#other stuff has happened in my cousins house too like stuff repeatedly falling off the walls until she told my grandad off and to stop

[elysiumcalled]

Would you find it weird & creepy or comforting if you knew the spirit of a loved one was still lingering and was doing stuff to make themselves known to you?

[ace-trainer-risu]

oh here! i’ll come ask you for book recs lol. do you have any spooky and/or autumn-y book recs? or just your fave books :)

First of all, I'm sorry this took me SO long to answer. I want to say I've been busy but it's just been general [waves hand vaguely] life.

ANYWAY thank you for asking! I actually don't read scary stuff a lot b/c I'm a wimp, but I have a few spooky/autumnal books up my sleeves! Let's see what we've got!!

1) The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Let me just start by saying that Sarah Waters is one of my absolute favorite authors ever! All her novels are suspenseful, twisty historical novels with great female and queer characters. Although, fair warning, actually The Little Stranger is like her one novel that isn't queer, but it is VERY good. If you read The Little Stranger and like it, please read Fingersmith and/or The Paying Guests.

The Little Stranger is set in the countryside of post-WWII England and follows a mild-mannered doctor as he becomes increasingly involved in the lives of the family living in the local, increasingly decrepit, possibly haunted mansion. Think Downton Abbey but creepy. Strange things keep happening inside the house, from dog bites to mysterious sounds to creepy black spots. Literally just typing that gave me goosebumps. It seems like someone may be out to get the family, but who...or what? Is it simply the ghosts of their own painful memories, or is something more? Sarah Waters is excellent at lush, intricate historical detail, and she leans into that here to create an atmosphere of slowly building dread and horror and mystery.

That being said, as a person who isn't normally a fan of horror, I don't think this book is too scary. It's more of an atmospheric, psychological horror than a jump-scare, bloody horror. It's not a book that will give you nightmares (probably), but you might lie awake thinking about it.

Also. Pro-tip. As a haunted(?) house story, the house is obviously fairly central to the story. Dear fellow Americans, keep in mind that the British refer to the floors of a building differently than us. For Americans, the ground-level floor is called the first floor, the floor above that the second floor, etc. For the British, the ground-level floor is the ground floor, and the floor above that is the first floor, etc. There's all sorts of creepy references to characters hearing noises above them on the first floor, but I was just like, Why are they always in the basement?

2) Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno Garcia

This and the above are two very different books, and yet they are both set in the mid-1900s and both are about weird, creepy, maybe-haunted houses. What can I say, I like gothic fiction.

After our heroine, Noemi, receives a bizarre, borderline incoherent letter from her beloved cousin, she sets out to visit her in the literally decaying mansion she resides in with her husband and his new family deep in the countryside of Mexico. All Noemi wants to do is persuade her cousin to come back home with her, but her cousin's new in-laws are very determined not to let that happen...or to let Noemi leave either. Secrets abound in the bizarre house and even creepier nearby cemetery, and soon Noemi finds that she too is suffering from bizarre dreams and visions...although, are they just dreams?

This book is so weird, but in such a good way? I read it for a book club and every week we had increasingly bizarre theories about what was going on, we were googling alchemy and fungi and St George, and some of our theories were even right. Although definitely not all. Another very twisty one that keeps you guessing.

In terms of scariness, interestingly I think there's more overtly creepy and horrifying moments in this novel than The Little Stranger, but I found TLS more overall scary? But that may be because I read it quickly, which I think is the ideal setting for suspenseful stuff, and I read Mexican Gothic over a longer amount of time since it was for a book club. This one does have some more typical horror elements to it, but I don't think it's more creepy than terrifying.

3) The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey

I listened to this one as an audiobook and the audiobook is excellent so would recommend that, but have no doubt it would also be great to physically read.

Oh my god this book...it's more thriller than horror, but I think it fits the brief. There were multiple moments listening to this book that I literally gasped or said "OH MY GOD!" out loud, and there are moments which are very creepy and horrifying. There's a particular scene in the backyard... Again, incredibly suspenseful and twisty. And the character development and character psychology is just! really really good! There's also really interesting and knotty feminist stuff which is a lot more complicated and nasty than some of the "girlboss" stuff which is popular right now.

Super minimal summary: All you really need to know is that it is a sci fi novel about a scientific researcher trying to pick up her life after her marriage has imploded, only for everything to go BATSHIT WRONG. Trust me, that's all you need to know, it's better to go into this not knowing what's going to happen or what to expect. I had no clue what this novel was about when I started it, and holy shit. Very good book, absolutely recommend this if you want some super suspenseful, creepy sci fi that will make you say "oh my GOD" repeatedly.

Okay, shifting gears a little now b/c autumn isn't just spooky, it's also cozy and restful and daydreamy!

4) The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

This isn't maybe a cozy book per se, but it's a great book to cuddle down with on a dreary day and lose yourself in. If you've ever asked yourself, "What would it be like if you crossed Pride and Prejudice with Howl's Moving Castle except the wizard was way worse but somehow still sexy" - then you should read this book! I actually came across this book b/c I was like, I wanna read a book that's a portal fantasy but for adults, and this book was like OH here's everything you wanted.

It's about a grad student, Nora, who has totally stalled out on her dissertation and is at a shitty wedding when she accidentally wanders through a portal into a beautiful, fantastical fairy world. At first, everything is amazing and literally perfect...but surprise surprise, not all as is it seems, and soon everything goes to, how should I put it, shit. Nora escapes, but rather than returning home, she finds herself trapped in a far more dreary realm. But not one without it's own charms and it's own magic, and Nora finds herself the student-slash-sorta-captive of the crochety, sexy, maybe-killed-his-wife magician Aruendiel* and she begins to learn magic herself.

Unlike the above books, this is not a fast-paced, twisty book, and I think if you go into this expecting high fantasy along the lines of Game of Thrones, you may be disappointed. It's not really a typical high-fantasy novel, it's more of a cross of an 18th/19th century realist novel, a fairy tale, and a fantasy novel. But if you want that, then it's REALLY good! I loved this book! And the magic in it is so cool, something about the way its described feels so visceral and real and like you could really do it if you just tried hard enough. There is a romance and it's totally, intentionally hashtag problematic, but it's very laid back, very slow burn, so I think even if you aren't a person who digs romance you can still enjoy this. If you're looking for a feminist-leaning fantasy novel that you can just sink into and lose yourself in, this is the perfect book. You will long to magically fix broken plates.

5) The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry by C.M. Waggoner

Honestly I can't even justify why I think this one is an autumn book. It simply is. It's autumn colored in my head. It is the coziest book I have ever read about necromancy and crime. Also I just want to recommend it. This is another one that I listened to as an audiobook and it's also a good audiobook, for those who are interested. But it also means I will not be able to spell absolutely any of the character's names.

This novel follows Delly, an enterprising young scoundrel of a fire witch with a teeny tiny gin habit as she attempts to support herself and her hot-mess of a mom in the roughest neighborhoods of Fantasy-City-That-I-Can't-Remember-The-Name-Of. Lice...gate? When Delly comes across an advertisement for a bodyguarding job for young women for a hefty fee, it seems like the answer to definitely not all but at least some of her problems. She accepts, along with an interesting assortment of other sorcerous young ladies, including a wonderfully bitchy Absentia (my love), a young woman who can turn into a boar, boar girl's necromancer mother, and the very sexy part-troll Winn, who in my imagination looks like Gwendoline Christie and talks like Miranda Hart. Which. Perfect woman. Winn being a fine, wealthy young lady, Delly can't help but think to herself that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Winn happened to fall in love with her and carried her off to be rich and spoiled the rest of her life.

Of course, things quickly don't go to plan, and soon Delly and her companions find herself caught up in wicked schemes of murder, drugs, and an undead mouse named Buttons who says BONG. I love Buttons SO MUCH.

This book is just a silly romp of a novel which worms into your heart and your brain. It's fun and cute and gay, and also it made me cry. I haven't stopped thinking, "Not quite regulation hammerball" since I listened to it like half a year ago.

Also, while I'm here, this novel is set in the same world as and features a few of the same characters as Unnatural Magic. Which is also a hell of a book. Literally the best bisexual relationship I have ever fuckin read. It's a winter book tho, so I simply can't go into it here.

Aaaaand...that it's! Happy autumnal reading :)

[enigmawrappedinhypocrisy]

I've recently really gotten into your blog and I love how you write Barley, I'm very interested by the NSFW because I didn't expect this much love for him from the community! I wanted to request something NSFW if it's okay :)! I like the concept between fem reader and Barley ending up doing the deed in his van ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (Could I add that during this deed, Barley is very passionate and thorough as well as -not safe sex- 👀?) Thank you for your time, I look forward to your stories, take care! ❤️

Hey guess who totally didn’t forget about this sitting in my drafts 75% finished for a looooong time?!! Sorry

Okay… the nsfw things really take longer for me to come up with… it’s like… difficult for me to come up with something that doesn’t sound like bullet points or has bad pacing… 

Aand I could not come up with an opener for this… all I kept thinking of was the premise for the other time there was sexy times in Barley’s van… and I couldn’t do that twice… And i’m not sure what you mean by ‘very passionate’ so hopefully this works…

 Fandom: Onward

Pairing: Barley Lightfoot x Fem reader 

Warnings: NSFW! Badly written Smut, Fingering, unsafe sex, some cum talk I guess... kinda upsetting language in the beginning... 

❀✦ Master List✦❀

The day was warm and bright, your parents were having their annual summer party,

You were grateful Barley was there to help balance you, as the people invited tended to be a little… much...

Everything was okay for a while… you were able to avoid any uncomfortable discussions by spending a good amount of time in the kitchen ‘helping’ until your parents insisted you ‘join the fun’. 

It only took a few minutes before the conversation outside shifted to you...

A great aunt commented that, “you’d be pretty if you dropped the weight…” 

A cousin asked when you’re going to get married, and someone responded with something that sounded like “when she gets ‘in trouble’” 

Your mother’s friend told you she thought you should date her son instead of that “troublemaker you were dating”.

And then politics… 

It was very quickly becoming too much… and you needed out. 

-

Barley had been helping your parents and was mostly kept away from the toxicity, until you texted him. 

<Hiding in Guinevere :( > 

It didn’t take long for the back of the van to open revealing a concerned and slightly amused Barley. 

“What happened?” He climbs in, shutting the door behind him. 

You’re lying on the floor in the center of Guinevere. Barley joins you, on his side, facing you. His hand brushes some hair from your face. 

You huff but give him a quick recap of what happened. 

Barley frowns, “Want me to go talk to them? They shouldn’t be saying things like that...”

“No,” you sigh knowing that won't help…  

But then a thought wormed its way into your head. You try to hide the smile that flashes across your face as you reach up and pull Barley down to you. 

He smiles into the kiss, always happy to kiss you… and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed being affectionate with you throughout the day. You had both decided earlier to keep the ‘lovey stuff’ to a minimum around your family in order to avoid… well… basically what ended up happening anyway… 

When he was distracted you shifted your position so you were now on top of him. Barley’s hands instinctively move to your hips, “What are you doing?” he smiles up at you.

You return his smile with a smirk, before rocking your hips against his. 

“You know I’m always up for this but your family…” Barley blushes as you tug off your shirt.

It was if you didn’t care if you got caught… or maybe you wanted to… to show those people… something… your feelings were all jumbled at the moment and you’d decided to just go with them. Barley made you feel safe to share those kinds of feelings with. And you wanted him right now! In his van, on the curb, in front of your house. 

You lean down to nibble on his neck, whispering breathlessly to him that you don’t care, and “let them be miserable while we’re having fun” 

You reach back and quickly remove your bra, tossing it somewhere in the van. 

Barley chuckles, “as long as I get to say ‘told you so’ if we get caught.” 

“Deal” you lean back into a kiss, yelping when Barley retakes control. 

He knows you’re still a little upset by their words, even if you won’t admit it, and Barley was more than happy to take the opportunity to take care of you. 

He spends some time worshiping your body with his hands and mouth, sometimes nuzzling you playfully. He breathes soft words into your rapidly heating skin. Telling you how much he loves you, he wants to let you know how much he adores you, and your body.

Eventually he makes his way down to your waistline. Barley winks up at you playfully before pulling off your pants. He leans down and nips at your hip. 

You giggle and nudge him with your foot. 

He winks again before he works your panties down and off of you. Now you're fully nude in Barley's van… and he's not… You're about to bring it up when he brushes his hand along your slit. 

You glare at him, at his cheeky smile, 'cause he knows just what he’s doing. He knows you want him now, and his teasing is not helping satiate that need.  

The glare works, and Barley quickly continues, moving up your body to kiss you again. His hand continues to teasingly stroke along your folds, now moving with purpose and not just teasing. 

Once he felt you were distracted by the kiss he slips a finger into you, smiling when you moan into his mouth. Before long he adds a second finger,  stretching you, working you the way he knows you like. .

Pulling away slightly, Barley leaves some pecking kisses on your face, "You know I think you're beautiful, right?" He tells you, cheeks flushed. 

You bite your lip looking up at him, a little distracted by his fingers inside you. "You're wonderful," you tell him. 

"No you," Barley smiles, a little heart eyed. Before you could protest or add anything Barley hooks his fingers inside you unexpectedly, drawing out a surprised moan from you. 

He continues his fingering while he leans forward, and begins marking your neck. He wants you to be able to look in the mirror later and know he loves you. You might have said those words didn’t bother you… but Barley wanted to make sure… 

Your hands find their way into his hair, knocking his hat off in your haste, and gripping his hair.  

Brushing his thumb firmly over your clit he quickly brings you to your first orgasm. Your insides twitching around his thick fingers, eyes shut tight. Barley withdraws and allows you as much time as you need to recover. He just enjoys watching you in bliss, a little proud to be the one responsible for it. 

While you’re in your blissful post orgasmic state you find yourself keenly aware of the scents surrounding you. The cinnamon dragon shaped air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The obvious musk of sex, and then Barley, above all else you can smell him. 

He’d made sure to dress up a little nicer, shave which made you a little sad, and wore the cologne you’d bought him for his birthday last year. The effort he’d put in to make a good impression filled your heart.  

How’d I get so lucky? you muse to yourself, hooking a leg around Barley's hip, drawing him closer to you. 

With a soft chuckle at your eagerness Barley leans forward, his forehead pressed against yours. “Someone’s eager” he teases, while already undoing his pants. 

“If you don't hurry up” you threaten with a hiss, but are unable to keep the smile from your voice while you do it. 

With your legs already wrapped around his waist Barley doesn’t have much room to move as he frees his cock from its fabric confins. He was plenty eager, himself, at this point, earlier reservations forgotten. Cock, standing tall, practically pulsing with anticipation. Barley didn’t know what he’d do If they were to be interrupted at this point, but as your hips buck against him all thoughts vanish the young elf’s mind.

He slips inside you with ease, your warmth already soaked from the earlier orgasm. Barley teases a little at first, starting with shallow thrusts, leaving you to chase after him. Your hips lift and tilt, trying to find the right angle to get him deeper, all the while Barley makes sure to keep just far enough away. The game doesn’t last long, however, as Barley soon finds the teasing too tough to take himself. 

With a hand on your hip he gives a sudden thrust, pulling you to him at the same time, bottoming out inside you with a whine. His face buried in your neck as he tries to keep his noises to a minimum, grinding against you lazily. 

Barley finds himself wondering how this can always feel like the best time… every time… always… but as you clench around him he’s pulled back into the moment. 

Drawing back Barley crashes his lips against yours in a brief heated kiss, before beginning a bruising pace. 

Your hands grip his arms as your head falls back, overwhelmed in pleasure. You’re rapidly approaching your second orgasm as Barley quickly finds and assaults a spot deep within you. A spot he’d long since learned, will cause you to see stars. 

Barley grips your thigh, and wraps an arm around your back, and with little warning he pulls you up and into his lap. From this angle he’s able to thrust up into you while you writhe, and clench above him. He keeps you against him for a bit, staying deep within your warm walls as he focuses on those places inside you again. 

It doesn’t take much more before you clench down on him, both on his cock and his neck, as your orgasm crashes upon you. 

This time Barley doesn’t allow you to come down from it as he takes your hips in a more solid grip, and begins lifting you again. Dragging your spasming cunt along his cock, he’s barely able to keep a rhythm, overwhelmed by chasing his own pleasure at this point. 

Barley repeatedly lets out your name in breathy whimpers. Not that he was really aware he was doing it. All the while you stroke his back, and moan encouragingly in his ear. 

Biting down on your shoulder, Barley holds you tightly to him as his own orgasm finally hits. His whole body shudders, as he cums deep within you.

It only takes a moment for you and Barley to realize the mistake you’d made. 

“Oops” you look up at him, biting your lip. You can already feel some of his cum leaking out of you around his now softening member. 

Once he realizes, however, Barley’s eyes go wide, he quickly begins to apologize. 

With a sympathetic smile you nuzzle into him, assuring him that it was okay, mistakes happen, and you’ll just need to stop at the drug store after the party. 

“Besides, it’s kinda hot” you tell him with a mischievous smirk, “being around those judgmental people, only you and I knowing why my underwear is all wet” 

It seems Barley didn’t know how to react, his ears flushing, a cum drunk smile stretching across his face. He wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or turned on, but a tone coming from your pants pulled him back to reality once again. 

He watches you pull away from him and scramble to get your phone. His nerves return once he sees your face. You looked like you’d been caught sneaking a cookie. 

“What?” 

“We should go to the store now” you bite your lip holding out the phone so Barley could see the text from your mother. 

<Hope you’re using protection LOL>

“Your mom uses ‘lol’? Barley teases. 

You glare at him over your shoulder, already in the process of redressing. 

“Okay, okay” Barley chuckles, readjusting his pants, and starting the van “but don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Okay that’s all I got…  see you all in another 3 months... Sorry 

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Danny Phantom
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Wesley Weston
Characters: Danny Fenton, Wesley Weston, Jazz Fenton, Maddie Fenton
Additional Tags: Walker is mentioned repeatedly, Phantom Family AU, Revelations, being a lil shit is genetic apparently, Danny swears in stars and constellations and space stuff, Wes swears with cuss words
Summary: Prompt from Tumblr: I wish you would write a fic about Danny being a little shit to Vlad by revealing him to Wes.
Wes comes over and nearly gets Danny’s half life ended, which leads to further family revelations that leave Danny’s head spinning.

Danny Fenton was having a weird and not particularly pleasant week. His Dad had finally encountered the Box Ghost, who took one look at him and glitched out like a Bethesda character before apparently regaining his memories. Apparently, the Box Ghost was Jason Fenton, older brother of Jack Fenton. The Box Ghost was Danny’s Uncle. That was weird as fuck to discover, especially when he implied that Box Lunch would be a person he’d have to deal with soonish. He was going to have a cousin. His already living cousin, Wes, had decided later that week to ruin Danny’s life by asking him right in front of Jazz and Mom if he still had that giant green dog thing he’d crashed a game with. Danny dragged him up to the third floor of Fentonworks, shoved him into his room, and learned very quickly that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom the moment he focused on him. “Orion, man, you can’t just imply I’m a ghost in front of Mom or Dad!” “Why not?” Wes stared at him like he’d grown a second head - he hadn’t, he knew the sensation - and Danny took a moment to redirect the energy surging to his eyes over his skin and outward. It blanketed the room in a wave and left what Tucker had described as the feeling of touching an old tv and feeling static on your fingers all over the place. Wes rubbed his arm and raised a brow at him. “Wes, tell me what Jack Fenton is going to think if you tell him ‘hey that ghost kid you shoot at all the time is your kid’? Actually, no, how the fuck did you even figure it out?” “You look like you put on your suit and then someone turned on the color inversion filter on their camera. Blue skin, white hair, black and white suit.” Wes paused and poked Danny’s cheek, looking him in the eye. “Your eyes should be orange instead of green though if that were the whole case. How’d this happen? Last time I talked to you, you n Tucker were talking about building a motorcycle that could fly.” “The hoverbike has sorta been put on hold, I’ll admit,” Danny grumbled, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He pulled his hands away from his face and Wes was still there, tall and stupid and overly observant. “If I tell you what happened, do you promise not to out me to my parents?” “I-should I treat this like you’re in the closet?” Wes snorted at the idea. “Closeted dead guy. Alright, I can get that. But uh, if you’re dead, why are you still…” he wiggled his hand and then gestured at Danny’s room. “In a house with ghost hunters?” “Well, to start with, I’m not actually dead. Not entirely, anyway.” Danny sat down on his bed and Wes followed, and after taking a moment to triple check that Vlad’s bugs weren’t in his room with another wave of energy, Danny told Wes the story of the Accident. It was a short story, but he was slow about it. He’d never really discussed it with anyone, Sam and Tucker just sort of knew better than to bring it up and Jazz probably thought he’d tell her himself in his own time. By the time he finished, Wes looked almost as uncomfortable with the situation as Danny felt. “You know, not to sound like a cheesy 90’s cartoon character but this is why you shouldn’t give in to peer pressure.” Danny snorted and laughed at that, and Wes grinned even when Danny elbowed him. “Ok, so I’m putting together that you did a bunch of dumb shit and found yourself decided to be a superhero. What the fuck was up with the dog, or the mayor getting kidnapped? Your eyes were fuckin red when you stole a bunch of shit that one time too.” “Ok in order of what all happened: Axiom labs euthanized their guard dogs and one of them came looking for his squeaky toy but forgot where it was and no matter how many times I shoved Cujo back into the portal-” “ Cujo ?” Wes snorted and ruffled Danny’s hair. “Have you been reading the stuff Sam gives you or did your emo phase just never really end? You have the emo bangs.” “I do not!” Danny huffed, running a hand through his curly hair that, well, Wes couldn’t really ruin a mess, could he? “You’re the one with actual bangs, sasquatch hunter.” “Acknowledging that Big Foot is real doesn’t mean I’m gonna go and shoot it.” Wes crossed his arms and rested them on Danny’s head. “By the way, any idea when that growth spurt is due?” “Bold words for someone with his shins within targeting range.” “I can and will put you in a headlock Astroboy.” “I can slam dunk you through a hoop like your precious balls.” Wes said nothing to this and simply leaned more onto Danny’s head. “If I snap my neck because of you I’m suing. Anyway no matter how often I yeeted Cujo back into the Ghost Zone-” “I beg of you to call it something cooler. Call it the afterlife even, just. Please.” “He just kept digging his way out. So, I looked at his tag, saw that he came from Axiom, and we ended up in there, while getting shot at by the Red Huntress-” “Valerie, right?” “H-” “She appeared as the Huntress literally the same time the dog shit was happening, and I am getting increasingly worried that no one has noticed that she sounds the same in her Red Huntress suit as she does in the Nasty Burger mascot suit.” Wes dropped his arms to Danny’s shoulder, but still rested his chin in his hair, humming loudly. Danny slid into that spot between and snorted when Wes fell onto the bed. “I can’t tell you how pissed she was that I outed her to her dad about being the Huntress so that she wouldn’t get herself killed fighting Pariah Dark. Pretty sure if you tell her or anyone else about that, she’ll shoot you.” “I mean, it’d probably get her swarmed by so much hostility she stops shooting at you, so that’d be a plus. I’d just come back and bug you anyway.” “You’re a jerk, but I guess you’re alright.” Danny flopped back. “The mayor thing was a ghost, this douche bag prison warden named Walker in the GZ who decided that since I broke out of his prison I owe him over a thousand years and he’d make my home a prison instead.” Wes stared at him, clasped his hands flat against each other, and took a deep breath. “There are so many things wrong in that sentence. Why were you in ghost prison?” “I did ghost crimes.” Wes looked and sounded like he was in some deal of pain, and Danny couldn’t help but grin. “Dad’s anniversary present for Mom fell through the portal while I was cleaning up by shooting things into their proper place,” he covered Wes’ mouth as he opened it, “and so I flew in after it, but it was a ‘real world item’ as though the Ghost Zone is fake somehow, and that was ‘Against The Rules’ according to Walker.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I got the present out and back to Dad but I had to like, get to him at your mom’s place.” “Did you fly all the way from Minnesota to Arkansas for a present?” “Arcturus, no, not with my powers.” Danny laughed, laying back on his bed. “That’d take me like, 8 hours at top speed. No, I used the Speeder.” “Have you modified it to get into space?” “Not yet.” “Do you have permission to mod it for space travel?” “Do I have permission to be dead?” “Touche.” “Anyway, Walker is stronger than me, even when possessing a human, so when all eyes and cameras were on me he possessed the mayor and dragged me back inside to make it look like I was dragging him in. Whole invasion was his idea.” “Danny?” “And then with the robberies when my eyes were red, did you know about Circus Gothica? Cause me and some other ghosts were under the control of the ring master of the circus, Freakshow, who had this freakin crystal ball thing that could control ghosts attached to his staff. It shattered after a very long fall, thank Astrea.” “That’s really fucked up. You’ve had a fucked up life.” “Yeah.” Danny shrugged. “I guess I have.” “Know what’s more fucked up about this?” Wes had a too big grin on his face and Danny narrowed his eyes. “Do you remember my mom’s last name?” “Wal..ker… no. ” The two of them were thundering down the stairs in seconds, Danny half shouting in the livingroom. “ Mom was your dad, by chance, a law enforcement officer, or jail warden or something?” Mom looked up at him from the staff she was tinkering with on the table - note to self, sterilize the table before dinner - and blinked at him a couple of times before smiling and nodding. “Why yes, he did. Warden James Lamont Walker ran the Spittoon prison when he was alive. He was a good man, if a bit strict.  To my and Alicia’s fury and grief he was murdered during a prison break.” Mom stared off in the distance, the air around her curling with a dark cold that Danny was sure only he could see. Then she softened up a bit and smiled softly at them. “Why?” “No reason, auntie, I was just curious about something and Danny thought we should ask you.” Wes played with the hem of his shirt while maintaining eye contact and Danny wondered if he had a tell for awkwardness like that. Then he realized he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you have any pictures of him?” “Oh, yes! They’re in the shed! My boxes are actually labelled.” “Uh oh, careful, Dad might hear of organization and come to tear it up,” Danny said with a laugh, half dragging Wes out the back door. When they were out of his mom’s considerable ear shot, Danny said softly, but with feeling, “Fuck.” “Got locked up by grandpa, huh? That’s like, the worst way to get grounded ever .” Wes snickered and watched Danny run-walk up to the shed, hand glowing so softly you could only see it by staring directly at it as he turned the knob. “There are odds, slim ones, that this is a whole different Walker. It might even be his first name.” “Who the hell names their kid Walker?” “Walter, Wayne and Wesley Weston.” “Alright then.” For a few minutes the two of them searched through the mess known as the Fenton Family Shed for a box with a label neither had thought to ask for. Eventually, they found one labeled Scrapbooks and carefully eased it out of the mess of it all. “Y’knonw, Danny,” Wes said as they opened the box and started flipping through scrapbooks with just enough care not to damage them. “I’m feelin kinda good about investigating a ghost with you. Is this how it is with you n your boyfriend and best friend?” Danny almost tore a page out, turning to stare at Wes. He must’ve felt the temperature drop for a second because he looked up with a raised brow. “What?” “Boyfriend?” “Tucker. Tucker Foley.” Danny’s jaw dropped and Wes’ confusion morphed into a shit eating grin. “You know, Tucker spends most of his time with you Foley? The one you build shit with all the time? The nerd that you get sick in sync with? I’ve seen you lose a pencil and then he puts one behind your ear while you look for the one you lost. You made him a custom gaming computer disguised as a console.” Danny’s face burned red as a tomato at this point and he shoved Wes. “Shut up I’m not dating Tucker!” “I have to ask Jazz about this now, you’re killing me.” Wes snorted and flipped a page. He blinked down at the scrapbook and pointed at a picture. “James Walker. This look anything like him?” Danny took the book and looked at the picture. Looked at the several pictures of the man with his daughters, wearing a black pinstriped suit in a handful of them. And he let out a long, loud groan. “I hate this week, I hate it so much.” Wes started cackling and Danny scowled. “That reminds me.” He kicked Wes in the shins and grinned. “Much better. Also, Wes, I gotta tell you. I’m not one of a kind, as far as my living status goes.” “Oh what, there’s another Schrodinger’s little shit flying around out there?” Wes rubbed his ankle and hissed. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but that fruitloop we call a mayor may have been elected because he possessed literally everyone that was voting.” Wes went silent and stared at him, and Danny nodded. “Think you can pester him instead of me? He wants to kill Dad and thinks that he can get Mom if he does that.” “Danny. My Dad works for Masters.” “This puts you in the perfect position to mess with him, I say. Just act like you’re there to see your dad.” “You oblivious asshole. I fuckin love you, cous.” “Same here, skyscraper.”

[kingsten]

CELINE: So often in my life I’ve been with people and shared beautiful moments like traveling or staying up all night and watching the sunrise, and I knew it was a special moment, but something was always wrong. (...) But I’m happy to be with you. You couldn’t possibly know why a night like this is so important to my life right now, but it is. I think this is a great morning. 

JESSE: It is a great morning. Do you think we’d have other mornings like this?

@cir ——— 14.) The timeline in which they took a chance they didn’t in canon.

Brian traces the silver band on Peter’s ring finger. 

It’s an unpretentious piece of vintage work with an engraving of a mostly worn away rose. Peter shifts, pouting even in his sleep from the sunlight hitting his face. Brian watches quietly, curious of what Peter’s reaction will be when he wakes up. Brian can hardly remember most of what transpired the night prior but it’s coming back to him in hazy fragments but mainly the crumpled 77$ receipt from a wedding venue with their vows messily scrawled out on the back is the main indicator that last night was not a dream. 

Peter, after sleeping in for a few more minutes stirs again. He groans, rubs his eyes with his hands then freezes in that position. Brian holds his breath as Peter pulls his hand away to inspect the cold metal while still half asleep, half hangover. It takes a minute for the significance to register then his eyes cut suddenly to Brian who holds up his own hand to show off the near identical ring on his own hand. 

——— 

“We met at a party” Peter states but Brian shakes his head. “or it was the cafe?”

“I think it was in that one class— remember?” At least that’s when he thinks is the first time he saw Peter. “Business fourteen something. I showed up for three classes but couldn’t understand french so I dipped.” Jae’s eyes roll so hard the wired frames slip down to the bridge of his nose and he slides them back up. “I don’t care about how you met I just want to know why you got married? Who the fuck gets married after knowing each other half a year?”   

“Actually, we’ve known each other five months and a half. I know because we met after Peter’s birthday and— ” Jae and Peter both give Brian a hard look and his voice falls but he finishes his thought. “and It’s...uh, now... december.” then sits back in his chair. Jae holds the look longer than Peter before he turns back to his cousin and shakes his head. “RIP to your taxes.... have you even told your mom yet?” It’s a valid question and Brian’s ears perk up though he doesn’t expect that he has given Brian hasn’t mentioned it to his own parents either.

It’s a bridge they’ll cross once they get to it.

Now, regardless of the time and date of their technical first meeting. Brian likes to think that their official meeting was in the metro, while waiting for the last train to come. He remembers this clearly because it was the first time he’d seen Peter outside of the cafe or rather, to be more specific, without a laptop in front of his nose. Sure, even in this case it was tucked safely beneath his arm to be opened on the chance that there’s a free seat available. 

“What are you always working on?” Brian asks, sitting down without invitation in the seat across from Peter. The fact Peter is distracted enough by the question to leave his laptop closed is a small victory in Brian’s book.

“Excuse me?” 

Brian is used to Peter’s blunt speech. In the cafe he quietly says his order then goes back to being silent unless he’s on a business call. The lonewolf silent type is kinda Peter’s thing even when in the midst of a group of coworkers. But there’s something about him that catches Brian’s attention and he’s been working slowly to chip away at that outer exterior by bringing him extra sweets on the side in an effort to get to that other side of Peter that Brian’s yet to see but knows is there. And tonight he’s got a few minutes to kill. They’re not exactly strangers— at least not by Brian’s definition. They both have a few stops before they part ways. What better time than now? “Are you a business man? My dad is always working on finance stuff on his laptop too.” Peter remains silent. Brian takes it as his sign to continue. “He owns a shop. A cafe bookshop in Jersey.” 

“So you are American.” Peter speaks up and it catches Brian by surprise. “I thought you might be Canadian.” 

The fact Peter thought about him makes Brian grin a little before he nods.

That’s the subject that breaks the ice and gets them to talk, so much so that Brian misses his stop but pretends that he’s getting off at the same station as Peter where they both get off then talk even more. Brian’s able to draw out interesting thoughts and commentary from Peter and vice versa. Things like what Peter does on his laptop to discussing their biggest fears, observations of their surroundings and their shared experiences of being only children are brought up. They even touch on the topic of love and how it impacted Brian’s recent breakup and Peter’s long past break up. 

It’s in the middle of that that his phone vibrates, cutting them both off mid-sentence.

“Oh, I’ve kept you for too long.” Peter says apologetically as he glances around their surroundings, uncertain of what time it is but Brian shakes his head. “Honestly, I could’ve stayed on that subway until...forever. I like talking to you.” He says before taking another glance at his phone. “It’s just. There’s this thing I promised a friend that I’d— “

“It’s ok.” Peter interrupts. “It’s late and we should both head home.” 

Brian nods. “Yeah. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening. I know you said that you had work to do and God, It’s so late— I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“No, no, no it’s alright. I don’t eat after 7.” 

“Is that like a french culture thing?” Brian asks, curious. He doesn’t get it but he can begrudgingly respect it. It tells him Peter’s very disciplined or likes schedules which he could’ve guessed. Peter laughs, and it still strikes Brian how much his whole face changes with it even as he shakes his head. “Doesn’t everyone do that?” Peter replies, eyes still warm. Brian almost forgets to answer the question. After a beat he finds his words. “Oh,uh, I sometimes wake up at like 2 AM to make ramyeon. Don’t tell my roommates but it’s the only time i don’t have to share with them.” 

“You should get going then. Is it your roommates wanting to know where you are?” Peter comments, nodding to Brian’s hand when the phone goes off repeatedly. “It’s the group chat. Nothing important.”

Just Jae asking where the fuck is Brian. Kate wondering why the hell hasn’t Brian shown up yet. Angelina wondering when more drinks are coming and the inevitable: who is going to kick these people out of the house after their social filters take a nosedive after the clock strikes midnight in, roughly an hour to thirty minutes.

Yet, Brian is still hesitant to say goodbye. Peter doesn’t move either and it’s almost as if he’s waiting for Brian to make the first move to end their time together. 

“So there’s this party over at my place tonight. I — I say that like it’s not going on right now but you should come over and we can have a few drinks, talk about uh what did you say you’re reading Fred....?”

“Friedrich Nietzsche.” 

“Wait, like, for fun?” Brian has to take a minute to let that information sink in and almost reconsiders his previous invitation because frankly he can’t think of anything more boring than Nietzshe. Peter shifts his weight, waiting for Brian to get back to the point. ”Ok, maybe we won’t talk about that but do you want to go? I’m sure by now you’ve figured out I’m not a psycho.” 

"What if I am?” Peter smirks. Brian gives him a once over, standing back like he’s truly considering the possibility then leans in close, too close. “I don’t know what if I’m into that?” Peter grows quiet again, blinking a few times and uncertain of what Brian’s about to do before the other leans away again.

“Come to the party with me.” Brian turns up the charm voice low, warm and inviting. ”It’ll be fun.” Peter knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s clear by now that he’s hinting for him to at least stay the night. He could say no, tell him that he’s not interested in parties but then he gives a small nod and the rest of the night moves in a blur. That tends to happen when Brian is involved. Time seems to blur from one minute to the next in the way that:

One minute they’re in the park, then the vague familiarity of Brian’s place — loud music, flashing lights, pushed closer by a crowd of dancing people. And a few drinks in it’s Peter who breaks the tension between them and throws caution to the wind when he kisses Brian. 

Time and everything else moves entirely too fast after that. Some days they both have to take a seat and remind themselves that it’s ok to go slow, but it’s hard when the clock is ticking down and they both know Brian graduates in December and after that? Where do they stand?

Six months after their chat on the subway they wake up in some shit hotel in Vegas. Bed hair, hung over, admiring the vintage silver on their ring fingers together that Brian picked up for cheap in a pawnshop in L.A. Peter, who always finds ways to surprise Brian is more calm than he anticipated. Brian takes advantage of the slowing in time to make Peter laugh just to see his face transform in that way that made him infatuated before they move onto the next chapter.

It is the start of many good mornings.

[hangjie]

holiday blues (3). [ timothée chalamet ]

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR

summary: reader slips up that she has a boyfriend and begs timothée to be her pretend boyfriend during the holidays

warnings: i tried being poetic or some shit like that (oh and swearing

word count: -

author’s note: happy new year, everyone! hope you all enjoy 2019 and enjoyed 2018 (bc i’m sure i didn’t lmao) 💙 y’all thought that this was the end? lmao well guess what? this has another part bc i’ve reached the text limit ;(( hdjdkskskdkf i know that this sucks so much (i feel delusional bc i’ve stayed up until 5-7 am for a more or less than a week just to write this).

(y/l/n) - your last name

─── • ° *｡✧ ───

the soft light seeping through my curtains illuminates the room, setting a white warm glow around the room. i could hear the blows of the cold breeze trying to get into the room. i could see the tiny snowflakes falling from the sky and landing on the blankets of snow on the ground.

i rub the sleep from my eyes before turning around in bed. i expected to face the pile of stuffed animals i arranged last night as a border between timothée and i, but instead, i face the sleeping brunette boy who not only had his arm wrapped around my waist but also is inches away from my face.

i feel my cheeks burn as i move away from him. he only groans and pulls me closer to him, wrapping his arms around my waist tighter.

a few seconds later, his eyes start to open to reveal his green eyes. though they were sleepy, they were still beautiful.

timothée yawns and unleashes one arm from my waist to rub his eyes. “good morning,” he says, smiling sleepily.

gosh, he’s so cute.

“can you let go of me, timmy?” his face turns into a confused expression until he looks down and notices his arms around me. he looks back at me with pink-tinted cheeks, but his flustered face quickly turns into a smirk.

he shakes his head and says, “no.” as i was about to say something, he gets on top of me and tickles me. i start to laugh out loud, hitting timothée repeatedly and trying to get away from him, but his legs were at my side, making me unable to escape from him.

“t-timmy-y, stop i-it!” i say in between laughs. he stops and puts his hand on his chin, acting like he was thinking. “hmm, no thanks,” he says before going back to tickle me again. “y-you’re such a f-fucking child-d!”

i grab one of my pillows and hit timothée with it on the head. he finally lets go of me and lays on the bed, with his arms raised in an attempt to protect himself from my hits whilst laughing.

i climb on top of him and continue hitting him until he says, “okay, okay! i give up!” i return the pillow to its original place and do a little victory dance. “take that, chalamet! who’s the boss of you now?” i say, victoriously and my small victory fades away when timothée rolls us over and gets on top of me, pinning me against the bed.

he smirks when he sees my confused gaze. “obviously not you, (y/l/n).” i roll my eyes as he chuckles.

after his laughter tones down, i couldn’t help but stare at timothée’s eyes, him doing the same with mine. he quickly glances at my lips then to my eyes, slowly leaning in. i could hear my heart pounding in my ears as his hot breath fans my face. our noses touch and we slowly close our eyes, ready to feel each other’s lips on one another before i hear the door burst open and mom’s voice calling for timothée and i.

“(y/n), timothée, get up! we're—oh!”

timothée quickly gets off me and i sit up, our faces even redder than before. “i’m not interrupting anything, am i?” mom asks, raising an eyebrow. “no, no, no, no! nothing happened. i swear, mom!” i cover my face with my hands, trying to hide from the embarrassment. “please don’t tell dad.”

mom looks between timothée, who was looking at somewhere in the room, too embarrassed to meet my mom’s eyes and me, who was covering my face with my hands.

“okay,” mom says, dragging out the ‘o.’ “i’ll see you two downstairs.” she glances between us again before walking out the room.

as soon as mom is gone, i grab my pillow and groan as loud as i can. it’s only the morning and i’ve already managed to embarrass myself.

i can’t wait to embarrass myself even more today.

***

after breakfast, i decide to relax with the rest of my family in the living room. a smile grows on my lips as i watch timothée play with my baby cousins (who were asleep the whole day yesterday). my 11 months old cousin sits on his lap, staring up at him as my 5-year-old cousin leans over to put a princess crown over timothée’s head.

i cannot help but feel my heart do flips as i watch the scene in front of me. timothée who can be so goofy and cheeky when with me, can be soft and gentle when with kids makes my heart flutter.

i wonder how he’ll be when he has his own kids someday.

“are you in love with him?” i hear my aunt ask.

i snap out of my trance and nearly choke on my own spit when the words register inside my head.

“what?”

“with timothée. are you in love with him?” she clarifies.

“i-i don’t know, auntie. it’s too early in our relationship to say that.”

“but do you love him?”

that question strikes me even more than the previous one because i honestly don’t know if i love timothée or not. i mean, i love him as a friend and i certainly do have feelings for him, proven through his stay at my parents’ house, but do i like or love him?

i look away from her and glance back at timothée, who was now laughing along with my 5-year-old cousin as he tries to apply lipstick on her lips.

i chuckle, the smile staying on my lips as my laughter fades. “yeah, i do love him.”

“oh my god!” a loud yell erupts in the room, making us all turn our direction to the corner of the room where my cousins are sitting on the floor, looking between timothée and the tv screen as it plays ‘call me by your name.’

oh no. here we go.

my youngest cousin, rose stands up from the ground and points at timothée. “you’re elio from call me by your name!” she points then to the tv where timothée’s scene of elio watching oliver play volleyball is playing.

“you’re an actor?” i hear the voice of my dad ask as he comes into the living room with a mountain of gifts on his arms. timothée’s cheeks redden and before he could answer my dad’s question, rose immediately comes up to him with the rest of my cousins and starts asking him questions.

dad approaches the christmas tree and puts the gifts underneath it. when dad leans back up straight, he watches the movie for a while until he says, “he’s a great actor.”

“dad, i can explain—“

“no, (y/n). no need for explaining. clearly, he can take care of you financially if he ever decides to marry or have kids with you.”

i open and close my mouth, but no words come out of it. dad approaches me and takes my hand with an apologetic look on his face.

“(y/n), i’m sorry for being rude to timothée. i was only doing that because i thought that he had no job and that when you two get married and have kids, he won’t be able to make you and your family happy.”

“dad, i don’t care about money and financial stuff. i only care about love, happiness, and trust in our relationship. he could be the poorest man alive and i would still love him.”

he sighs and looks down. “i know. i’m sorry for only caring about money.” he looks up at my eyes. “i’m really sorry, honey.”

i pull my dad in a tight hug. “it’s okay, dad. on behalf of timothée, you’re forgiven.” i rub his back, comfortingly before pulling away.

as if my mom was listening to our conversation, she comes into the room and calls for everyone to come in the living room.

my cousins finally leave timothée alone and i approach him as he gives back my baby cousins to my aunt. i take a seat beside him and he wraps his arm around my shoulder. “hey, so how did your small meet and greet go?” he rolls his eyes and chuckles. “it was fine. turns out that rose actually wants to be an actor and asked for tips on how to become one.”

i open my mouth to say something, but my mom shushes me. i pout at her and cross my arms around my chest as she laughs.

“so, we will start with the gift-giving!” mom gets several gifts from underneath the christmas tree and distributes them to almost everyone in the room. she gives me her gift and i thank her, kissing her cheek.

“timothée, i’m so sorry that i don’t have a gift for you. i didn’t know that (y/n) would be bringing her boyfriend and i didn’t have the time to buy a gift,” she says and timothée reassures her that it’s fine and that the best gift he could get is being able to be with me and my family.

it goes on for a while until it was my turn. i stand up and get my presents for my family from under the tree. i then give the gifts to my family and then i turn to timothée who looks up at me with a smile on his lips.

i hand out the remaining present in my hands to timothée. he looks at me with surprise and says, “(y/n), you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“just shut up and open your present.”

he tears the christmas wrapping and opens the box inside to reveal a polaroid camera (a/n: idk but this kinda suits timothée’s aesthetic and i literally can’t think if anything else okay shush).

his eyes sparkle in excitement and he jumps up from the ground, pulling me into a tight hug. “oh my god, thank you, thank you, thank you!” he lifts me from the ground and spins me around, making me laugh.

“okay, okay. cut it out, lovebirds. go get a room.”

he finally sets me down on the ground and he kisses my cheek. his mouth goes to my ear and he whispers, “thanks for being a good friend.”

friend.

“it’s the least i could do for getting you to be my pretend boyfriend.” i try to hide the sad smile and i sit back to my previous spot.

my eyes glance over to the tree and notice that there are three presents left, but i get confused because i’m pretty sure that everyone has given their gifts, but my thoughts are interrupted when timothée approaches the tree and picks up the presents.

he brought gifts? even if he’s pretending to be my boyfriend?

before he goes to give his gifts, he stands in front of us with a guilty look on his face. “i’m sorry that i didn’t get everyone gifts. i didn’t know that (y/n)’s extended family would be attending and i expected it to be only her mom and dad.” he chuckles, making everyone chuckle as well.

he approaches my parents and gives them two of the gifts as my parents look at him in awe. my mom stands up and hugs him and when they pull away from each other, my dad stands up and shakes timothée’s hand.

“i’m so sorry for being so rude to you,” my dad apologizes. “it’s okay, mr. (y/l/n). i completely understand.” timothée smiles at my dad and unexpectedly, my dad gives him a hug. timothée stands shocked for a while, but nevertheless, he hugs him back. when they pull away from each other, dad says, “welcome to the family, son,” only making timothée’s smile grow even wider.

he walks away from my family and walks in front of me. he smiles down at me and places his gift down before helping me up. timothée then hands me his gift and i raise an eyebrow at him.

“timothée, you really didn’t have to—“

“just shut up and open the gift,” he says, mimicking my words earlier. i chuckle and playfully hit him on his shoulder before opening the gift.

my eyes widen and my jaw drops to the floor when i see a beautiful sparkling necklace. the necklace is white gold and has a small heart as a pendant (a/n: cliché af but uGh i would die if someone gave me this i swear).

“open the heart,” he quietly says and i do so, opening the heart pendant to reveal a picture of timothée and i. the picture is from the time timothée and i went on a “friendly date” to celebrate the first year of our friendship.

“so that you wouldn’t miss me too much if i’m away shooting a movie,” he claims.

timothée grabs the necklace from my hands and puts it around my neck. i lift my hair from behind as he chains the necklace on to my neck.

“timmy, it’s beautiful.” i grab the necklace and admire the simple yet meaningful gift. “thank you.” i pull him into a tight hug and bury my face into his chest. i inhale the scent of his cologne as i feel myself melt into his arms.

i truly treasure this moment because although he’s pretending to be my boyfriend for my sake, he doesn’t fail to show me love and his gratefulness of our friendship.

snap!

timothée and i pull away from each other and see mom holding her polaroid camera in her hands. “you two are so cute!” we back away from each other with red cheeks and smiles on our faces.

***

the rest of the day goes smoothly contrary to my words earlier.

i‘m catching up with my uncle who i haven’t seen a long time due to him working overseas and timothée is playing with my baby cousin alongside rose who tells him stories about her “theatre adventures” as she would call it.

i laugh at a joke my uncle says until i hear one of my cousins call for timothée and me. i excuse myself and approach my cousin as timothée walks to my side.

my cousin smiles at us mischievously and i ask him, “what’s up?”

“see for yourself.”

he points above us and i nearly faint when i see a mistletoe above timothée and me. my cheeks turn into a deep red and i look over at timothée, noticing that his red cheeks match mine.

“we don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, approaching me with anxious eyes. “we can just kiss each other on the cheek or—“

“just kiss me.”

“what?” timothée’s eyes widen at my statement. “(y/n), are you sure?” i nod my head and the next thing i knew, he leans into me and i feel his lips against mine. i wrap my arms around his neck and tangle my fingers in his curly hair as his hands grip my waist, pulling me closer to him.

i wouldn’t lie, i’ve always wondered what it’s like to kiss timothée and wondered how i would feel if he did and as cliché, as it sounds, the kiss felt like fireworks and i felt a warm feeling inside my chest.

i pull myself away from him and open my eyes to see his green ones staring back at me.

as much as i enjoyed the kiss, i couldn’t help but feel guilty and anxious. i just kissed timothée, my best friend.

i open my mouth to say something but quickly close it when nothing comes out. i look around to see my family who’ve gathered around us then i look back at timothée who looks back at me with a worried expression.

“(y/n), are you okay?” he asks, but before he could say anything else, i grab my coat and walk out of the house, murmuring, “i need some fresh air.��

MASTERLIST

[ephemeradio-here-to-staydio]

2018

January --

Trip to Florida with Grandma in the first week. Dark when we leave New York. The under-the-belly fly away feeling when the plane takes off. The loudness of the plane (I didn’t remember it being that loud). There is no forgetting that we are in a giant metal tube barreling through the air. Florida is strange. The warmth is unnatural. I realize I’ve finally come to accept New York winters and the beauty of rest. Florida lives in a state of constant temperance. The trees look exhausted. 

We stay in a giant apartment complex next to eight or nine similar buildings on the same street that runs parallel to the ocean front. They stand unnaturally like giant dominoes, fifty feet apart. Boca is extremely cultivated. We go to Wal-Mart, we eat at P.F. Chang’s. 

We go to the beach. There is no salty sweet smell here (like the one at the beaches in Jersey).  Uncle (with whom we are staying) is unwell and has been for years. He repeatedly tries to get me to down alcoholic beverages and whenever my grandma isn’t around, talks about sex. He brushes my ass with his hand on the beach as we walk, and I ball my fists up in anger and walk faster. I don’t tell my Grandma because she is hesitant about staying here, and I want her to enjoy her time.

I fly back after two days, as was the plan. I am relieved to get back to the small, cold airport in Westchester, to see my little red Civic and rich, who drives it up to the pick up area. 

On my first night back, I realize how good it is to be home, and also how much it feels like home, more home than original home, my little family with rich and crowdog. I ask him to marry me and he says yes. The next day he buys a ring-pop and leaves it on my nightstand. 

February, March, April --

Back to School. I left in 2015, and am finally back. Spring Semester. I’m taking the Novel with Michelle Woods and Seminar in Critical Practices with Vicki Tromanhauser. I’m amazed how each class goes by so quickly -- I am always disappointed to hear that final tone-shift in the professor’s voice when she says that’s enough for today, we’ll pick up here next class. I read Anna Karenina, Crime and Punishment, The Master and Margarita, We, Lolita, The Waves by Virginia Woolf, The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood, St. Mawr by D.H. Lawrence, a short story by Ursula Le Guin, and the eco-critical theories of Morton, Harraway, Derrida. 

I’d forgotten how much I loved reading and learning. I raise my hand in class and talk to other people. We go on a field trip to the Nature Sanctuary for my Seminar class and take a class photo. I save it to my computer when I realize it’s full of friends.

I write two papers that I’m extremely proud of, one about peasant dreams in Anna Karenina, and another about listening to Joanna Newsom’s Have One On Me as an eco-critical breakup album. 

May, June -- 

My first semester ends, and my sister graduates from high school. I’m definitely old. I take an online summer class on Utopia/Dystopia with Cyrus Mulready. 

July --

A trip to Long Beach Island, my place. rich and I stay crammed with my parents and my sister and her boyfriend in a two bedroom upstairs rental --the one that we used to stay at when I was little. We sleep on the pull-out couch, which was even less comfortable than that sounds. We stay for two nights. I eat oysters for the first time. My mom and I play kadima ball along the shore, and I eat a Spongebob Pop on a hot day, and his red pants drip down my hand. It’s a short trip, but enough. The year has been full but relentless, and here I have a few moments of actual content. 

On the way back home, my radiator blows on the Garden State Parkway. We pull over and call rich’s cousin, and then we macgyver the shit out of it so we don’t have to get towed home from Jersey. The GPS decides to almost take us through the city instead of the normal way home, so a three-hour trip turns into seven hours -- but it was nice. We stayed fairly calm and worked it out, and it made me appreciate the shit out of our relationship.

August -- 

The dog days of summer. Everything is wet. We’re in the process of moving houses (something that I’ve done every summer for the past six or so years). Dealing with the old landlords in the final weeks is absolute hell. But we end up getting all of our security back, and we’re moving to a good house --it belongs to the Grandmother of the kids I used to babysit when I was in high school/early college. 

We move in and I love the smell of the house. It’s a good place next to a stream. Everything is so wet that we start to notice mold on the furniture in the sunny room, and we fight it back. 

September -- 

This is a very hard month. In late August, I wait and wait and wait for my period. It keeps threatening with cramps, but never comes. I take a pregnancy test and it’s positive. I make the decision that would be best for another human, not for myself. I can’t just have a baby because I want something cute, or because it’s “possible” to do so. We’re not ready for a baby, now or even ever --I’ve always been theoretically conflicted on if I wanted to bring someone else into this whole Thing against their will. And now I have to confront that hypothetical in my reality. 

I make an appointment at planned parenthood after rich and I talk about it for a few days. It’s hard to get in, so I have to wait a few weeks. The house starts smelling awful. I get debilitatingly nauseous every time I go home. The smell of lavender dryer sheets (that I used to love) make me want to die. The world becomes a constant state of nausea. I get nose bleeds, I find out, because pregnancy changes SO MANY THINGS about how your body operates. Your body temperature goes up and your blood thins. Your teeth are more prone to infection and your body is circulating much more (like up to 50 percent more) blood. 

At the appointment, the nurse is extremely nice and takes my blood without making me feel lightheaded. I find out I’m eight weeks pregnant and that I’ll need to schedule a termination procedure for the next week. I’m nervous but I want to get it over with. The doctor takes an ultrasound and shows me a picture of the “fetus” - it’s a small, black and white oval dot. 

In the middle of September, I go to the Poughkeepsie planned parenthood to get the procedure. I decide not to take the sedation. I take four ibuprofen and they take me to the pre/post waiting room. I meet a woman who’s stocking up on granola bars, ginger ales and condoms,  shoving them into her purse. She tells me this is her sixth procedure. “Are you nervous?” she asks. I say “no.” 

It’s over quickly and it’s not more painful than some of the periods I’ve had. I get lightheaded afterwards and they keep me for an extra 20 minutes or so, but then I can walk out and go home. I tell rich to stop at mcDonald’s and we get burgers, and then I go home and sleep. 

The first two days after the procedure I feel amazing. I’m no longer nauseous and I don’t have cramps. On the third day, the cramps start and so does constipation. I have extremely painful anal spasms at work one day. The bleeding and cramping stops around 2 weeks after the procedure, but begins again when I start birth control. 

This all happens while my Fall Semester is starting, so there is no time to stop and rest and consider this whole thing. I keep going at the same pace because that’s what I have to do. 

October --

My Fall semester is really great despite all the stuff of the previous month. I’m taking my Senior Seminar class about the Materiality of the Text with Mulready, and I’m taking The Epic Tradition with Thomas Festa. I read the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Aeneid, and Dante’s Inferno, Frankenstein, Hamlet, and a ton scholars that focus on materiality: Ong, Calhoun, Silverman, Sherman, etc etc etc. I’m energetic but anxious.

We have a housewarming party and it’s not a disaster. It’s mostly family and then some friends afterwards, but we’re old and tired and clean and go to bed pretty early, and I’m okay with that.

November, December --

Extremely exhausting and busy two months. Throwing myself into school work, I write two more papers that I’m fairly proud of: one on the materiality of Dante’s Inferno and the other about the myth of diaries, explored by looking at a few weird Frankenstein diaries. 

Even New Year’s Eve was shot with a full day’s work followed by my first BioAnthropology exam (I’m taking a winter class), and I fell asleep at 10pm. Things will calm down in a few weeks hopefully (I’m done with classes after the 17th!!) and I can actually reflect on all the nonsense that happened this year. 

Things are pretty good though, and I’m thankful for a lot. I challenged myself this year and it paid the fuck off. I made some new friends and wrote some things I’m proud of and I live in a pretty nice house with my family. I finally stopped bleeding, and I’m doing okay physically now too. 

For Next Year:

- I want to bring my lunch to work at least twice a week! 

- I want to stretch and do some type of exercise (so I don’t get winded so easily)

- I want to save some money and take a good trip.

- I want to stop scrolling so much!

[midnatt-heronweather]

1. What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before? * An FCD convention (2258) * got quarantined due to a international pandemic. 

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I don’t do them 

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? not sure of timing, but my cousin Jade i think, though by “close” i only mean by blood, we’ve not had dealings since she was in High School. 

4. Did anyone close to you die? a friend  (no names for the sake of honour) a friends father  (no names for the sake of honour) a cousins familiar (no names for the sake of honour)

 5. What countries did you visit? none.

6. What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020?. Have some semblance of an actual life.  

7. What dates from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? the end of Feb 2020 - I finally me Jason Carter, and yes I will be going on about this repeatedly for years to come.  also in Feb I saw Counterfeit for what..i never believed would be the last time.  

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? not murdering someone count? 

9. What was your biggest failure? for a change i don’t have an answer to that.. not on I’m willing to post publicly anyway.

 10. Did you suffer illness or injury? no 

11. What was the best thing you bought? either my little black owl bag (codenam Morningstar) or one of the ghosts.  

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration? Heather Louise Sharpe. takes a lot to survive what she has this year and not go to pieces.  

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed? as always i could quote a number of politicians and people in and out of showbiz.  there have been a few fandom people and moments too. but personally speaking..  I was rather.. disgusted by someone I had thought actually possessed a brain (a hard thing to do where they come from) but as always I was proved wrong  

14. Where did most of your money go?} survival. and for me that means geekery 

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? MEETING - JASON - CARTER and some other stuff which consequently never happened and never likely will. 

16. What song will always remind you of 2020? COunterfeit - It gets better. both becaue it got me through a lot of the year and cos.. well. just cause

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? meh.

b) thinner or fatter? meh.

c) richer or poorer? poorer

 18. What do you wish you’d done more of? anything. 

19. What do you wish you’d done less of? being stuck in the house. 

20. How did you spend Christmas? not happened yet but will likely be stuck in the house watching reruns. in my family unit its not classed as a ‘big’ thing, even less so this year

 21. What was your favourite month of 2020? Feb: Hu, Counterfeit, 2258

 22. Did you fall in love in 2020? & 23. How many one-night stands? I am a Sex repulsed Aromantic Asexual.. form your own answer

24. What was your favourite TV programme? Cursed/Roswell/Charmed 

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year? several. one in particular 

26. What was the best book you read? Ben  Aaronovitch - False Values 

27. What was your greatest musical discovery? this year i’ve personally not made one, but Allys sent me 2 bands who i now love. re-discovery however is another story - Black Veil Bridges saved my soul when Counterfeit split. 

28. What did you want and get? the 13th doctors coat. AND IT ACTUALLY FITS not got it “yet” but I’ve finally ordered a Zat.

29. What did you want and not get? question is mute cos if i wanted it i’ll get it next year unless your talking events due to the pandemic in which case.. hindsight is 2020 aint it

 30. What was your favourite film of this year? Cant say I have on tbf 

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? its this week lik 4 days from now. i’ll be 36 and short of on of my breif trips to york i’m doing exactly fuck all.(december + pandemic) 

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? how long you got? * getting a holiday * seeing my friends for more than a few hours  * getting to a con  * one of the few decent bands left not fracturing * this country not being subjected to a bunch of silver spoon fed, tunnel visioned inbreeds and their leader the great hair fail. 

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2020? PJ dont last a year if you werar them 5/7 days

34. What kept you sane? thats been debatable since i was 6 lol/.  but this year.. whats kept me “anchored.” is: * My Pack  * Teen Wolf and other fandoms  * planing for 2021 even though I know my countries fked. 

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? see queston 22  

36. What political issue stirred you the most? I try to avoid politics, my family are all socialists and its like verbal torture in this house since i was old enough to realise it. 

37. Who did you miss? My Pack.  yes i got to see Adam, Heather and Ally for a few hours on and off throughout the yar, but thats like being stuck in solitary and only gettng to go outside once a month out of all 12 months.. not even that if i’m honest 

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!Choose your poison Poison! Choose your poison Poison! Choose your poison Poison!Everything is shutting down (Shutting down, shutting down) Everything is shutting down (Shutting down, shutting down) Everything is shutting down (Shutting down, shutting down)

 <Danny Elfman - Happy>

41. sum your __2020 up in pictures (IN NO ORDER) will be dong that in another post as always

[purplesurveys]

255

How was your last break up? Tough. Undeserved on my end. Had it coming. Speaking of, what are your thoughts on love? It’s beautiful when given or received well. What did you want to be when you were five years old? Ugh, this question again? What do you want to be now? Honey I don’t even know what electives to take. At this point I just want to picture myself successfully getting a job interview. Where would you like to live? A nice little condominium in the city, away from biological family.

How's your relationship with your father? Definitely closer to him than my mom, but we still differ on everything socio-political and it annoys me to death. Who's someone you look up to? Gabie. Do you believe in second chances? For the ovewhelmingly biggest part, no; but there are exceptions. Do you believe in a god? Nope. How do you succeed? Work hard. Ask questions. Do extra work. Sacrifice. Are you a hard worker? Sure, if I felt passionate enough about the task. I can’t be 100% if it isn’t something I enjoy. Do you have any painful secrets? Gabie knows everything about me so they technically aren’t secrets anymore, but for the rest of the world, yes they are hidden and will stay hidden. Where do you imagine yourself 10 years from now? Married hopefully, and continuing to build a life. Would you steal from a lost wallet or return the whole thing? Return the whole thing or at least turn it in. Using stolen money just seems so cringey to me. What is the hardest thing you've ever had to say? Telling friends that my grandfather died. Saying it myself just made it all the more real and it sucked. What is the hardest thing you NEEDED to hear? I’ve been told a lot of harsh things in the past that when I stop to think they all just make one big noise in my head and it makes me uncomfortable. And something you just didn't but heard anyway...? ^ Same banana. Have you ever felt something break inside you? Why did it? Not physically but I felt my entire body shut down when my mom gathered us in her room to tell us that grandpa was dead. I was in autopilot that night but really pulled it off so I looked okay on the outside, although inside I was 1/3-denying it, 1/3-crushed to my core, but also 1/3-spooked since I was already strangely expecting a death as soon as I saw my mom’s car parked outside the house when I got home from school that day (she brings her car to work and doesn’t get back until around 9 PM.) Why I had that particular feeling I never knew why, but at least it made the blow a little less harsh. A year ago, did something upset you that wouldn't now? What was it? Nah, I’m still the same. What are the qualities you look for in a friend? Loyalty, no bullshit, no high school pettiness, low-maintenance as fuck. And in a significant other? Loyalty, intelligence, and willingness to ignore my unaligned front teeth while I save up for new retainers. What are your thoughts on one night stands? Not for me, but you do you. High school relationships? Hey, that’s how mine started so I’m all for it. Have you ever wished violence or acted violently towards someone? I grew up in a highly violent environment so I was that way for a while, especially towards my little brother. I didn’t realize it was wrong at the time and I hate myself for it now. Do you believe in fate? No but it is funny how everything worked out between Gab and I. So many coincidences in the past 16 years that it almost seems like the universe enjoyed playing with us like dolls and pushing our faces against each other. I still wouldn’t call it fate, though. What's something that has shattered your belief system? I was Catholic for ten years (hardly, but it was taught at home and school so I accepted anyway) up until my mom started abusing me and making my 10 year old self feel like shit everyday. Since all I was ever taught to do was pray, I did that repeatedly and with much fervor begging anyone out there to help my mom and change her. Nothing happened, nothing changed. Turned on the religion almost immediately. How much of an influence does your family have on you? Zero. When I’m gone I’m gone. Do you believe some people are broken? Yes. It’s a reality but it can always be fixed. Can love save you? Cheesy, but yes. If you could say one thing to the world, what would it be? Adopt, don’t shop. Do you believe everything happens for a reason? For the most part yeah. I don’t rely on it wholeheartedly, though. Do you treat others well? Yes, as much as I can. Do you treat yourself well? No, I feel that I don’t deserve it. If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be? In a busy city having dinner out. And with whom? Either with my girlfriend or with my orgmates. Could you fall in love with someone, despite what they might look like? I’m saying yes but I haven’t experienced that before. Have you ever thought about your dream home? I started thinking about it when I was nine, when my dreams for a mansion were still running wild. Obviously at 20 my aspirations have toned down drastically, but I still think about my ideal home nonetheless. What does it look like? Nothing too fancy, but there are stuff that do need to be present: split-type aircons, yellow cove lights, a flatscreen TV, and a room for all my wrestling stuff. Once all the boxes are ticked I could safely say I got my dream home. What are your thoughts on suicide? It’s a battle I fight everyday. If someone was crying to themselves in public, would you ask if they're OK? Yes, especially if it were someone my age. Have you seen anything you truly wish you hadn't? Lotsa them. Especially on the internet. What is pain to you? I find this too broad to answer. Ultimately pain is different for every person. Do you take care of people or are you more dependent? Definitely a dependent ass bitch right here. With whom was the worst relationship you've ever been in (romantic or non)? My mom. I don’t even count it as a relationship...it’s, at best, tolerance. When you falter, do you regain your composure quickly? Sometimes yes but mostly hah no. It could take forever for me to get back up. What are some words to describe your faith (not necessarily your religion)? Nonexistent.  Do you feel nervous around other races or nationalities? This is one of the most messed-up questions I’ve ever come across, congrats. How do you respond to Jehovah's Witness at your door? We don’t have a substantial population of people of that faith. Do you believe your current friends will be your friends forever? Angela and Gab definitely. Not sure about everyone else. I hope the friendships I’ve built with people in my org will last, though. I really do. How do you react to people who are belligerently against your beliefs? I’m fine with them so long as they can offer me a sound, intelligent argument and that they don’t act holier-than-thou and/or shove their beliefs down my throat. If you could fix somebody's heart, whose heart would you want to fix? It’s such a cheesily phrased question so I’m just gonna answer this in the most literal sense - my cousin’s girlfriend who has a heart problem in real life. Do you love too much, not enough, or are you OK where you're at? Too much, which I’m okay with. What are you living for? Too tired for deep questions at this point. Have you ever broken a heart? Sure. What was your first love like? Brief. Real, almost. Honestly, do you try to stay objective in a hard situation? I have to. What is one thing you really want to succeed at? The future. Do you value yourself? Not at the moment. And the people around you? Very much. Are you sensitive? Highly. Are you sensitive to others? Highly. If you had one small wish that could granted right now, what would it be? To be in Kapitolyo with friends right now. :(

[the-tales-of-horror]

We found my cousins "time" journal

Original Link By fknmadhed

Some days I get around slower than others... I don't even realise until I'm where I've gotta be and notice it took way longer than it should have.. I always wonder about that, often leaving the house without checking the time no matter how many times it happens to me, but it's an off and on thing and when I get in from work and it's maybe 2 hours later than I'm usually home I take it as it is. We rely on time so heavily that when it flys by it's so easy to just accept that maybe you weren't paying attention. So with that out of the way, I'm documenting times I leave and arrive by how long it takes to walk or drive.

3rd June, 8:47am - To work Arrived at 9:04am Normal day - This seems silly today

3rd June, 8:30pm - Heading home Arrived home at 9:56pm I went to the store, got some food for the night but I didn't buy much, nobody was really about so I was pretty much in and out. I don't really understand what took me so long, what would usually take me maybe 30 minutes has taken me an hour and a half... honestly it could've been anything I just need to get some food in me and to sleep.

10:31pm I'm still up, the tv's been acting pretty weird. I find that tv has a calming presence that helps put me to sleep.. though not tonight for god knows what reason, everytime I've started to drop off I'm being awoken by static harshly emanating from the TV.

Really I'm in two minds about what's happening with the time and all that, on one hand it's all just silly stuff that can be put down to my own mistakes or Whatever, but on the other hand there's just this voice going on in the back of my head telling me that it's not just that.

4th June - 8:45am Work Arrived at 9:06 Long day today, weird dreams last night. Probably will forget about all this by the end of the week

Left work at 9pm, arrived home at 11:32pm I didn't do anything. I didn't go to the store or clean up my desk, I checked the time at work, wrote it down and drove home. I'm sitting in my car still writing this, how did it take me over 2 hours to get home. How the fuck... I was driving the whole time, it felt like any normal journey driving at the same normal speeds. I don't want to sleep.. I even checked the time on my TV and just About everything I could check the time on incase my watch had messed up but nope. No such luck. The static is visible on the TV tonight, but the sound is different to how I remember it but my memories clearly fucked so I ain't even bothering I just turned it off.

5th June 11am I got to sleep in for a while, I had a crazy vivid dream last night after rolling around for a long while and finally slipping into a half slumber. What I remember from the dream is pure darkness, no color to the sky, no stars or moon or sun... just nothing. Like the sky was the back of a creature that had decided to walk away.

This thing has turned into more of a diary at this point but the dream felt related to what's been going on. 8th June, 12:16pm Nothing had happened for a while but then I was late to work today, I left the same time as i do every morning around 8:45am. I arrived at work for after 10. I lost an hour and I was aware of the entire journey. How does that even happen?

10:27pm So I've been thinking about this all day. like what it could be. My mind jumps between alzheimers and blackouts... neither sounding particularly exciting. But then right now I just looked it up online and there's this big thing around missing/losing time and how it might be related to aliens. Yeah. Right. Would take that possibility over the prospect of an untreated medical condition. 9th June, 1:15am Theres police lights outside I think. Kinda strange that there's not a single sound coming from the street but fuck it. Pretty annoyed by the fact that it woke me up and writing in this seems to get everything from the day out of my head, makes it easier to fall asleep.

9th June, left 8:45am and got in for 9:10am I'm dreading checking the time, when I close my eyes it's just numbers, it's all that I'm thinking about. I can't put it off and it's messing with how much work I'm doing. I'm putting this away for a while, my minds just fucking with me.

20th June I've been to see a doctor, there's no sign of anything that could be causing the memory loss or whatever it is. I went to be told that maybe my clocks wrong and Out of fear of sounding strange I agreed. I've checked just about every clock I've seen to double check on the days it has fucked with me. And also, I had another one of those dreams last night, darkness then lights and static like in the real world harshly vibrating my mind until it becomes unbearable, I woke up to static on the television and put it down to that. First time in my damn life I've had a recurring dream that I'm able to remember... still can't get the numbers out of my head.

22nd June, 1:16am Half in that same dream, I woke up to what felt like cold elongated fingers pulling me over to the other side of my bed and in the midst of rolling I opened my eyes to nothing but the damn blue lights outside my window again. I just had a look around my room cuz that shit gave me chills and after looking Until my heart was back to a normal pace I put it down to sleep paralysis or some shit like that, but then I just looked outside and it's definitely not a police car. There's three lights floating above the houses just across from me, I can just about make a dark shape out but it blends so well with the night sky that I don't know where it starts and where it ends. So needless to say my hearts racing faster than it was and I'm thinking about aliens like it's a possibility. I'm not gonna sleep again tonight, I'm gonna sit downstairs and wait it out.

So, I just got down and it's 3:40am What the fuck is happening to me

25th June I'm seeing little shapes when I move my eyes today, like something running directly across my vision, so much so That on my way to the store I tripped and cut my ankle. It's kinda pulsating right now especially when I see this weird fucking thing in my eyes...

26th June, 2am-ish I got woken up again, no dreams just darkness and the sensation of cold fingers almost as if they're allowing me to wake up. I scratched at my cut a little, turned the light on and there's these weird little fibres in my nails.. so I looked at where I'd scratched the cut and it's just covered in these strange fibres, it hasn't been uncovered since I was able to put a band aid on and it definitely wasn't like this then.

27th June It's worse, time has skipped I don't know how many times today. My cut is worse, it looks infected but it feels fine. The fibres haven't cleared up I've cleaned it repeatedly. I'm considering seeing a doctor but it always feels like a waste of time.

So I looked it up online, apparently I'm not the only one. It's something that seems to be related to Lyme disease, but I've never been latched on to by a tick, just never. I've not had any of the symptoms, just these weird fibres and the only explanation of what it could be are by dudes on YouTube with crazy eyes and the occasional little twitch or some shit.

Honestly is it just me, I wonder all the time if I'm the only one that constantly feels so close to death, like I'm not gonna live until I'm 20 until I made it, then it became 30 and I'm just over thinking this shit. I don't have records of what was in the sky the night of the blue lights, nothing physical has been Touching me, maybe the fibres are just coming from my clothes or whatever.. the weird thing in my eye is only there when I move it fast enough but it seems to be doing it far more spaced out than that first day. I think maybe I'm okay, I haven't been paying attention to the time so much, I've felt like it's just making me go insane.

2nd July Dreams again, lights again, the fibres are spreading inside of my skin I can feel it... I don't think they're fibres anymore though they're wriggling I think I can see movement

3rd July I definitely saw my skin move, my eyes jolted as I sat still too, like that effect in Fight Club where everything moves as the camera stays still. It made me super dizzy and grew until I passed out Waking up at around 11pm, which means I was out for a good 12 hours... waking up exhausted and shivery, my skin crawling worse than it has, a lot of the vision in my left eye is being blocked but only in movement. When I keep it still I see through whatever it is.

I feel like I'm dying. As I write this I'm giving into that thought. My hearts beating faster than it ever has, my bones ache, my fingers slowly forgetting how to type and my mind slowly forgetting where it is that I am.

4th July I woke up Fine The lights again, but they give me comfort now

5th July I do not see the point of this anymore I'm fine. The time does not skip anymore. I will work today.

And that's where it ends. Incase you're wondering this was my cousins 'time' journal let's call it. A few weeks ago he started acting strangely, the whole family had noticed and he opened up to me about the fibres and the weird dreams and time disappearing, I brushed it off and didn't tell anybody because it was completely out of character and I wasn't in it to worry anybody so I tried to get him help but he refused, frustrated by the doctors of the past I presumed. But I also suspected some part of him was enjoying all of this... now when he comes to our house he stares at things, he answers everything bluntly and cold with very few inflections to his usually colorful accent... he never sits down, he doesn't clear his throat or cough or sneeze I haven't seen him yawn, he hasn't cuddled me. He's a completely different person and I need answers about what has happened to my cousin... he's been making it clear that he wants to babysit my children and last month I wouldn't have even second guessed it. But he's lifeless.. he stares through me and talks at me, he doesn't respond emotionally and his skin is so cold. I watched him stare into my child's bed and replicate the nonsensical sounds he makes when trying to form sentences(being only just a year). I need answers, because if I hadn't heard what I thought was my son speaking that night through the baby monitor I may have not checked.. none of it is right. None of it makes sense. So I come to you for the answers I need and to share my story without everybody thinking I'm going fucking crazy. Because I'm scared that I am, especially after I felt the cold fingers he described Pull me over and wake me up last night.

[bakugou-ou]

Ik I'm anon and all, but I don't wanna get off it because the embarrassment would probably make it worse. I'm just tired of life… mines is pretty useless if you ask me, and according to everyone else who if ever met, I'm ugly too, I wouldn't kill myself because I'm too much of a coward to do that, but I don't know what I wanna do with my life and I can never be happy without someone ruining it That's why you and other creators' story helps me, it makes me think about my dram life I'll never get

Listen, friendo, whoever you are, you’re not ugly, and not useless. You don’t need to come off anon if you don’t want to, I get it. This is gonna get v personal here in a sec, so I’m putting the rest of this down under a cut in case no one gives a shit about my personal life and doesn’t wanna see my tragic anime backstory, but I’m sharing it with you because you said that you like my writing. This is the story of how I ended up running this blog, it’s got lots of talk about suicide, mentions of rape. It’s not pretty, so read at your own risk. Also, it’s long.

When I was four years old, I tried to jump off the balcony of my apartment, I wanted to die. It wasn’t a kid doing a stupid thing, I literally thought if I fall from this height and hit my head on the ground, I will die and then went for it. I fell onto a 7ft tall cinder block mailbox on the way down, four feet below my balcony, crawled off of it, and walked back upstairs to my parents like nothing had happened. 

What was wrong that someone barely past toddlerhood wanted to kill themselves over? I don’t know, maybe it was just that my parents were fighting all the time and hated each other, maybe it was because I have the genes for it. More on that last bit later.

When I was six, I tried to throw myself in front of a car, thinking that if a small child like myself got hit by a car going 25+ mph, I’d die. The driver hit the brakes, I played it off like I’d tripped into the road, no one knew how I really felt. When I’d told my parents I wanted to die, they thought I was being dramatic, they didn’t think a kid my age even knew what that meant, the finality of it. But I knew, and I craved it.

When I was eight, I tried to hang myself in my older sister’s bedroom with her sheets. She found me, took me down before I blacked out, and we never spoke about it again after that night. I was pissed with my sister for saving me, I cried and punched her as she held onto me.

When I was twelve, I tried to eat a bottle of Xanax, thinking it would kill me. It didn’t, it just made me really, really fucking sick. Not sick enough to go to the hospital, but very sick. I had no lasting organ damage, but I still wanted to die.

When I was fourteen, my boyfriend dumped me over the phone on a day he was supposed to come to my house, and ignored me while I cried. He had me on speaker phone, actually, and his friends were laughing about it and I could hear them. I could hear him laughing along with them. So, I decided to eat a bottle of asprin for dinner a couple of weeks later. I was stupid, it didn’t work, and I was hospitalized in the mental ward for 2 weeks.

When I was seventeen, I had just left an abusive relationship, graduated high school, and my mom told me that my ex raping me repeatedly for 9 months was my fault and that I was asking for it by continuing to date him the whole time. I was too scared to leave, I had been told by a counselor at school that no one would believe me. I tried to eat all of my antidepressants. I was hospitalized for 3 weeks in the mental ward.

When I was eighteen, I tried to do that same thing again, in conjunction to another thing my mom said about my abuser. My cousin had been raped while studying abroad, and she was talking about poor cousin, your poor cousin, it’s so traumatic, but when I mentioned that I’d been abused for three quarters of a year and no one batted an eye, she told me I was being selfish, and that my time for being the victim was over. How dare I detract from my cousin. So, again, I tried to eat a bottle of pills. I was hospitalized for one week in the psych ward.

Earlier this year, at the age of twenty, I was hospitalized because I felt like I was going to slit my wrists if I stayed home. So I checked myself into the hospital. I was there for a week while my doctor tried to find better meds for me because clearly mine weren’t working. My mom had told me that she was ashamed of my sexuality and my gender identity, and the rape issue came up again, with her saying I wanted it, that I let it happen.

I have bipolar II, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and selective eating disorder. A lot is messed up with me. I get the anxiety from my mother, and the bipolar II from my father. The PTSD was a gift from my ex boyfriend, and the rest I just ended up with.

When I was a little kid, I loved books; my father read all sorts of books to me, all the time. Artemis Fowl was the first series we read, then Harry Potter, then my mother read me the Chronicles of Narnia, then my father read me A Series of Unfortunate Events. We also read other books, things that weren’t series. I loved reading, and I wanted to write things that made people feel the way I felt about the stuff I read. 

Both of my parents are naturally talented writers. At the age of six, I began to write fan fiction for Harry Potter. I was way too young to be on the internet, but I was online writing fanfics on snitchseeker. Some of the only validation I found in my life was from random strangers on the internet, encouraging me to continue writing and complimenting my plot lines, even if my grammar and spelling were atrocious; on the internet, no one knows you’re a little kid writing Drarry fanfic.

I was a really athletic kid, so I didn’t spend all my time writing, but a good chunk of my free time was spent writing if I wasn’t surfing, playing soccer, or skateboarding. I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t likable, apparently, and I had a really hard time in school. I got into a lot of fights because people picked on me, but I was always the one who got in trouble for defending myself. It pissed me off. I developed issues with authority. I wrote in composition books to escape all the crap around me.

By the time I turned 11, writing was my life. I had just moved to California from Hawaii, my life was basically turned upside down, and I was miserable. So, I made a myspace account, wrote fanfic on there, and threw myself headlong into it. I have a fanfiction.net account I’ve long since forgotten my username and password for, but it’s out there with dramione fanfic, sasusaku, things that I liked at the time. I need to escape everything happening around me. My dad, my best friend, wasn’t anywhere near me, my mom was a bitch, and my demented grandmother moved in with us. It was miserable.

By the time I was 15, the only hobby I had outside of practicing for orchestra, was writing. I laid in bed on days off and just sat on my laptop, writing. I stopped publishing things after I got a mean comment once, my first one ever. It bruised the ego I didn’t even have so badly that I refused to publish anything for three years.

When I was 18, I published my first fanfic in 4 years. It was a Criminal Minds fanfic, featuring an OC and Spencer Reid. I was so fucking proud of it, and while lots of people loved it, a lot of people said mean shit. So, I posted Loki fanfic, which got infinitely more love, and then I did an alternate version of my Criminal Minds fic, that one got even more hate than the original. Then I published a Wallander fanfic. I haven’t touched them in 3 years, despite people asking me for more.

Up until this time last month, I never showed my writing to anyone. I kept everything to myself, hidden, I was ashamed of it. It is my only coping mechanism, but I couldn’t share it with anyone. My parents had my computer passwords up until I was about 16, sometimes they’d look through my text files and come to me later and tell me how amazing my writing was, and encourage me to publish it. But I never believed them.

On a whim, I started this blog; I love Boku no Hero Academia, it has given me something to look forward to every week. I live Chapter to Chapter, episode to episode, I track my time with it, it’s a coping mechanism. I saw that there was a decently active fandom on here, and I wanted to be a part of it. I hesitated on making the blog for a few weeks, thinking that no one would want to read my writing.

A month later, there are nearly 600 people here, constantly asking me to write scenarios and headcanons for them, telling me they love my writing, and think I’m a nice person, and that they’re glad I’m here. Every time I get a message like that, I cry. I never thought anyone would ever care about my writing, let alone write it. When I got a single follower that wasn’t a friend I know in real life, I cried. I was so excited. When I got my first request, I was so, so excited. When people began sending more stuff in, when people started talking to me and wanting to be friends, I cried. I’ve made a dozen friends on here as a direct result of their writing, and my writing.

I love running this blog, and I love writing for everyone. I have felt useless and like a waste of space my entire life, I’ve been told that my entire life, I’m made to feel like that every day of my life even now by the people around me, save for my friends, but when I log on here, I’m reminded that hey, maybe I’m not useless. If I manage to make even one person happy with what I do, that’s all I want.

So, you saying that my writing helps you, helps me. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to make other people happy, to please them, and my writing is apparently doing that. I’m really, really lucky to be in this position.

Even if you don’t have something like this, you’re not useless. You should be here. I know you said you’d never kill yourself because you’re too cowardly, but I’ve never seen suicide as cowardly, but that’s probably because I’ve tried to do it so many times. I’ve made a total of 8 attempts in 21 years. I don’t think I’ll be trying it again, though. It’s taken me 21 years to find something that I’m kind of maybe a little good at, that makes me even a tiny bit happy, and that does some good for other people, too.

Shit sucks, life is really awful, and I completely understand the plethora of reasons any given person would feel like wanting to die. I’ve never thought it unreasonable or dramatic to feel that way, it’s just how some people feel. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until 3 years ago, and even now I’m unsure if it’s really what I want to do with my life. I’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes that makes me feel like shite, and a lot of the time, the people around me try to ruin what little I have that I enjoy and that makes me happy…

Even with all that happening, somehow, I’m still here, and I’m writing this. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get your feelings, I hear you, they’re valid, and I love you, stranger. Because I feel the same way as you all the time. This blog is my escape from that. It’s really the only thing I have keeping me from my intrusive thoughts.

If you never come off anon, that’s fine, but if you need to talk about things, I’m here for you, or anyone else who needs it. Really, if I can even try to help, I’ll do my damnedest to help. I hate seeing other people feeling as junk as I do on a daily basis, I want to try and make it better. If being a friend, even if I don’t know who you are, helps, I want to help. If writing things helps, I want to do it. But, for me, it’s not just helping other people, it’s helping myself. You coming into the box helped me. So, you’re not useless. You’re keeping me here, too.

[thelifeofkaiblog]

Pain meltdown at the family gathering :/

•*•*• 11th November 2018 •*•*•

((12:10am))

Every few months we have a (maternal side) family get-together to celebrate the surrounding birthdays. We meet up at bowling (the cousins and some of their partners, one of my aunts, one of my uncles, my brother, me and my dad), then go to our nan’s for food.

The past two weeks have been a nightmare for pain, all starting on Sunday 29th October, when the pain was unbearable and constant for the best part of two days. The day after that it was still really bad, but had settled a little. It’s been flaring up more frequently than normal ever since and it’s beyond frustrating to live with.

I’m on oxycodone meds that are known for being addictive, so you’re not supposed to be on them for long, but I must have been on them for about 2 years now. I don’t always take the maximum dose, which only dulls the pain anyway, but the intense pain still manages to get through once or twice a week (on average) regardless of dose and, once it starts, my meds aren’t able to stop it or reduce it.

I need to be prescribed something that will immediately take the edge off because I can’t just break down in agony at work, in public, on my own, etc., but the only thing that works is the gas and air (Entonox) at the hospital. I don’t know if there are prescription versions, but I don’t want to have to go to hospital every time and they’ve only given it to me when I was rushed in by ambulance, which I don’t want to keep needing.

When I just go to A&E (the ER) without an ambulance, I’m left waiting with everyone else for hours, embarrassed because I can’t help but scream and being told by staff to “be quiet” and “you’re not dying”. I’m not one to be funny about things, but how dare you tell someone with a severe chronic pain condition to “be quiet” when you have no idea what they’re feeling. My pain feels like being repeatedly stabbed, shredded, hit, shockwaves, sliced, etc. You don’t have to get someone in agony seen before everyone else because that’s not fair, but you should absolutely get them effective pain relief while they’re waiting, especially if it’s already been established that Entonox is the only thing that works once the pain has kicked in like that.

Anyway, I was fine for the bowling and about an hour of being at Nan’s house, then I started feeling it building. I’d taken my meds before I left, so I couldn’t take anything else. I sat through it for about half an hour, then had to leave the room because it hit hard. I made my way to the door and I probably looked drunk because I was wobbly. My extended family know I have health issues, but they’ve never actually seen it, so I’ve definitely had the “aren’t you exaggerating?” looks before. I don’t think I’ll be getting those any more.

I struggled to get upstairs to one of the bedrooms and laid down, trying to muffle the screaming and crying. My parents came up after me because one of my cousins, her boyfriend and my aunt told them I looked unwell. After about 20 minutes, my dad wanted to take me home, but I couldn’t get up; the pain was overwhelming.

My Nan came up and did the usual “can’t she take meds?”, “has she spoken to the doctor?”, “why won’t they fix it?”, etc. Bless her; I know she means well and forgets what we’ve told her, but she refuses to accept that there isn’t currently a cure and that they aren’t doing enough to help, right now. When you’re trying to do everything you can and someone says those things repeatedly, it can feel very dismissive and invalidating - like you’re not doing enough, even though there’s nothing more you can do, at the moment.

She went back downstairs, then my parents talked again about taking me home. They went downstairs to get two of my cousins’ (long-term) boyfriends to sign their updated wills, so I slowly went downstairs by myself to get ready to leave (after roughly 45 minutes of being upstairs). I ended up collapsing (not passing out; my legs just gave way) with the pain and sat on the floor in the hall. My mum signed her will, then sat on the stairs next to me to comfort me. I tried to keep quiet because it’s embarrassing for people to hear you screaming when they don’t understand the level of pain, but I couldn’t hold it in and they all soon heard how bad it was :(

The guys avoided coming out, but two of my female cousins (29 and 31) came to ask what was happening. My (two) aunts did too. My dad, feeling uncomfortable with everyone being able to hear me, tried to get me up to get in the car, but my mum had to tell him to leave me on the floor until the pain subsided enough. I was there for a little while longer before they decided he’d take my brother and the dog home, and my mum would drive us home when I could get up.

I was crying, screaming into my sleeve/mum’s leg and was quite lightheaded, with my mum trying to stop me falling over (from sitting position). After my dad left, anyone still near me was just talking to my mum about general stuff and trying to ignore my noises, which was understandable and I was trying to listen to distract myself, but it wasn’t easing up. Nan came back to us with her questions and “have you looked for a specialist who can cure it?”, mostly looking to my mum and said “you know the system and more about it?”. Thankfully, my mum said “she knows more than I do because she’s had to go to most of her appointments alone”.

When I finally stood up (about an hour and a half after the pain really hit) to try to get to the car, I felt pretty weak. I was leaning on the wall and struggling to stay up. My mum left to get the car closer, so my aunts took over with me, then one of them had to help my mum hold me up enough to walk me to the car. I nearly dropped halfway up the driveway, in the rain.

It all sounds really dramatic, but it’s unbearable and more frequent than it used to be - especially over the last two weeks. I’m desperate to have a chance at a “normal” life, but it’s becoming even more impossible. How will I ever be able to hold down a full-time job with pain like this? How will I cope if my parents are at work and I have to drive home from somewhere? What do I do if it hits me when I’m in public, especially if I’m on my own? Without something to dull the pain immediately (used only when it is unbearable), those situations are scary, embarrassing and make me vulnerable.

I wish I could get the specialists to listen, but the only one who listens is my GP and she’s out of her depth with it. Even the specialists seem at a loss for ideas for the next step, especially when surgery funding is refused, but with the pain in general too.

I need to push for some kind of prescribed Entonox or medical marijuana now that it’s legalised (without the component that makes you high). Unfortunately, both of those (if the first one even exists) have extreme limitations and invisible illnesses aren’t currently on the list for approved uses, despite personal experience and/or evidence in this and other countries :(

[3one3]

The Sequel - 770

Rules Don’t Apply

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea and BVB players, and random awesome OC’s

(okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

That Christmas Eve trail ride didn’t work out as well as Christina hoped. It seemed like that happened with everything. No matter how good her intentions, everything turned out short of expectations, or went in the complete wrong direction. Even the big German feast was a disappointment to her because there were three different potato dishes and none of them were the fried pancakes she liked best, and four different types of sausage but no knackwurst. There were also enough cabbage-based dishes to give everybody gas. The girls seemed to manage okay with that, and the guys didn’t. They were all in for a stinky night of Christmas movies in the living room. Christina almost didn’t even mind that Melanie stole her spot and claimed André to lean on while Rafa drove Angelina and her trio of pals back to London, where they would impose on someone else’s family for their Christmas breakfast and lunch. Once the strangers were gone André stopped pretending he wasn’t having digestive difficulties. Melanie said pregnancy messed with her nose so much that she couldn’t even smell what was coming out of the couch cushion. Christina sat one spot over with her feet on the coffee table for lack of somewhere else to put them, and Spencer in her lap. As usual, she was the quiet one of the group. By 11 she just wanted to pass out but had nobody to sleep on or corner to lean on, and knew her partner would be disappointed if she went to bed early. There were stockings to stuff and presents to put under the tree anyway. But then there was also Juan.

“Come over,” he wrote to her without preamble. She never did call him to explain why she was “mad” at him, and he never called to find out.

“It’s after 11,” she wrote back, assuming that was explanatory enough.

“I know. Everyone just went to bed. I have 5 kids under 11 sleeping in my living room, and no parents! Sleepover at Primo Juan’s :)”

“Oh jeezus. Are you in charge? You’re taking care of 5 kids in the morning?” He is not prepared. Nope. Not at all. Christina pictured total Christmas chaos, including some kind of tragic wrapping paper suffocation accident.

“My parents are here and so is Paula. The kids’ parents come back in the morning. I love it! They’re like you. They like the view. It’s better here than their hotel.”

“Okay but how are you going to put their gifts under the tree if they’re all sleeping around it, genius?”

“They get their presents January 6. Tomorrow I give them one each and they know it’s from me not Santa. We told them just now that we’d wake them up if Santa’s sleigh went by over the river though. Taylor convinced them he uses water like a roadmap. She just left though. Come over.”

“It’s so late. It would be Christmas by the time I got there.” I wish I had been there earlier to see Primo Juan play with these kids though, the rider lamented, ignoring It’s A Wonderful Life, her least favorite holiday film of all time. Mrs. Martin was obsessed with Frank Capra movies and her daughter was, well, not. I wonder if these cousins are going to be there on Monday still. No one seemed to notice she wasn’t paying attention to the TV, or that her phone was receiving rapid-fire texts, except for Spencer, whose ear moved a little each time it vibrated. André was slightly drunk anyway, and not on his own stench. He was not taking his football break for granted, and sampled all the nice wines.

“So? I’ve never been with you on Christmas morning :)”

“You’re very smiley tonight.”

“I am and I am not. I was waiting all night to hear from you. Come over. Please?”

“Why?” The stinky drunk’s wife glanced left first, and then right, just to check the state of everyone else on the sofa. She definitely didn’t feel like getting up and driving into the city, and for sure wouldn’t feel like driving back again, but she also wasn’t definitely against the idea. André was right. She did usually end up at Juan’s when they had family around. Other people in her house ruined it as her safe retreat.  

“I want to see you. That’s not reason enough?”

That was more than reason enough. That was the only reason as far as Juan’s ex was concerned. It was music to the ears of a girl who felt like everybody wanted a piece of her for less endearing purposes. André wanted her to be like his happy, sexy muse. Lukas wanted spaghetti and bedtime stories and someone to hold his hand so he could walk on the bricks lining the driveway and not fall down. Tim wanted her to pander to fans so that he could make more money making her more money. Tom wanted her to get over herself and get back to winning things. The list went on. The Spaniard usually just wanted to share average, regular, everyday moments with her.

“It’s laaaaaaaaate,” she reminded once again while making up her mind. She already had that “he wants to see me” tingle inside. But she also already had resignations about the tingle, because of what happened on Sunday.

“I’ll make you a playlist for the drive home that keeps you awake. Or I’ll talk to you on the phone until you get there. Come over.”

Awww that’s sweet, on both counts. But don’t forget, you’re not the only one he’s sweet to. The boy who has it in him to spend all night with his girlfriend and then hit up his ex the minute she leaves to invite her over has the capacity to play you too.

“I’m tired, and Schü wouldn’t like it.”

“Stop playing hard to get, cariña. My will for you is much stronger than your will for...anything.”

Christina smiled at the latest message but she wasn’t swayed. She wanted to know why her presence in London was so important that night, especially in light of the sparse communication between her and the player throughout the week. She wrote back that she assumed he’d been drinking with his family, like that would explain his smiley faces and urgency. Juan sent back a photo of a $2000 bottle of Le Pin Bordeaux from the year he was born.

“1 glass left. I’ll save for you. Put your trainers on.”

“I need to pee again,” Melanie announced with a hefty groan. She started trying to get up from her embedded position beside her brother. “I didn’t think having to go every 10 minutes would happen this soon.” Spencer got up with her to see if she was going to do anything with food, so his human slid over to talk to his other human.

“Hi babe.”

“Hello Prinzessin.” André leaned over to kiss her forehead. His cheeks were red and she could tell he was sleepy and buzzed.

“Would you be terribly angry if I run-“

“No. Just go. Get it over with.”

“But I didn’t even-“

“I’m surprised you lasted this long,” he snorted. He was also half-smiling. “I don’t mind if you go over there. Just be careful on the road, yes? And make sure you come home,” he added with feigned indignation. “You have to be the Santa before I’m the Santa so you don’t see my surprises, and we both have to be the Santa before my mom is the Santa or that’s more ruined surprises.”

“I’m definitely coming home, but no way are you staying awake that long,” his wife grinned. Tipsy André was her favorite. It was a rare thing. To have it happen when he was relaxed at home was even rarer. Usually the phenomenon happened in busy nightclubs and came with almost hyperactivity.

“Wake me up and we’ll take turns being Santa and then I’ll make love to you,” he whispered conspiratorially, which evoked laughter. “I don’t have training tomorrow.”

“I know, babe.” Christina patted his chest and gave him a proper kiss, and then she told her in-laws she had to make a last-minute gift delivery. They knew where she was going. She knew they knew, too. Her relationship with Juan was a weird and uncomfortable thing for them and they got through it by pretending it wasn’t real. She ran upstairs to exchange her Christmas PJ’s for legging jeans and a t-shirt. It was guaranteed to be too warm at the Chelsea midfielder’s place, and drinking a glass of ruby red wine would add several degrees to her face. She grabbed shiny, mirror-like chrome Prada pumps too, because they were festive and she resented that Juan assumed she was coming over in sneakers, and they matched her nails perfectly. They were carried to the garage instead of worn though, because she didn’t want anyone to know she was wearing heels to go see her ex. She told herself repeatedly on the way there that she was just going for that Le Pin.

They read tasting notes about it in a wine shop right in the next building over, and whoever wrote them called it “hedonistic”. Juan tried to buy it so they could find out exactly what hedonistic means in terms of a red blend from Bordeaux, but the rider said it was absurd to spend that kind of money on wine. Another thing she thought of on the way to Wandsworth was why he decided to get it, drink it with other people, and then show her that he’d done so. She hoped he just forgot it had anything to do with her until she brought up the drinking, or that maybe he hadn’t even remembered then either but thought an expensive vintage would woo her over regardless of which region or chateau from which it derived. Or maybe Taylor’s dad just forgot to buy some wine to bring over and popped into the shop downstairs next door and decided to show off by being that guy who brings a ridiculously expensive bottle to a casual gathering. That possibility got Christina thinking about what exactly the gathering was that night, since the Mata family’s usual Nochebuena feast was officially moved to Boxing Day, when Juan could actually eat all of it, and then she decided that Taylor’s parents probably weren’t even there.

She texted the footballer to let him know when she was outside his door, so as not to wake up any of the kids by knocking. He let her in with his finger in front of his mouth, as if she still needed further reminder to be quiet, and gestured for her to follow him to the living room so she could see all the little people encamped there. Silent gliding across a surface was easy as pie for him. He typically walked like an old man with a beer belly, but he could be so graceful when he deemed it appropriate, like on the pitch. Christina had trouble limiting the noise of her heels on the tiled floor. The three kids asleep on the couch and the two on the floor, collectively using just about all of Juan’s extra pillows and blankets, including a duvet in a deep brown color that he swore he threw away to appease her, did not evoke any emotional response in the equestrian mother of one. The delight on their cousin’s face, however, was another story. The Spaniard seemed absolutely thrilled to have an apartment littered with children, who were probably drooling on his linens and/or wetting themselves on his vanilla carpet.

“Isn’t it sweet?” he whispered to her, gesturing at the scene with the kids and the lighted Christmas tree.

“Uhhuh. You should unplug the tree when you go to bed though. It’s a fire hazard.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Your face is lame.”

“Come.”

The pair quietly headed for the master bedroom, where there were jarred crimson candles burning on both nightstands and tall khaki columns burning on the table by the window and under the TV. A small strand of white twinkle lights like the ones on the tree was draped over the immense framed mirror that leaned on the wall. That and the candle flickers were it for illumination in the room. The bed was somewhat worked over, like Juan had been rolling around in it while he texted her and waited for her to get there, Christina hoped. The wine was waiting for her in a glass on “her” nightstand too. She tossed her red car coat on the bench at the end of the bed and picked up the Bordeaux for a smell.

“Those are the shoes!” her best friend remarked with surprise and enthusiasm.

“Hm?”

“The shoes I was talking about a few months ago. I love those shoes!”

“Oh.” She stepped out of the shoes. They weren’t supposed to be that exciting. He felt much nearer behind her when she was at her usual height, but didn’t know if that was from coming down to Earth or because he actually moved. Then he was very close.  

“It’s quite good, this wine,” he said over her shoulder, his hands magically appearing on her hips while she sniffed the Le Pin. The side of his mouth magically found her left temple too, and it was terrible.

“Don’t do that,” she hissed, cowering away out of his grasp, his reach, and his range. The wine almost sloshed wastefully out of its receptacle.

“What? What did I do?” The Chelsea man gaped at her like he had no idea where he went wrong. His little kiss was only friendly- perfectly innocent, but not to her. She was furious and her nostrils did the angry-bull flaring thing her husband was so wary of.

“This is why I’m mad at you!” she complained. Juan looked to his right, then his left, then behind him, brows furrowed in confusion and lips slanted in distinct displeasure.

“I wasn’t trying to-“

“Last week!”

“What? What about it? Calm down. Sit down, before you spill that on my rug. Have some. Relax a little.” His instructions or suggestions were delivered with a hint of bitterness. He evidently wasn’t expecting a patented Christina Meltdown. She did as she was told despite the anger, and despite the anguish creeping into her countenance.

“Last week I was here, and Taylor was here, because god knows why you thought it was a good idea to tell her it was okay to come over,” she began in an animated retelling. “And then you even more weirdly sat in that uncomfortable chair with the high arms so that me and her would sit on the couch together. I dunno what you were thinking.”

“You’re mad because you had to sit on a couch with Taylor? What the f-“

“No. Shut up. I’m not finished.” A markedly unceremonious sip of the Bordeaux sidetracked the very, very awake German girl. It was delicious. “I got up to use the bathroom and when I came back I kind of stopped where the hall stops being the hall and turns into the foyer, a wall, and then the living room, because you were sitting in that stupid chair and she was sitting on the floor between your legs and you were hunched over to talk in her ear and you had your arms crossed in front of her, and you kissed her temple exactly like you just did to me, only like, sexy. And I heard the words “fuck”, “you”, “she” and “leaves” while I was standing there spying.”

“Okay...” Juan sat next to her on the side of the bed and still looked confused. Christina groaned with frustration and made a gesture with her free hand like she was trying to shake some sense into him.

“You’re not supposed to be like “Oh my god, Tay Tay baby, I can’t wait for her to leave so I can fuck you”! You’re supposed to be sitting there longing to fuck me and lamenting that all you get is Tay Tay! She’s a thing you have to do like...like...like some...noble but unwanted duty. You’re not supposed to like it!”

“Are you listening to yourself?” the Spaniard asked as the purest, most sincere amusement erupted from him in the form of carefree, hysterical laughter. “You can’t be serious,” he added. He was clutching his chest like it already hurt from all the laughs and giggles. They were innocent, uncontrollable ones- not like his more sinister laughs that came out when he was teasing her. “Were you drinking home too? Did you drive all the way here drunk?”

“No! And it’s not funny!” I shall not be swayed or deterred by the butterflies I get from this laugh. Shan’t. The display of affection and desire she witnessed in his living room on Sunday evening absolutely ruined her day. The nausea of Saturday morning was back, but worse. He was only supposed to feel compelled to kiss her that way. He wasn’t allowed to be affectionate with someone else. And he wasn’t allowed to be soliciting sex from someone else less than a week after he propositioned her for it. The conflicts cheapened everything for Christina. Suddenly those little kisses and embraces weren’t authentic anymore, and his discussion of need and their special connection was just lines he fed her so they could have sex that would be meaningless to him. He couldn’t possibly have been real with her if he was turning around telling his girlfriend he couldn’t wait for Christina to leave so they could fuck. She had one of those “everything is not how it seems” moments that haunted her after every realization that someone was playing her or using her in some way she didn’t foresee or detect until it was too late. There was no way she was going back to Olympia to ride again that night, and it was still bothering her the next day. It bothered her enough in the days after that to ignore the player’s communications too. But she knew during those days that her reaction was unfair. Of course he would be affectionate with his girlfriend. Of course they had sex. She felt bad that she had that reaction. It kind of all came up like surprise word vomit when he made the fateful error of kissing her like that though.

“It is too funny. You think just because you’re in the vicinity I can think only of you?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms and turned up her nose.

“And obviously you never kiss André the way you kiss me, right?”

“Shut up. That’s different. You two are like one little tiny level apart. Me and Tay Tay are supposedly like 47 very large levels apart in terms of your love. I’m up here; she’s way down here.” Christina used her two hands to demonstrate the vast difference in expected quantity of love.

“I give up,” her favorite friend shrugged with a disbelieving headshake. “You’re insane.” He declined to correct her delta, which even she knew was exaggerated. “I’ll just take it as a compliment that you’re so obsessed with me I can’t speak to other girls if you’re in the same building.”

“Because making fun of me makes it so much better. It makes your dumb lines and cheesy I-need-you’s sound like more than just rhetoric. Uhhuh. Okay.”  

“If you want to know that what I say isn’t just words, I’m happy to show you, baby girl.” The player’s grin was a little less smirky as he reached in front of her to prevent a dark chocolate wave from ending up in her glass. One shouldn’t spoil a $500 drink with the taste of hair and Garnier Fructis Extreme Hold. “Would you believe me then, if I showed you?” her sommelier asked quietly, patiently.

“You probably say that to her too,” Christina shot back, her voice unexpectedly trembly. Something she took from her family trail ride was that André might be right- that maybe she did need to give more diligence to the suggestions offered by her loved ones for how she could be happy again and get past the depression that consumed her to various levels day to day. But that meant that Juan could be right too. It meant his assertion that her marriage and her subconscious’ conflicted heart were the root causes of her unhappiness could be right too. If that was the case, then she wanted to know that the evidence on which she built her love, and by default that conflict, was real and true, not just some insignificant words and gestures meant to keep her keen.

“I don’t have to say it to her because she knows I show her all the time how I feel about her. She knows when she’s with me that I love her very much, but she sees when I disappear for days at a time to be with you and stay with you that I don’t love her as I love you. She knows and she accepts. The same isn’t enough proof for you?”

“No.”

“You want more?”

“I don’t know.”

“Drink your win and be quiet,” Juan chuckled.

“How can you spend Christmas Eve with your girlfriend and then 40 minutes after she leaves be trying to get another one to say she’d like you to sleep with her to show her how much you love her? That’s what you mean, isn’t it? How does that make sense in the male brain?” the rider grumbled while begrudgingly sipping the stimulating red. It tasted of all things black- cherries, currants, prunes, chocolate. It had more tannin than she usually preferred but it worked. It warmed from the depths of her stomach, up her throat, and into her cheeks.

“Did you not fuck André on Christmas Eve and me less than a full day after? Did that make sense in your female brain?”

“Yes! I love both of you. You know that. And I was deeply uncomfortable with what I did,” she pouted.

“You can love two people and it’s real but if I love two people it’s not? Such inequality.” Her ex was still kind of laughing at her, but that was weird to her. Why is he not even offended? I would be offended if I were him. I’m completely unfair. I just can’t help it.

“Does it not bother you more that I question your feelings? That I’m constantly...looking for you to prove it? Schü hates it. He gets so upset at first, and then angry, and then resentful, and then sometimes he threatens to just stop doing it. He hates when I don’t believe his love is real,” she sighed, eyes in her glass.

“It doesn’t bother me. Love isn’t something earned once and then kept forever. You have to keep developing it, and sharing it. I’m happy to prove how I feel for the rest of my life if you want to. Hey, speaking about love, can I give you your Christmas gift? It’s after midnight.”

“Is it something that’s going to make me emotional?” Christina questioned with a warning lilt. “I don’t want to open some panty dropping gift right now. That’s like giving you a penalty kick.”

“It might, but not about me. Hang on.” The player got up and padded into his big closet, leaving her to guess about his gift. I hope it’s not some absurd diamond, or keys to his beach house. Actually, it doesn’t even use keys. The gate and the front door are keypad only. What if it’s a composite of what our children might look like? Maybe it’s just a banana tree. I told him I want a banana tree. What the fuck is that, she wondered when she saw him return with a rectangle that couldn’t have been more than 5x7” and maybe an inch deep. It’s so tiny. She frowned, perplexed, at him when he handed it over. The dark green wrapping paper was textured with subtle ridges against her fingers, and there was a gold ribbon around it in both directions and tied with a pretty bow. “Open it! Don’t look at me like that.”

There was a cardboard box under the paper, and inside it was a simple but heavy silver-plated picture frame with a photo of Christina and Dirk surrounded by narrow black matting. The quality of the image was low, because she took it with her second ever iPhone- the first with a forward facing camera. It was a selfie, but a very well composed one. Dirk was free jumping a 5’ vertical behind her, and clearing it by several feet with his knees to his eyeballs and his hind legs tucked as tight as they could possibly push the limits of equine anatomy. Only her face was in the shot, her eyes huge and her brows lifted. It was the expression of someone truly impressed by the freakish nature of the horse’s jumping effort and form.

“Where did you get this?” She was duly impressed by the gift too.

“I wanted your first picture with him and the earliest one on Instagram is only from 2013. I checked Facebook but your page is even newer than that. Then I found your private profile, from before you had an athlete page, and you have it all on lockdown,” the gift giver laughed. “Samantha let me use her password so I could see it. You had some questionable and problematic looking party friends, cariña,” he chided.

“Oh god.” Christina blushed hard and covered her face. There are so many things there he should never see! Like me when I was an awkward teenager, me when I had braces, me when I first got boobs and didn’t really know what to do with them, me with ex-boyfriends, me in bad clothes. Eeeeek.

“I like the pictures of you at raves with the emo makeup.”

“Can we pretend you never saw that?” she cringed, returning her focus to the gift in her lap. “I took this the first week we had him, right after my dad pretended to croak. We pulled him out to run him through the free-jumping chute so his new owner could see how insanely good he was, without a rider at least. It took a while to get that with someone on him. It took a while to manage to get this photo too. I kept mistiming it.”

“Your caption for it was something like, “New baby from the motherland. Boarding pass and TSA check required.” I laughed. It’s cute.” The Spaniard smiled at her profile and reached with a finger out as if to tap the glass, but stopped himself, perhaps to avoid leaving prints. He touched her hand holding the frame instead. “No special gift this year. Just a reminder of how long your journey with him has been. You have a way to go yet, I think. Difficult periods aren’t new to you two.”

“I adore you.” She turned to give him a thankful and appreciative peck on the cheek, and then kind of leaned over on his shoulder to take in the photo once more.

“You’re not allowed to kiss my cheek if you’re going to go home and kiss him too,” the Spaniard scolded.

“Shut up.”

“The rules don’t apply to you?”

“No. You know what’s weird? I think I was wearing this necklace in this picture.” She felt around at her neck to find the onyx and diamond “Albion” pendant, and then pointed to the small bit inside the collar of the fleece she was wearing in the photo. The distinctive box chain was just visible. “It might be the topaz and amethyst paving one. I’ve had both forever. They have the same chain.” Her absent explanation had nothing to do with what she was thinking about. I hardly knew anything about him that day. Simon and I figured he could jump Earth’s moon, from some other galaxy, and maybe even do it with some regularity if we could figure out how to eradicate his ADD and nose for mischief. I knew on my own that he had a good heart. I knew because he spent that night hanging with me after Dad was carted off. Der Weltmeister was just a skinny, green baby then, but he was so keen for attention and so weirdly reciprocating of it. “For as long as I’ve known this horse, or I guess a few months less than that since I didn’t know when we picked him out and he didn’t get to us for weeks, he has given me back everything I’ve given him, and I mean that literally. He responds in kind, exactly, to the T. If I get mad at him, he gets mad back. If I lose my patience, he loses his patience. We even exchange frustration. Do you know how odd it is to be able to tell that a horse is frustrated and not just obstinate or distracted or unwilling? You can only find that in horses that truly love to work, and to please. You can actually feel that he’s trying to do what he thinks you want, or he’s trying to do what he thinks is right, and he doesn’t understand why you’re pulling, or kicking, or leaning, or whatever it is. He doesn’t get it. And it upsets him. He gets frustrated when it doesn’t make sense, and if you push it far enough, it’s almost like despair. He starts to think he’ll never get it right, and it’s discouraging.”

“That’s how you feel lately, yes?” Juan rubbed her lower back and her left side while she talked more to the photo than to him. She was solemn, and worn down, and almost resigned to it.

“Yes. It’s not his fault though. It’s not him. It’s my whole life. I do what I think I’m supposed to, and what I think is right, and whoever is in the saddle and holding the reins reacts unexpectedly. I’m pushed when I’m expecting a pull. I get a spur in the side just when I think it’s a good idea to slow down and collect. It’s a miracle I can ride Dirk at all right now with what I have in my head.”  

“What do you do when he’s frustrated and you’re frustrated and you’re passing it back and forth? How do you help him understand what you’re really asking him to do?”

“I stop and do something else for a while, and then try again in a slightly different way.”

“Perhaps life is trying to get you to do something else for a while, and try a different way. Maybe the person in the saddle with the reins is steering you to a different exercise to stop the frustration.”