#so ill see all of my boston bitches over the next two days too!!

[shiv--roy]

truly incredible how leaving the house to hang w a friend for a few hours cures the fuck out of so many of my mental issues wow wow wow

#i went to this brewery near my house w my new texas bestie and we drank and shopped bc they had a holiday market #it was so fun!!! and nice to catch up!! #i also saw my favorite ex's new gf and she looked hot so that hurt! #and i also saw michael flynn government traitor drinking craft beer #what a day! #im also gonna be in boston for a few days bc of my holiday party #so ill see all of my boston bitches over the next two days too!! #im gonna surprise texas and get him a lil christmas gift he told me he was really into maps so we went into newport to this #fancy rare book store that has tons of maps and he was sooooooo into it #so i'm gonna go in my attic and dig one of my old maps of the island out for him!

[s-aned]

Dark Paradise - Chapter 1 - “I killed her”

“I killed her”

Her voice whips through the air. The older man turns his head towards the young woman, a frown twisting his face. Did he understood what she meant?

It’s been a few minutes since he arrived on the back porch. The lights were out, but she was there, sitting with her gaze fixed on the mountains or in the void, softly humming to herself a tune he didn't know.

“It’s 2 a.m., why aren’t you sleeping?

- What about you?”

Fair enough. He let out a small sigh before sitting down next to the young woman. He rubbed the back of his neck, his body still tense after a long day of work. Silence had settled in. Not a tense or embarrassed one. If she could be talkative and teasing, she also knew how to savor the comfort of a shared silence. That’s one thing he surely appreciated.

It had been a few weeks since she moved into his home, about one year after he settled in Jackson. At first glance, she seemed like a strange roommate for this fifty-year-old man, as she must have barely left her twenties. But she couldn't stay with Tommy and Maria forever and he had a spare room. Everyone seemed satisfied with the arrangement.

Joel was beginning to enjoy this company, and the good meals that accompanied it. He found it amazing how someone who struggles to eat anything other than soup can enjoy cooking so much. Gradually, a relationship of trust began to take hold. That's why he doesn’t hesitate long before breaking the silence.

“I heard what you said earlier to the girls. Your mom. Tommy and I… We also lost our mom to sickness. She... She got cancer. Before the outbreak. Nasty business.”

She nods but doesn’t add anything. She knows that the man isn’t one to spill about his past. She knows about Sarah, and some bits of his past in Boston QZ. Oh, she doesn’t know much, but enough to understand that he had seen and done things that morality could disapprove of.

And yet, she doesn’t dare to tell him what is on her heart. She’s afraid of his reaction. She’s trying to resist but the words are making their way to her mouth and she’s unable to hold them back, like a sour, uncontrollable bile. It’s too late. It must come out, regardless of his reaction.

“I killed her.”

She hears a rustle, and feel his incomprehension’s look on her. She resumes, turning her head towards him without daring to meet his gaze.

“My… My mom. I killed her.”

She bits her lip, wanting to prevent the tears from falling. She has started now, there is no going back. Might as well tell him everything.

“She… She was sick, real sick. But she kept dying. Most of the time when she was awake, she wasn’t even conscious, her open eyes and her mouth only let out a few inconsistent messages. And she was in pain, she was in excruciating pain. Day and night, she moaned. It was just the two of us. The neighbors would drop me food sometimes. But most of the time, I was alone with her suffering. I would stay day and night by her side, with no more hope of seeing her emerge. But her body was refusing to give up.”

She pauses for a moment, taking a breath before starting again.

“One night, she was finally sleeping. I wasn’t. She seemed so peaceful, so quiet. I thought, this is it. This is how she should be. Just in peace. No more pain. It was dark in the room, there was no moon that night. So I gave her a kiss before taking a pillow and… I put it on her head. As strong as I could. She didn’t react. I stayed like that for minutes but it felt like hours. I stayed until I felt it… Her last breath.”

Tears are now streaming down her cheeks. She stares into void, pursed lips adding nothing more. She doesn’t know why she told him about it. What would he think of her now?

“How old were you?

-14.”

He lets out an overwhelmed sigh. He already knew she had been through hard times. Heck, who hasn’t in this crazy world? But putting her own mother out of pain, that was something else. He tries to find something to say to ease her.

“You relieved her. QZ life wasn’t easy, she might have suffered for weeks, months even, if you hadn’t done that. You did that out of love. You’re brave.

-No, I’m not. After I did it, I just grabbed my stuff and left. I abandoned her there. God knows how much time it took before someone noticed. It’s probably the smell that alerted the neighbors. I didn’t give her a decent burial, and we both know that FEDRA probably tossed her bodies with all the others, infected or not.

-Why did you leave?”

She doesn’t answer right away. She knows that she will have to tell the full story if she keeps going. But now looks as bad as any other time. The night offers some protection. She lets it go.

“Hmm, I was an orphan. They would have put me in one of those FEDRA institutions. I heard what happened there. All this stories about girls being abused by soldiers or other boarders. I thought I was better to try it on my own.

-How did you survive without being caught?

-My dad. He had a sister in that QZ. We barely knew her, she had fallen out with him and when he died, we cut ties completely. I showed up at her place, and she was kind enough to take me. Oh sure, she treated me like a dog, making me do all the thankless jobs. But at least I had a roof over my head. After a few months she started dating this guy, scumbag but it kept her from being alone, I guess. There was only one room, so most of the time I had to stay in the hallway. But slowly, he started to look at me. Once, she was gone god knows where, he cornered me and told me a whole bunch of stuff a 15-year-old shouldn't hear from a grown-up man. My aunt walked in as he began to slide his hand under my shirt, and of course she got it on me. She beat the crap out of me, before tossing me out of her place. Obviously, she kept all my stuff, ID included. Probably sold it to black market, the bitch. I was left with only the clothes on my back."

She finally looks up at the man, unable to read the expression on his face. Sadness, anger, pity? She had only seen this face once. The day Tommy and he found her, after she killed her captors. It was Joel, she believes, who put a bullet in the head of the last of them. The one who had caught her and was standing over her, his knife stuck in her lower abdomen.

Joel had the same expression than today when, in Jackson's infirmary, she told them that she had been sold to these men, after being forcibly prostituted for months, years maybe, in her previous QZ. She didn't know where they were taking her, but she knew full well that her function would remain the same.

“Is that when?” He leaves his question hanging, but she understands what he means. She shakes her head.

“No. There was this guy I saw from time to time, we flirted with each other. He had managed to set up a junk studio in a building in the slum quarters of the QZ. He let me settle there. Of course, he didn’t ask for a kiss on the cheek in return. I won’t teach you how a 16-year-old boy is like.” She says sarcastically, a slight smirk appearing on her lips. Joel chuckles lightly. Touched. It’s around that age he got his girlfriend pregnant, and with that, got in adulthood prematurely. She goes back to her story.

“He got tired of me eventually, and I felt that soon I would find myself again in the cold streets, at the mercy of the first predator lurking around. But Heaven proved merciful, and I met Talia. She was in her fifties and had quite a temper. She saw me hanging out on the street in the rain and pulled me into a building that looked completely abandoned. She asked me questions, listened to my story without commenting, before opening another door. I discovered that there was a whole other life in this city. Rare alcohol, red armchairs and above all, a stage in the middle of which sat a bar.”

She grins at the surprised look of man.

“Yep Joel. There was a strip club in my QZ. She made me sit, gave me a towel to dry myself and began to explain what was happening there. There was no resistance group like your fireflies in my area. There were small local gang, who greased the military tab to do their little business.

At first, she didn't even want me in the room when the club was open. I was way too young for her liking, she couldn't tolerate me being exposed to men. So I did the housework, some services for the girls, all the little chores behind the scenes. From there I watched them dance and drive all the spectators crazy. Soldiers, small strikes, or average guy, they all drooled and get rid of everything they owned for a look, a caress.

After a year, I was entitled to serve at the bar. But just at the bar, I was forbidden to pass in the aisles. It was the girls' work. Talia was tough but she took good care of all of us. We were like family. When the club was closed, we laughed a lot. It was a good time.”

She ends her story with a sigh, before taking a sip of her infusion, now cold. She grimaces. She would have liked it to be whiskey. She still has plenty to talk about, but she's not sure she has the strength for it. The older man must feel it, because he doesn't ask any more questions.

She's already released a big chunk tonight. And what is yet to come is not the happiest. Above all, she is afraid of his reaction. For the moment, he believes she was an innocent victim, captured by ill-intentioned men. But she's not quite sure. She often wondered if she hadn't been responsible for all of this. So she keeps quiet and lets the silence of the night engulf her.

There is nothing more to say, and yet none of them moves. It’s only when a gust of wind makes her shiver that Joel straightens up and speaks in a firm but gentle tone she now knows by heart.

“Let’s go inside. You have to try to sleep.”

-------

Chapter 2

#TLOU #TLOU2 #TLOU fic #TLOU fanfic #Joel Miller #The last of Us

[emospritelet]

Never did this before, so hope I'm doing it right...DH Prompt 55: “ Shut up and kiss me already. ”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Part 24] [Part 25] [Part 26] [Part 27] [Part 28] [Part 29] [Part 30] [Part 31]

Prompts all come from this list.

AO3 link

Dinner at Granny’s was an enjoyable affair; Neal and Emma proclaimed the ribs to be among the best they’d eaten, and Henry ate his burger, half of Belle’s fries and somehow still had room for apple pie.  Once the plates had been cleared and coffees poured, Gideon dozed on his father’s lap while Henry flicked through his book, explaining some of the stories within to Gold.

“Wait, so Red Riding Hood is the wolf in this?” said Gold.  “A singular interpretation.”

“Yeah, and she’s so cool!” said Henry enthusiastically.  “She helps Snow White to hide from the Evil Queen!”

“Wasn’t it always the Huntsman who helped Snow White?”

“Oh, he does, but the Queen found out and took his heart,” said Henry.  “So now he has to do whatever she says. He was raised by wolves, and he loves the forest, but she keeps him trapped in the castle.”

“Well,” said Gold.  “She sounds very unpleasant.”

“Yeah,” agreed Henry.  “But I kinda feel sorry for her.  It’s like she thinks that destroying happy endings for everyone will make her happy, but it only makes her miserable.”

“I suspect there’s a moral in there somewhere,” remarked Gold, glancing at Belle.

“Yes,” she said firmly.  “Let yourself be happy, and don’t make decisions for other people.”

She smirked at him, and he sent her a tiny grin, kissing the top of Gideon’s head.

Gold had offered to cook dinner the next night, and so Belle spent her day at the flower shop with Gideon, closing up at four and heading home.  He was already preparing food when she arrived, and Belle lifted her nose and sniffed at the scent of chocolate wafting through the kitchen.

“I made a cake,” he said.  “It’s been awhile since I baked anything.  I enjoyed it.”

The cake was cooling on a wire rack, dark and rich, and she grinned as she went to inhale its scent.

“What are you going to put on it?” she asked.  “I could make some buttercream.”

“I have fresh cream, and some raspberries,” he said.  “There’s a little framboise in the liquor cupboard as well.  Might be nice to pour on the sponge. Henry can have coulis, save the booze for the rest of us.”

Belle spied a glass jar of thick, crimson sauce, and stuck a finger in it, licking off the taste of sweetened fresh raspberries.

“So, that’s dessert sorted,” she remarked.  “Delicious. What about the rest?”

“I thought we’d keep things simple,” he said.  “Pasta?”

“The cheesier the better,” she agreed, and he grinned.

He made macaroni cheese, with garlic bread and a crisp green salad to cut the richness, and by the time Emma, Neal and Henry arrived the pasta was bubbling in the oven, the cheese sauce thick and glistening, golden brown on the top.  There was cold white wine, sharp and fruity on the tongue, and the garlic bread was fragrant, making lips and fingers slick with melted butter.  There was silence for the first ten minutes as everyone ate, but then the conversation started up.  Emma and Neal spoke about places to visit in Boston, and which areas were the best, and the easiest routes to Belle’s university.

“We pulled a few all-nighters in the library, huh Belle?” said Emma, gesturing with her fork.

“Yeah.”  Belle took a sip of wine.  “Not sure I can do that anymore.  Since having Gideon I’ve decided I need to take my sleep where I can get it.”

“I don’t want you studying so hard you make yourself ill,” said Gold, and she shook her head, running a hand over his thigh.

“It was only around exam time,” she said.  “My study technique improved, so hopefully having a baby won’t mean I’ve forgotten everything I learned.”

“Finals are a bitch,” said Emma, with feeling.  “Can I get another glass of wine?”

“Of course.”

Gold poured her the wine, offering the bottle to Neal, who held out his glass.

“Thanks,” he said.  “This mac and cheese is awesome, by the way.”

“It’s so good,” agreed Henry.  “Why isn’t yours this good, Mom?”

“Gee, thanks,” said Emma, in a flat tone, and Henry grinned at her as he held out his plate for more.

“Your mac and cheese is awesome too, babe,” Neal assured her.

“Well, now you just sound like you have to say that,” she remarked, taking a drink.

“No, I just know what to say to get more of the good stuff,” he said, with a wicked grin.

“That a fact?”  She was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling.  "You always were a smooth talker, Cassidy.“

"Good thing you can read me like a book then, huh?” he said, winking at her.

“I know when I’m being thrown a line, yeah.”

“So are you biting?” he asked, and her grin widened.

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

Neal leaned in to kiss her, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Henry made a gagging motion behind his hand, causing Gold to break into a wide smile as he reached for his wineglass.  He shared a grin with Belle, dark eyes twinkling, and clinked his glass against hers.  The wine was making her pleasantly light-headed, and she could feel herself relaxing with the comfort of good food and good company.  She kept her hand on Gold's thigh, enjoying the firm warmth of him, the closeness, and his eyes softened a little as he glanced at her, that smile still on his face.

Belle got the impression that Gold, the seasoned loner, was enjoying having guests in his house for dinner.  She realised that at the very heart of him was the soul of a person who wanted to care for others, the nurturing side that came out through the preparation of good food and wine, and the pleasure it gave him to share it.  The harshness of his earlier life, the lack of any kindness or love, had gotten in the way, creating barriers of cold stone, forbidding walls of spiked blackthorn. He had begun to break through that for Gideon, and for her, and for a moment, talking and laughing with her friends around the dinner table, she began to sense what life could be like for him, for their family, when he faced his demons and beat them.  She wondered if he felt it too; his eyes kept flicking to Neal, and to Henry, that tiny crease of puzzlement still between his brows, as though he couldn’t quite fathom how he had ended up there with a kitchen filled with chatter and laughter and the clink of glasses.

Henry had two helpings of the pasta, and after the plates had been cleared Gold handed around dishes of the chocolate cake, layered up with raspberries and cream and with raspberry liqueur soaking into the sponge.

“Dear God, that’s amazing,” said Emma, licking cream from her fork.  “I can see why you want to move in with this guy, Belle.”

“Cooking’s only the second most incredible thing he does with his hands,” said Belle, and giggled as Gold gave her a very level look.

“What’s the first?” asked Henry curiously, and Belle blushed.

“I also clean up afterwards,” said Gold blandly.

“Some nights that’s better than the other thing,” said Emma, and winked at him.

“What other thing?”

“Sleeping,” said Neal, ruffling his hair.  “Which is what you should be doing, buddy. You done with your cake?”

Henry scraped up the last of the cream and raspberry sauce, licking his spoon.

“I wanted to tell Mr Gold the story of Beauty and the Beast,” he said despondently.

“You can tell me next time,” said Gold.  “I have a feeling that story may resonate with me.”

He glanced across at Belle, reaching out to thread his fingers through hers, and she smiled at him, happy and warm and filled with contentment.  This was how their life could be. This was how it would be.

Her head ached a little the next day, the after-effects of too much wine, but she felt surprisingly well-rested, and joined Gold and Gideon in the kitchen for a breakfast of scrambled eggs with bacon and lots of hot tea.

“I think I’ll go to the shop today,” said Gold, hands cradling his cup.  “I want to go through the china inventory and polish the silver.”

“Not the most exciting job,” she remarked.  “You sure you don’t want to just chill out here with us?”

His mouth flattened a little, his fingers shifting restlessly on the white china.

“I’m feeling - I don’t know,” he mused.  “Agitated isn’t quite the right word. I feel the need to do something.  Something that won’t take too much brain power.”

“You could always do me,” she suggested innocently, and he grinned.

“Oh, later, most definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He was still grinning, his eyes twinkling, and she felt her belly lurch.

“How about Gid and I walk into town with you?” she said.  “I could pick us up some coffee from Granny’s, bring it back to the shop.”

“Sounds good.”

The day was pleasant, fat white clouds spreading across the blue of the sky, and Belle inhaled deeply as they walked along, Gold with one hand resting at the small of her back, his other wielding the cane.  The pawn shop was cool and dark, and the stroller’s wheels sounded loud on the wooden floor as she pushed it into the back room. Gold bent to unfasten Gideon’s straps, and she went back through to the shop to open the blinds, letting thin shafts of sunlight fan out across the floor.  She flipped the sign to Open, grinning to herself as she remembered Emma and Neal’s interruption.  Perhaps she could turn the lock at some point later that day and finish what she had started.

Gideon was seated on the floor when she went through to the back, solid plastic shapes in a variety of bright colours scattered on the rug in front of him. Gold had set down a hollow ball with holes to take the shapes, but Gideon was ignoring it.

“Seems more interested in chewing them than putting them through the holes,” he remarked, and Belle grinned.

“He’ll get there.”

“Undoubtedly.”

He was holding something, an old toy rabbit with a faded blue felt waistcoat, soft brown faux fur with a cream chest and shiny black beads for eyes.  She had seen it on the shelves many times, and had always felt that it looked out of place in amongst the trinkets and china and old books. She had never asked about it before, and he had never seemed to pay it any attention beyond keeping it free of dust, which made her wonder what had changed.

“What’s that?” she asked, and he looked down at the toy rabbit in his hands, as though he couldn’t remember holding it.

“Oh,” he said vaguely.  “It - it belonged to my son.  To Bailey.”

Belle bit her lip, empathy making her want to hug him.

“You kept it all this time?” she asked sadly, and he sent her a wry smile.

“It was his favourite toy,” he said.  “His mother left it behind when she took him.  I used to lie awake at night, wondering if he could sleep without it.  A stupid thing - I’m sure he found another toy to hug.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said gently, and he sighed, turning the rabbit over and over in his hands, brown ears flopping as it moved.

“Can’t bring myself to throw it out,” he said.  “This is all I have left of him, you see. No pictures.  She took those, too.”

“What - what brought this on?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted.  “Perhaps - perhaps meeting Henry.  All that bright enthusiasm, the innocence of youth.  It makes me think of what I’ve missed. Perhaps Bae has his own children now, and I’ll never know them.”

He was looking wistful, his fingers clutching the brown plush body of the rabbit, and Belle took a step closer, running her hands up his back to his shoulders.  Gold let his head roll back with a sigh.

“Well, self-pity doesn’t help,” he said, almost to himself.  “My son barely knew me before he was gone, and it’s likely I’ll never see him again.  I have to accept that.”

He stepped away from her, setting the toy rabbit back on the shelf, cream-padded feet sticking out in front of it and ears flopping over its black-bead eyes.  His hand tightened over the cane as he stepped back, and Belle ran a hand over his arm, wanting to touch him, to send him reassurance.

“Did you speak to Dr Hopper?” she asked, and he turned to her, one brow lifting with a hint of surprise.

“Actually, yes,” he said.  “I have an initial appointment with him next week.”

“Maybe he can help,” she said, and he shrugged.

“It has to be better than doing nothing, doesn’t it?” he said, and slid an arm around her, pulling her a little closer.  “I also spoke to my lawyer. She wants us to go to Boston, to go through the paperwork for Gideon. I thought we might look at some properties while we’re there, if you like.”

Belle nodded, twining her arms around his neck.

“I’m looking forward to making a home with you,” she said, a little shyly, and he smiled, kissing her forehead.

“You don’t need to do anything,” he said softly.  “Home is wherever you and Gideon are. It’ll be wonderful whether it’s here or in Boston.”

She kissed him, rising up on her toes before settling back, a wide smile on her face.

“I’m glad you like Neal and Emma and Henry,” she said.  “When we move to Boston I expect we’ll have them over for dinner a lot.”

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, I’d like that.  I’m glad you’ve made such good friends.”

Belle hesitated, unsure whether to voice the stray thought that had been creeping around in her mind since the previous night.  Curiosity won out.

“You - you seemed to watch Neal a lot,” she ventured.  “Like - like you were puzzled by something.”

Gold glanced at her, a smile twisting his mouth a little, and he stepped out of her arms, grounding the cane.

“You noticed,” he said dryly.  “Not much gets past you, does it?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” she said.  “But since you just admitted it, what was up?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, his jaw working a little, eyes flicking to the floor and back up.

“It’s the strangest thing,” he said slowly.  “It’s - it’s almost as though we’ve met before.  I’m certain that we haven’t, at least not to my knowledge, but it’s like there’s this thought just - just scratching away at the back of my mind and it won’t stop.”

“What do you think it means?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Maybe we have met, and I just don’t remember it,” he said.  “Perhaps he was in the house when I went to serve a tenant with an eviction notice, or perhaps he served me in a bloody restaurant, I don’t know.  What does he do for a living?”

“Accountancy clerk,” said Belle, and Gold shrugged.

“So maybe it was that.  I don’t know. I don’t suppose it matters.”  He leaned in to kiss her forehead again. “Did you say something about coffee?”

“Yeah.”  She smiled up at him.  “I’ll take Gideon and make a run to Granny’s.  We might be able to catch Emma before she goes.”

“Give them my best, if you do,” said Gold.  “And see if Mrs Lucas has any of those excellent ginger cookies, would you?”

“On it.”

The sky had clouded over when she left the shop, the summer day unusually cool and fresh, and Belle walked quickly as she pushed the stroller up the street.  The diner was busy, and she smiled as she saw Neal, Emma and Henry seated at one of the tables, with empty plates in front of them and a guidebook resting on the table top.

“Oh, I’m glad I caught you,” she said, parking the stroller.  “I’m on a coffee run.”

“Well, sit down and have one with us,” said Emma, pulling out the chair next to her.  “Long drive ahead, so it’s caffeine all around. Except Henry.”

“I’m having cocoa with cinnamon,” put in Henry.

“We’ve decided to head up the coast, see some of the country,” added Neal. “Maybe three days or so. Thought we might drop by on the way back, if that’s okay.”

“Great!” said Belle, beaming as she lifted Gideon up.  “That would just about tie in with us travelling to Boston.  We’re going to look for an apartment there.”

“You can stay with us!” said Henry eagerly, and Emma chuckled.

“Not unless they want to sleep three to a bed, kid.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll be getting a hotel,” said Belle, with a grin.  “We can have dinner though, Henry.”

“I wanna take Mr Gold to the aquarium.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Belle, amused, bouncing Gideon on her knee.  “We went for Gideon’s birthday, remember?”

“We went for Dad’s birthday,” corrected Henry, in a dry tone.  “He just pretended it was for Gideon.”

“Yeah, well, only a day in it,” said Neal, shrugging, and tapped Gideon’s nose with a finger, making him giggle. “You almost shared a birthday with your Uncle Neal, kid.  We were looking at double celebrations if you could have just held out for a little longer. Maybe matching T-shirts, or something.”

“There’s more excuses for cake this way,” said Henry, and Belle grinned, smiling up at the waitress as coffee was poured for her.

“Well, when Gideon turns two, we’ll be in Boston,” she said.  “So we can all celebrate together.”

“Are you and Mr Gold gonna get married?” asked Henry suddenly.  “You could have more babies together. I bet Gideon would like a brother.  I’d like a brother.”

Neal and Emma exchanged an amused look.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Belle, trying not to grin.  “We’ll have to see how things go.”

Henry grumbled something under his breath about ‘we’ll see’ meaning ‘never’, and opened up his storybook. Neal picked up his coffee cup.

“He’s a fan of true love,” he remarked.

“It’s sweet,” said Belle, in an undertone.  “And honestly, remembering how I felt just a few short weeks ago - optimism is a good thing.  I want things to work out.”

“Sometimes that’s half the battle,” said Emma, taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah,” said Belle slowly.  “I don’t think it’s gonna be easy, especially knowing some of the stuff Alex has to work through, but he’s getting therapy for that, and I know he wants to try.  I know he wants to do his best for us, and I need that. I want Gideon to grow up as part of a happy family, which includes his father.”

“At least he’s trying,” agreed Neal.  “More than my mother ever did.”

“What do you remember about your mother?” asked Belle, and Neal wrinkled his nose.

“Dark hair, and pretty, I guess,” he said.  “Kind of intense. I remember the last conversation I had with her, when she left me with Social Services.  She said she wouldn’t be gone long, she just needed a break. Begging me to understand, while I just couldn’t stop crying.  Never saw her again.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Belle sadly, and he shrugged.

“Yeah.  Kind of tried to forget her as I got older,” he said.  “Took every step I could think of to cut her out of my life, to make myself into someone else.”

“Was that hard?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“Some things were easier to let go of than others,” he said.  “I mean - Bailey Bonny? Not really me, you know?”

Belle blinked.

“Bailey Bonny?” she said curiously, and he sent her a wry smile.

“One benefit of hanging out with the wrong crowd was being able to get a new identity, no questions asked,” he said.  “I changed my name. Became someone else.”

“I didn’t know,” said Belle, surprised.

“Like I said.”  He took another sip of coffee.  “Tried to forget.”

“Right,” she said.  “So, your original surname was Bonny?”

Neal set down his cup, licking his lips.

“Well, my mother’s surname,” he said.  “She used to say she shared the name of a famous pirate - Ann Bonny - and that she called me Bailey after a sailor she met once.  Always did love the sea. Guess I thought it was cool as a little kid. When she left - well, I soon figured I needed my own name.  Milah Bonny was the woman who abandoned me. Didn’t need the constant reminder.”

“Milah.”  Belle’s heart began to thump hard in her chest.  “That’s - an unusual name.”

Neal shrugged, wrinkling his nose.

“I guess.”

“Was she - was she Scottish?”

He shook his head.

“English.  My dad was Scottish, though.  Or so she said.”

“Right.”  Belle’s hands tightened around her cup.  “And - and what do you know about him?”

“Not much,” he said wryly.  “They met in Glasgow. He worked a lot.  Too much, according to her. Never liked to have any fun, always the responsible one.  She made it sound like that was a bad thing. Where I got my brown eyes, too.”

“So - were you born over there, or over here?”

“Oh, I was born in northern England,” he said.  “Newcastle, would you believe? Although from what I can tell we moved around a lot in England and Scotland when I was a baby.  My mother said we came over here when I was like two, so I can’t say I remember anything of the old place. Living in the US is all I’ve ever known.  We were in Florida for awhile, I know that. Always moving, never settled. And then one day it was a trip to Social Services, and she was gone, and I was in the system.”

It was said lightly, as though he didn’t care, but Belle suspected it had affected him deeply.  Emma was chewing her lip, looking troubled, and Belle hesitated before speaking.

“So - you changed your name,” she said.  “And - and you don’t know your dad’s name?  Did you ever try to look for him?”

“Oh, sure!” he said immediately.  “Just as soon as I was old enough to realise what I needed to do and the kinds of questions I needed to ask.  Trouble was, I had no family other than my mother - and she never came back. So there was no one I could ask about my dad, and when I got my birth certificate there was no name on there, so…”  He shrugged. “Nothing. Don’t even know if the guy she told me about was really my dad.”

“Do you remember anything about him?” asked Belle, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Not really,” he admitted.  “Just - really vague sort of stuff.  Like memories of memories, if that makes sense.  Nothing solid. Nothing I could describe, anyway.”

“Right,” she said absently, and Emma drained her cup, setting it down.

“Come on guys, we’d better hit the road.”

Henry closed his book with a thump, and Belle stood up, bouncing Gideon in her arms.  Emma hugged her, and kissed Gideon’s head.

“We’ll call when we’re on the way back,” she said.

“Yeah, we’ll give you warning this time,” added Neal, with a grin.  “See if you can keep things PG in the shop, okay?”

Belle sent him a level look, and he grinned, hugging her and Gideon.

“Bye, Belle,” said Henry cheerfully, throwing his arms around her before picking up his book.

“Drive safely,” she called after them, and watched them leave, Neal’s arm resting around Henry’s shoulders.

Belle chewed her lip, thinking hard.  Coincidence.  It has to be coincidence.  It can’t be true, that would be crazy.  There must be hundreds of people called Milah.  With Scottish exes. Who took their sons away from their fathers around age two.

She shook her head, and set Gideon back in the stroller, making her way to the counter to order two takeout coffees and four stem ginger cookies.  Her mind was whirling, and she barely registered the coffees being set in front of her. The scent of the cookies in their brown paper bag brought her back to the present, and she paid, uttering thanks in an absent voice before turning back to the door.  She needed to talk to Gold.

She was chewing her lip thoughtfully as she walked, one hand on the stroller and the other carrying the cardboard tray with its coffee cups.  Gold appeared to spy her through the shop window, and strode quickly to the door, taking the coffees from her. Belle pushed the stroller through to the back room.

“Did you catch Emma?” he asked, and she bent to unbuckle Gideon, lifting him out to sit on the floor with his coloured blocks again.

“I did,” she said, straightening up.  “They’re heading up the coast. Coming back in a few days.  I said we could have dinner again before they head back to Boston.”

“Ah.”

He took a sip of coffee, wincing a little at the heat of it before setting it on his workbench, and Belle bent to retrieve the paper bag of cookies from the stroller.

“Tell me about your son,” she said.  “You said his name was Bailey. Did - did he have your last name?”

Gold gave her a wry smile.

“No.  Milah’s.  As I said, I was never named as his father.  Should have taken steps to change that, but alas…”

He shrugged resignedly, and she chewed her lower lip.

“So - what was her surname?”

“Bonny,” he said, and Belle swallowed.

“And - and you said you weren’t there when he was born,” she said.  “So was that in your hometown, or—”

“No, no, he was born in Newcastle, in the north of England,” said Gold, running a hand through his hair.  “I think she spent a year or so there, from what I remember her saying. Probably the longest she stayed anywhere.”

His tone was rueful.  Belle could feel her heart thudding in her chest.

“When was his birthday?” she asked.

“First of May,” he said immediately.

“The day after Gideon’s,” she said, under her breath.

“Yes,” he said, with a smile, and glanced at her.  “Why all the questions?”

She hesitated, but raised her chin.

“Because I think I might have found him.”

#fic: dark heart #rumbelle fic #my fic #hey nonny nonny

[artificialqueens]

Favorite (Katlaska) Chapter 5 - Aliena

AN: I am genuinely blown away by your lovely comments. Spoky, Miss Dandee, and everyone anonymous, I can’t thank you enough, it means the world. I hope you like this chapter.

Thankfully they have the next day off, no show, no travel, a rare but perfectly timed occurrence. Alaska feels better, the headache gone, only a slight fever and a cough remaining. Still, Katya forces her to remain in bed and keeps fussing over her. It���s weird, but rather sweet. When she tries to leave the bed, Katya literally sits on her, until she manages to convince her she’s only going to the bathroom. They’re catching up on Fashion Photo Ruview when Katya’s phone lights up with an incoming video call from Trixie. ”What the hell?” Trixie says, when she sees the two of them in bed. ”Isn’t it like, the afternoon over there? Is this what you do on your tours?” ”Alaska’s ill,” Katya says, and Alaska coughs meekly in support. ”And what’s your excuse?” Trixie scoffs. ”Shut up! I’m taking care of her. I’m not a real doctor, but I am a licensed raccoon hypnotherapist, and a hypochondriac, so I am more than qualified.” Trixie looks straight at Alaska. ”Is this a Misery type situation? Blink twice for yes, and I’ll call in the state troopers.” ”I’m being very well taken care of,” Alaska says, making her voice as robotic as she can. ”Katya is an excellent nurse.” She grunts as she receives an elbow in the side for her comments. ”No, Katya’s been lovely,” she says honestly and Katya beams at Trixie. ”See?” Trixie looks unconvinced. ”You obviously bring out a different side in Katya than most people,” she says. ”Ooh!” Katya exclaims, so sudden it makes Alaska jump. ”Trixie! Didn’t you have a date last night?” ”Yes,” Trixie says darkly. ”Ooh…” Katya winces. ”On a scale from zero to three Pomeranians and a floor to ceiling poster of Bonnie Hunt, how bad was it?” ”Okay, first of all, we can’t have the three Pomeranians and Bonnie Hunt on the scale, because that’s in a league completely of its own, and nothing will ever compare.” Trixie sighs. ”And second… it might actually have been worse.” ”How can it be worse?” Alaska is intrigued. Trixie smiles grimly. ”So, we met on Grindr, and he was funny and really cute, and we decided to meet up. I suggested we’d meet at a bar, but he wanted to to meet at a coffee shop. I figure maybe he’s sober, that’s fine, some of my best friends are sober. Actually, when I say best friends, I mean distant acquaintances who have nothing better to do than to lie around in bed all day while some of us have already been to the gym before breakfast.” ”Tracy,” Katya interrupts mildly. ”Stay on topic.” ”Fine!” Trixie says and rolls her eyes. ”Anyway, I get to the coffee shop and the guy is there, and I realize that the picture he used wasn’t of him. That happens, it’s annoying, but i not necessarily a deal breaker. Because that’s how desperate I’ve become. But, it turns out the picture he used was of his older brother. His very older brother. Because this guy, was 15 fucking years old.” Alaska and Katya gasp in unison, and Katya grabs hold of Alaska’s arm tightly. ”No fucking way,” she whispers loudly. ”Yes fucking way!” Trixie exclaims. ”He had braces! He basically looked like me in the conjoined twins challenge! Only with acne. And he insisted he wanted to buy me coffee, which he could totally do, because he’d stolen his mom’s credit card!” She groans loudly. ”I hate my life!” Alaska bursts out laughing, and immediately covers her mouth with her hand. ”Sorry!” she says, her voice muffled. ”I’m sorry, but…” She starts giggling again when she hears Katya snort with laughter. ”No, it’s fine,” Trixie says flatly. ”I’m so glad the fact that I will live the rest of my life alone and die alone and get eaten by my cats is amusing to you. And I don’t even have cats! So I’ll have to rely on stray cats breaking into my house. Because that’s my life now.” ”Yeah, but Grindr sucks, though,” Katya says. ”That’s why I never use it, I just…” ”No!” Trixie interrupts her, ”I am not taking dating advice from someone who hooks up in drag ninety percent of the time, and who hasn’t been on an actual normal date with a non-married, non-straight man in the last decade.” Katya splutters. ”That’s not… entirely true.” She ponders it for a moment. ”It’s mostly true, but not entirely.” Trixie ignores her. ”Alaska! You’re a normal sort of person.” Alaska blinks. ”Thank you?” ”What do you use? Grindr? Craigslist? Scruff? How do you make it work?” ”Oh, I never use anything like that,” Alaska says, causing both Katya and Trixie to stare at her. ”Never. It could be anybody.” ”As demonstrated by me, Trixie Mattel at your service. You’re welcome.” Trixie stands up to curtsey, and Alaska golf claps. Katya is still staring at her. ”How do you hook up then?” Alaska shrugs, which is hard, since Katya is still clinging to her arm. ”I don’t know, meeting people in clubs, through friends.” ”See, that’s my problem,” Trixie says. ”I need better friends!” ”Bitch!” Katya exclaims. ”Yeah, well when did you last introduce me to any eligible bachelors, Barbara?” Katya grimaces. ”All the bachelors I know are very much ineligible.” ”What about you?” Trixie asks Alaska. ”Any single, available friends?” ”I suppose,” Alaska says. She mentally catalogues her single gay friends, but somehow none of them seems suitable for Trixie. ”I just don’t think any of them are good enough for you.” Trixie nods sagely. ”And that’s my other problem. I’m just too good, period. I’m destined to live out my life as a legend, icon and star alone, above every one else. Just like Jesus.” ”Just one of the many similarities,” Katya says. ”And anyway, don’t all of your friends want to fuck Katya?” Trixie asks with a sigh. ”That’s true,” Alaska admits. ”I’m still baffled by that.” She really isn’t. Katya turns to Alaska, with an affronted face. ”And why don’t you introduce them to me? I’m not picky, they’ll be good enough.” Alaska looks Katya up and down. ”Well, yes, but are you good enough for them?” ”You beast!” Katya drops the phone to grab the pillow from behind her and whack it in in Alaska’s face, making her splutter with laughter. Once they’ve stopped shoving each other like five-year-olds, Trixie has ended the call.   ”I just wish she’d meet someone who’s good enough for her,” Katya sighs, as she’s writing a groveling text to Trixie, apologizing for ignoring her in her time of need. ”She’s such a good person! She deserves someone who’s perfect.” Alaska thinks of the way Trixie looked at Katya during the call, the way she always looks at Katya, and the way she speaks of Katya, with so much fondness it makes Alaska’s heart ache a little for her. She has a  suspicion Trixie’s already found that person, but it’s not really her place to mention it. As Katya puts her phone to the side, she asks her about something else she’s been wondering about instead.   ”Is it true what Trixie said?” ”Probably,” Katya says, and snuggles closer to Alaska. It took Alaska a while to adjust to how touchy Katya is, but now she takes it in stride. ”Which part?” ”The part about you hooking up in drag ninety percent of the time.” ”Oh, that.” Katya frowns thoughtfully. ”Probably not as high as ninety percent, but yeah.” Alaska stares at her. ”Seriously? You’ve had sex more times in drag than out of drag?” Katya nods. ”Oh, definitely.” ”I mean, I knew you were that kind of girl, but really?” Katya shrugs. ”There was that year when I had sex with pretty much a third of the male population in Boston in drag. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I’d have to work really hard to even out the numbers after that. Also, it’s easier. Katya is beautiful, on a good day. Brian, eh, not so much.” ”Well, that’s bullshit,” Alaska says without thinking. ”But I just don’t really understand the appeal, I guess,” she continues, determined not to blush at the look on Katya’s face. ”I have had sex in drag, several times. But it feels weird, like I’m not myself when I do that.” Katya shrugs, with a self-deprecating grin. ”Well, back in those days, that was pretty much the idea.” She meets Alaska’s eyes and groans. ”Don’t look at me like that. It was all completely safe and consensual. Well, maybe not always entirely safe, but I knew what I was doing. I liked it! I’m glad I’m not living my life like that any more, but you know.” She shrugs again. ”Don’t look at me differently. Don’t look at me like I’m a victim.” Alaska wasn’t aware she had done that. ”Sorry,” she says, and then, curiously. ”How do I usually look at you?” She’s expecting a joking answer, but Katya bites her lip thoughtfully. ”I’m not sure,” she says slowly. ”I’m trying to figure it out.” ”But you still do it, right?” Alaska asks when Katya doesn’t continue on that track. ”Have sex in drag?” ”Sure,” Katya says, grinning again. ”Not for the same reasons though. I just think it’s hot.” An image flashes through Alaska’s mind, Katya, her red lipstick smeared, blond wig messed up, skirt hitched above her waist, looking up from under her fake lashes. Her mouth goes dry. ”Yeah, I can see that,” she says, her voice amazingly not wavering. They only have two shows left on this leg of the tour. The first one goes off without a hitch, the second one is two hours delayed due to a power cut. When they get back to the hotel they’re dead on their feet and Alaska falls asleep while Katya is still in the bathroom. She’s awakened the next morning by Katya swearing. It’s still mostly dark in the room, but once she’s managed to get her eyes completely opened she notices that the light in the bathroom is on, and that the door is slightly open, releasing a tiny bit of light into the room. Katya is just a dark shadow over by the door, still cursing under her breath. Alaska sighs, sits up and turns the bedside light on. ”What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, as Katya jumps by the sudden increase of light. ”Sorry,” Katya says. ”I didn’t mean to wake you.” ”What are you doing up at…” Alaska checks her phone and groans”… 5.43 in the morning?” ”I’m packing, I need to leave in half an hour. And I was trying not to wake you, so I didn’t turn on the light, and since I didn’t see anything I stubbed my toe into the desk chair.” Right. Alaska had almost managed to forget. The rest of them are leaving for more Christmas Queens shows, and she’s going to Dublin with the AAA girls. ”So what, you were just going to sneak out without saying goodbye?” It comes out less jokingly than she meant it to, but it still makes Katya smile. ”I would never,” she says, coming over the bed and sitting down on top of the covers. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweater, her feet still bare. ”I just thought I’d let you sleep for as long as possible.” She leans her head against Alaska’s shoulder and yawns. ”I appreciate the thought.” Alaska pets Katya hair absentmindedly and then she frowns. ”Katya, you’re bleeding.” There’s a tiny trickle of blood running down Katya’s big toe on her right foot. Katya starts to rise from the bed but Alaska holds her back. ”Don’t move. You’ll get blood on the carpet.” She gets out of bed and heads into the bathroom, rummaging around in her wash bag until she finds a plaster, and then dampens a wad of toilet paper under the tap. She gets into bed again, pulling Katya’s foot into her lap. She wipes of the blood, and then neatly puts on the plaster. ”There,” she says, giving the foot a gentle squeeze. ”As good as new.” Katya wriggles her toes experimentally. ”Aren’t you going to kiss it better?” she says cheekily. Before Alaska really has a chance to realize what she’s doing, she bends down and presses her lips against the top of Katya’s foot. When she looks up Katya’s eyes are wide. ”There, all better,” she says meekly, and is relieved when there’s a knock on the door. She almost jumps out of bed to open it, revealing Detox on the other side. Detox doesn’t look surprised to find her in Katya’s room, and Alaska briefly wonders, not for the first time, what the others are really thinking about the two of them. ”Morning,” Detox says, her voice gravelly. She looks over Alaska’s shoulder to Katya. ”You ready? Apparently we’re in for a treat, snowstorms galore in Canada.” ”Sure, just give me two minutes,” Katya says, pulling on her socks and shoes. Detox nods and opens her arms to Alaska for a hug, which Alaska willingly provides. ”Take care,” she says into Alaska’s shoulder. ”See you soon.” ”You too,” Alaska says, as Detox steps back and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Detox smiles and moves down the hotel corridor, leaving the door open. Alaska turns to Katya, who is just putting on her jacket. She steps aside as Katya picks up her suitcase and puts it down outside the door, turning on the threshold to face Alaska. ”Well,” she says, looking about as awkward as Alaska feels. ”Have fun in Dublin. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” ”That rules out absolutely nothing,” Alaska says, making Katya smile. ”Have fun in…” she breaks off to shake her head. ”I don’t remember where you’re going.” ”Vancouver.” ”That’s nice.” Katya nods. ”If we get there. With the snowstorm and all.” ”Well, you look dressed for it,” Alaska says, looking at Katya’s thin jacket. ”Hang on.” She reaches for her scarf, hanging on a hook beside the door. ”Here.” She wraps it around Katya’s neck, rearranging it until both ends are equally long. If she’s touching Katya’s neck slightly more than necessary in doing so, neither of them mention it. ”Thank you,” Katya says, and then, ”Alaska, I…” Alaska never finds out what Katya was going to say, because she’s already kissing her, wrapping her arms around Katya’s neck, her hand in Katya’s hair. She would like to pretend that she takes herself by surprise in doing so, but that would be a lie. She’s been thinking about this for weeks, maybe months. Perhaps she hasn’t imagined it happening in a hotel corridor while she is half asleep and Katya is leaving, but at least it’s finally happening. She releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding when Katya responds, parting her lips for Alaska, her hands coming up to rest on Alaska’s hips. She’s never had a first kiss with someone she knows as well she knows Katya before. Usually a first kiss is the opportunity to note how someone smells, what their skin feels like, what they sound like. But she’s already familiar with the mix of almonds and smoke that clings to Katya, the way Katya’s hair is soft under her fingers, the way Katya’s hands are never still.  The way Katya’s tongue feels against hers is new though, as are the little sounds Katya makes when Alaska’s fingers tighten in her hair, and Alaska wants more of it, wants to learn more about the little things that make up Katya. But there’s a pointed cough from further down the corridor, and when they break apart, too sudden and unexpected, Detox is just a few feet away, smiling apologetically. ”We really need to go,” she says. Katya nods, not looking at her but at Alaska. She looks a little bit lost. ”So, I guess I’ll see you New Year’s?” Alaska nods, feeling overwhelmed. She wants to say something, anything, but she just looks on as Katya grabs her suitcase. And then, just like that, Katya is gone, following Detox down the long corridor. Alaska slowly closes the door behind them, and sinks down to the floor. Oh, fuck.

#katlaska #katya zamolodchikova #alaska thunderfuck #aliena #trixie mattel #detox icunt #rpdr fanfiction #submission #favorite by aliena #canon compliant #favorite

[deut31v6]

170525

I'm so scared. I have books overdue. However, I don't want to email IT and get my library password fixed. I should fix it. I just really don't want to deal with it. Sigh. So many things I don't want to deal with. It seams like before there was room to just get things done. It could be buying birthday presents or sending postcards to friends. There seemed like room and energy to get things done. These days, I'm reluctant to even call my parents. Hardest is keeping up a good spiritual routine. Like this evening, I really want to see myself praying twenty minutes before sleep but I also really don't want to. I figured just writing something would be a good start to writing an entry. Even if it's a sentence. Oh God. Is this in lines with what you would have me do? It doesn't matter what I think might be right. What matters is God's opinion. Among many things I feel draining me is probably the lack of weekends. At the office, there's always two day sof the week to take care of things or be social. Here, even one day of the week seems brutal and guilt enducing. Also at the office, people usually started leaving the office around 530. Whereas here, it seems one should feel guilty for going home to rest. It's silly. In the workplace, people have lives outside of work. People have priorities. However, students ere are either single or divorced. None of them are even really in relationships. Now that I think about it, that might help explain how intense this makes things. School becomes life. It doesn't help one of the tutor tries to guilt us with not spending more hours in the studio. I really believe life isn't about toiling and burning the midnight oil for work sake. I don't know. God, I don't think that is what you want. However, I get so scared being here at home just typing this. I'm so tired of this schoolwork. Perhaps the biggest fatigue is not having a project manager who's solely dedicated in managing the project. This would include time management, delegation of work and also keeping everyone towards the goal. This also includes client and communication management. Instead, !eetings feel like a free for all. In the beginning, I had the notion only way to get things done is try to do everything. This is to be a designer, manager, and architect. However, this project was too bug. Or is it really? Am I calling quits without really understanding what God wants me to understand? Another thing about this project or program is how hard it is when peers become cynical or pessimistic. Some of them introduce such negativity that I don't know what to do. Some of them I feel don't really know how to run an architectural project yet they act like they do. I don't know how to proceed. God, I'm just complaining right now. Please, I pray to write only what you want me to write. Today, at the end of the day, I felt so unappreciated. This always happens when Martin wouldn't look me in the eye when he's talking. Not only this but no one stood up and mentioned about the work I had to show at the meeting. Everyone was content about letting me seem like a loser. Although, in the end, two peers showed some care for my quietness. Oh man. I don't know sometimes how to keep going. I'm scared about the project. I feel that it's slipping out of control and I foresee problems. However, I feel constant encouragement that everything will be good from the Holy Spirit. I keep praying how to see this work. I keep feeling inclined to let it go and let God. I'm so resistant to do this. For one, I'm afraid if I don't try to take control, I imagine few months from now people bitching about not having enough work prepared, or not enough work done. There's also the guilt of being judgemental about last year's students for there lack of success in the course. There is also the guilt of letting my team down. Not only is this project about me but others as well. I don't want to get in the way of other people's priorities. I met with the preacher from the local parish. We met at a small nature centre cafe. It was such a nice place and such a blessing meeting. I feel a longing for it right now. I ordered tea and his preacher came 10 mins later. I opened in prayer then I told him about what I saw as a spiritual problem. Primarily that I didn't have the same fellowship I did in Boston and that the school doesn't provide those things. The preacher responded by three things. He invited me to refill station meeting this June, to which I agreed. Then he invited me to have meal with his family and also Bible study with another brother. I felt all of this were good so i accepted. Ever since, I've been longing to hear about this again but he hasn't e-mailed me back. One other thing that was mentioned was blessing the place one is. This was a surprising thing. While here and in difficulty, I've only focused on what this place means to me. I haven't thought what I means to this pace. Here I can bless this place and people without reserve since we are called to be high priests. Ever since, this idea has been stuck in my head. Of course I haven't been praying for the village or school. However, this such an interesting idea. The notion God brought me here more than to just get an education. What if my presence in this part of the world is a larger purpose even to the local. It's nice to write. I have no idea. It's just nice. I don't know why I don't feel it's outright a spiritual proper thing like reading the bible or praying seems to be. It feels more like running where it can either be done for one's own gain or somehow for God's glory. The latter seems to need much prayer and guidance from the holy spirit. There's a new person working at my school. I've been reluctant to talk to him. He showed a presentation of his CV yesterday and I was thoroughly impressed. However, at the same time, I didn't feel any jealousy but a bit of repulsion. He seems to be the kind of guy that exemplifies what today's culture wants people to be. Self dependant, well rounded, lots of experience and personal diligence. He stacks up to people who I feel is hard to keep up. However, I quiestion what is all this success for? For me, all this is secondary but for him, it seems like everything. And that's what I felt I was left with. I didn't want his life despite his intense portfolio and prestige. I would trade it all for the blessing of a relationship I had with Wellington. God showed so much to me. And the bible study. All of these things i feel the school doesn't understand. Such a weird place to be. I've stopped watching any YouTube. Now that's been more or less established, I feel so bored right now. If I stop writing, I feel Ill have a hard time deciding what to do next. I guess I could pray and go to sleep. I've been trying to figure out whether to sleep 8 hours or 830. I don't know. Anyways, I've stopped YouTube but allowed movies and tablet apps. The other two big things I've stopped is reading the news and Facebook. I've left Instagram and LinkedIn. However, without these, I feel so bored right now. I could continue reading Robinson Crusoe. Perhaps the more responsible thing is to read for my thesis. My hopes is without these stimulus, I'll feel inclined to go outside and take a hike or bike to the coast over the weekends. I might read more, or bake, or many other things. I feel I've been negligent. As of late, I've been slipping in and out of bad habits. Last weekend, because of bad timing and lack of willingness to resist temptations, I feel into my urges for food and games. Thankfully, I didn't stay this way forever but this disorientation lasted. I don't know. I feel so sleepy. One other thing I feel bad about is not having called my parents in the last days. I didn't call them on Sunday and omitted calling them through the week. Now it's getting to a point it's been 2 weeks since I messaged them. Crap. I don't know what to do. However, I still feel strongly this is where God wants me to be. However, I don't want to be here. Sometimes I fantasize about being back in Boston. Why? The office setting of having weekends. All the people I knew. At the office, things feeling organized and less bullshittery. Less people wanting attention and needing recognition. Instead, things were the way they were. Something weird about trintellix I'm taking. It's been really helpful only off days. I don't know if it's improved my sleep or that the medicine is kicking something else in my head to high gear but on my off days, I feel more capable. I find myself connecting dots better, although not perfectly. The weird flipside is how weird I feel on my on days. I feel feel more worried and anxious. I get restless and I become more foolish. I don't want to be as such but I can't help it. God, what is going on? I almost dozed off. I'm sleepy. I want to sleep without praying. However, I really want to pray before sleeping. My spirit is willing but my heart says no. I have great aversion to expending energy unless I'm sure that is where God wants me to do. Even then it's hard. I really want to pray but I don't want to experience the hardship. I'm scared of fighting sleep. I'm scared of feeling difficult and giving up early. I don't like to do anything out of brute self willpower. This I find difficult. Also, I wonder how important evening prayer is. Does it make a difference? Good question because what seems to be an obvious question suddenly I feel out of place. I'm so sleepy I'm going to stop here. Amen.