#at one point i just became a little sick of straight people drama unfortunately

[joanjettenthusiast]

99% of hotel portofino's watchers being iwtv fans is actually hilarious to me sorry

[bl597]

Can I have one of the reader being a muggle born Gryffindor and is friends with the trio. She has the same potions class with them and everyday, she along with the trio, had suffer the crap Snape would throw at them. So she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine, and be very disruptive during class. Every time after he says, Turn to page 394” she chimes in with “Like a boss” and kept on doing that. The whole class was laughing and Snape gave her detention for her class clown moment.

of course you can, love! i'm so so sorry you had to wait so long, i really hope you enjoy it! if you don't like it, please let me know so i can rewrite it for you!!

warnings: the word "bullshit", reader is the same age as the golden trio and they're in 3rd year, Snape is an idiot in this one, it got a little long yay, english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes!

golden trio x muggleborn!gryffindor!reader

my masterlist ♡

When you went to the train station, looking for platform 9¾, there was nothing between the platforms 9 and 10, just a wall. Then you and your parents saw a family of redheads and a dark haired boy in front of the wall between the two platforms, and they had the same things as you next to their suitcases.

“Hm, excuse me, ma'am?” your mother asked the redhead woman next to a little girl. “Is there any possibility that you know how to go to the platform 9¾?”

The woman smiled sweetly at your mother “Of course, dear! You just have to go straight through the wall!” she said as if it was nothing, and your eyes widened.

“What?”

“Oh, it's okay, honey!” the woman said, calming you down “Fred, you next!” she said to one of the twins, gesturing to the wall with her head after the boy with glasses crossed it.

“He's not Fred, I am!” the other twin exclaimed and you giggled.

“Honestly woman, you call yourself our mother!” the one who wasn't Fred said.

“Oh, sorry George!” she said. “Come on.”

“Actually, we were just joking, I'm Fred!” 'George' said before going through the wall, his brother following after, both chuckling.

“See? It's easy!” she said, looking with a big smile at you and at the dark haired boy, who looked just as nervous as you. “Now, go you three, come on.”

You, the dark haired boy and the other redhead boy around your age went through the wall, one behind each other. When you realised you hadn't crashed into the wall, you finally opened your eyes and saw the beautiful train in front of you. You smiled brightly, and so did the other boys.

Soon, the woman, the little girl and your parents appeared, leading you three to the train. You saw Mrs Weasley - as your parents told you was her name - hug the boys and say goodbye to both of them. Your parents did the same, hugging you and making you promise you would write them everyday. You bid your goodbye to all of them before entering the train and starting to look for an empty place.

After walking for one minute or two, you found one compartment with only a boy holding a little toad and a girl with messy brown hair. “Excuse me,” you said and they turned their heads to you “may I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” they nodded and you smiled thankfully at them, sitting down. “I'm (Y/n) (Y/l/n), by the way."

“I'm Hermione Granger.” the girl said, giving you a smile. “And this is Neville Longbottom.” she pointed to the boy.

“Hello.” he shyly waved at you and you waved back at him.

You spent half of the ride talking about your lives and how excited you were to finally meet Hogwarts, and you found out Hermione was a muggleborn as well. You guys were talking so excitedly Neville almost didn't even notice the little toad escaping his hands.

“Trevor!” he exclaimed, looking around the compartment, trying to find his pet.

“Do you want us to help you find him, Neville?” you asked him and he nodded, not wanting to lose his pet. “Okay, let's look in the corridors and in the compartments.”

You three left your compartment, entering others and asking people if they had seen a toad, which they unfortunately didn't. You and Hermione knocked in the door of one compartment, the same redhead boy you've seen earlier opened it and looked at you two curiously.

“Have any of you seen a toad?” Hermione asked and the two boys shook their heads. “Ok then, thank y- Holy cricket! You're Harry Potter!” she gasped, looking at the dark haired boy that now you knew the name.

“Hm, yeah, I guess I am.” he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I'm Hermione Granger.” she said. “This is my friend (Y/n) (Y/l/n).” you nodded and waved at them.

“You're the girl from earlier!” the redhead exclaimed, and you nodded and smiled.

“And you are..?” Hermione asked.

The boy swallowed the rest of the candy and tried to clean his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “Ron Weasley.”

“Pleasure.” Hermione said with a little disgusted expression seeing the boy's mouth dirty with chocolate. “Well, you two better change your clothes, we're almost there. Come on, (Y/n).” you said a little 'bye' before Hermione pulled you with her towards your compartment.

~

It was already night when you arrived at the castle with the rest of the first years and Hagrid, the giant hairy man. A tall old woman appeared, thanking Hagrid and leading the children inside. When the doors finally opened, you couldn't stop smiling. It was as if you were in your own fairytale, like the ones you always read when you were younger.

The same woman, who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, said everything about the houses, the sorting hat and the sorting ceremony. You all then entered the Great Hall in a line, like professor McGonagall told so.

In front of you all there was an old hat, which could only be the sorting hat. After the sorting hat sang a little song about the houses, Professor McGonagall started calling the students and they went to where the hat and the professor were, and after one minute or two, the hat exclaimed which house the person was in.

“Susan Bones!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley!”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Padma Patil!”

“RAVENCLAW!”

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n)!”

You nervously walked towards the hat, sitting down while professor McGonagall carefully put it on your head.

“I can see you're really brave and really like some adventure, huh?” the hat said and your eyes widened in surprise. “Open minded and also really smart, would be fine in Ravenclaw. But I can feel it, the loyalty to your friends, the nobility. I know exactly what to do with you.” After a few seconds, the hat exclaimed: “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor students clapped, congratulating you when you sat down. After a few minutes the table was getting fuller. Neville Longbottom, the boy from the train sat next to you, smiling shyly. Then Seamus Finnigan, Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and a lot more. You and Hermione hugged each other, happy that you were in the same house. After that, you were inseparable.

~

Over the years, you, Hermione, Harry and Ron became best friends and were always seen together. Everything was amazing, all the classes were interesting and funny and all the students and professors were cool. Well, almost all of them. Professor Snape was your - a lot of other people's - least favorite professor. He had always made your life a living hell, especially because you were a Gryffindor and a muggleborn. He always did everything he could to take points from your house everytime you did something he said was unacceptable - mostly it was just doing something wrong unintentionally in Potions, like failing with your potions.

In your third year, professor Lupin became the DADA professor - the best one you ever had -, but once a month he would miss the class because he was sick. You were happy to see that he was fine the other day, but the worst part was: Snape replaced him when he was sick.

You were laughing about something with Harry when out of nowhere Snape entered the classroom, closing all the windows like the drama queen he was. You rolled your eyes, and so did half of the class.

“Turn to page 394.” he said, looking at the class.

“Like a boss.” you said in a failed attempt to imitate his stupid deep voice. The whole class laughed, even some Slytherins on the other side of the room.

“Quiet, Mr/Miss (Y/l/n).” he hissed.

“Quiet, Mr/Miss (Y/l/n).” you said in a mocking tone and the class laughed again.

Professor Snape looked at you with a expression that said i-would-kill-you-if-it-wasn't-illegal and you just smirked. You were tired of dealing with bullshit and he treating you like nothing just because of your house of bloodstatus.

“Page 394, I'm not going to repeat it.” Snape said with an annoyed voice.

“But, professor" Hermione started “we haven't studied about werewolves yet.”

Snape ignored her, making a movement with his wand. In front of the class, photos of werewolves appeared out of nowhere. “Can anyone tell me what's the difference between a werewolf and a real wolf?” he said.

Hermione lifted her hand, but Snape ignored her once again. “No one? What a shame.”

“Professor, please!” said Hermione, hand still lifted. “The werewolf differs from the real wolf by small details. The werewolf's snout...”

“Quiet, Miss Granger!” Snape harshly said. “5 points from Gryffindor.”

Hermione lowered her hand, face red like her tie. You felt your blood boil.

“You asked us something and only Hermione knows the answer! Why did you ask us if you didn't want any of us to answer?” Ron hissed, looking at the professor. The whole class gasped, looking between Ron and Snape with wide eyes.

“Yeah, professor. You always asks us something and never lets us answer and then you punish us for it!” you said loudly, ignoring the deathly glare Snape gave you two.

“50 points from Gryffindor and detention for one week, Mr Weasley and Mr/Miss (Y/l/n)!”

“Are you crazy?!” Hermione and Harry whisper-yelled to you and Ron, who just shrugged.

“The old bat deserved it.” you said through your teeth. “Besides, it's detention with professor Lupin, he's cool and he always gives us chocolate.”

You four laughed quietly. Let's just say that Snape hated you four even more, but you could live with it, you've been doing fine for the last 3 years. And you had you friends with you, so it was worth it all the detentions with Snape.

[valeriacastaneda]

My Autobiography

I remember being pretty young when all this inner turmoil began to stir. I remember an intense hatred of myself for no good reason. I was always too emotional. I don’t remember a time in my life where I didn’t hate myself. I remember being a little girl and feeling abandoned. I always had my parents around me but they weren’t very supportive and I don’t think they meant it to be that way. I felt like no one cared about me and I didn’t feel like I had anyone to turn to as I was growing up. I longed for my mother to put her arm around me and protect her little girl. But my parents were completely absorbed in the constant drama and fights that their relationship entailed. I just wanted my parents to get along. I was a really sensitive child and it was completely agonizing to be dragged into their fights. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy to write but anything worthwhile is going to be a bit painful. It’s been difficult to go through all of this while trying to be as honest and thorough as possible. This isn’t the first “timeline/autobiography” I had to write. I wrote one in my first rehab. But the last one wasn’t very honest- it was as honest as I could be at the time, I still had a lot to go through.

I grew up with two immigrant parents. In an immigrant home there’s a lot of stress behind closed doors. I always saw casual drinking and even binge drinking as a child, as a way to cope with emotions. I grew up on the east side of San Jose in the late 90’s. I feel like I had a complicated childhood. I was a happy child but I was also shy and incredibly anxious. I never had many friends, I felt like I always had to hide a part of myself. I dreamt of being a social butterfly cos that’s how I felt on the inside. But I was such a shy kid, I didn’t trust anyone and I had no sense of stability. It was hands growing up feeling completely alone. I even feel like there was a disconnect between me and my siblings because of how I felt about myself. Since I was a toddler, I remember feeling a deep sense of shame that I couldn’t shake. Anything that triggered this deep internal shame was to be avoided at all costs. I always felt deeply embarrassed for my existence, I always felt insecure.

I looked for stability in all the wrong places. I tried to cling to people, begging to be saved from being drowned only to drag them under the current with me. I didn’t understand that salvation could be found within myself. I looked in all the wrong places and I let my heart be broken countless times before I was able to look within myself to find the strength to push forward. I feel like I had a lonely childhood at times because I remember crying a lot. I remember feeling a deep sorrowful sadness as a child, a sadness I couldn’t express. My mother suffered from postpartum depression after I was born, maybe we had a difficult time bonding. People who know us probably wouldn’t say that we weren’t close. I felt abandoned by my parents at a very young age. They argued so loudly it shook the house and the core to my being. My dad would storm out of the house and slam the doors. I would feel shaken to my core. There was always yelling and cussing in Spanish. Words I could never whimper or my mother would strike them from my lips as soon as the thought crossed my mind.

I felt like my siblings had a bond with each other that I could never be apart of. I was too sensitive, always too emotional. I remember being a child and hiding in the darkness of the closet while my entire body shook from sobbing because of the constant torment I felt inside my soul. I never fit into my family. I always felt like the odd one out, the black sheep, and the ugly duckling. My brother’s would tease me and call me the ugly duckling and that definitely got into my head. When I grew up I started looking for the attention I never received from my father in guys my age, and eventually men. I was always looking for attention in all the wrong places. I was waiting for someone to come and save me from myself. It took me many years to realize that no one would come to rescue me. I had to do that work myself so I could be a decent partner but I didn’t realize that for many years.

Some of the happiest moments of my childhood include me learning how to read. I remember being so enthralled with my ability to read books and escape. I always had a need to escape my reality. I remember being a kid and staying in an after school program. My childhood was short and sweet and I look back on it fondly. I loved playing make-believe on the playground with my two friends. I always kept a small circle. I loved art and crafts and as an adult I learned embroidery, sewing, and cross-stitch as a hobby. I enjoyed photography and showing people my art. I was always extremely imaginative and that’s something I continue to hold onto as an adult. My parents never demanded straight A’s from me but at one point I felt like the pressure was so intense and I didn’t feel like it was fair. My other siblings weren’t held to the same standards as I was but as an adult, I now see that my parents were encouraging me to do my absolute best.

When I was a young child, someone abused me. I never shared what happened to me with anyone else in my family and if anyone had a clue about it, or would ask about it I would pretend I had no memory of what they were talking about. I remember struggling with the constant shame throughout my life. Guilt and shame are themes that pop up into my life.

I fell in love for the first time when I was 16 in high school. I was at my new school after getting transferred out of my local high school because of my emotional issues and drug abuse. I was sitting on the bus on my way to the trade school that I would go to for half the day, I was taking a forensics class. There was a handsome football player that would ride the bus with me and I was sitting with my friend when he leaned over and asked for my number. His name was Tarunbir but I always called him T. I tried not paying any attention to him but he was persistent and it made him all the more attractive. I was smoking meth constantly at this period of my life and he asked me on a date to go eat somewhere and I clearly remember replying with, “I don’t eat.” and smirking at my friend. He asked for my phone so he could call his mom and I let him but he put his number into my phone and asked me to text him.

I had absolutely no intention of talking to him but the next day I was bored at home so I decided to text him. I had no idea this interaction would change the course of my life forever. We became entangled in this relationship or more accurately described as a “trauma bond”. There were clear red flags that I chose to ignore because I thought his jealousy and possessiveness meant he actually loved and cared about me. I was always trying to break up with him but he would show up at my door crying, begging for me back with flowers and gifts. I would always give in. He physically, mentally, and sexually abused me. He abused me in every way but I stayed with him on and off for four years. I was addicted to him like I was addicted to escaping my reality. We gave into each other’s drug abuse and eventually I could only cope by constantly being high. I truly felt stuck with him and I knew I wouldn’t be able to leave him until he left me first. I remember him pushing me and forcing my head into the concrete one night. I remember an incident that happened between us that led me to a trip to the emergency room. I still have the scar on the back of my head. He went to jail but it wasn’t long before we were back together; entangled in a cycle of abuse and denial.

I constantly dealt with suicidal ideation. I remember being 18 years old when I decided I didn’t want to live a moment longer. For a bit of background, I was struggling with my sobriety and I badly wanted out. Earlier that day I had received a message on my blog from someone anonymous telling me to kill myself. Unfortunately I was so sick, I listened. I bought some pills off my dealer and I popped them all. I took one handful after another. I finished them off with my own medications, that I had somehow stockpiled. I was hanging out while my boyfriend, T, went off somewhere. I remember having a soft drink in my hand and a snack with me. I was at the apartment complex that he lived at. I started walking around after I had taken them and I don’t remember much after that. I just know what I was told afterwards. T found me unconscious and not breathing at the bottom of the concrete stairs. He started doing compressions on my chest and I remember the pain of him nearly breaking my ribs as he sobbed on the phone to the paramedics. I don’t remember what he said only that I never heard him cry like that in my life. I remember saying, “Ow” to get him to stop cos the pain was so intense. I was put into a medical coma for a few days. When I woke up, two days later my mom told me they pumped my stomach. I remember while I was intubated how much it bothered me to have that uncomfortable machine in me. I kept attempting to pull it out so they had to tie my arms down. I was basically dead. They didn’t know what was going to happen to me when I woke up. I remember waking up from that coma and asking for my baby sister, Lilibeth. I remember the dry, scratchy feeling in my throat and the hoarseness in my voice. I still carry so much guilt from that day because I know I hurt my siblings irreparably and that’s probably why I’ll never be close with them again. They saw me in so many terrible situations that I’ll never stop feeling guilty about. Words could never describe how sorry I am and I know words will never soothe their pain.

T helped me talk to my parents about sending me to rehab when I was 19 and I couldn’t stop shooting up. I was addicted to feeling the needle as much as I was addicted to drugs slipping into my vein- I could romanticize what I felt and describe it to you in detail. It’s kind of sick. The excitement I felt when I would finally register and push the plunger down was almost better than the high itself. Almost but not quite. I remember sitting on the floor of his room in his mother’s apartment for hours on end trying to hit a vein. It was pure agony because I tried every vein in my arms and legs until I was covered in small pin pricks and bruises. When I finally registered, I can’t even describe to you the calm that would wash over my body. Some people get tweaked out and start bouncing off the walls on meth, but not me. I lay back and felt the iciness crawl up my throat, and I would cough as my heart tried to pound it’s way out of my chest. My rock bottom was when I was filled with agony, covered in pricks and bruises and spending hours on end trying to get high without success. After rehab, T picked me up and brought me home. Not before I relapsed again. My parents made a huge sacrifice financially for me so how did I relapse leaving rehab? I had a Xanax prescription that a doctor had prescribed for me so I didn’t think that was an issue. T still had some of my script on him and I asked him for some. That’s how the slippery slope began. Before I knew it, I was back to shooting meth and then, I fell in love with heroin too. I started hanging out with adults who were ten years older than me and I started dealing drugs to support myself and my habit. I was filled with so much self-hatred and I felt like using drugs was the only way I could escape feeling the constant bombardment of emotions that I was constantly subjected to. I was always miserable and I didn’t know the key to true contentment was within myself.

By October of 2016, I was 20 years old with two rehab stints under my belt which also happened to be wrapped around my arm. I clenched the leather between my teeth as I tirelessly attempted to shoot up a mixture of meth and heroin. I remember being so frustrated because my hands were shaking so hard from withdrawal that when I finally did register, I slipped the rig out of my vein and ruined my drugs because the blood in the syringe had coagulated. I was trying to get high and I ruined my drugs so I chose not to use it had to shoot it into the trash because if I would’ve used it, I was risking a blood clot going to my brain and killing me. I didn’t care about those consequences- but I did care about continuing to get high. A recurring theme in my 7life is a need for escapism and I needed to escape the everlasting depression and misery I constantly felt that tormented me. I felt like I had tried to get clean so many times on my own and I felt like I couldn’t get it right. I wanted so badly to be clean even though I truly believed in my soul that I could only be happy on drugs. I was sitting on the floor of my bedroom when I truly realized how tormented I was, I knew that I was failing at my attempts at sobriety. I couldn’t understand how people in sobriety could “have fun” without drugs. I remember going to young people’s Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and not being able to understand how they could achieve long-term sobriety and be happy. It seemed so fake and unattainable to me but I knew what I kept trying was failing, I had to try something new. T had broken up with me by now, because of my addiction. At the time, I truly loved heroin more than him anyways. Heroin was awful but it never put me through the various types of abuse that he put me through. I was so hurt and angry with him that I swore to myself that I would never go back to him for leaving me when I needed someone there for me. I know it sounds twisted but I’m honestly so thankful that he had left me because it left me with resolve to do something about my situation. I didn’t have the strength to leave and stay gone during our years together because of how vulnerable I was at that point in my life.

I always knew something was different about me. I have a hazy memory about being a small child in elementary school and being attracted to a girl in a way that I had never felt about anyone. I was 6 years old when I had my first “crush” on a girl but I felt shame deeply in my young soul even then. I never pursued my interest in girls until I was an adult and I had my first girlfriend, Kemi. I was still struggling with my sobriety at the time that I met her. She had been sober for two years by the time we were together. I remember her and I sitting on the floor of my bedroom while I fixed myself a shot. I don’t remember exactly what was happening but my parents were throwing a party. I had to wear something to cover the track marks and bruises on my arms even though it was a hot August day. My memories from the time are a bit hazy from the drugs but I made her look away while I did what I had to do. I remember feeling guilty but ultimately not caring that I was possibly risking her sobriety by using around her. I was so self-centered that nothing mattered to me but having the feeling of calmness wash over me. Things ultimately didn’t work out between us but that’s okay. She was good to me and she brought me around A.A. and introduced me to what sobriety had to offer me.

I attempted sobriety again in November of 2016 and I can’t pinpoint exactly what changed this time around. I no longer desired to keep up the facade that I had perfectly crafted. Anyways, it was all crumbling down around me pretty quickly. I remember having a sort of epiphany about the state of my life. I was 20 years old and I was speeding down the highway and into my grave. I don’t think I instantly wanted to live a righteous life or anything close to it, I just needed to try something different. Especially with turning 21 years old in a few days looming over my head. I couldn’t believe I legally couldn’t drink alcohol yet but I could buy heroin and I was a pretty decent hobbyist phlebotomist at this point.

I broke up with Rami last year. I was pretty unhappy with myself and where the relationship was going so I took our dog and moved back into my parent’s house. I needed to start figuring out what I was going to do with myself and my sobriety. The stress I put on myself after Rami relapsed after we broke up in December of 2018 and it absolutely ruined me. It helped lead me here, to Center for Discovery but not before I was hospitalized at Stanford for my low body weight. Rami never asked me to be with him while he struggled with his sobriety. I blamed myself for his relapse even though the rational side of my brain knew it had nothing to do with me. My anxiety was so bad I started restricting and I wasn’t even really aware of it at the time. I just knew that my mind was constantly spinning and I was on the edge of breaking down every day. I would take some anti-anxiety medication and it was like magic, I could finally be calm enough to eat. Rami continued to relapse and I continued to work hard and skip meal after meal. I was becoming frail and I was losing my ability to think clearly. I was worried about how I would pay my bills. I didn’t want to lose the independence from my parents that I finally felt I had earned. The heavy medications I had been taking made it impossible for me to hold down a job. I was finally able to prove to myself that I could work long shifts and over 40 hour weeks. I remember when a 4 hour shift was absolute agony for me. I could never go back to how things were. I earned my independence and I didn’t care if I starved myself to death for it, I wasn’t willing to give it up even though I was sacrificing my health.

Earlier this year I started a new job and it was extremely demanding. It ruined me. Or maybe it put me on the fast track so that I could ruin myself easier. I had to work long hours extremely hungry. My boss didn’t care about me, he saw me as another dispensable person: to be used up until I wasn’t worth anything and he could easily throw me away. I quickly became aware of what kind of person he was and I wondered what I could do. My best bet was finding another job but he paid me pretty well and I didn’t have to worry about a lot of things anymore. I was becoming independent for the first time in my life and that was all I ever wanted. I started skipping meals cos I had so many routes to do. I worked for a cannabis service that existed in a gray area in California law. I worked as a delivery driver and eventually I started working the desk. There was no human resources for me to ever turn to. He called me into work when he needed me and if I didn’t drop everything in that moment to help him, he wouldn’t call me for a few days to make my pockets run dry. I was constantly stressed and unhappy- but the money was good so I stayed. I didn’t have any confidence to go and find another job and he worked me so hard that I was constantly an anxious mess. I was constantly crying and on the edge of a breakdown. I think me staying irregardless of any abuse I faced is a problematic recurring theme in my life.

I was misdiagnosed bipolar for many years. I took every medication they could prescribe me. I’m sure there are a few I hadn’t tried but antidepressants cause a manic reaction in me and make me suicidal. But nonetheless, I took my medication religiously but I was medicating the after-effects of my drug abuse. I kept trying to fix something by taking drugs or taking medications but I didn’t realize the answer was in years of therapy. There’s a lot in my history that I can’t explain or find an answer for but that’s okay, I don’t need to understand everything that happened. All that matters is now. I don’t know how I managed to have so many clinicians misdiagnose me. Even when I tried avoiding the bipolar label I still got diagnosed with cyclothymia. To me that made it pretty clear to me that I was on that spectrum. A few months ago my doctor came to me with a diagnosis that frankly, pissed me off. I had heard it before but I felt like I had been in therapy long enough that I didn’t warrant that diagnosis or the stigma attached to it. When I heard the words “borderline personality disorder” it made me angry and defensive immediately. I definitely feel like that reaction made sense with the diagnosis. The doctors didn’t realize that some of my symptoms may have been residual from my drug use.

I never really realized I was anorexic until I started feeling the pressure to keep up an appearance. And I don’t mean that literally. I didn’t have time to look in the mirror and I hated the skeletal mess that always met my eyes when I would make the mistake of looking at my reflection. I didn’t think I was anorexic but my mind is much clearer now and I see that although a lot of stereotypical behaviors weren’t there, they didn’t need to be. I started looking at what made sense. I took being perfect to a flaw. I couldn’t leave the house unless I was fashionably dressed and if I didn’t have the nicest clothes then I felt bad about myself. If my makeup wasn’t impeccable I wasn’t shit. All I had to hold onto was my appearance of a well put together girl. I still don’t fit into that label, my anxiety has made it feel impossible to eat. I look back on my years of drug use and I see that I definitely used for weight control as well as mood management throughout my adolescence and young adulthood. Labels really don't mean much though cos we're in the same place for similar reasons. I feel like at a time of my life I honestly did hate my body. I think I might have hated it for a long time- for keeping me alive when I’ve wanted so badly to give up. I’ve hated it for not being the same shape or silhouette as other women. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m beautiful, scars and all.

I’ve shared the deepest, darkest moments of my life for only one reason: in hopes that someone hears this and knows it doesn’t always have to be so dark. Things get better, maybe not all at once but I promise they do. I never thought I would be able to climb my way out of the pits of hell. I struggled with constantly feeling like I was just digging myself into a deeper hole. Through the adversity that I’ve experienced in my life, I’ve grown as a person and I’ve turned into a woman that I can say that I’m proud to be. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows but I know that the clouds in the sky will part and the rays of the sun will kiss my skin. I always carry hope in my heart and I truly believe things will be okay as long as I continue to keep my goals in mind. I finally understand that I have a purpose in life and that’s to help people. I know I can only achieve that goal if I continue to better myself and it’s been hard work but it’s had to be done.

[itsdearsuga]

Grief: The Story of My First Major Loss.

Growing up, I only went to 2 funerals until I reached my 20’s.

My Grandfather, who was barely present in our lives. He was a man with his own set of issues, and we always had to stay in the car when we visited him those 3-4 times.

Then my late Pastor from Mowing Glade A.M.E Zion, who had mysterious health issues and eventually left us once the plug was pulled at a local hospital in Charlotte, where I once lived.

I was barely a 4th grader when both of these deaths occured in my life.

I always saw death as a catalyst for sympathy. I never truly understood it, I just knew it was a huge deal. If someone died in a person's life, I expected them to be out of school for like a month and for them to cry every 5 minutes. I just knew death to be this sad thing that was inevitable in people's experiences.

That was, until Granny’s diagnosis.

She was an avid snuff user, and growing up there was always a can of that black tar like substance that she spit out by the fireplace. I knew she spit in there but we always stayed as far away from that cursed can as possible. One day my cousin, sister and I knocked it over, and I honestly thought I was going to pass away my damn self. She used that stuff for over 50 years, some say since she was 8, and once I was in college, we received news that she had an extremely aggressive form of mouth cancer. When you’re a certified pessimist like myself from time to time, you’d probably hear the word cancer and think of the worse. But for me at that moment, it was a little different. I tried to muster up all the hope in the world for my grandmother. She cared for me and all of my cousins, she was my coffee buddy every sunday after church, I always made her laugh and we always sat on those rocking chairs on the porch, listening to the soft windchimes that clanged melodically in the countryside breeze, or played checkers in the cracker barrel before we were seated to go eat…  I remembered every bit of love and hope she gave me, and in that moment of hearing that news, I tried to return it all back to her. In all the things she handled in her years, it couldn’t be the snuff of all things that took her off this world. She held our family together, but unfortunately, the more sick she became, the more tensions rose amongst my loved ones. I never was the type that liked to talk in my family. It was a Hi then Bye kind of vibe when I walked in the room. Someone could look at my sketchbook, say I’m going to be the next picasso or something with an uncomfortable amount of enthusiasm and then keep it moving, It’s whatever. I only held long conversations with a select few in my family, but I typically kept to myself with a straight face. That’s where Granny came in with my nickname when I was kid. She called me “Suga” because of the irony of me being anything but. I hated that nickname for a long time, I thought it was to tease me, but she only called me that until, well, she passed. Her sickness was a long, grueling time in my life and my family’s lives. They fought over who took care of her, my aunts and cousins, and all I could do is watch the drama ensue or hear it over the phone from a distraught cousin all the way from Maryland. In the spring of 2018, our lives changed forever.

“Her tumor keeps coming back, they’re going to have to remove and replace the jaw.” These were the words I was told about the fate of my grandmother in the next coming weeks. This was also after she had ridiculous amounts of treatment. The granny I once knew as being a sturdy weight, eating alongside us , full of laughter and life, grew frail. She was always holding her jaw and groaning. She could barely say much without it causing her pain. It hurt like hell to see. I took time off of school and headed back to Charlotte for a little while, promising to handle my homework while I was gone. I barely slept that week. The hospital waiting room was full of loved ones during the operation, and I’ll never forget the moment before she was wheeled back. I was the last to see her, and that was the last time I heard Suga for quite awhile. Nonetheless, we played card games, visited the panera downstairs and anxiously sat and waited. Eventually, the surgery was over, and we went home while she was in recovery. Once back at the house, I only heard horror stories. One aunt said she looked like Emmett Till post surgery. I sat and listened to the hushed voices of all of my aunts as they talked about how she looked, but my mother hadn't seen her just yet. We were both worried and that was the first time I saw her cry. I could only hold her and try my best to reassure her that it can’t be that bad, but we had our own issues on top of this with our living situation, that would definitely be another blog post for another day. I stayed in my grandparents bedroom, anxiously doing my homework and talking on the phone to stay up and sane, drinking energy beverages and taking smoke breaks all night. It was hard, and I couldn’t sleep thinking about the major changes to a face that was so familiar to me. We eventually made our way to the hospital. When we arrived, I was definitely surprised. Her face was extremely swollen, and it looked as though her entire face was fused under the nose. I said nothing and when I walked in, my mother gave me a certain look as though it wasn't necessary to stay. I stayed. For days. If I wasn't by her bedside trying to teach her little signs in ASL that’d she’d eventually say whatever to and not use at all, or talking to her about how much of a pain in my the ass my classes were, I was in the lobby of the hospital, typing my essays tirelessly and staying sleep deprived. Eventually we went back to MD, and I only saw her from time to time when we went back home those few times. She didn't talk for more than 6 months, and phone calls were difficult, but when she got the ball rolling, she called my mom everyday and I eventually heard my nickname all over again. I was hopeful, until around valentines day of this year. I was working on a painting for her. One morning, she got really sick, with something like the flu, and the chemo and treatments were already too much for her immune system. I was at school that day, bitching about my work and getting annoyed at my dad's numerous text messages asking me where I was. My mom was in Greensboro for work at the time. I eventually came home and my dad told me to sit down.

Now at this point, I did experience my fair share of death, but nothing too close to me where I was broken. Nothing, besides Kaya maybe , but that loss broke me in regards to my place of empathy. And that story is another one in it’s own right. But I was truly oblivious to why my dad would need me to sit down so urgently. I guess a part of me was in a place mentally where I promised to see her again, and something in my psyche was reassuring myself that she wouldn't go anywhere until I could make that happen. Another part of me was too scared to hear what he had to say. Sure enough, I heard the worst. She was gone, and in that one moment, my entire world fell apart.

The drive after was the worst part.

I thought about the blackberry picking we did if we wanted a pie,

I thought about the times she took my scrap drawings and framed them, telling me that even the worst ones to me were everything to her.

I remember all the times I would hear my Nickname.

And everytime I heard it in my head, I was shattered all over again.

This was 6 months ago.

Now, I think I’m beginning to understand grief a little better. It feels like a never ending one way street, With an occasional traffic circle that doesn't tell you where the exits are going to take you.

Some exits take you on a beautiful scenic route, where you feel a little more comfortable to reminisce on the better days with that person, and some exits are rainy and disgusting. No matter how fast the windshields are going, you still can't see the road ahead even with the high beams on, and on top of that, you’re getting motion sickness, and it’s fucking brutal.

Grief is never a straight shot. It feels like one for a while, but the roundabouts are unexpected. Sometimes they show up after around a half a mile, and other times, they don't show up for about 7 or 8 miles.

Either way, they’re a journey that almost everyone takes, and it's okay if there's trouble on the trip because we’re human.

Love Always, Suga.

[escapingpost]

The Heartbreak Club (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4: Non-antagonistic Antagonist

previous: chapter 3

The antagonist is just as important to the story as the main lead characters. Not only do they add suspense and an opposing force, they can make or break the story. Sometimes, their mistakes cause a ripple effect to every other character in the story. When you take out the antagonist, what happens to the plot?

More importantly, when the motivation is gone and the secrets are forgotten, what is their end goal?

In the end, you were barely able to convince Seungwoo not to walk you back to the dorms. You dig through your memory to remember the next plot point in the drama:

Devoured by pride from the night of the gathering, Kim Hana, the real one, decides her first phase of creating chaos. Unfortunately, blinded by her rage, she seeks out the wrong person.

Kim Wooseok.

With a sculptured face and eyes like a deer, Kim Wooseok was type of character that attracted with just one minute on screen. He has only had eyes for one girl ever since he met her. Kim Wooseok was the second male lead that would pin for the girl until the very end. In “The Heartbreak Club”, the difference in the main lead and the second lead was not timing. The Wooseok on the inside was different from what you saw on the outside.

You enter the office for your major and sign in to see a counselor to help with your current situation. You are in deep thought of how to tell them you needed to leave the major you were currently in until you feel a light push on your forehead.

“You’ll get wrinkles faster if you always look like your in pain.” Wooseok took a seat next to you and comfortably stretched out his legs.

You look at him in surprised and hold your forehead, “Oh, I was just thinking about something.”

“I’m assuming you got home safely yesterday?” Wooseok asks.

You nod.

Wooseok looks down at you, “Why are you here?”

You shake your head, “I want to change my major.”

Wooseok has a small look of surprise for a few seconds and slowly nods. He glances at you, “Can I ask you why?”

“I want to go for something that I can enjoy. I’m just not cut out for engineering.”

Wooseok mockingly laughs, “Are you being modest or just fishing for compliments? You’re one of the best students in your year.”

And again, you are reminded that you were still Kim Hana. “I might be, but I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Wooseok looks down at his lap and then back at you, “Where do you want to change to?”

“When I lived in the hospital, all I did was sketch for a hobby. I want” You pause your sentence and come to a realization.

“You lived at the hospital?” The features on Woosek’s face gets softer as if he was releasing all tension in his expression. 

“It wasn’t for very long.” You quickly answer. “Why are you here, Wooseok-sunbae?”

“For personal reasons." Wooseok answers. His stare lingers on you for a few more seconds until he looks down at his phone.

Talking to a counselor about changing your major with grades like Hana’s was an interesting conversation, but in the end, you could not change your major mid-semester. You agree to stick out in the major, but will comeback towards the end of the semester to change it.

Just like that, a normal week passed. That is, if normal was being completely lost in class and facing an identity crisis.

You slowly change Hana’s dull room into something more lively. Her bare beige walls now had fairy lights illuminating the darkness of the night. You also bought a medium-sized pin board to post up pictures. So far, you only had one picture of a cat that hung around your dorm’s building.

The gray bed sheets and comforters were now changed into a lilac purple, your favorite color. The color gave you a feeling of assurance and warmth.

Throughout the week you noticed Hana’s source of finances came from a joint bank account with her father. Feeling uncomfortable in using her father’s money, you started looking for a part time job.

Speaking of her father, you remember his supporting role in the drama. He was what you would call “a fool for his daughter”. He was Hana’s pillar, her weakness. It seemed like every time she talked to her father, her words were rough, but was filled worry.

He had only sent you one text message ever since you became Kim Hana.

To which, you did not reply to him. You felt uncomfortable fooling Hana’s father. But that same night he sent the message, you turned off your fairy lights in your room and let the moonlight become your source of light. He reminded you of your real mother. And you wished you treated her just a little better.

“Do you want to check it out? Its free.”

You turn around to the source of the angelic and cheerful voice. A petite girl stood behind you carrying a huge canvas. 

Her crescent shaped eyes when she smiled finally revealed who she was, Kim Chaewon. 

This was the thing about “The Heartbreak Club”. It was not only the main lead’s story, but the college life of several students. Kim Chaewon was a supporting female character. She had befriended Kim Minju because birds of the same feather flock together. Automatically, she was the spunky small bean who would go on to cheer for Minju’s plight for Han Seungwoo. Naturally, Kim Chaewon was pulled in her own small love triangle with two other male supporting leads.

When you did not answer, she smiled, “Don’t just stand outside, the fourth years made some really great pieces for this exhibit.”

Walking down the campus, you had found yourself going inside the Art’s Building for the first time.

You slowly nod, “Do you need some help?”

Chaewon shakes her head, “I look scrawny, but the canvas isn’t that heavy.” she giggles.

“Hey, small fry!” A male voice calls out.

You turn your attention to the person running over, ‘Seungyoun?’

“Hana? What are you doing here?” Seungyoun stands next to Chaewon, grabbing the canvas from her.

“She came to see the exhibit, right?” Chaewon gives you a cheeky smile and locks arms with you, pulling you through the doors of the exhibition room.

As soon as your enter, your mouth gapes open at all of the paintings fitted into the room. Your eyes light up at all the wonderful colors and unique art expressions.

Chaewon has a proud smile on her face and grabs the canvas from Seungyoun, “I’ll be right back.”

You slowly make your way to a particular painting. It was a watercolor painting of a bouquet of lilacs. You stare at the painting and a memory of your mother placing lilacs on your bed side table flashes through your mind.

Aren’t these great?

I guess.

This girl, you’re never going to see the brighter things in life if you choose to gray scale your vision.

I like them a lot. Thank you.

You close your eyes and almost hear your mom say your real name.

You turn your body away from Seungyoun when you feel a drop fall down your cheek, “Wow, these paintings are great.”

However, Seungyoun’s already seen the lone tear that escaped.

Cho Seungyoun was probably one of the very few characters with a more normal backstory. Wearing a heart on his sleeve, he is set to pursue his dream to become a music producer. However, he did not expect it when he slowly became interested in a small girl that was always carrying too much art supplies and that his music take form in the shape of his newly found interest, Kim Chaewon.

“Are you crying?” Just like the straight-forward character that he was, he does not miss a beat to ask you.

“I think its just the fresh paint fumes.” you quickly wipe the tear and sniffle.

“Right.”

“I have to go.” You give him a weak wave and start to leave.

“Hey! Come back again.” Chaewon says from across the room.

You look at Seungyoun, then at Chaewon and nod.

Everything was catching up with you at a fast pace. You wonder what happened to your old life. If this was your second chance, then does this mean you do not exist in your past life?

All the questions floating in your head frustrated you, but you kept calm. Other than completing your bucket list, was this going to last forever? You were in someone else’s life, living their reality.

Another part perplexed you. You knew the background stories of all, if not most, of all the people around you. Were they actually part of your reality?

Deep inside, you were just a weak and sick ridden person with little to no knowledge of life outside your hospital bedroom.

But, little did you know, the story that you once knew was slowly changing its course.

A month passes by as if nothing happened. You were still having trouble in your computer classes, while you were barely surviving general education classes. You got a part time job near your school at a cafe.

You also kept your distance from all the characters you knew about. Yohan was the hardest to keep away from because of his interest toward Kim Hana, but you successfully avoided him. It was the best for them to follow the path they were destined to follow.

Syntax error

You let out deep sigh and lightly slam your fingers on the keyboard. You see a shadow creeping up behind you and you jump in surprise.

Hangyul looked at the screen on your computer and scrolled through the code using the keyboard. “You forgot to define this. It won’t work if you randomly insert it with no formula or integer.”

Opposite of Cho Seungyoun, Lee Hangyul was a student of secrets. Not much was known other than the fact that he was adopted. He was just Cho Seungyoun’s best friend. The love triangle between Seungyoun, Chaewon, and Hangyul was an obvious endgame. If Kim Wooseok’s pain did not cause second male lead syndrome, Lee Hangyul’s did. 

You watch him type something and successfully run the program. “Thanks.”

Hangyul takes the computer next to you and leans on the table of the computer, “Don’t take this to offense, but are you sick?”

Wary of his suspicion, you give him a confused expression, “What are you talking about?”

“That day of our midterm, I carried you to the health office.”

You point at him, “It was you?”

“After that happened, you changed.” Hangyul says quietly. “I was just gonna ignore it because we’re not close or anything.”

You wait for him to continue.

“But, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Hangyul pauses, “Because a situation changed.”

The Heartbreak Club Episode 7

“I don’t need this from you, Hana.” Wooseok got up from the chair.

“You like Kim Minju. I know you do.” Hana slowly makes her way closer to him. “I’m just saying we should work together.”

Wooseok scoffed, “You’re a real work of art, you know that?”

“What are you guys doing here?” Seungyoun’s raises his eyebrows.

“We’re on a date.” Hana states. She looks at the petite girl next to Seungyoun.

Chaewon slowly raises her hand, “Hey, I’m Chaewon.”

Seungyoun looks at Wooseok in confusion.

“Lets go, Hana.” Wooseok grabs Hana’s wrist and pulls her out of the exhibit room.

“Chaewon is one of Minju’s closest friends. It won’t be long until she tells her.” Hana tells Wooseok as he pulls her farther from the building.

Wooseok finally stops in his tracks, “So?”

“I’ve known Minju for years and she won’t stand anyone else getting attention other than her.”

Wooseok shakes his head, “That’s what you think.”

[twopedalpushers]

Travel update #5

Ecuador

A lot of events have transpired since I last posted a blog update! I signed off my last post at the border between Colombia and Ecuador. There is a lot to get through and so without further ado, welcome to the fourth country of our travels so far - Ecuador. 

Normally at a border crossing the scenery subtly merged from one country to the next but upon arriving into El Ángel National Park at the Ecuadorian border, we were transported into another world. I don’t know how to describe El Ángel National Park as even the photos that I took are pale in comparison to the experience of being there. We were travelling through the park on a dirt track and there were frailjones (a specific type of Latin American sunflower) as far as the eye could see in every direction. We were the only souls along the entirety of this track and the only sounds were those of our tyres on the dirt. It was surreal. It felt like we were the only people on this strange, desolate new planet. 

We passed through a few different towns before we reached the famous Ottavalo Market. The market is known throughout South America for being the best place to buy alpaca wool goods handcrafted by the indigenous people of Ottavalo. The market was vast, bursting with piles of rugs, jumpers, gloves, hats, toys (to name a few) being sold by charming Ottovaleños. We both bought a jumper each and I’ve pretty much been living in it ever since. 

Probably the nicest thing about Ecuador is the amount of indigenous people wearing traditional dress. In Ecuador, 25% of people define themselves as indigenous - 22% more than in Colombia. More often than not in Ecuador, entire villages will be wearing their own cultural variation of the traditional dress. It was interesting to see how this changed as we crossed the country. Women in the North tended to wear long blue dresses, handmade blue sandals, a white blouse with an ornately embroidered belt. Men wore a blue poncho or shirt and a fedora. Once we travelled South, the women of the highlands now wore extremely bright coloured felt shawls held together with a brooch. They wore knee length bright skirts -usually in a contrasting colour to their shawl, wellington boots and a fedora. The men of the highlands wore striped ponchos and wellingtons. This was the first time I had ever seen so many people dressed traditionally throughout the entirely of a country and it was inspiring to see a culture so rich. 

The capital of Ecuador is in the North, so we reached Quito fairly early into our journey. Out of all of the Latin American capitals we had visited, Quito felt the most European. It had a really relaxed yet quiet and private vibe. People ran in the parks and took their dogs out for walks in the evening. It was extremely civilised but it seemed to lack the intensity, drama and disinhibition of cities in its neighbouring countries. 

The roads after Quito were beautiful. We were cycling through Ecuador’s Volcanic corridor, which took us around Cotopaxi Volcano and ended with the vast and breathtaking Quilatoa Lake. 

The scenery was spectacular but the cycling was becoming extremely difficult. The small roads that we usually cycled on were now cobbled instead of paved or dirt. We had to bump along up hills of extreme gradients. It was rainy season in Ecuador so we frequently found ourselves cycling in dense fog or rain all day. The dampness made cycling uphill on cobbles extremely slippery and dangerous to do, especially on a bike that weighed the same amount as I did! I found myself having to get off the saddle and push my bike up steep hill after steep hill, most of which only 4x4’s were able to drive up.

Ecuadorians seemed to prefer to build roads straight up the mountain rather than having the road switch back a few times to gradually take you up. Because of this, our progress became infuriatingly slow - down from 80km per day in Colombia to 40-50km in good weather. 

Ecuador took us to new heights. Most days we were at an altitude of 3000-4000m. Although thankfully neither of us got altitude sickness, doing such intense physical activity so far above sea level left me incredibly out of puff to the point that I would struggle to catch my breath. 

The picture painted of cycling through Ecuador online and on social media contrasted immensely with the reality of doing so. Cycle-touring blogs and Instagram accounts that I’ve been following whilst on the trip are endlessly positive highlight reels of what it’s like cycling on the best days. Nobody tells you that you will be woken up in the middle of the night with searing pain in your legs from the build up of lactic acid. Nobody tells you that on the worst day of your period you will be biking 2000m of elevation instead of running yourself a hot bath and stuffing your face with chocolate. 

After a while in Ecuador, I started to expect every day to be another bad day, which kickstarted a dangerous spiral of negativity. I would look at Max cycling ahead of me in the distance, conquering each hill much more easily and happily than I could, and I would wonder why I was not able to do the same. I was asking myself why on earth I was putting my mind and body through this every day. It was the first time on the trip that I truly missed home.

Ecuador uses the dollar and is much more expensive than Colombia. Because of this to save money we did a lot more camping than we usually would. However because of the persistent rain we found ourselves needing to camp under shelter, once taking refuge on a volleyball pitch next to the side of the road, other times in hostel courtyards. Not splashing out on a bed in a hostel very often meant that we were tackling the Andes on very little sleep for as long as ten days in a row without a break. 

This has been a pretty negative account (sorry!). However it was not totally miserable in Ecuador. On dry days, we got to camp in some of the most amazing, wild spots that have been better than anywhere else on the trip thus far. We spent time camping next to waterfalls and at the base of volcanoes. Between villages while cycling on dirt roads we were very often the only the people around. We saw lots of llamas and alpacas for the first time on the trip! 

However no amount of cute, fluffy llamas could make up for the difficulty of the cycling and unfortunately my morale was low. The strain of undertaking such an intense physical challenge and spending every minute of the day together began to take a toll on mine and Max’s relationship. We were exhausted and bickering with each other at every opportunity. I was falling out of love with the cycling and in the end we decided that it would be good to take a break from biking and spend some time apart. 

Max and his family were heading to visit him in the Galapagos for ten days, and although I was invited along too I decided to fly to Brazil instead. We were 5 months into the trip and halfway through our time on the continent so it felt like a good moment to rest our bodies and treat ourselves a little bit. 

Our cycle route down the Western side of South America doesn’t take us through Brazil and it has always been a country that I have wanted to visit. I booked my flights to Rio de Janeiro and found out a couple of days later that I was going to be there while it’s Carnival! I really needed to blow off some steam and now had the perfect opportunity to do so - it felt like the stars were aligning! 

So about a week ago, we both left our bikes behind and flew to completely different places. We are going to return to our bikes refreshed, rested and ready to take on the Peruvian section of the Andes! Other cyclists that we have met on this trip rave about Peru being one of the most beautiful countries to cycle through, so I’m pretty excited. More importantly others have said that Peru is far less steep than Ecuador because they thankfully build long, winding hairpins up the mountain at a gradual gradient when possible. Obviously, there will still be hills to climb but after a good rest I’ll be able to take them on with fresh legs and a positive attitude.

I landed in Rio de Janeiro a few days ago and Carnival is every bit as exciting, intense, raucous and dynamic as you would imagine it to be - just times by one hundred. I’ve been at some of the street parties (that seemingly have no start or end) for a few days now. I will save writing about my time in Brazil for my next update. 

Below I’ve posted the full video of our time cycling through Colombia. I’m in the process of putting together the Ecuador video and will upload it in a few days.

Here is the link to track our progress (although we won’t be cycling for a while so you won’t see a lot of progression!) 

http://share.garmin.com/DMB7R

Similarly to my previous post about reaching the end of Colombia, I thought I would write a list of all the interesting things that I noticed while travelling through Ecuador. Again, it’s lifted from my journal so it informally written.

Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream! For a country so cold it’s crazy to see how into ice cream the locals are. On every street there is an ice cream shop. In the North they cover ice cream in cheese (crazy combination I know...) I was intrigued by this but in the end I was too grossed out to give it a try. 

The possibility of taking a hot shower is back- for the first time on the entire trip! Ecuadorians mostly have warm showers, which is nice. They don’t have central heating in their buildings so they use propane tanks to heat their water. Every morning a truck selling gas canisters trawls around every neighbourhood, blaring a song sung by children with shrill voices. It’s the same song in every town we have visited. 

Ecuador has a strangely large amount of Chinese restaurants called “Chifas.”

They’re mad about topiary gardens. In the North every town square had shrubs with peoples faces and animals cut into them. 

Ecuadorians are very quiet, reserved, friendly and humble people.

A very large amount of people drive old school classic VW Beetles. It’s definitely the most common type of classic car you will see in Ecuador. 

[icantlose]

SEND

“Ya wanna hear about my mama, huh?” He reaffirms, folding both arms over his chest while leaning up against the nearest wall. “I’m sure she appreciates the curiosity -- she was always a massive attention whore.” 

“Mom was born into a family of five, she’s the middle child of three kids. I’ve got an uncle and an aunt living somewhere, but honestly, I couldn’t even tell ya what they even look like ‘cuz I haven’t seen ‘em since I was a pup. After her mom and dad divorced, she dropped out of high school and began workin’ at a movie theatre in Corneria City. According to my grandma, she did real well there. It didn’t take her long to climb up the corporate ladder and eventually she became the theatre’s advertising and promotions manager. She turned the place around quick, she created a few morning children’s matinees for stay-at-home mothers who had kids that weren’t old enough to go to school. She frequently held coloring contests for the kids and had other giveaways, games and raffles that handed out free movie tickets and rejuvenated local interest in that theatre. She was doin’ real well there, but her success definitely had a darker side to it. She worked almost every day of the week, and would frequently work double shifts. Bein’ so damn overworked brought her to alcoholism. My grandma said she’d use it because it would help her wind down and fall asleep after a long shift, but very quickly it got worse. Her and her supervisor started gettin’ real close and after work, they’d frequently go out to drink to relax and prepare to end their night.”

“This is about where she met Jack.”

“Eventually, goin’ to get a few drinks with the boss turned into goin’ to full-on parties with the boss. And during one of said parties, mama met her knight in shining armor, Jack O’-fuckin’-Donnell. She met up with him and they hit it off quick. Two seasoned drinkers fallin’ in love each other at some party would be a romantic story if not for the fact that neither of these two idiots can hold their liquor. What was a blossoming romance turned into a nightmare, but my ma was so devoted to this guy that she wasn’t about to walk away. Workin’ all day, partyin’ all night and gettin’ little sleep started wearin’ on my mom and to combat this, Jack started feedin’ her speed. Doin’ drugs started helping her improve her work life, but soon people around her started to find out what was goin’ on. She was unwilling to give up the drugs, because if she did, she’d have to stop partyin’ at night so she could get some real sleep and function like an actual person and that was bad because it meant she’d have less time to be with Jack. She chose Jack over her loved ones, and as her problem grew worse, less and less people wanted anything to do with it, which meant Jack had more and more of a control over her. She ended up movin’ in with Jack and they continued their destructive lifestyle.” 

“As ya can expect, it all came to a head and she was hospitalized. The movie theatre didn’t exactly have a choice in the situation and had to let her go for her drug abuse. After she was discharged, she had nowhere to go but down. Havin’ moved in with Jack and without havin’ a job she was required to show up for, there was nothin’ stoppin’ her from bein’ an irresponsible piece of shit: she was free to drink all day, every day. This was, apparently, a situation as ugly as it sounds. My grandma says the apartment they lived in was a mess. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke, marijuana and urine, there were empty bottles of booze everywhere, the walls were sticky, the laundry and the dishes were never done. All that was ever in the fridge was more alcohol, grandma described the stove’s surface to be completely covered in old food that was caked on with layers of grease and grime on top of it. She said the microwave was a disaster, with an orange stain that looked sticky and would get moist anytime anybody would use it. With nothing ever gettin’ done, and Jack the only one bringin’ in money, the relationship started gettin’ ugly. Arguments broke out hourly, sometimes shit would break, sometimes they’d get physical. Grandma said it went like this for about a year and a half before my mom finally came back home, tears in her eyes and her bags packed. She’d been threatenin’ to leave him for a long time and my mom was overjoyed when it finally happened...Of course, this wasn’t the end of the drama.”

“Mama was pregnant.”

“With me on the way, my grandma worked her ass off to get my mom on government assistance, which afforded her a new place to live. Several job interviews were arranged. She bombed most, sometimes she wouldn’t even show up. The few times she actually did get a job, she’d figure out how to fuck it up quickly. I was told one job was lost because she fought the manager over the pants she was wearing. Apparently she wasn’t told about dress code on her first day and instead of going home to change, she got argumentative and was promptly fired. My mama was supposedly goin’ through both drug and alcohol withdrawal durin’ this time, since she was pregnant with me. She was really ill at the time and spent most of her pregnancy in the emergency room. She was dehydrated as hell because she would vomit almost profusely. By this time, she was gettin’ real depressed because she missed Jack, she was unhappy with where her life went, and she wanted her vices. She’d hardly eat, she was always sick and unfortunately, the doctors had to induce labor four weeks early because of how distressed I was by the complications.” 

“After I was born, my mother just completely checked out. Her depression worsened and she completely stopped bein’ a person. She locked herself in her room all day and left my grandma to care for me. My grandma would attempt to get her to mother me, because she wanted a bond to grow between us two, but her emotional state wouldn’t allow it. My grandma was alone to raise me for a while, before Jack’s best friend entered the picture. Redd Reed was Jack’s best friend and he wanted to help out my mother because apparently he wasn’t happy with how Jack handled the situation. At first my mom didn’t trust Redd because of his friendship with Jack, but real quick she began to rely on Redd’s involvement and my grandmother appreciated him taking some of the weight of the responsibility off.” 

“Time went on and instead of combating her depression in a healthy way, my mother returned to drugs. This time she started using harder stuff and it completely changed her. She was erratic and unpredictable, she was aggressive and she’d often get mad at me for no reason. I remember there were days when my grandma refused to let me see my mama, and it would upset me. I didn’t understand the situation, all I knew is that I loved my mom, and when I couldn’t have her, I wanted her even more. It was times like that when I liked havin’ Redd with us. Because he always knew how to make me feel better.” 

“It seemed like.. the older I got, the less of those around us I saw. Like I said, I was just a pup when I last saw my aunt and uncle. Eventually, Redd stopped showin’ up too. I started seein’ less and less of my grandma, too. The more my mom used, the more alone I started realizin’ I was. As I got older I started spendin’ less and less time at home, until finally, when I was sixteen, I lied about my age and enlisted in the Cornerian Army. I was immediately enrolled in Corneria’s flight academy and I’ve never looked back, since.” 

“I haven’t seen my mama in decades--actually I don’t even know if my mom is still alive, or if she finally kicked the bucket. I got a chance to speak with my grandma once, back during the Lylat Wars. She was old and tired and she told me she just... gave up on her daughter. She said she regrets it entirely, but my mom just wasn’t interested in helping herself and her mom just got tired of givin’ her everything she had only to get spat on in return.”

“My mom’s got a sad story. She let someone consume her and completely change her into a whisper of what she once was. Accordin’ to my grandma, my mom had a lot of aspirations. She wanted to be a model, she wanted to be a singer, she learned how to play the guitar and she could draw really well, too. She was constantly seeking new avenues and she was always learnin’ new things. Then after she met Jack, it all just went straight to hell. She let him consume her. He was like a parasite, he got under her skin and completely ruined her from the inside out. Their relationship ended in an ugly and very violent way. She went from bein’ a motivated person to someone who can’t stand to look at herself in the mirror. After she discovered she was pregnant with me, she kept me out of pure spite. She didn’t want me, she knew she was in no place to care for a child. But she wanted to keep me anyways, just to give Jack O’Donnell the middle finger. I was never her child, I was nothin’ more than a tool to her. A tool for those around her to enable her vices, and allow her to wallow in her emotional turmoil, a tool she could use to rise above her abusive ex, a tool she could use to rake in pity-points and have people live her life for her. My mother was a pathological liar and she was a drama queen. She fed off of attention and often exaggerated her story to gain sympathy. She stopped growing genuine bonds with the people she had in her life, her relationships instead tools to serve her purposes and nothing more. I got tired of the person she was, and I got scared of the person I was becomin’ by stayin’ locked in her prison.”

“I don’t regret walkin’. Even if it ultimately cost me my eye.”

[shironekooo]

Art in it’s truest form

Chp. 5 - Beauty and the Beast

Kamski x Reader

Words: 2314

Note: So sorry for the delay. Had a lot of things to do. If chp feels rushed, that’s why:/ enjoy!

A couple of days have passed. Since those disturbing events you didn’t have a chance to stay alone with Elijah more than for five minutes. It was pretty obvious that he was avoiding you. His office now was shut and he was even leaving you home alone taking trips without telling. These were the most boring days and all you could do is wonder what’s going to happen next. Chloe didn’t say much either. She was still nice and helpful, but everything regarding Elijah was so cryptic, that you gave up after a couple of times…

It was an early morning, around 5am, when you woke up feeling thirsty and got up to get a glass of water. Your attention caught lights coming from farther room accompanied by subtle sounds of music. What could Elijah possible be doing at this hour? You decide to investigate.

Source of commotion appears to be The Room. Record player in the library is playing 30’s melodies creating such an eccentric mood, that you feel out of place. Still half asleep you peek into the forbidden place and freeze. There is a girl there, hanging on a hook, chest fully open and empty. Elijah and Chloe are there too, wearing scrubs, standing over a table and packing something in coolers, which raises so many questions. Your presence is noticed only when Chloe picks up bags and turns to leave.

-You shouldn’t be here, - Elijah quickly approaches and pushes you back, but you’re not taking any of that.

-Wait, no, Elijah, we need to talk. You’ve been avoiding me and I need to know… is this the reason? – you can’t look away from the morbid sigh.

-We can talk later, go to sleep. There’s nothing for you to see.

-But… - you bypass him and rush into the room, getting closer to the girl. This is so surreal…

Elijah sighs and walks up to you. No point in trying to hide it now.

-What was in those containers? – you curiously ask.

-What we harvested from her, - Elijah moves aside to change out of his medical attire.

-Are they…for eating?

Elijah starts laughing. This is a first.

-What? No. Where did you get that idea from?

-You said you put them away for later use…I don’t know what that means, but it didn’t sound good at the time, - now you feel stupid assuming he goes full Hannibal.

-I sell them. I have no real use for organs.

-Is that why you’re wearing scrubs?

-Yes. I assist Chloe, since I don’t have any real medical degree. She’s more precise and careful.

That could mean that a piece of her is still living somewhere there. Giving life to someone else. It isn’t so bad and the dead body doesn’t look so horrifying anymore. There’s even something poetic about it.

-What’s her name? – you look closer, examining her face – it’s very pretty.

-Anna.

-What was she like before this? – you start circling her looking at the body from different angles, being fascinated by it.

-Does it matter? – Elijah finishes changing and begins to watch you.

-I’m just curious… What role do you think of giving her? – you touch her hand and it’s cold and stiff. In your eyes she’s starting to loose human form and look more and more like a doll.

-Well, I haven’t finished my flower installation.

-You’re giving her my role? – you turn to Elijah with a look of betrayal. Elijah chuckles.

-Does it make you jealous?

You stop and face the girl trying to imagine her as a forest goddess. She’s very different from you, so it’s doesn’t make you feel too bad about her getting the flower treatment. It’s going to be a lot different than what you could have looked like.

Elijah takes a couple of steps and stands behind you. The reason he was avoiding you, was so he could set his mind straight. Ever since sparing you and letting you stay here, he wasn’t sure what he’s going to do and how is this going to affect him. And it did affect him. His attraction to you wasn’t so apparent until that night, when you visited the bedroom. You found a side of him, that he thought he lost many years ago, and all suppressed feelings rushed back at once. If he wouldn’t have stopped, he might have hurt you again. Now, after some time of thinking and getting in touch with his inner demons, he feels comfortable again and even a little needy… Elijah puts his hands on your shoulders, moving hair to one side, then pulls your tshirt down a little.

-Don’t worry, you’re the only goddess around here, - he says it in a sensual manner while planting kisses on your shoulder and neck. You can’t help, but be swept away by his voice and touch. Does this mean that everything is fine between you two again? You turn to face him. Elijah’s expression is alluring making you almost forget what it was that you wanted to discuss in the first place.

-I actually have a favor to ask.

-What is it? – Elijah doesn’t seem to care, being caught in the moment.

-I want you to let me go.

You could almost hear a record player scratch. Elijah takes a step back and looks at you in disbelief.

-You want me to let you go? – he sounds surprised. This is the last thing he expected to hear from you.

-Elijah, it’s been what, a week? They’re going to declare me missing soon enough and I’m not missing! What will I do? Live here for the rest of my life, until you get bored and kill me? Let me visit my flat, my university. I will show up, put everyone at ease and come back.

-Am I hearing right? You’re going to return... – he was never this skeptical in his life before.

-Yes, I will. I’m not stupid. I realize what’s going to happen if I won’t. It’s going to be messy for both of us and honestly, I would like to avoid it. Just for a day. Please?

Eijah is dumbfounded. It’s five o’clock in the morning and his initial victim, that he became fond of for some sick reasons, is asking him to let her go after she was kidnapped, threatened with murder, beaten and witnessed his other victim dead…promising to return. One of them was out of their mind and honestly, it was probably him, because…

-Sure, go ahead, - he decides to let you.

You sigh with relief and smile.

-Thank you.

Giving him a kiss on a cheek you get ready to leave, since in the morning you will have some serious stuff to deal with. Elijah still stands there unable to comprehend what made him decide to just throw away his life. There’s no way this is going to end well.

-You return, - he finally manages to put some weight in his words.

-I will, - you assure one last time. - Goodnight, Elijah.

You’re not gonna lie, you feel nervous getting ready to leave. Back to the city all by yourself. Elijah doesn’t come to see you off, but you don’t blame him. He’s probably going to be cleaning all day, brandishing his alibi, just in case you decide to show with a police or something.. Again, understandable. You weren’t quite sure yourself what exactly is your plan of action once you’re back. It feels like you spent an eternity here.

Around noon you are back at your place. Feelings of familiarity and comfort immediately surround you, but you don’t feel like you fit here anymore. It’s even hard to believe, that just a week ago it was your life. A normal psychology student with a dream of cracking the secret of human brain, hoping for a carrier, nice apartment and a pet. Casually drinking, smoking and writing, like a French woman in her thirties already disappointed in life and men, spending her days behind a copywriter or at a bar downstairs. Your imagination was running wild, taking you to various places, but never to the one you are now. You could’ve never imagined that…

Picking up every little thing, that holds some memories, you walk around the flat. Eventually pack essentials and close the door behind you. Everything you though you’re gonna be stays behind too. Goodbye.

Next stop is the university. You try to avoid the contact with people who might know you, just so you could save some time and energy feeding them lies, and go straight to the professor to whom you knew you will have to submit your thesis work at the end of semester. He’s slightly surprised that you skipped classes, but you make up an excuse about getting food poisoning and losing your phone. Trouble doesn’t walk alone, as they say. He has no reason to doubt you, so you two discuss other matters and you get an approval to focus more on your early thesis and less on classes, since after new year those are gonna end anyway.

It’s actually surprising how the world just goes on, not even noticing how much you had to live through. No one was actually too suspicious or worried. In a way it made you feel better. Less chaos, less drama.

Since you have the whole day to yourself, you decide to stop by your favorite Mexican place and get some tacos as a reward for a good work. You get to the food truck around fifteen minutes away from university and place an order, standing around in cold, breathing white.

-(Y/N) ? – a familiar voice calls out to you. For a second you ignore it, hoping that the person will walk away, but of course that doesn’t happen. – (Y/N), oh my god, where have you been? I haven’t seen you since the gathering at a pub.

-Hey, Jessie, - you turn around and greet your classmate. You two hang out occasionally, since she’s a very bubbly person and you don’t have it in you to turn her down, but right now you weren’t in the mood for a chit chat. – I’m sorry, I got food poisoning. Couldn’t get out of bed…

-That’s bullshit, - she laughs, but gives a suspicious look. – I stopped by your apartment. You were definitely not there. What’s going on?

Well of course she would come to check on you. Unfortunately now she sees through you and there’s no other choice, but to tell the truth. You sigh.

-I…met a guy.

-What? No way! – she immediately gets excited. - Oh my god, so you spent the entire week with him?! Girl, spill it.

-I don’t know… it might not be so serious, so I’d rather keep it to myself, - you try to avoid the topic, but to no avail.

-Nah ah, you spent seven days with a man with no call, no nothing. It is serious. What’s his name?

-Uff…ummm… Thomas, - you say the first name that comes to mind hopefully convincing enough.

-Quit being so shy. I’m not judging! Should we find a warm place to sit?

-Actually, I’m getting the tacos and going home for the day. Sorry.

-Your home or his home? – she cheekily smiles.

-You got me there, - you laugh nervously. When will this end…

-At least tell me what he’s like. He must be pretty special if he caught your attention. You’re so picky with men, I honestly though you will die alone.

-Still might. But if you must know…

You think for a second, imagining Elijah sitting behind his office desk, wearing glasses and seriously working on whatever project interest him at that moment. Always so tired. He never takes good care of himself, honestly. If not Chloe, he would be such a mess. That image makes you genuinely smile.

-He’s intelligent, handsome, talented, very creative and open minded. But also sensitive and attentive. Honest. He challenges me and I do the same for him, - even you haven’t realized how fond of him you actually are until this very moment. He truly took over you.

Jessie awww’s and your order is called. You take the food bag, thank the guy behind a counter, and say your goodbyes to Jess. She doesn’t ask anymore being simply happy for you. And you feel the same. Maybe this encounter wasn’t so bad after all.

Lights are off in all the rooms, the house is empty and silent. Only moonlight is casting its light through the open windows coating everything in a soft silver layer. The smell of winter lingers in the air. Occasional snowflake swirls in sparkling like a fairy, creating a wonderland image. The sound of piano only enhances it. It’s Clair de Luna. Such a fitting melody haunting emptiness of the house. Emptiness of his soul.

Elijah is hunched over the piano, smoothly moving fingers across its keys. Sound is very clear and passionate, with him pouring everything in this performance. It’s only natural that it attracted a spectator.

Elijah doesn’t seem to notice and you don’t interrupt. Until the last note goes silent…

Elijah raises his head and finally sees you. A surprised expression follows relieved one.

-You’re here.

-Of course I am, - you give a warm smile and start walking towards him. – There’s no other place I would rather be right now.

He welcomes you back, taking your hand and pulling you closer. You press your palm against his cold cheek in return and gently caress it. You feel home. Here, with him. With his twisted mind and poetic murders. You’re falling for him and he does the same. And you know it because at this very moment he’s the first one to kiss you. You answer, warmth filling up your chest.

This night Elijah holds you in his arms.

[4626songs]

Everyone deserves a great love story. This one is mine.

So. Here’s the thing.

Is it even appropriate for a 38-year-old guy to obsess over a major studio teenage rom-com flick? People my age who saw it usually say they wish they had something like that when they were that age – like, 20 years ago? I probably should behave like a proper adult, too: just love the movie and wish I had it back then when I was seventeen.

The problem is that after watching the movie and reading the original book, I feel seventeen once again. In all the right and wrong ways.

The case in point: Love, Simon.

I mean, yes. I’m done keeping my story straight.

When it comes to the emotional intellect – i.e., empathy and ability to recognize others’ as well as my own emotions – I am a certified piece of dumb and voiceless deadwood. I mean, I even officially have it in my DNA. But it also did not help that I grew up with emotionally detached parents and had very few friends during childhood. I’ve been struggling with the lack of emotional intellect all my life.

But when I hit adolescence and started to feel something big, it was the worst. I could not recognize and understand what the fuck was going on. And definitely I could not talk about it with anyone. Not even because I was scared. Simply because I literally did not have the words to describe it.

Eventually, it was music, movies and, ahem, slash fanfics that helped me find those right words that explained me to me. That big thing was me being helplessly and hopelessly in love with my best friend.

Curiously, I did not have any struggles with my sexuality or identity after this revelation. I sort of accepted me being gay as a matter of fact and moved on.

Telling anyone – and especially my best friend – about this was a completely different matter. Obviously, I was scared. As Simon says in the movie, announcing who you are to the world is pretty terrifying. But it was not just this fear. Once again, I did not have the words to tell my story. My go to sources of emotional cognition – music, movies and books – were failing me. You know, there was not a lot of coming-out, coming-of-age films or songs or books quarter of a century ago. Except maybe for Smalltown Boy. The most beautiful song. But do you remember the video? One more reason to be terrified and NOT come out.

So, I was silent. It also did not help that I knew for sure from our conversations that if I told my friend about me being gay and my feelings for him, pretty much everything good in my life would end.

I was correct. After suffering for several long years feeling increasingly cold inside from not being able to speak up and express what I feel, I finally managed to confess to him somehow. And yes, it went almost as bad as I expected. I was told that I was a misguided fool, and that I should never speak up about it again. Never speak up.

See. My first coming out experience was pretty bad. But not something objectively bad. I was not beaten up or bullied or outed, thank god. That was out of question, I knew him too well for that. But still. Somehow I was left even more dead and frozen on the inside than I was before. Not something to look for in the future.

But eventually, things got better. I found new funny and geeky hobbies, through which I met great new friends-for-life. I got three university degrees, including a PhD, and became a scientist. I started a music blog, and eventually freelanced as a music journalist. Finally being able to talk about what music meant for me was a liberation.

On a personal front, things were also moving somewhere somehow. There were other unrequited loves. Deeply engaging epistolary relationships with anonymous penpals. (Hi, Blue!) Casual sex. Proper offline boyfriends, and even serious long-term relationships. Some drama along the way, of course. But, until recently, no great love stories coming along with that. Somehow, deep inside, I ached for a great love story to happen in my life.

And then there were those other coming outs. Nothing objectively bad. Always insanely awkward. When I told my mother, she said that I had an irrevocable right to ruin my life and do whatever I want, and we hadn’t talked about me being gay for the next twelve years. A roommate did not believe I was gay at first, and then, when I insisted that I was not joking, he cussed and stopped talking to me for two weeks. A girl who had a crush on me laughed with relief that there’s something wrong with me and not her as I didn’t return her feelings. But there were other friends, who accepted me unconditionally, sometimes even without fully understanding what I was talking about and what it meant for me. I am so grateful to them. But in the end, it was not enough for me to shake that feeling of permanent awkwardness and fear of being me. I chose to remain in the closet for the rest of the world.

But you know what’s (not really) funny? That the same happened with all other important things in my life. It’s like I was permanently living in a giant ball of awkwardness. I had to keep mostly silent about my geeky hobbies at my wonderful science job, even though these hobbies were the main source of my creativity and inspiration. In turn, my wonderful geek friends could not care less about my music tastes. My music friends kind of respected me as a science guy, but I could never talk with them about actual science. And beneath all of that was this big-ass gay secret. It’s like I was living at least four parallel lives, but never a complete one.

I guess once you decide to remain in the closet about one thing, you cannot fully be yourself about other stuff. I became so used to self-editing. Self-censorship. Strategic omissions. And, worst of all, being mute about most important things with most important people.

There are all those reasons why you should continue doing so. It’s dangerous to come out in my home country. It could harm me. It could cause collateral damage to my colleagues, students, professional networks, projects I worked on. It could hurt my family.

But the truth is, people can get no less hurt when you choose to be mute. I know I hurt people by not speaking up about something important to them and choosing silence instead. But there is even a bigger danger. Once you start to pile up silences, little white lies, and strategic omissions, they may grow up to the size of a mountain, and one day simply crumble under their own weight. There will be a lot of pain and harm involved. And I wonder: what if there was no mountain from the very beginning?

Still, the worst is what you are doing to yourself. When you cannot make yourself talk about things that are important to you, you either become a pressure cooker and explode one day – or they slowly die within you, freezing you in the process. And these may be too precious things to lose.

I have thought that eventually, I became better at talking. I have a group of wonderful friends with whom, I thought, I could be more or less myself in every sense, including gay stuff. But somehow, even after all these years, I still cannot do it all, even with them. I cannot even reply to a Facebook challenge about 10 favorite albums, because, like, at least 3 of them would be too gay. I cannot make myself talk about my favorite movies that made an impact on me, because, again: gay. I mumble something unintelligible about my career goals in science, because, in truth, what I mostly care about is how to solve not a grand scientific challenge, but a classic academic “two-body problem” further complicated by a gay twist.

Then one day I saw Love, Simon. That same night, I immediately bought Simon vs The Homo Sapiens Agenda, devoured it in two sleepless nights, and re-read it twice since then. I went to see the movie, like, another seven times. And have listened to the wonderful soundtrack and the score, like, a hundred times already, and don’t plan on stopping any time soon. I simply cannot get enough of this movie and of the Simonverse. And all the time I’ve been trying to sort out why did it hit me so hard and sweet? Why have I suddenly turned into an obsessed teenage fanboy?

Then I realized, I am just so fucking sick and tired of not speaking. I simply cannot stand it anymore. I need to speak. I have to speak. I must speak. Somehow, Simon and his story made it so obvious. Why I was so stupid not realizing it before?

But there’s another twist to that. Everyone deserves a great love story.

I’ve never seen a movie in my life to which I could relate so strongly. Yes, I was that “just like you” kid back then. Living a normal life without any really big problems. Obsessed with music and friendships. Awkward and unable to speak about important things. Alone.

(Oh god. Do you even realize how lonely Simon should have felt if his favorite song is Waltz #2??)

Unfortunately, my great first love story never happened. Instead, I shut myself up for decades to come. But somehow, Love, Simon movie and incredible writing by Becky Albertalli put me right there, back into my seventeen year old me, and finally showed how that first love story could have happened differently, retroactively replacing those long-buried feelings of sadness and despair with joy about the things to come.

And, boy, they did come. Who knew that you can finally get your own very personal great love story when you are at 34, almost ready to give up on happiness? It was wild, it was unpredictable, it was fateful, it was insane, it was unbearably romantic. It was – and, four years later, still is – love.

This story also physically moved me across oceans and continents to, out of all places, the city of Atlanta, Georgia. So, imagine this extra little level of relatability in Love, Simon / Simon vs. (That damn Radiohead, April 2 concert that I did not get to! That gay bar scene!) And now I’m dying to tell my story. Because that’s the most important and amazing thing that happened in my life. Because it is about hope. Because it is about breaking through. Because it is about believing that you deserve everything you want. Because love is a game we deserve to play out loud.

The problem is that I still haven’t quite figured out how to tell my story. Old habits die hard. But I will try. As I said, I cannot stay silent anymore. I need to come out. And I’ll start here.

[stevenrogers5-blog]

Kiwi

Summary: Bucky and you loved messing around. But it became more and you don’t know if Bucky is ready for all of that. But because of a trip to the hospital, he realizes he is ready for it all. 

Warnings: cute shit. that is all

A/N: my family left for the day so i have so many hours to write and i’m super excited! so be ready for a the spam the next day or two!! much love XX

It had been a hell of a month. Mission after Mission. You were ready to leave it all at the bottom of some liquor bottle and at the last puff of the pack of cigarettes. You sit down on the chair outside on the balcony. You go to light a cigarette as you hear the sliding door open. You turn your head to catch a glimpse of Natasha walking towards you.

“You know who really shouldn’t be smoking. Your lungs are gonna hate you for it during the next training session,” Nat says as she takes a seat next to you. She pops open the bottle of alcohol and takes a swig.

“You are one to talk, that will kill your liver. I guess we'll just have to see who will die first,” You reply before taking another drag of your cigarette. You blow the stream of smoke straight into the air before looking at Nat.

“You know the boys find that hot actually. They were just in there fighting over who would come out and keep you company,” She takes a swig “But looks like i won.”

“Not surprised,” You add before laughing. You guys sit in comfortable silence before you decide to break it. “So i’m probably go sleep with Bucky again.”

“Oh really? And how is being FWBs going for you?” She asks before setting the bottle between her legs.

“Good. He is great in bed. Just as great in his work,” you simply state as you put out your cigarette. “I mean is it such a bad thing? He doesn’t seem to be too upset about it. He has stopped bringing those girls here.”

“Which none of us are complaining about. I’m happy you guys are happy. But just make sure you guys don’t get too far into it. There are certain points you will reach that will be a little too hard to get away from,” She explains as she places the bottle on her lips. She lets the liquid go down her throat before handing it to you. You take it and do that same before giving it back to her.

“I know. And we are being safe. It’s just so fun having him there…” You trail off before looking down at your legs. “I am just gonna keep having fun. One day it may change for all of us. But for now… I’m gonna enjoy myself.” And with that, you were up and leaving Nat in the silent sound of the city. You head inside, looking for the man that made you enjoy yourself.

It was a few weeks later and you were to be meeting Nat and Steve at some Vegan lunch Steve had requested you should go too. You woke up feeling under the weather but you didn’t want to leave Nat to suffer through that by herself. So you got ready, taking some medicine, praying that it would help. You throw your leather jacket, that matches Steve’s, on and head out the door.

You walk the stairs of the subway, consumed by the noses of the people and city. You walk slowly though, as the stomach pains are still coming in waves. Once on your train, you take a seat and look out the window into the dark tunnel. You sigh as the pain subsides once again as the train makes its way to your destination.

Once you have arrived, you step off and regret it completely. The motion causes something in you and you go into a dead sprint to find the nearest trash can. Your dip your head into one and spill out your breakfast from hours before. After the last of it comes out, you sigh as your legs feel completely weak. You slip down to the dirty floor, not caring, as you pull your phone out. You scroll weakly as Steve’s name pops up. It only takes seconds before you hear Steve’s voice come over the speaker.

“Where are Y/N? Nat and i are waiting,” He huffs into the phone, annoyance lacing his voice. You sit silently for a few seconds before your weak voice comes out.

“I can’t move..” You mumble, a tear slipping out of your eye. “I just threw up and now i can’t move. I feel completely weak and my legs don’t want to move.”

“Oh god Y/N,” Steve replies. You here a few muffled exchanges before his voice returns to your ears. “Where are you?”

“The subway near the restaurant. Sitting on the disgusting floor. Please come get me,” You say just above a whisper.

“We are on our way,” Steve says, trying to hide his worry with reassurance. You hang up and sit for a few more seconds before another wave of nausea hits you, hard. Your body gets the strength it needs to hoist yourself up and over the trash can once again. You throw up whatever was left in your system.

You feel a big hand on your back as another  pulls your hair out of your face. You look up to see Nat standing across from you then turn slightly to see Steve is the one holding your hair. You groan in pain as your legs go weak again, threatening to show your weak state once again.

“God, she is so pale. Steve, you will have to carry her,” Nat says as she rounds the trash can to pull your hair up into a messy bun. Once she is done, Steve picks you up, wrapping his massive hands around your body. You sling your hands weakly around his neck as they make their way back to the Tower.

Once in a hospital bed, Banner has some blood work done, trying to figure out what is up. He swabs your throat and then hooks you up to an IV. You lay there silently, Steve and Nat never leaving your side. After what feels like an eternity, Banner comes walking in and motions for Steve and Nat to come into the hallway with him. You sigh as you get concerned over whatever they were discussing. You go over every disease you knew as they make their way back into the room.

“Y/N, we have news..” Banner trails off, looking over at Steve.

“Yeah, now please don’t panic,” Steve says as he takes your hand in his. Panic makes it up your body.

“Babe… You’re pregnant..” Nat says as she takes your other hand. You sit in silence before starting to cry. “Oh no, babe, please don’t cry!”

“I fucking told him that it was not worth the risk! But no, we still had to have sex without a fucking condom!” You exclaim, pulling away from Steve and Nat. They sit down next to your legs, letting you cry and curse Bucky.

Once the tears are no longer coming, you all sit in silence before Steve speaks up.

“I can be there when you tell him. He needs to know.” He mumbles. You look over at him before looking back at the door.

“Thank you,” You respond as so many thoughts run through your head.

Two weeks have passed by and you were noticeably gaining weight. More specifically in the stomach area. This was starting to catch a few members eyes, but they didn’t want to cause drama. Thankfully Steve never left your side. Sadly this did not settle well with Bucky though. See, you were his girl and that fact you were slowly drifting from him to Steve hurt him a lot. So that is how this situation was finally brought to light.

You were standing in the kitchen with Steve as you two were making breakfast. The baby was screaming pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream. So, You told Steve and he got to work.

“You excited for your appointment?” Steve's asks as he places some whipped cream onto a strawberry. He hands it over to you. You take it and take a bite out of it.

“I am very excited! I just hope the baby is doing great! They feel great, from what i can feel. Unfortunately they are still giving mommy terrible morning sickness.” You say, rubbing your small bump. Steve smiles as he looks you up and down. You look up at him and smile. You take his hand and slowly guide it towards your belly.

“Y/N, are you sure?” Steve asks, hesitantly pulling away.

“You wouldn’t hurt them. It’s okay, i trust you.” You answer, pulling his hand closer. You slowly let it go as his hand touches your skin softly. You giggle at the contact, sending warmth into Steve. He smiles softly as he rubs his thumb across the little bump.

“You are the luckiest person! You have the best mommy who loves you with all her heart. If only she would tell daddy.” Steve explains, looking at the bump then at you. You sigh before looking away. You go to speak before another voice interrupts.

“Oh my god..” Bucky mumbles as he tries to take in the scene in front of him. Steve snaps his hand away from your tummy and you roll your shirt down just as fast. “Are you pregnant?! With Steve’s kid?”

“No Bucky.. God no..” Steve says, stepping in between you two. “But i will protect her and the baby if the dad doesn't accept her and the baby.” Bucky looks at you before taking a few steps forward.

“Then tell me, Y/N, who is the dad?” Bucky asks.

“You..” You mumble, looking at your bump. You all stand in silence before Bucky moves Steve away from you. He then lifts your shirt slowly, exposing the bump once again. He places his metal hand on the little bump.

“Bucky..” Steve warns.

“It’s okay Steve,” you say, reassuring him. He moves behind you to continue breakfast but still keeps a close distance. Bucky proceeded to repeat Steve’s earlier actions, running his thumb across the small bump. A tear slips from his eye as his eyes meet yours.

“Mine.” Was all he says before crashing his lips into yours. You guys share a well needed kiss before you pull away. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t accept us. I was gonna have the baby no matter what. I didn’t plan on you to find out like this, but i am happy you did.” You explain.

“You’re my girl. And now the mother of my child. Of course i would accept you guys! I love you guys with all my heart. I can’t wait to be a family.” Bucky answers, wrapping his arms around you.

“We love you, too” You say, sighing contently.

Months passed and the day finally came. You, Bucky, and Steve were all sitting in the living room, watching some mindless show. You were snuggled into Bucky’s side as your feet rested across Steve’s legs. Then it hit you. A sharp pain made it’s way throughout your body, causing you to curl your toes. Steve looks down at your feet then up at your face.

“Y/N, you are sweating and bright red, are you and the baby okay?” Steve asks, causing worry to fill Bucky.

“I think so,” You try to say as coolly as possible. But the contractions were causing your body language to say other wise. Another presented itself, causing you to sit up as fast as your big tummy would let you. You cry out in pain as hot tears threaten to make their way down your face. You reach your hands out to Steve and Bucky as they help you up as fast but as slow as possible. Steve starts coaching you in your breathing as Bucky walks you to the elevator.

The pain subsides as you step into the elevator. Bucky presses the button to the hospital ward of the tower as Steve keeps coaching. You guys start to slow your breathing before you stop breathing altogether.

“Did your water just break?” Steve asks as his socks start to get wet.

“Yep” is all you say as a blush creeps across your face. But it doesn’t last long as the

pain of another contraction makes it’s way into your system. You cry out once again as your reach out for Bucky. He holds his hands out as you wrap your fingers around his wrists. You squeeze tightly as the pain one again slowly subsides. He clenches his jaw, looking up at Steve. Steve rubs your back, helping you through the breathing, mentally telling Bucky the elevator needs to hurry through his eyes.

Finally the elevator opens and you are greeted with a wheelchair and smiling Banner. He leads you and the boys to your room. Once inside, Bucky helps you get up, undressed and into a hospital gown. He then helps you into the bed and stays by your side. Steve takes the other side, letting you wrap your hand in his.

“Let’s have a baby.” Banner says as he puts his mask on. Once he is ready, he looks up at you. “I am gonna need you to push.”

After what felt like hours of pushing, you fall back into the bed, slowly giving up.

“I need you to push one more time.” Banner says, doing all he can to help you. You shake your her head slowly, tear after tear, mixing with sweat, travel down your face.

“I can’t, please don’t make me.” You say through tears. You look at Bucky. “Please don’t make me!”

“Baby, you have too! Come on, you are so strong! You are doing so good! You got this. Trust me, i am here.” Bucky says. He kisses your forehead trying to help reassure you. You nod your head as you look back at Banner.

“One, two, three PUSH!” Banner exclaims. You push as hard as possible and then you feel it. You look at Banner as he is holding your baby. You sigh a you fall back into the bed. “Meet your baby boy!”

“A boy.” You say tiredly. The nurses clean him off to the best of their ability before placing him on your bare chest. “My baby boy!” You rub his back, smiling tiredly but lovingly at your new baby boy.

Few hours pass and you're in a new bed, sleeping soundly. The nurse walks in quietly as she brings in your baby boy back from the nursery. She spots Bucky sitting in the corner and makes her way to him. He looks up at her and smiles sweetly.

“He was missing his family,” the nurse whispers as she places your newborn son in his dad's arms.

“We missed him,” Bucky whispers back as he smiles at his son. “Thank you.” The nurse nods her head as she turns away and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly. Bucky looks back down at his son and smile sweetly at his sleeping boy.

“God, you are perfect. Thomas, i love you with all my heart. I won’t lie, though. I was so nervous when your mommy told me about you. I didn’t think i could be a father, but you made me one. And because of your mommy, i now know i am ready for this.” Bucky pauses and looks up at your sleeping face. He then pulls out a ring from his pocket then looks back down at Thomas. “I am ready for this family”

[justsomebucky]

Ten Years (Part 10)

Summary: AU. When a major account is on the line at work, reader is forced to revisit some old connections at her ten year high school reunion for a chance at success. Will she let the past consume her, or will she see the future in her grasp?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,786

Warnings: language, fluff, confrontation

A/N: Tags are closed. This part was over 4K words long, so I split it into two. I’m sorry. Reader takes some steps to make everything right again, but Bucky Barnes is nowhere to be found.

You have always hated Mondays.

It wasn’t so much that a new work week was starting, although that certainly didn’t help.

No, your hatred of Mondays went a little deeper than that.

It all started with Sunday nights. Sundays were the bane of your existence, to put it mildly. Everything about them felt uncomfortable, like you were waiting for your freedom to be taken from your grasp. You’d watch as it was dragged away to a slow, painful death, with the clock ticking the hours down relentlessly. You never slept well on Sunday nights, either. It sort of felt like the last night of summer vacation before a new school year started, only it happened once a week.

That feeling lent itself to your hatred of Mondays. You were always tired from not sleeping well the night before, you were sad that the weekend was over, and you had five whole days until you had the chance to be free again.

As you got older, it shifted to include a new facet of hatred: each Monday became symbolic for your lack of a meaningful relationship.

Sam would show up and talk about this great time he had with friends. Wanda would come strolling in with another hopeless romantic story. It seemed had something going on that would make the Monday headlines at work except you. There were only so many times you could smile and say, ‘Nothing exciting happened, how was your weekend?’

This was the first Monday morning in your entire life that you dreaded the question, ‘How was your weekend?’ because of events that actually happened, instead of what didn’t happen.

When you arrived on the seventh floor that particular Monday morning, you kept your eyes straight ahead. Maybe if you walked in like nothing had happened, no news would be good news, and you’d make it through the day without issue.

Sam Wilson naturally had a different idea. “Hey, Big Shot! How’d it go?” he asked cheerfully.

The tone he used was so infuriating, but you knew he couldn’t help it. Never in his wildest dreams could he have guessed the drama that went down last Saturday.

“Fine,” you muttered, logging into your laptop.

Right away, you had two goals to accomplish. The first was to draft a memo to management to explain Bucky’s lead on the new bid, along with Pepper’s contact information.

The second goal was to draft your resignation letter.

“You don’t sound fine to me.” Sam pushed his wheeled chair over to you, reading over your shoulder. “Whoa, a memo already? You got the meeting? That’s great, Y/N!”

“Yeah.” Was he going to do this the whole time?

“Hold up. Is it that they won’t let you participate, or are you removing yourself?”

“Is there something I can help you with, Sam?” you asked in a fake, sugary-sweet voice. “Because I’m here trying to concentrate. I don’t need a play-by-play on what I’m writing.”

“You can’t let them remove you from the meeting, Y/N, it was your score for the company.” One look at Sam’s face proved he was dead serious. You knew he meant well, but he just didn’t have the details.

You shook your head, eyes flitting back to the screen. “It’s Bucky’s meeting to run.”

“That’s not right, do you want me to go to-“

“I’m quitting, Sam,” you interrupted, turning in your chair to look at him again. “After everything that happened this weekend, I realized that I just don’t belong here. I don’t want to work here anymore.”

He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he found his voice. “Quitting? What are you going to do for work then?”

“I haven’t thought that part out yet,” you admitted, turning back to the screen. “I’m sure I’ll find something. It’s a big city, right?”

You meant to think of something on Sunday, but you’d spent the whole day lying in bed with Mr. Fuzzypants, feeling sorry for yourself instead. It was most definitely hypocritical after the pep talk you’d had with yourself on the way home from Long Island, but you were just so tired.

Wanda had tried calling you for details. Your parents had called to ask how it had gone. Your sister messaged you on Facebook to find out why you hadn’t posted any updates with your ‘sexy boyfriend,’ and worst of all, the reunion page began posting pictures of everyone, making you relive it over and over again.

You had ignored them all, not wanting to talk to anyone. You shut off your phone, stayed off of Facebook, and had a Netflix marathon all day.

Secretly, you’d been hoping to hear from Bucky, though. You couldn’t tell if it was an ego thing, or if you’d grown so used to his company that you just missed him, but when he didn’t call, you added that to your pity party reasons.

“Thought what out yet?”

You cringed. Wanda was here, right on time, for her update in person.

“Y/N got the meeting with Stark, and yet she’s quitting,” Sam filled her in.

“WHAT!?” she shouted.

Every single person nearby stopped to see what was wrong with Wanda. She waved her hand sheepishly at them, before moving into your cube to lean against your desk, arms crossed indignantly. “You’re quitting? What the hell happened this weekend, Y/N?”

Since you obviously weren’t going to be able to accomplish your goals here, you saved your progress and shut your laptop. “We got the meeting, and after that, I realized I didn’t want to work here anymore.”

“But why? You probably just saved the entire company, let alone your own job!” Her eyes were huge, and she looked so confused. “This is a huge deal for you. This will get you noticed from people at the top!”

You leaned back in your chair. “There were conditions to getting a meeting. Long story short, I can’t be on the account because of my connections. It wasn’t just Natasha that I know at Stark Industries. So, if Wakanda, Inc. expects to get a meeting, I have to step away. They don’t want any more trouble over this.”

She shook her head. “That isn’t fair, though, you worked really hard, and-“

“I didn’t, though,” you refuted, grabbing your laptop and standing up to move past them. “I didn’t work really hard. Bucky did. To be honest, I took every chance I got to make life harder at the reunion. So, if you’ll just excuse me…” You turned to leave, not wanting to continue this conversation right now.

Sam and Wanda were left staring at your retreating form in disbelief.

---

Luckily, the fifth floor, the one with all the accountants, the floor that Bucky had sent you to on your first day of work as a hazing joke, had a rarely-used conference room. The only reason you knew it existed was because of your little elevator adventure with him months ago.

The memo about the meeting took less than five minutes to finish, and you clicked send with a breath of relief. You reread the last two lines again:

At the request of Pepper Potts, Tony Stark’s top assistant and Chief Operating Officer, I am withdrawing my name from the management of this account. Bucky Barnes will remain as the lead manager, and I am certain that with his guidance, Wakanda, Inc. will receive a contract with Stark within the week.

The entire account manager team, including Bucky and T’Challa, were copied on it. Bucky received all the credit, and you meant what you said about his ability to land the deal.

Your resignation was kept short and sweet, too. In it, you thanked management and T’Challa for the experience and opportunity to work at Wakanda, Inc., and mentioned that you felt it would benefit your career and personal life to move on. You wished everyone good fortune for the future as a closing line.

This one was a little harder to send.

It was scary to jump off into the unknown, especially with rent and other bills due each month. It’s not like your savings account was loaded. What if you didn’t find anything? You could always move to Florida with your parents, you supposed, or to California with your sister.

New York City was the greatest love of your life so far, though, and you didn’t want to leave. Your final paycheck from Wakanda, plus vacation payout, could buy you some time to job hunt.

At the last second, you added another contact to the email under bcc. With a single click, you sent your resignation off to management.

You let your head fall onto your arms on the desk, just needing a moment to yourself.

---

When you made your way back to your desk, you had not only your work laptop with you, which you were going to strip of personal pictures and data, but you also had a giant empty box for your belongings.

Unfortunately, your plan to clean out your desk and sneak away to T’Challa’s office was put on hold. There were about ten people, including Wanda, Sam, and T’Challa, milling around your cube.

“There she is!” Sam pointed at you, standing up at his desk.

“Where did you run off to?” Wanda asked, her eyes frantic. “We’ve been looking everywhere!”

Damn, rumors spread fast here. You turned to T’Challa. “Sir, I take it you got my memo?”

He nodded. “I also received the second note, but we can discuss that later. For now, I need to know where Barnes is.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He didn’t show up for work today. He put in a request for a sick day and didn’t say another word about it. He’s not answering his work phone or his personal number. If we truly have a shot with this meeting, I need him in here ASAP.”

“Maybe he is sick.” You shrugged and moved through the small crowed to your desk, setting the laptop and box down. “If he called off, I’m sure he had a good reason. I’m not his keeper.”

“You both returned the rental car yesterday morning. He didn’t mention calling off to you then?”

“I didn’t come back with him,” you admitted, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I caught a ride back to the city Saturday night.”

There was a low murmur among the group, and you immediately felt your face heat up. Now everyone was definitely going to be spreading gossip about this weekend. You were almost relieved that you were quitting, if only to avoid this office bullcrap.

“Can we discuss this in your office?” you asked your boss quietly.

T’Challa shook his head. “I have to get some people started on this pitch for Stark, I don’t have time to play babysitter. Your resignation is not accepted until you find Barnes.” He turned on his heel, and everyone but Wanda and Sam shuffled after him.

Wanda turned to you the second they were out of earshot. “You didn’t even ride back with him? What the hell happened on Saturday, Y/N?”

“This is bad,” you muttered, ignoring her as anxiety began to seep into your system. “What if something happened to him? It’s so unlike him-”

“Earth to Y/N!” Sam called out. “Start with his emergency contacts.”

“You’re right,” you breathed out, sitting down and opening your laptop. You found the number for the HR department, and explained over the phone that you’d been tasked by T’Challa to find an emergency contact for Bucky.

They gave you his parents’ number in Connecticut, and a number for Steve Rogers, his best friend, also in Connecticut.

You leaned back the second you hung up. “I don’t want to call his parents. I’ll try Steve.”

Wanda and Sam weren’t about to let you work to find Bucky in peace, so you let them listen in on your side of the conversation. You used your personal cell to call Steve.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Steve? Steve Rogers?”

“Yes. May I ask who is calling?”

This was so weird. You felt like you were digging too far into the realm of what was allowed for a coworker-slash-fake-girlfriend. “Steve, this is Y/N. I know we don’t know each other. I’m calling because-“

“Y/N! No way,” he spoke over your voice happily. “I was wondering when I would get to talk to you! Bucky went on and on about you the other night, and I kept trying to ask when he was going to bring you home to Connecticut, but he avoided the subject.”

“Steve, I need to know-“

“He adores you, by the way. I can hear it in his voice. The pictures you guys take are great, too. He talks about you like you set the stars in the sky. I know getting to know him probably wasn’t easy for you, but I’m so glad he has you. He’s been so hurt before, and-“

“STEVE!” You couldn’t handle his friendly rambling anymore. Time was of the essence here. “I need to know if you’ve heard from Bucky in the last two days!?”

“You mean you haven’t heard from him either?”

“He didn’t come to work today. No one can reach him.”

“Have you tried his mobile?”

“Our boss has,” you confirmed, pressing your lips together in a thin line.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Why haven’t you? Did you guys have a fight?”

“Something like that. Listen, I need to know if you have any other way to find him.”

“Have you tried his apartment?”

No, no one had tried there. You smacked your hand against your forehead in frustration. “I don’t know where he lives,” you admitted sheepishly.

“W-what? How can you date someone and not know where he lives?”

“It’s a long story, Steve. I promise I’ll explain everything, but for now, can you please give me his address?”

“Okay, but I expect answers.”

You motioned for Sam to hand you paper and a pen, and when he did, you took down Bucky’s address as Steve recited it.

“Thank you Steve, I promise we’ll clear everything up. I just have to find him first!” You hit the big red end call button before he could say another word.

“Do you want us to come with you?” Wanda asked gently.

“No. I’ve got to find him on my own.” You gave her a sad smile. “If he really is just ditching work, I have a feeling that I’m part of the reason he didn’t want to come here today. I’ve got to make things right. Thank you both, though.”

“If you need us, we’re here,” Sam added.

With a sharp nod, you grabbed your bag and took off for the elevators, clutching Bucky’s address in your hand.

---

His apartment was empty, as far as you could tell. No one came to the door when you knocked, and no one was shuffling around inside. As you left the lobby, you stopped to ask the doorman if he saw Bucky leave earlier this morning. The doorman had seen him leave, but there had been no sign of Bucky since.

You trudged back out on to the street. It was a little bit windy today, but otherwise it was warm enough to go traipsing the city for that idiot coworker of yours, assuming he was even still here.

Facebook was the only other connection you had to him at the moment. He was still listed as your boyfriend, and you had access to see his recent activity. But, when you pulled up his page in your mobile app, there was nothing new. No check-ins, no pictures, no activity of any kind.

This was so unlike him to ditch work and disappear, so out-of-character that even his best friend couldn’t predict where he would go or understand why he was doing this. You were starting to get anxious with worry again, so you headed for the one place in the city where you could sit and think.

And let’s be real, you’d take any chance you could get to see your beloved Lincoln Center Fountain, even if for a moment.

Just as the corner of the fountain came into view, your breath hitched in your throat at the sight before you.

Your eyes locked on his figure almost immediately. He was so familiar to you now, you could pick him out in a crowd with ease.

Bucky Barnes was sitting at the edge of the fountain, leaning with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. He was staring up at the Met.

You hesitated for just a moment, then started walking toward him.

---

Part 11

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[lucykogo-blog]

Monitor

The room was dark as I switched on my monitor, with a satisfying, audible click. The static buzz that filled my ear as the electronics around me came to life felt nostalgic, familiar even. My knees up to my chin, a comfortable, even fetal position as I sipped my can slowly, firing up my browser. It felt like an eternity since I had allowed myself to engage in the world of the web, a habit of mine that I had long known I needed to curb. The familiar, custom homepage I hosted myself greeted me. Having dropped out of a computer science course, I knew the odds and sods about web programing, and I created my own little safe space, a bubble that served me exactly what I needed. And that’s where I resided, stagnant and, well, safe, for months, before my parents finally cut my expense account, finding out I had dropped out of the prestigious course they had so much hope for. That was a wakeup call for me, an epiphany that I had failed somewhere along the way. Realizing how much of my life had been wasted by the virtual, I permanently shut down my computer and found myself a real, grounded existence. For the last 6 months, I had been working at a construction site, a true, honest, if thankless task. For 6 months, I had managed to stay away from anything virtual, anything remotely resembling the internet. I had even gone out of my way to buy an old brick phone, and used it only for calls from work, and the new friends I had found myself. Friends, who just like the new me, shunned the virtual. I had even saved enough to move out of the crummy, derelict student accommodation I had been inhabiting. After packing all my things, it had come to my abandoned, locked away computer room. I felt that, after 6 months of abstinence, I deserved a quick look. The people I had left behind without a word deserved a message, something to remember me by.  The hum of my custom-made pumps was so soothing to my ears. I had truly missed this. The first site I loaded was a video sharing site, a beautiful collection of the world’s most creative minds. 6 months’ worth of content was a large collection to be admired, and I savored every moment of catching up to these people I knew so well. My most loved subscription, a small, independent vloging channel had only one video, and I knew this was something to be left till the very end of my rendezvous. Next up was a blogging site I had frequented. This service, much easier to create content for than the video site by far, had much more work I had fallen behind with. Dramas, relationships, breakups. So much can change in the life of the world in as little as 6 months. I felt a slight pang of guilt, even jealousy, when I found out my best friend, a blogger by the name of Alice had married, and I wasn’t invited. But of course, upon checking my messages, I had discovered that I was invited, in fact, many times. My inbox was a stab straight at my heart. When I disappeared, at first people sent heartwarming messages, about how much they missed me, that they hoped I was ok, and that I would come back… But when it became clear I wasn’t coming back, the love and sympathy turned to anger and resentment. Reminders of promises, of vows and loves came scathing at me, each one hurting like a bullet straight into my heart. I was called a lying whore, a disgusting fake. In a way, they weren’t too far from the truth. I wasn’t really who I said I was, although deep down, I think I was. I think every time we invent a persona, it’s something within us that wants to be free. And when we kill this persona… well, sometimes, our mind just cannot cope. And neither can the minds of the people around us. While checking my messages, I found some from a blog that I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember following. Of course, 6 months of non-contact and make specifics blur, but this was such a distinct, atmospheric page that I found it strange I couldn’t remember ever looking at it. The background, as was common on this site, was a tiled repetition of the same gruesome, “attention grabbing” image. In this case, it was the slender, beautiful, pale white wrists of what looked to be a young woman. The image was grayscale, although probably, color would have made it one hundred times more impactful. The girl’s wrists were slit, in several places. Never along the veins, only over them. For attention, as so many of the young people on this site. I sighed with relief at having abandoned this community, remembering how close I had come to this pitiful state myself. Of course, I did not judge, or even think less of people who stooped to this. I understood them. Understood them too well. Not remembering this blog at all, I decided to have a quick skim of it, to see if anything jogged my memory. The first post started innocently enough; “My main blog is too well known, I am getting all sorts of creeps! From now on, I will post on here, for my real friends!! ;) ;)” I smirked at that little entry. Oh, how many times had I had the same idea, to just emigrate to another blog space, another site, another domain… And yet it was always the same, the people who wanted to find me, they always did somehow. If only this community dedicated as much attention to real world problems as they do to their little dramas, petty loves. The blog continued, predictably, with hate on the authors parents, peers and whoever else they thought dragged them down: “Ugh THEY JUST DO NOT UNDERSTAND ME! THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT I WENT THROUGH, WHY I FAILED THAT EXAM. TO CUT ME OFF, TO DISAOW ME, LIKE THAT.”  The readers of this blog seemed to be sympathetic enough to this cliché entry, spouting truisms and tried bull about the world not understanding people “like us”. And to think I came so close to falling into the same echo chamber, the same trap. Finishing off my drink, I decided to call it a night. I still had a lot to pack, and I was growing truly tired. Maybe I had wasted a bit too much time on this trip to the past.  * * *  The next day at work, I felt kind of ill at ease. The supervisor was being especially difficult, and the project we were working on was coming to an end. We were building a sanatorium out in the mountains, apparently for people who were too “stressed out” by modern living. My parents had often mentioned such places to me, with the hopes that I would move to one. “We can see how you struggle, we understand. We can help you.” Of course, if I had wanted to, I could have had such a facility all to my own. There are perks to having parents in the banking industry, of course. Not that those perks apply when you are cut off. Downing my fifth coffee of the day while still regretting the first, I swallowed my discontent and pushed through the rest of the day. When I arrived home, I quickly started packing up the rest of my belongings. Mostly routers, servers, firewalls, laptops and other crap I had bought second hand with my allowance from dodgy sites. I had used them all to bounce my browsing habits, in the hopes that I could one day hack my way into riches that my parents couldn’t even imagine. Riches that would make them proud. There was at least ten thousand dollars’ worth of equipment here, and I made a mental note to research the proper prices and get at least some of my money back. It would be a good kickstart to my new life. When I had finished packing everything except my main computer, I decided it was a good idea to take a break. Fetching my last crate of beer from the fridge, I sat in front of the PC and switched it on again. I decided to continue reading the blog from the other day. Laughing at people like me felt like a good way to blow off steam. As I scrolled through months’ worth of this blogs posts, they became less and less coherent. Some even mentioned murder of some loan collector who had come by the authors house. This was of course, attention calling garbage, garbage of the type that I had engaged in before during my “career” as a blogger. I had even had the police called to my apartment, multiple times, because of such “white lies” I wrote to increase my fanbase. This post seemed particularly gruesome though, describing in detail dismemberment and disposal of the poor worker’s body. Apparently, it was pretty hard with a “shattered wrist from the fight”. This kid’s imagination was wild, must have watched far too many movies. Sulfuric acid? Really? Smirking, I turned off the PC and packed it into the last box, ready at last to move out when the trucks came tomorrow.  * * *  Interestingly, I had had my own run ins with the tax collection agencies. When my parents cut me off, I had taken a massive loan from a “friend” at university, to get me through until they realized they cannot win a war of attrition and came scuttling back to me. Unfortunately, it turned out they could hold out longer than me and the debt collectors soon came a knocking. After a few scuffles, one which involved a broken bone, was when I decided to get myself together and found my construction job. It wasn’t easy, but I paid off the debt, and even managed to open a real bank account, getting a real credit card to help in times of need. I thought about this as I waited for the moving men to arrive, who were getting ridiculously late. When I became bored of waiting idly, I unpacked the computer and decided to finish off reading the blog. There wasn’t much left according to the post counter, I was only about 100 posts from the end. Each post became less and less coherent, less and less sane. I became sorry and worried for the kid. Their self-harm seemed to increase, with more and more pictures being posted. This made me scratch at my own wrist, covered in a bandage from an accident I had earlier moving the desk. The kid spouted on and on about murder, revenge on society, and lastly, suicide. Suddenly, they announced they will live stream it, with a link to my favorite video sharing site. By this point I was worried sick, although I cannot deny a gruesome interest in whether they did it. I clicked on the link, which took me to my favorite channel, the one I had left as a dessert to my goodbye to the Internet. There was only one video. Streamed today. The title, “It all Started 6 Months Ago.” Speaking of which, the first post of that blog was 6 months ago. Strange. As I clicked on the video, I looked down at my feet. Why were they floating above the ground? 

[northwestofinsanity]

Ratt, (or as I sometimes call them, the band of insane hooligans -because they don't exactly deny their insanity (and I don't deny mine either!)) Probably on the second level of my favorite 80s bands.  They're not on the top, nor are they close to the best band out of the 80s, but nevertheless -I find myself jamming out to them all the time and I can't help but love them for that.  It took me a while to appreciate these guys fully. They're kind of a mess (okay, they're a big mess), and the history is sad.  There are definitely lessons to learn from it, and quite a bit to say.  This is just scratching the surface here.

The guitar is fantastic -that's what drew me in to check them out.  In some ways, Warren DeMartini and Robbin Crosby, in the early days before Robbin started getting lost to the drugs -and then sick -had a lot of the same chemistry that went on with Phil and Steve from Def Leppard.  As a co-leading guitarist, Robbin had a very straight-forward playing style and delivered solos that weren't as technical and flashy as the typical 80s guitar solos, but could really pack a punch in how they stood out from the others simply by feel.  Warren, on the other hand, was, and still is the technical genius and shredder type who can pull off the fast runs and finger vibrato tricks, but can also write solos that are composed and phrased enough to have recognizable patterns and possible to repeat live.  He definitely gave Ratt a competitive edge with the other wild guitar heroes of the time.  Because of the nature of the time, Warren tended to do more solos than Robbin, but the two traded off leads during the main parts, and in a few songs, the trade-off is audible.  (Note: It's actually eerie, and sad, drawing parallels between Ratt and Def Leppard in the guitar department, realizing that the more classic-style, feel-based player was the one to die in both cases -Steve and Robbin being similar in that playing style.  The only big difference in the parallels is that Warren is actually the shy one in Ratt rather than Robbin.)

Robbin was also known for being just a great person.  Really kind to everyone, didn't have a bad thing to say out loud about anyone.  Definitely ranked on the list of nicest people in Rock and Roll.  But, Robbin, like many others of the time did have vices, and unfortunately, he got HIV from heroin needles and became very ill.  His drug addiction was already so severe that it was affecting his performance before he started getting too sick, and its a sad, sad thing.  The conflict within the band wasn't exactly helping him fight addiction -it definitely tormented him.  RIP King.  

Of all the members in the band, it can be said that Warren really didn't have a roll in pushing Robbin away or getting in the conflict.  When it comes to conflict, Warren tends to speak very little of it, and it's clear he's very uncomfortable being in or around it.  His biggest role in the falling apart of Ratt was being too shy to assert himself and try and do something to fight for Robbin.  It's sad to hear how Robbin regarded Warren as a little brother, and Warren didn't fight for him in fear of conflict.  Warren has asserted himself more in the decisions of Ratt since Robbin's death, so it's safe to say he probably wishes he'd done something and probably is trying to not make the same mistake again.

This is another band where one can definitely say the vocals are an acquired taste.  Raspy reed-chainsaw is the best description I've seen (albeit, in some ways, less grating on the ears than raspy vocals at an impossibly high pitched range *cough*AC/DC*cough*).  But, then again, that sound is part of what defined Ratt.  To say something nice, I guess one could say that Stephen Pearcy definitely is a character.  He can be a serious douche and an obnoxious sleaze to the point at which he'll drive everyone crazy, but at least he's honest about what he thinks and tells it like it is.  Taking what he says with a snide viewpoint and a grain of salt, he can actually be quite funny.  For somebody with the childhood he had and never having his shit together, he did pretty well managing to get the band together and started.  What is most difficult to accept with him for a lot is how he completely abandoned Robbin when he got sick.  That's sad in a lot of ways, especially to think of how it tormented Robbin that Stephen was completely consumed by the same addiction that had gotten him sick and could have very well ended up in the same boat.  He was drugged up to the point at which he didn't have a care in the world at that time, not even for Robbin.  Since he's finally gotten off the drugs, he has come back down to earth some in the obnoxious department and has shown a lot of remorse for how he disregarded Robbin in the end.  That is arguably forgivable to a point.  Sadly it doesn't change what happened to Robbin and how he felt at death.  And nothing's going to undo that his voice is destroyed by the drugs at this point -it's not good!

Juan Croucier.  He can be a bit pretentious, and sometimes that's annoying, but he definitely deserves a lot of credit in keeping Ratt together as long as it was.  Without a doubt, he brings a lot of energy into Ratt -and for a short period before he was in Ratt, he unleashed that same energy in Dokken.  Juan is a spazz to the first degree, swinging his bass and dancing around everywhere, and he does have a definitive sound to his bass, and his backup vocals are definitely an integral part of Ratt's sound.  It is painfully obvious on Infestation just how important Juan is, hearing the lack of his sound (and last year, Stephen praised Juan on social media and said that "Juan covers [his] ass live all the time" -so even he admits it!)  Juan had a very hard time with a lot of the conflict in Ratt, being the mediator figure that bassists end up playing all the time.  He's not really good at actually settling the conflicts, but he tried his hardest.  Juan was also the only member of Ratt who regularly called Robbin and kept contact with him when he was dying from AIDS, so even if he can be a bit full of himself and doesn't always make the best choices in managing conflict, Juan's a good person at heart.

Sorry, but there's not much good to say about Bobby Blotzer, other than that it was a good idea on his part to recommend Juan Croucier to Stephen when they were searching for a bass player.  Bobby knew Juan from when they were together in the early, *early* stages of Dokken.  But while it's arguable of Bobby was the real instability in the band during the 80s, there's no question he's been the biggest instability in Ratt in the last decade.  This included fighting against Warren and Stephen when they decided to try and get Juan back in the band around 2010.  He's been non-stop about how he didn't want Juan back, and Juan's bass and backup vocals really are a major part of Ratt's sound.  He has had nothing but trash talk to spew about everyone -but what he's said about Juan is really low -and there's kind of been some drama as of late that he's been dragging out.  A lot, actually (it's time for it to stop... it would break Robbin's heart if he were alive to witness it.)

As they've been mentioned a lot through this, Dokken is heavily related to Ratt.  Juan, Bobby, and Warren all at one point played with Dokken, which is interesting to consider what might have happened if things had unfolded differently.  They are definitely "cousin" bands.  More on Dokken soon.  This is it for Ratt as of now.

[ecotone99]

[RO] The 2 year Spew

The 2 year Spew

Snazzy title right? Probably an odd choice for marketing reasons, who would want to buy a book about a spew? And a 2 year one at that? If that even makes sense. You’re probably thinking ‘What the hell is this going to be about?’ Well it does involve a spew… not mine though… It is kind of a long story, after all I have 2 years to fill you in on. Let me explain.

2 years ago I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I know everyone says their child is beautiful, but mine seriously is. He has blonde hair, bright blue eyes, cute little button nose… he’s beautiful, just take my word for it. I’m not sure why, and I don’t know how wide spread this tradition is, but the Dads of newborns having a ‘Head wetting’ to celebrate the arrival of their new baby into the world. Which is essentially just a piss up with all his mates… I’m sure there is some religious relevance somewhere but I’m not religious so I have no idea. I’m sure in the religious version, copious amounts of alcohol aren’t involved.. but I digress… So myself and my little bundle of joy ship off to my brothers house for the night, while my partner (lets call him Alex) has his mates over in the shed for a massive night of beers and music to ‘wet the head’ of his new baby boy. Now I must say I was quite lucky that the newborn stage was quite easy for me, little bundle was a great sleeper, when he was awake he was content and my gosh did this kid love his booby milk. I am grateful that I never had any drama with breast feeding as I know so many do, so I was quite comfortable getting up through the night to feed my bub, even at just a week old. However, my bub for the first year of his life, was an early riser. 5am every morning, without fail. It was still bloody dark outside! I was never sleep deprived, but man a 5am start, makes for a long morning and an even longer day. By 9am (which felt like lunch time) I was bored and just wanted to go home. So I did. And what welcomed me when precious bundle and I got home is the premise to this story, an en suite covered in spew. I walked into my bedroom to see Alex in bed with a bucket next to him, towels strewn across my en suite floor, a wet mop and a smell of straight alcohol so strong I thought my baby might get drunk just from breathing the air. I took my baby into the lounge room where 2 of his friends had slept on the couch, I made them a cup of coffee and they filled me in on Alex’s antics from the night prior. And let me preface this by saying Alex has a bad relationship with alcohol. Anyone who knows Alex has a story of a time when he had spewed somewhere or on someone, and I loathed the fact that is his ‘thing’. They informed me nothing spectacular had happened. Alex drank too much too fast, he could barely speak or walk, so his friends took him to bed. Alex sat on the edge of the bed and proceeded to projectile vomit up to 2 metres in front of himself all over the en suite bathroom. Being the good friends they are (to me as well) they knew me coming home to this mess with a newborn was a bit much, so they did the best clean up job a couple of drunk men could. And to this day I appreciate this gesture very much. I let Alex sleep until past midday, his friends at some stage went home, and I rounded up the spewy towels and left it to Alex to tidy up the rest. I’ll do a lot for people, but cleaning up a grown mans self inflicted spew, is a job for only himself. Now I don’t know when you’re reading this, so let me remind you of a ‘thing’ that was popular back in 2018/2019. The phrase ‘this is my hill to die on’. Well, this became my hill to die on. If you lived under a rock and haven’t heard of this saying, let me enlighten you. It means ‘An issue to pursue with wholehearted conviction and/or single minded focus, with little or no regard to the cost.’

The next day I reminded Alex about his mess in the en suite, how it had splashed up the walls, it was on the wardrobe doors, it was even on the wall next to the bed. I cleaned little bits off the carpet, but again… this is a grown adults self-inflicted spew! I refused to clean this up for him. I’m dying on this hill remember!

A week had passed, and it was now well and truly dry. The spew smell had subsided at least. It was bearable to once again be in that room without gagging. Now luckily most of the time the splashed spew wasn’t all that noticeable, but it bugged me. Sometimes the sun would come in on such an angle that it almost lit up every spot of spew in a fluorescent light and it made me so mad I had to leave the room! Alex seemingly forgot? At least that’s what I told myself. Otherwise who would be so damn disrespectful to the other people of this house, that they wouldn’t even clean up their own spew? I’m not a clean freak by any means, I’ve lived in this house for 3 years now and I’ve only cleaned my oven twice. But if I spewed on my oven, it would be a different story… BECAUSE BODY FLUIDS!!

Months passed. Alexs relationship with alcohol never changed, but he started to become nasty to me when he got drunk. Not all the time, but often enough that it made me question what the hell was I doing in the relationship. He was a brilliant Dad to our little bundle, and I adore that about Alex, but our relationship started to unravel.

They say when you have kids, people change and its hard on relationships. I agree with that, but our problems weren’t new. When I became a mother, I think my tolerance for acceptable and unacceptable behaviour changed. Is coming home and going straight to sleep acceptable behaviour? Yes. Is coming home drunk and yelling at me about a cheese burger and waking the sleeping baby acceptable behaviour? Hell no.

These early months were a time of great reflection for me. Because somehow, I had become my mother. Mum died long before I ever even thought of having children. She died young and quick from an aggressive cancer. Very sad. But an unfortunate part of life. Like most kids, I had a love/hate relationship with her. She was in an abusive marriage, and she didn’t do a thing about it. I had to call the police more times than any child should, because of the physical abuse she endured. The next day My stepdad would apologise, and in a few weeks time, we did this dance again. My younger sisters are 10 years younger than me. When the adults had one of these nights, my sisters would cry out from their bedrooms. I’d get them and place them in our brothers bedroom at the other end of the house, until either they calmed down, or I called the police and they deescalated the situation. I hated that my mother put us through this. If you want to put yourself in this position, more fool you. But to put us kids through this was damn near child abuse. And yes, I should have been angry at my step dad for being an abuser, and I was. But I never understood why she never wanted to protect us from this by leaving him.

Now I know why. My mother always saw the best in people. So when he said he’d change and it wouldn’t happen again, she believed him. And now I was doing the exact same thing with Alex.

He was never abusive sober, in fact he has never been able to recall a single horrible thing he’s ever said to me. Because he’s gotten so drunk, he’s lost most of his memories of the night in general, let alone when he got home.

The tip of the iceberg was when we went on a group trip with some family and friends to Bali. Our little bundle was nearly a 1 year old and was perfection on the plane. We had a great time! Sipping cocktails by the pool, taking it in turns to sit in our room when baby slept so the other could explore the resort and the town. One magnificent afternoon, Alex came back to our room and I could tell he’d had more than just a few drinks. He was trying to pick a fight with me. I’d ask him to keep his voice down while the baby slept, apparently that meant I was ‘controlling’. I asked him about his afternoon and how much he’d had to drink, I was deemed ‘no fun anymore’ and it wasn’t any of my business how much he drank. We went to meet the rest of our group for dinner and they all knew Alex was drunk. He snapped at me if I asked him to help with the baby. He made fun of how slow I drank my wine in front of everyone is if it was the joke of the day. A friend pulled me aside and asked me if I was ok, because she hadn’t seen Alex act like this before. I assured her it was fine, he’d just had to much to drink. Unfortunately when I knocked over my drink and it hit the floor, I couldn’t keep up that façade, because in front of everyone, Alex screamed at me calling me a fucking dickhead and somehow I did that on purpose to prove a point (to this day I have no idea what he meant). One of the older guys in our group told him to walk away and cool off. I didn’t see Alex again until the early hours of the next morning when he came back to our room. I could hear him stumble in. He kicked the bin and mumbled ‘for fucks sake’ as he then crashed into the desk that the tv was on, in a failed attempt to be quiet. I didn’t speak a word. Our baby bundle was in a porta cot about a metre from Alex’s side of the bed, in hindsight a mistake on my part. Almost as soon as Alex lied down in bed I could tell he was going to be sick, I’ve been in this situation to many times before with him that I unfortunately knew the deep breathing associated with Alex’s pre spew ritual. I shook him and told him to get up because he’s about to be sick, he could only groan before I heard it rise from his stomach. I was already half way up when it hit the bed sheets, then the baby started to cry. Another spew and a cough later, Alex rolled over in his own spew and went to sleep as if it was the cure to insomnia. Luckily there was a couch in the room. Bundle and I snuggled up on the couch. I didn’t sleep knowing that my bundle and I deserve better than this.

When we returned from Bali, I told Alex I was done. All his empty promises to change over the years, were simply just words without meaning now. He called a counsellor, and admitted he had a problem.

Over the next few months we attended couples counselling, as well as some solo sessions to try and work on ourselves.

I stuck around, perhaps out of guilt. I didn’t want to be the reason a father couldn’t see his son when he got home from work, but I also hated myself for giving him yet another chance to change. I had convinced myself because he was getting counselling now, things would be different. We communicated as issues arose. We talked about our childhoods and learnt why we behave the way we do. I understood my self-hate for replicating my own mothers behaviours, and why Alex has such a strong sense of self entitlement. Now I understood it. But I couldn’t change Alex. He had to do that himself.

I’ve had a bad habit in our relationship of doing things for Alex that he says he can’t do himself. He came home from work with terrible asthma. Asthma that had been getting worse for weeks. This time it was so bad he could hardly converse with me. I had asked him weeks prior to make an appointment to get more medication. Did he? No. Did I have to do it for him? Of course. Alex had been paying far to much for a phone plan that did not suit what he needed, I asked him for months to simply call and change it, its easy! I even told him what to say. Did he? No. Did I cave when he asked me to do it for him? Unfortunately, yes.

Alex cut down on his drinking, so the abuse stopped. He was making progress, but things at home didn’t get any better. I don’t think he ever did it consciously, but Alex had it ingrained in him this self entitled attitude. He would only help me with chores around the house if it was something that bothered him. If I asked him to vacuum the toddlers crumbs off the carpet, but Alex wasn’t bothered by the mess, he wouldn’t do it. If I asked him to help me change the bedsheets, but he didn’t think they were dirty enough, he wouldn’t do it. One night we had an argument about this very matter, he stormed off and went to bed. He left in the morning with a slam of the door and without a goodbye.

When I seriously started thinking about leaving Alex I was a ball of anxiety and guilt. Because if I left, who would look after Alex? I genuinely didn’t know if he knew how to be an adult. I knew he’d be fine with our now toddler when he had him, but when it came to paying bills, packing the toddlers day care bag, cooking decent food, I was genuinely concerned.

I was fed up. I sat on the edge of the bed wondering how to fix this with Alex. I had a toddler now, but I felt like a had a lazy teenager as well. As the morning sun came through the windows of our bedroom, the spew that had splattered my bathroom now 2 years ago, lit up like a Christmas tree.

If someone can leave their own spew for someone else to clean up for over 2 years, with regular reminders mind you, because its not something that bothers him. Then he was never going to change for me, his son or himself.

I packed mine and the toddlers bags. And we left.

submitted by /u/feeblewinder [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3dwEc8V

[aleksander0086-blog]

In/Destructable.

Friends come and they will go. I gotta be careful for whom I call my 'friends', though. I have major trust issues,  I can't bond easily, and like I explained in my preview post, I am not a great communicator.  Well, there is one friend I had, one friend I thought I could trust and would be there until forever, really. His name was Kaiden. I met Kaiden when I was 17 years old - he was 4 years younger than me. He was an exchange student living in my house, back in the time when I lived in The Netherlands with my family.  Kaiden was from Florida, lived in poverty, and also had a lot of problems at home, such as abuse, neglect, and bullying in school. He lived with us for an entire school year, I think about 9 or 10 months or so.  He was 4 years younger than me, but he became like a brother to me. Even though it took me some time to fully loosen up, at first I bullied him a lot, made fun of him because he looked like an emo and I used to hate Americans. But I found out he was a really special fella.  Even when our lives continued when he went back to the States, and I continued to live my life in The Netherlands,  we kept in touch, virtually.  There was something I always liked about him - his energy, his depth, his patience, his understanding. He wasn't afraid to speak his mind or disagree with me, and I appreciated that. People can be so damn fake. ..But he wasn't. Even when we were a few years older, in our 20's,  I often went to visit him in the States,  a couple of times a year. We were going out on roadtrips, all kinds of adventures, or we just hung out in his apartment a lot, watching movies, like something you'd expect from a real friendship. I never had a friendship like that, where I would actually do fun activities. In other friendships of mine,  we just used drugs and hung out on the streets, act trashy, talking about murder, feeling useless. But the friendship I had with Kaiden really had some real depth,  we could talk for hours all night,  and he made me believe it is no shame to talk about my inner feelings and emotions. By that time, I had never met a single person I felt comfortable enough to talk about my inner feelings. And to me, it felt like a piece of freedom, and he gave me that like some kind of gift. Really, if it wasn't for him, I would still be a numb asshole with my feelings all bottled up.

When I moved to New York when I was 25, I often went to visit Kaiden in Michigan. There were huge gaps, though, and I realized that every time we saw each other again. I had my problems with drinking, using drugs, the errors inside my head. But he, Kaiden, was struggling with bipolar disorder, as he knew since the age of 15. He just did a perfect job by hiding the whole thing. But I could see whenever he was going through a difficult time. He used to be straight edge -  no drinking, no drugs, not even smoking cigarettes.  But ever since he got back from L.A, his life got a little twisted.  He always had high expectations and big dreams, as he wanted to make it in L.A., but I saw the city of angels changed him. He came back as a different person, very odd. It just wasn't him. He opened up about the fact he was sexually abused by his manager,  that he met the wrong people there,  and he definitely started drinking a lot. He was forced to use drugs. Once he came back to Michigan, I think it triggered his mental health and it took the wrong turn. Everything he did was limitless. The typical symptoms of bipolar disorder, those were clear to see. Very extreme mood swings. There were times when I moved in with him, but every time I stayed with him for awhile, the better I got to know him. It wasn't really pretty. He was either extremely happy or a really mean bitch.  Kaiden, he also developed this huge identity crisis with himself - he was not sure about his sexual orientation and identity.  He was struggling with it. I tried to help him, even though I, myself,  used to be a little bit homophobic back in the days.  He was my friend, and I knew he was struggling with it. I just wanted us to have fun again like we used to have.  I came to find out we had a difficult time dosing our attention to each other, since we both have our problems.  Except Kaiden clearly needed the attention, he kinda almost begged for it, he was loud. And me, I tried hiding it, but the people who knew me best could easily uncover my pain. Like the extrovert and the introvert.  It was either Kaiden going through a difficult period, and me having to take care of him, or the other way around. We were there for eachother, always. I suppose it made our friendship a very strong, hectic one too, because of that.  The thing is, there was always drama going on in our lives, and we were both very involved in the situation. And things got even harder as the years were passing by.

  The more we were together the unhealthier our friendship became.  Over the last 5 years we did nothing but using drugs, annoy each other with the fact that we were junkies,  fighting, throwing things at each other, beat each other up. But then there were good times coming again. And so we did fun things again. Then we started fighting again. But both of us were so damn drugged up. I was on heroin all the time, I would stay in the other room, alone in the dark, painting. Or lying on the bathroom floor listening to nice classic rock music. I mind my own business, that's just how heroin works. I wanted to be alone. But Kaiden wasn't on heroin, coke was his thing. It made him very different person, very high energy, always looking for a reason to fight. He would slam the fucking door while I was tripping in the bathroom, yelling at me "Let's go to the sea and put our clothes off! Right now! Come with me!", almost dragging me outside. But my mind couldn't process that very quickly when on heroin. His voice was echoing through my mind. I remember nights, when he was all hyped under influence of coke, and I was nodding next to him in the backseat of the car, far away from reality, no idea where I was and what we were doing. He carried me around like a puppet,  but we were always together.  Kaiden would fight literally anyone on cocaine. And whenever I looked at him, I just thought to myself "damn, this is not you, what the fuck".  We turned out to be monsters, we created the worst versions of ourselves. 

Anyway,  when Kaiden came out as gay, or pansexual, or both, whatever - I still have no idea, but he clearly fell for men - he got involved in the gay scene, and he turned into some kind of sex maniac. He had a devoted boyfriend for awhile, Joone, whom he met in Finland while we were on vacation there,  but then he cheated and started fucking the entire city of Toronto. He was the notorious crack whore of Toronto city, and he was happy to be so. He started to become careless, just like me,  and you got drugs to blame for that. Cocaine turned him in the opposite of person he used to was, the person I used to like so much. That was all gone at some point.  He disgusted me with his lifestyle. I didn't want to visit him anymore because even in the morning, the room smelled like sex and crack, there were naked guys lying on the carpet. And I don't have problems with the gay scene, not anymore, I have experimented this and that myself as well, but his life was just awfully disgusting. For real. I took my distance, continued my life as an introvert junkie in New York City,  but Kaiden kept falling back to me. He'd call me and tell me he feels extremely sorry, crying and everything. And I swallowed those cries for help, for many many times. But Kaiden started working at a sex club for gays, it made him rich. He got paid for sex, and it seemed like everybody wanted to try him out. He could only perform while on cocaine. That sex club was everything to him at one point, and didn't care about anything else anymore.  He didn't care for me anymore, he would even threaten me if I didn't shut up. I couldn't even disagree with him anymore, or open my mouth. But I still did. We had so many fights, physically as well. There were a lot of cocaine, tears and blood. I'm talking about the very end of our friendship now. This was the last chapter of us, really. 

When I got back from Berlin, I visited him a couple of times still. He was clearly angry I lied to him about me being dead. Which I understand, because I lied to everyone. I was too embarrassed to admit another suicide attempt failed once again. But I will never forget the last conversation we had. It was december, very cold night in Toronto. I remember we were sitting with some of his hoes in the room, they were on coke, I joined a bit but not too much. I figured he started gossiping around with some guy, pointing at me and laughing at me. I didn't do shit, it made me moody as fuck, though.  I just refused to talk all night. Went to the kitchen to get some booze. When Kaiden crossed me I just grabbed him and asked him, "what the fuck do you think you're doing bitch?" He just started laughing, he said something like, "just let me go to the bathroom, you schizophrenic thot". I remember looking him in the eyes, feeling furious inside, the anger boiling. I grabbed him, dragged him outside his apartment and just threw him on the ground. He told me all kind of things I will never forget. Made all kind of jokes about me being a 'schizophrenic' and just sick in the head, that I am just like my father, and of course he could because he knew all of my weaknesses. He hurt me so much. He started puching me and we pulled each others hair. It was nasty. He hurt me so much that I wanted to kill him, it triggerd my killer feelings again. I beat him up until he bled, left him lying in the snow and hit him with my car. It felt fucking amazing.  Heard he was hospitalized, but didn't die. Unfortunately. I wish I fucking killed him. I really wish I had. Never saw him again, though.  But this friendship lead us to a dead end lane. How can somebody you once loved so much betray you like that? How he gave all his support and cared for me while I was going through psychosis, delusions, hard times and end up calling me out for being schizophrenic?  Fucking cokehead. Fucking worthless.

[clayray3290]

Clayray Closeout 2017

Time once again to reflect on a year of media consumption, heh.

Music - Artists

The Maine

Michelle Branch

B.A.P

Dashboard Confessional

Sam Hunt

Taeyeon

Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness

Ed Sheeran

The All-American Rejects

Britney Spears

Honestly, the only reason The Maine is #1 on this list is because they have a lot of songs on Spotify, and when I see an artist in concert, I listen to their entire discography, and I must have let that go a few times through. I don’t particularly feel that strongly about them, to be honest, and couldn’t really sing back a song of theirs to you, so this is a dubious title.

As I said, I saw The Maine (as an opener) in concert, and I also saw Dashboard Confessional, Sam Hunt, and The All-American Rejects. I also saw Jesca Hoop, Brooke Annibale (Err, well I didn’t actually see her open, but I still listened to her discography anyway), Kawehi, Jean Michel Jarre, Emily Wells, Chris Janson, Maren Morris, The Social Animals, Baio, Sun Seeker, Canyon King, Soft Pyramids, Michael Christmas, Dutch Rebelle, Grace Mitchell, and St. Lucia. If some of these artists sound random to you, it is because I have a weakness for entering giveaways and so sometimes I end up at concerts for artists that I know nothing about.

My emo-ness was in full force this year. I went to a live band emo karaoke thing, and then of course I saw Dashboard Confessional/The All-American Rejects/The Maine/Social Animals.

I haven’t listened to that much K-Pop this year, despite BTS actually blowing up stateside, which K-Pop has been trying to do for ages. I only really paid attention to Taeyeon’s solo album and TS artists (which, Sonamoo’s been putting out some great releases lately).

Music - Albums

Hamilton OBCR

Dear Evan Hansen OBCR

Taeyeon - My Voice

Hamilton Mixtape

Michelle Branch - Hopeless Romantic

Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness - Zombies on Broadway

Ed Sheeran - ÷ (Deluxe)

Glass Animals - How To Be a Human Being

Sam Hunt - Montevallo

Dia Frampton - Bruises

I went to a bunch of musicals this year. The first half of the year, it feels like I went to New York almost every month. I saw Hamilton, Dear Evan Hansen, Bandstand, Great Comet, Company (in the Berkshires), and I saw Newsies in theatres. Also Blue Man Group? Lol.

The rest of the albums on this list are all mostly artists that I’ve listened to for a long time and had a comeback. Michelle Branch, Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness, and Dia Frampton (back from Meg & Dia), for example, are artists I’ve been longtime fans of, and I listened to their new albums a lot in an effort to really like them, but unfortunately, while I liked these albums, I didn’t love them.

Also, I know I complain about Ed Sheeran to my friends, but I do actually like his music in general (though I like his earlier stuff better). It’s just that there are a couple of songs of his that just really really get me irate. “New Man,” as catchy as it is, is the outdated entitled male version of T. Swift’s “You Belong with Me.” But I really like “Galway Girl” and I enjoy “Eraser”!

Movies

Like last year, this is a subjective ranking and not numbers-based.

Get Out Absolutely brilliant. Who’d’ve thunk that Posh Kenneth, possibly the most useless character in Skins, would end up in such a knockout film.

Gook This year I started volunteering for the Boston Asian American Film Festival, and through it, I got to find a great community and watch some incredible films (Shout-out to The Apology, an excellent and important documentary. I conducted an Q&A with the director!). I had actually first seen Gook at the Boston Independent Film Festival, and met a few of the producers afterwards. It turns out that I went to college with one of them and lived in the same dorm for three years! Personal connection aside, Gook is artistic and emotional and at times, hilarious.

Lady Bird I actually just watched this on Friday haha, and I saw it with one of my college roomies, and she was the perfect person to watch it with. We both saw so much of our relationships with our mothers on the screen, and also just the state of being a high school girl. I had only seen Greta Gerwig in Frances Ha as an actor, and with such a great debut work as this, I can’t wait to see more from her.

The Big Sick I knew going into it that it was a movie about an interracial romance based on Kumail Nanjiani’s real-life love, but I somehow missed why it would actually be called the big SICK lol. But regardless, this was a touching and adeptly witty film that was such a delight.

Wonder Woman I mean, not a perfect movie, but I’ve been waiting for this movie. I wrote in my grad school paper about female superheroes in 2014 that this movie was supposed to come out, and so I felt even more invested in this. More female superheroes!

Note to self: Still really really wanting to see The Disaster Artist, Call Me By Your Name, and The Florida Project.

Television

I’m ashamed; I only watched like 5 new 2017 television shows, so I guess I have no choice which shows to highlight. There are a number that are on my list that I haven’t watched yet: Big Little Lies (I want to read the book first!), Legion, Dear White People (I thoroughly enjoyed the movie), Mindhunter, Godless, the Magic School Bus reboot (Still would love to work for it, so if anybody has any connections, let me know)...I think I just felt so tired through a lot of this year, and so I would find myself going back to good ol’ standbys.

The Handmaid’s Tale Considering, well, the state of the country and the world, The Handmaid’s Tale was a wrecking ball coming straight for your gut. Coupled with the fact that it’s set in Cambridge/Boston, it felt genuinely terrifying to me. I had read the book back in high school, but had forgotten much of the details. Incredible performances (Alexis Bledel and Samira Wiley!!!) really make the terror of it all really sink in.

Las Chicas del Cable This show contains practically all of the elements I enjoy in my television. Beautiful period costumes! Antique telephones! Independent ladies! A chance to practice my Spanish! And *SPOILER* in the second season, ~MURDER~. It’s not an excellent show, per se. It often falls on tropes and flimsy plotlines, but it is positively enjoyable.

13 Reasons Why I’m still not perfectly sure where I stand on this in terms of a developmental psychology/health point of view. I do think it is a dangerous, dangerous thing to be messing with the topic of suicide in the form of enticingly palatable and powerful television. And I recognize I was fortunate enough to be in a good place to watch this and be okay. I had read the book when I was younger, and so my ears had perked up in recognition upon hearing about this show. From an entertainment point-of-view, yes, this drew you in and was compelling. However, I really don’t think there needs to be a second season.

Riverdale The little I’ve seen of the second season feels a little bit off-the-rails, but the first season was delectable. I love the dark take on the Archie-verse and I also love seeing heartthrobs from the 80′s as the grown-ups. I also just love a good teen drama.

Introvert Boss I really wanted to like this. It has Yeon Woojin! And also Hyosung! And has to do with mental health! But it unfortunately fell flat and became a bit of a tangled, convoluted mess. I didn’t actually watch any other Korean dramas this year, except for a little bit of the Korean Criminal Minds. I need to get back into watching some K-dramas.

Some great shows returned as well this year: Search Party, Master of None, Stranger Things, Superstore, Black Mirror, Skam, The Good Place...And Insecure, bias aside (It’s Issa Rae’s production company that had the contest of which I became a semi-finalist earlier this year).

I was on a cruise with my family for the holidays, and television options were limited, but I did watch a lot of in-depth pieces on Al Jazeera, like about sand and Chinese embroidery and such...

I have been continuing (or starting!) my watch-from-the-beginning’s for several shows as well. Gilmore Girls is still my gym show, and It’s Always Sunny was my doctor’s appointment show, but that’s not on Netflix anymore. So now I just watch Suits at the doctor’s. The Wire has become my plane show, as I decided it wasn’t my gym show. (I’m not sure if the plane is much better of a venue, but oh well) I’ve also started watching from the beginning Parks and Rec, Mad Men, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and I finally finished Pushing Daisies. Which I absolutely loved.

Alrighty, I have now egotistically reflected on my tastes of the year. Onto another year of entertainment!