#anyway. childhood trauma stop haunting my dreams thanks

[thebleedingeffect]

Okay sadly probably no writing for tonight the phil lore is making my brain spin so hard and I only have the mental capacity to play minecraft smh

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

[wistfulrat]

Good evening! Do you know any good enemies with benefits drarry fics? Thank you

hi anon! Y E S i love the enemies with bennys trope especially when it’s not just pure hate sex but like...reluctant confidant who im gonna engage purely out of spite?? frenemies to lovers if u will. they’re both getting something (sex, verbal sparring partner, emotional punching bag, wound healer) from the other while still having major unresolved feelings of resentment until the inevitable breaking point where they must Adress Things. anyway here’s a short list :)

Harry Potter Gives a Shit by @talithan - 58k, M

“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.

a remorseful draco who develops feelings after hooking up with an extremely messy and shitty harry who is dealing with his anger, hurt, abandonment issues, general trauma, etc. in the most selfish and reckless way possible. harry’s truly the Worst in this. his family (ginny, granger, weasleys) are written really well bc they 1) unconditionally love him but 2) are extremely done with his shit. on the other hand, draco will take what he can get bc he wants to be loved, cares a lot about harry, and knows he’s being mistreated but can’t bring himself to leave. they’re angsty fuck buddies for a while until inevitably, harry starts to fall in love with the draco everyone else has already accepted as a friend. u will read this and need to take several naps after but it’s worth it. mostly because it’s refreshing to read a version of harry that isn’t heroic or morally rigid but very sad and says things like “you make me want to let you take care of me” ....p a i n

Kiss The Joy (Until the Sunrise) by @icmezzo - 37k, M

The Room of Requirement was severely damaged in the war, but not so much that it could not provide for one lost student and another young hero—especially when they needed each other most of all.

it’s set immediately after the battle. they both want to hide but they’re met with the one person who will absolutely not let them rest. they hate each other. there’s hexing and shouting and sneering. but their resentment doesn’t stop them from benefiting from the other’s presence. the sentient room somehow provides an escape but also an opportunity for absolution. they talk even though they’ve nothing kind to say at first. they tend each other’s wounds even though they haven’t quite quenched their mutual bloodlust. it’s sleep-deprived, nightmare-haunted, hungry, lonely boys who grow to see that the other has what they need.

Strangeness and Charm by @drarrytrash - 45k, M

One November night during his eighth year at Hogwarts, Draco ends up in the forbidden forest. That’s how it starts.

or: If two boys fall in love in a magical forest, does it still make a sound?

one of my all time favorite fics in general (and feels complementary to Kiss The Joy). it’s the surreality of insomnia, a sentient mysterious forest, a chance to talk about things plainly in the twilight zone where they can pretend they don’t hate each other in real life. it’s an atmospheric dream of a fic that’s asking two very angry boys to suspend their disbelief and consider: what would it be like if you weren’t awful to each other? (also them reading twenty thousand leagues under the sea, a book where jules verne writes about the ocean as if she were sentient, the embodiment of love and emotion?? as the forbidden forest herself orchestrates harry and draco’s love story?? shutUP intertextuality) — anyway i would die for this fic it’s perfect

IDK My BFF Hermione? by @letteredlettered - 19k, E

"Because you're common too, aren't you." Malfoy seemed insistent; it was not a question. "You're just as disgusting and vulgar as I am."

"Yes."

"We were never any different, were we."

"No," Harry said, and kissed him.

—Draco's a hot mess. Harry's lovin' it (hell yes).—

all the war kids were robbed of their childhoods so this is their delayed rebellious phase (bc revolting against the government, although metal af, doesn’t count). ur gonna try and tell harry that he Shouldn’t lust after draco’s eyeliner? hmm good luck bitch. it’s lots and lots of steamy hate sex and general recklessness but also humanizing conversations about the longing to be good, free, desirable, wanted, forgiven, respected, seen but not hypervisible, left alone but not lonely. what begins as “im using u for pleasure bc i was denied this since birth” becomes “u make me feel like im not wrong for wanting things that make me happy” —because why write pure smut when u can write weepy philosophical smut😌

[mandoalorian]

hey rach! sooo about max birthday requests could you make a love letter from max?👀 lol i know u usually don't write characters' letters but i would combust if u write a max's one🥺 lmao, anyway thank uuu, ily💓

Love letter from Max Lord

Gender neutral reader x Maxwell Lord

Not showing up in the tags so reblogs would be so appreciated<3

The envelope was the only thing in your mailbox that morning. You didn’t pay much attention to mail, it was a bad habit of yours. You took the letter and threw it haphazardly on your coffee table, freezing up when you noticed the handwriting, doted neatly on the front. It was perfect, inked black calligraphy. And you recognised it all too well.

You weren’t sure how long you were frozen to the ground. Maybe three, four, five, ten minutes? It felt like a lifetime as a thousand thoughts raced through your head at one hundred miles per hour. You were overthinking. You were definitely overthinking.

You hadn’t seen him in twenty years. Twenty whole years and not a single utterance was spoken between either of you. You were in your right mind to just shred the letter and throw it in the trash— because what could he possibly want from you?

Maxwell Lorenzano; your childhood best friend. He’d promised you, when he left to embark on his new life, he promised you he’d write, or at least call. And like the lovestruck dumb fool you were, you waited for him. You waited for him your whole life and he never came back to you. So many empty promises, but your heart felt like it might never heal.

After hours of doting, and pacing backwards and forwards, you decided to open the letter. You’d waited this long for him to reach out — and now he finally had.

——————————————————

Dated: July 7th 1984.

My love,

I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you, but I’m writing it anyway. I can only hope you live at the same address. Although I suppose that would also be a real shame, wouldn’t it? I know how much you wanted to leave that hell-hole of a town. It’s a cloudy day in D.C., especially for Summer. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Okay well, I think about you a lot all the time... Do you ever think about me? A lot has happened recently, I’m not sure if you’ve heard...

But I’ve been spending some time reflecting on my mistakes and regrets. I know you always said I should have no regrets but... it’s difficult, you know? Something I need to work on. Maybe you can help me? I never called or wrote to you like I promised I would, all those years ago. And I’m sorry, I really am. The truth is, I spent so much of my time trying to repress my childhood and all the trauma. Tried to focus on other things, bigger things, better things. Wanted to do better. Be better. Be the best. I guess I kind of got lost along the way.

Something happened. Maybe one day I can explain it to you, but there just isn’t enough paper in the world for me to explain it through this letter. It was... unbelievable. A phenomena. And it got me thinking about you.

I miss you. From the moment I left town, I’ve missed you. And it caused me so much pain that I just repressed my feelings. That’s why I didn’t call. I know, I can’t excuse it, and I don’t expect you to forgive me, but it’s the truth.

I’d have these dreams about you... and us... and what we could’ve been if I had never left. Because yes, amidst all my wealth and fortune and success, I still thought about what things would be like if we still lived in the same neighbourhood. Still hung out every night, walking along the river hand in hand and counting the stars above us. It’s funny, there may be distance between us, but every time I look up at the moon, I’m reminded of you and how much you loved it. And I’m comforted in knowing that although we live very different lives, we’re both living underneath the same sky. We both look up and see the same moon.

I wish you could see D.C., it’s wonderful. I think you’d really like it. All the skyscrapers and parks and places to go shopping. It’s nothing like back home.

Shit, I really do miss you. It’s been too long. I think about our final days together. When I kissed you under the big willow tree in your grandmother’s garden. Do you remember? It still haunts me. The perfect taste of your cherry lips and

Did you ever marry? Or settle down? Are you... dating right now? I married, I’m not sure if you heard. We didn’t last long, but I got a son out of it. His name is Alistair and he’s six years old. I’d love for you to meet him, I think you’d both get along really well.

Is my dad

Is my father

Is my father still alive?

I miss you. I want to see you. I need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you again. Please write back and tell me you want to see me too. Please.

I’ve made mistakes, terrible mistakes. But I know never to make the same mistake twice. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me...

Because I still love you. I never stopped, really.

I’m so sorry.

Yours forever, Max.

———————————————

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[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[desticuleconfessions]

hey desticule. so i have a supernatural-themed girl best friends story that i’ve wanted to share for a long time, especially because none of my irl friends ever rly understood the gravity of this experience w/o the context of spn. there’s a lot of fun parallels to stuff on the show, and its given me like years of brain rot and therapy lmao. so i really deeply appreciate this page as an outlet, thank you so much to the mods for making it. anyways uh. here goes. sorry it’s so long.

[tw: queer trauma, religious trauma, mental illness]

okay so. in 3rd grade i met this girl. we'll call her kate. we became best friends, as in our names were never spoken separately, we did (and won) every science fair together, she came skiing with my family every winter, i stayed with her family at their beach house in the summers, our younger siblings were friends, etc.

our birthdays were exactly 6 months apart (jan 22/jul 22) so we literally believed that we were celestially intertwined.

we wrote a novel together in 8th grade. her family is baptist, we attended massachusetts catholic schools. i would go to church with her family when i slept over, i held hands and said grace with them at meals. they are all tall and blonde and beautiful. classically angelic. i am south asian. i remember introducing her to harry potter in the 4th grade, her mother hadn't let her read em because it was "blasphemous", but i snuck her my copies and she would read them during lunch n recess and keep them in my locker. sorry this seems like a lot of unnecessary detail but it will be important later.

anyways we both got into doctor who and subsequentally supernatural (s1-8?9 at the time). i specifically remember getting her into supernatural. i also remember her instinctive disdain for destiel when i talked about it, i was showing her a meta or fanfic i think, and i talked her through undoing some of her christian household’s internalized homophobia (fully assuming we were both straight at this point) (we were fucking 12). we'd do the whole "bitch" "jerk" thing, i (the older one) affectionately called her 'sammy', her phone password was dean, mine was cas (and they still are). on my 13th birthday, she gifted me a samulet, which i still wear to this day. (additionally, she gave me a vonnegut 'so it goes' necklace one year) (thats not vital but) (goes to show the extent of my dean coding) (im also an aquarius lmao). im highly protective of her. i carry extra rubber bands on my wrist for her. i keep our money and phones in my jacket when the school takes us skiing. i sit next to her in the halls during lunch and organize her binder. on an 8th grade field trip, a boy made a gross comment at her and i broke his nose.

so we start high school together at coed catholic school nearby, i join debate, make a friend also into spn, she's bi. she asks kate out over text. kate's mom sees this. things turn.

now the rest of these things happened over the course of a couple months and due to my trauma memory loss, i have no idea how accurate some of these memories are so uh. don't hold me to them.

- her highly religious mother is not happy with this obviously. at some point, she brings a priest home and tries to have kate exorcised.

- at this point, we learn that kate is schizophrenic; it never seemed to create noticeable issues before bc her home life and childhood was a perfect happy dream (not an assumption, her words).

- she's still coming to school, sporadically now, i bring home her work, spend hours helping her.

- when she comes to school, she has seizures: sometimes we're fortunate enough that they happen in a class we have together. she freezes up and the teacher empties the room. i refuse to leave. i hold her hand and softly sing her favorite song and sometimes she comes back to me. sometimes she doesn’t and the bell rings and the teacher forces me to leave and let the nurse handle it.

- another time they announce a medical lockdown (to keep ppl out of the hallway if someone is being escorted to an ambulance) while im in catholicism class, i immediately know it’s her; she fainted in the pool during swim team practice.

- i stay awake for 6 days straight bc i read online that sleep deprivation induces some of the same symptoms as schizophrenia and if i could understand what she was going through, i could help her

- she shows up at my house w both of her parents 15 minutes before the winter ball, begs me to go bc her parents will only let her if i go. so i do. her mom lurks by the gym doors with the chaperones. during a slow song, kate and debate girl start to slow dance, i grab our friend’s hand, drag him in front of them so her mom can’t see and make out with him.

- i wanted to tell her to stop but i was too afraid i would lose us, that it would seem like i was homophobic or i was jealous, but i knew her in my marrow and it didn’t seem like she was in love or into the relationship, it was willful self destruction

- we talked in the last few years, she confirmed this.

- at some point, she says she’s sorry she didn’t tell me about the voices before.

- when we talk, she’s not her anymore, she doesn’t remember our inside jokes, our codes, i can feel her being slowly ripped away and apart in real time

- i have a vivid memory of arguing with her and her telling me im not real, that her mind made me up, while occasionally speaking to something? someone? else in the room. i hold her hand and point to the matching thin scars on our thumbs and try to convince her im real.

- she eventually drops out entirely, taken to some mental facility that im not entirely sure wasnt conversion therapy (it was definitely a religious facility) (and conversion therapy was not outlawed in new hampshire until 2019) and im not allowed to see her.

- every now and then i get cryptic distressing emails or texts from her.

- one in particular has the subject, “youandiwalkafragilelineihaveknownitallthistimebutineverthoughtidlivetoseeitbreak” which is the first line of the song ‘haunted’ by taylor swift (our shared favorite)(the summer after this happened we collectively decided we needed a new swift Our Song and chose ‘breathe’). the body of the email read “what the hell have i done”

- i pray for the first time in my life, every single day for a few months, in different languages, at temple with my parents, in the chapel at school

- on a club trip, i get a call at 2am from her, crying, asking me why i didn’t help her, why i didn’t stop her, that it was my job to protect her

here’s something i wrote about her, three yrs after:

I wasn’t careful enough and she caught quickly. She burned so close and so bright that for long afterwards, I could not see. And like that, she was gone. I walked into the chapel. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.

[that last line is from the latin version for a catholic prayer called the act of contrition, it translates to “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault”]

in the fall, i hear she’s starting at a small baptist school almost an hour from her house. she is dating the principal’s son. the principal is also her pastor.

in my second year of college, i have a bad acid trip in a snowy park in december. i put my hands into the snow and when i look at them,i see blood. i see her body in the snow adorned like it’s a funeral

i still have dreams about her. sometimes i meet her in a grassy field, flying kites and i invite her to my wedding. in others, i catch a glimpse of her ponytail and catholic school skirt and chase her up eight flights of stairs and when i grab her hand, she turns to ash.

at some point in a separate argument w my parents in which they went through my texts and found out i wasn’t straight (amongst other things) my dad says:“i knew i should’ve listened to [kate’s dad] when he told me the things you would talk about. he knew what you are. and he took his daughter away from you.”

last christmas we met up and drove around together, she tells me that for years she thought i hated her for letting me down and for abandoning me, and i literally have the dean winchester in ‘sacrifice’ five stages of grief when sam says “you know what i confessed in there?” because i could not even begin to fathom that she ever blamed herself. it had always been my fault. i had failed to save her. i corrupted her and i failed to save her.

anyways she’s fine now, she’s okay, im okay, we’ve talked and unpacked and we’re alright. but uh. yeah. that happened. the parallels make me crazy. now they can make you crazy too.

‎

[allisondraste]

Temperance (19/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:    Home is where the hurt is. 

Notes: Just a brief trigger warning for some trauma sympmtoms discussed.  Take care of yourselves!

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

The Fereldan Countryside, 9:31 Dragon

Cold, morning air pricked Liss’ skin as her eyes flickered open, blinking away the darkness of sleep.  She shuddered even beneath two heavy blankets, warmed only by the memory of the night before that made her face burn hot and her stomach flutter.  It could very well have been a dream. Her imagination was fairly vivid, after all, and it was not uncommon for her to dream about kissing handsome men under the stars.  Those dreams, however, had ceased since the night her family died. She only had bad dreams now.

No, kissing Alistair wasn’t a dream, nor was him holding her afterward, sharing his warmth until she fell asleep.  Perhaps he had fallen asleep, too. She couldn’t remember, but she could still smell him in her hair and on her clothes, and her lips still tingled with the memory of his.  A smile twitched at those same lips as she sat up and stretched briefly before drawing the blankets back up around her. Damn the winter for existing.  

Looking around the makeshift camp, she noticed Alistair standing near the horses, still as a statue, staring off in the distance toward Amaranthine.  Remnants of smoke clouds lingered in the sky. What had the Wardens done? Were they all right? She supposed Alistair probably wondered the same.

Liss rose to her feet and walked over to him, footsteps intentionally loud so as to not startle the jumpy man.  Closing the distance, she slid her arms through his and clasped her hands over his abdomen, pressing her cheek against his back.  He tensed beneath her touch, spine stiffening and he held his breath.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, pulling away from him quickly, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t.  Not exactly,” he answered with a heavy sigh as he turned to face her, pointing toward the smokey sky, “That’s Amaranthine, isn’t it?”

Liss just nodded slowly and watched concern wash over Alistair’s face, knitting his brow and causing his lower lip to tremble.  Maker, was he going to cry?

“Well,” he announced very suddenly, wiping at his eyes with a thumb and index finger that he brought together to pinch the bridge of his nose.  He sniffed and continued, “It’s probably just… a funeral pyre to destroy all the rotten darkspawn corpses. Can’t leave them just lying about. That’s how you get diseases.”

“Ali,” Liss soothed, placing a hand on his cheek.

Alistair put his large hand over hers, which she had never thought to be small until now, and squeezed it briefly before dragging it down and away from his face and letting go.  He brought his eyes up to look at her, and the expression shattered her heart. She knew what that look meant, where it led, and that she had nobody and nothing to blame but her own impulsive self.  Instinctively, she took a step back from him.

“Liss, I’m so… sorry,” Alistair said.  It was an introduction, a preface to what he actually wanted to say.

“This is about the kiss, isn’t it?” She stole the gut punch from him.  If she said all the things first, it couldn’t hurt her as much. “I knew I should have asked.  It was a dumb, careless idea. I’m an idiot.”  

“Yes, I mean no...um.”  Alistair huffed and tried again. “What I mean to say is: Yes. This is about the kiss, but no you’re not an idiot.”

“Was it bad?” That was a dumb, pointless question that just fell out of her mouth.

“Maker, no. No! It was very nice,” he answered waving his hands frantically and then settling, “But it shouldn’t have happened.”

”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just horrible at reading people sometimes.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but stopped and let his hand fall to his side. “You didn’t overstep. I…enjoyed it, but it was wrong.”

“Why?” She hated the hurt in her voice but was unable to stop it.  She laughed to brush it off and added, “It was just a kiss.”

“No it wasn’t, Liss.” Alistair dropped his head, “It meant something.”

“Is it so bad for it to mean something?”

“Yes.” He brought his eyes back up to hers again. The word was hard, cold, even in his sympathy, that he might as well have thrown an icicle at her. “It’s just - ”

“I understand,” she said just as coldly, and moved to start packing up her things if only to keep him from seeing her cry. “It is pretty obvious that your heart is elsewhere.”

“Liss,” he muttered and she snapped her eyes up to him causing him to look away.

“No, I get it.” She laughed angrily, and it wasn’t even Alistair she was mad at, not really. “It’s hard to move on from something special.  Sometimes you waste years and years of your life trying to fill that hole, but nothing ever does. Nothing even comes close. Maybe you even start to realize that you’re not really you without that person, and that your best memories are with them.  Only now, they’re gone, and the thought of that person makes you unbearably sad. So you shut it out, you make jokes, and you convince everyone you’re fine, but you’re not. You’re miserable, and the only person who can fix it, the only one in the world you want to see, isn’t there.”

Liss began to roughly ready her horse, and continued, “Maybe you end up kissing a good friend on a whim for comfort. It’s nice and warm and you feel whole again, but it’s just for a moment because surprise, you’ve somehow now made yourself feel ten times worse than you did before, damned for even trying to be happy.”

Alistair blinked at her silently and frowned. “I didn’t tell you about any of that.”

“I never said it was about you,” Liss answered through her teeth and climbed up onto her horse, “Come on.  We can talk about this later if you wish. Right now, I just really want to see my brother.”

Painful, awkward silence hovered over them as they made the final leg of their journey to Highever, and Liss was haunted with the immediate echo of the things she’d said.  Out loud. She squirmed in her saddle and focused every ounce of her energy on not thinking about it, yet she still thought about it anyway. About him. Nate. It finally happened.  Years of hiding and hurting and it all came out just like that. They were feelings she didn’t need. Especially not as she was about to face home for the first time since… well, everything.

As soon as they reached the city gates, Alistair parted with Liss to pay his respects to Duncan as she made her way to her family’s castle.  She stood at the gates for what felt like an eternity, staring up the length of the large wooden doors while her stomach twisted into increasingly intricate knots.  A warrior stomach, it was, braided for the battle to come.

“I’m ready,” she said with a deep breath, nodding to the guards who pushed open the doors and held them for her to enter in to the courtyard.  It was quiet and empty, as it was in the winter, the only signs of life were the soldiers that lined the battlements. She passed another pair of guards through another set of doors to reach the main hall, large, open, and warm.  It was filled with the sound of chatter and servants milling about at their jobs.

“Lady Cousland,” one woman exclaimed, clearly recognizing Liss, though Liss could not return the recognition.  “We were not expecting you.”

“My apologies,” Liss answered, “I know it is polite to send word ahead.”

“No matter,” the woman said, “The Teyrn is in the middle of a meeting with some representatives from Amaranthine, but I will let him know you are here.”

“Thank you, uh…”

“Isobel, milady.”

“Thank you, Isobel,” Liss said with a smile, “You can tell the Teyrn that I will be wandering the halls.  He’ll have to find me.”

Isobel eyed her curiously, likely due to the complete deviance from etiquette, but bowed anyway and left to retrieve Fergus.  Liss remained in the main hall for a few moments, breathing and taking in the scenery. It looked as it always had, smelled as it always had, and sounded the very same.  Yet it was a different place entirely. Everything that had once made it home was gone. Liss did not know what to make of it, nor if it could ever feel like home again. Tears burned in her eyes at the thought of all that Howe had taken from her.  

She tore away from the main hall, not wanting to be seen were she to lose her composure, and ambled up a flight of stairs that led to the living quarters.  A mistake, she knew, but the only relatively private place in the castle. Her chest tightened, breath becoming panicked and shallow as she approached the door to her room.  Each time she blinked she could see pools of blood on the floor. She heard screams and smelled iron, remembered Oren and Oriana’s lifeless faces. It was all her fault. Thoughts raced and swirled in her head. She should have stopped it, done more, died trying.  All the things she’d only revisited in nightmares were crashing down on her all at once and she was suffocating.  

Liss passed by her own room frantically, unable to even look at it, opting instead to turn down an adjacent hallway, the guest wing, running until she reached the very end.  She turned to face the door immediately to her right, the last room in the hall. It was Nathaniel’s, or at least the one he had used during his summers there. How many times had she run down that hall to hide, to be comforted, to see her friend? How many times had she gone into his room when he wasn’t there just to feel closer to him, or just because it felt like the safest place in the world? Of course her feet carried her there now.  It only made sense.

Grabbing a torch from the wall, she pressed down on the door knob gently, hand shaking, and let herself into the room.  It was dark and cold from too many vacant days, but otherwise the same as she remembered it, perhaps the only place in the castle untouched by recent events. She hung the torch in an empty sconce and moved to examine the rows of dusty books that lined the shelves. Most were boring, standard-issue texts on the history of Ferelden, tactical manuals, and refuse from Aldous’ collection.  One book stood out, however. It was smaller, leather bound, and crammed between two volumes of Brother Genetivi’s writings. She pulled it out and examined the cover as she kicked off her boots. Fereldan Myths and Folklore.  

She’d read the book many times over, of course. It was nothing new, but perfect for keeping her mind busy until Fergus came for her.   She climbed up on the bed and sat, back straight against the headboard. As she fanned through the pages, she frowned at the sight of a page that had been folded down at the corner.  It was one of the shorter tales in the book, a chilling legend called “The Baroness of the Blackmarsh.” Her heart fluttered as she noticed charming little letters in black ink, straight and sharp-edged, cluttering the margins at the sides.  Nate.

The tale was simple.  It warned travelers of the Blackmarsh to be wary as they wandered through, making sure to think of the Maker, place Prophet’s Laurel under the tongue, and carry a vial of Lyrium to ward away the demons that whispered in the dark.  Supposedly people who passed through the Blackmarsh reported hearing voices, seeing faces of the dead in the water, and becoming tangled in trees that grabbed at their clothing like gnarly, jagged hands. These events were blamed on a wicked baroness who practiced blood magic to maintain her youth and beauty.  The Veil was bound to be thin in such places after all.  

Liss glanced over to read Nate’s notes at the side.

“Not the whole story.  Baroness was well-loved by her people after she saved them from a dragon.  Something bad must have happened.”

She smiled.  Leave it to Nate to take a folk legend seriously.  Then again, hadn’t he visited the Marsh? Perhaps there was more truth to the myth than it seemed.  She scanned her eyes over the rest of the page, noting another brief message at the bottom.

“Liss, if you read this while I’m gone, I’m not being too serious, so stop thinking it.”

Liss flinched and read the words again.  How dare he presume what she was thinking about him, even nine or more years ago, whenever the stupid note was written.  And how dare he assume she’d pilfer through his things. She may have invaded his personal space on a regular basis, but she drew the line at pilfering. Arse.

Still, the smile that curved at her lips deepened and tears dripped onto the page as she ran her fingers over the writing.  The droplets startled her, and she reached up to wipe them from her face, unaware that she was even crying. Maker, she missed him, and it was easier to breathe just admitting to it.  She missed him.

“There you are,” a familiar voice rang out, causing her to start.  She looked up to see Fergus standing in the doorway, a sad, knowing grin on his face, “I should have known to look here first.”

“Am I so predictable?”

“Yes, actually.”  Fergus stepped into the room to stand at the foot of the bed, tracing the wooden footboard with the fingertips of one hand.  His other arm hung unusually limply at his side. Had he been hurt? “If I knew you were coming, I would have greeted you at the gate, and you wouldn’t have had to face the castle alone... or hide in here to find some little shred of Nathaniel to comfort you.”

“That’s not - “

“I may not be as smart as you, but I’m not an idiot.” Fergus moved over to where she sat on the bed and rested his big, heavy hand on her head, shaking it slightly and causing her head to move around.  

Liss grumbled and slapped his hand away. “I came with a friend, a last minute kind of thing, or I would have written ahead.  Believe me when I say I would have much preferred by glorious return home to not have ended with me a pitiful weeping mess, but I just don’t think there’s a way around it.”

“There wasn’t for me,” he said with a sigh, staring blankly off into the air, “That’s what it takes to get past it, I think.”

“It’s good to see you, Fergus,” Liss muttered weakly, not really wanting to spend the entire visit with her brother stuck in the past. “How are you?”

He laughed and shook his head, looking back at her.  “As well as I can be, considering. And you?” He winced and grasped the limp arm.

“I’ve been better,” Liss replied absently, setting the book aside and sliding to her feet.  She grabbed his arm and examined it through the sleeve. A bulky spot rose up under the material just by his shoulder, a bandage.  “What happened to your arm?”

“You won’t believe it,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“So it’s a good story, then?”

“Depends.” His grin was so wide she could count his teeth, not that she wanted to.

“Well, go on.  Out with it,” she said dryly, sitting down on the edge of the bed “Lest I die from suspense.”

“Well, I was in the Coastlands, on my way to see what was going on in Amaranthine.  I’d heard nothing from the Arlessa, Warden-Commander -- whatever she is-- for weeks, and that pillar of smoke was concerning.”  Fergus paced about in front of the bed, gesturing emphatically. “On my way, I was cornered by some bandits, well… they weren’t actually bandits.  They were some men who’d escaped the fire and darkspawn in the city, who were just desperate for money.

“Anyway, one of them managed to slash my arm and knock me from my horse.  I fell to the ground and hit my head. I was dizzy, and my ears were ringing.  I thought I was done for.”

Fergus paused and looked to Liss expectantly, and she obliged him with a response.  “Don’t you know how to defend yourself? Mother would be so very disappointed.”

Fergus rolled his eyes, but continued with the same level of enthusiasm.  “It didn’t take long for me to notice the men had stopped their attack, and the one who landed the blow to my arm was on the ground clutching a wounded leg.  The others were yelling at this Grey Warden, blaming him for the loss of their families and livelihoods.”

Liss leaned forward, chin in her hands.  “A Grey Warden?”

He nodded. “A Grey Warden.  One of the men tossed a dagger at him, but then another Grey Warden showed up, this mage who made roots come up from the ground to shield her comrade.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m serious.”  He shook his head and she believed him.  “The men called her some unkind names and she was going to attack them, but the other Warden stopped her and began to talk to the men, sympathize with them.  He said he understood and vowed to make it up to them if they’d give him the chance.”

“Mighty noble of someone they just tried to murder,” she said tapping her chin.

“Well,” Fergus said, dropping his gaze to the ground as he kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot, “You know how Nate is.”

Liss’ breath caught in her throat, a noticeable, horribly embarrassing gasp escaping her. She would have sworn her heart stopped for a moment. “Nate?”

“Yes!”

“A Grey Warden?”

“Mhmm.”  Fergus nodded and continued on to explain how Nathaniel had landed among the Wardens’ ranks, how he’d returned believing his father had been murdered and his family disgraced for no reason.  How he believed he needed to avenge them, but decided to just gather some of his family’s belongings instead, and how he’d been captured and branded a thief for doing so. He would have died had it not been for the Warden-Commander.  

“That’s good,” Liss said half-heartedly, “I’m glad he’s not dead.”

Fergus stared at her skeptically for a moment before speaking.  “That’s it? I can’t say you’re as excited as I thought you’d be.  Still pissed he never wrote?”

“I’ll always be pissed about that.  How hard is it to write one damn letter?”

“Pretty hard, depending on who you ask.”  Fergus tried and failed to lighten the mood.

“I miss him,” she said, her voice cracking, “And I want him to miss me too.”

Fergus pulled her into an embrace and squeezed tightly, sighing into her hair.  “I think you should tell him that.”

“Why,” she asked sharply, voice muffled by Fergus’ shirt, “So he can ignore me for another nine  years?”

“No, you idiot,” Fergus said with a frustrated laugh, “So maybe you can be happy again.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Fergus,” she rasped, tears falling freely and dampening his shirt, “I forgot how.”

“Me too, Sis.” He kissed her hair.  “But we have to try.”

[justatiredghost]

Klaus woke up gasping, terror gripping him as he was overwhelmed by the screams of the dead, all clambering to be heard, voices filled with rage or terror or both. As if he could ever get away, he nearly scrambled off the edge of the cot before he realized where he was and what was happening, so instead he just sat there with his head in his hands.

Nothing particularly unusual about all that, he did it often enough, but what was unusual was the handsome man that was suddenly at his side, a hand tentatively placed over his own as he whispered words of comfort. Honestly Klaus was taken aback, usually everyone ignored his nightmares, writing it off as just silly Number Four trying to get attention. But of course Dave only saw someone in distress and Klaus was so shaken he couldn’t help but lean into him.

It was a little funny, Dave probably thought he was plagued by the usual nightmares of the war and while that was partly true, right now it was the screams of ghosts that were getting to him. But it did help somehow, when Dave sat close beside him like this, rubbing circles onto his back, voice low and calm so as not to wake the others. Something else to focus on, to ground him, and slowly his trembling subsided.

“You good?” Dave asked when his breathing finally became something close to normal.

“Oh just peachy,” Klaus said, disappointed that he didn’t sound as chipper as he wanted.

“It’s okay, plenty of guys have nightmares here,” Dave assured him and Klaus laughed, a shaky thing.

“Oh I’m sure they’ll just keep getting better from here but that’s not what woke me up,” he said, rubbing his temples, too tired and sick of the never-ending noise. War zones weren’t exactly quiet and the voices certainly weren’t going to stop. “The ghosts are just particularly loud tonight. Very chatty.”

There wasn’t really any point in keeping it a secret now was there? Klaus already knew he came across as weird, fucked up in many fascinating ways, seemingly muttering to himself when the ghosts got too pushy and he gave in and talked to them if only to shush them. But even without that he was quite the character and never toned himself down no matter the situation. It wouldn’t be long before the rumors started so why not just come out and say it. Besides, this was Dave and for some reason he wanted to tell him the truth.

Dave had an easy going calmness about him no matter the situation and he always gave Klaus the benefit of the doubt no matter how ridiculous he was being, he just took it all in stride. Dave had a quick wit and there was an intelligence behind those baby blues that told Klaus that he wasn’t so easily fooled whenever Klaus deflected with a blatant lie or a exaggeration. Then again, the truth of it all was far more bizarre than Klaus could ever have dreamed up so who knows if Dave knew what kind of puzzle he was piecing together even with all the little hints, like the foreign slang and Klaus’ sudden appearance in his tent that first night.

“You hear ghosts?” Dave asked, eyebrow raised, slight smile on his lips. Not the typical response Klaus was used to but he could roll with it.

“Sure do. See ‘em too. And they won’t shut up.” He hissed the last bit at a nearby ghost even if it wouldn’t take the hint. “Maybe they should get a hobby. Probably make the afterlife a lot more interesting too.” With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes hard as if that might help. Instead it only made it worse, as if the dead were simply waiting in the dark and behind his eyelids. He opened them again quickly, staring down at his hands instead. “God I could use a drink. Or something stronger.”

He must have looked particularly shaken because Dave picked up the back rubbing again and it was ridiculous how nice that felt. Dave probably thought he was full of shit like everyone else did, but that didn’t seem to matter. Could Dave tell where his jokes ended and the truth began? Did it even matter? Klaus seemed genuinely upset and that was apparently enough to warrant Dave’s support. Why did this man have to be so fucking good?

“No alcohol here, but how about this?” Dave got up and Klaus tried not to think about how empty the space beside him suddenly felt. Thankfully Dave was back a moment later, a pack of cigarettes in hand.

“Ah, thanks,” Klaus said, pulling one out and Dave lit his lighter, holding it up for him. There was something weirdly intimate about it as he leaned forward and lit his cigarette.

“You always been able to see ghosts or is this a recent development?” Dave asked, lighting a cigarette for himself as well before tossing his lighter over onto his own cot.

“Oh god, wouldn’t that be a fun surprise, seeing ghosts for the first time in a war zone,” Klaus shuttered.

“I imagine it’d be a bit of a shock no matter where you are.”

“Fair,” Klaus said, chuckling as he took a long drag of the cigarette. “But nah it’s been my entire life.”

“Must suck,” Dave said when he seemed unwilling to share anymore information. Klaus didn’t exactly want to relive the horrors of his childhood, not right now anyway. He had enough to worry about as it was.

“Nah, it’s great,” he said sarcastically, throwing his hand out for emphasis as he leaned an elbow on Dave’s shoulder. “Lots of fun getting to see the mangled corpses even after the bodies have been taken away. Oh the good times I’ve had!.” Dave had his arm around his waist now, squeezing gently to give him some sort of silent support and Klaus took another drag of his cigarette. “I don’t even know what I’m still doing here, putting up with this shit.”

“I’m not sure any of us do,” Dave replied.

“No, I mean, I shouldn’t actually be here, I should just split, go anywhere but here.”

Klaus had found himself in a war zone, gunfire and death everywhere, but some cute guy had smiled at him and instead of getting out like a sensible person he’d decided to stay and see where things would go. How ridiculous was that? Was his connection to his old life really that flimsy? Or was he just that suicidal?

Then again, he’d already fucked up his life pretty spectacularly, no friends and a family that probably wouldn’t even notice if he wound up dead. Honestly they were probably waiting for it given the number of times he’d nearly ODed. And then there were the assassins and torture and the end of the world and maybe there wasn’t much difference between staying and going back. He’d likely wind up dead either way. It didn’t matter, nothing did.

“Would you?” Dave asked suddenly, pulling Klaus out of his thoughts and throwing him off completely. “Would you just leave?”

“Wouldn’t you, given the chance?” he asked, suddenly genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” Dave admitted, looking around thoughtfully at all the sleeping figures. “When I came over here, I thought my life was over, and don’t get me wrong it’s been hell, but the people I’ve met?” he shot a meaningful glance at Klaus but quickly looked away again, bringing his cigarette to his lips before he continued. “In a way it’s like my life’s only just started. Looking around at you all— this war is bullshit but if I can help anyone, I guess I’d be okay with staying.”

Fuck, there was Dave being too good again. This was why Klaus hadn’t just immediately run for the hills. He’d found himself worrying about this ragtag group and in the end he realized he didn’t want to run away, not when it meant leaving someone like Dave behind. He made Klaus want to be the kind of person who would fight to help others too. Besides, it felt like he was a part of something here. They were all brothers in arms and Klaus already knew what it was like to be part of a team he hated himself for how much he missed it, but what can you do?

The briefcase was shoved under his cot and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find his mind wandering to it in the heat of battle, pinned down by gunfire and deafened by explosions, or haunted by the bloody twisted remains of people begged for his help. Despite it all, he felt like he was actually making a difference. He couldn’t help the ghosts no matter the time period, but maybe he could help the living. And maybe someone actually wanted him around here.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, but things were getting much too serious. “But let’s be honest here, I’m wasted in a place like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just look at me! These army fatigues don’t flatter my figure at all.” He was encouraged when Dave chuckled, bumping his shoulder into him lightly.

“You are an interesting man,” Dave said, smiling, a look in his eyes that made Klaus forget how to breathe for a moment. It was soft and fond and he never wanted Dave to stop looking at him like that.

“I have been accused of many, so many, things. Being boring is not one of them.” He winked. “But it’s so dull here! If we were back home, I could show you a good time, take you to all the best places to party. The ones I haven’t been thrown out of yet, of course.”

“Tell you what,” Dave said. “When we get out of here, you can take me to your favorite places, then I’ll take you to some of mine. I think we’ve earned a bit of partying.”

“Only if I can judge you for how lame your places are. I’m sorry but you can’t compete with the expert.”

It was an impossible dream, who knew if they were even getting out of this alive, but it was a nice distraction from all the death. And it won a laugh from Dave and really wasn’t that the point of all of this? Soon the sun would rise and they’d be forced to face another day of death and trauma, but Klaus felt a little stronger now. It all didn’t seem quite so overwhelming after these stolen moments together.

[movietvtechgeeks]

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OMG 'Supernatural' Advanced Thantology sent our Lynn over the edge

I was once again at a convention for last week’s Supernatural episode, so that meant trying frantically to set up the "Family Don’t End With Blood" vendor table (which you can get here if you've not picked up your copy yet) and then running upstairs to borrow a friend’s hotel room to watch the episode. But this time, the hotel actually had the CW – yay!! So I was sitting perched on my friend’s bed watching all by myself, which didn’t stop me from making a lot of noise at times. Sorry, neighboring hotel rooms! ‘Advanced Thanatology’ is an unusual title for an episode, so I wasn’t sure what to expect from this one. Season 13 has been making me pretty happy so far, which means I now go into every episode with all my fingers and toes crossed because I desperately want them to keep the quality up. It’s nervewracking to be a fangirl, what can I say? This episode was written by one of the newer writers, Steve Yockey. And guess what? My finger and toe crossing worked! This is the fifth episode of the season and the fifth one I liked. Woohoo! We start with an unusually long opening sequence, in which a few foolish kids play out the horror film genre stereotype of ‘never do this unless you want to die’ behaviors. It was scary as hell, so I appreciated that, even though I admit that part way through I started mumbling ‘where are Sam and Dean, come on!’ I know, spoiled Supernatural fan. I just want my boys! The actor playing Shawn, Seth Isaac Johnson, did an amazing job portraying his character’s terror though – and Alisen Down as his mom totally broke my heart. Someday I really am gonna send a gigantic fruit basket to Supernatural’s casting agency, because not only are the regulars incredible, most of the guest cast is too! The mom and son pair who were this week’s side characters served as the emotional push for Dean’s building sense of failure to go over the edge, because they portrayed fear and grief and loss so vividly. Shawn initially escapes, but he makes the other stereotypical horror film mistake of bringing home one of the creepiest things I’ve ever seen – a plague mask from the haunted house of a deceased demented doctor. I was honestly afraid I’d have nightmares that night! Kudos props department, kudos. Meanwhile, once we do move into the Sam and Dean portion of the episode, I’m once again deliriously happy – because Sam and Dean are still talking! And talking about emotional things! And being emotionally savvy and considerate of each other!  Once again, I have the relationship between the brothers that I signed up for loud and clear on my television screen, and that makes me one very happy fangirl. It’s clear that something is up with Sam from the first scene – he brings Dean a beer to have with his breakfast PBJ. Weirdly, Dean says “no, I’m good” and as Sam continues to be kind and considerate, Dean finally demands to know what’s going on with his brother. (Though actually, Sam is often kind and considerate, he’s just not usually so overt about it). Sam suggests that they work a case, “just you and me.” He notes that it’s been a while since they’ve done that, which induced me to start yelling “Yes yes yes!” at the hotel television probably too loudly. They leave Jack behind watching Sam’s fantasy DVD collection, and Dean rallies to some of his more Dean-like behavior by questioning how Sam ever got laid. (Which made me smile just thinking about how many fans were watching and thinking just the opposite about Sam’s geekboy side, btw…) So Sam and Dean put on their fed suits, climb into the Impala and head off to try to save some kids. Iconic Supernatural, and happy fangirl. The scene where Dean goes upstairs to talk to the traumatized Shawn was reminiscent of one of my favorite early season episodes, Dead In The Water. Lucas could also only draw what he’d seen, too traumatized to talk. That episode showed us the depths of Dean’s empathy for people who have been traumatized, especially children, and the depths of his own childhood trauma losing his mother in the fire. It was incredibly touching to see how Dean talked with Lucas, getting down on his level and sharing some of his own past in a willingness to be vulnerable that we hadn’t seen much of before. In this episode, Dean tries again, similarly empathic towards Shawn. You can see that Shawn senses it and wants to open up, but he’s too terrified, drawing that horrible mask over and over and over. We always learn a lot about Dean in those moments too. Dean: I know what it’s like to see monsters…you see them in your dreams. Oh, Dean. He’s the poster boy for PTSD but just keeps shouldering on, same as Sam. The boys leave without much success, which doesn’t help Dean with his increasing depression and sense of failure. Sam, in keeping with his determination to try to make his brother feel better by whatever means necessary, suggests they go to a strip club. Dean (and me) are sort of incredulous, and he reminds Sam that the last time Dean bought him a lap dance, Sam used the time to try to convince the young woman to go to nursing school. Sam sheepishly protests that of course he likes strip clubs, but Dean doesn’t seem to be buying it. (Also, it’s called the Clam Diver? You really went there, Show!) Sam: It got great reviews! I love you, Sam Winchester. Dean finally confronts Sam about why he’s doing all this for Dean – letting him be Agent Page, ordering him chili fries… (Awww, Sammy, you’re the best brother ever) Sam: I’m just trying to be nice. Dean: Why? Sam: You know why. And Dean does. See, that’s what I’m loving so much about this season – the show has remembered that the brothers know each other. Like, really know each other. They’ve grown up together and worked together most of their adult lives too; they’re both family and partners. They get each other. Sometimes Show forgets that, which makes me a cranky fangirl. But not this season! Sam points out that Dean is not fine, that he doesn’t believe in anything at this point, and that is not Dean Winchester. Sam: I just wanna help. Dean insists he’ll fight his way back, that he’s done it before. With bullets, bacon, and booze. Lots of booze. Sam (and all of us) are skeptical. Meanwhile, Show breaks my heart with another scene between Shawn and his mother. She runs in when he has a nightmare and soothes him, and he manages to say “okay” when she tells him to go back to sleep. You can see what that means to her, the sudden flare of relief and hope and so much love – her baby is getting better.  Again, Alisen Down did an amazing job. But then, she tells Sam and Dean, when the house got suddenly cold (NOOOOOOOO I screamed at the tv), she came in to his room to close a window, and he was gone. You can see that Dean is almost as devastated as the mom, that sense of failure burgeoning. Dean: I shoulda pushed him harder to talk. Oh, Dean. This is really not what you needed right now. Next thing we know, it’s morning and Sam Winchester is waking up – and looking ridiculously hot. Sorry, shallow I know, but woah. Rumpled with a bit of bed head and clad only in a tee shirt Sam Winchester is just plain hot. Either they went to the strip club and Sam came back early or Dean went alone, but there he is passed out on the floor snoring away – Jensen Ackles’ comedy genius and willingness to make himself look silly very much in evidence – still in his fed suit, disheveled with a pink bra tangled around his neck, his tie as a headband and what is that draped across his face? The imagination runs wild. Mine does, anyway. Longsuffering Sam takes the keys and leaves Dean to sleep it off, and is able to convince Shawn’s friend to tell them where the boys were that fateful night. (Yes, we not only get kind Sam and hot Sam in this episode, we also get smart Sam!) When he comes back, Dean is awake (sort of) and happily piling on bacon from the free buffet. Which is totally what I do with free hotel buffets, just saying. I pause for a few minutes to ponder just how someone who’s hungover and rumpled and wearing sunglasses inside can look so UNBELIEVABLY HOT. I mean, seriously? More Ackles’ comedy chops as Dean consumes lots of bacon, some of it falling out of his mouth. The face he makes when he looks around to see if anyone noticed before eating it anyway is priceless. I wonder if that was scripted or an Ackles ad lib. My guess is the latter. Sam at first questions what Dean is doing, and Dean grumbles ‘What happened to being nice to me?’ Sam pulls out a beer, and Dean immediately softens. Dean: You are forgiven. The Winchesters go to investigate the deceased demented doc’s very scary old deserted house, which means we get gorgeous flashlight-lit scenes by the brilliant Serge Ladouceur. Once again, this episode got really scary really fast – the doctor appears behind Sam, tosses both the boys across the room, and then approaches a trapped Dean with an electric drill pointed right at his face. I legit screamed at the top of my lungs in the hotel room because OMG was that a terrifying scene, filmed brilliantly. AAAAHHHH!!! Sam to the rescue (add heroic Sam to the list), temporarily vanquishing the ghost and then giving his brother a hand up. It’s those little moments that illustrate their relationship, Sam’s need to make sure Dean is okay and Dean’s quiet thanks. (Thank you, Steve Yockey, for that). I was totally squicked by the row of masks they find in the doctor’s former operating room and couldn’t wait for the boys to burn them. They’re able to get rid of the ghost (with great visual and sound effects from the VFX wizards), and I look at my clock and think huh, it’s way too early for it to be that easy. Uh oh. Sure enough, it turns out the house is full of ghosts – of all the people the doctor killed. Dean, now pushed way too far by his perceived inability to save anyone at all, is desperate to save these trapped spirits. He pulls out a small kit (from the same doctor who helped him kill himself temporarily in Appointment in Samarra, according to the Superwiki, with kudos to the continuity folks) and says he’ll go to the other side and find out where the bodies are. Sam (and me) are understandably shocked. Sam: No no no no, Dean, you’re talking about killing yourself! Dean’s depression (with a generous dose of unwarranted self-loathing) have put him in a very desperate place because he impulsively jams the needle into his chest and immediately seizes up in pain. Poor Sam, totally against the plan, nevertheless grabs his brother and soothes him through the death, holding him as he falls to the floor. (Because that’s exactly what Sam would do, and thank you again Mr. Yockey for knowing that!) Jared did an amazing job in this scene, conveying Sam’s barely contained terror that something will go wrong and he won’t be able to bring his brother back as well as his unbelievable courage in forcing himself to wait the three minutes that Dean asked for. I felt for him so much as he lined Dean’s body with salt to protect him while he’s defenseless, then sat over him vigilant and so horribly anxious, needle poised over Dean’s chest. He pats Dean repeatedly, reassurance for both of them that he’ll be okay. That must have been the longest three minutes of Sam Winchester’s life, and Jared shows us all of that. He also shows us Sam’s anger at his brother for taking this ridiculous risk, which would have to be there too. Sam: (leaning over Dean’s body) Stupid! For sure. Meanwhile, Dean ignores his reaper (as he often does) and finally finds Shawn – and realizes that he is indeed dead. You can see what that knowledge does to Dean, how it amps up his sense of failure even more. Even this kid he couldn’t save. Dean: I’m so sorry. As the three minutes comes to a close, Dean finds what he needs to know and returns to Sam and his body on the floor. Sam stabs the needle in and then waits – but there’s no response. Here’s where Jared really killed me, because it was like Mystery Spot all over again – and it had to be like that for Sam too. Sam: (desperately) Dean! Hey, Dean! Wake up! No no no…. nononononono! My heart absolutely broke for Sam. I think I had to grab some of the hotel tissues, in fact. I wish I hadn’t known that Lisa Berry was coming back, because the reveal that Billie is now Death would have been so amazing. Even spoiled, it was an incredible scene – Lisa pulls off the gravity of being Death perfectly, an imposing figure with her long leather coat and her ring and that scythe. She’s both gorgeous and terrifying. The entire scene between Dean and Billie was off the charts amazing. Lisa and Jensen have the same sort of chemistry that Jensen also has with Julian Richings, the original Death on Supernatural – he always looks torn between being in awe and wanting to be a smartass. And Death always looks torn between wanting to quash this brash human and being reluctantly fascinated (and maybe a little admiring) of him. All of that came through between Lisa and Jensen too. When Billie asks what Dean wants in exchange for some intel about the rift between universes, she’s clearly shocked that instead of asking to go back to his life, he asks for her to free the ghosts. At that moment, he cares so little for his own life and feels like such a failure, all he can think about is to save those poor people. Billie recognizes how significant this is right away. Billie: You’ve changed. Maybe you’re not that guy anymore, who always thinks he’ll win no matter what. You tell people you’ll work through it, but you know you won’t. You can’t. Boy, did she ever hit the nail on the head. I guess that’s the perceptiveness that comes from having a literally universal view on – well, on the universe. Dean doesn’t dispute her take on him either. There’s just no fight left in him, and it terrifies me. Dean: It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. I couldn’t save mom; I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared kid. Sam tries to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down… Billie: You want to die. Dean looks so vulnerable, looking up at Billie, lips parted, eyes blinking. There’s so much emotion there that he’s fighting back and he looks so lost. Billie: I see you, and your brother. You’re important. You have work to do. I was so riveted I was barely breathing through the entire scene. All the kudos to Lisa Berry and Jensen Ackles, because woah. And to writer Steve Yockey for putting in that call back to one of the most iconic lines in the show – it defines the show. We got work to do. And it’s still true, more than twelve years later. (Oh, and how thrilled was I to hear that one of the way Dean Winchester possibly died was ‘burned by a red haired witch’?? Rowena mention, yay!) Billie snaps Dean back into his body, and he wakes up to a desperate Sam still trying to revive him. Sam: You okay??? Dean: (trying to catch his breath) Yeah… Sam: (reassuring himself) You’re okay. He has to repeat it in order to believe it, after what must have been a horrible scare. The brothers lean against the Impala as the ambulances take the bodies out of the house and dig up the ones that were buried. My heart breaks again when they bring out Shawn’s body and his mother says goodbye, cradling her son’s face between her hands and looking utterly devastated. I needed to grab tissues again – it was actually hard to watch, it was so poignant. Of course, it hits the Winchesters just as hard. Sam asks Dean what happened back there, why the shot didn’t work, why the ghosts are all gone. At first, Dean tries to avoid talking about it, the way he most certainly would have last season. But this is Season 13 – and this is what I love about Season 13. Sam doesn’t leave it! Dean: We’ll talk about it later. Sam: No we won’t! You know that. I actually screamed out loud in my hotel room: That’s right Sam, you know you won’t!! And then they DID! Sam: You okay? Dean: No. Sam I'm not okay, I'm pretty far from okay. You know, my whole life, I always believed that what we do was important. No matter what the cost, no matter who we lost. Whether it was Dad or Bobby or... and I would take the hit. But I kept on fighting because I believed that we were making the world a better place. And now Mom… and Cas and I -- I don't know. I don't know. Sam: So you don't believe anymore. Dean: I just need a win. I just need a damn win. The boys climb into the Impala, and an awesome song by Steppenwolf begins to play, reminding us that “it’s never too late to start all over again, who says you won’t be back again.” Sam dozes, Dean drives, a scene so iconic to Supernatural it made me tear up. And then the phone rings. You can see on Dean’s face the shock of what he’s heard, and then they’re parking in an alley (a glowing cross prominently displayed) and at the phone booth? Is Castiel. He turns around, and we see Dean’s look of shocked disbelief – and maybe a bit of hope. I was so worn out from all the emotions I wanted to just collapse onto a hotel bed that wasn’t even mine, but instead, I hurried out into the hallway to get back to the vendor room. Multiple hotel room doors opened at the same time, and Supernatural fans spilled out into the hall, everyone going OMG OMG OMG. It was a moment. So we’re pretty much five for five, Show. Let’s keep this winning streak going. The Supernatural 1306 Tombstone trailer is above to check out. Check Our Our 2017 Holiday Gift Guides: [abcf-grid-gallery-custom-links id="50643"]

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[nightmarecatart]

Forevermore (Preview)

This is a project I have been working on for NaNoWriMo (2018), not entirely sure where I’m going with it but I have completed the first 50,000 words. Current title for this story is Forevermore, however it may change as the story develops. Feedback appreciated.

www.nightmarecat.wordpress.com

Dreams. I have dreams that break reality. As a child I believed in fairies. It wasn’t a normal childhood fantasy, they haunted me to the point my parents figured I needed help, nothing worked. As an adult, it’s hard to say you don’t believe in something, when there’s a constant vision of them every day. The fairies aren’t the tiny things people are led to believe, instead they looked like humans with the exception of the unique brilliant design of wings on their backs. Everyone would turn saying, “Blair’s a strange girl.” Only my grandmother would believe me after she found me out in the woodlands when I was a child. I had been following the little lights that were dancing around me. From that day I was forbidden from going in the woods and I hardly ever saw granny again.

           It’s because of Granny Malina I was now heading back to my home village in the North of Scotland. My parents, god rest their souls, decided after a heated argument when I was 7, I shouldn’t really see her. She is my fathers’ mother but from what I recall of her, unlike my dad, she has a strong belief of otherworldly things. Pretty sure, if there was a way to become a fairy, Malina would take it in a heartbeat. Her little cottage was always decorated like a fairy princess palace. It’s been 18 years since that whole turn of events. On my 25thbirthday a few weeks ago, like the place was calling me back again, it was discovered granny had terminal cancer.

Happy Birthday, Blair and by the way the only person who did not think you are crazy or have some sort of mental illness is dying. The whole family although small figured it would be better if we could all come together and give her a family orientated final few weeks, heaven knows with how disjointed the family is she needed it.

“For Heavens sake learn how to bloody drive!” I screamed at the guy who had just cut me off on the motorway. My aunt Mysie, who had been looking after me for the past 12 years in the North of England, she nearly had a heart attack when she discovered I wanted to learn how to drive. Probably a good reason, with my red hair the stereotypical anger had to come out somewhere. Turns out I’m a bitch for road rage. My personality might have been one reason. The other reason was I believe she still thought there might be a trigger for overwhelming trauma there.

I mirrored the sign the guy in front of my had just given me as I overtook him again. Ah the human race despite the fact it is throwing it down with rain we still stop to roll down windows and give rude hand gestures.

“It was your fault moron!” I grumbled slapping the steering wheel, I should just be thankful I didn’t crash, my insurance was already at a maximum I could afford after accidentally knocking over my ex-best friend’s scooter when I found out she had been sleeping with the now ex-boyfriend… Like I said road rage, that and they both deserved it.

           I’m seeing this get away as a holiday. Maybe a mind opener and something will hit me. Though I have a feeling I need to close my mind. Six psychiatrists later and the fairies still haunt me. In childhood it was put down to an over active imagination and I’ll grow out of it. As soon as I hit sixteen that’s when they started throwing about diagnosis’s like psychosis and schizophrenia. Deep down inside of me I know I’m mentally ok, although according to a few psychiatrists me thinking I don’t have a problem is a sign I have a problem, I tested out a theory with one of them by suggesting that I did have a mental health issue and I was discharged. Turns out, insanity can be classed as sanity these days.  All of them recently agreed though I need to talk about what happened at my parent’s death. That like the police report was a case closed matter. And that’s how I’ll remain on it. I am not expecting this holiday to suddenly hit me with some life altering information. Then I’ll get home and write a best seller and me and J.K Rowling will be laughing it up over Cosmo’s or whatever those British people drink, though in my world give me a pint any day.

           The last time I had breached my home village boundary was for the funeral of my parents. Not that there was much left of the bodies… the explosion took care of that. This time it looks like I’ll be leaving after another funeral. I did hope there would be some miracle cure, but I had enough therapy running through me that I knew the reality of things.

           Instead of taking one journey I had decided, it would be better for mine and everyone’s lives if I had a stop over in Edinburgh. That way I wouldn’t be too tired from driving and I’d have a day to acclimatise to the Scottish environment again. Also, my family would have chance to get together, gossip and figure out how they were going to keep me from my grandmother and how to keep me hidden the rest of my life. I remember going to Edinburgh as a child before getting moved to England to live with my mother’s sister. Driving through it now, the buildings seem less daunting and scary and the crowds less anxiety provoking. On the other hand, everything in this world as a child was terrifying to me.

           From Newcastle to Inverness it, according to Google Maps anyway, it would take five hours to get there. I figured although I am desperate to see Malina again I needed time to sort myself out. And I doubted I could sit in my car for five hours without ending up submitting to the temptations of blaring out Chris Rea’s “Road to Hell,” If it appeared on my playlist.  I pulled into the village near Queensferry. I chose the place I was stopping at, at random and due to the fact, it was close to the bridge I needed to cross in the morning. I shivered at the forest I had passed to get here, damning myself for not doing my research properly. It was bad enough I was going back to a place with a large wood on its doorstep but stopping my first night in a place I didn’t know which also involved a large mass of trees this was asking for trouble.

           Dragging my bag out of the car I got the feeling it was a typical village. Everyone knew each other and from the glances the place I was staying at was one of those inns that was there to more say they had one rather than for tourists. The musky smelling reception even had one of those bells, which I took pleasure in ringing profusely, on the ancient wooden desk.

“Can I help?” A bored voice sounded before an old lady appeared from a back room.

“I booked a room?” I had to question it considering I reserved it online and this place looked as if it hadn’t even seen dial up never mind WiFi. She smiled before shocking me and pulling out a Microsoft Surface tablet. Is it wrong to now expect my room to have a jacuzzi bath and a 40-inch TV with Netflix?

“What’s your name lassie?”

I sighed before giving my name, the familiarity of the Scottish accent made me feel warm inside, finally I felt home for the first time in ages.

“Room 4. It’s just up the stairs.”

           No surprise, the room didn’t have a 40-inch tv. I think I am just thankful for the basic bath and TV though. I am just praying this place has hot water. I needed a soak. I didn’t exactly leave Mysie on good terms. She was adamant I wasn’t leaving. To which my reply was something along the lines of, I’m 25 and I can take care of myself. Thinking back at it probably not the right thing to say as that now leaves me wondering if I have a home to go back too. She’ll forgive me. Mysie had a memory of a goldfish, in my teenage years I constantly got away with sneaking out and not doing homework. She’d give me a warning and then give the same telling off the next time I did it.

           Checking my phone, I noticed Mysie had tried calling fifteen times, the joys of putting my mobile on silent. Switching the volume back on but before I could even reach the zipper on my bag Pink’s Leave Me Alone (I’m Lonely) sounded. I forgot I put that as Mysie’s ring tone before I left, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the relevance now. Nonetheless, I answered it figuring one funeral this year was enough. Sympathy went to Mysie, looking after any teenager or young adult never mind me was enough but she also had anxiety issues, close to being on edge of a panic attack most of the time. I think her memory issues has something to do with the amount of times she disassociates.

           “I’m still alive Mysie and no need to call the police on missing person just yet.” Real story, I’ve actually been a missing person five times since moving in with her, each time I’ve shown up with in ten hours of reporting.

“Where are you?” The shrill Newcastle voice came down on me.

“Scotland.”

“You’re visiting your grandmother.” She said not asked.

“No. I’m going to look for Nessie.” I replied sarcastically.

“Blair.” Mysie warned.

“I’ll keep you updated, but I have to do this.” I argued, I heard her huff on the other end, she knew especially with me being this far on the journey she couldn’t argue.

“I know you do. Just whatever happens remember I’m here for you.”

“I know you are.”

“Just keep in contact Blair and stay well.”

           Falling back on the bed I found out the mattress isn’t going to be brilliant to sleep on. Talking with Mysie, I now felt guilty for leaving but I had to remember granny. She needed me now, even if she hadn’t seen me in about a decade.

After a day in Edinburgh, mostly shopping, I was in dire need of that bath and then bed. Despite the water didn’t get hotter than lukewarm and the bed was definition of uncomfortable, I felt beat. A brass band could march through and either they wouldn’t wake me up or I’d wake up screaming at them where they could shove each of their instruments and even how they could do it.

“Blair.” The female voice sang softly, it was familiar but still left me confused on if I was dreaming or this was real. I remember falling to sleep... I stood in a forest, surrounded by trees and darkness, I didn’t have chance to process my situation as a light suddenly appeared in the distance.

“Blair.” The musical voice came from the luminous presence.

“Hello?” I walked closer.

           “Hello.” A curly red-haired woman smiled. She sat on the floor in a floaty green dress, with turquoise wings, patterned almost like a butterfly’s sticking out of her back. I tried to hide the horror. She was the woman who visited me in my dreams in childhood. However, back then I wouldn’t have recognised the similarities. Now I was older, it hit me. The woman looked like me. Only I didn’t have glitter strands running through my hair or obviously have wings.

“Who are you?” I shook, trying to remember what I called her as a child. I never asked her for her name. She was a fairy that’s all my childhood mind could process at the time. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to fairies or Santa.  

“I was called Breena.”

“Was?” Oh god, don’t tell me I now see ghosts.

“It’s a long story. You’ll get to know some day.” Breena said still smirking.

“What do you mean?”

“Your grandmother is dying.” She stated, it wasn’t a question.

“How did you know?”

“Things are going to change for you, Blair.”

“You’re not answering any of my questions!” My temper was really getting the best of me, this Breena may look like me but obviously either knew too well or didn’t know at all how to really piss me off.

           “I know everything you know. We are linked but only temporarily. There will come a time where I will disappear, and you will know everything I know.”

“But you’re not real.” I’m not sure if that’s me talking or the hundreds of therapists. Breena laughed before replying.

“As I said. Things are going to change.”

           Wet. Something was licking my face. What? I doubted the old lady of the inn could handle a dog. And if she had cats I would know. I’d have been sneezing and in hives as soon as I walked through that door. I opened my eyes to find a dog hovering over me. Not just that but I was outside. In a forest.

“Not again.” I groaned, sitting up shoving my hair out of my face. Reason I hate places with forests. This happens. I’d go to sleep at night and wake up in the sunrise hours in some sort of woods.

“Toby what ye found!” A male voice shouted at the slobbering Labrador. “Aren’t ye cold lassie?” An old man appeared dressed in thick layers, I looked down realising I was only in pyjamas. Cursing in my head? Yes, I was.

“I’m fine. Best be getting back.” I tried to put on a Newcastle accent and laugh about it. Hopefully, he’ll come to the conclusion I’m some air-headed tourist on a hen-do or something what’s gone wrong.

“Are ye sure you’re ok?” He said as him and Toby followed me.

“I’m fine. It’s just a prank gone wrong.” Now thinking of it, the old lady at the inn might get some gossip out of this one. My muddy feet trudged back, I had gone deep into the forest, in the end Eric the owner of Toby walked me to the edge. Thankfully he promised not to say a word. I’m pretty sure though he’ll be back to tell his wife, Shona, everything and she’ll be on the next bus into town to tell all of her hair friends, turns out every Friday she has her hair done. Eric talked a lot on this walk. I think I would have preferred the company of the loopy Toby who ran into every mud puddle he could find, at least my head wouldn’t have been pounding as much and I’d have space to think.

           Sneaking in through the front door was an epic fail. I could get away with it with Mysie and my parents but when the old lady was sat by the desk which was by the door, it’s sort of hard to get by. She looked up and down at my mud splattered nightwear and her mouth opened in shock. I didn’t justify it with any lie or excuse. Walking by, smiling at her like nothing had happened. She can make up her own story. Once I get cleaned up and changed, I’ll be leaving anyway.

           Paying the lady of the inn I left, leaving a larger tip than I wanted, knowing she had to clean up the muddy footprints. I prayed and made a mental note that I was never returning to that village again. They’d have to kill me and drag my body back there, even then I’ll be dead but screaming I don’t wanna go because trust me I am not going to give up that easily.

Back in my car I was safe, I was awake, and I could finally get to thinking. It had been years since I had seen Breena. Before she used to tell me stories of her world, she was apparently a princess and her husband was a knight. As a child it was believable, but now? Fairy princesses don’t exist. If she was human, I’d have taken her words as a warning however, this figure had practically haunted my childhood is possibly the reason numerous times I have woken up in woodlands and the reason my sanity has been continuously questioned. I’m sorry but nope not believing in it. It was a dream and I am just sleepwalking again due to stress of my granny dying.

           It is raining again as I hit the twenty-mile mark to Inverness. Something I’d need to get used to over the next few weeks. Though there was the slight problem that I didn’t exactly know where I’d be stopping over the next few weeks or however long I needed to stay. I mean I wanted to stay as long as granny lived but there was no way I could afford a hotel or paying for somewhere to stay. I hoped I could stay on the sofa in my grandmother’s house although it would be something that my family would criticise, financial help hadn’t really come from that side. I’d battled my way through life getting a part time job as soon as I hit sixteen. Mysie battled with enough demons to be taking care of me and listening to me wondering where my next outfit was coming from.

           The roads were empty, sort of surprising. On the road as a child, my dad would constantly joke about how people queued up to see Loch Ness and the beauty of Inverness. I say joke… to be honest maybe he wasn’t joking. The place is beautiful. The constant scenery of Loch’s and greenery. If you get past the grey skies and fog, I was now facing. It wasn’t long before I hit the sign of my home village. Nerves started to heighten, the village was surrounded by forestry. One of the reasons I was glad to move away from here was because of that fact. It was harder to find me in a larger forest I spent a huge amount of my childhood being lost in it. I was back here for a reason. In the beginning I didn’t want to leave, the call back here seemed to become quieter as years went on.

[hey-taqy-blog]

LIFE AFTER YOU (A Short Story by Me)

       It was cold Saturday night and I fell asleep —again, on the couch. I was reading a novel while listening on Ed Sheeran “The A Team” when I fell asleep in the afternoon. The calendar said it was April, but I thought, winter wasn’t done yet. Most people would prefer to go back to sleep, wrapping their body tightly with a blanket as the temperature was unexpectedly freezing cold tonight. But it didn’t happen to me.

       I closed my eyes, trying to get more sleep when suddenly I felt it all coming back to me.

       I dreamt about him again. The same dream, over and over again. I couldn’t think straight as the memory began to move in reverse, slowly stepping backward. I wondered, perhaps, those memories are just a surreal images created by my mind. But deep down I knew, it was my trauma that collided with my unconscious mind.

       I washed my face, hoping that I could also washed away all those bad dreams that haunted me lately, though I couldn’t. I felt trapped. The thought that I was the reason of his nonexistence consumed my whole body and mind.

       Daniel was dead, El. Two months ago. Because of you.

       I just realized, without him, my life was just a depressing reality. It was just bland, uncolored and sorrowful. I kept thinking about how much I bitterly regretted all the things that happened that day. I cried a lot. Mostly, I cried myself to sleep.

       “You’re such a cry baby,” he said while wiping my tears.

       He always knew that I was kind of sensitive woman who will cry over small things. However these days, I couldn’t cry anymore. The tears that I used to shed at night seemed to have reached its limit as now only invisible ones seemed to symbolize my anguish. One day, I thought it was enough. I should stopped blaming myself for the unintended consequences of my childish action. We live in a world of mortality anyway.

      But then the reality always hit me.

       If I had never started that silly argument, he would still be alive.

       The regrets always made me think of ‘what if’ questions that I knew, they could never be answered.

       What if I’d never met him?

       What if I’d never love him?

       What if he’d never love me the way he did?

       What if I could turn back time?

       I whispered to the empty air, “I miss him. I really do. I miss his laugh, his jokes, his undeniably charm. I miss his presence till it hurts. No one can replace him. No one can make me laugh as he did. No one can understand me as he did. No one like him…”

       For the first time in my life, I felt so suffocated. I kept thinking about how much I love him.  From the start did I know, when I first met him coincidently at Claudette—a French restaurant in 24 Fifth Avenue— one year ago, that he was actually the person I should not fallen into. But my heart was out of control back then. I’ve came to a realization that he was so irresistible. Something in the way he listened to my story, to my dream, or even to my superficial problem made me think he valued me. The way he looked deep into my eyes as if he was telling me that I am the most beautiful girl in this world.

       “You’re different from any other guys that I’ve ever met before.”

        I always liked the way he talked with his sharp mind. The way he talked about his passionate dream with honesty. His way of speaking was fresh, straight forward, and as it is. At first, I tried to deny that it was nothing more than just a simple attraction of a stranger that coincidently become friend. But then again, my heart was in a situation that I couldn’t explain. The chemistry that I had already sensed between us finally turned into something more. In the end, I knew, I fell in love to a person I shouldn’t.

       I still remembered how our first meeting happened. It was one rainy night at the beginning of April. I was alone standing outside Claudette, waiting for the rain to stop because I didn’t bring my umbrella. At first, I thought I would take a cab but I just realized, I didn’t have any money left in my wallet. So I thought I would walk to my apartment instead.

       To my bad luck, the rain didn’t stop even after I waited for half an hour. I started to feel tired of waiting. I was thinking of running through the rain when I caught someone came to my direction and unexpectedly offered an umbrella in his hands, a yellow-bright umbrella.

       “Huh?” I asked him in a confusing tone.

       “Here, take this umbrella. I think you need it more than I do.” He offered me again his umbrella. He seemed persistent.

       “O-okay…ehm but what about you? Do you bring your car or something?”

       “No. I leave my car in my office. But it’s not a problem, though. I can just walk through the rain. It’s not like I will get sick right away just because I get soaked in the rain” He showed his playful smile and I laughed.

       “Okay, then. Thanks for offering me this umbrella” I smiled at him.

      “My pleasure,” he said while tightening his brown coat. He was just about to run through the rain when I remembered something.

      “Hey, what’s your name? And how can I give back your umbrella?” I asked, almost shouted.      

       He was already in the rain. “My name’s Daniel. Daniel O’Brien. Just meet me in this restaurant tomorrow at 7 pm. Is that okay?”

      “Yes” I nodded my head. He smiled and the next thing I knew, he was already disappeared in the rain.

       After our coincident meeting, we became closer. We often hung out together just to talk about our stressed day, our life, or just anything that came to our mind in that moment. He always took me to places I have never been before. He took me to the vintage stores, museums, art gallery, beaches —he took me to wonderful places. I just came to know that he was a photographer. He said he was majored in laws but photography took his interest more than his major. On the one hand, something that always took my interest more than anything else was the way he smiled. He smiled not only through his lips but also through his eyes. He said people called it as an eye-smile. A smile that always captured my heart since our first meeting.

       However, now, his smile felt so devastating whenever I remembered it. Not only his smile, but actually everything became so devastating.

       Sometimes, I saw his appearance right before my eyes. I couldn’t tell if it was my illusion or he was really there, alone, a bit wet because of the rain and shivering. It was hard to distinguish between illusion and reality. I just thought that after I lost him, I also lost half of my consciousness.

      “Someone, please tell me, what should I do to redeem these painful feelings?”

       Then the idea came.

       I impulsively took a cab and went to Claudette where I knew, still flourished with our sweet memories that we spent there. I didn’t know why, I just felt like I should go there because the place held our memories on our first and last meeting. And I thought, after two months of mourning, I needed to make things clear. Maybe, there is a way to take all these pains and regrets from my heart. Maybe, just maybe.

       As I arrived at Claudette, I realized that the neon lamps were still there like they never witnessed the awful thing that happened right in front of them two months ago. I searched desperately for someone who was always haunting my dream. And there he was, sitting in one of the outdoor table, our favorite table, eating bouillabaisse while checking pictures on his SLR camera. I walked to where he was and sitting in front of him. As surprised as I might be, his presence vanished into dust.  Well, the illusion got my consciousness again.

       I glanced at my watch. It was 10 pm and the place was almost empty. Only few people were there. A young man was having his cup of coffee, a couple of teenage love birds were chatting with each other and some sleepy staffs were trying their best to clean up with the last bit of their energy.

       I didn’t know what happened to me, but suddenly, I started to cry so loud that everyone was looking at me.

       Two months ago, two days before it all happened, Daniel asked me to go to Claudette. He said he had something important to tell me. On the way to Claudette, my phone beeped. I unlocked the phone and there was a message from an unknown number.

       “You still think that Daniel loves you that much, huh? Well, I think you’re wrong.”

       ‘What does this person means?’ was all I thought after I read that message. Not long after that, another messages arrived. There were photos of Daniel and a woman in a black-sexy dress. The woman was embracing Daniel’s arms and they both were smiled to each other. The most surprising picture was when they both were in a jewelry shop and the woman was holding a small ring in her finger.

      As I arrived at Claudette and sit in our favorite table, I kept digest those messages. Who is that woman? Why they were in a jewelry shop? What is it all about? I confused. My mind kept wandering to somewhere else and I didn’t realize that Daniel was already sitting in front of me.

      “Hey, what are you thinking? You seem dazed and you look pale. Are you alright?” Daniel asked, disrupting my thoughts.

      “I don’t know. Everything is so confusing,” I said while massaging my head.

      “What happens El?”

       “It’s not about me, but you, Dan. Someone said, you have another woman beside me. I thought it is just a rumor but it turns out to be true”

       “What a nonsense, Elena Joyce! What are you talking about? I don’t understand at all”

        I laughed ironically. Finally, I showed him the pictures of him and that woman.

       “What are these? I mean, yes, these pictures are real. A-and, you—you know, she is my childhood best friend. She wants me to accompany her because she is heartbroken and depressed. Yes, I used to date her in high school but we broke up because…”

       “Enough, Daniel. I don’t want to hear it anymore.” I kept massaging my head as it became heavier than before. “Dan, you don’t even know how desperate I am these days. I lost my job. My parents call me this morning and said that they want to do a divorce. I called you so many times yesterday but you don’t even picked up my calls. I think I finally understand the reason. Well, Dan, I think I should go.” I got up from my position and walked in a speed to cross the street. Tears were streaming down my face. I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.

       “El, wait! I am sorry, okay? I know I am a jerk but I am sure it is just a misunderstanding”

       And somehow, I thought that he was telling the truth. However, it was so hard to pretend that everything was alright when the reality was not.

       “Watch out, El,” shouted Daniel.

        I didn’t remember perfectly what happened after Daniel said those three words. Everything was blurry. What I remember was I woke up in a hospital, searching for Daniel’s presence when the nurse informed me that Daniel was gone. He died after suffering cerebral hemorrhage.

       Later, I found the truth behind his death. The police officer told me that I almost get hit by a car right before someone pushed me away to the side of the street. Someone who pushed me was none other than Daniel, my beloved boyfriend.

       I collapsed on the cold floor of hospital. I couldn’t accept the reality. And to make it worse, another nurse approached me, giving me a black velvet ring box and a piece of crumpled paper. I opened the paper and there was Daniel’s neat handwriting which said:

       El, you’re the person that I’ve been searching for in my whole life. You’re a dream coming true to me. I am very grateful to have you in my life. Let’s just recklessly fall in love with each other until the world tears us apart. So, El, will you marry me?

      “I am sorry…” my tears wouldn’t stop. “I was so stupid that day. I should have listen to your explanation. I should have never leave you. I’m regretting all those childish action I made. I am so sorry, Daniel…” People kept staring at me, but I didn’t care anymore.

       I knew, I couldn’t take back all the things that already happened, but I also couldn’t live like this. The thought that it would be better to disappear from this world got the best of me. “Yes, maybe, die is the only way to forget all of my pains and regrets” I smiled to myself. I found the best solution for my problem and I was beyond happy.

       As I was about to go up from my position, the rain poured down heavily. “Oh, God, why now?”

       I cursed the weather for disrupt my plan. But then I thought, “I will die today. So, why should I care if I got soaked in the rain? Ah, I am so stupid.”

       I forced a smile, “Okay, I will do it now.”

       I got up from my position. But when I was about to do my plan, something disrupt me again. Someone, actually, as that person held my hand tightly. I turned my face to see the person who disrupt my plan. I found out that he was a man in his early twenties, quite eccentric, I thought, as he was wearing a white bomber jacket and a red-black headband in his head. Ah, he was a man that I saw was having a cup a coffee by himself.

       “What are you doing? Don’t go out in the rain,” he said.

       I blinked, “Huh?”

       He stared at me. “If you want to go through the rain, use this umbrella,” he offered his black umbrella to me. “I think you need it more than I do. It will be better though than getting soaked in the middle of the night.”

       I was still frozen in my place. I was speechless actually. Why he should bother if I get soaked or not. It’s my life, not his. “Uh, I don’t think I need your umbrella. But, thank you.”

       He laughed heartily. “Why? Don’t tell me you want to run through the rain, cross that street, and wait until one of the cars hit you. I don’t think that idea is funny though. So, just use this umbrella and return home safely,” he offered his umbrella again.

       I rolled my eyes. “Who is this mysterious guy, by the way? How does he know my plan? Is he a fortune-teller or what?”

       “Okay.” I hesitated before finally accepting the umbrella from his hands. “Thank you for your kindness and consideration.”

       He responded my statement with his smirk. Well, it seemed like I had to postpone my plan. Thanks to this Mr. Weird, I lost the desire to end up my life. So, I would just going home and sleep and hope that I wouldn’t see him again neither tomorrow nor in the future.

       I opened his black umbrella when he suddenly clasped his hands.

       “Oh, by the way, please return my umbrella tomorrow. This umbrella is my favorite, so I just lend it to you until tomorrow. We can meet up here, in Claudette at 7 pm. Is that okay? Oh, and my name’s Victor. Victor Von Schwind. But just call me V. Alright, see you tomorrow!”

       I nodded hesitantly. “Uh, okay. See you tomorrow, V!”