scrapping his throat, he lifts you up and puts you on the table. Smiling wide at the failed strict impression you tried to make, “I told her, she should make homework before dinner, so she could have dessert and playtime after dinner. Just used common sense and some good old pudding”, shrugging his shoulders, continuing to clean up. “Common sense, huh, seems I don’t have that, seeing she doesn’t do that when I tell her”, you say while drying the dishes. “I’m new and she doesn’t know my boundaries or rules, that scares her. She was very quiet, until you came home. She’s okay with us, but needs to get used to being with me, while you’re gone”, Steve explains calm. “When did you become an expert in children?” looking up at him, grinning. I’m no expert in children, but reading body language that’s easy for me”, giving you a kiss on the cheek, putting the dishcloth away and walking towards the living room.

Joining your kids and Steve in the living room while they watch television. “Mommy, don’t you need to do your homework?” Alex ask you, his head resting against Steve’s chest. “My home..work..Oh you mean grading papers. I’m doing that when you two are asleep”, you answers looking at Alex. “But when will you have time to play with Steve?”, he ask innocently, while the two of you choke on your drink. “Alex, I can read a book or watch t.v, while your mom does her homework”, Steve answers snickering at the word homework, looking at you, who's’ sticking her tongue out. His reaction catches you off guard, seeing it isn’t the reaction you expected, “Behave, or I won’t play with you”, he says winking at you.

Once the kids are in bed, the both of you head downstairs. “So, you’re sure you want to stay and wait for me to do my ‘homework’ ?” you ask looking at Steve. “Let’s sit down and talk for a bit. I want to talk to you about something”, taking you by the hand, seating you both on the couch. You look at Steve, what did he want to talk about. It made you nervous. “So, you have to promise me one thing, let me finish before you interrupt me, okay?” he looks at you, taking your hand in his, ‘Oh Boy, here we go”, you think to yourself. “It sounds crazy, but hear me out. I asked Tony if he could install Friday in your house. That way I can stay here and help you out with the kids, your house is protected and you can follow me while I’m away. It eases my mind, knowing you have a pair of eyes watching over you, when I’m on mission. Talking about mission, I won’t be going on a mission for the next month, only when it’s really urgent, I want to spend time with you, without being interrupted. I know we just started dating each other, but it feels familiar, like it has always been you”, Steve stops his rambling and looks at you. “First of all, who or what is Friday? A system or something?”, you ask Steve, his excitement drops with your question, “Just joking Steve, I read and listen to the news I know what Friday is. It’s a..”, pushing you onto the couch, Steve hovers above you, “Really, are you kidding me? I just…” stopping mid-sentence when he hears you giggle. “Steve,…” your eyes softening looking him in the eyes, “It feels so natural to be around you, like we lived with each other our whole lives. Maybe were going too fast, maybe were not going fast enough, but I know that your idea sounds great. And for one time, we don’t have to discuss this with the kids, they are going to be overjoyed. I know when my kids are in love, they will never stop loving their father, but they are starting to love you. That makes me happy and takes away my fear of ruining it. When can Tony install Friday and does this mean you will sleep here as well?” you ask looking up at him, tucking away a strand of hair. “I will ask him tomorrow”, answering your first question while nuzzling your nose and cheek. “I thought I was already sleeping here?” he asks kissing you cheek, then your neck, feeling you react to his kiss. “One night in my bed, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to every night”, you grin, “Maybe you should sleep on the couch tonight”, you shrug, while fumbling with his blouse. “Doll, I told you, you have to behave or I won’t play with you”, Steve smiles mischievous, clearly adopting that smile from Alex. “What do you mean with playing, I have homework to do”, you whisper against his lips, quickly pulling away. “You can do your homework another time”, Steve’s lips are hovering over your, pulling on the collar of him blouse, you close the tiny gap between you. The kiss was a full open-mouthed, sexual kiss. All of those suppressed feelings, spilling in that one kiss. Earning a soft moan from Steve when you shift underneath him. Holding you tight to him, breathing heavy when you break apart. “Do you want to continue this upstairs?” you ask him shy, still irregular breading. “You sure, you want to do this?” he asks standing up. “I’m sure”, answering while standing up, “Just don’t make too much noise, because of the kids”, you ad, making Steve freeze up and look at you wide eyed, “Just kidding, they can’t hear us when the door is close”, you chuckle seeing his face all red. “Doll just wait until were in the bedroom. I’ll get you for that”, Steve warns, walking upstairs with you.  

[multiphandomunnies]

Mayday||Yoohyeon pt.1

A/N: Surprise, suprise! Guess who’s still here ^-^ We’re getting to the climax of the story, hope you will like it!

Warnings: None, we’re getting serious in the second part.

Admin: Heather

Previous chapter Masterlist Next chapter

Things have changed recently. Since your heartfelt moment with Minji your dreams have been peaceful. You had no idea if she played a part in it, but you didn’t have nightmares anymore. It should be a reassuring thing to finally get some decent rest. However you couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was just calm before the storm.

“Sorry, I was just…” Chaeyoung stopped when she noticed who she bumped into. “Oh, hi.”

Yeah, things have definitely changed.

“Long time no see.” You tried to smile, but it came out rather awkwardly.

“Sure, um...” she took a deep breath. “So how are you these days? Are you getting enough sleep?”

The question seemed ordinary, but you could feel the subtext. Chaeyoung was subtly asking you about the Dreamworld situation. Some part of you wanted to confide in her and work through this together. She was always better in putting the pieces together and her notes made you understand the situation much quicker. But getting her involved again could endanger her and there was no way you would let that happen.

“I’m fine.” You simply replied. “Nothing strange happening.”

Chaeyoung sized you up in order to detect any signs of lying. She was way too good at this.

“That’s a relief.” She finally concluded. “You were stressed lately.”

That was one way to put it. You could tell she wanted to ask more, to ensure you weren’t doing anything dangerous or dumb. But she also knew that could make you defensive and ruin your already strained relationship.

“Well, I should go to class.” She awkwardly excused herself. “Take care, Y/N.”

You looked after her and felt a sting in your heart. Chaeyoung has been there for you through thick or thin. Shunning her out was terrible and made you miserable. You could just hope your friendship was possible to repair.

Drowning in your grim thoughts, you nearly missed a piece of paper flying from your locker as you opened it. A quick examination proved it wasn’t yours as the handwriting was different. Someone must have left it here for you. You looked around, but there was not a soul in your nearest surroundings. The only thing left to do was reading the scribbled text.

 “Sleeping well?” you crumbled the paper and slammed your locker shut at the sudden voice right next to you. Leaning against the locker in her oversized sweater was Handong. “You’re quite jumpy.”

“You surprised me.” You smiled at her and tried to calm your racing heart down. “And yes, I’m getting plenty of sleep.”

“That’s good to hear.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “Thankfully your nightly escapades are not interfering with your sleep schedule.”

Busted.

“I know I promised not to get into this.” You started apologetically. “But I really want to help you. All of you. So please don’t be mad at me.”

Handong kept looking at you for a moment and eventually sighed.

“How can I be mad at you when you’re that brave?” she shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I support your risk taking.”

You smiled at her and she rolled her eyes a bit before smiling herself.

“I don’t like this, Y/N.” she admitted. “Minji told me about your conversation and promised she will do everything to keep you safe, but I can’t help but worry.”

“Funny how she got from chasing me around to protecting me.” You noted and Handong nodded with an unreadable expression.

“You’re oversimplifying it, but pretty much. Minji is very powerful and I trust her.” She got silent for a bit before continuing. “That’s actually why I’m here.”

You noticed how she checked the hall for any potential eavesdroppers.

“Jiu wants us to talk.”

“Us?”

“All of us.”

That was interesting. You still haven’t met two of the girls and were really curious about them. Your contact with Siyeon and Bora has been very brief. This was a rare chance to have them all in one place.

“How are you planning to do this?” you asked. “I don’t think we can meet up at school.”

Handong’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Don’t worry about that.” She assured. “I will come and get you.”

Your lids felt heavy when you woke up with a grunt. You rubbed at them in order to become more aware of your surroundings. It was still dark, so you could get a few hours of sleep more. And then you noticed Handong sitting on a chair.

“Sorry to keep you from sleeping, but I have an appointment.” She grinned at you. “You do look adorable though.”

“Were you watching me sleep?” you asked in a hoarse voice.

“Technically, you’re dreaming right now. And watching is kind of my thing.”

“Fair enough.” You groaned and tumbled out of bed. Thankfully your dream self was wearing normal clothes and saved you from embarrassment.

“We’re going to talk here?” you asked the girl after she gracefully stood up.

“We can’t talk in Dreamworld, it’s too risky.” She explained. “So we’re in a safer location. This is your dream.”

Having Handong in your dream seemed pretty reasonable.

“Should I give you a tour?” you joked, and she smiled.

“Lead the way.” Your arms linked and you moved towards the door.

For some reason you didn’t appear in your living room. You glanced at Handong who seemed to be equally perplexed. Her hold around your arm tightened. You were in the main room of the mansion. Gone was the blue eerie glow, everything looked exactly like in your previous dreams.

Of course they never included a group of beautiful girls, but you could get used to that part. You recognized Siyeon sitting on a desk. Her eyes were focused on you with that intense gaze.

“It’s been a while.” She greeted and continued to stare. As if she was daring you to say something.

On Siyeon’s left was the small girl in a yellow dress that jumped onto her in the flashback. She didn’t seem that innocent right now, even though her soft face suggested young age. Especially when compared to Bora’s elegant features. The girl looked even more ethereal with a serious expression. She didn’t acknowledge your presence, but you could swear she casted you a fleeting glance.

“What is going on?” Handong broke the silence and look towards Jiu. She was standing by the wall opposite you. That location allowed her to see everyone without turning.

“We are here to talk.” She stated. “And then we have to act.”

That vague words didn’t do much to ease your confusion. Did Jiu have a plan to save Yoohyeon? Or maybe she figured out the way to lift the curse.

“Can you get to the point, please?” Handong asked calmly, but it was clear that she was starting to get anxious and even a bit annoyed.

“You know what we have to do.” The leader looked Handong in the eye. “We already discussed it.”

Your companion nodded stiffly and avoided looking at you.

“Why did you tell me to bring Y/N here then? This is our problem.”

Jiu didn’t say anything, and her gaze hardened. She felt just like the one that intimidated you every night. You were sure her return didn’t mean anything good for you.

“You can’t be planning to…” Handong finally found her answer in Jiu’s eyes. “Jiu, no. It was supposed to be a last resort. And it shouldn’t have come to that.”

“It is last resort.” Siyeon slid from the desk and moved a step closer. “This ritual is our only chance to stop the madness. And we need every help.”

You remembered the note found in the locker that day. It didn’t really occur to you that this might have been the thing that kept tormenting the girls. You were right, there was a way to put an end to this. To get Yoohyeon back and save everyone.

“I want to help. What should I do?” you asked and Siyeon sent you an impressed smirk. Handong didn’t seem too pleased.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Y/N.” she insisted. “You are fully mortal and should not enter the Dreamworld that way. You don’t have the connection to it.”

“Maybe I should make that connection then?”

You have been to Dreamworld before and even managed to interact with it. This may have made you useful and capable of bringing Yoohyeon back.

Apparently, this wasn’t the correct answer, cause Handong’s usually gentle expression turned into a full on glare.

“No.” she said with force. “You have no idea what you are talking about. It’s not some kind of breezy thing to do on a Friday evening.”

You could see she meant every word and it would be a smart choice to listen to her and back off. However, you were never one to make reasonable decisions in situations like that.

“Then explain it to me.” You requested. “How can I make a choice when I don’t know the full picture.”

“This is not a choice you should be making nor a picture for you to see.” Handong insisted, her eyes softening the slightest bit after meeting yours. “You can’t go back after that.”

Whatever they planned to do must have been serious. Letting you join a full group meeting was a sign of how severe their situation was. You glanced at Jiu and noticed her shifting her gaze from you. She knew they needed help but didn’t want to pressure you.

“Please tell me what I would have to do.” You repeated, standing your ground.

Handong sighed in defeat and crossed her arms. Jiu stepped forward.

“Yoohyeon has been trapped in Dreamworld. She’s almost completely gone, and we have to bring her back before it’s too late.”

That explained exactly nothing. You knew all of this. Yoohyeon has been in catatonic state for some time now and it was obvious it had something to do with the Dreamworld.

“Why can’t you go into the Dreamworld and get her?” maybe it was a dumb question, but what could you do with so limited information.

“I’m not talking about the Dreamworld you know.” Jiu continued her story stoically. “You only visited it while asleep, it took very little of your consciousness and you were still rooted in the real world.”

“So you’re saying that in order to save Yoohyeon I would have to enter the Dreamworld fully?”

Handong shivered at your words. You looked at her in concern before turning back to Jiu.

“That would make you a goner and we’d like to avoid it.”

Oh okay. You would gladly avoid that too if possible. Still it would be nice to learn everything about the procedure.

“So the goal is to enter the Dreamworld without getting sucked into it?”

Siyeon grinned dangerously and seized you up and down with her gaze.

“What a quick thinker.” She purred. “No wonder Handong is so fond of you.”

For some reason the compliment didn’t make you flattered. You felt more like a vulnerable prey staring right into the eyes of a powerful predator. Like a fly getting to close to a colorful, but lethal flower that was ready to devour you-

“Stop that.”

Handong’s warning tone helped you snap back into reality. Or whatever realm you were currently in. Siyeon just smirked in amusement and moved back to lean against the desk she was previously sitting on.

“Don’t lose focus, Y/N.” her tone had a teasing edge to it. “Surviving in Dreamworld requires not losing awareness of your surroundings.”

“Especially with Yoohyeon being all over the place.” Jiu added without any emotion in her eyes. “Being lost in Dreamworld could make her a vulnerable target. Her powers can get exploited.

Handong shifted her glare back to the leader.

“Which is another reason why we should not drag uncorrupted soul into this.”

The discussion didn’t seem to lead to any conclusions and the clock was ticking. You had no idea how much time was left until your alarm, but there was a possibility that soon you will get ripped out of the conversation without coming to an agreement. But every time you were moving forward, someone got carried away.

Nobody else seemed to care. Sua was silent and looked almost detached from the conversation as if her mind kept wandering to different places while the small girl on her left kept listening to her companions with patience. Neither of them seemed to be bothered by the others’ debate about your fate.

“Shouldn’t I get a say in this?”

Your sudden outburst attracted attention from all parties involved. To be honest, you were surprised that you managed to speak up, but it just felt important to share your thoughts on the matter with everyone.

“I don’t really know Yoohyeon.” You admit, eyes flickering to seize the girls’ reaction. “And I’m not experienced in the supernatural field in any way.”

Nobody tried to interrupt you. They all knew you weren’t finished, and some could probably tell when was your speech going.

“However.” Deep breath, Y/N, you can do this. “I won’t just stand here and pretend that it doesn’t concern me. I’m in this with you, guys. Whether you like it or not.”

The last words were aimed directly at Handong. You looked her in the eye, pleading her to understand.

“And you don’t have to agree with me, but I want to help you. Help Yoohyeon.” Your eyes found Jiu. “But you will have to tell me how to do it.”

Jiu seemed unbothered by your speech. Her expression didn’t change a bit and the only sign that she heard you was a simple nod. You could hear Handong sigh.

“I appreciate your eagerness, Y/N.” the leader said. “In order to perform the ritual, we will need all members on board. At least all available ones.”

If mentioning Yoohyeon made any emotion spark inside her, there was no way for you to see it. Jiu was a polar opposite of Minji, and it was hard to get used to it again.

“What happens if someone refuses?” you asked, casting a quick glance at Handong who weren’t looking at you.

“There is a bigger risk of getting lost in Dreamworld forever and destroying everyone involved in the process.

Oh. That was a precise answer. Jiu certainly wasn’t a big fan of sugarcoating. It was both impressive and concerning. How could a person be that calm with a perspective of potential death before them?

“I suggest we vote. If the majority chooses not to do it, we find a different way. But if the results lean towards performing the ritual, we will all do it. That’s the safest and fairest deal.”

It made sense, at least in your eyes. All or nothing. Either you take part in a huge quest to a dangerous realm or go back to your normal life with a huge amount of guilt. Everything was in the hands of the group. Everyone seemed to approve Jiu’s idea as nobody vetoed. Now you had to wait and see.

“What if there’s a draw?” Siyeon pointed out nonchalantly. “Without Yoohyeon there is six of us.”

Six? You knew there were seven of the but didn’t notice the sixth one being in this room. Maybe she was elsewhere and will join you later? That didn’t seem plausible, Handong seemed sure all of them will be present tonight.

“I can withhold my vote.” The small girl finally spoke up. The tone of her voice was calm, but not eerily like Jiu’s. It sounded as if the girl didn’t really have any opinion.

“Are you sure, Gahyeon? Do you mind telling us your reasons?”

Jiu didn’t seem surprised or annoyed with Gahyeon’s choice. Maybe she saw that coming or respected her member’s wishes to remain silent on the matter.

“I don’t really know Y/N to be honest. So I don’t think there’s any point in voting if I have no idea about my options.” Gahyeon explained with a small shrug and looked at you. “No offence.”

“None taken.” You assured. It was comforting to know she approached the voting seriously and decided to step back for its sake.

Jiu nodded and proceeded with the voting. Gahyeon leaned back in her seat and continued watching the situation unveil. You had no idea about her powers or involvement in the group dynamics, so it was reassuring to know she also had no opinion about you. It meant you were not screwing up enough for her to decide you’re an idiot.

“I don’t think I have to voice my thoughts.” Handong crossed her arms once again with a glare. “But I will do it anyway. That is a horrible idea and Y/N should not get involved in it more than necessary.”

That was not a surprising opinion. You knew from the beginning that Handong will be against your participation.

“Well, I think that’s our best shot and we need every support we can get.” Siyeon stated firmly, the smirk gone from her face. This was business and she wasn’t going to play around. “I’m aware of the consequences as much as all of you. But don’t you think Y/N is ready for this? How many times have we tried to keep you away from us?”

She was looking at you, clearly expecting an answer.

“Countless.”

“How many times has it worked?”

“None.”

“Exactly. My point stands, thanks for your attention.”

You had to admit that it left an impact. She stunned you with a logical argument that would probably convince you to do it, if you had any doubts left. Handong seemed to be immune to that as her only reaction was an eye roll and a head shake.

“I’m with Siyeon.” It was time for Jiu to take the lead once again. “That shouldn’t be a surprise as I was the one who requested Y/N’s presence in the first place. We have been waiting for too long, it’s time to take action.”

The pattern was getting clearer with every word. It made sense that such a prominent figure like Jiu and a headstrong, outspoken Siyeon were ready to take the risk and let you join the game. Handong has always struck you as gentle, cautious and prone to settle for the least dangerous option. Especially if there were other people involved.

“What do you think, Sua?” Siyeon looked at the other girl who hasn’t spoken a word for the whole time. She straightened herself up on the couch a little, eyes still looking ahead.

There was no way in guessing her decision. Sua was a bit of a wild card for you. Her actions seemed to contradict each other and it was impossible to predict her next move. Constantly switching between hot and cold, Sua was hands down the biggest enigma of the group.

“I didn’t think we would have to face a choice like this.” She admitted finally after a moment of silence. “This is without a doubt our best chance at bringing Yoohyeon back. We all know this.”

Even without looking up, it was clear the words were aimed at Handong, who shifted in her spot a little. Siyeon kept her gaze focused on the sitting girl without interrupting or rushing her. You realized that you forgot about how from the beginning Sua seemed to be one of the most important members of the group. It was harder to keep track on everything without the journal.

“We should probably take the chance, but adding another participant will not change the outcome. At least for us.”

Countless questions popped into your head. You wondered if anyone else felt confused after the statement. What was the meaning of her words?

“Are you implying that we don’t need Y/N to complete the ritual?” Handong asked slowly. She looked at Siyeon who continued staring at Sua with an equally puzzled expression.

“What I’m saying-“ Sua took a deep breath as if she was bracing herself to say something very important. “Is that it won’t make a difference from our perspective.”

You had no idea how to interpret this. It started to sound as if your presence was insignificant and had no use in the current situation. That stung a little.

“So you are staying neutral like Gahyeon?” Jiu stayed expressionless, but the question implied she was also unsure.

“I could. But while it won’t change anything for us, there will be a huge difference for Y/N.”

That was interesting.

“For me? And what do you mean it won’t change anything?”

Sua’s eyes got distant for a split second before refocusing. She pursed her lips as if debating on something internally.

“While it’s our best shot, it’s also your last chance to go back. Nothing will stay the same after you enter Dreamworld and it’s very easy to go too deep.”

“I’m aware of that. I know that the Dreamworld is a dangerous place, but I’m already deeply involved.

Her reasoning was clearly meant to influence you in some way. She was trying to tell you something. Give you a warning. But you couldn’t put your finger on the exact message.

“Some things are irreversible. And sometimes best intentions are not enough, and things get out of your control when you are not prepared.”

She took another breath and it seemed like her inner turmoil came to an end.

“Y/N should back off while there’s still a chance. If I got an opportunity to go back, I’d take it without hesitation.”

Her words were filled with a certain heaviness that you couldn’t understand. For the first time the realization hit you with full force. You knew the girls were cursed, but it never fully occurred to you. There was a little part of you that knew you could run away. But now you were getting to the point of no return.

Handong seemed to notice your doubts. She grabbed your hand again and squeezed.

“Y/N?” she whispered. “Say a word and this voting will be over. You can still refuse.”

A part of you wanted to agree with her. Run away and never come back. But you knew that you made a decision and deep down there was only one option that you were willing to try.

You shook you head and Handong sighed.

“Seems like we have a tie.” She noticed. You could tell she was still hoping that the odds were on her side.

That was the moment when the sixth girl should suddenly appear from the smoke and decide about your fate in a spectacular manner. Like you were a gladiator on the arena. But nothing happened. There were still seven of you in the room and nobody seemed to care about that.

“Dami, it’s up to you.” Siyeon turned her head to you and tilted it a bit.

You looked behind in confusion and almost jumped when you noticed a girl standing by the wall. Was she there the whole time? Everyone seemed to be aware of her presence and even Handong, who was standing right next to you, wasn’t surprised. You had to work on your observation skills.

“We should do it.” She stated.

That was Dami’s whole statement. She went back to being silent, but not in an emotionless way. It seemed like she said everything she had to say.

“That’s it?” Handong was baffled.

“Yes.”

There were no further questions. Dami must have had an important position in their little group. On the other hand you wouldn’t dare to doubt her and that was your first time seeing that girl. There was just something about her. It wasn’t the authority radiating from Jiu or even Siyeon’s aura of contained danger. Even Handong didn’t press further, just opting for a defeated sigh. For someone so insistent on keeping you from shady nightmare business, she accepted the vague decision without a fight. Maybe it was the way Dami voiced it. No doubt, no hesitation and, surprisingly, no emotional inclination whatsoever. All that give an impression of a calculated choice.

“Looks like the decision has been made.” Jiu concluded.

You turned to the side. No sign of Handong on the chair. The sun was streaming through the curtains. The clock was showing it was one minute until your alarm goes off.

Guess the decision has been made.

[chicagocryptid]

43 for Teil? Idk if it works with the age difference but we love a pair of competitive nerds.

Valedictorian (Pt 1!) // Todd x Neil (WC:1103)

Warnings: None!

Todd had hated the move. It was an annoying process, especially since his parents had a very bad habit of waiting until the last minute to do ANYTHING, and his anxiety wouldn’t let him rest, so he’d ended up packing most of the apartment himself. But he was looking forward to a fresh start, and a new school, and his grades had been good enough that he’d been allowed to skip up a grade, even though the school year had already started. One less year of high school was almost enough to make the hassle worth it. 

Almost. 

He met Neil on his fist day, though admittedly, they hadn’t paid much attention to each other. He’d been assigned to give Todd a tour of the school and show him to his first class, and then they’d parted ways. He was a good six inches taller than Todd, and slender, with a voice thick and smooth like molasses. If Todd had been a little bolder, he might have asked for his number. But he wasn’t, and after that there was nothing more than a nod in the hallway or a small wave when they crossed paths in the cafeteria. 

Todd excelled at the new high school. He had a hunch that the curriculum was less strict, but he flew through homework and most of the year passed him in a flash. He hadn’t even given much thought to graduation until it was only eight weeks away, and the final honor roll was published in the school news paper. Todd’s was at the top, which surprised him. And one beneath, was Neil’s. Todd had only given Neil a passing thought every now and then, but he hadn’t even considered him competition. Apparently Neil hadn’t been so lax about their meeting, because he cornered Todd near his locker the same day after school. 

“Morrison!” Even though Todd hadn’t heard it since his first day, he knew it was Neil’s voice, even before the latter was upon him. “We need to talk.” Todd shrunk against the locker but tried to maintain his composure, and offered up a shy smile. Angry, he was even more attractive, the furrow between them highlighting the arch of his eyebrows. 

“Hey, Neil, what’s up?” One of his slender fingers jabbed Todd in the chest, hitting hard against his sternum. Todd flinched. 

“Don’t act like you’re not gunning for me. I know you saw the honor roll today. Do you know how hard I’ve worked to get to the top of that list? I bust my ass every. Day. I haven’t missed class for so much as a dentist appointment since the fifth grade. And you waltz in here, halfway through the year, and think you can snatch that out from underneath me?” A rush of anger filled Todd, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Who did this kid think he was?

Todd worked hard too. He stayed up late pouring over textbooks and drowning in cups of coffee. He got to school early when he needed help and forewent extra-curriculars so he could focus on academics. He shouldn’t be punished for being smart. And he certainly shouldn’t be threatened for it. 

“Hey man, relax. May the best man win.” Todd tried to duck around Neil, but he put his hand against the locker, palm flat. The sound of flesh against metal made Todd’s heart leap, and Neil so close to him, suddenly ten feet tall, didn’t help. 

“I will, Morrison. Count on it.” He stuck Todd in the chest again, and then took off down the hallway, long strides carrying him out of sight before Todd could catch his breath. He wished he had thought of something clever to say, or at least said something that gained him some footing. He supposed he would just have to show Neil he wasn’t just some kid to be trifled with. 

So he worked harder. He stayed up later. Got to class earlier. Asked for extra credit when he could get it, and schmoozed teachers when he couldn’t. Any encounter he had with Neil now was full of contempt; If they weren’t blatantly ignoring each other, they were sizing each other up, casting shadowed looks at each other. The tension grew as it got closer to graduation, but there was no way to know Neil’s GPA, and they weren’t in any of the same classes for Todd to try and compare. Instead, he was flying blind, waiting to see who would land first.

Three days before graduation they were both pulled into the principals office. Todd stuck close to the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, while Neil fumed in one of the plastic chairs, twisting his fingers together. There was only one reason they’d both be here, and it was clear they were as full of venom as they had been on the day Neil came to his locker. But for the first time, Todd found himself hoping he’d lost.

Given the opportunity to observe Neil up close while they were waiting, Todd could see the bags under his eyes had worsened. His mouth looked drawn and tired. He could see places on his fingers where Neil had bitten them to the quick, and pulled at cuticles. His leg bounced incessantly, and for the first time, Todd realized every time he had seen him lately, he’d been toting an iced coffee. While Todd had been driven purely out of spite, maybe Neil had been battling something more.

Todd stuck one of his own fingers in his mouth, chewing on the nail without actually breaking it. Neil, irritated, ripped his eyes from the floor. For a moment, he seemed to falter under Todd’s gaze. Maybe he looked just as bad, he thought. But Neil hardened again. “Don’t bite your nails.” His voice was cold and drafty, but even that too, was drained.

Footsteps. And then an elderly blonde woman’s head peeking out from around the corner.

“Boys, you can come back now.”

[drlaurynlax]

7 Reasons Why Insurance Won’t Pay for Functional Medicine

Functional medicine focuses on getting to the root cause of your problem instead of just treating the symptom.

We are living in one of the worst chronic disease epidemics of all time with 1 in 2 Americans living with a chronic disease (CDC, 2017) caused by preventable lifestyle factors, like nutrition and sleep, and a projected 100,000 doctor shortage by 2030 (Association of American Medical Colleges, 2017). 

The solution? If you’re looking to insurance, you may be waiting awhile, at least if you want an option other than the current model, like Functional Medicine or a holistic doctor.

Practitioners who take  an “unconventional approach” to medicine by addressing the roots of disease, as opposed to managing symptoms like the norm.

Sound Familiar?

If you’ve ever been to the doctor, you’ve probably experienced the healthcare rabbit hole. 

1st Step: Feel sick.

2nd: Step Call the doctor to make an appointment.

3rd Step: Wait 1-4 weeks to get seen. 

4th Step: Go to see the doctor. Wait in the waiting room. Chat briefly.

5th Step: Walk out with a prescription or go down a rabbit hole to see another specialist or schedule another appointment.

We ALL know that rabbit hole: 

The Rabbit Hole of Healthcare

In the traditional healthcare system, it takes an average of121 minutes each time a person seeks medical care just to get seen. The total includes 37 minutes of travel time, as well as 87 minutes at the doctor’s office or clinic—most of that spent waiting in the waiting room. (Ray et al, 2015)  

In fact, the average person only spends 15 minutes of “talk time” with the doctor in a visit (Tai-Seale et al, 2007). 

Couple this with the projection tha,t by 2030, America will have a 100,000 doctor shortage (Association of American Medical Colleges, 2017)—unable to meet the “demands” of the, now, 1 in 2 Americans who has a chronic disease (CDC, 2017) and, Houston…we have a problem!

I’ve been there, got the t-shirt. 

The Scene: Healthcare & Current Insurance Inefficiencies 

I had waited 3-months for the appointment with a local doctor in town. 

Nothing unusual—as the “average” wait time to see a doctor nowadays—especially a specialist—is an average of 24-52 days (Merritt Hawkins, 2017). And, not for anything crazy—just an annual “Well Woman” check up. 

So there I was in a conventional outpatient clinic, after 3-months of waiting to see the doctor, and here’s what went down under my conventional health insurance…

What Traditional Health Insurance DOES Cover

1. OVERBOOKED APPOINTMENTS:

Traffic was shut down to one lane on I-35 in Austin and I was running right on time to the appointment (not early). I called the office on my way to inform them of the situation, to which they said to still come in.I managed to park in the lot right at 8:35 a.m. and race upstairs for my 8:30 a.m. appointment.

Once checking in with the staff, she told me she’d have to call back to the doctor’s staff (which they had already done) to verify I could get “in.” 10-minutes later, confirmation was given—I could go back to the waiting room.

2. DISORGANIZATION:

However, before being released to the waiting room, ANOTHER hurdle…

Front Desk: “Oh wait a second..you can’t see the doctor, you have an HMO plan,” the front desk girl said.

Me: “My doctor faxed it over 3-months ago when I made the appointment.”

Front Desk: “You will need to fax it again if you want to keep the appointment,” the girl said.

(I quickly texted my doctor—one of my colleagues and now friends—and the situation was resolved).

3. A SYMPTOM-BASED APPROACH:

As I sat in the waiting room, I was asked to complete a one-page form.The only thing the form asked me about was…my symptoms, my brief health history (surgeries, family diseases), if I smoke or drank, and the date of my last period. 

That’s it.

No exploration around my current diet, sleep habits, what work I had already done around my gut health, my health goals, my physical activity patterns, food intolerances and beyond.

4. CHRONIC DISEASE SYMPTOMS:

Initially, it only took about 15-minutes once I was in the waiting room to go back to the clinic room. The nurse was very nice and did her routine thing: blood pressure, weight check, heart rate and body temperature. She also asked me the SAME questions on my health form. She was shocked to hear how I had NO diseases whatsoever. My ONLY complaint was chronic constipation. (Apparently she was used to hearing ALOT more). 

5. LONG 2-HOUR WAITS:

After our check in, the nurse left me be…for 2 hours.

At one point in my waiting, she actually asked if she could “pull me” out of my room for “about 10 minutes” to go back to the waiting room in order to see another patient.

So I went back to the waiting room where I waited another 45-minutes…

6. NO APPOINTMENTS: 

I had booked a 10:30 am appointment with a client of mine—allotting for my 8:30 a.m. doctor visit that morning, thinking I’d have plenty of time in between. 10:20 a.m. rolled around and I was STILL in the waiting room. To say the least, I did not get seen, and the nurse told me she’d call back that evening to reschedule…which did not happen.

The Solution?: People Want to Take Their Health Into Their Own Hands

Many people are looking to take their health into their own hands—with at least 80% of all people seeking out advice on search engines like Google alone (Pew Research Center, 2013). 

Others are looking for OTHER options (like holistic doctors, health coaches and functional medicine providers). 

According to a report from the National Institute for Health in 2015 alone, researchers found that about 1 in 3 Americans were utilizing some sort of alternative or holistic care out of mainstream medicine (Stussman et al, 2015). 

Fast forward to today, and there is no doubt that those numbers are consistent—if not more—with the job outlook for all allied healthcare providers expected to go up by 2026 according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics (including occupational therapy, physical therapy, personal fitness training, health coaching, life coaching, acupuncture, chiropractic care and naturopathic or functional medicine). 

However, this doesn’t mean these alternative providers are always covered by health insurance. 

A common question we as functional medicine practitioners are asked is:

Patient: “Do you take insurance?”

Functional Medicine Provider: To which we most often reply, “No.”

Although many holistic doctors and functional medicine practitioners CAN submit superbills, and SOME CAN reimburse partially for visits or lab testing, generally most holistic doctors and functional medicine practitioners are cash pay.

Why?!

Let me give you 7 reasons.

7 Reasons Why Insurance Doesn’t Cover Holistic Doctors & Functional Medicine

1. Insurance is NOT Patient-Centered.

Functional Medicine is patient-centered. Instead of focusing on numbers-centered or about getting more people in the door, wee typically take time to review your chart well before your appointment.

2. Insurance is NOT Big on Taking Time with Patients.

Functional Medicine takes time. We don’t rush to get you through our churn mill. Typically, you will spend 1-2 hours for your first appointment so your practitioner can truly get to know your story. The doctor will assess your health struggles and your goals.

3. Insurance is NOT Focused on the Whole Body.

Functional Medicine is a “Whole Body Medicine,” taking into consideration all aspects of your health and life. Those that contribute to how you feel and the presentation of disease. It’s different from an endocrinologist who just looks at your hormones and thyroid, an ENT doc who just looks at your ears, nose and throat, or a psychologist who just focuses on your mental health. Functional Medicine acknowledges a respect and awareness of how ALL body systems impact one another, including:

Gut Health

Brain Function

Hormone Health

Detoxification Pathways

Mindset/Mentality

Cardiovascular Health

Immunity

Thyroid & Metabolic Health

Mineral & Vitamin Status

  4. Insurance Does NOT Address the Roots of Disease.

Functional Medicine does. Instead of looking to suppress or manage symptoms from the top down, we take a “bottom up” approach. We find and address the triggers and root causes of any disease or symptoms a patient is experiencing. These include bacterial overgrowth and SIBO (connected with skin conditions, chronic headaches, metabolic dysfunction, and GI disturbances), or cortisol imbalances (connected with insomnia, anxiety, blood sugar imbalances, and GI disturbances). 

5. Insurance is NOT Focused on Prevention.

Functional Medicine focused on preventing disease, or further decline of health from happening by using laboratory reference ranges (blood work, urine, stool analysis, etc.) that reflect the progression of disease (in order to help reverse it early). We also integrate lifestyle medicine FIRST to support our clients health as a whole. Through a holistic care plan that includes nutrition, supplement, lifestyle healing and stress busting strategies, and physical activity.

6. Insurance Views Functional Medicine as “Quack” Medicine.

Contrary to popular belief, Functional Medicine isn’t about “woo woo” or “voo doo.”  Functional Medicine acknowledges the latest in research to influence and support care. In fact, Functional Medicine is simply an approach to medicine. Healthcare says, “Hey guys, let’s address lifestyle factors FIRST and consider all aspects of health—not symptoms—before turning to medicines or negating other factors of our patients’ modern day lifestyles.”

Functional medicine acknowledges science, reason and research for modes of healing and treatment protocols. If anything, is a compliment to the ever-evolving research in traditional medicine.

For example, with the past 3 years of research on the gut microbiome alone (more than 8,000 studies in PubMed), we know that our gut health definitely influences other aspects of our health, including our mood and anxiety levels (Clapp et al, 2017), our metabolism (Boulange et al, 2016) and brain health (Li et al, 2017). In practice, Functional Medicine is more readily able to address gut healing for all types of conditions and diseases.

Another example: when TIME Magazine leaked the “big news” that the sugar industry paid off the FDA to hide evidence that sugar—not saturated fat—was the driver of all disease, Functional Medicine practitioners could further educate their patients as to why butter, bacon and egg yolks are NOT bad. Mainstream medicine on the other hand? Still preaching that saturated fat and high cholesterol are the number one drivers of heart disease. Nevertheless, insurance companies DON’T always look for the research on their own.

7. Insurance is Stuck in the Good Ol’ Days.

If you’ve ever simply tried to call or fax something to your insurance provider, you know the never-ending hold times. In addition, inefficiencies of modern day health care (seemingly stuck in 1961). Whereas, functional medicine is now integrating more and more tele-health, “biohacking” (alternative therapies and healing supports, like infrared saunas, hot-cold therapy, coffee enemas and herbal supplements), and high-tech EMR’s (medical record systems), Insurance still has you on a “brief hold”and is comfortable doing things they’ve always done. 

Bio:

Dr. Lauryn Lax is a Doctor of Occupational Therapy, Nutritional Therapy Practitioner, Functional Medicine Practitioner, author and speaker, with over 20 years of clinical and personal experience specializing in gut health, intuitive eating, disordered eating, anxiety, hormone balance and women’s health. She’s based in Austin, Texas, and operates a virtual Nutrition & Functional Medicine practice, Thrive Wellness & Recovery, LLC, working with clients and patients around the world. In addition, Dr. Lauryn is a published journalist and speaker. Her works have been featured in Oxygen Magazine, Women’s Health, Paleo Magazine, Breaking Muscle, CrossFit Inc, USA Today, ABC and CBS News.  Ultimately, she loves nothing more than helping others “quiet the noise” in the health food and fitness world.

  The post 7 Reasons Why Insurance Won’t Pay for Functional Medicine appeared first on Meet Dr. Lauryn.

Source/Repost=> https://drlauryn.com/wellness-knowledge/insurance-wont-pay-functional-medicine/ ** Dr. Lauryn Lax __Nutrition. Therapy. Functional Medicine ** https://drlauryn.com/

[evilsnowswan]

Summary: [Rumbelle Mermaid!AU] based on this prompt by repeatinglitanies: “In a world where people are aware of the existence of mermaids, Belle is a mermaid who lives in the world’s largest aquarium along with other sea creatures. She enjoys looking at the little humans who come to visit, especially a floofy haired boy who comes every week with his father….” An injured Belle is captured and brought to Gold and Milah’s aquarium. Gold is a marine biologist dedicated to protecting the creatures there, Milah wants to turn a profit, and their son has his own ideas about how to befriend a mermaid.

Rating: G/Teen Link to full story: [Read on AO3] Previous Chapters: [Coverart][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6][Chapter 7][Chapter 8][Chapter 9][Chapter 10][Chapter 11][Chapter 12][Chapter 13][Chapter 14][Chapter 15][Chapter 16]

Current Chapter: 17/? Chapter Summary: Milah's back - and she's on a mission.

Chapter 17

The apartment was a mess; the books were a mess. Admittedly, the latter less so than she had anticipated, which was nice. Unlike her husband, Killian still tried.

Murchadh had no reason to try and impress her anymore.

Well, he’d surprised her, stunned her even, she had to give him that. Just as the messy kitchen, his obsession with the creature shouldn’t have come as a surprise exactly, but the extent of it had still rendered her speechless.

“She responded well to the aloe?” Milah looked up from her half-finished Southern Cobb salad and smiled at her husband. “I’m glad.” She watched him lower his fork, mashed potato and sauce dripping onto his plate. He closed his mouth and swallowed.

“Uh, yes. Very… well.” His eyes narrowed, but only by a fraction.

“How nice.” She dabbed at the corners of her smile with her napkin. “Who would have thought mermaids got sunburn?!” She turned to Baelfire. “That’s why we always put on sunscreen at the pool, Baelfire.”

Baelfire rolled his eyes as he took a big gulp of his soda. She didn’t normally allow soft drinks in the house, let alone at the dinner table, but, as this was their first proper night home and the last weekend of Baelfire’s summer break, she had made the exception. She wouldn’t, however, let him forget his manners.

Murchadh beat her to it.

“Bae!” He put his fork and knife down and leaned closer to look directly at their son. “Don’t be rude to your mother, my boy.”

She almost felt proud of him then – before he ruined the effect with a push-over smile. He was such a softie.

“Sorry.” Baelfire sat back in his chair, looking everything but. Tanned and freckle-faced, he fought back that cheeky grin she loved so much. For once, his goofy ears weren’t red from nerves or anxiety, but from being a regular little boy on his summer vacation. She would take all the ripped jeans, grass stains, and busted lips – and even tolerate a little backtalk every now and then – if it meant her little man finally acted like one.

“Baelfire, please sit up straight and finish your dinner,” she said.

The boy huffed before stuffing a forkful of potato in his mouth. He finished chewing his food in silence, then pushed away his plate. “I’m full.” Catching her eye, he quickly added, “May I be excused?”

She and Murchadh shared a look across the table.

“You may. But please, play in your room quietly.”

“But –, Can’t I–?”

“You heard your mother.”

What had gotten into Murchadh tonight? Whatever it was, Milah decided she liked it.

“Fine.” With a sigh, Baelfire got up and carried his plate to the sink. Stepping on the stepping stool, he washed his hands and dried them. “Can I go play Star Wars?”

Murchadh’s eyebrows shot up, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth. He looked so baffled and confused, it made her laugh. She quickly stifled her amusement to a cough and hid it behind her hand. “Alright, Baelfire, but only fifteen minutes. And please, brush your teeth and put on your pajamas first.”

“Okay.” He hopped off and dashed out of the room, hollering “Will you come and tuck me in, Papa?,” back over his shoulder.

“A gift from his grandmother.” Milah took a sip of her wine and crossed her legs under the table. “All the boys are playing it now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He had a lot of fun, you know?” She set her glass down, ran a finger along the rim. “His butterfly is getting better. He’s got great wingspan and power for his age, Murchadh. Maybe, once school starts over in town, swim team tryouts might not be such a bad idea. It’ll be good for him. What do you think?”

He liked when she asked his opinion. She hadn’t done that in a long time. Judging by the creases on his forehead, it seemed to confuse him even more than the casual mention of Star Wars in their kitchen.

She blinked, played with an earring.

“Well, if… if that’s what Bae wants, yes. I mean, if he would like to do it… sure.” He let out a breath.

 “I agree.” She wet her lips. They tasted like wine, the fresh and fruity a clean counterpoint to her salad’s earthy, smoky flavors. “We could ask him tomorrow?”

He shoveled more potato into his mouth, taking his good time to chew. “Fine with me.”

Well, this wasn’t going as smoothly as she had hoped, but he’d always been slow that way. She would have to give him some more time– to adjust, to warm up to the changes ahead.

“So,” She poured herself another glass. When she gestured to refill his, he covered it and shook his head. He wasn’t big on booze. Not anymore. She set the bottle down and smiled, leaving her own drink untouched as she leaned forward, moving her plate and resting her arms on the table. “Has Dr. Whale set up a follow-up appointment yet?”

“Erm, no, actually. He… he’s still looking for… erm, asking around, I guess.”

“It has been weeks though, hasn’t it?” She rested her chin on her hand, eyeing him. “He’s usually more invested.” She took care to add a pinch of concern. “That’s not… like Whale, is it?” Marriage was like cooking. You just had to know what to add when, and how much salt was too much. As long as you used what the recipe called for and had good intuition about the rest, the dish would come out perfect.

“It’s complicated. She’s… her anatomy is different.” He put his knife and fork down for good, folded his napkin and left it next to his plate.

“Really? Different how?”

Hook, line, and sinker. He considered her, but she had already won. She could see it in the way his body language changed. He no longer slouched in his seat, but sat up with his back straight, his shoulders back, and head up when he met her gaze.

“You– you remember the Legend of the Treaty?”

“Yes, of course.” She did not. Something about mermaids… or sirens, sinking ships, some fish gore? That might have been another one. Or a weird movie one sleepless night too many. “I heard it often enough.” She touched his arm and laughed. “What about it?”

His eyes lit up. So much like Bae’s – when she let him have a rare Apollo Bar or brought home a new book on marine life. “You remember how the story described mermaids as having a kindred connection with... with dolphins and humans alike? How they were somehow both and neither? It’s like that.”

“Oh, how so?”

“She’s… human-looking, at least on the outside, but her spine’s... more like a dolphin’s. You know, both and neither, Ocean Ambassador to Land, that sort of thing. It’s fascinating!” Hands steepled, he braided and unbraided his fingers over his plate. “But it’s also the problem. Her spine… it leaves her vulnerable.”

“If this is about Gus Gaston again… I said I was sorry.” She didn’t raise her voice even though she wanted to. Now was not the time to fight. “It… she might have hurt the children, Murchadh. Wounded animals–”

He raised a hand to silence her and, for once, she let him. If mother had taught her one thing it was when to bite her tongue. “No, no, Milah! It’s not about that. Though the situation could have been handled better.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head like a wet dog. “What’s done is done. The infection would have spread further and… what I’m concerned about right now is that, in the healing process, she’s… changed her swimming and... it’s taken its toll on her body. If– If we don’t fix this, she might die.”

The death of the mermaid would ruin everything. It would be their undoing. It would cost their son his future. She wouldn’t let that happen.

His eyes were wide and worry-filled. He looked at her like he’d done so many times before, lost, and desperate for comfort and guidance; desperate for someone to take the lead and row the boat away from the dangerous coastline into safe waters.

She reached for Murchadh’s hands. “What do we have to do?”

=====

He couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t so much that he’d expected to spend the night in his study or on the sofa, and instead found himself in the Master bedroom, sleeping next to his wife for the first night in what felt like forever. As he lay on his back staring at the ceiling and listening to her sleep, Gold marveled at the strange turn his day had taken, wondering what had prompted Milah’s sudden change of heart.

Ever since she and Bae had returned from Montgomery Manor, Milah was nothing but understanding and supportive. She even showed an interest in his work. Something she hadn’t done in years.

He rolled over and studied her face. Her eyes were closed, her jaw relaxed, her lips their natural shade and slightly parted. She had taken her time combing out her curls at the vanity and left them down for bed, the soft waves fanning out around her like dancing corals in a warm current. She looked so much younger; so much more like the girl he’d admired from afar every day one summer; the girl who bravely braced any wave; the girl he’d fallen in love with.

With a shaky breath, he touched her cheek, brushed a curl behind her ear. She smelled soft and powdery, a whiff of coconut filling the dark space between them. “What are you thinking, Milah?”

While he didn’t get an answer in so many words, he got one over the next few days.

Milah’s positive attitude was unwavering, her newfound enthusiasm and dedication heartwarming. She had borrowed some of the books from his study, the old tomes and scrolls he’d inherited from his aunties, reading up on all the myths and legends.

More often than not, long after they had tucked in Bae for the night, he would find his wife in her office upstairs, pouring over ancient scribbles, runes, and stories; squinting at fading ink and scrutinizing every picture and drawing in the harsh light from her computer and desk lamp; her reading glasses pushed up on her head, her curls wild, and eyes pink from exhaustion, looking for a clue; looking for anything that might help them save Indigo.

Sometimes, during the day, he would walk in to find her sprawled out on the living room floor in her work clothes with her heels kicked off and set aside, in the middle of a heated debate on mermaid or marine mammal physique and behavior with Bae; open books, notepads, and pens strewn all across the once pristine carpets as they put forward opposing arguments to argue for their respective viewpoints like members of debate teams during a competition.

He still wasn’t sure what had brought the change in her about, but he felt himself warming up to it– and to her– more and more with every passing day. Perhaps their son had finally gotten through to his mother during their time away. Whatever the reason behind it, it had brought them closer as a family and Gold felt grateful for that. More than anything, he wanted his son to grow up loved and happy, and to give him the best childhood he possibly could.

Since their return, they had spent more time together, both he and Milah making sure to plan their work around important things like family dinners and weekend trips. Those had become more frequent again recently. Just like when Bae was little. They went to the beach, visited the ship museum in Piper’s Cove, took Bae and his friend Emma Nolan to the movies. Milah had met up with Mrs. Nolan a couple of times to talk about the school in town, set up meetings with the principal and the swim coach.

Overall, things were looking up. The only damper on his mood was that they still hadn’t found a solution to Indigo’s problem.

“Coming to bed?” He stood in the door, watching Milah copy down something from an open book in front of her and cross-checking whatever it was in another. Eyes fixed on the page, jaw set, and pen poised like a steak knife, she hadn’t heard a single word or noticed his presence. On her desk, the sandwiches he’d brought her for dinner sat untouched on their plate; the tea cold in the teapot beside it. “Milah?”

She looked up briefly, her mind occupied and far away. He’d always admired this about her – her grit and determination, and strong work ethic. Once Milah set her mind on getting a job done, there was no stopping her. She wouldn’t rest until she had accomplished her goal. It was the competitive swimmer in her, she said.

“Your dinner is getting cold,” he jested, stepping into her office and indicating the abandoned tray. “It’s past midnight. Come to bed?”

She frowned at her notes, possibly clinging to her train of thought by the handrail. “In a minute. I just– come look at this!”

“One look, and then you’ll let me fix you a warm milk.” He moved behind her chair, kneading her shoulders as he leaned over to see what she’d been working on. “Eviction notice for the resident workaholic. Effective immediately.”

He recognized the pages she’d worked on. All different versions of the merpeople creation story. She’d copied down some paragraphs, highlighted sections here and there, and crossed out some words. Or maybe she had meant to underline them. Milah was a steam engine when fired up, her mind outracing her body.

“We can pick this up tomorrow.”

She gave in to his touch, rolling her shoulders under his hands as though to help and sighing as he carefully worked out the knots and massaged away the tension. “Okay. Fine. …How about you spice up that milk a little? I could use a nightcap.”

“Some honey for my bee?”

“Murchadh.”

“Alright, alright. Just joking.” He gave her shoulders one last squeeze. “I’ll be right back. You close those books and shut that machine down.” He nodded at her laptop. It glared at him reproachfully; hard blue light and blinking cursor. She had looked up someone, begun writing them a message. “Who is… The Mills Foundation?”

“People who might know how to help.” She closed the laptop and rolled her neck. “Maybe.”

“That’s great.” He pressed a kiss to her curls. “Thank you.”

“I need a better chair.” She stood, bookmarked her place in four books and one scroll with yellow post-it strips, and took his hand to lead him out of the room. “This one’s killing my back.”

“We’ll get you one tomorrow.” He grinned. “Or maybe a Stability Ball.”

“Absolutely not. I hate those things.”

“I know you do, Manatee.” He smirked. “A new lamp then. You’re ruining your eyes.”

“A new lamp I can live with,” she said, sinking down on the kitchen bench, taking Bae’s usual spot at the table. Their boy was at a sleepover at the Nolan’s house. “The black one is rubbish.” She rubbed her eyes. “And ugly.”

“Your mother gave you that lamp for Christmas.” He got out a pot, milk, and honey, and set them on the counter; then took her favorite mug from the sink and rinsed it. Bae had decorated it for Mother’s Day: a large, wonky heart and schools of colorful fish dancing all around it, having the time of their lives. The heart read ‘I love you, Mummy! – From Bae’ in Bae’s best handwriting.

“I know.”

They both laughed.

[hailsnow3]

Cryopen Cryotherapy details.

Zimmer Cryo 6 Cyro therapy System.

Content

After therapy.

Why choose Fat Freezing?

Mole center At Mallucci London.

Our center.

how Much Time Does The treatment Take?

It's Called persistent Fat For a Factor!

Hifu Vaginal tightening.

They can likewise be operatively gotten rid of, occasionally using neighborhood anaesthetic. Skin tags are constructed from loosened collagen fibres as well as capillary bordered by skin. Skin tags are small, soft, skin-coloured developments on your skin. They can differ in colour as well as dimension-- from a few millimetres up to 5cm vast.

How does fat leave the body?

Research shows that 84% of fat loss is exhaled as carbon dioxide. The remaining 16% of fat is excreted as water. During the conversion of energy, carbon dioxide, and water are byproducts of waste. They are excreted via urine, perspiration, and exhalation.

For inquiries or guidance regarding employment rights, speak to the Work Relations Agency. If you have a remark or question about benefits, you will certainly need to call the federal government department or company which handles that advantage. The nidirect personal privacy notification puts on any kind of information you send out on this feedback form. If you have a question about a government solution or plan, you should contact the relevant federal government organisation straight as we do not have access to information regarding you held by federal government departments. This comments form is for problems with the nidirect internet site only. Skin tags are harmless and don't usually create discomfort or pain.

Just enter your information listed below and also we'll ring you to supply a quote or answer your inquiries. We will use your individual information to refine your query and contact you with pertinent information. For additional details, please see our website privacy policy. They are composed of loosened collagen fibers and blood vessels, bordered by skin, and also they expand in a projectile pattern.

Does fat freezing work?

Cryolipolysis appears to be a safe and effective treatment for fat loss without the downtime of liposuction or surgery. But it is important to note that cryolipolysis is intended for fat loss, not weight loss.

Disabled or persistantly sick individuals can assert BARREL relief on purchases for personal or residential usage that are applicable to their impairment or sickness. Skin tags can conveniently be burnt or scorned in a comparable method to how growths are removed.

After therapy.

Can you eat after fat freezing?

The answer is 'nope'you cannot eat whatever you want after CoolSculpting. Fat-freezing helps reduce the persistent flab leftover after losing weight. It's not a replacement for diet and exercise.

While it is true apparently that the criminal offenses of wrong-doers were suggested on indications where they were held in the stocks or pillory, there is no proof that 'unlawful carnal knowledge' was penalized or defined this way. Clenched fist associates right here to the striking context, not the sexual interpretation, which is an entire different tale. Remarkably the funny and also story-telling use of bacronyms is an usual device for creating hoax word derivations. chav - repulsive anti-social individual, male or lady, typically young - this just recently preferred slang word has actually generated a mischievous and also totally retrospective' bacronym' - Council Housed As Well As Violent. This old use was not then necessarily insulting, unlike the contemporary meaning of chav, which most certainly is.

In the North-East of England the modern-day versions are charva and also charver, which adds no reliability to the Chatham misconception. Please send me any type of other concepts and regional analyses of the word chav.

If you do not authorization for us to refine your individual data for advertising tasks, we will certainly still be able to call you concerning your enquiry. Your specialist will certainly speak to you about the possible dangers and also issues of having this procedure and also how they relate to you.

Why select Fat Freezing?

When it does I would expect much confusion regarding its beginnings, but as I claim it has definitely nothing to do with food preparation. shouting mimi/mimi's/ meemies/meamies - An aliterative expression with comparable definitions to sibling terms such as heebie-jeebies and also yelling abdabs, which roll off the tongue equally well. The typical use of the expression seems to be American, with numerous referrals recommending initial usage of the 'meemies/mimis' part from as much back as the 1920s. An abyss significance has established ever since to explain a poor reaction to medicines, instead like the expression 'cold turkey'. A 'Screaming Meemie' was additionally United States military vernacular for the German 'nebel-werfer', a multi-barelled mortar.

They must additionally be increased over the skin on a stalk or stem like piece of skin. Aggravated or contaminated skin with indications of redness, itching or swelling. such as moles, birthmarks, dark-coloured, hairy or any type of unusual-looking skin problem.

Skin tags a little developments, usually located in the eyelids, neck, underarms, groin, under the busts as well as in the folds of the butts-- anywhere, in fact where the skin scrubs versus itself. Apex would love to provide you with marketing information about product or services used by Spire and by selected third-party companions.

Mole clinic At Mallucci London.

Please upload clear photo of the area for our clinical personnel to review. you can find more information on Lipo360.co.uk's double chin tightening Corby here. in for therapy by having your problem evaluated by our medical nurses absolutely free. I consent to Sentinel Healthcare gathering my details via this type. Skin tags are small flesh-coloured or brown developments that hang off the skin and also look a bit like warts. You might intend to take into consideration Surgical procedure to get them removed if they are undesirable and influence your self-worth, or if they grab on clothing or jewelry and hemorrhage.

Our clinic.

There is frequently no need to eliminate them unless they obtain bigger, infected or frequently traumatised or they transform. In some cases you bother with an altering mole, that resembles a tag.

how Much Time Does The therapy Take?

We likewise offer FREE testimonial appointments, if you would like to be examined in person. Skin tags are tiny, soft, skin-coloured growths that hang off the skin and also look a bit like blemishes. Complete your information to see one of our experts at a practical time for you. A dark scab will certainly develop, the size of a dot, do not select as well as permit to fall off on its own. No covering or clothing is needed complying with surgery, however we may offer you a place plaster just to cover the location for the first few hours adhering to surgical treatment. If you desire to check on a problem or mistake you have actually currently reported, get in touch with DfI Roads.

Elimination is a reasonably straightforward procedure that is normally done under neighborhood anaesthesia-- so you will not really feel any discomfort and also you'll be able to go residence the exact same day. You should be able to relocate them backward and forward with your finger.

How many inches can you lose with CoolSculpting?

Results vary for each patient. However, there is an average of 20-30% reduction in the treated area, which can significantly slim and contour your waist and abdominal region. Many patients lose several inches from their waistline after the completion of their recommended treatment plan.

Just how huge and visible this will be depends on the precise procedure. We will certainly additionally give you suggestions on how to minimize the look of your mark, such as gently massaging the site after your stitches have been eliminated. You won't require to take time off job and you ought to be able to go back to your normal tasks quickly. This is a routine day instance or outpatient treatment, so clients can leave as soon as they are ready to be discharged. Our patients are at the heart of what we do and we want you to be in control of your treatment. To us, that means you can select the specialist you want to see, and also when you want.

It is a fascinating sensation, which illustrates an important part of how languages evolve - especially the impact of international words - and the close inter-dependence between language and culture. The term lingua franca is itself an instance of the lingua franca result, since the expression lingua franca, currently taken in right into English is initially Italian, from Latin, indicating essentially 'language Frankish '. Frankish describes the Frankish realm which controlled much of landmass South-West Europe from the 3rd to the fifth centuries. Huge busy cities including diverse areas, specifically traveling as well as trade hubs, offer an abundant setting for the usage as well as development of lingua franca language. Appropriately, an indicator would be placed outside the bed-chamber, or perhaps hung like a 'do not disturb' notification from the door take care of, showing words 'Fornication Under Permission of the King'. Sadly however that this rather improbable beginning has no support whatsoever in any kind of trustworthy referral sources.

It's Called persistent Fat For a Reason!

I would certainly suggest the HIFU treatment for anyone who wants the very same outcomes as surgical procedure, without going under the knife.

botox alternative Bedford will respond to all your questions, clarify each treatment in a language that you can understand as well as provide in advance and straightforward advice on how you can best redefine your body!

the number one botox alternative Northampton 'll additionally be shown existing before and also after photos of clients similar to you to ensure that you'll get an actual feeling for how your body could be transformed.

At the end of your assessment, you'll be presented with your recommended treatment programme along with transparent pricing for you to take house to think about.

The enhancement in my skin was a gradual process over 2-3 months, monthly I can notice my skin getting firmer, tighter as well as smoother.

Some HIFU makers come component of a multi-platform tool, these have a tendency to be much less effective as they supply various modern technologies in one device (like a jack of all trades!).

Each clients' treatment strategy is personal and also customized, made to assist each individual lookandfeel much better.

A committed tool to this solitary HIFU technology is far more effective.

The pot refers to the pot which holds the stake cash in betting. The associated term 'skin video game' refers to any type of form of gambling which is likely to cheat the unwary as well as unaware. Evaluating by the little variety of examples (just three in the context of business/negotiating) located on Google at March 2008 of the expression 'skin in the pot', the expression has just very recently theatened to go mainstream.

Hifu Vaginal firm.

They are smooth and soft as well as, unlike protuberances, they are not contagious. They may bleed if they remain in a revealed location however they are painless, benign and also harmless in themselves.

[cbk1000]

Some details: every morning we have what we call a huddle (every team does this; some in person or over the phone, some via email) where we go round and just talk about what we’re doing for the day and mention whether or not we’ve got any appointments/childcare stuff that mean we won’t be available at certain times). So we were going on like normal, and then the co-worker who goes before me rattled off what she was doing, and then said that she would be moving out of our area, because she’s being put back up on the 3rd floor (our office is on the 2nd), and that she was just told by her supervisor that the team is being disbanded. Everyone sort of erupted because that was a fear of ours, but literally no one had told us anything; so far as we knew, we were still to function as a team (especially since all our wages are budgeted separately from the rest of the revenue department and we’re budgeted as a team up through the end of the year) while it was being decided whether or not our boss’ position was going to be filled. Our boss has quite a bit of clout and was asked, by the CFO, for her advice on what they should do moving forward with us, and she said she highly recommended they keep us together and fill her position; she also recommended someone for her old position to the CFO. She pointed out how productive we are and all the high level work we’ve managed and how valuable that’s been, so we had some hope that maybe they’d see us, and her position, as an asset, but obviously not.

None of us really knew what this meant for us moving forward; we were assigned supervisors before our boss left, but no one really gave us any direction or expectations other than that we’d be doing what we’ve always been doing (which, you know...changes a lot based on which projects our team takes on) and that we’d still work as a team, we were just going to be reporting to different supervisors in the interim. For me personally, my concern was that the project I’m currently handling is coming to an end; I knew this back in September, and didn’t have any concerns, because I knew when I’d handed it off to the department that will be in charge of it, my boss would have something new for me to work on. Well, obviously that’s not the case now, and I start training people next week, so I’ve only got about another month on this project (this department will gradually start taking on more and more work from me). We have a lot of staffing issues right now; not just frontline workers, but loads of people in the office have left, and we have a hiring freeze right now, so none of these open positions can be filled. So my immediate worry with this project coming to an end was that I’d be seen as being free to get booted around to open positions. I was worried I’d be busted back to medical records, because that’s what I did before working here, which would basically be a demotion, and tbh, I’d probably start looking for a new job if they did that. But the billing team is also really short on people, and one of my co-workers was concerned that I might get moved over there. I’m not opposed to doing that work; it would be something new to learn and ultimately make me more valuable...except that the manager is known for being a kind of insane micromanager, and there’s quite a lot of toxicity surrounding that team. I don’t want to go back to that kind of environment, especially after two years of being in a supportive environment where backstabbing is actually discouraged and punished (we’ve never had those issues precisely for that reason).

So I emailed my new supervisor (who’s super nice) about my concerns over my role moving forward, and what I’d be doing for work. I didn’t want to point fingers so I didn’t say I specifically was afraid of getting moved over to the micromanaged toxic team, just made it clear that as someone who was hired specifically to this team (almost everyone else was an internal transfer that my boss hired from within the company) I now sort of felt like a drifter in the organization. I told her everyone was upset to learn so abruptly that we were being split up and felt like we had no stability. She was very nice, and I feel a bit better after having talked to her; she promised to be transparent with us, and that as far as she was aware, there were no plans to move me or anyone else who went to her off her team, and that at least the 7 of us who were moved under her supervision will stay together. So that’s something.

But the gal who’s going back to her old spot is going back to the exact same desk she had before, which is off in its own little corner. She was directly under one of the upper managers before, so she wasn’t even on a team, and consequently didn’t have a huddle to participate in, and never got invited to any of the potlucks or other things that went on, because those are team emails that go out. She really liked working on the team because she finally got to have a sense of community, so it was great for her morale. She was very upset; she is not a very emotional person at all, and she was clearly close to tears. I felt absolutely terrible for her. And another co-worker just lost her brother three weeks ago, and then one of her sisters died this last Sunday, and now she’s come back to all this. It just feels like the shit cherry on top of the shit sundae that has been this last year.

I’m just pissed, honestly. It feels like our work held no value at all to the higher ups, even though we charged and recovered literally millions of dollars as a team, and several of us were part of some huge transitions where we had to shift all the billing for multiple clinics over to a new system. We have several people doing really high level work and troubleshooting. And basically the second our boss is out the door, they disband us and don’t even bother to fucking tell us. 

My boss has officially been gone two whole days and we had to learn today, through one of our team members, that the team is being disbanded. She only knows because her new supervisor told her she'd be going back to her old position. Nobody else had a clue because no one can communicate fuck all to the employees.

Anyway, I'm pissed.

[the-revisionist]

the tristan chord, chapter 19

Note: Sorry this took so long! 

xix. What time is it in the Milky Way?

  her eyes are closer to me than my own honor ~ Anne Carson

“Are you going to put the tofu in the sauce?” Greg asks.

Wooden spoon poised above a pot of tomato sauce, Caroline hesitates. It is Wednesday evening. She is tired. The day—filled with interviews of teaching candidates, meetings, chatty texts from one lover in New York that she largely ignored and morose ones from the other one who was meeting in Halifax this morning with her solicitor about her impending divorce and Caroline sort-of ignored those too, a toddler who wanted and got, thank you very much, Christmas lights put up in the living room, in August—is fit to burst at the seams. Thus she gazes longingly over Greg’s shoulder at the glass of wine abandoned on the dining room table and is damned if she’s going to ruin her perfect Marcella Hazan tomato sauce—the simmering translucent half-onion poaching in a fragrant bloodbath—with crumbly bits of protein that resemble glue paste falling off ancient discarded wallpaper. 

Helpless, she prevaricates. “Um.” 

“No?” Greg pulls the Labradoodle Pout face. 

“Well, Gillian’s coming for dinner and she likes things that are, you know—” Caroline pauses while attempting to find the most innocuous yet accurate term to describe Gillian’s culinary sensibilities, which are as omnivorous as her sexuality: If she’s hungry and it’s not a lot of fuss she’ll have it, even if it gives her indigestion.  

But then you are an awful lot of fuss, Caroline reminds herself, and so goes yet another theory.

  Greg wastes no time in supplying a descriptor for the woman he takes for thick-headed rube, even though he is too well-bred—and afraid of Gillian—to say in polite company: “Simple?” 

“No,” she retorts defensively. “I’d say her tastes are more classic. Pure. She has a very, you know, refined palate.” 

  Skeptical, he nibbles at a corner of his beard. “Isn’t Gillian the one who ate a chicken kebab she dropped on the kitchen floor?”

“It wasn’t the floor, it was a kitchen chair, and the five-second rule was met.” As a rigorous scientist Caroline knows the five-second rule is absolute bollocks but as an unsparing bitch she will do anything to win an argument.  “And, y’know, Alan and mum will be here too, and they aren’t that keen on tofu either.” 

“Well it’s just sad, I think.” Greg folds his arms. “That they won’t try new things.”

“Have you ever slept with a man?”

“I fail to see why you keep asking me that question.” 

“Just making a point this time. Gillian might try the tofu chips. Especially if she has wine with dinner.” She pauses. “Like, an entire bottle of wine, but yeah, she might.” 

“She’ll probably just wrap them up in prosciutto like you do,” he replies morosely. 

“It’s a testament to the sturdiness and versatility of the chip.” She smiles brightly, considers this a good save. “Hey, I ate the amaranth porridge this morning.” All the more reason to reward herself with wine tonight. Greg’s penchant for randomly assigning certain foods to days—Tofu Tuesdays, Amaranth Wednesdays, Quinoa Fridays—has only affirmed Caroline’s commitment to a parallel schedule of inevitable alcoholism. 

Before walking away, he reverts to the Labradoodle Pout. His courtship of Blackburn Barbie, aka Brigitte, has not been going well and as a result he has been as mopey as Morrissey around the house.  In turn Caroline has ramped up efforts to be kind and supportive or, at the very least, less bitchy—for starters, eating amaranth porridge without complaint. In addition, she consented to doing yoga with him on occasion; her motivation here is purely selfish, because she realizes that keeping up sexually with the likes of Gillian Greenwood may require a level of flexibility suitable to a preteen gymnast, or at least as close to that state as her sad-sack, wine-fueled, middle-aged body can attain. The other day during their marathon post-flood shag session she got such horrid back spasms at one point that Gillian leaped out of bed and started getting dressed because she assumed a trip to A&E was imminent. But a back massage, a glass of wine, and a story about a runaway lamb safely recovered during the storm fixed her up just fine. 

Or maybe it was the timbre of Gillian’s voice as she relayed the tale of the lamb, floating ethereal as smoke above her as she lay face down on the bed, muscles melting under a vigorous work-over: Poor damned thing, she were afraid of the rushing water, y’see, so I had to cross over to the other side, grab her, and carry her—imagine me, wading through a stream, water up to my knees with a lamb across my shoulders, bloody lucky she’s so tiny and I know that creek bed like the back of my hand. When the spasms and pain finally subsided she rolled over, practically into Gillian’s arms, and stared up into those eyes which, at that moment, were the softened green-gray of the hills on a cold rainy day. 

Gillian then smiled and said, better?  

In response Caroline squeaked that she would really really really pretty please like to try that position again. 

Nah, Gillian said. Can’t send you back to Harrogate all busted up. Besides, I’m rather enjoying you naked, helpless, and on your back—and in the 37 minutes that followed, she made absolutely certain that Caroline enjoyed it too. 

But yoga is worth a try, lest she earn a reputation as a pillow queen—and that particular phrase riles up thoughts of Sacha, who is still in New York and whose initial copious outpouring of archly romantic texts at the beginning of the trip has dwindled down to an occasional flurry. Like this morning’s perfunctory check-in: a photo of the sunrise from a penthouse, a snarky recap of a dinner party, asking about Flora and work. Neither texts nor thoughts have led Caroline anywhere closer to a clue on what or whom she really wants. There is a lot to be said for being in the moment, Sacha had once said, and in this particular moment she is making spaghetti sauce and looking forward to seeing Gillian and admitting to herself she has a ways to go before completely fucking everything up, so there is that. For the moment she will settle for occasionally fucking up her back; at this morning’s quickie yoga session her back gave out a mere ten minutes into the routine, prompting Greg to chirp that the first downward dog is always the hardest while clearly under the illusion that his commentary was in some way helpful.

With the sauce at perfect simmer she sprawls in a dining room chair for a moment, drinks wine, smiles at the frosty white glint of the Christmas lights from the living room ceiling that reflect into the hallway, and briefly persuades herself that she is queen of all she surveys when reality so far has only proven that she is nothing more than everyone’s bitch and a pushover for a three-year-old. She knew the moment Greg brought up Christmas plans last night at dinner—a pointless topic of conversation given that she can barely plan an outfit for the following day not to mention that she has her head up her arse about two very different women and if she has to eat quinoa pilaf one more time this month she may go mental—that a seed of holiday longing would be planted in Flora’s attentive, obsessive mind. The child spent the morning relentlessly grilling Caroline about when Christmas would occur and, more urgently, about the appearance of Christmas lights: where lights? when? Which devolved into the terse, repetitive command of lights! as if she were a tiny demented film director. 

So she got the lights. 

Appeasing a child can be easy enough; a middle-aged sheep farmer a far different matter and especially when you take sex out of the equation. She has no idea what frame of mind Gillian will be in when she arrives for dinner. Her one-liner texts from the morning consisted of bitching about parking in Halifax, the lateness of the solicitor, the bad cup of tea she had at an overpriced shop, and then later, her father’s never-ending critique of her driving as she took him to a doctor’s appointment. Over the course of the day Caroline experienced uneasy moments of doubt, fearing that Gillian might yet again reconsider divorce, might give Robbie yet another go. If nothing else, her hopefully-soon-to-be-ex-husband is expert at mining and manipulating the deep well of Gillian’s remorse to his ultimate advantage—performing an emotionally elegant sleight-of-hand that magically strips away her ragged self-esteem under the guise of stalwart support, convincing her that despite evidence to the contrary she fails at everything and possesses nothing but raw, naked vulnerability. A bizarro world version of the emperor’s new clothes, and gaslighting at its finest. She is certain Robbie does not possess enough self-awareness to know what he does; it is precisely in those who lack it that the most craven impulse outs itself with unerring cruelty.

  Meanwhile Lawrence arrives home, glares uncomprehendingly at the living room’s Christmas-in-August décor, and mutters a hit-and-run insult on the way to the refrigerator: “You’ve lost your mind.”

  For an infinitesimal moment she regards him, and then raises her glass in a toast. “Probably genetic, so welcome to your future.”

He rolls his eyes, drops a satchel on a chair. “Our future is the shitshow outside.” He guzzles neon-flavored Powerade. “Gran and Alan are in the driveway shouting at Gillian.” 

“Right.” Caroline sighs and returns to tending the sauce on the stove, poking at the onion softening slowly under its pearlescent dome. 

“Please tell me we’re not eating weird shit tonight,” Lawrence begs.

“Spaghetti.” 

“Thank God.”

The dinner guests plow through the doorway unannounced and without knocking. Gillian resembles a weary, wounded fox pursued by two gabbling old hounds—furrowed, scowling, and wincing as sniping cross-conversations pursue her. She wears one of her better flowery dresses and a matching navy blue cardigan sweater. The color-coordinated ensemble indicates that she asked Raff to pick it out, a task he does routinely, as he recently confessed to Caroline, but also reluctantly: This kind of thing will put me right into therapy, I know it will, he had said.

   Greetings are, apparently, out of the question as Alan and Celia carry on conversing. “What do you mean, the doctor wants to change your medication?” Celia says. 

Alan sighs. “It’s nothing, just a wee uptick in dosage—”

The remainder of the sentence goes unheard because Gillian finally meets her gaze and grins, and Caroline’s besotted brain goes on the blink at this live demonstration of collision theory: The chemical reaction, the charge that always existed between them is different now, the limits of those preexistent bonds are broken and altered into something new and viable and intense, and in the anguished relief and the reliable comfort of mere proximity now runs a strain of undisguised joy. 

At any rate, she is pretty certain it’s not just the fact that she offers Gillian a very generous pour of a very good white.  

As Gillian gratefully downs the vigonier, Alan sighs. “We’ll talk later,” he says to Celia. “Right now we are discussing Gillian—”

The mere utterance of her name brings about a reversion to a perpetual solid state of anger. Nose buried in the now-empty wineglass, Gillian seeks reprieve; she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, as if she can absorb each and every boozy airborne mote of wine. Then: “No,” she replies edgily. She sits the empty glass on the table and its jarring scrape marks a change in mood. “We’re not.”

“If you agree to settlement—” Alan begins. 

“No, I won’t.”  Gillian exhales violently, nods at the empty glass. “That’s all right, then,” she drawls, and then sets her lusty sights on Caroline in such a pointedly restrained fashion that a clandestine current of meaning crackles beneath innocuous conversation, and they both know that this combination of glance and tone will be interpreted by clueless observers in multifarious ways—as an in-joke about the wine or a veiled sarcastic commentary on divorce, present company, life as a whole—except the correct one. 

At least this is what Caroline hopes, because she notices her mother’s eyebrows arch in a curious fashion.   

“Settling would be the easiest solution,” Alan continues, oblivious to how his daughter’s eyes rake over her stepsister. 

Caroline looks away, bites her lip, gives the sauce an agitated stir that splatters the stovetop. “Glad you like it,” she replies softly.

“There more?” Gillian asks in an undertone that makes her shiver.

“Oh yeah.” Worrying that her quick assent runs a bit too throatily sensual, she clears her throat in such a larynx-shredding way that she sounds like Rumpole of the Bailey straining on the shitter. 

Solicitously Celia fetches her a glass of water. 

Alan reaches a point of shouty exasperation with his obstinate offspring. “Are you listening to me?” 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Gillian is right there on the summit with him. “Yeah, I am, Dad. But what you don’t get is, is, it’s done. I’m done. I’m not getting back with him, that’s a pipe dream, and I’m not giving him some sort of ‘financial settlement’ either—”

Oh, the finger quotes, Caroline sighs dreamily. How elegantly she employs them. 

“—and if you think I’m going to ask Gary for money you’re out of your f-f-bloody mind, he and Felicity already done enough for me. No, the quickest and cheapest way to get out of this bloody mess of my own making is my way.” Then, despite her best efforts, she surrenders a couple f-bombs: “And if it means I have ‘adultery’ written on my fucking divorce petition and ‘whore’ written across my fucking forehead, well then, let’s just leave it, all right?” 

This effectively silences nearly everyone but Lawrence. “Wow. Dinner might actually be interesting for once.”

Before Caroline can defuse the tension by offering drinks all around, Gillian seizes her by the wrist and, with a gentle tug, leads her out of the room.  “Going to have a chat. Be right back.” 

“Here we go again with the girl talk,” Celia says indulgently, as if Caroline and Gillian are teenagers gallivanting off to talk about boys and jewelry and makeup.

  “Talk some sense into her, Caroline!” Alan barks.

“Someone stir my sauce!” Caroline shouts back as she is led down the hallway, helpless as Richard III with the kingdom falling down about him, sauce probably ruined and the battle surely lost. Did Richard feel this euphoric as he headed for the fall? At the very end, what did he feel other than sheer relief at the inevitable?

  “What is this thing in the sauce?” she hears Celia trill. 

Alan is apprehensive. “It’s not the tofu, is it?” 

Before she can scream no it’s not the bloody tofu Gillian gently shoves her in the bathroom, slams the door shut, locks it, and before Caroline can eke out a word of concern or affection Gillian claps a hand around the back of her neck and kisses her ruthlessly—that all-consuming kiss that she specializes in, the kiss of Don Juan’s reckless daughter. They pinball around the tiny bathroom, collide against the sink, knock a hand towel off the towel rack, and kick the metallic bin that sounds a scuffling hiss followed up with a booming gong. She nearly trips over her own feet but instead plops down right onto the toilet seat, opting to give Gillian credit for steering her there rather than lust-driven clumsy happenstance, which accurately describes her dance style circa 1989 and usually at its most frenzied to Dead or Alive’s “You Spin Me Round.” Then Gillian is on her lap—kissing her throat, biting her ear, fingernails of one hand etching the border of her scalp while the other eagerly cups her breast. She gathers a fistful of Gillian’s dress, the scratchy-soft fabric binds her knuckles and balls into her palm; self-bondage is the only thing preventing her from clawing bare skin with her nails and sliding her hand between those thighs and that is good because they are too close to fucking and the deep, sweet thrumming that rolls through Gillian’s throat drives her absolutely mad and she’s never been like this with anyone else before, no one, not John, not Kate, not Sacha or even some anonymous bint on the dance floor, no one. She has never been ravenous and reckless like this, never before abandoned her carefully considered plans of what love was or how it should be conducted. Love the abstraction, love the reality, dovetail dangerously into the current moment.  

The kisses slow down and in the hunger that lingers between them, like silence seeded into and enriching the adagio of a symphony, Caroline realizes that their burning savor is not from desire or wine alone but running along the familial lines of whiskey. She breathes gentle accusation into Gillian’s willing mouth: “You’ve been drinking.” 

It hardly seems unexpected, this pattern typical of Gillian: comfort sought in a bottle or a bloke. Should be glad it was the former and not the latter, Caroline thinks. So far as she knows, anyway, but then she can hardly demand sexual exclusivity when Gillian has given her free reign with Sacha. Their collision, their chemistry, has not completely broken all the bonds, nor recalibrated all the equations and reactions and networks. It has not—and most likely will not—reconfigure this whole complicated mess of molecules known as Gillian Greenwood, and this tempers Caroline’s disappointment.

Gillian pulls away slightly and squints comically, in the hope that playing up the role of lovable drunk will allay any potential Carolinian outbursts that simmer beneath a beautiful breastbone clad in an overpriced, casual linen blouse. 

“Did. You. Know,” she drawls, punctuating each word with a soft jab at Caroline’s sternum, “that for the past two and half years, ever since they got married, Dad and your mum have been cruelly, cruelly hoarding a spectacular bottle of single-malt scotch in their little love shack, a bottle they got as a wedding present from the bloody vicar?” 

Caroline sighs, groans, buries her face into Gillian’s neck—and inhales the weird manly shower gel that Raff owns and that his mother, out of sheer laziness, uses as well, and it possesses the power of a thousand colognes magnified into one spicy scent, like cheap cinnamon roasting in a toxic gas fire. On an actual man she would find it absolutely repulsive, but on a woman, this woman, it’s an inexplicable turn-on and so she sets to feasting on Gillian’s throat, but careful not to leave a mark. “I did not.”

Distinctly aware that she has offered herself as first course on the dinner menu—at least for the hostess—Gilliam stammers and squirms. “I n-needed to, um, reward myself for today.”

“Speaking of rewards— ” Caroline whispers. She releases the dress around her hand—and herself from the bonds of being good—and slips it between Gillian’s legs, fingers flat along her warm thigh and touching the scrunched elastic boundary of her panties, and then someone pounds on the door with such unbridled fury that Caroline knows immediately that it’s her most troublesome and stroppy child and she is both grateful for and infuriated at the unintentional cuntblock. 

From her comfy perch in Caroline’s lap Gillian attempts an elegant, faun-like leap to safety but instead elaborately and drunkenly staggers, kneels, and twists, inadvertently graceful as if she’s attempting an Orthodox Jewish wedding dance—but for the saving grace of frantically latching onto the sink she nearly ends up face down on the tiled floor. 

“GREG IS MAKING THE PASTA,” Lawrence booms. “AND HE’S STIRRING THE SAUCE.” 

Because Lawrence only pays attention to shouting, Caroline has no recourse to volley back a bellow. Which, given a heightened level of sexual frustration, is easy enough: “TELL HIM NOT TO GET RID OF THE ONION. I HAVE PLANS FOR THE ONION.” 

Whilst straightening and smoothing out her dress, Gillian stares at her suspiciously.  

“IT’S ALMOST READY AND IF YOU DON’T COME OUT NOW YOU’LL BE EATING TOFU CHIPS ALL NIGHT.” 

“ALL RIGHT. WE’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE.”

“HAVE YOU WASHED MY SHIRTS YET?”

“FUCK OFF, I’M NOT YOUR SERVANT.” 

“BOY YOU’RE JUST REALLY MOTHER OF THE YEAR, AREN’T YOU?”  She hears him stomps away.  

“Mother of the year,” Gillian echoes. Tipsily she giggles, leans against the sink, hugs herself, and Caroline is struck—not for the first time—by the fierce singularity of her solitude, witnessed many a time in crowded pubs, at weddings, during dinners, over cups of tea and glasses of wine, even lying next to her in bed. You cannot fix people. This Caroline now knows. She spent eighteen years indulging John’s fantasy of being saved from himself and those efforts were, in fact, the essence and bedrock of their marriage. But the urge to fix and to save and to make right remains deeply inculcated in her; it is a force that compels and confounds at once.  

Wobbly, she gets up. In two steps she’s in front of Gillian and grips the edge of the sink with both hands, thus penning the shepherdess like one of her ewes. Not that she wants to trap Gillian, but rather retain meager control over not only the situation but also her wandering hands. In response Gillian’s fingers tap the buttons of her shirt, drumming out a subversive Morse code, dots and dashes of defiant desire.  “You going to tell me what happened today?”

“Didn’t drag you in here to talk,” Gillian says, with a tug on Caroline’s blouse. A kiss, a nip of the lower lip, the sweet shock of pain. “There’s nothing to tell.” The lie is followed by a softer, wetter kiss. “It’s shit. It’s toss. It’ll be over soon.” Gillian pauses and there is a sensual wavering of the moment, as a flag in full furl before the wind dies down, all revealed in the microcosmic flutter of her eyelids. “We can talk later. If you like. After dinner.”

“All right.” Caroline is grateful she’s still holding onto the sink’s edge, because her knees buckle. “You look good. Really good.”

Gillian barks out a laugh and gives her a playful push. “You hate this dress.”

“What? No.” Automatically, Caroline straightens with indignation. 

“Called it a peasant dress once, you did.” 

“I did not.” Even as she denies it, she can hear herself saying it while in that cabernet-tinted cloud of repressed emotion that she operated in when they first met.  

With an eyeroll, Gillian shoves her against the bathroom door, bites her neck, her earlobe, runs a wild, unrepentant tongue along the gentle swell of her throat, and hisses “peasant” at her. 

Caroline shivers. “Must’ve been drunk.” 

“Or just being a bitch.” 

“Or that.” She sighs. “So. Shall we? Once more unto the breach, then?”

While brushing back the bangs from Caroline’s forehead, Gillian smiles with undisguised fondness; it’s unnerving, exhilarating, so much so that Caroline is caught deliriously off guard. “Comb your hair first,” Gillian replies. Then, with an exaggerated look at Caroline’s chest: “And calm your tits.”  

As Caroline takes mortified account of over-exuberant nipples, Gillian darts out of the bathroom. She exhales a long breath, brushes her hair, and wills her body into submission. 

In the kitchen Greg has taken over. She sets the table. Gillian gets more wine. Alan and Celia seriously debate whether Alan’s doctor resembles Richard Harris “before he started looking like a drunk.” Lawrence ignores everyone and everything except his mobile. Flora runs amok and takes it upon herself to show the Christmas lights in the living room to Gillian, who reacts with the appropriate awe and outlandish questions that make Flora cackle with delight: Did you put those up yourself, love?  

Dinner starts out pleasantly enough, if only because everyone sublimates a spectrum of frustrations with pasta. Sacha would approve, Caroline thinks—and quickly quashes that thought as she admires her own plating expertise. 

“The sauce is great,” Greg says, and then adds teasingly, “despite the lack of tofu.”

Caroline leans back. “Yeah? Thanks. And thanks for helping.” 

“Your own recipe?” 

“No. From Marcella Hazan.” 

Lawrence, of course, tosses in the first conversational Molotov cocktail. “That another girlfriend?”

Gillian chokes on wine in such an elaborate fashion that it distracts Flora from endlessly twirling—and eventually wearing— the spaghetti on her plate. 

As his daughter violently coughs and wheezes into a napkin, Alan shakes his head. “Always eats and drinks like a convict, she does. Gulping down everything.” 

“Marcella Hazan was a food writer,” Caroline replies patiently to her idiot son. “And she’s dead.”

“Was she a lesbian?” Lawrence drawls mischievously.

Celia sighs. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Spastic fit over and done, Gillian wags a finger at her wineglass. “That’s, um, really, really powerful stuff, Caz.” 

“Then maybe you should stop for the night,” Alan says.

Gillian gives him a disingenuous, snarling smile. “Well, old man,” she begins slowly, “maybe you should—” 

“—have dessert!” Caroline interjects as Gillian glares at her, boldly telegraphing a reproach for preventing her from telling her father to fuck off. 

Exhausted from an afternoon of father-daughter verbal sniping, Celia jumps in rather desperately: “What is for dessert?”

Beaming proudly, Greg pats his belly to indicate that a culinary delight is headed to the table: “Strawberry banana tofu ice cream.” 

The family scatters to the wind: Lawrence scuttles upstairs, Celia murmurs something about biscuits at home that need eating before they go stale and drags her grumbling husband away lest he take up verbal fisticuffs with his surly daughter again, and Greg engages Flora in a game called “A Night at the Races,” where he and Flora run up and down the hallway in a very obvious attempt to tire her out. Briefly Gillian joins in the race until she is reprimanded for running with wine, and then disappears into the living room.  

  All this happens as Caroline cleans up. Afterward she relieves Greg of parental duty and gets Flora in the bathtub, where she is copiously splashed and anointed with suds in the process. Prelude to bedtime includes more running around upstairs, then the reading of a tale involving pandas playing badminton—the lesson implicit in the story involves good sportsmanship but Caroline’s takeaway is that maybe pandas shouldn’t be playing badminton to begin with. At the end of the tale Flora is still awake and demands more panda adventures. So Caroline improvises a story of a panda chemist who creates a magic potion that turns humans into pandas. As she rattles off ingredients for the imaginary formula—lewisite, calcite, phosgene oxime, titanium, feta cheese, pseudoephedrine, monkey brains, eucalyptus oil, banana farts—Flora falls asleep to the litany and Caroline dismally realizes that all her children are bored silly by her beloved chemistry. 

Downstairs she finds Gillian alone, sunk into the couch, shoes kicked off, bare feet on the coffee table and terribly close to a glass of wine. Despite the relaxed pose her restless hands wrestle in the soft, inviting arena of her lap. She stares up at the small, white lights that limn the dimensions of the room and form an unimaginative rectangular constellation around them. Gillian likes starwatching, can rattle off useless facts about the planets, and Caroline swears to God that she heard Gillian say Cassiopeia the other day when they made love—a faint, ardent susurration on her skin. Caroline knows little about stars except that they collapse and break apart and their remnants hold court in the glimmering corridor of a nebula. Perhaps that’s it, Caroline thinks. There is no fixing or handling Gillian—who looks up at her now and smiles. There is nothing to do but gather together her bright broken pieces and keep them safe.  

“This is nice,” Gillian says. “With the lights.”

The glow of the room brings her back to the Eddie confession, the two of them sitting on the sofa in Gillian’s home in front of the fire. In the years since they have sat together in silences ranging widely from the amiable to the charged, and so much has happened since that evening: Deaths and births and marriages and divorces and in the midst of it all is this woman whose presence in her life, whose volatility she cannot contain or really even fathom, remains fixed and constant. 

Tiredness kicks in, the flow of lust runs sluggish in her veins. That and Gillian looks fairly knackered as well, so she doesn’t have to worry about another barely controlled makeout session. But before attempting any gesture that could be viewed as more than sisterly affection by even the most objective bystander, she glances around. “Where’s Greg?”

Gillian stifles a yawn. “Went out, he asked me to tell you. Meeting his lady friend for a drink.” She snorts and says the woman’s name in a wispy falsetto: “Brigitte.” 

Sputtering a laugh, Caroline dives into the couch next to her. “Oh God. He told you about her.”

“Yep. Know everything about her now. Like, for example, she got perfect A levels—”

Caroline snorts derisively. “So did I.”

“’Course you did. I know what kind of wine she likes—”

“What?”

“Fucking chardonnay, Caz.” 

“Is that different from regular chardonnay?”

Gillian grins and leans into her. She takes Caroline’s hand in her own, her thumb presses into the fleshy swale of Caroline’s palm, massaging a sweet pressure point that makes Caroline sag contentedly into overstuffed cushions. “Get this, she cried at the end of Titanic. I mean, I cried at the end of Titanic but only because I’d just wasted three hours of my bloody life watching it.”  

“I fell asleep during Titanic,” Caroline confesses. 

“Smartest decision of your life.” 

While Caroline is content to have Gillian’s head resting against her shoulder and her hand massaged and caressed ad infinitum—as such they sit in silence for several long, exquisite minutes—she wonders if the subject of the day in divorce court should be raised. She hadn’t even known about the event until Alan mentioned it yesterday. Gillian has so many layers of unpredictability that sometimes in comparison other people appear almost logical, forthright, and uncomplicated. Of course, the limitations of her emotional intelligence force comparison with Kate—wondering once again if Kate had untold contradictions and complexities of character, or if Caroline was simply too selfish and self-involved to put forth a real effort of discovery. Think we all know the answer to that, twat, she tells herself. If Kate were alive, would she still be blundering through existence with a wife who was largely unknown to her? Has Gillian, through her own desperate needs, somehow inadvertently brought out powers of perception in Caroline that were otherwise dormant? 

  Sod it, she thinks, and asks cautiously: “Was it bad? Today?”

Gillian groans and, to Caroline’s disappointment, releases her hand and sits up—rather, hunches and hovers nervously over the coffee table. “Same as it ever is. My brilliant history of disappointing everyone. See it on everyone’s face. My dad. Robbie. Even your mum.” She reaches for the wine, stares into the glass. “Maybe someday you’ll look at me like that.” She gulps down the last of it and before Caroline can vigorously deny the claim, plows on. “Let’s begin with the old man, shall we? He cares what people think, my dad does. Remember when Gary gave that interview and ‘outed’ him, so to speak? Well, he’s acting like this is on the same level, it being on ‘public record’ that I’m an adulterer. Like who gives a shit anymore about things like that. Anyone who knows me knows it’s my fault anyway, right? Yeah, I know, you’re gonna say not my fault, shouldn’t have married Robbie, should have embraced a life of lesbianism—”

“I’d never say that,” Caroline replies. 

Gillian squints at her accusingly. “Probably thinking it.” 

“I think that about every woman, really.” 

This, at least, makes Gillian grin for a moment. “But the thing is, I did marry him, I did cheat on him—I did.” She repeats it softly: “I did. And it’s just one more thing I’ve done wrong in a very f-fucking long list and every time he looks at me, I see him ticking off things in that mental list”—her index finger spasms and marks off items in imaginary list written on air—“all the things he knows I’ve done, all the things he suspects, and, Christ, it’s all m-messed up, really messed up—you know why?”

“Why?”

Gillian stares at her with the same sneering incredulousness that, most likely, greeted Robbie when he made the following suggestion: “After all this shit we talked about with the bleeding lawyers today, as I’m leaving he waylays me and says he still wants to get back together. Work it out. He looks at me as if everything about me is wrong, that I am the source of all his misery, and he still wants me. It completely does my head in. Is that what love is supposed to be?” She shakes her head, burrows back into the sofa. “He’s wanted to marry me since he was sixteen—he, he said that to me once. His way of proposing.” 

“He’s not sixteen anymore,” Caroline replies. “And neither are you.” She thinks of Robbie—who never set foot outside of the country until his honeymoon, always wears the same shirt-and-tie combo to holiday gatherings, who still owns a Yorkshire rugby team blanket that he bought some thirty-five years ago and always insisted using it as a throw on the marital bed and then got quite cross with Gillian when she used it as bedding for an arthritic old sheep dog. 

“Even when I was sixteen, I—Jesus, I didn’t want to marry anyone. I mean, I didn’t know who I was. Couldn’t find my arse with both hands. Still can’t.”

  “It’s not love on his part,” Caroline says as she absently tucks hair around Gillian’s ear. “It’s an inability to grow up, move on, let go. He thinks he has some special claim on you, because he was your first—”

Gillian stretches and sits up, moving out of Caroline’s grasp. “He wasn’t.” 

“Wasn’t he?” Admittedly Caroline is unsure of details; trying to establish some sort of shagging timeline with regard to Gillian’s romantic past has always seemed a fool’s quest, or at the very least an effort warranting a first-class historian possessing patience and superior spreadsheet skills beyond her own modest capabilities. 

“I mean—he, he was the first person I had it off with, but he wasn’t the first person I loved.”

“Eddie, then,” Caroline says. Which makes sense. Gillian has never said as much explicitly, but in her stories about Eddie his magnetism, charm, and good looks were easily envisioned and Caroline vividly imagines the façade of his rough, alluring beauty, as if he were some kind of modern Dorian Gray, that overlaid the monstrous, festering piece of shit that he actually was.

Poised attentively on the couch, Gillian tucks her hands under her thighs. It’s a new trick, Caroline has noticed, a move to prevent her from biting her fingernails. Instead she ends up gnawing her lower lip. “No.”

Caroline pauses. “Oh.” She hopes that she has struck the right note of calm interest and not condescending, snotty-bitch surprise.   

“You want to ask, I know.”

“You’ve no obligation to tell me anything,” Caroline says firmly, then continues in a slower, gentler tone: “I can guess, based on things you’ve told me before.”

Gillian says nothing, only frowns and looks away. 

“It was one of those women? From Hebden Bridge?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never talked much about them. Or—her.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“You were very young.”

This statement of fact, framed however cautiously, lingers as an accusation and puts Gillian on the defensive. Which Caroline did not mean to do, but there was no other way of putting it out there. She rolls her shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking.” 

“You were fourteen.”

“Fifteen,” Gillian corrects absently. She stills her restless hands, her fingers interlock and lace together tightly over her knee and remind Caroline of a puzzle she had as a child, she thinks it was called a bamboozler, where the challenge is careful dismantling followed by skillful rebuilding. Gillian looks up again at the orderly constellation of white lights that bathe them in a Milky Way of memories. It takes 25,000 light years to travel to the Milky Way, a journey that would be an epic mind-fuck of time’s perpetual collision: future, present, past. What time is it in the Milky Way? Caroline wonders. With increasing distance the past entices, always, and Gillian is no more immune to it than Robbie or anyone else. 

“You’re thinking it was wrong,” Gillian says. “That she hurt me, took advantage of me. Maybe that’s all true. Yeah, I guess, I guess maybe it is. But you don’t understand. You don’t know how it felt—how I felt. It was like, like a new world for me and I was the bloody center of it, she made me feel that and—I really, really believed it, all of it.” She pauses. “Including the part where she said she loved me.”

With this crucial piece of the Gillian Greenwood puzzle in place, a design looms large, a pattern discerns itself. Enough so that Caroline requires for the moment no further details, no more components. Even though Gillian adds softly, “And I loved her.”

CHAPTER SOUNDTRACK:

Ella Fitzgerald, “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered”  Cigarettes After Sex, “Apocalypse” The National, “Empire Line” BONUS NONSENSE! Marcella Hazan’s tomato sauce recipe.

[soysaucevictim]

Week 5 of everything. Finishing a Challenge, halfway through this Program...

(A bit late again...)

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Apr. 11

I woke up some time after 1PM.

The first thing I got to doing was making the second/last Hello Fresh Meal of the week - Lemon Chive Chicken. FINALLY something that went over more unanimously well. Mostly because I could easily not put that lemony sauce on bro’s chicken. I liked pretty well myself (not my top fave, but happy enough for reprisal.)

Much of the rest of the day was spent chatting, with some exercise thrown in.

First. today’s DD. 40 reverse plank kicks with EC (20/20). This was just a fun one to get done.

Last, Day 25 of the 60DoC. Level 3, no rest. Doing it basically in one go was very manageable. Arms definitely felt that one!

(Didn’t quite manage my time well enough to get around to doing the CRC. Had intended to wait for arms’ recovery - but... yeah.)

I also recently made a Habitica account with the username norvash_17. In case anyone cares about that.

Didn’t get to bed on time.

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Apr. 12

I woke up proper a bit before 3PM.

First, today’s DD. 2′ arm scissors with EC. I counted 229 reps by the end of it - very close to 2/sec. But that pace was no less intense to maintain.

Second, Day 26 of the 60DoC. Level 3, 1′ rest (started at 30″, but decided a bit more rest was a good idea). Sometimes had a few moments to re-orient because it’s mildly awkward switching between seal jacks and jumping Ts (different axis of movement). This was also pretty winding!

Last, Day 25 of the CRC. 3x “chair“ rows to failure. 20-12-8 this time, with small hops counted as reps. Intense, but manageable.

Didn’t get to bed on time, but I did manage to make some art headway.

-

Apr. 13

I woke up a bit before 2PM.

One of the first things I did was starting on my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 50 forward lunges with EC. Tough, fatiguing, and aerobic... but manageable.

(After eating/digesting some food and watching more Dr. G...)

Second, Day 27 of the 60DoC. Level 3, 1′ rest. By just the first set, I knew this would take some digging in. I was right bushed, calves & quads were almost completely done by the end of it (the DD did suck some juice out of me, too). I like jacks - but split jacks are a bit low on the list (just a step easier than jumping lunges , but v similar in action.).

Last, Day 26 of the CRC. 2x30″ flex hang hold. Same condition of technique as much of the challenge. Even without complete clearance - it’s really intense!

Even though I didn’t get to bed on time, I did get some art headway in.

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Apr. 14

I woke up a bit before 9AM.

One of the first things I did was arrange some notes to prepare myself for my psych appointment. It was over the phone, which I was somewhat anxious about. Didn’t run into many severe issues beside a small technical hiccup.

One of the first things I did after that was my exercise.

First, today’s DD. 1′ climbers with EC. I counted exactly 122 reps by the end of, a solid 2/sec. And I had fun with that.

(After dishes, dinner, shopping, and planning my fitness agenda...)

Second, Day 28 of the 60DoC. Level 3, 30″ rest. Calf raises are usually pretty low-key. But today, the calves felt everything. That was pretty fun and brisk - I was a bit tough on my knees, though.

Last, Day 27 of the CRC. 3x “chair“ rows to failure. 20-12-8, same approach and experiences as Day 25.

Spent the rest of my night working on art and chatting a bit. Didn’t get to bed on time.

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Apr. 15

I woke up a bit after noon.

First, today’s DD. 1′ side leg raise hold with EC (30″/30″). Very fun and meditative balance work.

Second, Day 29 of the 60DoC. Level 3, 1′ rest. That kicked my ass, especially all the lunges (still glad for the small number of jumping lunge). Probably walked into this a bit under-hydrated, so that wasn’t ideal. But I got through it. Oof.

(After checking in with case manager over phone...)

Last, Day 28 of the CRC. 2x30″ flex hang hold. Similar experience as Day 26, took some digging in the last half of last set.

Then did some dishes. Also shared “Man’s First Friend“ with a friend, we both busted out the waterworks (dogs are too good for us). After some more chatting an some YouTube, I resumed work on art and sent out some WIPs.

Didn’t get to bed quite on time - but hey. Today went well enough.

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Apr. 15

I woke up pretty much at 1AM.

First, today’s DD. 40 bridge taps with EC. A fun one, as usual, gotta mind how you roll on the shoulders.

(After some dishes and making dinner...)

Second, Day 30 of the 60DoC. Level 3, 30″ rest. Now this was a workout that inspired bliss in me - I love jacks in general, but a lot of half jacks really does the trick for me. I also chased that feeling with 2x1′ of bouncing on the spot. Calves/Achilles were p much done after that, but I enjoyed myself! =w=

(After an intense family incident, with regard to uncle... but commiserating with friend and binging SaSi with them, helped. I did feel better, eventually.)

Last, Day 29 of the CRC. 3x “chair“ rows to failure. I went for 20-15-10, just to ee nice numbers and try to squeeze a bit more out of me. I did this inordinately late, but I got done. Otherwise, it was a pretty similar experience to Days 25+27.

...

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Apr. 16

I woke up a bit after 1PM.

One of the first things I did was set out to cook our next Hello Fresh meal - Tunisian stuffed bell peppers. I personally really enjoyed it. Bro liked it enough to eat his whole plate.

After that, I did dishes and some organizing (bought some shelves for living room, for dad). Then, I went to get some exercise in.

First, today’s DD. 5′ raised arm hold with EC (lateral). That def took some digging in. Arms began to tremble in last minute or so. Eyes watered from the [good] pain - that’s honestly one reason I like this exercise (because somewhat prone to dry eyes.)

Last, Day 30 of the Chair Rows Challenge. 2x30″ flex hang hold. Also took some digging in. But all told, I got through it. It may be worth revisiting this challenge with greater increments (either I lift more of myself up at the height setting I was at or see if higher rings can better facilitate that.)

I didn’t get to bed on time again. Ah well.

-

Summary of Experience:

I’m still currently working on that 60 Days of Cardio Program, largely enjoying things thus far. But I’ll save full summary when done with it.

I finished the Chair Rows Challenge in April 16. First week, I had the gymnast rings hang pretty low maybe closer to 2.5′ off floor. I managed to start off with 30-15-10, for the “to failure days”.

Then, more securely attached the rings a bit higher (I think around 3′ off ground). Number dropped a bit, but I felt more engagement. I did qualify things based off of feeling my seat lift up (even a little, though there was at least a moment where it was considerably more) It was no less challenging at that level for me.

Ended up with 20-15-10. Looks like I still have a ways to go toward pulling off a pull-up. But I’m working on it!