#they lack awareness n life experience. today i told the older kids that i like men but in a gay way

[hua-fei-hua]

*flopped down on a couch w/a glass bottle of apple juice to make it look like i'm drinking beer*

yeah... yeah i'm fine.... just coming to terms w/the fact that i must use javascript in order to achieve my vision w/the neocities...

#the main reason i haven't just abandoned this particular aspect of the Vision(tm) is bc it would be useful for like. #more than one thing. so it's like. le sigh. #(reading the documentation for tippy tooltips tonight so that i can sleep on it n try to implement it tmrw or something) #why is it always js.... please god spare me at least a Little bit of suffering here i'll never sin again etc etc #speaking of sin i've started speaking more candidly abt my queerness w/the kids at work this week #it's nice to talk to the older kids (as in fifth grade or older) bc even tho like. nine years old is when they start to be tolerable #they lack awareness n life experience. today i told the older kids that i like men but in a gay way #n one of them was like 'i don't get it' n then i reminded her of Gender:tm: n she was like 'ohhhh i get it' #n the two guys also listening were like 'what. i still don't get it.' ONE OF THEM ASKED ME IF I WAS AMAB ACTUALLY LOL #n i was like 'what? that's not important.' but that was really surprising! kids usually read me as female #so it was kind of flattering in a way to be asked 'were you born a boy?' like idk how he's trying to process my gender #but i'm going to flatter myself into thinking the question comes from him like. idk clocking some kind of innate masculinity or w/e idk #花話 #anyway it's Crazy that it took me almost a year to not feel like i'd get instantly fired for telling kids i'm queer #Not going to lie it really felt like i'd never get to this point but it really is kinda just once you start it gets easier #(though to be fair i also wouldn't have told Any of the kids Anything had one of them not started acting like 'gays' was a dirty word) #(n i just Looked at him n said 'you know i'm a queer right?' n he was like 'O_O') #when i worked at homophobic summer camp i do remember daydreaming abt telling my boss i was a 'flaming queer' #i'd have put my feet up on her desk n everything as i made direct eye contact w/her but ofc i never did anything like that. #anyway! i will slep now so that i can get back to work on my projects tmrw morning

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 10

WC: 1633

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: anxiety, angst, brief fears of infidelity, discussions of childbearing and marriage/gender roles, psych theories, some manipulation, age difference, brief mention of domestic violence (there is none)

A/N: If you have any questions regarding the tags for this chapter and want to ask me about it before reading please do so! The chapter is not necessarily dark but I understand that some may want me to give a more detailed warning/context. I want all my readers to be as comfortable as possible 💙

🧠

It started out small. He would bring up Dr. Stratton during conversation more and more often. Three times now he had been late to office hours, causing you to have to wait outside his room, nervously checking the time. But it’s nothing, you continue to remind yourself. They’re just good friends that haven’t seen each other in years. And you trust them both.

When another Friday night passed with Laszlo skipping drinks in favor of meeting with Karen, you decided to stay in as well. It had been a month since they reacquainted with one another. In those weeks you had seen less of him outside work. Your sex life was stagnating too, much to your annoyance. He had even canceled at the absolute last minute on a dinner date. Naturally, you had begun to feel a twinge of jealousy at his lack of attention. He kept saying it was work related. Nevertheless, the sullen temperament you'd adopted went unnoticed by the doctor. You felt foolish; you weren’t so needy that you had to make a big deal about it. So you said nothing on the issue.

You sat on the old couch in your apartment. Bitsy was getting ready to go out with Lucius for date night. Picking at your fingers, you decide to ask your roommate for advice. “Hey Bits?”

“Yeah?” she called from her bedroom.

“Can I ask you a question about Lucius?” you start.

“Sure, what’s up?”

You pause as you think of how to word your thoughts. “Do you ever, like, get jealous? When he hangs out with other girls I mean.” Her head pops out of the door frame as she finishes fastening her earring, eyebrows raised in question. “It’s just that Laszlo has been spending a lot of time with Dr. Stratton now that she’s back in town. I trust them and everything, but I’m starting to feel a bit left behind I guess…” you trail off.

“Oh honey, that's normal.” She waves a hand through the air as she speaks. “There’s this girl at the lab that Lucius works with and for the first month I was convinced she was trying to steal him away from me. Turns out she just wanted Marcus, his brother!” Bitsy lets out a cackle.

“Right…” you pick at the skin around your fingernails. “I just feel silly about it. I’m sure I’m overreacting to the whole thing, though. Laszlo would never do anything, and I don’t think Dr. Stratton would either,” you remind yourself outloud. "There's just this thing John said to me about them having a past and I can't get it out of my head."

“It's not silly.” Bitsy had moved further into the bedroom, causing her voice to be slightly muffled. “But if it bothers you that much, talk to him about it. He’s a psychologist, it’s kinda his job to understand emotions and things like this. And if he loves you like you say he does then he’ll put a bit more effort into giving you his attention.”

You marinate on what she’s told you. Bitsy is right, if it bothers you that much then you need to bring it up with him. Be an adult, use communication, and all that. “Why’re you always right and level-headed about everything?”

“Someone’s gotta be, with a hot head like you,” she snarks. Her phone buzzes letting her know her date is downstairs. With a squeeze on the shoulder she bids you goodbye, telling you to let her know if you need anything.

_

The atmosphere in Dr. Stratton’s office felt off. What was usually so open and warm had felt forced and awkward. You were still ignoring the guilt of your jealousy at the doctor. She wasn’t as talkative today, unlike usual. Instead, it was strictly business. You chalked it up to her having an off day.

The two of you discussed in more depth the fetishes and kinks from the list you had compiled. Unfortunately, due to spending less time with your boyfriend the last few weeks you hadn’t had much of an opportunity to try any of the new tricks you were learning about. Therefore, you had little to really talk about in that regard. You found that you didn’t particularly mind, as you were feeling less inclined to want to share about your love life due to your envy towards the woman in question.

Dr. Stratton quietly gathered together her notes from the session and placed them into the folder. You were about to ask if she needed anything else from you when her lips parted before closing again. She leaned forward on her desk towards you. Her fingers steepled under her chin.

She licks her lips. “There is something I wish to discuss with you unrelated to the study.”

You didn’t like where this was going. Dread pooled in your gut at the concerned look on her face. “O-okay.”

“Now I want you to understand that I only bring this up out of concern for your wellbeing and emotional health. But some of the things you have told me over the course of this study have me worried.”

What on earth could you have said that would cause this sort of reaction from her? She was the most calm and collected person you had ever known. To have her speaking out made your heart race in your chest.

She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before opening her mouth again. “In truth I worry about your current relationship. I fear that-”

Brows furrowing, your mind goes to the worst conclusion. You blurt out “what? No! He doesn’t hurt me or anything, I don’t know what would have given you that impression but I- ”

The doctor reaches out with her hand to settle on your forearm. “My dear take a breath, I meant no such thing.”

You take a deep inhale to compose yourself. “Then what are you talking about?”

“Speaking as your friend, and as an alienist, I fear that this boyfriend is potentially using you for your youth,” she begins the tale she concocted, unbeknownst to you. “In my experience as a psychologist, the young women such as yourself that I encounter with significantly older male companions find themselves locked into the relationship. Typically, it is from dependence on money at first. Over time, the male pressures the woman to be compliant in things like marriage and childbearing. I understand how difficult it is for a woman as driven as you to balance your aspirations with relationships and domestic matters. Do you want children?”

Her statement and question take you back. Confusion is written all over your face. Marriage? Children? Neither you nor Laszlo had ever brought up either subject. You didn’t even know if it was something he was interested in. “Wait what? I'm not sure I follow…”

“Men around his age go through an identity crisis in which they begin to become aware of their mortality. A change in priorities. The most common desire is to procreate, to start a family in which to pass on their wisdom is strongest here. Are you prepared to give him children soon? Of course there is nothing wrong with wanting to be a mother, it is a very noble role. Yet you do not strike me as someone ready for such a large step.”

You can barely form a coherent thought at her onslaught. The whole conversation was so out of the blue that you felt incredibly lost. Did you want children? Did he want children? Now? You wrap your arms around your torso to stave off the uncertainty and anxiety you feel creeping in. No words come to your defense at her interrogation. You are speechless, jaw dropped.

She stands and crosses the room, placing her cool hands on your cheeks. “My dear you are still a child yourself. This is something you need to consider. To… consider the possibility that you can’t give him what he needs. That he may need someone closer to his age with the same priorities, someone more willing to give in to his needs now. I don’t think you’re ready for that. I’ve seen the cost that these girls face. And the societal pressures and judgement you would face being with someone so much older? I think it could throw you into a state similar to after your friend passed. I wouldn’t want to see you in that position again. I want you to have your freedom."

Dr. Stratton looks up at the clock suddenly; “oh! My, I’m going to be late for a meeting, you’ll have to go. I don’t believe we need any more sessions for the study, but I will let you know if anything changes.”

You are too in shock trying to process everything she said to you as she ushers you out of the door with a “think about what I said, dear.” The door shuts behind you.

Karen sat with a huff. She felt a tad guilty for what she had said to you. She had no idea if Laszlo wanted marriage or children, he hadn’t when they were first together. But times change. She hoped that by using the angle of kids and identity crises that she could subtly plant a seed of doubt in your mind. Strike quickly and overwhelmingly, plant the doubt that you weren’t right for him, then push you out before you have the chance to seek answers or reassurance from her. It seemed you bought her false concern as actual worry. You were a great girl. But you were just that - a girl. You couldn’t give Laszlo what he needed, not like she could.

Now she simply had to wait and let your mind eat away at itself, leaving him for the taking.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s

#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler fanfic #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #tw anxiety #tw infidelity #tw psychological manipulation #gender expectations #scuttle-buttle

[keywestlou]

MORNING STEW #48

I have not done a Morning stew since early December. My aching body has caused me to miss a day or two. This blog is catch up time. I am going to spell out items in the order they appear in my notes.

Enjoy.

The IRS will begin forwarding the $1,400 stimulus checks this weekend. Some already have arrived. Direct deposit will be first to receive.

Question: If culture wars are over, why is Dr. Seuss all over FOX News.

Most Republican Congressional persons are complaining the stimulus is too big. They forget the crisis is big too!

I have had one vaccine shot. My second the 27th. Vaccine distribution has been a problem in Florida. In addition to availability overall.

Spoke with a person yesterday who said he was in a chain drug store locally to pick up a few things. An employee asked him if he would like a vaccine shot saying that the vaccine would “spoil” if not used. The man got his shot. In fact, he has already had both.

Interestingly, he is not close yet to qualifying off an eligibility list. Including age limits.

I was unaware the vaccine could spoil. Did a little home work. They can.

Pfizer advises its vaccine has a life of 120 hours (5 days). If vaccine is older, Pfizer recommends the manufacturer be called for guidance.

The CDC maintains a COVID-19 Expiration Date Tracking Pool to follow the age of the vaccine at different levels.

What continues to bother me is that we have insufficient vaccine supply in various parts of Florida. Never the less, vaccine is apparently getting old/stale and may have to be disposed of without use. A disgrace.

The entire vaccine situation is in disarray. Not just in Florida. All over the U.S.

Harry Truman loved Key West and Key west loves Harry Truman.

Truman arrived in Key West on 3/12/1950 for a one month vacation.

Biden has ordered the deployment of 4,000 active duty military to help reach vaccine targets. Biden is handling the problem well. It is a war!

The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops reveals a “near obsession” with abortion in its opposition to the Johnson and Johnson vaccine.

Spring Breakers are arriving. Key West beaches filling up. Many more expected.

The largest influx of college students is expected to hit Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Many believe a significant number will be unhappy with those two cities and move down to Key West.

Miami and Fort Lauderdale still have restrictions in place. The kids will not be happy.

For example, Miami has a midnight to 6 am curfew. Alcohol is prohibited on beaches.

Key West has been touted as an “open town.” Hordes will arrive.

Key West police are ready. Even horseback police officers will be involved.

St. Patrick’s Day is around the corner. The problem will be the same.

The virus will be around longer than it should because many deviate from the restrictions. Merchants as well as college guests and other visitors.

It is proper to disrespect someone who does not perform properly. Even those who lack the capacity to do good.

I speak of Florida’s Governor DeSantis. A horses ass no mater how you view him. You can’t make good out of bad.

This past week DeSantis issued an order for fines persons and businesses have paid or might have to pay for charges already made be withdrawn. Included are mask violations.

Query: How are safety rules to be enforced during Spring Break?

The “ass” is considered Pesidential timber for 2024. Amazing!

Note this is the same individual who “arranged” for vaccine to be provided to  two affluent communities in Florida because they represented some of his heavy financial supporters.

Trump has said many times that DeSantis is the best governor in the U.S. Understandable. Trump was DeSantis’ Pied Piper. He did everything Trump wanted. Bad guys. Sinful under the skin.

While everyone has suspected Trump’s financial problems n New York City would bring him down, it now appears Georgia may do it first. He is being examined down to his underwear for issues involving ballot counting durnig the Presidential election.

If such occurs, and I suspect it will, Donald’s own recorded words will do him in.

A new restaurant in Key West. The Southernmost Fish Company Restaurant. Recently opened where Michael’s did business for many years. I wish Southernmost good luck! Can’t wait for my quarantine time to be over so I can try it.

Syracuse, my Syracuse! What a lousy basketball season!

One week ago, Syracuse was off the bubble. Then Syracuse beat North Carolina State 89-68. Back on the bubble!

Two days later, Syracuse played Virginia. A better team. The game was tied. Virginia dropped in a 3 pointer at the buzzer.

Syracuse now off the bubble? Maybe not. Virginia a much better team and yet Syracuse almost defeated them. The word now is that Syracuse is an if.”

If Syracuse makes it, it is anticipated it will be as #68, the last team invited to play in the big tournament.

We will know tomorrow when the tournament choices and rankings are announced.

Merrick Garland was confirmed by the Senate Judiciary Committee this past week for the post of Attorney General. The Senate will confirm him, if it has not already done so.

Garland has been touted as “best” for the job for two reasons.

First, he headed the Oklahoma investigation 25 years ago. Second, he has been a respected federal judge for more than 20 years.

Both experiences qualifying on their face. However, I question such.

Twenty five years is a long time ago. No one can tell whether he is as good investigatory wise today as he was then. A good judge does not necessarily make a good prosecutor. Especially after 20 years as a judge. The mind changes. In some instances, the drive also.

I hope Garland does well and I wish him well. However, he causes me concern.

What does Joe Manchin really want? I think he wants his ass kissed. He wants to be considered a big guy in Washington circles. He  fortuitously has been placed in that position.

It bothers me.

Biden has a tremendous opportunity to accomplish much. The stimulus bill evidence of the ability he has. To move on, Biden needs Manchin’s support. More succinctly, his Senate vote.

He is the fly in the ointment.

The vaccine. Demand exceeds supply in many parts of the country. Florida, especially.

DeSantis this past week dropped the eligibility age from 65 to 60. He could drop it to 40. Would make no difference. There is not enough vaccine for the people already eligible.

Proof of the pudding are Miami, Florida City and Tampa. Lines long waiting for shots. Get to the head of the line and told there is no more vaccine. All out!

Many of these people waited hours.

“Promises made, promises kept” was a joke when it came to Trump. The only “promise” he ever kept was the tax cut for the wealthy which kept millions of dollars in their pockets.

DeSantis no better. Makes a promise. Cannot deliver. Not because he is devious. Rather he does not check facts out before he speaks.

Anyone recall Katherine Houghton? She was the lovely young daughter who planned to marry Sidney Poitier in Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner. Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn played her parents.

A terrific movie. I can’t see it enough.

Katherine is now 75 years old. Hard to believe!

An interesting fact which many may not be aware. Katherine Hepburn was Katherine Houghton’s aunt. Hepburn was instrumental in helping Houghton launch her career.

Done!

Enjoy your day!

MORNING STEW #48 was originally published on Key West Lou

[sengenweek]

SenGen Week: Day 02

Day 02: December 30

Cell phones / clothing/palette/role/etc swap

-’-

Title: Unfulfilled Reality.

-’-

A/N: Five fun facts about this chapter before beginning (you can skip them if you wish, they’re not really relevant, I just wanted to mention them):

01. A key to rescue Aeryn Sun from Katratzi, was John Crichton’s knowledge of unfulfilled realities, that series of episodes and events inspired today’s chapter, hence the title. (Fuck, I love Farscape. I gotta finish ‘Prolonged Insanity’, I’ve been delaying writing it for far too long).

02. The tale is 'Jack the Cunning Thief’ (the idea to use this tale came from 'And the Fables of Doom’ an episode of The Librarians. Because I think Senkuu would be just like Ezekiel Jones if he were to switch places with Gen).

03. In Newsradio the chapter 'Led Zeppelin Boxed Set’, Catherine Duke teaches Jimmy James how to beat a crooked 'three card monte’ dealer. During the episode, they repeat 'Find the lucky lady’ 'Where is the lucky lady?’, when practicing the scam.

04. This version of Gen was actually inspired ever so vaguely by Subaru in Houkago No Pleiades (Wish Upon The Pleiades). Mind the word ’vaguely’.

05. 'Black Holes Apocalypse’ is a documentary that explains in simple terms, what black holes are, and their role in the universe. Thanks to this documentary, black holes are briefly mentioned here.

-’-

It had been one of Byakuya’s many attempts to distract the newly arrived boy in his home. He’d read him a story, from a very old book Byakuya had no recolection of ever buying. The story told the tales of a rogue in old times, who used his cunning to deceive people –thieves, farmers, chiefs–, and gain money as well as the hand of a lady in marriage. Senkuu was marveled at the many tricks and ruses the man used to get what he wanted, how he tricked everyone to obtain his goals, with no actual harm done to anyone.

“Byakuya, I want to be like him” he said with sleepy eyes.

“Sure, kiddo. If you go the steady constant route, I’m sure you can be just like that rogue” he answered the boy.

-’-

The very next day, Senkuu went to the library, and he read everything he could find that came close to teaching how to deceive people. Naturally, these were psicology books, explaining human behavior. He absorbed the knowledge as best as he could, and tested it on field experiments.

Like, one time at school, he would tap his desk three times quickly when the teacher announced it was lunch time. He did this constantly for a few weeks, until one day, he did it about an hour before lunch time. A kid was halfway to his things when he realized it wasn’t time to eat yet, several more turned their heads in the general direction of their lunch, and another kid cried, she didn’t understand why it wasn’t lunch time yet. Senkuu was thrilled with his accomplishment.

The next step were deceptions, and what a better example of deceptions, than the ones magicians would pull off. Once more he went to the library, and read. Then he turned to TV to get more information. Then, the field experimentation.

He had practiced a long used scam with cards, a three card monte.

“Find the lucky lady. Where is the lucky lady?” he vociferates.

He scamed a couple older boys at the park, naturally he wasn’t skillful enough just yet, so he ended up being caught. Luckily a kid named Taiju came to his aid. Taiju was marveled when Senkuu’s tricks would work, so he stayed by his side, they became best friends in no time.

Slowly, but surely, Ishigami Senkuu became excellent at his field of work, especializing mostly on human behavior, he wrote a few books about it –some of them aimed just for sales–, he did presentations, and became well known amongst the youth. He was cunning, and arrived at the top not only with hard work, but with tricks and deceptions. Just like Jack had done.

-’-

Gen would often be lonely at night, so he counted the few visible stars that he could make out, the many artificial lights of the city making them almost invisible, so he had to use a telescope to see properly. He tried counting them one by one, until he knew their place –and their names– by heart. It all begun with stars, and loneliness for him.

When the stars were no longer enough, he had to find another thing to occupy his mind with, so he started to formulate questions about the sky, the typical ones, like: ’what’s out there?’, ’why is there so much color?’, ’why is it so quiet in outer space?’.

So he searched, finding answers with numbers and big complicated words he does not understand, and he goes from physics to chemistry to biology, and from there on onto everything else that a rhymes with the stars, with the sky, with the world. He reads, and writes, until he can trace some sense into this chaotic nonsense of unintelligible words and equations.

He dismantles –dissects– the mechanical devices he has on hand until their busted organs are bleeding out from their torn coppery veins. And like a mortician, he finds the cause of death: ’Curiosity’. It hangs from their plastic –sometimes metallic– toes.

-’-

’What is the world made of?’

The periodic table answers this question, with it’s many elements lined up in their ranks, subdued into their defined hierarchy. And Gen wants to bring this hierarchy down. He is unsuccessful. So he simply goes back to watching above him. And he finally dives into the dark stars. The dead ones, the collapsed supernovas that made points of amassed gravity –black holes–. He thinks they are as beautiful as the ones that still have light.

He wonders if his curiosity will end up crushing him one day –tampering with the elements until he creates iron–, and he will go out in a violent explosion of light, creating so much strain in the fabric of space-time that a black hole will be born where he stood.

He writes all of this down, going from his curious dissections, to his anarchistic tendencies, unto the flickering thoughts of destruction. He makes one or two important discoveries, which put him in a spotlight. But he remains as anonymous as he can, writing books, and papers, giving a conference here and there. Traveling around, making the name Asagiri Gen to be noticed.

-’-

Awards. They mean recognition for one’s actions. And people like recognition so much they make a big fuss about it, throwing parties, and making a show of being given an award. Such events tend to gather recognizable names into one place, mixing them up and stirring them together. There is no need to specify that parties are the favorite go-to method.

Asagiri Gen didn’t hate parties, rather he simply had a distaste for being around so many people, he had so little knowledge about social interactions that he grew awkward with each passing minute. Naturally, he pulled away from everyone else, and went out into a balcony, he did what he always did, he observed the sky.

He wore an elegant suit, a purple bowtie strangling his neck. He heard the crystal door to the balcony being opened and closed, heard the faint footsteps approaching; still, he didn’t turn back.

“Lovely night isn’t it?” questions a sultry voice behind him.

He turns to look at the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. It’s a young man, a strand of white-green hair falling in his face, the rest of it tied down in a ponytail. His suit is black, with a white shirt that lacks a tie –the first button is undone–. The young man gives an image of formal-casual, leaning more towards casual, given that his hands rest inside his pockets. He knew him. ’Ishigami Senkuu’. A sort of mentalist, a magician, he’d read one of his books out of curiosity –as he did most things–, it didn’t perk his interest.

“Yes, it’s unusually clear” he answers out of politeness.

“Why are you so secluded, the party is inside” he asks halting to a stop next to Gen.

“I get anxious around crowds”

“Hmm”

Senkuu gives him a sideways glance, as he leans his forearms on the railing, looking down at the fast moving vehicules that leave a stele of red-orange-yellow lights in their wake. Gen’s eyes are locked up into the inky mass of heavens, clouds gathering around the moon like a nightdress.

“You know corals get stressed too”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, they get real stressed because of the current events”

Gen looked at him dumbfounded for a second, and then laughed.

“You know, if you’re stressed, they say laughter is the best medicine” says Senkuu.

“That is a terrible joke!”

“It made you laugh” he points out pleased. “Ishigami Senkuu” he introduces himself as he extends his hand.

“Asagiri Gen” Gen takes the offered hand.

“So, Asagiri Gen, why did you come if you dislike it so much?”

The scientist grimaces a bit.

“I was sorta… ” he begins. “Blackmailed, a co-worker stole my favorite bracelet, and she’d only give it back if I came tonight”

Senkuu laughed –it was a throaty, raspy laugh–.

“Clever woman” he praises.

“Unfair woman. She insists I have to get out more”

“These kinda parties aren’t so bad”

“They’re okay, I guess. They just don’t have anything I like to drink”

“Oh. And what do you like to drink, Gen?”

“Cola” he smiles.

Senkuu looks strangely delighted, as he pulls out a medium bottle of cola out of his suit. He offers it to Gen, who practically beams with happiness.

“Thank you!”

He opens it, and takes a long swig. Then he gets aware of himself, sheepishly, he offers the bottle back to Senkuu, who takes a gulp.

“I prefer cola myself, too” explains the magician.

“Sweet black nectar of life” sighes Gen.

The other laughs again. They share the drink, until it runs out, and the scientist fumbles lazily with it in his hands. His phone rings, his co-worker send him a text. And he sighes.

“What’s the matter?”

“My co-worker. The one who blackmailed me. Well, she’s asking where I’m hiding”

“Hmm” Senkuu holds his chin. “I think I can help you out with that. Give you an excuse not to answer yet”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Give me your phone”

Gen cautiously gives it to him, and Senkuu then takes the emptied bottle of cola. He presents both objects in his hands, as if he were in front of a crowd. He clanks them together a few times, before hitting them hard against one another. When he hands them back to Gen, his cellphone rests within the plastic bottle. He examines the bottle astonished, the phone is indeed inside, the bottle has no damage on the outside.

“How did you even do that?!”

“A magician never reveals his tricks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a producer in there that I must go charm up” he parts, while blowing Gen a kiss.

He stared at his back, both amused and annoyed, holding a cola bottle with his cellphone inside. Gen decided he preferred to stick to his science and his stars –although, magic didn’t seem so bad–.

-’-

A/N: Also on fanfiction:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13464121/2/SenGen-Week-2019-2020

#day two #cell phones #sengen #sengenweek #submission

[honeypiehotchner]

Trust -- part ten

Your and Sherlock’s friendship appears to be just as Ms. Hudson suggested: a good thing.

           John has never seen you this happy – granted, he has only known you for almost two months now. Well, not happy, necessarily, because he doesn’t feel right in saying you’re happy when both men who saved your life – John means to ask you for more context at some point – are now dead. But if he didn’t know any better, he would say you seem…happy.

           A powerful thing it is, a façade.

           You know how John worries. You know Sherlock shares some of the concern, even though he would probably throw a fit before he admitted to it. And your concern with Sherlock is more or less with his observational skills and blurted deductions. You’d rather keep him off your back, which is where this façade comes more into play.

Regardless, you know how they both are – especially your brother.

           John has been worrying about you for too long. You know he hasn’t stopped worrying from the day he met you, and you don’t want that to be what he fills his days with. He deserves to fill his days with better things, not worrying about his half-sister who might as well still be a stranger.

           So, you’re sleeping in your flat now. And by sleeping you mean you don’t. At all.

           Lucky for you, another small investment you made with Mycroft’s money was some makeup to cover the bags under your eyes. It isn’t foolproof, but it’s enough to lessen the color so that when paired with a bright smile, you seem like everything is totally okay.

           Even if everything is as farthest away from being okay than it ever has been.

           But you’re keeping yourself distracted. You think the real reason you are able to keep up the façade is that it’s just something else to distract you. And that is precisely what you need right now. You don’t have time to grieve right now when Gidon is still out there, even if he has been totally silent and surprisingly nonexistent the past few days. And, despite Sherlock’s kind words and kind intentions from the rooftop, you know you don’t deserve to grieve the loss of friends who you got killed in the first place. They saved your life, and it was your responsibility to return the favor, not get them both murdered. It’s your fault entirely, therefore grieving their deaths seems ridiculous and something you’re unworthy of.

           Distractions. You’ve read more books in the past six days than you probably ever have in your entire life. They’re in a neat stack in the corner of your room, most of them being John’s, so you sneak a couple back to the shelves upstairs when Sherlock is too buried in his mind palace to notice you and John is out (presumably) with Mary or his friend Mike.

           You and Sherlock have played just about every game he owns, all while making up your own rules and creating new paths because the games can get rather dull after the third or fourth round. He’s been surprisingly willing to play them with you, which you do find somewhat odd considering he would typically be doing better things like experimenting or investigating. But you suppose he does all that when you retreat to your flat because you always hear him walking around.

           You blast the records you bought more often than not, your most recent obsession being that of Queen. So much so, that you’ve decided today is the day you’ll go outside and go to the record store. You need to get more records – maybe a chair, you still haven’t gotten that yet – but definitely a couple more records. You had asked Molly about having lunch together today, but that has been pushed out until Monday because she’s rather busy, but you don’t mind—

           “Oh, hi,” John chuckles, straightening the collar of his coat. “Where are you heading off to?”

           “The record store,” you blurt, possibly a little too quickly. “And maybe a bookstore.”

           “Okay,” he narrows his eyes, and your mind immediately tells you to flash a smile, wanting to convey to him that you’re still absolutely totally alright. “Well, I’m uh, about to meet Mary for lunch if you’d like to join us.” He pauses. “She wants to meet you.”

           “Oh, um, maybe a different day,” you smile sheepishly. You’re not sure if John notices that today is the sixth day since Allen was murdered, but regardless, you think it’s best if you stay alone today, so that way if something does happen…well, it’ll only happen to you. “Sorry.”

           “No, no it’s okay. We’ll plan a day. Maybe even drag Sherlock out, too.”

           “Sounds good.” You don’t think Sherlock will agree to that, but okay. You think this is more of John trying to have a moment with you. You’ve been avoiding moments with him because, well, for starters Sherlock has been obsessed with Cluedo (probably because John wouldn’t let him play it for so long; he told you about that) and you’ve been intentionally filling your time. Sorry, Johnny.

           “Okay,” he nods, flashing his own smile. “Do you… You said you’re going to the record store?”

           “That’s the plan.”

           John sighs. That’s at least a ten-minute walk – because he knows you won’t take a taxi, you prefer walking. And it’s in the opposite direction he’s going, though he isn’t sure you’d want him to walk you to the store anyway, and then what happens when he leaves you?

           “Hang on a second. I’ll be right back.” He turns and goes back up the stairs, leaving you in the doorway of your flat with a puzzled look.

           While he’s gone, you lock your door, stuffing the keys into your pocket. You check your other pocket, making sure your cash is there, but it takes a second to really feel the bills. You clench your hand into a fist, trying to stop the shaking – and to start circulation again. Your hand isn’t cold, though, so circulation appears to be fine. Your brain is probably playing tricks on you due to the lack of sleep, that’s all. You shake your wrist out just as John is coming back down the stairs with…

           “A gun?”

           “Yeah, it’s mine,” he pauses, holding it out to you. “Take it.”

           “What?”

           “Y/N,” he breathes. “Please. Just take it.”

           “I’m not taking a gun with me to the record store, John, that’s insane!”

           “It’s not insane when there’s someone out there who wants to kill you.”

           “And you think a gun would stop him?” You blurt the rhetorical question before you can even think, the gravity of your words settling in when you see John frown deeply. It’s natural, you suppose.  Quickly, you try to say something else. “Look, I just don’t feel comfortable carrying that around.”

           “I don’t feel comfortable with you not being able to protect yourself.”

           You blink, his response not being one you were anticipating. “I can protect myself just fine.”

           He gives you a skeptical look.

           Fine, you think. He wants me to open up, I’ll open up.

           “Last time I held a gun, I killed a man,” you admit, maintaining eye contact to be sure he hears you with this. “You can imagine why I’d be hesitant to handle one again.” It is true, after all. You may be the Troublemaker – though lately you aren’t so sure you are anymore – but you never killed anyone. Until that one night. And since then, you haven’t held a gun. You know Gidon is dangerous. And you know he has to be stopped.

           “Y/N…”            But you’ve already turned to head out the door.

           “No, John. I’ll be fine.” If Gidon wants to come after me, he can. I don’t care. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”

           “No you won’t.”

           You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “Sorry?”

           “You heard me. You won’t.”

           You sigh.

           “I’ve given you the option to call me before, and you haven’t. So, please, don’t say you will if you’re not going to.”

           “Well, if nothing happens then I won’t need to call you, will I?”

           He steps up to you, holding his gun out once more. “Take it. If you want me to stop worrying, then take the bloody gun.”

           You reach forward, tempted to take the weapon when you see the relief in his eyes, but you shake your head, pushing the gun back toward him. “I’ll be okay. And if anything happens, I promise – John, I’m serious. I promise I’ll call you.”

           You see him clench his jaw, before he nods, letting you win this round. “Okay,” he breathes. “Come here.”

           You already know what he needs, seeing that look in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him the biggest hug you’ve ever given him. You don’t want to think cynically right now, but if something does happen, you do want your last memory of him to be a good, secure hug. Not an argument over a gun.

           “You better call me,” he says again, shaking your shoulders. “But have fun. Spend some money.”

           “That’s my plan,” you chuckle. “I’ll see you later? Or tomorrow?”

           “Alright, I see,” he gives you a look, reading what you’re implying perfectly. “Later. Mary has something to do tonight.”

           “Oh? What does she do?”

           “She’s a nurse, but--”

           “Shame. I thought you were gonna say stripper.”

           John’s eyes widen before he practically shoves you toward the door, all while you’re laughing – which does make him feel momentarily better, your laughter. It makes you feel better too, to add some light to this situation before you go.

           “I’m kidding you! Christ, you should know better by now. Don’t take anything that comes out of my mouth too seriously.”

           “Yes, I know, now get outta here.”

           “Gladly,” you smirk, feeling a little lighter now that he’s off your shoulders. You aren’t sure by how much, but it must be at least a little.

~~~

Shopping for new records would go smoother if you didn’t feel like someone was watching you.

           John’s words echo in your mind. You better call me. But you aren’t sure if this warrants a call to your older brother because it very well could be your lack of sleep. And you’ve had to deal with days like these before, where you haven’t slept in ages. You did manage a few hours last night, but nowhere near what would be deemed a normal amount. Regardless, your senses are all heightened. And while that would normally be a wonderful thing – you know, be aware of your surroundings at all times – today it is rather annoying.

           Gidon doesn’t come to mind because while it is the sixth day, the pattern seems unlikely to you. Yes, Tony was murdered after six days, but Gidon wouldn’t return to that style. You know how he works, and he would want you to wait. It also could be some religious thing, but you haven’t looked into that just yet.

           All you know, is you’ve felt someone staring at you – well, not so much staring as watching – for the past thirty minutes.

           You turn to look in a different crate, hoping to get a better view of whoever it is – and you do. It’s a man in a full suit with sunglasses on. Security of some sort.

           Security.

           “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter under your breath. This absolutely warrants a call to your older brother, and maybe someone else, too. You press your phone to your ear, waiting for him to pick up, and in true John fashion, he picks up on the second ring. “John? Hi—”

           “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

           “I’m fine. You wouldn’t have happened to tell Mycroft I was going out today, would you?”

           “I, uh, haven’t spoken to Mycroft, why?”

           You feel like he’s lying, but you let it slide anyway. “Hm, okay. Let me call him.”

           “Y/N—”

           You end the call – you’ll call him back; he can calm down – instead calling a certain Mycroft Holmes this time. He picks up almost immediately, which just screams guilty. Even if John didn’t call him – you’re trying to believe John doesn’t worry that much – you know Mycroft has eyes literally everywhere.

           “Mr. Holmes, I do not need a babysitter.”

           You hear him sigh. “Is he bothering you? I told him to be discreet.”

           “So he is your pet,” you give the man a hard look, but he continues staring straight ahead. “I’ll say it again. I don’t need a babysitter.”

           “Well, Miss L/N, I’d argue that you do.”

           “What the hell for?”

           He doesn’t answer you. Instead, you watch as a black car pulls up to the curb outside the record store in the same spot it did all those weeks ago.

           You sigh into the phone. “I’m not in the mood, Mycroft.”

           “Yes, I know,” he deadpans. “I need to speak with you.”

           “Well, I gathered that.”

           “Now, Y/N.”

           “Okay, fine. I’m going.”

           You end his call, rolling your eyes as the man in the suit turns and walks to the door, holding it open for you. Grumbling like a toddler – which is what you feel like right now – you get into the car, immediately dialing John’s number.

           “Hello?”

           “Hey.”

           “Y/N? Are you okay?”

           “Yeah, I’m fine,” you glance out the car window, noticing the street signs. Mycroft must be opting for his actual office instead of a dirty warehouse this time. “I’m on my way to see Mycroft.”

           “Mycroft?” John asks incredulously. You still can’t detect any lie, but you also can’t see his face right now.

           “Yes, he had a babysitter in the bloody record store. I called him and he confessed, and now he suddenly wants to speak with me.”

           “Well,” John sighs. “It’s Mycroft.”

           “Unfortunately,” you chuckle. “Hey, John?”

           “Yes?”

           “I called you.”

           “Yes, you did. Thank you.”

           You smile. “Are you with Mary?” You know he is, but you felt like you should ask.

           “Yes, she’s uh—She’s sitting across from me.”

           “Good. Tell her I said hi. And sorry for interrupting your date.”

           “I’m not telling her that.”

           “Did you tell her I thought she was a stripper?”

           “Y/N!”

           “John! I’m kidding!” You let out a loud laugh, leaning your head on the car window, feeling the vehicle slow down. “Still, tell her I said hello. I’m here to see Mycroft now.”

           “Okay. I’ll tell her.”

           Your car door opens, which is essentially your cue to get out and get off the phone. “Here I am. Talk to you later, Johnny.”

“How is my brother?”

           “You know, if you really wanted to know how he is, you could just talk to him.” You cross your arms over your chest while Mycroft pours you a cup of tea. “But he’s fine.”

           Mycroft could’ve told you that. Sherlock is always fine. Mycroft hums, indirectly wanting you to continue.

           You roll your eyes dramatically. “He’s fine. We’ve played every game he has, but Cluedo the most. He’s eating, I’m eating. He’s good. He still doesn’t sleep, but then when does he ever?”

           Mycroft freezes, eyeing you suspiciously. “‘We,’ as in…?”

           You raise your eyebrows. “Me…and Sherlock. We play games to pass the time. Are you okay?”

           “I’m fine, yes.” He pauses to hand you your tea before settling into his chair across from you. “Now—”

           “Okay, first, if you need to talk to me, just phone me. I have a phone for a reason. That specific reason, actually. That’s what it does. And second, I do not need a babysitter.”

           “Yes, as you’ve stated many times.”

           “I’m serious, Mycroft.”

           “I’m serious, too, Y/N, and if you had any idea what Gidon Dietrichson is capable of, then you would understand.”

           “I know what he’s capable of. I’ve gone up against him, remember?”

           “Yes, which resulted in your hospitalization. By the way, how’s the shoulder?”

           You clench your jaw. You didn’t think it was possible for someone to push your buttons as much as Sherlock does sometimes, so thank God Mycroft is here to remind you. “Fine. Good as new.”

           “And yet you wouldn’t take John’s gun.”

           You chuckle, placing your cup down on the table beside you. “He called you, didn’t he?”

           “I have eyes everywhere, Y/N. John didn’t need to call me.”

You narrow your eyes. He didn’t need to only implies that he did. “What do you want?”

           “To protect you.”

           “I don’t need protecting.”

           Mycroft eyes you again. “You haven’t slept,” he pauses, narrowing his eyes, “in days.”

He noticed it when you walked in here. Your tired eyes and too-thin patience. Not to mention how you’re drinking black tea, when you usually have sugar. The lack of sleep must have made the difference go unnoticed. Your shaking hands don’t help your case much, either. And you know he notices all of this. He doesn’t need to voice his deductions.

           “Rude,” you tease, trying to deflect his deductions with humor. “I got two hours last night.”

           “What is wrong with you?”

           You shrug. “A lot of things. It’s hard to narrow it down, really. But you didn’t ask me to be here so you could talk to me about how I’m feeling, I know you don’t care. Now, what do you want?”

           “I told you. I want to protect you.”

           Oh, John definitely called him. “What do you really want?”

           “I can’t have tea with you to see how you are doing?”

           “No, you can’t. Because we’re not friends.”

           “I happened to have noticed today is the sixth day since Allen was murdered. Forgive me for wanting to keep you out of harm’s way.”

           You nearly smile at his words, but then you remember who you’re talking to. “What’s gotten into you?”

           “I suppose I feel a bit of…what is it? Guilt, for not fully disposing of The Congregation, and now to find Gidon Dietrichson is targeting you.”

           “Guilt? Mycroft Holmes feels guilt? Michael Holland feels guilt?”

           “Yes, how long did it take you to figure me out?”

           “Longer than I’d like to say.”

           “What gave me away? Humor me.”

           “You were a little too interested in the case.” You pause, remembering his text messages and willingness to look into the matter for you. “That, and the initials. You showing up at Baker Street last week only confirmed it all.”

           “John phoned me.”

           “Obviously. But you were still too interested.”

           Mycroft sighs heavily, setting his tea down. “You brought us enough information to make the calculated move that we did, all while putting your safety in danger. And now that this has resurfaced, I feel I owe you an apology.”

           “Apology accepted,” you reply, giving him a weird look. John definitely must have had a few words with him – a few heated words. “I still don’t understand why you’re saying all of this.”

           Well, while it is none of his business, it has concerned him. And the state you are currently in has only concerned him further. So, he says what is on his mind. “My brother seems to have taken to you. And you to him.”

           “Please, tell me you are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

           “Sherlock has never had a friend outside of John Watson, and he seems to be enjoying your company.”

           “You do realize we constantly argue, don’t you?”

           “Yes, that seems to be a trend,” Mycroft pauses, thinking momentarily of The Woman. “But he did talk you off a rooftop. And you two have been playing games together since.” He doesn’t even need to mention the incident of Sherlock placing you in his bed, or the apparent piece of music Sherlock is composing that has your name practically written in the spaces between the lines of the staff.

           “I would hardly call arguing over whether or not the victim committed the murder in Cluedo as enjoying one another’s company, but I’ll take your word for it.”

           Mycroft narrows his eyes. You appear to be hiding something, but you’re nearly impossible to read when you are this exhausted. Not to mention that all he sees is pain in your sleep-deprived eyes.

           “Well, if that was all,” you shake your head at the strange sound of it. This was probably another big waste of your time, which appears to be something Mycroft enjoys doing. “Then I’ll be going. I have records to buy since you rudely interrupted me.”

           Mycroft stands with you. “Yes, apologies.”

           “Yeah…don’t send security to follow me around. I’m sure you have ways of watching my every move that doesn’t involve someone breathing over my shoulder.”

           “Understood.”

           Now he really is acting strangely. “Uh, okay. Goodbye, Mycroft.”

           “Have a lovely day, Y/N.”

           You send him another strange look over your shoulder as you exit his office, guided by who you’re assuming will be driving you back to Baker Street. You’re going to request the record store around the corner since you are entirely serious about finishing your shopping.

           As soon as the office door has closed, Mycroft phones John.

           “She seems to be alright, no signs of any drugging.” Mycroft doesn’t mention his other deductions as he’s sure John will see them.

           “Okay, that’s good.”

           “Uh, John, they play Cluedo together?”

           “Yes, uh, they do. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

           The older hums. “Yes. Peculiar.” He shakes his head.

           “Okay, she’s phoning me now. Bye Mycroft.”

 ~~~

You settle into the back of the car, dialing John’s number. The line is busy for a moment before he answers your call. If your suspicion wasn’t raised before, it sure is now.

           “Hello?”

           “Hey,” you breathe. “Who were you talking to?”

           “Oh, Mike called.”

           “Oh,” you nod, liar. “I know you called Mycroft.”

           John sighs heavily. Busted.

           “Listen, John, I know you worry, but I’m fine, really. I don’t need anyone to protect me, and I really could do without you phoning Mycroft to spy on me.”

           “Mycroft spies on everyone.”

           Weak excuse. “John.”

           “Okay,” he replies, quietly. “Okay. No more.”

           “Good. Now get back to your date.”

           “Okay,” he chuckles. “Mary says hi.”

           You smile then, not being able to help it. You’re happy for John, really. He deserves someone who makes him happy, and Mary seems to do just that. “Tell her I can’t wait to meet her.”

           You wait as John relays the message. “She says the same.”

           Because you’re on the phone with John, you completely forget to tell the driver to take you to the record store, and you don’t realize this until the car pulls up outside 221B. You sigh.

           “Okay, I’m here now. Bye Johnny.”

           “Bye Y/N.”

           You open the car door for yourself, tired of the suit doing it for you. He looks rather annoyed after being halfway out the car by the time you got out of the car.

           The car speeds away as you unlock the front door. As soon as you step inside, Sherlock stops playing his violin.

           “Don’t stop on my account,” you call out as you walk up the stairs.

           Sherlock turns around from the window, seeing you leaning against the doorframe. He sniffs. “You’ve been with my brother.”

           “Because my brother phoned him,” you grumble, pushing off the doorframe to collapse in John’s chair. You’d prefer the couch, but it’s freezing, and John’s chair is closer to the fire.

           Sherlock furrows his eyebrows. “John phoned Mycroft?” Why on earth would he do something like that?

           “Yes,” you sigh, curling up and grabbing the blanket from the back of John’s chair. “Apparently, they think I need a babysitter.”

           “How absurd.”

           “Thank you!” Then you pause, giving him a look. His tone sounded entirely too agreeing for you to take him seriously. “Sherlock?”

           “Hm?” He raises his eyebrows, tuning his violin absentmindedly.

           “Do you think I need a babysitter?”

           “To be completely fair, my brother thinks I need one as well.”

           “But do you think I need one?”

           “Your life is in danger, not at this current moment, but it is in danger. But no, I don’t think you need any security. I think you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself.”

           You settle back into John’s chair, smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

           “Mm.”

           Sherlock begins playing something on the violin, the same tune you’ve heard him play for a while. You want to ask him what it is, but you figure you’ll know when he wants you to know. You enjoy to too much to risk making him self-conscious and stop playing it.

           You notice a blanket on Sherlock’s chair, and your shivering practically forces you to reach over and steal it, stretching it over your legs. Sherlock catches this out of the corner of his eye, turning around to give you an incredulous look.

           He stops playing. “You’re shivering.”

           “Brilliant deduction.”

           “Not an exciting reach. You haven’t slept in five…six days. Sleep deprivation causes your body temperature to drop dramatically. ‘Course, the lack of sleep would also explain for the way you stumbled up the stairs.”

           “I did not stumble!”

           “Oh, you stumbled. And you went out to spend money yet returned without spending anything.”

           “You know how I am.”

           “You’re exhausted.”

           “Sherlock Holmes, you’re on fire today.”

           He smiles – which is odd, considering you’re used to a smirk, but you aren’t complaining. The smile is slightly different, but still just as nice as his smirk when he doesn’t try to hide them. Without saying anything else, he begins playing again.

           You shake your head, moving to lie down in the chair with your head on the arm closest to the fire. And before long, Sherlock’s playing has lulled you to sleep.

#Trust #sherlock #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #mycroft holmes #john watson #sibling!reader #half-sibling!reader #tea with mycroft haha

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: November 2021 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: A parent/teacher conference with Jules' teacher doesn't go entirely as Felicity expects.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: I am taking a beta role for right now. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

(read on AO3)

November 2012 - Schooling

After six months of weighing the pros and cons, Oliver and Felicity had settled on public school for their girls, but that hadn’t happened without a whole lot of debate.

Oliver’s experiences at Starling City Prep alone had been enough to make him wary. The sheer number of classmates whose parents had wound up on his list was a definite indicator that something was wrong there that standardized tests could never measure. They’d toured a few private schools anyhow, all of them more than happy to welcome the Queen family and the Queen money. But, looking around, the demographic had been so incredibly narrow. Felicity hadn’t seen the awards on the walls or the state of the art equipment. All she’d seen were the kids. She felt like she was watching children of Stepford wives and she couldn’t, for all their money, imagine Jules fitting in here.

Security had been the biggest factor in seriously considering private school, something she’s taken even more seriously since local party leadership had approached Oliver about running for the soon-to-be vacated state representative seat. He still says he’s not sure if he’ll do it, but she is. She knows her husband. He’ll run. She’s kind of surprised he hasn’t reached that conclusion himself yet, but he’ll get there.

They’re very high profile, will be even more so when he runs for office, and they both worry about the media hounding their kids. They’re a curiosity to the public and they know it. And, the press has proven time and again that they don’t care about boundaries.

So, they’d gone back and forth as he trained in the lair or when she managed to get away from the office to meet him for lunch. Neither one of them had been certain on what to do until one day Felicity had sighed and said “Oliver, if public schools aren’t safe enough for our girls, what are we even doing in this lair? You don’t save a city by removing yourself from it.”

And that had done it.

They’d registered Jules at Three Oaks Elementary the next day and - in the first year and a half Jules has gone there - Felicity’s only complaint has been the lack of any oaks whatsoever on the premises.

Honestly, it’s a highly misleading name.

There have been a few incidents she and Oliver have been called in for, but it’s mostly been due to Jules, not the school. Their little girl has something of a temper and there’s been the occasional playground tussle that’s left one kid or another in tears - usually not her. When she gets angry, she lashes out and when she gets hurt, she shuts down. The older Jules gets, the more of herself Felicity sees in the little girl. Or, the way she used to be, anyhow, before she’d learned the hard way that she wasn’t doing herself any favors. Some nights she lies awake, trying to figure out a way to help Jules grow up without making the same mistakes she did. All she gets for her effort is frustration, though.

“She’ll find her own way, honey. Get some sleep,” Oliver tells her on a regular basis, his voice only half awake as he curls his arm around her and pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

It soothes her, but she can’t help worrying, wanting better for her daughter. Maybe that’s just what being a mother is. Maybe she’ll always want more for her children, want things to be easier, happier for them.

There haven’t been any midday calls about behavior so far this year, though, so maybe things are improving. She’s anxious to see what Jules’ teachers have to say at the parent-teacher conference today.

“Where’s Ellie?” Jules asks, exiting the front doors of the school and looking around like maybe the three-year-old is about to pop out of the bushes or something. It’s not an unfair thought, really. Ellie is absurdly active, hiding and climbing and running absolutely everywhere. What they’d been thinking when they’d bought a four-story brownstone to raise their children in, Felicity can’t remember at this point, but those stairs have surely given her calves she’s insanely proud of after running up and down them to the girls’ rooms umpteen times a day.

It’s gonna be a whole lot harder in the next few months.

Her stomach rolls as if on cue and she pushes back a wave of nausea. She’s only two months along with her newest pregnancy and they’ve told no one yet, but that’s getting harder and harder with a morning sickness that’s really an all-day sickness.

“She’s with Grandma Donna,” Felicity tells the little girl, trying to force herself to feel centered. It sort of works. Jules doesn’t notice. The six-year-old just shifts slightly, adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack. She’d refused to get a new one this year and had kept her battered Priscilla the Pirate Princess bag from kindergarten. “I have a meeting with your teachers today, remember?”

“Oh yeah…” Jules says, her brow furrowing a little. Some days Felicity would give anything to read her little girl’s thoughts, but even as a first-grader Jules keeps things to herself. It’s not that she’s quiet, exactly, but she’s something of a closed book at times and getting her to share what she’s feeling is like pulling teeth. “Am I going too?”

“No,” Felicity tells her, taking the little girl’s hand as they walk back into the school against the crush of kids pouring out. It’s like fighting to go upstream against a huge school - Ha! School… that’s appropriate - of minnows. “We’re meeting Digg and Sara on the playground. He and I are taking turns with our conferences and watching you two.”

“Okay,” Jules agrees. She leaves it at that. She and Sara get along just fine, but they aren’t especially close in spite of how much time they spend with each other. It had surprised Felicity, really, and disappointed her a bit, not that she’d ever tell Jules that. But Sara is an interactive and imaginative extrovert while Jules is happier playing hopscotch by herself or drawing with chalk than playing make-believe with Sara.

“How was school?” Felicity asks as the throng of children gives way to an empty hallway.

“Fine,” Jules tells her. It’s a standard reply and Felicity bites back a sigh because would a little detail kill her?

“What did you do today?” she prods, giving the girl a nudge.

“Played on the playground,” the little girl supplies.

Long conversations with Lyla and her own mother have assured her that this is every child ever’s response to what they did in school and it’s not just Jules being tight-lipped.

“And I had art lit,” Jules adds, surprising her and pulling her attention. “I liked that,” she follows up in a near whisper.

It’s a huge admission from Jules. For as loud as she can be sometimes, for how brash she comes off, it’s the quiet things she says that are the most meaningful.

“Art lit?” Felicity asks.

“Yeah,” Jules agrees. She bites her lip and looks up with a little half shrug. “Art literacy. We learn about lots of artists and paint and stuff. I like it. It’s fun.”

Two ‘I like it’ declarations from Jules in as many minutes is fairly unprecedented and Felicity can sense how important that is, but she’s so thrown by it that she doesn’t immediately know how to respond beyond a, “Good… that’s great.”

There’s an uneasiness about Jules, and Felicity lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her, tugging her closer instead of answering in words. Jules never looks up when she does this, but she does lean in closer, like she wants the affection but doesn’t want to admit to wanting it. That only makes Felicity want to hold onto her more, but she knows this little girl so very well and she’s well aware that holding on too tight will only mean Jules pulls away harder.

“Christmas and Hanukkah are right around the corner,” she points out after a minute. “Art supplies might make a nice gift to ask for.”

“That’d be nice,” Jules agrees, looking up almost shyly. “Maybe Santa could bring me an easel?”

Yes… yes, he absolutely will. Felicity’s decided this before the words are even finished passing through Jules’ lips. Her daughter doesn’t ask for much, never begs for candy or toys. When she does express wanting something, it’s exactly like this - an almost embarrassed request, like she doesn’t like admitting to wanting anything.

“I bet the elves could manage that,” Felicity reassures her.

Jules’ cheeks turn a pleased, ruddy hue as she bites back a smile. Her skin is so fair and her hair so dark that it stands out brightly in contrast. She’s so very beautiful when she’s happy and Felicity finds herself taking a mental snapshot of the way she smiles at her toes. It’s such a rare moment to see that kind of unabashed joy on her little girl’s face and she’s going to savor it for all it’s worth.

A lot. It’s worth a lot.

Despite slowing her gait to lengthen the moment, they reach the doors to the playground soon enough and she can already see Digg playing with Sara, both of them making their way across the monkey bars. It’s ridiculous. Even with his legs bent, Digg’s knees nearly brush the ground.

“You’re gonna break that thing,” she shouts over to him. He lets go with one hand to wave at her.

“It’s okay,” he counters. “You’ll just buy the school a new one.”

She would, but she’d really rather not highlight exactly how much money she and Oliver have donated to inner city schools this past year. A lot. It’s a lot, even to them. She doesn’t regret it in the least, but it’s incredibly hard to stay anonymous.

“How’s it going, Jules?” Digg calls over.

“Fine,” Jules responds - back to her customary answer - as she starts towards the swings.

“Hold up, little miss,” Felicity announces, hands on her hips as Jules stops and looks at her expectantly. “Don’t I get a hug or anything?”

Jules smiles, shakes her head like she’s humoring her mother and runs back for a quick hug. Or, at least she means for it to be quick. But Felicity holds on tightly and kisses the top of the little girl’s head.

“Mom,” Jules laughs with a long-suffering sigh. Felicity lets her go and she scurries off toward the playground, calling out hello to Sara and tossing her bookbag onto the mulch-covered ground before climbing up onto a swing and pumping her legs.

“Have fun, Julie-bug,” Felicity calls out before checking her watch and looking to Digg. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Take your time,” Digg tells her, which is code for ‘we both know sometimes meetings about Jules run long.’ “We’ve got half an hour before my meeting.”

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief at that and blows Jules a kiss before turning and walking into the building. If someone had told her eight years ago how thoroughly intertwined her life would get with the handsome man who lied so terribly as he asked for her help and his quiet, hulking bodyguard, she’s pretty sure she’d have laughed in their face. But from parent-teacher conferences to infiltrating organized crime conferences, she, Digg and Oliver have each other’s backs in every possible way. Others have been added to the mix of Team Arrow since then, of course, chiefly Lyla and Roy, but the core of the team remains as solid and unchanged as ever. She’s so intensely grateful for that some days that it astounds her.

Making her way into Mr. Clarke’s classroom, she’s practically assaulted by a blinding splash of primary colors. It makes her eyes hurt and her head spin a bit, but she knows enough to brace for it by now. Kindergarten had been much the same. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected, however, is more than one teacher greeting her.

“Hi…” she says in a long, drawn out word as the two teachers stand and smile, gesturing for her to come in.

“Mrs. Queen, come in,” Mr. Clarke says.

“Felicity, please,” she corrects, as she does every single time. She will always be proud to be a Queen, to be Oliver’s wife, but if there’s one place she doesn’t want all the weight that comes with her last name, it’s here. In this space, she’s not a CEO, not the mayor’s daughter-in-law, she’s just Jules’ mother.

“Felicity,” he amends, but he still looks at her like he knows she’s the reason the computer labs have all new machines. “This is Mrs. Perrins. She’s our art teacher here. You may not have met her before.”

“No,” Felicity agrees, putting down her purse and shaking the woman’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Jules was just telling me how much she enjoys art class.”

“Oh, no, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Queen,” the art teacher says. Felicity bites back a sigh at the losing battle for the use of her first name. “Your daughter is an absolute delight.”

That has Felicity pausing mid-handshake. Jules is a whole lot of things and Felicity loves her little girl with her whole heart, but she’s not certain she’s ever had anyone refer to her as a ‘delight’ before.

“Thank you,” she manages, through her surprise.

“I wanted to be here at this meeting because I just had to ask you where you had her studying art,” Mrs. Perrins says.

Felicity’s thrown off kilter by this because... what? Her eyes shift from Mrs. Perrins to Mr. Clarke and back again. Both of them look at her expectantly and she fumbles as she responds with a fantastically ineloquent “What?” Her brain really hasn’t gotten beyond that word, yet.

“Her grasp is so far beyond the fundamentals,” Mrs. Perrins expands, flooring Felicity a bit more. “Obviously she’s in a position to be exposed to some tremendous art” - Felicity can practically feel her smile tighten in place because this woman is saying ‘you have money and I know it’ even if that’s not what she’s saying - “but her instruction has obviously been so very effective and I have one or two other students who might benefit from some extra art instruction outside of school. I’d like to recommend whomever her other teacher is.”

“That’s not…” Felicity starts, flustered and starting to feel a babble coming on. “There isn’t one. She takes dance and she went to daycare at my office, but she’s not… we’ve never had her in an art class. I haven’t even taken her to an art museum. Should I take her to an art museum? Is that a thing you do with six-year-olds?”

With the way Mrs. Perrins’ eyes bug out, you’d have thought Felicity had told her they were funding an effort to rebuild the school out of cheese or something.

“I beg your pardon?” the art teacher asks.

“She’s never been in an art class,” Felicity says again, looking between the two instructors. “She’s good?”

“Mrs. Queen…” Mrs. Perrins says, shaking her head a bit. “She’s a great deal more than ‘good.’”

“...Really?” Felicity asks, because this isn’t sinking in. Jules isn’t much for coloring. It’s usually been Ellie who’s presented them with scribbles for the fridge. If her daughter is some kind of art prodigy, isn’t that something she should have known?

“We’ve been studying a different artist every week,” Mrs Perrins tells her. “Discussing their styles and what makes them noteworthy. Then I have the children try to emulate their approach to art. Most of them can grasp use of shapes or color, to some extent. Jules is lightyears beyond them. She hones in on brush strokes and patterns and shading. And she can explain why she’s doing it! She is, by far, the most gifted art student I have ever taught.”

Felicity is pretty sure she looks a bit like a fish, standing there slack jawed and blinking at the teachers. What a wonderful impression she’s making.

“She’s six.” It’s the only thought that’s clear in her head.

“Imagine, with the right instruction and practice, what she’ll be like by sixteen,” Mrs. Perrins adds in astonishment. “I brought some examples of her best work, if you’d care to see?”

“God, yes, of course,” Felicity replies, flustered and suddenly desperate for this extra glimpse into her little girl’s life.

Admittedly, Felicity knows very little about art. It’s never been her interest, but her life these days means she’s attended enough charity events to be able to identify a few of the more well known artist’s works on sight. Mrs. Perrins narrates for her why each painting is exceptional, but Felicity tunes her out almost entirely.

She doesn’t need to hear that. She sees it.

Jules isn’t just good. She’s incredible.

She’s still young, of course, and that shows, too. But Felicity can look at these paintings and she can see which ones are modeled after Picasso, Degas, Monet, van Gogh, Klimt… When the teacher’s words register dimly, moments after they were spoken, she can see more details, too. The way Jules used shading here or blended her own colors there, the use of perspective and focal points, the technique. She seems to have grabbed the basics of so effortlessly.

“Jules did these?”

She probably interrupted the teacher, but she can’t even hear the words coming out of the other woman’s mouth. She’s just so astonished, so impressed.

“She did,” Mrs. Perrins nods, looking incredibly pleased. A surge of tremendous pride washes over Felicity as she looks back down at the piece in her hand, a self-portrait in the style of Frida Kahlo. “Mrs. Queen… I can’t overemphasize how incredible her work is for someone of her age. Her grasp of the basics is so very impressive. If she has the time, I’d like to work with her some after school a few days a week.”

Felicity’s nodding before she even realizes she’s doing it. “She has dance twice a week but if she wants to, I think that’s a great idea. She’s obviously doing well under your instruction and she likes working with you… I’ll e-mail you and we’ll work out the details.”

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. They talk about other things, socialization being the biggest problem, which comes as no surprise at all. She’s doing well at math, but lags in reading. She doesn’t always follow the rules and often doesn’t finish her class assignments on time. But, Felicity knew all that and she finds herself staring at the pile of paintings in her hands more than listening to Mr. Clarke.

It takes a moment for her to realize he’s stopped talking and she looks up somewhat bashfully to find him smiling at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she scrambles, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I swear I care very, very much about all of Jules’ schooling, I just… I didn’t expect…”

“To be told your daughter is an exceptionally gifted art prodigy,” he finishes for her. “Yes, I imagine that would be something of a shock.”

“It’s just… she barely even colors at home,” Felicity says.

Mr. Clarke opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly with a soft sigh and a quiet smile. Felicity has the distinct feeling that he’s holding something back and she’s not about to let that stand.

“If you’re not saying something because I’m big bad Mrs. Queen, please, please don’t,” she near begs. “I swear I’m only scary in the boardroom… or occasionally with my mother-in-law. I’m just Jules’ mom and I promise that whatever you want to say, I want to hear it.”

He recalculates right in front of her eyes and for the first time since she stepped into his class, she finds she feels like she’s just another parent to him. Thank god.

“Jules is more reserved than most kids,” he tells her. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but she’s obviously not comfortable expressing herself. She’s a private person, even with you. She is in class, too. I’m not surprised to hear she loves art and dance, but I’m also not surprised that she doesn’t often share it. She’s the kind of person who craves approval, but hates to admit she wants it.”

Yes… that sounds very much like her little girl.

“I think she’d benefit a lot from hearing how impressed you are with her art. I think she needs to hear that a lot about any way she chooses to express herself,” he elaborates. “It doesn’t come easily to her.”

“Of course,” Felicity says, nodding hard in agreement as his words soak in. “Thank you. Sometimes it’s hard… she acts like she doesn’t care…”

“She does,” Mr. Clarke assures her. “I think your approval means more to her than anything else in the whole world. That’s why she’s so scared to ask for it.”

“But I’ve never…” Worry floods through her again for the millionth time. She knows, logically, that Jules can’t remember how bad her mother’s postpartum depression was after she’d been born. She can’t possibly recall how gutted Felicity had been to realize she’d been secretly hoping her daughter would be Ellie, just born earlier, and how very inadequate she felt in the face of motherhood, how much she’d believed Jules deserved someone better than her as a mom. Those first few months were so very hard, but that’s all it had been - a few months. Well before Jules had even been crawling, things improved dramatically.

Still… she can’t help but fear that her own initial distance from her daughter had created the foundation for her little girl’s often closed-off nature. “Has she said anything? Does she think I’m not proud of her? That she doesn’t have my approval?”

“No,” Mr. Clarke counters. “No, this isn’t you. It’s just part of who Jules is. She’s a wonderful little girl. Really, she is. And while she’s a bit behind in some areas of class, I have no doubt she’ll catch up. But she’s not someone who shows vulnerability easily. It scares her. And she needs your support and encouragement even when she acts like it doesn’t matter.”

A sense of resolve works its way through Felicity’s body and she finds herself standing, extending her free hand to the teacher and shaking firmly.

“Mr. Clarke… thank you.” She hopes there’s enough emphasis in her voice to convince him she means it. “I appreciate your candor very much. Now, I think we’ve gone over time and I’m sure you have another parent waiting outside… and I need to go remind my daughter how very proud of her I am.”

He nods approvingly. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Queen.”

“Please, call me Felicity,” she asks again.

“Not likely to happen, Mrs. Queen,” he smiles.

She huffs and shakes her head as she walks out of the room. A mom she doesn’t recognize hovers outside the door - she was right, she’d been holding Mr. Clarke up from his next meeting - but she barely offers an apologetic glance. She’s too entranced by her little girl’s art for much more than that.

It’s beyond her. That’s the crazy thing. She looks at it and it’s pretty… she can see the effort, the emotion put into it, the dedication. But this is something she could never do, can scarcely even understand. Her idea of art is a string of beautifully written code.

Luckily, her feet know the way to the playground by heart and she winds up there without thinking about it. Pushing through the doors, she finally looks up from the art in her hand to glance around. It’s a gorgeous day, cold but clear. Sara’s found a pair of twin brothers to play with, the three of them kicking a ball around the field. Jules is playing hopscotch off to the side. Digg leans up against the wall next to the door, watching them both.

“Sorry, that got kind of long,” Felicity apologizes, wincing as he gives her an amused smile.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he replies dryly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Felicity responds, looking over at Jules, then down to the papers in her hand before meeting Digg’s eyes again. “Turns out my daughter’s a genius.”

“Well of course she is,” Digg grins broadly. “She’s your kid, Felicity.”

She bumps his shoulder good-naturedly with hers. He’s like a brick wall, though, and she sort of rebounds off of him and has to catch herself. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide his laugh at that.

Rude.

“I’ve got the girls,” she tells him. “Your meeting is in like thirty seconds or something, isn’t it?”

“More like five minutes, but you’re right. I should get going,” Digg agrees. “I’ll just go say goodbye to Sara. Be back in a bit.”

Felicity hums in agreement and gives a little wave as he walks off toward the field where his daughter’s playing. For her part, she’s drawn to Jules. The six year old bends down, scoops up the rock she’s been using for her game and stands back up, ready to toss it again when she spots her mother.

“Hi, Momma,” she says. “Are you all done with your meeting?”

She looks nervous, like she’s expecting to be told something’s wrong or she’s not good enough, and for the life of her Felicity can’t understand where this comes from with her little girl, but she wishes more than anything else in the world that she could make her more secure.

“All done,” Felicity replies, smiling back at the girl. “And do you know what I found out?”

“What?” Jules asks, wariness and tension taking over her tiny frame. God, she looks so much like Oliver sometimes. More like she remembers him back when they first met than he is now, but the likeness is uncanny, in spite of the fact that she physically looks a great deal more like her mother.

“That you… are a pretty awesome kid,” Felicity tells her glibly. “But, I told Mr. Clarke I already knew that.”

Jules raises both eyebrows and cocks her head to the side in a disbelieving look that’s pure Thea Queen shining through, but like when her Aunt Thea does it, Felicity can see the happiness beneath it.

“C’mere a second. Sit with me?” Felicity requests as she tilts her head toward a nearby park bench. Jules drops the rock and follows. She sits immediately by her mother’s side, but Felicity hauls the little girl up onto her lap instead. That’ll be a whole lot harder to do in the near future, but her pregnancy is nowhere near showing and Felicity is going to relish the presence of an actual lap while she still has one.

“I’m not a baby,” Jules protests, even as she leans into her mother more.

“Nonsense,” Felicity replies, wrapping an arm around Jules’ tiny body and kissing her soundly on the cheek with a loud pop. “You’re my baby.”

“Mom,” Jules half-groans, half-laughs, wiping at her cheek.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her, glancing briefly toward Sara to make sure she’s still happily occupied. “And you know what else I found out about my baby today?”

“That she’s almost seven and too big for sitting on your lap at school?” Jules challenges.

So much sass with this girl, good lord. She can practically hear Oliver making his opinion known about which side of the family tree that came from. Frankly, he doesn’t give Thea enough credit in Felicity’s opinion. The Dearden genes are strong with both of their girls.

“No,” Felicity replies primly. “I definitely did not learn that yet.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Jules deadpans.

“Hush, you,” Felicity chastises lightly. “We’re having a moment here.”

“Fine, sorry,” Jules replies. It doesn’t escape Felicity in the least that her daughter is all talk. If anything, the little girl’s leaning more heavily against her and there’s absolutely no mistaking the happy pink glow to her cheeks. “Go on.”

“Thank you,” Felicity tells her. “So today, I learned that you are even more amazing than I thought you were.”

Jules snorts in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her.

“Okay, Momma,” Jules rolls her eyes.

“No, really,” Felicity insists. “So, check this out.” She holds up the art in her free hand and Jules’ whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, easy-going thing they’d had quickly shifts and her little girl is a bundle of anxiety and nerves. “You - my friend - are a really, really incredible budding artist.”

Jules gulps, bites her lip and scarcely glances up at her mother before her eyes drop back down to the paintings.

“It’s… it’s just painting,” she says after a moment.

And, oh, it’s painful how much this means to her. Felicity can see it all over her daughter’s face, but for whatever reason, the girl has such a hard time believing it when others see the best in her.

“Honey… this isn’t just art,” Felicity tells her. “At least, not to me.”

That catches Jules’ attention, probably because it shifts the focus off of her and she’s only ever comfortable being in the spotlight when it’s about something she doesn’t take seriously.

“What is it to you?” she ventures. Those big, ice-blue eyes of hers project every last thing she’s feeling and there’s no guessing how big this split second in time is for the two of them. Felicity knows to the depth of her soul that she needs to make this moment count, for both of them.

“It’s you,” she tells Jules. “That’s why it’s amazing, because you are. And that’s why I love it, because I love you.”

She pauses as she sees the cracks in Jules’ facade. There’s a tiny triumph that wells up inside her at the idea that this is actually getting through to her little girl, but she’s not done yet.

“I can see how hard you worked on these, how much focus and dedication you put into them,” Felicity tells her. “And it’s amazing. It’s better than I could do.”

“Momma…” Jules says in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her firmly. And she means it. Jules must recognize that because her face turns thoughtful again and those cracks in her demeanor start to widen into chasms. “Jules, you put so much of yourself in these paintings, into your dancing... It’s beautiful to see. I really love it. I think it’s brave.”

That perks Jules’ interest further. She looks like she’s weighing the truth of her mother’s words. Felicity can’t remember the last time Jules took anything at face value and it doesn’t surprise her that this is no different.

“Daddy’s brave,” she declares. “And Uncle Digg. This is just some paint.”

“There’s all kinds of bravery,” Felicity tells her, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is nearby. “It isn’t always jumping off of rooftops. Sometimes bravery is just letting people see who you are on the inside. That’s what you did here. That’s what you do when you dance. And I love that about you, Jules. I love how much of yourself you give to your work, even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. I think that’s something very special about you.”

Jules flushes at that and presses her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. It’s a cuddle. It’s an actual cuddle from her older daughter. Felicity sets the art down next to her on the bench and wraps both arms around her little girl, letting her eyes slip shut as she rests her cheek atop Jules’ head. She has never been a cuddler, never been much for open affection at all. Felicity can still remember the sinking feeling of disappointment when Jules had been three and advised her she really didn’t like doing the cocoon, that she’d rather fall asleep in her own bed ‘like a big girl.’

“She’s not Ellie, honey,” Oliver had told her softly after they’d bid Jules goodnight and headed back to their own bedroom.

And she’d known that. She had, but she’d also never been prepared for how different her daughters would be - she hadn’t understood - and her expectations had fallen flat more than once.

Ellie has always been so openly affectionate, so very loving. The difference in their demeanors has left Felicity wondering, in her darkest moments, if her older daughter even likes her at all.

But this… oh, this is different. This steals her breath and makes her want to hold on with everything she has.

“Thanks, Momma,” Jules mutters against her collarbone in an almost unheard voice that’s muffled by her coat. “Love you, too.”

Felicity’s throat clogs and tears well up in her eyes as her fingers sift through the girl’s silky straight dark hair. Without even thinking about it, she finds she’s rocking them slightly, the way Ellie had liked when she was just a baby, but had so rarely soothed Jules. The little girl - and she is still a little girl, though she tries to act so big and so strong - tucks her legs up, her whole body finding the security and warmth of her mother’s lap, and her fingers curl into the edge of Felicity’s coat, like she’s holding on because she wants to.

It would be impossible for Felicity to be more grateful that she’d taken the afternoon off of work for a parent-teacher conference.

But the moment ends - as moments do - when Jules pulls back and offers up the softest smile imaginable. It feels like the most fragile and tentative of bonds forms right there and Felicity wants to grab onto it with both hands and handle it as gently as possible for fear of destroying it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jules tells her. “If I draw some with the chalk… would you maybe want to see it?”

“Absolutely,” Felicity tells her emphatically without even thinking about it. Something lights up in Jules’ eyes at both the speed and decisiveness of her answer. “I’d love to.”

“Okay,” Jules says, sliding off of her mother’s lap and smiling before running over to grab some chalk and sitting cross-legged with an intense look of concentration on her beautiful little face.

She could watch this forever, Felicity realizes. She could soak in this brilliant, quietly happy look lighting up her little girl’s eyes for the rest of her life and be so very happy about it.

It’s so entrancing, so absolutely captivating that she doesn’t even register Digg’s back until his hand sets down on her shoulder. She jolts, looks up at him in surprise and wipes just beneath her eye with the back of her hand. It comes back dry, but she knows that’s just timing. A few moments ago, it wouldn’t have.

“Everything good?” Digg asks, concern plays out across his face as he takes in the sight of no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Her eyes dart back to her daughter and Jules shoots her an honest to god smile. Felicity finds herself grinning back in return.

“No, actually,” she replies, looking up to Digg. “Everything’s absolutely perfect.” 

*

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so go send some love to @so-caffeinated! 

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #olicitysquee #forever is composed of nows #ficon #pieces of always #oliver queen #felicity smoak #julianna queen #arrow #arrow fanfiction #fanfiction #my fics #my fics: cowritten #so-caffeinated #dust2dust34

[soworthloving]

Filter Coffee Not People

By Peyton Land

Sometimes I think about what will be left of me when I’m long gone from this world. Will my pictures still be here? Would I have written a book that sticks around? Will my words have any impact? Hopefully they will. When I think about the things I will leave behind, I mostly think about my words and what I hope they do and will do for people.

A long time ago I realized that I had no one telling me that everything that had happened to me was awful, but I was still a precious jewel underneath it all. Yes, I have the best parents in the world who support me as much as they can, but I don’t think anything prepares anyone for an overly sensitive kid. As great as they are, what about the other kids? The ones without great parents? Who is telling them how great and worthy they are no matter what their grade in a math class is or no matter how their significant other treats them?

I don’t know why, but I want to be that person. I always will be that person. I won’t ever stop telling people that they deserve to be here. This is the thought that fiiinally brings me to “Filter coffee, not people”. FCNP is a series I’m starting talking about a very personal subject involving my friends and I, and our different sexual abuse stories. As I grow more and more aware I see the impact our communities have on us either through the media or friendships and I just want to be able to say  y o u  a r e  n o t  a l o n e. You are not alone!! We lose so many people every day because of the shame they’re feeling. I hate the shame I feel on a regular basis. All of this to say; we all have different ways of getting over things; mine was and still is, talking about it. So I’m here to talk about sexual assault.

The other day while I was scrolling through Facebook, I came across an article about a girl who had been sexually assaulted in Alabama, she was a student who originated from Austin, and was on her way home after a party (not in Austin, Alabama). This is the same story for so many girls and unfortunately it ended the same way many others end, no one being held accountable for his or her actions. All anyone focused on in her situation was the strong and powerful man who had enough money to make it go away. When Brock Turner raped the women behind the dumpster, all anyone could do is talk about the great swimmer he was. The media never calls it rape. The media never covers the women in these stories. In even bigger news, coverage on people like Bill Cosby or Donald Trump, there’s a feeling of doubt consuming everyone’s minds on how true their stories actually are.

Why not make it harder for people to ignore sexual survivors stories? It’s also not just the hard and ugly I want to shed light on, but the happy and how we are thriving! There is life after being sexually assaulted. I can’t ask people to be open about their stories if I can’t be open about mine. I’ve had my fair share of things happen to me but I’ve never let them define me. I can thank my parents for that.

The summer I had turned 15 I was “dating” a boy, really, my first ever boyfriend. He made me feel pretty and wanted; he constantly made me feel heard in whatever I was talking about. Whenever we had met up we had only kissed a few times because as I had told him, I wasn’t ready for anything beyond that. He said he respected it, and moved on… Except he really hadn’t. The guy I really liked had disappeared and this aggressive, controlling boy came out. He didn’t want me to hang out with friends, and made me feel bad for things that weren’t even my fault. 15 was a rough year. It feels like forever ago. I honestly couldn’t tell you how certain actions happened. I can tell you though, that I didn’t want any of it. I remember breaking up with him the day after everything happened. I didn’t know for sure what had happened, but I knew I felt really unsafe. I didn’t want to talk to my parents about it. I could see my relationships with everyone around me crumbling, I was super sassy around my mom and dad, I was mean to my brother, Clay. I’m pretty sure he thought I hated him. I didn’t hate him; I hated myself. I was anxious all the time because I didn’t know my true feelings. I thought maybe I had wanted it and I was just a bad Christian. I thought it was my fault. I just really wanted to know what happened. It took me a year to figure out the name for it: Rape.

One night at bible study I remember crying and telling my friends what had happened and someone’s response was, “But did you do anything before that with him?” Someone backed me up immediately and said no, this wasn’t just him thinking there was a sequence of events happening…. I said no, but he said yes anyways. My story is real. This happened to me. This happened to me because of a really bad guy. Just because I didn’t know what to call what happened to me, didn’t scream, didn’t rush to the police, doesn’t make it less real. Of course there were many ways I could’ve gotten myself out of the situation- I could’ve seen the signs of emotional abuse a lot sooner, I could’ve realized how controlling he was, but I wasn’t educated on the signs. The lack of education teenagers get on sex education is appalling. I thought that the rape that happened to me was sex. The guy thought it was consensual too, he didn’t see how he was manipulating me.

Some guys literally have never been taught what consensual sex is. People aren’t being educated on what’s okay and what’s not okay. That’s not to make what happened lesser. It’s still important. My pain is important and me learning from what happened is important. I wouldn’t be as much as an advocate for girls if it wasn’t for this guy. My relationship with God wouldn’t be what it is today without it.

I tell this story because as a young girl, I wasn’t sure what the heck was going on. Maybe there’s another young girl out there who doesn’t know the signs of a controlling boyfriend. Maybe she doesn’t know what consent is. This is for you.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I’m still very angry about this next part of my story, but I’m thriving. Thriving in ways I never thought I could be thriving. A few years after the last crap boyfriend, a guy a year older than me who I went to school with started to give me some attention. He was always the quiet and nerdy guy who had been in my classes so I never gave him much thought, but soon after dating, I fell in love. He was a game changer; at that point in life I viewed myself as unlovable in the eyes of boys. He was kind, sweet, and everything I wanted in a guy. After basic training for the Air Force, we spent more and more time together and I was convinced that I would spend the rest of my life with him. When he looked at me I knew he loved me back and that’s all I needed and wanted.

We went through a lot in the first year we dated. He moved and I went off to college, through his cheating and lies, I still loved him. A lot. I willed it to get better. For a while it did, but the emotional toll it took me on was getting heavier and heavier. I didn’t think highly of myself and was constantly anxious, as before when I was 15. Some how he had gotten me to think I needed him like I needed water and the idea of leaving him left me crippled. He had manipulated me so much, lying about all the cheating he was doing or attempting to do through our engagement season. Even through the early stages of our marriage. It was awful. I remember lying in bed and thinking, “Will this always be how it is?” I felt trapped. I lived for the few minutes a day he was actually nice to me.

Even with the cheating, the worst thing he did to me was not understand the word no. He thought that just because we were married (together, boyfriend/girlfriend, insert any situation you’re in, here) that he could do whatever he wanted. I should just have to say no to sex, and that be that. There were even some times I had to kick him off me, but mostly it was just easier to let the sex just happen. I would make myself sick thinking about what I would have to do when he got home, and I hated it. I hated my life. He didn’t listen to how I felt about it, and then he would hint at that if he didn’t get it from me he would go elsewhere.

Just because you are with someone, doesn’t mean you have to have sex. If they’re making you, get out. You are worthy of so much more than what some guy thinks of you. It took a long time, a lot of great friends, and family to help me learn that. It’s been over two years and I haven’t had anything serious because I now know what I deserve and what God wants from me. This is my light: You have options. Your story is important, you are important, and there is someone out there better for you!! I haven’t found that person yet, and I don’t even know if there’s going to be that person. I’m just happy with the season I’m in right now.

I won’t let people ignore my story. It’s really scary to put myself out there like this but I’m not sure anyone’s view sexual assault will change without people being open to sharing their story. It was hard for me to tell my parents what happened to me, and I couldn’t even imagine how mortifying it would’ve been to go to law enforcement with sexual abuse accusations. These men aren’t even that powerful and I was still scared. I can’t imagine what pressures other women who come out in the media trying to tell their story go through. Women are wise and strong. Our experiences speak for themselves.

Please, if you want to share your story, don’t hesitate to get in contact with me!!

[email protected]

[acoffeewithfriends]

“Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me. . .” I often woke to the sound of beautiful hymns being sung in perfect soprano.  My mother’s voice was angelic and comforting and her love for Jesus the same.  I was blessed to have a mom gifted in music, excellent sense of humor, and Godly but who spent most of her life with one struggle she felt that she would never overcome.

For her, the journey began when she was young.  The baby of 3, her older sister could do no wrong and was the jewel to her mother in all ways.  Her brother’s hyperactivity and wild ways drained her mother thin. Reflecting back now, my mom has come to realize that her mom was struggling with anxiety and depression privately and was too ashamed to seek help but released her pain on my mother.

A beautiful woman in her teenage years with blond hair, a beautiful body, and perfect skin grew up seeing a different image in the mirror.  Her mother’s voice of criticism was internalized in her mind causing an internal battle that would last for many years to come.

An early weight loss pill that I know probably worked but with disastrous consequences!

Fast forward to me, also the youngest of 3 but the only girl.  I was precious to her and we enjoyed a close relationship from the beginning.  We both shared our struggles with each other and have been best friends my whole life.  But, there was one struggle that she’d keep to herself.  As a young girl, I rode in the car many times to Weight Watcher meetings while waiting in a room and playing with my Barbie dolls.  Many times I would sit in a waiting room of a women only gym while she attempted to burn off the calories that seemed to stick.  But all the while, she never talked about this great battle of obesity that she faced every day and kept much of the pain from me.

#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

At her peak, my mom weighed __ pounds.  It began as baby fat and what I began to see in her as a lack of self-confidence or self-worth.  A beautiful woman was hidden behind layers of fat. The yoyo dieting consumed her and left her feeling defeated, hopeless each time.  The old white scale in her closet was all over the place.

The fat-free 80’s phase! Eat all the sugar you want but watch that fat! 🙄

One funny memory was my young 2-year-old nephew who asked his dad “how many wives did granddad have?” This observation came from looking at pictures of my mother (his grandmother) through all her weight loss, weight gain photos.  She really did change so drastically and so often that you would think she was multiple people.

There were many times that I found my mom on the couch for days with novels to distract her from the pain.  Back then, I just thought she loved to read but now I know better.  There was a day as a child that I found her diary by her bed and read a page.  I realized that day that there was a side of my mom that was hidden from me.  I was being sheltered from her pain.  Most likely, she didn’t want me to be burdened from her hurt.  She didn’t talk about it but used humor to deal with it verbally.

Even Oprah was on the yo-yo plan trying every new diet out!

A day came when the “miracle drug” happened.  It seemed to be magical in how quickly it took her weight off and how happy she was.  It was Fen Phen diet pills and they worked.  For the first time, the pounds were falling off and not coming back.  It transformed my couch mom into a dancing weight losing machine!  I liked this new mom  and can remember her dancing in the kitchen as we all thought the battle was over!

Then one night I overheard my dad speaking firmly to my mom “You will not take that drug anymore.  It will kill you!”  I could hear my mom crying from my room.  I knew the “miracle” was a trick. The medicine was taken off the market. It seemed like the weight came back overnight but not just that weight but much more.

There are very few pictures of my mom during this time in her life.  You may notice this one has been crumbled up.

The only good news is that the yo-yo dieting stopped.  She gave up.  We all accepted that this was who she was.

As a teenager, watching my mother with her battle and it created a fear for me.  The fear of gaining weight caused me to obsess over my own weight for a time.  It was fear that drove me to a guilt and shame relationship with food and exercise.

“On the outside so many people can look healthy but inside be hurting themselves.”

When Marc and I felt the call to Cambodia, my parents were excited.  But, one pain held them back.  My mom couldn’t fit on a plane to fly over and see her daughter and best friend.  About the same time we were getting ready to leave, my family was building a lake house.  We came to the realization that this lake house would need a wheelchair ramp as my mother would soon be in one.  She was quickly becoming home bound and her future was short.  By now she wore the pain on her face.  She didn’t want to miss out on life.  We prayed hard but for a time it seemed hopeless.

Gastric bypass surgery was a fairly new surgical procedure at that time and not a lot was known about it.  My mom was desperate to continue to live life and we all felt she had no other choice.  My mom went through the Roux-n-y gastric bypass surgery and had a difficult recovery due to her obesity. Though at the time, we felt the surgery went well except that the surgeon cut out too much and ended up taking most of her small intestines too.  This accident left my mom with another problem: life long vitamin and iron deficiencies along with another underlying issue that wouldn’t be revealed until her near death experience.

Within months, my mothers weight came down to a healthy weight!  She was able to fly over and visit me sooner than expected!

My mom with her new body!  Here we are in Cambodia when Eli was a baby.

In fact, she lost so much so quick, that we met in Thailand where she had plastic surgery to remove her excess skin.

What seemed like a dream come true surgery had its downfalls but the greatest one was when she came close to dying as she lost over half the blood in her body.

This day took place at her home in America while I was in Cambodia.  She had been not feeling well and started vomiting while home alone.  The vomiting turned into bright red blood. She called my brother to take her to the hospital.  By the time they arrived at the ER, she was constantly vomiting bright red blood.  For some reason, the receptionist in the ER did not realize how sick my mom was and asked her to be seated.  When my mom stood up to go to the bathroom, they found her passed out in a pool of blood.

Before I finish this story with you, I have got to say that this was not the first time my mother encountered death. When she was a teenager, she went swimming in a lake with her uncle. Jumping into the lake, she hit her head on a rock and lost consciousness. Her body drifted to the bottom. “The water was murky but I could see everything. It didn’t make sense. There was a car tire on the bottom away from us and a broken anchor another direction.” She began floating above her body and bright lights surrounded her. They felt peaceful. She felt safe. She could see her uncle throwing his shoes and watch to jump in the water after her but he couldn’t find her body. Then a strange event happened. Her future flashed before her for what seemed like a second but in that second she saw her future husband and the face of each child she bore years later. She realized one face was smaller than the 3 others. She felt the presence around her was God.   “When I felt God’s presence, I headed toward His bright light flooded with joy, but He told me it wasn’t time, ‘look, your uncle is coming for you’.”  She woke up finding herself on the shore being resuscitated by her uncle. After things calmed down, no one believed her. She told her uncle exactly where to dive to find the tire. He found it of course! That night at dinner, he reached on his wrist for his watch but realized he lost it at the lake.  My mother told him she knew exactly where it was.  They ran to the lake and she picked it up right where she saw him throw it.  He was in shock as the only way she could have known was by observing from above not on the bottom of a lake.  Interestingly, many years later, she did give birth 4 times but had a miscarriage once, the baby with the small face.

Back to the second time that God saved her.  In the ER, they rushed her to a surgical room and opened her up to find that her stomach had burned a hole through her exposed intestines causing massive bleeding internally.  The bypass almost took her life leaving her stomach in disrepair.  Come to find out, her stomach had been reattached wrong.  She fully recovered from that event but is still aware to this day that it could happen again.

My mom is not a woman to give into fear.  70-years-old, she is still enjoying her new body and life and is as active as ever.  An encourager to all around her at her retirement village and traveling America singing her favorite hymns and songs.  And Cambodia, well she still makes the trip to see me every year!  Don’t assume she feels great!  She struggles every day with fatigue but chooses the life she lives.  She chooses to get out and change the world for good!

Hiking Disney World with grandma!  So blessed to have these memories.

As I reflect on her journey, I am thankful for the research and information that has gone into obesity.  I am thankful for the healthy and natural ways available today.  After 4 kids, I faced gaining weight for the first time in my life.  If you want to know the natural things I did to get my weight and health back, message me.  I love to talk about the things that truly work and the gimmicks that don’t!

I want to walk you healthy weight journey with you.  I have a sensitive heart towards this struggle and want every person to feel accepted and encouraged in their journey to a healthier body.  If you are interested, join my Facebook group @Healthy Weight: A Motivational Community

Hiking Arches National Park with Malachi.

  Overcoming Death From Obesity: Through the Eye’s of A Daughter "Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me. . ." I often woke to the sound of beautiful hymns being sung in perfect soprano.  

#dieting #fad diets #Plexus #true story #weight loss

[acoffeewithfriends]

“Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me. . .” I often woke to the sound of beautiful hymns being sung in perfect soprano.  My mother’s voice was angelic and comforting and her love for Jesus the same.  I was blessed to have a mom gifted in music, excellent sense of humor, and Godly but who spent most of her life with one struggle she felt that she would never overcome.

For her, the journey began when she was young.  The baby of 3, her older sister could do no wrong and was the jewel to her mother in all ways.  Her brother’s hyperactivity and wild ways drained her mother thin. Reflecting back now, my mom has come to realize that her mom was struggling with anxiety and depression privately and was too ashamed to seek help but released her pain on my mother.

A beautiful woman in her teenage years with blond hair, a beautiful body, and perfect skin grew up seeing a different image in the mirror.  Her mother’s voice of criticism was internalized in her mind causing an internal battle that would last for many years to come.

An early weight loss pill that I know probably worked but with disastrous consequences!

Fast forward to me, also the youngest of 3 but the only girl.  I was precious to her and we enjoyed a close relationship from the beginning.  We both shared our struggles with each other and have been best friends my whole life.  But, there was one struggle that she’d keep to herself.  As a young girl, I rode in the car many times to Weight Watcher meetings while waiting in a room and playing with my Barbie dolls.  Many times I would sit in a waiting room of a women only gym while she attempted to burn off the calories that seemed to stick.  But all the while, she never talked about this great battle of obesity that she faced every day and kept much of the pain from me.

#gallery-0-6 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 25%; } #gallery-0-6 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-6 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

At her peak, my mom weighed __ pounds.  It began as baby fat and what I began to see in her as a lack of self-confidence or self-worth.  A beautiful woman was hidden behind layers of fat. The yoyo dieting consumed her and left her feeling defeated, hopeless each time.  The old white scale in her closet was all over the place.

The fat-free 80’s phase! Eat all the sugar you want but watch that fat! 🙄

One funny memory was my young 2-year-old nephew who asked his dad “how many wives did granddad have?” This observation came from looking at pictures of my mother (his grandmother) through all her weight loss, weight gain photos.  She really did change so drastically and so often that you would think she was multiple people.

There were many times that I found my mom on the couch for days with novels to distract her from the pain.  Back then, I just thought she loved to read but now I know better.  There was a day as a child that I found her diary by her bed and read a page.  I realized that day that there was a side of my mom that was hidden from me.  I was being sheltered from her pain.  Most likely, she didn’t want me to be burdened from her hurt.  She didn’t talk about it but used humor to deal with it verbally.

Even Oprah was on the yo-yo plan trying every new diet out!

A day came when the “miracle drug” happened.  It seemed to be magical in how quickly it took her weight off and how happy she was.  It was Fen Phen diet pills and they worked.  For the first time, the pounds were falling off and not coming back.  It transformed my couch mom into a dancing weight losing machine!  I liked this new mom  and can remember her dancing in the kitchen as we all thought the battle was over!

Then one night I overheard my dad speaking firmly to my mom “You will not take that drug anymore.  It will kill you!”  I could hear my mom crying from my room.  I knew the “miracle” was a trick. The medicine was taken off the market. It seemed like the weight came back overnight but not just that weight but much more.

There are very few pictures of my mom during this time in her life.  You may notice this one has been crumbled up.

The only good news is that the yo-yo dieting stopped.  She gave up.  We all accepted that this was who she was.

As a teenager, watching my mother with her battle and it created a fear for me.  The fear of gaining weight caused me to obsess over my own weight for a time.  It was fear that drove me to a guilt and shame relationship with food and exercise.

“On the outside so many people can look healthy but inside be hurting themselves.”

When Marc and I felt the call to Cambodia, my parents were excited.  But, one pain held them back.  My mom couldn’t fit on a plane to fly over and see her daughter and best friend.  About the same time we were getting ready to leave, my family was building a lake house.  We came to the realization that this lake house would need a wheelchair ramp as my mother would soon be in one.  She was quickly becoming home bound and her future was short.  By now she wore the pain on her face.  She didn’t want to miss out on life.  We prayed hard but for a time it seemed hopeless.

Gastric bypass surgery was a fairly new surgical procedure at that time and not a lot was known about it.  My mom was desperate to continue to live life and we all felt she had no other choice.  My mom went through the Roux-n-y gastric bypass surgery and had a difficult recovery due to her obesity. Though at the time, we felt the surgery went well except that the surgeon cut out too much and ended up taking most of her small intestines too.  This accident left my mom with another problem: life long vitamin and iron deficiencies along with another underlying issue that wouldn’t be revealed until her near death experience.

Within months, my mothers weight came down to a healthy weight!  She was able to fly over and visit me sooner than expected!

My mom with her new body!  Here we are in Cambodia when Eli was a baby.

In fact, she lost so much so quick, that we met in Thailand where she had plastic surgery to remove her excess skin.

What seemed like a dream come true surgery had its downfalls but the greatest one was when she came close to dying as she lost over half the blood in her body.

This day took place at her home in America while I was in Cambodia.  She had been not feeling well and started vomiting while home alone.  The vomiting turned into bright red blood. She called my brother to take her to the hospital.  By the time they arrived at the ER, she was constantly vomiting bright red blood.  For some reason, the receptionist in the ER did not realize how sick my mom was and asked her to be seated.  When my mom stood up to go to the bathroom, they found her passed out in a pool of blood.

Before I finish this story with you, I have got to say that this was not the first time my mother encountered death. When she was a teenager, she went swimming in a lake with her uncle. Jumping into the lake, she hit her head on a rock and lost consciousness. Her body drifted to the bottom. “The water was murky but I could see everything. It didn’t make sense. There was a car tire on the bottom away from us and a broken anchor another direction.” She began floating above her body and bright lights surrounded her. They felt peaceful. She felt safe. She could see her uncle throwing his shoes and watch to jump in the water after her but he couldn’t find her body. Then a strange event happened. Her future flashed before her for what seemed like a second but in that second she saw her future husband and the face of each child she bore years later. She realized one face was smaller than the 3 others. She felt the presence around her was God.   “When I felt God’s presence, I headed toward His bright light flooded with joy, but He told me it wasn’t time, ‘look, your uncle is coming for you’.”  She woke up finding herself on the shore being resuscitated by her uncle. After things calmed down, no one believed her. She told her uncle exactly where to dive to find the tire. He found it of course! That night at dinner, he reached on his wrist for his watch but realized he lost it at the lake.  My mother told him she knew exactly where it was.  They ran to the lake and she picked it up right where she saw him throw it.  He was in shock as the only way she could have known was by observing from above not on the bottom of a lake.  Interestingly, many years later, she did give birth 4 times but had a miscarriage once, the baby with the small face.

Back to the second time that God saved her.  In the ER, they rushed her to a surgical room and opened her up to find that her stomach had burned a hole through her exposed intestines causing massive bleeding internally.  The bypass almost took her life leaving her stomach in disrepair.  Come to find out, her stomach had been reattached wrong.  She fully recovered from that event but is still aware to this day that it could happen again.

My mom is not a woman to give into fear.  70-years-old, she is still enjoying her new body and life and is as active as ever.  An encourager to all around her at her retirement village and traveling America singing her favorite hymns and songs.  And Cambodia, well she still makes the trip to see me every year!  Don’t assume she feels great!  She struggles every day with fatigue but chooses the life she lives.  She chooses to get out and change the world for good!

Hiking Disney World with grandma!  So blessed to have these memories.

As I reflect on her journey, I am thankful for the research and information that has gone into obesity.  I am thankful for the healthy and natural ways available today.  After 4 kids, I faced gaining weight for the first time in my life.  If you want to know the natural things I did to get my weight and health back, message me.  I love to talk about the things that truly work and the gimmicks that don’t!

I want to walk you healthy weight journey with you.  I have a sensitive heart towards this struggle and want every person to feel accepted and encouraged in their journey to a healthier body.  If you are interested, join my Facebook group @Healthy Weight: A Motivational Community

Hiking Arches National Park with Malachi.

  Overcoming Death From Obesity: Through the Eye’s of the Daughter "Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me. . ." I often woke to the sound of beautiful hymns being sung in perfect soprano.  

#dieting #fad diets #Plexus #true story #weight loss