#ive shared bedrooms with my sister ever since she was born

[consultingsister-aa]

five times kissed / bash ( any verse )

this meme for: @theasteriae​ verse: happy verse

I. 

Celia has never seriously dated before. There were boys but they had little to no interest in getting to know her. They just wanted to fuck her. People were always saying she was too pretty for her own good and she was starting to think that was true. 

Only Basher Moran didn’t seem that bothered about how pretty she was. Although she assumed, that was what drew him to her in the first place. It was silly and unrealistic to say otherwise and she certainly fancied him from the moment she saw him. It had nothing to do with her laugh and everything to do with his jawline. It wasn’t true anymore now. 

It had been one of the best summers of her life. She could hardly believe she had been tempted to turn Alex down, to return to Surrey, alone and melancholy. Sherlock has said he would come up but would have likely cancelled last minute. Cee has never spent so much time with people apart from at school and it took a while to get used to all the sibling and cousin dynamics. It was like something from one of her books; The Chronicles of Narnia or The Famous Five. They all had inside jokes and pet names and moved around each other like a choreographed dance. She knew her bothers well enough but she rarely had to deal with a cramped kitchen and sharing bedrooms. They knew each other differently than the Morans. 

It had been a fantasy of hers to live like this. When she was young and it was just her alone in that big house, she would daydream about having lots of brother’s and sister’s and cousins to play with. Adventures at the beach; caves and pirate treasure. She imagined herself into their childhood and al of a sudden, felt a lump in her throat. It was more than jealousy; it was something like grief. Greif for that lonely little girl who would always aways be alone. 

“What’s up?” Bash interrupted her thoughts. Clearly, her state of mind has shown on her face. 

“Nothing. I’m just a little sad to go back to school after all this.” 

Bash sighed knowingly, turning back to look out over the water. Even though she had come with Alex, Celia was spending more and more time on the beach with Bash. They sat in the dunes, a blanket around their shoulders, watching the sun fall into the freezing water. Even in the height of summer, the water was freezing. “Yeah, I’ll miss the beach,” he agrees. 

She turns to look at his profile, shoulder bumping into his. “I’ll miss you.” She didn’t quite mean you individually, she meant you as a family, but she was glad he took it that way. 

He turned to look at her and then leant in to kiss her for the first time, both their heads moving in the opposite way so they didn’t bump noses, as if it has been rehearsed. Cee had never been kissed like that before but it was almost exactly how the songs and books and poems described it. It was like seeing fireworks. But perhaps more wonderfully, when he kissed her like that, she didn’t feel so alone. 

II.

It had felt like a long time since that first kiss, although it has only been seven years. In the prospect of a lifetime together, that was short. But she couldn’t help but think about that moment, as she stood at the waters edge, champagne glass in hand, breathing deeply in the cool evening air. Behind her, her specially built carnival glows, reflecting in the dark waters. 

She’s changed from her wedding dress into a short ballet style tutu skirt, which stopped a little north of where her father, new husband and aunt-in-law might have liked. Long legs end in bare feet and she lets the water lap up against her ankles. 

“Hey, Mrs Moran-- there about twenty million people wanting to see you back there.” 

She turns back with a smile, just in time to see Bash - messy hair, jacket long gone, shirt sleeved rolled up - before he wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss into the side of her face. “There are not twenty million people, you’re such a drama queen.” 

He laughs. She does too. Then they relax into silence and both watch the waves. After a moment, Cee begins to cry. 

“Hey, hey,” Bash moves to turn her round, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing-- I’m just-- I’m just so--” 

“What? Oh god, you’re regretting it already. I said, if you weren’t ready, that we could--”

“Happy!” Cee interupsts him with laugh, “Bash, I’m happy. I am so happy.” 

He looks so relived, it only makes Cee laugh again; more happy tears spilling onto her cheeks. He pulls her close, a deep kiss, just them. Maybe the big party was too much. She was danced out; talked out; laughed out. She just wanted this. And the best bit was, she had it, and she had it forever. 

III. 

“Twins!?” 

“Are you fucking serious?” 

Cee can tell the nurse wasn’t expecintg that reaction from her, but she couldn’t care less. One more baby was enough of a shock, but two more? She looks over at Bash, who’s grinning and offers a look as if to say ‘what are you smiling about, you bastard’. 

“I am very serious Mrs Moran. You can see one heart beat here,” the nurse points to a black mass on the monitor, “and the second,” another black mass, “here.” Cee will just have to take her word for it. She got very upset when she couldn’t see what the nurse was talking about with Beua but she’s over it this time. She’s already over being pregnant this time and now it’s just going to be two times worse? Well, it was always two times worse but now she knows about it. “I’ll leave this up and give you a minute,” the nurse smiles at the parents and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Cee’s face is full of panic. 

“What?” Bash moves into the side of the hospital bed, taking Cee’s hand in his. 

“What do you mean, what? Bash-- I can’t handle three kids. You’re away all the time. I didn’t even know if I could do two but three babies? I’m out of my depth here.” 

“So what are you saying? You want to-- not--” 

“No, no, I’m just-- it’s a lot, Bash. Twins. That’s twice the baby!” 

“And you,” now he moves his hands to her face. Eye contact is key with Cecelia, pyshical contact and looking her in the eye. “Are twice the woman. You can do this. You can do anything.” 

Cee takes a calming breath and nods. “I love you,” she manages and leans forward to kiss him softly, just in time for the door to reopen. They never get a moments peace anymore. 

IV. 

Celia closes the bedroom door very gentle behind her. It feels like having babies again; a house full she doesn’t want to wake up. Bash just smiles up at her, taking off his glasses. He’s only been in the job four hours and he’s already bringing work to bed. 

“Do they love their new rooms?” 

Celia pulls an apoletic look, pulling off her dressing gown. “Immy says she wants to go home.” 

“To Suffolk?” 

“Yeah.”

“She’s knows she’s now living in Downing Street, right?” 

“You know that a ten year old could not care less, right?” 

Bash just laughs, laying his arm out over her pillows so she can snuggle in next to him. For a moment, they just sit there, head leant back against the headboard, drinking it all in. They had been working towards this for over ten years and now? The real work was just beginning. She can already feel her eyes getting heavy. “You’re happy here though, right?”

“Mm,” she hums. She’s not sure yet. Suffolk is her home, more than she ever though it would be. It was where the boys all grew up, their childhood rooms even though they were all grown up and out the house now. It was where Immy was born, where they played capture the flag and five aside football when the rest of the family came over. 

Downing Street might be a symbol of how far they had come, but it wasn’t home and she doubted, no matter how long they were here, it would ever feel like one. She already had plans to nip back to Suffolk the first weekend they could. “Yeah, this is what we’ve wanted for so long. We just need to settle into it.” Cee looks up to Bash, smiling at the fine lines already marking his face. But his eyes look the same as they did when he kissed her for that very first time on the beach. He’s so good to her, always. 

She kisses him, the sort of kiss they haven’t had in a while. Five kids, two demanding careers and a whole country wanting his attention tends to lead to pecks of affection and quickies whenever they can get it. But they have a moment now. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, lips still touching his. “I’m so proud of us. For everything, not just this job. I love you.” 

V. 

They had been in rooms like this so many times over the years. The bad lighting, the round tables, the stage. Only, rarely for her. She had, happily, she wanted to add, taken a back seat for most of her life. Her skillset was better suited to a life of support and planning; organising and committing herself to the task at hand. Whether they was her husband’s career, or her children’s lives. How could she call them children now though? Immy sat next to her, one arm lazily draped across her own baby bump, the other reached out to hold her mother’s hand. 

All heads had turned to the stage as a larger man in a ill-fitting suit took to the podium. His welcome speech was short and sweet, something Cee appreciated. She had told anyone who she could that she wasn’t bothered; even to be nominated was an honour but she was bothered. Her stomach swam with anxiety in a way it hadn’t done in years. 

“And the winner, of the twenty-forty-eight Booker Prize goes to... Cecelia Holmes.”

The table around her, well dressed and well mannered, rose with celebration; clapping together hands together and whooping. Immy kissed her cheek, Beua was quick to follow but she wouldn't get around them all. Although, she couldn’t forget one of them. 

Bash had sat across from her for most of the night. Although it was her night, it was also the first time in months all the family had been together in one place. Well, not all the family. You could fill the whole room with all the family. They were on stand-by, waiting for the news. They could have a party anyway, Immy had said, but they’d take down the banners if she didn’t win, though she suspected they wouldn’t have to. That had made Cee laugh. All the family tonight mean the six kids. Beua, Cass, Edmund, Perc, Immy and Hugo, ranging in ages from early forties, to twenty-two. Her children. Fuck the books, these wonderful, clever, funny, thoughtful kids were the best thing she had ever done with her life. And it was all thanks to Bash. They had caught each others eyes all night and it had made her feel young again. Like when they used to catch each other eyes over the dinner table at Nettle Cottage. 

She was aware there was a room full of people waiting for her but she was hungry for the kiss. Her hands reached for his face and she wasn’t that surprised to see a tear in his eye. “I’m so proud of you,” Bash managed, although years of shouting in Westminster had left his voice a little hoarse. She kissed him again, although she could feel the ever secible and dependable Beua trying to take her arm towards the stage. 

“Of us,” Cee corrected him, before allowing her oldest son to resort her to the edge of the stage. She hadn’t prepared a speech but she thought she might mention that first kiss, under a tartan blanket, on a beach in Suffolk that inspired a lifetime of literary work. 

[grimweaver]

                                                            ~*~

           Lucien leaned back again and closed his eyes as he sipped his tea, with a hum going out with a long and low exhale through his nostrils. After some time of wrapping his head around this revelation, within the uncomfortable silence that fell between us, his eyes shot open and stared up at me over the rim of his cup, ablaze and sharp with anticipation for a further explanation.

           I wet my lips and heaved out the rest:

           “On the 16th of Sun’s Dawn, Year 409, father attended a Hearts Day Celebration at Castle Cheydinhal. It had been seven years since we lost mother to an untimely death— from a respiratory illness that she had developed as a consequence of prolonged confinement in the coal mines of Eastmarch during a Fighters Guild quest. Being a widow and single father for that long was beginning to weigh his spirits down, so he went with the innocent intention of finding someone who would make a good wife and mother. All was well and promising for a while, but it took a horrible turn near the end. While he was in the library, conversing with the countess, he blacked out. For a time, the only thing he could recall happening after that was waking up in one of the guest rooms… lying next to the still sleeping Llathasa.”

           Lucien responded with another low, growling noise into his tea as he sipped it again.

           “After a great deal of agonizing and trying to figure out how the hell it all happened, father left for home that very morning. During the trip back, he started to remember some things that happened between the library and waking up— that he was overcome by what he called a ‘waking dream’—though fully conscious, all reason and fear of consequences left him, responding only to his… um…  attraction to Llathasa. It became clear to him that, during this event, someone must’ve slipped something into one of the wine barrels that altered the minds of all who consumed it—Sanguine mischief most likely, since that prince of sexual deviousness has his goons cause chaos of that nature on Hearts Day every year.”

           “Sounds like a logical conclusion to me,” he heaved, sitting up straight to eat from his plate with the usual aristocratic grace. His brow sank over his puzzled eyes. “Where was Andel all that time?”

           “I have no idea. Obviously, wherever he was, it was not where he could’ve intervened or discovered them together. Anyway… I’m sure you’ve done the math in your head already, but that was roughly nine months before Farwil was born. During that time, father avoided Castle Cheydinhal out of fear and guilt, but was compelled to return when we received the ‘exciting’ announcement that Lady Llathasa was finally with child, and that we were invited to stay in the castle to be a part of the celebration of his birth. Knowing that he was the real father of the child, he insisted on being there, no matter how awkward it was going to be for him or Llathasa. It was his son.”

           “I understand the compulsion, but if I were in his boots I would not’ve brought my children with me. What if Andel knew and had his guards ready to ambush and send him to the executioner’s block?”

           “He was assured that he didn’t. Llathasa included a secret message in the invitation that was sent out to him. It said: ‘He’s your son. Andel doesn’t know’.”

           “Hmm… and how did you come to know all of this?”

           “I overheard a conversation between him and my eldest sister, Ruthandra. It was on the evening we returned from one of our visits with the Indarys family. Thirst woke me up, and as I went downstairs to fetch water from the well, I was stopped by their voices; there was a tension in them that piqued my interest, so I stopped and listened carefully as he spilled it all out. I was old enough to put a few pieces of the conversation that I heard together and understand that he had fathered Farwil.” I stopped to soothe my dry and tightened throat with more tea. “I remember just sitting there at the bottom of the stairs and staring out the window of the back door, just trying to comprehend what I had just heard. By the time I had realized father was about to walk right past me, on his way to his bedroom, it was too late to scamper up the stairs unnoticed. When he inquired about why I was up so late, I told him it was for water and admitted that I had overheard what he told Ruthandra. He wasn’t happy about it, but he answered me truthfully when I asked if Farwil is our little brother—leaving out explicit details, of course. He told me that Andel should never suffer the knowledge of the truth, so that he may remain until his last breath in blissful belief that his wife had bedded with no other man and Farwil is his flesh-and-blood son. He made me promise to keep it a family secret, and I have for over twenty years. You’re the first person I’ve shared this with.” I reached down to grab more snacks from the plate, but it was completely empty— I had been absently munching on them throughout the whole story. Catching my breath after exhausting my voice, I just went quiet for a while and waited for him to reply.

   “Malkhai,” he said, looking directly into my eyes with deep sincerity. “I promise that this secret will be safe with me. And… don’t you fret any about breaking the promise to your father. It’s like you said—it is a family secret. You and I are family.”

           I smiled weakly. “I wish I could say it makes me feel better. But there are still anxious thoughts about Andel—he’s never confronted me about it but… it’s so obvious that he at least knows that Farwil was fathered by someone else. My theory is that, before understanding the situation, he performed the Black Sacrament to have a Llathasa’s accident staged by a Dark Brotherhood assassin, which is why he is now bound to a lifelong obligation to us.” I leaned forward and looked directly into his eyes. “Would I be correct... Lucien ?”

           The corner of his mouth stretched into a sinister grin as he narrowed his eyes and chuckled, “It would certainly seem to be the case, wouldn’t it?” He laced his fingers together over his wide, toothy smile as he chuckled again, “As much as I would like to take credit for that work, I must be honest and say that I was not involved in her death… none of our Brothers or Sisters were, in fact.”

           “But… then for whom did Andel perform the Black Sacrament?”

           “A political rival, and that’s all I’m going to say.” Lucien’s brow sank again, struck by the memory of what was said back in Taneth. “Hmmm… but I do wonder… thinking back on what Farwil said about Llathasa lamenting at the chapel… if it was all an accident, why would she say she had ‘hurt a friend in a way she feared can never be forgiven’?”

           “That confuses me too,” I said. “At this point, the only way we’ll ever know is if I unearth more of those private letters or father can explain it himself… if I ever find him.” A sudden dreadful thought entered my mind, twisting knots in my chest. With much reluctance, I asked Lucien “Please tell me… did the Dark Brotherhood make my father disappear?”

           Lucien shook his head immediately, looking straight into my eyes again as he said “I swear to all the Powers of the Void, we were not involved in his disappearance either.”

           “Oh good!!” I breathed out with a sigh of relief. “Because that would’ve made things even more complicated than they already are.” I pondered a little while, scratching my chin. “Still, it doesn’t rule out the possibility of Andel’s involvement.” I grinned, then flirtatiously folded my arms under my chest and leaned inward. “Gee… I sure wish I knew someone who could do some thorough, investigative work in the castle to find any clues that would either confirm or deny that theory. I’ll be sure to make it worth the effort and risk, once I am in a... position to do so.”

           "Considering what he'll risk," Lucien replied, taking in a deep breath and hiding a bashful grin behind his cup as he sipped more tea. “That someone would have to consult his superior first, I'm sure… but this matter must be set aside for now. We need to keep our focus on our current task.”

           “Right… which means that we need to get adequate sleep soon,” I looked over at the large bed in the corner, through the protective rail made with scrapped Ayleid doors, torturing myself with a vision of us between those silky red sheets.

           “Yes. I suppose, since it's already well past midnight, I'll have to let you go back to the guildhall.” Lucien replied. He then followed my gaze and read the longing in it well, then said with an aggravated sigh, “You know how much I wish I could ask you to stay.”

           “I do, but I know why you cannot. But... as much as I disagree with the reasoning, I will respect it.”

           “Thank you. I can’t say that I don’t share your frustration, but you need to understand the Listener’s restrictions as a necessary measure. In the past, our enemies have gone as far as marrying a member of the Black Hand in order to infiltrate the organization, and have done so successfully multiple times. Also, there is the concern of a relationship opening the doors of favoritism and manipulation. The Listener needs to know that it is through your own talents and skills that you have achieved high ranks and rewards, not because I gave you an unfair advantage.”

           “The marriage part I understand just fine, but not even being allowed to... “ I shook my head and grumbled. “I’m sorry, but I think that’s insane.”

           Lucien heaved a heavy, gravely breath as he shot me a warning glare.

           "And... um... I'm just going to stop there... before I say anything else I'll probably regret," I said, averting my eyes as I stood up.

           “Wise decision.” He replied, rising also and fetching my bag and cowl for me.

           “So... um… what are you going to tell the Listener if he asks you why you chose me to play the student?” I asked him.

           “The truth, of course: you’re strong enough to bear the weight of all those metal pieces, and you’re the only one that possesses the right... hmm… aesthetic qualities .” He answered—heaving a gravely, longing breath. I could almost feel his touch as he eyed me up and down, and it sent another fiery wave through my body.

           We then departed the way we had greeted— with some uneasiness, he slowly closed the short distance between us and placed his hands upon my shoulders. This time the kisses he gave each cheek were a little longer, and he couldn’t resist taking the perfume in again as he kissed the left check. He tilted his head slightly to the right, almost giving into the temptation to kiss my lips. With his mouth only a couple inches away from mine, he half-whispered: “Rest well, Malkhai .”

           “You too, Lucien ,” I replied with a slightly trembling voice.

           LaChance opened the door and bowed his head as I left through it, putting the cowl back on and pulling the handle of the bag over my shoulder. I turned around for one last exchange of smiles, without a further word, and exited the apartment building.

           The streets were still crowded, but since the vendors were closed there was less resistance in the straight path from Sisters of the Sands to the Mages Guildhall— I just had to be extra mindful of my steps because of all the garbage and pools of drunkard heaves on the ground. As unpleasant as it was, I would take waste hazard maze over the uncomfortable situation that awaited me at the guildhall. Even if he had declared that he had no authority over me, arousing Farwil’s anger could have terrible consequences for everyone else.

           The tension inside cooled when it seemed like everyone had retired to their respective sleeping quarters and were well into their sleep. But, no more than a few seconds after ease washed over me, I heard a voice growl from the black shadows of the wide hallway: “Where the hell have you been??”

End of Part XIII

[deafeningsuitdestiny]

The Elephant in the Room

Chapter one, My beginning

Hey there,

how are you?

Me, well I'm doing okay. To be honest a little roughed up, but okay none the less. My names Paige, I'm 22 and a bit of a nerd. 

I spend most of my time in my room, by myself, hiding in my world of electronics. That's kind of what ive always done. My whole life has been a bit of a rollarcoaster. I was born in '98 and while others wouldnt, I do wholehartedly consider myself a '90's baby. Not that I actually remember much of the 90's.

I've grew up in the sunny and ever so saught after california Inland Empire, in a tiny town called Norco, horse town USA. No, I didn't ever have a horse in my backyard growing up. But I always had one at my grandparents. Tinker was her name when I was young. We never rode her, grandma always said that she had hurt her foot when she was younger so we couldn't. I personally just think my grandma left her alone for so long that she wasn't a 'broke' horse anymore. 

Not that that was her fault. She has arthritis really bad in both knees and has had it for as long as I can remember. Growing up i spent a lot of time with my grandma. I was at her house almost everyday. Both of my parents worked. My dad in construction and my mom at a christian pre-school. That meant that every morning, Monday through Friday at 4-5 A.M, I was hauled over to grandmas house. I have endless love for my grandma for so many reasons. Her home has always been a safe haven for me to go, and really has been my whole life, even as an adult.

My childhood is probably one of the most complex parts of my life. I've never really been one to talk about ��it, or myself really. If you would have asked me a few weeks ago i would have brushed it off and said it was normal. However, my childhood was far from normal. I actually don't remember a lot of it. I have really had to sit and think about it to try to piece it all together. I won't go into detail about anyone in my family but me, but it wasn't really all Glitz and Glam for any of us.

Like i said my earliest memories are at my grandmas house. I do remember a bit about my childhood home. I remember having big birthday parties and asking to go to friends houses all the time. Thats not really something I was allowed to do a lot. Except for my childhood bestfriend, Natalie. I went to her house as often as my parent would let me. I remember having her house phone and my moms cell phone number memorized only. I called her almost everyday after school waiting for her to get home from dance classes so we could talk about the Sims and whatever elementry school drama we could find.

I'm so thankful for Natalie. She's been a really big person in my life and I have been able to rely on her a lot through-out my life. She and I to this day keep in touch. I also spent a lot of time with my 'cousin' Kendyl. I say cousin because her mom Stephanie and my mom were best friends. So i know i spent a lot of time with her and she is considered Family. When I was home my mom babysat her a lot. Stephanie was a single mom when I was growing up and hustled her ass off to get whatever she could for kendyl. But that meant she worked a lot.

Therefore Kendyl was also a very good friend to me growing up. Although I can remember being a bit mean to her at times. I was older and not getting enough attention in my own home so I think I ended up taking it out on her a bit. I can vividly remember her mom going off on me for smapping a balloon on her hand. Lightning struck quite a very few times in my childhood that I remember getting really upset, but that was one of them. I don't really remember why but I think there was a small group of us all hanging out. I got embarressed.

When I talk to other people about their childhoods they remember so much more than I do, but I do think it's a blessing that I don't remember a lot of it. Another memory I have from when I was younger is being at Stephanie's boyfriends house with Kendyl riding around in her green little Jeep, we went  up and down his driveway until the battery was so low it wouldn't go up anymore and we ended up flipping over somehow. For some reason I also remember getting in trouble for that like it was my fault when i was probably no more than 5 outside playing without any supervision.

A lot of my childhood is like that, no supervision and left to my own devices. I think that kind of explains a lot of why I am the way that I am. I learned to exist by myself. So i learned how to escape from the world around me. A tool I use well into my adulthood.

Chapter 2 Growing Pains

I gained a sister at the ripe age of 2 & 1/2. Ms. Avery Rose made her appearance and I was not so happy at the time. I greeted her with a sippy cup to the head the day she came home.

Sorry Ave, Love you.

I was standarly upset about having another person to now add to, what i considered, a competition for attention. We shared a room, with a bunk bed. I claimed the top bunk so she was stuck on the bottom. I've always been messy, so naturally I ate in my bed. Therefore i had ants in my bed. That meant that Avery would not go anywhere near the top bunk, as shes a bit of a clean freak, and at the time that meant my deturrant was working as intended. I had my space and everyone stayed away. That was the goal, so I slept with ants. It didnt really bother me.

I don't remember why I wanted to keep everyone away, but I felt the need to. So I made huge messes and didnt really ever take care of myself. The idea was if I looked a mess and had messes around me, the standard person would stay away. I would be safe and could do as I pleased. which wasnt much but escape to the land of my imagination.

I can remember going to my toy box and literally throwing every toy I could grab over my shoulder to make a mess of my bedroom floor. My grandparents ended up coming over that night for dinner and my grandma helped me pick up my bedroom. When I say helped I mean I sat contemplating begrugendly as I watched my grandma pick up the beautiful chaos that I had created for myself. She knew i was upset, so she stayed in my room with me until I fell asleep, turned on sleeping beauty to try to calm me down, and it worked. Disney Works. Dreamworks Works. Very well, thanks to grandma. To this day I can turn on a classic disney movie to calm down.

I don't think she even knows, but to this day I use that. She has given me one of my greatest coping mechanisms.

Isolation bred imaginary friends. Bobber, Bingalong, and Joshco. They were with me wherever i went. I had bobber well into my later adolescent years and still vividly remember what he looked like.

They were all tiny, and could fit in the palm of my hand but would sit on my shoulders more often than not. Bobber had scraggly hair and wore overalls and had a red shirt. It's not a surprise that red was my favorite color most of  my life. My whole family still teases me about them, but in a really weird way they are family to me. They were around when no one was there.

I did not like the outdoors as a kid. Absolutely hated playing outside. My mom, thinking I needed the normalcy would lock Avery and I outside to "play". Most of the time this led to me intentionally scraping my knee, stubbing my toe, or just outright throwing a fit to get back inside. I wanted to play on the computer instead. Club Penguin, BarbieGirls, VirtualMagicKingdom, Wizard 101, Neopets, I had a Nancy Drew Orca game that I loved to play, a Jimmy Neutron game I completed several times over. I loved the escape of it all.

Those were the only places I felt happy, safe, and had enough fun that I felt like I was thriving.

Chapter 3 School House Blues

School was always something i've been naturally good at, when i put in the effort anyways. My grandpa spent the time teaching me math as a kid, thankfully. Otherwise I would have been lost. It was not my strongsuit. School was never somehing that i wanted to pursue but I did good because I was expected to do good.

Although I never really fully paid attention as a kid. I was still off in my own world. I had a Group of girlfriends I always hung out with. It was Jada, Myself, Natalie, Emily, Cheyenne, Taylor E. , Taylor M. and sometimes a Sierra or Cierra. To that friend group ~ I am sorry if I forgot anyone. This was a while ago haha

Even in the group I always tried hard to fit in, because I felt like I didn't. I felt like that third wheel friend that always had to try really hard. I think my try-harding annoyed a lot of them to be honest. By the 6th grade the whole group was done with me and the last 6 months of elementry school I spent by myself at a picnic table, until I remembered the Library and Mrs.Curd.

Thank god for Mrs.Curd. From that moment on I spent all of my free time in the library. We has something called A.R. when i was growing up when I was growing up, basically the school wanted to make sure we were reading enough books and growing our mini human brains. The goal was to get to 100% by the end of the trimester. Well in 6th grade I made it to 100% by the second day of school thanks to the twilight series, I had read in the matter of a few days, I flew through it.

I remember finishing the first book in a day and immediatly begging my mom to go get the next one.I even read Midnight Sun online as it was released without Stephanie Meyers' permission. All 152 pages then I think it was. That also meant whenever it was A.R. time I would Immediatly run to the library while everyone else silent read. I would put books away and eat all of her butterscotch candy.

A huge shoutout to Mrs.Woolard for letting me go~ that is until my other grades started to drop. Math started to get the best of me since I was so caught up in books and my imagination. I wasnt allowed to run off to the library anymore, I had to focus on my A.M. basically it was the math version of A.R. but every single recess and lunch time I spent with Mrs. Curd.

I don't really know what happened to her, but I really hope shes doing well. She is a big credit as to how I'm still here. Teachers really are the Life Blood of our society. I'm living proof.

Chapter 4

Puberty

I wish I could tell you that Jr. High got better. My grades kept falling. Thankfully my educators were still a few good and true. Mr.Walker taught me more history and structure than I ever could have asked for. That man taught me organization.

He was a stickler, he was very good at making sure the homework assignments were done and held the accountability for it as well. I remember he was the first teacher to ever give me a detention, because the whole class didn't do the outline the night before. It was a detention that came with love however. The whole class spent that hour after school writting the outline.

Thus my love of writting began. I can't tell you how many outlines i did in that class but it was a lot. A whole binder full. His homework schedule revolved on a schedule. That meant that if you missed a day you still had a pretty good idea of what was expected of you.

It was also nice because he was someone who didnt believe in homework on the weekends. He believed in putting in hard work and having your personal time as well. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were days that homework typically wasn't assigned. Unless of course we had a project, but they always came with ample time to get them done and a solid deadline.

Mr.Walker taught me the importance of balance and knowlage. That you need to know whats going on, but you also need to take care of yourself. At the time that didn't quite click BUT years later I can look back on those days and understand the importance of what he was teaching me.

Jr. High was also the time that I Joined Choir. I was hoping it would be the fun and happy place I always dreamed of but quickly learned it was kind of a free for all with songs nobody knew unless it was around christmas time. Not exactly what a Maturing Mini Human was interested in. I remember asking Mr.Betts if we could do more relent songs, or something in the Top 40, his repsonse was no, we have to keep the classics alive, which I understand. Now looking back I wish I would have told him he was living in the past and trying to grow the future.

That doesn't work.

Chapter 5

A small circle

In Jr. High the friend group was small. So small in fact I don't think I ever consistantly spoke to more than 2 people at a time. Keeping up with friends we never my strong suit. I remember sitting in the same far right table next to the choir room every day. Being excited for Pretzel day and having access to vending machines. I would spend every quarter I had on the many snacks back then, no regrets haha.

That lunch table actually had some of my fondest memories, dancing and practicing ballet spins with Chey, doodling the many anime doodles with amie. Shes probably one of the first friends I ever openly talked to about my love of Anime. I wrote every one I watched on the front of my homework planner, it was my messy list of all the things I loved. Blue and Black ink was smeared all over it.

I wish I kept it but I didn't. It was lost in the many moves. By jr high we were living in our third house. We had moved into a new house when my baby brother came along. We outgrew our little three bedroom, moved on to a 5 bedroom and then went back down to a 4 bedroom. It had stairs and don't ask me why but that was the most exciting thing to me. I could not wait to live in a house with stairs. Call me an odd ball, everyone else in the house complained that it was too hot upstairs or they didnt like to carry the laundry up the stairs, but I didn't mind at all. I thought it was fun!

I was also in love with that house because of all the trees in the backyard, lemons grew in a large plethora. We were never short on lemons, apricots, a few tiny oak trees, the street was lined with tall pines, we had peppers that grew, grapes, it was like a mini haven. I don't think we ever could have used all the lemons. The two trees produced so much fruit my dad would complain about having to pick them out of the grass.

That house is also where I fell deeper in love with music, the Ipod Touch 1st generation came out and I think i went through a pair of headphones every 2-3 weeks. My parents werent too happy about that but my eardrums were. Evinescense, Lincoln Park, Black veil Brides, and Rihanna became my heros. I ran to them when the rest of the work felt too scary to handle. I remember watching the music videos over and over. Dancing around my room with the music as loud as I could get away with. Which was pretty loud as long as it was still light outside.

I still do that, in my car the music is always full blast. Music became my escape all over again but this time it was everything I wanted to listen to which rocked my world. Figurativly and Literally.

Chapter 6

DisneyLand

Through all of this my mom was losing touch with herself. It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to watch. The strong woman I once thought could rule the world was now bedridden. A lot. It was nothing she could have controled. She just fell to pieces and I had a front row seat.

It was my first heartbreak watching her shatter bit by bit. It felt endless, lonely, and daunting. My poor dad just had to keep going to work. That wasn't an option. he had three kinds and a sick wife he needed to provide for, and he did his damndest. We never went hungry, we had the new clothes still, we just had no savings. He couldn't keep up with it all by himself and I don't fault him for it. Our world was going through a forced change that none of us were ready for. At that point he wasnt even working at a job he liked. After everything crashed in 2008 he lost his fancy construction job.

He wasn't working with all the people he loved, he wasn't being paid properly, he was just working his ass off trying to make it. Lightning continued to strike,  a lot of screaming matches brewed, and it didnt help that my room was closest to theirs.

So hiding things? You could not.  No hiding anything, I knew all the struggles and annoyances.

Thank the Universe for headphones. I kept those things in almost 24/7.

Now, choir was not all bad. It did have some pretty fun moments when we got out of the classroom the few times we did. We ended up going to Disneyland, going back stage and recording a few disney songs as a class which I do have to say, was pretty fricken cool. To me we got the perfect songs, we did Hawiian Rollarcoaster Ride from Lilo and Stitch and The is Halloween from The Nightmare Before christmas. Two Iconic, what I consider to be, classics. Moments like that got me through.

That only took us a few hours and then we were free to roam Disney and enjoy all of the magic. For the first time since I was 5-6 years old. And then I could do whatever I wanted. All the ride choices were at my finger tips. It was the first time I felt Free.

Trips like tha gave me things to look forward to, and honestly thats all I needed.

It took absolutely forever to get our recordings back and I didnt end up buying one, we were struggling financially as the time and I was not about to add another expense to the plate. I knew I was taking enough. Probably too much. More than my parents could have handled at the time. But I knew that, and I was still messy as hell. It kept my room as my space so nobody could come in. It was mine. My Chaotic Castle. Where I was free to blast the music, dance, and sing all I wanted.

It was my home.

Chapter 7

Off a cliff

That chaotic castle didn't last and we ended up moving to another house, but this one hung off a cliff. We had to downsize again, so Ave and I were back in a room together, and quite unhappy about it. We already fought like we were mortal enemies and for a while the severity just got worse and worse. Then one day it was like a switch went off and we decided to just make the best of whatever situations came our way. Teamwork makes that dream work. You do what you gotta do.

Sharing that tiny room with her was hard. She didn't have a closet and had to use my brothers while he used a wardrobe. We barely had room to walk around. Each of us had a bed, a nightstand, and atop our 'Paige, Avery, Money, Boys' cabnet was an itty-bitty TV in the middle that we often faught over. Usually we could reach a mutual agreement when it came to NCIS or Law and Order: Svu.

To this day we can recite the opening by heart.

We shoved two tiny twin beds in that room and did our best to get through it. Her being a clean freak did not enjoy my mess that I allowed to take over everything. Eventually she got to the point were she would just shove everything to my side. I brushed it off with an eyeroll and a shrug.

Even worse I am not a fan of laundry. And as a lazy pre-teen I was not about to do it all the time. So I lived in dirty clothes and didn't care. Once a week we would go over to grandmas house to spend the night and she would always make sure I had clean clothes. She made sure we all did when we were over, she did what she could. I always wished It was more but you can only stretch a sheet so thin before it tares too, you know?

We also had a family dog that nobody really took the time to take care of. Crap and pee was a common occurance when you walked down the hall, it got to the point where it didn't even phase me anymore.

By this point nobody had come to our house in years. We really kept an isolated boat. It was hard, I was basically trained to stay quiet and thats what I did. I put my headphones in and went off to my own. Kinda like now its funny how everything comes full circle when you don't process it. Some things you can't just wish away.

They demand to be felt.

Chapter 8

That House

That house was one of the places that haunted my nightmares. It never felt safe or like home. I atribute that to it residing right next to a cemetary, talk about the Heebe-Jeebies. It felt wrong. While I spent all of my time in my room, my sister was smarter. She always had a knack for the more social butterfly side of things. She built her own support system of friends. She didn't wait for one to poof into existance in our household. She made sure she found people who actually cared about her. That's not something I learned until much later in life. You really need a group of people you can count on, its what makes you feel human, it brings you back down to earth. It humanizes you to yourself, as wild as that sounds.

When I was a kid i thought of myself as one of the wild things, like in that book 'Where the Wild things are." I even came with the scraggly hair to match.

Avery Rose taught me it's necessary to have people in your corner, because you cannot do everything yourself. No matter how hard you try. The world is a big place to take on by yourself and you will fail every time. Trust me.

Chapter 9

Basketball

Throught my life my family always tried to in some way shape or form keep me busy. Idle hannds never thrive. When I was small it was dance, but I grew tired of that quickly, then I was pushed head first into basketball. 10 years of it to be exact. Now that sport and I have always gone back and fourth. It's very much a love/hate relationship, But i can sit here today and honestly tell you I know that game like the back of my hand.

All the way down to Passing Game.

Its a game that tests you, pushes you to your limits, and forces growth. With some perseverance you make those sidelines and suicides your bitch. The running is good for your lungs. It helps you breath more clearly.

So note to self, basketball, the sport that needs to be played, and it needs to be played more. A hell of a lot more, and if you haven't lately- Go pick up a Basketball and start dribbling.

Your hand eye coordination probably needs it.

Chapter 10

Staying Active

Through-out my messiness, I did also stay active. The hustle has and always will be real. Its what drove me. The desire for better. If you aren't pushing yourself you arent growing. Without growth, you die. So in a sense, the hustle is the whole point to life, you just have to find your hustle. It's different for everyone.

The shoe just has to fit, you can't force it like Cinderella's step sister tried.

It won't work.

You have to find your niche, for me it's writing.

For you?

Well, what do you dream about?

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Won’t Say You’re Sorry Chapter: I (II / III) Fandom: Red vs Blue Character: Lavernius Tucker, Vice Admiral Christina Odan | Tucker’s Mom, Captain Arlene Volt Summary: This had to be the present day version of dropping your kid off on the steps of high school, calling them 'buga-boo-boo,' and giving kissey faces in front of their peers much to their eternal embarrassment--expect the stricter, navy version, a giant space ship, a planet, and none of your kids' actual peers.

God if Tucker didn't miss his mom, though, embarrassment aside.

Don’t Write Me A Postscript (I / II / III / IV / V / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XII)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

It started not with a whimper, but a bang. Tucker stared up at the sky, pale and ashen and sick to his stomach, and watched the pelican explode with his son on it. He’d only just gotten used to the fact that shit he was a father—and sure his kid was born out of a strange mix of alien impregnation and rape—but he was a father. No matter who much he’d joked with his sisters and his dad back home about the number of bastards he’d probably sired, he never actually had a kid before. He’d never been responsible for one before.

Now—now Church’s fucking girlfriend took his kid—took his kid and then—then Sarge placed Andy—fucking Andy—on that same ship and just—Tucker felt sick to his stomach. He felt weak in the knees. He didn’t know what to do or what he needed to do. A part of him wanted to just burst the sword into being and stab it straight through Sarge’s fucking face.

(his lower back throbbed)

(he refused to think on that)

With a snarl Tucker pushed past Caboose, pushed away from the moved grip—almost shoved Sister—and stormed back into the base without a word. He could hear Church whisper, “Tex?” and all Tucker wanted to do was scream.

It wasn’t just your damn girlfriend, Church!

What about my kid?!

What about my kid?!

Tucker’s footsteps grew faster until he practically ran through the base, ripped his helmet off, and bent over double in front of the toilet. He heaved; he collapsed to his knees and, alone, let the tears fall as he heaved. After years in this godforsaken army not once had Tucker felt like this. He felt carved out and desperate and his chest hurt. Tucker heaved and threw up and cried messily in the bathroom for what felt like hours.

When he cleaned himself up, and for the days after, everyone moved as if they were on auto-pilot. Tucker didn’t speak to Church, and Church didn’t speak to Tucker. That, in the end, was just the way Tucker wanted things to go. It was all Church’s fault, anyway. Church’s fucking weird mess with Freelancer and his girlfriend and all the crazy, insane bullshit they were forced to go through. All for goddamn Church.

Tucker hated that fucking asshole. The bastard didn’t even have the gall to say sorry.

When the pelican ship arrived to pick him up and take him off to his new assignment, Tucker left in silence. Normally he would’ve had his usual banter with Church, a while means of communication they’d come to create between themselves and their time at Blood Gulch, but now? With how infuriated Tucker was, with how dismissive Church was—with Sister and the bullshit and their goddamn relationship like Tex hadn’t even been a thing to Church; like the mess hadn’t even happened—Tucker kept quiet. Even though Church stood and watched him off, Tucker kept quiet.

The asshole didn’t deserve his words. Not anymore.

The doors to the pelican finally slid shut, and Tucker could feel the engines rumble beneath him as they took to the air; finally he relaxed. One hand slipped down to the hilt of his Sangheili blade—

(mine)

—and then he breathed out explosively when yet again he realized that it was gone.

Tucker’s lower back twinged and he closed his eyes and slapped his head back against the wall of the pelican. One of the soldiers manning the pelican glanced over to him and Tucker noted that she wasn’t in power armor. He thought for a minute to crack a joke, throw a pickup line, but ever since Junior had been kidnapped and killed he just didn’t have the heart in it.

“Sir?” Tucker tilted his head toward the soldier to let her know he was listening, even as he mouthed ‘sir’ in surprise. “I have been instructed to inform you that the Captain orders for helmets at the very least to be off outside of live fire situations.”

From behind his helmet Tucker frowned. “That sounds like I’ll be ship bound,” he said slowly.

The soldier nodded her head. “Yes sir.” She had pretty eyes, Tucker noted. His back twinged again and he sighed explosively.

“Fine.”

The helmet released with a hiss and the subtle lick against his neck from the neural implants faded back into obscurity. Tucker shook his head to rid his ears of the ringing and then pulled off the armor over his hands to properly dig his fingers into the back of his neck just above where the implants ended.

“Does your Captain want me to completely undress too?” Tucker drawled. His lips quirked up as he spoke, especially when he caught the way her cheeks reddened slightly. Damn he had to be looking good for that, not that Tucker doubted for a moment.

“No sir,” the soldier said, evenly.

Guess I’ll just have to try harder to ruffle her feathers then, Tucker mused. He tugged off his other glove and massaged around his neck, careful to brush at the edge of circuitry and skin. While it hadn’t been too long since he’d been out of armor—just a mere hour or so, in fact—Tucker wasn’t above playing up how pleasurable the action felt. He let out soft, faint groans because why the fuck not? He might not have the heart for flirting, maybe even hooking up, but damn that blush didn’t signal some primal part of his mind.

Bow chicka bow wow, Tucker thought. His lower back burned and he had to pull his hands away with a faint grimace. He shook his head, tried to get rid of the thoughts that bounced around in it, and instead tugged his gloves back on. The helmet Tucker settled into the seat next to himself and glanced over at the beautiful, pale-eyed creature who, dare Tucker say it—nay, think it?—looked disappointed. He shuffled, let his legs slip open as he settled his arms across the seat and watched her with ‘bedroom’ eyes. He watched how her eyes dipped down toward his codpiece and smirked.

Ah, there we go.

“Sir,” she said, slowly. “I feel I must warn you.”

“What about?” Tucker drawled casually.

“Well…” the soldier started slowly, and she drew out the word enough that Tucker felt his grin grow from ear to ear and a thrill of something for a moment forgotten raced through his veins.

“Well…” Tucker drawled back out, and then opened his mouth to shoot of something more when the sudden rock of turbulence caught him completely off balance. He let out a yelp as he practically flew from his seat onto the metal of the deck with a shrieked, “Fuck!” to the laughter of the lone soldier.

“Well we’re about to hit atmo,” she twittered, and Tucker groaned.

“So. Not. Cool,” he said, face still pressed down into the metal of the ship. He pushed himself up and pinched at his nose. “Is it broken?” he whined, and she shook her head.

“Buckle up, buttercup,” the soldier laughed. “It won’t be long before we’re docked aboard the Viper’s Nest.”

Tucker flopped back into his seat and frowned; he winced when his nose throbbed and glanced at his gloved fingers distastefully in search of any bleeding, before he looked back over at the soldier. “The UNSC Viper’s Nest?” Tucker asked. He let his hands fall into his lap. “Flagship for the tenth fleet?” The resulting grin from the soldier placed lead in his stomach. “Sonnovabitch.”

(he knew this had been too good to be true)

Ship Captain Arlene Volt looked over the readouts aboard the bridge stiff backed and lips pressed together. She waited for the word to come through that their package had safely made it aboard, gaze focused steadily on the rotating planet they settled into orbit around. She tried rather hard not to think about the person at her back, the intimidating presence and sole reason why the Viper’s Nest even was at this backwater outpost of a planet.

“Captain, dropship is finishing up docking procedures,” one of the technicians chimed up, and Arlene relaxed minutely. She glanced over at the Vice Admiral.

“And our package?” Arlene questioned.

“Safely onboard,” the technician said.

The Vice Admiral let out a huff, the only sign she’d even heard the technician, as she turned sharply on heel.

“Ma’am?” Arlene quickly fell into step with the older woman.

“Send word to route Lavernius to my office,” the Vice Admiral said stiffly. “Then, once docking procedures are finished, continue with our headway.”

“Ma’am,” Arlene nodded and branched away. She shared a quick glance with the ships AI who watched the Vice Admiral leave the bridge, before Arlene made a quick gesture for him to relay the Vice Admiral’s commands.

“Frightening woman,” Deckard said carefully as he manipulated the ships systems.

“At least you rarely talk to her,” Arlene said tiredly. “I don’t even want to fathom what a Project Freelancer Private did to get on her list.”

“I’d imagine being born would suffice plenty,” Deckard mused, and then vanished just in time for Arlene’s hand to swipe through his hologram. “Really, Captain Volt? I am nothing more than a hologram projection, you know.”

Arlene grumbled. “Makes me fucking feel better.” Arlene settled in front of the large map that took up a good portion of the bridge. “This is our last unexpected stop, right?”

“Correct,” Deckard reappeared in front of the map. “After this we should have a fairly straightforward trip back into Earth’s space.”

“We won’t need to anticipate some sort of reaction from Project Freelancer for poaching one of their military fodder?” Arlene questioned. Deckard shrugged his shoulders.

“It seemed rather like Project Freelancer was all too happy to hand over Private Tucker,” Deckard said. “No projected issues on that front.”

“That…is not a ringing endorsement,” Arlene sighed. “Suddenly I’m far more worried about this Private then I was five minutes ago.”

Deckard flickered out of view and reappeared in view a second later. “I ran through the records. Private Tucker is a flirt, but relatively harmless. Surprisingly bright. With these tests scores he could’ve easily received an officer rank within the UNSC Navy, maybe even fast-tracked to FLEETCOM. Hm, wonder why he got relegated to Freelancer military?”

“Who knows?” Arlene shrugged. “Maybe he has a cognitive defect.”

“That would be in his medical file,” Deckard pointed out.

“Whatever the reason,” Arlene turned around and stared back out into space with a frown, “this Private is nothing but trouble. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Deckard flickered away. “So you say, Captain.” A soft alarm rang throughout the entire ship for all of a hot second, followed by the announcement that the ship would be entering slip space within five minutes.

Arlene pressed her lips together. “Definitely trouble,” she grumbled. Arlene did not look forward to Private Lavernius Tucker being aboard the Viper’s Nest—not one bit.

[iansoakparanormalelimination]

My Paranormal Life: The Bog Creature

My life has been turned upside down and backwards many times, so many times in fact that I wonder why the twists seem to take the shape that it has so repetitively. With the last several years culminating in several life changes that started when I was a child, introspection set in and I began to really sift through the years seeking answers. Or at the very least some kind of clues. Nearly going blind will do that to you, nearly dying several times didn't seem to be the ticket.But those are tales for another time.The differences in my life from others I know has been so dramatic that in the growing darkness of my sight I began to try to piece together something. Was I always different or was this difference pushed onto me? Or was I always different and then made MORESO?Going back into my memories the differences begin right away. No one else I know can remember their first steps, getting diapers changed, the distaste for the feel of plastic pants over their underpants as they are potty trained. The first feel and silence of being sat in a depression of snow at 10 or 11 months. I could read well before entering Kindergarten because of my mother's teachings, since she labeled everything with the name of the thing in our shared bedroom, even my crib. Yes, I can clearly remember those times, even the abuses my parents and elder siblings sent my way, though those didn't ramp in intensity until after I was back home and turned 6 years old. Forgive me, I'm getting slightly ahead of myself but with reason, as you'll eventually read.Oh, and my blindness that I avoided, which you've doubtlessly been asking yourself about? Trauma Induced Cataracts from concussive impacts to my head from beatings and car accidents...no, not when I was driving, these happened when I was a child and before the law and normal use of seat belts stepped in to protect us from ourselves. and our parents.Now, needless to say this is all completely true. I know you'll all wonder if this is the case, if it's true, can I provide you with as much documentation as you need that won't be compromising, etc? I could, but that would make my life somewhat less private, but the information is available. Even my Doctor's information on the implants in my eyes so I can see can be screenshot and put up if you need convincing.But why am I telling you these things about my vision? Simple really...something didn't like the idea that I could SEE them. Really see them.As I am a child of two nations born in the US, this means a large amount of cultural background goes into the sum of my parts. With a Cuban father and mother from England, you can see what an amazing contrast there would be between the two parts of my family. The differences are so vast with one half of the family being very spiritual, Santeria being a large part of the religious makeup of the Cuban side. On the other is the celtic influence of my mother's family, with deep ties to the old faiths of the islands of the United Kingdom, all the way back to old religions of pagan and druids.As a baby I never knew how protected I was by my tias(that's aunts in Spanish) and their diligence to keep the house we lived in safe from the other world they knew was there, and feared...terrifically in fact. Constant blessings, use of camphor, holy water and cleansing with incense happened all the time. These kept my dreams untroubled and I feared the dark only because I could not see.Eventually, we moved and the home I would grow up in did not have ANY of those benefits. I began to see things in the darkness most easily. Aside from feeling things when I was near something spiritually active at a distance, I could see things, too. See what? Indistinct shapes, swirling patterns of movement as of fog or ether and something causing eddies in it just out of sight. But sometimes I saw more....much more.Take for example my tio Mickey and his wife, my tia Olga. As a little child we'd go there all the time because tia Olga was my godmother. Her mother, forgive me I do not recall her name, lived with them and had her own room. She was very old and not in the best of health, but she had an aura about her that said she was kindly and wished she could do more when my brother, sister and I came to visit than just sit in her room or lie in bed. Sometimes she was too exhausted to get out of bed and we had to play quietly on the other side of the house on the covered porch.I had a habit of wandering off and going places I was told not to go, following feelings that seemed to draw me on that were tied to my gut around the level of diaphragm. Inf act sometimes I would wander blocks away from home or to parks, scaring my family silly. I would go to tia Olga's mother's room and as I'd walk in, a man standing next to her bed would look up and smile most of the time. My memory of him is as hazy now as it is of her, but I remember dark but warm eyes, steely gray hair swept back and slicked down to keep it neat with a light blue guayabera. He was thick in the upper body, muscular but not overly so. I couldn't see his lower body since he was on the opposite side of the bed. She would look away from him to me, following his gaze to see me standing in the doorway."Hola, señora." I said."Ay!" my tio Mickey would say from up the hallway to get my attention, and I'd turn to look at him as he and his big dog, Duke, came towards me. I look back to apologize for bothering her, my mother's demand for proper English manners you see, and the man was gone. There was no place for him to go I should point out. And no one else lived there since my cousin, Michael, had moved out some years before. Keep in mind I think these events happened when I was 4, I'm pretty sure of it as my cousin's wedding had been the year before this when I was three.No one could ever tell me who that was, no one wanted to even mention it. The fact is it only started whispers between adults about the events, fearfully whispered discussions amongst them. Discussions I was not allowed to even think of eavesdropping on.It wasn't long after this that my tia Olga's mother passed on. I never found out who the man was in the room with her, but I am assuming it was someone very close to her for the simple fact I never felt menaced by what I saw and the room felt brighter after she passed, as if her illness or frail body had trapped her light. And once it was free the room fairly scintillated from its passing touch. Funny to think that years later when I brought my girlfriend(who would eventually become my wife) to visit tia Olga in her sickbed that it was in that very room. No, she was not there looking over her daughter, but the room was still bright with the light she'd left behind.A parting gift to ease her daughter's pains.Not all I saw was friendly as I'm certain you're wondering at this point if everything I saw was benevolent or kindly. As I'd said before the protection afforded us was lost when we moved as my mother never let my aunts do their ministrations again. We were given these tiny bags with a bead and a rosary medallion inside to wear under our clothes against our skin, pinned to our clothing with safety pins, to ward off evil. Because of the thing I mentioned, and a considerable many more brevity doesn't allow me to mention, I was given one more than my brother and sister. One of my patron saint, Joan of Arc. No, I'm not a female, but there is no Saint Sean. That's my name, by the way. Sean....same spelling as Sean Connery for whom I was told, jokingly or not, to be named after. Joan in French(she was French after all) is Jeanne. That's pronounced the same way as Jean of Jean Luc Picard fame for the Trek Nerds amongst you. Which as you can easily hear sounds a lot like Sean, a name that none of my cuban relations could easily say except my cousin, who was raised in the US.Forgive me for all this preface, but I thought I'd give you some idea of the events and history before the "Big Event".My mother's relations had come to visit us singly or in combinations for a little while, and I do believe I even got to see my Great Aunt Lily more than once in the US. My mother's father, Grandad, had been setting aside money since she'd left home to have her come home, either to stay or for a visit, and this money he'd made from quitting smoking. Funny enough, he'd been saving so long that the amount had grown high enough for us to all come visit them over the Summer. My father had to work so he couldn't come with us, his job was very demanding. Our "Talismans" given to us by the Cuban side of the family were not allowed to come with us and remained in a box back home, despite loud protestations. My mother was most insistent on that as she was embarrassed by them.We got our passports and in June of the year Star Wars IV A New Hope came out. So we were literally flying to UK less than a month after its initial release and I had to miss the phenomenon of the Summer that it was in 1977, but its impact was felt all over England in merchandising that tantalized me in the form of bubblegum cards with stills from the movie on them.My time in England was, to put it lightly, not boring.Why, you might ask? Whether it was walking everywhere or taking buses or trains, we were dragged to every moor, castle, monument, palace, and place of interest my mother could think of to see. This in direct contrast to the part of Los Angeles where we'd lived that requires a car and a long trip to get anywhere meaningful...it was a shock to say the very least about it one can say. All of this while traveling between the homes of my Grandad and Nanny(that's my grandmother if you hadn't guessed), my Aunt Sonia and my Aunt Celia in various places around England.From Heathrow we were driven out of the city to my Aunt Sonia's home and outfitted the next day with cagoules and wellies. For anyone not familiar, those are rainproof jackets that cover to the thigh and waterproof calf height rubber boots. For you see we had been impelled to come because that year since the previous 2 years had been a "Drought" and rain had been scarce, but 1977 was the end of the drought and we saw 3 sunny days all Summer long as nature dumped 3 years worth of water on England to make up for her laxness.Sonia's home was new and the neighborhood she and her family lived in was newly urbanized portions north of London that once just been rolling hills and forests. I slept well there, felt nothing and nothing ever happened. The same could not be said of Celia's or my grandparent's homes.Celia had an old home that was more than a century old and with much history, in a portion of England known for minor nobles living, and dying, nearby in their mansions. My grandparents flat was in the middle of a rebuilt portion of London, in an area that had been annihilated during the Bombing of London.When we first went to stay with Celia it was a bit of a shock. Upon first stepping through the front door and removing my wellies, I noticed the air was thick...and cold. To the left of the large front door was a toilet behind a closed door under a large staircase with a banister. My eyes were drawn to it as we were lead inside by my aunt, distracted with talking to my mother about her coming wedding. Another reason for our presence, so my mother could be there for her younger sister's wedding.The cold stopped as we got to the third stair and turned right on the small landing and proceeded up the stairs. Now the air was just thick and unwelcoming. We were shown to our room we'd be sleeping in, we children. It was across the hall from Celia's room and next to my mother's room. I kept looking at the door to my aunt's room, a pulsing sensation in my ears and pressing on my chest. So distracted was I, that I didn't even notice I was being asked something by my mother as she ushered me into our room to unpack.Celia smiled at me as she opened the door to her room, something about getting into her regular clothing now that she was not traveling anymore that day. I looked past her into the room with eyes wide and the feeling of dread growing. She saw my curiosity."What is it, Sean?" she asked me she looked over her shoulder into the room. Past her I could see her bed and nothing else. I looked back at her as she entered the room and then walked out of sight to the right towards what I would later learn was the walk in closet. Doing this she crossed my view of the bed and when it was clear again I saw something that chilled me to the marrow and the pressure came back enough to make me gasp.There, in the bed, now sat an old woman in a sleeping cap and nightgown that looked like something from the 18th century. Her hair was grey and tied up into the cap, her skin was parched and wrinkled but she couldn't have been older than 70. I apologize I cannot be more descriptive than that, not only was it 4 decades ago I was terrified. As I write this the terror is fresh in my breast and my heart is hammering just as it did then. The woman was sitting in the bed looking in the direction that Celia had walk out my field of view, then slowly she turned to look at the doorway. It seemed at the time she was turning her head at the sound of my gasp. Her eyes were angry, unwelcoming and accusing of some misdeed I was being blamed for.I've included a link to something vaguely similar to what I saw. Keep in mind, it's not the same but it can give you a rough impression of what I saw.At that moment my sister and mother walked past, breaking my line of sight as they walked past to go downstairs to get the rest of the suitcases to unpack. I stood frozen, my brother asking me what was wrong as they walked by. After they passed the old woman was nowhere to be seen.I told no adult, nor my sister,  as I remembered the response seeing things like this had gotten me in the past at home. I confided in my brother only, and he'd told me he hadn't seen anything. He proceeded to tell my mother and sister all about all I'd said and all the future events. And yes, she looked real. Like any person you see on the street looks. Solid and alive. That's how a great deal of the spirits I see look, or so I have learned. They appear as they did in life...rarely as how they died unless it was violent or traumatic. This was something I would learn much later but I mention it here in case you're wondering.Needless to say, I always kept my eyes averted from her room so I'd never see that woman again, even refusing to use the upstairs bathroom as I'd have to pass her and risk seeing or feeling her again.My grandparents flat had no oppressive feel to it, but there was a ghost all the same. A figure would walk into the bedroom where my brother and I slept, look around and then leave. He was dressed in a strange helmet shaped like a brimmed soup bowl with a chinstrap and a strange heavy jacket with leather buckles that looked water resistant. I could never see his feet as it was always too dark in the room. As the man entered he always seemed to bring a light with him, as if he glowed mildly. Otherwise I would not have been able to see much of him in the pitch dark of the middle of the night. I have no idea if I woke each time he came, but when I did awake it was usually prefaced by the feeling that I thought my mother had just walked in to check up on my brother and I, which she did now and again.I'm including a link to a picture of what the man looks like that walked through the home at night looked like.One thing I forgot to mention was my mother's morbidity when it came to graveyards. She has been tracing our family tree for ages, and this meant we were usually dragged to find headstones with her maiden name on them. One particular graveyard near my Grandad's flat was apparently where my great grandparents were buried. This graveyard was never empty of people walking through it and looking around. We'd be there many times, clearing the weeds and bracken from the shared grave of my great grandparents and placing flowers before I asked my mother why so many people were milling about. Her answer was:"I don't know Sean.....what people?" she asked as she looked around, finally paying attention to what I asked her. As the youngest in the family I'm rarely listened to and almost everything I said was dismissed or outright ignored. Never before had I wished my mother had ignored my question.I looked up at all the people who were walking amongst the graves and pointed at them. Specifically I pointed at a girl with reddish hair tied up in a pink ribbon that was wearing a light sweater and a dress that came to her knees. Remember when I said we saw three sunny days that summer in England? This was not one of them. We were in our rain gear, this girl and all the others were not. They were all in different attire. Some looked dressy such as suits and dresses, while others were dressed casually. Some looked like they were dressed in the current clothing styles, some were considerably older. I had not noticed it before that moment. Further, not a single one of them even had an umbrella or rain gear of any note to ward off the pattering rain I could hear making noise against the plastic cagoule hood. And though the rain was not falling heavily, it was falling around us sufficiently to turn a sweater completely sodden in minutes.Suddenly breathless, I realized two things:Ghosts can appear in the daylight outside. Something as a child I'd assumed was a "safe" time I would not have to worry about running into these things I was quickly becoming terrified of. And these ghosts had suddenly become aware of me.All of them.As if they were discomfited at scaring me, they all turned to look at me with impassive expressions on their faces, except for the girl I pointed at, and then each of them turned away and faded from sight. It was almost as if they had pulled a screen in front of themselves or stepped from one room to another by changing the focus of their attention. The girl with the reddish hair and the pink ribbon? She didn't disappear, instead she smiled and stayed fairly close listening to our conversations and watching, all in a completely non-threatening manner. No one seemed to notice her or see her throughout our time there, which I was eager to cut as short as possible.Threatening or not, I was leery of her and unwilling to let her close, always keeping my mother between us. I have no idea who she was and I was too scared to find out or even try to talk to her.Just two things I must mention about this graveyard not directly related to the ghosts or spirits I saw there:Firstly, the church that stood before it was where my Aunt Celia was married that summer. Secondly, this was where my Grandad was buried when he died of massive heart attack in his flat in August just after my mother's birthday. And no, I never saw him again. His spirit, despite staying in the flat many more days, never came to me. Nor, might I add, did the man in the helmet ever appear again to me.I'm sure most of this seems innocuous and far from dangerous to the reader, but you have to see it from the point of view of a 5 year old child. Not only that, you have to understand that before this I'd never encountered so many and so often. Only had I ever seen things swirling away, or faces peaking out my closet. But there was much more to be seen in England....ever so much more.For instance, the area along the Thames where the beheadings of many condemned folks that had stayed their last days in the Tower of London gave me nightmares throughout my time there. Things I'd rather never recount or remember. Things that still leave me shaking whenever I see the Tower of London in pictures or film. Rooms filled with ancient torture devices at Windsor Castle and other museums gave brief flashes of things that made me sit up in my bed at night drenched in sweat for years. Darker things did occur during my stay in the UK, but let me finish with the "Event" that seemed to mark the end of things as they had been, and none of the events eclipsed it.Though we stayed with the relations I mentioned and never went to stay with my uncle(Billy), we did however get to visit some distant relations. Distant in both lineage and in mileage. One set was in Scotland and was not spiritually noteworthy except to say that it felt as safe as if I was back in my old home, as though something protecting me. I would later discover that the reason for this was that the family was said to be protected by a few spirits and an "Elemental". For those of you good with a search engine you might discover my family name in Scotland from just the clues I have given you here.But the scariest experience I had was visiting second or third cousins of my mother's, Glynis and Roy. Once again I apologize for not knowing exactly. They are a nice couple with a home that had a past they had no clear answers for. At my aunt's wedding we were told by my aunt Celia about the "Ghost of the Bed". It was an antagonistic spirit that menaced only adult males that slept in the bedroom, not allowing them to sleep, shaking them, waking them with shrieking, attacking them and other more painful events. They'd look into the history of the house and it went back about two hundred years, it being one of the old homes in Wales with a history rich and mostly lost through time. Of course, Roy had only been told these things and had never tried to sleep there himself. A friend of his had tried and left in the middle of the night, never to return.No one stepped forward with more information as to why the spirit did what it did, whether it was male or female, or what had brought its darkness into the home in the first place. All this was recounted by Celia with dark glee, as she looked on the paranormal I would later find out as a fan of Hammer Horror films looks on schlocky movies as something to be sometimes laughed at and sometime horrified by. A non-believer and mundane in every sense of the word, who would later run experiments on haunted locations with me as a guinea pig on her many visits throughout my childhood.Terrified at what I could end up seeing, and now thoroughly exhausted from lack of sleep and decent food. But that's a story for another time. Suffice to say, the words "Cuisine" and "English" to not belong sitting back to back and are as unrelated as any two words can be. Want to know why Harry Potter is always eating candy and treats in the movies? Can't ever go wrong with English sweets and candy.The trip to Wales was long and arduous as we had to stay on the train for several hours and a few train changes and a bus ride. Before it was all over I had been menaced by my sister and brother with the idea of the ghost in the house...ghosts they didn't believe in or could see. Menaced with the idea of being put in the bedroom I was so scared of sleeping in. You know how that is, how children are."We're going to put you in there, Sean! We're going to make you sleep upstairs with the ghost!" they'd torment me, then wail like ghosts, holding their hands in grasping poses like a walking revenant out for human blood.I'd wail and run, scared out of my wits already at the very knowledge I was going to be near it. Certain in fact, despite my mother's claims they wouldn't, that they'd do it all the same and make me sleep in that accursed room.Well human endurance can only go so far when living on egg and chips, fish and salad and saveloy. I passed out on the last bus despite trying to stay awake in order to make sure I was able to make certain I was not put in the wrong room. My siblings had a nasty habit once they knew about the ghosts I could see of locking me in closets just to hear me shrieking in the darkness...darkness that was sometimes not void of...others. I was scared that they would force me into the room and make me face it as they had threatened.My fears were in vain, they never did go through with their threats.I awoke, as children do, slowly and softly to find myself in a bed already despite the fact i could tell by the ambient light that it was still daylight. And it was also sunny outside, one of the three days I mentioned. I was covered in a thick blanket that felt almost as heavy as one of those lead coats they throw on you when you get X-rays at the dentists office. I was warm and comfortable for several seconds before I realized where I was, then terror blossomed in my chest and my heart began to hammer against my little ribcage. I sat up, struggling under the weight of the blanket I now saw was doubled up and made of very heavy material. Don't ask, I have no idea what the material was or if it was a comforter. All I recall is that it was heavy and warm.Sitting up, I look around me at the room. The bed was old and I could hear the springs shift as I did. The headboard was metal, rather like the kind you see in old movies of hospitals, but it was larger and wider. It seemed so large to me at the time, disproportionately big for a child of my small stature. To my right was a window with the pulldown shade drawn from the lintel to within an inch of the sill. I could tell the window was open because of the way the shade moved slightly now and then from air flowing around it, causing the sun that was coming in to vary in intensity. Under the window was a low chest of drawers made of dark stained wood, it looked antique and sturdy. To my left was a tall dresser that was at least 4 feet high but with no mirror on it, also made of dark stained wood. That made me feel frightened for some reason, the lack of a mirror. Don't ask me why.Directly beside the bed on my left was a nightstand made of lighter wood with a single drawer in it. Set atop it was a glass of water and a couple of Welsh Cakes next to the glass. My stomach rumbled at the sight of them and as I reached for my first, I heard a sound and looked at the door for the first time which was just in front of the foot of the bed.The sound of my family, downstairs, laughing loudly at something. It seemed to come up to my as if mocking me, teasing me. Almost like I was put here on purpose to test me, to torture me and expose me to my fears. Because after all, to them it was not real. It was explained away as imagination how many times by my mother since coming to England? I'd long lost count. And I could hear my brother and sister laughing at something, the low voice of Roy interjecting something and then another burst of laughter.Well, I thought, I'll show them. I'll get away. I'll call them all stupid and mean for trying to scare me and laughing about it! Always picking on me, the littlest in the family. The butt of all their insults and tortures! How many times had they locked me in a closet with things reaching for me from the dark? Or in a room with a ghost that could see me as well as I could see it, all in the name of helping me get over my "fears"? So many times!Tears had been tracing down my face as I thought of this, but now they intensified from drops to streams that blurred my sight as my horror and feeling of betrayal intensified. My cheeks were soaked and stung slightly from the hot, salty tears.I moved to get up but paused... I felt it then. Through my whole body I felt it...like suddenly I was deep under water. The pressure was intense and almost like a nightmare in intensity. Like drowning out of water, sinking deeper and deeper every second, the crushing feeling growing tighter and tighter about me. Pressing on my little chest, my shoulders creaked as they were forced into my body and my wrists were crushed into my stomach, almost as if a gigantic hand was gripping me. Looking back now I have no idea how I survived.I tried to move, but my arms could not defeat whatever it was that held me. Another chorus of laughter from under the door drew my attention downward and I could see the gap beneath the door with light from the hallway illuminated a small patch of the wooden carpet and the edge of the rug that the bed sat on. Fighting to draw enough breath to scream for my mother, all I could do was sip the air a little at a time into my lungs and let it out. I tried making noise, little gasps of "Help!" "Mommy!" and calling for my sister and brother...but looking back they couldn't have been louder than a whimper. They were far from where I was and downstairs...and they would probably ignore me anyway as they usually did. I felt betrayed as well as terrified beyond comprehension...but it wasn't even close to what I was was in for.A sound, distant, but persistent and strange reached my ears then in the silence of the room. It didn't echo, it seemed as though the sound was sucked away as soon as each sound finished. It grew steadily louder, and by that I could tell it was getting closer. The grip hadn't lessened on me and in fact began to push DOWN so my little legs were bent at painful angles on the bed. The springs squeaked in response to my downward pressure into the bed and I heard my mother say:"I think I heard Sean upstairs, I'll check on him later. Going to step out for a cigarette...." and it trailed off as she must have gone outside, and the sound of a door opening and closing...then silence. They had all stepped outside, I could now hear the sounds of my brother and sister laughing distantly from the slightly open window to my right.My right hip protested the pain of being crushed in the semi-sitting position with my right leg splayed out to the right and my left extended in front of me. The noise I'd heard, now seemingly emboldened at being alone in the house, grew louder. I could finally tell at last what it sounded like...it was like a groan, only it sounded like a person groaning while inhaling rather than exhaling. And it didn't stop this time, it was inhaling and making the sound, getting louder and louder, closer, but I couldn't see from where. My eye were now rolling around in my eye sockets searching every corner of the room to see if i could find the source of the sound, all the while my mind was crying for my mother, my tears now soaking through the neck of my polo shirt in front of my chest.The groan stopped for an instant, then began again, louder this time and I sensed it was very near. I looked down at the doorway, something had attracted my attention despite the new, burning pain in my chest. What attracted my gaze was the light from under the doorway which was slowly...going...out. It was being blotted out as if by a shadow of something moving over the source from the left of the door to cover the light. Eventually the light was absorbed by a solid line of shadow, and I knew it could not have been a person.A person could not make those sounds.A person could not make this kind of completely eclipsing shadow over the light. There would be a shape of feet or legs or something in the light.The sound was now just outside the wooden door, louder than before, and something more. It was not a single groaning. It was the sound of several people. NO! It was a chorus of them, and it sounded now almost like a painful gasping into air starved lungs, only it never paused to finish taking the perpetual inward breath! The groan didn't sound like it stemmed from pain, no. It sounded almost like an engine getting going, as if it was drawing something it wanted into it. The louder it got, the more I hurt at the pressure of the crushing sensation.As I watched the shadow over the light was taken away as something DARKER began to slide under the door. I know what you're thinking. Darker than the shadow? Darker than a lack of light? YES! Darker! And fuller! I could see an amorphous mass sliding under the door that was darker than midnight and as it entered the room, the sunlight that came in around the shade in the window grew dimmer! The pressure on my chest surged angrily as I was suddenly flung back in the bed and banged my head against the slatted metal headboard, which in turn smashed the wall. The sound of it, though it should have been loud, was like a muffled clunk even to me! As if the sound had been sucked away, or muffled underwater, or with a pillow! Take your pick of metaphor, I'm sure you get what I mean.My head, now dazed from the collision, was too loopy and weak from lack of oxygen to appreciate the reality I could now breathe. All thoughts of escape had long gone and all I wanted was my mother to come rescue me. To drive it off and protect me, to enfold me in her arms. But I realized that would not happen. Despite her promises, she'd put me here or allowed me to be put here. Either way she didn't really care about me.Blearily turning may gaze downward I watched the foot of the bed for signs of it as I prayed,"Let me die fast so it can't touch me or take me! Please...just let me die!" I was so scared all my limbs had gone cold from shock.The groaning started at an all new intensity, revving upwards in the chorus of sound and my eyes grew wide in terror as the dark mass now surged upwards into the air as if standing! And it didn't stop! It stood, and spread out as if oozing into the air, sucking the warmth and oxygen from the room, the light growing dimmer and darker as I laid there numbly, panting in ultimate terror. My thighs grew hot as my urine burst free into my jeans and ran out of my pants and onto the bedding. The groaning changed to an almost overjoyed, triumphant tone and it spread to the left and right like bat wings...reaching around to engulf me in its wicked, hungry, embrace."please, please, please, please..." I realized I was panting, begging as my tears blurred my vision, the mass moved up the bed and the "wings" oozed in slowly to engulf me. All I heard was the groaning, it filled my ears then and seemed to crawl into my head and echo there. A fresh wave of tears made it so all I saw was the blur and the cold feeling in all my limbs, my head propped at a strange angle against the headboard, forcing me to watch as it closed in.The anticipation of its icy touch on my already cold skin repulsed me and I began to shiver uncontrollably. Then, just before I knew it was going to touch me, my vision cleared slightly and I could see it was about to touch my shoulders and embrace me. The noise it made surged one last time, bestial sounds of the predator about to make a kill......but it was all suddenly blotted out by the intense, white hot agony on top of my head! A burning, watery feeling far more intense than if you ever get a shower of hot water in the tub, and it was only happening to the top of my head. Wave upon wave of heat! An agony like the top of my head had just been ripped open with a welding torch or a blow torch, only it didn't fade! And the room was suddenly filled with a blinding white light, so bright my eyes had automatically drawn to slits to protect them!The whole room was filled with it, except for the stygian patch of nightmare before me on the bed. It had halted in mid reach and was now illuminated completely, I could somehow tell it was in pain.Now I could see it entirely, and I wish to heavens I never did. The thing was made up of the images of faces and bodies! All black against black but easily discernible! All caught mid scream, or wail, or groan, or some position of pain and writhing. Contorted in agony, moving slowly within the mass, undulating to the tune of their own trapped misfortune. All molded together into a thin sheet of ultimate darkness, pressed into a fabric of utter damnation! This thing wanted me to become a part of it! Don't ask me how I know, I just KNOW! And though what was in it may have once been human and had the potential for love and mercy, all that was left was the desire to add more to its flock of tortured souls. I have realized since then that the faces I saw, the darkness that it was, it was all merely a covering for the real force behind it. The thing hiding behind the curtain of souls.The light in the room intensified and the burn to my scalp lessened at last, allowing me to move slightly. The mass lept off the bed and seems to be sucked under the door, all the while thrashing left and right as it drew in it's "wings"  to remove them from the reach of the light. It passed into the hallway, the groaning sound receding as sounds from outside and light returned to the room. I could hear my siblings playing and my mother talking to Glynis about something..No idea what it was but it felt so good to hear it no matter what it was.The light was dimming finally and I looked around the room to see where it as coming from, weakly swiveling my head around to try and glimpse the source. But I was against the wall, nothing should have been able to be behind me and that is exactly where it always seemed to be. Always behind and above me, always out of sight.My strength, what little the light had imparted, was flooding out of me rapidly. The thing was gone, I wanted to escape, get out of the room! Now! Reaching my right arm to the left egde of the bed I tried to grab on and pull myself out of bed. I failed as the last of the light and the burning sensation fled me, I tumbled out of bed and headed to the floor.I don't remember hitting the floor.In fact, I don't remember anything that happened for the next three days.My next memories were that I was in Sonia's little green jalopy, heading away from train station in her town and on our way to her house.It took a long time to piece together the story, but here's what I know. They think I'd fallen out of bed after peeing in it that first day. I had gotten up, cleaned myself up and my mother found me half clothed trying to change the sheets. They'd fed us supper, I ate hearty of the wonderful food Glynis had cooked then we'd gone to bed. Through it all I acted normallyThat ws  but I remembered none of it. Perhaps it was shock. What I do remember is eating the Welsh Cakes. Glynis made them herself. Even made me a stack to eat. That my brother didn't like them and my sister was trying to stay in shape for gymnastics meant I had all I wanted.You can say I'm delusional, or that I'm not sane. You can say anything you like. I was never more scared than I was that day, that was because I was a little boy, but I know what I saw.In case you're wondering, did "It" stay in that house? No, in fact Glynis and Roy said that after we were there, during a visit to the US before moving to new Zealand,  someone across the street had died and they figured it had gone to follow the person. Roy slept in the room once to make sure and nothing had happened. I had a different take on things but never spoke to them of what I knew. Wasn't worthwhile telling them the thing followed me and made my life hell, guilt never solved anything.I don't know what it was, I don't care to name it. Give it a name if you need one, I could care less.What I do care about is that from that day on my life was different. It couldn't get to me, so my family turned dark. I don't know if it was the thing that wouldn't let people sleep or not in the tale we were told, I also don't care. What I care about was that my family went from being what it had been to cruel and often times vicious. After we came home the darkness got to my father. I know this because he beat me until I was unable to keep control of my bodily function, even gave me a concussion......all on Christmas Day in 1977. Merry Christmas. The reason? Because I accidentally opened the wrong present.Car accidents followed, also. My father began to drive angry, regularly. I nearly went through a windshield with a full backpack on at age 9, the only thing stopping me was the fact the window wasn't made to shatter. 1970s construction...gotta love it. My mother began to regularly deal out damage to me because my siblings would blame me for things they wanted to see me punished for. And my siblings began to use me as a whipping boy when they were upset. As they explained it, and I am quoting my sister directly here:"Just coming into a room with you in it makes me want to...just hit you, Sean. Find something heavy and WHAM!" to this my brother quickly agreed with her.It made me feel worthless and I withdrew from their presence as much as I could. This seemed to make them more antagonistic, my brother acted as if he were always being egged on to find anything he could easily get away with hitting me in the head with. This even included putting a metal nut on his finger and lashing out at my head when no one was looking., especially the top of my head. Complaining to my mother was useless. I always received a tongue lashing to the effect that either it wasn't serious what was being done or a shout at my brother to stop it. No further punishment to dissuade such behavior was ever meted out.The only solace I had in this time came from my Cuban Grandfather. Papacito. He would protect me, when I was near him I was safest from all of them. Naturally, this dark thing made sure he was gone as soon as possible. My parents divorced suddenly, and my mother drove off my aunts and grandparents. Despite the fact they lived next door to us, she found a way to make them move.After that point the cataracts started to form, and though I could see the spiritual things somewhat as dim outlines I could not see them as clearly as before. No longer did they look like normal people. You see "It" didn't want me to see so easily anymore and it figured out how to reach me. At least that's what I think.Now I have ocular implants and I can see as any of you can see....mostly. Couple more laser treatments. No more cataracts. My ability to see ghosts seems as it was when I was 5.I know this because I was shopping one day after the first surgery and my left eye was unbandaged two days prior. A little girl ran past me giggling and knocked over produce as I watched, then ran through a cart loaded with produce as if it wasn't there. The person stocking the produce, a dour looking hispanic lady, never looked up to follow her. She only humphed in annoyance and picked up the peppers,putting them back where they belonged. I asked if she saw the girl and she gave me a puzzled look.You may be wondering does misfortune still follow me, are my steps dogged by this thing? No. It's gone now.And with good reason, I might add.But that, as they say, is another story.`

[midyearflowers]

White and blue?

read more cause this got long lol

Blue - 9 facts about my family:

1. up until about 9 years ago i was the youngest on both sides of the family, but then my two cousins were born on my mom’s side and i am now the third youngest.

2. now that im 20, there is not a single person on my dad’s side that is under 20 years old. (that i know of anyway, im going off who shows up on holidays)

3. my mom was born and raised in mozambique, south africa before coming to canada at 13. her background and race is portuguese and white, however.

4. since i was born, there was always at least 3 cats in our house/possession at any time. the only exception to this rule is the present, where i only have two cats and we likely wont get a third until we move because technically we arent supposed to have pets in my building (shhhhhhhh…) (literaly no one cares tho, like we’ve probably been caught a bunch of times. hell we wheeled a carrying case past the freaking superintendent and she didnt say anything)

5. depression runs through my mom’s side of the family so she has it and my grandma has it and then it was passed to me (so idk why she isnt more understanding about it..)

6. i have an older brother by 4 years who lives on his own now and is going for his masters degree. he used to live with my mom and i but in our current apartment that meant i had to share the master bedroom with my mom and that was awful so im kinda glad he moved out lol

7. my dad was born and raised in canada out in the country so hes a farm boy. (aka the whitest man you will ever meet) the stories that come from him and his three sisters about their childhood are hilarious tho. im told that at one point their dad won a cheetah in a poker game so they had a cheetah hanging around in the car for a while (still kinda skeptical on whether i believe that, but given the rest of their childhood, i kinda do..)

8. my mom’s side of the family is a lot smaller than my dad’s. usually its just my aunt and her family that comes over since my grandparents cant anymore and my uncle lives in switzerland (but we dont like him anymore so whatever) meanwhile my dad’s side fills up whatever house we’re in. i find it’s more fun that way

9. about 95% of my mom’s family lives in other parts of the world which is why our get-togethers are so small. but my dad’s side all live here so we always have a full house since everyone can come. ive met more of my dad’s side than my mom’s in the 20 years ive been alive

White - 3 facts about my personality:

1. ive gone through so many different personalities in my life. as a kid i was all happy and bubbly and full of energy. i was super bossy too, i had to run the show. then i got to middle school and became a demon. high school i started to grow up a bit although i was still a piece of shit until like grade 12 when i calmed the fuck down. and now i like to think im a bit more mellow and am less of a wildcard than before

2. a lot of who i am comes from tv and movies and video games tbh. like i shape myself around whatever it is im invested in. ive basically taken all the parts that really resonated with me and smashed them all together. im also influenced by the people i hang out with (which is like one person now)

3. i like to think ive got a good balance going between when to be mature and when i can let go and be childish. im told im well liked and respected at work (my one coworker thought my potential was being wasted on scanning files) so ive got the mature part down. i find it easier to mesh the two together honestly. a mix of being an adult but also not losing sight of being a kid. im still young after all, im allowed lol

thanks for the questions!

[scoopsohboi]

im about to get into it so if you don’t want literally all my personal baggage please scroll on. 

this is longer than i planned oh god im sorry.

i honestly dont know what to do anymore. all ive ever wanted was fucking peace but some people love to argue and push people and find it fun. my sister and i never got along as kids but i would try so damn hard to be on her good side because shes four years older and everyone always thinks shes funny. but shes so rude. shes loves to put people down and her favorite damn thing is being right, or at least winning. 

but shes my sister, and the only one i have, and all ive ever wanted was someone i could look up to. someone i could tell everything to and someone who would be there for me when i needed someone. 

she was, sometimes, but her grains of sweetness are always wiped clean with her tidal waves of negativity. 

she’d tell me the things i liked were dumb and boyish, trying to make me feel bad about the fact that i wore graphic shirts and no makeup. my lack of relationships and the few i actually did have.

i used to be so extroverted and outgoing as a child. i was goofy and unapologetic and open. but she made me feel ashamed for having opinions. for having thoughts. everything i did was wrong and all i wanted was to be accepted. 

so it continued. 

and i would swallow everything i thought and tried to be more like her because at the end of the day it was still us in this house. and i would hate myself for some of our conversations. i would hate everything. but she would actually talk to me. and we would shop together. and when she moved out there were sleepovers and cooking and laughter. it wasn’t how id always wanted, but i finally had a relationship with her. 

it was ongoing. 

she got married to a man with similar ideals and though i tried to stay close to them, the things they said never changed and i couldn’t keep ignoring it. the racist and bigoted comments. the political views being shoved down my throat at every turn.

so we had a big fight. an ugly fight. id never risen my voice before that moment and i never have since. i loath yelling but god this woman pushed me farther than she ever had before. we were screaming. i pleaded for it to stop as she said i was free to leave. so i left.

ive been unable to be intimate with anyone because i cant share that part of myself with them. i cant stay in a relationship because more often than not im too in my own head, unable to make myself say the most basic opinions and thoughts because im ashamed to even exist. 

i started to fall into depression in eighth grade(07). she moved out when i was a freshman(08). got married a year after i graduated(2013). i moved to la for college three years later(2016). a few months later, she asks me if im gay and i come out to her as bi. a few months later our big screaming fight. 

then they try to move to georgia, shitty things happen to them, and theyre back a few months later, moving into my bedroom at my parents house. i now sleep in my dads home office. i start spending as little time at home as possible and only stop by for a weekend every month despite being only a couple hrs away by car. 

ff to march of this year. i just got my bachelors degree and mainly live back home. they have a baby. they make a big deal out of how they don’t like my brother-in-law’s mom, and how his family can be psycho. my sister says at the babyshower she doesn’t want people to suddenly be nice to them because theyre having a baby. so i dont. i keep cordial and polite, but not “Friendly.”

so my nephew is born. hes perfect and beautiful and i love him so damn much. but she tells me she doesnt see it from me. that i dont care. that i dont want to be in his life. weeks pass of me crying because i cant get to know my nephew and she just gives me looks every time im in the room. 

then we have a talk. an understanding it seems. and she wants me in his life. hallelujah. 

but thats not the end. i dont know i ever thought it would be. 

i tried to be friendly. to ask her about him every morning. to play with him. she was having me help her feed him and it was great. but then her husband cornered me. asking me one night a few months back why i “dont like to him like i used to” (waaay back in 2012). hes hurt, and i can see he doesnt get it. so i explain calmly that i dont want all the negative conversations. that i dont think like them and thats okay but i dont want their republican bs in my face. and this dude has the nerve to tell me hes open minded as shit and that i need to be more like him. that he hasnt changed and that he never forces his views on anyone. 

i was truly shook. 

i told him firmly that i needed space.

so its been awkward to say the least. we don’t really talk. my sister is different every day. i ways say ‘good morning’ to her, but most of the time she turns to look at me, then just looks back at her son without a word. i lock myself in my bedroom until about 9pm everyday, only coming out to use the bathroom or get food. 

i feel like less than a person. i want to be able to talk to my parents but every time she hears someones voice in the house she has to run out with her baby and have it be all about her and i really dont fucking get it. 

tonight she blew up on me because i was cleaning up after her cats (getting nasty vomit on my hands), and she was standing in the walkway with her son and i was having to dodge them with disgusting hands like bruh, move? and then she said i was slamming doors (hello nasty ass fucking hands??!?) and how she couldve cleaned it and how i shouldnt be mad. like....

you wouldnt have cleaned it? or you wouldve been doing it already?

and she said i wake up my nephew every day slamming doors. like girl. i stay in my damn room until yall go to sleep. i stay out of your life. i dont make much noise during the night. her son does wake up every night at 11-11:30, not my fault though. and she wakes up at like 7am and plays with him right outside my door so, bitsh, you wake me up everyday??

im just really fucking sick of this house and this family and this existence.

ive been hella depressed since february when a friend of mine got into a really bad breakup and almost died. i spiralled down trying to lift him up and now im still down in it and hes no where to be found. ive started cutting again. not often but when it gets too hard to handle. 

i just wish i had people to hold me when i feel like its all too much.

i wish the people i cared about cared more about me.