#i live in a house of insomniacs its terrible

[pansyfemme]

pizza box in the fridge is just a race to see who can make it down in the middle of the night first

[selamat-linting]

so anyway, there used to be this girl staying in one of the rooms our neighbor rented. lets call her F. one day F had to move and instead she stayed at my old house. i was too young for my mom to explain why but over the years i managed to connect the dots on my own. she got pregnant out of wedlock, her mom doesnt approve of her relationship and its not like the guy is eager on taking responsibility anyway. abortion is illegal here. and i guess somewhere along the way she had to lose her job?

anyway, F was living at my mom's place for a few weeks. i was a severe insomniac even as a kid and its nice to have someone to play with when i couldnt sleep. we watched animal documentaries and she taught me how to play board games like monopoly. during those days, she liked to talk about her siblings. especially this one girl who is a bit younger than me. F said she was a tomboy, and has always been a good, easy kid even in the womb. you see, when her mom was pregnant with her sister, they went through some marital problems that forced her mom to start working again. F was grateful her sister didnt make her mom sick so much and she was never a particularly fussy baby.

one day, F gathered the courage to see her mom again. she took me to her house. we met her little sister. at first i thought she was a boy, until i saw that she's wearing a necklace. it was the girl F liked to talk about. and she told me to play with her sister.

so we set off. this girl, lets call her C, she told me all of her favorite play spots. we walked around the fish market by the sea, we played in this park that used to be an old training ground for the military, it was amazing. i was ten or eleven years old at the time, and i thought C was the coolest girl alive. she could walk through an obstacle course without struggling, she knows how to fish, and she went on adventures almost every day. all i had going for me was that im good at browsing the internet and playing video games.

i wondered why C didnt have other kids waiting right by the door just to play with her. she was nice. definitely nicer than the ones i see at school. but then when we're in the middle of walking back, a bunch of kids saw us together and they start calling us a lesbian. C's cheery demeanor drops a bit and when i turned my head, she told me to just keep walking and ignore them. i remember feeling like i had to say something but i just didnt know what. years later, i think i know what kid me wanted to say, but by then it was too late.

anyway, we played again some more, and went back to her house. i promised next time we see each other its gonna be my turn to show her my stomping grounds (the internet). i ate dinner at their place, and F gave me a ride home. that was the last time i ever saw her.

okay no, not really. we met again. F decide to send the baby up for adoption to a relative of her ex-boyfriend. it was really sad. she couldnt stop crying. but after that, she seems to recover. at least she got herself a new job, a new place to stay, and the problem was over. on eid, she brought C at my house. yeah, C wore boy clothes on eid too. i was a bit envious of her ngl. we went on an arcade, met a kid who beg on the road outside the mall and she spent such a long time talking with them. i think C almost cried. she was a good kid. And then we played with toy guns, and C pranked a woman walking besides us by whistling at her. it was kinda mean ngl.

but thats it. there's no grand resolution. or any answer if F get to see her baby again one day. i went to middle school and liked another girl. F's visit got rarer and rarer and eventually become none as my mom moved out of our old house. with her gone, so as my continued friendship with C. we dont really have personal phone numbers as a kid and i cant find her on facebook.

when i was working at my first job, whenever i get terribly lonely, i'd get on a bus and stop around the fish market we used to hang out at. i walked by the bridge where she used to fish, near a row of stilt houses perched on top of the sea. it was almost like a pilgrimage. i hoped i'll came across C while walking around, or that i'll remember the way to get to her house. no such luck. pretty sure i'll never see her again, but i do wish her well. who knows man, maybe she'll taught me how to fish for the first time. i might know fish facts but i dont know shit about catching them.

[thoughtsoffeliz]

LODGE: A LYRIC ESSAY BY: EMILIA PHILLIPS

When the Sleepwalkers at dawn finally stumble into their rooms, or slump over the steering wheels of their hubcapless Impalas, the seagulls land and become a landscape over a landscape, as snow does: a contour line, a living topography of the Budget Inn on the corner of N. Lombardy and Brook in Richmond. When the flock lifts, it lifts at once, proportional to its placement across the steep roof, the cars, and open lot, so it seems something essential, even soul-like, rises—the way in movies a ghost flickers over a body at death: superimposed blue, see-through and shining: confused, maybe even smiling, until it looks around and sees itself, or who it was, there, on the ground.

I dreamed I wandered lost in a city in only a lace nightgown, a blanket over my shoulders. I’d escaped a high-rise hotel after an elevator crashed into the basement, a column of fire rising and lashing through the steel doors on the top floor, the stairs blocked by avalanche. I don’t remember how I got out, and therefore wasn’t sure I had. (Was I a ghost? a projection?) I came to on a sidewalk in a deserted part of town (the buildings boarded up, the garbage in heaps on the curb uncollected) without knowing where I was or where I was going. But then I found my car double-parked, running, the key in the ignition.

Frank Zappa wanted to buy up billboards along the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System and plaster them with two words: DOUBT EVERYTHING

Today, two suns: one in the rearview, one in the side mirror. The meter money rattles in the door to the bass drum on Feist’s “The Bad in Each Other.” As I turn a corner, my shadow laps me.

I drive from Richmond to Raleigh, Raleigh to Fredericksburg to Gettysburg, on two-lane highways for two days. I keep my notebook open on my lap to write down the names of motels I pass, partly because they’ve devolved from Technicolor postcard destinations with mod geometric signs, to roadside slumps of peeling paint and mediocre marquee promises, housing stereotypes and imagined meth-dens—and I admit, I love ruin, and therefore, seeing them, a quarter plunks into the vending machine of my heart and down drops that generic American Nostalgia.

ROYAL INN

* Waterbeds *

CRESCENT MOTEL

Clean Room  *  HBO

360

M

O

T

E

L

CARDINAL MOTOR COURT

Travelers Welcome

Micro Fridge

JOHNSON’S LODGE

Vacancy / Single Double / Color TV

—and partly because they seem like my late anxieties become totem: unrest, excess, (anonymity).

Driving from Gettysburg to the Baltimore Amtrak, I listened to a Hopkins radio segment on the link between sleep cycles and depression. A neurologist advised listeners emotional health could be improved by turning off the television and computer at least two hours before bed, as electronic screens emit a blue light whose rapid frequency fools the body’s circadian into thinking it’s a time for wakefulness, a bright re-beginning.

One summer, at age ten or eleven, I couldn’t sleep and so watched the full run of Nick-at-Nite, Lucy at nine to Mr. Wizard at five, sucking on Mayfield banana popsicles and chipping away at Rita’s Italian ices with a tongue depressor, crawling beneath the uncurtained back windows from the den to the kitchen so no one, no intruder surely there, could see me. My mother, severely depressed, slept all night with a hair dryer on to drown out noise; she held it like a drowsy cowboy on watch with his gun. I was terrified, and rightly so, of fire, and so I stayed awake, for when I closed my eyes I saw her shadow moving down the hall, eyes aflame, smoke sibyling from her mouth.

The insomniac speaker of Larkin’s “Aubade” is terrorized by this thought:

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,   

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

For three years I’ve had bouts of nighttime terror: about my ten-year-old half brother’s death and my diagnosis of stage IV melanoma a year later. With cancer, it helps knowing where the cells are; when one doesn’t know, Not to be here, one feels one can’t control it, contain it.

With my brother’s death, my great transgression—which I grieve but cannot help—has been to imagine his body underneath the soil, in his last Halloween costume, a Superman uniform, the premortem atrophy turned postmortem decomposition. I wish he were ash. Not to be here, / Not to be anywhere, so that he could be free again to dwell in thought.

When dark times loom, we cliché. Night is coming. Whenever we have hope, we cliché. I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Both used as metaphors for the approach of death.

Once a black bag was wheeled out of the Budget Inn. Police tape cracked like a whip in the wind. Another time, another day at the red light, I look through an open door, second from the end; inside, a shirtless man with Manson-esque beard and hair, danced in front of the television rabbit-eared to the news.

(some recent favorite church marquees)

My mother tells this story:

The father of my first best friend, the preacher at the Grace Reformed Baptist Church, asked me, age four, if I’d died that day, where would I go, heaven or hell?

I answer again and again in the retelling: My mom doesn’t let me go places like that by myself

Miscellaneous roadside signs, line breaks original.

All

Girl Staff

FLYING CIRCUS

AIRPORT

AMERICAN EX-PRISONERS

OF WAR HIGHWAY

On an unsalted stretch, bested by ice, I submit to $51/night and color television at the Boston Inn in Westminster, Maryland, the only place open. The incandescent light reviving a moth’s orbit that had stilled in the darkness preceeding my artless entrance on the chain gang of shadows, anxious and shaking. My pack slumped on the chair. The odor fecal, of cigarettes. My mind wanders: Whose knees were burned on the geometric carpet? A hole melted into the bedspread’s vanitas of flowers. The dead bolt latches but the doorframe’s busted, gold chain thin as a necklace. My tire tread caked in snow.

On the lobby RCA, a football game in whiteout conditions in the snowy reception of antennas where we lose the players in a huddle.

Entering this room, I enter a room inside myself with four corners and a human form, crouched in a shadow the bathroom light falling on me and falling on me again in the mirror. I want to hear the form speak to me, my own voice echoing off the tile before I leave with a refund, but as I recall absence can only be heard by dogs.

Weeks apart, I drive past two abandoned churches. First, a one-room wooden with peeling white and copper-green paint, broken glass windows, on Mt. Olive Lane in Southern Virginia. Alongside the No Trespassing signs, a little one:

FUTURE HOME OF

The Wedding Chapel

The other’s outside Biglerville, Pennsylvania. I barely got a look at it, except its yellowed marquee:

NEW

HOPE

CHURCH

Bachelard: “It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.”

Which is why it is better to live in language rather than out of language.

But a word might change us, our landscapes, our movements, how we see our country, literally and figuratively. As if by traveling on the interstate, we might actually move between states of being.

On our way to see our first place in Richmond, we got lost on a street that was the same name as the street we were supposed to be on but didn’t connect to it. As we were driving, slowly to see the numbers, I caught sight of a woman on the concrete porch of one of the craftsmen. She had on several layers of skirts in autumn colors, a peasant shirt, her hair wrapped in shimmery purple. She looked like one of the vintage coin-op fortune tellers, a gypsy, although I have never seen a real gypsy, and worry now even calling her that I’m buying into America’s greatest product: cliché.

She beckoned to us, waving come in, come in, come in.

I fantasize about inventing a downloadable voice setting for GPS: VIRGIL™ who might provide us with more insightful directions. Ex. You will leave everywhere I guide you, we hope.

A partial concrete list of my abstract fears:

Vibrating bed. Shag carpet. Blacklight forensics. Synthetic waffle batter hissing on a press at the continental breakfast. Candy bars in the minifridge with the little bitty bottles of Jack. Bedbugs. Plastic mattress covers. Oily telephone receivers. Bedside table Bibles. Peed-in pools. Sticky and/or stained sheets. Fist-sized holes in the wall. Bullet-sized. Busted-in door frames. Snapped door chains. Snuff films. A friend’s coke cut on my bedside table. Thin walls. Thin doors. Peepholes. Hair in the drain. Unidentified fluids. Unknowns, ineffables. Unspeakables.

The preacher, I remember, had a waterbed.

Was it to be more like Noah?

I’ve always sympathized more with the unnamed thousands, millions who died in the flood, who didn’t believe Noah or in the coming apocalypse. I like to think they weren’t jaded with God but rather hopeful that they would keep what they had, that they wouldn’t get washed away. Their bodies are never mentioned, not during the flood. Not after the arc lands. I like to think that those people lived, a kind of Calvino-esque city, a world under the surface world—permanent against the changeable winds, the temporary currents.

So many of the old tourist motels outside of Gettysburg National Park are now low-income apartments. Often, driving home in the early evening, I’d spot residents in the parking lot igniting charcoal in a scrap-metal grill with lighter fluid.

A baby draped over a shoulder like a rifle.

A car hood up.

Or no one at all.

One still has a vending machine, the only light for a mile.

Before my mother married him, my stepfather—addicted to pain pills, recovering with pain pills after a car wreck caused by falling asleep at the wheel after a handful of pain pills—lived in the Extended Stay America. We would bring over beef tips and baked potatoes from Steak-Out and eat them out of to-go Styrofoam, Law and Order on the television.

Before that, we lived with my father near a cemetery, the thought of which, lingering just beyond the dark shape of the woods, would keep me up at night, as if ghosts could travel underground and rise into my room like radon. I had recurring nightmares of tombstones erupting through the floorboards.

A cemetery seemed then as much a transient space as a motel, or a mobile home like where my husband grew up.

These places seemed not to create life, but carry it.

I pass an empty field bordered by trees, a tattered billboard in its center:

[sitp-recs]

Hi Liv I wanna start by saying I love your recs and your blog has been an incredible resource in my journey getting into Drarry. So ✨thank you✨ Anywho on to asking: I’ve been having some trouble staying asleep here lately, mostly because of nightmares, so I wake up super on-edge and creeped out in the middle of the night. I’ve been turning to fics to just read and distract myself but not all of them distract me enough to calm down. I’m wondering if you can think of some lighter/fluffy/comforting fics that I can dive into to so I can relax and get back to sleep. Apologies if I’m not asking right (like I’ve seen asks that are looking for specific fics that they’ve read before and are trying to find again, and I’m not doing that. I’m asking for a type so if that’s wrong feel free to ignore this😅) I tried to look around and I can’t see anything about your asks being closed, so I really hope this is alright. Thanks ever so much for doing the recs you do! Also disclaimer: I’m writing this after being up for a while in the middle of the night, so if my judgment is off for how I should condense this and instead I’m just word vomiting, that would be why 👍

Hello hello! First of all thank you so much for your kind words, I’m so happy you’re enjoying the blog and finding the recs helpful. I’m also really sorry to hear about your struggle to sleep, that sounds terrible 💔 Sending love! I struggle a lot with insomnia myself (but thankfully no nightmares) and find great comfort in soft fics. I have two reclists with short bedtime reads that can be found here and here. If you prefer something longer to get a more immersive experience, I would definitely check the long fics below. I hope you feel better soon! Take care xo

Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch (2019, T, 43k)

The problem with living with another insomniac is, eventually, they find out you’re one, too. When Harry and Draco return for their eighth year, they think they’ll see very little of each other. Then McGonagall assigns them to room together. And the castle starts breaking. And there’s that thing with Potter’s magic.

A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (2020, T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit. Featuring a grumpy antiques lover who most certainly did not sign up for this, encounters with a vengeful apparition, and a healthy application of Christmas spirit.

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (2021, E, 67k)

In the off-season Harry decided to fix up Grimmauld Place and found that Draco Malfoy was the only person who could help him. A demanding career and unrelenting press scrutiny were enough to deal with before Harry added a house with a mind of its own, family history, and a tense, flirty, complicated relationship with his childhood nemesis to the mix.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (2021, M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska. Years of hard work have culminated in an opportunity to work with an experimental wandmaker to study the intersection of Healing and wand theory. When Draco arrives, he doesn't find the wandmaker, but does find his apprentice, who happens to have ridiculously messy hair, a lightning bolt scar, and a definitely-not-charming smile.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by nerakrose and dustmouth (2018, T, 96k)

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

[dontenchantme]

insomnia

Rated T, belphegor x mc.

it was time to make a choice between facing her nightmares and facing her demons.

fics masterlist

She opened her eyes with a sigh, turning towards the clock placed on her bedside table. The fluorescent numbers glowed in the darkness. Hardly anything had changed since her last check.

It was four in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. The House of Lamentation was quiet; even Lucifer, the insomniac workaholic, had turned in for the night. She should know. This wouldn’t be the first time she whiled the night away, waiting for the brothers to rise for breakfast.

Sleep rarely came easily to her, even when she was in the human world. There was too much going on inside her head. Too much noise. Her thoughts and worries clamoured nonstop, and while she had grown used to tuning them out, they always grew louder when night fell.

She knew that at this timing, there was only one brother who could still be awake. The only one who might understand what she meant when she said that she couldn’t sleep.

Belphegor. The seventh-born, the Avatar of Sloth. Belphie, who so often wandered the house in the middle of the night, staring out of the window at the moon, studying the starless sky.

Her phone was right next to her clock. She reached for it, then hesitated. Would Belphie mind if she disturbed him? She didn’t know him well. Would she be intruding on his personal space?

But her searching fingers found the edge of her phone anyway, and the screen flickered to life. In the darkness, it was almost blinding. She squinted through the glare, opening the message tab and scanning through her chats – Belphie’s was the third on her screen.

For a moment, she thought about whether or not she ought to be texting him. She could just put her phone down now and try to go back to sleep. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone, and she was sure she’d be able to fall asleep eventually.

But then some unexplainable feeling seized her and her fingers began to move across the screen. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was plain, simple desperation. Maybe it was just that she hadn’t slept properly in weeks and she should have asked for help long before she hit this point.

Either way, a mysterious force compelled her to reach out to him, a force strong enough that it overrode the fear that always gripped her at the thought of the seventh-born.

He had been trying to make it up to her, she knew that. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his effort. She truly did. But even if he kept giving her those charming smiles, even if he spent the whole day doting on her every whim and fancy, she couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his claws sinking deep into her flesh, the murderous intent that gleamed in his eyes.

The pain never went away, not really. It tainted the skin, a memory that sank and nestled within her very bones. If she had her way, if she was able to seek help from anyone else, she would – but there was no one. And she was desperate. She yearned to close her eyes and sink into the escape that was unconsciousness; by now, her dreams were becoming little more than a distant memory.

She sent the text, wondering how long it would take before she received a reply. But she didn’t have to wonder – he replied almost instantly, saying she could come to his room if she wanted to, or he could come to hers.

She made up her mind within seconds. Belphie should come to her room. If she went over, they might wake Beel, and then he’d probably head down to the kitchen and empty the fridge again. It was exhausting enough trying to deal with her insomnia.

Minutes later, she heard a knock on the door. She clambered off the bed, her heart jumping to her throat – when she opened the door, there he stood, holding onto his favourite pillow, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. He had the same violet-pink eyes as Beel. Such lovely eyes.

Before she came to the Devildom, she’d never have believed that someone like Belphie would be able to commit murder. He was so beautiful, with his delicate features and his gentle smile, his silky hair that was so dark it looked almost blue. How could someone like Belphie ever hurt another being? But she knew better now. Her chest ached with unwanted memories.

“Well, you asked for me, so here I am,” he mumbled, yawning as he spoke. “Be grateful for this – I don’t help just anyone with their insomnia, you know.” His smile was half-hearted; she could barely force a smile in return. Her fingers trembled as she stared at him, and she clutched onto the door, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want to be scared. She shouldn’t have to be.

But her body remembered. The aftermath of their terrible, violent intimacy echoed through her, and her heart thudded in her chest. The heart was such a weak, fragile thing. An unwanted reminder of how she had collapsed at his touch, how his demonic strength could so easily rend her apart. In his arms, she was nothing more than a paper doll. Weak, useless, completely defenceless.

He didn’t say a word. He just waited for her, patient, unflinching. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. He was different now. She glanced down at her chest, covered by the thin fabric of her pyjamas. Belphie’s pact mark was placed right over her heart, a cruel reminder of where he had once maimed her – how ironic, that the proof of their bond was located there now.

Finally, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter her room. Wordlessly, she went over to her bed, shifting some cushions so that there was space for him before she laid down, giving him an expectant look. Belphie didn’t need a second invitation – he curled up beside her, and his touch was gentle, his soft voice murmuring lullabies, his fingers twirling through her hair.

He had the delicate hands of an artist, and they were beautiful.

It occurred to her that it was strange to think of her would-be killer as anything but terrifying. Yet he was undeniably beautiful, and his smile was tender. It was a far cry from what things were like all those months ago when he had spoken to her through the door of the attic.

Sometimes, she thought about how gullible and trusting she had been, and she’d wonder if things would have been any different if she had just heeded Lucifer’s warnings. Then maybe she wouldn’t have ended up bleeding her heart out. But it was too late for regrets – and anyway, her death and revival had helped the brothers to patch up their relationship. That was good, right? If she hadn’t come along, who knew how long Belphie would be stuck in the attic.

And things were different now. She didn’t have to be afraid anymore, not with the pacts she had collected, not with the way Belphie treated her. Still, fear was an irrational, unconscious thing and it lingered in the back of her mind, never quite releasing its grip on her.

She found her eyelids steadily lowering as Belphie continued to hum. He had such a soothing voice, one that reminded her of her mother rocking her to sleep as a child. Her mind and body were heavy, and she felt the gentle waves of sleep calling to her, washing up against the shore of her consciousness. It would be nice if she could just let go and sink into the melody he wove for her. She turned towards Belphie, instinctively seeking his warmth, and his fingers paused for a moment before he resumed running his hand through her hair, still humming gently.

He allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder as he waited for her to fall asleep, and he finally stopped humming when he sensed her breathing change, becoming slow and steady. He cast his gaze towards the ceiling, his fingers stilling in her hair. Sometimes, he forgot how fragile she was – in the moments when their fingertips brushed, or when they bumped into each other in the hallway, he could hear the blood flowing in her veins, hear the unsteady beat of her heart and he’d realise just how mortal she was. How easily she could live, how easily she could die.

He forgot that for humans, death was an irrevocable sentence. She was not like his brothers, who could all withstand pain, who brushed away life-threatening injuries as though they were little more than scratches. When humans got stabbed through the heart with claws sharper than knives, they wouldn’t bounce back, taunting their enemies with their fangs bared.

She would simply…die. She’d crumple to the floor like a butterfly with its wings torn off, blood spreading across her chest, dripping in puddles onto the ground. She’d smell like death and her body would cool so rapidly that he wondered if she was ever really real, or if this entire time she was nothing but a mannequin, easily fooled, easily manipulated into doing everything he wanted.

He thought that he’d find deliverance in her death, that he would finally be able to avenge Lilith, but when he killed the human, he just felt…hollow.

Even now, he still wasn’t sure how he felt about the truth. How he felt about the situation they found themselves in. He knew it was his fault that she was afraid of him now; she showed no sign of fear towards his brothers, only him. It was almost funny. He was the seventh-born, the weakest of the seven princes of hell, and yet he was the one she feared the most.

But he was willing to wait. He wanted to make amends. It was due to his prejudice that things had ended up this way, and until she was willing to forgive him, he’d simply continue trying.

She was Lilith’s descendant, after all. Some part of his precious little sister lived on in this girl, this mortal who was the most fragile thing he’d ever seen – and even if she wasn’t related to Lilith, she still fascinated him. Anyone Beel liked enough to share his food with had to be decent. Perhaps he was mistaken about humans. Or maybe it was just her. He couldn’t be sure.

When he looked at her slumbering face, something about it helped him to find some measure of peace. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. For once he wanted to sleep; he wanted to lay his head down and close his eyes, not because he was the Avatar of Sloth but simply because she was beside him, and there was something unspeakably soothing about her presence.

He would continue to try and continue to wait. One day she might let down her guard around him, the same way she did for his brothers. He had never been particularly patient, but he was willing to wait for her. It was the least he could do to make up for what he had done.

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Three

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 3/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @wolfsmom1

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER THREE

 A sharp wind whipped down the florescent lit tunnel, sending a sudden shiver down his spine. Tom pulled the blanket he’d been handed tighter around him, stifling a yawn. It had been an early morning and despite several cups of coffee, with more espresso shots than he’d care to admit to, he still felt the pull of sleep dragging on him. The excitement, however, was winning by leaps and bounds. He had been intrigued when the idea was pitched to him, of making a teaser for Betrayal and posting it as-is before formally announcing the show the following day. It was a creative and fun way of drawing attention to the production and getting buzz going around it.

 The teaser’s premise was simple, Tom would come into focus walking down the aforementioned tunnel, something out of the camera’s range would catch his eye, and the viewer would watch his reaction unfold. Watch the shock, pain, anger, and finally defeat play across his features. No dialogue, no real explanation; just him and music. Beautiful in its simplicity.

 He stood to the side, watching as the days’ crew reset the shot and fiddled with the lighting. It was their third, and hopefully last, take; the lighting have gone a touch fuzzy during the last set up. It was a bustle of controlled chaos and something he’d always found fascinating. The way in which the crew flittered around each other was almost an elaborate dance.

 “Alright, places everyone!”  The director called once things had been set to rights. Tom nodded, took a deep breath and stepped onto his mark.  

 The rest of the shoot passed with little issue. The fourth take had been the one Tom was certain he’d nailed. He’d watched the final footage with the director and found himself pleased with the initial result. The days’ footage, Tom was told, would be edited that evening and should be ready to go up the day after. With a warm smile, Tom bid farewell and headed out into the bustle of the now busy streets.

 He’d taken the tube that morning, enjoying being able to sit and people watch. It helped keep him grounded, just doing the everyday tasks that so many seemed to take for granted. He could usually take the tube with little fuss or fanfare. That was one of the wonderful things about London, very few people seemed to care who or what he was. True, there would be the occasional fan who would approach him or the rare ‘sneaky’ photograph (which he never really understood the point of) but for the most part he was left to his own devices.

 He’d fired off a quick text to Luke before he’d entered the station, letting him know all had gone well and that he was off home. Luke responded quickly, reminding him that his phone meeting with Marvel regarding updates for the Loki limited series had been pushed back until following afternoon. Which meant for the time being, Tom had the rest of the day to himself and he was greatly looking forward to the lack of demand. He made his way through the ticket barrier and followed commuters down the escalators and onto the platform. The train rumbled into the station a few minutes later and he joined the mass of people making their way into various carriages.

 Tom quickly settled into the first available seat, letting his mind wander as he watched the eclectic mix of people filling the carriage. It was something he’d always enjoyed about the city; the mix of cultures and people that had always made it uniquely London. The carriage was busy but not packed, it was still early enough in the day that most commuters were still at work. Tom enjoyed the relative peace as the carriage jostled along, silently counting the stops until his own.

 He made his way from the train onto the platform once the train had pulled into his station. A flash of dark hair and a familiar laugh caught his attention as he made his way through the busy station to the ticketing barrier. Tom turned his head in reflex and a jolt of recognition shot through him. Cath. The name materialized in his head without conscious thought. But she was gone before he could make a move, disappeared into the crowd heading towards the platforms.

 Tom shook himself back into the present and carried on through the gate and then out onto the street. It was just as well she’d gone, he reasoned, pulling his coat tighter around himself as a swift breeze raced down the pavements. He didn’t actually know her, had no reason to approach her other than his own, admittedly overabundant, curiosity.  And that had often caused more trouble than it was worth.

 Silently, he carried on down the pavements and back towards home. Bobby, none too pleased with being shut in the back room in his crate, barked repeatedly as Tom unlocked and pushed open the front door. “Alright, alright,” he called. “I’m coming.”

 He shrugged out of his woolen coat, hanging it on the rack near the door, and jogged through the house towards the back room. Bobby, finally free of his confinement, let his displeasure be known with several more loud and growly barks. Tom rolled his eyes and let the spaniel out through the door into the back garden to do his business and terrorize the local wildlife.

 The following day’s teaser release and subsequent play announcement were well received, which had been a major relief. The response on social media had been overwhelmingly positive and Tom was more than pleased. Zawe had begun talks to secure her involvement in the show and from what Tom had been able to gather, Charlie Cox was in talks to join as well. Nothing had been set in stone and probably wouldn’t until closer to the New Year, but Tom couldn’t have been happier. He’d known Charlie for years and was glad to at least have the chance of potentially working with him.

 His phone had been ringing off and on throughout the day following the official announcement; friends and family sharing their well wishes and excitement. His mother had been particularly thrilled as she could talk more openly about the play now that had it been announced publically. His mother and her enthusiasm had become the stuff of legend in and around Suffolk.

 “So someone actually took pity on you and hired your sorry face. I must send them flowers…and my condolences as well,” Benedict laughed. His call had come just after Tom had finished an impromptu afternoon run. He was in desperate need of a shower but hadn’t the heart to tell his friend to buzz off.

 “Well,” Tom quipped back. “If they actually hire you on occasion, I figured I would be a shoe-in this time round. And,” he added as an afterthought, “there is a much better chance they can actually pronounce my name.” Ben snorted laughter at the comment which pulled Tom into a laughing fit of his own. “But in all seriousness,” Tom continued once he’d managed to calm himself, “I am ridiculously excited to be able to be doing this. It’s going to be a challenging role and I am looking forward to it.”

 “So who are you playing? Robert or Jerry?”

 “Robert.”

 Ben laughed in delight. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. And they’ve cast Emma and Jerry?”

 “Not officially no,” Tom answered, laughing as well.

 “Unofficially?” Ben goaded.

 “Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, pending availability.”

 “Very nice indeed, Mr. Hiddleston. You’re moving up in the world.” He paused, taking a breath. “Hopefully Sophie and I will be able to make it during the run.”

 “Don’t feel obligated,” Tom admonished. “I know things are going to be a bit mad with the little one coming.” He had been beyond thrilled, and quietly jealous, when Ben had told him that he and Sophie were expecting again. The baby was due in late January and Tom was well aware that their lives would be chaotic for a least the first few months while their family settled into its new routine. The play would be the absolute least of their priorities. “If you make it, that will be amazing but don’t feel like you must. Honestly.”

 Ben laughed. “I have a feeling that by the time your show opens we’ll both be ready for a break and grown up company.”

 Tom laughed as well. “I can only imagine.”

 A loud scream echoed from Ben’s side of the line. “I’m terribly sorry to cut this short but I need to make sure my sons aren’t killing one another. Sophie will be awfully cross if any damage comes to them in my care.”

 “Yes. Yes. Go on, take care of your offspring. Talk to you later.” Tom ended the call and stretched his back, it having started to get a bit stiff. He really needed to make sure he stretched pre and post run now. God, I’m getting old, he thought with a grimace. Tom toed out of his running shoes and took the stairs two at a time, more eager than ever for a hot shower.

 —

 The rest of November passed in a blur of various appointments and meetings cumulating in an appearance at Tokyo Comic Con. Tom always thoroughly enjoyed being able to attend Asian events, especially fan ones. The welcome he received was always warm and the fan base vocal and tremendously supportive. It made the long flight and horrendous jetlag worth it. And this time had been no exception. He’d thoroughly enjoyed talking with fans and participating in numerous panels. But he had to admit, he was grateful to be going home. He’d joked with Luke about the real possibility of him sleeping for at least a week on the way to the airport.

 “Good,” Luke deadpanned back. “Please do. Less chance of you causing me headache.”

 The flight home had been a long one, with just enough layover to make his usual jetlag feel a hundred times worse. He’d practically fallen into the car awaiting him at Heathrow and slept all the way home. It certainly wouldn’t do his re-acclimation to British Standard Time any good, but he’d been far too tired to care. How he’d made his way from the car and into the house, he still didn’t know. Nor how he’d fumbled his way from the entry way, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He’d woken late the following afternoon still in his clothes and momentarily unaware of just where he was.

 Tom blinked around the room several times before the familiar shapes of his dresser and the door to the ensuite came into focus. Home. He pushed himself upright, a jaw cracking yawn escaping him. He was still tired, still a bit fuzzy-headed, but now that he was conscious he could sense the grime of several hours confined in a small space with far too many people all over him. With a fair amount of effort, he pulled himself to his feet and padded into the bathroom, stripping as he went.

 Freshly showered and feeling much more like himself, Tom climbed downstairs nearly twenty minutes later and set about fixing both coffee and food. Plate of egg and toast in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee doctored to his liking in the other, Tom padded into the living room and settled himself on the couch. He let himself revel, selfishly, in the silence of the house.

 Bobby was still at Emma’s; she and her husband had volunteered to watch the little devil while he’d been out of the country. Why they’d agreed, Tom still wasn’t entirely sure. And while he’d missed the little bugger, it was nice to be able to eat a meal without having to face those large, pleading eyes. He’d never been able to completely resist them, and he knew Bobby knew.

 Tom took his time eating, he had nowhere in particular he needed to be and fully intended to laze about for as long as possible. He pondered actually taking on his ever-growing ‘to-be-read’ pile. It had been ages since he’d allowed himself the luxury of just sitting and reading a book. Yes, he still read as often as was possible, but it was usually during filming breaks when he wasn’t going over lines or blocking or a few moments before falling asleep. Actually sitting about and just reading, that was a true rarity. Possibilities.

 Once he’d finished the last of his meal and drained the very last of his coffee, Tom pushed himself to his feet and padded to the kitchen. He contemplated simply leaving his used plate and mug in the sink for later, after all it wasn’t as if he won’t have the time later. But the impulse was quickly abated; his mother would box his ears, metaphorically speaking, for doing such a thing even now. He shook his head and laughed at himself, washing and drying them quickly before heading out of the kitchen and into the main hall.

 As Tom made his way down the hall his suitcase and backpack, left carelessly by the door the night before, caught his eye and he groaned. He should take his clothing out and get a load of washing started, knowing if he put it off it wouldn’t get done. With a muffled curse, he lugged the case towards the laundry room, setting it on the floor and sorting through his clothing. He’d gotten a load in the wash and started the sorting of the next when the sharp ring of his mobile echoed from the front of the house.

 Tom sighed and padded back into the hall, finding this mobile vibrating and ringing away on the table; Emma’s number flashing across the screen. He had to have pulled it from his pocket by reflex the night before as tended to keep in beside him the majority of the time unless he purposefully needed a break from the outside world.

 “Yes, little sister?” he said as way of greeting after he’d grabbed the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.

 Emma snorted a laugh. “He lives! I was wondering if you’d be conscious and functional yet or not.”

 “I do live, the conscious and functional part is debatable. Now what can I do for you?”

 A loud, piercing cry echoed through the line and Emma sighed, wearily. “Take my child off my hands for the next…I don’t know…Eighteen or so years?”

 “Somehow I think Jack might have a few objections to that idea.” Tom chuckled, padding back into the living room and dropping onto the couch.

 “He’ll live,” Emma grumbled. “I’ve got to dash. Just give us a call when you’re ready to swing by for Bobby. And if you want to take Allie with you, feel free.”

 “I think I’m good. One adorable yet demanding creature is more than enough for me at this juncture,” he reasoned adding, “And Bobby doesn’t scream” as an afterthought.

 “Oh ha bloody ha. See if I agree to help you with anything in future….Allie no, put that down…Alice Marie…Sorry, Tom, I’ve got to go.” The line clicked and Tom let his phone drop beside him on the couch. He scrubbed his face with his hands before standing and heading back into the laundry room. He’d finish sorting his laundry and then call her back, letting her know he was on the way.

 The drive across town wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared it would be; London traffic being what it was. He pulled his car to a stop in the drive leading to the house forty minutes later, almost reluctant to turn the engine off and lose the heating.  Emma had the door open, his niece on her hip, before he’d climbed out of the car.

 “She’s calmed I see,” he called, reaching out to take the little girl from her mother’s arms. She smiled in delight and clung to her uncle, babbling excitedly. “Hello there, angel.” He kissed the top of her head before returning his attention to his sister. “And how has my boy been?”

 Emma laughed and shook her head, ushering Tom inside. “He’s been his usual self. Luckily he hasn’t dug up the back garden…again. Only because it’s been so bloody cold.”

 Tom threw back his head and laughed. “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”  The aforementioned spaniel, upon hearing his master’s voice, came sprinting out into the hallway, barking. Alice let out a squeal, clapping her hands together and reaching for the excited dog jumping at her uncle’s feet. Tom bent down and gave Bobby an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Alice reached out and grabbed at Bobby’s ears. “No, sweetie. We need to be gentle with the doggy.” He demonstrated by petting Bobby softly on the head. Alice mimicked his motions and Bobby tossed his head up, licking her face. She squealed in delight and wriggled out of Tom’s arms.

 Behind him, Tom could hear Emma laughing. “You are a natural, you know?” He turned around, blinking at her in puzzlement. “With kids,” she continued, “have been for years.”

 He shrugged, turning his attention back towards his niece and his dog to ensure neither was misbehaving. Alice was contentedly patting Bobby on the head and babbling at him. “So are lots of people.”

 “I’m just saying…You are great as Uncle Tommy and I think you’d made quite a good father in your own right.”

 “Em.”

 “I know you want that, Tom. It’s plain as day to anyone who knows you,” she pressed, giving him a knowing look.

 “Of course I want that, Em. I just…Sometimes we can’t get what we want.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want and we’ve no one to blame but ourselves. I’ve come to terms with it.”

 Emma folded her arms over chest, “You and I both know that’s a boldfaced lie.”

 Tom pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his sister, frustration clear in his eyes. “Just let it go, Em. Seriously.” His tone brooked no argument. “Do you have the rest of his things gathered or do I need to go into the back and fetch them?”

 “Tom…” It was clear though that Tom was no longer willing to entertain the conversation at hand. “All his stuff is gathered in the back room.” He gave her a nod and headed down the hallway towards the room in question. Alice who had until that point been contentedly patting Bobby on the head, raised her attention to her mother and inquired, in her own fashion, after her missing uncle. Her mother sighed, “Uncle Tommy’s gone to get Bobby’s things then they are going bye-byes. But we’ll see them again soon.”

 Alice pouted at this, “No bye-byes!”

 “It’s alright Allie,” Tom spoke, dropping the bundle of Bobby’s things carefully by the door and settling on his knees beside her. “Bobby and I will come back soon. But I think right now mummy and daddy want a little time with just you.” Alice sniffled and grabbed at Tom who pulled the toddler into his arms. “I know, I know.” He kissed her head, and standing, handed the girl to her mother. “You be good for your mummy and daddy okay?”

 Emma looked at him over the head of her still sniffling daughter. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

 Tom nodded and mouthed, “It’s alright.” Picking up the bundle once more, Tom leant down and hooked Bobby’s lead to his collar. “Come on, boy.” He pushed open the front door and led them out into the dark and cold December evening. Bobby had hopped into the backseat of the car willingly enough but throughout the drive home insisted on sticking his nose further and further between the two front seats, nudging at his master’s arm.

 “You, my lad, are a menace,” Tom laughed as he pulled back onto the main road and into traffic. The drive home took twice as long as the initial trip. Tom hadn’t been surprised; London traffic was a nightmare, regardless of the time of day. As they sat, Tom’s mind wandered back to Emma’s earlier words. She’d meant well and he’d known it. And he’d hated being so short with her. But they’d had the conversation far too many times over the last few years and he was tired.

 There were things he wanted; someone to come home to, a family of his own, the things he saw in the lives of his sisters and friends. And yet here he was inching ever closer to forty and still, more or less, alone. Most days it hadn’t bothered him. He had more than enough to fill his life. He had friends, nieces and honorary nephews aplenty. He had a rewarding and engaging career that he still loved, despite its pitfalls and stresses. But somedays…Somedays that nagging voice inside his head reminding him that he was alone grew loud and became difficult to ignore.

 He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road before him. Behind him, Tom could hear Bobby’s incessant whining. “Fine, come on up.” He patted the seat beside him and Bobby let out an excited bark and quickly leapt into the front seat where he sat, watching the traffic around him.

                                                             —

 Christmas, as always, came far too quickly. Tom had spent the week before scrambling to make sure he found the bits and bobs he’d purchased throughout the year and hidden away ‘for safe keeping’. Why he never bothered to use the same spot twice, he’d never understand. Though, if pushed, he could admit it most likely came from a lifelong habit of trying to hide his things from nosey and inquisitive sisters and later from intrusive school mates.

 But he’d found them all in the end, and the evening before he’d been set to drive to his mother’s, Tom sat in his living room surrounded by wrapping paper and sellotape, wondering just what he’d been thinking. Despite his ability to master almost anything thrown his way, Tom had always been rubbish at wrapping and practice, he’d found, made little difference.

 Cursing and muttering under his breath, he fumbled his way through. The end results were far from perfect, but they were wrapped. Bobby had taken great pleasure in chasing the loose paper, gleefully tearing it to shreds. Watching this, Tom wisely made the decision to pack the gifts away where the spaniel could not reach. He didn’t think Bobby would actually go after them but experience had taught him that trusting the playful spaniel in that regard was not a risk worth taking.

 With a jaw cracking yawn, Tom pushed himself up to his feet. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it had just gone one in the morning. Much later than he’d intended. “Bed,” he murmured to himself. Bobby fast on his heels, Tom climbed the stairs and, after a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, fell into bed.

 He set out for his mother’s at a little before noon the following day. Traffic wasn’t nearly as hectic as he’d thought it would be, especially for the day before Christmas. Bobby sat contentedly in the front seat, every so often barking at passing motorists. He had tried, and failed, to keep the spaniel in the backseat and as they left the city limits, he’d relented and allowed Bobby what the spaniel firmly believed was his spot. Christmas music rang out of the speakers, Tom had always had a soft spot for these songs, and found himself humming along quietly as he drove.

 It hadn’t snowed yet, which was a blessing. But darkening skies loomed low and threateningly. Tom only hoped it would hold out until he was safely in Suffolk and inside with the hot beverage of his choosing before they broke. His luck, and the weather, held and he pulled into the drive only half an hour later than he’d planned. Bobby barked excitedly as Tom killed the engine, his tail a blur of motion. “Alright, alright. I know you’re dying for a walk.”

 Once he was certain Bobby’s lead was tightly fastened, Tom climbed out of the car and darted to the passenger side. Bobby hopped out and took three laps around the front garden before Tom led him back to the car. Pulling his backpack and the bag of gifts from the trunk, Tom headed up the walk and to the front door, the spaniel following closely behind.

 The door opened and a chorus of warm welcomes and a loud and enthusiastic “Uncle Tommy!” from his eldest niece, Cora, greeted him.

 He was pulled into a tight hug by his mother as he crossed the threshold. “So glad you made it before the weather turned. The thought of you out in the snow in that car…” Diana had made her dislike of Tom’s Jaguar plain from the moment he’d received it as a perk for his appearance in one of their marketing campaigns years ago.

 “Mum,” he groaned, unable to mask his annoyance, “It’s a perfectly safe car and you know fair well that I’m a good driver.”

 Diana huffed and shut the door behind him. “I’m still not a fan.”

 Settling in hadn’t taken long, he’d been placed in his old bedroom and had wasted no time in jogging up the stairs (Diana’s voice echoing after him with an admonishing “no running in the house!”) and dropping his bag on the recently made bed. The room hadn’t changed overmuch in the years since he’d lived in it; a new bedspread had been laid out but otherwise it was still very much the room of his teenaged years. Tom found an odd comfort in that. He returned downstairs and quickly found himself pulled into rolling around the floor with Alice and Cora while they laughed and screamed in delight. He could hear Emma and Sarah behind him, laughing hysterically at his antics.

 Dinner was a causal affair that evening, eaten mostly in the living room while everyone chatted and the children played with Bobby, occasionally sneaking him bits of food much to the spaniel’s delight. At quarter of nine the children were tucked into bed with the promise of a visit from Santa if they settled to sleep. He’d been roped into reading several bedtime stories because, according to Cora, “you do all the best voices”. The girls’ parents were quick to agree and so Tom settled on the floor between the two beds and read from the collection of bedtime stories that had been in the house for as long as he could remember.

 Once both girls were fast asleep, Tom rejoined the adults downstairs. He took the proffered glass of whiskey from his brother-in-law and settled on the couch. It was wonderful, getting to spend time with his family. He hadn’t seen Sarah nor her family since Emma’s wedding, something he promised himself to rectify in future. They sat up talking until well into the early hours of the morning, though Diana had turned in shorty before ten, and as they finally climbed the stairs to bed he heard Sarah grumble, “Cora will be up at first light and demand everyone join her.” And her husband grunt in response.

 Cora was in fact up at just before six Christmas morning. After waking her parents, she’d darted into Tom’s room and woke him as well by jumping repeatedly on the bed yelling “it’s Christmas, Uncle Tommy! It’s Christmas!”

 Startled into consciousness, Tom swallowed his heart and grumbled a “that’s lovely” while patting Cora on the back. He heard Sarah snort in amusement from the doorway and shot her an evil look, which only made her laugh harder.  He sat up in time to watch Cora dash from the room, grabbing her mother by the hand and dragging her towards the stairs. Tom chuckled to himself, stretched, and slowly climbed out of bed. God, it was far too early. He pulled on a jumper, as his mother tended to keep the house on the cooler side even in winter, and padded downstairs in search of coffee.

 Diana stood in the kitchen when he stumbled in, a steaming mug outstretched towards him which he took gratefully. It was a strong roast, rich and bitter. He drank it slowly, feeling the comforting rush of caffeine through his bloodstream. Gods above, he loved coffee. Excited cries soon echoed in from the living room, beckoning his attention. He made his way into the living room behind his mother and settled into one of the open arm chairs, watching as Alice and Cora were settled before their respective pile of gifts.

 The actual present opening portion of the morning lasted all of twenty minutes in Cora’s case. Alice took longer due to the fact she became easily distracted by the shiny paper. But all in all, they had their presents opened in well less than an hour. They saved the adult gift giving for later, once both girls were sufficiently distracted enough by toys to allow them a moment’s peace.

 Breakfast and lunch, much like dinner the night before, were eaten in the living room surrounded by bin bags full of wrapping paper. Tom had been drafted into throwing out said bags, very much without his consent he’d pointed out. No one, however, took his protests seriously. After he’d finished lunch and could put off the inevitable no longer, Tom threw on his coat with a grumble and grabbed the bags. Bobby was quick on his heels, sensing walkies afoot. The spaniel was hooked into his lead and headed out into the cold alongside Tom. Once the bin bags were tossed in the bins at the side of the house, they took a quick lap around the front garden then up and down the drive before heading back inside.

 He unhooked Bobby from his lead once he’d had the front door firmly shut and the spaniel had shot off back in the direction of the living room where moments later he heard the delighted cries of his nieces. Tom padded towards the kitchen in search of another mug of coffee, or if he was truly lucky, hot chocolate. He found his mother pacing around the kitchen, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder as she puttered around making hot chocolate. Bless her, he thought.

 “Oh, dear heart that is fine…Honestly, I know it’s a long drive and a short stop is perfectly fine. I just want to meet that little man of yours…Yes…Alright…Speak soon.” She turned to hang the phone back into its base and jumped when she caught sight of Tom in the doorway. “Goodness, Thomas! You gave me quite a fright.”

 “Sorry, Mum.”

 “No matter. Now that you’re here you can help me finish these up…And I mean get them ready not sample the lot, young man.” She wagged a reproachful finger at him and he laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. How was it his fault that her hot chocolate was so amazing that he couldn’t help himself? Chocolate was a weakness of his, surely she knew that by now.

 Diana shook her head and began passing him the mugs she had started and the various toppings they required. Tom worked dutifully at his task though temptation to sample was strong. “Mum…”

 “No, Tom, you may not test them out.” She answered automatically.

 Tom laughed. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

 Diana chuckled. “Anytime, my boy. Anytime.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “So what was your question then?”

 “Who was on the phone earlier?”

 “Amy,” Diana answered simply, offering Tom a look of understanding. “They can’t stay for lunch tomorrow, but are going to stop by on their drive home.”

 Tom smiled back. “I’m glad they can make it. I know you’ve been dying to meet Henry.” Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Tom let out a sigh. “Mum, honestly its fine. What happened between Amy and I is in the past. She’s moved on and so have I. Honestly.”

 Diana’s eyes studied his face, an unreadable expression in her eyes. It felt like an age before she spoke, “Then why, my boy, do you look so sad?” Tom opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “Don’t, Thomas. You forget I’ve known you all of your life. I see you. You might have accepted what happened between you and Amy, that I do believe, but I don’t know if you have truly moved on.” She shot him a knowing look. “You haven’t had a steady nor serious relationship since…And what happened that summer doesn’t count.” Diana came to stand beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You are my boy and I just want you to be happy.”

 Tom blinked up at her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “I am…I mean, yes, there are times I wish for things that I don’t have. But doesn’t everyone?” He let out a sigh. “I made some spectacularly bad choices and I’ve learned from them. Things aren’t…Perfect. But they are good. I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

 Diana shook her head, “Oh my boy, that’s one thing you still don’t quite understand. I am your mother, I am always going to worry about you.” She leaned down and kissed his head. “No let’s get this drinks out there before the rest of the family starts to riot.”

 Both laughing, they worked together to place the mugs onto a tray and carried them back into the living room.

Next Chapter

[purplesurveys]

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What's your favorite snack? I love anything deep-fried, honestly. Corndogs, mozzarella sticks, onion rings...I could eat platters of those. Pigs-in-a-blanket is an easy dish to make so I admittedly eat those a lot. What's your favorite ethnic food? Indian, Indonesian, and Thai. I have yet to try Ethiopian and Middle Eastern cuisine (other than shawarma) but I bet they’re just as bomb. I like banh mi and spring rolls, but that’s all I like from Vietnamese cuisine. What country would you like to visit most? Right now, Thailand! It’s got so much culture and spirit and history (and food) and I don’t know why I still haven’t gone there so far. Soon :) What color hair does your mom have? It’s been black for a while, but back in her old positions she had had to have blondish highlights or something. I thought it made her look cool. When did you last go to a theater to see a movie? Gabie and I watched Portrait of a Lady on Fire last Monday. If I didn’t read the synopsis before watching, I probably would have cried as hard as she did.

What is the last movie you watched? ^ Well, that. It was a movie first screened at Cannes, and then it has a limited release here for a month as part of a local film festival. What's the last thing you cooked? LMAO I don’t cook. I last microwaved leftover bangus from last night though. Whose birthday is closest to today's date? (someone you know) Gab’s little sister’s birthday is today...but other than that, idk probably Ara? It was her birthday last Monday or Tuesday. What's your favorite number? I don’t have favorites but 4 is always my go-to. Have you ever been in love? Sure. Do you believe in ghosts? They’re fun to believe in but at the end of the day I still like being critical about what they call ~alleged sightings~ Have you ever been to a haunted house? Nope. I’ve stayed across one, but I didn’t go in. Is your house haunted? I’m sure it isn’t, because we only had it built a decade ago. There’s been a few times my dad’s car started on its own though, so that was weird. What's your favorite chocolate bar? It’s not a bar because it’s round-shaped, but I’ll always love Reese’s. What kind of tissues do you prefer? The thicker kind, I guess. What color hair did you have when you were in 9th grade? Black.

Do you have a cat? My sister does. But she lives in a dorm so my mom and I are in charge of caring for her while she’s gone. Do you know anyone in another country? I used to be friends with a lot of wrestling fans in Europe and the US. I knew people from Philadelphia, California, Florida, Maine, New York, Scotland, London, Ireland, UK, etc but there’s probably more places I’ve left out. I have family living all over America too. How old are you? I am 21. How many US states have you been to? I have been to a grand total of zero. How many Australian states have you been to? Also zero. Have you ever been to the Great Lakes Mall? Nope. What face wash do you use? Water. Do you have long or short hair? It’s so long now, I hate it. I’m gonna chop everything off really soon. What's your favorite book? I don’t really have any. Do you drink more water or pop? Water. I don’t drink ‘pop.’ What's your favorite flavor of kool-aid? I don’t drink any Kool-Aid either. Do you watch Survivor Man? Nope. Have you ever wanted to be on a game show? Sure, when I was a kid. It would get frustrating if it’s a trivia show and I know the answer to a question, but I see them struggling or picking the wrong answer lmao. Do you know who Ben Bailey is? Nope. What's your myspace URL? Lol Do you eat organic food? Very rarely. There’s a vegan food stall in school and I get to eat organic stuff there, but I go there probably like once every six months only. Are you an insomniac? Nope, I sleep soundly these days. Do you provoke people? I hope I don’t lmao Do you watch wrestling? :D :D :D Do you wear glasses? Yep, I’m wearing them right now.

Side note: Some girl stepped on my glasses (I set them on the floor earlier for PE, because they tend to fall off when I do my workouts) and they kinda bent a little bit :( I was able to fix it back and the girl was super apologetic though, so it’s all good in the hood. How many candles were on your last birthday cake? I didn’t blow any, but there would have been 21. What kind of music do you listen to? Punk, pop, top 40, jazz, rock, pop rock, hip hop, and whatever genre Joji is. Do you wear matching socks? Yeah, I get very uncomfortable when I wear different individual socks. How many pairs of jeans do you have? Like 10-15 maybe. Idk though, I don’t wear a bunch of them. Where will you go tomorrow? I’m staying home and I can’t wait. Do you make fun of people you don't know? If they’re arrogant shits who did something stupid, then yes. Do you reject Satan? Wow idk how to answer this question lmao Are you violent? After moving out from my violent childhood home, I gradually phased out the violence. But yes, I used to be. It was all I ever saw. Do you like ginger ale? No, I’ve never tried it. It sounds nasty though. Do you eat fast food a lot? Not a lot, but enough for it to be unhealthy for me. Have you ever gotten in a fist-fight? Nah. Did you play pokemans as a kid? POKEMANS LMAO  Do you believe taking a picture of someone is taking a piece of their soul? No. Would you rather be hot or cold? Cold. Do you use wikipedia? Sure. It was one of the first websites I ever used since discovering the Internet. Do you spend a lot of time on YouTube? Yessssss I love YouTube. There’s always something for someone to watch, and for me it’s ASMR mukbang videos and Mario Kart 8 playthroughs. Do you use google search or yahoo? Google. I haven’t used Yahoo in a hot minute. Have you ever been locked up? No. Was your step mother terrible? I don’t have one. Can you eat in the dark? No. I could try, but I’d just be bugged because I wouldn’t want to get messy. Do you know anyone who doesn't care about anything but themselves? Sure. Are you mean to people you don't know? No, unless they were mean to me first. Are you trustworthy? Sure. Have you ever been hospitalized? Just once.

[melloeyed]

Ok...

Guys, I'm too lazy to finish the whole Aunt Mother horror story, so I'll just give you all a summary.

(Octavius Niccals, Gomorrah Niccals and Gallagher Niccals belong to @yoel-o-fellow)

I'm sorry.

Warning:Gore,phobia,violence,sexual moments,and nudity.

Octavius and Gomorrah need a "break" from Sebastian and Marvin, so they decided to give them to someone for a week. Eventually, Octavius bumps into Aunt Mother and ask her kindly to babysit Sebastian and Marvin for a week. Aunt Mother hesitates, but agrees to take care of them.

Meanwhile, lots of bad things are happening to Sebastian, but suddenly he gets a weird feeling that something might happen, then he gets really paranoid when he sees a sunflower on the front yard of his home.

Three weeks later, Sebastian and Marvin wake up early to go to Aunt Mother's house. She lives very far away ( in the middle of nowhere). Marvin was quite excited and curious, but Sebastian was worried and paranoid. He didn't know why.

A few hours later, the family arrived at Aunt Mother's home. Sebastian gets even more paranoid when he sees that her house is surrounded by a field of sunflowers.

When Gomorrah and Octavius leave (happily), Sebastian and Marvin are left with Aunt Mother. She welcomed them with open arms, making Marvin already trust her. Sebastian, however, is still suspicious of her.

Aunt Mother was curious of why Sebastian was uncomfortable near her. One night, Aunt Mother and Sebastian had a conversation in the bedroom. Sebastian was surprisingly honest why he didn't seem to trust her.

It hurt Aunt Mother's feelings, making Sebastian feel bad. Then Aunt Mother asks how was Sebastian and his family doing. Sebastian hesitated to tell her, but he told her anyway out of nowhere. Then he immediately start crying. Very hard.

Aunt Mother soothes him and tells him that everything is going to be alright and that she knows how it feels to be abused by your family. Sebastian suddenly feels better and Aunt Mother tells him that if he wants a better life he has to fight for it.

After that, Sebastian and Marvin had the best week ever. Aunt Mother made delicious meals, gave them soothing baths, and made them sleep onto the softest beds. Aunt Mother started to love the boys and they started to love her too.

Even Sebastian started to change. His grades got higher, he stared behaving at school, and he even started studying with MM and Ripley (which kinda scared them).

When, Gomorrah and Octavius returned, Marvin was bummed that they had to go, but Sebastian didn't want to leave. Aunt Mother waved goodbye to them and in the car, Sebastian kept looking back at her.

Bad things started happening to Sebastian again and he started to miss Aunt Mother. Marvin started to miss her too. Gomorrah overheard Sebastian and Marvin talk about how sweet and great Aunt Mother was, completely annoying Gomorrah. But what really made her mad, is when Marvin said that he wished that Aunt Mother was his real mom instead of Gomorrah and Sebastian did too.

Gomorrah felt replaced and jealous (green with envy. Ba-dum tush!) that an odd woman would be a way better mother than Gomorrah. Eventually, Gommorah had an argument with Sebastian and he completely roasted her, so Gomorrah drove to her house to give Aunt Mother a piece of her mind.

When she arrived, Gomorrah scolded Aunt Mother in the most saltiest and rudest way, leaving Aunt Mother very confused and offended. Aunt Mother tries to ask and reason with her but Gomorrah just scolded her and told her, "Go to hell!" and leaves.

When Gomorrah returned home, she sees that Sebastian and Marvin had a beating. Sebastian was completely sick and tired of bad things happening to him. So later that night, Sebastian and Marvin ran away to Aunt Mother's house. I almost took forever and they had to walk. They arrived at dawn and it was raining.

Aunt Mother ran outside with an umbrella. Sebastian runs towards her with tears in his eyes, along with Marvin. They both hug her. Sebastian tells Aunt Mother everything and that he hates his life. She calms him down at offers them to stay with her.

When Octavius find out he didn't seem to care, but he suddenly felt angry. He searched everywhere for the boys, then he made his way to Aunt Mother's.

Aunt Mother gave Sebastian and Marvin lots of love. She even asked them if they wanted to stay for the rest of their lives. Sebastian and Marvin said yes.

Then one day, Aunt Mother told the boys to hide upstairs. Sebastian and Marvin were confused why, but they did it anyway.

Octavius arrived at Aunt Mother's home, furiously. Aunt Mother started to play dumb and asked him what was wrong. Octavius just slapped her and demanded Aunt Mother to give his sons back, but she stood her ground.

Aunt Mother threatened him that if he didn't leave, she would call the police for child abuse. Octavius grabbed her neck and rammed her against the wall before she could do anything. Octavius suddenly felt bloodthirsty. He didn't know why, but then he snapped.

When Aunt Mother escaped his grasp, she tried to reach for the phone, but it was too late. Octavius impaled her with a fireplace poker. Sebastian heard Aunt Mother's choking and ran downstairs to help her.

But by the time he came, he watched in horror as Octavius strangled Aunt Mother on the floor in a large puddle of her blood.

Aunt Mother died.

(Its a sunflower covered in blood.)

When Octavius realized what he did, he began to panic and tried to hide her body. He then buried her body in her sunflower field and forced Sebastian and Marvin in the car.

After the worst beating of their lives, Sebastian grows livid and stabs Octavius in the back with a pen, making him angrier. They got into a bloody fight. Sebastian went berserk and literally almost bit Octavius' ear off.

Sebastian cried for days after Aunt Mother's death, while Marvin didn't sleep for days. But, suddenly Sebastian grew afraid and paranoid that something terrible would happen.

A week later Octavius is still shooken that he killed Aunt Mother. He didn't feel like eating or sleeping. Gomorrah tells him that sunflowers started to grow in the backyard, making him even more paranoid. Octavius tried to wash the dry blood that was on his hands, but it never came off.

That's where it all began. Octavius began to see Aunt Mother hallucinations, driving him to the edge everyday. One night, Octavius couldn't stand it anymore and burned the sunflowers in the backyard, only for more sunflowers to appear.

The scariest experience he had is when Octavius was home alone and the phonograph started playing by itself and repeating:

"Here comes the boogeyman-"

"Here comes the boogeyman-"

"Here comes the boogeyman-"

"Here comes the boogeyman-"

Octavius began to scream and he smashed the phonograph into pieces, making his hands bleed. He never felt more terrified in his life. Then he heard a door close and hollow breathing.

With every direction he looked, he saw Aunt Mother's shadow, causing him to lose it. "GET AWAY FROM ME! L-LEAVE ME ALONE!" He shouted. He ran to his room and locked the door and turned off the lights.

He hid underneath the covers hoping that the hallucination was gone, but when he gets from underneath the covers, Aunt Mother is in front of him and she lunges at him.

Octavius later wakes up in the hospital. He doesn't remember what happened but, Gomorrah said that she was too scared to talk to him.

Gomorrah was next. She started feeling really paranoid. She tried taking care of the boys just for once, but they never wanted to talk to her.

But, one night, Gomorrah heard quick footsteps. She got up from bed only to see Sebastian. Annoyed, she walks towards him to go back to bed, but gets quite a surprise instead. She watched in fear as she saw Sebastian walk slowly into the garden as if he was drawn to it (like a zombie).

He began to pluck the sunflowers from the ground one by one. Gomorrah was terrified. When she called out to him, Sebastian turned around slowly and gave her the most horrifying glare ever. In horror, Gomorrah runs back into the room.

In the morning, Gomorrah wakes up to find that Sebastian and Marvin are gone. On the phone, she tells Gallagher what happened. He didn't seem to care much, but he told her that everything is going to be fine. Gomorrah didn't think so.

At the hospital, Octavius was having the worst time of his life. He had splitting headaches, insomniac moments, and lack of appetite. The doctors did everything they can to help him, but Octavius kept telling them that Aunt Mother was out there, trying to kill him.

"Please, you don't understand!" He would say, "She's dead and she's still out there! She's trying to kill me! She's watching me everyday! She... SHE'S A MONSTER!!"

But, none of the doctors believed him. Octavius kept having nightmares that were actually real. There was one nightmare, that a young, pregnant, Gomorrah was watching him at the dark corner of the room at night.

She began to talk about how much she hated him and how much she wanted to kill him. Her body began to melt, her blood and sloppy globs of flesh would dangle off her bones.

Her bloated belly split open and two large bodies fell from inside. It was Sebastian and Marvin. Octavius would scream in his sleep and even tried to impale his other eye with a scalpel, but the doctors would run inside and strap him onto the bed.

Sebastian was guiding Marvin to Aunt Mother's home. Marvin asked him why. "I just want to put these sunflowers on her home. Just to honor her." Sebastian said. Marvin agreed with him and continued.

When they finally arrived, they placed the sunflowers on her porch, but to their surprise...

Aunt Mother walks outside.

Sebastian and Marvin runs towards Aunt Mother and give her a tight hug. They both begin to cry in joy and confusion. Aunt Mother is surprised and she hugs back.

"Oh, dear! My boys! Are you alright? Why are you crying? I've missed you both very much!"

Sebastian and Marvin had no idea how Aunt Mother were alive, but they didn't care. They both loved her very much.

When they stayed with her, they started to feel weird. They noticed odd things about Aunt Mother too. Marvin noticed that she had bruises on her feet. Sebastian noticed that she never bothered to eat or sleep. Aunt Mother would often walk outside and water the sunflowers. When she came back inside she would look tired.

Marvin asked her what was wrong and Aunt Mother replied in a gloomy voice, "I was watering the flowers."

Sebastian and Marvin insisted onto bringing her to bed. Aunt Mother protested and said that she didn't want to sleep. Sebastian begged her to go to bed and she finally agreed.

She went to bed, but she didn't fall asleep. Aunt Mother told the boys that she couldn't sleep because she had insomnia. Sebastian knew she was sad about something, so he asked her what was up.

Aunt Mother hesitated, but then she told him the really sad story about how she lost her husband and her son.

Marvin and Sebastian were very surprised. Aunt Mother smiled sadly, and told them not to worry. When Sebastian asked her what was her son's name, she just shook her head.

"He's probably Marvin's age (18) by now." She said.

Meanwhile, Gomorrah doesn't seem to care about the boys being gone, but as time went by she felt like she was being watched. She tried to sleep, but no matter how many times she tried, her eyes would immediately open.

When she walked in the living room, the power went out. She gasped in horror when she saw something in the dark.

It starts to walk towards her.

Gomorrah began to scream and ran into the room. She closes the door and locks it. It bangs on the door from the other side. Then it stops. Water comes from underneath the door. Then she hears herself screaming from the other side of the door. Then it turns silent.

Water spills beneath the door. Then she hears a baby crying. Gomorrah opens the door and sees a baby Sebastian.

"S-Sebastian?"

Baby Sebastian looks at her with white eyes and began to cry and ran away into the darkness. Gomorrah runs after him with tears in her eyes, only for green hands to reach out and grab Gomorrah's neck.

It was Octavius.

He pins her onto the wall, strangling her. Octavius' eyes were white and blood was coming from his mouth. His body began to shift.

It was Aunt Mother.

"This is all your fault." Aunt Mother spat. Gomorrah's eyes roll back and black ooze runs from her eyes.

Gomorrah jolts awake.

She sits up, relieved that she's still alive, but when she's sees hand prints on her neck, she realized that it wasn't a dream.

Feeling scared to be alone, Gomorrah visits Aunt Mother out of paranoia. They talk for a moment then things get a little scary. (From the sneak peek.)

When Gomorrah returned home she calls Gallagher. Gallagher gets annoyed a tells her that he's coming over. Gomorrah panics and realized that Aunt Mother would hurt him if he did come over. Before she could warn him , he already hung up.

(I don't want this to be too long, so let's get this over with.)

Good Ending

Octavius escapes from the hospital and searches for Gomorrah. When he arrived, Gommorah warns him about Aunt Mother. They both realized that they were wrong for hurting Sebastian and Marvin and decided to take them back as parents.

When they arrive, Aunt Mother gets angry and attacks them in her true form. Sebastian and Marvin defend them and told her that it's was alright. Octavius and Gomorrah apologize and pleaded to have their sons back. Aunt Mother spares them. Sebastian began to cry and said one last goodbye to Aunt Mother as they leave.

"If you hurt them again, I will find you." She said to Gomorrah and Octavius.

They agree and immediately leave.

From that day on, Gomorrah and Octavius soften up on the boys little bit, but they're still a little harsh.

Octavius often visits Aunt Mother's house to give her a bowl of sunflower seeds to prove that he kept his promise of being good.

Everyone wins.

Bad Ending

Octavius tries to escape from the hospital due to madness, but the doctors find him and strap him onto the bed. Octavius then begins to laugh in a psychopathic way and decapitates himself with a bone saw.

Octavius dies.

Gomorrah is still alone in the house at night, scared for her life. When Gallagher arrives at the house, Gomorrah tries to warn him to not go in the house, but it was to late.

Aunt Mother was behind him.

She slowly kills Gallagher by throwing his body in the house. Gomorrah panics and hides under the bed and didn't come out until Gallagher's screaming stopped.

In terror, from underneath the bed she could see Gallagher's mutilated body staring at her, choking on his own blood. Sunflowers were grown into his body, through his mouth and his lower body was missing.

Gomorrah was in complete shock. She didn't come from under the bed until morning. When the police came that afternoon, they told her that Octavius was dead. When they saw Gallagher's corpse, they asked what happened, but Gomorrah remained silent.

The only thing she said was, "I'm scared."

Back at Aunt Mother's house, Sebastian woke up early and saw that Aunt Mother was making breakfast. When he finds out that Octavius committed suicide, Gallagher was murdered, and Gomorrah became mute, he immediately realized that Aunt Mother did it.

Aunt Mother gives him cold-eyed stare as Sebastian looks back with a stoic look.

"I'm sorry if it scares you." She said, "I'm rather a pacifist."

Sebastian smiled calmly...yet sadistically.

He immediately forgives her and helps make her breakfast, leaving Aunt Mother surprised.

(Whew, that was long! Did you guys like the story? And if you look closely, you can see a few easter eggs and some horror movie references! Which ending did you like better?)

[icanseeyoufromhere]

On lists and lessons

March 26, 2018.

December 10, 2018.

January 14, 2019.

February 26, 2019.

April 24, 2019.

June 20, 2019.

These are dates that I’d like to say I’ll always remember, but I probably won’t. I mean, I am terrible with names, dates, all that good stuff. 

For example, I often confuse my kids’ birthdays. 

This gaffe is not totally unreasonable. Camilo was born on 9/18/15, and Magdalena was born on 9/14/17. Both are September babies, and all the other numbers in their birthdates sit in the ‘teens, really close to each other. But I’ve had people look at me twice, because I get the dates wrong. You do not want the receptionist at the ER questioning your maternity in the middle of the night when your kid has got croup.

So I’d like to say I will remember the dates of my six surgeries, but I am just not sure. 

Happily, I have this little blog, and now the dates are forever archived somewhere in the ether, for generations to come:

1. March 26, 2018. First (unilateral) mastectomy on left side, to remove cancerous tumor, with removal of lymph nodes and insertion of expander.

2. December 10, 2018. Emergency replacement of expander with silicone implant so that I could have an MRI of my ovaries. Fat grafting to help fill out the implant so it would look more natural.

3. January 14, 2019. Second (unilateral) mastectomy (prophylactic this time) on the right side, with insertion of expander. Excision on the left side to scrape out some remaining tissue that wasn’t fully cancer free and also to remove a patch of skin that was dangerously thin.

4. February 26, 2019. Total hysterectomy, including removal of tubes and ovaries.

5. April 24, 2019. Emergency replacement of expander on the right side because skin had become blistered and eventually ruptured. 

6. June 20, 2019. Replacement of expander with silicone implant on the right side. Fat grafting on both sides to help fill out the implants.

My kids’ grandkids didn’t even know they wanted this list! And now they have it. You’re (all) welcome.

Anyway, I have had six surgeries in just over 15 months. Four were planned. Two were not. My body has been through the ringer. I’ve taken so many drugs of so many kinds--antibiotics, opioids, acetaminophen, stool softeners, even a bit of valium; had lots of JP drains (including one currently); and have so many scars all over my torso, my breasts, and between my legs.

It shouldn’t surprise that, over the course of these medical procedures, I’ve learned quite a bit about myself. I thought I’d list a few of those lessons here, alongside (or just below, really) the list of dates of the surgical interventions that have marked my life (and my family’s life) since I had my first mastectomy last March 26.

A short-term thing (god, I hope it’s short-term):

1. I now go to bed with the reasonable expectation that I will be up for at least half the night (often more), unable to sleep. 

Early menopause has not been completely unkind to me. The hot flashes are hot, but they’re manageable. I’m feeling generally pretty good emotionally, although now when I get mad (not an uncommon thing, heh) I tend to get really mad, really fast.

But I don’t sleep. I mean, sure, I will fall asleep, often as early as 8:30 (because I’m so damn tired). But I will quite reliably be up again, sometimes at 10, sometimes at midnight, but always before 2 am. And then I’m up. Like, really up, often for a really long time. Hours and hours. With phone, without the phone (I know the screen messes with our sleep cycle), it doesn’t matter. And I am so fucking tired. 

During those sleepless hours, I spend a lot of time wondering. I wonder how long one can function with so little sleep. I wonder if lack of sleep can cause cancer. I wonder if this world will be around long enough for my kids to have grandkids. I wonder about concentration camps and my kids drowning in pools and if I passed along my genetic mutation to either (or both) of them. You get the gist. These are not pleasant musings. I try to shift course, meditate, play Wordscapes on my phone. I run through my old high school balance beam routine, over and over in my head. I get up, kiss my kids, drink water...I NEED TO SLEEP. So, so desperately. 

I’ve learned, in short, that early menopause for me means coping with temporary insomnia.

Other, longer-term lessons:

2. Each surgery has required at least a couple days of repose. I have learned, however, that I. Cannot. Just. Sit. Still. Four hours after my total hysterectomy I was picking up toys and sweeping the floor. You know, just some light housework after having a few reproductive organs removed. It’s rather sick. I’m not proud of this. My inability to lie in bed probably helped produce some of the physical setbacks and at least one of the emergency surgeries (#5. April 24, 2019). It has not, however, produced ANY FUCKING SLEEP. So go figure. 

3. I am a lazy medicator. I mean, I took my antibiotics every six hours for seven days, as per doctor’s orders. But I’m really bad with pain management. To wit: I still haven’t taken the 500 grams of acetaminophen that I was supposed to take two hours ago, even though I feel quite a bit of pain under my right armpit, where the scar is healing and the JP drain is protruding from my skin. It’s the same when I have a headache, or when I used to have menstrual cramping. I just ride out the discomfort, as if science hadn’t created tiny, magical pills to take away the pain. I don’t know why I am like this. I literally just typed about my need for acetaminophen. I have the acetaminophen right next to me, as well as a glass of water. And I still haven’t taken it! What is wrong with me? 

(I just took the acetaminophen.)

4. When I woke up this morning (after falling asleep some time around 4 am), my feet were where my head should be. As in, I decided to flip around and put my pillow at the foot of the bed. As a long-time poor sleeper, I, at some point along the way, realized that this shift in perspective could at times help me fall asleep.

Matias mocked me earlier today about this, saying something to the effect of: “What do you think that does for you? It’s ridiculous.” 

(Oh, the hormonal-induced RAGE.)

Setting aside my offense for a moment, let me put on my social scientist hat. There could be science at play here. Flipping the person is not unlike flipping the mattress, right? And there is loads and loads of research (read: un-verified websites like this one) on the benefits of a flipped mattress! So, yeah, when I cannot sleep, I have learned that turning around at night can help. Insomniacs, take note.

5. Finally, and perhaps rather cheesily, my body is fragile and also fierce. 

When I had the emergency expander replacement (again, surgery #5, April 24, 2019), my plastic surgeon used both stitches and staples to close up the space where the bad skin used to be. It was the most Edward Scissorhands-y of all of my surgeries. The suture crossed my breast, from about 2:00 to 8:00, just missing the nipple. It was creepy. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t even document it with a photo, so I can’t share the evidence with you here. (Sorry...or, perhaps, you’re welcome?) 

In the matter of a 1.5 hour surgery, my body had been opened and then sealed shut, with metal and twine and glue. For weeks after, I looked like a sewed up ragdoll from the stories (and nightmares) of my childhood. 

My skin, so delicate and yet so robust. Today, you can barely see the scar. 

When I look at my JP drain, my scars, my new breasts, my newly curly hair (it’s called “chemo curl”), I think that we, as humans, are simultaneously strong and weak. So prone to damage, and also so highly resilient. Vulnerable to illness and yet up to the challenge of fighting it. 

I don’t seek to resolve this paradox. I marvel at it sometimes. I cry about it too. I’ve lived with it for months and think it probably best to simply describe rather than explain its existence. 

I will say this. The duality of our physical reality (its fragility and its ferocity) does give me hope, for my kids and for us as a society. (When I get real dramatic I extrapolate all the way out to humankind as a whole.) 

We impart pain, we receive it, we recover. We hurt and we heal. Hopefully, we learn at least something from the process. 

It’s been seven days since my last surgery, and I’m still spending a lot of time in bed, despite a (growing) list of work to do, an impending move to another country, and a house that is just begging to be cleaned. It took six surgeries, but I now know that rest is important--indeed, necessary--for our fragile bodies to recover their strength. 

Add that to my list of lessons learned.

[elizadoolittlethings]

The world of Mark Gatiss, actor and writer

Mark Gatiss: thinking man's comedy

By Isabel Albiston 12:02AM BST 30 Jun 2007

Mark Gatiss performed in and co-wrote The League of Gentlemen, which began as a stage show, transferred to radio and became a BBC2 television series and a 2005 feature film The League Of Gentlemen's Apocalypse. A life-long Doctor Who fan, Gatiss has written several episodes and recently appeared in the programme. He is also the author of two novels about the fictional spy Lucifer Box, the second of which, The Devil in Amber, is out now in paperback (Pocket Books, £7.99). He lives in north London with his boyfriend Ian.

Earliest memory Watching Jon Pertwee play Doctor Who in the episode about shop window dummies coming to life. I was four years old and absolutely terrified, but I couldn't look away.

Childhood ambitions Doctor Who has been the spine of my career. It got me interested in writing and acting. I filled copious exercise books with my own story lines and drawings, and would write the ending first because that was the exciting bit. At school I briefly wanted to be a palaeontologist but I was no good at chemistry and physics.

Eye opener I am a terrible insomniac. It comes in phases. I know I've woken up early if I put on Radio 4 and the Today programme hasn't even started. But I feel energetic in the mornings and am always best at that time of day.

Fitness regime I try. I went to the gym last week but I know how hopeless it is if you only go occasionally. When I did Doctor Who, my character was supposed to go from being 76 to being young and beautiful, so I wanted to look good for the part. I went on a three-week regime of not drinking, not eating bread and going running. It works.

Always in the fridge HP Sauce, grapes, peppered mackerel (which I adore) and a bottle of champagne.

Under the cellar When we bought this Georgian cottage last year it hadn't been decorated since the 1970s, so we have completely renovated it and put in lots of panelling. There is a secret passage underneath the house but frustratingly the entrance is below the cellar, which was filled in in the 1970s. I've toyed with the idea of excavating it but I'm worried the house would fall down.

Hobby I used to paint portraits, but I haven't for a long time because I have nowhere to do them. I'm hoping to build a small studio in a corner of the garden.

Favourite toy A Cyberman voice-change helmet which we keep in the downstairs loo. As a kid I would have killed for some of the toys you can buy now. In our day the Daleks were ludicrously wrong, Cyberman toys had noses and the Denys Fisher Tom Baker doll had a really short scarf, although on the show his scarf was famously long.

Hanging on the wall A photograph of the cast of the 1966 film Carry on Screaming, which was a seminal influence. I love its combination of comedy and horror. Completely independently, all four members of The League of Gentlemen [Steve Pemberton, Jeremy Dyson, Reece Shearsmith and Gatiss] watched the film one Bonfire Night when we were about six years old. The four of us met at drama college at Bretton Hall in Wakefield and the fact that we had a similar sense of humour drew us together.

Memorabilia A stuffed cat which is a prop from the first big League tour in 2000/1. I did a magic act as Dr Chinnery the vet during which I put the cat in a box, put knives into it and killed it. It moves when you stroke it. Our labrador, Bunsen, thinks it's real and growls at it.

Worst-taste gift A model limousine with President and Jackie Kennedy figures inside, to commemorate Kennedy's last journey along Dealey Plaza.

Most played CD Rufus Wainwright's first album. I met Rufus six years ago when I interviewed him for Attitude magazine and now he is a friend of mine. His recreation of Judy Garland's Carnegie Hall concert, with a 40-piece orchestra, was brilliant.

Collections I have some (fake) James Bond hardback first editions with a cover designed by Richard Chopping. Genuine first editions would cost about £50,000 but these are from an American company that does perfect facsimiles.

Bedside reading Charles Osborne's The Life and Crimes of Agatha Christie, a biography that works through her life via her books. It's endlessly fascinating. I've read it five times, cover to cover. And I'm re-reading a 1950s comedy thriller called The Wooden Overcoat by Pamela Branch, which I'm adapting for radio.

Interview by Isabel Albiston

[ihearthorror]

‘Come True’ Movie Review: A Nightmarish Look Into the Unconscious Mind

I have so much respect for those do-it-all types of filmmakers; the ones who turn a film into a personal passion project in which they invest all their time, effort, and skills into until they’ve come up with something special. Anthony Scott Burns and his latest film, Come True, is a perfect example of this sort of filmmaking, as he took on not only the directing of this Canadian sci-fi horror, but also the writing, editing, and cinematography, and he even provided some of the score under his musical stage name, Pilotpriest. Now that’s dedication.

With that said, Burns clearly had a specific vision for this film, one that he was able to pull off with a small budget and an even smaller crew. However, you’d never know, as Come True is a well-crafted film with striking visuals, impressive acting, and a fascinating plotline which is tied up with a twist ending that’ll only make you want to rewatch the movie with a new perspective.

Come True is set around an insomniac teen named Sarah (played by Julia Sarah Stone), who apparently has a troubled home life and so is essentially homeless and sleeping over at friends’ houses or even outside on playground equipment. This leads her to enroll in a university sleep study, where she befriends one of the scientists and soon discovers the true and surreal objectives of the research program.

The program has been monitoring the dreams of its sleep patients and then translating their brain wave activity into actual imagery, using a newly-developed and groundbreaking technology. In other words, they’ve been spying on their dreams. It’s something right out of a Twilight Zone episode, set to a synth-centric soundscape and a foggy tempo that leaves you feeling like you might actually be in a sleep state yourself while watching it.

In fact, this film as a whole had this sort of ambiguous element to it, from the protagonist and her backstory to the general setting of the film. But I’m sure this was done on purpose, especially considering that it really tied into the final reveal of Come True, which I’m sure some viewers will ultimately be disappointed with.

The film is cohesively broken up into four themes inspired by Swiss psychologist Carl Jung’s theories of the collective unconscious. Come True is really anchored in this realm of ideas, and visually and/or thematically inspired by the works of everyone from David Lynch to fellow Canadian David Cronenberg. Actually, the film sort of wears its influences on its sleeve, paying visual and auditory homage to classics like Night of the Living Dead, Twin Peaks, The Shining, The Prince of Darkness, and TRON, and even the recent sleep-paralysis documentary The Nightmare.

Another work that helped shape Burns’ vision was the 1951 Disney film Alice in Wonderland, which he said “inspired the dreams in this movie a lot: the artistry, the idea of spotlights, and everything else fading into blackness.” Burns continued, “A nightmare narrative that takes you on a journey of nonsense, continuously shifting based on what the protagonist is feeling at that time, is a huge inspiration for the film. I have terrible nightmares, too.”

Scattered throughout Come True are these sort of cinematic dioramas that seem to be ripped out of Sarah’s nightmares, which are simultaneously unsettling and beautiful. These particular scenes, which look like they’d be right at home in one of those depraved horror video games, also introduce an unnerving dark shadowy figure that haunts Sarah’s dreams, though it ultimately becomes a bigger piece of the puzzle here than some sort of boogeyman character.

Come True is not the type of film you’ll see riding high at the box office. They almost never are. It’s slow, it’s dreary, and it relies on complex themes and concepts rather than jump scares and bankable villains. In other words, this film is not for everyone. And sure, the fact that this movie was shot entirely in my hometown may have subconsciously influenced my rating of it, but I know that I would have enjoyed Come True no matter where it was filmed. Burns put in a lot of work here and if you ask me, it paid off.

For the record, I’d give Come True 4 stars out of 5.

[sending-the-message]

It'll be back tonight by jesswhatineeded

The drilling started around 3 a.m.

I opened my eyes with a jolt, instantly awake and confused in the pitch black humidity of the room. My room, although it was still unfamiliar. As I let the shape of my nightstand and the books piled on top of it form in the darkness, the muffled mechanic whirring continued below me.

I kicked the sweaty sheets off my body in a tangled heap and heaved myself off the mattress, immediately stubbing my toe on an unpacked box of picture frames. Of course I hadn’t plugged in a lamp yet.

“Shit,” I hissed and tiptoed to the door around more boxes and bins, a landmine of my procrastination.

I made my way downstairs and peered into the living room. It was blindingly bright with all of the lights turned on - the overhead fan, both lamps on either side of the couch, even the glow of the quiet TV showing a rerun of Family Feud. My dad was crouched down by the front door, drill in hand, installing what looked like a military-grade padlock beneath the knob. His toolbox was open on the floor, its contents scattered around him, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was mumbling something to himself.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He jumped, dropping the drill onto the toolbox with a loud clattering, his mouth open in horror. When he turned and saw me, he exhaled and clutched his chest.

“Jesus, Sarah, you scared me half to death,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s going on? You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same thing,” I said. “You’re the one using power tools at 3:00 in the morning.”

“Is it that late?” He laughed again - that same weird, nervous tittering that was so unlike him - and looked down at his watch. “Must have lost track of time. I’ll keep it down. Sorry, sweetie.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over the baggy t-shirt I wore to bed.

“We didn’t have a decent lock on this door,” he said simply. “You know, this house hasn’t had any updates since the ‘70s. Anyone could come breaking in here and steal something. For all we know, a couple of hobos could have been using this place as a crack den before we moved in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A crack den in a cul-de-sac?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. I spotted two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, a third one half-full next to the toolbox. “I’m sorry I woke you. You should really get to bed.”

“Dad, try and get some sleep,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, clammy and cold on my lips despite the heat. “And then maybe I can get some sleep. No more drilling, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, without looking at me, his bloodshot eyes focused on the wall behind me. “Love you, bug.”

I stumbled sleepily back upstairs when my parents’ bedroom door opened a crack. My mom poked her head out into the hallway, her hair a mess of matted curls. “Again?” She asked me in a strained voice. I nodded and we shared a look of concern.

Dad had never been an insomniac, but ever since we moved to our new house a little over a week ago, he stayed awake all hours of the night. The first night was normal enough; he was up late unpacking. But Mom and I found him sitting upright in the armchair the next morning, wide awake and trembling. The next night I heard him pacing when I got up to use the bathroom, peering down the stairs to see him walking back and forth in the living room, the floorboards creaking gently beneath him as he muttered to himself. The following nights had followed a similar pattern. I would wake to hear him trudging up the stairs after the sun had come up.

He was a writer - mostly of personal essays and nonfiction pieces - but he was never this secretive or consumed with his work. Now whenever we found him bent over his laptop or scribbling furiously into his notebook, he would pack up his belongings and shuffle into the next empty room. This was the first night he had incorporated light home construction and, as far as I knew, beer into his routine. Dad had never been a drinker, either.

The next afternoon, while my dad snoozed the day away in his room, my mom rehashed the same conversation we’d been having for days.

“He needs medication,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Ambien or something. Do you see what he did to the door? It’s not natural to be up all night like that. He’s teaching freshmen at 8 a.m. in a few weeks!”

Both of my parents were English professors at the local college, part of the reason for our move. While my mom had taken on teaching afternoon and evening summer courses, my dad had the season off, fortunately for him given his current predicament. But the fall semester was rapidly approaching. I chalked most of his antics up to anxiety over living so far from the city; he was used to noise, people, chaos. Now we were the only house on a small, dead-end street a few miles from campus, shrouded by trees.

After my mom left for class through the garage (“I can’t even figure out to open my own goddamn front door,” she had snapped) I examined the living room, looking for any signs of remaining bottles. Our front door was now armed with a heavy deadbolt towards the top, as well as a chain at eye level. I balked at the level of security my dad had taken and unlocked each one. I turned the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I had missed the heavy padlock at the bottom. I tugged it to no avail, then stood to run my fingers on the top of the doorframe searching for a key. Nothing.

“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered to myself, bending down to examine the lock. He must have dropped quite a few things in the process, too - long white scratches marred the floor, disappearing underneath the door.

Fueled by annoyance and concern, I jogged upstairs and quietly entered my parents’ room. Dad was still snoring soundly as I unplugged the MacBook from its charging place on the bureau and snuck back out. Downstairs, I typed in my middle name and birthday at the password prompt and began my search. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, but I was hoping to find some clues for his odd behavior.

The desktop was littered with folders holding files from old student essays, photos from family vacations, and other miscellaneous crap, all labeled accordingly, but I couldn’t find any new projects. When I checked his internet browser history, something caught my attention. I clicked the link and pulled up an article published in a newspaper only a few months before: “Family of four found butchered inside home.” A red-haired couple, each holding red-headed toddler boys in their laps in what looked like a Christmas portrait, smiled out at me from the grainy featured photograph.

The details were chilling. The father was found in the bedroom, decapitated, his head only a few feet from the body. The mother was found in the children’s room, her body splayed on top of one of the beds in what police determined was a protective move. One of the boys was found underneath her, both bodies hacked to bits. The younger boy was found in the bedroom...and the hallway...and the bathroom. His body parts were strewn throughout the house. I shook my head in disgust and clicked back into the browser history.

A much less graphic story about the family had been published to another news site, this time with a video. The reporter interviewed shocked neighbors who all repeated the same mantra: they seemed like such a nice family, nobody knew them well, they had just moved in, and terrible things like this never, never happened in their town. The police chief looked stricken as he disclosed that there were no leads, no suspects, no signs of forced entry. I clicked back again.

To my horror, there were more articles. Not just about this red-haired family and their smiling boys. There were others, too.

A mother and daughter disemboweled in their country home. A man found dead in his duplex, the lower half of his body torn away. Three brothers hacked to bits in a locked room. A young couple eviscerated in their own bed in what police thought looked like an animal attack… only they lived on the 22nd floor of their apartment building.

The stories were from all over the country, but the only thing the gruesome murders had in common was that all the victims were new residents. After only a few days of moving into new homes, apartments, wherever... they were found dead. No known suspects. No explanation.

I must have been reading for hours, paralyzed with fear as shadows stretched across the room, the brightest light coming from the laptop screen. I had clicked through so much carnage, my stomach was rolling. Even though I tried to explain to myself that this was just essay material, just fodder for my dad’s next big writing gig, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong with him.

“It’ll be back tonight.”

I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. I strained to see him, blue circles dancing in front of my eyes in the darkness. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned the overhead light on with a click and I squinted from the sudden brightness. He was wearing the same disheveled clothes from the night before.

“Wh-what?”

Wordlessly, my dad moved slowly into the kitchen. I put down the laptop and followed him, watching as he opened the fridge and leaned down for a beer bottle, twisting off the cap and guzzling down half before wiping his mouth. He turned to me with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry, bug,” he said, sadly. “I didn’t want to bring you into this. Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What will be back tonight?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know. But I think I figured out how it works, I guess. I’m not sure. There are still...questions.”

“How what works? What the hell are you talking about?” I practically shouted. “You’re really scaring me.”

He sighed and leaned on the kitchen counter, bracing himself with one hand and closing his eyes.

“Since we got here, I’ve been hearing these...these horrible voices,” he said. “Inhuman voices. Animal. And...not. I know them. But they still say awful things. Terrible things. Sometimes they’re not just voices. Sometimes I see them.”

“What do you see, Dad?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, his face contorting with his struggle. But he was at a loss. He shrugged helplessly and shook his head, closing his eyes.

If this was a joke, it wasn’t my dad’s style. He was blunt and honest, almost to a fault, and he wouldn’t indulge in a prank like this. Whatever was happening, he truly believed it was real.

“Dad, are you…,” I started, unsure if I could finish the question. “Are you… drinking when you hear these voices?”

He looked up at me with a furrowed brow and laughed gruffly, without humor. “You’ll see for yourself, Sarah. Soon.”

He finished the rest of the bottle and placed it on the counter, heading back into the living room, leaving me alone, my body shivering from a sudden cold.

It was almost midnight. Dad and I were sitting in the living room, our hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. I don’t think he needed any help staying awake anymore, like I did, but I was just thankful he had put his beer away at my request.

Mom had brought home burgers for dinner from the campus diner around 7. She tried to strike up a conversation with Dad and me, but we were pretty quiet, only murmuring in response to her story about an embarrassing typo in her PowerPoint slides. Eventually, she grew frustrated and declared she was going to bed early since we were “positively boring her to death” and “maybe we all needed more sleep.” I was glad for her absence; I still hadn’t decided what I was going to say to her. I mean, how do you tell someone that her husband is clearly unstable?

Now it was just me and Dad, sitting and waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know. But I owed him at least one night to buy into his delusions before figuring out what to do about it. I checked my phone a few times, scrolling through my Facebook feed without absorbing anything. The TV was off and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock.

“How...much longer?” I asked.

“Depends,” he answered.

“On what?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, dumbly.

And back to silence.

I must have dozed off in my chair because it was nearly 2 a.m. when I felt my dad shaking me awake.

“Sarah,” he whispered. “Sarah, wake up. It’s here”

“What’s he - “ I almost asked, before remembering with an unpleasant sinking feeling this little game I was indulging. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was holding a shotgun in both hands.

“What - when the hell did you get a gun?” I nearly shrieked with a voice hoarse from sleep. “Put that down!”

Dad crouched by the door, setting the gun across his knees and putting his ear against the wood in deep concentration. “It’s here,” he whispered again, to himself more than to me. He looked at me with wide, wild eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

I sat up in my chair and strained to hear, well, anything. But it was just the ticking of the clock and my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I waited nearly a minute before sighing and standing.

“Dad, I don’t hear - “

“Come outside, Daddy,” a voice hissed.

I froze, icy fear spreading through my veins. It sounded like a little girl. I looked to my dad in panic.

“Daddy, I’m so cold. Please come outside,” the voice called again.

It sounded like a young girl, but off. Like something was mimicking her voice. Underneath the high-pitched trill, I could hear a faint, gravelly echo. And there was something so, so familiar about it. I had heard this girl before.

“D-dad,” I whispered, drawing closer and kneeling to join him on the floor. “Who is that? Who’s talking to you?”

He looked at me, sadly. “It’s...it’s you, bug.”

“Daddy, please, I’m scared,” the hollow voice grew louder, like she had her mouth pressed right up against the door.

I realized with horror that it was my voice. Or at least, my younger voice, something I had only heard in the shaky audio of VHS home movies my parents had recorded with handheld cameras. Once I recognized it - the slight, childish lisp I carried at six years old after I lost my two front teeth - it was uncanny.

“How is that possible?” I asked my dad, but he didn’t answer, listening intently to whatever was on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re in there, Daddy. Why won’t you come outside?”

“I don’t know,” my dad whispered back. “But it’ll get worse.”

“Sarah? Sarah, is that you? I need you, sweetie!”

I nearly choked at the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, which was impossible because she was upstairs and sleeping, blissfully unaware, like I had been the past week.

“Sarah, come outside right now. I won’t ask again.” It was the stern voice my mother only used when I was a child and I was in trouble.

“It knows you’re here,” my dad whispered. “It always knows everything. I-I don’t know how.”

“Sarah, listen to your mother. Come outSIDE, NOW.” The voice changed and dropped, morphing into a deep growl as something pounded forcefully on the door. “COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE NOW.”

I leapt back in fear, scrambling back away from the door with tears brimming in my eyes. My dad slowly stood, pumping the shotgun with a loud pop. The door was shaking, the locks rattling nearly off the hinges.

“Come outside, Sarah,” the gnarled voice nearly sang. Something was tapping on the door now - no longer banging full-force, but like fingernails tapping down and back up in quick succession, light as rain. “Come outside or we’ll come in.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. “Make it stop,” I pleaded. “Dad, please, make it stop.”

My dad aimed the gun at the door as it continued. Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped altogether.

My dad lowered his gun and took a step closer to the door. He peered through the peephole, then inexplicably, lifted his hand and slid the chain lock to the left, letting it swing undone.

“Stop!” I called. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he told me, sounding less confident than he looked. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I watched in abject terror as he undid the deadbolt and unlocked the doorknob, fishing in his pocket for a key to the padlock before kneeling to unlock that as well. Every single millimeter of metallic protection we just had was gone. I wanted to beg “no,” but I couldn’t speak. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

The porch light only cast a small halo of light in the inky black night and wind blew the warm evening air inside. Nobody was standing there, but I could feel it watching. I peered around my dad and blinked into the darkness. Something was moving in the black, slipping soundlessly through the trees, almost completely camouflaged by the cover of night. But I could see the tiniest pinpricks of light moving, pacing back and forth, disappearing quickly and then reappearing. They were eyes; eyes reflecting the porch light and blinking.

And from the shadows, it began to scream.

I covered my ears and cried, shutting out the pained howl. I closed my eyes as I waited for some unknown creature to gallop into the house and devour us whole. But instead, I heard the door slam shut.

“It’s okay,” Dad assured me, crouching down next to me, placing the gun on the floor. He grabbed my hands away from my ears and held them with his own. “It can’t come inside. I know that now. It can’t get us. Shh, it’s okay, honey.”

“We have to call the police,” I sobbed. “We have to get Mom and leave here now. It’s going to kill us.”

“We can’t, Sarah.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what it wants,” he said. “It wants us to go. It wants us to flee. That’s how it works.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said. Everything felt like the climax of a nightmare when you’re waiting to wake up and worrying that all of these horrible things are really happening. “How do you know all of this?”

My dad sat back, keeping a firm hand on my arm. “After that first night here, I did some research and found out about the last family. Then I found the rest through property records. Everyone who lived here before us is dead. I don’t know how or why, but I know that - that thing, whatever it is, has to be responsible. This house… it’s both a curse and protection. As long as we’re here, I - I think we’re safe. But if we leave…”

He trailed off, glancing at the door. I didn’t need him to finish. I had read about those families. I knew what would happen to us. And I knew I wasn’t waking up.

That was a few months ago. We told Mom soon after that night. She didn’t believe us until we showed her; I don’t think it’s something you can accept until you experience it yourself. Now she understands.

We take shifts, switching off who keeps watch each night. Last Tuesday, we felt safe enough to forego assigning a guard and fell asleep in our rooms. It didn’t like that. It needed an audience. We woke up in the middle of the night to its shrieks, the door pounding off the hinges, slamming open and shut in heavy blows, broken locks scattered on the floor. Every picture frame on the wall was broken, swinging precariously from their nails. We’ll never make that mistake again.

I ask Dad why he bothered replacing the locks when he knows they won’t make a difference either way. He says it’s more symbolic than anything, maintaining this idea of peace in the face of something so helpless. I guess I know what he means. After all, I locked them in place a few minutes ago myself.

It’s my turn. I grab a book and put on a rerun of a show I’ve seen a thousand times. It makes me feel less alone for some reason. On a good night, I can get a few hours of sleep. I can ignore it when I hear my own voice, but it’s hard when it’s Mom and Dad. It’s worse when it’s something else. Sometimes, not often, I see it, too. Just glimpses - a silhouette in the window, shadows passing under the door, and (just once) black claws sneaking in from under the door. I don’t know if it’s possible to look at it straight on, but I know I’ll never, ever try.

It’s quiet now. No crickets, no birds, no wind. Even the TV seems muted somehow. That’s how I know it’s coming.

It’ll be back tonight. And every night. But so will we.

“I know you’re in there, Sarah. I can hear you breathing.”

[ncttrashaf]

Withered | Yuta

A/N: This was by far, the hardest for me to write. And not for having difficulty writing, but because of how stunned it left ME. This is not suitable for all kinds of readers. So, if you say you’re uncomfortable, please keep away. Please drop by the ask box to let me know how you felt about it. Also, if necessary, reblog with your opinion. This is something I worked somewhat hard to write, so I really want opinions :)))) - Admin Ayu ♥

Characters: Yuta, OC, Jaehyun. Genre: Romance, Angst, Slight Smut, Cussing. Word Count: 5,401 ***Please don’t read it if you’re sensitive to the concept of abuse and violence***

 Withered Smoke

I looked at him as he put his fifth cigarette of the night between his lips, shaking my head slightly in disapproval.

  "I am killing myself," he said as I would have said it, igniting his cigarette with the lighter I had once gifted him, a decision I regretted then, "I have nothing to live for, babe."

   I wanted to tell him that he had me, but again I was in no state to do so. I could never guarantee him a commitment as my life spiralled around the little relation I had left with a man I barely talked with back at home.

  "What's the point of killing yourself over a woman who spends her night with you just because she's an insomniac and has nothing better to do?" I asked as my palm wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle.

  "Don't flatter yourself babe, you're not worth dying over." he laughed.

  I smiled half-heartedly at his statement, discarding the empty bottle in the trashcan on the other side of the balcony. The cold wind blew and his oversized dress shirt hovered, exposing my naked lower half beneath. Even with my back turned, I could feel his eyes on me.

  "It's weird that your man doesn't love you," he said as he ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, "That man is crazy."

"Why," I mused as I turned around, "I'm not in love with him either, yet there are women out there who would kill to marry him."

  "That's what sets you apart..." he said as looked at his cigarette, burning to its end, "I used to feel furious before every time I ran out of these, but it's nice now. You bring me packets even when you disapprove."

  These were the most expensive cigarettes out in the market. I’d rather he died from expensive cigarettes than those cheap ones.

  "Wanna head in?"

  "Yes."

  He picked me up and laid me down in bed before closing the door behind him as he left. He knew I hated sharing bed.

I woke up to the calm but consistent alarm set on my cell phone. It was five in the morning when I set my feet down on the cold ground and quietly made my way over to his washroom. When I had first come to his house, it was cold and dreary. It felt like home since mine was no different either.

  “The idea of coming here scares me. It’s like I cannot escape obscured void set upon any household due to some unsaid turmoil within the four walls.”

  His brows crinkled as he turned on the lights to his apartment, looking at me as he derided, “How much do you get paid to talk like that?”

  For a long time then, I hadn’t known how it felt to laugh briefly over a friendly insult. All my activities were then highly commercial, thus all my expressions were anything far from personal. I had lost passion for my profession after the death of my daughter, which unfortunately resulted in even the little kindling love erupting between me and my husband, Jung Jaehyun, to die. We then just lived in the same mansion, somewhat too lazy to go through the tiresome procedure of divorce and fretting the seclusion that will cut into life and annihilate the littlest amount of it left as paparazzi and media start haunting both our individual existences.

  And thus, life went on quite drearily. We woke up, went to work, came back home and ate, and slept.

  He would often spend the night in his apartment on the other side of the night, with unnamed women who I probably saw around at work. We both had grown to accept the fact that our lives just moved along the same track but were not to be merged. People had picked up on that and never interrogated us on our personal lives, and we had learnt to accommodate our peace with that.

  However, one night I randomly wore one of my sultriest outfits and went to a club with my friend. And there, I met him.

  Nakamoto Yuta was seven years younger yet a soul just as lost as me. He and I bonded at first when he gave me a little review of what cocktail he’d want a lady to drink, and I liked it. In a while, my friend was long forgotten and I was talking to a 24-year-old struggling musician who was new in town and wouldn’t get signed because of his musical style, frowned upon by the youngsters then who only bought music they could dance to.

  “They say my music would have earned me millions if it were 1980’s or 90’s, but it’s an era where people only want to sing and dance and do stupid stuff unmindfully.” He spat out as he put another cigarette in between his lips, “Do you happen to have a lighter?”

  I shook my head with an apologetic smile, and for the first time in quite a while I felt my heart flutter when the corner of his lip curved in a smile as his eyes complemented, “That’s okay, I broke mine earlier tonight.”

  The next time we met, I had a lighter for him. He seemed ecstatic, childishly throwing away the lighter he had hurriedly bought and securing mine in his jeans pocket instead.

  “You could’ve let me have it.” As the words left my lips, I shyly smiled, and my mind screamed at me.

  He looked down at me with a boyish smile, something that I had left behind years ago, and walked closer to me. Cupping my face with his right hand, he caressed my cheek with his thumb, “Are you sure your husband would approve of this?”

  That’s when it hit me. Of course, he had no right to complain since he himself had several mistresses. But should I be the same as him, stoop just as low?

  I lightly shoved his hand off my cheek, “You’re right… I- I’m sorry, I’ll be going now!” I mumbled quietly as I picked my purse up and started my way toward the door, not minding to let my friend know of my sudden departure.

  A week passed by as I avoided his texts, all of them filled with apologies as he relented that he was wrong to have questioned my position without having any prior knowledge of my situation. I replied with, ‘It’s okay.’ and he didn’t bother to continue anymore.

  On the tenth night, my sleep was harshly broken as the alarms rung loud and woke the entire estate. My husband was away for the night, out with one of his mistresses and I resorted to get a much needed sleep. I wore my peach robe hurriedly as I ran down to the gate to find out who could’ve dared to intrude such a guarded estate. It was known all around the town that the security system we used was the most expensive, and that trying to trespass our borders could mean mortal peril in case of excessive courage shown on the part of the intruder. So who in their right mind would do that?

  Of course, someone who was new in town.

  I rushed to the door as I heard him plead to let him see me once, “She knows me, I’m a friend. Please let me see Mrs. Jung for once!”

  “Security, let him be!” I ordered, “He’s an acquaintance, help him in please.”

  They let go of his collar and begged for his apology as he shot them a glare, walking toward me. I let him in and dragged him to the north wing.

  “What are you doing here at,” I took a glance at my thin watch which hung lazily by my wrist, “two in the friggin’ morning?”

  “I… I wanted to apologise-”

  “I said it’s okay-”

  “Hush,” he put his finger on my lips gently before taking my free hand in his, “Let me finish first. The thing is, I am new to this town and I only know about the big people here, that’s it. I knew about you, too. When I first came up to you and told you what cocktail to order it was because I wanted to impress you and get your husband sign a contract with me or something… then you started flirting and I thought you’re one of those rich women who get a younger boo to play with.”

  I sighed and my jaws tightened at his harsh judgment.

  “Come on don’t look at me like that, let me finish please!” he took my hands in his, “Despite of how I felt after having only met you twice, I just made sure you weren’t bitter as I sent you those texts and dismissed the idea. Till your best friend confronted me tonight.”

  “Oh Roane…” I chided, exasperated.

  “I’m… how do you live like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “How do you live with a man you don’t even love?”

  I smiled sadly and looked down at our hands, timid to part.

  “How do you live with a man who doesn’t love you and spends night after night with other women?”

  “Well,” I tightened my hold on his hands, “I… I don’t know… anymore.” I looked into his eyes so that he understood what I meant. That being attracted to a man had led me to live in a manner I hadn’t for years. I didn’t need direct contact of love since I had some investing toward a certain person from myself. I finally had a man I could think of as I touched myself, not-so-unenthusiastically anymore, after years.

  “Y/n…” he whispered softly, before taking me in his arms. I hugged his torso as he held me gently. For a moment I had fret over how he was probably using me, but then I heard his heart thumping against his chest, and my suspicions withered away. That night we stayed up till the sun rose, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Even though our meetings from then on had become more frequent and suggestive, it took me some time to let us be physically intimate. It was one night when I had let him in our house that it rained cats and dogs. Later, when it became more bearable and one anyone could jog in, I took his hand in mine, “Let’s kiss in the rain.”

  He laughed at my proposition, mocking my sudden change of mood since I was complaining even a moment ago then that I felt terribly cold.

  “I’m serious,” I insisted, “It’ll be our first kiss, Yuta!”

  He looked into my eyes as he bit the inside of his mouth, pondering over my inane whim. I tried my best to look at him with more fervour to convince him. He groaned in playful frustration as he pulled me up and walked both of us into the balcony.

  I hugged myself as the raindrops hit my skin, immersing through the robe and lapping itself on my goosebumps.

  He laughed at me, teasing me lightly for how I was the one who had come up with the idea and yet was feeling colder than him. I frowned and chose to look away, somehow suddenly growing conscious of my queer idea for a first kiss, realising that such a sudden whim was childish and probably a turnoff for a man as matured and soulful as him.

  “We were supposed to kiss, if I’m not wrong.” Yuta broke in my trail of thoughts, smiling as he observed my sudden change in demeanour. I took a look at his stance; his arms folded and one of his heels resting on the ground. He looked gorgeous as he stood in that position, making me feel like a teenager who found herself agitated before her good-looking upperclassman. But again, he was younger.

  “Let it be, it’s a stupid idea anyway.” I started walking away, but didn’t get far as he caught onto my wrist and gently pulled me back toward him. My arms rested against his chest as he removed himself to stand before me. Holding my chin, he raised my face to his and rested his lips on mine. It was a simple kiss, nothing urgent or fervent. He knew exactly how much I could take at that point, and refused to pressurise me into more.

  His lips left mine quite suddenly, his breathing heavy. The kiss in no way was intense, but he seemed to be struggling harder by the time I opened my eyes.

  “Can- can we go in?” his teeth were clanking as he spoke, his intakes of breath sharp and severe.

  I helped him in as he showed tendencies of collapsing, his body unbelievably cold as welts appeared drastically all around his arms and chest. I panicked and my illiteracy on his sudden illness sickened me, asking him if I should get a doctor.

  “Just- just prepare a warm bath.”

  I helped him undress and into the warm bath, my hand holding his as he relaxed before my eyes. After an hour, I saw his welts subsiding, the redness diminishing, and his temperature rising back to normal.

  As he sighed in relief and the gaps between the rise and fall of his chest thinned, I inquired, “What was that?”

  “Urticaria.”

  I googled the term after having helped him put on my husband’s clothes and drying his hair as he pulled the duvet up to his chin. He was allergic to rain water, and he still kissed me in the rain just because he wanted to attend the childish whim of a 31-year-old. I sighed and I put my head in my hands, guilt taking over my entire form as my neck heated up. He touched my back, murmuring weakly that it was okay, pulling onto my nightdress to have me lay down with him. Though I was never really into the idea, I gave in.

  I woke up in surprise as I countered my opinions on sleeping with a partner.

That's how my husband found out I had a man of my own then, when he found a set of the clothing he had readied up to wear later in the washing machine. He didn't say a word about it till I asked him if it was okay, to which he replied, "When was it never okay? I have my own life, you are entitled to yours." 

   And, I trusted him. 

   The first time we made love was also him attending to a whim of mine, which had me blushing furiously as I shook my head and told him that I was merely pulling his leg, that not for a second had serenity taken over my mind when I proposed to him that we made love beneath the full moon in the balcony of my bedroom. 

   He kissed me silent as his hands crept up my sides before his fingers dug in my hair. My hands wrapped around his waist as his lips left mine to leave a trail of kisses up and down the sides of my neck, pausing to suck on the crook of my neck as he marked me shamelessly. He took a woman who hadn't had anything but a finger inside her for five years then, pumping his own length in and out cautiously as his groans in the crook of the other side of my neck sent waves of warmth all across my body. We made love thrice that night, toward the end so exhausted that the fact that he had to leave before my husband came back was totally forgotten.

  My husband returned to us sharing a duvet, snoring softly with our legs entangled. My head rested on his bicep as his off the pillow, hanging off its side. The one in charge of our bedroom woke us up, saying a very unemotional and cold Jaehyun had asked her to wake us up and request him out of the estate by the gateway in the back. I decided to act like the maid had warned me to send him off before my husband could make inside the room. He complied, kissing me goodbye.

  Encountering Jaehyun after that was probably the most awkward situation I had ever put myself in. As he sipped his coffee and swiped his finger across the screen of his tab, turning on a live news channel, he started, "I get that you did not surely want to get caught by your husband in such a scandalous condition with someone who's a singer under our label," his smugness smeared my ego as he continued, "Thus I would prefer it if you and your boyfriend got yourselves an apartment. I can get one for you-" 

   "I really appreciate it Jaehyun," I put my hand on his, "But you really don't have to." I smiled as my eyes shot the impression of my temper, finishing my breakfast in a hurry and leaving for work just after. 

   I received a text from Yuta during my lunch break, informing that he was done with recording earlier that day and would like to meet me in his penthouse that was given to him by the company. I took it upon myself to not slack off and finish my own work just as early before sending Jaehyun a text that said, 'I won't be home tonight', and leaving.

   That night, I found a new side to him. Apart from his spectacular and somewhat unique humour, he also had a very sharp tongue. He was playful but so thoughtful, matured but still so youthful, his smile so pure yet so capable of making my insides burn in fire, my nether regions wet to the point where I felt the need to keep spare panties in my purse. But again, he was kind enough to buy a stack of supplies for me and keep them at his place.

   After three or four months from then, he let me know that he loved me. I was so happy for a moment until I realised that giving him a false hope would be unkind and cruel. I couldn't bring myself to tell him I loved him back, I couldn't bring myself to put him in bliss and break his heart right after.

    "Yuta... I- I feel the same way for you, but I'm afraid I can't say it back." 

   He looked crestfallen and his jaw fell softly, "But... why-" 

   "Remember how you once asked me how I lived with a man I didn't love? Even ten years ago I was certain that I wouldn't marry a man unless I was madly in love with him. 

   "And I ended up marrying him because of a petty fling which impregnated me. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to abort or put her up for adoption and nor could he reject the idea of a beautiful child from his mind. We believed that if we got married and started to live as one with a child of our own, one we both loved, things would get better. We believed, we would fall in love. 

   "But she died in less than a year, and left us heartbroken. You would expect us to tend to each other, cry together, come closer... but we grew even more distant. I stopped singing and started working with him to help the recording label to grow, in hopes of making it something bigger. And, it happened... he is now a genius in the showbiz and I am a high-profile businesswoman who deals with this company and a few other small and big firms. But... we are not in love."

   "But... you do love-" 

   "Don't say it," I cautioned him, "It will just get harder for me... Yuta, I may not be happy, but I'm used to this lifestyle. I'm oddly comfortable with this life, so empty and uneventful. Somehow, it gives me the idea that I don't have to expect surprises or dread changes. It's chaotic in my mind, but peaceful outside."

   "Are you afraid that I might invite chaos outside?" 

   "Not you in particular, but a change..."

   He loved me yet, chose to stay with me even after all my doubts and insecurities. But, he was not entirely the same ever.

  Which brings us back to the morning. As I readied myself, prepared to leave, I felt this strange rush from my guts approaching my throat. A burp that left my nose filled with a sickening smell from the inside had me rushing toward the pan in the toilet and letting everything I had eaten the night before out. I felt dizzier than ever, reaching out to the sink and holding onto its side as I emptied my stomach. After a minute or so of this torture, I cleaned myself up, gargled and brushed my teeth again, and used mouthwash to make sure my breath didn’t smell stale before a meeting that would kick-start the day.

  It wasn’t before 6’0 clock, that I could finally turn the knob of the bedroom door and step out. Down the hallway, in the smallest bedroom, slept Yuta. I took one look at him from afar before leaving him a much-practised note, and drove back home.

  Fear was creeping up my mind as I realised that I hadn’t been on my period for almost three months then. Focusing on the meeting had become the least of my worries as I picked on the hem of my skirt and thought of the consequences.

  “Um… Mrs. Jung,” I heard a stern voice from my left, and it belonged to my husband, “It’s a meeting and you, being the CEO, need to focus.” he said with a smile, his eyes fixated on mine and hardened at my unexpected conduct. I straightened my back and mumbled an apology, focusing on the matter in hand.

  Toward the end of the day, I booked myself an appointment with an acquaintance. She was my doctor when I was pregnant with my daughter, and confirming my doubt with her assistance seemed the most convenient.

  “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Jung. Congratulations!” she took my hands in hers as she let me know. My child was one of her earliest deliveries, and the first she had to see die before her own eyes. Somehow, she was happier about it than I was, even with the knowledge that no matter what happens I was going to keep the baby.

  “Thank you so much.” I smiled kindly, trying to push away all pessimistic thoughts off my mind for the time being.

  “Do you want me to perform a sonogram on you?” she asked, standing up to make necessary calls and setting up the cabin, certainly not caring a bit of what I wanted.

  I laid in silence as she hummed happily, gawking at the screen, “The embryo is developing inside the womb. You’ve been pregnant for approximately 11 weeks, and everything seems fine!”

  Before I left, she handed me a CD, having recorded the entire procedure for my ‘husband’ to see. Yes, he definitely needed to see, or at least know.

  I drove back home that night to find a rather cranky Jaehyun. Despite the night being his to philander, he waited for me to arrive and sat me down before him to talk.

  “Y/n, I hate to say this but ever since you got together with that kid you’ve been a lesser performer. You are the main driving force of the company, we cannot afford to lose you.”

  “I… I apologise, Jaehyun.” I had no excuses, he was right. Having never interfered in my life for years, it certainly must have taken him a lot from me to finally interject.

  “You have nothing to apologise for, I think that boy is toxic.” he grumbled, “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I want you to breakup with that kid.”

  I felt my neck heat up as my body started to tremble in inexplicable rage, “You are NO ONE to decide that, Jaehyun! I will start working better, I swear. But, you need to keep your filthy nose out of my business!”

  “Why can’t I trust you?” he inquired, biting his bottom lip; something he did to hold in his annoyance, “I have seen you breaking apart over the littlest things and you never regained your previous performance.”

  “If you’re talking about my baby, just so you know it was not a ‘little-”

  “For fuck’s sake, y/n!” his voice rose, “Don’t always make it about yourself, I also lost a child! I was her father, don’t you dare forget.”

  “Wow Jaehyun, suddenly your father instincts are on board!” I chimed, “Where were you when I needed someone by my side to cry with, when I needed someone who could possibly understand how I felt and help me deal with it?”

  “Don’t act like you weren’t expecting this,” he warned, “We were never in love-”

  “Jaehyun I still remember you telling me you loved me-”

  “For heaven’s sake, you were the mother of my child then!”

  I rose to my feet, “So, the moment she died I lost all importance to you? All I ever was to you was your company’s largest earning source, your fuck-buddy, and later on just the mother of your child? Did I never, in our ten years spent together, ever amount to as just myself to you?”

  He smirked as humiliation seeped through his eyes, “No, you never amounted to me for being yourself. You were never a person who ever had any value to me, whatsoever.” by then, he was on his feet, looking down at me.

  “Fine,” my voice trembled as I spoke, “We’re getting a divorce.”

  “What?” he sounded livid, turning red as his lips trembled, “After all these years, you’re asking for a divorce?”

  “Yes!” my hands balled into fists, “I was going to talk with you about it anyway… but honestly, you don’t deserve to be treated with a decent conversation with ANYONE.”

  “You’re one to talk, going after some kid!” he laughed mockingly.

  “Wow… when you sleep with 20-year-olds it’s completely okay, because the society approves of stinky, gross old men taking advantage of even  mere 15-year-olds. And I cannot have a healthy relationship with an adult in his mid-twenties without being branded as an offender. Which century do you live in Jaehyun, 16th?”

  “Don’t you fucking dare cross your lines, y/n!” he wagged his finger at me, “After all I did for you, this is how you ‘thank’ me? If I hadn’t noticed you in that crowd, you’d be somewhere singing with your eyes down on your empty guitar case to keep the five dollar you’ve earned on check.”

  “Don’t act like I didn’t come to use. You made millions with me Jaehyun, millions. I helped you grow your company. I earned all the opportunities that came.”

  “Wow, you’re one to talk…” he trailed off, his hands landing on his hips as he looked around to find words, “Listen, we’re not getting a divorce. It’s not as easy as you think, you little bitch.”

  My jaw fell as I stared at him in disbelief, “What did you say?”

  He laughed, “Bitch.” He pronounced firmly, and if looks could kill, his condescending gaze would have had me in shambles by then.

  “YOU BASTARD!” I shrieked as I pushed him with all the strength left in me. He fell down into the sofa, the back of his head hitting the wooden crest rail.

  He rose to his feet yet again, his right hand reaching behind his head to check for any swelling, before he yanked it from there and slapped me right across my face.

  I tumbled and fell on the marble floor, hitting my elbows and knees, my right thigh numb as the pain seared through my entire leg.

  “Don’t you dare push me, you whore!” he threatened and laughed shortly. And how I hated it when his pompous ass shone through.

  I got on my feet as quietly as I could before launching myself at him, pulling on his hair and digging my teeth mercilessly on his shoulder. He was struggling to get me off, shouting profanities all directed at me, enough to rile me up and make him bleed, my teeth having torn through his linen white shirt.

  Legends said Jaehyun had the strength of an animal, which I was yet to see. After a while he regained composure and banged my hard against the wall, the frame hung hitting my head as he navigated it harshly with his hand to not hit his. I could feel my scalp dampening and the feeling began to spread, my hair sticking to my neck as I bled profusely.

  I knew for a fact that he didn’t intend to do that, but my mind didn’t. Enraged, I grabbed a flower vase on the wall shelf beside me, where I was sat then. Before he could even turn, I grabbed it swiftly and smashed it in his head.

  He grabbed the sides of his head and stumbled forward as I kicked him in the ass. His hands landed on the sofa as he took in deep breaths before checking for blood, which most certainly was oozing even more profusely. Only then did I realise, I wasn’t bleeding as bad as I had thought.

  He called me ‘a fucking bitch’, his voice roaring throughout the entire library, as he took two long strides and started strangling me. His hold around my neck kept on tightening as his jaws clenched, his eyes then brimming with tears as he gave his all in choking me.

  For a moment I wanted to give up and not struggle anymore, accept death as a lifelong comrade. That’s when it hit me, I had a baby inside me.

  “I-” I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. I held onto his wrists, digging my nails into his forearm, feeling his grip loosening very slightly.

  “Any last word, bitch?” he asked, loosening his grip voluntarily, enough to let me speak but not to let me escape.

  “I’m fucking pregnant, you bastard!” I croaked out, “You’re killing a pregnant woman!”

  His hands let go off my neck, and he took several steps back. The tears which were in his eyes started pooling his face as he looked down at his hands. He was finally able to register what he was doing as I coughed myself to some life.

  “I’m-”

  “Don’t you fucking dare say anything, I’m reporting you to the police.” I broke down in tears as my hands ran across marks I was certain his fingers had left. I looked up at him from the ground, my face twisted in disgust.

  He quietly limped toward the table at the centre of the library, bending down to open a drawer. He took out a very thick book and placed it carefully on the table. I stared at him, confused. After taking several deep breaths in, he opened the book, and took out a gun.

  I stared in horror as he unlocked the safety mechanism of the gun, gasping as tears unknowingly left my eyes. My entire body trembled as he raised the gun, aiming at my head.

  I could see his entire body quiver as he cried silently, struggling to pull the trigger and kill me. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for the end, my body then not being able to register any strength that could help me even attempt an escape. I took deep breaths in my nose and exhaled heavily as the seconds ticked by leisurely.

  My entire body jerked as I heard a gunshot. I opened my eyes to find Jaehyun on the floor, the gun then left estranged beside his hand. In a second or two, his blood pooled on the floor, trickling down the two steps of stairs as it spread across the entire room.

  “No…” was all I could whimper, before I felt my eyes fluttering shut as my senses withdrew. My mind went blank as darkness enveloped me, and I passed out.

Please read the last tag - Ayu.

[crownuponherhead]

fdajjlfhadjh ✩ for jimmy and lainey

send ‘✩’ for the following:

DISAGREEMENTS:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? lainey does its just her way of balancing how he towers over her. Who threatens to leave but never actually does? I don’t think either of them would after all this. Who actually keeps their word and leaves? neither. Who trashes the house? ainsley lbr when she would throw a fit and like lainey gets super ugh and fixes everything. Do either of them get physical? never How often do they argue/disagree? I think disagreeing is more often than arguing but they rarely fight. Who is the first to apologise? lainey she feels too terrible still. 

SEX:

Who is on top? Who is on the bottom? they probs switch back and fourth a lot they’re young and in love. Who has the strangest desires? i could see lainey being all about him after a game if it ends too late and she’s just like... you can shower later...with me.Any kinks? tbh idk i mean probs but like idk rn. Who’s dominant in bed?  jimmy. Is head ever in the equation? occasionallyIf so, who is better at performing it? I think they both know each other well enough that there isn’t really a whose better kinda thing.Ever had sex in public? they probs fucked in on of their cars in high schoolWho moans the most? lainey Who leaves the most marks? lainey. Who screams the loudest? L A I N E Y. he probs has to cover her mouth sometimes so they don’t wake up ainsley bc they’re having sex what good parents. Who is the more experienced of the two? they’re equal little angels who've only had each other. Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? make love but sometimes they fuck. Rough or soft? typically soft. How long do they usually last? I think they make it last bc like its about making up for lost time to them. Is protection used? they learned their lesson in high schoolDoes it ever get boring? no bc they’re in love. Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? hc they have sex in the dugout or something when they come to watch the stars from the  ball field. 

FAMILY:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? they have their angel ainsley and more in the future If so, how many children do your muses want/have? I could see lainey being reasonable bc she's been a single parent for so long and is like maybe 1 or 2 more but thats it and jimmy is more like lainey lets have a soccer team. Who is the favorite parent? jimmy bc like ainsley is just so starstruck her daddy is around. Who is the authoritative parent? lainey she got used to it and its hard for her to relax and realize its not just her parenting now. Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? I think lainey would when it comes to going to games and going to visit him when he’s training and jimmy would more to surprise her or lainey. Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? jimmy omg can u just imagine lainey coming home to them eating a dozen donuts and she’s like  ????Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? they’re both at every single event they're so proud and her number one fans. Who goes to parent teacher interviews? they both try to but it’s usually lainey because he’s at a game or getting ready for one during a lot of themWho changes the diapers? Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? jimmy probably does a lot when they have another baby because he didn’t get that with ainsley. Who spends the most time with the children? I think they try to balance it out they love them so much. Who packs their lunch boxes? lainey. Who gives their children ‘the talk’? its a joint conversation where they use themselves as a life lesson of teen pregnancy. Who cleans up after the kids? lainey she hates the house being messy. Who worries the most? lainey she gets anxiety when any of the kids are sick.Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from? jimmy he’s around all those baseball players all the time. or tbh one of the players when they’re on the field after a game. 

AFFECTION:

Who likes to cuddle? they both do it’s a really natural thing for them both. Who is the little spoon? lainey. Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? I think it depends on the situation tbh bc they both do a lot. Who struggles to keep their hands to themself? I could see it being jimmy. like just wanting to have her in his arms or like hold her hand just like she's there still. How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? probably awhile because they’re constantly moving and being cute just like trying to be with each other. Who gives the most kisses? jimmy. What is their favourite non-sexual activity? tbh just like simple things. lainey loves when he helps her do things like the laundry or when he helps her cook dinner. and he loves it when she gets involved with what he loves like I feel like ever since they’ve been in high school she’d play baseball with him for fun and he’d get some practice it. tbh just making the other happy Where is their favourite place to cuddle? the couch or bed.Who is more likely to playfully grope the other? maybe both of them?? I wanna say him but I could see her doing it too. How often do they get time to themselves? not often a lot of times it after Ainsley's gone to bed or someone is watching her. 

SLEEPING:

Who snores? probs jimmy. Do they share a bed or sleep separately? they share a bed and they’re precious. If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? together they spent too long apart. Who talks in their sleep? I could see lainey talking in her sleep. What do they wear to bed? lainey probs wears his t shirts and a pair of socks and he probs is a shirtless sleeper but maybe I just like kJ’s abs. Are either of your muses insomniacs? lainey is when ainsely’s sick for sure. Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? I don’t think so. Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? they curl together they’re so in love. Who wakes up with bed hair? jimmy. Who wakes up first? lainey so she can make breakfast. Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? I can see jimmy doing it for lainey on random days like to treat her. What is their favourite sleeping position? spooning with room in their bed for ainsley if she has a nightmare. Who hogs the sheets? lainey. Do they set an alarm each night? lainey does for sure. Can a television be found in their bedroom? I think so like so they can watch movies and cuddle in bed. Who has nightmares? lainey has nightmares about ainsley being sick they’re repetitive and she’s had them since ainsley was a baby and jimmy just calms her down when she has them and walks with her to Ainsley’s bedroom to prove she's okay and lainey falls back to sleep. Who has ridiculous dreams? jimmy. Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? jimmy. Who makes the bed? lainey. What time is bed time? it varies. Any routines/rituals before bed? lainey moves all the decorative pillows to a chair on the side. Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? jimmy when he wake sup to Lainey’s alarms. 

WORK:

Who is the busiest? lainey. she’s got school, work, and still has old habits of being a single mom. Who rakes in the highest income? jimmyAre any of your muses unemployed? I think lainey probably is for awhile when they move. Who takes the most sick days? lainey. she takes a sick day anytime ainsley’s sick.  Who is more likely to turn up late to work? jimmy. lainey is too precise. Who sucks up to their boss? tbh jimmy. What are their jobs? jimmy is a mlb player and lainey is trying to be a nurse. Who stresses the most? L A I N E YDo your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? jimmy loves his, lainey knows she had to do this to provide for ainsley so jimmy could follow his dreams. Are your muses financially stable? together yes. 

HOME:

Who does the washing? lainey. Who takes out the trash? jimmy. Who does the ironing? lainey. Who does the cooking? lainey with his help sometimes. Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? I don’t think either of them are. Who is messier? jimmyWho leaves the toilet roll empty? jimmyWho leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? ainsley and jimmyWho forgets to flush the toilet? Ainsley. Who is the prankster around the house? oohhhh Idk. Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? lainey Who mows the lawn? jimmy. Who answers the telephone? omg does anyone have landlines???Who does the vacuuming? I think they take turns. Who does the groceries? laineyWho takes the longest to shower? laineyWho spends the most time in the bathroom? lainey

MISCELLANEOUS:

Is money a problem? for lainey when they aren’t together yes. when they’re together no. How many cars do they own? two probs, Lainey’s old Jeep Liberty and whatever jimmy drives. Do they own their home or do they rent? Lainey’s house is rent free and an old family home that her great aunt and great uncle built and wanted to keep in the family. you know one that is completely payed off besides utilities. Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? I mean like they’re a good 3 hours from the ocean. Do they live in the city or in the country? suburbs/city. Do they enjoy their surroundings? I think its a nice balance of being what they grew up in but away from their small town. What’s their song? god they’re so cheesy it’s probs some Taylor Swift song from when she still did country. What do they do when they’re away from each other? they try not to be away from each other after they get back together. when they are theres a lot of FaceTime. Where did they first meet? I mean small town probs like elementary schoolHow did they first meet? romantically their best friends were dating and made them double date. Who spends the most money when out shopping? lainey probably does but its mostly on Ainsley. Jimmy probably has to talk her to getting something for herself a lot. Who’s more likely to flash their assets? jimmy. Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Jimmy. Any mental issues? lainey gets anxiety from ainsley’s chronic asthmaWho’s terrified of bugs? ainsleyWho kills the spiders around the house? lainey does she got used to it. Their favourite place? the ball field at their old high school . Who pays the bills? lainey wants to be independent bc she left him not the other way but jimmy sneaks around her a lot. Do they have any fears for their future? lainey is scared he’ll get tired of her. jimmy is scared she’ll leave again. Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? jimmy. Who uses up all of the hot water? lainey. Who’s the tallest? jimmyWho’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? jimmy. Who wanders around in their underwear? lainey does in their room. Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? lainey. What do they tease each other about? old things they did in high school that they cringe about now. Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? laineyDo they have mutual friends? yeah old high school friends. Who crushed first? they both did. Any alcohol or substance related problems? no. Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? they would together on date nights. Who swears the most? jimmy. 

[milehighcolonoscopy]

Film Review: The Fourth Kind (2009)

WELCOME TO MY SPOOPY BLOG!

Since this is my first post, I should probably say something about myself. Hi. I’m me. I like shitty horror movies and books that nobody else likes, and I’m a fan of the UFO culture (subculture? whatever) without actually being a believer. I’m a consumer, nothing more.

I should probably state here that I’m not really a good film critic, and I frequently disagree with audiences on these specific genres. Shitty plotlines are my bread and butter (so long as there are UFOs, aliens or ghosts involved), jump scares make me jump scared, and I can forgive pretty much anything so long as it spoon-feeds me my favourite set of tropes.

Some of these (jump scares et al) have to do with my anxiety disorders. Others have more to do with the fact that I’m a terrible person and probably shouldn’t be listened to. You’ve been warned.

Well, that was nice! Let’s move on.

[SPOILERS BELOW]

The Fourth Kind is unique in that it attempts the found footage genre with a spin, displaying “real footage” along with, and often alongside, “reenactments” by actors.

Actually, some of the talent in this film is impressive. Milla Jovovich (The Fifth Element, basically all the resident evil), Will Patton (Falling Skies, Remember the Titans, the Postman), Elias Koteas (Chicago PD, the Prophecy) and Olatunde Osunsanmi (this). That’s not a bad cast at all, and even though some of these actors multipassed their career peaks a while ago, I still felt enthusiastic about seeing them here.

So the premise is pretty simple. Psych lives in remote town. Psych is a hypnotherapist. Townspeople are being abducted by aliens with no memory. Psych is a hypnotherapist. Hypnotherapy ensues.

One by one, Dr Abbey Tyler (Jovovich) begins to realise that her clients are reporting some pretty identical and unusual circumstances. For a start, they’re all insomniacs, and it’s the year 2000 so nobody has smart phones yet. Also, every one of them reports that the source of their insomnia (I think, bits of the movie are hard to follow) is an owl looking in their window.

This is one of the things this movie does that I enjoyed. The owl (pictured) is a pretty good visual representation of the archetypal grey alien. I could imagine these people looking out their window and seeing a grey, only for their brain to scramble what they saw into something they can actually accept. I was genuinely creeped out by them saying that, for some reason, they feel like the owl was actually inside the house at some point, staring down at them from the foot of their bed.

So, Tyler decides to guide one of her clients through hypnotherapy, leading her down a path that results in a five-person murder suicide, a self-snapped neck, and a whole buncha screaming. Seriously, you should probably turn this movie down a tad.

This isn’t my favourite abduction film, and the only reason I’m reviewing it first is because I’d kinda forgotten what it was about and decided a rewatch was in order. In terms of the grotesque, it did bring a fair bit to the table. The recording Jovovich takes early in the film was pretty good, and if that wasn’t Jovovich herself, then I sincerely hope that person has a long and fruitful career in screaming. That was like, Sheila, bring the pepper spray level screaming.

But aside from the jump scares, the screaming, the levitating, the disfiguration... I really didn’t feel like there was much meat on the bones. The story itself is just a variation on the “lonely town is plagued by $paranormal_thing” trope, and although it had some good talent I don’t feel like it used it well enough.

Take Will Patton, for example. He plays a police officer, but his only role throughout the film is to provide legal chafing. Jovovich will dig a little deeper, revealing something new at the expense of somebody’s wellbeing, and then Patton shows up on the scene and says “THAT’S IT. THIS CIRCUS IS OVER!”

And Koteas’ role was more or less superfluous. In theory, his character shows up to provide some misplaced rationality and, eventually, corroboration to Jovovich’s therapist. But there was nothing here that could not have been cut and added to Abbey Tyler herself, and I feel like providing her own reason and “this can’t be right” logic would have added some much needed depth. Instead, Tyler runs with the yarn as far as it will go and, in the end, I think the producers just wanted some Koteas in the movie.  I can’t really blame them.

Ultimately, this movie is fun in the way that a ghost train is fun. It’s crappy, and cheesy, and not really well thought out, but if you can wear your horse blinkers well enough to tune out the obvious plot holes... meh, it’s kinda fun.

ROUNDUP

The Good:

The premise (multiple patients reporting seeing an owl that somehow comes inside the house. Also insomnia) is creepy. It lasts all of five minutes, but in those five minutes so-help-me I was interested.

The owl itself is genuinely creepy, and I can totally see a grey in there (so glad we don’t have many owls in Australia)

The combination of “real” footage with “reenactment” does, at times, work quite well. I didn’t feel like the film used this effect to the best of its ability, but I can see potential there.

The ambient horror effects like screaming, disfiguration, levitation, etcetera were generally well done.

Elias Koteas

The Bad:

Many of the characters serve no role. For example, Abbey Tyler’s daughter is a blind girl whose only purpose is to mope around for a few scenes and then get abducted at the end of the movie, never to be returned. Which leads me to:

Many of the characters have backstories which don’t matter to the plot. Why was she blind? Did the aliens make her blind? Is she faking it because she’s a little shit like her GODAWFUL brother? We may never know. Probably.

The film tries too hard to make us care about the characters. Abbey Tyler’s husband was MURDERED. Or not. Did you know that? Do you love her yet?

The Ugly:

NO ALIEN REVEAL! This is pretty much unforgivable for me. The whole reason I watch these is to stare into the dark, soulless eyes of the movie. I mean, the aliens. Instead, they only show us shadows and representations. I get why they wouldn’t show them; crappy alien design and implementation often ruins the film. It takes us out of it, it turns the fear into funny. I get it. But if you’re not going to try, don’t make an alien movie.

The “real life” footage characters are unforgivably annoying. The “real” Abbey Tyler is actually so awkward looking that she could have played the film’s alien. Little makeup, a bald cap, some black contacts, VOILA! Grey alien. The problem was that, in the role of the therapist, she rarely exibits more emotion than an emotionless alien would have, and when she does, it’s so awkward and annoying that you hope the aliens take her away and we won’t have to watch her anymore. I’m not even fucking kidding!

All in all, it’s a decent film as far as horrible films go. It’s a part of my “essential abduction film” list, and if you’re a terrible person like me, then you should add it to yours. If for no other reason than the sweet, sweet cred.

[littleblackneko]

Hey Conner. Is there a comprehensive list of your ocs? Like, I wanna answer the asks, but I'm terrible with names.

Comprehensive List of Main OCs coming at ya!! I’m going to list them by story because that’s just what is gonna be easiest for me to make sure I include everyone! And if you’d like to know more about any particular character or storyline, just lemme know! 

Heron: 

Maximillion (Max) Fret- High school junior with severe anxiety. Cry’s bf. Very snarky when you get to know him. Fluent in French. Hella good artist but he’ll never admit it. Lil shorty bean at 5′3″. Brown hair and eyes, hair is always getting in his eyes, even though he wears glasses.Asexual, but enjoys intimacy Goes on to become a record producer and have four children with Cry in adulthood. 

Felipe (Cry) Caldero- High school sophomore. Has PTSD from a past severely abusive relationship, but is generally a very bubbly, perky guy. He’s a tol Latino  noodle at 5′11″ People pleaser. Black hair with a dyed green streak in it, and bright green eyes. Very proudly gay. Insomniac. Absolutely loves Owl City and reading quality queer lit. 

Katarina (Kat) Caldero- Cry’s older sister, literally the embodiment of that quote about “though she be little, she be fierce”. Max’s best friend and basically the glue holding my boys together. Sensitive, but also takes no shit. 

Singapore- Kat’s boyfriend, Awkward guy with blue eyes and blue hair. Pretty mellow in comparison to the rest of the crew. Likes to tell people they did a good job and enjoys it when people are happy. Very likely a trans guy. He’s basically a marshmallow.

Levi Madison

Ricky Madison

Famous Last Words: 

Edwin Carlisle- Eddy-boy is a literal mutant, a human-like species called Narasakwa, so he’s got mind powers from that and stuff, but otherwise he’s basically human. He’s autistic and gay, with longish black hair and green eyes. Very touch-repulsed for like, reasons that will be explained when i eventually write the book. He wants to be happy and he tries really hard but sometimes he just gets fed up with people and snaps. Desperate for love and attention and very jealous of his brother for being “normal”. Eventually starts dating Kai

Malachi (Kai) Stratford- Decently smart guy in a really bad headspace. Loves the people that he loves fiercely and feels hella guilty when he can’t stop bad things from happening to them. A bi kinda guy. Sticky-uppy brown hair and yellowish-brown eyes. Doesn’t let people close very often because he thinks he’s too messy. Sweet with a very cold, grim exterior. Love mah boy. 

Richert Carlisle- Edwin’s older brother. Nerdy but athletic and hyper and just very kind. Always tries to see the best in people, but can also be a little quick to judge. Tall, blonde, and freckly with hazel eyes. 

Ruth-Ann (Rudy) Stratford- Kai’s little sister, Kai and her have A+ sibling bond and she always tries to cheer Kai up. Actual pure sweetheart. 

Marykayla (Kay) Stront- Kai’s best friend, and the only one at the start who really knows whats going on in Kai’s head. Tbh she needs to be developed a little bit more but like. She’s trying her best. 

Vincent Smith

Dancing With Jane: 

Dunixi Gates- Former child genius trying to cope with being average twenty-something. Has Has Histrionic Personality Disorder. Has been best friends with Skir since literally birth. Smart guy academically, but doesn’t have very good common sense. Likes to give treats to stray cats. Shaggy brown hair and pretty brown eyes. Don’t know what his sexuality is but is Not Straight.   

Skir Stryker- Sex-repulsed grey-aro asexual with a giant-ass crush on Dunixi. Film nerd that is constantly quoting classics and other random films. Easily stressed out and very sensitive. Cropped black hair and blue eyes. Has a bit of an inferiority complex due to Dunixi being so successful when they were kids. Can get a bit jealous if he feels like something or someone he cares about is going to be taken from him. Very insecure with his asexuality. 

Jane- She ran away from her abusive ex to Skir and Dunixi’s house and at first is very timid and afraid, but as she feels more secure, her true personality starts to come out. She is trustworthy and very independent when she’s allowed to be. Long light brown wavy hair and heterochromatic eyes- one brown, one blue.

Colin

Renee

Unnamed Story:

Julian Staria- Boy set out to fix the ills of the world.Activist. Is ready to debate you at any given moment about anything, switch is always flipped on about all issues. Wants to create a better world for his sister to live in. Dark blonde hair and blue eyes. Trans boy. Hates the royalty of his country. 20 years old.

Fenrir Everglade- Curly black hair and crystalline blue eyes. Former prince. Gay asexual. Bold and somewhat sassy when you get to know him. Knows exactly who he is but doubts himself. Acts very poised when he is afraid or threatened, but can otherwise be very bitter and sarcastic. Falls in love with Julian. 20 years old.

Mackenzie Staria- Very up on current events, logical where Julian is emotional. Kind and willing to listen where Julian is ready to throw down. Hates people babying her and acting like she’s too young to think for herself. About 16 years old.

Amaryllis Lexon- Fenrir’s “fiancee”, but its an arranged marriage. Very clever Black girl. She’s probably gonna end up with a love interest at some point because she is very lovely and Deserves Love and also some more character development. about 18 y/o

 Yet Another Unnamed Story: (THE STORY WITH THE YOUNG BABIES IN A SCARY WORLD)

Steffin Steeplewood- Very much a young spoiled rich boy. Blondie with blue eyes. Very delicate and fancily dressed. A little stuck-up and condescending. Doesn’t really pay attention to the world around him. Needs to be protected. 

Francois (Frankie)- Suave Italian boy who will protect Steffin with his LIFE. 

Okay I’m getting tired I’ll probably add more descriptions later but these are my other children

What We’re Worth:

Everett Blessing- trans boy with bpd and a bit of a drug habit, 

Emily Blessing

Cole

Raquel 

Eva

Heron ‘verse generation 2

Gabriel Howser

Timothy Dorian

Ant Caldero-Fret

Mia Caldero-Fret

David Caldero-Fret

Cameron Caldero-Fret

Rylan Riviera

Katya Riviera

Minerva Riviera

Aisha Riviera 

Dusty

Mara

Kris

Melvin

Days And Ends: 

Damien MacArthur

Merlin

Caravan Life:

Andy Mayer

Ian Rushmore

Dwyer

Marcus

Maria Mayer

Echoes:

Hunter Talbot

Alexei

Drake 

Randolph

Untitled Story:

Denver

Annie

This boy doesn’t have a story yet:

Chevy Novak

The Boxing Story:

Orion

Micah 

Constellation (Stella) 

Dill

Superhero ‘Verse 

Adam

Steve

Minx

Hope this helps!!!!