#i use to grow attached to my lunch ladies and wish they were my mom

[xxcherrycherixx]

Bro I don't know how to tell you this. But your mommy issues are showing way too much, I advise you seek out a hot therapist

Are you telling me i should fuck a therapist 💀 like the ‘hot’ part just really came out of nowhere- like, im down for that, healing my issues by getting railed by a hot therapist sounds fun.

Chances are it wouldn’t help tho because most therapists i see are like older women so i would totally just call her mommy 🤷‍♀️

[sometimesimawriter]

Mirror Effect

Part 7

A/N: I give up but I’m just gonna continue posting this because life is an endless cycle except I’m strapped in the middle of it and screaming. Also I just have the vine of the dude yelling “GET FUCKED” stuck in my head. Thanks, no one reads this!!

The story because fuck me:

It was later in the afternoon, and everyone had reconvened for lunch. Klaus, for once, was silent, sitting at the kitchen table, with Five next to Christina. Diego was helping around with preparing an assortment of sandwiches with Emma and Kayla. Kayla was a little quieter than usual, giving Emma and small smile whenever she attempted to joke around. It felt like what normal looks like. That is, until Brendan ran into the house.

"Is everyone okay? I saw- the news- dead..." he was having trouble catching him breath, he must've ran over to the house.

Christina informed him what had happened, "But we are all fine. Max is sleeping up stairs-"

"Max is WHAT?" He gave Kayla a bewildered look, his eyes saying "Are you crazy?"

Just then, Matthew came strolling in. His face was blank, then he looks around the room, "Well at least a few of us had an interesting morning," then he turned to Kayla, "The asshole has calmed down and feels remorse. I, on the other hand, still don't like him."

Klaus picked up his cup, "I drink to that,"

Five looked lazily to his brother, "There's no alcohol in that."

Klaus gave him a weak smile, "A man can imagine."

Christina got up and moved to where Matthew, Brendan, Kayla, and Emma were huddled around the kitchen island. She then turned to Matthew, "Can you do your thing? Maybe we can find out more about what's going on?"

"I can try."

Everyone was now standing in the infirmary, standing around Max. He was still unconscious, but he had shrank back to his average size- which was still huge, like a football player. Diego and Klaus stood behind the group, and Diego leaned over to his brother, whispering, "You're quiet. It's freaking me out."

Klaus choked out a laugh, "You're not going to believe me."

"Try me."

"I think Kayla's deceased mother possessed me before."

Diego blew out a drawn out breath, and finally said, "Are you high?"

"I wish."

"So... how were you 'possessed'?"

Klaus lazily looked at him, arms crossed, "I got angry while talking to her, said some choice things, all next thing i knew, I couldn't control what I was saying."

"That sounds like normal."

"Dearest brother, I take offense to such proposition. I am extraordinary." His voice held no humor despite his sarcasm. "I said things about her that she had never told me. Talked about her father and her childhood. Turns out her mom doesn't like Big Boy either."

"Huh..."

Meanwhile Matthew stood next to Max's head, staring down at the boy. His gaze was concentrated and contemplative.

Kayla was getting impatient, "Are you gonna do your thing or keep committing his face to memory?"

Matthew closed his eyes in exasperation, "I am having a conversation and you are interrupting. Now please, silence."

Kayla silently mocked him, repeating his words and moving her hands as if they were speaking.

Silence stretched across the room for a few minutes, and finally Matthew pulled away.

"Okay, so what i got is that the blonde was named Amelia. He didn't know the guy. Amelia was real flirty with him at the bar, got him drunk, and that's when you," gesturing at Kayla, "walked in and threw a fit. He got all sad, and she was convenient. They got all buddy-buddy and she introduced him to some pills. He says they made him feel great. When he came down from his high, he knew he needed more. Eventually, the more he took, the more aggressive he felt, but he felt powerful."

Matthew took a deep breath, "I think he was targeted. They knew who he was. Knew how he would react."

Five blew out a long breath and seemed to move closer to Christina, "That's fucked up."

Brendan put his hands on the side of the cot, "Yeah, no shit."

"So what are we going to do now?" Christina looked around to everyone.

Diego then left his spot next to Klaus. "I say that we let the NYPD know. They have a better chance of stopping these steroids from coming in."

Emma spoke up at this, "But they might be targeting us."

He shrugged, "If it was just blondie and Gas Mask, then you shouldn't have anything to worry about. And if there's more of them, then they saw what happened with them outside. It would be stupid of them to continue targeting here."

Kayla looked down at her shoes, and looked between Diego, Five, and Klaus, "So what does this mean for you guys?"

Klaus huffed and looked towards the door, "This means I need a good bar and a drink. Will you be joining me, brothers?"

Diego nodded and started towards the exit. Five looked at Christina and gave her an apologetic look, then headed out with his brothers.

As the trio from across the country turned their backs on the New Jersey supers, they also missed the devastated look Christina made, the murder in Emma's eyes, and Kayla's dejection.

The Hargreeves brothers sat in an Irish pub in downtown Hackensack, debating over their next move. Diego argued to leave, Five argued to stay, and Klaus stayed impassive. Instead, he solemnly drank golden liquid from a tall glass, staring down at the table.

"I just think our work here is done." Diego said, getting more annoyed as the minutes passed.

"And I think we haven't finished the job. We are leaving them defenseless." Five argued back.

"I wouldn't say they're defenseless. You saw the fury drop a man to his death this morning, the crystal chick throws fucking crystals, and Emma can ignite on cue. They can handle this."

Klaus looked at Diego, "Kayla is not a fury."

"And Christina has a name." Five grew defensive.

"Both of you seem very attached to these girls. Why is that? Don't think I didn't notice you didn't sleep in your room the other night, Klaus. And Five, you give Christina the doe eyes whenever she steps into the room."

Five leaned across the table, "And what about you and Emma? You spend an awful lot of time with her. What happened?"

Diego's face grew red with anger, "Nothing fucking happened."

Klaus forced out a laugh, "Diego, Diego, Diego. That's not what it looks like."

Five started to dig into his brother as well, "She's beautiful really. Maybe you could call her hot. I mean, she does tend to ignite. Now that reminds me of someone, doesn't she, Klaus?"

Klaus nodded, and Five continued, "What other woman could she resemble? Maybe your failed love affair with Detective Patch? Is that it? She's too much like your late ex-"

Diego slammed his hands on the table, "Do NOT bring her into this." He paused, taking a few deep breaths. "Fine, I felt something for her. I think she did too... then we did something we shouldn't of."

Klaus looked bewildered, "Did you sleep with her?"

Diego's head fell, "Maybe. Yes. But i realized that we both live different lives. And i got afraid that what i do would come back to her. She doesn't deserve that. I told her that, and she got pissed, walked out of the room on me."

Klaus and Five grew quiet, and then Five spoke up, "Is that why you want to leave so badly?"

Diego silently nodded. "Once i think about it though, I don't want to leave."

Klaus smiled, "Then why are we here? Let's head back and sort things out with our respective ladies..." he trailed off, looking at a TV above Diego's head.

The news reporter stood in front of the Victorian house they had all just left.

"...SWAT has just surrounded the house. A large creature can be seen walking throughout the house. Neighbors called, hearing distressing noises and screams coming from inside. We do not have any information regarding what is happening, but it seems like-" The woman was cut off, as a body was thrown from the third floor window. It crashed onto the front lawn, but then rose to reveal a titanium man- Brendan. He then charged back inside through the front door. "Ladies and gentlemen, it seems as if a metal man is fighting the creature inside- hold on, I am getting a report that that was in fact New Jersey's own Metamorph!"

"Holy shit, I think Razor woke up." Diego stated, rising from the table. "We have to help."

Kayla was now fighting for her life. Soon after the boys had left, Matthew felt Max begin to wake. They all sat around him, waiting for him to open his eyes. Only when they did open, they were bloodshot and he began to grow in size. He easily tore from the restraints, and he instantly threw Matthew across the room, knocking him unconscious. As his body slumped towards the ground, Razor turned to the rest of the group. Brendan grabbed a scalpel and his skin turned to steel. Emma ignited, ready to burn him to a crisp, and Christina flicked her wrists, sliding two crystals into her hands. Kayla stared into Razor's unforgiving face, and felt her wings expand from her back. Her weapon of choice were two golden chains, which she had laced with her own strain of Strychnine- a poison. Ever since they brought Max into the house, she carried the chains with her, where she concealed them under her shirt. The poison didn't affect her, she had a different chemical makeup than most humans.

Razor roared, charging her. Before he could reach her, he caught a crystal in his right bicep, which did nothing to slow him down. Then, a fireball crashed into his side, causing him much pain. He roared again, and turned on Emma. While distracted, Kayla rose up, and flapped her wings, creating a wind force that would have knocked over a large man- except Razor was larger than most men. It unbalanced him sightly, and Brendan took this as opportunity to charge him. He managed to tackle him to the ground, but Razor dug his nails into Brendan's back, and flung him into the window.

The girls then took turns, throwing fire, crystals, and chain lashes at Razor. They were slowly beating him, but he began to heal, the cuts closing at alarming rates. He made a low growling sound that resembled a laugh. He then picked up the cot he was once on, and threw it at Emma, rendering her unconscious. Christina threw more and more crystals, and Razor easily plucked them from his skin. He began to move towards her. Kayla frantically whipped him with the chains, hoping the poison would begin to kick in. Christina began to shape holes in the floor, trapping his feet in the wood. This seemed to anger him more, and he tore through the floor, wood splintering and releasing his leg. He then lunged at her, picking her up by her throat and sending her across the room, but before she could hit the wall, she opened a portal behind her and was sucked into whatever place she was destined to be. Razor turned on Kayla, and she felt was true fear was.

"I've been waiting to do this for a very long time, my Angel."

"I am not your Angel, asshole."

He clicked his tongue, his voice changing, becoming deeper by the moment. He sounded almost demonic, "While I was in that coma, I had some time to think. If you didn't leave me, I don't believe we would have this situation."

Kayla knew she had to keep him talking and buy herself some time, to think of a plan. "I didn't leave you, Max. You were kissing Amelia. What was I supposed to do?"

He laughed, taking a step towards her. "I am a real man, Kayla. I have needs and you were not there to fulfill them. Amelia was. And she made me stronger."

"I thought you didn't like the drugs. The dependency."

He laughed again, "Matthew may be able to read minds, but he cannot tell the truth from a lie. I feel like a god. And you will too once you try it."

Kayla began to step back, "The man, he knocked you out. Doesn't that make you mad?"

Another laugh, he was toying with her. "For a scientist, you are a stupid bitch. That was my idea! Can't you see? These drugs, they are not bad. Try it, and once you finally see my perspective, we could be together again. Happy."

She stretched her wings out further, "Those drugs are not happy. This is not you, Max."

He bared his teeth like an animal, "My name is Razor!" He roared.

He began to charge, but then a knife found its home, right underneath his collarbone. He looked behind Kayla, and Diego, Klaus, and Five stepped into the room.

[reconciliationproject]

A CHILD’S INNER SCREAM        

August 11, 2018        

         “So, what’s my position now,” he asked, leaning half forward and half toward me.  We were sitting in two soft rocking chairs, facing the same direction, with a round oak table between.

“What do you mean what’s your position now?”, I asked, though I knew what he was asking.

His wife of forty-four years, my mother of almost thirty-eight years had been buried earlier this day.  The day-bed, where she had lain for most of the last year, was across from my chair.  The mattress was still stained and painful memories still attached.

It had been her wish to die, to stop trying.  A breast lost to cancer two years before and weight down to eighty pounds had left skin and bones to surround her declining spirit.  Dad told me she had made him promise no more hospitals.  He took care of her the last year, helped by women from a visiting nurses service.

The morning he found her lifeless and unresponsive, on the day-bed, he did some strange things.  The manager of the visiting nurses office told me he came by there, talking crazy, saying something about Pat, my mother, then left hurriedly.  Several other people told me they had seen him that morning, acting and talking strangely.

When the visiting nurse came to the house, she found Mom dead and called for an ambulance.  One of the paramedics called me and I talked with him briefly, then handed the phone to my wife, before I broke into tears.

I later talked with my dad, asked him how he was doing and told him I was on my way.  There were friends at the house and I felt better knowing he had company.

When I drove up to the house, the whole place seemed emptier than ever before.  An old white frame house, with pillars on the front porch, that my grandfather had built around 1920.  The house was surrounded by huge oak trees, magnolias, pear, peach and plums.  Dogwoods were set among the larger oaks and the remnants of a winter garden lay behind the trees, next to a small vineyard.

Normally I loved the sight but today it seemed lonely and sad.  It seemed as though all the living things knew the lady of the house, who loved them all, would not walk again among them. Nor would she walk and smile among us.  Reluctantly I parked the car.

Dad rose when I came in and we embraced, awkwardly, at first.  This was the first time I could ever remember hugging him.  The visiting nurse was standing up, at the end of the room, in the doorway between the den and kitchen, both long rectangular rooms.  Dad had a somewhat confused, vacant look and I helped him back into his chair.  He was no longer the six foot two and one half inches of his prime.  He now seemed closer to my 5′ 10 1/2″ inches and he looked like all of his seventy-six years.

I introduced myself to the nurse, who was not really a nurse but someone the visiting nurses sent to the house to clean, cook lunch and take care of home-bound patients’ hygienic needs.  She told me her name and recounted the story of finding my Mom dead and calling the ambulance.  Later, before she left, she told me there were some potatoes and onions in the pantry that were about to go bad and some meat and left-overs that needed to be cleared out of the refrigerator.  The way she spoke, I knew she was asking for them.  It was easy to tell she was poor and I told her to go ahead and take the things she was talking about.  Over the course of that day, and the next, she asked for more and more things–a real scavenger.  Her services ended.

Dad and I sat down and he told me which funeral company he had directed Mom’s body be sent.  I contacted the owner and discussed needs, dates, services, etc.  I was having a tough time with the subject so I told him I would be down later.

I asked Dad for names of people to act as pallbearers.  He could not think of any so I asked about people I had heard he and Mom speak about.  I did not know many people there, in the small town where he grew up and where they had moved after he retired.  I asked who the man was that took their cattle to auction, etc.  Finally I had some names and I started making phone calls, wishing at that moment that I had siblings who could help with what had to be done.  But I was an only child and it was up to me.  I called other people for names and came up needing two.

I went to the funeral home and sat down with the owner.  We discussed prices, quality of caskets, clothes, markers and services.  I would do fine, for a while, then have to control my suddenly appearing tears and emotions.  I finally left to go back home and see what clothes Mom had there, appropriate for her last public occasion.

Dad was still sitting in his rocker, where I had left him, the room growing dark as the sun set behind the trees.  I told him about the arrangements I had made, so far, and started looking for mom’s clothes.  Dad was quiet and I asked him to try to come up with more names for pallbearers.  He couldn’t. He didn’t.  I was getting frustrated with him and could not find any appropriate clothes.  Part of me wanted to sit there like him but the other part knew things had to be done.  God, I was sad and Dad was no help!  I left to select a gown from the funeral home’s selection of appropriate apparel.

Dad’s lack of help was stressful.  I wanted to yell, scream and cry, to try and relieve the hurt, sadness and sudden unwanted responsibilities that had been placed  upon me.  I picked out the gown and casket then stopped by to meet the young minister.  I told him about Mom’s life and gave him a poem I had written for her, as a birthday present.  I held together and completed the arrangements.

We made it through the funeral and burial.  When the minister read my poem, it almost did me in.  Back at the house, there were friends, food and conversation.  Dad told a friend of mine that I was trying to get all of his money and control of his affairs.  The friend told me and old feelings returned.

Dad and I had had a love/hate relationship for most of my remembered life.  He and Mom had spent many weekends partying and drinking, when I was young.  All of their emotions bubbled to a drunken surface, many times, and erupted into violence.

I remember sitting in my bed, about seven years old, looking down a long hall, into the living room, and hearing the loud talk, screams and shouts.  I saw hitting, both her and him.  He was much larger than her but she fought back–it was in her nature.  Dad had been a heavyweight fighter during college.  She played tennis in college and grew up as a cowgirl in Eastern New Mexico, doing a man’s job on various ranches.

Sometimes, during the violence I was subjected to, there were yells for help.  sometimes I could see him pushing her across the small area of the living room I could see, while sitting in the middle of my bed.  I would sit there watching, wanting to scream but too afraid and holding that sound inside.  Eventually, when I was in the third grade, my stomach erupted, from all the terror I shoved down there.  I would wake up screaming in pain, holding my stomach.  The only place I could eventually fall asleep was lying crossways in Mom’s padded rocking chair.

Mom took me to local doctors, then, on referral, to a large Galveston hospital.  The doctors never found anything wrong and came up with a diagnosis of ‘migraine stomach’.  That diagnosis was otherwise termed, ‘we don’t know’.  Years later I diagnosed the cause myself.  Whenever I was around violence, of any kind, my stomach tied up in knots and I was able to relate the feelings together with the drunken violence I had witnessed and been subject to.

The drinking and fighting episodes continued to flare up every so often.  Some were witnessed by my friends and really embarrassed me.  As I grew older, about fifth grade, I started to run into the living room, or whatever room the sparks were coming from, to try and separate them.

I remember one such episode in the kitchen.  I ran between them screaming, “Stop it!”, tears covering my face and nerves wracked by fear and sadness.  My Dad looked at me and said, “What are we doing to our son?  What have we done?”, his words slurred, sloppy and wet.  He then made us all hold hands, in a circle, and drop to our knees while he said a drunken prayer and asked for God’s forgiveness, as tears rolled down all of our faces.  There were no lasting effects, though.  The drinking and violence continued.

During these years, the love/hate relationship developed between Dad and I.  Everything would be all right, until the drinking.  Sometimes things would turn out ok and sometimes not.  I got to the point where I hated to see them drink at all and I would turn off to them, acting hateful, staying distant and holding my twisting, painful stomach.

There were times when I would try and break up fights and , unable to do so, would run to neighbors’ houses.  The neighbors would never do anything to help, never wanting to interfere, afraid for themselves.  They would talk to me then I would have to walk back down the dark sidewalk to the house. I would return to our house, listen at each window and at the front door, to see if the violence was still going on and eventually would go back inside, only because I had no other choices.  I would tell Mom and Dad that I had told the neighbors, hoping that would, somehow, have some kind of positive effect.  It didn’t.  Sometimes there would be flashing lights from police cars, because of the yelling going on inside my house.  Police cars were never called to anyone else’s house on our block.

Eventually, after a severe period, Mom and Dad separated and Mom filed for divorce.  I was in Junior High and I put a loaded shotgun in my closet.  Dad suddenly moved back in one day and no one had told me that was going to happen.  I didn’t know they had reconciled.  I found him in my room one day holding the shotgun.  He looked at me and said, “I found this in your closet.  It’s loaded.  What was it doing there?”

I felt strange, uneasy.  It was so easy to hate this man when he was drinking, drunk, yelling at, pushing, cursing or hitting Mom or me.  Yet, when he was normal, I did not feel the same feelings toward him.  I was young and confused about love and hate.  I knew that I felt both and I only wanted the love feeling to stay.  But the hate was so powerful.  Besides, I had plenty of memories that supplied the answer to his question.

“I wasn’t going to let you hurt Mom anymore,” I said, looking him in he eyes then dropping my eyes toward my shuffling feet.  It was so hard to imagine shooting him, when he was not drunk, scary and dangerous but the memories provided the conviction.

My words and feelings struck him and he said, “Well, I’ll put it back in the storeroom”, as he walked out of my room with the gun, not looking at me.  His words were spoken softly and I got the feeling, somehow, that I had hurt him.

My parents did not drink and get drunk every day.  Their violence nearly always erupted on weekends, after parties and on holidays.  Sometimes there would be weeks, or even months, between episodes.  Sometimes there were only days.

My natural sympathy was for my Mom, smaller and weaker than him.  Sometimes she would sleep with me after their fighting.  The alcohol breath became familiar to me and I hated the smell.  Her cough was the only normal sound she made.  Everything else sounded drunken.  I went to sleep holding her hand.  How I loved the peace, the quiet, after the fighting.  Still, I held what had passed, what I had experienced, inside.

I was too young to understand that there were two sides to every argument.  Pent up anger and frustration were unknown to me then, at least intellectually.  As I grew older, and apart, I began to understand some of these things but was never able to relax around my parents when they drank.

My dad only really hit me once, on a Christmas night when I tried to break up one of their fights.  Dad had pushed Mom back on the bed in their room and was wrestling and slapping her.  I jumped on him and he slapped me, sending me backward landing against the door frame.  He and Mom were as stunned as I was.  I moved first and bolted out the front door, to the next door neighbor’s house.  Different city, different neighbors, same results.  Fifth grade.

I always dreaded Christmas alone with Mom and Dad.  As long as family was around, things would be all right.  But Christmas always involved drinking and drinking always brought up bitterness and resentment toward Dad.  Thank goodness we were not alone but a few Christmases.

The question, “So, what’s my position now,” came from a seventy-five year old man, guarded and suspicious, who had lost his wife who had been his strength for forty years.  “Your position is the  same as always, Dad.  I’m not here to take your money, or land, or your house.  You are still in control of that,” I tried to reassure him.  I felt myself becoming, more and more, the parent.

He leaned back, somewhat reassured, but not totally.  He had given me money many times in the past.  Some of it I spent foolishly.  I had not completed college in four straight years, had bounced around several jobs and done a few things he did not consider to be great life achievements, or advancements.

He had always been successful and always did his best, at whatever he did.  A first rate athlete, rough, tough and self-assured.  He had been handsome, big in stature and worked for one company for over thirty years.  He had also been in a single profession his whole adult life.  He always succeeded and could not understand the lace of success, or consistency in my life.

Our views were different in many ways but we had grown somewhat closer over the years.  There had, however, always been a barrier.  I wanted to hug him several times over the  years but could not, until Mom died.  Many times I wanted to tell him I loved him but could not speak the words.  Neither could he.

Dad eventually went into a nursing home a few months after Mom’s death.  His mind was fading.  When Mom left, his anchor, his strength and wisdom deserted him.  In the nursing home, he lived in the past.  Sometimes he knew me and my family and sometimes he did not.  He always knew that he knew me, he just was not always sure exactly who I was.  Sometimes he introduced me to his nurses as his brother, father, or his cousin.

There were times he would ask about Mom, or tell me I needed to see her, but he could not find her right then.  He forgot she had passed and his dream world reality was the only way he could continue to exist without her, I guess.

Mom and Dad had a sum of money in the bank and received payments on land they had sold.  Financially, Dad was all right.  I paid his bills, invested part of his money and used some of it to further a dream I had had for a long time.  I wanted to be a writer.  The money financed my first book and gave me a year to spend writing and thinking.  When the book was published, by me, I took a copy with me to visit Dad.  It so happened that it was one of his more lucid moments.

We talked about the weather, about whether or not anyone had been to see him and how the food was.  I told him what his two grandchildren were up to and how my wife was doing.  I told him I had written a book.  He looked at me without changing expressions and I wondered whether or not the words were penetrating all of the layers leading to understanding and comprehending.

My local newspaper had done a front page story about me and there was a photo of me holding my book.  I showed him the paper and the book.  He was interested in the newspaper article and he tried to reach for it so he could see it better.

Strokes had left him bent and crippled, with little arm or hand movement.  I got his glasses, put them on him and held the paper so he could read the article.  His concentration was good, for a while, but I could see it waiver.  I do not think he finished the article, but he stared at the picture.  I showed him the book and opened it to the dedication, one of which was to him and Mom.  I was not sure how much of this was getting inside of him.  I talked about the book, thanked him for making it possible for me to have done what I did, the way I did.

Shortly thereafter, it was time to go.  I got up, thanked him again and leaned over to kiss his forehead.  I started walking toward the end of his bed.  He said, “Gary”, and I turned and looked at him.  He had not called me by my name in months.  He said, “I love you”, and his big, long face broke up in tears and love.

I was stunned and my emotions were caving in.  Barriers that had been erected and strengthened for years, for decades, started crumbling.  I looked at him and said, “I love you, too”, through tears and a tight throat.  I walked back around to the side of his bed and leaned over and hugged the thin, frail body, my cheek on his.  He looked up at me and continued, “And I am so proud of you.”

It was almost more that I could stand.  For months I did not know whether or not he knew me, when I visited.  He could rarely remember my name.  But he knew!  Today he knew and he loved me and was proud of me.  I had wanted to hear and know those things for years.

Since he had become so dependent, I had grown so used to touching him, rubbing his shoulders and fixing his hair.  During his decline, I had diapered him, showered him, dressed him and cleaned him after his messes.  The child turned parent.  I had grown used to touching him but the emotional barriers were still there, even in his helplessness.  I stayed a little longer, filling myself with the moment.  He loved me, he was proud of me and I loved him.  All the words spoken face to face.

Through the years, I had grown to understand that my parents’ drinking, fighting, cursing, screams and violence had not been directed toward me, though I was the one who suffered the most.  Intellectually I understood.  But the tears, terror, screams and fears, held inside by the helplessness of a terrified young boy, sitting in his bed, looking down a long hall, watching his parents fight and scream, were beyond intellectual understanding.  The memories and experiences were fortified and buttressed by repetition and anger, hate, fear and sadness were shoved inside.  They were guarded and protected by masks of anger, humor and cockiness, protecting the tender feelings inside.  They were difficult feelings to release.

My dad started those walls crumbling and I am still working through them.  That may have been his last lucid act.  The last time I saw him, he introduced me to a nurse as his cousin Peanuts, whoever that is.

But I remember the good times, too, and there were many.  Maybe all of this is why Mom went first, so Dad and I could get together before he joined her.  There were things I wish I could have said to Mom before she died, but that will not be the same with Dad. We talked. He loves me and is proud of me.  And I love him.

Copyright 2018 by Gary Bass

[i-write-about-anything]

Little Beta(s) Chapter 22

Prompt: Liam get’s turned at an early age and he looks at you as his guardian/parent. Plus you’re dating Scott who’s always trying to look after him. (10 year gap between Liam and reader)

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x Reader (platonic) Scott McCall x Reader, Derek Hale (younger and platonic) x Reader

Chapters:

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21

The week passed and Derek was the only one going to school with Scott. Liam and I spend most of our days looking for a way to start home school and although it was going to be a lot of work it's what's best for him and I wasn't going to fight it. Scott and I had agreed that we all needed a break from this town which is why we're taking the kids and going on vacation. A weekend getaway, is what Scott likes to call it. Liam had been excited as he had never left beacon hills. Derek had also been excited but he didn't like to show it. Liam and I had gotten exerithing ready for us to be able to leave once Scott and Derek got home. "I've never been on a boat before." Liam's spoke breaking me out of the mess on my bed.

"I know honey." I smile at him. "You don't have anything to worry about, I can see you overthinking it." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What if I get sea sick?" He frowns and I giggle rolling my eyes.

"Honey, come here." I open up my arms for him and he walks into them. "If you get sea sick we have all these medicines to help you out, trust me I won't let anything happen to you, haven't you realized that yet?" I pointed to the medicines before giving him a kiss on the forehead. He sighed before resting his head on my shoulder.

"Do you hate that I'm so attached to you?" He spoke directly into my ear and I pulled his head towards me so I could see him.

"Honey who told you that?" He shook his head.

"No one, I just want to know." His cheeks started to turn pink as his eyes looked down.

"Liam, baby. I love that you're attached to me. You're the son I never thought I would have, and having you attached to me is great, I know someday you'll grow out of it and I'm going to be a little upset but I know you have to grow up from me." I gave him a small smile.

"I'm never going to grow out of you mom. Dad is still attached to his mom." He points out.

"That's true, isn't it? But he doesn't visit her as much as he would want to. Once you grow up and move away from me and dad you'll be too busy to visit us too." I hadn't noticed I was crying until Liam wiped my face.

"Mom don't cry, I'll always make time for you, no matter where I go." He hugged me and I sighed.

"I wish you could have stayed little a little bit longer." I giggle. "You grew up so fast." I looked at him. "I'm proud of you, don't ever think I'm not." Liam smiled and kissed my cheek before we heard the front door open.

"Baby!" "Mom!" Both Scott and Derek called at the same time. Derek had also started calling me mom, not often but he'd let it slip up once in a while.

"In the room!" I yell and wipe the unwanted tears out of my face as Liam goes back to packing the medicines in a bag.

"Hey, almost ready?" Scott spoke moving towards me to kiss me on my lips as Derek went to punch Liam on the arm playfully.

"You do know I have anger issues, right?" Liam spoke and Derek laughed.

"Yeah, were ready, why don't you and the boys go put all of the luggage in the car and I'll pack us some lunch." I smile as him.

"Sounds like a plan." Scott smiled and grabbed a suitcase from the bed. "Betas." He whistled to get their attention. Once they looked at him he tossed them each a suitcase. "Take it to the car." They obligated, as always, and Scott smiled at me. "It's going to be a good weekend, I know it." He said before leaving me to walk to the kitchen.

_______

"Alright, a couple rules. First off this boat is big, it has multiple stories and I don't want you guys to be running through it like kids." Scott spoke as we started to unload the luggage getting ready to board the cruise ship that would be out home for the next three days. "Second, you guys are no allowed to wolf out, under any circumstances. Third, you listen to me and your mother, if we tell you to do something, you do it. And lastly, please just, try to have fun, alright? This is what it's mostly for." Scott smiled as he grabbed ahold of my hand.

"You do know they're not kids, right?" I laugh and Scott rolls his eyes.

"I'm just trying to get some ground, it's not fair they listen to you more than me." He spoke and I shook my head.

"Well maybe you should try being nice to them once in a while and they wouldn't like me more." He chuckled.

"I could literally give them everything they've ever wanted and they'd still like you better." I laugh knowing it was true.

"Alright, you guys ready?" I looked at Liam who'd been looking at the boat with worried eyes, before he and Derek nodded.

"I'm so ready." Derek spoke as he put on a pit of sunglasses.

"Liam, you'll be fine, I promise." I reassured him and he nodded. Once we boarded the boat I had high hopes that we'd all have a good time and it would release some stress for everyone. Granted Liam looked like he was going to already hurl from his nerves but I reassured him it was fine. Once we put all our belongings in our rooms we decided to go up to the pool area and watch as the boat took off from the shore.

"Mom I don't want to look." Liam spoke as we walked to the back of the boat.

"It's okay, you can lay your head on my shoulder, okay?" He sighed before nodding.

"Dude, come on, it's going to be cool." Derek spoke and I gave him a look.

"If he doesn't want to he doesn't have to, okay?" Derek put up his hands and nodded. We were now sitting at a table close to the railing of the boat and Liam looked at me as more people started to stand and sit next to us. Part of me thought it was crazy, we were from beacon hills, and we had three werewolves in our family and here we are acting like a normal family. The boat started to move and Liam rested his head on my shoulder while he grabbed onto my arm. "It's okay, if you feel sick let me know, okay?" He simply nodded not wanting to look up.

"This is so awesome." Scott spoke and I smiled up at him, I knew he needed this the most, especially after all we've been through. Derek's smile quickly faded as he looked at me.

"What?" I scrunched my eyebrows together and he moved closer to me.

"I don't feel good." I sighed and motioned for him to sit next to me and soon he was resting his head on my other shoulder.

"I thought you said it was going to be cool." Liam's spoke chuckling a bit and Derek groaned.

"Sea sick already?" A lady spoke and I looked up to her, both boys keeping their heads buried in my shoulder.

"Yeah, they've never been out on boat before." I smiled as Scott looked at her before returning his eyes to the sea.

"Mom." Liam spoke softly and I rubbed my hand on his back.

"You're fine honey." I kiss his head and the lady looks at me.

"Aren't you a little to young to have a teenager?" She questioned.

"I don't." I looked at her before looking at Derek. "I have two." I smiled at her as Derek wrapped his hands around my waist fighting Liam in the process.

"Wow, and that's your husband?" She looked at Scott who looked at the lady.

"Boyfriend, actually." He smiled knowing full well this lady was judging us. She nodded at Scott and looked back at me.

"Can I ask you how you came to have these two? Since there's no possible way you could have had them, you look no older than twenty one." I sighed and looked at Liam who's blue eyes were looking at me already.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I rather not talk about my personal life to a complete stranger that's going to judge me regardless of the story I tell her." I smile and Derek chuckles.

"Harsh, mom." He lifted his head for a moment before immediately putting it back down.

"Well excuse me, maybe you should get your life together honey because right now it just looks like you're a mess." She walked away and I rolled my eyes and Scott laughed.

"If only she knew I had three werewolves who would gladly scare the living shit out of her if I wanted them to." I ruffled both Derek and Liam's hair and looked at Scott. "We're going to need to patch them up." Scott nodded as he pulled out the small patches, that were supposed to prevent seasickness, from his pocket. He walked over to us and places a patch at the back of their ears and soon they were starting to feel better. Derek was the first one to lift his head up and once he did he immediately ran to a trash can and threw up. Liam chuckled and I nudged him to be nice. "Hey, don't be mean, you wouldn't want him making fun of you."

"I'll go get him." Scott spoke as he stood up to walk towards Derek. Liam lifted his head and looked at the water before looking at me.

"Are you okay?" I asked and he nodded.

"Yeah, I don't feel bad, not anymore." He smiled.

__________

"How are you feeling?" I sit on the bed Derek was laying in, his face down, and he goaned.

"Why does it feel like this?" He looked at me and I rubbed his back.

"Oh honey, you just need to get used to it. Come on sit up." He shook his head.

"No, I'm just going to end up puking again." He put his head into the pillow and I patted his back.

"You won't, that's what the patches are for, come on, we have to get ready for dinner." I smiled and he groaned again as Liam entered the room with Scott.

"How is he?" Scott spoke.

"Horrible, just let me wallow in my own pity." Scott chuckled and moved forward to sit him up.

"No, we came on this vacation to have fun, and you're going to have fun." Scott sat on the bed so he wouldn't lay back down. Liam looked at me and I patted the spot next to me and he quickly sat there.

"You'll feel a lot better once you eat and start walking around." I smiled at Derek. "Look at Liam, he's better than ever." Liam gave Derek his biggest smile showing his pearly whites.

"Fine." Derek spoke. "Can we just sit here for a moment?" He looked at me.

"Of course but you have to tell me why." I smile and I looked at Scott who was already in his swimming trunks.

"I just like this, all of us here, not worrying about anything but normal stuff." Derek looked down.

"I like that too." Liam beamed in putting his cheek on his my arm.

"Well that's the whole point of this vacation, to be normal." Scott spoke and put his hand on Derek's shoulder. “Now come on, we’re all hungry and (y/n) said we can’t eat unless you come with so, come on.” I rolled my eyes. 

“I did not say that. I said we couldn’t eat without him.” Liam chuckled and I shook my head smiling. 

“Fine, let’s go.” Derek sighed and when we all got up from the bed he grabbed a hold of my arm. On the way to the cafeteria he wouldn't let go and I swear I needed to start working out to keep up with their strength. Once we sat on the table Derek tried to keep his head off of it. 

“Mom, do you think we can go swimming after this?” Liam looked at me and I smiles. 

“Yeah honey, whatever you’d like.” I smiled at him as another family sat with us. They had a daughter and a son, the son looking a little older than Derek and Liam and their daughter looking only two years younger. 

“Hi, do you mind if we sit here? All the other tables are full.” The woman spoke and I looked at Scott. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” Scott smiled and I looked at Liam who was telling Derek what he was going to eat. 

“I’m Kate, this is my husband Rob, and our kids, Hayden and Peter.” She spoke and I smiled. She looked like she was in her mid thirties, non like Scott and I. 

“I’m Scott, this is my girlfriend (y/n) and our boys, Liam and Derek.” Scott pointed to each boy who didn’t bother to look up. 

“Wow, a little young to have teenagers, don’t you think? I thought they were your brothers or something.” The older man spoke and I rolled my eyes. 

“It’s a long story that my girlfriend doesn’t want to talk about.” Scott smiled at the couple. Our food came and Derek automatically looked up at me making a gagging face. Liam laughed as he tried to take a sip of water and I sighed. 

“Just try honey.” I patted his cheek and looked at Liam. “Stop laughing or you’re not going to be swimming anytime soon.” Liam bit his lip and the older woman, Kate, laughed. 

“Wow, if only I could get mine to behave.” I gave her a small smile. 

“They’re only behaving because this one is sick and this well, this one is almost always good.” I smiled and ruffled his hair. 

“Mom.” His cheeks started to turn pink and Kate laughed. 

“What a momma’s boy.” The boy, Peter, huffed out crossing his arms. Liam looked at him and before I could say or do anything Derek’s hand moved to his arm. 

“Don’t.” Derek spoke and Liam’s jaw tightened. I knew what was happening which is why I took him into my arms when his eyes started to glow. 

“Peter, don't be rude.” Kate spoke as I tried to calm Liam down. “Apologize, now.”

“Hey, stop it, we have to be normal, remember?” I whispered in his ear and Derek looked at Scott who sighed. 

“Yeah, no.” He chuckled and I had realized that I was actually lucky that both Derek and Liam weren’t little shits like him. Liam pulled away when he calmed down and looked at Derek. 

“Thanks man.” Liam spoke and Derek nodded. Liam looked at the Peter kid and spoke before I could even process what he was doing. “If I were you I'd watch what you say, I can be quiet and sure I'm stuck on to my mom a lot, but I have IED and I'm still learning how to control my anger.” Liam growled out and it was one of the first times I had ever seen him stick up for himself. Scott patted his back and I smiled at Liam.  

“That's more like it.” Derek smiled and put his hand up and Liam collided his own onto Derek’s as they high-fived. 

“You’re just going to let him threaten my kid like that?” The man, Rob, looked at Scott.

“Actually, yes, your son deserves it.” I smiled and stood up. “Come on boys, let’s go.” They all stood up and Liam looked back at the boy giving him a smirk before we all walked away. I didn’t know if this was going to go as well as I thought. But I was willing to see where the hell this trip takes us. 

______

tags; @leslieandjensen @hirafth @neptuneluek @lydiasbxtch @adellyhatter-blog @nxthing-lasts-fxrever@letmebecomeataboo @cloudchaserr @nerdyowlbookfreak @xcastawayherosx @k-baileyy@scotttstilinskii @therealmrshale @thesuperkpopfan @queen--glitch

[pitch-pearl-void]

I've been wanting something like this for a while... but... What if, instead of Phantom ending up in the Human World and befriending Danny, Danny ends up in the Ghost Zone and befriends Phantom? *coughs* Not a very good idea, I know, but I just want to see it and I don't know if I can write it myself, since there's been some family issues lately :(

Dear Mom and Dad

The good news is I turned on the portal! The bad news is I’m trapped on the other side…

I’m not dead!  I think. I’m in the Ghost Zone you two were always talking about, and it’s bright creepy strange hellish cold desolate indescribable, you’ll just have to see for yourself when you GET ME OUT OF HERE! 

Nothing makes sense in here! There are these floating doors and rocks, and this green glowing stuff that’s everywhere, and the ghosts

I take back everything I said about not believing in ghosts. You were right about everything. They exist and they’re rude, thoughtless, scary complete assholes who only think about themselves. I’ve just been cut off from home and I don’t know if I’ll ever see you guys again and all he can think about is

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

After you guys gave up on the portal, me, Tucker, and Sam decided to look around and see if we could fix it for you, and if you guys get me out of here I swear I will never go near your inventions without supervision again I swear! Please! I just want to go home I miss you guys I miss everyone how long have I been gone

Since I’m the only one with a ready-made jumpsuit, I went inside to see if there was something wrong with a wire while Sam and Tucker checked around the outside. It wasn’t their fault! We all just wanted to help and it seemed safe enough. I guess we should have unplugged it first but

Okay, I don’t know what happened exactly. I think I pressed a button? I might have pressed a button. Just all of a sudden, the portal started working. I was still inside, and it was really loud. I didn’t know what was going on, and I didn’t have time to run or duck or anything. There was a lot of light, a lot of green light, and then there was this sucking sensation like I was getting sucked down a drain. I think it hurt but I don’t know for sure. I think I saw my fingers stretching so I’m sure it had to hurt, but I don’t remember any pain?

Anyway, I blacked out, and when I woke up again I was on my back and all I could see was this boy with white hair looking down at me and I thought I was dead because he has this white glow about him and he looked like a

A boy ghost and his dog found me before I’d even woken up. The dog (he’s called Cujo I guess) doesn’t like me and won’t stop growling, but the other guy seems more curious and confused than dangerous. He looks a lot like me? It’s really scary weird. He didn’t believe humans actually exist! Can you believe it? He seems convinced now, but only because his dog attacked me.

That’s the weirdest thing. He tried to bite me, but he passed right through me! I don’t know why it happened or how I did it, but Cujo kept trying to bite and claw at me and it kept happening. I might’ve been screaming the whole time, but in my defense this dog is huge! The ghost boy managed to pull Cujo off me after a while, but he didn’t seem to have an explanation for what happened either.

He did agree that I’m probably a human though. Win?

Anyway, he calls himself Phantom. Actually he calls himself Danny Phantom, but that was too weird and he said it was okay to just call him Phantom. He says most people just call him Phantom anyway. He doesn’t have any friends to call him Danny but maybe he’s just making that up?

He might not have believed in humans, but he says there have always been rumors about the Real World (he calls it the Human World but whatever) along with rumors on how to get there. He agreed to help me get home if he can come too. I didn’t want to agree (ghosts are bad right?) but how else am I supposed to get home? I waited outside the portal doors for—well, I don’t know how long. There isn’t any way to record time in this stupid place. Point is the doors aren’t opening. He’s my only chance.

On the bright side, he seems more interested in just seeing what the Real World is. There’s nothing evil about that right?

So Phantom’s first idea was this guy called “Wulf” who’s locked up in ghost prison. Awesome. But he can apparently rip holes in a dimension? Worth a shot. I guess.

Phantom had this weird idea that humans can do magic or something. I guess the episode with Cujo made him believe it. Ha! Nope, I’m just a wimpy teenager that can’t even fly so he has to carry me. (For the record: not awesome.) He told me to wait outside because I’m that useless and now he and Cujo are trying to bust that guy out. I’m using the time to write down everything in my English notebook. You guys always wanted to be here, and since it seems I’ll be living here for the rest of my life I may as well take notes. If I ever see you guys again, it’ll be helpful right? So you won’t ground me for life?

Actually it’s been a long time since they went inside. Maybe I should

—

Day 1

Like I said, there isn’t really any way to tell time here, so I’m just basing it off my sleep schedule. It’ll work for now. You should have seen Phantom’s face when he found out I willingly “shut down” for eight hours. Oh the horror of not being aware of my surroundings 24/7! Actually that is pretty scary in the Ghost Zone. I take it back.

We had to run fly pretty far to get away from the prison guards, but we found an uninhabited area after a while. I was pretty exhausted by then so I just sort of, like, dropped. Phantom panicked, the ghosts that escaped with us panicked, but I managed to calm them all down. Sort of. Ghosts are weird. They’re fascinated by humans, but I seem to spook (ha ha get it?) them as much as they scare me.

One of the ghosts can make—it’s not food. For one, it glows like everything else around here. But she can make it out of thin air and it tastes like food so

I’m just saying, I won’t starve. It’s a big plus in my opinion. She made me enough to stuff my backpack. She seems…happy to feed me. Scary happy. Said she’d make me as much food as I want and that I could come and see her whenever I ran out. Tried to put some sort of tracker signature on me (according to Phantom) so that she could track me down and make sure I was eating right but Cujo wouldn’t let her. Thank you oversized hellhound, I think I love you.

If you’re wondering, the prison break was…not a success exactly. Phantom and Cujo got captured, like, seconds into the raid and I, magical human that I am, had to bust them out by using my super awesome walking-through-walls ability, which is apparently a thing along with passing through ghosts that want to hurt me. I freed them and everyone else I could reach. Phantom seemed to think a jailbreak would make a great distraction, and since it worked, I’ll give him that, even if his other plan was a complete toss.

We actually found Wulf in the confusion, but Wulf (who is actually a wolf man, go figure) doesn’t speak English. He does have the ability to rip holes in dimensions though! He used it to escape the prison. Without us.

Not exactly according to plan.

Phantom seems really nervous about something, but given that we just broke ourselves and a dozen prisoners out of jail, he has reason to be. The guards sure seemed determined to catch us. We lost them now, but are we running from, like, the law or something now? Does the Ghost Zone have a government?

The other ghosts don’t seem to like Phantom much. I guess he wasn’t lying. They’re really stiff around him. They’re already leaving, though, so he won’t have to deal with them for much longer, at least.

I’m going to stick with Phantom (and Cujo). Just seems like the thing to do after leading a jailbreak together. Besides, he’s dropped the whole useless-human act. He’s treating me differently now. Respect is really nice, especially coming from a guy your age (probably) who can shoot death rays from his hand.

I’m really tired. I don’t know how long I’ve been awake but it’s been a really exhausting day. Cujo is standing “Guard” over me, and Phantom is talking to the Lunch Lady (the ghost supplying me with the glowing ghost food-that-isn’t).

I’m as safe as I’m likely to be in this awful place.

Now if everything wasn’t glowing.

—

Day 4

Finally convinced Phantom to let me use his cape last night (or whatever). He seems really attached to it, you’d think it was a part of him or something.  Given this weird place and how the cape has this really strange tingle-inducing feel to it? It might be? Idk honestly but while the GZ isn’t cold it definitely isn’t warm either. I typically have to sleep on solid (floating, always floating) rock, which is cold. And hard. Just really uncomfortable. I have to choose between using my backpack as a pillow or as a blindfold when I sleep.

Meanwhile, Phantom’s flying around with this really warm looking white cape. I kept thinking I could lay it on the ground and then wrap up in it and it would be bliss and I was right. I can stand the faint buzz and the weird looks Phantom gives me in the “morning” so long as he keeps letting me use it. Cujo seems a bit calmer around me too. Maybe there’s a scent? Ghost scent since obviously I can’t smell it. I’d put up with that too if it meant I could have a blanket every night.

We’re trying to track down another ghost called Desiree. Phantom seems a bit unsure about this one. She’s a ghost that can make any wish come true. The flaw is that she makes the wish come true in ways you never meant it to and she grows more powerful with every wish she grants. That sounds like a problem. But they say she’s one of the ghosts who used to be human, so Phantom’s hoping she’ll be willing to help.

That’s something interesting you guys might like to know. Apparently not every ghost lived, died, and became a ghost. According to Phantom, most come into existence randomly, usually around a large gathering of that green stuff he calls ectoplasm. That’s how he came into being. Some ghosts are born from the coupling of two or more ghosts and when I asked how /that/ happens, his face turned green and he started sputtering.

I’m guessing the same way babies are made. Only more “ghostly”

A ghost being born after the death of a human is a controversial topic, apparently, since they appear the same way other ghosts do, except they have memories of being human. They can’t prove it, few ghosts have even seen the Real World, and so it’s like a myth. Like people saying they “saw the light” or their dead relatives or whatever is a bit of a myth for us.

My stumbling into their Zone is like an alien walking into a Starbucks!

Phantom thinks this is really cool and I think it’s hilarious so we’re constantly making jokes about it, especially when we come across another ghost and they just gawk at me.

Side note: I’m almost positive Phantom was telling the truth about not having friends.

—

So

Desiree hates Men and the Real World and is even more antag—antogonis—uh, hateful towards Phantom than the other ghosts.

Long day. I’m tired. Phantom is letting me use his cape again. He’s probably just grateful I saved his ass. Again. I hope this becomes a thing.

The cape sharing, not the saving.

Cujo is even letting me lean against him. Phantom is sitting on the boulder beside us. He doesn’t look so good. He’s hugging his knees to his chest and just kind of staring at nothing. Maybe I should say something

—

Day 10

Okay

So

There is something in the GZ that can affect me against my will. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I hope it was something unique to “the Zone’s Greatest Hunter” because  

I guess being able to walk through everything that’s trying to hurt me made this place seem less dangerous than it actually is. There’s a lot that can go wrong. I’m not really safe here. Especially since it seems we really have upset some sort of governmental law.

I mentioned that Phantom is always pushing us to keep moving, never staying in one place too long, and it’s like we’re running from something? That something turned out to be the GHOST KING. Bad bad bad, wtf, a little warning would have been nice?! He’s not searching for us himself, he’s too important for that. No, he has others do his bidding. Because he’s a freaking king.

I don’t know what we did to piss him off so much, unless he’s just really pissed about the jailbreak? But one of his bounty hunters, Skulker, captured me and Phantom and locked us in a cage. The bars had a weird glow, and I wasn’t able to walk through them. Phantom was freaking out, thinking we were going to be handed over to the king, but Skulker seemed more interested in keeping us as some sort of creepy collection of his. The similarities between me and Phantom haven’t gone unnoticed in the GZ, I guess. Skulker kept talking about having a matched set. Gross.

Thank god for Cujo. I don’t know how we would have escaped without him.

Me and Phantom were pretty shaken afterwards (duh) so Phantom finally relented and took me to his “lair”

I mentioned it a couple days ago. The lairs are supposed to be an extension of the ghost’s will because it formed from the same ectoplasm as the ghost or something. It’s not just rude to enter a ghost’s lair uninvited it’s dangerous because they have complete control over that tiny area of the GZ. That makes Phantom’s lair the safest place for us, but Phantom has been pretty protective of the place. I just thought of it like a bedroom, but I guess it’s a bit more private.

I don’t know what I was expecting. The outside was the usual non-descript purple door, but inside was this like snow cave. It was freezing, the walls were actually crusted with ice! I got to see how a ghost can control what’s inside the lair when Phantom got rid of the snow and ice. He didn’t look too happy about it, but between me freezing to death and his ice kink I think he can deal. I didn’t really ask him to do it, he just saw me shivering, sighed, and started changing things.

And he made me a bed! Well sort of. He’s never seen a bed, and I wasn’t able to describe one very well, so he just created this sort of lump of furs in a corner. After sleeping on bare rock for however long it’s been, I’m not going to complain. It looks like heaven, I can’t wait to sleep. I sat on it as soon as he finished and I haven’t gotten up since.

Phantom doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. I don’t think he likes me being here. Every time I move, he flinches and looks at me like he’s expecting me to attack him or something. His unease is making ME twitchy. There’s definitely something more to this lair thing that I’m not grasping. Cujo wouldn’t even come inside.

Maybe it’ll help if I go to sleep. Hopefully I won’t dream of being locked inside that cage. I don’t think I’ve ever been that trapped. I couldn’t stand up or stretch or anything. I couldn’t even move without elbowing Phantom. If I hadn’t been so scared, the tight quarters might have been awkward. We were practically in each other’s laps. I wasn’t even thinking about that at the time. I don’t even want to think about that NOW.

Whatever. I have a bed. It tingles a bit like Phantom’s cape, but I don’t care. It’s been ages since I had a good night’s sleep.

—

Day 11

I guess Phantom was even more shaken than I thought. We’re staying in his lair a while longer, possibly a whole “day.” He doesn’t seem as tense as last night, but I get the feeling he’d kick me out in a heartbeat if he thought I’d be safe out there by myself. Does that mean he cares? Maybe I’m reading too much into it. But I think we’re friends by now.

This is supposed to be the part where Phantom tells me what ghosts do for fun, but apparently lairs are just for resting and relaxing and recharging and all that boring stuff. He does seem a bit more sleepy than usual, if ghosts can get sleepy. He still doesn’t want me to touch anything, though. And sudden movements are a sure-fire way to get glared at. Still, it’s better than last night. He’s even sitting on the bed with me.

And now he’s watching me write but

I don’t think he can read?

Danny Phantom needs to chill the fuck out

Okay, he definitely can’t read. But I guess it’s kind of rude to be writing when he’s right there so I guess we’ll just talk? There’s got to be something we have in common

—

Note to self: the first thing we’re going to do when we make it to the Human World is stargaze. I gotta find my telescope. Phantom is going to freak!

—

Day 14

I miss you guys. So much. We just crossed a “river” that just looks like a more liquid version of ectoplasm. It loops through the air like some sort of demented roller coaster, and I swear I could hear you two babbling excitedly about running tests and talking about chemicals and molecules and physics and all that other stuff I don’t understand.

I wish you guys were here to see this with me. I’m living your dream without you. It doesn’t feel right to be so far away from you and still feel like you’re right beside me.

—

Day 16

I’m running out of paper. I guess the daily diary-note taking is hard to sustain when you only have one notebook and a pen.

In other news, along with looking for a way home, dodging the King’s and Walker’s agents, and learning the ins and outs of the GZ and its society, me and Phantom seem to be getting a reputation as the ghost and his still living humanity. Myth stacked upon myth. It was kind of funny at first, but it’s starting to get annoying. I feel like a freak. Everybody here keeps staring at us. They have a lot of questions and they keep trying to touch me. I don’t let them of course, and that just leads to more questions and excitement. I wish they’d just knock it off.

We wouldn’t have to deal with it in the first place, but Phantom is running out of ideas and needs to gather information. That means talking to other ghosts. Urgh.

Fortunately we seem to have stumbled on something. A ghost called Ghost Writer can warp reality with his writing, so maybe he can open a portal? Worth a shot.

Btw, is it possible for a ghost to be touch starved? Phantom’s been touching me a lot more recently. He’ll put his hands on my shoulders and float above me or wrap his tail around my ankle or just stand with his shoulder brushing mine. And he leans into my hand whenever I touch his shoulder or whatever. It’d be embarrassing, but he seems to do the same with Cujo, especially when he’s nervous. The first time we talked to a ghost, he kept his hand buried in the scruff of Cujo’s neck and didn’t let go until we were flying away.

Combined with how the other ghosts treated him and the way he tried to compare a mother and father to a master or mentor and it made me realize how lonely he must be.

Hey, mom, dad, he’s called Phantom and he followed me home. Can we keep him?

—

Day 18

Ghost Writer can only warp reality by sucking people into his books.

Pass.

The guy was like a hermit and kind of rude. But we did have to knock on his lair to get his attention since that seems to be where he spends all of his time. Given Phantom’s reaction to me being in his lair the first time, Ghost Writer was a calm summer night.

Phantom seems to be getting better about it, though. He even left me in his lair by myself for a little while. He didn’t tell me where he was going and I was too happy to be trusted in his ultra-private space by myself to question him. When he got back, he handed me a notebook he’d gotten from the Ghost Writer. Said he noticed how I was running out of paper.

I don’t

I didn’t know what to say

I hugged him and he freaked out

So good news, I have more paper! Score! It’s actually really great because as silly as this diary-note thing is, it helps. A lot little. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d run out. I wonder if Phantom knew that.

—

Day 22

I’m seriously sick of green. I don’t know if I mentioned that before. There’s just so much green in here, and it’s not the cheery kind of green you see in the spring and summer. It’s like this sickly, goopy green. I miss blue skies. And sunshine. And just anything but a black void with glowing ectoplasm leaking everywhere.

But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t have some charm, and Phantom seems determined to show me some of its wonders while we’re still here. Honestly, once you get over the wrongness of being able to walk along the underside of a floating rock, it starts to get pretty cool. I think it might be like space in a way. The rocks and other floating debris seem to have a gravity (or magnetism) about them that holds me to the surface like the Earth does, but if I jump too high, I escape whatever’s holding me down and I’ll just drift in that direction without any sign of slowing down or stopping.

It’s still faster to fly with Phantom or ride on Cujo, but it’s still really neat.

I wish I could say it gets boring or that the landscape (broken up as it is) is all the same, but I’ve seen upside down waterfalls and crystal tree forests and bubbling yellow tinted lakes with some sort of red creature swimming just beneath the surface and all kinds of bizarre rocky structures. And that’s not even counting the ghosts we pass.

It’s scary but exciting.

You guys are so going to lose it when you get here. It’s amazing. I suggest you get a local guide, though. They make it worthwhile.

—

Aa Bb Cc Dd Ee Ff Gg Hh Ii Jj Kk Ll Mm Nn Oo Pp Qq Rr Ss Tt Uu Vv Ww Xx Yy Zz

—

D a n n y  P h a n t o m

D u a n n y  P h a n t a o m

—

Day 25

We have three options that we know of to get to the Human World, but none of them are easy. One is to track Wulf down since Phantom thinks he’s still in the GZ, but it’s more like a passing attempt. We’re doing it as we go. The second is another myth, but if humans are real, maybe Clockwork is as well? They’re as hard to find as Wulf is, though. The for sure option is called the Infi-map. The problem? The Ghost King has it. Joy of joys.

Speaking of the king, we crossed paths with a ghost called the Fright Knight. Phantom used to work for him or something. They definitely knew each other and he was ordering Phantom around, and since the Fright Knight works for the King that means Phantom did too, probably as another knight. That would explain the other ghosts’ wariness of him.

At least, until he cut ties and tried running away with me. If we had managed to free Wulf and escape to the Human World that first night it wouldn’t have mattered, but because we’re still stuck in the GZ, the King is angry and after Phantom’s head.

You don’t flaunt the King’s authority.

I guess that’s why they’re after Phantom. But the Fright Knight said he had orders to take me captive as well so we’re both being targeted by the strongest, most influential ghost in the Ghost Zone. Holy shit. We knew that before, but it’s a bit more real with this giant ghost knight in black armor staring down at me and announcing I’m a wanted fugitive.

Before you get too worried though, he let us go. Said something about pretending he never saw Phantom and to stay away from Phantom’s lair for a while. Yeah. Phantom can’t believe it either. It’s been several hours (best guess) and he’s still got this amazed look on his face.

Is it really so hard for him to believe someone might care about him?

—

Day 30

Well. It’s been a month. Give or take. I’m still not home yet, but I haven’t given up. I’m going to see you guys again. I will.

But is it okay if I enjoy myself too? It’s not wrong that I’m actually maybe a little glad I got sucked in here? If the accident hadn’t happened when and where it did, I never would have met Phantom, and while I hate what the ghosts are saying about us being the living and dead versions of the same person, I’d be lying if I said meeting him wasn’t like finding a missing part of myself.  God that sounds cheesy.

I’ve seen things I never would have seen and met people I’ll never forget because I went into the portal. Cujo, the Lunch Lady, the Box Ghost, the terrifying but super cool Fright Knight

I miss you guys. But

It’s okay that I don’t regret this. Right?

—

Day 33

Remember that time you guys thought I had a crush on Sam? Ha ha funny story…

—

Day 34

Fuck.

—

Day 36

He can almost read now I’m not writing this shit down. But that thing he just did, he needs to not do it again. He doesn’t even realize holy shit I’m fucked

—

Day 37

We found Clockwork! Sort of. He They found us really. What’s your policy on ghosts being pseudo gods? If there was ever a ghost that might deserve the title it’d probably be this one.

Get this: they are the ghost master of time. They manipulate time and jump in and out of the time stream like it’s like it’s a fucking afternoon stroll or something. They can open portals not just to any when but to any where.

And yet they wouldn’t help us. Jerk.

We hadn’t returned to Phantom’s lair since Fright Knight’s warning, and the constant flight is wearing on Phantom. It’s wearing on me. I miss that bed and the security. Plus Phantom is more relaxed there. So we were talking about going back since it’s been a long time when this clock hand appeared, swished around in a circle, and out floated the oldest ghost I’d ever seen. Think grandfather time, complete with knee-length beard and knobby wrists.

They said “Don’t”

The fuck.

We’d been searching for this guy ghost for I don’t know how long and they just pop out of nowhere in the middle of a conversation and say “Don’t”

I was about to yell something I probably shouldn’t when they, I don’t know, shifted into a little bucktooth kid. It’s kind of distracting. You just don’t see that every day.

They did answer a few questions so I guess it wasn’t so bad, but it’s another dead end. They have the power to send us to the Human World. In fact, they could send us to the exact moment the portal activated so you guys wouldn’t have to worry about me and Sam and Tucker wouldn’t blame themselves and whatever else is happening at home right now. They can do it, the problem is they won’t. There were a lot of reasons, something about the journey and not the destination, but I think it mostly came down to “suffering breeds character, get home on your own, you lazy bum.” Could just be me though.

They did say that if we kept going the way we have we would eventually get to the Human World. I guess I can live with that. But I would have appreciated something a little more definitive. What if I get home, like, a decade from now? Yeah, I’m home but holy shit I’m an adult and I have to move out anyway.

Should mention, Phantom had this ridiculously stunned look on his face for most of the conversation. Between me and Clockwork, I don’t think he’s ever going to disbelieve a “myth” again!

He was more concerned about his lair once he snapped out of it. That’s his home. It’s supposed to be the safest place in the entire GZ for him, and suddenly it’s not. It’s so unsafe that a literal ghost god interrupted a private conversation just to say how dangerous it is. He looked crushed.

The lair itself is Phantom’s safe harbor, but the area surrounding it is where the danger lurks, I’m guessing. The ghost king probably set guards on the door.

And that’s crossing a line. I don’t care if he’s a king, that’s just fucked up.

I wanted to just deal with the guy then and there. I’m sick of running from him. Phantom looked angry too, and Clockwork wasn’t stopping us, but

Well, you can’t just topple a king, can you? We’re just two kids and a dog. What are we supposed to do, storm the castle? Granted Phantom was a knight and I’m a mythical creature and Cujo is the size of a horse, but it’d just be the ghost prison all over again. Better to keep low for now, I guess.

Phantom managed to get a promise from Clockwork that they’d let us know when his lair was safe again. They seemed a little too amused. They know something, and it’s really annoying.

The whole thing sucks. I miss the lair.

—

Day 41

Had a bit of a celebration today but it flopped. Phantom was able to summon ice to his hands outside his lair, and this is apparently a Big Deal. It means his “core” has matured or is mostly matured. I guess it’s like puberty.

The cores are kind of like a star’s core. It’s where all the energy and materials are created before being pushed to the outer parts of the body. The energy doesn’t cycle like a human’s does; it’s just radiated out of the ghost’s body because their core creates a continuous stream of energy. That’s why there’s this, like, static charge surrounding Phantom and why his cape and lair cause that tingling sensation. It clings to things, and since each core is unique, it’s like leaving a signature on everything they touch.

And I sleep with Phantom’s cape every night so every time I wake up his signature lingers on me for I don’t even know how long and fuuuuck no wonder he kept giving me weird looks

Some cores have an elemental affinity, and in Phantom’s case it’s ice. Now that his core is maturing, he’s able to create ice and his core will start producing more cold energy. I had noticed he was getting colder, but it was so gradual I didn’t really think about it. He was super excited about it until he realized he couldn’t visit somebody. I’m guessing they’re some kind of mentor to him. He didn’t want to talk about it, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to try.

Apparently, along with being their own internal battery, the cores are how ghosts have uh sex. Their shape doesn’t matter, their gender doesn’t matter, heck the number of ghosts getting it on doesn’t matter. Their cores just have to come into contact and then

I don’t know how they get pleasure from it or whatever, and I don’t care. Phantom’s core is located in his chest, and that’s why he freaked out when I hugged him, but it doesn’t matter.

I’m human. I don’t have a core.

I’m an idiot.

[wishingfornever]

1/28/2018 – No Contact:  Return From Absence

Hey, you.  Been a while.

Four days.  It’s been so busy.  A lot of work.  It’s my day off. Sunday.  A lots been happening and I haven’t been talking about it. Last time we spoke, I was talking about my cousin.  He was found a couple of days ago.

He had a black eye, and cuts from rope around his wrists.  He was beaten, but otherwise he’s alright.  He was released by his captors with… an apology.  It would seem the people who had kidnapped him confused him with their target.  He has the same car as their target does, so that’s what confused him.  They took him, beat him, and later realized he was the wrong mark.  Then they apologized and drove him back to his house.

He’s lucky.  When I heard what happened, I laughed.

Looking back… it brought back a lot of memories about Alain.  One of my earliest memories, I was in Gasquet.  It’s a small town, near where I was born (Crescent City).  I was young and I had this… problem. I pooped a lot.  Perhaps one of the reasons I hate toilet humor today.  I was like 2 or 3?  Super young.  I think I was in preschool or kindergarten… maybe I was older then.

Not the point.

The thing is, I crapped my pants.  I didn’t want to ask my dad for help because he’d yell at me again.  He was the least patient now that I think about it.  He yelled at me a lot.  Maybe that’s why my mom was so soft on me, because my dad was just so angry.

Anyways, I was sitting on the toilet, with dirty underwear and I was already a little upset.  What do I do?  So, I just sat there feeling bad.  I hear a knock on the door.

Thing about this door.  It’s a thin door with these sort of wood vents? I recall because I could see Alain’s outline.  He was knocking on the door and trying to coarse me to open the door.  He lightened his voice, told me he was a random name from school.  I told him no one named that was at my school.

Honestly, I told him that with enthusiasm in my voice.  It was funny to me.  Got my mind off the issue at hand.

He said another name and thought he was just being silly.  He kept trying to get in and I told him I didn’t know the person behind the name.  Then he got tired and broke into the bathroom.  The door was weak and not particularly reliable, so it just opened after a while of him trying to get in.  Opened pretty easily.

Alain had a video camera and then started to film me, with dirty underwear and started mocking me.  I was devastated.  I was crying and told him to get out.  I might have tried hitting him, but I was a toddler so that was fucking useless.  I don’t think he was filming for some sort of weird, sexual fetish.  I think he was just being an asshole.

Regardless, it’s one of my earliest memories with Alain.  Not a very positive one.  I think Alain thinks I don’t remember it.  I haven’t told anyone.  ANYONE.  That’s not an exaggeration, I have literally never brought it up until now in any form.

Now that I think about it, I don’t like public bathrooms without privacy.  I don’t do urinals without dividers.  I use the actual stall if the urinals don’t have dividers.  I’m not sure if that is because of Alain, but… maybe?

Eh… I’m changing the topic.  Let’s talk about work.

Work is… meh.  Busy.  So busy.  I think I’m starting to phone it in. I’m half assing my job and not thinking twice.  Which is strange. I feel more misanthropic, of course, but I hide it well.  I hide everything well.

I’m loved, however… within the last few weeks, I’ve had… the best compliments.  “You are so nice.”  “I hope my son grows up to be just like you.”  “You’re like the best cashier ever.”  Just shit like that.  It’s weird.  My charm is almost entirely pre-scripted and… it works.  I’m not even kidding about the son growing up to be just like me, either.  A lady said that and it confused me.  I wanted to be like, “Lady, the love of my life dumped me because of my lifelong depression and I want to kill myself on a daily basis” but I kept my own troubles to myself.

I wish I didn’t.  Sometimes, I just wish I could trust someone enough to open up like that.  You don’t count, of course.  You don’t know me.  Everything I say could just be fake.  Certainly has bias but everyone is a little bit biased.

This isn’t to say I don’t trust you, which I probably wouldn’t.   I say this because you can’t trust me.  No matter how real anything I say is, I can’t be trusted.  I’m trying to treat this as my own personal journal but I can’t escape the fact that I know someone will read this.  And you know this.  So, you’ll have to take EVERYTHING I say with a grain of salt.

Regardless, everyone thinks I’m happy at work.  Except for Diana.  She… I don’t think she likes me anymore.  I feel like she wants to avoid me.  This could just be me, but I’m certain of it.  I’ll give her space.  If she wants to talk to me then she will.  I won’t force her.

I had someone complain about me.  She came back again.  Was a fierce bitch.  Only customer to not like me.  I bagged salt with food items and it drove her crazy.  The second time, I was bagging and she told me not to bag something with some cookies.  I can’t recall what it was, I think it was in a can.  Fabreeze maybe?  Not sure.  But I recall the cookies because I intended to bag it with something that wasn’t heavy.  Something that wasn’t encased in metal, you know. So the cookies won’t break.

She, however, was telling me that the cookies wouldn’t taste right. What?

It’s in her head, but I’m not going to challenge her thoughts.  Not because of professional courtesy but because… I’m actually a little sympathetic.  Maybe empathetic.  I can’t stand the idea of tasting something that has been tainted in someway. If I think something is rotten, I can’t enjoy eating it.  I try to consume it as fast as possible.  It’s not a good way to handle things, but… that’s life.

I can’t recall all the compliments I get by customers.  They’re a lot but people adore me at work.  It… baffles me.  Just because I’m smiling and enthusiastic.  Of course, the enthusiasm is more than faked.  It’s fabricated.  I can’t be enthusiastic without energy, and I have been the least energetic.  Today, I slept nearly 12 hours because I’ve been… SO sleepy this week.  I’ve basically been living off energy shots.  Not fun.

Random, but Shane messaged me out of the blue on my way to work.  It… stressed me out a bit.  I have been avoiding him since what happened. It was simple, single worded message:  Yo.

I wasn’t going to respond, but when I was told to go to lunch, I decided I should.  He hasn’t blocked me flat out like Dennis and Esther.  I mean, I thought he did a while ago but seems it was something on Facebook’s end.  Whatever.

So, I open the message and see… a game invite.  It says, “Yo” underneath it.

If he wanted to open contact with me again, he’ll have to work a bit harder than that.  I don’t respond to game invites.  -,-

Speaking of the old drama…  I had this dream last night.  With Esther, of course.  She was in my life again and we were dating once more. Romantically involved and I couldn’t be happier.  I told her that this must be a dream.  I thought hard, focusing on the world I was in and decided it was reality.  She called me a dork because I was seeing if it were a dream.  I told her she didn’t understand. Whenever I dream of her, I wake up feeling so… broken.  That I finally had her back… it was hard to believe it was really happening.

Of course, I woke up.  I felt more broken than ever before.  I didn’t cry, though, just… betrayed.  Don’t know why she’s haunting my dreams again.  I haven’t dreamed of her in a while.  :/

I think I mentioned this but… I went on a spending spree a while back.  I regret it.  Especially since I spoke to Jonny today and he told me that the prices of computers went up because more people are getting into cryptocurrencies or whatever?  Bitcoin, you know… Digital money.  Fucking christ.

Capitalism is destroying my interests.  Like… you don’t need a new computer to get Bitcoin.  You just need a computer, and even then.  Why would you increase things like graphic cards?  What does that have to do with anything?  That’s stupid.  ><

Regardless, my current spending spree lead to me spending 120 on two games.  Fuck. Really?  Not including DLC.  Eh…  Maybe it’ll be worth it later. I guess I’ll start gaming every now and then.  Once a week at the most, really.  I need to get back into Rosetta Stone.

I need to exercise more, however.  I did some arm curls with my new weights… they’re heavy.  I never felt weaker.  My arms look so skinny.  Is it because I starved myself?  Where did my muscle go?

It’s discerning.  I used to be… strong.  So strong.  Has no will to live taken my strength from me?  Have I allowed myself to sink so low?

Downloading some games from steam… whoa.  I bought a lot of games.  Never played many of them though.  I don’t remember getting these games. Maybe I mentioned it here?  Peculiar.  :o

Most of these games are old.  Classic games.  Jade Empire, STALKER Shadow of Chernobyl and other games from the series.  Interesting stuff… I really wanted to play all of these.  Will I get to?

Asking a lot of questions… mostly to myself.

Which reminds me…  THIS SHIT IS IMPORTANT:  I’ve decided that I will write a letter.  Write.  With my hands.  Write it, leave it in an envelope.  I will leave my computer password and ask her to open up a file saying, “If I die” which will instruct her on what to do next.  I will instruct her to send a SINGLE email to send this journal to my friend who has agreed to post this for me if I am unable.  The email, will be a draft and it’ll be ready to be sent, just needs to have the file attached.  If Adela wants to read this, then she can.

I suggest she doesn’t.

I will have the password to my Tumblr in this email and my friend will use that to post on.  I’ll tell her to make two.  One to strip and the other as a back up.  The one that she strips should rely on copying and pasting.  Or, really, CUTTING and pasting because a deleted chapter is a GOOD chapter.  If there is a typo then a day is attached to a singular post.  I’ll have her use the “Find” key and look for “Contact” as I’ve left “No Contact” on EVERY post thus far.  It’ll be part of the title of every post made, hopefully.

In the event that I do die before the year is through, then the final post will perhaps notify when my friend got the email.  So, maybe a few days later without posts means I’m dead?  Maybe I’ve just been busy.  What’s the purpose of this?

Really… it adds suspense!  Ho, ho!

Why do we need suspense?

Eh… we don’t, really.  But it better catalogs what happens as they happen.  A year later, of course… but still.  It’s not to make you panic, really.  But it’s so you don’t know what happens next.  As I said, this is my journal but I’m fully aware that it’s being read.  So, unlike with making it biased or unbiased, I’d rather leave it somewhat more feeling how I feel.  I don’t know if I’m going to kill myself.  But you will if I don’t do this.  You’ll know that I survived, or whatever because obviously.

You will see things as I do.  So, from this point forward, who knows if I’m alive or dead at the time of reading this?  Really… do you need to know?  ;)

Eh… maybe you already know.  It doesn’t matter, really.  I work tomorrow and I really should be doing laundry.  I haven’t showered in a couple of days.  Might do that before bed.

I have… 120 in my drawer.  Used to have more.  I have even less in my bank account.  I’m such an idiot…  I’m such a fool when it comes to money.  Just… why?  :c

I guess… maybe I won’t see Ariel before I die.  I’m such an idiot.  I had to have another FUCKING pizza…  God, I’m sure I’ve gained weight.  ><

New Total War was announced.  The Three Kingdoms.  That’s Ancient China.  Not TOO Ancient but I believe 200 AD?  Might be wrong. Still, not quite medieval.

I’m… pretty excited, really.  I should have been writing my Jade Empire-esque epic…  I predicted that Chinese culture would become a little popular, or at least I have been talking about it a lot lately.

Hrm… Maybe if I’m quick I can get on the boat before it sails…  The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago.  Second best time is right now.

This week, I shall dedicate time writing the new book.  I shall set aside my historical novel and hope that this will be the book I need.  I shall do whatever I can to write it.  It shall be done.  Tomorrow… Tonight, I dick around.  I have to go to bed eventually.  D’oh…

[brett-buckner-the-dirt]

It was an argument that belonged in Toys ‘r’ Us in 1986.

My Dear Ol’ Dad and I were arguing over toys. However, calling it an argument implies that one or both parties were speaking. Instead Dad sat in his recliner and groaned while I stomped around his living room, stuffing old He-Man action figures back into a box nearly as tall as my 10-year-old daughter, mumbling how “freakin’ stupid” this all was.

Meanwhile, Jellybean sat awkwardly quiet on the couch, trying not to laugh as two adults acted like children.

The reason it happened is a story of obsession repackaged as nostalgia.

o o o

Jellybean and I love a road trip. We make music playlists. We download episodes of Lore, our favorite podcast. She agonizes over which of her Squishies to take (speaking of obsessions: but that’s another column), and the movies she’ll end up not watching. 

Dad lives in the literal woods outside of Milledgeville, Ga. It takes us about two hours to get there. We hang out with my 94-year-old Granny. Her mind and memory are steadily slipping into darkness, but seeing us seems to brighten her day a bit. My step-mom (seems weird for a 43-year-old man to use the term “step-mom”) cooks a huge meal – most of which we thankfully take home for leftovers. Dad and I talk sports, the weather, and his eternal effort to cut acres of grass in June with a push mower without dropping dead of heatstroke.

Dad’s house is also where my old toys live.

To be clear, these toys no longer belong to me. They belong to Dad. He saved them, or rescued them, rather. For whom and why is a bit of a mystery, but he has done these things, and I’m grateful for the effort.

Most of the time.

  An original Star Wars poster

Jellybean surrounded by my old toys.

o o o

There’s a fine separating a hoarder from a collector.

I, like my father before me, consider myself a collector because the things I covet have real world value. Unlike those sad bastards you see on AMC who refuse to throw away dot-matrix printers or open salsa from the Reagan administration, the stuff we keep can be sold on reputable web sites like Ebay to grown children as equally odd and enthusiastic as our selves.

The internet, in addition to amateur porn making it seem like every housewife in the world is a secret sex freak, has legitimized collecting. If you own it, you can bet there’s someone out in the nooks and crannies of cyberspace willing to pay you for it … not that Dad nor I would do that. Thus we own things most find silly and hold on to it for decades because, “I’ll be really valuable one day.”

That’s what I’d like on my gravestone – “It’ll be valuable one day.” Maybe that’ll make Jellybean think twice before dumping all my cool stuff off at Goodwill.

So, if hoarding is placing an irrational, emotional attachment on crap, then collection is putting irrational, emotional attachment on crap of relative value.

Dad has been grade A collector since before I was born. My Dear Sweet Mother shares tales of Dad in cut-off jeans digging around the dump for antique bottles. Over the years he’s given me some of these very bottles. I love stuff with a story behind it.

Dad isn’t exactly an outlier in the family.

Both Mom and her mom were collectors – mostly animals. At one point, grandmother could have been the Noah of miniature animals. She was raising miniature horses and miniature goats. There was also a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig and Chinese pug named Mr. Wong. Granted, these animals weren’t technically miniature, but they were small and round, so they fit under the umbrella.

Grandma with Georgia Girl, 1990

My Dear Sweet Mother provides safehaven by fostering homeless dogs and feeding some of the saddest stray cats the world’s ever seen, not to mention that her own two yippee dogs eat better than she (or I) do.

I’m a sucker for dogs, but I don’t trust cats. I feel like they’re all plotting against me. Plus, they’re arrogant, hateful and unwelcoming of love. Cats don’t care about you. That’s why I never understood the whole lonely old cat lady cliche. If you’re lonely – get a dog. If you’re a sociopath – get a cat.

My collecting has gone through stages. There were comic books, then CDs (at one point, I had about 3,000). Mostly, I collect books (especially Stephen King hardbacks) and juvenile-looking pop-culture or favorite-rock-band referencing T-shirts.

Pretty proud of my Stephen King bookshelf

Then there’s the toys.

I don’t scour thrift stores and flea markets for old toys, like I do for books (or vinyl). Rather, I save my old toys … or, more to the point, I save the old toys that Dad chooses to give to me for birthdays and Christmas.

And this brings us to the crux of what will go down as the most absurdly passive-aggressive argument in the history of father/son relationships.

o o o

I wanted to take some of my old toys home for my grandson – AKA Bam-Bam – to play with. The thought of sharing my old toys was a kind of grown-up wish fulfillment.

Dad was cool with this … to a point.

What he couldn’t say out loud, and I didn’t understand was that he liked having my old toys around (and by “around” I mean in a huge box in the back of closet) because they reminded him of me when I was a kid.

Yep … that’s a Donny Osmond doll.

Who doesn’t love the Lone Ranger

Damn, I loved Godzilla

Taking them away was like removing those memories, and Dad didn’t like that. But rather than verbalize this, we acted like two spoiled kids throwing a temper tantrum in the K-Mart toy aisle because our mom said we could have either the G.I. Joe action figure with Kung-Fu grip, or the He-Man action figure with battle armor, but not both.

That’s right: my father and I were in a standoff over G.I. Joe and He-Man.

It started after lunch. I was dividing the box into piles of “Keep” and “Put Back.” Given the disturbing number of leg-less Beast Man toys and at least three Skeletors that been snapped at the waist. All laid out, the ruins looked like a full-color shot from Gettysburg (had North and South battled an alien race jacked up on steroids).

And while we’re on the subject: why are He-Man figures so terribly bow-legged. Those poor souls should’ve been fitted with Forrest Gump braces before shipping ‘em out.

Anyway …

The Put Back pile dwarfed the Keep pile, but I could feel Dad’s eyes on me. He wasn’t happy. Jellybean, on the other hand, was having a blast naming random Mortal Combat, Dungeons & Dragons and Go-bot figures – “Tough Guy,” “Mr. Magic,” “Scooter,” and “Jason.”

Finally, Dad broke the growing silence and tension with, “So how many are you planning on taking?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” I answered, spitting that last word out like the petulant child I was devolving into. “I haven’t decided.”

But the spell was broken. The fun of revisiting my childhood was spoiled. I was pissed. It was time to go home. Like any child, I muttered things under my breath that I was too cowardly to say out loud (a habit I had as an actual child) and slammed all the toys back into the box. I even snatched some out of the hands of an awkwardly dumbstruck Jellybean.

Jellybean was still giving hugs and waving goodbye as I stomped out to the car.

Before slamming the car door, I shouted, “Hope you had a happy birthday, Dad” with all the venom I could muster, sounding like Brad Hamilton pounding on the bathroom door after getting fired from All American Burger. (“Hope you had a hell of piss, Arnold!”).

My temper tantrum was played out by the time Jellybean and I hit the highway, but I was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. That’s when my wonderfully pragmatic daughter spoke up:

“Well, daddy, I see your side. But I also see Papa Don’s side. You wanted to give those toys to Jase, but he doesn’t really know Jase, so he wanted to keep them because they make him think of you as a kid. You’re all grown up now and don’t really play with toys – at least not as much – and he kinda has a hard time letting go of that.

“He wants you to have them, but he also wants to keep them.”

Well. Crap. I turn the car around.

I met Dad on the porch and like men uncomfortable with expressing their feelings, we communicated mostly through grunts, head nods, shoulder shrugs, and more hand gestures than a third base coach being attacked by killer bees. We agreed, finally, that the whole thing was a silly misunderstanding.

Two days later a priority mail package arrived at my door stuffed with He-Man action figures. By the next weekend, Bam-Bam was bashing and battling all over the house like just another blonde-headed kid did once upon a time at his father’s house.

Watching him play made me happy, and I know it would’ve made Dad happy, too.

Bam-Bam and Buzz-Off

A boy and his toys

      Two grown men arguing over toys It was an argument that belonged in Toys ‘r’ Us in 1986. My Dear Ol’ Dad and I were arguing over toys.