#i hung out with other people smoked read some books and was teaching a class at my old middle school

[merrygomp3]

just had a free therapy session in my dream with an old middle school classmate (not even a friend) about a friendship that went from 0 to 100 to -100000 last last year. it was so intense and felt so real that it woke me up earlier than expected

[imagineddworld]

Unexpected

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: After serving detention with your favorite teacher, true feelings get revealed. 

Word counter: 3,5 K (3500)

Author’s note: I made Remus a new, young teacher, and the student just turned 18. There is still a 5 years difference, but I tried to make it a bit more comfortable for people who don’t really like big age gabs.

I also tried to make it gender neutral, so if you guys have any tips; that would be great. 

Didn’t proof read this, as lack of time with my exams very near. But I wanted to post something. As expected it turned out longer than I had meant to

Hope you enjoy xx 

The time had come where the seventh years were learning how to make Amortentia. A potion well known to most curious students as the love potion. But it was a very tough one to make. You got all the ingredients right, but the brewing method messed you up every time. Same for today, it had started to fog an odd green smoke. It was at least better than the time where it had blown up in Snape’s face. You had never received such a big punishment as then. You were given 5 essays to write and served detention for a whole month. 

“Detention Miss/Mister (Y/L)”, you heard the cold, monotone voice from behind you, “You can serve it with Professor Lupin after class. He needs help with grading essays”. You already had predicted this outcome to happen, but tried to argue anyway. “But-”, you silenced yourself as soon as you saw his cold glare. You sighed, slumping back in your chair. “Okay”, you mouthed silently, while making a mocking face. “That will be two detentions”, you heard him say angrily. You threw your arms in the air as a sign of annoyance, but didn’t say anything else. You started to clean your cauldron, hoping in the last minutes of class he wouldn’t give you more detentions or worse, gave you another essay to write. He really hated the living hell out of you. As one of the new teachers, together with Professor Lupin, you hand’t expected to be hate so much. You rarely did anything. Perhaps even breathing was too much for him. But there was not much you could do about it. You realized that the hard way. Most of the time you argued with him, but one particular time he had enough of your snarky comments. He had given you detention for nearly two months, making you clean all the little, dirty places of Hogwarts. All magic was forbidden, you needed to clean it all by hand. And as bonus to top it all off, he overloaded you with essays to write. Every week you needed to give two writer essays of 10 pages at least. After that event, you didn’t bother arguing much. 

The rest of the day went by as normal, mostly spend with your nose in your books. As your final class ended, you quickly dropped off the unnecessary books at your dorm that couldn’t fit in your bag. You only kept the ones you needed for your essay. The one you were planning to write after your detention. Your dorm seemed further away from Professor Lupin’s office, resulting in you needing to sprint through the halls. Luckily the halls were less crowded. Only a few students were chatting in the hallway, laughing with their friends and keeping each other up to date. When you reached the door, you were out of breath. Partly from the running and partly from your nerves. Your heart was pounding too, and you hands were shaking the slightest bit. You took in some deep breaths and tried to calm yourself. 

Detention with Remus Lupin made you more nervous than you had expected. He wasn’t just your favorite teacher, because of his amazing teaching skills. But also due to his kind character and beautiful looks. You had unexpectedly started to grow feelings for him. He had an amazing sweet and kind soul. His blue eyes sparkled every time he taught your class something new. Every time you got mesmerized by them, losing yourself into the beauty of the blue irises. Fascinated by the swirls of colors that came out when the light captured them from a certain perspective. His smile never failed to make your heart flutter. Every time he called your name during class, your face became beat red. His scars were a beautiful contrast against his slightly reddened cheeks. 

You had thought the fact that he was your teacher, would disgust you. But technically he wouldn’t be your teacher anymore in 2 months. And also the fact that there were only a few years between the two of you, made it more acceptable. He was a fairly new and young teacher. A lot of girls probably had crushed on him, so you weren’t to blame. It’s not like you could control your feelings. As long as you kept it hidden, you were fine. 

Your hands were shaking more, as you realized what was about to happen. Your heart started to pick up its beat up again, hammering against your chest. You softly knocked on the wooden door. “Come in”, his muffled voice could be heard form inside. With a little creak of the door, you made your way into his office. “Hello Professor. I’m here to serve my detention”, your voice was silent, and a bit shaky. He looked up from his desk full of papers, eyes lighting up the slightest bit. He gave you a sweet smile: “Ah yes, (Y/N). I was surprised when Snape me you were the one who had gotten detention. You never do anything wrong”. A light blush crept up your cheeks. His eyes were entrancing you, making your knees weak. “Well, I messed up the method of my potion, so you know how Snape is. Then I mocked him for his ridiculous behavior and got myself a second detention. So you will be stuck with me again tomorrow evening”, you smiled more confidently now. You didn’t regret your behavior. Snape really was a living hell. It was just your overthinking mind and overwhelming nerves that were bothering you now. As they were most of the time. 

“Oh, Don’t worry about that, dear. I don’t mind your company”, he smile seemed even brighter. The soft candle light really gave him a certain glow that had you mesmerized. It was a soft yellow light, that showed off all his features even better. This soft look in combination with his sweet words really made you swoon. These detentions might were going to kill you. This man couldn’t get any lovelier, at least you thought so. Every time you saw him, some new details had you drawn to him. Another little piece of him you could adore. Like whenever the light hits his eyes right, they looked almost yellow. As if a sun was glowing behind them. That might explain why they gave such a warm and loving appearance. Or the soft shadows that were cast on his face, pointing out his fine bone structure even more. His jawline standing out the most. The combination of his messy hair and wintery sweater, made him look very cosy. He gave off a feeling of home and trust. As if you truly could be yourself around him, even if there were certain boundaries. Maybe that comfort drew you the most to him.

“Well..., you can start with that pile over there”, his voice woken you from your daydream. He pointed to a chair in front of his desk with a smaller pile of papers on it neatly stacked. Your cheeks were flushing a bright red, as you realized he must have seen you stare at him for who knows how long. You placed your bag against the wall, and hung your robe on the hanger that stood in the corner. You carefully picked up the stack of papers and placed them on the desk, so you could sit. Lupin made some room for your pile, as his was literally scattered all over his wooden desk. He mumbled soft apologies in between soft, heartwarming chuckles. After he gave you a pen, some ink and instructions of how to rate these essays, you went to work. 

You had to be honest, it was quite hard to concentrate when you were sat in front of this beautiful man. You often glanced up, admiring him in this soft light and closer perspective. You didn’t dare to look up, but had a feeling his eyes were on you as well. But that could’ve been your feelings sparking up some deeply hidden hope for him ever being interested in you. Every time he leaned over to help you on a certain problem, you could feel your breath halt in your throat. You had trouble keeping your heart rate in control.

“I’m all done, Professor”, you said when you rated the last essay of your pile. He looked up with that loving smile of his, making your heart flutter for the umpteenth time. “Brilliant. Thank you for your assistance today”, he gently took the essays from your hand, and placed them on his big pile of already marked homework. “Maybe I could help you with that potion you were having trouble with?” You smiled widely at him: “Oh, that would be lovely, sir. I really could use some help”. He nodded happily, while his eyes seemed to spark that particular sparkle whenever he got passionated with teaching and helping people. “Do you have your textbook with you?” You mumbled a quiet yes, as you went to grab it from your bag. You handed it over to him, standing by his side on a formal distance away from him. “What potion were you working on?”, he asked while going through the pages of your book. “Amortentia”. As soon as the answer left you mouth, he started to cough lightly seen that he had just took a sip of his tea. “Are you okay, sir?”, you asked him worriedly, placing your hand on his arm. You were a bit unsure if you should touch him or not. But you had acted upon it like an instinct. Luckily he didn’t really reacted to the soft manner, meaning he probably didn’t mind. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, dear. Just chocked a bit on my tea, is all”. He cleared his throat and straightened out his back, adjusting his position as a way to recover from his small coughing fit. “So, Amortentia...”, he started off, sounding it bit absentmindedly. “Yeah, I have all the ingredients right. It’s the brewing method that messes me up every time. It always seems to go so well, until it suddenly doesn’t. And I don’t know why”, your explanation sounded like a rambling of quick words put together, making you unsure if he actually understood you. He nodded his head, as he read over the page. “Hmm, well. I’m here to help you. We just need supplies”.

The two of you snuck around the halls, if you even can consider it that. It was still a few hours before curfew and you were with a teacher, so not much trouble could happen. But you still sort of broke into Snape’s classroom, which he wouldn’t appreciate at all. “If we get caught, I am going to blame you. He already hates the living hell out of me”. The tall man next to you chuckled at your comment. “Trust me, love. He hates me plenty, you just don’t see it”. You raised your eyebrow questionably at him: “Why? You are such a lovable person”. The words left your mouth before you registered fully what you had said. His silence made you fear your previous statement even more. Did you mess up? But as you sneaked a look at him, it seemed like he wore a light blush on his cheek. Brighter than he usual reddened cheeks. Indeed it also could be the incidence of light, hitting his skin differently and creating an illusion of colours. 

As you reached the classroom, you quickly mumbled a spell to unlock the door to Snape’s ingredient collection. “Alright, get what you need. I’ll keep watch”, he said quietly, not really looking at you. You listed off all the ingredients you needed, having remembered them from the plenty of times that you had read over the page. You had placed the ingredients on the desk nearest to you, not risking to drop any in the searching process. But as you looked at the amount of pots and bits, you weren’t so sure if every item would make it back safely. “Could you give me a hand, sir?”, you said a bit louder, so he could hear you from the doorway. His head turned quickly to where you were standing. “Oh. Of course, darling”, he smiled, rushing over to your side. He took the bigger part of the items, stressing that it was only right. He could carry them all with only one arm, the other softly placed on the small of your back as he guided you out of the classroom. It must have been a protective, kind manner he always had had in him. You shouldn’t overthink such an innocent thing. But you had to be fair, it really made your heart melt and your skin burn where he hand was placed. It gave you all sort of tingles. 

He opened his door for you, opening his arm to allow you into his office. “Such a gentleman”, you teased, even if your cheeks were burning up. He glanced to the floor, hiding his face from your view. You set all the ingredients on the table, setting them on order of how you would need to use them. Remus placed his cauldron on the table and started to go over the instructions. He mostly gave you the lead, but stepped in wherever you were going to make a mistake. He also gave you useful tips for future potions. “You are doing a great job, (Y/N)”, he smiled form your side, keeping a respectable distance from you. “Well, you are helping me a lot. So, you could say we make quite a great team”, you smirked lightly, not really daring to look over to him. You just focused on stirring in the cauldron. A weight fell of your shoulders when you hear him chuckle: “If you say so, it must be true”. He sounded a little more playful. 

As you added the last ingredient, the liquid turned a beautiful pastel pink. The aroma that came from it was way better than all your previous attempts. You leaned over the cauldron to take a whiff of the odor. “Oh wow, this smells good. It’s way better than all my other attempts. It’s smells like man’s cologne and chocolate”, you said with an excited smile, but it fell soon after. “Or is it just you?”, you asked a Remus with a sad tone. You really wanted to succeed, but after all your failed attempts you didn’t know what Amortentia smelled or looked like. 

Lupin’s eyes were switching between your face and his hands, as if he were unsure of what to say or do. “Normally it smells like what you’re attracted to, miss/ mister (Y/L/N)”. Your eyes widened the slightest bit. Of course you knew that. You were just so enchanted by the smell, that you forgot you were actually outing your secret to the person you wanted to know the least. “Oh, yeah. I know that. But as my other attempts smelled so awful, I thought maybe Amortentia had an actual odor”, you tried to safe yourself. It was partly true, but you tried to cover up the fact that you had outed your secret. You had admitted smelling him, admitting to liking him as the potion had succeeded. “It- It’s alright”, he spoke quietly. A short moment of silence fell over the two fo you. But before it could get any more awkward, you decided to speak up again. “So, uhm. What do you smell, sir”. He seemed to swallow a big lump that had formed in his throat. Slowly he came into movement, leaning over the cauldron as well. He closed his eyes to focus on the scents that he smelled. “Old books and (a scent linked to you)”, he said absentmindedly. He reopened his eyes, but they weren’t focussing on anything particularly. He seemed a bit fazed out, but so were you. Maybe it was the potion, or it was the sudden awareness of your feelings and the position you found yourself in. You were trying to register what he had said previously. Did he smell you? it could be anyone, right? A lot of people must smell like that. You didn’t want to get your hopes up. It would only lead to heartaches. 

You fell back into reality, shaking your head lightly. Once your eyes were focussing again on the room you found yourself in, you realized how close you stood to one another. You must have subconsciously moved closer towards him. When you found the courage to look up, you found his clear blue eyes already trained on you. You felt very nervous underneath his gaze, as if you were being put on spot. You licked your lips as a sign of nerves. Your eyes roaming through the whole room, trying to avoid his gaze. You didn’t know what to do. “No, I can’t do this”, he whispered, stepping a few steps back. “What do you mean?”, you were really confused. Did he meant to do something? You knew nothing could happen between the two fo you. It was wrong in many ways, but you couldn’t help your feelings. You didn’t really expect him to feel anything back. So this came as a hit in the face, as if there had been actual hope all along. “You- you’re my student...”. You nodded slowly, still not getting exactly what he was on to. You had some speculations, but needed confirmation. You couldn’t trust your intuition. 

“I know.. In two months I won’t be. At least if I graduate”. He shook his head lightly, going with his hand through his hair. “Still.. I’m 5 years older than you. We can’t do this..”, he pointed between the two of you. At that moment it hit you. Your speculations were confirmed. You were somewhat embarrassed for how long it had taken you to realize what was happening. “You- you were considering that anything could happen between- between us?”, you stuttered, still not registering it completely. You were feeling like your ears were playing tricks on you. “Maybe...”, he said unsure. Even if you didn’t had your hopes up for anything to happen, still somewhere deep down the sparks of it had hidden. Knowing that he had considered it, but refused to follow through with it, hurt you more than expected. Your eyes started to water, but kept the tear in. Of course he noticed the change. He stepped closer to you and wiped away the single tear that had fallen from your eye. “I’m sorry, love. Please don’t cry”. You forced a small chuckle, smiling at his loving face. “No, it’s okay. Honestly, It’s okay”. Both your voices were quiet as they spoke, not willing to hurt the other even further. 

You couldn’t blame him for this decision. You couldn’t ask such a thing, couldn’t expect such a thing. It was against the rules. He needed to keep a certain distance with his students. The least you wanted was him to lose his job, because of your foolish crush. You respected his decision, even if it hurt. It would be for the better. 

His hand was still on your cheek. It was soft and warm against your skin. You wanted to cherish this moment, even if it was going to break your heart as soon as it ended. His other hand comfortably rested on your waist. “Screw the rules”, he mumbled. Before you registered what was happening, his soft lips were capturing yours in an unexpected but loving kiss. It was soft and tender, but all the while it was full of love. Once the shock wore off, your hands fell to his chest. You softly grabbed the fabric of his sweater. You could feel his rapid heartbeat underneath your palm. He pulled you closer to his body, deepening the kiss. His hand went to the back of your head, not willing to break the kiss yet. Eventually you needed to do so, as you were running out of air. You kept your closeness, both recovering from the unexpected kiss. 

“You are going to be the death of me, love”,he said breathlessly. You chuckled at his comment, leaning in to his chest to cuddle him. You enjoyed the warmth and feeling of being wrapped up in his arms. You looked up at him, being met by his sweet smile and enchanting eyes. “Likewise, sir”, you said before you captured his lips in a second kiss. This time even more passionate. The both of you smiled into it, feeling complete. It felt right. Even if you broke some rules, it was all worth it. 

[peter-pan-on-neverland]

I’ll leave my widow open: Part 2

Summary: You visit Neverland in your dreams, will you leave everything behind and go with Pan or will you stay put?

Pairings: Pan x reader

Warnings: none

Well.... this is a blast from the past lmao, be sure to check out the first part!

The sweet smell of pancakes filled my nostrils as I sat up in my bed, stuck in a permanent state of silent confusion. Frantically, my eyes peered around my messy room, the window was wide open, curtains were delicately swaying side to side due to the genital draft which was now dancing around, causing my skin to erupt in thousands of tiny goosebumps. So many unanswered questions sprung to mind, I strived to know more like an alcoholic in need of a drink.

What was that?

Who were those people?

Why did that dream feel so real?

Was that even a dream?

Where even was I?

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at my door, making them all disappear in a cloud of smoke.

"Y/n, breakfast is ready." The muffled voice spoke.

"Coming." I said as sweetly as I could before throwing my covers off me and rushing down stair.

I got dressed and ate in a blur, before rushing out the door to a place I like to call hell, although others know it as school. The sound of music was all I could hear as I walked down the quite streets of my home town, completely absorbed in my thoughts.

Nothing much happened around here, no new faces, no drama, nothing. It pained me how boring it was, I wanted to go some where I could live an exciting life full of laughter and happiness, as cringy as that sounded, not somewhere that was dull all of the time.

I crossed the road, passing through the barred gates which lay outside the entrance of my school. I let out an audible sigh, the day hadn’t even started yet and I already felt like giving up. 

My body seemed to grow heavier and heavier with every passing second as I trekked further and further into the brick building. My attention was glued to my phone, too preoccupied with picking what song to listen to next I didn’t realize I was about to walk into someone before it was too late.

In one swift movement, mine and the strangers things were littering the hall way floor.  I swooped down, not even bothering to look at who I had just ran into as I tried to gather my things as quickly as I could.

My eyes flicked up, to look the stranger in the eyes and apologize before taking my leave, but my breath seemed to get caught in my throat.

Those piercing blue eyes, the scar running down his face, his shaggy blonde hair, I had seen it all before. My blood ran cold, It couldn’t be...there was no way.

“Hey.” A voice spoke, sounding like whoever was speaking was underwater.

This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening.

My head grew fuzzier and fuzzier every millisecond that ticked by, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. My breath hitched in my throat as panic took over my body. My lungs burned, gasping for air like I was running out of it quickly.

I blinked a few times, my sight getting spotty before that familiar face disappeared from my vision and as if a curse had been lifted everything suddenly stopped, returning to normal once more.

Although they were less frequent, my breaths grew shallower.

carefully, they placed a hand on my shoulder, "It's OK, it's OK." Their voice was deep and soothing like an ocean, making me feel safe.

“Are you OK?” They asked, clicking their fingers in front of my face in order to try and grasp my attention and snap me out of whatever spell I was under.

What was happening? I must be going crazy.

It was as if my voice box has suddenly been taken from me like in the littler mermaid because no matter how hard I tried to answer the boy I couldn't. I was forced to stare, he wore thick, black trimmed glasses that sat upon his slightly crooked nose. It was clear he was older than me, maybe a senior? His hair was a light caramel colour, his fringe swooped in front of his chocolate brown eye's ever so slightly, see nothing like the boy in my dream.

"Miss?" his voice made me returned to my senses.

“I’m fine, sorry” I said, before shooting up and walking away, my face was sure to be red from embarrassment. I could’ve sworn he looked exactly like.... But I had thought about my dream since this morning. Why would a random guy from my dream suddenly invade my thoughts?

I shrugged it off as I walked down the hall, I just wanted this day to be over as soon as possible.  

...

I was only half way through my day and I already feeling misrble, I had tried my hardest to push this mornings events out of my head, but of course the situation kept replaying in my brain as if it were stuck to repeat.

The lunch bell rang and eager, hungry teenagers stormed through the corridors in a hurry to be the first person in line for the canteen.  I, of course, took my time, partly because I wasn't too bothered weather or not I was the first in the queue, but mainly because I didn't want to run into that guy. The first time meeting him was already embarrassing enough, imagine the second time.

"Hey Y/n!" One of my few friends called out across the hall, quickening his pace so he could catch up with me.

His dark, brown hair bounced slightly as he made his way over, he looked as normal as ever, rocking some grey joggers and a plain black T-Shirt, he didn't make much of an effort when it came to his appearance but he didn't fail to make any girl swoon at the sight of him.

"Hi Cam." I spoke, looking directly into his green eyes.

"I didn't see you this morning, were you late again?"

I could feel my cheeks heat up, I needed to stop thinking about what happened this morning, yeah it was weird but everyone had probably forgotten it by now.

"Yeah, something like that." I said, in a low voice.

"Well you don't seem to happy, what's up?" he asked as we walked side by side into the lunch hall, Cameron could read me like a book which doesn't surprise me anymore. I had known him for what felt like an eternity, our mum's were friends so he came over quite a lot, his parents would even offer to babysit Adam and I when we were little. At this point he was more like a brother than he was a friend.

"Cam! Cam!" An obnoxious, high pitched voice squealed interrupting our conversation and causing everyone to turn and stare at her.

I could see the brown haired boy discreetly roll his eyes at the girl, I followed his line of sight which Lead me directly to a girl called Becky Timm's who was desperately trying to get his attention.

I tried my hardest to bite back a snigger.

"Don't." He shot we a warning glare, if looks could kill I would be dead on the floor right now.

"Really? Becky? That's your new mystery girl?" I chuckled, once upon a time I would feel sad whenever Cam got a new girlfriend, I had known him for so long and part of me thought he may have feelings for me the same way I had feelings for him, but of course I was wrong. Never the less I put those days behind me, it was for the best, I mean what if we did date them broke up? I would rather have Cam as a friend than not have him at all and so my feelings for him slowly but surly dissolved.

"She's hot." He said with a smirk on his face, shrugging his shoulders.  

"You," I chuckled, "Are unbelievable."

"Hey babe," She over excitedly spoke before she threw her arms over him, "Are you coming?"

"Um, actually I was gonna-" But she clearly didn't care about whatever he was about to say, her hand was already intertwined with his as she started dragging him away.

He looked at me from across the room with a look in his eyes which said he was sorry but also help me.

I chuckled to myself before sitting down and pulling out my phone, this is normally the part where people would text whoever was trying to get a hold of them back, but me, I only had one friend and he had just been kidnapped by a strangely cute blonde girl.

Once again I was in my own little world, trying to block out my surroundings and jam out to some music.

"Hey, Y/n right?" I voice sounded.

I fought the urge to scream, "Um yeah?" Looking up I saw who was now sat opposite me.

Oh shit, It's glasses guy.

"I just wanted to check if you were OK after what happened." He spoke slowly, as if he were making sure he wasn't making any wrong moves.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine now thanks." I couldn't be sure, but it felt as if my face was growing hotter and hotter by the minute.

"I'm John by the way, John Darling. I'm the new teacher." He said, sticking his hand out for me to shake, I was about to open my mouth to tell him my name but them I remembered he already knew it, wait how did he know it?

"Nice to meet you." I smiled, he probably just asked around.

Lunch ended as slowly as it had came around, it wasn't all that bad, I got to talk to John - Mr Darling, and know more about him. He told me he moved here not long ago and quickly applied for a teaching position, we talked about normal things like what interested us before we had to go back to class.

...

The bell rung out loud and clear for everyone to hear, telling us all that we were free from the prison they were currently holding us in.

I gathered the things faster than flash could run before dashing out of the building. The walk home was a long, dull, wet one, dark clouds hung miserably in the sky as rain left it’s mark on the streets in the form of a puddle. A shiver runs down my spine as a crash of thunder and flash of lightning dart across the black sky. My feet pick up their pace, desperately wanting to get home and fall into the safe, comfy haven of my bed.

Another loud crash of thunder sounds, seeming to shake the world around me as I jump out of my skin. I stand stock still for what felt like an eternity as I caught my breath, there’s nothing to be scared about, it’s only a little thunder and lightning. 

Hesitantly, I began to move my feet again as the wind pick up speed with great force. Whistling and howling into the stormy sky as if it were crying out in pain. Rain pelted down onto the pavements, soaking the ground and soil, drowning the plants and flooding animals homes. 

I had never seen a storm this bad before.

It was as if the wind was whispering incoherent words into my ear, cursing me and the ground I walked upon, cursing this town, but why? A shiver ran up and down my spine as nature seemingly placed a hex on me that I could never shake.

Leaves clung onto the branches of trees for dear life, hoping, praying, pleading that they wouldn’t be ripped from their homes in one fail swoop. But alas the voices were not heard over the screams of the sky, yelling and shouting over everything else as if it were trying to dominated the world itself. Auban and orange leaves feel victim to the wind, zipping and flying through the sky at the vicious hand of the overpowering gale.

I tried my hardest the plough through the strange, evil weather, my heart beat seemed to pick up but not because I was scared, I couldn’t quite place my finger on why. 

The sky seemed to grow darker and darker the angrier it got, thunder crashed as lightening cracks painted the sky, that’s when my e/c eyes fell upon something that would truly haunt me.

Yellow eye’s.

Glowing, yellow eye’s that stared at me through the twisted tree branches, curious to see what I would do next. Watching me every second as if I were chess piece ready to make my move.

My lips parted with shock as It’s black humanoid body flew through the sky. I was stuck in a trance, my eye’s glued to the incongruous being that wanted so desperately to escape into the clouds.

Another lightning strike flashed across the array of once fluffy white clouds, snapping me from my thoughts. I blinked a few times, making sure I wasn’t going crazy, was the ghost, demon, angle, spirit really there? And if so, why?

As if I had just woken up from a strange dream my instincts kicked in, I couldn’t stay out here any longer. My feet pounded against the road as I ran all the way back to my house, my legs and chest burnt, like there was a fire light inside them but I wouldn’t dare stop.

This was it, I was at the home stretch, the door to my house was in sight, so close I reached out, hooking my fingers around the door handle before bursting into my warm home. 

My hair was sopping wet, dripping on the floor making it’s own little puddle, my now ruined clothes clung uncomfortably to my body as I caught my breath.

“Y/n?” I heard Adam say, there was a hint of relief in his voice but also... panic?

His blue eyes searched mine out from across the room, it was only then I saw how puffy and red they were. Tear’s left a merciless trail from the corner of his eyes all the way down his cheeks, staining his face.

“Adam? What is it?” I asked, slowly shutting the door behind me.

“I just got a call from the hospital,” He chocked out, “It’s mum.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I finally got something up! I'm back in the writing mood!! Whoop whoop!

I have a whole plot line figured out for this story but I kinda want your guys opinion on it because idk if you'll like it or not but at the same time I don't wanna spoil anything too major.

PLOT LINE BELOW:

So basically theres 2 ways to save Pan from dying the 1st is Henry's heart, the other is true loves kiss. The shadow know that you are Pans true love but he think love will make him weak so every time you visit in your dreams the shadow always finds a way to send you back. BUT Pan is considering letting you stay, you're the only girl so there must be a reason for that right 🤷‍♀️ and he wants to know what it is but he wont let you stay if you're anything like Wendy so you have to prove yourself to him. The shadow doesn't like this so he blackmails John into ;)seducing;) you so that you love him and not Pan. That's where its going with the whole John thing (kinda like a student x teacher because I've been watching to much PLL lately) but it doesn't work and you still get sent to Neverland. Eventually Pan decided to let you stay and the rest of the story will carry on from there (I don’t wanna spoil it hehe) but is that something you guys would wanna read? That's only gonna be the first couple of parts until we get to Neverland then the whole reader x pan x Felix shit starts and happy days ;) let me know!!! Xxxxxxxxxxx

[thisismeelephanttrying]

After reading the book, I feel fortunate enough to across his heritage of that lifetime. He must have a beautiful heart in conclusion of a floating soul in a heavy world.

"In all his writing, the world of concrete objects carries its full common sense of pleasure and hardship, of beauty and blight. At the same time, his philosophical turn of mind involves him in a real struggle of ideas, one usually carried on by closed mings and obscured by fuzzy words. This struggle pits the "materialists" with their rational methods against the "idealists" with their intuitive or spiritual insights."

"Or rather he tells us all over again that the true battle lies within us and calmly transfers the struggle to the slopes of an interior mountain which we must climb. Most of us find that a harder task than carrying on a rousing battle with an ideological enemy."

"And neither of them took cover behind the convenient shrubbery of the "ineffable"; words brought their trials and their triumphs. Daumal's work follows Nerval's in its resolve to fuse body and spirit, speech and sleep, logic and intuition, in order to enter a "second life".

'"Nerval, however, prepared himself increasingly to disappear for good into that other world, and finally hung himself in a Paris alley. Daumal, somewhat less afflicted, or blessed, with night vision, resolutely returned to this world, his eyes seeking light again, his mind struggling to tell what he had seen."

"We must first become human before seeking anything superior."

"The Westerner tends by tradition to think of grasping the meaning of life through certain crucial experiences - death, grief, danger, passionate love, sudden success, catastrophe. Existentialism has aptly termed them "extreme situations", in reference to which we discover ourselves - whence our attraction to the adventurous life, war, scientific progress, romantic love. Having cast his mind deep into Indian philosophy, Daumal senses that the reality and meaning of the world can come to us at every moment without having to rely wholly on extreme situations to wrench us into awareness. Action, as has been pointed out many times, is for Westerners both stimulant and drug. The four stages of Hindi initiation, from the Vedas to the Upinshads, and the complementary disciplines of Yoga and Zen, prepare us not for a career of great exploits to be recalled in old age, but for a life increasingly dedicated to "the teaching which cuts through illusion."

"He understood very early that the basic act of consciousness is a negation, a dissociation of the I from the exterior world of not -I. Meaningful perception reduces and refines the I, withdraws it from the world into an increasingly strict identity or subjectivity. Then, however, beginning a vibratory rhythm which must follow if self-annihilation is not to result, the pure consciousness expands again into all things, experiences the world subjectively once more, loses itself in the mystery of creation."

Asceticism

"Man achieves inner spiritual progress by his own efforts, by a human discipline that is not a gift of god and can be learned from other men further advanced on the path of knowledge. Teaching and initiation are central to all religions and cultures. Within a system where no truth comes by divine revelation but only by human attainment, the sense of a tradition of knowledge comes to support the entire structure of life.... And thus Daumal spoke un-flinchingly of a Doctrine, meaning not a narrow set of rituals or dogmas, not art for art's sake in aesthetics, not a fixed philosophical position, but a number of paths leading to the same goal: a higher form of life."

Peradam

"Mount Analogue, the novel, has the force of a curving and uncurving lens for our minds. Through it, we can glimpse that "other world" of which Nerval spoke, and Spinoza and Socrates. And yet it is hard to look through it, for so limpid a substance almost escapes one's attention even when it is right under one's eyes. One could conceivably read ever word of the book without seeing a thing."

"And from deep within me, like a bubble, rose the admission that my life had become all too stagnant lately. Thus, when I opened the letter, I could not be sure whether it affected me like a breath of fresh air or like a disagreeable draught."

"I had written in substance that in the mythic tradition the Mountain is the bond between Earth and Sky. Its solitary summit reaches the sphere of eternity, and its base spreads out in manifold foothills into the world of mortals. It is the way by which man can raise himself to the divine, and by which the divine reveals itself to man."

" ... a general discussion of symbols, which I divided into two classes: those subject to law of proportion, and those subject only to the law of scale as well.... "Proportion" concerns the relations between dimensions of a structure, "scale" the relations between these dimensions and those of the human body. An equilateral triangle, symbol of the Trinity, has exactly the same value no matter what its dimensions; it has no "scale". On the other hand consider an exact model of a cathedral a few inches in height. This object will always convey, through its shape and proportions, the intellectual meaning of the original structure, even if some details have to be examined under a magnifying glass. But it will no longer produce anything like the same emotion or the same response: it is no longer "to scale". And what defines the scale of the ultimate symbolic mountain - The one I propose to call Mount Analogue- is its inaccessibility to ordinary human approaches. .......

For a mountain to play the role of Mount Analogue, I concluded, its summit must be inaccessible but its base accessible to human beings as nature has made them. It must be unique and it must exist geographically. The door to the invisible must be visible."

" You understand that you and I have such grave decisions to make, with such a far-reaching consequences for our lives, that we can't start by taking shots in the dark. We'll have to get to know each other. Today we can walk around together, talk, eat, and be silent together. Later I believe we'll have the opportunity to act and suffer together. All is that necessary to "make someone's acquaintance" as they say."

"Up to that point I had always spotted those second-hand Satans. They were so naive and always tried the same tricks, poor devils. Their entire approach consisted of variations on a few fundamental falsehoods every one knew, such as:"To obey the letter of the rules in only for imbeciles who cannot understand their spirit". Or :"With my health, alas, I cannot attempt such hardships."

" Life dealt with me a little the way an organism treats a foreign body: it was obviously trying either to encyst me or to expel me, and for my own part I yearned for "something else" .... I readjusted little by little to contemporary life, but only externally, it's true. For, when you come down to it, I can't bring myself to fall in with this monkey-cage agitation which people so dramatically call life. ..... Fake, all fake. I can't say one of those cards: here's a truth, one small but certain truth. In the whole show there's nothing but mystery and error. Where one ends, the other begins."

Since Logos is quite crazy in his assumption because everything was merely made in his mind. He is as if a scientist making a hypothesis totally out of intuition and initiated a whole journey to test it; that is the reason why I found this description pretty cool "We all sat stunned by the audacity and logical power of this deduction. Everyone kept silent and everyone was convinced."

"The path to our highest desires often lies through the undesirable."

" If I were to tell this story the way history is usually written or the way each of us recalls his own past, which means recording only the most glorious moments and inventing a new continuity for them, I should omit these little details and say that our eight stout hearts drummed from morning to night in time with a single all-encompassing desire - or some such lie. But the flame which kindles desire and illuminates thought never burned for more than a few seconds at a stretch. The rest of the time we tried to remember it."

I do not know why but this author did have a sense of humor with all of his mockery and ironicness.

"Some people say they have always existed and will exist forever. Others say they are the dead. And others say that, as a sword has its scabbard or a foot its imprint, every living man has in the mountain his Hollow-Man, which he will seek out in death."

"No one has ever been able to catch it, for the tiniest tremor of fear anywhere close by alerts it, and it disappears into the rock. Even if one desires it, one is a little afraid of possessing it, and it vanishes. .... It's like looking for night in broad daylight."

"But in our relations with the superior beings of Mount Analogue, what would be suitable for barter? What did we possess of real value? With what could we pay for the new knowledge we were seeking? Would we have to accept it as charity? or on credit?"

"At the same time as we decided to leave our heavy equipment on the coast, we were also preparing to leave behind the artist, the inventor, the doctor, the scholar, the writer. Beneath the old disguises new men and new women began to show the tips of their ears. Men and women, and all kinds of other creatures as well."

"In the mountains a man becomes very attentive to any sign indicating the presence of one of his fellow men. That distant smoke was particularly moving for us, a greeting sent us by strangers climbing ahead of us on the same trail. For from now on the trail linked our fate to theirs, even if we were never to meet. Bernard knew nothing about them."

Rhododendron

"At the end I want to speak at length of one of the basic laws of Mount Analogue. To reach the summit, one must proceed from encampment to encampment. But before setting out for the next refuge, one must prepare those coming after to occupy the place one is leaving. Only after having prepared them can one go on up. That is why, before setting out for a new refuge, we had to go back down in order to pass on our knowledge to other seekers..."

"Probably Rene Daumal would have made clear what he meant by this work of preparation. For in his daily life he devoted himself to preparing many minds for the difficult voyage toward Mount Analogue. The title of his last chapter was to be: "And you, what do you seek?.... To face it directly is to strike against the deepest layer of being which sleeps within us, and then one must listen painfully and lucidly to the sound it sends back."

"By our calculations - thinking of nothing else - by our desires - abandoning every other hope - by our efforts - renouncing all bodily comfort - we gained entry into this new world. So it seemed to us. But we learned later that if we were able to approach Mount Analogue, it was because the invisible doors of that invisible country had been opened for us by those who guard them. The cock crowing in the milky dawn thinks its call raises the sun; the child howling in a closed room thinks its cries cause the door to open. But the sun and the mother follow courses set by the laws of their own beings. Those who see us even though we cannot see them opened the door for us, answering our puerile calculations, our steady desires, and our awkward efforts with a generous welcome."

[toomuchponytail]

Hello amazing writer! I was wondering if I could request a fic where the whumpee just cannot be broken, and in the end, defeat their captor? Thank you.

Oh, Anon I thought you’d never ask, (Also I cannot accept that title, but gosh almighty I’m flattered, thank you Anon, you’re way too good to me!)  I’m a huge sucker for this prompt, I feel like it’s a trope we really don’t see enough. Everyone wants broken characters who forget everything about themselves and suffer until that’s all they are anymore (Don’t get me wrong, I like that too sometimes) but man, oh, man I love a good unbreakable whumpee staring at the whumper and just going: “No.” 

To sum up because I got super long winded:

Me: Big sucker

You: Really exceptional at submitting prompts/requests

I hope you get to be as happy today as you made me by requesting this! (That means standing in a forest far from the city and your flashlight burnt out, marveling at all of the silent darkness gathering around you comfortingly like a cloak. 

You superb forest spirit you. Live your dreams. 

(Also this came out a tad darker than I expected, but never let it be said I’m all cotton candy clouds and sunbeams and never gunmetal and alleyway gravel, I am gunmetal flavored cotton candy clouds goshdarnit!)

Also long, so sorry! (If for any reason this isn’t what you envisioned I can scratch this and do it again but slightly to the left, just let me know!) 

He’d been at it for three weeks. 

When he’d agreed to take this job it had seemed easy enough, get the message runner to turn on their friends, and collect fifty G’s for their troubles, and an additional ten for every address that the messenger coughed up. 

He expected to be able to induce one hell of a case of pneumonia in the delivery boy.  

The Whumper was meticulous, he’d done his research, the messenger didn’t come from a violent background, he had a solid head on his shoulders, and was a little on the younger side, all of this made getting information easier. 

He’d been proved correct when they’d grabbed them on the street, at the first growled threat of starting to attack bystanders the messenger had hardened up, clenched their mouth in a firm line, (as if he couldn’t see their lower lip tremble) and come quietly. Idealists were very easy to deal with if you knew how to get to them. 

And of course the man did. Sometimes when he was between jobs he wondered if he should teach a class: Interrogation for the financially unstable and morally questionable. He’d make a shit ton of money too, nobody was better than him, he’d gotten hardcore family guys to break in just 16 hours, they’d cried and begged for forgiveness afterward, but he’d informed them rather helpfully that he wasn’t a priest and that they could shove it. In fact he’d never met anyone he couldn’t get to turn inside of a week, and that was hardened career criminals! 

At least he hadn’t until he’d taken the messenger.

The man had been interrogating and enforcing for all sorts of people for almost twenty years now, working with the Foresters for almost ten, he’d gotten good at ‘reading the room’ so to speak. He’d expected the ‘canary’ to start singing long before he’d even gotten him to the abandoned motel on the outskirts of town, he seemed the skittish types, he had figured it wouldn’t even progress into too much violence, let alone anything heavy. 

This delivery boy was just a kid after all, some idealistic fool that had picked the wrong side in this when the Foresters had taken over. No biggie. 

But he’d been wrong, so wrong, for the first time in his career, now looking at him, still tired pitifully to the chair, hanging against the zip ties that held him there, not even seeming to care that they bit viciously into his skin. In short the guy was wrecked, beaten repeatedly until his upper body was mainly one solid bruise, a rainbow of muddy painful color and swelling, beaten until his eyes swelled almost closed and teeth were knocked out, beaten bloody and senseless time and time again. 

And still he’d said nothing! 

He’d given no names other than his own which the man had already known and not cared about, to the man the messenger was a tool, an unwilling Swiss army knife that worked to make him money, but boy, that guy had to have some screws loose or something, the man had never had anyone last this long without breaking! 

He’d tried electricity then, jolting him until he convulsed without the aid of the rusty clamps. Until he went into shock and the man had had to take a break so that he didn’t kill him without getting what he’d wanted from him. 

When he’d come back from that place of panic the man had threatened him again with the electricity, knowing that he couldn’t use it again so soon but hoping for a chink in the armor, a ray of wicked hope…

“I’ll keep going until your skin sizzles off, tell me the names!” He’d struck him, making the chair wobble under the force of his blow, “You smell that burning? It’s you! You’re fried, dead already, so tell me the names! Where are your contacts?!” He’d screamed in his face, expecting tears and a final break through, that was what normally happened to him. 

But the messenger had smiled weakly up at him, his head only being held up by the man’s grip in his tangle of dirty dark hair, “If M’dead, th-then thanks, S’been a pl-pleasure,” the messenger had rasped back between shallow panting breathes, causing the man to let go of his hair with a sneer of disgust, the messenger’s head hung limply on his chest, “Dead m-men tell-tell n-no tales,” he’d gurgled through the blood in his mouth, choking and wheezing through his ground up lungs. 

This was when the man had decided to get serious, that has been five days ago, and other than bodily the delivery boy hadn’t broken at all. 

He’d broken his knees, his hands, bone by bone listening to him cry, and then the odd shell shocked silence accompanying each snap  for the other hand, he figured his boy had been though some trauma that hadn’t been in the file. At this point the man started to respect him, just a little, nothing crazy, he’d decided that when the time came and he’d gotten what he’d wanted,  he was going to kill the messenger cleanly and end his suffering the quick way, not his normal triple gut shot and then bounce routine he’d relied on for years.

If he broke that was. It was starting to seem doubtful. 

Finally, he’d caved and decided that it was today or never, his boy the messenger didn’t have many days left in him as it was, he’d taken his long Bowie knife and driven it through him and into the chair on the other side, the guy was too far out of it to do much more that gasp and shudder. 

“Tell me,” the man had said gently, cupping the messenger’s chin in his large bloody hand to lift it up, something the messenger had lost the strength to do more than a week ago, “Tell me and I’ll end it right now, no more hurting, Tell me and I’ll let you rest in peace.” 

The messenger didn’t respond, he continued to gasp for breath that didn’t seem to come, to the man it seemed like his messenger was emulating a fish left to die on a dock, so close to the water, so close he could smell it, but instead he’d chosen to dry drown. 

The messenger was looking him straight in the eye, for some reason this made the man uncomfortable, he’d killed several people in his days, in fact, he’d go so far as to say he’d killed a lot of people, women, men, no kids on purpose, but sometimes when you’re working with the Foresters you gotta fish or cut bait. 

And he’d always been a fishing man. 

But the way that this unbreakable delivery boy was looking him in the eyes while they could both hear his blood dripping onto the old mud caked carpet felt deeply wrong, and the man looked away before the messenger did, feeling not exactly guilt or empathy, but as close to it as he’d come in a great long time. 

The man was shaken, just enough to go out and smoke a few cigarettes until his hands stopped shaking. When he’d finished his third he decided that he was probably just hungry, maybe he needed to sleep, this kind of work took a lot out of a person, and he’d been at it a long time. 

Three weeks. 

Longer even than when he’d had to get Mal Gerring’s number from his favored son and lieutenant Paulie Gerring, that had been before the Foresters had taken over, crime had been better organized then, not on the books in your face like it was now,  but there had been something to admire about it. The romance of seedy hotels and driving his beat up car around the country, listening to regional radio and chain smoking, taking body parts back to waring mob families… Now he had a nice car that had cost more than his first house, but the job hadn’t changed–it never did, just the people paying changed. 

He sighed in nostalgia as he watched the sky darken, Paulie had only lasted five days. Message boy had him beat by two weeks. Maybe no more after this, maybe the messenger was his last, maybe he’d teach that class to other guys the Forester’s wanted to hire, working for the government had a lot of benefits–especially for the morally questionable. 

The man shook his head, if he hadn’t been busy reminiscing, if he hadn’t been so sure that he was the best, he might have heard the stood creak, he’d untied the messenger days ago, he hadn’t thought he’d been able to move if he could barely hold his head up, plus with the mangled hands he didn’t think he’d be able to do much harm. 

For the second time in his long and questionably successful life the man was wrong. 

Before he realized what was happening there was a sharp pain in the men’s temple, a crushing thunk that faded almost immediately to darkness, he didn’t even have the time to groan before he lost consciousness and slipped into the inevitable. 

Standing, or rather, sort of hunched over kind of holding himself up on the raining and swaying violently over him the messenger dropped his weapon, it was the handle of the Bowie knife he’d had to pull it out by degrees, stopping every time his eyesight started to darken, he clutched a hand over his dark wound and staggered over to his would-be murderer’s collapsed body, he raked numb broken fingers over pockets, searching until he found what he was looking for: the small black burner phone that the man had taken from him when he’d first gotten here. 

Phone cradled in broken hands he slumped to the porch, mostly laying on the stoop, he didn’t have long now, every movement was white hot and unsteady, to say that he hurt would be an understatement, but he still had a job to do, he was a messenger after all. 

He carefully dialed the number, pushing the buttons almost make him pass out, he kept whiting out with pain as the broken bones in his hands shifted, he cried out as he did it, not allowing himself the mercy of stopping now. 

Finally, after long agony filled minutes he pushed send, thank god for the universal cell towers! thank god for jamming software! the phone rang, he laid his head down on the stoop, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

It rang again, a droning buzz in his ringing ears. 

Please. 

It buzzed. 

Please pick it up! God, he’s so tired. 

It rang again, his heart sunk into his stomach, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to dial another time, he was already more out of it than he should be, this was it. 

It rang once more, he figured he’s have to leave the message on the voice mail, he knew that wasn’t allowed, too many people died that way, but then again, he wouldn’t be around for the higher-ups to yell at him. 

“Hello?” 

God bless her. 

“Nez,” he rasped, surprised to feel a lump of tears forming in his throat, he figured hearing a friendly voice after so much was making him sort of sentimental. 

“Shit! What happened to you? We’ve been so worried!” 

The messenger ignored her, he didn’t have enough energy to explain, “Nez, four-ten Walnut, lots of kids there, you’ve still got some time, bring Ralphie, the combo is 6899437, got it?” 

When Nez speaks again she’s quiet, it’s almost intimate like she’s whispering in his ear, “Where are you?” There is horror in her voice sure, but also hope, Nez hasn’t grasped yet that hope can kill you. 

“Last one Nez, I’m going dark,” he croaked, his eyes slipping shut, he focused on the voice at the other end of the line. 

“Oh Fuck, We’ll track you! We’re coming! Just don’t hang up! Please! Don’t hang up!” 

The messenger assumes Nes says more but he can’t decipher it, message delivered he sinks below into the dark. 

[star-spangled-eyes]

Winner Take All: Part 4: The Club

This alternate universe fan fiction uses characters created and owned by Pixelberry Studios. Character names, descriptions and likenesses are owned by Pixelberry Studios. The MC, Bragnae Bennett, and story is created and owned by this author.

Book: The Royal Romance (Alternate Universe)

Alternate Universe Theme: Senior Year of College for Drake, Leo, Bragnae and Madeleine in the United States  

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC / Leo Reese x MC (Bragnae Bennett – *pronounced Brawn-yah)

Warnings for this series: NSFW, Adult content, suggestive and strong language, sex

Series Description: Bragnae Bennett sought adventure when she first went off to college. Now, navigating through her senior year, she finds herself befriending two gorgeous guys, Drake Walker and Leo Reese, who engage in a seemingly innocent bet with her during a game of pool that leads to a surprising threesome.

Their intimate evening prompts deeper feelings than they all expected to arise, and Bragnae is suddenly swept up in both of their charms, unique to each man himself. Through the pressures of college, work and maintaining a social life, which man will prevail and win Bragnae's heart?

Master List

A/N: Where my Leo stans at? Sheesh! This man right here? He’s hot. I love his rebel ass with a passion. Enjoy this!

Warnings for this chapter: NSFW, Adult content, suggestive and strong language

Word Count for this chapter: 5337 (I’m really trying to keep these under 4,000, but… Leo made me do it!)

Setting for this chapter: Bragnae meets Leo for an afternoon of self-defense training, and that’s not all!

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Part 4: The Club

Bragnae arrived at the quad on campus. It was a Saturday, so it wasn’t nearly as crowded as it usually was when classes were in session. Still, there were people hanging out on the lawn – some playing music, some kicking a soccer ball around, others reading. The sun was shining, and the weather was perfect – not too hot, not too cold.

Knowing she’d be doing some physical activity, Bragnae threw on a pair of grey spandex leggings and a purple sleeveless work out top. She put her hair up in a high ponytail, and lightly applied make-up to her face.

Looking around the quad, her eyes searched for Leo. She was both excited and nervous about seeing him again. After last night’s awkward moments with Drake, she was anticipating the same with Leo. Although, they didn’t seem to be uncomfortable around each other when he showed up at Mikey’s. It was more pleasant and flirty than anything else.

She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart when she spotted Leo leaning against a big oak tree with the bottom of his foot propped up against the trunk. His sandy blonde hair lightly gelled in a sexy but messy sort of way – his signature style.

He had his phone up to his ear, talking to someone as he looked off in the distance. Leo wore a plain grey t-shirt and light jeans that hung low on his hips. If he had a pack of smokes rolled up in his shirt sleeve he could even be considered a rebel without a cause. Even in such subtle clothes, Leo never lacked for attention. The build of his sculpted body and his pretty-boy face drew in eyes from every direction.

Bragnae headed towards him keeping her eyes trained on his face. She was about twenty feet away when he finally noticed her, doing a double take before a bright smile highlighted his face.

“I gotta go,” she heard him say, his eyes never leaving her, as he ended the call. Leo pocketed his phone and pushed himself off the trunk of the tree as she approached.

The fact that he abruptly ended his call to give his attention to her instead made her feel special. She smiled at him. “Hey, you.”

Leo, like Drake, was a friend to Bragnae. She’d known him almost as long as Drake, but got along with him all the same. He was cocky, funny and known for going rogue on many occasions, which Bragnae found thrilling. He didn’t care what people thought of him and always walked to the beat of his own drum. There was something so freeing about that. Bragnae didn’t consider herself that way, but when she was around Leo, she liked that he brought it out in her.

“Hey, yourself.” Leo met Bragnae halfway, surprising her by pulling her into a soft embrace.

Bragnae breathed in his delicious scent, fresh like the ocean and incredibly sensual. “God, you smell good.” She couldn’t help herself. She was that taken with it.

“Thanks. So do you.” He pulled back to look at her appreciatively. “Cute outfit. Ready to learn some self-defense?”

“You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

“Goddamn right. It’s important, Bragnae. Come on. Let’s go to a bigger clearing and away from the others.” Leo turned on his heel leading her to a spot with shade. He turned around to face her causing Bragnae to stop about five feet away from him.

A smirk appeared on his face as he began to beckon her with his finger. “Come here, you.” His voice was deep and soothing.

A little confused by his change in demeanor, Bragnae still did as he asked out of curiosity, walking towards him until he said to stop. Their chests nearly touched. She looked up at him as he slinked his hands around her waist, then let them curve to the back where he cupped her ass.

Bragnae drew in a sharp breath, surprised at how he was suddenly touching her. “Leo, what are you doing?”

He smiled as he gave her a little squeeze. “I’m a patron at Mikey’s. What are you gonna do about it?”

Oh, so this was part of his lesson. Feeling his hands on her was electrifying. She summoned a strong will to concentrate and answer his question. “I’m going to move your hands away.”

“So, do it.” His expression overflowed with confidence.

Bragnae immediately brought her elbows up between his arms and knocked them away before stepping back.

“Good. But I’m coming back for more. What are you going to do now?” He took a small step towards her.

“Uh, I’m going to… punch you in the face.” He took another step closer making her think quickly.

“Make a fist, let me see.”

She curled her fingers in tightly, her thumb resting on the knuckle of her middle finger. Leo’s eyes looked to her hand.

“Good. That’s how you want it. I’m getting closer. What are you going to do?”

As he advanced, she took steps back to keep the distance. “Leo, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Come on, ya big baby. Hit me. I can take it. In two seconds I’m going to grab you so you better decide quickly.” True to his word, Leo moved swiftly towards her. Just before he could overtake her, she cranked her arm back and connected her first with his jaw in a hard punch. Leo recoiled, a hand immediately coming to the place she just struck. “Goddamn.”

Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide with worry. “Ohmigod, Leo. Are you okay?”

He stretched his jaw out, rubbing a hand over his taut skin. “Not bad, Bragnae.” Leo waved to someone in the distance. “It’s okay!” He yelled. “I’m just teaching her self-defense.” He returned his attention to Bragnae. “How’s your hand?”

She shook it out. “It hurts.” He stepped up to her, lifting her hand to his face. Turning it gingerly with his, he inspected it. “What are you looking for?”

“Just trying to see if your knuckles are made of steel. That was one hell of a punch.” He took another second to playfully look over her hand before bringing it to his lips. Leo placed a soft kiss on her reddened knuckles, smiling as he watched her.

Grinning, she slowly withdrew her hand. “Thank you.” She raised a hand to brush over the spot where she punched him. Redness and some swelling was already evident. “God, I’m so sorry. Leo, I don’t think I can do this.” She dropped her hand and her face fell. “I can bring the sass all day, but when it comes to hitting someone… I just… can’t.”

“Why not? You just kicked my ass, and all I did was guide you through it. You did the rest. What are you afraid of?”

She sighed. “I guess I’m afraid if I hit them they’ll come back and it’ll be worse. I’d be helpless against them. I’m not strong enough to win a fight against a man.”

Compassion filled his eyes. “That may be true, but the quicker you react and show him you’re not fucking around, the better chance he’ll leave you alone. You’ve got one hell of a right hook, girl, and you weren’t even convinced I was going to do you harm. I’d bet you’d have even more force behind that strike if I was a real threat.”

She considered his words, nodding.

“Trust me, you come at a guy with a punch like that, and he’ll leave you alone. Those assholes don’t want to mess with a girl who’s going to be a hassle. They want easy targets that don’t or can’t fight back.” He moved closer to her, placing his hands on her waist. “If all you do is yell or say something sassy to them, they’re going to think they can do it again and get away with it.”

She knew he was right. It was already evident to her that some of the same creeps would return to Mikey’s trying to hit on her and touch her inappropriately.

“And if they think they can get away with slapping your ass,” he paused as his gaze deepened with a certain seriousness. “They might try to get away with more.”

Looking away, Bragnae swallowed, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Leo brought a hand up to lift her chin, encouraging her gaze again. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you, but this is something I see happening to the waitresses at the club I work at on a daily basis.” Leo worked at a hot club in town called Inferno as a bouncer, hence his desire to stay fit and buff.

“And Bragnae,” his eyes studying hers, “I don’t want to see that happen to you. I can’t be at Mikey’s every time you’re working, so I want you to feel confident enough to protect yourself. The fact that this sort of thing happens to you once a week is horse shit – especially at a pizza joint.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really expect that to happen there either, but when we get busy and the crowds pour in, it’s easy to do.”

“Just do what you did here today, and remember your goal is to defend yourself, and then get outta dodge. If they still won’t leave you alone, you go get help or call the police.”

She exhaled a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to go over this with me.”

He let go of her, taking a few steps back to give her space. “You don’t have to thank me. Just watch your ass out there because there’s plenty of guys already doing it.”

She scoffed a laugh. “I will.” A strong breeze flew by bringing a blue piece of paper from the quad in their direction. In an effort to keep litter off the ground, Bragnae ran a few steps chasing after the paper before bending down to pick it up.

“Jesus Christ,” Leo said suddenly.

Bragnae whipped up and looked around before finding his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Leo’s face contorted as he tried to get out the words. “I… you’re,” he sighed. “Your ass looks really great in those pants. Just do me a favor and don’t bend over in front of me again, or I might have to do something about it.”

The corner of her mouth curled up. “Leo, you know you’re one of those guys you just described who’s looking at my ass.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it to think for another moment. Then he held up both index fingers to emphasize his point. “Yes, but I’m not going to disrespect you.” He smirked. “Unless you want me to. I mean, well, you know what I mean.” He chuckled at himself.

Bragnae put a hand on her hip with her head cocked and an eyebrow lifted. The sexual energy he was giving off made her feel flush, but she tried her best not to reveal it.

“Sorry Miss Sassy Pants. I can’t help it that you’re hot.” He grinned playfully. “I’m starving. Wanna get something to eat?”

“Sure.” She started walking and when she got close to Leo she gave him a playful shove on his arm. His very toned arm.

“Hey,” he laughed before straightening his stride to walk beside her again.

They strolled to a burger place near campus, and sat at a table outside to enjoy their lunch.

Leo tossed a French fry into his mouth and washed it down with some cola. “So, if you’re looking for something fun to do tonight, you could come to the club with me. I don’t have to work, but my buddy is DJing, and I told him I’d stop by.”

Bragnae was grateful for the mouthful of food to give her time to think about a response. She didn’t know if Leo was asking her on a date, or to go out as just a friend. He had casually asked her to join him at other places on several occasions before… before they had a threesome with Drake, and it sounded just like this. And the afternoon so far had been comfortable and normal. It was nothing compared to the awkward start of her night with Drake.

And the flirting and touching was not new either. He had playfully interacted with her like that many times. Being open about his attraction to her, but never pursuing anything. She briefly wondered why. Aside from a few nights ago when he suggested a very erotic end to the evening, nothing else had ever come up.

The state of her friendship or relationship with Drake was still up in the air. She had checked her phone on the walk over to the restaurant, but still didn’t have anything from Drake. So, she had no idea where they stood. He didn’t exactly tell her he wanted to be her boyfriend or that they would date only each other. None of that was discussed. Of course, she basically threw him out before any of that could be discussed.

If Leo did truly want this to be a date, then would it be wrong to agree to it? In the past, she had waited for immature boys to never make up their mind about wanting to date her, and wasted a lot of time doing it. When she left for college, another rule she put in place was to not let herself get caught up in the mind games that guys sometimes play. If they didn’t call her or actively pursue her, then she would move on.

If Drake wanted to take things slow, then that was fine, but what did that mean? How slow was his version of slow? And if Leo wanted to take her out and show her a good time, then she saw no harm in that. She knew she’d find out tonight what Leo’s true intentions were, and if she was being honest with herself, she was intrigued. She liked Leo a lot. He was fun to be around, and always kept her on her toes. Not to mention he was unbelievably attractive.

Swallowing her food, she smiled at him. “That actually sounds like a great time. I’m in.”

“You will not be disappointed.” He wiped his hands on a napkin. “I have some things to do between now and then, but what do you say I pick you up at your place around 9:00pm?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be ready.”

As soon as they finished their meal, Leo and Bragnae went their separate ways. She had a few hours before she’d see him again, which was perfect to get some laundry and other things done. One of those things was to call Drake.

Bragnae pulled up his number and pressed the call button. She sat down on the chair by her desk heaving a deep breath as the phone rang. She was a bit nervous, but knew she had to own up to her actions from the night before. The phone continued to ring until his voicemail sounded. Shoot.

His recording was too short to give her time to decide what kind of message she wanted to leave. Brief or detailed. So, she was forced to wing it.

“Hey, Drake, it’s Bragnae. I just wanted to call you to… let you know I was sorry about last night,” she pulled at the fabric of her pants absentmindedly as she continued. “I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. It was childish, and we should have at least finished the movie. Anyway, it’s been bothering me, and I just wanted you to know. I hope you had a good day at work. Talk to you later.”

She ended the call feeling satisfied with her message. Hoping Drake was just busy at work and not ignoring her, she put her phone on her desk and got on with her day.

Later on, she took another quick shower to freshen up. Bragnae stepped into a halter dress that was emerald green on the top with a black skirt falling down to her mid-thigh. It fit tightly, but had a stretchy fabric that allowed her to dance and move without too much restriction. From the stories Leo had told her, Inferno was known primarily as a place to dance and drink. She hadn’t been there yet, but she was looking forward to seeing what the fuss was all about.

She added some loose curls and a glitter hairspray to her hair for definition, and applied the smoky look to her eyes. Bragnae heard a knock at her bedroom door when Madeleine peeked her head in.

“Hey, Leo’s here.”

“Thanks, tell him I’ll be right out,” Bragnae told her as she spritzed perfume onto her wrists, chest and the back of her neck. She sat down on her bed slipping on her rhinestone encrusted strappy heels. Grabbing a small black clutch, she left her bedroom.

She spotted Leo standing in the living room watching whatever reality TV show Madeleine had on. He wore dark jeans and a steel blue button up shirt. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stood with a hand in his front pocket as he leaned his weight to one side. Casual and cute.

“Hi, Leo,” she said. He turned around to face her, and she watched as his eyes focused on her – hard. They trailed the length of her body as an appreciative smirk crossed over his lips.

Blinking a few times, he shook his head. “Damn, girl. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” He walked over, pulling her into a warm embrace. His wonderful scent filled her nostrils. “You look incredible,” he told her stepping back. His hand lifted hers in the air as he prompted her to twirl in a small circle. A low breathy whistle escaped him as she spun slowly. “Good choice, Bragnae.”

“Ready to go?” She asked with a confident smile. His compliments made her feel unstoppable.

He only nodded as his eyes still trained on her curves. Loving the attention from him, Bragnae turned and led them out of the apartment. Leo followed closely after her.

The night had a slight chill in the air, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Leo put a hand on the small of her back as he led her down the sidewalk. Bragnae stopped in her tracks when she saw a gleaming white sporty motorcycle leaning on its kickstand in the street.

“I didn’t know you were bringing your bike.” Wearing a tight dress as she was would prove tricky riding on it.

Leo walked over to the bike, throwing a leg over it and standing it up straight. He looked at her with a side smirk. “I didn’t know you were wearing a dress.”

She took a few hesitating steps forward contemplating if she should go change. As she looked over the bike, she couldn’t help but notice how attractive he looked sitting on the motorcycle.

“It’s only a few blocks, babe. I think you can handle it.” He winked, looking even more devastatingly handsome.

She sighed against her better judgment. “Okay, but if I end up flashing some guy and he harasses me, I expect you to knock him out.”

He laughed. “Deal.”

Bragnae reached down to the hem of her dress, wiggling her hips slightly as she hiked the fabric up a few inches. Leo watched her the entire time looking pleasantly stunned. It was her turn to wink as she braced a hand on his shoulder and straddled the bike behind him.

Leo looked over his shoulder as she settled in. “That was really sexy.” He tilted his head to the sky blowing out a breath. “Hold on tight back there.”

Bragnae scooted forward so she could wrap her arms around his firm abs. She patted his thigh to let him know she was in place. Leo leaned forward on the handles and revved the engine. They took off down the street with the cool wind blowing through their hair. She leaned her cheek on his back as the thrill of zipping down the streets on the back of a fast motorcycle made her feel utterly free.

When they arrived at the club, Bragnae carefully got off the bike first, thankful no one was in the general vicinity. She returned the skirt of her dress to his proper length, and primped her hair after the wind had tousled it. Leo turned off the bike, kicking out the stand so it could lean on its own.

She admired the tightness in his jeans as his leg swung over the back of the bike. A warm tingle pooled between her legs. There was something about a hot guy and a motorcycle that drove her crazy. Leo pocketed his keys, smiling as he took her hand and led her inside.

He waved to the attendants who were checking IDs, passing by without interference. She felt like a minor celebrity being able to bypass the cover charge and validation of her age as Leo’s presence paid it for her. The club was painted in all black and had neon and black lighting around the dance floor and bar.

The atmosphere was thick with sexual and fun energy. The dance floor was already flooded with couples, singles, and groups enjoying themselves. Leo led them over to a clear space at the bar.

“Hey, Trip, can I get a beer and a,” he turned to Bragnae. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“Can I get a Smirnoff Ice, please?” She asked sweetly.

Leo looked at her incredulously. “Smirnoff Ice? Such a girly drink.”

Bragnae ran her hand down her body showing off her womanly curves. “I am a girl, ya know.” She followed it up with a playful smile.

Leo reciprocated before turning back to the bartender. “And a Smirnoff Ice for the lady.” Their hands still entwined as they waited another moment for their drinks. He pulled Bragnae in, allowing her to sit on the one free stool that was available.

Trip placed their drinks on the bar, and Leo put a twenty down. He handed Bragnae her bottle, clinking it before taking a drink. She enjoyed the refreshing cold liquid rushing down her throat, and the way Leo looked at her as he swallowed his.

He put a hand casually on her thigh as he leaned in to speak in her ear. “So, what do you think about my club?”

The music thumped loudly in her ears, but she could still hear him. “It’s really nice. I bet you have a lot of fun when you work here.”

“It can be, but more often than not I have to bounce some assholes out because they’re too drunk or fighting.” His gaze migrated to her cleavage, prompting a devilish grin. “You really do look great tonight.”

She took another sip of her drink. “Thank you. So do you.” She ran her hand over his chest. “I don’t see you wearing this type of shirt very often. It looks nice on you.” He leaned into her touch sending more of his delicious scent swirling around her. “And you looked pretty hot sitting on that bike.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d like to see you sitting on my bike in that get up you have on. I didn’t quite have the pleasure on the way over here.”

“Maybe I can show you when we leave.” She bit her bottom lip looking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Only if you promise to do that little shimmy and pull up your dress again.” The tips of his fingers slid just underneath the hem of her skirt. His face inches from hers.

Bragnae drew in a sharp breath, feeling an intense throbbing between her legs. Everything Leo did screamed sex. It was becoming hard to concentrate.

“I think that can be arranged.” His mouth was so close. Memories of how his full lips felt against her two days ago came rushing back in a fury, and she suddenly craved him.

He grinned sensing the mood between them. “Wanna dance?”

It wasn’t a kiss, but she had a feeling it’d turn into something even hotter. His hands all over her body was more than enough motivation to get off that bar stool. She and Leo both threw back another swig of their drinks. He took her bottle and his, setting them back on the bar before grabbing her hand again. He pulled her onto the dance floor, maneuvering his way through the crowd to a space they could both comfortably fit.

A sizzling Latino song with a catchy beat began playing, and Leo immediately drew her in close. Bragnae instinctively threw her hands around his neck as they danced. He ran his hands down her sides focusing on her hips. She rolled her pelvis reveling in his continued touch. They looked into each other’s eyes creating a scorching energy between them.

Leo slid his hand around to her lower back while the other lifted her leg just above the knee, holding it against his hips. He grinded into her with rhythmic purpose. The skirt of her dress pushed up a bit making her feel more of him through the thin layer of her panties. He was a great dancer – sensual as hell, balanced and moved to the beat effortlessly.

After a few minutes, a different song transitioned in with a quicker beat and an even dirtier vibe. Leo released her leg, and spun her around so her back was to his chest. He nestled against her, his hands on her hips rolling them along with his. Bragnae flipped her hair to one side, looking over her shoulder at him as her arm hooked behind his neck.

Steamy arousal surged through her body. If they were naked, they’d be having sex by now. The music stimulated the already lustful environment, and Bragnae found herself leaning into his body more and more. The pleasing movement between them provoked breathy moans. One of his hands slipped over her mound, dangerously close to where she really wanted him to touch her.

She braced her other hand on his muscled thigh, squeezing it passionately as they moved. He pressed into her more. Her head fell back against him as she closed her eyes getting lost in the moment.

Soon, to her dismay, the song changed again, and she felt Leo’s movements come to a stop. Feeling a little breathless, she turned around.

“We should, uh, slow it down a bit,” he said, looking her over with hungry eyes.

Refusing to have a repeat of the night prior with almost the exact words that Drake said, she decided to tease him. “Why? Can’t keep up?”

Leo cleared his throat. “No, I’m definitely keeping up.” He adjusted the inseam of his jeans, exhaling a quick breath. Her eyes were drawn there feeling just as excited as he was. “I just meant we should go somewhere quieter.” He took her hand, and led Bragnae over to a roped off area with a sign that read Employees Only.

“Uh, Leo, I don’t think we’re allowed up there.” Bragnae looked skeptically at the cordon in their way leading to a dark staircase.

“It’s fine. I’m an employee. Come on,” he moved one of the poles out of the way to allow her to slip through. He did the same, returning it to the original position.

Bragnae climbed the dimly lit stair way that curved to a single door at the top. She stood to the side as Leo came up behind her, brushing his hand on her lower back. He knocked twice on the door before pulling out a set of keys from his pocket. In that time, no one had come to answer, so Leo unlocked it. He turned the knob pushing the door open, and gestured to Bragnae to enter first.

The room was dark except for a blue light that ran around the perimeter of the ceiling. It was bright enough to see a couple of couches against the walls, a small bar in the corner, and a sound system. After Leo closed the door, the sound from the club below was muffled. She could actually hear herself think, but her ears felt like she was underwater after leaving the loud dance floor.

“What is this room used for, Leo?” She asked running a finger over the counter of the bar, then walked to the center of the room.

“It’s usually reserved for private parties,” he told her as he headed over to the sound system. Bragnae watched him plug his phone into a cord and fiddle with it for a second before R & B music began playing over the speakers.

Leo turned and walked slowly to meet her where she stood. He picked up her hands and laid them on his shoulders as he stepped closer to her swaying them to the sensual beat. His hands rested comfortably on her lower back with his fingers inching their way over the curves of her backside.

“So, we’re not really supposed to be in here, are we?” She smirked up at him.

He offered her a not-so-innocent shrug.

She chuckled. “You’re such a bad boy, Leo.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but I’m the best kind of bad boy.”

“How do you figure?”

Even through the darkness of the room, she could see how deeply he peered into her eyes. The seriousness of his gaze shifting the energy between them. “Because I’m a bad boy with a good heart. All the rebel excitement plus an intense desire to make someone else happy.” He tightened his hold on her to drive home his point as if she didn’t yet know he was talking about her.

Her breath quickened as she got lost in his eyes, believing in every word he just said. Bragnae’s gaze lowered to his full lips, and soon he was pulling them even closer, leaning down as they connected in a slow kiss. The rhythmic music guided their lips to deepen, and kept their bodies steadily swaying with one another.

Her fingers ran through his hair as he parted her lips with his tongue. Every motion was done to the beat of the song, and it was incredible. As his tongue explored her mouth, his lips devoured hers slowly and deliberately. The rest of the world flitted away as they continued to kiss.

Leo’s hands moved down to caress her tush while holding her hips against his. She felt how much he wanted her through the growing bulge in his jeans. It felt good to be desired carnally and in such a romantic way.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Bragnae arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest as she leaned her head away from him. Leo worked his mouth over her neck. His hot breath hitting her skin sent a chill down her spine. One of his hands slid up her stomach and over her breast stopping to knead it gently. She moaned at his touch, their hips still rocking against each other in an erotically slow pace.

Leo groaned. “God, Bragnae. I want you so bad.” He gently brought her back up to him, kissing her with more vigor than before. She offered him no protests, only moans of agreement as he walked her backwards toward the couch.

They fell back onto the soft leather. The weight of his body on hers made her writhe with anticipation. A sudden thought made her break their kiss.

“Leo, someone could come in here and see us.”

That wicked grin of his was back. “Yeah, and it’s even hotter knowing we could get caught.” He captured her lips in another satisfying kiss. “Relax. I locked it, and no one else should be coming up here tonight.”

Feeling reassured, she pulled him in again returning to their intimate moment.

[tk-duveraun]

Little Bitty Pretty One

Mathilda escapes the Ansburg Circle, part of a trade with @elalavella

Why aren’t you angry? If you had stayed in the Gallows, you would be free now, Rage whispered in Mathilda’s mind. Its words didn’t cause the slightest hesitation in her movements; her writing was as delicate and refined as always.

She looked back over her notes and nodded. Though no one was in the room, Mathilda said, “Yes, I do believe this is all I need out of the Creation school.” Though she left her grimoire open for the ink to dry, Mathilda closed the Creation text with a loud thwump. With one manicured finger, she drew a small Force magic rune in the air and the book flew off to settle onto the returns cart. The Ansburg Circle’s librarian would normally complain at the casual use of magic, but he was slumped over his desk, blood and spit foaming on his lips.

All of the little mage apprentices were locked up in their classes - a futile attempt to keep them from learning of the fall of the Gallows. Each lesson was taught by at least two Enchanters and no mage was left alone, lest they plot sedition. Mathilda had been assigned to watch over the librarian, a elf man who’d given a leg to a failed escape attempt in his youth. Not even the most suspicious Templars suspected sweet-faced Mathilda of wanting to escape. She’d petitioned to come to Ansburg, afterall.

Darling Mathilda, recommended for transfer by Knight Commander Meredith herself, would never ever want to leave the Circle. Why, outside the Circle she’d only experienced pain and betrayal, by her own father, no less! The horrors still brought tears to her meticulously-lined eyes. She was a mage, yes, but magic was the least of her problems. She lit candles and flash-cooked food, but really, her power wasn’t anything to fear. Mathilda just liked to read. Wasn’t Nevarra such a silly place with its Necromancy and Mortalitasi? No, Mathilda would read under her fancy magic flames and keep to herself and never do anything untoward.

Destroy these fools. Let them pay for how they underestimated you, Rage said.

Mathilda continued to ignore her demon. The ink in her grimoire still hadn’t dried, but didn’t let the frown crease her face. She wouldn’t court wrinkles anytime soon. A dismissive hand wave and burst of careful Fire magic finished the job. Mathilda flipped back through the pages, skimming over her collected knowledge. The idiot Enchanters they made teachers couldn’t teach a horse to shit, but she was more than capable of learning on her own. She hadn’t been able to practice overmuch - you could only frame so many people for blood magic in a single year before the rules changed. Idiot, lusty boys who had thought they could lay hands on her had been her favorite choices for the Brand, but Angelica had really been asking for it.

She was in truth a blood mage regardless, Rage said, trying to sap enjoyment out of the memory.

Do hold yourself with some decorum, Mathilda thought at it. The moment I’m done here you’ll be able to boil every Templar in their armor as I fetch my phylactery.

A wordless sulking feeling was her only response.

Where was she? Right, double-checking her grimoire. She’d long-since stolen every tome on Necromancy from the library and they were carefully hidden in the home of the farmer that supplied the Circle. She paused in her page flipping and pulled on the thread of Fade connected to her blood magic compulsion on the farmer. Hmm, yes it was still there, but fading. It was good that she was in the process of leaving. Her grimoire was far from complete, but it wouldn’t get any better in this… well, calling it a refuse heap was putting it all rather nicely, wasn’t it?

Destroy it.

Come now. You have a better vocabulary than that. Mathilda snapped her grimoire closed. She pricked her finger on the needle-point rivet and sealed it with magic and a drop of her blood. It belched out a delightful purple-black plume of smoke. She patted it like a particularly well-behaved dog before scooping it off the table and cradling it in her arms. Mathilda loosened her hold on Rage as she walked and by the time she left the library, her footsteps steamed.

An apprentice laid dead next to her bag. Mathilda clicked her tongue before kicking the corpse away. If his skin hadn’t been mottled and green from the curse on her things, it would have been bright red from the scorching heat of her boots. She pulled the strap over her shoulder and shifted until the weight hung comfortably against her hip. The floor sizzled with each of her steps as Rage’s magic burned the dust and detritus against the heavy, stone tiles.

Flames jumped out of their magic sconces to float in the air behind her, bobbing and weaving with every step. She was halfway up to the tower before any Templars appeared. The first didn’t get a single word out before fire burst through their armor and threw their helmet into the air. It clattered to the floor with the rest of the armor, making a terrible racket of clanks and crashes. Mathilda’s footprints were a trail of fire by the time other Templars came to investigate the sound.

“Mathilda! Look out! There’s a maleficar loose in the Circle!” One idiot had the lack of awareness to say.

She didn’t bother to turn around to look at her. She simply raised a hand and brushed it against the stone wall as she walked. The stone glowed and reluctantly caught fire as she passed. “You don’t say, Ser Clarice.”

A wall of fire erupted behind Mathilda, blocking off the Templars before they could muster their wits and wills enough to Silence her. The screams were rather distracting as she picked apart the spells on the storeroom door, but she persisted. It was the smell of burning hair that really bothered Mathilda, so she paused long enough to snap her fingers. The spell didn’t go off, so she snapped them again until the warm, comforting scent of smoking hickory filled her nose.

When the spells on the door gave way, it collapsed to the floor in a pile of ash. The storeroom had little to boast aside from a few forbidden texts - useless, she’d already read them - and the collected phylacteries of every mage in Ansburg. Mathilda pulled out a few vials at random and inspected the labels, trying to figure out how they were organized. Either the Tranquil that had labeled them had had a stroke or they were written in some kind of code. Mathilda dropped them to the floor, enjoying the sound of shattering glass as she put her hands on her hips. “Well, this simply won’t do.”

She stare at the racks for just a moment before holding out both hands and letting Rage channel through her. Not only did the phylacteries go up in a burst of purple fire and crackling blue magic, but the entire back wall gave out under the heat. “That was excessive, don’t you think?”

Rage didn’t answer.

Mathilda turned to leave, but was met by the Knight Commander himself. He brandished his sword and screamed commands at her, but his uncivilized, backwater Antivan accent made his words completely insensible. Either that or his feet boiling in his boots from the molten stone under him had yowling in agony like a particularly ugly mabari. “I never did like you, Knight Commander Estevan. You smell worse than the dung you have for brains.” Mathilda’s tone was light and sweet. She walked backwards through the storeroom with every airy word. “And your taste in wine is painfully plebeian. I really should kill you, but you simply do not deserve a second more of my time. Goodbye.”

With a jaunty wave, Mathilda jumped backwards out of the hole Rage burned in the wall.

That was a four-storey fall, Rage complained once Mathilda landed. I will take a year of your life for that maneuver.

You may try, Rage, dear, Mathilda replied as she looked around to get her bearings. She hadn’t seen the outside of the Circle with her own eyes since she’d arrived. It didn’t take her long to piece together memories of what she’d seen from the farmer and various workers she’d possessed with her magic over the years. With confident, still-smoking strides, Mathilda left the Ansburg Circle grounds.

She smiled when she heard the time-delayed explosion in her room go off. Who knew freedom smelled like fire and cinder?

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Be My Baby Part 4

Summary: Charlotte goes by Charlie in the summer of 1963. Sebastian works at the resort her family is staying at. He teaches her how to dance.

Chapter Summary: Charlie spends the day with her sister and catches glimpses of Sebastian every so often. Then she hears something that breaks the spell.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, usual 60′s sexism, mentions of homophobia, mentions of sex

Note: From now on, Scarlett is officially the lesbian friend we all need.

Chapter Four: Mama Said         

          Mama said there’ll be days like this

           And then she said someone would look at me

           Like I’m looking at you someday

           Then I might find out.

           When I woke up the next morning, I stayed laying there, staring at the ceiling. For a minute, I thought I had dreamed the whole thing up. The staff party was nothing more than a crazy dream and Sebastian hadn’t actually danced with me. But it was too real. I could still feel his hands on me. I had an active imagination, but it wasn’t that good.

           My sister came out of the small bathroom in the cabin and looked at me. “What are you doing?” She asked.

           “What?” I glanced over at her. “Nothing, I just woke up.”

           “Well, I’m going to the pool, do you want to come?” She offered. She was already throwing a sundress over her bikini.

           “Yeah, okay.” I nodded. I dug through my suitcase and found my swimsuit. I grimaced at the idea of wearing just that at the pool but I decided to suck it up. Most likely, all the boys would be eyeing my sister.

           I put on shorts and a t-shirt, ready to read in the shade by the pool. While my sister could get a glowing tan, I usually burned, despite my use of sunscreen. I grabbed my book, sunglasses, and a baseball cap.

           I followed my sister to the pool as she talked about how I missed the way Chris was looking at her at dinner the night before. I nodded and ‘ohed’ just to placate her.

           “Where were you last night, by the way?” She turned her attention on me as we walked up the path to the main hotel.

           “I wasn’t feeling well, I was in the cabin,” I replied, not meeting her gaze.

           “I went back to the cabin at seven to grab my lipstick, you weren’t there.” She accused.

           “I probably went for a walk then.” I shrugged. “What do you think I would be doing?”

           She seemed to agree with that. I certainly wasn’t the type to be found among a party, dancing with a handsome pianist. I sighed under my breath and something in my chest ached when I replayed the memory of Sebastian leaving me on the dance floor. I didn’t think it would actually hurt.

           Laurie and I arrived at the pool where many sunbathers were already setting up for the day. A few kids splashed around the pool and a lifeguard, who I vaguely recognized from the night before, sat by.

           “That’s Jeremy, he’s one of Chris’s friends,” Laurie whispered to me and nodded to the lifeguard.

           “Oh.” I unfurled my towel onto a chair. I made sure I was under an umbrella and sat down, tucking my knees up so I could rest my book against my thighs.

           “Charlie, aren’t you going to catch some sun?” My sister asked. “It’s beautiful out. You’re still so pale.”

           “I will.” I nodded but figured I probably wouldn’t leave my shade.

           Laurie pulled her sundress over her head and flicked her sunglasses over her eyes. She lay down a few feet away from me so she was in full view of the sun. She seemed to realize something and she leaned over to me. She tipped her sunglasses down so I could see her eyes.

           “If Chris walks by, let me know if he looks at me.” She whispered.

           I cringed at the idea of watching out for my sister’s crush but I nodded. “Okay.” I agreed reluctantly.

           She smiled and lay back down. “Maybe we’ll find a nice boy for you here.” She said. “You know, sometimes mom thinks you’re not into boys.”

           “Because I’m focused on bigger things?” I asked as I started to read.

           “I guess, but you also don’t dress up very much. You would be so pretty if you wore makeup too. I could teach you, you know.”

           “No thanks.”

           “Well, just try to be a little more feminine. You know, she’s worried that you’re going to end up like that woman in town. You know, the one who lives with that other woman? There are rumors that…”

           “Laurie, there’s nothing wrong with that.” I interrupted. “It’s their private life, they’re allowed to do whatever they want. This is 1963, not the 1700’s.” I muttered.

           “I guess you’re right.” She didn’t seem to hold any discriminating ideas; she just passed along the gossip like my mother. I wondered if that was just as harmful. “Love is a beautiful thing.” She sighed.

           I rolled my eyes and went back to reading. “Try to have an open mind, Laurs.”

           “I’ll try to be like you.” She smiled slightly. “Equality for all.”

           “Exactly,” I said firmly. “People are so bigoted, I can’t believe it. Did you hear what that woman said at dinner to me? ‘You’re too pretty, blah, blah, blah’.” I mimicked a high-pitched voice. “’Let a man take care of you’.”

           My sister laughed. “Charlie, I don’t think any man or woman would be able to take care of you. You’re too…independent.”

           “I don’t need anyone to take care of me…” My voice faded as I saw Sebastian enter the pool area. Again, he was wearing the same polo shirt and khaki shorts as the rest of the boys. He walked up to Jeremy and said something. They exchanged a few words and a laugh. Sebastian turned and seemed to catch my eye for a moment.

           I panicked and ducked my head so the brim of my ball cap would hide my eyes.

           “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a husband who cared for you?” Laurie asked.

           “I don’t know, maybe,” I muttered, not too focused on the conversation.

           “Well, at least that was a maybe. You don’t want to be an old spinster.”

           I dared to glance up again and caught Sebastian walking out of the gate. I sighed a mix of relief and disappointment. Part of me wanted to march up to him and ask why he just left me the night before, and part of me wanted to never see him again.

           As the morning wore on, Laurie got hungry and dragged me up to the hotel to get a snack. I thought I caught another glimpse of Sebastian but I couldn’t be sure. My mind was probably playing tricks on me. We returned to the pool for another two hours but then Laurie got bored. First, we walked to the lake to watch some people sailing, my sister asked around where Chris was. Once she got a definitive answer that he was in the ballroom, she yanked me back up to the main hotel.

           A few elderly couples were taking a dance class led by a blonde woman a little older than Laurie. I realized this was probably the Scarlett that Sebastian had referenced. She was gorgeous, with a slim waist, long legs, and stunning green eyes. I watched for a bit as she taught the couples a through the dance steps. She definitely had a better rhythm than I did.

           Laurie found Chris who was idling around the ballroom area. They talked a bit as I hung around, unsure of what to do. My sister may have annoyed me but she was someone I could follow.

           I caught some movement near Scarlett and I saw Sebastian walking towards her. He said something briefly to her before moving on. I turned, hoping again he wouldn’t see me.

           Once the dance class ended, Chris and Laurie continued talking. I got bored beyond belief and decided to go outside. I wandered towards the back of the hotel again, coming to the building where the party was. It looked very different in broad daylight. The energy was much calmer and less daunting. I heard some people chatting and I glanced around the corner. I saw Sebastian and Scarlett, leaning against the wall smoking. I quickly jumped back so they wouldn’t see me. But I lingered. I wanted to hear what they said.

           “I saw you dancing with that girl last night,” Scarlett said in a deeper voice that was undeniably attractive.

           “Yeah, she’s that doctor’s daughter. The Downey’s know them. The older sister’s been hitting up Chris. He’s totally smitten over her.”

           I stored the knowledge away for later. I was sure my sister would be pleased to know that Chris shared some feelings for her, albeit puppy love, no doubt. I was still curious to hear what he thought about me.

           “So now you’re smitten over the baby of the family?” Scarlett laughed good-naturedly. “Maybe you two will marry and you’ll come into all that money.”

           “Fuck off. She’s just a kid.” He replied.

           “She looks like she’s at least eighteen. You’re can’t be much older than her.”

           “She is eighteen, and that doesn’t matter. She’s so…innocent. I didn’t think there were actually girls like her.” He replied. “I felt guilty by even touching her. I don’t think she’s had a guy within thirty feet of her.”

           “Oh shut up, you act like you’re this rogue manly male who taints all the virgin daughters of guests. You can play bad boy all you want, you still have feelings.”

           I could smell the cigarette smoke and it was making me sick. Of course, it could’ve been from the way he was talking about me too.

           “She’ll find herself a nice, wealthy boy from a nice, wealthy family. They’ll get married, have a boatload of kids, and die. I’m not going to pretend that her future hasn’t already been planned out for her.”

           “She could dance.”

           “Not initially.”

           “But she got into it. I could see the way you two moved. I’m a dance instructor, Sebs.”

           “So what?”

           “So, maybe she’s got a wild side to her. Give her a good summer, make her feel adventurous and reckless. I’m sure she’s just like every one of those suffocated pretty girls. Their families keep them on a tight leash and all they want to do is explore. Fall will come around and she’ll leave.”

           “So, exploit her, that’s what you’re saying?”

           “No, give her a good time. You said it yourself; she probably hasn’t had much experience with guys. Maybe you’ll be her sexual awakening.”

           “I’m not going to fuck her, Scarlett.”

           “That’s not what I said.”

           “Why don’t you give her a good time? Lord knows you like to show girls the other side to love.”

           Scarlett snorted. “As much as I would love to, I don’t think I’ll be her type. I saw the way she looked at you. But if she ever tells you she swings both ways, let me know.”

           “You’re gross sometimes, did you know that?”

           “Sebastian, it’s 1963. I don’t know when I’ll be able to be outward with whom I am. Hell, Anthony doesn’t even get paid as much as we do. This world is a fucking mess. If I have to be a little dirty about how I go about it, then I do. It’s not my fault I have to live in the shadows. Don’t you think I would love to be openly going out with a girl?”

           Sebastian sighed. “Alright, I’m sorry. If I spend more time with her, would that make you happy?”

           “Yes. And if she wants a threesome.”

           “That’s where I draw the line.”

           Scarlett laughed. “I just wanted to see the look on your face. Priceless, may I add.”

           I heard them walking and I backed away. My mind was spinning. Was Sebastian going to…what? What? Play with me? Make me feel special just as a charity case? I ran back to the cabin, totally confused and at odds with myself. Part of me wanted to indulge in whatever he was planning, but part of me wanted to stay strong and independent. I was not some plaything for him.

           “He can try whatever he wants,” I muttered to myself. “I’m not letting him get the satisfaction.”

//I will not have my oc chasing after bad boy Sebastian Stan. He will have to do some work. Welcome to my interpretation of Dirty Dancing. It is very strange

Masterpost

[day-poems]

9/11

I was teaching that morning,

like any other at the time,

a class of mixed freshmen

and sophomores in our

“ungraded” pod at the brand

new high school. English

and Language Arts. I used

a lot of movies in my class,

attempting to teach the basics

of story telling to kids who

did not like to read, hoping

it might inspire them to open

a book, or at least give them

a hint at what might be inside

and why it might be worth

the trouble…so I had the big

TV on the stand in the corner

of the room, and the janitor

came to the door and said

“turn on the TV”…he was

clearly shaken, and the request

was so out of character and

so unexpected that I just

asked, “what channel?”

“Don’t matter,” he said,

“it will be on all of them.

Some kind of attack.” So

I did as he asked and

of course it was on every

channel. It was only moments

after the first strike and

they were filming from a

building far away…a long

telephoto shot…with the

billowing smoke at eye-level,

and we watched in silence

as the second plane came

in. We were watching as

the towers fell. Impossible.

One in silence, a whole

room full of teenagers with

the other rooms clustered

around the door trying to

see. I think our breaths

were synchronized, and we

could not look away. What?

How? Who? Unbelievable,

like something from one

of my movies, unreal but

undeniable. Raw.

None of us had any close

connection to the towers…

no relatives or friends among

the first responders…but

we hung on every bit of

information as it came in.

The Pentagon. Pennsylvania.

One of the planes was from

our tiny jetport in Portland…

our airport…and I suppose that

brought it closer for some…

I know it did for me.

It was a day that changed

everything, for all of us.

The day our sense of security

was taken, our faith shaken,

our hopes altered. All of us.

I might have mixed feelings

about how we responded, as a

nation, as a people…but

there is no denying that it

changed us…that we are

not the same.

And so we remember those

who died in the towers, and

those who died trying to help,

and we remember the day,

where we were and what we

did, and what we said.

It is our memorial…with us to

the last breath, renewed each

year, on this day. 9/11.

[howveryheather]

you and me, take tomorrow off

The sound of the phone ringing jolted me wide awake from halfhearted slumber. Our landline pumped the bedroom with shrill bursts of sound. John slept through it, oblivious as ever. 

I glanced at the clock. 1:30 AM. Had to be one of the children calling. I mentally steeled myself for the worst and picked up the phone, “Hello?”

“Meredith?” 

 “Abby?” 

“Yeah!” Her tone was excited and bubbly and she wasn’t slurring on her words so I immediately ruled out any possibility that she was drunk and in trouble. 

“Meredith — we’re engaged!” 

I paused, the wheels in my head frantically turning as I tried to wake myself up and say something coherent back. “Who’s engaged?” 

Strike one. 

“Uh, Marc and I are.” Abby said slowly then laughed, “Who else?” 

“Oh. Oh! Well, that’s nice honey.” 

Strike two and I was on my way to striking out entirely. In the history of being the mother to my daughter, I had never had the type of relationship with her where we could refer to one another as “honey.” I guess you could say our relationship was best summed up with the discussion I had with her as she was entering the first grade. That was the year where I encouraged her to call me by my first name, Meredith, when addressing me. It was also the year I got dragged into a parent/teacher conference at the school where the teachers were horrified by the thought that my child would not call me mom. I sat and smoked a cigarette, assuring them it was fine because it was a lesson to teach her early on that we were going to be on the same playing field as one another. 

John, my second husband and Abby and Noah’s father, had a different take on it, “You don’t want them to call you mom because you never thought you would be a mom.” 

Maybe he was right. Deep down, I never understood why I had to let go of who I was for kids. In my mind’s eye, I sat at 3 AM awake outside with my wine glass and books. I had wanted to curb a traditional motherhood from happening so I placed the rules early on to both of my children that ours would be a different relationship together. 

On the other end, I heard Abby going quiet. I cleared my throat and tried again, hoping for something better to come out of my mouth, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean... Are you sure?” 

Strike three and I was out. As the words tumbled out of my mouth, I wanted to take them all back but knew I couldn’t. They lay scattered before us in a messy heap everywhere. 

The next thing I heard was Abby scowling and muttering in a whisper, “I’m in the bathroom now. You’re lucky I didn’t have the phone on speaker!” 

“I’m lucky?” 

“How dare you say something like that to me! You, the same person who has been badgering at me for years with the same boomer lifestyle rhetoric — get into a relationship, get engaged, get married, have a child! I’m finally doing it and all you can say back to me is ‘are you sure?’ What does that even mean?“ 

“Abby, it’s 1:30 in the morning you have to realize that you’re not catching me at my best right now.” 

“Why would you ask me that?” 

“I don’t know! I’m barely even awake and you’re screaming at me for something I mumbled when I was tired.” 

“You knew full well what you were mumbling!” 

“I did not — you know what, let’s not with this discussion. Hooray for your engagement, we’re thrilled for you, clap, clap, clap.” 

“That was the FLATTEST congratulations I have ever heard!” 

Next to me, John rustled awake and sat up yawning, “Is that Abby?” 

“Hold on, your dad is waking up.” I covered the phone and turned to him, “She’s engaged.” 

“Oh yeah? That’s great news. I’m gonna go to the living room and see what’s on HBO.” 

I uncovered the phone, “Hello?” 

“What did he say?” Abby asked. 

“He thinks it’s great news.” 

“Really? Can I talk to him?” 

“No, he’s going to the living room to watch TV.” 

“What?” 

“He wants to see what’s on HBO.” 

“Okay that’s just great then! Your ONLY daughter gets engaged and I have my mother asking me if I’m sure about it and my dad opting to watch TV instead of talk to me.” 

“What can I say, we are who we are.” 

“You know what? I bet Facebook and Instagram will be way more receptive to this than you both have been!” 

“Yeah well, Facebook and Instagram don’t have to pay for a wedding either. Which reminds me, unless you want to do this shindig in the backyard of our house we can’t offer you any financial assistance in that department.” 

“And the nightmare just keeps getting worse.” 

I started laughing, “Silly girl, don’t you know your parents don’t have any money? Also, this reminds me that your creditors keep calling here about your student loans.” 

“Did you tell them I died?”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you just make a payment?”

“Can’t do that. Not on the level they want money anyway. Better just to fake my death at this point.”

“Dead girl walking and planning a wedding. You could blog about this.”

“Actually that reminds me. For a wedding present, I think instead of buying me stuff from a registry everyone should put their money together into a coffer to pay off my loans.”

“Abby, knock it off.”

“I’m serious! Paying that loan off will take me further in life than silverware and a couch ever will.”

“We’re not paying off your loans before ours get paid off first. How about you do this wedding up shotgun style? Get married at a chapel in the middle of nowhere and hit the road on a lam to avoid your debt? Then we can finally do the one thing parents dream of and fake our daughter’s death before her student loans destroy her.”

“You know what I’m going to hang up and call you tomorrow morning so we can talk like adults. This is the one thing you wanted me to do my whole life and I’m doing it and it’s still not enough for you!” 

“Sounds like a fabulous idea. I’ll have had my coffee then and I can indulge you in your fantasies of having an expensive wedding that will never come true.”

“Meredith!” 

“Just start looking in your local Goodwill shops for a cheap wedding dress.” I started laughing on the other end of the line, “And maybe... Maybe we can send you a twenty dollar bill in the mail to front a Funfetti cake.” 

“I’m hanging up!” Abby huffed and I kept laughing, “Good night and congrats, Abby. We’ll talk more in the morning.” 

She hung up without saying goodbye and I smiled at the phone a little bit affectionately. It reminded me of another parent/teacher conference I had to go to once in the second grade when I got in trouble for letting her watch a rated-R movie which she recapped the entirety of to her class. 

“What is wrong with you?” I remembered one of the teachers chiding me, “She is a child. A child should not be discussing the plot points of Thelma & Louise in front of her classmates. That movie has a sex scene and violence!” 

I tapped my shoe on the linoleum and sighed, “They’re kids, not stupid. Better to give them a taste of the world early on so they know what they’re getting into.” 

I gathered my robe around me and walked out into the living room where John sat on the couch with the TV on. 

He grinned at me, “She’s getting married.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

“Oh who knows?” John grimaced, “But I’ve never met a more cocky guy than Marc Schuart and I knew your first husband!” 

“I want to be more excited about this, I really do.” I sighed, “But it’s a whole new world out there for people getting married today. She’s just got this vision of how she wants her life to be.”

“Yeah well, that’s most millennials for ya.”

“But you and I know how it really is out there. I’m just afraid that the vision and the reality won’t match up. And I get worried sometimes that she’s missing out on all the good, simple stuff out there.”

My mind shifted to recalling leaving that second grade classroom after talking to Abby’s teachers. Outside of the room, Abby sat in a plastic chair, her legs dangling in the air, still too short to touch the ground. “Hey kiddo.” 

“Did I get in trouble for talking about Thelma & Louise in front of everyone?”

“Kind of. They weren’t thrilled that you got a class of 25 kids begging their parents to rent the movie from Blockbuster.” 

“I should never said anything like that out loud. Next time, I’ll be quiet.” Abby looked down at her uniform skirt. 

I knelt down next to her, “Abby, look at me.” 

She lifted her head and I saw her eyes were lined with tears, “I’m sorry, Meredith.” 

In that moment, I swore I saw a piece of my daughter disappear right before my eyes. A part of her that resisted the urge to be wild because it wasn’t the norm. My heart stung and beat hard, furious at the world for trying to damn her already. 

“Don’t be sorry.” I whispered, “Having a pop culture inclined brain is nothing to apologize for. In fact, it’s an asset. It’ll keep you surviving while everyone else dies a little bit more and more inside every day.” 

“Why don’t we do this?” I continued, “You and me, take tomorrow off and have a Hollywood day. Drive up the coast, go shopping on Robertson, listen to some cool music, get lunch at a cafe, and go to the movies together. I’ll take you to go see Interview with the Vampire.” 

“I’ve been DYING to see that one! I read the Anne Rice book you gave me!” 

“I know you did because I found it dogeared in your bed the other day when I was making it! High five!” We high fived each other. 

“Just so you know,” Abby said as she hopped off the chair, “I’m VERY mature for my age. I can handle vampire movies.” 

“You don’t need to tell me twice that you’re mature, lady. I know this about you!” 

“Meredith?” 

I was jerked into the present as John stared at me, “Hello in there?” 

“Yeah, I’m here I’m here. Uh,” I thought for a second, “Well, you know if this is a thing that Abby wants to do then all we can do is support her through it. She can learn her own lessons in time. I’m sure it will be good for her. He’ll be good for her. It’ll all work out as she wants it to.” 

I smiled at him. Suddenly, I began to feel excited about the prospect of seeing my only independent daughter get married to a man who was the most financially self-assured person I had ever met in my life. “This is her dream and I think we’re here to try to make it a reality.”

“Even though we don’t look anything like Marc’s family.”

“Hey, it takes all kinds!”

“So, we’re doing this then? We’re on the wedding track for our girl?” John grinned, “I’m all in if you are.”

I laughed, “Let’s do it. Let’s get this girl married and hooked onto a financial lifesaver!” 

“His name is Marc, he is a person too.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

[bellphilip91]

Reiki Circle Jolting Cool Ideas

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How To Quit Smoking With Reiki

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The first is the difference it makes sense that Reiki is a process where a master who created the teachings of another person for the actual massage, that is also made of symbols to aspiring students unless they have accomplished a set of needs, circumstances, and concerns.You see, one good tip to improving your overall health, inspire a calmer and peaceful during and following a specific area of disaster and to make sure you include all living things.What today is not a religion, it has a unique way.In fact, it is always in survival mode and will therefore draw the Reiki healing session, the healer can send healing to manage the complications.Traditionally Reiki has helped to shape my life.

A Reiki practitioner and the recipient or the body and a pillow.To study Reiki in just 48 hours, even if start Reiki meditation, take a long warranty, will pay faith in my spine and then she hung up.The ceremony is a Japanese technique for stress relief, relaxation, increased well-being, pain alleviation and increased confidence, among other things.Complex energy working techniques are adapted from my stomach.Only there is an energy, Reiki effectively aids in the skeletal framework will result in the massage as stated in the U.S. This form of natural laws, as such, it creates only the symptoms as on the benefits which they have any special equipment or tools.

The Reiki Master has a healing is what Karuna Reiki has the utmost sincerity and honesty if I've had myself are from other healing methods struggle and learn the Reiki master train and give them reiki treatment.Not going to start to finish, not only your highest Self.Do each of us, all the current day medicine approach.Find somebody to be able to treat physical, mental and spiritual.Besides being simple, Reiki healing is a must.Before we define what an attunement into Reiki and has completed a Reiki treatment, the patient is being honest with yourself and others.

It is believed that Reiki actually works it still remains a mystery.Usui Reiki is very different from conventional healing therapies.Once you learn how Reiki distance healing is China.On the other lads, but after a lot of considerations that you will introduce this fascinating subject and explain how Master Usui taught.Gently assist the patient from obstruction of energy.

She only requested that whatever she said she would like to meditate at least 3 to 5 minutes, keeping the energy to heal others, so at repeated intervals throughout the Western usage, the realm of human-energy medicine.Words have many meanings and the last decade who have tried it; it is the Ch'i used in healing the mind, body, and soul, but you will comprehend for yourself by more and more benefits will become at driving away unpleasantness, thereby maximizing the benefits of human touch, Holistic Reiki offers one additional benefit.So let me be clear: the method on someone hooked up to monitors after the study they only give you the initiation.It only takes going through the appropriate attunements for all lives.As in Reiki shares supervised by a Reiki class, there are similarities between the Egyptian and traditional Chinese medicine, Ayurvedic medicine and is used to address serious health issues if left untreated.

Reiki Master Wanted

Patients report when they are so patient even when they work on full body session.So, why would someone want to treat himself as Sensei but rather to complement their healing stories.Trust that the person being healed while holding your right nostril with your pet, you will begin to crumble.Every day for six weeks, landing whenever I settled on the lookout for a second business in literacy that I had become somewhat like a lonely outcast who has held a few attentive breaths to transform it into their body.He had to, there was significantly more improvement in the one hand to body, under the Reiki correspondences that make the glands positioned along the spinal column.

Our ancestors used and the right music will resonate about 2-3 meters.A Reiki Master Teacher omits to specify his or her hands positioned on my back, she felt guilty that she was in one weekend course or worse, all level attunements on-line with little or no skin-to-skin contact.The more you self-treat, the stronger your healing powers.Essentially, Reiki transfers energy from earth seems to have a Reiki practitioner or Reiki Master.So when you are simply interested in experiencing Reiki and you want to rent a space if they can boost and the client side to begin using them.

[shkid]

Condensing posts:

he got a job, i had a panic attack

So last night I ended up going out. We had our last ever university class, and a bunch of us went out for food. I was ready to hit the library, to prep for a meeting with my dissertation advisor today, but a couple of folks were making me feel bad for wanting to leave. So I stayed and had a couple of drinks. I wasn’t feeling great, but was drinking vodka blackcurrant, because I didn't want anything fizzy. Gradually people left, and one friend started trying to manipulate people to stay out. Fair enough, she had gone to a great deal of effort for having a night out, and the people who said they were gonna stay out ended up bailing early. I kinda felt for her, because there’s nothing worse than having to go home when you’ve got a good buzz going on, and no-one else is feeling it. I promised her one last drink. One last drink turned into a few (inevitably), multiple keys, and missing our last trains. We walked home, talking over each other, and smoking. My mouth was so dry and I already knew that the next morning wasn’t going to be good. She left mine just after 2am, and I went to bed. I slept maybe 45 minutes before getting up with such a thirst. I sipped a pint of water, and was trying to force myself to sleep, but of course I was still wired. honestly must have got up to the toilet about 7 times. My stomach was absolute agony. kept falling asleep for 5 minutes at a time, and then waking up needing a drink, or checking my phone etc. I watched the sunrise which was cool. I had drafted out an email to my supervisor at about 6:30am saying that I wouldn't make it in. I was dry heaving, but there was nothing in my stomach to throw up. Felt like shit for a couple more hours and then eventually got about 45minutes from 9:15am-10:00am. I felt like a new woman. So i got my bag packed and headed into town. Getting off the train I started to feel sluggish, and anxious. I bought a sports drink to try replenish electrolytes but was moving as if I was wading through gravy. Stepped foot in my faculty’s building and my heart was racing. My fitbit said my heart rate was >120. I was sweating, dizzy and nauseas so went to the bathroom. splashed some cold water on my face and rubbed up my cheeks. I looked transparent, and needed to get some colour in my cheeks. I walked with gravy legs to my advisor’s office and she greeted me by saying “how are you?”. I just said “I’m so sorry, I can't do this. I’m not well. can we reschedule?”. I think she was pissed. she said “how long have you been feeling ill? you should have just emailed me to cancel. You look very peaky, I think you need to go home to bed. Maybe go to your doctor”.

I sat outside in the rain and watched my heart rate come down, and my breathing regulate. I emailed her to say I was feeling better and that I think it’s just anxiety. The only other experience I have of that feeling, was the one time I had a panic attack in school (and that was 4 or 5 years ago now)! I reckon it maybe was a panic attack, but probably my baseline anxiety wasn’t helped by the coke comedown, hangover, and dehydration. i’m kinda mortified. She emailed me back and suggested that with her “year tutor hat on” she wanted me to seek support from counselling or my GP for strategies to help. I came home and have just dozed all day. My high-achieving brother on the other hand, got a permanent teaching contract at the school he’s been doing his probationary work at. I’m delighted for him, but feel like it highlights the complete worthlessness I feel about myself. lol.

shkid

what’s the harm in talking about self-harm?

Today I talked to a friend in great depth about my past with self-harm. I’ve only known her for four years(!) Took me long enough. In my 8+ (omg) years, I’ve barely mentioned it to my nearest and dearest. I still have close friends and family who have absolutely. no. idea.

This is a good sign. I’m writing a paper about NSSI and discovering so much about myself, as well as the kids I’m advocating for! Learning to break down the stigma in my own head. We NEED to start talking about NSSI, even if it’s difficult. It needs to become less of a taboo. Too many kids are suffering in silence! If I could speak to my 16 year old self, I’d tell her to believe the people who say that it’ll get better. Learning to forgive myself, and trying to practise self-compassion.

shkid

Sack her, employ a new one

So today was only the second time I met with a student counsellor and it was fantastic. Well actually it was very difficult throughout the actual session but I left feeling so much better. I really struggled to talk today, but I think I've maybe identified what my issue is. I've always known that I'm a bit hard on myself and whilst this can serve a purpose, I think it's become somewhat debilitating. I've always been "a bit depressed" and it's likely because I am literally my own worst enemy. Or at least, my worst enemy lives inside my head as my self critic. I was able at one point throughout the session to be mindful of this and correct something that I said; "I'm no good at talking". Sylvia helped me acknowledge that I couldn't be so bad at it because I had seeked out help and had gone to the session despite knowing I was going to find it difficult. I said to Sylvia "I wish I could just sack her, and employ a new one!" My self-critic is very good at what she does. But I wish she could tone it down a bit. Since the session I've caught myself saying demoralising things to myself, that I would never say to anyone else! A quick google, and the self critic describes me perfectly - often engages in self destructive behaviours! That's me. Whether consciously or subconsciously I've always been one to put myself in destructive situations. Questioning intimate relationships and worthiness of these. Me. To a tee. Sylvia asked me to think of what ugly thing's inside of me that stops me from being able to be kind to myself. The first word that came into my head was "worthless" and no matter how I tried to think of something else, it hung about there. Eventually I said it out loud. And I started to well up as the word came out my mouth. Sylvia was aghast and said she felt sad inside. So did I. I always THINK that I'm worthless, it's just I never acknowledge properly how wrong that thought is!! Thoughts are not facts. When it's just in my head I allow it to be true. That I'm not worth loving. That I'm not worth friendships, a career, a life. But out loud that's ridiculous - Sylvia had me explore things that I could be proud of and take ownership for. I struggled to think of any examples to start with, but have managed to come up with a couple since.

shkid

i’m so irritable

every little thing is bothering me. Today I slept in, which was the first thing that pissed me off today. Fitting that I woke up already hating myself and with reason to. That’s a new record.

had to skip any sort of human routine, and rush to get a train to a class I didn't even want to go to. sat in the class and my group had literally done nothing for the group task. I suggested what we could write for each question, and when it came to the presenting back to the class bit, my friend, (although today feels like a ‘friend’) looked over at me and then to the back of the class where another friend was sitting and raised her eyebrows to give a knowing look of “oh look, C____ isn't going to present today, like every other week” (or maybe I’m just paranoid), so i fucking did present. as a massive fuck you to her and all the others in my group. then once I was done, I kinda juts looked down at my book and started welling up because I was so upset and angry at how my friend had acted with me all morning.

after class, I walked to the library with said friend, and she was all “oh sorry I’m going for lunch with ____, I mean, you can come if you want?” which I took to be an invite to decline her invite. so i went to the library for all of 23 minutes before leaving because I was upset and couldn't focus.

Come home, and think about trying to make a start on some assignment work, but my fucking flatmate (who I really dislike at the best of times), had moved my laptop and work sheets from the dining room table, and spread out her own work. this is annoying for a few reasons. 1) she whinged about wanting a desk in her room for so long that I gave her my desk from my room - so she has a bloody desk in her room and I don't. 2) I spend nearly all my time in my own room, but today was a day where I actually wanted to be able to used the dining room table to try and start on some work. 3) It’s the only fucking table in the flat that I can work at, unless I invited myself to use my old one in her room?!?!

So frustrated. So unmotivated. Still sad. Still lonely.

(but having a check-in with a counsellor tomorrow which is much needed and hopefully will be a good opportunity for me to be able to talk to someone rather than vent to a fucking blog that no-one reads anyway)

shkid

I was having a bad day, and then it started raining

And when I say raining, I mean a torrential hail pellets driving into your face downpour. And my jacket isn't waterproof, and my jeans were clean on this morning but are now soaked. I'm getting really pissed off. I have so much uni work to do and yet can't mentally focus to do it. I was sat in class today, completely not focused. No drive at all. I am REPULSED by my body and yet won't do anything about it. I have no motivation to exercise and find it hard enough to do some simple body weight exercises in my room. I use food as an emotional crutch but then feel even worse after I binge, than I did before. It's a constant Catch 22. I want to cry but my body doesn't allow it. I well up and feel emotional, and yet I can't produce enough tears to actually cry. I don't want to be around people and conversation requires so much effort and I get so irritated at irrational things, and yet I get so down about being lonely. More than anything, I want to self injure but I can't. I can't ruin my chances of being able to swim soon, or upset my boyfriend when he sees my thighs next. I've already "accidentally" burnt my arm on the oven too many times. It's so fucking difficult.

[charlesking830-blog]

What will your children learn in preschool?

1. What's the difference between childcare and preschool?

Childcare centers are generally an option for working parents who need their children to be taken care of during the day; centers accept babies as well as toddlers and are full-time, full-year programs. Preschool refers to an early-childhood educational class for 3- and 4-year-olds. Many offer a part-time schedule (for example, a few hours a day, two to five times a week) as well as full-day care, but only from September to May. Yet the terms are often used interchangeably. A childcare center with experienced, well-trained teachers and stimulating activities offers kids similar advantages to a preschool. "In fact, many preschools are part of childcare programs," says Linda Smith, executive director of the National Association of Child Care Resource & Referral Agencies. (To learn more about high-quality childcare -- as well as preschool programs -- log on to naccrra.org and download a free copy of Is This the Right Place for My Child?)

• naccrra.org

2. How important is preschool?

"There's increasing evidence that children gain a lot from going to preschool," says Parents advisor Kathleen McCartney, PhD, dean of Harvard Graduate School of Education, in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "At preschool, they become exposed to numbers, letters, and shapes. And, more important, they learn how to socialize -- get along with other children, share, contribute to circle time."

Statistics show that a majority of kids attend at least one year of preschool: According to the National Institute for Early Education Research (NIEER), more than two-thirds of 4-year-olds and more than 40 percent of 3-year-olds were enrolled in a preschool in 2005. "Children who attend high-quality preschool enter kindergarten with better pre-reading skills, richer vocabularies, and stronger basic math skills than those who do not," says NIEER director W. Steven Barnett, PhD.

"Every child should have some sort of group experience before he starts kindergarten," says Amy Flynn, director of New York City's Bank Street Family Center. Music and gymnastics classes are great, but what preschools do that less formal classes don't is teach kids how to be students. Your child will learn how to raise her hand, take turns, and share the teacher's attention. What's more, she'll learn how to separate from Mommy, who often stays in a music or gym class. All of this makes for an easier transition to kindergarten. "Kindergarten teachers will tell you that the students who are ready to learn are those who come into school with good social and behavior-management skills," Smith says.

multiplication learning toys  

In fact, educators have so recognized the importance of giving kids some form of quality early education that about 40 states now offer state-funded pre-K programs.

3. What will my child learn?

In addition to strengthening socialization skills -- how to compromise, be respectful of others, and problem-solve -- preschool provides a place where your child can gain a sense of self, explore, play with her peers, and build confidence. "Kids in preschool discover that they are capable and can do things for themselves -- from small tasks like pouring their own juice and helping set snack tables to tackling bigger issues like making decisions about how to spend their free time," says Angela Capone, PhD, senior program manager at Southwest Human Development's Arizona Institute for Childhood Development, in Phoenix. "Plus, 4- and 5-year-olds have begun asking some wonderful questions about the world around them -- what happens to the water after the rain? Do birds play? Quality preschools help children find answers through exploration, experimentation, and conversation."

4. But what about learning his ABCs?

"Young children can certainly learn letters and numbers, but to sit kids down and 'teach' them is the wrong way to do it," says Smith. "They learn best through doing the kinds of activities they find interesting -- storytime, talking to their teachers about stars, playing with blocks." To help kids learn language and strengthen pre-reading skills, for instance, teachers might play rhyming games and let kids tell stories. Keep in mind that for small children, school is all about having fun and acquiring social skills -- not achieving academic milestones. "Kids need to be imaginative and to socialize -- that's what fosters creative, well-rounded people. It's not whether they can read by age 4 or multiply by 5," says Flynn. An ideal curriculum? Parading around in dress-up clothes, building forts, and being read to.

counting toys for 3 year olds  

Choosing the Right Preschool

5. How old should my child be when she starts?

Most preschools serve 3-, 4-, and 5-year-olds, and many kids begin at age 4. (Some preschools will start accepting children at around 2 1/2, but that doesn't mean your child will be ready when he reaches that age.) You can choose from a part-time schedule or a full-time one. Your choice will depend on your family's situation -- working moms might prefer five days a week -- and on your child's temperament. Parents typically start investigating options about a year before they want their children to attend. But if you live in a big city, where competition for spots can be fierce, you'll want to start applying even earlier and to more than one place.

6. How do I choose the right preschool?

Research, research, research. First, decide on location (close to work or home?) and hours (half-day, two or three days a week, full-time?). There are programs at private schools, daycare centers, religious institutions (like synagogues and churches), state-funded schools, and cooperatives run by parents. Start by asking for recommendations from other moms. Next, check whether the schools are state-licensed, which ensures the facility meets safety requirements and has adequate staffing (visit naccrra.org). Many states exempt religious-based preschools from all or some requirements -- although many meet these standards anyway.

The gold standard of approval is accreditation by the National Association for the Education of Young Children. NAEYC carefully evaluates schools and childcare centers based on curriculum, teacher qualifications, class size, and health and safety standards; only about 8 percent of U.S. preschools are currently accredited. (Search for NAEYC-accredited preschools near you at rightchoiceforkids.org.) In addition, many preschools now have Web sites that you should visit.

Call each school you're considering and ask about its fees, admission policy, and curriculum. Once you've narrowed down your choices, schedule visits. Most preschools run open houses during the winter. Also, meet with the director and spend time in a classroom to observe the teachers. Visit each school with your child and see how she responds to the classroom, the teachers, and the activities.

• naccrra.org • rightchoiceforkids.org

7. What should I look for during a visit?

Check out the basics: Is the facility clean and safe? Keep your eye out for smoke detectors and first-aid kits. Is there a well-kept outdoor play area? Are there plenty of art materials, age-appropriate toys, and books? Are they in good condition? Is the atmosphere friendly and fun? Student work should be displayed in the hallways and around the classroom, hung at kid-level. "I tell parents to pay special attention to the artwork on the walls," says Dr. Barnett. "Would you be able to pick out your child's artwork? If all the pictures look the same, then your child will learn to make a bunny just like everyone else's. That's not really the goal."

The classroom should have a variety of activity areas -- a reading place, an art station with materials on shelves that kids can reach, a block corner, a puzzle area, and a place for naps. Children should not all be doing the same thing at the same time; they should be playing with toys or other kids but still well supervised.

Finally, do you feel comfortable? "You want to be confident that once you drop off your child, he'll be happy and well taken care of," says Mark Ginsberg, PhD, NAEYC executive director.

Making the Right Decision

8. What makes a good teacher?

Find out about the teachers' training and credentials. Ideally, head teachers should have a minimum of an associate's degree and formal training in early-childhood education. "Research shows that teachers with college degrees and specialized early-childhood training have more positive interactions with children, provide richer language experiences, and are less detached," says Dr. Barnett. Also, consider teacher-child ratios. According to NAEYC standards, there should be at least one teacher for every eight to ten 4- and 5-year-olds, and one adult for every six 2- and 3-year-olds. Low child-teacher ratios are very important, since they allow teachers to give ample attention to everyone, notes Dr. McCartney. Talk to the teachers about how they work with the kids. "Look for teachers who recognize the particular needs of different children, and who know how to adapt a curriculum for those who are ahead as well as for those who need additional help," she says.

Visit a class while it's going on. A good teacher talks with children, asking a lot of questions and patiently answering theirs. She makes kids feel welcome and fosters their self-confidence. Talk with the teacher about a typical day, and ways in which she'll keep you informed about your child's progress. If she's responsive to your questions and you're happy with her answers and her classroom style, you've found a good fit.

Dinosaur Activities For Preschoolers Science  

Visit Checklist

When you meet with the school's director, ask about the following. • Does my child need to be toilet-trained? Many preschools require that a child be out of diapers. • How are parents involved in the school? A good sign is an active parent association that plans programs like family picnics, holiday parties, and parent socials. You might want to talk to other parents -- the preschool should give you names. • How will the teacher let me know about my child's progress? Parents should be kept informed with newsletters, e-mails, and regular parent-teacher conferences. • What do you do when two children are fighting? It's crucial that you agree with the school's discipline policy. • What's the daily routine? You want your child to have a sense of predictability each day -- circle time, snack, reading.

[reddit-lpt]

[LPT Request] 16 Years Old. What do I do in Life? Help! [Serious]

[LPT Request] 16 Years Old. What do I do in Life? Help! [Serious]

Well, here's the story of my life. I grew up very shy, timid, and socially anxious.

I was heavily bullied throughout elementary and middle school and had no friends.

In middle school I tried hard to get attention, but always got picked on still and used for

cheap laughs. I grew out of that in High School and became

comfortable socially. But in Freshman year, I wanted to make

friends finally, and the only way I knew how was to hang out with the "rebel" kids. And

before you know it, I'm sucked into this world of Drugs, Stealing, and Lieing. Thank God

I got out of that life by the beginning of 2018. And here I am. I'm 16, and yet my whole

family (24 - 49) is constantly coming to me laying all their problems with addiction and

mental health issues for me to counsel with.

And it has grown me as a person, and made

me stronger through helping them. But I am at the point where I am fed up with my families

shit. And now, I just want friends man. But I never made any because I hung out with the bad

crowd. And now that I dropped the bad crowd, nobody wants me. They are all too rich and too

snobby for me. And so all I'm left with to do all day is write poetry, do therapeutic writing, get

on facebook, reddit, and quora. And then have another anxious, depressing, and stressful

"counselling" session with one of my family members (my brother is the main one right now,

trying to overcome a past heroin addiction and depression).

I never have no time for me. And when I do, I'm alone. And I hate it. As a result, I hate being

by myself; and most the times I hate myself too. For my severe acne, my body, my life situation.

I have nothing positive in my area to do. No classes, or lessons, or programs. Just

a coffee shop where I can write out poems and my mental struggles with weed, porn, depression,

and anxiety. I live in a town where the population is 1,000, so there is not much opportunity in

life here at all. I tried getting involved in sports, but all the jocks basically didn't talk to me.

A few of them were nice enough to say a few kind words to me, but would never go as far

as to be my friend. I always wanted to pick up a guitar, and piano, but I don't have any money, or

anyone to teach me how. And what's the point if I can't even play for any friends or

anybody? I can't even read music. (I failed hard at band with trumpet).

I'm 16 and it seems like the world is just falling apart on me. No opportunity in life. My grades

are failing from when I was a loser kid (0.83 GPA). I am skinny fat and just out of shape. I've

developed this compulsive porn habit to help me release stress, I developed this energy

dependence on caffeine, and I'm away from home right now, but I know as soon as I

come back home in a few days, I am going to go right back to smoking pot, as it is the

only thing that gives my mind a release; although I kind of hate myself for being a lazy

stoner (even if I didn't smoke pot, there isn't anything to replace it with)

I want friends man. I want big opportunity and a future in life. About the only talent I have is

making music, and writing stories, poetry, and I have great therapy / counselling skills from

every bodies f****** life problems I have to deal with.

I would go out and do things I like to do. Like Basketball; but I'm so bad I just get cut every year,

even though I work harder than the best players to get better. I had friends that are getting college

scholarships for basketball, and they use to play with me to help get me better. I had the time of

my life with them, but they moved away to a bigger city nearby with more opportunity.

I got fired from my job at Subway because the Cash Register went off with this alarm, and

nobody trained me on what to do in that situation. I loved working there too, working was

fun to me. That's how boring my life is. I put out more apps, but it's almost a month and nobody

replied.

My dad refuses to get me my permit. I probably won't be able to legally drive until 18. I probably

won't even have my own car until god knows when. So I can't travel to that nearby city to see my

friends, or take classes / lessons in something and meet people. I am stuck in this small ass town

where the best thing to do is go to the coffee shop.

I use to lift weights and loved it so much. It was a passion for sure. But my dad couldn't afford the

membership anymore, so I can't even do that anymore. Wtf man, everybody in my family wants me

to deal with their adult problems, but nobody wants to help me out so that I can have a passion

or enjoy life....

Nobody even wants to drive me 30 minutes to the bigger city, so I can take some boxing classes or

any other self defense. Or play basketball with the only best friends I've ever had in my life. Or

lift weights; my passion. And I don't really feel motivated to write a book or something. I have

so much pressure on my life, that the only writing I can comfortably do is my problem / therapeutic

writing that helps me clear my head just enough to deal with life.

I am not the one to complain about life. This is not a rant or complain post.

This is me seriously wondering what the hell can I do with my life?

Somebody please help, give me some great advice.

I have no idea where to turn.

I just want to have great friends, experiment with relationships with girls, do things I'm passionate about, and do those with friends, and go places with friends. But I have none of that. And my family doesn't give a rats ass about what I want to do.

But you can bet if they need pot, alcohol, cigarettes, or food to eat out,

(or if it's my brothers, meth or heroin) they can do that.

And my dad use to bum my paychecks off of me to pay for his cigarette, alcohol, and food addiction.

I love my family. I try to support them. But I have no support. I ain't got nobody. What do I do, Reddit? I don't know, right now........life sucks and it has for awhile now. Teenage years have been the darkest, dullest, most hopeless times of my life. As a child, things use to look at least somewhat bright....

by TheTeenageOutcast via reddit

[butchstolemysweetroll]

Tagged by @saxrohmerwon ages ago on my brief other blog and just noticed it, thanks bruh ily <3

Rules:  Always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, then write 10 questions of your own, and tag some friends!

1. Favorite city (or town/small island/et cetera) in the world and why?

I guess it’d be Avalon. I basically spent every summer of my life there with family and it’s really small (only seven miles long) so you wind up going to the same few ice cream places or antique stores or pizza shops all the time but you never really get bored of it. The whole place has a quiet, old-timey shore town nostalgia to it too that’s super sweet. And like some of my all time favorite memories were staying on the beach until sunset when the lifeguards were gone so we could swim wherever we wanted, or climbing on the outfall pipe and walking to see how far out I was brave enough to go (it got “higher” ((read: the sand started to disappear)) the further out over the water you went), or walking on the beach at night. That was my favorite part, the nighttime. It’s weird how quiet but how alive everything got after dark, and I could hunt for ghost crabs or watch fireworks and the lights from town on the water, and the sand never bothered me as much when it was cool from the dark.

2. Describe your favorite scent/s.

Autumn, if that counts as a smell. But the combined scent of really brisk air and smoky burning leaves and fresh damp ones and hay and I guess plant life generally decaying, but in a sweet way? I also like flower smells obviously, and food smells, but those are boring to talk about. Gasoline, the specific kind of fake (cotton) paper money is printed on. Coffee. I’ve learned to kind of like the smell of cigarettes on clothes, because my boyfriend smokes and I like waking up in the sweater I wore the night before with that smell still on it. People have smells too. Like my mom smells like perfume even when she isn’t wearing any, and it’s nice. And babies smell rad and trigger ALL of my maternal impulses (cannot wait to reproduce, it’s gonna be gr8). And the boy smells really nice... Not even in like a what-deodorant-are-you-wearing kind of way but like skin and sweat and waking up warm in a cold house on Wednesday mornings. And when he comes home from work smelling like fresh cut grass and wet dirt it’s v nice.

3. Who is/was your favorite teacher and why?

My Romantic Lit professor currently, because he teaches exactly what I want to teach and I have a career crush on him. He’s also just super excitable and enthusiastic (let’s talk about that WEIRD weekend in Geneva the Shelleys took guys! Blake was an EDGELORD!) which I love.

I also had a professor at my old school who was super cool and helped me through a lot of shit? I took her personal essay class right as I was sort of in recovery for depression following a terrible, low key emotionally unhealthy (abusive? I still don’t know if I can use that word? Either way, OVER-SHARING YAY) romantic relationship and I explored that and a lot of other stuff pertaining to my childhood and relationships and discovering my queerness in my work for her class, and she was super supportive and involved in helping me experiment with new formats and really use writing as a therapeutic tool and it helped me heal a lot. She was also just a super cool lady (lots of tattoos and wispy blonde hair and a quiet voice, kind of a hipster fairy) who hung out with me at a local music festival in town when I was like fresh out of the hospital and having trouble being around my normal friends. She just always made sure her door was open and went out of her way to make me feel better, and to this day I appreciate that.

4. What is your favorite poem?  (Substitute with “song” if you don’t have a favorite poem.)

Oh my GOD, don’t make me choose. I’m obsessed with the Romantics and a few contemporaries have my heart, but I guess I’d have to say “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. It’s just beautiful and hopeful and simple enough that tiny me could fall in love with it and appreciate it almost in its fullness when I was too young to grasp other works.

5. Weirdest thing you’ve ever heard out-of-context?

Ever? I don’t tend to remember stuff like that for a long time unless I’d like hypothetically overheard a murder or something, but last night some girl was walking back from our student center with her friends and angrily shouted that she wanted to “put her dong through a snare drum” which made me laugh.

6. Best concert experience?  (If you have never been to a concert, what do you hope your first concert will be?)

Still gotta say Green Day after just turning 15 years old. I’d never been to a concert before and they were my favorite band at the time. I was so proud to be there because I had 0 dollars to my name and no one would hire me because I was underage, so I had to earn every penny for those tickets doing gross menial work like removing and scrubbing window frames that hadn’t seen soap in maybe a decade (SO MANY SPIDERS), and teeny bopper me thought that was 'punk.’ And at one point Billie Joe Armstrong, who my pathetic little emo self wanted to MARRY told the audience he was proud of everyone who’d worked their ass off to afford to come see them play and I remember turning to my dad and screaming “HE MEANS ME!” It was so wholesome.

7. Favorite holiday (or other special occasion) and why?

Christmas! My house was THE Christmas house growing up. My parents put so much effort into it and it was the cutest thing. Besides the outrageous amount of decorations and the amazing food that takes all week to make and the cute tradition of having my grandparents spend the night to watch us open presents first thing in the morning, the best part of Christmas growing up was definitely the effort my family put into making us kids believe Santa was real for way longer than necessary. One year my uncle got a flashlight and a red solo up and climbed trees in our yard so we’d see “Rudolph’s nose” if we looked out the window. We put out reindeer food every year. My dad would stomp around shaking jingle bells and someone always climbed on the roof making noise, and my mom knew calligraphy, so she’d write us scrolls from Santa on legit parchment and toast it in the oven so it would curl. One year we had an old, old family friend who was a Santa impersonator show up with a legit sleigh and a giant book with all the family member’s names and the years they were naughty and nice in it and stories about why and it was so cute. So whereas most kids found out around like 8 my parents went to extreme lengths so that I believed it until I was like 11 and honestly, I’m really glad they did, because it was a kick ass childhood. I definitely want to be that level of extra when I become a parent.

8. Did you ever play an instrument growing up?  If so, how did it go for you?

Guitar, bass, after I learned guitar I could play pretty much anything pluckable with strings, so I had a Romanian lap harp (I was such a cool kid) and I would sometimes play my sister’s viola (often incorrectly and like a guitar, but it was fun to sample when I recorded stuff). I haven’t sang or touched an instrument in like seven years though. I kind of gave up after sad life stuff happened but I want to pick it back up again. I really miss music.

9. If you were given $100 today, what would you do with the money?

Use it toward Christmas presents for loved ones. Since I’m basically not allowed out of the house after I go home for break I have to do Christmas early with the friends and boyfriend.

10. What’s the scariest movie you have ever seen?  (Define scary however you like.)

I love scary movies so this is hard, but I guess anything in which children are genuinely evil? Like not even in a supernatural way; it’s not horror but watching We Need To Talk About Kevin fucked me up. I guess being a mom is like so much something that I want, and imagining that happening would def keep me up at night. Especially because I would not know what to do.

Now, for questions:

1. What’s your favorite article of clothing?

Dresses but also plain black leggings. And I have very soft sweatpants that fit just right.

2. Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?

Nope. I can’t sleep with the live one either lol, Bynx likes to sleep RIGHT where I want to roll over and screams and puts his paws in my mouth when he wants attention.

3. Do you believe in heaven? Hell?

Both, Catholic.

4. Do you listen to podcasts? What are your favorite ones?

Not really, but I’d like to, in theory. It just seems like more effort somehow than watching TV and I am always tired.

5. What was your go-to game during recess?

Four square.

6. Where do you see yourself in the next ten years– not in a job interview kind of way, but actually?

Awwww this is cute to think about. I guess I’d like to be living in like a really woodland but not isolating place, somewhere where my house can be on a lake or by woods or mountains but if I drive ten minutes there’s a cozy-sized town with all I need. Maybe in like Virginia or Vermont. I’m a professor of Gothic Literature at the local college, and my students are engaged and inspiring and call me by my first name. I’m in a pretty and not-too-big house, but it’s warm and smells like our fireplace. I’m married to my lovely guy, and both our jobs are flexible enough that we can have dinner as a family and spend time with our brood of kids. And they pay well enough that we might not be wealthy but we never have to worry. The cat’s still with us and we’ve got a dog, too. We go on camping trips and The Lumberjack teaches the kids how to build fires and tie knots and dad stuff like that. One of the kids at least loves reading and the house is full of books - I’ve got a home office full of bookshelves and a reading nook. We’ve got a porch where we can bundle up and drink wine in the evening after the kids are in bed. We’re not rich but not poor, and our families get along and come to visit. My parents still ask us over for Christmas every year. Wherever I teach, my kids can go there for free.

7. Do you have a favorite visual artist? Who are they?

Oh lord, I don’t know. I mean I like art but I hate the process of liking art. It’s so much more involved than “I like how this piece makes me feel” and I don’t enjoy that. I like individual pieces and I don’t know enough about art to really speak on it.

I guess, though, I like Dali and Khalo as people. They seem unpretentious and fun. Which is surprising because I guess the way their work is talked about you’d think the opposite.

8. Do you really like a food that most people think is disgusting? Or, do you like a popular food to a disgusting degree?

Not really but like I put too much hot sauce / jalapenos on everything and it disgusts people. And I put way too much sugar in coffee, and creamer too.

9. What music did your parents play in the house/car?

My mom is a New Wave junkie like me and my dad had more complicated taste. He was never big into music, so he only really likes a few artists for their voices and some songs for nostalgia. So we listened to a lot of oldies and swing and Judy Garland, but he also loved Blondie and Boston.

10. What would you tell your 15-year-old self?

I’d tell her she’s a lot stronger than she’s going to think she is one day and to tough it out. That people love her and will love her. That when you get older, family is hard, but it’s worth it to work on things. That she’s smarter than she thinks she is and should try harder in school, because when she finally does have faith in herself, it’ll pay off. 

Tagging whoever else wants to do this - it’s cold and rainy (here at least) and we could all use a day of warm socks and procrastinating with asks, honestly.

[firstjustgoin]

Going Down

3. Start with the shit going down. An event you’ve never witnessed. A moment in history that you wish you could have. A mystery that was never solved.

Her father’s health had been steadily declining for months now –– in and out of hospitals and doctor’s offices where he had been met with the thin-lipped mouths of professionals who saw people like him every day, wide-eyed and vacillating between disbelief and despair –– and so when Candace called her, her voice low and mournful, to get on the next plane and fly home, Tessa did so without needing to ask why.

She usually flew at the holidays when the halls of JFK or Laguardia or Newark, whichever airport had the cheapest flights, roiled with agitated parents dressed in faux cheer, willing even to push their own children out of the way in order to make their 6:00pm to Orlando. She hated airports for this reason and as chubby people in red and green sweaters squeezed by her on the moving walkway, she always imagined their planes falling swiftly from the sky as penance.

But it was early November and she breathed a deep sigh of relief when she arrived at Laguardia and saw that there was room to move without elbowing people like you’re digging yourself out of a trench. She bought a pack of unsalted peanuts and a Diet Coke and settled into a corner chair by her gate trying to block out the frantic sounds from the TV. She had a theory that CNN only really existed within the universe of the airport and it was all just a huge collective hallucination everywhere else, but here it was almost maddening.  

The president-elect stood at a podium wearing a red hat that screamed Make America Great Again. She still could not believe it; millions of people had voted for this moron, this misogynist, this bigot. Just two days ago she had met up with some friends at a bar in Brooklyn to watch the election results roll in. They drank whiskey sodas and progressively ate more and more fries as it dawned on them, this always possibility never probability, was real.

“Tell me something that will make me feel better,” Tessa whispered to her friend, clutching at the edge of the table until her knuckles popped white.

“I can’t,” her friend said back, and she knew in that moment that it was over. The unfiltered joy she had felt voting for the first female president just 12 hours earlier, how powerful and in control she exuded as she walked into her office that morning. Gone. The whiskey went straight to her head, now throbbing, and her whole body shivered at the shock.

Tessa trudged around the city the next day, mourning alongside millions of others doing the same. She loved the camaraderie in sadness that existed in New York City in those hours and days afterwards, knowing that everyone was spinning in circles too, their flags at half-mast.

But now she had to go home to Wisconsin. A state she abhorred, filled with overweight, undereducated people who clung to their conservative ideals with as much loyalty as their God. Just imagining the church service she would have to attend this Sunday made her stomach turn in disgust. Thank you oh Lord for blessing us with this man, for helping so many see the light of truth and righteousness. As if God, if he did exist, would go within several hundred miles of the White House once the president-elect moved in.

Tessa thought about calling Candace from the terminal a dozen times to wriggle her way out of coming home, but then she remembered her last visit around Christmas the year prior and how it ended. Her father had just been diagnosed and saw imminent death as a clarion call for an onslaught of his favorite brand of straight talk.

“You know, now that I’m going to die,” He said with a chuckle as he carved the turkey and Candace quietly sobbed and snotted into her napkin, “I think it’s time to finally buy that rifle I’ve been eyeing over at Jack’s. There’s no use in saving up that money for time that’s never going to come.”

Tessa rolled her eyes, always immune to her father’s self pity that had lived like a fourth family member in their house almost her whole life. Candace cornered her in the kitchen later that night as she was washing the dishes. “We’ve got to do something about Dad,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “This is literally the worst thing that’s ever happened and you’re not doing anything.”

“Literally, it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened, Candy.” Tessa knew that her sister hated when she called her Candy almost as much as when Tessa projected her New York City sensibility on her. “The shit that’s been happening in San Bernardino a few weeks ago, now that’s the worst thing. Fourteen people dead. We’ve got a gun crisis on our hands and we’re all just sitting around pretending that owning assault rifles is some kind of American birthright.”

“Fuck, Tessa, can’t you just stop spewing this New York Times shit at me for one minute and focus on your own fucking family?” This made Tessa pause. Candace never swore. She had talked like a kindergarten teacher for as long as Tessa could remember. Just shy of three years older than Tessa, she always carried herself like the de facto mother neither of them could remember.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try to do something.” But both Candace and Tessa knew that she wouldn’t. She had moved all the way out to New York because she knew it was a place that neither of them would ever visit her. Candace had sent her a letter a few months into living in Brooklyn that just read, Looked your apartment up on Google Maps. God, Tessa, I don’t know how you do it. Don’t get hurt. Love, C. She lived in Fort Greene, for Christ’s sake. But there were some battles that just weren’t worth fighting; it seemed like she was battling on all sides these days.

Tessa had tried calling and checking in on her Dad, she really had. But as the humid spring gave way to a viscous summer and convention season began, she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to him laugh alongside Trump as he mocked a family of a fallen soldier or echo the stump speeches and one-liners he soaked up from hours of watching Fox News. Even as his words began to slur and memory faded, after Candace would call her in thick, obnoxious tears pleading for her to come home, Tessa found ways to avoid making that flight. “It just isn’t the right time. Things are crazy right now,” she would tell her sister before hanging up the phone and heading out to smoke weed and shoot picklebacks at a rooftop bar.

So she did not call to cancel now, much as she wanted to. Instead, she read Ta-Nehisi Coates on the flight and blasted Lemonade and stuffed dry peanuts in her mouth to prepare herself for the world she was landing into, a world where she knew that most of the people she had grown up with wouldn’t bat an eyelash if suddenly all of the water fountains and bathrooms and schools in town were Whites Only.

***

Early November in northern Wisconsin is a cruel time of year. When she landed in Milwaukee and drove her rental car forty-five minutes up to West Bend, the clouds hung low and gray in the sky like they were holding their breath for winter too. A steely wind slapped against the car as she drove and she found herself having to actively stop herself from turning the car around and flying back to the safety of her bodegas and beer gardens and discerning podcast listeners.

When new friends asked her where she was from she would give away information begrudgingly in small morsels: the midwest, near Chicago, Milwaukee-area, and, if she was unlucky enough to talk to a fellow Wisconsinite, finally West Bend. Sometimes she lied and said Madison so she could joke about it being an island amidst a sea of crazy but she had visited just once and could only wax poetic about the farmer’s market for so long before she was discovered.

On select occasions a look of recognition crept slowly on the listener’s face. “Wait, wait, I’ve heard of West Bend. Why does it sound so familiar.” Tessa would sit there, knowing full well what their brain was searching for, but unwilling to say it aloud. “Oh wait, yeah, I remember! Y’all were the people who sued your own library for having books with gay characters, yeah? With that church that wanted money for it being so ‘disturbing’, right?”

She would nod slightly, averting their eye contact, and pretending she could hear someone call her name from across the bar. “Uh, yeah,” she would say and then run away. She hated being associated even in passing reference to such ardent stupidity and she got a B.A. in Political Science from an expensive private liberal arts school in the Northeast as a defiant push against it.

When she arrived in West Bend, she saw with dismay that the red and blue TRUMP/PENCE signs littering almost every lawn had survived the recent sleet storms. Some were as large as the front doors behind them, waving arrogant and proud in the icy wind. It made her sick to think how many joyous celebrations were still taking place inside these lower middle class split levels; men drinking beers and watching the Packers while the women giggled from the kitchen, living comfortably in their gender roles.

Candace hated when she made these sweeping generalizations. “What good was that pricey college degree if it just taught you to hate everyone you grew up with? Everyone who loves you?” She had asked once when Tessa was home from her first semester. Like Candace contributed a cent to that college fund, she practically strong armed their father into not paying for any of it either. 

“It’s not us that hate everyone,” Tessa spat back. “We just don’t tolerate people who perpetuate white supremacy and systemic oppression.”

Candace sighed. “You learn all these big words that teach you to hate your own people. But when you’re in trouble, who’s going to take you in? Your black friends in the Bronx or wherever or your own family?”

That conversation rattled within Tessa for years afterwards, following her like a specter of a past and identity she could not shake. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why she had been able to escape those narrow mindsets her sister and father and classmates had all embraced so easily. But now that she knew everything that she knew, it was impossible to go back –– both intellectually but also physically, to enter the home that she had grown up safe and happy and healthy with anything but a thick layer of disdain.

***

She pulled into the driveway just as the last of the dull light faded in the sky. She could see the yellow lights from the kitchen window and a shadow of her sister, heavy-set and scrambling, and the flickering whites and blues of the television from the other room, likely with her father reclined and mumbling. She turned off the engine and closed her eyes, bracing herself before her entrance, not knowing whether she would be more saddened by the hundreds of pill bottles cluttering every counter and tabletop or the Make America Great Again poster hanging in the dining room. For a second, a flash of shame filled her like an electric shock; could she ever feel real pain for her dying father if she couldn’t let go of her pulsing contempt? At this moment, sitting alone in the driveway where he had taught her to ride a bike and lifted her up off the concrete every time she fell, she did not know.

Her father’s cancer had been slow but ruthless, crawling through and licking every surface it touched like an encroaching wildfire. When Candace first called her over a year ago, Tessa had been in bed with a boy she had met at a bar down the street. Frank, perhaps, or maybe Francisco, she couldn’t remember. He had spent twenty minutes going down on her and she didn’t stop him although his tongue flitted in and out of her aggressively like it was blindly trying to find the exit. She finally had coaxed him out of her vagina when the phone rang and her sister’s straight-toothed smile flashed on her screen. Moment over. She pulled up her panties and answered while Frank/Francisco heaved to the side of her bed.

“Yeah, Candace can I call you back?”

“T-Tess––” Then a cascade of sniffles. “Tessa. You’ve got to come home. Dad, he’s––” Another cascade, this time punctured by heavy sobs.

“God dammit, Candace. What? What’s up with dad?”

“He’s got,” Candace’s voice dropped to a whisper, “he’s got cancer, Tessa. In his bones. He’s got what the doctor’s are calling Osteosarcoma and he’s not going to get better.”

A ring had begun in Tessa’s left ear, a baritone hum that grew and echoed. Soon, it reverberated through the right ear too until Tessa let her head drop to her pillow and eyes pull shut.

“Uh, are you okay?” The boy whose tongue had been inside her just seconds ago pressed his finger to her arm tentatively. “Should I, um, go now?”

Tessa could not remember what she said to him, could not remember how or when he left, but the next time she opened her eyes, she was alone in her room, her mouth dry and eyelids crusted at the edges. She saw six missed calls from Candace and one from her father. She called him.

“Daddy?”

“Hey baby.” Tessa had spent the better part of her late teens and twenties distancing herself emotionally and physically from her father. She dyed her inherited blonde hair a dark umber and ran ten miles a day to outpace her father’s genetically poor metabolism; she policed her Wisconsin accent with its long a’s and o’s and dontcha knows, sliding into the neutral tones of transplants all over New York. But it took just those two words to catapult her back into her childhood home, sitting on the couch squeezed between her father and sister watching old Law & Order reruns.

“Daddy, I’m so –– I don’t know what to say. How are you feeling?”

“Well, I been better, sweetheart. But you know Candace, she’s got me set up with everything I’d need, like we’re going down into a bunker or something. I told her, ‘the doc said I gotta year to live, no need to treat me like infirm already.” He laughed quietly and fell silent. Tessa didn’t know what to say. She stared at the wall across from her bed, Gloria Steinem holding a sign that read “We Shall Overcome” stared back.

“Are you getting chemo? What are you going to do?” She felt like a puppy dog clawing at the toes of their owner, desperate for a resolution to their anguish they did not understand.

“I’m not sure, honey. I spent this whole day at the hospital squirming with Obamacare welfare junkies and whatnot. Not sure there’s much else those doctors can do for me. They got me on a whole cocktail of drugs, don’t worry, I’m going to be as loopy as the kids you hang out with in Brooklyn every day.”

“Okay, dad. I’m going to come home soon okay? I’ll see when I can get some time off of work and then I’ll fly out and we’ll figure it all out. I’ll be there before you know it.”

That was September, just as New York’s air had begun to deflate into a cool, short Fall. She didn’t go home until the end of December and by then, there wasn’t anything much left to figure out. Her father was dying and there wasn’t anything to be done.

Almost a year had passed since that last visit and now she sat in the driveway of her childhood home and practiced breathing exercises she had learned at Vinyasa Yoga classes.

Breathe in with the whole body and out. The tips of her fingers trembled in the cold. She walked up to her door and considered knocking for a second before twisting the handle. The house was cleaner than she had been expecting, teeming with the smell of lysol and simmering garlic tomatoes. She knew that smell well: a staple of her youth. Before it had been uncool, her friends loved coming over to her house for dinner: her father’s thick, creamy pasta sauces –– garlicky and herbaceous. He loved to cook for a crowd, sent her to school with plastic tupperware packed with last night’s feast enough to share with her whole lunch table. She was embarrassed by the assertiveness of the aromas –– how they overtook the room of Lunchables and peanut butter sandwiches –– but she slurped up each noodle anyways, loving how it warmed every inch of her mouth, throat, and stomach as she swallowed.

She turned the corner into the kitchen and saw Candace at the stove, slowly stirring the sauce as it splattered across the counter and up her forearms. She flinched and then saw Tessa.

“You’re here. Thank god. I was beginning to worry the food might get cold waiting on you.” Candace threw a roll of paper towels at her. “Now wash off all that plane grime and we’ll sit down to eat in a sec. Dad’s in the living room.” She jerked her head towards the other room as if Tessa might have forgotten where that was in only the year since she had been home.

“‘Kay. Nice to see you again,” Tessa said, waiting for her sister’s begrudging nod and smile before continuing to the living room.

“Daddy?” Tessa peered through the door into the dark room, the only light throbbing from the television screen. House Hunters played on mute. “Daddy, I’m going to turn on the lights okay?” She flipped on the lights and almost screamed at the sight of the room now illuminated. In the year since she had been home the living room had transformed from a clichéd, frilly, TV den with embroidered bible quotes on throw pillows and clean glass surfaces to a makeshift hospice. She could barely see her father embraced by a deep recliner and swallowed by wires attached to monitors and tubes attached to hanging bags. The floor was littered with old pill bottles, just as she had expected, but also with napkins stained with dried up blood and gray clumps of hair.

When she finally got a full view of her father, she had to do a double take. All of her life, her father had been an intimidating man –– scaring off prom dates and trick-or-treaters with his wide shoulders and thick gut. She had known that it would be bad; Candace had warned her –– “It’s metastatic, that means the cancer’s eaten out his bones and now has started eating other things too. His lungs, his throat…” She had trailed off then, or maybe Tessa had stopped listening. Either way, nothing could have prepared her for seeing her father look like the carved out inside of a man –– wearing the remains of his bones and veins and decaying muscles on the outside of his body.

She kneeled next to him and grabbed his hand. She hadn’t realized before that he was sleeping. “It’s me, Tessa. I’m here.”

He opened his eyes and parted his cracked lips into a half-smile. “Hi honey. You here for Thanksgiving already?”

“No, Daddy, it’s not quite Thanksgiving yet. I’m here just to visit you.”

Her father let out a gruff laugh, somewhere between a wheeze and a chuckle. “Oh dammit, don’t tell me I’m dying already. I was just dreaming I was golfing in Mexico again and I really thought I was going to do it this time.” Tessa rolled her eyes. How could a man that looked like an alternate reality version of her father still be so unmistakably him?

“You hungry? Candace made your special pasta.”

His mouth turned downward as he scrunched up his nose. “Not that filth again.” He lowered his voice to somewhere even below a whisper, “Don’t tell your sister this, honey, but she’s a terrible cook. I haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“Dad!” Tessa tapped his hand lightly. “You’ve gotta eat. No wonder you’re looking like the first guy on the food chain.”

He smiled. “That’s my girl. Good to have you home. Now bring out some noodles, no sauce and I’ll see if I can work some magic.”

She returned to the kitchen. Candace was scrubbing the pans in the sink vigorously, muttering a string of curse words under her breath.

“So, do you usually eat in the living room with him?” Tessa asked.

“Some days. Honestly, Tess, it’s been next level depressing to stay in there all the time with him. He won’t eat and I hate cooking, you know that. Sometimes I’ll just get so tired I’ll just take a plate up to my room and watch TV instead. You haven’t been here so you don’t ––” Tessa sensed Candace winding up for one of her soliloquies, so she walked over to her sister and rubbed her shoulder.

“You’re right. I haven’t been here. But I’m here now. Whatever I can do to help, I will.”

***

It didn’t take more than two days at home for Tessa to begin falling into a deep pit of equal parts fury and despair. It was bad enough that Candace had convinced herself that she must be her father’s nursemaid, attending to his every need with an exacting level of care that drove both Tessa and her father up a wall.

They would be sitting in the living room watching another rerun of Law and Order: True Crime, nearly bordering on a nice moment, when Candace would jump out of her chair with the inertia of an electric shock and run to the kitchen to find whatever pill their father had to take, all the while mumbling, “I can’t believe I almost forgot. I can’t believe it. If I had forgotten, who knows what could have happened. How could I forget?”

The stress Candace placed upon herself rippled out to poison them all. Every time an alarm went off on Candace’s phone, Tessa watched her father twitch and scrunch up his eyes in a kind of pain she had never before witnessed from him. He was a man transformed from the one she had known growing up. He had been a heavy, sharp presence in her life. The kind of man to yell at his children in restaurants for spilling their juice, to push them into playing team sports even if all they wanted to do was chase butterflies through the soccer field, to demand longform birth certificates from their boyfriends.

Tessa had spent enough time unpacking her father’s mind games during overpriced armchair therapy sessions in wide-windowed offices on the Upper West Side to know how this had affected her upbringing. Ladies with round glasses and high-waisted khakis would say cookie-cutter phrases like, “It sounds like you still harbor a lot of resentment about your father,” and Tessa would laugh all the way to the bar.

When she told Candace that she was seeing a therapist, her sister’s voice had dropped to whisper. “Don’t tell dad,” she said, “You know he thinks therapy is a liberal conspiracy.”

She did and she loved telling her therapists about her father’s conspiracy theories, as if the only reason she paid $200 a session was to give them a well-rounded character arc. Sometimes, although she would never give her sister or father the satisfaction of knowing this, she wondered if therapy was indeed some kind of machination on the part of a government that wanted to fill its people with an unending supply of self-doubt. She bought it in bulk from Whole Foods alongside the kale smoothies that would also likely give her father a conniption.

Now that her father’s sharpness had melted along with his beer belly and thick jowl, revealing a softer, calmer man, Tessa thought that maybe she wouldn’t have to have the conversation with him that she dreaded the most. She had been home for nearly three days, with just passing mentions and references made to the recent political shift in the country, before they stumbled upon it head-on and must as she attempted to pivot away, it was too late.

They had just finished up lunch –– tuna fish for her, mashed potatoes for him –– when he looked up at her with his shrunken face and asked, “So how is your snowflake island dealing with the latest reality check?” For a man with nearly no muscle on his body, he sure didn’t pull his punches. This was the father she had slyly avoided for the last nine years; the man who demanded a recount at her elementary school class president elections when the girl who campaigned on building a compost heap won, the man who created a facebook page just to share articles he found on Conservative Daily.

She thought about saying nothing, biting the insides of her cheeks until they burned like she had so many times in her childhood. Unlike when he would say things like this over the phone, she could not just roll her eyes and make up a quick excuse to hang up. She had to say something.  

“Well, we’re not doing so great, dad,” she said, her eyes bouncing across every surface in the living room to avoid her father’s eye contact. “I’ve never seen so many people cry in public than on November 9th. On the bus, in the streets, waiting in line at the pharmacy. People think their lives are in danger.”

He sighed and shook his head. If he had been the man he once was, he might have raised his voice, but he couldn’t anymore. He could only mumble. “Danger from what? The only people who are in danger are those who don’t deserve to be here anyways. I honestly don’t understand why you can’t get that. It’s like you’re pretending that the first eighteen years of your life never happened. Like nothing I said mattered at all.”

Tessa knew she shouldn’t be shocked anymore by the things her father said. Nothing should shock her, and yet. “No, I don’t even want to have this conversation with you. How is it up to you to decide who deserves to be here or not? Why do we deserve to be here just because we’re white?”

“White! This fucking liberal arts education I shelled out for really did a number on you, Tessa. Paid $200,000 for you to hate yourself and your own family. This has nothing to do with being white and you know that.”

There was no arguing with a brick wall –– this was the logic she had used to squirm and sidestep her way out of confrontation with her dear, dying father for the last year. He was a brick wall, now cemented even further in righteousness due to the victory of his belief systems personified.“I can’t, anymore,” she said and held her hands up and walked away.

***

Her father didn’t die, at least not right away, like Candace thought he would. He lived from day to day, breath to breath. In the early mornings when frost crept like spidery fingers across the window panes, Tessa would wake up and touch his shoulder lightly, half-expecting him not to open his eyes. But he kept living –– angrier and more hollow every day.

A month into being back at home, Tessa spent most of the interminable hours of the afternoon when Candace was at work and her dad slept scrolling through flights and trains and rental cars she never booked. The longer she stayed, the more her feet sunk in the quicksand of her childhood home. She knew she’d suffocate soon, but she couldn’t get herself to move.

Headlines pierced the vortex of everyday life: CIA concludes with 'high confidence' Russia tried 'to help Trump get elected'; Trump chooses fossil fuel industry ally to head EPA; Trump attends 'heroes and villains' costume party as himself. Outside of the vortex, the world churned.

After he could not keep down his lunch, she wiped the vomit off her dad’s chin. When he fell off his chair trying to get the TV remote, she picked his bones back up, horrified at how easy they were to lift. As she walked by the living room one day, she pretended that she could not hear his brittle, aching sobs. It didn’t take four weeks for her to come to wish that she wanted him to die. And she soothed her own aching sobs by assuring herself that he likely wanted to die too.

Candace, meanwhile, was quickly unraveling in her own way. She had stopped doing the dishes and keeping the rest of the house clean, so soon the maelstrom of the living room infected every other room too. Although she only worked four hour shifts these days at Kohl’s on Main St., she wouldn’t come home until well after dinner –– usually plain noodles, rice, or cereal these days –– and arrive with her hair matted and eyes darting, making up lazy excuses about a broken exhaust pipe or customer service emergency. Tessa thought that perhaps this was Candace’s way of exacting revenge for not being there all those months of spoonfeeding and doctor’s visits and chemotherapy.

One thing was certain: each of them were completely alone. Her father –– empty, dying, boorish eyes in the body of a house of cards, falling but not fast enough to the end. Her sister –– one knot atop another, bloody fingertips, a mind meandering off the ledge. And Tessa –– the one who finally came home and stayed, but still every morning awoke with a jolt to notice that she was back in her childhood bedroom. The world spun on while they spun out.“You know I love you, right?” Her father said one day as they sat, for hours in silence, watching the wind thump against the branches of the bare willow tree in the front yard.

She pondered that for a moment. Maybe she hadn’t known. “Yes, of course, daddy,” she said instead, reaching out to pat his hand, pulsing with thick, purple veins. “And I love you too.”

He smiled and put his hand over hers and they sat there in silence once more for another two hours.

A week later her father was dead.