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[divine-mistake]

'till death blooms us art

Summary: You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

Characters: Sam Wilson/Plus-sized Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), strong language, Hanahaki AU, angst with a happy ending, weight insecurity, allusions to eating disorders, talk about death, blood, past domestic abuse and trauma, gun violence, original male character, book quotes, anxiety

Word Count: 12796

A/N: Thank you for reading! This fic won the vote during my 500 follower celebration and it's finally out now! This story has a lot of meaning for me, due to it being a bit of a metaphor for disorderly eating. I know that will make some people uncomfortable, but as someone who has struggled for a long time, I want to talk more openly about this kind of thing. Anyway, thanks so much for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy!

main masterlist | AO3 | playlist by @tripleyeeet

—STUBBORN WEEDS—

They are everywhere—covering the space of the sitting room like an overgrown garden made of glass and paint, canvas and pages torn from old waterlogged books, stained mugs filled with decaying brushes. Wanda walks through your room like it’s a maze, her fingers trailing over the air but never touching the art. She’s pretending she’s in a museum, or a gallery, or something fancier than what you could ever appear in, but a twinge of something akin to warmth stabs through your heart at the thought.

“These are incredible,” she says, not looking at you. “How do you do it?”

With a shrug, you bend down and pick up one of the canvasses from the floor, holding it out to look at it.

“I don’t know,” you lie.

White space in the shape of flowers, uneven and missing petals here and there, is outlined in streaks of paint that go every direction, in every different shade, hard edges and soft, blurred lines and covering the entirety of the canvas except for those spaces where flowers once sat, pinned to the medium.

“They are beautiful,” Wanda says.

Your nail sneaks under one of the dried chunks of acrylic and you chip it—a fleck of ultramarine blue falls from the painting.

When you turn, Wanda studies a different piece in careful hands. It’s a glass case, trimmed with shitty, shaky lines of gold you painted on a whim. But inside, between the thick panes, dried flowers painted over are encased in eternity, arranged to match their exact placements on the canvas where your brushes stroked life onto them, around them, through them. Two perfect pieces that once belonged together, separated like an act of Adam against his God.

Maybe they were meant to be together, but no one will ever know their story.

“They’re amateur,” you tell her, laughing. “I’m not much of an artist. It’s just for fun.”

She smiles at you, placing the glass piece down. “You have a talent.”

Wanda takes another turn about the room, another circuit, another spin. She looks at every piece in such focus, taking in every single detail, fingers stretching and curling as if she wants to caress the dried flowers, the dried paint, and feel their meaning. You wonder what she would say if she could read their minds—the art you’ve made. Would your pieces tell her the true meaning behind their existence? Or maybe they would laugh, or cry, or howl in pain.

But Wanda only stares, at the paintings and at you, a small smile on her face like she knows something you don’t. Like she’s keeping a secret. Is she keeping the secrets that the flowers have whispered to her when you weren’t looking?

“What inspired them?” she asks, the very tip of her nail tracing a different glass box filled with dyed petals reconstructed into a larger artificial flower, protected by its own display.

You wring your hands together. “I like flowers.”

She laughs. “That’s obvious. But what makes them special enough to paint? To—To make such lovely art out of?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you place the small canvas you’d been holding back on the side table, crossing the room to your bookshelf. Your fingertip finds the spine of a hardcover book you’re too familiar with, pulling it out and into your awaiting hands. Sheets of paper, a little bent and crooked, stick out of the pages.

You crack it open, the dulling white petals of a daisy pressed flat between the crackling spine fluttering from between the black inked words, then fall to the floor at your feet.

“The Devil’s hand directs our every move,” you read. “The things we loathed become the things we love.”

Wanda stares at you as you fiddle with the book, tracing the words of the cover.

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” you say. “The Flowers of Evil.”

Gently and without word, she bows at your feet and picks up the drying daisy, cradling it in her pale hands, but you don’t have the strength to take it from her.

(“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I had to run some errands this morning, y’know how it is, so I’m out of the Tower right now. I was just wondering if you needed anything while I was out. Anything—really, anything at all. Even breakfast, or maybe a latte? Just a little pick-me-up. Well, give me a call back if you need anything. If not, I’ll be back soon. See ya.”)

—BETTER TOGETHER—

“Steven Grant,” you say his name like a curse, shaking your head. “This is why you spend three hours a day in the gym.”

Too busy shoving the first bite of his first hoagie into his mouth, Steve doesn’t reply. You roll your eyes, but the smile on your lips gives you away. When he’s finally swallowed, wiping crumbs from his mouth, he looks a little indignant.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Well, you would be if you didn’t have that serum running through you.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, a little confusion on his face. “I thought it was because I work out three hours a day. And I’ll have you know—”

“—you work out six hours a day between your morning runs and training, I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before Steve.” You groan at the thought. “It’s like it’s your job.”

“It is my job. Saving the world and all that.”

“Okay, you really need to let America know that it’s giving you a complex, ‘cause if I hear one more thing about you saving the world, I think I’m going to scream.”

He shrugs, taking another gigantic bite out of his sandwich. Scraps of shredded lettuce fall out from between the buns and litter his plate. You pick at your own, pulling uneven pieces of sliced onion and stray pickles from the hoagie, content to sit and stare at it instead of eating.

Food is good. You brush the grainy crumbs of bread from your fingers. Food is good, but you just aren’t hungry. And you don’t work out three hours a day. Maybe you should start. Your body feels like a balloon with all your insides threatening to come up in a retch and choke you. Food is good. Food is good. You just have to pick up the sandwich and eat it.

Fingers shaking, you take the sub in your hand and stare at the corner where you mean to take the first bite.

“You good?”

Steve, still chewing, looks at you with concern clear in his crystal blues and it makes you put your food back down on the plate. Instead, you busy yourself with another sip of your water, nodding at him.

“Yeah. We can’t all be Steve Rogers, demolishing two hoagies in less than two seconds, y’know.” You throw in a snort, trying to sound nonchalant. “Wipe your mouth, Captain. You’ve got mayo on your cheek.”

He doesn’t, but him grabbing a napkin to embarrassedly wipe a nonexistent condiment from his face gives you enough time to pick your sandwich back up and contemplate taking the first bite. You’ve just gotta start with the first bite and the rest will go down.

But you aren’t hungry. How can you be hungry when you’re already so full? Stuffed, even. There isn’t room in your insides. All your organs are bursting. It’s so painful sometimes, the expanding of your skin to accommodate. Waves of sickness roll through you, spreading. Your stomach is stretched, bloated, filled with all the swallowed—

“What are you doin’ to my girl, huh Steve?”

The sound of his voice alone makes the ache inside of you dissipate, the nausea escapes from your throat, the anxiety twitching through your hands steadies. Your head perks up, shoulders rolling back as your entire body relaxes, and you look behind you.

And there, dressed in a tight blue polo and a pair of pants clinging to his legs like they were made for him, the very angel who blessed you, the devil who cursed you, the god of the fucking sun and everything it could ever touch, stands before you with a smile saved just for you.

Sam Wilson.

His dark eyes are piercing, like he’s trying to peel back the layers of your skin to see underneath, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and grins with all his teeth.

“Hey honey,” he says—simply and easily and not serious. Never serious.

Your lungs burn. Your mouth feels too dry to answer him.

“Oh, your girl?” Steve asks him, brows a little too furrowed to be joking. “When did she become your girl?”

Sam shrugs, walking toward the empty seat next to you, placing his hand on the back of your chair so dangerously close to your body that it makes you pull in a deep breath. His thumb could brush against the fabric of your shirt, run along the seam of your spine. And, goddamn, it should be illegal for him to look so casual and so unbothered while still looking that handsome.

Like this, you can smell the spice in his cologne, a powerful mix of something you’re sure is designed to drive you crazy.

He looks down at you, still hovering over where you sit, and throws a wink your way that brings heat to the surface of your cheeks.

“Aw, she’s always been my girl, ain’t that right? Tell him, darlin’.”

You stare at Sam for one second too long, breaking away to gaze down at your uneaten sandwich again. With every flutter that Sam sends down your stomach, the heaviness inside it seems to fade away. Your fullness is replaced by a familiar hunger—the rawness of your throat waning as a burning itch takes over. A cough is threatening to bubble up. You choke it back, smiling instead.

“He’s right, Stevie,” you say all bright and cheery again.

Steve meets your eyes with a stony gaze, unreadable, his blue eyes looking gray in the light. Beside you, Sam throws himself down in one of the chairs and pulls up to the table, hand still sitting on the back of your seat. His knees are spread a little wide, thigh resting against yours.

It’s so innocent but your brain thinks it’s so intimate. A lie. A lie.

In the end, Steve relaxes back, his eyebrows lifting as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. He tosses one of the sticky plastic menus toward Sam, nodding at it.

“Order up, man,” Steve says, his tone more neutral than you think you’ve ever heard it in regards to Sam. “But I’m not paying for yours. You’re on your own.”

At that, Sam laughs, full and robust with his face up to the ceiling. He rocks back in his chair, shaking his head, and he looks so beautiful even in the shitty sub shop that Steve drags you to for lunch every other week that it makes you ache and your lungs contract in an attempt to cough.

You swallow it back again, trying to even out your breathing. The itch in your throat is so bad that you almost pick up your sandwich to eat again, but your hand passes it up to take another few sips of your water. It’s cool, clear, refreshing—but it can’t make the tickle of the cough go away.

“So,” Sam starts once he’s finished ordering his own hoagie, “how’s that apartment hunting going? Found anything good yet?”

A frown forms, heavy, on your lips. You pick off a flaking piece of bread from your sandwich, watching it turn to crumbs underneath your fingers.

“It’s going,” you say, but anyone who ever responds to a question of how’s it going with it’s going is absolutely lying and it is absolutely not going—and maybe Sam knows that, or maybe Steve does, or hell, maybe they both do but it makes you look weak to admit that things aren’t going so well out loud.

And you—you can’t admit the truth, so it’s just better to lie about it.

You don’t want to leave the Tower.

“It’s going, huh?” Sam asks, his tone proving that he can see right through you. “You need help looking at some places or something?”

“Well—”

“You know,” he barrels through your words as if they are nothing, “I think I actually know a realtor around here. Maybe he can get you some leads on rentals or something. I could make some calls for you, honey.”

It’s not supposed to—Sam only means well, he always does, always trying to do so much for people—but it hurts to hear. Because you don’t hear him saying that he’s trying to help you out. You hear him saying he doesn’t want you around the Tower anymore.

Because, well, why would he want you there?

To him, you’re just an outsider. A girl who doesn’t belong. Someone who daydreams and doodles flowers on every surface as soon as she thinks of him. And you always think of him.

Before you can think about it, your hand flies to your mouth reflexively to hold back a cough. Instantly, Sam’s leaning closer and that damned hand of his falls soft against your back.

“You okay?”

There’s barely a moment for you to nod, signaling that you’re fine, before Steve’s got on his game face, all hard lines and furrowed brows and thin lips pressed tightly together.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing Sam’s attention. “She’s allowed to stay as long as she wants, alright? The Tower is her home now, too. So there isn’t a rush for her to find a place unless she wants to leave.”

The passion and care in Steve’s voice is strong, almost so overpowering it’s oppressive, and something rises up from within you and threatens to send salty tears careening down your cheeks if you don’t blink them away.

Sam raises his hands in front of him dramatically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I wasn’t trying to run her off or anything, just wanted to lend a hand if I could. Damn, Steve.”

Something changes at the table, then. It’s like a fog, thick and cloying, falls over the three of you and keeps you lethargic—so much so that the only words spoken in the next few awkward minutes are Sam’s thanks when the waiter brings his sandwich by.

You still haven’t even touched yours, and you hope it seems like you’re just waiting for Sam to get his, because Steve’s tearing into his second and by the looks of the mustard dripping down his fingers messily, he’ll be done any minute now.

But as you prop your head up on the table, leaning on your elbow boredly, Sam nudges his leg into yours to grab your attention. When you turn to look at him, he’s got that grin again, all pearly and white with the little crooked gap you think you could stare at forever as long as it meant he was smiling and laughing and happy.

“You gonna eat, girl?” Sam picks his sub up in his hand and gestures at you to do the same. God, he makes you dizzy just by talking. The butterflies in your belly are fighting tooth and nail against your organs, trying to take up all the space, but they aren’t really butterflies. The soft monsters in your stomach leave a taste on your tongue you can’t explain.

“Oh.” You mimic his movement and then Sam toasts his hoagie against yours with a chuckle.

“First bite,” he says, and there’s no thought in your head or balloon in your stomach and no bloated skin to make you second guess yourself.

You follow Sam, sinking your teeth into the bread of your sandwich, and its flavor explodes over your tongue just enough to take away all the bitter, floral, fragrant taste of the daisies that are building up in your stomach, their petals choking you out, downy fluttering things inside you.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I was coming to see if you wanted to grab a bite with me for lunch, maybe at that little Italian place you like to go to around the corner? Or maybe sushi or something? Been a while since I got to go out for lunch, so I thought I’d ask, but I guess you’re busy right now. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Enjoy your lunch.”)

—NEW BEGINNINGS—

You’ve got to call him. You have to. You have no choice anymore.

Danny is on the other side of the locked door, his fist pounding on the wood and threatening to cave it in from the repeated force. The sound is louder than it should be, really, echoing off the tile of the bathroom you’ve barricaded yourself inside. He’s shouting above the sound.

“You fucking bitch. I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna fucking kill you. You lied to me? What else are you lying about, huh? You fucking whore. I took you in, I gave you a home, I gave you everything. Fucking fat slut—how many other guys are you sleeping with, huh?”

None, you had answered earlier when he was questioning you in your shared bedroom, his fist tight around your soft arm and squeezing so hard it made you want to scream. None.

But that wasn’t the answer Danny was looking for. And, well, once he threw you onto the ground and stomped to the dresser, clothes strewn around the room as he furiously ripped through it until he found the shiny black firearm you didn’t know he had, you were gone.

But there was only one place to go and that was the bathroom.

Now, trapped inside, you know you have no choice. You have to call him—the man from the coffee shop you’ve been going to regularly for a few months. The man who noticed the bruises Danny always left on you after a rough night. The man who pressed and pried and tried to do anything to get you to open up to him even as you refused over and over again. The man who put his number in your phone because he wanted you to call him if you ever needed him, not because he was a hero, but because he was worried about you.

You press the number two on speed dial. The phone rings.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Steve?” Your voice is nothing but a sob. “Steve, you were right.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, but you hear the rustle of clothes and a jingle of keys on the other side beyond the static, a sound that makes you almost cry with relief or hope or maybe just stress.

“Hold on,” he tells you. “FRIDAY is pulling up your address. I’ll be there as quick as I can. Are you safe?”

“Bathroom,” you’re able to mumble out from behind the waterfall of tears rushing down your face. “He’s locked out but—but I’m scared.”

“I’m on my way. He’s not going to hurt you. I promise you.”

And then Steve hangs up, and you wish he hadn’t because now you’re left all alone with just a flimsy wooden door, painted fucking white so the blood will show up real pretty when Danny kills you, between you and your boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend if you get out of here alive.

“Four fucking years!” he shouts from outside. “I gave you four fucking years of my life, you stupid bitch. I put up with your dumb fat ass for four years and this is what you do? Is this love? Do you think this is love?”

You figure anything is love as long as it doesn’t look like this. The ring of bruises around your upper arm from Danny’s grasp is already turning black and blue, a sight that makes you flinch.

Honestly, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s yours. All the cash you were stashing should’ve been hidden better. You knew better. A shoebox up on the top shelf of the closet? Amateur. You should’ve cut a section out of one of your prized books or something. Danny never fucking reads. He probably doesn’t know how. He would’ve never found all the money if you’d stashed it there.

“Six thousand dollars!” he roars, punching the center of the door. The wood bends slightly. “How long’ve you been fucking stealing from me, huh? Fucking bitch. Stupid fucking bitch.”

And then it happens.

Danny’s fist breaks through the first layer of the door with a curse of pain falling from his lips. Then, a laugh. He’s laughing.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He punches the door again and then his hand is through, wood splinters shattering and flying toward you, and with a scream you shield your face with your arms and duck down. You’re sitting beside the bathtub, squished against the toilet, and you scoot back as far as you can trying to wedge yourself to safety.

But there is no safety here. Danny’s bloodied fingers find the doorknob and unlock it with a click, and it’s over. It’s over. It’s fucking over.

With a kick, the door comes flying open and you’re screaming again at the top of your lungs, throat tearing itself raw. Danny’s broad frame possesses the entire room as he shoulders his way inside, his lips pulled back to show all of his teeth in a feral grin, the overhead lights catching the shine of the sleek gun he’s carrying.

You can’t even look at him. All you can do is stare at his back in the bathroom mirror hanging over the counter, your mind completely devoid of thought.

“Fuckin’ dead,” Danny says, and you don’t see him aim the gun at you. You stare in the mirror, right in the mirror and memorize the pattern of the plaid jacket he’s wearing, how the colored stripes form new colors, how the fabric all blends. It’s a pretty shirt. You bought it for him two Christmasses ago. He looks good in it.

You are going to die.

Then, suddenly, you can’t see the plaid anymore. Instead it’s a gray shirt on a much bigger body blocking out the mirror, and when you turn your head to look, Steve’s there.

Steve’s here.

He’s got Danny in a chokehold, grappling for the pistol in your boyfriend’s hand. Ex-boyfriend. Despite Steve being completely unarmed—he’s Captain America for christ’s sake, a goddamn super soldier, he doesn’t need a fucking weapon—he easily brings Danny down to his knees and onto the floor, kicking the gun away from their bodies and out of the bathroom completely.

“Fucking whore,” Danny manages to spit out, the sound strangled as Steve’s arm buckles over his neck. “You’re fucking him too, huh? I’m gonna kill you.”

“Shut up,” Steve grits through his clenched teeth, pulling Danny toward the destroyed door. “You’re done.”

They disappear from the bathroom in a tangle and thrashing of limbs. Danny curses the whole way down the stairs, struggling to break out of Steve’s grasp you presume. He’s a fighter—that’s what he always said. Dog meets dog eats dog world, he would tell you. You can’t ever trust anyone.

And, well, he certainly proved his beliefs. You had the bruises to show for it. The scars as evidence.

Sitting alone in your wrecked bathroom, still sprawled out on the tile, you stare down at your hands. The lines run deep in your palms, fingers stubby and chubby and not at all feminine. Too small to grab Danny the way he always grabbed you. Too soft with fat to deliver a good punch.

You don’t know how much time passes before a much larger hand enters your vision, slowly, like approaching a kicked mutt on the street, and when you don’t flinch, Steve lays his fingers across your palms. Apprehensively, you grab onto his hand, and he squeezes back.

Looking up, he’s crouched in front of you, the beginnings of a bruise forming on his left temple. With your free hand, you reach out and let your fingers brush over it, but Steve just smiles at you.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs.

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here,” he says, gently tugging on your hand. You hold onto him a little tighter and let him help you up off the ground, his arm immediately sliding around your waist to steady your shaky legs.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you say. “The money I saved…”

You don’t even know what happened to it. For all you know, Danny burned the cash. Or stashed it somewhere else.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Steve says in a soft voice. “I’m taking you back to the Tower. The police are dealing with Danny right now. Can you help me pack some clothes for you?”

And so you sat on the bed among your wrecked bedroom as Steve picked through the messy drawers that had been pulled from their dresser, some articles of clothing crumpled on the floor where Danny flung them in his mad search for your secret money stash. And the gun. You almost forgot about the gun.

Steve helps you pack, his face only a little pinker than normal when you’re shoving your intimates into the black duffle bag he fished out of his car, and then he’s helping you slip on your sneakers and guiding you out of your house.

You don’t say goodbye to it, though. That house. Even after four years, you don’t call it home. In a lot of ways, you’re happy to watch it disappear from Steve’s rearview mirror, hoping you’ll never be back.

“They’re going to love you there,” he says quietly in the silence of the car, both hands tight around the steering wheel. He glances over at you, then back at the road. “You’ll fit right in. You’ll be safe. Right at home.”

But you think Steve is a bit of an optimist. Homes, you think, are for people who are loved.

(“Hey honey, just me here. Look, I remembered you saying something about how you wanted those, what were they called, the fairy lights for your room? The ones that look like Christmas lights? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You’re too short to do it yourself, girl, you know that. Anyway, give me a call if you want to, or just come down to my room and get me, anytime. I’ll be waiting. Talk soon, honey.”)

—KEEPING SECRETS—

Wanda hums a tune under her breath. “I just can’t wait to get out of this place! It’s been too long. Mission after mission after bloody mission.” She sighs and starts to apply a thick coat of mascara, eyes wide as she stares in the mirror.

“Agreed,” Natasha says from somewhere behind you. The sound of her bare feet on the bathroom tile is the only warning you have before she sidles up beside you, gracefully lifting herself up onto the counter and sweeping various cosmetics aside to make room.

You’re still undressed, standing in your panties and an old t-shirt with a stretched out neck, just finishing up your eyeshadow when Nat taps a black bottle on the marble top near your fingers.

“Want me to do your eyeliner?” she asks.

A few months ago, you would have seen it as an insult—a beautiful, dangerous woman telling you in less words that your makeup looked like shit. Now you know it’s an expression of Natasha’s unending love for you. A willing act of service. A small thing she can do for you.

“Yes please.”

Natasha motions you forward, between her legs, and when she takes your face in her hand you close your eyes.

“Pretty colors,” she says, probably about your eyeshadow.

“Thanks,” you reply, and then you feel the cool wetness of liquid liner right on your lash line as she begins to paint a wing on your lid. “You always look pretty.”

“So do you.” She blows softly on your left eye. “It’s like you never need makeup, I swear. Are you even wearing foundation?”

A smile works its way onto your face. “Nope.”

From beside you, Wanda giggles.

“Slut. You’re so perfect it makes me want to scream sometimes,” Natasha says, tongue clicking her teeth as she finishes off your right eye.

All the breath seems to leave you in that moment. Like someone punched you straight in your gut, your bones like the gel shock-absorbing layer protecting your organs. Your eyes want nothing more than to shoot open, but Nat is blowing cool air over the newly formed wing and you force yourself to relax so you don’t mess everything up.

“I’m not perfect,” you tell her. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Don’t deflect.” You hear her cap the eye liner and set it down on the counter, then her palms engulf your cheeks. Slowly, you let your eyes open, blinking gently.

She’s staring at you, eyes narrowed.

“Just because I’m beautiful doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful,” she says, simply, as if it’s just easy for her to not compare herself to anyone else. “If you’re perfect, you’re perfect. Doesn’t matter if I’m perfect, too. And that Wanda is perfect. Or that anyone is perfect.”

Natasha takes your chin in her fingers and grabs a tube of lipstick—the one she and Wanda always tell you to wear because it looks so damn good on you.

“Your beauty and your worth doesn’t come from other people.” She runs the silken rouge over your lips. “It comes from who you are, not comparisons to other people.”

And, god, you want to scream at her. You want to shout and tell her that she isn’t allowed to say that to you when she looks the way she does—slim and picturesque and every human being’s wet dream. She doesn’t get to say that you shouldn’t compare yourself, with your heavy chest and your wide hips and all your soft pockets of skin, to someone like her. To someone like Wanda. To anyone else that doesn’t need liposuction with a side of diet pills, please.

You can’t be perfect, because if you were perfect, if you were enough, you wouldn’t be dying in agony every night over someone that doesn’t look twice at your too-large stomach and your too-large thighs.

They’re just trying to make you feel better, but all it does is make you feel worse.

“Look,” you say when she’s done with your lipstick, “I get what—”

In a split second, your chest is wracked with hard coughs, lungs struggling for air. It’s choking you, your own insides, and you’re hacking and wheezing and grasping at the bathroom counter and Natasha’s hands are on your shoulders and Wanda is slapping your back in hope that it will help and someone, somewhere, is saying the word heimlich and you can taste it on your tongue like old wallpaper from the 70s, floral and disgusting and toxic and ugly.

You throw your arm over your mouth, smearing your lipstick. It doesn’t help. Natasha is looking at you, eyes wild. You’re coughing and coughing and you think you taste blood underneath the overwhelming velvet on your tongue.

They’re saying your name. Shredded petals are between your teeth.

And then you break, pushing past them to the toilet, skidding on your knees until you’re doubled over and retching. It’s all burning acid and fresh flowers. Rot and fester and earth and greenery. A pair of cool hands—Wanda’s, you think—rest upon your forehead and move your hair away from your face.

Vomit and daisies leak from your mouth until your stomach is done contracting and your insides are empty. All that’s left is your sputtering coughs that taste caustic and beautiful.

It’s getting bad.

When you finally pull away from the toilet, slumped back and wiping your mouth, the toilet is full of an explosion of crisp white and bright yellow, tinged with the faint pink of blood. Wanda is glancing back and forth between you and the unflushed toilet, horror stitched on her face.

Before Natasha approaches, a glass of tap water in hand, you lean over and flush the petals down the drain. The look you shoot Wanda is pleading, but you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

Everything on the inside hurts, burning like a pit of snakes in your belly, hissing and spitting venom and biting into you like they mean to kill you. Perhaps the daisies have grown fangs. Your lungs feel chewed.

Nat places the glass in your shaking hands, her fingers holding your own as if she knows you can’t do it yourself. She helps raise the glass to your soiled lips and you gulp the water down like it’ll flood the valley unfolding in you.

“Who is it?” she asks, her voice calm but her eyes uneasy. You nearly choke, a hand pressing against the middle of your chest as if you need to feel your lungs as they work to assure yourself of your own survival.

“What?” you barely eke out, throat thick and scratchy. One of Wanda’s hands strokes down your back and she doesn’t speak, only shakes her head.

“Who is it?” Natasha repeats.

You look away.

“God.” Wanda sniffles behind you. “How could we not have realized?”

“Because it doesn’t happen,” Nat says, shifting from crouching in front of you to sitting on her knees on the floor, a hand resting on your thigh. “I’ve never known a single person—until now, I guess—who had it. I thought it wasn’t real.”

“They tell it like a fairytale in Sokovia,” Wanda says, her words just as watery as her eyes. “A story you lull children to sleep with! But I should have seen it. We should have seen it.”

A new abundance of petals tickle the back of your throat.

“All that art,” Natasha hisses, but she isn’t looking at you. She’s glaring down at her lap.

“All the daisies,” Wanda cries. Her head drops against your shoulder. You feel the wetness of her tears.

“It’s okay,” you tell them, but your voice is too small. “It’s okay,” you say, louder this time, tasting the flowers like they are the blood of your bitten tongue.

“Who is it?” Natasha asks again, a begging in her voice you don’t think you’ve ever heard before.

“It’s okay,” you say again.

And with this, Nat’s face changes from one of concern to something of realization—like she’s been struck with a thought she never considered, like she’s seen the future.

“It’s him.” Her jaw is slack, staring at you even as Wanda looks at her with confusion etched on her visage. “You have to tell him.”

“No,” you say simply.

“This is bad,” Nat snaps, as if you don’t know it already. “This is getting bad. You need to tell him or you’re—you’re going to die.”

A laugh breaks through the bathroom, echoing. “How can I tell him? How could I ever tell him that I love him when the simple fucking fact that these flowers are growing—rooting—in my goddamn lungs is proof that he doesn’t love me the way that I love him?”

You lean back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“Sam Wilson doesn’t love me the way I love him,” you whisper.

The tips of Natasha’s fingers catch the tears you don’t feel streaking down your cheeks like the screaming of shooting stars, hot and bright and dying.

“It’s sort of beautiful, don’t you think?” Your nails dig into the fat flesh of your thighs, trying to puncture skin. “To make art of your own death. To make something lovely out of something so tragic.”

You can’t swallow it back this time. A cough wracks through you, jostling your bones, and you fold yourself in half as soft white petals emerge from your esophagus and choke you. You grind them against the backs of your teeth with your tongue, trying to mash them into nonexistence, but it’s not enough. You retch another wave of daisies into your awaiting hands.

Wanda calls your name and it sounds broken.

“Death like this,” you rasp, catching your breath, “is the most beautiful way to go.”

Your finger drags over one of the downy petals, a bead of blood catching on your skin and smearing across it like a brushstroke of paint, ruining it.

“Death like this is the only way I want to go.”

(“Hey beautiful, it’s me again. I heard you were going out with the girls tonight—I hope you have fun. I just wanted you to know that if you need a ride back home, or you get into trouble and need a hero, or anything, really, I’m just a phone call away. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I’ll be up if you need anything, at least ‘till you get home. Have fun, girl.”)

—INNOCENCE—

You’re beginning to ask yourself if the mirror lies.

It doesn’t. You know that. You’ve been trying to find the lies in it for years at this point, pinching and pulling at all the places you find are thicker than the women you see on TV, the women you see floating around the Tower, the women you’ve seen on the arms of Sam Wilson. Chubby hands caress down your soft belly, poking and prodding the skin you wish you could make disappear. The mirror never lies.

But you wish it did when you stare at yourself and all you see are the bruises beneath your eyes, the hollows in your cheeks, the drained look in your gaze. The longer you stand there, the less you recognize yourself.

You aren’t hungry anymore. You never get hungry—the flowers filling up all the space in your stomach, coughed up from your lungs and swallowed back in pieces. Perfume is what your mouth tastes like now. Perfume and iron. The vomiting hasn’t stopped since the night your secret was revealed to Natasha and Wanda.

And you’ve never looked better.

That’s the part you hate. The part where when you look in the mirror and you can see the places where those daisies have shaved you thinner. It almost makes you laugh. People say you pack on the pounds when you find love. Maybe they should try having toxic flowers take root inside of them and slowly steal their lifeforce while they watch the person they love never love them back.

It’s a slow process, this death. You wonder which will kill you first—the starvation or the suffocation.

The walk down to the gala is as equally exciting as it is dreadful. You’ve never been to a Tony Stark gala before and you’re eager to dance the night away with your friends. But you’re also exhausted.

Oh well. The makeup helps you look less like a corpse and more like a dancing queen. The dress, which you’re sure someone paid far too much money for, is part of the solution. It’s all flowy and gorgeous as if you are a Greek goddess meant to be worshipped and highlights your figure while hiding all the imperfections the mirror seemed to find.

And when you finally enter the room, classical music playing from the live band and people laughing loudly and champagne twirling about the floor for people to take, the first thing you see is him.

Grin taking up his entire face, lighting up the entire ballroom, dressed beautifully in a navy suit that makes him look utterly dashing, is Sam Wilson.

He’s surrounded by people—women who are better dressed than you are—so with a shaky breath and a pain in your lungs, you quickly turn on your heel and head toward the next familiar face.

“Woah there, doll, where you hurryin’ off to?” Bucky, hair neatly pulled back and wearing a black suit, grabs you by your waist.

“Nowhere,” you blurt. “The bar. I just got here.”

He raises a thick brow at you, a silent question, but when you choose not to answer he shrugs.

“Well I can’t refuse to escort a pretty lady, can I?” With a charming smile, he holds his elbow out to you and gestures for you to grab on. You slip your hand around his arm and grasp him tightly, shooting him a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Bucky.”

But as the two of you start dodging through the crowd of excited party-goers, on your way to the bar in the back, Bucky stops short and gets a look on his face that you’re not quite sure you can describe as mischievous, but it’s close enough to make you frown.

“Y’know what,” he says, glancing over at you with that boyish grin, “I think we should take a spin on the dance floor instead.”

“Oh no,” you tell him, eyes wide. “I can’t dance—”

He snorts. “I’ve seen you dance around the kitchen, doll.”

“I can’t dance in front of all these people.”

“Can’t is a word for losers.” Bucky closes his hand over yours, locking you to his elbow. “Don’t wanna be a loser like Stevie, do ya? Oh Buck, I can’t stop fighting, gotta teach ‘em a lesson. Oh Buck, I can’t rinse out my cereal bowl, I gotta go for a run.”

It makes you laugh, maybe a little too loud, but it eases you just enough for Bucky to pull you into the menagerie of dancing couples, and then he’s moving your hand from his arm and onto his shoulder and clasping your other in his fingers.

“There we go.” His eyes shine like the ocean sparkles under the Tower lights.

Bucky has something magic in him, you decide, after two songs of him swinging you along the floor. He has something magic that makes everything so easy, which is something so admirable after all he’s been through. He has you laughing and smiling and spinning across the room with so little effort you forget all your worries in an instant.

“See?” Bucky dips you in his arms, making you squeal with glee, collecting the stares of the people peppered around the room. “Knew you could dance, doll.”

Panting, you rest a hand on his chest, still giggling. “Only ‘cause you’re so good.”

“Song’s over, Buck,” a new, familiar voice cuts in. When you look up, Steve is standing there, eyes crinkling with his own smile. “I can’t wait for another.”

At that, Bucky rolls his eyes with such drama it has you laughing yet again.

“See? I told you. It’s all can’t this, can’t thatwith Stevie. But fine.” Bucky guides you by the waist over to Steve, passing your hand over, and then gives you one last grin with all his teeth. “I had fun, doll. Thanks for dancin’ with me.”

“Anytime,” you tell him, and then Steve’s adjusting your grip on him. The song changes from the upbeat tune Bucky was twirling you to down to a slower classical piece.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Steve asks, his eyes roaming over your face.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Bucky and I had a lot of fun.”

Steve’s grip at your waist tightens a little. “No, I mean in general. Are you doing alright?”

There’s worry there—in the wrinkles on his brow, the blue skies of his eyes, the curve of his lips. You know he’s staring at you and seeing everything the mirror told you. All the gaunt places. The hollow, haunted look you’re parading around. The weight you’ve been steadily losing. You know he sees it.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, and you wonder yet again if the mirror ever lies. You know you do.

Steve sways you gently, more carefully than Bucky had. Steve dances with you like you’re made of something fragile. You still don’t understand why. You don’t know why he ever looked at you and saw something important, someone to protect. Maybe it’s just how he was born to be.

“You can tell me anything,” he says, so seriously that your heart breaks a little.

You move your hand from his shoulder and up to cradle his cheek, smiling.

“I know, Steve. I know.”

And if he pulls you into him, crushes you against his chest, and holds you like that for the rest of the song, no one mentions it. Steve lets you rest your head on his shoulder and, not for the first time, you think this must be how it feels to have a family.

But then the lights in the ballroom brighten a little and a spark finds its way into the music, changing into something jazzy and fun, and someone slaps Steve on the shoulder.

“Alright Rogers, she’s ours now.”

There, dressed like she could kill a man with her heels alone, Natasha has her arms crossed over her black satin gown. Beside her, in a red, flowy dress, Wanda has her hands on Nat’s shoulders, giggling from all the bubbly you’re sure she’s consumed.

Steve pulls away from you with a chuckle, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright—she’s all yours, ladies.”

With that, Natasha pounces on you, and the three of you start to shimmy the night away together.

You lose count of the songs you spend dancing with them, sweaty and out of breath and having the time of your life, before you wave them off and step out onto the outside patio where hardly anyone is loitering. You pass up a couple sitting on a bench, cuddled up in the cool air of New York, and leave a man smoking a cigarette to himself.

Instead, you find a lonely bench far away enough from the gala that you can hardly hear anything but the bass strings resounding through the building. There, you sit, and turn your head up to the stars you can’t really see anymore.

“You okay, girl?”

Startled, you whirl around to face the object of your affections, standing behind you with his hands shoved casually in his pockets. He isn’t wearing his usual smile. Just staring.

And then you taste dirt. Freshly upturned soil coated in congealing blood. You cough into your hands and hear him approach, laying a warm palm on your back as you choke the daisies down and down and down, swallowing as many as you can, the pungent taste still ripe in your mouth.

“Honey,” he calls out all smooth and sharp like whiskey. “Honey, are you okay?”

You lick the blood from your lips. Sam crouches before you, gathering your cold hands in his, looking up at you with such a fucking expression that you want to kiss him so solidly he can taste the vines growing up your throat. You want his tongue to taste the soil of your suffering—the flowers of your own doom.

“I’m worried about you,” Sam says, his dark eyes searching your face for something.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, just as you’ve been telling everyone.

“You’re not looking so good these days,” he murmurs, and you recoil.

“Wow.” The hurt in your voice is so palpable it makes you cringe. “Thanks, Samuel.”

You move to get up from the bench, heart twisting, but Sam grabs your arms and cages you there.

“I didn’t mean it like that, darlin’, you know better than that.” He gives your arms—too soft too wide too fleshy too—a squeeze of reassurance. “You’re not painting much anymore either. You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Sam holds your gaze until it’s too much and you have to break away.

“C’mon, girl. Are you even sleeping?” Sam shakes you a little. “Eating?”

The flowers of evil root in your chest. See, you know how this book ends. You don’t need to read the last page to find out. It’s just as Baudelaire wrote, you know: “My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.”

Your organs have been replaced by daisies. Sam Wilson won’t love you—not tonight, not tomorrow, and not in time.

So you shrug, forcing your lips to curl into what you think might be a smile.

“I can’t paint. I’ve got too many flowers to press,” you tell him. Sam’s visage morphs into confusion, and he shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t understand. He won’t understand.

You take his arms from your body, holding his hands for a split second, long enough to steal their warmth and imagine what it would be like to hold them every single day, and then you pick yourself up off the bench and give him a wave.

“See you inside, Sam.”

And you leave him there, confusion still frozen on his face, the gritty blood ripping shreds in your damaged throat as you swallow it again and again and again in an attempt not to taste it anymore.

(“Hey, uh, it’s Sam. I was just calling to, uh, y’know, remind you about the gala. You have a date yet? I didn't ask anyone. I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. Try not to kill me with your good looks tonight, you hear? Save a dance for me, baby.”)

—THE SUN AND ALL ITS STARS—

Dishware rattles into your room, signaling Nat’s arrival. By the time you gather the energy to sit up in bed, she’s already entering, a tray of food in her hands and an icy look on her face.

“Breakfast in bed,” she says monotonously.

You shift and pull your duvet up as she fits the tray over your lap. There’s not much—a sweating glass of cold water beside an amber glass of apple juice, two slices of buttered toast, and some melon she cut up.

“Thanks,” you say, voice strained and weak.

Natasha doesn’t leave, but you wish she would. She seats herself on the edge of your bed, staring you down as you sip on your water. You purse your lips in frustration, but pick up the fork and begin to poke at the fruit.

“Eat,” she says.

“I’m trying,” you grumble back. “Stop staring at me.”

Natasha throws her hands up on the air. “Well if I don’t watch you, you’ll just sit here and waste away,” she snaps. “You’re not eating, you’re not sleeping, hell, you aren’t even coming out of your room anymore. You go to work, you come home, you don’t talk to any of us. Steve says—”

“Steve doesn’t know anything!” you shout, interrupting her. As soon as you do, her eyes narrow into slits and you shut your mouth, gulping. That wasn’t what you wanted to do.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Steve says you’re still looking for a place.” It’s eerie how calm she keeps her tone. “Leaving isn’t going to stop them, you know.”

Even now, not doing anything but staring at the food in your lap, you can taste them like a funeral home, saccharinely floral, covering the smell of death.

“I can’t stay here,” you say.

“You’re dying,” Natasha stresses. “Please. Please, I am begging, krasavitsa. I’ve not begged for much in this life. But I am begging you to please, please tell him. Tell him or consider the other option.”

Two options in the scale, tipping weights. To die or to have the roots of true love carved out of your lungs, peeled away from where they wrap around your heart.

You stab your fork into the tender flesh of the melon. It gives way so easily, letting the tines puncture it. Natasha stares at you, her gaze heavy. Your fingers fumble with the fork and it falls, clattering, to the tray of dishes.

The blood is too hard to swallow anymore—it builds up in your mouth and stains your teeth red, the petals colored pink when they fall from your lips.

“Okay,” you whisper. Maybe you don’t even say it aloud.

“Okay?” Natasha asks. You nod your head, not looking at her.

“I’ll tell him.”

It takes you hours, it feels like, to gather the courage. With all the energy you have left in your bones, muscles only satiated a little by Natasha’s breakfast, you drag yourself out of bed and to your bookshelf. It’s memorized, the place where your book sits, and you pull it out with a gentle tug of your finger.

The Flowers of Evil, its pages nearly chock-full of pressed daisies that have ejected themselves from your body, eager to find the man you love and spill all your desires to him. You thumb through it, gaze flitting over all the damn flowers that have dried in this damn book, and you close your eyes in order not to cry this time.

You press the book tight to your chest, feeling the desperate beating of your heart echo through it, and you head to Sam’s room.

The walk is long and lonely—the Tower feels empty. Devoid of people. You’re a little glad because you’re sure that anyone could see the sickness painted on your body, the illness from inside you that’s staining your outsides. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, really. The flowers are too beautiful to supplant.

And now, you’re in front of his door, a fist raised to knock, a loud buzzing in your head that keeps saying no, no, no. But your heart, traitorous thing still hammering away in your chest, it just keeps saying yes, yes, yes, finally.

Sam Wilson doesn’t love you.

But do you have any other choice except to take a garden spade to your lungs and dig them out of your chest cavity, to destroy your ribcage and break through the mulch that makes up your nervous system? Is the only option left to die at the hands of Sam or to wither away until your decomposition will feed the very things that killed you off?

You shudder a breath and knock on the door. And you wait. And wait. And wait.

He doesn’t come. He isn’t there. He doesn’t love you.

The tears come suddenly—unexpectedly. They are hot and stricken and fast. They drip off your chin and careen down your neck and dampen the collar of your shirt and your hands are trembling, grasping your book too tightly, to even begin to wipe them away.

You don’t know why you’re crying. You already know this. Sam Wilson could never love you the way that you love him. Sam Wilson is perfection, you know. He possesses the strength of gods, he radiates love, he’s passionate about every fucking thing he does. He’s beautiful. He’s everything and you are nothing when standing next to him, but you love him. You love him.

Sam Wilson doesn’t fucking love you.

“Well,” you laugh to yourself, “I can either die a fool or live a life without you.”

I can either die in love or live my life not knowing what it feels like to be in love with you.

Something tickles your tongue. You reach between your lips and pluck it from your mouth, letting it sit upon the center of your palm. Blood drips down your arm like a river, violent and sooth.

The daisy covers your entire hand, white petals tinged with pink reaching toward your fingers. The center, all yellow florets seeming to seek out warmth, are so bright and full and so big—these are too big, they could choke anyone, anyone, they are choking you.

And like them—god, just like them, just like these daisies that grow from your lungs and destroy you from inside out—you are heliotropic. Everywhere you go, you’re focused on the sun, looking for the sun, stretching toward the sun.

You need the sun.

So you crumble the daisy in your hand, fist tight, blood still easing from between your fingers. You back away from his door, then turn and break away to head back to your room in silence.

You’d rather die loving him than never getting to see the sun ever again.

(“Hey girl, it’s me. Just calling to let you know that Steve and I got called for a mission. It looks like an emergency, wheels up in ten and all that. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. To Steve, I mean. Just in case. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness.”)

—FAREWELLS—

It happens faster than you think it will. You swear you have weeks, or a month at least. You swear you have time.

Four days later, your knees buckle and slam into the wooden floor beneath you, stomach contorting and contracting, balloon finally bursting. Someone is shouting your name from the common room, something is knocked over, scrambling. You barely hear it over the sound of your own vomiting.

On your hands and knees, you stare down at the lump of flowers you couldn’t swallow back. They’re coated in a mixture of soil and blood and stomach acid, but the sweet perfume scent breaks through the rest and makes you retch again. It smells so sweet. So sickly sweet. Dead people and churches.

Did churches always smell so much like blood?

There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s pulling your hair from your face. Someone is saying something—something—something you can’t make out over the blood rushing between your ears.

You’re dying. This is it.

You collapse upon the ground, rolling onto your side, arm thrown over your mouth as if that will stop the flowers from pouring out of your body. And when you blink, trying to see through the dizziness, it’s him again.

The god of the fucking sun, your sun, mouth moving frantically as he says things you can’t hear and the little gap in his teeth that makes you feel at home when he smiles at you and his eyes, oh, Sam Wilson has eyes that set you on fire and burn you alive and you’d be happy to die like this, you’re so happy you get to die like this, so thankful that the daisies chose you, so thankful you chose him.

You were right. Death is so beautiful like this.

“It might be too late.”

Helen Cho’s heels clack on the tile of the medbay’s room as she shoos the nurse out with a wave of her hands, shaking her head. He shoots to his feet, fingers already curled into fists, and he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket to hide them.

“Too late?” It’s impossible for him to keep his voice low. “How can it be too late? What even—What’s wrong with her?”

She frowns at Sam, folding her hands together in front of her.

“It’s… rare,” she says. “Some of us didn’t think it was real, to be frank with you.”

His brow furrows. “What is it?”

“A disease caused by unrequited love,” Helen says plainly, staring straight at him. “Typically, the patient finds themselves in what is regarded to be true love, but the feelings are not returned, so they build up. It’s theorized that the stress of that creates the problem.”

Sam swallows and it tastes like vomit. “Unrequited love?”

She ignores him, continuing, “The part that is normally so hard to believe is that flowers begin to grow inside the patient, the roots puncturing their lungs and creating masses that eventually will suffocate their host.”

It’s a bag of bricks to his stomach. A super soldier punch to the gut. A bomb blown up in his face. Sam doubles over, clutching his middle, trying to breathe again. He can’t breathe at all. The flowers. The flowers.

“It seems she was swallowing them in an attempt to save herself,” Helen explains. “It’s what kept her alive much longer than she should have been. But now, I don’t know. It may be too late to save her. If she’d just said something earlier, than the surgery might have been able to stop it, but—”

“Surgery?” Sam asks, still gasping for breath. “What surgery?”

“You can extract the roots,” she tells him, glancing at the sleeping woman in the sickbed. “It’s a difficult procedure but it would have saved her. But, from the very little research we have on it, removing the roots also removes the feelings entirely. The love that the patient has disappears. They aren’t able to ever feel anything for that person ever again.”

He falls back into the plastic chair, his limbs numb. Or, at least that’s what he wants to do. But Sam doesn’t. He steadies himself, crosses his arms over his chest, plants himself so firmly there in the hospital room that he doesn’t think an earthquake can move him, and looks at her.

She’s sleeping, but she doesn’t look at peace. Her eyes, lovely things, are sunken in and it makes him so mad. Her collarbones have shadows beneath them and he feels fury wracking his own bones. And how long has it been since he’s seen her smile?

“Do the surgery,” he demands.

“You know I can’t do that without her consent,” Helen says, sighing.

“Then I’ll wait until she wakes up and get her consent,” he seethes through a locked jaw.

Helen’s face doesn’t change. “She might not wake up.”

“She will.”

Sam doesn’t get it. He understands—in a way—but he doesn’t really get it. He knows why she wouldn’t want to get a surgery like that. But he loves—he loves just as fiercely as she does, and that’s why he understands. Why he knows.

So why did the flowers pick her? Why would they pick her and not him?

Helen glances down at her feet, says nothing, and turns to exit the room. He’s left there in the silence, with the crowing of the machine keeping her alive to punctuate all his thoughts. If there is one thing he hates in the world, it’s feeling helpless.

He lowers himself in the plastic seat, leans his head back against the wall, and closes his eyes.

“You’ll wake up,” he says to her, but he can’t look at her.

Or maybe he’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream.

There’s a soft rapping of knuckles on the door, and it opens slowly and quietly, and Sam has to lock his fingers around the arms of his chair to keep from jumping up and sending a right hook right at Steve’s face.

“How’s she doing?” Steve has the audacity to ask, has the audacity to look worried, has the audacity to pull up another plastic seat next to Sam.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mutters under his breath, spite burning his tongue.

Steve glares at him. “Yeah, that’s why I asked. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is you, Rogers.” Now, Sam can’t help but stand, towering over the super soldier. He immediately grabs Steve’s arm and hauls him out of his chair, through the door, and out into the hallway. Steve stumbles, a hand on the wall, and Sam’s nostrils flare.

“How could you do this to her?”

“Me?” Steve sounds genuinely taken aback, but Sam doesn’t buy it. “What are you talking about? Helen told me—”

“I thought you loved her, too!”

He really did. That’s why Steve brought her to the Tower, didn’t he? That’s why they go out for lunch every other week and why Sam never gets a chance to take her out himself. Why he always makes sure to say goodbye to her before a mission, like he doesn’t want to leave her behind. He really thought Steve loved her too. If he had thought for one second that Steve didn’t love her...

“What?” Steve’s jaw slackens. “Not like that! She doesn’t—She’s not in love with me, Sam!”

He pants, unable to catch the breath that’s leaving him like a slow leak.

“Then who the hell is she in love with?”

Steve stares at him, a look that Sam can’t recognize, can’t name, in his eyes. Steve stares at him and smooths his hand down his beard, shaking his head.

“She’s in love with you,” he says, and Sam chokes.

Because all the pretty things in his world lead back to her and man, if she loved him, it would all be so perfect that he would never want to leave it. He would never want to say goodbye. He’d ask god and anyone else who would listen to grant him a deathless life so he could look at her forever, with no end in sight, because he would. He would. Sam would love her forever.

“No,” he says, a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “That can’t be true.”

“It’s true,” Steve says.

“That’s impossible.” He backs up, against the wall, holding his head in his hands and staring at the floor. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true,” Steve repeats, staring past Sam and through the window of the medbay’s room to look at her, lying so still in her bed. “I know it is.”

“Steve, I’m in love with her,” Sam confesses, an ache in his chest. “It can’t be me. I’m in love with her. I’m so fucking in love with her.”

A heavy hand clasps his shoulder, and when Sam looks up, his breathing unsteady, Steve has a look of regret smeared all over his face.

“But does she know that?”

And, for the first time in years, Sam cries.

(“It’s me. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”)

—SINCERITY—

Sam Wilson thinks she’s starlight.

When she first arrives she’s a collection of stars and their ashes, explosions and deaths, supernovas and black holes and earthbound meteorites.

What he means by that is she’s covered in bruises but she’s so beautiful, and he wants to gather her in his arms and tell her it’s going to be okay.

Steve introduces her, and Sam tries to bite his tongue, but all his words pour out of him anyway as she holds out a hand to him and he takes it, soft and trembling, and he knows she’s special somehow. She’s special.

“You’re the prettiest thing I think I’ve ever seen,” he says, and he means it, but she ducks her head and tries to hide the little smile on her face.

Sam Wilson thinks the world of you. But even when the bruises fade, you’re still left with all the land and the water and the galaxies hidden in your eyes when he catches your gaze, and he looks at you and he swears that you’re reaching into his chest and taking his heart in your small hands and squeezing him dry. You have realms inside of you, he’s sure, all the worlds and all their wonders. But you—you look at Steve like that sometimes, and then Sam is just grateful that you even let him breathe in your general atmosphere.

He can fly, sure, but he certainly isn’t an astronaut, so this is about the closest he can get to you.

(“Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice messaging system. This number is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”)

—TRUE LOVE—

The first thing you see is the ceiling, hazy and sleep-filtered, but it looks just like the ceiling in that bathroom, back in Danny’s apartment, back when you thought the pain of love was bone crushing, before you knew the pain of love was slow suffocation.

It makes you stutter back to life and that sends you into a coughing fit. You can still taste them—the daisies. They taste like the rawness of sunlight.

Hand pressed against your chest, your eyes dart around the room, trying to catch your bearings. There’s an IV in your arm, the bed railings are plastic, Sam is sitting in the corner, the lights are dimmed.

Sam Wilson is sitting in the corner.

You gasp, looking at him, and he’s staring right back at you, a familiar book in his hands.

Sam Wilson is sitting beside your bed, holding The Flowers of Evil, and the look on his face is far from happy to see you. It’s not anger. And it’s not sadness. It just… is. And Sam is never “just” anything.

Even if he thinks that sometimes, like the times when he calls you and says, “It’s just me,” as if he isn’t something special, so important you can’t live without him in your life.

Well, you can’t live with him, either.

After a solid minute, Sam looks down at the book between his dark hands, and he begins to sift through the pages. He stops sometimes, lingers on the sheets of dried daisies that have been pressed, their color leaking onto the text only slightly. But then he moves forward, searching for something. You don’t know what.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, throat sore when you speak.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

Your teeth gnash together, bite into your bottom lip, worry a sore there as he doesn’t look at you. He just keeps flipping through the book as if he didn’t just thrust a dagger straight through your heart, as if it isn’t beating so fast and hard like it’s trying to stay alive. You feel like you can’t breathe and you don’t know if it’s the flowers crawling out of your lungs and trying to get to him or if it’s the fact that he knows.

You can’t answer him.

Sam stops on a page, his finger trailing over the script, and then he begins to read.

“And yet

to wine, to opium even, I prefer

the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself;

and in the wasteland of desire

your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.”

“Les Fleurs du Mal,” he says, shutting the book with a thump and striking his palm with it. “Baudelaire sure had a lot to say, didn’t he?”

Your mouth is suddenly so dry. There’s a pink pitcher of water next to the bed, just like a hospital would have, and you reach weakly for it. Sam grabs it immediately, pouring you a cup, and passing it gently to you. You gulp what you can down through the straw, hardly breathing.

When you finally feel like you aren’t going to cough your lungs up into your hands again, Sam takes the cup back from you, and embarrassment is a cold shiver down your spine.

He sits back down beside you, looking straight at you. “Do you want to get the surgery?”

Your lips part to speak, but he interrupts.

“Be honest.”

Chewing your lip, you take a deep breath. “No. And I never planned on it, either.” From the corner of your eye, you see his jaw tighten.

“Why not?”

“Because what is a life without the fucking sun, Sam?” The words are spat from your mouth. “A life spent not loving you—not knowing you, not feeling you anymore—it wasn’t worth it. Because I love you, Samuel Wilson. I have loved you since the day I met you and you told me—told me I was pretty for some goddamn reason. And I’ve loved you every day since. I love everything about you and there is not a single iteration of life that I would want to live if it meant not loving you.”

This time, nothing tastes like blood. It’s all just daisies, like they’re populating your mouth, changing the way your tongue works, turning to paste in your teeth. It’s so strong that it hurts. Like you’re eating paper valentines and crying too many tears as you say goodbye to a body in a casket.

But it’s beautiful and lovely and gorgeous because you swear that, somewhere beneath it, you can taste what you think love might taste like.

Sam doesn’t speak and it hurts, but it tosses your book down on the side table and reaches into his pocket and it still hurts. He pulls out his phone. You swallow down the rising earth in your chest.

He pulls out his phone—no, it’s your phone. He turns the screen toward you and punches in your password. You furrow your brows. When did he learn your password? But it doesn’t matter, really, because he just swipes to your call log and pulls up your voicemails. And then he begins to play them.

“Hey there darlin’, it’s just me. I couldn’t find you anywhere—where you at? I thought we could go pick some up and I’ll hang ‘em up. You need me and I’ll be there, ‘kay honey? I, uh, I wanted to ask this girl, but uh, I ended up waiting too long and I’m a little late so… I’ll see you there, honey. I wanted to catch you before we gotta go, in case you wanted to say goodbye. I need to tell you something. Even if it will hurt, even if it will destroy—destroy what we have, I don’t know. I’ll catch you later, darlin’. Have fun, girl. Save a dance for me, baby. Take care of yourself while I’m gone, sweetness. But I need to tell you, baby. I need to.”

The sobs fall from the broken seal of your lips, loud and crashing, like a waterfall. Your hand, shaking and weak, comes up to try to cover your mouth, but Sam lunges forward and catches your wrist in gentle fingers.

He’s looking at you like you’re everything—and you know, you know now that you are—to him.

“You’ve been saying that this whole time?” you ask, a laugh bubbling up from your lungs. No flowers retch up your throat.

Sam smiles, lips pulling back to reveal that gap in his front teeth.

“You haven’t been listening, baby girl. I’ve been tryin’ to tell you I love you for months.”

He rests his forehead upon yours, and as close as he is, all you can smell now is the spice of his cologne. Nothing smells floral.

“I never would have thought,” you whisper. “I was sure—so sure—that you didn’t love me. I thought because of the flowers, I thought that meant for sure that you didn’t love me. I mean, why would you? Why would you ever love someone like me?”

“Honey,” he says, so softly, “you’re starlight.”

Tears flood your cheeks and Sam cups your face in his large hands, wiping them away with gentle thumbs.

Sam Wilson is sunlight. You never considered that you could be starlight.

“Why wouldn’t I love you, darlin’? You’re so good, so gorgeous, so perfect.” He laughs and it makes you laugh too, but it comes out like a sob. Your heart feels lighter. “But you’ve never considered yourself worthy of love before, have you?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

He hushes you, soothes you, smooths his palms over the planes of your face and over your hair,

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and the memory of every single time he’s kissed your forehead like this flashes through your mind, an electric current, and you wonder how you never saw it before now.

“I love you,” you say, and this time, your lungs don’t feel as though they will burst from the pressure, the roots, the vines twined around them. You don’t feel choked by petals. You don’t taste blood in the back of your mouth.

“I know,” he says, “and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my days with you convincing you that you are worthy of love, honey. Because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

When he presses his lips to yours, he doesn’t taste like flowers. Not like the daisies that wrote your death sentence. He tastes like golden pools of sunlight, warm and wanting. This is your heliotropism. You are a magnet for him, Sam Wilson, god of the fucking sun.

And maybe he’s phototropic, always drawn to you, moving toward your starlight.

(“Hey, it’s me. Sorry I missed your call! I’m on my way home now, and guess what? I have a surprise for you. It’s a bit ironic, but I think you’ll like it. What do you think of the name Daisy for a baby girl?”)

[mxndoscyarika]

Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!Reader) | Chapter 11: La Mañana Dorada

Author’s note: We’ve made it, everyone! This is the last “official” chapter of the story 🥺 Up next will be the epilogue, which is the moment that inspired this entire series! Thank you to everyone who’s been so supportive of this story and embraced this Chinese reader insert ❤️ Happy New Year!

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): smut (first third or so, it’s over by the time breakfast rolls by!), food/drink (breakfast lol), restrictive family mention

You woke to sunlight slipping between the blinds, gold streaking across the nest of blankets and pillows that you and Javi built the night before.

It was late by the time you had arrived back at the apartment complex, and you weren’t ready to leave Javi’s arms just yet. You weren’t sure if you ever would be. Not truly. So, naturally, you both wandered into his apartment for the night.

“Good morning,” Javi murmured, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

You smiled and nestled yourself closer to him. “Good morning.” A soft laugh left your lips as you felt him pressing against you. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Maybe.” He nuzzled your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin. Warmth bloomed in your belly as you imagined how he would feel between your thighs. “I can’t help it, sweetheart. I love waking up with you.”

You reached back to sift your fingers through his brown locks. “Shall we take care of that?”

He hummed softly, his hand sliding up your belly to trace circles around your nipple. At your airy moan, he said, “I want to feel you, baby. I want…” His other hand slid under your parties and tapped your swollen clit. “I want to feel you cum around me. Want to take care of you, baby.”

“Please,” you begged, arching into his hands. “I want to see if you can make me cum like this.”

He chuckled softly. “Oh, I know I can. And you must know too...you’re soaked, honey. Is this for me?”

You gasped as his fingers dipped into your folds, the wet sounds heard even through layers of blankets. They filled you deliciously, better than yours ever could, but you wanted more. You wanted something thicker, harder, and longer.

“Please,” you begged again, clenching around his fingers when he pinched your nipple. “I need you inside me.”

“Shhh,” he hushed. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The angle took your breath away. No matter how many times you’d taken him, he always stretched you until you could feel every vein and throb. The tip of his cock was seated right by your g-spot, and every clench around him nearly sent you over the edge.

“So sensitive,” he murmured between kisses. His hands circled your nipples as if they were your clit, rubbing and squeezing them until you felt sparks in your lower belly. Seated inside you, he could feel that you were close. He smiled against your skin as you whimpered and keened against him. “Come on, baby. You can do it.”

You came at the sound of his voice, your body testing up and squeezing around him. The feeling of his cock throbbing and rubbing against your g-spot only prolonged your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, slipping a hand down to your clit. He chuckled darkly as you bucked your hips into his hand for more. “Cum for me again, sweetheart. Give me all you’ve got.”

“Fuck!” White ecstasy blinded you as you came again, gushing around his cock and soaking his fingers. Your body vibrated from pleasure as he just kept going.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, pushing deeper inside you. The usually smooth thrusts of his hips stuttered as your walls fluttered around him. “Let it all out. Milk my cock.”

“Please,  Javi,” you whimpered, holding his hand in place so he couldn’t leave your clit. “I want you to fill me. Please.”

With a growl, he pulled you against his chest and buried himself to the hilt, thick ropes of his cum painting your walls. He tucked his face against your neck as he let his orgasm wash over his body, his hips bucking slightly in the aftershocks.

You couldn’t help but smile as you felt his warmth fill you up, and lifted your hand to bury your fingers in his hair. “You did so well, honey.”

A huff of laughter. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Humming softly, you snuggled closer to him. “With you? Always.” You smirked. “Though we do like to make a mess, don’t we? We should probably get cleaned up and change the sheets.”

Cleaning up was a quick affair, a nearly normal routine that you’d fallen into since your relationship became official. While you washed up in the bathroom, Javi stripped the sheets off the bed and put them aside to wash. Then, you’d switch and put on fresh sheets while he got ready for the day. More often than not, you finished before he did, which always led you back to the bathroom. Back to him.

“I could get used to this view,” you mused, watching as Javi scrambled some eggs in a pan with chopsticks. Though he wasn’t much of a cook, it made you proud to see that he was expanding his collection of utensils. “You should cook more often, baby.”

“Unless you want to eat eggs on toast for the rest of your life, I’m not so sure you want that,” he teased, bringing over plates piled with glistening eggs and buttered toast.

“Well, I’m sure you could learn how to cook a couple more things,” you laughed. For someone that loved food and exploring local restaurants, it was a wonder that he couldn’t cook. Though you couldn’t blame him; work didn’t always leave much time for cooking. “Like...scrambled egg and tomato with rice It’s just as easy as this.”

“I’ll learn just for you,” he said, turning off the stove and bringing over the plates of toast and eggs. “But until then, I hope these will do.” You two ate quietly, basking in the morning haze. The eggs were fluffy and seasoned with dashes of soy sauce, and the toast was crisp but buttery.

Javi said your name softly.

You looked up from your plate, meeting his dark brown eyes. “Yeah?”

He gulped, then said, “When this is over, when we can go home, I want you to come with me to Laredo. You can meet my papá. We can also go see your family. You always tell me about your grandma, I’d love to meet her.”

You huffed out a laugh, “Are you sure? Do you think you’re ready for that?”

It would’ve been a lie if you didn’t feel a pang of anxiety. Your family wasn’t exactly the most accepting of families, to put it lightly. Hell, you had to fight tooth and nail to get to this point in your career. You knew that. Javi knew that. Those closest to you knew that every moment of self-expression was an act of defiance against your family.

Part of you didn’t want Javi to go through that; to put him through the wringer when all he wanted was to be with you. But at the same time, you couldn’t just ignore your family, just like he couldn’t ignore his.

He reached across the table to hold your hand. “Of course, hermosa. They’re your family.” A small smirk crept onto his face. “And even if they don’t like me...I’m not giving you up that easily.”

The weight lifted off your shoulders. “Then it’s settled; we’ll go home together.”

---

A few months later...

Your last visit to Medellín’s La Candelaria neighborhood didn’t feel like your last. Just like the months before, the narrow streets were packed with Chinese locals speaking in a mix of Spanish and Cantonese. The elderly couple’s herbal shop still stood proudly at the block across from a music school, and the Chinese restaurant with homemade potstickers and empanadas was still tucked away behind a red door with a sign that said “Abierto!”

You squinted against the glare of the sun on the street as you slid out of the car, grimacing as the thick air enveloped you. Sliding sunglasses onto your face, you turned to Javi, who was rounding the front of the car. “Shall we pay our friends a visit?”

The elderly couple at the herbal shop sprung up from their chairs behind the counter and greeted you warmly, taking your hands into theirs and showering you with compliments on how much happier you looked. You couldn’t help but dip your head sheepishly, trying to keep your cheeks from burning. Yes, you were happy. Yes, you and Javi were happy. But there was something you had to tell them.

Gently, you explained to them that you would be leaving the following week to move back to the States. Part of your heart broke as their smiles faded. They knew you moved to Colombia for work, as did Javi, but you hadn’t expected for your time to be up so soon. You weren't ready to let go of the memories you’d created in the country. The past months felt like a century weighed down with work, but as you stood with the love of your life telling your dear friends that you were leaving for good, watching their unbridled joy dimmed just slightly, it felt like only a day.

Your family had kept mostly to themselves in the States, never truly making friends or settling into a community. But you’d promised to yourself that you’d break that cycle. You had promised, and you had delivered. But no one had told you the consequences of delivering on such a promise.

“¿Y vas a regresar a los Estados Unidos con ella?” the old man asked, pointing a finger towards Javi.

He nodded, the lone dimple on his left cheek showing as he smiled shyly. “Pues, debemos visitar a mi papá también, ¿no?” He wrapped his arms around your waist in a hug, just snug enough to make the couple coo. “Va a matarme si no conoce al amor de mi vida.”

That part was still hard for you to believe as well. You were planning to land in Laredo to meet Chuco, then travel back to your hometown so your parents could meet him. You remembered the way your parents had shunned your past boyfriends, finding every reason under the sky to hate them. Looking back, maybe they were right. But for once, you had let yourself find happiness without their approval. What if, even then, they didn’t accept him?

Laughs filled the small shop as the old couple reminisced about your and Javi’s first visit, and how you had started out as nothing more than acquaintances far away from home. And, of course, how you two worked together to bring home a little closer.

Your eyes glistened with laughter as the old lady lectured Javi about the Chinese family customs. His wide eyes told you enough about his experience in bowing and serving your parents tea. Perhaps you’d tell him more about it during the flight.

You wished you could spend hours with the couple, gossiping and digging up memories like aunties having yum cha. In your time living in the area, they had gone to the local dim sum house for exactly that, chatting over steaming baskets of dumplings and flagging down waitresses from across the restaurant. But it was the weekend, and you were not the only patrons that needed attention.

Familiar glass jars lined the aisles like memories as you took one last stroll through the store. In the place where it all began.

Translations:

“¿Y vas a regresar a los Estados Unidos con ella?” You’re going back to the United States with her?

“Pues, debemos visitar a mi papá también, ¿no? Va a matarme si no conoce al amor de mi vida.” Well, we should also visit my father, right? He’ll kill me if he doesn’t meet the love of my life.

Tagging:

Permanent taglist: @cinewhore @randomness501 @theghostwiththemost-babe @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @miraclemoreno @halfwaythereroyal @fioccodineveautunnale @talesfromtheguild @tortles @ladamari68 @theokatcov @snivellusim @starryluce @inked-poet @browneyes-djarin @shedobewritingalittle @chews-erotically @thefandomimagines @emesispo @bitchin-beskar @phoenixhalliwell @nerdypinupcrystal @dishonouringmycow

Red Sunsets taglist: @engineeredfiction @reylo-hope @yespolkadotkitty @geistbuster @far-too-tired-to-exist @faiinally @promiscuoussatan @thewaythisis @earl-01 @honestlystop @dishonouringmycow @chibi-liz05 @thedazeinmylife @babybelou

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

summertime sadness .5.

work day

Sequel to kiss me in the d-a-r-k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (masterlist under construction)

Warnings: dub con sex (fingering)

This is dark!(dad)Steve and dark(professor!)Bucky explicit. 18+ only. I know they aren’t super dark, but like questionable so I’m keeping those tags just to be safe.

Summary: Loki adds to your workload.

Note: Right, here we go, here we go, here go again. Girls, what's my weakness? Men! Sorry, minor detour there but are we ready for the darkness? Y'all hold onto your panties. Thanks everyone for their support and I love you all! 💋

<3 Let me know what you think in a reblog, reply, or like. I’m loving the feedback from y'all and the enthusiasm! Also as always, memes accepted.

💋💋💋

You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, the scene flashed behind your eyelids. Loki standing over you, the image on his phone, his hand on your chin. And then you thought of Bucky. It was hard not to; your phone buzzed all night as you ignored his messages. Steve’s too. It had finally caught up to you and it felt worse than you could imagine. A man you admired thought you nothing more than a floozy. Well, maybe you were.

Saturday shone through your window and you rolled over. You were exhausted; mentally, emotionally. Your hours were spent reprimanding yourself. Going over all your mistakes; every single choice that had led to such disaster. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You moved slowly, your body cramped from the tension.

The grind of your coffee machine filled the apartment as you sat at your desk. A mark of your guilt. A gift from one illicit lover; another having defiled you a top it. A year ago, to think of all that had transpired, you would’ve been appalled. You were. You’d sold your integrity for fleeting pleasures. You felt cheated. By yourself more than any.

You filled a mug and grabbed your phone from beside your bed. You hadn’t looked at it since you laid down the night before. Missed calls, unanswered texts, unread emails. You answered Bucky first, a simple ‘I wasn’t feeling well. Sorry.’ Besides, he had plans with Tanya, or was busy dodging her.

You texted the same to Steve and his response was swift. Your phone vibrated as his ID flashed across the screen and you answered the call after several rings. You were weak, breathless.

“Hey,” You said quietly and sipped your coffee.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“Fine,” You lied poorly. “Work’s kept me busy and… I guess it’s gotten ahead of me.”

“Oh,” He uttered. “Any plans today?”

“Rest,” You shrugged and sat back in your chair. “After I sort through all my work emails and catch up.”

“Bucky?” He asked.

“I… I’m tired.” You grumbled. “I… need a break.”

“I’m sure work would understand if you took a day to yourself.” Steve said.

“No, no, I can’t do that,” You said suddenly. “I wasn’t talking about work.”

“What do you--”

“You shouldn’t be calling me. You should call Kylie. See how she’s doing.” You interrupted. “And Bucky should worry about his students. About marking and whatever. And I need to think about myself and my job.” You stood and paced around the small space of your apartment. “I’m sorry but… you said it yourself. It’s okay to be selfish, so I’m going to be selfish and think about my future because fucking old men isn’t going to get me anywhere.”

You hung up before he could respond. And then your heart sank. Why had you said that? It all had spilled from you so quickly. You cringed and your phone began to buzz again. It was Steve. You let out a shaky breath and dismissed the call. You set your phone to do not disturb’ and tossed it on your bed. Maybe your words were rash but it didn’t make them any less true.

💋

Monday. You walked into Adder Press with a pit in your stomach. You were jittery from more than your morning coffee. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly as you passed Stacey. Everything around you seemed distant, obscured by the haze that fell over you. You sat at your desk, numb, and began to set out your stuff as you always did. In a desperate attempt to make it all feel normal again.

As you waited for your computer to boot, you felt a subtly weight on the back of your chair. You looked up at Loki as he gripped the chair and smirked down at you. You blanched and your pen slipped from your hand. He bent to grab it before you could and as he rose, he dragged the lid against your leg. He held it out and you snatched it from him.

“Morning meeting in five,” He said as he stood before you. “Then I wanted to go over layout with you. A useful lesson if you ever hope to be anything more than a freelancer. You have to have a good eye… for detail.”

You gulped and nodded. “Yes, okay, yeah.” You set the pen down on your desk. “Five minutes.”

He winked and left you there to stew in your shame. You glanced around but no one else seemed to notice your tense interaction. They were all too concerned with their own schedules, their own presence at the meeting. Really, who cared much about the summer intern?

You were antsy as you walked into the conference room. You hid between Vanessa, a political pundit, and Jory, who covered local business stories. Loki sat near the head of the table as the marketing head went over the final prints of the Pride issue. You folded your hands before you but couldn’t concentrate. 

Your eyes wandered from the powerpoint and you found the editor-in-chief peering over at you. Another sinister grin sent a chill through you. You looked back to the screen and prayed for the day to go quickly. Your heart felt as if it would explode.

When you broke out, you dragged your feet and were the last out of the room. You lingered at your desk as you grabbed your notebook and pen. Loki’s office beckoned to you ominously. He stood in the doorway watching you; waiting for you. You neared him as his lips curled.

He shut the door and you jumped at the click. He brushed past you before he rounded his desk. He pulled a chair with him and placed it beside his. He waved you over. You took a breath and crossed to him. As you sat, he pinched your ass and you pressed your lips together to keep from yelping.

His hand settled on your thigh as his other moved his mouse. He opened a page from last month’s issue and kept his eyes on the screen as he kneaded your leg. “We’ll go over composition. How to draw the reader’s eye and using layout to enhance your words.”

You nodded stiffly and shakily opened your notebook. He kept his hand on your thigh as you place the book on his desk and uncapped your pen. He circled the title with his cursor, entirely unfazed by your discomfort. His fingers slipped closer to your pelvis.

“Titles are easy but you’ll want to position them according to article type as well. Is it an editorial? Review? Reflective?” He continued. “Now, most editors would leave this to marketing and such but… I try to be hands on with every aspect of my business. My seal is on every page, ever word, that goes out.”

You scribbled down a jumble of words as his hand slid between your thighs and he squeezed. You flinched and he let out a soft chuckle under his breath. You kept your wide eyes on the monitor and he carried on his lesson. His hand never quite reaching its target. He was teasing you. Asserting the new power he held over you.

When he finished his spiel, he drew away and turned his chair to face you. His legs were far apart and you tried not to look at the obvious bulge in his pants. You kept your head down as you slipped your notebook down onto your lap. 

“I’ve got an important lunch date tomorrow,” He said. “I should like you to accompany me, darling.”

You peeked up at him. “Okay.”

“Sceptre Press is looking to expand its mediums. The director of Celestial has agreed to discuss a partnership.” He said coolly.

“Oh?” You breathed. “They… do podcasts?”

“Mostly,” He confirmed. “But, my dear, do wear something nice. A skirt.”

You crossed your legs. Your straight-cut pants felt thin enough. “Alright.”

“No panties.” He licked his lips. “Our little secret… well, another one, yeah?”

“Okay.” You said. You bit down and your pen rolled out of your grasp once more. 

His eyes followed the pen and flicked back to you. “Well, go on,” He mused. “Very… clumsy today.”

You bent to retrieve your pen and he caught the back of your head. He held you there and rolled his chair closer so that his lap was only inches from your face. He snickered as you tried to pull away but quickly gave up. His other hand stretched over his crotch and he grasped his erection through the thin fabric of his trousers.

“I could make you do it right now,” He slithered. “Hmm?”

“Yes,” You uttered. 

“I’m tempted,” He rubbed himself and shifted his hand as he pushed you closer. “Kiss it.” You closed your eyes and kissed his bulge. He shivered and let you go. You sat up, dizzy, and he grinned at you. “Not yet.” He preened. “But I do have to take care of this…” He ran his hand across his lap again. “So if you would excuse me. I am certain you have work to catch up on.”

You stood and back away slowly. “Yes, sir.” You turned as you rounded the desk.

“Sir? I like that,” He called from behind you as you neared the door. “Oh, darling, one more thing.”

You spun back to him and shielded your chest with your notebook. “Yes?”

“I’ll need some inspiration so before you sit down, go to the lav and take a nice photo for me.” He made a show of unzipping his pants behind his desk. “I bet you’re wearing a sweet little white bra, aren’t you? Maybe a precious pink number?”

Your throat tightened as you stared back at him. “Okay.” You forced out. “Is that all?”

“For now,” He shooed you away with a wave of his fingers. “As you will.”

💋

You had few skirts to choose from. You settled on a lavender one that ended just above your knees. With it, you wore a blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a grey blazer with three-quarter length sleeves. It wasn’t as enticing as any other outfit you owned; which was not at all. Perhaps that would work in your favour.

When you arrived at the bistro, Loki waved you ahead of him as you followed the hostess to your booth. You slid across the bench first and he was close behind. He took out his phone and checked it before he set it face down on the table. He asked for water and nothing else.

Your leg shook under the table nervously. He grabbed your thigh to still you. The waitress returned and he thanked her, his hand still on your leg. When she departed, his fingers slowly gathered your skirt. You reached to pull it back and he tssked.

“Our associate has informed me she’s running late.” He grinned. “About twenty minutes or so.” You squirmed as his hand slipped beneath your hem. “I think we can fill our time accordingly.”

“L--Mr. Laufeyson,” You gasped. “Someone might see.”

“They’d have to be watching us very closely,” He leaned against you as his fingers crawled along the top of your thigh. “Now,” He shoved his hand between your legs roughly. “Let’s have some fun, darling.”

You parted your legs reluctantly and he tickled along your cunt. You grabbed the edge of the table and your eyes searched frantically. The other diners were occupied with their own meals, their own company. You felt as invisible as you had back at the office. He rubbed you slowly. He lifted his glass with his other hand as he continued.

“After our meeting, I think we’ll head back to the office and call a conference. We’ll need ideas for prospective podcasts,” He swirled his fingertips and you let out a long breath between your teeth. “Of course, if this all goes to plan.”

You whimpered as you felt yourself getting wet. His fingers glided easily along your folds as he spread your arousal. You planted your elbow on the table and held your chin as you bit your lip. Mortified, you tried to hide your face.

“Uh uh,” He grabbed your wrist and shoved it down as his fingers dipped inside you. “Look at me.”

You leaned back against the booth as you looked over at him. He smirked as he moved his fingers steadily in and out of you. He pressed his palm to your clit and the sensation made your legs shake again.

“Is this what you like? Sneaking around?” He taunted. “Is this what he does, hmm? Or maybe he bends you over his desk?”

“Mr. Lauf--” You swallowed down a moan and clapped your hand over your mouth.

“I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it,” He sped up and your thighs squeezed his hand. “Are you going to cum? Here in front of everyone? In the middle of this restaurant?”

Your eyes rounded and you grabbed his shoulder pleadingly. You couldn’t speak, afraid you would cry out instead.

“You like being a naughty little girl, don’t you?” He curled his fingers and you heard a subtle squelch as your walls twitched around him. 

You bared your teeth and latched onto his arm. You rocked your hips without thinking as you came. You let out a shuddery breath and he slid his fingers out of your cunt, sure to drag them along your folds. He untangled his arm from your grasp and you fell back against the seat and pushed down your skirt.

He raised his hand and ran his wet fingers over your lips. He pressed against your mouth until you opened it. He stared into your eyes as he made you suck your own cum off his knuckles. He withdrew them and used a napkin to wipe away your saliva.

“It is a pity, however, that this lunch should set you behind, darling,” He crossed his legs and drank from his water again. “You will have to stay late tonight… to catch up.”

“Yes, sir,” You ceded.

He smirked and looked around. A moment of silence before he perked up and stood. He buttoned his jacket so it hid his bulge and greeted the tall woman who approached you. He shook her hand with the same one he’d just had between your legs. You stood in kind. Your legs felt weak.

“Valerie,” He purred. “Thank you for fitting us in today.”

“Us?” She looked between you. “And sorry about the delay. Traffic was… traffic.”

“My intern,” He introduced you by name, “She’s shadowing me for the day. To get an idea of the business and all its little quirks.”

You shook her hand and you sat down as she did the same. The server was quick to appear and offer you menus. You eagerly took yours, hoping to hide behind it for the rest of the meal. Especially as that familiar and irresistible tingle nestled in your core.

[noodlecupcakeswritings]

A Test of Faith - Chapter 1 (A Priest AU) Kylo RenxOC)

Father Ren has been tasked with looking after the new arrival Sister Cora. Is it lust in the air or a test from God?

Look this fic is pure fucking depraved priest kink porn. There is no plot. Just porn. I have no excuse. And sorry for starting yet another fic when I already have ongoing ones…but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. Thanks to @ohiobluetip for inspiring this one, she’s a babe and you should check out her work. I also wanna thank my love @jana-banana-fana for helping me with this one. 

Please leave comments, kudos and reblogs if you like it.

Warnings: Language, Sexual thoughts, Sexual fantasies, Sexual dreams, Inappropriate thoughts/fantasies/dreams, Finger licking, Kylo literally getting turned on by how she smells, Kylo is horny and needs to chill, Cora is too innocent for her own good, 

Chapter 1

Kylo Ren

We were due to expect the arrival of Sister Cora sometime this afternoon. She was transferring to our church at the request of the Bishop. Snoke was looking to expand our teachings and our flock and Sister Cora would be the latest addition. Other than that she was a complete mystery, Snoke hadn’t told any of us much about her. Although he had assigned me to be her guide for her first week, someone to help her navigate her way around the abbey and make her as comfortable as possible. A room had been prepared for her earlier today by the other sisters. I had completed my usual duties and now all I could do was wait. Perhaps I could read to pass the time, it couldn’t hurt to refresh my memory of the verses bound by black leather. Flipping to my marked page I got myself comfortable amongst the pews and started to read.

I got through a few pages before there was a soft knock at the giant wooden entrance doors. Snapping my bible shut, I got to my feet and turned to greet whoever it was. “Hello?” Came a female’s voice. It was a sweet voice, tinged with curiosity. There at the doors stood a nun, struggling to carry a heavy looking suitcase. She was bathed in sunlight, giving her an almost angelic glow. “Hello, sister,” I responded, making my way over to her. This had to be her. Sister Cora. I stood a few steps from her now, unburdening her from her suitcase. I couldn’t look away from her, she had to be an angel sent by God himself. Her veil perfectly framed her heart shaped face. Her face was a kind one, youthful and pretty.

Her forest green doe eyes were something I could lose myself in for hours. I followed the delicate line of her nose down further to her pink plush lips. Her lips curved upward into a smile wide enough to show her perfect porcelain teeth. Her small dainty hand was held out for me to shake. I clasped her tiny hand in my free one, shaking it. I couldn’t help but notice just how small her hand was in my own. She was a few inches shorter than me, but my height didn’t seem to intimidate her like it had others. “Father Ren I presume?” She asked. “Yes.” “Wonderful. It’s lovely to meet you. The Bishop mentioned you’d be here to receive me.” Oh how I’d love to receive her. There was an innocence around her, a blissfully ignorant innocence. She had no idea what effect she was having on me.

Cora stepped further into the abbey, taking in her new surroundings with a hint of awe on her face. As she stepped past me, I caught a whiff of her scent and it was intoxicating. She smelt cleanly, lavender soap, fresh linen and a hint of something sweet. Something fruity. Oranges perhaps. I swallowed thickly, needing more. Cora had been talking whilst I remained in a haze, she turned back to me as if expecting an answer to her question. “Father?” She questioned. “Sorry?” Instead of seeming annoyed that I hadn’t been listening she instead just smiled and repeated herself. “How far are my quarters from the classrooms and the kitchens?” I found myself distracted again, having to wrack my brain for the correct directions. “You’re on the floor above, but it isn’t too far. I’ll show you,” I offered. “That would be very kind of you, thank you.”

Leading the way through the abbey, I made sure to not walk too quickly so she had time to remember the layout of the building and which corridor she needed to take, which corner she would need to turn, which staircase she would need to take. Eventually we reached her quarters, the room large but simple. I placed her suitcase down by the foot of her bed, considering offering to help her unpack but that would be inappropriate. They were her belongings I had no right to rifle through them. “The Bishop asked that I be your guide for the week as it’s easy to get lost here. If theres anything else you need to make your stay more comfortable please don’t hesitate to ask,” I explained. Somehow her face lit up more at this, “that’ll give us plenty of time to get acquainted.” I nodded, returning the smile before beginning the proper tour of the abbey.

I led her back downstairs and to the classrooms first. There were four classrooms in total, I assumed by her interest that Cora would be teaching the children from the local village. Whilst she looked around the classroom, my thoughts were flooded with sin. I wanted to see what was under her uniform, I wanted her in ways no man of my status should want a woman. I couldn’t help but imagine how her small hands would feel wrapped around my long thick cock. Perhaps she’d have to use both hands at once. No, I shouldn’t be having these disgusting thoughts about someone so pure. Oh but maybe that was apart of the reason I was having these thoughts. Her purity, something to be defiled, deflowered. I could be the first man to touch her. Or I could control myself and my thoughts like a decent human being. I was going to need to pray for forgiveness, for strength.

———————————————————————————————————–

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, even after praying a few times. And then there was my dreams. All about her of course. All dirty and shameful. The first one she had come to me in my office, her hands desperate and needy across my body as she begged for me to quell the ache between her legs. The second one had her kneeling before me how she would kneel in prayer only my cock was between her pretty lips. I had awoken, fully hard and aching for release. Thankfully prayer and a cold shower had washed away my sins. Perhaps this was a test from the lord. One that I could not fail.

That morning I went to check on Sister Cora, to make sure she was settling in well. I found her in the kitchen, finishing up making herself breakfast. My heart skipped a beat as she licked jam off her fingers. She sucked on her thumb the longest, savouring the sweet taste. What I’d give to…no…no. I was not going to let me thoughts get the better of me today. She noticed me, smiling softly. “Good morning father, did you sleep well?” She asked. My heart seized in panic at her question. Did she know that I’d dreamt of her? No she couldn’t possibly know. She would if I didn’t get it together though. “Fine, thank you sister. And you?” I responded. “I awoke a few times, but I suppose that was just me getting used to the new room.” “You’ll settle soon.” And hopefully so would my thoughts and feelings towards her.

Taglist: @sweetfictionalworld, @sweetsec-93, @cltex84, @momobaby227, @jana-banana-fana, @dark-night-sky-99, @warriorqueen1991​, @blackredrose27​, @jynzandtonic​, @ellelaconiwrites​

[theabandonmentissues]

EPISODE ONE TRANSCRIPT

Warning: The following podcast is for entertainment purposes only. Trespassing is not only illegal, but often incredibly dangerous. The hosts do not condone any activities that could put their listeners in harms way, and encourage you to proceed with caution and do your research before exploring the unknown. We cannot be held liable for any accidents, injury, or hauntings that may occur. Listener discretion is advised. 

(full transcript under the cut.)

E:Alright I think this is right.

Z: Is it?

E: Yeah, yeah that's right, okay.

Z: Beautiful.

E: Let me find this tweet. The first thing in my drafts, is (laughs)-

Z: I'm scared.

E: (laughs)...I remember typing this out at like 2 o'clock in the morning when I had to be up for work at five. I put, “I love not learning new pop culture terms. Love being blissfully unaware. I still am not sure what poggers means. I do not care. I am free.”

Z: (laughs)

E: And I was so tired I thought that was profound. Let's see.

Z: (continues laughing)

E & Z: (laugh)

Z: Damn. That's like our declaration of independence.

E: (laughs) I'm going to print that out on the wall.

Z: That's Gen Z's declaration.

E: Let's see, where is it? There's one about Jack Black being sexy.

Z: Yeah, and it's in the drafts, why?

E: (laughs) This one says, this one all it says, no capitalization, no punctuation is, “I want Ellen Ripley to knock me out cold.”

E: (laughs)

Z: (laughs)

E: And I live by that.

Z: That's your truth and you should speak it.

E: Okay, here it is. “Sometimes, facing your fears means letting out that earth-shattering fart in the public restroom, even if there are other occupants. Speak loud, even when your voice shakes, babes.”

Z: (laughs) Shut the fuck up.

E: (laughs)

Z: No!

E: Yeah, that one...uh, that one is in the drafts. Alright, well. You asked about an intro, and I had something that was work shopping.

Z: Oooooo...

E: Do you wanna hear it?

Z: Yes, please. Please, please.

E: Alright. Hello, welcome to The Abandonment Issues, a periodical podcast about the past, the paranormal, and the just plain perplexing. I'm your host, Em.

Z: And I'm Zack.

E: How'd you feel-

Z: The other host. (laughs)

E: How'd you feel about that alliteration?

Z: You know I love alliteration.

E: I do too, I got really excited about it.

Z: (laughs)

E: I was like dead asleep, well, I wasn't dead asleep. I was very close to being though.

Z: Right.

E: And I had that thought, and I was like “Fuck, I gotta wake up and type that.” So...

Z: It was worth it though.

E: Thank you.

Z: I like it.

E: I don't know if that'll stick, but I think-

Z: I don't know, it's a start

E: It's a good start. Yeah.

Z: Yeah. Well..

E: So.

Z: Howdy doody, how ya doing.

E: Oh god, well um, I just whacked my headphones against my mic and I think it's still vibrating. But otherwise, I'm doing great.

Z: (laughs) Well, that's good.

E: How ya been?

Z: I mean, I've been alright.

E: That's good.

Z: We haven't seen each other, I mean, we haven't like recorded-recorded in two weeks?

E: Yeah.

Z: It's been like two weeks, so.

E: Yeah, I think so.

Z: It's been a second, but yeah.

E: Oh?

Z: So.

E: This is our first official, like official recording, the other ones were just tests, so.

Z: So, it's a little different, yeah. Like Em said, we did a couple recordings, so we kind of like, dipped our toes in the water of what it's like to just get behind the mics and stuff, but again this is our first episode, and we kinda just wanted to, lean in and kind of explain why we are here.

E: Yeah.

Z: What we are going to be doing, things we are going to talk about et cetera, et cetera.

E: Yeah.

Z: So. Do you want to-let's start with the-we have a couple ice breaker questions.

E: I'm so excited.

Z: Because, okay, so, you have a college degree.

E: I do.

Z: I have college credits. So we both went to college. (laughs)

E: Yes.

Z: You know, it's fun to do the ice breaker questions when you start a class.

E: Yeah.

Z: Because, even if you don't pay attention to anything that anybody else says-

E: Someone is going to change something that changes your life.

Z: Every single time-

E: Especially, I'm sorry to interrupt.

Z: No, you're good.

E: But, especially if you are playing two truths and a lie. I have found that that is the ice breaker game that I come away changed forever, like I've learned some things about some people playing that game. Are you okay?

Z: There's a burp coming.

E: (laughs)

E: Just let 'er out.

Z: (burps) There it is. (laughs)

E: Wow, that was lovely.

Z: Not to derail, real quick, but-

E: Go for it.

Z: Have you ever used Bumble?

E: Very briefly.

Z: One of my favorite things about Bumble, is that you can do like questions or whatever-

E: And that's one of 'em.

Z: That's one of them! It really, it's really telling. And I love, cause one of my truths is always so bizarre. You know which one I am talking about, but no one ever goes for it.

E: I honestly can't-

Z: The car. *laughs*

E: Oh! Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, that one is pretty unbelievable. But-

Z: Yeah, we'll save that for another time.

E: I've seen that one, uh, I've seen the repercussions of that one in real time.

Z: Anyway.

Z: (laugh)

E: Alright, well...

Z: Episode one, we are going to expose my entire past.

E: Yeah.

Z: Okay, so. When we first kind of, started talking about the idea for this podcast, which really was just bred, I think just kind of like a joke text that I sent. Or that you sent.

E: I honestly don't even remember.

Z: It was, I mean just the, the very cliché, “We should start a podcast!” and then it just kind of went from there. Just I mean, 2020.

E: Yeah.

Z: It's nothing but boredom. When when we first started talking about, what we wanted to do with our podcast. It really just stemmed from, for me anyway, just really wanting to bring light to the history that exists here in the south.

E: Yeah we didn't really say that, we-

Z: No. (laughs)

E:...we are in the south, we are some good 'ol southern boys.

Z: Just a couple of southern boys.

E: Yea!

Z: We grew up very close to each other, as far as, location.

E: Yeah.

Z: And you know, our high schools probably taught around the same genre and path of like history.

E: Yeah.

Z: It's all white washed and gross. Bleh. But-

E: It's only getting worse, did you hear that Tennessee is like, passing laws to, how did they put it, it's so, it's such bullshit. Basically erasing any history of slavery or discrimination. I think that call it something like Radical Race Theory.

Z: Well, that's great. Welcome to our podcast where we are gonna nip all that in the butt.

E: Yeah.

Z: Because truly, like Em just stated, it's only getting worse, apparently. Jesus Christ, I hate Tennessee.

E: Yeah, I found out like a week ago.

E: Hi guys this is Em, I'm doing the editing, and I just wanted to clarify something really quick. When we were recording this episode, I misspoke and I said that this concept was called Radical Race Theory, but that is incorrect. The correct term is Critical Race Theory. So, I am sorry for that error. If you don't know what a ban like this would mean, the short version is basically, is that American lawmakers are trying to dictate and restrict what can and can't be taught in public schools about the history of systemic racism and slavery in the United States. I'm going to include some links in our resources for the episode where you can learn more about this and we really encourage you to check those out and do your research, because this is obviously an important part of American history for everyone. To erase these topics from lesson plans, really presents a biased and skewed version of events. Anyway, I'm sorry for that error and I hope you enjoy the rest of the episode .

Z: There's just so much history and just stories that are just passed down even by even just word of mouth-

E: Mmhmm

Z:...down here in the south. That literally no one knows about.

E: Yeah.

Z: I think that's, that really is what piqued our interest. When we were throwing around the idea of this podcast to begin with, it really was just like, “We're gonna find an abandoned building, we're going to dig into the research of it, and we're going to talk about this abandoned place.” And from what we are now, it's really expanded to literally just like a history lesson.

E: History, I think it's important to not only to cover the actual facts, but also, I think, not necessarily, like fiction and urban legends and that kind of thing. I think that sort of thing has a lot to do with like story telling, and the culture of the area like-

Z: Right.

E:..like there are, you know, you have things from like, the stories that your grandmother would tell you to keep you from being a little shit when you were a kid.

Z: (laughs)

E: Or, you know, why if there's like an anecdote for why is the sky blue, how did this mountain range be formed. Y'know I think stuff like that is really interesting. When you're driving along some random ass back road and you see an old house, and you think, “Huh, I wanna know the history of that place.” That is the kind of, the kind of thing, that I think really inspires me, is like. Seeing something, not knowing anything about it, wanting to learn about it.

Z: Exactly. And-

E: (laughs)

Z:...we had created like a little baby list of questions that we wanted to ask. When we first started kind of throwing around the idea of what we wanted to do. We kind of already covered a couple of them. But I guess I'll just kind of go down the list again.

E: Okay, sure.

Z: Just to kind of like, ya know, put the nail in the coffin, so to speak.

E: Yeah.

Z: So, the first question that we have, is who or what are our inspirations?

E: Okay.

Z: So I would say, for me personally, like I said, just growing up, and like I can't think of anything off the top of my head. But like growing up and learning that an event happened. Or someone did this thing and, you come to realize later on in life that what you were taught, wasn't necessarily the truth. The whole truth, anyway.

E: Yeah.

Z: So for me, I guess, it's not so much a who, as so much as a what. For me it's just really like uncovering what is real.

E: Okay, yeah.

Z: So.

E: I think, I think that's a good way to put it. And I feel like, y'know, disclaimer, we are not perfect, we are probably not always going to do perfect research. You know, we're not exposing all the facts, in their, 100% true form, 'cause you know. We're just taking the information that we can find and putting that to use. But I agree, I think that that's a big part of it for me is like. I can remember several times when I was younger, like having a teacher, do a lesson and be like, “Oh well this thing happened,” and then being like well, “Okay I want to know more about that but I don't know how.” And now, you know, I'm an adult, and I have better research skills, so.

Z: Right.

E: I think it's a far more entertaining use of my time, that what I was doing previously. Which was just, laying on the floor and looking at TikTok.

Z: Right. (laughs)

E: (laughs)

Z: TikTok truly, worms in my brain.

E: Yeah.

Z: But, it truly, this is just, even, I mean, we've been batting around the idea of this podcast for a couple months.

E: Mmhmm.

Z: And just getting started, and doing the research and like looking into these stories, has been so much fun.

E: Oh yeah.

Z: And, I know the story that you're going to cover today has been one.

E: Yes.

Z: And I know that I've heard bits and pieces throughout our friendship, pretty much.

E: Mmhmm.

Z: And we've known each other for awhile.

E: Mmhmm.

Z: So I'm excited to get, like the full, like get in there.

E: Yeah, I'm excited about yours too, because like,it-it's, I mean, I think, I feel like maybe comparatively I might know just a tiny bit more about yours than you might know about mine.

Z: Right.

E: Just because I've been to this location.

Z: Right.

E: And I've like snooped around there.

Z: Everyone has in this area.

E: Yeah.

Z: Well, goals for the podcast. Do you have any goals in mind?

E: I want a Lamborghini.

Z: I want to be Mr. Beast.

E: I thought you were *laughs* I thought you were gonna say Mr. Bean.

E&Z: *laugh*

E: Oh my god, which actually-

Z: That too.

E:...derailed, for a second, but this is relevant considering what I just said, um, did you know-do you listen...I know you like Gracie Helbig and Mamrie Hart.

Z: Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

E: Do you listen to their podcast?

Z: Oh yeah.

E: Have you heard the one where they talk about how Mr. Bean has wrecked two McLarens?

Z: YES!

E: Apparently the man has like a 170 IQ and a passion, a deep burning passion for sports cars. And he has-I don't know if he has if he has wrecked two different ones or if it's the same one that he's wrecked twice. But he is currently trying to sell it for like 12 million dollars. And that, I have thought about that fact all fucking week. All week. They were talking about cars at work yesterday and I had to just like clench my fists and hold in the fact that I wanted to yell across the expo station, “MR. BEAN HAS WRECKED TWO MCLARENS!” Anyway.

Z: Truly it's a-

E: So sorry, but I had to get that off my chest

Z: Oh my god.

E: Rowan Atkincenter, what is his name? Ronan? Rowan Atkinson?

Z: Mr. Bean?

E: Yeah.

Z: I don't know his-the only thing I know about Mr. Bean is that he has wrecked two McLarens.

E&Z: *laughs*

E: Oh my god..

Z: Um, jesus. Goals for the podcast for me um. Yeah, a Lamborghini would be nice.

E: It would be nice, wouldn't it?

Z: No, truthfully, and I feel like I've said this like 50 times already. It's just getting the information out there. Letting people be in the know about what's going on in the south. Because I feel like *clears throat* excuse me. There's like this weird stigma against the south.

E: For sure.

Z: And it's just poor and dirty...

E: And ignorant.

Z: And ignorant. And like, there's so much that goes on down here that no one really knows about because it is so outside of “normal society?”

E: Yeah.

Z: I guess in other people's eyes? And that's even just like in the United States, even outside of the United States I'm sure that...The south is just like a cesspool of jokes.

E: Yeah.

Z: But-

E: Well I agree with that. I think that it's very much, uh there's a disconnect between like, people who actually live here and people that have never been here. And just like how it's, you know portrayed in the media. There's so. I think there's something like, I don't know the exact statistics, but I'm pretty sure that if you actually look at the numbers there is so much more diversity than in a good deal of the United States. Like, um I was reading something the other day that said that the south, like the American south is one of the most diverse places in terms of like LGBT folks and I'm not sure if that's true. But honestly, I would believe it. But yeah, I think that that's very much, getting the information out there, but also, it's a desire, personally, it's you know, a desire for more information in general.

Z: True.

E: Because-

Z: Yeah.

E: You know, I've lived here my whole life and I feel like I know a lot of cool little bits and pieces about stuff but you can always learn more.

Z: Oh yeah.

E: That is my motto.

Z: 100%.

E: You can always, always find something else out. Even if it's something that you think that you know everything about it, you can always dig deeper and find out more. So.

Z: 100%.

E: For sure, for sure.

Z: This next question is past exploration stories. I'm about to tell one of mine.

E: Okay.

Z: That's my whole story. So, do you have any that you would like to share?

E: Hm...

Z: I mean, I've done like geocaching, that sort of thing, but like.

E: Yeah,

Z: Other than that, like.

E: Yeah. I have been geocaching, I actually, I have been to the location you're going to cover today. And I thought I was going to get in big trouble, because the owner pulled up in his pickup truck and I was so afraid. I was there with my sister and, Vivian, I don't know if you'll hear this. But um, my friend Vivian, and we were walking around. We climbed the steps. We like went-I was too chicken shit to go all the way up to the top because it's a very tall structure and the stairs are very old. And I was like “nope, Imma go halfway but this step is broken, I'm not going any farther.” And then we came back down and this guy pulled up and I was like “Oh god, he's gonna get so mad at us.” He pulled up and we had Vivian's puppy with us and he rolled the window of his truck down, and he was like, “Can I give the dog a biscuit?!” And we were like, “Yes sir you can!” And he just stood there and talked to us for a little while, it was very cool.

Z: Yeah.

E: But yeah, I can't think of anything other than that, not offhand. I would like to make some more.

Z: Yeah. Same.

E: I have not been in an old building in a cool minute. Um, actually, I'm sorry, I did think of one.

Z: No, you're good.

E: Uh, we were walking around, I don't want to triangulate our location. *laughs*

Z: Right.

E: But we were, a couple of my friends and I, were walking around in this, kind of like, like uh small back road I guess you would say near one of their houses. And there was this old kind of a house? I don't know if it was actually a house at one point or if it was just like a shed. But we uh, hiked back a little off the road and went in there, and there was just like all these old bottles. Like, from the '50s all over the floor and that's something that I collect, and I was like “Oh shit, this is private property, I know we're probably trespassing. Imma take some of these bottles.” And I had a coat on with big pockets. So I put a couple of them in my pocket.

Z: *laughs*

E: And we hiked back out, and my mom called me, and I was probably like, I don't know sixteen, seventeen maybe?

Z: Sure.

E: She was like, “Hey where are you?” And I was like “We went for a walk, we're walking back to so and so's house.” and she was like “ Okay well, we'll meet you up there, I have something to give you,” and I was like “okay.” And when she pulled up I was like, “I have something to give YOU.” And she was like “What?” and I pulled out this crusty ass bottle of like vanilla extract from the 1960s, and was like, “Here ya go!” And my mom of course, I get that fascination from her, she also collects that stuff. So she was like, “Wow! This is so cool, where did you get it?” And I was like, “Well...-

Z: *laughs* That spooky building! As the thunder claps.

E:...we went in that spooky house.” And she was like, “Oh my god that's dangerous!!” And I was like, “Well, we already did it.”

Z: Yeah.

E: So yeah, that was fun. I love doing shit like that.

Z: God, me too. Is this trespassing? I love trespassing.

E: (laughs) I do, I do.

Z: Oh my god.

E: Yeah.

Z: Any topics that you wanna cover, discuss, why?

E: I think we both have a list of stuff that we would like to cover in the future.

Z: Right.

E: I will say, I don't want this to be like specifically true crime. Like I don't want to have all my stories be in one genre. I will say that some of them are paranormal related, some of them are true crime related, some of them are just general history.

Z: Same yeah.

E: I am always, I have very much a morbid curiosity.

Z: Same.

E: I will do my best to treat those with respect and there is one in particular that I am very interested to cover, because I have never heard of it, and it happened, like, in the town that I grew up in, which is very small.

Z: Right.

E: Not a whole lot of reported murders, but his name is Joe Shepherd and he was a killer in that area in the 70s I believe? And I was having a conversation with a friend of mine one day, when we were, like, first work shopping this. I don't think we'd even bought our mics yet-

Z: I don't think so either

E:...and we were talking about it, and she was just like, “Oh you know about Joe Shepherd right?” And I said, “No?” And she was like, “ Yeah, he murdered somebody and put her in the wood pile.” And I was like, “EXCUSE ME, how have I never heard this?!” So I uh, I have to, have to know more about that. I gotta know whats going on.

Z: Right. For me it's kind of in the same vein of, I mean my stories are kind of gonna be everywhere, but I'm really excited for my story for the next podcast that we're gonna do. Because it was right around the time where we started really figuring out what we wanted to do for sure with this podcast. And we went to just like a couple of used bookstores just to look for some, just some paper sources. And I found a book that was super cool, very interesting. Loved it, I've read it like twice already.

E: Oh really the whole thing?

Z: It's not very long, but I've read it like twice already, just reading through. The first story in that book is truly whacko-

E: Yeah?

Z:..so I'm going to cover that the next time we record

E: That's exciting.

Z: And I'm really excited for it. It's a missing persons. We won't say true crime, but I'll say it's a missing persons.

E: Yeah, 'cause we're not really sure if a crime was committed. Like I don't really know the whole story obviously but you've told me bits and pieces, and you know, there's several theories right? Of what actually happened?

Z: Oh yeah, I've got a couple theories that I have that I wanna, but we'll get to that.

E: We'll get to that next time.

Z: Alright, so full disclosure, this whole operation, it's just us, it's me and Em and Em and me. We do have an assistant.

E: Vanessa.

Z: Her name is Linda and we love her.

E: We love Tracy with all our hearts

Z: Veronica, she really gets it done. We asked our lovely assistant, Carly, to get some normal ice breaker questions outside of the podcast because it's really, like we said before it's really telling of someone's character to have these questions answered and we just told. We told Carol to go nuts, so.

E: I'm excited for this, because you've had a little bit of a look at these, I don't know anything.

Z: I've read like the first two, and was like okay, I can see the direction that Sharon's going. Okay, so you haven't looked at these, I've read a couple so I'm just gonna go for it.

E: Let's go.

Z: The first one is if you could be on any reality/game show what would you choose?

E: Wheel of Fortune.

Z: Wheel of Fortune?

E: I always loved Wheel of Fortune. Or Jeopardy. I'm not smart enough to be on Jeopardy, but I love Jeopardy. I miss Alex Trebek, rest in peace.

Z: Rest in peace.

E: That man, god fucking bless.

Z: God bless. For me, and you'll know this, here lately, I've been really into discord, like, essentially role play survivor games. They're so much fun. I've applied to play my first one, but they're so much fun to watch. So I would say maybe that, or if it had to be a game show, I'm going to go with either Press Your Luck-

E: Okay.

Z: Or Shop Till You Drop.

E: I don't know what either of those are

Z: Really? Press your-

E: What is press your luck?

Z: Press your luck is the no whammies, no whammies, that one?

E: I don't know what that is.

Z: You don't know that one? I will show you a clip of.

E: I feel like I've heard someone say that.

Z: So well, here's the tea, my grandma would wake up in the mornings and she would watch us before we went to school. She would wake up in the morning, she would make my grandpa food. She would sit her butt in her recliner and turn on game show network, until her husband came home from work, and then she would make him dinner and then she would watch more game shows until she went to bed. That's all this woman did.

E: I love that.

Z: So, this brain-

E: It's in your brain forever.

Z:..is a rolodex of game show trivia, but that one's a fun one. Shop Till You Drop was essentially, I don't know which one came first, but Supermarket Sweep.

E: Okay.

Z: Have you ever seen that?

E: Like guys grocery game?

Z: Kind of, but they don't like cook, so they'll have like a list, like you'll get carrots on aisle five, and tuna on aisle six, and baby formula on aisle 12, and they just, they go for it. And the first to do it wins or whatever.

E: That sounds like a lot of fun. I do love to grocery shop. I think that would be a fun one too.

Z: So number 2, if you could eliminate one food, so that no one ever ate it again, what would you pick to destroy?

E: My gut instinct says tomatoes, because I hate tomatoes.

Z: *whispers* Same.

E: But I do, it's only, like. I like tomato based sauces and I like tomato soup, so I feel like I would regret that choice.

Z: Ketchup.

E: I don't know if you're for or against ketchup.

Z: I like ketchup but I hate tomatoes. I was adding to tomatoes' cause.

E: Yeah. That's a tough one.

Z: I'm gonna go with green beans.

E: I don't think I can agree with you on that one, I'm sorry.

Z: That's fine, you're entitled to your opinion, but I'm destroying green beans.

E: Okay, okay, um, god, that's really hard. I don't, I don't like tomatoes at all. I hate touching them, I hate dealing with them. I work in food service. I could also say mushrooms 'cause I really hate mushrooms.

Z: I love mushrooms.

E: That is something I find so interesting about you.

Z: That I like mushrooms?

E: Yeah, you know. You're kind of a-I don't know much about. I don't know, you're-in my eyes you're kind of a picky eater. Cause you don't like, like lettuce.

Z: I don't like lettuce.

E: What about like a good arugula? Do you like arugula?

Z: What's arugula?

E: Okay, we're gonna get you some arugula. It's a leafy green. You'll probably like, well no okay. I should-I take that back. You like Spinach.

Z: I do like Spinach.

E: Okay.

Z: Baby kale.

E: Do you like kale?

Z: I like baby kale.

E: Oh, okay.

Z: I don't like that-

E: I don't know that I've ever had the baby-

Z: It's just like spinach.

E: I mean it's-okay. Yeah that's fair.

Z: But.

E: Yeah, I'm gonna hard answer, I'm gonna say mushrooms 'cause I really fucking hate mushrooms.

Z: Valid.

E: Alright question 3.

Z: What is your favorite restaurant? In parenthesis, Zack, you cannot say McDonald's.

E&Z: *laugh*

E: Oh.

Z: Well.

E: Oh, Clarice. She's roasting ya.

Z: She really is. Shoot. I'm just going to go with fast food because-

E: Okay.

Z: Restaurants can mean any-

E: Fast food/fast casual, I think that's good.

Z: Sure. Dang, I really like. Well fast casual, I'm going to say Chili's.

E: Ooh yes.

Z: That street corn, honey chipotle tenders.

E: Those honey chipotle tenders, if I ever get married, that's what I want at my wedding.

Z: Catered?

E: Yeah, catered.

Z: Remember when I went to a-if you're hearing this Morgan, I'm sorry, remember when I went to a wedding that was catered by Cracker Barrel?

E: Yes!

Z: Morgan, I love you but, a choice was made. Okay, favorite restaurant?

E: The first thing that popped into my head was Olive Garden.

Z: *gasps*

E: I unironically, unashamedly, unabashedly. I love Olive Garden. I am-

Z: I'm white.

E: Very. Yeah, I am-I think like I don't wanna go all 23 & me, given that I haven't even taken one of those fucking tests. As far ass my family has told me I am like an 8th or a 16th Sicilian or something, so that Italian blood, it makes be crave Olive Garden like nobody's business.

Z: The breadsticks.

E: I see like the sign in the sky and it's like a werewolf to a full moon. And I go crazy.

Z: *laughs* I love Olive Garden.

E: The tiramisu? The chicken gnocchi soup with breadsticks?

Z: Gnocchi!

E: The Tour of Italy? Ah.

Z: The five dollar, to go entrees? You have lunch tomorrow.

E: That is a brilliant business plan.

Z: True.

E: You know what I want? What I desperately desperately want one. The unlimited pasta pass. I have wanted one of those since the day. Justin McElroy did an unboxxing and he got one.

Z: Olive Garden.

E: I really wanted one ever since.

Z: *whispers* Same.

E: Olive Garden sponsor us?

Z: Please god, I know this is our first episode but please.

E: I had an idea for another sponsor. Oh, Subway! Subway should sponsor us.

Z: Truly.

E: I can't believe that neither of us said Subway, actually. We-fun little BTS, behind the scenes, not the K-Pop group, sorry.

Z: Why did my brain go there first?

E: We know why.

Z: Not today. That's a song.

E: LITERALLY every time we've gotten together to brainstorm, put together anything for this show, with the exception of maybe once or twice, that I can't even recall, it's subway every single time, so.

Z: We gotta eat fresh.

E: Somebody, at Subway headquarters, say, “Hey, sponsor The Abandonment Issues-”

Z: Sponsor these people.

E: Plead our case, please.

Z: Please, please, we'll send you merch if we ever

get any.

E: I'll figure it out. I'll use my art degree. Alright. Question four!

Z: If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go?

E: Hm.

Z: Forks, Washington.

E: Oh my god.

Z: Final answer.

E: Oh my god. That's a good one, shit.

Z: (laughs) 'Cause genuinely, I don't know 'cause there's so many places to go.

E: Yeah, yeah it's very hard. I always did-okay, well on the topic of my Italian heritage.

Z: Oh Jesus.

E: I was supposed to go to Italy my junior year of college and, the trip got canceled because we didn't have enough people to go. And I was very excited for it, and I would still really enjoy it. I would love to go make that trip, because we were going to stay at a farm in Tuscany that's been there for like, I don't even know. Since like 700 A.D. Or some shit.

Z: That is crazy.

E: It's called Spannocchia if you want to look it up. There's this incredible little-they have this website with like a video that you can check it out. You get to eat like all the food that they give you and all the wine that they have is like made on site. We were going-they have like the original wood kiln-

Z: Wow.

E:...on site, and you could make things in their ceramics studio and you fire it in the kiln at the end of the trip. But they also do like chefs and like butchers internships there where you can go over there and learn how to do things the way they do them and I think that's fascinating.

Z: That's really cool.

E: One day I would love to go there.

Z: Oh yeah, 100%.

Z: Get the swear jar ready.

E: Oh god.

Z: What game or movie universe would you most like to live in? Kingdom Hearts.

E: *Did you bring a roll of quarters?

Z: I'm just gonna leave it at that. Kingdom hearts.

E: I know you said game or movie-

Z: Book?

E:...but can I fudge it a little bit and say podcast?

Z: Sure!

E: I would love to be a citizen of the town of Nightvale. I know you don't know anything about Welcome to Nightvale, but boy lemme tell ya. I would live there in a heartbeat. I love it. It's so weird. I know that that's maybe not some people want because it's kind of fucked up. Bad things happen to people there all the time.

Z: Right.

E: But it's that cosmic horror, but in a fun lighthearted way.

Z: Right.

E: That's the best way I can explain it. I just love it so much. Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Kramer.

Z: God bless.

E: God bless you. You two really do some amazing work. I'm literally looking at a signed photograph of Symphony Sanders and Cecil Baldwin right now. They watch over our podcast. But yeah, I would love that. I think that the aesthetic is immaculate. There's deserts, there's glowing lights in the sky above the Arby's.

Z: There's an Arby's in this Universe?

E: Yes bitch! They're just regular people like you and me. There's literally, I wanna say in episode one, there's this beautiful passage where Cecil is like “Lights, blinking in the sky above the Arby's. Not the glowing sign of the Arby's, but something higher.

Z: Did I write this? Did I ghost write this?

E: You could have. I have all the books behind me, I'm very much a fan.

Z: If you could be any mythical creature, what would you be?

E: Hypogriff.

Z: That was a fast but good answer. I would probably be a gnome.

E: (laughs) Oh fuck! Yeah.

Z: I spend my entire life-

E: Yeah.

Z:..being 6 foot tall, I just wanna live a little down there.

E: That's a good one.

Z: Yeah. What small, insignificant thing gives you joy?

E: Thrift store knick knacks.

Z: Sure.

E: That's pretty much the biggest one. I go into Amvets like once a week. And I'll get-I don't have my Keith Urban mug in here. But I get so many tiny dingy things and they always bring me such joy. That tiny little frog that I got at the antique store the last time you and I went, that thing? I'm still riding the high.

Z: For me, I would say it's like when you, complete a book series, and you get that final one and you put it up on the shelf, and you see it on the shelf together. That's my-and it doesn't have to be like, for me it's like books, video games, manga, whatever.

E: Yeah.

Z: Just seeing it complete on the shelf just does it for me.

E: I love that. That's a very good feeling.

E: Yeah.

Z: What is the dumbest purchase you have ever made?

E: Oh Zack, oh Zack, this is a hard question, cause I really-

Z: I don't know! Because I make a lot of dumb purchases.

E: I know exactly what mine is, I'm afraid to say.

Z: Can you say it? What is it?

E: You know what it pertains to.

Z: Do I? Why are you blinking? You don't have to say it if you don't want to.

E: No, I'm gonna say it.

Z: Thank god.

E: So, what was the year? I wanna say 2011/2013.

Z: Uh-oh. I know where we're going!

E: God, I made you promise not to mention this, to not drag me about any of this but i'm going to go ahead and out myself in episode one.

Z: Oh no.

E: I was a backer of the-

Z: Ahaaahaahaaaaa!!!!

E: Stop screaming and just let me get the words out. I was a higher tier backer of the Homestuck Hiveswap Kickstarter in 2013. And that haunts me to this day. To this day I will never-I will never recover from the amount of money that I spent on that when I was god-I was not a legal adult. I spoke to my mother, and I said, “Listen, I need to get this money out of my savings and I need it now.” And she was like, “Are you sure you wanna do that?” and I said, “Yes please.” and then she let me do it. And I respect that she gave me that freedom but I wish that she had just told me no.

Z: That's fair.

E: It was not worth it, and the worst part. It's been like a long time. I still have not played that game.

Z: That's just how the cookie crumbles.

E: Yeah.

Z: Dumbest purchase, my mind just scrambled. Because me and Em just shared a very panicked glance at one another before this story was told and it just jumbled everything I had lined up. I make very-

E: I'm like sweaty.

Z: (laughs)

E: That really stressed me out that I had to admit that. Feel my hand.

Z: Oh, you're clammy!

E: I am disgusting right now.

Z: You're a whole seafood buffet with them clammy hands.

E: I am.

Z: Oh my god. What was the question? Dumbest purchase. I don't know man. I make a lot of dumb purchases. I'm probably, most recently, I'm going to say my book drug dealer.

E: Oh yeah.

Z: Robert. I feel, like I feel obligated at this point to meet up with this man to buy antique books and some of them aren't really the best.

E: But still it's a cool hook-up.

Z: Yeah, I buy them anyway. So, the last time I saw this man, I bought this falling apart copy of Orwell or something.

E: That's pretty dope though.

Z: I mean it's cool, it's got a bunch of his novels and shit. It was pretty cool, but it not in the condition that he said it was in.

E: Aw, that sad.

Z: It's fine. Sorry Robert if you are listening. I'm just going to say that because literally my coworkers put me on a Facebook Marketplace timeout, and I wasn't allowed to buy from Facebook Marketplace.

E: I didn't know about that, oh my god.

Z: They were like, you have to take off two weeks. And I was like, “Fine, that's fine, we get paid in two weeks it's fine.” So, I'm just gonna say that. (laughs)

E: Oh wow.

Z: Question number 9 is what is the longest you have gone without sleep and why? I know mine.

E: Oh man.

Z: I know mine.

E: I mean, the why really for me is-it's one of two answers. College or the pandemic. And I'm leaning more towards the pandemic because I was basically only sleeping like once every other night. Over when I got furloughed from my job last spring. I remember a couple of times I was like, “I'm gonna start a craft project!” and was just cracked out on Monster Energy at 6:00 in the morning, ironing patches onto a denim jacket and shaking my ass to Glass Animals. But yeah, I wanna say the longest amount of time was like three days, but I know you got me beat, I think.

Z: You know mine.

E: Do I?

Z: You know mine. When I was in high school and I watched Men in Black.

E: Yeahhhh.

Z: So I didn't watch Men in Black when I was a child. Probably watched the first one when I was in high school and then I watched the second one, and then there's that whole subplot that there's a universe wrapped around a cat's collar or whatever.

E: It's in his little tag.

Z: It sent me down a rabbit hole. I did not sleep for four days because I was deep in infinite space theory because I just drove myself crazy. Because I was like, “If a cat collar can hold a universe, what if we're the universe inside the cat collar? Which I feel like was the entire point. But it drove me up the walls. I couldn't sleep, I just stayed up for four days straight in front of my computer just googling infinite space theory, and learning more and digging into it, and then I crashed, obviously after four days, and I woke up and was like, “Never again.”

E: Well.

Z: So.

E: I bought a book not long ago, it's called Time Warps. And I opened it and the first two pages this guy starts talking about time travel and the secrets of the universe and everything and reincarnation and physics are all connected and that really reminded me of that. So, maybe I'll read you a little passage of that after this and see if it-

Z: I can't wait.

E:..jogs anything in your brain.

Z: I'll see ya next week and I will still be awake.

E: (laughs) Oh my god.

Z: Last question, who is the most intelligent

person you know?

E: Brownie.

Z: Where is he?

E: He just walked right behind you.

Z: Oh.

E: He's not a person. He's very smart.

Z: That's a tough question.

E: Yeah, that is a really tough question.

Z: I'm gonna say it's our assistant Becky.

E: Yeah, yeah. Trisha, she really, she's probably. What even is her IQ it's gotta be in the 170s?

Z: It's probably at least a thousand.

E: The smartest person that I know of is Mr. Bean. I genuinely can't believe he has an IQ that high. Not anything against that man, I don't know him personally, but the fact that that is the kind of movie that he makes.

Z: Oh my god, and apparently there's only like 12 episodes of that show.

E: 13 I think.

Z: Yeah, so he really stretched it out.

E: Yeah.

Z: I don't know. Welp.

E: Well yeah.

Z: Thank you to Veronica for all those icebreaker questions. Really eye opening.

E: It was great. You really did the damn thing.

Z: Well. I guess that now everyone knows our deepest darkest secrets since we exposed them in episode one, I guess we can kind of get into our topics a little bit?

E: Yeah.

Z: So I feel as if you're gonna go hard.

E: Perhaps, perhaps.

Z: So if you don't mind I'm gonna go first.

E: Okay.

Z: I'm not gonna go as hard as I could. With mine, mostly just because I wanna leave it open for a return, if I want to cover it again maybe later on. My first topic is going to be about the Roundhouse that exists in Tellico Plains, TN.

E: Nice.

Z: Fairly local, kind of close to us for the most part. Here's the issue with this, is that it was a silo for a local mining company and dating back to even before the civil war, this thing was operational. So there's a lot of stuff that has gone on-

E:Okay.

Z:...in this big old building. Another problem is that there's not a plot of information online.

E: Yeah, that was a problem I ran into mine too actually.

Z: Unfortunately, the person who posted this, the beginning of this is going to be a lot from Reddit.

E: Oh, okay.

Z: The person who posted this is a local urban explorer. I've seen some of their stuff, all of their stuff is really cool, their photographs are amazing. They do posts on Facebook and stuff here and there. All of their stuff is really well researched and really good, but I don't want to set a trend of making Reddit a, you know.

E: For sure, it's not like a primary source. So do you want to-did you make note of who that person was though.

Z: Yeah, the post that was made thearcherofred on Reddit. That is their username. When we post all of our sources I will give a link to this specific person I am talking about.

E: Excellant.

Z: Yeah, that's the problem I ran into and I guess that's probably why I didn't get as into it. Mostly because I wanted to leave it open so I could share a little bit about my own experience when I went.

E: Cool, okay.

Z: I am going to give a little bit of a backstory about the area, the place, what all happened. Like I said this was a post made by thearcherofred on Reddit, all one word. About 30 years after the Civil War, Southern Slate Works purchased the land where the Roundhouse exists now. This land before used the be part of the Tellico Iron Works Company. The Iron Works Company basically mined iron and other ores during the Civil War. It was demolished during the war, and really from what I can tell, nothing really happened in this area where the Roundhouse exists now up until it was purchased on December 7th of 1893.

E: Okay.

Z: In June of 1920, J.B. Preston bought 300 acres of land from another citizen of Tellico named Cyril Herford with the intent to mine the area. It is unknown if this was part of the Southern Slate Company or a solo kind of gig. Preston had plans of making a fully working mine complete with machinery, houses for the mine workers, storage facilities, and other stuff you'd need to run a mine. He also was-he was also given permission to construct a railroad system to the mine and the quarry was set to open on January 1st 1921. He then leased this area out to Tennessee Rocks Products Company and it was operational from 1921-1928. In '22 Cyril then sued the rock company because some of the debris had gotten into the creek that ran through his property and it polluted the water. There was another lawsuit that same year against the rock company. This lawsuit came from a local farmer named Henry Fritts. He was suing for very similar reasons as Herford, because the dust coming from the mines and quarry had killed crops and vegetation. That lawsuit was settled for 600-I'm assuming there's no information about the 1st lawsuit, because there was no information on this post about it. From what I can tell, nothing really happened after that, company shut down until 1928-er shut down in 1928, that is until the mid to late 50s.

E: Okay, that's kind of a long time.

Z: Yeah, it's a minute. At this point, a man named Dr. William Alfred Rogers purchased the property in the 50s, and he was a local practicing doctor. A little bit about Mr. Rogers, he was born in Violet, NC. During the late 50s he was one of 6 doctors that lived in the Tellico Plains area during that time. He had a small stone house, that stood in downtown but eventually he built a large three story home on Unicoi Mountain.

E: Oh, okay.

Z: He thought that the high altitude would help his more chronic patients, so that's why he wanted his house to be so far up in the mountains. Rodgers and his wife ran the practice out of their home for about six years before the couple had the idea of turning the silo into a hotel/Air BnB. Not Air BnB. Sorry, that's the Gen Z in me speaking. Just a B&B. Just a normal B&B.

E: A 1950s Air BnB.

Z: Beautiful, ahead of their time, truly.

E: You get a telegraph after and they're like, “How was your stay? Please rate us.”

Z: God. So he essentially divided the space inside the silo into multiple floors and created small apartment like rooms on each story. Supposedly, right when it was set to open, a fire marshal came to inspect it and it was deemed unsafe as there needed to be two clear exits from each room, but there was only one considering that it's a large tall vertical-

E: It's just a tube.

Z: It's literally, quite literally a tube. I will. I will post some pictures and some links to some pictures so you can kind of see. But truly, it's an old silo, it's a big stone, round silo. Cylinder, and on the outside there's a staircase that leads into the first floor but there's essentially just a round staircase that-

E: It's like a fire escape.

Z: It just wraps around the outside of it and that's how you would go up there and get into your little hotel room or whatever. The fire marshal said it was no good so they couldn't really open it as a hotel.

E: So did it ever have guests like that? Or did he just kind of kill that immediately?

Z: It's hard to really pin down what really happened after that. Some sites claim that Mr. Rogers and his moved into the Roundhouse after this and they continued the practice there. Other sites claim that they went back to the house at Unicoi and ran the practice out of it. I also read somewhere, and I couldn't really pin it down again, now that I started doing the research on it again but there were some rumors about someone running a restaurant out of it.

E: I think I've heard that one actually.

Z: And it was just on the first floor, it wasn't on any of the other floors, I think there's 5 stories in that thing. I couldn't really find that again, so I don't really have any information on it. The doctor passed away 10 years after this ordeal in '67, and it has just kinda sat dormant since then, aside from the possible restaurant owner being in there, but there's not really a whole lot to go off of on that route. Unfortunately as of now, the inside of the roundhouse has been completely destroyed by vandals. The walls are covered in graffiti and there was a house that was right next to it, and again, I can't really pinpoint what that was really for. I would assume that it was probably just another house that was-

E: Yeah, I heard from somewhere that that was something to do with the hotel aspect of it.

Z: Sure, I mean. I wouldn't doubt it, but that house is all but rotted to the ground. I've been inside, and the floor is rotted to the ground. There's no foundation, there was also a large fire that happened inside the roundhouse. Can't really pinpoint a date or time. Because it sat, it was just out in the middle of nowhere.

E: Not necessarily keeping track or reporting that to-

Z: Right.

E:...anyone.

Z: It basically made everything from the bottom floor to the top floor inaccessible. I've been on the top floor. Probably wasn't that smart of a move.

E: Prolly not.

Z: I was like 17, and you're invincible at 17, nothing matters. We went up there and just kind of hung around, and I'll talk about that in a second. But that basically made all the other floors inbetween inaccessible. That's really, literally all I could find online about it. I definitely have tried to join the local library to get some book sources or something about it, but I'm currently fighting with our local library. It's so shrouded in mystery that no one really knows what's going on in there. We've got a couple reports about the lawsuits and the early 20s. Nothing until the 50s, and then this random guy wants to build a hotel there, and someone says no and it just sits there again.

E: Do you know-I know when we first started doing the research, we were talking about how it was for sale. Do you know if it still is or did it get bought?

Z: I looked at it yesterday before I was putting the finishing touches on everything. It is currently off the market, it was not sold, but it is off the market. It was going for upwards of like $500,000.

E: I would love to buy it.

Z: Same I would also-Subway?!

E: Subway sponsor us!!

Z: Please.

E: Subway just buy us The Roundhouse.

Z: We will put a Subway in the bottom floor.

E: (laughs) Like the food court in a mall.

Z: Truly. That's all the information that I have on it.

E: Well tell us your story.

Z: Well, when I was like 17/18, I worked at a local grocery store and one of my cashiers, the current at the time, the caretaker now is a new guy, but at the time she was friends with-the caretaker was a family friend. And she basically reached out to him and was like, “Hey we wanna explore after work one night. Do you think it would be cool if we went up there?” And he was like, “Yeah, sure no problem, let me know and I'll leave the gate unlocked for you guys.”

E: Cool.

Z: We went up there after work and it was probably like 10/11 o'clock and we were just gonna check it out and then leave, but I was just very curious and very fascinated so we went into the first floor and I will try to dig up photos because I took photos. The test of time has not been kind to them-

E: Absolutely not.

Z:...with phones and just everything, I think they're on my twitter somewhere so I have to really dig and find them, but like I said, the first floor there was a fire. You can look up and see the damage has been done to this place. It's covered in graffiti. We kind of poked around a little bit, there's not really much to see. There's old appliances, wood here and there, debris, vandalism, that sort of thing. We found the beginning of the staircase that leads up around the side of the Roundhouse and we climbed up to inspect it, about halfway up, it's broken-

E: Yeah that was-

Z: Very teetery.

E: Yeah.

Z: Once you get over that step it's solid again, bolted into the side of that wall or whatever, and you just keep on trucking. We went up to the top and we sat down on the floor up there, we pulled out a Ouija board.

E: Oh my god Zack.

Z: (laughs) Not my finest moment.

E: (laughs)

Z: It wasn't even a good Ouija board, it was obviously, very much produced by Hasbro, and it had the glow in the dark light in it, to where if you pushed down on the planchette it would glow.

E: Oh my god.

Z: Obviously, we got nothing because nothing happened in that building.

E: I can't believe it.

Z: Then we went back down the stairs and then we went into the house that's next to it. Like I said, there was very few places where I was comfortable standing. Floors rotted, walls punched in, knocked in, burned. We were able to go up-there's an attic.

E: Oh really?

Z: Yeah, there's an attic in there. I wasn't able to go-I didn't go up in it because I didn't really trust it. I stood at the top of the staircase and peered in a took a picture or two.

E: Cool, I never knew that.

Z: Then, we discovered a basement.

E: Oh god! Under that same house?

Z: Yeah. Here's the deal. You didn't know this did you? About the basement?

E:About the basement, no.

Z: So there's a basement, and the stairs have rotted off, so you kinda had to hop in that hole and-

E: Love it.

Z: We got down there, and it was trash.

E: Yeah.

Z: Broken glass, beer bottles, cans, old screen doors, anything that you could think of, old appliances everything, underneath that house. Then I saw a little filter of light off in the distance, so I was like, I'm gonna go in that direction. There was a tunnel.

E: I know you were going to say a tunnel and I was so afraid.

Z: A tunnel that lead directly underneath the roundhouse.

E: Bro!

Z: It's crazy.

E: That's really cool. Very scary.

Z: Very scary. I was like, “This is some-,” have you every seen House of Wax?

E: No but I think I know what you're talking about.

Z: Very House of Wax. Secret-

E: Like trap doors and stuff.

Z: Was not a fan. So then after that we kinda booked it outta there. 'Cause I was like, “Who's idea was it, to build a tunnel-,” I don't even want to know. I'm sure there was a reason.

E: I wonder if was with the intent of it being a hotel, if it was a service hallway or something like that?

Z: I mean, has to be. Has to be. Otherwise-

E: It's the only non-creepy answer.

Z: It's what's gonna let me sleep at night.

E: Oof.

Z: After that we kinda hightailed it out. I have since reached out to that cashier, and obviously neither of us work there anymore. I've since reached out, and asked if she knew who the current caretaker was and unfortunately that caretaker had passed away. There's currently a new one.

E: I wonder if that was the guy I met that gave us a dog biscuit.

Z: Might've been if he was nice.

E: He was just a nice old man.

Z: I never met him, but I'm assuming if he let a group of teenagers go wild out at the Roundhouse he probably didn't care and was a nice guy.

E: That's sad.

Z: Like I said a minute ago, it's not on the market, but when it does come on the market, I will be very eager to see if it sells this time. Hopefully, to me.

E: Maybe by then we'll get some sponsorship cash.

Z: Olive Garden please.

E: Can I trade an unlimited pasta pass for this house?

Z: Truly.

E: It's worth it's weight in gold.

Z: Truly, 'cause you think about it. We go to Olive Garden three times a day, lunch, dinner, second dinner. We don't eat breakfast anymore.

E: Oh my god, well I don't eat breakfast to begin with. Who has time for that nonsense?

Z: I do, but only because I'm at work.

E: Eating a banana. You're being very healthy.

Z: I'm eating a banana, having a monster.

E: Alright, well.

Z: Well, that's it for the Roundhouse. Like I said, thearcherofred on Reddit, thank you so much for that post. They're a couple more that they have made about the Roundhouse. I've only used the one, so feel free to look into it yourself. I'll be posting a couple links to some pictures, and hopefully I will be able to find the pictures that I took when I went. We'll post all those.

E: Thank you very much for that story. Today-

Z: Please, go off.

E:...I'm very excited about this story, because this is a story that has fascinated me literally since my childhood. I remember my teacher telling me about it when I was in, I wanna say 5th grade. Then, it turned out that there was a book about this guy, and I had the book because it was my dad's copy, and that's actually the copy that I used today for all my research. I am about to tell you the story of Mason Kershaw Evans-

Z: Yeeesss!

E:...the Hermit of Chilhowee Mountain.

Z: Yes.

E: Basically, my sources-I did have a couple, just for a little bit of fleshing out about the area and a couple facts about the specific region, but everything about Mason himself came from the book. As I discovered, the man doesn't even have a Wikipedia page.

Z: Right.

E: Which isn't really that surprising to me. 'Cause the area that he was from was a very tiny place, it was in the early 19th century. There wasn't a whole lot.

Z: Right.

E: So, let's get into it! Our story takes place in the area surrounding Chilhowee Mountain, which is more commonly known today as Star Mountain, but it was named that because of a plantation owner named Caleb Star, who back in the day, he basically owned the entire mountain. Chilhowee Mountain is located partly in the southwest corner of Monroe County, TN and in Polk County. It is in the Cherokee National Forest. The flat, plateau like mountain is about halfway between Tellico Plains and Etowah and it's elevation ranges from 750 to 2,290 ft. This mountain was a favorite hunting ground for deer. So that's actually how it got it's name, because Chilhowee means cold deer in Cherokee. During the 19th century, this area was the home to Mason Evans. As I said before, it's kind of hard to find anything about him on the internet, he doesn't have a Wikipedia page, so everything I know about him I pulled from this book, Torment in the Knobs by R. Frank. McKinney. To quote the book, “This book was written give it's readers the highlights of the main events from the early advent of the early white settlers in the area during the early 20s, during the Hiwassee purchase of 1817, the removal of the Indians in 1838, the great American Conflict, The Civil War of the 60s, the building and operation the fabulous White Springs Hotel atop Star Mountain, the coming of the railroads into McMinn County, and many other events of that century. So it's not just about Mason's life, it kind of encapsulates basically everything that was going on in this area at the time. Because there was a lot of stuff going on, there was a lot of conflict, it was the time of the Civil War. It was a lot. It is a very interesting read, it's one of the more detailed accounts of this area, however, it's not without it's flaws. It was published in 1976. R. Frank McKinney was an old white man living in a very rural area of the south. He had some prejudices. I'm not really going to talk about that a whole lot, but if you do decide to-if this story does interest you and you do decide to get a copy of this book and read it, just go into it knowing that. There is also a lot of dramatization and speculation. That is explained by, another quote from the book that said, “Torment in the Knobs is a historical novel but throughout the author was at many times forced to draw his own conclusions to what was said in the conversations or dialogues between the people. This he believed was actually said, but not verified. The pages of the book are mostly written in the newspaper reporting style, but not all in together for into the phraseology of fiction writers. In many places, it combines the two. There would have been no need to write this book, Torment in the Knobs had there been a printed history of the east side of McMinn County and the lower regions of Monroe during the 19th century. What little had been printed in the newspapers and periodicals was wildly scattered and never compiled into a comprehensive history of the area. This book is not intended to be a history of either McMinn or Monroe counties, although the events mentioned took place in one or the other. The book was inspired by this pamphlet and was written in 1890 by W. F. McCarron, who was the founder and editor of The Athenian newspaper. The pamphlet was called-this is a hell of a title. I thought The Abandoment Issues was kind of a long name. This pamphlet was titled The Wild Man of Chilhowee: the True Story of Mason Evans the Hermit, 40 Years in the Wilderness, the Most Wonderful Creature of Modern Times Lives in a Cave in this County, Subsists on Raw Meats and Stolen Food. That's the whole ass title of a pamphlet.

Z: A pam-that's the whole pamphlet!

E: Yeah, literally. The book also says the great many people thought was a legend was unfolded as fact as 90 years later when a house in east Etowah was being raised to the ground. An 1890 issue of The Athenian was found in a chimney and brought to me, the author R. Frank Mckinney, who was then the editor of The Etowah Enterprise. Mickinney also did extensive research and interviews with local folks who's parents and grandparents has either met Mason, or had seen them visit their homesteads. Okay, so, there's this hermit..

Z: (laughs) I was waiting for it! Oh my god.

E: So there's this hermit..R. Frank Mckinney is the king of the fucking run-on sentence. This man could ramble. I think he's dead now? Probably. He had a lot to say, and not a whole lot of punctuation to put in it.

Z: He had a lot to say and no comma, period, comma splice was gonna get in his way.

E: Lots of question marks though. That is evidenced by his introduction to the story of what happened to Mason Evans. He said, “What happens to a man when his sweetheart suddenly jilts him? Does he take it in stride, or does his brain snap and he resort to unearthly things? What really did happen that day in 1848 in that little school house in Monroe County, TN, that caused a brilliant teacher to suddenly walk out of the school room, head to the mountains, never to say another intelligent word? And live there on snakes, rabbits, or other raw meat and whatever he could forage from mountaineers' chicken houses or gardens, and for forty years? Let's find out.

Z: Let's. Find. Out.

E: Mason was born May 10, 1824 in a log cabin at the base of the Chilhowee Mountain. At the time, the Chilhowee Mountain region was occupied primarily by the Cherokee Trible of the Native Americans. The capital of their nation, Chota, was only a few miles from the Evans's home. Mason's parents were names Robert, I'm sorry if I pronounce this wrong, I believe it's Hebrew. Her name is Karen-Happuch. That is K A R E N – H A P P U C H. I think Karen-Happuch.

Z: Okay.

E: I'm not sure though. They immigrated to Greene county in 1820, but they moved to Monroe after the Hiwassee purchase of 1817. The Evans' family was of Quaker faith, and their family consisted of Robert and Karen-Happuch, and their four boys and five girls: Moses, Robert, Mason, Samuel, Abigail, Sophia, Demaris, Caroline, and Octavia. Don't you just love that name? I love an Octavia.

Z: It's so out of left field though.

E: It is. I wonder-is that like a biblical name?

Z: I don't think so.

E: I've never thought of it as such but maybe it is.

Z: I don't think so, but go off, Imma google.

E: Mason was said to be the most talented of those children. I don't know how I'd feel about that as a Sophia or an Octavia in that family. Mason-that's kinda not fair, you don't get to be the best. Anyway, art seemed to come naturally to him. His penmanship was the talk of the settlement. Men in the region would commonly come to him to solve medical problems. In his youth, Mason was good friends with many of the Cherokee children of his age. He was 14 when the Native American Removal began, and it impacted him for the rest of his life. I mentioned Caleb Starr before, he's the one that lived on this mountain and basically gave it its current name. I had never heard anyone call it Chilhowee, fun fact, until recently. One of his son's named James was very active in Cherokee politics and he actually worked to negotiate the treaty that would result in the Trail of Tears.

Z: Ah.

E: Because of his native ancestry, eventually forced him and his own family to leave home and move westward, and he was accused-rightfully fucking so-of selling out the Natives to the white man. Eventually he was killed because of this. James, come the fuck on, what did you expect?

Z: Truly. Hello? Okay.

E: I don't want to make light of that obviously, because it was this horrible thing. At one point I had the numbers written down here, but I must have moved them. Thousands and thousands of people lost their lives on the Trail of Tears and this man basically was just-

Z: Didn't help!

E: Yeah, I don't know what he was-what he thought was going to happen. His whole family had to leave and give up their land. Hundreds of other families had to, too. Caleb Starr, as I said was a slave plantation owner and he had many 100 slaves. This is another really grim part of the story, because the way it is written, it kind of makes it sounds very praisy? They basically kind of put him on a pedestal a little bit, and they talk about about how-they talk about how much the people Caleb Starr literally bought and sold adored him and how much pride they took in their work they took for him. It is said when he left on the Trail of Tears some grieved themselves to death and were buried alongside the waters of Conasauga Creek. And that may have been true, they were grief stricken but it really grossed me out that a book written in like the 20th century was like, “Yes, this man was great, he owned 100s of people.”

Z: Yeah.

E: Anyways, but that's just-I only included that to highlight the way that it is kind of a biased telling of the story, but again it was pretty much the only source I had. Within a year the treaty was signed and the removal began in 1838. What at one time had been 50,000 square miles of native territory were reduced to only a few hundred. Until he saw them driven from their homes to an unwanted territory in the west, Mason Evans pleaded the case of the white settlers. After 1838, he formed a different opinion but kept it to himself, is what the book says.

Z: Okay.

E: I would imagine that was a pretty traumatic experience. Having all these friends and then seeing them be forced to move away.

Z: Right, yeah.

E: Anyways, so Mason went on to become a captain of a militia commissioned as such by the governor in 1841. He was 17 years old. Then, in his adulthood, instead of-I think he was supposed to go on to be a general or something. Initially thought he would have a career with the military, but he was so smart we would really rather you be a teacher, so he accepted a job as a teacher at a local school. Now we get into 'The Heartbreak' is what I have titled this chapter.

Z: Yay.

E: Essentially, the cause that is attributed to Mason deciding to go off into the wilderness forever is that he had his heart broken by his sweetheart. No one knows her true identity. What is known about her, is that she was the daughter of a prominent doctor in the area. “She was the apple of his eye, an only child whom he love more than life.No one would say, nor was it in print who the prominent doctor was, or what was his daughter's name. Was it because people wanted to protect the girl? Or was it because the doctor was so influential in Monroe County, that no one would even think to breathe a scandal such as the Mason Kershaw Evans affair.” It's all written very dramatically.

Z: Right.

E: Like a tabloid, but she was a co-teacher with Mason at the same school. They spent a lot of time together in the schoolhouse, but they would also go out together and roam around in the forest. They would ride their horses together. Mason would paint pictures for her, and draw for her. They just had a great time together. When he proposed to her, and she accepted. Mason didn't really wanna tell anybody, but she insisted that she had to tell her daughter, and he was like, “Okay, well, you tell your father, and I'll tell my mother and that'll be the only people that we tell.” Earlier, before we got started this was one of those where you could tell I was getting tired of their bullshit and just tired in general. Despite her anonymity, the author of the book gave her a name, that I quite honestly to be fucking hilarious. Dawn O'Day, and I put here, “Like bitch what is she, a leprechaun?”

E&Z: (laughs)

E: The whole that there was, there's this very dramatic story of her birth because Mason's mom a midwife, and though her father was a doctor, he decided it was bad luck to deliver your own baby, so he called for Mason's mother because she was an experienced midwife, and she was actually pregnant with Mason at the time. He and Dawn are only a few months apart in age, so she was born at the brink of day, and so the author was like, her name is Dawn O'Day.

Z: Oh-

E: Yeah

Z:...my god. What's his name again? The author?

E: R. Frank McKinney.

Z: R. Frankly, I don't like it.

E: (laughs) As I said, Mason's mother was the midwife who delivered his eventual sweetheart. What?

Z: Another thing.

E: What?

Z: I wouldn't care about bad luck. Well, I guess this was a different time period. But-

E: Yeah.

Z:...just, it's free. Just have the baby, you ain't gotta worry about it.

E: That's free real estate.

Z: That's free real estate, truly, but I mean, as soon as I said it, I was like “They didn't really have hospital bills.” But!

E: Well here's the thing that bothers me too about this whole debacle in the-I had a lot more of this whole birth scene when I initially was doing my notes because it was just. It's so hard to tell what of this was actually true, and what of it was speculation because everything seems like it was speculation the way that it was written.

Z: Right.

E: Basically there's this whole scene Dawn's mother is obviously in distress, she's in labor, she's in pain, and he just fucking backhands her and tells her to quiet down, and then she dies. Yeah, she fucking dies. She dies in childbirth. Okay first of all, he smacked the hell out of her, she falls back quote, “whimpering onto the pillow,” he drugs her to keep her calmer, and when she does deliver the baby, she dies. And he's like “Oh my god, my wife died, and I slapped her.” Like no shit. First, you shouldn't be slapping your wife in the first place, what the hell? That really-I'm sorry I just got real loud.

Z: No you're fine, speechless.

E: Oh, it frustrated the hell out of me. I could really go on about this book. He slaps the mother of his child, until she literally falls back on the bed, she dies, and that is part of why he was so protective of his daughter. Ironically, in turn, when Mason was born the doctor was the one that they called on to deliver him. This family structure, this community, they're all very tight nit, it's a very small place, they all know each other. As they got older, Dawn was very drawn to Mason because of his skills in the arts. She quickly became friends with him. She was allowed to spend some of her free time hanging out with Mason, but her father said, “Mason Evans is a bright chap, but I just don't have any use for soldiers.” It was speculated that he felt this way because he maybe had something in his past that made him kind of resent the military. A lot of people in this story in particular were draft dodgers for the Revolutionary War, which is a really weird thing to think about.

Z: 100%

E: I don't know why, I never really thought about the Revoutionary War having been-having had a draft. I guess that makes sense?

Z: Yeah.

E: It's possible that that's why he felt that way. He in general was very possessive and protective of his daughter. So she never really brought up the topic of her having any sort of affection for Mason until he proposed to her, and she said, “Well, I have to tell my dad.” She went home, and when she told him that she had intended to marry Mason, they had this massive argument and he forbade her to marry him. As incentive for her to not marry him, he promised her the farm and $1,000.00 in gold if she would turn Mason down. Now, I didn't google how much $1000.00 would have been in 1820 whatever, actually no that was later. I think this is like 1840. This is also one, in your story you had said there aren't a lot of really exact dates. There are very few exact dates in this too. Basically, I have his birth date and his death date and anything pertaining to the Civil War that was recorded by the government, but nothing specific in between. So, he promised her the farm and $1000.00 in gold, and he said, “Compare that to tending babies, scrubbing floors, tilling the ground, never having money of your own, your own husband being gone from home, soldiering, leaving you with all the chores to do. If you're in your right mind, you'll never do it.” And I have here, which, this guy was a raging shithead, but he did make some valid points. I would take that money.

Z: (whispers) Same. And a farm?!

E: A farm?! Yes.

Z: Cottagecore!

E: Yes, exactly.

Z: I don't mean to scream.

E: It's fine. That's how you feel about cottagecore.

Z: I love it, I love it.

E: Dawn didn't go to school the following morning. Mason received a note from her father's gardener, informing him that she would not be in school that day, and her students were to be sent home and return the day following. Mason accepted that, but he was acting very strangely after that. He was very anxious, and his students were taking notice. “At times he would lose his train of thought, stop his teaching, stare into space, and after a moment of silence, would again gain his pupils attention by frequently running his fingers through his hair, laughing foolishly, and whispering to himself.” Students feared that he had been bewitched because they had seen him act similarly at religious camp meetings, writhing, wringing his hands and crying. There's another quote here, “This was the first time anything had happened to him since the time he fell sick at his brother's home in Mississippi several years back.” He had gotten really ill. I don't think they ever said exactly what he had, but he had a very high fever. This is kind of where they think things started to really effect him, because he was kind of-It was a a high enough fever to where it was starting to effect his brain function, and they think that that may have permanently damaged his brain. His brother had actually said he had congestion of the brain, but Mason said, “But I wasn't crazy.” This is another-basically, any quote that I'm gonna say is certainly written by R. Frank McKinney, not by the actual people that said them. It says, “But I wasn't crazy, it was the high fever that caused me to go out of my mind,” he rationalized with himself. Mason had studied enough medicine to know something about fever. If he hadn't became a teacher, he would certainly have became a doctor, as he had said many times before. He wrote all of this behavior off of his anxiety and he told himself that he would see Dawn after class. The gardener came back, and brought him another note, telling him not to leave until Dawn showed up. Which I think is kind of funny, because why send this poor man to the schoolhouse, when you could have just said “She ain't coming to school today, also Mason, hang out for a little bit after.”

Z: Yeah.

E: Put it in the same note!

Z: Yeah.

E: I digress. So Dawn comes up, and they have this fight, she breaks it off with him. She basically does that whole thing of, even though she didn't actually hate him, she played it up like she really hated him, just to make it a cleaner break, which I get, I guess.

Z: Been there.

E: Yeah, it happens. Doesn't make it hurt any less, but that's what happened. He was devastated, and he got on his horse and he rode away into the forest to be alone. After that, he eventually went home, but Mason didn't come inside to get his food like he always did. His mom looked outside and she saw him run into the barn, grab a coat of a hook, and run back into the woods, leaving his horse behind. She said to his brother Milton, “Mason's gone off without his supper, wonder where he's headed for?” Milton replied, “To Panther Cave, I guess.” That's where he's gone a lot lately to write poetry and compose songs for that female school teacher. He said that Panther Cave is the quietest place in the Knobbs for when you wanna meditate.” Now what we'll learn here is that Mason is a douche. Oh, not Mason, sorry, Milton. Milton very much hated this girl. He, the whole time is portrayed as just thinking she has the worst of intentions. He literally calls her a witch at one point. That's another thing about this, all the exaggeration I've talked about before, instead of portraying as what I believe it to be, and what I think most people that would read this in modern times to believe, is that Mason was sick, he had some underlying illness and his behaviors after this point were possibly inflamed by trauma. To me it all reads as very much this man had undiagnosed mental illness in the 1840s. However, they demonize the shit out of Ms. Dawn O'Day.

Z: Great.

E: Constantly talking about Mason is wandering around in the woods just thinking about how he misses her, thinking about how she destroyed his life. Milton is constantly quoted as saying she ruined everything for him, and destroyed his future. It's fucked. Literally, all she did was break up with him.

Z: Right.

E: That really is another beef I have with this book. Panther Cave. Panther Cave is this cave on the western side of Chilhowee Mountain that was as the name implies known for being a hiding place for panthers and it became Mason's primary hide out in the years following this event. His family went looking for him there after he ran away, but they didn't find him because he had already left, and he was on his way back to the house. That evening, they heard someone in the barn and they thought that someone had broken in. When his father went in to investigate, he found Mason sitting on the floor in his horse's stall hugging his legs. Which, they say, this is a great horse, but I would not wanna be down there.

Z: No.

E: A horse could kill you straight up with one kick.

Z: Oh yeah.

E: Not the point.

Z: Mason's crying, he's sitting on the floor hugging his horses legs. He keeps repeating to his family, “I had to see my horse, I had to see my horse, he's the only one that would understand me.” And same, Mason I get it. Listen I understand you. I was a horse kid, okay? My mom still has horses. They're good animals. You still coulda got kicked in the head. His family convinced him to stay and have a meal with them. His mother told him to sit down at the table but he wouldn't. “Instead he began pacing the floor with bodily agitations and jerks. He ran his hands through his hair, jerking his head back and forth, then letting his body fall on the floor, writhing as if in extreme pain. Robert and Milton tried to get him off the floor but he fought them off. Finally, Mason righted himself, began to sing in words never heard before, singing most melodiously, not from the mouth or nose, but but entirely from the breast. I don't-that still boggles my mind, I have no idea. He would run from one end of the kitchen to the other and back again, often barking and grunting with each stroke of his head. His family basically thought what was happening to him was “a spell,” similar to behavior that they had seen people exhibit at Methodist camp meetings. Such as like speaking in tongues, that kinda thing. Mason was obviously in distress and they didn't know what to do. One of his parents said, “Mason's just like the man in the Bible that was possessed by demons, full of unclean spirits, until Jesus sent them into a heard of swine. But what could have caused such a thing? That was another point in which Milton was like, “It's all that woman's fault.” called her a witch. Like I said, they didn't have any idea what was happening because they had no understanding of mental illness or any kind of brain injury, knowledge or anything like that.

Z: Right.

E: So they just tried to make him comfortable and placate him. They finally fed him, and it said, “Mason ate his meal ravenously, with his hands rather than any other utensils. He ate everything they put in front of him and downed two quarts of coffee.” Which sounds like a great day. I would love for that to be me.

Z: Same.

E: I wanna do that.

Z: Same.

E: They tried to convince him to explain what had happened, but he jumped up from the table, grabbed a knapsack from a hook on the wall, and ran back into the woods. His brother Milton was a medical student and he insisted that one day he would become a doctor and he would fix Mason's problems. We're gonna time skip a little bit.

Z: Sure.

E: In July of 1850, there was a 10 day stretch of near constant rain. It brought widespread flooding to the region. Many people were forced out of their homes, and dead animals, human waste, and debris were washing up in massive quantities on the farmland. I feel like I should specify, in this area where this is all taking place. It's a lot of flood planes between mountains, so when it rains, even now, it's really easily flooded. Ten straight days of rain is bad. It was very bad. Mason, at this point, had been living in the wilderness about two years. His father had sold off his horse because Mason wasn't around to care for him. He gave him the money from the sale, he was paid $100.00, and he told Mason that he needed to take it and use it, but Mason didn't want it. He put it in his backpack, and just let this $100 bill get shredded up in his backpack.

Z: Mason.

E: Yeah. He didn't have any use for money, he was out in the woods-

Z: Fair.

E:...and at this point he had become an expert at chicken snatching, taking food from gardens in the middle of the night, anything that he could find, he could eat. He was an expert forager, he knew all the berries and roots and stuff he could eat. He did eat all his meat raw, but he didn't really have anything to cook with in a cave.

Z: You gotta do whatcha gotta do.

E: Yeah, although it's not like he didn't know how to light a fire, it's just he apparently didn't cook his food. That didn't kill him, so I guess it's okay. Disclaimer, if you're listening to this, and you're considering the Mason Evans Diet, don't.

Z: Don't.

E: Don't. Cook your chicken thoroughly. At this point, he'd lived out there for two years. Dogs would bark and chase him up trees and hunters had to come and call them off to rescue him, because they would tree him like a bear. Overall, he was adapting to his new life. He was learning how to function out in the wilderness, but things were about to take a turn because the Evans family was victim to a lot of the flooding damage. They lived right on the banks of the creek and they had to clean up a lot after the storms. By this point, all of Mason's siblings had grown up and moved away and gotten married, so his parents were all alone to deal with this. This is topical, unfortunately, the flooding brought with it something much worse than just property damage, it brought illness. There was an epidemic of typhoid fever, and people just started dropping like flies. Entire families were dead in days. Milton had gone to Knoxville to go to medical school. He was called home, not because they were enlisting all the doctors in the region to care for people, but because both of his parents died like (snaps fingers) immediately.

Z: Jesus.

E: It was horrible. He said, “I wonder how many people thought to boil the water before drinking it.” 'Cause they wouldn't have known.

Z: Right.

E: That was a lot of what was killing people was they were drinking unclean drinking water. The Evans family all came together to make arrangements for their parents, and the question came up, “What do we do about Mason?” Milton, always the spokesman of the group, decided he was going to track his brother down, but when he did find him, he decided to just yell at him. He told him that he was disgusting and that he looked like a wild animal, that he didn't look like a person at all anymore. He told him, “If you'll come and get cleaned up you can go with me, but not before. You can't see Ma and Pa looking like that.” He was just now finding out that his parents had died, he's already traumatized by a number of other things. Mason of course, didn't want to hear it and he ran off into the woods again. He didn't do what Milton told him to do, however he did attend their funeral. He followed the procession of, there was like a wagon with matching white horses that carried their caskets. It's described in this very beautiful and flowery way that honestly, genuinely very sad, and his parents were buried at Hickory Grove Cemetery, while Mason watched from the woods. After that, this is where things are getting up into the Civil War, because we are coming up on the 1860s. At this time, the construction was finishing up on the White Cliff Springs Hotel. It is a very important location in Mason's life, in his history. The owner, Harvey McGill, and instructed Jonas and Betsy Jefferson, the couple that ran the hotel kitchen, to attend to all of Mason's needs. They would feed him, and often, Mr. McGill would come to the kitchen while Mason was there and he would talk to him and kind of give him the scoop on what was going on. I also feel like I should mention at this point, Mason basically went non-verbal. He didn't really speak very much, if at all. At lot of time in the book they describe him as kind of communicating in grunts and hand gestures, but it wasn't that he didn't understand things that people were saying to him. A lot of things in the book kind of-at the same time they're like, “yes, he was brilliant,” there was kind of this air of, “well he didn't talk anymore so he was stupid.” I just want to say, that's not how it works.

Z: Right.

E: You can be nonverbal and understand things, you know.

Z: Yeah.

E: Anyway, that's a whole other spiel for another time. So he would come in, and he would get the hot goss, and he would find out what was going on. He basically learned, at the White Cliffs Hotel, that the war was coming. He learned all about states seceding from the Union and that sort of thing. He was like, “Well, I am of the age of the draft,” he would be draft-able, so he was like, “I gotta hide.” He hunkered down Panther Cave for a little while, a long time, several months I guess? While he was still in hiding there was an accident. He decided that he was afraid of being caught by the authorities, he wasn't even gonna go to the hotel, he was just kinda gonna stockpile supplies, stay in his cave. One night while he was out foraging, he sees this light in the sky. He followed it, and the hotel was on fire. Burning to the ground. He shows up, and the fire marshal is there, and they're like, “Well, there's your fire bug,” and they basically threatened to arrest him. He is very upset, he ends up-they describe him as kind of having a fit. He started convulsing, he was very upset, he didn't know how to communicate that he hadn't been the one to do it because people were basically just accusing him already.

Z: Right.

E: Fortunately, at the same time that this was happening, this woman came forward, and was like, “My daughter knocked a candle over into a laundry basket, and that's what happened.” He was exonerated and he got up and ran away. The hotel burned to the ground. Mason went back to Panther Cave. This is another one of those points in the story where the author speculates that Mason spent much of his time lost in the memory of his ill-fated love affair.

Z: I don't think so.

E: I have here, “Like come on bro, it wasn't that serious.” After that he visited his sister Demaris and her husband Horner Coltharp, and to his surprise, he learned that his brother, Milton, had become a doctor, like he said he would. Instead of doing anything to help Mason, he filed paperwork with the court system in Monroe County to declare Mason a lunatic and subject to the confinement of a lunatic asylum. Milton also sold the land that was willed to Mason, without his consent, and basically was like, “Okay cops, go get him. Lock him up.” Very helpful. So-

Z: I don't like Milton.

E:...yeah, Milton is a shithead!

Z: Truly.

E: Demaris and Horner explained to Mason that Milton had moved away, but he had alerted local authorities to be on the lookout for him. Demaris requested that her husband build a shelter for him, where he could be supervised and he could be safe. Horner Coltharp did what he was asked. He constructed an 8x10 shanty for him, supplied him with food. They implored him not to wander off. He did, of course, try to leave to go back to the forest, and he was captured and chained to the floor. Which was great, because when people heard about this, people would come and just stare at him like he was a fucking zoo animal.

Z: Great.

E: Yeah, but there is a silver lining to this because this group of women heard what was happening to him. They were sympathetic so they came to see him and they brought him some supplies. They asked him if he could make use of a file, and he was like, “Yes, fuck yes, I can use a file. I can get out of here if I have a file.” So they baked him a loaf of bread with a file hidden in it.

Z: (gasps)

E: He was able to eat the bread, get the file out, and escape. How cool is that?

Z: I love that.

E: I know! These vigilante southern mamas are just like, “Nah this is not okay, you can't be doing this. This is a grown man, let him live his life. Let him out, here's a file, go be free!” I have so much respect for that. That's probably my favorite part of this whole story.

Z: I love that.

E: Yeah, so he escaped and he basically-he vowed never to return to his sister's property again because even though they had tried to help him, he didn't wanna get captured again. He continued to wander. He did go back occasionally and visit the White Cliff Hotel because they were constructing a second one, or rebuilding it. But he felt really uncomfortable being around there. He set up a number of outposts throughout the knobs with supplies and shelters where he could hide, should the authorities come to hunt him down again. A lot of people had complained about him raiding their gardens, and stealing their animals. The police never really caught him. Four years passed from the night of the fire and Mason showed up and he was very surprised to find that there was another hermit living there. Well, he wasn't living there, but he was a visitor, and they were treating him the way they were treating Mason, where they would feed him and give him whatever he wanted. His name is Gabriel North, and he'd had a very hard life. He had been fending for himself since childhood due to a strained relationship with his family. The book also implied that he had some mental illness as well and that that might have been effecting the way that his family treated him, so he was on his own. He did, however, have two dogs and Mason did not like dogs. When Harvey McGill was like, “I don't want you two at my hotel at the same time, I think you both should leave, go show him Panther Cave.” Mason was like “Cool, let's go,” Gabriel was like, “Okay well here's my dogs, and the dogs immediately attacked him. Immediately attacked Mason. They get into a fight, he hits the dog, because the dog is trying to attack him, and Gabriel was like “If you ever hit my dog again, you'll regret it Mason.” He kind of explained, “I have a checkered past with dogs, they do not like me,” and Gabriel basically was like, “Okay, cool that's fine. Just don't do it again,” and they became friends. But, another epidemic of illness hit the region. Yellow fever this time, and Gabriel was like, “I don't wanna be around for that. I'm afraid, I don't wanna get sick, I'm leaving.” So he left, and Mason was left alone again. That was in 1878. At this point, the book talks about what Mason had done for companionship previously. Allegedly, he had a couple of different animals for companionship. He had a rooster that he stole from a farm, like a prize rooster. This rooster and him were like BFFs. He kept it in a hollow oak tree that he called his rooster house. It road in his pocket until the action of squeezing in and out of his pocket caused it to loose all it's feathers. So he had a naked chicken that-

Z: (laughs)

E:..that was his best friend.

Z: (still laughing) I love that.

E: I know!

Z: Oh my god!

E: He also befriended a very large yellow tomcat, which followed him around for a long period of time. Now, here's the thing that's kind of icky. The rooster eventually died, and Mason ate it. Which, yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and say, I get it because he, you know. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive, and he was already catching and killing chickens before that.

Z: Sure.

E: The thing that bothers me about this, is that people were very into the speculation that he ate the cat too.

Z: I was afraid you were gonna say that.

E: I don't know that that happened. That's another thing that is in there just for shock value I think.

Z: I think so too. I feel like he was smart enough to know not to eat the cat.

E: I don't know, and honestly who the hell am I to judge him if he did.

Z: I've never had cat, who knows maybe it's good.

E: Living in a cave in the woods, you forage for all your food. Honor every part of them right.

Z: Yeah...

E: I know that's kind of fucked up to say about a cat but yeah. I just thought that that was-it was just randomly tossed in there between, “Here's a story of the Civil War,” “Mason Evans may have eaten his cat.” Like what??

Z: (laughs)

E: What are you talking about??

Z: Written. Like. A. Tabloid.

E: It must have been a slow news day.

Z: Truly.

E: Anyway, we're finally winding down. In the 1880s, a lot of things began to change. Lumber became a big industry in the Monroe County area, therefore, railroad started moving in. It was also at this time, that The Athenian, the newspaper that printed the pamphlet that I mentioned in the beginning, began it's operation. The publisher was a man named Wilbur F. McCarron. McCarron had promised the people of McMinn County “a newspaper of prestige, one whose literary content would be the best in the nation. There, the people who subscribed to the newspaper could be assured of many interesting features about McMinn, Meigs, and Monroe Counties.” The funny thing about this, is that people were not about this happening because they were like, “We wanna know about politics, we don't give a shit about whatever literature you're trying to bring us.” They also didn't like him because this was in the time period where Democrats and Republicans were flipped values wise-

Z: Right.

E:...and he was a Republican, and I thought it was really funny because they were like, “We don't like republicans around here.” And I was like “Boy you better fast forward 200 years.

Z: You better buckle up!

E: That's all we got. Within a month of the publication's beginning, McCarron came to visit the White Cliff Hotel and he told Mr. McGill that he wanted to know about Mason and eventually write a piece about him. Mr. McGill basically told him that the best person to talk to would be Horner Colthrop, his brother-in-law. When he returned to Athens, McCarron immediately published a series of articles in his paper about quote, “The Wild Man of the Chilhowee.” He recounted the stories of the people who had encountered him through direct interviews. The article stirred up a lot of controversy, and on January 9, 1886, ,the sheriff captured Mason and brought him to the Athens County Jail, and yet again, his capture drew in a lot of spectators. A lot of people came to watch them, arrest him basically and put him in prison. They took his photo on the steps of the courthouse, gave him a change of clothes and sentenced him to an insane asylum in Nashville. Very, for context, Monroe County is like the bottom eastern corner of Tennessee. Nashville is 4 hours away?

Z: Yeah, like three of four.

E: Three or four hours away, so that's very far from anything he's every known. In The Athenian, Mr. McCarron wrote, “Till a short time ago, Mason Evans kept with regularity the date of his birth, the day of the week, the month, and the year, and when urged to do so, would write a few sentences and solve problems with as much exactness as the days of yore. But age is creeping upon him. His eyesight is failing, and the little spark of passion and the reason that should have never left him is gradually being extinguished. It was only by the exercise of strategy and urgent persuasion he was induced without using force to come down from his mountain home and get into a wagon waiting to convey him into town, a distance of some 15-20 miles.” Mason did not want-whether they forced him or not, he did not want what they took him to do. He attempted to escape several times. So far as to get the start of his guards, several 100s of yards going at full speed toward the mountains. Mostly reports said that he was harmless, but a few people had said that in his older age he would get confused, he would lash out a little bit. What it actually said was, “attacks of raving lunacy.” Which, yikes. A few weeks later, McCarron wrote that Mason was taken the McMinn County Poorhouse. Once he arrived there, he very quickly made his escape. He walked a distance of around 20 miles back to his brother-in-law's house. Horner Colthrop provided him a shelter to stay in at night and he was free to roam during the day. Which is kind of what the situation was before, but this time there wasn't really much of an issue with it. He actually used the shelter he was given, the cops didn't try to come take him away, they all kind of came to an agreement. At this point, things were really, finally starting to calm down for him. During the winter of 1891-1892, Mason stayed in the cabin intermittently. He continued to visit the White Cliff kitchens and he was very grateful for the services that they gave him, because he was 68 years old, and his health was beginning to decline. Any food that they could give him, any warmth, he was grateful for. Unfortunately, on the morning of January 11, 1892, Mason's body was found frozen sitting under a tree. His brother-in-law claimed his remains, and Mason was buried in a simple wooden casket near his parents at Hickory Grove Cemetery. For 40 years, he had lived alone in the wilderness, kept himself alive. I think that that is fucking crazy.

Z: Truly.

E: Obviously, if you threw me out there now, given that I am of the-I'm on the millenial/gen z cusp. I've basically always had a cell phone in my hand. I would not last a day.

Z: I can't even poop in the woods.

E: Exactly! Thank you! I know it was a different time but wow. 40 years, completely alone.

Z: Yeah.

E: Didn't have a house, lived in a cave. Finally I have a quote here from Harvey McGill, the owner of the White Cliff Hotel who said, “Mason Evans is much better off dead than alive and Hickory Grove is a much better place than the shack he lived in. The final resting place of his soul is with God, I am sure.” That is-

Z: That's sweet.

E:...the story of Mason Evans.

Z: Oh my god. I am still shook about those women.

E: I know.

Z: The loaf of bread.

E: It's so cool. It's so cool.

Z: Oh my god.

E: That just goes to show you. That's the definition of southern hospitality.

Z: Truly.

E: Truly.

Z: Well, thank god I finally know all about Mason.

E: I'm sorry that was so long-

Z: Nah.

E:...for our first run, but I really just needed to

get that one off my chest. Fortunately, it had given me kind of a branching off of some other topics that I want to cover too. I definitely want to talk more about the White Cliff Hotel and I am actually planning on doing an episode on sinkholes.

Z:OOooo.

E: Caves and sinkholes are all kind of connected. So that's that. Thank you for listening.

Z: Of course.

E: What's your issue this week?

Z: My issue this week, and-okay there is a side of TikTok-

E: I'm afraid now.

Z:...currently, and again, brain worms. My issue this week is cleantok. Cleaning TikTok.

E: Ooo, that sounds nice.

Z: I'm gonna do a little bit of a trigger warning here-

E: Oh, okay.

Z:...for child abuse.

E: Okay...

Z: Because skip ahead like 2 minutes, if you don't want to hear about this, but-

E: I was not expecting this.

Z:...have you ever read the book A Child Called It?

E: No, but I know about it. I know like the general plot.

Z: There's a scene where household chemicals are mixed and it's supposed to be-

E: Oh.

Z: Okay.

E: Like the mustard gas?

Z: Yeah, pretty much.

E: I think I know where this is going.

Z: There's this side of TikTok now where people are like, “We're on cleantok, we're gonna clean.” and they'll dump half a container of AJAX, Clorox, Dawn, literally everything under the-

E: Ammonia.

Z: Ammonia, everything and that's just where my brain goes is mixing chemicals together and making deadly toxic gases and I'm just waiting, because there's livestreams of people that'll just go live and dump-

E: Yeah, I've seen a couple of those videos where people are just throwing in 4 different kinds of powder and dumping multiple liquids on top of it.

Z: Yeah!

E: How are you not dead? Someone's gonna get hurt.

Z: Truly, and that's where my brain went. I was like, someone is going to not realize it. 'Cause it's science, they're chemicals. You're mixing shit together, you don't know what you're mixing. Somethings going to happen, someone is going to get hurt, because these people on TikTok are like “Oh I'm going to make a rainbow in my toilet today.”

E: Can I say, I feel like a lot of that we don't have home-ec in schools anymore.

Z: Yeah.

E: Because I learned, my mom was the one that told me, don't mix ammonia and bleach cause you'll make mustard gas, but I don't know if that's actually true. I know that it makes something that is very dangerous, but that is kind of where you would learn about these household things. Schools are so underfunded that you don't have that anymore.

Z: Yep.

E: That's just sad.

Z: Well, that was my issue. Sorry to get a little dark there for a second but truly I saw just one video, and you know how TikTok is, they'll be one here or there, and it really made me mad.

E: Well, hey, PSA don't do that. Don't mix things.

Z: Please.

E: Do your research if you're going to use multiple chemicals because, because holy shit you could literally gas yourself to death.

Z: Here's the tea. One is enough.

E: Yeah, most of the time.

Z: Scrubbing bubbles? Fine.

E: Yeah.

Z: Dawn Dishwashing Liquid? Fine. Don't start mixing shit. You don't need to. That's what they're there for.

E: Yes, yes. Please be safe. Please don't get hurt.

Z: What's your issue now that I'm all worked up?

E: My issue, maybe this is dark, my issue is honestly that I had to take Brownie to the emergency vet.

Z: Yeah.

E: 'Cause that was a nightmare.

Z: Yeah.

E: I had to take my sweet little boy to the vet because I came home from work and he had poopied blood and I was terrified and I thought he was gonna die. It turns out that he just had a mild infection, and he's had his antibiotics. He's good to go now. We did his follow up, and the vet said he looked fine. His issue this week is probably the fact that they shaved that funky chunk out of the side of his neck, because they had to give him fluids, so he has this wonky ass-it looks like the state of South Carolina.

Z: Have you ever seen that episode of Bob's Burgers where he gets the stitch in his finger-

E: Yes!

Z:...and he's like, “Why did you shave my arm?”

E: That is exactly it, yeah. God that's such-I love Bob's Burgers.

Z: Same.

E: But yeah, that's my issue. He's fine. I'm still-I don't think I'm ever gonna recover from that. That was so stressful. He's okay and he's standing here staring at me because it's been two hours, and he probably needs to poop.

Z: He probably needs to poop.

(dog shaking his head noises)

E: Yeah.

Z: We'll take that as a yes.

E: Alright, well, thanks for listening.

Z: Of course, thanks for listening to me ramble, thanks for listening to Em ramble.

E: Thanks for really listening to me ramble.

E&Z: (laughs)

Z: Well we'll hopefully see you next time, hopefully we'll see you next time, I'm really excited for my topic next week.

Z: Hi guys.

E: Hey.

Z: How's it going? So when we initially recorded this episode, we didn't have all of our social media set up completely. There were a couple that had different usernames or whatever, just rookie mistakes that we had made, but we just wanted to rerecord the ending here. Kinda touch base with you, so you know exactly where to find us so there's no confusion, and we're all on the same page. So Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube @issues-podcast. Our Tumblr is @theabandonmentissues. Or you can simply go to our LinkTree whick is linktr.ee/issues_podcast. And all of this will be linked in the description below. But that's got all of our relevant links including our cited sourced, social media, and our Patreon can be found there as well.

E: We also have an email for listener story submissions now. So if you have any places nearby you that you think are relevant to the topics that we cover, we would like to hear from you. You can send those to us at tellusyourissue@gmail.com, and we might read it out on the air.

Z: You never know what could happen.

E: You never know. You can also send whatever you want to that email. Anything you want us to know. Anything relevant.

Z: Send us memes. We'll print them out, and we'll hand them to Gertrude.

E: Exactly. Yeah.

Z: No problem.

E: That should pretty much cover everything, contact wise.

Z: We appreciate you guys understanding that we're fools.

E&Z: (laughs)

E: We're just some fresh faced youngsters.

Z: Listen, we're little rookies, we gotta figure it out as we go, and unfortunately this is one of them.

E: If you need anything from us, that's were you can find us.

Z: Please, send me memes.

E: (laughs) Please. It's what keeps him going.

Z: It's all I got left in this world.

E: Yeah.

[atc74]

Making Circles - Month One

Square(s) Filled: Fake Marriage for @spngenrebingo

Warnings: Case angst, being fake married to Dean, feels, mentions of death

Summary:  Dean and Y/N have to pretend to be married for a case. But this isn’t any ordinary case. Married couples have gone missing from Albert Lea, Minnesota, every six months for the last few years but there is almost zero evidence. People don’t just disappear like that do they? With Bobby and Sam’s help, plus an ally in their new town, they have just under six months to figure it out. Chances are they’ll survive the case, but will their friendship survive their fake marriage?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2342

Written for: @spngenrebingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches, who says the nicest things and makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and also keeps me on a straight line. I heart you! And @alleiradayne for letting me bounce ideas off her, like all the time. 

A/N:  This will be six chapter series, one for each month of the case, plus a bonus epilogue. Loosely based/inspired by the song Making Circles by Christian Kane and I just felt this needed to be written. There will be lyrics dispersed throughout the entire story. I hope you love this as much as I do. The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

Making Circles master list

Month One

“So get this,” Sam started as Dean and Y/N entered Bobby’s kitchen early one morning. “I think I found a case.” Sam turned his laptop around so they can both see the details.

“You sure this is our kind of thing, Sammy? I don’t know man. This looks pretty normal as far as I can tell,” Dean grumbled, taking a seat.

“What else did you find Sam?” Y/N asked, turning her attention to Sam.

“Well, there have been disappearances going back a few years. Every six months or so another couple is murdered. All of these couples seem normal with blue collar jobs and homes, but from what I was able to dig up, nothing out of the ordinary,” Sam explained. “All the homes of the missing couples have been combed over, but all the evidence is at the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) in Saint Paul and they have a mammoth backlog. We may not know anything for months, even years. Or possibly never. It isn’t exactly high priority, ya know?”

“You idjits better get a move on,” Bobby addressed Dean and Y/N as he poured a cup of coffee.

“Bobby, we’ve got basically no intel. We have no idea what we’re hunting and you want us to walk in there blind?” Dean argued with his surrogate father. “That’s not smart. Besides, why does it have to be us?”

“Oh, you want me and Sam to pose as happily married couple?” Bobby smacked Dean across the back of the head.

“Dean, it only makes sense. Y/N and I get along too well and it would be weird, pretending to be married to a woman I view as my sister,” Sam made a face at the thought.  

“Dean, we’ve got time. From this report, the last couple went missing just a week ago. That gives us almost six months to figure it out,” Y/N reasoned as she rose from the table, a smile on her face. “I’m going to go shower and pack.”

An hour later, Y/N and Dean sat with Bobby at his kitchen table, Sam having gone out to produce some documents. “Now, I’ve made some calls to a couple of friends in the area. Dean, Jake has a job ready for you in his shop Monday morning. Y/N, I’ve got something lined up for you at the County Library. Here are the keys to the safe house. My cleaning lady should have it ready to go for you by the time you get there and the cupboards should be stocked.”

“Bobby, I don’t like this,” Dean shook his head. “We have no idea what is going on here.”

“Your brother and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you idjits. I got too much time and energy invested in ya to just let you vanish,” Bobby groaned. “Now, there’s one more thing. Two really. Here.” He handed Dean a small box.

Dean lifted the hinged lid, finding two gold rings inside. The pit in his stomach expanded, knowing these rings belonged to Bobby and his wife Karen, whom he had to kill when she became possessed by a demon. The old man never fully recovered from that. “Bobby…”

“This ain’t no time for sentiments, kid. Just take em, okay,” Bobby stomped heavily from the room, the screen door slamming behind him, making Y/N jump from the sound.

“I guess here goes nothing. Mrs. Winchester?” Dean took out the smaller ring and held it up for Y/N to put her hand out. The ring slid easily onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Dean slid Bobby’s ring onto his own finger. It felt heavy on his hand, or maybe it was just heavy on his mind.

Sam returned a few minutes later with the papers they needed, along with new identification cards. “Here are your clean ID’s and marriage certificate. The house is listed in Bobby’s corporation, so that is not a problem. He also set up a joint bank account in both your names, well, new names. This is your proof of insurance and Y/N, there will be a vehicle parked at the house for you. A very unassuming Honda Civic.”

“A foreign car, Sam! Really?!” Dean protested.

“Actually, Honda manufactures models right here in the U.S., Dean,” Sam informed his brother.

“No way my real wife would drive a Japanese car,” Dean mumbled as he looked over the rest of the documents. “Wait...our new last name is Hetfield? Awww Sammy, it makes me all tingly when you remember the little shit.”

“Shut up Dean,” Sam said, turning to Y/N and handing her all the documents. “Safe travels. We’ll be in touch.”

~*~

“Jesus, I have driven a lot of miles over the years, but this is boring as fuck. There is literally nothing but farmland.” Dean pointed out for probably the tenth time in the last two hours. Y/N thanked her lucky stars that they were almost there.

Albert Lea, Minnesota was less than a three hour drive from Bobby’s place. It was close enough that he and Sam could get there quickly if she and Dean needed back up. With any luck, they would figure out what they were dealing with, and they wouldn’t be here long. On the other hand, six months of normal sounded like heaven to Y/N right now after the last few years.

She turned on her GPS as they entered town, programming the address Sam had given her. Within minutes, they pulled up to a quaint, craftsman style home with a long driveway and impeccable landscaping. Dean pulled into the driveway, cutting Baby’s engine.

“Did you know Bobby owned this place?” Dean looked at Y/N.

“I knew he had a couple of safe houses, but I thought they were all like Rufus’ hunting cabin. Not this. This is going to be like living in the lap of luxury compared to the motels we’ve slummed it in,” she chuckled softly, opening her door and getting out of the car.

Dean followed quickly, opening the trunk to grab their bags. “Motels? Shit, this place is even nicer than Bobby’s. I bet we won’t even need tetanus shots from walking around the yard barefoot!” He laughed, slamming Baby’s trunk shut.

They carried in their bags, not having much from living a life on the road, and walked up the front steps to the door. “Mrs. Hetfield, do you have the key?”

“Why yes, Mr. Hetfield. Allow me to do the honors,” Y/N smiled as she took the key and unlocked the door. Dean dropped his bags and scooped her up in his arms, despite her protests. He walked through the door and set her down on a comfortable looking recliner. “Dean!”

“It’s tradition to carry your bride across the threshold!” He told her, grabbing their bags from the front porch.

They took their time exploring the home. There were three bedrooms upstairs with one full bathroom. The updated kitchen had a small island and new appliances. The basement was fully finished with two small bedrooms and another full bathroom. Y/N grabbed two beers from the fully stocked fridge, as promised, and met Dean in the backyard. There was a two car garage, housing one newer model Civic and a large assortment of tools. It had everything Dean would need to maintain both cars. There was also a small shed in the corner of the yard which contained a lawn mower and a variety of garden tools and supplies.

“Wow, Bobby really set us up, huh?” Y/N turned to Dean as they sat on the double swing on the back patio. It was was a beautiful home and yard. Y/N looked forward to working in the garden, making a mental note to grab some books on the subject.

“Yeah, he did,” Dean sighed heavily, finishing off his beer. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Okay. I’m going to run into town and pick up some clothes for work. Do you need anything?” Y/N asked, taking his empty bottle.

“No, I think I’m good. Thanks,” Dean declined, holding the door open for her.

Y/N couldn’t help but see Dean was hiding something, and she knew him well enough by now to see the subtle differences. She decided to let it go for now. It had already been a long day with having this situation thrown at them and the drive. It would take some adjusting on both their parts. She set out in her car, exploring the town a little, finding a couple of diners, coffee shops and a thrift store. She picked out a few new things for Dean as well as a new work wardrobe for herself. Making a quick stop at the butcher shop, she picked up a couple of steaks as well as stuffed burgers, wanting to do something nice for Dean, and well, the man appreciated red meat.

Y/N let the steaks sit out while she started a load of laundry. Dean ambled into the kitchen just as she was putting together a quick salad, the potatoes baking in the oven. “Hey. Thought we could grill, I picked up a couple of Porterhouses.”

“That sounds great. I’ll go get it ready,” Dean acknowledged and slipped out the back door. A few minutes later, she followed, carrying the steaks and a couple of beers, handing one off to him.

“I know we got a lot thrown at us today, but we’re going to get to the bottom of this, Dean,” she tried to reassure him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”

“We never go into a hunt blind, Y/N. I don’t care if we have six fucking months or not, this ain’t right, and they both know it, too!” Dean snapped and immediately regretted his words, seeing the look on her face. “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re stuck in this, too.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get through this together, Dean. It’s what couples do,” she stated, like it was the most simple thing in the world.

“But we’re not a real couple, Y/N. I’ve never been in a real relationship before, not really, and never like this. This apple pie life we’re supposed to live? We’re used to living a lie on the job, but long term? I don’t know.” Dean sighed heavily, turning the steaks on the grill. “I just don’t know.”

Once dinner was ready, they ate in an uncomfortable silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Y/N thinking of ways to help Dean see the positives and Dean working the case in his head, running through the list of monsters he knew and which one could be responsible for the married couples’ disappearances.

Monday arrived quickly, Dean taking off early for his new job at the garage, leaving without so much as a goodbye. Y/N felt her heart continue to sink, and it was only the third day. She readied for work and packed lunches for both of them. She had enough time to swing by the shop on her way to the library.

Y/N pulled up to the garage and stepped out of her car. She walked across the small lot and inside the lobby.

“Good morning, Miss. What can we help you with today?” An older gentleman, about Bobby’s age, greeted her. He was wearing grease covered overalls and a smile on his face.

“I’m Y/N, here to see Dean W-Hetfield please,” she caught herself, covering her slip with a cough.

“Are you the missus? You’re a pretty lady. Dean really out punted his coverage with you, didn’t he?” the old man chuckled, adding a wink. “I’m Jake. Pleased to meet ya.”

“Yeah, I guess he did,” she laughed along with him, knowing Jake already knew their secret and had given Dean this job as cover.

“Hetfield! Yer lady’s here!” He yelled through the door to the service bays.

Dean walked in a few moments later, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. She had seen him work on Baby, and numerous cars in Bobby’s yard, but seeing him now, shed a whole new light on him. This Dean, the one she was fake married to. The one that lived a normal life with a normal job and a wife and a house. She pushed down the simmer in her belly and walked up to her ‘husband,’

“You forgot your lunch, babe,” she smiled, handing him a brown paper bag.

Dean opened the bag, seeing two turkey and bacon sandwiches, chips, an apple and a can of Coke. “Thanks, honey. I guess I was preoccupied.”

“Have a good day. I’ll see you tonight,” she stepped closer and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. She waved at both of them, exiting the shop. “Nice to meet you, Jake!”

And thus began the routine of her bringing Dean lunch at the shop every morning on her way to work. By the fourth day, she invited Jake over for dinner that weekend. She hoped it might put Dean at ease, having someone on their side locally that knew their real story and he didn’t have to fake it around Jake because of the others in the garage.

Saturday morning rolled around and Y/N had done her shopping, picked up the house and made a pie while Dean mowed the lawn and slow smoked a brisket on the grill. She was settling into their new life fairly well but Dean was having trouble adjusting. He came home late most nights and ate his dinner standing up at the small island.

She didn’t know where he was when he didn’t come home straight away, but the smell of stale smoke mingled with his own scent of coffee, leather and motor oil. At least it wasn’t cheap perfume, she thought. At least this Dean, her fake husband, was faithful to her.

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke​ @gh0stgurl​ @paintrider13-blog​ @hunterscabin @alleiradayne​ @idreamofplaid @squirrelnotsam

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @docharleythegeekqueen @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever

[eyebright-iris]

Review: Met Gala 2019

Good morning to girls and gays only.  Straight men can perish.

Well, the Met Gala has rolled around once again and all I can say is: I’m so glad I’m a lesbian. The theme for this year was ‘Camp: Notes on Fashion’ and my GOD did some men decide that this was the perfect opportunity to come in a bland black tux or worse.

Some of the biggest disappointments of the night for me have to be Rami Malek and Taron Egerton, who, having both just played some of the most iconic men in recent history who lived, breathed and ate the essence of camp, saw fit to turn up in black tuxes.  Taron’s was kinda sparkly though and I still respect the dude for his general lack of typical masculinity elsewhere (more men commenting “phwoar” on their mates’ Instagram, please).  Shout out to Frank Ocean who showed up looking like any bouncer you might find outside one of my local clubs on a Saturday night.  He collaborated with James Charles to prove that while some gays showed their best, others certainly did not.  The theme was CAMP, James Charles, and you still couldn’t deliver.

I appreciated the change in pace from Darren Criss and Harry Styles, but to be honest, Harry’s had camper looks in concert and Darren Criss…well, I loved his look, but it also took me a solid ten minutes to work out that it was him and not just Brendon Urie in his regular concert gear.  Glittery jackets and statement eyeliner do not a camp icon make, I’m afraid, though you certainly did better than so many others.

Kim Kardashian was certainly…there.  I’m impressed with the way she managed to make herself look like she’s just stepped out of the ocean butt-naked and dripping wet, but girl.  You’re rich as fuck.  There’s more than bodycon dresses out there.  Also please smack your husband, he’s a dick and he’s wearing a black tracksuit.  Kendall and Kylie were a little more flamboyant but honestly, they were single-colour knockoffs of things I would say you could find at a Rio street festival, except that would be an insult to Brazil and all the ways Rio festivals embody everything the Jenner looks were not.  And to be real with you?  For all the colour that was there, they were boring.  What is it with these women and being afraid to be #Iconique? It’s sad that all they seem to know how to do is emphasise their boobs and hips in dresses with very little fabric to try and be daring.  If they weren’t so rich and influential no one would pay them any mind because you can see the same look on anyone else.

While I don’t like Cardi B, I can appreciate her attempt to get into the spirit of the Met Gala, which she pulled off so well last year.  I only wish her skirt hadn’t ended up looking like rows of theatre seating.  Katy Perry was there as both a chandelier and a hamburger, which, while a step up from the Jenner-Kardashian contributions, leads me to wonder if she knows what ‘camp’ means, or if her foray into queer culture stopped once she was done appropriating sapphic sexuality for male consumption in 2008.  Special mention must go to Benedict Cumberbatch who saw fit to show up dressed like some bizarre visiting cousin of Colonel Sanders who maybe definitely owned a plantation.  It wasn’t a black tux but somehow I just wish it had been.

To get to the real stars of the night, I think it’s only fair to start off by saying this Met Gala was once again, Black Excellence.  I cannot BREATHE for the number of incredible, powerful black icons taking to the pink carpet in works of art.  Let’s begin, shall we?

Billy Porter showed up (and showed everyone else up) with six hot half naked slave dudes decked out in gold carrying him in on a black-and-gold chaise-lounge like a modern-day Cleopatra and, once he had both feet firmly on the floor, threw up the massive golden wings of Isis and owned the entire space around him.  The crown.  The wings. The copious gold sparkly shit. The gold bedazzled stuff on his face. Every other man should be ashamed of his failure to measure up to the king. Also every man in a tux found DEAD by the side of the road thanks to our Lord and Saviour Billy Porter.

If Billy Porter is the king, then surely, there are too many queens to choose from.  From Laverne Cox’s strikingly shaped black dress with her brilliant blue-white hair and statement makeup, to Lupita Nyong’o showing up in the full neon spectrum of the rainbow, black women showed up to take the crown every single time last night.  Janelle Monáe’s stunning artsy dress blew me away, from the Picasso-like features to the multitude of hats that I have no idea how she balanced, she’s a masterpiece.  Lizzo stepped out looking like the Empress of Flamingos and I am absolutely here for every second of it.  The colours are loud, bold, and the outfit is as large-as-life as Lizzo herself.  Her hair was so stunning, I swear I thought it was a crown at first.

Black hair certainly had a starring role on the red carpet as well, from Tessa Thompson’s insanely long braid (she was carrying a WHIP to complete her outfit RIP all wlw) to Lupita’s impressive afro with its many golden combs.  I adored Danai Gurira’s hair and especially loved her Oscar Wilde-inspired outfit: here is a woman who understands her brief and works from it to great effect, and I loved Keiynan Lonsdale’s gorgeous hair and butterfly gown – seeing him embracing his queerness with both arms since Love, Simon led him to come out has made my heart big.

I can’t move on from the black dominance and excellence of the night without mention of two of my favourite looks: Zendaya and Lena Waithe.  If Billy Porter is the king and there are too many queens to count, then Zendaya stands out yet again as the living, breathing princess of the lot of them. I can hear the white tears over black girl magic Cinderella from here.  She arrived in a whole Cinderella dress that expanded and glows from within, a pumpkin-carriage purse and her own fairy godmother to transform her with a little bibbity-bobbity-boo?  She even lost her damn glass slipper on the stairs. A true artist.  As they say in the LGBT+ community: um, wig.

Speaking of which: Lena Waithe.  The lesbian icon herself, who showed up to last year’s Catholic-themed Met Gala in a pride flag cape, and who went hell for leather this year as well, putting every man in a tux to shame by not only out-classing them in how fantastic she looked in her lilac suit, but also paying homage to the origins of camp, with the back of her jacket boldly stating “Black Drag Queens Invented Camp” and the pinstripes on the suit actually being cleverly displayed lyrics to iconic drag queen songs.  She really Did That yet again and I’m knocked dead.

This review is already long as hell and it’s about to get longer because there are more looks that I want to mention.

First of all: Lady. Fucking. Gaga.  My girl did four outfits on the pink carpet in the space of 15 minutes and holy shit did she kill it.  Starting out in a voluminous hot pink ballgown, followed by a more sedate but still impressive black one with a matching umbrella, then down to a slim hot-pink number, huge sunglasses, and statement telephone, and finally ending up in an iconic mesh and underwear set, all while sporting the most gorgeous gold false eyelashes that made the whole thing pop.  The creativity and flair of everything Gaga does has made her iconic throughout the years and this event was no exception.

Ezra Miller FUCKED IT UP. Pinstripe suit with the sweeping train, glittering cage corset on top and a myriad of imitation eyes all over his face, carrying an eerie mask of himself on a stick?  Phenomenal.  The confidence in his walk as he moved and the way he displayed his look was so striking and seeing him own it so much made my night.

I loved Jordan Roth’s take on Billy Porter’s wings, allowing him to show up as a literal whole theatre. I loved Ryan Murphy’s sparkling pink champagne tux and high-collared cape.  Florence Welch absolutely slayed in her glittering wing-collared cloak.

However, one of the standout looks for the night was Hamish Bowles.  The embodiment of camp, with that magnificent fur-trimmed patterned cape. The look is absolutely dominating even when he’s standing still, and when he moves, the whole thing comes alive. Watching some of the dynamic shots taken of him having fun with his outfit, I felt like I was watching a bullfighter in a lion’s mane – and all of that is good.  I can’t quite put my finger on why I felt he looked like a fabulous Mrs Doubtfire (maybe it’s the shoes) but the outfit was one of the best and definitely set a bar that so many men fell short of.

Final Words:

Can someone please tell cishet men to step their game up?  Or men in general (I see you Frank Ocean and James Charles letting the damn side down)?  They can stay boring if they want, however.  The rest of us will be having far more fun without them, and the plain black tuxes certainly are no talking point of the evening.

[smains711]

Is someone spreading false rumors about you?

Hi, everyone!  I decided today that I’m going to do something completely crazy and start my own blog!  I know, right?  It’s never occurred to me before to become a blogger, but earlier this week I saw a post in one of the community groups I follow that really triggered something in me, and suddenly all of these thoughts and feelings came up that I really felt needed to be expressed.  After sitting with these thoughts all week, this morning I woke up and had the idea, “Why not just blog about it and get it out there?  Maybe it will help someone.”  And so the inspiration was born.  

What happened this week is someone posted in a Facebook community group soliciting advice on how to handle a situation where someone else was spreading misinformation about her.  She was really upset and feeling a lot of anxiety over this and the fact that this was happening to her.  I perceived she felt misjudged, betrayed, angry, defensive, sad, worried about what others might think, and she wanted to know how she should handle the situation. What should she say to this person? What should she do?

Have you ever been in a situation where someone you knew, possibly even someone very close to you like a best friend or even a family member, had spread misinformation about you?  How did you react?  Did you feel hurt?  Betrayed? Sad?  Angry?  Confused? Misjudged?  What were your first reactive instincts?  Did you want to confront the person and defend yourself?  Or worse, verbally attack them and call them out, maybe even publically.  Or defend yourself to other people who might think worse of you if the misinformation got to them?  If you reacted in any of these three ways, did you feel better or shittier afterward?

When something happens to us that triggers pain in our bodies, regardless of what that trigger is, if we act out while in our triggered state then we risk lashing out at another person angrily or at least in a less than kind and compassionate way.  This accomplishes nothing other than to create more conflict and hard feelings. Some people are so good at holding onto lifetime grudges that entire relationship dynamics can be disrupted and thrown into an endless cycle of chaos.  If we truly want to break this vicious cycle, we need to react in a more emotionally intelligent way.

When I initially read this woman’s post, the first thought I had and the advice I wanted to share with her is this:

You don’t do anything.

You do nothing at all.  Period.

What the other person spreading the misinformation (we will call them Person A) was doing had nothing to do with the woman who posted asking for advice (Person B).  Person A’s behavior was Person A’s own inner shit on full display, which they were gladly putting out there for others to see right through. Person B needed to recognize this.  Person A subconsciously believes they are small, and so they try to make themselves feel bigger (i.e. better than or more superior to) by spreading small stories about or being highly critical of other people.

Person B knows who she is.  She knew what was true about her and what wasn’t.  In her moment of truth, she did not need to defend herself…not to Person A nor to anyone else.  Nor did she need to try to convince Person A of all the reasons why they really should like her!  If Person A doesn’t like her….AWESOME!  

Seriously!  

If Person A couldn’t see and appreciate Person B for the amazing, loving, and kind person she is then Person A needs to GO!  These are exactly the kind of people you do not want in your life. I don’t care who they are or their close proximity to you. 

Are you feeling me yet?

That may sound harsh, and it may even bring up a little bit of fear, “But I’ll lose a friend.”  For some people, it may mean becoming estranged with a family member.  But let me ask you, what would you be losing…really? Wouldn’t you rather surround yourself with people who lift you up and expand you?  Or do you prefer surrounding yourself with people who feel heavy and contract you?  Person B was trying to control someone that she had no control over, when what she needed to do was simply let go and focus on what she could control…herself and her own feelings and thoughts about the situation.

You can’t be a butterfly and still have caterpillar friends.  At some point, you need to fly.  When someone feels heavy to me, that’s my queue that I need to lovingly let them go.  And when you do that, what is the worst that could happen?  You lose what feels heavy and become free, and you open yourself up to new possibilities and attract higher quality people into your life.  Don’t be so busy looking over there at that one person who is being an asshole, while overlooking all the beautiful friends and family who LOVE YOU.  

Are you still feeling me?

Here’s what I want to tell Person B she CAN do:

She can hold a space for Person A where she holds up compassion, love and forgiveness to them.  Compassion is key here with the understanding that people who act out in unloving ways lack self-love, and until they learn to truly love every aspect of themselves unconditionally, how could they possibly ever truly love anyone else? Person B doesn’t need to do or say anything to Person A directly; she can do this from a distance. Just hold that space for them and stay grounded in her truth.  This is the space where she will find peace.  In this space, she stops giving away her power.  In this space, she is living her life as an emotionally intelligent woman.

When we start making this a daily habit, before long our nervous system kind of recalibrates itself until this becomes our normal reaction whenever chaos shows up unexpectedly and tries to disrupt our lives.  Before you know it, you become UN-FUCK-WITH-ABLE.

That’s my new favorite word this month…UNFUCKWITHABLE, where nothing thrown at you bothers you anymore. Nothing anyone says or does can possibly hurt you.  You are at total peace with yourself, and pretty soon, people around you begin to notice how calm you are ALL THE TIME.  And people start to wonder, “How does she do that?  How can I get that?”  

And you just spread your butterfly wings and fly….

Peace and Love to all of you beautiful butterflies!

[leelee10898]

For You: Chapter 7 - Little Wonders

Summery: A few weeks pass after their fight and make up. Will they find out the sex of the babies? Who is this woman with the unusual eye brows? Leo and Dex have words. catch up here. As always if you would like added to the tag list. let me know. Rating: Mature Chapter inspiration: Little Wonders - Rob Thomas

Aria woke early in morning, the extreme urge to use the bathroom jolting her from her slumber. She was 21 weeks pregnant now, and the twins were weighing on her bladder something fierce. After climbing back into bed, she nuzzled against Leos bare chest in attempts to go back to sleep. The realization that she wouldn’t soon set in, today was a big day. Today was their big ultrasound, the one they hoped to reveal the sex of the twins. Their friends had a pool going, Olivia and Drake both thought Girls, Liam and Maxwell thought Boys, and Ellie and Leo thought one of each. Aria did not weigh in on her thoughts, to her she was just happy they were ok. She did not know she was pregnant when Madeline shot her, things could have gone very wrong had she been hit anywhere else.

 "Mmm what time is it baby?" Leo mumbled half asleep. "7:30." Aria sighed. Leo rubbed his eyes, waking up a bit more. "You're anxious about today aren't you?" He rubbed her stomach. "I am, I hope these two behave." She chuckled. "If they are anything like their momma, they will. " he cooed kissing her belly. "If they are anything like their Daddy, they will probably give the tech the finger." She snorted. Leo wore a look of shock and innocence on his face paired with his devilish grin. She pushed his shoulder playfully "I’m so hungry I could literally eat a horse." She joked as she rolled out of bed only for Leo to catch her arm. “Wait here love.” He jumped out of bed and disappeared down the hall. He returned a little later with a tray full of food. “Breakfast in bed? You spoil me super man.” she giggled. “Of course Love.” he settled into the bed as they ate their breakfast.

A couple hours later they were in the imaging office, waiting to be called back. The office had signed a disclosure contract, that they were not to discuss the pregnancy with anyone, however it did not protect them against other patients. An announcement needed to be made very soon. "Hale." The technician called out. Aria and Leo made their way to the room "Hi. My name is Tessa, I will be doing your scan." Aria tried very hard to stiffen her laughter. Leo sat next to her, a wide grin on his face. "Oh man, looks like I am out of gel. Give me a second and I will be right back." As soon as Tessa left the room Aria's head whipped to Leo's. "Did you see that?" She giggled. "I did Love, didn't you know. Dicked eyebrows are all the rage in Europe." he said with a straight face. "I can't with you." She giggled. "She's seriously sporting those Dickbrows."she laughed a little louder, Leo joined in. "Ok, now lets get this show on the road." Tessa announced as she re entered the room. 

As she scanned over her stomach Aria tried her best to pay attention to her two little sprouts on the screen, but her eyes kept wandering back to Tessa’s dick brows. Every time she blinked or moved them, it looked like they were dry humping the air. At one point she couldn’t take it anymore and laughed very loud. Leo smirked, he knew exactly what she was laughing at. "I’m sorry, I thought of something funny." Aria blushed trying to play it off. Tessa continued the scan showing them their babies feet, hands, fingers and their profiles. "Do you want to know the sex's of the babies?" Tessa asked. "Yes!" They said in unison. "We do, but we want to have a reveal. So we don't want you to tell us." Aria explained. "Of course, we can put the gender in an envelope for you." Tessa explained. "Can you tell what they are?" Leo question. "Umm yep, I see baby A's gender." She scanned "And there's baby B's." Tessa smiled as she printed a few pictures. "Everything looks great here, you have two healthy little ones, congratulations your Grace and your highness." Tessa left the room. Once in the car Aria was hit by a fit of laughter "I must send these to Ellie." She continued to giggle. Leo glanced over her shoulder "you didn’t love?" "They were Dicks Leo, on her eye brows. That calls for proof Ellie would never believe me." Aria laughed as she forwarded the pictures she secretly took of Tessa.

After their appointment they went to the palace to meet with Liam. An official statement would need to be drafted announcing they were expecting. Aria had already told her parents the news, shortly after she found out. Since Aria was clearly showing, and with Constantine’s birthday ball two days away, it was now time to let court and country know. Regina was still very cold towards Aria, Leo had it out with her on numerous occasions. Whenever the two of them would stop by, Regina made herself scarce. The announcement had been drafted, and would be broadcast in the papers and media outlets the day after the Ball. Leo and Aria would make their announcement during the ball to the entire court.

Two days later it was Finally Constantine's birthday ball. Aria wore a pastel pink chiffon dress with a long shaw so she could cover her bump as best they could. As they arrived the Herald announced them, Leo caught Dex licking his lips out of the corner of his eye. His jaw tensed and his hand balled into a fist. He had not come face to face with him since he put all of those things in Aria’s head. "He doesn't matter, this is your fathers birthday, and we are finally announcing the babies." She whispered into his ear, calming his nerves immediately. "Of course love. Besides, I am the one with the most gorgeous woman in the room on my arm." He kissed her cheek.

 Dinner was served, followed by speeches. As Constantine thanked everyone for coming, he then turned the attention to Leo and Aria, calling both up to the center of the room. "Welcome everyone, I know I am usually the one raiding the bar and causing the most ruckus so this is a change for all." Several in the crowd chuckle. "You see, a long time ago I met an amazing woman and fell madly in love." Leo turned and smiled at Aria. "Life happened and we were torn apart. Until one day, fate brought her back to me." Leo grabbed her hand. "Even though it had been a long bumpy road, our love proved stronger then anything else." Aria watched on with much admiration, the love of her life gushing with pure joy. "Our love was so big that it needed to expand, and so it is our greatest joy to announce the Royal family will be expanding. Duchess Aria and I are expecting twins." He beamed as a roar of applause and cheers filled the room. Leo leaned in dipping Aria slightly back, one hand firmly in her back, the other on her stomach as his lips captured hers in a deep kiss. Dex quickly downs a tumbler of whiskey and grabs another. Leo looks over to see Dex gritting his teeth. Leo grins like a Cheshire cat, at the satisfaction of Dex’s displeasure. 

They head back to their table, bombarded by their friends with the question on everyone's mind. "What are they?" They all asked. Ellie pipped up "I am throwing a Gender reveal party, you'll all find out then." The group groans. "But when little petunia?" Maxwell whined. "In a week, I have already spoken to Arias mom. The party will be in Pennsylvania." "What?" Aria whipped her head to her best friend. "We wanted to include your parents, so Ellie and I made the arrangements." Leo put his arm around her waist. "Besides, I thought it time I met the parents." Aria half heartedly chuckled yeah my dad is going to be so pissed she thought to herself. As the night went on both Aria and Leo made their rounds, fielding questions about the babies Genders, and when the would the wedding be. Leo had a few plans and did not want to spoil them, so they just told everyone they were focusing on the babies first. Leo had wandered over to the bar for a scotch when Dex approached him. 

"Well congrats Daddy." Sarcasm dripping off Dex’s words. "That’s the funniest thing I have ever heard, Leo being a father. Does Aria really think you'll stick around?" "Jealous Dex? Cant have something you want? And here I thought you said I had an child out there somewhere.” Leo scoffed.” I told you, Aria loves me. Those babies are mine. You're out of your league Dexter." Leo gulped down his scotch and took off for the door, trying to distance himself from Dex before he did something he'd regret at his fathers party. Dex followed, hot on his heels. "She will leave you Rhys, you aren't good enough for that fine a piece of ass." Dex sneered. 

 "What the fuck did you say?" Leo turned to face him. "You'll fuck it up, And she will leave you. I'll swoop in and save the day. " Dex grinned. Anger splashed across Leo's face as he slowly made his way closer to Dex. "Mmm I cant wait to get in between those thighs." Dex teased.  Leo closed the distance, his fist connecting with Dex's jaw. Dex’s face jerked to the side. Leo gripped him up by his collar and pushed him against the wall. "You listen here you dirty son of a bitch. She is MINE, and if you come near her again or try to hurt us in anyway, I will burry your sorry ass." Leo released his grip and walked away leaving Dex to rub his aching jaw. "I will get you back, for what you did to me. Mark my words. " Dex mumbled to himself. He continued to rub his jaw as he left the palace.

Tag list:  @bobasheebaby @scarlettedragon @annekebbphotography@speedyoperarascalparty @greyeyedsmile14 @stopforamoment @mind-reader1 @xxrainbowprincessxx @hopefulmoonobject@alicars  @indiacater @bella-ca @blznbaby @blackwidow2721@liamxs-world @simsvetements @furiousherringoperatortoad@choicesfannatalie @crookedslimecreatorpasta @coldcollectornight08 @museofbooks @syltti78 @ao719 @3pawandme @blubutterflyy @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @liam-rhys-deactivated20180927 @riseandshinelittleblossom@wannabemc2 @Gibbles82  @sarwin85 @heatherfilliez

[travelingtarot]

TAROT THE WEEK!!!

Weekly Psychic Forecasts Every Monday Morning To Help Guide You Through Your Week!

Week Of May 21st – May 27th 2018

Card: The Empress

Quick Analysis: Ah, The Empress. Pregnant with possibilities. All around her everything grows. She has dominion and rulership over all she touches. She’s in tune with the Earth and all her energies. She knows how to work with natural cycles in order to bring forth a bounty of blessings. And her endeavors are blessed by the heavens above. Since the Earth is in tune with the heavens above, by being in tune with the Earth, she too becomes in tune with the Heavens. So all work together for the greatest good not only for The Empress, but for the evolution of the planet as a whole.

When this card comes up in a reading, I always encourage the person sitting across from me to have faith. Trust that everything he or she is doing is the right thing. They may not have seen results heretofore, but very soon the results will be abundantly clear.

Because The Empress is all about growth energy. She’s full with child. Ready to give birth to another great idea, another great product, another great philosophy, another great thingamajig. And all around her is growth. The fields are growing. The trees are crowned with greenery, the flowers are in full bloom. Water is flowing all around her. She knows she can touch anything and bring it to life and she revels in her creatrix abilities.

So because The Empress is coming up in our reading today, I encourage us all to tap into that spirit of creation that is within us and go out and create something. Something that means something to us. Something we’re passionate about. Something that makes us happy and is useful to others. Let’s get out there and create! The Universe blesses our endeavors.

In-Depth Analysis: This week I was fat shamed three times by three random different people. All in the space of 24 hours. And one of those random people was my Dad!

The first two were in the same wheelhouse so I’m lumping them together. Without mincing words here, I was trying to hook up with two different guys this week. I needed to get laid. So I was casting my net out far and wide in hopes of getting that itch scratched. Both were online hook-ups (does anyone hook up in person anymore?) and both were almost closed deals.

We were exchanging messages, one via WhatsApp (does anybody use that app? If so, what’s your experience been like? Sound off in the comments below) and the other via the messaging system on whatever dating app I was on. It was all going well until we exchanged photos. At first we exchanged face pics. No problem. Neither one of us looked like Quasimodo. So far so good. Then we exchanged body pics. One look at my body and one of the guys completely vanished. So now my chances of getting laid have been cut in half. The other guy says, “U R a very big boy”. I reply, “I am. It’s something I’m working on fixing. Not to find someone (transforming your body just to find someone is a silly idea) but because I really need to be the best possible version of me at all times. If this version of me isn’t a version of me you feel you can continue with, let me know. If this version of me is someone you’d like to continue with, let me know that as well. Regardless, this is me.” He responded, “I can accept that version of you, but not sexually.” The conversation ended by me saying, “Thank you for being honest with me.”

Now an argument can be made (and I’ll make it here briefly) that people are attracted to what and whom they’re attracted to. I was not their type. So the argument can be made that it wasn’t exactly fat shaming. It was more “I’m not attracted to you, so this isn’t going to happen.” Further to that point, one of the men was very honest with me. He didn’t ghost me like the other guy did (more on that in a moment). Instead he told me up front that he couldn’t have sex with me. Something I appreciated. As I said, the other one ghosted me, which I guess is par for the course when dealing with people online. People ghost each other all the time. Hell, I’m guilty of f ghosting people every now and again. So neither one of these prospects were going to pan out because neither was attracted to me. I completely get that. So maybe it wasn’t “fat shaming”.

But it still stings.

Finally, less than 12 hours later I was at my parents’ home. I had barely settled in my recliner in the den when my father says to me, “Putting on the weight, aren’t you?” I shot back, “The mirrors in my home work, Dad. I see my reflection every day so I don’t need you to remind me of how fat I am, so please stop.” You can’t twist that into anything else but fat shaming. It’s rude, uncalled for and isn’t helpful in the least. To put it plain, it’s fat shaming.

Recently I’ve become more aware that I need to love myself more. I was told by someone I trust (who also happens to be a working psychic/energy healer) that I need to work on self-love. I need to learn how to love myself unconditionally. It’s a life lesson for me, which means it’s a lesson that has followed me this entire lifetime and will continue to follow me in subsequent lives if I don’t learn the lesson this time around.

And it’s been a tough lesson to learn, quite frankly. Ever since I hit puberty I’ve been a big guy. I was not interested in sports in any way, shape or form. I wasn’t interested in going outside to play. I wasn’t interested in rough housing with the other neighborhood boys. All I wanted to do was listen to music (Amy Grant in particular) and read books. I’d rather have conversations with people than play with people. I’d rather sing in choir than throw the ball around. I’d rather act in a play than wrestle around with people. So exercise just wasn’t in the equation for me when I hit puberty. And so I gained weight. All through middle school, high school and college all I did was gain weight. I read books, listened to music (mostly Amy), sang in choirs and acted in plays. I was happy.

After college I decided to take my health more seriously, so I joined a gym. And for quite a few years afterwards I lost weight. Still a big guy, but definitely more toned than I had ever been in my entire life. Then slowly but surely I started missing days at the gym. It started out a missed day here or there. Then a missed couple days here and there. Then a week. Then a month would go by and I hadn’t made it to the gym. Finally, I stopped going altogether. And the weight came barreling back. Then I’d decide to get back I the swing of exercising and I’d rejoin a gym. And I’d do well for a good long time. Then I’d stop. And the weight jumped right back on my body. If you know anything about yo-yo dieting, you are a member of my tribe!

So now I’m the heaviest I’ve been in over 20 years. And it’s time to get back on the health horse. I try to convince myself this time will be different than the last few times. I’m going to stick to my health plan! I’m going to eat more fruits and vegetables! I’m going to stop eating so many sweets! I’m going to stop eating so much bread! (I fucking LOVE bread! I really do. I connected with Oprah Winfrey on a deep spiritual level when on a Weight Watchers commercial Auntie O proclaimed, “I LOVE BREAD!!!” YAAASSS! YAAASSS AUNTIE O! YAAASSS!!!!) This time will be the time it sticks forever! And I hope it does. I hope this time will be the last time I have to get on the “health horse”. I hope this time will be the last time I will be this overweight. I hope this time I love myself enough to be the best possible version of me I can possibly be.

And that’s the thing that makes the difference this time. Self-love is in the equation. Not as a byproduct of living healthfully, but as a core reason for exercising and eating right in the first place.

Which brings us to The Empress. The Empress is all about being fruitful and bringing things to life. It’s about growing and developing and being blessed in those endeavors by the heavens above. Whatever the Empress touches, multiplies by thousands. Whatever the Empress focuses on grows and expands and thrives. Whatever the Empress loves, succeeds. But in the words of Mother Ru, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell you gonna love somebody else? Can I get an Amen up in here?” “AMEN!” “All right, let the music play!”

The Empress is advising us this week to love ourselves. We simply must. If we want our outer lives to grow and thrive and flourish, we must first love our inner selves. We must love ourselves unconditionally. We must tend to our spirits. We must heal our inner selves. We must do all the work to make ourselves the best possible versions of us we can be, but first we must love ourselves.

Some of you may be asking “Where do I start? How do I begin?” Truth be told, when my good friend told me I must learn to love myself I asked the very same thing. “Where do I start? How do I begin.” And this is what he told me: “Hug yourself. Like literally, physically hug yourself. And when you do, you’ll know what else needs to be done.”

So the next day as part of my meditation process I hugged myself. I wrapped my arms around myself and hugged. And hugged. And hugged. Nothing happened initially. No inspiration, no words of wisdom, no “this is what you do next.” I was about to give up for the day when I was impressed to say, “I love me. I love me unconditionally.” And so I said it. “I love me,” I said. “I love me unconditionally.” And I kept saying it over and over like a mantra. “I love me. I love me unconditionally. I love me. I love me unconditionally.”

If self-love is something you struggle with, the next time you meditate I encourage you as part of your meditation process to hug yourself. It may seem silly. It may seem like “pop psychology”. But in the end, what have you got to lose? Hug yourself. You may feel weird at first when you do it, but do it anyway. Hug yourself. Hug yourself with no expectations. Just hug yourself. If inspiration, impression, words of wisdom come to mind, thank your guides for giving you those instructions and continue on with your meditation. Do it everyday for a month and see what changes occur.

Bottom Line: The Empress encourages us to allow ourselves to grow and prosper. But in order to be truly prosperous from the inside out, The Empress encourages us to love ourselves from the inside out. That love, that unconditional love we begin to feel for ourselves when we take time to consciously love ourselves on a daily basis can only extend outwards towards everything we touch. And when we infise love energy into everything we do it’s like pouring Miracle-Gro on our greenery and flowers (without the harsh chemicals). Everything bigger and brighter. And the return is amazing! It’s true. When we give love, we get more love in return. It’s a beautiful thing. So when we love ourselves, that love has no other choice but to permeate everything else in our orbit. Love builds on love. The more love we give to ourselves, the more love we have to share with others.

So I encourage us to take on that love energy The Empress is sharing with us this week. Take it in and let it mend us. Let it heal us. Let it give us love unconditionally. Let us be about love consciousness all day, every day. Let us put our self-consciousness and embarrassment to the side and hug ourselves and see what if anything happens. Let’s love ourselves unconditionally first so that we have that much more unconditional love to give to others. You can thank me later!

Have a FANTASTIC week, everybody!

Be Blessed.

Song Of The Week: Meghan Trainor Ft. LunchMoney Lewis – “I Love Me”

For more information and to book a psychic reading with me, click HERE

For more information on the card used for this week’s reading click HERE

[braveryjournals]

New beginnings – leaping into the unknown.

Disclaimer: always do what feels right to you. Don’t listen to me or anybody else. Search yourself for answers and do only what you feel you are able to handle at this stage of your life and your development. 

Life brings unexpected turns. Or shall we say, we're not always able to foresee what is the best, most relevant thing we should do next. From our limited, earthly, human point of view, we cannot see the whole picture so when those moments happen we may feel uncertain and anxious. But just think about it: sometimes the most unexpected, crazy things come our way and there's no way we would be able to bring them about with the means of control and out limited mind-based perspective. They would seem out of reach or irrelevant. The thing is life is not linear, the events don't line up perfectly so our CVs make sense. This life is not a German fantasy, all ordered and perfect, it's a fucking jungle. In a good sense, of course.

If you think all this perfect universe, working like a swiss clock and regulating all life on this planet and beyond is here so that you can get up every morning feeling miserable, working in a job you hate (or not, I’m just giving an extreme example), fall asleep while watching Netflix and get up the following day to do the same for the rest of your life... well think again. What a huge waste of energy and intelligence this would be!

So how did it become somehow normal? It's crazy.

Sometimes I tell my friends - if this was the way life should be, if this is actually what life is, I'd rather be dead tomorrow.

Fortunately, it is not so, so I guess I will stick around for a while. I know I can be radical sometimes, but I'd rather be radical than frustrated. And I also think we need to be more radical with the way we live our lives otherwise there's not going to be any change we’re in such a desperate need of.

But let's get to the specifics and focus on some practical examples (taken from my personal experience).

Long story short I got into a situation I didn't particularly enjoy. I started in a new job a few months ago, feeling enthusiastic about the new start, but at the same time intuitively sensing that it would bring a lot of challenge for my inner balance. Even before I started there the intention I set for this new chapter was to be the light, to be the transformation. Like... how did I even know this would be called for? Anyway, I quickly realized that was the case and it was very difficult for me to do. I felt there were so many elements that would need to be fixed and not so much will to work on them so there's only so much you can do while still respecting the will of others and their choice to do things a certain way and remain on the low vibrational frequency.

I was alternating between being drawn into this energy, feeling frustration and buying into the gossip and complaining which the entire company fed on, and working my way through with my energy, focussing on raising my vibration, letting go of the negativity and practicing forgiveness and unconditional love. I started bringing stones with me to work which I found worked pretty well. I was wondering whether I should just drop this situation altogether or would it just be avoidance. When I set an intention of manifesting freedom, in whatever form, and maintaining the high vibes no matter the circumstances I was fired from work. And I felt a great sense of relief.

Now, for most people it is a negative event but as I hope you can clearly see, in this context it just makes perfect sense. The experience acted as a contrast on many different levels, that is I realized what I don't want and where I need to go next. It's very important to see value in contrast. Without it, we would hardly be able to see what is our true preference.

I am now finding myself in front of a blank piece of paper. Standing on an edge of a bottomless abyss, not knowing what will come, let alone the how. People are asking me, and what are you going to do now???

Well, this is what I'm going to do and I want to write this down (in the end it's a journal) so it's on record for future reference. (Now I will have to be really confident about this working out!)

1. Ignore the circumstances completely and turn inwards.

Worrying and feeling insecure naturally appear in this time of not knowing what is going to happen. Anxiety kicks in. But what's the point of getting involved in them? How are they of any use?

We believe we cannot or shouldn't disconnect from those natural safety mechanisms because then we won't get what we want. When they appear it’s important to investigate what hidden belief is behind them.

2. Examine your limiting beliefs in operation and let go of them.

Ask yourself: What do I believe if I feel this way?

And then: Why do I believe what I believe? What is this belief providing me with or is protecting me from?

Usually, the answer will look like – I believe that I am not safe without any plan/ I believe I'm separated from the whole/ I live in a hostile world of which I am a victim/ I am not naturally supported by the universe.

Why? Because I believe those beliefs will keep me safe. If I believe in that I will have strength and stamina for fighting for my survival.

This kind of thinking comes from the lower energetic centers which are responsible for the instinctual responses and survival. It's all fine, we are animals in some ways but we want to make it conscious so we can operate from the higher energy centers and so gain access to a higher wisdom, instead of operating on compulsive or fear-based instincts.

Therefore it's crucial that we ignore the situation completely and don't take our cues from the circumstances. If we do we will fall into this fear trap – Omg, I lost my job, what am I going to do now? I will be broke, my life will be miserable, who knows when I find a new one, it's so difficult to find a good job nowadays (in this city, in my profession etc.), people will think I'm a failure, I feel like a failure, I'm not good enough... blablabla. You see how easily those limiting beliefs can flow providing you with more scary visions and limitations.

Remember that if you will buy into them, you will get what you're asking for. And that's not how we want the new beginning to look like!

Once the limiting belief is identified it should leave. Sometimes you'll need to filter the same belief through those question more than once till it's let go. Investigate yourself and identify all the beliefs you have about the situation, all the ideas you got from conditioning, projections... everything. It may take some time. You may need to take time off to do this in peace and quiet. It may feel uncomfortable, most probably it will because you're dealing with layers of conditioning and beliefs you just picked up unconsciously. You need to make it conscious so you can be free.

3. Let go of control and jump.

Many people feel they cannot just ignore the situation because they feel like as responsible adults they need to look the problem realistically and deal with it. But if you focus too much on your situation you may find yourself blocked. You're already dealing with labels and projects from your friends and family. They don't matter, just stay sane in your own mind and soul and jump! Jump to that abyss.

Looking at the problem won't help because it will just bring more of the same. You can as well say, ok Universe here I am. I am ready to bring to the world whatever you want me to. Be open and humble and jump.

Ponder this: what are you gaining holding onto your present vision of the reality? Nothing new can come from repeating the same ideas, acknowledging survival fears and staying in the present conditioned state of mind. If you want to make a leap and enter a new stage of your life you need to make a risk. It's actually not a great risk to leave behind a boring and outdated version of yourself, but it may feel like something dangerous. Just realize you have nothing to lose so you may as well let yourself be carried by the universe and see what else is out there that you would not be able to conceive with your limited human mind.

4. Live your new vibration.

Seach yourself for your desires and see what is it that you desire to feel in your new life. What is your true essence? Feel it and make it your reality. Stay in this vibration as much as you can. Make your whole day, your whole life turn around this high vibratory state: consume only things that are in alignment, meet people who resonate with you, meditate, do yoga, go for a walk in nature, walk slower, be more mindful of the beauty around you, be gentle to yourself, send love to others, sing, dance, do something creative, smile for no reason, eat good food and so on.

Envision yourself embodying the new vibration and living an aligned life. You may only focus on the way you feel. It may be feeling expanded, inspired, loved, appreciated, connected. Or you may envision a specific symbol of how it would look like, so a specific circumstance: an inspiring job, living your theme, having a beautiful house and a family or whatever that is that would symbolize your new frequency.

Focus on this vibration and try to maintain it despite the circumstances.

Remember that the outside reality seems very real only because it's what we see all the time. It's very distracting, it's shouting at us all the time. But that's where its power ends because it has no real power. Don't forget that. It's like those small dogs that make a lot of noise, exactly because they're powerless and ridiculous.

So live your new vibration and be confident there's no way anything can go wrong from here. Reality has no other choice than reflect it back to you. That's how it works, period. Just don't doubt, don't give up your power going back to the „safe” space of tight but familiar beliefs and fears. I mean, you will do whatever you want, but if you feel it's the moment to jump into the unknown, take the chance life has provided you with. If you don't then it's fine, it will come back to you some other time anyway.

I feel like I laid out a whole recipe for enlightenment in this short post but I think it's important to address all the methods and ideas from specific and practical angles. I hope it will resonate with some of you. 

As I wrote at the beginning it also holds me accountable for my own transformation so I will keep you posted. I’m excited! 

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Alright, it's 6:40 P.M., I'm stuck in 2017 for the next 5 hours and 20 minutes, but whatever, I figured I'd take the time to actually make a list of the highlights of this year (which I will admit, is a tad hard to do given how my brain usually finds it easier to pinpoint the negative stuff first). I was originally thinking of making a bit of a video of me actually talking about it all - you know, so I feel like I'm actually pouring my heart out to you guys and like I'm talking to some close friends - but alas, I'm a socially anxious bean who just doesn't have that sort of bravery just yet, so I'm sticking with typing this all out! I'm sorry! XD

This may be a bit of a long post, so if no one reads this, I don't care. I just felt the need to do this - it's good to pinpoint the good memorable things versus the negative. So here I go!

1) Getting myself into watching not just Jack and Mark but other YouTubers as well. I started watching Jack and Mark around the end of November/earlier December of last year, but I never actually started watching one video a day until some time in January, and it was around that time when I also decided to give other YouTubers a chance as well (Pewdiepie, Crankgameplays, NateWantsToBattle, danisnotonfire, AmazingPhil, and Thomas Sanders). Now it may seem weird that I've added this to my list, but if anyone has seen any of my past posts, then you know that the last three years for me were an emotional hell, and admittedly, I still have unexpected depressing episodes every now and again. Discovering these guys and watching them, while they don't take away all of my pain permanently, they do manage to give me a distraction whenever I'm being WAY too hard on myself. They manage to calm me down and remind me that it's okay, that I'm not alone, and I can get through whatever it is I'm going through. Honestly, I don't even want to think about where I'd be right now if I hadn't decided to start watching any of them. Each year seemed to get worse in terms of how I was treating myself mentally - I REALLY do not want to imagine what I'd be going through right now if I didn't start watching their videos.

 2) On the topic of introducing myself to YouTubers' videos, this all gave me motivation to start drawing again! I absolutely LOVE the whole "dark side of YouTube" idea, and as such, I got overcome with a bunch of creativity to go and create drawings of each YouTuber I watch with their evil counterpart. It was a lot of fun, especially since it was a challenge - testing my ability of drawing real people in different poses with different facial expressions. (I still have to finish Mark/Dark's drawing - it will eventually get done).

 3) My tattoo. My first ever tattoo, one of which I designed...This...Honestly, I NEVER would've thought I'd ever get a tattoo, especially at this age no less. I was always afraid of how much pain I'd be in, plus having to choose something that would be PERMENTANTLY put on your body seemed like such an incredibly hard decision to make. But earlier in the year, given how Jack and Mark had actually managed to help me out quite a bit, I began contemplating about getting a tattoo - one that would look both cool and artistically pleasing, as well as have a lot of meaning put into it. I tossed the idea back and forth in my mind for about 4 months, until one night I had a full-blown mental breakdown. And during that time, I looked at my bare left arm and immediately knew then and there that I NEEDED to get the tattoo done. I wanted it on my arm so if and when I'd ever have another meltdown and be too hard on myself, I could look at it and remind myself that I'm stronger than I know and that I'm not alone. I've had this thing since July 8th, and I'm still so VERY HAPPY with it. I absolutely adore it with all my heart, and I couldn't be any happier with how it came out :)

 4) THE ANTIPOCALYPSE. Holy shit, I swear, of everything that happened this year, the Antipocalypse was the highlight of my year. That was the most fun I had in a long time. I mean, yeah, we all completely lost our minds. We lost sleep and went insane with paranoia for a month and a half, getting increasingly more on edge as it neared August 3rd, but man, it was so much fun having the whole community come together to theorize, create fanart, fanfictions, edits, you name it! And that's not all - there was also the first SepticArt event, which I ACTUALLY participated in. That's another thing why the Antipocalypse means so much to me - it's what got me out of my shell, it's what ACTUALLY got me involved in the community. It got me into making a few theories, some fanart, my first ever fanfic, and I met so many amazing people, many of which I now call close friends :) It's funny, there's some irony there - Anti's evil and chaotic and drove us insane, but at the same time, in some way, he "saved" me. If it hadn't been for him, I'd probably still be a "nobody" in the community, someone just watching from the sidelines.

 5) My Antisepticeye horror fanfiction, "Glitched". This...Just like with my drawing, for the last three years, I had pretty much lost any and all motivation to write, and it was HORRIBLE. Drawing and writing are my passions, and without them, I'm pretty much dead inside. But then the Antipocalypse happened, and inspiration hit me like a truck! I came up with a theory - the idea of us, the community, being the REAL villain, not Anti - and I loved it so much that I was overcome with the need to write a story about it. I was VERY hesitant to do it, given how I'd never written fanfiction before, let alone share my writing with anyone, but the idea was eating away at me so I caved. I ended up writing a oneshot titled "Broken", which ended up becoming the first chapter to "Glitched". I was floored when I woke up the next morning to see so many people loving it, so I wrote another chapter, and then another, and then another, until I was finally like "Fuck it! Let's see how far I can take this". I had absolutely NO intentions of taking that oneshot and making it into a full-fledged story, but everyone gave me the motivation I needed. Jack gave me the inspiration I needed to write the oneshot, and the community gave me the motivation and encouragement to take that idea and expand on it. Also, whenever I say "Glitched is my baby", I mean it. "Glitched" is my first attempt at quite a lot of things - my first attempt at fanfiction, my first attempt at angst, my first attempt at horror, my first attempt at really graphic gory scenes, my first attempt at surgical operations, my first attempt at realism, and when I end up writing Part 18, my first attempt at a battle/fight sequence. I REALLY want to be a horror author some day, and from the responses "Glitched" has gotten, I know I'm doing something right :)

 6) Okay, excluding all of the pornbots and any other bot really, I have a total of 333 followers, and I honestly have no IDEA how that happened or why any of you are following me! I did the math - before the Antipocalypse, before I began writing "Glitched", I had about 48 followers. I was a nobody in the community - I would just stay off to the sidelines, watching and reblogging, but never actually participating and contributing anything. But ever since I started writing "Glitched" in earlier August, from August 2nd up until now, I have gained 285 followers! 285! HOW the actual fuck and WHY the actual fuck?! I'm baffled! In comparison to some of the people I follow, 333 is not really a big number, but to me, it's huge! I feel like a celebrity, and I don't know how to correctly react to this! I've met so many incredible people ever since the Antipocalypse started, so many of which I call close friends, and I love you all so much :)

 7) All of October. I'm talking the Inktober/Egotober/Anti-Awareness Month stuff. Even though Anti didn't really show up (except for in the Silent Movie video), I absolutely LOVED how a majority of the community decided to dedicate the entire month of October to him and came together to make a bunch of fanart for him. And if you couldn't draw, then you wrote fanfiction, and if you couldn't write, then you did edits. Either way, there was a flood of Anti posts, and not just Anti but the other egos as well and it was INCREDIBLE. I had never participated in Inktober before so I decided to take part in it this year, and even though I only managed to get 13 drawings done, it was A LOT of fun. Taking prompts and making a challenge out of it, using pens instead of lead pencil (something I'm not used to) was such a blast! Oh man, I can't WAIT until next October to do it again! :D

 8) The fact that Jack ACTUALLY saw and liked the first drawing I did for Inktober! Okay, I know if may seem a bit like I'm coming off having wanted his attention or something, but I swear, that's not it. I have never once made any of my fanart with the pure intent of wanting to get Jack's or anyone else's attention; it's always been out of fun, always out of just wanting to draw for the sake of drawing. So when it came to the first day of Inktober and I posted my drawing, I tagged Jack just because I felt like dedicating the drawing to him. He gets tagged in SO many things, I didn't think there was a chance in hell he would EVER see any of my work, so honestly, my expectations were BEYOND low. I didn't expect him to actually SEE and LIKE my drawing 10 minutes after I had posted it! Man, I got so damn happy when I saw that he liked it, I actually teared up a bit. I didn't know how to react properly to seeing that notification.

 9) The entire Save The Children Christmas charity stream. Granted, I didn't get to watch the actual stream until Jack uploaded it to the channel (I still have to watch the second part!), but after watching it, I regret having not been able to watch it live. I could NOT stop smiling throughout the entire thing. I absolutely loved seeing just how happy everyone was and just how much fun they were having. And in some weird way, I almost felt like I was there(?). Like, I felt like I was hanging out with close friends - like I was off to the sides, watching and laughing at them being the pure goofballs they are. It was such a pure heartwarming, fun time, and seeing the community come together and raise SO much money for the charity and also create a bunch of fanart for it as well was amazing to see. And of course, I can't forget the Overnight Watch. THAT I actually took part in; for 9 hours and 45 minutes - from 8:15 P.M. to 6 A.M. - I sacrificed sleep and sanity to watch the security cameras. And though I lost my mind - though I was INCREDIBLY tired the next day and though I actually got so scared to the point I cried and had to stop watching - the entire thing was surprisingly about as much fun as the Antipocalypse. It's like what a lot of posts I saw said - it was like one big sleepover for the community! Everyone came together to talk to one another and theorize about everything happening. If anyone was getting tired and about to go to bed, someone else would step in and be sure to update everyone with what was going on. It was incredible!

 Those are all the main things that stand out for me this year. I could go on and list a BUNCH of other things that were amazing and made my year, but then I'd truly be making a book out of all of it, so I'm just going to keep it as this.

For anyone who actually read this all, I apologize for just how long this was! What were you thinking? The pain you must've went through reading this entire thing! XD

Tagging the people who welcomed me into this loving community with open arms and who I truly call "close friends" :)

@vity-dream @golden-eyed-guardians @septic-obsessed @fear-is-nameless @haveaverynicetime @septicfallen @maybekatie @steffid101 @adreamoverlife

It's been one hell of a year and I hope everyone of you guys has a Happy New Year. Here's hoping 2018 will be just as amazing :)

Love all of you guys!

[delightful-mystery]

Grief in Gold and Grey

In times like these, I always turn to music. I am incredibly lucky that my favourite band, Baroness, released an album so exquisite, so meaningful – that I am able to use it to guide me through these months following the death of my father. There will obviously be triggering passages in this blog post so I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to read it. There will also be lots of nerd-ing out about Baroness in a way that only a fan can do, so if you aren’t familiar with their music a lot of this might go over your head (I do recommend listening to them though, even if metal isn’t your thing). Quotes and facts are taken from Kerrang!’s track-by-track guide to the album, which featured lead singer John Dyer Baizley talking us through the album. I’m not going to apologise for being a massive music nerd, but I will warn you that it’s coming.

The album I am talking about is Gold & Grey, the last in Baroness’ line of colour-wheel-themed albums. These colours immediately to me seem to conjure up the season of Autumn and the changing of leaves, misty mornings and cups of coffee. I put on this album, beginning to end, one morning when I was set on some productive self-care. I had just changed my bedsheets, was wearing a cosy jumper and drinking coffee. I also had new pants on, which isn’t essential but damn does it feel good.

These are some of the musings I had whilst listening to this album. At the time of writing, I’m not one hundred percent sure I even want to publish this, but if I’m going to write about my dad dying, then using music as a way to break down conscious barriers and inspire creativity seems like a good way to go about it. So here follows a track-by-track breakdown of my favourite Baroness album, mixed in with some thoughts about grief, and how this album helped me to make sense of (at least some of) it.

It’s a cosy album, as far as sludge metal can be described as “cosy”. It is, I would argue very strongly, the best Baroness album to date. I felt slightly underwhelmed on the first listen, but honestly, with Baroness, you always have to give each record at least three listens to even begin to unpack everything. I think the proper turning point was when I put it on whilst going on a run, and ended up listening to ‘I’d Do Anything’ at the top of the hill outside Alexandra Palace, having just run 10k, sobbing my eyes out as I looked over London. I would also definitely recommend listening to this album whilst running, or maybe meditating.

The album opens with ‘Front Towards Enemy’, which I actually think is probably the weakest song on the album (that being said, it’s still pretty great). It’s classic sludgy Baroness, with tuned down guitar strings “as low as it would go” but also contains notes of r ‘n’ b, soul and has quite a pop-y chorus. It signalled to me that this album was going to be the start of a very different sound for Baroness, and bring in lots of different elements. Which the rest of the album definitely did. What I have noticed on subsequent listens is that the harmonies of the ‘Anchor’ duo – ‘Anchor’s Lament’ and ‘Throw me an Anchor’ – are repeated and reflected all over the album, and do a really good job of knitting the album together in a way I don’t think Purple ever properly achieved, or at least not to the extent I would expect from a band such as Baroness. It’s these harmonies which first begin the record, and they are beautiful.

‘I’m Already Gone’ is a more simplified song, but still so beautiful. There was a lot of improvisation done on this album. So much so that Baizley has said he’s not sure if he will ever be able to fully recreate the guitar part properly. There are so many colours mentioned in this album; this song makes use of black and green as well as “golden at the seams”. I’m not going to try to understand what John actually meant but for me it kind of sounds like inevitability. It’s a very dark song lyrically, so I don’t feel like I’m stretching by projecting my own experiences of looking death in the fucking face over the last four years of my dad’s illness onto this track. 

When ‘Seasons’ was released as the second single, prior to the album, but after ‘Borderlines’, I did a double-take looking at my speaker. I literally stopped whatever it was I was doing just to stare, open-mouthed at the noise coming from the video I had just put on to play. I was so confused. Baroness are doing blast beats now? And is that…? I mean, that drum groove sounds an awful lot like drum ‘n’ bass to me. I mean, I loved it straight away but it was so different. This is the track which made me so damn excited for this album to come out. Also, “we bend, we break /  we burn, but we survive” is but one lyric in a song all about seasons coming and going, and the constant flow of emotions and states of being. This too shall pass.

The first of the instrumental/interlude tracks on the album, ‘Sevens’ is an ethereal melding of different piano parts written and performed by bassist Nick Jost. It’s a perfect moment of calm in an album of chaos and it sounds to me like an understanding, a recognition of pain and a comforting answer to it. It also sounds like Steve Reich.

‘Tourniquet’ is such a stand out track. The bassline is the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time and I think Nick Jost did such a great job on this album as a whole, but this song is fully his. The end of the song reflects ‘Assault on East Falls’ as well – like these themes were all established in our collective subconscious in the first half of the album before being fully expanded on in the second half. It’s an album of chaos which is straightened out more and more on subsequent listens, if you only have the patience and concentration to allow the band to take you on this journey with them. Anyway, this song was such a solid choice for a single. It’s the epitome of the “cosy metal” I was talking about earlier. In the interviews with the band for their YouTube channel, Jost is sitting on a rocking chair on his porch, all bundled up in jumpers and drinking a cup of coffee, which is how this song should be listened to, in my opinion. Fun fact; to create the final chord of the song, Baizley set up a circle of amplifiers, the band stood in the middle wearing different animal masks and then played the chord for about ten minutes. They used some of it on the record, overlaid with the minimal effects found later on ‘Assault on East Falls’.

The Anchor… duo? Suite? I don’t know what to call it but there are two songs that go together next – ‘Anchor’s Lament’ and ‘Throw me an Anchor’. These are two songs I get completely lost in when I listen to them. I feel like the screams of ‘Throw me an Anchor’ are expelling my own rage and confusion, and it’s a perfect example of a time that I feel like the songs on this record are there to catch me. ‘Throw me an Anchor’ was another moment that I did a double-take (but like… with my ears?) when I first heard it. The intro is just so heavy. It’s the start of Side B. The chorus is pretty anthemic, but towards the end of the song, it just descends into this really primal screaming, which is something I really appreciate.

I find ‘I’d Do Anything’ quite a difficult song to listen to, since it’s just so vulnerable and heartfelt. The vocals are very exposed with just an echoey piano bassline and some strings to accompany them. It’s the first time we can properly hear John and newcomer Gina singing together in such an intimate way. I can’t get over how perfect this pairing is. They play guitar together as if they’ve spent a whole lifetime dueting. In one interview, they spoke about playing their parts simultaneously and recording live, so that if one of them messed up they’d have to start again. They also recorded whilst standing back to back, meaning that they had to put the maximum amount of trust in the other person in order to play the song. ‘I’d Do Anything’ has more dark lyrics and it’s a good one to put on if you fancy a bit of a cry.

‘Blankets of Ash’ is just a weird soundscape really. It’s a guitar part, a spoken word passage mixed so it’s completely incoherent, the noise of a thunderstorm and a massive bass drop with some haunting wordless vocals over the top. It’s bizarre and experimental and it totally works and I love it.

Gold & Grey album cover, designed by John Dyer Baizley. Seriously, cover me in tattoos of this man’s artwork, please.

This next song is an understated favourite. ‘Emmett – Radiating Light’ is just so gorgeously weird. Recorded in part in a cabin in the middle of the woods with crickets chirping in the early hours of the morning, Baizley has said that this is one of a number of songs on the record that he can’t actually play the guitar part for. This is a song which speaks to me as it discusses feeling displaced. “Where I’m supposed to be / Is no longer the place for me,” is a good lyric, but it’s the truly nihilistic “This blood upon my hands / Bruises on my knees / Don’t belong to me” which really resonates with me. A lot of the time right now, things don’t feel real. I have been on and off of autopilot for weeks. It’s really weird. But the song does offer some hope, as the narrator is still “… in a shower / Of radiating light / But not where I belong.” To me, it kind of sounds like there is beauty to be found in this sense of displacement, in this bizarre in-between state. And that I can let my emotions wash over me, because I am held by their beauty. It’s a really great song. 

‘Cold-Blooded Angels’ is arguably the best song on the album. It travels through so many different emotions on its way to a classic Baroness trope of totally upturning all expectations of where the song was going and changing completely for the last minute or so (see also: ‘Chlorine and Wine’, ‘Psalms Alive’, etc.) It marks the end of Side B and really sees it off in style. I think about death a lot these days, and it terrifies me. Not the fact that I could die, but that, a few weeks ago, my dad just… stopped Being. I think it’s a pretty normal thing to fixate on, given the circumstances. This song also kind of puts that into words for me – the fact that I have been so scared of so many things in my life (growing up with crippling anxiety/depression/dodgy health from a very young age) and just wasted so much time being wary of everything when what is really scary is right here and now, just around the corner. 

‘Crooked Mile’ and ‘Broken Halo’ also kind of go together. The first song bleeds into the next with this weird, jazzy and somewhat atonal mood. ‘Broken Halo’ introduces lyrics and is the most obvious mention of the album’s name, with Baizley bellowing “GOLD AND GREY”. It’s quite a straightforward song compared to most of the other ones on the album. With “I would do anything to feel like I’m on fire again,” it also mirrors a lot of the other lyrical content of the album. It also says “I will hold your broken halo” which to me just sounds really reassuring. I think Gina’s harmonies are also really great on this track.

The chaotic acid freak out of ‘Can Oscura’ is a good way of describing how I feel in the middle of this mess – like someone has pulled several carpets out from under my feet. I feel very small and lost in the middle of this massive event, and confused. 

He’s so good

‘Borderlines’ is the song that won me back over after the disappointment of Purple. Not that Purple was bad at all – it gave us ‘Chlorine and Wine’, one of Baroness’ best songs to date. It just felt like it was more a collection of tracks than a coherent album to me. I guess that makes sense for their first album following the devastating bus crash; that it would be the auditory version of an open wound, but as soon as I heard ‘Borderlines’ I was immediately much more on board. This is the first time we hear Gina feature on a Baroness record as well, and I was so excited to hear her additions to this song. It signalled the beginning of a new chapter, a more cohesive album than Purple, and one which sounds to me like beginning to heal.

The minimalist ‘Assault on East Falls’ is a piece which has been hinted at throughout the album. Here, we get the whole piece in all its glory. It’s an interesting place to put the final interlude song but it’s a really nice set up for the final song, which is another of my album favourites.

‘Pale Sun’ is the last song on the album. It might also be my favourite. It’s bizarre and ghostly and mixes up rhythms in a really unsettling way. Gina comes into her own here too, with ethereal vocals as well as her usual outstanding guitar playing. I’m so glad she’s in this band. It’s an interesting choice to end the album on, but to me it sounds defiant above all else – yes there is darkness and yes it is close and terrifying and everywhere but I will continue on, despite it all, damn it. Even when the sun sinks.

Thanks guys <3

from Grief in Gold and Grey

[wwoofcsa]

October 2018

So its been a crazy few weeks,

We got back from the burn, mikey, jake and i went camping with jordan rabin in big basin, south of san francsico. 

We had a beautiful experience, with deep reflecting and processing. We took some psychedelics and i came away with reevaluating my relationship with marijauana. I had some time to come to terms with the fact that this substance was no longer serving me and that i am taking some space from this relationship. I had some time to connect with jake and jordan, and mikey was able to process on his own, as he took the day to stay sober, and work on himself in a clear headed way. 

It was a beautiufl day of self and group exploration, and a very good transition period

We then dropped mikey and jake off at the airport, jordan and i got some good time to hang for a minute and then i went out to vipassana, headed down to hang out with avi in palo alto and relaxed a bit before the journey 

One night after spending a lovely day with avi, i went up to jordan edelheits house. In these few weeks in san fran, i had such an incredible opportunity to connect and grow my relationship with jordan. I feel like we really had time to sink in a bit more, and i truly feel that the bond between us is one of the more beautiful and healthier bonds ive had in my life. I have so much love with her, and so we have so much depth, that i feel like i was able to swim around in the pool of love with her. It was a similar feeling to my past “in love” experiences, but i noticed, that i had very little (or no) attatchement toward her. I had nothing i wanted from her, i had no expectations, and no desire for her to be a certain way. I was just able to share love with her, it was incredible. She is such a passionate, inspiring woman, and i was blessed to share space and time with her.

On that note, jordan met a man who was been running an event for the past 10 years in san francisco, called “you are going to die”. At this event, any one in the audience, has the stage for 5 minutes. They can perform whatever is on their heart, as long as it revolves around the idea of death. In this powerful emotional experience, people share songs, poems, short stories or anything else that expresses their connection to death. Some people share about the death of an experience, or an identity; some share about the death of a car, or a loved one. Some talk about their fear of death, some dress death up to be a beautiful woman and describe a dance they once had with this woman. There are countless beautiful 5 minute incriments. The goal of this event, is to foster vulnerability and intimacy around something that we all experience. It’s to create community through sharing our fears, joys and emotions.

Jordan had attended a few of these events and really vibed with the idea, so other than approaching the guy who ran it, and proposing they work together to expand the organization, she also developed a small, more intimate spin off of the event in her home. She was living in a moishe house (a jewish co-op) where her rent was subsidzed and in return she was required to facilitate a few events a month for young jews in the area. So she decided to run an incredible event, in which i had the pleasure of attending. The event was a similar format to “you are going to die” but the topic, instead of death, was love and sexuality. 

What an incredible night it was. It was a group of about 20-30 of the most beautiful people. People wrote and performed songs, shared poetry, told stories and shared themselves, in a small living room, off the panhandle in san francisco. I asked jordan if i could share part of one of the meditations i had been doing throughout this year. She seemed a little hesitant, as she didnt know what vibes i would bring and what crowd was coming that evening. As the evening started, jordan was supposed to start us off with a little poem but she was having some jitters. I, feeling very very nervous, knew that this was my opportunity to step up, and i did. 

“Hey, ive got a meditation to share to help everyone connect and calm down, and to set the tone of the evening, can i share?” i asked.

She smiled lovingly, and introduced me, and that was that. I had my five minutes, and the beautiful, sexy, intimate night began. I am so happy to have been able to frame the evening with safe and loving atmosphere. 

About a half hour in a girl came late, and asked jordan if we had all taken mdma because we all felt so connected hahaha

I cant even begin to express just how magical those beautiful beings were, how at home i felt, and how in tune with the universe i felt.

MY TRIP! Mikey bribes a federal official

From avi’s, maytal dropped me off at the airport and i was off.

Max and D were in java, indonesia, finishing up a vipassana and mikey and i were gonna meet them and start our travels together. Plot twistttt, after vipassana, mikey told me he was gonna be on standby for the next few days because he was getting a free flight from ika, his previous lady friend. Maya faya messaged me, telling me that i should come see her in bali for the last few days of her trip. I could meet her for a few days as she moved on to australia, and i started my journey. Because i didnt wanna chill in java alone, and a guy at my vipassana told me java didnt offer a great deal for backpackers, i decided to hang out with maya for a few days. We had a nice few afternoons together, we tripped acid on the beach, talked about life, and processed her trip. Mikey was supposed to arrive the day before she left and we were all gonna do a bit of hanging for old times sake. So mikey calls me and tells me that he cant fly in until the day that maya flys out but he may be able to land a few hours earlier so we can all chill for a minute or two. 

Maya and i are a bit bummed but, at least we got our time together. So i tell maya that ill drop her off at the airport and pick mikey up at the same time. This is the plan

BUT THEN!

Mikey calls me the morning of his arrival, and tells me that he landed in the singapore airport. All seemed well until he tried to get the airline to print out his ticket. They told him he wasnt allowed to get on the flight because he has a temporary passport and he wont be allowed to enter indonesia without a special visa prior to his landing. Hes freaking out a bit (completely valid) and were trying to figure out the best plan of action. The officials told him to go to the immigration office in singapore and take out a visa, which could take one to two weeks. FUCK

My thought process was that if could just get onto the plane, and land in bali, we could figure the rest out. It would be much harder to get rid of him once he was already in the country, and either way, it wasnt illegal for him to get on the flight. so the next step, was to figure out how to get him onto the flight

our game plan was as follows: 

-try to ask another flight attendant to get him a ticket (because they might not ask for his passport)

-if that didnt work, leave the airport and come back in and try and check in, as if he had been in singapore

-if that didnt work, find him a hostel, find the immigration office and get him a visa asap

Heres what happened

Mikey asked three other flight attendants, all of whom denied him of a ticket and now knew his face. 

Plan A-failed

So we moved to plan B, but not before figuring out plan C as a back up, because mikey was running out of internet time in the airport. So we found him a prospective hostel and found the quickest route to the immigration office just in case.

So mikey leaves the airport, and enters again. He does some shmoozing with the ticketing agent and GETS A FUCKING TICKET. 

Ok so now he has to go through security, and then get passed the flight attendants, who all denied him, and know what he looks like. He manages to slip through, (at this point he’s experiencing an immense amount of anxiety)  but then ten minutes before the flight, he finds out that the gate changed. So he runs across the airport and somehow sneaks by the attendants AGAIN!

He calls me and hes on the flight, thank fucking god. So i leave to drop off maya and i wait at the airport for mikey.

I get a message from mikey while im waiting for him at the airport telling me that shit went down and that if he makes it out, he has a crazy story for me.

I wait a bit longer, nervous that mikey may not appear. But then, like an angel decending from the heavens, mikey magnificently comes out, super suspiciously and finds me. Lets get out of here NOW, he says.

As we walk out towards the parking lot, he tells me part 2

PART 2

Mikeys on the plane, and the flight attendants (who previously denied mikey) stop the plane, get on, and start looking around for someone. They walk up to mikeys row, and look at the guy next to mikey, check his ticket again, and then leave the plane. The plane is about to start moving and then it stops again, the flight attendant comes BACK ON! Goes to the row where mikey is sitting, and CHECKS THE GUY AGAIN! All without noticing mikey sitting right next to him. She says its ok, and the plane takes off, thank god.

So mikey lands in indonesia, and here’s a voice recording of what happened when mikey landed….what a shit show

[redlemonz]

Day #6

Wow, so that was.. something. Day 6 began part way through what resulted in phone calls equating to about 3 hours late last night. Honestly, there’s not much to say from it all - nothing’s changed, as expected. We’re still in the same predicament, maybe worse because I may have pushed a lot of her buttons through testing limits. By being a cheeky fuck.And of course, time was both our enemies as we both felt the intense loneliness and missed each other from the same time last weekend (+ sick day monday). But she’s dead set on achieving one thing when it comes to all this - getting over me. She perseveres and will never give into the heart’s desires as her brain overrides that. Assumptions and general conclusions of how things would play out have already been confirmed to her, due to her negative outlook upon our history. It’s not a conceivable idea that this thing lingering, is actually not necessary just part of the remaining strings of us, but rather the start of something new. Oh well, I don’t blame her - anything I do think of or say is either insanity or a fantasy supposedly, so be it. The strangest thing is, that as much as I want her in that moment, and in general, most of me is actually keeping pretty sane and calm. I once told her about a year ago that she taught me, without having to do anything but be her natural self, the concept of unconditional love. I feel as though I do in fact seem to be living that concept. I’m mostly okay with everything, and am happy just knowing she’s happy. Though it could be argued that there was some much needed tough love, I’ve benefited most from her, as she’s sculpted me into the man I am actually proud to be today. I’ve grown up so much more than I imagined along side her, and she’s taught & inspired me further to just be a better human being. Looking back at the absolute simplistic formula of last night - I’m just glad that she was able to have a few laughs and smile a bit by the end, and there was nothing more rewarding than turning that night around. Obviously she did the same with me - the sound of her voice and picturing her smile brought a gleeful ending to the night.

Day 6 - simple, familiar pleasures

Early morning, as I awoke - we started snap-conversing for over an hour regarding, well generally speaking, humanity. We had an intellectual exchange of our minds that found us both to be quite the philosophers - not to be arrogant or anything.. but we should definitely totally rule the world together. Or she should; she’s always been a Queen after all. Nevertheless, details of our conversation aside - a few words apparently reminded her of me which were shared.. “in a society that profits from your self doubt, liking yourself is a rebellious act”. This does in fact speak volumes. Feeling so fucked up and insecure feeds everyone around you, and it’s easier for them and yourself to take advantage of your head through your vulnerabilities. Though a lot of this can be attributed to your own overthinking. Not giving a shit is indeed the key solution - although that factor’s also limited by your own enemy ultimately, the mind. Easier said than done after all. You gotta be careful not to be an asshole, and to carefully pick the fucks you give out of that limiting bucket - it can certainly be life changing when you’re on the right path. But I digress from everything, as all I simply wished to convey is that I had the perfect start to my day - a smile upon my face, and the feeling that she was right here with me, in my mind and heart. I won’t unnecessarily let the reality of the circumstances between us change this moment, as those are just unneeded complications that make situations way worse than they actually are. Turns out that there’s always hope for a better future, and that love and care for another as simply people can truly go a long way. Poor cutie was cold last night and didn’t sleep enough though. Wish I could’ve kept her warm. Please note that my thoughts are currently scattered all over the place though, but in a atypical, less fucked up mindset sort of way that I’m use to. It’s just been a really long, eventful day that followed.

So the family went to lunch on the northern part of town, next to the beach. Another beautiful day with the sun shining - I can only imagine the expression on her face as she walks along the beach, so content and in her zone. Then there’s me, at times when I’m not beside her, i’d likely be slightly away or behind, taking pictures of this beauty in all her true nature & habitat. So as I stepped on that beach and felt the sound of the waves grasp my memories with her, I cherished every moment. The best part of this extravaganza is seeing my nieces in this environment. My sister was way too overly concerned and strict with the fact that their shoes and clothing would get dirty and filled with sand, rather than let them be free to live and love the spectacle that was. You see, my family’s never been quite use to this view of possibilities, and this sort of freedom, due to their own personal upbringing and harshly overprotective nature. I experienced this similarly as a result during my own childhood - until I learned to be that very rebellious act and live as I wanted to. She opened my eyes to this much further in the many adventures we’ve experienced together in such a short time. So inspired by her in that moment, and picturing what she would’ve been like in the shoes of my nieces at that age, I voiced my opposition to my sister and took charge. I took my nieces by the hand to the sand and let them go crazy. They had the time of their lives, and their faces lit up, similar to seeing them at Christmas morning. I gotta admit, I had these quick flashing-forecasted thoughts almost, of the father I dreamed to be some day in this moment, and knew I would make her proud as my partner in life. Though I know it’s just another silly fantasy as always of what could have been, don’t worry. I watched as the elder niece hunted for shells on the beach, and assisted her. All of a sudden, I was captivated and entranced by her actions that I decided it was adventure time once again. So I drove. Long story short, I ended up at 9 different beaches around the city within a timeframe of approximately 5 hours or so. I also had the support of a friend, now known as local homie (I just decided that - she lives down the road) for the second half, who assisted me on my mission and kept me sane enough (considering I’m pretty good at making hasty decisions such as this, of which 90% end up having some sort of negative repercussion). It was actually a ridiculously enjoyable journey to once again experience the familiarities of every beach - as when arriving at each one, I knew I’d been here with her. Walking and running on the sand with her. Singing songs with her. Swimming (or attempting to, in my case) with her. Laying next to her as she soaked in the sun. Gazing at the stars with her (though I didn’t get the opportunity to visit that one). Even be caught in a thunderstorm at night on what was our first non-date date in which I initially confessed my feelings to her and wound up in the friend-zone for many months (worth! She always is). Once again, I felt content and my soul calmly rested - my heart satisfied with what my brain offered, a refreshing change of events. We also snapped and conversed here and there during the day after our initial morning chat, which just felt natural and right. I understand that there certainly is an ardent possibility, that I could have expanded plenty more upon the details of today’s events, our conversations, utilise better and more varied vocabulary (that one’s always an ongoing case however), and just my usual general mindset, but I can’t seem to.. or want to. It was a good day.. and I’m going to try to not let overthinking ruin this one. What a surprisingly, unexpected, positive weekend #1. I very much hope she also had a splendid time herself, and is okay with me. Though that’s not to say the week ahead can’t alter that. I’ve learned that this feeling can only last so long, right? Correct - because it’s likely that my idiot self will find a route that will lead to ruining everything once again by making further shit choices, regardless of my good intentions. Because our mindsets and perception just drastically differ, and I’m a risk taker - with a history of bad luck. But I keep persevering. And though I just wish to be the sweet friend who’s displaying that this City misses her, the mission I embarked on today with the assistance of local homie.. may yet be regrettable in the near future.